Thoughts in Prison, in Five Parts viz. The Imprisonment--The Retrospect--Public Punishment--The Trial--Futurity; By the Rev. William Dodd. To which are added, His Last Prayer, Written in the Night before his Death; The Convict's Address to his Unhappy Brethren; and Other Miscellaneous Pieces: With an account of the author, and a list of his works ... The fourth edition, with additions |
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 | Thoughts in Prison, in Five Parts |  |
35
Thoughts in Prison.
COMMENCED SUNDAY EVENING, Eight o'Clock, February 23, 1777.
WEEK THE FIRST. The Imprisonment.
My friends are gone! Harsh on its sullen hingeGrates the dread door: the massy bolts respond
Tremendous to the surly keeper's touch.
The dire keys clang, with movement dull and slow
While their behest the ponderous locks perform:
And fastened firm, the object of their care
Is left to solitude,—to sorrow left!
But wherefore fastened? Oh still stronger bonds
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
36
His anguish'd soul, and prison him, tho' free!
For, whither should he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden sun,
His hapless head! whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow sits grinning Infamy;
And all in sportive triumph twines around
The keen, the stinging adders of disgrace!
Yet what's disgrace with man? or all the stings
Of pointed scorn? What the tumultuous voice
Of erring multitudes? Or what the shafts
Of keenest malice, levell'd from the bow
Of human inquisition?—if the God,
Who knows the heart, looks with complacence down
Upon the struggling victim, and beholds
Repentance bursting from the earth-bent eye,
And faith's red cross held closely to the breast!
Oh Author of my being! of my bliss
Beneficent Dispenser! wondrous power,
Whose eye, all-searching thro' this dreary gloom
Discerns the deepest secrets of the soul,
Assist me! With thy ray of light divine
Illumine my dark thoughts; upraise my low;
And give me wisdom's guidance, while I strive
Impartially to state the dread account,
37
Than that more fearful—tho' how fearful that
Which trembling late I proved! Oh aid my hand
To hold the balance equal, and allow
The few sad moments of remaining life
To retrospection useful! make my end,
As my first wish (thou know'st the heart) has been,
To make my whole of being to my friends,
My fellow-pilgrims thro' this world of woe,
Instructive!—Oh could I conduct but one,
One only with me, to our Canaan's rest,
How could I meet my fate, nor think it hard!
Not think it hard?—Burst into tears, my soul;
Gush every pore of my distracted frame,
Gush into drops of blood!—But one; save one,
Or guide to Canaan's rest?—when all thy views
In better days were dedicate alone
To guide, persuade to that celestial rest,
Souls which have listened with devotion's ear
To Sion's songs enchanting from thy lips,
And tidings sweet of Jesu's pardoning love!
But one, save one?—Oh, what a rest is this!
Oh what a Sabbath in this dungeon's gloom,
This prison-house, meet emblem of the realm
Reserv'd for the ungodly! Hark, methinks
38
And penitential sweetness ! 'Tis the sound,
The well-known sound, to which my soul, attun'd
For year succeeding year, hath hearken'd glad,
And still with fresh delight: while all my powers
In blest employ have prest the saving truths
Of grace divine, and faith's all-conquering might,
On the sure Rock of Ages grounded firm.
And heavenly works like these, on this lov'd day,
Rest of my God,—I only hear around
The dismal clang of chains; the hoarse rough shout
Of dissonant imprecation; and the cry
Of misery and vice, in fearful din
Impetuous mingled; while my frighted mind
Shrinks back in horror! while the scalding tears
Involuntary starting, furrow down
My sickly cheeks; and whirling thought confus'd
For giddy moments, scarce allows to know
Or where, or who, or what a wretch I am!
Not know?—Alas! too well it strikes my heart,
Emphatical it speaks! while dungeons, chains,
And bars and bolts proclaim the mournful truth,
39
“ From what high state of bliss, into what woe!”
Fall'n from the topmost bough that plays in air
E'en of the tallest cedar; where aloft
Proud happiness her towering eyrie built;
Built, as I dreamt, for ages. Idle dream!
And yet, amongst the millions of mankind,
Who sleep like me, how few, like me deceiv'd,
Do not indulge the same fantastic dream!
Loud as the blast which shall awake the dead;
Oh let me sound, and call the slumberers forth
To view the vision which delusion charms;
To shake the potent incantation off;
Or ere it burst in ruin on their souls,
As it has burst on mine.—Not on my soul!
Retract the dread idea: Righteous God!
Not on my soul! Oh Thou art gracious all,
And with an eye of pity from thy throne
Of Majesty supernal, thou behold'st
The creatures of thy hand, thy feeble sons,
Struggling with sin, with Satan, and the world,
Their sworn and deadly foes: and, having felt
40
Know'st sympathetic how to aid the tried!
Rock of my hope! the rash, rash phrase forgive;
Safe is my soul; nor can it know one fear,
Grounded on Thee Unchangeable! Thee first,
Thee last, great Cleanser of all human sin!
But, tho' secure the vessel rides in port,
Held firm by faith's strong anchor,—well it suits
The mariner to think by what strange means
Thro' perils unconceivable he pass'd;
Thro' rocks, sands, pirates, storms, and boisterous waves,
And happily obtain'd that port at last.
On these my thoughts are bent: nor deem it wrong,
Minist'ring angels! whose benignant task
Assign'd by Heav'n, is to console distress,
And hold up human hearts amidst the toil
Of human woe !—Blest spirits, who delight
In sweet, submissive resignation's smile,
To that high will you know for ever right;—
Deem it not wrong, that with a weeping eye,
Deem it not wrong, that with a bleeding heart,
I dwell a while, unworthiest of my race,
On those black rocks, those quick-sands, waves and storms,
41
All, all my earthly comforts; and have left
Me, a poor naked, shipwreck'd, suffering wretch
On this bleak shore, in this confinment drear;
At sight of which, in better days, my soul
Hath started back with horror! while my friend,
My bosom-partner in each hour of pain,
With antidotes preventive kindly arm'd,
Trembling for my lov'd health; when christian calls
And zeal for others welfare, haply brought
My steps attendant on this den of death!
A christian visitor, to pour the balm
Of christian comfort in some wretch's ear,—
I am that wretch myself! and want, much want,
The christian consolation I bestow'd;
So cheerfully bestow'd! want, want, my God,
From Thee the mercy, from my fellow-man
The lenient mercy, which, great Judge of hearts,
To Thee I make the solemn, sad appeal—
That mercy, which Thou knowest my gladsome soul
Ever sprang forth with transport to impart!
Why then, mysterious providence! pursued
With such unfeeling ardour? why pursued
To death's dread bourn, by men to me unknown!
42
It reels, it staggers!—Earth turns round!—my brain
Whirls in confusion! my impetuous heart
Throbs with pulsations not to be restrain'd:
Why?—where?—Oh Chesterfield! my son, my son!
Nay, talk not of composure! I had thought
In olden time, that my weak heart was soft,
And pity's self might break it.—I had thought
That marble-eyed severity would crack
The slender nerves which guide my reins of sense,
And give me up to madness. 'Tis not so:
My heart is callous, and my nerves are tough:
It will not break! they will not crack; or else
What more, just Heaven, was wanting to the deed,
Than to behold—Oh that eternal night
Had in that moment screen'd me from myself!—
My Stanhope to behold, whose filial ear
Drank pleas'd the lore of wisdom from my tongue.
My Stanhope to behold!—Ah piercing sight!
Forget it;—'tis distraction:—Speak who can!
But I am lost! a criminal adjudg'd!
A guilty miscreant! Canst thou think, my friend,
Oh Butler,—'midst a million faithful found!—
43
My inmost soul; oh canst thou think that life,
From such rude outrage for a moment sav'd,
And sav'd almost by a miracle , deserves
The languid wish, or e'er can be sustain'd?
Referring to the case reserved for the solemn decision of the twelve judges; and which gave the prisoner a much longer space than his most sanguine friends could have expected, from the complexion of the process. See the Sessions Paper for Feb. 1777.
To life gives consequence. Oh deem it not
Presumptuous, that my grateful soul thus rates
The present high deliverance it hath found;—
Sole effort of thy wisdom, Sovereign Power,
Without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls!
Oh may I cease to live, ere cease to bless
That interposing hand, which turn'd aside,—
Nay to my life and preservation turn'd
The fatal blow precipitate, ordain'd
To level all my little hopes in dust,
And give me to the grave! Rather, my hand,
Forget thy cunning! Rather shall my tongue
In gloomy silence bury every note
To my glad heart respondent, than I cease
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Each breath, each power, while He vouchsafes to lend
The precious boon!—To Him be all its praise!
To Him be all its service! Long or short,
The gift's the same: to live or die to him
Is gain sufficient, everlasting gain:
And may that gain be mine!—I live, I live!
Ye hours, ye minutes, bounty of his grace,
Fleet not away without improvement due:
Rich on your wings bear penitence and prayer
To Heaven's all-clement Ruler; and to man
Bear all the retribution man can make!
Ye precious hours, ye moments snatch'd from death,
Replete with incense rise,—that my cheer'd soul,
When comes the solemn call, may spring away,
Delighted, to the bosom of its God!
Who shall condemn the trust?—proud rationals
(That deep in speculation's 'wildering maze
Bemuse themselves with error, and confound
The laws of men, of nature, and of Heaven)
Presumptuous in their wisdom, dare dethrone
Even from his works the Maker: and contend,
That He who form'd it governs not the world:
While, steep'd in sense's Lethe, sons of earth
From the world's partial picture gaily draw
Their mad conclusions. Bold broad-staring vice,
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At meek-eyed virtue's patient suffering scoffs,
And dares with dauntless insolence the God,
Regardless of his votaries!—Vain and blind!
Alike thro' wisdom or thro' folly blind—
Whose dim contracted view the petty round,
The mere horizon of the present hour
In darkness terminates! Oh could I hope
The golden portals of eternal day;
Pour on your sight the congregated blaze
Of light, of wisdom, bursting from the throne
Of universal glory; on the round,
The boundless cycle of His moral plan,
Who, hid in clouds terrific, Master sits
Of subject men and worlds; and sees at once
The ample scene of present, future, past,
All naked to his eye of flame:—all rang'd
In harmony complete, to work his will,
And finish with the plaudit of the skies!
But,—while this whelming blazon may not burst
On the weak eyes of mortals; while confin'd
Thro' dark dim glass, with dark dim sight to look
All trembling to the future, and collect
The scatter'd rays of wisdom; while referr'd
Our infant reason to the guiding hand
Of faith strong-eyed, which never quits the view
46
Irradiate with the lustre of his love,
She learns the mighty Master to explore
In all his works; and from the meanest taught
Beholds the God, the Father,—Scorn ye not,
My fellow-pilgrims, fellow-heirs of death,
And, oh triumphant thought!—my fellow-heirs
Of life immortal;—if not sold to sense
And infidelity's black cause, you cast
Ungracious from yourselves the proferr'd boon:
—Then scorn not, oh my friends, when Heaven vouchafes
To teach by meanest objects, reptiles, birds,
—To take one lesson from a worm, like me!
Proof of a gracious providence I live;—
To Him be all the glory! Of his care
Paternal, his supporting signal love,
I live each hour an argument. Away,
The systematic dullness of dispute!
Away, each doating reasoner!—I feel,
Feel in my inmost heart the conscious sense,
The grateful pressure of distinguish'd grace,
And live, and only wish for life to praise it!
For say, my soul,—nor midst this silence sad,
This midnight, awful, melancholy gloom,
47
'Twixt thee and Heaven,—when on his altar lies
A sacrifice thy naked bleeding heart!
Say, nor, self-flattering, to thy conscience hold
The mirror of deceit;—couldst thou have thought
Thy nerves, thy head, thy heart, thy frame, thy sense,
Sufficient to sustain the sudden shock,
Rude as a bursting earthquake, which at once
Toppled the happy edifice adown,
Whelm'd thee and thine beneath its ruinous crash,
And buried all in sorrow?—Torn away
Impetuous from thy home, thy much-lov'd home,
Without one moment to reflection giv'n!
By soothing, solemn promise led to place
Ingenuous all thy confidence of life
In men, assuming gentle pity's guise!
Vain confidence in aught beneath the sun!
Behold the hour, the dreadful hour arriv'd:
The prison opes its ruthless gates upon thee!
Oh Horror! But what's this, this fresh attack!
'Tis she, 'tis she! my weeping, fainting wife!
“And hast thou faithful found me? Has thy love
“Thus burst thro' ev'ry barrier? Hast thou trac'd
“—Deprest in health, and timid as thou art—
“At midnight trac'd the desolate wild streets;
“Thus in a prison's gloom to throw thy arms
48
“Of thy lost husband?—Fate, exact thy worst;
“The bitterness is past.”—Idea vain!
To tenfold bitterness drench'd in my deep cup
Of gall the morning rises! Statue like,
Inanimate, half dead, and fainting half,
To stand a spectacle!—the præter stern
Denying to my pleading tears one pang
Of human sympathy! Conducted forth,
Amidst th'unfeeling populace; pursued
Like some deer, which from the hunter's aim
Hath ta'en its deadly hurt; and glad to find—
Panting with woe,—my refuge in a gaol!
Can misery stretch more tight the torturing cord?
But hence this softness! Wherefore thus lament
These petty, poor escutcheons of thy fate,
When lies—all worthy of thyself and life,
Cold in the hearse of ruin?—Rather turn
Grateful thine eyes, and raise, tho' red with tears,
To his high throne, who looks on thy distress
With fatherly compassion; kindly throws
Sweet comfort's mixture in thy cup, and soothes
With Gilead's balm thy death-wound. He it is
Who, 'midst the shock disrupting, holds in health
Thy shatter'd frame, and keeps thy reason clear;
He, He it is, whose pitying powers supports
49
Beneath the sense of guilt; the mournful sense
Of deep transgression 'gainst thy fellow-men,
Of sad offence 'gainst Him, thy Father-God;
Who, lavish in his bounties, woo'd thy heart
With each paternal blessing;—ah ingrate,
And worthless! Yet—(His mercies who can count,
Or truly speak his praise!)—Yet thro' this gloom
Of self-conviction, lowly He vouchafes
To dart a ray of comfort, like the Sun's,
All-cheering thro' a summer's evening shower!
Arch'd in his gorgeous sky, I view the Bow,
Of grace fix'd emblem! 'Tis that grace alone
Which gives my soul its firmness; builds my hope
Beyond the grave; and bids me spurn the earth!
First of all blessings, hail! Yet Thou, from whom
Both first and last, both great and small proceed;
Exhaustless source of every good to man,
Accept for all, the tribute of my praise;
For all are thine!—Thine the ingenuous friends,
Who solace with compassion sweet my woe;
Mingle with mine their sympathetic tears;
Incessant and disinterested toil
To work my weal; and, delicately kind,
Watch every keener sensibility
That lives about my soul. Oh, more than friends,
In tenderness my children!—Thine are too
The very keepers of the rugged jail,
—Ill school to learn humanity's soft lore!—
Yet here humanity their duty pays,
Respectably affecting! Whilst they tend
My little wants, officious in their zeal,
They turn away, and fain would hide the tear
That gushes all unbidden to their eye,
And sanctifies their service.—On their heads
Thy blessing, Lord of Bounty!—
Both first and last, both great and small proceed;
Exhaustless source of every good to man,
Accept for all, the tribute of my praise;
For all are thine!—Thine the ingenuous friends,
Who solace with compassion sweet my woe;
Mingle with mine their sympathetic tears;
Incessant and disinterested toil
To work my weal; and, delicately kind,
Watch every keener sensibility
50
In tenderness my children!—Thine are too
The very keepers of the rugged jail,
—Ill school to learn humanity's soft lore!—
Yet here humanity their duty pays,
Respectably affecting! Whilst they tend
My little wants, officious in their zeal,
They turn away, and fain would hide the tear
That gushes all unbidden to their eye,
And sanctifies their service.—On their heads
Thy blessing, Lord of Bounty!—
—But, of all,
All thy choice comforts in this drear distress,
God of our first young love! Thine is the Wife,
Who with assiduous care, from night to morn,
From morn to night, watches my every need;
And, as in brightest days of peace and joy,
Smiles on my anguish, while her own poor breast
Is full almost to bursting! Prostrate, Lord,
Before thy footstool—Thou, whose highest style
On earth, in heaven, is love!—Thou, who hast breath'd
Thro' human hearts the tender charities,
The social fond affections which unite
In bonds of sweetest amity those hearts,
And guide to every good!—Thou, whose kind eye
Complacent must behold the rich, ripe fruit,
Mature and mellow'd on the generous stock
Of thy own careful planting!—Low on earth,
And mingled with my native dust, I cry;
With all the Husband's anxious fondness cry;
With all the friend's solicitude and truth;
With all the teacher's fervour,—“God of Love,
“Vouchsafe thy choicest comforts on her head!
“Be thine my fate's decision: To thy will
“With angel-resignation, lo! we bend!”
But hark! what sound, wounding the night's dull ear,
All thy choice comforts in this drear distress,
God of our first young love! Thine is the Wife,
Who with assiduous care, from night to morn,
From morn to night, watches my every need;
And, as in brightest days of peace and joy,
Smiles on my anguish, while her own poor breast
Is full almost to bursting! Prostrate, Lord,
Before thy footstool—Thou, whose highest style
On earth, in heaven, is love!—Thou, who hast breath'd
Thro' human hearts the tender charities,
The social fond affections which unite
In bonds of sweetest amity those hearts,
And guide to every good!—Thou, whose kind eye
Complacent must behold the rich, ripe fruit,
Mature and mellow'd on the generous stock
51
And mingled with my native dust, I cry;
With all the Husband's anxious fondness cry;
With all the friend's solicitude and truth;
With all the teacher's fervour,—“God of Love,
“Vouchsafe thy choicest comforts on her head!
“Be thine my fate's decision: To thy will
“With angel-resignation, lo! we bend!”
Bursts sudden on my sense, and makes more horrible
These midnight horrors?—'Tis the solemn bell,
Alarum to the prisoners of death !—
Hark! what a groan, responsive from the cells
Of condemnation, calls upon my heart,
My thrilling heart, for intercession strong,
And pleadings in the sufferer's behalf—
My fellow-sufferers, and my fellow-men!
This alludes to a very striking and awful circumstance. The Bellman of St. Sepulchre's, near the prison, is by long and pious custom appointed to announce at midnight to the condemned criminals in their cells, that the hour of their departure is at hand!
And veil thy face of sorrow! Lonely hours,
52
For much remains to sing; sad themes, unsung,
As deem'd perchance too mournful;—yet, what else
Than themes like these can suit a muse like mine!
—And might it be, that while ingenuous woe
Bleeds thro' my verse; while the succeeding page
Weaving with my sad story the detail
Of crimes, of punishments, of prisons drear,
Of present life and future,—sad discourse
And serious shall contain; Oh might it be,
That human hearts may listen and improve;
O might it be, that benefit to souls
Flow from the weeping tablet: tho' the Man
In torture die,—the Painter shall rejoice!
Sunday, March 2, 1777.
END OF THE FIRST WEEK.
53
WEEK THE SECOND. The Retrospect.
Oh, not that thou goest hence—sweet drooping flower,Surcharg'd with Sorrow's dew!—Not that thou quitt'st
This pent and feverish gloom, which beams with light,
With health, with comfort, by thy presence cheer'd,
Companion of my life, and of my woes
Blest soother! Not that thou goest hence to drink
A purer air, and gather from the breath
Of balmy spring new succour, to recruit
Thy wanning health, and aid thee to sustain,
With more than manly fortitude, thy own
And my afflictive trials! Not that here,
Amidst the glories of this genial day,
54
With dim, lack-lustre eye!—Oh, 'tis not this
That drives the poison'd point of torturous thought
Deep to my spring of life! It is not this
That prostrate lays me weeping in the dust,
And draws in sobs the life-blood from my heart!
Well could I bear thy absence: well, full well;
Tho' angel-comforts in thy converse smile,
And make my dungeon Paradise!—Full well
Could I sustain thro' iron bars to view
The golden Sun, in bridegroom-majesty
Taking benignant nature to his love,
And decking her with bounties! Well, very well
Could I forego the delicate delight
Of tracing nature's germens, as they bud;
Of viewing spring's first children, as they rise
In innocent sweetness, or beneath the thorn
In rural privacy; or on gay parterre
More artful, less enchanting!—Well, very well
Could I forego to listen,—in this house
Of unremitted din,—and nought complain;
To listen, as I oft have stood with thee
Listening in fond endearment to the voice
Of stock-dove, thro' the silence of the wood
Hoarse murmuring:—Well, oh could I forego
These innocent, tho' exquisite delights,
55
In moral, mental melody!—Sweet Spring!
Well could I bear this sad exile from Thee,
Nor drop one tear reluctant: for my soul,
Strong to superior feelings, soars aloft
To eminence of misery!—Confin'd
On this bless'd day—the Sabbath of my God!
—Not from his House alone, not from the power
Of joyful worship with assembling crowds ,
But from the labours once so amply mine,
The labours of his love. Now, laid aside,
Cover'd my head with ignominious dust,
My voice is stopp'd! and, had I e'en the power,
Strong shame, and stronger grief would to that voice
Forbid all utterance!—Ah, thrice hapless voice,
By Heaven's own finger all indulgent tuned
To touch the heart, and win th'attentive soul
To love of truth divine, how useless now,
How dissonant, unstrung!—Like Salem's harps
Once fraught with richest harmony of praise,
Hung in sad silence by Euphrates' stream,
Upon the mournful willows! There they wept,
Thy captive people wept, O God!—when thought
To bitter memory recall'd the songs,
The dulcet songs of Sion! Oh blest songs,
56
In cheerful music mounting to the praise
Of Sion's King of Glory!—Oh the joy
Transcendant, of petitions wing'd aloft
With fervour irresistible from throngs
Asssembled in thy earthly courts, dread King
Of all-dependant nature!—looking up
For all to Thee, as do the servants eyes
Up to their fostering Master! Joy of joys,
Amidst such throng'd assemblies to stand forth,
To blow the Silver Trumpet of thy Grace;
The gladsome year of jubilee to proclaim,
And offer to the aching sinner's heart
Redemption's healing mercies! And methinks
(—Indulge the pleasing reverie, my soul!
The waking dream, which in oblivion sweet
Lulls thy o'erlabour'd sense!) methinks, convey'd
To Ham's lov'd shades,—dear favourite shades,
And pure religion sanctify'd,—I hear
The tuneful bells their hallow'd message sound by peace
To Christian hearts symphonious! Circling time
Once more hath happily brought round the day
Which calls us to the Temple of our God:
Then let us haste, in decent neatness clad,
My cheerful little household, to his courts,
So lov'd, so truly honour'd! There we'll mix
In meek, ingenuous deprecation's cry;
57
And all the rich melodiousness of praise.
I feel, I feel the rapture! David's harp
Concordant with a thousand voices sounds:
Prayer mounts exulting: Man ascends the skies
On wings of angel-fervour! Holy writ
Or speaks the wonders of Jehovah's power,
Or tells, in more than mortal majesty,
The greater wonders of his love to man!
Proofs of that love, see where the mystic signs,
High emblems of unutterable grace,
Confirm to man the zeal of Heaven to save,
And call to gratitude's best office!
Concordant with a thousand voices sounds:
Prayer mounts exulting: Man ascends the skies
On wings of angel-fervour! Holy writ
Or speaks the wonders of Jehovah's power,
Or tells, in more than mortal majesty,
The greater wonders of his love to man!
Proofs of that love, see where the mystic signs,
High emblems of unutterable grace,
Confirm to man the zeal of Heaven to save,
And call to gratitude's best office!
—Wise
In all thy sacred institutions, Lord,
Thy Sabbaths with peculiar wisdom shine;
First and high argument, creation done,
Of thy benign solicitude for man,
Thy chiefest, favourite creature. Time is thine:
How just to claim a part, who giv'st the whole!
But oh, how gracious, to assign that part,
To man's supreme behoof, his soul's best good;
His mortal and his mental benefit;
His body's genial comfort! Savage else,
Untaught, undisciplin'd, in shaggy pride
He'd rov'd the wild, amidst the brutes a brute
Ferocious; to the soft civilities
Of cultivated life, Religion, Truth,
A barbarous stranger. To thy Sabbaths then
All hail, wise Legislator! 'Tis to these
We owe at once the memory of thy works,
Thy mighty works of nature and of grace;—
We owe divine religion; and to these
The decent comeliness of social life.
Revere, ye earthly magistrates, who wield,
In all thy sacred institutions, Lord,
Thy Sabbaths with peculiar wisdom shine;
First and high argument, creation done,
Of thy benign solicitude for man,
Thy chiefest, favourite creature. Time is thine:
How just to claim a part, who giv'st the whole!
But oh, how gracious, to assign that part,
To man's supreme behoof, his soul's best good;
His mortal and his mental benefit;
His body's genial comfort! Savage else,
Untaught, undisciplin'd, in shaggy pride
He'd rov'd the wild, amidst the brutes a brute
58
Of cultivated life, Religion, Truth,
A barbarous stranger. To thy Sabbaths then
All hail, wise Legislator! 'Tis to these
We owe at once the memory of thy works,
Thy mighty works of nature and of grace;—
We owe divine religion; and to these
The decent comeliness of social life.
The sword of Heaven,—the wisdom of Heaven's plan,
And sanctify the Sabbaths of your God!
Religion's all: With that or stands or falls
Your country's weal! but where shall she obtain,
—Religion, sainted pilgrim,—shelter safe,
Or honourable greeting;—thro' the land,
If led by high and low, in giddy dance,
Mad profanation on the sacred day
Of God's appointed rest, her revel-rout
Insulting heads, and leaves the temple void?
—Oh, my lov'd country! oh, ye thoughtless great,
Intoxicate with draughts, that opium-like
For transient moments stupify the mind,
To wake in horrors, and confusion wild!—
But soft, and know thyself! 'Tis not for thee,
Poor destitute! thus groveling in the dust
59
The Censor's office, and reprove mankind.
Ah me,—thy day of duty is declin'd!
Thou, rather, to the quick probe thine own wounds,
And plead for mercy at the judgment-seat,
Where conscience smites thee for th'offence deplor'd.
Yet not presumptuous deem it, Arbiter
Of human thoughts, that through the long, long gloom
Of multiply'd transgressions, I behold
Complacent smiling on my sickening soul,
“Delight in thy lov'd Sabbaths!” Well Thou know'st—
For thou knowest all things,—that the cheerful sound
Of that blest day's return, for circling weeks,
For months, for years, for more than thrice seven years,
Was music to my heart! My feet rejoic'd
To bear me to thy temples, haply fraught
With Comfort's tidings; with thy gospel's truth,
The gospel of thy peace! Oh, well Thou know'st,
Who knowest all things, with what welcome toil,
What pleasing assiduity I search'd
Thy heavenly word, to learn thy heavenly will;
That faithful I might minister its truth,
And of the high commission nought keep back
From the great congregation Well thou know'st,
60
How copiously I bath'd with pleading tears,
How earnestly in prayer consign'd to Thee
The humble efforts of my trembling pen;
My best, weak efforts in my Master's cause;
Weak as the feather 'gainst the giant's shield,
Light as the gosmer floating on the wind,
Without-thy aid omnipotent! Thou know'st
How, anxious to improve in every grace,
That best to man's attention might commend
Th'important message, studious I apply'd
My feeble talents to the holy art
Of suasive elocution; emulous
Of every acquisition which might clothe
In purest dignity the purest work,
The first, the highest office man can bear,
“The Messenger of God;” And well Thou know'st,
—For all the work, as all the praise is Thine—
What sweet success accompanied the toil:
What harvests bless'd the seed-time! Well Thou know'st,
With what triumphant gladness my rapt soul
Wrought in the vineyard! how it thankful bore
The noon day's heat, the evening's chilly frost,
Exulting in its much-loved Master's cause
To spend, and to be spent! and bring it home
61
A body by fatigue o'erborne; a mind
Replete with glad emotions to its God!
