Poems by William Kendall | ||
ELEGIAC STANZAS.
Questi sospiri ardenti
Refrigerio del cuore;
Ma son piuttosto impetuosi venti
Che spiran nel incendio, e'l fan maggiore
Con turbini d'amore.
I. SONG.
Her shadows pale sorrow has thrown,
How soon from the glances of truth
Life's pleasing delusions are flown!
Bright visions illumine the air:
The mountains are clouded—the grove
Resounds with the voice of despair.
And gently deceive my fond mind;
For truth, while she hastens your flight,
Leaves torment unceasing behind!
II. SONG.
My cheek confess'd health's roseate bloom;
My soul, nor love nor sorrow knew—
How beauty's power hath changed my doom!
Wandering I mourn my secret pain:
The passing breeze, with lengthen'd sighs,
In pity murmurs to my strain.
My fears in silent slumber rest;
Now dreams that every thought beguile,
Serenely soothing, chear my breast.
Again tumultuous passions rise;
Again my tortured bosom burns,
And all the dear illusion flies!
III. To MUSIC.
Goddess, awake! dispel the storm.
What varied charms attend thy lay;
What calm delight thy notes serene
Diffuse, to chear life's lonely scene;
Let bards in lofty measures tell,
More skill'd to sound the muse's shell:
Let these, replete with lyric flame,
In rapturous verse exalt thy name,
Inspired with melting sweetness sing,
Or boldly sweep the fervid string.
Be mine an humbler wreath to gain—
To paint a fond enamour'd swain,
By passion's flattering dream betray'd,
Who flew to meet a yielding maid;
But, hapless, for his promis'd fair
Clasp'd the fell demon of despair!
Bright goddess, to record thy power.
Profusely pours her pensive beams
Along the valleys lonely way,
I see the love-lorn mourner stray.
Oft to the skies he turns his sight,
Invokes the living lamps of light,
Or throws convulsive glances round,
Or wildly gazes on the ground.
But ah! no tears bedew those eyes,
From that pale lip no murmur flies:
He faints—he falls! his languid breath
Hangs fluttering o'er the verge of death.
Till sorrow's wound no longer bleed!
Ætherial sounds sublimely rise.
The goddess hears,—she wakes the reed:
The wounds of sorrow cease to bleed;
Nights minstrel emulates the song.
Again her swelling voice prepares
Diviner measures, softer airs.
Swift from their haunts, on slender wing,
The Fairy bands delighted spring!
In crowds they fly—no lingering sprite
Of all the shadowy tribes of night,
In dripping cave, or mossy cell,
Remains to weave the wonted spell.
Retired within a veiling cloud
The listening Fays their numbers shroud;
And as the soaring song aspires
Return the strain with echoing lyres.
The wondrous scene thy lays unfold.
Enchantress! o'er that faded cheek
Serenely stealing tears bespeak
What lenient aid thy notes impart,
What balm to heal a wounded heart.
Grief's raging pang for thee subsides,
And passion checks his whelming tides.
Dispel the louring gloom of death:
He drinks thy spirit chearing note
And all his fears in Lethe float.
The lover's sorrow sinks to peace.
Assembled Elves! in close array
Your squadrons join, and haste away!
In dewy grot, or leafy bower,
With mystic dance consume the hour,
Till orient rays of ruddy light
Announce the falling reign of night.
Awhile farewell! I own thy sway:
My bosom feels thy sacred fire,
I bend obedient to thy lyre.
Lives there a wretch of rugged soul
Unaw'd by Music's soft controul?
Let love the senseless savage wound—
Ev'n he shall own the force of sound.
IV. SONG.
Languid accents, breathing woe,
Sighs of sorrow, throbbing fears—
Lovers, only lovers, know!
Feel awhile the storm of grief;
Hope affords a transient ray,
Fleeting pleasures yield relief.
Time can envy's self destroy:
But o'er love's neglected slave
Ages pass, nor waft a joy.
V. SONG.
Thy songs sincere unheeded pine,
Thy lays too deeply sigh:
Not all the mournful muse's art
Could ever win a woman's heart,
Or melt a scornful eye.
From every line let praises beam,
Divinely paint her charms:
Imperious beauty then may deign
With yielding smiles to meet her swain,
And bless his longing arms!
VI. SONG.
Whose gloom no sounds of joy infest;
Amid your sadly-silent shades
I seek the tranquil seat of rest.
Here let my loud lamenting close:
May no rude voice, no rustling wind
Disturb a mourners sweet repose!
These eyelids ope again to weep;
May death, dissolving sorrow's chain,
Reward my cares with endless sleep!
VII. To INSENSIBILITY.
To calm the restless powers of mind,
O thou, whose solitary sway
The passions' fury train obey;
Whose might, affliction's smiles confess,
Can blunt the dagger of distress:
Too long each agonizing smart
That wakes to woe the feeling heart,
Desponding thoughts and anxious fears
Have bathed these sleepless eyes in tears!
At length from fortune's rage I fly,
And breathe to thee my votive sigh:
Love's faithless shrine I seek no more,
Thee, thee alone my lays adore.
Destroy the tender bloom of life;
No blush on thy smooth cheek appears.
Dim as cool twilight's dawning ray,
E'er yet the vivid tints of day
With orient lustre gild the plains,
Thy never changing eye remains.
Eternal source of soft repose!
From thee nor joy nor sorrow flows:
'Tis thine, with opiate smiles, to tame
Despair's wild wave and envy's flame.
At thy approach, a mournful train,
Love's pining slaves forget their pain,
Or strive with tranquil soul to bear
The sting of heart-corroding care,
Till thou with lenient hand diffuse
On every wound thy balmy dews:
Then, feeling's tyrant reign is o'er
And hope and fear distract no more.
I woo thee with no fruitless vow.
I feel at length unwonted rest
Breathe slowly o'er my labouring breast.
Thus ever let my verse prevail;
Propitious thus my prayer attend
Till life, and pain, and terror end!
Should passion's storm again invade
The slumber of my peaceful shade,
Oh, shield me in thy sheltering arms,
Chase from my soul love's rude alarms;
Wave, gently wave thy magic wand—
In cold oblivion quench his brand!
At thy lov'd fane a languid lay;
Where (charm'd by softly soothing sound,
While listening swains her lyre surround;)
This placid strain shall ever flow:
“If aught can calm a lover's woe,
If aught the captive mind can free—
'Tis blest Insensibility!”
V. To LAURA.
When clouds and gather'd tempests rise;
And pale-eyed spectres urge their flight
In sullen pomp along the skies:
O'er the wide heath—my passing form
A mournful fleeting phantom seems,
A kindred spirit of the storm.
Frowns in the furrows of my cheek;
So sadly thro' the lurid air
My cries of piercing anguish break!
The mountain torrents hoarsely roar:
Unmoved amidst the winds I weep,
Amidst th' affrighted groves deplore.
And flocks and fearful shepherds start;
Yet no tumultuous scenes appal
A lost rejected lover's heart.
Can rushing torrents raise alarms;
With cruel speed while Laura flies
To bless a favour'd Rival's arms!
At the moment this sheet was printing off, the Poems of Mrs. Robinson were sent to the author by a friend. In page 123 of that elegant collection, is contained an answer to the above Elegy, entitled “Echo to him who complains.” The Elegy is stated by Mrs. R. to have appeared in the Oracle of the 25th of June, 1790, addressed to Laura, and signed ‘Ignotus.’ In a note on this signature, the writer is supposed to be Della Crusca. Sufficiently gratified by the flattering mistake and by the exquisite poem to which it has given rise, Mr. K. would not have mentioned this circumstance, had he not been anxious to prevent every suspicion of interfering with the literary property of Mr. Merry.
In the years 1789 and 1790, Mr. K. resided in London, where he wrote this Elegy. Having a particular reason to wish its insertion under the signature Ignotus, he left a copy himself at the Office of The World, where he was unknown. Not observing its appearance, he called a few days after, requesting the composition might be returned, but was informed it had been mislaid. How it came into The Oracle, he cannot explain.
The superior elegance of Mrs. Robinson's Echo, induces the author to present it to the reader, who will perceive a difference in the last stanza of the original Elegy, which in its primitive form, ended thus:
“Awakes the ruthless rage of pain?
“What terror bursting from the sky,
“Like Love distracts the tortur'd brain?”
A slight variation he imagines occurred also in other verses, but the rhimes were similar.
Where the loud tempests yelling rise;
Where horror wings her sullen flight
Beneath the bleak and lurid skies.
O'er the scorch'd wood, thy well-known form
More radiant than an angel seems,
Contending with the ruthless storm.
Drink the big tear that scalds thy cheek;
While thro' the dark and turbid air,
The screams of haggard Envy break.
I hear the dashing waters roar;
Ah! turn thee, turn thee, cease to weep,
Thou hast no reason to deplore.
See Envy from thy glances start;
No more shall howling blasts appall,
Or with'ring grief corrode thy heart.
Drops the fond balm for ev'ry pain
She comes, the offspring of the sky,
“To raze the troubles of the brain.”
IX. To FORTUNE.
With energy to madness wrought—
Burst wildly forth, ye songs of woe,
Ye lyric streams, tumultuous flow!
Of fate's desponding victims rise,
Where discord wakes her thrilling strain,
Where shrieks of war affright the plain;
Where clashing arms terrific shine—
To drench the field in blood be thine!
From scenes like these, avenger, say
What lures thy wandering steps away?
Dispel not thus the sacred charm
That soothed my slumbering soul's alarm,
Nor chase the vision of relief,
Nor whelm a wretch in tenfold grief!
Methought each sense of pain was lost:
Oblivious peace my sighs suppress'd,
And bade my fluttering pulses rest.
But rudely torn from languor's shrine,
O'erwhelm'd with grief, again I pine.
Peace wings afar her trackless flight—
New terrors rise: new fears affright!
The maid that erst awoke thy sighs:
Nor weeping love's unspotted truth,
Nor all the fervid prayers of youth,
Nor virtue's warmest wish could save
The bloom of beauty from the grave.”
Vibrate with more than mortal pains:
My shivering limbs, my visage pale,
Too well affirm the mournful tale.
Can airy phantoms now beguile?
The victor's palm, the poet's bay—
No blooming wreath my songs require,
No ray demand of heavenly fire.
For tearless eyes thy charms unfold,
Thy glittering piles of guilty gold;
Me wealth nor fame nor power can please—
All, all I ask is languid ease,
Lethargic hours from passion free,
Not joy but listless apathy!
To thee I raise my streaming eyes!
Shall life consum'd by slow decay
In lingering torment waste away?
Rouse all thy fury! swiftly shed
Heaven's fiercest horrors o'er my head!
Rend the frail texture of my frame,
With withering heat my blood inflame!
Let death approach with hurried pace
And clasp me in his cold embrace!
Poems by William Kendall | ||