 | The river-side |  |
99
BOOK III.
ARGUMENT.
Address to the Rivers—Reflections—Life—Characters of several Rivers—The Cagar— Thames—Avon—The Lee—The Rhine—The Niger—Mungo Park—Slave Trade— The British Senate—Wilberforce—the Nile—Bronti—Elegy on his fall—Thebais— Ruins—Traveller in Upper Egypt—Reflection on the Revolution of Empires—The Persians and Medes—Assyrians—Nimrod—Sardanapalus—Chaldea—The Turcomanian Soldans—The Colchian and Susianan Cities—Abasuerus—Tyranny of the Turk in Egypt—Britannia—View of the Desarts of Guanziga and Zaoula—Barca—Rout of the Caravans—A City in want of Water occasioned by a Drought—By a Siege, her waters being diverted by the Besiegers—Crissa—Babylon—Chaldean Priests— Astrology—Address to Water—The River deepened in its course—The Weir—A Flood—Salmon Fry—Salmon fishing at Night—Poting—The bank of the River more cultivated—Villas—A Hut—Bathers—Boys at Play—Reflections on the Education of Children—An Old Castle—Story of Desmond—Aunagal—War between Brune and O'Connor—Death of Desmond—An Attack at Night—A Sally from the Castle—A single Combat—Death of O'Connor—Approach to the City—The River displays the bustle of Commerce—Conclusion.
101
Rivers; while to your inexhausted urns
I pour this verse of mine, as wand'ring oft
As are your courses, and by frequent stops
Choked up and clogg'd, through which its sluggish way
It slowly winds; how often have your streams
Call'd to my mind the running stream of Life,
That ceaseless flows? Though some with smoother flood
Through fertile valleys glide and flow'ry fields,
Rich in the umbrage of their verdant woods
And wide extended lawns of emerald hue:
Yet to the deep their shining currents lead
With pace as certain and as true, as those
That pour'd by nature on a steril soil
I pour this verse of mine, as wand'ring oft
As are your courses, and by frequent stops
Choked up and clogg'd, through which its sluggish way
It slowly winds; how often have your streams
Call'd to my mind the running stream of Life,
That ceaseless flows? Though some with smoother flood
Through fertile valleys glide and flow'ry fields,
Rich in the umbrage of their verdant woods
And wide extended lawns of emerald hue:
Yet to the deep their shining currents lead
With pace as certain and as true, as those
That pour'd by nature on a steril soil
102
Through rocks and desarts work their troubled way,
Fractured and torn in many a rugged fall.
Some Pilgrim-like with lonely footing slow
Pace silent on—the social world and all
The intercourse of man and busy life
Forsaken—so the Cagar, saddest stream
That waters eastern lands: Like merchants some,
As Thames, or Avon famed thro' farthest climes,
Where grew the reed immortal Shakspeare blew:
Or as my native Lee, whose fruitful stream
Bears on her azure breast the freighted fleets
Of farthest lands—capacious to receive
All Albion's floating castles, from the flaw
Of sternest Boreas when he blusters most,
Or Auster's blasts, with mountain billows heaved
Dreadful before his sway, such as once drove
The shattered navy of insulting Spain
Upon Hibernia's shores, in that proud age,
When great Eliza bore the scepter'd helm
Of Britain, and the great Armada wide
Her haughty flags unfurl'd, in dread array,
O'er the Atlantic wave. The martial Rhine
Thro' fields of iron and the frequent roar
Of hostile ordnance rolls, inured to blood.
And many more that near or far remote
Refresh the earth and temper Phœbus' ray,
Beneath the fervor of the burning line,
Or through the vales of Erin's verdant isle.
Now should we pass, o'er Africk's sultr'y climes,
To where the Niger rolls his mighty stream
With doubtful current, whether bent his course
Or to the rising or the setting sun,
Till one advent'rous man, thro' perils great
And toil immense, hunger, and thirst, and pain,
The question solved, and saw him eastward flow
Majestic thro' his woods, and saw, besides,
Upon his banks, the savage Moor usurp
A haughty rule and bow the vassal necks
Of Monarchs to the ground and on them tread.
In this warm region where unclouded Sol,
Walking his bright ecliptic, downward pours
His rays intense upon the woolly crowns
Of her black sons, who down the Gambia's stream
Or Senegal, float yearly to augment
The cries of slavery in foreign lands,
And bleed, that Europe's pamper'd sons may glut
On delicacies which their climes refuse.
O! violated nature, every tie,
Each fond endearment, every anxious wish,
And every tender ligament that binds
Man to his home, his country and his friends;
Torn, cruel torn, while nature pours in vain
The burning tear and heaves the heavy sigh.
But Britain hears the hapless negro's groans,
And bids him hope; throughout the western isles
The tidings fly, and at the joyful sound
The slave already drags a lighter chain.
Yes, from thy senate, Britain, comes a voice
That bids aloud the dreadful traffick cease,
Bids human blood no more your commerce stain,
Nor human flesh deform. Happy thine Isle,
And happy he, who with unwearied zeal
And truth in bright robed eloquence arrayed
Pleaded the Captive's cause, and dauntless stood
Th'unconquer'd champion of Humanity.
Here, in the rudest state of social life,
Within his simple hut, the native shuns
Th'oppressive day, inactive till the call
Of War arouse him, or the needful chace;
Unknown to him the arts of polish'd states,
Unknown their pleasures, but unknown their crimes.
Fractured and torn in many a rugged fall.
Some Pilgrim-like with lonely footing slow
Pace silent on—the social world and all
The intercourse of man and busy life
Forsaken—so the Cagar, saddest stream
That waters eastern lands: Like merchants some,
As Thames, or Avon famed thro' farthest climes,
Where grew the reed immortal Shakspeare blew:
Or as my native Lee, whose fruitful stream
Bears on her azure breast the freighted fleets
Of farthest lands—capacious to receive
All Albion's floating castles, from the flaw
Of sternest Boreas when he blusters most,
Or Auster's blasts, with mountain billows heaved
Dreadful before his sway, such as once drove
103
Upon Hibernia's shores, in that proud age,
When great Eliza bore the scepter'd helm
Of Britain, and the great Armada wide
Her haughty flags unfurl'd, in dread array,
O'er the Atlantic wave. The martial Rhine
Thro' fields of iron and the frequent roar
Of hostile ordnance rolls, inured to blood.
And many more that near or far remote
Refresh the earth and temper Phœbus' ray,
Beneath the fervor of the burning line,
Or through the vales of Erin's verdant isle.
Now should we pass, o'er Africk's sultr'y climes,
To where the Niger rolls his mighty stream
With doubtful current, whether bent his course
Or to the rising or the setting sun,
104
And toil immense, hunger, and thirst, and pain,
The question solved, and saw him eastward flow
Majestic thro' his woods, and saw, besides,
Upon his banks, the savage Moor usurp
A haughty rule and bow the vassal necks
Of Monarchs to the ground and on them tread.
In this warm region where unclouded Sol,
Walking his bright ecliptic, downward pours
His rays intense upon the woolly crowns
Of her black sons, who down the Gambia's stream
Or Senegal, float yearly to augment
The cries of slavery in foreign lands,
And bleed, that Europe's pamper'd sons may glut
On delicacies which their climes refuse.
O! violated nature, every tie,
105
And every tender ligament that binds
Man to his home, his country and his friends;
Torn, cruel torn, while nature pours in vain
The burning tear and heaves the heavy sigh.
But Britain hears the hapless negro's groans,
And bids him hope; throughout the western isles
The tidings fly, and at the joyful sound
The slave already drags a lighter chain.
Yes, from thy senate, Britain, comes a voice
That bids aloud the dreadful traffick cease,
Bids human blood no more your commerce stain,
Nor human flesh deform. Happy thine Isle,
And happy he, who with unwearied zeal
And truth in bright robed eloquence arrayed
Pleaded the Captive's cause, and dauntless stood
106
Here, in the rudest state of social life,
Within his simple hut, the native shuns
Th'oppressive day, inactive till the call
Of War arouse him, or the needful chace;
Unknown to him the arts of polish'd states,
Unknown their pleasures, but unknown their crimes.
Or should we eastward bend our varying course
To where the Nile his fruitful current rolls,
Proud in the ponderous ruins that enrich
His venerable course, whose Naiads late
Hid their affrighted heads, with terror fill'd
At Bronti thund'ring in Britannia's cause.
But stay my reed this proud exulting strain,
Another mood befits our alter'd state,
Low on his funeral bed the victor lies,
Bath'd and embalmed in a nation's tears.
O! victory too dear, O! conquest won
With too much price, that cost a Nelson's life,
Sad Trafalgar beheld him from her cliffs,
Beheld him conquer, and beheld him fall,
While every white wave all bedrop'd with gore,
That roll'd with boding murmurs to her strand,
Brought some ill omen of the dreadful fight
That sunk the naval hopes of France and Spain.
To where the Nile his fruitful current rolls,
Proud in the ponderous ruins that enrich
His venerable course, whose Naiads late
Hid their affrighted heads, with terror fill'd
At Bronti thund'ring in Britannia's cause.
But stay my reed this proud exulting strain,
107
Low on his funeral bed the victor lies,
Bath'd and embalmed in a nation's tears.
O! victory too dear, O! conquest won
With too much price, that cost a Nelson's life,
Sad Trafalgar beheld him from her cliffs,
Beheld him conquer, and beheld him fall,
While every white wave all bedrop'd with gore,
That roll'd with boding murmurs to her strand,
Brought some ill omen of the dreadful fight
That sunk the naval hopes of France and Spain.
What could they do, 'twas Nelson gave the word,
And at the sound pale horror, from the poop
Of every hostile ship that stood the brunt
Of British fire, and Britain's hearts of oak,
With trembling hand let fall the staff of war
To grace the laurel'd ship that bore him home.
And see the Victory, with sails that bear
The tatter'd records of that fatal day,
Nears with her charge Britannia's sadden'd shore,
And views her ports with mourning faces throng'd,
While on his sun-burnt cheek the gallant tar
Wipes th'involuntary, silent tear.
And at the sound pale horror, from the poop
Of every hostile ship that stood the brunt
108
With trembling hand let fall the staff of war
To grace the laurel'd ship that bore him home.
And see the Victory, with sails that bear
The tatter'd records of that fatal day,
Nears with her charge Britannia's sadden'd shore,
And views her ports with mourning faces throng'd,
While on his sun-burnt cheek the gallant tar
Wipes th'involuntary, silent tear.
What sound is that, by every crooked coast
And hollow rock and every sandy bay
Repeated shrill, from off the heaving main?
It is the genius of the green sea flood,
That mourns with Albion for her darling son,
Making her moan to every hanging crag,
And bleak protruding cape that round her isles
Whitens contending with the ocean spray:
And every wave that curls his azure head,
From Calpe's rock or Gades, votive isle,
To Kilda's solitary shore, and thence
To Labrador, or from the stormy cape
Of Terra del Fuego to the coast
Of Coromandel and her towns conveys
These mingled tidings, wide from coast to coast,
Great Britain conquers, gallant Nelson dies,
And both the victors and the vanquished mourn.
And hollow rock and every sandy bay
Repeated shrill, from off the heaving main?
It is the genius of the green sea flood,
That mourns with Albion for her darling son,
109
And bleak protruding cape that round her isles
Whitens contending with the ocean spray:
And every wave that curls his azure head,
From Calpe's rock or Gades, votive isle,
To Kilda's solitary shore, and thence
To Labrador, or from the stormy cape
Of Terra del Fuego to the coast
Of Coromandel and her towns conveys
These mingled tidings, wide from coast to coast,
Great Britain conquers, gallant Nelson dies,
And both the victors and the vanquished mourn.
Who walks secure amid those dreary heaps
That the wide Thebais spread in ruin great,
That scarcely seem the work of mortal hands,
To see the pillar'd temples of her gods
Worship'd in ignorance, and curious tince
Her Hieroglyphicks dark, and perhaps less wise
Than men suppose? Who through her desarts free
From fear (lest ignorance with jealous eye
Should mark his steps and thwart his fond design,
To give his wondering countrymen the fruits
Of all his toil) ventures in painful search
Of precious relicks of Egyptian art,
Huge heaps of sculptured granite rear'd aloft
In frightful magnitude, the figures grim
Of their proud kings—Sphynxes and Aqueducts,
Or chisseled Sarcophagi to enrich
The storied volume? Who that parching faint
With lengthen'd travel 'neath the downward ray
Of burning Phœbus, by Tentira's walls
Or far Philoe's isle but fondly turns
His anxious thoughts to climes of kinder soil,
And thinks of shrubby vales, and cooling rills,
Left far at home, perhaps in Britain's isle
Or green Hibernia? What to him avails,
That Egypt, once the cradle of the arts,
Gave to the world the early lessons bright
Of science, and imparted first to Greece,
By Cadmus thither sailing, the rude marks
Of thoughts made visible, thence letters call'd?
Around him spreads inhospitable wild
A dreary desart, comfortless and void,
No friendly cup invites his burning lip,
No roof his weary limbs; reflecting sad
He calls her cities from the grave of time,
Her crowded ports and marts of foreign ware,
Thebes with her hundred gates, Abydos, Coptos
The great Arabian empory, Syene,
And Sait the refuge of the son of God
Sojourning there, when Herod in his rage
Made childless many a mother, and the voice
In Bethlehem was heard of loud lament.
Within his mind, revolving sad the change,
Of earthly glories and of mortal things,
Views in their pride the Persian and the Mede,
The old Assyrian Monarchy, the thrones
Of mightiest kings from Nimrod in his race
To Sardanapalus feeble in his sway
Yet resolute to die amid his wealth,
When false Arbaces laid unnatural siege
To Nenevah,—the proud Chaldean too
The Turcomanian Soldans, and their state,
Who trod on gems, their towns of gorgeous wealth,
The golden Altuncala seat of kings
And Tefflis by the coward Georgian host
Forsaken, when the troops of Amurath
Marched 'gainst the Persian, by Mustapha led.
The Colchian towns and Susianian south
Of monarchs the proud seats, Sybaris first,
And Dioscurias, in whose spacious mart
Were heard three hundred tongues, where Rome maintain'd
As many learn'd interpreters to expound
The languages her various merchants used
From many a distant land collected here
To vend their wares. Nor Ulai forgets,
Ulai, whose walls with golden cement join'd,
(Where proud Ahasuerus wasted vain,
Six months in feasting his intemperate peers,)
Were by the Macedonian Robber erst destroyed.
And many more in long perspective lost
Of dark antiquity, the royal domes
Of puissant princes filling with alarm,
Wide empires, spreading far and near their sway,
Pouring their fierce battalions on the heads
Of weaker sovereigns, then sick of thought
And of the feeble state of human things
He sits desponding on old Nilus' shore.
That the wide Thebais spread in ruin great,
110
To see the pillar'd temples of her gods
Worship'd in ignorance, and curious tince
Her Hieroglyphicks dark, and perhaps less wise
Than men suppose? Who through her desarts free
From fear (lest ignorance with jealous eye
Should mark his steps and thwart his fond design,
To give his wondering countrymen the fruits
Of all his toil) ventures in painful search
Of precious relicks of Egyptian art,
Huge heaps of sculptured granite rear'd aloft
In frightful magnitude, the figures grim
Of their proud kings—Sphynxes and Aqueducts,
Or chisseled Sarcophagi to enrich
The storied volume? Who that parching faint
With lengthen'd travel 'neath the downward ray
111
Or far Philoe's isle but fondly turns
His anxious thoughts to climes of kinder soil,
And thinks of shrubby vales, and cooling rills,
Left far at home, perhaps in Britain's isle
Or green Hibernia? What to him avails,
That Egypt, once the cradle of the arts,
Gave to the world the early lessons bright
Of science, and imparted first to Greece,
By Cadmus thither sailing, the rude marks
Of thoughts made visible, thence letters call'd?
Around him spreads inhospitable wild
A dreary desart, comfortless and void,
No friendly cup invites his burning lip,
No roof his weary limbs; reflecting sad
He calls her cities from the grave of time,
112
Thebes with her hundred gates, Abydos, Coptos
The great Arabian empory, Syene,
And Sait the refuge of the son of God
Sojourning there, when Herod in his rage
Made childless many a mother, and the voice
In Bethlehem was heard of loud lament.
Within his mind, revolving sad the change,
Of earthly glories and of mortal things,
Views in their pride the Persian and the Mede,
The old Assyrian Monarchy, the thrones
Of mightiest kings from Nimrod in his race
To Sardanapalus feeble in his sway
Yet resolute to die amid his wealth,
When false Arbaces laid unnatural siege
To Nenevah,—the proud Chaldean too
113
Who trod on gems, their towns of gorgeous wealth,
The golden Altuncala seat of kings
And Tefflis by the coward Georgian host
Forsaken, when the troops of Amurath
Marched 'gainst the Persian, by Mustapha led.
The Colchian towns and Susianian south
Of monarchs the proud seats, Sybaris first,
And Dioscurias, in whose spacious mart
Were heard three hundred tongues, where Rome maintain'd
As many learn'd interpreters to expound
The languages her various merchants used
From many a distant land collected here
To vend their wares. Nor Ulai forgets,
Ulai, whose walls with golden cement join'd,
(Where proud Ahasuerus wasted vain,
114
Were by the Macedonian Robber erst destroyed.
And many more in long perspective lost
Of dark antiquity, the royal domes
Of puissant princes filling with alarm,
Wide empires, spreading far and near their sway,
Pouring their fierce battalions on the heads
Of weaker sovereigns, then sick of thought
And of the feeble state of human things
He sits desponding on old Nilus' shore.
There in the reedy shoals, a dreadful length,
The crocodile reposes, hideous beast;
Less dangerous to be encounter'd far
And dreaded less, than the deputed slaves
Of lawless Chiefs, rapacious and austere,
To those who journey on his slimy banks:
Where still the bloody and uplifted rod,
Of tyranny, that strikes at whom it may
Without controul, held by the haughty Turk,
Rules with oppressive sway the subject land.
Unhappy men, whom the capricious brow
Of some hot lord, with arbitrary nod,
To suffer dooms, or condescends to save!
Unhappier fair to worst of slavery doom'd,
Unhappier, whom superior charms adorn,
Forced oft by cruel custom to submit
To the cloyed passion of some feeble wretch,
Immured and wasting all their lovely prime,
Shut from the world where nature gave them charms
To be its sweetest blessing, and receive
From man their homage due, respect and love,
And be his solace in life's rugged road!
Britannia hail! thrice blest in tripple pow'r
Poised into equal rule; whose sons are free,
And daughters heavenly fair, may'st thou long stand
Impregnable to every foreign force,
Within in peace secure, with plenty crown'd,
Steady amidst the dread surrounding din,
That all embattled Europe shakes throughout,
And reign the mistress of the watr'y world.
The crocodile reposes, hideous beast;
Less dangerous to be encounter'd far
And dreaded less, than the deputed slaves
115
To those who journey on his slimy banks:
Where still the bloody and uplifted rod,
Of tyranny, that strikes at whom it may
Without controul, held by the haughty Turk,
Rules with oppressive sway the subject land.
Unhappy men, whom the capricious brow
Of some hot lord, with arbitrary nod,
To suffer dooms, or condescends to save!
Unhappier fair to worst of slavery doom'd,
Unhappier, whom superior charms adorn,
Forced oft by cruel custom to submit
To the cloyed passion of some feeble wretch,
Immured and wasting all their lovely prime,
Shut from the world where nature gave them charms
To be its sweetest blessing, and receive
116
And be his solace in life's rugged road!
Britannia hail! thrice blest in tripple pow'r
Poised into equal rule; whose sons are free,
And daughters heavenly fair, may'st thou long stand
Impregnable to every foreign force,
Within in peace secure, with plenty crown'd,
Steady amidst the dread surrounding din,
That all embattled Europe shakes throughout,
And reign the mistress of the watr'y world.
Still more unhappy are the ardent climes
Where never in the thirsty traveller's ear
Murmurs the rill soft trickling, nor the hum
Of vernal bee delights; where leaf or flow'r
Is never seen, nor blade of verdant grass
Blesses the earth, white in eternal sand
Wide glistening far a weary trackless waste,
Such as from Guanziga stretches on
To eastern Zaoula by the barbarous feet
Of dreary Atlas: Or that Libyan wild
Where Ammon's temple stood in times of old,
The high Oasis, by the wandering tribes
Of tented Arabs in pursuit of prey,
Trod frequent down from Barca to the Nile,
Whom oftentimes encamp'd old Memphis holds
Amid her ruins: Or that desart space
Of Chamo by the swarthy Tartar known:
The stony Araby, or such as bounds
The rosy Indus and her fruitful vales
And far o'er Persia desolate extends
Of sand or salt, reflecting burning suns,
Pass'd only by the lazy caravans,
Who, journeying up from Indian Agra north
By Ispahan and toward the Caspian shore,
Oft perish by insufferable drought.
Ah! what avails their deeply loaded store
Of pond'rous wealth and hoarded provender
Of date or luscious fig, if water fail
And the last cruise a stinted portion yields
To quench the burning fever in the the blood?
Where never in the thirsty traveller's ear
Murmurs the rill soft trickling, nor the hum
Of vernal bee delights; where leaf or flow'r
117
Blesses the earth, white in eternal sand
Wide glistening far a weary trackless waste,
Such as from Guanziga stretches on
To eastern Zaoula by the barbarous feet
Of dreary Atlas: Or that Libyan wild
Where Ammon's temple stood in times of old,
The high Oasis, by the wandering tribes
Of tented Arabs in pursuit of prey,
Trod frequent down from Barca to the Nile,
Whom oftentimes encamp'd old Memphis holds
Amid her ruins: Or that desart space
Of Chamo by the swarthy Tartar known:
The stony Araby, or such as bounds
The rosy Indus and her fruitful vales
And far o'er Persia desolate extends
118
Pass'd only by the lazy caravans,
Who, journeying up from Indian Agra north
By Ispahan and toward the Caspian shore,
Oft perish by insufferable drought.
Ah! what avails their deeply loaded store
Of pond'rous wealth and hoarded provender
Of date or luscious fig, if water fail
And the last cruise a stinted portion yields
To quench the burning fever in the the blood?
But in less dreary and inclement lands,
Where many a city lifts her tower'd head,
Amid her porticos some princely mart
The absent river mourns, or cooling spring,
And from the distant stream, o'er rock and vale
And sun-burnt plain, the ponderous aqueduct,
The work of ages, pours the scanty rill
To the great multitude within, who draw
From marble founts the cooling treasure forth.
But if all-pow'rful Phœbus dry the source
And the long duct becomes a dusty road,
What can supply the loss? Deep through the sand
Or the hard granit they industrious bore
Where lies the expected spring, retired far
'Neath numerous strata, which if haply found,
Is insufficient to the mighty draught.
Where many a city lifts her tower'd head,
Amid her porticos some princely mart
The absent river mourns, or cooling spring,
119
And sun-burnt plain, the ponderous aqueduct,
The work of ages, pours the scanty rill
To the great multitude within, who draw
From marble founts the cooling treasure forth.
But if all-pow'rful Phœbus dry the source
And the long duct becomes a dusty road,
What can supply the loss? Deep through the sand
Or the hard granit they industrious bore
Where lies the expected spring, retired far
'Neath numerous strata, which if haply found,
Is insufficient to the mighty draught.
Or if some general invest her walls
With desperate siege; and having idly plied
His battering engines 'gainst her bulwark'd tow'rs
With ineffectual parallels thrown up,
Cuts off her waters—vain her mural strength
And long artillery in deadly rows
On bastion, or tenaille, or counterguard,
Ravelin, lunet, or crown impregnable,
And lined with faithful troops inured to bear
Long warfare, and the hardships that attend
The soldier's painful trade. Along the walls
Crawl the pale citizens, and fell disease,
That o'er the city spreads her baleful wings,
More than the sword cuts off their marshall'd force,
Until at length by hard condition urged
The weary chiefs capitulate, and lo!
What the long cannon or the fell petard
Could not effect, ope the reluctant gates,
And let the conqueror in. Dire was the fate
Of Crissa proud, whose impious sons assail'd
Apollo's temple, and the sacred grove
Of Delphi and her altars stain'd with blood.
Nine years before her walls the marshall'd pow'rs
Of seven confederate cities hopeless lay
With fruitless siege prolonged and wasted strength
By pestilence swept off and help delay'd
Of needful provender, and warlike stores,
'Till that wise Coan who, as story tells,
Warn'd by the sacred oracle to aid
Eurilochus and heal his fainting troops,
Marking where under ground into the town,
By conduit deep convey'd, the water ran,
The secret spring defiled with pois'nous juice
Pouring with hand abhorr'd into the stream
Mortal infusion of pernicious herbs:
Thence swell'd their graves with dead and thinn'd their ranks.
Accursed deed! how many lay exposed
In open air, a prey to birds, while some
Crept into holes and sewers, their swelling frames
Previous interr'd, the parent from the child
Infected ran, the son his aged sire
Forsook, ev'n medicine its pow'rs denied,
Physicians fell administ'ring to the sick,
Vain sacrifice they offer, vain implore
Their gods to turn aside the dread decree
The pious minister before the shrine
Dies ere the sacred office he performs,
And all is death and terrible dismay
And ruin wide, 'till vengeance glutted deep
Reposes on the havoc it had made,
And sheathes the sated steel.
With desperate siege; and having idly plied
120
With ineffectual parallels thrown up,
Cuts off her waters—vain her mural strength
And long artillery in deadly rows
On bastion, or tenaille, or counterguard,
Ravelin, lunet, or crown impregnable,
And lined with faithful troops inured to bear
Long warfare, and the hardships that attend
The soldier's painful trade. Along the walls
Crawl the pale citizens, and fell disease,
That o'er the city spreads her baleful wings,
More than the sword cuts off their marshall'd force,
Until at length by hard condition urged
The weary chiefs capitulate, and lo!
What the long cannon or the fell petard
Could not effect, ope the reluctant gates,
121
Of Crissa proud, whose impious sons assail'd
Apollo's temple, and the sacred grove
Of Delphi and her altars stain'd with blood.
Nine years before her walls the marshall'd pow'rs
Of seven confederate cities hopeless lay
With fruitless siege prolonged and wasted strength
By pestilence swept off and help delay'd
Of needful provender, and warlike stores,
'Till that wise Coan who, as story tells,
Warn'd by the sacred oracle to aid
Eurilochus and heal his fainting troops,
Marking where under ground into the town,
By conduit deep convey'd, the water ran,
The secret spring defiled with pois'nous juice
Pouring with hand abhorr'd into the stream
122
Thence swell'd their graves with dead and thinn'd their ranks.
Accursed deed! how many lay exposed
In open air, a prey to birds, while some
Crept into holes and sewers, their swelling frames
Previous interr'd, the parent from the child
Infected ran, the son his aged sire
Forsook, ev'n medicine its pow'rs denied,
Physicians fell administ'ring to the sick,
Vain sacrifice they offer, vain implore
Their gods to turn aside the dread decree
The pious minister before the shrine
Dies ere the sacred office he performs,
And all is death and terrible dismay
And ruin wide, 'till vengeance glutted deep
Reposes on the havoc it had made,
And sheathes the sated steel.
123
How fell of old
The mistress of the world, great Babylon?
By labouring foes her proud Euphrates turn'd
To water other plains, her ancient course
Forsaking dry, hence Cyrus thro' her walls,
Else inaccessible to martial force,
Pour'd in a multitude, and razed her tow'rs
By Ninus or Semiramis adorned,
To the fallacious worship dedicate
Of heathen Ops or Belus; from whose heights,
Chaldean Priests the mystic rolling mark'd,
And fain would hear the harmony divine
Of that bright multitude of spheres disposed
In tuneful order, by the unerring hand
Of wisdom infinite, and, not content
To gaze and wonder, saw or seem'd to see,
In all their motions, rising or decline,
Aspects malign or favourable, thought
To influence men below.
The mistress of the world, great Babylon?
By labouring foes her proud Euphrates turn'd
To water other plains, her ancient course
Forsaking dry, hence Cyrus thro' her walls,
Else inaccessible to martial force,
Pour'd in a multitude, and razed her tow'rs
By Ninus or Semiramis adorned,
To the fallacious worship dedicate
Of heathen Ops or Belus; from whose heights,
Chaldean Priests the mystic rolling mark'd,
And fain would hear the harmony divine
Of that bright multitude of spheres disposed
In tuneful order, by the unerring hand
Of wisdom infinite, and, not content
To gaze and wonder, saw or seem'd to see,
124
Aspects malign or favourable, thought
To influence men below.
Water, chief good,
Prime nourisher of every vital thing
That round creation moves, not Phœbus self
More necessary is to life, whose kindling beam
Gives life to all; for not by thee asswaged
In kindly falling dews and vernal drops
(Parents of roses and the painted tribes
That hedge and hill array and every dell)
This chequer'd round of verdant wood and lawn
Were a hard desart, void, and without shade.
Lo! insufficient in thy praise am I
And weak to sound thy wond'rous virtues forth,
Yet with such feeble essay as I may
Full of thy worth with vent'rous stop I try,
This humble lay to thee, father of streams
And this rude quill, with wildly warbled notes,
In grove or grot, in sun or summer shade,
I tune, or meditate some future strain,
As musing oft I rove, my evening walk
Extending far along some silent vale,
And court the muse in twilight's sacred hour.
Prime nourisher of every vital thing
That round creation moves, not Phœbus self
More necessary is to life, whose kindling beam
Gives life to all; for not by thee asswaged
In kindly falling dews and vernal drops
(Parents of roses and the painted tribes
That hedge and hill array and every dell)
This chequer'd round of verdant wood and lawn
Were a hard desart, void, and without shade.
Lo! insufficient in thy praise am I
125
Yet with such feeble essay as I may
Full of thy worth with vent'rous stop I try,
This humble lay to thee, father of streams
And this rude quill, with wildly warbled notes,
In grove or grot, in sun or summer shade,
I tune, or meditate some future strain,
As musing oft I rove, my evening walk
Extending far along some silent vale,
And court the muse in twilight's sacred hour.
Again condensed and deepen'd in its course
With slow majestic wave the river glides,
Till interrupted by th'opposing weir
With never ceasing roar it dashes down
Over the ragged pavement, save what time
Cold Winter lays his hand upon the streams
And stills their murmurs, and each vocal rill,
(That chimed the live-long summer to the woods
And rocky coverts dark, sweet to the ear
Of musing shepherd, stretch'd at noontide hour,)
Makes tuneless and the Naids leaves to mourn
Their silent urns. Then too the River shrinks,
And deep incumber'd in his frozen bed
Murmurs below. Here, when the season calls,
The fisher comes, and with deep searching hook,
A cruel trade, from the insidious hatch
Forth into mortal light, well-pleased, uplifts
The struggling salmon stain'd with sudden gore,
Gaff'd in his silver side upon the barb
He writhes in agony, a helpless prey,
His quivering sin and body slow convulsed
Denoting life, and pain, to linger there
Still undulating with the dying pang.
With slow majestic wave the river glides,
Till interrupted by th'opposing weir
With never ceasing roar it dashes down
Over the ragged pavement, save what time
126
And stills their murmurs, and each vocal rill,
(That chimed the live-long summer to the woods
And rocky coverts dark, sweet to the ear
Of musing shepherd, stretch'd at noontide hour,)
Makes tuneless and the Naids leaves to mourn
Their silent urns. Then too the River shrinks,
And deep incumber'd in his frozen bed
Murmurs below. Here, when the season calls,
The fisher comes, and with deep searching hook,
A cruel trade, from the insidious hatch
Forth into mortal light, well-pleased, uplifts
The struggling salmon stain'd with sudden gore,
Gaff'd in his silver side upon the barb
He writhes in agony, a helpless prey,
His quivering sin and body slow convulsed
127
Still undulating with the dying pang.
Here too at times accumulated rains
Prevent the fisherman's expected prize,
And one dark moment frustrates all his hopes;
For when bleak Auster, from his streaming wings,
Shakes down a torrent on the subject plains,
High o'er his banks the river lifts his head,
Foaming and fierce, and rolls with fury on
Precipitate, and flashes o'er the weir,
Nor can the pond'rous masonry resist
Th'impetuous torrent, but at once gives way
Press'd, yielding, sinking, 'neath the tyrant flood.
Then to its rage a dreadful chasm is ope'd,
And down the waters rush, black, smooth, and deep,
Sweeping away the crumbling ruin forth,
Cast far and buried in the whelming sand.
Up dart the salmon tribe and swift away
Into the upland streams direct their course,
By nature taught and powerful instinct warn'd
In season due to seek the sandy brook,
There to deposit in its fruitful bed
The pregnant spawn, which with the vernal show'r
Comes down a shining multitude and fills
The river far and wide. Then thronging come
Of youth and age a joyous group prepared
To catch the greedy prey, and every bank
With longing eyes they fill—innumerous lines
Fly to and fro, from many a hand unskill'd,
And oft entangled, dire contention breed.
But what avails, if sudden rains bestow
Through the broad weir an easy passage forth,
For numerous foes await them with the rod,
And not a rill but with new danger teems
Of treacherous mesh, or snare, or barbed steel,
More cruel far than all, for oftentimes
At dead of night, the peasant youth approach,
With flaming reeds, the river's silent bank,
Where far below the expected salmon lies,
And with the deadly spear unerring pois'd
Deep in the stream transpierce th'unshelter'd prey;
With stupid terror seized to see the stream
With sudden flash illumed, and all around
A frightful gleam pervade his low recess,
Close to the bottom he awaits his fate
That soon the well-directed barb conveys,
Which having pierced his burnish'd body through
Grates in the sand below, then draws him forth
A mangled burthen, bleeding to the bank.
Prevent the fisherman's expected prize,
And one dark moment frustrates all his hopes;
For when bleak Auster, from his streaming wings,
Shakes down a torrent on the subject plains,
High o'er his banks the river lifts his head,
Foaming and fierce, and rolls with fury on
Precipitate, and flashes o'er the weir,
Nor can the pond'rous masonry resist
Th'impetuous torrent, but at once gives way
Press'd, yielding, sinking, 'neath the tyrant flood.
Then to its rage a dreadful chasm is ope'd,
128
Sweeping away the crumbling ruin forth,
Cast far and buried in the whelming sand.
Up dart the salmon tribe and swift away
Into the upland streams direct their course,
By nature taught and powerful instinct warn'd
In season due to seek the sandy brook,
There to deposit in its fruitful bed
The pregnant spawn, which with the vernal show'r
Comes down a shining multitude and fills
The river far and wide. Then thronging come
Of youth and age a joyous group prepared
To catch the greedy prey, and every bank
With longing eyes they fill—innumerous lines
Fly to and fro, from many a hand unskill'd,
And oft entangled, dire contention breed.
129
Through the broad weir an easy passage forth,
For numerous foes await them with the rod,
And not a rill but with new danger teems
Of treacherous mesh, or snare, or barbed steel,
More cruel far than all, for oftentimes
At dead of night, the peasant youth approach,
With flaming reeds, the river's silent bank,
Where far below the expected salmon lies,
And with the deadly spear unerring pois'd
Deep in the stream transpierce th'unshelter'd prey;
With stupid terror seized to see the stream
With sudden flash illumed, and all around
A frightful gleam pervade his low recess,
Close to the bottom he awaits his fate
That soon the well-directed barb conveys,
130
Grates in the sand below, then draws him forth
A mangled burthen, bleeding to the bank.
Be not forgotten in recounting all
The various sports (if sports they may be called)
That the long river in his course bestows,
How, at the slimy foot of some deep quay,
Or at the weirs wide base in summer eve,
Oft have I seen with patient eye intent
(Ignoble pastime) the sly poter stand
Knee deep in mud, and treacherously invade
The stony dwelling of the Eel, with bait
Insidious thrust inviting to his lip,
And drag the slippery prey in anguish forth.
Others remain unsung deserving less
In verse to flow, of more ignoble kind,
Ungrateful to the muse, who more delights
Of nature and her wonderous works to sing.
Now cultivation o'er the river sides
Throws her green mantle, and diffuses sweet
The odorous breath of roses, and the hills
Crowns with the weaving grove's luxuriant wreath
Here gardens glow, and frequent villas rise,
Fill'd yearly by the wealthy citizens,
Who from the busy counter hither haste,
To trim the border, or the bower entwine,
Or scarce exoticks or good cabbage rear,
As taste or humour prompts or prudence bids,
Such and so different the pursuits of men.
To each his joys, some from the city haste,
Sick of its bustle and the tedious round
Of dull insipid routs and midnight feasts;
Eager to taste the sweets of rural ease,
They seek the humble hind's obscure retreat,
And see a charm in every object round,
The daisied slope, the hedge, the summer seat
Beneath the thorn, and even the rural toil
Is full of pleasure, soon the hovel wears
A look which indicates, that not within
Sits pining want and pale neglected age,
A half fed progeny that num'rous croud
The scanty meal, and care, and hopeless toil:
A smoaking table every day invites
And gen'rous wine, nought that the town can give
Is wanting to supply the rural board,
On richest fare by careful hands prepared
They feed, and sleep on beds of softest down,
And think they share the pleasures of a cot.
Here, 'neath the shelter of these willows, bathe
The timid fair, committing to the stream
Full many a lovely form of fairest hue,
Such as upon my native banks conceal'd
Bare many an ivory foot and court the wave
On summer morn, for modesty and truth
And every charm unrivall'd through the land.
Not fairer sure can Britain's empire boast
Nor through these favour'd isles more justly fam'd,
For virtue woo'd, for constancy when won,
Than those delicious maids, whom envied Lee
Daily embraces in his azure arms.
Avoid O youth, avoid the dangerous spot,
Nor trust your vagrant steps where the warm nymph
Displays unconscious of observing eyes
The well proportion'd limb of glossy white
And neck resplendent, far away retire
Nor with unlawful gaze profane the shade
That virgin modesty conceals, nor fire
Nor steel exceeds sweet woman's softer power,
She strong in beauty, so the Teian sings,
More formidable far, than warrior arm'd
With spear and shield, shall well revenge the wrong,
And in your breast infix a deadly wound
Giving perhaps your days and sleepless nights
To ceaseless sighs of slow consuming love.
The various sports (if sports they may be called)
That the long river in his course bestows,
How, at the slimy foot of some deep quay,
Or at the weirs wide base in summer eve,
Oft have I seen with patient eye intent
(Ignoble pastime) the sly poter stand
Knee deep in mud, and treacherously invade
The stony dwelling of the Eel, with bait
Insidious thrust inviting to his lip,
And drag the slippery prey in anguish forth.
131
In verse to flow, of more ignoble kind,
Ungrateful to the muse, who more delights
Of nature and her wonderous works to sing.
Now cultivation o'er the river sides
Throws her green mantle, and diffuses sweet
The odorous breath of roses, and the hills
Crowns with the weaving grove's luxuriant wreath
Here gardens glow, and frequent villas rise,
Fill'd yearly by the wealthy citizens,
Who from the busy counter hither haste,
To trim the border, or the bower entwine,
Or scarce exoticks or good cabbage rear,
As taste or humour prompts or prudence bids,
Such and so different the pursuits of men.
To each his joys, some from the city haste,
132
Of dull insipid routs and midnight feasts;
Eager to taste the sweets of rural ease,
They seek the humble hind's obscure retreat,
And see a charm in every object round,
The daisied slope, the hedge, the summer seat
Beneath the thorn, and even the rural toil
Is full of pleasure, soon the hovel wears
A look which indicates, that not within
Sits pining want and pale neglected age,
A half fed progeny that num'rous croud
The scanty meal, and care, and hopeless toil:
A smoaking table every day invites
And gen'rous wine, nought that the town can give
Is wanting to supply the rural board,
On richest fare by careful hands prepared
133
And think they share the pleasures of a cot.
Here, 'neath the shelter of these willows, bathe
The timid fair, committing to the stream
Full many a lovely form of fairest hue,
Such as upon my native banks conceal'd
Bare many an ivory foot and court the wave
On summer morn, for modesty and truth
And every charm unrivall'd through the land.
Not fairer sure can Britain's empire boast
Nor through these favour'd isles more justly fam'd,
For virtue woo'd, for constancy when won,
Than those delicious maids, whom envied Lee
Daily embraces in his azure arms.
Avoid O youth, avoid the dangerous spot,
Nor trust your vagrant steps where the warm nymph
134
The well proportion'd limb of glossy white
And neck resplendent, far away retire
Nor with unlawful gaze profane the shade
That virgin modesty conceals, nor fire
Nor steel exceeds sweet woman's softer power,
She strong in beauty, so the Teian sings,
More formidable far, than warrior arm'd
With spear and shield, shall well revenge the wrong,
And in your breast infix a deadly wound
Giving perhaps your days and sleepless nights
To ceaseless sighs of slow consuming love.
How happy is the group, that play below
Upon that level green in various sport,
As youthful frolic prompts, or fancy leads,
Full of the momentary rapture all,
Ardent and giving every thought to play
Careless of days to come. “Ah tell them not
That they are men,” for soon, too soon alas!
They know it well, and often fully share
Sorrow, man's only sure inheritance.
Now is the time when, parents should observe
The rising bias of the infant mind,
And give the timely check, which not to give
May darken ev'ry future year, and doom
To tears and vain remorse a life of shame.
But if with gen'rous fire it early burn,
Soft lure it forth with kind encouragement;
For in his early toys is often seen
The future man: Perhaps the kindling sparks
Of excellence to come, in great design,
That yet may flame transcendent through the page
Of epic song, lurk in the tender breast,
That palpitates if Milton strike the lyre,
Or Homer sweep his sounding verse along,
While on a slender quill he faintly tries
To woo some gentle muse. The glowing mind
That yet may bid the swelling canvas live;
May deep inspect the fields of pathless air
And measure just the glaring comet's course;
Or dauntless in the search of other Isles,
Far sprinkled o'er the wide expanse of sea,
May trace the frozen bounds of Neptune's reign,
Already dawns. Ev'n in his infant years,
The future hero heads the mimic fight,
Who foremost in the glittering ranks of war,
May lead battalions 'gainst invading foes,
Or in the burning van of naval fight,
Directing wise the terrible array,
May turn to tears the boasted threats of Gaul
And save his country. This, if well observed,
Might oft facilitate the course of youth,
Through science, and his early progress speed.
Vain to encumber the too tender mind
Against its bent, which cherish'd in its dawn
May brighten into glory, wealth, and fame.
Upon that level green in various sport,
135
Full of the momentary rapture all,
Ardent and giving every thought to play
Careless of days to come. “Ah tell them not
That they are men,” for soon, too soon alas!
They know it well, and often fully share
Sorrow, man's only sure inheritance.
Now is the time when, parents should observe
The rising bias of the infant mind,
And give the timely check, which not to give
May darken ev'ry future year, and doom
To tears and vain remorse a life of shame.
But if with gen'rous fire it early burn,
Soft lure it forth with kind encouragement;
For in his early toys is often seen
The future man: Perhaps the kindling sparks
136
That yet may flame transcendent through the page
Of epic song, lurk in the tender breast,
That palpitates if Milton strike the lyre,
Or Homer sweep his sounding verse along,
While on a slender quill he faintly tries
To woo some gentle muse. The glowing mind
That yet may bid the swelling canvas live;
May deep inspect the fields of pathless air
And measure just the glaring comet's course;
Or dauntless in the search of other Isles,
Far sprinkled o'er the wide expanse of sea,
May trace the frozen bounds of Neptune's reign,
Already dawns. Ev'n in his infant years,
The future hero heads the mimic fight,
Who foremost in the glittering ranks of war,
137
Or in the burning van of naval fight,
Directing wise the terrible array,
May turn to tears the boasted threats of Gaul
And save his country. This, if well observed,
Might oft facilitate the course of youth,
Through science, and his early progress speed.
Vain to encumber the too tender mind
Against its bent, which cherish'd in its dawn
May brighten into glory, wealth, and fame.
Thus have I vent'rous with unskilful hand
Traced the long river through its crooked course,
And pleased perhaps no other ear but her's
For whom alone I tuned this western reed;
Pluck'd idly as may deem some graver head
That deems all idle time not spent in gain
Of worldly dross, and boasts to scorn the muse,
Contented in the mental night that bounds
His gross desires; but not for such I'll tune
Nor for his praise, this silly pipe of mine
Who, did I seek the meed my song might claim,
And reach to pluck a laurel for my brow,
Would cast a galling nettle on my head.
Traced the long river through its crooked course,
And pleased perhaps no other ear but her's
For whom alone I tuned this western reed;
138
That deems all idle time not spent in gain
Of worldly dross, and boasts to scorn the muse,
Contented in the mental night that bounds
His gross desires; but not for such I'll tune
Nor for his praise, this silly pipe of mine
Who, did I seek the meed my song might claim,
And reach to pluck a laurel for my brow,
Would cast a galling nettle on my head.
Little remains to sing until we stop
The Past'ral flute for the shrill tube of Mars,
And sing of conflict dire and bloody deeds
Atchieved in ancient days, unpleasant song.
On yon bold prominence, around whose base
Winds the broad river with unruffled course,
A mighty castle rears its ancient walls
Brown in the rust of time, sublime and sad
With over-hanging battlements and towers
And works of old defence, a massy pile.
Within these naked Halls what silence now,
Where once the roar of festive joy was heard
And antique revelry, with swell of harps
And minstrel songs of chiefs once great in fight,
Now seldom visited, but by the few
Who in such deep retirement love to sit,
(Far from the walk of mirth at times remote)
And muse upon the ever changing round
Of earthly things, and in these ruins see
The fall of empires and the fate of kings.
Here once, as legendary story tells,
Lived Desmond, rich in many a wide domain,
And bleating flock, and herd of fruitful kine,
Nightly secured, for in those ages rude
By force not law men held uncertain wealth,
And neighbouring chiefs, for plunder or for pride
Their vassals mustering, on each other's pow'rs
Waged petty war; hence all those tall remains
Of former strength, that mid' our verdant fields
Stand venerable, by th'enquiring eyes
Of curious men oft seen, whom ancient lore
And relicks of the times long gone delight.
Desmond a daughter had, sweet as the morn,
Whom many a petty potentate had sought
With honourable suit, but Brune obtained
The love of Aunagal, a youthful chief
Of princely lineage and wide domain.
A neighbouring Prince, O'Connor, hot with rage
At offered love disdained, determines quick
By force to seize the maid, and levies round
A numerous force; and in those early times
Not rude in warlike arts, for spear and bow
They well could exercise in distant fight,
Or in close conflict point the bloody skein;
Full use they had of every active limb,
Not cramped, nor stiffen'd by luxurious ease,
But firm to bear the hardships of the field,
And resolute in every danger they,
Whether to harass a retiring foe,
Or in retiring patient to endure;
A hardy race, and able to perform
Great deeds of manly strength, in manly strife.
Marshal'd with horse and foot O'Connor sends
A desperate threat to Desmond, who prepares
His extreme force the chieftain to resist,
Who now is on his frontier, and proceeds
To waste with fire and sword. Soon on the field
Desmond appears in arms, but cautious leaves
A chosen band to guard his castle, where
Entower'd close the lovely maiden wept
Her father and her love with ceaseless tears.
All day in conflict fierce and doubtful fight
They dyed the field with mutual slaughter red
'Til Desmond fell, feeble in hoary age,
And Brune retreats beneath the castle walls
Determined there to try (or perish brave)
The worst that fortune in her frowns may do,
And long the fight maintain'd with desperate rage,
Till night soft closing, Connor seem'd to fly
With loss of men and horse cut numerous off,
But to the woods retired; and ere the dawn
Determines furious by one bold assault,
To win the castle, and in silence now
The troops approach, no clank of steel is heard,
Whisper'd from rank to rank the orders fly,
They trail their spears, and ranged in mute array
Come in long file, close by the river's side.
Meanwhile within the castle walls close throng'd
Needful refreshment Desmond's troops receive,
And due repose after the toil of fight,
While Brune with words of comfort soothes his bride
Who wails her aged sire, when loud alarm
Of horn and shout is heard, the scouts return
Precipitate, and, through the hall, the news
Of Connor at the gate re-echoes round.
Behold them in their haste, how throng'd; how loud
The buz of hasty preparation; quick
With spear or bow snatch'd up they sally forth,
The gates can scarce discharge them in their speed,
Their armours clash and bow strings intertwine,
Forth like a swarm they rush, whose hive some swain
Disturbs at evening tide, or that wise race
The frugal ants, their small republic crush'd
By labouring peasant's steel. The groans of death
Numerous around denote the conflict dire,
'Til Brune with Connor meets whose arm he sought,
And now a fight, such as no modern times
Ee'r saw, between the furious chiefs ensued:
They met with spears, but in the plated folds
Of Brune's tough shield the spear of Connor rang,
Who now defenceless, death expected quick;
But Brune, disdaining victory so gained,
His, cast indignant down, and bade approach
His rival, who now, by the moon's broad orb,
Which on the face of Brune shone full, descried
His foe's majestic front and manly form,
And thus addressed the chief—“Full well young prince
“Dost thou deserve the beauty which thou seek'st;
“Were it from any but O'Connor's arm
“Thou'dst win the prize—but honor pride and shame
“Forbid me to resign my right—advance—”
Approaching both, few steps, they drew their blades,
Flashing like meteors from their harness'd thighs,
Each was a span in breadth, which now upraised
Gleam'd horrible athwart the moon-light beam
Like the long streaks which, in the northern sky
Darting their fires, are by the untaught hinds
The portents dire of bloody fields believed.
Now on the chiefs all turned their eyes, and stay'd
The busy conflict, and in silence stood
Waiting the issue of so dread a fight,
'Til Connor fell, deep gored with gaping wounds,
And, ere the morn look'd pallid from the east,
His mourning host retired.
The Past'ral flute for the shrill tube of Mars,
And sing of conflict dire and bloody deeds
Atchieved in ancient days, unpleasant song.
On yon bold prominence, around whose base
139
A mighty castle rears its ancient walls
Brown in the rust of time, sublime and sad
With over-hanging battlements and towers
And works of old defence, a massy pile.
Within these naked Halls what silence now,
Where once the roar of festive joy was heard
And antique revelry, with swell of harps
And minstrel songs of chiefs once great in fight,
Now seldom visited, but by the few
Who in such deep retirement love to sit,
(Far from the walk of mirth at times remote)
And muse upon the ever changing round
Of earthly things, and in these ruins see
The fall of empires and the fate of kings.
Here once, as legendary story tells,
140
And bleating flock, and herd of fruitful kine,
Nightly secured, for in those ages rude
By force not law men held uncertain wealth,
And neighbouring chiefs, for plunder or for pride
Their vassals mustering, on each other's pow'rs
Waged petty war; hence all those tall remains
Of former strength, that mid' our verdant fields
Stand venerable, by th'enquiring eyes
Of curious men oft seen, whom ancient lore
And relicks of the times long gone delight.
Desmond a daughter had, sweet as the morn,
Whom many a petty potentate had sought
With honourable suit, but Brune obtained
The love of Aunagal, a youthful chief
Of princely lineage and wide domain.
141
At offered love disdained, determines quick
By force to seize the maid, and levies round
A numerous force; and in those early times
Not rude in warlike arts, for spear and bow
They well could exercise in distant fight,
Or in close conflict point the bloody skein;
Full use they had of every active limb,
Not cramped, nor stiffen'd by luxurious ease,
But firm to bear the hardships of the field,
And resolute in every danger they,
Whether to harass a retiring foe,
Or in retiring patient to endure;
A hardy race, and able to perform
Great deeds of manly strength, in manly strife.
Marshal'd with horse and foot O'Connor sends
142
His extreme force the chieftain to resist,
Who now is on his frontier, and proceeds
To waste with fire and sword. Soon on the field
Desmond appears in arms, but cautious leaves
A chosen band to guard his castle, where
Entower'd close the lovely maiden wept
Her father and her love with ceaseless tears.
All day in conflict fierce and doubtful fight
They dyed the field with mutual slaughter red
'Til Desmond fell, feeble in hoary age,
And Brune retreats beneath the castle walls
Determined there to try (or perish brave)
The worst that fortune in her frowns may do,
And long the fight maintain'd with desperate rage,
Till night soft closing, Connor seem'd to fly
143
But to the woods retired; and ere the dawn
Determines furious by one bold assault,
To win the castle, and in silence now
The troops approach, no clank of steel is heard,
Whisper'd from rank to rank the orders fly,
They trail their spears, and ranged in mute array
Come in long file, close by the river's side.
Meanwhile within the castle walls close throng'd
Needful refreshment Desmond's troops receive,
And due repose after the toil of fight,
While Brune with words of comfort soothes his bride
Who wails her aged sire, when loud alarm
Of horn and shout is heard, the scouts return
Precipitate, and, through the hall, the news
Of Connor at the gate re-echoes round.
144
The buz of hasty preparation; quick
With spear or bow snatch'd up they sally forth,
The gates can scarce discharge them in their speed,
Their armours clash and bow strings intertwine,
Forth like a swarm they rush, whose hive some swain
Disturbs at evening tide, or that wise race
The frugal ants, their small republic crush'd
By labouring peasant's steel. The groans of death
Numerous around denote the conflict dire,
'Til Brune with Connor meets whose arm he sought,
And now a fight, such as no modern times
Ee'r saw, between the furious chiefs ensued:
They met with spears, but in the plated folds
Of Brune's tough shield the spear of Connor rang,
Who now defenceless, death expected quick;
145
His, cast indignant down, and bade approach
His rival, who now, by the moon's broad orb,
Which on the face of Brune shone full, descried
His foe's majestic front and manly form,
And thus addressed the chief—“Full well young prince
“Dost thou deserve the beauty which thou seek'st;
“Were it from any but O'Connor's arm
“Thou'dst win the prize—but honor pride and shame
“Forbid me to resign my right—advance—”
Approaching both, few steps, they drew their blades,
Flashing like meteors from their harness'd thighs,
Each was a span in breadth, which now upraised
Gleam'd horrible athwart the moon-light beam
Like the long streaks which, in the northern sky
Darting their fires, are by the untaught hinds
146
Now on the chiefs all turned their eyes, and stay'd
The busy conflict, and in silence stood
Waiting the issue of so dread a fight,
'Til Connor fell, deep gored with gaping wounds,
And, ere the morn look'd pallid from the east,
His mourning host retired.
Here oft the aged shepherd tells the tale,
And circumspect points out each famous spot,
Where battle raged, and where the chief was slain,
Full of the wond'rous deeds of former men,
Whose mighty stature oft the delver shows
In mould'ring bones thrown from the furrow'd field.
The river now denotes the city near,
Its banks no more the calm retirement yield,
And to my ear the buz of commerce comes
And din of numerous wheels, and tolling bells
That tell the hour, or warn us of the grave
But warn in vain. Now to yon smoaky den,
Where the blue spires scarce overlook the cloud,
Let us retire, dull night comes on apace,
And weary lids demand the pillow's balm,
Till morning call us to the fields again,
With new trim'd reed, to blow some rural strain.
And circumspect points out each famous spot,
Where battle raged, and where the chief was slain,
Full of the wond'rous deeds of former men,
Whose mighty stature oft the delver shows
In mould'ring bones thrown from the furrow'd field.
The river now denotes the city near,
147
And to my ear the buz of commerce comes
And din of numerous wheels, and tolling bells
That tell the hour, or warn us of the grave
But warn in vain. Now to yon smoaky den,
Where the blue spires scarce overlook the cloud,
Let us retire, dull night comes on apace,
And weary lids demand the pillow's balm,
Till morning call us to the fields again,
With new trim'd reed, to blow some rural strain.
| The river-side | |