Poems Namely, The English Orator; An Address to Thomas Pennant Sonnets; An Epistle to a College Friend; and The Lock Transformed. With notes on The English Orator. By Mr. Polwhele |
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ADDRESS to THOMAS PENNANT, Esq.
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ADDRESS to THOMAS PENNANT, Esq.
On the AUTHOR's being apprized of his Intention to make a Visit into CORNWALL. 1787.
Pennant! to thee the tributary Muse
Devotes a grateful Offering; proud to hail
Thy Footsteps to her native Downs, though wild
They whistle to the Spirit of the Winds,
Like the dark Hebride Islands! Yet to thee,
Favourite of Nature, the drear Waste displays
No unprolific Aspect, whilst thine Eye
Pierces with keen Acumen its deep Vein
Of mineral Wealth, from ancient Days the Boast
Of Cornwall's Sons! Yet to thine ardent Gaze,
(If few our tufted Vales, where Zephyr sports
On aromatic Wing) our Cliffs, high-pil'd
In rugged Grandeur, on the whitening Surge
Project the Gloom romantic, and abrupt
From shiver'd Rocks and fretted Caverns breathe
The sacred Horror that delights and chills!
Yet many a curious Monument shall strike
Thy antiquarian Mind, as fond to mark
Each Relic of the vanish'd Shades, that cloath'd
In Druid Ages the majestic Hill
Of hoar Karnbre—as sedulous to trace
It's Cromlehs and it's glimmering Shrine, or muse
Upon the Ruins of its mossy Fane!
Yet, many a Fortress (whether Roman Hosts,
Or Saxon or the barbarous Dane uprear'd
The embattled Turrets) shall attract thy Sight,
Pale-gleaming thro' the Ivy-veil of Years!
Yet, shall the Castle's massy Fragments guide
To other Times thy penetrating Thought!
Devotes a grateful Offering; proud to hail
Thy Footsteps to her native Downs, though wild
They whistle to the Spirit of the Winds,
Like the dark Hebride Islands! Yet to thee,
Favourite of Nature, the drear Waste displays
No unprolific Aspect, whilst thine Eye
Pierces with keen Acumen its deep Vein
Of mineral Wealth, from ancient Days the Boast
Of Cornwall's Sons! Yet to thine ardent Gaze,
(If few our tufted Vales, where Zephyr sports
On aromatic Wing) our Cliffs, high-pil'd
In rugged Grandeur, on the whitening Surge
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From shiver'd Rocks and fretted Caverns breathe
The sacred Horror that delights and chills!
Yet many a curious Monument shall strike
Thy antiquarian Mind, as fond to mark
Each Relic of the vanish'd Shades, that cloath'd
In Druid Ages the majestic Hill
Of hoar Karnbre—as sedulous to trace
It's Cromlehs and it's glimmering Shrine, or muse
Upon the Ruins of its mossy Fane!
Yet, many a Fortress (whether Roman Hosts,
Or Saxon or the barbarous Dane uprear'd
The embattled Turrets) shall attract thy Sight,
Pale-gleaming thro' the Ivy-veil of Years!
Yet, shall the Castle's massy Fragments guide
To other Times thy penetrating Thought!
Not that our Prospects are one cheerless Blank
Unbroken, save where the bold Hand sublime
Of rough Magnificence hath interpos'd
The random Scenery: Witness, rising round
In many a gentle Swell, the beauteous Hills
That overbrow the Tamar—here distinct
With Wood or reddening Grain or Pasturage—there
Soft-clustering; till the Scene far off, retires
From the charm'd Eye, and bids its vivid Hues
Dissolve into a mellower Light, to meet
The distant Purple, and in Shadow gain
Heaven's purer Azure; sudden when the Wave
Of long-lost Tamar sparkles to the Day,
And seems by sweet Illusion to restore
The fleeting Landscape!—Nor shalt thou despise
The Richness of the vermeil Meads, that stretch'd
Beneath Restormal's shaggy Ramparts, glow
Full oft in gay Disclosure, or, embrown'd
Amid luxuriant Foliage, slowly wind
Into the secret Grove! Nor shalt thou slight
Lanhydrock's verdant yet dismantled Bowers,
Seat of Baronial Dignity, what Time
Each helmed Hero bade his galleried Hall
Echo to minstrel Harps! Still scatter'd there
The Traces of heraldic Honors lead
The melancholy Ponderer to the Days,
When, towering, the rude-sculptur'd Gateway crown'd
Yon solitary Lawn.—Nor wilt thou scorn
The Fal's wide Current, where its woody Skreen
O'erhangs the Wave, and, sweeping round the Crag's
Bare Eminence, within the hollow Dell
Slopes swift away, then quick protruded flings
It's checquer'd Umbrage o'er the gliding Sail!
Unbroken, save where the bold Hand sublime
Of rough Magnificence hath interpos'd
The random Scenery: Witness, rising round
In many a gentle Swell, the beauteous Hills
193
With Wood or reddening Grain or Pasturage—there
Soft-clustering; till the Scene far off, retires
From the charm'd Eye, and bids its vivid Hues
Dissolve into a mellower Light, to meet
The distant Purple, and in Shadow gain
Heaven's purer Azure; sudden when the Wave
Of long-lost Tamar sparkles to the Day,
And seems by sweet Illusion to restore
The fleeting Landscape!—Nor shalt thou despise
The Richness of the vermeil Meads, that stretch'd
Beneath Restormal's shaggy Ramparts, glow
Full oft in gay Disclosure, or, embrown'd
Amid luxuriant Foliage, slowly wind
Into the secret Grove! Nor shalt thou slight
Lanhydrock's verdant yet dismantled Bowers,
Seat of Baronial Dignity, what Time
Each helmed Hero bade his galleried Hall
Echo to minstrel Harps! Still scatter'd there
The Traces of heraldic Honors lead
The melancholy Ponderer to the Days,
When, towering, the rude-sculptur'd Gateway crown'd
194
The Fal's wide Current, where its woody Skreen
O'erhangs the Wave, and, sweeping round the Crag's
Bare Eminence, within the hollow Dell
Slopes swift away, then quick protruded flings
It's checquer'd Umbrage o'er the gliding Sail!
And lo! illustrious Traveller, to our Downs
Old Cornwall's Genius, with a raptur'd Glance,
From grey Dunheved's necromantic Walls
Kens thy Approach; and triumphs in the Hope
Of high Distinction blazoning fair his Name,
Amid the Records of thy deathless Page!
Old Cornwall's Genius, with a raptur'd Glance,
From grey Dunheved's necromantic Walls
Kens thy Approach; and triumphs in the Hope
Of high Distinction blazoning fair his Name,
Amid the Records of thy deathless Page!
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