Juvenilia or, A collection of poems. Written between the ages of twelve and seventeen, by J. H. L. Hunt ... Fourth Edition |
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 | Juvenilia |  |
101
ODES.
103
TO THE EVENING STAR.
Pointed star of coming night,
Glitt'ring is thy western light!
Slowly from thy cloudy bed
Liftest thou thine unshorn head;
And, upon yon hills of chalk,
Stately is thy beamy walk!
Say what now beholds thine eye,
In the plains below that lie!
Glitt'ring is thy western light!
Slowly from thy cloudy bed
Liftest thou thine unshorn head;
And, upon yon hills of chalk,
Stately is thy beamy walk!
Say what now beholds thine eye,
In the plains below that lie!
High the storm that howl'd before,
Listens to the torrent's roar:
Up the black rock, with circling waters lave,
Distant beats the sounding wave;
O'er the field on feeble wings
In drowsy hum the beetle sings.
Pointed Star, what sees thine eye
In the plains below that lie?
Listens to the torrent's roar:
Up the black rock, with circling waters lave,
Distant beats the sounding wave;
O'er the field on feeble wings
In drowsy hum the beetle sings.
Pointed Star, what sees thine eye
In the plains below that lie?
104
O'er thy lips of crimson hue
Spreads the smile; thou sink'st from view:
The curling waves, that round thee gently dash,
In murm'rings soft thy lovely tresses wash;
Farewell, still beams of thy fair eyes!
—Thou light of Ossian's soul arise!
Spreads the smile; thou sink'st from view:
The curling waves, that round thee gently dash,
In murm'rings soft thy lovely tresses wash;
Farewell, still beams of thy fair eyes!
—Thou light of Ossian's soul arise!
VALOUR.
When Valour, fearless maid, was born,
She wander'd friendless and forlorn;
Till once, in Greece, when first it rose
Superior to its neighb'ring foes:
She saw in ev'ry eye a fire,
Which none but Valour could inspire,
And pleas'd to find it all her own,
In Sparta first she rais'd her throne.
She wander'd friendless and forlorn;
Till once, in Greece, when first it rose
Superior to its neighb'ring foes:
She saw in ev'ry eye a fire,
Which none but Valour could inspire,
And pleas'd to find it all her own,
In Sparta first she rais'd her throne.
'Twas Valour taught the art of war,
To throw the lance, and drive the car;
'Twas Valour ev'ry bosom fir'd,
Fill'd high with courage, warm'd, inspir'd,
Taught the bold warrior how to die,
And bade the vanquish'd scorn to fly;
Gave to her fav'rite Greece the sway,
And bade each circling shore obey.
To throw the lance, and drive the car;
'Twas Valour ev'ry bosom fir'd,
Fill'd high with courage, warm'd, inspir'd,
Taught the bold warrior how to die,
And bade the vanquish'd scorn to fly;
Gave to her fav'rite Greece the sway,
And bade each circling shore obey.
105
Each state its hero then could boast,
The king and guardian of its coast;
And Argos saw her children brave
The terrors of the foaming wave;
E'en gods were jealous at the sight,
And crowded on th' Olympian height;
And when the Colchian prize was won,
They snatch'd above each Argive son.
The king and guardian of its coast;
And Argos saw her children brave
The terrors of the foaming wave;
E'en gods were jealous at the sight,
And crowded on th' Olympian height;
And when the Colchian prize was won,
They snatch'd above each Argive son.
From ancestors renown'd as these,
Who neither sought nor sunk to ease,
An hardy race of heroes rose,
Alike regardless of repose;
And Persia's sons beheld the day,
When on Platæa's plains they lay;
And saw, and saw alone to mourn,
The laurel from their temples torn.
Who neither sought nor sunk to ease,
An hardy race of heroes rose,
Alike regardless of repose;
And Persia's sons beheld the day,
When on Platæa's plains they lay;
And saw, and saw alone to mourn,
The laurel from their temples torn.
On Mycale's sea-circled shore,
Again they heard the battle roar;
Unnerv'd to fight, afraid to die,
Again the Persian turn'd to fly.
Then Xerxes rose, and left behind
His millions, but a grave to find;
And while the coward monarch fled,
Greece rent the turban from his head.
Again they heard the battle roar;
Unnerv'd to fight, afraid to die,
Again the Persian turn'd to fly.
Then Xerxes rose, and left behind
His millions, but a grave to find;
And while the coward monarch fled,
Greece rent the turban from his head.
106
Ah! lost to all her patriot fame,
Where now is Grecia's glorious name!
—'Tis fled;—and Sparta's hardy race
Shew but a female's languid face.
Their bosom now no ardour fires,
No courage warms, no zeal inspires;
And Valour's self, to roam no more,
Has come to Albion's white cliff'd shore.
Where now is Grecia's glorious name!
—'Tis fled;—and Sparta's hardy race
Shew but a female's languid face.
Their bosom now no ardour fires,
No courage warms, no zeal inspires;
And Valour's self, to roam no more,
Has come to Albion's white cliff'd shore.
SPEECH OF CARACTACUS TO CLAUDIUS CÆSAR.
Æquam memento rebus in arduis
Servare mentem ------
Hor. Lib. ii. Od. 3.
Servare mentem ------
Hor. Lib. ii. Od. 3.
Mighty Cæsar, tho' to thee
Britain bows the bended knee;
Tho' her hardy warriors know
Victor is the valiant foe;—
Tho' her king with tort'ring pain
Captive drags the galling chain;
Rome itself shall never boast,
Britannia's glory all is lost!
Britain bows the bended knee;
Tho' her hardy warriors know
Victor is the valiant foe;—
Tho' her king with tort'ring pain
Captive drags the galling chain;
Rome itself shall never boast,
Britannia's glory all is lost!
107
Saw thou not, Ostorius bold,
Where in blood my chariot roll'd;
Saw thou not in ev'ry eye
Firm resolve and courage lie?
Saw thou not each British sword
Carve a passage for its lord,
Where the Roman eagle spread
Her purple pinions o'er thy head?
Where in blood my chariot roll'd;
Saw thou not in ev'ry eye
Firm resolve and courage lie?
Saw thou not each British sword
Carve a passage for its lord,
Where the Roman eagle spread
Her purple pinions o'er thy head?
When misfortune hovers nigh,
Let the coward wish to die;
And, like Cato, robb'd of rest,
Plunge the dagger in his breast!
But, tho' feeble, pale, and wan,
Still your captive is a man:
And for me, if life is rough,
To live and to be brave's enough!
Let the coward wish to die;
And, like Cato, robb'd of rest,
Plunge the dagger in his breast!
But, tho' feeble, pale, and wan,
Still your captive is a man:
And for me, if life is rough,
To live and to be brave's enough!
Tho' these hands no more may wield
Pond'rous spear, or massy shield;
Tho' this tongue may ne'er again
Bid the British troops be men;
Hope, with ever-lifted eye,
Hope, enchanting, still is nigh!
Yes; they shall again be free,
And triumph in their liberty!
Pond'rous spear, or massy shield;
Tho' this tongue may ne'er again
Bid the British troops be men;
Hope, with ever-lifted eye,
Hope, enchanting, still is nigh!
Yes; they shall again be free,
And triumph in their liberty!
108
TO HONOUR.
Honos alit Artes.
Honour, nurse of ev'ry art,
Warm inspirer of the heart,
Thee, for all men own thy sway,
“Tributary kings obey;”
Thee, the warrior claims his due,
Honour, all he holds in view.
“'Twas for thee,” he cries, “I rode
“Fiercely thro' the fields of blood;
“Woke Discord with the trumpet's breath,
“And dipt my sword in blood, and purpled it with death!”
Warm inspirer of the heart,
Thee, for all men own thy sway,
“Tributary kings obey;”
Thee, the warrior claims his due,
Honour, all he holds in view.
“'Twas for thee,” he cries, “I rode
“Fiercely thro' the fields of blood;
“Woke Discord with the trumpet's breath,
“And dipt my sword in blood, and purpled it with death!”
When in brisk enliv'ning notes
Sweet the liquid music floats;
When the deep-ton'd organs blow
Solemn measures, soft and slow;
Or the clarions from afar
Rouse the ruthless storms of war;
Whose, but thine exalted hand,
Wakes with transport all the land?
Whose, but thy voice in thunder told,
Calls to the well-fought field the enterprising bold!
Sweet the liquid music floats;
When the deep-ton'd organs blow
Solemn measures, soft and slow;
Or the clarions from afar
Rouse the ruthless storms of war;
Whose, but thine exalted hand,
Wakes with transport all the land?
Whose, but thy voice in thunder told,
Calls to the well-fought field the enterprising bold!
109
See where on the canvas glows,
Christ triumphant in his woes ;
See, as wild he sweeps the lyre,
Anger all the bard inspire,
While, at each prophetic sound,
Death and Ruin storm around;
Who, but thou, the Master taught
Imag'd life and pictur'd thought!
With life inspir'd each wond'rous form;
Gave deadlier looks to Death , new terrors to the Storm ?
Christ triumphant in his woes ;
See, as wild he sweeps the lyre,
Anger all the bard inspire,
While, at each prophetic sound,
Death and Ruin storm around;
Who, but thou, the Master taught
Imag'd life and pictur'd thought!
With life inspir'd each wond'rous form;
Gave deadlier looks to Death , new terrors to the Storm ?
Last yet richer drest than all,
Poesy attends thy call:
Thee, when Milton soaring high
Search'd the glories of the sky;
Thee, when Gray's terrific hand
Woke to Vengeance Cambria's land;
Or enraptur'd Collins sung,
As Fancy wild her reeds among;
Thee she saw, while wond'ring earth
View'd with awe thy glorious birth;
Thee she beheld with eager eye,
And wav'd her airy wing, and hail'd thee from the sky!
Poesy attends thy call:
Thee, when Milton soaring high
Search'd the glories of the sky;
Thee, when Gray's terrific hand
Woke to Vengeance Cambria's land;
Or enraptur'd Collins sung,
As Fancy wild her reeds among;
Thee she saw, while wond'ring earth
View'd with awe thy glorious birth;
Thee she beheld with eager eye,
And wav'd her airy wing, and hail'd thee from the sky!
110
TO TRUTH.
Truth, fairest virgin of the sky,
With robes of light, and beaming eye,
And temples crown'd with day;
O thou, of all the cherub choir,
That boast'st to wake the sweetest lyre,
And chant the softest lay.
With robes of light, and beaming eye,
And temples crown'd with day;
O thou, of all the cherub choir,
That boast'st to wake the sweetest lyre,
And chant the softest lay.
