Poetical remains (1872) :: :: University of Virginia Library

O guardian of that sacred land,
Where Avon's wood-crowned waters stray;
Thou, whose all-powerful magic wand
The throng'd ideal train obey;
Who dartest on swift eagle wings,
Beyond the flaming bound of things:
O Fancy, hear!—'tis thine alone,
High-seated on a radiant throne,
Fast by the lyric Muse,
Her listening offspring to inspire,
And, ere they strike Apollo's golden lyre,
In their big breasts to pour Castalia's genuine dews.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Deem not my lips profane would praise
A name unknown to thy chaste ear:
No! Shakespear now demands my lays,—
Shakespear to thee, to Phœbus dear.
And oh! how at that mighty name
My swelling breast hath caught the flame.
Come then O Fancy, bend thy bow;
With me the Muse's arrows throw
At Avon's favored streams;
For thee full oft thy secret feet
Nightly have trod thy darling son to meet,
And wave before his eyes thy gaily glittering dreams.

EPODE I.

At Shakespear's happy birth
With fire ethereal Jove his soul endow'd,
Then bade him spurn the narrow bounds of earth,
And sordid wishes of the grov'ling crowd,
That chain the free-born mind; and “Take,” he said,
“This sacred charge, O Fancy: to his sight,
“Glancing in all their colours, be displayed
“The airy forms that sport in thy pure fields of light;
“For his vast mind, with innate wisdom fraught

“Beyond what taught
“The bards of yore,
“Thy trackless regions boldly shall explore,
“I guiding;—thus, O goddess, have I sworn:
“And now is come the fated hour;
“Earth now shall see and own thy power
“Forth-beaming in thy son. Be Shakespear born!”

STROPHE II.

So spake the god. With eager joy
Thou didst prevent his high behest,
And gazing on th'immortal boy,
Thrice snatch him fondly to thy breast;
Then, rushing from the heavenly height,
The winds to Avon bore thy flight;
There in old Arden's inmost shade,
Far from the sun, thy spirits laid
The heaven-entrusted child;
And as before his purgèd eyes
Thou badest oft their sportive train arise,
With silence fixed he saw, looked up to thee, and smiled.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Where tripping light with wanton tread
The Fairies marked the mazy green:
While some the blighting cankers kill,
And bless the tender plants from ill;
Some drive the clamorous owl away,
That nightly wonders at their play;
Some pant in nobler war
T'invade the hostile Rear-mice crew,
And, sheathed in glittering arms of filmy dew,
Their spears of thorn erect round Oberon's nutshell car.

EPODE II.

But oh! what sudden gloom,
What horror overcasts the lowering day?
How yawns that shagged cave, whose dreary womb
Ne'er felt the genial sun's enlivening ray;
Black, noisome, cheerless. Lo! how all around
With feeble cries the gliding spectres throng!
Hark, now I hear, with hollow, tremulous sound,
The solemn mutter'd spell, and horrid magic song!
Save me! What wither'd forms my soul affright?

By the pale light
Of yon blue fire
I know their scowling fronts, their wild attire.
See! thro' the glimmering darkness of the cave,
By Padoke warned, their rites they sing,
And slowly walk in dismal ring
Around the charmed cauldron's bubbling wave.

STROPHE III.

What howling whirlwinds rend the sky!
How shakes that ivy-mantled tower!
The conscious sun turns back his eye,
And nature trembling owns their power.
For whom, at yonder livid flame,
Do ye the deed without a name,
Ye secret hags? Whence breathes this sound?
Why sinks that cauldron in the ground?
Why do these thunders roll?
Tell me what means that armed Head?
Why comes that bloody Child?—The hags are fled!
They vanished into air.—Amazement wrung my soul!

ANTISTROPHE III.

Whither, ye beldames, do ye roam?
Love ye wild Lapland's Gothic night?

None now shall tread that cavern's gloom,
Nor spy your dreadful mystic rite:
None now shall see in yonder plain
The gambols of Titania's train.
No more the elves, with printless pace,
The ocean's ebbing waters chase,
Or fly the swelling tide:
Nor over the wide-watered shore
Sit listening to the curfew's sullen roar;
Nor, nightly, mushrooms make along the mountain's side.

EPODE III.

Ariel! who sees thee now
Upon the bat's wing sail along the sky?
Who sees thee sit upon the blossomed bough,
Bask on the rose, or in the cowslip lie?
No more shalt thou upon the sharp North run,
Or pierce into the earth, or tread the main;
No more with clouds bedim the mid-day sun,
Or fire the angry bolts, or pour the rattling rain.
For who can wield like Shakespear's skilful hand
That magic wand,
Whose potent sway

The Elves of Earth and Air and Sea obey?
Yet, Fancy! once again on Britain smile;
Yet choose some favorite son again,
O'er all thy boundless realms to reign:
Oh! give another Shakespear to our Isle.