Of social friends! well do ye bear in mind
Those pleasing evenings, when, on my return,
Much-wish'd return—serenity the mild,
And cheerfulness the innocent, with me
Enter'd the happy dwelling! Thou, my Ernest,
Ingenuous youth! whose early spring bespoke
Thy summer, as it is, with richest crops
Luxuriant waving; gentle youth, canst thou
Those welcome hours forget? or thou—oh thou!
—How shall I utter from my beating heart
Thy name, so musical, so heavenly sweet
Once to these ears distracted!—Stanhope, say,
Canst thou forget those hours, when, cloth'd in smiles
Of fond respect, thou and thy friend have strove
Whose little hands should readiest supply
My willing wants; officious in your zeal
To make the Sabbath-evenings, like the day,
A scene of sweet composure to my soul !
62
Oh days of matchless mercy! matchless praise!
Gone, gone, for ever gone! How dreadful spent,
Useless, in tears, and groans, and bitter woe,
In this wild place of horrors !—Oh, return,
Ye happy Sabbaths!—or to that lov'd realm
Dismiss me, Father of compassions, where
Reigns one eternal Sabbath! Tho' my voice,
Feeble at best, be damp'd, and cannot soar
To strains sublime, beneath the sorrowing sense
Of base ingratitude to thee, my God,
My Father, Benefactor, Saviour, Friend,—
Yet in that realm of rest, 'twill quickly catch
Congenial harmony! 'twill quickly rise
Even from humility's weak, trembling touch;
Rise with the glowing seraph in the choir,
And strive to be the loudest in thy praise.
Good-Friday, Easter, &c. once so peculiarly happy—yet how past here!—What a sad want of the spirit of reformation!
Bœthius has a reflection highly applicable to the sense of our Author:—“Nec insiciari possum prosperitatis meæ velocissimum cursum. Sed hoc est, quod recolentem me vehementius coquit. Nam in omni adversitate fortunæ, infelicissimum genus est infortunii, fuisse felicem.” De Consol. L. 2. Pros. 4.
By sad reflection and convicting guilt,
Falls prostrate on the earth.—So, pois'd in air,
And warbling his wild notes about the clouds,
63
Clapp'd to his side his plumy steerage, down
Drops—instantaneous drops the silent lark!
—How shall I mount to Heaven? how join the choir
Celestial of bright Seraphim? deprest
Beneath the burden of a thousand sins,
On what blest dove-like wing shall I arise,
And fly to the wish'd rest?
—Of counsel free,
Some to my aching heart, with kind intent,
Offer the poisonous balsam of desert;
“Bid me take comfort from the cheering view
“Of deeds benevolent, and active life
“Spent for the weal of others!” Syren-songs,
Soon hush'd by howlings of severe reproach,
Unfeeling, uncompassionate, and rude,
Which o'er my body, panting on the earth,
With wounds incurable, insulting, whirls
Her iron scourge: accumulates each ill
That can to man's best fame damnation add:
Spies not one mark of white throughout my life;
And, groaning o'er my anguish, to despair,
As my soul, sad resource, indignant points!
But not from you,—ah cruel, callous foes,
Thus to exult, and press a fallen man!—
64
Admit we counsel here. Too deep the stake,
Too awful the enquiry—how the soul
May smile at death, and meet its God in peace—
To rest the answer on uncertain man!
Alike above your friendship, or your hate,
Here, here I tour triumphant, and behold
At once confirm'd security and joy,
Beyond the reach of mortal hand to shake,
Or for a moment cloud.—Hail, bleeding Love!
In thy humiliation deep and dread,
Divine Philanthropist, my ransom'd soul
Beholds its triumph, and avows its cure!
Its perfect, free salvation, knows or feels
No merit, no dependence, but thy faith,
Thy hope and love consummate! All abjures;
Casts all,—each care, each burden, at the foot
Of thy victorious cross: its heart and life
One wish, one word uniting—ever may
That wish and word in me, blest Lord, unite!—
“Oh, ever may in me Thy will be done!”
Firm and unshaken, as old Sion's Hill,
Remains this sure foundation: who on Christ,
The Corner-Stone, build faithful, build secure,
Eternity is theirs. Then talk no more,
Ye airy, vague, fantastic reasoners,
65
Of God's investigation; of the chaff
Dispers'd, and floating 'fore the slightest wind,—
The chaff of human merit! gracious God!
What pride, what contradiction in the term!
Shall man, vain man, drest in a little power
Deriv'd from Nature's Author; and that power
Holding, an humble tenant, at the will
Of him who freely gave it; His high will,
The dread Supreme Disposer, shall poor man,
A beggar indigent and vile,—enrich'd
With every precious faculty of soul,
Of reason, intellect; with every gift
Of animal life luxuriant—from the store
Of unexhausted bounty; shall he turn
That bounty to abuse? lavish defy
The Giver with his gifts,—a rebel base!
And yet, presumptuous, arrogant, deceiv'd,
Assume a pride for actions not his own,
Or boast of merit, when his all's for God,
And he that all has squander'd! Purest saints,
Brightest archangels, in the choir of heaven,
Fulfilling all complete his holy will,
Who plac'd them high in glory as they stand;
Fulfil but duty! nay, as owing more
From love's supreme distinction, readier veil
Their radiant faces with their golden plumes;
66
With gratitude superior. Could bold pride
One moment whisper to their lucid souls
Desert's intolerable folly,—down
Like Lucifer, the Morning-star, they'd fall
From their bright state obscur'd! Then, proud, poor worm,
Conceiv'd in sins, offending from thy youth,
In every point transgressor of the law
Of righteousness; of merit towards God
Dream, if thou can'st: or, madman if thou art,
Stand on that plea for heav'n,—and be undone!
Blest be thy tender mercy, God of Grace!
That 'midst the terrors of this trying hour,
When in this midnight, lonely, prison-gloom,
My inmost soul hangs naked to thy view;
When, undissembled in the search, I fain
Would know, explore, and balance every thought
(For oh, I see Eternity's dread gates
Expand before me, soon perhaps to close!)—
Blest be thy mercy, that, subdued to thee,
Each lofty vain imagination bows;
Each high idea humbled in the dust,
Of self-sufficient righteousness my soul
Disclaims, abhors, with reprobation full
67
Even of the meanest crumb beneath thy board.
Blest be thy mercy, that, so far from due,
I own thy bounties, manifold and rich,
Upon my soul have laid a debt so deep,
That I can never pay!—And oh! I feel
Compunction inexpressible, to think
How I have us'd those bounties! sackcloth-clad,
And cover'd o'er with ashes, I deplore
My utter worthlessness; and, trembling, own
Thy wrath and just displeasure well might sink
In deeper floods than these, that o'er my head
Roar horrible,—in fiery floods of woe,
That know nor end nor respite! but, my God,
Blest be thy mercy ever! Thou'st not left
My soul to Desperation's dark dismay!
On Calvary's Hill my mourning eye discerns,
With faith's clear view, that Spectacle which wipes
Each tear away, and bids the heart exult!
There hangs the Love of God! There hangs of man
The Ransom; there the Merit; there the Cure
Of human griefs—The Way, the Truth, the Life!
Oh Thou, for sin burnt-sacrifice complete!
Oh Thou, of holy life th'exemplar bright!
68
Repentance scarce dare lift her flowing eyes,
Though in his strong arms manly Faith supports
The self-convicted mourner!—Let not love,
Source of thy matchless mercies, aught delay,
Like Mary, with Humility's meek hand
Her precious box of costly Nard to pour
On thy dear feet: diffusing through the house
The odour of her unguents! Let not Love,
Looking with Gratitude's full eye to Thee,
Cease with the hallow'd fragrance of her works
To cheer thy lowliest members; to refresh
Thee in thy saints afflicted! Let not Love
Cease with each spiritual grace, each temper mild,
Fruits of the Holy Spirit,—to enrich,
To fill, perfume, and sanctify the soul,
Assimilate to Thee, sweet Jesu! Thee
That soul's immortal habitant. How blest,
How beyond value rich the privilege,
To welcome such a Guest! how doubly blest
With such a signature,—the royal stamp
Of thy resemblance, Prince of Righteousness,
Of Mercy, Peace, and Truth! Oh more and more
Transform me to that Image! More and more
Thou New Creation's Author, form complete
In me the birth divine; the heavenly mind,
The love consummate,—all-performing love,
69
And is to man, happy regenerate man,
Heaven's surest foretaste, and its earnest too.
The thought delights and cheers, though not elates:
Through pensive Meditation's sable gloom
It darts a ray of soft, well-temper'd light,
A kind of lunar radiance on my soul,
Gentle, not dazzling! Thou, who knowest all,
Know'st well, thrice gracious Master! that my heart
Attun'd to thy dear love, howe'er seduc'd
By worldly adulation from its vows,
And for a few contemptible, contemn'd
Unhappy moments faithless; well thou know'st
That heart ne'er knew true peace but in thy love:
That heart hath in thy love known thorough peace!
Hath frequent panted for that love's full growth;
And sought occasions to display its warmth
By deeds of kindness, mild humanity,
And pitying mercy to its fellow-men!
And thou hast blest me! and I will rejoice
That thou hast blest me! thou hast giv'n my soul
The Luxury of Luxuries, to wipe
70
At many an aching heart. And Thou wilt wipe
The tears from mine, and Thou the groan repress:
And Thou—for oh, this beating heart is thine,
Fram'd by thy Hand to pity's quickest touch,—
Thou wilt forgive the sinner; and bestow
Mercy, sweet mercy! which, inspir'd by Thee,
He never had the power, and ne'er the will,
To hold from others, where he could bestow!
Shall he not then rest happily secure
Of mercy, thrice blest mercy from mankind?
Where rests it?—Resignation's meek-eyed power
Sustain me still; Composure still be mine:
Where rests it?—Oh mysterious Providence!
Silence the wild idea:—I have found
No mercy yet; no mild humanity:
With cruel unrelenting rigour torn,
And, lost in prison, wild to all below;
So from his daily toil returning late
O'er Grison's rugged mountains, clad in snow,
The peasant with astonish'd eyes beholds
A gaunt wolf, from the pine-grove howling rush!
Chill horror stiffens him, alike to fly
Unable, to resist: the monster feeds
Blood-happy, growling, on his quivering heart!
71
The crackling hearth; his careful wife prepares
Her humble cates; and thro' the lattic'd light
His little ones, expecting his return,
Peep, anxious! Ah, poor victim, he nor hearth
Bright blazing, nor the housewife's humble cates,
Nor much-lov'd children henceforth more shall see!
But soft: 'Tis calm reflection's midnight hour;
'Tis the soul's solemn inquest. Broods a thought
Resentful in thy bosom? Art thou yet,
Penitent pilgrim, on earth's utmost bourn,
And candidate for Heaven,—art thou yet
In love imperfect? and has malice place,
With dark revenge, and unforgiving hate,
Hell's blackest offspring?—Glory to my God!
With triumph let me sing, and close my strain.
Abhorrent ever from my earliest youth
Of these detested passions, in this hour,
This trying hour of keen oppressive grief,
My soul superior rises; nor of these
Malevolent, a touch, the slightest touch
Feels, or shall ever harbour! Tho' it feels
In all their amplitude, with all their weight,
Ungentlest treatment, and a load of woe,
Heavy as that which fabling poets lay
72
By Cruelty's fierce hand down to the lees,
Yet can my heart, with all the truth of prayer,
With all the fervour of sincere desire,
Looking at Thee, thou love of God and man!—
Yet can my heart in life or death implore,
“Father, forgive them, as Thou pitiest me!”
Oh where's the wonder, when thy cross is seen!
Oh, where's the wonder, when thy voice is heard;
Harmonious intercession! Son of God.
Oh, where's the wonder—or the merit where,
Or what's the task to love-attuned souls—
Poor fellow-creatures pitying, to implore
Forgiveness for them? Oh forgive my foes!
Best friends, perchance, for they may bring to Thee!
—Complete forgiveness on them, God of grace!
Complete forgiveness, in the dreadful hour,
When most they need forgiveness! And oh such
As, in that dreadful hour, my poor heart wants,
And trusts, great Father, to receive from Thee,
Such full forgiveness grant,—and my glad soul
Shall fold them then, my brethren, in thy house!
Thus do I sooth, and while away with song
My lonely hours, in drear confinement past,
73
My hapless ancestor, fam'd Overbury!—
But Oh, in this how different is our fate!
Thou, to a vengeful woman's subtle wiles
A hapless victim fall'st; while my deep gloom,
Brighten'd by female virtue and the light
Of conjugal affection—leads me oft,
Like the poor prison'd linnet, to forget
Freedom, and tuneful friends, and russet heath,
Vocal with native melody; to swell
The feeble throat and chaunt the lowly strain;
As in the season, when from spray to spray
Flew liberty on light elastic wing,
She flies no more:—Be mute, my plaintive lyre!
March 15, 1777.
END OF THE SECOND WEEK.
74
WEEK THE THIRD. Public Punishment.
Vain are thy generous efforts, worthy Bull
,
Thy kind compassion's vain! The hour is come:
Stern fate demands compliance: I must pass
Thro' various deaths, keen torturing, to arrive
At that my heart so fervently implores;
Yet fruitless. Ah! why hides he his fell front
From woe, from wretchedness, that with glad smiles
Would welcome his approach; and tyrant-like,
Delights to dash the jocund roseate cup
From the full hand of gaudy luxury
And unsuspecting ease!—Far worse than death
That prison's entrance, whose idea chills
With freezing horror all my curdling blood;
Whose very name, stamping with infamy,
Makes my soul frighted start, in phrenzy whirl'd,
And verging near to madness! See, they ope
Their iron jaws! See the vast gates expand,
Gate after gate—and in an instant twang,
Clos'd by their growling keepers:—When again,
Mysterious powers!—oh when to open on me?
Mercy, sweet Heaven, support my faltering steps,
Support my sickening heart! My full eyes swim:
O'er all my frame distils a cold damp sweat.
Hark—what a rattling din! On every side
The congregated chains clank frightful: Throngs
Tumultuous press around, to view, to gaze
Upon the wretched stranger; scarce believ'd
Other than visitor within such walls,
With mercy and with freedom in his hands.
Alas, how chang'd!—Sons of confinement, see
No pitying deliverer, but a wretch
O'erwhelm'd with misery, more hapless far
Than the most hapless 'mongst ye; loaded hard
With guilt's oppressive irons! His are chains
No time can loosen, and no hand unbind:
Fetters which gore the soul. Oh horror, horror!
Ye massive bolts, give way: ye sullen doors,
Ah, open quick, and from this clamorous rout,
Close in my dismal, lone, allotted room
Shrowd me;—for ever shrowd from human sight,
And make it, if 'tis possible, my grave!
Thy kind compassion's vain! The hour is come:
Stern fate demands compliance: I must pass
Thro' various deaths, keen torturing, to arrive
At that my heart so fervently implores;
Yet fruitless. Ah! why hides he his fell front
From woe, from wretchedness, that with glad smiles
Would welcome his approach; and tyrant-like,
Delights to dash the jocund roseate cup
75
And unsuspecting ease!—Far worse than death
That prison's entrance, whose idea chills
With freezing horror all my curdling blood;
Whose very name, stamping with infamy,
Makes my soul frighted start, in phrenzy whirl'd,
And verging near to madness! See, they ope
Their iron jaws! See the vast gates expand,
Gate after gate—and in an instant twang,
Clos'd by their growling keepers:—When again,
Mysterious powers!—oh when to open on me?
Mercy, sweet Heaven, support my faltering steps,
Support my sickening heart! My full eyes swim:
O'er all my frame distils a cold damp sweat.
Hark—what a rattling din! On every side
The congregated chains clank frightful: Throngs
Tumultuous press around, to view, to gaze
Upon the wretched stranger; scarce believ'd
Other than visitor within such walls,
With mercy and with freedom in his hands.
Alas, how chang'd!—Sons of confinement, see
No pitying deliverer, but a wretch
O'erwhelm'd with misery, more hapless far
Than the most hapless 'mongst ye; loaded hard
With guilt's oppressive irons! His are chains
No time can loosen, and no hand unbind:
Fetters which gore the soul. Oh horror, horror!
76
Ah, open quick, and from this clamorous rout,
Close in my dismal, lone, allotted room
Shrowd me;—for ever shrowd from human sight,
And make it, if 'tis possible, my grave!
How truly welcome, then! Then would I greet
With hallow'd joy the drear, but blest abode;
And deem it far the happiest I have known,
The best I e'er inhabited. But, alas!
There's no such mercy for me. I must run
Misery's extremest round; and this must be
A while my living grave; the doleful tomb,
Sad sounding with my unremitted groans,
And moisten'd with the bitterness of tears!
With hallow'd joy the drear, but blest abode;
And deem it far the happiest I have known,
The best I e'er inhabited. But, alas!
There's no such mercy for me. I must run
Misery's extremest round; and this must be
A while my living grave; the doleful tomb,
Sad sounding with my unremitted groans,
And moisten'd with the bitterness of tears!
Ah, mournful dwelling! destin'd ne'er to see
The human face divine in placid smiles,
And innocent gladness cloth'd: destin'd to hear
No sounds of genial, heart-reviving joy!
The sons of sorrows only are thy guests,
And thine the only music of their sighs,
Thick sobbing from the tempest of their breasts!
Ah, mournful dwelling! never hast thou seen,
Amidst the numerous wretched ones immur'd
Within thy stone-girt compass, wretch so sunk,
So lost, so ruin'd, as the man who falls
Thus, in deep anguish, on thy ruthless floor,
And bathes it with the torrent of his tears!
The human face divine in placid smiles,
And innocent gladness cloth'd: destin'd to hear
No sounds of genial, heart-reviving joy!
The sons of sorrows only are thy guests,
And thine the only music of their sighs,
Thick sobbing from the tempest of their breasts!
Ah, mournful dwelling! never hast thou seen,
Amidst the numerous wretched ones immur'd
Within thy stone-girt compass, wretch so sunk,
So lost, so ruin'd, as the man who falls
77
And bathes it with the torrent of his tears!
And can it be? or is it all a dream?
A vapour of the mind?—I scarce believe
Myself awake or acting. Sudden thus
Am I—so compass'd round with comforts late.
Health, freedom, peace, torn, torn from all, and lost!
A prisoner in—Impossible!—I sleep:
'Tis fancy's coinage; 'tis a dream's delusion.
A vapour of the mind?—I scarce believe
Myself awake or acting. Sudden thus
Am I—so compass'd round with comforts late.
Health, freedom, peace, torn, torn from all, and lost!
A prisoner in—Impossible!—I sleep:
'Tis fancy's coinage; 'tis a dream's delusion.
Vain dream! vain fancy! Quickly am I rous'd
To all the dire reality's distress:
I tremble, start, and feel myself awake,
Dreadfully awake to all my woes; and roll
From wave to wave on Sorrow's ocean tost!
To all the dire reality's distress:
I tremble, start, and feel myself awake,
Dreadfully awake to all my woes; and roll
From wave to wave on Sorrow's ocean tost!
Oh for a moment's pause,—a moment's rest,
To calm my hurried spirits! to recall
Reflection's staggering pilot to the helm,
And still the maddening whirlwind in my soul!
—It cannot be! The din increases round:
Rough voices rage discordant; dreadful shrieks!
Hoarse imprecations dare the thunderer's ire,
And call down swift damnation! thousand chains
In dismal notes clink, mirthful! Roaring bursts
Of loud obstreperous laughter, and strange choirs
Of gutturals, dissonant and rueful, vex
E'en the dull ear of Midnight! Neither rest,
Nor peaceful calm, nor silence of the mind,
Refreshment sweet, nor interval or pause
From morn to eve, from eve to morn is found
Amidst the surges of this troubled sea !
To calm my hurried spirits! to recall
Reflection's staggering pilot to the helm,
And still the maddening whirlwind in my soul!
—It cannot be! The din increases round:
Rough voices rage discordant; dreadful shrieks!
Hoarse imprecations dare the thunderer's ire,
And call down swift damnation! thousand chains
In dismal notes clink, mirthful! Roaring bursts
Of loud obstreperous laughter, and strange choirs
78
E'en the dull ear of Midnight! Neither rest,
Nor peaceful calm, nor silence of the mind,
Refreshment sweet, nor interval or pause
From morn to eve, from eve to morn is found
Amidst the surges of this troubled sea !
So, from the Leman Lake th'impetuous Rhone
His blue waves pushes rapid, and bears down
(Furiate to meet Saone's pellucid stream,
With roar tremendous, thro' the craggy streights
Of Alpine rocks) his freight of waters wild:
Still rushing in perturbed eddies on;
And still, from hour to hour, from age to age,
In conflux vast and unremitting, pours
His boisterous flood to old Lugdunim's wall!
His blue waves pushes rapid, and bears down
(Furiate to meet Saone's pellucid stream,
With roar tremendous, thro' the craggy streights
Of Alpine rocks) his freight of waters wild:
Still rushing in perturbed eddies on;
And still, from hour to hour, from age to age,
In conflux vast and unremitting, pours
His boisterous flood to old Lugdunim's wall!
Oh my rack'd brain—oh my distracted heart!
The tumult thickens: wild disorder grows
More painfully confus'd!—And can it be?
Is this the mansion—this the house ordain'd
For recollection's solemn purpose;—this
The place from whence full many a flitting soul
(The work of deep repentance—mighty work,
Still, still to be perform'd) must mount to God,
And give its dread account! Is this the place
Ordain'd by justice, to confine a while
The foe to civil order, and return
Reform'd and moraliz'd to social life!
This den of drear confusion, wild uproar,
Of mingled riot and unblushing vice!
This school of infamy! from whence, improv'd
In every hardy villany, returns
More harden'd, more a foe to God and man,
The miscreant, nurs'd in its infectious lap;
All cover'd with its pestilential spots,
And breathing death and poison wheresoe'er
He stalks contagious! from the lion's den
A lion more ferocious as confin'd!
The tumult thickens: wild disorder grows
79
Is this the mansion—this the house ordain'd
For recollection's solemn purpose;—this
The place from whence full many a flitting soul
(The work of deep repentance—mighty work,
Still, still to be perform'd) must mount to God,
And give its dread account! Is this the place
Ordain'd by justice, to confine a while
The foe to civil order, and return
Reform'd and moraliz'd to social life!
This den of drear confusion, wild uproar,
Of mingled riot and unblushing vice!
This school of infamy! from whence, improv'd
In every hardy villany, returns
More harden'd, more a foe to God and man,
The miscreant, nurs'd in its infectious lap;
All cover'd with its pestilential spots,
And breathing death and poison wheresoe'er
He stalks contagious! from the lion's den
A lion more ferocious as confin'd!
Britons, while sailing in the golden barge
Of giddy dissipation, on the stream,
Smooth silver stream of gorgeous luxury,
Boast gaily—and for ages may they boast,
And truly! for through ages we may trust
'Twill interpose between our crimes and God,
And turn away his just avenging scourge—
“The national Humanity!” Hither then,
Ye sons of pity, and ye sons of thought!—
Whether by public zeal and patriot love,
Or by Compassion's gentle stirrings wrought,
Oh hither come, and find sufficient scope
For all the patriot's, all the christian's search!
Some great, some salutary plan to frame,
Turning confinement's curses into good;
And, like the God who but rebukes to save,
Extracting comfort from correction's stroke!
Of giddy dissipation, on the stream,
Smooth silver stream of gorgeous luxury,
Boast gaily—and for ages may they boast,
And truly! for through ages we may trust
'Twill interpose between our crimes and God,
80
“The national Humanity!” Hither then,
Ye sons of pity, and ye sons of thought!—
Whether by public zeal and patriot love,
Or by Compassion's gentle stirrings wrought,
Oh hither come, and find sufficient scope
For all the patriot's, all the christian's search!
Some great, some salutary plan to frame,
Turning confinement's curses into good;
And, like the God who but rebukes to save,
Extracting comfort from correction's stroke!
Why do we punish? Why do penal laws
Coercive, by tremendous sanctions bind
Offending mortals?—Justice on her throne
Rigid on this hand to example points;
More mild to reformation upon that:
—She balances, and finds no ends but these.
Coercive, by tremendous sanctions bind
Offending mortals?—Justice on her throne
Rigid on this hand to example points;
More mild to reformation upon that:
—She balances, and finds no ends but these.
Crowd then, along with yonder revel-rout,
To exemplary punishment, and mark
The language of the multitude, obscene,
Wild, blasphemous, and cruel! Tent their looks
Of madding, drunken, thoughtless, ruthless gaze,
Or giddy curiosity and vain!
Their deeds still more emphatic, note; and see,
By the sad spectacle unimpress'd, they dare
Even in the eye of death, what to their doom
Brought their expiring fellows! Learn we hence,
How to example's salutary end
Our justice sagely ministers! But one,—
Should there be one—thrice hapless,—of a mind
By guilt unharden'd, and above the throng
Of desperate miscreants, thro' repeated crimes
In stupor lull'd, and lost to every sense;—
Ah me, the sad reverse!—should there be one
Of generous feelings; whom remorseless fate,
Pallid necessity, or chill distress,
The family's urgent call, or just demand
Of honest creditor,—(solicitudes
To reckless, pamper'd worldlings all unknown)
Should there be one, whose trembling, frighted hand
Causes like these in temporary guilt,
Abhorrent to his inmost soul, have plung'd,
And made obnoxious to the rigid law!
Sentenc'd to pay,—and, wearied with its weight,
Well-pleas'd to pay with life that law's demand,
Awful dispensers of strict justice, say,
Would you have more than life? or, in an age,
A country, where humanity reverts
At torture's bare idea, would you tear
Worse than on racking wheels a soul like this,
And make him to the stupid crowd a gaze
For lingering hours?—drag him along to death
An useless spectacle; and more than flay
Your living victim?—Death is your demand:
Death your law's sentence: then this life is yours.
Take the just forfeit; you can claim no more!
To exemplary punishment, and mark
The language of the multitude, obscene,
Wild, blasphemous, and cruel! Tent their looks
Of madding, drunken, thoughtless, ruthless gaze,
Or giddy curiosity and vain!
Their deeds still more emphatic, note; and see,
By the sad spectacle unimpress'd, they dare
81
Brought their expiring fellows! Learn we hence,
How to example's salutary end
Our justice sagely ministers! But one,—
Should there be one—thrice hapless,—of a mind
By guilt unharden'd, and above the throng
Of desperate miscreants, thro' repeated crimes
In stupor lull'd, and lost to every sense;—
Ah me, the sad reverse!—should there be one
Of generous feelings; whom remorseless fate,
Pallid necessity, or chill distress,
The family's urgent call, or just demand
Of honest creditor,—(solicitudes
To reckless, pamper'd worldlings all unknown)
Should there be one, whose trembling, frighted hand
Causes like these in temporary guilt,
Abhorrent to his inmost soul, have plung'd,
And made obnoxious to the rigid law!
Sentenc'd to pay,—and, wearied with its weight,
Well-pleas'd to pay with life that law's demand,
Awful dispensers of strict justice, say,
Would you have more than life? or, in an age,
A country, where humanity reverts
At torture's bare idea, would you tear
Worse than on racking wheels a soul like this,
And make him to the stupid crowd a gaze
For lingering hours?—drag him along to death
82
Your living victim?—Death is your demand:
Death your law's sentence: then this life is yours.
Take the just forfeit; you can claim no more!
Foe to thy infidelity,—and griev'd
That he avows not, from the christian source,
The first great christian duty, which so well,
So forcibly he paints!—Yet let me greet
With heart-felt gratulations thy warm zeal,
Successful in that sacred duty's cause,
The cause of our Humanity, Voltaire!
Torture's vile agents trembling at thy pen:
Intolerance and Persecution gnash
Their teeth, despairing, at the lucid rays
Of truth all prevalent, beaming from thy page.
The rack, the wheel, the dungeon, and the flame,
In happier Europe useless and unknown,
Shall soon,—oh speed the hour, Compassion's God,
Be seen no more; or seen as prodigies
Scarce credited, of Gothic barbarous times.
That he avows not, from the christian source,
The first great christian duty, which so well,
So forcibly he paints!—Yet let me greet
With heart-felt gratulations thy warm zeal,
Successful in that sacred duty's cause,
The cause of our Humanity, Voltaire!
Torture's vile agents trembling at thy pen:
Intolerance and Persecution gnash
Their teeth, despairing, at the lucid rays
Of truth all prevalent, beaming from thy page.
The rack, the wheel, the dungeon, and the flame,
In happier Europe useless and unknown,
Shall soon,—oh speed the hour, Compassion's God,
Be seen no more; or seen as prodigies
Scarce credited, of Gothic barbarous times.
Ah, gallant France, for milder manners fam'd,
How wrung it my sad soul, to view expos'd
On instruments of torture—mangled limbs
And bleeding carcases, beside thy roads,
Thy beauteous woods and avenues! Fam'd works,
And worthy well the grandeur of old Rome!
How wrung it my sad soul, to view expos'd
On instruments of torture—mangled limbs
And bleeding carcases, beside thy roads,
Thy beauteous woods and avenues! Fam'd works,
83
We too, who boast of gentler laws, reform'd
And civiliz'd by liberty's kind hand:
Of mercy boast, and mildest punishments:
Yet punishments of torture exquisite
And idle;—painful, ruinous parade!
We too, with Europe humaniz'd, shall drop
The barbarous severity of death,
Example's bane, not profit;—shall abridge
The savage base ovation; shall assign
The wretch, whose life is forfeit to the laws,
With all the silent dignity of woe,
With all the mournful majesty of death,
Retir'd and solemn, to his awful fate!
Shall to the dreadful moment, moment still
To souls best fitted, give distinction due;
Teach the well-order'd sufferer to depart
With each impression serious; nor insult
With clamorous crowds and exultations base,
A soul, a fellow-soul, which stands prepar'd
On time's dread verge to take its wonderous flight,
To realms of immortality! Yes, the day
—I joy in the idea,—will arrive,
When Britons philanthropic shall reject
The cruel custom, to the sufferer cruel,
Useless and baneful to the gaping crowd!
The day will come, when life, the dearest price
Man can pay down, sufficient forfeit deem'd
For guilty man's transgression of the law,
Shall be paid down, as meet for such a price,
Respectful, sad; with reverence to a soul's
Departure hence; with reverence to the soul's
And body's separation, much-lov'd friends!
Without a torture to augment its loss,
Without an insult to molest its calm;
To the demanded debt no fell account
Of curious, hissing ignominy annex'd:
Anguish, beyond the bitterest torture keen;
Unparallel'd in realms where bigotry
Gives to the furious sons of Dominic
Her sable flag, and marks their way with blood.
And civiliz'd by liberty's kind hand:
Of mercy boast, and mildest punishments:
Yet punishments of torture exquisite
And idle;—painful, ruinous parade!
We too, with Europe humaniz'd, shall drop
The barbarous severity of death,
Example's bane, not profit;—shall abridge
The savage base ovation; shall assign
The wretch, whose life is forfeit to the laws,
With all the silent dignity of woe,
With all the mournful majesty of death,
Retir'd and solemn, to his awful fate!
Shall to the dreadful moment, moment still
To souls best fitted, give distinction due;
Teach the well-order'd sufferer to depart
With each impression serious; nor insult
With clamorous crowds and exultations base,
A soul, a fellow-soul, which stands prepar'd
On time's dread verge to take its wonderous flight,
To realms of immortality! Yes, the day
—I joy in the idea,—will arrive,
When Britons philanthropic shall reject
The cruel custom, to the sufferer cruel,
Useless and baneful to the gaping crowd!
84
Man can pay down, sufficient forfeit deem'd
For guilty man's transgression of the law,
Shall be paid down, as meet for such a price,
Respectful, sad; with reverence to a soul's
Departure hence; with reverence to the soul's
And body's separation, much-lov'd friends!
Without a torture to augment its loss,
Without an insult to molest its calm;
To the demanded debt no fell account
Of curious, hissing ignominy annex'd:
Anguish, beyond the bitterest torture keen;
Unparallel'd in realms where bigotry
Gives to the furious sons of Dominic
Her sable flag, and marks their way with blood.
Hail, milder sons of Athens! civiliz'd
By arts ingenious, by the 'suasive power
Of humanizing science: well ye thought,
Like you may Britons think, that 'twas enough,
The sentence pass'd, a Socrates should die!
The sage, obedient to the law's decree,
Took from the weeping executioner
The draught, resign'd: amidst his sorrowing friends,
Full of immortal hopes convers'd sublime;
And, half in Heaven—compos'd himself, and died!
By arts ingenious, by the 'suasive power
Of humanizing science: well ye thought,
Like you may Britons think, that 'twas enough,
The sentence pass'd, a Socrates should die!
The sage, obedient to the law's decree,
Took from the weeping executioner
The draught, resign'd: amidst his sorrowing friends,
Full of immortal hopes convers'd sublime;
And, half in Heaven—compos'd himself, and died!
85
Oh envy'd fate! oh happiness supreme!
So let me die; so, midst my weeping friends,
Resign my life! I ask not the delay
Ev'n of a moment. Law, thou'dst have thy due!
Nor thou, nor justice, can have more to claim.
So let me die; so, midst my weeping friends,
Resign my life! I ask not the delay
Ev'n of a moment. Law, thou'dst have thy due!
Nor thou, nor justice, can have more to claim.
But equal laws, on truth and reason built,
Look to humanity with lenient eye,
And temper rigid justice with the claims
Of heaven-descended mercy! to condemn
Sorrowing and slow; while studious to correct,
Like man's all-gracious parent, with the view
Benign and laudable, of moral good,
And reformation perfect. Hither then,
Ye sons of sympathy, of wisdom; friends
To order, to compassion, to the state,
And to your fellow-beings; hither come,
To this wild realm of uproar! hither haste,
And see the reformation, see the good
Wrought by confinement in a den like this!
Look to humanity with lenient eye,
And temper rigid justice with the claims
Of heaven-descended mercy! to condemn
Sorrowing and slow; while studious to correct,
Like man's all-gracious parent, with the view
Benign and laudable, of moral good,
And reformation perfect. Hither then,
Ye sons of sympathy, of wisdom; friends
To order, to compassion, to the state,
And to your fellow-beings; hither come,
To this wild realm of uproar! hither haste,
And see the reformation, see the good
Wrought by confinement in a den like this!
View, with unblushing front, undaunted heart,
The callous harlot in the open day
Administer her poisons, 'midst a rout
Scarcely less bold or poison'd than herself!
View, and with eyes that will not hold the tear
In gentle pity gushing for such griefs,—
View, the young wretch, as yet unfledg'd in vice,
Just shackled here, and by the veteran throng,
In every infamy and every crime
Grey and insulting, quickly taught to dare,
Harden'd like them in guilt's opprobrious school;
Each bashful sentiment, incipient grace,
Each yet remorseful thought of right and wrong
Murder'd and buried in his darken'd heart!—
Hear how those veterans clank,—ev'n jovial clank
—Such is obduracy and vice,—their chains !
Hear, how with curses hoarse and vauntings bold,
Each spirits up, encourages and dares
His desperate fellow to more desperate proofs
Of future hardy enterprize; to plans
Of death and ruin! Not exulting more
Heroes or chiefs for noble acts renown'd,
Holding high converse, mutually relate
Gallant atchievements worthy, than the sons
Of plunder and of rapine here recount
On peaceful life their devastations wild;
Their dangers, hair-breadth'scapes, atrocious feats,
Confederate, and confederating still
In schemes of deathful horror! Who, surpriz'd,
Can such effects contemplate, upon minds
Estrang'd to good; fermenting on the lees
Of pregnant ill; associate and combin'd
In intercourse infernal, restless, dire;
And goading constant each to other's thoughts
To deeds of desperation from the tale
Of vaunted infamy oft told: sad fruit
Of the mind's vacancy!—And to that mind
Employment none is offer'd: not an hour
To secret recollection is assign'd;
No seasonable sound instruction brought,
Food for their thoughts, self-gnawing. Not the day
To rest and duty dedicate, finds here
Or rest or duty; revel'd off, unmark'd;
Or like the others undistinguish'd, save
By riot's roar, and self-consuming sloth!
For useful occupation none is found,
Benevolent t'employ their listless hands,
With indolence fatigued! Thus every day
Anew they gather Guilt's corrosive rust;
Each wretched day accumulates fresh ills;
And horribly advanc'd, stagitious grown
From faulty, they go forth, tenfold of Hell
More the devoted children: to the state
Tenfold more dangerous and envenom'd foes
Than first they enter'd this improving school!
So, cag'd and scanty fed, or taught to rage
By taunting insults, more ferocious burst
On man the tyger or hyæna race
From fell confinement; and, with hunger urg'd,
Gnash their dire fangs, and drench themselves in blood.
The callous harlot in the open day
Administer her poisons, 'midst a rout
Scarcely less bold or poison'd than herself!
View, and with eyes that will not hold the tear
In gentle pity gushing for such griefs,—
86
Just shackled here, and by the veteran throng,
In every infamy and every crime
Grey and insulting, quickly taught to dare,
Harden'd like them in guilt's opprobrious school;
Each bashful sentiment, incipient grace,
Each yet remorseful thought of right and wrong
Murder'd and buried in his darken'd heart!—
Hear how those veterans clank,—ev'n jovial clank
—Such is obduracy and vice,—their chains !
Hear, how with curses hoarse and vauntings bold,
Each spirits up, encourages and dares
His desperate fellow to more desperate proofs
Of future hardy enterprize; to plans
Of death and ruin! Not exulting more
Heroes or chiefs for noble acts renown'd,
Holding high converse, mutually relate
Gallant atchievements worthy, than the sons
Of plunder and of rapine here recount
87
Their dangers, hair-breadth'scapes, atrocious feats,
Confederate, and confederating still
In schemes of deathful horror! Who, surpriz'd,
Can such effects contemplate, upon minds
Estrang'd to good; fermenting on the lees
Of pregnant ill; associate and combin'd
In intercourse infernal, restless, dire;
And goading constant each to other's thoughts
To deeds of desperation from the tale
Of vaunted infamy oft told: sad fruit
Of the mind's vacancy!—And to that mind
Employment none is offer'd: not an hour
To secret recollection is assign'd;
No seasonable sound instruction brought,
Food for their thoughts, self-gnawing. Not the day
To rest and duty dedicate, finds here
Or rest or duty; revel'd off, unmark'd;
Or like the others undistinguish'd, save
By riot's roar, and self-consuming sloth!
For useful occupation none is found,
Benevolent t'employ their listless hands,
With indolence fatigued! Thus every day
Anew they gather Guilt's corrosive rust;
Each wretched day accumulates fresh ills;
And horribly advanc'd, stagitious grown
From faulty, they go forth, tenfold of Hell
88
Tenfold more dangerous and envenom'd foes
Than first they enter'd this improving school!
So, cag'd and scanty fed, or taught to rage
By taunting insults, more ferocious burst
On man the tyger or hyæna race
From fell confinement; and, with hunger urg'd,
Gnash their dire fangs, and drench themselves in blood.
But, should the felon fierce, th'abandon'd train
Whose inroads on the human peace forbid,
Almost forbid Compassion's mild regard;
(Yet, ah! what man with fellow-men can fall
So low, as not to claim soft pity's care!)
Should these aught justify the rigid voice,
Which to severe confinement's durance dooms
Infallible the body and the soul
To bitterest, surest ruin, shall we not
With generous indignation execrate
The cruel indiscriminating law,
Which turns misfortune into guilt and curse,
And with the felon harden'd in his crimes
Ranks the poor hapless debtor?—Debt's not guilt:
Alas! the worthiest may incur the stroke
Of worldly infelicity! What man,
How high soe'er he builds his earthly nest,
Can claim security from fortune's change,
Or boast him of to-morrow! Of the east
Greatest and chief, lo! humbled in the dust,
Sits Job the sport of misery! Wealthiest late
Of all blest Araby's most wealthy sons,
He wants a potsherd now to scrape his wounds;
He wants a bed to shrowd his tortur'd limbs,
And only finds a dunghill! Creditor,
Wouldst thou add sorrows to this sorrowing man?
Tear him from ev'n his dunghill, and confine
'Midst recreant felons in a British jail!—
Oh British in humanity! Ye climes,
Ye foreign climes—Be not the truth proclaim'd
Within your streets, nor be it heard or told;
Lest ye retort the cruelty we urge,
And scorn the boasted mildness of our laws!
Whose inroads on the human peace forbid,
Almost forbid Compassion's mild regard;
(Yet, ah! what man with fellow-men can fall
So low, as not to claim soft pity's care!)
Should these aught justify the rigid voice,
Which to severe confinement's durance dooms
Infallible the body and the soul
To bitterest, surest ruin, shall we not
With generous indignation execrate
The cruel indiscriminating law,
Which turns misfortune into guilt and curse,
And with the felon harden'd in his crimes
Ranks the poor hapless debtor?—Debt's not guilt:
Alas! the worthiest may incur the stroke
Of worldly infelicity! What man,
How high soe'er he builds his earthly nest,
Can claim security from fortune's change,
89
Greatest and chief, lo! humbled in the dust,
Sits Job the sport of misery! Wealthiest late
Of all blest Araby's most wealthy sons,
He wants a potsherd now to scrape his wounds;
He wants a bed to shrowd his tortur'd limbs,
And only finds a dunghill! Creditor,
Wouldst thou add sorrows to this sorrowing man?
Tear him from ev'n his dunghill, and confine
'Midst recreant felons in a British jail!—
Oh British in humanity! Ye climes,
Ye foreign climes—Be not the truth proclaim'd
Within your streets, nor be it heard or told;
Lest ye retort the cruelty we urge,
And scorn the boasted mildness of our laws!
Blest be the hour,—amidst my depth of woe,
Amidst this perturbation of my soul,
God of my life, I can, I will exult!—
Blest be the hour, that to my humble thought
Thy spirit, sacred source of every good,
Brought the sublime idea, to expand
By charity, the angels grace divine,
The rude, relentless, iron prison-gates,
And give the pining debtor to the world,
His weeping family, and humble home!
Blest be the hour, when, heedful to my voice
Bearing the prisoners sad sighs to their ears,
Thousands, with soft commiseration touch'd,
Delighted to go forth, and visit glad
Those prisoners in their woe, and set them free!
Amidst this perturbation of my soul,
God of my life, I can, I will exult!—
Blest be the hour, that to my humble thought
Thy spirit, sacred source of every good,
Brought the sublime idea, to expand
By charity, the angels grace divine,
The rude, relentless, iron prison-gates,
And give the pining debtor to the world,
His weeping family, and humble home!
Blest be the hour, when, heedful to my voice
90
Thousands, with soft commiseration touch'd,
Delighted to go forth, and visit glad
Those prisoners in their woe, and set them free!
God of the merciful! Thou hast announc'd
On mercy, thy first, dearest attribute,
Chosen beatitude. Oh pour the dew,
The fostering dew of mercy on their gifts,
Their rich donations grateful! May the prayers
Of those enfranchis'd by their bounteous zeal
Arise propitious for them! and, when hears'd
In death's cold arms this hapless frame shall lie,
—The generous tear, perchance, not quite withheld;—
When friendly memory to reflection brings
My humble efforts and my mournful fate;
On stable basis founded, may the work
Diffuse its good through ages! nor withhold
Its rescuing influence, till the hour arrives
When wants, and debts, and sickness are no more,
And universal freedom blesseth all!
On mercy, thy first, dearest attribute,
Chosen beatitude. Oh pour the dew,
The fostering dew of mercy on their gifts,
Their rich donations grateful! May the prayers
Of those enfranchis'd by their bounteous zeal
Arise propitious for them! and, when hears'd
In death's cold arms this hapless frame shall lie,
—The generous tear, perchance, not quite withheld;—
When friendly memory to reflection brings
My humble efforts and my mournful fate;
On stable basis founded, may the work
Diffuse its good through ages! nor withhold
Its rescuing influence, till the hour arrives
When wants, and debts, and sickness are no more,
And universal freedom blesseth all!
But, till that hour, on reformation's plan,
Ye generous sons of sympathy, intent,
Boldly stand forth. The cause may well demand,
And justify full well your noblest zeal.
Religion, policy, your country's good,
And christian pity for the souls of men,
To prisons call you; call to cleanse away
The filth of these foul dens; to purge from guilt,
And turn them to morality's fair school.
Ye generous sons of sympathy, intent,
Boldly stand forth. The cause may well demand,
And justify full well your noblest zeal.
91
And christian pity for the souls of men,
To prisons call you; call to cleanse away
The filth of these foul dens; to purge from guilt,
And turn them to morality's fair school.
Nor deem impossible the great attempt,
Augæan tho' it seem: yet not beyond
The strength of those that, like Alcides, aim
High to be rank'd amidst the godlike few,
Who shine eternal on fame's amplest roll:
Honour'd with titles, far beyond the first
Which proudest monarchs of the globe can give;
“Saviours and benefactors of mankind!”
Augæan tho' it seem: yet not beyond
The strength of those that, like Alcides, aim
High to be rank'd amidst the godlike few,
Who shine eternal on fame's amplest roll:
Honour'd with titles, far beyond the first
Which proudest monarchs of the globe can give;
“Saviours and benefactors of mankind!”
Hail, generous Hanway! To thy noble plan,
Sage sympathetic , let the muse subscribe,
Rejoicing! In the kind pursuit, good luck
She wisheth thee, and honour. Could her strain
Embellish aught, or aught assist they toils
Benevolent, 'twould cheer her lonely hours,
And make the dungeon smile. But toils like thine
Need no embellishment; need not the aid
Of muse or feeble verse. Reason-approv'd
And charity-sustain'd, firm will they stand,
Under his sanction, who on mercy's works
E'er looks complacent; and his sons on earth,
His chosen sons, with angel-zeal inspires
To plan and to support. And thine well-plann'd,
Shall be supported. Pity for thy brow,
With policy the sage, shall shortly twine
The garland, worthier far than that of oak,
So fam'd in ancient Rome—the meed of him
Who sav'd a single citizen. More bless'd
Religion mild, with gentle mercy join'd,
Shall hail thee—for the citizens, the souls
Innumerous restor'd to God, the state,
Themselves, and social life, by solitude;
Devotion's parent, Recollection's nurse,
Source of repentance true; of the mind's wounds
The deepest prober, but the safest cure !
Sage sympathetic , let the muse subscribe,
Rejoicing! In the kind pursuit, good luck
She wisheth thee, and honour. Could her strain
Embellish aught, or aught assist they toils
Benevolent, 'twould cheer her lonely hours,
And make the dungeon smile. But toils like thine
Need no embellishment; need not the aid
Of muse or feeble verse. Reason-approv'd
And charity-sustain'd, firm will they stand,
92
E'er looks complacent; and his sons on earth,
His chosen sons, with angel-zeal inspires
To plan and to support. And thine well-plann'd,
Shall be supported. Pity for thy brow,
With policy the sage, shall shortly twine
The garland, worthier far than that of oak,
So fam'd in ancient Rome—the meed of him
Who sav'd a single citizen. More bless'd
Religion mild, with gentle mercy join'd,
Shall hail thee—for the citizens, the souls
Innumerous restor'd to God, the state,
Themselves, and social life, by solitude;
Devotion's parent, Recollection's nurse,
Source of repentance true; of the mind's wounds
The deepest prober, but the safest cure !
Hail, sacred solitude! These are thy works,
True source of good supreme! Thy blest effects
Already on my mind's delighted eye
Open beneficent. E'en now I view
The revel-rout dispers'd; each to his cell
Admitted, silent! The obstreperous cries
Worse than infernal yells; the clank of chains—
Opprobrious chains, to man severe disgrace,
Hush'd in calm order, vex the ears no more!
While, in their stead, reflection's deep-drawn sighs,
And prayers of humble penitence are heard,
To heaven well-pleasing, in soft whispers round!
No more, 'midst wanton idleness, the hours
Drag wearisome and slow: kind industry
Gives wings and weight to every moment's speed;
Each minute marking with a golden thread
Of moral profit. Harden'd vice no more
Communicates its poison to the souls
Of young associates, nor diffuses wide
A pestilential taint. Still thought pervades
The inmost heart: instruction aids the thought;
And blest religion with life-giving ray
Shines on the mind sequester'd in its gloom;
Disclosing glad the golden gates, thro' which
Repentance, led by faith, may tread the courts
Of peace and reformation! Cheer'd and chang'd,
—His happy days of quarantine perform'd—
Lo, from his solitude the captive comes
New-born, and opes once more his grateful eyes
On day, on life, on man, a fellow man!
True source of good supreme! Thy blest effects
Already on my mind's delighted eye
Open beneficent. E'en now I view
The revel-rout dispers'd; each to his cell
Admitted, silent! The obstreperous cries
Worse than infernal yells; the clank of chains—
Opprobrious chains, to man severe disgrace,
93
While, in their stead, reflection's deep-drawn sighs,
And prayers of humble penitence are heard,
To heaven well-pleasing, in soft whispers round!
No more, 'midst wanton idleness, the hours
Drag wearisome and slow: kind industry
Gives wings and weight to every moment's speed;
Each minute marking with a golden thread
Of moral profit. Harden'd vice no more
Communicates its poison to the souls
Of young associates, nor diffuses wide
A pestilential taint. Still thought pervades
The inmost heart: instruction aids the thought;
And blest religion with life-giving ray
Shines on the mind sequester'd in its gloom;
Disclosing glad the golden gates, thro' which
Repentance, led by faith, may tread the courts
Of peace and reformation! Cheer'd and chang'd,
—His happy days of quarantine perform'd—
Lo, from his solitude the captive comes
New-born, and opes once more his grateful eyes
On day, on life, on man, a fellow man!
Hail sacred solitude! from thee alone
Flow these high blessings. Nor be't deem'd severe,
Such sequestration; destin'd to retrieve
The mental lapse; and to its powers restore
The Heaven-born soul, encrusted with foul guilt:
'Tis tenderest mercy, 'tis humanity
Yearning with kindliest softness: while her arm
From ruin plucks, effectuates the release,
And gives a ransom'd man to earth—to Heaven!
Flow these high blessings. Nor be't deem'd severe,
Such sequestration; destin'd to retrieve
The mental lapse; and to its powers restore
94
'Tis tenderest mercy, 'tis humanity
Yearning with kindliest softness: while her arm
From ruin plucks, effectuates the release,
And gives a ransom'd man to earth—to Heaven!
To the sick patient, struggling in the jaws
Of obstinate disease, e'er knew we yet
Grateful and pleasing from physician's hand
The rough, but salutary draught?—For that
Do we withhold the draught? and, falsely kind,
Hang sighing o'er our friend,—allow'd to toss
On the hot fever's bed, rave on and die,
Unmedicin'd, unreliev'd?—But sages, say,
Where is the medicine? Who will prescribe a cure,
Or adequate to this corroding ill,
Or in its operation milder found?
Of obstinate disease, e'er knew we yet
Grateful and pleasing from physician's hand
The rough, but salutary draught?—For that
Do we withhold the draught? and, falsely kind,
Hang sighing o'er our friend,—allow'd to toss
On the hot fever's bed, rave on and die,
Unmedicin'd, unreliev'd?—But sages, say,
Where is the medicine? Who will prescribe a cure,
Or adequate to this corroding ill,
Or in its operation milder found?
See, on old Thames's waves indignant ride,
In sullen terror, yonder sable bark,
By state-physicians lately launch'd, and hight
Justitia ! Dove-eyed Pity, if thou canst
That bark ascend with me, and let us learn
How, temper'd with her sister Mercy, there
Reigns justice; and, effective to the ill
Inveterate grown, her lenient aid supplies.
In sullen terror, yonder sable bark,
By state-physicians lately launch'd, and hight
Justitia ! Dove-eyed Pity, if thou canst
95
How, temper'd with her sister Mercy, there
Reigns justice; and, effective to the ill
Inveterate grown, her lenient aid supplies.
And rolls this bark on Thames's generous flood—
Flood that wafts freedom, wafts the high-born sons
Of gallant liberty to every land?
See the chain'd Britons, fetter'd man by man!
See in the stifled hold—excluded whence
Man's common blessing, air ne'er freely breathes—
They mingle, crowded!—To our pamper'd steeds
Inferior how in lodging! Tainted food
And poison'd fumes their life-springs stagnate rank
They reel aloft for breath: their tottering limbs
Bend weak beneath the burden of a frame
Corrupted, burning; with blue feverous spots
Contagious; and, unequal to the toil,
Urg'd by task-masters vehement, severe,
On the chill sand-bank!—by despair and pain
Worn down and wearied, some their being curse,
And die, devoting to destruction's rage
Society's whole race detested! Some,
More mild, gasp out in agonies of soul
Their loath'd existence; which nor physic's aid,
Nor sweet religion's interposing smile,
Soothes with one ray of comfort! Gracious God!
And this is mercy!—Thus, from sentenc'd death
Britons in pity respite, to restore
And moralize mankind! Correction this,
Just Heaven, design'd for reformation's end!
Ye slaves, that bred in tyranny's domains
Toil at the gallies, how supremely blest,
How exquisite your lot (so much deplor'd
By haughty sons of freedom) to the fate
Experienc'd hourly by her free-born sons,
In our Britannia's vaunted residence ;
Sole, chosen residence of faith refin'd,
And genuine liberty! Ye senators,
Ye venerable sages of the law,
In just resentment for your country's fame,
Wipe off this contradictory reproach
To manners, and to policy like yours!
Correct, but to amend: 'Tis God's own plan.
