 | The rural lyre |  |
DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF BRISTOL,
LORD BISHOP OF DERRY.
I wander on, to rural scenes resign'd;
Nor fear the tempests of the furious mind:
For when to transient shelter I am driv'n,
Phœbus awakes that ardour due to Heav'n.
Nor fear the tempests of the furious mind:
For when to transient shelter I am driv'n,
Phœbus awakes that ardour due to Heav'n.
1
BRUTUS:
A FRAGMENT.
ARGUMENT.
Brutus, King of Britain, is said to have been the son of Silvius, the son of Ascanius, the son of Æneas, born in Italy, whence he journeyed into Greece, where he took Prandasas prisoner, who kept the Trojans in slavery; whom he released, on condition of finding ships, &c. for the Trojans to forsake the land; which being complied with, they set sail. Being driven by a storm on the shore, near the place of Brutus's birth, his countrymen recognized each other, and they remained there a year, neglecting to pursue their voyage, in obedience to the Oracle, who had ordered them to steer their course west, beyond the realm of Gaul. Venus, ever the tutelary Goddess of the Trojans, from the days of Anchises, in this interval supplicates Jove in their behalf, and the Poem opens.
The Author offers this humble specimen as a spark, from whence she wishes a body of fire may arise in the imagination of some more able Poet. The Æneid is not so eventful, nor so interesting, but that an Epic Poem from the History of England might vie with it. If the Author may presume to offer an opinion, her opinion will be, that some of the greatest geniuses of this island neglect the choice of subjects best suited to their learning and their natural powers.
Jove, on Olympus, saw his planets roll;
World follow world, fill'd with his mighty soul;
Stars gently gliding through their destin'd course;
Winds waiting when his word should give them force;
Lightnings play harmless round the torrid zone,
Whilst Afric's sons one moment ceas'd to moan—
Himself serene 'mid nature's gen'ral joy,
Heard his lov'd daughter thus deploring Troy:
World follow world, fill'd with his mighty soul;
Stars gently gliding through their destin'd course;
Winds waiting when his word should give them force;
Lightnings play harmless round the torrid zone,
Whilst Afric's sons one moment ceas'd to moan—
Himself serene 'mid nature's gen'ral joy,
Heard his lov'd daughter thus deploring Troy:
2
“Fields of Ausonia!” oft the goddess sigh'd,
“Where my Æneas, where Ascanius died,
How long shall Brutus (last of Trojan name)
There wander, lost to empire and to fame!”
“Where my Æneas, where Ascanius died,
How long shall Brutus (last of Trojan name)
There wander, lost to empire and to fame!”
As Venus mourn'd, a general languor grew,
Earth, parching, fail'd to drink refreshing dew;
Her flow'rets faded on her breast; the trees
Sullenly yielded to the playful breeze;
Herds wander'd lonely; music left the vale;
Creation came not in the summer gale.—
So droop the virtues of the human heart,
When from its region Love is doom'd to part.
Earth, parching, fail'd to drink refreshing dew;
Her flow'rets faded on her breast; the trees
Sullenly yielded to the playful breeze;
Herds wander'd lonely; music left the vale;
Creation came not in the summer gale.—
So droop the virtues of the human heart,
When from its region Love is doom'd to part.
Jove heard his daughter's soft complaint, and frown'd;
Obsequious thunder shook Olympus round:
Venus, though trembling, still was unsubdu'd,
She kneeling wept, her powerful pray'r renew'd:
Obsequious thunder shook Olympus round:
Venus, though trembling, still was unsubdu'd,
She kneeling wept, her powerful pray'r renew'd:
“Almighty Sire! O hear thy anxious child,
On suppliant Venus thou hast ever smil'd—
Pity my Brutus on Ausonia's shore,
Bestow some narrow realm, I ask no more;
Where, as thy awful mandate still denies
The tow'rs of Ilium ever more to rise,
Brutus may, by some gen'rous nation blest,
Wear down a virtuous life, and with us rest.”—
“Thy pray'r thou hast. Thy fav'rite yet shall reign,
And ride triumphant o'er the watry main.”
On suppliant Venus thou hast ever smil'd—
Pity my Brutus on Ausonia's shore,
Bestow some narrow realm, I ask no more;
3
The tow'rs of Ilium ever more to rise,
Brutus may, by some gen'rous nation blest,
Wear down a virtuous life, and with us rest.”—
“Thy pray'r thou hast. Thy fav'rite yet shall reign,
And ride triumphant o'er the watry main.”
“Swear, mighty Ruler, by the Stygian lake,”
Venus exclaim'd.—No more the Thund'rer spake,
Awful the pause he made!—“Goddess, how long
Will mean suspicion to thy sex belong?
Know, child, till confidence in woman shine,
She'll own no truth, nor credit oaths of mine.”
Venus exclaim'd.—No more the Thund'rer spake,
Awful the pause he made!—“Goddess, how long
Will mean suspicion to thy sex belong?
Know, child, till confidence in woman shine,
She'll own no truth, nor credit oaths of mine.”
Venus cast down her beauteous eyes, asham'd;
She felt the injustice her great father blam'd:
He look'd tremendous in his pow'r, and swore
Brutus should hail him on Britannia's shore.
She felt the injustice her great father blam'd:
He look'd tremendous in his pow'r, and swore
Brutus should hail him on Britannia's shore.
Soon wieldy fleets were rang'd along the coast,
With brazen beaks prepar'd to meet an host:
Decks triple-bank'd six rows of oars contain'd:
Their helms they grasp'd, their canvass rightly strain'd;
Whilst Venus from her orb threw down her light,
And cheer'd the pilots through the weary night.
The Tritons laughing to the surface rose;
Inviting sails caught ev'ry wind that blows;
High on the waves the lofty vessels steer'd,
Through the great deep Neptune himself was heard;
Th'impatient god emerging from his cell,
From his white head ten thousand rivers fell;
Around him Zephyr fann'd: beneath him roll'd
The huge Leviathan in burnish'd gold;
His scales reflected rays of mingled light,
As jewels sparkle to the eye of night.
Preceding all, the Nautilus was seen,
Camelion-like, array'd in blue and green,
With humid sail the pathless way to sweep,
Alluring Brutus o'er the treach'rous deep.
With brazen beaks prepar'd to meet an host:
Decks triple-bank'd six rows of oars contain'd:
Their helms they grasp'd, their canvass rightly strain'd;
4
And cheer'd the pilots through the weary night.
The Tritons laughing to the surface rose;
Inviting sails caught ev'ry wind that blows;
High on the waves the lofty vessels steer'd,
Through the great deep Neptune himself was heard;
Th'impatient god emerging from his cell,
From his white head ten thousand rivers fell;
Around him Zephyr fann'd: beneath him roll'd
The huge Leviathan in burnish'd gold;
His scales reflected rays of mingled light,
As jewels sparkle to the eye of night.
Preceding all, the Nautilus was seen,
Camelion-like, array'd in blue and green,
With humid sail the pathless way to sweep,
Alluring Brutus o'er the treach'rous deep.
At length yon venerable cliffs appear'd:
Enchanting minstrelsy around was heard.
By Jove directed, Venus left her doves,
Her thousand Graces, all her infant Loves,
To cool the spirit of relentless Mars,
Or soothe the goddess of the weeping stars;
Whilst she impatient, hasten'd through the skies,
Expressive fervor trembling in her eyes,
Her light hair floated on the western wind,
Her lips dropp'd fragrance to dissolve the mind.
White fleecy clouds conceal'd her beauteous form,
With her sweet breath e'en hoary North grew warm.
Neptune exclaim'd, “O Venus, fairest child,
Jove at thy birth on all creation smil'd;
The Loves coeval with thee fill'd the air,
With thee awoke the perfect, good, and fair;
Harmony, Grace, Affection round thee press'd,
Sublimer Friendship took thee to her breast:
Through everlasting ages thou shalt reign,
To temper human woe, and soften pain.
Thine is the pow'r, when Destinies severe
Torture the heart, or force the guiltless tear,
Or doom to languish on some shore forlorn
The soul's best object, never to return,
Still to prolong remembrance, nurse the fire,
Delude with hope, sweet confidence inspire,
Till the poor lover feels his spirit glow,
His thoughts emblaz'd shoot o'er the wilds of snow;—
Then oceans sink, mountains his vision fly,
And one dear object fills his mental eye!
Th'unbounded universe shall still be thine,
From Zembla's cave to Afric's burning line!”
Enchanting minstrelsy around was heard.
By Jove directed, Venus left her doves,
Her thousand Graces, all her infant Loves,
5
Or soothe the goddess of the weeping stars;
Whilst she impatient, hasten'd through the skies,
Expressive fervor trembling in her eyes,
Her light hair floated on the western wind,
Her lips dropp'd fragrance to dissolve the mind.
White fleecy clouds conceal'd her beauteous form,
With her sweet breath e'en hoary North grew warm.
Neptune exclaim'd, “O Venus, fairest child,
Jove at thy birth on all creation smil'd;
The Loves coeval with thee fill'd the air,
With thee awoke the perfect, good, and fair;
Harmony, Grace, Affection round thee press'd,
Sublimer Friendship took thee to her breast:
Through everlasting ages thou shalt reign,
To temper human woe, and soften pain.
Thine is the pow'r, when Destinies severe
Torture the heart, or force the guiltless tear,
Or doom to languish on some shore forlorn
The soul's best object, never to return,
6
Delude with hope, sweet confidence inspire,
Till the poor lover feels his spirit glow,
His thoughts emblaz'd shoot o'er the wilds of snow;—
Then oceans sink, mountains his vision fly,
And one dear object fills his mental eye!
Th'unbounded universe shall still be thine,
From Zembla's cave to Afric's burning line!”
Venus reply'd, serene with heav'nly grace,
“Brutus, the last of Priam's hapless race,
Approaches: Liberty his steps await;
Yield thou thy trident, 'tis the will of Fate;
Be thou his friend: I to Olympus go:
The goddess will proclaim his deeds below.”
No more she spake, to Neptune low she bow'd;
Her form, reclining on the fleecy cloud
Slowly ascended wrapt in lambent fire,
To seek the bosom of th'eternal Sire!
“Brutus, the last of Priam's hapless race,
Approaches: Liberty his steps await;
Yield thou thy trident, 'tis the will of Fate;
Be thou his friend: I to Olympus go:
The goddess will proclaim his deeds below.”
No more she spake, to Neptune low she bow'd;
Her form, reclining on the fleecy cloud
Slowly ascended wrapt in lambent fire,
To seek the bosom of th'eternal Sire!
The Trojan chief, as on the deck he stood,
Survey'd with joy the rock, the lofty wood.
Vallies progressively reveal'd to sight
Varied the landscape with a wild delight;
He first to land, enraptur'd on the shore
Kneel'd first to Jove, then bad his host adore.
Calm was the sea, still ev'ry object round,
Descending anchors sightless lodging found.
Survey'd with joy the rock, the lofty wood.
7
Varied the landscape with a wild delight;
He first to land, enraptur'd on the shore
Kneel'd first to Jove, then bad his host adore.
Calm was the sea, still ev'ry object round,
Descending anchors sightless lodging found.
“Indulgent Jove! ruler of earth and heav'n!
To thee alone our grateful thanks be giv'n!
Thou hast preserv'd us from the dreary main,
Grant we may here in social bands remain;
In peace, and war, beneath thy awful shield
May Britons learn to conquer, and to yield;
Adore thy laws, near thy eternal shrine
Hang high the shield of Liberty divine!”
To thee alone our grateful thanks be giv'n!
Thou hast preserv'd us from the dreary main,
Grant we may here in social bands remain;
In peace, and war, beneath thy awful shield
May Britons learn to conquer, and to yield;
Adore thy laws, near thy eternal shrine
Hang high the shield of Liberty divine!”
Thrice bow'd the Trojans as their hero pray'd,
Thrice Jove invok'd, imploring future aid;
Religion gave refreshment to the soul:
Whilst 'mid the forest rose a barb'rous howl;
No fruitless fears tranquillity could chase
From the warm bosoms of the weary race.
They sought repose: by contemplation fir'd,
To mark the Isle their chief alone retir'd.
Enamell'd vales, streams stealing through the glade,
Nature in all her vernal charms display'd,
Salubrious air that fills the temp'rate zone
Here gave the human nerve a healthful tone.—
Rapture sublime! such as the artist knows
When wildest beauty o'er his canvass grows,
When, ere his forms can rise, he sees them there,
Pours on his colours, and his forms appear—
So felt the chief, when on a verdant mound
A heav'nly figure stood with glory crown'd:
Her shape majestic, as her mantle flew,
Was cloth'd beneath in robes of azure blue;
The sun's bright rays, reflected by her eyes,
Shot beaming mildness o'er the western skies;
Her bosom hid from day, as Dian's chaste,
A shining cestus clasp'd her slender waist;
Sandals she wore of fabric rare and light,
Wing'd were her feet with pinions long and white,
As near the chief she drew with awful air,
Her right hand graceful held a warlike spear,
Whose shaft bore high the emblem of renown,
The noblest gift of Jove, to man sent down—
No diadem usurp'd, or finely wrought
To press with pain and care, the seat of thought;
But the first cap the sons of order wear,
When kings are fathers, and their subjects dear.
Its splendid surface blaz'd with deathless names
Of heroes panting 'mid despotic flames:
Navies for ever floating rose behind,
And furious lions seem'd to fight the wind.
Her left arm careless fell, in part conceal'd
Liberty's bright invulnerable shield.
Thrice Jove invok'd, imploring future aid;
Religion gave refreshment to the soul:
Whilst 'mid the forest rose a barb'rous howl;
No fruitless fears tranquillity could chase
From the warm bosoms of the weary race.
8
To mark the Isle their chief alone retir'd.
Enamell'd vales, streams stealing through the glade,
Nature in all her vernal charms display'd,
Salubrious air that fills the temp'rate zone
Here gave the human nerve a healthful tone.—
Rapture sublime! such as the artist knows
When wildest beauty o'er his canvass grows,
When, ere his forms can rise, he sees them there,
Pours on his colours, and his forms appear—
So felt the chief, when on a verdant mound
A heav'nly figure stood with glory crown'd:
Her shape majestic, as her mantle flew,
Was cloth'd beneath in robes of azure blue;
The sun's bright rays, reflected by her eyes,
Shot beaming mildness o'er the western skies;
Her bosom hid from day, as Dian's chaste,
A shining cestus clasp'd her slender waist;
Sandals she wore of fabric rare and light,
Wing'd were her feet with pinions long and white,
9
Her right hand graceful held a warlike spear,
Whose shaft bore high the emblem of renown,
The noblest gift of Jove, to man sent down—
No diadem usurp'd, or finely wrought
To press with pain and care, the seat of thought;
But the first cap the sons of order wear,
When kings are fathers, and their subjects dear.
Its splendid surface blaz'd with deathless names
Of heroes panting 'mid despotic flames:
Navies for ever floating rose behind,
And furious lions seem'd to fight the wind.
Her left arm careless fell, in part conceal'd
Liberty's bright invulnerable shield.
The wond'ring Trojan felt emotions new,
Rapture inspired and adoration grew:
But ere his senses fled, he faltering cry'd,
“Who art thou?” “Liberty,” the power reply'd.
Prostrate the warrior fell.—Divine by birth,
Pity was hers; she rais'd him from the earth,
Reviv'd his spirit with a heav'nly smile:
“Know, Brutus, I'm the goddess of this isle:
To guard these shores, and bless the Britons' line,
Venus and Jove here consecrate thee mine,
Their choice omniscient: welcome task to thee,
Since sons of virtue only can be free.
The hydra Anarchy I live to tame:—
She with Licentiousness usurps my name;
Her restless offspring shall misguided roam,
The foe of order ne'er shall find a home.
Let him my blessings never hope to know,
Who sternly bids a brother's blood to flow!
Not such by Jove omnipotent design'd
To meliorate or humanize the mind.
Powers meant to give the social virtues birth,
Immortalize the man, and bless the earth,
Through ether now are flying to this coast,
Where union is my Britons' strongest boast.
Before it traitors and barbarians fall:
Union, my great palladium, conquers all.
Return!—A warlike host with fatal darts
Are marching on to pierce thy Trojans' hearts,
Who pant for Brutus.—Fly! I will be near,
Confide in Jove, to him address thy prayer;
'Tis his to conquer.”—O'er the verdant field
She soar'd away: high blaz'd her awful shield.
Rapture inspired and adoration grew:
But ere his senses fled, he faltering cry'd,
“Who art thou?” “Liberty,” the power reply'd.
Prostrate the warrior fell.—Divine by birth,
Pity was hers; she rais'd him from the earth,
10
“Know, Brutus, I'm the goddess of this isle:
To guard these shores, and bless the Britons' line,
Venus and Jove here consecrate thee mine,
Their choice omniscient: welcome task to thee,
Since sons of virtue only can be free.
The hydra Anarchy I live to tame:—
She with Licentiousness usurps my name;
Her restless offspring shall misguided roam,
The foe of order ne'er shall find a home.
Let him my blessings never hope to know,
Who sternly bids a brother's blood to flow!
Not such by Jove omnipotent design'd
To meliorate or humanize the mind.
Powers meant to give the social virtues birth,
Immortalize the man, and bless the earth,
Through ether now are flying to this coast,
Where union is my Britons' strongest boast.
Before it traitors and barbarians fall:
Union, my great palladium, conquers all.
11
Are marching on to pierce thy Trojans' hearts,
Who pant for Brutus.—Fly! I will be near,
Confide in Jove, to him address thy prayer;
'Tis his to conquer.”—O'er the verdant field
She soar'd away: high blaz'd her awful shield.
Brutus, forewarn'd, retrac'd the lengthen'd way
To where his navy, and his Trojans lay;
Thoughtful with future plans he onward steer'd.
No flying pendant, no tall mast appear'd.
Deep in the forest rose a barb'rous sound,
The woodlands trembled, echo labour'd round:
His eye arrested, through the groves were seen
Gigantic mortals, painted red and green.
Around the waist huge serpents seem'd to twine,
Sun, moon, and stars on their large bosoms shine:
Wolves, tigers, objects of uncouth delight,
On their wide shoulders dar'd the mimic fight.
The left arm rais'd to point the ruthless dart,
Reveal'd a Lion couching near the heart.
To where his navy, and his Trojans lay;
Thoughtful with future plans he onward steer'd.
No flying pendant, no tall mast appear'd.
Deep in the forest rose a barb'rous sound,
The woodlands trembled, echo labour'd round:
His eye arrested, through the groves were seen
Gigantic mortals, painted red and green.
Around the waist huge serpents seem'd to twine,
Sun, moon, and stars on their large bosoms shine:
Wolves, tigers, objects of uncouth delight,
On their wide shoulders dar'd the mimic fight.
The left arm rais'd to point the ruthless dart,
Reveal'd a Lion couching near the heart.
12
Nor less array'd, as if of terror vain,
Throng'd the young females of the giant train.
Their flaxen hair fell low beneath the waist,
The tawny hide their fairer bodies grac'd—
Hides won by valour, sacred to their truth,
When o'er the chace Love led th'enraptur'd youth:
He oft at dawn arose, unnotic'd stray'd,
Whilst safe embower'd repos'd his beauteous maid:
And ere she 'woke to bless the hunter's toil,
Near her cool dwelling, lay the tiger's spoil;
Or variegated plumage, to adorn
Her head, and raise less happy rivals' scorn.—
To dignify, deface, or hide her charms,
Her favourite gods were pictur'd round her arms.
Not all at once the deity appear'd,
His chin serv'd one day, and the next his beard;
Here a blue mouth, there a red eye display'd
The pious spirit of the heathen maid.
When her god warm'd, or phrensy fir'd her soul,
She scoop'd the scull to form the votive bowl;
Fill'd it with juice press'd from the balmy flower,
Commix'd with dew, caught in her midnight hour;
Rais'd high her incantation, call'd on Thor,
Her god of love—her father's god of war.
Thor, monstrous idol, undelighted stood,
Nor heard the pray'r, nor gave the fleeting good;
Whether in war to conquest they aspir'd,
Or softer blessings when with fury tir'd.
Throng'd the young females of the giant train.
Their flaxen hair fell low beneath the waist,
The tawny hide their fairer bodies grac'd—
Hides won by valour, sacred to their truth,
When o'er the chace Love led th'enraptur'd youth:
He oft at dawn arose, unnotic'd stray'd,
Whilst safe embower'd repos'd his beauteous maid:
And ere she 'woke to bless the hunter's toil,
Near her cool dwelling, lay the tiger's spoil;
Or variegated plumage, to adorn
Her head, and raise less happy rivals' scorn.—
To dignify, deface, or hide her charms,
Her favourite gods were pictur'd round her arms.
Not all at once the deity appear'd,
His chin serv'd one day, and the next his beard;
Here a blue mouth, there a red eye display'd
The pious spirit of the heathen maid.
When her god warm'd, or phrensy fir'd her soul,
She scoop'd the scull to form the votive bowl;
13
Commix'd with dew, caught in her midnight hour;
Rais'd high her incantation, call'd on Thor,
Her god of love—her father's god of war.
Thor, monstrous idol, undelighted stood,
Nor heard the pray'r, nor gave the fleeting good;
Whether in war to conquest they aspir'd,
Or softer blessings when with fury tir'd.
The prudent Brutus hasten'd to the coast,
Nor dar'd the council of the giant host.
When on the heath, leaving the woods behind,
He saw his pendants sporting on the wind.
His Trojans had dispers'd, some caves explor'd,
Some run aloft, their Brutus all deplor'd:
To beasts at length they deem'd their chief a prey,
And pensive view'd the rocks and liquid way:
Their courage droop'd, their manly cheeks were wan,
The mighty spring that mov'd their plan was gone.
Suddenly, on the plain his form they spied;
Shouts hoarsely broke o'er each tall vessel's side:
Echo return'd them from her deepest cell:
The Briton tribes gave an indignant yell.
Scarcely it trembled on the Trojan ear
When clouds of arrows whizz'd through yielding air.
Brutus essay'd in vain his ships to reach,
A tribe rush'd on, and rang'd along the beach:
Adranus first, born of the mountain race,
Of size herculean, and of satyr face,
Fiercely among the Trojans hurl'd the dart.
Brutus arriv'd, and pierc'd his furious heart.—
The hideous trunk fell lifeless to the ground,
The wrathful spirit flutter'd through the wound.
A pause ensued, his friends invok'd his ghost,
Whilst from their ships rush'd down the Trojan host.
Zaunus came next, of swarthy Lara born,
Lara the maiden's and the matron's scorn;
She young neglected virtue: deaf to fame,
Zaunus existed as the heir of shame:
The mother scorn'd—the poor neglected child
Soon robb'd the richer savage of the wild:
Untaught his mind, of rectitude bereft,
His soul grew sanguine, his employment theft:
Frequently seizing, av'rice to assuage,
Fruits that lay ripening for the lip of age!
Nor dar'd the council of the giant host.
When on the heath, leaving the woods behind,
He saw his pendants sporting on the wind.
His Trojans had dispers'd, some caves explor'd,
Some run aloft, their Brutus all deplor'd:
To beasts at length they deem'd their chief a prey,
And pensive view'd the rocks and liquid way:
Their courage droop'd, their manly cheeks were wan,
The mighty spring that mov'd their plan was gone.
Suddenly, on the plain his form they spied;
Shouts hoarsely broke o'er each tall vessel's side:
14
The Briton tribes gave an indignant yell.
Scarcely it trembled on the Trojan ear
When clouds of arrows whizz'd through yielding air.
Brutus essay'd in vain his ships to reach,
A tribe rush'd on, and rang'd along the beach:
Adranus first, born of the mountain race,
Of size herculean, and of satyr face,
Fiercely among the Trojans hurl'd the dart.
