Poems on Several Occasions To which is added Gondibert and Birtha, A Tragedy. By William Thompson |
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| II. | THE PALACE OF DISEASE.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
215
THE PALACE OF DISEASE.
Book II.
Diseases dire, of which a monstrous Crew
Before Thee shall appear.
Milton.
Before Thee shall appear.
Milton.
216
Argument of the Second Book.
Reflections . Invocation of the Genius of Spenser. Apostrophe to the Dutchess of Somerset. The Palace of Disease. War. Intemperance. Melancholy. Fever. Consumption. Small Pox. Complaint on the Death of Lord Beauchamp.
217
Death was not Man's Inheritance, but Life
Immortal, but a Paradise of Bliss,
Unfading Beauty, and eternal Spring,
(The cloudess Blaze of Innocence's Reign:)
The Gifts of God's Right-Hand! till monstrous Sin,
The motly Child of Satan and of Hell,
Invited dire Disease into the World,
And her distorted Brood of ugly Shapes,
Echidna's Brood! and fix'd their curs'd Abode
On Earth, invisible to human Sight,
The Portion and the Scourge of mortal Man.
Yet tho' to human Sight invisible,
If She, whom I implore, Urania deign,
With Euphrasy
Aut vinum, aut cœcus, luminis osor, amor, &c.
Tunc ego, non frustrà, vocor—
Couleius Lib. Plant. p. 39. ---Purg'd with Euphrasy and Rue
The visual Nerve.
Milton. to purge away the Mists
Which, humid, dim the Mirror of the Mind;
(As Venus gave Æneas to behold
The angry Gods with Flame o'erwhelming Troy,
Neptune and Pallas,) not in vain, I'll sing
The mystick Terrors of this gloomy Reign:
And, led by her, with dangerous Courage press
Through dreary Paths, and Haunts, by mortal Foot
Rare visited;
unless by Thee, I ween,
Father of Fancy, of descriptive Verse,
And shadowy Beings, gentle Edmund, hight
Spenser!
the Sweetest of the tuneful Throng,
Or recent, or of eld. Creative Bard,
Thy Springs unlock, expand thy fairy Scenes,
Thy unexhausted Stores of Fancy spread,
And with thy Images inrich my Song.
Immortal, but a Paradise of Bliss,
Unfading Beauty, and eternal Spring,
(The cloudess Blaze of Innocence's Reign:)
The Gifts of God's Right-Hand! till monstrous Sin,
The motly Child of Satan and of Hell,
Invited dire Disease into the World,
And her distorted Brood of ugly Shapes,
Echidna's Brood! and fix'd their curs'd Abode
On Earth, invisible to human Sight,
The Portion and the Scourge of mortal Man.
Yet tho' to human Sight invisible,
If She, whom I implore, Urania deign,
218
With Euphrasy, Angl. Eyebright. This Herb was unknown to the Ancients; at least it is not mention'd by them. It is of extraordinary Service to the Eye, curing most of its Distempers.
—Cum debilitat morbi vis improba visum,Aut vinum, aut cœcus, luminis osor, amor, &c.
Tunc ego, non frustrà, vocor—
Couleius Lib. Plant. p. 39. ---Purg'd with Euphrasy and Rue
The visual Nerve.
Milton.
Which, humid, dim the Mirror of the Mind;
(As Venus gave Æneas to behold
See Virgil. Æn. Lib. ii. Which seems to be borrow'd from Homer. Ilias. Lib. v. We have several of the like Instances in the sacred Volumes. Gen. xxi. 19. And God open'd her Eyes and she saw a Well of Water. Numbers, xxii. 31. Then the Lord open'd the Eyes of Balaam, and he saw the Angel of the Lord, &c.
The angry Gods with Flame o'erwhelming Troy,
Neptune and Pallas,) not in vain, I'll sing
The mystick Terrors of this gloomy Reign:
And, led by her, with dangerous Courage press
Through dreary Paths, and Haunts, by mortal Foot
Rare visited;
See Virgil:
Sed me Parnassi deserta per ardua dulcis
Raptat amor: Juvat ire jugis, quà nulla priorum,
Castaliam molli divertitur orbita clivo.
Georg. Lib. iii.
Raptat amor: Juvat ire jugis, quà nulla priorum,
Castaliam molli divertitur orbita clivo.
Which is imitated from Lucretius, Lib. ii.
Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante
Trita pede, &c.
Trita pede, &c.
Father of Fancy, of descriptive Verse,
And shadowy Beings, gentle Edmund, hight
Spenser!
