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 |
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V. | BOOK V. |
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The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge | ||
BOOK V.
ARGUMENT.
Scriblerus, having consulted the Morosoph, relates to his friends the result of his enquiry. That he must leave them to go in search of the philosopher's stone, which is promis'd him. That they must return to England and found a society, of which he is to be visitor; and being assured, by possession of the stone, of longævity, if not immortality, he promises to visit the society every century. After a variety of hardships which our Hero undergoes in twelve months travel from Genoa, where his friends leave him, he arrives at a grove near Munster in Germany. In this city, after several fruitless attempts to transmute lead into gold, the alchymists agree to postpone the farther trial of their art to the next day, hoping it might be more auspicious, as being the first day of April, the birth-day of that successful alchymist Basilius Valentinus. That night Plutus appears to the Hero, and directs him to the fatal root which is to procure the transmutation of metals and prolongation of life. Inspired with gratitude and devotion, Scriblerus sacrifices a goose and thirty goslins, which engages him in a sharp conflict with a revengeful maiden, whom at length he vanquishes, and, with a moderation singular in a conqueror, leaves, to pursue his journey to Munster.
Big with the fortunes of the following day.
Soon as the wish'd-for morn with purple streaks
Th' horizon's utmost bound, Scriblerus seeks
The raptur'd seer. A long successless day
Thro' every street he takes his tiresome way.
The night approach'd: when, seated on the ground,
Alone, the pensive Morosoph he found.
A woolly sheepskin veil'd his rev'rend head:
Thence lengthen'd downwards and beneath him spread.
(Thus, near Albunea's hallow'd fount, repos'd
On fleecy skins, the priest of Faunus doz'd)
Ill-brook'd the rigour of th' inclement air.
A deep capacious bowl, replete with store
Of potent opium in his hand he bore.
So fam'd Theangelis with hallow'd rage
Fills the swoll'n bosom of the Persian mage.
The scratching-stick with which the Seer subdu'd
The tingling tumults of his boiling blood,
Seem'd, as he whirl'd it, the Chaldean rod,
Or Thyrsus, symbol of the Lybian god.
The Seer observ'd; and dealt a furious blow
Full on his head: whose force impetuous stunn'd
Th' unwary sage, and fell'd him to the ground.
Frantic awhile with ideot grin he gaz'd;
At length the Hero from the earth he rais'd:
Then to his lips convey'd the balmy draught;
The senseless Chief the slumb'rous potion quaft.
His heavy eyes the slumb'rous potion clos'd,
Ere yet his tongue his various doubts propos'd.
Wrapt in th' embrace of sleep, he past the night,
And rising, joyful, with the morning light,
His friends he sought, impatient to relate
Their glories promis'd by propitious fate.
Eager alike his dear companions ran
To meet their chief; Scriblerus thus began.
What rich reward to crown our toil remains.
Last night, so Jove ordain'd, alone I found
The heav'n-taught Prophet seated on the ground.
An hallow'd rage already had possest
His raptured soul, and heav'd his swelling breast.
His turgid eye-balls roll'd an hideous glare;
With chatt'ring teeth, the working foam he churn'd,
And thrice the solid earth, impatient, spurn'd;
Then, wildly starting, danced with frantic bounds,
Whirling his rapid head in giddy rounds:
He wav'd th' Edonian Thyrsus in his hand,
And look'd a priest of Bacchus' furious band.
Till the first efforts of his rage abate:
When by his arm the Thyrsus urged around,
Full on my temples gave this goary wound.
Prostrate I lay. At length the pitying sage,
Calm'd and recover'd from his holy rage,
With friendly steps advancing, seiz'd my hand:
Chear'd with his voice and raised me from the sand;
Then with Nepenthes crown'd a mantling bowl,
Whose sov'reign charms restored my drooping soul.
From these rich shores the virtuous drugs she brought.
My spirits soon reviving in my breast,
I thus the hallow'd Morosoph addrest:
Dart thro' the distant regions of the skies:
To thee an earnest suppliant am I come,
To hear thy dictates and enquire my doom.
Then, fill'd with sacred inspiration, speaks.
Those secrets wrapt from vulgar minds, to know.
Hear with a grateful and attentive heart,
The precepts which thy kinder stars impart.
Again embarking on a length of sea,
Fair Genoa seek: there quit thy mournful friends,
But learn what fortune their return attends.
I see, I see them spread their swelling sails:
Some fav'ring pow'r supplies the friendly gales.
I see fair Albion's tow'ring cliffs arise,
While to the wish'd-for port the vessel flies.
Now, now, behold, their hopes successful crown'd,
With wisest laws an infant state they found—
See how her sons with gen'rous ardour strive,
Bid ev'ry long-lost Gothic art revive.
Each British science studiously explore:
Their dress, their building, and their coins restore.—
And yon fair isle with ancient glories grace.
Let others view with astronomic eyes,
Yon lucid vagrants in the peopled skies:
Let them the habitable dome design,
Taught by Vitruvius, or old Euclid's line;
Give canvas life, and mould the breathing brass;
With storied emblems, stamp th' historic coin;
The painter's skill and poet's fancy join:
Be yours the task, industrious, to recal
The lost inscription to the ruin'd wall;
Each Celtic character explain; or shew
How Britons ate a thousand years ago:
On laws of jousts and tournaments declaim,
Or shine the rivals of the herald's fame.
But chief the Saxon wisdom be your care,
Preserve their idols, and their fanes repair;
The cold devotion of the moderns warm
With Friga's fair hermaphroditic form:
And may their deep mythology be shown
By Seater's wheel and Thor's tremendous throne.
Reveals the fame of ages yet unborn.
He paused and fix'd his eyes as tho' he view'd
Those glories present, then his speech renew'd:
Superior far thy glorious self awaits.
But first must roam a mendicant in show;
Naked and pennyless thro' distant lands,
And eat thy bread the alms of stranger hands.
The rugged Alps must those bare feet assail,
Froz'n on the hill, or swelt'ring in the vale;
Scorn and contempt thy painful lot remain,
Till Munster's venerable walls thou gain.
Munster the destin'd period of thy woe:
There, on a lake, white as the new-fall'n snow,
A goose, majestic, o'er the waves shall ride,
And thirty milk-white goslins by her side.
Sacred to Plutus, stands a lofty wood,
Beneath its shadowing branches, grows a flow'r
Whose root the god endues with wondrous pow'r;
Not the famed Moly which great Hermes bore
To sage Ulysses on th' Ææan shore;
Nor that restorative the Tartar boasts,
Nor all the growth of Arab's blissful coasts,
Nor balsams which from northern trees transpire,
Tho' six successive months th' ætherial fire
With constant rays the balmy juice sublime,
Can match this offspring of the German clime.
No golden branches crackle to the wind;
What tho' it seem (so Plutus has decreed)
To vulgar eyes, a despicable weed:
Yet from this herb, a thousand virtues flow;
This pow'rful antidote for every woe.
Nor meagre sickness, nor consuming care,
Shall waste thy vigour with intestine war.
Tho' age thy wither'd front with wrinkles plough,
And blanch the hoary honours of thy brow;
Tho' sanguine gamesters bett against thy life,
Thou unconcern'd shalt hear the wagering strife.
The great hermetic secret shalt thou find;
On baser ores the pow'rful ashes strow;
And purest gold shall from the furnace flow.
If fav'ring Plutus, bounteous pow'r, ordain
That thou, Scriblerus, the high prize obtain,
A sudden radiance of cœlestial light
Shall guide thy footsteps, and direct thy sight:
But if the god the precious gift with-hold
Averse, nor deem thee worthy of the gold,
Fruitless and vain thy weary search is made:
The plant lies buried in eternal shade.
If e'er thou swerve from rigid virtue's path,
Expect the vengeful god's severest wrath.
Like Midas thou the useless gift deplore.
Let humble thoughts thy vanity controul,
And meekness temper thine elated soul.
Injurious o'er the cow'ring gazers heads.
By pride obnoxious, jealousy and hate
Shall drive thee skulking from each envious state.
Nor envy spies, nor can suspicion trace.
Then chief be heaven-born charity thy care,
Nor pass one hour without a grateful pray'r.
Thus far the Seer, when sleep's resistless god
Shook o'er my eye-lids his Lethæan rod.
For ah! the prophet from my side was gone.
The tale prophetic of their future fates.
Elate with hope a vessel they prepare
And load the needful stores with zealous care.
With prosp'rous gales they cut the liquid way,
And moor secure in Genoa's destined bay.
There, drown'd in tears and dumb with friendly grief,
His sad companious leave their mournful Chief;
Yet as the Hero bids his last adieu,
He vows, ere long, their growing schemes to view,
And, each revolving cent'ry, to repeat
His solemn visit to their foster state.
And weary heav'n in vain for his return:
Nor part I hence to exile or to death,
Like Regulus amidst th' opposing fears
Of friends, of kindred, and the senate's tears;
Nor like Lycurgus, in his country's cause,
His life devoting to enforce his laws.
Nor shall your Chief a baffled wretch return,
An outcast loaded with reproach and scorn;
But rich in glories, honour'd and adored,
And more than mortal, to your arms restored.
While the waves foam beneath their brushing oar.
Twelve tedious months, with painful steps and slow,
Thro' a long series of opprobrious woe,
Naked and pennyless, in unknown lands,
He ate his bitter bread, the alms of strangers hands.
And bring the period of his labours nigh.
In Munster's walls, assiduous fate prepares,
With endless honours to reward his cares.
Munster, which gave th' illustrious father birth,
Shall now be conscious of the filial worth.
The great Adepts in Hermes' art convene,
Who boast, with vain fallacious science bold,
To change each baser ore to purest gold.
To the corrupted and ungrateful heart,
Where lawless lust and wild ambition reign,
And pride and base insatiate thirst of gain.
Hence, all in vain, they bring their boasted stone,
In vain their powders on the mass are thrown.
Their weak attempts the juster fates oppose,
And unmatured, unchanged the metal flows.
Then one advancing, who possest alone,
A fluid extract from th' all-pow'rful stone,
Three fatal drops amid the furnace spills:
The liquid mass a sudden vapour fills,
By quick dilation; and with dreadful sound,
Exploded, drives the glowing metal round.
When thus the race of great Bombastus spoke:
Why have you chose this unauspicious day?
Twere wiser sure your trials to postpone
Till the last eve of frowning Mars be gone.
Your cares suspended till the rising dawn,
By prosp'rous Venus, usher'd o'er the lawn,
Shall sure succeed: for on that sacred morn
Was great Basilius Valentinus born.
With solemn rites invoke his learned shade,
So may his genius your projection aid.
In glad assent, from each approving tongue.
To feastful mirth they dedicate the night,
And hail the morning with the solemn rite.
The sacred grove on Munster's neighb'ring plains.
There stretcht at ease, his wearied limbs he laid,
And slept unconscious of the friendly shade.
Great Plutus' form, conspicuous to the sight,
Before him stood, and thus his speech addrest:
Thrice happy Sage, by fav'ring fortune blest,
On this auspicious morn th' unwearied sun
His annual course around the globe has run,
Since parting from thy friends on Genoa's sands,
Thou trod'st with toilsome steps a length of barren lands.
Arise, and thro' the grove pursue thy way:
Observe the course of yon propitious ray:
That splendid guide shall lead thee to the flow'r
Whose root alone can boast th' aurific power.
But, lest thou doubt, or think the promise vain,
Soon as Aurora glads th' enlighten'd plain,
And thirty milk-white goslins by her side.
And humble off'rings, injur'd Saturn's rage.
Nor less due honours to my pow'r belong,
Selected victims and a grateful song.
That god am I, whose universal sway
All nations own, and willing all obey.
Tho' not from heav'n I boast my honour'd birth,
Yet ever dearest to the sons of earth.
He said, and disappear'd; when from the ground,
The Hero starting, cast his eyes around.
Lo! all-propitious to his raptured sight,
An ignis-fatuus, with portentous light,
From the dank earth exhaled, began to move:
His course directing thro' the dusky grove.
With zeal the Sage revered th' auspicious ray,
And toil'd intrepid thro' the thorny way.
At length the vapour stopt. With eager eyes,
Awhile he view'd, then seized the matchless prize.
The matchless prize its conscious leaves expands,
Springs to the fated touch and meets his hands.
He quits the grove and issues on the lawn;
When wond'rous to relate! a strange portent
Gives fresh assurance of the wish'd event.
He sees the stately goose in swan-like pride
The silver lake with oary feet divide;
And thirty milk-white goslins by her side.
Inspir'd with grateful zeal he hastes to seize
The goodly prey, and to the gods decrees.
The mournful shores and reach the neighb'ring farm;
Their well-known voice the startled Sylvia hears,
And flies, impell'd by sad prophetic fears.
With pens protected from the evening air;
Then sought their cackling kindred on the flood;
There bathing all the day, at night they came
To their known lodgings, and their Country Dame.
But oh! what language can express her grief,
When she, like wretched Niobe, beheld
Her hopes all welt'ring on th' ensanguin'd field!
Yet soon her sorrow yields to nobler rage,
And furious she attacks th' astonish'd Sage.
Frequent and thick her desperate blows she deals;
Beneath her arm the stagger'd champion reels.
Again the maiden lifts her vengeful hands,
But now prepared the bold Scriblerus stands;
With watchful eyes he wards the threaten'd blow;
And strives to grapple with his active foe.
Artful she baffles his superior might,
And doubtful holds the fortune of the fight.
While tinged with virgin blood Thermodon roll'd.
Such and so brave was great Alcides seen,
When dauntless he engaged the Maiden Queen.
Full on his cheek the weighty blow descends.
Crush'd with the stroke, his shatter'd jaws resound;
And his loose teeth fall frequent to the ground.
And bold with passive valour, scorns to yield:
At length observing her defenceless waist,
Th' unguarded virgin in his arms embraced;
His griping arms her struggling limbs confine,
And on the plain the Heroine falls supine.
Scriblerus following, the fall'n maiden prest,
And prostrate lay, victorious on her breast.
O'erturn'd the strength of Ajax on the ground:
He shook the yielding earth, an helpless load,
The victor chief his giant limbs bestrode.
Behold how fate, by one decisive stroke,
To me the laurels of the day ordains;
To thee subjection and opprobrious chains;
To thee the laws of combat to fulfil,
The vanquish'd yielding to the victor's will.
Thus was the chaste Hippolyte compell'd
To the proud foe her virgin charms to yield.
Resign'd her beauties to the Conqu'rors flame,
Nor sensual burns my breast with lawless fire,
Or knows my chaster soul a thought so base,
To force thee helpless to a lewd embrace.
Not thus the Sage his great pursuit attains:
But endless travel, and incessant pains,
Severest abstinence from ev'ry joy,
Must all his thoughts engage, and all his hours employ.
And bear unrifled hence thy maiden charms.
And by the hand the trembling maiden took.
Her soul possest, at once, with grief and rage
She flies, regardless of th' assiduous Sage,
Springs from his grasp, and seeks the thickest grove
Like sullen Dido from her faithless Love.
The borders of the lucid lake he seeks,
And hastes to cleanse his blood-polluted cheeks.
Pours on fair Munster's tow'rs his golden light.
Scriblerus hails the birth-place of his fire,
And joy and filial love his soul inspire.
The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge | ||