Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY, PATRON; THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF STAMFORD, PRESIDENT; THE VICE-PRESIDENTS, TREASURER, REGISTER, AND DIRECTORS OF THE HUMANE SOCIETY, THIS FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO CELEBRATE THAT TRULY BENEVOLENT INSTITUTION IS (WITH A MIXTURE OF ADMIRATION AND RESPECT) MOST HUMBLY INSCRIBED, BY A SINCERE LOVER OF PHILANTHROPY.

Dramatis Personæ.

Sophia.
Albert, her Father.
Monimia, her Mother.
Edmund.
Roldan, the Seducer of Sophia.
Chorus of Albert's Neighbours, Messenger, Medical Assistant, &c.

Scene, before Albert's House, on the Borders of a Forest.
Time, about six Hours.

[_]

The Outline of this Story will be found by those who consult the Reports of the Humane Society for the Year 1784. Case 481. Page 110.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Albert, Sophia.
Albert.

Child of my happier years, belov'd Sophia!
Thou darling comfort of my woeful age!
Why hang of late the humid gems of grief
So frequent trembling on thy pale-grown cheek;
Like morning dews wherewith Aurora bathes
The vestal bosom of the paler rose?
Why dost thou fly of late the social joys
My hearth paternal, and my smiling bow'r
Were wont to boast? That smiling bow'r, Sophia,
(The wild luxuriance of whose woodbine sprays

'Twas once thy pride to regulate and prune)
Now, long neglected, needs thy tender care,
To check the wand'ring tendrils, raise from earth
The infant shoots, and teach the jas'mine sprays
To mingle with the smiling eglantine.

But thou, of late, more lov'st the gloomy shade
Of woods impervious to the mid-day sun.
The solemn fall of waters down the steep,
The gurgling riv'let, murmuring as it flows,
The piteous wailings of the nightingale,
And the sad cooings of the widow'd dove,
Now seem alone possessed of charms for thee.

Oft, with a trembling and unequal pace,
Slowly thou wanderest to the limpid brook,
Whose winding course among the antic roots
Of yonder ivy'd oaks obstructed mourns.
There have I mark'd thee, (for I careful oft
Pursu'd, with anxious love, thy wand'ring feet)
With sigh-swoln bosom, and with moisten'd eye,
Couch'd on the verdant sod, the flow'rets pluck;
And with a look so grave, as tho' thy mind
Knew not the childish conduct of thy hand,
Scatter the vegetative beauties o'er
The gliding surface of the dimpled stream.

Anon thou'dst rise; then on the fallen oak,
Whose ivy'd trunk athwart the streamlet lays,
Thyself extend, and, dropping many a tear,
With widening circles print the troubled stream.

Sophia.
Let not this musing fancy, tho' at times
It may assume black Melancholy's garb,
Disturb the peace of my dear father's mind.

Albert.
This antic mood at first I heeded not:
For youth I know its musing moments hath.
Nay, some there are, and those of sprightly cast,
Who, in the sportive hey-day of their bloods,
Prefer, at times, by solitary brook,
Or shade umbrageous, prudently to woo
The mournful pow'r of contemplation sage,
To all the joys of pastime's jocund reign.

Sophia.
Oh my lov'd father, (whom not ties of blood
So much endear as rev'rence for thy virtues)
Think that whatsoe'er of grief's resemblance

Hath mark'd my actions, is from thence deriv'd.
The mind which virtue fills, and sense refines,
Feels more of pleasure and substantial joy
In cool Reflection's sober haunts recluse,
Than in the bow'r where revelry abounds,
And jest, and vacant laughter shake the roof.

Albert.
'Tis wisely spoken. Yet, my gentle girl!
Thou hast indulg'd this mournful mood too far,
And almost waken'd in the doating breast
Of a fond sire who only lives in thee,
A painful doubt, that in thy tender heart
Some grief was deeply rooted. Oh, Sophia!
Since my dear boy, my Edmund, from these arms
By cold Misfortune's hand was forc'd away,
To seek new stores upon that ruthless sea
Whose greedy jaws soon swallow'd up the bark
Where rested all the treasure of our hopes—
But cease the sad remembrance! cease the tale!
The tender subject has, I see, provok'd
The floods of grief adown thy cheek to flow—
And my own soul is rushing to my eyes.

Sophia.
Oh, Sir! that dear, lov'd name within my breast
Wakes the remembrance of the woeful day
When first the dismal story pierc'd our ears
Of the wreck'd vessel, and my drowned brother;
And pained Memory, with her magic key,
Unlocks the floods of grief, and drowns my soul.

Albert.
Peace to his much lov'd ashes! Rest his soul
In everlasting peace! while we below
Drain without murmuring life's remaining cup.

Sophia.
Heav'n to my father make its remnant sweet!

Albert.

'Tis thou must sweet'n it, my soul's only joy!
Look on these hoary locks, this wrinkled brow,
And this plain garb of homely russet hue.
Once in my form were strength and beauty seen,
And silken grandeur cloth'd my youthful limbs:
Like a young oak, the forest's rising pride,

I flourish'd fair, while strength and vigour reign'd;
But when decay approach'd, the fatal blast
Of swift misfortune, like the lightning's gleam,
Seer'd all my cheerful verdure. Now alas!
I, in myself nor life nor comfort have.
Thy charms, Sophia,—thy unsullied worth
(Like mantling ivy to the leafless trunk)
Give the sole comfort to my cheerless age:
In thee I smile, I flourish, and I live;
And should some envious chance thy verdure blight,
Alone I stand, deserted, and distressed,
To ev'ry joy, to ev'ry comfort lost.

Weep'st thou, my child? Restrain thy needless tears:
Let not the pictures of desponding age
(Too often prone to look for distant woes,
And dwell on fancied evils) chill thy breast.

Sophia.
I needs must weep, to think thy joys depend
On such a frail foundation. Oh my sire!
To such transcendent virtue, heav'n methinks
Should deal its bounties with a larger hand.

Albert.
Tax not, my child, the just decrees of God!
Know that whate'er his providence ordains
Is for our good; tho' oft our headstrong wills
Defeat his kind intentions, and pervert
His proferr'd boon to an unwilling curse.

Sophia.
Thy just rebuke, my father, speaks at once
The piety and wisdom of thy mind.
But heav'n's paternal goodness sure'll forgive
The rash arraignment of its high decrees
Which filial love extorted from my lips.

Albert.

But say, what shadow for complaint have we?
'Tis true, of all our rich possessions stripp'd,
Here in a humble solitude we live.
But what of that? Still thro' our azure veins
The ennobled blood of our high ancestry
Flows undefil'd by folly or by guilt.
And tho' perhaps to narrow-minded pride
We shine less awful, to enlighten'd souls
Our lowly station gives us double worth.

The diamond virtue needs no painted foil,
No tinsel ornament, to set it off;
But in its native lustre still the same,
Sparkles as brightly in the trampled dust
As on the golden circle of a crown.

Then think, Sophia, that the greatest wealth
Which our proud ancestry could ever boast,
Still, still remains, and in thy tender charge—
I need not tell thee 'tis a spotless name.

But child, farewel. I go t'invite those neighbours
Our friendly cares have tutor'd and refin'd:
These shall to day our humble banquet share.
In celebration of thy natal hour,
Our roof, Sophia, shall with joy resound:
With harmless joy that leaves no sting behind.

SCENE II.

Sophia,
solus. [After a pause.]

“In thee I smile, I flourish, and I live;
“And should some envious chance thy verdure blight,

“Alone I stand, deserted, and distress'd:
“To ev'ry joy to ev'ry comfort lost.”

Almighty Pow'r! in pity to my sire,
Launch thy destroying lightnings at this head.
Oh let me die, ere yet my shame be known!

“A spotless name!”—Distraction to reflect!
That name, he deems so spotless, and so pure,
Shall soon be branded with a harlot's shame.
Oh Roldan! Roldan! wherefore didst thou thus
My peace destroy, and then to branded Scorn,
To Grief, to Anguish yield me up a prey?

