Juvenilia or, A collection of poems. Written between the ages of twelve and seventeen, by J. H. L. Hunt ... Fourth Edition |
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 | Juvenilia |  |
1
MISCELLANIES.
MACBETH;
OR, THE ILL EFFECTS OF AMBITION.
Written at the Age of Twelve.
------Quid non mortalia pectora cogit
Ambitio?------
Ambitio?------
What struggling passions rule the soul;
What passions strong that spurn controul,
The human bosom fire!
The potent warrior cas'd in steel,
The king, the beggar, all can feel,
The power of fierce desire!
What passions strong that spurn controul,
The human bosom fire!
The potent warrior cas'd in steel,
The king, the beggar, all can feel,
The power of fierce desire!
2
The tempest howl'd; the forky light
Gilt with pale ray the shades of night,
The pealing thunder crash'd
From murder'd Duncan came Macbeth,
And to the ground, still warm with death,
The bloody dagger dash'd!
Gilt with pale ray the shades of night,
The pealing thunder crash'd
From murder'd Duncan came Macbeth,
And to the ground, still warm with death,
The bloody dagger dash'd!
“Hell gapes to seize my soul,” he cried,
“The Thund'rer asks why Duncan died,
“Who pierc'd his beating heart?
“Who gave the thought, who urg'd the deed;
“Who bade his royal bosom bleed?”
Death spare thy vengeful dart!
“The Thund'rer asks why Duncan died,
“Who pierc'd his beating heart?
“Who gave the thought, who urg'd the deed;
“Who bade his royal bosom bleed?”
Death spare thy vengeful dart!
'Twas a vain sceptre led my hand,
The empty honour of command,
The dagger rais'd on high!
Curst be the day that gave me birth!
Hide me from God, O parent Earth,
From God's all-searching eye!
The empty honour of command,
The dagger rais'd on high!
Curst be the day that gave me birth!
Hide me from God, O parent Earth,
From God's all-searching eye!
CONTENT.
In yonder vale, where verdure smiles,
The sweetest spot in George's isles,
Lives Dobson, happy swain;
Who laughs at what is call'd renown,
And to the splendor of a crown
Prefers a sack of grain.
The sweetest spot in George's isles,
Lives Dobson, happy swain;
Who laughs at what is call'd renown,
And to the splendor of a crown
Prefers a sack of grain.
3
E'en while he fells the giant oak,
He finds a tune for ev'ry stroke,
'Tis only beating time;
And if 'tis bad, as some might say,
To be so merry all the day,
He's always in a crime.
He finds a tune for ev'ry stroke,
'Tis only beating time;
And if 'tis bad, as some might say,
To be so merry all the day,
He's always in a crime.
Dame Dobson, while she sits at home,
(For careful housewives never roam)
Sings care itself away;
At grief for ever will deride,
Mocks at rich pomp and foolish pride,
And lives but to be gay.
(For careful housewives never roam)
Sings care itself away;
At grief for ever will deride,
Mocks at rich pomp and foolish pride,
And lives but to be gay.
“If haughty rank and hoarded wealth
“Are less than competence and health,
“'Tis we're the lords of earth;
“For ale, we ne'er shall want a pot,
“And happiness, (it loves a cot)
“Plays round our chearful hearth.”
“Are less than competence and health,
“'Tis we're the lords of earth;
“For ale, we ne'er shall want a pot,
“And happiness, (it loves a cot)
“Plays round our chearful hearth.”
Find in the city's busy crowd,
Among the witty and the proud,
A pair so highly blest?
If you produce them, I will swear,
Dame Dobson never laughed at care,
And Gaffer knew no rest.
Among the witty and the proud,
A pair so highly blest?
If you produce them, I will swear,
Dame Dobson never laughed at care,
And Gaffer knew no rest.
4
LINES
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF ELIZA.
Laughing morn with sparkling eye
Melts in radiance from the sky,
While her head with brightness crown'd
Sheds a thousand glories round.
Come, gentle May, by Flora fair,
And ev'ry sylph that sports in air,
Attended on thy smiling way;
Favonius, on thy breezy wing
Here waft the incense of the spring,
And on thy pinions play.
Melts in radiance from the sky,
While her head with brightness crown'd
Sheds a thousand glories round.
Come, gentle May, by Flora fair,
And ev'ry sylph that sports in air,
Attended on thy smiling way;
Favonius, on thy breezy wing
Here waft the incense of the spring,
And on thy pinions play.
For in Britannia's raptur'd isle,
See! new-born graces lovelier smile,
Fresh rising splendour paints the morn,
The mild, the fair Eliza's born.
Soft as the brow of spring, whose top
Shakes with the dew's bespangling drop,
So softly shakes her flutt'ring hair;
While in its silken locks the Breeze
Entwining sports in playful ease,
And courts the whisp'ring Air.
Light as the perfum'd breath of morn,
Skims swiftly o'er the level lawn;
Light as the swallow's wing can dip
The wat'ry surface, is her trip.
Sweet as the wild Eolian lyre,
Whose untaught song the Gales inspire,
As soft they wake its trembling string;
So sweet she warbling pours along
Her soul-exhilarating song
On Zephyr's dewy wing.
See! new-born graces lovelier smile,
Fresh rising splendour paints the morn,
The mild, the fair Eliza's born.
Soft as the brow of spring, whose top
Shakes with the dew's bespangling drop,
So softly shakes her flutt'ring hair;
While in its silken locks the Breeze
Entwining sports in playful ease,
And courts the whisp'ring Air.
Light as the perfum'd breath of morn,
Skims swiftly o'er the level lawn;
5
The wat'ry surface, is her trip.
Sweet as the wild Eolian lyre,
Whose untaught song the Gales inspire,
As soft they wake its trembling string;
So sweet she warbling pours along
Her soul-exhilarating song
On Zephyr's dewy wing.
Thron'd are Expression, Love, and Grace,
In the mild lustre of her face;
And Heav'n, as tho' 'twould leave the sky,
Shoots in the glances of her eye.
And ah! within that breast where Youth
Full oft' shall bring its vows of truth,
And Love sigh out its votive pray'r;
Still Virtue fans her vestal fire,
For there is all she could desire,
Or to desire could dare!
In the mild lustre of her face;
And Heav'n, as tho' 'twould leave the sky,
Shoots in the glances of her eye.
And ah! within that breast where Youth
Full oft' shall bring its vows of truth,
And Love sigh out its votive pray'r;
Still Virtue fans her vestal fire,
For there is all she could desire,
Or to desire could dare!
LINES TO MISS S**** H****,
ON HER MARRIAGE.
When from the billowy bosom of the main
The Queen of Love arose in all her charms;
Th' admiring sea-nymphs woke the silver strain,
And prais'd her damask cheek and iv'ry arms.
The Queen of Love arose in all her charms;
Th' admiring sea-nymphs woke the silver strain,
And prais'd her damask cheek and iv'ry arms.
6
To you, fair maid, if aught my humble song
Avail the passage of thy heart to find;
Charms yet still sweeter than of love belong,
The mild, the heav'nly beauties of the mind.
Avail the passage of thy heart to find;
Charms yet still sweeter than of love belong,
The mild, the heav'nly beauties of the mind.
And oh, if stormy Ocean could rejoice,
When Love beam'd smiling from the wat'ry gloom,
How must the youth, the partner of thy choice,
Enjoy the charms that in a H--- bloom.
When Love beam'd smiling from the wat'ry gloom,
How must the youth, the partner of thy choice,
Enjoy the charms that in a H--- bloom.
Cordelia's sense, Emilia's sprightly wit,
Both in thy breast in one soft chain unite;
In thee, what most the modest maiden fit,
All that can win, and all that can delight.
Both in thy breast in one soft chain unite;
In thee, what most the modest maiden fit,
All that can win, and all that can delight.
Still, still may Peace, with whom no cares intrude,
For ever cherish'd in thy bosom lie;
And lively Health, the riches of the good,
Bloom on thy cheek, and sparkle in thine eye.
For ever cherish'd in thy bosom lie;
And lively Health, the riches of the good,
Bloom on thy cheek, and sparkle in thine eye.
Not brighter treasure can Golconda boast,
Nor high Peru with all her bosom'd store:
With them, how sweet, to busy life when lost,
And rich in him you love, to want no more!
Nor high Peru with all her bosom'd store:
With them, how sweet, to busy life when lost,
And rich in him you love, to want no more!
7
PARODY
ON DR. JOHNSON'S “HERMIT HOAR, &c.”
“Gentle Lady, on whose cheek
“Modesty's soft blushes play;
“Tell, O tell me where to seek
“Virtue, and her blissful way.
“Modesty's soft blushes play;
“Tell, O tell me where to seek
“Virtue, and her blissful way.
Thus I said, and mournful sigh'd
As I curs'd beguiling sin;
When the gentle lady cried,
“Come and treat us with some gin!”
As I curs'd beguiling sin;
When the gentle lady cried,
“Come and treat us with some gin!”
This is a species of writing imitated from the Italian, the last line of which is made to differ from the foregoing, and produce some ludicrous point from a seemingly grave subject.
LINES ADDRESSED TO A PARTICULAR FRIEND,
On his Birth-Day, Jan. 20, 1800.
Winter o'er the spangled air
Scatters round his snow drops fair,
While the sharp Gales, as full of play,
Rude catch them on their dancing way,
And cast them at their early birth
On the hard bosom of the earth;
Till, as lamenting to be driv'n
So early from their native heav'n,
Or torn by secret fears;
Their mingled forms of lovely white
Sink slowly fading from the sight,
And melt away in tears.
Scatters round his snow drops fair,
While the sharp Gales, as full of play,
Rude catch them on their dancing way,
8
On the hard bosom of the earth;
Till, as lamenting to be driv'n
So early from their native heav'n,
Or torn by secret fears;
Their mingled forms of lovely white
Sink slowly fading from the sight,
And melt away in tears.
Thus ye cold thoughts from hence depart,
Dark-eyed Jealousy, and Hate,
And freezing Diffidence, and loud Debate,
Melt on the glowing throbbings of my heart;
For there my raptur'd fancy flies,
To fan the flame that Friendship taught to rise.
Dark-eyed Jealousy, and Hate,
And freezing Diffidence, and loud Debate,
Melt on the glowing throbbings of my heart;
For there my raptur'd fancy flies,
To fan the flame that Friendship taught to rise.
Once more to grace the new-born year
On earth rolls round thy natal day;
Yet gloomy winter frowns severe
As slow he plods his frosty way;
But if in friendship's bosom fair
Lie Pleasure, with Content and Peace,
The glooms that crowd the troubled air
But tend that pleasure to increase.
So from earth's velvet couch, where gaily drest
In beauty wild the white-topt lily rose,
Torn up to glitter on an Ethiop's breast,
Its bed of jet new graces will disclose.
Then, dreary Terrors, melt along the sky,
And on sweet Friendship's bosom gay disperse,
For thrilling Joy shall soar where cold ye lie,
As high above she mounts on raptur'd verse:
On earth rolls round thy natal day;
Yet gloomy winter frowns severe
As slow he plods his frosty way;
But if in friendship's bosom fair
Lie Pleasure, with Content and Peace,
The glooms that crowd the troubled air
But tend that pleasure to increase.
So from earth's velvet couch, where gaily drest
In beauty wild the white-topt lily rose,
Torn up to glitter on an Ethiop's breast,
Its bed of jet new graces will disclose.
9
And on sweet Friendship's bosom gay disperse,
For thrilling Joy shall soar where cold ye lie,
As high above she mounts on raptur'd verse:
“Lov'd youth, for thee may Friendship, smiling gay,
“Deck with fresh flow'rs her rich enchanting way;
“Still may impurpling Health, with dimple sleek,
“Live in the rose that blushes on thy cheek:
“Still in the gentle lustre of thine eye
“Soul-thrilling Joy with beam increasing lie;
“While mild Content, with Innocence and Peace,
“Descend from heav'n to smile upon thy face,
“And o'er thy head bring fresh-born blessings down,
“That ev'ry wish, and ev'ry want shall crown!
“Deck with fresh flow'rs her rich enchanting way;
“Still may impurpling Health, with dimple sleek,
“Live in the rose that blushes on thy cheek:
“Still in the gentle lustre of thine eye
“Soul-thrilling Joy with beam increasing lie;
“While mild Content, with Innocence and Peace,
“Descend from heav'n to smile upon thy face,
“And o'er thy head bring fresh-born blessings down,
“That ev'ry wish, and ev'ry want shall crown!
A MORNING WALK AND VIEW.
Forth let me walk along the green-clad fields,
When on the morning looks the eastern sun,
As from his wavy bed he rises bright
And opes the gilded windows of the sea.
High sings the lively lark, as with his wing,
Brushing the thin spread clouds, he skims the air;
Along the grove, in harmony confus'd,
Chirp the soft feather'd songsters, whistling now
With long drawn note, and now with thrilling song
Vibrating on the air: another sun
Reflected, seems to burn within the stream
A sky of glass; and all the scattered clouds
Descending, move in shadows, gliding soft
Around its dazzling face; the waters flame,
And o'er the golden light the burnish'd waves,
In sweet confusion, glitt'ring dance along.
The weeping willow o'er the gaudy scene
Hangs its lorn head, as tho' 'twould soothe its grief
With pleasing contemplation; green as spring,
And silent as the rev'rence of an angel:
While on the adverse bank the wand'ring boy
Views the bright image, and with hostile stone
Essays to break the beauteous orb; but, lo!
He sees it brighten in the sunny ray,
Wond'ring with vacant stare and open mouth,
Then plunging, sink within th' unbroken light.
When on the morning looks the eastern sun,
As from his wavy bed he rises bright
And opes the gilded windows of the sea.
High sings the lively lark, as with his wing,
Brushing the thin spread clouds, he skims the air;
Along the grove, in harmony confus'd,
10
With long drawn note, and now with thrilling song
Vibrating on the air: another sun
Reflected, seems to burn within the stream
A sky of glass; and all the scattered clouds
Descending, move in shadows, gliding soft
Around its dazzling face; the waters flame,
And o'er the golden light the burnish'd waves,
In sweet confusion, glitt'ring dance along.
The weeping willow o'er the gaudy scene
Hangs its lorn head, as tho' 'twould soothe its grief
With pleasing contemplation; green as spring,
And silent as the rev'rence of an angel:
While on the adverse bank the wand'ring boy
Views the bright image, and with hostile stone
Essays to break the beauteous orb; but, lo!
He sees it brighten in the sunny ray,
Wond'ring with vacant stare and open mouth,
Then plunging, sink within th' unbroken light.
Nor heed the animal creation, rous'd
From tiring sloth, the lazy sweets of sleep;
From the warm shed, slow moving o'er the plain,
The herded cattle go; the timid cow,
The vig'rous heifer, pity-bleating calf,
Meek-eyeing sheep, and primly-gazing ram.
Loud barks the guardian dog; the snorting steed
Snuffs the fresh air, and neighs along the vale.
Echo the circling hills: the lusty bull
Augments the pleasing universal noise
Of gladd'ning joy, and hoarsely lows around.
Nor is the scene beyond devoid of grace.
Far in the distant landscape, dimly seen,
Dashes in curling wreathes of hoary foam
The mist-creating cataract: slow along,
Thro' its full bed, in many a mazy way,
The winding river strays, when soft restrain'd
Within its mossy shores it onward moves
In limpid majesty; but when convuls'd
With the big torrent of the April show'r,
It bursts its rural prison, and with sweep,
Dreadful and swift, bounds o'er the vanish'd vale,
Glorious the floating scene! Each circled hill
Seems edg'd with quiv'ring lace, and all around
The hidden meadows, once so gaily green,
O'erlay'd with living silver; close behind,
In snug retreat, the tufted cottage lifts
Its sloping head, adorn'd with velvet moss,
And closely-creeping ivy, fawning round
The mantled wall in green servility.
From tiring sloth, the lazy sweets of sleep;
From the warm shed, slow moving o'er the plain,
The herded cattle go; the timid cow,
The vig'rous heifer, pity-bleating calf,
Meek-eyeing sheep, and primly-gazing ram.
Loud barks the guardian dog; the snorting steed
11
Echo the circling hills: the lusty bull
Augments the pleasing universal noise
Of gladd'ning joy, and hoarsely lows around.
Nor is the scene beyond devoid of grace.
Far in the distant landscape, dimly seen,
Dashes in curling wreathes of hoary foam
The mist-creating cataract: slow along,
Thro' its full bed, in many a mazy way,
The winding river strays, when soft restrain'd
Within its mossy shores it onward moves
In limpid majesty; but when convuls'd
With the big torrent of the April show'r,
It bursts its rural prison, and with sweep,
Dreadful and swift, bounds o'er the vanish'd vale,
Glorious the floating scene! Each circled hill
Seems edg'd with quiv'ring lace, and all around
The hidden meadows, once so gaily green,
O'erlay'd with living silver; close behind,
In snug retreat, the tufted cottage lifts
Its sloping head, adorn'd with velvet moss,
And closely-creeping ivy, fawning round
The mantled wall in green servility.
High from the grove, o'ertopt, the palace wide
Looks o'er the lawn, and proudly seems to lift,
On weary pillars, to the meeting sky
Its high arch'd roof, with ev'ry art adorn'd
The soft Italia or the high-soul'd sons
Of strong Britannia boast; tho' still, perhaps,
Within is pallid guilt and foul disease,
Heart shrivell'd Av'rice, Sorrow's woe-worn form,
And Death's hard-outlin'd shadow, spectre dread,
Call'd in by mispent Wealth, or Dissipation mad.
Looks o'er the lawn, and proudly seems to lift,
On weary pillars, to the meeting sky
12
The soft Italia or the high-soul'd sons
Of strong Britannia boast; tho' still, perhaps,
Within is pallid guilt and foul disease,
Heart shrivell'd Av'rice, Sorrow's woe-worn form,
And Death's hard-outlin'd shadow, spectre dread,
Call'd in by mispent Wealth, or Dissipation mad.
Yet loftier far, behind the massy pile,
Than human architect can raise, high heav'd
By nature's all creative hand, sublime
Stands the huge mountain, with eternal green
Mantled profuse—while to its spotted side,
The wool-white sheep add sweet variety;
As pleasing to the distant view they seem
With spangles fair to deck its grassy robe.
Than human architect can raise, high heav'd
By nature's all creative hand, sublime
Stands the huge mountain, with eternal green
Mantled profuse—while to its spotted side,
The wool-white sheep add sweet variety;
As pleasing to the distant view they seem
With spangles fair to deck its grassy robe.
Last, o'er the dim horizon, stretching wide,
Bends the blue bow of heav'n, which He, who built
This rolling earth, o'er its huge surface threw,
A vaulting dome; with azure glowing deep
Painted the dazzling hollow; and where shade
Was oft required, threw, o'er the glorious whole,
The shadowing clouds, with pencil he that shone
The star of Italy, expressive Raphael,
The strict Corregio, Titian's glowing hand,
Fus'li's gigantic fancy, or the fire
Of Britain's fav'rite West, could ne'er essay
Faintly to imitate.—Man, to the day
Quick rises, shaking from his nervous limbs
The Nessian cloak of sloth, unfit to drink;
In its absorbing texture, the full tide
Of liquid health, that glows thro' all his veins,
Warms his bold heart, and revels in his cheek.
Bends the blue bow of heav'n, which He, who built
This rolling earth, o'er its huge surface threw,
A vaulting dome; with azure glowing deep
Painted the dazzling hollow; and where shade
Was oft required, threw, o'er the glorious whole,
The shadowing clouds, with pencil he that shone
The star of Italy, expressive Raphael,
The strict Corregio, Titian's glowing hand,
Fus'li's gigantic fancy, or the fire
Of Britain's fav'rite West, could ne'er essay
13
Quick rises, shaking from his nervous limbs
The Nessian cloak of sloth, unfit to drink;
In its absorbing texture, the full tide
Of liquid health, that glows thro' all his veins,
Warms his bold heart, and revels in his cheek.
The rustic farmer hastens o'er his fields;
And, with directing hand, the rural lord
Rules his attentive lab'rers; guides them now
To pluck the intruding tare, or scatt'ring throw
Into the well-plough'd furrows of the earth
The lib'ral grain; and now with smiling face,
When harvest comes to crop the fruitful year,
Bids them prepare the sickle sounding harsh
Thro' the diminish'd fields; or gradual build
The equal hay-rick; till the cone-topt pile,
Erected neat, gives quiet, ease, and peace
To joying labour. In the plain beyond,
The humble shepherd, kneeling by the brook,
Dips his hard breakfast in the soft'ning stream,
Nor heeds the rough clad goat, with rolling eye,
Viewing each wish'd-for mouthful, while he shares,
Gen'rous, with faithful Tray his scanty crust.
Or stretch'd in sunshine warm, his shading hand
Plac'd o'er his half-shut eyes, he views askance
The subject flock, some frisking o'er the field
In harmless sport; some in the welcome beam
Basking, devoid of care; while others, prest
With craving hunger, bend their woolly necks
To the green earth, and crop the verdant grass:
Careless he whistles loud, nor wishes to be great.
And, with directing hand, the rural lord
Rules his attentive lab'rers; guides them now
To pluck the intruding tare, or scatt'ring throw
Into the well-plough'd furrows of the earth
The lib'ral grain; and now with smiling face,
When harvest comes to crop the fruitful year,
Bids them prepare the sickle sounding harsh
Thro' the diminish'd fields; or gradual build
The equal hay-rick; till the cone-topt pile,
Erected neat, gives quiet, ease, and peace
To joying labour. In the plain beyond,
The humble shepherd, kneeling by the brook,
Dips his hard breakfast in the soft'ning stream,
Nor heeds the rough clad goat, with rolling eye,
Viewing each wish'd-for mouthful, while he shares,
Gen'rous, with faithful Tray his scanty crust.
Or stretch'd in sunshine warm, his shading hand
Plac'd o'er his half-shut eyes, he views askance
The subject flock, some frisking o'er the field
14
Basking, devoid of care; while others, prest
With craving hunger, bend their woolly necks
To the green earth, and crop the verdant grass:
Careless he whistles loud, nor wishes to be great.
On scenes like these, where Harmony and Peace
Walk hand in hand, for ever could I dwell,
From chrystal morning to the jet-rob'd night.
These are the themes that lift the grateful soul
To Heav'n and love; love, that exalts the mind
To mix its thoughts with God; Him, whom the sun
Shines to obey, whose unseen glories time
Flies to make known; with whom all place is presence,
And space immeasurable, fulness: great,
And largely good, and infinite is He.
Walk hand in hand, for ever could I dwell,
From chrystal morning to the jet-rob'd night.
These are the themes that lift the grateful soul
To Heav'n and love; love, that exalts the mind
To mix its thoughts with God; Him, whom the sun
Shines to obey, whose unseen glories time
Flies to make known; with whom all place is presence,
And space immeasurable, fulness: great,
And largely good, and infinite is He.
LINES TO THE WHITE ROSE OF AMERICA.
Ροδον ω φεριστον ανθος
Ροδον εαρος μελημα,
Ροδα και θεοσι τερπνα.
Anach. Carmen V.
Ροδον εαρος μελημα,
Ροδα και θεοσι τερπνα.
Anach. Carmen V.
Fair daughter of the morn, whose snowy top
Bends, gently waving, to the passing breath
Of frolic zephyrs, when along the grove
They chant their airy songs to welcome spring,
In seeming adoration; well I ween,
Belov'd art thou by them, pleas'd when they see
Thy humble form breathe incense on their way,
To add new fragrance to the perfum'd air.
And well I love thee too, when thy fair head
Peeps thro' my cottage window, as to greet
Mine early rise with cheering smiles before
Thy ruby sisters; who, at my approach,
To hail the morn seem deeper yet each hour
To blush, that never with their snowy queen
They render'd duteous homage to their lord.
Bends, gently waving, to the passing breath
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They chant their airy songs to welcome spring,
In seeming adoration; well I ween,
Belov'd art thou by them, pleas'd when they see
Thy humble form breathe incense on their way,
To add new fragrance to the perfum'd air.
And well I love thee too, when thy fair head
Peeps thro' my cottage window, as to greet
Mine early rise with cheering smiles before
Thy ruby sisters; who, at my approach,
To hail the morn seem deeper yet each hour
To blush, that never with their snowy queen
They render'd duteous homage to their lord.
Not the bright sun-flowr's top of burnish'd gold,
The yellow jonquil, vary-colour'd pink,
The purple passion-flow'r , belov'd of Christians,
Wet with the dewy tear of dying Sol,
The lily dress'd with innocence and grace,
The wild-born daisy, and the violet blue,
Or the fair primrose that at Spring's advance
Seems to grow pale, when from her “green lap thrown”
So many glitt'ring rivals rise around;
Not the sweet twining woodbine, heart's-ease rich,
Purpled with gold-dropt velvet, or the fair
But humble snow-drop, beaming thro' the mist,
Like the big tear for lov'd Adonis slain,
Thro' the fring'd eye-lids of the Queen of Love,
Catch my admiring eye like thy pure flow'r,
Emblem of infant innocence, sweet rose!
The yellow jonquil, vary-colour'd pink,
The purple passion-flow'r , belov'd of Christians,
Wet with the dewy tear of dying Sol,
The lily dress'd with innocence and grace,
The wild-born daisy, and the violet blue,
Or the fair primrose that at Spring's advance
Seems to grow pale, when from her “green lap thrown”
So many glitt'ring rivals rise around;
16
Purpled with gold-dropt velvet, or the fair
But humble snow-drop, beaming thro' the mist,
Like the big tear for lov'd Adonis slain,
Thro' the fring'd eye-lids of the Queen of Love,
Catch my admiring eye like thy pure flow'r,
Emblem of infant innocence, sweet rose!
