The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery Collected and Revised by the Author |
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| SATAN:
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| II. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
325
SATAN:
OR, INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD.
330
BOOK I.
“Earth's kingdoms and their glory.”
Milton.
Awake, ye thunders!—and with gloomy roar
Deepen around me, while a darkness shrouds
The air, as once again this World I greet
Here on the haughty mountain, where of old
The God Incarnate, in the heavens re-throned,
Was tempted and withstood me.
Deepen around me, while a darkness shrouds
The air, as once again this World I greet
Here on the haughty mountain, where of old
The God Incarnate, in the heavens re-throned,
Was tempted and withstood me.
Lo! the powers
Of Nature, by my dread command sublimed,
Mount into rage, and magnify the storm
To elemental grandeur; while as Prince
By whom the spirit-peopled air is bound
In bondage, from my viewless throne I gaze,
Prompting the Tempest; whose convulsive swell
Heaves like the echo of my spirit's war,
The moral earthquake that makes hell within!
Hark! to the crash of riven forest-boughs
In yonder waste, the home of Hurricanes,
That catch the howlings of the cavern'd brutes
And waft them onwards to Arabia's wild,
O'ercanopied with flying waves of sand
Like a dread ocean whirling through the skies.
But Thou alone, eternally sublime,
Thou rolling mystery of might and power!
Rocking the tempest on thy breast of waves
Or, spread in breezy rapture to the sun,
Thou daring Ocean! that couldst deluge worlds
And yet rush on,—I hear thy deep-toned wrath
In ceaseless thunder challenging the Winds
Resoundingly; and from afar behold
Thine armied billows, plunging in the blast,
And the wild sea-foam shiver on the gales!
Of Nature, by my dread command sublimed,
Mount into rage, and magnify the storm
To elemental grandeur; while as Prince
By whom the spirit-peopled air is bound
In bondage, from my viewless throne I gaze,
Prompting the Tempest; whose convulsive swell
Heaves like the echo of my spirit's war,
The moral earthquake that makes hell within!
Hark! to the crash of riven forest-boughs
In yonder waste, the home of Hurricanes,
That catch the howlings of the cavern'd brutes
And waft them onwards to Arabia's wild,
O'ercanopied with flying waves of sand
Like a dread ocean whirling through the skies.
But Thou alone, eternally sublime,
Thou rolling mystery of might and power!
Rocking the tempest on thy breast of waves
Or, spread in breezy rapture to the sun,
Thou daring Ocean! that couldst deluge worlds
And yet rush on,—I hear thy deep-toned wrath
In ceaseless thunder challenging the Winds
Resoundingly; and from afar behold
Thine armied billows, plunging in the blast,
And the wild sea-foam shiver on the gales!
Exult, ye waves! and, whirlwinds! sweep along
Like the full breathings of almighty ire,
Whose sound is desolation! Where the sail
Of yon lone vessel, like a shatter'd cloud,
Is moving, let the surges mount on high
Their huge magnificence, and lift their heads,
And like Titanic creatures tempest-born,
In life and fury march upon the main!
Rave on, thou Tempest! in thy fiercest roar;
To me thy reckless mood is fearful joy;
A faint memento of that direful scene
When proud rebellion shook the walls of heaven,
Till, girt with thunder, dread Messiah came,
And hurl'd us downward to the deep of hell.
Like the full breathings of almighty ire,
Whose sound is desolation! Where the sail
Of yon lone vessel, like a shatter'd cloud,
Is moving, let the surges mount on high
Their huge magnificence, and lift their heads,
And like Titanic creatures tempest-born,
In life and fury march upon the main!
Rave on, thou Tempest! in thy fiercest roar;
To me thy reckless mood is fearful joy;
A faint memento of that direful scene
When proud rebellion shook the walls of heaven,
Till, girt with thunder, dread Messiah came,
And hurl'd us downward to the deep of hell.
The Tempest dies; the winds have tamed their ire;
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing;
And save a throb of thunder, faintly heard,
And ebbing knell-like o'er yon western deep
Which now lies panting with a weary swell
Like a worn monster at his giant length
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane,—
The sounds of elemental wrath retire.
The Sun is up! look, where He proudly comes
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth,
A victor in full glory! At his gaze
The heavens as with emotion smile, and beam
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er;
While forest-woodlands and enliven'd flowers
The central monarch of the skies salute.
Now hills are gleaming; rich the mountains glow;
The streams run gladness, yellow meads appear,
And palm-woods glitter on Judæan plains;
Beauty and brightness shed their soul abroad:—
Then let me, whom no mortal space can bound,
The Earth survey, and mark her mighty realms.
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing;
And save a throb of thunder, faintly heard,
And ebbing knell-like o'er yon western deep
Which now lies panting with a weary swell
Like a worn monster at his giant length
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane,—
The sounds of elemental wrath retire.
The Sun is up! look, where He proudly comes
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth,
A victor in full glory! At his gaze
The heavens as with emotion smile, and beam
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er;
While forest-woodlands and enliven'd flowers
The central monarch of the skies salute.
Now hills are gleaming; rich the mountains glow;
The streams run gladness, yellow meads appear,
And palm-woods glitter on Judæan plains;
Beauty and brightness shed their soul abroad:—
Then let me, whom no mortal space can bound,
The Earth survey, and mark her mighty realms.
Why, what a stately Orb is this! how wide
In range! how wonderful in scene! the grace
And crown—the paragon of worlds!
And Thou, for whom all elements exist,
A second nature from thy soul hath sprung,
And made wide earth a new creation seem!
In range! how wonderful in scene! the grace
And crown—the paragon of worlds!
And Thou, for whom all elements exist,
A second nature from thy soul hath sprung,
And made wide earth a new creation seem!
Deserted isles, with oceanic wastes,
Heaving and wild, monotonous and vast;
Terrific mountains, where the fire-floods dwell,
Or snows in iced eternity congeal;
And haggard rocks uplifted, huge, or bare,
The hoary frame-work of a ruin'd world:
And rivers deep, exulting as they glide,
And forests high, and dales by woods o'erhung,
With meadows greenly bright, and champaigns broad;
And flowers, whose beauty blush'd in Paradise,
By streams that murmur of their mountain-birth;
With high-domed cities, crown'd with misty clouds,
And shadow'd interchange of hamlets lone
Which deck the verdure of retreating vales,—
Before me, like a panorama, spread;
Far as the ice-clad North hath bared its brow,
To where the burning South extends, from East
To West this theatre of man I view.
Heaving and wild, monotonous and vast;
Terrific mountains, where the fire-floods dwell,
Or snows in iced eternity congeal;
And haggard rocks uplifted, huge, or bare,
The hoary frame-work of a ruin'd world:
And rivers deep, exulting as they glide,
331
With meadows greenly bright, and champaigns broad;
And flowers, whose beauty blush'd in Paradise,
By streams that murmur of their mountain-birth;
With high-domed cities, crown'd with misty clouds,
And shadow'd interchange of hamlets lone
Which deck the verdure of retreating vales,—
Before me, like a panorama, spread;
Far as the ice-clad North hath bared its brow,
To where the burning South extends, from East
To West this theatre of man I view.
Jerusalem, forlorn Judæan Queen!
Girt with the grandeur of prophetic hills,
How art thou fallen from thy sacred height
Of splendour and renown! Unhallow'd now,
Save by the tombs and memory of the past;
Hush'd are thy Trumpets, which enrapt the air
With Jubilee, when Freedom burst the chain
Of captives, heart with heart embraced, and eye
To eye beam'd fellowship; while not an ear
But feasted on that soul-awakening sound!
Thy Temple vast, whose architect was God
Himself, when first the giant fabric grew,
That matchless Pile! on which Religion gazed
With haughty glance, where Glory dwelt enshrined;—
Where is it now? Dead as the Roman dust,
That erst, with living valour fired, uncrown'd
Thy queenly pride, and palsied thy vast walls,
Strewing the plains with atoms of thy strength.
And yet, where yonder marbled courts, and mosques
With sun-gilt minarets, like glitt'ring peaks
Of mountain-tops, are seen, a Prophet stood,
And in stern vision saw predestined Time
Advancing, with dark ruin on his wings,
To shatter thee, and sprinkle the wide earth
With orphans of thy race. How scornful rang
Thy laughter, when such vision was unroll'd!
But when thy rocks were echoed with the cry
Of Desolation, moaning her despair,
Many a Demon on the viewless winds
Exulted, shouting, with revengeful joy,
“Thus sink the glories of great Palestine!”
Girt with the grandeur of prophetic hills,
How art thou fallen from thy sacred height
Of splendour and renown! Unhallow'd now,
Save by the tombs and memory of the past;
Hush'd are thy Trumpets, which enrapt the air
With Jubilee, when Freedom burst the chain
Of captives, heart with heart embraced, and eye
To eye beam'd fellowship; while not an ear
But feasted on that soul-awakening sound!
Thy Temple vast, whose architect was God
Himself, when first the giant fabric grew,
That matchless Pile! on which Religion gazed
With haughty glance, where Glory dwelt enshrined;—
Where is it now? Dead as the Roman dust,
That erst, with living valour fired, uncrown'd
Thy queenly pride, and palsied thy vast walls,
Strewing the plains with atoms of thy strength.
And yet, where yonder marbled courts, and mosques
With sun-gilt minarets, like glitt'ring peaks
Of mountain-tops, are seen, a Prophet stood,
And in stern vision saw predestined Time
Advancing, with dark ruin on his wings,
To shatter thee, and sprinkle the wide earth
With orphans of thy race. How scornful rang
Thy laughter, when such vision was unroll'd!
But when thy rocks were echoed with the cry
Of Desolation, moaning her despair,
Many a Demon on the viewless winds
Exulted, shouting, with revengeful joy,
“Thus sink the glories of great Palestine!”
Alas, for human Grandeur! in the pomp
Of Temples, and the stony Wonders, rear'd
In rebel majesty against the might
Of ages, let Ambition learn her doom.
Bagdad, o'er famed Chaldea proudly raised
In tow'ring splendour by the Tigris' banks;
And hoary Smyrna of Mæonic fame,
All beautiful in ruins, where the fruits
And flowers yet flourish o'er deserted Art
And laughing streamlets run with liquid joy;
With Tyre and Sidon, where rich Commerce ruled
Showering her treasures o'er the sunny East;
And gay Damascus, whose delicious plains
Of verdure, striped with water's radiant flow,
Shine green as ever,—in your wrinkled piles
Are lessons for the loftiest eyes to read,
That mark ye now, and dream of vanish'd might
When merchants rivall'd Kings! But far o'er all,
Where yonder mountain mingles with the plain
Of billowy sand, gigantic, dread, and lone,
Great Heliopolis in ruin mourns.
And next, yon ancient desert-Queen behold,
The blasted Genius of the wilderness,
Palmyra! pillar'd yet in temple-pride,
Decayless arches show past glory still;
But wither'd down from her Zenobian pomp
When there the sun-idolatries were seen
And Grandeur call'd the streets her own,—but now,
Let Solomon arise, and read her fate!
Of Temples, and the stony Wonders, rear'd
In rebel majesty against the might
Of ages, let Ambition learn her doom.
Bagdad, o'er famed Chaldea proudly raised
In tow'ring splendour by the Tigris' banks;
And hoary Smyrna of Mæonic fame,
All beautiful in ruins, where the fruits
And flowers yet flourish o'er deserted Art
And laughing streamlets run with liquid joy;
With Tyre and Sidon, where rich Commerce ruled
Showering her treasures o'er the sunny East;
And gay Damascus, whose delicious plains
Of verdure, striped with water's radiant flow,
Shine green as ever,—in your wrinkled piles
Are lessons for the loftiest eyes to read,
That mark ye now, and dream of vanish'd might
When merchants rivall'd Kings! But far o'er all,
Where yonder mountain mingles with the plain
Of billowy sand, gigantic, dread, and lone,
Great Heliopolis in ruin mourns.
And next, yon ancient desert-Queen behold,
The blasted Genius of the wilderness,
Palmyra! pillar'd yet in temple-pride,
Decayless arches show past glory still;
But wither'd down from her Zenobian pomp
When there the sun-idolatries were seen
And Grandeur call'd the streets her own,—but now,
Let Solomon arise, and read her fate!
But, sadder yet, beyond the Libyan wild
Sepulchral Egypt lies! Come royal heirs
Of Ptolemy, and patriarchal kings,
And see the shadow of your once sublime
And storied Egypt! True, her fostering Nile,
That flowing wand'rer of mysterious birth,
Her annual life-flood generously yields;
But where the soul of Science? where the fount
Of Wisdom, from whose deep and dateless spring
The Greek and Roman drank? Colossal Thebes,
How grimly sleep thy ruins! where of yore,
Like billows trooping at the whirlwind's call
Forth from thy hundred gates the battle-cars
Out-roll'd! Thy tombs and arches, Temples huge
As sculptured mountains, darkling yet remain,
But sadness broods o'er all. And ye august,
In blighted majesty of stone uprear'd,
Stern Pyramids! which point your heads to heaven
As pillars that could prop the spheres, a day
Is coming when ye moulder into dust,
And melt like dew-dops by the wind annull'd!
Sepulchral Egypt lies! Come royal heirs
Of Ptolemy, and patriarchal kings,
And see the shadow of your once sublime
And storied Egypt! True, her fostering Nile,
That flowing wand'rer of mysterious birth,
Her annual life-flood generously yields;
But where the soul of Science? where the fount
Of Wisdom, from whose deep and dateless spring
The Greek and Roman drank? Colossal Thebes,
How grimly sleep thy ruins! where of yore,
Like billows trooping at the whirlwind's call
Forth from thy hundred gates the battle-cars
Out-roll'd! Thy tombs and arches, Temples huge
As sculptured mountains, darkling yet remain,
But sadness broods o'er all. And ye august,
In blighted majesty of stone uprear'd,
Stern Pyramids! which point your heads to heaven
As pillars that could prop the spheres, a day
Is coming when ye moulder into dust,
And melt like dew-dops by the wind annull'd!
So sink the monuments of ancient might,
So fade the gauds and splendours of the World.
Her empires brighten, blaze, and pass away,
And trophied Fanes, and adamantine Walls
Which challenged an eternity, depart
Amid the dying change, or lapse of things:
Enthroned o'er all, bleak Desolation frowns,
Save mind—omnipotent, surpassing Mind!
One scintillation of the soul inspired
Though kindled in an atmosphere of gloom
Or loneliness, will strengthen, glow, and live,
And burn from age to age, till it become
The sun and glory of a thinking world
When thrones are shatter'd, and their kings forgot!
So fade the gauds and splendours of the World.
Her empires brighten, blaze, and pass away,
And trophied Fanes, and adamantine Walls
332
Amid the dying change, or lapse of things:
Enthroned o'er all, bleak Desolation frowns,
Save mind—omnipotent, surpassing Mind!
One scintillation of the soul inspired
Though kindled in an atmosphere of gloom
Or loneliness, will strengthen, glow, and live,
And burn from age to age, till it become
The sun and glory of a thinking world
When thrones are shatter'd, and their kings forgot!
The revolution and the wrath of Time,
Rolling his years with an avenging flow
Alike o'er all, hath been a thread-worn theme
Which tunes the sentiment of many an Age.
And thus, the musing lover of the past,
Romancing idly o'er the name of time,
Untombing empires, and re-crowning kings,
In sighing wonder ends his moral strain!
Thou fool! and martyr to a feeble word;
'Tis Thought and Action, those unslumb'ring two,
Which give to time solemnity and dread;
And he who marks mere havoc, not the war
Of passion, and inclining will, but prates
And lulls his moral in a dream of words.
Rolling his years with an avenging flow
Alike o'er all, hath been a thread-worn theme
Which tunes the sentiment of many an Age.
And thus, the musing lover of the past,
Romancing idly o'er the name of time,
Untombing empires, and re-crowning kings,
In sighing wonder ends his moral strain!
Thou fool! and martyr to a feeble word;
'Tis Thought and Action, those unslumb'ring two,
Which give to time solemnity and dread;
And he who marks mere havoc, not the war
Of passion, and inclining will, but prates
And lulls his moral in a dream of words.
Let him who muses on the awful wreck
Of Empires, wailing in the dust, and thrones
Reversed, or cities in their ruin vast,
Here History and her inspirations dwell,
Dive deeper, till he stretch a thought to Me!
Ere man was fashion'd from his fellow dust,
I was!—and since the sound of human voice
First trembled on the air, my darksome power
Hath compass'd him in mystery, and in might;
Upon the soul of sage Philosophy
And Wisdom, templed in the shrines of old,
Faint shadows of my Being fell; a sense
Of me thus deepen'd through the onward flood
Of ages, till substantial thought it grew,
A certainty sublime, in that great soul,
The epic-god of ancient song, who down
The infinite abyss could dare to gaze,
And summon forth the imagery of Hell.
Of Empires, wailing in the dust, and thrones
Reversed, or cities in their ruin vast,
Here History and her inspirations dwell,
Dive deeper, till he stretch a thought to Me!
Ere man was fashion'd from his fellow dust,
I was!—and since the sound of human voice
First trembled on the air, my darksome power
Hath compass'd him in mystery, and in might;
Upon the soul of sage Philosophy
And Wisdom, templed in the shrines of old,
Faint shadows of my Being fell; a sense
Of me thus deepen'd through the onward flood
Of ages, till substantial thought it grew,
A certainty sublime, in that great soul,
The epic-god of ancient song, who down
The infinite abyss could dare to gaze,
And summon forth the imagery of Hell.
And in that Book, where heaven lies half reveal'd,
By words terrific as the herald-flash
That hints the lightning-vengeance of a storm,
Am I not vision'd? as the Prince of Air,
A Spirit that would crush the universe,
And battle with Infinity? Yet Truth,
So unrelenting in her solemn task,
A chilling welcome in the eyes of men
Hath found, denying what they dread to feel.
Kind Infidel! satanic praise accept;
Friend of the guilty, solace of the vile,
And teacher of the vain, mankind instruct
And make one world, my own. Oh, few believe
When condemnation awes the spirit back!
Save hearts, where all simplicities of faith
Abound, and warn each hell-born doubt away
Or men, self-tortured, who at midnight dream
Of oceans foaming with eternal fires,
Or ghastly air-fiends, writhing as they howl,—
Save unto these, and souls of kindred hue,
The Powers of Darkness are a cheat of words,
Framed by a Priest to juggle fools. Alas!
Yet oft they frown upon the mocker's path
And feel they could, did Nature not prevail,
Burst into life, and blast him with a gaze!
By words terrific as the herald-flash
That hints the lightning-vengeance of a storm,
Am I not vision'd? as the Prince of Air,
A Spirit that would crush the universe,
And battle with Infinity? Yet Truth,
So unrelenting in her solemn task,
A chilling welcome in the eyes of men
Hath found, denying what they dread to feel.
Kind Infidel! satanic praise accept;
Friend of the guilty, solace of the vile,
And teacher of the vain, mankind instruct
And make one world, my own. Oh, few believe
When condemnation awes the spirit back!
Save hearts, where all simplicities of faith
Abound, and warn each hell-born doubt away
Or men, self-tortured, who at midnight dream
Of oceans foaming with eternal fires,
Or ghastly air-fiends, writhing as they howl,—
Save unto these, and souls of kindred hue,
The Powers of Darkness are a cheat of words,
Framed by a Priest to juggle fools. Alas!
Yet oft they frown upon the mocker's path
And feel they could, did Nature not prevail,
Burst into life, and blast him with a gaze!
`What understanding cannot grasp, belief
Can never claim,”—a wisdom most divine!
Why, all around him, from the race of flowers
That woo his unadmiring gaze, to hosts
Of orbèd wonders which the sky pervade,
Is Mystery, robed in some material pomp;
Then why should mysteries of awe within,
Themselves resolve to charm a sceptic mind?
Religion acts, but unexplain'd abides;—
The beatings of the heart resemble this,
And men may wonder, but it still beats on!
Can never claim,”—a wisdom most divine!
Why, all around him, from the race of flowers
That woo his unadmiring gaze, to hosts
Of orbèd wonders which the sky pervade,
Is Mystery, robed in some material pomp;
Then why should mysteries of awe within,
Themselves resolve to charm a sceptic mind?
Religion acts, but unexplain'd abides;—
The beatings of the heart resemble this,
And men may wonder, but it still beats on!
But when the balance of sublunar Things
Is tried, amended, and for ever fix'd,
Belief for unbelief shall then atone
By sad conviction:—then shall it be proved,
The Sin that violated and deform'd
This World, and all true harmonies profaned,
(In dread similitude to mind o'erthrown)
Hath been the evil which my power hath fed,
By dark communion with this mortal Scene.
No! not a havoc Nature's kingdom feels;
No sound of Ocean when her wings rise plumed
With wrath; no frenzy of the tragic winds,
Those viewless pirates whom the pathless seas
Endure,—no terror in the darkest reign
Of Elements that lord it so sublime,
But images that dreadful curse I reap'd
For Nature and for Man! And ye, dead Climes!
Where high of old my bloody Altars blazed,
Where oracles from cave or temple breathed,
And Monsters, vision'd out of monstrous thought,
With stock and stone idolatries, were bred,
My hand was on ye, and your heathen soul!
And now, Ambition trampling out the heart
Of earth; the demi-gods of false renown;
And all the giants of heroic crime,
Are demons of my will; and by their doom
Shall testify the Genius whence they spring!
Is tried, amended, and for ever fix'd,
Belief for unbelief shall then atone
By sad conviction:—then shall it be proved,
The Sin that violated and deform'd
This World, and all true harmonies profaned,
(In dread similitude to mind o'erthrown)
Hath been the evil which my power hath fed,
By dark communion with this mortal Scene.
No! not a havoc Nature's kingdom feels;
No sound of Ocean when her wings rise plumed
With wrath; no frenzy of the tragic winds,
Those viewless pirates whom the pathless seas
Endure,—no terror in the darkest reign
Of Elements that lord it so sublime,
But images that dreadful curse I reap'd
For Nature and for Man! And ye, dead Climes!
Where high of old my bloody Altars blazed,
Where oracles from cave or temple breathed,
And Monsters, vision'd out of monstrous thought,
With stock and stone idolatries, were bred,
My hand was on ye, and your heathen soul!
And now, Ambition trampling out the heart
Of earth; the demi-gods of false renown;
And all the giants of heroic crime,
Are demons of my will; and by their doom
Shall testify the Genius whence they spring!
333
Might vanish'd ages be renew'd, and built
Again those daring Empires once renown'd,
From that huge one the haughty Ninus rear'd
And great Cambyses crush'd, to Rome and Greece
Of commonwealths the glory,—what a scene
Would time reveal! Who bow'd them into gloom?
They fear'd me not; but from the primal stone
Which mark'd the birthday of their city-queens
I mingled with them, and beheld them rise:
From dim obscurity my minions watch'd
Their growth to greatness, and imperial sway,
That over-shadow'd the far Isles. The Sea
Beneath them, like a suppliant crouch'd; the Winds
Sang victory! where exulting banners waved;
But now, uplifted to a fearful height,
They courted vilely-enervating Arts,
Unthroned the Virtues, let the Passions loose,
And pour'd corruption through their rank domain:
Then came the Nemesis!—that moral Curse
Whose ruin more than desolation brings.
Again those daring Empires once renown'd,
From that huge one the haughty Ninus rear'd
And great Cambyses crush'd, to Rome and Greece
Of commonwealths the glory,—what a scene
Would time reveal! Who bow'd them into gloom?
They fear'd me not; but from the primal stone
Which mark'd the birthday of their city-queens
I mingled with them, and beheld them rise:
From dim obscurity my minions watch'd
Their growth to greatness, and imperial sway,
That over-shadow'd the far Isles. The Sea
Beneath them, like a suppliant crouch'd; the Winds
Sang victory! where exulting banners waved;
But now, uplifted to a fearful height,
They courted vilely-enervating Arts,
Unthroned the Virtues, let the Passions loose,
And pour'd corruption through their rank domain:
Then came the Nemesis!—that moral Curse
Whose ruin more than desolation brings.
But see, where Persia's beauteous clime extends,
How gloriously diluvian Ararat
Hath pinnacled his rocky peak in clouds!
Who thrones a winter on his heights untrod,
While summer laughs in roses at his feet!
Time cannot mar his glory: high he swells
As when that Ark was balanced on his brow,
Which saw the raging of the far-off floods
Beneath, and heard the Deluge die away!
How gloriously diluvian Ararat
Hath pinnacled his rocky peak in clouds!
Who thrones a winter on his heights untrod,
While summer laughs in roses at his feet!
Time cannot mar his glory: high he swells
As when that Ark was balanced on his brow,
Which saw the raging of the far-off floods
Beneath, and heard the Deluge die away!
But here, as in her day of olden might,
Ascendant Nature proves the God of souls
Who deify mere elements, and dream
Them symbols of their Maker. On the peak
Of mountains, the Chaldean hail'd the Sun
In the rich brightness of its morning-birth,
And bow'd his forehead to the flaming East;
The Night, ennobled with her stars, pour'd love
And worship into hearts, that from the fields
Beheld their throbbing radiance, as the face
Of Prophets, bright with their intelligence:—
And still upon the Gueber's fateful eye
The Fire darts gleaming magic; and his mind
Through nature darkly struggles on to God.
Ascendant Nature proves the God of souls
Who deify mere elements, and dream
Them symbols of their Maker. On the peak
Of mountains, the Chaldean hail'd the Sun
In the rich brightness of its morning-birth,
And bow'd his forehead to the flaming East;
The Night, ennobled with her stars, pour'd love
And worship into hearts, that from the fields
Beheld their throbbing radiance, as the face
Of Prophets, bright with their intelligence:—
And still upon the Gueber's fateful eye
The Fire darts gleaming magic; and his mind
Through nature darkly struggles on to God.
A mightier scene upon the map of earth!—
Forests immense, and pine-wastes fiercely wild,
And ice-rocks, rear'd upon a dead-white sea,
Far to the north where hoary deserts gleam
Dawn on my view in all their Arctic gloom.
But not Siberia, desolate and grand,
Nor Dneiper, thunder'd on by cataracts
That whiten o'er her howling waves, appear
So wondrous, as those battle-hosts that rush
Like rivers swelling from their deep abodes,
Precipitately o'er the regions round.
A King hath spoken! and the trump of War
Hath sounded like a herald through the land,
“Awake! great Peter is alive again.”
Forests immense, and pine-wastes fiercely wild,
And ice-rocks, rear'd upon a dead-white sea,
Far to the north where hoary deserts gleam
Dawn on my view in all their Arctic gloom.
But not Siberia, desolate and grand,
Nor Dneiper, thunder'd on by cataracts
That whiten o'er her howling waves, appear
So wondrous, as those battle-hosts that rush
Like rivers swelling from their deep abodes,
Precipitately o'er the regions round.
A King hath spoken! and the trump of War
Hath sounded like a herald through the land,
“Awake! great Peter is alive again.”
A word of Kings, what potency it wields!
These delegates of God, yea, gods themselves,
Upon whose lips the fate of Empire hangs,
Tremendous is their charge: one speaks, and lo!
Up springs infernal War, and stalks abroad,
Unrolls his blood-red banner on the wind,
And in the groan of widow'd Nations hails
The music of his fame! Another speaks,
And Peace, with olive in her radiant hand,
Glides like an angel through the world, and prints
A trace of blessing wheresoe'er she treads.
These delegates of God, yea, gods themselves,
Upon whose lips the fate of Empire hangs,
Tremendous is their charge: one speaks, and lo!
Up springs infernal War, and stalks abroad,
Unrolls his blood-red banner on the wind,
And in the groan of widow'd Nations hails
The music of his fame! Another speaks,
And Peace, with olive in her radiant hand,
Glides like an angel through the world, and prints
A trace of blessing wheresoe'er she treads.
And who could ponder on this war-doom'd scene,
Nor dream thy shadow swelling into life,
Napoleon! On the island-rock thou sleep'st;
But such a storm thy spirit raised, so full
The swell of feeling born of thee, that Time
Must lend his magic to allay the strife
And tempest of opinion into truth,
Which, taming wonder, stamps thee, as thou wert,
A tyrant! in whose passion for a power,
Above all liberty and law enthroned,
I hail, thee as a Paramount; thy pride
Of domination tow'ring far o'er heights
Of monarchy,—a shadow of mine own,
Which scorn'd an equal though He proved a God!
Nor dream thy shadow swelling into life,
Napoleon! On the island-rock thou sleep'st;
But such a storm thy spirit raised, so full
The swell of feeling born of thee, that Time
Must lend his magic to allay the strife
And tempest of opinion into truth,
Which, taming wonder, stamps thee, as thou wert,
A tyrant! in whose passion for a power,
Above all liberty and law enthroned,
I hail, thee as a Paramount; thy pride
Of domination tow'ring far o'er heights
Of monarchy,—a shadow of mine own,
Which scorn'd an equal though He proved a God!
And therefore did I crown thee, Kingly One!
And those who worship thee, my thanks inspire!
Mean crimes are branded with avenging scorn,
While great ones, that should water earth with tears,
Can dazzle condemnation into praise,
And praise to pity, when false greatness fails!
The throneless, in the heart a throne acquires,
And Admiration in one sigh can drown
The wail of millions, haunting each red field
Of havoc, where some Desolator trod!
The wish is hated, but the deed caress'd,
Of mad Ambition; “glory” heals all wounds!
And those who worship thee, my thanks inspire!
Mean crimes are branded with avenging scorn,
While great ones, that should water earth with tears,
Can dazzle condemnation into praise,
And praise to pity, when false greatness fails!
The throneless, in the heart a throne acquires,
And Admiration in one sigh can drown
The wail of millions, haunting each red field
Of havoc, where some Desolator trod!
334
Of mad Ambition; “glory” heals all wounds!
Yet, what a cloud on Liberty was thrown!
How deep a gash her dreadless form profaned,
When thine ambition march'd upon the world,
Till Europe quail'd beneath thy scepter'd arm!
Then, crumbled hopes which centuries will not build
Again; then god-like spirits felt a pang
That now, when canonading battles pause,
And Peace sits musing on the tomb of War,
Is felt,—an agony too deep for words
To fathom, too sublime for slaves to feel!
How deep a gash her dreadless form profaned,
When thine ambition march'd upon the world,
Till Europe quail'd beneath thy scepter'd arm!
Then, crumbled hopes which centuries will not build
Again; then god-like spirits felt a pang
That now, when canonading battles pause,
And Peace sits musing on the tomb of War,
Is felt,—an agony too deep for words
To fathom, too sublime for slaves to feel!
Lo! where the Tyrant felt a flood of wrath
From Heaven pour'd down upon his guilty head,
And first he knew himself a Man!—Yon spires
With golden pinnacles that pierce the clouds,
And river, winding by those pallid walls,
Proclaim where unforgotten Moscow stands:
There raged a scene which ruin'd angels love
To witness, when the vaunting sons of Clay
Grow demon-like, and shudd'ring Time beholds
The fellest misery Despair can feel!
As when, all wildly through the unbarr'd gates
Like savage war-fiends his marauders swept,
And saw the city billow'd into flames,
Like some far ocean blazing through the storm!
Then Havoc started with a thrilling shout;
The shriek of violated maids, the curse
Of dying mothers, and despairing sires,
And dash of corpses, torn from royal tombs
And plunged amid devouring flames, were heard
Till hell in miniature wild Moscow seem'd.
From Heaven pour'd down upon his guilty head,
And first he knew himself a Man!—Yon spires
With golden pinnacles that pierce the clouds,
And river, winding by those pallid walls,
Proclaim where unforgotten Moscow stands:
There raged a scene which ruin'd angels love
To witness, when the vaunting sons of Clay
Grow demon-like, and shudd'ring Time beholds
The fellest misery Despair can feel!
As when, all wildly through the unbarr'd gates
Like savage war-fiends his marauders swept,
And saw the city billow'd into flames,
Like some far ocean blazing through the storm!
Then Havoc started with a thrilling shout;
The shriek of violated maids, the curse
Of dying mothers, and despairing sires,
And dash of corpses, torn from royal tombs
And plunged amid devouring flames, were heard
Till hell in miniature wild Moscow seem'd.
But who, when Rapine could not pillage more,
While cannon-thunder chased the daunted winds,
Paused on a desert-heath, in speechless ire,
And mark'd the remnant of a ruin'd host
Flying, and pale as phantoms of Despair?
Napoleon! in the earthquake of thy soul,
The elements were reaping vengeance then!
While slaughter turn'd the tide of victory
And roll'd it back upon thy powerless host
Of famish'd warriors, freezing as they died!
That hour of agony, the crushing sense
Of danger and defeat, the broken spell
Which blasted all thy triumphs into shame,
Sublimed thy spirit with so proud a pang
It long'd to swell into a million souls,
And shake the universe to save a throne!
While cannon-thunder chased the daunted winds,
Paused on a desert-heath, in speechless ire,
And mark'd the remnant of a ruin'd host
Flying, and pale as phantoms of Despair?
Napoleon! in the earthquake of thy soul,
The elements were reaping vengeance then!
While slaughter turn'd the tide of victory
And roll'd it back upon thy powerless host
Of famish'd warriors, freezing as they died!
That hour of agony, the crushing sense
Of danger and defeat, the broken spell
Which blasted all thy triumphs into shame,
Sublimed thy spirit with so proud a pang
It long'd to swell into a million souls,
And shake the universe to save a throne!
Thy race is o'er: and in the rocky isle
Of ocean, canopied with willow-shade,
In death's undreaming calm thou restest now.
But all the splendid infamy of War,
The fame of blood and bravery, is thine:
Thy name hath havoc in its sound! and Time
Shall read it when his ages roll:—'twill live
When time and nature are forgotten words!
For, as a noble fame can never die
But proudly soareth on from earth to heaven,
There to be hymn'd by Angels, and to crown
With bright pre-eminence the gifted mind
That won it gloriously; so evil fame
A fiery torment to the soul shall be
For ever:—let Ambition think of this!
Who murders kings, to make her heroes, gods.
Of ocean, canopied with willow-shade,
In death's undreaming calm thou restest now.
But all the splendid infamy of War,
The fame of blood and bravery, is thine:
Thy name hath havoc in its sound! and Time
Shall read it when his ages roll:—'twill live
When time and nature are forgotten words!
For, as a noble fame can never die
But proudly soareth on from earth to heaven,
There to be hymn'd by Angels, and to crown
With bright pre-eminence the gifted mind
That won it gloriously; so evil fame
A fiery torment to the soul shall be
For ever:—let Ambition think of this!
Who murders kings, to make her heroes, gods.
In contrast wilder than the rude-faced globe,
Appear the workings of immortal mind.
Russia, through each great limb of empire, feels
Proud animation play; a panting wish
For high dominion, and sublimer rule
Than Nature's rugged vastness yields. But Thou,—
Of immemorial birth, whose massy wall
Of ages, with her thousand war-towers flank'd,
Majestic winds o'er many a savage hill
And mountain, China! thou art motionless,
Or like the Dead Sea, sullenly reposed
Amid the surging restlessness of Time.
Those burden'd waters, whereon breed and die
Thy generations; fancy-mountains, graced
With temples; or pagodas gaily deck'd,
And artful wonders, by the hand or tongue
Completed,—such are glories form'd for thine
Ascendancy! Thus bulwark'd in with pride
And baseness, virtues, arts, and vices act
From year to year, unchallenged and unchanged.
Antiquity, the childhood of the world,
Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime,
And dulls its vigour into drowsy calm;
So let it sleep! till Revolution wake,
And summon spirits who shall cry,—Reform!
Appear the workings of immortal mind.
Russia, through each great limb of empire, feels
Proud animation play; a panting wish
For high dominion, and sublimer rule
Than Nature's rugged vastness yields. But Thou,—
Of immemorial birth, whose massy wall
Of ages, with her thousand war-towers flank'd,
Majestic winds o'er many a savage hill
And mountain, China! thou art motionless,
Or like the Dead Sea, sullenly reposed
Amid the surging restlessness of Time.
Those burden'd waters, whereon breed and die
Thy generations; fancy-mountains, graced
With temples; or pagodas gaily deck'd,
And artful wonders, by the hand or tongue
Completed,—such are glories form'd for thine
Ascendancy! Thus bulwark'd in with pride
And baseness, virtues, arts, and vices act
From year to year, unchallenged and unchanged.
Antiquity, the childhood of the world,
Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime,
And dulls its vigour into drowsy calm;
So let it sleep! till Revolution wake,
And summon spirits who shall cry,—Reform!
Lo! in the East, enormously uprear'd,
What ice-peak'd mountains point their roseate heads
Amid the richness of an Indian sky,
Soundless and solemn as cathedral-towers
Made dim and spectral by the wintry moon!
Hills of the North! not all your Greenland-pomp
Can more sublimely scale the clouds. And where
Bright Ganga! mountain-born, careers the flood
That matches thee? The vassal rivers mix
Their spirit with thine own; the rock-hewn caves
Shake as they hear thee sounding through their depths,
Then, upward springing with a glorious swell
And brightness on thy waves, to course green plain
And valley, like a charger in his pride
Let loose to lord it o'er surrounding meads!
Monarch of rivers! thy redeeming flow
Is life and beauty to the sun-brown lands
That border thy rich banks; but on thy stream
How Superstition glasses her dull creed!
Religion!—why, the undiscerning brute
Hath more divinity than vaunting slaves
Who, spirit-darken'd, oft blaspheme Her name:
For sun and shower by him are not unthank'd.
He bathes his forehead in the fresh'ning gale,
And, by enjoyment, pays the gift of life.
But how is reason carnalised and crush'd
When hell-rites are religion!—while it chants
Of mercy in the ways of heaven revealed
Can offer female holocausts to Hell
In burning widows, gasping forth their souls,
Or drowning babes, for sacrifice to God!
Oh, Wisdom! never thou the heart redeem,
Nor cast the cloud from Superstition's eye!
What ice-peak'd mountains point their roseate heads
Amid the richness of an Indian sky,
Soundless and solemn as cathedral-towers
Made dim and spectral by the wintry moon!
Hills of the North! not all your Greenland-pomp
Can more sublimely scale the clouds. And where
Bright Ganga! mountain-born, careers the flood
That matches thee? The vassal rivers mix
335
Shake as they hear thee sounding through their depths,
Then, upward springing with a glorious swell
And brightness on thy waves, to course green plain
And valley, like a charger in his pride
Let loose to lord it o'er surrounding meads!
Monarch of rivers! thy redeeming flow
Is life and beauty to the sun-brown lands
That border thy rich banks; but on thy stream
How Superstition glasses her dull creed!
Religion!—why, the undiscerning brute
Hath more divinity than vaunting slaves
Who, spirit-darken'd, oft blaspheme Her name:
For sun and shower by him are not unthank'd.
He bathes his forehead in the fresh'ning gale,
And, by enjoyment, pays the gift of life.
But how is reason carnalised and crush'd
When hell-rites are religion!—while it chants
Of mercy in the ways of heaven revealed
Can offer female holocausts to Hell
In burning widows, gasping forth their souls,
Or drowning babes, for sacrifice to God!
Oh, Wisdom! never thou the heart redeem,
Nor cast the cloud from Superstition's eye!
Another gaze, bright Hindostanic clime!
How beautifully wild, with horn-wreath'd heads,
Thy antelopes abound; and, thick as clouds
Paving the pathway of the western heav'n,
On wings enamell'd with a radiant dye
Thy birds expand their plumage to the breeze,
And glitter through air! Primeval woods,
And patriarchal trees, and forest-haunts,
And deserts spotted with their verdant isles,
And fruits, with showers of sunbeams on their heads,
Grow mingled there in magical excess;
The grand and beautiful, their glowing spell
Combine; Creation makes one mighty charm.
How beautifully wild, with horn-wreath'd heads,
Thy antelopes abound; and, thick as clouds
Paving the pathway of the western heav'n,
On wings enamell'd with a radiant dye
Thy birds expand their plumage to the breeze,
And glitter through air! Primeval woods,
And patriarchal trees, and forest-haunts,
And deserts spotted with their verdant isles,
And fruits, with showers of sunbeams on their heads,
Grow mingled there in magical excess;
The grand and beautiful, their glowing spell
Combine; Creation makes one mighty charm.
But let it pass: again the voice of waves!
Faint as the rush of rapid spirit-wings;
An Ocean, dreadful to the gazing eye
As dark eternity to human thought,—
Atlantic! where the whirlwinds are the scoff
Of billows, rocking with eternal roar,
Thou art a wonder e'en to me, whose eyes
Have fathom'd Chaos!
Faint as the rush of rapid spirit-wings;
An Ocean, dreadful to the gazing eye
As dark eternity to human thought,—
Atlantic! where the whirlwinds are the scoff
Of billows, rocking with eternal roar,
Thou art a wonder e'en to me, whose eyes
Have fathom'd Chaos!
Thou astounding Main!
Time never felt so awful since his birth,
Angels and demons o'er thy terrors hung,
As when by hope prophetically wise,
On thine immensity Columbus launch'd.
Yet thou wert well avenged! for Storm and Doubt,
Despair and Madness on the billows rode,
And made deep Ocean one dark agony!—
Dismal as thunder-clouds, the fated hours
Toil'd on; a living solitude still howl'd
And heaved, in dread monotony around;
Yet hope was quenchless; and when daylight closed,
The ocean-wanderers, in the placid glow
Of sunset, soothing their despondent brows,
Hymn'd o'er the mellow wave their vesper-song;
Ave Maria! mingling with the choirs
Of billows, and the chant of evening-winds.
Time never felt so awful since his birth,
Angels and demons o'er thy terrors hung,
As when by hope prophetically wise,
On thine immensity Columbus launch'd.
Yet thou wert well avenged! for Storm and Doubt,
Despair and Madness on the billows rode,
And made deep Ocean one dark agony!—
Dismal as thunder-clouds, the fated hours
Toil'd on; a living solitude still howl'd
And heaved, in dread monotony around;
Yet hope was quenchless; and when daylight closed,
The ocean-wanderers, in the placid glow
Of sunset, soothing their despondent brows,
Hymn'd o'er the mellow wave their vesper-song;
Ave Maria! mingling with the choirs
Of billows, and the chant of evening-winds.
But he was destined! and his lightning-glance
Shot o'er the deep, and darted on thy world
America!—Then, lofty, long, and loud
From swelling hearts the hallelujahs rang,
And charm'd to music the Atlantic gales;
While, silent as the Sun above him throned,
Columbus look'd a rapture to the heavens
And gave his glory to the God they serve!
Shot o'er the deep, and darted on thy world
America!—Then, lofty, long, and loud
From swelling hearts the hallelujahs rang,
And charm'd to music the Atlantic gales;
While, silent as the Sun above him throned,
Columbus look'd a rapture to the heavens
And gave his glory to the God they serve!
Thou fated Region of the varied globe
Where all the climates dwell, and Seasons rule
In majesty, hereafter when the tides
Of Circumstance have roll'd through changing years,
What Empires may be born of Thee!—thy ships
By thousands, voyaging the isle-strewn deep;
Thy banners waved in every land! E'en now
Defiance flashes from thy fearless eye,
While Nature tells thee greatness is thine own.—
Who on those dreadful giants of the South,
Those Pyramids by man's Creator rear'd,
Thine Andes, girdled with the storms, can gaze;
Or hear Niagara's unearthly flood
Rival the thunder with impassion'd roar,
Nor think the spirit of ambition rules
Thy moral nature. What a grandeur lives
Through each stern scene!—in yon Canadian woods,
Whose stately poplars clothe their heads with clouds,
And dignify creation as they stand;
Or in the rain-floods,—rivers where they fall!
Or hurricanes, which howl themselves along,
Like fierce-wing'd monsters, ravenously wild:—
Sublimity o'er all a soul hath breathed,
And yet my ban is on thee!—'tis the curse
Of havoc, which the violators reap'd
For thy young destiny, when first amid
Thy wilds the cannon pour'd its thund'ring awe,
Shaking the trees which never yet had bow'd,
Save to the storminess of nature's ire.
Where all the climates dwell, and Seasons rule
In majesty, hereafter when the tides
Of Circumstance have roll'd through changing years,
What Empires may be born of Thee!—thy ships
By thousands, voyaging the isle-strewn deep;
Thy banners waved in every land! E'en now
Defiance flashes from thy fearless eye,
While Nature tells thee greatness is thine own.—
Who on those dreadful giants of the South,
Those Pyramids by man's Creator rear'd,
Thine Andes, girdled with the storms, can gaze;
Or hear Niagara's unearthly flood
Rival the thunder with impassion'd roar,
Nor think the spirit of ambition rules
Thy moral nature. What a grandeur lives
Through each stern scene!—in yon Canadian woods,
Whose stately poplars clothe their heads with clouds,
And dignify creation as they stand;
Or in the rain-floods,—rivers where they fall!
Or hurricanes, which howl themselves along,
Like fierce-wing'd monsters, ravenously wild:—
Sublimity o'er all a soul hath breathed,
And yet my ban is on thee!—'tis the curse
Of havoc, which the violators reap'd
For thy young destiny, when first amid
Thy wilds the cannon pour'd its thund'ring awe,
Shaking the trees which never yet had bow'd,
Save to the storminess of nature's ire.
336
Hath Gentleness thy guilt of old redeem'd?
Hath freedom heal'd the wounds of war, and paid
Her ransom to the nameless and unknown,
The unremember'd, but immortal still,
The Dead, whose birthright was sublime as kings'?
Approach, and answer me, dejected One!
Art thou the remnant of a free-born race,
Majestic lords of nature's majesty?
Of them, whose brows were bold as heaven, whose hands
Have tamed the woods, whose feet outfled the winds,
Who faced the lightning with undazzled gaze
And dream'd the thunder language of their god:
The earth and sky, 'twas Freedom's and their own!
But thou—the Sun hath written on thee, Slave!
A branded limb and a degraded mind
The tyrants give thee for infernal toil
And tears; or lash thy labour out in blood.
Hath freedom heal'd the wounds of war, and paid
Her ransom to the nameless and unknown,
The unremember'd, but immortal still,
The Dead, whose birthright was sublime as kings'?
Approach, and answer me, dejected One!
Art thou the remnant of a free-born race,
Majestic lords of nature's majesty?
Of them, whose brows were bold as heaven, whose hands
Have tamed the woods, whose feet outfled the winds,
Who faced the lightning with undazzled gaze
And dream'd the thunder language of their god:
The earth and sky, 'twas Freedom's and their own!
But thou—the Sun hath written on thee, Slave!
A branded limb and a degraded mind
The tyrants give thee for infernal toil
And tears; or lash thy labour out in blood.
And some are Saxons, who enslave the free;
Then boast not, England! while a Briton links
The chain of thraldom, glory can be thine.
Vain are thy vows, thy temples, and the rites
Which hallow them, while yet a slave exists
Who curses thee: each curse in Heaven is heard;
'Tis seal'd, and answer'd in the depths Below!
Then boast not, England! while a Briton links
The chain of thraldom, glory can be thine.
Vain are thy vows, thy temples, and the rites
Which hallow them, while yet a slave exists
Who curses thee: each curse in Heaven is heard;
'Tis seal'd, and answer'd in the depths Below!
From dungeon and from den there comes a voice
That supplicates for Freedom: from the tomb
Of martyrs her transcendency is told,
And dimm'd she may, but cannot be destroy'd.
Who bends the spirit from its high domain
On God himself a sacrilege commits;
For soul doth share in His supremacy;
To crush it, is to violate the power
And grasp the sceptre an Almighty wields!
That supplicates for Freedom: from the tomb
Of martyrs her transcendency is told,
And dimm'd she may, but cannot be destroy'd.
Who bends the spirit from its high domain
On God himself a sacrilege commits;
For soul doth share in His supremacy;
To crush it, is to violate the power
And grasp the sceptre an Almighty wields!
For freedom, such as proud ambition call'd
A freedom, a Heaven I lost; and therefore slaves
On earth are victims whom I scorn to see.
No! let them in their liberty be mine;
Or, what if foul Oppression fill the cup
Of crime, that Hell may have a deeper draught?
My kingdom is of evil; and the crowns
Of many an earth-born Despot sparkle there!—
Then let the pangless hearts of Tyrants beat
Unblasted, till from deepest agony
With the proud wrath of ages in Her soul
Freedom arise, and vindicate her name!
A freedom, a Heaven I lost; and therefore slaves
On earth are victims whom I scorn to see.
No! let them in their liberty be mine;
Or, what if foul Oppression fill the cup
Of crime, that Hell may have a deeper draught?
My kingdom is of evil; and the crowns
Of many an earth-born Despot sparkle there!—
Then let the pangless hearts of Tyrants beat
Unblasted, till from deepest agony
With the proud wrath of ages in Her soul
Freedom arise, and vindicate her name!
BOOK II.
“Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts,
Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs,
Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes
Above the height of mountain interposed.”
Paradise Regained.
Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs,
Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes
Above the height of mountain interposed.”
Paradise Regained.
Sceptres are mighty wands, and few are found
With strength to wield them; yet how many dare!
And kingdoms are the agonies of Thrones,
Yet men will die to face them! thus the Heart
Exceeds itself, nor calls the madness vain.
But, were it mine from kingliness to take
The tyrant witchery, I'd bid some young
Idolater of throne-exalted power,
In the deep midnight when the World lies hush'd
In her humility of sleep, to gaze
Upon a prince's couch. The crimson pomp
And glare of palace-chambers round him lie;
But on his cheek the royal spirit stamps
A weariness which mocks this outward show
Of kings; a prison would have graced it more!
A sad rehearsal of unhonour'd youth
When years went reckless as the rolling waves,
Till passion grew satiety; a proud
Regret for trait'rous hearts; and that keen sense
Untold, which monarchs more than subjects feel,
Of slavery; (for servile is the pomp
Of kings, though gorgeously it dares the eye)
With a dim haunting of the dreary tomb,
That often through the banquet-splendour gapes
Like darkness that defies a sun!—such dream
From out his slumber that calm beauty steals
Which Innocence delights to wear. Then, watch
His features, when some trace of dreadful thought
Endows them with a spirit-eloquence,
That speaks of Judgment, with its thronging host
Of terrors; Monarchs cited, and the vast
Account of sceptred kingdoms render'd up;
Could Envy listen to his waking groan,
How poor, how perilous, the state of kings!
With strength to wield them; yet how many dare!
And kingdoms are the agonies of Thrones,
Yet men will die to face them! thus the Heart
Exceeds itself, nor calls the madness vain.
But, were it mine from kingliness to take
The tyrant witchery, I'd bid some young
Idolater of throne-exalted power,
In the deep midnight when the World lies hush'd
In her humility of sleep, to gaze
Upon a prince's couch. The crimson pomp
And glare of palace-chambers round him lie;
But on his cheek the royal spirit stamps
A weariness which mocks this outward show
Of kings; a prison would have graced it more!
A sad rehearsal of unhonour'd youth
When years went reckless as the rolling waves,
Till passion grew satiety; a proud
Regret for trait'rous hearts; and that keen sense
Untold, which monarchs more than subjects feel,
Of slavery; (for servile is the pomp
Of kings, though gorgeously it dares the eye)
With a dim haunting of the dreary tomb,
That often through the banquet-splendour gapes
Like darkness that defies a sun!—such dream
From out his slumber that calm beauty steals
Which Innocence delights to wear. Then, watch
His features, when some trace of dreadful thought
Endows them with a spirit-eloquence,
That speaks of Judgment, with its thronging host
Of terrors; Monarchs cited, and the vast
Account of sceptred kingdoms render'd up;
Could Envy listen to his waking groan,
How poor, how perilous, the state of kings!
Away with this:—transcendently endow'd
And in her mass of mind concent'ring more
Of awfulness, than nature in its might
Of rock or mountain feels, proud Europe spreads
Her living map before me now! What hearts
And souls commune! what countless tides of thought
And feeling, in electric flow, from breast
To breast, from clime to clime, prevailing here;
Here is the throne of Mind; th' arena vast
Where principles and passions run their course
And pant and struggle with conflicting play,—
Where men and angels, heav'n and hell are met,
And Life flings shadows o'er eternity!
And in her mass of mind concent'ring more
Of awfulness, than nature in its might
Of rock or mountain feels, proud Europe spreads
Her living map before me now! What hearts
And souls commune! what countless tides of thought
And feeling, in electric flow, from breast
To breast, from clime to clime, prevailing here;
Here is the throne of Mind; th' arena vast
Where principles and passions run their course
And pant and struggle with conflicting play,—
337
And Life flings shadows o'er eternity!
Region of wonders! who yon scenes can trace,
Or on thy many-featured visage mark
Each motion of thy spirit, in the glow
Of changing impulse, and creative power?
There, is an ocean, darken'd by the wings
Of vessels, leaping like the waves they front,
While thund'ring to and fro their country's wrath
They tell her glory to the list'ning skies!
And there, a river like a liquid sweep
Of light, where Commerce welcomed by the gale,
Sails onward in the sun; but here, a scene
Of battle, crimson'd o'er with clotting blood!
Banners are playing, rich as unroll'd clouds
Hung loose upon mid air; the gleam of arms
Incessant flashes through the misty fray
Fierce as the lightnings when they flutter wild;
While mute and sad, a City waits afar
With Doubt and Anguish in her desert-streets,
Who catch the war-notes from the travell'd wind
And answer them, with living echoes there.
In dream-like contrast, 'mid the hush of noon
How meekly yon romantic village lies
Beneath a canopy of cloudless blue!
With elm-trees twinkling as they wave, the meads
Made golden for their harvest, and yon spire
In peaceful beauty pointing to the heavens.
Or on thy many-featured visage mark
Each motion of thy spirit, in the glow
Of changing impulse, and creative power?
There, is an ocean, darken'd by the wings
Of vessels, leaping like the waves they front,
While thund'ring to and fro their country's wrath
They tell her glory to the list'ning skies!
And there, a river like a liquid sweep
Of light, where Commerce welcomed by the gale,
Sails onward in the sun; but here, a scene
Of battle, crimson'd o'er with clotting blood!
Banners are playing, rich as unroll'd clouds
Hung loose upon mid air; the gleam of arms
Incessant flashes through the misty fray
Fierce as the lightnings when they flutter wild;
While mute and sad, a City waits afar
With Doubt and Anguish in her desert-streets,
Who catch the war-notes from the travell'd wind
And answer them, with living echoes there.
In dream-like contrast, 'mid the hush of noon
How meekly yon romantic village lies
Beneath a canopy of cloudless blue!
With elm-trees twinkling as they wave, the meads
Made golden for their harvest, and yon spire
In peaceful beauty pointing to the heavens.
Sprinkled with mountains, and with cloud-capt hills,
Helvetia swells majestic on my view,
In her primeval glory. Free-soul'd Land!
Summer and Winter for thy smile contend,
Witching thy prospects into fairy pomp
With beautiful abruptness. Verdure-clad
And deck'd with flowers, these undulating vales
Extend, while vines the terraced hills embrace,
And Landscapes, laughing o'er the clouds, may hear
The Tempest-howl in cavern gloom below!—
But Winter hath his triumph; let the rush
And roar of cataracts; the darksome lakes,—
Convulsive rolling in the midnight-storm;
The glaciers, billow'd like a frozen sea
Iced in the plunging madness of the storm;
And, chief o'er all, the silent Alp-king rear'd
Like Grandeur risen from eternity,—
Let these declare thee for a land sublime.
Home of the dauntless! on thy patriot-soil
While sternness of simplicity can breathe
A Roman vigour, and the name of Tell
Haunts like a harrowing spirit every vale
And mountain-hollow, Time shall honour thee,
When many an Empire shall have pass'd away,
And forests wave where Capitals are seen!
Helvetia swells majestic on my view,
In her primeval glory. Free-soul'd Land!
Summer and Winter for thy smile contend,
Witching thy prospects into fairy pomp
With beautiful abruptness. Verdure-clad
And deck'd with flowers, these undulating vales
Extend, while vines the terraced hills embrace,
And Landscapes, laughing o'er the clouds, may hear
The Tempest-howl in cavern gloom below!—
But Winter hath his triumph; let the rush
And roar of cataracts; the darksome lakes,—
Convulsive rolling in the midnight-storm;
The glaciers, billow'd like a frozen sea
Iced in the plunging madness of the storm;
And, chief o'er all, the silent Alp-king rear'd
Like Grandeur risen from eternity,—
Let these declare thee for a land sublime.
Home of the dauntless! on thy patriot-soil
While sternness of simplicity can breathe
A Roman vigour, and the name of Tell
Haunts like a harrowing spirit every vale
And mountain-hollow, Time shall honour thee,
When many an Empire shall have pass'd away,
And forests wave where Capitals are seen!
Southward of thee, where shining rocks ascend,
Pointing their cannon to the broad blue main
Defyingly, what region of the sun.
Is that, with green-dyed olive groves, and fruits
Whose ripeness glitters on the laden boughs?
'Tis Spain! the glowing clime of Luxury,
Of Chivalry, and dead Romance: her hills
Where aromatic odours scent the skies,
And bright-hued flowers, that in the mountain-breeze
Of wafted freshness dance their beauteous heads;
Her dark-eyed dames, and stately cavaliers
Whose brows are haughty with the dreams of eld;
Her pomp of palaces, her fountain-walks,
And many-templed Capitals,—betray
Her form'd for Pleasure's undisputed reign.
And yet, on History's most heroic page
Hath Andalusia an undying seal,
And Arragon a print of fame:—but deeds
Of blood, and Inquisition's torturing rack,
For vengeance when the world's arraignment sounds,
Will rise; and woe to Tyrants! they shall read
The chronicle stern Justice keeps in hell!
Pointing their cannon to the broad blue main
Defyingly, what region of the sun.
Is that, with green-dyed olive groves, and fruits
Whose ripeness glitters on the laden boughs?
'Tis Spain! the glowing clime of Luxury,
Of Chivalry, and dead Romance: her hills
Where aromatic odours scent the skies,
And bright-hued flowers, that in the mountain-breeze
Of wafted freshness dance their beauteous heads;
Her dark-eyed dames, and stately cavaliers
Whose brows are haughty with the dreams of eld;
Her pomp of palaces, her fountain-walks,
And many-templed Capitals,—betray
Her form'd for Pleasure's undisputed reign.
And yet, on History's most heroic page
Hath Andalusia an undying seal,
And Arragon a print of fame:—but deeds
Of blood, and Inquisition's torturing rack,
For vengeance when the world's arraignment sounds,
Will rise; and woe to Tyrants! they shall read
The chronicle stern Justice keeps in hell!
Here, too, the passions are despotic slaves
For me; and prove how features can reveal
The voiceless language of the varied mind.
The languor of luxurious eyes, for Love
Abounds; for Jealousy, the livid gaze
Which looks a murder where its meaning falls!
And for Revenge, an aspect darkly still
Like savage thunder sleeping in a cloud!—
And midnight is the mantle for them all.
For me; and prove how features can reveal
The voiceless language of the varied mind.
The languor of luxurious eyes, for Love
Abounds; for Jealousy, the livid gaze
Which looks a murder where its meaning falls!
And for Revenge, an aspect darkly still
Like savage thunder sleeping in a cloud!—
And midnight is the mantle for them all.
Enchanting as thou art, romantic Spain,
The home of beauty and the queen of climes,
Loved Italy, whose oriental heavens
Are rich enough o'er Paradise to hang,
Outdazzles thee in splendour. 'Tis the hour
When noon-shine, dying into sunset-glow,
Suffuses, like a gorgeous wing outspread
In wanton glory, gleams of magic hue.
How radiantly adown those heaven-bright hills
The young streams tremble? Arno, mountain-born
With ling'ring progress writhes along the vale:
And groves and gardens on the cool wind shake
Their fragrance; while around vine-laden meads
Flush with their produce, and the playful breeze
Ruffles the golden corn-fields. Near yon lake
Mark sea-throned Venice in her island-pride,
Resentful dares the Adriatic-roar!
And o'er the river, where gondolas throng,
'Mid Palaces that frown with haggard Pomp
Out-arches her Rialto:—she hath reign'd
Her day; ducal tyrants are no more,
And blighted fabrics but reveal her fame.
The home of beauty and the queen of climes,
Loved Italy, whose oriental heavens
Are rich enough o'er Paradise to hang,
Outdazzles thee in splendour. 'Tis the hour
When noon-shine, dying into sunset-glow,
Suffuses, like a gorgeous wing outspread
In wanton glory, gleams of magic hue.
How radiantly adown those heaven-bright hills
The young streams tremble? Arno, mountain-born
With ling'ring progress writhes along the vale:
And groves and gardens on the cool wind shake
Their fragrance; while around vine-laden meads
Flush with their produce, and the playful breeze
Ruffles the golden corn-fields. Near yon lake
Mark sea-throned Venice in her island-pride,
338
And o'er the river, where gondolas throng,
'Mid Palaces that frown with haggard Pomp
Out-arches her Rialto:—she hath reign'd
Her day; ducal tyrants are no more,
And blighted fabrics but reveal her fame.
And what is Venice to the wreck of Rome?
That Giantess of empire! blacken'd, bow'd,
And desolated on her seven-hill throne
Behold her seated by worn Tiber's banks!
Colossal ruin, like a noble mind
In desolation thou art haughty still!
Though Time hath conquer'd, can he equal thee?
Thy Temples huge where ages are enshrined;
The trophied porches, theatres august
Which heard the beating of ten thousand hearts;
And Fane sublime, on that Tarpeian rock,
Where Vengeance grasp'd eternity!—when Rome
Could trample kingdoms and o'erawe the world
What grandeur rivall'd these? Their very shades
Are solemn: but around them when the rush
Of life was heard; when chariots, bright as clouds
Which throne the morning sun, victorious came
Amid the tramp of war steeds and the shout
Of millions swelling with their country's fame,—
Thy glory was a terror, and thine arm
Omnipotence to nations! Through all realms
The throbbing of thy faintest anger thrill'd,
And when thou frown'dst, what kingdom dared be free?
That Giantess of empire! blacken'd, bow'd,
And desolated on her seven-hill throne
Behold her seated by worn Tiber's banks!
Colossal ruin, like a noble mind
In desolation thou art haughty still!
Though Time hath conquer'd, can he equal thee?
Thy Temples huge where ages are enshrined;
The trophied porches, theatres august
Which heard the beating of ten thousand hearts;
And Fane sublime, on that Tarpeian rock,
Where Vengeance grasp'd eternity!—when Rome
Could trample kingdoms and o'erawe the world
What grandeur rivall'd these? Their very shades
Are solemn: but around them when the rush
Of life was heard; when chariots, bright as clouds
Which throne the morning sun, victorious came
Amid the tramp of war steeds and the shout
Of millions swelling with their country's fame,—
Thy glory was a terror, and thine arm
Omnipotence to nations! Through all realms
The throbbing of thy faintest anger thrill'd,
And when thou frown'dst, what kingdom dared be free?
Men look on thee, as Seraphs gaze on Light,
With silent rapture solemnised to awe,
Till the dead Past in resurrection-pomp,
Arises, and the Roman lives again!
Heroes and sages start beneath their feet;
Their eyes are dazzled with a starry dream
Of old renown; and, like thy vassal-states,
They deify thy name. And I forgive
The weakness of their worship, when the sun's
Bright mockery plays along thy mould'ring piles;
Or when the moonbeam through some cypress-tree,
Sheds rays of sorrow on thy weed-tress'd walls
And gray-worn monuments; from thy young dawn
Of being, ere thy roofless huts were piled,
To the proud noon of greatness, thou hast proved
A theme of wonder to infernal hosts,
Half demons and half gods thy heroes were;
And Roman teachers,—are they not still felt
And follow'd? deities of mind, whose words
Are wings of knowledge to the daring.—Rome
Is dead; but mental Rome is reigning still
With vaster sway than Pompey's eagles won!
With silent rapture solemnised to awe,
Till the dead Past in resurrection-pomp,
Arises, and the Roman lives again!
Heroes and sages start beneath their feet;
Their eyes are dazzled with a starry dream
Of old renown; and, like thy vassal-states,
They deify thy name. And I forgive
The weakness of their worship, when the sun's
Bright mockery plays along thy mould'ring piles;
Or when the moonbeam through some cypress-tree,
Sheds rays of sorrow on thy weed-tress'd walls
And gray-worn monuments; from thy young dawn
Of being, ere thy roofless huts were piled,
To the proud noon of greatness, thou hast proved
A theme of wonder to infernal hosts,
Half demons and half gods thy heroes were;
And Roman teachers,—are they not still felt
And follow'd? deities of mind, whose words
Are wings of knowledge to the daring.—Rome
Is dead; but mental Rome is reigning still
With vaster sway than Pompey's eagles won!
Long may it reign so! that a fiery love
Of fame and battle, which defeatures earth
With scars eternity shall fail to heal,
May live by inspiration fierce as Rome's.
Many a “hero” hath by Her been crazed;
And fancied “Cæsars” yet will come, to chain
The world, or fool it with disastrous fame!
Yea, at this moment, in tyrannic hearts
Ambition hath a mass of burning thought
In secret treasured, like volcanic ire:
Kindle it, Time! and rear thy second Rome.
Of fame and battle, which defeatures earth
With scars eternity shall fail to heal,
May live by inspiration fierce as Rome's.
Many a “hero” hath by Her been crazed;
And fancied “Cæsars” yet will come, to chain
The world, or fool it with disastrous fame!
Yea, at this moment, in tyrannic hearts
Ambition hath a mass of burning thought
In secret treasured, like volcanic ire:
Kindle it, Time! and rear thy second Rome.
Few years have fleeted o'er this tomb-like haunt
Of ruin, since a Spirit who appall'd
The world, by giving thoughts a thunder-tone,
And feeling, that terrific lightning-flash,
That show'd the storm-depths of the soul within;
Who pour'd himself in passion o'er mankind
Making each heart to quiver with delight,
Like water thrill'd by an electric sound,—
Amid thy canker'd fanes and crumbling halls
Mused in the deadness of the midnight-hour.
Of ruin, since a Spirit who appall'd
The world, by giving thoughts a thunder-tone,
And feeling, that terrific lightning-flash,
That show'd the storm-depths of the soul within;
Who pour'd himself in passion o'er mankind
Making each heart to quiver with delight,
Like water thrill'd by an electric sound,—
Amid thy canker'd fanes and crumbling halls
Mused in the deadness of the midnight-hour.
It was a haggard night; when mortals dream
That conscious Nature in dejection pines;
As though the elements were all diseased,
The moon hung rayless, and the few faint stars
Gleam'd pale and glassy as the eye of death.
Alone, the victim of his darkest mood,
In the stern shade of ruin'd Palaces
And pillar'd wrecks of desolated shrines
The wanderer roam'd; and when some sickly break
Of moonlight lit his features into play
With all their lines of passionate excess,
The haunting Genius of the spot he seem'd
Lost in the workings of a wilder'd mind.
He sigh'd, and mused; and then from earth to heav'n
His eye was raised, but moisten'd with a tear
Of tenderness, wherein the pride of years
Had melted out from his rebellious soul,
Most haughty in abasement:— blighted man!
His nature was a whirlpool of desires,
And mighty passions, perilously mix'd,
That with the darkness of the demon-world
Had something of the light of Heaven. He breathed
The sighs that after-ages will repeat,—
The selfish eloquence of tortured thought
In words that glow with agony! Yet far
From him that deeper sadness of the mind
Which, gather'd from the gloom of mortal things
In moments of mysterious sway, o'erclouds
A soul, yet sanctifies those thoughts which feel
Eternity a spirit's home to be,
And time mere exile, which the man endures.
That conscious Nature in dejection pines;
As though the elements were all diseased,
The moon hung rayless, and the few faint stars
Gleam'd pale and glassy as the eye of death.
Alone, the victim of his darkest mood,
In the stern shade of ruin'd Palaces
And pillar'd wrecks of desolated shrines
The wanderer roam'd; and when some sickly break
Of moonlight lit his features into play
With all their lines of passionate excess,
The haunting Genius of the spot he seem'd
Lost in the workings of a wilder'd mind.
He sigh'd, and mused; and then from earth to heav'n
His eye was raised, but moisten'd with a tear
Of tenderness, wherein the pride of years
Had melted out from his rebellious soul,
Most haughty in abasement:— blighted man!
His nature was a whirlpool of desires,
And mighty passions, perilously mix'd,
That with the darkness of the demon-world
Had something of the light of Heaven. He breathed
The sighs that after-ages will repeat,—
The selfish eloquence of tortured thought
In words that glow with agony! Yet far
From him that deeper sadness of the mind
Which, gather'd from the gloom of mortal things
In moments of mysterious sway, o'erclouds
A soul, yet sanctifies those thoughts which feel
339
And time mere exile, which the man endures.
So worshipp'd, and so sad!—Oh, were not hopes
Destroy'd, the moral landscape Devils love
To witness, idols of this world might win
My pity for their portion. How deceived
And how deceiving, is the race they run!
The King and Hero, Bard and Sage, with all
Who in the storehouse of departed time
Have heap'd such treasure, as great deeds and words
Beget, what bright delusions have they been!
Destroy'd, the moral landscape Devils love
To witness, idols of this world might win
My pity for their portion. How deceived
And how deceiving, is the race they run!
The King and Hero, Bard and Sage, with all
Who in the storehouse of departed time
Have heap'd such treasure, as great deeds and words
Beget, what bright delusions have they been!
To fancied Edens of poetic bloom
On wings of sentiment can Genius roam,
And meditate on worldless Things, whence comes
A glorious panting for a purer State,
Than Adam saw, when Earth's anointed Priest
In purity, his life was incense breath'd to God.
But, martyrs to unhealthy thought abound,
Who out of earthly elements have sought
A happiness to reap whose soil is heaven,
And, failing, sunk to profitless despair.
Thus Learning, Luxury, and laurell'd Fame,
Vain phantoms, what a worship have they won!
The first, a shallow excellence; the next,
A malady of brutish growth, debased
And most debasing, turning soul to sense
Till nature seems unspirited; the last,
Magnificent betrayer! while afar
Beheld, the crown of heaven itself seems thine;
But when attain'd, how oft a brilliant Lie
Whose lustre was but hollowness conceal'd!
Oh! many an eye that in the glow of youth
Hath brighten'd, as it gazed on pictured worth,
Or linger'd round those everlasting shrines
Where tombs have tongues, and monuments are speech,
Where great inheritors of Glory rest,—
Hath wept the laurels that it once adored!
On wings of sentiment can Genius roam,
And meditate on worldless Things, whence comes
A glorious panting for a purer State,
Than Adam saw, when Earth's anointed Priest
In purity, his life was incense breath'd to God.
But, martyrs to unhealthy thought abound,
Who out of earthly elements have sought
A happiness to reap whose soil is heaven,
And, failing, sunk to profitless despair.
Thus Learning, Luxury, and laurell'd Fame,
Vain phantoms, what a worship have they won!
The first, a shallow excellence; the next,
A malady of brutish growth, debased
And most debasing, turning soul to sense
Till nature seems unspirited; the last,
Magnificent betrayer! while afar
Beheld, the crown of heaven itself seems thine;
But when attain'd, how oft a brilliant Lie
Whose lustre was but hollowness conceal'd!
Oh! many an eye that in the glow of youth
Hath brighten'd, as it gazed on pictured worth,
Or linger'd round those everlasting shrines
Where tombs have tongues, and monuments are speech,
Where great inheritors of Glory rest,—
Hath wept the laurels that it once adored!
The atmosphere which circleth gifted minds
Is from a deep intensity derived,—
An element of thought, where feelings shape
Themselves to fancies,—an electric world
Too exquisitely framed for common life,
Which they of coarser metal cannot dream.
And hence, those fascinating powers of soul
That robe the heavens with beauty, and create
Romance which makes reality untrue,
Upon the rack of quick excitement live;
Their joy the essence of an agony,
And that, the throbbing of the fires within!
Is from a deep intensity derived,—
An element of thought, where feelings shape
Themselves to fancies,—an electric world
Too exquisitely framed for common life,
Which they of coarser metal cannot dream.
And hence, those fascinating powers of soul
That robe the heavens with beauty, and create
Romance which makes reality untrue,
Upon the rack of quick excitement live;
Their joy the essence of an agony,
And that, the throbbing of the fires within!
And thus, while Fame's heart-echoing clarions ring,
The voice and visions of ideal renown
In one vile whisper may be overwhelm'd.
Made mighty by its littleness, a word
Of Envy drowns the thunder which delight
Hath voiced! so oft the phantom of a cloud
In single darkness cowering on the air,
Looks fiercer for the frownless heaven around!
So Fame is murder'd, that the dull may live;
Or, to Herself grows false; then hideous dreams
And tomb-like shadows thicken round the mind,
Till, plunging into dread infinity,
It rides upon the billows which Despair
Hath summon'd from the stormy gloom of thought.
Dark victim! thus so ruinously famed,
What misery haunts thy smile of happiness!
Beneath the mountain of thy vast renown
There lives a mortal, unendow'd by aught
That Learning, Luxury, or Fame can yield,
And yet a Crœsus in his store of joy
With thine compared; the man whom sullied earth
Enslaves not, on whose soul the Truth hath smiled—
Truth which I loathe, but Hell cannot destroy!
The voice and visions of ideal renown
In one vile whisper may be overwhelm'd.
Made mighty by its littleness, a word
Of Envy drowns the thunder which delight
Hath voiced! so oft the phantom of a cloud
In single darkness cowering on the air,
Looks fiercer for the frownless heaven around!
So Fame is murder'd, that the dull may live;
Or, to Herself grows false; then hideous dreams
And tomb-like shadows thicken round the mind,
Till, plunging into dread infinity,
It rides upon the billows which Despair
Hath summon'd from the stormy gloom of thought.
Dark victim! thus so ruinously famed,
What misery haunts thy smile of happiness!
Beneath the mountain of thy vast renown
There lives a mortal, unendow'd by aught
That Learning, Luxury, or Fame can yield,
And yet a Crœsus in his store of joy
With thine compared; the man whom sullied earth
Enslaves not, on whose soul the Truth hath smiled—
Truth which I loathe, but Hell cannot destroy!
A model first, and then the captive made
Of desolating Rome, the classic Isles
Of ancient Greece, beside yon full-waved sea
Laugh in the bright unbreathing air of noon.
Antiquity reigns here; see! on her throne
Of Athos, whence the giant-shadow sweeps,
As new alighted from a cloud she stands,
Waving her wand triumphant o'er her scenes;—
To hoar Parnassus, where the fabled spring
Of Castaly still flows; and time-awed wilds,
And mountain-pass, and Marathonian plain,
To every haunt heroic feet have trod
Her wand is pointed,—till the Past untombs
Her treasure; Athens is revived again;
The slave-isles hurl their shackles o'er the sea,
And Greece awakes to glorify the world!
Of desolating Rome, the classic Isles
Of ancient Greece, beside yon full-waved sea
Laugh in the bright unbreathing air of noon.
Antiquity reigns here; see! on her throne
Of Athos, whence the giant-shadow sweeps,
As new alighted from a cloud she stands,
Waving her wand triumphant o'er her scenes;—
To hoar Parnassus, where the fabled spring
Of Castaly still flows; and time-awed wilds,
And mountain-pass, and Marathonian plain,
To every haunt heroic feet have trod
Her wand is pointed,—till the Past untombs
Her treasure; Athens is revived again;
The slave-isles hurl their shackles o'er the sea,
And Greece awakes to glorify the world!
Surpassing Clime! though man thy charms profane,
Nature bedecks thee with a bridal robe.
When moon-tints tremble on the Adrian-waves,
What sea so beautiful! what sun so bright,
So ravishingly deck'd with golden beams
As thine unequall'd orb!—And still yon skies
Are canopies of crystal; rich-leaf'd flowers
Ope radiant as the fairy wings of birds,
And fruit and tree wave luscious in the wind.
Nature bedecks thee with a bridal robe.
When moon-tints tremble on the Adrian-waves,
What sea so beautiful! what sun so bright,
So ravishingly deck'd with golden beams
As thine unequall'd orb!—And still yon skies
Are canopies of crystal; rich-leaf'd flowers
Ope radiant as the fairy wings of birds,
And fruit and tree wave luscious in the wind.
Again, thou upstart World, thy doom behold!
Where Valour with the sword of freedom fell'd
Her myriads down, like grass before the scythe;
Where Art and Science in perfection reign'd,
And Sculpture miracles of grace achieved;
Where Eloquence her spirit volley'd forth
In words that palsied Empires with their sound,
As shakes a forest in the deep-toned storm!
Where Poetry, by stirring passion bred,
From Feeling's heart responsive numbers drew,
While heavenly Wisdom to the soaring eye
Of sages half reveal'd her perfect form,—
There in that Land, surpassingly endow'd
With all that beauty wealth and art bestow,
Corruption in her darkest spirit dwells.
Then learn, Adorers of Athenian gods,
Learn, at the tomb of Glory laid in dust,
How human passions wither while they sway;
The Curse is living!—think of my revenge!
Where Valour with the sword of freedom fell'd
Her myriads down, like grass before the scythe;
Where Art and Science in perfection reign'd,
340
Where Eloquence her spirit volley'd forth
In words that palsied Empires with their sound,
As shakes a forest in the deep-toned storm!
Where Poetry, by stirring passion bred,
From Feeling's heart responsive numbers drew,
While heavenly Wisdom to the soaring eye
Of sages half reveal'd her perfect form,—
There in that Land, surpassingly endow'd
With all that beauty wealth and art bestow,
Corruption in her darkest spirit dwells.
Then learn, Adorers of Athenian gods,
Learn, at the tomb of Glory laid in dust,
How human passions wither while they sway;
The Curse is living!—think of my revenge!
Northward of Greece, behold illustrious Gaul,
Britannia's rival, gaily doth outspread
Her scenery, and blooming flush of life.
She, too, hath beauty; and her sun-warm hills,
Which bare their bosoms to the mellowing sky,
With vine and fruitage, bountifully glow;
While rivers of romance, by wood and vale,
And bord'ring town, their sparkling waters lead.
Young, fresh, and gay, elastic as the breeze,
All spring and sunshine, her full spirit bounds;
Here vanity is virtue: out of hearts
Which seem to echo but what woman loves
A waking valour, prompt to dare, and proud
To die. And yet, true nobleness of mind
Is faintly seen; sincerity, too harsh
To please, is polish'd into courtly lies,—
The frothy incense of a faithless soul.
Britannia's rival, gaily doth outspread
Her scenery, and blooming flush of life.
She, too, hath beauty; and her sun-warm hills,
Which bare their bosoms to the mellowing sky,
With vine and fruitage, bountifully glow;
While rivers of romance, by wood and vale,
And bord'ring town, their sparkling waters lead.
Young, fresh, and gay, elastic as the breeze,
All spring and sunshine, her full spirit bounds;
Here vanity is virtue: out of hearts
Which seem to echo but what woman loves
A waking valour, prompt to dare, and proud
To die. And yet, true nobleness of mind
Is faintly seen; sincerity, too harsh
To please, is polish'd into courtly lies,—
The frothy incense of a faithless soul.
Once France and Freedom were a mingled name;
And now, when all their wrathful clouds are roll'd
Away, the shadows which they cast endure,
Clothing the soul of memory with fear.
Her Revolution, who that saw forgets,
Or who that felt, and does not feel?—The storm
Which makes a midnight of affrighted day,
Is weak, to that rebellion of despair
When buried passions, like an earthquake burst
From out an injured Nation's heart. And such
Was thine, afflicted France! the far-off Thrones
Of tyrants stagger'd, distant Empires quail'd
When, like th' embodied spirit of thy wrongs,
Dread Revolution darken'd on the world,
Ringing a peal that echoed Europe round
And died in thunder o'er th' Atlantic deep!
But thou wert too unholy to be free,
Too grasping to be great; and when thy thirst
For havoc brutalised the scene of blood,
As though re-action for all human wrong
Were centred in it for one dire revenge,
A madness fired thee; and thy human fiends
Rivall'd their lord in blasphemy and blood!
And now, when all their wrathful clouds are roll'd
Away, the shadows which they cast endure,
Clothing the soul of memory with fear.
Her Revolution, who that saw forgets,
Or who that felt, and does not feel?—The storm
Which makes a midnight of affrighted day,
Is weak, to that rebellion of despair
When buried passions, like an earthquake burst
From out an injured Nation's heart. And such
Was thine, afflicted France! the far-off Thrones
Of tyrants stagger'd, distant Empires quail'd
When, like th' embodied spirit of thy wrongs,
Dread Revolution darken'd on the world,
Ringing a peal that echoed Europe round
And died in thunder o'er th' Atlantic deep!
But thou wert too unholy to be free,
Too grasping to be great; and when thy thirst
For havoc brutalised the scene of blood,
As though re-action for all human wrong
Were centred in it for one dire revenge,
A madness fired thee; and thy human fiends
Rivall'd their lord in blasphemy and blood!
Bounding with gladness, by yon castled banks
Roll the green waters of the glorious Rhine
In fullness and in freedom, swelling on
For ever. There, amid some minds which hold
Each hallow'd creed by dreading Hell abhorr'd,
While Men to “Ego” germanise their God
Dark Speculation does my brain-work well
In many a school, where reeling heads grow wild
And godless! Hence, all moral basis fails
Wherein the judgment can alone repose
Secure and solid; while the eye of faith
Is darken'd, sacred conscience half extinct,
And doubts, refracting heaven's unbroken light
From Scripture, make the Man himself untrue,—
In reasoning pride irrationally lost!
Free though they look, my slaves all sceptics are;
Through mental fogs, or pantheistic gloom,
Blindly they grope their miserable way
And make confusion more confounded still:
Then, all is chaos, and the Spirit mine!—
Love, Faith and Law, a trinity of powers
Which shape the will, or sanctify the heart
For heaven, my human miniatures disdain:
Not grace for discipline, but truth for thought
Proud worshippers of Indecision love
Like mental antichrists: till God becomes
Impersonal, a Problem for the soul
To scan—mere Principle, and nothing more!
Hence, German thought a German Christ evokes
From misty depths, to speculation dear
Because unfathom'd. Now, my reign begins:
Let darkness be, where Deity said, light!
Till creedless mind call God an inward Myth
Of man's creation; and thus will sceptics prove
The incarnations of that Lie first-born
In Eden utter'd, when I whisper'd,—doubt,
Renounce Jehovah and thyself believe!
Roll the green waters of the glorious Rhine
In fullness and in freedom, swelling on
For ever. There, amid some minds which hold
Each hallow'd creed by dreading Hell abhorr'd,
While Men to “Ego” germanise their God
Dark Speculation does my brain-work well
In many a school, where reeling heads grow wild
And godless! Hence, all moral basis fails
Wherein the judgment can alone repose
Secure and solid; while the eye of faith
Is darken'd, sacred conscience half extinct,
And doubts, refracting heaven's unbroken light
From Scripture, make the Man himself untrue,—
In reasoning pride irrationally lost!
Free though they look, my slaves all sceptics are;
Through mental fogs, or pantheistic gloom,
Blindly they grope their miserable way
And make confusion more confounded still:
Then, all is chaos, and the Spirit mine!—
Love, Faith and Law, a trinity of powers
Which shape the will, or sanctify the heart
For heaven, my human miniatures disdain:
Not grace for discipline, but truth for thought
Proud worshippers of Indecision love
Like mental antichrists: till God becomes
Impersonal, a Problem for the soul
To scan—mere Principle, and nothing more!
Hence, German thought a German Christ evokes
From misty depths, to speculation dear
Because unfathom'd. Now, my reign begins:
Let darkness be, where Deity said, light!
Till creedless mind call God an inward Myth
Of man's creation; and thus will sceptics prove
The incarnations of that Lie first-born
In Eden utter'd, when I whisper'd,—doubt,
Renounce Jehovah and thyself believe!
Fronting the wave-environ'd shore of France,
And bulwark'd with her everlasting main
O'er which the guardian-cliffs sublimely lower,
Like palaces of stern defence, behold
The Isle-queen!—every billow sounds her fame!
The Ocean is her proud triumphal car
Whereon she rideth; and the rolling waves
The vassals which secure her victory;
Alone, and matchless in her sceptred might
She dares the world. The spirit of the brave
Burns in her; laws are liberty; and kings
Wear crowns which glitter with a people's love;
And while the magna-charta of their rights
Is guarded, royalty is kept secure;
But let the cause of Liberty be wrong'd,—
The throne is shaken! patriot-voices rise,
And, prompt as billows by the tyrant-gale
Excited, loud and haughty is their roar!
And bulwark'd with her everlasting main
O'er which the guardian-cliffs sublimely lower,
Like palaces of stern defence, behold
The Isle-queen!—every billow sounds her fame!
The Ocean is her proud triumphal car
Whereon she rideth; and the rolling waves
The vassals which secure her victory;
Alone, and matchless in her sceptred might
She dares the world. The spirit of the brave
Burns in her; laws are liberty; and kings
Wear crowns which glitter with a people's love;
And while the magna-charta of their rights
Is guarded, royalty is kept secure;
But let the cause of Liberty be wrong'd,—
The throne is shaken! patriot-voices rise,
And, prompt as billows by the tyrant-gale
Excited, loud and haughty is their roar!
341
Heaven-favour'd Land! where fitful climates reign,
And home-life from the ever-clouded skies
A bliss concenter'd more than France enjoys,—
Of mountain-pomp, and poetry of hills,
Though other climates boast, in thee supreme
A pastoral grace and gentleness abound;
Here all which quiet feeling love, or charms
The sweet sobriety of tender thought,
Is thine; a heaven whose beautiful, is change;
Or sunshine tinged by unreposing clouds,
That make bright landscapes when they blush abroad;
The dingle grey, and wooded copse; with hut
And hamlet, nestling in some bosky vale;
And spires brown-peeping o'er the ancient elms,
And steepled cities, faint and far away,
With all that bird and meadow, brook and gale
Impart,—commingle for romantic eyes
Which catch the sentiment thy scenes inspire.
And home-life from the ever-clouded skies
A bliss concenter'd more than France enjoys,—
Of mountain-pomp, and poetry of hills,
Though other climates boast, in thee supreme
A pastoral grace and gentleness abound;
Here all which quiet feeling love, or charms
The sweet sobriety of tender thought,
Is thine; a heaven whose beautiful, is change;
Or sunshine tinged by unreposing clouds,
That make bright landscapes when they blush abroad;
The dingle grey, and wooded copse; with hut
And hamlet, nestling in some bosky vale;
And spires brown-peeping o'er the ancient elms,
And steepled cities, faint and far away,
With all that bird and meadow, brook and gale
Impart,—commingle for romantic eyes
Which catch the sentiment thy scenes inspire.
But Ocean is thy glory: and methinks
Some musing wanderer by the shore I see,
Weaving his island-fancies.—Round him rock
And cliff, whose grey trees mutter to the wind,
And streams down-rushing with a torrent ire:
The sky seems craggy, with her cloud-piles hung,
Deep-mass'd, as though avenging thunder lay
And darken'd in its dream of havoc there.
Before him, Ocean, yelling in the blast,
Wild as the death-wail of a drowning host:
The surges,—let them each a tempest roll,
Or lash their fury into living foam,
Yon war-ship shall outbrave them all! her sails
Resent the winds, and their remorseless beat;
And when she ventures the abyss of waves,
Remounts, expands her wings, and then—away!
Proud as an eagle dashing through the clouds.
Some musing wanderer by the shore I see,
Weaving his island-fancies.—Round him rock
And cliff, whose grey trees mutter to the wind,
And streams down-rushing with a torrent ire:
The sky seems craggy, with her cloud-piles hung,
Deep-mass'd, as though avenging thunder lay
And darken'd in its dream of havoc there.
Before him, Ocean, yelling in the blast,
Wild as the death-wail of a drowning host:
The surges,—let them each a tempest roll,
Or lash their fury into living foam,
Yon war-ship shall outbrave them all! her sails
Resent the winds, and their remorseless beat;
And when she ventures the abyss of waves,
Remounts, expands her wings, and then—away!
Proud as an eagle dashing through the clouds.
And well, brave scion of the empress-Isle,
Thy spirit mingles with the mighty scene,
Hailing thy Country on her ocean-throne.
But she hath dread atonements to complete,
And burning tears to shed. Thy lofty dreams
O England! may be humbled yet; behold!
Thy curse is coming;—mark! for in thine own
Great heart the darkness of rebellion breeds,
And frowns of Heaven hang awful o'er thy doom!
Thy spirit mingles with the mighty scene,
Hailing thy Country on her ocean-throne.
But she hath dread atonements to complete,
And burning tears to shed. Thy lofty dreams
O England! may be humbled yet; behold!
Thy curse is coming;—mark! for in thine own
Great heart the darkness of rebellion breeds,
And frowns of Heaven hang awful o'er thy doom!
And now, the World before my view hath pass'd,
With multitudinous array of pomp
And power, of Kingdom, Plain, and Desert rude,
Of Oceans, garnish'd with their glitt'ring isles,
And the vast heaven which o'er-arches all!
How crime and havoc in dread union leagued
The fortunes of this fated earth have changed!
The present still is echo to the past;
Of both the future will an echo prove;
A rise and fall,—a fall and rise—the doom
Of men and empires thus gone ages tell.
With multitudinous array of pomp
And power, of Kingdom, Plain, and Desert rude,
Of Oceans, garnish'd with their glitt'ring isles,
And the vast heaven which o'er-arches all!
How crime and havoc in dread union leagued
The fortunes of this fated earth have changed!
The present still is echo to the past;
Of both the future will an echo prove;
A rise and fall,—a fall and rise—the doom
Of men and empires thus gone ages tell.
And what of this proud Age, whose wings unfold
In bright expansion? Is she Wisdom's child?
From the dark catalogue of sin and shame
Is aught erased? Are passions more subdued,
The virtues laurell'd, and the vices dead?
The same in spirit doth the earth exist?
If so, then, Time, I hail thee! and the Curse
Shall multiply; new thrones and dynasties
May come, but Desolation shall foredoom
Their fate, though haughty be the aspect worn.
And as among the myriads who have lived
On earth, not many have our thrones regain'd,
So from the myriads yet to be reveal'd
In life and suff'rance, few shall face the heat
Of trial scathless; few shall overcome
The world, or win the crown apostles wear.
In bright expansion? Is she Wisdom's child?
From the dark catalogue of sin and shame
Is aught erased? Are passions more subdued,
The virtues laurell'd, and the vices dead?
The same in spirit doth the earth exist?
If so, then, Time, I hail thee! and the Curse
Shall multiply; new thrones and dynasties
May come, but Desolation shall foredoom
Their fate, though haughty be the aspect worn.
And as among the myriads who have lived
On earth, not many have our thrones regain'd,
So from the myriads yet to be reveal'd
In life and suff'rance, few shall face the heat
Of trial scathless; few shall overcome
The world, or win the crown apostles wear.
But lo! the day declines; and to his couch
The Sun is wheeling. What a world of pomp
The heavens put on in homage to his power!
Romance hath never hung a richer sky,—
Or sea of sunshine, o'er whose yellow deep
Triumphal barks of beauteous foam career,
As though the clouds held festival, to hail
Their god of glory to his western home.
And now the earth seems mirror'd on the skies!
While lakes and valleys, drown'd in dewy light,
And rich delusions, dazzlingly array'd,
Form, float, and die, in all their phantom-joy.
At length the Sun is throned; but from his face
A flush of beauty o'er creation flows,
Then faints to paleness, for the Day hath sunk
Beneath the waters, dash'd with ruby dyes,
And Twilight in her nun-like meekness comes:
The air is fragrant with the soul of flowers,
The breeze comes panting like a child at play,
While birds, day-worn, are couch'd in leafy rest,
And calm as clouds the sunken billows sleep:
The dimness of a dream o'er nature steals,
Yet hallows it; a hush'd enchantment reigns;
The mountains to a mass of mellowing shade
Are turn'd, and stand like temples of the Night:
While field and forest, fading into gloom,
Depart, and rivers whisper sounds of fear;
A dying pause, as if th' Almighty moved
In shadow o'er His works, hath solemnised
The world!
The Sun is wheeling. What a world of pomp
The heavens put on in homage to his power!
Romance hath never hung a richer sky,—
Or sea of sunshine, o'er whose yellow deep
Triumphal barks of beauteous foam career,
As though the clouds held festival, to hail
Their god of glory to his western home.
And now the earth seems mirror'd on the skies!
While lakes and valleys, drown'd in dewy light,
And rich delusions, dazzlingly array'd,
Form, float, and die, in all their phantom-joy.
At length the Sun is throned; but from his face
A flush of beauty o'er creation flows,
Then faints to paleness, for the Day hath sunk
Beneath the waters, dash'd with ruby dyes,
And Twilight in her nun-like meekness comes:
The air is fragrant with the soul of flowers,
The breeze comes panting like a child at play,
While birds, day-worn, are couch'd in leafy rest,
And calm as clouds the sunken billows sleep:
The dimness of a dream o'er nature steals,
Yet hallows it; a hush'd enchantment reigns;
The mountains to a mass of mellowing shade
Are turn'd, and stand like temples of the Night:
While field and forest, fading into gloom,
342
A dying pause, as if th' Almighty moved
In shadow o'er His works, hath solemnised
The world!
But that hath ceased; the herald-stars,
In timid lustre twinkling into life,
Advance; and, faint as music's rising swell,
The moon is rounding as she dawns. Fair orb!
The sentimental child of earth will say,
The sun glares like a warrior o'er his plain
Of morning sky; but thou, so wan and meek,
Appear'st a maiden of romance, who walks
In placid sorrow, beautifully pale.
Behold thy power! on tree and meadow falls
The loveliness of thine arraying smile.
How silverly the sleeping air is robed
Around me! Clouds above, like plats of snow
Which linger on the hills, and laugh the sun
Away with their white beauty, yet remain;
And now they vanish, and the soundless heaven
Forms one deep cope of azure, where the stars,
Bright pilgrims voyaging an unwaved sea,
Are strewn, and sparkle with incessant rays
Of mystery and meaning. Yet not heaven,
When islanded with all those lustrous worlds,
Nor cradled Ocean with the waves uproll'd,
Nor moonlight weaving forth its pallid shroud,
Is so enchanting as that stillness felt,
And living with luxurious spell, through all,—
Silent as though a sound had never been;
Or, angels o'er her slumber spread their wings,
And breathed a sabbath into Nature's soul.
In timid lustre twinkling into life,
Advance; and, faint as music's rising swell,
The moon is rounding as she dawns. Fair orb!
The sentimental child of earth will say,
The sun glares like a warrior o'er his plain
Of morning sky; but thou, so wan and meek,
Appear'st a maiden of romance, who walks
In placid sorrow, beautifully pale.
Behold thy power! on tree and meadow falls
The loveliness of thine arraying smile.
How silverly the sleeping air is robed
Around me! Clouds above, like plats of snow
Which linger on the hills, and laugh the sun
Away with their white beauty, yet remain;
And now they vanish, and the soundless heaven
Forms one deep cope of azure, where the stars,
Bright pilgrims voyaging an unwaved sea,
Are strewn, and sparkle with incessant rays
Of mystery and meaning. Yet not heaven,
When islanded with all those lustrous worlds,
Nor cradled Ocean with the waves uproll'd,
Nor moonlight weaving forth its pallid shroud,
Is so enchanting as that stillness felt,
And living with luxurious spell, through all,—
Silent as though a sound had never been;
Or, angels o'er her slumber spread their wings,
And breathed a sabbath into Nature's soul.
No wonder moonlight made idolaters,
That their Creator in creation merged
As one surpassing Whole: for even I,
I who have look'd with archangelic love
On all the beauty and the blaze of heaven,—
E'en I, the burning of my soul can feel
Allay'd, when nature grows so near divine.
