The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge Including several pieces never before published: with an account of his life and character, by his son, George Owen Cambridge |
The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge | ||
BOOK I.
ARGUMENT
The Poet, in proposing his Subject, discovers Saturn, or Time, to be an enemy to his Hero. Then briefly touching the cause of his enmity, hastens into the midst of things, and presents Scriblerus with his Associates traversing the vast desarts of Africa, in quest of the Petrified City. Saturn, perceiving he has now an opportunity of consummate revenge, by depriving the Hero of his Life, and, what is far more dear to him, his Fame; prevails on Æolus to raise, by a whirlwind, a Storm of sand over his head, and to bury him and his companions at once in oblivion. Scriblerus's speech; he discovers the utmost magnanimity; and scorning so base a death, by an unparalleled presence of mind, erects a structure of all his rarities, and setting fire to it, prepares to throw himself amidst the flames. The god, taking the sacrifice of so large a collection as a full submission, consents to spare his life; but, to frustrate his present expectations, directs the cloud of dust to fall on the Petrified City, which is thereby buried. Scriblerus, unable to survive the loss of his treasures, is prevented from prosecuting his design of burning himself by a miracle, wrought by the interposition of the god Momus. After a fruitless search of six days more, his companions press him to return. Scriblerus's speech to them: he persists in his resolution of continuing the search, till he is dissuaded from it by Albertus, who relates to him a fictitious dream. Scriblerus pronounces an Eulogy on prophetic Dreams. He recounts his own dream; and laments the scarcity and uncertainty of all other modern Oracles. Albertus advises him to consult a Morosoph, whom he describes.
Bore him, with ceaseless toil, from pole to pole,
Insatiate, endless knowledge to obtain,
Thro' woes by land, thro' dangers on the main,
New woes, new dangers destin'd to engage,
By wrathful Saturn's unrelenting rage,
I sing. Calliope, the cause relate,
Whence sprung the jealous god's immortal hate.
Spread wide his conquests: All around him lay
The boastful victims that proclaim'd him great,
And earth-born splendor perish'd at his feet;
When, like the Titans, the Scriblerian line
Oppos'd, with mortal arms, his pow'r divine;
Work'd as he work'd, and baffled force with toil.
Hence first the god's severe resentment flow'd,
Till ripen'd vengeance in his bosom glow'd.
(At once the nurse and parent of the soil.)
Say, goddess, say, what urgent cause demands
His dang'rous travel o'er the pathless sands.
Portentous, o'er astonish'd Africk past;
Whose fury, spent on one devoted town,
Transform'd the whole, with Gorgon force, to stone.
Each softer substance, in that direful hour,
Ev'n life, confess'd the cold petrific pow'r.
While yet she plies the dance, the buxom maid
Feels the chill pangs her stiffen'd limbs invade:
Thro' the warm veins of boiling youth they spread,
And fix the bridegroom in the genial bed.
Nine days Scriblerus trod the dreary waste.
When Saturn thus: Behold, this hour demands
The long-stor'd vengeance from my tardy hands.
How oft have Mars and Vulcan swept away
The pride of nations in one wrathful day?
Inferior pow'rs! shall I, their elder, bear
With this rebellious race a ling'ring war?
Or, by one vig'rous and decisive blow,
At once their triumphs and their hopes o'erthrow?
Where Æolus his airy sway maintains.
When thus: Dread monarch of this drear abode,
Hear my request, assist a suppliant god.
If, by my friendly aid, the mould'ring tow'r
Totters, at length, a victim to thy pow'r:
If e'er my influence to thy force was join'd,
O! calm the pangs of my long-suff'ring mind.
Torn from my arms, a daring traitor bears
The labors of a thousand anxious years.
Loaded with these, his sacrilegious bands,
From eldest Egypt, trace the Libyan sands.
Haste, then, the friendly office to perform:
Call all thy winds, and swell th' impetuous storm.
Roll the dry desart o'er yon impious host,
Till, with their hopes, their memory be lost.
And, with his sceptre, struck the mountain's side.