The Date of our English Poetry may with great Justice begin with Spenser. It is true, Chaucer, Gower, and Lydgate were Masters of uncommon Beauties, considering the Age they lived in, and have described the Humours, Passions, &c. with great Discernment. Yet none of them seem to have been half so well acquainted with the very Life and Being of Poetry, Invention, Painting, and Design, as Spenser. Chaucer was the best before him; but then he borrowed most of his Poems, either from the Ancients, or from Boccace, Petrarch, or the Provençal Writers, &c. Thus his Troilus and Cressida, the largest of his Works, was taken from Lollius; and the Romaunt of the Rose, was translated from the French of John de Meun, an Englishman, who flourished in the Reign of Richard II. and so of the rest. As for those who follow'd him, such as Heywood, Scogan, Skelton, &c. they seem to be wholly ignorant of either Numbers, Language, Propriety, or even decency itself. I must be understood to except the Earl of Surry, Sir Thomas Wiat, Sir Philip Sidney, several Pieces in the Mirror of Magistrates, and a few Parts of Mr. G. Gascoign's and Turbervill's Works.
Or recent, or of eld. Creative Bard,
Thy Springs unlock, expand thy fairy Scenes,
Thy unexhausted Stores of Fancy spread,
And with thy Images inrich my Song.
Come
Hertford! with the Muse, awhile, vouchsafe
(The softer Virtues melting in thy Breast,
The tender Graces glowing in thy Form)
Vouchsafe, in all the Beauty of Distress,
To take a silent Walk among the Tombs:
There lend a Charm to Sorrow, smooth her Brow,
And sparkle through her Tears, in shining Woe.
As when the Dove, (Thy Emblem, matchless Dame!
For Beauty, Innocence, and Truth are Thine)
Spread all its Colours oe'r the boundless Deep,
(Empyreal Radiance quivering round the Gloom)
Chaos reform'd, and bade Distraction smile!
(The softer Virtues melting in thy Breast,
The tender Graces glowing in thy Form)
219
To take a silent Walk among the Tombs:
There lend a Charm to Sorrow, smooth her Brow,
And sparkle through her Tears, in shining Woe.
As when the Dove, (Thy Emblem, matchless Dame!
For Beauty, Innocence, and Truth are Thine)
Spread all its Colours oe'r the boundless Deep,
(Empyreal Radiance quivering round the Gloom)
Chaos reform'd, and bade Distraction smile!
Deep in a Desert-vale, a Palace frowns
Sublimely mournful: to the Eye it seems
The Mansion of Despair, or ancient Night.
The Graces of the Season's never knew
To shed their Bounty here, or smiling, bless,
With hospitable Foot, its bleak Domain,
Uncultivated. Nor the various Robe
Of flushing Spring, with Purple gay, invests
Its blighted Plains; nor Summer's radiant Hand
Profusive, scatters o'er its baleful Fields
The rich Abundance of her glorious Days;
And golden Autumn here forgets to reign.
Sublimely mournful: to the Eye it seems
The Mansion of Despair, or ancient Night.
The Graces of the Season's never knew
To shed their Bounty here, or smiling, bless,
With hospitable Foot, its bleak Domain,
Uncultivated. Nor the various Robe
Of flushing Spring, with Purple gay, invests
Its blighted Plains; nor Summer's radiant Hand
220
The rich Abundance of her glorious Days;
And golden Autumn here forgets to reign.
Here only Hemlock, and whatever Weeds
Medea gather'd, or Canidia brew'd,
Wet with Avernus' Waves, or Pontus yields,
Ipse dedit Mœris; nascuntur plurima Ponto.
Virg. Eclog. 8. Herbasque quas & Colchos & Iberia mittit,
Venenorum ferax.
Hor. Epod. 5. Thessela quinetiam tellus herbasque nocentes,
Rupibus ingenuit.
Lucan. Lib. v.
Or Colchos, or Thessalia, taint the Winds,
And choak the ground unhallow'd. But the Soil
Refuses to embrace the kindly Seeds
Of healing Vegetation, Sage, and Rue,
Dittany, and Amello, blooming still
In Virgil's rural Page.
The Church-yard's Shade! and Cypress' wither'd Arms
In formidable Ranks surround its Courts
With Umbrage dun; administring a Roof
To Birds of ominous portent; the Bat,
The Raven boding Death, the screaming Owl
Of heavy Wing, while Serpents, rustling, hiss,
And croaking Toads the odious Concert aid.
Medea gather'd, or Canidia brew'd,
Wet with Avernus' Waves, or Pontus yields,
Pontus, Colchos, and Thessalia, well known for producing noxious and pois'nous Herbs and Plants.
Has herbas, atque hæc Ponto mihi lecta venena,Ipse dedit Mœris; nascuntur plurima Ponto.
Virg. Eclog. 8. Herbasque quas & Colchos & Iberia mittit,
Venenorum ferax.
Hor. Epod. 5. Thessela quinetiam tellus herbasque nocentes,
Rupibus ingenuit.
Lucan. Lib. v.
Or Colchos, or Thessalia, taint the Winds,
And choak the ground unhallow'd. But the Soil
Refuses to embrace the kindly Seeds
Of healing Vegetation, Sage, and Rue,
Dittany, and Amello, blooming still
In Virgil's rural Page.
Est etiam flos in pratis cui nomen Amello
Fecere agricolæ.