And man, when passionless and pure awhile
Amid the trances of unbreathing night
With adoration in his eye and heart,
He walks abroad, and measures at a gaze
The starr'd immensity above, becomes
Sublime; a shade of his primeval Soul
Returns upon him; chaste as e'er it fell
Heaven-ward the prayer-winged heart of faith ascends,
Beholding Angels in excess of light,
And joining in their chorus round The Throne!
Sublime, but impotent, he then appears:
The Fathomless, oh, who shall fathom? Time,
Eternity, and Truth,—those awful Three
That make the mystery God alone resolves.
That their Creator in creation merged
As one surpassing Whole: for even I,
I who have look'd with archangelic love
On all the beauty and the blaze of heaven,—
E'en I, the burning of my soul can feel
Allay'd, when nature grows so near divine.
And man, when passionless and pure awhile
Amid the trances of unbreathing night
With adoration in his eye and heart,
He walks abroad, and measures at a gaze
The starr'd immensity above, becomes
Sublime; a shade of his primeval Soul
Returns upon him; chaste as e'er it fell
Heaven-ward the prayer-winged heart of faith ascends,
Beholding Angels in excess of light,
And joining in their chorus round The Throne!
Sublime, but impotent, he then appears:
The Fathomless, oh, who shall fathom? Time,
Eternity, and Truth,—those awful Three
That make the mystery God alone resolves.
BOOK III.
“On man, on nature, and on human life,
Musing in solitude.”
Wordsworth.
Musing in solitude.”
Wordsworth.
And such the nature of this noble world!
Magnificence and beauty, pomp and might
Supremely glorify God's earth for man,
The beatings of whose heart are heard in Heaven.
The chant of seas, the jubilee of winds
In forests heard, or playing their free wings
Till the glad air is one abounding swell
Of joy; Mortality's mysterious life
And motion; and the thrilling tones of mind
Which sound so awful on the sleepless ear
Of Angels, watching like pure sentinels
O'er human hearts,—such fearful stir of things
In viewless worlds might well an echo wake.
And may not he, the monarch of the scene,
Be crown'd with glory, when he champions Time,
Proclaiming what a vassal he hath been,
And how great Nature hath his charm obey'd!
The Elements—he made them servile powers,
Or mix'd their spirit with his own; the Rocks
Uprear'd—he scaled them to the clouds;
The Ocean, thunder'd with her dreadful waves,—
He braved them, and they bore him like a god!
Yea, more; in haunts where desolation nursed
The midnight Tempest howling for his prey,
There hath the City piled her myriad domes;
And Life her human scenery unroll'd.
Magnificence and beauty, pomp and might
Supremely glorify God's earth for man,
The beatings of whose heart are heard in Heaven.
The chant of seas, the jubilee of winds
In forests heard, or playing their free wings
Till the glad air is one abounding swell
Of joy; Mortality's mysterious life
And motion; and the thrilling tones of mind
Which sound so awful on the sleepless ear
Of Angels, watching like pure sentinels
O'er human hearts,—such fearful stir of things
In viewless worlds might well an echo wake.
And may not he, the monarch of the scene,
Be crown'd with glory, when he champions Time,
Proclaiming what a vassal he hath been,
And how great Nature hath his charm obey'd!
The Elements—he made them servile powers,
Or mix'd their spirit with his own; the Rocks
Uprear'd—he scaled them to the clouds;
The Ocean, thunder'd with her dreadful waves,—
He braved them, and they bore him like a god!
Yea, more; in haunts where desolation nursed
The midnight Tempest howling for his prey,
There hath the City piled her myriad domes;
And Life her human scenery unroll'd.
So vast his triumph o'er the varied range
Of elemental being; but the soul
For its omnipotence is most revered;
How darkly-wild, how grandly undefined!
Now sunk in dreams of unethereal bliss,
Now glowing, gasping for infinity!
Of Senses, inlet to unnumber'd joys
And pains, all exquisitely toned and true;
Of Feelings, wrapp'd as life-nerves round the heart
Which throbs obedient to their lightning-call:
And Passions, gods or demons as they rule,—
Humanity may boast beyond decay:
While Thought,—eternity is not too deep
To fathom! she can sweep immensity,
Creating worlds, and soaring on the wings
Of awe, till, drooping like a weary bird,
She drop in wonder to the earth again.
Of elemental being; but the soul
For its omnipotence is most revered;
How darkly-wild, how grandly undefined!
Now sunk in dreams of unethereal bliss,
Now glowing, gasping for infinity!
Of Senses, inlet to unnumber'd joys
And pains, all exquisitely toned and true;
Of Feelings, wrapp'd as life-nerves round the heart
Which throbs obedient to their lightning-call:
And Passions, gods or demons as they rule,—
Humanity may boast beyond decay:
While Thought,—eternity is not too deep
To fathom! she can sweep immensity,
Creating worlds, and soaring on the wings
Of awe, till, drooping like a weary bird,
She drop in wonder to the earth again.
With god-like attributes, ethereal powers
Developed as the living soul directs,
What grand perfections, then, hath Earth produced!
Proud of his being, hear some child of clay:—
“A Monarch holding empires in his grasp,
Is great; Philosophers who fathom depths
Of mystery, and plunge their minds in gloom,
That ages may grow brighter, are sublime:
And Genius, when by inspiration wing'd,
How gloriously the heaven of thought she mounts,
Fronting Jehovah with undaunted eye
As eagles gaze undazzled on the sun!—
Then, may She not the crowning laurel wear,
The purest of perfections?”—Further yet;
Methinks I'm challenged to admire a man
Adorn'd with meekness, graced by holy love,
And in the noiseless vale of humble life
Content, and charitably good; whose name
Is nobly register'd in realms divine,
Though unrenown'd below,—for men forget
Th' obscure in earth are oft the famed in heav'n.
Developed as the living soul directs,
What grand perfections, then, hath Earth produced!
Proud of his being, hear some child of clay:—
343
Is great; Philosophers who fathom depths
Of mystery, and plunge their minds in gloom,
That ages may grow brighter, are sublime:
And Genius, when by inspiration wing'd,
How gloriously the heaven of thought she mounts,
Fronting Jehovah with undaunted eye
As eagles gaze undazzled on the sun!—
Then, may She not the crowning laurel wear,
The purest of perfections?”—Further yet;
Methinks I'm challenged to admire a man
Adorn'd with meekness, graced by holy love,
And in the noiseless vale of humble life
Content, and charitably good; whose name
Is nobly register'd in realms divine,
Though unrenown'd below,—for men forget
Th' obscure in earth are oft the famed in heav'n.
These proud examples of terrestrial worth
Oft deify man's nature, and exalt
His dignity to such a seeming height
Of inward greatness, that it spurns away
The dimming memory of a primal fall,
And magnifies him to his first estate
Of glory. What am I, then, if this earth
By sin be all unblasted? Not a Shape
Of woe, the prey of agonising fires,
But Seraph, with his raiments roll'd in light
The hierarchal prince of heav'n!—If Man
Be undegraded, Hell is but a sound
Of falsehood, dwelling in the soul of fear.
Yet, judge them by their greatness, what are men?
Of imperfection is true wisdom born,
And vaunting knowledge, ignorance confess'd.
The Unknown, when reveal'd, is not the new;
It was, before his mental vision saw,
And soar'd into a certainty; when seen,
The blindness of the past is proved, and Earth
May wonder, but she might be humble, too.
Oft deify man's nature, and exalt
His dignity to such a seeming height
Of inward greatness, that it spurns away
The dimming memory of a primal fall,
And magnifies him to his first estate
Of glory. What am I, then, if this earth
By sin be all unblasted? Not a Shape
Of woe, the prey of agonising fires,
But Seraph, with his raiments roll'd in light
The hierarchal prince of heav'n!—If Man
Be undegraded, Hell is but a sound
Of falsehood, dwelling in the soul of fear.
Yet, judge them by their greatness, what are men?
Of imperfection is true wisdom born,
And vaunting knowledge, ignorance confess'd.
The Unknown, when reveal'd, is not the new;
It was, before his mental vision saw,
And soar'd into a certainty; when seen,
The blindness of the past is proved, and Earth
May wonder, but she might be humble, too.
There are, who feel true glory but a ray
Of triumph over imperfection shed,—
Which looks the darker when the gleam is o'er—
When night hath deepen'd, and the massy earth
Lies cover'd with cathedral-gloom, abroad
Some starry Watcher roams, and 'mid the far
Array of planetary worlds, like Saints
In bright procession marching to the Throne
Of their Creator, spreads his wandering soul,
Till in the contemplated God absorb'd
The Man is nothing, and his wisdom, dust!
Of triumph over imperfection shed,—
Which looks the darker when the gleam is o'er—
When night hath deepen'd, and the massy earth
Lies cover'd with cathedral-gloom, abroad
Some starry Watcher roams, and 'mid the far
Array of planetary worlds, like Saints
In bright procession marching to the Throne
Of their Creator, spreads his wandering soul,
Till in the contemplated God absorb'd
The Man is nothing, and his wisdom, dust!
Nor dare he boast, as if perfection crown'd
His being, who can most himself unearth;
And from immortal beauty of the mind
Reflect the imagery of heav'n around;—
E'en he, whose gratitude in sunshine hails
The smiles from God's own countenance reveal'd,
Which flutter round his soul like fairy notes
Of music melting into magic there,—
Yes! he is boastless; though he soar sloft
Till Fancy, awe-struck, wait with folded wing
Before the blaze of Deity!—for dark
To him the meanness of this sin-worn earth,
When, breaking from a cloud of holy thought
Wherein he dreamt, and high communion held
With visions of a viewless world,—again
He hears the rolling waves of life, and sees
The gloom and turmoil of created things.
His being, who can most himself unearth;
And from immortal beauty of the mind
Reflect the imagery of heav'n around;—
E'en he, whose gratitude in sunshine hails
The smiles from God's own countenance reveal'd,
Which flutter round his soul like fairy notes
Of music melting into magic there,—
Yes! he is boastless; though he soar sloft
Till Fancy, awe-struck, wait with folded wing
Before the blaze of Deity!—for dark
To him the meanness of this sin-worn earth,
When, breaking from a cloud of holy thought
Wherein he dreamt, and high communion held
With visions of a viewless world,—again
He hears the rolling waves of life, and sees
The gloom and turmoil of created things.
But if beneath the brightness of the soul
A shadow of degraded nature sleep,
To make it humble, then how far removed
From primal virtue are the men whom Vice
Imbrutes with her foul spirit! Well, indeed,
Hath Hell with Heaven divided empire won;
How widely, let the watching Angels speak!
Who frequent shudder with regretful awe
When gazing down the wild abyss within
To view the passion-waves which billow there,
The gloom, the stir, and tempest of the mind!
To such, the blackness of the Past is known!—
Within whose bosom lies entomb'd a mass
Of crime, by sinful myriads heap'd:—the Curse
Lies buried with it, till the trumpet-blast
Be sounded and the sleep of Ages burst
For retribution; then will wrath awake,
And I, the doubted One, shall stand reveal'd!
A shadow of degraded nature sleep,
To make it humble, then how far removed
From primal virtue are the men whom Vice
Imbrutes with her foul spirit! Well, indeed,
Hath Hell with Heaven divided empire won;
How widely, let the watching Angels speak!
Who frequent shudder with regretful awe
When gazing down the wild abyss within
To view the passion-waves which billow there,
The gloom, the stir, and tempest of the mind!
To such, the blackness of the Past is known!—
Within whose bosom lies entomb'd a mass
Of crime, by sinful myriads heap'd:—the Curse
Lies buried with it, till the trumpet-blast
Be sounded and the sleep of Ages burst
For retribution; then will wrath awake,
And I, the doubted One, shall stand reveal'd!
And what a burden of unheeded sin
Upon the death of each departing hour
Is borne into eternity! the Past
Was roughen'd into storms of savage guilt:
The present, with a milder aspect tempts
The judgment; 'tis a most polluted calm!
Beneath it, in their soul-corrupting power
The fest'ring tides of passion act and live;
And when they burst o'er all prudential banks
To riot in the public view of man,
Then, Evil! thou indeed art god confess'd.
Oh! it is laughter which allays our pangs
To see these clay-born Upstarts, who were framed
To re-erect our fallen Thrones,—amerced
Of favour, all their glory dimm'd and marr'd,
And they, contented at the car of Vice
To follow, fetter'd by the chains of hell!
Upon the death of each departing hour
Is borne into eternity! the Past
Was roughen'd into storms of savage guilt:
The present, with a milder aspect tempts
The judgment; 'tis a most polluted calm!
Beneath it, in their soul-corrupting power
The fest'ring tides of passion act and live;
And when they burst o'er all prudential banks
To riot in the public view of man,
Then, Evil! thou indeed art god confess'd.
Oh! it is laughter which allays our pangs
To see these clay-born Upstarts, who were framed
To re-erect our fallen Thrones,—amerced
Of favour, all their glory dimm'd and marr'd,
And they, contented at the car of Vice
To follow, fetter'd by the chains of hell!
First in my train of ministers behold
Assuming Pride, who lifts her lofty eye
To Heaven, as though in scorn of its dread height;
And when She bends it to the earth, surveys
All creatures but to dwarf them in a glance
Of stern comparison. But nobler far,
Appears Ambition, whose prophetic voice
So fired my own proud nature, that it dared
Jehovah's thunders in full roar to face!
In all my tempters there is no such power,
Such mingling of the demon and the god
As that which in Ambition dwells. The soul
Of Virtue, by her hallowing spirit touch'd
May emulate bright seraphs, with a love
Divine, through this dark pilgrimage; but rare
On earth is such sublime ambition found,
Or seldom would she waft a soul to me!
She haunts the lowliness of life; there, shapes
Her phantoms wild, or glittering delights.
But oftener she assumes a warrior-mien
To make a hero; stirs him with the sight
Of banners flouting a defiance; plains
And battle-hills with throbbing echoes rung:
He rides a charger in victorious dreams
And wakes a Hero!—let him gash the World!
Assuming Pride, who lifts her lofty eye
To Heaven, as though in scorn of its dread height;
And when She bends it to the earth, surveys
All creatures but to dwarf them in a glance
Of stern comparison. But nobler far,
344
So fired my own proud nature, that it dared
Jehovah's thunders in full roar to face!
In all my tempters there is no such power,
Such mingling of the demon and the god
As that which in Ambition dwells. The soul
Of Virtue, by her hallowing spirit touch'd
May emulate bright seraphs, with a love
Divine, through this dark pilgrimage; but rare
On earth is such sublime ambition found,
Or seldom would she waft a soul to me!
She haunts the lowliness of life; there, shapes
Her phantoms wild, or glittering delights.
But oftener she assumes a warrior-mien
To make a hero; stirs him with the sight
Of banners flouting a defiance; plains
And battle-hills with throbbing echoes rung:
He rides a charger in victorious dreams
And wakes a Hero!—let him gash the World!
Ambition prompts that Genius in the mind,
Which mortals on a throne of Magic seat,
Most heavenly-bright, without a shade of earth,
Her nature a nobility! the great
She magnifies, the mean she can exalt,
Lend virtue majesty, on vice a veil,
The all-adored,—creation for Her charm!
Enrapt, and raised beyond the clouds of sense,
And all which coarse reality perceives,
She wanders forth, and views the budding morn
Freshen the pale sky, like that infantine glow
Which o'er the cheek of waking Beauty steals;
And night,—the paradise of dreams expands
Before her, when that sacred darkness smiles
Unutterably glorious!—not a sound
Abroad; the moon, an isle of loveliness;
The stars hung beautiful, as all new-born
And lavish of their lustre; She can dream
Her spirit roaming some elysian Orb
Deep in the luxury and bloom of heaven.
All sights and sounds bring meanings to Her mind;
The seas are mirrors of Almightiness;
And winds, like terrible magicians reign
And master ocean with a wizard spell.
Whate'er is vision'd, she can make her own,
Shaping the world to an enchanted sphere!
Which mortals on a throne of Magic seat,
Most heavenly-bright, without a shade of earth,
Her nature a nobility! the great
She magnifies, the mean she can exalt,
Lend virtue majesty, on vice a veil,
The all-adored,—creation for Her charm!
Enrapt, and raised beyond the clouds of sense,
And all which coarse reality perceives,
She wanders forth, and views the budding morn
Freshen the pale sky, like that infantine glow
Which o'er the cheek of waking Beauty steals;
And night,—the paradise of dreams expands
Before her, when that sacred darkness smiles
Unutterably glorious!—not a sound
Abroad; the moon, an isle of loveliness;
The stars hung beautiful, as all new-born
And lavish of their lustre; She can dream
Her spirit roaming some elysian Orb
Deep in the luxury and bloom of heaven.
All sights and sounds bring meanings to Her mind;
The seas are mirrors of Almightiness;
And winds, like terrible magicians reign
And master ocean with a wizard spell.
Whate'er is vision'd, she can make her own,
Shaping the world to an enchanted sphere!
Yet Genius oft is mad ambition's wing
In shining motion flutter'd o'er mankind.
Alone, she cannot conquer Virtue's height,
Nor bask in her Elysium; for the Heart
One single virtue wins a prouder claim
Of eminence, than mighty Genius wears
In deepest glory:—while that peerless race,
Anointed demi-gods whom Fame adores,
Are blinded into self-idolatry,
Some unobtrusive child of Woe, through want
And anguish doom'd to meet his aidless lot,
Hath pour'd his spirit into fervent prayer,
And clung so faithful to the cross of Christ
That he is famous in the rolls of Heav'n,
Where lies a Mansion waiting for his soul;—
A withering, but eternal truth, to me!
In shining motion flutter'd o'er mankind.
Alone, she cannot conquer Virtue's height,
Nor bask in her Elysium; for the Heart
One single virtue wins a prouder claim
Of eminence, than mighty Genius wears
In deepest glory:—while that peerless race,
Anointed demi-gods whom Fame adores,
Are blinded into self-idolatry,
Some unobtrusive child of Woe, through want
And anguish doom'd to meet his aidless lot,
Hath pour'd his spirit into fervent prayer,
And clung so faithful to the cross of Christ
That he is famous in the rolls of Heav'n,
Where lies a Mansion waiting for his soul;—
A withering, but eternal truth, to me!
Next Avarice and Envy, meaner powers
Of evil, aid me while I weave the chains
Which bind the captives of Corruption down.
The first, a boundless feeling: more or less
A second nature to the human mind
Whose self-love is the life of thought and deed;
But in some bosoms kindling all its fire,
And rendering man a hideous slave of self;
Till the bright universe and all it boasts
Becomes a Nothing, when apart survey'd
From what it ministers to gain and gold!
Mean wretch! the more he gets, the less he gives;
For ever greedy, as the hunger'd shark
Which scents the dead among the waves afar.
Nature is nought to him; the darken'd soul
Hath dimm'd his eye,—it glitters but for gold,
And that will gladden his departing hour!
For what so grateful to the clammy touch
Of dying fingers, as to feel his gold,
While, sighing o'er it with a farewell-gaze
He mourns the nothing of the wealthless tomb!
Of evil, aid me while I weave the chains
Which bind the captives of Corruption down.
The first, a boundless feeling: more or less
A second nature to the human mind
Whose self-love is the life of thought and deed;
But in some bosoms kindling all its fire,
And rendering man a hideous slave of self;
Till the bright universe and all it boasts
Becomes a Nothing, when apart survey'd
From what it ministers to gain and gold!
Mean wretch! the more he gets, the less he gives;
For ever greedy, as the hunger'd shark
Which scents the dead among the waves afar.
Nature is nought to him; the darken'd soul
Hath dimm'd his eye,—it glitters but for gold,
And that will gladden his departing hour!
For what so grateful to the clammy touch
Of dying fingers, as to feel his gold,
While, sighing o'er it with a farewell-gaze
He mourns the nothing of the wealthless tomb!
But though in such abasement I exult,
There is an excellence which daunts my gaze
With blighting glory; such is virtue's ray;
It trembles brightly through the gloom of hell
And though 'tis hated, must be there admired!—
How nobly different lives that Son of earth
Whose heart is large enough to hold the world!
Benevolence is life and breath to him;
He spreads it out like sunshine from the soul,
Itself its own reward. Whate'er he views
Can waken sympathy; the clouds and streams,
The meadows, trees, and family of flowers,
For each and all as livingly endow'd
He feels a beauteous love, but gives to Man
The throbs and throes of sympathy divine.
For buried grief, and those retiring pangs
Which prey unutter'd on the gentle mind,
He hath a healing word; and from the joys
That shoot and sparkle o'er the stream of life
Who fetches out the flash of bliss, like he?
A hoary parent clasping his brave boy,
With eyes all running o'er with ecstasy;
A sweet and fairy-featured Infant, sat
In laughing beauty on its mother's knee,
That rocks it into rapture; or a pair
Of lovers, looking in each other's eyes
As though the lustre of unclouded years
Were in them, beaming with prophetic glow,—
O'er these, and every sun-burst of delight,
Benevolence can wave her angel-wings
And find in sympathy the soul of joy.
There is an excellence which daunts my gaze
With blighting glory; such is virtue's ray;
It trembles brightly through the gloom of hell
And though 'tis hated, must be there admired!—
How nobly different lives that Son of earth
Whose heart is large enough to hold the world!
Benevolence is life and breath to him;
He spreads it out like sunshine from the soul,
Itself its own reward. Whate'er he views
Can waken sympathy; the clouds and streams,
The meadows, trees, and family of flowers,
For each and all as livingly endow'd
He feels a beauteous love, but gives to Man
The throbs and throes of sympathy divine.
For buried grief, and those retiring pangs
Which prey unutter'd on the gentle mind,
He hath a healing word; and from the joys
That shoot and sparkle o'er the stream of life
Who fetches out the flash of bliss, like he?
A hoary parent clasping his brave boy,
With eyes all running o'er with ecstasy;
A sweet and fairy-featured Infant, sat
In laughing beauty on its mother's knee,
That rocks it into rapture; or a pair
Of lovers, looking in each other's eyes
As though the lustre of unclouded years
Were in them, beaming with prophetic glow,—
345
Benevolence can wave her angel-wings
And find in sympathy the soul of joy.
To pay me for such pure excess of good
Why, who art Thou with eye of dead-like gaze
And care-worn aspect, on thy haggard cheek,
The seal of woe, and stamp of agony?—
Fiend of the heart, on man inflicting Hell,
And Envy is thy name! though often crown'd
For Emulation, by thy martyr'd slave;
But she, proud Spirit! walks a nobler sphere:
And when, amid the madness of the storm
When skies are rack'd asunder, and the sea
Lies rolling in the rapture of its strength,
She longs, to be the queen of Elements
Sublimely o'er a thousand tempests throned;
Or views, the starry natures, till her own
Seems panting to be bright and pure as they;
Or, fired by dreams of intellectual fame,
Hath gazed on Glory till her eyes are dim,—
A generous and god-like Thing appears.
But Thou art unredeem'd! a burning mass
Of self-made misery, tortured by the curse
Roll'd back in vengeance on thy horrid Self,
Though breathed for others with malignant scorn.
Merit is misery to envious eyes,
That look themselves to anguish, when they mark
Some high-born quality of soul or mind
They cannot rival;—yet their very hate
Most cruelly a false perfection gives
To that pure excellence they long to crush,
Conceal, or wither: thus the secret worm
Can gnaw the spirit to its vital core!
And hence, that scowling eloquence of eye:
While Beauty, with her fairiness of form,
And looks of light, like those by angels cast;
Or Wisdom, laurell'd with unfading wreath
Well earn'd, and woven round an aching head
Where thoughts have throbb'd like pulses in the brain,
Each beat a torture!—likewise Youth and Joy,
Two smiling phantoms on the wings of time,
Are blasting spectacles to envious hearts.
Why, who art Thou with eye of dead-like gaze
And care-worn aspect, on thy haggard cheek,
The seal of woe, and stamp of agony?—
Fiend of the heart, on man inflicting Hell,
And Envy is thy name! though often crown'd
For Emulation, by thy martyr'd slave;
But she, proud Spirit! walks a nobler sphere:
And when, amid the madness of the storm
When skies are rack'd asunder, and the sea
Lies rolling in the rapture of its strength,
She longs, to be the queen of Elements
Sublimely o'er a thousand tempests throned;
Or views, the starry natures, till her own
Seems panting to be bright and pure as they;
Or, fired by dreams of intellectual fame,
Hath gazed on Glory till her eyes are dim,—
A generous and god-like Thing appears.
But Thou art unredeem'd! a burning mass
Of self-made misery, tortured by the curse
Roll'd back in vengeance on thy horrid Self,
Though breathed for others with malignant scorn.
Merit is misery to envious eyes,
That look themselves to anguish, when they mark
Some high-born quality of soul or mind
They cannot rival;—yet their very hate
Most cruelly a false perfection gives
To that pure excellence they long to crush,
Conceal, or wither: thus the secret worm
Can gnaw the spirit to its vital core!
And hence, that scowling eloquence of eye:
While Beauty, with her fairiness of form,
And looks of light, like those by angels cast;
Or Wisdom, laurell'd with unfading wreath
Well earn'd, and woven round an aching head
Where thoughts have throbb'd like pulses in the brain,
Each beat a torture!—likewise Youth and Joy,
Two smiling phantoms on the wings of time,
Are blasting spectacles to envious hearts.
Thus envy images the pang of hell!
In secret preying with its vulture-tooth,
Or haply easing its infernal rage
In deeds of horror, whose unslumb'ring guilt
Is vengeance:—how it haunts the craven wretch!
By writhing hell-flames o'er his tortured sleep,
And building oft the gallows which he dreads!
What though he shroud his spirit with a veil
Of outward gladness, artificial smiles
Are smiles of agony; and when alone
By some rude shore, where sullen waters roll
Like gloomy fancies through a guilty mind;
Or, doom'd to hear the sobbing of the wind,
The melancholy drip of midnight-rain,
And death-tales, faintly knell'd from far-off towers,
The calm is burst, the buried thoughts arise
With ghastly violence from their fell tomb;
The spirit storms with anguish, and Despair
Feels half the hell it shudders to foresee!
In secret preying with its vulture-tooth,
Or haply easing its infernal rage
In deeds of horror, whose unslumb'ring guilt
Is vengeance:—how it haunts the craven wretch!
By writhing hell-flames o'er his tortured sleep,
And building oft the gallows which he dreads!
What though he shroud his spirit with a veil
Of outward gladness, artificial smiles
Are smiles of agony; and when alone
By some rude shore, where sullen waters roll
Like gloomy fancies through a guilty mind;
Or, doom'd to hear the sobbing of the wind,
The melancholy drip of midnight-rain,
And death-tales, faintly knell'd from far-off towers,
The calm is burst, the buried thoughts arise
With ghastly violence from their fell tomb;
The spirit storms with anguish, and Despair
Feels half the hell it shudders to foresee!
Far wider, and more deadly in his reign,
Is Lust; the malady of souls impure
That fills the senses with lascivious fire,
O'erheats the fancy, and to dalliant thought
Presents all beauty moulded but for shame.
And such is passion, when by truth survey'd,
Anatomised, and seen! Yet lewd-soul'd men
Romantically vile, decoy the hearts
Of virtue, and disease them by a word
Whose smoothness hides the shame its meaning hath.
Foul passion is the poetry of vice
And beautifies corruption. Hence the mind
That would have loath'd its undisguised attempt
Enchanted by delusion, locks its eyes
In fatal slumber, till the veil is torn,
And all the terrors of remorse begin!
Is Lust; the malady of souls impure
That fills the senses with lascivious fire,
O'erheats the fancy, and to dalliant thought
Presents all beauty moulded but for shame.
And such is passion, when by truth survey'd,
Anatomised, and seen! Yet lewd-soul'd men
Romantically vile, decoy the hearts
Of virtue, and disease them by a word
Whose smoothness hides the shame its meaning hath.
Foul passion is the poetry of vice
And beautifies corruption. Hence the mind
That would have loath'd its undisguised attempt
Enchanted by delusion, locks its eyes
In fatal slumber, till the veil is torn,
And all the terrors of remorse begin!
Yet Hell cannot deny on earth there glows
A spirit scarcely weaken'd by the fall,—
The soul of feeling, and the sun of life,
Queen of the Passions, all-persuasive Love:—
And could they with the bliss of man commune
Fiends would be charm'd by pure affection's smile!
A spirit scarcely weaken'd by the fall,—
The soul of feeling, and the sun of life,
Queen of the Passions, all-persuasive Love:—
And could they with the bliss of man commune
Fiends would be charm'd by pure affection's smile!
Ethereal essence, interfused through life,
Is Love. In orbs of Glory spirits live
On such perfection; and on earth it feeds
And quickens all things with a soul-like ray:
The beautiful in its most beauteous sense;
And symbolised by Nature, in her play
Of harmonies,—her forms, her hues, and sounds:
In each, connexion aptitude and grace
Reside. Thus, flow'rs in their infantile bloom
Of sympathy; the bend of trees and boughs;
The chime of waters, and caress of winds,—
Betoken that they all partake a sense
Of that sweet principle which rules the world.
And yet, though Love a human seraph be
When pure and blest, by circumstance deform'd
It turns a Demon, in the heart enthroned,
That drains the life-blood out of Virtue's breast!
For many, gentle as their wishes once,
When Love smiled round them with prophetic ray,
With hearts by disappointment torn and rent
And spirits blasted with the blight of wrong,
Are driven onward through a wild'ring course,
Untemper'd and untamed. So flows the stream,
Which ever nurseth its delicious calm,
Till wrung by nature into torrent-force
And foaming reckless through the wild!
Is Love. In orbs of Glory spirits live
On such perfection; and on earth it feeds
And quickens all things with a soul-like ray:
The beautiful in its most beauteous sense;
And symbolised by Nature, in her play
Of harmonies,—her forms, her hues, and sounds:
In each, connexion aptitude and grace
Reside. Thus, flow'rs in their infantile bloom
Of sympathy; the bend of trees and boughs;
The chime of waters, and caress of winds,—
Betoken that they all partake a sense
Of that sweet principle which rules the world.
And yet, though Love a human seraph be
When pure and blest, by circumstance deform'd
It turns a Demon, in the heart enthroned,
That drains the life-blood out of Virtue's breast!
For many, gentle as their wishes once,
When Love smiled round them with prophetic ray,
With hearts by disappointment torn and rent
346
Are driven onward through a wild'ring course,
Untemper'd and untamed. So flows the stream,
Which ever nurseth its delicious calm,
Till wrung by nature into torrent-force
And foaming reckless through the wild!
And Thou,
The Star of home, who in thy gentleness
On the harsh nature of usurping man
Benign enchantment beautifully shedd'st,
Soft as a dew-fall from the brow of eve
Or veiling moonlight on the tempest thrown,—
Woman! when love has wreck'd thy trusting heart,
What port remains to shelter Thee! Too fond
And o'er-intense thy truthful nature is,
Save for the heart's idolatry and dream;
And then, to virtue's path thy love allures:—
It dawns, and withering passions die away;
Low raptures fade, pure feelings blossom forth,
And that which Wisdom's philosophic beam
Could never from the wintry soul awake,
By love is smiled into celestial birth!
So love is wisdom with a sweeter name.
The Star of home, who in thy gentleness
On the harsh nature of usurping man
Benign enchantment beautifully shedd'st,
Soft as a dew-fall from the brow of eve
Or veiling moonlight on the tempest thrown,—
Woman! when love has wreck'd thy trusting heart,
What port remains to shelter Thee! Too fond
And o'er-intense thy truthful nature is,
Save for the heart's idolatry and dream;
And then, to virtue's path thy love allures:—
It dawns, and withering passions die away;
Low raptures fade, pure feelings blossom forth,
And that which Wisdom's philosophic beam
Could never from the wintry soul awake,
By love is smiled into celestial birth!
So love is wisdom with a sweeter name.
But love attracts not Me!—I cannot love;
For curses are the essence of each thought
As writhes my spirit on a rack of fire.
Oh, Vengeance! ere I heard thy thunders roll,
With what delight I roam'd Heaven's bowers among,
With kindred Angels, and elysian Shapes,
Amid revealings of seraphic love!—
But here, in low-sphered earth, a shadow dwells
Of its divinity. In virgin youth
When feelings are as foster'd buds of joy
And freshness, from the spring of soul within,
While the full gush of tenderness awakes
Like spirit-music in the mind,—the heart
For love is made, and owns its magic true.
And now, earth wears the attributes of heaven!
Two hearts are one, two natures are transform'd
Each into each by sympathy of soul;
What words in looks! what love in every tone!
Moonlight, and azure sleep of cloudless air,
Eve-walks, their mildness and romantic hush,
How beautiful for lovers' placid vows!
Then love, Enthusiast! ere the drossy world
Corrupt thee; soon shall sorrow dash thy lot
With bitterness; the spell shall then unwind,
And Evil woo thee to her envious arms.
Love is the revel of a summer-ray,
The shadow of a heaven-sent dream; once gone,
'Tis gone for ever! darkness shall invade
Thy spirit, and the green delights of youth
Drop witheringly into barren age,
When love remains a memory and a tear.
For curses are the essence of each thought
As writhes my spirit on a rack of fire.
Oh, Vengeance! ere I heard thy thunders roll,
With what delight I roam'd Heaven's bowers among,
With kindred Angels, and elysian Shapes,
Amid revealings of seraphic love!—
But here, in low-sphered earth, a shadow dwells
Of its divinity. In virgin youth
When feelings are as foster'd buds of joy
And freshness, from the spring of soul within,
While the full gush of tenderness awakes
Like spirit-music in the mind,—the heart
For love is made, and owns its magic true.
And now, earth wears the attributes of heaven!
Two hearts are one, two natures are transform'd
Each into each by sympathy of soul;
What words in looks! what love in every tone!
Moonlight, and azure sleep of cloudless air,
Eve-walks, their mildness and romantic hush,
How beautiful for lovers' placid vows!
Then love, Enthusiast! ere the drossy world
Corrupt thee; soon shall sorrow dash thy lot
With bitterness; the spell shall then unwind,
And Evil woo thee to her envious arms.
Love is the revel of a summer-ray,
The shadow of a heaven-sent dream; once gone,
'Tis gone for ever! darkness shall invade
Thy spirit, and the green delights of youth
Drop witheringly into barren age,
When love remains a memory and a tear.
Next, Jealousy, the curse of tainted love,
Or causeless agony, by selfish thought
Endured, a minister of Evil makes:
Who haunts unseen some haggard spot, to hear
The night-air panting with a rueful swell,
Like sadness from a loaded bosom heaved.
Her victim!—she hath blister'd his fond heart
And through his veins a fiery venom pour'd;
His mind is torture, and that torture, hell!
The world is changed, corrupted, false; and cold
As autumn when the bleakest rain-dews fall,
To his delightless gaze. For damning proof
All shades of accident cohere; he storms
And doubts,—despairs and doubts again,—then tames
His wild suspicion into sullen calm,
Dark as the stillness of a thunder-cloud.
Or causeless agony, by selfish thought
Endured, a minister of Evil makes:
Who haunts unseen some haggard spot, to hear
The night-air panting with a rueful swell,
Like sadness from a loaded bosom heaved.
Her victim!—she hath blister'd his fond heart
And through his veins a fiery venom pour'd;
His mind is torture, and that torture, hell!
The world is changed, corrupted, false; and cold
As autumn when the bleakest rain-dews fall,
To his delightless gaze. For damning proof
All shades of accident cohere; he storms
And doubts,—despairs and doubts again,—then tames
His wild suspicion into sullen calm,
Dark as the stillness of a thunder-cloud.
And what of her, so fatally beloved?
Still beautiful and fair; but on each charm
The profanation of some fancied Eye
Hath dwelt, which haunts him like a hideous gaze!
Thus Jealousy the mind gangrenes, till thoughts
Feed on his soul like agonising fire
And wither him to madness!—oh, how oft
He wakes, and watches the suspected One,
When from her soul the light of slumber breaks,
As though it dreamt of sunshine and of flowers!
But dreams it thus for him!—To-morrow comes
And Jealousy renews her rack again.
Still beautiful and fair; but on each charm
The profanation of some fancied Eye
Hath dwelt, which haunts him like a hideous gaze!
Thus Jealousy the mind gangrenes, till thoughts
Feed on his soul like agonising fire
And wither him to madness!—oh, how oft
He wakes, and watches the suspected One,
When from her soul the light of slumber breaks,
As though it dreamt of sunshine and of flowers!
But dreams it thus for him!—To-morrow comes
And Jealousy renews her rack again.
“This world how fleeting and how vain! Our joys
Are blossoms torn by each tyrannic wind;
Our pleasures, but the painted dreams of air;
Our hopes, they light us onward to the tomb!”
Morality, how musical thy tones
Upon the lip of smooth Hypocrisy!
Are blossoms torn by each tyrannic wind;
Our pleasures, but the painted dreams of air;
Our hopes, they light us onward to the tomb!”
Morality, how musical thy tones
Upon the lip of smooth Hypocrisy!
And such a strain, how sweetly does it lull
The idiot-ears of undiscerning men,
Who see in words a shadow of pure deeds
And think the tongue the heart translates. The world
Is rank with hypocrites!—a coward-race
Of such ignoble vileness, that they shame
Temptation, though they track its hellward path.
Who bravely dares the censure of mankind,
Pays dear for Vice, but reaps her value too,
In full and free enjoyment: but the Slave
Of hidden sin is ever Torture's fool,
Proving his own avenger. Many seem
The mantles which adorn your hypocrite!
Behold him now, a most unruffled man
Smoother than waters sleeping in the sun,
To common gazers,—now, a courteous Shape
All delicately civil! full of words
Well rounded into gracious compliments;
Or else, benevolently mad, with purse
In hand; Misfortune, dip thy finger there!
Neglected Want! for you it opens wide;
And, oh! ye soft-lipp'd dealers in applause,
Resound the dews of mercy as they fall,
And crown him famous, Charity's own child!
But why?—it pays a penalty for sin
And bribes the Conscience, while it gilds a name.
The idiot-ears of undiscerning men,
Who see in words a shadow of pure deeds
And think the tongue the heart translates. The world
Is rank with hypocrites!—a coward-race
Of such ignoble vileness, that they shame
Temptation, though they track its hellward path.
Who bravely dares the censure of mankind,
Pays dear for Vice, but reaps her value too,
In full and free enjoyment: but the Slave
Of hidden sin is ever Torture's fool,
Proving his own avenger. Many seem
The mantles which adorn your hypocrite!
Behold him now, a most unruffled man
Smoother than waters sleeping in the sun,
347
All delicately civil! full of words
Well rounded into gracious compliments;
Or else, benevolently mad, with purse
In hand; Misfortune, dip thy finger there!
Neglected Want! for you it opens wide;
And, oh! ye soft-lipp'd dealers in applause,
Resound the dews of mercy as they fall,
And crown him famous, Charity's own child!
But why?—it pays a penalty for sin
And bribes the Conscience, while it gilds a name.
Then mark yon Hypocrite of pious mould,
For ever putting on unearthly moods
And looking lectures with his awful eyes.
A sun-like centre of religious zeal,
So pure, he would be better than the best!
True virtue is a heavenliness of mind
That, in the mercy of a mild reproof,
Sheds healing sympathy o'er human woe.
But he is cold, uncharitably good;
Dealing the thunder-bolts of sacred Wrath
With apostolic vengeance.—Mighty heaven,
What lip-work are his pharisaic prayers!
And like a sepulchre among the young
Or gay, when, clouded with an envious gloom
While death and judgment threaten from his brow,
He comes where youth and innocence embrace
To talk of Time and Change,—how gaping tombs
Their dead await to sleep in darkness here;
Or sternly paints some portraiture of sin,—
But feels himself the model whence he drew!
For ever putting on unearthly moods
And looking lectures with his awful eyes.
A sun-like centre of religious zeal,
So pure, he would be better than the best!
True virtue is a heavenliness of mind
That, in the mercy of a mild reproof,
Sheds healing sympathy o'er human woe.
But he is cold, uncharitably good;
Dealing the thunder-bolts of sacred Wrath
With apostolic vengeance.—Mighty heaven,
What lip-work are his pharisaic prayers!
And like a sepulchre among the young
Or gay, when, clouded with an envious gloom
While death and judgment threaten from his brow,
He comes where youth and innocence embrace
To talk of Time and Change,—how gaping tombs
Their dead await to sleep in darkness here;
Or sternly paints some portraiture of sin,—
But feels himself the model whence he drew!
There is another and a fearful slave
I love to train—the glory of revenge;
A ruin which develops Me, and prints
The die of evil in its deepest hue
On erring souls,—The Atheist! with his creed
Of darkness, brooding o'er the sunken mind
Till Truth deny her nature; and the man
Live like a bubble dancing on the stream
Of time, which sparkles, and is seen no more,—
A Nothing with a name! But since the soul
Is effluence divine, the inward rays
Of Deity cannot be quench'd: the God
Is clouded, yet an indistinct and dread
Religion, in the cowering spirit dwells.
Since Egypt worshipp'd her material gods
Through all the pantheistic gloom of Greek
And Roman ages, Deity hath reign'd,
Though hid in fabling wisdom. Where the mind
To pure conceptions of a perfect God
Ascended not, on wings of terror raised
To see Him as he is,—the Awful One,
Who wields eternity and portions time,
Commands a deluge, or dissolves a world!—
The Passions shadow'd forth fantastic gods,
As Fear, or Wonder, or the dreaming eye
Of Pagan Luxury sensualised the soul,
And fancied heaven the heaven of each desire!
I love to train—the glory of revenge;
A ruin which develops Me, and prints
The die of evil in its deepest hue
On erring souls,—The Atheist! with his creed
Of darkness, brooding o'er the sunken mind
Till Truth deny her nature; and the man
Live like a bubble dancing on the stream
Of time, which sparkles, and is seen no more,—
A Nothing with a name! But since the soul
Is effluence divine, the inward rays
Of Deity cannot be quench'd: the God
Is clouded, yet an indistinct and dread
Religion, in the cowering spirit dwells.
Since Egypt worshipp'd her material gods
Through all the pantheistic gloom of Greek
And Roman ages, Deity hath reign'd,
Though hid in fabling wisdom. Where the mind
To pure conceptions of a perfect God
Ascended not, on wings of terror raised
To see Him as he is,—the Awful One,
Who wields eternity and portions time,
Commands a deluge, or dissolves a world!—
The Passions shadow'd forth fantastic gods,
As Fear, or Wonder, or the dreaming eye
Of Pagan Luxury sensualised the soul,
And fancied heaven the heaven of each desire!
An Atheist,—he hath never faced an hour,
And not belied the name he bore. His doubt
Is darkness, from the unbelieving Will
Begot, and oft a parasite to sin
Too dear to be deserted;—for the truth
That unveils Heaven and its immortal thrones,
Uncovers Hell and awful duties, too!
Meanwhile, I flatter the surpassing fool,
And hear him challenge God to bare His brow,
Some Orb unsphere, and show Him all sublime.
He challenge Heaven! an atom against Worlds!
Why, angels and archangels, who have bow'd
Within the shadow of His Throne, and felt
The beams of an emitted glory burn
Around them, cannot comprehend His might,
Nor fathom his perfections:—what is Man!
And not belied the name he bore. His doubt
Is darkness, from the unbelieving Will
Begot, and oft a parasite to sin
Too dear to be deserted;—for the truth
That unveils Heaven and its immortal thrones,
Uncovers Hell and awful duties, too!
Meanwhile, I flatter the surpassing fool,
And hear him challenge God to bare His brow,
Some Orb unsphere, and show Him all sublime.
He challenge Heaven! an atom against Worlds!
Why, angels and archangels, who have bow'd
Within the shadow of His Throne, and felt
The beams of an emitted glory burn
Around them, cannot comprehend His might,
Nor fathom his perfections:—what is Man!
If Nature fail, then Reason may despair.
The universe with God is stamp'd: who sees
Creation, and can no Creator view,—
To him philosophy will preach in vain:
A blinded conscience and a blasted mind
Are his; Eternity shall teach the rest!
Yet who the Summer, that bright season-queen,
Hath hail'd, beheld the march of midnight-worlds,
The Sun in glory, or the realm of Sky
When kingly Thunders in sublime array
Ride the dark chariot of the rolling clouds;
Who that hath seen terrific Ocean frown,
Or moonshine ripple o'er the rocking waves
In smiles of beauty,—all this living might
And motion, grace, and majesty of things,
Nor caught some impulse which believing heart
Might share, and crown it with a creed sublime?
A soul so dark, so miserably vile,
Is form'd to grace a burning throne below,
And teach the Devils atheistic lore!
The universe with God is stamp'd: who sees
Creation, and can no Creator view,—
To him philosophy will preach in vain:
A blinded conscience and a blasted mind
Are his; Eternity shall teach the rest!
Yet who the Summer, that bright season-queen,
Hath hail'd, beheld the march of midnight-worlds,
The Sun in glory, or the realm of Sky
When kingly Thunders in sublime array
Ride the dark chariot of the rolling clouds;
Who that hath seen terrific Ocean frown,
Or moonshine ripple o'er the rocking waves
In smiles of beauty,—all this living might
And motion, grace, and majesty of things,
Nor caught some impulse which believing heart
Might share, and crown it with a creed sublime?
A soul so dark, so miserably vile,
Is form'd to grace a burning throne below,
And teach the Devils atheistic lore!
But there are others of unheavenly hue;
A mass of creatures, by the earth beloved,
Who bear a seemly fame; caress their limbs
And senses; smile on Nature, when they please,
And walk through life, as children by a shore
Who sport, and laugh, and pluck the sandy toys
Which glitter on their path—yet sometimes pause
With thinking eye, to mark the scene august
Of ocean, like a vision, heaving wild:—
Too mean for virtue, too polite for vice,
The happy medium which their spirits keep
Is fitly toned to temporal joys:—they live
As though Hereafter were this life prolong'd,
And drown all instincts of diviner growth
In plots and plans whereby the hours are wing'd.—
Lo! one is fearful of the traitorous Winds
Wafting a sailing palace o'er the deep;
What fancy-shipwreck overwhelms the soul!
What billows ever rocking in his brain!
Another hath some mountainous ascent
Of Life to vanquish, where a rival stands
And triumphs o'er him with a mocking gaze:
Though Angels whisper to his heart, return!
Still must he onward up to Glory climb.
Then comes your Zealot! weeping Country's wounds;
And yet, with what a yell of pleased delight,
As screams the vulture round his future prey
His fancy revels o'er a ruin'd land!
And thus, protected by his patriot name,
He lives on vileness which his tongue creates.
A mass of creatures, by the earth beloved,
Who bear a seemly fame; caress their limbs
And senses; smile on Nature, when they please,
And walk through life, as children by a shore
Who sport, and laugh, and pluck the sandy toys
Which glitter on their path—yet sometimes pause
With thinking eye, to mark the scene august
Of ocean, like a vision, heaving wild:—
Too mean for virtue, too polite for vice,
The happy medium which their spirits keep
Is fitly toned to temporal joys:—they live
As though Hereafter were this life prolong'd,
And drown all instincts of diviner growth
348
Lo! one is fearful of the traitorous Winds
Wafting a sailing palace o'er the deep;
What fancy-shipwreck overwhelms the soul!
What billows ever rocking in his brain!
Another hath some mountainous ascent
Of Life to vanquish, where a rival stands
And triumphs o'er him with a mocking gaze:
Though Angels whisper to his heart, return!
Still must he onward up to Glory climb.
Then comes your Zealot! weeping Country's wounds;
And yet, with what a yell of pleased delight,
As screams the vulture round his future prey
His fancy revels o'er a ruin'd land!
And thus, protected by his patriot name,
He lives on vileness which his tongue creates.
And such are these, who make the middle class
Of creatures, wedded to the dust they tread,
But doom'd to wrestle with contrasted lots
And Life's predestined woes. There droops a man,—
Poetic sadness in his pensive eye,
As haunting tombs, or scenes beyond the dead!
