 | Erin, and Other Poems |  |
1. PART THE FIRST.
No studied tale, prepared with due regard
To the wise precepts of the Roman bard;
Re-written, and re-read with hopes, and fears,
And kept in manuscript for nine long years;
No volume by aspiring hope projected,
By doubtful prudence blotted, and corrected,
Is this:—Yet if the author must produce
For these rough rhymes a plausible excuse,
His plea is this:—He “dreamed a dream last night,”
A vision came inviting him to write;
The cause may palliate the bold attempt,
But hold—at once I'll mention what I dreamt.
To the wise precepts of the Roman bard;
Re-written, and re-read with hopes, and fears,
And kept in manuscript for nine long years;
No volume by aspiring hope projected,
By doubtful prudence blotted, and corrected,
Is this:—Yet if the author must produce
For these rough rhymes a plausible excuse,
10
A vision came inviting him to write;
The cause may palliate the bold attempt,
But hold—at once I'll mention what I dreamt.
I slept in Erin's isle;—a shadowy cloud
Was spread around me, and a haggard crowd
Of hopeless, homeless wretches passed my bed
Weeping, and perishing for want of bread:
Fathers, and mothers, and their babes were there,
Bent by disease, and withered by despair;
With forms, and looks, and accents that appeal
With agony for one—last—scanty meal.
I saw a frantic mother press her child
In her thin arms;—and then with utterance wild
She called upon her husband; but in vain—
His powerless limbs no longer could sustain
The toil he once thought easy: in despair
She kissed her little one, threw back its hair—
And felt its forehead with a shuddering dread,
And cried in hopeless anguish “it is dead.”
I saw the old, and young, together lie
On the cold earth at midnight, there to die;
To die! or by their crimes to purchase food,
And live a life of treason, and of blood.
O'er the green isle went forth a cry of grief,
The prayer of thousands who implored relief;
—Of those, who in their poverty remained
Gay, healthful, and content, and ne'er complained:
Who murmured not, while daily toil supplied
A little—but that little is denied:
The strong are unemployed, and the weak fall
Without a struggle:—death hath marked them all.
Was spread around me, and a haggard crowd
Of hopeless, homeless wretches passed my bed
Weeping, and perishing for want of bread:
Fathers, and mothers, and their babes were there,
Bent by disease, and withered by despair;
With forms, and looks, and accents that appeal
With agony for one—last—scanty meal.
I saw a frantic mother press her child
In her thin arms;—and then with utterance wild
She called upon her husband; but in vain—
His powerless limbs no longer could sustain
The toil he once thought easy: in despair
She kissed her little one, threw back its hair—
And felt its forehead with a shuddering dread,
And cried in hopeless anguish “it is dead.”
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On the cold earth at midnight, there to die;
To die! or by their crimes to purchase food,
And live a life of treason, and of blood.
O'er the green isle went forth a cry of grief,
The prayer of thousands who implored relief;
—Of those, who in their poverty remained
Gay, healthful, and content, and ne'er complained:
Who murmured not, while daily toil supplied
A little—but that little is denied:
The strong are unemployed, and the weak fall
Without a struggle:—death hath marked them all.
I thought the train of sorrow passed away,
Yet still their cries where heard; and as I lay,
A form arose beside me—and it spoke—
(I wrote down all it said when I awoke;
And though I think the shadow came incog,
I'll venture to repeat our dialogue.)
Yet still their cries where heard; and as I lay,
A form arose beside me—and it spoke—
(I wrote down all it said when I awoke;
And though I think the shadow came incog,
I'll venture to repeat our dialogue.)
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“Say, dost thou know me, slumberer?”
“Not I.”
“Not know me! say'st thou—did thy waking eye
“Ne'er see this form?”
“Ne'er see this form?”
(I paused awhile, and viewed
The shape, which seemed not framed of flesh and blood—
At length I answered:)
The shape, which seemed not framed of flesh and blood—
At length I answered:)
“Often, when awake,
“I think we've met before; I may mistake,
“But if my sight deceives me not, I've seen
“Thy name upon the back—reverse I mean,
“Of an Irish halfpenny.”
“I think we've met before; I may mistake,
“But if my sight deceives me not, I've seen
“Thy name upon the back—reverse I mean,
“Of an Irish halfpenny.”
“Thou guessest right,
“My name's Hibernia, and I come to-night
“To rouse thee, and to bid thee seize thy pen,
“And join thy philanthropic countrymen,
“And aid my suffering children.”
“My name's Hibernia, and I come to-night
“To rouse thee, and to bid thee seize thy pen,
“And join thy philanthropic countrymen,
“And aid my suffering children.”
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“I deplore
“Thy children's sufferings, but can do no more.”
“Thy children's sufferings, but can do no more.”
“No more!—if low the current in thy purse
“Write—write—and give the produce of thy verse;
“Sit down and write.”
“Write—write—and give the produce of thy verse;
“Sit down and write.”
“Alas! when down I sit
“What then shall aid me? should my Muse think fit
“To be facetious, 'twill be out of place—
“And as to putting on a serious face
“And sending forth heroics, there's no time
“To dress her in the robes of the sublime.”
“What then shall aid me? should my Muse think fit
“To be facetious, 'twill be out of place—
“And as to putting on a serious face
“And sending forth heroics, there's no time
“To dress her in the robes of the sublime.”
“I care not how you do it—if 'tis done—
“And though your verses may uncouthly run,
“The motive will excuse it.”
“And though your verses may uncouthly run,
“The motive will excuse it.”
“But how small
“Will be my humble tribute after all!
“How trifling when compared with the rich tide
“Of noble gifts poured forth on every side!”
“Think of the snow-ball, and commence thy song,
“Its bulk increases as it rolls along,
“And every little adds:—thus too you take
“Your pens, your ink, and paper, and you make
“The opening of an ode: a single line
“Seems scarcely worth a thought, but you combine
“That with a second, and as snow-balls roll,
“Small lines when linked together form a whole.
“Look on the radiant splendour of the night—
“Say, were each little star that sheds its light
“O'er that bright arch, to shade its orb—and say
“The skies are bright enough without my ray,
“Would not the night be dark?—Behold yon bower,
“Where the sweet scent and bloom of every flower
“Deliciously are mingled; it is not
“One perfume, or one tint adorns the spot,
“Each small enamelled blossom scents the air,
“And has its own peculiar station there.”
“Will be my humble tribute after all!
“How trifling when compared with the rich tide
“Of noble gifts poured forth on every side!”
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“Its bulk increases as it rolls along,
“And every little adds:—thus too you take
“Your pens, your ink, and paper, and you make
“The opening of an ode: a single line
“Seems scarcely worth a thought, but you combine
“That with a second, and as snow-balls roll,
“Small lines when linked together form a whole.
“Look on the radiant splendour of the night—
“Say, were each little star that sheds its light
“O'er that bright arch, to shade its orb—and say
“The skies are bright enough without my ray,
“Would not the night be dark?—Behold yon bower,
“Where the sweet scent and bloom of every flower
“Deliciously are mingled; it is not
“One perfume, or one tint adorns the spot,
“Each small enamelled blossom scents the air,
“And has its own peculiar station there.”
“Few bards would willingly be silent long,
“When stars and sweets are coupled with their song;
“But I will do as many more have done,—
“Place on the list my name, and one pound one.”
“When stars and sweets are coupled with their song;
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“Place on the list my name, and one pound one.”
“But if by writing you could aid the cause
“More largely, tell me, wherefore should you pause?
“Intrepid Livingston ascends his car,
“Soaring above the clouds—”
“More largely, tell me, wherefore should you pause?
“Intrepid Livingston ascends his car,
“Soaring above the clouds—”
“Yes, soaring far
“Above my Muse's flight—”
“Above my Muse's flight—”
“Why every man
“Is asked to soar exactly where he can.
“Yon gabbling goose can neither soar, nor sing,
“Yet with a feather from that goose's wing
“Some men soar higher than the eagle's flight,
“And sing immortal strains—”
“Is asked to soar exactly where he can.
“Yon gabbling goose can neither soar, nor sing,
“Yet with a feather from that goose's wing
“Some men soar higher than the eagle's flight,
“And sing immortal strains—”
“But if I write
“Where shall I find a theme?”
“Where shall I find a theme?”
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“Degenerate Bard!
“Can one in this fair island deem it hard
“To find a theme for song? read o'er each name
“That fought for England's safety, England's fame.
“Think of the Spanish war,—remember too
“The list of those who fell at Waterloo—
“Say, do you find no sons of Erin there?
“Behold her daughters too—can forms so fair,
“And lips so eloquent, and eyes so bright,
“Leave thee uncertain on what theme to write?
“Can one in this fair island deem it hard
“To find a theme for song? read o'er each name
“That fought for England's safety, England's fame.
“Think of the Spanish war,—remember too
“The list of those who fell at Waterloo—
“Say, do you find no sons of Erin there?
“Behold her daughters too—can forms so fair,
“And lips so eloquent, and eyes so bright,
“Leave thee uncertain on what theme to write?
“Ah, no! when Woman prompts a Poet's song,
“He cannot think too much, nor write too long;
“Though oft repeated, still his eye will find
“Charms in her person, beauties in her mind,
“For ever new,—or if described before
“'Tis certain nothing new could please him more:
“Those who have read it once will read again,
“The theme will sanctify the dullest strain,
“Woman should claim a verse from every bard,
“Her smiles his inspiration—and reward.
“The mother's tenderness—her hopes and fears—
“Her fond affection in our helpless years;
“Her watchful care beside the bed of pain;
“Her rapture when the infant smiles again;
“Her anxious feelings when the boy steps forth
“From her protection, to the snares of earth;
“Her pride when honoured and beloved he moves,—
“For his sake loving the fond girl he loves.
“He cannot think too much, nor write too long;
“Though oft repeated, still his eye will find
“Charms in her person, beauties in her mind,
“For ever new,—or if described before
“'Tis certain nothing new could please him more:
“Those who have read it once will read again,
“The theme will sanctify the dullest strain,
“Woman should claim a verse from every bard,
“Her smiles his inspiration—and reward.
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“Her fond affection in our helpless years;
“Her watchful care beside the bed of pain;
“Her rapture when the infant smiles again;
“Her anxious feelings when the boy steps forth
“From her protection, to the snares of earth;
“Her pride when honoured and beloved he moves,—
“For his sake loving the fond girl he loves.
“The wife, the partner of each happy hour,
“The fond companion, who can raise a flower
“In life's most cheerless path—the faithful friend,
“Whose duties never vary, never end:
“Interpreting each wish, each word, each glance,—
“Oh! how unlike the friendship of romance—
“The high-flown, wild attachment, formed for one
“Known but an instant,—and how little known!
“Which fancies that a day can summon forth
“That soft, yet hardy plant; whose secret growth
“Is scarcely known, or felt, till its rich bloom
“Sheds sweetness over life, and gilds the tomb.
“The fond companion, who can raise a flower
“In life's most cheerless path—the faithful friend,
“Whose duties never vary, never end:
“Interpreting each wish, each word, each glance,—
“Oh! how unlike the friendship of romance—
“The high-flown, wild attachment, formed for one
“Known but an instant,—and how little known!
“Which fancies that a day can summon forth
“That soft, yet hardy plant; whose secret growth
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“Sheds sweetness over life, and gilds the tomb.
“Woman deserves our fondest, warmest lays,
“In every land she soars beyond our praise;
“Our comfort from the cradle to the crutch,
“We cannot idolize her form too much:
“When near her we are blest—and, when we part,
“Elastic fetters twine around the heart:
“Expanding still, the farther we remove,
“Sensitive links extend to those we love:
“They lengthen, strengthen too,—defying fate,
“We prize their pressure, and ne'er feel their weight.
“In every land she soars beyond our praise;
“Our comfort from the cradle to the crutch,
“We cannot idolize her form too much:
“When near her we are blest—and, when we part,
“Elastic fetters twine around the heart:
“Expanding still, the farther we remove,
“Sensitive links extend to those we love:
“They lengthen, strengthen too,—defying fate,
“We prize their pressure, and ne'er feel their weight.
“Woman! when once thou wak'st a Poet's strain,
“He knows not how to turn to earth again;
“He writes thy name, and lingers still to gaze
“Upon the page devoted to thy praise:
“In every hour, in pleasure or alarm,
“Thy presence is a solace, or a charm:
“At morn or noon, in sunshine or in storm,
“He looks around him for thy radiant form;
“And roves with thee when summer moons are bright,—
“Fair forms look fairest in so soft a light.”
“He knows not how to turn to earth again;
“He writes thy name, and lingers still to gaze
“Upon the page devoted to thy praise:
“In every hour, in pleasure or alarm,
“Thy presence is a solace, or a charm:
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“He looks around him for thy radiant form;
“And roves with thee when summer moons are bright,—
“Fair forms look fairest in so soft a light.”
—“So far you promise well: you can, I find,
“Be eloquent in praise of womankind:
“But do not Erin's beauties claim a lay
“Particularly theirs?”
“Be eloquent in praise of womankind:
“But do not Erin's beauties claim a lay
“Particularly theirs?”
“Perhaps they may:
“But then, between ourselves, 'tis better far,
“In these things, not to be particular.
“Woman's a lovely word:—in Erin's isle
“You'll find her eyes, her lips, her cheek, her smile,
“In each variety of brown or fair,
“In fact, her charms are potent every where.
“Is there no other theme you can propose?”
“But then, between ourselves, 'tis better far,
“In these things, not to be particular.
“Woman's a lovely word:—in Erin's isle
“You'll find her eyes, her lips, her cheek, her smile,
“In each variety of brown or fair,
“In fact, her charms are potent every where.
“Is there no other theme you can propose?”
“Yes—tell the simple tale of Erin's woes,
“Tell it, and many British hearts will feel
“For those who want, and answer the appeal:—
“Here high-flown, flowery phrases would be lost;
“The tongue says little when the heart feels most.”
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“For those who want, and answer the appeal:—
“Here high-flown, flowery phrases would be lost;
“The tongue says little when the heart feels most.”
| Erin, and Other Poems | |