Poems, on various subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Come, thou unconquer'd pow'r! that nid'st the line,
And boldly bidd'st the wild idea rise,
Rush on my sense! swift o'er my tranquil soul
Breathe thy strong influence, till her deepest springs
Are all in motion set. Lo! the calm sea,
Like me, inactive, waits the breath of Heav'n;
Once caught! obedient to his cause, he rolls
His aged billows to their destin'd shore,
Bearing the wishing rover to his home.

But you! who mourn the majesty of man,
Too early marr'd in the fair shameless youth;
You, who have sigh'd, when in the list of sin,
A blooming champion in her cause he stood,
Till vengeance met him in her full career,
And hurl'd him blotted to a timeless grave;
To you I bend, to you I strike the lyre,
Rustic and unharmonious—from your walls
Lo! shrieking Infamy for ever flies,
Whose poisons long sate heavy on the winds,
While from her blister'd tongue the furies fell,
More thick than motes, which revel in the sun.

Fame bears your plaudit o'er the freezing wave,
Where shiv'ring seamen wait their friendly star
Which warns them from the statue-forming coast,

Nor there alone, beyond the burning line,
Her breath more fragrant than Arabia's gale,
Shall waft your name, and sing the social joy
That vibrates on the heart, when Pity strikes
The trembling chords. Ah! what the transient gleam
Of falsly-glaring Greatness—what the bliss
Of loud unfeeling Mirth—opposed to this
Of reaching out your friendly hand, to save
The sinking form of Innocence, ere Vice
Hath dragg'd her down to misery and shame?

What roaring hurricane, or lightning blue,
Can fright the soul, who, thro' the op'ning clouds,
Discerns the arm of Deity? Oh, Faith!
Thou buoy of mortals, firmly fix'd on thee,
Triumphing, we bestride the storms of life,
Nor quit thee wreck'd on Death's unjoyful shore.

Tremendous scene! when the unwieldly hulk
Sleeps on the breast of Ocean, nor obeys
The eager efforts of despairing man.
Bereft of her tall mast, and friendly sail,
Like a too stubborn beauty stript of pride,
She disobeys, or runs to wild misrule.
Then, what's her giddy motion? Who shall steer
The crazy helm of Hope? Yon liquid hills
She lazily attempts, or having gain'd
Their wanton summit, lo! she sinks again,
More faintly moves. The next approaching wave
Breaks on her bosom, and she strives no more.

In that sad moment, the devoted youth,
Whom your strong hand snatch'd early from the jaws
Of soul-devouring Guilt, shall tranquil meet

The death he cannot shun; and hope to rise,
When Jesus, walking on the wave, shall bid
The deep throw up her treasures. Awful thought!
Then shall old Ocean end his wonted toils,
And wond'ring, hail Omnipotence: huge seas,
Rise o'er the promontory's hoary brow,
Where girt by pow'r, they never more shall rush
Down to their long-lov'd beds, but leave exposed
The monst'rous phocæ with their horrid forms.
Here mingled atoms in formation pant,
Impatient for perfection; here the whale,
Rapacious shark, and crocodile, more false
Than lover's tears, are suddenly arouz'd
By the tremendous uproar; loathing air,
They beat their sins and die. The em'rald, dropt
From Celia's ear, is seen; the lovely maid

Long, long, forgotten! Ingots rare, and gems
Of wond'rous price, by surly Nabob priz'd,
All meet the eye in vain. Oh hideous world!
Where ceaseless motion reigns; whence the wild roar
Of Chaos, chain'd to thy foundation, sounds
Thro' all thy regions; while triumphant Death,
Amid the lawless anarchy, awaits
The struggling mariner, and bears him down.

Ah! hapless Marcius! long thy faithful arm
Bore up thy sinking bride, till lost to hope,
Swift ye descended in a fond embrace:
Arise, ye pair! this is the fated hour,
When dreary Death throws ope his prison doors,
While spirits rush on day; and in this hour
The Sons of Commerce may with firmness gaze
On Heav'ns recording angel; who, with smiles,

Holds high their institution: strike, ye throngs
Of winged cherubims! yet louder sound
The strain of mercy, mix'd with grateful praise.

Hail, sacred few! who bade the sea-boy fix
His eye on attributes which strike his soul
With deep amazement! See he stands aghast!
While the red thunder-bolt is swiftly borne
Near his astonish'd ear: the dreadful sound
With horror chills his blood, nor dares weak sense
Rest on th'avenging herald, but shuts out
The image of his threaten'd dissolution.

'Tis past! and now the humbled soul would turn
Most willing to her cause. Hark, silent joy,
In the unbidden sigh, with force ascends;
The short ejaculation's breath'd in haste,

And half-pronounced, left the loud crew should feel
An unavailing fear. O hard Despair!
Too oft thou sitt'st in darkness on the mind
Of the old seaman, stubborn in his woes;
Who, when he braves the death he's sure to meet,
Will seldom own Religion. Happy ye!
Who gently shed on poor neglected youth
The joys of social love; but chiefly thou,
O Burke , whose sensibility is pain,
Melting with keenest agony, accept
The praises of this long-forgotten race.
Bristol shall hail thy name, and sacred hold
Thy records from oblivion's deep abyss,
While Glory, nurs'd within her merchants arms,
Shall blaze refulgent on a wond'ring world.

Recorder of Bristol.