By him, who 'midst his country's tears
Stood moveless to a thousand fears,
And smil'd at racks and death;
By Persia's turban'd heroes bold,
And all the Spartan chiefs of old,
That bow'd thy shrine beneath;
Stood moveless to a thousand fears,
And smil'd at racks and death;
By Persia's turban'd heroes bold,
And all the Spartan chiefs of old,
That bow'd thy shrine beneath;
By holy Virtue's vestal flame,
By laurell'd Honour's stately name,
And cheek-bedimpled Love;
O lift from thy majestic head
The veil that o'er its tresses spread,
Doubt's fairy fingers wove.
By laurell'd Honour's stately name,
And cheek-bedimpled Love;
O lift from thy majestic head
The veil that o'er its tresses spread,
Doubt's fairy fingers wove.
Thee chaste Religion's virgin breast,
And hope, with fair unruffled vest,
Their lovely sister hail;
Simplicity with lilied crown,
And Innocence untaught to frown,
And Peace that loves the vale.
And hope, with fair unruffled vest,
Their lovely sister hail;
111
And Innocence untaught to frown,
And Peace that loves the vale.
The dæmon that usurps thy day,
And casts upon its blemish'd ray
The poison of his tongue;
O bid him, from thy dazzling sight,
Shrink back into eternal night,
His kindred fiends among.
And casts upon its blemish'd ray
The poison of his tongue;
O bid him, from thy dazzling sight,
Shrink back into eternal night,
His kindred fiends among.
And in the horrors of his train,
Let discord seek his yelling reign,
Nor haunt thy path serene;
While Guilt, on ev'ry sullen wind,
Starts pale and trembling from behind
His wild and wizard mein.
Let discord seek his yelling reign,
Nor haunt thy path serene;
While Guilt, on ev'ry sullen wind,
Starts pale and trembling from behind
His wild and wizard mein.
Then o'er thy flow'r-enamell'd way
Shall Youth, in artless frolic gay,
His rustic hymns increase;
While Britain, raptur'd at the sound,
Shouts to her echoing shores around,
“Truth, Liberty, and Peace!”
Shall Youth, in artless frolic gay,
His rustic hymns increase;
While Britain, raptur'd at the sound,
Shouts to her echoing shores around,
“Truth, Liberty, and Peace!”
112
FOR 1799.
WRITTEN AT THE TIME OF THE WAR IN SWITZERLAND.
Swiftly o'er the barren heath,
Flies the distant echoing blast;
Burning War and thirsty Death,
Gloomy horrors round them cast!
Flies the distant echoing blast;
Burning War and thirsty Death,
Gloomy horrors round them cast!
“What bring ye, wide rushing storms?”
Cries the mountain Swiss afar!
“Whence are these terrific forms,
“Thirsty Death and burning War?”
Cries the mountain Swiss afar!
“Whence are these terrific forms,
“Thirsty Death and burning War?”
Stern he said;—In wild reply
Howl'd the dæmon of the wind:
“Wretch, thy patriot friends must die,
“Gaul and Vengeance frown behind!
Howl'd the dæmon of the wind:
“Wretch, thy patriot friends must die,
“Gaul and Vengeance frown behind!
Loud he cried;—the warrior frown'd,
Rushing down the craggy steep;
Soon the chief his brethren found,
Yielding indolent to sleep.
Rushing down the craggy steep;
Soon the chief his brethren found,
Yielding indolent to sleep.
113
Like the waking thunder, rose
Heroes at his loud alarms;
Starting quickly from repose,
Onward rush'd the bold to arms!
Heroes at his loud alarms;
Starting quickly from repose,
Onward rush'd the bold to arms!
Slow advancing from the west,
Rose the battle's iron storm;
Pierc'd was ev'ry warrior's breast,
Pale was Freedom's drooping form!
Rose the battle's iron storm;
Pierc'd was ev'ry warrior's breast,
Pale was Freedom's drooping form!
O'er the widely-wasted heath,
Hollow was the voice of woe!
Scatter'd lay the swords of Death,
Scatter'd lay the chieftains low!
Hollow was the voice of woe!
Scatter'd lay the swords of Death,
Scatter'd lay the chieftains low!
Oft before the dewy Spring
Sadly smiles, is Freedom seen
Weeping, fresh blown flow'rs to bring,
And deck each corse with honours green!
Sadly smiles, is Freedom seen
Weeping, fresh blown flow'rs to bring,
And deck each corse with honours green!
TO GENIUS.
O thou, to all the vulgar blind,
Who fill'st the Poet's ample mind
With rapture, such as Shakespeare felt,
When at thy sacred shrine he knelt;
Such as inspires, in lofty strain,
To tell of agony and pain;
Or, o'er the harp, as the slow fingers move,
The gentler, soft, sooth'd mind inspires
With silent, yet more glowing fires,
While the loud numbers melt to strains of breathing love.
Who fill'st the Poet's ample mind
114
When at thy sacred shrine he knelt;
Such as inspires, in lofty strain,
To tell of agony and pain;
Or, o'er the harp, as the slow fingers move,
The gentler, soft, sooth'd mind inspires
With silent, yet more glowing fires,
While the loud numbers melt to strains of breathing love.
O with that glow whose modest flush
Gives Thomson's muse her chaster blush,
Or with th' expanding flames that silent lie,
To burst more bright from Collins' eye;
Or with the voice of Milton's song,
Pure as the heav'n, and as its thunder strong;
O fill my mind with all thy strength,
Like thy ideas without length;
Pour thro' my soul thy beaming light,
Within be glorious day, tho' all without is night!
Gives Thomson's muse her chaster blush,
Or with th' expanding flames that silent lie,
To burst more bright from Collins' eye;
Or with the voice of Milton's song,
Pure as the heav'n, and as its thunder strong;
O fill my mind with all thy strength,
Like thy ideas without length;
Pour thro' my soul thy beaming light,
Within be glorious day, tho' all without is night!
Yet to that day, so bright begun,
O grant there be no setting sun;
Let not Distraction's hurrying storm,
Or idiot Madness, restless form,
Deface thy lively ray;
Long, Genius, let thy suppliant view
Thy airy robes of varying hue,
And eyes that dazzle day.
But if thy warm inspiring breath
Grow cold at the approach of Death;
If at his wintry grasp thy fire
But faint my lonely breast inspire;
Grant to the coming night, O youth divine,
One ray may linger yet, one cheering beam may shine!
O grant there be no setting sun;
Let not Distraction's hurrying storm,
Or idiot Madness, restless form,
Deface thy lively ray;
115
Thy airy robes of varying hue,
And eyes that dazzle day.
But if thy warm inspiring breath
Grow cold at the approach of Death;
If at his wintry grasp thy fire
But faint my lonely breast inspire;
Grant to the coming night, O youth divine,
One ray may linger yet, one cheering beam may shine!
ON FRIENDSHIP.
------ Natura beatos
Omnibus esse dedit, si quis cognoverit uti.
Claudian.
Omnibus esse dedit, si quis cognoverit uti.
Claudian.
Happy the youth, whose early days
The sweets of Friendship charm away;
Content to breathe his humble lays
Simple and gay.
The sweets of Friendship charm away;
Content to breathe his humble lays
Simple and gay.
116
Whose friend of senie and love is made,
Whose mind is dress'd as gay as Prior;
Whose Muse, when warm, that mind can shade,
When cold, can fire.
Whose mind is dress'd as gay as Prior;
Whose Muse, when warm, that mind can shade,
When cold, can fire.
Blest on a faithful breast to find
Wants, cares, and sorrows, glide away;
Unmov'd in body or in mind,
To chide the day.
Wants, cares, and sorrows, glide away;
Unmov'd in body or in mind,
To chide the day.
No thoughts at night except the dreams,
Together mixt of love and peace!
And musings fir'd with inward beams
Of heav'nly grace!
Together mixt of love and peace!
And musings fir'd with inward beams
Of heav'nly grace!
Thus let me live, known but by one,
Mourn'd but by one, my race thus end;
Forgot by all that race that run,
Except my friend!
Mourn'd but by one, my race thus end;
Forgot by all that race that run,
Except my friend!
TO FRIENDSHIP.
O thou, who winding thro' the wrinkles deep
Of giant Care, smooth'st out his rugged brow
As polish'd as thine own,
With wiles unknown before:
Of giant Care, smooth'st out his rugged brow
As polish'd as thine own,
With wiles unknown before:
117
Or with thy lovely hand, lurking unseen,
Stamp'st a new dimple on his furrow'd cheek,
While his dark-boding eye
Starts into animation;
Stamp'st a new dimple on his furrow'd cheek,
While his dark-boding eye
Starts into animation;
How sweet thy form, when, hanging o'er his head,
Thy gentle tear meets his; that, rushing down,
Melts on his icy breast,
Rich with thy glowing pearl!
Thy gentle tear meets his; that, rushing down,
Melts on his icy breast,
Rich with thy glowing pearl!
Or when pale Melancholy, maid forlorn,
Mourns in soft plaint thro' yon deserted grove,
When Eve in bridals grey
Weds Twilight's sober form;
Mourns in soft plaint thro' yon deserted grove,
When Eve in bridals grey
Weds Twilight's sober form;
How sweetly hangs upon thy honey'd tongue
Persuasion, eloquent and mild, as oft
Thy soothing voice subdues
Her wo-worn soul to peace!
Persuasion, eloquent and mild, as oft
Thy soothing voice subdues
Her wo-worn soul to peace!
O lovely maid, if aught my humble lay
Avail to move thy gen'rous pitying breast,
Whose rugged numbers oft
Have hail'd thy genial reign;
Avail to move thy gen'rous pitying breast,
Whose rugged numbers oft
Have hail'd thy genial reign;
By all the griefs that rent the vengeful breast
Of dread Achilles, when the Trojan arm
Stretch'd on the clanging earth
His bold, his patriot friend;
Of dread Achilles, when the Trojan arm
Stretch'd on the clanging earth
His bold, his patriot friend;
118
By all the fire that flash'd from Nisus' eye,
When the lov'd warrior lay convuls'd in death,
His tresses rudely tost
On his cold, pallid cheek;
When the lov'd warrior lay convuls'd in death,
His tresses rudely tost
On his cold, pallid cheek;
O still, to light and life, affection warm,
And all the nameless blessings thou canst give,
Pure, innocent, and free,
The social youth preserve,
And all the nameless blessings thou canst give,
Pure, innocent, and free,
The social youth preserve,
Who, in the cloister'd walks, where first I learnt
To feel thine influence mild, full oft has vow'd
To deck thy hallow'd shrine
With Summer's gayest stores!
To feel thine influence mild, full oft has vow'd
To deck thy hallow'd shrine
With Summer's gayest stores!
