Memoirs of the Life and Writings of James Montgomery including selections from his correspondence, remains in prose and verse, and conversations or various subjects. By John Holland and James Everett |
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| I. |
| II. | CANTO II. |
| III. |
 | Memoirs of the Life and Writings of James Montgomery |  |
CANTO II.
The goddess rising with a smile,
Like Egypt from the waves of Nile,
Fresh from the renovating flood,
On the bleak beach astonished stood;
When, all around her, she descried
A ghastly region, wild and wide,
Whose flowerless hills, and famished flocks,
Were howling wolves and horrid rocks;
While chill and wintry blew the breeze,
O'er icy lakes and leafless trees.
Then rushed on her dejected mind,
The classic scenes she left behind,—
The shores of Greece, the Trojan plain,
The islands of the Ægean main,
Those lovely infants of the deep,
On Ocean's lap that smile and sleep!
Then sobs convulsive shook her breast,
Warm gushed the tears, too long represt,
And, paler than the polar snow,
She looked unutterable woe.
Like Egypt from the waves of Nile,
Fresh from the renovating flood,
On the bleak beach astonished stood;
When, all around her, she descried
A ghastly region, wild and wide,
Whose flowerless hills, and famished flocks,
Were howling wolves and horrid rocks;
While chill and wintry blew the breeze,
O'er icy lakes and leafless trees.
Then rushed on her dejected mind,
The classic scenes she left behind,—
The shores of Greece, the Trojan plain,
The islands of the Ægean main,
Those lovely infants of the deep,
On Ocean's lap that smile and sleep!
Then sobs convulsive shook her breast,
Warm gushed the tears, too long represt,
322
She looked unutterable woe.
Now sweetly sailing with the wind,
Soft on a rosy cloud reclined,
Pensive and pale, and unattended,
The Queen of Love from heaven descended.
At her approach the hideous wild
With melancholy pleasure smiled;
Thus from the womb of ancient Night,
All beauteous sprang created Light;
The infant smiled the mother dead,
Chaos beheld his son—and fled!
Soft on a rosy cloud reclined,
Pensive and pale, and unattended,
The Queen of Love from heaven descended.
At her approach the hideous wild
With melancholy pleasure smiled;
Thus from the womb of ancient Night,
All beauteous sprang created Light;
The infant smiled the mother dead,
Chaos beheld his son—and fled!
The ladies met with marvelling eyes,
That spoke unspeakable surprise;
Thetis at length the silence brake,
And thus the gentle goddess spake:—
“Well! by the polar star, my dear,
What doth the Queen of Beauty here?
Did e'er immortal dame before
Run foul of such a rough lee-shore?”
That spoke unspeakable surprise;
Thetis at length the silence brake,
And thus the gentle goddess spake:—
“Well! by the polar star, my dear,
What doth the Queen of Beauty here?
Did e'er immortal dame before
Run foul of such a rough lee-shore?”
Venus replied, in accents low,
Light as the flakes of falling snow:—
“While sporting in the fields of air,
All in a curricle and pair,
A vulture scared my harnessed doves,
And put to flight the pretty loves.
In vain I strove with softest words
To soothe my poor affrighted birds;
With trembling hand I tried in vain
To check them with the silken rein:
My wingëd steeds,—more wild than they
That whirled the chariot of the day,
When young Apollo set the spheres
All in a blaze about our ears,—
Their fainting mistress bore on high,
Through many a thousand miles of sky;
Till reaching Winter's dire dominions,
Dead dropped my doves, with powerless pinions:
I fell!—a cloud to save me flew,
And kindly wafted me to you!”
Light as the flakes of falling snow:—
“While sporting in the fields of air,
All in a curricle and pair,
A vulture scared my harnessed doves,
And put to flight the pretty loves.
In vain I strove with softest words
To soothe my poor affrighted birds;
With trembling hand I tried in vain
To check them with the silken rein:
My wingëd steeds,—more wild than they
That whirled the chariot of the day,
When young Apollo set the spheres
All in a blaze about our ears,—
Their fainting mistress bore on high,
Through many a thousand miles of sky;
323
Dead dropped my doves, with powerless pinions:
I fell!—a cloud to save me flew,
And kindly wafted me to you!”
While Venus told her tender tale,
Thetis by turns grew red and pale;
At length she cried,—but scarce could speak,
For both her eyes had sprung a leak,—
“All's well at last, but by this light,
Where, comrade, shall we mess to-night?
The moon you see, o'er yonder vale,
Hath just weighed anchor and set sail;
Her fleet of stars are all afloat,
Each in his little jolly-boat!”
Thetis by turns grew red and pale;
At length she cried,—but scarce could speak,
For both her eyes had sprung a leak,—
“All's well at last, but by this light,
Where, comrade, shall we mess to-night?
The moon you see, o'er yonder vale,
Hath just weighed anchor and set sail;
Her fleet of stars are all afloat,
Each in his little jolly-boat!”
“Behold,” quoth Venus, “where a cavern
Invites us like a friendly tavern.”
Invites us like a friendly tavern.”
“Crowd every sail then, at a venture,”
Cried Thetis, “helm's a-lee, and enter!”
Cried Thetis, “helm's a-lee, and enter!”
Reaching the grotto in a minute,
The ladies went to roost within it;
But ah! for lack of feather beds,
They made their pillows of their heads,
Unbound their locks divinely fair,
Veiled their fine limbs in mantling hair,
And slept in sheets of snow so nice,
With blankets of the purest ice,
All comfortable, cold, and clean—
Strange berths for goddesses I ween!
Yet there, in Winter's frozen lap,
Unguarded Beauty stole a nap;
Thus red and white, through withering snows,
The lovely laurustinus blows.
The ladies went to roost within it;
But ah! for lack of feather beds,
They made their pillows of their heads,
Unbound their locks divinely fair,
Veiled their fine limbs in mantling hair,
And slept in sheets of snow so nice,
With blankets of the purest ice,
All comfortable, cold, and clean—
Strange berths for goddesses I ween!
Yet there, in Winter's frozen lap,
Unguarded Beauty stole a nap;
Thus red and white, through withering snows,
The lovely laurustinus blows.
On twilight mountains, stretched afar,
That freeze beneath the polar star,
In wild and melancholy state,
A beldame grasps the shears of fate;
A witch of such tremendous skill,
She wields the elements at will!
With man she claims a kindred birth,
Her limbs, like his, were formed from earth;
The quickening air her breath supplies,
And fire and water are her eyes;
Darkness her veil, her face is light,
Her motion day, her slumber night.
Her varying moods the Seasons bring,
She blushes summer, smiles the spring;
'Tis autumn when she looks serene,
And winter when she has the spleen.
The morning strews her path with flowers,
Which evening bathes in balmy showers;
In her the warbling birds rejoice,
For all their music is her voice.
Ancient as Time, unchanged as Truth,
She glories in perennial youth;
Her floating garments grace the skies,
Clouds of a thousand forms and dyes.
When midnight meteors glance and glare,
She shakes her scintillating hair;
When horrible eclipses happen,
'Tis then she puts her conjuring cap on!
She lends the wandering planets wings,
Holds the fixed stars in leading strings,
And coins new moons, as kings do gold,
From the light clippings of the old.
The sun obeys her daily motion;
Her footsteps petrify the ocean;
The undulations of the tides
Are but the heaving of her sides;
The willing winds her yoke obey,
Hailstorms and tempests cleave her way;
And eager lightnings, prompt to fly,
Pause on the twinkle of her eye;
Deep roll the thunders round her head,
And earthquakes tremble at her tread!
But what can speak her boundless fame?
A word!—for Nature is her name!
That freeze beneath the polar star,
In wild and melancholy state,
A beldame grasps the shears of fate;
324
She wields the elements at will!
With man she claims a kindred birth,
Her limbs, like his, were formed from earth;
The quickening air her breath supplies,
And fire and water are her eyes;
Darkness her veil, her face is light,
Her motion day, her slumber night.
Her varying moods the Seasons bring,
She blushes summer, smiles the spring;
'Tis autumn when she looks serene,
And winter when she has the spleen.
The morning strews her path with flowers,
Which evening bathes in balmy showers;
In her the warbling birds rejoice,
For all their music is her voice.
Ancient as Time, unchanged as Truth,
She glories in perennial youth;
Her floating garments grace the skies,
Clouds of a thousand forms and dyes.
When midnight meteors glance and glare,
She shakes her scintillating hair;
When horrible eclipses happen,
'Tis then she puts her conjuring cap on!
She lends the wandering planets wings,
Holds the fixed stars in leading strings,
And coins new moons, as kings do gold,
From the light clippings of the old.
The sun obeys her daily motion;
Her footsteps petrify the ocean;
The undulations of the tides
Are but the heaving of her sides;
The willing winds her yoke obey,
Hailstorms and tempests cleave her way;
And eager lightnings, prompt to fly,
Pause on the twinkle of her eye;
Deep roll the thunders round her head,
And earthquakes tremble at her tread!
325
A word!—for Nature is her name!
The reader, big with expectation,
Stands like a note of admiration!
Why glare those unbelieving eyes?
Poets are licensed to surprise:
Shall Aristotle or Longinus,
To reasonable bounds confine us?
The bard has neither wit nor sense,
Who cannot oft with both dispense.
Know too, in this enlightened age,
The marvellous is all the rage:
Monsters as naturally are bred
As maggots in a scribbler's head,
While little limits do contain
A mighty wilderness of brain,
Whence fiends and forms, more grim to view
Than Lybian deserts ever knew,
Rush o'er the realms of Truth and Taste,
And lay the world of reading waste!
Genius itself, in wild weeds clad,
With insipidity run mad,
And moon-eyed Nonsense, staring blind,
Have so bewitched the public mind,
That authors must, in times like these,
Work miracles for bread and cheese,
Like conjurors amuse the many,
And raise the devil to raise a penny!
Stands like a note of admiration!
Why glare those unbelieving eyes?
Poets are licensed to surprise:
Shall Aristotle or Longinus,
To reasonable bounds confine us?
The bard has neither wit nor sense,
Who cannot oft with both dispense.
Know too, in this enlightened age,
The marvellous is all the rage:
Monsters as naturally are bred
As maggots in a scribbler's head,
While little limits do contain
A mighty wilderness of brain,
Whence fiends and forms, more grim to view
Than Lybian deserts ever knew,
Rush o'er the realms of Truth and Taste,
And lay the world of reading waste!
Genius itself, in wild weeds clad,
With insipidity run mad,
And moon-eyed Nonsense, staring blind,
Have so bewitched the public mind,
That authors must, in times like these,
Work miracles for bread and cheese,
Like conjurors amuse the many,
And raise the devil to raise a penny!
Hold, let us take a little breath,
Nor, swan-like, sing ourselves to death:
With Mother Nature newly drawn,
We'll leave the goddesses in pawn;
But soon in canto third and last,
Make full atonement for the past;
And to redeem our lovely pledges,
Break down all Aristotle's hedges.
Nor, swan-like, sing ourselves to death:
With Mother Nature newly drawn,
We'll leave the goddesses in pawn;
But soon in canto third and last,
Make full atonement for the past;
And to redeem our lovely pledges,
Break down all Aristotle's hedges.
| Memoirs of the Life and Writings of James Montgomery | |