 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
I. VOL. I.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
PREFATORY STANZAS.
Talk not to me of Necromantic wights,
And dread magicians,
Who, by their potent spells, could conjure sprites,
Ghosts, apparitions,
And raise the dead from the forgotten past,
Each in the perfect mould of pre-existence cast.
And dread magicians,
Who, by their potent spells, could conjure sprites,
Ghosts, apparitions,
And raise the dead from the forgotten past,
Each in the perfect mould of pre-existence cast.
I, though no conjuror, have far outdone
Such Archimages,
For, as I culled and ponder'd, one by one,
These scattered pages,
From the dark past, and memory's eclipse,
Up rose in vision clear my life's Apocalypse.
Such Archimages,
For, as I culled and ponder'd, one by one,
These scattered pages,
From the dark past, and memory's eclipse,
Up rose in vision clear my life's Apocalypse.
4
Mutely each re-creative lay outpour'd
Its own revealings;
Youth, manhood, age, were momently restored,
With all their feelings.
Friends long deceased were summoned from the tomb;
Forgotten scenes regain'd their vividness and bloom.
Its own revealings;
Youth, manhood, age, were momently restored,
With all their feelings.
Friends long deceased were summoned from the tomb;
Forgotten scenes regain'd their vividness and bloom.
Again did I recline in copses green,
Gazing from under
Some oak's thwart boughs upon the sky serene,
In reverent wonder;
Or starting from the sward with ear acute,
To hear the cuckoo sound its soft two-noted flute.
Gazing from under
Some oak's thwart boughs upon the sky serene,
In reverent wonder;
Or starting from the sward with ear acute,
To hear the cuckoo sound its soft two-noted flute.
Association! thy transcendant power
What art can rival?
Muse-haunted strolls by river, field, or bower,
At thy revival,
Return once more, and in their second birth
Bring back each former scent and sound of air and earth.
What art can rival?
Muse-haunted strolls by river, field, or bower,
At thy revival,
Return once more, and in their second birth
Bring back each former scent and sound of air and earth.
5
In social joys where song and music's zest
Made beauty fairer,
In festive scenes with all their mirth and jest,
Once more a sharer,
I see the smiles, and hear the laughter loud
Of many a friend, alas! now mouldering in his shroud.
Made beauty fairer,
In festive scenes with all their mirth and jest,
Once more a sharer,
I see the smiles, and hear the laughter loud
Of many a friend, alas! now mouldering in his shroud.
So, when the hands are dust that now entwine
These prompting pages,
Some future reader, as a jest or line
His thought engages,
Feeling old memories from their grave arise,
May thus, in pensive mood, perchance soliloquise:
These prompting pages,
Some future reader, as a jest or line
His thought engages,
Feeling old memories from their grave arise,
May thus, in pensive mood, perchance soliloquise:
“I knew the bardling; 'twas his nature's bent,
His creed's chief feature,
To hold that a benign Creator meant
To bless the creature,
And giving man a boon denied to brute,
Loved him to exercise his laughing attribute.
His creed's chief feature,
To hold that a benign Creator meant
To bless the creature,
And giving man a boon denied to brute,
Loved him to exercise his laughing attribute.
6
“He felt that cheerfulness, when unalloy'd
With aught immoral,
Was piety, on earth, in heaven enjoy'd;
And wished his laurel
To be a Misletoe, whose grace should make
The mirth-devoted year one hallowed Christmas wake.
With aught immoral,
Was piety, on earth, in heaven enjoy'd;
And wished his laurel
To be a Misletoe, whose grace should make
The mirth-devoted year one hallowed Christmas wake.
“In mystic transcendental clouds to soar
Was not his mission,
Yet could he mould at times the solid ore
Of admonition;
Offenceless, grave, or gay, at least that praise
May grace his name, and speed his unpretending lays.”
Was not his mission,
Yet could he mould at times the solid ore
Of admonition;
Offenceless, grave, or gay, at least that praise
May grace his name, and speed his unpretending lays.”
If such thy welcome, little Book! discard
Fears of thine ordeal;
Go forth, and tell thy readers that the Bard,
With fervent, cordial
Feelings of gratitude and hope combined,
Bids them all hail, and wafts them ev'ry feeling kind.
Fears of thine ordeal;
Go forth, and tell thy readers that the Bard,
With fervent, cordial
Feelings of gratitude and hope combined,
Bids them all hail, and wafts them ev'ry feeling kind.
7
HYMN TO THE FLOWERS.
Day-stars! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle
From rainbow galaxies of Earth's creation,
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle
As a libation.
From rainbow galaxies of Earth's creation,
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle
As a libation.
Ye matin worshippers! who bending lowly
Before the uprisen Sun, God's lidless eye,
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy
Incense on high.
Before the uprisen Sun, God's lidless eye,
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy
Incense on high.
Ye bright Mosaics! that with storied beauty,
The floor of Nature's temple tesselate,
What numerous emblems of instructive duty
Your forms create!
The floor of Nature's temple tesselate,
What numerous emblems of instructive duty
Your forms create!
8
'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer.
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer.
Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand,
But to that fane, most Catholic and solemn,
Which God hath planned;
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand,
But to that fane, most Catholic and solemn,
Which God hath planned;
To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder,
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply;
Its choir the winds and waves,—its organ thunder,—
Its dome the sky.
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply;
Its choir the winds and waves,—its organ thunder,—
Its dome the sky.
There, as in solitude and shade I wander
Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod,
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder
The ways of God,
Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod,
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder
The ways of God,
9
Your voiceless lips, O Flowers! are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers
From loneliest nook.
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers
From loneliest nook.
Floral Apostles! that in dewy splendour
“Weep without woe, and blush without a crime,”
O may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender
Your lore sublime!
“Weep without woe, and blush without a crime,”
O may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender
Your lore sublime!
“Thou wert not, Solomon! in all thy glory,
Arrayed,” the lilies cry—“in robes like ours;
How vain your grandeur! ah, how transitory
Are human flowers!”
Arrayed,” the lilies cry—“in robes like ours;
How vain your grandeur! ah, how transitory
Are human flowers!”
In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly artist!
With which thou paintest nature's wide-spread hall,
What a delightful lesson thou impartest
Of love to all!
With which thou paintest nature's wide-spread hall,
What a delightful lesson thou impartest
Of love to all!
10
Not useless are ye, Flowers! though made for pleasure:
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night,
From every source your sanction bids me treasure
Harmless delight.
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night,
From every source your sanction bids me treasure
Harmless delight.
Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary
For such a world of thought could furnish scope?
Each fading calyx a memento mori,
Yet fount of hope.
For such a world of thought could furnish scope?
Each fading calyx a memento mori,
Yet fount of hope.
Posthumous glories! angel-like collection!
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth,
Ye are to me a type of resurrection,
And second birth.
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth,
Ye are to me a type of resurrection,
And second birth.
Were I in churchless solitudes remaining,
Far from all voice of teachers and divines,
My soul would find, in flowers of God's ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines!
Far from all voice of teachers and divines,
My soul would find, in flowers of God's ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines!
11
ADDRESS TO A MUMMY.
And hast thou walk'd about, (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy.
Thou hast a tongue—come—let us hear its tune;
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above-ground, Mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features.
Thou hast a tongue—come—let us hear its tune;
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above-ground, Mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features.
12
Tell us—for doubtless thou canst recollect,
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?
Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade,—
Then say what secret melody was hidden
In Memnon's statue which at sunrise play'd?
Perhaps thou wert a Priest—if so, my struggles
Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade,—
Then say what secret melody was hidden
In Memnon's statue which at sunrise play'd?
Perhaps thou wert a Priest—if so, my struggles
Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.
Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Has hob-a-nob'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass;
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.
Has hob-a-nob'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass;
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.
13
I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled,
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled:
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled,
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled:
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develop, if that wither'd tongue
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen,
How the world look'd when it was fresh and young,
And the great Deluge still had left it green—
Or was it then so old, that History's pages
Contain'd no record of its early ages?
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen,
How the world look'd when it was fresh and young,
And the great Deluge still had left it green—
Or was it then so old, that History's pages
Contain'd no record of its early ages?
Still silent! incommunicative elf!
Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows;
But prythee tell us something of thyself—
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house;
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumber'd,
What hast thou seen—what strange adventures number'd?
Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows;
But prythee tell us something of thyself—
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house;
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumber'd,
What hast thou seen—what strange adventures number'd?
14
Since first thy form was in this box extended,
We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations.
The Roman empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen—we have lost old nations,
And countless Kings have into dust been humbled,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations.
The Roman empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen—we have lost old nations,
And countless Kings have into dust been humbled,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?
If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,
The nature of thy private life unfold:—
A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd:—
Have children climb'd those knees, and kissed that face?
What was thy name and station, age and race?
The nature of thy private life unfold:—
A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd:—
Have children climb'd those knees, and kissed that face?
What was thy name and station, age and race?
15
Statue of flesh—Immortal of the dead!
Imperishable type of evanescence!
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecay'd within our presence,
Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning,
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning.
Imperishable type of evanescence!
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecay'd within our presence,
Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning,
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning.
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
If its undying guest be lost for ever?
Oh! let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure
In living virtue, that when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom!—
If its undying guest be lost for ever?
Oh! let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure
In living virtue, that when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom!—
16
ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-TREE AT VERSAILLES,
Called the Great Bourbon, which is above four hundred years old.
When France with civil wars was torn,
And heads, as well as crowns were shorn
From royal shoulders,
One Bourbon, in unalter'd plight,
Hath still maintain'd its regal right,
And held its court—a goodly sight
To all beholders.
And heads, as well as crowns were shorn
From royal shoulders,
One Bourbon, in unalter'd plight,
Hath still maintain'd its regal right,
And held its court—a goodly sight
To all beholders.
Thou, leafy monarch, thou alone,
Hast sat uninjured on thy throne,
Seeing the war range;
And when the great Nassaus were sent
Crownless away, (a sad event!)
Thou didst uphold and represent
The House of Orange.
Hast sat uninjured on thy throne,
Seeing the war range;
And when the great Nassaus were sent
Crownless away, (a sad event!)
Thou didst uphold and represent
The House of Orange.
17
To tell what changes thou hast seen,
Each grand monarque, and king and queen,
Of French extraction,
Might puzzle those who don't conceive
French history, so I believe
Comparing thee with ours will give
More satisfaction.
Each grand monarque, and king and queen,
Of French extraction,
Might puzzle those who don't conceive
French history, so I believe
Comparing thee with ours will give
More satisfaction.
Westminster Hall
, whose oaken roof
The papers say, (but that's no proof,)
Is nearly rotten,
Existed but in stones and trees,
When thou wert waving in the breeze,
And blossoms, (what a treat for bees!)
By scores hadst gotten.
The papers say, (but that's no proof,)
Is nearly rotten,
Existed but in stones and trees,
When thou wert waving in the breeze,
And blossoms, (what a treat for bees!)
By scores hadst gotten.
Chaucer, so old a bard that time
Has antiquated every chime,
And from his tomb outworn each rhyme
Within the Abbey;
And Gower, and older poet whom
The Borough Church enshrines (his tomb,
Though once restored, has lost its bloom,
And got quite shabby,)
Has antiquated every chime,
18
Within the Abbey;
And Gower, and older poet whom
The Borough Church enshrines (his tomb,
Though once restored, has lost its bloom,
And got quite shabby,)
Lived in thy time—the first perchance
Was beating monks when thou in France
By monks wert beaten,
Who shook beneath this very tree
Their reverend beards, with glutton glee,
As each down-falling luxury
Was caught and eaten.
Was beating monks when thou in France
By monks wert beaten,
Who shook beneath this very tree
Their reverend beards, with glutton glee,
As each down-falling luxury
Was caught and eaten.
Perchance when Henry gain'd the fight
Of Agincourt, some Gaulish knight,
(His bleeding steed in woful plight,
With smoking haunches,)
Laid down his helmet at thy root,
And, as he pluck'd the grateful fruit,
Suffered his poor exhausted brute
To crop thy branches.
Of Agincourt, some Gaulish knight,
(His bleeding steed in woful plight,
19
Laid down his helmet at thy root,
And, as he pluck'd the grateful fruit,
Suffered his poor exhausted brute
To crop thy branches.
Thou wert of portly size and look,
When first the Turks besieged and took
Constantinople;
And eagles in thy boughs might perch,
When, leaving Bullen in the lurch,
Another Henry changed his church,
And used the Pope ill.
When first the Turks besieged and took
Constantinople;
And eagles in thy boughs might perch,
When, leaving Bullen in the lurch,
Another Henry changed his church,
And used the Pope ill.
What numerous namesakes hast thou seen
Lounging beneath thy shady green,
With monks as lazy;
Louis Quatorze has pressed that ground,
With his six mistresses around—
A sample of the old and sound
Legitimacy.
Lounging beneath thy shady green,
With monks as lazy;
Louis Quatorze has pressed that ground,
With his six mistresses around—
A sample of the old and sound
Legitimacy.
20
And when despotic freaks and vices
Brought on th' inevitable crisis
Of revolution,
Thou heard'st the mob's infuriate shriek,
Who came their victim Queen to seek,
On guiltless heads the wrath to wreak
Of retribution.
Brought on th' inevitable crisis
Of revolution,
Thou heard'st the mob's infuriate shriek,
Who came their victim Queen to seek,
On guiltless heads the wrath to wreak
Of retribution.
Oh! of what follies, vice, and crime,
Hast thou, in thine eventful time,
Been made beholder!
What wars, what feuds—the thoughts appal!
Each against each, and all with all,
Till races upon races fall,
In earth to moulder.
Hast thou, in thine eventful time,
Been made beholder!
What wars, what feuds—the thoughts appal!
Each against each, and all with all,
Till races upon races fall,
In earth to moulder.
Whilst thou, serene, unalter'd, calm,
(Such are the constant gifts and balm
Bestow'd by Nature!)
Hast year by year renew'd thy flowers,
And perfumed the surrounding bowers,
And poured down grateful fruit by showers,
And proffer'd shade in summer hours
To man and creature.
(Such are the constant gifts and balm
Bestow'd by Nature!)
21
And perfumed the surrounding bowers,
And poured down grateful fruit by showers,
And proffer'd shade in summer hours
To man and creature.
Thou green and venerable tree!
Whate'er the future doom may be,
By fortune given,
Remember that a rhymester brought
From foreign shores thine umbrage sought,
Recall'd the blessings thou hadst wrought,
And, as he thank'd thee, raised his thought
To heaven!
Whate'er the future doom may be,
By fortune given,
Remember that a rhymester brought
From foreign shores thine umbrage sought,
Recall'd the blessings thou hadst wrought,
And, as he thank'd thee, raised his thought
To heaven!
There is a tradition (though not authenticated) that Chaucer was fined for beating a monk in Fleet-street.
22
SICILIAN ARETHUSA.
Sicilian Arethusa! thou, whose armsOf azure round the Thymbrian meadows wind,
Still are thy margins lined
With the same flowers Proserpina was weaving
In Enna's field, beside Pergusa's lake,
When swarthy Dis, upheaving,
Saw her, and, stung to madness by her charms,
Down snatch'd her, shrieking, to his Stygian couch.
Thy waves, Sicilian Arethusa, flow
In cadence to the shepherd's flageolet
As tunefully as when they wont to crouch
Beneath the banks to catch the pipings low
Of old Theocritus, and hear him trill
Bucolic songs, and Amoebæan lays.
And still, Sicilian Arethusa, still,
Though Etna dry thee up, or frosts enchain,
23
Have dipp'd their wreaths in thee, and by their praise
Made thee immortal as themselves. Thy flowers,
Transplanted, an eternal bloom retain,
Rooted in words that cannot fade or die.
Thy liquid gush and guggling melody
Have left undying echoes in the bowers
Of tuneful poesy. Thy very name,
Sicilian Arethusa, had been drown'd
In deep oblivion, but that the buoyant breath
Of bards uplifted it, and bade it swim
Adown th' eternal lapse, assured of fame,
Till all things shall be swallow'd up in death.—
Where, Immortality! where canst thou found
Thy throne unperishing, but in the hymn
Of the true bard, whose breath encrusts his theme
Like to a petrifaction, which the stream
Of time will only make more durable?
24
THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS.
Fresh was the breeze, and the rowers plied
Their oars with simultaneous motion,
When the Argo sail'd in her stately pride
By the laurel'd shores of the Pontic Ocean.
Their oars with simultaneous motion,
When the Argo sail'd in her stately pride
By the laurel'd shores of the Pontic Ocean.
The island of Mars with its palmy coves,
The sacred Mount, and Aretia's strands,
And Philyra's Isle with its linden groves,
And Ophir's flood with its shelly sands,—
The sacred Mount, and Aretia's strands,
And Philyra's Isle with its linden groves,
And Ophir's flood with its shelly sands,—
Swiftly they passed—till, stretching far,
On their right Bechiria's coast appears,
Where painted Sapirians, fierce in war,
Bristle the beach with bows and spears.
On their right Bechiria's coast appears,
Where painted Sapirians, fierce in war,
Bristle the beach with bows and spears.
25
At distance they saw the sun-beams quiver
Where the long-sought towers of Colchis stood,
And mark'd the foam of the Phasis river,
As it flung from its rocky mouth the flood.
Where the long-sought towers of Colchis stood,
And mark'd the foam of the Phasis river,
As it flung from its rocky mouth the flood.
The Argonauts gaze with hungry eyes
On the land enrich'd by the Golden Fleece,—
Already in fancy they grasp the prize,
And hear the shouts of applauding Greece.
On the land enrich'd by the Golden Fleece,—
Already in fancy they grasp the prize,
And hear the shouts of applauding Greece.
Jason looked out with a proud delight,
Castor and Pollux stood hand in hand,
Showing each other the welcome sight;
While fierce Meleager unsheath'd his brand.
Castor and Pollux stood hand in hand,
Showing each other the welcome sight;
While fierce Meleager unsheath'd his brand.
Laocoon bade the rowers check
Their oars, as the sun to the water slanted,
For Orpheus sate with his harp on the deck,
And sweetly the hymn of evening chanted,
Their oars, as the sun to the water slanted,
For Orpheus sate with his harp on the deck,
And sweetly the hymn of evening chanted,
26
While the heroes around, at each pause of sound,
Stretched their right hands to the god of day,
And fervently joined in the choral lay.
Stretched their right hands to the god of day,
And fervently joined in the choral lay.
The Hymn of Orpheus.
Twin-born with Dian in the Delos isle,
Which after the Ogygian deluge thou
Didst first illume with renovating smile,
Apollo! deign to hear our evening vow.
Which after the Ogygian deluge thou
Didst first illume with renovating smile,
Apollo! deign to hear our evening vow.
Chorus.
When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymnThy downward course shall follow:
Hail to thee!—hail to thee!
Hail to thee, Apollo!
God of the art that heals the shatter'd frame,
And poetry that soothes the wounded mind,
Ten thousand temples, honour'd with thy name,
Attest thy ceaseless blessings to mankind.
And poetry that soothes the wounded mind,
Ten thousand temples, honour'd with thy name,
Attest thy ceaseless blessings to mankind.
27
Chorus.
When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymnThy downward course shall follow,
Hail to thee!—hail to thee!
Hail to thee, Apollo!
Thy golden bow emits a gushing strain
Of music when the Pythian serpent dies:
His eyes flash fire—his writhings plough the plain:
Hissing he leaps aloft—then lifeless lies.
Of music when the Pythian serpent dies:
His eyes flash fire—his writhings plough the plain:
Hissing he leaps aloft—then lifeless lies.
Chorus.
When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymnThy downward course shall follow,
Hail to thee!—hail to thee!
Hail to thee, Apollo!
Pan of his pipe and rural science proud,
Dreamt that his music might with thine aspire;
The mountain Tmolus was the judge—and bow'd
His nodding woods in homage to thy lyre.
Dreamt that his music might with thine aspire;
The mountain Tmolus was the judge—and bow'd
His nodding woods in homage to thy lyre.
28
Chorus.
When thou'rt dim, with harp and hymnThy downward course we follow.
Hail to thee! hail to thee!
Hail to thee, Apollo!
From bowers of Daphne or Parnassus' Mount,
While Delphic girls their Io Pæans sing,
The gifted Muses by Castalia's Fount
With choral symphonies salute their king.
While Delphic girls their Io Pæans sing,
The gifted Muses by Castalia's Fount
With choral symphonies salute their king.
Chorus.
When thou'rt dim, with harp and hymnThy downward course we follow.
Hail to thee! hail to thee!
Hail to thee, Apollo!
God of the golden lyre and laurel wreath,
To thee each poet turns with yearning heart
And thoughtful eyes, invoking thee to breathe
Thine inspiration—
To thee each poet turns with yearning heart
And thoughtful eyes, invoking thee to breathe
Thine inspiration—
29
With a start
The minstrel ceased,—for over all the bark
A baleful shadow on a sudden spread!
The Argonauts look'd up, and saw a dark
And monstrous eagle hovering o'er their head;
So vast and fearful, that transfix'd and pale
They stood, with wild amaze o'ertaken:—
The vessel trembles, and the shivering sail
Flaps as if with terror shaken.
Entranced they gazed—and silent till
Philas, the son of Bacchus seized his bow,
And would have aim'd it at the feather'd foe,
But Mopsus, gifted with an augur's skill,
Gently held back his arm, and bade him wait
This dread portent—pronounce no word,
Nor dare to challenge Jove's own bird,
The minister of unrelenting fate.
The minstrel ceased,—for over all the bark
A baleful shadow on a sudden spread!
The Argonauts look'd up, and saw a dark
And monstrous eagle hovering o'er their head;
So vast and fearful, that transfix'd and pale
They stood, with wild amaze o'ertaken:—
The vessel trembles, and the shivering sail
Flaps as if with terror shaken.
Entranced they gazed—and silent till
Philas, the son of Bacchus seized his bow,
And would have aim'd it at the feather'd foe,
But Mopsus, gifted with an augur's skill,
Gently held back his arm, and bade him wait
This dread portent—pronounce no word,
Nor dare to challenge Jove's own bird,
The minister of unrelenting fate.
Extending now his oar-like wings,
Twice round the ship the monster swings,
As if prepared to pounce upon his prey;
His eyes from forth their sable shroud
Shot fire, like lightning from a cloud;
But with a sudden dart he rush'd away,
And clove the northward distance, where
The heights of Caucasus their barrier throw,
Where crag on crag, chaotic giants bare
Their granite foreheads to the sky, and sit
In desolate state beneath their crowns of snow.
Within these topmost peaks, there is a pit,—
A dizzy, gaunt, precipitous ravine,
Upon whose rocky floor environ'd round
With walls of ice—by every eye unseen,
With adamantine chains Prometheus lies bound.
Twice round the ship the monster swings,
30
His eyes from forth their sable shroud
Shot fire, like lightning from a cloud;
But with a sudden dart he rush'd away,
And clove the northward distance, where
The heights of Caucasus their barrier throw,
Where crag on crag, chaotic giants bare
Their granite foreheads to the sky, and sit
In desolate state beneath their crowns of snow.
Within these topmost peaks, there is a pit,—
A dizzy, gaunt, precipitous ravine,
Upon whose rocky floor environ'd round
With walls of ice—by every eye unseen,
With adamantine chains Prometheus lies bound.
Thither the ravenous wonder wing'd his flight,
They saw him clear the intervening height,
And sink behind it:—every eye
Is fix'd upon the spot, and every heart
Throbs with expectant agony,—
But nought is seen—no sounds impart
They saw him clear the intervening height,
And sink behind it:—every eye
Is fix'd upon the spot, and every heart
31
But nought is seen—no sounds impart
The secret of that dread abyss:—
Still do they gaze, half-willing to dismiss
Their fears and hopes, for over plain and hill,
And smiling ocean—all is hush'd and still.
Still do they gaze, half-willing to dismiss
Their fears and hopes, for over plain and hill,
And smiling ocean—all is hush'd and still.
Gracious God, what a shriek!
The monster with his beak
Is tearing out his victim's heart!
Lo! as that desolating cry
Echoes from the mountains high,
And throws its fear afar, a start
Of horror seems to darken nature's face.—
Athwart the quaking deep,
Revolting shudders creep,
Earth trembles to her very base—
Air seems to swoon—the sky to frown—
The sun with ghastly glare shrinks faster down.—
Hark! what a furious clash of chains!
Victim! thou never canst unlock
The brazen bolts that root thee to the rock;
Vain are thy struggles and convulsive strains.
Ah me! what dreadful groans are those
Wrung from the very depths of agonies;—
Now weaker moanings rise, till, worn with woes,
The fainting wretch exhausted lies,
And all again is grim repose.
The monster with his beak
Is tearing out his victim's heart!
Lo! as that desolating cry
Echoes from the mountains high,
And throws its fear afar, a start
Of horror seems to darken nature's face.—
Athwart the quaking deep,
Revolting shudders creep,
Earth trembles to her very base—
Air seems to swoon—the sky to frown—
The sun with ghastly glare shrinks faster down.—
32
Victim! thou never canst unlock
The brazen bolts that root thee to the rock;
Vain are thy struggles and convulsive strains.
Ah me! what dreadful groans are those
Wrung from the very depths of agonies;—
Now weaker moanings rise, till, worn with woes,
The fainting wretch exhausted lies,
And all again is grim repose.
But still with throbbing breasts and steadfast eyes
The heroes gazed upon the mountain's peak,
Till gorged with gore they saw the monster rise
With blood-stain'd claws, and breast, and beak:
And as above them he resumed his flight,
Th'arrested vessel shakes,
The flapping main-sail quakes,
And all seem'd turned to statues at the sight,
All but the son of Bacchus, who
With flashing eyes and visage red,
Again uprear'd his bow and drew
His longest arrow to the head.—
The heroes gazed upon the mountain's peak,
Till gorged with gore they saw the monster rise
With blood-stain'd claws, and breast, and beak:
And as above them he resumed his flight,
Th'arrested vessel shakes,
The flapping main-sail quakes,
And all seem'd turned to statues at the sight,
All but the son of Bacchus, who
With flashing eyes and visage red,
33
His longest arrow to the head.—
When from the eagle's beak a drop of gore,
(The heart's blood of Prometheus) fell
Warm on his hand! upon the vessel's floor
Down fell his bow;—with shuddering yell,
And haggard eyes still staring on the drop,
He staggers back, clasping the mast to prop
His fainting limbs. Upon the pilot's forehead
The dews of terror stood,
And all in awe-struck mood
Ponder'd in silence on that omen horrid.
(The heart's blood of Prometheus) fell
Warm on his hand! upon the vessel's floor
Down fell his bow;—with shuddering yell,
And haggard eyes still staring on the drop,
He staggers back, clasping the mast to prop
His fainting limbs. Upon the pilot's forehead
The dews of terror stood,
And all in awe-struck mood
Ponder'd in silence on that omen horrid.
The sun went down, and far into the gloom
The monster shot away,—but none
Of the bewilder'd Argonauts resume
The vessel's guidance as her way she won.—
None spake—none moved—all sate in blank dismay,
Revolving in their minds this dread portent;
And thus, abandon'd to the sway
Of the blind wind and watery element,
Through the whole night the Argo bore
Those throbbing hearts along the Pontic shore.
The monster shot away,—but none
Of the bewilder'd Argonauts resume
The vessel's guidance as her way she won.—
None spake—none moved—all sate in blank dismay,
Revolving in their minds this dread portent;
34
Of the blind wind and watery element,
Through the whole night the Argo bore
Those throbbing hearts along the Pontic shore.
35
THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE.
O scene of enchantment! O vision of bliss!
What Paradisaical glory is this!
A garden! a garden! O rapturous sight!
More stately in beauty, more rich in delight,
Than any the Muse, in her leafiest hour,
Has fabled of golden Hesperian bower,
Or Fortunate Islands, or fields where the blest
In Elysium's sylvan beatitudes rest.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
Well, well may its flow'rets thus brightly expand,
For they feel the fresh touch of the Deity's hand;
And the trees that are rustling their branches on high,
Are raising their arms and their voice to the sky,
To give thanks to the Lord, at whose fiat sublime
They sprung from the earth in maturity's prime;
And the newly-born river that flows at their feet,
Is lisping an anthem its Maker to greet.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
What Paradisaical glory is this!
A garden! a garden! O rapturous sight!
More stately in beauty, more rich in delight,
Than any the Muse, in her leafiest hour,
Has fabled of golden Hesperian bower,
Or Fortunate Islands, or fields where the blest
In Elysium's sylvan beatitudes rest.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
36
For they feel the fresh touch of the Deity's hand;
And the trees that are rustling their branches on high,
Are raising their arms and their voice to the sky,
To give thanks to the Lord, at whose fiat sublime
They sprung from the earth in maturity's prime;
And the newly-born river that flows at their feet,
Is lisping an anthem its Maker to greet.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
What odorous incense upsprings from the sod,
Which has lately been press'd by the foot of its God!
What fragrance Sabæan the zephyrs exhale,
Where celestial breath has been left on the gale!
Behold! how the fruits deeply blush, where the sun
Has stamp'd his first kiss upon every one!
And hark! how the birds in sweet choral accord,
Send their voices' first offerings up to the Lord!
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
No solace is wanting, no charms that dispense
A rival delight to the soul and the sense;
It is blissful to quaff the nectareous air;
To pluck from the branches ambrosial fare;
To list to the music of birds and of trees,
The chiming of waters, the song of the breeze;
To gaze on the Paradise blooming around,
And scent the rich breath of its flowery ground.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
Which has lately been press'd by the foot of its God!
What fragrance Sabæan the zephyrs exhale,
Where celestial breath has been left on the gale!
Behold! how the fruits deeply blush, where the sun
Has stamp'd his first kiss upon every one!
And hark! how the birds in sweet choral accord,
Send their voices' first offerings up to the Lord!
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
37
A rival delight to the soul and the sense;
It is blissful to quaff the nectareous air;
To pluck from the branches ambrosial fare;
To list to the music of birds and of trees,
The chiming of waters, the song of the breeze;
To gaze on the Paradise blooming around,
And scent the rich breath of its flowery ground.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
The creatures now savage, not then beasts of prey,
'Mid the flocks and the herds fondly pasture and play:
The lion lies down with the kidling; the lamb
Disports with the tiger; the wolf with its dam;
The elephant, twining his trunk round the boughs
Of the palm, scatters dates for his friends to carouse;
The giraffe plucks the high-growing fruits; and each beast
Makes the banquet of Nature a fellowship feast.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
'Tis the garden of Eden, where joy, peace, and love,
Join the creatures below to their Maker above.
Behold! from yon verdant alcove, hand in hand,
Wander Adam and Eve, till admiring they stand
Beneath the resplendent pre-eminent tree
Of knowledge, whose fruit is forbidden. And see!
In the guise of a serpent, where Satan appears,
And whispers melodious guilt in their ears.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
'Mid the flocks and the herds fondly pasture and play:
The lion lies down with the kidling; the lamb
Disports with the tiger; the wolf with its dam;
The elephant, twining his trunk round the boughs
Of the palm, scatters dates for his friends to carouse;
The giraffe plucks the high-growing fruits; and each beast
Makes the banquet of Nature a fellowship feast.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
38
Join the creatures below to their Maker above.
Behold! from yon verdant alcove, hand in hand,
Wander Adam and Eve, till admiring they stand
Beneath the resplendent pre-eminent tree
Of knowledge, whose fruit is forbidden. And see!
In the guise of a serpent, where Satan appears,
And whispers melodious guilt in their ears.
Lovely or rare, none can compare
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!
O horror of horrors! the dark deed is done:
They have tasted the fruit. Lo! the shuddering sun
Rushes out of the sky; all is terror and gloom.
The tears of the angels bewailing man's doom,
Rain woe upon earth; the wild animals roar,
As their fangs, stainless once, are polluted with gore;
Flocks and herds fly before them, astounded, aghast;
Shrieks of anguish are borne on the terrible blast.
Fear and despair are on earth and in air,
For thunder has ravaged that garden so fair.
Degraded, ashamed, sinful Adam and Eve
From its precincts are driven to toil and to grieve;
Then earth gave a groan, a soul-harrowing sound,
And thrill'd in her depths with a shudder profound,
That wither'd each Paradise tree to its root,
And shook down for ever and ever its fruit,
And scatter'd the rivers,—till all was o'erthrown,
That the site of the garden might never be known.
And Record is all that is left, since the fall,
Its exquisite beauties and bliss to recall.
They have tasted the fruit. Lo! the shuddering sun
Rushes out of the sky; all is terror and gloom.
The tears of the angels bewailing man's doom,
Rain woe upon earth; the wild animals roar,
As their fangs, stainless once, are polluted with gore;
Flocks and herds fly before them, astounded, aghast;
Shrieks of anguish are borne on the terrible blast.
Fear and despair are on earth and in air,
For thunder has ravaged that garden so fair.
39
From its precincts are driven to toil and to grieve;
Then earth gave a groan, a soul-harrowing sound,
And thrill'd in her depths with a shudder profound,
That wither'd each Paradise tree to its root,
And shook down for ever and ever its fruit,
And scatter'd the rivers,—till all was o'erthrown,
That the site of the garden might never be known.
And Record is all that is left, since the fall,
Its exquisite beauties and bliss to recall.
Then, then in the desert's profoundest abyss,
Where the winds o'er the waste fiercely whistle and hiss,
In the blackness of night, with convulsions and throes,
Did Earth her sepulchral recesses unclose,
And heave up a monster, the world to affright,
Terrific of purpose, tremendous in might,
Though his features to none might he ever reveal.
Gladness and mirth fled from the earth,
When that fearful invisible monster had birth.
The hopes and the courage of Adam to daunt,
It ceased not, the spectre, his footsteps to haunt;
His children it touch'd, and converted to dust
In a moment his tenderest objects of trust;
Birds and beasts fell around him; where'er Adam walk'd,
Before him, in fancy, the murderer stalk'd;
More dread to the heart when unseen by the eye,
'Twas vain from the phantom to hide or to fly;
Wrinkles and bloom met the same doom,—
One touch of the Gorgon sent all to the tomb.
Where the winds o'er the waste fiercely whistle and hiss,
In the blackness of night, with convulsions and throes,
Did Earth her sepulchral recesses unclose,
And heave up a monster, the world to affright,
Terrific of purpose, tremendous in might,
Though his features to none might he ever reveal.
Gladness and mirth fled from the earth,
When that fearful invisible monster had birth.
40
It ceased not, the spectre, his footsteps to haunt;
His children it touch'd, and converted to dust
In a moment his tenderest objects of trust;
Birds and beasts fell around him; where'er Adam walk'd,
Before him, in fancy, the murderer stalk'd;
More dread to the heart when unseen by the eye,
'Twas vain from the phantom to hide or to fly;
Wrinkles and bloom met the same doom,—
One touch of the Gorgon sent all to the tomb.
It lurk'd in the wave, in the air, in the bower,—
An ubiquitous curse, an all-withering power,—
Still snatching from Adam his hope and his joy,
And scaring with dread when it fail'd to destroy;
Till weaken'd with age, worn with sorrow and fear,
He felt a cold hand on his heart, and his ear
Was chill'd by the spectre's cadaverous breath,
As in accents sepulchral it groan'd—I am Death!”
An ubiquitous curse, an all-withering power,—
Still snatching from Adam his hope and his joy,
And scaring with dread when it fail'd to destroy;
Till weaken'd with age, worn with sorrow and fear,
He felt a cold hand on his heart, and his ear
Was chill'd by the spectre's cadaverous breath,
As in accents sepulchral it groan'd—I am Death!”
41
THE SANCTUARY.
In Israel was many a refuge city,
Whereto the blameless homicide might flee,
And claim protection, sustenance, and pity,
Safe from the blood-avenger's enmity,
Until the law's acquittal sent him thence,
Free from offence.
Whereto the blameless homicide might flee,
And claim protection, sustenance, and pity,
Safe from the blood-avenger's enmity,
Until the law's acquittal sent him thence,
Free from offence.
Round old cathedral, abbey-church, and palace,
Did we ourselves a sanctuary draw,
Where no stern creditor could glut his malice,
And even criminals might brave the law;
For judge nor justice in that charter'd verge
Their rights could urge.
Did we ourselves a sanctuary draw,
Where no stern creditor could glut his malice,
And even criminals might brave the law;
For judge nor justice in that charter'd verge
Their rights could urge.
42
These times are gone; felons and knavish debtors
May mourn the change, but who bewails their case?
For why should God and King be made abettors
Of guilt and fraud, the champions of the base?
Never may such a desecration stain
Our land again!
May mourn the change, but who bewails their case?
For why should God and King be made abettors
Of guilt and fraud, the champions of the base?
Never may such a desecration stain
Our land again!
But all are not divested of their charter;
One refuge still is left for human woes.
Victim of care! or persecution's martyr!
Who seek'st a sure asylum from thy foes,
Learn that the holiest, safest, purest, best,
Is man's own breast!
One refuge still is left for human woes.
Victim of care! or persecution's martyr!
Who seek'st a sure asylum from thy foes,
Learn that the holiest, safest, purest, best,
Is man's own breast!
There is a solemn sanctuary founded
By God himself; not for transgressors meant;
But that the man opprest, the spirit-wounded,
And all beneath the world's injustice bent,
Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil, and din,
To peace within.
By God himself; not for transgressors meant;
But that the man opprest, the spirit-wounded,
And all beneath the world's injustice bent,
Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil, and din,
To peace within.
43
Each bosom is a temple; when its altar,
The living heart, is unprofaned and pure,
Its verge is hallow'd; none need fear or falter
Who thither fly; it is an ark secure,
Winning, above a world o'erwhelm'd with wrath,
Its peaceful path.
The living heart, is unprofaned and pure,
Its verge is hallow'd; none need fear or falter
Who thither fly; it is an ark secure,
Winning, above a world o'erwhelm'd with wrath,
Its peaceful path.
O Bower of Bliss! O Sanctuary holy!
Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy!
Never! oh, never may misdeed or folly
My claim to thy beatitudes destroy!
Still may I keep this Paradise unlost,
Where'er I'm tost.
Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy!
Never! oh, never may misdeed or folly
My claim to thy beatitudes destroy!
Still may I keep this Paradise unlost,
Where'er I'm tost.
E'en in the flesh, the spirit disembodied,
Uncheck'd by time and space, may soar elate,
In silent awe to commune with the Godhead,—
Or the millennium reign anticipate,
When earth shall be all sanctity and love,
Like heaven above.
Uncheck'd by time and space, may soar elate,
In silent awe to commune with the Godhead,—
Or the millennium reign anticipate,
When earth shall be all sanctity and love,
Like heaven above.
44
How sweet to turn from anguish, guilt, and madness,
From scenes where strife and tumult never cease,
To that Elysian world of bosom'd gladness,
Where all is silence, charity, and peace;
And shelter'd from the storm the soul may rest
On its own nest!
From scenes where strife and tumult never cease,
To that Elysian world of bosom'd gladness,
Where all is silence, charity, and peace;
And shelter'd from the storm the soul may rest
On its own nest!
When, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa,
We shrink from winter's touch and Nature's gloom,
There may we conjure up a Vallombrosa,
Where groves and bowers in summer beauty bloom,
And the heart dances in the sunny glade
Fancy has made.
We shrink from winter's touch and Nature's gloom,
There may we conjure up a Vallombrosa,
Where groves and bowers in summer beauty bloom,
And the heart dances in the sunny glade
Fancy has made.
But, would we dedicate to nobler uses,
This bosom sanctuary, let us there
Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses;
While high and charitable thoughts and pray'r,
May teach us gratitude to God, combined
With love of kind.
This bosom sanctuary, let us there
Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses;
While high and charitable thoughts and pray'r,
May teach us gratitude to God, combined
With love of kind.
45
Reader! this is no lay unfelt and hollow,
But prompted by the happy, grateful heart
Of one who, having humbly tried to follow
The path he counsels, would to thee impart
The love and holy quiet which have blest
His own calm breast.
But prompted by the happy, grateful heart
Of one who, having humbly tried to follow
The path he counsels, would to thee impart
The love and holy quiet which have blest
His own calm breast.
46
THE POPPY.
The man who roams by wild-flower'd ditch or hedge
Skirting the mead,
Or treads the cornfield path—along its edge,
May mark a weed,
Whose ragged scarlet gear might well denote
A road-side beggar in a soldier's coat.
Skirting the mead,
Or treads the cornfield path—along its edge,
May mark a weed,
Whose ragged scarlet gear might well denote
A road-side beggar in a soldier's coat.
Hence! terms misplaced, and thoughts disparaging!
O Poppy Flower!
Thou art the Crœsus of the field—its king—
A mystic power,
With emblems deep and secret blessings fraught,
And potent properties that baffle thought.
O Poppy Flower!
Thou art the Crœsus of the field—its king—
A mystic power,
With emblems deep and secret blessings fraught,
And potent properties that baffle thought.
47
When thy hues catch, amid the growing corn?
The traveller's eye,
“Weeds! weeds!” he cries, and shakes his head in scorn:
But when on high
The grain uplifts its harvest-bearing crest,
The Poppy's hidden, and the taunt suppress'd.
The traveller's eye,
“Weeds! weeds!” he cries, and shakes his head in scorn:
But when on high
The grain uplifts its harvest-bearing crest,
The Poppy's hidden, and the taunt suppress'd.
So, when our early state is poor and mean,
Our portion small,
Our scarlet-blushing moral weeds are seen,
And blamed by all;
But as we rise in rank we win repute,
Our faults gold-hidden, our accusers mute.
Our portion small,
Our scarlet-blushing moral weeds are seen,
And blamed by all;
But as we rise in rank we win repute,
Our faults gold-hidden, our accusers mute.
Why does the Poppy with its chaliced store
Of opiate rare,
Flush in the fields, and grace the hovel door,
But to declare
That, from the City's palaces forlorn,
Sleep flies to bless the cottage in the corn?
Of opiate rare,
Flush in the fields, and grace the hovel door,
But to declare
That, from the City's palaces forlorn,
Sleep flies to bless the cottage in the corn?
48
And Oh! how precious is the Anodyne
Its cells exude,
Charming the mind's disquietude malign
To peaceful mood,
Soothing the body's anguish with its balm,
Lulling the restless into slumbers calm.
Its cells exude,
Charming the mind's disquietude malign
To peaceful mood,
Soothing the body's anguish with its balm,
Lulling the restless into slumbers calm.
What tho' the reckless suicide—oppress'd
By fell despair,
Turns to a poison-cup thy chalice, bless'd
With gifts so rare;
And basely flying, while the brave remain,
Deserts the post God gave him to maintain.
By fell despair,
Turns to a poison-cup thy chalice, bless'd
With gifts so rare;
And basely flying, while the brave remain,
Deserts the post God gave him to maintain.
Such art perverted does but more enhance
That higher power,
Which, planting by the corn—(man's sustenance,)
The Poppy flower,
Both in one soil, one atmosphere their breath,
Rears, side by side, the means of life and death!
That higher power,
Which, planting by the corn—(man's sustenance,)
The Poppy flower,
Both in one soil, one atmosphere their breath,
Rears, side by side, the means of life and death!
49
Who, who can mark thee, Poppy, when the air
Fans thy lips bright,
Nor move his own in sympathetic prayer
To Him whose might
Combined the powers—O thought-bewildering deed!
Of death—sleep—health—oblivion—in a weed!
Fans thy lips bright,
Nor move his own in sympathetic prayer
To Him whose might
Combined the powers—O thought-bewildering deed!
Of death—sleep—health—oblivion—in a weed!
50
THE MURDERER'S CONFESSION.
I paused not to question the Devil's suggestion,
But o'er the cliff, headlong, the living was thrown;
A scream and a plashing, a foam and a flashing,
And the smothering water accomplish'd his slaughter,
All was silent, and I was alone!
But o'er the cliff, headlong, the living was thrown;
A scream and a plashing, a foam and a flashing,
And the smothering water accomplish'd his slaughter,
All was silent, and I was alone!
With heart-thrilling spasm I leant o'er the chasm;
There was blood on the wave that closed o'er his head,
And in bubbles his breath, as he struggled with death,
Rose up to the surface. I shudder'd and fled.
There was blood on the wave that closed o'er his head,
And in bubbles his breath, as he struggled with death,
Rose up to the surface. I shudder'd and fled.
51
With footsteps that stagger'd and countenance haggard,
I stole to my dwelling, bewilder'd, dismay'd,
Till whisperings stealthy said—“Psha! he was wealthy,
Thou'rt his heir—no one saw thee—then be not afraid.”
I stole to my dwelling, bewilder'd, dismay'd,
Till whisperings stealthy said—“Psha! he was wealthy,
Thou'rt his heir—no one saw thee—then be not afraid.”
I summon'd the neighbours, I join'd in their labours,
We sought for the missing by day and by night;
We ransack'd each single height, hollow, or dingle,
Till shoreward we wended, when starkly extended,
His corpse lay before us—Oh God! what a sight!
We sought for the missing by day and by night;
We ransack'd each single height, hollow, or dingle,
Till shoreward we wended, when starkly extended,
His corpse lay before us—Oh God! what a sight!
And yet was there nothing for terror or loathing.
The blood had been wash'd from his face and his clothing,
But by no language, no pen, his life-like wide open
Eyes can be painted;—
They stared at me, flared at me, angrily glared at me,
I felt murder-attainted;
Yet my guilty commotion seem'd truth and devotion,
When I shudder'd and fainted.
The blood had been wash'd from his face and his clothing,
But by no language, no pen, his life-like wide open
Eyes can be painted;—
They stared at me, flared at me, angrily glared at me,
I felt murder-attainted;
Yet my guilty commotion seem'd truth and devotion,
When I shudder'd and fainted.
52
No hint finds emission that breathes of suspicion,
None dare utter a sound when an inquest has found
His death accidental;
Whence then and wherefore, having nothing to care for,
These agonies mental?
Why grieve and why sicken, frame-wither'd, soul-stricken?
None dare utter a sound when an inquest has found
His death accidental;
Whence then and wherefore, having nothing to care for,
These agonies mental?
Why grieve and why sicken, frame-wither'd, soul-stricken?
Age-paralysed, sickly, he must have died quickly,
Each day brought some new ill;
Why leave him to languish and struggle with anguish,
The deed that relieved him from all that aggrieved him,
Was kindly, not cruel.
Each day brought some new ill;
Why leave him to languish and struggle with anguish,
The deed that relieved him from all that aggrieved him,
Was kindly, not cruel.
In procession extended a funeral splendid,
With banner'd displays and escutcheons emblazon'd,
To church slowly pass'd,
When a dread apparition astounded my vision;
Like an aspen leaf shaking, dumfounded and quaking,
I stood all aghast!
With banner'd displays and escutcheons emblazon'd,
To church slowly pass'd,
When a dread apparition astounded my vision;
Like an aspen leaf shaking, dumfounded and quaking,
I stood all aghast!
53
From its nail'd coffin prison the corpse had arisen,
And in all its shroud vesture, with menacing gesture,
And eye-balls that stared at me, flared at me, glared at me,
It pointed—it flouted its slayer, and shouted
In accents that thrill'd me,
“That ruthless dissembler, that guilt-stricken trembler,
Is the villain who kill'd me!”
And in all its shroud vesture, with menacing gesture,
And eye-balls that stared at me, flared at me, glared at me,
It pointed—it flouted its slayer, and shouted
In accents that thrill'd me,
“That ruthless dissembler, that guilt-stricken trembler,
Is the villain who kill'd me!”
'Twas fancy's creation—mere hallucination—
A lucky delusion, for again my confusion,
Guilt's evidence sinister, seem'd to people and minister
The painful achievement of grief and bereavement.
A lucky delusion, for again my confusion,
Guilt's evidence sinister, seem'd to people and minister
The painful achievement of grief and bereavement.
Then why these probations, these self-condemnations
Incessant and fearful?
Some with impunity snatch opportunity,
Slay—and exult in concealment's immunity;
Free from forebodings and heartfelt corrodings,
They fear no disclosure, no public exposure,
And sleeping unhaunted, and waking undaunted,
Live happy and cheerful.
Incessant and fearful?
Some with impunity snatch opportunity,
Slay—and exult in concealment's immunity;
Free from forebodings and heartfelt corrodings,
They fear no disclosure, no public exposure,
54
Live happy and cheerful.
To 'scape the ideal let me dwell on the real,
I, a pauper so lately,
In abundance possessing life's every blessing,
Fine steeds in my stable, rare wines on my table,
Servants dress'd gaily, choice banquets daily,
A wife fond and beautiful, children most dutiful,
I, a pauper so lately, live rich and greatly,
In a mansion-house stately.
I, a pauper so lately,
In abundance possessing life's every blessing,
Fine steeds in my stable, rare wines on my table,
Servants dress'd gaily, choice banquets daily,
A wife fond and beautiful, children most dutiful,
I, a pauper so lately, live rich and greatly,
In a mansion-house stately.
Life's blessings? O liar! all are curses most dire,
In the midst of my revels,
His eyes ever stare at me, flare at me, glare at me,
Before me when treading my manors outspreading,
There yawns an abysmal cliff precipice dismal.
Isolation has vanish'd, all silence is banish'd,
Where'er I immew me his death shrieks pursue me,
I am hunted by devils.
In the midst of my revels,
His eyes ever stare at me, flare at me, glare at me,
Before me when treading my manors outspreading,
There yawns an abysmal cliff precipice dismal.
Isolation has vanish'd, all silence is banish'd,
Where'er I immew me his death shrieks pursue me,
I am hunted by devils.
55
My wine clear and ruddy seems turbid and bloody,
I cannot quaff water:—recalling his slaughter,
My terror it doubles—'tis beaded with bubbles,
Each fill'd with his breath,
And in every glass each hisses—“Assassin!
My curse shall affright thee, haunt, harrow, and blight thee
In life and in death!”
I cannot quaff water:—recalling his slaughter,
My terror it doubles—'tis beaded with bubbles,
Each fill'd with his breath,
And in every glass each hisses—“Assassin!
My curse shall affright thee, haunt, harrow, and blight thee
In life and in death!”
My daughters, their mother, contend with each other
Who shall show most affection, best soothe my dejection:
Revolting endearments! their garments seem cerements,
And I shudder with loathing at their grave-tainted clothing.
Home and the mercies
That to others are dearest, to me are the drearest
And deadliest curses.
Who shall show most affection, best soothe my dejection:
Revolting endearments! their garments seem cerements,
And I shudder with loathing at their grave-tainted clothing.
Home and the mercies
That to others are dearest, to me are the drearest
And deadliest curses.
56
When free from this error I thrill with the terror,
(Thought horrid to dwell on!)
That the wretch whom they cherish may shamefully perish,
Be publicly gibbetted, branded, exhibited,
As a murderous felon!
(Thought horrid to dwell on!)
That the wretch whom they cherish may shamefully perish,
Be publicly gibbetted, branded, exhibited,
As a murderous felon!
O punishment hellish! the house I embellish
From centre to corner upbraids its adorner,—
A door's lowest creaking swells into a shrieking,
Against me each column bears evidence solemn,
Each statue's a Nemesis.
They follow, infest me, they strive to arrest me,
Till in terrified sadness that verges on madness,
I rush from the premises.
From centre to corner upbraids its adorner,—
A door's lowest creaking swells into a shrieking,
Against me each column bears evidence solemn,
Each statue's a Nemesis.
They follow, infest me, they strive to arrest me,
Till in terrified sadness that verges on madness,
I rush from the premises.
The country's amenity brings no serenity.
Each rural sound seeming a menace or screaming,
There is not a bird or beast but cries—“Murder!
There goes the offender!
Dog him, waylay him, encompass him, stay him,
And make him surrender!”
Each rural sound seeming a menace or screaming,
There is not a bird or beast but cries—“Murder!
There goes the offender!
57
And make him surrender!”
My flower-beds splendid seem eyes blood-distended,
His eyes, ever flaring, and staring, and glaring!
I turn from them quickly, but phantoms more sickly
Drive me hither and thither.
I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly,
Quitting grandeur and revelry to fly from this devilry,
But whither—O whither?
His eyes, ever flaring, and staring, and glaring!
I turn from them quickly, but phantoms more sickly
Drive me hither and thither.
I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly,
Quitting grandeur and revelry to fly from this devilry,
But whither—O whither?
Hence idle delusions! hence fears and confusions!
Not a single friend's severance lessens men's reverence,
No neighbour of rank quits my sumptuous banquets
Without lauding their donor;
Throughout the wide county I'm famed for my bounty,
All hold me in honour.
Not a single friend's severance lessens men's reverence,
No neighbour of rank quits my sumptuous banquets
Without lauding their donor;
Throughout the wide county I'm famed for my bounty,
All hold me in honour.
58
Let the dotard and craven by fear be enslaven.
They have vanish'd! How fast fly these images ghastly,
When in firm self-reliance,
You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating,
With scorn and defiance!
They have vanish'd! How fast fly these images ghastly,
When in firm self-reliance,
You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating,
With scorn and defiance!
Ha ha! I am fearless henceforward and tearless,
No coinage of fancy, no dream's necromancy
Shall sadden and darken—God help me!—hist—harken!
'Tis the shriek soul-appalling he utter'd when falling!
No coinage of fancy, no dream's necromancy
Shall sadden and darken—God help me!—hist—harken!
'Tis the shriek soul-appalling he utter'd when falling!
By day thus affrighted, 'tis worse when benighted;
With the clock's midnight boom, from the church on his tomb,
There comes a sharp screaming too fearful for dreaming;
Bone fingers unholy draw the foot curtains slowly,
O God! how they stare at me, flare at me, glare at me,
Those eyes of a Gorgon!
Beneath the clothes sinking with shuddering shrinking,
A mental orgasm and bodily spasm
Convulse every organ.
With the clock's midnight boom, from the church on his tomb,
There comes a sharp screaming too fearful for dreaming;
Bone fingers unholy draw the foot curtains slowly,
O God! how they stare at me, flare at me, glare at me,
Those eyes of a Gorgon!
59
A mental orgasm and bodily spasm
Convulse every organ.
Nerves a thousand times stronger could bear it no longer.
Grief, sickness, compunction, dismay in conjunction,
Nights and days ghost-prolific, more grim and terrific
Than judges and juries,
Make the heart writhe and falter more than gibbet and halter.
Arrest me, secure me, seize, handcuff, immure me!
I own my transgression—will make full confession,
Quick—quick! Let me plunge in some dark-vaulted dungeon,
Where, tho' tried and death-fated, I may not be baited
By devils and furies!
Grief, sickness, compunction, dismay in conjunction,
Nights and days ghost-prolific, more grim and terrific
Than judges and juries,
Make the heart writhe and falter more than gibbet and halter.
Arrest me, secure me, seize, handcuff, immure me!
I own my transgression—will make full confession,
Quick—quick! Let me plunge in some dark-vaulted dungeon,
Where, tho' tried and death-fated, I may not be baited
By devils and furies!
60
THE CONTRAST.
I saw him last on this Terrace proud,
Walking in health and gladness,
Begirt with his Court; and in all the crowd
Not a single look of sadness.
Walking in health and gladness,
Begirt with his Court; and in all the crowd
Not a single look of sadness.
Bright was the sun, and the leaves were green,
Blithely the birds were singing,
The cymbal replied to the tambourine,
And the bells were merrily ringing.
Blithely the birds were singing,
The cymbal replied to the tambourine,
And the bells were merrily ringing.
I have stood with the crowd beside his bier,
When not a word was spoken;
But every eye was dim with a tear,
And the silence by sobs was broken.
When not a word was spoken;
But every eye was dim with a tear,
And the silence by sobs was broken.
61
I have heard the earth on his coffin pour
To the muffled drum's deep rolling,
While the minute-gun with its solemn roar,
Drown'd the death-bell's tolling.