And here, a victim of tempestuous thought,
Wolf-eyed, and glaring out his wilder'd mind
In glances lit with-torture!—while, to mock
Their meaner anguish, see a soulless Thing
Appear, whose spirit bubbles out in song:
And such is life,—a paradox at best!
Of creatures, wedded to the dust they tread,
But doom'd to wrestle with contrasted lots
And Life's predestined woes. There droops a man,—
Poetic sadness in his pensive eye,
As haunting tombs, or scenes beyond the dead!
And here, a victim of tempestuous thought,
Wolf-eyed, and glaring out his wilder'd mind
In glances lit with-torture!—while, to mock
Their meaner anguish, see a soulless Thing
Appear, whose spirit bubbles out in song:
And such is life,—a paradox at best!
Here dwells my power; in living things which grasp
The spirit, or that blind it with a glare
Reflected from bright scenes of earthly pomp
That curtain up eternity. No truths
Divine, no energies which pant for heaven,
In the cold depths of carnal spirit play;
But he who from his soul the sensual chain
Uncoils, and looks into Life's holier things,
Wears attributes beyond the reach of Hell.
Then, Time is no enchanter, though his cup
May sparkle, and with brimming sweets be crown'd:
The shadows of that far mysterious World
Faith images, o'er time and scene prevail,
And gather round him like a guardian-spell.
The spirit, or that blind it with a glare
Reflected from bright scenes of earthly pomp
That curtain up eternity. No truths
Divine, no energies which pant for heaven,
In the cold depths of carnal spirit play;
But he who from his soul the sensual chain
Uncoils, and looks into Life's holier things,
Wears attributes beyond the reach of Hell.
Then, Time is no enchanter, though his cup
May sparkle, and with brimming sweets be crown'd:
The shadows of that far mysterious World
Faith images, o'er time and scene prevail,
And gather round him like a guardian-spell.
Not such the earth-adoring million prove.
When this world dies, the next begins to live!
With fearful sternness on the inward eye
It flashes, till the daunted mind start back
Aghast, like Fancy from a hideous dream!
At that deep hour, when dwindling to a blank
Dim Earth departs; and those dear sounds of life
Which once prevail'd so eloquently sweet,
Grow faint and dismal, as the dreary voice
Of waters gurgling round a drowning man,—
The solemn meanings of the past are known.
What prophet spake in every funeral knell!
How oft the hearse-train, stealing through the rush
Of sounding pathways with a spectral glide,
The vision of a dying moment gave!
And he, the victim of unvalued hours
As home he went from halls of festive glare,
The moon, night-weary, and the sallow dawn
In sickly lustre o'er the Orient spread—
How oft the nothingness of life he felt,
And dream'd the tragedy Death suffers now!
When this world dies, the next begins to live!
With fearful sternness on the inward eye
It flashes, till the daunted mind start back
Aghast, like Fancy from a hideous dream!
At that deep hour, when dwindling to a blank
Dim Earth departs; and those dear sounds of life
Which once prevail'd so eloquently sweet,
Grow faint and dismal, as the dreary voice
Of waters gurgling round a drowning man,—
The solemn meanings of the past are known.
What prophet spake in every funeral knell!
How oft the hearse-train, stealing through the rush
Of sounding pathways with a spectral glide,
The vision of a dying moment gave!
And he, the victim of unvalued hours
As home he went from halls of festive glare,
The moon, night-weary, and the sallow dawn
In sickly lustre o'er the Orient spread—
How oft the nothingness of life he felt,
And dream'd the tragedy Death suffers now!
But these are moods unwelcomed and unloved,
The sad intrusion of a sober thought,
A cloud pass'd o'er the summer of his mind,
And laugh'd away in lightness, or in joy.—
The dead, the faded and forgotten dead!
The progeny of Ages, who have breathed
That breath of life which all the living breathe,
Have walk'd beneath the same blue sky, and hail'd
The Lord of brightness which illumes their path,
Inherited the same mysterious dust,
And form'd like them a link in nature's chain,—
Have shrunk away, like shadows into gloom,
And who laments them? They, the fair and young,
In the prime bloom of spousal years, who seem'd
Too beautiful to die; and Fame's proud race
Of Heroes, o'er whose bier a Nation wept;
With all that number multiplied can dream
Of mindless creatures dancing round their tombs,
And mocking at eternity!—are plunged
And buried in the unremember'd past,
Yet, few dare meditate their dying hour!
Oh! did the living but the dead recal,
As often as the dead the living do,
The Sun would gaze upon a purer world
Than now;—but let the dead remain the dead!
Thus Pleasure teach thou my philosophy;
Thy truths are sweet, thy curses all conceal'd!
The sad intrusion of a sober thought,
A cloud pass'd o'er the summer of his mind,
And laugh'd away in lightness, or in joy.—
The dead, the faded and forgotten dead!
The progeny of Ages, who have breathed
That breath of life which all the living breathe,
Have walk'd beneath the same blue sky, and hail'd
The Lord of brightness which illumes their path,
Inherited the same mysterious dust,
And form'd like them a link in nature's chain,—
Have shrunk away, like shadows into gloom,
And who laments them? They, the fair and young,
In the prime bloom of spousal years, who seem'd
Too beautiful to die; and Fame's proud race
Of Heroes, o'er whose bier a Nation wept;
With all that number multiplied can dream
Of mindless creatures dancing round their tombs,
And mocking at eternity!—are plunged
And buried in the unremember'd past,
Yet, few dare meditate their dying hour!
Oh! did the living but the dead recal,
As often as the dead the living do,
The Sun would gaze upon a purer world
Than now;—but let the dead remain the dead!
Thus Pleasure teach thou my philosophy;
Thy truths are sweet, thy curses all conceal'd!
Never may Wisdom's heaven-communing eye
To these, the earthly and the low, reveal
That sounds of Folly pierce the gloom of hell;
That tongues of Torture syllable their names
In regions where inflamèd whirlwinds roar!
Back,—back to this forsaken Orb of life
Fain would a perish'd Father come, to dart
One glance upon an unbelieving child,
To breathe one sigh of warning round his soul!—
May never men of whisp'ring Angels learn
How heaven is brighten'd when the earth adores.
To these, the earthly and the low, reveal
That sounds of Folly pierce the gloom of hell;
That tongues of Torture syllable their names
In regions where inflamèd whirlwinds roar!
Back,—back to this forsaken Orb of life
Fain would a perish'd Father come, to dart
One glance upon an unbelieving child,
To breathe one sigh of warning round his soul!—
May never men of whisp'ring Angels learn
How heaven is brighten'd when the earth adores.
349
BOOK IV.
------“We gather honey from the weed,
And make a Moral of the devil himself.”
Shakespere.
And make a Moral of the devil himself.”
Shakespere.
So weak and yet so wonderful; so frail
In act, and yet so splendidly endow'd
For action, are the race of Men abhorr'd,
That, view them in whatever rank they move,
Through fields of Glory which the warrior treads,
Or in proud realms of wisdom, fame, or power,
An awful distance from their primal State
Th' Inheritors of our scorn'd heaven have stray'd!
No longer now the bright and palmy Sons
Of God, but giants of iniquity,
Or Anakims of intellectual vice,
And helmeted with sin, the rebels stand,
Who fight against the Lord of life and death,
And make their crimes immortal as themselves!
In act, and yet so splendidly endow'd
For action, are the race of Men abhorr'd,
That, view them in whatever rank they move,
Through fields of Glory which the warrior treads,
Or in proud realms of wisdom, fame, or power,
An awful distance from their primal State
Th' Inheritors of our scorn'd heaven have stray'd!
No longer now the bright and palmy Sons
Of God, but giants of iniquity,
Or Anakims of intellectual vice,
And helmeted with sin, the rebels stand,
Who fight against the Lord of life and death,
And make their crimes immortal as themselves!
That primal State!—had evil not prevail'd,
A heaven in miniature this world had been.
Her paradise! I see it as it rose
In youthful splendour on my savage eye!
A starry jubilee still rang; the wings
Angelical of many a hovering Shape
Still hung and glitter'd on the virgin air,
Which seem'd one atmosphere of melody!
As yet, no cloud was born; the sunshine fed
The flowers with beauty, till the twilight dew;
Birds exquisite, with dazzling plumage clad,
And butterflies, bright creatures, rich as they,
Like showers of blossoms from a tree upwhirl'd,
On starry wing hung trembling in the breeze,
More glorious yet!—from Eden's mount I gazed,
The emerald bloom of whose untrodden hills
Lay jewell'd o'er with amaranthine flowers,
And saw two Creatures of celestial mould.
Till these were made, companionless the World
Appear'd; and like a heart suspended lay,
All throbbing for the Vision that should dawn!
And they were fashion'd,—breathing shapes of life,
With radiant limbs, whose robes were innocence,
And eyes that spoke the birth-place of the Soul!
Again the star-chimed Hallelujahs rang
With wonder! while a gush of rapture thrill'd
Creation to her centre, till each breeze
Was gladness murmur'd out of Nature's heart!
A heaven in miniature this world had been.
Her paradise! I see it as it rose
In youthful splendour on my savage eye!
A starry jubilee still rang; the wings
Angelical of many a hovering Shape
Still hung and glitter'd on the virgin air,
Which seem'd one atmosphere of melody!
As yet, no cloud was born; the sunshine fed
The flowers with beauty, till the twilight dew;
Birds exquisite, with dazzling plumage clad,
And butterflies, bright creatures, rich as they,
Like showers of blossoms from a tree upwhirl'd,
On starry wing hung trembling in the breeze,
More glorious yet!—from Eden's mount I gazed,
The emerald bloom of whose untrodden hills
Lay jewell'd o'er with amaranthine flowers,
And saw two Creatures of celestial mould.
Till these were made, companionless the World
Appear'd; and like a heart suspended lay,
All throbbing for the Vision that should dawn!
And they were fashion'd,—breathing shapes of life,
With radiant limbs, whose robes were innocence,
And eyes that spoke the birth-place of the Soul!
Again the star-chimed Hallelujahs rang
With wonder! while a gush of rapture thrill'd
Creation to her centre, till each breeze
Was gladness murmur'd out of Nature's heart!
And thus they rose,—that new-created Pair,
In loveliness complete, with forms of light,
Reflecting glory wheresoe'er they moved.
The one did mark the blue immensity
Above, with a majestic gaze, and eyed
The Sun, as though he felt himself akin
To his pre-eminence, and kingly state:
The other, in her fair perfection seem'd
A Shape apparell'd by her own pure smiles,—
Surpassing beauty, and subduing love!
While ever as she moved, the blush of flowers
O'erveil'd her, and a breezy host of sounds,
Like magic birds, embosom'd in the air
In sweet attendance caroll'd round her path:
Never hath young romance, or shaping dream,
Divined the vision which in Eden lay,—
Each sound was music, and each sight a heaven!
In loveliness complete, with forms of light,
Reflecting glory wheresoe'er they moved.
The one did mark the blue immensity
Above, with a majestic gaze, and eyed
The Sun, as though he felt himself akin
To his pre-eminence, and kingly state:
The other, in her fair perfection seem'd
A Shape apparell'd by her own pure smiles,—
Surpassing beauty, and subduing love!
While ever as she moved, the blush of flowers
O'erveil'd her, and a breezy host of sounds,
Like magic birds, embosom'd in the air
In sweet attendance caroll'd round her path:
Never hath young romance, or shaping dream,
Divined the vision which in Eden lay,—
Each sound was music, and each sight a heaven!
Oh! it was glory, that with blighting rays
Flash'd in fell triumph on these envious eyes,
Thus to behold the darlings bright of heaven,
Created, form'd to fill our Seats above!
Obedient, and they vanquish'd me; my doom
Of darkness would have set, without one gleam
Of vengeance for the living pangs I feel.
I plotted,—tempted,—and the earth-born sunk
From heaven's embrace into the arms of hell,
Henceforward to enclasp a world of souls!
Then, what a withering the Elements
Of life and being felt!—corruption pass'd
Through human into natural Things: the Earth
Was barren-struck; the guilt-abhorring Sun
His beams withdrew; the rivers howl'd with dread,
And deep the blast of desolation blew:
A curse came down, and Eden was no more!
Flash'd in fell triumph on these envious eyes,
Thus to behold the darlings bright of heaven,
Created, form'd to fill our Seats above!
Obedient, and they vanquish'd me; my doom
Of darkness would have set, without one gleam
Of vengeance for the living pangs I feel.
I plotted,—tempted,—and the earth-born sunk
From heaven's embrace into the arms of hell,
Henceforward to enclasp a world of souls!
Then, what a withering the Elements
Of life and being felt!—corruption pass'd
Through human into natural Things: the Earth
Was barren-struck; the guilt-abhorring Sun
His beams withdrew; the rivers howl'd with dread,
And deep the blast of desolation blew:
A curse came down, and Eden was no more!
And now, from his primeval state dethroned,
His very form o'ershadow'd by the sin
That, like a breath-stain on a mirror cast,
The beauty of his god-like mien eclipsed—
I look'd on Man, a remnant of despair,
But gloried as I gazed!—for then, the tongue,
That tameless member which o'ermastereth all,
E'en in an atmosphere of God himself
That grand deceit of erring souls began,—
Where guilt is flatter'd, and the heart secure!
His very form o'ershadow'd by the sin
That, like a breath-stain on a mirror cast,
The beauty of his god-like mien eclipsed—
I look'd on Man, a remnant of despair,
But gloried as I gazed!—for then, the tongue,
That tameless member which o'ermastereth all,
E'en in an atmosphere of God himself
That grand deceit of erring souls began,—
Where guilt is flatter'd, and the heart secure!
Creation shudder'd! for mankind were lost,
Till God the seal of mystery should break
In him foredoom'd to bruise the Serpent's head,
And re-awake the hymns of Paradise.
Meanwhile, the Evil triumph'd o'er the Good:
And, exiled from their Eden-home, begirt
And guarded with an ever-living flame,
Two fallen Creatures on the race of life
In sorrowing loneliness appear'd. Time lash'd
His years along; but evil with them moved,
Till Death in fratricidal fury came!—
How Life hung shudd'ring o'er his glazing eye
When pale, and dash'd with many a bloody hue,
The prostrate Abel in the gasp of death
Lay stretch'd; while Cain, a maniac child of Hell
With lines of anguish working on his face,
Stood by, and knew himself th' embodied Curse!
Till God the seal of mystery should break
In him foredoom'd to bruise the Serpent's head,
And re-awake the hymns of Paradise.
Meanwhile, the Evil triumph'd o'er the Good:
And, exiled from their Eden-home, begirt
And guarded with an ever-living flame,
Two fallen Creatures on the race of life
In sorrowing loneliness appear'd. Time lash'd
His years along; but evil with them moved,
350
How Life hung shudd'ring o'er his glazing eye
When pale, and dash'd with many a bloody hue,
The prostrate Abel in the gasp of death
Lay stretch'd; while Cain, a maniac child of Hell
With lines of anguish working on his face,
Stood by, and knew himself th' embodied Curse!
Crime revell'd on, the peopled earth sank deep
In ruin, till the great Avenger woke;
Then came a Flood, a desolating tide,
Which deluged sixteen hundred years of sin!
Methinks I hear it now! so fiercely howl'd
The waves and whirlwinds of that dreadful hour.—
Dark prodigies, disasters in the sky,
Announced it; yet these heralds were contemn'd:
Still Blasphemy went hooting at the heavens,
And mock'd the Elements with impious joy.
The sun went down in sorrow; and the moon
Rose pale and icy, as an orb congeal'd;
While, ever and anon, there came a sigh
Of Air, so spiritually deep and sad,
It seem'd to issue from an Angel-heart
That ached to look upon a dying World,
Unconscious of her coming pangs:—thus Hell
Prevail'd, save o'er the sacred few. And one
The wicked counsell'd, glorious, and as good;
A hoary Patriarch, who would haunt the shore,
And hear a prophet speaking in the wind,
And prescient terror in the sound of waves,
Like mystery, mutter'd into Nature's ear;
Then darkly muse on some high-gazing rock,
And shape out Immortality!—But when
The skies were blacken'd to a cloudy sea,
Whose rage came down in cataracts, Despair!
The racking universe was all thine own.
In ruin, till the great Avenger woke;
Then came a Flood, a desolating tide,
Which deluged sixteen hundred years of sin!
Methinks I hear it now! so fiercely howl'd
The waves and whirlwinds of that dreadful hour.—
Dark prodigies, disasters in the sky,
Announced it; yet these heralds were contemn'd:
Still Blasphemy went hooting at the heavens,
And mock'd the Elements with impious joy.
The sun went down in sorrow; and the moon
Rose pale and icy, as an orb congeal'd;
While, ever and anon, there came a sigh
Of Air, so spiritually deep and sad,
It seem'd to issue from an Angel-heart
That ached to look upon a dying World,
Unconscious of her coming pangs:—thus Hell
Prevail'd, save o'er the sacred few. And one
The wicked counsell'd, glorious, and as good;
A hoary Patriarch, who would haunt the shore,
And hear a prophet speaking in the wind,
And prescient terror in the sound of waves,
Like mystery, mutter'd into Nature's ear;
Then darkly muse on some high-gazing rock,
And shape out Immortality!—But when
The skies were blacken'd to a cloudy sea,
Whose rage came down in cataracts, Despair!
The racking universe was all thine own.
And never were such horrid shadows frown'd
Upon the Waters, as thy victims threw,
When all aghast, in their avenging ire
They heard them ravenously sweep along,
As roaring for their human prey! Such sounds
Of wo, such shrieks of madness never rang,
Such eyes were never to a God upturn'd,
As mark'd this dread, unutterable hour!
A palpitation in the womb of Earth
Began, then upward burst a buried sea,
That whirl'd the mountains on her waves, and heaved
The rocks, and shook the rooted hills abroad,
Till darkness and a deluge cover'd All!—
Save that which in the wilderness of waves
Triumphant o'er a weltering chaos rode,
And bore aloft the burden of the world!
Upon the Waters, as thy victims threw,
When all aghast, in their avenging ire
They heard them ravenously sweep along,
As roaring for their human prey! Such sounds
Of wo, such shrieks of madness never rang,
Such eyes were never to a God upturn'd,
As mark'd this dread, unutterable hour!
A palpitation in the womb of Earth
Began, then upward burst a buried sea,
That whirl'd the mountains on her waves, and heaved
The rocks, and shook the rooted hills abroad,
Till darkness and a deluge cover'd All!—
Save that which in the wilderness of waves
Triumphant o'er a weltering chaos rode,
And bore aloft the burden of the world!
Yes! these were dread catastrophes of old,
Loading with awfulness the tongue of Time;
Unparagon'd as yet: but 'tis decreed,
Another Day of unimagined doom
Shall come, a deluge of devouring fire
That now is redd'ning in the cavern-depths
Which eye hath pierced not, ravenous for the hour
When Earth shall wither into shapeless air!
And I,—no matter! mortal years remain,
And souls for ruin, ere my sun can set!
Loading with awfulness the tongue of Time;
Unparagon'd as yet: but 'tis decreed,
Another Day of unimagined doom
Shall come, a deluge of devouring fire
That now is redd'ning in the cavern-depths
Which eye hath pierced not, ravenous for the hour
When Earth shall wither into shapeless air!
And I,—no matter! mortal years remain,
And souls for ruin, ere my sun can set!
So fierce the sway of evil, and the power
Of will, o'er reason and religion's voice,
That though a thousand deluges had been,
Still the vile earth my sceptre should command.
The teeming volume of the Past unroll,
And from each page what lesson may be cull'd?
A moral justice sways the course of Things,
Guiding them on to their eternal goal.
From evil, evil, and from good, a good
Is born, each one a payment in itself,
Its own avenger, or its own reward.
I thank thee, Passion! blinded by desire
Thou seest it not through every track which years
Have furrow'd on the travell'd sea of Time.
By tears of torture, wrung from out the soul
Of penitence; by arrows of remorse;
The inward hell in guilty bosoms found;
By retributions in the wrathful shape
Of elements, and dangers wing'd by death;
By frenzied Glory, that will venture on
Till dash'd to ruin by her own renown;
By each and all of such avengers Crime
Hath paid atonement to the Law of Life,
And agonised o'er that which is to come.
Of will, o'er reason and religion's voice,
That though a thousand deluges had been,
Still the vile earth my sceptre should command.
The teeming volume of the Past unroll,
And from each page what lesson may be cull'd?
A moral justice sways the course of Things,
Guiding them on to their eternal goal.
From evil, evil, and from good, a good
Is born, each one a payment in itself,
Its own avenger, or its own reward.
I thank thee, Passion! blinded by desire
Thou seest it not through every track which years
Have furrow'd on the travell'd sea of Time.
By tears of torture, wrung from out the soul
Of penitence; by arrows of remorse;
The inward hell in guilty bosoms found;
By retributions in the wrathful shape
Of elements, and dangers wing'd by death;
By frenzied Glory, that will venture on
Till dash'd to ruin by her own renown;
By each and all of such avengers Crime
Hath paid atonement to the Law of Life,
And agonised o'er that which is to come.
E'en Nature, in her elemental round
Of living wonders, a re-action shows,
In semblance to the moral law reveal'd
By human destinies. The poise of worlds
Which make infinity a beauteous thought;
The Ocean, panting as the tide-queen wills,
In ebb and flow of everlasting waves;
And that communion of the earth and sky
By heat exhaling water into clouds,
And clouds returning in the showery rain—
All teach a balance of prevailing power.
But thou, Reviver of departed days!
By whom, as beacon-light for time unborn
The past might well have risen, hast forgot
The law of retribution in thy love
Of fame, and adoration to the dead.
A War awakes!—what poetry is here
For History to picture into life
And splendour, making infamy sublime!
The armies rally,—vast machines of Mind
Half demonised, with one concent'ring heart
To animate and harmonise the whole;
The clarions ring, the banners chafe the breeze,
Earth trembles to the haughty-footed steeds,
And cannons thunder till the clouds are thrill'd!
Then comes your “Hero” sprinkled with a shower
Of blood,—how gloriously sublime he seems!
Yet Kingdoms mourn, and trodden myriads lie
All dead, and stiff'ning in the moonless air.
Of living wonders, a re-action shows,
In semblance to the moral law reveal'd
By human destinies. The poise of worlds
Which make infinity a beauteous thought;
The Ocean, panting as the tide-queen wills,
In ebb and flow of everlasting waves;
And that communion of the earth and sky
By heat exhaling water into clouds,
And clouds returning in the showery rain—
All teach a balance of prevailing power.
But thou, Reviver of departed days!
By whom, as beacon-light for time unborn
The past might well have risen, hast forgot
The law of retribution in thy love
Of fame, and adoration to the dead.
351
For History to picture into life
And splendour, making infamy sublime!
The armies rally,—vast machines of Mind
Half demonised, with one concent'ring heart
To animate and harmonise the whole;
The clarions ring, the banners chafe the breeze,
Earth trembles to the haughty-footed steeds,
And cannons thunder till the clouds are thrill'd!
Then comes your “Hero” sprinkled with a shower
Of blood,—how gloriously sublime he seems!
Yet Kingdoms mourn, and trodden myriads lie
All dead, and stiff'ning in the moonless air.
But, should re-action for heroic crime,
Or lavish conquest, smite a tyrant soul,
A human vengeance not a Hand Supreme,
Is traced; and retribution reason'd down,
As though life circled on the wheels of Chance!
Thus, when a Despot, weary of renown,
In sorrow to a throneless gloom descends,
How History flutters round his agonies!
And so the living, who the dead recall,
Are written into sympathy with shame;
While they, whose words are wisdom to the pure,
Rise dimly vision'd on th' historic page,
Where infamy in glowing language lives.
Or lavish conquest, smite a tyrant soul,
A human vengeance not a Hand Supreme,
Is traced; and retribution reason'd down,
As though life circled on the wheels of Chance!
Thus, when a Despot, weary of renown,
In sorrow to a throneless gloom descends,
How History flutters round his agonies!
And so the living, who the dead recall,
Are written into sympathy with shame;
While they, whose words are wisdom to the pure,
Rise dimly vision'd on th' historic page,
Where infamy in glowing language lives.
Thus may it ever be! let ages gone,
Whence monuments, by sad experience piled,
Might o'er unheedful days a warning frown,
Like buried lumber in oblivion sleep;
Experience is the sternest foe of hell.
And though progression be the native soul
Of all things, human or divine, while Pride
Can hear no prophets breathing through the past,
Progression will be lame, and Nature slow
In her advancement to that heaven-like scene,
Prophetic rapture in its vision hail'd;
While frequently, an earthquake-shock will come,
Forcing the world a century back again
In vice and darkness, sucn as once o'erthrew
The Roman empire and her subject-isles.
Whence monuments, by sad experience piled,
Might o'er unheedful days a warning frown,
Like buried lumber in oblivion sleep;
Experience is the sternest foe of hell.
And though progression be the native soul
Of all things, human or divine, while Pride
Can hear no prophets breathing through the past,
Progression will be lame, and Nature slow
In her advancement to that heaven-like scene,
Prophetic rapture in its vision hail'd;
While frequently, an earthquake-shock will come,
Forcing the world a century back again
In vice and darkness, sucn as once o'erthrew
The Roman empire and her subject-isles.
Upon the forehead of these fearless times
I know the haughtiness which now exults:
But let the modern in his pride beware!
Corruption is the strongest in the best,
And knowledge wasted, worse than ignorance proved.
A moral, not an intellectual life
Alone, however rich with mental bloom,
God's Image in the human soul reveals:
And so taught He, that co-eternal One
On high, when leaving his Elysian throne,
He templed his bright Nature in the dust
Of dim Mortality, and unbarr'd heaven
Whose gates of glory now expanded shine.
Philosophy, benighted in the gloom
Of Pagan wisdom, fondly charming oft
The shade and silence of Athenian groves,
How failing in her eagle flights!—To clear
The clouded intellect was her prime aim:
The heart, that fountain-source of sacred life,
Rank'd second in the mental scheme for Man;
And thus, her wisdom in a weedy soil
Was sown; and perish'd in its mortal thirst
For feelings, which refresh the growing mind
As spring-dews foster the awaking flowers.
I know the haughtiness which now exults:
But let the modern in his pride beware!
Corruption is the strongest in the best,
And knowledge wasted, worse than ignorance proved.
A moral, not an intellectual life
Alone, however rich with mental bloom,
God's Image in the human soul reveals:
And so taught He, that co-eternal One
On high, when leaving his Elysian throne,
He templed his bright Nature in the dust
Of dim Mortality, and unbarr'd heaven
Whose gates of glory now expanded shine.
Philosophy, benighted in the gloom
Of Pagan wisdom, fondly charming oft
The shade and silence of Athenian groves,
How failing in her eagle flights!—To clear
The clouded intellect was her prime aim:
The heart, that fountain-source of sacred life,
Rank'd second in the mental scheme for Man;
And thus, her wisdom in a weedy soil
Was sown; and perish'd in its mortal thirst
For feelings, which refresh the growing mind
As spring-dews foster the awaking flowers.
But Christianity, the child of Truth,
With searching light the inward nature clear'd,
And by a conscience, rooted in the soul,
And fears, from which unfading hopes are born,
And faculties of faith, which all possess,
Awoke the mind to wisdom, pure as heaven.
Spirit of Vengeance! would that I could hide
One living God, surpassingly supreme,
Parent of mighty worlds, pervading each,
The First and Last, Immortal, and the True;
The Son of his Eternity, from Heaven
Sent down, embodied in a human mould;
The Same upon the cross hung crucified,
Incarnadined with His redeeming blood
For fallen nature flowing, till the Earth
As in an agony did rock and heave,
While bowing angels worshipp'd in amaze,
And hell grew darker with despair!—a Life
Unending, shared by an existent soul;
A Resurrection, when the dead shall wake;
And, crowning all, the doomsday of the world;
When every eye must see Him in the clouds,
And time be swallow'd in eternity,—
Would that all this infernal hate could hide,
Which Devils own, and tremble to believe!
With searching light the inward nature clear'd,
And by a conscience, rooted in the soul,
And fears, from which unfading hopes are born,
And faculties of faith, which all possess,
Awoke the mind to wisdom, pure as heaven.
Spirit of Vengeance! would that I could hide
One living God, surpassingly supreme,
Parent of mighty worlds, pervading each,
The First and Last, Immortal, and the True;
The Son of his Eternity, from Heaven
Sent down, embodied in a human mould;
The Same upon the cross hung crucified,
Incarnadined with His redeeming blood
For fallen nature flowing, till the Earth
As in an agony did rock and heave,
While bowing angels worshipp'd in amaze,
And hell grew darker with despair!—a Life
Unending, shared by an existent soul;
A Resurrection, when the dead shall wake;
And, crowning all, the doomsday of the world;
When every eye must see Him in the clouds,
And time be swallow'd in eternity,—
Would that all this infernal hate could hide,
Which Devils own, and tremble to believe!
But thanks to man, man's most inveterate foe,
How oft, perverted, hath Religion proved
That curse she came to cancel and destroy!
By Bigotry, insatiate for the blood
Of martyrs; by the shadows and the clouds
That dream-eyed Innovation form'd and fed,—
The clash of Evil with the growth of Good
Hath half repaid me for the realm I lost,
When dawn'd salvation on the sinking world.
How oft, perverted, hath Religion proved
That curse she came to cancel and destroy!
By Bigotry, insatiate for the blood
Of martyrs; by the shadows and the clouds
That dream-eyed Innovation form'd and fed,—
The clash of Evil with the growth of Good
Hath half repaid me for the realm I lost,
When dawn'd salvation on the sinking world.
And now there is an animating throb,
An energy, and daringness of thought,
Awaken'd like one mighty pulse through lands
And isles, remotely set in ocean-gloom.
But if the Heart uncultivated lie
Amid the reign of intellectual power,—
Though, basking in the sunshine of her hope,
Philosophy of perfect minds may dream,
She builds a vision, baseless, proud, and vain,
As ever revell'd on the eye of sleep!
For o'er the heart a vicious mind shall rule,
And poison each aspiring germ of thought,
Till Talent prove but wickedness inspired,
In baneful glory towering o'er mankind:
So be it!—Hell shall blaze a bright applause.
An energy, and daringness of thought,
Awaken'd like one mighty pulse through lands
And isles, remotely set in ocean-gloom.
352
Amid the reign of intellectual power,—
Though, basking in the sunshine of her hope,
Philosophy of perfect minds may dream,
She builds a vision, baseless, proud, and vain,
As ever revell'd on the eye of sleep!
For o'er the heart a vicious mind shall rule,
And poison each aspiring germ of thought,
Till Talent prove but wickedness inspired,
In baneful glory towering o'er mankind:
So be it!—Hell shall blaze a bright applause.
No, not till spirit over sense prevail,
And mortals to the awfulness of life
Advance, shall Earth a brighter visage wear.
And such, methinks, Creation might reveal.—
A Sea, for ever sounding with his voice
Of billows, “Might and majesty are here,
And in eternity my waves have roll'd;”
And Sky of living glory, when the storm
Lies back with fury on a sea of clouds,
Or, arch'd in beauty, shadowless and blue:
With all the wonders, swarming on each spot
Of being—hint they not an awful shade
Of Mystery unreveal'd, yet claiming thoughts
Of solemn hue? And then, while hours depart,
(Myriads of spirits passing to and fro
From life and light, to darkness and the grave,
While feelings, words, and deeds, whatever mind
Betray of good or bad in ceaseless pulse
Of action, register'd above, remains
For judgment,)—bear they not, as on they roll,
A burden, and a meaning most sublime?
Yet who, in nature or in time, reveres
A sense and shadow of diviner Things?
And mortals to the awfulness of life
Advance, shall Earth a brighter visage wear.
And such, methinks, Creation might reveal.—
A Sea, for ever sounding with his voice
Of billows, “Might and majesty are here,
And in eternity my waves have roll'd;”
And Sky of living glory, when the storm
Lies back with fury on a sea of clouds,
Or, arch'd in beauty, shadowless and blue:
With all the wonders, swarming on each spot
Of being—hint they not an awful shade
Of Mystery unreveal'd, yet claiming thoughts
Of solemn hue? And then, while hours depart,
(Myriads of spirits passing to and fro
From life and light, to darkness and the grave,
While feelings, words, and deeds, whatever mind
Betray of good or bad in ceaseless pulse
Of action, register'd above, remains
For judgment,)—bear they not, as on they roll,
A burden, and a meaning most sublime?
Yet who, in nature or in time, reveres
A sense and shadow of diviner Things?
A spectacle to angels and to God
Is Man, while acting on the stage of time,—
Such truth the soul of inspiration breathed:
And what a meaning centred in the thought!
Around, above, beneath, where'er man lives
And moves, unvision'd Natures overhang
His path, and chronicle his history.
But o'er this pomp external, and the life
Of sense, such beautifying veils I throw,
That men become idolaters to sight,
Naming all else the nothingness of dreams:
A wisdom worthy an infernal crown!
Why, if a bead of water in its orb
Of motion hath contain'd a countless host
Of beings, limb'd, and full of perfect life;
If not a leaf which flutters on the tree,
But is empeopled with an insect swarm;
If not a flower by fairy sunrise charm'd,
But in the palace of its dew-drop dwell
Unnumber'd beings, that in gladness live;
Then why not, O ye self-adoring wise,
A world of spirit-natures, though unseen,
In number rivalling what creation yields?
And vacancy, that hueless void of air
Which men unanimated space define,
Be pregnant with aerial Shapes of life?
Is Man, while acting on the stage of time,—
Such truth the soul of inspiration breathed:
And what a meaning centred in the thought!
Around, above, beneath, where'er man lives
And moves, unvision'd Natures overhang
His path, and chronicle his history.
But o'er this pomp external, and the life
Of sense, such beautifying veils I throw,
That men become idolaters to sight,
Naming all else the nothingness of dreams:
A wisdom worthy an infernal crown!
Why, if a bead of water in its orb
Of motion hath contain'd a countless host
Of beings, limb'd, and full of perfect life;
If not a leaf which flutters on the tree,
But is empeopled with an insect swarm;
If not a flower by fairy sunrise charm'd,
But in the palace of its dew-drop dwell
Unnumber'd beings, that in gladness live;
Then why not, O ye self-adoring wise,
A world of spirit-natures, though unseen,
In number rivalling what creation yields?
And vacancy, that hueless void of air
Which men unanimated space define,
Be pregnant with aerial Shapes of life?
Yet better is such blindness for the cause
Of Evil; would it might eclipse the race
Entire, of all who have a soul to save!
For some can dare the prison'd mind unbar,
And view Reality behind the veil
Which mantles their mortality. And such
The pale enchantment of a moonlight-hour,
When the soft skies are fleck'd with silky clouds,
In veils of beauty floating on the breath
Of heaven, and stars in pensive light appear
The bright mementos of eternity,—
For high communion with celestial Things
Employ: such spirits never in their clay
Are dungeon'd; but in demi-paradise
Do wander, reaping holiness and love.—
And Guilt too hath her hour, when Spectres come
Array'd in fury, till the air grow dark
With demon-wings, and terror shrieks my name!
Of Evil; would it might eclipse the race
Entire, of all who have a soul to save!
For some can dare the prison'd mind unbar,
And view Reality behind the veil
Which mantles their mortality. And such
The pale enchantment of a moonlight-hour,
When the soft skies are fleck'd with silky clouds,
In veils of beauty floating on the breath
Of heaven, and stars in pensive light appear
The bright mementos of eternity,—
For high communion with celestial Things
Employ: such spirits never in their clay
Are dungeon'd; but in demi-paradise
Do wander, reaping holiness and love.—
And Guilt too hath her hour, when Spectres come
Array'd in fury, till the air grow dark
With demon-wings, and terror shrieks my name!
But this deep sense of something Unavow'd
Pervading nature, which the purer mind
May in some beauteous trance of holy thought
Perceive, and which the ghastliness of guilt
Oft tortures into life,—o'er few prevails:
In vain have heaven-taught Seers a coming World
Foreshadow'd: visions of unearthly blaze,
And princely Seraphs over empires throned,
And Dreams which were the delegates of God,—
Of such vast wonders deep-voiced Prophets tell.
And now, in riper days, when men have crown'd
Themselves with false perfection, not an hour
But hints a spirit-nature to the soul,
Howe'er unhallow'd! Whence that prescient sense
Of peril doom'd to come? those guiding thoughts
Which helm the fancy with mysterious sway?
The heaven of feeling when a God descends?
Or mystic sorrow, which melodious strains
Wherein the spirits of the dead revive
And home and childhood have a pictured life,
Oft o'er the heart of lone Bereavement brings?
Or, all which sound and scenery suggest
Of purity and grace?—The scoffer doubts!
And by that sneer his inner-light destroys.
Yet Angels are there, watching o'er mankind
With tenderness and eyes of heavenly love.
The same who, when the World-awakening trump
Is sounded, shall the buried dead untomb
For Judgment, and its awful throne sustain.
Pervading nature, which the purer mind
May in some beauteous trance of holy thought
Perceive, and which the ghastliness of guilt
Oft tortures into life,—o'er few prevails:
In vain have heaven-taught Seers a coming World
Foreshadow'd: visions of unearthly blaze,
And princely Seraphs over empires throned,
And Dreams which were the delegates of God,—
Of such vast wonders deep-voiced Prophets tell.
And now, in riper days, when men have crown'd
Themselves with false perfection, not an hour
But hints a spirit-nature to the soul,
Howe'er unhallow'd! Whence that prescient sense
Of peril doom'd to come? those guiding thoughts
Which helm the fancy with mysterious sway?
The heaven of feeling when a God descends?
Or mystic sorrow, which melodious strains
Wherein the spirits of the dead revive
And home and childhood have a pictured life,
353
Or, all which sound and scenery suggest
Of purity and grace?—The scoffer doubts!
And by that sneer his inner-light destroys.
Yet Angels are there, watching o'er mankind
With tenderness and eyes of heavenly love.
The same who, when the World-awakening trump
Is sounded, shall the buried dead untomb
For Judgment, and its awful throne sustain.
These Agencies divine, howe'er men veil
Their viewless presence mid the thrilling cares
Below, are often in their glorious range
Of wisdom, by the plotting Evil-powers
Encounter'd, with defiance and despair!
Visions of sunshine and of music made,
Where the bright soul, entranced with melody,
Communes with Seraph-watchers, are of heaven.
But whence that fancy-roll of billows, heard
In darkness, deluging the wilder'd brain
With hideous murmur? or those formless Things
Which hang and blacken o'er the shudd'ring frame?
Or whence that tongueless blasphemy of mind
Making the heart to shiver, and the eye
To gaze behind, as though a prompting Shape
Of Evil stood there, muttering hell-framed words?
The fire, the fury of appalling dreams,
Whence is it?—rend the veil, and ye would know
Proud victims of an unbelieving heart!
That such are demon-haunters of the earth,
Who horrify the vision'd world of sleep,
And pall its midnight with infernal gloom.
Their viewless presence mid the thrilling cares
Below, are often in their glorious range
Of wisdom, by the plotting Evil-powers
Encounter'd, with defiance and despair!
Visions of sunshine and of music made,
Where the bright soul, entranced with melody,
Communes with Seraph-watchers, are of heaven.
But whence that fancy-roll of billows, heard
In darkness, deluging the wilder'd brain
With hideous murmur? or those formless Things
Which hang and blacken o'er the shudd'ring frame?
Or whence that tongueless blasphemy of mind
Making the heart to shiver, and the eye
To gaze behind, as though a prompting Shape
Of Evil stood there, muttering hell-framed words?
The fire, the fury of appalling dreams,
Whence is it?—rend the veil, and ye would know
Proud victims of an unbelieving heart!
That such are demon-haunters of the earth,
Who horrify the vision'd world of sleep,
And pall its midnight with infernal gloom.
Who wonders, the dark Mysteries of life
And hidden Beings of unearthly power
Are smiled away for superstitious creed,
When He, the Ransomer of lost mankind,
Whose Name a starry herald to the sage
Reveal'd, and at Whose birth the heavens were bowed,
To millions less than many a Hero seems,—
A Myth incarnate priests and fools adore!
And hidden Beings of unearthly power
Are smiled away for superstitious creed,
When He, the Ransomer of lost mankind,
Whose Name a starry herald to the sage
Reveal'd, and at Whose birth the heavens were bowed,
To millions less than many a Hero seems,—
A Myth incarnate priests and fools adore!
A Saviour, Son of the Most High, enthroned
Amid the hallelujahs of the blest,
I saw Him ere the universe began;
When space was worldless, luminously fill'd
With emanations of vast Deity;
I saw Him when immensity His voice
Obey'd, and nothing startled into worlds.
And did I not, be witness, Powers below!
Bear on my brow the lightnings which He wreak'd,
Because I would not to His Godhead bend?
Without Him, and this withered Earth had sunk
To hell, for ever blasted by that word
Of vengeance, which her frowning Maker spoke,
Who cannot His eternal nature change:
Immutable in majesty, in truth,
Or else His Infinite would finite be;
And therefore, by His attributes, the Law
When broken, should to violated heaven
Atonement offer;—where the Sacrifice?
Till God for God, and Man for Man, appear'd
In wondrous union of incarnate power,
Hung on the cross, and saved the guilty world!
Amid the hallelujahs of the blest,
I saw Him ere the universe began;
When space was worldless, luminously fill'd
With emanations of vast Deity;
I saw Him when immensity His voice
Obey'd, and nothing startled into worlds.
And did I not, be witness, Powers below!
Bear on my brow the lightnings which He wreak'd,
Because I would not to His Godhead bend?
Without Him, and this withered Earth had sunk
To hell, for ever blasted by that word
Of vengeance, which her frowning Maker spoke,
Who cannot His eternal nature change:
Immutable in majesty, in truth,
Or else His Infinite would finite be;
And therefore, by His attributes, the Law
When broken, should to violated heaven
Atonement offer;—where the Sacrifice?
Till God for God, and Man for Man, appear'd
In wondrous union of incarnate power,
Hung on the cross, and saved the guilty world!
I hate Him, and his everlasting cause,
The Church, upon the rock of ages rear'd,
His word, His truth, and heaven-directing sway;
And soul by soul, and heart by heart, through light
And gloom, by land and isle, through life and death,
'Mid all the legions of embattled Powers
Who on His Ministry attend, and war
For holiness—my hate shall dare Him still;
Though Truth may vanquish, and the viewless thrones
Of Darkness tremble with their last despair!
The Church, upon the rock of ages rear'd,
His word, His truth, and heaven-directing sway;
And soul by soul, and heart by heart, through light
And gloom, by land and isle, through life and death,
'Mid all the legions of embattled Powers
Who on His Ministry attend, and war
For holiness—my hate shall dare Him still;
Though Truth may vanquish, and the viewless thrones
Of Darkness tremble with their last despair!
Too deep the vengeance of atoning Blood
On me shall come, for Him to be forgot!
I hate Him, for the ruin'd world he saved:
And yet His glorious pilgrimage confess.
Sublime of Martyrs! in that dread career
What wonders hallow His remember'd way!
The blind awaken'd to the bliss of light,
The deaf and lame, the dying and the dead,
All yielding up infirmity to Him,
And putting on young attributes of life.
Vain mortals, read and tremble! Once the Sea,
That god and glory of the Elements,
Obey'd His fiat, when a tempest rose,
Till the huge waves like living mountains leapt
In the wild majesty of midnight-storm,
Mocking the haggard lightnings as they streak'd
The waters, in the fury of their flash.
Each billow was a tempest; and the ship
Groan'd like a mariner at his last gasp;
Up rose He in almightiness! and bade
The whirlwinds into silence, and rebuked
The Ocean, calm'd by His resistless Eye!
On me shall come, for Him to be forgot!
I hate Him, for the ruin'd world he saved:
And yet His glorious pilgrimage confess.
Sublime of Martyrs! in that dread career
What wonders hallow His remember'd way!
The blind awaken'd to the bliss of light,
The deaf and lame, the dying and the dead,
All yielding up infirmity to Him,
And putting on young attributes of life.
Vain mortals, read and tremble! Once the Sea,
That god and glory of the Elements,
Obey'd His fiat, when a tempest rose,
Till the huge waves like living mountains leapt
In the wild majesty of midnight-storm,
Mocking the haggard lightnings as they streak'd
The waters, in the fury of their flash.
Each billow was a tempest; and the ship
354
Up rose He in almightiness! and bade
The whirlwinds into silence, and rebuked
The Ocean, calm'd by His resistless Eye!
And then, His Passion!—that tremendous scene
When God incarnate for the guilty bled,
While throbbing earth seem'd echo'd with His pangs
Almighty, and eclipsing horrors veil'd
The sun, which darken'd while its Maker died;
Or else, the midnight over Calv'ry's mount
Incumbent, coward fancy should have seen!
Have heard the cloven rock-piles as they burst,
The tombs unlock, and mark'd the solemn dead
In pallid stillness gliding through the town
As moon-clouds gleam along a midnight sky!
When God incarnate for the guilty bled,
While throbbing earth seem'd echo'd with His pangs
Almighty, and eclipsing horrors veil'd
The sun, which darken'd while its Maker died;
Or else, the midnight over Calv'ry's mount
Incumbent, coward fancy should have seen!
Have heard the cloven rock-piles as they burst,
The tombs unlock, and mark'd the solemn dead
In pallid stillness gliding through the town
As moon-clouds gleam along a midnight sky!
This grand array of miracles, this might
And majesty of preternatural things
Reveal'd in mercy, to arouse the world
To perfect sanctities of word and deed,
Have,—hear it, Demons! with exulting shout,
Fail'd! Long may Nature turn a slighting ear
To that true voice, which since Messiah bled,
By lips Divine and eloquence of life,
When, holiness the Christian heart inspires,
Hath testified that Virtue is the heaven
Begun, and vice the seed of Hell in man.
And majesty of preternatural things
Reveal'd in mercy, to arouse the world
To perfect sanctities of word and deed,
Have,—hear it, Demons! with exulting shout,
Fail'd! Long may Nature turn a slighting ear
To that true voice, which since Messiah bled,
By lips Divine and eloquence of life,
When, holiness the Christian heart inspires,
Hath testified that Virtue is the heaven
Begun, and vice the seed of Hell in man.
Delusion is the soul of young desire.
Behold a Vessel which has never braved
A sea: before her gallant bosom swells
A blue extent of ever-bounding waves,
All sunny-crested, glowing like the noon.
No stormy menace in the welkin frowns,
Sea, shore, and sky are in one mingled calm;
Loud, deep, and full the voice of welcome rings,
Away she flies in glory o'er the deep
Exulting in the wind!—And such is Youth,
So bright the promise of life's onward way;
Beneath the sunshine of fond hope awhile
The victim basks; drinks deep of every cup
Enchanted, feasts the faculty of sense,
And hails each hour the herald of new joy;
Thus on! as though unfading bliss were found,
Till weariness awake; the wing of joy
No longer o'er his soul a freshness waves,
And like the moody air he often breathes
A sigh of sullenness around his path.
And now, the verdure of delight no more,
The heart uneasy, and the soul unsaved,
With that dark fever of condemning thought,
Which conscience frets from out the sated mind,
As here the brute, and there the man, prevails,—
Behold your slave of pleasure rot from year
To year; obeying sin, yet feeling guilt;
His present, darkness, and his past, despair!
Behold a Vessel which has never braved
A sea: before her gallant bosom swells
A blue extent of ever-bounding waves,
All sunny-crested, glowing like the noon.
No stormy menace in the welkin frowns,
Sea, shore, and sky are in one mingled calm;
Loud, deep, and full the voice of welcome rings,
Away she flies in glory o'er the deep
Exulting in the wind!—And such is Youth,
So bright the promise of life's onward way;
Beneath the sunshine of fond hope awhile
The victim basks; drinks deep of every cup
Enchanted, feasts the faculty of sense,
And hails each hour the herald of new joy;
Thus on! as though unfading bliss were found,
Till weariness awake; the wing of joy
No longer o'er his soul a freshness waves,
And like the moody air he often breathes
A sigh of sullenness around his path.
And now, the verdure of delight no more,
The heart uneasy, and the soul unsaved,
With that dark fever of condemning thought,
Which conscience frets from out the sated mind,
As here the brute, and there the man, prevails,—
Behold your slave of pleasure rot from year
To year; obeying sin, yet feeling guilt;
His present, darkness, and his past, despair!
Of finer mould and far sublimer view,
Whate'er his lot, on Fortune's envied mount
High-throned, or lost in the secluded vales
Of lowliness,—is he whose hopes are built
In heaven; the hateful, but triumphant still!
Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds
Such glory on the Eye Supreme reflect,
As the meek virtues of one holy man:
For ever doth his Angel from the face
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw:
And in his prayer, what privilege enjoy'd!
Mounting the heavens, and claiming audience there,—
Yes! there, amid the sempiternal host
Of Seraphs, hymning in eternal choir,
A lip of clay its orisons can send,
In temple or in solitude outbreathed.
Whate'er his lot, on Fortune's envied mount
High-throned, or lost in the secluded vales
Of lowliness,—is he whose hopes are built
In heaven; the hateful, but triumphant still!
Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds
Such glory on the Eye Supreme reflect,
As the meek virtues of one holy man:
For ever doth his Angel from the face
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw:
And in his prayer, what privilege enjoy'd!
Mounting the heavens, and claiming audience there,—
Yes! there, amid the sempiternal host
Of Seraphs, hymning in eternal choir,
A lip of clay its orisons can send,
In temple or in solitude outbreathed.
I loathe the bright, the beautiful, and good,
By man when mirror'd forth sublimely fair;
Yet how, the hero of the Cross deny
What Hell may hate,—but hating, still admire?
One universal love, the source and end
Of true philosophy, within such heart
Must dwell, and make the atmosphere of mind
All sympathy, wherein a good man breathes:—
A tear for sorrow, and a smile for joy,
Are ever his; and thus existence spans
A wider realm than the self-loving fill,
Who crawl about their own mean world. Not man
Alone, the empire of his heart contains
In its free compass of embracing thought;
E'en gentle nature wins a share of love;
From the frail being of a lonely flower
By earth forgot, in beautiful ascent
Up to the very clouds, which in the shine
Of heaven seem bathing with voluptuous joy,
And here I face the triumph of a soul
In such fine overflow of sympathy,—
However spread, 'tis unpolluted still:
As sunshine in its beaming intercourse
With earth, shines pure upon corrupted clay.
By man when mirror'd forth sublimely fair;
Yet how, the hero of the Cross deny
What Hell may hate,—but hating, still admire?
One universal love, the source and end
Of true philosophy, within such heart
Must dwell, and make the atmosphere of mind
All sympathy, wherein a good man breathes:—
A tear for sorrow, and a smile for joy,
Are ever his; and thus existence spans
A wider realm than the self-loving fill,
Who crawl about their own mean world. Not man
Alone, the empire of his heart contains
In its free compass of embracing thought;
E'en gentle nature wins a share of love;
From the frail being of a lonely flower
By earth forgot, in beautiful ascent
Up to the very clouds, which in the shine
Of heaven seem bathing with voluptuous joy,
And here I face the triumph of a soul
In such fine overflow of sympathy,—
However spread, 'tis unpolluted still:
As sunshine in its beaming intercourse
With earth, shines pure upon corrupted clay.
Then, Virtue hath a loveliness, a calm
So fresh and full, a blessing and a hope,
With such elysium of contented thought,—
Rejoice I may, but ever wonder more
To see her so forsaken. Her delights
Endure as rich above the hectic joys
The wicked and the worldly reap, as hues
Of nature on the rose-bright cheek of youth
Outbloom the artificial blush of age,
And blossom in the wintry gloom of life
Unfadingly sincere.—Another source
Of heaven, there opens on the virtuous mind,
Which daunts me with a deep excess of good,—
Pure sympathy, which makes the Past its own
By following where the great and glorious dead
Traced the true path which terminates in God.
Art, Love, and Wisdom, Nature and her scenes.
Each from association prompting force derives.
When in the coolness of declining day
As o'er autumnal woods brown evening falls,
In haunts where solitude hath breathed a soul,—
By Thought companion'd, oft the wanderer feels
Such sympathy, the while of good and great
He thinks, who loved like him the lonely hour,
Still walks, and dreams, and meditative joy.
And that prime bliss, perfection of delight,
Which is to ear what beauty is to thought,
Sweet melody,—methinks 'tis only framed
To nourish heavenliness, in hallow'd minds;
There, how refreshingly must music flow,
And faint into the soul,—as dewy sleep
Melts o'er the eyelids of a weary man.
So fresh and full, a blessing and a hope,
With such elysium of contented thought,—
Rejoice I may, but ever wonder more
To see her so forsaken. Her delights
Endure as rich above the hectic joys
The wicked and the worldly reap, as hues
Of nature on the rose-bright cheek of youth
Outbloom the artificial blush of age,
And blossom in the wintry gloom of life
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Of heaven, there opens on the virtuous mind,
Which daunts me with a deep excess of good,—
Pure sympathy, which makes the Past its own
By following where the great and glorious dead
Traced the true path which terminates in God.
Art, Love, and Wisdom, Nature and her scenes.
Each from association prompting force derives.
When in the coolness of declining day
As o'er autumnal woods brown evening falls,
In haunts where solitude hath breathed a soul,—
By Thought companion'd, oft the wanderer feels
Such sympathy, the while of good and great
He thinks, who loved like him the lonely hour,
Still walks, and dreams, and meditative joy.
And that prime bliss, perfection of delight,
Which is to ear what beauty is to thought,
Sweet melody,—methinks 'tis only framed
To nourish heavenliness, in hallow'd minds;
There, how refreshingly must music flow,
And faint into the soul,—as dewy sleep
Melts o'er the eyelids of a weary man.
These holy yet another triumph crowns.
In woes which blacken o'er the brightest lot
How loftily above the bad they tower!
While those whom faith, nor resignation calms
Become a ruin, haunted by despair;
Save, when gay thoughts from gloomy moments spring,
As bright-leaved flowers that in the sunshine bloom,
From the chill damp of earth and darkness sprung.
In woes which blacken o'er the brightest lot
How loftily above the bad they tower!
While those whom faith, nor resignation calms
Become a ruin, haunted by despair;
Save, when gay thoughts from gloomy moments spring,
As bright-leaved flowers that in the sunshine bloom,
From the chill damp of earth and darkness sprung.
And such the life which virtue seems to boast;
With gladness lighted, or by sorrow dimm'd,
Still wearing a contented smile, to meet
The great Approver: like a placid stream
That in its meadowy pilgrimage can wear
The aspect of a pure and gentle thing
Alike where sun-beams laugh, or shadows frown.—
And when the summons to a future State
Is heard, those hell-black phantoms of despair,
Those clouds of horror which the wicked dread,
Melt in the brightness of a better world:
Thus, arm'd with faith in Him who vanquish'd death,
A gentle summons from their Lord to meet
The angels bright and beatific souls
Who erst have battled in the war of life,—
Death comes, and wafts them to the waiting Skies.
With gladness lighted, or by sorrow dimm'd,
Still wearing a contented smile, to meet
The great Approver: like a placid stream
That in its meadowy pilgrimage can wear
The aspect of a pure and gentle thing
Alike where sun-beams laugh, or shadows frown.—
And when the summons to a future State
Is heard, those hell-black phantoms of despair,
Those clouds of horror which the wicked dread,
Melt in the brightness of a better world:
Thus, arm'd with faith in Him who vanquish'd death,
A gentle summons from their Lord to meet
The angels bright and beatific souls
Who erst have battled in the war of life,—
Death comes, and wafts them to the waiting Skies.
And such is truth!—in heaven and hell the same.
And Hate herself in agony avows,
That Virtue is triumphant, and the best:
Her glories are my tortures; but they shine
Upon me, blasting with victorious light
The envy which I bear them, when I scan
The mazes of mortality.—How kind
In men, to aid the darkness which I bring
On fallen nature! lauding what I love,
And hating all which Fiends abhor. Thus vice
In splendour will appear, while virtue droops,
Like a long shadow pining in the sun.
And never shall the good the bad exceed,
While Sin can put enchantment in her smile,
And Passions are the tyrants of the soul!
And Hate herself in agony avows,
That Virtue is triumphant, and the best:
Her glories are my tortures; but they shine
Upon me, blasting with victorious light
The envy which I bear them, when I scan
The mazes of mortality.—How kind
In men, to aid the darkness which I bring
On fallen nature! lauding what I love,
And hating all which Fiends abhor. Thus vice
In splendour will appear, while virtue droops,
Like a long shadow pining in the sun.
And never shall the good the bad exceed,
While Sin can put enchantment in her smile,
And Passions are the tyrants of the soul!
Thou dread Avenger! ever-living One!
Lone Arbiter! Eternal, Vast, and True;
The Soul and Centre of created things,
In atoms or in worlds; before Whose Throne
The universe recoils; who look'st—and life
Appears; who frown'st—and life hath pass'd away!
Thou God!—I feel Thine everlasting curse,
Yet wither not: the lightnings of Thy wrath
Burn in my spirit, yet it shall endure
Unblasted, that which cannot be extinct!
Lone Arbiter! Eternal, Vast, and True;
The Soul and Centre of created things,
In atoms or in worlds; before Whose Throne
The universe recoils; who look'st—and life
Appears; who frown'st—and life hath pass'd away!
Thou God!—I feel Thine everlasting curse,
Yet wither not: the lightnings of Thy wrath
Burn in my spirit, yet it shall endure
Unblasted, that which cannot be extinct!
Thou sole Transcendency, and deep Abyss
From whence the Infinite of Life was drawn!
Unutter'd is Thy nature; to Thyself
Alone the comprehended God Thou art.
Though once the steep of Thine almightiness
My tow'ring spirit would have dared to climb
And reign'd beside Thee, god with God enthroned,
And vanquish'd fell, Thy glories Fiends confess.
Immutable! omnipotence is Thine;
Perfections, Powers, and Attributes unnamed,
Attend Thee; Thou art All, and oh, how great
That Consummation! Worlds to listening worlds
Repeat it; angels and archangels veil
Their wings, and shine more glorious at the sound:
Thus, infinite and fathomless Thou wert,
And art, and wilt be. In Thine awful blaze
Of majesty, amid empyreal pomp
Chief Hierarch, I once irradiant knelt
Thy Throne before, terrifically bright,
And heard the hymning thunders voice thy name,
While bow'd the Heavens, and echoed Deity!
From whence the Infinite of Life was drawn!
Unutter'd is Thy nature; to Thyself
Alone the comprehended God Thou art.
Though once the steep of Thine almightiness
My tow'ring spirit would have dared to climb
And reign'd beside Thee, god with God enthroned,
And vanquish'd fell, Thy glories Fiends confess.
Immutable! omnipotence is Thine;
Perfections, Powers, and Attributes unnamed,
Attend Thee; Thou art All, and oh, how great
That Consummation! Worlds to listening worlds
Repeat it; angels and archangels veil
Their wings, and shine more glorious at the sound:
Thus, infinite and fathomless Thou wert,
And art, and wilt be. In Thine awful blaze
Of majesty, amid empyreal pomp
Chief Hierarch, I once irradiant knelt
Thy Throne before, terrifically bright,
And heard the hymning thunders voice thy name,
While bow'd the Heavens, and echoed Deity!
356
Then heaved a dark and dreadless swell of pride
Within me! an ambition, huge and high
Enough to overshadow the Supreme,
In bright magnificence before me tower'd,
And fronted pride against Omnipotence!
Thus rose the anarchy of mystic war
The skies amid; then met embattled Hosts
In unimaginable arms divine:—
But why recount it? Spirits disarray'd
God hurl'd in flaming whirlwinds to the deep
Tartarean, where the Demons wait their doom.
Within me! an ambition, huge and high
Enough to overshadow the Supreme,
In bright magnificence before me tower'd,
And fronted pride against Omnipotence!
Thus rose the anarchy of mystic war
The skies amid; then met embattled Hosts
In unimaginable arms divine:—
But why recount it? Spirits disarray'd
God hurl'd in flaming whirlwinds to the deep
Tartarean, where the Demons wait their doom.
And yet, divided empire have I won.
Behold! the havoc in Thy beauteous world:
And have I not, be witness, space and time!
Thy master-piece, creation's god of clay,
Dethroned from that high excellence he held
When first man walk'd a shadow of Thyself!
Prostration vile, an alienate from Thee
Man is;—and shall his fallen nature rise,
Enter bright heaven, and fill ethereal thrones?
Many a cloud of evil shall be burst
Ere that day come: severe and dread the strife
Of earth-born passion with the soul of man!
Wherever localised, whate'er his creed,
Fiends of temptation shall his soul beset,
Though every pang, by sin produced, increase
The agonised eternity I bear!
The blackest midnight to the brightest day
Is not more opposite, than I to Thee:
Thou art the Glorious, I the Evil one;
Thou reign'st above; my kingdom is below;
On earth, 'tis Thine to succour and adorn
The soul, through sacraments of secret grace,
By thoughts divine, and agencies direct;
To cheer the gentle, and reward the good,
And o'er the many waves and woes of life
To pour the sunshine of almighty love:
'Tis mine to darken, wither, and destroy,
And in destruction see the heaven of hell!
Behold! the havoc in Thy beauteous world:
And have I not, be witness, space and time!
Thy master-piece, creation's god of clay,
Dethroned from that high excellence he held
When first man walk'd a shadow of Thyself!
Prostration vile, an alienate from Thee
Man is;—and shall his fallen nature rise,
Enter bright heaven, and fill ethereal thrones?
Many a cloud of evil shall be burst
Ere that day come: severe and dread the strife
Of earth-born passion with the soul of man!
Wherever localised, whate'er his creed,
Fiends of temptation shall his soul beset,
Though every pang, by sin produced, increase
The agonised eternity I bear!
The blackest midnight to the brightest day
Is not more opposite, than I to Thee:
Thou art the Glorious, I the Evil one;
Thou reign'st above; my kingdom is below;
On earth, 'tis Thine to succour and adorn
The soul, through sacraments of secret grace,
By thoughts divine, and agencies direct;
To cheer the gentle, and reward the good,
And o'er the many waves and woes of life
To pour the sunshine of almighty love:
'Tis mine to darken, wither, and destroy,
And in destruction see the heaven of hell!
Then roll thee on, thou high and haughty World!
Still be thy sun as bright, thy sea as loud
In her sublimity, thy floods and winds
As potent, and thy lording Elements
As vast in their mysterious range of power,
As each and all have ever been: build thrones
And empires, heap the mountain of thy crimes,
Be mean or mighty, wise or worthless still,—
Yet I am with thee! and my power shall reign
Until the trumpet of thy doom be heard,
Thine ocean vanish'd, and thy heavens no more!
Till Thou be tenantless, a welt'ring mass
Of fire, a dying and dissolving World!
And then, Thy hidden lightnings are unsheath'd,
O God! the thunders of despair shall roll;
Mine hour is come, and I am wreck'd of all—
All save eternity, and that is mine!
Still be thy sun as bright, thy sea as loud
In her sublimity, thy floods and winds
As potent, and thy lording Elements
As vast in their mysterious range of power,
As each and all have ever been: build thrones
And empires, heap the mountain of thy crimes,
Be mean or mighty, wise or worthless still,—
Yet I am with thee! and my power shall reign
Until the trumpet of thy doom be heard,
Thine ocean vanish'd, and thy heavens no more!
Till Thou be tenantless, a welt'ring mass
Of fire, a dying and dissolving World!
And then, Thy hidden lightnings are unsheath'd,
O God! the thunders of despair shall roll;
Mine hour is come, and I am wreck'd of all—
All save eternity, and that is mine!
BOOK V.
“This royal throne of Kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars—
England!”
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars—
England!”
How gloriously the festal chimes resound
Their pealing gladness through the azure night,
And thrill the air with jubilee and joy!—
As though the triumph of ten thousand hearts
In full-voiced chorus shook the starry heaven,
And made it conscious music! Now they swell
Aloft, in one excited wave of sound;
Then, faintly die, like war-notes on the wind,
Rousing the empire with a brave delight.
Their pealing gladness through the azure night,
And thrill the air with jubilee and joy!—
As though the triumph of ten thousand hearts
In full-voiced chorus shook the starry heaven,
And made it conscious music! Now they swell
Aloft, in one excited wave of sound;
Then, faintly die, like war-notes on the wind,
Rousing the empire with a brave delight.
England hath laid her sceptre on the Deep,
And, with her thunder, chased her ocean-foes
Like leaves before the breathing of a blast!
England hath rear'd her banners on the plain
Of battle; victory waved them; and the world
Again shall echo with her haughty name.
And hence, a stormy rapture shakes the isle;
Hence the loud music of her steepled fanes,
Whether in cities emulously tower'd
Among the skies, or in lone hamlets seen,—
Still pouring out the language of the land;
With all those pageantries, and fiery pomps,
That hang and glitter from her window'd piles
Emblazed with mottoes, and triumphal scenes.
And, with her thunder, chased her ocean-foes
Like leaves before the breathing of a blast!
England hath rear'd her banners on the plain
Of battle; victory waved them; and the world
Again shall echo with her haughty name.
And hence, a stormy rapture shakes the isle;
Hence the loud music of her steepled fanes,
Whether in cities emulously tower'd
Among the skies, or in lone hamlets seen,—
Still pouring out the language of the land;
With all those pageantries, and fiery pomps,
That hang and glitter from her window'd piles
Emblazed with mottoes, and triumphal scenes.
Not one, to whom the name of country sounds
Like heaven-born music, but this hour adores.
The old men feel the sunshine of far youth
Returning, fresh as when the hero glow'd.
The young,—lip, eye, and daring heart, are stirr'd;
Their very blood seems rippled with delight,
So deep the fulness of this warlike joy.
Yea, hollow cheeks of Sadness, and the brows
Of Poverty, and lean-faced Want itself,
Forget their nature in a share of fame!
And yet, most hideous are some human shapes
Which revel near me, by a tow'ring blaze
Of triumph;—as it flings its glaring life
Upon their faces, each one gleams beneath
The mockery, like a ruin'd shrine when noon
In bright derision dances o'er the walls.
Like heaven-born music, but this hour adores.
The old men feel the sunshine of far youth
Returning, fresh as when the hero glow'd.
The young,—lip, eye, and daring heart, are stirr'd;
Their very blood seems rippled with delight,
So deep the fulness of this warlike joy.
Yea, hollow cheeks of Sadness, and the brows
Of Poverty, and lean-faced Want itself,
Forget their nature in a share of fame!
And yet, most hideous are some human shapes
Which revel near me, by a tow'ring blaze
Of triumph;—as it flings its glaring life
Upon their faces, each one gleams beneath
The mockery, like a ruin'd shrine when noon
In bright derision dances o'er the walls.
Let Fancy to a distance wing her flight,
And learn the glory whence this scene is born.
How Sorrow treads upon the heels of Joy!
What puts a smile on some great Empire's cheek,
Hath wrung the life-blood from another's heart;
While one is revelling with impassion'd glee
Another moans like misery's bleakest child:
Thus seems the world a round of joy and wo,
Alike divided for the doom of things.
And learn the glory whence this scene is born.
How Sorrow treads upon the heels of Joy!
357
Hath wrung the life-blood from another's heart;
While one is revelling with impassion'd glee
Another moans like misery's bleakest child:
Thus seems the world a round of joy and wo,
Alike divided for the doom of things.
Hither, thou frantic Bacchanal! whose voice
Rings loudest, stand upon the hoof-scared heath,
And say if Heaven on such a scene can smile!
Here, deep as in thine own exulting land,
Night reigns; but not with noon-like azure crown'd,
While sympathetic stars, all gaily bright,
Look down on gladness: but with sullen calm
Where moans the conscious wind, and pensive stars
Seem pale-eyed watchers o'er those trodden dead,
In tombless havoc weltering on the plain.
Each heart now cold, to other hearts was chain'd,
Whose links were out of years of fondness framed;
Each eye now darken'd with eclipsing death
Once beam'd the sun of happiness and home;
Each of the dead hath flung a shade o'er life,
Henceforth to be a living agony.—
Mark! where the moon her icy lustre flings
What dead-romance! what visions of the slain!
One, calmly-brow'd, as though his native trees
Had waved their beauty o'er his dying head;
Another, marr'd with agonising lines
And dreams of home yet lingering in his face.—
Now go, and sing the splendour of the War!
Go, tell the Mother of the brave and free,
How beautiful this patriotic shout
Of Victory, when she counts the new-made dead,
Like Madness reeling with a murd'rous joy;
So shall a war-fame flourish ever-green,
And laurell'd History be trumpet-tongued,
To fire ambition with a bloody thirst,
Which makes the world a slaughter-house for man!
Rings loudest, stand upon the hoof-scared heath,
And say if Heaven on such a scene can smile!
Here, deep as in thine own exulting land,
Night reigns; but not with noon-like azure crown'd,
While sympathetic stars, all gaily bright,
Look down on gladness: but with sullen calm
Where moans the conscious wind, and pensive stars
Seem pale-eyed watchers o'er those trodden dead,
In tombless havoc weltering on the plain.
Each heart now cold, to other hearts was chain'd,
Whose links were out of years of fondness framed;
Each eye now darken'd with eclipsing death
Once beam'd the sun of happiness and home;
Each of the dead hath flung a shade o'er life,
Henceforth to be a living agony.—
Mark! where the moon her icy lustre flings
What dead-romance! what visions of the slain!
One, calmly-brow'd, as though his native trees
Had waved their beauty o'er his dying head;
Another, marr'd with agonising lines
And dreams of home yet lingering in his face.—
Now go, and sing the splendour of the War!
Go, tell the Mother of the brave and free,
How beautiful this patriotic shout
Of Victory, when she counts the new-made dead,
Like Madness reeling with a murd'rous joy;
So shall a war-fame flourish ever-green,
And laurell'd History be trumpet-tongued,
To fire ambition with a bloody thirst,
Which makes the world a slaughter-house for man!
And this is “glory!” such as charms these days
When godly temples every street adorn;
While Tenderness, with its bewailing lip,
At ages of barbaric gloom affects
To wonder:—how the heart its flattery weaves!
Of proud deception, or intense desire,
The victim ever in its wariest mood.
To be the bulwark of a land beloved,
And drive aggression with avenging sword
From her indignant shore, commands renown:
But say, Thou Centre of created life,
Who charter'd man, and bade Thy heavens to mile
When from his eye outlook'd the living God!
What myriads upon myriads heap'd, to fill
The circle of ambitious thought, or please
Some royal dreamer who would dash a throne
To hear his trumpets pealing through the world,—
On hill and plain, and ocean's ravening waves,
The red libation of their hearts have pour'd!
But this is kingly:—so let tyrants dream;
Nor round their pillows may one death-cry ring:
The day, when dust shall give its monarchs back,—
Methinks I see it, and the fiery glance
Of Judgment scathing many a royal soul!
When godly temples every street adorn;
While Tenderness, with its bewailing lip,
At ages of barbaric gloom affects
To wonder:—how the heart its flattery weaves!
Of proud deception, or intense desire,
The victim ever in its wariest mood.
To be the bulwark of a land beloved,
And drive aggression with avenging sword
From her indignant shore, commands renown:
But say, Thou Centre of created life,
Who charter'd man, and bade Thy heavens to mile
When from his eye outlook'd the living God!
What myriads upon myriads heap'd, to fill
The circle of ambitious thought, or please
Some royal dreamer who would dash a throne
To hear his trumpets pealing through the world,—
On hill and plain, and ocean's ravening waves,
The red libation of their hearts have pour'd!
But this is kingly:—so let tyrants dream;
Nor round their pillows may one death-cry ring:
The day, when dust shall give its monarchs back,—
Methinks I see it, and the fiery glance
Of Judgment scathing many a royal soul!
But night departs, the revelry is o'er,
And nature woos me. Through the orient heaven
A dawn advances with a beauteous glow;
And now, array'd in clouds of crimson pomp
The gradual Morn comes gliding o'er the waves
Which freshen under her reflected smiles,
And veils the world with glory. Rocks and hills
Are radiantly bedeck'd; the glimm'ring woods
And plains are mantled with their greenest robe,
And night-tears glisten in her rosy beam.
But in yon valleys, where from ivied cots
Like matin incense, wreathing smoke ascends,
How exquisite the flush of life! The birds
Are wing'd for heaven, and charm the air with song,
While in the gladness of the new-born breeze
The young leaves flutter, and the flow'rets sigh
Their blending odours out. And ye, bright streams,
Like happy pilgrims, how ye rove along
By mead and bank where violets love to dwell
In solitude and stillness: all is fresh,
And gaysome. Now the peasant, with an eye
Glad as the noon-ray sparkling through a shower,
Comes forth, and carols in thy waking beam
Thou sky-god! reigning on thy throne of light.
Sure airy painters have enrich'd thy sphere
With regal pageantry; such cloudy pomps
Adorn the heavens, a poet's eye would dream
His ancient gods had all return'd again
And hung their palaces around the sun!
And nature woos me. Through the orient heaven
A dawn advances with a beauteous glow;
And now, array'd in clouds of crimson pomp
The gradual Morn comes gliding o'er the waves
Which freshen under her reflected smiles,
And veils the world with glory. Rocks and hills
Are radiantly bedeck'd; the glimm'ring woods
And plains are mantled with their greenest robe,
And night-tears glisten in her rosy beam.
But in yon valleys, where from ivied cots
Like matin incense, wreathing smoke ascends,
How exquisite the flush of life! The birds
Are wing'd for heaven, and charm the air with song,
While in the gladness of the new-born breeze
The young leaves flutter, and the flow'rets sigh
Their blending odours out. And ye, bright streams,
Like happy pilgrims, how ye rove along
By mead and bank where violets love to dwell
In solitude and stillness: all is fresh,
And gaysome. Now the peasant, with an eye
Glad as the noon-ray sparkling through a shower,
Comes forth, and carols in thy waking beam
Thou sky-god! reigning on thy throne of light.
Sure airy painters have enrich'd thy sphere
With regal pageantry; such cloudy pomps
Adorn the heavens, a poet's eye would dream
His ancient gods had all return'd again
And hung their palaces around the sun!
And this is England, bathed in morning glow:
The isle where Freedom bears a lion-mien,
The Land whose echoes thrill the earth around,
The ocean-throned; the ancient battle-famed,
The Palestine of waters! O'er her realms
Enchantingly propitious Nature smiles;
Whose frowns and awfulness are seen afar,
Where snow-hills whiten in eternal glare,
Or soundless ocean, lock'd in icy sleep,
Deadens the polar world: but here alone
With summer hymning through the haunted vales,
'Tis beauty, bloom, and brightness all! How rich
The scented luxury of floral meads,
Reposing in the noon; where gentle winds
Exult, and many a choral brooklet sings:
Sure Admiration might be poet here!
Tall mansions, shadow'd by patrician trees,
Romantic farms, grey villages and cots,
With castled relics, and cathedral-piles
Where dreaming Solitude can muse and sigh,
Enchant dead Ages from their tombs, or hear
The dark soliloquy of ancient Time,—
Adorn the landscape and delight the view;
While haggard rocks, and heaven-aspiring hills
The sea o'ergazing, here and there create
A mountain-charm to solemnise the scene.
The isle where Freedom bears a lion-mien,
The Land whose echoes thrill the earth around,
The ocean-throned; the ancient battle-famed,
The Palestine of waters! O'er her realms
358
Whose frowns and awfulness are seen afar,
Where snow-hills whiten in eternal glare,
Or soundless ocean, lock'd in icy sleep,
Deadens the polar world: but here alone
With summer hymning through the haunted vales,
'Tis beauty, bloom, and brightness all! How rich
The scented luxury of floral meads,
Reposing in the noon; where gentle winds
Exult, and many a choral brooklet sings:
Sure Admiration might be poet here!
Tall mansions, shadow'd by patrician trees,
Romantic farms, grey villages and cots,
With castled relics, and cathedral-piles
Where dreaming Solitude can muse and sigh,
Enchant dead Ages from their tombs, or hear
The dark soliloquy of ancient Time,—
Adorn the landscape and delight the view;
While haggard rocks, and heaven-aspiring hills
The sea o'ergazing, here and there create
A mountain-charm to solemnise the scene.
Or turn from Nature, in her fresh array
Of beauty, to behold the haunts of man,
In high-domed Capitals or cities huge
With varied grandeur round the island spread;
Here towers and temples overshade the streets
Where sound the life-floods in continuous roar,
And Commerce, whom the winds and waves revere,
To him whose veins are proud with English blood,
A scene suggests that bids the patriot glow.
Then Ocean,—listen, how th' intruding waves
With loud resentment trample on the shore,
Like pawing steeds, impatient for the war!
Of beauty, to behold the haunts of man,
In high-domed Capitals or cities huge
With varied grandeur round the island spread;
Here towers and temples overshade the streets
Where sound the life-floods in continuous roar,
And Commerce, whom the winds and waves revere,
To him whose veins are proud with English blood,
A scene suggests that bids the patriot glow.
Then Ocean,—listen, how th' intruding waves
With loud resentment trample on the shore,
Like pawing steeds, impatient for the war!
And such the magical array of things
By art and nature o'er this island strewn;
Than which, though envious clouds her sun
Conceal, and vapours curtain oft the sky,
Heaven canopies no lovelier clime. And they,
The children of her Freedom, with an air
Of kingliness they walk thy consecrated soil,
And thoughtful manhood, on their brows enthroned.
Though perfect beauty lost its moral grace
When Sin unmask'd her hideous front, and shades
Of hell rose frowning o'er this human scene,
It reigneth still; as mind though overthrown
And darken'd, yet hath gleams of glorious prime.
And here, methinks, a noble beauty dwells
These islanders among:—the daring eye,
Majestic brow, the gallant bloom of health
And dignity of their regardless mien
A power denote, which beautifies the free:
While they who move in loveliness and light,
Like memories of vanish'd paradise
Around the sternness of ungrateful man,
Have beauty such as perish'd Angels loved!
By art and nature o'er this island strewn;
Than which, though envious clouds her sun
Conceal, and vapours curtain oft the sky,
Heaven canopies no lovelier clime. And they,
The children of her Freedom, with an air
Of kingliness they walk thy consecrated soil,
And thoughtful manhood, on their brows enthroned.
Though perfect beauty lost its moral grace
When Sin unmask'd her hideous front, and shades
Of hell rose frowning o'er this human scene,
It reigneth still; as mind though overthrown
And darken'd, yet hath gleams of glorious prime.
And here, methinks, a noble beauty dwells
These islanders among:—the daring eye,
Majestic brow, the gallant bloom of health
And dignity of their regardless mien
A power denote, which beautifies the free:
While they who move in loveliness and light,
Like memories of vanish'd paradise
Around the sternness of ungrateful man,
Have beauty such as perish'd Angels loved!
And yet, of myriads who this matchless isle
From day to day enjoy, from year to year
Environ'd with her fairest smiles, few dream
Or whence, or why, she hath the world surpass'd.
Thus hath it ever been, since time and truth
Have wrestled with that contradiction, Man!
Partaken mercies are forgotten things.
But Expectation hath a grateful heart,
Hailing the smile of promise from afar:
Enjoyment dies into ingratitude,
Till God is hidden by the boundless stores
Himself created; eyeless nature knows
Him not, for mighty Self absorbeth all!
From day to day enjoy, from year to year
Environ'd with her fairest smiles, few dream
Or whence, or why, she hath the world surpass'd.
Thus hath it ever been, since time and truth
Have wrestled with that contradiction, Man!
Partaken mercies are forgotten things.
But Expectation hath a grateful heart,
Hailing the smile of promise from afar:
Enjoyment dies into ingratitude,
Till God is hidden by the boundless stores
Himself created; eyeless nature knows
Him not, for mighty Self absorbeth all!
That gulf descend where pristine ages sleep,
And lone, benighted in the savage gloom
Of her untravell'd woods and wilds, no light,
Save that of reason, struggling through a cloud
Intense,—lo! haughty-featured England lies;
An orphan region nursed amid the deep,
A fameless isle, imprison'd by the waves,
A speck upon the vasty globe. Who raised
Her littleness to lofty state? who bade
The daring majesty of Cæsar's mind
O'er her rude wilds a Roman spirit breathe,
Till, in the nursing shadow of his throne
She grew to youthful glory? Who hath been
Through perils, and volcanic bursts of war,
Earth-shaking tumult, and appalling strife
The guardian of her destinies till now,
When Ocean, wreathed around her rocky shore,
Hath lent his champion-billows to defend
Her fame, while storming at her daunted foes,
She spurns them with avenging roar?—Forth steps
The little greatness of a learned man,
And in the rapture of presuming thought
Through the dim valley of departed years
Sends down his spirit, and aloud proclaims,
The prince, the hero, and aspiring hearts
Which breathe omnipotence round mortal power,
Have made, and shall preserve us, as we stand,
The mighty and the free!—A proud response
Of hell-born feeling such as I would nurse;
And that which empires have of old indulged
Till, dizzy with renown, they reel'd away
Amid the havoc and the whirl of time.
For power and greatness are the awful twins
Of Destiny, whereby the earth is moved:
The first, a property of God Himself,
Which, when imparted to the soul, becomes
A curse, or blessing, in its moral sway:
The second will be judged by truthful Heaven
Convicted, or absolved. Of England's past,
When Time's dread chronicle shall be unroll'd
What glory then will clear-eyed Truth perceive?
And lone, benighted in the savage gloom
Of her untravell'd woods and wilds, no light,
Save that of reason, struggling through a cloud
Intense,—lo! haughty-featured England lies;
An orphan region nursed amid the deep,
A fameless isle, imprison'd by the waves,
A speck upon the vasty globe. Who raised
Her littleness to lofty state? who bade
The daring majesty of Cæsar's mind
O'er her rude wilds a Roman spirit breathe,
Till, in the nursing shadow of his throne
She grew to youthful glory? Who hath been
Through perils, and volcanic bursts of war,
Earth-shaking tumult, and appalling strife
The guardian of her destinies till now,
When Ocean, wreathed around her rocky shore,
Hath lent his champion-billows to defend
Her fame, while storming at her daunted foes,
She spurns them with avenging roar?—Forth steps
The little greatness of a learned man,
And in the rapture of presuming thought
Through the dim valley of departed years
Sends down his spirit, and aloud proclaims,
The prince, the hero, and aspiring hearts
Which breathe omnipotence round mortal power,
Have made, and shall preserve us, as we stand,
The mighty and the free!—A proud response
Of hell-born feeling such as I would nurse;
And that which empires have of old indulged
Till, dizzy with renown, they reel'd away
Amid the havoc and the whirl of time.
For power and greatness are the awful twins
359
The first, a property of God Himself,
Which, when imparted to the soul, becomes
A curse, or blessing, in its moral sway:
The second will be judged by truthful Heaven
Convicted, or absolved. Of England's past,
When Time's dread chronicle shall be unroll'd
What glory then will clear-eyed Truth perceive?
Should I deny thee, angels would declare,
That spirits who enrich eternity
Have deck'd thine island-clay. Immortal kings,
Who sanctified their sceptres, and their thrones;
Patriots sublime, with whom hoar wisdom dwelt,
And tutor'd ages by advancing thought;
With saints and martyrs, heroes of the skies,
Approaching, shed their glory on thy name.
But paramount o'er all thy mental gods
Shakspeare and Milton, see those peerless two!
The one, a mind omnipotently dower'd,
Which multiplied itself through space and time,
Passing like nature through the soul of things!
Aloft, companion of the Sun he soars
Awhile, then travels with the moonless night,
Mounts on the wind, or marches with the sea,
And, god-like, gives the Elements a tone
Of grandeur, when his spirit walks abroad!
But Life! how well he tore thy mask away,—
The great Interpreter of man to man.
So royal are his kings, his maids so pure,
Such perfect heroes, and prudential knaves,
Such feeling smiles and unaffected tears,
So stern or sweet, so melting or sublime,—
Such life-warm substance in the vast array
Of Shapes, who live along his moving Scene,
Men deem the world were in him when he wrote,
And he the sum and soul of all mankind!
That spirits who enrich eternity
Have deck'd thine island-clay. Immortal kings,
Who sanctified their sceptres, and their thrones;
Patriots sublime, with whom hoar wisdom dwelt,
And tutor'd ages by advancing thought;
With saints and martyrs, heroes of the skies,
Approaching, shed their glory on thy name.
But paramount o'er all thy mental gods
Shakspeare and Milton, see those peerless two!
The one, a mind omnipotently dower'd,
Which multiplied itself through space and time,
Passing like nature through the soul of things!
Aloft, companion of the Sun he soars
Awhile, then travels with the moonless night,
Mounts on the wind, or marches with the sea,
And, god-like, gives the Elements a tone
Of grandeur, when his spirit walks abroad!
But Life! how well he tore thy mask away,—
The great Interpreter of man to man.
So royal are his kings, his maids so pure,
Such perfect heroes, and prudential knaves,
Such feeling smiles and unaffected tears,
So stern or sweet, so melting or sublime,—
Such life-warm substance in the vast array
Of Shapes, who live along his moving Scene,
Men deem the world were in him when he wrote,
And he the sum and soul of all mankind!
The last, who lived on earth, but thought in heaven,
Beyond compare the brightest who have scaled
The empyrean, and whose lyre might charm
The seraphim with its melodious spell,—
That sightless Bard, whose paradise of song
Hallows Britannia's isle, how deep he plunged
Into the infinite sublime of thought,
Flaming with visions of eternal glare!
How high amid the alienated Hosts
Of warring angels he could dare ascend,
Look on the lightnings of almighty wrath,
Array the thunders, and their God reveal!
Beyond compare the brightest who have scaled
The empyrean, and whose lyre might charm
The seraphim with its melodious spell,—
That sightless Bard, whose paradise of song
Hallows Britannia's isle, how deep he plunged
Into the infinite sublime of thought,
Flaming with visions of eternal glare!
How high amid the alienated Hosts
Of warring angels he could dare ascend,
Look on the lightnings of almighty wrath,
Array the thunders, and their God reveal!
These deities of earth, thy past sublime;
The birth of an immortal soul proclaim,
And show how far bright inspiration soars:
But thou, brave England! shalt for crimes be judged,
When they in awful resurrection rise
With thine own children, ere the world expires.
My Spirit hath encompass'd thee! Thy hosts
Who in the anarchy and ruffian stir
Of civil war, have won the sanguine wreath;
Thy lewd-soul'd princes, and voluptuous kings
Whose courtly halls were palaces of vice
That sensualised the land; the sins untold
Within thee nursed, and those remorseless deeds
Of vile aggression, haunting thy great name,—
Yet sully thee, and claim atoning tears.
The birth of an immortal soul proclaim,
And show how far bright inspiration soars:
But thou, brave England! shalt for crimes be judged,
When they in awful resurrection rise
With thine own children, ere the world expires.
My Spirit hath encompass'd thee! Thy hosts
Who in the anarchy and ruffian stir
Of civil war, have won the sanguine wreath;
Thy lewd-soul'd princes, and voluptuous kings
Whose courtly halls were palaces of vice
That sensualised the land; the sins untold
Within thee nursed, and those remorseless deeds
Of vile aggression, haunting thy great name,—
Yet sully thee, and claim atoning tears.
And now reigns England in her noon of might
Secure; the future, with victorious eye
Prophetically dooming; distant Lands
Beneath her sceptre bow, and though her soul
Doth gather wisdom from her own domain,
In proud neglect of equal climes,—there spreads
No empire on the map of earth, where fame
Hath scatter'd not her mind's nobility.
Commerce,—the spirit of this guarded isle
Wherein the attributes supremely dwell
Of all which dignifies or nurtures power,—
Enthrones her on a peerless height, and works
Like inspiration through her mighty heart,
And yet, a poison at the core! To eyes,
Where avarice hath raised a blinding film
That flatters, while it bounds the view, her scenes
Array'd and glowing with commercial pomp,
More costly than the sun-enchanted skies
Appear. Triumphantly outspreads her show
Of trade and traffic round the sumptuous world!
See! from yon ports what merchant-vessels waft,
Daunting the winds, and dancing o'er the waves,
Rich wares and living burden, while the breeze
Toys with the flag, and fills the panting sail.
Others from many a tempest-haunted track
Return'd, in thunder beat their homeward way
And send their spirit wreathing on the gales.
Then hark! amid this wilderness of domes
Dark lanes, and smoke-roof'd streets, what mingled roar,
While Commerce, in her thousand shapes and moods
With eager hand and greedy eye, pursues
Her round of wonders and of gain! All arts,
All natures, and all elements are forced
To such obedience by transforming Power,
That matter quickens into living soul
And works harmonious to the will of man!
Secure; the future, with victorious eye
Prophetically dooming; distant Lands
Beneath her sceptre bow, and though her soul
Doth gather wisdom from her own domain,
In proud neglect of equal climes,—there spreads
No empire on the map of earth, where fame
Hath scatter'd not her mind's nobility.
Commerce,—the spirit of this guarded isle
Wherein the attributes supremely dwell
Of all which dignifies or nurtures power,—
Enthrones her on a peerless height, and works
Like inspiration through her mighty heart,
And yet, a poison at the core! To eyes,
Where avarice hath raised a blinding film
That flatters, while it bounds the view, her scenes
Array'd and glowing with commercial pomp,
More costly than the sun-enchanted skies
Appear. Triumphantly outspreads her show
Of trade and traffic round the sumptuous world!
See! from yon ports what merchant-vessels waft,
Daunting the winds, and dancing o'er the waves,
Rich wares and living burden, while the breeze
Toys with the flag, and fills the panting sail.
Others from many a tempest-haunted track
Return'd, in thunder beat their homeward way
And send their spirit wreathing on the gales.
Then hark! amid this wilderness of domes
Dark lanes, and smoke-roof'd streets, what mingled roar,
While Commerce, in her thousand shapes and moods
With eager hand and greedy eye, pursues
Her round of wonders and of gain! All arts,
All natures, and all elements are forced
To such obedience by transforming Power,
That matter quickens into living soul
And works harmonious to the will of man!
360
But here, methinks, had not one hideous thirst
For lucre parch'd all pity from the mind,
The hollow cheeks and livid brow of Toil
That, lean, and yellow'd by infectious gloom,
Droops o'er his hateful task—might thrill the heart
Of Selfishness, in her most griping hour.
And here amid the pestilential glow
Of heated chambers, where in sad revenge
Art flourishes o'er fading life, are pent
The infant young, and friendless orphan-poor;
They who should gambol on the golden meads,
While health the limbs, and beauty clad their cheeks,
Thus doom'd to anguish in degenerate toils!
Why, what a hell-slave will this Commerce prove,
When life and feeling perish for her cause!
For lucre parch'd all pity from the mind,
The hollow cheeks and livid brow of Toil
That, lean, and yellow'd by infectious gloom,
Droops o'er his hateful task—might thrill the heart
Of Selfishness, in her most griping hour.
And here amid the pestilential glow
Of heated chambers, where in sad revenge
Art flourishes o'er fading life, are pent
The infant young, and friendless orphan-poor;
They who should gambol on the golden meads,
While health the limbs, and beauty clad their cheeks,
Thus doom'd to anguish in degenerate toils!
Why, what a hell-slave will this Commerce prove,
When life and feeling perish for her cause!
Already hath an evil spell begun;
Though a proud Empire will not see, her heart
Is fever'd with a fest'ring mass of vice,
And lust of gain which rankles into lies
Deceptive, horrible, and base; while Truth
Integrity and Honour are diseased,
And die away in avaricious dreams
Of Mammon, that vile despot of the soul.
The happy meekness of contented minds
Is fretted with ambition; home and love,
The heart-links, and the brotherhood of joy
In life, and tomb-companionship in death,
Are nothing: money, God of England seems!
Though a proud Empire will not see, her heart
Is fever'd with a fest'ring mass of vice,
And lust of gain which rankles into lies
Deceptive, horrible, and base; while Truth
Integrity and Honour are diseased,
And die away in avaricious dreams
Of Mammon, that vile despot of the soul.
The happy meekness of contented minds
Is fretted with ambition; home and love,
The heart-links, and the brotherhood of joy
In life, and tomb-companionship in death,
Are nothing: money, God of England seems!
There is another and a nobler scene
Of triumph, for dark spirits to survey.
For knowledge,—true nobility of mind
When temper'd with a sanctifying tone,
Without it, but an ornamental curse,—
In full omnipotence is reigning now;
Yet haply, with a spirit and a power
Which breed an earthquake in the boastful heart
Of this free isle. A thunder-charged sky
When clouds float meaningly along the face
Of its dread stillness, not more threat'ning looks
Than England, bloated with ambitious minds
That dream in darkness, and await the hour
That like a storm-burst will the world arouse!
Sooner shall winds be caged, or billows hush'd,
Than pride be rooted from one human soul
By aught which man's corrective wisdom yields.
For dust with deity will dare contend,
The creature with his own Creator war
The most, where meek religion reigns the least.
To vanity a wildering charm, for vice
A weapon, to the fool a powerless gift
Is Learning.—Doth she lift her eyes to heaven,
Or downward gaze to idolise that world
Of promise, which around her seems to smile?
Of triumph, for dark spirits to survey.
For knowledge,—true nobility of mind
When temper'd with a sanctifying tone,
Without it, but an ornamental curse,—
In full omnipotence is reigning now;
Yet haply, with a spirit and a power
Which breed an earthquake in the boastful heart
Of this free isle. A thunder-charged sky
When clouds float meaningly along the face
Of its dread stillness, not more threat'ning looks
Than England, bloated with ambitious minds
That dream in darkness, and await the hour
That like a storm-burst will the world arouse!
Sooner shall winds be caged, or billows hush'd,
Than pride be rooted from one human soul
By aught which man's corrective wisdom yields.
For dust with deity will dare contend,
The creature with his own Creator war
The most, where meek religion reigns the least.
To vanity a wildering charm, for vice
A weapon, to the fool a powerless gift
Is Learning.—Doth she lift her eyes to heaven,
Or downward gaze to idolise that world
Of promise, which around her seems to smile?
The soul of Intellect is spread abroad,
In whose gay flush men see flatt'ring bloom;
Yet, vain and unimpressive as the dance
Of leaf-shades, figured in the dreaming sun,
Are trivial fancies o'er a Nation's mind
For ever by inglorious spirits thrown.
As pictured Nature in the rich deceit
Of servile art, undignified appears
When with its glorious archetype compared,
So dim the genius of the living day
To that which brighten'd an heroic race
Of warriors, famous in the fields of mind;
High-soul'd and stern, they gave to time unborn
The heirship of their fame; but venal smiles
Which low accordance with the bounded view
Of spirits levell'd to the dust, procures,
Were spurn'd away in their immortal taste
For Truth, and her transcendent cause:—how few
Dare emulate these godlike of the past;
Renown immediate, from the vassal lip
Of smiling Dulness, is the dear reward
For which your intellectual pigmies grasp.
Hence, sickly woes, and sentimental lies
By passion woven to bewilder souls.—
Romantic panders! may your kingdom spread;
Let Beauty, Love, and Gentleness, and Thoughts
Which grasp eternity and heaven unveil,
Expire; but give to crime pathetic grace
And treat the world with new made decalogues!
In whose gay flush men see flatt'ring bloom;
Yet, vain and unimpressive as the dance
Of leaf-shades, figured in the dreaming sun,
Are trivial fancies o'er a Nation's mind
For ever by inglorious spirits thrown.
As pictured Nature in the rich deceit
Of servile art, undignified appears
When with its glorious archetype compared,
So dim the genius of the living day
To that which brighten'd an heroic race
Of warriors, famous in the fields of mind;
High-soul'd and stern, they gave to time unborn
The heirship of their fame; but venal smiles
Which low accordance with the bounded view
Of spirits levell'd to the dust, procures,
Were spurn'd away in their immortal taste
For Truth, and her transcendent cause:—how few
Dare emulate these godlike of the past;
Renown immediate, from the vassal lip
Of smiling Dulness, is the dear reward
For which your intellectual pigmies grasp.