Brutus arriv'd, and pierc'd his furious heart.—
The hideous trunk fell lifeless to the ground,
The wrathful spirit flutter'd through the wound.
A pause ensued, his friends invok'd his ghost,
Whilst from their ships rush'd down the Trojan host.
Zaunus came next, of swarthy Lara born,
Lara the maiden's and the matron's scorn;
She young neglected virtue: deaf to fame,
Zaunus existed as the heir of shame:
The mother scorn'd—the poor neglected child
Soon robb'd the richer savage of the wild:
15
His soul grew sanguine, his employment theft:
Frequently seizing, av'rice to assuage,
Fruits that lay ripening for the lip of age!
Talib, a Trojan youth, wore 'mid the fight
A spangled collar dazzling with its light;
Gift of his mother, when, by Fate's decree,
She mourning trusted Talib to the sea.
Zaunus espied it, grasp'd the ruddy boy,
His wishes eager for the gaudy toy.
Talib's short falchion met the robber's face,
Struggling they fell each in a foe's embrace.
The steel had cross'd the Briton's orbs of sight;
In one red vision Zaunus lost the light.
Twisting his hand in Talib's beauteous hair,
When on Ausonia's shore, a mother's care,
He monstrous e'en in anguish sought the prize,
His touch more sensate from his loss of eyes.
The youth, to ease his throat, the band untied;
The thief once press'd it to his lips, and died.
A spangled collar dazzling with its light;
Gift of his mother, when, by Fate's decree,
She mourning trusted Talib to the sea.
Zaunus espied it, grasp'd the ruddy boy,
His wishes eager for the gaudy toy.
Talib's short falchion met the robber's face,
Struggling they fell each in a foe's embrace.
The steel had cross'd the Briton's orbs of sight;
In one red vision Zaunus lost the light.
Twisting his hand in Talib's beauteous hair,
When on Ausonia's shore, a mother's care,
He monstrous e'en in anguish sought the prize,
His touch more sensate from his loss of eyes.
The youth, to ease his throat, the band untied;
The thief once press'd it to his lips, and died.
16
Rude blasts come bursting through the leafy brake,
When first the spirits of the tempest wake—
They fight the rocks! reluctant shriek away,
Around th'horizon gather up the day
Beneath their sable wings that dark the sphere;
Whilst from their bosoms drops the big round tear.
Then swains who mark the omens of the hour,
Conclude the rip'ning torrent soon must pour;
Tremble lest lightnings with their harvest play,
Or the black dæmons sweep their all away.
When first the spirits of the tempest wake—
They fight the rocks! reluctant shriek away,
Around th'horizon gather up the day
Beneath their sable wings that dark the sphere;
Whilst from their bosoms drops the big round tear.
Then swains who mark the omens of the hour,
Conclude the rip'ning torrent soon must pour;
Tremble lest lightnings with their harvest play,
Or the black dæmons sweep their all away.
So Brutus anxious view'd the mighty throng
Thickening behind, thousands the woods among:
Lamented war, stern foe to social good,
Mourn'd Britain early soil'd with Britons' blood:
Sounded retreat, his marshall'd troops obey'd:
He paus'd, to try if Mercy yet might plead.
How could he plead? how win th'indignant mind?
To gesture only was his soul confin'd.
Awful the moment: for his anxious heart
A Briton aim'd th'inexorable dart.
Venus unseen the weapon blew aside,
On a young willow all its ardor died.
Brutus undaunted smil'd, and bow'd him low,
The deathful arrow slacken'd on the bow.
His features shone, he pointed to the Sun,
Th'admiring Britons view'd him one by one.
Advanc'd their chiefs with wild but warlike grace,
And woo'd by signs the man to fight or chase:
When Liberty, to Brutus only known,
Whisper'd, “To yield is to deserve a throne.
Let fall thy spear: my Britons are not slaves:
There lives no conqueror but the man who saves.
Untaught, unpolish'd is the savage mind,
Yet firm in friendship, to affliction kind:
Deserve their love, their error will decay;
Order and beauty with their passions play:
Visions arise from interchange of thought,
With dear refinement and instruction fraught.
To Love alone society must owe
The deep foundations of all bliss below:
Friendship, that cheers as summer suns decline,
Forgiveness, mercy, charity divine;
All deeds refin'd, benevolent and free
Are but the branches—Love's the parent tree;
Sole attribute of Jove, in pity giv'n
To melt the soul, and form its taste for heav'n!
Regard my Britons with affection's eye,
And to preserve thee, they will bravely die.
This Venus bids, now gliding through the grove—
War is no more: raise hymns of peace to Jove!”
No more she spake. Brutus her voice obey'd:
His shield, his helmet on the earth he laid.
Dissolving influence thrill'd the Britons' hearts,
They clasp'd the chief, resign'd their deathful darts.
The Trojan host came mingling through the vale:—
Rapture's fair visions whisper'd in the gale:
Loves laughing with the Dryads on the green,
With beauteous Flora gaily drest, were seen.
Peace threw her milk-white pinions o'er the Isle,
Plenty brought forth her blessings with a smile:
To arts or commerce turn'd each kindred host,
Liberty fix'd her bulwarks round the coast:
Beneath her feet old Neptune wander'd slow,
To waft her navies o'er the rocks below.
As distant nations view'd the cap she wore,
Her heroes shone, her lion seem'd to roar.
All hail'd repose: Sol reach'd his summer sign,
When men oppress'd beneath his rays recline:
Streams stole in silence through the lonely dell;
A sultry calm on the wide landscape fell.
Fill'd with the visions Liberty inspir'd,
Brutus afar through winding shades retir'd.
Brown grew the foliage, as he onward went;
Cold drops on thick'ning brambles were besprent;
E'en at noon day so dank the path, the boughs
Let fall their tears at parting o'er his brows.
Still he advanc'd, and sought the sun in vain;
No sun shone there, nor bask'd the reptile train.
Beneath an oak, close on his right, appear'd
A rustic altar, with rude pebbles rear'd;
The smoke still curling round the blushing flow'r,
Which drown'd in dew, no flame could yet devour:
High hung the shield indented here and there,
The jointed corslet, with the dreadful spear.
Thickening behind, thousands the woods among:
Lamented war, stern foe to social good,
Mourn'd Britain early soil'd with Britons' blood:
Sounded retreat, his marshall'd troops obey'd:
He paus'd, to try if Mercy yet might plead.
How could he plead? how win th'indignant mind?
To gesture only was his soul confin'd.
Awful the moment: for his anxious heart
A Briton aim'd th'inexorable dart.
17
On a young willow all its ardor died.
Brutus undaunted smil'd, and bow'd him low,
The deathful arrow slacken'd on the bow.
His features shone, he pointed to the Sun,
Th'admiring Britons view'd him one by one.
Advanc'd their chiefs with wild but warlike grace,
And woo'd by signs the man to fight or chase:
When Liberty, to Brutus only known,
Whisper'd, “To yield is to deserve a throne.
Let fall thy spear: my Britons are not slaves:
There lives no conqueror but the man who saves.
Untaught, unpolish'd is the savage mind,
Yet firm in friendship, to affliction kind:
Deserve their love, their error will decay;
Order and beauty with their passions play:
Visions arise from interchange of thought,
With dear refinement and instruction fraught.
To Love alone society must owe
The deep foundations of all bliss below:
18
Forgiveness, mercy, charity divine;
All deeds refin'd, benevolent and free
Are but the branches—Love's the parent tree;
Sole attribute of Jove, in pity giv'n
To melt the soul, and form its taste for heav'n!
Regard my Britons with affection's eye,
And to preserve thee, they will bravely die.
This Venus bids, now gliding through the grove—
War is no more: raise hymns of peace to Jove!”
No more she spake. Brutus her voice obey'd:
His shield, his helmet on the earth he laid.
Dissolving influence thrill'd the Britons' hearts,
They clasp'd the chief, resign'd their deathful darts.
The Trojan host came mingling through the vale:—
Rapture's fair visions whisper'd in the gale:
Loves laughing with the Dryads on the green,
With beauteous Flora gaily drest, were seen.
Peace threw her milk-white pinions o'er the Isle,
Plenty brought forth her blessings with a smile:
19
Liberty fix'd her bulwarks round the coast:
Beneath her feet old Neptune wander'd slow,
To waft her navies o'er the rocks below.
As distant nations view'd the cap she wore,
Her heroes shone, her lion seem'd to roar.
All hail'd repose: Sol reach'd his summer sign,
When men oppress'd beneath his rays recline:
Streams stole in silence through the lonely dell;
A sultry calm on the wide landscape fell.
Fill'd with the visions Liberty inspir'd,
Brutus afar through winding shades retir'd.
Brown grew the foliage, as he onward went;
Cold drops on thick'ning brambles were besprent;
E'en at noon day so dank the path, the boughs
Let fall their tears at parting o'er his brows.
Still he advanc'd, and sought the sun in vain;
No sun shone there, nor bask'd the reptile train.
Beneath an oak, close on his right, appear'd
A rustic altar, with rude pebbles rear'd;
20
Which drown'd in dew, no flame could yet devour:
High hung the shield indented here and there,
The jointed corslet, with the dreadful spear.
“For whose pale ghost,” exclaim'd th'astonish'd chief,
“Can Love or Friendship thus invoke relief?
Whate'er the doom of wand'ring shades below,
The Styx they ne'er can pass to heal our woe.
Will good Anchises, Hector, Priam stray
Whence ceaseless Suns illume th'eternal day?
Peace to their manes!”—Sorrow check'd his tongue,
His father's image on his memory hung;
The sigh ascended, fill'd with sacred awe;
His father fled made piety a law:
Remembrance made him sad, when through the shade
Appear'd a path narrow and slightly made.
Now Sol declining led eve's darker hues,
Zephyr rov'd on to bear the pregnant dews
From flow'r to flow'r: each drooping bud regain'd
Th'elastic force in crystal drops contain'd:
Low'ring the clouds obscur'd the light, when near
A barbed arrow pass'd the warrior's ear.
Back flew th'embracing boughs, the sacred oak
Receiv'd the weapon, and its fury broke:
Maternal warblers rous'd from slumber sprung—
Trembling they left their nests and callow young.
“Can Love or Friendship thus invoke relief?
Whate'er the doom of wand'ring shades below,
The Styx they ne'er can pass to heal our woe.
Will good Anchises, Hector, Priam stray
Whence ceaseless Suns illume th'eternal day?
Peace to their manes!”—Sorrow check'd his tongue,
His father's image on his memory hung;
The sigh ascended, fill'd with sacred awe;
His father fled made piety a law:
Remembrance made him sad, when through the shade
Appear'd a path narrow and slightly made.
Now Sol declining led eve's darker hues,
Zephyr rov'd on to bear the pregnant dews
From flow'r to flow'r: each drooping bud regain'd
Th'elastic force in crystal drops contain'd:
21
A barbed arrow pass'd the warrior's ear.
Back flew th'embracing boughs, the sacred oak
Receiv'd the weapon, and its fury broke:
Maternal warblers rous'd from slumber sprung—
Trembling they left their nests and callow young.
“Whoe'er thou art,” the hero cried aloud,
“If guilt or sorrow thou wouldst here enshroud,
I by command of Venus and of Jove
Approach to hail thee in this dreary grove.”
“If guilt or sorrow thou wouldst here enshroud,
I by command of Venus and of Jove
Approach to hail thee in this dreary grove.”
“Hence, bold adventurer!” a voice replied,
“Who hast my melancholy seat descried;
Know, none remains who shall my friendship share:
Begone, nor trust a wretch that seeks despair!”
“Who hast my melancholy seat descried;
Know, none remains who shall my friendship share:
Begone, nor trust a wretch that seeks despair!”
“I will behold thee,” Brutus cried: “the night
Nor random arrows shall preclude my sight:
Advance, if yet the world be worth thy care;
For truant passion I can pardon spare.”
Nor random arrows shall preclude my sight:
Advance, if yet the world be worth thy care;
For truant passion I can pardon spare.”
Forth rush'd a beauteous maid, and pois'd her dart,
Resolv'd to plunge it in the hero's heart.
Speechless he stood: the moon, high in her race,
Shot transient light on his undaunted face;
His sword though rais'd fell useless to the ground,
The lovely stranger felt a fancied wound;
Forgot her danger, feebly dropp'd the dart,
And fell the slave of self-created smart.
She would have spoke—Confusion check'd her tongue.
With bow and quiver o'er her shoulder flung,
Silent she turn'd, majestic in her air,
Collecting firmness in her dumb despair:
A vestal robe enclos'd her beauteous form,
Her eyes an icy anchorite might warm.
As she retiring bow'd with winning grace,
Brutus exclaim'd: “How cam'st thou to this place?”
Resolv'd to plunge it in the hero's heart.
22
Shot transient light on his undaunted face;
His sword though rais'd fell useless to the ground,
The lovely stranger felt a fancied wound;
Forgot her danger, feebly dropp'd the dart,
And fell the slave of self-created smart.
She would have spoke—Confusion check'd her tongue.
With bow and quiver o'er her shoulder flung,
Silent she turn'd, majestic in her air,
Collecting firmness in her dumb despair:
A vestal robe enclos'd her beauteous form,
Her eyes an icy anchorite might warm.
As she retiring bow'd with winning grace,
Brutus exclaim'd: “How cam'st thou to this place?”
“Too curious stranger, here I mourn a sire—
Who needs not thee—Ah safely yet retire!
His soul yet hovers o'er this scene with me.
Begone! for Hermia is and will be free!
Yet, if the gods commission thee to prove
My humble sacrifice to filial love,
Learn, I am Trojan born: this treach'rous shore
Wreck'd my young hope: our vessel is no more.
Our crew dispers'd, each youth pursu'd his plan;
My sire was wounded; here my woes began.
Within yon little cabin form'd of earth,
Our embers dying on too cold an hearth,
He fading sat; whilst I at dawn did rise,
With fruitless anguish trembling in my eyes;
Fleet as the down that lives along the air
I cours'd for berries, sought the native pear,
And fruits that love the winter of the year.
For him I learn'd to send the fatal dart,
For him my bow preserv'd my virgin heart.
His venerable head now rests on earth,
His soul ascends to Jove, who gave him birth:
And oft he'll stoop, through glory-skirted air,
To view his Hermia with paternal care.
On yon rude altar, to his mem'ry rais'd,
Fruits, flow'rs, and fragrant cedars long have blaz'd:
To Jove I make no off'ring blest with life;
Jove turns from victims reeking with the knife.
Whilst on yon oak his warlike shield I hung,
The song of ages, taught by him, I sung:
‘Hail, sacred sire! safe in thy place of rest,
Heed not the pangs that rack thy Hermia's breast.
May thy low grave unprest be ever green,
Till some few summers end her labour'd scene;
When, trusting to the sov'reign of the skies,
I'll sink, dear sire, to thee, and with thee rise.’
Who needs not thee—Ah safely yet retire!
His soul yet hovers o'er this scene with me.
Begone! for Hermia is and will be free!
Yet, if the gods commission thee to prove
My humble sacrifice to filial love,
23
Wreck'd my young hope: our vessel is no more.
Our crew dispers'd, each youth pursu'd his plan;
My sire was wounded; here my woes began.
Within yon little cabin form'd of earth,
Our embers dying on too cold an hearth,
He fading sat; whilst I at dawn did rise,
With fruitless anguish trembling in my eyes;
Fleet as the down that lives along the air
I cours'd for berries, sought the native pear,
And fruits that love the winter of the year.
For him I learn'd to send the fatal dart,
For him my bow preserv'd my virgin heart.
His venerable head now rests on earth,
His soul ascends to Jove, who gave him birth:
And oft he'll stoop, through glory-skirted air,
To view his Hermia with paternal care.
On yon rude altar, to his mem'ry rais'd,
Fruits, flow'rs, and fragrant cedars long have blaz'd:
24
Jove turns from victims reeking with the knife.
Whilst on yon oak his warlike shield I hung,
The song of ages, taught by him, I sung:
‘Hail, sacred sire! safe in thy place of rest,
Heed not the pangs that rack thy Hermia's breast.
May thy low grave unprest be ever green,
Till some few summers end her labour'd scene;
When, trusting to the sov'reign of the skies,
I'll sink, dear sire, to thee, and with thee rise.’
“Not so, dear Hermia! take me to thy heart:
'Tis Brutus speaks, who with thee ne'er can part.
Thy father left th'Ausonian shores with me,
His ship like lightning cut the foaming sea:
We call'd him oft to check the burthen'd sail,
He heard us not, but flew before the gale.
She struck some sightless rock (we met no storm),
And roll'd away in undistinguish'd form.
But since thee, precious relic, here I find,
Let one soft transport form one mutual mind:
Quit this sad scene, I'll lead thee forth to joy;
Free souls like ours can found another Troy.”
'Tis Brutus speaks, who with thee ne'er can part.
Thy father left th'Ausonian shores with me,
His ship like lightning cut the foaming sea:
We call'd him oft to check the burthen'd sail,
He heard us not, but flew before the gale.
She struck some sightless rock (we met no storm),
And roll'd away in undistinguish'd form.
But since thee, precious relic, here I find,
Let one soft transport form one mutual mind:
25
Free souls like ours can found another Troy.”
Untutor'd Hermia with a sigh replied:
“Go, gen'rous prince, and seek a happier bride.
Could I domestic peace or joy impart,
Imprest with woe contagious to the heart?
Forgive me, Brutus: till my hours expire,
I must lament my dear ill-fated sire.”
“Go, gen'rous prince, and seek a happier bride.
Could I domestic peace or joy impart,
Imprest with woe contagious to the heart?
Forgive me, Brutus: till my hours expire,
I must lament my dear ill-fated sire.”
“I'll mourn with thee, indulge thy tedious grief,
And, sympathising with thee, give relief;
Till memory fade, and thy sad soul shall prove
Affliction banish'd by the breath of Love.”
And, sympathising with thee, give relief;
Till memory fade, and thy sad soul shall prove
Affliction banish'd by the breath of Love.”
“Brutus, my father's friend, shall be my guide,
O'er Hermia's spirit, o'er her fate preside!
Accept, brave chief, my arrows and my bow—
I follow thee; where'er thou bidd'st, I'll go;
Save that, when Sol winds up the weary year,
This grassy tomb shall drink my filial tear.”
O'er Hermia's spirit, o'er her fate preside!
Accept, brave chief, my arrows and my bow—
I follow thee; where'er thou bidd'st, I'll go;
Save that, when Sol winds up the weary year,
This grassy tomb shall drink my filial tear.”
He led her forth where rose an infant town,
Long since the seat of science and renown.
From three fair sons, the highest gifts of Heav'n,
To beauteous Hermia and her Brutus giv'n,
He that delights in tracing wondrous things
Leads from oblivion a long race of kings.
Long since the seat of science and renown.
26
To beauteous Hermia and her Brutus giv'n,
He that delights in tracing wondrous things
Leads from oblivion a long race of kings.
Still Hermia mourn'd her sire. He seem'd to rove
With her invisible through ev'ry grove,
Guide threat'ning torrents harmless o'er her head,
Breathe in the air, and wander round her bed.
With inward languishment her form declin'd;
She dress'd his grave, invok'd his banish'd mind:
At length in Brutus' arms resign'd her breath,
And sought her father through the gates of death.
With her invisible through ev'ry grove,
Guide threat'ning torrents harmless o'er her head,
Breathe in the air, and wander round her bed.
With inward languishment her form declin'd;
She dress'd his grave, invok'd his banish'd mind:
At length in Brutus' arms resign'd her breath,
And sought her father through the gates of death.
“Dear proof of filial anguish, known to few,”—
Sad Brutus sigh'd—“may Jove our forms renew!
When round my eyes the Sisters weave the night,
O may I find thee in the fields of light!”
Sad Brutus sigh'd—“may Jove our forms renew!
When round my eyes the Sisters weave the night,
O may I find thee in the fields of light!”
The Chief expir'd—That Brutus who could bind
In Order's silken band the Briton's mind,
Slept with his Hermia in the grassy tomb,
Beneath the oak that yearly lost its bloom.
Here Liberty to breathe her woes retir'd,
Here ev'ry sigh she gave her warriors fir'd—
“Eternal Jove,” she cried, “be these thy care!”
Tremendous thunder murmur'd through the air!
The concave vast, whose spacious circle binds
Unwieldy Tempest, with his hoary winds,
Divided; whilst the welkin trembled round,
And this dread fiat fill'd the great profound:
“Not all shall die who love thy sacred charms.”
Again her sons arose, and call'd for arms—
Her hair dishevell'd, on her cliffs she stood;
Reclaim'd her empire o'er the briny flood.
Neptune arose, his ev'ry wave uncurl'd:
The Britons seiz'd the trident of the world.
Venus and Jove smil'd from their brightest sphere,
And godlike Order fix'd her standard here.
In Order's silken band the Briton's mind,
Slept with his Hermia in the grassy tomb,
Beneath the oak that yearly lost its bloom.
27
Here ev'ry sigh she gave her warriors fir'd—
“Eternal Jove,” she cried, “be these thy care!”
Tremendous thunder murmur'd through the air!
The concave vast, whose spacious circle binds
Unwieldy Tempest, with his hoary winds,
Divided; whilst the welkin trembled round,
And this dread fiat fill'd the great profound:
“Not all shall die who love thy sacred charms.”
Again her sons arose, and call'd for arms—
Her hair dishevell'd, on her cliffs she stood;
Reclaim'd her empire o'er the briny flood.
Neptune arose, his ev'ry wave uncurl'd:
The Britons seiz'd the trident of the world.
Venus and Jove smil'd from their brightest sphere,
And godlike Order fix'd her standard here.
28
FAMILIAR POEM TO MILO, AN AGED FRIEND, WHO WISHED THE AUTHOR RICHES.
You talk of wealth, dear Milo, as if I
Could find no joy in Nature's purer gifts.
When you are sighing o'er the goblet, full
Of racy liquid, and reflection turns
Back to the dearest treasure of your soul;
Should I buy off your mem'ry, were I rich?
When on your downy pillow you recline,
Where long-lost Emma meets your mental view;
Would you permit me to dispel the shade,
Dull your fine faculties, enchant your sense,
With yon cold Miser's, in a death-like sleep,
Were I more rich than Crœsus? Could you sit,
With more complacence on my narrow hearth,
Hear the dull story of my early fate,
How my neglected bosom bled, how oft
I sacrific'd to duty, and was turn'd
Pale and unthank'd away, had I more wealth?
Could find no joy in Nature's purer gifts.
When you are sighing o'er the goblet, full
Of racy liquid, and reflection turns
Back to the dearest treasure of your soul;
Should I buy off your mem'ry, were I rich?
When on your downy pillow you recline,
Where long-lost Emma meets your mental view;
Would you permit me to dispel the shade,
Dull your fine faculties, enchant your sense,
With yon cold Miser's, in a death-like sleep,
Were I more rich than Crœsus? Could you sit,
With more complacence on my narrow hearth,
Hear the dull story of my early fate,
How my neglected bosom bled, how oft
29
Pale and unthank'd away, had I more wealth?
Surely, good Milo, you do much forepass
All that is noble or divine within,
When you thus chide me from the flow'ry vale,
Where Fancy, smiling, bids me mark the hours.
All that is noble or divine within,
When you thus chide me from the flow'ry vale,
Where Fancy, smiling, bids me mark the hours.
O could convenient wealth prolong your stay
From spheres behind the sun! were you content
To rove with me, till e'en on the bleak verge
Of time we trembled; I would rise at morn,
Draw from yon rock its glitt'ring atoms, bear
The heavy fardel, hear the vulgar swear
To bargains for the good unmeet, grow rich,
Ungentle, insolent as yon gay dame
Who stares me from the circle she profanes!