To the muffled drum's deep rolling,
While the minute-gun with its solemn roar,
Drown'd the death-bell's tolling.
The time since he walk'd in his glory thus,
To the grave till I saw him carried,
Was an age of the mightiest change to us,
But to him a night unvaried.
To the grave till I saw him carried,
Was an age of the mightiest change to us,
But to him a night unvaried.
We have fought the fight;—from his lofty throne
The foe of our land we have tumbled;
And it gladden'd each eye, save his alone,
For whom that foe we humbled.
The foe of our land we have tumbled;
And it gladden'd each eye, save his alone,
For whom that foe we humbled.
A daughter belov'd—a Queen—a son—
And a son's sole child have perish'd;
And sad was each heart, save the only one
By which they were fondest cherish'd.
And a son's sole child have perish'd;
And sad was each heart, save the only one
By which they were fondest cherish'd.
62
For his eyes were seal'd, and his mind was dark,
And he sat in his age's lateness,
Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark
Of the frailty of human greatness.
And he sat in his age's lateness,
Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark
Of the frailty of human greatness.
His silver beard o'er a bosom spread,
Unvex'd by life's commotion,
Like a yearly-lengthening snow-drift shed
On the calm of a frozen ocean.
Unvex'd by life's commotion,
Like a yearly-lengthening snow-drift shed
On the calm of a frozen ocean.
O'er him oblivion's waters boom'd,
As the stream of time kept flowing;
And we only heard of our King when doom'd
To know that his strength was going.
As the stream of time kept flowing;
And we only heard of our King when doom'd
To know that his strength was going.
At intervals thus the waves disgorge,
By weakness rent asunder,
A part of the wreck of the Royal George,
For the people's pity and wonder.
By weakness rent asunder,
A part of the wreck of the Royal George,
For the people's pity and wonder.
63
THE BARD'S SONG TO HIS DAUGHTER.
O Daughter dear, my darling child,
Prop of my mortal pilgrimage,
Thou who hast care and pain beguiled,
And wreathed with Spring my wintry age,—
Through thee a second prospect opes
Of life, when but to live is glee,
And jocund joys, and youthful hopes,
Come thronging to my heart through thee.
Prop of my mortal pilgrimage,
Thou who hast care and pain beguiled,
And wreathed with Spring my wintry age,—
Through thee a second prospect opes
Of life, when but to live is glee,
And jocund joys, and youthful hopes,
Come thronging to my heart through thee.
Backward thou lead'st me to the bowers
Where love and youth their transports gave;
While forward still thou strewest flowers,
And bidst me live beyond the grave.
For still my blood in thee shall flow,
Perhaps to warm a distant line,
Thy face my lineaments shall show,
And e'en my thoughts survive in thine.
Where love and youth their transports gave;
While forward still thou strewest flowers,
And bidst me live beyond the grave.
64
Perhaps to warm a distant line,
Thy face my lineaments shall show,
And e'en my thoughts survive in thine.
Yes, Daughter, when this tongue is mute—
This heart is dust—these eyes are closed,
And thou art singing to thy lute
Some stanza by thy sire composed,
To friends around thou mayst impart
A thought of him who wrote the lays,
And from the grave my form shall start,
Embodied forth to fancy's gaze.
This heart is dust—these eyes are closed,
And thou art singing to thy lute
Some stanza by thy sire composed,
To friends around thou mayst impart
A thought of him who wrote the lays,
And from the grave my form shall start,
Embodied forth to fancy's gaze.
Then to their memories will throng
Scenes shared with him who lies in earth,
The cheerful page, the lively song,
The woodland walk, or festive mirth;
Then may they heave the pensive sigh
That friendship seeks not to control,
And from the fix'd and thoughtful eye
The half unconscious tears may roll:—
Scenes shared with him who lies in earth,
The cheerful page, the lively song,
The woodland walk, or festive mirth;
65
That friendship seeks not to control,
And from the fix'd and thoughtful eye
The half unconscious tears may roll:—
Such now bedew my cheek—but mine
Are drops of gratitude and love,
That mingle human with divine—
The gift below, its source above.—
How exquisitely dear thou art
Can only be by tears express'd,
And the fond thrillings of my heart
While thus I clasp thee to my breast.
Are drops of gratitude and love,
That mingle human with divine—
The gift below, its source above.—
How exquisitely dear thou art
Can only be by tears express'd,
And the fond thrillings of my heart
While thus I clasp thee to my breast.
66
THE FLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING.
From the prisons dark of the circling bark
The leaves of tenderest green are glancing;
They gambol on high in the bright blue sky,
Fondly with spring's young Zephyrs dancing,
While music and joy and jubilee gush
From the lark and linnet, the blackbird and thrush.
The leaves of tenderest green are glancing;
They gambol on high in the bright blue sky,
Fondly with spring's young Zephyrs dancing,
While music and joy and jubilee gush
From the lark and linnet, the blackbird and thrush.
The butterfly springs on its new-born wings,
The dormouse starts from his wintry sleeping;
The flowers of earth find a second birth,
To light and life from the darkness leaping:
The roses and tulips will soon resume
Their youth's first perfume and primitive bloom.
The dormouse starts from his wintry sleeping;
The flowers of earth find a second birth,
To light and life from the darkness leaping:
The roses and tulips will soon resume
Their youth's first perfume and primitive bloom.
67
What renders me sad when all nature glad
The heart of each living creature cheers?
I laid in the bosom of earth a blossom,
And water'd its bed with a father's tears;
But the grave has no spring, and I still deplore
That the flow'ret I planted comes up no more!
The heart of each living creature cheers?
I laid in the bosom of earth a blossom,
And water'd its bed with a father's tears;
But the grave has no spring, and I still deplore
That the flow'ret I planted comes up no more!
That eye, whose soft blue of the firmament's hue,
Express'd all holy and heavenly things,—
Those ringlets bright, which scatter'd a light
Such as angels shake from their sunny wings,—
That cheek, in whose freshness my heart had trust—
All—all have perish'd—my daughter is dust!
Express'd all holy and heavenly things,—
Those ringlets bright, which scatter'd a light
Such as angels shake from their sunny wings,—
That cheek, in whose freshness my heart had trust—
All—all have perish'd—my daughter is dust!
Yet the blaze sublime of thy virtue's prime,
Still gilds my tears and a balm supplies,
As the matin ray of the god of day
Brightens the dew which at last it dries:
Yes, Fanny! I cannot regret thy clay,
When I think where thy spirit has wing'd its way.
Still gilds my tears and a balm supplies,
As the matin ray of the god of day
Brightens the dew which at last it dries:
Yes, Fanny! I cannot regret thy clay,
When I think where thy spirit has wing'd its way.
68
So wither we all—so flourish and fall,
Like the flowers and weeds that in churchyards wave;
Our leaves we spread over comrades dead,
And blossom and bloom with our root in the grave;—
Springing from earth, into earth we are thrust,
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust!
Like the flowers and weeds that in churchyards wave;
Our leaves we spread over comrades dead,
And blossom and bloom with our root in the grave;—
Springing from earth, into earth we are thrust,
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust!
If death's worst smart is to feel that we part
From those we love and shall see no more,
It softens its sting to know that we wing
Our flight to the friends who have gone before;
And the grave is a boon and a blessing to me,
If it waft me, O Fanny, my daughter, to thee!
From those we love and shall see no more,
It softens its sting to know that we wing
Our flight to the friends who have gone before;
And the grave is a boon and a blessing to me,
If it waft me, O Fanny, my daughter, to thee!
69
MORAL RUINS.
Asia's rock-hollow'd Fanes, first-born of Time,
In sculpture's prime,
Wrought by the ceaseless toil of many a race,
Whom none may trace,
Have crumbled back to wastes of ragged stone,
And formless caverns, desolate and lone;—
In sculpture's prime,
Wrought by the ceaseless toil of many a race,
Whom none may trace,
Have crumbled back to wastes of ragged stone,
And formless caverns, desolate and lone;—
Egypt's stern Temples, whose colossal mound,
Sphinx-guarded, frown'd
From brows of Granite challenges to Fate,
And human hate,
Are giant ruins in a desert land,
Or sunk to sculptured quarries in the sand.
Sphinx-guarded, frown'd
From brows of Granite challenges to Fate,
And human hate,
Are giant ruins in a desert land,
Or sunk to sculptured quarries in the sand.
70
The marble miracles of Greece and Rome,
Temple and Dome,
Art's masterpieces, awful in th' excess
Of loveliness,
Hallow'd by statued Gods which might be thought
To be themselves by the Celestials wrought,—
Temple and Dome,
Art's masterpieces, awful in th' excess
Of loveliness,
Hallow'd by statued Gods which might be thought
To be themselves by the Celestials wrought,—
Where are they now?—their majesty august
Grovels in dust.
Time on their altars prone their ruins flings
As offerings,
Forming a lair whence ominous bird and brute
Their wailful Misereres howl and hoot.
Grovels in dust.
Time on their altars prone their ruins flings
As offerings,
Forming a lair whence ominous bird and brute
Their wailful Misereres howl and hoot.
Down from its height the Druid's sacred stone
In sport is thrown,
And many a Christian Fane have change and hate
Made desolate,
Prostrating saint, apostle, statue, bust,
With Pagan deities to mingle dust.
In sport is thrown,
And many a Christian Fane have change and hate
Made desolate,
Prostrating saint, apostle, statue, bust,
With Pagan deities to mingle dust.
71
On these drear sepulchres of buried days
How sad to gaze!
Yet, since their substances were perishable,
And hands unstable
Uprear'd their piles, no wonder that decay
Both man and monument should sweep away.
How sad to gaze!
Yet, since their substances were perishable,
And hands unstable
Uprear'd their piles, no wonder that decay
Both man and monument should sweep away.
Ah me! how much more sadden'd is my mood,
How heart-subdued,
The ruins and the wrecks when I behold
By time unroll'd,
Of all the Faiths that man hath ever known,
World-worshipp'd once—now spurn'd and overthrown!
How heart-subdued,
The ruins and the wrecks when I behold
By time unroll'd,
Of all the Faiths that man hath ever known,
World-worshipp'd once—now spurn'd and overthrown!
Religions—from the soul deriving breath,
Should know no death;
Yet do they perish, mingling their remains
With fallen fanes;
Creeds, canons, dogmas, councils, are the wreck'd
And mouldering Masonry of Intellect.—
Should know no death;
Yet do they perish, mingling their remains
With fallen fanes;
Creeds, canons, dogmas, councils, are the wreck'd
And mouldering Masonry of Intellect.—
72
Apis, Osiris, paramount of yore
On Egypt's shore,
Woden and Thor, through the wide North adored,
With blood outpour'd;
Jove, and the multiform Divinities,
To whom the Pagan nations bow'd their knees,—
On Egypt's shore,
Woden and Thor, through the wide North adored,
With blood outpour'd;
Jove, and the multiform Divinities,
To whom the Pagan nations bow'd their knees,—
Lo! they are cast aside, dethroned, forlorn,
Defaced, out-worn,
Like the world's childish dolls, which but insult
Its age adult,
Or prostrate scarecrows, on whose rags we tread,
With scorn proportion'd to our former dread.
Defaced, out-worn,
Like the world's childish dolls, which but insult
Its age adult,
Or prostrate scarecrows, on whose rags we tread,
With scorn proportion'd to our former dread.
Alas for human reason! all is change
Ceaseless and strange;
All ages form new systems, leaving heirs
To cancel theirs:
The future can but imitate the past,
And instability alone will last.—
Ceaseless and strange;
All ages form new systems, leaving heirs
To cancel theirs:
The future can but imitate the past,
And instability alone will last.—
73
Is there no compass left, by which to steer
This erring sphere?
No tie that may indissolubly bind
To God, mankind?
No code that may defy time's sharpest tooth?
No fix'd, immutable, unerring truth?
This erring sphere?
No tie that may indissolubly bind
To God, mankind?
No code that may defy time's sharpest tooth?
No fix'd, immutable, unerring truth?
There is! there is!—one primitive and sure
Religion pure,
Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes
Wear myriad modes,
Contains all creeds within its mighty span—
The love of God, displayed in love of Man.—
Religion pure,
Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes
Wear myriad modes,
Contains all creeds within its mighty span—
The love of God, displayed in love of Man.—
This is the Christian's faith, when rightly read;—
Oh! may it spread
Till Earth, redeem'd from every hateful leaven,
Makes peace with Heaven:
Below—one blessed brotherhood of love;
One Father—worshipp'd with one voice—above!
Oh! may it spread
Till Earth, redeem'd from every hateful leaven,
Makes peace with Heaven:
Below—one blessed brotherhood of love;
One Father—worshipp'd with one voice—above!
74
MORAL ALCHEMY.
The toils of Alchemists, whose vain pursuit
Sought to transmute
Dross into gold,—their secrets and their store
Of mystic lore,
What to the jibing modern do they seem?
An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream!—
Sought to transmute
Dross into gold,—their secrets and their store
Of mystic lore,
What to the jibing modern do they seem?
An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream!—
Yet for enlighten'd moral Alchemists
There still exists
A philosophic stone, whose magic spell
No tongue may tell,
Which renovates the soul's decaying health,
And what it touches turns to purest mental wealth.
There still exists
A philosophic stone, whose magic spell
No tongue may tell,
Which renovates the soul's decaying health,
And what it touches turns to purest mental wealth.
75
This secret is reveal'd in every trace
Of Nature's face,
Whose seeming frown invariably tends
To smiling ends,
Transmuting ills into their opposite,
And all that shocks the sense to subsequent delight.—
Of Nature's face,
Whose seeming frown invariably tends
To smiling ends,
Transmuting ills into their opposite,
And all that shocks the sense to subsequent delight.—
Seems Earth unlovely in her robe of snow?
Then look below,
Where Nature in her subterranean Ark,
Silent and dark,
Already has each floral germ unfurl'd
That shall revive and clothe the dead and naked world.
Then look below,
Where Nature in her subterranean Ark,
Silent and dark,
Already has each floral germ unfurl'd
That shall revive and clothe the dead and naked world.
Behold those perish'd flowers to earth consign'd—
They, like mankind,
Seek in their grave new birth. By nature's power
Each in its hour
Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall spring,
And from its tube or chalice heavenward incense fling.
They, like mankind,
Seek in their grave new birth. By nature's power
Each in its hour
Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall spring,
And from its tube or chalice heavenward incense fling.
76
Laboratories of a wider fold
I now behold,
Where are prepared the harvests yet unborn
Of wine, oil, corn.—
In those mute rayless banquet halls I see
Myriads of coming feasts with all their revelry.—
I now behold,
Where are prepared the harvests yet unborn
Of wine, oil, corn.—
In those mute rayless banquet halls I see
Myriads of coming feasts with all their revelry.—
Yon teeming and minuter cells enclose
The embryos
Of fruits and seeds, food for the feather'd race,
Whose chaunted grace,
Swelling in choral gratitude on high,
Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize the sky.—
The embryos
Of fruits and seeds, food for the feather'd race,
Whose chaunted grace,
Swelling in choral gratitude on high,
Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize the sky.—
And what materials, mystic Alchemist!
Dost thou enlist
To fabricate this ever-varied feast,
For man, bird, beast?
Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, bloom?
From silence, languor, death, unsightliness and gloom!—
Dost thou enlist
To fabricate this ever-varied feast,
For man, bird, beast?
Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, bloom?
From silence, languor, death, unsightliness and gloom!—
77
From Nature's magic hand whose touch makes sadness
Eventual gladness,
The reverent moral Alchemist may learn
The art to turn
Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding dross,
Into the mental gold that knows not change or loss.—
Eventual gladness,
The reverent moral Alchemist may learn
The art to turn
Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding dross,
Into the mental gold that knows not change or loss.—
Lose we a valued friend?—To soothe our woe
Let us bestow
On those who still survive an added love,
So shall we prove,
Howe'er the dear departed we deplore,
In friendship's sum and substance no diminish'd store.—
Let us bestow
On those who still survive an added love,
So shall we prove,
Howe'er the dear departed we deplore,
In friendship's sum and substance no diminish'd store.—
Lose we our health?—Now may we fully know
What thanks we owe
For our sane years, perchance of lengthen'd scope;
Now does our hope
Point to the day when sickness, taking flight,
Shall make us better feel health's exquisite delight.—
What thanks we owe
For our sane years, perchance of lengthen'd scope;
Now does our hope
Point to the day when sickness, taking flight,
Shall make us better feel health's exquisite delight.—
78
In losing fortune, many a lucky elf
Has found himself.—
As all our moral bitters are design'd
To brace the mind,
And renovate its healthy tone, the wise
Their sorest trials hail as blessings in disguise.
Has found himself.—
As all our moral bitters are design'd
To brace the mind,
And renovate its healthy tone, the wise
Their sorest trials hail as blessings in disguise.
There is no gloom on earth; for God above
Chastens in love,
Transmuting sorrows into golden joy
Free from alloy,
His dearest attribute is still to bless,
And man's most welcome hymn is grateful cheerfulness.
Chastens in love,
Transmuting sorrows into golden joy
Free from alloy,
His dearest attribute is still to bless,
And man's most welcome hymn is grateful cheerfulness.
79
MORAL COSMETICS.
Ye who would save your features florid,
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead
From age's devastation horrid,
Adopt this plan;—
'Twill make, in climates cold or torrid,
A hale old man.—
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead
From age's devastation horrid,
Adopt this plan;—
'Twill make, in climates cold or torrid,
A hale old man.—
Avoid, in youth, luxurious diet,
Restrain the passions' lawless riot;
Devoted to domestic quiet,
Be wisely gay:
So shall ye, spite of age's fiat,
Resist decay.
Restrain the passions' lawless riot;
Devoted to domestic quiet,
Be wisely gay:
So shall ye, spite of age's fiat,
Resist decay.
80
Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure,
But find your richest, dearest treasure,
In books, friends, music, polish'd leisure;
The mind, not sense,
Made the sole scale by which ye measure
Your opulence.
But find your richest, dearest treasure,
In books, friends, music, polish'd leisure;
The mind, not sense,
Made the sole scale by which ye measure
Your opulence.
This is the solace, this the science,
Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance,
That disappoints not man's reliance,
Whate'er his state;
But challenges, with calm defiance,
Time, fortune, fate.
Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance,
That disappoints not man's reliance,
Whate'er his state;
But challenges, with calm defiance,
Time, fortune, fate.
81
THE OLD MAN'S PÆAN.
Vainly, ye libellers! your page
Assaults and vilifies old age,
'Tis still life's golden æra;
Its pleasures, wisely understood,
An unalloy'd unfailing good,
Its evils a chimæra.—
Assaults and vilifies old age,
'Tis still life's golden æra;
Its pleasures, wisely understood,
An unalloy'd unfailing good,
Its evils a chimæra.—
Time's victim, I am victor still,—
Holding the privilege at will
To seize him by the forelock;
On me would he return the grasp,
He finds there's nothing left to clasp—
Not e'en a single hoar lock.—
Holding the privilege at will
To seize him by the forelock;
On me would he return the grasp,
He finds there's nothing left to clasp—
Not e'en a single hoar lock.—
82
We blame th' idolatrous divine
Who gilds and decorates his shrine,
The Deity neglected;
Yet our self-adoration blind
Is body-worship—to the mind
No reverence directed.—
Who gilds and decorates his shrine,
The Deity neglected;
Yet our self-adoration blind
Is body-worship—to the mind
No reverence directed.—
Greybeards there are, who thinking art
Can conquer nature, play the part
Of adolescent friskers;
Swindlers and counterfeits of truth,
They strive to cheat us by false youth,
False teeth, hair, eyebrows, whiskers.
Can conquer nature, play the part
Of adolescent friskers;
Swindlers and counterfeits of truth,
They strive to cheat us by false youth,
False teeth, hair, eyebrows, whiskers.
While to the frame due care I give,
No Masquerader will I live,
To no disguises pander;
But rather seek to save from blight
My mind in all its pristine plight
Of cheerfulness and candour.
No Masquerader will I live,
To no disguises pander;
But rather seek to save from blight
My mind in all its pristine plight
Of cheerfulness and candour.
83
A youthful cheer sustains us old,
As arrows best their course uphold
Wing'd by a lightsome feather.—
Happy the young old man who thus
Bears, like a human arbutus,
Life's flowers and fruit together.
As arrows best their course uphold
Wing'd by a lightsome feather.—
Happy the young old man who thus
Bears, like a human arbutus,
Life's flowers and fruit together.
To dark oblivion I bequeath
The ruddy cheek, brown hair, white teeth,
And eyes that brightly twinkle;—
Crows' feet may plough with furrows deep
My features, if I can but keep
My mind without a wrinkle.
The ruddy cheek, brown hair, white teeth,
And eyes that brightly twinkle;—
Crows' feet may plough with furrows deep
My features, if I can but keep
My mind without a wrinkle.
Young, I was never free—my soul
Still master'd by the stern control
Of some tyrannic passion;
While my poor body, servile tool!
The livery wore of fop and fool,
An abject slave of fashion.
Still master'd by the stern control
Of some tyrannic passion;
While my poor body, servile tool!
The livery wore of fop and fool,
An abject slave of fashion.
84
Thanks to thy welcome touch, old age!
Which strongest chains can disengage,
The bondsman's manumitted:—
Released from labour, thraldom, strife,
I pasture in the park of life,
Unsaddled and unbitted.
Which strongest chains can disengage,
The bondsman's manumitted:—
Released from labour, thraldom, strife,
I pasture in the park of life,
Unsaddled and unbitted.
If drawn for the Militia—call'd
On Juries, where the heart is gall'd
With crime, chicane, disaster,
“Begone,” I cry—“avaunt! avast!
Thank heaven! I'm sixty, and at last
Am of myself free master.”—
On Juries, where the heart is gall'd
With crime, chicane, disaster,
“Begone,” I cry—“avaunt! avast!
Thank heaven! I'm sixty, and at last
Am of myself free master.”—
An actor once in every strife
That agitates the stage of life,
A lover, fearer, hater,
Now in senility's snug box
I sit, aloof from all their shocks,
A passive, pleased spectator.—
That agitates the stage of life,
A lover, fearer, hater,
Now in senility's snug box
I sit, aloof from all their shocks,
A passive, pleased spectator.—
85
Free-traders, Chartists, Puseyites!
Your warfare, with its wrongs and rights,
In me no rage arouses;
I read the news, and cry, if hurt
At Whigs and Tories throwing dirt,
“A plague on both your houses!”
Your warfare, with its wrongs and rights,
In me no rage arouses;
I read the news, and cry, if hurt
At Whigs and Tories throwing dirt,
“A plague on both your houses!”
Tailors! avaunt your bills and spells!—
When fashion plays on folly's bells,
No haddock can be deafer;—
Comfort and neatness all my care,
I stick to broadcloth, and forswear
Both Macintosh and Zephyr.—
When fashion plays on folly's bells,
No haddock can be deafer;—
Comfort and neatness all my care,
I stick to broadcloth, and forswear
Both Macintosh and Zephyr.—
'Tis but our sensual pleasures' zest
That time can dull;—our purest, best
Defy decay or capture.—
A landscape—book—a work of art—
My friends, my home—still fill my heart
With undiminish'd rapture.—
That time can dull;—our purest, best
Defy decay or capture.—
A landscape—book—a work of art—
My friends, my home—still fill my heart
With undiminish'd rapture.—
86
Fled some few years, old time may try
Again to wake my rhyme, when I,
Obeying the vagary,
May thus subscribe the muse's frisk:
“My pensive public—yours!—a brisk
Young Septuagenary!”
Again to wake my rhyme, when I,
Obeying the vagary,
May thus subscribe the muse's frisk:
“My pensive public—yours!—a brisk
Young Septuagenary!”
87
ANSWER TO “AN OLD MAN'S PÆAN.”
Thou greybeard gay! whose muse—(perchance
In second childhood's ignorance,)
Inspired “An Old Man's Pæan,”
Hear how a brother senior sings
Sexagenarian sufferings,
In strains antipodean!
In second childhood's ignorance,)
Inspired “An Old Man's Pæan,”
Hear how a brother senior sings
Sexagenarian sufferings,
In strains antipodean!
Young, I could take a morning's sport;
Play matches in the Tennis Court,
So strong was I and plastic;—
Dine out, and yet with spirit light
And body unfatigued, at night
Could sport the toe fantastic.
Play matches in the Tennis Court,
So strong was I and plastic;—
Dine out, and yet with spirit light
And body unfatigued, at night
Could sport the toe fantastic.
88
Behold me now!—my limbs are stiff:
An open door, an east-wind's whiff,
Brings sharp rheumatic touches;
A chamber-horse my only nag,
I mope at home, or slowly drag
My gouty feet on crutches.
An open door, an east-wind's whiff,
Brings sharp rheumatic touches;
A chamber-horse my only nag,
I mope at home, or slowly drag
My gouty feet on crutches.
Once I devour'd whatever came,
And never knew, except by name,
The heartburn, bile, dyspepsy:
Now I must fast—eat what I hate,
Or all my ailments aggravate,
From ache to epilepsy.
And never knew, except by name,
The heartburn, bile, dyspepsy:
Now I must fast—eat what I hate,
Or all my ailments aggravate,
From ache to epilepsy.
How starving Tantalus of old
Was punish'd by the Gods, is told
In many a classic stanza;
And all must recollect the wand
That whisk'd the viands from the hand
Of hungry Sancho Panza:—
Was punish'd by the Gods, is told
In many a classic stanza;
And all must recollect the wand
That whisk'd the viands from the hand
Of hungry Sancho Panza:—
89
Their fate without their fault is mine.
Champagne and claret, drinks divine
As nectar or ambrosia,
I may not quaff, but—(horrid bore!)
My sherry from a cruet pour
And think of past symposia.
Champagne and claret, drinks divine
As nectar or ambrosia,
I may not quaff, but—(horrid bore!)
My sherry from a cruet pour
And think of past symposia.
At home my wife will supervise
Each meal I take. I wish her eyes
Were sometimes touch'd with blindness!
But no—they move not from my plate:
God bless her! how I love, yet hate
Her ever watchful kindness.
Each meal I take. I wish her eyes
Were sometimes touch'd with blindness!
But no—they move not from my plate:
God bless her! how I love, yet hate
Her ever watchful kindness.
“My dear! you know you're bilious—pray
Avoid the turtle soup to-day,
And do not touch the salmon;
Just take a chicken wing, or leg,
But no rich sauce—and let me beg
You will not taste the gammon.”
Avoid the turtle soup to-day,
And do not touch the salmon;
Just take a chicken wing, or leg,
But no rich sauce—and let me beg
You will not taste the gammon.”
90
Shell-fish—of yore my favourite food,
Are now my bane; yet crabs eschew'd,
Might make an angel crabbed—
No wonder if I quit the treat
Of dainties that I may not eat,
Half starving and half rabid.
Are now my bane; yet crabs eschew'd,
Might make an angel crabbed—
No wonder if I quit the treat
Of dainties that I may not eat,
Half starving and half rabid.
Debarr'd by fond affection's care
From all my palate yearns to share,
A kindness still more cruel
Gives me carte blanche in all I loathe—
Bread-puddings, sago, mutton-broth,
Rice-milk, and water-gruel!
From all my palate yearns to share,
A kindness still more cruel
Gives me carte blanche in all I loathe—
Bread-puddings, sago, mutton-broth,
Rice-milk, and water-gruel!
91
INVOCATION.
Spirits! Intelligences! Passions! Dreams!
Ghosts! Genii! Sprites!
Muses, that haunt the Heliconian streams,
Inspiring Lights!
Whose intellectual fires, in Scott combined,
Supplied the sun of his omniscient mind!
Ghosts! Genii! Sprites!
Muses, that haunt the Heliconian streams,
Inspiring Lights!
Whose intellectual fires, in Scott combined,
Supplied the sun of his omniscient mind!