Virg. Georg. Lib. vi. Besides there grows a Flow'r in marshy Ground,
Its Name Amellus, easy to be found:
A mighty Spring works in it's Root, and cleaves
The sprouting Stalk, and shews itself in Leaves.
The Flow'r itself is of a golden Hue,
The Leaves inclining to a darker Blue, &c.
Addison's Works, Vol. I. 4to.
The bitter Yew,
Fecere agricolæ.
Virg. Georg. Lib. vi. Besides there grows a Flow'r in marshy Ground,
Its Name Amellus, easy to be found:
A mighty Spring works in it's Root, and cleaves
The sprouting Stalk, and shews itself in Leaves.
The Flow'r itself is of a golden Hue,
The Leaves inclining to a darker Blue, &c.
Addison's Works, Vol. I. 4to.
The Church-yard's Shade! and Cypress' wither'd Arms
In formidable Ranks surround its Courts
With Umbrage dun; administring a Roof
To Birds of ominous portent; the Bat,
The Raven boding Death, the screaming Owl
Of heavy Wing, while Serpents, rustling, hiss,
And croaking Toads the odious Concert aid.
221
The peevish East, the rheumy South, the North
Pregnant with Storms, are all the Winds that blow:
While, distant far, the pure Etesian-Gales,
And Western-breezes fan the spicy Beds
Of Araby the Blest, or shake their Balm
O'er fair Britannia's Plains, and wake her Flow'rs.
Eternal Damps, and deadly Humours, drawn
In pois'nous Exhalations from the Deep,
Conglomerated into solid Night,
And Darkness, almost to be felt, forbid
The Sun, with chearful Beams, to purge the Air,
But roll their suffocating Horrors round
Incessant, banishing the blooming Train
Of Health, and Joy, for ever, from the Dome.
Pregnant with Storms, are all the Winds that blow:
While, distant far, the pure Etesian-Gales,
And Western-breezes fan the spicy Beds
Of Araby the Blest, or shake their Balm
O'er fair Britannia's Plains, and wake her Flow'rs.
Eternal Damps, and deadly Humours, drawn
In pois'nous Exhalations from the Deep,
Conglomerated into solid Night,
And Darkness, almost to be felt, forbid
The Sun, with chearful Beams, to purge the Air,
But roll their suffocating Horrors round
Incessant, banishing the blooming Train
Of Health, and Joy, for ever, from the Dome.
In sad Magnificence the Palace rears
Its mouldering Columns; from thy Quarries, Nile,
Of sable Marble, and Egyptian Mines
Embowel'd. Nor Corinthian Pillars, gay
With foliag'd Capitals and figur'd Frize,
Nor feminine Ionique, nor, tho' grave,
The fluted Dorique, and the Tuscan plain,
In just Proportions Rise: but Gothic, rude,
Irreconcil'd in ruinous Design:
Save in the Center, in Relievo high,
And swelling emblematically bold,
In Gold the Apple rose , “whose mortal Taste
“Brought Death into the World, and all our Woe.”
Malignantly delighted, dire Disease
Surveys the glittering Pest, and grimly smiles
With hellish Glee. Beneath, totters her Throne,
Of jarring Elements; Earth, Water, Fire;
Where hot, and cold; and moist, and dry maintain
Unnatural War. Shapeless her frightful Form,
(A Chaos of distemper'd Limbs in one)
Huge as Megæra, cruel as the Grave,
Her Eyes, two Comets; and her Breath, a Storm.
High in her wither'd Arms, she weilds her Rod,
With Adders curl'd, and dropping Gore; and points
To the dead Walls, besmear'd with cursed Tales
Of Plagues red-spotted, of blue Pestilence,
Walking in Darkness; Havock at their Heels;
Lean Famine, gnawing in Despight her Arm:
Whatever Egypt, Athens, or Messine,
Constantinople, Troynovant, Marseils,
Or Cairo felt, or Spagnolet cou'd paint.
A sickly Taper, glimmering feeble Rays
Across the Gloom, makes Horror visible,
And punishes, while it informs, the Eye.
A thousand and ten thousand monstrous Shapes
Compose the Group; the execrable Crew
Which Michael, in Vision strange, disclos'd
To Adam, in the Lazar-house of woe;
A Colony from Hell. The knotted Gout,
The bloated Dropsy, and the racking Stone
Rolling her Eyes in Anguish; Lepra foul,
Strangling Angina; Ephialtick starts;
Unnerv'd Paralysis; with moist Catarrhs;
Pleuritis bending o'er its Side, in Pain;
Vertigo; murderous Apoplexy, proud
With the late Spoils of Clayton's honour'd Life:
Clayton, the good, the courteous, the humane;
Tenacious of his Purpose, and his Word
Firm as the fabled Throne of Grecian Jove.
Be just, O Memory! again recall
Those Looks illumin'd by his honest Heart,
That open Freedom, and that chearful ease,
The bounteous Emanations of his Soul:
His British Honour; Christian Charity;
And mild Benevolence for Human-kind.
