The Poetical Works of Anna Seward :: :: University of Virginia Library

Laid in the drawer of the thatched shed by the brook at Plas Nwydd, the Villa of the Right Hon. Lady Eleanor Butler, and Miss Ponsonby, in Llangollen Vale.

WRITTEN IN AUTUMN 1799.

Stranger, when o'er yon slant, warm field no cloud
Steals,—at its foot, the verge of a wild brook,
In tangled dell, where sun-beams never look,
Press this screen'd seat, and mark the waters crowd
Close to the cliff down their steep channel rude;
Leaping o'er rugged stones, that aye provoke
Foam and hoarse murmur; while the pendant oak
Frowns o'er the little, clamorous, lonely flood.—
Impetuous Deva's honours yield to thine,
Dear brook, for O! thy scanty billows lave
Friendship and Fancy's consecrated shrine;
And thou may'st tell the stream of mightier wave,
Here oft they muse the noontide hours away,
Who gild thy vale with intellectual ray.

315

SPEECH OF THE NYMPH OF THAT BROOK,

WHICH, AFTER HEAVY RAIN, BECOMES A DEEP, VIOLENT, AND FORMIDABLE TORRENT.

Lo! down yon steep of vales proud Deva borne,
Rolls the hoarse treasures of her flashing urn!
Yet bears my stream, as o'er the rocks it raves,
Not tribute, but defiance to her waves.

316

SONNET.

[Gay trips my nymph along the green retreat]

Gay trips my nymph along the green retreat,
With frolic airy steps; and where they go
Fresh florets rise in twice their wonted glow;
Yellower the sun-beams o'er the meadows fleet,
Or fancies fond possess me. Her light feet,
Glancing along, no other traces show;
They bend not the young grass, that springs to meet
The falling arch of April's showery bow;
Nor bruise the emmet on her busy way;
And if the downy blow-ball flies its stalk,
So would it fly beneath the gentlest play
Of western winds; when, with his tuneful talk,
Amid new leaves, each songster of the grove
Cheers on her mossy nest his listening love.

This Sonnet is in the style of our elder poets, with whom the hyperbole was a favourite poetic figure.

Ben Jonson's name for the seedvessels of the Dandelion.

317

A MEDITATION.

In every season, every change of life,
To give that zest which she can only give,
Hope must preside incessant. Poverty,
With all her train of ills;—th' unerring grasp
Of grief and sickness;—thy soul-wasting powers,
Pale-ey'd Captivity! without the aid,
Cordial and sweet, of that associate mild,
Who could support? Not e'en the happiest lot
Here, in these low abodes of sin and care,
Sustains her absence gladly.—Not the gifts
Shower'd in the year's luxuriance; nor yet those
Shook on all sides from Fortune's golden wheel,
Might satisfy the soul, did not young Hope
Stretch o'er the onward scene her potent wand,
And give them brighter colouring. Thus all
The vapid present yields, in its best mood,
Leaves the sick heart unsatisfied;—but thou,
Enchantress, blest of mission, canst sustain,
Canst animate, and on the vermeil dawn,
The white effulgent noon, and golden eve,

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Of bloomy Summer, shed ideal light,
Which more than crowns their beauty. Thou canst lift
With rosy hand, the veils of time, and pledge
To youth the flowers of love;—to manhood point
The paths of wealth and glory;—to worn age
The downy couch, warm hearth, and social friend.
But far beyond all these, sustain'd by faith,
Thou canst extend the Heav'n-illumin'd torch
Gilding the grave; and, past its darksome bourne,
Disclosing the fair realms of joy and love
Where Night and Winter never come;—nor pain,
Nor dread of change;—but one celestial Morn
Purples th' Immortal Year; and one bright Spring
Of gratitude and bliss exhaustless flows
Thro' the redeem'd, emancipated soul.

319

THE TERRESTRIAL YEAR,

ON HER PROGRESS THRO' THE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC.

323

JANUARY IN ARIES.

Close to her ram cold January clings,
And on his beard her pearly ice-drop flings;
Awakes the shivering Year, yet young, to rise,
Tho' wild winds whistle thro' the iron skies.

FEBRUARY IN TAURUS.

Like fair Europa, February stands,
And wreathes her bull's stout neck with floral bands.
Spurning the frozen circle, loud he roars,
And scorns her snowy and her golden flowers.
Pleas'd, yet with pensive smile, the dubious Year
Welcomes that primal tribute to her sphere.

324

MARCH IN GEMINI.

March o'er the twins her stormy wing expands,
And fills with violets sweet their infant hands;
They sooth the Year, on her tempestuous way,
Spite of her bleak blue cheek, and kirtle grey.

APRIL IN CANCER.

Young April laughs to see her Crab recede,
Then wets with peevish tears the glistering mead;
Soon, cheer'd again, on high her bow she bends;
On the moist grass one lucid horn descends.
With joy as wayward, she salutes the year,
Placing a crystal crown upon her hair;
With flowers and watry sun-beams wreathes it round,
Then strikes it soil'd and darken'd, to the ground.
Patient our timid Traveller deplores
The wild caprice of April's veering hours;
Now, 'mid soft gales, throws back her wintry vest,
Now, in the rude storm, folds it o'er her breast;
Turns the soft eye of Hope on lively May,
Serene of smile, nor smiling to betray.

MAY IN LEO.

May, like celestial Una, mild and fair,
Her Lion leads thro' roseate climes of air;
In chains of hyacinth content to stray,
He neither roars, nor rages on his way.

325

The blue-ey'd month her gladden'd Mistress greets,
And calls the vales to yield their bosom'd sweets;
Bids morning clouds with orient tinges glow,
Each clear brook warble, and each zephyr blow;
Each silver'd hedge, each arbour, newly blown,
And blossom'd fruit-tree, smile upon the sun;
From their green centre, while the plumy throng
Pour the wild music of the woodland song.

JUNE IN VIRGO.

June meets the Virgin with triumphant air,
Each the gay handmaid of the passing Year;
Charm'd they survey her, 'mid the zephyrs bland,
Bright and consummate, on the zenith stand.
She views on earth's warm fields, the rustics blithe,
Sweep thro' the shivering grass the gleamy scythe;
Stout maids th' exhaling treasure shake around,
And ringing wains, yet empty, beat the ground.
Now heap'd, thro' lanes, she sees them nodding slow,
Scattering their fragrant litter as they go.
So pass the hours of long-protracted light
Till glimmering falls the scarcely curtain'd night.

JULY IN LIBRA.

And now the Year, first with descending pace,
Slow down the Zodiac comes with smiling grace.
July the yet unfaded beauty hails,
And weighs her various gifts in golden scales.

326

Luxuriant roses his moist temples shield
From beams that smite the hill, and parch the field;
Thro' the hush'd grove the lazy breezes sigh,
And half the river's pebbly bed is dry.

AUGUST IN SCORPIO.

The glowing Year glides on, and to her clime
Lo! zoneless August gives the golden time!
Threads, indolent of step, th' etherial bound,
And hears beneath the reaper's shout resound;
Observes bright sheaves, like troops of dancers, stand
On hills, and laughing fields, and crown the land;
Sees full fruits redden in the sultry ray,
Peer thro' the leaves, and bend the loaded spray.
She bids her Scorpion hear the reapers sing,
Sheath the fierce claw, nor dart the venom'd sting;
But, from the waning dog-star, oft he sheds
On stagnant pools, thick groves, and arid meads,
The deadly virus, whence disease prevails,
Steams from the loitering floods, and breathless dales.
With plenty cloy'd the swart Month saunters on,
And of the Sirian influence fearful grown,
Scarce marks her mistress' path descending slope,
And leaves obeisance to the months of hope.

SEPTEMBER IN SAGITARIUS.

With looks that speak an apprehensive heart,
The Year perceives her summer joys depart,

327

Tho' mild September by her archer stands,
Bearing his arrows in her gentle hands;
Or decks with wheaten ears her bended bow,
While horn and hound the welkin rend below.

OCTOBER IN CAPRICORN.

Now tann'd October and his Goat, appear,
And down the Zodiac lead the faded Year.
Her pensive eyes his dusky hand behold
Paint with fleck'd purple and with tarnish'd gold
His rustling leaves, ere yet they drop, or sail,
Slow circling, on the damp and mournful gale.

NOVEMBER IN AQUARIUS.

November, entering, bids Aquarius bear
His winds, and weltering rains thro' gloomy air;
Chill, with dense fogs, the cheerless, tardy morn,
Wrap soon-invading night in pall forlorn,
And till December, and his train appear,
Pour the loud urn on the expiring Year.

DECEMBER IN PISCES.

He comes!—his deadly signals round her rise,
The naked branches, and the sunless skies;
Holds in his livid hands, a scaly pair,
Voiceless and dull, the types of her despair.
'Mid snows, that shroud the hard and ridgy land,
Stern, by his side, see blasting Silence stand;

328

Stretch widely her petrific wand, of force
To arrest the floods upon their eddying course!—
The Year beholds, and with the last dismay,
Her wither's honours, and exhausted sway.
Mute all her streams!—no sound,—no motion cheers,
Each naked forest stands a pile of spears!
And now, amid the wreck of all she gave,
Shuddering she sinks in the oblivious grave.

329

INSCRIBED ON THE BACK OF A LANDSCAPE,

DRAWN BY THE REV. WILLIAM BREE OF COLESHILL, IN WARWICKSHIRE.

Here, from the hand of Genius, meets your eye
The tangled foliage of a shadowy dell;
Meets it in Nature's truth;—and see, the brook
Thro' yon wild thicket work its way oblique,
Hurrying and dashing thro' the lonely wood!

330

INSCRIBED ON THE BACK OF THE COMPANION LANDSCAPE.

From the same vivid pencil, now appear
The social comforts;—Love them, as they rise
On the soft confines of a scene sublime!
Look up the right-hand glade; it surely leads
To the embosom'd village. Snowy white
The raiment see, which cleanliness prepares
Against the Sabbath morn. The good old horse,
Mark him, he drags, with weary neck, the cart
Bearing to yonder mill the bags, well fill'd
With life's best nutriment. The mill-house mark,
Standing on the steep verge of the same brook,
Which late we saw laborious work its way
Over rough stones, and crags, and roots of trees,

331

Roaming the wood-wild solitude;—but now
Bright it emerges to the haunts of men,
To light, to usefulness.—Observe the mill
Dash the white waters from its clattering wheel!
Hark! thro' the eye we hear it.—Cheering din,
Thou break'st the mountain-silence merrily!

332

INSCRIBED ON THE BACK OF A LANDSCAPE,

COPIED FROM GLOVER, BY MISS FLEMING OF LICHFIELD.

It is a golden view, the sunny glow
Sleeps on the water!—Of unnumber'd tints
Gorgeous, this bordering wood, with its proud oak,
That lords it on the bank, have now put on
The burnish'd livery of receding suns,
Ere yet their fires grow pale. Pure, glassy stream,
The forest, skirting to thine utmost edge,
Curtains thee amply; while the far-off hill
Lifts its grey, barren summit, faintly gleam'd.
Look on the herd, how leisurely they pace,
In social line, the narrow, bloomy lane
Descending to the flood! Do you not see
A luxury of quiet in their step,
Congenial to the landscape?—farther on,
In yonder little goats?—how calm they sit
Close to the brink, and with declining head

333

Muse on their watry image!—Then the boy,
Heedfully following the full-udder'd train
On his staid horse! while up the left-hand glade
Streams the rich setting sun, and on his back
And shoulders warmly plays. No child, I ween,
Of fancy he; for sure his sober eye
Marks little of the beauty he beholds;
Yet we perceive a measureless content
Sit on his sun-burnt cheek. Dale, to thy charms
Pays or the poet's or the painter's mind
A better homage?—'Tis a right good boy;
He loves the brutes he follows;—they love him,
And we will say he earns his supper well.

334

ADDRESS TO THE RIVER IN A LANDSCAPE,

BEAUTIFULLY DRAWN BY THE REV. WILLIAM BREE, AND IN THE POSSESSION OF THE REV. HENRY WHITE OF LICHFIELD.

After a lonely course thro' yon deep woods,
And the green quietness of distant vales,
Now, gentle River, to the haunts of men
The rude, stone arches, stretching o'er thy flood,
Note thine approach;—and, as with silent course,
Thou glidest under them, the staid old cow
And lumpish horse above, are driven a-field
By time-worn herdsman. Then, in swifter course,
Thy lately tranquil streams, jocund and loud,
Rush down the wier.—Again, soon calm'd, they flow,
And the young day shines on their glassy train.

So dost thou wander by the pleasant base
Of a clean village, climbing up the steep

335

And shrubby knoll; while, bosom'd in thick trees,
The church the hill-top crowns.—The day is young;
Clos'd yonder cottage door; the din and hum
Of clamorous infants and laborious man,
Unheard as yet; tho' from the chimney-tops
The grey smoke, rising to the church-yard trees,
Curls its light vapours round the boughs, and gives
Promise of morning-meal.—Behold the cart,
That late, well loaded, on thy pebbled bank
Had creak'd and crept, at the yet silent mill
Stopt; those kind stores resigning, which shall soon
Employ thy loit'ring waters, and awake
The clattering hubbub of the busy scene.
Adown those rocky stairs, which to thy brink
Lead from the hamlet cots, ere while shall step,
With cleanly pail, light rocking on her head,
The rustic maid, new risen; for she has seen
Thro' lattice, curtain'd by the briar-rose,
Her cow, slow pacing up thy left-hand bank,
Intelligent of hour; the burden rich
Duteous to yield;—and, yet more welcome, sees,
Not far behind, the youth belov'd, from cops'd
And hay-stack'd tenement, down in the vale.
Yes, and thou soon shalt hear the tender vows
Of true love breath'd; and breath'd in sweeter sound
Than song of linnet, or the quiet tune
Of thine own stream, when hush'd are all the woods.
Mark that clos'd door, for it shall ope ere long;

336

It is the good Dame's school;—and in shall creep,
Like bees in spring-time to their dusky hive,
The little troop, and in resembling hum
Mutter the morning task;—but when yon tower
Shall tell, far heard, the welcome tale of noon,
Some striding, and some tumbling o'er the sill,
The infant-tribe releas'd, with clamour loud,
Shall totter down, and on thy shelving bank
Shout, laugh, and squabble, strenuous while they hurl
The frequent stone, dividing thy smooth waves.
But on the morrow Sabbath-bells shall ring,
And 'twixt the matin and the vesper hour,
And at the rosy setting of the sun,
That little, lawless multitude, which late,
Noisy and wild, had clamour'd on thy brink,
In Sunday vestment, and with sober gait,
Walk by their parent's side, while from each hand
The varied posies, dappled pink and rose,
Woodbine, and fragrant southernwood and thyme,
Scent the wide air. Leisure and quietness,
Apparel clean, and vacant looks, all speak
The sacred day of rest; and thou shalt bear,
From that wood-mantled tower, the holy chimes,
Silver'd and mellow'd on thy liquid course,
To neighbouring farm, or cottage. There we trust
Right welcome is the sound; more welcome still
The Pastor's voice persuasive, when he speaks
Of hopes eternal. Charitable deeds

337

Shedding a daily beauty on his life
That makes his doctrines saintly; while combin'd
They form a picture, delicate of trait,
Soft as the scene now mirror'd in thy breast;
While the soft scene, and thou, its mirror clear,
Are all the sweet creation of his hand
Whose touch is genius, and whose life is love.

Mr Bree's scenes are his own creation, since he seldom draws from Nature, and never from copies.

338

TO MISS HONORA SMITH of LICHFIELD.

WRITTEN JUNE 1800.

Screen'd, dear Honora, by that icy veil
Of virgin modesty, incessant worn,
What playful wit, what plastic genius dwell
Coy glancing sun-beams of thy April morn!

Whate'er thy untaught harmonies impart
From volant fingers to the answering wires;
Or when thy slow strains melt upon the heart,
Sweeping each varying chord, as taste inspires,

339

At the creative wonders of thy hand
Rapt sons of Science in amazement start,
Listening the strains, that brilliant, soft, or grand,
Rise at thy touch, and smile on baffled art.

And when thy sportive fancies steal abroad,
So wild, so new, grotesque, and strange they show,
Not less we wonder at their cold abode,
Such roses bursting from their sheet of snow!

When filial love, by many a melting tear,
Dropt on thy mother's breast, its force proclaims,
Surprised we see an ardent heart appear,
A little Hecla pouring forth its flames.

Expanding, strength'ning, may thy mind retain
Its powers, its worth, its latent fires thro' life!
Priceless the blessing then which they shall gain;
Who hail thee sister, daughter, friend, or wife.

This young creature plays every air she catches with full and elegant bass accompaniment, intuitively and spontaneously discovered;—also beautiful compositions intirely her own, and this without knowing the names of the notes or the keys.— Sept. 1803. She has within this month only, begun to learn music scientifically.

340

ADMONITION TO ROSILDA.

Florio the wild, the frolic, and the loud,
Of curb impatient and of outrage proud;
Skill'd on the turf, familiar in the stews,
Whose lawless senses not a vice refuse,
But young and titled, amorous and gay,
Deigns at thy feet his nuptial wreath to lay,
Admir'd Rosilda!—ah, in time beware,
Trust not thy peace to the resplendent snare,
Nor from that man of errors hope to prove
The faith and tenderness of wedded love!

Thy fond attention, thy unswerving truth,
Thy beauties, given in such a morn of youth,
As fairly promises their rising sway
A brighter noon and long-enduring day,
While each auxiliar elegance combines,
The wit that sparkles, and the sense that shines.

341

These rare endowments!—ah, they all are vain,
Habitual vices boast a stronger chain!
Inured to change, change only can impart
Exhaustless transport to the sensual heart.
Blow not the bubble hope, that peerless charms
May bind the wedded wanderer to thine arms,
When soft attractions in a stranger face,
The wanton glance, the gay, voluptuous grace,
Venal, or libertine, his faith invade
Who asks not virtue's or religion's aid!
As soon expect, on yonder grassy height
The new-fall'n drifts of April's winter'd night
Lasting should prove, as when on Jura's side,
Their pure expanse may Summer suns deride!
Lo! on our humbler mountains dawns the day,
And the warm south-wind meets him on his way;
Wide o'er their fleecy tops the sun shall glow,
And where is then their dissoluble snow?

A vast mountain in Switzerland.

342

A MARINE VIEW MORALIZED

ADDRESSED TO MISS ANNE LLOYD OF DERBY.

In tender light, and softly shadow'd round,
Spreads yon smooth bay, with tall and lesser tower;
The distant land, by domes and turrets crown'd,
Gleams, yet almost eludes the visual power.

That slender pinnace, with its folded sails,
Seems o'er the glassy flood to glide serene,
Heedless of altering skies, tempestuous gales,
And future dread convulsions of the scene.

Now let us moralize this pencil'd page;
Perchance, dear maid, it shall admonish thee;
Its traits may oft thy serious thoughts engage,
The towers prove mystic, typical the sea!

343

View'd as life's sea the calm and flattering wave;
As Truth and Wisdom's strength the ampler tower.
Whose fires from wreck may human vessels save
When Fate or Passion's whelming billows roar.

Should, from yon lesser tower, the lamp of love
Fling o'er the veering deep its roseate ray,
Tho' not like those, the guardian fires, that prove
Quenchless by storms, rage madly as they may,

Yet, if with tender Hero's watchful care
Thou striv'st to shield it from tempestuous breath,
May no congenial sorrow prompt thy tear,
Nor hovering danger, nor untimely death!

And be those far-off palaces and fanes
A prosperous city, whence thy bark may bear
Wealth, that used wisely, peace of mind obtains,
Wealth, that pale indigence may smiling share!

Then while, amid the rocks and shoals of time,
The frail love-lighted lamp may gild thy way,
From Wisdom's tower her fires shall stream sublime,
And mark thy course to Realms of Nightless Day.

This Poem was written on request, in the year 1800, in the MS. volume of verses, collected by that young lady. Upon the page destined for these stanzas, a beautiful little sea-scene, with a light-house, and a small turret on the shore, had been previously drawn by her cousin, Miss J. Cheney of Langley.

The light-house.

Alluding to the story of Hero and Leander in Ovid.

344

TO CLARISSA.

Sweet maid, who culturest in thy vernal prime
Those plants that flourish 'mid the frosts of time,
Long, with assiduous care, proceed to store
A portion rich of wisdom's varied lore,
Borne from thy native England's classic fane,
Th' historian's record and the poet's strain;
The moral pages, tracing to their source
Each subtle passion on its erring course,
And those blest leaves, which can their force controul,
The sacred tome, that anchor of the soul!
Thus when no more exterior blossoms rise,
Nor love's gay torch shall kindle from those eyes,
The fruits of knowledge, and its lights, will shame
The fading florets, and th' uncertain flame;
Attention, tenderness, respect ensure,
Which given to merit, shall thro' life endure.

345

A FAREWELL

TO THE SEAT OF LADY ELEANOR BUTLER, AND MISS PONSONBY, IN LLANGOLLEN VALE, DENBIGHSHIRE.

SEPTEMBER, 1802.

O Cambrian Tempe! oft with transport hail'd,
I leave thee now, as I did ever leave
Thee, and thy peerless mistresses, with heart
Where lively gratitude and fond regret
For mastery strive, and still the mastery gain
Alternate. Oft renew'd must be the strife
When, far from this loved region, and from all
That now its ancient witchery revives;
Revives, with spells more potent erst than knew

346

Your white-rob'd Druids on their Deva's bank
Aweful to frame; when the loud mystic song,
And louder clang of their unnumber'd harps,
Drown'd e'en the river's thunder, where she throws
All, all her waters in one rocky chasm,
Narrow, but fathomless, and goads them on
Roaring and foaming, while Llangollen's steeps
Rebellow to the noise. Ye, who now frame
Your talismans resistless, O! receive,
Ye mild Enchantresses, my warm adieu!

Time, that for me hath pass'd full many a year
On broad and withering pinion, may have quench'd
By the rude wafture of his dusky wing,
Fancy's clear fires;—Enthusiasm may waste
In her own fruitless energies, and pine,
Vainly may pine for the exhausted powers
Of bankrupt language, bankrupt of the skill
To please, with varied praise, the taste made coy
By riot of encomium; but yet
The benediction of increasing love,
Bless'd pair, receive with no ungracious ear!

When first your Eden in this hallow'd vale
Stole on these eyes; its solemn graces first
Imprest my senses, pliant to their wish,
The muse of landscape came, and to my hand
Her pallet, glowing in ideal hues,

347

With smiles extended. Straight my doubtful pen
Eager I dipt, and, not unfaithful, rose
Some features of the scene. Yet, even then,
In Friendship's primal hours, my soul perceiv'd
Feelings, that more defied expression's power
To speak them truly, than to paint the charms
Of those distinguish'd bowers;—their mountains vast,
Here pale and barren, and there dark with woods;
Yon mural rocks, whose surface still defies
All change of seasons, though they deign to yield,
At intervals, their grey and wannish hue
Purpling to orient suns, and catching oft
The occidental amber; sylvan glades,
Bright fields, and shadowy lawn, whose concave bound
No beam of noon can pierce. Far to the left,
Beyond those walks which the tall branching trees
O'er-arching, darken; past the sunny field
On whose warm breast they open, lo! the shed
On mossy pillars propt, and its screen'd seat
Beneath its slant, thatch'd roof: Ah! pause we there,
For there we wander to the latest verge
Of a lone clamouring brook, which down its slop'd
And craggy channel struggles; for the stones,
Pointed and huge, ceaseless impede and vex

348

Its passage to the base of the rude mound
That rises opposite this shelter'd seat,
And instant rises. Dark the mound and rude,
But not inflexible. Its rocky steep
No longer spurns, as it had often spurn'd,
The mountain shrubs and trees, when infant roots,
O'er balanced by exterior boughs, possest
No strength to penetrate that rocky steep,
And wind its darkling fissures; till at length,
Art, with unwearied hand, had form'd a shield
Against the brook, that undermines when calm,
When violent, tears; 'gainst the repellant cliff,
And force it to receive in its rude breast
Each stranger-scion;—so, with lucky skill,
The guardian sisters wove their net-work firm
With tough, yet pliant withy, from the base
To flood-mark rising; upright and transverse
Bars, crossing each the other, forming each
Their vacant inch dividual. Therefore now
Nor waters mine the root, nor tear the branch;
Nor cliff, so late impenetrable, checks
Th' insinuating fibres on their course,
Their thousand arms diverging far and wide,
And to the centre piercing; while the boughs
Bend their green heads o'er the chaf'd brawling stream,
Around the huge stones eddying; fearless now,
Conscious of deep-struck root, e'en when thick rain,

349

Heavy and loud, has, 'mid the tempest's roar,
Fall'n vertical; and when the madden'd brook
No longer meets from tranquil human eye
The gaze contemplative. Appall'd we shrink
From the tumultuous flood, that tumbles down
Fearfully deep, and often hurling up
The yeasty billow, while the tide below
Thunders and groans. Remorseless in its rage,
But quickly spent, while under calmer skies,
Or 'mid the balmy drop of quiet rain,
Shallow it rushes, and innoxious raves.
Innoxious, said I? Pardon, clamorous brook!
Thy general course, rage madly as thou may'st
Beneath a storm'd horizon, kind is found
And ministrant to man, for pass we yet
A little way along thy turfy bank,
And we shall view, well pleased, thy useful waves
Leap o'er a clattering mill-wheel, high above
In the brook's hilly channel, 'mid whose brakes,
Thick and entangled, gleams the snowy foam.

See, higher yet on the still rising slope,
Another hub-bub tenement obtains
Ability from this oft violent stream
To yield the first, best nutriment we gain.

Haste to the scene, benignant powers of life,
Mild Lachesis, and gay Hygeia, haste,

350

From day to day propitious!—on that bank,
Mossy and canopied with gadding boughs,
Spin firm the vital thread! and brim the cup
With juice salubrious! breathing soft, the while,
Dear Eleanora, and her Zara's name.

Since this poem was written, all the native romance of the river at this spot, has been destroyed by a detestable cotton-mill.

351

CONSOLATION,

ADDRESSED TO MR THOS. H---D, APRIL 1801, WITH A POCKET-BOOK.

Accept this tribute, H---d, as the pledge
Of my assured conviction that thy trust
Ne'er had been stain'd by those imputed faults
Which hurl'd thee from thy station, where yon towers,
Gothic and grand, arise, diffusing far
The blessings of their Lord. Where still subsists
State, by swoln pride unstain'd; home-residence,
Munificence, with ever-open gate;
Ready supply to want; protection kind,
As Chieftains to their clans in olden time
When tenantry was filial. Haply now,
V---, in thy domain is found, exempt
From feudal vassalage, each feudal good.

H---, 'twas lately thine those lofty halls
Watchful to guard;—those fair and ample lawns

352

Flank'd with their woods luxuriant; numerous fields
Rich in the food of flocks and herds, that range
A second Canaan; or, of higher use,
Wave wide their bending gold in Ceres' smile.
Yes; to protect them e'en with Argus' eyes,
From menial riot, and the injurious arts,
Servile and peculant, was thine;—to spread,
With even hand, the delegated store
Of liberal charity. Then didst thou rouse
To daily action thy experienced skill;
Talents commensurate to highest trust;
Attachment warm, and all the energies
That brave the winter storms, and scorn the suns
Parching the plains at noon-tide; strenuous still
Well to discharge thy duty. Ah, too well,
For thine own safety, was that duty done!
Less faithful service ill could brook the glance
Piercing extortion's veil; nor would endure
Thy voice of just reproof, nor the firm hand
Curbing profusion. Then were form'd those wiles,
That, woven round thy late confiding lord,
And his ingenuous lady, by degrees,
Disgraced thee in their trust; themselves all truth,
Long deeming faithful those who very long
Had bask'd in their bright rays, while thou to them
Wert but a man of yesterday. And thus
Those smiles benign, that cheered thee through thy months

353

Of arduous designation, faded grown,
Sunk, ere 'twas long, in that unpierc'd eclipse
Suspicion gendered, which the kindling heart
Suspected without cause, so seldom knows
Patient to suffer. All the Briton woke,
And, for an interval, Discretion lost
Remembrance of that maxim, which enjoins
The servant to submission, meek of eye,
Of voice unmurmuring, howsoe'er accused
Where real fault is none. So did'st hou rush
Into the snare which Falsehood had prepared
To banish whom it fear'd; make thee provoke
The fate which Goodness, by delay, perchance
Had learnt thou did'st not merit. Much I grieved
Talents so rare, and energies so prompt,
Should, through misdeeming, be forsaken found
By thy thrice gracious lord. The deep, dark work
Of evidence untrue, from Hate avow'd,
And from dissembled Friendship; while the last,
Assuming grief for errors well devised,
Won thy abused master to belief.
So sly Iago warp'd the noble Moor!
So Zanga pitied leonora's guilt!

'Twas a black cloud burst o'er thee. For a time
Thou stood'st like a young tree by lightning struck,
Struck, but not blasted. Yet thy leaves did droop
As they would wither. Soon the timely dew

354

Of springing Hope revived them. In those hours
Mark'd I the starting tear, by manly pride
Dispersed or ere it fell; the quivering lip
And the clear conscience which rebuked thy nerves,
Steadying them quickly. Now the hour is come,
Ample of recompence; th' illustrious house
That nursed thy youth to virtue, and that gave,
Resign'd thee rather to more arduous trust,
Opes wide its sheltering gates, and reinstates
Him whom it deems incapable of fraud,
Or scarce less guilty negligence; since years
Of faithfulness unswerving, had inspired
Such confidence, as no delusive breath,
Calumniating through interest, could destroy.

Well knows thy generous young lord, that he,
Whom his loved father, wise and good, had train'd,
Trusted, and never found that trust betray'd,
Could not at once apostatize, and rush
On vices unhabitual, that must wrong
His noble patron, while they madly rik'd
Destruction to his own well-founded hopes.

And that young lord, heir of his father's spirit,
He is the day-spring which succeeds the storm
That shook his forest-tree; his are the dews
In whose kind balm its lately drooping leaves
Smile on the sun!—And he is haply serv'd

355

By one of proved fidelity, whose heart
No sting of envy feels, no jealous fears
Illiberal; but who welcomes thy return
With all a brother's gladness. Upright men
Act ever thus, and love congenial worth.

That strain was gratulant; yet, ah! the thought
Is ever grievous, that his lord and thine,
In youth's high noon, and in the rising hours
Of life and fame, droops heart-struck o'er the tomb;
Turns the impassion'd, recollecting eye,
On a crush'd rose, and its soon-perish'd bud!

Lamented fate! that he should inly pine
In double deprivation; often steal
Beneath the shadowy languish of the moon,
Mourning his blasted hopes; a loved, lost wife,
Fair as the spring when May's pellucid morns
Crimson the orient; while no sparkling stream,
Fresh from the rock, in those soft hours of prime,
Was purer than her mind. She died!—yet still
All was not lost!—An infant pledge of love,
Sweet transcript of her mother's charms, a while
Smiled consolation!—but O! second pang
Scarcely less keen, when to the recent grave
Of his soul's treasure, he resign'd her child!

356

Yet, surely happiness is still in store
For B---'s virtue, thus severely tried,
When time has balm'd his wounds! in store for him
Who loses not in grief's funereal gloom,
The care of others' welfare!—O! for him
May that coy flower of life blossom again,
Twined with no spray ill-omen'd!—So desires
Her heart, which oft has ponder'd and deplored
The lurking cypress in his bridal wreath.

Servant obliged, deserve his guardian love,
Who, with a youthful Daniel's judgement weighs
A charge improbable; who clears thy tame,
Who gives thee back to fair prosperity
And gratitude's superior bliss!—Be thine
To serve him long and truly! To that end
Oft pour thy secret soul to Heaven in prayer,
Whose aiding grace, never implored in vain,
When ask'd sincerely, shall direct thy ways;
Shine on the zenith of thy life; illume
Waning existence, and shall pour its light
Into the dreary chambers of the grave;
Confine of boundless bliss, or utter woe,
As faith and virtue, or as scorn and sin
Refine, or stain our being. Faithful thou
First to thy God, from him receive the power
Well to discharge thy debt to human worth.

The head steward at B---

357

TO ROBERT HARPER, Esq.

SENT TO HIM THE NIGHT BEFORE HE TOOK HIS BRIDE TO THEIR HOUSE IN LONDON.

This evening's shade no mirth, no joy beguiles,
Beneath that roof, fair Catherine's home so long;
Grief, ill conceal'd, in forced and transient smiles,
Sits on each heart, and falters on each tongue.

Yes, Harper, e'en on thine;—since, if thy brow
From Nature's hand its candid traits obtain'd,
Thou hast an heart to feel for all who know,
And love and lose the treasure thou hast gain'd.

Long on your mutual fate, that every star
Propitious to the weal of life may shine,
Still shall my soul implore, when distant far
From her, whose hand, and vows, and heart are thine,
Oft as her form shall to my memory rise,
And wake, with kindest wishes, selfish sighs.

358

BALLAD IN THE ANCIENT SCOTCH DIALECT,

AULD WILLIE'S FAREWELL,

A Free-Booter, taken in a Border Battle, and condemned to be Executed.

Fareweel my ingle, bleezing bright
When the snell storm's begun;
My bouris casements aw sae light,
When glints the bonnie sun!

359

Fareweel my deep glen, speck'd wi' sloe,
O' tangled hazles full;
Green leas and heathery hills, where low
My kine and glourin bull.

Fareweel my red deer, jutting proud,
My rooks, o' murky wing!
Farewell my wee birds, lilting loud,
Aw in the merry Spring!

Fareweel my sheep, that sprattle on,
In a lang line, sae braw,
Or lie on cliffs, the rocks aboon,
Like late-left patch o' snaw.

Fareweel my burn, that wimpling rins,
My clattering brig o' yew!
My scaly tribe, wi' gowden fins,
Sae nimbly flickering through!

Fareweel my boat, and lusty oars,
That skelp wi' miekle spray!

360

Fareweel my braes on Tiviot shores,
That cool the Simmer's day!

Fareweel my neighbours, whase swift steed
O'er Saxon bounds ha' scower'd,
Soom'd drumlie floods when moons were dead,
And ilka star was smoor'd!

Maist dear for a' ye shared wi' me
When scaith and prey did goad,
And danger, like a wraith, did flee
Along the darksome road.

Fareweel my winsome wife, sae gay,
Fu' fain frae hame to gang,
Wi' spunky lads to geck and play,
The flowrie haughs among!

Fareweel my gowk! thy warning note
Then aft-times ca'ed aloud,
Tho' o' the word that swal'd thy throat,
Gude faith, I was na' proud.

361

And pawky gowk, sae free that maid'st,
Or e'er I hanged be,
Would I might learn if true thou said'st
When sae thou said'st to me!

In those days of continual civil war amongst the separate clans, each party hanged their prisoners. This Ballad was sent to Mr Scott, editor of The Border Minstrelsy, who inserted it in the third volume of that popular work. In his letter to the author, he observed, that the stoutest antiquarian in Scotland could not, after perusing Auld Willie's Farewell, suspect that the writer had the misfortune to have been born south of the Tweed.

Hearth.

Bitter.

Chamber.

heathy

sulky

singing

handsome

above

dimpling

twinkling

dash

high banks

swam

turbid

each

injury

spectre

handsome

romp

meadows

cuckow

sly

362

ADDRESSED TO THE REV. THOMAS SEDGEWICK WHALLEY,

ON LEAVING HIS SEAT, MENDIP LODGE, IN SOMERSETSHIRE,

OCT. 10TH, 1804.

Farewell, my friend! who 'mid thy Alpine bowers,
Hast sooth'd and cheer'd my soul, depress'd by woe!
Thine many a potent spell to wing the hours,
And in life's winter bid the spirit glow.

Yes, e'en tho' sorrow aid the frost of time,
To blight the forms of fancy as they rise,
Till all of Great, of Lovely, of Sublime,
Is view'd with tearful tho' admiring eyes.

High on thy mountain-eminence I stand,
Or range the lawny walk, that zones its brow,
See vales, and woods, and lesser hills expand,
As in a map, the verdant steeps below.

363

Pledges of life, see villas throng'd acquire
Sweet power to socialize the blooming plains;
Pledges of Life Eternal, many a spire
Turn to the orient sun their golden vanes.

While yonder, stretching far its amber line,
Dividing England from the Cambrian strand,
Wide in the blush of morning glows the brine,
That bears our commerce to each distant land.

These, seen from the full shades that crown thy hill,
Or from thy gay Veranda's light arcade,
With poignant transport must the bosom fill,
If peace and joy its secret sense pervade.

On me the various landscape shines in vain,
Since the grave's iron slumber seals those eyes
Now, that must never view thy bright domain,
Or meet thy rays of genius as they rise;

Each generous kindness, worth without alloy,
Meet them, and blend with them congenial fires,

364

O! in that thought, my sensible of joy
Sinks in my breast, and ere it warms, expires.

Nor yet the Tuscan splendours of thy walls,
Where all of elegance and art unite
To charm the eye, that vanish'd sense recalls;—
No, not one spark of its extinguish'd light!

But when I see thee, Friend, thus high upraised
Above pale Envy's reach, on Fortune's shrine,
And when my eyes have on those blessings gazed
Which for thy heart the wreaths of comfort twine;

When all her soften'd emanations live
In the consoling sweetness of thy smiles,
Then from thy joys my joyless hours receive
Reflected peace, that transiently beguiles;

Beguiles to sweet forgetfulness the grief,
That dim in deprivation shrouds my heart;
Mine, while life still is mine, be that relief
A Friend's dear bliss now only can impart.

Long be thy gentle consort the mild light,
Shedding content o'er all thy waning days!
And may they stretch with long protracted flight,
And bear to Heaven thy grateful pious praise!

365

And may Distemper's mist from thee and thine,
Thy lovely Frances, and thy faithful wife,
Fly, like the rain when Summer mornings shine,
Nor stain with one pale cloud thy eve of life!

Edwy, farewell! to Lichfield's darken'd grove,
With aching heart, and rising sighs, I go,
Yet bear a grateful spirit as I rove
For all of thine which balm'd a cureless woe.

Bristol Channel. Milton uses the word brine for the sea,

“The air was calm, and on the level brine
“Sleek Panope and all her sisters play'd.”

Lycidas

An Italian colonade roofed

366

THE GRAVE OF YOUTH.

When life is hurried to untimely close
In the years of crystal eyes and burnish'd hair,
Dire are the thoughts of death;—eternal parting
From all the precious soul's yet known delights,
All she had clung to here;—from youth and hope,
And the year's blossom'd April;—bounding strength,
Which had out-leap'd the roes, when morning suns
Yellowed their forest-glade;—from reaper's shout
And cheerful swarm of populous towns;—from Time,
Which tells of joys forepast, and promises
The dear return of seasons, and the bliss
Crowning a fruitful marriage;—from the stores
Of well-engrafted knowledge;—from all utterance,
Since, in the silent grave, no talk!—no music!
No gay surprise, by unexpected good,
Social, or individual!—no glad step
Of welcome friend, with more intenseness listen'd

367

Than warbled melody!—no father's council!
No mother's smile!—no lover's whisper'd vow!—
There nothing breathes save the insatiate worm,
And nothing is but the drear altering corse,
Resolving silently to shapeless dust
In unpierc'd darkness and in blank oblivion.

368

TO MRS SKERETT

WRITTEN, NOV. 1805.

Of gentle manners, and enlighten'd mind,
Wert thou, Albinia, in thy youth's soft prime,
When thrice 'twas ours, in converse free and kind,
Short space to gild of swiftly-passing time.

And with thy brother, to whose cultured youth
The classic Fanes their radiant stores display'd,
While warmth of heart, genius, and manly truth,
Then, as through life, his ardent spirit sway'd.

369

So once again, to blend the soul's clear stream!
Charm'd would my sense that pleasing view discern,
But hope is cold on the presented theme,
And her dear hands a darken'd mirror turn.

Yet, friends esteem'd, to memory oft ye rise,
Bright from the past, as refluent pleasures cheer;
Though ye no more may glad these mortal eyes.
Far spent my day, and the long night is near!

Mr Mathias.

370

TO MISS CATHERINE MALLET.

Yet two short days, my Catharine! then no more,
Beneath our long-loved spires, thy graceful form
Shall lightly glide, to cheer my languid hour
With emanations sparkling, soft, and warm,
Shed from the mind's rich stores; and with the charm
Of language accurate, by habit taught
Th' ideal train with happiest powers to arm,
That rise in swift subservience to each thought,
Whether with Reason's strength, or Fancy's radiance fraught.

371

Now damp November's desolating gale
Covers the brooks with shrunk and yellow leaves;
His iron skies scowl on our darling vale,
Nor aught from sway more stern the scene reprieves.
Of thee, since Destiny my heart bereaves,
Lone wintry sighs in unison ascend
With the chill blast which faded Nature grieves.
On me her griefs, but not her hopes attend;
Spring shall return to her, when distant far my friend!

No Expectation tells, with voice benign,
That future years shall give her back to me!
Thou may'st again behold these turrets shine,
These bowers may spread, these meadows bloom for thee,
But here no more wilt thou thine Anna see!
Yet not for that shroud those mild eyes in gloom!
She twines the cypress wreath, by Heaven's decree,
For many a victim of the ruthless tomb;
Set are her heart-dear orbs where no blest mornings come!

For thee, loved maid, extracted be each thorn
That lurks amid the roses of thy fate,
Knowledge and Taste are thine, and bid thee scorn
Each shaft of Envy, Falsehood, Pride, and Hate;
For thou hast soar'd where they have never sat;
Traced Genius in his sun-track; with rapt gaze,

372

Adored bright Nature in her scenic state,
And in thy morn of life, and riper day,
Fed thy clear lamp of Faith from Truth's unclouded ray!

Lichfield, Nov. 1805.

373

IMPROMPTU,

WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAVES OF MISS ANNA BURT'S REPOSITORY OF FRIENDSHIP.

Before thine altar, Virtue, ever kneel
The maid whose beauty charms the kindling heart!
The maid, ordain'd Affection's power to feel,
In Nature's truth and in the scorn of Art!

Enchanting Anna, if aright I read,
Stands in the level of that cordial prayer;
Hers be the rosy and the amaranth wreath,
Which Love and Friendship for the Good prepare!

So may her years in placid currents flow,
Gay as her smile, and radiant as her eye;
Pure as her blush, where those soft colours glow
Warm May diffuses in the orient sky!

374

Live, gentle Nymph, to bless and to be blest,
Tho' rare such lot in life's ambiguous maze;
Transient, at least, be all that wounds thy breast
Till melt thy finite in eternal days!

375

ELEGY, WRITTEN AS FROM A FRENCH LADY,

WHOSE HUSBAND HAD BEEN THREE YEARS PRISONER OF WAR AT LICHFIELD.

Fled are the years Love should have call'd his own,
Bearing my wasted youth they roll'd away;
Dost thou conceive, my husband, how I moan
Thro' the long, lonely, disappointed day?

Night comes.—Ah! every instant, as it flies,
Feeds my impatience to behold thee here.—
Morning will soon relume the darken'd skies,
But when shall my soul's morning re-appear?

Each separated moment dost thou count
With a regret solicitous as mine?
Ruthless the foe who swells their vast amount,
And bids thee in unransom'd bondage pine!

376

For thee, I judge thee by myself, and know,
Dear, hapless Exile! all thou must endure;
The cheerless days, and every heart-sick woe
That Liberty might chase, and Love should cure.

Yet, O! when absence all my soul o'er-powers,
Why does thy pen with-hold the only aid?
When gales blow homeward from the hostile shores,
Why are th' expected lines of Love delay'd?

Question unwise!—Does not this heart require
Trust in my husband's tenderness and truth?
What else can slake the slow-consuming fire
My peace that scorches, and that wastes my youth?

Trust in his love my heart demands,—and, Oh!
Another confidence blest power obtains,
Rescuing my senses from severer woe,
Than e'en this cruel banishment ordains;

Reliance that kind Heaven preserves his life,
His health from wasting by Disease's brands;
That not to their restraints his faithful wife
Owes her late baffled hopes and vacant hands.

If she may judge his feelings by her own,
And grateful Memory urges that she may,

377

He numbers tear for tear, and groan for groan,
Thro' the slow progress of the joyless day.

With sweet remembrances my thrilling heart
Full of the Past surrounds itself in vain;
They rise!—they charm!—but soon, alas! impart,
By sad comparison, increase of pain.

No fond deception, nor yet Hope, nor Fear
Arrest the pace of life-exhausting Time!—
He might return!—one word, and he is here!—
Ah! why are bonds for him who knows not crime?

Fierce War ordains them!—Fiend of human kind!—
Fetters and death one murder overtake;
From thee the Guiltless no exemption find,
Thy murder'd millions glut the vulture's beak!

And from such fate remember, O my soul,
Exile and bonds severe redemption prove;
That thought drops sweetness in the bitter bowl
Quaff'd to the dregs by long-divided love.

Oft to my aid this consciousness I call,
To close the eyes, which still have op'd to weep.—
When Night and Sorrow spread their mingled pall,
That thought distills th' oblivious balm of sleep.

378

All things around me seem to expect him here;
My Husband's favourite robe enfolds me still;
Here have I rang'd the books he lov'd,—and there
Placed the selected chair he us'd to fill.

Again to be resum'd, if yielding Fate,
At length, would give him back to love and me;
Then should I see him there reclin'd sedate,
Our darling children clinging round his knee!

And lo! at yonder table where they stand!—
Their glances o'er the map of England stray;
Ah! on the too, too interesting land
How bends thy Annise her intense survey!

And now she smiles, and to her brother turns,
Her finger placed on Lichfield!—there, she says,
There is our dear, dear father!—O! how yearns
My very soul to mark their ardent gaze!

Frequent, this killing absence to beguile,
Anxious I watch, as traits of thee arise,
I see them playing in my Annise' smile,
I meet them in thy Frederic's candid eyes.

Their strengthen'd bloom, their much expanded mind
Shall recompense my beauty's vanish'd trace;

379

Yet thou wilt love me more, when thou shalt find
Thy absence written on my faded face.

Dearest, farewell!—tho' misery now be ours,
Slow time will bring the re-uniting day,
When Thou, and Joy, shall bless these lonely bowers,
By sweet excess o'er-paying long delay!

380

TO MISS MANSEL,

OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

Pure are the orient tints of early bloom,
That o'er thy cheek, in soft suffusion, play;
Bright are the streaming lustres, which illume
The silent eloquence those eyes convey.

So pure, so bright, as opening life aspires,
Dear Isabella, be thy happy youth!
And may thy soul's hereditary fires
Guide thee indevious to the shrines of Truth,

And set thy pleasures on a scale so high,
That all which frolic Beauty's hope impels,
Insidious Flattery's betraying joy,
Intrigue's light page, and Dissipation's spells,

381

Shall meet seduceless the undazzled gaze,
That Nature's charms and Wisdom's page explores
Beneath pale moons while classic Camus strays,
And when red Morning blushes on his shores!

So shall thy heart, which mild Affection fills,
Be, when fierce Passion's fatal fervour glows,
Cold as the summit of Helvetian hills
When the sun strikes their unobeying snows.

Then borne o'er each vain wish and idle care,
By the mind's soaring and superior powers,
Thy painless sighs shall be as vernal air,
Thy tears as dews exhaling from the flowers.

382

ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG ROSCIUS.

E'en as the sun, beneath the Line, comes forth,
Where no prelusive glimmerings warn the night,
Strips her dense mantle from the sabled earth,
And pours himself at once in floods of light,

So on our eyes, young Day-Star, didst thou break,
In dazzling effluence and resistless charm,
Ere in thy soul those passions could awake
That look'd, and breath'd, and lighten'd from thy form.

383

We saw them, at thy magic call, appear,
Tho' but till then to manhood only known;
Yes, ere upon thy head the thirteenth year
The violets of a primy Spring had strown.

In all Expression's subtlest shades they came
Thro' that Promethean glance, those varied tones,
Love, Jealousy, and Horror, Rage, and Shame,
Their hopes, their fears, their transports, and their groans.

In thee, and in the scorn of gradual Art,
Genius her proudest miracle began;
Gave thee despotic empire o'er the heart,
Long years ere growth and strength might stamp thee man.

Beneath the crown upon that infant brow,
The robe imperial on that fairy frame,
Stream'd all which grace and grandeur can bestow,
All which a monarch's dignity proclaim.

Thy Proteus soul each garb of feeling wore,
Fire in thine eye, and passion in thine air;
And still became thee, and in equal power,
Garlands of love, and laurel'd wreaths of war.

384

Now thrice has Phœbus pass'd each duteous sign
Since first thy talents met our wondering gaze;
Still in augmenting lustre seen them shine,
Still scorning, like himself, all borrow'd rays.

Seen the expansion of thy fair renown,
Thy powers, thy graces rising with thy years.—
So bright thy morn, what splendours wait thy noon!
What trains of light, eclipsing all thy peers!

When Youth and Art's proud summit thou shalt gain,
Passions that now are but illusive deem'd,
Then shall their empire in thy heart attain,
Then be what long, by miracle, they seem'd:

And when they glow in all their genuine fire,
Deeply are felt as gloriously pourtray'd,
O! may they nought in actual life inspire
That can thy virtue, or thy peace invade!

Above pale Envy's reach, thy soaring fame
Long may accordant multitudes attest!
And prosp'rous Love, and pure Religion frame
The shield impassive for thy youthful breast!

And may advancing life for thee display
The gems of knowledge, and of joy the flowers;

385

Shine unobscur'd on thy consummate day,
With softest sun-set gild thine evening hours.

On wealth and rank while rolls Oblivion's stream,
Thy memory o'er its whelming waves shall climb,
For thy dear country shall record thy name,
And bind thy splendant wreaths on the dark brow of Time.

Written after having seen him in five of his principal characters on the Lichfield Theatre, June 1807.

386

A FAVOURITE CAT'S DYING SOLILOQUY,

ADDRESSED TO MRS PATTON OF LICHFIELD.

Long years beheld me Patton's mansion grace,
The gentlest, fondest of the feline race;
Before her frisking thro' the garden glade,
Or at her feet, in quiet slumber, laid;
Prais'd for my glossy back, of tortoise streak,
And the warm smoothness of my snowy neck;
Soft paws, that sheath'd for her the clawing nail;
The shining whisker, and meand'ring tail.
Now feeble age each glazing eye-ball dims,
And pain has stiffen'd these once supple limbs;
Fate of eight lives the forfeit gasp obtains,
And e'en the ninth creeps languid thro' my veins.

Much, sure, of good the future has in store,
When Lucy basks on Patton's hearth no more,

387

In those blest climes where fishes oft forsake
The winding river and the glassy lake;
There as our silent-footed race behold
The spots of crimson and the fins of gold,
Venturing beyond the shielding waves to stray,
They gasp on shelving banks, our easy prey;
While birds unwing'd hop careless o'er the ground,
And the plump mouse incessant trots around,
Near wells of cream, which mortals never skim,
Warm marum creeping round their shallow brim;
Where green valerian tufts, luxuriant spread,
Cleanse the sleek hide, and form the fragrant bed.

Yet, stern dispenser of the final blow,
Before thou lay'st an aged Grimalkin low,
Bend to her last request a gracious ear,
Some days, some few short days to linger here!
So, to the guardian of her earthly weal
Shall softest purs these tender truths reveal:
Ne'er shall thy now expiring Puss forget
To thy kind cares her long-enduring debt;
Nor shall the joys that painless realms decree,
Efface the comforts once bestow'd by thee;

388

To countless mice thy chicken bones preferr'd,
Thy toast to golden fish and wingless bird:
O'er marum border and valerian bed
Thy Lucy shall decline her moping head;
Sigh that she climbs no more, with grateful glee,
Thy downy sofa and thy cradling knee;
Nay, e'en by wells of cream shall sullen swear,
Since Patton, her lov'd mistress, is not there.

The affection of cats for marum and valerian is well known. They will beat down the stems, mat them with their feet, and roll upon them.

389

TO LITTLE CATHERINE HARPER, AGED THREE YEARS,

PRESENTING HER WITH A BLUE SATTIN BONNET.

My gift may suit thee, fairy fair,
Thy dear blue eyes, thy flaxen hair.
In this soft tint sweet violets glow,
In this the early harebells blow;
From their young hours stern Winter flies,
And shines the sun in sapphire skies.
Blue o'er smooth seas the halcyons skim;
Minerva's eyes in azure swim;
In plain cerulean Luna stands,
When mild she looks on seas and lands.
If sturdy Whigs desire to see
The stubborn nymph, proud Liberty,
The supple Tory looks askew,
And crowns his forehead with true blue.
Hope from the prism this colour chose,
And blue her robe redundant flows.

390

So, in the tissue of thy fate,
This tint, so gay and fortunate,
All prevalent, dear child, be seen
To chase the pale forsaken green,
The yellow tinge of jealousy,
And every dim and dismal dye!
And may this hue of summer skies,
Of Wisdom's fair, enlight'ning eyes,
Of vernal harebell's modest bloom,
Of sea-born halcyon's little plume,
Of Tory ribands, Luna's plain,
The vest of Hope, the violet's stain,
Still prove for thee, as years increase,
Emblem of innocence and peace.

391

INSCRIBED ON THE BLANK LEAVES OF THE POEM MADOC.

Reader, if instant thy soul-lighted eyes
Perceive the claims of Genius as they rise,
Welcome this noblest effort of the Nine,
To deck with epic wreath their English shrine,
Since here they rose, to emulate, at length,
The Mantuan sweetness, the Meonian strength,
And our green vales and silver shores along,
Pour'd Eden's grand, imperishable song.
Again, in all their pomp, they strike the lyre,
Rapid, and glowing with primeval fire;
And in the Cambrian's lofty story twine
Each human interest with each grace divine
Of rapt Imagination, when she soars
From common talents flat and glimmering shores,
Her lamp t' illumine at that orbit prime,
Whose fires are quenchless by the floods of time.

392

Thus, for the glory of the nineteenth age,
The Epic Muse awakes her sacred rage;
In no false ornaments her numbers shine,—
The diamonds sparkle genuine from the mine.
What harmonies our captive ear engage!
What living landscapes glow on every page!
What characters, in Nature's force display'd,
With coy Discrimination's subtlest aid,
In Cimbric regions, and on Indian shores,
Call to the Epic verse the Drama's powers!
O! mark, the thoughts with truth and virtue beam,
Shewing what God shall judge, and Christ redeem;
The asbestos robe which the chaste style arrays,
Impassive shield from Envy's lurid blaze;
Where simple, nervous as in early time,
Where plaintive, touching, and where rais'd, sublime.

If thou rememberest through how many a year
Deaf as the grave was found the general ear
To Verse, whose fame is now the nation's cause,
With scarce one voice appellant from her laws;

393

How long the owlish orb of general sight
Found mist and darkness in excessive light;
If conscious of each grandeur and each grace,
The Poet's sun-track thy clear vision trace;
If thy heart throb to see thy native land
Once more the Muse's eminence command;
And if thy spirit, o'er such glorious lays,
Wait not for tardy precedents in praise,—
Then, generous Reader, then, for Madoc claim.
With voice anticipant, the palm of Fame;
And on each leaf, in patriot pride, descry
The bursting germs of immortality!

Such minds, where never Envy's cloud appears,
View Madoc buoyant on the tide of years,
Float, like the song, which left the mortal maze
For scenes “where angels tremble while they gaze,”
And, touch'd alike by Genius' solar ray,
Vanquish Oblivion, and maintain the day!

A vegetable substance, soft and pliant as muslin, and which fire cannot consume.

Paradise Lost, which, through the long period intervening between its first publication, in the author's life-time, and Addison's Essays upon it in the Spectator, met little public notice, while his equally beautiful lesser works, Lycidas, Comus, L'Allegro, and Il Penseroso, were scarcely known at all, till more than seventy years after his death.

394

TO F. N. C. MUNDY,Esq.

ON HIS POEM, THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD FOREST.

Poet of Needwood, much my heart approves
This thy owed duty to his ravaged groves,
The lost! the lovely!—who, in better days,
View'd their each grace reflected in thy lays:
And O! when many a future age has pass'd,
Rolling oblivious o'er his nameless waste,
Its some-time beauties shall again revive,
And in thy pictured strains for ever live.

395

Come, pensive list'ning, ye once jocund throng,
Whilome that roved those Forest Haunts along!
Explored, with pleasure bright'ning in your air,
Each coy, green labyrinth, and each turfy lair,
Still, as in prime of youth, the wanton Spring
Expanded to the sun her showery wing,
And cliffs, illustrious in their golden bloom,
Rose o'er the glades of light-besprinkled gloom.

Nor absent ye, when Summer's fervid hours
Dropt more luxuriant curtains on the bowers,
And the vast oak's writhed arms, of dusky green,
Shadow'd the dappled tenants of the scene;
With rival elm, whose mossy trunk appears
Out-numbering far the lonely eagle's years.

Nor when the months consummate left their vales
To suns less ardent, less benignant gales,
And Autumn painted, with his tawny hand,
The shrinking foliage; and, in colours bland,
Streak'd the pale red with purple, faint and brief,
And tipt with tarnish'd gold each trembling leaf.

Nor e'en when Phœbus' steeds, no longer fleet,
With mane dishevell'd, streaming to their feet,
Struggling through clouds, th' hybernal solstice gain,
Their necks bedropt with globes of freezing rain,

396

And the loud tyrant of the dying year
Stript other groves, made other forests sear;
For Needwood to his sway disdain'd to yield,
His polish'd umbrage an unfailing shield,
Those numerous hollies on his breast and brow,
That thrust their scarlet clusters through the snow,
Or spread their glossy leaves to transient rays,
The rebel glory of the icy days.

Nor if, ere yet arisen, dim Morning heard
Your light-heel'd coursers paw the dewy sward,
When the sly prowler stole adown the wind,
And hoped he left no tell-tale scent behind.
Vain hope! your swift staunch hounds the scent began;
To right and left their hurrying numbers ran,
Till found the taint, in streaming files they hie,
And in one shrill, continuous clamouring cry,
To which th' accordant forest joyous rings,
Hang on his rear while o'er the vale he springs;
Dash through the rhymy glades, and round the hills,
As when, receiving tribute brooks and rills,
O'er flinty bed a river foams and roars,
Loud and impatient of meandering shores,
Or, deepen'd, shews the Sun his mirror'd face,
Or zones with silver light the mountain's base.

Now, come with Mundy, where the ruin lowers,
He hymns the dirge of the devasted bowers!

397

Echo his wailing o'er their fallen state,
Whom centuries hail'd irregularly great!
Come, execrate the edict that destroy'd,
Leaving time-hallow'd Needwood bare and void!
There fell Imagination's rural fane!
Thence fled fair-shafted Dian's votive train;
All which the bard entranced in forest sees,
Satyrs and Fauns, and leaf-crown'd Dryades!
They fled, when Avarice, with rapacious frown,
From Mercia's temples struck her sylvan crown.

Yet, gentle Minstrel, they whose raptured ears
Drank thy sweet song in the departed years,
Saw oaken wreaths thy auburn brows entwine,
The well-won meed at Needwood's shadowy shrine,
Shall find thy Gratulation's vivid glow
Match'd by the Requiem, in its mournful flow;
The orb of Mundy's muse-illumined day
Setting with rival, though with milder ray;
Pleased, shall compare the evening with the noon,
And feel, in equal power, the Cypress garland won.

“Needwood Forest,” one of the sweetest ocal poems in our language, of which Mr Mundy, in 1776, printed 500 copies for presents to his friends. He has resisted all solicitation to publish it at large; but such a beautiful work cannot die. It will be given to future times; so also will the Fall of Needwood.

Milton, in Comus, makes Naiades the plural of Naiad:

“Amid the flowery-kirtled Naiades.”

398

TO REMEMBRANCE.

Remembrance, while thy precious beam
Shines beauteous on my early life,
How kind a refuge dost thou seem
From worn Existence' present dream,
Her weariness, her doubts and strife!

Dim are the mists that Time has thrown
On years which fled so fast away;
But, in thy humid lustre gone,
They leave those years, for ever flown,
To rise all lovely in thy ray.

When June's red dawn had streak'd the plains,
And bade the kindling Orient throw
Her blushes on these Choral Fanes,
They shone, in her slant rosy stains,
Fairer than in the noontide glow.

399

Then with what fond delight I hail'd
The dawn, which must those eyes unclose
That o'er my destiny prevail'd,
Each joy increas'd, each grief repell'd,
Which in my youthful bosom rose!

E'en to exist was ecstacy,
To feel the sun, to breathe the gale;
Charm'd to expect, to hear, to see
Friends, whose dear smiles were more to me
Than all Peruvian mountains veil!

More rosy than the morn of June
Those happy days, now far removed;
And sweeter than the linnet's tune,
That gaily choir'd its liquid sun,
The accents of the lips I loved!

But Earth, deprived, no longer seems
In fair ideal light to glow;
Pale as the ice-incrusted streams
Beneath the cold moon's trembling gleams,
The brightest scene she now can show.

E'en tho' the gay consummate year
Reveal, in her luxuriant pride,

400

All that her gorgeous livery wear,
Hills, dales, and woods, reflected fair,
In lake and river's glassy tide.

Low in the chambers of the grave
Stretch'd are those forms, in iron sleep,
Who to these scenes their magic gave;
Whom vows, nor tears, nor prayers could save,
All, all I loved, and all I weep!

Where, Lichfield, the unrivall'd sway
Brave Andre once assign'd to thee?
He bade thee thy spired head display
Amid thy vales, and proudly say,—
I am, and there is none but me!

Enchantress, broken is thy spell,
Snapt thy charm'd wand, eclips'd thy star;
And to the dark and narrow cell
The Spirit points, here wont to dwell,
And spread his purple beams afar.

401

Yes, the fair Spirit of delight,
So long who made these bowers his home!
Now sad he folds his pinions bright,
And, pondering the sepulchral blight,
Sits mute and sorrowing on the tomb;

Griev'd while I rove each well-known street,
And, with faint step, the fields explore;
Lost, lost the vital hope to greet
The friends, whom there I used to meet,
And whom, alas! I meet no more.

No more, Honora, shall I see
Thy speaking eyes, that cheer'd my soul!
Saville, the gates of harmony
Eternally were closed to me,
When thou didst pass the Mortal Goal!

No due return of months and years
Shall bring you, ever-loved, again;
Mine are feign'd smiles and genuine tears,
The darken'd hopes, the torpid fears,
And all Privation's lonely pain.

Yet O! since Death's avoidless hour,
Remembrance! may extinguish thee,
Beyond the grave disarm thy power

402

Terrestrial blessings to restore,
Which shone the mind's soft sun to me.

Lest that should be, with all its gloom,
Life will I cherish to the last,
And grateful for its day of bloom,
Turn from the shadow of the tomb,
To muse and to recall the past.

See Major André's beautiful letters, prefixed to the Monody on his disastrous fate.

END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.