The shorten'd shades these spreading beeches yield
Declare the long-expected season past
When the dear traitor promis'd to be here.
Alas the while! how is he alter'd now!
The time has been when, with impatient step,
And mind distract with thousand hopes and fears,
He, full an hour before the appointed clock,
Would to the spot repair, and chide the sun,
Whose envious chariot, he would swear, stood still,
To intercept the season of delight.

But ah! among the brambles, flow'ret-clad,
Which skirt on either side yon narrow walk,
Methinks I hear—'Tis so. My Roldan comes.

—But oh! how slow!—Where are the eagle wings,
With which Impatience us'd to aid his feet?—
Alas! this coldness doubles ev'ry pang.
Oh anguish! cruel Roldan! Oh despair!

[Leans in a disconsolate attitude against the scene.]

SCENE III.

Sophia, Roldan.
Roldan.
In tears, Sophia, wilt thou still defile
The gentle lustre of thy matchless charms
With such unpleasant vices? Grief and Care
At once are odious, in their foolish selves,
And mar the lovely workmanship of heav'n.

Sophia.
Oh Roldan, if these tears, these silly crimes,
Offend thy sight, 'tis in thy pow'r alone
To dry my cheek, and terminate my guilt.

Roldan,
(aside.)

Lewson, I thank thee; thou hast warn'd me well.
But I have steel'd my soul by thy advice,

And now am proof 'gainst all her artifice.

I come, Sophia, as thy summons bade,
And should be happy thy commands to hear:
But brief, I pray, for I am hence engag'd.

Sophia.
There was a time, Oh Roldan! well thou know'st,
When no engagement could have drawn away
Or Roldan, or a thought of Roldan's mind,
While the now slighted, the forlorn Sophia
Would deign her converse. Yet my Roldan say,
How am I alter'd? Has this hapless face—
Where thou wert wont to swear the rival flow'rs
(The factious blooms of York and Lancaster)
Fought o'er again their long disputed right,
And strove for mastery with such lovely grace
As made Rebellion seem the child of heav'n—
Say, has it lost its wonted vermile blush?
Oh think, dear youth! the tears, which love of thee
Has caus'd so oft to lave this pale-grown cheek,
Have damp'd the fires of youth and cheerful health.
The tender languish thou wert wont to praise,
Now reigns perhaps no longer in these eyes.
Alas! if now dim sadness there pervades,

Think 'twas thy conduct cast the woful veil
Which dulls their once-lov'd azure.

Roldan.
You wrong yourself. I mean not to dispraise
The matchless beauty of the fair Sophia.
But, to the purpose of this invitation.

Sophia.

Oh Roldan! that cool air—that frigid tone
Freeze on my tongue the purpose of my mind.

Think, Roldan, think: ere this fond, foolish heart
(By love of thee, and thoughtless youth betray'd)
Drew me unheedful from strict Honour's shore,
How many joys encircled me around:
How many comforts in my bosom reign'd.
But now where are they?—

Think when time shall come,
When all the secret of our love's reveal'd—
What then must be the lost Sophia's lot?
O think thou see'st me, by my father curs'd,
Deserted by the venerable dame
Whose tender paps my infant food supply'd,
Driv'n to distraction, with a frantic hand

Cut the black thread of vital misery;
And—Oh! where roves my madd'ning fancy now?

Thou can'st not, Roldan, cast me off to Shame;
Justice will surely prompt thy tender heart
To a poor, hapless female to restore
The peace and honour you have robb'd her of.

Roldan.
I have no time, Sophia, now to talk
Upon so stale a subject. So farewel.

(Going.)
Sophia.
Yet stay, my Roldan—dear barbarian! stay.
Oh hear me yet. Thus prostrate at thy feet,
(A suppliant now to one whose docile form
Once thought no posture meek enough to shew
The humble ardour of his boasted love)
The poor distress'd Sophia lowly begs
Thou yet wilt pity an unhappy sire,
The social pleasures of whose cheerful board
Thou hast so oft with seeming friendship shar'd.

Roldan,
(aside.)

A curse upon my weakness! Still I find
The lovely syren clings around my heart;

And, but for friendly Lewson's warning lore,
I soon should melt to pity.

Fair-one, cease,
Nor waste such dulcet sounds in bootless pray'rs.

Sophia.
Not for myself I beg: my conscious soul
Rests in such firm security that thou
(If God's commands are to his creatures law)
Art in the eye of Reason, and of Heav'n,
In strictest truth my husband, that I'd scorn
To stoop so lowly for a worldly name
Which thy inhuman bosom had refus'd.
But oh my parents!—Think, Oh Roldan, think
Thou see'st my father, by Affliction stung,
Sink down dishonour'd to a timeless grave;
While a poor mother, feeble and forlorn,
Pursues, with broken heart, his hapless shade.

Roldan.
Fair damsel cease; nor waste thy words in vain.
Think'st thou that I, for all the humid pearls
Which thy fair eyes so copiously can show'r,

Will sell the sparkling gems of Titled Wealth
Which Fortune offers.

Sophia.
Oh you oft have sworn
That you preferr'd the poor Sophia's love
To all the affluent gewgaws of a court.

Roldan.
When thus I swore, I swore but what I thought:
'Twas then the dream of love. But, lady, thanks;
The vision's charm thy kind indulgence broke;
And now I plainly see, that love's a toy,
Too light to be preferr'd to honour, wealth,
And grandeur. So farewel.

Sophia.
Inhuman! stay.
Recal to mind, I had a brother once,
Tho' buried now beneath the whelming wave,
To whom thy youthful heart appear'd conjoin'd
By sacred Friendship's adamantine chains.
Wilt thou then stain thy Edmund's memory thus?

Roldan.
Pardon me, Madam; but I mean to act
As I suppose that haughty brother would,
Were he alive to hear Sophia's tale.
Farewel, for ever.

SCENE IV.

Sophia; Chorus.
Chorus.
Did you mark, my friends,
How the false wretch the weeping fair-one spurn'd?
Alas the while! to jest and sportive glee
Our neighbour bade us welcome; but I fear
To grief and anguish will his joys be turn'd.

Sophia,
(not seeing them.)

Inhuman monster! What withholds my tongue
From breathing curses on his perjur'd soul?
Why do I not upon the lightnings call
To blast his impious head? Oh me, my heart!
Spite of his cruelty, and perjur'd crimes,
Still, still I find the dear destroyer reigns
Sole lord and monarch of this foolish breast.

Oh grief of heart! where, whither shall I fly?
Say, black Despair, hast thou no pathless wild;
No forest to the cheerful eye of day
Impervious, where dark Horror reigns alone,
And where no single ray, no feeble beam
E'er interrupts the terrors of thy sway?
There would I fly, and from the world conceal
My shame and woes. Alas! my hapless sire!
My tender mother too! Ah, break my heart!

Chorus.
Say, neighbours, shall I soothe with comfort's voice
This child of Misery? Or shall we stand,
Yet unobserved, and let the hapless fair
Give, unrestrain'd, her bitter sorrows vent?
But see again she rears her woful head,
And to heav'n's high tribunal lifts her eyes,
With tears envelop'd. Pretty soul! alas!
Hard is his heart who could such tears resist.
Now see, with what a frantic attitude,
With what a glare of madness in her eye,
She to the thickest of the wood retires.
Let us not follow; for such heavy griefs
Need much of Solitude's composing calm,

Ere the sad soul is suited to receive
The healing balm of Comfort's soothing lore.

SCENE V.

Chorus.

STROPHE I.

Oh Solitude, ordain'd to be
The nurse of thought, and Reason's friend,
How many virtues join in thee!
How many rare endowments blend!
By thee the philosophic mind,
O Science! tow'ring on thy wing,
And leaving Error's train behind,
And Prejudice, and Custom blind,
Has dar'd of awful truths sublime to sing.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Oh Solitude! by heav'n design'd
Reflection's sober pow'r to wake;
To soften the obdurate mind,
And Vice's firm fix'd throne to shake!
How often has the ribald lewd,

Conducted thro' thy awful bow'r,
With trembling soul, Conviction view'd,
And loth'd the path so long pursu'd,
And weeping own'd Contrition's pious pow'r!

