Malvern Hills :: :: University of Virginia Library

Malvern Hills

with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition

Cottle, Joseph (1770-1853)

VOLUME THE FIRST.

S. T. COLERIDGE, TO JOSEPH COTTLE.

ROBERT SOUTHEY, TO JOSEPH COTTLE.

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II.

VOLUME THE SECOND.

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II. VOLUME THE SECOND.

240

THE MISER's WILL.

A CONVERSATIONAL POEM, FOUNDED ON FACT.

OLD Scrape-all, who had long been ailing,
Was at a trembling debtor railing,
Threatening, if he a mite should fail,
To whelm him in a neighbouring jail,
When Blunt drew near, to wish “Good day;”
The debtor saw, and slipp'd away.
The Miser, now, with sigh profound,
And wheezing cough, a churchyard sound!
Address'd, with lifted hands, his friend—
“I think my griefs will never end!”
“O, yes they will, and quickly too!”
Said Blunt. “Now tell me, how d'ye do?”

“Do!” Scrape-all cried, “why scarce alive,
“But times may mend, and I revive:
“Your ailing people live the longest,
“Though grief will undermine the strongest.

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“Oh! pity me! With all my treasure,
“My sorrows, language scarce can measure.
“The hog that wallows in his sty,
“Has thrice more happiness than I!
“My thoughts are now, while others sleep,
“Not how to gain, but how to keep:—
“Securities are bad, or badly,
“And then the taxes grind me sadly.”

Blunt, (firm resolved, through sheer vexation,
To tell the truth on this occasion,
Nor suffer one, so near his goal,
To breathe false unction to his soul,)
Thus cried, “As usual, still, I see,
“Brim full of care and misery!
“Pity! I more than pity you!
“Mine is commiseration true!
“Nor would I bear your heart's commotion
“For all the mines of earth and ocean.”

“Good neighbour Blunt,” said Scrape-all, staring,
“Like me, be patient, and forbearing.”

Blunt answer'd, chafed, and melancholy,
“No patience can endure your folly.
“Riches, the things which others bless,
“To you bring naught but wretchedness!
“But, though your purse is deep and strong,
“You know you cannot hold it long;
“Your years, on years, have so increased,
“You must be four-score, now, at least.”

“Speak louder, friend, my ears do fail,
“I'm grown as deaf as a door-nail.”

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“I say, your years have so increased,
“You must be four-score, now, at least.”

“Hold, hold!” (he cried) “you're far away!
“I am but seventy-nine, this day,
“And think, whatever others fear,
“I still may reach my hundredth year!”

Said Blunt, “Now make me your confessor!
“Pray, whom do you keep your riches for?
“That mighty hoard of rusty pelf?”—
“Whom for!” cried Scrape-all—“for myself!
“And when, at length, I die—five-score
“Or thereabouts,—say, ten years more,
“My wealth, I do design, shall be
“Placed in my coffin, close by me;—
“'Tis right, you know, that friends should lie
“Near to each other when they die!”

“Nay,” answer'd Blunt, “when you are dead,
“Authority, you'll find, is fled;
“Some one, no doubt, will still contrive
“To keep your slumbering hoards alive.—
“Make, make, your Will!—Howe'er it grieve,
“You must your all, to some one leave!”

“What! make my Will! My all bestow
“On some one else? No! neighbour, no!
“I'll be, whilst these my hands can hold,
“The only keeper of my gold;
“From night to morn, from morn to night,
“I'll keep it close, and hold it tight!”

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“You rightly speak, you are no more
“Than—‘keeper’ to your golden store;
“But, when you die, as soon you must,
“To whom will you bequeath your trust?
“One other word, I just would say,
“How will you meet the Reckoning Day!
“But you, with thousands in your train,
“Regard the Future with disdain.”

“Yes, yes,” said Scrape-all, “'twill not do
“Too far, and close, to stretch one's view.
“'Tis fair enough for thrifty people
“To bear no liking to the Steeple,
“But, at the end, we're sure to meet—
“I mean the Sober, Chaste, Discreet!
“The Sacrament, you know, at last!
“And all things then are tight and fast.

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“Talk not of Gifts, Bequests, and Wills;
“The thought, my soul with tumult fills.

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“My wealth, I never will divide!
“The whole I'll in my coffin hide!

245

“Since Elwes' dead there's no one living
“Who knows the value of a shilling!

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“Were he alive—(it is my whim)
“That noble man! I'd give it him;
“But all, except my honour'd friend,
“Believe that money's made to spend!
“Therefore, in spite of Folly's scoffing,
“I'll put my money in my coffin!—
“I, who have scraped for fifty years,
“With ceaseless toil, and hourly fears,
“Shall I give all away at last?
“No! neighbour, no! I'll hold it fast!
“There's not a soul, not even you,
“That I would give a penny to.”

“I scorn your pence! Now full behold me!
“In that said Corn you lately sold me;
“You served me in a dexterous way,
“By stuffing half the sack with Hay!
“But let that pass, since Scrape-all never
“Again will play me trick so clever.
“Now, father, mark the words I tell,
“And fancy it your funeral knell!
“Strive how you will, your wealth to save,
“You cannot hold it in the grave!
“Although, Old Gripe, it rend your heart,
“Your god and you, at length must part!”

Said Scrape-all, sorrowful and slow,
“Well then! come twenty years, or so,
“And I will think on this affair,
“And, if needs be, appoint my heir.”

Cried Blunt, “No moment lose! you now
“Your head with age, and palsy, bow!—
“I guess, when Jack, your wealth has got,
“He soon will spend it all! a sot!

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“And ere you've closed your eyes a year,
“Behind a prison grate appear!”
He says “Though scarce your eye endures him,
“One little word, ‘I give,’ secures him.”

“O, spare me, friend! that subject frets me;
“The thoughts of Jack, in fever sets me:
“My spend-thrift nephew, here, I swear,
“Shall never be rich Scrape-all's heir!”

“Then make your Will! or, 'twill be so!
“He'll have it all, when you are low.”

“What, make my Will, just past my prime,
“'Twould be to die before my time!”

“Nay,” Blunt replied, “be well content!
“You will not die, nor Jack lament
“The sooner for this instrument:
“And I would more in candour say—
“Do good, friend Scrape-all, while you may!
“Or else, when dead, your wealth bestow;—
“(You will not see the money go!—)
“Erect, and you will gain renown,
“A school, within your native town;
“Then build a hospital, that fame
“May long perpetuate your name;—
“Thus, when has ceased your mortal reign,
“In generous deeds, you'll live again.—
“For you 'twill be a small bequest,
“Your nephew then may spend the rest.”

Cried Scrape-all, “Never, whilst I live,
“Will I a mite to any give!

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“And having saved so long, can I
“Give all, for nothing, when I die?—
“Launch out, at Folly's beck and call!—
“‘Fame!’ ‘generous deeds!’—'Tis nonsense all!
“And as I cannot give, when dead,
“The Law shall give it in my stead!—
“But, as for Jack, again I swear,
“The rogue shall never be my heir!”

One year is past!—Let thirst of gold
Its object, and its end, behold!—
Whilst none their different lots bewail—
Scrape-all is dead, and Jack's in jail!

Mr. BODY's REMONSTRANCE WITH HIS DISSOLUTE MASTER, Mr. MIND.

WRITTEN IN WINTER.

WHY dost thou treat me thus, harsh master, say!
Why, with hard usage, wear me half away?
Perverse of spirit! thou, a jarring wire,
Lov'st what I loathe, and hat'st what I admire.
I like the simple beverage of the spring,
But east, and west, to thee their poisons bring,
And I (oh! woe to tell!) of abject state,
Must ope my mouth and drink, what most I hate.
Now beer, or burton deep, disturbs my crown,
Now porter, gross and heavy, weighs me down,
Now wines, with draught on draught, black, white, and red,
Before my sight a strange confusion spread;
And now (with grief I tell) comes piping toddy,
Or punch, to torture me afresh, poor body!

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Whilst now, at once to undermine my lever,
Up comes sheer brandy, full of fire and fever,
I drink, till madness in my brain I feel,
And to the earth, like lead, instinctive reel!

Now, good my Lord, can I my anguish smother,
That I should pull one way, and thou the other?
While thou dost wrong on wrong regardless heap,
Can I my woes forget, or cease to weep?
Full seventy years compose my mortal day,
But thy intemperance steals them half away.
From good plain beef and solid mutton sent 'e
Thou turnest, and disdain'st the vulgar plenty,
While nought but treble courses will content 'e;
These, to provide, with scout, and busy rover,
Sea, earth, and heaven itself, are ransack'd over,
And when they come, the very blind might stare,
Such loads of fish and fowl, such dainty fare,
Such game and venison, soups and conserves rare!
In truth, the groaning board, to fancy's eye,
Seems piled, like father Atlas, to the sky!

Thou, while my stomach, stretched, spare inch contains,
Right on dost make me eat, till naught remains
But indigestion, source of aches and pains.
Thence sickness I endure, or surfeit, teasing,
Rheum makes me limp, or asthma sets me wheezing,
And now, to crown the sum of my deploring,
With swoln and bolster'd legs (o'er folly poring,)
Old gout, with horrid twitches, keeps me roaring!
I love the early hour, and when the sky
Darkness o'ercasts, in peaceful sleep to lie;

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Thou scornest day, and (fetter'd still to wrong)
Stunnest dull night with revelry and song,
When, just as others rise, a goodly number,
Thou dragg'st me yawning back, like household lumber,
Amid the sun, in some dark nook to slumber!
Is this the way that we should both agree?
I, suffering, thou, inflicting misery?
Alas! my cruel Lord, that this should be!

I had complain'd that I was forced to go
Without surtout, amid this hour of snow,
But, ere the words I spake, a damsel fair,
Shivering, drew nigh, her arms, her bosom bare,
Following the thoughtless crowd (Oh, wisdom brave!
Who love, with gauze, to dance it to the grave!)
Stamping, I cried, from fashion's slavish chain,
Boldly break loose, and clothing bear again;
Let prudence sway, let modesty restrain!
The damsel, coughing, cried, “Too late I sigh!
My mother taught me how to dress and die!”

THE SPIRIT.

FOUNDED ON FACT.

“NOW which is the road across the common,
“Good woman! in pity declare;
“No path can I trace, for the evening is dark,
“And I fear me, before the far turnpike I mark,
“Some grim-visaged Ghost will appear.”

“The Ghost never walks till the clock strikes twelve,
“And this is the first of the night,”

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Cried the woman, “Now why dost thou look at me so?
“And why do thine eye-balls so fearfully glow?
“Good stranger, forbear thy affright.

“I tell thee that hence across the common,
“This cart-track thy horse must pursue;
“Till, close by thy feet, two gibbets thou meet,
“Where the rains and the tempests the highwaymen beat,
“That a traveller once murder'd like you.”

The horseman thus answered. “I have no terror
“Of men who in midnight plan;
“But a Ghost that pops on one before or behind,
“And around him sees clearly while mortals are blind,—
“Aye, that tries the heart of the man.

“Must I go close to those dancing gibbets?”
“Quite close, Sir,” the woman replied.
“But though with the wind each murderer swings,
“They both of them are harmless things,
“And so are the ravens beside.”

“What! are there ravens there?—those creatures
“With feathers so glossy blue!
“But are they ravens? I enquire,
“For I have heard by the winter's fire,
“That phantoms the dead pursue.”

The woman replied, “They are night-ravens
“That pick the dead men's eyes;
“And they cry, qua, with their hollow jaw;
“Methinks I one this moment saw!
“To the banquet at hand he flies.

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“Now fare thee well!” The traveller silent,
Whilst terror consumed his soul,
Went musing on. The night was still,
And every star had drunk his fill,
At the brim of oblivion's bowl.

And now he near to the gibbets approach'd!
The murderers waved in the air;
Though at their black visage he darted a glance,
He heeded them not, though they both seem'd to dance,
For he knew that such figures were there.

“Ah wherefore,” he cried, “should mortals incline
“To fear, where no danger is found!”
He scarce had thus spoken, when in the dark night,
Beside him appear'd, a Spirit in white!
He trembled, but could not look round.

He gallop'd away! the Spirit pursued!
And the irons of the murderers screak!
The gibbets are pass'd, and now fast and more fast,
The horseman and Spirit outstrip the loud blast,
Though neither has courage to speak.

Now both on the verge of the common arrive,
Where a gate the free passage denied.
The horseman his arm outstretch'd to expand
The gate to admit him, when, cold o'er his hand,
The mouth of the Spirit did glide.

He started! and swift through the still-darker lane
Gallop'd fast from the being he fear'd;
But yet, as the shadow the substance pursues,
The Spirit, behind, by a side-glance he views,
And more luminous now it appear'd!

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The turnpike he reach'd; “Oh tell me,”—he cried,
“I can neither look round, nor go on;
“What spirit is this which has follow'd me here
“From the common? Good master, I dreadfully fear,
“Speak! speak, or my sense will be gone!”

“Ah Jenny,” he cried, “thou crafty old jade!
“Is it thou? I'll beat thy bones bare.
“Good gentleman, fear not, no spirit is nigh,
“Which has follow'd you here from the common hard-by,
“'Tis only old Gaffer's Grey Mare!”

THE SPIDER's WEB.

NOT Spiders only build the Web,
We rear our flimsy structures too;
Our follies, tide-like, rise, and ebb,
And vanities we all pursue.

Some, in their fancies, buy and sell,
And count their profits with amaze!
While some in wishing-webs excel,
And many a gaudy fabric raise.

Some, Fortune's airy levees throng,
And court her smile, or dread her frown,
And weave their webs, in dreaming long,
Of worldly honours, and renown.

Some, with “Accomplishments Divine,”
Their children stuff till “Help” they call;
So artificial, prim, and fine,
When principle is worth it all.

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Some, build the web of lengthen'd life,
And form the age-extended plan;
Forgetful of the toil and strife
That oft, untimely, withers man.

Some, spin a mighty web indeed,
By thinking once, instead of twice;
They build a house as years recede,
When six by two will soon suffice.

Some, weave the webs that only suit
This little inch of time below;
And waste each rapturous pursuit,
On objects, fleeting as the snow.

While some, each Spider's web abjure,
And prize the permanent delight;
They build the webs that will endure,
And seek—“the country out of sight.”

In foresight, some are little skill'd,
Therefore their hearts with folly chime;
But the worst webs are those which build,
Not on Eternity, but Time!

STRAW PICKERS.

A MOTLEY company I see,
All picking straws, and earnestly;
The youth, the middle-aged, and grey,
Make picking straws their only play;
It has a mystic charm, I ween,
For such a sight is always seen.

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The blast is high, but what to them
Is oak-tree rifted to its stem;
The thunder rattles through the sky;
The lightning flashes fearfully;
Yet nothing from their sport can take 'em,
Not storms that drench, nor winds that shake 'em.

A house adjacent now is flaming,
But trifle this not worth the naming:
A funeral passes slowly near!
And there the orphan train appear!
Yet, dead to each obtruding sight,
They pick their straws from morn to night.

“Was ever folly so degrading!”
But cease this spirit of upbraiding.
Similitudes of fools like these
Are found in men of all degrees;
And few, the polish'd or the rude,
May scorn this straw-pleased multitude.

The hosts who drown in wine their sorrow,
And think not of a worse to-morrow;
The huntsmen who their necks endanger,
By following Brash, and Dash, and Ranger,
Can never laugh, whate'er they say,
At men more rational than they.

And gamesters, whether old or young,
Concerning straws, must hold their tongue;
For they who stake upon a throw
Their children's bread, their all below,
Have lost the very power to feel;
Their breasts are stone, their hearts are steel.

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The miser, too, whose anger waxes,
At thought of spendthrifts, cheats, and taxes;
Who mourns each penny that he spends,
(As friends bewail departed friends,)
Till heirs, impatient, close his eyes,
He cannot picking straws despise.

And can they boast a nobler treasure,
The men, misnamed, the men of pleasure,
Who, if aroused to see their state,
Repentance purchase when too late!
Can these, with commerce so ungainful,
Upon straw-pickers look disdainful?

While those who leave their proper calling,
On names, and thread-bare dogmas, bawling;
Who, tippling, rapturous hail the story
Of chiefs, and high concerns, and glory,—
With starving wife and child at home,
For fools, such have not far to roam.

Nor wiser they, whose footsteps falter,
Who built the house, again to alter,
With fifty rooms, where ten might do,
(Which once a year they scarce can view)
That ages hence, oh, melancholy!
Might blaze their riches, and their folly.

What can such restless crowds decoy,
From home, the seat of every joy,
Where they, with all a parent's pride,
Might sit beside their own fireside,
But that they distant realms might see,
To pick new straws in luxury?

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Many there are, of old, as now
Who weave straw-chaplets for their brow?
In quest of food, like roving bird,
Who migrate where the lute is heard;
Wasting whole nights, mid catch and glee,
'Tween tweedledum, and tweedledee.

And what if some who loudest rail
At senseless straws, themselves should fail!
And prove to be, through life's short day,
Straw-pickers, in a different way!
Clear is the truth as yonder sun,
Which those who spell, may read, and run.

Restrain your smile at this rehearsal;
The taste for straws is universal.
This is the sport that suits all ages,
Noviciates, with wits and sages.
From east to west, where'er we turn,
Straw-picking is the great concern.

Ah! now the grand solution rises,
So simple that it half surprises.
Untaught by ages past away,
Men hold the tyrant, Death, at bay,
And, strange to tell, “with strong endeavour,”
Believe their lives will last for ever!

Or, else, e'en brutes would men resemble,
Not at Eternity to tremble!
To stand on Time's uncertain shore,
With mist, and darkness, all, before,
Yet solemn thoughts disturb them never!
They must expect to live for ever.

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Fresh proofs, and sad, of this confession,
Before me pass in long succession.—
All fools, all abject fools are these!
Each, just regarding what he sees,
Makes this poor world his idol mother,
And never thinks upon another!

NED AND WILL.

(UPON WILL COMPLAINING THAT HE WAS SLIGHTED BY NED.)

WITH kindred pursuits, and with friendships sincere,
Ned and Will, at one desk scribbled many a year,
When Ned, with a bound, o'er his friends, and his foes,
To the top of the lawyer's throng'd ladder arose;
While Will seized the lyre, borne by fancy along,
And all Helicon listen'd, entranced, at his song.

Oh! the friendships, like castles of ice, which decay,
Spite of pledges, and vows, in a season! a day!
My Lord, his new ermine, with grace to sustain,
On the vale-dwelling poet looks down with disdain—
His companions selected, his praises conferr'd
On Sir Dick, and Sir Ben, and such frivolous herd;
But now that the grave veils them both from our sight,
Will shines like a star on the bosom of night.
My Lord now reposes with spirits of yore,
Once commanding, and puissant!—remember'd no more;—
Pass'd away, (like his frowns, which kept senates in awe,)
Or recall'd to enforce some dull precept of law,
But the poet, unmoved by the canker of time,
Firm as Atlas, endures, in fame's temple sublime,
Beholding his verse, like a stream, clear and sweet,
Flow on, while man's heart shall with sympathy beat.

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Of a lord, puff'd with honours, as fickle as vain,
Who but mourns that a bard should have deign'd to complain!
Kings may conjure up chancellors thrice in one year,
But when shall a poet like Cowper appear!

POEMS BY THE LATE AMOS COTTLE.

SONNET I. TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

HARK! in the vale I hear thy evening song,
Sweet Nightingale! it soothes my pensive soul.
Dost thou from day's gay flutterers retire,
As I, from tumult of the busy world,
To pour thy sad note on the evening gale?
Night, and this still serene, full well accord
With feelings such as ours. It is a calm
Healthful and sweet to nature, when the soul
Plumes all her powers, and imps her drooping wing
For other climes. Yes, songstress of the shade!
We both alike are here, brief sojourners,
Waiting the season of our happier change.
Yet from the lone spray cheer the vale awhile
And, listening, I will learn content from thee.

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SONNET II. TO MY BROTHER.

BESIDE some hawthorn tree I ween you sit,
Dear bard! upon your three-legged chair, or, now,

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Wooing the muses in ecstatic fit
Beneath some spreading oak, while neighbouring cow,

262

Or coy foal, sporting by his mother's side,
With chanticleer, anon in plumage gay,

263

Or bees, that haunt the meadows' flow'ry pride,
Enrich by turns thy soft mellifluous lay.

264

Soft flow thy lays, O thrice illustrious Joe,
Soft as the mole that burrows near thy feet,

265

Soothing as Zephyr in the noontide glow
Of sultry dog-days, and as woodbine sweet;
But may no elfin sister faithless prove,
And ah! thy three-legg'd chair unwittingly remove.

266

SONNET III. INSCRIPTION FOR A CELL IN ST. VINCENT'S ROCKS, NEAR BRISTOL.

CELL of my youthful haunts! within thy cave
Sits awful Silence — fann'd by the soft breeze
That ever and anon from odorous trees
Steels grateful, as the gentle breath of love.
She marks the earliest energies of spring,
On dewy pinions, tending each lone spray
And wildly scatter'd flower; the jocund lay
She loves to hear, that bright-eyed fairies sing.
And when the stars o'er yonder summit shine,
That frowning beetles o'er old Avon's flood;
She, doubly blest, in contemplative mood,
Lists to the flittings of aye passing time—
Stay, mortal, stay. Nor let thy foot intrude:
Here Silence loves to dwell in hermit solitude.

SONNET IV. TO POVERTY.

LOW in a barren vale I see thee sit
Cowering, while Winter blows his shivering blast,
Over thy reedy fire — pale, comfortless!
Blest independence, with elastic foot,
Spurns thy low dwelling, whilst the sons of joy
Turn from thy clouded brow, or, with a scowl,
Contemptuous, mark thee. At thy elbow stand
Famine and wan disease! two meagre forms,
Thy only visitants, who, though repelled,
Officious tend thee — wretched eremite!
Around thy cell, ah! wherefore see I graved
The sacred names of genius? Spenser here
Found his last refuge! Otway! Butler, too!
And Scotia's last, not least, heroic bard!

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SONNET V. LEIGH WOODS.

EDWIN! how sweet a solace might'st thou find,
When the fierce dog-star darts his scorching beam,
In contemplation's not unholy dream,
Beneath Leigh's antique wood to lie reclined!
There would the cheerful linnet wing its way,
To seek thy lone retreat, and pour on high
Unlabour'd strains of softest melody,
Gladdening with song the sultry hours of day:
There might'st thou breathe the balmy breath of thyme,
Or scatter'd wild flower, from yon sunny vale,
Wafted unceasing by each random gale,
While Vincent's rude majestic heights were thine:
Ah, no! methinks I hear thee fondly say
Not Tempé's self would please, were Rosalind away.

VI. ON THE MILTON GALLERY.

LAWRENCE! thy native powers, by art refined,
Unrivall'd, character the manly mind:—
'Tis, Hoppner, thine to catch the witching grace
Of beauty's eye, and sweetly-smiling face:

To nobler heights thy genius, Barry, soars,
Well pleased to linger on the Thracian shores;
Or trace the scenes where attic sports display
The dawn of science ripening into day;
Th' Olympic dust, the allegoric flood,
And final guerdon of the great, and good.
To Opie's pencil, liberal Nature gave
Her fleeting forms, with truth severe to save;

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To paint emotion in its liveliest glow,
To thrill with horror, or to melt with woe;
These, Nature all!—But who to thee has given
O, Fuseli! the keys of hell and heaven?—
Taught thee to venture down the dark abyss,
Or ope the regions of primeval bliss?

Whether thy Lapland orgies I behold,
Or Arimaspian, 'scaped with pilfer'd gold;
Mab's junket feats; or that delusive sprite,
Whose pranks mislead the wandering boors of night;
The lubber fiend, outstretch'd, the chimney near,
Or sad Ulysses on the larboard steer;
Or him, with murky wings, whom crowds invoke,
To deal the last, but long-suspended stroke.
Th' unbody'd thought with keen delight I view,
Though far from Nature, yet to Fancy, true.

Such Shakspeare's praise full-oft; who “spurn'd the reign
“Of panting time”—Such was thy poet's strain.—
Like him, no vulgar bounds thy fire repress—
Thou giv'st to sight, what Milton dared express!

VII. ON THE VALE OF OLDLAND, GLOUCESTERSHIRE.

OLDLAND! sweet spot! with joy I greet
The place where once my youthful feet
In life's gay morn have stray'd;
I hail thy fair empictured stream,
In pleasing, long perspective seen
As loath to leave thy shade.

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I hail thy ever-busy mill
Thy “decent church” upon the hill,
With antique yew beside;
That, like celestial hope, is seen,
To flourish in perpetual green,
And angry storms deride.

Thy cots, embower'd by guardian trees
That chide the blast, and court the breeze,
How charming to the view!
Oh, spare them, winds—ye lightnings, spare,
Nor wage with them a sylvan war,
Ye woodmen, spare them too!

Here, fann'd by gentlest airs that breathe,
May peace her olive garland wreathe,
Low shelter'd in the vale;
Orison'd by the tuneful throng
At early morn,—her even' song,
Sad Philomela's tale.

Here, too, be plenty duly seen
To sport enamour'd o'er the green
With wheaten chaplet crown'd;
And all the virtues in their train,
Descending from yon holy fane
To take their village round!

For me—heaven grant! contented well,
In life's sequester'd vale to dwell,
And shun the steep to climb;
So shall the storms that shake the mind
No entrance to my bosom find,
But tranquil joys be mine.

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VIII. ON MY VENERABLE GRANDFATHER.

AS some brave chief, who oft has bled for fame,
Returns victorious from a last campaign;
His country hails him to his native soil,
And aged honours crown a youth of toil;
So did this veteran once, with steady hand,
Maintain each post where duty bade him stand;
Fought the good fight, and left life's dusty field,
To taste the bliss that heaven alone can yield.

Rejoicing angels led the shining way,
And hymn'd his entrance to celestial day.
“Welcome, blest spirit! to this happy sphere!
“From time's short annal, to th' eternal year!
“From reason's glimmer, to the blaze of truth!
“From age, to flourish in perpetual youth!
“From human conflicts, to th' abodes of peace,
“Where troubles vex not, and where sorrows cease;
“From earth's rough ocean, to the land of rest,
“Lot of the good! for ever to be blest!”

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JOHN THE BAPTIST.

Scene. John the Baptist in the Wilderness.

O'ER Jordan's wave, and wild Bethabara's plain,
Where rocks o'er rocks in towering grandeur reign;
Dark-shaded forests spread their empire wide,
And raging torrents sweep the mountain's side,
The Baptist wander'd. Borne on faith's strong wings,
He meditates on high and heavenly things;
Tastes the sweet joys which from devotion flow,
And learns the vanity of all below.

In this remote and trackless solitude,
Fill'd with stupendous cliffs, and caverns rude;
Where every scene with awe inspires the breast,
And Nature's self in shivering garb is drest;
Where, seldom, life delights the wandering eye,
Which e'en the vulture views, and passes by,
While the eternal cataract, all hoar,
Blends its hoarse murmurs with the forest's roar,
The prophet John, remote from human sight,
Receives the influx of celestial light.

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Like some unshelter'd tower, on summit drear,
He braved the beating storm, from year to year:
No silken couch, or storied roof he found,
A stone his pillow; and his bed, the ground.
In musings lost, he loved alone to tread
Beside some crag, torn from the mountain's head,
Or waters, plunging, foaming, on their way,
Propell'd from rock to rock, eclipsing day,
The living rain-bow stretch'd athwart their spray.
Where the bleak hill its misty brow uprear'd,
When morn, in all her radiant pomp appear'd,
(The heaven and earth one intermingled blaze,
Rousing a world to join the song of praise,)
He mark'd, entranced, her flaming chariot fly,
Communing with the Father of the sky,
Exploring realms where thought alone might roam,
In which he glimpsed his heritage, and home;—
Whilst, as the evening spread her kindling beam,
Munificent, in loveliness extreme,
He still pursued his own diviner theme.

Far from mankind, and on the desert cast,
No costly changes lengthen'd his repast;
Yet, ever when the pang of thirst arose,
Clear, by his path, the grateful current flows;
And oft as hunger call'd, with voice severe,
The God of Abraham sent his locusts near;
Screen'd him from harm amid the warring wind,
And, the wild honey, taught him where to find.

While thus the bounty of a hand unseen
He hourly tasted, with an awful mien,
Through time he darted a prophetic glance,
And saw, rejoicing, hope's fair dawn advance.

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Dead to the scenes of earth, from day to day,
The weight of mightiest thoughts upon him lay:
He knew that the appointed hour drew nigh,
The fulness of the times of prophecy;
And while his spirit bathes in heavenly light,
And all the future crowds upon his sight,
Calmly he waits to mark the day unfold,
Rich in the gleams of sapphire, and of gold,
When God should rescue man from Satan's chain,
And angels, harping, shout Messiah's reign.

The hour is come! Hark! from the bursting cloud,
Seraphic envoys, hovering, chant aloud—
“Glory to God! Let peace o'er earth prevail,
“And man, from death redeem'd, salvation, hail!”
Rise, Son of Promise! Great Forerunner, rise!
Exultant, spread the tidings from the skies!
His errand, love, the Son of God appears,
A man of sorrows, in this vale of tears!

Roused from his trance, to all the sons of care,
The Saviour's advent, hear him now declare!
Endued with sanctity, the Prophet's name,
Already hath Judea learn'd his fame:
By Jordan's ancient stream, he calls aloud
On sinners to repent, while round him crowd
Inquiring hosts, borne o'er the pathless wild,
The musing parent, and the anxious child;
With joy, surpassing, fill'd, at length, to hear,
That soon the hope of nations should draw near,
Of whom Isaiah, and the seers of old,
With accents, caught from Heaven, enraptured told.

Amid the mountain, wilderness, or plain,
Where'er he wanders, thousands form his train.

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The prophet marks, far o'er the lofty hill,
Or from some leafy covert, issuing still,
Fresh crowds advance, impatient, all, to know
Of that New Kingdom, Hell might not o'erthrow.

In vale remote upon a crag he stood,
Here mountains hoary, there the frowning wood,
No feathery cloud, heaven's azure vault display'd;
No zephyr murmur'd through the sylvan shade:
In gentle flow, the Infant River, clear,
Fresh from his source, meandering, sparkled near;
Now lost, where, dressed in the funereal green,
Trees, reft by tempests, dimm'd the savage scene;
Whilst sheltering caves, and rocks, with ivy strew'd,
Display'd the vast, and wondering multitude.
Here, in these wilds, where man irruption made
On Nature, by the stars alone survey'd,
In sympathy, with camel's hair array'd,
Stately as is the cedar,—all around,
Attention, “palpable!” the hush profound!
John, burden'd with the spirit, waved his hand,
And in the prophet's tones, address'd the listening band.

“Men! Brethren! lo! to warn you, I am sent!
“Turn from your ways! I lift the voice—‘Repent!’
“You are the favour'd race, to whom, alone,
“The Law, from smoking Sinai, was made known,
“While God inspired you, (merciful as great!)
“With hopes beyond this transitory state:
“Behold! the morn now trembles in its birth,
“Which gives salvation to this lower earth!

“There standeth one amongst you, yet unknown,
“Th' Eternal's Son, and partner of his throne!

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“Before the world was fashioned into form,
“And, o'er the waste of chaos, swept the storm;
“His thought, the slumbering elements obey!
“He spake, and darkness brighten'd into day!
“The waters move with being! still before!
“Birds, beasts, their Maker, silently adore!
“Aspiring trees from steril clods arise,
“While Eden's richest fragrance fills the skies!—
“And, at the last, creation's work complete!
“(His home, a temple grand! prepared, and meet!)
“Man lifts his head, nor rival, nor compeer,
“And sways the sceptre o'er this lower sphere.

“Dread thought! our father in obedience fail'd,
“In evil hour his subtile foe prevail'd!
“Dark! yet eternity a beam will throw,
“O'er this mysterious source of human woe!
“It now befits us, humbly to confess,
“That God is good, and clothed in righteousness:
“Enough to know, from frailty, doubt, and night,
“We soon shall stand, where faith expires in sight.
“Adam, our federal head, Heaven's anger bore,
“And we, the fallen nature, all, deplore!
“But there is balm in Gilead, full, and free!
“Redemption hastens! Glory, Lord! to thee!

“Fair is this world, in garb august array'd;
“Where all, in silence, points to Him who made;
“Yet, with ten thousand monitors around,
“Insensate man, debased, in dust is found!
“Wit may prescribe, the sage, his precepts give,
“Yet none, by wisdom, turn to God, and live!
“O'er realms, where Nature's beauties charm the sight,
“The Pagan orgies shed disastrous night!

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“The race of man, satanic fetters bind!
“With years, delusions deepen on their mind!
“All, from Jehovah, is defection wide!
“No people whelmed not in corruption's tide!
“Oh! sight of horrors! Creatures, lifting high,—
“Their arm — against the Sovereign of the sky!—
“Baal, and Ashtaroth, on every hill!
“Gods of the groves, usurping homage still!
“Father Omnipotent! haste on the hour,
“When earth shall laud thy sceptre! own thy power!
“Stocks, stones; the sanguine rite; the idol vain,
“Vanish! and Truth, in cloudless lustre, reign!
“Thy tardy chariot wheels are drawing near!
“Their flames I see! Their thundering sounds, I hear!
“Ah! no! they reach the heart, concealed from view;
“A still small voice, that moulds, and forms anew.
“Though Israel, (call'd from all the nations round)
“Her cords has burst, while other lands are bound,
“Symbol, and shadowy type, have still prevail'd;
“Our tribes have long their ritual chain bewail'd:
“Long has the soul in darkness pined away,
“With here, and there, a solitary ray,
“But soon the sun of righteousness shall rise,
“And floods of glory burst upon your eyes!

“Heirs of the faithful! an illustrious train!
“Kings have aspired, this day, to see in vain!
“Your ancient prophets, rich in faith, have told
“What unborn ages, hastening, should unfold;
“This is that age, behold fruition nigh!
“Let every heart rejoice, and tear be dry!
“Men, as High Heaven inspired, successive rose,
“And saw, enwrapt, futurity disclose
“Forms fairer far than morning's gorgeous wing,
“A peaceful haven, an abiding spring!

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“But now, confined no longer to a few,
“Each thirsty shrub shall drink the heavenly dew;
“From the rude blast, the wintry storm arise,
“And, with new verdure, hail serener skies!

“Of whom I speak, soon shall you see him near;
“No flaming God, to rouse his creatures fear:—
“(Strange to our nature, and its sacred ties,)
“No angel, bright, commissioned from the skies:—
“No potent chief, victorious arms to guide,
“Born to control, and nursed in royal pride;
“But, in the promised seed, with accent mild,
“Your eyes shall greet the spirit of a child.
“Heaven opens! lo! ascending from the stream,
“(His visage kindling with supernal beam!)
“Upon the hope of earth, the sinner's friend,
“I see the spirit, as a dove, descend!

“The Flowers that still on Nature's waste may blow;
“Whate'er of excellence is found below,
“Our pure desires, our heaven-directed sighs,
“From God, the fount of Goodness, take their rise.
“This spring of Love; this source of Holy Things,
“Jehovah, Lord of Lords, and King of Kings!
“Hath pour'd a plenitude of grace divine,
“Upon the promised Heir of David's line,
“In whom the God-head, bodily, will shine.

“He must increase, and for awhile sustain
“The contumely of sinners; want, and pain!—
“(Visions the dim mysterious image give)—
“Upon the Cross expire, that man might live!
“To usher in this long-expected day,
“Forms the bright cloud that wafts my soul away!

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‘He must increase, and bear earth's uproar rude,
“Till all the powers of darkness are subdued:
“But I am hastening to the land of shade!
“Soon will my head upon the turf be laid!
“Soon, (dreary prospects to my sight unfold!)
“A damsel claim it, and a charger hold!
“But, Oh! the future! Faith beholds, afar,
“Her glorious heritage, her morning star!
“When all the ransom'd, in a happier sphere,
“Will lose the memory of their sorrows here!

“While peals of harmony Heaven's concave rend,
“Angels rejoice that man hath found a friend!
“The Spirit of the Highest darts a ray
“Which guides benighted souls to endless day.
“Hell, at his tottering empire, shakes his chains
“In horrid dissonance, whilst through his veins
“Blood-boiling rancour flows, and fiercer hate,
“That but his sins, and torments, consummate!
“Vain conflict! God with sovereign might is crown'd,
“And Hell in adamantine fetters bound.

“Tear from your hearts each lingering thought that springs
“From courts, and camps, and sceptres; crowns, and kings!
“Not to display the laurels of the great,
“Your Saviour comes, to blaze in regal state;
“Peasants, unwrong'd, inspire with ardour dread,
“To rob some distant peasants of their bread,
“But through the world, to stem ambition's sway;
“To warn mankind, on man, no more to prey;
“To teach humility, bid discord cease,
“And plant the seeds of Universal Peace!

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“Transcendent glories move before my sight!
“I see a cloud of heavenly visions, bright!
“The hour advances when the demon, war,
“No more shall urge his red and fiery car;
“No more provoke the friendless orphan's sigh,
“And swell the tide of human misery.
“In that approaching, and triumphant day,
“Earth shall her pristine purity display,
“The peaceful pruning-hook, of spear, be found;
“The sword, a ploughshare, turn the stubborn ground;
“Concord, like light, extend, and every mind
“Glow with an ardent love for all mankind.
“Shall then his scorpion scourge, oppression rear?—
“The strong, from slaves, and captives, wring the tear?
“With justice, stretching to the farthest isle,
“Man shall not ‘deal in man,’ thro' Mammon vile:—
“Each face shall boast, where'er our eyes recline,
“The clear, bright look of sympathy divine!—
“Pride, passion, envy, vanish like a tale,
“And Charity, that bond of peace! prevail.

“Satan, ere long, shall feel his power o'erthrown!
“The hour is certain, though the time unknown!
“Not always must a moral twilight reign,
“And earth, for man's offence, the curse sustain!
“When Wisdom Infinite beholds it right,
“The rising sun shall ‘chase’ the shades of night!
“Then shall the knowledge of Jehovah spread,
“Like the vast ocean o'er her cavern'd bed;
“While, as the years increase, new charms shall shine
“Till Holiness unveils her form divine!
“The desert wilderness, with blossoms fair,
“Shall then delight the eye, and scent the air;
“The mountains sing for joy, the forests raise,
“To Heaven, in concert wide, the shout of praise.

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“E'en monsters, savage as the wilds they range,
“Shall then their fierce and rugged natures change;
“The lion, like the ox, on grass shall feed,
“And a young child, the wolf, and leopard, lead.—
“Haste, happy days! but, darkness dwells between!
“Mists, gathering still, o'erspread the goodly scene!
“Yet, as before me floats the lapse of years,
“Far, far away, one little cloud appears!
“Onward it rolls, majestic, bright, and fair,—
“Great Saviour of Mankind! I see Thee there!

“To God we owe, the source of life and light,
“Favours untold, and blessings infinite.
“Where'er we cast our eye, amazed we stand,
“And trace the work of an almighty hand.
“Glance on the heavens above, the earth beneath,
“See sportive life, in forms unnumber'd breathe!
“Mid noon-day's teeming hour, what myriads fair,
“Charm the mused ear, or wanton through the air!
“What energy of power, beyond our thought,
“This countless train of shapes to being brought!—
“Rejoicing in their rich, though brief repast,
“And with no fears the future to o'ercast?—
“Ordain'd for end, inscrutable, though right,
“Beyond the verge of man's contracted sight.
“Still stretch your view, from insects on the wing,
“To the vast family,—the creeping thing,
“Crowding the shrub, the earth, as summer skies
“Bid them to life, and all its joys arise.
“Who screen'd their head mid Winter's dreary reign?
“What power will guard when Winter rules again?
“By instincts urged, unconscious of their deeds,
“One race withdraws, another now succeeds;
“Unknowing how, or whence! a secret spring
“Wakes the harmonious and responsive string!

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“That God, on whom our breath alike depends,
“His humblest creatures, sees, regards, defends;
“Lets not their foes, in final strife, prevail,
“Nor suffers one to minish, one to fail!
“Oh! burst your bonds! on Nature's wonders gaze!
“Steel not your heart to scenes that claim your praise!
“Say, as you pore on Heaven's ethereal space,
“What secret hand supports the feather'd race;
“What feeling heart provides a full supply,
“For each that treads the earth, or cleaves the sky?
“All beings own Creation's common Friend!
“All to His stores, the look imploring send!
“From guiding comets round the orb of day,
“From pointing storms their desolating way,
“His ear regards the hungry raven's call!
“His eye, unsleeping, marks the sparrow fall!

“If Nature's lower works your wonder raise;
“If finite objects claim the creature's praise,
“Exalt your wondering view to realms on high!
“Behold the marshall'd offspring of the sky!
“See rolling spheres, in paths prescribed, abide!
“See countless worlds through Heaven's vast concave glide!
“Stars, ever glorious, blazing on their way,
“Or dimly clad in fancy's doubtful ray;
“And these but atoms of that boundless whole
“Which ether sweeps beyond the visual pole!

“If hostile spirits rise, in dread array,
“Confide in Him who owns the sovereign sway!
“If fears, and dark forebodings, on you rest,
“Look to your God, the Spirit, first and best!
“Will He who for the fowl provides a store,
“Turn the deaf ear to servants who implore?—

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“If flowers, that perish ere the sun be set,
“His care receive, will he his sons forget?—
“The Parent, who for foes, the board has spread,
“Neglect his children, when they ask for bread?
“With God, your aim, your end, his word your stay,
“Pass on, nor heed the thorns that strew your way.
“Brief is the conflict, and the victory near!
“A bright inheritance remains to cheer!
“Though clouds your every prospect now o'ercast,
“The joys of Heaven will well repay at last!

“But, Oh! if some, who now around me stand,
“Jehovah see not, — nourish'd by his hand!
“Earnest to gain a thousand meaner things—
“But not to please, and serve, the King of Kings!
“Anxious to make the chaff of earth their friend,
“But not, with Him eternity to spend!—
“To stay His thunders, fearful, that impend!—
“The Being who pervades all time and space!
“Whose hand, in all that lives, and moves, we trace!
“Invested with insufferable day!—
“Who speaks, and systems rise, or pass away!
“Shall He behold his laws, subverted, marr'd,
“Himself, the last, and least, in their regard?
“Immortals! trembling o'er the brink of fate!
“List to the voice of mercy, ere too late!
“Before probation, hope, for ever cease,
“Flee from the wrath to come, and be at peace!

“Know you, O listening tribes, to what you tend?
“Seek you to know where life her race shall end?
“Count you the lingering moments long, that bind
“To earth's low confines man's immortal mind?
“This world is fleeting,—little, though so great!
“A weary passage to a loftier state!

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“The joys which now, to time, your spirits chain,
“Compared with joys eternal, are but pain.

“Amid the still and solemn hour of night,
“Or when the dawn slow kindles on your sight;
“At noon-day, or when eve, in splendour drest,
“Casts her broad shadows o'er a world at rest;
“Do never in your souls, spontaneous, rise,
“High views of man's unfolding destinies?
“Conceptions, dim descried, of scene on scene,
“Unfolding fast, the veil of flesh between?
“No more to visionary dreams resign'd,
“Truth soon shall burst unclouded on your mind;—
“The fears that on the trembling spirit prey,—
“The shades of doubt and darkness pass away.
“Each soul shall learn, as thus it upward springs,
“Its grandeur in the scale of living things;
“Shoot, like the flash that lights the midnight sky,
“A lucid glance through dark futurity;
“See what a moment life, and time, appear,
“Contrasted with the one eternal year;
“And lift to nobler worlds its vast desires,
“Where fancy flags her wing, and thought expires!

“Let not the veil of sense your prospects hide,
“Nor Satan's wiles, from Heaven, your hopes divide;
“Ten thousand mortal foes around you roam;
“Ten thousand restless minds who want a home,
“An anchorage for their souls; who love to stray,
“And spurn, thro' pride, the straight and narrow way.

“Those who, with enmity to God and man,
“Spend in gross wickedness life's little span,
“Do partial harm. A dread career they run,
“Which all may view, and, viewing, learn to shun;

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“The less notorious poison most the mind,
“The vain, the proud, the honour'd of mankind:
“In unsuspected guise these steal away
“Our hearts, too oft, from God, and endless day.

“How few, who an immortal spark possess;
“Minds form'd for boundless woe or happiness,
“Pause — at the thought — that they must all survive
“The wreck of these material things, and live,
“Outcasts from God, or with the saints in light,
“When sun, and moon, and stars, are quench'd in night!

“The boundaries of delusion, who shall trace?
“Wide is the field where folly runs her race.
“Some, who, to Heaven, can never raise their mind,
“With strange idolatry, perverse and blind,
“To Nature all their adorations pay;
“Not Nature's God! These, wandering far away,
“Worship the craggy steep, the noon-tide beam,
“The waving forest, and the gliding stream,
“As if, without th' Almighty's sovereign aid,
“Trees, hills, and streams, were Makers, and not made!
“Some, breathing self-applause, and fill'd with pride,
“See but themselves amid creation wide;
“All other forms conceal their puny head;
“Their mighty shadows veil the earth they tread!
“Their lofty looks dwell, vacant, on the sky,
“While their low brethren pass, unheeded, by:
“Lighter than dust in the Eternal's eyes,
“The creatures he has made, they dare despise!

“Some waste existence, and consume their days
“In vain pursuit of perishable praise,

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“Remembering not that there will come a foe,
“Which lays the flatter'd, and the flatterer, low.
“Some laud their Maker, tho' their hearts the while
“Drink down iniquity, and teem with guile.
“Some mock their God with many a senseless rite;
“Some close their eyes, and then bewail their sight.
“Some follow pleasure, form of varying shapes,
“Which still invites, yet still their grasp escapes:
“These phantoms seek through life's uncertain day,
“And let the only substance pass away.
“Some, whelm'd in sin, through all their mortal road,
“Shoot arrows of defiance at their God!
“Till, roused at Death — before — an endless state!
“They, trembling, see their madness, but too late!
“Others there are, who, in a humble way,
“Might check what maladies on mortals prey;
“Bind up the broken-hearted, anguish cheer,
“And be the angels of their little sphere;
“Yet these, their powers devote, their curious eye,
“To watch the changeful features of the sky;—
“Count Ocean's sands, with anxious visage pale,
“Or poise the straw fast fluttering in the gale;
“As though for this the race of life they ran,
“And naught superior claim'd the thoughts of man;
“As though their years were known, and, when they died,
“All traces past eternal sleep would hide!
“While some pursue, with untired eagerness,
“Objects, whose only fault is their excess;—
“The flower that blooms at morn, at eve declines;
“The bird that twitters, and the gem that shines;
“The gaudy insect, borne from distant clime;
“The speaking block, or crumbling spoils of time:
“These, with a zest of passion, they explore,
“But th' illumined spirit pants for more.

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“If to this state our hopes must be confined,
“While all beyond are phantoms of the mind;
“If nobler worlds our souls must ne'er attain,
“And endless sleep succeed to years of pain;
“Then might we seek our sorrows to beguile,
“And count the hurrying moments with a smile;
“But if, ere long, from little more than night,
“Our souls must take their everlasting flight,
“Launch to some blissful hemisphere afar,
“Beyond the dazzling sun or twinkling star;
“With pure and happy spirits ever dwell,
“And bid to sighs and tears a last farewell!
“Or (foes to God!) heaven's jasper-blazing scene,
“See, with a gulf, impassable, between!
“If this the fix'd alternative must be,—
“Of all, — the rude, the learn'd, the bond, the free!
“If through thee, Life! this fatal verge we tread,
“If such distinctions hang upon thy thread,
“Far other thoughts the pilgrim's heart should sway,
“And souls immortal nobler calls obey!
“But senseless man, to weak deception prone,
“Fancies all lives uncertain, but his own,
“Or, still more wild, pursues delusion's tide,
“Owns the great truth, but casts its cares aside.

“O all ye listening tribes, who, me to hear,
“Have cross'd the Jordan wide, and desert drear,
“Think, when a few revolving years have fled,
“On what cold pillow each shall lay his head!
“When the scared Spirit, hovering o'er the tomb,
“On distant shores awaits her final doom!
“Forced on the foaming surge to launch alone,
“The vain hope faded, and the stout heart flown!
“The bleak winds howling, and the bark untried!
“The ocean stormy, and the passage wide!—

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“No moon, serene, on high, to banish fear;
“No friendly star the shuddering heart to cheer;
“But, sounds, appalling, from the unseen wave!
“And shadows, like the blackness of the grave!
“Let others, to despair, their souls resign;
“Hope, on our midnight, sheds a gleam divine!
“O'er the dark billows, ocean, vex'd, and wide,
“Messiah, safe, our trembling barks shall guide!

“Oh! what the bounds of love! — its ardent flight,
“When he who loves, in love, is infinite!
“Though rebels who have sought our own o'erthrow,
“We, of this love, have tasted here below!
“By night, to shepherds, on our mountains wild,
“Angels declared of Bethlehem's new-born child!
“They chanted symphonies! Good News, they sang!
“Still on their chorus, sweet, our memories hang!
“And while the tidings vibrate on our ear,
“The meek and lowly Jesus draweth near!
“What though your Prince in humble state be born?
“What though no crown the Saviour's head adorn?
“For fallen man he lays his sceptre by!
“For your redemption, leaves his native sky!

“No more shall Death, the King of Terrors, reign,
“And o'er creation cast the icy chain!
“Despair no longer to his darkness fly,
“And Hope, revolting, cloud th' expiring eye,
“But, Faith, descending from her realms of light,
“Scatter your fears, and dissipate your night;
“Lead you, through him, whose mission I proclaim,
“From man's applause, to seek eternal fame;
“To shun the passing shadows of a day;
“To call from earth your wandering thoughts away;

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“To see beyond the dreary vale of time,
“A prospect opening, cloudless and sublime;
“Where the freed spirit shall, unshackled, grow,
“Where pain no more the ransom'd soul shall know,
“Where joys substantial, lasting, and refined,
“Shall feast the senses, and transport the mind,
“Beyond what eye hath seen, or heart conceived,
“Prophet foretold, or patriarch believed!
“Where God shall cleanse the heart, no more to sigh,
“And wipe the final tear from every eye!

“From Hell's dominion, captives to release,
“Behold the Lamb of God! — the Prince of Peace!
“Soon shall your black horizon gleam with day,
“Nor death, o'er all things, cast a sickly ray!
“Soon shall your mental darkness take its flight,
“And Immortality be brought to light!”

ADDRESS TO THE MISSIONARIES.

WHILE some the song to chiefs and patriots raise,
With nobler zeal, I loftier spirits praise;
Men, who, to please their Maker, and proclaim
To nations sunk in night, a Saviour's name,
Have left the land where pleasure sits and smiles;
Joyous have left e'en Britain, Queen of Isles:
Friends, home, contentment, all that life endears,
Freely renounced, for anguish, toil, and tears;
Endured the scorching waste, the raging flood,
While fearless on the Rock of Faith they stood.

Must each be launch'd ere long on death's cold stream;
Each pass away — like a forgotten dream!
Oh! higher thought, and fearful, doth there wait
For all the sons of men, an endless state!

293

You have believed, and for the deluge wide,
Prepared your ark that, safe, the storm shall ride.
You know there does. While others, till they die,
Deem all things serious, but Eternity;
You, better taught, a future empire raise,
And spend, for God, your few, and fleeting days.

Like your great Master, you, your ease disdain,
And combat with the scoffer, want, and pain;
Instructed in th' inestimable worth
Of that great treasure, Heaven bestow'd on earth;
That precious boon, that Book of Life, and Light,
Which sheds refulgence o'er a world of night,
You your “exceeding” joy would not disguise,
And brood with sordid pleasure o'er your prize.
Truth, noble, generous, longing to impart,
Conveys a genial influence to the heart;
Its element — is to dispense all good;
It feels, for distant nations, brotherhood;
Embraces, with one ardent grasp of soul,
Men of all climes, from Ganges to the pole!
Religion, true, with an Ithuriel touch,
May find the miser, but ne'er left him such.

Oh! had the Vision call'd, in that deep dream,
Paul eastward to have borne his Sacred Theme;
With Heaven's rich gifts, to feed the Tartar wild,
And not the Macedonian, Europe's child:
Had no kind Spirit, casting fears behind,
Bless'd with a pulse that beat for all mankind,
(Whose breast the light contain'd) once thoughtful stood,
Framing luxurious schemes for human good;
Beheld where Albion's stately clifts appear'd,
And boldly to the barbarous Briton steer'd;

294

How had our savage faith its strength maintain'd,
And what e'en here the night that now had reign'd!

Kingdoms, for arts and science once renown'd,
As time roll'd on, have plunged in shades profound!
While lands, to ten-fold darkness long resign'd,
Have burst their bonds, and led the sons of mind;
Haply! (Oh, Heaven avert the curse severe!)
Again the Pagan Rite may triumph here!
And regions, now, where men to idols bend,
The Altar reverence, and the Ark defend!
What might so soon God's sleeping wrath awake,
And, o'er our Isle, tempt him his scourge to shake,
His lamp remove, his heritage forsake,
As languor, to extend the Gospel Sound,
The Bread of Life, to starving nations round!—
As that disastrous, graceless, spirit chill,
Which scorns to work, and frustrates those who will!
Soft as the far-off murmuring of the sea;
Sweet as at morn the bird's clear melody,
(Amid the shout of orgies vile) I hear
The still small voice of penitence and prayer!
Sunk as they were in guilt, abased, depraved,
Ten righteous men had once a people saved;
Hope, yet is ours! Though crowds on every side,
Their Maker's Laws disdain, his Threats deride,
England may yet recount her righteous few,
Salt of our land! and not the least, in you.

How will the future sons of sires, who now,
In climes remote, to stocks and statues bow —
(Oh, fearful depth of folly and of crime!
Man, even man! endued with powers sublime,
Disclaims his rank, to basest things that be,
Lifts th' adoring eye, and bends the knee!)

295

How will such, brought to their maturer sense,
Read with delight the page of Providence!
How will such hail (without one faint alloy,)
Their happier state; then, with seraphic joy,
Gaze backward far upon the men revered,
Who first their tribes with songs of Sion cheer'd;
Brought them the Truth; the Book of Knowledge spread,
And, o'er the future, beams refulgent shed!
What gratulations, what transcendent praise
Their hearts to you will breathe, their voices raise,
When, basking in the light, a glance they cast
O'er the dark vale, the dreary desert past!
As, on their race of storms, their night of woe,
Safe, from the Mount of God, they look below!
When waning age on age hath roll'd away,
Since you with earth have mix'd your honour'd clay,
While myriads on oblivion's tide are seen,
Borne downward, lost, as though they ne'er had been,
Still shall your memories flourish, fresh and green;
Of you, the lisping child shall learn to speak,
As the warm tear steals down the mother's cheek:
Yet nobler thoughts than these your hearts beguile;—
Conscience' sweet voice, and Heaven's approving smile.

Ye Great of Earth, arise! — at once appear
Cæsars and Pompeys, men estranged from fear;
Whose warlike feats the porphyry column bears;
Who view'd the world, and proudly call'd it theirs;
Who lived to tread the steep, to build the name,
Whilst slaughter'd thousands track'd their road to fame:
What grateful heart, slow from the dying bed,
E'er call'd to heaven for blessings on their head?
Crowds, rather, in their pangs, with death in sight,
Deplored the hour that gave them to the light.

296

These are not Great! Illustrious men and wise!
You are the Great, whose deeds to glory rise!
You, distant realms have sought, with untold pains,
Not to explore fresh marts, or count new gains,
But, with benign delight, your joys to share;
To free the captive, smooth the brow of care,
Throw back the veil, the Star of Hope display,
And guide benighted souls to endless day.

Such once was Brainerd, whose ambition, high,
Aspired to teach the Indian “how to die.”
Such Schwartz was found, who, 'mong the heathen, long
Despairing roam'd, yet lived to hear the song,
From the wide Banian's sylvan altar, own,
In concords loud, Jehovah, Lord alone!
Such Wesley, Whitfield were; both labourers tried,
Who find, above, the peace which Earth denied.
Such Trowt, and Chamberlain, who, (truly wise!)
Fought the good fight, and early gain'd the prize!
And such was Vanderkempt, (his ransom paid,)
Who now looks down, nor mourns the choice he made:
But, at the name of Martyn, every eye
Glistens, and turns, instinctive, to the sky!

(Far back, excursive vision loves to gaze
On one, associate of my younger days,
A sainted spirit, Pierce! who long'd in vain,
The Missionary Martyr's crown to gain;
With one, just pass'd to the celestial sphere,
Urguhart, of kindred mould, for whom, the tear
Uncurb'd, unbought, will long and pungent flow,
Who left no loftier, holier soul below!
Both still promote the cause that fired their mind—
They left their efficacious prayers behind!

297

Though these to Heaven have soar'd, (a glorious band!)
In the same cause, new heroes forward stand:
Aspirants march to conquest, all endued
With unction from above, zeal, fortitude.
In long perspective galaxy, I trace
Spirits, the glory of our age and race!
Jowett, and Coultart, Holbeck, Richter, Shaw,
Whom Love divine to dangerous realms could draw;
Fox, Carver, Ousely, known and praised afar,
With Morrison, so long a radiant star;
Hartley, and Wolff, instructing on that shore,
Where once the Lord that bought them, taught before!
While Carey, Marshman, Ward, that veteran train,
Show, in their turn, what victories Faith may gain.
And if remembrance of the host beside
Here find no place, who equal toils divide,
On nobler records such serene rely,
Theirs is the grand memorial in the sky.

Their post, by dangers compass'd, now may be
Where no observant eye, but God's, can see,—
Around steep Caucasus, or on the shore
Of ice-bound Greenland, or bleak Labrador;
Or in Columbian Isles; 'mid Afric's land,
Warring with dews of death, and burning sand;
In Palestine, (where soon the Crescent foe
May see, once more, the Rose of Sharon blow)
Or where, mid India's tribes, like some vast sea,
Soul-bondage reigns, till Christ the slave shall free:
Nor must we lightly deem those spirits, brave,
Who, o'er the wide Pacific, souls to save,
Have sail'd, with richer freight, and costlier aid,
Than, from Potosi, ever bark convey'd:
Whose triumphs, (which each day and hour appear)
Silence the scoffer, while the just they cheer:

298

And thus shall Idols vanish, like a dream,
As Truth, o'er earth, extends her healing beam.

New scenes, like spring, with flow'ry wreaths advance;
New prospects rise, no cloud to overcast.
Religion, who so long “on tiptoe stood,”
Hath past, indeed, o'er the Atlantic flood.
Our Brethren of the West, for greatness born,
Whom fools defame, and then affect to scorn,
With step, intrepid, send their worthies forth
To cleanse and fructify the moral earth.
May offspring of one Parent, favour'd, free,
Display the sight of “Brethren who agree:”
And, hence, one rivalry pervade their breast,—
Who most shall honour God, and serve him best!

If, sometimes, while through distant lands you roam,
You cast a lingering look toward friends and home,
Restrain the tear! Behold the blissful state!
The palms, the crowns, which for the pilgrim wait.
Should pain assault you, still in God believe;
Should sorrow reach, Oh, think for whom you grieve!
Should want, in lonely climes, your steps pursue,
Dwell on his Name who suffer'd more for you.
Guiding the Gospel Plough, gird up your mind!
Heed not the chaff which you have left behind!
Look forward, courage take, behold the end!
What can your heart deplore with God your Friend!
You seek not earth's reward, nor man's applause;
You all are champions in your Maker's cause;
And round your arduous path, though sad, the while,
Crowds of admiring angels watch and smile.

The hour must come, perchance it draweth nigh,
The fast unfolding dawn of prophecy,

299

When the first-born to Zion shall return,
And look on Him whom they have pierced, and mourn;
When o'er earth's verdant fields, one flock shall stray,
One Shepherd lead, and all his voice obey:
When holiest love shall every heart inflame,
And every tongue confess Immanuel's name!
Warm'd with such hopes, though vain to feeble sense,
Be Heaven's eternal word your confidence!
With zeal, around, your glorious mission spread,
And make your Father's will your daily bread.
May He, in every hour of need provide,
In sickness cheer you, and through dangers guide:
Make smooth and plain your path, where'er you go;
Whilst you, like Paul, the Gospel Trumpet blow,
Who, with a crown in sight, a heaven, a home,
All things could bear, stripes, bonds, and martyrdom.

Not o'er a sea, unruffled, calm, and clear,
Must you your venturous bark expect to steer;
The sun sometimes may soothe, your fears subside,
And soft, and sweet, the tide of feeling glide;
When, like th' alternate changes of the deep,
Tempests and storms, the lowering skies may sweep;
Expect, nor be deceived: alike prepare
Hardships or ease to meet, the soldier's fare.
If friends protect, on God the praise bestow;
If foes assail, with meekness bear the blow;
Nor hope to root out errors, save with toil
Resembling his, who, patient, tills the soil.
Hell, roused from slumber, in his dread array,
Ere long, in rage, may rise to meet the fray;
Call up foul spirits, to himself allied,
And yield, with mortal throe, his empire wide;
But he who leads you forth, for your defence,
Will screen you with his own Omnipotence.

300

Truth's Harbingers! receive from one unknown,
Passing advice, that springs from love alone,
Be not, at aught, too joyous, or too pain'd,
Fear must be check'd, and Hope herself restrain'd.
Our sight is but a point, our life — a day!
Grief soon subsides, and pleasures, where are they?
Though with our own dear schemes our bosoms swell,
What might be best, at last, we cannot tell;
The clouds that rise so fair, may waft distress,
The tear, the pang, the cross, be sent to bless.
That Sovereign power, to whose pervading eye,
All times, the past, the future, naked lie;
Whether he walk conspicuous, clothed in light,
Or, round his footsteps, cast the robe of night,
Still carries on (though Folly oft repines,)
His wise, but his inscrutable designs.

As on you go, declaring as you can,
Redemption for the captive race of man;
Freedom that breaks the fetters of the mind;
Ears to the deaf, and vision to the blind,
Should hosts, with bounding heart, your tidings hail,
Should Satan's kingdom fall, and Truth prevail;
Converts from heathenish night your footsteps throng,
Acknowledge Him to whom all hearts belong;
Yet, should but here and there a blade be found,
While weeds, in rank luxuriance, wave around;
Should they be foes to you, who were before
Foes to the God whom you unseen adore,
Let not Egyptian gloom your souls dismay,
Faint is the dawn that ushers in the day:
But should no consecrated fruits ascend,
O'er the wide scene should naught but tares extend;
Let faith, unshaken, still support your feet,
Heedless, though torrents roar, and tempests beat.

301

What though no wreath, victorious, crown your race,
And scarce one flower beside your path you trace,
Seed, sown by you, long 'neath the ground may lie,
Water'd of God, unmark'd by human eye,
Ordain'd, in the appointed hour, to rise,
And with majestic verdure fill the skies.
Witness Taheite whose shades have pass'd away,
So long where fiends maintain'd unbridled sway;
Her Idols to the Bats disdainful hurl'd,
The prelude to a renovated world!

Soul reverenced men! receive th' applauding strain,
Which kings and conquerors might desire in vain.
To you, a distant brother leads the song,
Which thousands join, in chorus loud, and long.
Mid climes that never heard Messiah's praise,
Aspire the standard of the Cross to raise,
With new delight, proclaim their ransom near;
Go, and a Temple to your Maker rear!
Whilst there are lands, and tribes, that countless be,
Who never joy'd to hear our jubilee,
Who never knew the Christian's rich repast,
Pardon and Peace, and hope of Heaven at last,
Strive in the glorious conflict undismay'd,
March boldly, in supernal strength array'd;
Still fearless on the Word of Promise rest,
And trust the more, for doubts that haunt your breast.

Where is the generous fire, the spirit gone,
That once in Cranmer glow'd, in Luther shone?
Shall petty sights alone attract our eye,
The rise and fall of mortal majesty —
Kingdoms and men, that, in perpetual round,
Blaze and expire? shall these our prospects bound,

302

And not your cause — the glory of your age,
(Grandest of all which human thoughts engage!)
Awake our highest interests, hopes and fears,
The heart that vibrates, and the tongue that cheers?
Those who, beyond the present, see combined,
The mighty Future, trampling time behind,
Feel, with still kindling warmth, in every vein,
Ardour to burst the heathen's mental chain —
To waft to them our pearl of matchless price,
And wider throw the Gates of Paradise.
Where is this Spirit? Lo! she lives and reigns!
Now we behold her, not mid ravaged plains,
Where Demons scream for blood, but on thy shore,
Oh! Albion, dear, my country, evermore
Loftiest of nations! With proud garlands crown'd,
Sending the Truth wherever man is found.
Go on, triumphant! spreading Life and Light!
Check not the courser with the goal in sight!
May you, who wage the warfare with the foe;
May you, who nobly of your wealth bestow;
May you, whose hearts implore that Heaven would shield
The tender germ from storms, and increase yield,
Strive in your different ways, more prayerful be;
Not fainting, you secure the victory.

Once more, from sickening scenes that strike my view,
Good men, and great, refresh'd, I turn to you.
The Star of Bethlehem, from night profound,
Emerges fair, with sun-like splendours crown'd;
Vision, on vision kindling, I survey,
Till with o'erpowering beam it dies away.
And can it be that who the brunt sustain
Should call aloud for aid, yet call in vain?
Bent by the weight, you arduous burdens bear,
The field is vast, but labourers few are there.

303

Amazed, the Powers of Darkness stand and feel
Their temples tottering, while their idols reel,
And shall the valiant strive, and only hear
Voices from friends far off that feebly cheer?
With such a prize in view, in such a fight,
May kindred souls spontaneous spring to light,
Sent, and endued with graces from above,
Wise as the serpent, harmless as the dove,
Proud to support your hands, and to extend
O'er boisterous seas, to earth's remotest end,
Salvation, tidings of the Sinner's Friend.

Again, farewell! and, Oh! while thus you preach
Of Faith, and Righteousness, in every speech,
And your whole walk confirms the truths you teach,
Fearless, the path pursue, though men revile,
On which th' Almighty smiles, and still will smile.
Confusion them shall follow, whilst our eyes
Shall see the Tree of God's own planting rise;
Wide shall it spread, and adverse storms disdain,
Fed by Heaven's dew, and nourish'd with his rain;
And let all cry — Wherever shines the Sun,
Thy Kingdom come, O Lord! thy will be done!

“AND THE RUIN OF THAT HOUSE WAS GREAT.”

Luke vi. 49.

1

BEHOLD yon tower its head uprear,
Whose strength with adamant may vie;
The stablest forms that round appear
Shall perish ere it prostrate lie:
Its battlements shall see the day
When temples proud have pass'd away.

304

2

The woods, that everlasting seem,
The hills, that storms assault in vain;
The living sward, the stately stream,
The rocks, that ocean's self can chain,
All these, their ruins wide shall spread,
Before yon Tower shall bow its head.

3

Still loftier its presumptions rise,
Smiling at each inferior boast,
It shall survive the azure skies,
Sun, moon, and all the starry host;
To fix it from mutation free,
The Highest uttered, “Let it be!”

4

Grand destinations to fulfil,
This tower — is Man's immortal Mind!
Endued with powers, expanding still,
That leave the labouring thought behind!
Its home, eternity! — that flame
Burning, and yet to burn, the same!

5

How dread, to hazard such a state!
A tower, so firm, at last to fall!
Were not its fearful ruins “great!”
If blasted by the Lord of all!
Long suffering still, O Father, spare!
And, for thyself, our souls prepare!

305

TIME IS SHORT.

1

NARROW is th' appointed space
For mankind to run their race!
Small the interval allow'd
Between the cradle and the shroud;
Scarce from slumber we arise,
Ere the longest liver dies!

2

The very tree may now be laid,
From which our coffin will be made!
Haply, now the web is spun
To wrap us, when our race is run!
And the spade, when we are dead,
May wait to form our lowly bed!

3

Have we, with our days so few,
In a little, much to do?
Let us not, regardless, spend
Moments, which so soon must end!
Life is frail! a warning sound
Comes from every form around!

4

When our own hand's-breadth we scan,
We the measure see of man!
When we mark the clouds on high;
When we view the shuttle fly;
Whispers reach us, soft, and clear,
Time is short, and death is near!

306

5

Are we to a point confined?
Have we an immortal mind?
After this uncertain state,
Does an endless world await?
Lord! endue us with thy grace,
Well to run our mortal race!

6

Heaven before us, let us give
Our thoughts to God, while here we live,
Nor partake the fool's repast,
Which will sorrow yield, at last:
Since anon we pass away,
Let us wisely spend to-day!

7

May we still the Saviour prize,
Till the day-star in us rise!
May we walk by faith, and bear
More and more, his image here!
That the mansions in the sky
May receive us when we die!

BENEFICENCE

1

OH! have we never seen an eye,
Pure as the infant's at its birth;
The look of some superior sky,
Allied to heaven, though found on earth?

307

2

A rich, a soul-subduing gleam,
That with the blush of angels shone;
Brief as the moon-beam on the stream!
A glance, that thrill'd us, and was gone?

3

These are the dim precursors kind,
That, in mysterious symbols, tell
Of realms, enduring and refined,
Where soon the pure in heart will dwell.

4

This gleam of sunshine after storm,
This look benign, this eye of love,
Just emblem, in their faintest form,
The pleasures of the world above!

THE CHRISTIAN.

1

HOW peaceful is the Christian's breast,
By no distracting fears oppress'd,
His prospects ever shine!
Whilst others, rankling sorrows wound,
Whose minds, the ways of life confound;
Whilst others, view confusion round,
He sees the Hand Divine.

2

Though not released from mortal care,
Yet, he has learn'd his cross to bear,
A lesson truly wise!

308

When Heaven bestows, or takes away,
Thy will be done! his heart can say,
Remembering, in eternal day
His better portion lies.

3

Though trouble will not wholly cease,
Until he reach the world of peace,
Of this he ne'er complains;
The glorious hope which faith bestows,
That hope the Christian only knows,
Which from a bleeding Saviour flows,
His spirit well sustains.

4

Compell'd through life's dark vale to stray,
And hastening to the realms of day,
Where crowns immortal wait;
He, journeying, does not seek to find
A flattering calm, whose charms might bind
To earth, his bold aspiring mind,
From joys divinely great.

5

He knows in heaven there lives a friend,
(Which, when the rounds of time shall end,
And Nature's reign be o'er;)
Whose smiles the weary soul shall share,
Whose love shall crown the faithful there,
Nor aught of conflict or of care,
Disturb his passions more.

309

6

Whilst seeking this divine abode,
Are there, who tire amid the road,
By earth's low cares oppress'd?—
The Tempter's subtle wiles despise!
From bondage, and from slumber, rise!
Press onward to the glorious prize —
To your eternal rest!

7

No common object claims your zeal,
No common interest should you feel,
You have a Heaven in view:
The time is short that waits you here,
The hours recede, and death is near,
Then think where you will soon appear,
And plume your wings anew.

8

Forsake the things, of time and sense,
Hold commune with Omnipotence,
Make God your chief delight;
Till he shall beckon you away,
Through Earth, like weary pilgrims, stray;
And though afflictions mark your way,
Still keep the end in sight.

9

For you, beyond Death's frowning gate,
Ten thousand happy Spirits wait,
Heaven's portals wide to spread;
There, patriarchs their hands extend,
There, Saints and Seraphs call you friend,
And you eternity shall spend
With Christ, your Living Head.

310

CHRISTMAS HYMN.

1

THE night is fair! The planets, glorious,
In silent pomp their rule maintain;
The shepherds, on the hills of Judah,
Behold, with awe, the starry train,
And worship, bending low the head,
Him, who through heaven such wonders spread.

2

What voice is that? — Symphonious numbers,
Aloft in air, are faintly heard!
And now they nearer draw, and nearer!
Cherubs are seen! — The liquid word,
Entrancing, steals, like zephyr, forth,
“Good-will to man, and peace on earth!”

3

While now, enraged, the Powers of Darkness,
For conflict rally round their king,
The Son of God, from heaven descending,
Comes, borne upon the Seraph's wing!
Lo! countless guards, (in concord sweet,)
“Glory to God!” aloud, repeat!

4

Love, undeserved, our thought surpassing!
(How full the fount from which it flows!)
The Prince of Peace assumes our nature,
To rescue man from endless woes!
He comes, with mercy, full and free,
To sound the sinner's jubilee!

311

5

The Lord of Life, so long predicted,
In all his Father's might appears!
Ye righteous! rich in consolation,
Glad tidings now salute your ears!
See, Prophecy her page unfold!
The Vision of the Lamb, behold!

6

What royal birth-place Him must welcome?
What sumptuous palace? — garb of state?
What monarchs, proud of their obeisance,
Must bend around a guest so great?
All costly robes of Tyrian dye
Before the Lord of Life must lie!

7

Ah, no! His palace was a stable!
No guards, obsequious homage pay!
His royal birth-place was a manger,
And straw, the couch on which he lay!
Humility for ever crown'd!
Here was the Heir of all things found!

8

Well might the breasts of happy spirits
Experience high and strange delight!
Well might such spectacle of mercy,
From heaven, angelic hosts invite,
To witness, till that hour unknown,
Such grace to man, rebellious, shown!

312

9

Saviour! accept our spirits' incense —
That thou, to earth, didst cast thine eye!
That thou, thyself, didst freely offer,
That we, in hope, might live and die!
We give thee praise! we bend our knee!
We consecrate our hearts to thee!

GOOD FRIDAY.

1

THIS is the morn, of old predicted,
When Christ, himself an offering made!
This is the hour, with love surpassing,
When he the sinner's ransom paid!
Oh, Earth! the Lord of Glory, see!
Expiring, now, on Calvary!

2

Scenes, which the Saviour's death preceded,
Once more arise! we view! we hear!
The garden of Gethsemane;
The crowd, the swords, the staves, appear!
The bloody sweat! the pang untold!
The traitor, who his master sold!

3

We hear thee, O Divine Redeemer!
For sinners, with thy Father plead!
We see thy late so faithful followers
Desert thee in thy hour of need!
With not one true disciple near,
To soothe thy woe, or wipe thy tear!

313

4

We see thee at the bar of Pilate!
We, Peter hear his Lord deny!
And, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
Thy scoffing foes, infuriate, cry!
“Be this man's blood!” we hear it said,
“On us, and on our children's head!”

5

Calm as the sheep before her shearer,
We view thee by no threat deterr'd!
We mark thee, smitten! spit upon!
A murderer to thyself preferr'd!
The scarlet robe we see thee wear!
And that contemptuous “hail!” we hear!

6

We view thee set at naught of Herod,
And his imperious men of war!
We see thy brow by thorns encircled,
With many a deep, and bleeding scar!
While some rejoice, and others mourn,
To Calvary we view thee borne!

7

We see thee on the cross extended!
Deriders, and revilers, round!
We view the cruel spear that pierced thee!
Thy life's-blood streaming to the ground!
The nails that fix'd thee to the tree!
The vinegar and gall we see!

8

Amid thy unimagined sufferings,
“Father, forgive!” we hear thee cry!

314

We mark the utterance, “It is finish'd!”
And on that word, for heaven, rely!—
Behold — the porch, the temple, rent!
While darkness clothes the firmament!

9

Here, in this sin-distemper'd region,
Thou trod'st the wine-press all alone;
But now, from earth to heaven ascended,
Thou interced'st before the throne!
Hell, from his pinnacle, is hurl'd!
And thy reward, — a Ransomed World!

THE CAPTIVE ISRAELITE.

“We hanged our harps upon the willows.” Psalm cxxxvii.

1

“HOW shall we our grief express,
“When no Zion's towers we see!
“We, our harps, in heaviness,
“Hang upon the willow tree!

2

“Lords of Babylon, depart!
“Insults not on injuries heap!
“Pangs, untold, oppress our heart,
“When, at morn, we wake to weep!

3

“Ask us not for Israel's song!
“Ill becomes the sportive strain,
“When, to us, and ours, belong
“Sorrow, and the captive's chain!

315

4

“Strangers, in a foreign land,
“Now oppress'd, who once were free;
“We, our harps, by breezes fann'd,
“Hang upon the willow tree!

5

“Let the whispering winds awake,
“Airs that, but for them, might sleep;
“We will not the stillness break;
“We will solemn silence keep!

6

“Yet, the thought will sometimes rise,
“Sweet by Kedron's brook it were,
“At the morning sacrifice;
“At the evening hour of prayer;

7

“While Jehovah we adore,
(“In his ways, the great profound!)
“Our divinest notes to pour,
“With responding thousands round!

8

“Days of mourning we fulfil;
“Oh! that we the end might see!
“Sad, — her harp shall Israel still,
“Hang upon the willow tree!”

316

PERSECUTION.

ADDRESSED TO THE PURITANS: (WRITTEN AFTER READING NEALE.)

THE feeling heart a sigh bestows,
When Humblest Merit droops his head;
But, o'er Transcendent Virtue's woes,
Our warm, and holiest tears, are shed.

317

We walk, in confidence sedate,
O'er thornless path, and flowery mead;
While now on Truth, fair hand-maids wait,
With none to threaten or impede;

318

But what dismays, in dreariest form,
Our firm, and valiant fathers, bore;
That we, defended from the storm,
Might, unconstrain'd, our God adore!

319

Once, furious spirits, sons of night!
In many a rude, vindictive band;
By hatred urged, and cruel spite,
Like locusts, spread o'er all our land:

320

Where now the peaceful haunts are seen,
Oppression, anguish, dread, prevail'd;
Base serviles, ermine-clad, or mean,
The Wise, and Good, to Judgment hail'd.

They all were track'd, by night and day,
No earthly refuge, home, or friend;
Compell'd to flee, while, forced to stay,
That they might break, who would not bend.

Soul-reverenced men! your choice we hail!
You smiled, from prison-grate, and tower,
Conscience, suspended in one scale,
And, in the other, Wealth and Power!

Hosts, whom the Lawn could not enslave,
Were with the dungeon-fetters bound;
Till, in the cold and silent grave,
Their weary heads a refuge found!

The weeping wife, the orphan train,
The hand upraised, th' imploring eye,
These wasters turn'd from, with disdain,
And rush'd to deeds of sabler dye.

321

How should they heed the hardest lot,
(While Hate and Rage, their bosoms fan,)
Who could extinguish, as a blot,
All sympathy for suffering man!

Arm'd with their High-Commission'd Might,
(Oh! curse of Britain! foul disgrace!)
They were the sovereign Judge of Right,
And they must think for all their race!

Thanks to our God, who rules the heart!
Or, at this hour, whom demons urge,
Some fiercer Bancroft might up start,
Or, prouder Laud, oppress, and scourge.

The purest forms of human worth,
Half to superior worlds allied,
To death, they dragg'd, remorseless forth,
And sang the requiem, as they died!

There is a realm, where Justice reigns!
Where record dwells of their complaints!
And there are flames, and fiery chains —
That wait the Ravagers of Saints!

Compassion, (wont in Heaven to dwell,)
That sometimes deign'd to sojourn here,
Mistook our rancorous world for Hell,
And fled, where Pity still was dear.

What were our sires' mis-doings, strange,
Which thus to brutes could men transform?
The human eye, to marble, change,
And hearts, to ice, that once were warm?

322

And, what the Covenanters brave,
Those worthies! suffering royally!
Our glory, hurried to their grave,
By spirits of the darkest dye!

Were these Contemners of their Lord!—
Vicegerents, from beneath, enthrall'd?
Monsters, by all that lives, abhorr'd,
Who, for earth's sweeping vengeance call'd?

Their crime was, — love to human-kind!
While crouching thousands bent the knee,
They spurn'd the Tyranny of Mind!
And through their darings, we are free!

Yes, hallow'd spirits! to your throes, —
The blood you shed, your valour high;
This moment, every Briton owes,
His Charter'd Rights and Liberty!

Still costlier Freedom, first and best!—
To worship God, with God our Guide,
This was the jewel in your breast,
For which you barter'd all beside.

Illustrious men! who bravely fought,
To shield us from o'erwhelming woe;
Oft, in the pensive hour of thought,
For you, our tenderest tears shall flow!

While Hierarchs Proud, who wrong'd, reviled,
Now lie inglorious in their shame!
You are the Great, the “Undefiled,”
And bear th' Imperishable Name!

323

Do you not still conspicuous shine,
Surpass'd not by our mightiest dead?
Does not the amaranth entwine,
Its brightest glories round your head?

When Popery, like a midnight flood,
Burst onward, scattering wide dismay!
You, fearless, England's Bulwark stood,
And turn'd th' impetuous surge away!

Our conflicts, you sustain'd alone!
You, to the dust, a Stuart hurl'd!
You placed a Brunswick on our throne!—
And left a lesson to the world!

Hence, let the haughtiest tyrants learn —
Through every age, till time has waned;
Though they may, fiend-like, rack and burn,
Conscience shall never be constrain'd.

FUNERAL DIRGE.

INTERMENT OF THE AGED SAINT.

THE MOURNERS.

First Voice.
WHAT man is he who breathes the air,
And shall not to the tomb descend?
The march of glory ceases there,
And there earth's proudest pageants end!

Response.
Let our hearts with transport glow,
We have a hope, a glorious trust;
Thy worshippers, O Father! know,
That thou wilt raise their sleeping dust.

324

First Voice.
Aged traveller! to the grave,
With many a tear, we bear thee on;
Now, beyond each swelling wave,
Thou, to endless rest, art gone.

Response.
Aged father! aged saint!
Sorrow's cup to thee was given;
But, thou hast breath'd thy last complaint,
Perfected, and call'd to heaven.

First Voice.
Ere his crown, the righteous wears,
In his pilgrimage below,
Many sorrows, many cares,
Must his spirit undergo.

Response.
Ere the oak, in all his power,
Spreads his stately limbs, mature,
Many a sun-shine, many a shower,
Wind and rain, must he endure.

First Voice.
God speaks from his eternal throne,
And flaming hosts, his will perform;
He hath his fearful path, unknown,
In the whirlwind, and the storm.

Response.
Twilight veils our prospects here,
But we haste to perfect day,
Where the doubtful shall be clear,
And the darkness pass away.

325

First Voice.
Behold the upright man, and mark
How he concludes his mortal race,
When every earthly view is dark,
And death draws near with solemn pace.

Response.
Of heaven's unchanging promise sure,
Patient, he waits his soul's release;
And, as his life was calm and pure,
So, when he dies, his end is peace.

Chorus.
May we so pass our time below,
Mercy our hope, and faith our friend,
That, when we leave this world of woe,
Our lives may, like the righteous, end!

THE HERMIT's EVENING SONG.

ON the rough stone I sit, whilst the evening draws nigh,
And the zephyrs their fragrance luxuriously send;
No motion I see, but the birds in the sky,
And the lofty trees, waving, beneath where they lie,
Stretch'd, far as the sight can extend.

Though my sorrows are great, yet my spirit is calm,
No more, to the winds, I, my anguish will tell;
The breeze playing round, to my soul breathes a balm,
While creation all joins in an audible psalm,
And my heart, the glad anthem shall swell.

326

A shelter I have from the wind and the rain,
While the fare of the hermit is still my delight;
I may drink of yon riv'let, again and again,
And when I have done with this body of pain,
I shall dwell with the angels in light.

O why should I part with my noblest desire!
Why barter the crown which awaits me above!
That hope, like an anchor, which bids me aspire,
To join, in yon world, the celestial choir,
Who sing of redemption and love!

To all 'neath the stars, I shall soon bid adieu,
The clouds gather fast, my departure is near;
Then, my hopes, and my fears, all I dread, or pursue,
Like the waves of the ocean, will fade from my view,
And Eternity only appear!

Men heed not their Maker, his voice from on high,
May they wake, ere too late, from their perilous dream!
But, when I remember, how soon I must die;
That my life passes on, like a cloud of the sky,
My time I must strive to redeem.

I have heard of glad tidings, far better than they,
(All brief,) which the sons of prosperity prize;
So, hither I come, to meet heaven half way,
With my own heart to commune, to praise, and to pray,
And my pinion to plume for the skies.

The burdens of earth, I will joyfully bear;
Afflictions are monitors, sent to restore;
A pilgrim I am, as my forefathers were,
My portion is sorrow, my birth-right is care,
But the conflict will shortly be o'er.

327

These woods, where I dwell, can instruction supply,
From the grave of the winter, rejoicing, they rise;
While the birds, on their wing, tell me how I should fly,
To lay hold on the prize, which awaits in the sky,
For the steward, who is faithful and wise.

So here will I pour, still at morning and eve,
The song of the heart to the Father of Love;
I will cease, at my sorrows, all fleeting, to grieve,
For soon, with the just, will my spirit receive,
A part, in the mansions above.

Then let the winds roar, through the cloud-darken'd air,
As onward I haste, from these regions of night;
The road may be rough, but the prospect is fair,
And, the end of my journey, the end of my care,
Will be permanent, calm, and delight.

HYMN TO THE SUPREME BEING.

LORD! thou the dwelling-place hast been,
Of all, who ever fear'd thy name;
Man changes with the changing scene,
But thou art evermore the same.

Sceptres and thrones, the blaze of power,
Yea, all that charms the heart, the eye,
Will wonder raise, their little hour,
And, like a scroll, be passed by.

But thou, unchanged, shalt remain,
Encircled by thy robe of light;
Thou, through perpetual years, shalt reign,
When sun, and stars, are quench'd in night.

328

Whirlwind and blast, thy will perform;
Lightnings receive their course from thee;
Thou rid'st upon the winged storm,
And thou restrain'st the raging sea!

Thou, unconfined by space or time,
Display'st thy power, through endless years;
In every age, in every clime,
The Majesty of God appears.

Thy mandate gave all creatures birth,
From chaos, Nature rose divine;
The deep foundations of the earth,
The everlasting hills, are thine.

Perfection marks thy works around,
The great, the small, are one to thee;
The element where thou art found,
Is all alike — Infinity!

Thy dwelling, deep pavilions hide;
Mists bar access; dark waters frown;
Yet, here and there, the clouds divide,
And bring celestial visions down.

The birds, that joyous stretch their wing,
And wanton in the summer air;
The insect, and the creeping-thing,
Reveal the tokens of thy care.

Mountains, unchanged, from age to age,
Thou, by thy might, hast girded round,
And given to Ocean, in his rage,
The fix'd, and admantine bound.

329

Leviathan, and all his train,
Through the wide sea, in myriads spread;
The beasts, that range the wood, or plain,
All, by thy bounteous hand, are fed!

The shrubs and flowers, in fair array,
The golden corn, the lofty tree;
The fruits, that clustering bend the spray,
Still claim our thanks, and point to thee.

Thine is the Summer's ample store,
Thee, teeming Autumn owns her King;
Thou shin'st in Winter's mantle hoar,
And thou renew'st the face of Spring.

On all that is, the Great First Cause,
Stamps his imperishable lines;
Resistless power the spirit awes,
Till, through the awful, mercy shines.

Thou, who, above all thought, art high,
The Great Unknown, the Final End,
Dost hear the ravens, when they cry,
And, “goodness,” to the worm, extend.

Creation, to her utmost bound,
Regales the ear, and charms the sight;
Beneficence, the earth around,
Moves onward, in her track of light.

We mark thee in the blush of morn;
We view thee in the glow of eve;
And generations, yet unborn,
Shall drink the transport we receive.

330

When, to the heavens, we raise our eye,
The grandeur of thy name we see;
We trace, through all the spangled sky,
The finger plain of Deity!

Let the whole earth, in chorus wide,
Laud thee, till faith expires in sight;
That thou didst cast the veil aside,
And give to man the starry night.

That tablet clear, that lucid page,
Whereon is read Jehovah's sway;
And, which the Atheist, in his rage,
To blackest shades, would tear away!

There, sphere on sphere, in mystic throng,
Direct to thee their airy lyre;
The daring vision toils along,
Through regions, kindling still with fire.

The moon, august, Thou badest shine,
While calm as thought the concave glows,
Thou spak'st, and in one vast design,
Ten thousand beaming worlds arose.

Amid the confluent flood of light,
Sent from Heaven's unimagined bound;
Suns, traversing, harmonious, bright,
The constellated vault profound;

Arcturus, stately, passes on,
Conspicuous, through his lapse of years,
Orion, with his triple zone,
Alike, in radiant pomp, appears.

331

And there, the Pleiades proclaim
“Dominion!” to the Lord on high!
While all the planets sing the same,
In their procession round the sky.

Though countless orbs through ether roll,
Yet these are atoms, power confined;
Thou didst create the human soul,
Efflux of thine eternal mind!

Still higher! the angelic choir,
With all the glorious hosts above,
Sprang from thy fiat, Sovereign Sire!
Great Source of Being! Fount of Love!

On earth, “Omnipotence!” we hear,
Sent forth from every form and sense;
While heaven, with accent still more clear,
Again repeats, “Omnipotence!”

ELEGY

ON A BELOVED SISTER, (WHO DIED, AGED 25, 1789.)

WHEN night's cold shadows wrap the world in gloom,
And weary mortals close their eyes in sleep;
Why do I love to seek one lonely tomb,
And o'er the holy tablet bend, and weep?

There, my fond Sister lies! Death's driving storm
Untimely bore her from this nether sphere!
Though to my voice unanswering, heavenly form!
A brother, weeping, still proclaims thee dear.

332

For she was meek and tender as the dove,
Her eye benignant, and her soul, sincere;
Her heart was form'd of sympathy and love,
And every word she spake a saint might hear.

Her voice the sweetest music might transcend;
By nature, gentle, and by grace, refined;
She never made a foe, nor lost a friend,
And dying, left no purer heart behind.

She bade me feel for those whom cares opprest,
And prize the tear which for another flows;
She form'd my opening reason, and supprest
Each worthless hope, or fear, which childhood knows.

And shall I e'er forget thee, and thy worth,
Now death hath call'd thee from a world of care?
Shall other loves, or aught in this low earth,
Tear from my heart the image deepest there?

Sister! beloved, and loving! I will mourn
Thy early loss, as darkness veils the sky;
And, when the first faint thought of morn return,
Before my waking sense thy form shall fly.

By fancy, oft transported, do I stand;
A glimpse of joys eternal fills my mind;
My soul, unbodied, feels her powers expand,
Leaves the low world, and casts its cares behind:

It is thy presence! thine, the vision bright,
That bears my view above this lower earth;
That o'er my eye-ball darts celestial light,
And tells the tale of my immortal birth!

333

Let the vain world its loveliest hopes deride,
And check, at fancy's call, the rising tear,
Yet will I cherish, with increasing pride,
The faith that trusts thy guardian spirit near.

For, pleasant 'tis to think, when life is fled,
And the cold grave receives some honour'd name;
The spirit, bound by no material bed,
Exults o'er death, and lives, and acts the same:

Perhaps, e'en now, the tear that from me steals,
To thine attendant form may grief impart;
Perhaps, e'en now, thy conscious spirit feels
An answering pang to that which heaves my heart:

Nor may'st thou deem thy present bliss complete,
Till all, who once were dear, a haven find;
Nor may thy breast with pity cease to beat,
Whilst one loved friend drags heavily behind.

Sometimes, at midnight, with a solemn dread,
I wake, and, doubting, to myself I say;
Joy of my heart, Eliza! art thou dead?—
Laid in a cold, and narrow house of clay?

And must I, too, the common doom fulfil!
These limbs, in being warm, the worms embrace!
Must soon these eyes be closed! this heart be still!
And darkness be my last, long dwelling-place!

Distracting thought, to those who never find
A hope beyond the grave, but I survey
In Death, though arm'd with terrors to the mind,
The glorious precincts of celestial day;

334

Thee shall I meet, my Sister! thee, my friend!
Freed from the ills this mortal state annoy;
Soon shall our kindred hearts together blend,
And, what we here have suffered, swell our joy.

Short was thy life, and stormy! — rough the road
Through which thou passedst to a world of rest!
Affliction, with thee, form'd a long abode,
And many a sorrow prey'd upon thy breast!

But thou art now delivered! thou hast sung
The song of triumph in a nobler sphere!
Up, where the trembling stars of night are hung,
Thy soul has usher'd in the eternal year.

Oh may my lot be with thee! may I tread
The spotless path through life which thou hast trod!
And when, in death, I rest my weary head,
Oh may I find my last, best friend, in God!

Do I one blessing crave? thou Power divine!
And for mine own poor self that boon require?—
May all that lives, and moves, and is, be Thine,
And thou be all in all — Eternal Sire!

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.

SWEET Maid! who late didst charm our sight,
And round thy path a lustre shed;
We see thee still in vision bright,
Till memory whispers, thou art dead!

335

Veil'd is the future! dim and dark!
When, in our confidence and pride,
We seem about to steer our bark
O'er pleasure's gay, and glittering tide.

Death launches from his ebon throne
The shaft, with terrors charged, supreme;
Which hurries us to worlds unknown,
And sends us down oblivion's stream!

But yesterday, and thou didst stand,
(With naught thy ample gaze to bound,)
Foremost in youth and beauty's band,
Admired, beloved, by all around.

Now thou hast pass'd life's rugged road,
The clod sustains thy peaceful head;
With vault, and worm, is thine abode,
And “clay-cold” is thy lowly bed.

Ye, who your loveliest friend deplore,
And heave affection's fervent sigh;
Think, ere a fleeting hour be o'er,
That you, like her, in dust may lie.

Your moments pass, like sands, away;
Provide for heaven before too late;
Nor leave to an uncertain day,
The interests of an endless state.

They who can call their God their friend,
May look toward death without dismay,
And only they can meet their end
Calm as the summer's closing day.

336

Sweet Maid! thy worth shall long remain
The theme of many a friend sincere;
Whilst he who pens the mournful strain,
With their's shall blend the pitying tear.

ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE VENERABLE AND EXCELLENT DR. RYLAND OF BRISTOL.

LO! another saint is fled!
He has fought, and has prevail'd!
Heaven her portal wide has spread,
And our ransomed brother hail'd!

Often in the house of Prayer,
We our hearts together raised,
Often we forgot our care,
While we God, our Maker, praised.

When he urged the better choice,
Spoke of Heaven, or warn'd of Hell;
When we heard his earnest voice
On the Saviour's mercy dwell;

Joy to nobler worlds allied,
Warm'd our heart, and filled our breast;
Oh! our father, friend, and guide!
Blessings on thy memory rest!

Shall thy solemn words, and kind,
Strangely to oblivion pass?
Leave no traces on our mind,
Like an image on the glass?

337

To augment thy joys untold,
Gazing from thy blissful sphere,
May the fruits, a thousand fold,
In our hearts and lives appear!

If one soul a crown will gain,
Taught from future wrath to flee;
What reward wilt thou obtain,
For the many born to thee!

Shepherd! child-like! faithful! wise!
(Only to thyself severe!)
With whose name will ever rise,
Sympathies that wake the tear;

Our communion now is o'er,
We thy face shall never view,
Till we meet on yonder shore,
And our intercourse renew.

We the same mysterious road
Thou hast trodden, soon must tread;
We are hastening back to God,
Through the regions of the dead!

May our zeal, like thine, be fired,
From the Hope that cannot fail;
May the Faith, which thee inspired,
Cheer us in the gloomy vale!

May our peace be found the same,
When to Jordan's billows led!
To the followers of the Lamb—
Death is not the King of Dread!

338

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED NIECE,

WHO DIED, FEBRUARY 1825, AGED 18.

1

WE yield our treasure to the dust!
A lovely blossom, torn away!
Lord, we would own thee kind and just,
Thou art the potter! we are clay!

2

Yet nature, still, but half resign'd,
Speaks through the burning tears that start;
How hard to rend the cords that bind,
And to the loved-one, say, “Depart!”

3

To mark her thrice six years unfold,
With hopes, so soon to take their flight!
Her intellect, of amplest mould,
Just opening, to expire in night!

4

Her voice, mellifluous as the lyre;
The wit that charmed, or grave, or gay;
The smile benign; the eye of fire;
Pass'd, like the summer cloud, away!

5

Yet not so pass, her zeal and love,
These boast their amaranthine dyes:
The feeblest faith hath links above,
That draw the spirit to the skies.

339

6

What is our mind's procession, strange!
Disrobed of flesh, renew'd, refined!
Thought shudders at its trackless range,
That suns and systems leaves behind!

7

O, hear, ye young! her tenderest care
Was, just retiring from the earth,
That you might for that hour prepare,
When all, but Christ, is nothing worth.

8

Farewell, bless'd spirit! hope sedate
Looks on, while tears bedew our eye,
To meet thee in that happier state,
For which we live, and dare to die.

MONODY ON JOHN HENDERSON, A. B.

(LATE OF PEMBROKE COLLEGE, OXFORD.)

WHILST Pity droop'd her head and Genius sigh'd,
In life's warm prime, the Friend of Virtue died!

As o'er thy tomb, my Henderson! I bend,
Shall I not praise thee? Scholar! Christian! Friend!
The tears which o'er a Brother's recent grave,
Fond Nature sheds, those copious tears I gave;
But now that Time her softening hues has brought,
And mellow'd anguish into pensive thought;
Since through the varying scenes of life I've pass'd,
Comparing still the former with the last,

340

I prize thee more! The Great, the Learn'd, I see,
Yet Memory turns from little men to thee,
And views, with smiles, that light her trembling tear,
Thy Genius, destin'd for a nobler sphere.

If human spirits then begin to live,
When they mortality's frail robe receive;
And, born to endless being, urge their way,
Progressive travellers through the eternal day;
Dart wide the glance; yet, dart on God alone,
Approaching still his ever-distant throne;
If, e'en the unletter'd Peasant, in that flight,
Shall soar beyond a Newton's earthly height,
To what shall he attain, whose infant scan,
Pierc'd through the frames of nature, and of man?

Indulgent Heaven, to raise our grovelling souls
To glorious possibilities, unfolds
To the rapt gaze, one being here and there,
On whom he pours a rich luxuriant care;
To whom he gives, the mind of daring flight—
The brow of intellect, the eye of light.
And such was Henderson; who came to show
What Heaven could teach to man, and man could know.

'Twas his, the bounds of science to explore,
And scatter light, where darkness dwelt before.
Ere manhood's prime, his soul had run the round
Of human knowledge, simple or profound;
Alike could fathom mind, and, lucid, pry,
Where, with his suns, the zodiac belts the sky;
Or stoop to rear the flower, or prune the tree,
Or roll the school-boy's marble on his knee.
E'en as the lark, by loftier flight opprest,
That seeks at eve, her calm and lowly nest;

341

Who, when new vigour friendly sleep supplies,
And light, returning, streaks the orient skies,
Up-soaring, calls the opening morn her own,
And revels in the tide of new-born day, alone.

Not souls, from him, lay ambush'd, he could trace
The mute, unlying language of the face;
In manhood's varying features, knew to read
The ruling passion stamp'd, the habitual deed;
And, through the acorn's fibrils, saw the hour
When the tall oak, defied the tempest's power.

Though like an eagle he could stand sublime
On summits, which no toil might hope to climb;
And though, whene'er he spake, the wondering sage
Approved his wisdom, and forgot his age;
Yet did kind Heaven one worthier gift impart,
The priceless treasure of a lowly heart!
O hear, thou proud one! thou, whose soul assumes
Wisdom's sage robe, or Wit's attractive plumes,
Though Learning's Alpine height, before him shone,
He, on the footstool, rear'd a nobler throne:
E'en children doated on his accent mild,
And sported, careless, round their fellow child.

Ye sons of calumny! go, hide your head!
Away, ye Vampires, that devour the dead!
Who fain would force the long-clos'd wound to bleed,
And hunt through Paradise to find a weed.
When droop'd his frame beneath its restless lord,
And cut its sheath, the keenly-temper'd sword;

342

What, if an artificial aid he sought,
Worn out with prodigality of thought!
What, if his frail car driven with heedless force,
He fired the wheels, in his too rapid course!
'Tis true, the midnight bowl he lov'd to share,
Yet never cloud it rais'd, or maniac glare;
But, only made, with stimulation kind,
The body wakeful to th' unsleeping mind;
But only, (till unmechanized by death,)
Kept the pipe vocal to the player's breath.
With wonted thought, with loftier eloquence,
Truth's sacred precepts, would he then dispense:
So fair the effect, that Virtue made a pause,
And only, not forgave the faulty cause.

Guarded with pious joy, and vestal care,
Those precious hours, let memory, sacred, bear,
When o'er his couch, with tears, I nightly hung,
And drank the words of wisdom from his tongue.
The simplest truths, that else, had quickly fled,
Strike, with deep meaning, from a sick friend's bed:
How richly, then, his precepts, must I prize,
Lov'd by the good, and echo'd by the wise.

I sorrow that thy life should pass away,
That thou should'st mingle with inglorious clay,
And leave no test, by which the future time,
Might hear thee still, and learn thy soul sublime!
But, brief the race to thee ordain'd to run,
Clouds soon obscured the splendour of thy sun!—

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And how would thousands, now with chaplets crown'd,
Into Oblivion's gulf, have plunged, profound,
If they, when thrice ten years had run their race,
Like thee, had sunk, into the grave's embrace.

Where were a Shakspeare's honours, had he died
In early life, like thee? — his Country's Pride!
Where were a Milton's wreath — that Bard Divine!
Had death o'erwhelm'd him at an age like thine?
Yet mortals ne'er their erring praise bestow
On those, who, having pass'd their span below,
Bequeath no gifts, that after years might name,
With compass, and with line, their right to fame.—

Must we pronounce, all barrenness, the mind
Which hath not left memorial, fair, behind?—
Ten thousand secret springs combine their spells
To rouse or damp the fire where Genius dwells!—
Ye honour'd Dead! whom diffidence restrained,
Ye noble Souls! whom adverse fortune chain'd,
Binding to earth, who else had pierced the sky,
Ye pure and heaven-born Spirits! doom'd to die
Before your minds disclosed their precious store,
Before your eagle pinions learn'd to soar!
Shall ye, endued with such voluptuous bloom,
Pass on, unnoticed, to the silent tomb,
Nor one, revolve upon the future day,
When fruit should chase the blossom from the spray?

Do not the fairest flowers in Nature's field,
Wrapt in themselves, full oft, no fragrance yield?
Shall man prescribe th' Almighty's aims and ends,
And call all vain, but what he comprehends?—
Some seeds expand on earth, and charm our sight,
Whilst many a soul forsakes these realms of night,

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And, with him, bears the Germ, ordain'd to rise
Mid' more congenial suns, and brighter skies.

To blank forgetfulness, what myriads glide!
And must thou, Henderson! augment the tide?
Is there no tower, or steadfast rock, to climb,
And save thee, from the sweeping flood of Time?
Ah no! I hear the surge of Lethe rave,
I see thee whelmed in his remorseless wave!—
A host shall pass thee in the road to praise,
Whose light had died before thy sun-like blaze,
Hadst thou, with all the effulgence Nature gave,
Unveil'd thy soul; but, to an early grave,
Thy steps descended! Death's untimely blast
Thy honours nipp'd, and a dark mantle cast
O'er all thy worth and greatness! — Comet bright!
That, in a hundred years, once pours its light
On this our lower earth, and, then retires
To blend, with distant worlds, its ardent fires!

Strangers may smile, incredulous, to see
The funeral honours, friendship pays to thee;
Whilst those who saw thy worth, thy talents knew,
Will blame the line which gives but — half thy due.

Though thy discourse was clothed in living green,
Whence servile dulness might rich harvests glean;
Though thou, in all thy plenitude of power,
Didst pearls, around thy path, profusely shower,
With roses, fresh and fair, (that, haply, now
Compose the garland for a stranger's brow,
Whilst honours, due to thee, another shares,
As the full foliage hides the limb that bears;)
Yet, these are fleeting clouds from fairy land—
A tottering fabric, on a base of sand!

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For, like morn's star, before the orb of day,
As years advance, thy memory fades away;
One generation doubts, the next denies,
And, robbed of oil, thy trembling taper dies!

Clouds, dark and threatening, float before my sight!
The Star, that led the train, expires in night!
Though born to teach, thyself, by Nature taught,
When all who knew thee, to the grave are brought;
When men decide from symbols left behind,
And, with false standards, measure mind with mind;
Since no broad base of thought was left by thee,
On which to found an immortality;
What puny spirit may not soon arise,
Contest thy honours, or dispute thy prize?—
Perchance, as time's swift current rolls along,
Thy name, on earth, may live, but in this song!
Thou, who could'st Genius' brightest sons outshine,
Depend for fame, on Cottle's artless line!

Brief is the pride of man! one passing hour,
And human glory withers like the flower!
Where now is all the sense that once was thine,
The grace that charmed us, and the wit divine?
Where are those lips that play'd so well their part?—
And where that eye which analyzed the heart?
Cold in the grave, those lips, the worms caress!
And that bright eye is dim and motionless!—

As thou hadst long Truth's holy empire spread,
So Truth was honour'd when thy Spirit fled.
Oh, hither come, all ye, who dare deride
That faith, which blooms alone by Virtue's side;
Who rashly spurn, what wiser minds receive,
And just have wit enough to disbelieve:

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Or ye, who pine for intellectual food,
And, o'er the void of cold conjecture, brood;
While many a dark and cheerless glance you cast,
Toward that dread foe which must o'ertake at last!
Oh, hither come! from me, the mourner, hear
What tranquil smiles a Christian's lips can wear,
When some kind angel sooths the labouring breath,
And lifts th' emancipating wand of death.

Then only not the friend of all mankind,
When to thyself a foe! farewell, great mind;
We wander, tearful, through this vale below,
But thou art there, where tears no longer flow;
Where Love and Joy eternal vigils hold,
And scatter healing as their wings unfold;
Where souls, their radiant course, for ever run,
Like planets, circling the Almighty Sun.

If friendship be a flower, whose am'ranth bloom
Endures that heavenly clime, beyond the tomb,
I, haply I, thy honour'd form may see;
And thou, perchance, not sad, remember me:
E'en thou mayst hail my freedom from life's chain,
And, be my loved Instructor, once again;—
Dispel the mists, upborne, by errors' rays,
Unfold the doors of Wisdom to my gaze,
And teach mine eye, to grasp, with nobler sense,
The dark, mysterious rounds of Providence.

Upon the thought, with solemn joy, I dwell,
Till that blest hour, great mind, again, farewell!