 | Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late Mr. Cliffton |  |
112
[O'er a lost land, long night of ruin low'rs]
[_]
[The following Tribute of ardent friendship, to the memory of a much-lov'd Friend, is inserted on a spare leaf, as a memorial of an attachment which nothing but death could ever have destroyed. The claims of this effusion, to consideration and candor, it is unnecessary to state; since the author is aware how much need there is, that very extensive claims on this score be allowed.]
O'er a lost land, long night of ruin low'rs,
“Good things of day” low droop and drowze apace;
O'erwhelming woes descend in frequent show'rs,
And frighted virtue hides her hated face.
“Good things of day” low droop and drowze apace;
O'erwhelming woes descend in frequent show'rs,
And frighted virtue hides her hated face.
Yet these are general and promiscuous griefs,
Which on their Authors, as on us must fall,
Alike obdurate tow'rds the guilty chiefs,
And the poor, patient slaves that bear them all.
Which on their Authors, as on us must fall,
Alike obdurate tow'rds the guilty chiefs,
And the poor, patient slaves that bear them all.
Amidst these general perils of the hour,
The yielding, servile temper of the time,
The storm of Anarchy, the still of Pow'r,
The fall of Virtue, and the flush of Crime.
The yielding, servile temper of the time,
The storm of Anarchy, the still of Pow'r,
The fall of Virtue, and the flush of Crime.
A private sorrow aggravates my lot,
For Friendship ardent, and for Truth sincere,
Too lately rescu'd from this painful spot,
Where strife and sorrow hold their mid career.
For Friendship ardent, and for Truth sincere,
Too lately rescu'd from this painful spot,
Where strife and sorrow hold their mid career.
113
'Tis mine to bend o'er Cliffton's early urn,
To bow beneath th' afflicting Angel's ire,
That doom'd to silence, in its hapless turn,
His wisdom temper'd and his muse of fire.
To bow beneath th' afflicting Angel's ire,
That doom'd to silence, in its hapless turn,
His wisdom temper'd and his muse of fire.
A flower of delicate and beauteous hue,
'Midst the rank herbage and the blatant throng,
Its fragrance strengthen'd, as its beauties blew,
And soon it tow'r'd the noxious weeds among.
'Midst the rank herbage and the blatant throng,
Its fragrance strengthen'd, as its beauties blew,
And soon it tow'r'd the noxious weeds among.
Alas! the flow'r adorn'd with brightest hues,
Choak'd by rank weeds, its rich distinction yields;
Cut by the insensate boor, the earth embrues,
Or drench'd by storms, bestrews his sultry fields.
Choak'd by rank weeds, its rich distinction yields;
Cut by the insensate boor, the earth embrues,
Or drench'd by storms, bestrews his sultry fields.
Such are our wayward destinies on earth,
That the relentless Fates with hurried hand
Delight to sweep away peculiar worth,
And spare, to lengthen'd date, the impious band.
That the relentless Fates with hurried hand
Delight to sweep away peculiar worth,
And spare, to lengthen'd date, the impious band.
Their office still it seems, with thriftless toil,
To pluck th' unweeded garden of its flow'rs:
Shorn are the radiant honors of the soil,
Whilst many a thorn, and rugged briar tow'rs.
To pluck th' unweeded garden of its flow'rs:
Shorn are the radiant honors of the soil,
Whilst many a thorn, and rugged briar tow'rs.
114
What but some star malign, prolongs the day,
Destin'd to yield—to vengeance due,
What but some min'string demon op'd the way,
And hurried Cliffton from our ling'ring view?
Destin'd to yield—to vengeance due,
What but some min'string demon op'd the way,
And hurried Cliffton from our ling'ring view?
What but some influence dark, and blind and drear,
Quench'd this bright orb in an ill-omen'd hour,
Untimely stop'd, 'midst many a falling tear,
The tuneful tongue, that charm'd affliction's pow'r.
Quench'd this bright orb in an ill-omen'd hour,
Untimely stop'd, 'midst many a falling tear,
The tuneful tongue, that charm'd affliction's pow'r.
Yes, sure, 'twas uncontroul'd by Heav'n the day
That gave thy virtues to an early tomb;
To silence gave thy soul enlivening lay,
Transferr'd forever to the life to come;
That gave thy virtues to an early tomb;
To silence gave thy soul enlivening lay,
Transferr'd forever to the life to come;
Thy mind enrich'd with deep and various lore,
Thy heart, to friendship's warm pulsations true,
That still uncompromising hatred bore,
To wrong, whilst daily swell'd her haggard crew.
Thy heart, to friendship's warm pulsations true,
That still uncompromising hatred bore,
To wrong, whilst daily swell'd her haggard crew.
Ah! what avail the student's anxious hours,
His thirst for knowledge, and his zeal to learn,
His eye of fire, and all his various pow'rs?
Can these one hour enliven his cold urn?
His thirst for knowledge, and his zeal to learn,
His eye of fire, and all his various pow'rs?
Can these one hour enliven his cold urn?
Cease we to mourn the high behest of heav'n!
To death we owe, ourselves, and all we have,
Bound to yield up breath, for a season giv'n,
And pay due homage to the silent grave.
To death we owe, ourselves, and all we have,
Bound to yield up breath, for a season giv'n,
And pay due homage to the silent grave.
115
Thither his steps must every pilgrim bend,
And there at last his wearied spirit rest;
This path be trode, ere yet his troubles end,
And, Heav'n appeas'd, he sits beside the blest.
And there at last his wearied spirit rest;
This path be trode, ere yet his troubles end,
And, Heav'n appeas'd, he sits beside the blest.
Where envy, malice, vanity and pride,
Pollute not with alloy th' extatic hour,
Where faction's storms, and passion's varying tide,
Cease from their turmoil and submit to pow'r.
Pollute not with alloy th' extatic hour,
Where faction's storms, and passion's varying tide,
Cease from their turmoil and submit to pow'r.
Where raging patriots, gorg'd with guilty gold,
Of dire rebellions fan no more the fires;
Nor murderous ruffians in long crime grow old,
Brandish the bloody means to their desires.
Of dire rebellions fan no more the fires;
Nor murderous ruffians in long crime grow old,
Brandish the bloody means to their desires.
But where, in realms of empyreal day,
Meet, in according throngs congenial souls;
All sense of pain shuffled off with mortal clay,
In one unclouded sky, their being rolls.
Meet, in according throngs congenial souls;
All sense of pain shuffled off with mortal clay,
In one unclouded sky, their being rolls.
No tyrant demagogue, with footstep rude,
And ideot roar profanes this blissful seat,
Here goodness greets with joy, congenial good,
Here brethren dwell, and sunder'd sisters meet.
And ideot roar profanes this blissful seat,
Here goodness greets with joy, congenial good,
Here brethren dwell, and sunder'd sisters meet.
Sure the lov'd youth, whom we this day deplore,
His soul in peace possessing, here is blest;
Hence smiles on those, so much belov'd before,
Here waits to greet them in the realms of rest.
His soul in peace possessing, here is blest;
Hence smiles on those, so much belov'd before,
Here waits to greet them in the realms of rest.
| Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late Mr. Cliffton | |