The Land of the Muses a poem, In the Manner of Spenser. With Poems on several Occasions. By Hugh Downman |
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| SONNETS. Wrote at Inversnaid, in Scotland, in the year 1767. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Land of the Muses |  |
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SONNETS. Wrote at Inversnaid, in Scotland, in the year 1767.
SONNET I.
[Hence Sickness, nor about my weary head]
Hence Sickness, nor about my weary headThy languid vapours wrap, and drooping wings:
Better would'st thou thy baleful poison shed
In some dark cave where the Night-raven sings,
Where heavy sits the gloom-delighted Owl,
Where Aconite its loathsome juices throws;
Where dwells the Bat, and Serpents hissing foul,
And fell Despair, who never knows repose:
There drag with thee the wretch, who has betray'd
His trust, has ruin'd innocence, or spilt
The sacred blood of him who gave him life;
Him torture there: nor will the lovely maid,
The sweet-ey'd Mercy, conscious of his guilt,
Restrain thy hand, or blunt thy sharpen'd knife.
SONNET II.
[Though here almost eternal Winter reigns]
Though here almost eternal Winter reigns,And piercing deep the womb of Nature chills;
Though born far off under a milder sky,
The northern blast e'en through my marrow thrills,
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The hardy natives o'er the mountains high,
Trace out the step of Health amid the snow;
Or where o'er the gray moss her bare feet stray:
Hence active nerves, and scorn of danger flow;
Hence when of late, call'd forth to mortal fray,
At their approach, Revenge more furious grew,
War smil'd, while triple Rage new steel'd his heart,
Pale bloodless Fear turn'd to a ghastlier hue,
And Death more dreadful shook his pointed dart.
SONNET III.
[When Recollection stirs up in the mind]
When Recollection stirs up in the mindAnd sets before her eye past scenes of woe,
In vain will the wise men their sayings bring
Dead, unimpassion'd, wrote in the full flow
Of health and strength, to nicer feelings blind:
In vain against Reflection's piercing sting,
They urge a formal phrase, or adage quaint,
And with a shrewd and well-turn'd point of wit,
Or a laborious studied argument,
Think to chase far away the fretful fit:
They might as well drink the wide ocean dry,
Or rob cold Winter of his snowy beard:
Spite of the vain saws of Philosophy,
Nature is prevalent, and will be heard.
SONNET IV.
[Now is the feudal vassalage destroy'd]
Now is the feudal vassalage destroy'd,By which the haughty Thane his subject train
Held at his will, and in confinement strong
Fetter'd the servile crew, and with stern reign
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No will they ever of their own enjoy'd,
But bent implicitly to his controul.
Now by degrees they find that Liberty
Opens the narrow foldings of the soul,
And they too dare to boast that they are free.
No more with rapine they the fields infest,
Or seek out Slaughter in her secret den;
But by the laws of equal Justice blest,
Humanely think, and feel that they are men.
| The Land of the Muses | |