The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton ... Fifth Edition, Corrected and Enlarged. To which are now added Inscriptionum Romanarum Delectus, and An Inaugural Speech As Camden Professor of History, never before published. Together with Memoirs of his Life and Writings; and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Richard Mant |
 | I, II. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | ODE VI. THE SUICIDE. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
|
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton |  |
146
ODE VI. THE SUICIDE.
Beneath the beech, whose branches bare,
Smit with the lightning's livid glare,
O'erhang the craggy road,
And whistle hollow as they wave;
Within a solitary grave,
A Slayer of himself holds his accurs'd abode.
Smit with the lightning's livid glare,
O'erhang the craggy road,
And whistle hollow as they wave;
Within a solitary grave,
A Slayer of himself holds his accurs'd abode.
147
Lower'd the grim morn, in murky dies
Damp mists involv'd the scowling skies,
And dimm'd the struggling day;
As by the brook, that ling'ring laves
Yon rush-grown moor with sable waves,
Full of the dark resolve he took his sullen way.
Damp mists involv'd the scowling skies,
And dimm'd the struggling day;
As by the brook, that ling'ring laves
Yon rush-grown moor with sable waves,
Full of the dark resolve he took his sullen way.
I mark'd his desultory pace,
His gestures strange, and varying face,
With many a mutter'd sound;
And ah! too late aghast I view'd
The reeking blade, the hand embru'd;
He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground.
His gestures strange, and varying face,
148
And ah! too late aghast I view'd
The reeking blade, the hand embru'd;
He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground.
Full many a melancholy night
He watch'd the slow return of light;
And sought the powers of sleep,
To spread a momentary calm
O'er his sad couch, and in the balm
Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep.
He watch'd the slow return of light;
And sought the powers of sleep,
To spread a momentary calm
O'er his sad couch, and in the balm
Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep.
Full oft, unknowing and unknown,
He wore his endless noons alone,
Amid th' autumnal wood:
Oft was he wont, in hasty fit,
Abrupt the social board to quit,
And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling flood.
He wore his endless noons alone,
Amid th' autumnal wood:
Oft was he wont, in hasty fit,
Abrupt the social board to quit,
And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling flood.
149
Beckoning the wretch to torments new,
Despair, for ever in his view,
A spectre pale, appear'd;
While, as the shades of eve arose,
And brought the day's unwelcome close,
More horrible and huge her giant-shape she rear'd.
Despair, for ever in his view,
A spectre pale, appear'd;
While, as the shades of eve arose,
And brought the day's unwelcome close,
More horrible and huge her giant-shape she rear'd.
150
“Is this, mistaken Scorn will cry,
“Is this the youth whose genius high
“Could build the genuine rime?
“Whose bosom mild the favouring Muse
“Had stor'd with all her ample views,
“Parent of fairest deeds, and purposes sublime.”
“Is this the youth whose genius high
“Could build the genuine rime?
“Whose bosom mild the favouring Muse
“Had stor'd with all her ample views,
“Parent of fairest deeds, and purposes sublime.”
Ah! from the Muse that bosom mild
By treacherous magic was beguil'd,
To strike the deathful blow:
She fill'd his soft ingenuous mind
With many a feeling too refin'd,
And rous'd to livelier pangs his wakeful sense of woe.
By treacherous magic was beguil'd,
To strike the deathful blow:
She fill'd his soft ingenuous mind
With many a feeling too refin'd,
And rous'd to livelier pangs his wakeful sense of woe.
Though doom'd hard penury to prove,
And the sharp stings of hopeless love;
To griefs congenial prone,
More wounds than nature gave he knew,
While misery's form his fancy drew
In dark ideal hues, and horrors not its own.
And the sharp stings of hopeless love;
151
More wounds than nature gave he knew,
While misery's form his fancy drew
In dark ideal hues, and horrors not its own.
Then wish not o'er his earthy tomb
The baleful nightshade's lurid bloom
To drop its deadly dew:
Nor oh! forbid the twisted thorn,
That rudely binds his turf forlorn,
With spring's green-swelling buds to vegetate anew.
The baleful nightshade's lurid bloom
To drop its deadly dew:
Nor oh! forbid the twisted thorn,
That rudely binds his turf forlorn,
With spring's green-swelling buds to vegetate anew.
What though no marble-piled bust
Adorn his desolated dust,
With speaking sculpture wrought?
Pity shall woo the weeping Nine,
To build a visionary shrine,
Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions brought.
Adorn his desolated dust,
152
Pity shall woo the weeping Nine,
To build a visionary shrine,
Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions brought.
What though refus'd each chaunted rite?
Here viewless mourners shall delight
To touch the shadowy shell:
And Petrarch's harp, that wept the doom
Of Laura, lost in early bloom,
In many a pensive pause shall seem to ring his knell.
Here viewless mourners shall delight
To touch the shadowy shell:
And Petrarch's harp, that wept the doom
Of Laura, lost in early bloom,
In many a pensive pause shall seem to ring his knell.
To sooth a lone, unhallow'd shade,
This votive dirge sad duty paid,
Within an ivied nook:
Sudden the half-sunk orb of day
More radiant shot its parting ray,
And thus a cherub-voice my charm'd attention took.
This votive dirge sad duty paid,
153
Sudden the half-sunk orb of day
More radiant shot its parting ray,
And thus a cherub-voice my charm'd attention took.
“Forbear, fond bard, thy partial praise;
“Nor thus for guilt in specious lays
“The wreath of glory twine:
“In vain with hues of gorgeous glow
“Gay Fancy gives her vest to flow,
“Unless Truth's matron-hand the floating folds confine.
“Nor thus for guilt in specious lays
“The wreath of glory twine:
“In vain with hues of gorgeous glow
“Gay Fancy gives her vest to flow,
“Unless Truth's matron-hand the floating folds confine.
“Just heaven, man's fortitude to prove,
“Permits through life at large to rove
“The tribes of hell-born Woe:
“Yet the same power that wisely sends
“Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
“Religion's golden shield to break th' embattled foe.
“Permits through life at large to rove
154
“Yet the same power that wisely sends
“Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
“Religion's golden shield to break th' embattled foe.
“Her aid divine had lull'd to rest
“Yon foul self-murtherer's throbbing breast,
“And stay'd the rising storm:
“Had bade the sun of hope appear
“To gild his darken'd hemisphere,
“And give the wonted bloom to nature's blasted form.
“Yon foul self-murtherer's throbbing breast,
“And stay'd the rising storm:
“Had bade the sun of hope appear
“To gild his darken'd hemisphere,
“And give the wonted bloom to nature's blasted form.
155
“Vain man! 'tis heaven's prerogative
“To take, what first it deign'd to give,
“Thy tributary breath:
“In awful expectation plac'd,
“Await thy doom, nor impious haste
“To pluck from God's right hand his instruments of death.”
“To take, what first it deign'd to give,
“Thy tributary breath:
“In awful expectation plac'd,
“Await thy doom, nor impious haste
“To pluck from God's right hand his instruments of death.”
| The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton | |