Poems (1806) :: :: University of Virginia Library

Poems (1806)

Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

VOL. I

II.

VOL. II.

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II. VOL. II.

LYRIC PIECES.

ODE TO SLEEP,

COMPOSED DURING A VIOLENT ILLNESS, 1780.

I

The raven flaps his darksome wing;
Around the shades of horror gloom:
The boding birds of midnight sing,
And seem to mark my coming doom!
O Sleep! my fever'd soul from spectres bear,
O guard me from the phantoms of despair.

II

Ah! what avails the downy bed,
While mental sorrow sharpens pain:
With thee how blest in lowly shed,
His labour past, the vacant swain!
Flush'd with the bloom of health, no care he knows:
His evening-hours in early slumber close.

III

No pause from agony I own,
Through all the watches of the night;
But on my restless pillow moan,
Each heavy hour, 'till morning light.
Once could I weep: but anguish, too severe,
Denies my stiffen'd eye-lids ev'n a tear!

IV

O thou, by whom the heart of woe
Is freed from all its swelling sighs,
Who giv'st the wretch with joy to glow,
As fancy's faery scenes arise;
I ask not gilded visions of delight,
But save me, save me from yon beckoning sprite!

V

Come then, the oblivious balm diffuse,
And bid the dread idea fly;
Ere death descend in freezing dews,
To film, alas! the darken'd eye:
Haste, haste, and listen to thy suppliant's prayer,
And, though death's image, to my bed repair.

VI

'Tis his the throbbing breast to still;
'Tis his the burning lid to close:
Yet, ere the mortal numbness chill,
O seal my eyes in soft repose!
How sweet, thus lifeless, yet with life to lie;
Thus, without dying, O how sweet to die!

ODE ON THE ISLE OF MANN,

TO THE MEMORY OF BISHOP WILSON, WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE LATE Dr. WILSON, of BATH. 1781.

As musing erst I cross'd the glades
Where Mona, cloath'd with pendent shades,
O'erbrows the westering wave;
Sudden appear'd in faery maze
The pictur'd forms of other days,
And oft to memory's eye their transient colours gave.

And “ah! ye fleeting shapes,” I cried,
“Amidst these glooms in pity glide!
“For here ye joy'd to rove
“In elder times, when mystic strains
“Echoed through consecrated fanes,
“And rites of magic charm'd the reverential grove.

“O, by your wands of vervain blue,
“Of power to chase with lustrous dew
“The vapoury mists away;
“And by the dark incavern'd chest,
“Where sleeps Belinus' charmed vest;
“Again, ye Druid tribes! your awful forms display.

“Who now, while memory views in tears
“The curtain'd scene of former years,
“Shall guard these magic rocks;
“Where Genii oft on sounding wings,
“Flutter'd at evening o'er the springs
“That lav'd the wreathing roots of yon fantastic oaks?

“Who now shall join the minstrel's lay,
“While glitter to the full moon's ray
“Their high-strung harps of gold?
“Or who survey the sweeping pall
“Of bards, amid the emblazon'd hall,
“The Druid's floating pomp, and hoary seers of old?

“Who now, where stain'd with sacred blood
“The central oak o'ertops the wood,
“Shall see the victim laid
(“As midnight stills the spectred vale)
“On the red shrine aghast and pale,
“And pois'd aloft in air the lightning of the blade?

“Ah! these, from Mona vanish'd long,
“Scarce live amid the flights of song,
“The Poet's breast to warm;
“And ev'n from fancy's eagle eye
“The soul-entrancing visions fly;
“Each Druid sinks away, and fades each faery form!

“Yet, where the lurid nightshade blooms,
“To some lone ruin's deep'ning glooms
“The pensive poet steals:
“Oft as he marks the Druid graves
“And crumbling piles, his bosom heaves
“With thoughts of ancient days, and pleasing horror feels!”

Thus whilst the Muses taught to glow
The spirit of elegiac woe,
Soft-melting o'er my breast;
Instant along the shadowy way
Trembled a beam of brighter day,
And from an opening cloud a cherub shone confest.

“Suppress, fond youth, the unhallow'd strain,”
He cried, “nor rashly thus profane
“These groves with pagan sighs:
“Rejoice, that, crush'd to earth, the abodes
“Of Druids and their fabled gods,
“With superstition's frown affront no more the skies.

“What! dost thou mourn the vanish'd rite
“That gave to horror the pale night,
“And shook the blasted wood;
“While, as each victim's dying cries
“Announc'd the human sacrifice,
“Scar'd at the infernal scene, the moon went down in blood?

“No! let the Star, whose orient ray
“Those Druid orgies beam'd away,
“Thy holy reverence claim;
“And, purer than a poet's fire,
“The genuine oracles inspire
“Thine elevated soul with true religion's flame.

“Call with new ardour to thy aid,
“O call a more auspicious shade,
“And bid thy raptur'd mind,
“Full of the blest idea, soar
“To brighter regions, and adore
“The gracious power that gave a Wilson to man-kind!

“With joy look round this little isle,
“And see the genial virtues smile
“The Christian planted here:
“Twas his, where pain had fix'd the dart,
“To heal with lenient balms the smart;
“From penury's pale eye 'twas his to wipe the tear!

“With more than all a shepherd's care
“He rais'd the children of despair!
“By conscious guilt opprest:
“He bade (where weary sinners trod)
“Repentance, pointing to their God,
“Guide their reviving souls into the realms of rest.

“His flock with undissembled air
“Gather'd around, a smile to share
“Benevolently warm;
“And, as by miracle, they thought
“A portion of his worth they caught,
“If haply veil'd beneath the shadow of his form.

“Yet, where the rays of virtue shine,
“Malignant Envy! it is thine
“To bid her lustre faint:
“And lo! the Infernal, o'er the scene
“Dark-brooding, blots the bright serene;
“And bears to Rushin's walls the persecuted saint.

“There, as immur'd the good man lay,
“Awhile to tyranny a prey,
“Sat Patience with calm eye:
“And there too Faith, who gives to flow,
“O Innocence! thy robe of snow,
“Op'd, through the vale of tears, a vista to the sky.

“Yet, Wilson, like a shadow pass'd
“The storm which envy rais'd, to blast
“Thy unpolluted head:
“Soon thy fair orb resum'd its light,
“And grew more beautifully bright,
“As far dispell'd by truth, the murky darkness fled.

“At length, thy radiant journey run,
“With placid close thy evening sun
“On friendship's trembling tear
“Glanc'd its last beams, and sunk away;
“But rose to everlasting day,
“And now in glory gilds the Seraph's happier sphere!”

Castle Rushin, in the Isle of Mann, where the Bishop was imprisoned.

ODE WRITTEN AFTER A THUNDER-STORM.

1785.

Through a slow-labouring cloud, that bore
Against the winds its lurid store,
The moon rose, quench'd in blood:
The foliage lash'd the forest-steep,
Then shrunk into a gloom more deep,
And with a sullen murmur foam'd the troubled flood.

O'er the dun skirtings of the dale,
The brooding spirit of the gale
In pitchy darkness hung;
When on a lofty-crested oak,
Sudden, the forked azure broke,
And down the rocky dell its shiver'd branches flung.

Appall'd I saw the sulphur'd front
Of heaven—above my sylvan haunt
I saw the tempest roll;—
Till Fancy lent her magic aid,
Dispell'd the terrors of the shade,
And wing'd to distant climes my quick excursive soul.

“Fear not,” she cried, “the thunder's wreck,
“Since Albion's guardian genii check
“The demons of the storm:
“Far other is the fever'd air,
“That kindles with eternal war,
“Where nature starts aghast at many a fiendlike form.

“Lo! where, amidst Messene's towers,
“That angel of perdition lours,
“Pavilion'd in the gloom!
“Mark—mark the dead portentous pause—
“See, earth distends her flaming jaws;
“And myriads sink ingulph'd in one disastrous tomb.

“Fell as the grisly lion prowls,
“Yon desolating whirlwind howls
“O'er Africk's savage waste:
“Save, where the billowy horrors sail,
“In sultry stillness sleeps the gale;
“And, if the black air breathe, it breathes a poison'd blast.

“And, as the fierce Arabian bands
“Guide o'er immeasurable sands
“The camel's burning way;
“Behold the raging Samiel rise,
“Pass in pale pomp athwart the skies,
“Shake his pestiferous wing, and rush to seize his prey.

“His giant strides survey—his head
“Half viewless in a cloud of red;
“Ah! death was in that grasp!—
“To earth they fall: In thunders hoarse
“He riots o'er each shrivel'd corse,
“Catches the expiring groan, and stores the envenom'd gasp.

“Or turn thee, where the purest day
“Unsoften'd in its torrid ray
“Is all one glaring sky;
“Where no cool evening spreads its shade;
“No mellow tints of purple fade;
“But, as the sun retires, the blazing meteors fly.

“See in the livid heavens appear
“Yon' speck, that swells its dusky sphere,
“And dims the boiling deep:
“Still broader it expands its orb;
“And bursting, as it would absorb
“All earth, destruction speeds the dread tornado's sweep.

“Ah! Ruin, wide as this, extends
“Full oft, where panting India bends
“To drink the sacred stream;
“And, roaring to the host of heaven,
“Views from their dens her panthers driv'n,
“While all her citron groves are wrapt in one wide flame.

“And Ruin, dire as this, hath spread
“Where Montezuma's offspring bled
“Beneath the ruffian blade;
“Where, blackening over Andes' height,
“The Condor wheels its monster flight,
“And bids the enormous plume its iceclad mountain shade.

“Yet here, though loud the tempest's roar,
“From Piercefield's castle, to the shore
“Where rough Tintadgel frowns,
“Thy Albion's temperate skies shall smile,
“And summer bless the genial isle,
“Whilst her green clustering hills the unblasted fruitage crowns.

“Here, though the keener lightnings play,
“'Tis but to give the infolding day
“A more salubrious breeze;
“And, whirling sulphur to the skies,
“Though Thules sink, and Thules rise,
“Her firm-bas'd rocks shall stand, begirt with friendly seas!”

ODE WRITTEN IN A PICTURE-GALLERY.

1786.

Upon the dusky-stoled portrait hoar
Slept the silver orb of night:
When in a fleecy cloud the broken light,
Fainting, fled—his tresses frore
Sudden to the moon he shook,
And with awaken'd wildness in his look,
That on deeds of battle mus'd,
From his majestic brow a sabler shade effus'd.

“Ah! where the worthies of old time, he sigh'd,
“Where the richly-pictur'd race
“That fronted the long gallery's scutcheon'd grace?
“Where the chief, whose mailed pride
“Near yon pillar erst repos'd;
“Whilst through the lifted beaver he disclos'd
“The Crusader's ardent soul,
“That bade the unhallow'd blood in one wide torrent roll.

“What though in ermin'd dignity I view
“Glanville's venerable form?
“No more with life's expressive semblance warm
“Lo, he wears a clay-cold hue!
“Pale his consort's gorgeous train;
“Scarce glimmer the faint honours of her chain,
“Though but erst the ponderous gold
“Flung its resplendent light across each fluid fold.

“What though where proud Godolphin crowns the plain
“Turreted in antique gloom,
“These hoary forms beneath the fretted dome
“Rise, in sweeping robe, again;
“There, unheeded too, they fade,
“Ah! never by the gazing eye survey'd;
“While their pensive shadows fall
“In solitary state along the banner'd hall.

“There once, when Chivalry's romantic flame
“Fiercely burnt in warrior breasts,
“The hospitable Baron hail'd his guests,
“Steel-clad by his tissued dame!

“Rich the goblet's golden gleam,
“Their plum'd casques nodding o'er its spiced stream:
“And, as many a deed was sung
“Of valorous enterprize, the roofs high-rafter'd rung.

“There echoed to the minstrel-harp divine
“Tales of battling swords that clash'd,
“As all the tournament its glory flash'd
“On the chiefs of Cornish line;—
“Tales of Kaliburn, that mow'd
“A million down, where slaughtering Arthur strode;
“Who, though strong by magic steel'd,
“Fell a gigantic corse, and shook all Camlan's field!

“There, in heroic song, the adventurous blade,
“Storming the dim castle, broke
“The wizard spell, and, at the massy stroke,
“Rescued the long-prison'd maid!
“There, impetuous, from the van
“The red-cross knight along the ramparts ran;
“And, distain'd with paynim gore,
“From Salem's battlements the sacred trophies tore.

“Such themes, familiar to Godolphin's walls,
“'Midst the Baron's festal cheer,
“Fill'd, when the deeds of warlike worth were dear,
“All Cornubia's castle-halls!

“Buried with the mighty dead,
“From human eye the enthusiast fires are fled:
“Hers'd I saw Lanhydrock's lord!
“There Chivalry last hail'd the high baronial board.

“To prop yon desolated arch were vain,
“Mouldering by the moated streams!
“The unvaulted gate-way through its ivy gleams;
“As athwart the Gothic fane
“Yonder wildly-rifted yew,
“That o'er the cloyster its broad branches threw,
“Darksome in the days of yore,
“The wreck of each rude storm still echoes in the roar.

“Perish'd are all the triumphs of romance!
“Yet, along the drear walls dank,
“The dinted target's and riv'n corslet's clank
“Tell of many a bloody lance;
“Where, Restormal's rampires round,
“To the rough fragment's mass the hills resound;
“Where Dunheved, frowning deep,
“Slopes its embattled towers with necromantic sweep.”

He ceas'd:—and kindling fearful to the view,
Rapid as the lightning's ray,
A spectre on the moon-beam glanc'd away!
Instant his blank visage grew

Paler than the stiffen'd dead!
(Each column shivering as the spectre fled)
And, the shade of mortal mould,
Dim was his feeble form, his sombre eye was cold.

An original Picture of Judge Glanville and his Lady, in the Author's possession.

Judge Glanville and his Lady are also represented at Godolphin in Cornwall.

PART OF THE EPICEDIUM OF REGNER LODBROG, TRANSLATED.

‘What's surer to the warrior brave,
‘Than to meet death's grisly form—
‘Though he seem to mock the grave,
‘Firm amidst the battle's storm?

‘He alone in sorrow dies,
‘Who hath never felt a pang!
‘Lo, where pale the dastard flies,
‘Eagles stretch the bloody fang.

‘Life its lingering light in vain
‘To the coward soul affords;
‘While he dreads the carnag'd plain,
‘Trembling at the sport of swords.

‘Fairly match'd to battle go:
‘This is glorious—this is great!
‘Striplings, deal the mutual blow,
‘Nor let man from man retreat.

‘Long was this the warrior's fame—
‘Foremost in the roar of arms!
‘'Till such valour marks thy name,
‘ Claim not thou the virgin's charms!

‘Led by destiny, we fight;
‘And, if fate our being bound,
‘Seldom 'tis in mortal might
‘To o'erstep the iron mound.

‘Little did my heart forebode
‘Ella's power to take my life,
‘On the day when vengeance glow'd,
‘Snuffing wild the hostile strife;

‘Fainting when I cover'd o'er
‘Torrents of my fever'd blood;
‘And, in haste, from off the shore
‘Push'd my bark into the flood.

‘Then, on every Scottish bay,
‘All in triumph, had we spread
‘The repast for beasts of prey
‘Gorg'd with bodies of the dead.

‘Yet I glory!—yet I laugh!
‘Since I know, while now I fall,
‘With my comrades I shall quaff
‘Mantling ale in Balder's hall.

‘Yes! on many a festal bench—
‘Yes! our joys shall then be full,
‘When our thirst we shouting quench
‘From the Foeman's hollow skull.

‘Courage never drooping there
‘Groan'd at death, in Odin's dome!
‘Nor with accents of despair
‘To the destin'd hall I come.

‘Now would all Aslauga's race
‘Rush to battle, red with ire,
‘Could they see their father's face;
‘Could they see their writhing sire.

‘To my sons a nurse I've giv'n,
‘Who with valour fill'd their heart—
‘Ah! I feel my body riv'n!
‘Ah! I feel the venom'd smart!

‘Many a viper tears my limbs;
‘Lo! I hurry to my end!
‘Dim in death, each eye-ball swims—
‘Snakes my inmost bosom rend!

‘Yet, I trust, my sons will drench
‘Swift their spears in Ella's breast,
‘From his hands the sceptre wrench;
‘Nor repose in idle rest.

‘Fifty battles have I fought,
‘Rearing the tall standard high:
‘And my early youth was taught
‘Deep in blood the sword to dye.

‘Then I hop'd no earthly king
‘More renown'd than I, drew breath—
‘Ah! I feel the mortal sting!
‘But I must not mourn my death.

‘The terrific Dysæ call!
‘Let me—let me close my song—
‘Odin sent them from his hall—
‘How they beckon! how they throng!

‘On a lofty seat elate,
‘I shall quaff the foaming ale;
‘With the goddesses of fate,
‘And with Odin's self regale.

‘Now my bright career is run!
‘Quivers yet my vital fire!
‘Gasping—panting—lo! 'tis done!
‘With a smile I shall expire!’

None but the brave deserve the fair. Dryden.

His enemy, who had condemned him to death.

ODE ON THE SUSCEPTIBILITY OF THE POETICAL MIND.

I

'Tis not for vulgar souls to feel
Those sacred sympathies refin'd,
That o'er the Poet's bosom steal,
When nature, to his glowing mind,
Each varied form, each colour gives,
Where rich the bloom of beauty lives.

II

For him yon' smooth and swelling green
In contrast with the craggy steep,
Hath charms, by common eyes unseen,
As o'er the lawn with shadowy sweep
That oak's luxuriant foliage flows,
And to the summer-sunbeam glows.

III

His fancy-roving eye perceives
New pleasure in the lucid stream,
That to the rose's opening leaves
Reflects a crimson-tinctur'd gleam;

And wanders down the daisied vale
To the tall aspin, quivering-pale.

IV

For him yon fawns in many a maze
The splendor of the morning court;
Or group'd, enjoy the genial blaze,
As satiate of their frolic sport;
And, with a charm unfelt by few,
The setting glory still pursue.

V

He sees some faery power illume
The orient hills with richer light,
Chasing the mist's disparted gloom:
He sees, upon the mountain-height,
Some faery power the pencil hold
To paint the evening-cloud with gold.

VI

There, as the deep and stilly shade
On night's pale bosom seems to rest,
And from the glimmering azure fade
The last cool tints that streak the west;
He heaves—though others wonder why—
He cherishes the pensive sigh.

VII

If then, a livelier passion move
The Poet's breast, to nature true;
If in such scenes, with looks of love,
He trace a more attractive hue;

His heart what exstacy inspires,
The female form when beauty fires.

VIII

Light, as on air, her steps advance!
Others may gaze with pleasur'd eye—
He casts a more enamour'd glance,
He breathes a more delicious sigh!
Others may hail the enchanting sight—
He faints with tremulous delight!

IX

The blush of languishing sixteen
Which mantles to emotions warm;
That winning negligence of mien;
Those graces of the finest form;
Those shadowy tresses wild, which rove
To kiss the heaving bloom of love.

X

And melting o'er the accordant keys
Touch'd by her rosy fingers fleet,
Those tones, which, as the dying breeze,
Mix with a voice divinely sweet—
Others unwonted ardours boast;
But, O Letitia, he is lost!

XI

Nor less his vivid feelings prize
The gay Honoria's artless youth;
Oft as her more effulgent eyes,
Beaming intelligence and truth,
And, kindling quick with fancy, dart
The expression of the untroubled heart;

XII

Ere with a spirit unreprest
Her easy converse steal the hours,
Where shines, in blessing others blest,
A soul unconscious of its powers!
Ere yet a woodnote warbled wild
Proclaim her, Nature's favourite child.

XIII

And if a Laura's glance so meek,
So gentle—so retir'd an air,
Her native loveliness bespeak;
While as the radiance of the star,
That softly gilds the evening-dew,
Her's is a trembling lustre too;

XIV

O, if her heart such feelings breathe,
So tender as her blushes tell,
His hand shall weave a modest wreath
To suit her timid sweetness well;
And ever to her worth awake,
Shall guard it for his Laura's sake.

XV

Such are the forms he values most—
Waves the rich foliage o'er the lawn;
The dales their roseate treasures boast;
In sunny mazes sports the fawn;
The rills their liquid amber pour—
Still, still he fondly fancies more.

XVI

“Come, lovely Laura! grace the shade—
“O come, to harmonize the whole!”
Yet, if he meet the melting maid,
Her beauty fills his ravish'd soul!
The lawn, the shade, new charms may own—
The charms he sees in her alone!

Here the author would be understood only to express that tremulous sensibility—that fine perception of the beautiful, which is inserparable from the Poetical Mind.

113

HEROIC PIECES.

115

CLAUDIAN's RAPE of PROSERPINE.

BOOK THE FIRST.

The Ravisher's fell steeds and blasting car,
That dimm'd the twinkling orb of many a star;
And Stygian Juno's chambers, where, o'erspread
With gloom mysterious, lies the bridal bed—
Scenes full of terror (hence, profane, away!)
My throbbing heart impels me to display!
Each earth-born feeling dies; the god inspires,
And more than mortal rage my bosom fires!
Lo, trembling from their base, the temples nod,
And floods of radiance speak the approaching God:

116

Earth roars; and Cecrops' fane returns the sound,
Whilst her bright torch Eleusis waves around.
See too, Triptolemus, thy hissing snakes,
Worn by the yoke, relieve their scaly necks;
Erect with easy lapses glide along,
And bend their crests purpureal to the song!
Lo! yonder Hecate's three forms arise;
And he, whose robe a tiger's skin supplies,
(Its richly-gilded claws together bound)
Mild Bacchus comes, with wanton ivy crown'd,
Tottering his footsteps! a Mæonian rod
Supports the drunken figure of the god.

Gods! whom Avernus' shadowy tribes obey,
Who grasp whatever fleets from earth away;
Ye, whom the livid lakes of Styx surround,
And Phlegethon's sulphureous flood profound;
Give me to know the secrets of your pole,
And let your mysteries burst upon my soul!
Oh tell, how Dis was fir'd with love, and bade
The dower of Chaos bless the ravish'd maid.

The king of Erebus, long doom'd to live
Cheerless, with not one joy that love can give;
To him unknown a father's tender name,
His lonely bed unblest by Hymen's flame;
Now pour'd from sullenness Resentment's fire,
And brav'd Heaven's Sovereign in a storm of ire.

117

See monsters from their flaming gulphs repair
To Hell's dire standard, and announce the war:
The furies menacing, their snake-crown'd queen
Waves her accursed torch, and rears the embattled scene.
The elements had now resum'd the fight,
In horror struggling for their ancient night;
The Titan race, their chains relax'd, had seen
Full soon the splendour of the blue serene;
Ægeon's self, his dungeon rent around,
His hundred hands had lifted at the sound,
And (the red thunders bursting from above)
Had mov'd, besmear'd with blood, the throne of Jove:
But for the world alarm'd, the Parcæ bade
The tumult cease, and instant sought the shade
Where Pluto sat; embrac'd with suppliant air
His feet, and at his throne diffus'd their hair.
(Sisters! in all her forms who nature lead,
And bid the series of the fates proceed;
Evolve all ages in their iron loom,
And sternly fix the universal doom!)
When thus (her scatter'd tresses wildly flow'd)
Thus Lachesis address'd the grimly god:

“Hail, arbiter of night, whose high controul
“The shades obey, for whom our spindles roll;
“Whose hands all Nature's embryo seeds supply,
“By whom all rise to live, or droop to die.

118

“Since spirits range, by thee prepar'd for birth,
“At circling periods, o'er the realms of earth;
“And in corporeal forms, by thy decree,
“Breathe a short space, and then return to thee;
“O seek not to dissolve the laws we gave,
“Those bonds we bade the according spindles weave:
“Why rear yon impious standard, and display
“To Titan's monster-brood, the light of day?
“Break not fraternal leagues by civil strife;
“Ask of high Jove, and Jove will grant a wife.”
She spake: and (rarely though the Suppliant's cries
Move his stern features) lo, his anger dies.
Thus, midst the regions of the Northern star,
When, heavy Boreas rages for the war,
Prepar'd to rush o'er all the dreary waste,
(His ice-clad pinions sounding in the blast)
And, arm'd with the pale whirlwind, spread dismay
O'er foaming seas, and sweep vast woods away—
Lo, if the monarch of the winds arise,
Fast clos'd his gates of brass, the discord flies;
Sudden the vainly-vaunted echoes cease,
And broken murmurs languish into peace.
Then Pluto summon'd the swift son of May
To wing, with words that burn, to heaven his way:
Obedient to the summons of the god
Stood the plum'd youth, and wav'd his drowsy rod.
In all the majesty of dreary state,
On his rude throne, the death-like monarch sate:

119

From his huge sceptre dropp'd a noisome dew,
And his pale form rose dreadful to the view.
A cloud, whose horrors deepen'd all the shade,
Involv'd in heavy gloom his towering head:
In rage new terrors o'er his visage ran,
And as the thunder rolls, he thus began:
(Strait at his voice a sacred silence spread
O'er all the wide dominions of the dead;
Mute in appal the three-mouth'd monster stood;
Fierce Acheron still'd the murmur of his flood;
No more Cocytos' fountain tears arose,
And Phlegethon lay hush'd in deep repose.)

“Thou common power to all the gods, who dwell
“Amidst Heaven's regions, and the abodes of hell;
“Thou, who alone canst range o'er each domain,
“And the high commerce of those worlds maintain;
“Go, mount the winds and rapid storms above,
“And bear these tidings to the pride of Jove.
“Stern brother, though thy heavens confess the god,
“Say, tyrant, shall I tremble at thy nod?
“What though, by impious chance, the day was lost,
“Cannot we still our arms and prowess boast?
“Think'st thou we sleep, because no Cyclops' art
“Frames for our sport the vainly-blazing dart?
“Say, is it not enough, that here, by light
“Uncheer'd,—that here, where broods eternal night,

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“We rule o'er regions in confusion hurl'd—
“This poor third portion of the vasty world;
“While round thy head the Signs in triumph roll,
“And various splendours paint thy Northern Pole?
“And shall I live, by Hymen's joys unblest?
“See Neptune languish on his fair one's breast.
“Thee too, when wearied with thy bolts of fire,
“Thee with fierce joy thy Juno's charms inspire:
“And why repeat Latona's glowing shame,
“Or Ceres' secret Loves, or Themis' name?
“Behold! full well a numerous offspring prove
“Thy range unbounded through the wilds of love!
“But I, in these lone vaults condemn'd to pine,
“What blisses, to alleviate care, are mine?
“Here by no loves, no tender pledges, blest,
“No longer can I brook the inglorious rest.
“I swear by Chaos, and the Stygian floods,
“Whose dreadful sanction ever binds the gods;
“If thou my orders scorn, in black array
“Hell shall disclose her entrails to the day;
“In all its horrors clad, shall darkness rise,
“And blot the golden glories of the skies;
“And, burst the chains which ancient Saturn made,
“The Poles shall mingle with Tartarean shade.”

Scarce had he ceas'd, when swift the herald flew
To the bright districts of ethereal blue.

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The Sire the mandate heard, and strait inclin'd,
To various councils, his revolving mind.
What nymph, endued with charms, might Pluto love,
Or quit for Stygian gloom the realms above;
For Jove himself 'twas arduous to decide:
At length he fixes on the fated bride.

In Henna's vale, fair Proserpine, the child
Of Ceres, as the rose of beauty smil'd:
Ungifted by Lucina's second aid,
She, happiest parent, rear'd the blooming maid;
And wish'd no other her regard might share,
While in one daughter center'd all her care.
Not more the heifer's fond endearments prove
The growing ardor of maternal love;
Ere yet her offspring's feeble feet can tread
The field, or crescent sprouts adorn its head.
Now flourish'd ripe for love the virgin's charms,
The conscious blushes, and the soft alarms;
The quick-glanc'd smile of half-represt desire,
And the short sigh, that spoke the rising fire.
Full many a suitor to the beauteous maid,
With trembling hopes their various worth display'd:
Mars boasts his shield, to ward the deathful blow,
And youthful Phoebus, glorying in his bow,
Offers in dower (while hopes the god of war
That Rhodope's high hills may gain the fair)

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As dazzling lures, to win the virgin's smile,
Amyclæ, Claros, and the Delian isle.
Hence for the charming maid, Latona's claim;
Hence rival Juno's:—yet each lover's flame
Was vain—whilst Ceres her lov'd charge consign'd
To Sicily's sequester'd bowers, (too blind
To fate) whilst, fearful of her child's disgrace,
She trusts the faithless genius of the place.

Of old, Trinacria join'd the Italian shores,
Where now, with whirling wave, Charybdis roars;
But Nereus “push'd the pillar'd earth aside,”
And gave each rending mountain to the tide.
Torn from her kindred clime, a broken scene,
While struggling dash'd the impetuous surge between,
Trinacria lay; yet, stedfast from the storm,
Rais'd o'er the billows her three-forked form.
There, with his jetting rocks, Pachynum braves,
Unmov'd, the fury of the Ionian waves.
Gætulian Thetis, here, with hideous bray,
O'er Lilybæum darts the foaming spray;
While boundless the Tyrrhenian billows rise,
And shake Pelorum, as outstretch'd it lies.
Full in the midst, with heaven-assailing height,
The rocks of Ætna break upon the sight:
Rocks, that shall never cease, inwrapt with flame,
Her giant wars, and triumphs to proclaim.—

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Bust of Enceladus, who pours afloat
Sulphureous torrents from his burning throat!
Full oft the monster, as he lies opprest,
Essays to move the mountain from his breast;
And, while with rebel neck the weight he heaves,
The island trembles to her deepest caves;
Her tower-crown'd cities totter to their fall,
And ruin stares aghast, ingulphing all.
Ætna's huge top, survey'd by distant ken,
Blackens, impervious to the steps of men;
No culture there—in other parts arise
Thick trees, that wave their foliage to the skies.
And now, the green luxuriance fades away;
And clouds of sulphur dim the sickly day:
Lo, bolts terrific blast each trembling star,
And with her entrails Ætna feeds the war.
But, though the fury of the mountain glows,
It lies still cover'd with eternal snows:
There molten rocks, and floods of lava, tost
Within the chilling influence of the frost,
Congeal: there lightnings flash with powerless blaze,
And o'er deep hills of ice the lambent vapour plays.
O say, what engines whirl the rocks around,
And rend the caverns with rebellow'd sound;
Say, from what fount the stream of Vulcan flows,
As down the redd'ning steep its deluge glows?
Perhaps the air, condens'd in Ætna's caves,
Amid their rifted sides, in fury raves;

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And forcing through the yawning chasm its way,
Bursts on the blasted regions of the day:
Or, in the bowels of the mountain pent,
The boiling sea-wave rages for a vent;
Sulphureous brews an elemental war,
And many a flaming fragment hurls in air.
Ceres, while here embower'd her offspring lay,
Bends from this isle to Phrygian realms her way:
Lo! to the tower-crown'd mother of the gods,
Her dragons whirl her through the breaking clouds;
And, as they raise their crimson crests, the reins
Flowing in air, a dewy poison stains:
Green vivid spots their burnish'd backs unfold,
And glow their various scales with flames of gold.
Here swift they move, where loftier zephyrs blow,
There skim with curling flight the plains below.
As glides her chariot o'er the furrow'd land,
Lo, sudden Plenty wakes at her command;
From every track the golden blades arise,
And harvests wave around her, as she flies.
Now dimly seen, decreasing Ætna grew,
And all Trinacria vanish'd from the view.
Alas! what omens fill'd her troubled mind!
How oft she cast a lingering look behind!
Whilst, as they glisten'd on her cheek, her tears
A mother's fondness shew'd, a mother's fears!
“Hail, favour'd earth! in faultering strain she cries;
“Hail, favour'd earth! superior to the skies;

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“My womb's dear offspring to thy charge I give,
“That favourite offspring, by whose life I live!
“And soon shall high rewards await thy care,
“No rake shall vex thy fields, or sharpen'd share;
“Thy laughing herds shall graze unyok'd from toil,
“And fruits spontaneous flourish o'er thy soil;
“While all who till thy plains, in wonder lost,
“The unusual products of the year shall boast.”
She ceas'd, and strait to Ida's ancient fane
Her dragons bore her through the aërial plain.
Here a tall pine, whose reverential gloom
Rests on the rock-stone of the sacred dome;
While not a breeze disturbs the grove around,
Flings through the singing boughs a shrilly sound.
Within, the furious dance—the mingled cries
Of madness, echo dreadful to the skies:
Dire howls the mountain's deepest haunts assail,
And Gargara's words bend trembling o'er the vale.
As the fierce dragons to the fane advance,
The pipes and timbrels cease, and all the dance.
No more the raving priests their cymbals beat,
And the pleas'd lions fawn at Ceres' feet.
From the mysterious shade Cybelle sped,
And bent, to hail her guest, the turrets of her head.
Now Jove, who every motion had survey'd,
Disclos'd his councils to the Cyprian maid:
“Hear, while I ope my secret cares to thee,
“(So Themis sings, and so the Fates decree)

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“And know that Proserpine, with all her charms,
“Blooms yet reserv'd for grimly Pluto's arms.
“Now, (for the crisis calls—since midst the bowers
“Of distant Phrygia, Ceres wastes the hours)
“To Ætna's flowery plains direct thy flight,
“And there, when glow the skies with morning light,
“The thoughtless girl let sweet illusions fire,
“And stir in wanton sports the young desire.
“There, while she wanders o'er her meads of gold,
“In gentle chains the unweeting virgin hold—
“Thou, by whose touch I burn in amorous play,
“And all that live, in love dissolve away!
“Shall not thy power the dreary kingdoms prove?
“Not hell's dread legions shall be cold to love.
“On sad Erinnys all thy ardours breathe,
“Fire every bosom in the realms beneath;
“Through Acheron's deepest darkness speed thy dart,
“And ev'n subdue with beauty, Pluto's heart.”

She flies—and with her flew the blue-ey'd maid;
And she, whose arrows fright the howling shade:
And as they travell'd from the æthereal height,
Shone o'er their rapid path a stream of light.
Thus as the comet, charg'd with horror, flies,
In sanguine flame it sweeps the kindling skies;
The seaman views its trail in wild amaze,
And the pale nations tremble at the blaze:

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With dire portent it shakes its threat'ning hair,
To fleets announcing storms, to cities war.
Now had they come where Ceres' palace blaz'd
By the strong prowess of the Cyclops rais'd:
There, iron walls the admiring eye survey'd,
There, iron posts and locks of chalybs made.
Ne'er with such glowing toil, a mass so great,
The forming anvil of Pyracmon beat;
Nor Steropes such mighty labour knew,
His light'ning furnace as the bellows blew;
Nor ever, when he snatch'd it from the flame,
Hiss'd the red metal in so vast a stream.
On brazen beams the roofs supported rise,
While amber pillars of transparent dyes
Tinge, as they prop the ivory-ceiled halls,
With rich reflected light their lofty walls.
There Proserpine, with sweetest songs, the dome
Delighting, ply'd the labours of her loom;
But ah, in vain the various woof she wove,
Design'd a tribute of her filial love!
Here, in rich tapestry, the beauteous maid
The series of the Elements display'd.
Lo! through old Chaos parent nature streams
Her light, and foster'd in her genial beams
To its own place each seedling atom flies;
And sudden, as the lighter forms arise,
The heavier bodies to the centre fall,
While powers unknown suspend the illumin'd ball.

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Mild æther shines, the polar regions glow,
And with free wave the rising waters flow.
The stars she lights in gold, in purple pours
The sea, and lifts in various gems the shores.
Now the well-imitated billows curl
Around, and in their dashing eddies hurl
(While murmurs seem to creep o'er all the sand)
The sea-weeds high against the rocky strand.
Five zones she adds, and marks with nice design
In red, the fervour of the flaming line;
And o'er its squalid limits as she runs,
She paints them glowing in continual suns.
Then, the full-populated zones she rears,
Where verdure, fann'd by zephyr's breath, appears;
And next, the climes, where winter's dreary host
Break their vast thunders o'er the boundless frost,
Arrest the foaming billow as it rolls,
And with eternal mountains block the poles!
Last as she figur'd Dis, the infernal god,
The gloomy Manes, and their dread abode;
Sudden, as prescient of her fate, appears
Her cheek bedew'd with inauspicious tears!
Now, at the limits of the web, she gave
The glassy folds to ocean's winding wave—
But lo! three female forms—abrupt she leaves
Her labours, and the heavenly guests receives;
While the soft girl disorder'd, blushes warm,
Tinge her fair cheeks, and light up every charm:

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Blushes—no ivory's Tyrian hues outvie,
Though Lydian maids infuse the glowing dye.
Beneath the still wave sunk the day. To calm
Each sense, while Sleep diffus'd the oblivious balm;
In her cerulean car pale Night arose
Dew-sprent, and o'er all nature breath'd repose.
And now the infernal monarch, warn'd by Jove,
Prepar'd, in rapture, for the realms above.
Alecto strait, the vengeful fury, speeds
To harness to the car his grimly steeds,
That graze Cocytus' pasture-banks, and roam
Where Erebus extends his waste of gloom;
That drink, where Lethe's drowsy waters gleam,
And froth the sick oblivion of the stream.—
Orphnæus flaming to the affrighted eye,
And Æthon, fleet as arrowy lightnings fly;
High Nycteus, that the stygian herd outshone,
And wing'd Alastor, mark'd for Pluto's own;
These join the dark car, panting for their prey,
Gnash wild applause, and snuff the dawn of day.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

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BOOK THE SECOND.

Not yet the morn, in broad effulgence bright,
The Ionian waters dash'd with dazzling light:
The calm wave trembles with a rosy ray,
And through blue skies the transient ardors play.
Now, mindless of a tender mother's care,
(So will'd the Destinies) the incautious fair
Seeks the fresh beauties of the roscid lawn,
Alas! by Dionæan treachery drawn!
Thrice on their ominous hinges grate the doors
Harsh thunder; and presaging Ætna roars,
Conscious of fate, as, thrice, in rueful wail,
Its echoes burst terrific on the gale.
And while, companions of her flowery way,
Rov'd her fair guests, to meet the rising day;
Deaf to all signs the prescient powers bestow,
Too vent'rous maid, she wanders into woe.
Replete with wiles the conscious Venus glows,
And plans ideal conquests as she goes;

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Sees Dis and Chaos her proud triumphs prove,
And all the world of Manes melt with love.

Within Idalian clasps her starry hair
Steals in soft ringlets on the charmed air,
While, Vulcan's gift, a glittering gem upholds
Her beauteous robe, that floats in purple folds.
Next comes the regent of Lycæum's bowers,
And she, whose spear protects the Athenian towers;
The huntress, who with terror strikes the wood,
And she, who dyes the plain with warlike blood.

'Grav'd on her golden helm Tritonia wears
Typhon's dire form half motionless, who rears,
While ever through the gloom of death he swims,
The living portion of his monster-limbs.
Thick as a grove of arrows seems to rise,
Rang'd in a dreadful circuit to the skies;
Her bright pall trembles o'er the Gorgon's head,
And veils the hissing horrors with its shade.