Yet wilt thou die: pluck'd off by time's rude hand
From thy green bed, thy lily leaf must fall;
Yet shall no gorgeous, pageant burial hide,
With its dark shade, thy drooping white that shews
No faults that need concealment; nor shall pomp
Unmeaning usher thee to earth; one sigh
Alone, fair simple flow'r, shall breathe for thee;
And, stooping o'er thy wither'd form, I'll press
My bosom with my hand, and mournful say,
“Spotless be thou, my heart: like this sweet rose
“May death o'ertake thee, innocent and pure;
“And, weeping for his loss, one only friend
“For ever faithful, drop the silent tear
“O'er the sad stone that hides mortality,
“And tells this sacred truth:” “The son of man,
“Like the low short-liv'd flow'ret of the field,
“Rises to light and life; then fades, and dies!
“Great Arbiter of fate thy will be done!”
From thy green bed, thy lily leaf must fall;
Yet shall no gorgeous, pageant burial hide,
With its dark shade, thy drooping white that shews
No faults that need concealment; nor shall pomp
Unmeaning usher thee to earth; one sigh
Alone, fair simple flow'r, shall breathe for thee;
And, stooping o'er thy wither'd form, I'll press
My bosom with my hand, and mournful say,
“Spotless be thou, my heart: like this sweet rose
“May death o'ertake thee, innocent and pure;
“And, weeping for his loss, one only friend
“For ever faithful, drop the silent tear
“O'er the sad stone that hides mortality,
“And tells this sacred truth:” “The son of man,
“Like the low short-liv'd flow'ret of the field,
“Rises to light and life; then fades, and dies!
“Great Arbiter of fate thy will be done!”
A remarkable and beautiful flower, at the bottom of whose cup is a perfect cross, from whence it derives its name; this cup always drinks in a dew drop at evening, which is found the next morning at the bottom of its hollow, when it opens its leaves, which are shut during the night.
17
CHRIST's HOSPITAL.
Ye moss clad turrets
, whose unshaken brows,
In antique pride, o'erhang the cheerful scene
Of Windsor's flow'ry plains, where father Thame,
With many a silver winding, loves to deck
The gay expanse that round his reedy bed
Luxuriant smiles, when Summer, glowing maid,
Throws o'er the verdant earth her robings green;
Ye groves of fair Oxonia, chequer'd bright
With Isis' mazy stream, where science lays
Her varied stores, and emulation high
Points to the bright'ning prospects, fair disclos'd,
Of wealth's full horn, and honour's gorgeous robe;
Ye marshy dells, where sedgy Camus, crown'd
With the sad willow's melancholy shade,
Directs his dim-discover'd wave, or now,
Bursting in silver beauty from beneath
His leafy covert, views with sacred awe
The holy tow'rs arise, that long have bow'd
In rev'rend beauty o'er the wa'try glade;
A long farewel I give you: other lays,
That tell not of your praise, yet better far
To tune my humble pipe, since mem'ry fond,
And duteous gratitude, command the song,
Well pleas'd I chant; such lays as Thyrsis oft,
And rustic Corydon, with airy reed
Told to the list'ning cottagers, that round
The spreading beech, or storm-defying oak,
Hung on the pleasing numbers, wond'ring whence
Their hands ungentle could so deftly bring
The floating sounds; for Collins, bard sublime,
Hyblæan Pope, or Dryden's stately verse,
They, simple sons of nature, never heard
Among their native woodlands: poet sweet,
And eke immortal, call'd they him, who erst
Was hight the gentle Gay, trim sonnetteer!
Ne'er other like him had they seen, nor thought
One, who could sing so merrily, to view
In after-times.—Farewel, ye moss-clad towr's,
Ye shady groves, ye dells begirt with sedge!
The cloister solemn, and its pensive shades,
Command my humble song; shades, than whose gloom
No light have I lov'd better, and to tread
Whose solemn walks my gayest hours I'd give.
In antique pride, o'erhang the cheerful scene
Of Windsor's flow'ry plains, where father Thame,
With many a silver winding, loves to deck
The gay expanse that round his reedy bed
Luxuriant smiles, when Summer, glowing maid,
Throws o'er the verdant earth her robings green;
Ye groves of fair Oxonia, chequer'd bright
With Isis' mazy stream, where science lays
Her varied stores, and emulation high
Points to the bright'ning prospects, fair disclos'd,
Of wealth's full horn, and honour's gorgeous robe;
Ye marshy dells, where sedgy Camus, crown'd
With the sad willow's melancholy shade,
Directs his dim-discover'd wave, or now,
Bursting in silver beauty from beneath
His leafy covert, views with sacred awe
The holy tow'rs arise, that long have bow'd
In rev'rend beauty o'er the wa'try glade;
A long farewel I give you: other lays,
That tell not of your praise, yet better far
To tune my humble pipe, since mem'ry fond,
18
Well pleas'd I chant; such lays as Thyrsis oft,
And rustic Corydon, with airy reed
Told to the list'ning cottagers, that round
The spreading beech, or storm-defying oak,
Hung on the pleasing numbers, wond'ring whence
Their hands ungentle could so deftly bring
The floating sounds; for Collins, bard sublime,
Hyblæan Pope, or Dryden's stately verse,
They, simple sons of nature, never heard
Among their native woodlands: poet sweet,
And eke immortal, call'd they him, who erst
Was hight the gentle Gay, trim sonnetteer!
Ne'er other like him had they seen, nor thought
One, who could sing so merrily, to view
In after-times.—Farewel, ye moss-clad towr's,
Ye shady groves, ye dells begirt with sedge!
The cloister solemn, and its pensive shades,
Command my humble song; shades, than whose gloom
No light have I lov'd better, and to tread
Whose solemn walks my gayest hours I'd give.
Blest, honour'd guardian of my youthful days,
Sweet spot of innocence and joy, thy seats
Absence still happier pictures to my mind,
And, like a painter skill'd, Raphael divine,
Correct ey'd Vinci, Angelo sublime,
Or Britain's boasted West, each pleasing form
Her pencil raises, tints with brighter colours,
And throws each dark and gloomy thought behind
Into concealing shade. Delighted once,
As oft myself would mix within the rear,
I view'd thy happy youth, with eager lips,
Quaff from its fount the pure Pierian spring,
Which he (who fair Apollo, wisely kind,
Gave to unlock, and from the deep recess
Pour forth the magic stream) with lib'ral hand
Shed round the busy throng, that each, as will
Or emulation urg'd, or burning shame
For deeds before inglorious, might receive
The store, divided, as it flow'd along.
Theirs was the classic wealth, and rich it was,
Of long antiquity, that to the world
Many a dying age had wise bequeath'd.
Witness, ye shady seats, where wond'rous Thame
Shakes from his rev'rend form the manly beard
And nerve-strung arm, and leg of stately walk,
And gliding soft along, with flowing air,
And eyes of tender light, soft swelling breast,
And waxen arm, and thigh of taper grace,
Calls himself Isis, Naïad of the wave;
And, ye, where lagging Cam draws weary on
His sluggish stream, in reedy liv'ry dress'd:
For oft has learning, at her hallow'd shrine,
Beneath your venerable roofs bestow'd
The victor laurel on the youthful heads
That once adorn'd the sacred cloister'd walks,
That saw my early days pass quiet on,
Bless'd with pure innocence and meekest peace.
Nor would the Muse, pleas'd with its mild retreats,
Scorn in thy school to prune her drooping wing:
For she, long time, has lov'd the vaulted arch,
The gothic window, and the ruin'd pile
Antique; there, favour'd, has her quiet haunt
Stood undisturb'd, save by the youthful bards
That with such praise maintain the Grecian name
And eke Græculian , when in humble guise,
They ask a song; nor has she e'er refus'd
To grant the small request: for what, indeed,
Could she not sing, beneath whose skilful hand
Bold Dyer and the plaintive Coleridge grew,
Children of poesy?—Nay, oft she strikes
To higher notes her varying lyre, until
She sinks, tho' glorious. So the setting sun,
When evening calls him to her western couch,
Drops in his purpl'd bed of waves, yet dress'd
More rich and glowing than when first he rears
His “unshorn head” from op'ning streams of light,
Sweet spot of innocence and joy, thy seats
Absence still happier pictures to my mind,
And, like a painter skill'd, Raphael divine,
Correct ey'd Vinci, Angelo sublime,
Or Britain's boasted West, each pleasing form
19
And throws each dark and gloomy thought behind
Into concealing shade. Delighted once,
As oft myself would mix within the rear,
I view'd thy happy youth, with eager lips,
Quaff from its fount the pure Pierian spring,
Which he (who fair Apollo, wisely kind,
Gave to unlock, and from the deep recess
Pour forth the magic stream) with lib'ral hand
Shed round the busy throng, that each, as will
Or emulation urg'd, or burning shame
For deeds before inglorious, might receive
The store, divided, as it flow'd along.
Theirs was the classic wealth, and rich it was,
Of long antiquity, that to the world
Many a dying age had wise bequeath'd.
Witness, ye shady seats, where wond'rous Thame
Shakes from his rev'rend form the manly beard
And nerve-strung arm, and leg of stately walk,
And gliding soft along, with flowing air,
And eyes of tender light, soft swelling breast,
And waxen arm, and thigh of taper grace,
Calls himself Isis, Naïad of the wave;
And, ye, where lagging Cam draws weary on
His sluggish stream, in reedy liv'ry dress'd:
20
Beneath your venerable roofs bestow'd
The victor laurel on the youthful heads
That once adorn'd the sacred cloister'd walks,
That saw my early days pass quiet on,
Bless'd with pure innocence and meekest peace.
Nor would the Muse, pleas'd with its mild retreats,
Scorn in thy school to prune her drooping wing:
For she, long time, has lov'd the vaulted arch,
The gothic window, and the ruin'd pile
Antique; there, favour'd, has her quiet haunt
Stood undisturb'd, save by the youthful bards
That with such praise maintain the Grecian name
And eke Græculian , when in humble guise,
They ask a song; nor has she e'er refus'd
To grant the small request: for what, indeed,
Could she not sing, beneath whose skilful hand
Bold Dyer and the plaintive Coleridge grew,
Children of poesy?—Nay, oft she strikes
To higher notes her varying lyre, until
She sinks, tho' glorious. So the setting sun,
When evening calls him to her western couch,
Drops in his purpl'd bed of waves, yet dress'd
More rich and glowing than when first he rears
His “unshorn head” from op'ning streams of light,
21
Britannia, hail! Great in its power and strength,
Its naval bulwarks, that so proudly stand
The many iron tempests pour'd around
By the fierce Gaul, stern with his liberty:
Thy favour'd isle shall flourish in the page
Of never-dying fame, while earth looks gay
With garment green, or hoary ocean heaves
The bellying waters of the main. Nor least
Of all thy sons that brave the stormy sea,
A well-fought field, dos't thou in duty owe
Thanks to the noble youth, the sons of courage,
Of this fam'd school, who early learnt to glow,
With patriot zeal, to see Britannia's hand
Planting on distant shores her flag, unfurl'd
To the fresh gale of brisk prosperity,
Or wreathing for herself a brighter crown
Than has been worn long time, the easy cap
Of ancient freedom, that, which early Greece,
Imperial Rome, and Gallia's strech'd out arm,
Have try'd to grasp, the richest prize on earth!
Saw thou not, Neptune, when thy watr'y reign
Echo'd with British thunder, and the fire
Of gaping cannon flam'd along the shore
Of frighted Nile, when Nelson, fearful name,
Bore on the wings of victory and death
Old Albion's purple standard; saw thou not,
Where eager Troubridge, curs'd relentless fate
That from the glorious path of sought renown
Push'd him aside! O, saw thou not the fire
Flash from his ardent eyes, when fierce he knew
For him the thunder of the battle hot
Roar'd not in proud sublimity; nor death
Hung on the purpl'd splendor of the sword?
Turn from thy roaring empire, and thine eye
Fix on Augusta's spiry seats: 'twas there,
In cloisters dreary, and the winding aisle
He cherish'd dauntless brav'ry; there his heart,
Manly in youth, survey'd with eager soul
The glorious prospects of immortal fame,
When daring conflict should usurp the main,
And Heav'n and Troubridge win the wat'ry field!
Its naval bulwarks, that so proudly stand
The many iron tempests pour'd around
By the fierce Gaul, stern with his liberty:
Thy favour'd isle shall flourish in the page
Of never-dying fame, while earth looks gay
With garment green, or hoary ocean heaves
The bellying waters of the main. Nor least
Of all thy sons that brave the stormy sea,
A well-fought field, dos't thou in duty owe
Thanks to the noble youth, the sons of courage,
Of this fam'd school, who early learnt to glow,
With patriot zeal, to see Britannia's hand
Planting on distant shores her flag, unfurl'd
To the fresh gale of brisk prosperity,
Or wreathing for herself a brighter crown
Than has been worn long time, the easy cap
Of ancient freedom, that, which early Greece,
Imperial Rome, and Gallia's strech'd out arm,
Have try'd to grasp, the richest prize on earth!
Saw thou not, Neptune, when thy watr'y reign
Echo'd with British thunder, and the fire
Of gaping cannon flam'd along the shore
Of frighted Nile, when Nelson, fearful name,
Bore on the wings of victory and death
Old Albion's purple standard; saw thou not,
Where eager Troubridge, curs'd relentless fate
That from the glorious path of sought renown
22
Flash from his ardent eyes, when fierce he knew
For him the thunder of the battle hot
Roar'd not in proud sublimity; nor death
Hung on the purpl'd splendor of the sword?
Turn from thy roaring empire, and thine eye
Fix on Augusta's spiry seats: 'twas there,
In cloisters dreary, and the winding aisle
He cherish'd dauntless brav'ry; there his heart,
Manly in youth, survey'd with eager soul
The glorious prospects of immortal fame,
When daring conflict should usurp the main,
And Heav'n and Troubridge win the wat'ry field!
Nor yet, fair child of Industry, sweet Commerce,
Forget to think how many of the sons
Of these belov'd and unreproved seats
Here first, tho' far from all thy busy scenes,
Have vow'd to live for thee, and to forsake
Their native home, to seek thy lively form
In distant climates; southward, where the sun
With scorching beam direct, the sultry air
Strikes thro', till, darting on the scorch'd domain,
It leaves the wither'd herb and drooping flow'r
Not one sad dew-drop for a tear to mourn
Its dying beauty, once so gaily green:
Or, higher northward, where with garment white
Of everlasting frost cold Nature clads
Her hidden form, and melancholy Morn
Views in a thousand icicles of glass
(That fancy, ever gay, delights to hang,
In many an uncouth form, upon the cot
Of the rude Russian or Carinthian boor)
Her sadden'd face; and soon, as tir'd to see
Her mournful looks, sinks down again to rest,
And gives the gloomy hours to night and darkness.
Forget to think how many of the sons
Of these belov'd and unreproved seats
Here first, tho' far from all thy busy scenes,
Have vow'd to live for thee, and to forsake
Their native home, to seek thy lively form
In distant climates; southward, where the sun
With scorching beam direct, the sultry air
Strikes thro', till, darting on the scorch'd domain,
It leaves the wither'd herb and drooping flow'r
Not one sad dew-drop for a tear to mourn
Its dying beauty, once so gaily green:
23
Of everlasting frost cold Nature clads
Her hidden form, and melancholy Morn
Views in a thousand icicles of glass
(That fancy, ever gay, delights to hang,
In many an uncouth form, upon the cot
Of the rude Russian or Carinthian boor)
Her sadden'd face; and soon, as tir'd to see
Her mournful looks, sinks down again to rest,
And gives the gloomy hours to night and darkness.
Such are thy youth, sweet spot! Thy children such
That tread thy walks, now silent, when the hour
Demands the tribute of attention, due
To all the rare-felt intellectual sweets
Of various learning; now again, when Sport
With hasty hand unlocks the yielding door,
Clam'rous with shouts of joy, and playful innocence!
That tread thy walks, now silent, when the hour
Demands the tribute of attention, due
To all the rare-felt intellectual sweets
Of various learning; now again, when Sport
With hasty hand unlocks the yielding door,
Clam'rous with shouts of joy, and playful innocence!
Let Italy's soft sons their science boast,
Soul charming music, or the buskin'd muse,
Unequall'd pencil, raising life and thought,
And animated Sculpture; Love itself,
That seems to breathe, tho' with a marble breast
Silent and cold as Death: yet still, perhaps,
When Italy shall be no more, now torn
From Superstition's sway to Gallia's hand,
Which with the scythe of War has mow'd to earth
Nations and states at once, a bloody harvest;
Like the strong pois'nous wind that boisterous sweeps
O'er the lorn sands of Araby, and brings
Death, clad in his most hideous shape, his front
O'erspread with whirlwinds black, who murd'rous spares
Nor the fierce beast, nor man's diviner form:
Yes; when that Italy shall be no more,
Thy fame, sweet mansion, still shall flourish wide
Like the strong oak, whose vassal trees fall round,
Torn up by warring elements; still see
Whole realms fall off, and empires die away;
And yet shall live to see thy noble sons
Increase in honour when alive, and fame
Still nobler after life. So the sweet rose,
Od'rous in death, breathes fragrance to the air,
And wafts its incense on the wings of Eve.
