 | The Works of William Mason |  |
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MUSÆUS:
A MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF MR. POPE. IN IMITATION OF MILTON'S LYCIDAS.
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Πασι μεν τοις αρχετυποις αυτοφυης τις επιπρεπει χαρις,
και ωρα. Τοις δ' απο τουτων κατεσκευασμενοις, καν
επ' ακρον μιμησεως ελθωσι, προσεσι τι ομως το επιτετηδευμενον,
και ουκ εκ φυσεως υπαρχον.
Dionys. Halicarn. in Dinarcho.
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If yet a Muse on Britain's plain abide,
Since rapt Musæus tun'd his parting strain:
With him they liv'd, with him, perchance, they dy'd.
For who e'er since their virgin charms espy'd,
Or on the banks of Thames, or met their train,
Where Isis sparkles to the sunny ray?
Or have they deign'd to play,
Where Camus winds along his broider'd vale,
Feeding each blue-bell pale, and daisie pied,
That fling their fragrance round his rushy side?
Yet ah! ye are not dead, Celestial Maids;
Immortal as ye are, ye may not die:
Nor is it meet ye fly these pensive glades,
Ere round his laureat herse ye heave the sigh.
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Revisit yet, nor hallow'd Hippocrene,
Nor Thespiæ's grove; till with harmonious teen
Ye sooth his shade, and slowly-dittied air.
Such tribute pour'd, again ye may repair
To what lov'd haunt ye whilom did elect;
Whether Lycæus, or that mountain fair,
Trim Mænalus, with piny verdure deckt.
But now it boots ye not in these to stray,
Or yet Cyllene's hoary shade to chuse,
Or where mild Ladon's welling waters play.
Forego each vain excuse,
And haste to Thames's shores; for Thames shall join
Our sad society, and passing mourn,
The tears fast-trickling o'er his silver urn.
And, when the Poet's widow'd grot he laves,
His reed-crown'd locks shall shake, his head shall bow,
His tide no more in eddies blithe shall rove,
But creep soft by with long-drawn murmurs slow.
For oft the mighty Master rous'd his waves
With martial notes, or lull'd with strain of love:
He must not now in brisk meanders flow
Gamesome, and kiss the sadly-silent shore,
Without the loan of some poetic woe.
Say first, Sicilian Muse,
For, with thy sisters, thou didst weeping stand
In silent circle at the solemn scene,
When Death approach'd, and wav'd his ebon wand,
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How, in yon grot, each silver-trickling spring
Wander'd the shelly channels all among;
While as the coral roof did softly ring
Responsive to their sweetly-doleful song.
Meanwhile all pale th' expiring Poet laid,
And sunk his awful head,
While vocal shadows pleasing dreams prolong;
For so, his sick'ning spirits to release,
They pour'd the balm of visionary peace.
First, sent from Cam's fair banks, like Palmer old,
Came Tityrus slow, with head all silver'd o'er,
And in his hand an oaken crook he bore,
And thus in antique guise short talk did hold:
“Grete clerk of Fame' is house, whose excellence
“Maie wele befitt thilk place of eminence,
“Mickle of wele betide thy houres last,
“For mich gode wirkè to me don and past.
“For syn the days whereas my lyre ben strongen,
“And deftly many a mery laie I songen,
“Old Time, which alle things don maliciously
“Gnawen with rusty tooth continually,
“Gnattrid my lines, that they all cancrid ben,
“Till at the last thou smoothen 'hem hast again;
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“As, (if fitteth thilk similitude)
“Whannè shallow brook yrenneth hobling on,
“Ovir rough stones it makith full rough song;
“But, them stones removen, this lite rivere
“Stealith forth by, making plesaunt murmere:
“So my sely rymes, whoso may them note,
“Thou makist everichone to ren right sote;
“And in thy verse entunist so fetisely,
“That men sayen I make trewe melody,
“And speaken every dele to myne honoure.
“Mich wele, grete clerk, betide thy parting houre!”
When Colin Clout, Eliza's shepherd swain,
The blithest lad that ever pip'd on plain,
Came with his reed soft warbling on the way,
And thrice he bow'd his head with motion mild,
And thus his gliding numbers gan essay.
I.
“ Ah! luckless swain, alas! how art thou lorn,“Who once like me could'st frame thy pipe to play
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“Ne bush, ne breere, but learnt thy roundelay,
“Ah plight too sore such worth to equal right!
“Ah worth too high to meet such piteous plight!
II.
“But I nought strive, poor Colin, to compare“My Hobbin's or my Thenot's rustic skill
“To thy deft swains, whose dapper ditties rare
“Surpass ought else of quaintest shepherd's quill.
“Ev'n Roman Tityrus, that peerless wight,
“Mote yield to thee for dainties of delight.
III.
“Eke when in Fable's flow'ry paths you stray'd,“Masking in cunning feints truth's splendent face;
“Ne Sylph, ne Sylphid, but due tendance paid,
“To shield Belinda's lock from felon base,
“But all mote nought avail such harm to chace.
“Then Una fair 'gan droop her princely mien,
“Eke Florimel, and all my faery race:
“Belinda far surpast my beauties sheen,
“Belinda, subject meet for such soft lay, I ween.
IV.
“Like as in village troop of birdlings trim,“Where Chanticleer his red crest high doth hold,
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“And turkeys proud, and pigeons nothing bold;
“If chance the peacock doth his plumes unfold,
“Eftsoons their meaner beauties all decaying,
“He glist'neth purple and he glist'neth gold,
“Now with bright green, now blue himself arraying.
“Such is thy beauty bright, all other beauties swaying.
V.
“But why do I descant this toyish rhyme,“And fancies light in simple guise pourtray,
“Listing to chear thee at this rueful time,
“While as black Death doth on thy heartstrings prey?
“Yet rede aright, and if this friendly lay
“Thou nathless judgest all too slight and vain,
“Let my well-meaning mend my ill essay:
“So may I greet thee with a nobler strain,
“When soon we meet for aye, in yon star-sprinkled plain.”
The two first stanzas of this speech, as they relate to Pastoral, are written in the measure which Spenser uses in the first eclogue of the Shepherd's Calendar: the rest, where he speaks of fable, are in the stanza of the Faery Queen.
And Thyrsis hight by Dryad, Fawn, or Swain,
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But seldom that; for higher thoughts he fed;
For him full oft the heav'nly Muses led
To clear Euphrates, and the secret mount,
To Araby, and Eden, fragrant climes,
All which the sacred bard would oft recount:
And thus in strain, unus'd in sylvan shade,
To sad Musæus rightful homage paid.
i. e. Milton. Lycidas and the Epitaphium Damonis are the only Pastorals we have of Milton's; in the latter of which, where he laments Car. Deodatus under the name of Damon, he calls himself Thyrsis.
“Of all the train! Poet, in whom conjoin'd
“All that to ear, or heart, or head, could yield
“Rapture; harmonious, manly, clear, sublime.
“Accept this gratulation: may it chear
“Thy sinking soul; nor these corporeal ills
“Aught daunt thee, or appal. Know, in high heav'n
“Fame blooms eternal o'er that spirit divine,
“Who builds immortal verse. There thy bold Muse,
“Which while on earth could breathe Mæonian fire,
“Shall soar seraphic heights; while to her voice
“Ten thousand hierarchies of angels harp
“Symphonious, and with dulcet harmonies
“Usher the song rejoicing. I, meanwhile,
“To sooth thee in these irksome hours of pain,
“Approach, thy visitant, with mortal praise
“To praise thee mortal. First, for Rhyme subdued;
“Rhyme, erst the minstrel of primæval Night,
“And Chaos, Anarch old: She near their throne
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“With tenfold din; till late to earth upborn
“On strident plume, what time fair Poesie
“Emerg'd from Gothic cloud, and faintly shot
“Rekindling gleams of lustre. Her the fiend
“Opprest; forcing to utter uncouth dirge,
“Runic, or Leonine; and with dire chains
“Fetter'd her scarce-fledg'd pinion. I such bonds
“Aim'd to destroy, hopeless that Art could ease
“Their thraldom, and to liberal use convert.
“This wonder to atchieve Musæus came;
“Thou cam'st, and at thy magic touch the chains
“Off dropt, and (passing strange!) soft-wreathed bands
“Of flow'rs their place supply'd: which well the Muse
“Might wear for choice, not force; obstruction none,
“But loveliest ornament. Wond'rous this, yet here
“The wonder rests not; various argument
“Remains for me, uncertain, where to cull
“The leading grace, where countless graces charm.
“Various this peaceful cave; this mineral roof;
“This 'semblage meet of coral, ore, and shell;
“These pointed crystals through the shadowy clefts
“Bright glist'ring; all these slowly-dripping rills,
“That tinkling wander o'er the pebbled floor:
“Yet not this various peaceful cave, with this
“Its mineral roof; nor this assemblage meet
“Of coral, ore, and shell; nor mid the shade
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“That wander tinkling o'er the pebbled floor,
“Deal charms more various to each raptured sense,
“Than thy mellifluous lay ------”
“Cease, friendly swain;
“(Musæus cried, and raised his aching head)
“All praise is foreign, but of true desert;
“Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart.
“Ah! why recall the toys of thoughtless youth?
“When flowery fiction held the place of truth?
“Ere sound to sense resign'd the silken rein,
“And the light lay ran musically vain.
“Oh! in that lay had richest fancy flow'd,
“The Syrens warbled, and the Graces glow'd;
“Had liveliest nature, happiest art combin'd;
“That lent each charm, and this each charm refined,
“Alas! how little were my proudest boast!
“The sweetest trifler of my tribe at most.
“To sway the judgment, while he soothes the ear;
“To curb mad passion in its wild career;
“To wake by sober touch the useful lyre,
“And rule, with reason's rigour, fancy's fire:
“Be this the poet's praise. And this possest,
“Take, Dulness and thy dunces! take the rest.
“Come then that honest fame; whose temp'rate ray
“Or gilds the satire, or the moral lay;
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“But beams, sage Horace! from each strain of thine.
“Oh, if like these, with conscious freedom bold,
“One Poet more his manly measures roll'd,
“Like these led forth the indignant Muse to brave
“The venal statesman, and the titled slave;
“To strip from frontless Vice her stars and strings,
“Nor spare her basking in the smile of kings:
“If grave, yet lively; rational, yet warm;
“Clear to convince, and eloquent to charm;
“He pour'd, for Virtue's cause, serene along
“The purest precept, in the sweetest song:
“If, for her cause, his heav'n-directed plan
“Mark'd each meander in the maze of man;
“Unmoved by sophistry, unawed by name,
“No dupe to doctrines, and no fool to fame;
“Led by no system's devious glare astray,
“That meteor-like, but glitters to betray.
“Yes, if his soul to reason's rule resign'd,
“And heaven's own views fair-opening on his mind,
“Caught from bright nature's flame the living ray,
“Through passion's cloud pour'd in resistless day;
“And taught mankind in reas'ning Pride's despite,
“That God is wise, and all that is right:
“If this his boast, pour here the welcome lays;
“Praise less than this is mockery of praise.”
“To pour that praise be mine,” fair Virtue cry'd;
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But ah! my Muse, how will thy voice express
The immortal strain, harmonious, as it flow'd?
Ill suits immortal strain a Doric dress:
And far too high already hast thou soar'd.
Enough for thee, that, when the lay was o'er,
The goddess clasp'd him to her throbbing breast.
But what might that avail? Blind Fate before
Had op'd her shears, to cut his vital thread!
And who may dare gainsay her stern behest?
Now thrice he waved the hand, thrice bow'd the head,
And sigh'd his soul to rest.
Now wept the Nymphs; witness, ye waving shades!
Witness, ye winding streams! the Nymphs did weep:
The heavenly Goddess too with tears did steep
Her plaintive voice, that echo'd through the glades;
And, “cruel gods,” and “cruel stars,” she cried:
Nor did the shepherds, through the woodlands wide,
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Or silent river, drive their thirsty flocks:
Nor did the wild-goat brouze the shrubby rocks:
And Philomel her custom'd oak forsook:
And roses wan were waved by zephyrs weak,
As Nature's self was sick:
And every lily droop'd its silver head.
Sad sympathy! yet sure his rightful meed,
Who charm'd all nature: well might Nature mourn
Through all her choicest sweets Musæus dead.
Here end we, Goddess! this your shepherd sang,
All as his hands an ivy chaplet wove.
Oh! make it worthy of the sacred Bard;
And make it equal to the shepherd's love.
Thou too accept the strain with meet regard:
For sure, blest Shade, thou hear'st my doleful song;
Whether with angel troops, the stars among,
From golden harp thou call'st seraphic lays;
Or, for fair Virtue's cause, now doubly dear,
Thou still art hov'ring o'er our tuneless sphere;
And mov'st some hidden spring her weal to raise.
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Manhood's prime honours rising on his cheek:
Trembling he strove to court the tuneful Maid
With strippling arts, and dalliance all too weak,
Unseen, unheard, beneath an hawthorn shade.
But now dun clouds the welkin 'gan to streak;
And now down-dropt the larks, and ceased their strain:
They ceased, and with them ceased the shepherd swain.
| The Works of William Mason | |