EPODE I.

Then comes Repentance, cloth'd in sable stole,
And with her leads fair Peace, and Virtue bright,
Who gently soothe the agonizing soul,
And chacing Guilt's tempestuous night,
The bosom cheer with heav'nly light;
And fair Religion fills the breast with pure, serene delight.

STROPHE II.

Oh Solitude! by heav'n endow'd
With pow'r to lull the stormy train
Of passions, furious, wild, or proud,
And bow them all to Reason's reign!
How oft Revenge his bloody spite
Has thrown away, and quench'd his brand,
When, riding on the wings of Night,
(All active bustle put to flight)
Thou hover'dst whispering o'er with influence bland!

ANTISTROPHE II.

Oh Solitude! by heav'n endu'd
With pow'r to soothe the stormy breast,
By Grief, Despair, or Anguish rude,
Or fickle Fortune's frown opprest!
Whose lenient pow'r can charm the heart,
Can stop Affliction's bitter tear;
And, by thy shame-concealing art,
Can lessen Disappointment's smart,
And blunt Ingratitude's fell dart severe.

EPODE II.

Oh! if beside some gurgling runnel laid,
Beneath the pendant willow's weeping sprays,
Or in some grotto's more sequester'd shade
The poor forlorn Sophia stays,
While on her cheek keen Anguish preys,
Each torturing fancy, nymph divine! from her sad breast erase.

ACT II.

[SCENE I.]

Chorus; Albert.
Chorus.
Behold, my friends, with pleasure in his looks,
Where our good, venerable host approaches;
Vigorous in age. Alas! how soon those locks,
Which deck with hoary dignity his brow,
Torn by his wretched hands, shall strew the earth!
Into whose bowels he, with broken heart,
Will soon I fear descend.

Albert.
How now, my friends!
What sunk in sullen and desponding thought!
Does this our once glad mansion yield no cheer
To rouse the sluggard sparks of sprightly glee
Within your drooping bosoms?

Chorus.
Wretched man!

Albert.
What can this mean?

Chorus.
Oh man, to misery born!

Albert.
Almighty Pow'r! confounded and amaz'd
I stand. Oh friends, relieve my tortur'd mind!
Has any sad calamity befall'n
My aged wife? or she, the tender maid,
Whose dawning virtues are the only joy,
The only comfort of my wintry years?

Chorus.
The daughter whom you mention, if aright
These aged eyes discern, now bends this way.

SCENE II.

Albert; Chorus; Sophia.
Albert.
What can this mean? Those loose, dishevell'd locks,
Those antic braided flow'rets, and those eyes

Rolling with restless glare, and gazing oft,
With varying passions, on the traceless void,
Are tokens strong of a disorder'd mind.
How now, Sophia!

Sophia.
Said'st thou not, my friend,
Roldan, my love, would instantly be here,
To end my woes, my honour to restore,
And snatch my soul from Shame? See, see, how gay,
And yet how simple is my bridal dress?
Do not these red and purple flow'rets smile,
Among their verdant foliage, doubly sweet
Upon this vestal robe?—But ah! I fear
Roldan, my love, is false, and will not come.
They say Possession damps the flames of Love.
And, now I think me, he's grown cool of late.—
Oh I'm undone for ever.

(Weeps.)
Albert.
Out, alas!
Where does Conjecture lead? Alas, Sophia!
Dost thou not know thy father?

Sophia.
Oh forgive!
My wilder'd fancy, by this briny show'r
Now almost back to Reason's rule reclaim'd,
Perceives its wild mistake.

Albert.
But speak, my child;
For on the rack of doubt thy rambling words
Have stretch'd my tortur'd soul—Of Roldan what?
Thou hast not, surely, dar'd to plunge thy sire,
Thy hoary mother, and thy spotless race,
Thyself, and all into the pit obscene
Of Guilt and Shame.

Sophia,
(aside.)
Now am I curs'd indeed.
Oh break my heart!

Albert.
Ha! dost thou tremble, wretch?
And does the harlot blood forsake thy lip?
Oh guilt! guilt! guilt!—Thou stigma to my blood!

Chorus.
Oh be more gentle! See, thy harsh rebuke
Has chac'd the fainting spirit from her lip;
And deadly Terror seals her hapless eyes.

Albert.
Oh that these pale-grown lids had long been seal'd
For ever!

Chorus.
Oh be calm! Thy child revives.

Sophia.
Oh me! my sire, disarm thy bending brow;
And pity thy poor, wretched, injur'd child,
Whom Love and Treachery at once have spoil'd
Of peace and honour.

Albert.
Torture! Say no more.
Let loose my hand, lest I should dash thee off,
And bruise thy wanton form to—

Sophia.
Oh have mercy!
Yet, yet oh hear!

Albert.
No, not a word, by heav'n!
Hence, from my sight, and never see me more.

Chorus.
Rash man, forbear! Cast not thy hapless child,
More by Misfortune than by Guilt betray'd,
To public Shame and Misery a prey.

Sophia.

Oh mercy! mercy! aid my pray'rs, oh Heav'n!
Let not a hapless wretch, whose feeling heart
(Too much to sensibility attun'd)
Owes all its woes to Tenderness and Love,
Now fail within a parent's breast to wake
The soft emotions of relenting grief;
By the excess of which alone she fell.

Oh my lov'd, cruel father! had my heart,
Like thine, been barr'd to Pity's tearful plaint,
Could I, like thee, have turn'd a careless ear

To all the pray'rs, the sighs, tear-broken moans,
And moving arts of prostrate Tenderness,
I had not fall'n—I had not now become
Thus, in sad turn, a supplicant myself.
Oh then, if Pity has not fled to heav'n,
And left this sublunary world for e'er,
Chace this obdurate vengeance from thy mind,
And let Compassion soothe the rankling wounds
Compassion caus'd.

Albert.
Vile strumpet! hence, be gone.

Sophia.
My father! Oh, in pity—

Albert.

Hence, I say!
If thou but let me hear one accent more,
Or tarry longer in my blasted sight,
I'll breathe such curses on thy hated head—

Oh heaven and earth! where is the haughty boast
I made so lately of a spotless name!

SCENE III.

Albert; Chorus.
Chorus.
See, with what feeble and distracted steps
The wretched offspring of thy tender loves
Slowly withdraws. Ah yet thy rage restrain;
And let me back recal the trembling wretch:
For sure enough of anguish must she feel
From the base treachery of a perjur'd lover,
Without the sad addition of thy hate.

Albert.
Oh cursed Fortune! Is it come to this?
Is this the fruit of all my tender hopes?
Is this the end of all my boasted joys?
Is this—Oh wanton! murderess of my fame!
Curs'd be my hoary locks, for they no more
Shall claim respect and reverence from the crowd.
Curs'd be the hour that gave the harlot birth!
And curs'd be Roldan!—damned, impious fiend!
Oh that I had the treacherous villain here!
Old as I am, and feeble with my woes,

These wither'd hands should strew his mangled limbs,
For crows to feed on, and for flies to taint.

Chorus.
Oh calm these boisterous passions! Ill befit
The frantic bellowings of ungovern'd Rage
With those white locks. List then to Reason's voice,
And calm the raging tempest of thy ire.

Albert.
He who has always sail'd on glassy seas
May mock the storm-toss'd sailor for his fears.

Chorus.
The prudent sailor, in the worst of storms,
Leaves not his bark to mercy of the waves,
Ply then the compass of unbiass'd Right;
And where that points thee steer by Reason's helm.
This would assur'dly teach thee to restore
Thy wretched daughter once more to thy love.

Albert.

Oh name it not; for never from this hour
Shall the ungrateful strumpet blast my sight.

Has she not plung'd me deep in endless shame?
Has she not turn'd the sole surviving hope,
The only comfort of my hapless age,
To grief and anguish? Oh ye cruel pow'rs!
Is this the meed of all my tender care?
Were all my sage instructions then too weak
To guard her honour? Was it, say, for this,
That from the earliest birth of infant thought
I careful strove her tender mind to form?

How have I hung delighted o'er her charms,
Pouring the prudent counsels of my soul,
With ev'ry soft, insinuating art,
Which youth is ever pleas'd with, in her ear!
How has she oft with seeming rapture stood,
And mark'd, attentive, each instructive tale.
Then with the sweetest blandishments of love
Which infant fondness to a parent e'er
Could offer, would she pay my tender care;
Hang on my arm, and fondly kiss those lips
Whose honied lore she said her heart refin'd,
Lifted her soul to Virtue, and her breast
From ev'ry narrow sentiment sublim'd.
And now, when flattering Fancy painted all
The wish'd for virtues budding in her mind,—

The deadly weeds of Shame and wanton Guilt
Deform the scene, blast all my tender hopes,
And mar the promis'd harvest. Base Sophia!
Bane of my soul! polluter of my blood!
Never, oh never will I view her more.—
Oh hapless wretch! where shall I comfort find?
Where, where are Hope and Consolation flown?

SCENE IV.

Chorus.

Oh cruel sire! who, in thy frantic rage,
Canst cast away thy lost, thy injur'd child,
A prey to Want, to Anguish, and Despair.
For, in my thought, more guilty is the sire
Who thus abandons his deluded child
Than is the youth whose passion was her bane.

You see, my friends, how haughty rage transports
To impious actions e'en the worthiest minds,
And makes us deaf to Reason and to Truth.

STROPHE I.

Oh Rage! of all the fiends of hell
Who rule the wretched mortal's mind,

And prompt to actions base and fell,
Most stubborn, inconsistent, blind!
How curs'd are they
Who own thy sway?
How doubly curs'd the wretched thralls
On whom thy prompted vengeance falls!

ANTISTROPHE I.

'Tis thou, who, doubly furious made
By lofty Pride's imperious flame,
Hast hoary Albert's soul betray'd
To barbarous Guilt and public Shame.
Oh wretched child!
By Passion wild
Excluded from the shores of Peace;
Where shall thy growing sorrows cease?

EPODE I.

Oh Pity, on whose cheek divine,
Like gems, the trembling dew-drops shine;
Whose humid lustre soothes the heart
Impierc'd by keen Misfortune's dart;

Descend, sweet maid! and with a sigh
Chace from the furious Albert's mind
Each passion, and each thought unkind,
And let his fierce resentment quickly die.

STROPHE II.

Yes, Pity, as the furious train,
Who prowling hunt their midnight prey,
Retreating shun the peopled plain,
When fair Aurora's humid ray
Benignly gilds
The cheerful fields;
So, where thy mournful beauty shines,
Resentment flies, and Rage resigns.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Oh! if at some fair virgin's ear,
Who, coyly cruel, slights the swain,
Nor answers to his love sincere,
Thou weeping pleadest, not in vain;
Forsake a while
The tender toil;
And oh! exert thy gentlest art
To soften Albert's cruel heart.

EPODE II.

Or if, some forfeit life to spare,
You now, with soft, persuasive pray'r,
With sigh-swoln breast and loosen'd zone,
And 'shevell'd locks approach the throne;
Oh hither haste! thy care forego—
Thy needless care, for Brunswick's breast,
Already with each virtue blest,
Spontaneous melts at real woe.
No need of Pity's melting pray'r,
For George and Mercy are the same:
And Envy must herself proclaim,
“Compassion's not more prone to plead than he is prone to spare!”

ACT III.

[SCENE I.]

Chorus; Roldan.
Chorus.
Neighbours, is not yon same, with folded arms,
With head low bent, and pace dejected, slow,
And intermitted, the inhuman wretch
Whose selfish lust the heavy sorrows caus'd,
Beneath whose weight the child of Albert bends
Distracted? 'Tis the same. The graceful locks,
In curls Hesperient negligently dress'd,
The bloomy peach which ripens on his cheek,
The graceful limbs, and brow, where manly Grace
Commanding sits, I can remember well.

Roldan.

Inhuman wretch! What, was it not enough
To cast her off to Misery and Shame?
But must I, barbarous! to Injustice add
The unmanly insult of a mean reproach?—
Reproach for what?—For confidence in me.
Be Lewson curst, and curst the prudent lore

He pour'd so copious in this open ear!

Say, reverend stranger, hast thou lately seen
A weeping maid, disconsolate, and fair,
In humble robes of spotless white array'd,
Among the winding lab'rinths of this wood
Unguarded stray?

Chorus.
Mean'st thou the hapless child
Of hoary Albert, who yon mansion owns?

Roldan.
The same.

Chorus.
Driv'n from her sire, with curses loud,
Some short time since, distracted and forlorn,
The wretched outcast left the spot we tread.

Roldan.
And whither went she?

Chorus.
Where a frantic mind,
Thy treacherous cruelty, and a father's rage

Might drive the wretched lunatic, as yet
I have no power to guess.

Roldan.
Distracting thought!
What if the wretched fair, to madness stung,
Should perpetrate what she did more than hint!

Chorus.
Tell me, base libertine! dost thou suppose
That the hot vengeance of th'Almighty Pow'r
(Whose potent word the forked lightning forms,
And sends it hissing at the guilty head)
Will sleep for ever o'er thy impious crimes?

Roldan.
Oh me!

Chorus.
Thou guilty wretch! who, with pretended love,
Didst win the heart of the deluded fair,
And, for a short-liv'd transport, plunge her down
At once to Shame, and Guilt—perhaps to Death—
The worst of deaths—to suicide.

Roldan.
Alas!
Now glares my guilt in all its proper hues!
Yet let us hope—.

SCENE II.

Roldan; Chorus; Messenger.
Messenger.
Oh horror! Oh my friends!
Sophia!

Roldan.
Ha!

Messenger.
The sweet Sophia! She,
The loveliest flow'r of all Salopia's plains!—

Roldan.
Speak. What of her? Oh torture! Oh my fears!

Messenger.
She's dead! she's dead!

Roldan.
Oh God!

Chorus.
Where? where? and how?

Messenger.

As, even now, her sad, repentant sire,
By me accompanied, the forest rang'd,
To seek, and bring her back, we found the fair
Suspended to a bough; a cruel cord—

But see, the wretched man, and in his arms
His breathless child.

Chorus.
This instant fly to where,
Beside the hill, Pharmacinus resides:
The pupil he of sage Humanicus,
'Tis like the hapless female may restore.

The Lecturer on Suspended Animation.

SCENE III.

Roldan; Chorus.
Albert, with the body in his arms.
Roldan.
Oh agony! Oh horror! Sweet Sophia!
Oh let me—.

Albert.
Monster hence! nor howling thus
Disturb the torpor of my dumb despair.

Roldan.
Oh kill me! kill me!

Albert.

Prithee, wretch, be gone.
My heart's too full of anguish; I've no time
For vengeance now. Th'Almighty settle 'counts
'Tween thee and me.

Oh GOD! my child! my child!
Alas the sad effects of haughty Rage!
See, in my aged arms, the mighty curse,
The deadly fruit of ill-advised Ire,—
Of guilty Ire, which kin with nearest kin
At variance sets, and the paternal hand
Bathes in the heart's blood of his dear-lov'd child.

Oh blossom early cropp'd! dead, dead art thou!
Not by thyself, but by thy father slain.

Chorus.
Oh grief of heart! now dost thou see, too late,
The just resentment of offended Heav'n.

Albert.
Oh torture! anguish! Groaning, yes, I feel
GOD in his anger (on my furious head
Heaping his pond'rous vengeance) weighs me down.
Oh poignant thoughts of Horror and Remorse!
Oh scorpions gender'd of ill-grounded Wrath!
Oh grief of heart! Stript of my only joy!—
Alas, the anguish of a wretched man!

Chorus.
When she, the wretched partner of thy bed,
Shall view her breathless, and self-murder'd child;
How will her agonies thy pangs encrease?

Albert.
Oh Death, grim tyrant! thou hast swallow'd up
The dearest treasure of my bankrupt heart:
Then, in compassion, ope thy friendly port,
And let this shatter'd, storm-toss'd vessel in.

Chorus.

Waste not in fruitless tears the precious time;
But bear thy seeming lifeless daughter hence,
And on a couch, her head with pillows rear'd,

Let her extended lay: for I have sent
For one hard by, who, by th'instruction sage
Of good Humanicus, has haply learn'd
The life-restoring art—an art long time
To Pharmacy unknown; till, of late years,
Philanthropy, of Christian virtues first,
Some generous sons of Æsculapius urg'd
To institute, that honour of their tribe,
That glory of the happy age which gave
Such worthies and such worthy schemes a birth,
The bless'd HUMANE SOCIETY, design'd
To snatch the frantic suicide from hell,
As he seem'd rushing thro' its inmost gates;
To warm once more the breast which whelming tides,
Which cold intense, or suffocating fumes,
Or vivid lightning's desolating flash
Had robb'd of vital functions. Should I tell
The wond'rous triumphs of Resuscitation,
Thou'dst think I dealt in legends far more wild
Than Monmouth, or than Baker ever wrote.

But bear her in; for soon you may expect
The wish'd assistance here.

Albert.
Hopeless, and sad,
I will obey. Oh that the shaft of Death
Would pierce my cruel heart; for I, alas!
Never, no never shall, I fear, behold
These lov'd, these beauteous eyes unclos'd again.

SCENE IV.

Roldan; Chorus.
Chorus.
Rise from the earth, thou poor, distracted wretch!
While I the comfort-giving words of Hope
Pour in thy frantic ear.

Roldan.

Ah me, a wretch!
No, here, for ever, on the earth I'll sit,
Tearing the locks from this detested head,
And weeping till these guilty eyes, dissolv'd
Themselves to tears, no longer—Oh Despair!—
—What was I saying?—Whither rove my thoughts?

Sophia! yes,
Clos'd are thy eyes, and livid are thy lips.—

Yet will I kiss those eyes, those lips will press
Till warmth and animation shall return.

Chorus.
Why hold'st thou converse with the senseless earth? The Messenger and Medical Assistant cross the stage.

Skilful Pharmacinus, beneath that roof
The hapless female lays. O enter quick;
And Heav'n thy efforts crown with kind success.

Roldan.
Alas! no ray of Hope illumes my soul.
Oh! is there none whose hand compassionate
Will plunge a poignard in this aching heart?
For I, a wretch in sorrow overwhelm'd,
Loath the bright glories of the splendid sun.

Chorus.
Take comfort, wretched man! resign not Hope.

Roldan.
Talk not of Hope or Comfort, 'tis in vain:
Despair's cold gripe my aching heart benumbs.

Sophia! oh Sophia! murder'd fair!
Close on me, earth, for I am now no more.

Chorus.
Wilt thou not suffer Hope's soft, soothing voice
Thy anguish to suspend?

Roldan.
There is no hope.
Let this black day of horrors and of guilt
Close the short period of my wretched life—
Wretched thro' sin. Oh strike me, vengeful Heav'n,
Nor let the setting sun behold my woes.

Chorus.
Hear, wretched youth, and learn from thence to hope,
What wonders the resuscitating art
Has oft perform'd.

Roldan.
Sophia! oh Sophia!
Monster that I am! whither shall I turn?
Heav'n on all sides is up in arms against me.

Oh ye deep, gloomy caverns of Despair!
Open and receive me.

(Throws himself along on the ground.)
Chorus.
A guilty mind
Has render'd him to Consolation deaf.
Yet let us soothe him with such sounds as may
Most tend to 'waken Hope and chace Despair.
Relate the youth whose frost-suspended life
On Thames's peopled strand was late restor'd.

Semichorus.
Let not Despair possess thy soul: but mark
The triumphs of Resuscitation's arts.
Ere yet the feeble, distant sun
His second monthly course had run,
A friendless boy, whom cruel Fate
Compell'd with early toil and late
To ply on wintry tides the cheerless oar,
Sunk from his seat of vital pow'rs forlore.
Full bleak the frigid Erus blew;
The chilling fleeces gleaming flew,

Obscur'd the earth and hid the sky,
And scarcely could the clouded eye
The ice-clogg'd stream from the white shore descry;
Thus, till the distant port was gain'd,
Unaided the poor youth remain'd.
When now the boat arriv'd at last;
The tempest bleak, and stormy blast,
Had curv'd the stiffen'd breathless form.
No pulses beat; no part was warm:
The marbled corse no sign of life retain'd.
Clench'd at each ear a shrivell'd hand remain'd,
Nor all the strength which man could lend
The arms contraction could unbend.
Entire the sanguine blush was fled;
A livid pale each limb o'erspread;
Each limb appear'd irremediably dead.
On the left breast the chin reclin'd,
There seem'd indissolubly join'd.
Lock'd was the jaw; the features all
Distorted, shrivell'd, shrunk, and small.
The neck's contracted muscles felt like stone;
His open eyes with no bright lustre shone;
But, in the head retreated far,
The lessen'd balls were fix'd in horrid stare.

But when the kind assistance came,
And on the frost-contracted frame
Each art resuscitating tried,
The corse, at length, with warmth supplied,
Groan'd death-like; while by slow degrees
Spasms the rousing body seize.
With shrieks full loud, and bitter moan,
And limbs in writhes convulsive thrown,
Expressive of excessive pains,
Life her wonted seat regains.

Chorus.
Say, thou despairing wretch! who, prostrate still,
Seem'st to be digging for thyself a grave,
Reap'st thou no comfortable hope from this?

Roldan.

Oh no! 'tis different far. Tho' pinching frost,
Or deep emersion in the 'whelming wave,
May lock the soul within the cold-grown corpse,
And, life suspended, still keep Death at bay,
This cannot give in other cases hope.

Thus, thus I scatter to the vagrant winds
These hated locks; sad emblems of my hopes,

My joys, and comforts, which by anguish keen
Are torn and scatter'd from my wretched soul.

Chorus.

Forbear, rash youth, these acts of desperation:
Patient submit to Heav'n's supreme decree.
Meanwhile once more we'll try to quell Despair
Within thy wretched bosom. Thou shalt learn
There is no case, how desperate so e'er,
That is not gilded with a ray of Hope.

STROPHE

Despair! of Guilt thou frantic child,
In storms and dreadful lightnings got
By fierce Disease, Affliction wild,
Or keen Misfortune's swift embrace,
And in tempestuous whirlwinds born.
How wretched is his lot
Who trembling views thy frantic face,
And owns thy sway with heart forlorn!
Oh Roldan! lift thy pale, desponding head,
And hear how Heav'n's high grace before,
When ev'ry sign of life was fled,
Has deign'd lost Animation to restore.

ANTISTROPHE.

Returning from the banquet gay,
As late a son of Bacchus came,
The forked lightnings cross'd his way;
The awful thunders roll'd on high,
The tempest rag'd on ev'ry side.
And now the gleaming flame
Did round his black'ning temples fly,
And stretch'd him senseless on the ground.
Trembling, aghast, his pale companions stood:
No succour, no relief was near.
The breathless corse, with curdled blood,
They, homeward bearing, drew with many a tear.

EPODE.

Yet even he, tho' many hours he laid
Ere could be got the wonted aid,
Was to his wond'ring friends restor'd:
The blest resuscitating art
The soul-secreting caves explor'd,

And sat the captive spirit free:
Vibrates again the panting heart.
And now, renew'd in second life,
Restor'd to a delighted wife,
An aged mother and a wrinkled sire,
To tender relatives, and loving friends,
Among the social tribe he blends.

Then let not Hope, sad youth, expire;
But to that Power thy fervent pray'rs express,
Who crowns the toils of Charity with such unhop'd success.

Vide Reports for the Year 1783. Case 411. page 15.

This instance of restoring animation to a body struck with lightning was related by Dr. Hawes, in his last course of lectures on the subject of Suspended Animation. Imparted to me by a Pupil.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Roldan; Chorus; Edmund.
Edmund.

Lay still, my bounding heart! a while lay still,
Nor burst, thro' eagerness, thy swelling side!—
It will not be; the transports unrestrain'd,
Now as I nearer to the spot approach,
Grow doubly great. Oh agony of joy!
Oh bliss too great! Now, after four long years
Of tedious absence, thus to be restor'd
To a lov'd father and a doting mother.

But oh! how bounds my heart to thee, Sophia!
Thou dear-lov'd playmate of my infant years—
My lovely sister! And my bosom friend,
My Roldan too! him shall I see once more.
What joy to dart impatient to their arms,
Ris'n as it were from death! My dear Sophia!
How will thy tender bosom bound like mine!
How will thy lovely eyes with transport shine!
How will delight run thrilling thro' each vein,

When, with excess of fondness, thou shalt clasp
Thy long-lost brother once more to thy breast!

Roldan.
Oh wretch! wretch! wretch!

Edmund.
Alas! what moan is that?
Almighty Pow'r! he bears my Roldan's form;—
But Heav'n preserve him from such bitter woe!
For ah! his griefs would blight my budding joys.
Poor wretch! who, stretch'd all frantic on the ground,
Breath'st forth thy dolours to the public day,
What art thou? What thy plaint? Reveal and—Ha!

Roldan.
Shield! shield me, Heav'n! Have then my horrid crimes,
From the deep bottom of the briny tide,
Recall'd the ghost of my much injur'd friend?

Edmund.
What mean'st thou, Roldan?

Roldan.
Yes; I know thou com'st
To scourge and torture the detested wretch
Who dar'd, in violation of all laws
Of Friendship, and of Truth, of God, and man,
Despoil the sweet Sophia, hapless fair!
Of the rich treasure of her virgin fame;
And—

Edmund.
Ha! her virgin fame? Infernal villain!—
But thou shalt find in me no lifeless ghost,
Sent from the dreary mansions of the grave
To scare thy scoundrel soul with idle shrieks;
But one, oh monster! still possess'd of strength
To send thy howling soul to shades below;
There, in the ever-flaming depths of hell,
To mix with spirits of congenial stamp,
And clank thy burning chains, oh thou detested!—
With such devils as thyself.—Oh torture!
My sister, oh!

Chorus.
Alas! fresh woes remain.

Edmund.
Say'st thou fresh woes? What in the book of Fate
Can still so black be found as to increase
The more than Stygian horrors of my mind?

Roldan.
Oh wretch accurst, and impious as I am!
My cruel treatment drove the frantic fair
With desperate hand to terminate her woes.
Oh fatal cord!

Edmund.

Dead? Dead? Sophia dead?
My much-lov'd sister self-destroy'd? Alas!
Is this the fruit of all my springing hopes?
Do thus my transports end?

My sister dead?
Plung'd, all uncall'd for, in the awful realms
Of dark Eternity? Oh horrid thought!
Oh my tormented soul!—And thou the cause?
What damned fiend could steel thy barb'rous breast
To such accursed deeds?—But words are wind;
And bosoms hard as thine are not empierc'd
With unsubstantial weapons: therefore rise,

And, like a man (if manly feeling dwell
In breasts like thine) oppose my injur'd arm:
For die thou shalt, or to his sister's ghost
Dispatch young Albert's.

Chorus.
Ah brave youth, forbear!

Roldan.
Restrain him not. Oh my dear, injur'd friend!
Let loose thy rage. Here prostrate at thy knees
I bare my bosom, and entreat thy arm
To expedite the blow. Yes, kill the wretch
Whose damned arts, and cruelty have robb'd
Thy fair, accomplish'd, tender, lovely sister,
Of peace, of virgin honour, and of life.

Chorus.
Ah youth, forbear! Sheathe, sheathe thy furious sword!
See'st not the tear repentant down his cheek
Enanguish'd rolls, and speaks a tortur'd mind?

Edmund.

No, live, thou impious wretch! I will not blot
The name of Christian, which I boast to bear,
By taking vengeance of a prostrate foe,
Whose keen contrition's in his conduct seen.

But oh ye pow'rs, how cruel is my lot!
Wreck'd, and by cruel miracle preserv'd,
For four long years in distant climes I rov'd;
Long time a hapless vagabond, and poor;
Rent from the arms of ev'ry tender tie,
Of parents, sister, and of bosom friend,
Forlorn I griev'd. At length when sudden wealth
Had blest my toils, and winds and waves combin'd
To waft me rapid o'er the parting waves,—
Then when, of hope and expectation full,
I dart impatient to the much-lov'd arms
Of tender relatives, my cruel stars
Blast all my hopes, and plunge me headlong down
To the black abyss of Despair. I find
The dearest source of all my promis'd bliss
Destroy'd and ruin'd by a villain's hand;—
I find that villain in the bosom friend
Whose lov'd idea, thro' each distant clime,
I bore about, delighted, in my heart.

Chorus.
Have patience, noble youth, a while, and hear.—

Edmund.
What should I hear? What is't thou canst relate?
Canst thou describe with what a frantic look,
What tones of anguish, and what actions wild,
My wretched father tore the silver hairs,
With palsied hand, from off his hoary head?
Canst thou the shrieking agonies relate
Wherewith my mother view'd her breathless child?
This would'st thou tell me? This? For nothing sure
But sounds of horror and relations dire
Shall e'er again assail these wretched ears!

Chorus.
No, I would give thee comfort; give thee hope.

Edmund.
Away! What comfort can there be for me?
Oh sweet Sophia! dear, dear murder'd sister!—
But I will go, and (breathless as she is)
Strain her, distracted, to my sorrowing breast.

Chorus.
Not for the world. Thou must not enter now.
Tarry and hear: tho' late a breathless corpse
Thy sister was, yet is there hope she may,
In full possession of each vital pow'r,
Be to thy arms restor'd.

Edmund.
Ah, how! declare.

Chorus.
Of the HUMANE SOCIETY hast thou
As yet not heard? whose honours and rewards
Have to perfection brought the godlike art
Of rousing into life the dormant sparks
Of animation, and the latent fire
Rekindling with resuscitating breath
Of Medical Benevolence.

Edmund.
Before
The British coast I left, I oft have heard

The noble acts to which their civic crowns
Had urg'd the students of the healing art.

Chorus.
Now to perfection rais'd, the Institution,
Beneath the guardian patronage and care
Of our benevolent and pious King,
(Whose philanthropic principles, and zeal
For patriot works in lustre far exceed
The brightest jewels in the radiant wreath
That binds his royal brow) diffuses wide
The streams of its benevolence. The while
The noble Stamford's care and warm support,
(Assisted by the generous, the humane,
And worthy Beauchamp, Willoughby de Brook,
Pusey, and Andrews, valiant Oglethorpe,
And many others, whom the ardent glow
Of pure Benevolence has thus inspir'd)
Shelters its progress, and its pow'rs extends.

The while Humanicus, with annual toil,
Extends the useful knowledge of the means
By which the great Resuscitating Art
May be improv'd, and by Perfection crown'd.

Edmund.
This could I joy to hear, if grief of heart,
And poignant anguish for my private woes,
Each thought did not absorb. But what of this?

Chorus.
E'en now a pupil of this godlike art,
By good Humanicus instructed well
In all the useful knowledge of the science,
Essays thy sister's spirit to recal
From the dread portals of Eternity.

Edmund.
Assist him, Heav'n, and all ye heav'nly pow'rs!

Roldan.
And if a wretch so plung'd in guilt may dare
To Heav'n's bright throne uplift his suppliant eyes,
Oh crown with swift success the pious toil.

Edmund.
But wherefore stand I here, when I, perhaps,
Might to my dear-lov'd sister aid impart?
I'll haste and—.

Chorus.
—Hold! forbear! Dost thou not think
Thy unexpected presence must retard
Their needful care? Or say, can it be fit,
Should thy poor sister yet again respire,
Thou, who so long wert number'd with the dead,
Shouldst meet her op'ning eyes?