Then, soul-endearing maid, each rising morn,
That paints with purple all the glowing sky,
Shall, to thy bosom waft,
On Meditation's wing,
That paints with purple all the glowing sky,
Shall, to thy bosom waft,
On Meditation's wing,
Our heart-felt raptures, whether close conceal'd
By academic grove thou love to lay
In thick embow'ring shade,
Thy olive-wreathed head:
By academic grove thou love to lay
In thick embow'ring shade,
Thy olive-wreathed head:
Or roving far by Thame's moss-mantled side,
Crown thy gay temples with the moisten'd sedge,
That decks its rural banks
With lively glowing green.
Crown thy gay temples with the moisten'd sedge,
That decks its rural banks
With lively glowing green.
119
FRIENDSHIP
Sweet to the captive's raptur'd ear
Gay Freedom trills her airy song:
And gaily to the eye of Care
The golden Morning floats along:
And lively to the wither'd glade
Is wak'ning Springs enamell'd brow;
And rapt'rous to the weeping maid
Reviving Love's ecstatic vow;
Gay Freedom trills her airy song:
And gaily to the eye of Care
The golden Morning floats along:
And lively to the wither'd glade
Is wak'ning Springs enamell'd brow;
And rapt'rous to the weeping maid
Reviving Love's ecstatic vow;
But when pale Sorrow's languid eye
With tears of crystal is bedew'd,
Tho' Friendship's smile betrays a sigh,
With sweeter charms it is endued.
And sweeter than the airy lay
Of freedom to the captive's ear;
And gayer than the dawning day,
That dances to the eye of Care;
With tears of crystal is bedew'd,
Tho' Friendship's smile betrays a sigh,
With sweeter charms it is endued.
And sweeter than the airy lay
Of freedom to the captive's ear;
And gayer than the dawning day,
That dances to the eye of Care;
And livelier than the the colour'd brow
Of Spring, that paints the wither'd glade:
And more enraptur'd than the vow
In Love's returning transports made.
Then where, O where's the drooping heart,
If, while the storms of anguish blow,
Fair Friendship from the tempest start,
And smile a rainbow on our woe?
Of Spring, that paints the wither'd glade:
And more enraptur'd than the vow
In Love's returning transports made.
Then where, O where's the drooping heart,
If, while the storms of anguish blow,
Fair Friendship from the tempest start,
And smile a rainbow on our woe?
120
And where's the foot that faintly treads
Life's wide and weary vale along,
If roses on its path she spreads,
And warbles round her thrilling song?
No such has heav'nly Virtue found
Within the precincts of her sway;
Nor flying Fancy's airy round
Encircled in its magic way.
Life's wide and weary vale along,
If roses on its path she spreads,
And warbles round her thrilling song?
No such has heav'nly Virtue found
Within the precincts of her sway;
Nor flying Fancy's airy round
Encircled in its magic way.
For where she shews her hallow'd form,
Eternal sunshine decks the sky;
Peace calms to rest the turbid storm,
And Toil, and Grief, and Anguish die!
Hope is not there, for all is giv'n
That Fancy's happiest thoughts reveal;
Bliss, such as blooms the flow'r of Heav'n;
And Rapture, such as angels feel!
Eternal sunshine decks the sky;
Peace calms to rest the turbid storm,
And Toil, and Grief, and Anguish die!
Hope is not there, for all is giv'n
That Fancy's happiest thoughts reveal;
Bliss, such as blooms the flow'r of Heav'n;
And Rapture, such as angels feel!
THE PROGRESS OF PAINTING.
When Youth in Greece's polish'd groves
Was fav'rite of the laughing Loves,
The little Genii to surprise
He bade the glowing Pencil rise,
And form'd a fairy sprite that kept
The sacred wonder while he slept;
Up sprung the urchin into air,
Polite, persuasive, free and fair;
Such manners got a name in haste,
And lovely Cupid call'd him Taste.
From him full oft in airy bow'r
They snatch'd the emblem of his pow'r,
And bade upon the canvas start
The tender passions of their heart;
While lively Youth the wantons taught
Each fancy of the poet's thought,
And fairy visions flutter'd gay
Around the Eden where they lay.
Was fav'rite of the laughing Loves,
The little Genii to surprise
He bade the glowing Pencil rise,
And form'd a fairy sprite that kept
The sacred wonder while he slept;
Up sprung the urchin into air,
Polite, persuasive, free and fair;
121
And lovely Cupid call'd him Taste.
From him full oft in airy bow'r
They snatch'd the emblem of his pow'r,
And bade upon the canvas start
The tender passions of their heart;
While lively Youth the wantons taught
Each fancy of the poet's thought,
And fairy visions flutter'd gay
Around the Eden where they lay.
Then first, 'tis said, in colours green,
The pictur'd landscape rose to view,
And distant mountains oft were seen
To dip in heav'n their foreheads blue;
The pictur'd landscape rose to view,
And distant mountains oft were seen
To dip in heav'n their foreheads blue;
And trees their leafy honours bow'd,
And reeds were waving to the gale,
And runnels seem'd to prattle loud,
And shepherds pip'd along the vale.
And reeds were waving to the gale,
And runnels seem'd to prattle loud,
And shepherds pip'd along the vale.
There oft within the murmuring grove
The swain compos'd his am'rous lay;
There oft the virgin own'd her love,
And blush'd along her modest way.
The swain compos'd his am'rous lay;
There oft the virgin own'd her love,
And blush'd along her modest way.
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These scenes alone of rural rest
Youth was then divine in painting;
A grander grief, a fiercer fainting
Than Love had shewn, his hand had ne'er display'd:
Thence stronger years were call'd by Art
To give her touch a deeper shade,
And teach the painter's toil a bolder part;
And where they dash'd the pencil warm,
Historic Glory rais'd her awful form,
And War unsheath'd the sword, and pierc'd the bleeding breast!
Youth was then divine in painting;
A grander grief, a fiercer fainting
Than Love had shewn, his hand had ne'er display'd:
Thence stronger years were call'd by Art
To give her touch a deeper shade,
And teach the painter's toil a bolder part;
And where they dash'd the pencil warm,
Historic Glory rais'd her awful form,
And War unsheath'd the sword, and pierc'd the bleeding breast!
The soul's exertion tir'd; and lost to fame
Greece sunk her bleeding head;
While the gay Laurel from her barren name
Planted in a Roman shade,
Where Painting's alter'd pencil laid,
Green flourish'd o'er the genial land,
Till Death and Darkness arm'd the Vandal's hand;
Then around the wasted scene
War howling shook his gory mien,
And savage slaughter blew the blast of Woe;
The Muse wept o'er her ruffled wing,
And sigh'd whene'er she sought to sing;
Thalia kiss'd her laurel drooping low,
And dew'd with crystal tears the colours of her bow .
From flaming Latium's desolated land
Italia's phœnix form arose;
Upsprung the laurel to her gentler hand,
And Painting smil'd above her cloud of woes.
Greece sunk her bleeding head;
While the gay Laurel from her barren name
Planted in a Roman shade,
Where Painting's alter'd pencil laid,
Green flourish'd o'er the genial land,
Till Death and Darkness arm'd the Vandal's hand;
Then around the wasted scene
War howling shook his gory mien,
And savage slaughter blew the blast of Woe;
The Muse wept o'er her ruffled wing,
And sigh'd whene'er she sought to sing;
Thalia kiss'd her laurel drooping low,
And dew'd with crystal tears the colours of her bow .
123
Italia's phœnix form arose;
Upsprung the laurel to her gentler hand,
And Painting smil'd above her cloud of woes.
Then with a wild ecstatic heat
Reclin'd in Fancy's airy seat
The pencil met her Raphael's eye;
Gay Youth at length exulting view'd
His hands with stronger pow'rs endu'd,
And laugh'd along the sky.
Reclin'd in Fancy's airy seat
The pencil met her Raphael's eye;
Gay Youth at length exulting view'd
His hands with stronger pow'rs endu'd,
And laugh'd along the sky.
But see! before his sparkling sight
Fair forms of Joy, and panting Pleasures shine;
Idalia darting from her Cyprian shrine,
Bursts her radiant veil of light;
And piercing in his painted bow'r,
Bright her beams, and hot the hour,
In the convulsive raptures of her bowl
Drowns his transport-frenzied soul!
Fair forms of Joy, and panting Pleasures shine;
Idalia darting from her Cyprian shrine,
Bursts her radiant veil of light;
And piercing in his painted bow'r,
Bright her beams, and hot the hour,
In the convulsive raptures of her bowl
Drowns his transport-frenzied soul!
124
Heard ye Thalia's plaintive sighs?
The warm excess has burst his boiling veins!
The bloom of Beauty is no more,
But pallid Tremor reigns!
On cheeks, that summer-purple wore,
The winter-lily lies!
Ah! yet life glimmers faint and fast!
No more!—the gaudy gleam is past;
And great Urbino dies!
The warm excess has burst his boiling veins!
The bloom of Beauty is no more,
But pallid Tremor reigns!
On cheeks, that summer-purple wore,
The winter-lily lies!
Ah! yet life glimmers faint and fast!
No more!—the gaudy gleam is past;
And great Urbino dies!
Alas! where now, in what sweet shade
Wilt thou, thou rich-rob'd fair, be laid?
Where paint again thy visions wild?
Ah! Where shall Youth's exulting eye
A pencil yet sublime descry?
Where sad Thalia wipe away
The tears that cloud her festive day,
And weep her fav'rite child?
Yet mourn no more! see from the main
The Queen of Isles arise;
Old Triton wakes his echoing strain,
And from the grottos of the deep
The blue-eyed Naiads gaily peep:
Now in dashing frolic sporting
Swiftly thro' the waves they glide;
Now the gentle waters courting
Stretch them on their polish'd side,
And hark! slow swelling on the western gale
The pomp of Music floats sublime along;
The sons of Ocean raise the choral song,
And bid their British Goddess hail!
Thalia catches comfort from her eyes,
And as her colour'd pinions spread,
Waves high the laurel-wreath, and crowns her sea-green head.
Wilt thou, thou rich-rob'd fair, be laid?
Where paint again thy visions wild?
Ah! Where shall Youth's exulting eye
A pencil yet sublime descry?
Where sad Thalia wipe away
The tears that cloud her festive day,
And weep her fav'rite child?
Yet mourn no more! see from the main
The Queen of Isles arise;
Old Triton wakes his echoing strain,
And from the grottos of the deep
The blue-eyed Naiads gaily peep:
Now in dashing frolic sporting
Swiftly thro' the waves they glide;
Now the gentle waters courting
Stretch them on their polish'd side,
125
The pomp of Music floats sublime along;
The sons of Ocean raise the choral song,
And bid their British Goddess hail!
Thalia catches comfort from her eyes,
And as her colour'd pinions spread,
Waves high the laurel-wreath, and crowns her sea-green head.
O Britain, in thy boasted isle
The favour'd Muses loveliest smile;
Whate'er with lyre sublimely strung
Calliope exalted sung,
When Homer first the colleague shone
Of Majesty's empyreal throne,
Or Maro's eye with modest ray
On Pindus shot serener day;
Whate'er the Muse of Painting taught
To give the eye the range of thought;
Whate'er with steady hand she drew,
Or wildly dash'd for bolder view;
When Zeuxis o'er his pencil smil'd
To see his critic eye beguil'd;
Or from Apelles
with surprise
Greece saw a second Ammon rise;
Whate'er Parnassus boasts her own,
Thy sons display around thy throne:
There Fancy in the sunshine flings
A thousand colours from her wings;
There Judgment's eye with ken profound
Surveys his philosophic round;
And Wisdom with his star-crown'd head
Sees worlds unknown before him spread.
The favour'd Muses loveliest smile;
Whate'er with lyre sublimely strung
Calliope exalted sung,
When Homer first the colleague shone
Of Majesty's empyreal throne,
Or Maro's eye with modest ray
On Pindus shot serener day;
Whate'er the Muse of Painting taught
To give the eye the range of thought;
Whate'er with steady hand she drew,
Or wildly dash'd for bolder view;
When Zeuxis o'er his pencil smil'd
To see his critic eye beguil'd;
126
Greece saw a second Ammon rise;
Whate'er Parnassus boasts her own,
Thy sons display around thy throne:
There Fancy in the sunshine flings
A thousand colours from her wings;
There Judgment's eye with ken profound
Surveys his philosophic round;
And Wisdom with his star-crown'd head
Sees worlds unknown before him spread.
Yet ah! when Barry's glowing eye
Shuts cold within the grave;
When Fancy's dreams her Fuseli fly,
Nor longer in his eagle sight
Reflecting ev'ry varied light
Her gleaming visions wave;
When Hist'ry weeps her dying West,
And tears her variegated vest
At ev'ry streaming tear;
Ah! who on sad Thalia's cheek
Recalls the faded bloom;
Whose hands the drooping laurel seek,
That waves in silence dark and drear
Above the Muse's tomb?
Shuts cold within the grave;
When Fancy's dreams her Fuseli fly,
Nor longer in his eagle sight
Reflecting ev'ry varied light
Her gleaming visions wave;
127
And tears her variegated vest
At ev'ry streaming tear;
Ah! who on sad Thalia's cheek
Recalls the faded bloom;
Whose hands the drooping laurel seek,
That waves in silence dark and drear
Above the Muse's tomb?
See o'er the fields of Glory gay
Yon youthful form arise
That from his hand diffuses day,
And darts along the skies!
'Tis He! But why the hurrying gleam
That marks his ardent way?
Why streams yon wild disorder'd beam
With quick convulsive ray?
Ah! know'st thou not that sparkling bowl
In Pleasure's fatal arm?
Hide, lurer, hide the fraudful charm!
Yet vain the pray'r! See, where his trembling soul
With the wild rapture panting, dying,
Now on Hope's faint pinions flying,
Yon youthful form arise
That from his hand diffuses day,
And darts along the skies!
'Tis He! But why the hurrying gleam
That marks his ardent way?
Why streams yon wild disorder'd beam
With quick convulsive ray?
Ah! know'st thou not that sparkling bowl
In Pleasure's fatal arm?
Hide, lurer, hide the fraudful charm!
Yet vain the pray'r! See, where his trembling soul
With the wild rapture panting, dying,
Now on Hope's faint pinions flying,
128
Now casting back on life's lost glitt'ring scene
The dimm'd and dark'ning eye,
Views pale and ghast its course beneath,
Cheer'd by no soft, no rural landscape green,
The realms that bound the vale of Death,
Gulph without depth, and cloud without a sky;
Glooms, where Fate is taught to frown,
Shades, that Fear and Horror crown;
Where is felt a weight of Night,
And Blackness that can blast the sight!
Ah! would this tear could melt his woes away,
This sigh his spirit call, and bid it mix with day!
Turn yet, ye Suns of Genius, turn,
With undiminish'd lustre burn;
Turn yet from yon obscuring cloud,
Where Sorrow weaves her dropping shroud;
And, o'er the fields of Glory borne
Beyond the reach of sullen night,
Dart from your eyes the wonted morn,
That gave our day delight!
For see! Where on Thalia's head
With rays of beaming grandeur spread,
Rich blooms again the laurel green!
And low! slow moving o'er the radiant skies
With steadier step and of majestic mien,
He comes, the Youth who charm'd a Britain's eyes,
When from his pencil Valour rose,
And, tow'ring high above his Eastern foes,
Wav'd his red standard o'er the daring scene.
The dimm'd and dark'ning eye,
Views pale and ghast its course beneath,
Cheer'd by no soft, no rural landscape green,
The realms that bound the vale of Death,
Gulph without depth, and cloud without a sky;
Glooms, where Fate is taught to frown,
Shades, that Fear and Horror crown;
Where is felt a weight of Night,
And Blackness that can blast the sight!
Ah! would this tear could melt his woes away,
This sigh his spirit call, and bid it mix with day!
Turn yet, ye Suns of Genius, turn,
With undiminish'd lustre burn;
Turn yet from yon obscuring cloud,
Where Sorrow weaves her dropping shroud;
And, o'er the fields of Glory borne
Beyond the reach of sullen night,
Dart from your eyes the wonted morn,
That gave our day delight!
For see! Where on Thalia's head
With rays of beaming grandeur spread,
Rich blooms again the laurel green!
And low! slow moving o'er the radiant skies
With steadier step and of majestic mien,
He comes, the Youth who charm'd a Britain's eyes,
129
And, tow'ring high above his Eastern foes,
Wav'd his red standard o'er the daring scene.
O Painting, next in Fancy's heart,
To her sublime thy Sister Art,
Who taught her Shakespeare's breast to glow
With more than thou, a Goddess, know;
Thou, warm Expression's rosiest child,
Whose blushful cheek has ever smil'd,
But when in some unwonted hour,
Pale Sorrow met thy pitying pow'r;
Such time, as lost in mimic pain,
A tortur'd Saviour died again,
The while thy tyrant son beneath
The bleeding model gasp'd in death;
Pour, Goddess, on this tasteful age
Thy breathing soul's divinest rage,
Each beam that sparkles in thine eye,
Where rang'd the colour'd splendors lie,
The glowing thought, the mind of fire,
And all that Fancy's charms inspire!
E'en, Virgin, to this breast impart
If not to feel, to love thine Art,
Delight to view each pictur'd tale,
Where Virtue and her sons prevail,
Where Taste has moral ends pursu'd,
And Genius teaches to be good.
Impart; and each new wonder giv'n
Shall bid me hail thee “Lov'd of Heav'n!”
To her sublime thy Sister Art,
Who taught her Shakespeare's breast to glow
With more than thou, a Goddess, know;
Thou, warm Expression's rosiest child,
Whose blushful cheek has ever smil'd,
But when in some unwonted hour,
Pale Sorrow met thy pitying pow'r;
Such time, as lost in mimic pain,
A tortur'd Saviour died again,
The while thy tyrant son beneath
The bleeding model gasp'd in death;
Pour, Goddess, on this tasteful age
Thy breathing soul's divinest rage,
Each beam that sparkles in thine eye,
Where rang'd the colour'd splendors lie,
130
And all that Fancy's charms inspire!
E'en, Virgin, to this breast impart
If not to feel, to love thine Art,
Delight to view each pictur'd tale,
Where Virtue and her sons prevail,
Where Taste has moral ends pursu'd,
And Genius teaches to be good.
Impart; and each new wonder giv'n
Shall bid me hail thee “Lov'd of Heav'n!”
Raphael d'Urbino, born at Urbino in the States of the Church in Italy, had arrived at such a height of excellence in painting, that in the flower of his youth he was styled the Prince of Painters, and still continues at the head of his profession. This great artist died at a very early period of life, in consequence of a continual and unlimited round of intemperance and debauchery.
Zeuxis and Parrhasius, two rival Greek Painters, determined to decide the superiority of the pencil, by submitting two of their works to a public examination. They met accordingly; when Zeuxis produced his piece, representing two men carrying a bunch of grapes, which the birds immediately flew to and pecked; this sufficiently proved the nice execution of the grapes; but this was not the praise that Zeuxis wished; who candidly acknowledged that want of manliness in the faces of the bearers, which failed to hinder the near approach of the birds. He now turned to Parrhasius, and desired him to remove the curtain, that his picture might be examined: the curtain itself was the picture: when this exclamation of submission and admiration burst from his astonished rival:—“Zeuxis has deceived birds, but Parrhasius has deceived Zeuxis himself!”
Apelles, the Prince of Grecian Painters, and favourite of Alexander the Great, whose picture none but himself was permitted to copy. It is reported that he executed so great a likeness of that Prince, that the horse of the Monarch neighed on approaching it, supposing himself in the presence of his master.
T. Kirk, one of the most animated and promising Painters this country has produced, died like that Raphael he was so skilfully imitating in spirit and grandeur of design, a victim to licentiousness; and was cut off in the flower of his youth, a few years since.
Michael Angelo Buonarotti, who united in his person the different arts of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, lived during the revival of learning in Italy; and, as master of the first profession, ranks second in the list to the immortal Raphael. An anecdote, as cruel as it was ungenerous, here alluded to, is related of this artist:—That in order to paint the agonies of Death with greater force in the face of a crucified Saviour, he stabbed a man at his feet, and copied the tortured and frightful lineaments of his visage, as he lay expiring.
WANDLE'S WAVE.
The placid eve, the whisp'ring gale,
Bid musing Love and Peace prevail;
And call the lonely swain to stray,
Where breezy Coolness fans the way.
How sweet to breathe thro' yonder grove
The pensive lay, the sighs of Love,
While streams in answ'ring murmurs lave
The peaceful banks of Wandle's Wave!
Bid musing Love and Peace prevail;
And call the lonely swain to stray,
Where breezy Coolness fans the way.
How sweet to breathe thro' yonder grove
The pensive lay, the sighs of Love,
While streams in answ'ring murmurs lave
The peaceful banks of Wandle's Wave!
Yet, ah! the notes that Friendship taught,
Must soon awake a gloomier thought,
Since She will close those eyes of fire
That now the rural song inspire;
The summer eve, the cooling grove
Hear then no more the sighs of Love;
I go to dress Affection's grave;
Adieu, the banks of Wandle's Wave!
Must soon awake a gloomier thought,
131
That now the rural song inspire;
The summer eve, the cooling grove
Hear then no more the sighs of Love;
I go to dress Affection's grave;
Adieu, the banks of Wandle's Wave!
| Juvenilia | |