Correct, but to reform; then give to men
The means of reformation! Then, restor'd
To recollection, to himself, to God,
The criminal will bless your saving hand;
And, brought to reason, to religion brought,
Will own that solitude, as solely apt
For work so solemn, has that work atchiev'd,
Miraculous, and perfect of his cure.
Flood that wafts freedom, wafts the high-born sons
Of gallant liberty to every land?
See the chain'd Britons, fetter'd man by man!
See in the stifled hold—excluded whence
Man's common blessing, air ne'er freely breathes—
They mingle, crowded!—To our pamper'd steeds
Inferior how in lodging! Tainted food
And poison'd fumes their life-springs stagnate rank
They reel aloft for breath: their tottering limbs
Bend weak beneath the burden of a frame
Corrupted, burning; with blue feverous spots
Contagious; and, unequal to the toil,
Urg'd by task-masters vehement, severe,
On the chill sand-bank!—by despair and pain
Worn down and wearied, some their being curse,
And die, devoting to destruction's rage
Society's whole race detested! Some,
More mild, gasp out in agonies of soul
Their loath'd existence; which nor physic's aid,
Nor sweet religion's interposing smile,
Soothes with one ray of comfort! Gracious God!
96
Britons in pity respite, to restore
And moralize mankind! Correction this,
Just Heaven, design'd for reformation's end!
Ye slaves, that bred in tyranny's domains
Toil at the gallies, how supremely blest,
How exquisite your lot (so much deplor'd
By haughty sons of freedom) to the fate
Experienc'd hourly by her free-born sons,
In our Britannia's vaunted residence ;
Sole, chosen residence of faith refin'd,
And genuine liberty! Ye senators,
Ye venerable sages of the law,
In just resentment for your country's fame,
Wipe off this contradictory reproach
To manners, and to policy like yours!
Correct, but to amend: 'Tis God's own plan.
Correct, but to reform; then give to men
The means of reformation! Then, restor'd
To recollection, to himself, to God,
The criminal will bless your saving hand;
97
Will own that solitude, as solely apt
For work so solemn, has that work atchiev'd,
Miraculous, and perfect of his cure.
Ah me!—to sentiments like these estrang'd,
Estrang'd, as ignorant,—and never pent
Till this sad chance within a prison's wall,
With what deep force, experienc'd, can I urge
The truths momentous! How their power I feel
In this my solitude, in this lone hour,
This melancholy midnight hour of thought,
Encircled with th'unhappy! firmly clos'd
Each barricaded door, and left, just God,
Oh blessing—left to pensiveness and Thee!
Estrang'd, as ignorant,—and never pent
Till this sad chance within a prison's wall,
With what deep force, experienc'd, can I urge
The truths momentous! How their power I feel
In this my solitude, in this lone hour,
This melancholy midnight hour of thought,
Encircled with th'unhappy! firmly clos'd
Each barricaded door, and left, just God,
Oh blessing—left to pensiveness and Thee!
To me how high a blessing! Nor contains
Seclusion aught of punishment: to mix
With wretches here were punishment indeed!
How dread a punishment!—In life's best days,
Of all most chosen, valued and belov'd,
Was soft retirement's season. From youth's dawn
To solitude inur'd, “ne'er less alone
“Than when alone,” with him so truly fam'd
In wisdom's school, my heart could ever beat
Glad unison. To meditation's charms,
Pleas'd votary, how have pass'd my sweetest hours
In her secrete and calm society!
Still Meditation, Solitude's fair child,
Man's dearest friend,—O happy be the time
That introduc'd me to the hallow'd train;
That taught me, thro' thy genial lessons sage,
My best, my truest dignity to place
In thought, reflection deep, and studious search,
Divinest recreations of the mind!
Oh, happy be the day which gave that mind
Learning's first tincture—blest thy fostering care,
Thou most belov'd of parents, worthiest sire!
Which, taste-inspiring, made the letter'd page
My favourite companion: most esteem'd,
And most improving! Almost from the day
Of earliest childhood to the present hour
Of gloomy, black misfortune, books, dear books,
Have been, and are, my comforts. Morn and night,
Adversity, prosperity, at home,
Abroad, health, sickness,—good or ill report,
The same firm friends; the same refreshment rich,
And source of consolation! Nay, e'en here
Their magic power they lose not: still the same,
Of matchless influence in this prison-house,
Unutterably horrid; in an hour
Of woe, beyond all fancy's fictions drear.
Seclusion aught of punishment: to mix
With wretches here were punishment indeed!
How dread a punishment!—In life's best days,
Of all most chosen, valued and belov'd,
Was soft retirement's season. From youth's dawn
To solitude inur'd, “ne'er less alone
“Than when alone,” with him so truly fam'd
In wisdom's school, my heart could ever beat
Glad unison. To meditation's charms,
Pleas'd votary, how have pass'd my sweetest hours
98
Still Meditation, Solitude's fair child,
Man's dearest friend,—O happy be the time
That introduc'd me to the hallow'd train;
That taught me, thro' thy genial lessons sage,
My best, my truest dignity to place
In thought, reflection deep, and studious search,
Divinest recreations of the mind!
Oh, happy be the day which gave that mind
Learning's first tincture—blest thy fostering care,
Thou most belov'd of parents, worthiest sire!
Which, taste-inspiring, made the letter'd page
My favourite companion: most esteem'd,
And most improving! Almost from the day
Of earliest childhood to the present hour
Of gloomy, black misfortune, books, dear books,
Have been, and are, my comforts. Morn and night,
Adversity, prosperity, at home,
Abroad, health, sickness,—good or ill report,
The same firm friends; the same refreshment rich,
And source of consolation! Nay, e'en here
Their magic power they lose not: still the same,
Of matchless influence in this prison-house,
Unutterably horrid; in an hour
Of woe, beyond all fancy's fictions drear.
99
Drear hour!—What is it?—Lost in poignant thought,
Lost in the retrospection manifold
Of thee, lov'd study,—and of thee, my sire,
Who, to the fountain fair of Science led
My infant feet,—I lose all count of time,
I lose myself. List—'tis dread midnight's hour,
When waking fancy (with invention wild
By ages hallow'd) hath to spirits assign'd
—Spirits of dear departed friends—to walk
The silent gloom, and bring us from the dead
Tales harrowing up the soul aghast!—And, hark!
Solemn and slow the iron tongue of night
Resounds alarming!—My o'er-harrass'd soul,
Confus'd, is lost in sorrows: down mine eyes
Stream the full tears, distress is all alive,
And quick imagination's pulse beats high!
Lost in the retrospection manifold
Of thee, lov'd study,—and of thee, my sire,
Who, to the fountain fair of Science led
My infant feet,—I lose all count of time,
I lose myself. List—'tis dread midnight's hour,
When waking fancy (with invention wild
By ages hallow'd) hath to spirits assign'd
—Spirits of dear departed friends—to walk
The silent gloom, and bring us from the dead
Tales harrowing up the soul aghast!—And, hark!
Solemn and slow the iron tongue of night
Resounds alarming!—My o'er-harrass'd soul,
Confus'd, is lost in sorrows: down mine eyes
Stream the full tears, distress is all alive,
And quick imagination's pulse beats high!
“Dear father, is it thou?” Methought his ghost
Glided in silence by me! Not a word,—
While mournfully he shakes his dear pale face!
O stay, thou much-lov'd parent! stay, and give
One word of consolation; if allow'd
To son, like whom no son hath ever lov'd,
None ever suffer'd! See, it comes again:
August it flits across th'astonish'd room!
I know thee well, thy beauteous image know:
Dear spirit stay, and take me to the world
Where thou art. And where thou art, oh my father,
I must, I must be happy.—Every day
Thou know'st, remembrance hath embalm'd thy love,
And wish'd thy presence. Melancholy thought,
At last to meet thee in a place like this!
Oh stay, and waft me instant—But, 'tis gone,
The dear delusion! He nor hears my words,
My filial anxiety, nor regards
My pleading tears. 'Twas but a coinage vain
Of the distemper'd fancy! Gone, 'tis gone,
And here I'm left a trembling wretch, to weep
Unheard, unpitied left, to weep alone!
Glided in silence by me! Not a word,—
While mournfully he shakes his dear pale face!
O stay, thou much-lov'd parent! stay, and give
One word of consolation; if allow'd
To son, like whom no son hath ever lov'd,
None ever suffer'd! See, it comes again:
August it flits across th'astonish'd room!
I know thee well, thy beauteous image know:
Dear spirit stay, and take me to the world
100
I must, I must be happy.—Every day
Thou know'st, remembrance hath embalm'd thy love,
And wish'd thy presence. Melancholy thought,
At last to meet thee in a place like this!
Oh stay, and waft me instant—But, 'tis gone,
The dear delusion! He nor hears my words,
My filial anxiety, nor regards
My pleading tears. 'Twas but a coinage vain
Of the distemper'd fancy! Gone, 'tis gone,
And here I'm left a trembling wretch, to weep
Unheard, unpitied left, to weep alone!
Nor thou, Maria, with me! Oh, my wife,
And is this bitter with the bitterest mix'd,
That I must lose thy heavenly company,
And consolation soothing! Yet, 'tis best:
Thy tenderness, thy presence, doth but wound
And stab to the keenest quick my bursting heart!
“I have undone thee!” Can I then sustain
Thy killing aspect, and that tender tear
Which secret steals a-down thy lovely face,
Dissembling smiles to cheer me—cheer me, Heavens!
Look on the mighty ruin I have pluck'd,
Pluck'd instant, unsuspected, in the hour
Of peace and dear security on her head!
And where—O where can cheerfulness be found?
Mine must be mourning ever. Oh my wife,
“I have undone thee!”—What th'infuriate hand
Of foes vindictive could not have atchiev'd,
In mercy would not, I have wrought! Thy husband!
Thy husband, lov'd with such unshaken truth,
Thy husband, lov'd with such a steady flame,
From youth's first hour!—Ev'n he hath on thee pluck'd,
On thee, his soul's companion, life's best friend,
Such desolation, as to view would draw
From the wild savage pity's deepest groan!
And is this bitter with the bitterest mix'd,
That I must lose thy heavenly company,
And consolation soothing! Yet, 'tis best:
Thy tenderness, thy presence, doth but wound
And stab to the keenest quick my bursting heart!
“I have undone thee!” Can I then sustain
Thy killing aspect, and that tender tear
Which secret steals a-down thy lovely face,
Dissembling smiles to cheer me—cheer me, Heavens!
Look on the mighty ruin I have pluck'd,
Pluck'd instant, unsuspected, in the hour
Of peace and dear security on her head!
And where—O where can cheerfulness be found?
Mine must be mourning ever. Oh my wife,
101
Of foes vindictive could not have atchiev'd,
In mercy would not, I have wrought! Thy husband!
Thy husband, lov'd with such unshaken truth,
Thy husband, lov'd with such a steady flame,
From youth's first hour!—Ev'n he hath on thee pluck'd,
On thee, his soul's companion, life's best friend,
Such desolation, as to view would draw
From the wild savage pity's deepest groan!
Yes, yes, thou coward mimic, pamper'd vice,
High praise be sure is thine. Thou hast obtain'd
A worthy triumph ! Thou hast pierc'd to the quick
A weak, an amiable female heart,
A conjugal heart most faithful, most attach'd:
Yet can I pardon thee: for, poor buffoon,
Thy vices must be fed; and thou must live,
Luxurious live, a foe to God and man;
Commission'd live, thy poison to diffuse,
And taint the public virtue with thy crimes.
Yes, I can pardon thee—low as thou art,
And far too mean an object ev'n of scorn;
For thou her merits knew'st not. Hadst thou known,
Thou,—callous as thou art to every sense
Of human feeling, every nobler touch
Of generous sensibility,—even thou
Couldst not have wanton pierc'd her gentle breast;
But at a distance awful wouldst have stood,
And, like thy prototype of oldest time,
View'd her just virtues pass in triumph by,
And own'd, howe'er reluctant—
High praise be sure is thine. Thou hast obtain'd
A worthy triumph ! Thou hast pierc'd to the quick
A weak, an amiable female heart,
A conjugal heart most faithful, most attach'd:
Yet can I pardon thee: for, poor buffoon,
Thy vices must be fed; and thou must live,
Luxurious live, a foe to God and man;
Commission'd live, thy poison to diffuse,
And taint the public virtue with thy crimes.
Yes, I can pardon thee—low as thou art,
And far too mean an object ev'n of scorn;
For thou her merits knew'st not. Hadst thou known,
102
Of human feeling, every nobler touch
Of generous sensibility,—even thou
Couldst not have wanton pierc'd her gentle breast;
But at a distance awful wouldst have stood,
And, like thy prototype of oldest time,
View'd her just virtues pass in triumph by,
And own'd, howe'er reluctant—
March 30, 1772.
END OF THE THIRD WEEK.
Frederick Bull, Esq. Alderman of London; to whose kindness and humanity the Author has expressed the highest obligations.
It is but a just tribute to Mr. Akerman, the keeper of this dismal place, to observe, that all the evils here enumerated are the immediate consequences of promiscuous confinement, and no way chargeable to Mr. A.'s account. It is from the strictest observation, I am persuaded, that no man could do more in the present circumstances. His attention is great, and his kindness and humanity to those in sickness or affliction, peculiarly pleasing. I can bear testimony to many signal instances, which I have remarked since my sad confinement.
This circumstance is slightly mentioned before; and alludes to a fact equally singular and disgustful. The rattling of their fetters is frequently, and in a wanton manner, practised amongst some of the worst offenders; as if an amusement, or to shew their insensibility to shame. How shocking to see human nature thus in ruins! Here it is emphatically so, worse than in bedlam, as Madness with reason is more dreadful than without it!
The Author seems chiefly to have formed his idea of the mode of treating convicts on the Thames from a late pamphlet published by Dr. Smith: But we are informed that the evils here complained of have been already, in a great measure, and we trust will soon be wholly, removed.
There is a thought in Lucan to the same purpose, elegantly expressed:
“Felices Arabes, Medique, Eoaque Tellus,
“Quam sub perpetuis tenuerunt fata tyrannis.
“Ex populis, qui regna ferunt, Sors ultima nostra est,
“Quos servire pudet.”
“Quam sub perpetuis tenuerunt fata tyrannis.
“Ex populis, qui regna ferunt, Sors ultima nostra est,
“Quos servire pudet.”
Pharsal. Lib. 7.
103
WEEK THE FOURTH. The Trial.
Dread'st thou an earthly bar? Thou who so oft
In contemplation serious hast employ'd
Thy dearest meditations on a bar
Tremendously decisive! who so oft
That bar's important terrors hast display'd
To crowds attentive; with the solemn theme
Rapt in thought profound—And beats thy heart
With throbs tumultuous—fail thy trembling knees,
Now that in judgment thou must stand before
Weak mortals, like thyself, and soon like thee,
Shivering with guilt and apprehensions dire,
To answer in dread judgment 'fore their God!
In contemplation serious hast employ'd
Thy dearest meditations on a bar
Tremendously decisive! who so oft
That bar's important terrors hast display'd
To crowds attentive; with the solemn theme
Rapt in thought profound—And beats thy heart
With throbs tumultuous—fail thy trembling knees,
Now that in judgment thou must stand before
Weak mortals, like thyself, and soon like thee,
104
To answer in dread judgment 'fore their God!
What gives that judgment terror? Guilt, pale guilt;
Conscience accusing stern; the fiery law,
The terrible hand-writing on the wall!
But vanish these,—that mighty day's-man found,
Who, smiling on confession's genuine tear,
The meek repentant aspect, and the hand
With ready, perfect retribution fraught,
Urges complete his ransom, and sets free
Th'immortal prisoner.—But, ah me! on earth
Such golden mercy reigns not: here is found
No potent day's-man; here no ransom full,
No clement mediator. Here stern law,
With visage all unbending, eyes alone
The rigorous act. Confession here is guilt,
And restitution perfect, perfect loss!
Ah me the while, here men the judges are;
And there, th'Omniscient mercy's source and stream!
Conscience accusing stern; the fiery law,
The terrible hand-writing on the wall!
But vanish these,—that mighty day's-man found,
Who, smiling on confession's genuine tear,
The meek repentant aspect, and the hand
With ready, perfect retribution fraught,
Urges complete his ransom, and sets free
Th'immortal prisoner.—But, ah me! on earth
Such golden mercy reigns not: here is found
No potent day's-man; here no ransom full,
No clement mediator. Here stern law,
With visage all unbending, eyes alone
The rigorous act. Confession here is guilt,
And restitution perfect, perfect loss!
Ah me the while, here men the judges are;
And there, th'Omniscient mercy's source and stream!
Triumphant consolation! Firm in faith,
And justify'd by him whose precious blood
For man flow'd liberal, the soul secure
Of future acceptation at that bar
Of trial most momentous, soars above
The world's severest trials
, and can view
Serene the horrors of an earthly bar,
Though far than death more horrid. Yes, kind death,
How preferable far thy sight to me!
Oh that, without this tedious, dread detail
Of awful circumstance,—this long, sad pomp
Of ministering wretchedness, thy friendly shaft
Had instant reach'd, and pierc'd my tortur'd heart:
How had I bless'd the stroke, and been at peace!
But thro' a dreary avenue of woe,
A lengthen'd vault of black distress and shame,
With mournful melancholy sable hung,
Must I be led ,—or ere I can receive
Thine icy comforts to my chill'd life's blood!
And justify'd by him whose precious blood
For man flow'd liberal, the soul secure
Of future acceptation at that bar
Of trial most momentous, soars above
105
Serene the horrors of an earthly bar,
106
How preferable far thy sight to me!
Oh that, without this tedious, dread detail
Of awful circumstance,—this long, sad pomp
Of ministering wretchedness, thy friendly shaft
Had instant reach'd, and pierc'd my tortur'd heart:
How had I bless'd the stroke, and been at peace!
But thro' a dreary avenue of woe,
A lengthen'd vault of black distress and shame,
With mournful melancholy sable hung,
Must I be led ,—or ere I can receive
Thine icy comforts to my chill'd life's blood!
Welcome, thrice welcome were they. But the call
Of Heaven's dread arbiter we wait: His will
Is rectitude consummate. 'Tis the will
Parental of high wisdom and pure love.
Then to that will submissive bend, my soul:
And, while meek resignation to the rod
Corrective of his justice and his love
Obedient bows,—Oh for impartial search!
Oh for a trial strict, to trace the cause,
The fatal cause, whence sprung the ill deplor'd!
And why—sad spectacle of woe—we stand
Thus, sin and sorrow sunk, at this dread bar!
Of Heaven's dread arbiter we wait: His will
Is rectitude consummate. 'Tis the will
Parental of high wisdom and pure love.
Then to that will submissive bend, my soul:
And, while meek resignation to the rod
Corrective of his justice and his love
107
Oh for a trial strict, to trace the cause,
The fatal cause, whence sprung the ill deplor'd!
And why—sad spectacle of woe—we stand
Thus, sin and sorrow sunk, at this dread bar!
Return, blest hours—ye peaceful days, return!
When thro' each office of celestial love
Ennobling piety my glad feet led
Continual, and my head each night to rest
Lull'd on the downy pillow of content!
Dear were thy shades, O Ham, and dear the hours
In manly musing 'midst thy forests pass'd,
And antique woods of sober solitude,
Oh Epping, witness to my lonely walks
By Heaven-directed contemplation led!
Ye days of duty, tranquil nights, return!
How ill exchang'd for those, which busier scenes
To the world's follies dedicate, engross'd,
In specious trifling; all important deem'd,
While guilt, O Chesterfield, with seeming gold
Of prime refinement, thro' thy fostering smile,
And patronage auspicious!
When thro' each office of celestial love
Ennobling piety my glad feet led
Continual, and my head each night to rest
Lull'd on the downy pillow of content!
Dear were thy shades, O Ham, and dear the hours
In manly musing 'midst thy forests pass'd,
And antique woods of sober solitude,
Oh Epping, witness to my lonely walks
By Heaven-directed contemplation led!
Ye days of duty, tranquil nights, return!
How ill exchang'd for those, which busier scenes
To the world's follies dedicate, engross'd,
In specious trifling; all important deem'd,
While guilt, O Chesterfield, with seeming gold
Of prime refinement, thro' thy fostering smile,
And patronage auspicious!
Sought by thee,
And singled out, unpatroniz'd, unknown;
By thee, whose taste consummate was applause,
Whose approbation merit; forth I came,
And with me to the task, delighted, brought
The upright purpose, the intention firm
To fill the charge, to justify the choice,
Perchance too flattering to my heart; a heart
Frank, inexpert, unhackney'd in the world,
And yet estrang'd to guile! But ye, more skill'd
In that world's artful style, judges severe;
Say, in the zenith of bright Stanhope's sun
(Though set that sun, alas, in misty clouds!)
Say 'midst his lustre, whom would not that choice
Have flatter'd?—and still more, when urg'd, approv'd,
And bless'd by thee, St. David's! Honour'd friend;
Alike in wisdom's and in learning's school
Advanc'd and sage!—Short pause, my muse, and sad
Allow, while leaning on affection's arm
Deep-sighing Gratitude, with tears of truth,
Bedews the urn, the happy urn, where rest
Mingled thy ashes, oh my friend; and hers
Whose life bound up with thine in amity
Indissolubly firm, felt thy last pang
Disrupting as her own; gently sigh'd forth
The precious boon: while sprung her faithful soul,
Indignant without thee to rest below,
On wings of love, to meet thee in the skies!
And singled out, unpatroniz'd, unknown;
By thee, whose taste consummate was applause,
108
And with me to the task, delighted, brought
The upright purpose, the intention firm
To fill the charge, to justify the choice,
Perchance too flattering to my heart; a heart
Frank, inexpert, unhackney'd in the world,
And yet estrang'd to guile! But ye, more skill'd
In that world's artful style, judges severe;
Say, in the zenith of bright Stanhope's sun
(Though set that sun, alas, in misty clouds!)
Say 'midst his lustre, whom would not that choice
Have flatter'd?—and still more, when urg'd, approv'd,
And bless'd by thee, St. David's! Honour'd friend;
Alike in wisdom's and in learning's school
Advanc'd and sage!—Short pause, my muse, and sad
Allow, while leaning on affection's arm
Deep-sighing Gratitude, with tears of truth,
Bedews the urn, the happy urn, where rest
Mingled thy ashes, oh my friend; and hers
Whose life bound up with thine in amity
Indissolubly firm, felt thy last pang
Disrupting as her own; gently sigh'd forth
The precious boon: while sprung her faithful soul,
Indignant without thee to rest below,
On wings of love, to meet thee in the skies!
109
Blest pair! and envied! Envied and embalm'd
In our recording memory, my wife,
My friend, my lov'd Maria, be our lot
Like theirs!—But soft,—ah my foreboding thoughts!
Repress the gushing tear;—return, my song.
In our recording memory, my wife,
My friend, my lov'd Maria, be our lot
Like theirs!—But soft,—ah my foreboding thoughts!
Repress the gushing tear;—return, my song.
Plac'd thus, and shelter'd underneath a tree,
Which seem'd like that in visions of the night
To Babylonia's haughty prince pourtray'd,
Whose height reach'd Heaven, and whose verdant boughs
Extended wide their succour and their shade,
How did I trust, too confident! How dream
That fortune's smiles were mine; and how deceiv'd,
By gradual declension yield my trust,
My humble happy trust on Thee, my God!
How ill exchang'd for confidence in man,
In Chesterfields, in princes!—Wider scenes,
Alps still on Alps were open'd to my view;
And, as the circle in the flood enlarg'd,
Enlarg'd expences call. Fed to the full
With flattery's light food , and the puff'd wind
Of promises delusive—“Onward still,
“Press onward,” cried the world's alluring-voice;
“The time of retribution is at hand:
“See the ripe vintage waits thee!” Fool and blind,
Still credulous I heard, and still pursued
The airy meteor glittering thro' the mire,
Thro' brake and bog, till more and more ingulph'd
In the deceitful quag, floundering I lay.
Nor heard was then the world's alluring voice,
Or promises delusive: then not seen
The tree umbrageous, with its ample shade:
For me, alas, that tree had shade no more!
But, struggling in the gulph, my languid eye
Saw only round the barren rushy moor,
The flat, wide dreary desart:—Till a hope,
Dress'd by the tempter in an angel's form,
Presenting its fair hand,—imagin'd fair,
Though foul as murkiest Hell, to drag me forth,
Down to the centre plung'd me, dark and dire
Of howling ruin;—bottomless abyss
Of desolating shame, and nameless woe!
Which seem'd like that in visions of the night
To Babylonia's haughty prince pourtray'd,
Whose height reach'd Heaven, and whose verdant boughs
Extended wide their succour and their shade,
How did I trust, too confident! How dream
That fortune's smiles were mine; and how deceiv'd,
By gradual declension yield my trust,
My humble happy trust on Thee, my God!
How ill exchang'd for confidence in man,
In Chesterfields, in princes!—Wider scenes,
Alps still on Alps were open'd to my view;
And, as the circle in the flood enlarg'd,
Enlarg'd expences call. Fed to the full
With flattery's light food , and the puff'd wind
110
“Press onward,” cried the world's alluring-voice;
“The time of retribution is at hand:
“See the ripe vintage waits thee!” Fool and blind,
Still credulous I heard, and still pursued
The airy meteor glittering thro' the mire,
Thro' brake and bog, till more and more ingulph'd
In the deceitful quag, floundering I lay.
Nor heard was then the world's alluring voice,
Or promises delusive: then not seen
The tree umbrageous, with its ample shade:
For me, alas, that tree had shade no more!
But, struggling in the gulph, my languid eye
Saw only round the barren rushy moor,
The flat, wide dreary desart:—Till a hope,
Dress'd by the tempter in an angel's form,
Presenting its fair hand,—imagin'd fair,
Though foul as murkiest Hell, to drag me forth,
Down to the centre plung'd me, dark and dire
Of howling ruin;—bottomless abyss
Of desolating shame, and nameless woe!
111
But, witness Heaven and earth, 'midst this brief stage,
This blasting period of my chequer'd life,
Tho' by the world's gay vanities allur'd,
I danc'd, too oft, alas, with the wild rout
Of thoughtless fellow-mortals, to the sound
Of folly's tinkling bells; tho' oft, too oft
Those pastimes shar'd enervating, which ill
—Howe'er by some judg'd innocent,—become
Religion's sober character and garb:
Tho' oft, too oft, by weak compliance led,
External seemings, and the ruinous bait
Of smooth politeness, what my heart condemn'd
Unwise it practis'd; never without pang;
Tho' too much influenc'd by the pleasing force
Of native generosity, uncurb'd
And unchastis'd (as reason, duty taught)
Prudent œconomy, in thy sober school
Of parsimonious lecture; useful lore,
And of prime moment to our worldly weal;
—Yet witness Heaven and earth, amidst this dream,
This transient vision, ne'er so slept my soul,
Or sacrific'd my hands at folly's shrine,
As to forget Religion's public toil,
Study's improvement, or the pleading cause
Of suffering humanity.—Gracious God,
How wonderful a compound, mixture strange,
Incongruous, inconsistent, is frail man!
