 | Young Arthur |  |
VARIATION VII.
The Groans of Britain, and a Legend ad libitum.
Britain, I hail thee, paramount in bliss;
Though ever murmuring, to thy treasure blind;
Thy morbid nature bent on the amiss;
Too sure to fancy that thou canst not find;
If bliss rests, reigns, not in thy charter'd bound,
Say in what region is the radiance found?
Th' ecliptic trace, the Equinox, go, cross,
But all thy labour, seeking it, is loss,
If thine it is not—chronicle thy cares,
What are they? megrims, or mere bulls and bears.
O, Albion, bless'd beyond all other climes!
Stocks, politics, cash payments, or the times,
Thy only plagues—except (hence, wary be)
That all confounding syren, luxury;
Demoralizing fiend, with angel face,
Thy molten idol, dæmon , and disgrace!
No dread Simooms thy healthful shore disease,
Thy hale Simoom the happy trade wind's breeze,
Which to thy busy wharfs, o'er billows curl'd,
Wafts the best blessings of an envying world.
No sov'reign here, despotic in his sway,
Can speak thy life or liberty away;
Thy rights all freehold, as thyself art free;
Attack'd, the parliament thy weapon be,
And Magna Charta thy proof Panoply.
Though ever murmuring, to thy treasure blind;
Thy morbid nature bent on the amiss;
Too sure to fancy that thou canst not find;
If bliss rests, reigns, not in thy charter'd bound,
Say in what region is the radiance found?
Th' ecliptic trace, the Equinox, go, cross,
But all thy labour, seeking it, is loss,
If thine it is not—chronicle thy cares,
What are they? megrims, or mere bulls and bears.
191
Stocks, politics, cash payments, or the times,
Thy only plagues—except (hence, wary be)
That all confounding syren, luxury;
Demoralizing fiend, with angel face,
Thy molten idol, dæmon , and disgrace!
No dread Simooms thy healthful shore disease,
Thy hale Simoom the happy trade wind's breeze,
Which to thy busy wharfs, o'er billows curl'd,
Wafts the best blessings of an envying world.
No sov'reign here, despotic in his sway,
Can speak thy life or liberty away;
Thy rights all freehold, as thyself art free;
Attack'd, the parliament thy weapon be,
And Magna Charta thy proof Panoply.
Here no patrician, with o'erwhelming force,
Can drive plebeian comfort from its course;
And, should Plebeian rudeness rank assail,
Rank smiles secure within his charter'd pale:
These and the sovereign, equilateral, form
A force defying every power of storm;
Union our King at Arms; and Bath's stars, read 'em,
Bear the true motto of our force and freedom.
Here, where mere whim is individual law,
Where in our freedom shall we find a flaw?
At least a flaw we want the means to mend,
As we point houses, or street lamps extend?
Then leave to those who, with a fancied call,
(All zealots boast it) loudly “Freedom!” bawl,
To mark its marrings for the wise to heal,
(None give to trumpeters to draw the steel)
And let us mildly in the path proceed
Where our true wants and social duties lead;
By prudence calm of prejudice the storm,
And better others by our own reform.
The pompous cataract that wildly roars,
And thundering waters with proud fury pours,
May with mute wonder the aw'd senses blind,
But leaves no soft impression on the mind;
Charming the temper of romantic taste,
Its 'whelming torrents are a wat'ry waste.
The silent stream which thro' the meadow glides,
(While patient anglers line its tufted sides,
Snaring the fry who mid green sedges sport,
While golden bees the wanton wild flow'rs court,)
Its genial dew, insinuating, spreads,
And health and Beauty and luxuriance sheds.
O, plagued alone by consols and caprice,
Where thy volcanoes? save some breach of peace
Bursting from rabble rude in drunken hour,
Quell'd by returning sense, or civil pow'r.
Where thy tornadoes, ruin at their beck?
Thy direful earthquakes which whole regions wreck?
Thy wild tornadoe but a common-hall,
Thy direst earthquake an election brawl.
No beasts of prey thy hapless limits range,
Thine only beasts the bulls and bears on 'change.
No dread Lyboya , coiling in the shade,
Darts on the trav'ler from the opening glade;
Tho' now and then, unhappy land! alas!
We do find snakes, and lurking in the grass;
But we've a way to intercept and watch 'em,
And, once secur'd, we know the way to scotch 'em.
No lamas, bramins, bonzes, talapoins,
Faquirs, or mummeries that mammon coins,
Thy shores disquiet,—sects, whom whims inflame,
Live in thy love, and “Legion” is their name;
Slaves to opinion, zealously they fight,
Firm to fastidious, rigid in cold rite;
All light superior and election vaunt,
And, full with faith, mere charity they want;
But while election boasting, O! ye pure!
Lose not the love that makes election sure.
High church and low once spirited our spleen,
No church, at present, seems our boasted mean;
Chapel or church? our fierce contention's sum,
“Let be, see whether will Elias come.”
Yet deem not I the sect presume to scan,
I lash the mania while I love the man;
All right in some point, though in some astray—
One point believe, be humble, and obey,
And bless the “noiseless tenor of thy way.”
Tory and Whig our sires to quarrel led,
Now Hydra springs, a leader for each head;
Tom stakes his wisdom against Toby's wit,
And, win who may, the biter will be bit.
You ask, am I for measures or for men?
I answer, measures and reform—what then?
Shall I because my good old house is wearing
Raze it to earth and call the wreck repairing?
But truce to politics, the theme is dry,
So I'll conclude this rhyming rhapsody
With what, for which, if from my theme I stray,
I'll plead poetica licentia;
Which means in my case (and some more, fame tells)
Th' unbounded privilege of cap and bells—
Can drive plebeian comfort from its course;
And, should Plebeian rudeness rank assail,
Rank smiles secure within his charter'd pale:
These and the sovereign, equilateral, form
A force defying every power of storm;
192
Bear the true motto of our force and freedom.
Here, where mere whim is individual law,
Where in our freedom shall we find a flaw?
At least a flaw we want the means to mend,
As we point houses, or street lamps extend?
Then leave to those who, with a fancied call,
(All zealots boast it) loudly “Freedom!” bawl,
To mark its marrings for the wise to heal,
(None give to trumpeters to draw the steel)
And let us mildly in the path proceed
Where our true wants and social duties lead;
By prudence calm of prejudice the storm,
And better others by our own reform.
The pompous cataract that wildly roars,
And thundering waters with proud fury pours,
May with mute wonder the aw'd senses blind,
But leaves no soft impression on the mind;
Charming the temper of romantic taste,
Its 'whelming torrents are a wat'ry waste.
The silent stream which thro' the meadow glides,
(While patient anglers line its tufted sides,
193
While golden bees the wanton wild flow'rs court,)
Its genial dew, insinuating, spreads,
And health and Beauty and luxuriance sheds.
O, plagued alone by consols and caprice,
Where thy volcanoes? save some breach of peace
Bursting from rabble rude in drunken hour,
Quell'd by returning sense, or civil pow'r.
Where thy tornadoes, ruin at their beck?
Thy direful earthquakes which whole regions wreck?
Thy wild tornadoe but a common-hall,
Thy direst earthquake an election brawl.
No beasts of prey thy hapless limits range,
Thine only beasts the bulls and bears on 'change.
No dread Lyboya , coiling in the shade,
Darts on the trav'ler from the opening glade;
Tho' now and then, unhappy land! alas!
We do find snakes, and lurking in the grass;
But we've a way to intercept and watch 'em,
And, once secur'd, we know the way to scotch 'em.
No lamas, bramins, bonzes, talapoins,
Faquirs, or mummeries that mammon coins,
194
Live in thy love, and “Legion” is their name;
Slaves to opinion, zealously they fight,
Firm to fastidious, rigid in cold rite;
All light superior and election vaunt,
And, full with faith, mere charity they want;
But while election boasting, O! ye pure!
Lose not the love that makes election sure.
High church and low once spirited our spleen,
No church, at present, seems our boasted mean;
Chapel or church? our fierce contention's sum,
“Let be, see whether will Elias come.”
Yet deem not I the sect presume to scan,
I lash the mania while I love the man;
All right in some point, though in some astray—
One point believe, be humble, and obey,
And bless the “noiseless tenor of thy way.”
Tory and Whig our sires to quarrel led,
Now Hydra springs, a leader for each head;
Tom stakes his wisdom against Toby's wit,
And, win who may, the biter will be bit.
You ask, am I for measures or for men?
I answer, measures and reform—what then?
Shall I because my good old house is wearing
Raze it to earth and call the wreck repairing?
195
So I'll conclude this rhyming rhapsody
With what, for which, if from my theme I stray,
I'll plead poetica licentia;
Which means in my case (and some more, fame tells)
Th' unbounded privilege of cap and bells—
My strain in other guise I'll hold,
Rhyme on, or, haply, prose it—
Then listen to a legend old,
Or a legend old suppose it.
Rhyme on, or, haply, prose it—
Then listen to a legend old,
Or a legend old suppose it.
LEGEND OF THE PASSION FLOWER AND THE SPRITE.
A lovely maid, with an air of grace,
By moonlight stray'd to a desart place;
Little she reck'd; though the fact was rare
That mortal by night urg'd footstep there;
For many a phantom there would be,
And that was the haunt of witchery.
By moonlight stray'd to a desart place;
Little she reck'd; though the fact was rare
That mortal by night urg'd footstep there;
For many a phantom there would be,
And that was the haunt of witchery.
196
And, says the legend, the lovely maid
To that spot by the mild moon's beaming stray'd;
Her heart was pure, her mind serene,
And, e'er she stray'd to that awful scene,
With no charm'd fillet she bound her hair,
To guard her from power of the 'witching spell;
But she had breath'd an accepted prayer
To where the powers of goodness dwell.
To that spot by the mild moon's beaming stray'd;
Her heart was pure, her mind serene,
And, e'er she stray'd to that awful scene,
With no charm'd fillet she bound her hair,
To guard her from power of the 'witching spell;
But she had breath'd an accepted prayer
To where the powers of goodness dwell.
And there as she stray'd she saw a sprite,
Of mortal form, blooming and bright:
And a spirit of air, have legends said,
Would woo the love of a mortal maid;
And that maid to the spirit who once gave ear
Was never known, after, to appear;
And the wind when shrieking was thought to bear
The shriek of that spell-bound maid's despair.
Of mortal form, blooming and bright:
And a spirit of air, have legends said,
Would woo the love of a mortal maid;
And that maid to the spirit who once gave ear
Was never known, after, to appear;
And the wind when shrieking was thought to bear
The shriek of that spell-bound maid's despair.
He saw the maid, and the maid he woo'd,
And still as she wander'd the sprite pursued;
Still where he stepp'd flow'rs seem'd to spring,
And whenever he spoke birds seem'd to sing;
Whenever-he sung it seem'd to be
The floating of heavenly harmony.
A lyre in his hand he seem'd to hold,
The frame was crystal, the strings were gold;
And when he his hand to the lyre address'd
It seem'd a requiem of the blest.
And still as she wander'd the sprite pursued;
Still where he stepp'd flow'rs seem'd to spring,
And whenever he spoke birds seem'd to sing;
Whenever-he sung it seem'd to be
The floating of heavenly harmony.
197
The frame was crystal, the strings were gold;
And when he his hand to the lyre address'd
It seem'd a requiem of the blest.
THE SONG OF THE SPRITE.
Come rove with me, for 'tis blessed to rove
When the chaste moon hallows the vows of love,
And the purest sighs have birth;
Immortal, my reign in the air I hold,
And though thou art form'd of the earthly mould
From Eden, sure, came that earth:
And pair'd with pure virgin air's spirits may be;—
Sweet spirit of earth, come, rove with me.
When the chaste moon hallows the vows of love,
And the purest sighs have birth;
Immortal, my reign in the air I hold,
And though thou art form'd of the earthly mould
From Eden, sure, came that earth:
And pair'd with pure virgin air's spirits may be;—
Sweet spirit of earth, come, rove with me.
Ah, cease thy song, the maiden cried,
And hie thee far from me;
For thou art bliss by Heaven denied,
And I may not rove with thee.
And hie thee far from me;
For thou art bliss by Heaven denied,
And I may not rove with thee.
198
I'll build thee a palace in air, love,
Environ'd with clouds of gold;
And rainbows encircle shall there, love,
The pillars the roof that hold;
And that roof with resplendent stars shall blaze,
The floors be celestial blue;
And there I'll collect the sun's bright rays,
And the beam of the moon which so mildly plays,
Day and night to give light for you.
Environ'd with clouds of gold;
And rainbows encircle shall there, love,
The pillars the roof that hold;
And that roof with resplendent stars shall blaze,
The floors be celestial blue;
And there I'll collect the sun's bright rays,
And the beam of the moon which so mildly plays,
Day and night to give light for you.
Ah, cease thy song, the maiden cried,
And hie thee far from me!
For thou hast boasted, in thy pride,
What may not, cannot, be.
And hie thee far from me!
For thou hast boasted, in thy pride,
What may not, cannot, be.
I'll build for thee a wond'rous bower;
Pillars of agate shall there be seen,
And every leaf and every flower
Shall glow with gems of the brighest sheen.
Pillars of agate shall there be seen,
And every leaf and every flower
Shall glow with gems of the brighest sheen.
199
Each leaf shall the clearest emerald be,
Rubies shall glow in every rose;
Violets of sapphire thou there shalt see,
And crocus, where mellow the topaz glows,
Rubies shall glow in every rose;
Violets of sapphire thou there shalt see,
And crocus, where mellow the topaz glows,
There amethysts shall in pinks unite,
In lilies the orange jacinth curl;
Crystals shall form the lily, white;
And the snow-drop pure be of orient pearl.
In lilies the orange jacinth curl;
Crystals shall form the lily, white;
And the snow-drop pure be of orient pearl.
And every flower of every hue
With diamond drops shall o'ersprinkled be;
And they shall sparkle as drops of dew,
And the radiance that lights them reflect from thee.
With diamond drops shall o'ersprinkled be;
And they shall sparkle as drops of dew,
And the radiance that lights them reflect from thee.
Ah! cease thy song, the maiden cried,
And hie thee far from me,
I spurn the bait thy art has tried,
And will not rove with thee:
For I shall be a spirit of light
When thou to light art lost:
And I shall be an angel bright
When thou in pain art toss'd.
And hie thee far from me,
I spurn the bait thy art has tried,
And will not rove with thee:
For I shall be a spirit of light
When thou to light art lost:
And I shall be an angel bright
When thou in pain art toss'd.
200
And they were near a tower,
On which, wide-spreading, grew
The holy passion flower,
That sparkled with the dew.
On which, wide-spreading, grew
The holy passion flower,
That sparkled with the dew.
And off a flower then pluck'd the maid,
A type of heavenly love:
A short and secret prayer she said
For power from above.
A type of heavenly love:
A short and secret prayer she said
For power from above.
And with that flower she touch'd the sprite,
The dew she o'er him shed;
The fiend then lost his borrow'd light,
And howling from her fled.
The dew she o'er him shed;
The fiend then lost his borrow'd light,
And howling from her fled.
And safe with the holy passion flow'r
Return'd that maid to her peaceful bow'r:
The legend closed a moral gives thee—
Fable is all of witchery.
Return'd that maid to her peaceful bow'r:
The legend closed a moral gives thee—
Fable is all of witchery.
| Young Arthur | |