Hence, sickly woes, and sentimental lies
By passion woven to bewilder souls.—
Romantic panders! may your kingdom spread;
Let Beauty, Love, and Gentleness, and Thoughts
Which grasp eternity and heaven unveil,
Expire; but give to crime pathetic grace
And treat the world with new made decalogues!
Creator! what a triumph can we boast
When oracles which fool, or flatter; dull
Expounders of a duller creed,—those mean
Arraigners, shrouded by a saving gloom
Which wraps them in false glory, as far scenes
In darkness magnify the truth of Day;
When such as these, in life and feeling, heart
And creed, and elements of thought, can win
A base surrender from a free-born soul
Cringing, or cowering, as their wands direct!—
Why, Hell may laugh, and liberty's no more.
When oracles which fool, or flatter; dull
Expounders of a duller creed,—those mean
Arraigners, shrouded by a saving gloom
Which wraps them in false glory, as far scenes
In darkness magnify the truth of Day;
When such as these, in life and feeling, heart
And creed, and elements of thought, can win
A base surrender from a free-born soul
Cringing, or cowering, as their wands direct!—
Why, Hell may laugh, and liberty's no more.
So awful is the sway of human mind:
For good or evil an enduring charm,
Inweaved with ages, silently it works,
Reaping uncounted spoils from deeds and words,
And thoughts, which spring like blossoms from a ray
Of influence, by some ruling Spirit cast.—
There is a stormy greatness, by the sense
Of vulgar Apprehension hail'd, yet vain
When match'd against one all-prevailing mind.
A warrior's glory in his banner waves;
And ocean-heroes, when the tempest roars,
Outdare the winds; and echoes of renown
Roll mighty round the living head of each,
Yet ebb away to indistinct applause
By History echoed round memorial graves.
For good or evil an enduring charm,
Inweaved with ages, silently it works,
Reaping uncounted spoils from deeds and words,
And thoughts, which spring like blossoms from a ray
Of influence, by some ruling Spirit cast.—
There is a stormy greatness, by the sense
361
When match'd against one all-prevailing mind.
A warrior's glory in his banner waves;
And ocean-heroes, when the tempest roars,
Outdare the winds; and echoes of renown
Roll mighty round the living head of each,
Yet ebb away to indistinct applause
By History echoed round memorial graves.
But he, who out of mind a fame erects,
In his eternity of thought will live
And flourish, till the Earth itself decays!
And what a tale would Time have told, had none
Burst through the thraldom of degrading sense,
And bade the spirit eloquently tell
Of Truth, of Beauty, and pervading Love!
The heavens they scale; the elements array
With glory; give the herb a greener hue,
The flower a fresher magic, and the stream
A melody which nature never sang;
Thus bright'ning all without by rays within
From light's great Source proceeding, they create
A second Eden, pure as sinless Adam saw.
In his eternity of thought will live
And flourish, till the Earth itself decays!
And what a tale would Time have told, had none
Burst through the thraldom of degrading sense,
And bade the spirit eloquently tell
Of Truth, of Beauty, and pervading Love!
The heavens they scale; the elements array
With glory; give the herb a greener hue,
The flower a fresher magic, and the stream
A melody which nature never sang;
Thus bright'ning all without by rays within
From light's great Source proceeding, they create
A second Eden, pure as sinless Adam saw.
The dark enchantment of corrupted mind
Not less prevailing in its secret course
Hath proved. For Havoc may be heal'd; and tears
And wrongs of desolated Kingdoms, cease;
But genius triumphs o'er decaying time
And taints a century with corrupting thought.
Ye prostituted Souls! when mind is judged,
How ghastly from your slumber will ye wake!
At that dread hour Perversion may not plead,
Nor Will deny, what Understanding own'd.
The wretched martyrs!—for a vain renown
From Unbelief, and her heart-blasted crew
Derived, they rouse the idiot-laugh, in clouds
Of falsehood clothe each attribute within,
Lend Infidelity a voice, the vile
Delude with flatteries such as impious ears delight,
And fashion doubts to mystify the world:
So be it! there is loud applause below!
Not less prevailing in its secret course
Hath proved. For Havoc may be heal'd; and tears
And wrongs of desolated Kingdoms, cease;
But genius triumphs o'er decaying time
And taints a century with corrupting thought.
Ye prostituted Souls! when mind is judged,
How ghastly from your slumber will ye wake!
At that dread hour Perversion may not plead,
Nor Will deny, what Understanding own'd.
The wretched martyrs!—for a vain renown
From Unbelief, and her heart-blasted crew
Derived, they rouse the idiot-laugh, in clouds
Of falsehood clothe each attribute within,
Lend Infidelity a voice, the vile
Delude with flatteries such as impious ears delight,
And fashion doubts to mystify the world:
So be it! there is loud applause below!
For wealth too gasping, for a wise content
Too madly fever'd by ambitious thirst,
The moral greatness of this mighty Land
Thus charms me with a promise of decay.
Her heart is canker'd: I have roam'd unseen
Around her; lightly do her virtues weigh
Against the burden of her wickedness.—
By fortune moulded, what a countless herd
Who live to fascinate the palling hours
With pleasure, making life one masquerade!
Refinement is their heaven; and thus few crimes
Are nourish'd there; but lesser sins abound;
Revenge and spite, all vanities and hates,
The virgin whiteness of the soul deform:
Concealment is a virtue: virtue oft
Bare policy; religion but a form,
A taste most delicate for things divine!
The truth, convenience; and a lie,—the same.
Too madly fever'd by ambitious thirst,
The moral greatness of this mighty Land
Thus charms me with a promise of decay.
Her heart is canker'd: I have roam'd unseen
Around her; lightly do her virtues weigh
Against the burden of her wickedness.—
By fortune moulded, what a countless herd
Who live to fascinate the palling hours
With pleasure, making life one masquerade!
Refinement is their heaven; and thus few crimes
Are nourish'd there; but lesser sins abound;
Revenge and spite, all vanities and hates,
The virgin whiteness of the soul deform:
Concealment is a virtue: virtue oft
Bare policy; religion but a form,
A taste most delicate for things divine!
The truth, convenience; and a lie,—the same.
And what a homage doth the tongue present
To evil! what alertness of delight
Attentive, comes it in whatever shape
The turn of accident assume; in blood,
Disaster, or some grand depravity
Where passions like heart-demons reign'd! But tears
Of charity, that language of the soul!
Some fine denial of a feeling mind,
Some noble act, or heaven-reflecting scene,
Let such be named, and weariness begins:
Nothing so dull as Virtues when admired!
Let Slander, with her false envenom'd lip,
Her aping mood, her sly assassin tone,
Appear,—and eye and ear and heart attend
To feed upon the foulness of her tongue;
Whether on crooked limb, or character
It fall; whether She waste it on a foe
Successful, or a rival far too good;
Or faintly drop it o'er a dying friend,—
Nothing so sweet as slander to the vile!
To evil! what alertness of delight
Attentive, comes it in whatever shape
The turn of accident assume; in blood,
Disaster, or some grand depravity
Where passions like heart-demons reign'd! But tears
Of charity, that language of the soul!
Some fine denial of a feeling mind,
Some noble act, or heaven-reflecting scene,
Let such be named, and weariness begins:
Nothing so dull as Virtues when admired!
Let Slander, with her false envenom'd lip,
Her aping mood, her sly assassin tone,
Appear,—and eye and ear and heart attend
To feed upon the foulness of her tongue;
Whether on crooked limb, or character
It fall; whether She waste it on a foe
Successful, or a rival far too good;
Or faintly drop it o'er a dying friend,—
Nothing so sweet as slander to the vile!
But deeper in society are bred
The vices ravening on a Nation's weal.
Philosophy! dar'st Thou confront me here?
Descend and look into degenerate life;
See deadly Vice, with brazen front, abroad,
And Murder, stalking through her savage round
Of midnight blood; see Theft her felon-hand
Uprear; and infamies of heart and tongue;
And Guilt, with godless triumph on her brow:
Mark Hell in miniature! wherever crime
Depraves, or poverty allures,—and pause;
Millennium is not come, nor Man reclaim'd!
The vices ravening on a Nation's weal.
Philosophy! dar'st Thou confront me here?
Descend and look into degenerate life;
See deadly Vice, with brazen front, abroad,
And Murder, stalking through her savage round
Of midnight blood; see Theft her felon-hand
Uprear; and infamies of heart and tongue;
And Guilt, with godless triumph on her brow:
Mark Hell in miniature! wherever crime
Depraves, or poverty allures,—and pause;
Millennium is not come, nor Man reclaim'd!
Thus greedy, worldly, and defiled, how poor
The sum of happiness in England's heart!
Like other climes, her thousand children seek
A Shadow flying from their false embrace,
Still adding to the cheats of mocking time,
And with strange madness making life far worse
Than Adam left it. Earth indeed no more
Retains an Eden, and her richest hour
Yearns with deep longing for more glorious bliss,
Immortal as the mind itself;—yet joy
And hope, serenity without, and calm
Within, e'en here might visit gentle souls,
Who haunt the confines of a better world.
Like food to body, happiness to mind
Alone is healthful, when ingredients pure
Are mingled to create the charm they bring.
The sum of happiness in England's heart!
Like other climes, her thousand children seek
A Shadow flying from their false embrace,
Still adding to the cheats of mocking time,
And with strange madness making life far worse
Than Adam left it. Earth indeed no more
Retains an Eden, and her richest hour
Yearns with deep longing for more glorious bliss,
Immortal as the mind itself;—yet joy
And hope, serenity without, and calm
Within, e'en here might visit gentle souls,
Who haunt the confines of a better world.
Like food to body, happiness to mind
362
Are mingled to create the charm they bring.
What numbers, on whose features the false smile
For ever plays; whose eyes, so brightly charged
With happy meaning, quicken envious fire
In other hearts; what wretches gaily-tongued,
And scattering words whence emulations spring,—
Have I beheld, whom Happiness is deem'd
With her full heaven to crown! yet where, oh where
Blind Mortals, is that priceless gem obtain'd
Which many seek, yet few in life have found?
For ever plays; whose eyes, so brightly charged
With happy meaning, quicken envious fire
In other hearts; what wretches gaily-tongued,
And scattering words whence emulations spring,—
Have I beheld, whom Happiness is deem'd
With her full heaven to crown! yet where, oh where
Blind Mortals, is that priceless gem obtain'd
Which many seek, yet few in life have found?
The palace, and the parasitic host
Of minions, with that soft and sneaking race,
Who in the court of princes lie away
Existence, gasping for some golden lot,
I've mark'd:—the happy do not flourish there!
Then look'd I on a mightier Scene, where men
Draw glory from a Nation's heart, and voice
Their spirit round the listening World! How vain
And valueless this haunt of mind has proved
To all who battle for some cause adored!
Oh, England! such as Rome and Athens paid
Their architects of greatness, thou hast giv'n
To many who bequeath thee fame. There live
A host, who in the splendour of thy Great
Live, bask, and breed, like reptiles in the sun;
Who feast on venom, and infect the Land
With malice, and all miserable wounds.
Of minions, with that soft and sneaking race,
Who in the court of princes lie away
Existence, gasping for some golden lot,
I've mark'd:—the happy do not flourish there!
Then look'd I on a mightier Scene, where men
Draw glory from a Nation's heart, and voice
Their spirit round the listening World! How vain
And valueless this haunt of mind has proved
To all who battle for some cause adored!
Oh, England! such as Rome and Athens paid
Their architects of greatness, thou hast giv'n
To many who bequeath thee fame. There live
A host, who in the splendour of thy Great
Live, bask, and breed, like reptiles in the sun;
Who feast on venom, and infect the Land
With malice, and all miserable wounds.
Alas, Ambition! see yon gifted man
A while stand forth, surpassing and sublime:
His brow imperial; in his eye a blaze
Of meaning, pour'd from a majestic soul;
Borne on the whirlwind of triumphant thought
Through the wide universe his genius sweeps!
Thrones, Monarchies, and States,—he summons each
To strict accompt, their victories and kings
Arraigns, and bids Britannia front them all!
The Senate wonders, rapture finds a tongue,
And envy sinks abash'd to praise. But go,
Young Emulation! when this glowing scene
Hath cool'd to common life, and mark him well!
The hero is no hero here! the mean
Have tortured whom a Kingdom could not bend:
Around him, too regardful, scandal flies;
And words, like gnawing vipers, poison life
Away, or rankle in the spirit's core.—
A while stand forth, surpassing and sublime:
His brow imperial; in his eye a blaze
Of meaning, pour'd from a majestic soul;
Borne on the whirlwind of triumphant thought
Through the wide universe his genius sweeps!
Thrones, Monarchies, and States,—he summons each
To strict accompt, their victories and kings
Arraigns, and bids Britannia front them all!
The Senate wonders, rapture finds a tongue,
And envy sinks abash'd to praise. But go,
Young Emulation! when this glowing scene
Hath cool'd to common life, and mark him well!
The hero is no hero here! the mean
Have tortured whom a Kingdom could not bend:
Around him, too regardful, scandal flies;
And words, like gnawing vipers, poison life
Away, or rankle in the spirit's core.—
From the proud Senate, to a sunnier realm,
Where Gaiety and her unseemly crew,
Like flowers of fancy in a hot-bed rear'd,
An artificial life enjoy,—I turn'd.
In such a sphere could happiness abide?
Where Fashion, that great harlequin of Life,
For ever plays the comedy of fools;
Where Luxury breathes a pamper'd air; where Love
Is venal; Wealth, a wearisome array;
And time, a curse,—the happy do not dwell.
A false delight, a snatch of feverish joy
And jading rounds of pleasure are supplied;
But oft the heart beats echoless to all
Though Custom wear its contradicting smile.
Where Gaiety and her unseemly crew,
Like flowers of fancy in a hot-bed rear'd,
An artificial life enjoy,—I turn'd.
In such a sphere could happiness abide?
Where Fashion, that great harlequin of Life,
For ever plays the comedy of fools;
Where Luxury breathes a pamper'd air; where Love
Is venal; Wealth, a wearisome array;
And time, a curse,—the happy do not dwell.
A false delight, a snatch of feverish joy
And jading rounds of pleasure are supplied;
But oft the heart beats echoless to all
Though Custom wear its contradicting smile.
And the rank vileness of their pleasures vain
'Mid theatres of vice, I frequent view.
Music and Pomp their mingling spirit shed
Around me; Beauties in their cloudlike robes
Shine forth,—a scenic paradise, it glares
Intoxication through the reeling sense
Of flush'd Enjoyment. In the motley host
Three prime gradations may be rank'd; the first,
To mount upon the wings of Shakspeare's mind,
And view the flashes of Promèthean thought,
To smile and weep, to shudder, and admire,—
Attend; the second are a sensual tribe,
Convened to hear romantic harlots sing,
On forms to banquet a lascivious gaze
While the bright perfidy of wanton eyes
Through brain and spirit darts delicious fire:
The last,—a throng most pitiful! who seem
With their corroded figures, rayless glance,
And death-like struggle of decaying age,
Like painted skeletons in charnel-pomp
Set forth, to satirise the human Kind!—
How fine a prospect for demoniac view!
“Creatures, whose souls outbalance worlds, awake!”
Methinks I hear some pitying Angel cry.
'Mid theatres of vice, I frequent view.
Music and Pomp their mingling spirit shed
Around me; Beauties in their cloudlike robes
Shine forth,—a scenic paradise, it glares
Intoxication through the reeling sense
Of flush'd Enjoyment. In the motley host
Three prime gradations may be rank'd; the first,
To mount upon the wings of Shakspeare's mind,
And view the flashes of Promèthean thought,
To smile and weep, to shudder, and admire,—
Attend; the second are a sensual tribe,
Convened to hear romantic harlots sing,
On forms to banquet a lascivious gaze
While the bright perfidy of wanton eyes
Through brain and spirit darts delicious fire:
The last,—a throng most pitiful! who seem
With their corroded figures, rayless glance,
And death-like struggle of decaying age,
Like painted skeletons in charnel-pomp
Set forth, to satirise the human Kind!—
How fine a prospect for demoniac view!
“Creatures, whose souls outbalance worlds, awake!”
Methinks I hear some pitying Angel cry.
Another scene, where happiness is sought!
A festive chamber, with its golden hues,
Its dream-like sounds and languishing delights.—
Since the far hour when England lay begirt
With savage darkness, how divinely raised
Art thou, Society! The polish'd mode,
The princely mien, the acquiescing smile
Of tutor'd lips, with all that beauty, love,
Accomplishment and sumptuous Art, bestow,—
Are thine; but oh, the hollowness within!
One mingled heart society should be
Of glowing words and generous feelings made,
And hallow'd by sincerity; but hark,
The whisper'd venom of invidious tongues!
The shrug of falsehood, or the sly deceit
Of changing looks; the drama of the eyes,
And all the pantomime Refinement acts!
From simpering youth to unregarded age
'Tis vapour, vanity, and meanness all!
Where honest nature sickens with disgust;
While school'd hypocrisy, with glozing tongue,
Performs the social serpent of the night.
A festive chamber, with its golden hues,
Its dream-like sounds and languishing delights.—
Since the far hour when England lay begirt
With savage darkness, how divinely raised
Art thou, Society! The polish'd mode,
The princely mien, the acquiescing smile
Of tutor'd lips, with all that beauty, love,
Accomplishment and sumptuous Art, bestow,—
Are thine; but oh, the hollowness within!
One mingled heart society should be
Of glowing words and generous feelings made,
And hallow'd by sincerity; but hark,
The whisper'd venom of invidious tongues!
The shrug of falsehood, or the sly deceit
363
And all the pantomime Refinement acts!
From simpering youth to unregarded age
'Tis vapour, vanity, and meanness all!
Where honest nature sickens with disgust;
While school'd hypocrisy, with glozing tongue,
Performs the social serpent of the night.
From Fashion moved I to the loftier scenes
Where hosts by Learning titled, for renown
And rank more elevate than kings bestow
Their inward toil pursue,—and yet how vain!
There is a craving for some higher gift,
A thirst which fame and wisdom fail to quench
Alone; the fountain hath a deeper well.
And what is Fame? When hope, the morning-star
Of life arose, Enthusiast! thou wouldst climb
Her envied rock, to hear the lauding tones
Of grateful myriads round thee, like the glee
Of waters wafted o'er a mountain-head.
Amid the dreams of some poetic shade
Where Fancy prophesies proud years to come;
Or by some gush of beauty, or the glow
Of emulation, or by spells of mind
Perchance her music whisper'd—be thou great!
No matter: midnight-watchings, gloom and tears,
Thy heart a fever, and thy brain on fire,—
The martyrdom of thought hath won the prize;
And midmost thou, among the laurell'd tribe
A Paramount art throned! And dear to thee,
Young hero of the mind, is first renown;
Fresh, warm, and pure, as early love, ere Time
Hath nipt it with a killing blight. Awhile
In paradise thou dream'st and seem'st to hear
The hailing worship of Posterity.
But now, come down from yon celestial height!
Descend, and struggle with the heartless crew
Who out of others' tears extract their joy.
The rocky nature of ignoble minds,
Ambitious Spite, or unrelenting Hate,
'Tis thine to wrestle with; the spell unwinds,
And Glory's hollowness appears at last!
Where hosts by Learning titled, for renown
And rank more elevate than kings bestow
Their inward toil pursue,—and yet how vain!
There is a craving for some higher gift,
A thirst which fame and wisdom fail to quench
Alone; the fountain hath a deeper well.
And what is Fame? When hope, the morning-star
Of life arose, Enthusiast! thou wouldst climb
Her envied rock, to hear the lauding tones
Of grateful myriads round thee, like the glee
Of waters wafted o'er a mountain-head.
Amid the dreams of some poetic shade
Where Fancy prophesies proud years to come;
Or by some gush of beauty, or the glow
Of emulation, or by spells of mind
Perchance her music whisper'd—be thou great!
No matter: midnight-watchings, gloom and tears,
Thy heart a fever, and thy brain on fire,—
The martyrdom of thought hath won the prize;
And midmost thou, among the laurell'd tribe
A Paramount art throned! And dear to thee,
Young hero of the mind, is first renown;
Fresh, warm, and pure, as early love, ere Time
Hath nipt it with a killing blight. Awhile
In paradise thou dream'st and seem'st to hear
The hailing worship of Posterity.
But now, come down from yon celestial height!
Descend, and struggle with the heartless crew
Who out of others' tears extract their joy.
The rocky nature of ignoble minds,
Ambitious Spite, or unrelenting Hate,
'Tis thine to wrestle with; the spell unwinds,
And Glory's hollowness appears at last!
And thou, religion, hell's appalling foe,
Yet least prevailing, on whose seraph-wing
Far, far away from this benighted orb,
A spirit mounts, though many Temples shrine
Thy sanctitude, and many tongues thy charm
Repeat, how few have found thee as Thou art,
The living Saviour of mankind! What hosts
Who boast my attributes, or ape my power,
Yet carry gospels in their saintly looks!
Ye hypocrites! how often have I torn
Your veils away! how often have I seen
A midnight where the world saw only day;
Beheld a Demon, where they dreamt a God!
Yet least prevailing, on whose seraph-wing
Far, far away from this benighted orb,
A spirit mounts, though many Temples shrine
Thy sanctitude, and many tongues thy charm
Repeat, how few have found thee as Thou art,
The living Saviour of mankind! What hosts
Who boast my attributes, or ape my power,
Yet carry gospels in their saintly looks!
Ye hypocrites! how often have I torn
Your veils away! how often have I seen
A midnight where the world saw only day;
Beheld a Demon, where they dreamt a God!
'Tis not the vileness of hypocrisy
From which alone a hellish harvest springs;
But that contempt which on religion frowns
When hypocrites in unmask'd truth appear:
Then Vice is comforted, and lifts Her voice
Triumphant; pleased to have a broken step
However slippery, where to stand and cry,
Thank God! my soul religion never sway'd!
Delusion vain and exquisitely vile,
How gloriously thy cheating spells can work!
For thus might Painting and her fairy scenes
Be scouted, when a daubing mimic fails;
Or Music have her seraph-voice denied
When a poor screech-owl apes a melody;
As true Religion have her heaven disown'd
Because a false professor fools the world.
From which alone a hellish harvest springs;
But that contempt which on religion frowns
When hypocrites in unmask'd truth appear:
Then Vice is comforted, and lifts Her voice
Triumphant; pleased to have a broken step
However slippery, where to stand and cry,
Thank God! my soul religion never sway'd!
Delusion vain and exquisitely vile,
How gloriously thy cheating spells can work!
For thus might Painting and her fairy scenes
Be scouted, when a daubing mimic fails;
Or Music have her seraph-voice denied
When a poor screech-owl apes a melody;
As true Religion have her heaven disown'd
Because a false professor fools the world.
Nor dwells that happiness which mortals seek,
With them, fanatically crazed or wild:
Two Orders breathe there of this graceless crew:
The one, on ecstasy profanely soar
Full in the face of Deity, and sing
And shout, with more than archangelic joy!
And yet, so earthly is excessive love,
No heathen to a sensual god e'er raved
With more lip-service of degrading rant
Than dark Fanatics, when their roar is up!
The other, sink as deep as these ascend,
And so exult in self-accusing thought,
That nought's more proud than their humility.
With them, fanatically crazed or wild:
Two Orders breathe there of this graceless crew:
The one, on ecstasy profanely soar
Full in the face of Deity, and sing
And shout, with more than archangelic joy!
And yet, so earthly is excessive love,
No heathen to a sensual god e'er raved
With more lip-service of degrading rant
Than dark Fanatics, when their roar is up!
The other, sink as deep as these ascend,
And so exult in self-accusing thought,
That nought's more proud than their humility.
And this is homage for the Dread Supreme!
Who comes—and Mountains from His glory flee;
Who speaketh—and a Universe begins;
Who frowneth—and Creation is no more!
So awful, that the dazzled Angels shrink
In veil'd humility His Throne beneath;
To such these holy maniacs cry, and bid
Him bow the heavens in thunder, and appear!
Or, in the vaunting of devotion's power
Can dare to humanise their Deity;
While others, with a superstitious cloud
Array His attributes, conceal His love,
And level Mercy to their own despair.
Who comes—and Mountains from His glory flee;
Who speaketh—and a Universe begins;
Who frowneth—and Creation is no more!
So awful, that the dazzled Angels shrink
In veil'd humility His Throne beneath;
To such these holy maniacs cry, and bid
Him bow the heavens in thunder, and appear!
Or, in the vaunting of devotion's power
Can dare to humanise their Deity;
While others, with a superstitious cloud
Array His attributes, conceal His love,
And level Mercy to their own despair.
Nor let them boast, who in the vile content
Of worldly meanness, sepulchred in Self
And worm-like clinging to their genial clay,
The wisely good and only happy deem
Their narrow lot: to such earth-loving race
The seen and felt make all their paradise;
Should Hell be vision'd,—let it burn away!
If Heaven—bombast is thunder'd in their ears!
When yawns the tomb, then comes the hour to pray,
When death appears, the awe of future worlds.
Most glorious! could I wither all men down
And tame them from their true immortal rank
To what these are, how demonised the earth
Would grow! all feeling curdled into self,
All nobleness of thought a dream denounced,
All bright and beautiful sensations mock'd,
The world a vortex for engulphing heart
And soul,—one living curse this Life would prove!
Were I a mortal, with capacious mind
To grasp, and heart to feel, around me strewn
Such glory, pomp, magnificence, and might
In visible array,—I'd rather live
Some free-born creature of the stately woods,
Than with the form of Man a life of brutes
Embody, beathing but of earth and sin!
Of worldly meanness, sepulchred in Self
And worm-like clinging to their genial clay,
The wisely good and only happy deem
Their narrow lot: to such earth-loving race
The seen and felt make all their paradise;
Should Hell be vision'd,—let it burn away!
If Heaven—bombast is thunder'd in their ears!
364
When death appears, the awe of future worlds.
Most glorious! could I wither all men down
And tame them from their true immortal rank
To what these are, how demonised the earth
Would grow! all feeling curdled into self,
All nobleness of thought a dream denounced,
All bright and beautiful sensations mock'd,
The world a vortex for engulphing heart
And soul,—one living curse this Life would prove!
Were I a mortal, with capacious mind
To grasp, and heart to feel, around me strewn
Such glory, pomp, magnificence, and might
In visible array,—I'd rather live
Some free-born creature of the stately woods,
Than with the form of Man a life of brutes
Embody, beathing but of earth and sin!
Glory and Pleasure, Learning, Power, and Fame,
All Idols of deceptive sway,—mankind
Have crown'd them for the master-spells of Life;
And yet, a mocking destiny they bear.
How often dwelleth gladness in the smile
They raise, or rapture in the heaven they dream?
Unknown, unhonour'd, in the noiseless sphere
Of humbleness, one happy man I found.
It was not that the tears or toils of fate
Escaped him; or that no tempestuous grief
The stream-like current of calm life perturb'd.
But in him dwelt that true philosophy
That flings a sunshine o'er the wintriest hour.
The proud he envied not; no splendours craved,
Nor sigh'd to wear the laurels of Renown;
But look'd on Greatness with contented eye,
Then, smilingly to his meek path retired:
Thus o'er the billows of a troublous world,
As o'er the anarchy of waters moves
The seaman's bark, in safety did he ride,
His woes forgot, and left his wants to Heaven.
I wove my spell, but could not once decoy
The eyes of that contented Soul. He look'd,
When Glory woo'd him with a traitorous glare,
On the calm luxuries of humble life;
There was the Image of his own pure mind,
The peaceful sharer of his love and lot:
What beaming fulness in that tender eye,
What a bright overflow of spirit shone!
When by her cradled babe she mused, who lay
In beauty, still and warm as summer-air:
And what could camp, or court, or palace yield,
Of nobler, deeper, more exalted bliss,
Than when, as weary Daylight sunk to rest,
He shut his door upon the noisy world,
And, with no harrowing dream of guilty hue,
To stain the crystal hours of love and home,
Sat by his hearth, and bathed his soul in bliss?
All Idols of deceptive sway,—mankind
Have crown'd them for the master-spells of Life;
And yet, a mocking destiny they bear.
How often dwelleth gladness in the smile
They raise, or rapture in the heaven they dream?
Unknown, unhonour'd, in the noiseless sphere
Of humbleness, one happy man I found.
It was not that the tears or toils of fate
Escaped him; or that no tempestuous grief
The stream-like current of calm life perturb'd.
But in him dwelt that true philosophy
That flings a sunshine o'er the wintriest hour.
The proud he envied not; no splendours craved,
Nor sigh'd to wear the laurels of Renown;
But look'd on Greatness with contented eye,
Then, smilingly to his meek path retired:
Thus o'er the billows of a troublous world,
As o'er the anarchy of waters moves
The seaman's bark, in safety did he ride,
His woes forgot, and left his wants to Heaven.
I wove my spell, but could not once decoy
The eyes of that contented Soul. He look'd,
When Glory woo'd him with a traitorous glare,
On the calm luxuries of humble life;
There was the Image of his own pure mind,
The peaceful sharer of his love and lot:
What beaming fulness in that tender eye,
What a bright overflow of spirit shone!
When by her cradled babe she mused, who lay
In beauty, still and warm as summer-air:
And what could camp, or court, or palace yield,
Of nobler, deeper, more exalted bliss,
Than when, as weary Daylight sunk to rest,
He shut his door upon the noisy world,
And, with no harrowing dream of guilty hue,
To stain the crystal hours of love and home,
Sat by his hearth, and bathed his soul in bliss?
But more convulsive is the life I'd see;
And few shall flourish in this homely sphere!
Excitement is my great enchanter, whence
The wisdom of the worldly fain would reap
That blissful nothing which delusion shapes;
That onward, day by day, from year to year,
Through gloom and glory mocks them to the grave!—
I thank thee, Britain! though religious call'd,
The perfect beauty of her living form
Thou hast not yet adored.—There is a sense,
A selfish, innate law of right and wrong,
Which makes a heathen moral: such is thine.
And few shall flourish in this homely sphere!
Excitement is my great enchanter, whence
The wisdom of the worldly fain would reap
That blissful nothing which delusion shapes;
That onward, day by day, from year to year,
Through gloom and glory mocks them to the grave!—
I thank thee, Britain! though religious call'd,
The perfect beauty of her living form
Thou hast not yet adored.—There is a sense,
A selfish, innate law of right and wrong,
Which makes a heathen moral: such is thine.
A loftier air the Christian breathes, who owns
The Alpha and the Omega of all
In life or destiny, is God alone.
Bid colour to enchant the blind; or sounds
Of melody through deafen'd ears to glide,
Or dream of sensibility in stones;
But think not, world-slaves! to imagine all
That boundless yearning for ethereal bliss,
That more than rapture of a heart redeem'd
A Christian nurseth; 'tis the heaven-wove charm
Which Devils hate, but cannot yet destroy.
Divinity is there! Two thousand Years
In glorious witness gather round mankind
Attesting it divine;—to conscience, peace;
To Ignorance, beyond what sages teach,
It gives to poverty that wealth of heaven,—
The inward quiet of a grateful mind.
The Alpha and the Omega of all
In life or destiny, is God alone.
Bid colour to enchant the blind; or sounds
Of melody through deafen'd ears to glide,
Or dream of sensibility in stones;
But think not, world-slaves! to imagine all
That boundless yearning for ethereal bliss,
That more than rapture of a heart redeem'd
A Christian nurseth; 'tis the heaven-wove charm
Which Devils hate, but cannot yet destroy.
Divinity is there! Two thousand Years
In glorious witness gather round mankind
Attesting it divine;—to conscience, peace;
To Ignorance, beyond what sages teach,
It gives to poverty that wealth of heaven,—
The inward quiet of a grateful mind.
To such how welcome dawns this hallow'd day,
The Sabbath! Hell perceives her darksome power
Confronted, when its smile salutes the earth;
For, like a freshness out of Eden wing'd,
A sainted influence comes: the toils and woes,
The cankering wear of ever-busy life
In spiritual oblivion smooth'd away,
On such a dawn, celestial hearts by grace
Refined, can mingle in delicious calm
Like many clouds which into one dissolve.
The Sabbath! Hell perceives her darksome power
Confronted, when its smile salutes the earth;
For, like a freshness out of Eden wing'd,
A sainted influence comes: the toils and woes,
The cankering wear of ever-busy life
In spiritual oblivion smooth'd away,
On such a dawn, celestial hearts by grace
Refined, can mingle in delicious calm
Like many clouds which into one dissolve.
How mildly beautiful this blessed morn!
Thy sky all azure; not a cloud abroad;
A sunny languor in the air; the breeze
Gentle enough to fan an Angel's brow:
And thou, the Lord of beauty and of light
Enthroned, how oriently thy splendours shine
And make a loveliness where'er they fall!
Thy sky all azure; not a cloud abroad;
A sunny languor in the air; the breeze
Gentle enough to fan an Angel's brow:
And thou, the Lord of beauty and of light
Enthroned, how oriently thy splendours shine
And make a loveliness where'er they fall!
365
Hark! on the stillness of the sabbath-air
From tower and steeple floats the mellow chime
Of matin-bells; and plaintively ascends
That pealing incense! up to heaven it glides,
As though it heralded creation's prayer.
From tower and steeple floats the mellow chime
Of matin-bells; and plaintively ascends
That pealing incense! up to heaven it glides,
As though it heralded creation's prayer.
And now, from England's countless homes and streets,
In motley garb, the trooping myriads come,
To kneel in Temples where their fathers knelt.
Among them, there are heaven-toned spirits found,
Hailing a sabbath as the blissful type
Of that which in eternity shall reign:
Others, whom Custom's all-resistless sway
Beguileth, in their pompous robes appear,
And use them for religion; many pine
For action, though a sacred mockery proved:—
While the loud wheels of common Life stand still,
And round it an unwholesome quiet reigns,
The show and music of the temple-pomp
May o'er the heart some fascination fling:
Yet what more weary than to worship God!
In motley garb, the trooping myriads come,
To kneel in Temples where their fathers knelt.
Among them, there are heaven-toned spirits found,
Hailing a sabbath as the blissful type
Of that which in eternity shall reign:
Others, whom Custom's all-resistless sway
Beguileth, in their pompous robes appear,
And use them for religion; many pine
For action, though a sacred mockery proved:—
While the loud wheels of common Life stand still,
And round it an unwholesome quiet reigns,
The show and music of the temple-pomp
May o'er the heart some fascination fling:
Yet what more weary than to worship God!
But now for Country, and her chaster scenes!
The melody of summer-winds; the wave
Of herbage in a verdant radiance clad;
And chant of trees, which languishingly bend
As gazing on their shadows, meet around
This haunt, where Loneliness and Nature smile.—
How meekly piled, how venerably graced
This hamlet-fane! by mellowing age imbrown'd,
And freckled like a rock of sea-worn hue.
No marble tombs of agonising Pomp
Are here; but turf-graves of unfading green,
Where loved and lowly generations sleep:
And o'er them many a votive sigh is heaved
From hearts which love the sacredness of tombs.
The melody of summer-winds; the wave
Of herbage in a verdant radiance clad;
And chant of trees, which languishingly bend
As gazing on their shadows, meet around
This haunt, where Loneliness and Nature smile.—
How meekly piled, how venerably graced
This hamlet-fane! by mellowing age imbrown'd,
And freckled like a rock of sea-worn hue.
No marble tombs of agonising Pomp
Are here; but turf-graves of unfading green,
Where loved and lowly generations sleep:
And o'er them many a votive sigh is heaved
From hearts which love the sacredness of tombs.
And such is thine, lone muser! by yon grave
Now lingering with a soul-expressive eye
Of sorrow. Corn-fields glowing brown, and bright
With promise, sumptuous in the noon-glare seen;
The meadows speckled with a homeward-tribe
Of village matrons, sons, and holy sires;
The hymning birds, all music as they soar;
And those loud streams so beautifully glad
With life and beauty all the landscape robe,
And yet,—one tomb-shade overclouds it all!
Now lingering with a soul-expressive eye
Of sorrow. Corn-fields glowing brown, and bright
With promise, sumptuous in the noon-glare seen;
The meadows speckled with a homeward-tribe
Of village matrons, sons, and holy sires;
The hymning birds, all music as they soar;
And those loud streams so beautifully glad
With life and beauty all the landscape robe,
And yet,—one tomb-shade overclouds it all!
A churchyard! 'tis a homely word, yet full
Of feeling; and a sound which o'er the heart
Might shed religion. In the gloom of graves
I read the Curse primeval; and the Voice
That wreak'd it, seems to whisper by these tombs
Of village quiet, which around me lie,
Unmottoed, and unknown. Can Life the dead
Among be musing, nor to Me advance
The spirit of her thought? True, nature wears
No rustic mourning here: in golden play
Yon sprightly grass-flowers wave; the random breeze
Hums in the noon, or with yon froward boughs
A murmuring quarrel wakes: and yet how oft
In such a haunt the insuppressive sigh
Is heard, while feelings which may hallow years
With virtue, spring from out a minute's gloom!
Of feeling; and a sound which o'er the heart
Might shed religion. In the gloom of graves
I read the Curse primeval; and the Voice
That wreak'd it, seems to whisper by these tombs
Of village quiet, which around me lie,
Unmottoed, and unknown. Can Life the dead
Among be musing, nor to Me advance
The spirit of her thought? True, nature wears
No rustic mourning here: in golden play
Yon sprightly grass-flowers wave; the random breeze
Hums in the noon, or with yon froward boughs
A murmuring quarrel wakes: and yet how oft
In such a haunt the insuppressive sigh
Is heard, while feelings which may hallow years
With virtue, spring from out a minute's gloom!
Mind overcomes me here. Amid the pomp
Of monumental falsehoods, piled o'er men
Whose only worth is in their epitaphs,
I fear thee not, thou meditating One!
Infinity may blacken round thy dream
Perchance, and words inaudible thy soul
With dread prediction fill!—but worldly gauds
Entice thee; whisper'd vanities of thought
Arise, and though Life lose all glare awhile,
Ambition tints the moral of the tomb.—
'Tis not so here: pathetic eyes can dwell
On few distinctions, save of differing age;
The heart is free to ponder, and the mind
To be acquainted with itself alone.
And more development of Man is found
In such calm scene, than in the warring rush
Of life.—I watch him thus, and mark
How creed and conscience lift him up to God;
Or dark imaginings, from tombs derived,
O'erwhelm His spirit with a cold despair.
Of monumental falsehoods, piled o'er men
Whose only worth is in their epitaphs,
I fear thee not, thou meditating One!
Infinity may blacken round thy dream
Perchance, and words inaudible thy soul
With dread prediction fill!—but worldly gauds
Entice thee; whisper'd vanities of thought
Arise, and though Life lose all glare awhile,
Ambition tints the moral of the tomb.—
'Tis not so here: pathetic eyes can dwell
On few distinctions, save of differing age;
The heart is free to ponder, and the mind
To be acquainted with itself alone.
And more development of Man is found
In such calm scene, than in the warring rush
Of life.—I watch him thus, and mark
How creed and conscience lift him up to God;
Or dark imaginings, from tombs derived,
O'erwhelm His spirit with a cold despair.
Nature begins; and in the white-roll'd shroud
The ghastly nothingness of Death appears.—
And then, a knell, Time's world-awaking tongue,
Rings in the soul, and by a new-turn'd grave
He paints a mourning vision; sees the tears
Telling of many a day's remember'd joy
Down cheeks of Anguish dropping; and can hear
The careless mutter of the broken clod
Upon his coffin echo.—Then, a dream!
The solemn dream! of where his spirit-home
May be, and what the everlasting World.
Thou mortal! ask the overarching Heavens,
The mystic wind, the ever-murmuring Deep,
And all which night and day around thee dwells:
Doth nought reply? The elements all dumb?
Then ask thy soul, there God Himself replies!
The ghastly nothingness of Death appears.—
And then, a knell, Time's world-awaking tongue,
Rings in the soul, and by a new-turn'd grave
He paints a mourning vision; sees the tears
Telling of many a day's remember'd joy
Down cheeks of Anguish dropping; and can hear
The careless mutter of the broken clod
Upon his coffin echo.—Then, a dream!
The solemn dream! of where his spirit-home
May be, and what the everlasting World.
Thou mortal! ask the overarching Heavens,
The mystic wind, the ever-murmuring Deep,
And all which night and day around thee dwells:
Doth nought reply? The elements all dumb?
Then ask thy soul, there God Himself replies!
I thank thee, Man! and all those mocking scenes
Wherein such vassalage of mind abounds,
That thoughts of death are exiled from the heart
Of many, till the sepulchre doth yawn.
Thus aid my black deception; and become
The sole omnipotent mere sense obeys!
And ever, when thou hear'st some true divine
Of nature's teaching, a Hereafter tell,
Then, brand Him as the martyr of mistake!
Oh, think not, Worldling!—or thy soul would say
The man who hangs on every smiling hour
A coward proves to questionings of thought;
While he, who dares with an undreading eye
To fathom his own nature, in the grave
Descend, eternity's deep gates unbar,—
Unblasted can the face of God behold
And grow familiar with the World to come.
Wherein such vassalage of mind abounds,
366
Of many, till the sepulchre doth yawn.
Thus aid my black deception; and become
The sole omnipotent mere sense obeys!
And ever, when thou hear'st some true divine
Of nature's teaching, a Hereafter tell,
Then, brand Him as the martyr of mistake!
Oh, think not, Worldling!—or thy soul would say
The man who hangs on every smiling hour
A coward proves to questionings of thought;
While he, who dares with an undreading eye
To fathom his own nature, in the grave
Descend, eternity's deep gates unbar,—
Unblasted can the face of God behold
And grow familiar with the World to come.
England is bless'd in all which nature lends:
No fields spread greener magic to the gaze,
No streams of purer freshness flow, no winds
In richer harmony their wings unfold,
Than hers: and though invading grandeur frown
A heartless contrast o'er some ruin'd scenes;
Though petty tyrants and domestic lords
That elevating charm have long eclipsed
Of happy peasantry, with honest hearts
For country glowing, and for God prepared,
And wither'd much by pastoral poets sang,—
Enough for homage, or refreshing thought
Doth consecrate her yet. And thus, methinks,
Sweet Country might imparadise the soul,
Where fine perceptions hold their placid sway.
Grey towers, and streets all surfeited with throngs
Of worldlings, greedy-eyed, and stale of heart,
As the dead air around them,—who should deem
Enchantment, when a lovelier world is free?
From dusky Cities, where forced nature grieves
To wear the meanness of surrounding men,
On wings of gladness might her lovers fly
To haunts divine as these. Lo! how She laughs
In sunshine, tinting with her bright romance
Hill, wood, and valley, rock, and wayward stream;—
What arch'd immensity of bending sky!
What flowery hues, what odorous delight
And, as her gales on wings of freshness come,
What ocean-mockery from th' excited trees
Is heard, in rapture echoing the winds!
No fields spread greener magic to the gaze,
No streams of purer freshness flow, no winds
In richer harmony their wings unfold,
Than hers: and though invading grandeur frown
A heartless contrast o'er some ruin'd scenes;
Though petty tyrants and domestic lords
That elevating charm have long eclipsed
Of happy peasantry, with honest hearts
For country glowing, and for God prepared,
And wither'd much by pastoral poets sang,—
Enough for homage, or refreshing thought
Doth consecrate her yet. And thus, methinks,
Sweet Country might imparadise the soul,
Where fine perceptions hold their placid sway.
Grey towers, and streets all surfeited with throngs
Of worldlings, greedy-eyed, and stale of heart,
As the dead air around them,—who should deem
Enchantment, when a lovelier world is free?
From dusky Cities, where forced nature grieves
To wear the meanness of surrounding men,
On wings of gladness might her lovers fly
To haunts divine as these. Lo! how She laughs
In sunshine, tinting with her bright romance
Hill, wood, and valley, rock, and wayward stream;—
What arch'd immensity of bending sky!
What flowery hues, what odorous delight
And, as her gales on wings of freshness come,
What ocean-mockery from th' excited trees
Is heard, in rapture echoing the winds!
Yet well for me, that Town's eventful sphere
Enchants the many more than nature can.
No sound melodious as the roar of streets;
No sky delightful as the smoke-dimm'd air
Above them, like a shrouding death-pall hung;
No joy prevailing as the selfish stir
Whilst interest, craft, or petty wants produce,
And on Life's stream those fleeting bubbles raise,
In bursting which their day-born wisdom lies.
Why, this is taste Corruption should enjoy!
She cannot fancy what she never felt.
There is an outward and an inward Eye,
Reciprocally moved; when that which sees
Within, is dimm'd, the eye of outward sense
Is darken'd too; creation wears a cloud,
And life a veil; when both are bright and free,
The world of nature and the world of man
A garment of celestial glory wear!
Enchants the many more than nature can.
No sound melodious as the roar of streets;
No sky delightful as the smoke-dimm'd air
Above them, like a shrouding death-pall hung;
No joy prevailing as the selfish stir
Whilst interest, craft, or petty wants produce,
And on Life's stream those fleeting bubbles raise,
In bursting which their day-born wisdom lies.
Why, this is taste Corruption should enjoy!
She cannot fancy what she never felt.
There is an outward and an inward Eye,
Reciprocally moved; when that which sees
Within, is dimm'd, the eye of outward sense
Is darken'd too; creation wears a cloud,
And life a veil; when both are bright and free,
The world of nature and the world of man
A garment of celestial glory wear!
Both form and mind a fellow magic steal
Where the free visiting, of nature act:
As the fresh lustres of a cloudless morn
The languor of a dying eve excels,
So doth the beauty of yon country-girl
Surpass the city maiden in her charms;
The rich enamel of the rosy blood
Is painted on her cheek; and her glad eye,—
From the full joy and glory of the meads,
The freedom of the woods and waterfalls,
And the proud spirit of her village hills
Its glances come!—her step is like the breeze;
Her forehead arch'd, to face the skies; her form,
Perfection out of nature's hand; and words,
The native breathings of a happy soul.
Where the free visiting, of nature act:
As the fresh lustres of a cloudless morn
The languor of a dying eve excels,
So doth the beauty of yon country-girl
Surpass the city maiden in her charms;
The rich enamel of the rosy blood
Is painted on her cheek; and her glad eye,—
From the full joy and glory of the meads,
The freedom of the woods and waterfalls,
And the proud spirit of her village hills
Its glances come!—her step is like the breeze;
Her forehead arch'd, to face the skies; her form,
Perfection out of nature's hand; and words,
The native breathings of a happy soul.
Nor less in contrast to the bolder mien
Of city-manner, is thine artless air
Whom now a wanderer in the fields I view,
With sunshine lovingly around thee thrown.
A sweet unwillingness to be observed
Dwells in that maiden-glance; and oft away
From the bright homage of adoring eyes
In delicate timidity thou glid'st;
Like a coy stream which from fond daylight speeds
To hide its beauty in sequester'd dells.
Of city-manner, is thine artless air
Whom now a wanderer in the fields I view,
With sunshine lovingly around thee thrown.
A sweet unwillingness to be observed
Dwells in that maiden-glance; and oft away
From the bright homage of adoring eyes
In delicate timidity thou glid'st;
Like a coy stream which from fond daylight speeds
To hide its beauty in sequester'd dells.
Yet Fashion does, what Feeling would deny;
Making a charm where none is found: thus, hills
And lakes, the mountain-winds, and sea-fresh gales,
The idle from their town-retreats allure,
When fair-brow'd Spring appears. And some there live
Among them, of that undetermined race,
O'er whom the earthly and the heavenly sway
With fitful interchange, mere Epicenes
In mind. Worn by the hot and feverish stir
Of city-life, the many-mansion'd views,
Those pathways bleaching in the glare of noon,
And the fierce clatter of conflicting wheels,—
Some wearied heart romantically sighs
“O for the luxury of living gales,
And wafted music of ten thousand trees,
Whose young leaves dance like ringlets on the brow
Of Joy, and glitter gaily to the sun!