Soul charming music, or the buskin'd muse,
Unequall'd pencil, raising life and thought,
And animated Sculpture; Love itself,
That seems to breathe, tho' with a marble breast
Silent and cold as Death: yet still, perhaps,
When Italy shall be no more, now torn
From Superstition's sway to Gallia's hand,
24
Nations and states at once, a bloody harvest;
Like the strong pois'nous wind that boisterous sweeps
O'er the lorn sands of Araby, and brings
Death, clad in his most hideous shape, his front
O'erspread with whirlwinds black, who murd'rous spares
Nor the fierce beast, nor man's diviner form:
Yes; when that Italy shall be no more,
Thy fame, sweet mansion, still shall flourish wide
Like the strong oak, whose vassal trees fall round,
Torn up by warring elements; still see
Whole realms fall off, and empires die away;
And yet shall live to see thy noble sons
Increase in honour when alive, and fame
Still nobler after life. So the sweet rose,
Od'rous in death, breathes fragrance to the air,
And wafts its incense on the wings of Eve.
Farewell, ye happy seats of peace and joy,
Where ruddy health glows on each blooming cheek,
And innocence looks modest in each eye!
Farewel! And may the dews of Heaven distil
Their richest drops upon thy honour'd roofs;
To whose gay tops once more my straining eyes
Seem as compell'd to turn to bid the youth,
Who with the soothing voice of friendship cheer'd
The morning of my life, adieu! Yet short,
Swift Time, be all our absence! Quick again
I turn my doubtful footsteps, and this pray'r,
Fervent, I breathe to Heav'n:—“All pow'rful God,
“O Give those walks for ever to be trod
“By those who love thy name; nor throw between
“The cup of pleasure and the eager lips
“Of the gay youths that learnt with me to bow
“Before thy throne, as yet unseen, one ill
“To taint with bitterness the pleasing draught
“That peace holds out; and hallow'd be thy Name!”
Where ruddy health glows on each blooming cheek,
And innocence looks modest in each eye!
Farewel! And may the dews of Heaven distil
Their richest drops upon thy honour'd roofs;
To whose gay tops once more my straining eyes
Seem as compell'd to turn to bid the youth,
Who with the soothing voice of friendship cheer'd
The morning of my life, adieu! Yet short,
25
I turn my doubtful footsteps, and this pray'r,
Fervent, I breathe to Heav'n:—“All pow'rful God,
“O Give those walks for ever to be trod
“By those who love thy name; nor throw between
“The cup of pleasure and the eager lips
“Of the gay youths that learnt with me to bow
“Before thy throne, as yet unseen, one ill
“To taint with bitterness the pleasing draught
“That peace holds out; and hallow'd be thy Name!”
The three senior scholars of the grammar-school are called Grecians, and the class next to them, Deputy Grecians.
REMEMBERED FRIENDSHIP.
O how delightful was it once to sit
And talk away the hours, my friend belov'd,
Beneath the lamp's dull flame, that palely shed
Its feeble light along the cloister'd walks,
Where oft we'd ramble! o'er our youthful heads
The gloomy arch, that favour'd converse sweet
Of whisper'd vows of friendship, heav'd on high
Its massy vault, along whose time-worn roof
Soft murmurs ran of breathing constancy.
While on my shoulder hung thy easy hand
Beyond thy bosom, not a single thought
That flutter'd from my breast, unheeding stray'd:
Fix'd, and for ever, was my soul in thee!
And wrapt in meditation as I sat,
My beating heart seem'd as it would rise up,
Burst the thin crystal curtain of the tear
That quiver'd on mine eye-lid, and, with bound
Of warm affection, rush to mix with thine!
O sweet, romantic lux'ry! Thee the sons
Of sordid Av'rice, barring out with gold,
From their heart's avenue, the wand'ring steps
Of pilgrim Friendship; thee, the giddy throng,
That heedless plunge into the cloying sweets
Of rich festivity, or wanton bask
In the hot sunshine of unnerving pleasure,
Have never known; or had they tasted once
Thy cup nectarean, Av'rice had unlock'd
His very hoard, and pour'd it in the breast
Of that affection which would more repay
His lib'ral hand; and the loud crash cabal
Of festive Riot, or those fearful joys
Whose very taste is death, had left with tears
Of rapture and repentance, sweetly mixt,
The rich repast and the soft wanton bed,
To clasp fair Friendship to their beating breasts,
And tell her, while each bosom's ardent pant
Seem'd lab'ring to give passage to the soul,
How pure, but how unspeakable, their bliss!
And talk away the hours, my friend belov'd,
Beneath the lamp's dull flame, that palely shed
Its feeble light along the cloister'd walks,
Where oft we'd ramble! o'er our youthful heads
The gloomy arch, that favour'd converse sweet
Of whisper'd vows of friendship, heav'd on high
Its massy vault, along whose time-worn roof
Soft murmurs ran of breathing constancy.
While on my shoulder hung thy easy hand
Beyond thy bosom, not a single thought
26
Fix'd, and for ever, was my soul in thee!
And wrapt in meditation as I sat,
My beating heart seem'd as it would rise up,
Burst the thin crystal curtain of the tear
That quiver'd on mine eye-lid, and, with bound
Of warm affection, rush to mix with thine!
O sweet, romantic lux'ry! Thee the sons
Of sordid Av'rice, barring out with gold,
From their heart's avenue, the wand'ring steps
Of pilgrim Friendship; thee, the giddy throng,
That heedless plunge into the cloying sweets
Of rich festivity, or wanton bask
In the hot sunshine of unnerving pleasure,
Have never known; or had they tasted once
Thy cup nectarean, Av'rice had unlock'd
His very hoard, and pour'd it in the breast
Of that affection which would more repay
His lib'ral hand; and the loud crash cabal
Of festive Riot, or those fearful joys
Whose very taste is death, had left with tears
Of rapture and repentance, sweetly mixt,
The rich repast and the soft wanton bed,
To clasp fair Friendship to their beating breasts,
And tell her, while each bosom's ardent pant
Seem'd lab'ring to give passage to the soul,
How pure, but how unspeakable, their bliss!
27
O when at ev'ning oft along the walks
Where twilight cast his shadow broad and cool,
We joy'd to rove, while o'er each other's neck
We threw our careless arm, how sweet the morn
Pour'd on the earth her pale but mellow light,
Chequer'd with dancing shades, that, from the leaves
Of the o'er-waving tree, fell on her beam.
If chance the mournful mildly-breathing flute
Stole on the list'ning air, like the low voice
Of fair Endymion, when, on the mount
Of grassy Ida, with the song of love
He welcomes early Dian from the sky;
The soothing sounds seem'd soft, as gently soft,
As the attuning of our souls, and then
We stood wrapt up in them, our eager eyes
Fix'd on the vacant air, as tho' to seek
Whence rose the sweet, the pleasing melody.
Or if the viol, with its full brisk note,
Tripp'd gaily on the whisper-sighing breeze,
It seem'd as tho' the Dryads of the wood
Had call'd the crescent Goddess to the chase
With merry hunting song; or smiling Pan
Had gather'd round him, in his rural bow'r,
With reedy pipe, the laughter-loving fawns,
The rough-cloth'd sylvans, and the wood-nymphs wild
That haunt the shady grove, or rudely sport
In the embow'ring forest, leaping round
The waving trees in many an uncouth dance.
O then our hearts went tripping with the sound;
And had light Ariel, spirit of the sky,
Haply been there, it seem'd as tho' our souls
Had on his silken wings pierc'd the thin air,
Crept with him in the cowslip's yellow bell,
Or hung beneath the blossom on the bough,
To find the sweet exhilarating strains.
Where twilight cast his shadow broad and cool,
We joy'd to rove, while o'er each other's neck
We threw our careless arm, how sweet the morn
Pour'd on the earth her pale but mellow light,
Chequer'd with dancing shades, that, from the leaves
Of the o'er-waving tree, fell on her beam.
If chance the mournful mildly-breathing flute
Stole on the list'ning air, like the low voice
Of fair Endymion, when, on the mount
Of grassy Ida, with the song of love
He welcomes early Dian from the sky;
The soothing sounds seem'd soft, as gently soft,
As the attuning of our souls, and then
We stood wrapt up in them, our eager eyes
Fix'd on the vacant air, as tho' to seek
Whence rose the sweet, the pleasing melody.
Or if the viol, with its full brisk note,
Tripp'd gaily on the whisper-sighing breeze,
It seem'd as tho' the Dryads of the wood
Had call'd the crescent Goddess to the chase
With merry hunting song; or smiling Pan
Had gather'd round him, in his rural bow'r,
With reedy pipe, the laughter-loving fawns,
The rough-cloth'd sylvans, and the wood-nymphs wild
That haunt the shady grove, or rudely sport
In the embow'ring forest, leaping round
28
O then our hearts went tripping with the sound;
And had light Ariel, spirit of the sky,
Haply been there, it seem'd as tho' our souls
Had on his silken wings pierc'd the thin air,
Crept with him in the cowslip's yellow bell,
Or hung beneath the blossom on the bough,
To find the sweet exhilarating strains.
And now, when Ev'ning to the ebon Night
(Ebon, or haply, if along the sky
The bright'ning moon with broad effulgent ray
Gleams thro' the hov'ring shade that o'er the earth
Hangs dew distilling, fairer and serene)
Gives up her peaceful reign, in the smooth bed
Of grateful rest we dropt our wearied limbs.
Yet for a while, before the gentle sweets
Of sleep had clos'd our eyes, how oft we lay
Admiring, thro' the casement open'd wide,
The spangled glories of the sky, whose face,
Like the broad tail of Juno's stately bird,
Purpled with eyes, spread glorious to our view.
While from behind the silver-bosom'd clouds,
Scatter'd around like swelling flakes of snow,
At intervals fair Luna bursting forth,
Pour'd splendour round: so from the lawless bed
Of wanton Paris, when the laughing Morn
Melted in streaming radiance from the sky,
Rose matchless Helen, beaming blushing grace
And love resistless on the rising day:
So Cytherea from the frothy wave
Rose in luxuriant beauty, when the hours
Beheld her birth, and Zephyr's gentle gale
With the rich perfume of the breathing Spring,
Wafted the beauteous Goddess to the shore
Of her lov'd Cyprus, while the circling nymphs
That rule the waters of the hoary deep,
Press'd, on the billowy bosom of the sea,
Around her floating chariot, and with shouts
Of gladdening triumph bade old Triton swell
His echoing chonc, and wake all nature round.
(Ebon, or haply, if along the sky
The bright'ning moon with broad effulgent ray
Gleams thro' the hov'ring shade that o'er the earth
Hangs dew distilling, fairer and serene)
Gives up her peaceful reign, in the smooth bed
Of grateful rest we dropt our wearied limbs.
Yet for a while, before the gentle sweets
Of sleep had clos'd our eyes, how oft we lay
Admiring, thro' the casement open'd wide,
The spangled glories of the sky, whose face,
Like the broad tail of Juno's stately bird,
Purpled with eyes, spread glorious to our view.
While from behind the silver-bosom'd clouds,
Scatter'd around like swelling flakes of snow,
At intervals fair Luna bursting forth,
Pour'd splendour round: so from the lawless bed
Of wanton Paris, when the laughing Morn
29
Rose matchless Helen, beaming blushing grace
And love resistless on the rising day:
So Cytherea from the frothy wave
Rose in luxuriant beauty, when the hours
Beheld her birth, and Zephyr's gentle gale
With the rich perfume of the breathing Spring,
Wafted the beauteous Goddess to the shore
Of her lov'd Cyprus, while the circling nymphs
That rule the waters of the hoary deep,
Press'd, on the billowy bosom of the sea,
Around her floating chariot, and with shouts
Of gladdening triumph bade old Triton swell
His echoing chonc, and wake all nature round.
'Twas then we rais'd our sacred thoughts to heav'n,
Blessing his holy works, and calling down
The dew of bliss upon each other's head;
While o'er our eyelids Sleep, with hand unseen,
Slowly drew on his “gradual dusky veil,”
And round our pillow threw a thousand sweets
That tempt soft slumber, or with odour mild
Soothe hard Fatigue; our waking souls, meantime,
Dreamt of our cloistered walks, and many a tale
Told underneath the gothic arch antique,
In humming whisper, or the chearful laugh
Sent back by Echo from the distant aisle.
Friendship would never leave us; from the hour
Silent and solemn, when the setting sun
Robes in rich purple all the western sky,
To the gay smiling reign of dewy Morn,
Beaming with orient brightness, and again
From lively morn to that still fresh'ning hour,
When Eve's light breezes fan the tepid air,
And Sol once more sinks in his glowing bed.
Congenial souls, soft harmony, rich peace,
And pleasure, mixt with innocence and ease,
Were all our own; they rul'd the fleeting hour,
Beam'd in each eye, and in each bosom thrill'd.
Blessing his holy works, and calling down
The dew of bliss upon each other's head;
While o'er our eyelids Sleep, with hand unseen,
Slowly drew on his “gradual dusky veil,”
And round our pillow threw a thousand sweets
That tempt soft slumber, or with odour mild
Soothe hard Fatigue; our waking souls, meantime,
Dreamt of our cloistered walks, and many a tale
Told underneath the gothic arch antique,
In humming whisper, or the chearful laugh
Sent back by Echo from the distant aisle.
30
Silent and solemn, when the setting sun
Robes in rich purple all the western sky,
To the gay smiling reign of dewy Morn,
Beaming with orient brightness, and again
From lively morn to that still fresh'ning hour,
When Eve's light breezes fan the tepid air,
And Sol once more sinks in his glowing bed.
Congenial souls, soft harmony, rich peace,
And pleasure, mixt with innocence and ease,
Were all our own; they rul'd the fleeting hour,
Beam'd in each eye, and in each bosom thrill'd.
RETIREMENT,
OR THE GOLDEN MEAN.
Est modus in rebus, sunt certi deniq. fines;
Quos ultra, citraq. nequit consistere rectum.
Hor Sat. I.
Quos ultra, citraq. nequit consistere rectum.
Hor Sat. I.
Auream quisquis mediocritatem
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
Sordibus tecti; caret invidenda
Sobrius aula.
Hor. Od. X. Lib. I.
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
Sordibus tecti; caret invidenda
Sobrius aula.
Hor. Od. X. Lib. I.
Retirement, soother of the wo-worn breast,
By all the good and all the great caress'd;
Thy shady groves, thy fields of lively green,
Where Contemplation bends her brow serene;
Thy rippling streams that silver o'er the plain,
The mild, the peaceful pleasures of thy reign,
Invite the song, be present at my lay,
And let me chant along thy velvet way.
By all the good and all the great caress'd;
31
Where Contemplation bends her brow serene;
Thy rippling streams that silver o'er the plain,
The mild, the peaceful pleasures of thy reign,
Invite the song, be present at my lay,
And let me chant along thy velvet way.
How blest the mortal far from gorgeous care,
The tort'ring badge that Vice and Envy wear;
Far from the rank that elevates mankind,
To shew their eyes the good they left behind:
As from the Alps the trav'ler tott'ring slow,
Bends o'er his native fields that smile below;
And, while the storm oft pauses o'er the plain,
Asks back his cottage and his crook in vain!
He cares not where Ambition's maniacs rave,
No royal flatt'rer, and no titled slave;
But spurns behind him, as to light he springs,
The pomp of Courtiers, and the pride of Kings.
The tort'ring badge that Vice and Envy wear;
Far from the rank that elevates mankind,
To shew their eyes the good they left behind:
As from the Alps the trav'ler tott'ring slow,
Bends o'er his native fields that smile below;
And, while the storm oft pauses o'er the plain,
Asks back his cottage and his crook in vain!
He cares not where Ambition's maniacs rave,
No royal flatt'rer, and no titled slave;
But spurns behind him, as to light he springs,
The pomp of Courtiers, and the pride of Kings.
Nor sinks his manly soul to ruder joys,
That love the vulgar, vanity and noise.
Pleasures like these, that bubble and are dead,
Fly from his peaceful walks and placid head;
That noble breast where sense and honour reign,
Disgrace and Folly toil to blot in vain.
Thus the soft breeze, like some forgotten dream,
Sighs o'er the oil that smooths the ruffled stream;
Yet flits unheeded o'er the wat'ry glass,
Nor breathes impression on its crystal face.
That love the vulgar, vanity and noise.
Pleasures like these, that bubble and are dead,
Fly from his peaceful walks and placid head;
That noble breast where sense and honour reign,
Disgrace and Folly toil to blot in vain.
Thus the soft breeze, like some forgotten dream,
Sighs o'er the oil that smooths the ruffled stream;
32
Nor breathes impression on its crystal face.
This is the man, this, this Creation's Lord,
Whom all must envy, yet whom all applaud!
This is the Man, “who,” crouds admiring cry,
“Has learnt to live, and trembles not to die!
“Who wisely steer'd where no loud tempests roar,
“No rocks tremendous threaten from the shore;
“But kept life's middle stream, whose waters past,
“Death frowns no more, and heav'n is man's at last!”
Whom all must envy, yet whom all applaud!
This is the Man, “who,” crouds admiring cry,
“Has learnt to live, and trembles not to die!
“Who wisely steer'd where no loud tempests roar,
“No rocks tremendous threaten from the shore;
“But kept life's middle stream, whose waters past,
“Death frowns no more, and heav'n is man's at last!”
Ye purpled wretches, crown'd with vice and shame,
Wretches, whose all is vanity and name;
Ye scept'red Neros, pageants of an hour,
Whose god is Mammon, and whose idol Pow'r;
Say, can your bosoms smooth Contentment know,
With peace be gentle, or with Virtue glow?
Can hot Intemp'rance cool your boiling veins,
And yield to Virtue Reason's trampled reins?
Can shrivell'd Av'rice smooth the brow of Care,
Or pois'nous Envy antidote Despair?
Can mad Ambition, pow'rs unfetter'd lust,
Bid you be still, and tell you, ye are dust?
Go! search your treasures, mark the envious glance,
The hectic glow of Riot's revell'd dance;
Exalt your heads, where high Ambition shrouds
His arm in thunders, and his eye in clouds;
And is it there Peace hides her hermit head,
Woes are no more, and human wishes dead?
Say, Wilmot, first at Pleasure's painted goal;
Say, royal Richmond, with thy shrivell'd soul;
Tell, stern Eliza thou, whose vengeance dread
Fell envy pour'd on sad Maria's head;
Tell, high-brow'd Wolsey, son of splendid Care,
Thou castle, built of vanity and air;
Say, sleeps Repose where Conscience finds no rest?
Does bliss enrapture in the guilty breast?
Wretches, whose all is vanity and name;
Ye scept'red Neros, pageants of an hour,
Whose god is Mammon, and whose idol Pow'r;
Say, can your bosoms smooth Contentment know,
With peace be gentle, or with Virtue glow?
Can hot Intemp'rance cool your boiling veins,
And yield to Virtue Reason's trampled reins?
Can shrivell'd Av'rice smooth the brow of Care,
Or pois'nous Envy antidote Despair?
Can mad Ambition, pow'rs unfetter'd lust,
Bid you be still, and tell you, ye are dust?
Go! search your treasures, mark the envious glance,
The hectic glow of Riot's revell'd dance;
Exalt your heads, where high Ambition shrouds
His arm in thunders, and his eye in clouds;
33
Woes are no more, and human wishes dead?
Say, Wilmot, first at Pleasure's painted goal;
Say, royal Richmond, with thy shrivell'd soul;
Tell, stern Eliza thou, whose vengeance dread
Fell envy pour'd on sad Maria's head;
Tell, high-brow'd Wolsey, son of splendid Care,
Thou castle, built of vanity and air;
Say, sleeps Repose where Conscience finds no rest?
Does bliss enrapture in the guilty breast?
While kings and nobles share the thorns of Woe,
Some still are scatter'd on the crouds below.
See thro' the mob, where Vice triumphant rules,
And vacant Ign'rance stares among her fools;
See Discontent her mutt'ring lips conceal!
And loud Contention threat the public weal!
See Filth, disgusting, wallow in her mire,
And Noise and Riot light eternal fire!
And, ah! let Pity turn her dewy eyes,
Where gasping Penury unfriended lies;
Where wild-eyed Hunger bows her fainting head,
And sickness swoons upon her tatter'd bed!
There no mild hand uprears the drooping form,
No meek Benevolence averts the storm!
Soft pillow'd Ease, that slumbers off the day,
And haughty Grandeur turn in scorn away;
Till he, whom Fortune never call'd her own,
Sinks in the silent grave, unpitied and unknown!
Some still are scatter'd on the crouds below.
See thro' the mob, where Vice triumphant rules,
And vacant Ign'rance stares among her fools;
See Discontent her mutt'ring lips conceal!
And loud Contention threat the public weal!
See Filth, disgusting, wallow in her mire,
And Noise and Riot light eternal fire!
And, ah! let Pity turn her dewy eyes,
Where gasping Penury unfriended lies;
Where wild-eyed Hunger bows her fainting head,
And sickness swoons upon her tatter'd bed!
There no mild hand uprears the drooping form,
No meek Benevolence averts the storm!
34
And haughty Grandeur turn in scorn away;
Till he, whom Fortune never call'd her own,
Sinks in the silent grave, unpitied and unknown!
O let me drop from scenes so full of care,
Rank's gilded wrinkles, and the Pauper's tear;
O let me drop, Retirement, to thy shades,
Thy bubbling runnels, and thy silent glades;
Thy fields, where Cheerfulness disports the day;
Thy groves, where pensive silence loves to stray;
Thy level lawns, each pasture and each plain,
And all the beauties of thy woodland reign!
Rank's gilded wrinkles, and the Pauper's tear;
O let me drop, Retirement, to thy shades,
Thy bubbling runnels, and thy silent glades;
Thy fields, where Cheerfulness disports the day;
Thy groves, where pensive silence loves to stray;
Thy level lawns, each pasture and each plain,
And all the beauties of thy woodland reign!
With these, sufficiency, content, and health,
I scorn alike nobility and wealth;
Pomp and parade, like vengeful furies, fly,
And up no heights ambitious lift mine eye.
Religion only, as it only shou'd,
Will make me noble, when it makes me good;
Rich in her smiles, I glory to be man,
And life's no more a shadow and a span.
I scorn alike nobility and wealth;
Pomp and parade, like vengeful furies, fly,
And up no heights ambitious lift mine eye.
Religion only, as it only shou'd,
Will make me noble, when it makes me good;
Rich in her smiles, I glory to be man,
And life's no more a shadow and a span.
How sweet to rise, when Morn's refulgent hand
Waves o'er the bright'ning sky her magic wand;
How sweet to rise, with manly Temp'rance strong,
And hear the Lark begin his quaver'd song;
To view Creation smiling as she glows,
And see fresh Nature waken from repose!
Boast ye, ye sons of Opulence and Pow'r,
Boast ye, 'midst all your treasures, such an hour?
Can pallid Sloth desert her downy rest,
Or panting Asthma lift th' unweildy breast?
Does nightly Revel spring to hail the sky,
Or Riot wake with Animation's eye?
Waves o'er the bright'ning sky her magic wand;
How sweet to rise, with manly Temp'rance strong,
And hear the Lark begin his quaver'd song;
35
And see fresh Nature waken from repose!
Boast ye, ye sons of Opulence and Pow'r,
Boast ye, 'midst all your treasures, such an hour?
Can pallid Sloth desert her downy rest,
Or panting Asthma lift th' unweildy breast?
Does nightly Revel spring to hail the sky,
Or Riot wake with Animation's eye?
And ah! when Ev'nings “gradual dusky veil”
Bouys its dark texture on the soften'd gale,
How lov'd yon arbour, where the honied flow'rs
Bloom on the air, and scent the floating hours!
There, when bright Titan sinks behind the hill,
And his last colours paint the village rill;
How joys the eye, attentive to the skies,
To step down slowly, as he slowly dies;
While streams of splendour roll along the west,
And mark the limits of his purple rest!
So sinks the man, whose conscience Heav'n approves,
Whom Angels venerate, and Virtue loves.
Lamenting Honour weeps upon his hearse,
And carves in gold the monumental verse;
While Glory beams o'er Death's retiring gloom,
And, with unfading splendour, crowns his tomb!
Bouys its dark texture on the soften'd gale,
How lov'd yon arbour, where the honied flow'rs
Bloom on the air, and scent the floating hours!
There, when bright Titan sinks behind the hill,
And his last colours paint the village rill;
How joys the eye, attentive to the skies,
To step down slowly, as he slowly dies;
While streams of splendour roll along the west,
And mark the limits of his purple rest!
So sinks the man, whose conscience Heav'n approves,
Whom Angels venerate, and Virtue loves.
Lamenting Honour weeps upon his hearse,
And carves in gold the monumental verse;
While Glory beams o'er Death's retiring gloom,
And, with unfading splendour, crowns his tomb!
Thus pass his days, delightful and serene;
Thus lives the man, who gains the Golden Mean.
He shuns alike ambitious storms of strife,
And flies the noisy walks of vulgar life;
And, as Creation boasts her greenest birth,
Where the mild zone enclasps the smiling earth:
Far from the North and all its winters drear,
And where no southern summers scorch the year;
Thus joys his soul, thus smiles upon the day,
Where life's soft medium gilds his flow'ry way;
Where Pleasure, pure as Heav'n itself that sent,
And Solitude sit dimpled with content;
Where Peace is pomp, Humility a king,
And Nature boasts one unrevolving spring.
Thus lives the man, who gains the Golden Mean.
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And flies the noisy walks of vulgar life;
And, as Creation boasts her greenest birth,
Where the mild zone enclasps the smiling earth:
Far from the North and all its winters drear,
And where no southern summers scorch the year;
Thus joys his soul, thus smiles upon the day,
Where life's soft medium gilds his flow'ry way;
Where Pleasure, pure as Heav'n itself that sent,
And Solitude sit dimpled with content;
Where Peace is pomp, Humility a king,
And Nature boasts one unrevolving spring.
| Juvenilia | |