Edmund.
I yield, my friend.
But tell me: Dost thou think there's ground to hope?

Chorus.

If numerous instances of such success
As, if not vouch'd by witnesses of worth,
Would rank them with the idle tales of old
Of witchcraft and of magic, can suffice
As a foundation for so bold a hope,
Then will I say we ought not to despair.

For not long since a father and a son,
Whom cold and poverty impell'd to sleep
Within a potter's smokehouse, by the fumes
Were suffocated, and each vital pow'r,
Suspended, pent within their senseless breasts.
These did the Art Humane to life restore.
And, stranger still, when o'er the silver Trent
Destructive Winter spread her icy arms,
A little female, whom the semblance smooth
Beguil'd, with step advent'rous cross the stream
To bend her course, sunk thro', and by the tide
Swept far away, for half a dismal hour
Whelm'd in the aqueous element remain'd.
Yet even she was by the wonted means
To life restor'd, and to her frantic friends.

But should I ev'ry wond'rous case recite
Of those who from apparent death (produc'd

Or by emersion in the whelming tide,
By suffocation of unwholesome fumes,
By cord, by poison, or by other means)
Have rescued been, and to their friends restor'd,
Revolving Seasons to th'unfinish'd tale
Would pass all list'ning by.

Edmund.
Thy soothing words
On my benighted heart, reviving, pour
The cheerful lustre of fair dawning hope.

Roldan.
For me, a wretch! so far has coward Guilt
My soul unmann'd, I do not dare to hope.

Chorus.

Such the advantage virtue has o'er vice.

STROPHE I.

Wretched mortals! would ye know
Joy in weal, relief in woe,
Still to Virtue's sacred law
All your thoughts and actions square;
Then shall never black Despair
Your souls pervade with gloomy awe.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Hope—a virgin, chaste and pure,
Never, never will endure
To leave her blest ethereal seat,
To dwell with monsters guilt-defil'd;
But she loves, with influence mild,
To gild fair Virtue's sad retreat.

STROPHE II.

Thus in Edmund's guiltless mind
Dark Despondence cannot find
Gloomy space where she may rest;
Nor will Hope, with lightsome train,
Golden-tressed goddess! deign
To 'lumine Roldan's guilty breast.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Potent Pow'r, who rul'st on high!
Lord of earth, of sea, and sky!
Who disposest by thy word
All events, our griefs remove;
Nor let our hopes vain phantoms prove.
Oh be the fair to life restor'd!

EPODE.

And oh! with ev'ry joy those worthies crown,
Whom Christian Charity did first inspire
To fan in clay-cold breasts the dormant fire!
And kindly show'r each blessing down
On ev'ry pious head,
Who from the seeming dead
Has snatch'd the wretch, whom deep Despair
Impell'd Life's half-spun thread to tear,
Or whom some unforeseen event
To Death's half-open'd portals sent!

See the Honorary Medal given by the society to those who have restored Suspended Animation,

The reverse of the medal.

The Right Honourable the Earl of Stamford, President.

Lord Beauchamp, Lord Willoughby de Brooke, the Honourable Philip Pusey, Sir Joseph Andrews, Baronet, General Oglethorpe, &c. Vice-Presidents.

Reports for 1784. Case 480. page 107.

This is, I fear, not the only instance in which I have failed to make these facts appear tolerably in a poetical dress; perhaps it is not possible so to do. But it was my particular wish, by instancing various cases, to shew the public that the Humane Society did not confine their benevolent efforts to apparent deaths occasioned by one kind of accident only.

Case 482. page 111.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Roldan; Edmund; Chorus.
Edmund.

How long in expectation must we pine?
How long upon our eager hearts must Doubt
And keen Suspense with baneful influence prey?

Ye light-wing'd messengers of Heav'n! descend:
Let me no longer on the rack of Doubt
Be stretch'd impatient; but to instant Joy
Exalt at once, or headlong to Despair
Precipitate me down.

Chorus.

Impatient youth!
Curb the wild passions of thy headstrong mind,
And humbly wait th'Omnipotent decree.

Behold, my son, where down yon broken steep,
(With many an aged beech, and sapless elm,
Romantic, interspers'd) the foaming stream
Tumultuous rolls its way; and, as it rolls,

Breaks ever and anon the stony earth
With its impatient wave, and sweeps away
Its verdant boundaries, and its bed deforms.
Such is, within the human breast, the stream
Of Petulance, which, scorning all restraint,
Impairs the bounds of Reason, and deforms
The heart it flows thro' with unruly force.

Edmund.
Hark! hear'st thou not some busy noise within?
'Tis so. The door uncloses. Oh my heart!
With what a strong convulsion does each throb
Against my breast resound! What news? what news?
Hope glances from thy eye.

SCENE II.

Roldan; Edmund; Chorus; Messenger.
Messenger.
Sophia breathes.
Once more her eyes unclos'd, glad—.

Roldan.
—What say'st thou?
Did I thy accents rightly understand?

Or did unsettled Reason, to increase
To tenfold fierceness all my present pangs,
The fond delusion frame? Lives the sweet fair?
Does lov'd Sophia live?

Messenger.
She does.

Edmund.
Oh Heav'n!
My heart, too full of joy, prevents my tongue
Its gratitude to speak.

Roldan.
And shall I yet
Call sweet Sophia mine? Gaze once again
Upon her blooming charms, and ardent clasp
Her panting bosom to my bounding heart?

Chorus.
Thou messenger of happy tidings, say,
How waken'd first the dormant spark of life?

Messenger.
Long ev'ry quick'ning method we essay'd
Ere the most feeble gleam of distant Hope

Our arduous efforts cheer'd. In vain the lance
With keen incision the swoln vein unlock'd;
Two black coagulated drops alone
The orifice discharg'd. All hopeless we
Each art reanimating still applied,
While pale Despondence on each clouded brow
Disheartening sat. At length a feeble pulse,
Irregular and slow, Pharmacinus
Imagin'd he could feel. Inspir'd by Hope,
We doubled ev'ry effort, till in time
She faintly breath'd.

Edmund.
Oh sweeter sounds thy tale
Than the love carols of the matin lark
To the lorn ears of his night-sever'd mate.

Messenger.
And now the livid skin a purer hue
Began to wear; the while the trembling lids
Convulsions shook, as shake the misty clouds
On the green summit of some eastern hill,
Ere fair Aurora opes her radiant eyes
To glad the weeping plains with beaming light.

Then with a heartfelt sigh (while o'er her form
Auspicious moisture spread) her hand she mov'd.
And now her forehead glow'd; the coral blush
Chac'd from her trembling lips the inky dye.
The heart, once more, with slow vibration heaves;
The swelling sides distend; the pulses beat;
And the white panting bosom feebly swells.

Roldan.
Thou speakest transport to my list'ning soul!

Messenger.
Oh! had you seen her, when her languid eyes
Beam'd weeping forth between her opening lids;
As 'tween dispersing clouds the watry sun
Darts his enfeebled beams, while fertile show'rs
Fatten the vernal meadows, and restore
Their wonted beauty to the wither'd plains!
Such was her look, and such the kind effect
Her falling tears produc'd; for as they fell
Her fainted charms reviv'd, and to her mind
Her reas'ning pow'rs return'd.

Roldan.
Indulgent Heav'n!

Chorus.
These are the blessings, good Humanicus!
Thy pious industry on Britain show'rs!
'Tis not for nought that with incessant toil
And medical exertions thou hast sought
Afflicting pangs to change to springing joys,
And Grief's black stole, to Pleasure's varied robe.
The gloomy torch, the sad funereal pile
Design'd to light, thro' thee has oft been chang'd
To flames Hymeneal. Generous sage, proceed!
Exulting, Britain owns with grateful joy
How much to thy unwearied application
(Which the HUMANE SOCIETY has brought
From small beginnings to its present height)
She stands indebted. She with truth declares
That he whose efforts save a subject's life,
Deserves more honour than the hardy chief

Whose valiant daring in th'embattled field
The blood-stain'd laurel reaps. What then dost thou
(Oh good in private as in public life!)
Of grateful Britain claim!

Edmund.
On him and all
The pious founders of this Institution,
Be Heav'n's choice blessings show'r'd!

Chorus.

Amen! Nor be
Its Royal Patron, or Supporter kind
Without reward regarded.

STROPHE.

Benevolence, thou pow'r divine!
Whose radiant charms so brightly shine,
That not the thick'ning clouds impure
Of Guilt, who stalks with giant stride,
With Levity, and thoughtless Pride
Attendant on each wanton side,
Thy glorious influence can obscure!

Whatever vices curse this age,
Whatever thoughtless follies rage,
Yet thou, bright cherub! still, with influence bland,
Gild'st with thy smiles divine this favour'd land.

ANTISTROPHE.

Lo Charity! how many a shrine
To thee is rear'd, thou pow'r divine!
If Lust laments her life of shame,—
Compell'd by Anguish to deplore
The hour she launch'd from Honour's shore,
Thou open throw'st th'inviting door,
And dost the wand'ring fair reclaim.
For ev'ry various kind of woe
Thy gracious streams abundant flow.
Thy stewards sit at rich Augusta's gate
T'invite Distress to share a happier fate!

EPODE.

But far conspicuous o'er the rest
Of Charity's resplendent works,
That Institution shines confest,
Whose generous efforts to the human breast
The long suspended life restore;

And fan the spark that lurks
Within the senseless corse supprest.
Oh Albion! thy thrice favour'd shore
May Heav'n's peculiar favour boast:
For say, can any foreign coast
Such charities extensive show?
Or did one kingdom ever know,
And in one happy age,
So many worthies truly great,
So prompt to stem Affliction's rage,
To blunt the shafts of frowning Fate.—

Sophia,
(within.)
Oh let me taste again the vernal gale.

Roldan.
Ah cease, my friends! for hark what sweeter sounds
Warble harmonious in my ravish'd ear,
And bear my raptur'd soul aloft to Heav'n.

Sophia,
(within.)
Oh lead me friends, I pray, where the sweet flow
Of unobstructed breezes may regale
The feeble spirit fluttering in my breast.

Chorus.
Lo! this way comes thy sister. Youth, retire.
Till she of thy arrival shall be warn'd,
Prudence forbids the wish'd for interview.

I am credibly informed that several females whom the cruelty of our sex have driven to attempt the crime of suicide, have not only been restored to life by the exertions of the Humane Society, but have been honourably united to the objects of their affections.

The Magdalen Hospital.

SCENE III.

Roldan; Messenger; Chorus; Sophia; Albert; Monimia; Medical Assistant.
Monimia.
Oh my dear child! and do these aged eyes,
Once more with doting fondness gazing o'er
Thy animated limbs, admire the glow
Of matchless beauty which pervades thy form?

Albert.
My dear Sophia! my soul's better part!
And shall I yet, yet once again attend
With silent rapture to thy tuneful tongue?
Shall I once more admire th'enchanting flow
Of wisdom and of softness, sweetly join'd
In unison by thy attractive tongue?

Edmund,
(at a distance.)
Oh cruel Fate! must I thus gaze aloof,
Nor dare to be partaker of their joys?

Roldan,
(kneeling)
Oh thou dear injur'd fair-one! at thy feet
A wretch, who dares not to thy injur'd face
Uplift his guilty eyes, submissive begs
Thy pardon and thy pity.

Sophia.
Roldan rise,
Nor by that posture to my mind recal
Those fatal moments I must blush to think of.
Oh leave me, leave me!

Roldan.
Ah! in mercy yet,
If thou wouldst not to desperation drive
A poor repentant wretch, Sophia hear.

Sophia.
Oh my poor drooping heart! What wouldst thou have?

Roldan.
Thy pardon, sweet Sophia!

Sophia.
I could not,
If in my nature I were so inclin'd,
Refuse my pardon to a suppliant now;
When I so lately at the hand of Heav'n
Such favours have receiv'd.

Roldan.
And wilt thou, then,
At Hymen's altar crown my life with joy?

Sophia.
No, Roldan; no. Can I suppose that thou,
Who couldst insult my weakness, wouldst not still
Of thy untimely triumph mind me oft?
What then but anguish could our union bring?

Roldan.
Oh never, never, by high Heav'n I swear—.

Sophia.

Peace, Roldan; peace! High Heav'n's eternal throne,
And all the sacred attributes of God,
Thy faithless vows already have blasphem'd.
Oh do not wake the memory of thy crimes,
By repetition of those sacred oaths
Which could not bind thy wavering heart before.

But oh farewel! my feeble spirits faint.
This conflict of contending passions shakes
My frame too much. Farewel!

Roldan.
Ah stay, Sophia!
Oh didst thou know the pangs which gnaw my breast!
And didst thou know with how sincere an ardour—

Sophia.
—Urge me not. I will not think so harshly,
As, that thou didst not from thy soul intend
Whate'er the ardour of thy early love
So frequent swore. But if thy changeling mind
Was so unstable once, what hold secure
Can I at present have? Therefore farewel.

Roldan.

Oh torture! Oh my friends! Ye who have seen
My keen sensations of sincere remorse,
Will none, in pity, plead a wretch's cause?

Where shall I wander, desperate and alone,
And spend in bootless penitence my days?
Some silent, dark, sequester'd gloom I'll find,
Where lazy zephyrs thro' close woven sprays
Scarce whispering creep, nor with their feeble wings
Disturb the surface of the sleeping lake;
Where living thing as yet was never seen,
Save when the widow'd dove retir'd to mourn;
Where tread of foot ne'er press'd the unshorn grass,
Unless the spirits (if such things there are)
Which fill with troubled dreams the dormant brain,
Might there withdraw, to gather gloomy thoughts.
There will I ponder on Sophia's charms,
And sigh away my soul in pray'rs for her.

Haply Sophia, when I am no more,
Thou'lt to my memory drop a tender tear,
And sigh a pray'r for my departed soul.

Sophia.
Oh Roldan!

Chorus.
Youth, behold the fair-one melts,
And soft consenting in her azure eyes
Appears to languish bland.

Roldan.
Oh my Sophia!
Can then thy heart, in pity to my woes,
Accept the incense of repentant sighs,
And melt compassionate at these my tears?

Sophia.
Alas! Sophia's heart was never form'd
To hear her Roldan sigh, and hear unmov'd.
Then, if indeed this hand can make thee bless'd,
Accept it. Well thou know'st my heart is thine.

Roldan.
Oh bliss too great!

Chorus.
Hear me, thou gentle fair,
And you, ye happy parents, Yet in store
There is increase of happiness.—Your son—.

Albert
Ha! What of him?

Chorus.
Oh fortify your hearts
With firm philosophy; for I shall tell
What else with joy your reason might o'erturn.
Your Edmund still survives.

Sophia.
Oh Heav'n!

Chorus.
And soon he will be here.

Edmund
comes forward.
Yes, here he is.
Oh my dear sister! fondling of my heart!
Do I then clasp thee in my arms once more
Alive and breathing, rescu'd from the grave?
Oh transport! oh delight!

(Embraces her.)
Sophia.
My brother, oh!

Edmund.
Oh my lov'd parents!

(Embrace.)

Chorus.
While with transports they,
Too great for utterance, weep their sudden joys,
Say does thy heart, Pharmacinus, not feel
A conscious glow of intellectual pleasure,
Beyond the vulgar joys of appetite?

Medical Assistant.
It does, my friend. But be it not forgot
That first to Heav'n, which warm'd the generous breasts
Of those who spread Resuscitation's art,
And next, to that society belongs
The grateful tribute of sincere applause.

Chorus.
'Tis spoken well. And ye, most happy friends!
Let not the pleasures of your future lives
Drive from your hearts the memory of this day;
But ever, with true gratitude inspir'd,
Confess the mercies which ye have receiv'd,
With several thousand fellow creatures more,
From Heav'n and the HUMANE SOCIETY.

Exeunt Omnes.