Its mouldering Columns; from thy Quarries, Nile,
Of sable Marble, and Egyptian Mines
Embowel'd. Nor Corinthian Pillars, gay
With foliag'd Capitals and figur'd Frize,
Nor feminine Ionique, nor, tho' grave,
222
In just Proportions Rise: but Gothic, rude,
Irreconcil'd in ruinous Design:
Save in the Center, in Relievo high,
And swelling emblematically bold,
In Gold the Apple rose , “whose mortal Taste
“Brought Death into the World, and all our Woe.”
Malignantly delighted, dire Disease
Surveys the glittering Pest, and grimly smiles
With hellish Glee. Beneath, totters her Throne,
Of jarring Elements; Earth, Water, Fire;
Where hot, and cold; and moist, and dry maintain
Unnatural War. Shapeless her frightful Form,
(A Chaos of distemper'd Limbs in one)
Huge as Megæra, cruel as the Grave,
Her Eyes, two Comets; and her Breath, a Storm.
High in her wither'd Arms, she weilds her Rod,
With Adders curl'd, and dropping Gore; and points
To the dead Walls, besmear'd with cursed Tales
Of Plagues red-spotted, of blue Pestilence,
Walking in Darkness; Havock at their Heels;
223
Whatever Egypt, Athens, or Messine,
Constantinople, Troynovant, Marseils,
Or Cairo felt, or Spagnolet cou'd paint.
A sickly Taper, glimmering feeble Rays
Across the Gloom, makes Horror visible,
And punishes, while it informs, the Eye.
A thousand and ten thousand monstrous Shapes
Compose the Group; the execrable Crew
Which Michael, in Vision strange, disclos'd
To Adam, in the Lazar-house of woe;
A Colony from Hell. The knotted Gout,
The bloated Dropsy, and the racking Stone
Rolling her Eyes in Anguish; Lepra foul,
Strangling Angina; Ephialtick starts;
Unnerv'd Paralysis; with moist Catarrhs;
Pleuritis bending o'er its Side, in Pain;
Vertigo; murderous Apoplexy, proud
With the late Spoils of Clayton's honour'd Life:
Clayton, the good, the courteous, the humane;
Tenacious of his Purpose, and his Word
224
Be just, O Memory! again recall
Those Looks illumin'd by his honest Heart,
That open Freedom, and that chearful ease,
The bounteous Emanations of his Soul:
His British Honour; Christian Charity;
And mild Benevolence for Human-kind.
From every Quarter, Lamentations loud,
And Sighs resound, and rueful Peals of Groans
Roll echoing round the vaulted Dens, and Screams
Dolorous, wrested from the Heart of Pain,
And brain-sick Agony. Around her Throne
Six favourite Furies, next Herself accurst,
Their dismal Mansions keep; in Order each,
As most destructive. In the foremost Rank,
Of polish'd Steel, with Armour blood-distain'd,
Helmets and Spears, and Shields, and Coats of Mail,
With Iron stiff, or Tin, or Brass, or Gold,
Swells a triumphal Arch; beneath grim War
Shakes her red Arm: for War is a Disease,
The fellest of the fell! Why will Mankind,
Why will they, when so many Plagues involve
This habitable Globe, (the curse of Sin,)
Invent new Desolations to cut off
The Christian Race? At least in Christian Climes
Let Olives shade your Mountains, and let Peace
Stream her white Banner o'er us, blest from War,
And Laurels only deck your Poet's Brows.
Or, if the fiery Metal in your Blood,
And thirst of Human-Life your Bosom sting,
Too savage! let the Fury loose of War,
And bid the Battle rage against the Breasts
Of Asian Infidels: redeem the Tow'rs
Where David sung,
the Son of David bled;
And warm new Tasso's with the Epic-flame.
And Sighs resound, and rueful Peals of Groans
Roll echoing round the vaulted Dens, and Screams
Dolorous, wrested from the Heart of Pain,
And brain-sick Agony. Around her Throne
Six favourite Furies, next Herself accurst,
Their dismal Mansions keep; in Order each,
As most destructive. In the foremost Rank,
Of polish'd Steel, with Armour blood-distain'd,
Helmets and Spears, and Shields, and Coats of Mail,
With Iron stiff, or Tin, or Brass, or Gold,
Swells a triumphal Arch; beneath grim War
Shakes her red Arm: for War is a Disease,
225
Why will they, when so many Plagues involve
This habitable Globe, (the curse of Sin,)
Invent new Desolations to cut off
The Christian Race? At least in Christian Climes
Let Olives shade your Mountains, and let Peace
Stream her white Banner o'er us, blest from War,
And Laurels only deck your Poet's Brows.
Or, if the fiery Metal in your Blood,
And thirst of Human-Life your Bosom sting,
Too savage! let the Fury loose of War,
And bid the Battle rage against the Breasts
Of Asian Infidels: redeem the Tow'rs
Where David sung,
Tho' a Croisade may seem very romantick (and perhaps it is so) yet it has been applauded by the greatest Writers of different Ages; by Æneas Sylvius, by Bessarion, by Naugerius, &c. who have each writ Orations upon that Subject. And here I cannot help observing, that Casimire and Jac. Baldè, the two most celebrated of the modern Lyric Poets, have writ several of their finest Odes to animate the Christian Princes to such a Design; and that Tasso has adorn'd the Expedition of Godfrey of Bulloign with the most beautiful and perfect Poem since the Æneis (for I prefer Milton to Virgil himself.)
And warm new Tasso's with the Epic-flame.
Right opposite to War a gorgeous Throne
With Jewels flaming, and emboss'd with Gold,
And various Sculpture, strike the wond'ring Eye
With jovial Scenes (amid Destruction gay,)
Of Instruments of Mirth, the Harp, the Lute,
Of costly Viands, of delicious Wines,
And flow'ry Wreaths to bind the careless Brow
Of Youth, or Age; as Youth or Age demand
The pleasing Ruin from th' Enchantress, vile
Intemperance: than Circe subtler far,
Only subdu'd by Wisdom; fairer far,
Than young Armida, whose bewitching Charms
Rinaldo fetter'd in her rosy Chains;
Till, by Ubaldo held, his Diamond Shield
Blaz'd on his Mind the Virtues of his Race,
And, quick, dissolv'd her wanton Mists away.
See, from her Throne, slow-moving, she extends
A poison'd Gobblet! fly the beauteous Bane:
The Adder's Tooth, the Tiger's hungry Fang
Are harmless to her Smiles; her Smiles are Death.
Beneath the foamy Lustre of the Bowl,
Which sparkles Men to Madness, lurks a Snake
Of mortal Sting: fly: if you taste the Wine,
Machaon swears
that Moly cannot cure.
Where on th' all-bearing Earth unmark'd it grew.
And shew'd its Nature and its wondrous Pow'r;
Black was the Root, but milky white the Flow'r:
Moly the Name.
Mr. Pope.
Tho' innocent and fair her Looks, she holds
A lawless Commerce with her Sister Pests,
And doubly whets their Darts: away—and live.
With Jewels flaming, and emboss'd with Gold,
And various Sculpture, strike the wond'ring Eye
With jovial Scenes (amid Destruction gay,)
Of Instruments of Mirth, the Harp, the Lute,
226
And flow'ry Wreaths to bind the careless Brow
Of Youth, or Age; as Youth or Age demand
The pleasing Ruin from th' Enchantress, vile
Intemperance: than Circe subtler far,
Only subdu'd by Wisdom; fairer far,
Than young Armida, whose bewitching Charms
Rinaldo fetter'd in her rosy Chains;
Till, by Ubaldo held, his Diamond Shield
Blaz'd on his Mind the Virtues of his Race,
And, quick, dissolv'd her wanton Mists away.
See, from her Throne, slow-moving, she extends
A poison'd Gobblet! fly the beauteous Bane:
The Adder's Tooth, the Tiger's hungry Fang
Are harmless to her Smiles; her Smiles are Death.
Beneath the foamy Lustre of the Bowl,
Which sparkles Men to Madness, lurks a Snake
Of mortal Sting: fly: if you taste the Wine,
Machaon swears
Machaon celebrated in Homer; but here used, in general, for any Physician. So Ovid:
Firma valent per se, nullumque Machaona quærunt.And Martial:
Quid tibi cum medicis? dimitte Machaonas omnes.Mercury is said to have presented Moly to Ulysses to preserve him from the Charms of Circe. Homer's Odyss. Lib. x.
Thus while he spoke, the sovereign Plant he drew,Where on th' all-bearing Earth unmark'd it grew.
And shew'd its Nature and its wondrous Pow'r;
Black was the Root, but milky white the Flow'r:
Moly the Name.
Mr. Pope.
Laudatissima herbarum est Homero, quam vocari a diis putat Moly, & inventionem ejus Mercurio assignat, contraque summa veneficia demonstrat, &c. Plinius, Lib. xxv. C. 4.
Tho' innocent and fair her Looks, she holds
227
And doubly whets their Darts: away—and live.
Next, in a low-brow'd Cave, a little Hell,
A pensive Hag, moping in Darkness, sits
Dolefully-sad: her Eyes (so deadly-dull!)
Stare from their stonied Sockets, widely wild;
For ever bent on rusty Knives, and Ropes;
On Poigna'rds, Bowls of Poison, Daggers red
With clotted Gore. A Raven by her Side
Eternal Croaks; her only Mate Despair;
Who, scowling in a Night of Clouds, presents
A thousand burning Hells, and damned Souls,
And Lakes of stormy Fire, to mad the Brain
Moon-strucken. Melancholy is her Name;
Britannia's bitter Bane. Thou gracious Pow'r,
(Whose Judgments and whose Mercies who can tell!)
With Bars of Steel, with Hills of Adamant
Crush down the sooty Fiend; nor let her blast
The sacred Light of Heav'n's all-cheering Face,
Nor fright, from Albion's Isle, the Angel Hope.