This blasting period of my chequer'd life,
Tho' by the world's gay vanities allur'd,
I danc'd, too oft, alas, with the wild rout
Of thoughtless fellow-mortals, to the sound
Of folly's tinkling bells; tho' oft, too oft
Those pastimes shar'd enervating, which ill
—Howe'er by some judg'd innocent,—become
Religion's sober character and garb:
Tho' oft, too oft, by weak compliance led,
External seemings, and the ruinous bait
Of smooth politeness, what my heart condemn'd
Unwise it practis'd; never without pang;
Tho' too much influenc'd by the pleasing force
Of native generosity, uncurb'd
And unchastis'd (as reason, duty taught)
Prudent œconomy, in thy sober school
Of parsimonious lecture; useful lore,
And of prime moment to our worldly weal;
—Yet witness Heaven and earth, amidst this dream,
This transient vision, ne'er so slept my soul,
Or sacrific'd my hands at folly's shrine,
As to forget Religion's public toil,
Study's improvement, or the pleading cause
Of suffering humanity.—Gracious God,
112
Incongruous, inconsistent, is frail man!
Yes, my lov'd Charlotte, whose top-stone with joy
My careful hands brought forth, what time expell'd
From Ham's lost paradise, and driv'n to seek
Another place of rest! Yes, beauteous fane,
To bright religion dedicate, thou well
My happy public labours canst attest,
Unwearied and successful in the cause,
The glorious, honour'd cause of Him, whose love
Bled for the human race. Thou canst attest
The Sabbath-days delightful, when the throng
Crowded thy hallow'd walls with eager joy,
To hear truth evangelical; the sound
Of gospel comfort! When attentive sat,
Or at the holy altar humbly knelt,
Persuasive, pleasing patterns—Athol's Duke,
The polish'd Hervey, Kingston the humane,
Aylesbury and Marchmont, Romney all-rever'd;
With numbers more—by splended titles less
Than piety distinguish'd and pure zeal.
My careful hands brought forth, what time expell'd
From Ham's lost paradise, and driv'n to seek
Another place of rest! Yes, beauteous fane,
To bright religion dedicate, thou well
My happy public labours canst attest,
Unwearied and successful in the cause,
The glorious, honour'd cause of Him, whose love
Bled for the human race. Thou canst attest
The Sabbath-days delightful, when the throng
Crowded thy hallow'd walls with eager joy,
To hear truth evangelical; the sound
Of gospel comfort! When attentive sat,
Or at the holy altar humbly knelt,
Persuasive, pleasing patterns—Athol's Duke,
The polish'd Hervey, Kingston the humane,
Aylesbury and Marchmont, Romney all-rever'd;
With numbers more—by splended titles less
Than piety distinguish'd and pure zeal.
Nor, 'midst this public duty's blest discharge,
Pass'd idle, unimproving, unemploy'd,
My other days; as if the Sabbath's task
Fullfil'd, the business of the week was done,
Or self-allow'd. Witness, thrice holy book,
Pure transcript of th'Eternal Will to man:
Witness with what assiduous care I turn'd
Daily the hallow'd page; with what deep search
Explor'd thy sacred meaning; thro' the round
Of learn'd expositors and grave trod slow,
And painfully deliberating; the while
My labours unremitting to the world
Convey'd instruction large;—and shall convey,
When moulders in the grave the feeble hand,
The head, the heart, that gave those labours birth.
Pass'd idle, unimproving, unemploy'd,
My other days; as if the Sabbath's task
113
Or self-allow'd. Witness, thrice holy book,
Pure transcript of th'Eternal Will to man:
Witness with what assiduous care I turn'd
Daily the hallow'd page; with what deep search
Explor'd thy sacred meaning; thro' the round
Of learn'd expositors and grave trod slow,
And painfully deliberating; the while
My labours unremitting to the world
Convey'd instruction large;—and shall convey,
When moulders in the grave the feeble hand,
The head, the heart, that gave those labours birth.
Oh happy toil, oh labours well employ'd,
Oh sweet remembrance to my sickening soul,
Blest volumes! Nor tho' levell'd in the dust
Of self-annihilation, shall my soul
Cease to rejoice, or thy preventive grace
Adoring laud, Fountain of every good!
For that no letter'd poison ever stain'd
My page, how weak soe'er; for that my pen,
However humble, ne'er has trac'd a line
Of tendency immortal, whose black guilt
It well might wish to blot with tears of blood,
Dear to the christian shall my little works,
—Effusions of a heart sincere, devote
To God and duty, happily survive
Their wretched master; and thro' lengthen'd years
To souls opprest, comfort's sweet balm impart,
And teach the pensive mourner how to die .
Oh sweet remembrance to my sickening soul,
Blest volumes! Nor tho' levell'd in the dust
Of self-annihilation, shall my soul
Cease to rejoice, or thy preventive grace
Adoring laud, Fountain of every good!
For that no letter'd poison ever stain'd
My page, how weak soe'er; for that my pen,
However humble, ne'er has trac'd a line
Of tendency immortal, whose black guilt
It well might wish to blot with tears of blood,
Dear to the christian shall my little works,
—Effusions of a heart sincere, devote
114
Their wretched master; and thro' lengthen'd years
To souls opprest, comfort's sweet balm impart,
And teach the pensive mourner how to die .
Thou too, blest Charity, whose golden key
So liberal unlocks the prison's gate
At the poor debtor's call; oh, witness thou,
To cruel taxers of my time and thought,
All was not lost, all were not misemploy'd,
Nor all humanity's fair rights forgot:
Since thou, spontaneous effort of the last,
My pity's child, and by the first matur'd,
Amidst this flattering, fatal æra rose;
Rose into being, to perfection rose,
Beneath my humble fostering; and at length
Grown into public favour, thou shalt live;
And endless good diffuse, when sleeps in dust
Thy hapless founder now, by direst fate,
Lock'd in a prison, whence thy bounty sets,
And shall—oh comfort—long set thousands free.
So liberal unlocks the prison's gate
At the poor debtor's call; oh, witness thou,
To cruel taxers of my time and thought,
All was not lost, all were not misemploy'd,
Nor all humanity's fair rights forgot:
Since thou, spontaneous effort of the last,
My pity's child, and by the first matur'd,
Amidst this flattering, fatal æra rose;
Rose into being, to perfection rose,
Beneath my humble fostering; and at length
Grown into public favour, thou shalt live;
And endless good diffuse, when sleeps in dust
Thy hapless founder now, by direst fate,
Lock'd in a prison, whence thy bounty sets,
And shall—oh comfort—long set thousands free.
Happy, thrice happy, had my active zeal,—
Already deem'd too active chance, by some,
Whose frozen hearts, in icy fetters bound
Of sordid selfishness, ne'er felt the warmth,
The genial warmth of pure benevolence,
Love's ardent flame aspiring;—had that flame
Kindled my glowing zeal into effect,
And to thy counterpart existence giv'n,
Lov'd institution; with its guardian aid
Protecting from the prison's ruinous doors,
Those whom thy kindly mercy rescues thence!
Or, had that zeal, on firm foundation fix'd
Like thine my favourite Magdalen,—the plan,
Preservative of tender female fame ,
Fair innocence and virtue, from those ills
Destructive, complicate, which only find
Relief beneath thy hospitable roof,
How had I died exulting!—But, oh raise,
Inspire some godlike spirit, some great soul,
Father of mercies, of all love, all good
Author and finisher;—these, and every work
Beneficent, with courage to pursue,
With wisdom to complete! Oh crown his zeal;
While sorrowing human nature, by his hand
Cherish'd and sooth'd, to latest times shall tell,
And bless with tears of gratitude his name!
Already deem'd too active chance, by some,
Whose frozen hearts, in icy fetters bound
115
The genial warmth of pure benevolence,
Love's ardent flame aspiring;—had that flame
Kindled my glowing zeal into effect,
And to thy counterpart existence giv'n,
116
Protecting from the prison's ruinous doors,
Those whom thy kindly mercy rescues thence!
Or, had that zeal, on firm foundation fix'd
117
Preservative of tender female fame ,
Fair innocence and virtue, from those ills
Destructive, complicate, which only find
Relief beneath thy hospitable roof,
How had I died exulting!—But, oh raise,
Inspire some godlike spirit, some great soul,
Father of mercies, of all love, all good
Author and finisher;—these, and every work
Beneficent, with courage to pursue,
With wisdom to complete! Oh crown his zeal;
While sorrowing human nature, by his hand
Cherish'd and sooth'd, to latest times shall tell,
And bless with tears of gratitude his name!
Mine is a different fate,—confess'd, just Judge,
The meed of human mixture in my works
Imperfect, frail; and needing, even the best,
Thy pardon and the cleansing of thy blood,
Else whence the frequent retributions base,
Calumnious and ungrateful, for the deeds
Of private pity? Whence, for public acts,
The stab opprobrious, and the slanders vile?
Or whence, at this dread moment,—from the sight
Shrowd me in tenfold darkness!—Mercy, Heavens!
The meed of human mixture in my works
Imperfect, frail; and needing, even the best,
Thy pardon and the cleansing of thy blood,
Else whence the frequent retributions base,
Calumnious and ungrateful, for the deeds
Of private pity? Whence, for public acts,
118
Or whence, at this dread moment,—from the sight
Shrowd me in tenfold darkness!—Mercy, Heavens!
And is it He—th'ingenuous youth, so oft
Of all my being, fortune, comfort, deem'd
The generous, ample source?—And is it He,
In whom, thro' drear misfortune's darkest night,
I saw Hope's day-star rising?—Angel of peace,
Amidst his future hours, my life's sad loss,
Let not accusing conscience to his charge
Impute, distracting—to my crimson'd guilt
Oh let him lay it, as the forfeit due,
And justly paid!—Would Heaven that it were paid!
Oh, that with Rome's first Cæsar, in my robe
From sight so killing, mantled up mine eyes,
I might receive the welcome stab; sigh forth,
“My Philip, my lov'd Stanhope,—Is it thou?
“—Then let me die.”—
Of all my being, fortune, comfort, deem'd
The generous, ample source?—And is it He,
In whom, thro' drear misfortune's darkest night,
I saw Hope's day-star rising?—Angel of peace,
Amidst his future hours, my life's sad loss,
Let not accusing conscience to his charge
Impute, distracting—to my crimson'd guilt
Oh let him lay it, as the forfeit due,
And justly paid!—Would Heaven that it were paid!
Oh, that with Rome's first Cæsar, in my robe
From sight so killing, mantled up mine eyes,
I might receive the welcome stab; sigh forth,
“My Philip, my lov'd Stanhope,—Is it thou?
“—Then let me die.”—
Yet, tho' thus wounded at this bar I stand
In pangs unutterable, witness Heaven,
With deep commiseration do I view
Their sedulous anxiety to prove
A guilt, my heart,—too wounded to deny,
Wounded by that guilt's sense, its bitterest part,—
Instant avow'd. What need then all this toil?
The deed is done. Wound not the fall'n hart,—
'Tis cruel—that lies bleeding at your feet:
‘I own the whole; I urge no legal plea.
‘On dire necessity's imperious call,
‘(Sons of the robe, of commerce, sons of men,
‘That call imperious have you never heard?)
‘On full intention to repay the whole.
‘And on that full intention's perfect work,
‘Free restoration and complete: on wrong
‘Or injury to none design'd or wrought,
‘I rest my claim;—I found my sole defence.’
“Groundless,—'tis thunder'd in my ears—and weak;
“For in the rigid courts of human law,
“No restitution wipes away th'offence,
“Nor does intention justify.” So spoke
(And who shall argue?) Judgment's awful voice!
In pangs unutterable, witness Heaven,
With deep commiseration do I view
Their sedulous anxiety to prove
A guilt, my heart,—too wounded to deny,
Wounded by that guilt's sense, its bitterest part,—
119
The deed is done. Wound not the fall'n hart,—
'Tis cruel—that lies bleeding at your feet:
‘I own the whole; I urge no legal plea.
‘On dire necessity's imperious call,
‘(Sons of the robe, of commerce, sons of men,
‘That call imperious have you never heard?)
‘On full intention to repay the whole.
‘And on that full intention's perfect work,
‘Free restoration and complete: on wrong
‘Or injury to none design'd or wrought,
‘I rest my claim;—I found my sole defence.’
“Groundless,—'tis thunder'd in my ears—and weak;
“For in the rigid courts of human law,
“No restitution wipes away th'offence,
“Nor does intention justify.” So spoke
(And who shall argue?) Judgment's awful voice!
Haste then, ye weeping jurymen, and pass
Th'awarded sentence. To the world, to fame,
To honor, fortune, peace, and Stanhope lost,
What have I more to lose? or can I think
Death were an evil to a wretch like me!
Th'awarded sentence. To the world, to fame,
To honor, fortune, peace, and Stanhope lost,
What have I more to lose? or can I think
Death were an evil to a wretch like me!
Yet, oh ye sons of justice!—ere we quit
This awful court, expostulation's voice
One moment hear impartial. Give a while
Your honest hearts to nature's touches true,
Her fine resentments faithful. Draw aside
That veil from reason's clear reflecting view,
Which practice long, and rectitude suppos'd
Of laws establish'd, hath obstructive hung.
But pleads or time, or long prescription aught
In favour or abatement of the wrong
By folly wrought, or error? Hoary grown,
And sanctify'd by custom's habit grey,
Absurdity stalks forth, still more absurd,
And double shame reflects upon an age
Wise and enlighten'd. Should not equal laws
Their punishments proportionate to crimes ;
Nor, all Draconic, ev'n to blood pursue
Vindictive, where the venial poor offence
Cries loud for mercy? Death's the last demand
Law can exact: the penalty extreme
Of human crime! and shall the petty thief
Succumb beneath its terrors, when no more
Pays the bold murderer, crimson'd o'er with guilt?
This awful court, expostulation's voice
One moment hear impartial. Give a while
120
Her fine resentments faithful. Draw aside
That veil from reason's clear reflecting view,
Which practice long, and rectitude suppos'd
Of laws establish'd, hath obstructive hung.
But pleads or time, or long prescription aught
In favour or abatement of the wrong
By folly wrought, or error? Hoary grown,
And sanctify'd by custom's habit grey,
Absurdity stalks forth, still more absurd,
And double shame reflects upon an age
Wise and enlighten'd. Should not equal laws
Their punishments proportionate to crimes ;
Nor, all Draconic, ev'n to blood pursue
Vindictive, where the venial poor offence
Cries loud for mercy? Death's the last demand
Law can exact: the penalty extreme
Of human crime! and shall the petty thief
Succumb beneath its terrors, when no more
Pays the bold murderer, crimson'd o'er with guilt?
121
Few are the crimes against or God or man,
—Consult th'eternal code of right or wrong,—
Which e'er can justify this last extreme ,
This wanton sporting with the human life,
This trade in blood. Ye sages, then, review,
Speedy and diligent, the penal code,
Humanity's disgrace; our nation's first
And just reproach, amidst its vaunted boasts
Of equity and mercy:—Shiver not
Full oft your inmost souls, when from the bench
Ye deal out death tremendous; and proclaim
Th'irrevocable sentence on a wretch
Pluck'd early from the paths of social life,
And immature, to the low grave consign'd
For misdemeanors trivial! Runs not back,
Affrighted, to its fountain your chill'd blood,
When, deck'd in all the horrid pomp of death,
And Gothic rage surpassing, to the flames
The weaker sex,—incredible—you doom;
Denouncing punishments the more severe,
As less of strength is found to bear their force?
Shame on the savage practice! Oh stand forth
In the great cause,—Compassion's, Equity's,
Your Nation's, Truth's, Religion's, Honour's cause,
—Stand forth, reflecting Eden ! Well thou'st toil'd
Already in the honourable field:
Might thy young labours animate, the hour
Auspicious is arriv'd. Sages esteem'd,
And venerably learn'd, as in the school
Of legal science, so in that of worth
And sentiment exalted, fill the bench:
And lo! the imperial Muscovite, intent
On public-weal, a bright example shines
Of civilizing justice. Sages rise:
The cause, the animating pattern calls.
Oh, I adjure you, with my parting breath,
By all your hopes of mercy and of peace,
By all the blood henceforth unjustly spilt,
Or wantonly by all the sorrows deep,
And scalding tears shed for that blood so spilt!
In God's tremendous name, lo, I adjure,
Without procrastination to the task
Important that you haste! With equal hand
In scales of temperate justice, balance well
The claims of pleading mercy! Unto crimes
Inflictions just and adequate assign;
On reformation or example sole,
And all impartial, constantly intent,
Banish the rage for blood! for tortures fell,
Savage, reproachful. Study to restore
Its young, its useful members to the state,
Well disciplin'd, corrected, moraliz'd;
Preserv'd at once from shame, from death, from Hell,
Men, rationals, immortals,—Sons of God.
Oh, prosperous be your labours, crown'd your zeal!
—Consult th'eternal code of right or wrong,—
Which e'er can justify this last extreme ,
This wanton sporting with the human life,
This trade in blood. Ye sages, then, review,
Speedy and diligent, the penal code,
Humanity's disgrace; our nation's first
And just reproach, amidst its vaunted boasts
Of equity and mercy:—Shiver not
Full oft your inmost souls, when from the bench
Ye deal out death tremendous; and proclaim
Th'irrevocable sentence on a wretch
Pluck'd early from the paths of social life,
And immature, to the low grave consign'd
For misdemeanors trivial! Runs not back,
Affrighted, to its fountain your chill'd blood,
When, deck'd in all the horrid pomp of death,
122
The weaker sex,—incredible—you doom;
Denouncing punishments the more severe,
As less of strength is found to bear their force?
Shame on the savage practice! Oh stand forth
In the great cause,—Compassion's, Equity's,
Your Nation's, Truth's, Religion's, Honour's cause,
—Stand forth, reflecting Eden ! Well thou'st toil'd
Already in the honourable field:
Might thy young labours animate, the hour
Auspicious is arriv'd. Sages esteem'd,
And venerably learn'd, as in the school
Of legal science, so in that of worth
And sentiment exalted, fill the bench:
And lo! the imperial Muscovite, intent
On public-weal, a bright example shines
Of civilizing justice. Sages rise:
The cause, the animating pattern calls.
Oh, I adjure you, with my parting breath,
By all your hopes of mercy and of peace,
By all the blood henceforth unjustly spilt,
Or wantonly by all the sorrows deep,
And scalding tears shed for that blood so spilt!
In God's tremendous name, lo, I adjure,
123
Important that you haste! With equal hand
In scales of temperate justice, balance well
The claims of pleading mercy! Unto crimes
Inflictions just and adequate assign;
On reformation or example sole,
And all impartial, constantly intent,
Banish the rage for blood! for tortures fell,
Savage, reproachful. Study to restore
Its young, its useful members to the state,
Well disciplin'd, corrected, moraliz'd;
Preserv'd at once from shame, from death, from Hell,
Men, rationals, immortals,—Sons of God.
Oh, prosperous be your labours, crown'd your zeal!
So shall the annals of our Sovereign's reign,
Distinguish'd by your virtue,—noble fruit
Of that high independence He bestow'd
So freely from the treasury of his love
To genuine justice—down to future times,
Transmitting the rich blessing, shine renown'd
With truest glory; not by hers surpass'd,
Th'immortal Legislator of the north!
Distinguish'd by your virtue,—noble fruit
Of that high independence He bestow'd
So freely from the treasury of his love
To genuine justice—down to future times,
Transmitting the rich blessing, shine renown'd
With truest glory; not by hers surpass'd,
Th'immortal Legislator of the north!
124
Ah me unhappy! to that Sovereign's ear
Resolv'd to bring those truths which, labouring long,
Have lain, and tost upon my anxious thoughts :
Thence too am I excluded! Fatal stroke,
And wounding to my peace! Rigour extreme
Of angry vengeance! “Nay, it recks not now,”
Oft, midst the tempest of my grief, I cried,
“It recks not now what falls me! From the house
“Of him I honour'd, shut! Him whose lov'd sire
“My muse in strains elegiac weeping sung ,
“Mixing her tribute with a nation's tears!
“Him to whose high-born race,—of liberty
“Firm friends and fautors—from my earliest youth,
“My heart, devoted, willing homage paid,
“And sacred reverence: So paternal love
“And so my college taught, delightful Clare!”
Dear ever to my memory for hours
In innocence and peaceful study past;
Nor less for thee, my friend, my Lancaster!
Blest youth, in early hour from this life's woes
In richest mercy borne! Had I but died,
Oh had I died for thee, how had I shunn'd
This harsh severity,—exclusion sad
From my lov'd royal master! how escap'd
Its ills attendant!—Reputation dies,
The darling of my soul, beneath the stroke!
Wild, wanton curses tear my mangled frame!
My sphere of usefulness contracted shrinks;
And infamy herself with “ghastly smiles”
My ruin ridicules! Turn, turn, my brain,
Distracted, madden'd, turn! Of reason more,
Religion, duty, eminence, dream not:
The door of mercy's clos'd. Thee—oft from thee
Mercy, sweet Heaven, have I sought and found;
From fellow-mortals seldom could I find,
How humbled e'er, or penitent, for faults!
—And who of erring mortals faultless breathes?
Mercy that gift of thine, which most adorns
The judge's vestment, and the monarch's crown.
Resolv'd to bring those truths which, labouring long,
Have lain, and tost upon my anxious thoughts :
Thence too am I excluded! Fatal stroke,
And wounding to my peace! Rigour extreme
Of angry vengeance! “Nay, it recks not now,”
Oft, midst the tempest of my grief, I cried,
“It recks not now what falls me! From the house
“Of him I honour'd, shut! Him whose lov'd sire
“My muse in strains elegiac weeping sung ,
“Mixing her tribute with a nation's tears!
“Him to whose high-born race,—of liberty
“Firm friends and fautors—from my earliest youth,
“My heart, devoted, willing homage paid,
“And sacred reverence: So paternal love
“And so my college taught, delightful Clare!”
Dear ever to my memory for hours
In innocence and peaceful study past;
Nor less for thee, my friend, my Lancaster!
Blest youth, in early hour from this life's woes
125
Oh had I died for thee, how had I shunn'd
This harsh severity,—exclusion sad
From my lov'd royal master! how escap'd
Its ills attendant!—Reputation dies,
The darling of my soul, beneath the stroke!
Wild, wanton curses tear my mangled frame!
My sphere of usefulness contracted shrinks;
And infamy herself with “ghastly smiles”
My ruin ridicules! Turn, turn, my brain,
Distracted, madden'd, turn! Of reason more,
Religion, duty, eminence, dream not:
The door of mercy's clos'd. Thee—oft from thee
Mercy, sweet Heaven, have I sought and found;
From fellow-mortals seldom could I find,
How humbled e'er, or penitent, for faults!
—And who of erring mortals faultless breathes?
Mercy that gift of thine, which most adorns
The judge's vestment, and the monarch's crown.
Adieu, then, to its hope; its earthly hope,
Elsewhere we'll seek it. Forth—oh forth, my friends;
My generous, supporting, weeping friends,
Forth from the bar conduct me. It is past.
Justice has done her office. Mercy's fled;
And smiling, lo! she sits upon a cloud
Of fleecy whiteness, ting'd with azur'd gold,
And beams ineffable composure on me!
Light sits my bosom'd master on his throne;
Airy and disencumber'd feels my soul;
And, panting, wishes to spring instant up
To that white cloud,—the golden vehicle
To realms of rest immortal! In my eyes,
So languid late, and all suffus'd with tears,
Methinks I see hope's lamp rekindled bright;
A living lustre; shedding like the sun,
After thick mists, Illumination's smile
O'er all my countenance, marr'd, dimm'd, and wan.
Elsewhere we'll seek it. Forth—oh forth, my friends;
My generous, supporting, weeping friends,
Forth from the bar conduct me. It is past.
Justice has done her office. Mercy's fled;
And smiling, lo! she sits upon a cloud
126
And beams ineffable composure on me!
Light sits my bosom'd master on his throne;
Airy and disencumber'd feels my soul;
And, panting, wishes to spring instant up
To that white cloud,—the golden vehicle
To realms of rest immortal! In my eyes,
So languid late, and all suffus'd with tears,
Methinks I see hope's lamp rekindled bright;
A living lustre; shedding like the sun,
After thick mists, Illumination's smile
O'er all my countenance, marr'd, dimm'd, and wan.
Cheerly, my friends, oh cheerly! Look not thus
With pity's melting softness! That alone
Can shake my fortitude. All is not lost.
Lo! I have gain'd, on this important day
A victory consummate o'er my self,
And o'er this life a victory. On this day,—
My birth-day to eternity—I've gain'd
Dismission from a world, where for a while,
Like you, like all, a pilgrim passing poor,
A traveller, a stranger, I have met
But stranger treatment, rude and harsh! So much
The dearer, more desir'd, the home I seek
Eternal of my Father and my God!
With pity's melting softness! That alone
Can shake my fortitude. All is not lost.
Lo! I have gain'd, on this important day
A victory consummate o'er my self,
And o'er this life a victory. On this day,—
My birth-day to eternity—I've gain'd
Dismission from a world, where for a while,
Like you, like all, a pilgrim passing poor,
A traveller, a stranger, I have met
But stranger treatment, rude and harsh! So much
The dearer, more desir'd, the home I seek
Eternal of my Father and my God!
127
Ah, little thought ye, prosecutors prompt,
To do me good like this! little intend
For earthly poverty to give th'exchange
Of wealth eternal! Cheronea's sage,
Thy dogmas here, so paradoxal deem'd
By weak half-thinkers —see, how amply prov'd,
How verisify'd by men I judg'd my foes;—
Friends in disguise, Heaven's instruments of good!
Freely, triumphantly, my soul forgives
Each injury, each evil they have wrought,
Each tear they've drawn, each groan they've cost my heart,
Guiltless tow'rds them, uninjur'd. Hapless men!
Down do I look, with pity: fervent beg,
And unremitting from all-gracious Heaven
Eternal blessings on you! Be your lives,
Like mine, true convertites to grace, to God!
And be your deaths,—ah, there all difference ends—
Then be our deaths like his, th'atoning just;
Like his, the only righteous, our last end!
To do me good like this! little intend
For earthly poverty to give th'exchange
Of wealth eternal! Cheronea's sage,
Thy dogmas here, so paradoxal deem'd
By weak half-thinkers —see, how amply prov'd,
How verisify'd by men I judg'd my foes;—
Friends in disguise, Heaven's instruments of good!
Freely, triumphantly, my soul forgives
Each injury, each evil they have wrought,
Each tear they've drawn, each groan they've cost my heart,
Guiltless tow'rds them, uninjur'd. Hapless men!
Down do I look, with pity: fervent beg,
And unremitting from all-gracious Heaven
Eternal blessings on you! Be your lives,
Like mine, true convertites to grace, to God!
And be your deaths,—ah, there all difference ends—
Then be our deaths like his, th'atoning just;
Like his, the only righteous, our last end!
But oh, oblivious memory! baneful woe,
Which thus in dull forgetfulness can steep
My faculties;—forgetfulness of her
My better self, for whom alone I wish,
Thus fall'n, to remember that I am!
My wife, my soul's dear partner in distress,
Where sits she? lives she? Ah not lives, but drags
The tedious, torturing, horrid, anxious hours
Of this dire day!—In solemn silence wrapt,
—Expressive silence motionless, compos'd,
The melancholy mourner meekly waits
The awful issue! From her lovely eyes
Drops not a tear! not ev'n a sigh is heard
From her deep-wounded heart: Nor through her lips,
Unsever'd from the luckless morn till night,
Mute sufferer, steals a murmur ! Gentle dove,
So, in the mournful absence of thy mate,
Perhaps or levell'd by the fowler's art,
Or lur'd in net insidious, sittest thou alone
Upon the bared bough; thy little head
Nestling beneath thy silvery wings; while hang
Thy pennons, late so glossy, shivering down
Unplum'd, neglected, drooping! Thro' the day
So tried, my tender friends,—another task,
And heavier yet, remains to be perform'd.
Oh, with the balm of comfort, with the voice
Of soothing softness, the sad truth unfold!
Approach the beauteous mourner, all-rever'd;
And tell her, “that her husband triumphs, lives;—
“Lives tho' condemn'd; lives to a nobler life!
“Nor, in the gladsome view of that high life,
“Feels he to death reluctance: Blest with her,
“Indifferent in his choice to live or die!”
Which thus in dull forgetfulness can steep
My faculties;—forgetfulness of her
128
Thus fall'n, to remember that I am!
My wife, my soul's dear partner in distress,
Where sits she? lives she? Ah not lives, but drags
The tedious, torturing, horrid, anxious hours
Of this dire day!—In solemn silence wrapt,
—Expressive silence motionless, compos'd,
The melancholy mourner meekly waits
The awful issue! From her lovely eyes
Drops not a tear! not ev'n a sigh is heard
From her deep-wounded heart: Nor through her lips,
Unsever'd from the luckless morn till night,
Mute sufferer, steals a murmur ! Gentle dove,
So, in the mournful absence of thy mate,
Perhaps or levell'd by the fowler's art,
Or lur'd in net insidious, sittest thou alone
Upon the bared bough; thy little head
Nestling beneath thy silvery wings; while hang
Thy pennons, late so glossy, shivering down
Unplum'd, neglected, drooping! Thro' the day
So tried, my tender friends,—another task,
And heavier yet, remains to be perform'd.
Oh, with the balm of comfort, with the voice
129
Approach the beauteous mourner, all-rever'd;
And tell her, “that her husband triumphs, lives;—
“Lives tho' condemn'd; lives to a nobler life!
“Nor, in the gladsome view of that high life,
“Feels he to death reluctance: Blest with her,
“Indifferent in his choice to live or die!”
Be the decision, thine, Father of life!
Thou gavest, thou hast right to take away;
In each alike beneficent! If thou
Hast pleasure in me, once more shall I share
Thy hallow'd services, my heart's chief joy;
If not with happy David—oh like his
Could my song flow repentant—every thought
Uniting cries with resignation's voice,
“Do with me, Lord, as it shall seem Thee good !”
Thou gavest, thou hast right to take away;
In each alike beneficent! If thou
Hast pleasure in me, once more shall I share
Thy hallow'd services, my heart's chief joy;
If not with happy David—oh like his
Could my song flow repentant—every thought
Uniting cries with resignation's voice,
“Do with me, Lord, as it shall seem Thee good !”
Thus supplicating, down my weary head
To slumber on its wretched pillow sunk,
O'erpower'd, oppress'd. Nor on the main-mast high
Rock'd by the bellowing tempest, and the dash
Of furious surges, the poor ship-boy sleeps
More soundly, than my powers o'erwrought, amidst
The din of desperate felons, and the roar
Of harden'd guilt's mad midnight orgies loud!
To slumber on its wretched pillow sunk,
O'erpower'd, oppress'd. Nor on the main-mast high
Rock'd by the bellowing tempest, and the dash
Of furious surges, the poor ship-boy sleeps
More soundly, than my powers o'erwrought, amidst
130
Of harden'd guilt's mad midnight orgies loud!
But, fancy free, the busy soul was wake;
Anticipation pleasing of its state,
When sleeps its clayey prison in the grave,
And forth it bursts to liberty! Methought
—Such was the vision—in a lowly vale
Myself I found, whose living green was deck'd
With all the beauteous family of Spring;
Pale primrose, modest violet, hare-bell blue,
Sweet-scented eglantine of fragrance rich,
And permanent the rose: golden jonquil,
And polyanthus variegate of hue,
With lilies dale-delighting. Thro' the midst
Meandering of pure crystal flow'd a stream
The flowery banks reflecting: On each side,
With homely cots adorn'd, whose 'habitants,
When sorrow-sunk, my voice of comfort sooth'd;
When sickness-worn, my hand of care reliev'd,
Tended, and, ministering to all their wants,
Instructed in the language of the skies.
Dear was the office, cheering was the toil,
And something like angelic felt my soul!
Anticipation pleasing of its state,
When sleeps its clayey prison in the grave,
And forth it bursts to liberty! Methought
—Such was the vision—in a lowly vale
Myself I found, whose living green was deck'd
With all the beauteous family of Spring;
Pale primrose, modest violet, hare-bell blue,
Sweet-scented eglantine of fragrance rich,
And permanent the rose: golden jonquil,
And polyanthus variegate of hue,
With lilies dale-delighting. Thro' the midst
Meandering of pure crystal flow'd a stream
The flowery banks reflecting: On each side,
With homely cots adorn'd, whose 'habitants,
When sorrow-sunk, my voice of comfort sooth'd;
When sickness-worn, my hand of care reliev'd,
Tended, and, ministering to all their wants,
Instructed in the language of the skies.
Dear was the office, cheering was the toil,
And something like angelic felt my soul!
When lur'd, methought, by one of glittering hue
(Bright gleam'd the coronet upon his brow,
Rich glow'd his robe of crimson, ermine deck'd)
I toil'd to gain a neighbouring mountain's top,
Where blaz'd preferment's temple. So my guide
With smile complacent taught and led me on,
Softening with artful speech the tedious way,
And arduous ever. As I rose, the view
Still gloomier seem'd, and dreary; the strait path
Still straiter, and more sharp the pointed briars
Entangling! With insulting sneers the crowd,
Pressing the same bad road, jostled me by,
Or threw me prostrate: till fatigued and faint,
With feeble voice, exhausted quite, I cried,
“Oh to my vale restore me! to my cots,
“Illustrious guide! my ministrations blest,
“Angelical and blessing!”—With a look
Of killing scorn he eyed me: Instant down,
Precipitate dash'd o'er me craggy rocks,
Tumbling tumultuous; and in dungeon dark,
Illumin'd only by the furious glare
Of lynx and tygers eyes, thro' hunger fierce,
And eager to devour, trembling I lay!
(Bright gleam'd the coronet upon his brow,
131
I toil'd to gain a neighbouring mountain's top,
Where blaz'd preferment's temple. So my guide
With smile complacent taught and led me on,
Softening with artful speech the tedious way,
And arduous ever. As I rose, the view
Still gloomier seem'd, and dreary; the strait path
Still straiter, and more sharp the pointed briars
Entangling! With insulting sneers the crowd,
Pressing the same bad road, jostled me by,
Or threw me prostrate: till fatigued and faint,
With feeble voice, exhausted quite, I cried,
“Oh to my vale restore me! to my cots,
“Illustrious guide! my ministrations blest,
“Angelical and blessing!”—With a look
Of killing scorn he eyed me: Instant down,
Precipitate dash'd o'er me craggy rocks,
Tumbling tumultuous; and in dungeon dark,
Illumin'd only by the furious glare
Of lynx and tygers eyes, thro' hunger fierce,
And eager to devour, trembling I lay!
When, in a moment, thro' the dungeon's gloom
Burst light resplendent as the mid-day sun,
From adamantine shield of Heavenly proof,
Held high by one , of more than human port,
Advancing slow; while on his tow'ring crest
Sat fortitude unshaken: At his feet
Crouch'd the half-famish'd savages! From earth
He rais'd me, weeping, and with look of peace
Benignant, pointed to a crimson cross
On his bright shield pourtray'd. A milder form,
Yet of celestial sweetness,—such as oft
My raptur'd eyes have in the tablet trac'd
Of unaffected penitence; of her
Pleasing similitude—the weeping fair
Early from royal, but unhallow'd love,
To God's sole service flying —Fam'd Le Brun,
Thy glowing pencil's master-piece!—Such seem'd
Repentance, meek approaching. From the den,
Illumin'd and defended by faith's shield,
My trembling feet she led; and having borne
Thro' perils infinite, and terrors wild
And various,—fainting almost my sick soul—
She left me at a gate of glittering gold,
Which open'd instantaneous at the touch
Of homely porter , clad in wolsey grey;
And ever bending lowly to the ground
His modest countenance! But what a scene
—Admitted thro' the portal—on my sight
Transported, rush'd! High on a sapphire throne,
Amidst a flame like carbuncle, sat Love,
Beaming forth living rays of light and joy
On choral crowds of spirits infinite,
In immortality and glory cloth'd;
And hymning lofty strains to minstrelsy
Of golden harps accorded, in his praise,
Love, uncreate, essential; Love, which bled;
Which bleeding blanch'd to purest white their robes,
And with eternal gold adorn'd their brows!
Burst light resplendent as the mid-day sun,
From adamantine shield of Heavenly proof,
Held high by one , of more than human port,
132
Sat fortitude unshaken: At his feet
Crouch'd the half-famish'd savages! From earth
He rais'd me, weeping, and with look of peace
Benignant, pointed to a crimson cross
On his bright shield pourtray'd. A milder form,
Yet of celestial sweetness,—such as oft
My raptur'd eyes have in the tablet trac'd
Of unaffected penitence; of her
Pleasing similitude—the weeping fair
Early from royal, but unhallow'd love,
To God's sole service flying —Fam'd Le Brun,
Thy glowing pencil's master-piece!—Such seem'd
Repentance, meek approaching. From the den,
Illumin'd and defended by faith's shield,
My trembling feet she led; and having borne
Thro' perils infinite, and terrors wild
And various,—fainting almost my sick soul—
She left me at a gate of glittering gold,
Which open'd instantaneous at the touch
Of homely porter , clad in wolsey grey;
And ever bending lowly to the ground
His modest countenance! But what a scene
133
Transported, rush'd! High on a sapphire throne,
Amidst a flame like carbuncle, sat Love,
Beaming forth living rays of light and joy
On choral crowds of spirits infinite,
In immortality and glory cloth'd;
And hymning lofty strains to minstrelsy
Of golden harps accorded, in his praise,
Love, uncreate, essential; Love, which bled;
Which bleeding blanch'd to purest white their robes,
And with eternal gold adorn'd their brows!
Dissolv'd, methought, and all my senses rapt
In vision beatific, to a bank
Of purple amaranthus was I borne
By a superior genius. His white wings
Distilling panacea, dove-like spread
Refreshing fragrance o'er me: Firm of brow
And masculine he seem'd—th'ennobling power
Angelic, destin'd in the human heart
To nourish friendship's flame! Uprais'd my eyes
As from a trance returning—“Spirit belov'd,
“And honour'd ever!” anxious strait I cried,
“Thrice welcome to my wishes! Oh impart—
“For you can tell—in these delightful realms
“Of happiness supernal, shall we know,—
“Say, shall we meet and know those dearest friends,
“Those tender relatives, to whose concerns
“You minister appointed? Shall we meet
“In mutual amity? mutual converse hold,
“And live in love immortal?—Oh relieve
“My aching heart's solicitude; and say,
“Here shall I meet, here know, in boundless bliss,
“Here view transported, her, my life's best friend,
“My sorrows faithful soother!”—Gushing tears
Impetuous stopp'd my voice; and I awoke
To earth, to night, to darkness, and a jail!
In vision beatific, to a bank
Of purple amaranthus was I borne
By a superior genius. His white wings
Distilling panacea, dove-like spread
Refreshing fragrance o'er me: Firm of brow
And masculine he seem'd—th'ennobling power
Angelic, destin'd in the human heart
To nourish friendship's flame! Uprais'd my eyes
As from a trance returning—“Spirit belov'd,
“And honour'd ever!” anxious strait I cried,
“Thrice welcome to my wishes! Oh impart—
“For you can tell—in these delightful realms
“Of happiness supernal, shall we know,—
134
“Those tender relatives, to whose concerns
“You minister appointed? Shall we meet
“In mutual amity? mutual converse hold,
“And live in love immortal?—Oh relieve
“My aching heart's solicitude; and say,
“Here shall I meet, here know, in boundless bliss,
“Here view transported, her, my life's best friend,
“My sorrows faithful soother!”—Gushing tears
Impetuous stopp'd my voice; and I awoke
To earth, to night, to darkness, and a jail!
April 14, 1777.
END OF THE FOURTH WEEK.
The verses subjoined were written by the King of Prussia, after a defeat, when one of his general officers had proposed to set him the example of self-destruction:
Dans ces jours, pleins d'alarmes,
La constance et la fermeté
Sont les bouchers et les armes
Que j'opppose á l'adversitè:
Que le Destin me persecute,
Qu'il prepare ou hâte ma chute,
Le danger ne peut m'ebranler:
Quand le vulgaire est plein de crainte,
Que l'esperance semble eteinte,
L'homme fort doit se signaler.
La constance et la fermeté
Sont les bouchers et les armes
Que j'opppose á l'adversitè:
Que le Destin me persecute,
Qu'il prepare ou hâte ma chute,
Le danger ne peut m'ebranler:
Quand le vulgaire est plein de crainte,
Que l'esperance semble eteinte,
L'homme fort doit se signaler.
A friend having given Dr. Dodd in prison a copy of these lines, he was much pleased with them, and immediately paraphrased them as follows:
In these sad moments of severe distress,
When dangers threaten, and when sorrows press,
For my defence behold what arms are given—
Firmness of soul, and confidence in Heaven!
With these, tho' Fortune hunt me thro' the land,
Tho' instant, utter ruin seem at hand,
Compos'd and self-collected I remain,
Nor start at perils, nor of ills complain.
To mean despair the low, the servile fly,
When Hope's bright star seems darken'd in their sky:
Then shines the Christian, and delights to prove
His faith unshaken, and unchang'd his love!
When dangers threaten, and when sorrows press,
For my defence behold what arms are given—
Firmness of soul, and confidence in Heaven!
With these, tho' Fortune hunt me thro' the land,
Tho' instant, utter ruin seem at hand,
Compos'd and self-collected I remain,
Nor start at perils, nor of ills complain.
To mean despair the low, the servile fly,
When Hope's bright star seems darken'd in their sky:
Then shines the Christian, and delights to prove
His faith unshaken, and unchang'd his love!
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quæ
Ipse sibi tradit Spectator!
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quæ
Ipse sibi tradit Spectator!
Hor.
So praysen babes the peacock's starry traine,
And wondren at bright Argus' blazing eye;
But who rewards him e'er the more for thy?
Or feeds him once the fuller by a graine?—
Sike praise is smoke, that sheddeth in the skie,
Sike words been winde, and wasten soon in vaine.
And wondren at bright Argus' blazing eye;
But who rewards him e'er the more for thy?
Or feeds him once the fuller by a graine?—
Sike praise is smoke, that sheddeth in the skie,
Sike words been winde, and wasten soon in vaine.
Spenser.
He intended to have established a “Charity for the Loan of Money, without interest, to industrious tradesmen.” Necessary papers for that end were collected from Dublin, &c. and the following address, which he wrote and inserted in the Public Ledger of the 1st January, 1776, will, in some measure, explain his purpose:
To the Wealthy in the Commercial World.
I HAVE often wished most sincerely to see a charitable fund established in this great and trading city, for the beneficent purpose of “lending to honest and industrious Tradesmen “small sums without interest, and on a reasonable security.”
The benefits which would arise from such an establishment are too obvious to need enumeration. Almost every newspaper tends more and more to convince me of the necessity of such a plan; for in almost every news-paper we read Advertisements from Tradesmen, soliciting little sums in their distress; and offering—poor unhappy men! even premiums for those little sums.
It is not possible but that persons occupied in trade and commerce must feel for the difficulties of their brethren, and be ready to promote the undertaking I would wish to recommend, although on no interested motives;—for I am no tradesman, nor can any way be benefitted by the plan. Pure good-will, and a compassionate respect to the hardships and distresses of my fellow-creatures actuate my heart: And from these motives, I shall be happy to proceed upon, and prosecute this plan, with all the efforts and assiduity I am able, if it shall be approved by the benevolent, and they will testify that approbation, and desire of concurrence, by a line directed to D. at Anderton's Coffee house, Fleet-street. In consequence of which, should a probability of success appear, a meeting shall speedily be advertised in the papers, and all measures pursued to put the good design into immediate execution, which on such a meeting may be judged adviseable. It may be proper just to observe, that in many cities abroad,—at Rome in particular,—there are institutions of this sort: and there has been one established for many years at Dublin, which is found productive of the happiest consequences.
It is made in scripture one characteristic of the good man, “that he is merciful and lendeth:” and a very small sum, thus given to a permanent establishment, may enable a man to lend for perpetuity!
How can we better begin the new year, my worthy and humane countrymen, than by entering on a work, which may draw down upon us God's blessing, by our charitable relief to many sons and daughters of honest and laborious industry?—
Humanity.“A plan for a National Female Seminary”—since found amongst the Author's papers; and which appears to have undergone the inspection, and received the approbation of some very distinguished names.
Horace's precept must for ever stand forth as irrefragably just:
------ “Adsit
Regula! peccatis quæ pœnas irroget æquas:
Ne Scutica dignum horribili sectêre flagello.”
Regula! peccatis quæ pœnas irroget æquas:
Ne Scutica dignum horribili sectêre flagello.”
Sat. 3. Lib. 1.
“He had sometimes expressed his thoughts about our penal laws, that they were too sanguinary;—that they were against not only the laws of God, but of nature;—that his own case was hard, that he should die for an act which he always declared to be wrong, but by which he never intended to injure any one individual; and that, as the public had forgiven him, he thought he might have been pardoned. But now (the day before his execution) he laid all these thoughts touching himself aside, though he continued to think in the same manner of the penal laws to his end.” See the Ordinary's account.’
Referring to the independence of the judges, settled by the King, as almost one of the first acts of his reign.
“I speechless sat;—nor plaintive word,
“Nor murmur, from my lips was heard.”
“Nor murmur, from my lips was heard.”
Merrick's Psalms, p. 39
135
WEEK THE FIFTH. Futurity.
“To death devote!” Thus in the vernal bloomOf redolent youth and beauty, on the cross
Hung high her motto ;—she, in name and choice
Of that far better part, like her so fam'd
In story evangelical,—Sweet saint,
Friend of my soul, and soother of my grief,
Shall I then dread in age, and worn with woe,
To meet the king of terrors?—Coward fear
Of what we all must meet: The primal curse
136
And “Dust to dust,” the charter of mankind!
Miss Mary Bosanquet, whose motto, encircling a cross, is, “Devoted to Death.” From fourteen years of age she dedicated herself to sincere religion, and to the present hour has persevered in the most exemplary line of duty. Her letters to the author, in his last distress, afforded him peculiar comfort.
To stretch the narrow span, grown tedious, stale,
With dull recurrence of the same dull acts,
Ev'n in its happiest state! A toilsome care,
A wearying round of clothing, food, and sleep:
While chequer'd over with a thousand ills
Inevitably painful!—In our frame
Dwell (death's artillery) diseases dire,
And potent to dislodge the brittle life
With agonies heart-rending! In the soul
Lurks sin, the serpent, with her fiery sting
Of sorrow, rankling in the conscience deep,
Source of all mental misery!—From without,
In close battalion, a black troop of ills
Level their deep-drawn arrows at our peace;
And fail not, as we pass thro' life's bad road,
To wound th'unguarded traveller! witness you
Who groan distress'd beneath oppression's scourge;
Ingratitude's sharp tooth; the canker'd tongue
Of slander; fortune's loss; or, bitterer far,
The loss of fame, and soul-connected friends!
Thus tax'd, thus wretched, can the man be wise
Who wishes to retain so poor a boon?
137
To his blest hands who gave it? And who thus love
Beneficent hath rang'd his moral plan,
Thus good with evil mix'd; from earth's poor
(School of probation) suffering man to wean,
And raise his hopes to heaven! Silence then
The whisper of complaint; low in the dust
Dissatisfaction's dæmons growl unheard!
All, all is good, all excellent below:
Pain is a blessing; sorrow leads to joy,
Joy permanent and solid! Every ill
Bears with it love paternal: nay, ev'n death,
Grim death itself, in all its horrors clad,
Is man's supremest privilege! It frees
The soul from prison, from foul sin, from woe,
And gives it back to glory, rest, and God!
When will its welcome message lay at peace
My burden'd, beating heart?—Oh strange! to point
Thy darts, inexorable tyrant, there,
Where life laughs crown'd with roses; when these arms,
Familiar to thy sister Sorrow's fold.
Would so delighted hug thee! But thou lov'st
Full oft the noblest quarry, highest aim:
Lov'st, unsuspected, and with silent step,
To steal on the secure: Lov'st to deal round
Tremendous and impartial thy stern strokes,
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Thy empire irresistible: And now
At monarchs, now at mimics, grinning scorn,
Thy hand indifferent hurls the twanging shaft.
Ah, what a groupe of primest deer lie pierc'd,
Thou Hunter all-victorious, at thy feet;
Since to thy empire dedicate I fell
From life's bright hope, and languish'd in this grave,
This living, doleful sepulchre immur'd!
Not all thy gold or orient pearl could save
Thee, Lusitania's monarch, from the stroke
Impending long and dread! Nor, Terrick , thee,
Thy mitre and thy rochet! Ensigns blest,
When worn with sanctity; then surely chang'd
For crown of gold, and robe of spotless white!
See, neither can the coronet, nor garb
Of ermin'd pomp, from Temple turn aside
The level'd blow; nor, higher far in price,
Th'uplifted shield of Janssen's honest heart!
Lo! too, as if in scorn of purpled pride,
And all life's glories, in this high parade
Funereal marches, tragic-actor now
He who so late light on the comic sock
Trod the gay stage, and bade with laughter's burst
Involuntary the throng'd theatres resound!
Ah, food for worms, poor Woodward, thou, no less
Than patriots, princes, countesses and priests!
Death scorns distinctions: But, despotic power,
Cloth'd in his direst terrors, here he reigns,
Here revels! Here, with bitterest vengeance, shakes
O'er trembling convicts his determin'd shaft,
And gluts himself with horror! See him lead
From yonder darksome cell, all pale with woe,
That stranger sinking! who, in luckless hour,
With rash hand pierc'd the bosom he ador'd,
Nor drank of comfort more! half in his heart
The black lance festering sticks; and death himself,
Howe'er relentless, ere he drives it home,
Of strange commiseration feels a pang,
Reluctant to his office!—
Of ermin'd pomp, from Temple turn aside
The level'd blow; nor, higher far in price,
Th'uplifted shield of Janssen's honest heart!
Lo! too, as if in scorn of purpled pride,
And all life's glories, in this high parade
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He who so late light on the comic sock
Trod the gay stage, and bade with laughter's burst
Involuntary the throng'd theatres resound!
Ah, food for worms, poor Woodward, thou, no less
Than patriots, princes, countesses and priests!
Death scorns distinctions: But, despotic power,
Cloth'd in his direst terrors, here he reigns,
Here revels! Here, with bitterest vengeance, shakes
O'er trembling convicts his determin'd shaft,
And gluts himself with horror! See him lead
From yonder darksome cell, all pale with woe,
That stranger sinking! who, in luckless hour,
With rash hand pierc'd the bosom he ador'd,
Nor drank of comfort more! half in his heart
The black lance festering sticks; and death himself,
Howe'er relentless, ere he drives it home,
Of strange commiseration feels a pang,
Reluctant to his office!—
But, that shriek—
Thrilling with dread—whence is it? 'Tis the voice
Of female misery, bursting thro' the crowd
To the lone dungeon: view that lovely form
Deck'd in the neatest white,—yet not so white
And wan as her wild visage: “Keep me not,”
Raving she cries, “Keep me not, cruel, from him.
“He dies this morn; I know it: he's condemn'd;
“The dreadful judge has done it! He must die,
“My husband! and I'm come, clad in my best,
“To go and suffer with him! I have brought
“Sweet flowers to cheer him, and to strew his corse,
“Pale, pale, and speechless lies it!—Husband, come!
“The little infant, fruit of our glad loves,
“Smil'd on me, as with parting breath I blest,
“And kiss'd the dear babe for thee! 'Tis but young;
“'Tis tender yet;—seven days is young in life:
“Angels will guard my little innocent:
“They'll feed it, tho' thou could'st not find it food,
“And its poor mother too!—And so thou dy'st!
“For me and it thou dy'st! But not alone,
“Thou shalt not go alone; I will die with thee:
“Sweet mercy be upon us! Hence, hence, hence!”
Impetuous then, her white arms round his neck
She threw; and, with deep groans would pierce a rock,
Sunk fainting. Oh the husband's, father's pangs,
Stopping all utterance! Up to Heaven he roll'd
His frantic eyes; and staring wildly round
In desperation's madness, to his heart
Drove the destructive steel!—Fell death,
Would'st thou a fuller triumph?—Oh my wife,
How dismal to our ears the shrieks, the groans!—
And what a crowd of wild ideas press
Distracting on the soul! “Merciful Heaven,
“In pity spare us! Say, It is enough,
“And bid the avenging angel stay his hand!”
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Of female misery, bursting thro' the crowd
To the lone dungeon: view that lovely form
Deck'd in the neatest white,—yet not so white
And wan as her wild visage: “Keep me not,”
Raving she cries, “Keep me not, cruel, from him.
“He dies this morn; I know it: he's condemn'd;
“The dreadful judge has done it! He must die,
“My husband! and I'm come, clad in my best,
“To go and suffer with him! I have brought
“Sweet flowers to cheer him, and to strew his corse,
“Pale, pale, and speechless lies it!—Husband, come!
“The little infant, fruit of our glad loves,
“Smil'd on me, as with parting breath I blest,
“And kiss'd the dear babe for thee! 'Tis but young;
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“Angels will guard my little innocent:
“They'll feed it, tho' thou could'st not find it food,
“And its poor mother too!—And so thou dy'st!
“For me and it thou dy'st! But not alone,
“Thou shalt not go alone; I will die with thee:
“Sweet mercy be upon us! Hence, hence, hence!”
Impetuous then, her white arms round his neck
She threw; and, with deep groans would pierce a rock,
Sunk fainting. Oh the husband's, father's pangs,
Stopping all utterance! Up to Heaven he roll'd
His frantic eyes; and staring wildly round
In desperation's madness, to his heart
Drove the destructive steel!—Fell death,
Would'st thou a fuller triumph?—Oh my wife,
How dismal to our ears the shrieks, the groans!—
And what a crowd of wild ideas press
Distracting on the soul! “Merciful Heaven,
“In pity spare us! Say, It is enough,
“And bid the avenging angel stay his hand!”
Alluding to Tolosa, a poor unhappy Spaniard, lately executed for the murder of his female friend. He took scarce any sustenance from the time of the fact, and was more than half dead when conveyed to the place of execution.
This also alludes to a miserable catastrophe, which happened here on the morning of a late execution. The poor young woman who came to visit her husband, had lain-in but seven days. As soon as the husband's fetters were knocked off, he stepped aside, and cut his throat in a dismal manner; but not quite sufficiently to finish his existence:—And in that shocking state—paid his debt—at the destined place.
Brushing beside us, calls, in solemn sound,
Heed to his dart grief-pointed. Its keen stroke,
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Relief to thy o'er-burden'd breast! to ours
Anguish unutterable! 'Tis ours he wounds,
Thou amiable friend!—whose languid eye
Ne'er rais'd a look from earth since that sad hour
When sunk my sun! Thou, who from earliest youth
Hast humbly sought thy God, thou art at peace:
Happy, thrice happy, on that golden shore,
Where from the tossing of these troublous waves
We soon shall land. Oh stay, affectionate,
Oh wait, and welcome us! Or, if in Heaven
Blest saints retain concern for those on earth
Held in the dearest amity, become
Thy darling sister's guardian! As from youth,
From childhood's dawn, her dear maternal guide,
Be now, lov'd spirit, in this hour of woe
Her angel-comfort, her support! Alas,
What talk I of support! thou mercy's God!
When all her conduct, by the grace inspir'd—
When all her patient gentleness and love,
Her fortitude unparallel'd, and peace,
Have thee their Author: Be the glory thine!
Mrs. Dodd's sister; who, in the midst of our sorrows, did—what she never did before—augment them, by dying of a heart broken with grief for our calamity. Oh misery!
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This dread familiarity with death;
Our common debt, from infancy's first cry
Denounc'd, expected, tho' its sure approach
Lurks in uncertainty's obscurest night;—
Our common debt, which babes and palsied seers,
Princes and pilgrims, equally must pay;—
Say, canst thou feel reluctance to discharge
The claim inevitable? Senseless he,
Who in life's gaudiest moments fondly strives
To turn his eyes unheeding from the view
Instructive. 'Midst those moments, deep it dwelt
On my reflecting mind ! a mind which liv'd
More in the future than the present world;
Which, frequent call'd by duty's solemn voice
From earth's low scenes, on those sublimer far
Hath ever thought delighted; and those thoughts
Conveying to mankind, in them desires
Its real transcript, its resemblance true
May be survey'd—the picture of itself.
For, whatsoe'er may be our earthly state,
The mind's the man. My humble labours, then,
When rests my part corporeal in the dust,
Hang up my living portrait!—And to give
Those labours all their force, summon'd I stand
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The theoretic lessons I have taught.
And lo! compos'd, I fix my dying seal
In attestation to their truth, their power,
Felt at my heart, my inmost conscience felt;
Imparting triumph o'er life's love; o'er death
Consummate exultation! while my soul
Longs to go forth, and pants for endless day!
Like a swoln torrent, which with frightful roar
Have burst destructive o'er me; 'midst the loss
Of all things dear, Fame, Honour, Peace, and Rest;
Amidst the cruel spoiling of my goods,
The bitterest rancour of envenom'd spite,
And calumny unfeeling ;—what surprize
That my wean'd soul, above this worldly wreck,
With anxious expectation waits the call
From melancholy mourning and dim grief,
To everlasting gladness? Powerful Hope,
And all-sufficient to sustain the soul,
Tho' walking thro' the darkest vale of woe!
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By subtle sophistry that soul to rob
Of its chief anchor, choicest privilege,
And noblest consolation—“Stedfast Faith
“In great Futurity's extended scene:
“Eternity of Being?” All things round
Arise in brightest proof: I see it, feel it,
Thro' all my faculties, thro' all my powers,
Pervading irresistible. Each groan
Sent from my sorrowing heart; each scalding tear
From my convicted eyes; each fervent prayer
By meek repentance offer'd up to Heaven,
Asserts my immortality! proclaims
A pardoning Deity and future world.
Nor less the thought, chill, comfortless, abhorr'd,
Of loath'd annihilation!—From the view,
Humiliating, mean, unworthy man,
Almost unworthy reptiles,—glad I turn,
And triumph in existence! Nay, each ill
And every mundane trouble preaches loud
The same important truth. I read it fair
And legibly engrav'd on all below:
On all the inequalities discern'd
In this perplexing, mix'd, and motley scene;
In every rank and order of mankind ;
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Inadequate, imperfect,—and full oft
Unjust and cruel; in this dismal jail,
And in the proudest palaces alike
I read, and glory to trace out the marks
Irrefragably clear of future life;
Of retribution's just and equal state.
Numberless letters, of a most unchristian, horrid, and cruel nature, were continually sent to him in the height of his distresses. Yet some of these letters were subscribed, A Lady, A Christian, or, A Christian Brother.
At this sweet season , joyfully throws in
Her attestation lovely: bids the sun,
All-bounteous, pour his vivifying light,
To rouse and waken from their wint'ry death
The vegetable tribe! Fresh from their graves,
At his resistless summons, start they forth,
A verdant resurrection! In each plant,
Each flower, each tree to blooming life restor'd,
I trace the pledge, the earnest, and the type
Of man's revival; of his future rise
And victory o'er the grave,—compell'd to yield
Her sacred, rich deposit, from the seed
Corrupt and mortal, and immortal frame
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The Sun of righteousness, whose living power
The mighty work shall operate! Yes, bright source
Of spiritual life!—the immaterial world
Pervading, quickening, gladdening,—in the rays
Full-orb'd of Revelation, thy prime gift,
I view display'd, magnificent, and full,
What reason, nature, in dim darkness teach,
Tho' visible, not distinct: I read with joy
Man's high prerogative; transported read
The certain, clear discovery of life
And immortality, announc'd by thee,
Parent of truth, celestial Visitant,
Fountain of all intelligence divine!
Of that high immortality the King,
And of that life the Author! How man mounts,
Mounts upon angel-wings, when fies'd, secur'd
In that sublime inheritance; when seen
As a terrestrial stranger here; a god
Confin'd a while in prison of the flesh,
Soon, soon to soar, and meet his brother-gods,
His fellows, in eternity!—How creeps,
How grovels human nature! What a worm,
An insect of an hour, poor, sinful, sad;
Despis'd and despicable, reptile-like
Crawls man, his moment on his ant hill here:
—Marking his little shining path with slime,—
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His painful, narrow views! Like the poor moth,
By lights delusive to destruction led;
Still struggling oft its horrors to evade,
Still more and more involv'd; in flame he lives
His transient toilsome minute, and expires
In suffocating smoke.
Spring. See my Poem on the Epiphany, ver. 131, &c. I would have that Poem considered, in dependence with this, as my serious thoughts on these awful subjects, in an early period of my life; and which, in this last and dreadful one, I find no reason to alter.
Amidst the catalogue of those mow'd down
By time's huge scythe, late noted ; Thou, be sure,
Wast not forgotten! Author thou hast gain'd
Thy vast ambition's summit: Fame was thine;
Wealth too, beyond thy amplest wish's bound,
Encompass'd thee: And lo, the pageant ends!
For who, without compassion's generous tear,
Thy mind at once capacious and humane,
Can view, to truth, to hope immortal dead?
Thy penetrating reason, subtile, strong,
Hoodwink'd by dark infatuation's veil;
And all thy fine and manly sense employ'd,
Ev'n on eternity's thrice awful verge,
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Respectably alarming! of a state
Whose being gives to man—had given to thee
(Accepted by the humble hand of faith)
True glory, solid fame, and boundless wealth!
Treasures that wax not old.
See Mr. Hume's Life, written by himself; with a letter by Dr. Smith, giving an account of his Death.
Man's first and richest grace! Of virtue, truth,
Knowledge, and exaltation, certain source,
And most abundant: Pregnant of all good;
And, poor in shew, to treasures infinite
Infallibly conducting; her sure gift!
So, when old Hyems has deform'd the year,
We view, on fam'd Burgundia's craggy cliffs,
The slow vines, scarce distinct, on the brown earth
Neglected lie and grovelling;—promise poor,
From plant so humble, of the swelling grape
In glowing clusters purpling o'er the hills:—
When all impregnating rolls forth the sun,
And from the mean stalk pours a luscious flood
Of juice nectareous thro' the laughing land!
Nervous essayist! haply had thy pen,
Of masculine ability, this theme
Pursued intelligent; from lowly heart
Delineating true the features mild
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Now 'wilder'd by thy sophistry, had bless'd
And honour'd well thy teaching: Whilst thyself
Secure had sail'd and happy, nor been cast
On pride's black rocks, or empty scorn's bleak shore!
Proud scorn, how poor and blind—how it at once
Destroys the sight, and makes us think we see!
While desperate ridicule in wit's wild hands
Implants a dangerous weapon! How it warps
From clear discernment, and conclusions just,
Ev'n captive reason's self! How gay soe'er—
(Ah misplac'd gaiety on such a theme)
In life's last hour!—on Charon's crazy bark,
On Tartarus and Elysium, and the pomp
Solemn and dreaded of dark pagans Hell!
Thy reasoning powers knew well, full well to draw
Deductions true from fables gross as these,
By poets fancy heighten'd! Well thou knew'st
The deep intelligence, the solid truth
Conceal'd beneath the mystic tale; well knew'st
Fables like these, familiar to mankind
In every nation, every clime, through earth
Widely disseminate, through earth proclaim'd
In language strong, intelligent and clear,
“A future state retributive:” Thou knew'st,
That in each age the wife embrac'd the truth,
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Which thou, amidst the blaze, the noon-day blaze
Of christian information, madly scorn'dst
And diedst insulting! Hail of ancient times,
Worthies and fam'd believers! Plato, hail!
And thou, immortal Socrates, of Rome
Prime ornament and boast! my Tully, hail;
Friend and companion of my studious life,
In eloquence and sound philosophy
Alike superlative!—with minds enlarg'd,
Yet teachable and modest, how ye sought,
You and your kindred souls,—how daily dug
For wisdom as the labourer in the mines!
How grop'd, in fancy's and dark fable's night,
Your way assiduous, painful! How discern'd
By the mind's trembling, unassisted light,—
(Or, haply, aided by a scatter'd ray
Of distant revelation, half extinct)
The glimmer of a dawn; the twinkling star
Of day-light far remote! How sigh'd sincere
For fuller information! and how long'd,
How panted for admission to that world
O'er which hung veils impervious! Sages, yes,
Your search ingenuous proves it: every page
Immortal of your writings speaks this truth!
Hear, ye minute philosophers; ye herd
Of mean half-thinkers, who chief glory place
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And think that singularity is sense!
Hear, and be humbled: Socrates himself —
And him you boast your master,—would have fall'n
In humble, thankful reverence at the feet
Of Jesus—and drank wisdom from his tongue!
Then drink we freely, gladly, plenteous draughts
Of ever-living wisdom; knowledge clear,
And otherwise attainless of that state
Supernal, glorious; where, in angel-form
And angel-blessedness , from Death's dread pow'r,
From Sin's dominion, and from Sorrow's sense
Emancipated ever, we shall share
Complete uninterrupted, boundless bliss;
Incessant flowing forth from God's right hand,
Well of perennial joy ! Our moral powers,
By perfect pure benevolence enlarg'd,
With universal sympathy, shall glow
Love's flame ethereal! And from God himself,
Love's primal source, and ever-blessing sun,
Receive, and round communicate the warmth
153
From dregs of sordid interest defecate,
Immortal friendship. Then too shall we trace—
With minds congenial and athirst for truth
Sincere and simple, the Creator's works,
Illumin'd by the intellectual soul,
Refin'd, exalted!—Animating thought!
To talk with Plato, or with Newton tread
Thro' empyrean space the boundless track
Of stars erratic, or the comet vague
With fiery lustre wandering thro' the depths
Of the blue void, exhaustless, infinite;
While all its wonders, all its mystic use,
Expand themselves to the admiring sight!
Of planetary worlds, how blest to walk
And trace with thee, nature's true lover, Hale,
—In science sage and venerable—trace
Thro' vegetation's principle, the God!
Read in each tube, capillary, and root,
In every leaf and blossom, fruit and flower,
Creative energy, consummate art,
Beauty and bounty blended and complete!
Oh what a burst of wisdom and delight,
Intelligence and pleasure, to engage
Th'enraptur'd mind for ages! 'Twere too short
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To search, to contemplate great nature's God
Thro' all his nature's works! Suns, stars, and skies,
With all their vast and elemental store:
Seas, with their finny myriads: birds that wing
With glittering pinions the elastic air,
And fill the woods with music: Animals,
That feed, that clothe, that labour for their lord,
Proud man; and half up to his reason climb
By instinct marvellous! Fruits, that infinite
In glow and taste refresh creation's toil;
And flowers, that rich in scent their incense sweet
—Delicious offering both to God and man,—
Breathe free from velvet variegated hues,
And speak celestial kindness then from these
His lesser wonders—Fam'd anatomists,
Ye, who with scrupulous, but still painful search,
Pore doubtful in the dark recess of life;—
Then turn we, Cheselden, to man; so form'd
With fear and wonder by the master-hand,
And learn we, from discovery of the springs
Of this divine automaton: the blood
In nimble currents coursing thro' the veins
And purple arteries; the fibres fine;
The tubal nerves, so ramified, and quick
To keen sensation; all the various parts
So complicate, yet distinct; adapted each
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While to the one great end concuring all
With harmony unvarying!—Learn we hence
The wisdom exquisite, which gave to life,
To motion, this his prime, his chief machine!
And superadded, in his love's display,
The soul's superior, intellectual rule,
Connection wonderful! and till that hour
Of all-expanding knowledge, to man's mind
Inexplicable still, and still unknown!
How rise upon the thought, to truth attent,
Truths new and interesting, 'midst this field
Of universal science!—Nor shall then
The spirit's seat and influence on our frame,
Gross and material, be alone evolv'd
To our astonish'd view. Spirit itself,
Its nature, properties, distinctions, powers,
—Deep subject of investigation deep,
And chief resolver of man's anxious doubts;
Tho' to his sight impossible, or search,
While darken'd by mortality—shall rise,
Soon as he bursts the barrier of the grave,
Clear and familiar on his sight enlarg'd:
Seen in himself, beatify'd, and cloth'd
With spiritual glory: in the angelic world
Seen and admir'd. And—oh ecstatic view,
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Seen and ador'd in Thee, great first and last,
Sole, self-existent Thou the gracious cause
Of all existence; Infinitely blest,
Yet pleas'd with life and being to impart
That blessing to innumerous creatures round!
Spirit of the universe, thro' all diffus'd,
And animating all! Dread Triune God ,
With beams exhaustless of eternal love,
Of life, of glory, from thy central throne
Shining beneficent: and kindling warm
In every being subject to thy rule,
Devotion's rapture and thanksgiving's song;
157
There must be sympathy in the future state, to render it uniformly complete and perfect. We can have no pleasure in God, or God in us, but from that sympathy arising from similitude. We must be made like God to enjoy beatific vision. Bring a bad man to Heaven, with a soul encrusted and sensualized, he would have no pleasure in it; nor could he endure the sight, any more than reptiles that grovel in a cave amidst filth and darkness, could endure the splendors of the mid-day fun. Shakespeare's description is, in this view, highly animated:
“For Vice, tho' to a radiant Angel link'd,
“Would sate itself in a celestial bed,
“And prey on garbage.”
“Would sate itself in a celestial bed,
“And prey on garbage.”
By contemplation up to nature's God
From nature's works ascending, shall the soul
Beatified receive in future bliss
Accessions of delight through endless day:—
Lo, what a scene, engaging and profound,
Presents itself the darkening curtain drawn—
From the high acts of Providence, display'd
In one clear view consistent; in one end
Important, grand, concentering: one design
Superlatively gracious, through the whole
Pursued invariably; even from the hour
When pass'd the sentence on the serpent's head,
To that thrice-awful moment, when the Son
His victor-car o'er death and Hell shall drive
Triumphant, and bolt fast the gates of time!
Unroll'd the mystic volume, we behold
In characters of wisdom strong pourtray'd
The rise and fall of empires; in thy hand
Omnipotent, or instruments of good,
Or of thy justice punitive and dread
Awful dispensers! There, of heroes, kings,
Sages, and saints, of prophets and of priests,
Thy distributions, difficult but wise,
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And in the long, long chain of seeming chance,
And accidents fortuitous, shall trace
Omniscience all-combining, guiding all!
No dispensations then will seem too hard,
Through temporary ills to blissful life
Leading, tho' labyrinthal! All will shine
In open day: all, o'er the mighty plan,
Discover Thee, with wisdom infinite
Presiding glorious: All thy stedfast truth,
And love paternal, manifest; while falls
The prostrate world of spirits, angels, saints,
In adoration's homage 'fore thy throne!
Nor to our earth, or earth's poor confines bound:
The soul dilated, glorified and free,
On seraph's wings shall soar, and drink in glad,
New draughts of high delight from each survey
Of its Creator's kingdoms! Pleas'd shall pass
From star to star; from planetary worlds,
And systems far remote, to systems, worlds
Remoter still, in boundless depths of space;
Each peopled with its myriads: and shall learn
The wise and strict dependence of the whole;
Concatenation striking of thy works,
All-perfect, mighty Master! Wonder-lost
In the vast view of systems numberless,
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Of beauteous order rolling! All design'd
With skill consummate, tending to one goal;
And manifesting all, in characters
Transparent as the diamond's brilliant blaze,
Their Sovereign Ruler's unity of will,
His all-efficient wisdom, and his love,
In grace and glory infinite; the chain
Connecting firm, and through its every link
Transfusing life's ineffable delights!
Oh goodness providential! sleepless care!
Intent, as ever blest, to bless the whole!
What plaudits from that whole are due, shall burst
From full creation's universal choir!
Then, oh transporting! shall the scheme profound,
Heaven's labour, and of angels anxious thought
Sublimest meditation;—then shall blaze
In fullest glory on the race redeem'd,
Redemption's boundless mercy! High in Heav'n,
To millions blest, rejoicing in its grace,
And hymning all its bounties, shall the cross,
Thy cross, all-conquering Saviour, be display'd,
While seraphs veil their glories, and while men,
Thronging innumerable, prostrate fall
Before thy feet, and to the bleeding Lamb
Ascribe their free salvation!—
Heaven's labour, and of angels anxious thought
Sublimest meditation;—then shall blaze
In fullest glory on the race redeem'd,
Redemption's boundless mercy! High in Heav'n,
To millions blest, rejoicing in its grace,
And hymning all its bounties, shall the cross,
Thy cross, all-conquering Saviour, be display'd,
While seraphs veil their glories, and while men,
Thronging innumerable, prostrate fall
Before thy feet, and to the bleeding Lamb
Ascribe their free salvation!—
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'Midst that throng
Of spirits justified, and thro' thy blood
Cleans'd, perfected, and blest, might I be found,
To scenes so high exalted; to such views
Ennobling brought, such intellect refin'd,
Such light and love, such holiness and peace;
Such spheres of science, and such realms of rest!
Ah, how I'd scorn the passage strait of death,
How doleful e'er and horrid! How I'd look
With stedfastness unshaken through the grave,
And smile o'er all its sadness! How I'd rise
Exulting, great Forerunner, o'er the waves
And bitterness of life! How, smiling, court
Ev'n the fell hand of horror, to dismiss
From earth, from darkness, my delighted soul
To Heaven, to God, and everlasting day!
Teacher of truth, blest Jesu!—On the throne
Of spirits justified, and thro' thy blood
Cleans'd, perfected, and blest, might I be found,
To scenes so high exalted; to such views
Ennobling brought, such intellect refin'd,
Such light and love, such holiness and peace;
Such spheres of science, and such realms of rest!
Ah, how I'd scorn the passage strait of death,
How doleful e'er and horrid! How I'd look
With stedfastness unshaken through the grave,
And smile o'er all its sadness! How I'd rise
Exulting, great Forerunner, o'er the waves
And bitterness of life! How, smiling, court
Ev'n the fell hand of horror, to dismiss
From earth, from darkness, my delighted soul
To Heaven, to God, and everlasting day!
Of majesty co-equal thou who sitt'st
From all eternity in glory's blaze
With thy Almighty Father! Thou, benign,
From bosom of that Father hast brought down
Intelligence to man of this blest state
Consolatory, rational; and fraught
With every good beyond the highest reach
Of man's supreme conception! How shall then
In equal language man his homage pay,
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Or ye, who in old times, of sevenfold Nile,
Proud Tyber, or the Ganges' sacred flood
Religious drank, and to your dæmons dark
Paid superstition's tribute;—tho' I trace
Delighted, in your visions of the world
Beyond the grave, your dreams of future life,—
Proofs of that life's firm credence, of your faith
In the soul's deathless nature;—yet with tears
Of human pity, humbled o'er the sense
Of human imbecility, I read
Your futile fables, puerile and poor;
To the soul's life, to virtue's godlike love
Unanimating, useless; while illum'd
By gospel-splendor,—else, no doubt, as dark
And worthy pity—owns my heart rejoic'd,
That gospel's eminence of wisdom, truth,
And heavenly emanation, in its traits
Of future life superlatively drawn!
And who could paint that life, that scene describe
Immortal, and all-glorious, from the view
Of mortals shrouded ever,—save the Son,
Who from eternity that life enjoyed;
And came in condescension to reveal
A glimpse of its perfection to mankind?
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To think of sketching with his weak, faint line,
A scene so much above him! And behold
That vain presumption punish'd as it ought,
In Araby's Impostor, dark and lewd;
Who dar'd, with temporary follies fraught,
And low self-interest, stalking in the van
Of mad ambition's route—to cheat his train,
Deluded by his darings, with the hope
Of sensual ravishment, and carnal joys
Perpetual in the Paradise of God;
Reserv'd—for sons of murder and of lust!
Shame on the impious madness!—Nor less shame
Must truth indignant dart on those who boast
Exclusive Christianity; yet dare,
Presumptuous, in their fancied penal fire
To fetter the free soul, “till the foul sins
“Done in its days of nature be purged out
“And burn'd away ;” unless by lucky chance
The oft-repeated mass, thro' potent gold,—
All-sacred influence!—gain'd, unlocks the door
Of dismal prison-house, and gives the soul
Enfranchis'd, up to Peter's better care!
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To Christian sapience, and to manly sense!
But not to Christ's true gospel, and the code
Of Revelation pure; before whose light,
Resplendently informing, fables old
Like these, and vain (of ignorance the birth,
Or coinage sacerdotal, in an age
Of gross Cimmerian darkness), growling hide
Their ignominious heads: as birds of night,
Reptiles, and beasts of prey before the sun,
Mounting the misty hills, in splendor rob'd,
And beaming all around refulgent day!
Other, far other, from that luminous code
Breaks on the rational, enlighten'd mind
In perfect beauty that exalted state,
Of whose high excellence our fight hath dar'd,
How dim soe'er, to take an humble glimpse,
And peep into its wonders!—But what tongue
Of man in language adequate can tell,
What mortal pencil worthily pourtray
That excellence, those wonders—where nor death,
Nor sin, nor pain shall enter ever;—where,
Each ill excluded, every good shall reign;
Where day shall ne'er decline; but ceaseless light
—The Lamb's eternal lustre—blazing bless
With salutary glory! where shall smile
164
Spontaneous with exuberance of bounty!
Where, in immortal health, the frame sublim'd,
Refin'd, exalted thro' the chymic grave,
In union with the soul made perfect, pure,
And to the likeness of its God transform'd,
Shall find for every sense divine employ,
Gratification ample, exquisite,
Angelical, and holy: Chief in sight,
In vision beatific of its God;
In blest communion of his love; in praise,
High choral praise, strung to the golden harp
In unison eternal, with the throng,
Thousands of thousands that surround the throne,
And feel his praise, their glory, and their bliss!
There too his works constant th'adoring soul
Shall pleas'd investigate; and constant find
Fresh well-spring of delight; there constant share
The lov'd society and converse high
Of all the good, the wise, the truly great
Of every age and clime; with saints and seers
Divine communication holding, rapt
Perpetually in new and deep displays
Of wisdom boundless, and of perfect love.
Then too, oh joy! amidst this blaze of good,
This consummation rich of highest bliss;
165
Dear, dear, departed friends! and then enjoy
Eternal amity. My parents then,
My youth's companions !—From my moisten'd cheeks
Dry the unworthy tear! Where art thou, Death?
Is this a cause for mourning?—What a state
Of happiness exalted lies before me!
Lo, my bar'd bosom! Strike:—I court the blow:
I long, I pant for everlasting day,
For glory, immortality, and God!
Comes a chill cloud? Such triumph well besuits
The faithful christian; thee had suited well,
If haply persevering in the course,
As first thy race exultingly began.
But thou art fallen, fallen! Oh my heart,
What dire compunction!—sunk in foul offence
A prisoner, and condemn'd: an outcast vile;
Bye-word and scorn of an indignant world,
Who reprobate with horror thy ill deeds;
Turn from thee loath'd, and to damnation just
Assign, unpitying, thy devoted head,
Loaded with every infamy!
Dread God
Of Justice and of Mercy! wilt thou too,
166
My anguish'd soul, the door of pity close,
And shut me from thee ever?—Lo! in dust,
Humiliant, prostrate, weeping 'fore thy throne—
Before thy cross, oh dying Friend of man,
Friend of repentant sinners, I confess,
And mourn my deep transgressions; as the sand
Innumerous, as the glowing crimson red:
With every aggravation, every guilt
Accumulate and burden'd! Against light,
'Gainst love and clearest knowledge perpetrate?
Stamp'd with ingratitude's most odious stain;
Ingratitude to thee; whose favouring love
Had bless'd me, had distinguish'd me with grace,
With goodness far beyond my wish or worth!
Ingratitude to man; whose partial ear
Attended to my doctrine with delight;
And from my zeal conspicuous justly claim'd
Conspicious example!—Lord, I sink
O'erwhelm'd with self-conviction, with dismay,
With anguish and confusion past compare!
And could I weep whole seas of briny tears
In painful penitence; could I deplore
From my heart's aching fountain, drop by drop,
My crimes and follies; my deep grief and shame.
For vile dishonour on thy gospel brought;
For vile discredit to my order done;
167
For deep offence to pity and to man,—
A patriarchal age would be too short
To speak my sorrows and lament my sins;
Chief, as I am, of sinners! Guiltier far
Than he who, falling, at the cock's shrill call
Rose, and repented weeping: Guiltier far—
I dare not say, than Judas; for my heart
Hath ever lov'd,—could never have betray'd,
Oh never, never Thee, dear Lord! to death;
Tho' cruelly, unkindly and unwise
That heart hath sacrific'd its truth and peace,
—For what a shameful, what a paltry price!—
To sin, detested sin; and done thee wrong,
Oh blessed source of all its good, its hope!
For, tho' thus sunk, thus sinful, sorrowing thus,
It dare not, cannot Judas' crime commit,
Last crime,—and of thy mercy, Lord despair!
But, conscious of its guilt; contrite and plung'd
In lowest self-abjection, in the depths
Of sad compunction, of repentence due
And undissembled, to thy cross it cleaves,
And cries for—ardent cries for mercy, Lord!
Mercy, its only refuge! Mercy, Christ!
By the red drops that in the garden gush'd
'Midst thy soul's anguish from thee! By the drops
That down thy precious temples from the crown
168
From thy pierc'd hands and blessed feet so free;
By all thy blood, thy sufferings, and thy death,
Mercy, oh Mercy, Jesus! Mercy Thou,
Who erst on David, with a clement eye,
When mourning at thy footstool, deign'dst to look
Thou, who th'adulterous Magdalen forgav'st,
When in the winning garb of penitence
Contrite she knelt, and with her flowing tears
Wash'd lowly thy lov'd feet! Nor thou the thief,
Ev'n in the last, the bitterest hour of pain,
Refusedst, gracious! Nor wilt thou refuse
My humble supplication, nor reject
My broken bleeding heart, thus offer'd up
On true contrition's altar; while thro' Thee,
Only thro' Thee acceptance do I hope,
Thou bleeding love! consummate Advocate,
Prevailing Intercessor, great High Priest,
Almighty Sufferer! Oh look pitying down!
On thy sufficient merits I depend;
From thy unbounded mercies I implore
The look of pardon and the voice of grace,—
Grace, Grace!—Victorious Conqueror over sin,
O'er death, o'er Hell, for me, for all mankind;
For grace I plead: repentant at thy feet
I throw myself, unworthy, lost, undone;
Trusting my soul, and all its dear concerns,
169
Grace,—still on grace my whole reliance built:
Glory to grace triumphant!—And to thee,
Dispenser bounteous of that sovereign grace!
Jesus, thou King of glory! at thy call
I come obedient: lo, the future world
Expands its views transporting! Lord, I come;
And in that world eternal trust to 'plaud,
With all redemption's sons, thy glorious grace!
Then farewell, oh, my friends! light o'er my grave
The green sod lay, and dew it with the tear
Of memory affectionate! and you
—The curtain dropt decisive, oh my foes,
Your rancour drop; and, candid, as I am
Speak of me, hapless! Then you'll speak of one
Whose bosom beat at pity's gentlest touch
From earliest infancy: whose boyish mind
In acts humane and tender ever joy'd;
And who,—that temper by his inmost sense
Approv'd and cultivate with constant care,—
Melted thro' life at Sorrow's plaintive tale;
And urg'd, compassionate with pleasure ran
To soothe the sufferer and relieve the woe!
Of one, who, though to humble fortune bred,
With splendid generosity's bright form
Too ardently enamour'd, turn'd his sight,
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And parsimony needful! One who scorn'd
Mean love of gold, yet to that power,—his scorn
Retorting vengeful,—a mark'd victim fell!
Of one, who, unsuspecting, and ill-form'd
For the world's subtleties, his bare breast bore
Unguarded, open; and ingenuous, thought
All men ingenuous, frank and open too!
Of one, who, warm with human passions, soft
To tenderest impressions, frequent rush'd
Precipitate into the tangling maze
Of error;—instant to each fault alive
Who, in his little journey through the world—
Misled, deluded oft, mistook his way;
Met with bad roads and robbers, for his steps
Insidious lurking: and, by cunning craft
Of fellow-travellers sometimes deceiv'd,
Severely felt of cruelty and scorn,
Of envy, malice, and of ill report ,
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—From ignorance, from indiscretion blind,—
Ills numerous on his head; but never aim'd,
Nor wish'd an ill or injury to man!
Injur'd, with cheerful readiness forgave;
Nor for a moment in his happy heart
Harbour'd of malice or revenge a thought:
Still glad and blest to avenge his foes despite
By deeds of love benevolent!—Of one—
172
In duty, plac'd the summit of his joy;
Yet left that God, that blissful duty left,
Preposterous, vile deserter! and receiv'd
A just return—“Desertion from his God,
“And consequential plunge into the depth
“Of all his present—of all human woe!”
The following is a striking instance, and an alarming proof, that calumny and slander will one day grievously afflict the conscious mind.—A clergyman, with whom I had lived in much friendship, always ready to shew him every proof of civility, and for whom I had much esteem; after an absence of a twelve-month and more, sent me a line, that he was then in a dangerous state, apprehensive of speedy death. I flew to my friend with all zeal and speed; and found him, as it seemed, in a very dangerous way. Almost as soon as he saw me he burst into tears, and clasping my hands vehemently, said, “Oh, my dear Doctor, I could not die in peace without seeing you, and earnestly imploring your pardon. For amidst all the seeming friendship I shewed, I have been your bitter enemy. I have done all I could on every occasion to traduce and lessen you: Envy, base envy alone, being my motive; for I could not bear the brilliancy of your reputation, and the splendor of your abilities.—Can you forgive me?”
I was shocked; but with great truth told him to be perfectly at peace; that he had my most sincere forgiveness.—I did all I could to soothe his mind. He recovered; and surely must ever be my friend! Would to God what he then suffered may be a warning to him, and to all, how they indulge such diabolical passions; which, as being most opposite to the God who is love, cannot but sooner or later woefully distract the heart!
His feeble song to win attention) hear
And heed his dying counsel! Cautious, shun
The rocks on which he split. Cleave close to God,
Your Father, sure Protector, and Defence:
Forsake not his lov'd service; and your cause
Be sure he'll ne'er forsake. Initiate once
Happy and prosperous, in religion's course
Oh persevere unfainting! Nor to vice
Or tempting folly slightest parley give:
Their black tents never enter: On the watch
Continue unremitting, nor e'er slack
The necessary guard. Trivial neglects,
Smallest beginnings , to the wakeful foe
173
Thro' the minutest leak once sprung, the ship
In gayest and most gallant tackle trim.
By small neglects he fell!—
Principiis obsta: fero medicina paratur,
Cum mala per longas convaluere moras.
Sed propera; nec te venturas differ in horas.
Quil non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.
Cum mala per longas convaluere moras.
Sed propera; nec te venturas differ in horas.
Quil non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.
Ov. R. A. lib., 1. L. 91.
Blest ministers of peace, by his sad fall;
Gather increase of caution and of zeal;
And, seeing on what slippery edge ye stand,
Or foul and fatal lapse take the more heed;—
With deeper thankfulness he'd bow the knee,
While thus his fate productive prov'd of good
To you, of truth blest heralds! whom he views
With heart-felt anguish scandaliz'd, impugn'd
By his atrocious follies: But for that
Not honour'd less, or honourable, if rous'd,
Ev'n by his errors, wisely you maintain
Your high profession's dignity, and look
With single eye intent on the great work
Thrice holy, of your calling; happiest work
Of mortals here, “Salvation of mens souls.”
Oh envied pastor, who thus occupied
Looks down on low preferment's distant views
Contemptible; nor e'er his plotting mind
To little, mean servilities enslaves;
Forgetting duty's exercise sublime,
174
In frivolous converse on the rise of this,
Nor prospects flattering of that worldly clerk;
Strange inconsistency! marching aloft
With step superior and ambition's paw
To dignity's wish'd summit!—Nor allows
Envious, or spreads malicious the low tales
Diminishing of brethren, who by zeal,
Or eminence of merit in the cause,
The common cause of Christ, distinguish'd shine:
Of futile politics and party rage
Who, heedless, ever for the powers that be
In meek sincerity implores; and lives
Only to spread around the good, the peace,
The truth, the happiness, his open heart
Innocuous possesses, as the gift
Of him, the God of peace he serves and loves!
Much envied pastor! Ah, ye men of God,
Who crowd the levee, theatre, or court;
Foremost in each amusement's idle walk;
Of vice and vanity the sportive scorn,
The vaunted pillars;—ah, that ye were all
Such happy, envied pastors! how mankind
With eyes of reverence would devoutly look,
How would yourselves with eyes of pleasure look
On characters so uniform! while now,
What view is found less pleasing to the sight!
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Can inward look complacent where a void
Presents its desolations drear and dark.
Hence 'tis you turn (incapable to bear
Reflection's just resentment) your lull'd minds
To infantine amusements, and employ
The hours,—short hours, indulgent Heaven affords
For purposes most solemn,—in the toil
Of busy trifling; of diversions poor,
Which irritate as often as amuse:
Passions most low and sordid! With due shame,
With sorrow I regret—Oh pardon me
This mighty wrong!—that frequent by your side
Silent I've sat, and with a pitying eye
Your follies mark'd, and unadmonish'd left,
Tho' tenderly lamenting! Yet, at last,
—If haply not too late my friendly call
Strike on dead ears, oh profit by that call!
And, to the grave approaching, its alarms
Weigh with me all-considerate! Brief time
Advances quick in tread; few hours and dark
Remain: those hours in frivolous employ
Waste not impertinent; they ne'er return!
Nor deem it dulness to stand still and pause
When dread eternity hath claims so high.
Oh be those claims fulfill'd!
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Whom life's gay sunshine warms with laughing joy,
Pass you those claims unheeding!—In the bud
Of earliest rose oft have I sorrowing seen
The canker-worm lurk blighting; oft, ere noon,
The tulip have beheld drop its proud head
In eminent beauty open'd to the morn!
In youth, in beauty, in life's outward charms
Boast not self-flattering; virtue has a grace,
Religion has a power, which will preserve
Immortal your true excellence! Oh give
Early and happy your young hearts to God,
And God will smile in countless blessings on you!
Nor, captivate by fashion's idle glare,
And the world's shews delusive, dance the maze,
The same dull round, fatiguing and fatigu'd,
Till, discontented, down in folly's seat,
And disappointment's, worthless, toil'd, you sink,
Despising and despis'd! Your gentle hearts
To kind impressions yet susceptible,
Will amiably hear a friend's advice;
And if, perchance, amidst the giddy whirl
Of circling folly, his unheeded tongue
Hath whisper'd vanity, or not announc'd
Truth's salutary dictates to your ears,
Forgive the injury, my friends belov'd;
177
That and each fault, each error; with full eyes
Intreating you, by all your hopes and fears,
By all your dear anxieties; by all
You hold in life most precious, to attend,
To listen to his lore! to seek for bliss
In God, in piety; in hearts devote
To duty and to Heav'n! and seeking thus,
The treasure is your own. Angels on earth,
Thus pure and good, soon will ye mount, and live
Eternal angels with your Father—God!
Of admonition due, just self-contempt,
And frank expostulation's honest charge,
The needful debt thus paid; haste thou, my song,
As hastes my life,—brief shadow,—to its close!
Then farewell, oh my friends, most valued! bound
By consanguinity's endearing tye,
Or friendship's noble service, manly love,
And generous obligations! See, in all
—And spare the tear of pity—Heaven's high will
Ordaining wise and good. I see, I own
His dispensation, howsoever harsh,
To my hard heart, to my rebellious soul
Needful and salutary! His dread rod
Paternal, lo, I kiss; and to the stroke
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It weans me from the world; it proves how vain,
How poor the life of erring man!—hath taught,
Experimentally hath taught, to look
With scorn, with triumph upon death;—to wish
The moment come!—Oh were that moment come,
When, launch'd from all that's sinful here below,
Securely I shall sail along the tide
Of glorious eternity! My friends,
Belov'd and honour'd, oh that we were launch'd,
And sailing happy there, where shortly all
Must one day sail! Oh that in peaceful port
We all were landed! all together safe
In everlasting amity and love
With God, our God; our pilot thro' the storms
Of this life's sea!—But, why the frivolous wish?
Set a few suns,—a few more days decline,
And I shall meet you.—Oh the gladsome hour!
Meet you in glory,—nor with flowing tears
Afflicted drop my pen, and sigh Adieu?
END OF THE FIFTH WEEK.
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PIECES FOUND AMONGST THE AUTHOR'S PAPERS IN PRISON, WITH HIS LAST PRAYER.
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I. THE ADMONITION.
Afflicted prisoner, whosoe'er thou art,
To this lone room unhappily confin'd;
Be thy first business here to search thy heart,
And probe the deep corruptions of thy mind!
To this lone room unhappily confin'd;
Be thy first business here to search thy heart,
And probe the deep corruptions of thy mind!
Struck with the foul transgressions thou hast wrought,
With sin,—the source of all thy worldly woe;
To shame, to sorrow, to conviction brought,
Oh, fall before the throne of mercy low!
With sin,—the source of all thy worldly woe;
To shame, to sorrow, to conviction brought,
Oh, fall before the throne of mercy low!
With true Repentance pour thy soul in prayer,
And fervent plead the Saviour's cleansing blood:
Faith's ardent cry will pierce the Father's ear;
And Christ's a plea which cannot be withstood!
And fervent plead the Saviour's cleansing blood:
Faith's ardent cry will pierce the Father's ear;
And Christ's a plea which cannot be withstood!
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II. SCRIPTURE-PENITENTS.
(A Fragment.)
First in the list of penitents we place
The sinful parent of our sinful race;
Who by temptation foil'd, and man's first foe,
“Brought death into the world, and all our woe!”
The sinful parent of our sinful race;
Who by temptation foil'd, and man's first foe,
“Brought death into the world, and all our woe!”
Transgression's debt how deeply does he pay!
Depriv'd of innocence; to death a prey;
From Paradise expell'd; to toil assign'd,—
Toil of the fainting frame and sick'ning mind!
And doom'd to shed, for near a thousand years,
O'er fall'n descendants penitential tears!
Depriv'd of innocence; to death a prey;
From Paradise expell'd; to toil assign'd,—
Toil of the fainting frame and sick'ning mind!
And doom'd to shed, for near a thousand years,
O'er fall'n descendants penitential tears!
Thus seiz'd the triple league
on mortal man,
And thus, Repentance, thy sad reign began.
And thus, Repentance, thy sad reign began.
Yet, awful Power! how blest beneath thy sway,
Who feel Contrition's dictates, and obey!
Their vicious deviations who detest,
And hold Faith's cross, all-humbled, to their breast!
From God's lov'd presence then they need not fly
;
Nor ope in wrath the flood-gates of the sky:
For since to man perfection was deny'd,
By thee his deep demerits are supply'd:
And, led by thee a suppliant to the throne,
The God of mercy looks with pity down:
Smiles on the mourner, and delights to prove
How free is grace, and how triumphant love!
Who feel Contrition's dictates, and obey!
Their vicious deviations who detest,
And hold Faith's cross, all-humbled, to their breast!
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Nor ope in wrath the flood-gates of the sky:
For since to man perfection was deny'd,
By thee his deep demerits are supply'd:
And, led by thee a suppliant to the throne,
The God of mercy looks with pity down:
Smiles on the mourner, and delights to prove
How free is grace, and how triumphant love!
Eternal proof! See, bath'd in floods of tears,
Where David foremost in thy train appears:
How deep his crime, the prophet pictures well;
How deep his penitence, those sorrows tell!
That, whether to deplore the crime, or bless,
We stand suspended; since its evil less,
Less bright his soul's ingenuous grief had shone,
And less at once his comfort, and our own!
Where David foremost in thy train appears:
How deep his crime, the prophet pictures well;
How deep his penitence, those sorrows tell!
That, whether to deplore the crime, or bless,
We stand suspended; since its evil less,
Less bright his soul's ingenuous grief had shone,
And less at once his comfort, and our own!
Hear, like a torrent how his sorrows roll;
Conviction's tempest tearing up his soul!
Hear, sad and solemn, to the mournful strings,
In trembling anguish, how he weeps and sings!
Conviction's tempest tearing up his soul!
Hear, sad and solemn, to the mournful strings,
In trembling anguish, how he weeps and sings!
“Mercy, oh mercy, Lord! with humble heart;
“For thy known pity's sake, mercy I pray!
“Boundless in tender mercies as Thou art,
“Take, Lord! oh take my foul offence away!
“For thy known pity's sake, mercy I pray!
“Boundless in tender mercies as Thou art,
“Take, Lord! oh take my foul offence away!
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“Oh, from my loathsome guilt, wash, cleanse my soul;
“Remove, dear Father, each defiling stain:
“Guilty, oh, guilty, Lord! I own the whole;
“I see, I feel it; all excuse is vain.
“Remove, dear Father, each defiling stain:
“Guilty, oh, guilty, Lord! I own the whole;
“I see, I feel it; all excuse is vain.
“Against Thee, Lord! ev'n Thee, have I transgress'd;
“Lo, self-convicted, I before Thee fall!
“Just are thy words; their truth is thus confess'd;
“Just are thy judgments! Sinners are we all.
“Lo, self-convicted, I before Thee fall!
“Just are thy words; their truth is thus confess'd;
“Just are thy judgments! Sinners are we all.
“Prone to offend, or ere to birth I came,
“My mother, when conceiving, gave me guilt:
“Shapen in sin was my corrupted frame,
“When in the womb that wonderous frame was built.
“My mother, when conceiving, gave me guilt:
“Shapen in sin was my corrupted frame,
“When in the womb that wonderous frame was built.
“But Thou, of purer eyes than guilt to view,
“Thou wilt accept the soul's sincere desire;
“Pardon the past, the humbled heart renew,
“And wisdom by thy secret one inspire.
“Thou wilt accept the soul's sincere desire;
“Pardon the past, the humbled heart renew,
“And wisdom by thy secret one inspire.
“Then listen to my cry; and oh, my God,
“Purge me with hyssop, and I pure shall grow;
“Wash me, foul leper, in the mystic blood,
“And whiter I shall be than whitest snow.
“Purge me with hyssop, and I pure shall grow;
“Wash me, foul leper, in the mystic blood,
“And whiter I shall be than whitest snow.
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“Against the voice of gladness let me hear
“Thy voice of pardoning love, for it is sweet:
“The soul dejected so shalt thou uprear,—
“The worm which, crush'd, lies trembling at thy feet.
“Thy voice of pardoning love, for it is sweet:
“The soul dejected so shalt thou uprear,—
“The worm which, crush'd, lies trembling at thy feet.
“Hide from my sins,—the objects of thy hate,—
“Oh, hide thy face, and blot them from thy view:
“A clean heart, God of grace, in me create,
“And a right spirit in my soul renew!
“Oh, hide thy face, and blot them from thy view:
“A clean heart, God of grace, in me create,
“And a right spirit in my soul renew!
“From thy lov'd presence let me not be driven;
“Let me not lose thy blessed spirit's aid;
“Again the joy of thy salvation giv'n,
“Uphold, support, sustain my heart dismay'd.
“Let me not lose thy blessed spirit's aid;
“Again the joy of thy salvation giv'n,
“Uphold, support, sustain my heart dismay'd.
“Then, of thy pardoning mercy satisfy'd,
“Thy pardoning mercy loud will I proclaim:
“So shall transgressors, taught by me, confide
“In thy compassions; turn, and bless thy name.
“Thy pardoning mercy loud will I proclaim:
“So shall transgressors, taught by me, confide
“In thy compassions; turn, and bless thy name.
“Ah! my soul shudders!—From the guilt of blood,
“Oh, from blood-guiltiness deliver me!
“Oh God, deliver—my salvation's God,
“And praise unceasing will I pay to thee.
“Oh, from blood-guiltiness deliver me!
“Oh God, deliver—my salvation's God,
“And praise unceasing will I pay to thee.
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“Permit my lips, now clos'd by guilt and shame,
“Thy pardoning love, Jehovah, to express;
“Then to the list'ning world I'll tell thy name,
“Proclaim thy praise, and sing thy righeousness.
“Thy pardoning love, Jehovah, to express;
“Then to the list'ning world I'll tell thy name,
“Proclaim thy praise, and sing thy righeousness.
“For crimes like mine no offerings can atone;
“The gift of outward sacrifice is vain:
“Could these avail, before thy righteous throne
“Whole hecatombs I gladly would have slain.
“The gift of outward sacrifice is vain:
“Could these avail, before thy righteous throne
“Whole hecatombs I gladly would have slain.
“The contrite spirit and the sighs sincere,
“Which from the broken, bleeding heart arise,
“To thee more pleasing sacrifices are:
“Are gifts, my God, which thou wilt not depise.
“Which from the broken, bleeding heart arise,
“To thee more pleasing sacrifices are:
“Are gifts, my God, which thou wilt not depise.
“Hear then, and save! and to my people, Lord,
“Thy saving mercy graciously extend!
“Oh let our Zion live in thy regard;
“The walls of our Jerusalem defend!
“Thy saving mercy graciously extend!
“Oh let our Zion live in thy regard;
“The walls of our Jerusalem defend!
“So shall the righteous to thy temple go,
“And joyful bring their offering and their praise:
“So shall the blood of lambs in plenty flow,
“And incense on thy altar copious blaze .
“And joyful bring their offering and their praise:
“So shall the blood of lambs in plenty flow,
“And incense on thy altar copious blaze .
With joy, with grief, the penitent I see,
Offending Heav'n, yet Heav'n-absolv'd for me!
Oh while, like his, I feel my guilt and shame,
Be my repentance and my grief the same!
Then shall the truth which cheer'd his heart be mine;
Thy God has pardon'd thee, and life is thine.
Offending Heav'n, yet Heav'n-absolv'd for me!
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Be my repentance and my grief the same!
Then shall the truth which cheer'd his heart be mine;
Thy God has pardon'd thee, and life is thine.
But hark, my soul, what melancholy sound
Re-echoes from the dungeon's dark profound!
Hear, sympathetic hear: A King complains,
Fall'n from his throne, a prisoner, and in chains!
Re-echoes from the dungeon's dark profound!
Hear, sympathetic hear: A King complains,
Fall'n from his throne, a prisoner, and in chains!
“God of the world, at length thy rule I own,
“And prostrate fall before thy boundless throne:
“Thy power resistless, trembling I confess:
“In threat'nings awful, but in love no less!
“And prostrate fall before thy boundless throne:
“Thy power resistless, trembling I confess:
“In threat'nings awful, but in love no less!
“O what a blessing has that love assign'd,
“By penitence to heal the wounded mind!
“By penitence to sinners, who like me,
“More than th'unnumber'd sands that shore the sea,
“My crimes acknowledge; which, of crimson dye,
“In all their scarlet horrors meet my eye!
“By penitence to heal the wounded mind!
“By penitence to sinners, who like me,
“More than th'unnumber'd sands that shore the sea,
“My crimes acknowledge; which, of crimson dye,
“In all their scarlet horrors meet my eye!
“Oh eye, unworthy of the light of Heav'n:
“Oh sins too mountainous to be forgiv'n:
“Oh rebel to the law and love divine,
“How justly God's severest vengeance thine!
“Oh sins too mountainous to be forgiv'n:
“Oh rebel to the law and love divine,
“How justly God's severest vengeance thine!
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“But oh, I bend my heart's obedient knee,
“In supplication, Lord, for grace from Thee!
“Yes, I have sinn'd, and I confess the whole—
“Forgive me then, nor cast away my soul!
“Save me from evil,—from thine anger save,
“And snatch me from the dark, untimely grave!
“In supplication, Lord, for grace from Thee!
“Yes, I have sinn'd, and I confess the whole—
“Forgive me then, nor cast away my soul!
“Save me from evil,—from thine anger save,
“And snatch me from the dark, untimely grave!
“Friend of the contrite, Thou wilt pardon give:
“A monument of mercy I shall live!
“And worthless as I am, for ever prove,
“That true repentence leads to saving love!
“That true repentance tunes to praise the heart,
“And in the choir of Heaven shall bear an ample part !’
“A monument of mercy I shall live!
“And worthless as I am, for ever prove,
“That true repentence leads to saving love!
“That true repentance tunes to praise the heart,
“And in the choir of Heaven shall bear an ample part !’
Thus, by affliction's deep correction taught,
Manasseh to the Lord for mercy sought:
By the kind chastening of a Father's rod,
Brought to the knowledge of himself and God!
Happy affliction, for such knowledge giv'n;
And blest the dungeon which led thus to Heaven!
Manasseh to the Lord for mercy sought:
By the kind chastening of a Father's rod,
Brought to the knowledge of himself and God!
Happy affliction, for such knowledge giv'n;
And blest the dungeon which led thus to Heaven!
See Prayer of Manasseh, in the Apocrypha, next to the First book of Maccabees; and compare 2 Chron. xxxiii 21, &c.
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III. REFLECTIONS.
(UNFINISHED.)
Here, secluse from worldly pleasure,
In this doleful place confin'd,
Come, and let's improve the leisure:
Meditate, my thoughtful mind!
In this doleful place confin'd,
Come, and let's improve the leisure:
Meditate, my thoughtful mind!
Soul alike and body sharing,
How have I the one forgot!
While for t'other only caring,
Lo! my miserable lot!
How have I the one forgot!
While for t'other only caring,
Lo! my miserable lot!
Yet the one I so much cherish,
Doom'd to death when giv'n to life,
Soon, perhaps, must sink and perish,
Dust to dust—must end the strife!
Doom'd to death when giv'n to life,
Soon, perhaps, must sink and perish,
Dust to dust—must end the strife!
From a tedious tour returning,
Into distant foreign land,
How my anxious heart is burning
News of home to understand!
[OMITTED]
Into distant foreign land,
How my anxious heart is burning
News of home to understand!
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To My FRIENDS, Especially of the CHARITABLE SOCIETIES, On their Solicitude.
Ah, my lov'd friends! why all this care for one
To life so lost, so totally undone;
Whose meat and drink are only bitter tears,
Nights pass'd in sorrow, mornings wak'd to cares;
Whose deep offence sits heavy on his soul,
And thoughts self-torturing in deep tumult roll!
To life so lost, so totally undone;
Whose meat and drink are only bitter tears,
Nights pass'd in sorrow, mornings wak'd to cares;
Whose deep offence sits heavy on his soul,
And thoughts self-torturing in deep tumult roll!
Could you, by all your labours so humane,
From this dread prison his deliverance gain;
Could you, by kind exertions of your love,
To generous pardon royal mercy move,
Where should he fly? where hide his wretched head,
With shame so cover'd; so to honour dead?
From this dread prison his deliverance gain;
Could you, by kind exertions of your love,
To generous pardon royal mercy move,
Where should he fly? where hide his wretched head,
With shame so cover'd; so to honour dead?
Spare then the task, and, as he longs to die,
Set free the captive,—let his spirit fly,
Enlarg'd and happy, to its native sky!
Not doubting mercy from his grace to find,
Who bled upon the cross for all mankind.
Set free the captive,—let his spirit fly,
Enlarg'd and happy, to its native sky!
Not doubting mercy from his grace to find,
Who bled upon the cross for all mankind.
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But if it must not be;—if Heaven's high will
Ordains him yet a duty to fulfil;
Oh may each breath, while God that breath shall spare,
Be yours in gratitude, be Heaven's in prayer!
Deep as his sin, and low as his offence,
High be his rise thro' humblest penitence!
Ordains him yet a duty to fulfil;
Oh may each breath, while God that breath shall spare,
Be yours in gratitude, be Heaven's in prayer!
Deep as his sin, and low as his offence,
High be his rise thro' humblest penitence!
While, life or death,—mankind at least shall learn
From his sad story, and your kind concern,
That works of mercy, and a zeal to prove
By sympathetic aid the heart of love,
On earth itself a sure reward obtain;
Nor e'er fall pity's kindly drops in vain!
From his sad story, and your kind concern,
That works of mercy, and a zeal to prove
By sympathetic aid the heart of love,
On earth itself a sure reward obtain;
Nor e'er fall pity's kindly drops in vain!
I live a proof! and dying, round my urn
Affliction's family will crowd and mourn:
“Here rests our friend,” if weeping o'er my grave
They cry—'tis all the epitaph I crave.
Affliction's family will crowd and mourn:
“Here rests our friend,” if weeping o'er my grave
They cry—'tis all the epitaph I crave.
| Thoughts in Prison, in Five Parts | |