O for some deep-valed haunt, where all alone,
Saving the mute companionship of Hills,
My feet may wander, and mine eye exult!”
Making a charm where none is found: thus, hills
And lakes, the mountain-winds, and sea-fresh gales,
The idle from their town-retreats allure,
When fair-brow'd Spring appears. And some there live
Among them, of that undetermined race,
O'er whom the earthly and the heavenly sway
With fitful interchange, mere Epicenes
In mind. Worn by the hot and feverish stir
Of city-life, the many-mansion'd views,
Those pathways bleaching in the glare of noon,
And the fierce clatter of conflicting wheels,—
Some wearied heart romantically sighs
“O for the luxury of living gales,
367
Whose young leaves dance like ringlets on the brow
Of Joy, and glitter gaily to the sun!
O for some deep-valed haunt, where all alone,
Saving the mute companionship of Hills,
My feet may wander, and mine eye exult!”
So wish'd a Worldling; and behold him come,
And roused by new enchantment, thus exclaim:
“Again thine own, my heart, I give to thee
Sweet Nature! once again thy fondling breath
Of music plays around my faded brow,
Pure as a father's blessing o'er a child
Forgiven, gently murmur'd. Let me look
With eyes impassion'd on this glorious scene.
Dilated, as with gladness, glows the blue
O'erhanging sky, untinctured with a cloud:
Around me, hills on hills are greenly piled,
Each crowning each in billowy ascent
And beautiful array: a breeze is up
In bird-like motion winging the bright air;
Or by the flow'rets, giddy with delight,
And dancing gaily o'er the golden meads.
Nor am I lonesome in this hour of bliss:
The grazing flocks which speckle the glad fields;
The larks; and butterflies that tint their path
With beauty, and yon group of laughing babes,
Fit company for sunbeams and for flowers,
So brightly innocent they seem,—partake
The heavenliness of this romantic hour:
And thou, beneath me in thy waveless mood
Luxuriant spread, with ripples twinkling gay
As insect-wings which flutter in the sun,
Calm Ocean! often has thy phantom swell'd
Upon me, in the rush of busy life,
With smile as glorious as thou wearest now.”—
And canst thou, with a mind thus deeply toned
To all which nature for congenial heart
Provides, again be mingled in the mass
Of vulgar spirits, and their vain employ?—
Yes, Worldling! earth is heaven enough for thee.
And roused by new enchantment, thus exclaim:
“Again thine own, my heart, I give to thee
Sweet Nature! once again thy fondling breath
Of music plays around my faded brow,
Pure as a father's blessing o'er a child
Forgiven, gently murmur'd. Let me look
With eyes impassion'd on this glorious scene.
Dilated, as with gladness, glows the blue
O'erhanging sky, untinctured with a cloud:
Around me, hills on hills are greenly piled,
Each crowning each in billowy ascent
And beautiful array: a breeze is up
In bird-like motion winging the bright air;
Or by the flow'rets, giddy with delight,
And dancing gaily o'er the golden meads.
Nor am I lonesome in this hour of bliss:
The grazing flocks which speckle the glad fields;
The larks; and butterflies that tint their path
With beauty, and yon group of laughing babes,
Fit company for sunbeams and for flowers,
So brightly innocent they seem,—partake
The heavenliness of this romantic hour:
And thou, beneath me in thy waveless mood
Luxuriant spread, with ripples twinkling gay
As insect-wings which flutter in the sun,
Calm Ocean! often has thy phantom swell'd
Upon me, in the rush of busy life,
With smile as glorious as thou wearest now.”—
And canst thou, with a mind thus deeply toned
To all which nature for congenial heart
Provides, again be mingled in the mass
Of vulgar spirits, and their vain employ?—
Yes, Worldling! earth is heaven enough for thee.
No marvel, when by moral rust decay'd
In each perception of ethereal growth,
That millions never know a joy sublime,
And call romance the sin of tender souls.—
How little do these menials of the mind
From their blind prison-house of earth perceive
That moods predictive of diviner scenes
Come oft inspired; and though morosely scorn'd,
Form inward foretaste of the Unreveal'd.
In each perception of ethereal growth,
That millions never know a joy sublime,
And call romance the sin of tender souls.—
How little do these menials of the mind
From their blind prison-house of earth perceive
That moods predictive of diviner scenes
Come oft inspired; and though morosely scorn'd,
Form inward foretaste of the Unreveal'd.
But this enchantment of reposing thought,
When solitude falls heaven-like on the soul
Reflective, soars above thine aimless gloom,
Retirement! When in fame or fortune wreck'd,
To make a winter where bright summer reigns
And sadden all things with sarcastic gloom,
The misanthrope to his dull haunt retires
For saturnine felicity; tis vain.
For as the deep, unvisited by wind
And motion, tainted with pollution lies;
So turns the stagnant heart to foul conceits,
Unholy fancies, and unhealthful thoughts;
The world must wake it, as the angel stirr'd
The healing waters into glorious life
And motion,—making them to bless mankind.
Oh! how I scorn false Eremites! these mock
Philosophers, most elegantly sad,
Because outrageously befool'd. The man
Who battles nobly with his lot, and starves
Without a tear, hath more philosophy
In his true nature, than your Sages dream,
Who mope, for want of sterling misery!
When solitude falls heaven-like on the soul
Reflective, soars above thine aimless gloom,
Retirement! When in fame or fortune wreck'd,
To make a winter where bright summer reigns
And sadden all things with sarcastic gloom,
The misanthrope to his dull haunt retires
For saturnine felicity; tis vain.
For as the deep, unvisited by wind
And motion, tainted with pollution lies;
So turns the stagnant heart to foul conceits,
Unholy fancies, and unhealthful thoughts;
The world must wake it, as the angel stirr'd
The healing waters into glorious life
And motion,—making them to bless mankind.
Oh! how I scorn false Eremites! these mock
Philosophers, most elegantly sad,
Because outrageously befool'd. The man
Who battles nobly with his lot, and starves
Without a tear, hath more philosophy
In his true nature, than your Sages dream,
Who mope, for want of sterling misery!
But lo! a vision fair as fancy sees.
Beside yon Deep, alive with laughing waves,
An infant stands, and views the billowy range
Of its immensity, with lips apart
Like a cleft rose hung radiant in the sun,—
Hush'd into sweetest wonder. How divine
The innocence of childhood! Could it bloom
Unwither'd through the scorching waste of years,
Men would be angels, and my realm destroy'd:
With eyes whose blueness is a summer heaven;
And cheeks where Cherubim might print a kiss,
And forehead fair as moonlit snow,—thy form
Might be encradled in the rosy clouds
At twilight grouping amid the sun's farewell,
So gentle and so glowing thou appear'st.
And heavenly is it for maternal eyes
In their fond light to mark thee growing day
By day, with a warm atmosphere of Love
Around thee circled with unceasing watch;
While, like a ray from her own spirit shed
The lights of waking thought begin to gleam.
'Tis now the poetry of life to thee!
With fancies young, and innocent as flowers,
And manner sportive as the free-wing'd air,
Thou seest a friend in every smile; thy days
Like singing birds, in gladness speed along,
And not a tear which trembles on thy lids
But shines away, and sparkles into joy!
Beside yon Deep, alive with laughing waves,
An infant stands, and views the billowy range
Of its immensity, with lips apart
Like a cleft rose hung radiant in the sun,—
Hush'd into sweetest wonder. How divine
The innocence of childhood! Could it bloom
Unwither'd through the scorching waste of years,
Men would be angels, and my realm destroy'd:
With eyes whose blueness is a summer heaven;
And cheeks where Cherubim might print a kiss,
And forehead fair as moonlit snow,—thy form
Might be encradled in the rosy clouds
At twilight grouping amid the sun's farewell,
So gentle and so glowing thou appear'st.
And heavenly is it for maternal eyes
In their fond light to mark thee growing day
By day, with a warm atmosphere of Love
Around thee circled with unceasing watch;
While, like a ray from her own spirit shed
The lights of waking thought begin to gleam.
'Tis now the poetry of life to thee!
With fancies young, and innocent as flowers,
And manner sportive as the free-wing'd air,
Thou seest a friend in every smile; thy days
Like singing birds, in gladness speed along,
And not a tear which trembles on thy lids
But shines away, and sparkles into joy!
Yet Time shall envy such a dream as this;
And when I see thee in thine after-years,
As far as Virtue from her primal height
Is fallen, will thy tarnish'd nature be
From that which blasts me with its pureness now.
And when I see thee in thine after-years,
As far as Virtue from her primal height
Is fallen, will thy tarnish'd nature be
From that which blasts me with its pureness now.
368
But need I travel into years unborn
To gather misery? Behold it here!
Here, where a childless mother by the tomb
Of her dead offspring, wan and wither'd, sits
In the dull stupor of despairing grief.
Her brow is bent; her visage thin and worn;
Her garments fading like neglected flowers,
And not a glance but speaks an agony.
Oh, Wretch! whose sorrow all thy virtue makes!
For she who perish'd in a timeless grave
Though beautiful as ever sunshine clad,
In love and truth most tenderly endow'd,
When living, was a curse to thee! Thy hate
Pursued her, and thy blighting envy frown'd
Like a dark hell-shade on her youthful path:
Oft in the midnight thou wouldst mutt'ring wake
And bid the grave to open on thy child.
Yet when her dwelling was the loathsome tomb,
And scowling Envy had no charms to dread,—
When that was dust which once an Angel look'd,
The mother's heart return'd again, and grief,
Too late, then rack'd thy being to remorse,
Making thee all which Demons could desire!
For hope, nor faith, one reconciling beam
Imparts, to brighten thy dark woes; unwatch'd,
Unseen, thou visitest the haunt and home
Of Death, and in the muteness of despair
Beneath a pining yew-tree lonely sitt'st,
In deep'ning anguish round a daughter's tomb.
To gather misery? Behold it here!
Here, where a childless mother by the tomb
Of her dead offspring, wan and wither'd, sits
In the dull stupor of despairing grief.
Her brow is bent; her visage thin and worn;
Her garments fading like neglected flowers,
And not a glance but speaks an agony.
Oh, Wretch! whose sorrow all thy virtue makes!
For she who perish'd in a timeless grave
Though beautiful as ever sunshine clad,
In love and truth most tenderly endow'd,
When living, was a curse to thee! Thy hate
Pursued her, and thy blighting envy frown'd
Like a dark hell-shade on her youthful path:
Oft in the midnight thou wouldst mutt'ring wake
And bid the grave to open on thy child.
Yet when her dwelling was the loathsome tomb,
And scowling Envy had no charms to dread,—
When that was dust which once an Angel look'd,
The mother's heart return'd again, and grief,
Too late, then rack'd thy being to remorse,
Making thee all which Demons could desire!
For hope, nor faith, one reconciling beam
Imparts, to brighten thy dark woes; unwatch'd,
Unseen, thou visitest the haunt and home
Of Death, and in the muteness of despair
Beneath a pining yew-tree lonely sitt'st,
In deep'ning anguish round a daughter's tomb.
And many, sad as thee, have I beheld
In my dark pilgrimage round Britain's isle.
A tree by lightning blasted to the ground,
And those proud branches which the seasons loved
To beautify, in leafless ruin laid;
A wreck upon the savage waters toss'd
And darkly hinting a terrific tale;
Or grey-wall'd castle, where of old were seen
The banner'd triumph and baronial pomp
But now the prey of melancholy winds,—
For each, how oft a meditative sigh
Or moral tear, awakes; yet what so sad
As creedless anguish in a guilty soul,
And human sorrow by no hope assuaged?
“My God! it is a miserable world,”
May'st thou, the wretched, cry. From faded years
No flower to rescue for remembering love,
Or blissful woe; the Future but a dread
Unknown; the Present all a blacken'd scene;
By friends unloved, or in the tomb, forgot,—
How desolate thy doom must be! Abroad,
The sunshine mocks thee with a cruel glare;
And in the smile of each unthinking crowd
No bright reflection for thy heart is found;
At home—blank weariness of soul awaits
Thee there, and turns it into dismal thought:
Or haply, when the sallow evening shrouds
Yon echoing city, at thy window placed,
With vacant eye thou view'st the yielding glow
Of day; or hear'st the moan of evening-bells,
Like elegies by air-born spirits sung.
In my dark pilgrimage round Britain's isle.
A tree by lightning blasted to the ground,
And those proud branches which the seasons loved
To beautify, in leafless ruin laid;
A wreck upon the savage waters toss'd
And darkly hinting a terrific tale;
Or grey-wall'd castle, where of old were seen
The banner'd triumph and baronial pomp
But now the prey of melancholy winds,—
For each, how oft a meditative sigh
Or moral tear, awakes; yet what so sad
As creedless anguish in a guilty soul,
And human sorrow by no hope assuaged?
“My God! it is a miserable world,”
May'st thou, the wretched, cry. From faded years
No flower to rescue for remembering love,
Or blissful woe; the Future but a dread
Unknown; the Present all a blacken'd scene;
By friends unloved, or in the tomb, forgot,—
How desolate thy doom must be! Abroad,
The sunshine mocks thee with a cruel glare;
And in the smile of each unthinking crowd
No bright reflection for thy heart is found;
At home—blank weariness of soul awaits
Thee there, and turns it into dismal thought:
Or haply, when the sallow evening shrouds
Yon echoing city, at thy window placed,
With vacant eye thou view'st the yielding glow
Of day; or hear'st the moan of evening-bells,
Like elegies by air-born spirits sung.
But now a sunset, with impassion'd hues
Of splendour, deepens round yon curving bay;
'Tis Inspiration's hour, when heaven descends
In dream-like radiance on the earth becalm'd.
Hither! thou victim of luxurious halls,
The glory of these westering clouds behold
That rich as eastern fancies fleat the skies
Along: and hark!—the revelry of waves;
Now, like the whirling of unnumber'd wheels
In faint approach; then wild as battle-roar
In shatter'd echoes voyaging the wind;
And now, in foaming wildness they advance,
Dissolve, and mark the pebbled beach with foam.
Of splendour, deepens round yon curving bay;
'Tis Inspiration's hour, when heaven descends
In dream-like radiance on the earth becalm'd.
Hither! thou victim of luxurious halls,
The glory of these westering clouds behold
That rich as eastern fancies fleat the skies
Along: and hark!—the revelry of waves;
Now, like the whirling of unnumber'd wheels
In faint approach; then wild as battle-roar
In shatter'd echoes voyaging the wind;
And now, in foaming wildness they advance,
Dissolve, and mark the pebbled beach with foam.
Brief as a fancy, and as brightly vain,
The sky-pomp fades; and in his sumptuous robe
Of cloudy sheen, the great high-Priest of earth
Calmly descends beyond the ocean-bound.
Like weary eyelids, flowers are closing up
Their beauty; faint as rain-falls sound the leaves,
When ruffled by the dying breath of Day;
And twilight, that true hour for placid dreams
Or tender thoughts, now dimly o'er the wave
Its halcyon wing unfolds; in spectral gloom
The cloud-peak'd hills depart; and all the shore
Is lull'd, where nothing mars its deep repose,
Save when the step of yon lone wanderer moves,
Watching the boats in sailless pomp reposed;
Or, mournful listening to the curfew-sound
Of eve-bells, hymning from their distant spires.
The sky-pomp fades; and in his sumptuous robe
Of cloudy sheen, the great high-Priest of earth
Calmly descends beyond the ocean-bound.
Like weary eyelids, flowers are closing up
Their beauty; faint as rain-falls sound the leaves,
When ruffled by the dying breath of Day;
And twilight, that true hour for placid dreams
Or tender thoughts, now dimly o'er the wave
Its halcyon wing unfolds; in spectral gloom
The cloud-peak'd hills depart; and all the shore
Is lull'd, where nothing mars its deep repose,
Save when the step of yon lone wanderer moves,
Watching the boats in sailless pomp reposed;
Or, mournful listening to the curfew-sound
Of eve-bells, hymning from their distant spires.
And who art thou, of wither'd aspect there,
Whose slow faint footfalls sound of misery?
Consuming want thy lot hath never been:
But thou art one, from out whose bygone days
No memories breathe for retrospective moods
To welcome; the true dignity of life
Thy consecrated powers hath ne'er employ'd;
Thy past is blacker than the sunless tomb;
Reflection murders thy vain peace of mind!—
The moonlight, paving with a glassy shore
Of wrinkled lustre all yon desert-main;
The night's sad umbrage and her mystic hush
O'erwhelmingly becalm thee; thou wouldst fain
Again be flatter'd with the gorgeous Day,
And lose thy sadness in its fawning smile.
Whose slow faint footfalls sound of misery?
Consuming want thy lot hath never been:
But thou art one, from out whose bygone days
No memories breathe for retrospective moods
To welcome; the true dignity of life
Thy consecrated powers hath ne'er employ'd;
Thy past is blacker than the sunless tomb;
Reflection murders thy vain peace of mind!—
The moonlight, paving with a glassy shore
Of wrinkled lustre all yon desert-main;
The night's sad umbrage and her mystic hush
O'erwhelmingly becalm thee; thou wouldst fain
Again be flatter'd with the gorgeous Day,
And lose thy sadness in its fawning smile.
So terrible a speechless hour! when Thought
Banish'd by guilt, hath long an exile been
From Nature, dreading down herself to gaze.
In vengeance and convicting truth it comes
With the dread quickness of a lightning-glance,
Detecting all the danger of the soul,
Till conscience tremble, and the summon'd past
Is past no more!—but present, with a fire
And force concenter'd for terrific sway;
“I AM,” which voices God's eternity,
Is heard, and fearful sounds the truth therein!
Banish'd by guilt, hath long an exile been
From Nature, dreading down herself to gaze.
In vengeance and convicting truth it comes
With the dread quickness of a lightning-glance,
369
Till conscience tremble, and the summon'd past
Is past no more!—but present, with a fire
And force concenter'd for terrific sway;
“I AM,” which voices God's eternity,
Is heard, and fearful sounds the truth therein!
But oh, how bounded would my kingdom be
If what is life in common language deem'd,
Which unreflectively hath flow'd away,
Were all the law of Being did require!
Yet is there life, where no reflection acts?
Was Spirit with divinity endow'd,
Blindly to live by sense alone?—How well
For many, had they brute enjoyers been
Of homely nature; or, as trees and flowers,
Than charter'd with undying mind, to live
Mere breath and blood, without a spirit train'd
To pure advancement, by the hallow'd power
Of truths, which up to heaven and glory lead.
He lives the longest who has thought the most;
And by sublime anticipation felt
That what's immortal must progressive prove,
Or, retrograde in everlasting night!
If what is life in common language deem'd,
Which unreflectively hath flow'd away,
Were all the law of Being did require!
Yet is there life, where no reflection acts?
Was Spirit with divinity endow'd,
Blindly to live by sense alone?—How well
For many, had they brute enjoyers been
Of homely nature; or, as trees and flowers,
Than charter'd with undying mind, to live
Mere breath and blood, without a spirit train'd
To pure advancement, by the hallow'd power
Of truths, which up to heaven and glory lead.
He lives the longest who has thought the most;
And by sublime anticipation felt
That what's immortal must progressive prove,
Or, retrograde in everlasting night!
BOOK VI.
“Divided by a river, of whose banks
On each side an imperial city stood,
With towers and temples proudly elevate.”
Paradise Regained.
On each side an imperial city stood,
With towers and temples proudly elevate.”
Paradise Regained.
But, hail, thou city-Giant of the world!
Thou that dost scorn a canopy of clouds,
But in the dimness of eternal smoke
For ever rising like an ocean-steam
Dost mantle thine immensity; how vast
And wide thy wonderful array of towers
In dusky masses pointing to the skies!
Time was, and dreary solitude was here;
And night-black woods, unvisited by man,
In howling conflict wrestled with the winds,
But now, the tempest of perpetual life
Is heard, and like a roaring furnace fills
With living sound the airy reach of miles.
Thou more than Rome! for never from her heart
Of empire such disturbing passion roll'd,
As emanates from thine. The mighty globe
Is fever'd by thy name; a thousand years
And Silence hath not known thee! What a weight
Of awfulness will Doomsday from thy scene
Derive, and when the blasting Trumpet smites
All Cities to destruction, who will sink
Sublime, with such a thunder-crash as thou?
Thou that dost scorn a canopy of clouds,
But in the dimness of eternal smoke
For ever rising like an ocean-steam
Dost mantle thine immensity; how vast
And wide thy wonderful array of towers
In dusky masses pointing to the skies!
Time was, and dreary solitude was here;
And night-black woods, unvisited by man,
In howling conflict wrestled with the winds,
But now, the tempest of perpetual life
Is heard, and like a roaring furnace fills
With living sound the airy reach of miles.
Thou more than Rome! for never from her heart
Of empire such disturbing passion roll'd,
As emanates from thine. The mighty globe
Is fever'd by thy name; a thousand years
And Silence hath not known thee! What a weight
Of awfulness will Doomsday from thy scene
Derive, and when the blasting Trumpet smites
All Cities to destruction, who will sink
Sublime, with such a thunder-crash as thou?
Myriads of spires, and temples huge or high,
And thickly wedded, like the ancient trees
Which darken forests with primeval gloom;
Myriads of streets, whose windings ever flow
With viewless billows from a sea of life;
Myriads of hearts in full commotion blent,
From morn to noon from noon to night again
Through the wide realm of whirling passion borne,—
And there is London! England's heart and soul:
By the proud flowing of her famous Thames
She circulates through countless lands and isles
Her tides of commerce; gloriously she rules,
At once the awe and sceptre of the world!
And thickly wedded, like the ancient trees
Which darken forests with primeval gloom;
Myriads of streets, whose windings ever flow
With viewless billows from a sea of life;
Myriads of hearts in full commotion blent,
From morn to noon from noon to night again
Through the wide realm of whirling passion borne,—
And there is London! England's heart and soul:
By the proud flowing of her famous Thames
She circulates through countless lands and isles
Her tides of commerce; gloriously she rules,
At once the awe and sceptre of the world!
Angels and Demons! to your watching eyes
The rounded earth nought so tremendous shows
As this vast City, in whose roar I stand,
Unseen, yet seeing all. The solemn hush
Of everlasting hills; the solitudes
Untrod; the deep gaze of thy dazzling Orbs
Which decorate the purple noon of night
Oh, Nature! no such majesty supply.
Creation's queen, in sceptred grandeur, Thou
Upon the throne of Elements dost reign;
But in the beating of one single heart
There is that more than rivals thee! and here
The swellings of unnumber'd hearts abound;
And not a day but, ere it die, contains
A hist'ry, which unroll'd, will awe the Heavens
To wonder, and the listening Earth with fear!
The rounded earth nought so tremendous shows
As this vast City, in whose roar I stand,
Unseen, yet seeing all. The solemn hush
Of everlasting hills; the solitudes
Untrod; the deep gaze of thy dazzling Orbs
Which decorate the purple noon of night
Oh, Nature! no such majesty supply.
Creation's queen, in sceptred grandeur, Thou
Upon the throne of Elements dost reign;
But in the beating of one single heart
There is that more than rivals thee! and here
The swellings of unnumber'd hearts abound;
And not a day but, ere it die, contains
A hist'ry, which unroll'd, will awe the Heavens
To wonder, and the listening Earth with fear!
In Capitals of such gigantic sweep,
And hence, involving for momentous sway
Materials, which by word or deed create
An impulse throbbing through th' excited world,
Spirits of Darkness! how hath vice prevail'd;
Though scornfully, as now your victims mock
The name of Satan with triumphant sneer.
Obliging creatures! did their race abhorr'd,
What blighting sense we have of Virtue's power
And all those living elements of love
And glory, which around them move and dwell
Imagine,—they would learn to guard them more.
But, no! so blindly fool'd and charm'd they seem
With the proud beauty of their own pure souls,
That when most fetter'd, they appear most free:—
How Devils laugh to see such wisdom bound!
And hence, involving for momentous sway
Materials, which by word or deed create
An impulse throbbing through th' excited world,
Spirits of Darkness! how hath vice prevail'd;
Though scornfully, as now your victims mock
The name of Satan with triumphant sneer.
Obliging creatures! did their race abhorr'd,
What blighting sense we have of Virtue's power
And all those living elements of love
And glory, which around them move and dwell
Imagine,—they would learn to guard them more.
But, no! so blindly fool'd and charm'd they seem
With the proud beauty of their own pure souls,
That when most fetter'd, they appear most free:—
How Devils laugh to see such wisdom bound!
Through what a range thy blended passions reach,
Thou second Babylon! The Book of Life
With records that have made the angels weep,
Each moment of thy fated hist'ry fills.
For, whatsoe'er a spirit can reveal
Of fallen nature, in its varied realm
Of Sin, thy demonstrations body forth.
Here, Fraud and Murder on their thrones erect
Infernal standards, and around them swarm
Such progenies as Vileness, Want, and Woe
Beget, to live, like cannibals, on blood;
Or, move as crawling vipers in the paths
Of infamy, foul lewdness, or despair.
Here, Misery her wildest form betrays,
And sheds her hottest tear. See! as they rush
Thy million sons, along yon clam'rous streets,
Upon them how she turns her haggard gaze,
Lifts her shrunk hand, and with heart-piercing wail
A boon in God's name asks:—but let Her die,
And be her death-couch those remorseless stones!
For when the hungry winter blast shall pause
To soothe the wailing of some lonely tree,
Thy crowds will stop, and pity her despair!
Here Pride, in her most vulgar glory struts;
And Envy all her vip'rous offspring breeds.
But Mammon! thou persuasive friend of Hell,
Sure London is thy ever-royal seat,
Thy chosen capital, thy matchless home!
Where rank idolaters, of every lot
And land, do bow them to the basest dust
Which Falsehood, Flattery, or Cunning treads
From dawn to eve; and serve thee with as true
A love as lauding Angels serve their God!
See! how the hard and greedy worldlings crowd,
With toiling motion, through the foot-worn ways;
The sour and sullen, wretched, rack'd and pale,—
The whole vile circle of uneasy slaves.
Mark one, with features of ferocious hue;
Another, carved by villany's own hand,
A visage wears, and through the trait'rous blood
The spirit works like venom from the soul.
Thou second Babylon! The Book of Life
With records that have made the angels weep,
Each moment of thy fated hist'ry fills.
For, whatsoe'er a spirit can reveal
370
Of Sin, thy demonstrations body forth.
Here, Fraud and Murder on their thrones erect
Infernal standards, and around them swarm
Such progenies as Vileness, Want, and Woe
Beget, to live, like cannibals, on blood;
Or, move as crawling vipers in the paths
Of infamy, foul lewdness, or despair.
Here, Misery her wildest form betrays,
And sheds her hottest tear. See! as they rush
Thy million sons, along yon clam'rous streets,
Upon them how she turns her haggard gaze,
Lifts her shrunk hand, and with heart-piercing wail
A boon in God's name asks:—but let Her die,
And be her death-couch those remorseless stones!
For when the hungry winter blast shall pause
To soothe the wailing of some lonely tree,
Thy crowds will stop, and pity her despair!
Here Pride, in her most vulgar glory struts;
And Envy all her vip'rous offspring breeds.
But Mammon! thou persuasive friend of Hell,
Sure London is thy ever-royal seat,
Thy chosen capital, thy matchless home!
Where rank idolaters, of every lot
And land, do bow them to the basest dust
Which Falsehood, Flattery, or Cunning treads
From dawn to eve; and serve thee with as true
A love as lauding Angels serve their God!
See! how the hard and greedy worldlings crowd,
With toiling motion, through the foot-worn ways;
The sour and sullen, wretched, rack'd and pale,—
The whole vile circle of uneasy slaves.
Mark one, with features of ferocious hue;
Another, carved by villany's own hand,
A visage wears, and through the trait'rous blood
The spirit works like venom from the soul.
What rush and roar unceasing! and how strange
A mass of objects, as I move along
Invisible, amid these floods of Life
I see;—a chaos of uncounted hearts
Beating and bounding, charged with great design,
And making Fate at every pulse to feel,
Before me acts its mighty tragedy!
Amid them rise those consecrated Shrines
Where ruins eloquent with history are;
Where Truth is worshipp'd, and the belfry-towers
Are frequent mutt'ring how the Hours depart,
With unregarded wisdom; or, with moan
Funereal, wailing for some vanish'd Soul.
A mass of objects, as I move along
Invisible, amid these floods of Life
I see;—a chaos of uncounted hearts
Beating and bounding, charged with great design,
And making Fate at every pulse to feel,
Before me acts its mighty tragedy!
Amid them rise those consecrated Shrines
Where ruins eloquent with history are;
Where Truth is worshipp'd, and the belfry-towers
Are frequent mutt'ring how the Hours depart,
With unregarded wisdom; or, with moan
Funereal, wailing for some vanish'd Soul.
But hail, thou monument to hell!—yon pile
Whose massiness a mournful shadow frowns,
Where felon captives, for their crimes, await
The vengeance due to violated Law.
A day restored, and in thy dungeon wept
A victim, whom a darker prison holds
Than ever prescient horror shaped! Had Youth
Beheld him, more than fun'ral sermons teach,
His glance of agony had taught! How oft
When gaily passing, ominously came
A chill of terror from those prison-walls!
And when he enter'd their sepulchral gloom
Like memory that chill return'd.—To die
A malefactor's death; to be the gaze,
The direful, hideous, and detested gaze
Of thousands, glutting their unsated eyes
With morbid wonder, while on tiptoe placed
To see the Spirit gasping from his throat,
And chronicle his agony;—to live
A ballad-hero, in the creaking rhymes
Of vagabonds, and have his felon-name
From lip to lip thus vilely bandied out
For vulgar warning,—oh, ye sinless days
Of childhood! oh, ye hours of love and home,
And summer-dreams by haunted wood or wild,
And blessings nightly murmur'd from the lip
Of parents,—Glory of remember'd days!
Is this your ending, and his ghastly fate
For whom old Age did prophesy renown
And Fondness built her palaces?—A sire,
Who dream'd the heroic grandeur of his race
In him revived, and in the youthful ear
Did oft unrol his ancestry high-born,
To thrill the blood and keep the spirit brave;
A mother made of tenderness, who watch'd
His cradle-slumber, and when manhood came
Still breathed her spirit round his onward way;
Oh! these would shudder in their sacred tombs,
And on his name the kindless world expend
The infamy which to a gallows clings,
If Law should wreak her vengeance. But, one drop
Of poison, and this ignominious doom
Was saved!—a tremor of despair, a tide
Of anguish, burning through his blood and brain,
With the fierce whirling of imagined fires,—
And shrunk and ghastly lay the Suicide!
Whose massiness a mournful shadow frowns,
Where felon captives, for their crimes, await
The vengeance due to violated Law.
A day restored, and in thy dungeon wept
A victim, whom a darker prison holds
Than ever prescient horror shaped! Had Youth
Beheld him, more than fun'ral sermons teach,
His glance of agony had taught! How oft
When gaily passing, ominously came
A chill of terror from those prison-walls!
And when he enter'd their sepulchral gloom
Like memory that chill return'd.—To die
A malefactor's death; to be the gaze,
The direful, hideous, and detested gaze
Of thousands, glutting their unsated eyes
With morbid wonder, while on tiptoe placed
To see the Spirit gasping from his throat,
And chronicle his agony;—to live
A ballad-hero, in the creaking rhymes
Of vagabonds, and have his felon-name
From lip to lip thus vilely bandied out
For vulgar warning,—oh, ye sinless days
Of childhood! oh, ye hours of love and home,
And summer-dreams by haunted wood or wild,
And blessings nightly murmur'd from the lip
Of parents,—Glory of remember'd days!
Is this your ending, and his ghastly fate
For whom old Age did prophesy renown
And Fondness built her palaces?—A sire,
Who dream'd the heroic grandeur of his race
In him revived, and in the youthful ear
Did oft unrol his ancestry high-born,
To thrill the blood and keep the spirit brave;
A mother made of tenderness, who watch'd
His cradle-slumber, and when manhood came
Still breathed her spirit round his onward way;
Oh! these would shudder in their sacred tombs,
And on his name the kindless world expend
The infamy which to a gallows clings,
If Law should wreak her vengeance. But, one drop
Of poison, and this ignominious doom
Was saved!—a tremor of despair, a tide
Of anguish, burning through his blood and brain,
With the fierce whirling of imagined fires,—
And shrunk and ghastly lay the Suicide!
Huge, high, and solemn, sanctified by time,
And gazing sky-ward in the tow'ry gloom
Of temple-majesty, another Pile
Behold! in mid-air ponderously rear'd.
How dread a power pervadeth Things, this mass
Of ancient glory tells. Whereon it stands
The vacant winds did trifle; and the laugh
Of sunshine sported in bright freedom there:
It rose, and lo! there is a spirit-awe
Around it dwelling; with suspended heart
'Tis enter'd; where a cold sepulchral hush,
The holiness of its immensity,
The heaven-like vastness of those vaulted aisles,
Banners and trophies and heraldic signs,
And tombs of monumental melancholy,—
All with commingling spell the minds o'ercloud
Of Mortals, as they walk the haunted gloom
Of arch and nave, immersed in dreams of death.
And gazing sky-ward in the tow'ry gloom
Of temple-majesty, another Pile
Behold! in mid-air ponderously rear'd.
How dread a power pervadeth Things, this mass
Of ancient glory tells. Whereon it stands
The vacant winds did trifle; and the laugh
Of sunshine sported in bright freedom there:
It rose, and lo! there is a spirit-awe
Around it dwelling; with suspended heart
371
The holiness of its immensity,
The heaven-like vastness of those vaulted aisles,
Banners and trophies and heraldic signs,
And tombs of monumental melancholy,—
All with commingling spell the minds o'ercloud
Of Mortals, as they walk the haunted gloom
Of arch and nave, immersed in dreams of death.
Methinks Ambition might grow humble here:
Though, blazon'd high, the mausoleums rise,
And from stain'd windows rosy light-shades fall
On armory, and crests of costly hue,
Funereal pride, and sculptured canopies
Which grace the dust of hero, sage, or king,—
The sense that rankling clay beneath such pomp
Alone remains, humiliates and chills
The passion for proud greatness. But Her eye
More frequent to yon lonely Transept turns,
Where the dead heroes of the heart repose,
And on it gazeth with a deeper awe
Than ever high-raised tomb of Monarchs won:—
No matter! bard or king, the Curse decrees
For all, re-union with their fellow-clay.
Though, blazon'd high, the mausoleums rise,
And from stain'd windows rosy light-shades fall
On armory, and crests of costly hue,
Funereal pride, and sculptured canopies
Which grace the dust of hero, sage, or king,—
The sense that rankling clay beneath such pomp
Alone remains, humiliates and chills
The passion for proud greatness. But Her eye
More frequent to yon lonely Transept turns,
Where the dead heroes of the heart repose,
And on it gazeth with a deeper awe
Than ever high-raised tomb of Monarchs won:—
No matter! bard or king, the Curse decrees
For all, re-union with their fellow-clay.
Echoes on echoes roll'd and reproduced!—
As though invisibly with rushing flame
O'erwhelm'd, the music-haunted Temple sounds:
Hark! peal on peal, and burst on burst, sublime
The prelude comes, ascendeth loud and deep,
And then in waves of melody departs:
But ere it died, a thousand faces shone
With ecstasy; as sunshine, in a sweep
Of gladness over hill and meadow shot,
Can summon tints of glory from the scene,—
So drew the music, in its sweeping flow
O'er mortal features, flashes from the soul,
Bright hues and meanings, passionate as true.
As though invisibly with rushing flame
O'erwhelm'd, the music-haunted Temple sounds:
Hark! peal on peal, and burst on burst, sublime
The prelude comes, ascendeth loud and deep,
And then in waves of melody departs:
But ere it died, a thousand faces shone
With ecstasy; as sunshine, in a sweep
Of gladness over hill and meadow shot,
Can summon tints of glory from the scene,—
So drew the music, in its sweeping flow
O'er mortal features, flashes from the soul,
Bright hues and meanings, passionate as true.
The heaven of Music! how it wafts and winds
Itself through all the poetry of sound!
Now, throbbing like a happy Thing of air,
Then, dying a voluptuous death, as lost
In its own lux'ry; now alive again
In sweetness, wafted like a vocal cloud
Mellifluously breaking—seems the strain.
And what a play of magic on each face
Of feeling! when the cadence dismal sounds,
All eyes look darken'd with memorial-dreams;
But when the Organ's deep-toned rapture swells
With harmonies which stir heroic mind,
Bright raptures revel in each glowing face!
Till slow at length, the dying Anthem breathes
A musing tone of melancholy power
And pathos, causing buried years to breathe,
While mem'ry saddens; and in thoughtful eyes
The dewy brightness of emotion dawns.
Itself through all the poetry of sound!
Now, throbbing like a happy Thing of air,
Then, dying a voluptuous death, as lost
In its own lux'ry; now alive again
In sweetness, wafted like a vocal cloud
Mellifluously breaking—seems the strain.
And what a play of magic on each face
Of feeling! when the cadence dismal sounds,
All eyes look darken'd with memorial-dreams;
But when the Organ's deep-toned rapture swells
With harmonies which stir heroic mind,
Bright raptures revel in each glowing face!
Till slow at length, the dying Anthem breathes
A musing tone of melancholy power
And pathos, causing buried years to breathe,
While mem'ry saddens; and in thoughtful eyes
The dewy brightness of emotion dawns.
All music is the Mystery of sound,
Whose soul lies sleeping in the air, till roused,
And lo! it pulses into melody:
Deep, low, or wild, obedient to the throb
Of instrumental magic; on its wings
Are visions too, of tenderness and love,
Beatitude and joy. Thus, over waves
Of beauty, landscapes in their loveliest glow,
And the warm languish of their summer-streams,
A list'ning soul is borne; while Home renews
Its paradise, beneath the moon-light veil
That mantles o'er the past, till unshed tears
Gleam in the eye of memory. But when
Some harmony of preternatural swell
Begins, then, soaring on enchanted plumes,
A soul seems wafted through Eternity!
Whose soul lies sleeping in the air, till roused,
And lo! it pulses into melody:
Deep, low, or wild, obedient to the throb
Of instrumental magic; on its wings
Are visions too, of tenderness and love,
Beatitude and joy. Thus, over waves
Of beauty, landscapes in their loveliest glow,
And the warm languish of their summer-streams,
A list'ning soul is borne; while Home renews
Its paradise, beneath the moon-light veil
That mantles o'er the past, till unshed tears
Gleam in the eye of memory. But when
Some harmony of preternatural swell
Begins, then, soaring on enchanted plumes,
A soul seems wafted through Eternity!
Such sorcery in music dwells;—if they,
Now doom'd awhile to walk this heaven-roof'd world,
Might hear the melodies which I have heard,
When heaven, complexion'd by almightiness
In glory, sounded with the choral hymn
Of Princedoms high, and Dominations grand,
Of thousand Saints, of thousand Cherubim,
And angel-numbers, who out-million far
Bright worlds, which in the blue and waveless deep
Of night, innumerable hang,—if men
Might hear it, 'twould absorb their souls away!
Yet such I heard; oh! what a sea of sound
Went billowing with ecstatical delight
Through fathomless immensity, when hosts
Divine, their Holy, Holy, Holy, sung,
While loud Hosannahs to the living God
Commingled, making heaven more heavenly glow!
Now doom'd awhile to walk this heaven-roof'd world,
Might hear the melodies which I have heard,
When heaven, complexion'd by almightiness
In glory, sounded with the choral hymn
Of Princedoms high, and Dominations grand,
Of thousand Saints, of thousand Cherubim,
And angel-numbers, who out-million far
Bright worlds, which in the blue and waveless deep
Of night, innumerable hang,—if men
Might hear it, 'twould absorb their souls away!
Yet such I heard; oh! what a sea of sound
Went billowing with ecstatical delight
Through fathomless immensity, when hosts
Divine, their Holy, Holy, Holy, sung,
While loud Hosannahs to the living God
Commingled, making heaven more heavenly glow!
Another triumph of exhaustless mind,
Which Love and Wisdom, Beauty and fair Truth,
Tempt as I may, enchantingly produce.—
Visions of holiness, and lofty dreams
Of lofty Spirits, glorify the walls
Of this vast room; revealings of the soul
Intense, and passions of pictorial spell.
Painters are silent poets; in their hues
A language glows, whose words are magic tints
Of meaning, which both eye and soul perceive.
How wonderful is deathless Art! for Time
Obeys her summons, and the Seasons wait
Her godlike call; while glory, love, and grace,
And the deep harmonies of human thought
Move at the waving of Her mighty wand!
Which Love and Wisdom, Beauty and fair Truth,
Tempt as I may, enchantingly produce.—
Visions of holiness, and lofty dreams
Of lofty Spirits, glorify the walls
Of this vast room; revealings of the soul
Intense, and passions of pictorial spell.
Painters are silent poets; in their hues
A language glows, whose words are magic tints
Of meaning, which both eye and soul perceive.
How wonderful is deathless Art! for Time
Obeys her summons, and the Seasons wait
Her godlike call; while glory, love, and grace,
372
Move at the waving of Her mighty wand!
Then let me look on this ethereal show
Wherein the painter hath a mind transfused,
Turning his thoughts to colours. What a thirst
For beauty in his longing soul must burn
Who vision'd this,—a landscape gods might tread!
The sky hangs glorious; and the yellow smiles
Of summer, on a brightly-wrinkled stream
Are flashing with a restless joy, 'mid trees
Unpruned, and bowing graceful as the wind
In melody its fairy wing expands
Among them: over rocks of cloudy shape
The green enchantment of declining boughs
Is flushing, whence a vein of water flows,
And frolics on in many a shining trail
Of stream-like revelry; till margin-flowers
Beside it bloom, and shadow the young waves.
But there, a beautiful Perfection smiles!
An Eve-like form beside a dimpled lake
Is standing;—in her eye, a heaven of soul,
And o'er her figure an expressive bloom
Of youth, and symmetry, divinely graced.
The moon-like glowing of her loveliness,
Those limbs of light, and that seraphic air,—
Whence sprung it all, but from ideal thirst
For Beauty, purer than mere Sense beholds?
Wherein the painter hath a mind transfused,
Turning his thoughts to colours. What a thirst
For beauty in his longing soul must burn
Who vision'd this,—a landscape gods might tread!
The sky hangs glorious; and the yellow smiles
Of summer, on a brightly-wrinkled stream
Are flashing with a restless joy, 'mid trees
Unpruned, and bowing graceful as the wind
In melody its fairy wing expands
Among them: over rocks of cloudy shape
The green enchantment of declining boughs
Is flushing, whence a vein of water flows,
And frolics on in many a shining trail
Of stream-like revelry; till margin-flowers
Beside it bloom, and shadow the young waves.
But there, a beautiful Perfection smiles!
An Eve-like form beside a dimpled lake
Is standing;—in her eye, a heaven of soul,
And o'er her figure an expressive bloom
Of youth, and symmetry, divinely graced.
The moon-like glowing of her loveliness,
Those limbs of light, and that seraphic air,—
Whence sprung it all, but from ideal thirst
For Beauty, purer than mere Sense beholds?
Here is a sunset, in that golden calm
Appearing, when the lustrous King of day
Awhile in bright complacence views the world
Which he hath glorified,—as Wisdom look'd
On infant Nature, when she lay complete
Beneath the full reflection of His smile.
And near, a night is pictured in its dead
Of noon: the canopy of azure pomp
Hung starless,—but the queen of heaven is there
In placid glory, and her slumb'rous veil
Hath shadow'd earth, and on blue ocean lies
In rolls of silver:—by the sallow beach
Two maidens in their girlhood stand, and seem
Enrapt, to watch how delicately bright
The moon's pale fancies tint yon fleeting waves;
Or, listen to the faint sweet undersong
Of dream-like waters, dying on the shore.
Appearing, when the lustrous King of day
Awhile in bright complacence views the world
Which he hath glorified,—as Wisdom look'd
On infant Nature, when she lay complete
Beneath the full reflection of His smile.
And near, a night is pictured in its dead
Of noon: the canopy of azure pomp
Hung starless,—but the queen of heaven is there
In placid glory, and her slumb'rous veil
Hath shadow'd earth, and on blue ocean lies
In rolls of silver:—by the sallow beach
Two maidens in their girlhood stand, and seem
Enrapt, to watch how delicately bright
The moon's pale fancies tint yon fleeting waves;
Or, listen to the faint sweet undersong
Of dream-like waters, dying on the shore.
But, what is this!—the Deluge which devour'd
A living World! a sunless, moonless waste,
The globe into a chaos of wild sea
Dissolved! Her hour of agony is o'er;
But yet, the fierceness of unnat'ral clouds,
Like dying monsters welt'ring on the deep,
Frowns awful in the gloom.—How dead and mute
Th' enormous ruin! Not a look of life
Dwells there,—the carcase of a guilty World!
Woods, trees and flowers, with all which landscapes wear
In spring-time's young magnificence of bloom
And promise, with the god-like shapes of men,
Have perish'd. By the rocky darkness, crags
And mountain-skeletons by billows wash'd,
The oozy branches, where lank serpents coil,
And in the deadness of two pallid forms
Hurl'd from the deep, and dash'd upon the shore
In solitude, a mortal may be awed,
And dream, until he hear the Deluge roar!
A living World! a sunless, moonless waste,
The globe into a chaos of wild sea
Dissolved! Her hour of agony is o'er;
But yet, the fierceness of unnat'ral clouds,
Like dying monsters welt'ring on the deep,
Frowns awful in the gloom.—How dead and mute
Th' enormous ruin! Not a look of life
Dwells there,—the carcase of a guilty World!
Woods, trees and flowers, with all which landscapes wear
In spring-time's young magnificence of bloom
And promise, with the god-like shapes of men,
Have perish'd. By the rocky darkness, crags
And mountain-skeletons by billows wash'd,
The oozy branches, where lank serpents coil,
And in the deadness of two pallid forms
Hurl'd from the deep, and dash'd upon the shore
In solitude, a mortal may be awed,
And dream, until he hear the Deluge roar!
But let it pass: for lo! the dark sublime,
The midnight and immensity of Art
I see; as though his eye had seen the hour
When down in thunder through the yawning skies
A whirlwind of rebellious Angels came,—
The painter hath infernal pomp reveal'd.
A second Milton, whose creative soul
Doth shadow visions to such awful life,
That men behold them with suspended breath,
And grow ethereal at a gaze!—how high
And earthless hath his daring spirit soar'd,
To paint the hell which kindled up the skies,
And wield the lightnings that his Maker hurl'd!
The midnight and immensity of Art
I see; as though his eye had seen the hour
When down in thunder through the yawning skies
A whirlwind of rebellious Angels came,—
The painter hath infernal pomp reveal'd.
A second Milton, whose creative soul
Doth shadow visions to such awful life,
That men behold them with suspended breath,
And grow ethereal at a gaze!—how high
And earthless hath his daring spirit soar'd,
To paint the hell which kindled up the skies,
And wield the lightnings that his Maker hurl'd!
These arts are revelations which unfold
How Mind, disdainful of material bounds,
In spiritual romance delights to dream;
Through heavens of her creation to expand
Her wings, and wanton in celestial light;
As soars the lark from her low nest of dew
To sing and revel in the boundless air.
The fallen Myriads in whose blighted gaze
A beam of ruin'd glory shines, may look
With something of ambitious sympathy
On this proud struggle of the soul with sense,—
This warfare of the Visible with Things
Of viewless Essence, yet prevailing power.
A haughty captive fetter'd in his clay,
Man's Nature, peering through her prison-house,
Doth catch a shadow, and a dim advance
Of Something purer, brighter, yet to be.
And what is genius?—but the glowing mind
Half disembodied, flutt'ring in a realm
Of magic, dreaming, dazzled, and inspired?
How Mind, disdainful of material bounds,
In spiritual romance delights to dream;
Through heavens of her creation to expand
Her wings, and wanton in celestial light;
As soars the lark from her low nest of dew
To sing and revel in the boundless air.