A pensive Hag, moping in Darkness, sits
Dolefully-sad: her Eyes (so deadly-dull!)
Stare from their stonied Sockets, widely wild;
For ever bent on rusty Knives, and Ropes;
On Poigna'rds, Bowls of Poison, Daggers red
With clotted Gore. A Raven by her Side
Eternal Croaks; her only Mate Despair;
Who, scowling in a Night of Clouds, presents
A thousand burning Hells, and damned Souls,
And Lakes of stormy Fire, to mad the Brain
Moon-strucken. Melancholy is her Name;
Britannia's bitter Bane. Thou gracious Pow'r,
(Whose Judgments and whose Mercies who can tell!)
With Bars of Steel, with Hills of Adamant
Crush down the sooty Fiend; nor let her blast
The sacred Light of Heav'n's all-cheering Face,
Nor fright, from Albion's Isle, the Angel Hope.
228
Fever the fourth: adust as Afric-Wilds,
Chain'd to a Bed of burning Brass: her Eyes
Like roving Meteors blaze, nor ever close
Their wakeful Lids: she turns, but turns in vain,
Through Nights of Misery. Attendant Thirst
Grasps hard an empty Bowl, and shrivel'd strives
To drench her parched Throat. Not louder Groans
From Phalaris's Bull,
as Fame reports,
Tormented with distressful din the Air,
And drew the tender Tear from Pity's Eye.
Chain'd to a Bed of burning Brass: her Eyes
Like roving Meteors blaze, nor ever close
Their wakeful Lids: she turns, but turns in vain,
Through Nights of Misery. Attendant Thirst
Grasps hard an empty Bowl, and shrivel'd strives
To drench her parched Throat. Not louder Groans
From Phalaris's Bull,
Amongst several Instruments of Torment that Phalaris caused to be contrived, there was a Bull of Brass, in which People being cast, and a Fire plac'd under it, they bellowed like Oxen. Perillus the Artist, demanding a great Reward for his Invention, was put in it himself to try the first Experiment. Upon which Pliny makes this good-natur'd Reflection: Perillum nemo laudat, sæviorem Phalaride tyranno, qui taurum fecit, mugitus hominis pollicitus, igne subdito, & primus eum expertus cruciatum justiore sævitia, &c. Plinius, Lib. xxxiv. C. 8.
Tormented with distressful din the Air,
And drew the tender Tear from Pity's Eye.
Consumption near; a joyless, meagre Wight,
Panting for Breath, and shrinking into Shade
Eludes the Grasp: thin as th' embodied Air
Which, erst, deceiv'd Ixion's void embrace,
Ambitious of a Goddess! scarce her Legs
Feebly she drags, with wheezing Labour, on,
And Motion slow: a willow Wand directs
Her tottering Steps, and marks her for the Grave.
Panting for Breath, and shrinking into Shade
Eludes the Grasp: thin as th' embodied Air
Which, erst, deceiv'd Ixion's void embrace,
Ambitious of a Goddess! scarce her Legs
Feebly she drags, with wheezing Labour, on,
And Motion slow: a willow Wand directs
Her tottering Steps, and marks her for the Grave.
229
The last, so turpid to the View, affrights
Her Neighbour Hags. Happy Herself is blind,
Or Madness wou'd ensue; so bloated-black,
So loathsome to each Sense, the Sight or Smell,
Such foul Corruption on this Side the Grave;
Variola yclep'd; ragged, and rough,
Her Couch perplex'd with Thorns.—What heavy Scenes
Hang o'er My Heart to feel the Theme is Mine!
But Providence commands; His Will be done!
She rushes through my Blood; she burns along,
And riots on my Life.—Have Mercy, Heav'n!—
Variola, what art thou? whence proceeds
This Virulence, which all, but We, escape;
Thou nauseous Enemy to Human-kind:
In Man, and Man alone, thy mystick Seeds,
Quiet, and in their secret Windings hid,
Lie unprolifick; till Infection rouze
Her pois'nous Particles, of proper Size,
Figure, and Measure, to exert their Pow'r
Of Impregnation; Atoms subtle, barb'd,
Infrangible, and active to destroy;
By Geometrick or Mechanick Rules
Yet undiscover'd: quick the Leaven runs,
Destructive of the Solids, Spirits, Blood
Of mortal Man, and agitates the whole
In general Conflagration and Misrule.
As when the flinty Seeds of Fire embrace
Some fit Materials, Stubble, Furze, or Straw,
The crackling Blaze ascends; the rapid Flood
Of ruddy Flames, impetuous o'er its Prey,
Rolls its broad Course, and half the Field devours.
Her Neighbour Hags. Happy Herself is blind,
Or Madness wou'd ensue; so bloated-black,
So loathsome to each Sense, the Sight or Smell,
Such foul Corruption on this Side the Grave;
Variola yclep'd; ragged, and rough,
Her Couch perplex'd with Thorns.—What heavy Scenes
Hang o'er My Heart to feel the Theme is Mine!
But Providence commands; His Will be done!
She rushes through my Blood; she burns along,
And riots on my Life.—Have Mercy, Heav'n!—
Variola, what art thou? whence proceeds
This Virulence, which all, but We, escape;
Thou nauseous Enemy to Human-kind:
In Man, and Man alone, thy mystick Seeds,
Quiet, and in their secret Windings hid,
Lie unprolifick; till Infection rouze
Her pois'nous Particles, of proper Size,
Figure, and Measure, to exert their Pow'r
Of Impregnation; Atoms subtle, barb'd,
Infrangible, and active to destroy;
230
Yet undiscover'd: quick the Leaven runs,
Destructive of the Solids, Spirits, Blood
Of mortal Man, and agitates the whole
In general Conflagration and Misrule.
As when the flinty Seeds of Fire embrace
Some fit Materials, Stubble, Furze, or Straw,
The crackling Blaze ascends; the rapid Flood
Of ruddy Flames, impetuous o'er its Prey,
Rolls its broad Course, and half the Field devours.
As Adders deaf to Beauty, Wit, and Youth,
How many living Lyres, by Thee unstrung,
E'er half their Tunes are ended, cease to charm
Th' admiring World? So ceas'd the matchless Name,
By Cowley honour'd, by Roscommon lov'd,
Orinda: blooming Killigrew's soft Lay:
And manly Oldham's pointed Vigour, curs'd
By the gor'd Sons of Loyola and Rome.
And He who Phedra sung, in buskin'd Pomp,
Mad with incestuous Fires, ingenious Smith:
Oxonia's Sons! And, O, our recent Grief!
Shall Beauchamp die, forgotten by the Muse,
Or are the Muses with their Hertford dumb!
Where are Ye? weeping o'er thy learned Rhine,
Bononia, fatal to our Hopes! or else
By Kennet's chalky Wave, with Tresses torn,
Or rude, and wildly floating to the Winds,
Mute, on the hoary Willows hang the Lyre,
Neglected? or in rural Percy-lodge,
Where Innocence and He walk'd Hand in Hand,
The Cypress crop, or weave the Laurel-bough
To grace his honour'd Grave? Ye Lillies, rise
Immaculate; ye Roses, sweet as Morn;
Less sweet and less immaculate than He.
How many living Lyres, by Thee unstrung,
E'er half their Tunes are ended, cease to charm
Th' admiring World? So ceas'd the matchless Name,
By Cowley honour'd, by Roscommon lov'd,
Orinda: blooming Killigrew's soft Lay:
And manly Oldham's pointed Vigour, curs'd
By the gor'd Sons of Loyola and Rome.
And He who Phedra sung, in buskin'd Pomp,
Mad with incestuous Fires, ingenious Smith:
231
Shall Beauchamp die, forgotten by the Muse,
Or are the Muses with their Hertford dumb!
Where are Ye? weeping o'er thy learned Rhine,
Bononia, fatal to our Hopes! or else
By Kennet's chalky Wave, with Tresses torn,
Or rude, and wildly floating to the Winds,
Mute, on the hoary Willows hang the Lyre,
Neglected? or in rural Percy-lodge,
Where Innocence and He walk'd Hand in Hand,
The Cypress crop, or weave the Laurel-bough
To grace his honour'd Grave? Ye Lillies, rise
Immaculate; ye Roses, sweet as Morn;
Less sweet and less immaculate than He.
His op'ning Flow'r of Beauty softly smil'd,
And, sparkling in the liquid Dews of Youth,
Adorn'd the blessed Light! with Blossoms fair,
Untainted; in the rank Italian Soil
From Blemish pure. The Virgins stole a sigh,
The Matrons lifted up their wond'ring Eyes,
And blest the English-Angel as he pass'd,
Non Anglus, verum herc'le Angelus, Ipse, fores.
Rejoicing in his Rays! Why did we trust
A Plant so lovely to their envious Skies,
Unmercifully bright with savage Beams?
His were the Arts of Italy before,
Courting, and courted by the classic Muse.
He travel'd not to learn, but to reform,
And with his fair Example mend Mankind.
And, sparkling in the liquid Dews of Youth,
Adorn'd the blessed Light! with Blossoms fair,
Untainted; in the rank Italian Soil
232
The Matrons lifted up their wond'ring Eyes,
And blest the English-Angel as he pass'd,
At Bolognia he went by the Name of L'Angelo Inglese. The same Compliment seems to have been paid by that People to our great Milton in his Travels, as we learn by this Epigram of a learned Italian Nobleman in the 2d Volume of Milton's poetical Works:
Ut mens, forma, decor, facies, mos, si pietas sic,Non Anglus, verum herc'le Angelus, Ipse, fores.
Rejoicing in his Rays! Why did we trust
A Plant so lovely to their envious Skies,
Unmercifully bright with savage Beams?
His were the Arts of Italy before,
Courting, and courted by the classic Muse.
He travel'd not to learn, but to reform,
And with his fair Example mend Mankind.
Why need I name (for distant Nations know,
Hesperia knows; O would Hesperia sing!
As Maro, erst, and, late, Marino rais'd
The blooming Beauchamps of the former Times,
Marcellus, and Adonis to the Stars,
On Wings of soaring Fire! so wou'd She sing!)
His uncorrupted Heart; his Honour clear
As Summer-suns, effulging forth his Soul
In every Word and Look: his Reason's Ray
By Folly, Vanity, or Vice unstain'd,
Shining at once with Purity and Strength,
With English Honesty, and Attick Fire:
His Tenderness of Spirit, high-inform'd
With wide Benevolence, and candid Zeal
For Learning, Liberty, Religion, Truth:
The Patriot-glories burning in his Breast,
His King's and Country's undivided Friend!
Each publick Virtue, and each private Grace;
The Seymour Dignity, the Percy-flame;
All, all!—Ere twenty Autumns roll'd away
Their golden Plenty. Further still! behold
His animated Bloom; his flush of Health;
The Blood exulting with the balmy Tide
Of vernal Life! so fresh for Pleasure form'd
By Nature and the Graces: yet his Youth
So temperately warm, so chastly cool,
Ev'n Seraphims might look into his Mind,
Might look, nor turn away their holy Eyes!
Hesperia knows; O would Hesperia sing!
As Maro, erst, and, late, Marino rais'd
The blooming Beauchamps of the former Times,
Marcellus, and Adonis to the Stars,
On Wings of soaring Fire! so wou'd She sing!)
His uncorrupted Heart; his Honour clear
As Summer-suns, effulging forth his Soul
In every Word and Look: his Reason's Ray
By Folly, Vanity, or Vice unstain'd,
233
With English Honesty, and Attick Fire:
His Tenderness of Spirit, high-inform'd
With wide Benevolence, and candid Zeal
For Learning, Liberty, Religion, Truth:
The Patriot-glories burning in his Breast,
His King's and Country's undivided Friend!
Each publick Virtue, and each private Grace;
The Seymour Dignity, the Percy-flame;
All, all!—Ere twenty Autumns roll'd away
Their golden Plenty. Further still! behold
His animated Bloom; his flush of Health;
The Blood exulting with the balmy Tide
Of vernal Life! so fresh for Pleasure form'd
By Nature and the Graces: yet his Youth
So temperately warm, so chastly cool,
Ev'n Seraphims might look into his Mind,
Might look, nor turn away their holy Eyes!
Th' unutterable Essence of Good Heav'n,
That Breath of God, that Energy divine
Which gives us to be wise, and just, and pure,
Full on his Bosom pour'd the living Stream,
Illum'd, inspir'd and sanctify'd his Soul!
That Breath of God, that Energy divine
234
Full on his Bosom pour'd the living Stream,
Illum'd, inspir'd and sanctify'd his Soul!
And are these Wonders vanish'd? are those Eyes,
Where ardent Truth, and melting Mildness shone,
Clos'd in a foreign Land? no more to bless
A Father, Mother, Friend! no more to charm
A longing People? O, lamented Youth!
Since Fate and gloomy Night thy Beauties veil'd
With Shade mysterious, and eclips'd thy Beams,
How many Somersets are lost in Thee!
Where ardent Truth, and melting Mildness shone,
Clos'd in a foreign Land? no more to bless
A Father, Mother, Friend! no more to charm
A longing People? O, lamented Youth!
Since Fate and gloomy Night thy Beauties veil'd
With Shade mysterious, and eclips'd thy Beams,
How many Somersets are lost in Thee!
Yet only lost to Earth!—For trust the Muse,
(His Virtues rather trust) She saw him rise
She saw him smile along the tissu'd Clouds,
In Colours rich-embroider'd by the Sun,
Engirt with Cherub-wings, and Kindred-forms,
Children of Light, the spotless Youth of Heav'n!
They hail their blest Companion, gain'd so soon
A Partner of their Joys; and Crown with Stars,
Almost as fair, the Radiance of his Brows.
Ev'n where the Angel Host, with Tongues of Fire,
Chaunt to their glittering Harps th' Almighty's Praise,
And, in a burning Circle, shout around
The Jasper-throne, he mingles Flames with them;
He springs into the Center of the Choir,
And, drinking in the Spirit-most-divine,
He sings as sweet, and glows as bright as They.
(His Virtues rather trust) She saw him rise
She saw him smile along the tissu'd Clouds,
In Colours rich-embroider'd by the Sun,
Engirt with Cherub-wings, and Kindred-forms,
Children of Light, the spotless Youth of Heav'n!
They hail their blest Companion, gain'd so soon
A Partner of their Joys; and Crown with Stars,
235
Ev'n where the Angel Host, with Tongues of Fire,
Chaunt to their glittering Harps th' Almighty's Praise,
And, in a burning Circle, shout around
The Jasper-throne, he mingles Flames with them;
He springs into the Center of the Choir,
And, drinking in the Spirit-most-divine,
He sings as sweet, and glows as bright as They.
The End of the Second Book.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |