The peripatetic or, Sketches of the heart, of nature and society; In a series of politico-sentimental journals, in verse and prose, of the eccentric excursions of Sylvanus Theophrastus; Supposed to be written by himself [by John Thelwall] |
 | [I]. |
[Daughters of Albion's gay enlighten'd hour!] |
| II. |
| III. |
 | The peripatetic |  |
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[Daughters of Albion's gay enlighten'd hour!]
Daughters of Albion's gay enlighten'd hour!
Hail the sweet strains your captive warblers pour;
Their graceful forms and downy plumage prize,
And the gay lustre of their varied dyes;
Nor ever think, while tremulous they sing,
Or flutt'ring spread the glossy-tinctur'd wing,
That fluttering wing, that tremulated strain
Of lingering griefs, and cruel bonds complain:
Nor ever think—that, for a sordid joy,
Their hopes, their rights, affections ye destroy;
Doom them the air's unbounded space to change,
For the dull cage's loath'd, contracted range;
There, every social throb condemn'd to mourn
Which each sad summer bids in vain return.
Hail the sweet strains your captive warblers pour;
Their graceful forms and downy plumage prize,
And the gay lustre of their varied dyes;
Nor ever think, while tremulous they sing,
Or flutt'ring spread the glossy-tinctur'd wing,
That fluttering wing, that tremulated strain
Of lingering griefs, and cruel bonds complain:
Nor ever think—that, for a sordid joy,
Their hopes, their rights, affections ye destroy;
Doom them the air's unbounded space to change,
For the dull cage's loath'd, contracted range;
There, every social throb condemn'd to mourn
Which each sad summer bids in vain return.
Daughters of Albion's gay enlighten'd day!
To man alike your sympathy display!
Heedless of groans, of anguish, and of chains,
Of stripes inflicted, and tormenting pains,
At morn, at eve, your sweeten'd beverage sup,
Nor see the blood of thousands in the cup.
To man alike your sympathy display!
Heedless of groans, of anguish, and of chains,
Of stripes inflicted, and tormenting pains,
At morn, at eve, your sweeten'd beverage sup,
Nor see the blood of thousands in the cup.
What though each sweet effluvium, ere it rise,
Have clogg'd the western gale with Afric's sighs,
Each sweeten'd drop yon porc'lain cell contains,
Was drawn, O, horror! from some brother's veins;
Or, wrought by chemic art, on terms too dear,
Is but transmuted from some negro's tear,
Which dropt, 'midst galling bonds, on foreign strand,
His bride still answers from his native land!—
Still turn indiff'rent from these foreign woes,
Nor suffer griefs so distant to oppose
The sickly taste, whose languid pulse to cheer
Two rifled worlds must drop the bitter tear!—
For what is Afric, what the Eastern Ind
To Europe's race, by polish'd arts refin'd?
Or why should pamper'd Luxury enquire
Who by the sword, or by the lash expire?
Have clogg'd the western gale with Afric's sighs,
Each sweeten'd drop yon porc'lain cell contains,
Was drawn, O, horror! from some brother's veins;
Or, wrought by chemic art, on terms too dear,
Is but transmuted from some negro's tear,
Which dropt, 'midst galling bonds, on foreign strand,
His bride still answers from his native land!—
Still turn indiff'rent from these foreign woes,
Nor suffer griefs so distant to oppose
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Two rifled worlds must drop the bitter tear!—
For what is Afric, what the Eastern Ind
To Europe's race, by polish'd arts refin'd?
Or why should pamper'd Luxury enquire
Who by the sword, or by the lash expire?
Daughters of Albion, still this path pursue!
Be sense and appetite your only aim:
From prostrate Pity turn the giddy view,
And gracious Mercy's pleading voice disclaim.
Be sense and appetite your only aim:
From prostrate Pity turn the giddy view,
And gracious Mercy's pleading voice disclaim.
Meanwhile with feeble step and mincing tone,
Pretend to softness, delicacy, love!
High place yourselves on Admiration's throne,
While fancied graces round obsequious move:
Pretend to softness, delicacy, love!
High place yourselves on Admiration's throne,
While fancied graces round obsequious move:
Whence (while for wretches, for your tastes aggriev'd,
Ye slight each effort to obtain redress)
Lisp forth, to those by whom 'twill be believ'd,
Your tender feeling's exquisite excess!
Ye slight each effort to obtain redress)
Lisp forth, to those by whom 'twill be believ'd,
Your tender feeling's exquisite excess!
| The peripatetic | |