Not Trivia thus: her brother's ev'ry grace
Lighten'd in milder glories from her face:
With Phoebus' cheeks and sparkling eyes she shone,
Distinguish'd by her softer sex alone.
Her tresses down her silver shoulders flow,
And lightly wanton, as the breezes blow;

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With double cincture brac'd (while sleeps unstrung
Her bow, and quiver'd arrows idly hung)
Curls her Gortynian garment to the knee,
Where her own Delos, and the Pontic sea,
Wander in many a variegated fold
Through fleeting shades and lights, enrich'd with gold.

Last, Ceres' child, her mother's pride and joy,
(Yet doom'd the parent's triumph to destroy)
Swims with an easy gesture o'er the green;
And (with no less attraction in her mien)
Minerva's self, or Phoebe, might appear,
If arm'd with Pallas' shield, or Phoebe's spear.
Gather'd within a polish'd jasper, float
Her robe's rich figures, beautifully wrought;
And never, at her woof, industrious maid
A happier sample of her art display'd;
Or with soft-shading threads more justly drew
Each glowing figure's imitative hue.
Here, from the seeds of Hyperion born,
Springs infant Sol, to wake the kindling morn.
Here Luna too, fair leader of the night,
With form imperfect, and a paler light.
And lo, while fostering Tethys lulls to rest
The panting infants on her genial breast,
Round her young charge the new-sprung lustre plays,
And her blue bosom feels the roseate rays.

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Behold her better arm weak Titan bear,
Uncrested with full beams, her elder care;
Who, as his milder light illumes the skies,
Shrinks from the rising fires with timid cries:
And there, as Luna sucks cerulean streams,
Her little crescent shines with feeble beams.

Such dress o'er Proserpine luxuriant flows,
While circled by the Naïds' choir she goes;
And by the Nymphs, who celebrate in song
Crimnisus, as they rove his founts among;
Or Gelas, that its name a city gave,
Or whirling the rough rock, Pantagia's wave:
Nymphs, whom slow Camarina oft had seen
With joy disporting on its margent green;
Or Arethusa's, or Alpheus' banks,
While Cyane o'ertops the radiant ranks.
Thus joy the embattled Amazons, that raise
Wild shoutings, where their half-moon'd targets blaze,
Oft as their Sovereign leads victorious forth
Her fair battalions from the wasted North;
Whether their axe the frozen Tanais broke,
Or the strong Getæ bow'd beneath their yoke.
Thus, too, the Nymphs his rites to Bacchus pay,
As o'er their Hæmus' golden sands they stray:
The river triumphs, in his sparkling cave,
And bends his urn, profusive of the wave.

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From her fair hill, o'erspread with living green,
Her heavenly visitants had Henna seen—
Parent of flowers—when thus her accents flow,
Addrest to Zephyr in the vale below:

“O thou, the grateful father of the spring,
“By whom these vallies bloom, whose wanton wing
“Fans each soft season with a dewy gale;
“See where yon' forms with portly grandeur sail—
“Majestic Nymphs, descended from above—
“See o'er my plains disport the race of Jove.
“Fly; let each shrub in genial breezes glow,
“And brightening flowers breathe incense as they blow.
“Rob'd in inferior blooms, inferior shade,
“Pale at my glories, ev'n let Hybla fade.
“Whate'er Panchaia's happy groves dispense,
“To thrill with fragrance the delighted sense;
“Whatever perfumes are diffus'd around,
“Where through deep woods Hydaspes' streams resound;
“Whatever sweets, to build the spicy nest,
“Brought from the farthest regions of the East,
“(While for new life in flames the Phœnix dies)
“Shed their selectest influence to the skies—
“All to this spot on ready pinions bear,
“Scatter those odours through circumfluous air;
“To form the wreath, that ev'n cœlestial powers
“May wander here, and pluck the balmiest flowers.”

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She ceas'd—and Zephyr o'er the blooms of spring
Shook the rich nectar from his streaming wing:
Where'er he flutter'd, 'midst the glistening dew,
On all the ground a vernal brightness flew;
Swell'd with rich verdure the luxuriant soil,
And with a wider arch the heavens serenely smile.
The rose's blush, the berry's ebon hue,
And violet painted with a deeper blue,
Rise sweetly blent! though gems emit the blaze,
Can Parthian girdles glance more varied rays?
Can fleeces with Assyrian colours gay,
The richness of superior tints display?
Not thus her pictur'd plumes the peacock spreads;
Not thus the rainbow's braided lustre sheds
The mingling dyes, where clouds of winter lour,
And its green drops hang glittering in the shower.
Yet could the lawn with lovelier charms delight,
Whose swelling hillocks stole upon the sight.
There fountains from the living pumice flow,
And softly murmur through the grass below.
There a dark wood, that cools the noontide ray,
Guards its own winter from the darts of day:
The corneil form'd for battle—for the sea
The stately fir—the oak, Jove's favourite tree—
The verdurous ilex, whose rich honeycombs
Drop nectar, and the cypress of the tombs,
There with the prescient laurel blend their glooms.

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There thick box fluctuates—wanton ivy twines—
And round the tall elm flaunt the clasping vines.
Near, through dim shades with trembling surface gleams
A lake (which Pergus the Sicilian names)
Each eye, that wanders o'er the wide serene,
Views all the secrets of the watery scene;
And to its deep recess, illum'd by light,
Through the clear mirror darts the unstraining sight.
Here, through the beauties of the garden, rove
The Female Chorus—here the Queen of Love.

“These sweets,” she cries, “come, sisters, come away,
“Gather, amidst the kindling smiles of day;
“While morning suns their gentler heat diffuse,
“And these purpureal plains my Lucifer bedews.”

Ceasing, she culls the signs of woe—and stoop,
To spoil the various lawn, the sister-groupe.
Thus, when their kings the waxen camp remove
Amid the bloom of Hybla's thymy grove,
From hollow beeches buzzing armies pour,
And rifle the green herb—the tinted flower.
Each nymph with various taste the wreath designs,
Lo! this the lily with the violet joins:
See, fancy-led, they pluck the flower-blooms bright,
This starr'd with roses, that with privets white;

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And this the amaracus' soft leaves adorn:
Thee too, pale Hyacinth, whose flower hath borne
Long thy mark'd woe—and thee, Narcissus fair,
The æthereal visitants are proud to wear—
Once peerless youths—(but youthful beauty dies)
Now flowers, the fairest of the spring, ye rise.
Youth of Amyclæ! 'midst thy frolic play,
Thee, envious Zephyr, hurried from the day!
And thou, Pierian boy, wert doom'd to fade
O'er thy lov'd stream, in pining anguish laid—
As Phoebus' bosom for his favourite bleeds,
Thee, thee Cephissus mourns with broken reeds!

But she, whose parent gives the golden grain,
Culls, thoughtless maid, the treasures of the plain
With keener joy. Her osier-basket smiles,
Fill'd with the simple store of rural spoils.
Now flowers she twines—and crowns with wreaths her head;
Ah, luckless omen of the nuptial bed!
Ignorance her bliss! and lo! the Maid of War,
Whose trump's deep blast and armour sounds afar;
Whose hands the city-gates and walls o'erthrow,
And dash destruction on the flying foe—
Now, as by light pursuits amus'd she strays,
Softens with twisted flowers her helmet's blaze.
Fresh-braided with unwonted verdure gleams
The crest, where horror flash'd effulgent beams;

138

And she, whose deep-flew'd hounds with music fill,
Led by strong scent, Parthenian vale or hill—
Lingers at ease, while now inwreath'd her hair
Flows less licentious to the breezing air.

Thus, while they rov'd in careless sport, a sound
Sudden creeps muttering on, and trembling rocks the ground:
On darken'd towns the o'erwhelming ruin lours,
And in a thousand fragments rush the towers.
Venus alone, appriz'd of Jove's decrees,
With mingled joy and fear the conflict sees.

The shadowy king, now panting for the day,
Press'd on thro' gloomy chasms, where groaning lay
Enceladus; and urg'd each furious horse
O'er the huge members of the living corse.
The gasping giant, as the weight he feels,
Wriths his weak serpents round the flaming wheels,
Labours to move him from his dark abode—
How vain! and shakes Sicania with the god.
Fervent the rapid axles spurn controul,
And cleave his back sulphureous as they roll.
Ev'n as the soldier works with bold essay,
To oppress the unweeting foe, his secret way,
Deep penetrates beneath the cavern'd plain
And walls that rear their parapets in vain—

139

'Till sudden the resistless fury pours,
Breaks o'er the fort, and wins the unguarded towers:
Thus Pluto, journeying to the realms of light,
Trac'd many a maze, and pierc'd the pitchy night.
Behold the frowning rocks around oppose,
And in a dread embrace the god inclose.
But Dis indignant hurls his sceptre wide,
And at the stroke the obedient rocks divide.
Strait the Sicilian caverns groan'd around,
And Lipare trembled at the thundering sound:
Vulcan (his furnace left) astonish'd lay;
The Cyclops threw appall'd his bolts away.
And he, O Tyber, heard the unwonted roar,
Who swam thy streams that yet no trophies bore;
And he, who bent his way through Alpine snow,
Or row'd his bark of alder down the Po.

Thus, when o'er Thessaly Peneus' flood,
Inclos'd by rocks, a stagnant water stood,
And yet uncultur'd lay the delug'd plain,
Neptune his trident at the mountain-chain
In fury flung—and, shiver'd by the stroke,
Asunder from Olympus, Ossa broke:
The loosen'd waves retire, while brighter blooms
Each spot of renovated earth resumes.

Soon as Trinacria's rocks the god obey'd,
And wide their entrails to the heaven display'd;

140

Sunk the dim stars, and marks of wild surprize
Appear'd o'er all the concave of the skies.
Ev'n Arctos hasten'd to the foaming spray,
And slow Böotes sped his hurried way.
Orion shook—and Atlas' spirit fell
Pale at the neighing of the steeds of hell—
Steeds, whose thick breath obscur'd the venom'd air,
That, bred in glooms, shrunk backward from the glare
Of day, and strove their dashing car to roll
Through Chaos, dazzled by a brighter pole.
But when they felt the lash, and learnt to bear
The fervour of the sun-illumin'd air,
Wild as the winter's torrent stream they flew;
Swift as the fleetest dart that Parthian threw,
Impetuous as the rushing of the wind,
Quick as keen thought that glances o'er the mind.
Their reins drop blood, and tinge the sands beneath,
And through mid air a dread contagion breathe.

The nymphs affrighted fly—while Ætna's Fair,
Snatch'd in that fatal moment to the car,
Pours to the gods her supplicating tears;
And Pallas strait her Gorgon terrors rears,
And chaste Diana hastens undismay'd,
Both fir'd with virgin feelings, to her aid;
Both rushing to prevent so dire a rape,
And bar the infernal ravisher's escape!

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He, as the lion wild with rage, appear'd,
That bears a trembling heifer from the herd,
Her fair breast mangles with infuriate claws,
And each hot reeking limb asunder draws—
Clotted with blood he shakes his grisly mane,
And scorns the feeble efforts of the swain.

“Thou monster-brother (Pallas to the god
“Exclaims indignant) from thy drear abode—
“Thy world, where ever drowsy darkness lies,
“What furies lash'd thee to these purer skies?
“Who bade thee from Tartarian regions roll,
“And with thy gloomy chariot taint the pole?
“Thine be the nymphs of hell—the Diræ wed—
“Or take the Fury Sisters to thy bed!
“Hence, and enjoy the darkness of thy night;
“Fly, fly the regions of æthereal light—
“The dead, the living in confusion hurl'd—
“Break not the harmony that binds the world.”

She spoke, and hurried as they paw'd the plain,
On the grim coursers dash'd her shield amain;
And, while her gorgon Hydras hiss'd, display'd
Her crest, and whelm'd them in a dreadful shade.
And strait Latonia's arrow, pois'd in air,
Illumining the blackness of the car,
For vengeance burns; when Jove his thunder flings,
And speeds the reddening bolt's pacific wings:

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From clouds fair-opening Hymen shouts for joy,
Waves the connubial torch, and sanctifies the tye.
The heavenly powers retire; and, check'd with sighs
Her bow, thus mournfully, Latonia cries:

“Think on these sighs; and farewell, hapless maid!
“A sire opposes, and we dare not aid—
“While Jove consigns thee to the silent gloom,
“Vain were each effort to avert thy doom.
“Snatch'd from these eyes (thy tribe for ever left—
“And all the social plain of joy bereft)
“Destin'd to rove with flitting forms below,
“What stars could work thee such unwonted woe!
“No more be mine, when scented morning dawns,
“With shafts to traverse the Parthenian lawns:
“Secure amidst his wilds the boar shall foam,
“And with full range the lorldly lion roam;
“Taygeta's mountains shall be wrapt in woe,
“Nor soon o'er Mænala the chace shall glow.
“For thee shall all the groves of Cynthus sigh,
“Groves, where re-echoed erst the hunter's cry;
“And, while a lover mourns thy loss in vain,
“Silence shall hover o'er the Delphic fane.”

Meanwhile, whirl'd swift along, the frantic fair,
Beat her tumultuous bosom in despair;
And pour'd in broken notes her rueful wail,
While stream'd her bursting tresses on the gale:

143

“Oh! strike me with thy blasts of lightning dead,
“Thus give my spirit to Avernus' shade—
“If ev'n a father's pity will not spare,
“O let me glide a bloodless spectre there!
“Ah! by what actions have I mov'd thy heart,
“Thus for a sire's to act a tyrant's part?
“I never warr'd against their bright abodes,
“When Phlegra's rebel hosts assail'd the gods!
“I never cherish'd the vain hope, to rise,
“By Pelion pil'd on Ossa, to the skies!
“Behold, unconscious of a crime, I go
“A living exile to the shades below.
“Happy the ravish'd fair-ones, who enjoy
“At least the common sun, the common sky!
“But I, to view these vernal skies no more,
“Yield, a lorn captive, to the tyrant's power;
“Snatch'd from the world, my fondest wishes crost,
“And with the day my virgin honours lost!
“Why, spite of all a mother could advise,
“(How Fate beneath a smile in ambush lies)
“Rov'd o'er luxuriant lawns my heedless feet
“Where Venus led, so languishingly sweet?
“O Ceres, hear a daughter's cries, that flow
“In all the energy of wildest woe—
“Whether the timbrel's note, that palls with fear
“In Ida's vale, comes bursting on thine ear;
“Or whether Dindyma (whose howling wood
“The frenzied Galli sprinkle with their blood)

144

“Thou lov'st—or, with their drawn swords maddening by,
“Whether the fierce Curetes catch thine eye;
“Haste, haste—ev'n now the day's last gleams are fled—
“He hurries to the regions of the dead!”

Charm'd by the beauteous tears of virgin woe,
Pluto's grim heart with love began to glow;
He wip'd the drops that trickled from her eye,
And thus address'd her with a soothing sigh:

“Cease, gentle maid, to cherish airy fears,
“Nor waste the softness of thy soul in tears:
“What are Sicilia's courts compar'd with mine!
“To wield a nobler sceptre shall be thine!
“No cruel bridegroom shall thy beauties prove,
“No spouse unworthy of the rites of love!
“Lo! I am Saturn's son—my boundless sway
“Ev'n the vast void and all the worlds obey.
“Fear not the loss of light: For stars shall rise,
“Brighter than ever deck supernal skies!
“Where heavens more blue their glowing arch display,
“Elysian suns shall beam with purer ray!
“There chaste adorers at the shrine appear,
“There bloom the glories of the eternal year!
“The Golden Age (full soon from earth it flew)
“Still loves to flourish there, for ever new!

145

“There through soft meads immortal zephyrs play,
“Sigh o'er each flower, and bear its sweets away.
“Not with such tints whose freshness never dies,
“Could thy own Enna please thy partial eyes.
“There a tall tree, the monarch of the glade,
“From its rich branches darts a light and shade;
“And ever shall the bending boughs unfold
“For thee their fruit of vegetable gold.
“Go, trifling themes! whatever lives in air,
“Or stagnant lakes and rolling rivers bear;
“Whatever moves on earth, or skims the sea,
“Shall own thy power, and yield at last to thee!
“E'en kings shall lay their purple vestments down,
“Kneel at thy feet, and tremble at thy frown!”
“‘The rich—the poor—the monarch and the slave,
“‘Know no superior honours in the grave.’
“Fled from thy judgments, self-accus'd and pale,
“In the dark region shall the guilty wail;
“And at the sweetness of thy plauding voice,
“In realms of living joy the just rejoice!
“To Lethe's lakes shall gliding ghosts repair,
“And at thy summons quaff oblivion there;
“Thy nod the willing destinies await;
“And all the wishes thou can'st form, be fate!”

This said—enamour'd of the sighing maid,
He press'd his steeds, and plung'd into the shade.

146

Sudden light images around them rove,
As leaves come fluttering from the blasted grove;
Thick as the billows break, or sands arise;
Thick as the showers that fall from wint'ry skies.
Swift, to survey the beauties of the bride,
In crowds the Shadows of all ages glide.
Attendants, chosen from the crowd, prepare
To roll beneath its shed the lofty car;
And bid the steeds, now loosen'd from the reins,
Graze the dark pasture of Cocytus' plains.
Some at the canopy their care divide,
Or hang with verd'rous boughs the portals wide;
Or lift the richest tap'stries of the loom
To grace with graphic forms the bridal room.
And, as such triumphs crown the Lover's toils,
Softens his grimly face, relax'd in smiles.
Huge Phlegethon from waves of torrent flame
Arose, while down his features flash'd the stream.

A train came next, to soothe the mourning queen—
’Meek were their looks, and modest was their mien:’
From the fair gardens of Elysian day,
They charm with cheerful talk her woes away;
And bind her scatter'd tresses; and conceal
Her mantling blushes in a golden veil.

Bursting in wild and animated notes,
Through the dead gloom unusual music floats:

147

Lo, the pale regions triumph at the sound,
And all the buried nations dance around!
The Manes, grac'd with wreaths, protract the feast,
And fill'd with genial cheer, the Shadows rest.
Hell stills her groans, and rarifies her breath
That charg'd the eternal night with blasts of death:
Minos suspends the terrors of his urn:
Echoes no scourge, no dying sorrows mourn!
The gloom no tortur'd ghosts with horror fill,
And writh'd Ixion rests upon his wheel!
See Tantalus, the stream with rapture caught,
Allays the thirsty fever of his throat;
And Tityus lifts his monster-limbs away
From the nine acres, where outstretch'd he lay;
While the fierce vulture feels her power represt
To scoop the living banquet of his breast;
And, where no renovated fibres rise,
To catch the bloody morsel, vainly tries.

Convivial revels e'en the Furies hold;
(Their listening snakes relax each placid fold)
No more their flashing eyes in madness roll,
But sparkle with the spirit of the bowl!
From those fell lips, that pour'd the threats of woe,
The melodies of melting music flow!
And, while no sanguine torch betrays the gloom,
Lights of pure flame the canopies illume!
No baleful vapours from Avernus rise,
Where the fleet bird on easy pinion flies:

148

The floods, that fence his sable jaws around,
No more, to fright the ear of horror, sound.
Where roar'd rough Acheron, see a milky wave
Sudden his banks in gentle murmurs lave;
And flaunting o'er his purpling lake of wine,
See verdant ivy round Cocytus twine!
Each faultering thread of life the Fates renew;
No sacred chorus mourns the broken clue!
With sighs no parents, o'er the breathing urn,
Pay the last honours to the shade they mourn:
No black procession breaks the city's ease;
No battles rage; no tempests sweep the seas.
With reeds old Charon veil'd his tresses frore,
Singing in concert with each dashing oar.
Now Hesper, mildly rising through the shade,
Illum'd the chambers of the fluttering maid:
There Night with starry bosom stood confest,
Sanction'd the genial bed, the auspicious omens blest.
And while the good with generous triumph glow'd,
Thus through the hall the plausive numbers flow'd:
“Hail, Juno!—and thou, Brother, hail, and Son
“Of him, who thunders from the æthereal throne!
“Sleep, happy Lovers! may a vigorous race
“Rise from the transports of the warm embrace!
“Lo, Ceres smiles upon these charm'd abodes,
“As joyful Nature waits for future gods.
“Sleep, happy pair!—in fond embraces curl'd,
“Create new deities to bless the world.”

The Translator thinks proper to observe, that he made this version of two books of the Rape of Proserpine at a very early age. On a revision of it, he finds the manner of Claudian not ill-exprest.

179

ADDRESSES.

183

AN ADDRESS, INTRODUCTORY OF Mrs. SIDDONS,

ON THE FIRST NIGHT OF HER ACTING IN EXETER, IN 1789.

To please our patrons, who with liberal aim
Light up to public view the Muse's flame;
And by our grateful ardours to repay
Each smile that fosters the dramatic lay—
Be this, whate'er the worth we boast beside,
The noblest triumph of ingenuous pride.

Warm'd by these feelings, we call forth to-night
Those magic powers that minister delight;
Your various minds impatient to direct
To every fine theatrical effect—
The pale dejected eye to Pity dear,
And Hope, mild-beaming through the tender tear;

184

Delicious Griefs that melting bosoms move,
And the soft languish to the light of Love;
Affections that in filial transport glow,
Or swell with all the energy of woe;
The speechless Agony that chills and fires,
'Till the tear trembles, and the sigh expires;
Those looks, that, sudden, the whole heart unfold;
The thrilling pause; the glance, with horror cold;
And, wildly darting into passion's storm,
A soul that lightens, at one flash, the form—
These—these in grand succession shall appear
Triumphant!—for we hail a Siddons here!

And while, from all her richly-blooming bowers,
Her patriot progeny Devonia pours,
And sends exulting, from the rural shades,
In many a beauteous groupe her blushing maids;
While Isca bids the loveliest of the fair,
Their wreaths of glory to a Siddons bear;
Enamour'd Taste and Elegance shall own
A charm in every look, in every tone;
Diffuse congenial raptures 'mid the throng,
At each impassion'd accent of her tongue;
Fill with responsive drops the sparkling eyes,
And raise in many a bosom kindred sighs;
'Till in these sympathies herself she view,
And all her merits re-appear—in you!

185

Hence shall divine Philanthropy confess
Each selfish joy, each selfish sorrow, less!
Hence patriot Virtue a new fervor feel;
Hence Loyalty shall burn with double zeal!

Ev'n now, as kindling through her raptur'd vales,
Her Monarch's friendly smile Devonia hails;
Improv'd by tragic scenes shall every mind,
And each warm heart with feelings more refin'd,
A richer incense of affection bring,
And, duteous, greet their Parent in their King!

186

AN ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY Mrs. SIDDONS,

ON THE LAST NIGHT OF HER ACTING IN EXETER, 1789.

Disguis'd no longer by the scenic mask,
To speak with justness is no easy task.
Methinks the hackney'd theme I would not prove
Of fulsome compliment, or mean self-love:
Yet, though some doubt, some danger, I perceive,
I must not, cannot, take a silent leave.

Whate'er my powers—if tender Pity came,
Glow'd on your cheeks, and trembled through your frame;
If, at my bidding, terror struck the soul,
If (while Despair press'd onward to its goal)
Madness rush'd in, and Horror's aweful form
Imperious urg'd the wild conflicting storm;
Whate'er my pow'rs—if faithful to their aim,
'Twas but my duty, and what you might claim.

187

Yet, be this honest pride to night confest—
With no inglorious art I mov'd the breast,
Aided the Muse, enforc'd her moral laws,
Nor rous'd the passions, but in Virtue's cause.

Let me be proud, (base flattery I disdain)
That mute attention listen'd to my strain;
That Candour heard well-pleas'd, and Taste refin'd,)
Which guides each nicer impulse of the mind.
Your echoing plaudits ne'er shall I forget;
Distance or time shall not erase the debt.

Accumulated thanks I owe to you
For a lov'd brother, and a sister due;
Here have they past the happiest of their days,
Oft have their tongues been lavish in your praise.

Farewell!—this conscious heart knows how to prize
A liberal audience; the true worth of sighs,
Of tears, whose fountain in the ingenuous soul
No sordid mixture owns, no vile controul;
The sighs which burst, the sacred tears which flow,
From that pure source of sympathetic woe.
Farewell!—such merit ever condescends—
May I presume to say—Farewell, my friends?
I will—for none but Envy can repine,
When I dare call the friends of virtue—mine.

188

A POETICAL ADDRESS TO A WIDOW LADY, OVER A DISH OF TEA IN HER HERMITAGE.

In this lone cot, which female hands have grac'd
With all the wildling fantasies of taste;
Where the forc'd trees in Gothic arches frown,
And boast a wreath of mosses not their own;
Where pillar'd birch-bark shews its silvery hue,
Mounts up the sides, and flourishes—in glue;
Where India bends her smooth fantastic root,
And Indian figures sprawl on every shoot—
In this lone cot, miscall'd the Hermit's cell,
No Hermit ever is design'd to dwell.
To spread his sallad on the maple stool,
To catch the clear stream in his beechen bowl;
And every eve, as louder sounds yon rill,
And yon high tower sinks fading from its hill,

189

To lift his soul in rapturous prayers on high,
Feel his fine spirits mounting to the sky;
And see at times the angels, hovering o'er,
Fling wide their robes, and blazon all the bower.—

For such high ends this cell was not design'd:
It owns a genius of a gentler kind.
Here a fine Lady from Park-lane retires,
And blends the Hermit's and the Courtier's fires;
Now dips in ancient or in modern lore,
Tastes as she reads, and lives past ages o'er;
Now, gayly thoughtful, or politely free,
Lights up the mirth of soft society.
The Hermit's beads around her neck she wears;
The Hermit's bowl in China's earth appears;
His maple board mahogany supplies;
And, for his sallad, tea and coffee rise.

But one thing still is wanting to the whole;
The body asks an animating soul.
Without a warbler, what's a gilded cage?
Without a Hermit, what's a hermitage?
Take therefore, Madam, one monition well,
And place a Reverend Hermit in your cell.

190

Then shall to you the Saint's gay visions rise,
Then his elysium open to your eyes,
And all the angels, that should tend him near,
In their best forms—as boys and girls—appear.

W. R.

The mandrake root, ornamented with figures.

These strokes are all taken from the realities.

Park-lane, Piccadilly, London.

The lady had never had any children; she had married an old man.

191

SONNETS.

193

SONNET I.

[While, just above yon hill, the orb of day]

While, just above yon hill, the orb of day
Slopes down the vale his beams of evening bright;
Eastward the wat'ry clouds, in dark array,
Oppose their shadows to the dazzling light:
And while, amid the foliage of the wood,
The statelier trees their burnish'd stems unfold;
The shower descends, and o'er the illumin'd flood
The willow-leaflets trickle tears of gold.
Such are thy charms, O Nature, wond'rous dame!
Such are the splendid visions which arise,
Kindling sweet Poesy's celestial flame,
Oft as they play before the enthusiast's eyes;
Who loves to wander through thy haunts, and loves
To sketch those beauties which his soul approves.

194

SONNET II.

[O Circle, whether erst the lightning's lance]

O Circle, whether erst the lightning's lance
With its keen azure shot thy wavy way;
Or—such the tales of village maidens, say—
The merry Fayes (what time their troops advance
To thread the fleeting mazes of the dance,
While bends dim Iris in the lunar ray)
Form'd, as they tripp'd with many a twinkling glance,
Thy ring, to speak their revels to the day;
Still fancying, lovely Circle, that I trace
Amid the features of thy fading dyes,
The little footsteps of the faery race—
Still, 'round the springing verdure, shall arise
In soft relief, thy gently-curving grace—
Too trivial but for fond poetic eyes!

195

SONNET III.

[Tho' now pale Eve, with many a crimson streak]

Tho' now pale Eve, with many a crimson streak
Soft-fading, tips the lime-invested hill;
And though blue steams emerging from the lake
Roll curling on, and hover o'er the rill;
The smoke, that slow evolves its pillar'd form
From yonder straw-roof'd cottage, sweetly throws
O'er my hush'd bosom a superior charm,
And seems to breathe a cherub-like repose!
With its grey column to yon' sapphire cloud
Stealing in stillness the calm mind ascends—
The unruffled line, though lost amid the shroud
Of heaven, in fancy rising never ends!
Thus ever may my tranquil spirit rise—
Free from the gust of passion—to the skies!

196

SONNET IV.

[How sweet—what time the quick-rekindling day]

How sweet—what time the quick-rekindling day
His orient colours on my dove-cote streams;
Whose gilding blushes in the vivid ray,
And o'er my window flings reflected beams;
How sweet to listen to thy cooing note,
While slumbers softly leave the unsealed eye,
And on my pillow lights the placid thought
To bid the hovering dream of morning fly!
Yes, gentle Dove! may still thy plaintive tone
Be the first rural sound to meet my ear!
And still this breast such simple pleasures own,
That, as a lesson, I may love to hear;
And picture, with no gall to give offence,
Wafted on every note, thy innocence?

197

SONNET V.

[Lorn Birds! whose simple minstrelsy, the last]

Lorn Birds! whose simple minstrelsy, the last
That nature pouring on the pensive ear,
Bids echo back her vernal music past,
And breathe a requiem o'er the closing year;
Who, while the softest pity loves to steal
From every cadence of your melting strain;
Ah, who suspects such little breasts can feel
Ungentle strife, or work each other pain?
And yet, though seeming harmony of heart
Flow in the sweetness of each charming note;
Oft from the bitter fray ye bleeding part,
Torn the stain'd plume, and pierc'd the vocal throat!
Beneath the fairest aspect of disguise,
Alas, too oft the cruel bosom lies!

198

SONNET VI.

[While not a wing of insect-being floats]

While not a wing of insect-being floats,
And not a murmur moves the frozen air;
Yon' ice-clad sedge, with tremulous wave, denotes,
Amid the leafless copse, that life is there.
And lo, half-seen, the Bird of russet breast
And duskier pinion, that had cleft the skies
Of wild inhospitable climes, in quest
Of the warm spring, his plashy labour plies.
Feed on, poor bird, beneath the sheltering copse;
And near thee may no wanton spaniel stray!
Or rising, when dim eve her curtain drops,
Ah! may no net arrest thy darkling way!
But long unpent by frost, o'erflow the rill;
And many an insect meet thy delving bill!

199

SONNET VII. TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HER WEARING A VEIL,

WRITTEN JUNE 1790.

As when some goddess, from the ethereal height
Descending, wraps in clouds her beauty's blaze;
She hides from mortals the refulgent light,
Lest they should perish, as they fondly gaze.
'Tis thus, in kind relief, the veiling shade
Softens that bloom, those eyes suffusing fire
Lest, dazzled as we look, too lovely Maid,
We sink in faint delirium, and expire!
Yet the sweet influence of the shaded eye,
The charming languish of a face so fair;
Thy modest blush, like the mild morning sky,
Thy timid glance, thy meek retiring air,
Such tenderness to all thy beauties give,
That only with a trembling heart we live!

200

SONNET VIII. TO A COLLEGE FRIEND; ON HIS EXPRESSING HIS APPREHENSIONS, THAT THE AUTHOR HAD FORGOTTEN HIM.

WRITTEN AUGUST 1791.

How, B---ye, can thy fears behold,
Alas! so great a change in me;
Or idly deem my heart so cold,
That I no more remember thee?
Oh!—thou canst bid new pleasure bloom,
A sun, my kindling morn to light;
And thou canst gild affliction's gloom,
A star, through many a stormy night!
Though, far from fancy's roseate bower,
Care-worn and faint I bend my way,
Nor can recall the vacant hour
When youth, on roving wing, was gay;
Yet, still thy friendly form I see—
And still this heart remembers thee!

201

SONNET X. TO THE SAME. [A COLLEGE FRIEND]

Yes! thou art doom'd to meet full many a frown,
Perhaps, from pride's rude offspring, who despise
The worth of tremulous diffidence, and crown
Each dazzling attribute with virtue's prize.
Yet, if amidst the stormy wilderness
Of life, some friend thy gentle spirit find;
Spite of the unfeeling million, he shall bless,
With warm sincerity, thy kindred mind.
But trust not the fond look, the specious smile:
Nor deem that o'er thy path the unsetting light
Of friendship beams.—Alas! if free from guile,
Thou wilt the poor, the timid caution slight!
How hard their lot, who feel its value most,
To shed the bitter tear for friendship lost!

203

SONNET XI. TO THE SAME. [A COLLEGE FRIEND]

When Death, cruel stroke, dissolves the tye
Which holds in friendship a congenial heart;
We bid the long adieu with streaming eye,
And pour the impassion'd sorrows ere we part.
Yet, though we grieve, the inevitable ill,
Ere long, with soften'd anguish we endure:
For time the throbbing pulse hath power to still,
And close the wound which reason could not cure.
But if the averted look too plainly tell
Constrain'd civilities from those we love;

204

If all our warmth the frigid air repel,
'Tis ours (the wish sincere, though heaven approve)
A slow-consuming heart-ake to sustain,
Whilst each cold look renews the sense of pain!

In his “Epistle to a College Friend,” Mr. P. contrasts those cold civilities with the warmth of College friendship.

------ “Yet, unchill'd
“Gay fancy sparkled, as our glasses fill'd:
“Then the fair outline of our hopes we drew,
“And fondly nurs'd them, as each figure grew;
“Sketch'd for our different friends the future plan,
“And form'd our systems, as our wishes ran;
“Contented crown'd a living with a wife,
“Nor mark'd the varied ills that chequer life;
“View'd, halcyon-bright, domestic ease appear,
“Nor saw pale grief distain it with a tear;
“Bade the sweet pledges of affection rise,
“To melting blushes, and entrancing eyes;
“Pictur'd the bliss of love's romantic morn,
“And prest the rosy couch without a thorn!
“But ah! too soon the dear delusive dream
“Fled with the golden groves of Academe!
“Too soon, in scenes of vulgar life, I found
“The hoarfrost scatter'd by indifference round;
“While envy's cloud diffus'd its sullen gloom,
“And blasts from avarice nipp'd young fancy's bloom.”
See Polwhele's Poems.

227

SONGS.

SONG I.

[The sighs that from her bosom part]

The sighs that from her bosom part,
Wafted by gentle Pity, shew
Louisa's warm and feeling heart,
That trembles to the touch of woe.
Oft as her charming sorrows heave,
I melt in kindred sympathy:
Yet, though, to pleasure lost, I grieve,
Louisa hath no tear for me.
The tender tale hath Edward told,
And bade the fond emotion rise—
Alas! that heart is only cold,
Is only cold—when Edward sighs!

228

SONG II.

[That languish of the lust'rous blue]

I

That languish of the lust'rous blue,
Which melts in Charlotte's tearful eye,
Seems like the violet's tender dew,
Where gently breathes a zephyr's sigh.

II

Soft as at eve the violet glows,
The trembling tear may Pity move;
But, Charlotte, if the brighter rose
Hath charms, O steal a blush for Love!

229

SONG III. THE BLUSH OF SIMPLICITY.

While Mary, conscious that she loves,
Would hide the crimson's transient hue,
She veils the blush, which only proves
A heart to Love and William true.
In erring maids, that fondly stray,
A tinge as bright as thine we see;
Yet clouded looks its source betray,
Unknown to innocence and thee.
No cloud thine eyes of candor know,
To shade their sweet expression o'er;
But, to the soft-suffusing glow,
They kindle quick, and sparkle more.
Ah! may such glances ever speak
The “Simple Blush” on Mary's cheek!

230

SONG IV. THE FAINTING KISS.

“Ah, faithless fair one,” Owen cries,
“How are my fondest vows repaid!
“Alas! thy bosom's secret sighs
“Heave for the swain in yonder shade.
“The Chaplet I so vainly wove
“(Ah! now no longer priz'd) restore:
“Yet, was the moment crown'd with love,
“When that dear pledge my Ellen wore.”
‘Take, take,’ she cried, ‘that pledge of bliss,
‘But first, a dearer pledge display:
‘O give me, give me back the Kiss
‘Which, then, caught all my soul away.’

231

SONG V.

[Though winter hath stript of its leaves]

Though winter hath stript of its leaves
Each oak that o'ershadow'd the scene;
Yon hill yet unfadingly heaves
To the breezes its bosom of green.
The eye, that hath pensively stray'd
O'er the foliage strown pale in the grove,
Return'd with delight to the shade
By the fir and the cerasus wove:
But with sweeter emotions we see
The spring's glowing verdure appear;
And we love the fresh buds of the tree
That had died in the gloom of the year.

232

SONG VI.

[See, Laura, how cold are the tints]

See, Laura, how cold are the tints
Of that snow-drop, afraid of the gale,
Though its delicate feebleness hints,
That spring shall soon colour the vale.
Thus sweetly, when Hymen appear'd,
Thy bashfulness sought to retire;
Yet, what it so tremblingly fear'd,
It could not but fondly desire.
And thus, though the lustre was cold
Which slept in thy languishing eye;
Thy virgin timidity told,
That the spring-time of pleasure was nigh!

234

SONG VIII. To Miss S*****.

Whene'er I see thy tender breast
With sickness or with grief opprest;
When thy soft looks denote too plain
How exquisite thy sense of pain;
When the tear glitters in thine eye,
For thee, sweet Marianne, I die.
Again, when health resumes its place,
And joy sits smiling on thy face;
Thy humourous wit, and spirits gay,
In frolic mazes as they stray,
Enforce me still, do what I can,
To die for thee, sweet Marianne.
When in yet happier hours I find
Thy soul to harmony inclin'd,
See thy hand touch the trembling strings,
And hear each melting sound it brings;
Then am I lost in extasy,
And die, sweet Marianne, for thee.

W. D.

235

EPITAPHS.

237

ON THOMAS POLWHELE, Esq; LATE OF POLWHELE, BY THE REVEREND J. B. C. OF GLYNN.

Let adulation pour the venal strain
O'er the proud ashes of the great and vain:
Whilst gratitude, with rude unfeigned lays,
Shall haste, Polwhele, to speak thy juster praise;
And piety, in tears of joy, shall tell
How firm the Christian stood, how calm he fell!

J. B. C.

238

ON TWO CHILDREN OF R. POLWHELE, BURIED IN THE SAME GRAVE,

1789.

Ah, babes! could heaven in mercy give
Your forms to mortal eye,
But a few moments doom'd to live—
Just shewn on earth, to die?

Weak man! the vain enquiry cease,
Why heaven hath call'd them hence:
Pure from the world, they died in peace—
They died in innocence!

239

LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRIGADIER GENERAL HOPE, GOVERNOR OF QUEBEC,

WHERE HE DIED IN 1789, AGED 43.

Yes! he is torn from mortal sight—
For earth such virtues were too bright!
Yet memory shall to man hold forth
The beauteous mirror of his worth:
The Patriot's ardour thence inspire,
And beam the Hero's vivid fire;
With a more placid lustre, lend
The soothing spirit of the friend;
And fond connubial bliss impart,
Reflected from the husband's heart;
Whilst she who deem'd each pleasure o'er,
And fancied life could charm no more,
Shall own the faded scene still dear,
Since yet he sheds his influence here.

FINIS.