Loud thunders the rent rock; and from within,
Out rush, resistless, with impetuous din,
The hoarse rude winds; and sweeping o'er the land,
In circling eddies whirl th' uplifted sand.
The dusty clouds in curling volumes rise,
And the loose mountain seems to threat the skies.
Th' astonish'd band behold, with ghastly fear,
Their fleeting grave suspended in the air.
Thus they unmanly, while the dauntless chief
Betray'd no passion but indignant grief;
Which thus broke forth: How bless'd the man whose name
From glorious death assumes its brightest fame.
O! had kind fate ordain'd me to expire,
Like great Empedocles in Ætna's fire!
(Had fam'd Vesuvio's ashes been my tomb:)
Or shar'd the fate of yon portentous town,
And stood, my own sad monument, a stone;
Wide o'er the world my spreading fame had rung,
By ev'ry muse in ev'ry region sung.
“A shameful fate now hides my hapless head,
“Un-wept, un-noted, and for ever dead.
Yet—for I scorn the base ignoble death,
Nor will I to vile dust resign my breath,
—Be something done, worthy each moment past,
And O! not unbecoming of the last.
Let the brave phœnix my example be,
(That phœnix, now alas! I ne'er must see)
His pile magnific the great thought inspire,
And my choice treasures light the glorious pyre.
Then will I rise amid the circling flame,
In death a rival to Calanus' fame.
But all their pride in envy shall be lost.
Six ample coffins of the royal dead:
The tree which bears imperial Pharoah's name,
By age uninjur'd form'd their lasting frame.
On these, two mighty crocodiles were plac'd;
O'er which an huge unmeasur'd skin was cast:
This spoil the hippopotamus bestow'd:
Scarce four stout youths support the pond'rous load.
On the broad skin the sage with pious pains
Dispos'd the six great monarchs dear remains;
Sesostris, Pheron, and his virtuous dame,
Cheops, Psammetichus, immortal name!
And Cleopatra's all-accomplish'd frame.
This done, two camels from the troop he slays,
And the pil'd fat around the mummie lays.
He draws the Ibis from his conic tomb.
Fossils he plac'd and gawdy shells around;
The shield, his cradle once, the structure crown'd.
High on the corners of the ample base
Egyptian sculpture claims an honour'd place.
Here bold Osiris' awful form! appears:
Great Isis there the hallow'd sistrum bears.
Harpocrates, the worship of the wise:
And proud Canopus, conscious of the prize,
The vanquish'd rival of his pow'r defies.
The structure now compleat, the anxious chief
Brings forth the dry Papyrus' sacred leaf:
A sigh from his unwilling bosom broke;
Then thus, collected in himself, he spoke:
Tho' hére at once my hopes and suff'rings cease;
Nor shall I, like my ancestors at home,
My country polish with the labour'd tome;
Nor by my travel (as the Samian sage
Enlighten'd Greece) instruct the present age;
Revive the long-lost arts of ancient war,
The deathful scorpion, and the scythe-girt car;
Or share, with Numa, civic fame, and found
Old Plato's patriot laws on modern ground:
These deep-laid schemes tho' Saturn's wrath o'erthrow,
(His anger rising as my honours grow)
Virtue shall yet her sure reward receive,
And one great deed my dying fame retrieve.
Thro' the light reed he spreads the wasting flame;
The melted gums, in fragant volumes rise,
And waft a various incense to the skies;
The unctuous fewel feeds the greedy fire,
And one bright flame enwraps the blazing pyre.
Joy touch'd the victor god's relenting mind,
Who thus address'd the monarch of the wind:
To thee, indulgent deity, I owe
This full submission of the stubborn foe.
Brings to my throne, and subjects to my pow'r.
Enough. This ample sacrifice alone
The thefts and crimes of ages shall atone.
Yet tho' I deign his abject life to spare,
Think not the wretch my further grace shall share.
Nor shall his rebel soul, insulting, boast
Successful toils where armies have been lost.—
O'er the proud town, his vain pursuit, shall fall
Yon hov'ring mass, and hide her long-sought wall;
That no remembrance, but an empty name,
Be left to vindicate her doubtful fame.
With prompt obedience, hear their king's command,
Forbear the conflict, and to Eurus yield
The long-contested honors of the field.
The glad horizon and bright day appear'd.
Freed from the horrors of impending fate,
Each raptur'd friend salutes his rescu'd mate:
But not such transports touch'd Scriblerus' breast,
His glorious purpose all his soul possess'd.
In vain to deprecate the rash design,
With tears his friends their fond entreaties join.
Since I my perish'd treasures must survive.
Cut from my hopes, by this devouring fire,
While yet I may, O! let me mount the pyre.
Again should wild tornados bring despair,
When hov'ring death shall threaten from the air,
This pile consum'd, remains there ought to save
My body from an ignominious grave?
Let vulgar souls for doubtful life contend;
Be mine the boast of an heroic end.
To distant Libya wing'd his rapid flight.
Sudden he joins the rash Scriblerus' side,
While good Albertus' form the god belied.
A spark to issue from the blazing brands;
Which fell, directed, on the sage's head,
And sudden flames around his temples spread.
The subtle god the destin'd moment watch'd:
Swift from his head the hairy texture snatch'd,
And, unperceiv'd, amidst the croud's amaze,
A soaring rocket in the cawl conveys.
The latent fraud, portentous, cuts the air,
And bears, thro' distant skies, the blazing hair.
Behold this wond'rous omen, and rejoice.
Lo! great Scriblerus, what the fates unfold;
At length convinc'd, thy rash attempt with-hold.
The gods declare that thy illustrious head
Such effluent glory shall around thee shed,
As, wide dispensing its eternal rays,
Shall fill th' enlighten'd nations with amaze.
Accepts the omen, and obeys the god.
With fruitless search; so Saturn's wrath ordains.
His murm'ring friends the scant provision mourn,
And urge th' unwilling hero to return.
But stern resentment fires his glowing breast;
While thus his wrath th' indignant sage express'd.
And basely tremble ere the danger's nigh!
Can you, full-feasted, mutter discontent,
Ignobly faint ere half your stores are spent?
Return, unworthy of the gen'rous toil,
Back to the sluggish borders of the Nile.
Faithful Albertus shall alone partake
Those dear-bought honours which your fears forsake:
Cowards, reflect on Cato's steadier host,
Unmov'd and dauntless on this dreary coast;
Like them, in all our travel, have we found
Asps in the well, or serpents in the ground!
Or winged poisons darting through the air?
Yet not these perils shook their firmer souls;
While your resolves a distant fear controuls:
Dampt with the prospect of a future dearth,
Nor dare ye trust the all-sustaining earth.
High in the branches of the lofty wood;
From the green boughs they crop the recent sprout,
And feed luxurious on the tender shoot.
With marshy roots, their coarse yet wholesome fare.
From slimy Nile the rank unsav'ry reed,
A pounded mass, in artless loaves they knead:
And in the sun-beams bake the bulbous bread.
Mix her rich blood, and swill the luscious fare:
With her drain'd udder, the Medimnian swains.
For their support they rear the pois'nous brood;
The viper, toad, and scorpion, are their food.
The swarming locust feeds the hungry swains.
Far-length'ning fires extend along the coast,
And intercept the close-embattled host.
Firm and compact, the troops in deep array,
Urg'd from behind, pursue their deathful way.
The swains with salt their future feast prepare,
And one boon hour supplies the wasting year.
While yet our beasts beneath their burthens bend?
And give not only life, but luxury.
Faint with the distant chase, the Tartar drains
Reviving cordials from his courser's veins!
The hungry trav'ller in the dreary waste
From the slain camel shares a rich repast:
While parch'd with thirst, he hails the plenteous well,
Found in the stomach's deep capacious cell:
Ev'n their tough skins an hard support might yield;
And soldiers oft have eat the stubborn shield.
Their wearied eyes in sleep's soft fetters bound,
Stretch'd on the sand, he leaves the slumb'ring crew,
Himself indignant to his tent withdrew.
His careful footsteps to the sage's tent.
Earnest he seem'd, with meditated art,
Some deep important counsel to impart.
When thus: This night when sleep had clos'd mine eyes,
I saw a band of glorious forms arise:
The great Albertus, author of my line,
And all that boast affinity to thine:
Scribonius, and profound Bombastus, came;
When thus thy fire: O! foremost to attend
The glorious labours of thy daring friend,
Be thine the task th' unwelcome news to bear:
Friendship can smooth the front of rude despair.
Yet ever must my son despair to see
Yon city, buried by the god's decree:
Mountains of sand her loftiest turrets hide,
And swell the loaded plain on ev'ry side;
As vain thy search for Heraclea's grave,
Or Sodom sunk beneath th' Asphaltic wave.
When warlike sounds alarm'd my startled ear.
The rest around him form'd the Pyrrhic dance;
They clash their javelins, ring their clanging shields,
Till sleep unwilling to the tumult yields.
Thus he, dissembling. The fond chief replies,
(While filial raptures in his soul arise,)
Tho' much, alas! th' indulgent shades have shewn.
O let me still, on this revolving day,
A grateful tribute to their mem'ry pay:
And to the genius of the horny gate,
Whose friendly pow'r reveals our certain fate.
Those shadow'd truths instructive dreams unfold.
A wond'rous deluge o'er his empire spread;
From whence should issue his severe disgrace!
The mystic dream young Ammon's soul reveal'd.
Stamp'd on the wax the victor lion shew'd
The warlike genius of the embryo god.
To me been painted by the pow'rs of sleep.
The fav'rite bird of Pallas I beheld
Search, with unwearied wing, the new-reap'd field:
Fatigued, at length, a lurking mouse he spies,
And eager, to the long-sought quarry flies;
Thither, by chance, the reaper bent his way,
And, with a wheat sheaf, whelm'd the trembling prey.
Th' Athenian bird his frustrate labor mourn'd,
Flew from my sight, but soon again return'd,
When, wond'rous to relate, he thus began,
(An owl in figure, but in voice a man;)
The gods direct my emblematic flight,
In my sage form thy rev'rend self appears:
Thy vain pursuit the vanish'd mouse declares.
This said, the feather'd omen seeks the skies:
And, instant, downy sleep forsook my eyes.
I deem'd the phantom by the god design'd,
To shake the steady purpose of my mind.
Now have thy words my vain suspicion eas'd,
Confirm'd my soul, and ev'ry doubt appeas'd.
But whither next the heav'n-taught course to steer,
Nor omens point, nor friendly shades declare.
And now, alas! in these unhallow'd days,
No learned priest the sacrifice displays:
Or reads the vagrant lessons of the skies.
Nor sacred oracles afford their aid;
Dumb is the Pythian and Cumæan maid.
O! had we liv'd in that auspicious age,
When roam'd the Trojan chief and Grecian sage,
Some friendly Helenus we then had found,
Or Anius, skill'd each omen to expound.
Perhaps to hell's dark mansions we had gone,
And fam'd Tiresias had our fortunes shown.
Now nought remains our dubious course to guide,
Since the Virgilian lots in vain were try'd.
To fix the purpose of my wav'ring mind?
O might my heart suggest the wish'd relief!
Distinguished honours to the fool and mad:
And wisely they. For oft, when reason wings
Her flight, superior to terrestrial things,
The thoughts beyond the starry mansions rove,
Blest with the converse of the gods above;
Instructive truths, oracular, dispense.
Inspir'd with all this theomantic rage.
I mark'd where'er the Morosoph appear'd,
(By crowds surrounded, and by all rever'd,)
How young and old, virgins and matrons kiss'd
The footsteps of the blest gymnosophist.
The eager bride touch'd each propitious part
That best prolific virtue might impart.
The list'ning multitudes, astonish'd, hung.
Then haste we back to Cairo, I advise,
And let the fool give counsel to the wise.
And drove despair, sad inmate, from his breast.
With shouts of joy receive the glad command:
Already slighting the diminish'd toil
Of scorching Sirius, and the faithless soil.
The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge | ||