The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now, see the Sun, in Day's declining race,
Each object brighten in Earth's eastern space;
And, from his golden treasury, richly gilds
All Nature nourishes, or Labour builds—
His evening legacies, of light imparts
To crowded schools of Industry and Arts—
Exhibits bustling Birmingham to sight,
Its multiplying streets and villas bright—
Delineates, rear'd aloft, in russet hue,
Bar-beacon's barren heights, in obvious view—
Shews Wednesbury's and Walsal's blazing spires,
Like metals, fused, before his melting fires;
And Wolverhampton's turrets, fair, unfold,
Near northern boundaries, tipt with burnish'd gold;
Fields, countless cotts and villages, between,
Give life, and lustre to the social Scene;
While all the variegated Views confin'd
By distant Derby's blue-capp'd peaks behind.

Within this orient Landscape's ample bound
Each matter, and each manufactury's found,
Which, wide, unfolding all their wealth, and worth,
Diffuse unnumber'd blessings o'er the Earth!
Here, just below the broken surface, lies
The indurated Lime-rocks large supplies;
Which, with fix'd firmness, resolutely feel
Strong blasts of powder, and hard strokes of steel;
Then, roast with fire, and drench'd with water, yields
Its mouldering dust to fertilize the fields;
Or blended in a mass, with binding sand,
Thro' wondering Centuries make strong buildings stand.
There clinging Clay, in shallow lodgment, sleeps,
Or feels the riving frosts in crumbling heaps;
Till, temper'd into paste, and shap'd with Art,
In Life's affairs it fills a nobler part,
When, rais'd from earthy couch, and cavern'd home,
And fix'd, by fire, it forms the during dome,
The hollow arch, and unnamed structures more,
Proud shrines for Pomp, or shelters for the Poor—
Or, shaped, and ting'd, in varied moulds, and dyes,
To meet Man's wants, or to amuse his eyes;
To form Utensils, answering Need's intents,
Or shine, on shelves, as Grandeur's ornaments.

Farther, below each landscape's grassy floor,
Earth's teeming womb contains uncounted store.
O'er precincts, large, in stoney strata spread,
Crude Iron rests within its orey bed;
Which, rais'd by curious Arts, and wrought by skill,
Deals countless helps o'er every dale and hill;
And, Proteus-like, with ductile pow'rs endued,
Assuming shape, and tint, and attitude,
Accommodates in figure, size, and face,
The wants, and whims, of Man's fastidious Race.

Coal's black bitumen deeper still retires;
Like sable-clouds concealing latent fires;
Which, when extracted from the hollow'd rocks,
To birth, obstetric, brought, in solid blocks,
It shines, bless'd substitute for solar pow'rs,
To chear the heart, to cheat dull evening hours,
And cherish chilly Man, with gladdening glow,
When Earth lies shrowded in her sheets of snow—
Or, with its kind communicated heat,
To dress each dish of multifarious meat;
And, hardening, softening, fusing, pow'rs impart
To countless substances, in endless Art.

In Parts thro' prospects scattered far, and near,
Pale-glowing gleams, and flickering flames, appear,
Like new volcanoes, 'mid deep darkness nurs'd,
From cooking coals, in ruddy brilliance, burst,
While smokey curls, in thickening columns, rise,
Obscure the landscapes, and involve the skies—
Still, as the sanguine blaze, beneath, ascends,
And deepening blushes with heav'n's vapours blends,
Diffusing, all around, red, lurid, light,
And paint in parts, the negroe-cheeks of Night;
Deep, sullen sounds, thro' all the region roll,
Shocking, with groans, and sighs, each shuddering Soul!

Here clanking engines vomit scalding streams,
And belch vast volumes of attendant steams—
There thundering forges, with pulsations loud,
Alternate striking, pierce the pendant cloud;
While, to these distant hills, respiring slow,
Furnaces' iron lungs loud-breathing, blow;
Breaking, abrupt, on Superstition's ear,
And shrink the shuddering frame with shivering fear;
Obtruding on the heart, each heaving breath,
Some vengeful Fiend, grim delegate of Death!

Tho' such rude Scene no beauteous forms unfolds,
To glad the Heart, no glistening eye beholds,
Yet may the reasoning Mind's reflections trace
Unnumber'd bounties in each barren space:
As oft beneath a face and limbs deform'd,
A Soul may lodge, with Heav'n's pure Spirit warm'd;
Each Grace and Virtue of the human Mind,
That blazons Christ, and benefits Mankind.
Or, like unpleasant Scenes of Providence,
That thwart the Soul thro' avenues of Sense;
Yet may, more happiness, in secret, hide,
Than obvious blessings of more bright outside;
And still contribute more to Mind's delight,
When superficial charms all take their flight!