Ye who have o'er-informed and overwrought
His teeming soul,
Bidding it scatter galaxies of thought
From pole to pole;
Enlightening others till itself grew dark,—
A midnight heaven, without one starry spark;—
His teeming soul,
Bidding it scatter galaxies of thought
From pole to pole;
Enlightening others till itself grew dark,—
A midnight heaven, without one starry spark;—
92
Spirits of Earth and Air—of Light and Gloom!
Awake! arise!
Restore the victim ye have made—relume
His darkling eyes.
Wizards! be all your magic skill unfurl'd,
To charm to health the Charmer of the World!
Awake! arise!
Restore the victim ye have made—relume
His darkling eyes.
Wizards! be all your magic skill unfurl'd,
To charm to health the Charmer of the World!
The scabbard, by its sword outworn, repair;
Give to his lips
Their lore, than Chrysostom's more rich and rare:
Dispel the eclipse
That intercepts his intellectual light,
And saddens all mankind with tears and night,
Give to his lips
Their lore, than Chrysostom's more rich and rare:
Dispel the eclipse
That intercepts his intellectual light,
And saddens all mankind with tears and night,
Not only for the Bard of highest worth,
But best of men,
Do I invoke ye, Powers of Heaven and Earth!
Oh! where and when
Shall we again behold his counterpart—
Such kindred excellence of head and heart?
But best of men,
Do I invoke ye, Powers of Heaven and Earth!
Oh! where and when
Shall we again behold his counterpart—
Such kindred excellence of head and heart?
93
So good and great—benevolent as wise—
On his high throne
How meekly hath he borne his faculties!
How finely shown
A model to the irritable race,
Of generous kindness, courtesy, and grace!
On his high throne
How meekly hath he borne his faculties!
How finely shown
A model to the irritable race,
Of generous kindness, courtesy, and grace!
If he must die, how great to perish thus
In Glory's blaze;
A world, in requiem unanimous,
Weeping his praise!
While Angels wait to catch his parting breath—
Who would not give his life for such a death?
In Glory's blaze;
A world, in requiem unanimous,
Weeping his praise!
While Angels wait to catch his parting breath—
Who would not give his life for such a death?
94
THE MOTHER'S MISTAKE.
Heard you that piercing shriek—the throe
Of fear and agonising woe?
It is a mother, who with wild
Despairing looks and gasping breath,
Thinks she beholds her only child
Extended on the floor in death!
That darling Babe whose natal cry
Had thrill'd her heart with ecstasy,
As with baptizing tears of bliss
Her nestling treasure she bedew'd,
Then clasp'd him with a silent kiss,
And heavenward look'd her gratitude:—
That darling babe who, while he press'd
His rosebud lips around her breast,
Would steal an upward glance, and bless
With smiles his mother's tenderness;
Confining laughter to his eyes,
Lest he should lose the teeming prize:—
That darling Babe who, sleeping, proved,
More than when waking, how she loved.
Then was her ever watchful ear
Prepared to catch the smallest noise,
Which sometimes hope and sometimes fear
Would liken to her infant's voice.
With beating heart and timid flush,
On tiptoe to his cot she crept,
Lifting the curtain with a hush,
To gaze upon him as he slept.
Then would she place his outstretch'd arm
Beside his body, close and warm;
Adjust his scatter'd clothes aright,
And shade his features from the light,
And look a thousand fond caressings
And move her lips in speechless blessings,
Then steal away with eyes that glisten,
Again to linger round and listen.
Oh! can she bear to think that he
Whom she has loved so tenderly,
Her only earthly hope and stay,
For ever should be wrench'd away?
No, no!—to such o'erpowering grief
Oblivion brings a short relief:
She hears no sound, all objects swim
Before her sight confused and dim;
She feels each sick'ning sense decay,
Sinks shudd'ring down, and faints away!
Of fear and agonising woe?
It is a mother, who with wild
Despairing looks and gasping breath,
Thinks she beholds her only child
Extended on the floor in death!
That darling Babe whose natal cry
Had thrill'd her heart with ecstasy,
As with baptizing tears of bliss
Her nestling treasure she bedew'd,
Then clasp'd him with a silent kiss,
And heavenward look'd her gratitude:—
That darling babe who, while he press'd
His rosebud lips around her breast,
95
With smiles his mother's tenderness;
Confining laughter to his eyes,
Lest he should lose the teeming prize:—
That darling Babe who, sleeping, proved,
More than when waking, how she loved.
Then was her ever watchful ear
Prepared to catch the smallest noise,
Which sometimes hope and sometimes fear
Would liken to her infant's voice.
With beating heart and timid flush,
On tiptoe to his cot she crept,
Lifting the curtain with a hush,
To gaze upon him as he slept.
Then would she place his outstretch'd arm
Beside his body, close and warm;
Adjust his scatter'd clothes aright,
And shade his features from the light,
And look a thousand fond caressings
And move her lips in speechless blessings,
96
Again to linger round and listen.
Oh! can she bear to think that he
Whom she has loved so tenderly,
Her only earthly hope and stay,
For ever should be wrench'd away?
No, no!—to such o'erpowering grief
Oblivion brings a short relief:
She hears no sound, all objects swim
Before her sight confused and dim;
She feels each sick'ning sense decay,
Sinks shudd'ring down, and faints away!
Her child revives,—its fit is o'er;
When with affrighted zeal it tries
By voice and kisses to restore
The mother's dormant faculties;
Till nature's tides with quicken'd force
Resume their interrupted course:
Her eyes she opens, sees her boy,
Gazes with sense-bewilder'd start,
Utters a thrilling cry of joy,
Clasps him in transport to her heart,
Stamps kisses on his mouth, his cheek,
Looks up to heaven, and tries to speak;
But voice is drown'd in heaving throbs,
Outgushing tears, and gasping sobs.
When with affrighted zeal it tries
By voice and kisses to restore
The mother's dormant faculties;
Till nature's tides with quicken'd force
Resume their interrupted course:
Her eyes she opens, sees her boy,
97
Utters a thrilling cry of joy,
Clasps him in transport to her heart,
Stamps kisses on his mouth, his cheek,
Looks up to heaven, and tries to speak;
But voice is drown'd in heaving throbs,
Outgushing tears, and gasping sobs.
98
THE SUN'S ECLIPSE.
—July 8th, 1842.
'Tis cloudless morning, but a frown misplaced,
Cold—lurid—strange,
The summer smile from Nature's brow hath chased.
What fearful change,
What menacing catastrophe is thus
Usher'd by such prognostics ominous?
Cold—lurid—strange,
The summer smile from Nature's brow hath chased.
What fearful change,
What menacing catastrophe is thus
Usher'd by such prognostics ominous?
Is it the light of day, this livid glare,
Death's counterpart:—
What means the withering coldness in the air
That chills my heart,
And what the gloom portentous that hath made
The glow of morning a funereal shade?
Death's counterpart:—
What means the withering coldness in the air
That chills my heart,
And what the gloom portentous that hath made
The glow of morning a funereal shade?
99
O'er the Sun's disc a dark orb wins its slow
Gloom-deep'ning way,
Climbs—spreads—enshrouds—extinguishes—and lo!
The god of day
Hangs in the sky, a corpse! th' usurper's might
Hath storm'd his throne, and quench'd the life of light!
Gloom-deep'ning way,
Climbs—spreads—enshrouds—extinguishes—and lo!
The god of day
Hangs in the sky, a corpse! th' usurper's might
Hath storm'd his throne, and quench'd the life of light!
A pall is on the earth—the screaming birds
To covert speed;
Bewilder'd and aghast, the bellowing herds
Rush o'er the mead;
While men, pale shadows in the ghastly gloom,
Seem spectral forms just risen from the tomb.
To covert speed;
Bewilder'd and aghast, the bellowing herds
Rush o'er the mead;
While men, pale shadows in the ghastly gloom,
Seem spectral forms just risen from the tomb.
Transient, tho' total was that drear eclipse:
With might restored
The Sun re-gladden'd earth—but human lips
Have never pour'd
In mortal ears the horrors of the sight
That thrill'd my soul that memorable night.
With might restored
The Sun re-gladden'd earth—but human lips
Have never pour'd
In mortal ears the horrors of the sight
That thrill'd my soul that memorable night.
100
To every distant zone and fulgent star
Mine eyes could reach,
And the wide waste was one chaotic war;
O'er all and each,
Above—beneath—around me—everywhere,
Was anarchy—convulsion—death—despair.
Mine eyes could reach,
And the wide waste was one chaotic war;
O'er all and each,
Above—beneath—around me—everywhere,
Was anarchy—convulsion—death—despair.
'Twas noon, and yet a deep unnatural night
Enshrouded Heaven,
Save where some orb unsphered, or satellite
Franticly driven,
Glared as it darted through the darkness dread,
Blind—rudderless—uncheck'd—unpiloted.
Enshrouded Heaven,
Save where some orb unsphered, or satellite
Franticly driven,
Glared as it darted through the darkness dread,
Blind—rudderless—uncheck'd—unpiloted.
A thousand simultaneous thunders crash'd,
As here and there
Some rushing planet 'gainst another dash'd,
Shooting thro' air
Volleys of shatter'd wreck, when, both destroy'd,
Founder'd and sank in the engulphing void.
As here and there
Some rushing planet 'gainst another dash'd,
Shooting thro' air
Volleys of shatter'd wreck, when, both destroy'd,
Founder'd and sank in the engulphing void.
101
Others, self-kindled, as they whirl'd and turn'd
Without a guide,
Burst into flames, and rushing as they burn'd
With range more wide,
Like fire-ships that some stately fleet surprise,
Spread havoc thro' the constellated skies.
Without a guide,
Burst into flames, and rushing as they burn'd
With range more wide,
Like fire-ships that some stately fleet surprise,
Spread havoc thro' the constellated skies.
While stars kept falling from their spheres—as tho'
The heavens wept fire,
Earth was a raging hell of war and woe
Most deep and dire,
Virtue was vice—vice virtue—all was strife,
Brute force was law—justice th' assassin's knife.
The heavens wept fire,
Earth was a raging hell of war and woe
Most deep and dire,
Virtue was vice—vice virtue—all was strife,
Brute force was law—justice th' assassin's knife.
From that fell scene my space-commanding eye
Glad to withdraw,
I pierced th' empyrean palace of the sky
And shudd'ring saw
A vacant throne—a sun's extinguish'd sphere,
All else a void—dark, desolate, and drear.
Glad to withdraw,
I pierced th' empyrean palace of the sky
And shudd'ring saw
A vacant throne—a sun's extinguish'd sphere,
All else a void—dark, desolate, and drear.
102
“What mean,” I cried, “these sights unparallel'd,
These scenes of fear?”
When lo! a voice replied, and Nature held
Her breath to hear,
“Mortal, the scroll before thine eyes unfurl'd,
Displays a soul eclipse—an atheist world.”
These scenes of fear?”
When lo! a voice replied, and Nature held
Her breath to hear,
“Mortal, the scroll before thine eyes unfurl'd,
Displays a soul eclipse—an atheist world.”
I woke—my dream was o'er! What ecstacy
It was to know
That God was guide and guardian of the sky,
That man below
Deserved the love I felt—I could not speak
The thrilling joy, whose tears were on my cheek!
It was to know
That God was guide and guardian of the sky,
That man below
Deserved the love I felt—I could not speak
The thrilling joy, whose tears were on my cheek!
103
LACHRYMOSE WRITERS.
Ye human screech-owls, who delight
To herald woe—whose day is night,
Whose mental food is misery and moans,
If ye must needs uphold the pall,
And walk at Pleasure's funeral,
Be Mutes—and publish not your cries and groans.
To herald woe—whose day is night,
Whose mental food is misery and moans,
If ye must needs uphold the pall,
And walk at Pleasure's funeral,
Be Mutes—and publish not your cries and groans.
Near a menagerie to dwell,
Annoy'd by ceaseless groan and yell,
Is sad, altho' we cannot blame the brutes;
A far worse neighbour is the man
Whose study is a Caravan,
Whence the caged monster ever howls and hoots.
Annoy'd by ceaseless groan and yell,
Is sad, altho' we cannot blame the brutes;
A far worse neighbour is the man
Whose study is a Caravan,
Whence the caged monster ever howls and hoots.
104
Ye say that Earth's a charnel—life
Incessant wretchedness and strife—
That all is doom below, and wrath above,
The sun and moon sepulchral lamps,
The sky a vault, whose baleful damps
Soon blight and moulder all that live and love.
Incessant wretchedness and strife—
That all is doom below, and wrath above,
The sun and moon sepulchral lamps,
The sky a vault, whose baleful damps
Soon blight and moulder all that live and love.
Man, as your diatribes aver,
Only makes reason minister
To deeds irrational and schemes perverse;
Human in name, he proves in all
His acts a hateful animal,
And woman (monstrous calumny) is worse.
Only makes reason minister
To deeds irrational and schemes perverse;
Human in name, he proves in all
His acts a hateful animal,
And woman (monstrous calumny) is worse.
This earth, whose walls are stony gloom,
Whose roof rains tears, whose floor's a tomb
With its chain-rattling beach and lashing waves,
Is, ye maintain, a fitting jail
Where felon man the woes may wail,
From which no prudence guards, no mercy saves.
Whose roof rains tears, whose floor's a tomb
With its chain-rattling beach and lashing waves,
Is, ye maintain, a fitting jail
Where felon man the woes may wail,
From which no prudence guards, no mercy saves.
105
E'en were it true, this lachrymose
List of imaginary woes,
Why from our sympathy extort more tears?
Why blazon grief—why make the Press
Groan with repinings and distress,
Why knell despair for ever in our ears?
List of imaginary woes,
Why from our sympathy extort more tears?
Why blazon grief—why make the Press
Groan with repinings and distress,
Why knell despair for ever in our ears?
Ungrateful and calumnious crew,
Whose plaints, as impious as untrue,
From morbid intellects derive their birth;
Away! begone to mope and moan,
And weep in some asylum lone,
Where ye may rail unheard at heaven and earth.
Whose plaints, as impious as untrue,
From morbid intellects derive their birth;
Away! begone to mope and moan,
And weep in some asylum lone,
Where ye may rail unheard at heaven and earth.
Earth! on whose stage in pomp array'd
Life's joyous interlude is play'd,
Earth! with thy pageants ever new and bright,
Thy woods and waters, hills and dales,
How dead must be the soul that fails
To see and bless thy beauties infinite!
Life's joyous interlude is play'd,
Earth! with thy pageants ever new and bright,
Thy woods and waters, hills and dales,
How dead must be the soul that fails
To see and bless thy beauties infinite!
106
Man! whose high intellect supplies
A never-failing Paradise
Of holy and enrapturing pursuits,
Whose heart's a fount of fresh delight,
Pity the Cynics who would blight
Thy godlike gifts, and rank thee with the brutes.
A never-failing Paradise
Of holy and enrapturing pursuits,
Whose heart's a fount of fresh delight,
Pity the Cynics who would blight
Thy godlike gifts, and rank thee with the brutes.
Oh Woman! who from realms above
Hast brought to Earth the heaven of love,
Terrestrial angel, beautiful as pure!
No pains, no penalties dispense
On thy traducers—their offence
Is its own punishment most sharp and sure.
Hast brought to Earth the heaven of love,
Terrestrial angel, beautiful as pure!
No pains, no penalties dispense
On thy traducers—their offence
Is its own punishment most sharp and sure.
Father and God! whose love and might
To every sense are blazon'd bright
On the vast three-leaved Bible—earth—sea—sky,
Pardon th' impugners of thy laws,
Expand their hearts, and give them cause
To bless th' exhaustless grace they now deny.
To every sense are blazon'd bright
On the vast three-leaved Bible—earth—sea—sky,
Pardon th' impugners of thy laws,
Expand their hearts, and give them cause
To bless th' exhaustless grace they now deny.
107
WHY ARE THEY SHUT?
[_]
The following Stanzas were composed while the author was sitting outside a Country Church in Sussex, much regretting that, as it was week day, he could not gain admittance to the sacred edifice.
Why are our Churches shut with jealous care,
Bolted and barr'd against our bosom's yearning,
Save for the few short hours of Sabbath prayer,
With the bell's tolling statedly returning?
Why are they shut?
Bolted and barr'd against our bosom's yearning,
Save for the few short hours of Sabbath prayer,
With the bell's tolling statedly returning?
Why are they shut?
If with diurnal drudgeries o'erwrought,
Or sick of dissipation's dull vagaries,
We wish to snatch one little space for thought,
Or holy respite in our sanctuaries,
Why are they shut?
Or sick of dissipation's dull vagaries,
We wish to snatch one little space for thought,
Or holy respite in our sanctuaries,
Why are they shut?
108
What! shall the Church, the House of Prayer, no more
Give tacit notice from its fasten'd portals,
That for six days 'tis useless to adore,
Since God will hold no communings with mortals?
Why are they shut?
Give tacit notice from its fasten'd portals,
That for six days 'tis useless to adore,
Since God will hold no communings with mortals?
Why are they shut?
Are there no sinners in the churchless week,
Who wish to sanctify a vow'd repentance?
Are there no hearts bereft which fain would seek
The only balm for Death's unpitying sentence?
Why are they shut?
Who wish to sanctify a vow'd repentance?
Are there no hearts bereft which fain would seek
The only balm for Death's unpitying sentence?
Why are they shut?
Are there no poor, no wrong'd, no heirs of grief,
No sick, who, when their strength or courage falters,
Long for a moment's respite or relief,
By kneeling at the God of mercy's altars?
Why are they shut?
No sick, who, when their strength or courage falters,
Long for a moment's respite or relief,
By kneeling at the God of mercy's altars?
Why are they shut?
109
Are there no wicked, whom, if tempted in,
Some qualm of conscience or devout suggestion
Might suddenly redeem from future sin?
Oh! if there be, how solemn is the question,
Why are they shut?
Some qualm of conscience or devout suggestion
Might suddenly redeem from future sin?
Oh! if there be, how solemn is the question,
Why are they shut?
In foreign climes mechanics leave their tasks
To breathe a passing prayer in their Cathedrals:
There they have week-day shrines, and no one asks,
When he would kneel to them, and count his beadrolls,
Why are they shut?
To breathe a passing prayer in their Cathedrals:
There they have week-day shrines, and no one asks,
When he would kneel to them, and count his beadrolls,
Why are they shut?
Seeing them enter sad and disconcerted,
To quit those cheering fanes with looks of gladness,—
How often have my thoughts to ours reverted!
How oft have I exclaim'd, in tones of sadness,
Why are they shut?
To quit those cheering fanes with looks of gladness,—
How often have my thoughts to ours reverted!
How oft have I exclaim'd, in tones of sadness,
Why are they shut?
110
For who within a Parish Church can stroll,
Wrapt in its week-day stillness and vacation,
Nor feel that in the very air his soul
Receives a sweet and hallowing lustration?
Why are they shut?
Wrapt in its week-day stillness and vacation,
Nor feel that in the very air his soul
Receives a sweet and hallowing lustration?
Why are they shut?
The vacant pews, blank aisles, and empty choir,
All in a deep sepulchral silence shrouded,
An awe more solemn and intense inspire,
Than when with Sabbath congregations crowded.
Why are they shut?
All in a deep sepulchral silence shrouded,
An awe more solemn and intense inspire,
Than when with Sabbath congregations crowded.
Why are they shut?
The echoes of our footsteps, as we tread
On hollow graves, are spiritual voices;
And holding mental converse with the dead,
In holy reveries our soul rejoices.
Why are they shut?
On hollow graves, are spiritual voices;
And holding mental converse with the dead,
In holy reveries our soul rejoices.
Why are they shut?
111
If there be one—one only—who might share
This sanctifying week-day adoration,
Were but our churches open to his prayer,
Why—I demand with earnest iteration—
Why are they shut?
This sanctifying week-day adoration,
Were but our churches open to his prayer,
Why—I demand with earnest iteration—
Why are they shut?
112
THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR.
They warned me by all that affection could urge,
To repel his advances, and fly from his sight,
They call'd him a fiend, a destroyer, a scourge,
And whisper'd his name with a shudder of fright.—
To repel his advances, and fly from his sight,
They call'd him a fiend, a destroyer, a scourge,
And whisper'd his name with a shudder of fright.—
They said that disease went as herald before,
While sorrow and severance followed his track,
They besought me if ever I came to his door,
Not a moment to pause, but turn instantly back.
While sorrow and severance followed his track,
They besought me if ever I came to his door,
Not a moment to pause, but turn instantly back.
“His breath,” they exclaim'd, “is a pestilence foul,
“His aspect more hateful than language can tell,
“His touch is pollution,—no Gorgon or Ghoul
“In appearance and deeds is more loathsome and fell.”
“His aspect more hateful than language can tell,
“His touch is pollution,—no Gorgon or Ghoul
“In appearance and deeds is more loathsome and fell.”
113
Such stern prohibitions, descriptions so dire,
By which the most dauntless might well be dismay'd,
In me only waken'd a deeper desire
To gaze on the monster so darkly portray'd.
By which the most dauntless might well be dismay'd,
In me only waken'd a deeper desire
To gaze on the monster so darkly portray'd.
I sought him—I saw him—he stood by a marsh,
Where henbane and hemlock with poppies entwined;
He was pale, he was grave, but no feature was harsh,
His eye was serene, his expression was kind.
Where henbane and hemlock with poppies entwined;
He was pale, he was grave, but no feature was harsh,
His eye was serene, his expression was kind.
“This stigmatized being,” I cried in surprise,
“Wears a face most benignant; but looks are not facts,
“Physiognomy often abuses our eyes;
“I'll follow his footsteps and judge by his acts.”
“Wears a face most benignant; but looks are not facts,
“Physiognomy often abuses our eyes;
“I'll follow his footsteps and judge by his acts.”
There came from a cottage a cry of alarm,
An infant was writhing in agonies sore,
His hand rock'd the cradle, its touch was a charm,
The babe fell asleep, and its anguish was o'er.
An infant was writhing in agonies sore,
His hand rock'd the cradle, its touch was a charm,
The babe fell asleep, and its anguish was o'er.
114
He reach'd a proud mansion where, worn by the woe
Of consumption, a Beauty lay wither'd, in bed,
Her pulse he compress'd with his finger, and lo!
The complaint of long years in a moment had fled!
Of consumption, a Beauty lay wither'd, in bed,
Her pulse he compress'd with his finger, and lo!
The complaint of long years in a moment had fled!
He paused where he heard the disconsolate groan
Of a widow with manifold miseries crush'd;
Where a pauper was left in his sickness to groan,
Both were heal'd at his sight, and their sorrows were hush'd.
Of a widow with manifold miseries crush'd;
Where a pauper was left in his sickness to groan,
Both were heal'd at his sight, and their sorrows were hush'd.
He sped where a king, sorely smitten with age,
In vain sought relief from the pangs he endured;
“I come,” said the stranger, “your woes to assuage;”
He spoke, and the monarch was instantly cured.
In vain sought relief from the pangs he endured;
“I come,” said the stranger, “your woes to assuage;”
He spoke, and the monarch was instantly cured.
Astounded by deeds which appear'd to bespeak
In the fiend a benevolent friend of mankind,
From himself I resolved a solution to seek
Of the strange contradictions that puzzled my mind.
In the fiend a benevolent friend of mankind,
From himself I resolved a solution to seek
Of the strange contradictions that puzzled my mind.
115
“Chase, mystical being,” I cried, “this suspense;
“How comes it thou'rt blacken'd by every tongue,
“When in truth thou'rt the champion, the hope, the defence
“Of the king and the beggar, the old and the young?”
“How comes it thou'rt blacken'd by every tongue,
“When in truth thou'rt the champion, the hope, the defence
“Of the king and the beggar, the old and the young?”
“Thou hast witness'd”—he answer'd—(his voice and his face
Were all that is musical, bland, and benign),
“Not a tithe of the blessings I shed on the race
“Who my form and my attributes daily malign.
Were all that is musical, bland, and benign),
“Not a tithe of the blessings I shed on the race
“Who my form and my attributes daily malign.
“All distinctions of fortune, of birth, of degree,
“Disappear where my levelling banner I wave;
“From his desolate dungeon the captive I free;
“His fetters I loose from the suffering slave.
“Disappear where my levelling banner I wave;
“From his desolate dungeon the captive I free;
“His fetters I loose from the suffering slave.
“And when from their stormy probation on earth,
“The just and the righteous in peace I dismiss,
“I give them a new and more glorious birth
In regions of pure and perennial bliss.”
“The just and the righteous in peace I dismiss,
“I give them a new and more glorious birth
In regions of pure and perennial bliss.”
116
“Let me bless thee,” I cried, “for thy mission of love,
“Oh say to what name shall I fashion my breath?”
“The Angel of Life is my title above,
“But short-sighted mortals have christen'd me Death!”
“Oh say to what name shall I fashion my breath?”
“The Angel of Life is my title above,
“But short-sighted mortals have christen'd me Death!”
117
DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET.
What! shall the mind of bard—historian—sage,
Be prostrate laid upon oblivion's bier,
Shall darkness quench the beacon of our age,
“Without the meed of one melodious tear?”
Will none, with genius like his own,
Mourn the fine intellect o'erthrown,
That died in giving life to deathless heirs?
Are worthier voices mute? then I
The Muse's humblest votary,
Will pour my wailful dirge and sympathising prayers.
Be prostrate laid upon oblivion's bier,
Shall darkness quench the beacon of our age,
“Without the meed of one melodious tear?”
Will none, with genius like his own,
Mourn the fine intellect o'erthrown,
That died in giving life to deathless heirs?
Are worthier voices mute? then I
The Muse's humblest votary,
Will pour my wailful dirge and sympathising prayers.
118
Well may I mourn that mental sun's eclipse,
For in his study have I sate enshrined,
And reverently listen'd while his lips
Master'd the master-spirits of mankind,
As his expanding wisdom took
New range from his consulted book.—
Oh, to what noble thoughts didst thou give birth,
Thou poet-sage, whose life and mind
In mutual perfectness combined
The spirit's loftiest flight, with purest moral worth!
For in his study have I sate enshrined,
And reverently listen'd while his lips
Master'd the master-spirits of mankind,
As his expanding wisdom took
New range from his consulted book.—
Oh, to what noble thoughts didst thou give birth,
Thou poet-sage, whose life and mind
In mutual perfectness combined
The spirit's loftiest flight, with purest moral worth!
Behold the withering change! amid the rays
That form a halo round those volumed wits,
Amid his own imperishable lays
In silent, blank fatuity he sits!
Seeking a respite from his curse,
His body, now his spirit's hearse,
Still haunts that book-charm'd room, for there alone
Thought-gleams illume his wand'ring eyes,
As lightnings flicker o'er the skies
Where the departed sun in cloudless glory shone.
That form a halo round those volumed wits,
Amid his own imperishable lays
In silent, blank fatuity he sits!
Seeking a respite from his curse,
His body, now his spirit's hearse,
Still haunts that book-charm'd room, for there alone
Thought-gleams illume his wand'ring eyes,
As lightnings flicker o'er the skies
Where the departed sun in cloudless glory shone.
119
Oh withering, woful change—oh living death!
Lo! where he strays at fancy's aimless beck,
On his dementate brow the titled wreath,
A mournful mockery of reason's wreck.—
Roaming by Derwent's silent shore
Or dark-hued Greta's rushing roar,
A human statue! His unconscious stare
Knows not the once familiar spot,
Knows not the partner of his lot,
Who, as she guides him, sobs a broken-hearted prayer.
Lo! where he strays at fancy's aimless beck,
On his dementate brow the titled wreath,
A mournful mockery of reason's wreck.—
Roaming by Derwent's silent shore
Or dark-hued Greta's rushing roar,
A human statue! His unconscious stare
Knows not the once familiar spot,
Knows not the partner of his lot,
Who, as she guides him, sobs a broken-hearted prayer.
Oh flood and fell, lake, moorland, valley, hill!
Mourn the dark bard who sang your praise of yore.
Oh Rydal-Falls, Lodore, and Dungeon Gill!
Down the rock's cheek your tearful gushes pour.—
Ye crag-envelop'd Tarns that sleep
In your hush'd craters, wake and weep.—
Ye mountains! hide your sorrowing heads in cloud:
As sobbing winds around ye moan;
Helvellyn! Skiddaw! wail and groan,
And clothe your giant forms in vapour's mourning shroud.
Mourn the dark bard who sang your praise of yore.
Oh Rydal-Falls, Lodore, and Dungeon Gill!
Down the rock's cheek your tearful gushes pour.—
Ye crag-envelop'd Tarns that sleep
In your hush'd craters, wake and weep.—
Ye mountains! hide your sorrowing heads in cloud:
As sobbing winds around ye moan;
Helvellyn! Skiddaw! wail and groan,
And clothe your giant forms in vapour's mourning shroud.
120
Why make appeal to these? Ye good and wise
Who worshipp'd at his intellectual shrine,
Ye kindred natures, who can sympathise
With genius 'reft of reason's light divine,
Ye whom his learning, virtue, lays,
Taught, guided, charm'd in other days,
Let all your countless voices be combined,
As on your knees, ye pour on high
This choral supplicating cry—
Restore, restore, O God! our poet's wand'ring mind!
Who worshipp'd at his intellectual shrine,
Ye kindred natures, who can sympathise
With genius 'reft of reason's light divine,
Ye whom his learning, virtue, lays,
Taught, guided, charm'd in other days,
Let all your countless voices be combined,
As on your knees, ye pour on high
This choral supplicating cry—
Restore, restore, O God! our poet's wand'ring mind!
121
CAMPBELL'S FUNERAL.
'Tis well to see these accidental great,
Noble by birth, or Fortune's favour blind,
Gracing themselves in adding grace and state
To the more noble eminence of mind,
And doing homage to a bard
Whose breast by Nature's gems was starr'd,
Whose patent by the hand of God himself was sign'd.
Noble by birth, or Fortune's favour blind,
Gracing themselves in adding grace and state
To the more noble eminence of mind,
And doing homage to a bard
Whose breast by Nature's gems was starr'd,
Whose patent by the hand of God himself was sign'd.
While monarchs sleep, forgotten, unrevered,
Time trims the lamp of intellectual fame,
The builders of the pyramids, who rear'd
Mountains of stone, left none to tell their name.
Though Homer's tomb was never known,
A mausoleum of his own,
Long as the world endures his greatness shall proclaim.
Time trims the lamp of intellectual fame,
The builders of the pyramids, who rear'd
Mountains of stone, left none to tell their name.
122
A mausoleum of his own,
Long as the world endures his greatness shall proclaim.
What lauding sepulchre does Campbell want?
'Tis his to give, and not derive renown.
What monumental bronze or adamant,
Like his own deathless lays can hand him down?
Poets outlast their tombs: the bust
And statue soon revert to dust;
The dust they represent still wears the laurel crown.
'Tis his to give, and not derive renown.
What monumental bronze or adamant,
Like his own deathless lays can hand him down?
Poets outlast their tombs: the bust
And statue soon revert to dust;
The dust they represent still wears the laurel crown.
The solid Abbey walls that seem time-proof,
Form'd to await the final day of doom;
The cluster'd shafts and arch-supported roof,
That now enshrine and guard our Campbell's tomb,
Become a ruin'd shatter'd fane,
May fall and bury him again,
Yet still the bard shall live, his fame-wreath still shall bloom.
Form'd to await the final day of doom;
The cluster'd shafts and arch-supported roof,
That now enshrine and guard our Campbell's tomb,
Become a ruin'd shatter'd fane,
May fall and bury him again,
Yet still the bard shall live, his fame-wreath still shall bloom.
123
Methought the monumental effigies
Of elder poets that were grouped around,
Lean'd from their pedestals with eager eyes,
To peer into the excavated ground
Where lay the gifted, good, and brave,
While earth from Kosciusko's grave Fell on his coffin-plate with freedom-shrieking sound.
Of elder poets that were grouped around,
Lean'd from their pedestals with eager eyes,
To peer into the excavated ground
Where lay the gifted, good, and brave,
While earth from Kosciusko's grave Fell on his coffin-plate with freedom-shrieking sound.
And over him the kindred dust was strew'd
Of Poets' Corner. O misnomer strange!
The poet's confine is the amplitude
Of the whole earth's illimitable range,
O'er which his spirit wings its flight,
Shedding an intellectual light,
A sun that never sets, a moon that knows no change.
Of Poets' Corner. O misnomer strange!
The poet's confine is the amplitude
Of the whole earth's illimitable range,
O'er which his spirit wings its flight,
Shedding an intellectual light,
A sun that never sets, a moon that knows no change.
Around his grave in radiant brotherhood,
As if to form a halo o'er his head,
Not few of England's master spirits stood,
Bards, artists, sages, reverently led
To wave each separating plea
Of sect, clime, party, and degree,
All honouring him on whom Nature all honours shed.
As if to form a halo o'er his head,
124
Bards, artists, sages, reverently led
To wave each separating plea
Of sect, clime, party, and degree,
All honouring him on whom Nature all honours shed.
To me the humblest of the mourning band,
Who knew the bard through many a changeful year,
It was a proud sad privilege to stand
Beside his grave and shed a parting tear.
Seven lustres had he been my friend,
Be that my plea when I suspend
This all-unworthy wreath on such a poet's bier.
Who knew the bard through many a changeful year,
It was a proud sad privilege to stand
Beside his grave and shed a parting tear.
Seven lustres had he been my friend,
Be that my plea when I suspend
This all-unworthy wreath on such a poet's bier.
125
THE LIFE AND DEATH.
The Life.
Hath Momus descended,—the god of Mirth,—
To glad the world with his triumphs thus?
Or is it a mortal, who tastes on earth
An apotheosis rapturous!
While his worshippers hail him with choral cries,
And Laughter's reverberant ecstasies!
To glad the world with his triumphs thus?
Or is it a mortal, who tastes on earth
An apotheosis rapturous!
While his worshippers hail him with choral cries,
And Laughter's reverberant ecstasies!
He moves like a mental sun, whose light
Scatters around an electric ray,
Which every eye that beholds, is bright,
And every bosom that feels, is gay,—
A sun, (it is own'd by a nation's lips,)
That hath ne'er been dimm'd,—never known eclipse!
Scatters around an electric ray,
Which every eye that beholds, is bright,
And every bosom that feels, is gay,—
A sun, (it is own'd by a nation's lips,)
That hath ne'er been dimm'd,—never known eclipse!
126
As this Spirit sits on his throne elate,
They tender him homage from every sphere:
From the rich, the noble, the wise, the great,—
Nay, even the King is a courtier here;
And, vassal-like, makes his crown submit
To the majesty of sceptred Wit.—
They tender him homage from every sphere:
From the rich, the noble, the wise, the great,—
Nay, even the King is a courtier here;
And, vassal-like, makes his crown submit
To the majesty of sceptred Wit.—
They press him with flattering words and wiles
To honour and grace their lordly halls,
And impart by his mirth, and songs, and smiles,
A glory and zest to their festivals.
For they know that his presence can banish gloom,
And give light and life to the banquet-room.
To honour and grace their lordly halls,
And impart by his mirth, and songs, and smiles,
A glory and zest to their festivals.
For they know that his presence can banish gloom,
And give light and life to the banquet-room.
On what aching hearts hath he gladness pour'd!
In scenes unnumber'd, what countless throngs,
From the public stage to the festive board,
Have enraptured hung on his mirthful songs!
At his wit's incessantly flashing light,
What shouts have startled the ear of night!
In scenes unnumber'd, what countless throngs,
From the public stage to the festive board,
Have enraptured hung on his mirthful songs!
At his wit's incessantly flashing light,
What shouts have startled the ear of night!
127
Ask you the name of the gifted man,
Whose genius thus could enchant the world;
Whose fame through both the hemispheres ran,—
Whose flag of triumph was never furl'd?—
You ask it not, for you know that none
But Mathews alone has such trophies won!
Whose genius thus could enchant the world;
Whose fame through both the hemispheres ran,—
Whose flag of triumph was never furl'd?—
You ask it not, for you know that none
But Mathews alone has such trophies won!
The Death.
Hark to the toll of the passing bell,
Which “swinging slow with solemn roar,”
Carries the dismal funeral knell
O'er the thrilling waves of the Plymouth shore;
And is borne afar by the shuddering breeze,
From Wembury's cliffs to Mount-Edgecumbe's trees.
Which “swinging slow with solemn roar,”
Carries the dismal funeral knell
O'er the thrilling waves of the Plymouth shore;
And is borne afar by the shuddering breeze,
From Wembury's cliffs to Mount-Edgecumbe's trees.
128
Nature appears to have thrown a pall
Over that landscape so rich and fair,
For a withering gloom and sadness fall
Alike upon ocean, earth, and air,
And the darkling heights in the distance show
Like spectral mourners, grim with woe.
Over that landscape so rich and fair,
For a withering gloom and sadness fall
Alike upon ocean, earth, and air,
And the darkling heights in the distance show
Like spectral mourners, grim with woe.
The bittern's wail and the sea-mew's cry,
Seem to share the deep and wide distress,
As their wings they spread, and seaward fly
Away from that scene of wretchedness:
And the booming moan of the distant surge
Falls on the ear like a doleful dirge.
Seem to share the deep and wide distress,
As their wings they spread, and seaward fly
Away from that scene of wretchedness:
And the booming moan of the distant surge
Falls on the ear like a doleful dirge.
Hark! 'tis a female cry—'tis the sound
Of a widow's heart with anguish torn;
A groan succeeds, and the sob profound
Of a sireless son, aghast, forlorn!
And oh! how loving and loved they were,
Their own 'reft hearts can alone declare.
Of a widow's heart with anguish torn;
A groan succeeds, and the sob profound
Of a sireless son, aghast, forlorn!
And oh! how loving and loved they were,
Their own 'reft hearts can alone declare.
129
Behold! from St. Andrew's Church appears
A funeral train in its sad array,
Whose mourners, blind with their stanchless tears,
With faltering footsteps feel their way
To the bones and mould thrown up in a heap
Beside a sepulchre dark and deep.—
A funeral train in its sad array,
Whose mourners, blind with their stanchless tears,
With faltering footsteps feel their way
To the bones and mould thrown up in a heap
Beside a sepulchre dark and deep.—
The coffin is sunk, the prayer is pour'd—
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”
They sprinkle earth on the rattling board,
And they whose heads o'er the grave are thrust,
Draw back at the sound with a shuddering start,
For its awful echoes thrill their heart.
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”
They sprinkle earth on the rattling board,
And they whose heads o'er the grave are thrust,
Draw back at the sound with a shuddering start,
For its awful echoes thrill their heart.
As if it were sent to reveal and bless,
A ray through the lurid vapour beams,—
Pierces the sepulchre's ghastliness,
And lo! on the coffin's plate it gleams.
Th' inscription now may be plainly read—
“Charles Mathews”—that's the name of the dead.
A ray through the lurid vapour beams,—
Pierces the sepulchre's ghastliness,
And lo! on the coffin's plate it gleams.
Th' inscription now may be plainly read—
“Charles Mathews”—that's the name of the dead.
130
God! can it be?—is that breath resign'd
Which render'd the brightest joy more bright?
Does that life of life, and mind of mind,
The circle's soul, and the world's delight,
Lie stretch'd in the coffin's silence, dark,
Cold—lifeless—ghastly—stiff and stark?
Which render'd the brightest joy more bright?
Does that life of life, and mind of mind,
The circle's soul, and the world's delight,
Lie stretch'd in the coffin's silence, dark,
Cold—lifeless—ghastly—stiff and stark?
What proofs of his friendship, wit, and worth,
On memory crowd, and recall past years!
But I cannot give their record birth,
For my heart and my eyes are both in tears:
Let me drop the pen,—let me quit the lay,
And rush from my own sad thoughts away.—
On memory crowd, and recall past years!
But I cannot give their record birth,
For my heart and my eyes are both in tears:
Let me drop the pen,—let me quit the lay,
And rush from my own sad thoughts away.—
131
HOPE'S YEARNINGS.
How sweet it is, when wearied with the jars
Of wrangling sects, each sour'd with bigot leaven,
To let the Spirit burst its prison bars
And soar into the deep repose of Heaven!
Of wrangling sects, each sour'd with bigot leaven,
To let the Spirit burst its prison bars
And soar into the deep repose of Heaven!
How sweet it is, when sick with strife and noise
Of the fell brood that owes to faction birth,
To turn to Nature's tranquillizing joys,
And taste the soothing harmonies of Earth!
Of the fell brood that owes to faction birth,
To turn to Nature's tranquillizing joys,
And taste the soothing harmonies of Earth!
But tho' the lovely Earth, and Sea, and Air,
Be rich in joys that form a sumless sum,
Fill'd with Nepenthes that can banish care,
And wrap the senses in Elysium,
Be rich in joys that form a sumless sum,
Fill'd with Nepenthes that can banish care,
And wrap the senses in Elysium,
132
'Tis sweeter still from these delights to turn
Back to our kind—to watch the course of Man,
And for that blessed consummation yearn,
When Nature shall complete her noble plan;—
Back to our kind—to watch the course of Man,
And for that blessed consummation yearn,
When Nature shall complete her noble plan;—
When hate, oppression, vice, and crime, shall cease,
When War's ensanguined banner shall be furl'd,
And to our moral system shall extend
The perfectness of the material world.—
When War's ensanguined banner shall be furl'd,
And to our moral system shall extend
The perfectness of the material world.—
Sweetest of all, when 'tis our happy fate
To drop some tribute, trifling tho' it prove,
On the thrice-hallow'd altar dedicate
To Man's improvement, truth, and social love.
To drop some tribute, trifling tho' it prove,
On the thrice-hallow'd altar dedicate
To Man's improvement, truth, and social love.
Faith in our race's destined elevation,
And its incessant progress to the goal,
Tends, by exciting hope and emulation,
To realise th' aspirings of the soul.
And its incessant progress to the goal,
Tends, by exciting hope and emulation,
To realise th' aspirings of the soul.
133
TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE.
When Horace, as the snows descended
On Mount Soracte, recommended
That logs be doubled,
Until a blazing fire arose,
I wonder whether thoughts like those
Which in my noddle interpose,
His fancy troubled.
On Mount Soracte, recommended
That logs be doubled,
Until a blazing fire arose,
I wonder whether thoughts like those
Which in my noddle interpose,
His fancy troubled.
Poor Log! I cannot hear thee sigh,
And groan, and hiss, and see thee die,
To warm a Poet,
Without evincing thy success,
And as thou wanest less and less,
Inditing a farewell address
To let thee know it.
And groan, and hiss, and see thee die,
To warm a Poet,
Without evincing thy success,
And as thou wanest less and less,
Inditing a farewell address
To let thee know it.
134
Peeping from earth—a bud unveil'd,
Some “bosky bourne” or dingle hail'd
Thy natal hour;
While infant winds around thee blew,
And thou wert fed with silver dew,
And tender sun-beams oozing through
Thy leafy bower.
Some “bosky bourne” or dingle hail'd
Thy natal hour;
While infant winds around thee blew,
And thou wert fed with silver dew,
And tender sun-beams oozing through
Thy leafy bower.
Earth—water—air—thy growth prepared;
And if perchance some robin, scared
From neighbouring manor,
Perch'd on thy crest, it rock'd in air,
Making his ruddy feathers flare
In the sun's ray, as if they were
A fairy banner.
And if perchance some robin, scared
From neighbouring manor,
Perch'd on thy crest, it rock'd in air,
Making his ruddy feathers flare
In the sun's ray, as if they were
A fairy banner.
Or if some nightingale impress'd
Against thy branching top her breast
Heaving with passion,
And in the leafy nights of June,
Outpour'd her sorrows to the moon,
Thy trembling stem thou didst attune
To each vibration.
Against thy branching top her breast
Heaving with passion,
135
Outpour'd her sorrows to the moon,
Thy trembling stem thou didst attune
To each vibration.
Thou grew'st a goodly tree, with shoots
Fanning the sky, and earth-bound roots
So grappled under,
That thou whom perching birds could swing,
And zephyrs rock with lightest wing,
From thy firm trunk unmoved didst fling
Tempest and thunder.
Fanning the sky, and earth-bound roots
So grappled under,
That thou whom perching birds could swing,
And zephyrs rock with lightest wing,
From thy firm trunk unmoved didst fling
Tempest and thunder.
Thine offspring leaves—death's annual prey,
Which Herod Winter tore away
From thy caressing,
In heaps, like graves, around thee blown,
Each morn thy dewy tears have strown,
O'er each thy branching hands been thrown,
As if in blessing.
Which Herod Winter tore away
From thy caressing,
In heaps, like graves, around thee blown,
Each morn thy dewy tears have strown,
O'er each thy branching hands been thrown,
As if in blessing.
136
Bursting to life, another race
At touch of Spring in thy embrace,
Sported and flutter'd;
Aloft, where wanton breezes play'd,
In thy knit boughs have ringdoves made
Their nest, and lovers in thy shade
Their vows have utter'd.
At touch of Spring in thy embrace,
Sported and flutter'd;
Aloft, where wanton breezes play'd,
In thy knit boughs have ringdoves made
Their nest, and lovers in thy shade
Their vows have utter'd.
How oft thy lofty summits won
Morn's virgin smile, and hail'd the sun
With rustling motion;
How oft in silent depths of night,
When the moon sail'd in cloudless light,
Thou hast stood awe-struck at the sight
In hush'd devotion—
Morn's virgin smile, and hail'd the sun
With rustling motion;
How oft in silent depths of night,
When the moon sail'd in cloudless light,
Thou hast stood awe-struck at the sight
In hush'd devotion—
'Twere vain to ask; for doom'd to fall,
The day appointed for us all
O'er thee impended;
The hatchet, with remorseless blow,
First laid thee in the forest low,
Then cut thee into logs—and so
Thy course was ended.—
The day appointed for us all
O'er thee impended;
137
First laid thee in the forest low,
Then cut thee into logs—and so
Thy course was ended.—
But not thine use—for moral rules,
Worth all the wisdom of the schools,
Thou may'st bequeath me;
Bidding me cherish those who live
Above me, and the more I thrive,
A wider shade and shelter give
To those beneath me.
Worth all the wisdom of the schools,
Thou may'st bequeath me;
Bidding me cherish those who live
Above me, and the more I thrive,
A wider shade and shelter give
To those beneath me.
So when death lays his axe on me,
I may resign, as calm as thee,
My hold terrestrial;
Like thine my latter end be found,
Diffusing light and warmth around,
And like thy smoke my spirit bound
To realms celestial.
I may resign, as calm as thee,
My hold terrestrial;
Like thine my latter end be found,
Diffusing light and warmth around,
And like thy smoke my spirit bound
To realms celestial.
138
UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS.
Whose are Windsor and Hampton, the pride of the land,
With their treasures and trophies so varied and grand?
The Queen's, you reply:—
Deuce a bit! you and I
Through their gates, twice a week, making privileged way,
Tread their gilded saloons,
View their portraits, cartoons,
And, like Crusoe, are monarchs of all we survey.—
With their treasures and trophies so varied and grand?
The Queen's, you reply:—
Deuce a bit! you and I
Through their gates, twice a week, making privileged way,
Tread their gilded saloons,
View their portraits, cartoons,
And, like Crusoe, are monarchs of all we survey.—
139
And whose are our Nobles' magnificent homes,
With their galleries, gardens, their statues and domes?
His Grace's? my Lord's?
Ay, in law and in words,
But in fact they are ours, for the master, poor wight!
Gladly leaving their view
To the visiting crew,
Keeps a dear exhibition for others' delight.—
With their galleries, gardens, their statues and domes?
His Grace's? my Lord's?
Ay, in law and in words,
But in fact they are ours, for the master, poor wight!
Gladly leaving their view
To the visiting crew,
Keeps a dear exhibition for others' delight.—
And whose are the stag-haunted parks, the domains,
The woods and the waters, the hills and the plains?
Yours and mine, for our eyes
Daily make them our prize:
What more have their owners?—The care and the cost!
Alas! for the great,
Whose treasures and state,
Unprized when possess'd, are regretted when lost.—
The woods and the waters, the hills and the plains?
Yours and mine, for our eyes
Daily make them our prize:
What more have their owners?—The care and the cost!
Alas! for the great,
Whose treasures and state,
Unprized when possess'd, are regretted when lost.—
140
When I float on the Thames, or am whisk'd o'er the roads,
To the numerous royal and noble abodes
Whose delights I may share,
Without ownership's care,
With what pity the titled and rich I regard,
And exultingly cry,
Oh! how happy am I
To be only a poor unpatrician bard!
To the numerous royal and noble abodes
Whose delights I may share,
Without ownership's care,
With what pity the titled and rich I regard,
And exultingly cry,
Oh! how happy am I
To be only a poor unpatrician bard!
141
TO THE FURZE BUSH.
Let Burns and old Chaucer unite
The praise of the Daisy to sing,—
Let Wordsworth of Celandine write,
And crown her the Queen of the Spring;
The Hyacinth's classical fame
Let Milton embalm in his verse;
Be mine the glad task to proclaim
The Charms of untrumpeted Furze!
The praise of the Daisy to sing,—
Let Wordsworth of Celandine write,
And crown her the Queen of the Spring;
The Hyacinth's classical fame
Let Milton embalm in his verse;
Be mine the glad task to proclaim
The Charms of untrumpeted Furze!
142
Of all other bloom when bereft,
And Sol wears his wintery screen,
Thy sunshining blossoms are left
To light up the common and green.
O why should they envy the peer
His perfume of spices and myrrhs,
When the poorest their senses may cheer
With incense diffused from the Furze?
And Sol wears his wintery screen,
Thy sunshining blossoms are left
To light up the common and green.
O why should they envy the peer
His perfume of spices and myrrhs,
When the poorest their senses may cheer
It is bristled with thorns, I confess;
But so is the much-flatter'd Rose:
Is the Sweetbriar lauded the less
Because amid prickles it grows?
'Twere to cut off an epigram's point,
Or disfurnish a knight of his spurs,
If we foolishly wish'd to disjoint
Its arms from the lance-bearing Furze.
But so is the much-flatter'd Rose:
Is the Sweetbriar lauded the less
Because amid prickles it grows?
'Twere to cut off an epigram's point,
Or disfurnish a knight of his spurs,
If we foolishly wish'd to disjoint
Its arms from the lance-bearing Furze.
143
Ye dabblers in mines, who would clutch
The wealth which their bowels enfold;
See! Nature, with Midas-like touch,
Here turns a whole common to gold;
No niggard is she to the poor,
But distributes whatever is hers,
And the wayfaring beggar is sure
Of a tribute of gold from the Furze.
The wealth which their bowels enfold;
See! Nature, with Midas-like touch,
Here turns a whole common to gold;
No niggard is she to the poor,
But distributes whatever is hers,
And the wayfaring beggar is sure
Of a tribute of gold from the Furze.
Ye worldlings! learn hence to divide
Your wealth with the children of want,
Nor scorn, in your fortune and pride,
To be taught by the commonest plant.
If the wisest new wisdom may draw
From things humble, as reason avers,
We too may receive Heaven's law,
And beneficence learn from the Furze!
Your wealth with the children of want,
Nor scorn, in your fortune and pride,
To be taught by the commonest plant.
If the wisest new wisdom may draw
From things humble, as reason avers,
We too may receive Heaven's law,
And beneficence learn from the Furze!
144
THE FIRST OF MARCH.
The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud,
And Earth's beginning now in her veins to feel the blood,
Which, warm'd by summer suns in th'alembic of the vine,
From her founts will overrun in a ruddy gush of wine.
And Earth's beginning now in her veins to feel the blood,
Which, warm'd by summer suns in th'alembic of the vine,
From her founts will overrun in a ruddy gush of wine.
The perfume and the bloom that shall decorate the flower,
Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower;
And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits,
Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots.
Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower;
And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits,
Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots.
How awful is the thought of the wonders underground,
Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profound;
How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed,
And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed!
Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profound;
How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed,
And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed!
145
The summer 's in her ark, and this sunny-pinion'd day
Is commission'd to remark whether Winter holds her sway;
Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing,
Say, that floods and tempests cease and the world is ripe for spring.
Is commission'd to remark whether Winter holds her sway;
Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing,
Say, that floods and tempests cease and the world is ripe for spring.
Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth till her dreams are all of flowers,
And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging bowers;
The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves,
And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves.
And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging bowers;
The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves,
And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves.
Thy vivifying spell has been felt beneath the wave,
By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave;
And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their wing,
Have started from their sleep at the summons of the Spring.—
By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave;
And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their wing,
Have started from their sleep at the summons of the Spring.—
146
The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills,
And the feather'd race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills,
And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee,
O thou sunny first of March! be it dedicate to thee.
And the feather'd race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills,
And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee,
O thou sunny first of March! be it dedicate to thee.
147
INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO.
O, pursuivant and herald of the spring!
Whether thou still dost dwell
In some rose-laurel'd dell
Of that charm'd island, whose magician king
Bade all its rocks and caves,
Woods, winds, and waves,
Thrill to the dulcet chaunt of Ariel,
Until he broke the spell,
And cast his wand into the shuddering sea,—
O hither, hither fleet,
Upon the south wind sweet,
And soothe us with thy vernal melody!
Or whether to the redolent Azores,
Amid whose tufted sheaves
The floral goddess weaves
Her garland, breathing on the glades and shores
Intoxicating air,
Truant! thou dost repair;
Or lingerest still in that meridian nest,
Where myriad piping throats
Rival the warbler's notes,
The saffron namesakes of those islands blest,—
O hither, hither wing
Thy flight, and to our longing woodlands sing.
Whether thou still dost dwell
In some rose-laurel'd dell
Of that charm'd island, whose magician king
Bade all its rocks and caves,
Woods, winds, and waves,
Thrill to the dulcet chaunt of Ariel,
Until he broke the spell,
And cast his wand into the shuddering sea,—
O hither, hither fleet,
Upon the south wind sweet,
And soothe us with thy vernal melody!
148
Amid whose tufted sheaves
The floral goddess weaves
Her garland, breathing on the glades and shores
Intoxicating air,
Truant! thou dost repair;
Or lingerest still in that meridian nest,
Where myriad piping throats
Rival the warbler's notes,
The saffron namesakes of those islands blest,—
O hither, hither wing
Thy flight, and to our longing woodlands sing.
Or in those sea-girt gardens dost thou dwell,
Of plantain, cocoa, palm,
And that red tree, whose balm
Fumed in the holocausts of Israel;
Beneath banana shades,
Guava, and fig-tree glades,
Painting thy plumage in the sapphirine hue
Thrown from the heron blue,
Or rays of the prismatic parroquet,—
O, let the perfumed breeze
From those Hesperides
Waft thee once more our eager ears to greet!
Of plantain, cocoa, palm,
And that red tree, whose balm
Fumed in the holocausts of Israel;
Beneath banana shades,
Guava, and fig-tree glades,
149
Thrown from the heron blue,
Or rays of the prismatic parroquet,—
O, let the perfumed breeze
From those Hesperides
Waft thee once more our eager ears to greet!
For lo! the young leaves-flutter in the south,
As if they tried their wings,
While the bee's trumpet brings
News of each bud that pouts its honied mouth;
Blue-bells, yellow-cups, jonquils,
Lilies wild and daffodils,
Gladden our meads in intertangled wreath;
The sun enamour'd lies,
Watching the violets' eyes
On every bank, and drinks their luscious breath;
With open lips the thorn
Proclaims that May is born,
And darest thou, bird of spring, that summons scorn?
“Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” O welcome, welcome notes!
Fields, woods, and waves rejoice
In that recover'd voice,
As on the wind its fluty music floats.
At that elixir strain
My youth resumes its reign,
And life's first spring comes blossoming again:
Oh, wond rous bird! if thus
Thy voice miraculous
Can renovate my spirits' vernal prime,
Nor thou, my Muse, forbear
That ecstacy to share,—
I laugh at Fortune, and defy old Time.
As if they tried their wings,
While the bee's trumpet brings
News of each bud that pouts its honied mouth;
Blue-bells, yellow-cups, jonquils,
Lilies wild and daffodils,
Gladden our meads in intertangled wreath;
The sun enamour'd lies,
Watching the violets' eyes
On every bank, and drinks their luscious breath;
With open lips the thorn
Proclaims that May is born,
And darest thou, bird of spring, that summons scorn?
150
Fields, woods, and waves rejoice
In that recover'd voice,
As on the wind its fluty music floats.
At that elixir strain
My youth resumes its reign,
And life's first spring comes blossoming again:
Oh, wond rous bird! if thus
Thy voice miraculous
Can renovate my spirits' vernal prime,
Nor thou, my Muse, forbear
That ecstacy to share,—
I laugh at Fortune, and defy old Time.
151
MAN.
Afflicition one day, as she hark'd to the roar
Of the stormy and struggling billow,
Drew a beautiful form on the sands of the shore,
With the branch of a weeping-willow.
Of the stormy and struggling billow,
Drew a beautiful form on the sands of the shore,
With the branch of a weeping-willow.
Jupiter, struck with the noble plan,
As he roam'd on the verge of the ocean,
Breathed on the figure, and calling it Man,
Endued it with life and motion.
As he roam'd on the verge of the ocean,
Breathed on the figure, and calling it Man,
Endued it with life and motion.
A creature so glorious in mind and in frame,
So stamp'd with each parent's impression,
Amongst them a point of contention became,
Each claiming the right of possession.
So stamp'd with each parent's impression,
Amongst them a point of contention became,
Each claiming the right of possession.
152
He is mine, said Affliction; I gave him his birth,
I alone am his cause of creation;—
The materials were furnish'd by me, answered Earth;—
I gave him, said Jove, animation.
I alone am his cause of creation;—
The materials were furnish'd by me, answered Earth;—
I gave him, said Jove, animation.
The gods, all assembled in solemn divan,
After hearing each claimant's petition,
Pronounced a definitive verdict on Man,
And thus settled his fate's disposition:
After hearing each claimant's petition,
Pronounced a definitive verdict on Man,
And thus settled his fate's disposition:
“Let Affliction possess her own child, till the woes
Of life cease to harass and goad it;
After death give his body to Earth, whence it rose,
And his spirit to Jove who bestow'd it.”
Of life cease to harass and goad it;
After death give his body to Earth, whence it rose,
And his spirit to Jove who bestow'd it.”
153
SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENCE.
There's a charm when Spring is young,
And comes laughing on the breeze,
When each leaflet has a tongue,
That is lisping in the trees,
When morn is fair, and the sunny air
With chime of beaks is ringing,
Through fields to rove with her we love,
And listen to their singing.
And comes laughing on the breeze,
When each leaflet has a tongue,
That is lisping in the trees,
When morn is fair, and the sunny air
With chime of beaks is ringing,
Through fields to rove with her we love,
And listen to their singing.
The sportsman finds a zest,
Which all others can outvie,
With his lightning to arrest
Pheasants whirring through the sky;
With dog and gun, from dawn of sun
Till purple evening hovers,
O'er field and fen, and hill and glen,
The happiest of rovers.
Which all others can outvie,
With his lightning to arrest
Pheasants whirring through the sky;
154
Till purple evening hovers,
O'er field and fen, and hill and glen,
The happiest of rovers.
The hunter loves to dash
Through the horn-resounding woods,
Or plunge with fearless splash
Into intercepting floods;
O'er gap and gate he leaps elate,
The vaulting stag to follow,
And at the death has scarcely breath
To give the whoop and hallo!
Through the horn-resounding woods,
Or plunge with fearless splash
Into intercepting floods;
O'er gap and gate he leaps elate,
The vaulting stag to follow,
And at the death has scarcely breath
To give the whoop and hallo!
By the river's margin dank,
With the reeds and rushes mix'd,
Like a statue on a bank,
See the patient angler fix'd!
A summer's day he whiles away
Without fatigue or sorrow,
And if the fish should baulk his wish,
He comes again to-morrow.
With the reeds and rushes mix'd,
Like a statue on a bank,
See the patient angler fix'd!
A summer's day he whiles away
Without fatigue or sorrow,
155
He comes again to-morrow.
In air let pheasants range,
'Tis to me a glorious sight,
Which no fire of mine shall change
Into grovelling blood and night;
I am no hound, to pant and bound
Behind a stag that's flying;
Nor can I hook a trout from brook,
On grass to watch its dying.
'Tis to me a glorious sight,
Which no fire of mine shall change
Into grovelling blood and night;
I am no hound, to pant and bound
Behind a stag that's flying;
Nor can I hook a trout from brook,
On grass to watch its dying.
And yet no sportsman keen
Can a sweeter pastime ply,
Or enjoy the rural scene
With more ecstacy than I:
There's not a view, a form, a hue,
In earth, or air, or ocean,
That does not fill my heart, and thrill
My bosom with emotion.
Can a sweeter pastime ply,
Or enjoy the rural scene
With more ecstacy than I:
There's not a view, a form, a hue,
In earth, or air, or ocean,
That does not fill my heart, and thrill
My bosom with emotion.
156
O clouds that paint the air!
O fountains, fields, and groves!
Lights, sounds, and odours rare,
Which my yearning spirit loves!
While thus I feel, and only steal
From visions so enchanting,
In tuneful lays to sing your praise,
What charm of life is wanting?
O fountains, fields, and groves!
Lights, sounds, and odours rare,
Which my yearning spirit loves!
While thus I feel, and only steal
From visions so enchanting,
In tuneful lays to sing your praise,
What charm of life is wanting?
157
THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.
Once Faith, Hope, and Charity traversed the land,
In sisterhood's uninterrupted embraces,
Performing their office of love hand in hand,
Of the Christian world the appropriate Graces.
In sisterhood's uninterrupted embraces,
Performing their office of love hand in hand,
Of the Christian world the appropriate Graces.
But tiffs since those primitive days have occurr'd,
That threaten to sever this friendly relation,
As may well be surmised when I state, word for word,
The terms of their latest and worst altercation:
That threaten to sever this friendly relation,
As may well be surmised when I state, word for word,
The terms of their latest and worst altercation:
“Sister Charity, prythee allow me to state,”
Cries Faith, in a tone of contemptuous sneering,
“That while you affect to be meek and sedate,
“Your conduct is cunning, your tone domineering.
Cries Faith, in a tone of contemptuous sneering,
“That while you affect to be meek and sedate,
“Your conduct is cunning, your tone domineering.
158
“In the times that are gone, my world-harassing name,
“Received some accession of strength ev'ry hour;
“St. Bartholomew's Massacre hallow'd my fame,
“And Sicily's Vespers asserted my power.
“Received some accession of strength ev'ry hour;
“St. Bartholomew's Massacre hallow'd my fame,
“And Sicily's Vespers asserted my power.
“When martyrs in multitudes rush'd at my call,
“To peril their lives for Theology's sake,
“Mine too was the voice that cried, ‘Sacrifice all,
“‘With gaol and with gibbet, with faggot and stake.’
“To peril their lives for Theology's sake,
“Mine too was the voice that cried, ‘Sacrifice all,
“‘With gaol and with gibbet, with faggot and stake.’
“When the banner of orthodox slaughter was furl'd,
“And subjects no more from each other dissented,
“I set them at war with the rest of the world,
“And for centuries national struggles fomented.
“And subjects no more from each other dissented,
“I set them at war with the rest of the world,
“And for centuries national struggles fomented.
“What are all the great heroes on history's page,
“But puppets who figured as I pulled the strings?
“Crusades I engender'd in every age,
“And Faith was the leader of armies and kings.
“But puppets who figured as I pulled the strings?
“Crusades I engender'd in every age,
“And Faith was the leader of armies and kings.
159
“In those days of my glory Hope followed my track,
“In warfare a firm and impartial ally,
“For she constantly patted both sides on the back,
“And promised them both a reward in the sky.”
“In warfare a firm and impartial ally,
“For she constantly patted both sides on the back,
“And promised them both a reward in the sky.”
Here Charity, heaving disconsolate sighs,
That said “I admit what I deeply deplore,”
Uplifted to heaven her tear-suffused eyes,
Which seem'd but to anger her sister the more.
That said “I admit what I deeply deplore,”
Uplifted to heaven her tear-suffused eyes,
Which seem'd but to anger her sister the more.
“Nay, none of your cant, hypocritical minx!”
She cried in a louder and bitterer tone,
“If you feel any fancy to whimper, methinks
“You might weep that the days of my glory are gone.
She cried in a louder and bitterer tone,
“If you feel any fancy to whimper, methinks
“You might weep that the days of my glory are gone.
“What wreck of my palmy puissance is left?
“What bravos and bullies my greatness declare?
“Of the holy and dear Inquisition bereft,
“All my fierce fulminations are impotent air.
“What bravos and bullies my greatness declare?
“Of the holy and dear Inquisition bereft,
“All my fierce fulminations are impotent air.
160
“No racks and no pincers—no limbs piecemeal torn,
“No screams of the tortured my prowess display;
“And to crown all these slights, I am shamefully shorn
“Of my own proper triumph, an auto da fè.
“No screams of the tortured my prowess display;
“And to crown all these slights, I am shamefully shorn
“Of my own proper triumph, an auto da fè.
“The Pope, who could once, in my terrible name,
“Spread warfare and havoc all Christendom round,
“Is sunk to such pitiful dotage and shame,
“That the Vatican thunder 's a ridiculed sound.
“Spread warfare and havoc all Christendom round,
“Is sunk to such pitiful dotage and shame,
“That the Vatican thunder 's a ridiculed sound.
“Nay, even in England, my latest strong-hold,
“And the firmest support of my paramount sway,
“(In Gath or in Askelon be it not told,)
“All my orthodox bulwarks are crumbling away.
“And the firmest support of my paramount sway,
“(In Gath or in Askelon be it not told,)
“All my orthodox bulwarks are crumbling away.
“Dissenters, untested, may now, nothing loth,
“As municipal officers feast and carouse;
“And emancipate Catholics, taking the oath,
“O horror of horrors! may sit in the House.
“As municipal officers feast and carouse;
“And emancipate Catholics, taking the oath,
“O horror of horrors! may sit in the House.
161
“If Erin no longer my altar-flame fann'd,
“By ceasing to murder for tithe now and then,
“It might well be surmised that my paralysed hand
“Had lost all control o'er the actions of men.
“By ceasing to murder for tithe now and then,
“It might well be surmised that my paralysed hand
“Had lost all control o'er the actions of men.
“And what though each orthodox candidate swears
“To my Thirty-nine Articles—'tis but a jest,
“Since a bishop (proh pudor!), a bishop, declares
“That such oaths are a form,—never meant as a test.
“To my Thirty-nine Articles—'tis but a jest,
“Since a bishop (proh pudor!), a bishop, declares
“That such oaths are a form,—never meant as a test.
“And who is the cause that I'm laid on the shelf,
“Disown'd and deserted by all but a few?
“My downfall and ruin I trace to yourself,
“To you, I repeat, sister Charity—you!
“Disown'd and deserted by all but a few?
“My downfall and ruin I trace to yourself,
“To you, I repeat, sister Charity—you!
“Your looks and your whining expressions of ruth,
“Your appeals—ever urged with insidious wiles,
“To reason and justice—to love and to truth,
“Your tears of deceit, and your plausible smiles,
“Your appeals—ever urged with insidious wiles,
“To reason and justice—to love and to truth,
“Your tears of deceit, and your plausible smiles,
162
“Have inveigled the bulk of my subjects away,
“And have swell'd your own ranks with deserters from mine:
“Such conduct is base, and from this very day,
“Hope and I mean to leave you and take a new line.”
“And have swell'd your own ranks with deserters from mine:
“Such conduct is base, and from this very day,
“Hope and I mean to leave you and take a new line.”
With the look of an angel, the voice of a dove,
Thus Charity answer'd—“Since Concord alone
“Can prosper our partnership mission of love,
“And exalt the attraction that calls her her own,
Thus Charity answer'd—“Since Concord alone
“Can prosper our partnership mission of love,
“And exalt the attraction that calls her her own,
“I would not, dear sisters, e'en harbour a thought,
“That might peril a friendship so truly divine;
“And if in our feelings a change has been wrought,
“I humbly submit that the fault is not mine.
“That might peril a friendship so truly divine;
“And if in our feelings a change has been wrought,
“I humbly submit that the fault is not mine.
“Christianity's attributes, holy and high,
“When first, sister Faith, you delighted to teach,
“And Hope only wafted your words to the sky,
“I seconded gladly the labours of each:
“When first, sister Faith, you delighted to teach,
“And Hope only wafted your words to the sky,
“I seconded gladly the labours of each:
163
“But when, in crusades! you began to affect
“A thousand disguises and masquerades new,
“When you dress'd yourself up in the badges of sect,
“Nay, even of Mussulman, Pagan, and Jew,
“A thousand disguises and masquerades new,
“When you dress'd yourself up in the badges of sect,
“Nay, even of Mussulman, Pagan, and Jew,
“And when in each garb, as yourself have just said,
“You scatter'd a firebrand wherever you went,
“While Hope spent her breath, as she follow'd or led,
“In fanning the flames of religious dissent,
“You scatter'd a firebrand wherever you went,
“While Hope spent her breath, as she follow'd or led,
“In fanning the flames of religious dissent,
“I raised up my voice in a solemn appeal
“Against your whole course of unchristian life,
“Tho' its accents were drown'd in the clashing of steel,
“In the clamour of councils, and schismatic strife;
“Against your whole course of unchristian life,
“Tho' its accents were drown'd in the clashing of steel,
“In the clamour of councils, and schismatic strife;
“But now when men, turning from dogmas to deeds.
“Bear the scriptural dictum of Jesus in mind,
“That salvation depends not on canons and creeds,
“But on love of the Lord, and the love of our kind,
“Bear the scriptural dictum of Jesus in mind,
“That salvation depends not on canons and creeds,
“But on love of the Lord, and the love of our kind,
164
“My voice can be heard, and my arguments weigh'd:
“Which explains why such numerous converts of late
“Are under my love-breathing standard array'd,
“Who once, beneath yours, were excited to hate.
“Which explains why such numerous converts of late
“Are under my love-breathing standard array'd,
“Who once, beneath yours, were excited to hate.
“Superstition must throw off Religion's disguise;
“For men, now enlighten'd, not darkling like owls,
“While they reverence priests who are holy and wise,
“Will no longer be hoodwink'd by cassocks or cowls.
“For men, now enlighten'd, not darkling like owls,
“While they reverence priests who are holy and wise,
“Will no longer be hoodwink'd by cassocks or cowls.
“If, Sisters! forgetting your primitive troth,
“You would still part the world into tyrants and slaves,
“What wonder that sages should look on you both
“As the virtues of dupes, for the profit of knaves?
“You would still part the world into tyrants and slaves,
“What wonder that sages should look on you both
“As the virtues of dupes, for the profit of knaves?
“You would separate? Do so—I give you full scope;
“But reflect, you are both of you naught when we part;
“While I, 'tis well known, can supply Faith and Hope,
“When I choose for my temple an innocent heart.”
“But reflect, you are both of you naught when we part;
“While I, 'tis well known, can supply Faith and Hope,
“When I choose for my temple an innocent heart.”
165
WINTER.
The mill-wheel's frozen in the stream,
The church is deck'd with holly,
Misletoe hangs from the kitchen beam,
To fright away melancholy;
Icicles clink in the milkmaid's pail,
Younkers skate on the pool below,
Blackbirds perch on the garden rail,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
The church is deck'd with holly,
Misletoe hangs from the kitchen beam,
To fright away melancholy;
Icicles clink in the milkmaid's pail,
Younkers skate on the pool below,
Blackbirds perch on the garden rail,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
There goes the squire to shoot at snipe,
Here runs Dick to fetch a log;
You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe,
In the frosty morning fog.—
Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine,
Old and young cough as they go,
The round red sun forgets to shine,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
Here runs Dick to fetch a log;
You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe,
In the frosty morning fog.—
Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine,
Old and young cough as they go,
The round red sun forgets to shine,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
166
THE CHOLERA MORBUS.
It comes! it comes! from England's trembling tongue
One low and universal murmur stealeth;—
By dawn of day, each journal is o'erhung
With startling eyes, to read what it revealeth,
And all aghast, ejaculate one word—
The Cholera—no other sound is heard!
One low and universal murmur stealeth;—
By dawn of day, each journal is o'erhung
With startling eyes, to read what it revealeth,
And all aghast, ejaculate one word—
The Cholera—no other sound is heard!
Had Death upon his ghastly horse reveal'd,
From his throat-rattling trump a summons sounded,
Not more appallingly its blast had peal'd
Upon the nation's ear;—awe-struck, astounded,
Men strive in vain their secret fears to smother,
And gaze in blank dismay on one another.
From his throat-rattling trump a summons sounded,
Not more appallingly its blast had peal'd
Upon the nation's ear;—awe-struck, astounded,
Men strive in vain their secret fears to smother,
And gaze in blank dismay on one another.
167
Now are all cares absorb'd in that of health;
Hush'd is the song, the dance, the voice of gladness,
While thousands in the selfishness of wealth,
With looks of confidence, but hearts of sadness,
Dream they can purchase safety for their lives
By nostrums, drugs, and quack preventatives.
Hush'd is the song, the dance, the voice of gladness,
While thousands in the selfishness of wealth,
With looks of confidence, but hearts of sadness,
Dream they can purchase safety for their lives
By nostrums, drugs, and quack preventatives.
The wretch who might have died in squalid want,
Unseen, unmourn'd by our hard-hearted blindness,
Wringing from fear what pity would not grant,
Becomes the sudden object of our kindness,
Now that his betters he may implicate,
And spread infection to the rich and great.
Unseen, unmourn'd by our hard-hearted blindness,
Wringing from fear what pity would not grant,
Becomes the sudden object of our kindness,
Now that his betters he may implicate,
And spread infection to the rich and great.
Yet still will wealth presumptuously cry,
“What though the hand of death be thus outstretched?
It will not reach the lordly and the high,
But only strike the lowly and the wretched.
Tush! what have we to quail at? Let us fold
Our arms, and trust to luxury and gold.”
“What though the hand of death be thus outstretched?
It will not reach the lordly and the high,
But only strike the lowly and the wretched.
Tush! what have we to quail at? Let us fold
Our arms, and trust to luxury and gold.”
168
They do belie thee, honest Pestilence!
Thou'rt brave, magnanimous, not mean and dastard;
Thou'lt not assert thy dread omnipotence
In mastering those already overmaster'd
By want and woe,—trampling the trampled crowd,
To spare the unsparing, and preserve the proud.
Thou'rt brave, magnanimous, not mean and dastard;
Thou'lt not assert thy dread omnipotence
In mastering those already overmaster'd
By want and woe,—trampling the trampled crowd,
To spare the unsparing, and preserve the proud.
Usurpers of the people's rights! prepare
For death by quick atonement.—Stony-hearted
Oppressors of the poor!—in time beware!
When the destroying angel's shaft is darted,
'Twill smite the star on titled bosoms set,
The mitre pierce, transfix the coronet.
For death by quick atonement.—Stony-hearted
Oppressors of the poor!—in time beware!
When the destroying angel's shaft is darted,
'Twill smite the star on titled bosoms set,
The mitre pierce, transfix the coronet.
Take moral physic, Pomp! not drugs and oil,
And learn, to broad philanthropy a stranger,
That every son of poverty and toil,
With whom thou sharest now an equal danger,
Should as a brother share, in happier hours,
The blessings which our common Father showers.
And learn, to broad philanthropy a stranger,
That every son of poverty and toil,
With whom thou sharest now an equal danger,
Should as a brother share, in happier hours,
The blessings which our common Father showers.
169
O thou reforming Cholera! thou'rt sent
Not as a scourge alone, but as a teacher—
That they who shall survive to mark the event
Of thy dread summons, thou death-dealing preacher!
By piety and love of kind may best
Requite the love that snatch'd them from the Pest.
Not as a scourge alone, but as a teacher—
That they who shall survive to mark the event
Of thy dread summons, thou death-dealing preacher!
By piety and love of kind may best
Requite the love that snatch'd them from the Pest.
170
THE RECANTATION.
Young, saucy, shallow in my views,
The world before me—free to choose
My calling or profession,
I canvass'd, one by one, the list,
And thus, a tyro satirist,
Condemn'd them in succession:
The world before me—free to choose
My calling or profession,
I canvass'd, one by one, the list,
And thus, a tyro satirist,
Condemn'd them in succession:
The Law?—its sons cause half our ills,
By plucking clients in their bills,
As sparrowhawks do sparrows;
Shrinking the mind it whets, their trade
Acts as the grindstone on the blade,
Which, while it sharpens, narrows.
By plucking clients in their bills,
As sparrowhawks do sparrows;
Shrinking the mind it whets, their trade
Acts as the grindstone on the blade,
Which, while it sharpens, narrows.
171
What makes the Pleader twist and tear
Statutes to wrong the rightful heir,
And bring the widow sorrow?
A fee!—What makes him change his tack,
Eat his own words, and swear white's black?—
Another fee to-morrow.—
Statutes to wrong the rightful heir,
And bring the widow sorrow?
A fee!—What makes him change his tack,
Eat his own words, and swear white's black?—
Another fee to-morrow.—
A Curate?—chain'd to some dull spot,
Even at church he mourns his lot,
Repining while thanksgiving.
'Mid stupid clodpoles and their wives,
The Scholar's buried while he lives,
And dies without a living.—
Even at church he mourns his lot,
Repining while thanksgiving.
'Mid stupid clodpoles and their wives,
The Scholar's buried while he lives,
And dies without a living.—
And what are Bishops?—hypocrites
Who preach against the world's delights
In purple and fine linen;
Who brand as crime, in humbler elves,
All vanities, while they themselves
Have palaces to sin in.—
Who preach against the world's delights
In purple and fine linen;
Who brand as crime, in humbler elves,
All vanities, while they themselves
Have palaces to sin in.—
172
A Soldier?—What! a bravo paid
To make man-butchery a trade—
A Jack-a-dandy varlet,
Who sells his liberty,—perchance
His very soul's inheritance—
For feathers, lace, and scarlet!
To make man-butchery a trade—
A Jack-a-dandy varlet,
Who sells his liberty,—perchance
His very soul's inheritance—
For feathers, lace, and scarlet!
A Sailor?—worse! he's doomed to trace
With treadmill drudgery the space
From foremast to the mizen;
A slave to the tyrannic main,
Till some kind bullet comes to brain
The brainless in his prison.—
With treadmill drudgery the space
From foremast to the mizen;
A slave to the tyrannic main,
Till some kind bullet comes to brain
The brainless in his prison.—
Physic?—a freak of times and modes,
Which yearly old mistakes explodes
For new ones still absurder:
All slay their victims—disappear,
And only leave this doctrine clear,
That “killing is no murder.”
Which yearly old mistakes explodes
For new ones still absurder:
All slay their victims—disappear,
And only leave this doctrine clear,
That “killing is no murder.”
173
A Poet?—To describe aright
His lofty hopes and abject plight,
The quickest tongue would lack words!
Still like a ropemaker, he twines
From morn to even lines on lines,
And still keeps going backwards.
His lofty hopes and abject plight,
The quickest tongue would lack words!
Still like a ropemaker, he twines
From morn to even lines on lines,
And still keeps going backwards.
Older and wiser grown, my strain
Was changed, and thus did I arraign
My crude and cynic sallies:
Railer!—like most satiric scribes,
Your world-condemning diatribes,
Smack less of truth than malice.—
Was changed, and thus did I arraign
My crude and cynic sallies:
Railer!—like most satiric scribes,
Your world-condemning diatribes,
Smack less of truth than malice.—
Abuse condemns not use—all good
Perverted or misunderstood,
May generate all badness,
Reason itself—that gift divine,
To folly may be turn'd by wine,
By long excess to madness.
Perverted or misunderstood,
May generate all badness,
Reason itself—that gift divine,
To folly may be turn'd by wine,
By long excess to madness.
174
From the professions thus portray'd,
As prone to stain, corrupt, degrade,
Have sprung, for many ages,
All that the world with pride regards,
Our statesmen, patriots, heroes, bards,
Philanthropists and sages.
As prone to stain, corrupt, degrade,
Have sprung, for many ages,
All that the world with pride regards,
Our statesmen, patriots, heroes, bards,
Philanthropists and sages.
Not from our callings do we take
Our characters:—men's actions make
Or mar their reputations.
The good, the bad, the false, the true,
Would still be such, tho' all their crew
Should interchange vocations.
Our characters:—men's actions make
Or mar their reputations.
The good, the bad, the false, the true,
Would still be such, tho' all their crew
Should interchange vocations.
Whate'er the compass-box's hue,
Substance, or form—the needle's true,
Alike in calms or surges:
E'en thus the virtuous heart, whate'er
Its owner's plight or calling—ne'er
From honour's pole diverges.
Substance, or form—the needle's true,
Alike in calms or surges:
E'en thus the virtuous heart, whate'er
Its owner's plight or calling—ne'er
From honour's pole diverges.
175
DEATH.
Fate! fortune! chance! whose blindness,
Hostility or kindness,
Play such strange freaks with human destinies,
Contrasting poor and wealthy,
The life-diseased and healthy,
The bless'd, the curs'd, the witless, and the wise,
Ye have a master—one
Who mars what ye have done,
Levelling all that move beneath the sun,—
Death!
Hostility or kindness,
Play such strange freaks with human destinies,
Contrasting poor and wealthy,
The life-diseased and healthy,
The bless'd, the curs'd, the witless, and the wise,
Ye have a master—one
Who mars what ye have done,
Levelling all that move beneath the sun,—
Death!
Take courage ye that languish
Beneath the withering anguish
Of open wrong, or tyrannous deceit,
There comes a swift redresser,
To punish your oppressor,
And lay him prostrate—helpless at your feet.
O champion strong!
Righter of wrong,
Justice—equality to thee belong,—
Death!
Beneath the withering anguish
176
There comes a swift redresser,
To punish your oppressor,
And lay him prostrate—helpless at your feet.
O champion strong!
Righter of wrong,
Justice—equality to thee belong,—
Death!
Where conquest crowns his quarrel,
And the victor, wreath'd with laurel,
While trembling nations bow beneath his rod,
On his guarded throne reposes,
In living apotheosis,
The Lord's anointed, and earth's demigod,
What form of fear
Croaks in his ear,
“The victor's car is but a funeral bier.”—
Death!
And the victor, wreath'd with laurel,
While trembling nations bow beneath his rod,
On his guarded throne reposes,
In living apotheosis,
The Lord's anointed, and earth's demigod,
What form of fear
Croaks in his ear,
“The victor's car is but a funeral bier.”—
Death!
177
Who—spite of guards and yeomen,
Steel phalanx and cross-bowmen,
Leaps at a bound the shudd'ring castle's moat,
The tyrant's crown down dashes,
His brandish'd sceptre smashes,
With rattling fingers grasps him by the throat,
His breath out-wrings,
And his corpse down flings
To the dark pit where grave-worms feed on kings?—
Death!
Steel phalanx and cross-bowmen,
Leaps at a bound the shudd'ring castle's moat,
The tyrant's crown down dashes,
His brandish'd sceptre smashes,
With rattling fingers grasps him by the throat,
His breath out-wrings,
And his corpse down flings
To the dark pit where grave-worms feed on kings?—
Death!
When the murderer's undetected,
When the robber's unsuspected,
And night has veil'd his crime from every eye;
When nothing living daunts him,
And no fear of justice haunts him,
Who wakes his conscience-stricken agony?
Who makes him start
With his withering dart,
And wrings the secret from his bursting heart?—
Death!
When the robber's unsuspected,
And night has veil'd his crime from every eye;
When nothing living daunts him,
And no fear of justice haunts him,
Who wakes his conscience-stricken agony?
Who makes him start
With his withering dart,
And wrings the secret from his bursting heart?—
Death!
178
To those who pine in sorrow,
Whose wretchedness can borrow
No moment's ease from any human act,
To the widow comfort-spurning,
To the slave for freedom yearning,
To the diseased with cureless anguish rack'd,
Who brings release
And whispers peace,
And points to realms where pain and sorrow cease?—
Death!
Whose wretchedness can borrow
No moment's ease from any human act,
To the widow comfort-spurning,
To the slave for freedom yearning,
To the diseased with cureless anguish rack'd,
Who brings release
And whispers peace,
And points to realms where pain and sorrow cease?—
Death!
179
THE POET AMONG THE TREES.
Oak is the noblest tree that grows,
Its leaves are Freedom's type and herald,
If we may put our faith in those
Of Literary-Fund Fitzgerald.
Its leaves are Freedom's type and herald,
If we may put our faith in those
Of Literary-Fund Fitzgerald.
Willow's a sentimental wood,
And many sonneteers, to quicken 'em,
A relic keep of that which stood
Before Pope's Tusculum at Twickenham.
And many sonneteers, to quicken 'em,
A relic keep of that which stood
Before Pope's Tusculum at Twickenham.
The Birch-tree, with its pendent curves,
Exciting many a sad reflection,
Not only present praise deserves,
But our posterior recollection.
Exciting many a sad reflection,
Not only present praise deserves,
But our posterior recollection.
180
The Banyan, though unknown to us,
Is sacred to the Eastern Magi;
Some like the taste of Tityrus,
“Recubans sub tegmine fagi.”
Is sacred to the Eastern Magi;
Some like the taste of Tityrus,
“Recubans sub tegmine fagi.”
Some like the Juniper—in gin;
Some fancy that its berries droop, as
Knowing a poison lurks within,
More rank than that distill'd from th' Upas.
Some fancy that its berries droop, as
Knowing a poison lurks within,
More rank than that distill'd from th' Upas.
But he who wants a useful word,
To tag a line or point a moral,
Will find there's none to be preferr'd
To that inspiring tree—the Laurel.
To tag a line or point a moral,
Will find there's none to be preferr'd
To that inspiring tree—the Laurel.
The hero-butchers of the sword,
In Rome and Greece, and many a far land,
Like Bravos, murder'd for reward,
The settled price—a laurel-garland.
In Rome and Greece, and many a far land,
Like Bravos, murder'd for reward,
The settled price—a laurel-garland.
181
On bust or coin we mark the wreath,
Forgetful of its bloody story,
How many myriads writhed in death,
That one might bear this type of glory.
Forgetful of its bloody story,
How many myriads writhed in death,
That one might bear this type of glory.
Cæsar first wore the badge, 'tis said,
'Cause his bald sconce had nothing on it,
Knocking some millions on the head,
To get his own a leafy bonnet.
'Cause his bald sconce had nothing on it,
Knocking some millions on the head,
To get his own a leafy bonnet.
Luckily for the Laurel's name,
Profaned to purposes so frightful,
'Twas worn by nobler heirs of fame,
All innocent, and some delightful.
Profaned to purposes so frightful,
'Twas worn by nobler heirs of fame,
All innocent, and some delightful.
With its green leaves were victors crown'd
In the Olympic games for running,
Who wrestled best, or gallop'd round
The Circus with most speed and cunning.
In the Olympic games for running,
Who wrestled best, or gallop'd round
The Circus with most speed and cunning.
182
Apollo, crown'd with Bays, gives laws
To the Parnassian Empyrean;
And every schoolboy knows the cause,
Who ever dipp'd in Tooke's Pantheon.
To the Parnassian Empyrean;
And every schoolboy knows the cause,
Who ever dipp'd in Tooke's Pantheon.
Daphne, like many another fair,
To whom connubial ties are horrid,
Fled from his arms, but left a rare
Memento sprouting on his forehead.
To whom connubial ties are horrid,
Fled from his arms, but left a rare
Memento sprouting on his forehead.
For Bays did ancient bards compete,
Gather'd on Pindus or Parnassus,
They by the leaf were paid, not sheet,
And that's the reason they surpass us.
Gather'd on Pindus or Parnassus,
They by the leaf were paid, not sheet,
And that's the reason they surpass us.
One wreath thus twines the heads about,
Whose brains have brighten'd all our sconces,
And those who others' brains knock'd out,
'Cause they themselves were royal dunces.
Whose brains have brighten'd all our sconces,
And those who others' brains knock'd out,
'Cause they themselves were royal dunces.
183
Men fight in these degenerate days,
For crowns of gold, not laurel fillets;
And bards who borrow fire from bays,
Must have them in the grate for billets.
For crowns of gold, not laurel fillets;
And bards who borrow fire from bays,
Must have them in the grate for billets.
Laureats we have (for cash and sack)
Of all calibres and diameters,
But 'stead of poetry, alack!
They give us lachrymose Hexameters.
Of all calibres and diameters,
But 'stead of poetry, alack!
They give us lachrymose Hexameters.
And that illustrious leaf for which
Folks wrote and wrestled, sang and bluster'd,
Is now boil'd down to give a rich
And dainty flavour to our custard!
Folks wrote and wrestled, sang and bluster'd,
Is now boil'd down to give a rich
And dainty flavour to our custard!
184
TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND.
Beauties!—(for, dress'd with so much taste,
All may with such a term be graced,)—
Attend the friendly stanza,
Which deprecates the threaten'd change
Of English modes for fashions strange,
And French extravaganza.
All may with such a term be graced,)—
Attend the friendly stanza,
Which deprecates the threaten'd change
Of English modes for fashions strange,
And French extravaganza.
What! when her sons renown have won
In arts and arms, and proudly shone
A pattern to the nations,
Shall England's recreant daughters kneel
At Gallic shrines, and stoop to steal
Fantastic innovations?
In arts and arms, and proudly shone
A pattern to the nations,
Shall England's recreant daughters kneel
At Gallic shrines, and stoop to steal
Fantastic innovations?
185
Domestic—simple—chaste—sedate,—
Your fashions now assimilate
Your virtues and your duties:—
With all the dignity of Rome,
The Grecian Graces find a home
In England's classic Beauties.
Your fashions now assimilate
Your virtues and your duties:—
With all the dignity of Rome,
The Grecian Graces find a home
In England's classic Beauties.
When we behold so fit a shrine,
We deem its inmate all divine,
And thoughts licentious bridle;
But if the case be tasteless, rude,
Grotesque, and glaring—we conclude
It holds some worthless idol.
We deem its inmate all divine,
And thoughts licentious bridle;
But if the case be tasteless, rude,
Grotesque, and glaring—we conclude
It holds some worthless idol.
Let Gallia's nymphs of ardent mind,
To every wild extreme inclined,
In folly be consistent;
Their failings let their modes express,
From simpleness of soul and dress,
For ever equi-distant.
To every wild extreme inclined,
In folly be consistent;
Their failings let their modes express,
From simpleness of soul and dress,
For ever equi-distant.
186
True to your staid and even port,
Let mad extremes of every sort
With steady scorn be treated;
Nor by art's modish follies mar
The sweetest, loveliest work by far
That nature has completed:—
Let mad extremes of every sort
With steady scorn be treated;
Nor by art's modish follies mar
The sweetest, loveliest work by far
That nature has completed:—
For oh! if in the world's wide round
One peerless object may be found,
A something more than human;
The faultless paragon confess'd
May in one line be all express'd,—
A well-dress'd English Woman.
One peerless object may be found,
A something more than human;
The faultless paragon confess'd
May in one line be all express'd,—
A well-dress'd English Woman.
187
NIGHT-SONG.
Written at Sea.
Tis night—my Bark is on the Ocean,
No sound I hear, no sight I see,
Not e'en the darken'd waves whose motion
Still bears me, Fanny, far from thee!
But from the misty skies are gleaming
Two smiling stars that look, my love!
As if thine eyes, though veil'd, were beaming
Benignly on me from above.
No sound I hear, no sight I see,
Not e'en the darken'd waves whose motion
Still bears me, Fanny, far from thee!
But from the misty skies are gleaming
Two smiling stars that look, my love!
As if thine eyes, though veil'd, were beaming
Benignly on me from above.
Good night and bless thee, Fanny dearest!
Nor let the sound disturb thy sleep,
If, when the midnight wind thou hearest,
Thy thoughts are on the distant deep:—
Thy Lover there is safe and fearless,
For Heaven still guards and guides my track.
Nor can my dreaming heart be cheerless,
For still to thee 'tis wafted back.
Nor let the sound disturb thy sleep,
If, when the midnight wind thou hearest,
Thy thoughts are on the distant deep:—
188
For Heaven still guards and guides my track.
Nor can my dreaming heart be cheerless,
For still to thee 'tis wafted back.
'Tis sweet on the benighted billow,
To trust in Him whom all adore;
'Tis sweet to think that from her pillow
Her prayers for me shall Fanny pour.
The winds, self-lullabied, are dozing,
The winking stars withdraw their light.
Fanny! methinks thine eyes are closing—
Bless thee, my love! good night, good night!
To trust in Him whom all adore;
'Tis sweet to think that from her pillow
Her prayers for me shall Fanny pour.
The winds, self-lullabied, are dozing,
The winking stars withdraw their light.
Fanny! methinks thine eyes are closing—
Bless thee, my love! good night, good night!
189
THE SONG-VISION.
Oh, warble not that fearful air!
For sweet and sprightly though it be,
It wakes in me a deep despair
By its unhallow'd gaiety.
For sweet and sprightly though it be,
It wakes in me a deep despair
By its unhallow'd gaiety.
It was the last my Fanny sung,
The last enchanting playful strain,
That breathed from that melodious tongue,
Which none shall ever hear again.
The last enchanting playful strain,
That breathed from that melodious tongue,
Which none shall ever hear again.
From Memory's fount what pleasures past
At that one vocal summons flow;
Bliss which I vainly thought would last—
Bliss which but deepens present woe!
At that one vocal summons flow;
Bliss which I vainly thought would last—
Bliss which but deepens present woe!
190
Where art thou, Fanny! can the tomb
Have chill'd that heart so fond and warm,—
Have turn'd to dust that cheek of bloom—
Those eyes of light—that angel form?
Have chill'd that heart so fond and warm,—
Have turn'd to dust that cheek of bloom—
Those eyes of light—that angel form?
Ah no! the grave resigns its prey:
See, see! my Fanny's sitting there;
While on the harp her fingers play
A prelude to my favourite air.
See, see! my Fanny's sitting there;
While on the harp her fingers play
A prelude to my favourite air.
There is the smile which ever bless'd
The gaze of mine enamour'd eye—
The lips that I so oft have press'd
In tribute for that melody.
The gaze of mine enamour'd eye—
The lips that I so oft have press'd
In tribute for that melody.
She moves them now to sing!—hark, hark!
But ah! no voice delights mine ears:
And now she fades in shadows dark;—
Or am I blinded by my tears?
But ah! no voice delights mine ears:
And now she fades in shadows dark;—
Or am I blinded by my tears?
191
Stay yet awhile, my Fanny, stay,
Nor from these outstretch'd arms depart;—
'Tis gone! the vision's snatch'd away!
I feel it by my breaking heart.
Nor from these outstretch'd arms depart;—
'Tis gone! the vision's snatch'd away!
I feel it by my breaking heart.
Lady, forgive this burst of pain,
That seeks a sad and short relief,
In coining from a 'wilder'd brain
A solace for impassion'd grief.
That seeks a sad and short relief,
In coining from a 'wilder'd brain
A solace for impassion'd grief.
But sing no more that fearful air,
For sweet and sprightly though it be,
It wakes in me a deep despair,
By its unhallow'd gaiety.
For sweet and sprightly though it be,
It wakes in me a deep despair,
By its unhallow'd gaiety.
192
THE POET'S WINTER SONG TO HIS WIFE.
The birds that sang so sweet in the summer skies are fled,
And we trample 'neath our feet leaves that flutter'd o'er our head;
The verdant fields of June wear a winding-sheet of white,
The stream has lost its tune, and the glancing waves their light.
And we trample 'neath our feet leaves that flutter'd o'er our head;
The verdant fields of June wear a winding-sheet of white,
The stream has lost its tune, and the glancing waves their light.
We too, my faithful wife, feel our winter coming on,
And our dreams of early life like the summer birds are gone;
My head is silver'd o'er, while thine eyes their fire have lost,
And thy voice, so sweet of yore, is enchain'd by age's frost.
And our dreams of early life like the summer birds are gone;
My head is silver'd o'er, while thine eyes their fire have lost,
And thy voice, so sweet of yore, is enchain'd by age's frost.
193
But the founts that live and shoot through the bosom of the earth,
Still prepare each seed and root to give future flowers their birth;
And we, my dearest Jane, spite of age's wintry blight,
In our bosoms will retain Spring's florescence and delight.
Still prepare each seed and root to give future flowers their birth;
And we, my dearest Jane, spite of age's wintry blight,
In our bosoms will retain Spring's florescence and delight.
The seeds of love and lore that we planted in our youth,
Shall develop more and more their attractiveness and truth;
The springs beneath shall run, though the snows be on our head,
For Love's declining sun shall with Friendship's rays be fed.
Shall develop more and more their attractiveness and truth;
The springs beneath shall run, though the snows be on our head,
For Love's declining sun shall with Friendship's rays be fed.
Thus as happy as when young shall we both grow old, my wife,
On one bough united hung of the fruitful Tree of Life;
May we never disengage through each change of wind and weather,
Till in ripeness of old age we both drop to earth together!
On one bough united hung of the fruitful Tree of Life;
May we never disengage through each change of wind and weather,
Till in ripeness of old age we both drop to earth together!
194
SONG TO FANNY.
Nature! thy fair and smiling face
Has now a double power to bless,
For 'tis the glass in which I trace
My absent Fanny's loveliness.
Has now a double power to bless,
For 'tis the glass in which I trace
My absent Fanny's loveliness.
Her heav'nly eyes above me shine,
The rose reflects her modest blush,
She breathes in every eglantine,
She sings in every warbling thrush.
The rose reflects her modest blush,
She breathes in every eglantine,
She sings in every warbling thrush.
That her dear form alone I see
Need not excite surprise in any,
For Fanny's all the world to me,
And all the world to me is Fanny.
Need not excite surprise in any,
For Fanny's all the world to me,
And all the world to me is Fanny.
195
SONG TO FANNY.
Thy bloom is soft, thine eyes are bright,
And rose-buds are thy lips, my Fanny,
Thy glossy hair is rich with light,
Thy form unparagon'd by any;
But thine is not the brief array
Of charms which time is sure to borrow,
Which accident may blight to-day,
Or sickness undermine to-morrow.
And rose-buds are thy lips, my Fanny,
Thy glossy hair is rich with light,
Thy form unparagon'd by any;
But thine is not the brief array
Of charms which time is sure to borrow,
Which accident may blight to-day,
Or sickness undermine to-morrow.
No—thine is that immortal grace
Which ne'er shall pass from thy possession,
That moral beauty of the face
Which constitutes its sweet expression;
This shall preserve thee what thou art,
When age thy blooming tints has shaded,
For while thy looks reflect thy heart,
How can their charms be ever faded?
Which ne'er shall pass from thy possession,
That moral beauty of the face
Which constitutes its sweet expression;
196
When age thy blooming tints has shaded,
For while thy looks reflect thy heart,
How can their charms be ever faded?
Nor, Fanny, can a love like mine
With time decay, in sickness falter;
'Tis like thy beauty—half divine,
Born of the soul, and cannot alter:
For when the body's mortal doom
Our earthly pilgrimage shall sever,
Our spirits shall their loves resume,
United in the skies for ever.
With time decay, in sickness falter;
'Tis like thy beauty—half divine,
Born of the soul, and cannot alter:
For when the body's mortal doom
Our earthly pilgrimage shall sever,
Our spirits shall their loves resume,
United in the skies for ever.
197
THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRING.
Cry Holiday! Holiday! let us be gay,
And share in the rapture of heaven and earth;
For see! what a sunshiny joy they display,
To welcome the Spring on the day of her birth;
While the elements, gladly outpouring their voice,
Nature's Pæan proclaim, and in chorus rejoice!
And share in the rapture of heaven and earth;
For see! what a sunshiny joy they display,
To welcome the Spring on the day of her birth;
While the elements, gladly outpouring their voice,
Nature's Pæan proclaim, and in chorus rejoice!
Loud carols each rill as it leaps in its bed;
The wind brings us music and balm from the south,
And Earth in delight calls on Echo to spread
The tidings of joy with her many-tongued mouth;
O'er sea and o'er shore, over mountain and plain,
Far, far does she trumpet the jubilee strain.
The wind brings us music and balm from the south,
And Earth in delight calls on Echo to spread
The tidings of joy with her many-tongued mouth;
O'er sea and o'er shore, over mountain and plain,
Far, far does she trumpet the jubilee strain.
198
Hark! hark to the cuckoo! its magical call
Awakens the flowerets that slept in the dells;
The snow-drop, the primrose, the hyacinth, all
Attune at this summons their silvery bells.
Hush! ting-a-ring-ting! don't you hear how they sing!
They are pealing a fairy-like welcome to Spring.
Awakens the flowerets that slept in the dells;
The snow-drop, the primrose, the hyacinth, all
Attune at this summons their silvery bells.
Hush! ting-a-ring-ting! don't you hear how they sing!
They are pealing a fairy-like welcome to Spring.
The love-thrilling hedge-birds are wild with delight;
Like arrows loud whistling the swallows flit by;
The rapturous lark, as he soars out of sight,
Sends us sun-lighted melody down from the sky.
In the air that they quaff, all the feathery throng
Taste the spirit of Spring that out-bursts in a song.
Like arrows loud whistling the swallows flit by;
The rapturous lark, as he soars out of sight,
Sends us sun-lighted melody down from the sky.
In the air that they quaff, all the feathery throng
Taste the spirit of Spring that out-bursts in a song.
To me do the same vernal whisperings breathe
In all that I scent, that I hear, that I meet,
Without and within me, above and beneath,
Every sense is imbued with a prophecy sweet
Of the pomp and the pleasantness Earth shall assume
When adorn'd, like a bride, in her flowery bloom.
In all that I scent, that I hear, that I meet,
Without and within me, above and beneath,
Every sense is imbued with a prophecy sweet
Of the pomp and the pleasantness Earth shall assume
When adorn'd, like a bride, in her flowery bloom.
199
In this transport of nature each feeling takes part;
I am thrilling with gratitude, reverence, joy;
A new spring of youth seems to gush from my heart,
And the man's metamorphosed again to a boy.
Oh! let me run wild, as in earlier years;
If my joy be suppress'd, I shall burst into tears.
I am thrilling with gratitude, reverence, joy;
A new spring of youth seems to gush from my heart,
And the man's metamorphosed again to a boy.
Oh! let me run wild, as in earlier years;
If my joy be suppress'd, I shall burst into tears.
200
AN OLD MAN'S ASPIRATION.
O glorious Sun! whose car sublime
Unerring since the birth of time,
In glad magnificence hath run its race;—
O day's delight—God-painted sky,
O moon and stars, whose galaxy
Illuminates the night thro' all the realms of space.
Unerring since the birth of time,
In glad magnificence hath run its race;—
O day's delight—God-painted sky,
O moon and stars, whose galaxy
Illuminates the night thro' all the realms of space.
O poetry of forms and hues,
Resplendent Earth! whose varied views
In such harmonious beauty are combined;—
And thou, O palpitating Sea,
Who holdest this fair mystery
In the wide circle of thy thrilling arms enshrined,—
Resplendent Earth! whose varied views
In such harmonious beauty are combined;—
And thou, O palpitating Sea,
Who holdest this fair mystery
In the wide circle of thy thrilling arms enshrined,—
201
Hear me, Oh hear while I impart
The deep conviction of my heart,
That such a theatre august and grand,
Whose author, actors, awful play,
Are God, mankind, a judgment day,
Was for some higher aim, some holier purpose plann'd.
The deep conviction of my heart,
That such a theatre august and grand,
Whose author, actors, awful play,
Are God, mankind, a judgment day,
Was for some higher aim, some holier purpose plann'd.
I will not, nay I cannot, deem
This fair Creation's moral scheme,
That seems so crude, mysterious, misapplied,
Meant to conclude as it began,
Unworthy the material plan
With whose perfections rare its failures are allied.
This fair Creation's moral scheme,
That seems so crude, mysterious, misapplied,
Meant to conclude as it began,
Unworthy the material plan
With whose perfections rare its failures are allied.
As in our individual fate,
Our manhood and maturer date,
Correct the faults and follies of our youth,
So will the world, I fondly hope,
With added years give fuller scope
To the display and love of wisdom, justice, truth.
Our manhood and maturer date,
Correct the faults and follies of our youth,
So will the world, I fondly hope,
With added years give fuller scope
To the display and love of wisdom, justice, truth.
202
'Tis this that makes my feelings glow,
My bosom thrill, my tears o'erflow,
At any deed magnanimous—sublime;
'Tis this that re-assures my soul,
When nations shun the forward goal,
And retrograde awhile in ignorance and crime.
My bosom thrill, my tears o'erflow,
At any deed magnanimous—sublime;
'Tis this that re-assures my soul,
When nations shun the forward goal,
And retrograde awhile in ignorance and crime.
Mine is no hopeless dream of some
Impeccable Millennium,
When saints and angels shall inhabit earth;
But a conviction deep, intense,
That man was meant by Providence
Progressively to reach a higher moral worth.
Impeccable Millennium,
When saints and angels shall inhabit earth;
But a conviction deep, intense,
That man was meant by Providence
Progressively to reach a higher moral worth.
On this dear faith's sustaining truth
Hath my soul brooded from its youth,
As heaven's best gift, and earth's most cheering dower,
Oh! may I still, in life's decline,
Hold unimpair'd this creed benign,
And mine old age attest its meliorating power!
Hath my soul brooded from its youth,
As heaven's best gift, and earth's most cheering dower,
Oh! may I still, in life's decline,
Hold unimpair'd this creed benign,
And mine old age attest its meliorating power!
203
GIPSIES.
Whether from India's burning plains,
Or wild Bohemia's domains,
Your steps were first directed;
Or whether ye be Egypt's sons,
Whose stream, like Nile's, for ever runs
With sources undetected:
Or wild Bohemia's domains,
Your steps were first directed;
Or whether ye be Egypt's sons,
Whose stream, like Nile's, for ever runs
With sources undetected:
Arabs of Europe! Gipsy race!
Your Eastern manners, garb, and face
Appear a strange chimera;
None, none but you can now be styled
Romantic, picturesque, and wild,
In this prosaic era.
Your Eastern manners, garb, and face
Appear a strange chimera;
None, none but you can now be styled
Romantic, picturesque, and wild,
In this prosaic era.
204
Ye sole freebooters of the wood,
Since Adam Bell and Robin Hood:
Kept everywhere asunder
From other tribes,—King, Church, and State
Spurning, and only dedicate
To freedom, sloth, and plunder;
Since Adam Bell and Robin Hood:
Kept everywhere asunder
From other tribes,—King, Church, and State
Spurning, and only dedicate
To freedom, sloth, and plunder;
Your forest-camp,—the forms one sees
Banditti-like amid the trees,
The ragged donkeys grazing,
The Sybil's eye prophetic, bright
With flashes of the fitful light
Beneath the caldron blazing,—
Banditti-like amid the trees,
The ragged donkeys grazing,
The Sybil's eye prophetic, bright
With flashes of the fitful light
Beneath the caldron blazing,—
O'er my young mind strange terrors threw:
Thy History gave me, Moore Carew!
A more exalted notion
Of Gipsy life; nor can I yet
Gaze on your tents, and quite forget
My former deep emotion.
Thy History gave me, Moore Carew!
A more exalted notion
Of Gipsy life; nor can I yet
Gaze on your tents, and quite forget
My former deep emotion.
205
For “auld lang syne” I'll not maltreat
Yon pseudo-tinker, though the cheat,
As sly as thievish Reynard,
Instead of mending kettles, prowls,
To make foul havoc of my fowls,
And decimate my hen-yard.
Yon pseudo-tinker, though the cheat,
As sly as thievish Reynard,
Instead of mending kettles, prowls,
To make foul havoc of my fowls,
And decimate my hen-yard.
Come thou, too, black-eyed lass, and try
That potent skill in palmistry,
Which sixpences can wheedle;
Mine is a friendly cottage—here
No snarling mastiff need you fear,
No Constable or Beadle.
That potent skill in palmistry,
Which sixpences can wheedle;
Mine is a friendly cottage—here
No snarling mastiff need you fear,
No Constable or Beadle.
'Tis yours, I know, to draw at will
Upon futurity a bill,
And Plutus to importune;—
Discount the bill—take half yourself,
Give me the balance of the pelf,
And both may laugh at fortune.
Upon futurity a bill,
And Plutus to importune;—
Discount the bill—take half yourself,
Give me the balance of the pelf,
And both may laugh at fortune.
206
LIFE.
There are who think this scene of life
A frightful gladiatorial strife,
A struggle for existence,
Where class contends with class, and each
Must plunder all within his reach,
To earn his own subsistence.
A frightful gladiatorial strife,
A struggle for existence,
Where class contends with class, and each
Must plunder all within his reach,
To earn his own subsistence.
Shock'd at the internecine air
Of this Arena, they forswear
Its passions and its quarrels;
They will not sacrifice, to live,
All that to life its charms can give,
Nor sell for bread their morals.
Of this Arena, they forswear
Its passions and its quarrels;
They will not sacrifice, to live,
All that to life its charms can give,
Nor sell for bread their morals.
207
Enthusiasts! check your reveries,
Ye cannot always pluck at ease
From Pleasure's cornucopia;
Ye cannot alter Nature's plan,
Change to a perfect being Man,
Nor England to Utopia.
Ye cannot always pluck at ease
From Pleasure's cornucopia;
Ye cannot alter Nature's plan,
Change to a perfect being Man,
Nor England to Utopia.
Plunge in the busy current—stem
The tide of errors ye condemn,
And fill life's active uses;
Begin reform yourselves, and live
To prove that Honesty may thrive
Unaided by abuses.
The tide of errors ye condemn,
And fill life's active uses;
Begin reform yourselves, and live
To prove that Honesty may thrive
Unaided by abuses.
208
TO A LADY.
Thanks for thy little God of Love,
Dug from Pompeii—whose fate 'tis,
Henceforth to be install'd above
My household Lares and Penates.
Dug from Pompeii—whose fate 'tis,
Henceforth to be install'd above
My household Lares and Penates.
Oh! could its lips of bronze unclose,
How sad a tale might they recall!
How thrill us with th' appalling woes
Of the doom'd City's burial!
How sad a tale might they recall!
How thrill us with th' appalling woes
Of the doom'd City's burial!
Perchance, on that benighted day
This tiny imp the table graced
Of one whose mansion might display
The choicest stores of classic taste.
This tiny imp the table graced
Of one whose mansion might display
The choicest stores of classic taste.
209
Of some one whose convivial board
With all embellishments was deck'd,
While her rich cabinets outpour'd
A constant feast of Intellect.—
With all embellishments was deck'd,
While her rich cabinets outpour'd
A constant feast of Intellect.—
Of one who, tho' she ne'er declined
In social chat to bear a part,
Loved more to fill her house and mind
With letter'd lore, and varied art.—
In social chat to bear a part,
Loved more to fill her house and mind
With letter'd lore, and varied art.—
Of one who thus could give delight
To guests of every mental hue,
Whether unlearn'd or erudite,—
Of one, in short, resembling You!
To guests of every mental hue,
Whether unlearn'd or erudite,—
Of one, in short, resembling You!
To the dark tomb, thou Pagan Sprite!
For many centuries consign'd,
Thrice welcome to this world of light,
Where worshippers thou still wilt find.—
For many centuries consign'd,
Thrice welcome to this world of light,
Where worshippers thou still wilt find.—
210
Methinks thy new abode is one
Thou wilt not, Cupid! disapprove,
For all my married life has run
A lengthen'd course of constant love.—
Thou wilt not, Cupid! disapprove,
For all my married life has run
A lengthen'd course of constant love.—
Prompt me, thou type of higher hope!
To spread that love from me and mine,
Until, in its ascending scope,
It soar to social and divine.—
To spread that love from me and mine,
Until, in its ascending scope,
It soar to social and divine.—
So, little Elf! shalt thou be eyed
With double favour by thine owner,
Both as a tutelary guide,
And a memorial of thy donor.—
With double favour by thine owner,
Both as a tutelary guide,
And a memorial of thy donor.—
211
THE CHARMS OF LIFE.
What hath life to charm us? Flowers
Whose sweet lips have ever sung
Carols from the fields and bowers,
In perfume's universal tongue.
Choral fairies bright and merry!
Hark! I hear your silver bells,
Chiming from the tufted dells
A May-day welcome—hey down derry!
Whose sweet lips have ever sung
Carols from the fields and bowers,
In perfume's universal tongue.
Choral fairies bright and merry!
Hark! I hear your silver bells,
Chiming from the tufted dells
A May-day welcome—hey down derry!
Hark again! those jocund calls
Are Echo's voice, who loves to mock
The laughter of the waterfalls
That leap for joy from rock to rock.
And now the winds their organ ply,
Tuned to the music of the birds,
And rustling leaves and lowing herds,
Oh! what a thrilling harmony!
Are Echo's voice, who loves to mock
The laughter of the waterfalls
That leap for joy from rock to rock.
212
Tuned to the music of the birds,
And rustling leaves and lowing herds,
Oh! what a thrilling harmony!
Joys there are of wider scope,—
Our social and domestic ties,
Faith, love, charity, and hope,
With all their mingled ecstacies.
And mental bliss that never cloys,
But charms the head and thrills the heart;
Life! how grand a boon thou art!
Life! how sumless are thy joys!
Our social and domestic ties,
Faith, love, charity, and hope,
With all their mingled ecstacies.
And mental bliss that never cloys,
But charms the head and thrills the heart;
Life! how grand a boon thou art!
Life! how sumless are thy joys!
213
A HINT TO CYNICS.
Youth, beauty, love, delight,
All blessings bright and dear,
Like shooting stars by night,
Flash, fall, and disappear.
All blessings bright and dear,
Like shooting stars by night,
Flash, fall, and disappear.
Let Cynics doubt their worth,
Because they're born to die,
The wiser sons of earth
Will snatch them ere they fly.
Because they're born to die,
The wiser sons of earth
Will snatch them ere they fly.
Tho' mingled with alloy,
We throw not gold away;
Then why reject the joy
That's blended with decay?
We throw not gold away;
Then why reject the joy
That's blended with decay?
214
MUSIC.
Peace to the tenants of the tomb
Whom oft we met in hall and bower,
Peace to the buried friends with whom
We shared the charm of music's hour;
Tho' dead, they are not mute, for still
Does memory wake some favour'd strain
That makes our yearning bosoms thrill
As if they lived and sang again.
Whom oft we met in hall and bower,
Peace to the buried friends with whom
We shared the charm of music's hour;
Tho' dead, they are not mute, for still
Does memory wake some favour'd strain
That makes our yearning bosoms thrill
As if they lived and sang again.
Health to the friends we still possess;
Oh! long and often may we meet,
Our yet remaining years to bless
With Music's pleasures pure and sweet:
And praises to the power divine
That gave to man the precious boon,
Which makes life's social evening shine
As brightly as its morn and noon.
Oh! long and often may we meet,
Our yet remaining years to bless
With Music's pleasures pure and sweet:
And praises to the power divine
That gave to man the precious boon,
Which makes life's social evening shine
As brightly as its morn and noon.
215
THE BARD'S INSCRIPTION IN HIS DAUGHTER'S ALBUM.
The thoughtful reader here may see
A little world's epitome
In turning each successive folio;—
Names, drawings, music, poems, prose,
From kindred and from friends compose
This Album's multifarious olio.
A little world's epitome
In turning each successive folio;—
Names, drawings, music, poems, prose,
From kindred and from friends compose
This Album's multifarious olio.
Its owner, from her circle wide
Of friends, may here survey with pride
A cherish'd tributary Cento;
And when they're absent,—alter'd—dead—
Each contribution will be read
With double zest as a memento.
Of friends, may here survey with pride
A cherish'd tributary Cento;
And when they're absent,—alter'd—dead—
Each contribution will be read
With double zest as a memento.
216
Here with a smile will she recall
The walk, the concert, or the ball,
Shared with the young and merry-hearted;—
And here, perchance, while brooding o'er
The song of one who sings no more,
A tear may drop for the departed.
The walk, the concert, or the ball,
Shared with the young and merry-hearted;—
And here, perchance, while brooding o'er
The song of one who sings no more,
A tear may drop for the departed.
Yet—daughter dear! my heart foretells
That thou wilt quit all other spells,
Of friends, however loved,—and rather
Hang o'er the page that thus records,
With feelings ill express'd by words,
The fervent blessing of a Father!
That thou wilt quit all other spells,
Of friends, however loved,—and rather
Hang o'er the page that thus records,
With feelings ill express'd by words,
The fervent blessing of a Father!
217
STANZAS
Written for the Bazaar of the National Anti-Corn-Law League, Covent Garden Theatre, 1845.
Why with its ring has the connecting sea
Married the Hemispheres and join'd their hands,
Why has the Magnet's guiding ministry
Made paths athwart the deep to distant lands?
Married the Hemispheres and join'd their hands,
Why has the Magnet's guiding ministry
Made paths athwart the deep to distant lands?
Why are the winds to our controul resign'd,
Why does resistless steam our will obey,
Why are all arts, all elements, combined
To speed us o'er the ocean-world's highway?
Why does resistless steam our will obey,
Why are all arts, all elements, combined
To speed us o'er the ocean-world's highway?
218
That from wide earth, and from the watery waste,
Creation's sacred flag may be unfurl'd,
Whereon the finger of the Lord hath traced
Creation's law—“Free Trade with all the World!”
Creation's sacred flag may be unfurl'd,
Whereon the finger of the Lord hath traced
Creation's law—“Free Trade with all the World!”
Thus Nature,—her maternal hands untied,
Shall scatter fresh supplies of wealth and food,
And from each varied soil and clime provide
Some separate blessing for the common good.
Shall scatter fresh supplies of wealth and food,
And from each varied soil and clime provide
Some separate blessing for the common good.
So shall the sever'd races of mankind,
Bidding all barriers and restrictions cease,
By constant intercourse become combined
In one vast family of love and peace.
Bidding all barriers and restrictions cease,
By constant intercourse become combined
In one vast family of love and peace.
Let no man part whom God would thus unite!
They who would speed this high and holy aim,
Leagued in the cause of universal right,
All factious ends, all party views disclaim.
They who would speed this high and holy aim,
Leagued in the cause of universal right,
All factious ends, all party views disclaim.
219
Their weapons, Faith, and Charity, and Hope,
Justice and Truth the champions of their cause,
Firmly but peacefully they seek to cope
With selfish interests and mistaken laws.
Justice and Truth the champions of their cause,
Firmly but peacefully they seek to cope
With selfish interests and mistaken laws.
Ye who love man's advancement,—peace,—free trade,
Ye who would blessings win from every land,
Oh! give the liberating League your aid,
And speed its course with zealous heart and hand!
Ye who would blessings win from every land,
Oh! give the liberating League your aid,
And speed its course with zealous heart and hand!
220
A HINT TO THE FARMERS.
Farmers, whose income, day by day,
Slides on the Sliding Scale away,
Whatever its direction;
When favour'd most still most forlorn,
Starved by monopoly of Corn,
And ruin'd by protection;—
Slides on the Sliding Scale away,
Whatever its direction;
When favour'd most still most forlorn,
Starved by monopoly of Corn,
And ruin'd by protection;—
Farmers! who dying, seldom see
One penny left for Charon's fee,
When o'er the Styx ye're ferried,
But in your landlord's pocket trace
(Like Mecca to the Turks) the place
Wherein your profit's buried—
One penny left for Charon's fee,
When o'er the Styx ye're ferried,
But in your landlord's pocket trace
(Like Mecca to the Turks) the place
Wherein your profit's buried—
221
Farmers! who find in Cobden's breath,
And Bright's harangues, a menaced death
For all of yeoman station,
And most appropriately brand
The Corn-law Leaguers as a band
Prone to ass—ass—ination:—
And Bright's harangues, a menaced death
For all of yeoman station,
And most appropriately brand
The Corn-law Leaguers as a band
Prone to ass—ass—ination:—
When landlords cry, “We must be fed,
“Go—grind your bones to make our bread,
“From Earth more harvests ravish;
“Study Liebig, ye clodpole elves!
“Buy Guano—Soda—stint yourselves,
“That we may still be lavish:”—
“Go—grind your bones to make our bread,
“From Earth more harvests ravish;
“Study Liebig, ye clodpole elves!
“Buy Guano—Soda—stint yourselves,
“That we may still be lavish:”—
Farmers! ye ought to patronise
Whate'er improvements may arise
To lessen your expenses,
So hear my tale—there's little in't,
'Tis merely meant to give a hint
For making cheap field fences.
Whate'er improvements may arise
To lessen your expenses,
So hear my tale—there's little in't,
'Tis merely meant to give a hint
For making cheap field fences.
222
Queen Bess—I mean Elizabeth,
Favour'd, as the historian saith,
The handsome Earl of Leicester,
To whom she made large grants of land,
For which he doubtless kiss'd her hand,
And duly thank'd and bless'd her.
Favour'd, as the historian saith,
The handsome Earl of Leicester,
To whom she made large grants of land,
For which he doubtless kiss'd her hand,
And duly thank'd and bless'd her.
These lands were commons, on whose turf
Many a cottager and serf
Had fed his goose or donkey;
And being dispossess'd, the crowd
Began to murmur in a loud,
I needn't add a wrong key.
Many a cottager and serf
Had fed his goose or donkey;
And being dispossess'd, the crowd
Began to murmur in a loud,
I needn't add a wrong key.
What cared his lordship! down he came,
With carpenters to fence the same,
And shut out clowns and cattle;
Riding each morn the men to watch,
So that no moment they might snatch
For drink or tittle-tattle.
With carpenters to fence the same,
And shut out clowns and cattle;
Riding each morn the men to watch,
So that no moment they might snatch
For drink or tittle-tattle.
223
One day, a peasant by his side
Bow'd his grey-head and humbly cried,
“I ax your lordship's pardon,
“I've got a notion in my nob,
“Whereby this here expensive job
“Need hardly cost a farden.”
Bow'd his grey-head and humbly cried,
“I ax your lordship's pardon,
“I've got a notion in my nob,
“Whereby this here expensive job
“Need hardly cost a farden.”
“Not cost a farthing, doting clown!”
Exclaim'd his lordship with a frown,
Half angry and half comic;—
“Braggart most vain and over free,
“Think'st thou that I can learn from thee
“A plan more economic?”
Exclaim'd his lordship with a frown,
Half angry and half comic;—
“Braggart most vain and over free,
“Think'st thou that I can learn from thee
“A plan more economic?”
“Yes,” quoth the rustic—“yes, my lord,
“You needn't buy another board,
“Or oaken plank or paling,
“Think not my words are brags and boasts,
“For if your lordship finds the posts,
“The public will find railing!”
“You needn't buy another board,
“Or oaken plank or paling,
“Think not my words are brags and boasts,
“For if your lordship finds the posts,
“The public will find railing!”
224
DISAPPOINTMENT.
Joy! joy! my lover's bark returns,
I know her by her bearing brave:
How gallantly the foam she spurns,
And bounds in triumph o'er the wave!
I know her by her bearing brave:
How gallantly the foam she spurns,
And bounds in triumph o'er the wave!
Why dost thou veil the glorious sight,
In lurid rain, thou summer cloud?
See! see! the lightning flashes bright!
Hark! to the thunder long and loud!
In lurid rain, thou summer cloud?
See! see! the lightning flashes bright!
Hark! to the thunder long and loud!
The storm is past—the skies are fair,
But where's the bark?—there was but one:—
Ha! she is yonder, shatter'd—bare,—
She reels—she—sinks—O Heaven! she's gone!
But where's the bark?—there was but one:—
Ha! she is yonder, shatter'd—bare,—
She reels—she—sinks—O Heaven! she's gone!
225
THE DYING POET'S FAREWELL.
Animula vagula, blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca?
Adrian.
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca?
Adrian.
O thou wondrous arch of azure,
Sun, and starry plains immense!
Glories that astound the gazer,
By their dread magnificence!
O thou ocean, whose commotion
Awes the proudest to devotion!
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
Sun, and starry plains immense!
Glories that astound the gazer,
By their dread magnificence!
O thou ocean, whose commotion
Awes the proudest to devotion!
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
226
O ye keen and gusty mountains,
On whose top I braved the sky!
O ye music-pouring fountains,
On whose marge I loved to lie!
O ye posies,—lilies, roses,
All the charms that earth discloses!
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
On whose top I braved the sky!
O ye music-pouring fountains,
On whose marge I loved to lie!
O ye posies,—lilies, roses,
All the charms that earth discloses!
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
O ye birds whose matin chorus
Taught me to rejoice and bless!
And ye herds, whose voice sonorous
Swell'd the hymn of thankfulness!
Learned leisure, and the pleasure
Of the Muse, my dearest treasure;
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
Taught me to rejoice and bless!
And ye herds, whose voice sonorous
Swell'd the hymn of thankfulness!
Learned leisure, and the pleasure
Of the Muse, my dearest treasure;
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
O domestic ties endearing,
Which still chain my soul to earth!
O ye friends, whose converse cheering,
Wing'd the hours with social mirth!
Songs of gladness, chasing sadness,
Wine's delight, without its madness;
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
Which still chain my soul to earth!
227
Wing'd the hours with social mirth!
Songs of gladness, chasing sadness,
Wine's delight, without its madness;
Must I—must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu—and die?
Yes—I now fulfil the fiction—
Of the swan that sings in death;—
Earth, receive my benediction,
Air, inhale my parting breath;
Hills and valleys, forest alleys,
Prompters of my muse's sallies,
Fields of green and skies of blue,
Take, oh! take my last adieu.
Of the swan that sings in death;—
Earth, receive my benediction,
Air, inhale my parting breath;
Hills and valleys, forest alleys,
Prompters of my muse's sallies,
Fields of green and skies of blue,
Take, oh! take my last adieu.
Yet perhaps when all is ended,
And the grave dissolves my frame,
The elements from which 'twas blended
May their several parts reclaim;
Waters flowing, breezes blowing,
Earth, and all upon it growing,
Still may have my alter'd essence,
Ever floating in their presence.
And the grave dissolves my frame,
The elements from which 'twas blended
May their several parts reclaim;
228
Earth, and all upon it growing,
Still may have my alter'd essence,
Ever floating in their presence.
While my disembodied spirit
May to fields Elysian soar,
And some lowest seat inherit
Near the mighty bards of yore;
Never, never to dissever,
But to dwell in bliss for ever,
Tuning an enthusiast lyre
To that high and laurell'd quire.
May to fields Elysian soar,
And some lowest seat inherit
Near the mighty bards of yore;
Never, never to dissever,
But to dwell in bliss for ever,
Tuning an enthusiast lyre
To that high and laurell'd quire.
229
SONNETS.
Eternal and Omnipotent Unseen!
Who bad'st the world, with all its lives complete,
Start from the void and thrill beneath thy feet,
Thee I adore with reverence serene;
Here, in the fields, thine own cathedral meet,
Built by thyself, star-roof'd, and hung with green,
Wherein all breathing things in concord sweet,
Organ'd by winds, perpetual hymns repeat.
Who bad'st the world, with all its lives complete,
Start from the void and thrill beneath thy feet,
Thee I adore with reverence serene;
Here, in the fields, thine own cathedral meet,
Built by thyself, star-roof'd, and hung with green,
Wherein all breathing things in concord sweet,
Organ'd by winds, perpetual hymns repeat.
Here hast thou spread that Book to every eye,
Whose tongue and truth all, all may read and prove,
On whose three blessed leaves—Earth, Ocean, Sky,
Thine own right hand hath stamp'd might, justice, love;
Grand Trinity, which binds in due degree,
God, man, and brute, in social unity.
Whose tongue and truth all, all may read and prove,
On whose three blessed leaves—Earth, Ocean, Sky,
Thine own right hand hath stamp'd might, justice, love;
Grand Trinity, which binds in due degree,
God, man, and brute, in social unity.
230
MORNING.
Beautiful Earth! O how can I refrain
From falling down to worship thee? Behold,
Over the misty mountains springs amain
The glorious Sun; his flaming locks unfold
Their gorgeous clusters, pouring o'er the plain
Torrents of light. Hark! Chanticleer has toll'd
His matin bell, and the lark's choral train
Warble on high hosannas uncontroll'd.
From falling down to worship thee? Behold,
Over the misty mountains springs amain
The glorious Sun; his flaming locks unfold
Their gorgeous clusters, pouring o'er the plain
Torrents of light. Hark! Chanticleer has toll'd
His matin bell, and the lark's choral train
Warble on high hosannas uncontroll'd.
All nature worships thee, thou new-born day!
Blade, flower, and leaf, their dewy offerings pay
Upon the shrine of incense-breathing earth;
Birds, flocks, and insects, chaunt their morning lay;
Let me, too, join in the thanksgiving mirth,
And praise, through thee, the God that gave thee birth.
Blade, flower, and leaf, their dewy offerings pay
Upon the shrine of incense-breathing earth;
Birds, flocks, and insects, chaunt their morning lay;
Let me, too, join in the thanksgiving mirth,
And praise, through thee, the God that gave thee birth.
231
TO THE SETTING SUN.
Thou central Eye of God, whose lidless ball
Is vision all around, dispensing heat,
And light and life, and regulating all
With its pervading glance,—how calm and sweet
Is thine unclouded setting! Thou dost greet,
With parting smiles, the earth; night's shadows fall,
But long where thou hast sunk shall splendours meet,
And, lingering there, thy glories past recall.
Is vision all around, dispensing heat,
And light and life, and regulating all
With its pervading glance,—how calm and sweet
Is thine unclouded setting! Thou dost greet,
With parting smiles, the earth; night's shadows fall,
But long where thou hast sunk shall splendours meet,
And, lingering there, thy glories past recall.
Oh! may my heart, like thee, unspotted, clear,
Be as a sun to all within its sphere;
And when beneath the earth I seek my doom,
May I with smiling calmness disappear,
And friendship's twilight, hovering o'er my tomb,
Still bid my memory survive and bloom.
Be as a sun to all within its sphere;
And when beneath the earth I seek my doom,
May I with smiling calmness disappear,
And friendship's twilight, hovering o'er my tomb,
Still bid my memory survive and bloom.
232
ON THE STATUE OF A PIPING FAUN.
Hark! hear'st thou not the pipe of Faunus, sweeping,
In dulcet glee, through Thessaly's domain?
Dost thou not see embower'd wood-nymphs peeping
To watch the graces that around him reign;
While distant vintagers, and peasants reaping,
Stand in mute transport, listening to the strain;
And Pan himself, beneath a pine-tree sleeping,
Looks round, and smiles, and drops to sleep again?
In dulcet glee, through Thessaly's domain?
Dost thou not see embower'd wood-nymphs peeping
To watch the graces that around him reign;
While distant vintagers, and peasants reaping,
Stand in mute transport, listening to the strain;
And Pan himself, beneath a pine-tree sleeping,
Looks round, and smiles, and drops to sleep again?
O happy Greece! while thy blest sons were rovers
Through all the loveliness this earth discovers,
They in their minds a brighter region founded,
Haunted by gods and sylvans, nymphs and lovers,
Where forms of grace through sunny landscapes bounded,
By music and enchantment all surrounded.
Through all the loveliness this earth discovers,
They in their minds a brighter region founded,
Haunted by gods and sylvans, nymphs and lovers,
Where forms of grace through sunny landscapes bounded,
By music and enchantment all surrounded.
233
ON A GREEN-HOUSE.
Here, from earth's dædal heights and dingles lowly,
The representatives of Nature meet;
Not like a Congress, or Alliance Holy
Of Kings, to rivet chains, but with their sweet
Blossomy mouths to preach the love complete,
That with pearl'd misletoe, and beaded holly,
Clothed them in green unchangeable, to greet
Winter with smiles, and banish melancholy.
The representatives of Nature meet;
Not like a Congress, or Alliance Holy
Of Kings, to rivet chains, but with their sweet
Blossomy mouths to preach the love complete,
That with pearl'd misletoe, and beaded holly,
Clothed them in green unchangeable, to greet
Winter with smiles, and banish melancholy.
I envy not th' Emathian madman's fame,
Who won the world, and built immortal shame
On tears and blood; but if some flower, new found,
In its embalming cup might shroud my name,
Mine were a tomb more worthily renown'd
Than Cheops' pile, or Artemisia's mound.
Who won the world, and built immortal shame
On tears and blood; but if some flower, new found,
In its embalming cup might shroud my name,
Mine were a tomb more worthily renown'd
Than Cheops' pile, or Artemisia's mound.
234
ON A STUPENDOUS LEG OF GRANITE,
Discovered standing by itself in the Deserts of Egypt, with the Inscription inserted below.
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows.
“I am great Ozymandias,” saith the stone,
“The King of Kings; this mighty city shows
“The wonders of my hand.” The city's gone!
Nought but the leg remaining to disclose
The site of that forgotten Babylon.
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows.
“I am great Ozymandias,” saith the stone,
“The King of Kings; this mighty city shows
“The wonders of my hand.” The city's gone!
Nought but the leg remaining to disclose
The site of that forgotten Babylon.
We wonder, and some hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the wolf in chase,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What wonderful, but unrecorded, race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the wolf in chase,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What wonderful, but unrecorded, race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
235
WRITTEN IN THE PORCH OF BINSTEAD CHURCH, ISLE OF WIGHT.
Farewell, sweet Binstead! take a fond farewell
From one unused to sight of woods and seas,
Amid the strife of cities doom'd to dwell,
Yet roused to ecstacy by scenes like these,
Who could for ever sit beneath thy trees,
Inhaling fragrance from the flowery dell;
Or, listening to the murmur of the breeze,
Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell.
From one unused to sight of woods and seas,
Amid the strife of cities doom'd to dwell,
Yet roused to ecstacy by scenes like these,
Who could for ever sit beneath thy trees,
Inhaling fragrance from the flowery dell;
Or, listening to the murmur of the breeze,
Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell.
Again farewell! nor deem that I profane
Thy sacred porch; for while the Sabbath strain
May fail to turn the sinner from his ways,
These are impressions none can feel in vain,—
These are the wonders that perforce must raise
The soul to God, in reverential praise.
Thy sacred porch; for while the Sabbath strain
May fail to turn the sinner from his ways,
These are impressions none can feel in vain,—
These are the wonders that perforce must raise
The soul to God, in reverential praise.
236
THE WORLD.
Oh, what a palace rare hast thou created,
Almighty Architect, for man's delight!
With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated;
Whose azure dome with pictured clouds is bright,
Each painted by thy hand,—a glorious sight!
Whose halls are countless landscapes, variegated,
All carpeted with flowers; while all invite
Each sense of man to be with pleasure sated.
Almighty Architect, for man's delight!
With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated;
Whose azure dome with pictured clouds is bright,
Each painted by thy hand,—a glorious sight!
Whose halls are countless landscapes, variegated,
All carpeted with flowers; while all invite
Each sense of man to be with pleasure sated.
Fruits hang around us; music fills each beak;
The fields are perfumed; and to eyes that seek
For Nature's charms, what tears of joy will start.
So let me thank thee, God, not with the reek
Of sacrifice, but breathings pour'd apart,
And the blood-offering of a grateful heart.
The fields are perfumed; and to eyes that seek
For Nature's charms, what tears of joy will start.
So let me thank thee, God, not with the reek
Of sacrifice, but breathings pour'd apart,
And the blood-offering of a grateful heart.
237
TO A ROSE.
Thou new-born Rose, emerging from the dew,Like Aphrodite, when the lovely bather
Blush'd from the sea, how fair thou art to view,
And fragrant to the smell! The Almighty Father
Implanted thee, that men of every hue,
Even a momentary joy might gather;
And shall he save one people, and pursue
Others to endless agony? O rather
Let me believe in thee, thou holy Rose,
Who dost alike thy lips of love unclose,
Be thy abode by saint or savage trod.
Thou art the priest whose sermons soothe our woes,
Preaching, with nature's tongue, from every sod,
Love to mankind, and confidence in God.
238
ON AN ANCIENT LANCE, HANGING IN AN ARMOURY.
Once in the breezy coppice didst thou dance,
And nightingales amid thy foliage sang;
Form'd by man's cruel art into a lance,
Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang
With trump and drum, shoutings and battle clang,)
Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance,
Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang,
From age to age, in deep and dusty trance.
And nightingales amid thy foliage sang;
Form'd by man's cruel art into a lance,
Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang
With trump and drum, shoutings and battle clang,)
Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance,
Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang,
From age to age, in deep and dusty trance.
What is thy change to ours? These gazing eyes,
To earth reverting, may again arise
In dust, to settle on the self-same space;
Dust, which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries
To poise thy weight, may with his hand efface,
And with his moulder'd eyes again replace.
To earth reverting, may again arise
In dust, to settle on the self-same space;
Dust, which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries
To poise thy weight, may with his hand efface,
And with his moulder'd eyes again replace.
239
THE NIGHTINGALE.
Lone warbler! thy love-melting heart supplies
The liquid music-fall, that from thy bill
Gushes in such ecstatic rhapsodies,
Drowning night's ear. Yet thine is but the skill
Of loftier love, that hung up in the skies
Those everlasting lamps, man's guide, until
Morning return, and bade fresh flowers arise,
Blooming by night, new fragrance to distil.
The liquid music-fall, that from thy bill
Gushes in such ecstatic rhapsodies,
Drowning night's ear. Yet thine is but the skill
Of loftier love, that hung up in the skies
Those everlasting lamps, man's guide, until
Morning return, and bade fresh flowers arise,
Blooming by night, new fragrance to distil.
Why are these blessings lavish'd from above
On man, when his unconscious sense and sight
Are closed in sleep; but that the few who rove,
From want or woe, or travels urge by night,
May still have perfumes, music, flowers, and light:
So kind and watchful is celestial love!
On man, when his unconscious sense and sight
Are closed in sleep; but that the few who rove,
From want or woe, or travels urge by night,
May still have perfumes, music, flowers, and light:
So kind and watchful is celestial love!
240
SUNSET.
'Tis sweet to sit beneath these walnut trees,
And pore upon the sun in splendour sinking,
And think upon the wond'rous mysteries
Of this so lovely world, until, with thinking,
Thought is bewilder'd, and the spirit, shrinking
Into itself, no outward object sees,
Still, from its inward fount, new visions drinking,
Till the sense swims in dreamy reveries.
And pore upon the sun in splendour sinking,
And think upon the wond'rous mysteries
Of this so lovely world, until, with thinking,
Thought is bewilder'd, and the spirit, shrinking
Into itself, no outward object sees,
Still, from its inward fount, new visions drinking,
Till the sense swims in dreamy reveries.
Awaking from this trance, with gentle start,
'Tis sweeter still to feel th' o'erflowing heart
Shoot its glad gushes to the thrilling cheek;
To feel as if the yearning soul would dart
Upwards to God, and by its flutters speak
Homage, for which all language is too weak.
'Tis sweeter still to feel th' o'erflowing heart
Shoot its glad gushes to the thrilling cheek;
To feel as if the yearning soul would dart
Upwards to God, and by its flutters speak
Homage, for which all language is too weak.
END OF VOL. I.
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