No—to be what I am not, would accuse
Your constancy of judgment—Milo, say,
How wealth might bless me, if unblest by you?
From spheres behind the sun! were you content
To rove with me, till e'en on the bleak verge
Of time we trembled; I would rise at morn,
Draw from yon rock its glitt'ring atoms, bear
The heavy fardel, hear the vulgar swear
To bargains for the good unmeet, grow rich,
Ungentle, insolent as yon gay dame
Who stares me from the circle she profanes!
No—to be what I am not, would accuse
Your constancy of judgment—Milo, say,
How wealth might bless me, if unblest by you?
Mourn not the state in which just Heav'n prescribes
Bounds to my wish, or from my wish removes
The feast, ere tempting lux'ry pall my taste,
Or spoil the meal I travail'd for. You plead
How much I owe my children. Tell me, friend,
Was Marlus deem'd an ideot, when his sire
Bade him pluck down the moon, and he, forsooth,
Brought the old man an oyster? We must mark
Things possible: th'impossible is not.
He dauntless in distress, bold in his rags,
Returns the sneer of Fortune, throws her gifts
To his expecting creditor, the world:
So I can give, accepting but a grave.
Milo, since gold ne'er purchases a mind,
Nor youth, nor health; nor mitigates the claim
Of those dread Pow'rs whose property we are,
And who will soon invite us, why should I
Lose fancy? She is all to me—the night
Would steal more lonely down, my pillow grow
Hard to my sleepless eye, e'en you would mourn
My spirits' desolation.—Abra drives
Her chariot like an Amazon, curls high
Her whip o'er modest worth; as worth strays on
Unnotic'd and unknown. Rich Abra's steeds,
Warm as their driver, less impatient, kiss
The modest Zephyr as they prance along:
Careless how lolls the lady in her car,
Or how her fame emblazes. Proudly she
Dares Phaeton in jockeyship, and hurls
Grace from her lofty seat.—O female grace,
Leave not fair Abra so uncouthly mad!
Bring her fair infant, lay it near her heart,
Bid her watch o'er the dawning thought.—Poor puss,
Thy suff'rings unprovok'd, thy terrors won
Pity from yon poor clown—his sighs disgrac'd
Abra in at the death! What claims the chace,
The leap o'er rail or five-barr'd gate?—what claims
The brushy tail of Reynard from the fair?
Can woman riot o'er departing life?
What fiend profanes her heart by nature made
Tender for lovely purposes? The act
That sears a female bosom, must destroy
A portion of her mind. Can woman raise,
And will observing angels join, the laugh,
When down the friendly covert panting steals
A fox dismay'd, fearing to die? One smile
On lips whence helpless infancy sends forth
Its fragrance, from a virtuous mother wins
More rapture than those ears too hardly won,
And hung poor trophies at the stable door.
Bounds to my wish, or from my wish removes
30
Or spoil the meal I travail'd for. You plead
How much I owe my children. Tell me, friend,
Was Marlus deem'd an ideot, when his sire
Bade him pluck down the moon, and he, forsooth,
Brought the old man an oyster? We must mark
Things possible: th'impossible is not.
He dauntless in distress, bold in his rags,
Returns the sneer of Fortune, throws her gifts
To his expecting creditor, the world:
So I can give, accepting but a grave.
Milo, since gold ne'er purchases a mind,
Nor youth, nor health; nor mitigates the claim
Of those dread Pow'rs whose property we are,
And who will soon invite us, why should I
Lose fancy? She is all to me—the night
Would steal more lonely down, my pillow grow
Hard to my sleepless eye, e'en you would mourn
My spirits' desolation.—Abra drives
Her chariot like an Amazon, curls high
31
Unnotic'd and unknown. Rich Abra's steeds,
Warm as their driver, less impatient, kiss
The modest Zephyr as they prance along:
Careless how lolls the lady in her car,
Or how her fame emblazes. Proudly she
Dares Phaeton in jockeyship, and hurls
Grace from her lofty seat.—O female grace,
Leave not fair Abra so uncouthly mad!
Bring her fair infant, lay it near her heart,
Bid her watch o'er the dawning thought.—Poor puss,
Thy suff'rings unprovok'd, thy terrors won
Pity from yon poor clown—his sighs disgrac'd
Abra in at the death! What claims the chace,
The leap o'er rail or five-barr'd gate?—what claims
The brushy tail of Reynard from the fair?
Can woman riot o'er departing life?
What fiend profanes her heart by nature made
Tender for lovely purposes? The act
That sears a female bosom, must destroy
32
And will observing angels join, the laugh,
When down the friendly covert panting steals
A fox dismay'd, fearing to die? One smile
On lips whence helpless infancy sends forth
Its fragrance, from a virtuous mother wins
More rapture than those ears too hardly won,
And hung poor trophies at the stable door.
I wander much, dear Milo, when I write
To you, who have reflected long. You prize
Souls puissant who drag at Fortune's wheel,
Deriding her bad judgment, as she throws
Her gifts with seeming blindness. Strength I love;
Yet they most drag who vainly disobey,
And weigh with their own stubbornness. Who set
Her axis going? Who struck out her path?
Charg'd her, though blind, ne'er to unloose the rein,
But keep her rapid progress through the world,
Throwing her hoards promiscuously? I own
My feebleness: millions more eager seize
The favours I forego, whilst sharing out
My whole estate with objects I adore.
To you, who have reflected long. You prize
Souls puissant who drag at Fortune's wheel,
Deriding her bad judgment, as she throws
Her gifts with seeming blindness. Strength I love;
Yet they most drag who vainly disobey,
And weigh with their own stubbornness. Who set
Her axis going? Who struck out her path?
Charg'd her, though blind, ne'er to unloose the rein,
But keep her rapid progress through the world,
Throwing her hoards promiscuously? I own
My feebleness: millions more eager seize
33
My whole estate with objects I adore.
If I were rich, my boys might learn to breathe
Tones that ensnare the soul, shaking her pow'rs
With tremor much too exquisite. What boots
The languishment ideal, melting woe
So irresistible, when shades we love
Are heard by Fancy in melodious air?
Let those who feel declare.—Too oft the dance
In frightful labyrinth leaves the blooming maid,
Where virtue is no visitant. The moon
Then rises blushing, the fair wand'rer weeps
Neglected home, dreads her offended sire
Whose sole delight she was at morn, despairs,
And steals reluctantly to shades of vice,
Whence drop black poisons in the Tuscan grape
On her pale lip.—My sons, if rich, might wield
The fan emblaz'd with Psyche and her boy
O'er some enchantress, whose contagious sighs
Would blast the best impression of their souls.
The splendour of the virtuous mind appears
Brightest, when soaring to some unknown world,
Fearless of crowds beneath, or you would live
Virtuous unwisely. You are good and rich;
I poor—a vot'ry of wild fancy. When
You listen to my song, I am not poor;
You have not wealth enough to buy my joys:—
The chains of care fall off my pensive mind,
When through the winds your spirit hails me.—Thought,
Wondrous unwearied trav'ller, boldly roams
Around the spacious globe, attempts the skies
And heav'n, to find the object of its search;
Forms silent treaties, everlasting leagues
Between courageous independent minds,
Who fly far o'er the earth, and only bend
To virtue. Thought bears on eternal spring,
Colours to form our blessings, buds of hope
For souls serene, who taste pure joy, and live.
What bliss lives not in store of Thought! Our woes
Triumph at seasons, when we weary Thought
Down to our feebleness. For you it holds
The chart of moral worlds, unfolds the sphere
Of Truth!—Behold, my friend, yon eager throng
Driving each other o'er the sultry scene!
None mourn their neighbour's overthrow. In haste
To be more busy than their fellows, all
Forget their point, or know not when they pass'd
Their Sun's meridian. Morn was spent in vain,
Noon with impatience; ev'ning's cooler hour
Came not with contemplation. Glitt'ring forms
They chase! Ah see the shadows onward glide,
Elude them!—From the world the hunters fall.
Tones that ensnare the soul, shaking her pow'rs
With tremor much too exquisite. What boots
The languishment ideal, melting woe
So irresistible, when shades we love
Are heard by Fancy in melodious air?
Let those who feel declare.—Too oft the dance
In frightful labyrinth leaves the blooming maid,
Where virtue is no visitant. The moon
Then rises blushing, the fair wand'rer weeps
Neglected home, dreads her offended sire
Whose sole delight she was at morn, despairs,
And steals reluctantly to shades of vice,
Whence drop black poisons in the Tuscan grape
On her pale lip.—My sons, if rich, might wield
The fan emblaz'd with Psyche and her boy
O'er some enchantress, whose contagious sighs
Would blast the best impression of their souls.
The splendour of the virtuous mind appears
34
Fearless of crowds beneath, or you would live
Virtuous unwisely. You are good and rich;
I poor—a vot'ry of wild fancy. When
You listen to my song, I am not poor;
You have not wealth enough to buy my joys:—
The chains of care fall off my pensive mind,
When through the winds your spirit hails me.—Thought,
Wondrous unwearied trav'ller, boldly roams
Around the spacious globe, attempts the skies
And heav'n, to find the object of its search;
Forms silent treaties, everlasting leagues
Between courageous independent minds,
Who fly far o'er the earth, and only bend
To virtue. Thought bears on eternal spring,
Colours to form our blessings, buds of hope
For souls serene, who taste pure joy, and live.
What bliss lives not in store of Thought! Our woes
Triumph at seasons, when we weary Thought
Down to our feebleness. For you it holds
The chart of moral worlds, unfolds the sphere
35
Driving each other o'er the sultry scene!
None mourn their neighbour's overthrow. In haste
To be more busy than their fellows, all
Forget their point, or know not when they pass'd
Their Sun's meridian. Morn was spent in vain,
Noon with impatience; ev'ning's cooler hour
Came not with contemplation. Glitt'ring forms
They chase! Ah see the shadows onward glide,
Elude them!—From the world the hunters fall.
Then hear my lay! Unwealthy as I am—
May I not tune the passions, melt the heart
Not obdurate by nature? Birds of song
Love best the secret shade, nor call on Jove
For gaudy plumage. When beside the stream,
Beneath the mountain, hill, or sacred oak,
I hear your mild instructive voice no more;
I will amid this woodland rest. [OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
May I not tune the passions, melt the heart
Not obdurate by nature? Birds of song
Love best the secret shade, nor call on Jove
For gaudy plumage. When beside the stream,
Beneath the mountain, hill, or sacred oak,
I hear your mild instructive voice no more;
I will amid this woodland rest. [OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
36
ELEGY SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF LORD WILLIAM RUSSEL .
Spirit of Russel! from thy sphere descend,
Tear blank oblivion off my mental sight,
Display the tablet of thy tragic end,
When all thy earthly honours sunk in night!
Tear blank oblivion off my mental sight,
Display the tablet of thy tragic end,
When all thy earthly honours sunk in night!
Lead on the martyrs, who, to England's shame,
For truths they lov'd, for errors they denied,
Groan'd on the rack, panted amid the flame,
And in the grasp of Superstition died!
For truths they lov'd, for errors they denied,
Groan'd on the rack, panted amid the flame,
And in the grasp of Superstition died!
37
He comes! The spirit wears his wonted smile,
Beams of eternal glory round him play:
See! lightly veil'd, Britannia's pictur'd Isle,
Where sunk in vice her wasted monarch lay.
Beams of eternal glory round him play:
See! lightly veil'd, Britannia's pictur'd Isle,
Where sunk in vice her wasted monarch lay.
In that dread picture I behold the throne,
O'er which pale Faction held her serpents high;
Where her red eyes with vivid lightning shone—
Around her still the Furies seem to cry!
O'er which pale Faction held her serpents high;
Where her red eyes with vivid lightning shone—
Around her still the Furies seem to cry!
The snaky tresses writhe upon the air!
Murder, with ghastly visage, stains her hand:
Wild Superstition stings the soul with fear,
Hurling promiscuous horror o'er the land.
Murder, with ghastly visage, stains her hand:
Wild Superstition stings the soul with fear,
Hurling promiscuous horror o'er the land.
Mad as Cassandra, round the fatal fires
Enthusiastic zealots loudly rave—
What Fury thus the hoary priest inspires,
Who bade him press the guiltless to the grave?
Enthusiastic zealots loudly rave—
What Fury thus the hoary priest inspires,
Who bade him press the guiltless to the grave?
38
Tormenting passion, in Love's sacred name,
Shoots through the sov'reign as he sleepless lies;
His sceptre melts 'mid the contagious flame,
His kingdom trembles, and his glory dies.
Shoots through the sov'reign as he sleepless lies;
His sceptre melts 'mid the contagious flame,
His kingdom trembles, and his glory dies.
Enervated, he sees no danger near—
No more the British navy rules the deep:
In vain Britannia murmurs on his ear;
He breaks the charter he had sworn to keep.
No more the British navy rules the deep:
In vain Britannia murmurs on his ear;
He breaks the charter he had sworn to keep.
Russel, thou saw'st him trifle with his word;
Sunk in voluptuousness, profuse of blood,
Pledging fair Albion to yon Gallic lord,
Who smiling seems to triumph o'er the flood .
Sunk in voluptuousness, profuse of blood,
Pledging fair Albion to yon Gallic lord,
Who smiling seems to triumph o'er the flood .
39
I see thee dauntless; see the Britons warm!—
Truth, angel of the soul when undismay'd,
Illumes thy face, th'attentive thought to charm:
To hail thee, Liberty forsakes her shade.
Truth, angel of the soul when undismay'd,
Illumes thy face, th'attentive thought to charm:
To hail thee, Liberty forsakes her shade.
Thy country's wrongs, the hopeless peasant's woe,
Science and knowledge banish'd from the crowd,
Millions for Pleasure's vot'ries known to flow,
Were ills that near Corruption made thee loud.
Science and knowledge banish'd from the crowd,
Millions for Pleasure's vot'ries known to flow,
Were ills that near Corruption made thee loud.
Corruption murmur'd: sullen Vengeance came,
Shook the dread axe within yon sacred hall;
Condemn'd a Russel long enwreath'd by Fame—
With him condemn'd Britannia's rights to fall.
Shook the dread axe within yon sacred hall;
Condemn'd a Russel long enwreath'd by Fame—
With him condemn'd Britannia's rights to fall.
Believe me, Russel, when thy tale is told
Beside the peasant's hearth, his children weep:
His fire neglected dies; their blood runs cold;
To their low pallets they in silence creep.
Beside the peasant's hearth, his children weep:
His fire neglected dies; their blood runs cold;
To their low pallets they in silence creep.
40
No clamour of the state, no party broil,
Inflames the pensive wand'rer of the vale:
He with his ox by day pursues his toil,
At night sits list'ning to the tragic tale.
Inflames the pensive wand'rer of the vale:
He with his ox by day pursues his toil,
At night sits list'ning to the tragic tale.
Patiently spelling Hist'ry's length'ning page,
Virtues recorded youthful swains inspire—
They feel as Russel did: more softened Age
Drops the mild tear o'er thy distracted sire.
Virtues recorded youthful swains inspire—
They feel as Russel did: more softened Age
Drops the mild tear o'er thy distracted sire.
“I had a son,” the hoary shepherd cries:
“He lives no more!—my labour's nearly done!—”
By Hist'ry taught, he wipes his tearful eyes;
There Bedford's shade is heard—“I had a son!”
“He lives no more!—my labour's nearly done!—”
By Hist'ry taught, he wipes his tearful eyes;
There Bedford's shade is heard—“I had a son!”
Russel, thy tablet holds him: there I see
The venerable statesman sunk in woe;
With eyes uplifted, on his bended knee,
“One life (he cries), one life, my king, bestow!
The venerable statesman sunk in woe;
With eyes uplifted, on his bended knee,
“One life (he cries), one life, my king, bestow!
41
“Monarch, look on through ages! that bright crown
False to its owner mercy bids thee wear!
With Bedford must thou lay thy glories down,
With his thy page shall travel with the year.
False to its owner mercy bids thee wear!
With Bedford must thou lay thy glories down,
With his thy page shall travel with the year.
“Dread sov'reign, thou hast known a changeful state:
Thy father lov'd me well—Thy father's gone!
For him and thee I bore the cares of state:
Reward me, monarch! only spare my son!
Thy father lov'd me well—Thy father's gone!
For him and thee I bore the cares of state:
Reward me, monarch! only spare my son!
“From York and thee I'll lead him to some wild;
Come, Russel, to my arms! we will not part.
My king restores me my deserving child!
Now age drinks up the current of my heart!”
Come, Russel, to my arms! we will not part.
My king restores me my deserving child!
Now age drinks up the current of my heart!”
Hold, injur'd spirit! hide thy father's tears:
They strike my fancy with too deep a dye.
Ah! draw the veil the mournful picture wears,
Spread thy white pinions—seek thy native sky.
They strike my fancy with too deep a dye.
Ah! draw the veil the mournful picture wears,
Spread thy white pinions—seek thy native sky.
42
Invok'd by Poesy, the yielding shade
Forbore to torture my dissolving soul;
Ascending as he flew, the axe display'd—
Too near the throne—I saw the visage roll.
Forbore to torture my dissolving soul;
Ascending as he flew, the axe display'd—
Too near the throne—I saw the visage roll.
This nobleman fell a victim to the intrigues of James duke of York, and was beheaded in the prime of life, July 21, 1683. The Commons of England, and the inviolable statutes of her Constitution, opposed the succession of James; who, after gaining the sovereignty, was said to have given three crowns for a mass. But Charles II. having no heir, resolved to secure the succession to James by sacrificing the lives of his noblest subjects; and openly declared—“Lord Russel shall find I am possessed of that prerogative which, in the case of Lord Stafford, he thought proper to deny me!”—A speech incompatible with that justice, and remote from that grandeur of thought, which subjects so valuable should find in a monarch.
Louis XIV. furnished Charles II. with money to pursue his pleasures, whilst himself pursued his conquests and ambition. Such was the supineness of the English monarch, that his favourite minister Clifford had the audacity to tell him, “It was better to be a viceroy under a great monarch, than a slave to his own subjects.”
43
SOLILOQUY.
Begun from the circumstance of the moment, and prolonged as the images of memory arose in the mind of the author, February 27, 1795.
Author to her son.Go you to bed, my boy.
Son.
Do you write to-night?
Author.
I do.
Son (laying his watch on the table).
See, how late!
Author.
No matter—You can sleep.
How patiently toils on this little watch!
My veins beat to its motion. Ye who sing
Of atoms, rest, and motion , say, why Time
Sets in this toy a larum to my heart.
O sacred Time! thy moment goes not down
But I go with it! Sixty coming hours
Are with us poor expectants of more price
Than sixty years sunk to oblivion. Rise,
Dear Memory, silent fascinating pow'r,
Hated by many: I will be thy slave,
Thy willing slave. Then lead thy shadows round,
Forever sacred to my pensive mind.
My veins beat to its motion. Ye who sing
Of atoms, rest, and motion , say, why Time
Sets in this toy a larum to my heart.
O sacred Time! thy moment goes not down
But I go with it! Sixty coming hours
Are with us poor expectants of more price
44
Dear Memory, silent fascinating pow'r,
Hated by many: I will be thy slave,
Thy willing slave. Then lead thy shadows round,
Forever sacred to my pensive mind.
Instructive Spirit, hail! For thee I call
Mild Contemplation, from the barren rock
Where mourns the ship-wreck'd mariner, to trim
My midnight lamp. Hail, much rever'd in death!
Thou knew'st to chart the moral world, and bend
The springs of thought to wisdom: thou wert wont
In life to smile, when wilder than the bard
On Cambria's height I struck the lyre: my sigh,
Made harsh and inharmonious by despair,
Thou taught'st to break with melody. This hour,
Led on by Contemplation, I behold
Thine eyes that beam'd benevolence, thy heart
Once rich with fine regard. Ah me! that heart
'Mid this inhospitable scene was mine!
Mild Contemplation, from the barren rock
Where mourns the ship-wreck'd mariner, to trim
My midnight lamp. Hail, much rever'd in death!
Thou knew'st to chart the moral world, and bend
The springs of thought to wisdom: thou wert wont
In life to smile, when wilder than the bard
On Cambria's height I struck the lyre: my sigh,
Made harsh and inharmonious by despair,
Thou taught'st to break with melody. This hour,
Led on by Contemplation, I behold
Thine eyes that beam'd benevolence, thy heart
Once rich with fine regard. Ah me! that heart
'Mid this inhospitable scene was mine!
Couldst thou declare how long the storms of fate
Shall beat around me, when I may repose,
Or be as thou art! I have read the code
Of statutes form'd by man for future worlds;
And found his plan, so pompously display'd,
One lot of heterogeneous fragment. Man
Adores in fancy, violates in fact,
Laws serving his frail being. Yon pale moon
Forsakes the mountain top, to bring us round
Her renovated splendour; nature works
Obedient and unseen forever: we
May meet in spheres remote—If not, farewel!
I feel and know, those wishes can arise
But from affections growing with my life,
Mingling with hope, oppress'd by fear. The change
Fulfill'd in thee may chill me; ev'ry thought
Oblit'rate; vision, fancy forms, be doom'd
To sink, like beaming glory in the west;
Whilst space contracts on my weak eye, and heav'ns,
By human artists coloured, fade away,
As life goes gently from my beating heart.
45
Or be as thou art! I have read the code
Of statutes form'd by man for future worlds;
And found his plan, so pompously display'd,
One lot of heterogeneous fragment. Man
Adores in fancy, violates in fact,
Laws serving his frail being. Yon pale moon
Forsakes the mountain top, to bring us round
Her renovated splendour; nature works
Obedient and unseen forever: we
May meet in spheres remote—If not, farewel!
I feel and know, those wishes can arise
But from affections growing with my life,
Mingling with hope, oppress'd by fear. The change
Fulfill'd in thee may chill me; ev'ry thought
Oblit'rate; vision, fancy forms, be doom'd
To sink, like beaming glory in the west;
Whilst space contracts on my weak eye, and heav'ns,
By human artists coloured, fade away,
As life goes gently from my beating heart.
46
Grant this could be—the import were no more
Than as an atom 'mid the vast profound
Impell'd, not swerving from the whole. Suppose,
This frame dissolving, to the busy winds
My ashes fled dividing: shall I know
To mourn?—How like my brethren I display
Conjecture without end!—Impatient pow'r
Of thought! where wouldst thou fly? Return, return!
Nor lose thy strength in phrensy, nor resign
The form I love.—This watch is down! Ye points,
Attun'd to motion by the art of man,
As tell-tales of his doings, can ye mark
Eternity by measur'd remnants? No.—
Fallacious in your working, ye would say,
With us, the life of man is but a day.
Than as an atom 'mid the vast profound
Impell'd, not swerving from the whole. Suppose,
This frame dissolving, to the busy winds
My ashes fled dividing: shall I know
To mourn?—How like my brethren I display
Conjecture without end!—Impatient pow'r
Of thought! where wouldst thou fly? Return, return!
Nor lose thy strength in phrensy, nor resign
The form I love.—This watch is down! Ye points,
Attun'd to motion by the art of man,
As tell-tales of his doings, can ye mark
Eternity by measur'd remnants? No.—
Fallacious in your working, ye would say,
With us, the life of man is but a day.
Mechanical philosophy is that which undertakes to account for the phenomena of nature from the principles of mechanics, taking in the consideration of motion, rest, figure, size, &c. This is also called the corpuscular philosophy.
47
THE CONSUL C. FANNIUS TO FANNIUS DIDIUS.
ARGUMENT.
C. FANNIUS, being concerned at the voluptuous life of Plautus, writes Fannius Didius the following epistle; and further to enforce the sentiment or principle of self-correction, frankly reveals his own weakness and triumph. C. Fannius is here considered as the instructor, Fannius Didius being younger than himself. The simplicity of the antients is in the style attempted.
I marvel, Didius, at our friend's expence,
His perfumes, baths, and stuffs from Carthage soft
To an extreme, his tunica of gauze,
His cloak of knotted gold, his dining bed
With purple velvet drest.—When thus replete
He throws him backward from the luscious treat,
He brings Porcum Trojanum to my thought,
Once so condemn'd by Cincius. For the love
I bear his father's fame, I will reprove
Voluptuous Plautus in the senate. Why
Didst thou not counsel him of Livia's worth,
When from his house he turn'd the gentle maid?
His perfumes, baths, and stuffs from Carthage soft
To an extreme, his tunica of gauze,
His cloak of knotted gold, his dining bed
With purple velvet drest.—When thus replete
He throws him backward from the luscious treat,
He brings Porcum Trojanum to my thought,
48
I bear his father's fame, I will reprove
Voluptuous Plautus in the senate. Why
Didst thou not counsel him of Livia's worth,
When from his house he turn'd the gentle maid?
We well remember Fulvia of the vale,
Who bore so patiently our boyish feats,
Oft meant to anger her. Contented still
She glides serenely, as the sun in spring,
Westward of life. Our Saturnalia come
The fourteenth day, when Didius I expect
To help me serve my bond-men.—As I stray'd
One morn ere Sol ascended, having pass'd
A restless night; not studying much my path,
I stopp'd to buy a pullet at the door
Of aged Fulvia, who, whilst trussing back
The well-pluck'd pinions, look'd at me, and smil'd.—
I gaz'd full at the woman—
Who bore so patiently our boyish feats,
Oft meant to anger her. Contented still
She glides serenely, as the sun in spring,
Westward of life. Our Saturnalia come
The fourteenth day, when Didius I expect
To help me serve my bond-men.—As I stray'd
One morn ere Sol ascended, having pass'd
A restless night; not studying much my path,
I stopp'd to buy a pullet at the door
Of aged Fulvia, who, whilst trussing back
49
I gaz'd full at the woman—
“Aye, you blush,
Good master Fannius! But it matters not
How humbly some folk live, since all would place
The best things outward: I have tarried here
Whilst mightier spirits, who bewitch'd the crowd
By boasting their own virtues, sleep!—Yet me
You now behold binding, in hope to please,
My pullet's yellow feet.”
Good master Fannius! But it matters not
How humbly some folk live, since all would place
The best things outward: I have tarried here
Whilst mightier spirits, who bewitch'd the crowd
By boasting their own virtues, sleep!—Yet me
You now behold binding, in hope to please,
My pullet's yellow feet.”
Not three days since
I had to the young wife of Tellus giv'n
A yellow scarf drawn through the Carthage loom,
To lure her from the plodding clown.—The scarf
Rose on my thought; secret confusion threw
O'er my stern features a rebellious tint,
Which reason, prudence, nor ev'n craft could hide.
Didius, 'twas painful!—Fulvia laugh'd aloud,
Still praising her cheap bargain. “Nay,” said I,
“Thy pullet's feet are yellow, and she's tough—
(Not knowing where to try the toughest part)
“I hate a yellow-footed fowl!”
I had to the young wife of Tellus giv'n
A yellow scarf drawn through the Carthage loom,
To lure her from the plodding clown.—The scarf
Rose on my thought; secret confusion threw
O'er my stern features a rebellious tint,
Which reason, prudence, nor ev'n craft could hide.
Didius, 'twas painful!—Fulvia laugh'd aloud,
Still praising her cheap bargain. “Nay,” said I,
“Thy pullet's feet are yellow, and she's tough—
50
“I hate a yellow-footed fowl!”
“I sold
This morn so early twenty worse to one
Who gave the price, nor murmur'd. Yellow! What
Are yellow-footed pullets worse for you
Than for poor Tellus, who his camel drives
Beyond the Sabine hill, in hope to make
Great profit by them?”
This morn so early twenty worse to one
Who gave the price, nor murmur'd. Yellow! What
Are yellow-footed pullets worse for you
Than for poor Tellus, who his camel drives
Beyond the Sabine hill, in hope to make
Great profit by them?”
“Tellus is a dolt!
Would he and his lean camel were adrift
On the wide ocean!”—“Now, I wonder you,
Good Caius Fannius, can so hate the hind.
Contemplative of gain, he roves the waste,
Braves the chill morn, fervour of noon, rough wind,
And melancholy thunder! Oft I steal,
Fast as my strength permits, to Nisa's hearth
Within yon wood, where Orchius erst was wont
To shun the noise of Rome, peruse the writs,
And weigh the tribune's bold remonstrance, when
The people clamour'd for th'Agrarian law.
Ah me! how time steals our best friends! How oft
Cato the Censor to this cottage came,
Drank my ewes' milk, tasted my eggs, and stroked
This sickly kid that loiters near the fire!—
He us'd to say, ‘Fulvia, thy blameless life
Makes thy claim high for favour from the gods.’—
You, prudent Consul, like a greedy churl
Higgling for pennyworths, this pullet scorn
For that (though plump) her feet are yellow. Ha!
Yellow suits some complexions!”
Would he and his lean camel were adrift
On the wide ocean!”—“Now, I wonder you,
Good Caius Fannius, can so hate the hind.
Contemplative of gain, he roves the waste,
Braves the chill morn, fervour of noon, rough wind,
And melancholy thunder! Oft I steal,
Fast as my strength permits, to Nisa's hearth
Within yon wood, where Orchius erst was wont
To shun the noise of Rome, peruse the writs,
And weigh the tribune's bold remonstrance, when
51
Ah me! how time steals our best friends! How oft
Cato the Censor to this cottage came,
Drank my ewes' milk, tasted my eggs, and stroked
This sickly kid that loiters near the fire!—
He us'd to say, ‘Fulvia, thy blameless life
Makes thy claim high for favour from the gods.’—
You, prudent Consul, like a greedy churl
Higgling for pennyworths, this pullet scorn
For that (though plump) her feet are yellow. Ha!
Yellow suits some complexions!”
Down I threw
My purse well-fill'd for Fulvia, left the hut,
Somewhat too proudly, yet with virtue fir'd.
My purse well-fill'd for Fulvia, left the hut,
Somewhat too proudly, yet with virtue fir'd.
Mortals, my friend, resemble most the gods
By persevering long in fine employ.
The soul's best faculties are then sublime;
In firm continuance more exalted rise.
At length, communicating with her powers,
She dares adopt her independent plans,
And forms her sacred friendships. Thus secure
She stems the approaching sea of giddy hope,
Looks far beyond the passing scene, and proves
Herself the relative of Deity.
By persevering long in fine employ.
The soul's best faculties are then sublime;
In firm continuance more exalted rise.
At length, communicating with her powers,
She dares adopt her independent plans,
52
She stems the approaching sea of giddy hope,
Looks far beyond the passing scene, and proves
Herself the relative of Deity.
Thus musingly I wander'd. Phœbus chas'd
The shadowy dark o'er his lov'd Tiber. I
Had to fair Nisa's image bid farewel—
Nisa, too long the tyrant of my soul!
Arm'd thus by strong reflection, I beheld
Through virtue's medium nature's beauteous face,
And read my little book of laws. Afar
The horn resounded—slowly round the hill
Stole camels with their drivers. Converse loud
Proclaim'd their busy meaning. 'Mid the troop
Young Tellus shone the fairest; think for me—
Feel in imagination how my heart
Labour'd with big emotion! Didius, who
For such a moment would my pain endure,
To him I'd give my office, and be Tellus!
The shadowy dark o'er his lov'd Tiber. I
Had to fair Nisa's image bid farewel—
Nisa, too long the tyrant of my soul!
Arm'd thus by strong reflection, I beheld
Through virtue's medium nature's beauteous face,
And read my little book of laws. Afar
The horn resounded—slowly round the hill
Stole camels with their drivers. Converse loud
Proclaim'd their busy meaning. 'Mid the troop
Young Tellus shone the fairest; think for me—
Feel in imagination how my heart
Labour'd with big emotion! Didius, who
For such a moment would my pain endure,
To him I'd give my office, and be Tellus!
The youth loiter'd his pace to wish me well;
Bow'd—thank'd the gods, that Caius Fannius liv'd
Warm in the cause of Rome.—Where was the flow
Of eloquence for which thy friend is fam'd
E'en at the Court of Macedon? I stood
A silent, struggling, meditative man.
53
Warm in the cause of Rome.—Where was the flow
Of eloquence for which thy friend is fam'd
E'en at the Court of Macedon? I stood
A silent, struggling, meditative man.
As Tellus lessen'd in the distant view,
I seem'd to breathe more freely; ev'ry spray
Bent with some feather'd lover, who prolong'd
The melting melody, as if afraid
To own his beauteous mate whilst I was near.
I seem'd to breathe more freely; ev'ry spray
Bent with some feather'd lover, who prolong'd
The melting melody, as if afraid
To own his beauteous mate whilst I was near.
“Why should I make you lonely, gentle birds?
Hold your soft converse: I ne'er widow'd yet
Hearts mutually combin'd by sweet regard.”
Hold your soft converse: I ne'er widow'd yet
Hearts mutually combin'd by sweet regard.”
Turning to seek my home, I paus'd—exclaim'd—
“Tellus! how blest with confidence and love,
Corrected wishes, beauty, and content!
Fannius must envy thee.” Brown woods obscur'd
And shut me from his sight; with him went on
My meditations. Phœbus warm'd the air,
Awak'd the drowsy atoms from their sleep
To serve the cause of Jove; tipp'd ev'ry dart
Venus bequeath'd her boy with sevenfold heat,
To strike my cool philosophy.
“Tellus! how blest with confidence and love,
Corrected wishes, beauty, and content!
Fannius must envy thee.” Brown woods obscur'd
And shut me from his sight; with him went on
My meditations. Phœbus warm'd the air,
Awak'd the drowsy atoms from their sleep
54
Venus bequeath'd her boy with sevenfold heat,
To strike my cool philosophy.
“Great Jove,
Direct me toward the senate-house!”—My pray'r
Ascended slowly thro' the glowing sphere,
Where fiends laugh at good purposes, to heaven.
The path I chose unknowingly, by chance
Led me 'mid labyrinths to the cot that held
Too lovely Nisa! Poverty her guard,
No massy bar secur'd the crazy door;
Emblem of shatter'd fortunes!—Here I paus'd—
Reflected much on liberty, on man,
On privilege, on absolute will, on taste
Giv'n him to chase sweet Pleasure thro' the world,
Partake her smiles, to her indulgent arms
Commend the object he adores, and share
(O gem invaluable!) a guileless heart.
Deceit hung on my reasoning, wrapp'd her ills
In seeming purity, abruptly led
My feet within the threshold—On the hearth
The kitten rounded in sweet slumber lay,
Whilst the low side-board (stranger to the plane)
Held cheese pale curded, with the browner loaf,
Cut late by Tellus for his hard day's fare.
Where lives the man who would not here have shook
Fearful of profanation?—On the wheel
Hung snowy fleeces, destin'd for the hand
Of Nisa. Lives the man, being lost thus far
Unnotic'd 'mid the captivating maze
Of wild enchanting, who could hence have gone,
Nor trusted to his destiny? I left
The lowest hearth; not e'en the kitten woke
To mew at my presumption. O'er the hills
The faithful dog attended Tellus. Light
Through an half-open'd casement threw its rays.
Here stood no Hercules, no threat'ning god
By Art ill-fashion'd, and by Nature scorn'd,
To puzzle man; here no vindictive Mars,
Too fond of fury, call'd for off'rings; Peace
And Concord were the sole Penates, save
Majestic Juno, who a mystic crown
Held high for those who dar'd obtain it. Robes
Of milk-white yarn the smiling goddess wore,
Wrought by young Nisa, fairer than the fleece.
From these I turn'd, neglecting their dread pow'r,
To gaze on charms of innocence; for this,
I stood near sleeping Nisa. We remark'd
That rose, so planted by thy gard'ner's care;
She cheer'd the yew-shade waving near thy hall:
So broke the cheek of Nisa thro' her hair,
Whilst her bright eyes yet lay in darkness. Gods!
Not to have lov'd, had prov'd my senses lost
In more than Time's decrepitude! She slept;
Her purity invisibly enchain'd
My wand'ring soul. Didius, this was the hour
When the stern ghost of wise Parellus frown'd
On me! Yet is not dear regard, refin'd
By trial, worth preserving? Time alone
Must stamp the value of our spirit's wealth.
Not thus I then could argue. “Nisa! 'wake,”
I cried, “enchanting creature, 'wake!—The morn
Scarcely befriends thee. Bid me fly—break off
This giddy charm—this influence. In thy breath
The fragrant Loves play round me. Canst thou sleep
When I am near?”—She rais'd her head; the blush
Forsook her cheek, but left the lily there.
“Tellus! Great Jove! is Tellus gone? Ah why
Leave me defenceless?”—Terror seiz'd her frame,
Whilst calling Tellus (careless of a prize).
Direct me toward the senate-house!”—My pray'r
Ascended slowly thro' the glowing sphere,
Where fiends laugh at good purposes, to heaven.
The path I chose unknowingly, by chance
Led me 'mid labyrinths to the cot that held
Too lovely Nisa! Poverty her guard,
No massy bar secur'd the crazy door;
Emblem of shatter'd fortunes!—Here I paus'd—
Reflected much on liberty, on man,
On privilege, on absolute will, on taste
Giv'n him to chase sweet Pleasure thro' the world,
Partake her smiles, to her indulgent arms
Commend the object he adores, and share
(O gem invaluable!) a guileless heart.
Deceit hung on my reasoning, wrapp'd her ills
In seeming purity, abruptly led
55
The kitten rounded in sweet slumber lay,
Whilst the low side-board (stranger to the plane)
Held cheese pale curded, with the browner loaf,
Cut late by Tellus for his hard day's fare.
Where lives the man who would not here have shook
Fearful of profanation?—On the wheel
Hung snowy fleeces, destin'd for the hand
Of Nisa. Lives the man, being lost thus far
Unnotic'd 'mid the captivating maze
Of wild enchanting, who could hence have gone,
Nor trusted to his destiny? I left
The lowest hearth; not e'en the kitten woke
To mew at my presumption. O'er the hills
The faithful dog attended Tellus. Light
Through an half-open'd casement threw its rays.
Here stood no Hercules, no threat'ning god
By Art ill-fashion'd, and by Nature scorn'd,
To puzzle man; here no vindictive Mars,
Too fond of fury, call'd for off'rings; Peace
56
Majestic Juno, who a mystic crown
Held high for those who dar'd obtain it. Robes
Of milk-white yarn the smiling goddess wore,
Wrought by young Nisa, fairer than the fleece.
From these I turn'd, neglecting their dread pow'r,
To gaze on charms of innocence; for this,
I stood near sleeping Nisa. We remark'd
That rose, so planted by thy gard'ner's care;
She cheer'd the yew-shade waving near thy hall:
So broke the cheek of Nisa thro' her hair,
Whilst her bright eyes yet lay in darkness. Gods!
Not to have lov'd, had prov'd my senses lost
In more than Time's decrepitude! She slept;
Her purity invisibly enchain'd
My wand'ring soul. Didius, this was the hour
When the stern ghost of wise Parellus frown'd
On me! Yet is not dear regard, refin'd
57
Must stamp the value of our spirit's wealth.
Not thus I then could argue. “Nisa! 'wake,”
I cried, “enchanting creature, 'wake!—The morn
Scarcely befriends thee. Bid me fly—break off
This giddy charm—this influence. In thy breath
The fragrant Loves play round me. Canst thou sleep
When I am near?”—She rais'd her head; the blush
Forsook her cheek, but left the lily there.
“Tellus! Great Jove! is Tellus gone? Ah why
Leave me defenceless?”—Terror seiz'd her frame,
Whilst calling Tellus (careless of a prize).
O Didius! artless Virtue owns more force
Than Woman gleans from custom. Nisa's sigh
My melting heart spontaneously return'd;
Each pitying wish I breath'd was hers; my fears
Increas'd for Nisa's dear content; my thoughts
Mingled with hers.—The silent pause was fill'd
By Friendship's form, who in her balance weigh'd
My love, and bless'd the sentiment divine.
Than Woman gleans from custom. Nisa's sigh
My melting heart spontaneously return'd;
Each pitying wish I breath'd was hers; my fears
Increas'd for Nisa's dear content; my thoughts
Mingled with hers.—The silent pause was fill'd
By Friendship's form, who in her balance weigh'd
My love, and bless'd the sentiment divine.
58
“The scarf, fair Nisa! give me back the scarf!
Yellow suits some complexions; on thy cheek
A purer glow is visible. The scarf—
Quickly restore it.”
Yellow suits some complexions; on thy cheek
A purer glow is visible. The scarf—
Quickly restore it.”
“Heav'n protect your sense!—
What could unsettle Caius Fannius?—Scarf!
Why come you thus untimely? Tellus hates
The colour—Gaudy thing—it lies below
Within our beechen coffer—Scarf! great Jove!
I wot not why you gave it me!”
What could unsettle Caius Fannius?—Scarf!
Why come you thus untimely? Tellus hates
The colour—Gaudy thing—it lies below
Within our beechen coffer—Scarf! great Jove!
I wot not why you gave it me!”
“The cause
Unworthy was of Fannius, and of thee.”—
“You may not parley here. Leave me, and know
Better your estimation—Take your scarf!
Of Nisa think, as of a dream gone by,
When you amid the Senate plead for Rome.”
“Nisa, farewel! Old Fulvia of the Vale
Deserves thy friendship; thank her. Time bequeaths
Forgetfulness to vulgar minds; the good
Nourish remembrance thro' each ling'ring year.”
Unworthy was of Fannius, and of thee.”—
“You may not parley here. Leave me, and know
Better your estimation—Take your scarf!
Of Nisa think, as of a dream gone by,
When you amid the Senate plead for Rome.”
“Nisa, farewel! Old Fulvia of the Vale
Deserves thy friendship; thank her. Time bequeaths
Forgetfulness to vulgar minds; the good
Nourish remembrance thro' each ling'ring year.”
59
Nisa was silent. From the scene I flew;
Took back the scarf; to Tellus gave my fields;
Left Nisa faithful; and my virtue grew.
Took back the scarf; to Tellus gave my fields;
Left Nisa faithful; and my virtue grew.
Frugality characterized the first ages of the Roman republic: but, with their conquests and riches, luxury increased to such an excess, that whole goats, hogs, &c. were set on the table at one time. Such a hog, Cincius termed Porcum Trojanum, from the variety of fowl, rabbits, puddings, &c. wherewith it was stuffed. Cincius alluded to the fatal Horse which was the bane of Troy, by concealing within him the armed Grecians.
60
FAMILIAR POEM FROM NISA TO FULVIA OF THE VALE.
ARGUMENT.
NISA of the Sabine race, having been informed by Marl, a goatherd, that old Fulvia, who lived harmlessly by selling poultry, was a sybil, or witch, writes to the dame on a subject that seems to have interested her. Fearing, however, to reveal too much, she merely inquires if Fulvia can cure the mind, and artfully breaks off.
Fulvia, our Consul bids me thank thee: why
My thanks to thee are due, I know not.—Dawn
Had scarcely borrow'd from the wakeful sun
One hour of light, when hooting to our door
The camel-drivers came. Their crooked horns
They blew, to waken Tellus. Gentle sleep
Had on our lowly pillow laid his head;
His breath, sweet as the new-mown herbage, flew
In fragrant gales auspicious to the east.
Down his fair bosom drooped his golden hair
In heavy ringlets; these I softly mov'd,
To steal one parting kiss, ere the rude horn
Should from my wish abash me. Blest is he
Who drives no camels! Hapless lot! Ah! when
Will Ceres come, and bid the swain repose
Some minutes after sun-rise? The loud laugh
From men who tarried with their market ware,
Came high to shame him. He arose, unclasp'd
Our lattic'd casement, breath'd one soft adieu,
Descended, and renew'd his daily toil,
Befriended by my pray'r. I slept too long.
My duty, soon as Tellus went, had been
Fulfill'd, had I arose and took my reel.
My thanks to thee are due, I know not.—Dawn
Had scarcely borrow'd from the wakeful sun
One hour of light, when hooting to our door
The camel-drivers came. Their crooked horns
They blew, to waken Tellus. Gentle sleep
Had on our lowly pillow laid his head;
His breath, sweet as the new-mown herbage, flew
In fragrant gales auspicious to the east.
Down his fair bosom drooped his golden hair
61
To steal one parting kiss, ere the rude horn
Should from my wish abash me. Blest is he
Who drives no camels! Hapless lot! Ah! when
Will Ceres come, and bid the swain repose
Some minutes after sun-rise? The loud laugh
From men who tarried with their market ware,
Came high to shame him. He arose, unclasp'd
Our lattic'd casement, breath'd one soft adieu,
Descended, and renew'd his daily toil,
Befriended by my pray'r. I slept too long.
My duty, soon as Tellus went, had been
Fulfill'd, had I arose and took my reel.
Fulvia, Old churlish Marl, who sometimes milks
His goats beside the Tarpeian mount, that night
When thunder shook the Capitol , and woods
In one sad murmur hail'd that scathing fire
Which Jove sends down to warn us, cried aloud,
His goats beside the Tarpeian mount, that night
When thunder shook the Capitol , and woods
In one sad murmur hail'd that scathing fire
Which Jove sends down to warn us, cried aloud,
62
“Hey! Fulvia! midnight hag!” We marvell'd much.
The hind went on: “My cabin will come down,
Flat, smooth to the turf! She has already scath'd
My beechen bow'r. Ah me! what safer chance
Waits my she-goat, behind the fatal rock
Whence we plunge quick the guilty?—Yes, my kids,
Bad omen! both this morn mistook their dams.
My chickens, too, linger'd around their grain,
Nor did their bills rebound. All Fulvia's work!
Fulvia, sweet Nisa, mirks the blessed sun
With mists, that many swear rise from the sea.
Aye, aye! I know!—Nisa, I ween mischance
Will come to thee and me; yea, all who dwell
Within a stone's-throw of the beldam's cell.”
The hind went on: “My cabin will come down,
Flat, smooth to the turf! She has already scath'd
My beechen bow'r. Ah me! what safer chance
Waits my she-goat, behind the fatal rock
Whence we plunge quick the guilty?—Yes, my kids,
Bad omen! both this morn mistook their dams.
My chickens, too, linger'd around their grain,
Nor did their bills rebound. All Fulvia's work!
Fulvia, sweet Nisa, mirks the blessed sun
With mists, that many swear rise from the sea.
Aye, aye! I know!—Nisa, I ween mischance
Will come to thee and me; yea, all who dwell
Within a stone's-throw of the beldam's cell.”
We chided surly Marl for this. “Away!”
He cried—“Dolts feel no lack of wisdom. Now,
The hag is somewhere circling round her spell;
Pinching our trembling blades; or, on the turf,
Sprinkling her juice of aconite. Dark yews
She clips, o'er-hanging sacred dust; collects
Night-dew; draws mimic mandrakes from their sleep;
And dries the forehead of the early foal,
To strew against the north-wind, as it blows
Directly to my cabin. I ne'er met
That woman first at morn, when to the hills
I hied with my young kids, but foul mischance
Struck me or mine. Nisa, do thou beware,
Nor meet her; or, if meeting, ne'er offend.”
He cried—“Dolts feel no lack of wisdom. Now,
The hag is somewhere circling round her spell;
Pinching our trembling blades; or, on the turf,
Sprinkling her juice of aconite. Dark yews
She clips, o'er-hanging sacred dust; collects
63
And dries the forehead of the early foal,
To strew against the north-wind, as it blows
Directly to my cabin. I ne'er met
That woman first at morn, when to the hills
I hied with my young kids, but foul mischance
Struck me or mine. Nisa, do thou beware,
Nor meet her; or, if meeting, ne'er offend.”
Art thou thus wise, dear Fulvia? Dar'st thou coop
The furies in a ring? unclose their lips
On the dread secrets of Tartarean realms?
What! teach the sun to woo the waves on high?
To shape centaurs, and gorgon-headed men,
Around the horizon, whilst the shepherd strains
Fancy to their wild measurement? I guess,
If Phœbus, at thy bidding, dress his skies
With exhalations in the evening hour,
Thou wilt, when I implore, arrest the moon;
When brazen in her belt she draws up woe
From the deep breast t'o'erwhelm the gentle thought,
And tremulate the wise and virtuous mind.
Should this dread pow'r be thine, if thou art grown
A fav'rite with the gods, O Fulvia, try
In mercy to compose the troubled soul
Of one brave Roman. . . . . . . . . .
The furies in a ring? unclose their lips
On the dread secrets of Tartarean realms?
What! teach the sun to woo the waves on high?
To shape centaurs, and gorgon-headed men,
Around the horizon, whilst the shepherd strains
Fancy to their wild measurement? I guess,
If Phœbus, at thy bidding, dress his skies
With exhalations in the evening hour,
Thou wilt, when I implore, arrest the moon;
When brazen in her belt she draws up woe
From the deep breast t'o'erwhelm the gentle thought,
64
Should this dread pow'r be thine, if thou art grown
A fav'rite with the gods, O Fulvia, try
In mercy to compose the troubled soul
Of one brave Roman. . . . . . . . . .
Here I purpos'd much;
Yet have I not, in this epistle, penn'd
Great information.—Tellus is arriv'd
Weary and faint: his aged camel fell
Near the hill-side. He looks so pensive!—Well,
I am so apt to check myself—In haste
I wrote; am grown uncheerful. When
We pay our holy rites to Juno, come:
Thou shalt our priestess be; all who lack wealth
Should not lack piety. To Fulvia health.
Yet have I not, in this epistle, penn'd
Great information.—Tellus is arriv'd
Weary and faint: his aged camel fell
Near the hill-side. He looks so pensive!—Well,
I am so apt to check myself—In haste
I wrote; am grown uncheerful. When
We pay our holy rites to Juno, come:
Thou shalt our priestess be; all who lack wealth
Should not lack piety. To Fulvia health.
65
FAMILIAR POEM FROM CAIUS FANNIUS TO PLAUTUS.
Plautus, why turn thy sister from thee? KnowTh'inhospitable world will, like a blast
Of pestilence, disfigure her fair mind;
And thou wilt prove a loser by her change.
I much suspect thou art thyself ensnar'd
By that old dame who trims the midnight lamp
To welcome thee from feasts the wise man shuns.
Hold not that beldam in thy heart's esteem:
She gives to Bacchus, and the woodland god
Her orgies.—Oh! I hate a woman coarse
In love.—Malanthus says thy sister weeps
When in the forum thou art made the jest
Of vulgar tribunes, and departs with speed,
Lest she should questioned be of Plautus. When
Thy sire felt death steal near his nobler heart,
66
Seem'd gazing onward to the world of souls.
There did thy tears look pitiful; thy voice
Was rais'd in virtue's favour, as he breath'd
That sacred blessing thou wilt hear no more!
Did I not see thee take thy sister's hand,
Who, with two hundred talents weighed in gold,
Made thy good fortune. Plautus, much I grieve
Thou shouldst so prize the gold, and throw away
The jewel of thine house. Thy sister vies
With Venus, or the large-eyed wife of Jove!
And but that her embellishments reflect
Thy folly on the crowd, thou hadst not heard
From Caius Fannius.
67
REMONSTRANCE IN THE PLATONIC SHADE, FLOURISHING ON AN HEIGHT.
Thou purest spirit bestow'd by bounteous Heav'n
To bless the world and dignify the man,
Think not I leave the cool Platonic shade,
Haunt of the God invisible, whose breath
Melts the hoar frost that keen despondence hangs
On pale affliction: In this sacred shade,
Whilst cruel duty fetter'd every sense,
I saw my morning sun ascend with tears,
And sink at eve with heaviness; the night
Came burthen'd with despair; yet unsubdued,
I frown'd indignant on my chains, and tun'd
My rural lay to universal love.
Love, friendship, virtue, to my thought, seem'd one
Trinomial pow'r, and blended to refine
Most highly wrought existence. So we deem
Son, fire, and spirit, the Eternal One.
Destroy one principle, the whole must cease;
The fires of nature tremble out, the world
Grow cold, and apathy so chill mankind,
That order, grace and beauty must expire.
I saw one mighty good, and wished it mine!
Yet who would haunt this grove whence Plato view'd
The hills of immortality, avow'd
One sole creative energy, and felt
Its purest influence, when th'Athenian youths
Were rivals for his love. Did censure, pride,
Contempt, indifference, doubt, or cold reserve
Shed poisons round the consecrated scene?
The sage must love the virtues he implants,
Love e'en the soil that nurses them, refresh
With dews of sympathy like thine, the buds
Of excellence, ere bursting they expand,
To thank him for his care. What then is love?
I am an idiot to its common sense,
If love be not the god whose attributes
Are wand'ring o'er the universe to form
The perfect good and fair: the recumbent sea,
Beneath deep rooted mountains meets his fires,
To move the unweildy, vast chaotic world,
And wake the Titans for the general weal.
To bless the world and dignify the man,
Think not I leave the cool Platonic shade,
Haunt of the God invisible, whose breath
Melts the hoar frost that keen despondence hangs
On pale affliction: In this sacred shade,
Whilst cruel duty fetter'd every sense,
I saw my morning sun ascend with tears,
And sink at eve with heaviness; the night
Came burthen'd with despair; yet unsubdued,
I frown'd indignant on my chains, and tun'd
My rural lay to universal love.
68
Trinomial pow'r, and blended to refine
Most highly wrought existence. So we deem
Son, fire, and spirit, the Eternal One.
Destroy one principle, the whole must cease;
The fires of nature tremble out, the world
Grow cold, and apathy so chill mankind,
That order, grace and beauty must expire.
I saw one mighty good, and wished it mine!
Yet who would haunt this grove whence Plato view'd
The hills of immortality, avow'd
One sole creative energy, and felt
Its purest influence, when th'Athenian youths
Were rivals for his love. Did censure, pride,
Contempt, indifference, doubt, or cold reserve
Shed poisons round the consecrated scene?
The sage must love the virtues he implants,
Love e'en the soil that nurses them, refresh
With dews of sympathy like thine, the buds
Of excellence, ere bursting they expand,
69
I am an idiot to its common sense,
If love be not the god whose attributes
Are wand'ring o'er the universe to form
The perfect good and fair: the recumbent sea,
Beneath deep rooted mountains meets his fires,
To move the unweildy, vast chaotic world,
And wake the Titans for the general weal.
Such grandeur works his mighty scenes thro' shades
Where sober contemplation plumes her wings,
And calls her Plato from behind the stars.
Love breathes corrected sentiment, inspires
That high regard, unblemish'd confidence,
And truth serene, which make our bliss below,
By luring virtuous spirits to repose.
I will be dumb, nor dream of that repose;
Deserv'd, but unpossess'd.
Where sober contemplation plumes her wings,
And calls her Plato from behind the stars.
Love breathes corrected sentiment, inspires
That high regard, unblemish'd confidence,
And truth serene, which make our bliss below,
By luring virtuous spirits to repose.
I will be dumb, nor dream of that repose;
Deserv'd, but unpossess'd.
These feeble sounds
Give not my soul's rich meaning; or my thought
Rises too boldly o'er the human line
Of alphabets (misused). Why should I wish
For words to form a picture for the world
Too rare? O world! what hast thou in thy sounds
So dear as silent memory when she leads
The shade of the departed? Ask despair
What renovation is, when friendship bends
To kiss her tears away;—but ask her eyes;
The pleasing anguish dwells not on her tongue.
Will friendship stay, when love and virtue fly?
Sooner Leviathan shall pierce the skies,
Roll 'mid the burning chamber of the sun,
And hate the chrystal caverns in the deep!
“Folly” could ne'er o'ertake me. Oft I verge,
When warm'd by fancy, to the farthest bound
My sense of words can bear; but at the extreme
Contemn the sense that chastity throws off.—
“Folly!” Good heaven! have I not climb'd an height
So frightful, e'en from comfort so remote,
That had my judgment reel'd, my foot forgot
Its strenuous print, my inexperienced eye
The wondrous point in view; or my firm soul,
Made early stubborn, her exalted pride,
Though of external poor; the stagnant lake
Of vice beneath, than Cocytus more foul,
Had oped its wave to swallow me, and hide
My frame for ever. This I saw: the year
Ne'er rip'd the corn, or strew'd the yellow leaf,
But some too feeble maid, who in the morn
Ascended with me, lost her hold and fell;
Leaving the glorious plaudit of the wise
To rough laborious spirits. I attained
With wretchedness this summit; hence, look down
On the laps'd ages, towers, and sleeping kings,
Whose heads repose 'mid monarchies engulph'd,
With temples, oracles, long whisp'ring fanes,
Thro' which the mystic meaning aw'd the crowd,
And stoop'd the public spirit to its lore:
There lie vast amphitheatres, where sat
The monarch with his thousands, to behold
How beasts of prey could tear the human heart,
Rich with some lov'd impression.—O forbear,
My muse! turn from the vision, lest thou wake
Emotion, and compare that heart with mine—
There gentle Petrarch sleeps; mild victim long
To that serene despair, which once imbib'd
The soul grows fond of, and withdraws, to give
Her tints of sympathy, ideal grace,
Languishing sentiment, and faithful tear,
To the wild woodland: there she feels enlarg'd,
And far from noise, looks calmly o'er the grave.
Petrarch! hadst thou not liv'd, what mind had dar'd
To own that flame, kindled so near the throne
Of God, it makes man like him? From this height
I see the bleating lamb trot o'er the turf
That covers long descended kingdoms: hear
The tyger roar, where tyrants scourg'd mankind:
On roofs of buried palaces remark
The mole rearing her fabric; learn the hymn
Sweet Philomel sings to the warriors shade—
Far o'er the plain, beneath the midnight moon.
Here I gaze wond'ring at yon motley crowd,
Who eye me through a medium all their own.—
I like them not, their pageantry contemn—
They know not to communicate delight—
But square my compass with a mimic skill.
Give not my soul's rich meaning; or my thought
Rises too boldly o'er the human line
70
For words to form a picture for the world
Too rare? O world! what hast thou in thy sounds
So dear as silent memory when she leads
The shade of the departed? Ask despair
What renovation is, when friendship bends
To kiss her tears away;—but ask her eyes;
The pleasing anguish dwells not on her tongue.
Will friendship stay, when love and virtue fly?
Sooner Leviathan shall pierce the skies,
Roll 'mid the burning chamber of the sun,
And hate the chrystal caverns in the deep!
“Folly” could ne'er o'ertake me. Oft I verge,
When warm'd by fancy, to the farthest bound
My sense of words can bear; but at the extreme
Contemn the sense that chastity throws off.—
“Folly!” Good heaven! have I not climb'd an height
So frightful, e'en from comfort so remote,
That had my judgment reel'd, my foot forgot
Its strenuous print, my inexperienced eye
71
Made early stubborn, her exalted pride,
Though of external poor; the stagnant lake
Of vice beneath, than Cocytus more foul,
Had oped its wave to swallow me, and hide
My frame for ever. This I saw: the year
Ne'er rip'd the corn, or strew'd the yellow leaf,
But some too feeble maid, who in the morn
Ascended with me, lost her hold and fell;
Leaving the glorious plaudit of the wise
To rough laborious spirits. I attained
With wretchedness this summit; hence, look down
On the laps'd ages, towers, and sleeping kings,
Whose heads repose 'mid monarchies engulph'd,
With temples, oracles, long whisp'ring fanes,
Thro' which the mystic meaning aw'd the crowd,
And stoop'd the public spirit to its lore:
There lie vast amphitheatres, where sat
The monarch with his thousands, to behold
How beasts of prey could tear the human heart,
72
My muse! turn from the vision, lest thou wake
Emotion, and compare that heart with mine—
There gentle Petrarch sleeps; mild victim long
To that serene despair, which once imbib'd
The soul grows fond of, and withdraws, to give
Her tints of sympathy, ideal grace,
Languishing sentiment, and faithful tear,
To the wild woodland: there she feels enlarg'd,
And far from noise, looks calmly o'er the grave.
Petrarch! hadst thou not liv'd, what mind had dar'd
To own that flame, kindled so near the throne
Of God, it makes man like him? From this height
I see the bleating lamb trot o'er the turf
That covers long descended kingdoms: hear
The tyger roar, where tyrants scourg'd mankind:
On roofs of buried palaces remark
The mole rearing her fabric; learn the hymn
Sweet Philomel sings to the warriors shade—
Far o'er the plain, beneath the midnight moon.
73
Who eye me through a medium all their own.—
I like them not, their pageantry contemn—
They know not to communicate delight—
But square my compass with a mimic skill.
Bear with me, generous ******, when my soul,
Wing'd with her self-creative pow'r, explores
The utmost limit of her gloomy sphere;
Beholds the fighting monsters of the mind
Afar, and timely flies to this retreat.—
My heart no human institution binds
To hideous Furies which distort the slave
Of vice. Let fall thy sacred precept! Know,
'Tis not to pass the line for ever plac'd
'Mid the platonic system, to revere
Myself, adore in solitude, perform
More social duties, whilst I tune my reed
To Friendship, Virtue, Love, and Heav'n, and Thee.
Wing'd with her self-creative pow'r, explores
The utmost limit of her gloomy sphere;
Beholds the fighting monsters of the mind
Afar, and timely flies to this retreat.—
My heart no human institution binds
To hideous Furies which distort the slave
Of vice. Let fall thy sacred precept! Know,
'Tis not to pass the line for ever plac'd
'Mid the platonic system, to revere
Myself, adore in solitude, perform
More social duties, whilst I tune my reed
To Friendship, Virtue, Love, and Heav'n, and Thee.
74
ADDRESS TO FRIENDSHIP;
A FRAGMENT.
GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF BRISTOL AND LORD BISHOP OF DERRY.
Friendship! thou noblest ardour of the soul,
Immortal essence, languor's best support,
Chief dignifying proof of glorious man!
Long have I search'd the human heart for thee—
Firm cement of the world, endearing tie,
Which binds the willing soul, and brings along
Her chastest, strongest, and sublimest pow'rs!
Immortal essence, languor's best support,
Chief dignifying proof of glorious man!
Long have I search'd the human heart for thee—
Firm cement of the world, endearing tie,
Which binds the willing soul, and brings along
Her chastest, strongest, and sublimest pow'rs!
All else the dregs of spirit!—Love's soft flame
Bewildering leads th'infatuated soul;
Levels, depresses, wraps in endless mists
Of deadly languishment, whilst Fancy fills
Th'inflaming draught, and aids the calenture.
Intoxicating charm! Yet, well refin'd
By Virtue's brightening flame, pure it ascends,
As incense in its grateful circles mounts,
Till, mixt and lost with thee, it boasts thy name.
Bewildering leads th'infatuated soul;
Levels, depresses, wraps in endless mists
75
Th'inflaming draught, and aids the calenture.
Intoxicating charm! Yet, well refin'd
By Virtue's brightening flame, pure it ascends,
As incense in its grateful circles mounts,
Till, mixt and lost with thee, it boasts thy name.
O thou coy blessing! woo'd with eager hope,
As clowns the nightly vapour swift pursue,
And fain would grasp to cheer their lonely way—
Vain the wide stretch, and vain the shorten'd breath;
For, ah! the bright delusion onward flies,
While the sad swain, deceiv'd, now cautious treads
The common beaten track, nor quits it more.
As clowns the nightly vapour swift pursue,
And fain would grasp to cheer their lonely way—
Vain the wide stretch, and vain the shorten'd breath;
For, ah! the bright delusion onward flies,
While the sad swain, deceiv'd, now cautious treads
The common beaten track, nor quits it more.
Not unexisting art thou, but so rare
That delving souls ne'er find thee. 'Tis to thee
When found (How seldom found!), sweet Fugitive,
The noble mind reveals her richest stores
Of treasur'd sorrow, hope expiring, thought
Wearied with sublunary scenes, e'en love,
The gift of Deity, untimely dead.—
Yet lives such pomp around the injur'd soul,
That thou sublime of origin art made
Divine, whilst bending o'er her. Only then
Thy claim is fair to immortality—
Then sickly cold suspicions fly the god
That owns thee, beauteous Friendship, and declares
Thy mighty hold suits the courageous breast
Where stubborn Virtues dwell in secret league,
And each conspires to fortify the rest.
That delving souls ne'er find thee. 'Tis to thee
When found (How seldom found!), sweet Fugitive,
The noble mind reveals her richest stores
Of treasur'd sorrow, hope expiring, thought
Wearied with sublunary scenes, e'en love,
The gift of Deity, untimely dead.—
76
That thou sublime of origin art made
Divine, whilst bending o'er her. Only then
Thy claim is fair to immortality—
Then sickly cold suspicions fly the god
That owns thee, beauteous Friendship, and declares
Thy mighty hold suits the courageous breast
Where stubborn Virtues dwell in secret league,
And each conspires to fortify the rest.
Ethereal spirits alone may hope to prove
Thy strong yet softened rapture;—soften'd more
When penitence succeeds to injury;
When, doubting pardon, the meek pleading eye
On which the soul had once with pleasure hung,
Swims in the tear of sorrow and repentance.
The faultless mind with treble pity views
The tarnish'd Friend who feels the sting of shame.
'Tis then too little, barely to forgive;
Nor can the soul rest on that frigid thought—
Warm'd by that influence, mindful of thy joys,
Thy mingled confidence, thy binding zone,
Wherein two equal spirits mildly bore
The errors of their nature, she dissolves,
And, rushing swiftly from her stoic heights,
With all her frozen feelings melted down
By pity's genial beams, she sinks distrest,
Shares the contagion, and with lenient hand
Lifts the warm chalice fill'd with consolation.
Thy strong yet softened rapture;—soften'd more
When penitence succeeds to injury;
When, doubting pardon, the meek pleading eye
On which the soul had once with pleasure hung,
Swims in the tear of sorrow and repentance.
The faultless mind with treble pity views
The tarnish'd Friend who feels the sting of shame.
'Tis then too little, barely to forgive;
Nor can the soul rest on that frigid thought—
Warm'd by that influence, mindful of thy joys,
77
Wherein two equal spirits mildly bore
The errors of their nature, she dissolves,
And, rushing swiftly from her stoic heights,
With all her frozen feelings melted down
By pity's genial beams, she sinks distrest,
Shares the contagion, and with lenient hand
Lifts the warm chalice fill'd with consolation.
Yet Friendship's name oft decks the crafty lip:
Her robe is borrow'd to allure: her smile,
Whose most remote resemblance charms, put on:
Her heav'nly air and mien so falsely worn,
That she who scorns her imitates her best,
And woos with guilty blandishment the heart
For Friendship only form'd. Ah, why beguile
The pensive soul? Unapt, strange, unsubdu'd—
So full of native energy, she scorns
Your wily promptitude, shuns your advance,
Attempts the heights of Friendship, and abjures,
Though hazardous her flight, the world well lost.
Her robe is borrow'd to allure: her smile,
Whose most remote resemblance charms, put on:
Her heav'nly air and mien so falsely worn,
That she who scorns her imitates her best,
And woos with guilty blandishment the heart
For Friendship only form'd. Ah, why beguile
The pensive soul? Unapt, strange, unsubdu'd—
So full of native energy, she scorns
Your wily promptitude, shuns your advance,
Attempts the heights of Friendship, and abjures,
Though hazardous her flight, the world well lost.
78
Go, thou that hast thy interest wrapt in craft,
With seeming virtue clothe thy ruthless soul,
Breathe the soft accent feign'd to look like truth;
And, like the sun-scorch'd serpent, gently steal
To the poor honest unsuspecting heart:
There wind thy folds, ape infant slumber, lie
Contiguous to the avenues of grief,
Till her sad bosom open with her sigh.—
Then seize her form defenceless! Then sink deep,
Explore her sacred treasures, basely heave
Her long lov'd woes to an unpitying world!
Go, sooth, ensnare, contemn, and then betray!
With seeming virtue clothe thy ruthless soul,
Breathe the soft accent feign'd to look like truth;
And, like the sun-scorch'd serpent, gently steal
To the poor honest unsuspecting heart:
There wind thy folds, ape infant slumber, lie
Contiguous to the avenues of grief,
Till her sad bosom open with her sigh.—
Then seize her form defenceless! Then sink deep,
Explore her sacred treasures, basely heave
Her long lov'd woes to an unpitying world!
Go, sooth, ensnare, contemn, and then betray!
What art thou, Fiend, who thus usurp'st the form
Of the mild cherub? Tell me by what name
The ostentatious call thee, thou who wreck'st
The gloomy peace of sorrow-loving souls!
Why, thou art Vanity, ungenerous sprite,
Who tarnishest the action deem'd so great,
And of soul-saving essence. But for thee,
How pure, how bright, would yon fair convert shine!
And but that thou'rt incorp'rate with the flame,
Which else wou'd bless where'er its beams illume,
My grateful spirit had recorded here
Thy splendid seemings—Long I've known their worth.
Of the mild cherub? Tell me by what name
The ostentatious call thee, thou who wreck'st
The gloomy peace of sorrow-loving souls!
Why, thou art Vanity, ungenerous sprite,
Who tarnishest the action deem'd so great,
And of soul-saving essence. But for thee,
How pure, how bright, would yon fair convert shine!
79
Which else wou'd bless where'er its beams illume,
My grateful spirit had recorded here
Thy splendid seemings—Long I've known their worth.
Oh! 'tis the deepest error man can prove,
To fancy joys disint'rested can live
Indissoluble, pure, unmix'd with self.
Why, 'twere to be immortal, 'twere to own
No part but spirit in this chilling gloom.
To fancy joys disint'rested can live
Indissoluble, pure, unmix'd with self.
Why, 'twere to be immortal, 'twere to own
No part but spirit in this chilling gloom.
My soul's ambitious, and its utmost stretch
Would be to own a Friend. But that's denied!
Now, at this bold avowal, gaze, ye eyes
Which kindly melted at my woe-fraught tale;
Start back, Benevolence, and shun the charge;
Soft bending Pity, fly the sullen phrase;
Ye are not Friendship! Gentle pow'rs, forgive
My profanation! I was roughly bred,
Taught, felt, and murmur'd stubbornly—The tears
You love, I scorn'd, grew proud, and long'd to rove
O'er the bleak wild; not to be serv'd by you.
Would be to own a Friend. But that's denied!
Now, at this bold avowal, gaze, ye eyes
Which kindly melted at my woe-fraught tale;
Start back, Benevolence, and shun the charge;
Soft bending Pity, fly the sullen phrase;
Ye are not Friendship! Gentle pow'rs, forgive
My profanation! I was roughly bred,
Taught, felt, and murmur'd stubbornly—The tears
You love, I scorn'd, grew proud, and long'd to rove
O'er the bleak wild; not to be serv'd by you.
80
Ye are the foes of Friendship! Your grand seal
Is grief insulted by dependence. Those
Who wear it, Friendship shuns. Oh ye have spoil'd
My claim to that fair angel! I had fill'd
My soul with plans that dignify; compos'd
The spirit sick with frenzied passion; taught
Sweet confidence, that strikes her stubborn root
Downward with time, to own me!—This I did
In noble fellowship of mind, and stood
On my own base, weeping the ills of those
Who call'd for wealth to cure them. I had none.
Is grief insulted by dependence. Those
Who wear it, Friendship shuns. Oh ye have spoil'd
My claim to that fair angel! I had fill'd
My soul with plans that dignify; compos'd
The spirit sick with frenzied passion; taught
Sweet confidence, that strikes her stubborn root
Downward with time, to own me!—This I did
In noble fellowship of mind, and stood
On my own base, weeping the ills of those
Who call'd for wealth to cure them. I had none.
Indulgent Bristol, thou hast borne with me,
Observ'd my frowardness, my silent step;
Invited me, when shrinking from the scene,
Full of amazement where I felt a wound
When ostentation mark'd me for her work,
To rest on thee, whose brilliancy of thought
Strikes on the million, and illumines me.—
Yet know, I boast not Friendship.—Take her form;
Warm with her essence bosoms like thy own!
Whilst I am cold, and banish'd from the flame
That lives but in equality *** ********
Observ'd my frowardness, my silent step;
Invited me, when shrinking from the scene,
Full of amazement where I felt a wound
When ostentation mark'd me for her work,
To rest on thee, whose brilliancy of thought
Strikes on the million, and illumines me.—
Yet know, I boast not Friendship.—Take her form;
Warm with her essence bosoms like thy own!
81
That lives but in equality *** ********
[_]
[Should this fragment on Friendship be found to contain variations from the Author's MS. written in the year 1784, and published under the patronage of Miss Hannah More in 1785; the Author must apologize by avowing, that none of her manuscripts placed in the hands of Miss Hannah More were ever returned. To do justice to the parties, and the public judgment, this assertion may in future prove necessary. Every original manuscript of Ann Yearsley ought to appear in her own hand-writing: consequently the MSS. belonging to her first book of Poems, together with her others that were entrusted to and not published by that Lady, should not have been concealed from public inspection. The Nobleman to whom this fragment on Friendship is respectfully inscribed, had the opportunity of perusing only a part of it, then in the Author's possession, that was much torn; and to his Lordship it was presented as a trifling but genuine proof of Ann Yearsley's manner of composing at that time. She has since published it according to the first printed edition, and now attempts a slight revision of that printed copy; the whole of her original MSS. being still with Miss More, to whom Ann Yearsley's obligations, in other respects, are boundless as the ocean.]
82
PAROXYSM OF THE MOMENT.
Fly me, Care! I will not be
Through the world a slave to thee!
Take thy fetters; know, my soul
Laughs, old Fiend, at thy controul.
O'er the feeble shake thy chain,
Nurse the love-sick widow's pain;
Dry the tear that leaves her eye,
Listen late and catch her sigh.
Tell her, to relieve her flame
Thou art come—She knows thy name.
Not the ghost that Fancy steals
From the charnel-house, reveals
Half the horrors of thy frown,
Half the serpents on thy crown,
Half the flames that round thee play
To burn my brain—Begone, I say!—
Guiltless rapture is my hire—
Is it that thou wouldst require?
Is it money? I have none—
Is it love?—I'll not be won—
Is it pity for the Great?
Take it. Misery weeps in state!
But thy woes and worldly wiles
Wound me not!—My Fancy smiles.
Through the world a slave to thee!
Take thy fetters; know, my soul
Laughs, old Fiend, at thy controul.
O'er the feeble shake thy chain,
Nurse the love-sick widow's pain;
Dry the tear that leaves her eye,
Listen late and catch her sigh.
Tell her, to relieve her flame
Thou art come—She knows thy name.
Not the ghost that Fancy steals
From the charnel-house, reveals
Half the horrors of thy frown,
Half the serpents on thy crown,
Half the flames that round thee play
To burn my brain—Begone, I say!—
83
Is it that thou wouldst require?
Is it money? I have none—
Is it love?—I'll not be won—
Is it pity for the Great?
Take it. Misery weeps in state!
But thy woes and worldly wiles
Wound me not!—My Fancy smiles.
Hither haste, luxurious Ease!
Bring thy phantoms form'd to please.
Lightly with ungirdled waist,
Mix my viands to thy taste;
Lay me softly on thy bed,
With thy roses bind my head;
Breathe a tender thrilling air,
Shed thy fragrance in my hair;
All my tones of spirit try,
Swift to pleasure set them high!
And, when thou hast finish'd, swear
Thou wilt shield my soul from Care.
Bring thy phantoms form'd to please.
Lightly with ungirdled waist,
Mix my viands to thy taste;
Lay me softly on thy bed,
With thy roses bind my head;
Breathe a tender thrilling air,
Shed thy fragrance in my hair;
All my tones of spirit try,
Swift to pleasure set them high!
And, when thou hast finish'd, swear
Thou wilt shield my soul from Care.
84
TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES SHIELLS, ESQ.
AGED SIXTY-SIX.
If artless love was in thy breast refin'd
By nobler friendship, tarry, pensive shade!
If thou e'er hover'st on the midnight wind,
Or rov'st unseen the solitary glade;
If, when beneath the starless hour I sigh,
To sorrow-soothing echo thou perchance art nigh—
By nobler friendship, tarry, pensive shade!
If thou e'er hover'st on the midnight wind,
Or rov'st unseen the solitary glade;
If, when beneath the starless hour I sigh,
To sorrow-soothing echo thou perchance art nigh—
I charge thee, stay! Oh stay, lamented Shiells!
List, as thou once wert wont, to my sad lay;
Indulge the tear that down my bosom steals,
Should pure affection teach that tear to stray!
Thou oft wouldst guide me, when in life's low vale—
And call'st my spirit hence through ev'ry passing gale.
List, as thou once wert wont, to my sad lay;
Indulge the tear that down my bosom steals,
Should pure affection teach that tear to stray!
Thou oft wouldst guide me, when in life's low vale—
And call'st my spirit hence through ev'ry passing gale.
85
How oft, amid thy lovely offspring set,
Did we in social converse spend the hour;
How oft we reason'd, why mysterious Fate
Should set near bounds to intellectual pow'r!
Thy taper wasted, the cœlestial choir
Began their morning hymn, ere we could well retire.
Did we in social converse spend the hour;
How oft we reason'd, why mysterious Fate
Should set near bounds to intellectual pow'r!
Thy taper wasted, the cœlestial choir
Began their morning hymn, ere we could well retire.
The ancient Chaos struck me as a void
Dreary and vast, whence hollow murmurs rose:
I question'd, if some universe destroy'd
Might not its mingled atoms once compose?
“Ah think not, Anna!” was thy mild reply,
“That back to Time's dark birth thy daring thought shall fly.”
Dreary and vast, whence hollow murmurs rose:
I question'd, if some universe destroy'd
Might not its mingled atoms once compose?
“Ah think not, Anna!” was thy mild reply,
“That back to Time's dark birth thy daring thought shall fly.”
I priz'd thee with a more than common love!—
Alas! I saw thy faculties decay:
I saw for thee the hours too swiftly move—
Age mark'd the sum thy Friendship mourn'd to pay.
I could not snatch thee from the arm of Time,
Or keep thy weary soul from her immortal clime!
Alas! I saw thy faculties decay:
I saw for thee the hours too swiftly move—
Age mark'd the sum thy Friendship mourn'd to pay.
I could not snatch thee from the arm of Time,
Or keep thy weary soul from her immortal clime!
86
Where art thou, Shiells? Is it denied thy ghost
To hail my slumber in night's awful hour;
To bring some chart of that eternal coast,
Where souls no more taste Death's extinguish'd pow'r?
Ah couldst thou once poor Virtue's meed declare,
How would her strength renew to struggle with despair!
To hail my slumber in night's awful hour;
To bring some chart of that eternal coast,
Where souls no more taste Death's extinguish'd pow'r?
Ah couldst thou once poor Virtue's meed declare,
How would her strength renew to struggle with despair!
This world an empty bauble bound with chains
Appears to me!—the mass of human thought
So weak and feeble, that fair Truth complains
How much it staggers from the line she taught.
No wonder I am eager to retire
From scenes where, rudely serv'd, I saw my hopes expire!
Appears to me!—the mass of human thought
So weak and feeble, that fair Truth complains
How much it staggers from the line she taught.
No wonder I am eager to retire
From scenes where, rudely serv'd, I saw my hopes expire!
Faithful to truth, by angels' friendship blest,
With them approach, and gild this lonely vale;
Behold thy moral virtues in my breast—
Thy fewer foibles vanish'd on the gale!
Behold how Fancy soothes!—Oh! what is life
But visionary bliss, with Reason still at strife?
With them approach, and gild this lonely vale;
Behold thy moral virtues in my breast—
Thy fewer foibles vanish'd on the gale!
Behold how Fancy soothes!—Oh! what is life
But visionary bliss, with Reason still at strife?
87
Oft do I from the restless pillow raise
My heavy head, to view pale Luna's beam;
Oft round my chamber chase her parting rays,
And list reflective to yon troubled stream;
Whilst Contemplation leads thy shadow nigh,
Whisp'ring, “My conflict's o'er: Anna, prepare to die!”
My heavy head, to view pale Luna's beam;
Oft round my chamber chase her parting rays,
And list reflective to yon troubled stream;
Whilst Contemplation leads thy shadow nigh,
Whisp'ring, “My conflict's o'er: Anna, prepare to die!”
88
THE CAPTIVE LINNET.
Mycias, behold this bird! see how she tires—
Breaks her soft plumes, and springs against the wires!
A clown more rude than gracious brought her here
To pine in silence, and to die in snare.
Her haunt she well remembers: ev'ry morn
Her sweet note warbled from the blowing thorn
That hangs o'er yon cool wave; responses clear
Her sisters gave, and sprang through upper air.
E'en now (by habit gentler made), at eve,
A time when men their green dominions leave,
They sit, and call her near her fav'rite spray,
Meet no reply, and pensive wing their way.
This wound in friendship dear affections heal,
Their young require them: to their nests they steal;
Nurse them with warmth, with hope, with true delight,
And teach the danger of an early flight.—
Delicious toil! raptures that never cloy!
A mother only can define her joy.
Breaks her soft plumes, and springs against the wires!
A clown more rude than gracious brought her here
To pine in silence, and to die in snare.
Her haunt she well remembers: ev'ry morn
Her sweet note warbled from the blowing thorn
That hangs o'er yon cool wave; responses clear
Her sisters gave, and sprang through upper air.
E'en now (by habit gentler made), at eve,
A time when men their green dominions leave,
They sit, and call her near her fav'rite spray,
Meet no reply, and pensive wing their way.
This wound in friendship dear affections heal,
Their young require them: to their nests they steal;
Nurse them with warmth, with hope, with true delight,
And teach the danger of an early flight.—
89
A mother only can define her joy.
Perhaps, dear Mycias, this poor mourner's breast
Was yesternight on her weak offspring prest!—
The down scarce breaking on their tender skin,
Their eyes yet clos'd, their bodies cold and thin;
Waiting when she would kindly warmth impart,
And take them trembling to her gen'rous heart.
Where are they now, sweet captive? Who'll befriend
Thy mourning children, as the storms descend?
The winds are bleak, thy mossy cradle's torn—
Hark! they lament thee, hungry and forlorn!
Each shiv'ring brother round his sister creeps,
Deep in the nest thy little daughter sleeps.
Again the blast, that tears the oak, comes on:
Thy rocking house, thy family are gone!
One to an hungry weasel falls a prey;
Another chirps, but not to hail the day:
Too weak to live, he seeks no casual aid,
And dies, rememb'ring thee, beneath the shade.
Where could thy daughter go? More weak and shrill
Her voice was heard. The ants forsake their hill.—
Through that republic Addison display'd,
When he unsated hunger virtue made,
And gave, unwisely, ant-like souls to man—
The barb'rous rumour of misfortune ran.
Alike pourtray'd in hist'ry and in verse,
For prey industrious, obdurate and fierce:
Voracious columns move! The victim's voice
Invites her foes, who sting her, and rejoice.
Keenly their riots on her frame begin:
She tries to shake them from her downy skin;
Their organs touch her springs of being—Strife
She holds not with her fate—she trembles out of life.
Was yesternight on her weak offspring prest!—
The down scarce breaking on their tender skin,
Their eyes yet clos'd, their bodies cold and thin;
Waiting when she would kindly warmth impart,
And take them trembling to her gen'rous heart.
Where are they now, sweet captive? Who'll befriend
Thy mourning children, as the storms descend?
The winds are bleak, thy mossy cradle's torn—
Hark! they lament thee, hungry and forlorn!
Each shiv'ring brother round his sister creeps,
Deep in the nest thy little daughter sleeps.
Again the blast, that tears the oak, comes on:
Thy rocking house, thy family are gone!
One to an hungry weasel falls a prey;
Another chirps, but not to hail the day:
Too weak to live, he seeks no casual aid,
And dies, rememb'ring thee, beneath the shade.
90
Her voice was heard. The ants forsake their hill.—
Through that republic Addison display'd,
When he unsated hunger virtue made,
And gave, unwisely, ant-like souls to man—
The barb'rous rumour of misfortune ran.
Alike pourtray'd in hist'ry and in verse,
For prey industrious, obdurate and fierce:
Voracious columns move! The victim's voice
Invites her foes, who sting her, and rejoice.
Keenly their riots on her frame begin:
She tries to shake them from her downy skin;
Their organs touch her springs of being—Strife
She holds not with her fate—she trembles out of life.
O Mycias! What hath yon barbarian gain'd,
Who with malicious joy this linnet chain'd?
Could she at morn salute his untun'd ear?
When dull with vice could she the gaoler cheer;
Hail him with strains of liberty; proclaim,
With harmony he hates, her maker's name:
Or peck from him the crumb withheld so long,
That her heart sicken'd e'en at freedom's song?
No: see, she droops, rejects his aid—confin'd—
Her dreary cage she scorns, and dies resign'd.
Who with malicious joy this linnet chain'd?
Could she at morn salute his untun'd ear?
When dull with vice could she the gaoler cheer;
Hail him with strains of liberty; proclaim,
With harmony he hates, her maker's name:
91
That her heart sicken'd e'en at freedom's song?
No: see, she droops, rejects his aid—confin'd—
Her dreary cage she scorns, and dies resign'd.
Mycias! thus spreads unseen more ling'ring woe,
Than e'en thy sympathising soul must know:
Wisely ordain'd! He mocks the proffer'd cure,
Who bids his friend one fruitless pang endure:
Since pity turns to anguish, when denied,
And troubles swell, which must in death subside.
Ah! fly the scene; secure that guilt can find
In brutal force no fetter for the mind!
True! Violated thus, it feels the chain,
Rises with languor, and lies down with pain;
Yet bless'd in trembling to one mighty whole,
Death is the field of victory for the soul.
Than e'en thy sympathising soul must know:
Wisely ordain'd! He mocks the proffer'd cure,
Who bids his friend one fruitless pang endure:
Since pity turns to anguish, when denied,
And troubles swell, which must in death subside.
Ah! fly the scene; secure that guilt can find
In brutal force no fetter for the mind!
True! Violated thus, it feels the chain,
Rises with languor, and lies down with pain;
Yet bless'd in trembling to one mighty whole,
Death is the field of victory for the soul.
92
SONNET TO ---.
Lo! dreary Winter, howling o'er the waste,
Imprints the glebe, bids ev'ry channel fill—
His tears in torrents down the mountains haste,
His breath augments despair, and checks our will!
Yet thy pure flame through lonely night is seen,
To lure the shiv'ring pilgrim o'er the green—
He hastens on, nor heeds the pelting blast:
Thy spirit softly breathes—“The worst is past;
Warm thee, poor wand'rer, 'mid thy devious way!
On thy cold bosom hangs unwholesome air;
Ah! pass not this bright fire! Thou long may'st stray
Ere through the glens one other spark appear.”
Imprints the glebe, bids ev'ry channel fill—
His tears in torrents down the mountains haste,
His breath augments despair, and checks our will!
Yet thy pure flame through lonely night is seen,
To lure the shiv'ring pilgrim o'er the green—
He hastens on, nor heeds the pelting blast:
Thy spirit softly breathes—“The worst is past;
Warm thee, poor wand'rer, 'mid thy devious way!
On thy cold bosom hangs unwholesome air;
Ah! pass not this bright fire! Thou long may'st stray
Ere through the glens one other spark appear.”
Thus breaks thy friendship on my sinking mind,
And lures me on, while sorrow dies behind.
And lures me on, while sorrow dies behind.
93
SONNET TO THE SAME, WRITTEN AT MORN, ON ST. VINCENT'S ROCK, BRISTOL HOT-WELLS.
The lamp of heaven in her last stage behold;
Salubrious dew yet trickles down the thorn;
The sheep-bell sounds not yet within the fold;
Weary the woodman sleeps, nor dreams 'tis morn.
Whilst on the forehead of the east is seen
One gem of infant light; do those afar,
Who wasted night 'mid gay voluptuous scene,
Healthful with me behold yon morning star?
Can wisdom's vot'ry like yon woodman sleep?
Or breathes he now the fragrance of the plain;
Or musing stray near the tremendous deep?
Or does he, Phœbus, raise thy sacred strain?
Salubrious dew yet trickles down the thorn;
The sheep-bell sounds not yet within the fold;
Weary the woodman sleeps, nor dreams 'tis morn.
Whilst on the forehead of the east is seen
One gem of infant light; do those afar,
Who wasted night 'mid gay voluptuous scene,
Healthful with me behold yon morning star?
Can wisdom's vot'ry like yon woodman sleep?
Or breathes he now the fragrance of the plain;
Or musing stray near the tremendous deep?
Or does he, Phœbus, raise thy sacred strain?
Where'er the child of thought reflects, with me,
Inspire him, tuneful god!—O raise his soul to thee!
Inspire him, tuneful god!—O raise his soul to thee!
94
THE GENIUS OF ENGLAND,
On the Rock of Ages, RECOMMENDING ORDER, COMMERCE AND UNION TO THE BRITONS.
Look up to me, rebellious children!—Hear
Your father's voice, as on this rock I stand
Surrounded by the Pow'rs of Order. Who
Contemplative among you saw her form
By fine gradation rising from the gulf
Barbaric? Hold her to your hearts. What Time
Makes beautiful is dear to man: what Time
Transiently forms, none should contend for. Charms,
Strength, comeliness, the features of a god,
You give to Order, when inviolate
And sacred you preserve her. Boundless Love,
Concord, harmonious Liberty and Peace,
Too mild for vulgar souls to value, wait
Near me, invisible, at this dread hour
To bless my murm'ring children. Souls replete
With meditation, list! O bend, ye minds
Of dark and stubborn quality! Away,
Assassins, to the feast where Murder smiles
Triumphant o'er her bleeding victims! Long
Paternal anguish linger'd with my laws,
Whilst froward tempers wearied me. With you
I slept in dear affection; rose with you,
My sons, to wave your banners, fill your sail;
And sent my blooming Commerce thro' the world.
Commerce by me was blest! He grew with you.
His brothers, fairer than the tribes of Ind,
Lav'd desolated shores for you: explor'd,
Busily patient, mines tremendous;—realms
Where Liberty, Religion, and the Name
We love and fear, were strangers. Oft my son
Stray'd o'er the worlds of ice, his golden hair
Pendent with glittering rubies. On his breast
He wore my emblems: manners boldly firm
Conceal'd his heart dissolving: On his tongue,
Unvers'd in flatt'ry, Freedom, born of Law,
Sat ever, to the Pagan yielding much,
Lest charity, philanthropy, and love,
Should blush for his defect—Unfinish'd man,
Produc'd when Nature dallied with employ.
Maids taught to ride presuming waves, or snatch
Invaluable Zimbis from her bed
Transparent, lov'd my son. Mild dwarfish tribes
Mourn'd him; a ship-wreck'd stranger as he rov'd
Deep vales of Afric', gathering as he went
Fair truths of intellect, that blaze the mind,
Irradiate mem'ry, and instruct your babes,
When on the floors of Albion. From his form
Gigantic to their view the pigmy maids
Fled trembling; yet with insect skill contriv'd
Nets for his hair, rare sandals for his feet,
Canopy of light rushes, so contriv'd
By secret means, such as true friendship finds,
To consolate the awful rover.—Who,
Within my courts, beneath my throned seat,
On hills, in scientific dome or porch,
Or festive chamber, or on outstretch'd lands,
Peninsulas, hoar rocks, or mid the breast
Of peace, hails not Britannia's commerce? Sons,
This is the pow'r my rival's hate would lure
From you and me. Order, divinely fair!
Whose forehead millions of attracting stars
Adorn forever; whose wide pinions coop
Th'expanse; who, breathing through the vast profound,
Awakens life unutterable—She
Who holds the snowy burthens of the North
Lest they, impulsive, heavily destroy,
Consoles the captive near the lonely South,
Cools fiery East, and curtains dewy West
With sevenfold glory—Pale assassins dare
Attempt to calumny, malice. Envious men
Inquisitive, to draw the guiltless heart
Within their snares, would, like gaunt wolves, deface
The charms of Order. Children, misinform'd,
All you can know of God, you must behold
Through Order: ever-blessed peace and love,
Mercy, benevolence, that flame so pure,
So little understood, mild charity
Are her true attributes. When your proud souls
Shrink with remembrance of your finite state,
Nor dare compare presumptuously your God
With things on earth, let Order teach the heart
To bend obedient, wonder and adore.
Beneath her shadowing influence, Britons view
Arts, sciences; those bulwarks of your isle,
Triumphant navies, rising o'er the scene.
Minds forming swiftly, sedulous, and rare,
For Virtue's little senate—Wisdom hangs
Her sacred lamp o'er venerable heads,
Who tremble with their spirits' strength; their frames
Devoted long to unimpassion'd love,
Such as the Deity may own. Would you
Give up your sages, or forsake the tombs
Of your brave ancestors? Would you receive
Anarchy's furious and disloyal brood,
More fell than harpies or the gorgon race,
Whose glances freeze the channels of the blood?
Your father's voice, as on this rock I stand
Surrounded by the Pow'rs of Order. Who
Contemplative among you saw her form
By fine gradation rising from the gulf
Barbaric? Hold her to your hearts. What Time
Makes beautiful is dear to man: what Time
Transiently forms, none should contend for. Charms,
Strength, comeliness, the features of a god,
You give to Order, when inviolate
And sacred you preserve her. Boundless Love,
Concord, harmonious Liberty and Peace,
Too mild for vulgar souls to value, wait
95
To bless my murm'ring children. Souls replete
With meditation, list! O bend, ye minds
Of dark and stubborn quality! Away,
Assassins, to the feast where Murder smiles
Triumphant o'er her bleeding victims! Long
Paternal anguish linger'd with my laws,
Whilst froward tempers wearied me. With you
I slept in dear affection; rose with you,
My sons, to wave your banners, fill your sail;
And sent my blooming Commerce thro' the world.
Commerce by me was blest! He grew with you.
His brothers, fairer than the tribes of Ind,
Lav'd desolated shores for you: explor'd,
Busily patient, mines tremendous;—realms
Where Liberty, Religion, and the Name
We love and fear, were strangers. Oft my son
Stray'd o'er the worlds of ice, his golden hair
Pendent with glittering rubies. On his breast
He wore my emblems: manners boldly firm
Conceal'd his heart dissolving: On his tongue,
96
Sat ever, to the Pagan yielding much,
Lest charity, philanthropy, and love,
Should blush for his defect—Unfinish'd man,
Produc'd when Nature dallied with employ.
Maids taught to ride presuming waves, or snatch
Invaluable Zimbis from her bed
Transparent, lov'd my son. Mild dwarfish tribes
Mourn'd him; a ship-wreck'd stranger as he rov'd
Deep vales of Afric', gathering as he went
Fair truths of intellect, that blaze the mind,
Irradiate mem'ry, and instruct your babes,
When on the floors of Albion. From his form
Gigantic to their view the pigmy maids
Fled trembling; yet with insect skill contriv'd
Nets for his hair, rare sandals for his feet,
Canopy of light rushes, so contriv'd
97
To consolate the awful rover.—Who,
Within my courts, beneath my throned seat,
On hills, in scientific dome or porch,
Or festive chamber, or on outstretch'd lands,
Peninsulas, hoar rocks, or mid the breast
Of peace, hails not Britannia's commerce? Sons,
This is the pow'r my rival's hate would lure
From you and me. Order, divinely fair!
Whose forehead millions of attracting stars
Adorn forever; whose wide pinions coop
Th'expanse; who, breathing through the vast profound,
Awakens life unutterable—She
Who holds the snowy burthens of the North
Lest they, impulsive, heavily destroy,
Consoles the captive near the lonely South,
Cools fiery East, and curtains dewy West
With sevenfold glory—Pale assassins dare
Attempt to calumny, malice. Envious men
Inquisitive, to draw the guiltless heart
98
The charms of Order. Children, misinform'd,
All you can know of God, you must behold
Through Order: ever-blessed peace and love,
Mercy, benevolence, that flame so pure,
So little understood, mild charity
Are her true attributes. When your proud souls
Shrink with remembrance of your finite state,
Nor dare compare presumptuously your God
With things on earth, let Order teach the heart
To bend obedient, wonder and adore.
Beneath her shadowing influence, Britons view
Arts, sciences; those bulwarks of your isle,
Triumphant navies, rising o'er the scene.
Minds forming swiftly, sedulous, and rare,
For Virtue's little senate—Wisdom hangs
Her sacred lamp o'er venerable heads,
Who tremble with their spirits' strength; their frames
Devoted long to unimpassion'd love,
Such as the Deity may own. Would you
99
Of your brave ancestors? Would you receive
Anarchy's furious and disloyal brood,
More fell than harpies or the gorgon race,
Whose glances freeze the channels of the blood?
Order, for ever hail! Ages shall give
New beauty to thy precept: Art shall draw
His tints from thy instruction; wait with care
The peaceful breathing of his young design,
And Science love thee in the Mantuan shade.
New beauty to thy precept: Art shall draw
His tints from thy instruction; wait with care
The peaceful breathing of his young design,
And Science love thee in the Mantuan shade.
Women and men, my family of Britons,
Deface not Order! Guard your infant race!
Increasing loves shall pillow them, whilst you
Stand on the rocks of Albion, nor retire
Till your complaining spirits are convinc'd,
The union I commend, is liberty.
Deface not Order! Guard your infant race!
Increasing loves shall pillow them, whilst you
Stand on the rocks of Albion, nor retire
Till your complaining spirits are convinc'd,
The union I commend, is liberty.
Women plunge twenty fathoms deep into the sea, to catch this little shell fish, which passes for current money amongst them. This fish has the quality, when heated, of drawing straws, &c. towards it, and of emitting fiery sparks, when rubbed hard.
101
BRISTOL ELEGY.
Hark! whence those groans of dying men?
Am I the slave of visionary, lingering fear?
How dolefully this night the clock strikes ten!
Leaving a mournful silence on the ear.
Am I the slave of visionary, lingering fear?
How dolefully this night the clock strikes ten!
Leaving a mournful silence on the ear.
Behold! there struggles with departing breath
The father of a helpless race !—Ah! why
Did you so rashly point the winged death,
And fill with early woe his infant's eye?
The father of a helpless race !—Ah! why
Did you so rashly point the winged death,
And fill with early woe his infant's eye?
See the fair babe bends from its mother's arms
To snatch the parting kiss! Turn, beauteous boy;
Thy fondness through his veins gives new alarms—
Yet, ere his lips grow cold, oh taste the sacred joy!
To snatch the parting kiss! Turn, beauteous boy;
Thy fondness through his veins gives new alarms—
Yet, ere his lips grow cold, oh taste the sacred joy!
102
'Tis done! No more thy little face shall hide
In his warm bosom, nor in cheerful mood
Play with his hair, and smile to hear him chide—
He's gone! he leaves thee to a world too rude.
In his warm bosom, nor in cheerful mood
Play with his hair, and smile to hear him chide—
He's gone! he leaves thee to a world too rude.
Ye sons of pity, raise the pale remains;
Vet'rans in murder, spare their aching hearts!
Grief for the dead the savage oft restrains;
To the fierce soul some tender warmth imparts.
Vet'rans in murder, spare their aching hearts!
Grief for the dead the savage oft restrains;
To the fierce soul some tender warmth imparts.
In vain I plead.—Whilst o'er the lifeless frame
Yon gen'rous youth hangs drooping, in his breast
The burning ball quenches its hidden flame,
Drinks up his blood—he silent sinks to rest.
Yon gen'rous youth hangs drooping, in his breast
The burning ball quenches its hidden flame,
Drinks up his blood—he silent sinks to rest.
For him his aged mother long must wait!
For him lies cooling on her narrow board
His frugal supper in a single plate—
'Tis all her wither'd fortune can afford.
For him lies cooling on her narrow board
His frugal supper in a single plate—
'Tis all her wither'd fortune can afford.
103
O'er her pale sorrows his affection hung;
Patience and hope beam'd in his youthful eye;
Pain flew the filial music of his tongue,
He whisper'd comfort when no joy was nigh.
Patience and hope beam'd in his youthful eye;
Pain flew the filial music of his tongue,
He whisper'd comfort when no joy was nigh.
Steal to thy pillow, lonely parent! know
Thy son shall cheer thy eve of life no more;
The wave receives him in its depth below,
And murmurs murder! as it winds the shore.
Thy son shall cheer thy eve of life no more;
The wave receives him in its depth below,
And murmurs murder! as it winds the shore.
Hence! guiltless
stranger, elegant of mind!
Thy name rever'd now sounds within thy hall;
For thy return pray'rs fill the murm'ring wind,
To Delia's sleepless eye thy shadow sweeps the wall.
Thy name rever'd now sounds within thy hall;
For thy return pray'rs fill the murm'ring wind,
To Delia's sleepless eye thy shadow sweeps the wall.
O fly! not unoffending art thou sure
To pass this scene where massacre may wound;
Here hath the heart no meed for being pure,
Here soft refinement only scorn hath found.
To pass this scene where massacre may wound;
Here hath the heart no meed for being pure,
Here soft refinement only scorn hath found.
104
Thy distant home is pictur'd on thy thought;
Delia expecting fills thy wishing soul;
Then fly this spot with viewless horror fraught!
Before thee welt'ring see those victims roll!
Delia expecting fills thy wishing soul;
Then fly this spot with viewless horror fraught!
Before thee welt'ring see those victims roll!
By terror warn'd, he hies him trembling on,
Lamenting man when fury makes him wild;
When, train'd for slaughter, he adores the gun,
And coolly murders e'en the kneeling child.
Lamenting man when fury makes him wild;
When, train'd for slaughter, he adores the gun,
And coolly murders e'en the kneeling child.
Strange force of habit! Haste!—thou art too late!—
To Delia's bosom thou must ne'er return;
Swift on its way the bullet's wing'd with fate,
His heart receives it, and his vitals burn.
To Delia's bosom thou must ne'er return;
Swift on its way the bullet's wing'd with fate,
His heart receives it, and his vitals burn.
His lips once quiver'd with fair Delia's name;
Once did he raise his eyes to find the light;
His soul, impatient in her injur'd frame,
Flew forth—he sunk in everlasting night.
Once did he raise his eyes to find the light;
His soul, impatient in her injur'd frame,
Flew forth—he sunk in everlasting night.
105
Stranger, farewel! Neglected and unknown,
Beyond the chambers of the sun retire!
There thou shalt see vast ages downward thrown,
With all that can destroy, with all that can inspire.
Beyond the chambers of the sun retire!
There thou shalt see vast ages downward thrown,
With all that can destroy, with all that can inspire.
Eternal bliss be thine!—What fearful scream
Troubles the air?—Must gentle woman die?
Ah! plunge her not beneath the restless stream:
Behold, assassins! her imploring eye!
Troubles the air?—Must gentle woman die?
Ah! plunge her not beneath the restless stream:
Behold, assassins! her imploring eye!
Gaze full on its mild beams, and ye shall feel
Softer emotions than the sword inspires;
Compassion, love, and sympathy would heal
Your spirits raging with destructive fire.
Softer emotions than the sword inspires;
Compassion, love, and sympathy would heal
Your spirits raging with destructive fire.
106
Hear her! Her unborn offspring shall return—
The mercy its sad mother feebly craves;
Know, though the Sons of War for conquest burn,
He boasts a nobler joy who beauty saves.
The mercy its sad mother feebly craves;
Know, though the Sons of War for conquest burn,
He boasts a nobler joy who beauty saves.
She's gone!—O Avon! when wilt thou refine?
How long must thou flow down thro' shameful years?
Long as bright Sol shall shadeless cross the line,
Thy wave shall blush with blood, and swell with tears.
How long must thou flow down thro' shameful years?
Long as bright Sol shall shadeless cross the line,
Thy wave shall blush with blood, and swell with tears.
Ye mourners of the dead, whose fruitless sighs
Yon slave of pride would silence with a smile;
Candour shall dry the tears that leave your eyes,
And strong sincerity your grief beguile.
Yon slave of pride would silence with a smile;
Candour shall dry the tears that leave your eyes,
And strong sincerity your grief beguile.
Ah! think how num'rous are the ills of life!
Through ev'ry moment millions die!—Not here
Lives the sole tragedy of mortal strife;
From pole to pole Contention shakes the sphere.
Through ev'ry moment millions die!—Not here
Lives the sole tragedy of mortal strife;
From pole to pole Contention shakes the sphere.
107
Too many must go down!—Time hath no hour
Unmark'd by death.—Could you his records see;
This night your sires, your children felt his pow'r:
To-morrow's dawn may summon you and me.
Unmark'd by death.—Could you his records see;
This night your sires, your children felt his pow'r:
To-morrow's dawn may summon you and me.
To seek with energy some glorious sphere,
The spirits of your sons and sires are fled;
And though the angel Pity hovers near,
Remember, she's forbid to wake the dead.
The spirits of your sons and sires are fled;
And though the angel Pity hovers near,
Remember, she's forbid to wake the dead.
Then nurse not dark revenge.—The peaceful mind
Can the true value of existence prove;
In contemplation ev'ry blessing find;
Calm in its joy, expanded in its love.
Can the true value of existence prove;
In contemplation ev'ry blessing find;
Calm in its joy, expanded in its love.
Love and divine Benevolence are one;
Together moving, an Almighty Whole:
Love's wondrous influence fills the genial sun,
Whilst objects round in sweet attraction roll.
Together moving, an Almighty Whole:
Love's wondrous influence fills the genial sun,
Whilst objects round in sweet attraction roll.
108
Witness, ye
Sons of Thought, who pitying view
Through Peace alone the source of human joy;
Who rove in search of Truth, to Order true,
Sparing of life, and shudd'ring to destroy.
Through Peace alone the source of human joy;
Who rove in search of Truth, to Order true,
Sparing of life, and shudd'ring to destroy.
Near you the flames of bigotry decline;
Hot superstition from your precept flies;
You bear the victim far from Moloch's shrine,
And unador'd the specious monster dies.
Hot superstition from your precept flies;
You bear the victim far from Moloch's shrine,
And unador'd the specious monster dies.
Shades of lamented victims! should you stay,
One moment ling'ring on the lower sky,
And pause to hear your mournful friends repay
Your past endearments with the fruitless sigh;
One moment ling'ring on the lower sky,
And pause to hear your mournful friends repay
Your past endearments with the fruitless sigh;
109
O pardon all who wrong'd you, chiefly those
Who forc'd you rudely to th'eternal throne;
Nor shrink from Deity! With him repose—
Whose purposes to man were never known.
Who forc'd you rudely to th'eternal throne;
Nor shrink from Deity! With him repose—
Whose purposes to man were never known.
A gentleman, supposed to be just arrived, and waiting to pass the bridge, at the door of Mr. Stock, grocer, in Thomas-street, was shot through the heart.
A young woman, within a short time of becoming a mother, found stabbed with a bayonet in the river; supposed to have been thrown in by the soldiery, who opposed the removal of the bodies, some of which drifted down to King's Road.
The respectable body of Quakers, who offered to liquidate any arrears that the bridge-commissioners might demand, to the amount of two thousand pounds. This offer was refused before the several murders were committed, and accepted afterwards.
110
EXTEMPORE ON HEARING A GENTLEMAN PLAY A HYMN ON HIS FLUTE, THURSDAY JULY THE THIRTY-FIRST, ELEVEN AT NIGHT, MDCCXCV. NEAR THE AUTHOR's WINDOW AT BRISTOL WELLS.
The moon now from old Avon's stream
Withdraws each pale and trembling beam
That cheers the lonely night;
And as she leaves the weary flood,
Dark grow the vales, dark grows yon wood,
E'en Fancy takes her flight.
Withdraws each pale and trembling beam
That cheers the lonely night;
And as she leaves the weary flood,
Dark grow the vales, dark grows yon wood,
E'en Fancy takes her flight.
Yet Philomel, that shuns the morn,
Sits list'ning on the dewy thorn,
And half forgets her woe:
Contemns her own melodious note,
While o'er the wave the numbers float,
That from thy breathing flow.
Sits list'ning on the dewy thorn,
And half forgets her woe:
Contemns her own melodious note,
While o'er the wave the numbers float,
That from thy breathing flow.
111
O! ------ there has been an hour,
When Melody, enchanting pow'r!
Lur'd all my cares to rest:
My spirit drank her melting lay,
In sacred rapture dy'd away,
And trembled to be blest.
When Melody, enchanting pow'r!
Lur'd all my cares to rest:
My spirit drank her melting lay,
In sacred rapture dy'd away,
And trembled to be blest.
Those hours are flown!—The transport's o'er!
Yet Memory from her heav'nly store
My lasting grief beguiles:
Amid the vigils of the night,
Thus tun'd by thee to fine delight,
O'er her pale vision smiles.
Yet Memory from her heav'nly store
My lasting grief beguiles:
Amid the vigils of the night,
Thus tun'd by thee to fine delight,
O'er her pale vision smiles.
A little while—when I may be
Estrang'd from all—forgot by thee—
Prolong th'inspiring strain:
Hark, whisp'ring Angels join my pray'r—
They make thy tranquil mind their care,
And near thee will remain.
Estrang'd from all—forgot by thee—
Prolong th'inspiring strain:
Hark, whisp'ring Angels join my pray'r—
They make thy tranquil mind their care,
And near thee will remain.
112
Ah! pardon me—With sorrow mute,
I take my pen—thy plaintive flute
So charms my thinking soul:
On air my fancy seems to fly,
Spirits I long have mourn'd are nigh,
And worlds beneath me roll.
I take my pen—thy plaintive flute
So charms my thinking soul:
On air my fancy seems to fly,
Spirits I long have mourn'd are nigh,
And worlds beneath me roll.
113
TO MIRA, ON THE CARE OF HER INFANT.
Whilst war, destruction, crimes that fiends delight,
Burst on the globe, and millions sink in night;
Whilst here a monarch, there a subject dies,
Equally dear to him who rules the skies;
Whilst man to man oppos'd wou'd shake the world,
And see vast systems into chaos hurl'd,
Rather than turn his face from yon dread field,
Or, by forgiving, teach his foe to yield:
Let us, whose sweet employ the Gods admire,
Serenely blest, to softer joys retire!
Spite of those wars, we will mild pleasure know—
Pleasure, that, long as woman lives, shall flow!
We are not made for Mars; we ne'er could bear
His pond'rous helmet and his burning spear;
Nor in fierce combat prostrate lay that form
That breathes affection whilst the heart is warm:—
No: whilst our heroes from their homes retire,
We'll nurse the infant, and lament the sire.
Burst on the globe, and millions sink in night;
Whilst here a monarch, there a subject dies,
Equally dear to him who rules the skies;
Whilst man to man oppos'd wou'd shake the world,
And see vast systems into chaos hurl'd,
Rather than turn his face from yon dread field,
Or, by forgiving, teach his foe to yield:
Let us, whose sweet employ the Gods admire,
Serenely blest, to softer joys retire!
Spite of those wars, we will mild pleasure know—
Pleasure, that, long as woman lives, shall flow!
We are not made for Mars; we ne'er could bear
His pond'rous helmet and his burning spear;
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That breathes affection whilst the heart is warm:—
No: whilst our heroes from their homes retire,
We'll nurse the infant, and lament the sire.
I am no Amazon; nor would I give
One silver groat by iron laws to live.
Nay, if, like hers, my heart were iron-bound,
My warmth would melt the fetters to the ground.
One silver groat by iron laws to live.
Nay, if, like hers, my heart were iron-bound,
My warmth would melt the fetters to the ground.
Ah, weep not, Mira! In this cradle view
Thy lovely charge—Amyntor's copy true;
Think, by this pledge the absent sire ensures
Thy constant memory, and thy heart secures.
And, whilst we read, reflect, by turns converse,
Comment on wars in prose or mimic verse,
Permit me, pensive friend, who long have known
A mother's duty, pleasing cares to own,
Teach thee to gently nurse thy beauteous boy—
Lest Custom gentle Nature's pow'r destroy:
So young an infant should reposing lie,
Unswath'd and loose, that the fair limbs may ply
To every motion happy Nature tries,
Whilst life seems fluid, and from pressure flies.
Clothe him with easy warmth. Of ills the worst
Are cruel swathes, of infant griefs the first.
Think what the stomach feels when hardly press'd!—
The breath confin'd swells high the snowy chest:
The pulses throb, the heart with flutt'ring beats;
The eyes roll ghastly; wind the nurture meets;
And, ere the new-born appetite hath din'd,
The food's rejected, and the head reclin'd.
Thy lovely charge—Amyntor's copy true;
Think, by this pledge the absent sire ensures
Thy constant memory, and thy heart secures.
And, whilst we read, reflect, by turns converse,
Comment on wars in prose or mimic verse,
Permit me, pensive friend, who long have known
A mother's duty, pleasing cares to own,
Teach thee to gently nurse thy beauteous boy—
Lest Custom gentle Nature's pow'r destroy:
So young an infant should reposing lie,
Unswath'd and loose, that the fair limbs may ply
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Whilst life seems fluid, and from pressure flies.
Clothe him with easy warmth. Of ills the worst
Are cruel swathes, of infant griefs the first.
Think what the stomach feels when hardly press'd!—
The breath confin'd swells high the snowy chest:
The pulses throb, the heart with flutt'ring beats;
The eyes roll ghastly; wind the nurture meets;
And, ere the new-born appetite hath din'd,
The food's rejected, and the head reclin'd.
Be tender, Mira!—Downy beds prepare;
To thy own bosom clasp Amyntor's heir!
See not thy babe pining with speechless grief,
His thirsty lip craving thy kind relief:
Relief that Nature bids the infant claim;
Withheld by healthy mothers, to their shame.
To thy own bosom clasp Amyntor's heir!
See not thy babe pining with speechless grief,
His thirsty lip craving thy kind relief:
Relief that Nature bids the infant claim;
Withheld by healthy mothers, to their shame.
Behold gay Circe in her gig!—Old Night
Hath from one moon receiv'd her valu'd light,
Since Circe's heir was with his grandsire laid;
And all her grief on yon rich tomb display'd.
Hath from one moon receiv'd her valu'd light,
Since Circe's heir was with his grandsire laid;
And all her grief on yon rich tomb display'd.
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Her child was lovely, strong, and promis'd fair;
His looks transporting, his complexion clear;
Ardent to seek her bosom, and recline
Where dear affection makes the gift divine!
But no:—could Circe dress renounce, the ball—
For a child's humour suffer Taste to fall?
“Immensely monstrous! singular!” she cried—
A boist'rous nurse her wish'd-for love supplied.
And soon her babe's wan look proclaim'd the cheat:
He loath'd the bosom he was forc'd to meet;
Refus'd in silence, starv'd in robes of lace,
And oft imploring view'd his mother's face.
Too proud to nurse, maternal fevers came—
Her burthen'd bosom caught th'invited flame;
Too late she woo'd her infant to her breast,
He only sigh'd, and sunk to lasting rest.
His looks transporting, his complexion clear;
Ardent to seek her bosom, and recline
Where dear affection makes the gift divine!
But no:—could Circe dress renounce, the ball—
For a child's humour suffer Taste to fall?
“Immensely monstrous! singular!” she cried—
A boist'rous nurse her wish'd-for love supplied.
And soon her babe's wan look proclaim'd the cheat:
He loath'd the bosom he was forc'd to meet;
Refus'd in silence, starv'd in robes of lace,
And oft imploring view'd his mother's face.
Too proud to nurse, maternal fevers came—
Her burthen'd bosom caught th'invited flame;
Too late she woo'd her infant to her breast,
He only sigh'd, and sunk to lasting rest.
Do thou not, Mira, follow Circe's line—
In thee, let soft maternal pleasure shine;
Pleasure that virtuous mothers highly taste,
When gen'rous Hymen makes them more than chaste.
Benign and social, new affections grow;
Their minds enlarg'd, their noblest spirits flow;
Friendship, compassion, sympathy, and love,
Such as the self-corrected mind may prove,
Stamp ev'ry act.—These gen'rous joys are thine—
Wouldst thou exchange them for Golconda's mine?
In thee, let soft maternal pleasure shine;
Pleasure that virtuous mothers highly taste,
When gen'rous Hymen makes them more than chaste.
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Their minds enlarg'd, their noblest spirits flow;
Friendship, compassion, sympathy, and love,
Such as the self-corrected mind may prove,
Stamp ev'ry act.—These gen'rous joys are thine—
Wouldst thou exchange them for Golconda's mine?
I own such is the force of social law,
The unmarried ****** loves her babe with awe:
Nurs'd far from public view in yon lone wild,
She sometimes strays to tremble o'er her child.
There coarse rusticity, vice, vulgar sound—
All that can sentiment or wisdom wound,
Breaks on the eye and ear—Unhappy fair!
Yet not condemn'd, if thy sweet pledge be dear—
Leave thy fond soul with him, to him return:
O let his future on thy fancy burn!
Quick bear him thence! Instruct him, point to Fame—
Neglected, he will mourn; ay, seal thy shame!
The unmarried ****** loves her babe with awe:
Nurs'd far from public view in yon lone wild,
She sometimes strays to tremble o'er her child.
There coarse rusticity, vice, vulgar sound—
All that can sentiment or wisdom wound,
Breaks on the eye and ear—Unhappy fair!
Yet not condemn'd, if thy sweet pledge be dear—
Leave thy fond soul with him, to him return:
O let his future on thy fancy burn!
Quick bear him thence! Instruct him, point to Fame—
Neglected, he will mourn; ay, seal thy shame!
Mira, as thy dear Edward's senses grow,
Be sure they all will seek this point—to know:
Woo to enquiry—strictures long avoid,
By force the thirst of weakly sense is cloy'd:
Silent attend the frown, the gaze, the smile,
To grasp far objects the incessant toil;
So play life's springs with energy, and try
The unceasing thirst of knowledge to supply.
Be sure they all will seek this point—to know:
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By force the thirst of weakly sense is cloy'd:
Silent attend the frown, the gaze, the smile,
To grasp far objects the incessant toil;
So play life's springs with energy, and try
The unceasing thirst of knowledge to supply.
I saw the beauteous Caleb t'other day
Stretch forth his little hand to touch a spray,
Whilst on the grass his drowsy nurse inhal'd
The sweets of Nature as her sweets exhal'd:
But, ere the infant reach'd the playful leaf,
She pull'd him back—His eyes o'erflow'd with grief;
He check'd his tears—Her fiercer passions strove,
She look'd a vulture cow'ring o'er a dove!
“I'll teach you, brat!” The pretty trembler sigh'd—
When, with a cruel shake, she hoarsely cried—
“Your Mother spoils you—every thing you see
“You covet. It shall ne'er be so with me!
“Here, eat this cake, sit still, and don't you rise—
“Why don't you pluck the sun down from the skies?
“I'll spoil your sport—Come, laugh me in the face—
“And henceforth learn to keep your proper place.
“You rule me in the house!—To hush your noise
“I, like a spaniel, must run for toys:
“But here, Sir, let the trees alone, nor cry—
“Pluck, if you dare—Who's master? you, or I?”
Stretch forth his little hand to touch a spray,
Whilst on the grass his drowsy nurse inhal'd
The sweets of Nature as her sweets exhal'd:
But, ere the infant reach'd the playful leaf,
She pull'd him back—His eyes o'erflow'd with grief;
He check'd his tears—Her fiercer passions strove,
She look'd a vulture cow'ring o'er a dove!
“I'll teach you, brat!” The pretty trembler sigh'd—
When, with a cruel shake, she hoarsely cried—
“Your Mother spoils you—every thing you see
“You covet. It shall ne'er be so with me!
“Here, eat this cake, sit still, and don't you rise—
“Why don't you pluck the sun down from the skies?
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“And henceforth learn to keep your proper place.
“You rule me in the house!—To hush your noise
“I, like a spaniel, must run for toys:
“But here, Sir, let the trees alone, nor cry—
“Pluck, if you dare—Who's master? you, or I?”
O brutal force, to check th'enquiring mind,
When it would pleasure in a rose-bud find!
Whose wondrous strength was never yet discern'd,
By millions gone, by all we yet have learn'd.
When it would pleasure in a rose-bud find!
Whose wondrous strength was never yet discern'd,
By millions gone, by all we yet have learn'd.
True to the senses, systematic man
Conceives himself a mighty, finish'd plan;
To see, to touch, to taste, and smell and hear,
He strives to prove, make full existence here:
These to the brain exquisite forms convey;
On these she works, these keep her life in play.
Conceives himself a mighty, finish'd plan;
To see, to touch, to taste, and smell and hear,
He strives to prove, make full existence here:
These to the brain exquisite forms convey;
On these she works, these keep her life in play.
And is this all, Mira, we boast below?
Does not the soul spring forward still to know;
Pant for the future as her pow'rs expand,
And pine for more than sense can understand?
Does she not, when the senses weary lie,
Paint brighter visions on some unknown sky;
Again forego her visionary joy,
To guide the senses in their strong employ;
With life's affections share their gentle flow,
But still, unsated, onward rove to know?
In infancy, when all her force is young,
She patient waits behind the useless tongue;
Silent attunes her senses, silent sees
Objects thro' mists, plainer by swift degrees.
Sound strikes at first on her new-organ'd ear
As if far off; monotonous comes near.
Her taste yet sleeps, no melody she owns,
Nor wakes to joyous, or to thrilling tones:
Dull indiscrimination blinds her views;
But still, the sound once caught, the ear pursues;
Till cadence whispers o'er the eager thought,
And human accents strike, with meaning fraught;
Then gentle breathings in the babe inspire
Joy, pleasure, sympathy, new-born desire.
He feels instinctive happiness, and tries
To grasp her fully as she onward flies.
Hence Mira's soft endearments shall excite
In her dear Edward exquisite delight.
Does not the soul spring forward still to know;
Pant for the future as her pow'rs expand,
And pine for more than sense can understand?
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Paint brighter visions on some unknown sky;
Again forego her visionary joy,
To guide the senses in their strong employ;
With life's affections share their gentle flow,
But still, unsated, onward rove to know?
In infancy, when all her force is young,
She patient waits behind the useless tongue;
Silent attunes her senses, silent sees
Objects thro' mists, plainer by swift degrees.
Sound strikes at first on her new-organ'd ear
As if far off; monotonous comes near.
Her taste yet sleeps, no melody she owns,
Nor wakes to joyous, or to thrilling tones:
Dull indiscrimination blinds her views;
But still, the sound once caught, the ear pursues;
Till cadence whispers o'er the eager thought,
And human accents strike, with meaning fraught;
Then gentle breathings in the babe inspire
Joy, pleasure, sympathy, new-born desire.
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To grasp her fully as she onward flies.
Hence Mira's soft endearments shall excite
In her dear Edward exquisite delight.
Wouldst thou Amyntor should adore his child;
Nurse him thyself, for thou canst make him mild;
Grant him the toy that suits his young desire,
Nor, when he pensive moans, his temper tire;
Keep froward passions from his tranquil breast—
By irritation, who were ever blest?—
Distorting frowns delirious fear create;
And blows, a sense of injury and hate.
Long—very long, should surly chiding sleep—
Nay, it were best thy babe should never weep.
No cure, no medicine fills the tear—the eye
Whose owner ne'er offended should be dry.
Nurse him thyself, for thou canst make him mild;
Grant him the toy that suits his young desire,
Nor, when he pensive moans, his temper tire;
Keep froward passions from his tranquil breast—
By irritation, who were ever blest?—
Distorting frowns delirious fear create;
And blows, a sense of injury and hate.
Long—very long, should surly chiding sleep—
Nay, it were best thy babe should never weep.
No cure, no medicine fills the tear—the eye
Whose owner ne'er offended should be dry.
I grant, when he the distant toy would reach,
Stern self-denial maiden aunts would preach:
But, contrary to this cold maxim tried,
Bestow the gift, Indulgence be thy guide;
Ay, give unask'd; example has its kind,
Pouring its image on the ductile mind.
Hence nobler spirits shall their likeness breed,
And one great virtue take the mental lead:
Hence vice and ignorance (What ills are worse?)
Arise contagious in the artful nurse;
For Virtue's self she ne'er could virtue prize,
O'er thought deform'd she throws the fair disguise;
Coarse in idea—furious in her ire,
Her passions grow amid their smother'd fire.
O trust not Edward to so warm a breast,
Lest she infuse the evils you detest.
Stern self-denial maiden aunts would preach:
But, contrary to this cold maxim tried,
Bestow the gift, Indulgence be thy guide;
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Pouring its image on the ductile mind.
Hence nobler spirits shall their likeness breed,
And one great virtue take the mental lead:
Hence vice and ignorance (What ills are worse?)
Arise contagious in the artful nurse;
For Virtue's self she ne'er could virtue prize,
O'er thought deform'd she throws the fair disguise;
Coarse in idea—furious in her ire,
Her passions grow amid their smother'd fire.
O trust not Edward to so warm a breast,
Lest she infuse the evils you detest.
Early instruction does the infant need—
On pictured lessons we are prone to feed:
Thro' ev'ry stage, what strikes the eye bestrides
Attention, judgment follows and decides.
With mental vision deck th'instructive show.
Say what we will, we wish ourselves to know;
For this the child of seventy eager tries—
Explores his inward world—exploring dies!
However, early teach him mind to scan:
And when he's weary, tell him, “Such is Man.”
On pictured lessons we are prone to feed:
Thro' ev'ry stage, what strikes the eye bestrides
Attention, judgment follows and decides.
With mental vision deck th'instructive show.
Say what we will, we wish ourselves to know;
For this the child of seventy eager tries—
Explores his inward world—exploring dies!
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And when he's weary, tell him, “Such is Man.”
Next, try thy soothing skill—A challenge make—
An apple, orange, or some gew-gaw stake.
Which shall read best the alphabetic line,
Be his the wish'd reward—the sorrow thine.
This rule perhaps is contrary to those
Who on the failing babe some task impose:
Ah, too severe! they chill the struggling mind—
'Tis hard to learn—the tutor should be kind.
When Edward fails, console him—let him see
Thou mourn'st his loss, and he will mourn with thee:
Not long he will thy mimic sorrow view;
Thy point once seen, he will that point pursue.
A rival for perfection, generous shame
Will touch the soul's best spark, and blaze it into fame.
An apple, orange, or some gew-gaw stake.
Which shall read best the alphabetic line,
Be his the wish'd reward—the sorrow thine.
This rule perhaps is contrary to those
Who on the failing babe some task impose:
Ah, too severe! they chill the struggling mind—
'Tis hard to learn—the tutor should be kind.
When Edward fails, console him—let him see
Thou mourn'st his loss, and he will mourn with thee:
Not long he will thy mimic sorrow view;
Thy point once seen, he will that point pursue.
A rival for perfection, generous shame
Will touch the soul's best spark, and blaze it into fame.
Thus far I've lightly tripp'd the infant stage:
Truths bold and strong await the second age.
To ancient fathers be thy boy consign'd,
But plant thyself true virtue in his mind.
Watch his belief, his doubts, his fruitless fears;
Convince him, The frail babe of seventy years
Will unresisting slumber on the sod,
The sole undoubted property of God!
Truths bold and strong await the second age.
To ancient fathers be thy boy consign'd,
But plant thyself true virtue in his mind.
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Convince him, The frail babe of seventy years
Will unresisting slumber on the sod,
The sole undoubted property of God!
Bristol Wells, September 16, 1795.
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PRAYER AND RESIGNATION.
O deity! Distributor of joy,
Whose attributes we vainly strive to know,
Thou, whom my brethren call to save—destroy,
As suits their present hour of bliss or woe!
Whose attributes we vainly strive to know,
Thou, whom my brethren call to save—destroy,
As suits their present hour of bliss or woe!
Whether this moving orb be worth thy care,
Further than her revolvings are requir'd,
With worlds unknown to travel on the air,
Holding eternal motion still untir'd:
Further than her revolvings are requir'd,
With worlds unknown to travel on the air,
Holding eternal motion still untir'd:
Whether, when call'd for purposes of woe,
Thou wilt obey the impious pray'r of man;
E'en when the ruffian bids Thee aid his blow,
That on the heart despoils thy beauteous plan:
Thou wilt obey the impious pray'r of man;
E'en when the ruffian bids Thee aid his blow,
That on the heart despoils thy beauteous plan:
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Whether, now seated on some radiant throne
(A throne to us the utmost bench of power),
Thou, pitying, bid thy minister make known
Our doleful frolics at this trying hour:
(A throne to us the utmost bench of power),
Thou, pitying, bid thy minister make known
Our doleful frolics at this trying hour:
Whether this morn, behind thy mighty spheres,
Thou pleas'd survey'st thy worlds in order hung;
Whilst thy young handmaid her great work prepares,
And thy lov'd name plays on her trembling tongue:
Thou pleas'd survey'st thy worlds in order hung;
Whilst thy young handmaid her great work prepares,
And thy lov'd name plays on her trembling tongue:
Whether to-day Thou wear'st an awful frown,
Because we eat and sleep on this fair isle;
And, angry, hurl'st us war and famine down,
To call them up at evening with a smile:
Because we eat and sleep on this fair isle;
And, angry, hurl'st us war and famine down,
To call them up at evening with a smile:
Whether all nations be thy care—or we,
First in thine estimation wisely live;
At court, in cottages, so true to Thee,
That thy great seal seems stamp'd on laws we give:
First in thine estimation wisely live;
At court, in cottages, so true to Thee,
That thy great seal seems stamp'd on laws we give:
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Or whether our old code to Thee e'er rose
On the obsequious winds for thy dispense;
Or midway in thy skies to ice is froze,
Wanting thy seal, and of no consequence:
On the obsequious winds for thy dispense;
Or midway in thy skies to ice is froze,
Wanting thy seal, and of no consequence:
Whether we may be quiet, or may war
As suits our humour, and our public purse;
Whether on ---'s bosom the deep scar
Got in a hurly-burly makes him worse;
As suits our humour, and our public purse;
Whether on ---'s bosom the deep scar
Got in a hurly-burly makes him worse;
Or in the sight of angels makes him fair
(As some avow): or whether we should sit,
Some starving on a stone—some on a chair,
And humbly pray for war and noble Pitt:
(As some avow): or whether we should sit,
Some starving on a stone—some on a chair,
And humbly pray for war and noble Pitt:
Or whether we should question Thee,—or fast
By proclamation; whilst the hungry die
Of this same holy abstinence,—outcast,
And needing proclamations of supply:
By proclamation; whilst the hungry die
Of this same holy abstinence,—outcast,
And needing proclamations of supply:
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Whether pale Rapine, wand'ring o'er the land
Hungry and haggard, stung with guilty thirst,
Defile the peasant's hearth at thy command,
And, ere his babes are fed, be fed the first:
Hungry and haggard, stung with guilty thirst,
Defile the peasant's hearth at thy command,
And, ere his babes are fed, be fed the first:
Whether yon noisy Gallicans conspire
To steal our gold,—or THEE,—or break our laws;
Or merely dance a jig themselves to tire,
Whilst wiser we stand batt'ry in thy cause,
To steal our gold,—or THEE,—or break our laws;
Or merely dance a jig themselves to tire,
Whilst wiser we stand batt'ry in thy cause,
IS NOTHING, SIRE, TO ME.—Be where thou wilt,
I will adore: to Thee my thought shall fly—
But beg, should my poor life by man be spilt,
Thou wilt not wear for me one sable sky.
I will adore: to Thee my thought shall fly—
But beg, should my poor life by man be spilt,
Thou wilt not wear for me one sable sky.
I ne'er could pray at watch-words of mankind—
Nor can I give much gold—my purse is light:
Nor can I see Thee, Father! but in mind,
When Contemplation puts my woes to flight.
Nor can I give much gold—my purse is light:
Nor can I see Thee, Father! but in mind,
When Contemplation puts my woes to flight.
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Nay, but Thou art familiar to my thought,
I would grow loud in pious breathings; groan,
Awake my next-door neighbour, seem distraught,
And prove I love Thee only in—a tone.
I would grow loud in pious breathings; groan,
Awake my next-door neighbour, seem distraught,
And prove I love Thee only in—a tone.
But Thou'rt my friend! Thou know'st my secret soul!
Then what have I to do with human sound?
With Thee, alone, I fly from pole to pole,
Heedless of mortals, who my sense confound.
Then what have I to do with human sound?
With Thee, alone, I fly from pole to pole,
Heedless of mortals, who my sense confound.
The ills of life fall off me as I stand
A dauntless spirit gazing up to Thee;
And when this weary frame may press the sand,
Or my light ashes strew the roaring sea,
A dauntless spirit gazing up to Thee;
And when this weary frame may press the sand,
Or my light ashes strew the roaring sea,
I trust Thee, Sire: all individual life
Must melt to renovate.—This myst'ry keeps
The varying nations of mankind at strife;
Piously mad, man murders man—and weeps!
Must melt to renovate.—This myst'ry keeps
The varying nations of mankind at strife;
Piously mad, man murders man—and weeps!
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I do not like these blunders.—I am warm;
And, to be blest, I must be lov'd by Thee:
Thyself will take me from the pitiless storm,
When from this wild my soul shall gladly flee.
And, to be blest, I must be lov'd by Thee:
Thyself will take me from the pitiless storm,
When from this wild my soul shall gladly flee.
But whilst I wander on, my sole desire
Is harmony, such as thyself may hear:—
O teach me, Father! so to touch the lyre
That woe may smile, and social joy be near.
Is harmony, such as thyself may hear:—
O teach me, Father! so to touch the lyre
That woe may smile, and social joy be near.
Teach me to soothe the fierce; to melt the heart;
To paint the passions nipping beauty's bloom:
When pensive age is ling'ring to depart,
Give me to chase black horror from the tomb.
To paint the passions nipping beauty's bloom:
When pensive age is ling'ring to depart,
Give me to chase black horror from the tomb.
Yes, from this tomb, where waving willows bend,
I call Thee, Father! thro' thy starry skies,
To thine eternal care his shade commend,
Whose form but changes as it slumb'ring lies.
I call Thee, Father! thro' thy starry skies,
To thine eternal care his shade commend,
Whose form but changes as it slumb'ring lies.
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For me, I am obedient—whilst I stay,
My fellow-dreamers thro' the world I'll love;
Nor shall one grieve, can I his griefs allay,
Much less should earth ensanguin'd fury move.
My fellow-dreamers thro' the world I'll love;
Nor shall one grieve, can I his griefs allay,
Much less should earth ensanguin'd fury move.
Be still, ye nations!—Ye but fight to die.
No trophies deck this path of threescore years,
Worthy the widow's groan, and orphan's cry—
Your mimic wars Jehovah never hears!
No trophies deck this path of threescore years,
Worthy the widow's groan, and orphan's cry—
Your mimic wars Jehovah never hears!
And it were best oblivion should await
Those crimes at which e'en human thought is chill'd—
Or go, grim warrior! boldly challenge fate,
Command thy God to mark thy number kill'd!
Those crimes at which e'en human thought is chill'd—
Or go, grim warrior! boldly challenge fate,
Command thy God to mark thy number kill'd!
O Deity! hear not this warrior's voice;
Be deaf, lest Thou condemn him with a frown—
Or shouldst Thou hear him—mercy be thy choice!
Think he but murder'd to preserve a crown.
Be deaf, lest Thou condemn him with a frown—
Or shouldst Thou hear him—mercy be thy choice!
Think he but murder'd to preserve a crown.
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All I commend to Thee! I am but one;
O'er me the mighty pass; I fear the strong—
But till thy voice comes for me o'er the sun,
I'll here attune my solitary song.
O'er me the mighty pass; I fear the strong—
But till thy voice comes for me o'er the sun,
I'll here attune my solitary song.
Bristol Wells, September 26, 1795.
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TO THE LORD BISHOP OF EXETER
MOURNING THE DEATH OF HIS SON, MR. C. BULLER, WHO DIED OF A DECLINE, WHICH HE BORE WITH RESIGNATION, AT BRISTOL WELLS.
The beauteous flow'r, borne from the parent tree
But yesterday, may renovate, and hold
Unseen a particle of being. He
Who made the ant, conceal'd her wondrous self
From her own judgment, and unquestion'd calls
The spirit of thy son. Afar he soars
To realms of bliss, obedient to his God.
The frame must slumber, whilst the soul goes forth
To claim her lasting heritage in worlds
Of new intelligence. With finite beams
Of vision giddy, and unapt to soar
Beyond terrestrial scenes, we vainly try
To descant truly on those glitt'ring orbs
That deck the firmament: stronger our wish
To stay the soul within her dwelling, long
And tenderly belov'd. Ah mourning Sire!
Sacred instructor of the heart, thy son,
Dear to his mild Creator, early drew
Enlarging faith, hope, piety and peace,
Down the steep heights of everlasting Truth:
Fill'd with reflection, patiently he saw
Approaching slowly, unrelenting Death—
Serene in anguish, fix'd his mental eye
On the unerring dart, and smil'd—I heard
His sabbath supplication, fervent praise,
And here proclaim his worth. So young, so good,
Should Lamentation strain her tearful eye
To watch his flight? Be comforted! diffuse
Soft consolation round! the sacred strain
Be thine to soothe with heav'n-attempting hope!
But yesterday, may renovate, and hold
Unseen a particle of being. He
Who made the ant, conceal'd her wondrous self
From her own judgment, and unquestion'd calls
The spirit of thy son. Afar he soars
To realms of bliss, obedient to his God.
The frame must slumber, whilst the soul goes forth
To claim her lasting heritage in worlds
Of new intelligence. With finite beams
Of vision giddy, and unapt to soar
Beyond terrestrial scenes, we vainly try
To descant truly on those glitt'ring orbs
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To stay the soul within her dwelling, long
And tenderly belov'd. Ah mourning Sire!
Sacred instructor of the heart, thy son,
Dear to his mild Creator, early drew
Enlarging faith, hope, piety and peace,
Down the steep heights of everlasting Truth:
Fill'd with reflection, patiently he saw
Approaching slowly, unrelenting Death—
Serene in anguish, fix'd his mental eye
On the unerring dart, and smil'd—I heard
His sabbath supplication, fervent praise,
And here proclaim his worth. So young, so good,
Should Lamentation strain her tearful eye
To watch his flight? Be comforted! diffuse
Soft consolation round! the sacred strain
Be thine to soothe with heav'n-attempting hope!
Pensive and unpresuming is the lay
Attun'd to sorrows that impress with awe
Parental bosoms. Pow'rs enlighten'd wear
The stamp of Deity, brightest in woe,
Proving their origin amid the storms
Gathering perpetually round feeble Man:
The feeble fly; the good with firmness bear
Ills terrible to thought, and shine like Thee
Thro' the dark hour of separation.
Attun'd to sorrows that impress with awe
Parental bosoms. Pow'rs enlighten'd wear
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Proving their origin amid the storms
Gathering perpetually round feeble Man:
The feeble fly; the good with firmness bear
Ills terrible to thought, and shine like Thee
Thro' the dark hour of separation.
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THE INDIFFERENT SHEPHERDESS TO COLIN.
Colin, why this mistake?
Why plead thy foolish love?
My heart shall sooner break
Than I a minion prove;
Nor care I half a rush,
No snare I spread for thee:
Go home, my friend, and blush
For love and liberty.
Why plead thy foolish love?
My heart shall sooner break
Than I a minion prove;
Nor care I half a rush,
No snare I spread for thee:
Go home, my friend, and blush
For love and liberty.
Remembrance is my own—
Dominion bright and clear,
Truth there was ever known
To combat ev'ry care:
One image there imprest
Thro' life shall ever be,
Whilst my innoxious breast
Owns love of liberty.
Dominion bright and clear,
Truth there was ever known
To combat ev'ry care:
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Thro' life shall ever be,
Whilst my innoxious breast
Owns love of liberty.
I ever taught thee how
To prize the soul entire,
When on the mountain's brow
I tun'd my rural lyre:
Thou servile art and vain,
Thy love unworthy me!
Away! nor hear my strain,
Of love or liberty.
To prize the soul entire,
When on the mountain's brow
I tun'd my rural lyre:
Thou servile art and vain,
Thy love unworthy me!
Away! nor hear my strain,
Of love or liberty.
What arts need I display
To woo a soul like thine?
Thou ne'er canst know the way
My mem'ry to confine;
For my eternal plan
Is to be calm and free.
Estrang'd from tyrant man
I'll keep my liberty.
To woo a soul like thine?
Thou ne'er canst know the way
My mem'ry to confine;
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Is to be calm and free.
Estrang'd from tyrant man
I'll keep my liberty.
Yon woods their foliage wear,
Be thou away or nigh;
The warblers of the year
Instruct me not to sigh:
My tears ne'er roll the steep,
Nor swell the restless sea,
Except for those who sleep
Bereft of liberty.
Be thou away or nigh;
The warblers of the year
Instruct me not to sigh:
My tears ne'er roll the steep,
Nor swell the restless sea,
Except for those who sleep
Bereft of liberty.
Slave to commanding eyes!
Those eyes thou wouldst commend
My judgment must despise—
My pity is thy friend:
If eyes alone can move
A swain so dull as thee,
They mean but to reprove
Thy loss of liberty.
Those eyes thou wouldst commend
My judgment must despise—
My pity is thy friend:
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A swain so dull as thee,
They mean but to reprove
Thy loss of liberty.
I stray o'er rocks and fields
Where native beauties shine:
All fetter'd fancy yields
Be, Colin, ever thine.
Complain no more! but rove—
My cheek from crimson free,
Within my native grove
I'll guard my liberty.
Where native beauties shine:
All fetter'd fancy yields
Be, Colin, ever thine.
Complain no more! but rove—
My cheek from crimson free,
Within my native grove
I'll guard my liberty.
FINIS.
| The rural lyre | |