The fallen Myriads in whose blighted gaze
A beam of ruin'd glory shines, may look
With something of ambitious sympathy
On this proud struggle of the soul with sense,—
This warfare of the Visible with Things
Of viewless Essence, yet prevailing power.
A haughty captive fetter'd in his clay,
Man's Nature, peering through her prison-house,
Doth catch a shadow, and a dim advance
Of Something purer, brighter, yet to be.
And what is genius?—but the glowing mind
Half disembodied, flutt'ring in a realm
Of magic, dreaming, dazzled, and inspired?
How dark a contrast hath a moment made
In this world's promise!—here, the shame of Art
Confronts me; and, might Pity deaden Hate,
My love for ruin should be lessen'd now.—
In a lone chamber, on a tatter'd couch
A dying Painter lies. His brow seems young
And noble; lines of beauty on his face
Yet linger; in his eye of passion gleams
A soul, and on his cheek a spirit-light
Is playing, with that proud sublimity
Of thought, which yields to death, but gives to time
A Fame that will avenge his wrongs, and write
Their hist'ry in her canonizèd roll
Of martyrs: be it for his epitaph,
He lived for genius, and for genius died!
So sad and lone! wall'd in by misery,
With none to smooth his couch, or shed the tear
Which softens pain, uncheer'd, unwept, unknown,
And famish'd by the want of many days,—
Hither, Ambition! wisdom breathes in woe.
In this world's promise!—here, the shame of Art
Confronts me; and, might Pity deaden Hate,
My love for ruin should be lessen'd now.—
373
A dying Painter lies. His brow seems young
And noble; lines of beauty on his face
Yet linger; in his eye of passion gleams
A soul, and on his cheek a spirit-light
Is playing, with that proud sublimity
Of thought, which yields to death, but gives to time
A Fame that will avenge his wrongs, and write
Their hist'ry in her canonizèd roll
Of martyrs: be it for his epitaph,
He lived for genius, and for genius died!
So sad and lone! wall'd in by misery,
With none to smooth his couch, or shed the tear
Which softens pain, uncheer'd, unwept, unknown,
And famish'd by the want of many days,—
Hither, Ambition! wisdom breathes in woe.
There are, to whom Earth's elemental Frame
Of wonders seemeth but an outward show
To look upon, and form the life of things:
But some in more ethereal mould are cast,
Who from the imagery of nature cull
Fair meanings, and magnificent delights,
Extracting glory from whate'er they view;
Calling the common air a blessing, light
A joy, and hues and harmonies of earth
Enchanting ministers to sense and soul.
And such was he. An orphan of the woods,
With Nature in her ancientness of gloom
And cavern, dark-peak'd hill, and craggy wild
Whose boughs waved midnight in the eye of Day,—
He dwelt; until he hung the wizard sky
With fancies, and with nature one became
By deep communion with her scenes and sounds.
With all her moods, majestic, calm, or wild,
He sympathised. In glory did he hear
Ecstatic thunders antheming the storm!
And when the winds fled by him, he would take
Their dauntless wings, and travel in their roar!
He worshipp'd the great Sea;—when rocking wild,
Making the waters blossom into foam
With her loud wrath; or savagely reposed
Like a dark monster dreaming in his lair.
Of wonders seemeth but an outward show
To look upon, and form the life of things:
But some in more ethereal mould are cast,
Who from the imagery of nature cull
Fair meanings, and magnificent delights,
Extracting glory from whate'er they view;
Calling the common air a blessing, light
A joy, and hues and harmonies of earth
Enchanting ministers to sense and soul.
And such was he. An orphan of the woods,
With Nature in her ancientness of gloom
And cavern, dark-peak'd hill, and craggy wild
Whose boughs waved midnight in the eye of Day,—
He dwelt; until he hung the wizard sky
With fancies, and with nature one became
By deep communion with her scenes and sounds.
With all her moods, majestic, calm, or wild,
He sympathised. In glory did he hear
Ecstatic thunders antheming the storm!
And when the winds fled by him, he would take
Their dauntless wings, and travel in their roar!
He worshipp'd the great Sea;—when rocking wild,
Making the waters blossom into foam
With her loud wrath; or savagely reposed
Like a dark monster dreaming in his lair.
No wonder, then, by Nature thus sublimed,
With all her forms and features at his soul,
The brain should teem with visions, and his hand
A glorious mimicry of earth and heaven
Perform! till lakes and clouds, and famish'd woods
In wintry loneness, crags and eagle-haunts,
And torrents in their mountain-rapture seen,
All dread, all high, all melancholy Things,—
Full on his canvas started into life
And look'd creation! To the Capital
A parentless and unacquainted youth
He came, while many a prophecy still hung
About his heart, and made his bosom heave
With young expectancy. Romantic fool!
To fancy genius and success were twins
In such a sphere: how soon the dream was o'er!
Here Envy dogg'd him; Avarice trampled down
His worth, and in the gloom of aidless want
His spirit bow'd,—but never was enslaved.
There was that haughtiness of calm despair,
That forward looking to avenging years
Which plucks the thorn from present woe, and charms
Adversity from out her darkest mood,
To cheer him on, and buoy the spirit o'er
The indirection of opinion's tide.
He felt, as all the mighty ever feel,
True Greatness must o'erlook the living hour
And charge the Future with its fame alone!
Thus cherish'd he self-rev'rence; and the heart
Was faithful: from the hand or voice of men
No comfort came; but Nature was his own
As ever! When the jarring city-roar
Woke round him, he could hush it in the calm
Of memory, and natural solitude
Of pensive scenes: the dying thunder-tones
O'er his dark chamber mutter'd, bade him dream
Of deeper grandeur which pervaded night
Afar; and when a pilgrim sunset-ray
Came to his window, like a smile from Home,
He scorn'd the present, and would think, how once
He loved to watch the bright farewell of Day
Reflected o'er the roll of ocean-waves,
Like sea-clouds rising in a gorgeous swell:—
Thus lived the victim of an Art adored,
And perish'd in his passion!—On his name
A veil is hung, and his achievements lie
Forgotten; but a fame awaits them still!
Eternity will take a hue from time,
And life a shade of the immortal doom
Hereafter is. But even this false world
Shall round his honour'd tomb a death-wreath hang,
And on the eyelids of an Age unborn
Shall tears be trembling when his woes are read.—
Thus Merit starves, while pamper'd Folly struts
In mean presumption, with a golden lot
Endow'd, and smiled upon by vassal-eyes
Which hunt for favour. But the lofty Hearts,
Th' unbending pure, within whose natures lodge
All feelings that ennoble man and mind,
Are they by kingly fortune crown'd? Does Worth
Or Wisdom glorious exaltation win?
Look round the world, and answer! 'Tis the base,
The sly, insinuating, serpent-souls
Who wind about the meanest of mankind;
'Tis they, with lying blandness on the lip,
Whose tuneful flattery, that cloyless sweet!
Allays the gusty tempers of the proud
To fond subjection, and the vain enchant
To patrons blind, yet most benevolent,
Yes! these are they who glitter with the crown
Of fortune, sit upon the World's high thrones;
And on the toiling majesty of Worth
Beneath, look down, and laugh at virtuous Woe.
With all her forms and features at his soul,
The brain should teem with visions, and his hand
A glorious mimicry of earth and heaven
Perform! till lakes and clouds, and famish'd woods
In wintry loneness, crags and eagle-haunts,
And torrents in their mountain-rapture seen,
All dread, all high, all melancholy Things,—
Full on his canvas started into life
And look'd creation! To the Capital
A parentless and unacquainted youth
He came, while many a prophecy still hung
About his heart, and made his bosom heave
With young expectancy. Romantic fool!
To fancy genius and success were twins
In such a sphere: how soon the dream was o'er!
Here Envy dogg'd him; Avarice trampled down
His worth, and in the gloom of aidless want
His spirit bow'd,—but never was enslaved.
There was that haughtiness of calm despair,
That forward looking to avenging years
Which plucks the thorn from present woe, and charms
Adversity from out her darkest mood,
To cheer him on, and buoy the spirit o'er
The indirection of opinion's tide.
He felt, as all the mighty ever feel,
True Greatness must o'erlook the living hour
And charge the Future with its fame alone!
Thus cherish'd he self-rev'rence; and the heart
Was faithful: from the hand or voice of men
No comfort came; but Nature was his own
As ever! When the jarring city-roar
Woke round him, he could hush it in the calm
Of memory, and natural solitude
Of pensive scenes: the dying thunder-tones
O'er his dark chamber mutter'd, bade him dream
Of deeper grandeur which pervaded night
Afar; and when a pilgrim sunset-ray
Came to his window, like a smile from Home,
He scorn'd the present, and would think, how once
He loved to watch the bright farewell of Day
Reflected o'er the roll of ocean-waves,
Like sea-clouds rising in a gorgeous swell:—
Thus lived the victim of an Art adored,
And perish'd in his passion!—On his name
A veil is hung, and his achievements lie
Forgotten; but a fame awaits them still!
Eternity will take a hue from time,
And life a shade of the immortal doom
Hereafter is. But even this false world
Shall round his honour'd tomb a death-wreath hang,
And on the eyelids of an Age unborn
Shall tears be trembling when his woes are read.—
Thus Merit starves, while pamper'd Folly struts
In mean presumption, with a golden lot
Endow'd, and smiled upon by vassal-eyes
Which hunt for favour. But the lofty Hearts,
Th' unbending pure, within whose natures lodge
All feelings that ennoble man and mind,
Are they by kingly fortune crown'd? Does Worth
374
Look round the world, and answer! 'Tis the base,
The sly, insinuating, serpent-souls
Who wind about the meanest of mankind;
'Tis they, with lying blandness on the lip,
Whose tuneful flattery, that cloyless sweet!
Allays the gusty tempers of the proud
To fond subjection, and the vain enchant
To patrons blind, yet most benevolent,
Yes! these are they who glitter with the crown
Of fortune, sit upon the World's high thrones;
And on the toiling majesty of Worth
Beneath, look down, and laugh at virtuous Woe.
But there are other miracles of mind
In this Queen-city; whatsoe'er the Hand
Can shape, or pregnant Thought conceive; whate'er
Applying Art can from the soul translate
To sense or vision, for the World's free gaze,
Is here produced. Thus, London is a sun
Of inspiration to the parent-isle;
Within the circle of a minute act
Uncounted minds, of multiplying power
To times and generations.—But a trace
Of Me, humanity! thou dost not lose,
However lofty thy victorious march;
For in this region of the learn'd and wise,
The pettiness and pride of nature dwell.
Then what is Genius, with a heart unsound?
One noble action doth outweigh it all
With more than priceless value. Meek and pure,
Who lives in humble earnestness, partakes
His lot with cheerful eye, and loving heart,
And sees a Brotherhood in all mankind;
Whose Teachers are the Elements, whose lore,
A Bible on the soul impress'd,—that man,
Howe'er undignified his earthly doom
Appear, is far more glorious in the eye
Of Angels, than the spirit-ruling host
Of learning, who have never learnt the way
To virtue, and the heart's true nobleness.—
But this I would not that the earth believed;
Corruption is the rankling seed I sow,
And aye abundant may the harvest bloom!
In this Queen-city; whatsoe'er the Hand
Can shape, or pregnant Thought conceive; whate'er
Applying Art can from the soul translate
To sense or vision, for the World's free gaze,
Is here produced. Thus, London is a sun
Of inspiration to the parent-isle;
Within the circle of a minute act
Uncounted minds, of multiplying power
To times and generations.—But a trace
Of Me, humanity! thou dost not lose,
However lofty thy victorious march;
For in this region of the learn'd and wise,
The pettiness and pride of nature dwell.
Then what is Genius, with a heart unsound?
One noble action doth outweigh it all
With more than priceless value. Meek and pure,
Who lives in humble earnestness, partakes
His lot with cheerful eye, and loving heart,
And sees a Brotherhood in all mankind;
Whose Teachers are the Elements, whose lore,
A Bible on the soul impress'd,—that man,
Howe'er undignified his earthly doom
Appear, is far more glorious in the eye
Of Angels, than the spirit-ruling host
Of learning, who have never learnt the way
To virtue, and the heart's true nobleness.—
But this I would not that the earth believed;
Corruption is the rankling seed I sow,
And aye abundant may the harvest bloom!
That mighty lever which has moved the world,
The Press of England, from its dreadless source
Of living action, here begins to shake
The far-off Isles, and awe the utmost Globe!
The magic of its might no tongue can tell!
Dark, deep, and silent oft, but ever felt;
Mix'd with the mind, and feeding with a food
Of thought, the moral being of a Soul.
A trackless Agent, a terrific Power,
It could have half annihilated Hell
And her great Denizens, by glorious sway:
But oft, so false, so abject, and so foul
It grows,—no blasting pestilence e'er shed
Such ruin, as a tainted Press contrives
For thought and feeling, when its poison works:
This wrecks the body,—that can havoc souls;
And who shall heal them? Let thy Temples rise,
Britannia! they are but satiric piles
Of sanctity, while poison from thy Press
Is pour'd, and on its lying magic live
Thy thousand vulgar, who heart-famish'd seem,
When Slander feeds not with a foul excess
Their appetite for infamy. The sun
Not surer where his deadly rage extends
The fierceness of a burning nature proves,
Than pages of pollution, sent from hour
To hour, across an Empire's heart, awake
A tinge of sentiment and hue of thought
In many, till they act the crimes they read.
The Press of England, from its dreadless source
Of living action, here begins to shake
The far-off Isles, and awe the utmost Globe!
The magic of its might no tongue can tell!
Dark, deep, and silent oft, but ever felt;
Mix'd with the mind, and feeding with a food
Of thought, the moral being of a Soul.
A trackless Agent, a terrific Power,
It could have half annihilated Hell
And her great Denizens, by glorious sway:
But oft, so false, so abject, and so foul
It grows,—no blasting pestilence e'er shed
Such ruin, as a tainted Press contrives
For thought and feeling, when its poison works:
This wrecks the body,—that can havoc souls;
And who shall heal them? Let thy Temples rise,
Britannia! they are but satiric piles
Of sanctity, while poison from thy Press
Is pour'd, and on its lying magic live
Thy thousand vulgar, who heart-famish'd seem,
When Slander feeds not with a foul excess
Their appetite for infamy. The sun
Not surer where his deadly rage extends
The fierceness of a burning nature proves,
Than pages of pollution, sent from hour
To hour, across an Empire's heart, awake
A tinge of sentiment and hue of thought
In many, till they act the crimes they read.
E'en now mine eye a dismal wretch beholds
By fate or fortune for a villain doom'd;
In whom is center'd all which can profane
The name of Man! ignoble as the dust,
And rocky-hearted as a wretch can be:
And him with what delight a Devil views
Heap lie on lie with such remorseless speed,
And so envenom with his viper-touch
The good and glorious, that all Virtue seems
To wither, and all Wisdom to be dead
Awhile, beneath the blackness of his taint!
Yea! such a Monster do I see destroy
The healthful nature of the noblest mind:
And yet live on his execrable life,
And like a plague-spot spread his soul abroad
Till millions turn as tainted as his own!
By fate or fortune for a villain doom'd;
In whom is center'd all which can profane
The name of Man! ignoble as the dust,
And rocky-hearted as a wretch can be:
And him with what delight a Devil views
Heap lie on lie with such remorseless speed,
And so envenom with his viper-touch
The good and glorious, that all Virtue seems
To wither, and all Wisdom to be dead
Awhile, beneath the blackness of his taint!
Yea! such a Monster do I see destroy
The healthful nature of the noblest mind:
And yet live on his execrable life,
And like a plague-spot spread his soul abroad
Till millions turn as tainted as his own!
How false, and yet how fair, are scenes of man!
Between what is, and that which seems to be,
How dark a gap of untold diff'rence frowns!
There is a hollowness in human things
Of pride or pleasure born, which none confess
Yet all must ever feel. The moments tuned
To highest happiness, have strings which jar
Upon some inward sense; the sweetest cup
Enchanted Ecstasy can drink, will leave
A humbling dreg of bitterness behind.
But this sad vict'ry of unrestful thought,
This cloud-tint on the brightest firmament
Of Joy, this deep abyss of discontent
Beyond a universe to fill!—though felt
Is rarely own'd; for Pride steps in, and puts
A smile upon the cheek, and in the eye
Delusion; making Love, or Wealth, or Fame
The seeming aspect of Perfection wear;
And thus, deceiving each, and each deceived,
Men gild the hour, and call it happiness!
Between what is, and that which seems to be,
How dark a gap of untold diff'rence frowns!
There is a hollowness in human things
Of pride or pleasure born, which none confess
Yet all must ever feel. The moments tuned
To highest happiness, have strings which jar
Upon some inward sense; the sweetest cup
Enchanted Ecstasy can drink, will leave
A humbling dreg of bitterness behind.
But this sad vict'ry of unrestful thought,
This cloud-tint on the brightest firmament
Of Joy, this deep abyss of discontent
Beyond a universe to fill!—though felt
Is rarely own'd; for Pride steps in, and puts
A smile upon the cheek, and in the eye
Delusion; making Love, or Wealth, or Fame
The seeming aspect of Perfection wear;
And thus, deceiving each, and each deceived,
Men gild the hour, and call it happiness!
375
A proof is here: a chamber long and large,
Of regal air, and with o'erbranching lights,
From the high ceiling pouring down a noon
Of lustre, which doth goldenly bedeck
The costliness around. Amid it, group'd
For converse, meet a host of either sex;
And who are they?—the race Ambition bred,
And madden'd, till they won the envied wreath.
Oh! what a demon-fire, what parching heat
Through blood and spirit, is the lust of Fame!
No tiger-passion tearing at the soul,
So dreadful as the ever-gnawing wish
For reputation! How it burns the heart
Away, and blisters up the health of life!
Yet, such have many in this blended host
Endured; but now, as high and dominant
As Potentates and intellectual Lords
They reign upon their thrones of Mind, and live
The worshipp'd of the Land. But are they blest
With that deep fulness of supreme delight
Which young Imagination's eye portray'd?
Oh, Thou! bewilder'd with the mock of fame,
Come here, and prove what rottenness of heart,
What fev'rous envy, what corrosive sense
Of emulation, in these glorious dwell,
What under-currents in this scene of joy!
Smiles in the surface, but a coward-tide
Of jealousy beneath. Hark to the gibe
O Hate! the tart dissent, the damning sneer;
To such a littleness the mighty fall!
Behold it, Ignorance! thy blush recall,
And take a happier name. But what a feast
Of vengeance doth my gloomy nature find
In this false scene, where they whom Wisdom crowns,
And Praise exalts, whose spirits are abroad
In this great world, and so angelic seem,
Beneath the shadow of Almighty wings
The simple think they mused sublime!—betray
The more than weakness of unworthy man,
When nature's venom quickens at the heart,
Or stern reality some feeling tries.
Of regal air, and with o'erbranching lights,
From the high ceiling pouring down a noon
Of lustre, which doth goldenly bedeck
The costliness around. Amid it, group'd
For converse, meet a host of either sex;
And who are they?—the race Ambition bred,
And madden'd, till they won the envied wreath.
Oh! what a demon-fire, what parching heat
Through blood and spirit, is the lust of Fame!
No tiger-passion tearing at the soul,
So dreadful as the ever-gnawing wish
For reputation! How it burns the heart
Away, and blisters up the health of life!
Yet, such have many in this blended host
Endured; but now, as high and dominant
As Potentates and intellectual Lords
They reign upon their thrones of Mind, and live
The worshipp'd of the Land. But are they blest
With that deep fulness of supreme delight
Which young Imagination's eye portray'd?
Oh, Thou! bewilder'd with the mock of fame,
Come here, and prove what rottenness of heart,
What fev'rous envy, what corrosive sense
Of emulation, in these glorious dwell,
What under-currents in this scene of joy!
Smiles in the surface, but a coward-tide
Of jealousy beneath. Hark to the gibe
O Hate! the tart dissent, the damning sneer;
To such a littleness the mighty fall!
Behold it, Ignorance! thy blush recall,
And take a happier name. But what a feast
Of vengeance doth my gloomy nature find
In this false scene, where they whom Wisdom crowns,
And Praise exalts, whose spirits are abroad
In this great world, and so angelic seem,
Beneath the shadow of Almighty wings
The simple think they mused sublime!—betray
The more than weakness of unworthy man,
When nature's venom quickens at the heart,
Or stern reality some feeling tries.
And thou! just gilded with a public smile,
Thy mind is dancing on a sea of thoughts
Which revel onward with delirious joy:
For now, the hackney'd wonder of the Night
Thou art, and by the music of fair tongues
Enchanted; flatt'rers feed thine ears with praise,
And clog it into deafness. Hear'st thou not
How Envy whispers off thy bloom of fame,
Till Meanness in false robe arrayeth thee!
Thou fool of flatt'ry! this the glorious doom
Ambition sought! Is Greatness only great,
When flatter'd, known, and seen? Canst thou so bend,
And be thus derogate? Wilt thou, whose eye
The stars can read, with heaven and earth commune,
Who feel'st the fibres of Creation's heart
In trembling harmony with thine, descend
To lose thy loftiness in this dull scene?
Back to thy haunts! the Ocean and the Winds
Attend thee; Nature is thy temple; kneel,
And worship in her mighty solitude.
Look up! and learn a lesson of the Sun,
That bright Enchanter of the moving heavens!
Lonely and lofty in his orb sublime,
But acting ever;—such is noble fame.
Thy mind is dancing on a sea of thoughts
Which revel onward with delirious joy:
For now, the hackney'd wonder of the Night
Thou art, and by the music of fair tongues
Enchanted; flatt'rers feed thine ears with praise,
And clog it into deafness. Hear'st thou not
How Envy whispers off thy bloom of fame,
Till Meanness in false robe arrayeth thee!
Thou fool of flatt'ry! this the glorious doom
Ambition sought! Is Greatness only great,
When flatter'd, known, and seen? Canst thou so bend,
And be thus derogate? Wilt thou, whose eye
The stars can read, with heaven and earth commune,
Who feel'st the fibres of Creation's heart
In trembling harmony with thine, descend
To lose thy loftiness in this dull scene?
Back to thy haunts! the Ocean and the Winds
Attend thee; Nature is thy temple; kneel,
And worship in her mighty solitude.
Look up! and learn a lesson of the Sun,
That bright Enchanter of the moving heavens!
Lonely and lofty in his orb sublime,
But acting ever;—such is noble fame.
Some gracious, grand, and most accomplish'd few,
Each with a little kingdom in his brain,
Who club together to recast the world
And love so many that they care for none,—
These have I witness'd, laughing at their realms,
Of airy texture, by ambition wove.
But here is madness, far outfooling this!
For lo! the den whence Oracles proceed
Like exhalations from the noisome earth
That, once inbreathed, are death! This wonderful
Perfection of the vile, surpasseth all
Temptation, in my darkest mood, employs!
Yes, here are Spirits, such as hell-thrones grace,
Convened to disinherit God of souls,
And on the blasphemous attempt of pride
Erect a dynasty of Sense supreme;
Each man a god unto himself, let loose
In all the blinding wantonness of will.
And this is “freedom,” dignified for Man!
When, having fed the agonies of life
By years of being, weary, worn, and sad,
To close existence in the clay he treads,
A soulless, dreamless, unimagined Nought?
Each with a little kingdom in his brain,
Who club together to recast the world
And love so many that they care for none,—
These have I witness'd, laughing at their realms,
Of airy texture, by ambition wove.
But here is madness, far outfooling this!
For lo! the den whence Oracles proceed
Like exhalations from the noisome earth
That, once inbreathed, are death! This wonderful
Perfection of the vile, surpasseth all
Temptation, in my darkest mood, employs!
Yes, here are Spirits, such as hell-thrones grace,
Convened to disinherit God of souls,
And on the blasphemous attempt of pride
Erect a dynasty of Sense supreme;
Each man a god unto himself, let loose
In all the blinding wantonness of will.
And this is “freedom,” dignified for Man!
When, having fed the agonies of life
By years of being, weary, worn, and sad,
To close existence in the clay he treads,
A soulless, dreamless, unimagined Nought?
Where sleep the thunders of convicting Wrath?
Devils believe, and tremble; men deny
And laugh! How enviably endow'd they are!
We bow'd and blasted by opposeless heaven,
Abhor the Godhead, but his name confess;
But things of earth, infatuated, vile,
Too darken'd to dissect a flower, or tell
The meaning of an atom which they tread,
Would dare annihilate the living God
Above, and mock the pangs of Hell below!
Oh! all, and more than Satan could desire,
Blind Teachers of the blind! could this world dare
To wallow in the darkness that ye breed,
To such, the heathen would be heavenly-wise;
For they, by revelation unillumed,
Soar'd out of sense, and in the Skies their gods
Enthroned, or heard them on the haunted Deep,
Or in the howling of the homeless Winds.
A cloud was on them; but a Spark within
Yet lived, and saved them from eclipse of soul.
For admiration must be felt, while Power
Existeth; on it man will gaze, and learn
The vast dependence for his lot ordain'd;
Dread Shadows of an omnipresent One
Move round him; in the march of Elements
His steps are traced, and Truth is ever by,
To tread them deep, and track them on to God.
Devils believe, and tremble; men deny
And laugh! How enviably endow'd they are!
We bow'd and blasted by opposeless heaven,
Abhor the Godhead, but his name confess;
But things of earth, infatuated, vile,
Too darken'd to dissect a flower, or tell
The meaning of an atom which they tread,
Would dare annihilate the living God
Above, and mock the pangs of Hell below!
Oh! all, and more than Satan could desire,
Blind Teachers of the blind! could this world dare
To wallow in the darkness that ye breed,
To such, the heathen would be heavenly-wise;
376
Soar'd out of sense, and in the Skies their gods
Enthroned, or heard them on the haunted Deep,
Or in the howling of the homeless Winds.
A cloud was on them; but a Spark within
Yet lived, and saved them from eclipse of soul.
For admiration must be felt, while Power
Existeth; on it man will gaze, and learn
The vast dependence for his lot ordain'd;
Dread Shadows of an omnipresent One
Move round him; in the march of Elements
His steps are traced, and Truth is ever by,
To tread them deep, and track them on to God.
And hence, these murd'rers of the soul are weak
In process; too infernal is the Creed
They fashion; far too poor in its exchange
For that divineness of redeeming Love
They combat; since with freedom they are free,—
As billows toss'd upon the giant main,
As feathers on the travell'd whirlwind borne
Are free!—No, rather some corruptive arts
Of saintly mixture; or the glozing tongue
Of hypocrites, with innovating clouds
Of doctrine—would I at their work behold,
Than the rash vileness of blaspheming fools.
A few they poison, but re-action wakes!
For one they ruin, thousands are sublimed
To holy vengeance, which to hell may prove,
Excess of evil is the source of good.
In process; too infernal is the Creed
They fashion; far too poor in its exchange
For that divineness of redeeming Love
They combat; since with freedom they are free,—
As billows toss'd upon the giant main,
As feathers on the travell'd whirlwind borne
Are free!—No, rather some corruptive arts
Of saintly mixture; or the glozing tongue
Of hypocrites, with innovating clouds
Of doctrine—would I at their work behold,
Than the rash vileness of blaspheming fools.
A few they poison, but re-action wakes!
For one they ruin, thousands are sublimed
To holy vengeance, which to hell may prove,
Excess of evil is the source of good.
But lo! again the calm-eyed Evening comes:
The heavens are flaming with a rosy sea
Of splendour, richly-deep; and, floating on,
It reddens round the dying sun, who glares
With fierce redundancy awhile, then sinks
Away, like glory from Ambition's eye.
Behind him, many a dream of old Romance
Will cry, “What rocks, and hills, and waves of light!
Magnificent confusion! such as beam'd
When the rash boy-god charioted the skies
And made a burning chaos of the clouds!”
But this hath ended: and a breathless calm,
As though eternity were closing round
The World, to let it faint in light away,
Creeps o'er the earth, like slumber shed on air.
The heavens are flaming with a rosy sea
Of splendour, richly-deep; and, floating on,
It reddens round the dying sun, who glares
With fierce redundancy awhile, then sinks
Away, like glory from Ambition's eye.
Behind him, many a dream of old Romance
Will cry, “What rocks, and hills, and waves of light!
Magnificent confusion! such as beam'd
When the rash boy-god charioted the skies
And made a burning chaos of the clouds!”
But this hath ended: and a breathless calm,
As though eternity were closing round
The World, to let it faint in light away,
Creeps o'er the earth, like slumber shed on air.
And well, lone pilgrim, at the shaded hour
Of twilight, when a golden stillness reigns,
Like lustre from a far-off angel-host
Reflected, and the unoffending breeze
Hath music which the day-wind seldom brings,
May sadness oversteal thee; and thy heart
Unspeakably with yearning fancies glow.
Of life, a living Vision; and the hour
Which ends it, like a cloudy dream of Air
That vanisheth to some allotted world;
Of faded youth, and unforgotten friends
Whose tombstones over life a shadow fling
No sunshine can efface; of all which makes
The lone Heart wander to a dream-like home
Of sadness, mortal! thou didst ponder now.
Of twilight, when a golden stillness reigns,
Like lustre from a far-off angel-host
Reflected, and the unoffending breeze
Hath music which the day-wind seldom brings,
May sadness oversteal thee; and thy heart
Unspeakably with yearning fancies glow.
Of life, a living Vision; and the hour
Which ends it, like a cloudy dream of Air
That vanisheth to some allotted world;
Of faded youth, and unforgotten friends
Whose tombstones over life a shadow fling
No sunshine can efface; of all which makes
The lone Heart wander to a dream-like home
Of sadness, mortal! thou didst ponder now.
Such will not ever be: thy death-gloom pierced,
And awful on the unimprison'd soul
A sun-burst of revealing Truth will blaze!
Wherein these mysteries of sight and sense
Shall all unravell'd lie.—The tender night
With tragic darkness robed; the lone sweet star,
Oft worshipp'd for a beatific Orb
Where bright Immortals dwell; the moon's romance;
The sun's enchantment, when He wakes to smile
The day abroad, or preach departing life
By his deep setting; with the spirit-tone
Of winds, the Ocean's ever-mutt'ring waves,
And all which thus predominantly awes
Or saddens feeling, shall itself resolve
In spiritual completion. Then, thy tear
Ecstatic, radiant with adoring thought;
Each thrill of rapture, like a viewless chain
From heaven let down and link'd around the soul,—
Shall be translated by unbodied Mind.
Meanwhile, be mine to veil thee with a show
Of outward Things; and sensualise the will,
Whose promptings, more than conscience, men obey.
And awful on the unimprison'd soul
A sun-burst of revealing Truth will blaze!
Wherein these mysteries of sight and sense
Shall all unravell'd lie.—The tender night
With tragic darkness robed; the lone sweet star,
Oft worshipp'd for a beatific Orb
Where bright Immortals dwell; the moon's romance;
The sun's enchantment, when He wakes to smile
The day abroad, or preach departing life
By his deep setting; with the spirit-tone
Of winds, the Ocean's ever-mutt'ring waves,
And all which thus predominantly awes
Or saddens feeling, shall itself resolve
In spiritual completion. Then, thy tear
Ecstatic, radiant with adoring thought;
Each thrill of rapture, like a viewless chain
From heaven let down and link'd around the soul,—
Shall be translated by unbodied Mind.
Meanwhile, be mine to veil thee with a show
Of outward Things; and sensualise the will,
Whose promptings, more than conscience, men obey.
Now hath dead Midnight hush'd the world: it lies
Suffused with freshness, like a meadow steep'd
In verdant quiet, when the flood hath pass'd.
All deeply pure, impalpably divine
A Something o'er this hour prevails, which men
Call Awe, which doth not in their day-life reign;
For then, a flush'd existence, and a false
Enchantment gathers round the rising Hours
To hue their destiny. But Midnight cools
The spirit into thinking calm; then sounds
Come o'er it with a deeper thrill; and scenes
Which in the day a common gladness wore,
Grow solemn; then the airy leaf-notes mourn:
And boughs, like hearse-plumes, wave their shadowy pomp.
By day the present, but at night the past
Prevails; a moonlight-tenderness o'er things
Departed, flings a fond and dream-like gloom;
And then, Life takes a feeling from the soul,
And in earth's tints of paradise can trace
A beauty which unkinder hours deny;—
The harp is shatter'd, but the sounds remain!
Suffused with freshness, like a meadow steep'd
In verdant quiet, when the flood hath pass'd.
All deeply pure, impalpably divine
A Something o'er this hour prevails, which men
Call Awe, which doth not in their day-life reign;
For then, a flush'd existence, and a false
Enchantment gathers round the rising Hours
To hue their destiny. But Midnight cools
The spirit into thinking calm; then sounds
Come o'er it with a deeper thrill; and scenes
Which in the day a common gladness wore,
Grow solemn; then the airy leaf-notes mourn:
And boughs, like hearse-plumes, wave their shadowy pomp.
By day the present, but at night the past
Prevails; a moonlight-tenderness o'er things
Departed, flings a fond and dream-like gloom;
And then, Life takes a feeling from the soul,
And in earth's tints of paradise can trace
377
The harp is shatter'd, but the sounds remain!
Yet, 'tis not that the tenderness of tears
Awakes; that Childhood smiles upon the thought
As looks an Angel through the veil of dreams;
It is not that the heart-remember'd rise
From early tombs, to be once more beloved
And featured, till the deadness of the dead
In men'ry's vision-life is half forgot:
`Tis not such charm alone; nor that which frowns
From Temple, sky, or everlasting Hill
Which darkness hath enrobed. But that deep sense
Which he who pierces through the lonesome air
Far o'er the mute immeasurable sky
Where travel worlds, for adoration feels,
Making the midnight holy! Silent Orbs!
On me no mystic awfulness ye shed;
For when unblasted, I beheld ye rise
And glitter into being, bright and pure,
Like radiant echoes of Almighty will!
But mortals, dimly aided by their dreams,
Behold ye, nursing the unutter'd thought,
With pond'ring hope and apprehensive awe.
They wonder, if the unearth'd Spirit dwells
Among ye! where the seraph-mansions blaze,
And who amid them are the bright and blest!
Awakes; that Childhood smiles upon the thought
As looks an Angel through the veil of dreams;
It is not that the heart-remember'd rise
From early tombs, to be once more beloved
And featured, till the deadness of the dead
In men'ry's vision-life is half forgot:
`Tis not such charm alone; nor that which frowns
From Temple, sky, or everlasting Hill
Which darkness hath enrobed. But that deep sense
Which he who pierces through the lonesome air
Far o'er the mute immeasurable sky
Where travel worlds, for adoration feels,
Making the midnight holy! Silent Orbs!
On me no mystic awfulness ye shed;
For when unblasted, I beheld ye rise
And glitter into being, bright and pure,
Like radiant echoes of Almighty will!
But mortals, dimly aided by their dreams,
Behold ye, nursing the unutter'd thought,
With pond'ring hope and apprehensive awe.
They wonder, if the unearth'd Spirit dwells
Among ye! where the seraph-mansions blaze,
And who amid them are the bright and blest!
And is there not a spirit-World? The blind
May question, and the mocking idiot laugh;
But in her, round her, wheresoe'er she move,
Mortality might reap immortal faith,
And feel what cannot in the flesh be known.
In the wild Mystery of earth and air,
Sun, moon, and star, and the unslumb'ring sea,
Science might learn far more than Sense adores,
And by thy panting for the unattain'd
On earth; by longings which no language speak;
By the dread torture of o'ermastering Doubt;
By thirst for Beauty, such as eye ne'er saw
And yet is ever mirror'd on the mind;
By Love, in her rich heavenliness array'd;
By Guilt and Conscience, that terrific Pair
Who make the Dead to mutter from their tombs
Or colour Nature with the hues of hell!
By all the fire and frenzy of a soul
Guilty with crime, or agonised by dread,
And by that voice where God the Speaker is,—
Thy doom, oh mortal! whatsoe'er thy wish
In the black deep of thine unfathom'd heart,
Is deathless, as the damnèd Angels are!
May question, and the mocking idiot laugh;
But in her, round her, wheresoe'er she move,
Mortality might reap immortal faith,
And feel what cannot in the flesh be known.
In the wild Mystery of earth and air,
Sun, moon, and star, and the unslumb'ring sea,
Science might learn far more than Sense adores,
And by thy panting for the unattain'd
On earth; by longings which no language speak;
By the dread torture of o'ermastering Doubt;
By thirst for Beauty, such as eye ne'er saw
And yet is ever mirror'd on the mind;
By Love, in her rich heavenliness array'd;
By Guilt and Conscience, that terrific Pair
Who make the Dead to mutter from their tombs
Or colour Nature with the hues of hell!
By all the fire and frenzy of a soul
Guilty with crime, or agonised by dread,
And by that voice where God the Speaker is,—
Thy doom, oh mortal! whatsoe'er thy wish
In the black deep of thine unfathom'd heart,
Is deathless, as the damnèd Angels are!
Now is mine hour, the hour of conflict, come,
When the dark Future over nature frowns
Like destiny; now spirit is itself
Again, and Thought, within her cell retired,
Doth hold dim converse with Eternal Things.
Many are musing now! and sighs are born,
In slow succession, like unwilling tears
Prophetic and profound. The worldling sees
In darkness, what the day could not reveal,—
Himself! and sorrows at the faithful view.
“Another day eternal made! O Time
And Destiny, how swift ye roll the world
Along, to which such eager myriads cling
In duty, fondness, or despair! Alas!
Too much we make, yet far too little think
Of time: but, oh, at this untroubled hour
How awfully mine inward visions rise!
Infinity is round me; and I feel
A dampness on my spirit, and a dark
Unearthliness of thought; the dead awake,
Unlock their tombs, and tell me I must die!”
What sadness here! and what a wounded soul;
And yet the World shall his physician be!
When the dark Future over nature frowns
Like destiny; now spirit is itself
Again, and Thought, within her cell retired,
Doth hold dim converse with Eternal Things.
Many are musing now! and sighs are born,
In slow succession, like unwilling tears
Prophetic and profound. The worldling sees
In darkness, what the day could not reveal,—
Himself! and sorrows at the faithful view.
“Another day eternal made! O Time
And Destiny, how swift ye roll the world
Along, to which such eager myriads cling
In duty, fondness, or despair! Alas!
Too much we make, yet far too little think
Of time: but, oh, at this untroubled hour
How awfully mine inward visions rise!
Infinity is round me; and I feel
A dampness on my spirit, and a dark
Unearthliness of thought; the dead awake,
Unlock their tombs, and tell me I must die!”
What sadness here! and what a wounded soul;
And yet the World shall his physician be!
But, hark! the moaning voice of deep-tongued bells
Herald the midnight o'er the drowsy world.
Now Earth is one day older; time itself
More awful, and the dead to Hades gone.
Earth, Heaven, and Hell, have felt this fleeted day,
That now is chronicled for Judgment! Morn
Hath look'd on many with her radiant eye
Whose brows shall never meet Her beam again!
Another Sun, another System works
Around them; they who dwelt in distant climes,
And diff'rent aspect wore, the friend and foe,
The loveless and the loving, all who once
Through time, or circumstance, estranged and far
Existed,—now are met where nothing more
Is alien, but one Darkness, or one Light,
As vice or virtue doom'd them. Oh! ye sad
And discontented, weary, worn, and grey;
Thou martyr of the melancholy hour
Loving the silence for the dream it gave,
Sick of the world, and sighing for a tomb;
And ye, on whom this Life a burden lay,
Yet often loosed it when the dying bell
Of Midnight, like a warning from the grave
Went in its sadness through the soul,—your gaze
Doth witness what your nature never dreamt;
The Veil is torn, the Mystery unseal'd,
And ye are men no more! Methinks a Voice
From many, would revisit this far world!
But no:—the Dust is faithful to its dead,
And they are silent, till the Trumpet speak!
Herald the midnight o'er the drowsy world.
Now Earth is one day older; time itself
More awful, and the dead to Hades gone.
Earth, Heaven, and Hell, have felt this fleeted day,
That now is chronicled for Judgment! Morn
Hath look'd on many with her radiant eye
Whose brows shall never meet Her beam again!
Another Sun, another System works
Around them; they who dwelt in distant climes,
And diff'rent aspect wore, the friend and foe,
The loveless and the loving, all who once
Through time, or circumstance, estranged and far
Existed,—now are met where nothing more
Is alien, but one Darkness, or one Light,
As vice or virtue doom'd them. Oh! ye sad
And discontented, weary, worn, and grey;
Thou martyr of the melancholy hour
Loving the silence for the dream it gave,
Sick of the world, and sighing for a tomb;
And ye, on whom this Life a burden lay,
Yet often loosed it when the dying bell
Of Midnight, like a warning from the grave
Went in its sadness through the soul,—your gaze
Doth witness what your nature never dreamt;
The Veil is torn, the Mystery unseal'd,
And ye are men no more! Methinks a Voice
From many, would revisit this far world!
But no:—the Dust is faithful to its dead,
And they are silent, till the Trumpet speak!
378
And now, my wand'rings dark though this free Isle
Are o'er; through town and village, house and street,
By virtue of my being, have I roam'd,
A sightless Presence, an unshadow'd Power,
An undream'd Watcher moving round the hearts
Of men, and looking into depths of soul
Where none but Hell, and the Immortals gaze.
The sights which none have seen; the voices none
Have heard, with all the agony and glow,
The longings, workings, and unrestful strife
Of passion, mingled in the sleepless mind,
And fever'd into what a life is named,—
These have I witness'd; and on what thou art,
And wert, and might'st have been, heaven-favour'd Land!
Reflected, weighing thee for future worlds.—
For future worlds! each day and hour, thy dead
Are there; each moment is a Hell or Heaven
To many of thy dust. Thou bear'st the awe
Of Destiny; as on the earth thy power
Hath stamp'd its mightiness on every realm,
Printing the roll of Time with many a track
Of gloom and glory, havoc or renown,
So, when the Universe is roll'd away
Beneath the shadow of Almighty frown,
Eternity shall chronicle thy name
For wonder; it will be a sign in heaven!
Are o'er; through town and village, house and street,
By virtue of my being, have I roam'd,
A sightless Presence, an unshadow'd Power,
An undream'd Watcher moving round the hearts
Of men, and looking into depths of soul
Where none but Hell, and the Immortals gaze.
The sights which none have seen; the voices none
Have heard, with all the agony and glow,
The longings, workings, and unrestful strife
Of passion, mingled in the sleepless mind,
And fever'd into what a life is named,—
These have I witness'd; and on what thou art,
And wert, and might'st have been, heaven-favour'd Land!
Reflected, weighing thee for future worlds.—
For future worlds! each day and hour, thy dead
Are there; each moment is a Hell or Heaven
To many of thy dust. Thou bear'st the awe
Of Destiny; as on the earth thy power
Hath stamp'd its mightiness on every realm,
Printing the roll of Time with many a track
Of gloom and glory, havoc or renown,
So, when the Universe is roll'd away
Beneath the shadow of Almighty frown,
Eternity shall chronicle thy name
For wonder; it will be a sign in heaven!
Then speed thee onward in thy vaunting course
Of empire; let no dream of Judgment shade
Thy soul, or touch thee with a solemn fear:
Plunge in the future! let the past be dead
To thee; for when shall England's sceptre fail?
Thus dare, and do, and perish in thy dream!
Ye buried Empires, which have braved the world,
Rise from your tombs, and speak! for once I mark'd
Your palmy greatness; sea-famed Tyre I saw
When ocean cower'd beneath her vassal-ships;
And hoar Chaldea's hundred-gated Queen
In high-wall'd glory! Tell me, what are they?
And she, earth's ancient tyranness, vast Rome,
The rolling of her battle-cars, the voice
Of Scipio, and the sound of Cæsar's march,
Did I not hear, when Kingdoms were her slaves?
And thou, the fairy-isled, forsaken Greece!
When Sage and Bard, and battle-wreaths, were thine,
When all which centuries glorified could yield
Was consecrated to thy vast renown,
I walk'd thy streets, and prophesied thy doom!
Thus fell the mighty;—shall not Britain fall?
Of empire; let no dream of Judgment shade
Thy soul, or touch thee with a solemn fear:
Plunge in the future! let the past be dead
To thee; for when shall England's sceptre fail?
Thus dare, and do, and perish in thy dream!
Ye buried Empires, which have braved the world,
Rise from your tombs, and speak! for once I mark'd
Your palmy greatness; sea-famed Tyre I saw
When ocean cower'd beneath her vassal-ships;
And hoar Chaldea's hundred-gated Queen
In high-wall'd glory! Tell me, what are they?
And she, earth's ancient tyranness, vast Rome,
The rolling of her battle-cars, the voice
Of Scipio, and the sound of Cæsar's march,
Did I not hear, when Kingdoms were her slaves?
And thou, the fairy-isled, forsaken Greece!
When Sage and Bard, and battle-wreaths, were thine,
When all which centuries glorified could yield
Was consecrated to thy vast renown,
I walk'd thy streets, and prophesied thy doom!
Thus fell the mighty;—shall not Britain fall?
But lo! the heavens are ominously black,
Methinks, as though they frown'd a dark response.
Erewhile, and star-troops in their island-glow
Around the wan Enchantress of the skies
Appear'd, while lovingly the azure lay
Between them, softer than the lid of sleep.
But now, all pregnant with portentous ire,
The clouds have muffled up the pomp of night:
There is a gasping in the heated air,
A wing-like flutter in the tim'rous boughs,
And sigh, and sound, from out the heart of Things
Invisible, breathed forth; the Storm awakes!
And tones of thunder thrill the heart of Earth;
The lightnings cleave the clouds, and north to south,
And east to west, a tale of Darkness tell!
Hark! as the wearied echoes howl themselves
Away, the clamours of the midnight-sea,
Beneath yon cliff in thund'ring chorus rise,
While she is waved with terror! billows heave
Their blackness in the wind, and, bounding on
In vaulting madness, beat the rocky shore
Incessant, till it whitens with their foam.
Methinks, as though they frown'd a dark response.
Erewhile, and star-troops in their island-glow
Around the wan Enchantress of the skies
Appear'd, while lovingly the azure lay
Between them, softer than the lid of sleep.
But now, all pregnant with portentous ire,
The clouds have muffled up the pomp of night:
There is a gasping in the heated air,
A wing-like flutter in the tim'rous boughs,
And sigh, and sound, from out the heart of Things
Invisible, breathed forth; the Storm awakes!
And tones of thunder thrill the heart of Earth;
The lightnings cleave the clouds, and north to south,
And east to west, a tale of Darkness tell!
Hark! as the wearied echoes howl themselves
Away, the clamours of the midnight-sea,
Beneath yon cliff in thund'ring chorus rise,
While she is waved with terror! billows heave
Their blackness in the wind, and, bounding on
In vaulting madness, beat the rocky shore
Incessant, till it whitens with their foam.
I love this passion of the Elements,
This mimicry of chaos, in their might
Of storm! And here, in my lone awfulness
While ev'ry cloud a thunder-hymn repeats,
Earth throbs, and Nature in convulsion reels,
Farewell to England! Into other climes
My flight I wing, but round her cast that spell
I weave for Nations till their doom arrive.
And come it shall! When on this guardian-cliff
Again I stand, the whirlwind and the wrath
Of Desolation will have swept all thrones
Away; a darkness, as of old, will reign,
The woods be standing where yon cities tower,
And Ocean wailing for a widow'd Isle!
This mimicry of chaos, in their might
Of storm! And here, in my lone awfulness
While ev'ry cloud a thunder-hymn repeats,
Earth throbs, and Nature in convulsion reels,
Farewell to England! Into other climes
My flight I wing, but round her cast that spell
I weave for Nations till their doom arrive.
And come it shall! When on this guardian-cliff
Again I stand, the whirlwind and the wrath
Of Desolation will have swept all thrones
Away; a darkness, as of old, will reign,
The woods be standing where yon cities tower,
And Ocean wailing for a widow'd Isle!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |