The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose Now First Collected with a Prefatory Memoir by his Nephews W. E. and Sir Bartle Frere |
 | I. | VOL I. |
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| II. |
 | The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose |  |
I. VOL I.
clx
[“The mystery of the Turnspit in the Wheel]
“The mystery of the Turnspit in the Wheel,
He understood not but admired with zeal.”[OMITTED]
He understood not but admired with zeal.”[OMITTED]
“No longer he regrets his native groves,
His wonted haunt and his accustom'd rill;
He views the bakehouse, scullery, and stoves,
And from the leathern jack delights to swill.
He saw the Baker putting in some loaves,
And being quick and eager in his will,
He thrust him in, half-way, for an experiment—
It was not malice, it was only merriment.
[OMITTED]
His wonted haunt and his accustom'd rill;
He views the bakehouse, scullery, and stoves,
And from the leathern jack delights to swill.
He saw the Baker putting in some loaves,
And being quick and eager in his will,
It was not malice, it was only merriment.
“The monks had purchased for their chapel floor
Some foreign marbles, squares, of white and black;
It lay where it was left, upon the shore,
Till Ascopart convey'd it, on his back,
Through miry roads, eleven leagues and more,
Poked, like backgammon men, into a sack;
Went to the wood and kill'd a brace of bears,
Then drank six quarts of ale, and so to prayers.
Some foreign marbles, squares, of white and black;
It lay where it was left, upon the shore,
Till Ascopart convey'd it, on his back,
Through miry roads, eleven leagues and more,
Poked, like backgammon men, into a sack;
Went to the wood and kill'd a brace of bears,
Then drank six quarts of ale, and so to prayers.
“Besides all this he mended their mill dam,
Digging a trench to turn aside the flood;
And brought huge piles of wood to drive and ram,
Jamm'd in with stones to make it sound and good.
The story looks a little like a flam,
But in five days he built five stacks of wood,
To serve the convent for five winters' fire,
As high as their own convent-church or higher.
Digging a trench to turn aside the flood;
And brought huge piles of wood to drive and ram,
Jamm'd in with stones to make it sound and good.
The story looks a little like a flam,
But in five days he built five stacks of wood,
To serve the convent for five winters' fire,
As high as their own convent-church or higher.
“But most he show'd the goodness of his heart
In slaughtering swine and oxen for the year;
From dawn to sunset there was Ascopart,
With sweat, and blood, and garbage in a smear.
The butcher pointed out the rules of art—
‘I'll smite 'um,’ quoth the Giant, ‘never fear.’
The clapper of the great old broken bell
He bang'd about him with, and down they fell.
In slaughtering swine and oxen for the year;
From dawn to sunset there was Ascopart,
With sweat, and blood, and garbage in a smear.
The butcher pointed out the rules of art—
‘I'll smite 'um,’ quoth the Giant, ‘never fear.’
The clapper of the great old broken bell
He bang'd about him with, and down they fell.
“Pigs, when their throats were cut, amused him most—
All cantering and curvetting in a ring;
To see them as they jostled and they cross'd,
He swore it was a pastime for a king.—
Laugh'd and laid wagers and cried out, ‘ware post!’
And as the monks were teaching him to sing,
He criticized their squeaking, and found fault—
‘Come Pig! now for a holding note in Alt.’
All cantering and curvetting in a ring;
To see them as they jostled and they cross'd,
He swore it was a pastime for a king.—
Laugh'd and laid wagers and cried out, ‘ware post!’
And as the monks were teaching him to sing,
He criticized their squeaking, and found fault—
‘Come Pig! now for a holding note in Alt.’
“With such a size, and mass of limbs, and trunk,
And his loins girded with a hempen string,
He look'd, and might have been, a lordly monk;
Therefore I think it an unlucky thing
That at their vespers he was always drunk,
And that he never would be taught to sing,
But only saunter'd from the kitchen fire,
To howl and make a hubbub in the quire.
And his loins girded with a hempen string,
He look'd, and might have been, a lordly monk;
Therefore I think it an unlucky thing
That at their vespers he was always drunk,
And that he never would be taught to sing,
To howl and make a hubbub in the quire.
5
CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1786.
“I demens et sævas curre per Alpes,
Ut Pueris placeas et declamatio fias.”—
Juvenal.
Ut Pueris placeas et declamatio fias.”—
Juvenal.
“Climb o'er the Alps, thou rash, ambitious fool,
To please the boys, and be a theme at school.”—
Dryden.
To please the boys, and be a theme at school.”—
Dryden.
7
I.
Within the sounding quiver's hollow wombRepose the darts of praise and harmony;
Goddess, draw forth the chosen shaft; at whom
Shall the swift arrows of the muses fly?
By the great almighty mind
For man's highly favour'd race
Various blessings were design'd,
Bounties of superior grace;
Here the fat and fertile ground
Waves the flood of harvest round;
Or fervid wine's ecstatic juice
Cluster-curved vines produce;
A sullen land of lazy lakes
Rhine slowly winding to the ocean makes,
This rescued from the eager wave
Human art has dared to save,
While o'er each foggy pool and cheerless fen
Hums the busy buzz of men.
A warlike nation bent on deathful deeds
From daring actions safety seeks, and fame,
Rush through the ranks, where'er the battle bleeds,
Or whirl their neighing coursers through the flame.
The Indian youth beneath the shade
More loves repose and peace,
8
Sings indolence and ease.
II.
Thus far with unerring handAll ruling providence has plann'd,
Thus far impartial to divide
Nor all to one, nor one to all denied.
But Order, heav'n-descended queen,
Where'er you deign to go,
Alone you fix the bounds between
Our happiness and woe,
Nor wealth, nor peace, nor without thee
Heav'n's first best bounty, Liberty,
Can bless our native land.
Then come, O nymph! and o'er this isle
Dispense thy soul-subduing smile,
And stretch thy lenient hand.
III.
Before time was, before the DayShot through the skies his golden ray,
A sightless mass, a wasteful wild
Tumultuous gulph, was all this fair creation,
Till you the shapeless chaos reconciled,
Each part commanding to its proper station!
Then hills upheaved their verdant head,
Above a purer sky was spread,
And Ocean floated in his ample bed;
Then first creeping to the main
Rivers drew their tortuous train;
Then from her fertile womb the earth
Brought forth at one ample birth,
All that through the waste of sky
Borne on oary pinions fly,
Or through the deep's dark caverns roam,
And wallowing dash the sea to foam.
Tutor'd by your guiding sway,
The planets trace their pathless way,
The seasons in their order'd dance
In grateful interchange advance!
9
O'er favour'd man to stretch thy reign?
Then shall sedition's tempest cease,
The dashing storm be hush'd to peace,
The angry seas no longer roar,
But gently rolling kiss the shore,
While from the wave-worn rock the troubled waters pour.
IV.
When poised athwart the lurid air,The sword of vengeance pours a sanguine ray,
Or comets from their stream of blazing hair
Shake the blue pestilence, and adverse sway
Of refluous battle, o'er some high-viced land;
Through the sick air the power of poison flies,
By gentler breezes now no longer fann'd,
Sultry and still; the native breathes and dies.
Yet often free from selfish fear
The son attends his father's bed,
Nor will disdain the social tear
In pleasing painful mood to shed.—
When childing pine and cheerless penury,
Stretch o'er some needy house their wither'd hand,
Where modest want alone retires to die,
Yet social love has shed her influence bland,
To cheer the sullen gloom of poverty.
For 'tis decreed, that every social joy,
In its partition should be multiplied,
Still be the same, nor know the least alloy,
Though sympathy to thousands should divide
Our pleasures; but when urged by dire distress,
The grief by others felt is made the less.
V.
Not so the ills sedition sows,Midst sever'd friends, and kindred foes;
When the horrid joy of all
Embitters ev'ry private fall.
Creeping from her secret source
Sedition holds her silent course,
With wat'ry weeds and sordid sedge
Skirting her unnoted edge,
10
She sweeps along the fertile grounds;
And as in sullen solemn state she glides,
Receives into her train the tributary tides;
Then rushing headlong from some craggy steep
She pours impetuous down and hurries to the deep.
Ah! luckless he, who o'er the tide
Shall hope his fragile bark to guide;
While secure his sail is spread
The waves shall thunder o'er his head;
But if, long tempest-tost, once more
His crazy bark regain the shore,
There shall he sit and long lament
His youthful vigour vainly spent;
And others warn, but warn, alas! in vain,
In unambitious safety to remain.
Then happy he who to the gale
Nor trusts too much the varying sail,
Nor rashly launching forth amain
Attempts the terrors of the wat'ry plain;
But watchful, wary, when he sees
The ocean black beneath the breeze,
The cheerless sky with clouds o'erspread,
And darkness gath'ring round his head,
Trusts not too far, but hastes to seek
The shelter of some winding creek;
Thence sees the waves by whirlwinds tost,
And rash ambition's vessel lost;
Hears the mad pilot late deplore,
The shifting sail, the faithless oar,
And hears the shriek of death, the shriek that's heard no more.
31
MISCELLANIES.
1785—1792.
33
VERSES WRITTEN AT SIXTEEN.
“Ingenium ingens inculto latet hoc sub corpore.”
Philosophers of old dispute ye
Whether mere virtue without beauty,
Unhewn, unpolish'd, better is
Than vitium cum illecebris.
The man who, twenty years undusted,
In books and single life has rusted,
Contemns the world, commends his college,
And talks of solid sense and knowledge.
For through a medium form'd by reading,
Unrectified by sense or breeding,
Who views the world, but must despise?
Who is there will not trust his eyes?
And though ill-form'd, who will suspect
In his own judgment a defect?
A man brought hither from the moon
(For rhyme's sake) in an air balloon,
Would stare to see our people throw
Away their victuals when they sow;
But this good soul who saw corn sowing,
Yet had no notion of its growing,
Were he to laugh at us, I trust,
His censure would be thought unjust.
Who hears a story but half told,
Who knows no learning but the old,
Their judgments equally must fail
In censuring the times or tale:
34
Who looks at them with borrow'd eyes.
Now let us hear what says the beau—
“Politeness is a passe pour tout.
“Latin and Greek, old fogrum stuff,
“Don't signify a pinch of snuff.”
Suppose a house built, if you please,
With cornice, architrave, and frieze,
Entablature of colonnade,
And knicknacks of the building trade;
Grand and complete, it draws the eye
Of passengers a-riding by;
The very connoisseurs allow
No palace makes a nobler show;
Yet you would think the man but silly
Who having built this sumptuous villa,
Had not a tolerable room
To show his friends in when they come
This is the case of many a beau
Who gives up all for glare and show.
Outside and front all fine and burnish'd,
But the inner rooms are thinly furnish'd.
Suppose another's mind so grovelling
That a most execrable hovel in
He, strangely whimsey-struck, should like
To fix the pictures of Vandyke;
I say, if such a den he chose,
Each passer-by would turn his nose.
But should he chance to enter in,
'Twere then, indeed, another thing.
He'd talk of attitudes and contours,
Show his own taste and flatter yours;
And though a little odd your plan,
Call you a reasonable man;
But thousands that remain without
Think you a madman past all doubt.
This is the only difference on't,
To those who know you or who don't;
To seem a fool, the difference this
'Twixt pedant and 'twixt coxcomb is;
The man of real worth and merit,
The praise of either will inherit.
35
EPITAPH ON PLAUTUS.
Postquam morte datu'st, &c.
When comic Plautus first departed,
The scene was left, the stage deserted;
And wit and merriment, together
With mirth and humour, fled for ever.
EPITAPH ON NÆVIUS.
Mortalis immortalis flere, &c.
If goddesses for mortal men might weep,
A tear on Nævius should the Muse bestow;
Since Rome no longer does her language keep,
Now he is destined to the shades below.
38
METRICAL VERSION OF AN ODE ON ATHELSTAN'S VICTORY.
The mightiest of alle manne,
Was the gude kinge Athelstan,
Alle his knytis to hir medis
Weren riche and ryal wedis.
Edmond his brother, was a Knyt
Comelich, brave, and fair to syht.
At Brunenbruc in stour they faught;
Fiercer fray was never wraught.
Maille was split, and helmis roven,
The wall of shieldis down they cloven:
The Thanis which cold with Edmond fare
To meet the fomen well were yare.
For it was comen to hem of kynde
Hir londis and tresoúrs to fend.
Was the gude kinge Athelstan,
Alle his knytis to hir medis
Weren riche and ryal wedis.
Edmond his brother, was a Knyt
Comelich, brave, and fair to syht.
At Brunenbruc in stour they faught;
Fiercer fray was never wraught.
Maille was split, and helmis roven,
The wall of shieldis down they cloven:
The Thanis which cold with Edmond fare
To meet the fomen well were yare.
For it was comen to hem of kynde
Hir londis and tresoúrs to fend.
The kempis, whych was of Irlond,
On ilka daie, on ilka strond,
Weted with blude, and wounded, fell
Rapely smatin with the stell.
Grislich on the grund they groned;
Aboven, alle the hyls resounéd.
What for laboúr, and what for hete,
The kempis swate til they wer wete.
From morrow til the close of day,
Was the tyme of that journée.
On ilka daie, on ilka strond,
Weted with blude, and wounded, fell
Rapely smatin with the stell.
Grislich on the grund they groned;
Aboven, alle the hyls resounéd.
39
The kempis swate til they wer wete.
From morrow til the close of day,
Was the tyme of that journée.
Monie mon from Dacie sprong
The deth tholid, I underfong.
The Scottis fell in that bataille,
Whyche wer forwerid of travaille.
The West Saxonis wer ware,
When their foen away wold fare;
As they fled they did hem sewe
Wyth ghazand swerdis, that wel couth hew.
The cokins they n' olden staie,
For thir douten of that fraye.
The deth tholid, I underfong.
The Scottis fell in that bataille,
Whyche wer forwerid of travaille.
The West Saxonis wer ware,
When their foen away wold fare;
As they fled they did hem sewe
Wyth ghazand swerdis, that wel couth hew.
The cokins they n' olden staie,
For thir douten of that fraye.
The Mercians fought, I understond;
There was gamen of the hond.
Alle that with Anlaff hir way nom,
Over the seas in the shippes wome,
And the five sonnes of the kynge,
Fel mid dint of swerd-fightinge,
His seven erlis died alswo;
Many Scottes wer killed tho.
The Normannes, for their migty bost,
Went hame with a lytyl host.
The Kynge and frode syked sore
For hir kempis whyche wer forlore:
The Kynge and frode to schyppe gan flee,
Wyth mickel haste, but hir meguie.
Constantine gude, and Anlaff,
Lytyl bost hadde of the laif.
Maie he nat glosen, ne saie
But he was right wel appaie.
In Dacie of that gaming
Monie wemen hir hondis wring.
The Normannes passed that rivere,
Mid hevy hart, and sory chere.
The brothers to Wessex yode;
Leving the crowen, and the tode,
Hawkes, doggis, and wolves tho;
Egles, and monie other mo,
With the ded men for their mede
On hir corses for to fede.
There was gamen of the hond.
Alle that with Anlaff hir way nom,
Over the seas in the shippes wome,
And the five sonnes of the kynge,
Fel mid dint of swerd-fightinge,
His seven erlis died alswo;
Many Scottes wer killed tho.
The Normannes, for their migty bost,
Went hame with a lytyl host.
The Kynge and frode syked sore
For hir kempis whyche wer forlore:
The Kynge and frode to schyppe gan flee,
Wyth mickel haste, but hir meguie.
Constantine gude, and Anlaff,
Lytyl bost hadde of the laif.
Maie he nat glosen, ne saie
But he was right wel appaie.
In Dacie of that gaming
Monie wemen hir hondis wring.
The Normannes passed that rivere,
Mid hevy hart, and sory chere.
The brothers to Wessex yode;
Leving the crowen, and the tode,
Hawkes, doggis, and wolves tho;
40
With the ded men for their mede
On hir corses for to fede.
Sen the Saxonis first come
In schippes over the sea-fome,
Of the yeres that ben forgone,
Greater bataile was never none.
In schippes over the sea-fome,
Of the yeres that ben forgone,
Greater bataile was never none.
CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE ANTI-JACOBIN.
52
IMITATION. INSCRIPTION
FOR THE DOOR OF THE CELL IN NEWGATE, WHERE MRS. BROWNRIGG, THE PRENTICE-CIDE, WAS CONFINED PREVIOUS TO HER EXECUTION.
November 20, 1797.
For one long term, or e'er her trial came,
Here Brownrigg linger'd. Often have these cells
Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice
She screamed for fresh Geneva. Not to her
Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street,
St. Giles, its fair varieties expand;
Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart, she went
To execution. Dost thou ask her crime?
She whipp'd two female 'prentices to death,
And hid them in the coal-hole. For her mind
Shaped strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes!
Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine
Of the Orthyan goddess he bade flog
The little Spartans; such as erst chastised
Our Milton, when at college. For this act
Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come,
When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal'd!
Canning and Frere.
54
IMITATION. SAPPHICS.
THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.
Friend of Humanity.
Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order—
Bleak blows the blast;—your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order—
Bleak blows the blast;—your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!
“Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day “Knives and
“Scissars to grind O!”
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day “Knives and
“Scissars to grind O!”
“Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the 'squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the 'squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?
“Was it the 'squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tythes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
Covetous parson, for his tythes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
55
“(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.”
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.”
Knife-grinder.
“Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
“Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
—Stocks for a vagrant.
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
—Stocks for a vagrant.
“I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.”
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.”
Friend of Humanity.
“I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned first—
Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance—
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!
[Kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]
Canning and Frere.
70
LA SAINTE GUILLOTINE.
A NEW SONG.
I.
From the blood-bedew'd valleys and mountains of France,
See the genius of Gallic invasion advance!
Old ocean shall waft her, unruffled by storm,
While our shores are all lined with the Friends of Reform.
See the genius of Gallic invasion advance!
Old ocean shall waft her, unruffled by storm,
While our shores are all lined with the Friends of Reform.
Confiscation and Murder attend in her train,
With meek-eyed Sedition, the daughter of Paine;
While her sportive Poissardes with light footsteps are seen
To dance in a ring round the gay Guillotine.
With meek-eyed Sedition, the daughter of Paine;
While her sportive Poissardes with light footsteps are seen
To dance in a ring round the gay Guillotine.
71
II.
To London, “the rich, the defenceless,” she comes—
Hark! my boys, to the sound of the Jacobin drums!
See Corruption, Prescription, and Privilege fly,
Pierced through by the glance of her blood-darting eye.
Hark! my boys, to the sound of the Jacobin drums!
See Corruption, Prescription, and Privilege fly,
Pierced through by the glance of her blood-darting eye.
While patriots, from prison and prejudice freed,
In soft accents shall lisp the Republican creed,
And with tri-colour'd fillets and cravats of green,
Shall crowd round the altar of Saint Guillotine.
In soft accents shall lisp the Republican creed,
And with tri-colour'd fillets and cravats of green,
Shall crowd round the altar of Saint Guillotine.
III.
See the level of Freedom sweeps over the land—
The vile Aristocracy's doom is at hand!
Not a seat shall be left in a House that we know,
But for Earl Buonaparte and Baron Moreau.
The vile Aristocracy's doom is at hand!
Not a seat shall be left in a House that we know,
But for Earl Buonaparte and Baron Moreau.
But the rights of the Commons shall still be respected,
Buonaparte himself shall approve the elected;
And the Speaker shall march with majestical mien,
And make his three bows to the grave Guillotine.
Buonaparte himself shall approve the elected;
And the Speaker shall march with majestical mien,
And make his three bows to the grave Guillotine.
IV.
Two heads, says our proverb, are better than one,
But the Jacobin choice is for Five Heads or none.
By Directories only can Liberty thrive;
Then down with the One, boys! and up with the Five!
But the Jacobin choice is for Five Heads or none.
By Directories only can Liberty thrive;
Then down with the One, boys! and up with the Five!
How our bishops and judges will stare with amazement,
When their heads are thrust out at the National Casement!
When the National Razor has shaved them quite clean,
What a handsome oblation to Saint Guillotine!
When their heads are thrust out at the National Casement!
When the National Razor has shaved them quite clean,
What a handsome oblation to Saint Guillotine!
Canning and Frere.
73
THE SOLDIER'S FRIEND.
DACTYLICS.
Come, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack here:
I am the soldier's friend—here are some books for you;
Nice clever books by Tom Paine, the philanthropist.
I am the soldier's friend—here are some books for you;
Nice clever books by Tom Paine, the philanthropist.
Here's half-a-crown for you—here are some handbills too—
Go to the barracks, and give all the soldiers some.
Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny.
[Exit Drummer Boy, with handbills, and half-a-crown.
Manet Soldier's Friend.
Go to the barracks, and give all the soldiers some.
Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny.
Liberty's friends thus all learn to amalgamate,
Freedom's volcanic explosion prepares itself,
Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty.
Reason, philosophy, “fiddledum, diddledum,”
Peace and fraternity, higgledy, piggledy,
Higgledy, piggledy, “fiddledum, diddledum.”
Freedom's volcanic explosion prepares itself,
Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty.
Reason, philosophy, “fiddledum, diddledum,”
Peace and fraternity, higgledy, piggledy,
Higgledy, piggledy, “fiddledum, diddledum.”
Et cætera, et cætera, et cætera.
Canning and Frere.
SONG.
January 8, 1798.
You have heard of Rewbell,
That demon of hell,
And of Barras, his brother Director;
Of the canting Lepaux,
And that scoundrel Moreau,
Who betray'd his old friend and protector.
That demon of hell,
And of Barras, his brother Director;
Of the canting Lepaux,
And that scoundrel Moreau,
Who betray'd his old friend and protector.
74
Would you know how these friends,
For their own private ends,
Would subvert our religion and throne?—
Do you doubt of their skill
To change laws at their will?—
You shall hear how they treated their own.
For their own private ends,
Would subvert our religion and throne?—
Do you doubt of their skill
To change laws at their will?—
You shall hear how they treated their own.
'Twas their pleasure to look,
In a little blue book,
At the code of their famed legislation,
That with truth they might say,
In the space of one day
They had broke every law of the nation.
In a little blue book,
At the code of their famed legislation,
That with truth they might say,
In the space of one day
They had broke every law of the nation.
The first law that they see,
Is “the press shall be free!”
The next is “the trial by jury:”
Then, “the people's free choice;”
Then, “the members' free voice”—
When Rewbell exclaim'd in a fury—
Is “the press shall be free!”
The next is “the trial by jury:”
Then, “the people's free choice;”
Then, “the members' free voice”—
When Rewbell exclaim'd in a fury—
“On a method we'll fall
For infringing them all—
We'll seize on each printer and member:
No period so fit
For a desperate hit,
As our old bloody month of September.
For infringing them all—
We'll seize on each printer and member:
No period so fit
For a desperate hit,
As our old bloody month of September.
“We'll annul each election
Which wants our correction,
And name our own creatures instead.
When once we've our will,
No blood we will spill,
(Let Carnot be knock'd on the head).
Which wants our correction,
And name our own creatures instead.
When once we've our will,
No blood we will spill,
(Let Carnot be knock'd on the head).
“To Rochefort we'll drive
Our victims alive,
And as soon as on board we have got 'em,
Since we destine the ship
For no more than one trip,
We can just make a hole in the bottom.
Our victims alive,
And as soon as on board we have got 'em,
Since we destine the ship
For no more than one trip,
We can just make a hole in the bottom.
“By this excellent plan,
On the true Rights of Man,
When we've founded our fifth Revolution,
Thou England's our foe,
An army shall go
To improve her corrupt Constitution.
On the true Rights of Man,
75
Thou England's our foe,
An army shall go
To improve her corrupt Constitution.
“We'll address to the nation
A fine proclamation,
With offers of friendship so warm:
Who can give Buonaparté
A welcome so hearty
As the friends of a thorough reform?”
A fine proclamation,
With offers of friendship so warm:
Who can give Buonaparté
A welcome so hearty
As the friends of a thorough reform?”
Canning, Ellis, and Frere.
THE PROGRESS OF MAN.
A DIDACTIC POEM, IN FORTY CANTOS, WITH NOTES CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY: CHIEFLY OF A PHILOSOPHICAL TENDENCY. DEDICATED TO R. P. KNIGHT, ESQ.
February 19, 1798.
CANTO FIRST.
Contents.—The Subject proposed.—Doubts and Waverings.—Queries not to be answered.—Formation of the stupendous Whole.—Cosmogony; or the Creation of the World:—the Devil—Man—Various classes of Being:— Animated Beings—Birds—Fish—Beasts—the Influence of the Sexual Appetite—on Tigers—on Whales—on Crimpt Cod—on Perch—on Shrimps— on Oysters.—Various Stations assigned to different Animals:—Birds—Bears —Mackerel.—Bears remarkable for their fur—Mackerel cried on a Sunday— Birds do not graze—nor Fishes fly—nor beasts live in the Water.—Plants equally contented with their lot:—Potatoes—Cabbage—Lettuce—Leeks— Cucumbers.—Man only discontented—born a Savage; not choosing to continue so, becomes polished—resigns his Liberty—Priest-craft—King-craft— Tyranny of Laws and Institutions.—Savage life—description thereof:—The Savage free—roaming Woods—feeds on Hips and Haws—Animal Food—first notion of it from seeing a Tiger tearing his prey—wonders if it is good— resolves to try—makes a Bow and Arrow—kills a Pig or two—resolves to roast a part of them—lights a fire—Apostrophe to fires—Spits and Jacks not yet invented.—Digression.—Corinth—Sheffield.—Love, the most natural desire after Food.—Savage Courtship.—Concubinage recommended.—Satirical Reflections on Parents and Children—Husbands and Wives—against collateral Consanguinity.—Freedom the only Morality, &c. &c. &c.
76
Whether some great, supreme, o'er-ruling Power
Stretch'd forth its arm at Nature's natal hour,
Composed this mighty Whole with plastic skill,
Wielding the jarring elements at will?
Or whether sprung from Chaos' mingling storm,
The mass of matter started into form?
Or Chance o'er earth's green lap spontaneous fling
The fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring?
Whether material substance unrefined,
Owns the strong impulse of instinctive mind,
Which to one centre points diverging lines,
Confounds, refracts, invig'rates, and combines?
Whether the joys of earth, the hopes of heaven,
By man to God, or God to man, were given?
If virtue leads to bliss, or vice to woe?
Who rules above? or who reside below?”
Vain questions all—shall man presume to know?
On all these points, and points obscure as these,
Think they who will,—and think whate'er they please!
Stretch'd forth its arm at Nature's natal hour,
Composed this mighty Whole with plastic skill,
Wielding the jarring elements at will?
Or whether sprung from Chaos' mingling storm,
The mass of matter started into form?
Or Chance o'er earth's green lap spontaneous fling
The fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring?
Whether material substance unrefined,
Owns the strong impulse of instinctive mind,
Which to one centre points diverging lines,
Confounds, refracts, invig'rates, and combines?
Whether the joys of earth, the hopes of heaven,
By man to God, or God to man, were given?
If virtue leads to bliss, or vice to woe?
Who rules above? or who reside below?”
Vain questions all—shall man presume to know?
On all these points, and points obscure as these,
Think they who will,—and think whate'er they please!
Let us a plainer, steadier theme pursue—
Mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe;
Mark the dark rook, on pendant branches hung,
With anxious fondness feed her cawing young.—
Mark the fell leopard through the desert prowl,
Fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl;—
How Lybian tigers' chawdrons Love assails,
And warms, midst seas of ice, the melting whales;—
Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts,
Shrinks shrivell'd shrimps, but opens oysters' hearts;
Then say, how all these things together tend
To one great truth, prime object, and good end?
Mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe;
77
With anxious fondness feed her cawing young.—
Mark the fell leopard through the desert prowl,
Fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl;—
How Lybian tigers' chawdrons Love assails,
And warms, midst seas of ice, the melting whales;—
Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts,
Shrinks shrivell'd shrimps, but opens oysters' hearts;
Then say, how all these things together tend
To one great truth, prime object, and good end?
First—to each living thing, whate'er its kind,
Some lot, some part, some station is assign'd.
The feather'd race with pinions skim the air—
Not so the mackerel, and still less the bear:
This roams the wood, carniv'rous, for his prey!
That with soft roe pursues his watery way:
This slain by hunters, yields his shaggy hide;
That, caught by fishers, is on Sundays cried.—
Some lot, some part, some station is assign'd.
The feather'd race with pinions skim the air—
Not so the mackerel, and still less the bear:
This roams the wood, carniv'rous, for his prey!
That with soft roe pursues his watery way:
This slain by hunters, yields his shaggy hide;
That, caught by fishers, is on Sundays cried.—
But each contented with his humble sphere,
Moves unambitious through the circling year;
Nor e'er forgets the fortunes of his race,
Nor pines to quit, or strives to change, his place.
Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise,
Clap his broad wings, and soaring claim the skies?
When did the owl, descending from her bow'r
Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flow'r;
Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb,
In the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim?
Moves unambitious through the circling year;
Nor e'er forgets the fortunes of his race,
Nor pines to quit, or strives to change, his place.
Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise,
Clap his broad wings, and soaring claim the skies?
When did the owl, descending from her bow'r
Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flow'r;
78
In the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim?
The same with plants—potatoes 'tatoes breed—
Uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed;
Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed;
Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume
To flow'r like myrtle, or like violets bloom.
—Man only,—rash, refined, presumptuous man,
Starts from his rank, and mars creation's plan.
Born the free heir of nature's wide domain,
To art's strict limits bounds his narrow'd reign;
Resigns his native rights for meaner things,
For faith and fetters—laws, and priests, and kings.
Uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed;
Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed;
Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume
To flow'r like myrtle, or like violets bloom.
—Man only,—rash, refined, presumptuous man,
Starts from his rank, and mars creation's plan.
Born the free heir of nature's wide domain,
To art's strict limits bounds his narrow'd reign;
Resigns his native rights for meaner things,
For faith and fetters—laws, and priests, and kings.
(To be continued.)
Canning.
February 26, 1798.
79
See the rude savage, free from civil strife,
Keeps the smooth tenour of his guiltless life;
Restrain'd by none, save Nature's lenient laws,
Quaffs the clear stream, and feeds on hips and haws.
Light to his daily sports behold him rise!
The bloodless banquet health and strength supplies.
Bloodless not long—one morn he haps to stray
Through the lone wood—and close beside the way,
See the gaunt tiger tear his trembling prey;
Beneath whose gory fangs a leveret bleeds,
Or pig—such pig as fertile China breeds.
Keeps the smooth tenour of his guiltless life;
Restrain'd by none, save Nature's lenient laws,
Quaffs the clear stream, and feeds on hips and haws.
Light to his daily sports behold him rise!
The bloodless banquet health and strength supplies.
Bloodless not long—one morn he haps to stray
Through the lone wood—and close beside the way,
See the gaunt tiger tear his trembling prey;
Beneath whose gory fangs a leveret bleeds,
Or pig—such pig as fertile China breeds.
80
Struck with the sight, the wondering savage stands,
Rolls his broad eyes, and clasps his lifted hands!
Then restless roams—and loathes his wonted food;
Shuns the salubrious stream, and thirsts for blood.
Rolls his broad eyes, and clasps his lifted hands!
Then restless roams—and loathes his wonted food;
Shuns the salubrious stream, and thirsts for blood.
By thought matured, and quicken'd by desire,
New arts, new arms, his wayward wants require.
From the tough yew a slender branch he tears,
With self-taught skill the twisted grass prepares;
Th' unfashion'd bow, with labouring efforts bends
In circling form, and joins th' unwilling ends.
Next some tall reed he seeks—with sharp-edged stone
Shapes the fell dart, and points with whiten'd bone.
Then forth he fares—around in careless play,
Kids, pigs, and lambkins unsuspecting stray.
With grim delight he views the sportive band,
Intent on blood, and lifts his murderous hand,
Twangs the bent bow—resounds the fateful dart
Swift-wing'd, and trembles in a porker's heart.
New arts, new arms, his wayward wants require.
From the tough yew a slender branch he tears,
With self-taught skill the twisted grass prepares;
Th' unfashion'd bow, with labouring efforts bends
In circling form, and joins th' unwilling ends.
Next some tall reed he seeks—with sharp-edged stone
Shapes the fell dart, and points with whiten'd bone.
Then forth he fares—around in careless play,
Kids, pigs, and lambkins unsuspecting stray.
With grim delight he views the sportive band,
Intent on blood, and lifts his murderous hand,
Twangs the bent bow—resounds the fateful dart
Swift-wing'd, and trembles in a porker's heart.
Ah, hapless porker! what can now avail
Thy back's stiff bristles, or thy curly tail?
Ah! what avail those eyes so small and round,
Long pendent ears, and snout that loves the ground?
Thy back's stiff bristles, or thy curly tail?
Ah! what avail those eyes so small and round,
Long pendent ears, and snout that loves the ground?
Not unrevenged thou diest!—in after times
From thy spilt blood shall spring unnumber'd crimes.
Soon shall the slaught'rous arms that wrought thy woe,
Improved by malice, deal a deadlier blow;
When social man shall pant for nobler game,
And 'gainst his fellow man the vengeful weapon aim.
From thy spilt blood shall spring unnumber'd crimes.
Soon shall the slaught'rous arms that wrought thy woe,
Improved by malice, deal a deadlier blow;
When social man shall pant for nobler game,
And 'gainst his fellow man the vengeful weapon aim.
81
As love, as gold, as jealousy inspires,
As wrathful hate, or wild ambition fires,
Urged by the statesman's craft, the tyrant's rage,
Embattled nations endless wars shall wage,
Vast seas of blood the ravaged field shall stain,
And millions perish—that a king may reign!
As wrathful hate, or wild ambition fires,
Urged by the statesman's craft, the tyrant's rage,
Embattled nations endless wars shall wage,
Vast seas of blood the ravaged field shall stain,
And millions perish—that a king may reign!
For blood once shed, new wants and wishes rise;
Each rising want invention quick supplies.
To roast his victuals is man's next desire,
So two dry sticks he rubs, and lights a fire;
Hail, fire, &c. &c.
Each rising want invention quick supplies.
To roast his victuals is man's next desire,
So two dry sticks he rubs, and lights a fire;
Hail, fire, &c. &c.
Canning.
82
CANTO TWENTY-THIRD.
CONTENTS.
On Marriage.—Marriage being indissoluble the cause of its being so often unhappy.—Nature's laws not consulted in this point.—Civilized nations mistaken.—Otaheite: Happiness of the natives thereof—visited by Captain Cook, in his Majesty's ship Endeavour—Character of Captain Cook.—Address to Circumnavigation.—Description of His Majesty's Ship Endeavour—Mast, rigging, sea sickness, prow, poop, mess-room, surgeon's mate—History of one.—Episode concerning naval chirurgery.—Catching a Thunny Fish.— Arrival at Otaheite—cast anchor—land—Natives astonished.—Love—Liberty —Moral—Natural—Religious—Contrasted with European manners.— Strictness—Licence—Doctor's Commons.—Dissolubility of Marriage recommended—Illustrated by a game at Cards—Whist—Cribbage—Partners changed—Why not the same in Marriage?—Illustrated by a River.—Love free.—Priests, Kings.—German Drama.—Kotzebue's “Housekeeper Reformed”—to be translated.—Moral employments of Housekeeping described. —Hottentots sit and stare at each other—Query, why?—Address to the Hottentots.—History of the Cape of Good Hope.—Resumé of the Arguments against Marriage.—Conclusion.
83
EXTRACT.
Hail! beauteous lands that crown the Southern Seas;
Dear happy seats of Liberty and Ease!
Hail! whose green coasts the peaceful ocean laves,
Incessant washing with its watery waves!
Delicious islands! to whose envied shore
Thee, gallant Cook! the ship Endeavour bore.
Dear happy seats of Liberty and Ease!
Hail! whose green coasts the peaceful ocean laves,
Incessant washing with its watery waves!
Delicious islands! to whose envied shore
Thee, gallant Cook! the ship Endeavour bore.
There laughs the sky, there zephyr's frolic train,
And light-wing'd loves, and blameless pleasures reign:
There, when two souls congenial ties unite,
No hireling Bonzes chant the mystic rite;
Free every thought, each action unconfined,
And light those fetters which no rivets bind.
And light-wing'd loves, and blameless pleasures reign:
There, when two souls congenial ties unite,
No hireling Bonzes chant the mystic rite;
Free every thought, each action unconfined,
And light those fetters which no rivets bind.
There in each grove, each sloping bank along,
And flow'rs and shrubs and odorous herbs among,
Each shepherd clasp'd, with undisguised delight,
His yielding fair one,—in the Captain's sight;
Each yielding fair, as chance or fancy led,
Preferr'd new lovers to her sylvan bed.
And flow'rs and shrubs and odorous herbs among,
Each shepherd clasp'd, with undisguised delight,
His yielding fair one,—in the Captain's sight;
Each yielding fair, as chance or fancy led,
Preferr'd new lovers to her sylvan bed.
Learn hence, each nymph, whose free aspiring mind
Europe's cold laws, and colder customs bind—
O! learn, what Nature's genial laws decree—
What Otaheite is, let Britain be!
Europe's cold laws, and colder customs bind—
O! learn, what Nature's genial laws decree—
What Otaheite is, let Britain be!
84
Of whist or cribbage mark th' amusing game—
The partners changing, but the sport the same.
Else would the gamester's anxious ardour cool,
Dull every deal, and stagnant every pool.
Yet must one Man, with one unceasing Wife,
Play the long rubber of connubial life.
Yes! human laws, and laws esteem'd divine,
The generous passion straighten and confine;
And, as a stream, when art constrains its course,
Pours its fierce torrent with augmented force,
So, Passion narrow'd to one channel small,
Unlike the former, does not flow at all.
For Love then only flaps his purple wings,
When uncontroll'd by priestcraft or by kings.
The partners changing, but the sport the same.
Else would the gamester's anxious ardour cool,
Dull every deal, and stagnant every pool.
Yet must one Man, with one unceasing Wife,
Play the long rubber of connubial life.
Yes! human laws, and laws esteem'd divine,
The generous passion straighten and confine;
And, as a stream, when art constrains its course,
Pours its fierce torrent with augmented force,
So, Passion narrow'd to one channel small,
Unlike the former, does not flow at all.
For Love then only flaps his purple wings,
When uncontroll'd by priestcraft or by kings.
Such the strict rules, that, in these barbarous climes,
Choke youth's fair flow'rs, and feelings turn to crimes:
And people every walk of polish'd life
With that two-headed monster, Man and Wife.
Choke youth's fair flow'rs, and feelings turn to crimes:
And people every walk of polish'd life
With that two-headed monster, Man and Wife.
Yet bright examples sometimes we observe,
Which from the general practice seem to swerve;
Such as presented to Germania's view,
A Kotzebue's bold emphatic pencil drew:
Such as, translated in some future age,
Shall add new glories to the British stage;
—While the moved audience sit in dumb despair,
“Like Hottentots, and at each other stare.”
Which from the general practice seem to swerve;
Such as presented to Germania's view,
A Kotzebue's bold emphatic pencil drew:
Such as, translated in some future age,
Shall add new glories to the British stage;
—While the moved audience sit in dumb despair,
“Like Hottentots, and at each other stare.”
85
With look sedate, and staid beyond her years,
In matron weeds a Housekeeper appears.
The jingling keys her comely girdle deck—
Her 'kerchief colour'd, and her apron check.
Can that be Adelaide, that “soul of whim,”
Reform'd in practice, and in manner prim?
—On household cares intent, with many a sigh
She turns the pancake, and she moulds the pie;
Melts into sauces rich the savoury ham:
From the crush'd berry strains the lucid jam;
Bids brandied cherries, by infusion slow,
Imbibe new flavour, and their own forego,
Sole cordial of her heart, sole solace of her woe!
While still, responsive to each mournful moan,
The saucepan simmers in a softer tone.
In matron weeds a Housekeeper appears.
The jingling keys her comely girdle deck—
Her 'kerchief colour'd, and her apron check.
Can that be Adelaide, that “soul of whim,”
Reform'd in practice, and in manner prim?
—On household cares intent, with many a sigh
She turns the pancake, and she moulds the pie;
Melts into sauces rich the savoury ham:
From the crush'd berry strains the lucid jam;
Bids brandied cherries, by infusion slow,
Imbibe new flavour, and their own forego,
Sole cordial of her heart, sole solace of her woe!
While still, responsive to each mournful moan,
The saucepan simmers in a softer tone.
Canning and Frere.
88
THE LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES.
A MATHEMATICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL POEM.
INSCRIBED TO DR. DARWIN.
ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST CANTO.
Warning to the profane not to approach—Nymphs and Deities of Mathematical Mythology—Cyclois of a pensive disposition—Pendulums, the contrary, playful—and why?—Sentimental Union of the Naiads and Hydrostatics—Marriage of Euclid and Algebra.—Pulley the emblem of Mechanics—Optics of a licentious disposition—distinguished by her telescope and green spectacles.—Hyde Park Gate on a Sunday morning—Cockneys—Coaches—Didactic Poetry—Nonsensia—Love delights in Angles or Corners—Theory of Fluxions explained—Trochais, the Nymph of the Wheel—Smoke-Jack described—Personification of elementary or culinary Fire—Little Jack Horner—Story of Cinderella—Rectangle, a Magician, educated by Plato and Menecmus—in love with Three Curves at the same time—served by Gins, or Genii—transforms himself
89
CANTO I.
Stay your rude steps, or e'er your feet invade
The Muses' haunts, ye sons of War and Trade!
Nor you, ye legion fiends of Church and Law,
Pollute these pages with unhallow'd paw!
Debased, corrupted, grovelling, and confined,
No Definitions touch your senseless mind;
To you no Postulates prefer their claim,
No ardent Axioms your dull souls inflame;
For you, no Tangents touch, no Angles meet,
No Circles join in osculation sweet!
The Muses' haunts, ye sons of War and Trade!
Nor you, ye legion fiends of Church and Law,
Pollute these pages with unhallow'd paw!
Debased, corrupted, grovelling, and confined,
No Definitions touch your senseless mind;
To you no Postulates prefer their claim,
No ardent Axioms your dull souls inflame;
For you, no Tangents touch, no Angles meet,
No Circles join in osculation sweet!
90
For me, ye Cissoids, round my temples bend
Your wandering curves; ye Conchoids extend;
Let playful Pendules quick vibration feel,
While silent Cyclois rests upon her wheel;
Let Hydrostatics, simpering as they go,
Lead the light Naiads on fantastic toe;
Let shrill Acoustics tune the tiny lyre;
With Euclid sage fair Algebra conspire;
The obedient pulley strong Mechanics ply,
And wanton Optics roll the melting eye!
Your wandering curves; ye Conchoids extend;
Let playful Pendules quick vibration feel,
While silent Cyclois rests upon her wheel;
Let Hydrostatics, simpering as they go,
Lead the light Naiads on fantastic toe;
Let shrill Acoustics tune the tiny lyre;
With Euclid sage fair Algebra conspire;
The obedient pulley strong Mechanics ply,
And wanton Optics roll the melting eye!
I see the fair fantastic forms appear,
The flaunting drapery, and the languid leer;
Fair sylphish forms—who, tall, erect, and slim,
Dart the keen glance, and stretch the length of limb;
To viewless harpings weave the meanless dance,
Wave the gay wreath, and titter as they prance.
The flaunting drapery, and the languid leer;
Fair sylphish forms—who, tall, erect, and slim,
Dart the keen glance, and stretch the length of limb;
To viewless harpings weave the meanless dance,
Wave the gay wreath, and titter as they prance.
Such rich confusion charms the ravish'd sight,
When vernal Sabbaths to the Park invite.
Mounts the thick dust, the coaches crowd along,
Presses round Grosvenor Gate th'impatient throng;
White-muslined misses and mammas are seen,
Link'd with gay cockneys, glittering o'er the green:
The rising breeze unnumber'd charms displays,
And the tight ancle strikes th' astonished gaze.
91
Mounts the thick dust, the coaches crowd along,
Presses round Grosvenor Gate th'impatient throng;
White-muslined misses and mammas are seen,
Link'd with gay cockneys, glittering o'er the green:
The rising breeze unnumber'd charms displays,
And the tight ancle strikes th' astonished gaze.
But chief, thou Nurse of the Didactic Muse,
Divine Nonsensia, all thy soul infuse;
The charms of Secants and of Tangents tell,
How Loves and Graces in an Angle dwell;
How slow progressive Points protract the Line,
As pendent spiders spin the filmy twine;
How lengthen'd Lines, impetuous sweeping round,
Spread the wide Plane, and mark its circling bound;
How Planes, their substance with their motion grown,
Form the huge Cube, the Cylinder, the Cone.
Divine Nonsensia, all thy soul infuse;
The charms of Secants and of Tangents tell,
How Loves and Graces in an Angle dwell;
How slow progressive Points protract the Line,
As pendent spiders spin the filmy twine;
How lengthen'd Lines, impetuous sweeping round,
Spread the wide Plane, and mark its circling bound;
How Planes, their substance with their motion grown,
Form the huge Cube, the Cylinder, the Cone.
92
Lo! where the chimney's sooty tube ascends,
The fair Trochais from the corner bends!
Her coal-black eyes upturn'd, incessant mark
The eddying smoke, quick flame, and volant spark;
Dart her quick ken, where flashing in between,
Her much-loved Smoke-Jack glimmers thro' the scene;
Mark how his various parts together tend,
Point to one purpose,—in one object end;
The spiral grooves in smooth meanders flow,
Drags the long chain, the polish'd axles glow,
While slowly circumvolves the piece of beef below:
The conscious fire with bickering radiance burns,
Eyes the rich joint, and roasts it as it turns.
The fair Trochais from the corner bends!
Her coal-black eyes upturn'd, incessant mark
The eddying smoke, quick flame, and volant spark;
Dart her quick ken, where flashing in between,
Her much-loved Smoke-Jack glimmers thro' the scene;
Mark how his various parts together tend,
Point to one purpose,—in one object end;
The spiral grooves in smooth meanders flow,
Drags the long chain, the polish'd axles glow,
While slowly circumvolves the piece of beef below:
The conscious fire with bickering radiance burns,
Eyes the rich joint, and roasts it as it turns.
So youthful Horner roll'd the roguish eye,
Cull'd the dark plum from out his Christmas pie,
And cried, in self-applause—“How good a boy am I.”
Cull'd the dark plum from out his Christmas pie,
And cried, in self-applause—“How good a boy am I.”
93
So, the sad victim of domestic spite,
Fair Cinderella, pass'd the wintry night,
In the lone chimney's darksome nook immured,
Her form disfigured, and her charms obscured.
Sudden her godmother appears in sight,
Lifts the charm'd rod, and chants the mystic rite;
The chanted rite the maid attentive hears,
And feels new ear-rings deck her listening ears;
While 'midst her towering tresses, aptly set,
Shines bright, with quivering glance, the smart aigrette;
Brocaded silks the splendid dress complete,
And the Glass Slipper grasps her fairy feet.
Six cock-tail'd mice transport her to the ball,
And livery'd lizards wait upon her call.
Fair Cinderella, pass'd the wintry night,
In the lone chimney's darksome nook immured,
Her form disfigured, and her charms obscured.
Sudden her godmother appears in sight,
Lifts the charm'd rod, and chants the mystic rite;
The chanted rite the maid attentive hears,
And feels new ear-rings deck her listening ears;
While 'midst her towering tresses, aptly set,
Shines bright, with quivering glance, the smart aigrette;
Brocaded silks the splendid dress complete,
And the Glass Slipper grasps her fairy feet.
Six cock-tail'd mice transport her to the ball,
And livery'd lizards wait upon her call.
Frere.
94
The sly Rectangle's too licentious love!
For three bright nymphs, &c. &c.
(To be continued.)
(Continued.)
April 23, 1798.
Alas! that partial Science should approve
The sly Rectangle's too licentious love!
For three bright nymphs the wily wizard burns;—
Three bright-eyed nymphs requite his flame by turns.
Strange force of magic skill! combined of yore
With Plato's science and Menecmus' lore.
In Afric's schools, amid those sultry sands
High on its base where Pompey's pillar stands,
This learnt the Seer; and learnt, alas! too well,
Each scribbled talisman, and smoky spell:
What mutter'd charms, what soul-subduing arts,
Fell Zatanai to his sons imparts.
The sly Rectangle's too licentious love!
For three bright nymphs the wily wizard burns;—
Three bright-eyed nymphs requite his flame by turns.
Strange force of magic skill! combined of yore
With Plato's science and Menecmus' lore.
In Afric's schools, amid those sultry sands
High on its base where Pompey's pillar stands,
This learnt the Seer; and learnt, alas! too well,
Each scribbled talisman, and smoky spell:
What mutter'd charms, what soul-subduing arts,
Fell Zatanai to his sons imparts.
95
Gins—black and huge! who in Dom-Daniel's cave
Writhe your scorch'd limbs on sulphur's azure-wave
Or, shivering, yell amidst eternal snows,
Where cloud-capp'd Caf protrudes his granite toes;
(Bound by his will, Judæa's fabled king,
Lord of Aladdin's lamp and mystic ring.)
Gins! ye remember!—for your toil convey'd
Whate'er of drugs the powerful charm could aid;
Air, earth, and sea ye search'd, and where below
Flame embryo lavas, young volcanoes glow,—
Gins! ye beheld appall'd th' enchanter's hand
Wave in dark, air th' Hypothenusal wand;
Saw him the mystic Circle trace, and wheel
With head erect, and far-extended heel;
Saw him, with speed that mock'd the dazzled eye,
Self-whirl'd, in quick gyrations eddying fly:
Till done the potent spell—behold him grown
Fair Venus' emblem—the Phœnician Cone.
Writhe your scorch'd limbs on sulphur's azure-wave
Or, shivering, yell amidst eternal snows,
Where cloud-capp'd Caf protrudes his granite toes;
(Bound by his will, Judæa's fabled king,
Lord of Aladdin's lamp and mystic ring.)
Gins! ye remember!—for your toil convey'd
Whate'er of drugs the powerful charm could aid;
Air, earth, and sea ye search'd, and where below
Flame embryo lavas, young volcanoes glow,—
Gins! ye beheld appall'd th' enchanter's hand
Wave in dark, air th' Hypothenusal wand;
Saw him the mystic Circle trace, and wheel
With head erect, and far-extended heel;
96
Self-whirl'd, in quick gyrations eddying fly:
Till done the potent spell—behold him grown
Fair Venus' emblem—the Phœnician Cone.
Triumphs the Seer, and now secure observes
The kindling passions of the rival Curves.
The kindling passions of the rival Curves.
And first, the fair Parabola behold,
Her timid arms, with virgin blush, unfold!
Though, on one focus fix'd, her eyes betray
A heart that glows with love's resistless sway,
Though, climbing oft, she strive with bolder grace
Round his tall neck to clasp her fond embrace,
Still ere she reach it, from his polish'd side
Her trembling hands in devious Tangents glide.
Her timid arms, with virgin blush, unfold!
Though, on one focus fix'd, her eyes betray
A heart that glows with love's resistless sway,
Though, climbing oft, she strive with bolder grace
Round his tall neck to clasp her fond embrace,
Still ere she reach it, from his polish'd side
Her trembling hands in devious Tangents glide.
Not thus Hyperbola:—with subtlest art
The blue-eyed wanton plays her changeful part;
Quick as her conjugated axes move
Through every posture of luxurious love,
Her sportive limbs with easiest grace expand;
Her charms unveil'd provoke the lover's hand:
Unveil'd, except in many a filmy ray,
Where light Asymptotes o'er her bosom play,
Nor touch her glowing skin, nor intercept the day.
The blue-eyed wanton plays her changeful part;
Quick as her conjugated axes move
Through every posture of luxurious love,
Her sportive limbs with easiest grace expand;
Her charms unveil'd provoke the lover's hand:
Unveil'd, except in many a filmy ray,
Where light Asymptotes o'er her bosom play,
Nor touch her glowing skin, nor intercept the day.
97
Yet why, Ellipsis, at thy fate repine?
More lasting bliss, securer joys are thine.
Though to each fair his treacherous wish may stray,
Though each, in turn, may seize a transient sway,
'Tis thine with mild coercion to restrain,
Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain.
More lasting bliss, securer joys are thine.
Though to each fair his treacherous wish may stray,
Though each, in turn, may seize a transient sway,
'Tis thine with mild coercion to restrain,
Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain.
Ellis.
Thus, happy France! in thy regenerate land,
Where Taste with Rapine saunters hand in hand;
Where, nursed in seats of innocence and bliss,
Reform greets Terror with fraternal kiss;
Where mild Philosophy first taught to scan
The wrongs of Providence, and rights of Man;
Where Memory broods o'er Freedom's earlier scene,
The Lantern bright, and brighter Guillotine;
Three gentle swains evolve their longing arms,
And woo the young Republic's virgin charms;
And though proud Barras with the fair succeed,
Though not in vain th' Attorney Rewbell plead,
Oft doth th' impartial nymph their love forego,
To clasp thy crooked shoulders, blest Lepaux!
Where Taste with Rapine saunters hand in hand;
Where, nursed in seats of innocence and bliss,
Reform greets Terror with fraternal kiss;
Where mild Philosophy first taught to scan
The wrongs of Providence, and rights of Man;
Where Memory broods o'er Freedom's earlier scene,
The Lantern bright, and brighter Guillotine;
Three gentle swains evolve their longing arms,
And woo the young Republic's virgin charms;
And though proud Barras with the fair succeed,
Though not in vain th' Attorney Rewbell plead,
Oft doth th' impartial nymph their love forego,
To clasp thy crooked shoulders, blest Lepaux!
So, with dark dirge athwart the blasted heath,
Th̄ree Sister Witches hail'd the appall'd Macbeth.
Th̄ree Sister Witches hail'd the appall'd Macbeth.
So, the Three
Fates beneath grim Pluto's roof,
Strain the dun warp, and weave the murky woof;
Till deadly Atropos with fatal shears
Slits the thin promise of th' expected years,
While 'midst the dungeon's gloom or battle's din,
Ambition's victims perish, as they spin.
Strain the dun warp, and weave the murky woof;
Till deadly Atropos with fatal shears
Slits the thin promise of th' expected years,
While 'midst the dungeon's gloom or battle's din,
Ambition's victims perish, as they spin.
Thus, the Three
Graces on the Idalian green
Bow with deft homage to Cythera's Queen;
Her polish'd arms with pearly bracelets deck,
Part her light locks, and bare her ivory neck;
Round her fair form ethereal odours throw,
And teach th' unconscious zephyrs where to blow;
Floats the thin gauze, and glittering as they play,
The bright folds flutter in phlogistic day.
Bow with deft homage to Cythera's Queen;
Her polish'd arms with pearly bracelets deck,
Part her light locks, and bare her ivory neck;
Round her fair form ethereal odours throw,
And teach th' unconscious zephyrs where to blow;
Floats the thin gauze, and glittering as they play,
The bright folds flutter in phlogistic day.
98
So, with his daughters Three, th' unsceptred Lear
Heaved the loud sigh, and pour'd the glistering tear:
His daughters Three, save one alone, conspire
(Rich in his gifts) to spurn their generous sire;
Bid the rude storm his hoary tresses drench,
Stint the spare meal, the hundred knights retrench;
Mock his mad sorrow, and with alter'd mien
Renounce the daughter, and assert the queen.
A father's griefs his feeble frame convulse,
Rack his white head, and fire his feverous pulse;
Till kind Cordelia soothes his soul to rest,
And folds the parent-monarch to her breast.
Heaved the loud sigh, and pour'd the glistering tear:
His daughters Three, save one alone, conspire
(Rich in his gifts) to spurn their generous sire;
Bid the rude storm his hoary tresses drench,
Stint the spare meal, the hundred knights retrench;
Mock his mad sorrow, and with alter'd mien
Renounce the daughter, and assert the queen.
A father's griefs his feeble frame convulse,
Rack his white head, and fire his feverous pulse;
Till kind Cordelia soothes his soul to rest,
And folds the parent-monarch to her breast.
Canning, Ellis, and Frere.
Thus some fair spinster grieves in wild affright,
Vex'd with dull megrim, or vertigo light;
Pleased round the fair Three dawdling doctors stand,
Wave the white wig, and stretch the asking hand,
State the grave doubt, the nauseous draught decree,
And all receive, though none deserve, a fee.
So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides
The Derby dilly, carrying Three Insides.
One in each corner sits, and lolls at ease,
With folded arms, propt back, and outstretch'd knees;
While the press'd Bodkin, punch'd and squeezed to death,
Sweats in the mid-most place, and scolds, and pants for breath.
(To be continued.)
99
May 7, 1798
EXTRACT.
Twas thine alone, O youth of giant frame,
Isosceles! that rebel heart to tame!
In vain coy Mathesis thy presence flies:
Still turn her fond hallucinating eyes;
Thrills with Galvanic fires each tortuous nerve,
Throb her blue veins, and dies her cold reserve.
—Yet strives the fair, till in the giant's breast
She sees the mutual passion flame confess'd:
Where'er he moves, she sees his tall limbs trace
Internal Angles equal at the base;
Again she doubts him: but produced at will,
She sees th' external Angles equal still.
Isosceles! that rebel heart to tame!
In vain coy Mathesis thy presence flies:
Still turn her fond hallucinating eyes;
Thrills with Galvanic fires each tortuous nerve,
Throb her blue veins, and dies her cold reserve.
—Yet strives the fair, till in the giant's breast
She sees the mutual passion flame confess'd:
Where'er he moves, she sees his tall limbs trace
100
Again she doubts him: but produced at will,
She sees th' external Angles equal still.
Say, blest Isosceles! what favouring power,
Or love, or chance, at night's auspicious hour,
While to the Asses'-Bridge entranced you stray'd,
Led to the Asses'-Bridge the enamour'd maid?—
The Asses'-Bridge, for ages doom'd to hear
The deafening surge assault his wooden ear,
With joy repeats sweet sounds of mutual bliss,
The soft susurrant sigh, and gently-murmuring kiss.
Or love, or chance, at night's auspicious hour,
While to the Asses'-Bridge entranced you stray'd,
Led to the Asses'-Bridge the enamour'd maid?—
The Asses'-Bridge, for ages doom'd to hear
The deafening surge assault his wooden ear,
With joy repeats sweet sounds of mutual bliss,
The soft susurrant sigh, and gently-murmuring kiss.
So thy dark arches, London
Bridge, bestride
Indignant Thames, and part his angry tide,
There oft—returning from those green retreats,
Where fair Vauxhallia decks her sylvan seats;—
Where each spruce nymph, from city compters free,
Sips the froth'd syllabub, or fragrant tea;
While with sliced ham, scraped beef, and burnt champagne,
Her 'prentice lover soothes his amorous pain;
There oft, in well-trimm'd wherry, glide along
Smart beaux and giggling belles, a glittering throng:
Smells the tarr'd rope—with undulation fine
Flaps the loose sail—the silken awnings shine;
“Shoot we the bridge!” the venturous boatmen cry;
“Shoot we the bridge!” the exulting fare reply.
—Down the steep fall the headlong waters go,
Curls the white foam, the breakers roar below.
The veering helm the dexterous steersman stops,
Shifts the thin oars, the fluttering canvas drops;
Then with closed eyes, clench'd hands, and quick-drawn breath,
Darts at the central arch, nor heeds the gulf beneath.
—Full 'gainst the pier the unsteady timbers knock,
The thin planks, starting, own the impetuous shock;
The shifted oar, dropp'd sail, and steadied helm,
With angry surge the closing waters whelm—
—Laughs the glad Thames, and clasps each fair one's charms,
That screams and scrambles in his oozy arms.
—Drench'd each thin garb, and clogg'd each struggling limb,
Far o'er the stream the Cocknies sink or swim;
While each badged boatman, clinging to his oar,
Bounds o'er the buoyant wave, and climbs the applauding shore.
Indignant Thames, and part his angry tide,
There oft—returning from those green retreats,
Where fair Vauxhallia decks her sylvan seats;—
Where each spruce nymph, from city compters free,
Sips the froth'd syllabub, or fragrant tea;
While with sliced ham, scraped beef, and burnt champagne,
Her 'prentice lover soothes his amorous pain;
There oft, in well-trimm'd wherry, glide along
Smart beaux and giggling belles, a glittering throng:
Smells the tarr'd rope—with undulation fine
Flaps the loose sail—the silken awnings shine;
“Shoot we the bridge!” the venturous boatmen cry;
“Shoot we the bridge!” the exulting fare reply.
—Down the steep fall the headlong waters go,
Curls the white foam, the breakers roar below.
The veering helm the dexterous steersman stops,
Shifts the thin oars, the fluttering canvas drops;
101
Darts at the central arch, nor heeds the gulf beneath.
—Full 'gainst the pier the unsteady timbers knock,
The thin planks, starting, own the impetuous shock;
The shifted oar, dropp'd sail, and steadied helm,
With angry surge the closing waters whelm—
—Laughs the glad Thames, and clasps each fair one's charms,
That screams and scrambles in his oozy arms.
—Drench'd each thin garb, and clogg'd each struggling limb,
Far o'er the stream the Cocknies sink or swim;
While each badged boatman, clinging to his oar,
Bounds o'er the buoyant wave, and climbs the applauding shore.
So, towering Alp! from thy majestic ridge
Young Freedom gazed on Lodi's blood-stain'd Bridge;
Saw, in thick throngs, conflicting armies rush,
Ranks close on ranks, and squadrons squadrons crush;
Burst in bright radiance through the battle's storm,
Waved her broad hands, display'd her awful form;
Bade at her feet regenerate nations bow,
And twined the wreath round Buonaparte's brow.
—Quick with new lights, fresh hopes, and alter'd zeal,
The slaves of despots dropp'd the softened steel:
Exulting Victory crown'd her favourite child,
And freed Liguria clapp'd her hands, and smiled.
Young Freedom gazed on Lodi's blood-stain'd Bridge;
Saw, in thick throngs, conflicting armies rush,
Ranks close on ranks, and squadrons squadrons crush;
Burst in bright radiance through the battle's storm,
Waved her broad hands, display'd her awful form;
Bade at her feet regenerate nations bow,
And twined the wreath round Buonaparte's brow.
—Quick with new lights, fresh hopes, and alter'd zeal,
The slaves of despots dropp'd the softened steel:
Exulting Victory crown'd her favourite child,
And freed Liguria clapp'd her hands, and smiled.
Nor long the time ere Britain's shores shall greet
The warrior-sage, with gratulation sweet:
Eager to grasp the wreath of naval fame,
The Great Republic plans the Floating Frame!
—O'er the huge frame gigantic Terror stalks,
And counts with joy the close-compacted balks:
Of young-eyed Massacres the Cherub crew,
Round their grim chief the mimic task pursue;
Turn the stiff screw, apply the strengthening clamp,
Drive the long bolt, or fix the stubborn cramp,
Lash the reluctant beam, the cable splice,
Join the firm dove-tail with adjustment nice,
Through yawning fissures urge the willing wedge,
Or give the smoothing adze a sharper edge.
—Or group'd in fairy bands, with playful care,
The unconscious bullet to the furnace bear,
Or gaily tittering, tip the match with fire,
Prime the big mortar, bid the shell aspire;
Applaud, with tiny hands, and laughing eyes,
And watch the bright destruction as it flies.
The warrior-sage, with gratulation sweet:
Eager to grasp the wreath of naval fame,
The Great Republic plans the Floating Frame!
—O'er the huge frame gigantic Terror stalks,
And counts with joy the close-compacted balks:
Of young-eyed Massacres the Cherub crew,
Round their grim chief the mimic task pursue;
102
Drive the long bolt, or fix the stubborn cramp,
Lash the reluctant beam, the cable splice,
Join the firm dove-tail with adjustment nice,
Through yawning fissures urge the willing wedge,
Or give the smoothing adze a sharper edge.
—Or group'd in fairy bands, with playful care,
The unconscious bullet to the furnace bear,
Or gaily tittering, tip the match with fire,
Prime the big mortar, bid the shell aspire;
Applaud, with tiny hands, and laughing eyes,
And watch the bright destruction as it flies.
Now the fierce forges gleam with angry glare—
The windmill waves his woven wings in air;
Swells the proud sail, the exulting streamers fly,
Their nimble fins unnumber'd paddles ply:
—Ye soft airs breathe, ye gentle billows waft,
And, fraught with Freedom, bear the expected Raft!
Perch'd on her back, behold the Patriot train,
Muir, Ashley, Barlow, Buonaparte, Paine!
While Rowan's hand directs the blood-empurpled rein.
The windmill waves his woven wings in air;
Swells the proud sail, the exulting streamers fly,
Their nimble fins unnumber'd paddles ply:
—Ye soft airs breathe, ye gentle billows waft,
And, fraught with Freedom, bear the expected Raft!
Perch'd on her back, behold the Patriot train,
Muir, Ashley, Barlow, Buonaparte, Paine!
While Rowan's hand directs the blood-empurpled rein.
Ye Imps of Murder! guard her angel form,
Check the rude surge, and chase the hovering storm;
Shield from contusive rocks her timber limbs,
And guide the sweet Enthusiast as she swims;
Check the rude surge, and chase the hovering storm;
Shield from contusive rocks her timber limbs,
And guide the sweet Enthusiast as she swims;
103
—And now, with web-foot oars, she gains the land,
And foreign footsteps press the yielding sand:
—The Communes spread, the gay Departments smile,
Fair Freedom's Plant o'ershades the laughing isle:
Fired with new hopes, the exulting peasant sees
The Gallic streamer woo the British breeze;
While, pleased to watch its undulating charms,
The smiling infant spreads his little arms.
And foreign footsteps press the yielding sand:
—The Communes spread, the gay Departments smile,
Fair Freedom's Plant o'ershades the laughing isle:
Fired with new hopes, the exulting peasant sees
The Gallic streamer woo the British breeze;
While, pleased to watch its undulating charms,
The smiling infant spreads his little arms.
Ye Sylphs of Death! on demon pinions flit
Where the tall Guillotine is raised for Pitt:
To the poised plank tie fast the monster's back,
Close the nice slider, ope the expectant sack;
Then twitch, with fairy hands, the frolic pin—
Down falls the impatient axe with deafening din;
The liberated head rolls off below,
And simpering Freedom hails the happy blow!
Where the tall Guillotine is raised for Pitt:
To the poised plank tie fast the monster's back,
Close the nice slider, ope the expectant sack;
Then twitch, with fairy hands, the frolic pin—
Down falls the impatient axe with deafening din;
The liberated head rolls off below,
And simpering Freedom hails the happy blow!
Canning, Ellis, and Frere.
104
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JEAN BON ST. ANDRE.
May 14, 1798.
I
All in the town of Tunis,In Africa the torrid,
On a Frenchman of rank
Was play'd such a prank,
As Lepaux must think quite horrid.
105
II
No story half so shocking,By kitchen-fire or laundry,
Was ever heard tell,—
As that which befel
The great Jean Bon St. Andre.
III
Poor John was a gallant Captain,In battles much delighting;
He fled full soon
On the first of June—
But he bade the rest keep fighting.
IV
To Paris then returning,And recover'd from his panic,
He translated the plan
Of “Paine's Rights of Man”
Into language Mauritanic.
V
He went to teach at Tunis—Where as Consul he was settled—
Amongst other things,
“That the people are kings!”
Whereat the Dey was nettled.
VI
The Moors being rather stupid,And in temper somewhat mulish,
Understood not a word
Of the doctrine they heard,
And thought the Consul foolish.
VII
He form'd a Club of Brothers,And moved some resolutions—
“Ho! ho! (says the Dey),
“So this is the way
“That the French make Revolutions.”
106
VIII
The Dey then gave his ordersIn Arabic and Persian—
“Let no more be said—
“But bring me his head!—
“These Clubs are my aversion.”
IX
The Consul quoted Wicquefort,And Puffendorf and Grotius;
And proved from Vattel
Exceedingly well,
Such a deed would be quite atrocious.
X
'Twould have moved a Christian's bowelsTo hear the doubts he stated;—
But the Moors they did
As they were bid,
And strangled him while he prated.
XI
His head with a sharp-edged sabreThey sever'd from his shoulders,
And stuck it on high,
Where it caught the eye,
To the wonder of all beholders.
XII
This sure is a doleful storyAs e'er you heard or read of;—
If at Tunis you prate
Of matters of state,
Anon they cut your head off!
XIII
But we hear the French DirectorsHave thought the point so knotty;
That the Dey having shown
He dislikes Jean Bon,
They have sent him Bernadotte.
107
Canning, Ellis, and Frere.
111
THE ROVERS; OR, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT.
PROLOGUE.
Too long the triumphs of our early times,
With Civil Discord and with Regal crimes,
Have stain'd these boards; while Shakespeare's pen has shown
Thoughts, manners, men, to modern days unknown.
Too long have Rome and Athens been the rage;
[Applause.
With Civil Discord and with Regal crimes,
Have stain'd these boards; while Shakespeare's pen has shown
Thoughts, manners, men, to modern days unknown.
Too long have Rome and Athens been the rage;
And classic Buskins soil'd a British stage.
To-night our bard, who scorns pedantic rules,
His plot has borrow'd from the German schools;
The German schools—where no dull maxims bind
The bold expansion of th' electric mind.
Fix'd to no period, circled by no space,
He leaps the flaming bounds of time and place:
Round the dark confines of the Forest raves,
With gentle Robbers stocks his gloomy caves;
Tells how bad Ministers are shocking things,
And reigning Dukes are just like tyrant Kings;
How to two swains one nymph her vows may give,
And how two damsels with one lover live!
Delicious scenes!—such scenes our bard displays,
Which, crown'd with German, sue for British, praise.
His plot has borrow'd from the German schools;
The German schools—where no dull maxims bind
The bold expansion of th' electric mind.
Fix'd to no period, circled by no space,
He leaps the flaming bounds of time and place:
112
With gentle Robbers stocks his gloomy caves;
Tells how bad Ministers are shocking things,
And reigning Dukes are just like tyrant Kings;
How to two swains one nymph her vows may give,
And how two damsels with one lover live!
Delicious scenes!—such scenes our bard displays,
Which, crown'd with German, sue for British, praise.
Slow are the steeds, that through Germania's roads
With hempen rein the slumbering post-boy goads;
Slow is the slumbering post-boy, who proceeds
Through deep sands floundering, on these tardy steeds;
More slow, more tedious, from his husky throat
Twangs through the twisted horn the struggling note.
With hempen rein the slumbering post-boy goads;
Slow is the slumbering post-boy, who proceeds
Through deep sands floundering, on these tardy steeds;
More slow, more tedious, from his husky throat
Twangs through the twisted horn the struggling note.
These truths confess'd—Oh! yet, ye travell'd few,
Germania's plays with eyes unjaundiced view!
View and approve!—though in each passage fine
The faint Translation mock the genuine line,
Though the nice ear the erring sight belie,
For U twice dotted is pronounced like I;
[Applause.
Germania's plays with eyes unjaundiced view!
View and approve!—though in each passage fine
The faint Translation mock the genuine line,
Though the nice ear the erring sight belie,
For U twice dotted is pronounced like I;
113
Yet oft the scene shall nature's fire impart,
Warm from the breast, and glowing to the heart!
Warm from the breast, and glowing to the heart!
Ye travell'd few, attend!—On you our bard
Builds his fond hope! Do you his genius guard!
[Applause.
Builds his fond hope! Do you his genius guard!
Nor let succeeding generations say
A British audience damn'd a German play!
[Loud and continued applauses.
A British audience damn'd a German play!
118
SONG.
BY ROGERO.
I
Whene'er with haggard eyes I viewThis dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen,—
—niversity of Gottingen.
II
Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue,Which once my love sat knotting in!—
Alas! Matilda then was true!
At least I thought so at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
III
Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flewHer neat post-waggon trotting in!
Ye bore Matilda from my view;
Forlorn I languish'd at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
IV
This faded form! this pallid hue!This blood my veins is clotting in,
My years are many—they were few
When first I entered at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
119
V
There first for thee my passion grew,Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen!
Thou wast the daughter of my tu—
—tor, law professor at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
VI
Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu,That kings and priests are plotting in:
Here doom'd to starve on water gru—
—el, never shall I see the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
131
[Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow]
RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.
Casimere.Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow
From night's cold lungs our purpose know!
From night's cold lungs our purpose know!
Puddingfield.
Let Silence, mother of the dumb,
Beefington.
Press on each lip her palsied thumb!
Waiter.
Let Privacy, allied to Sin,
That loves to haunt the tranquil inn—
That loves to haunt the tranquil inn—
Grenadier.
And Conscience start, when she shall view,
Troubadour.
The mighty deed we mean to do!
GENERAL CHORUS
—Con spirito.Then friendship swear, ye faithful bands,
Swear to save a shackled hero!
See where yon abbey frowning stands!
Rescue, rescue, brave Rogero!
Casimere.
Thrall'd in a monkish tyrant's fetters
Shall great Rogero hopeless lie?
Young Pot.
In my pocket I have letters,
Saying, “Help me, or I die!”
135
TRANSLATION OF A LETTER (IN ORIENTAL CHARACTERS) FROM BOBBA-DARA-ADUL-PHOOLA, DRAGOMAN TO THE EXPEDITION, TO NEEK-AWL-ARETCHID-KOOEEZ, SECRETARY TO THE TUNISIAN EMBASSY.
Dear Neek-awl,
You'll rejoice that at length I am able
To date these few lines from the captain's own table.
Mr. Truman himself, of his proper suggestion,
Has in favour of science decided the question;
So we walk the main-deck, and are mess'd with the captain,
I leave you to judge of the joy we are wrapt in.
To date these few lines from the captain's own table.
Mr. Truman himself, of his proper suggestion,
Has in favour of science decided the question;
So we walk the main-deck, and are mess'd with the captain,
I leave you to judge of the joy we are wrapt in.
At Spithead they embark'd us, how precious a cargo!
And we sail'd before day to escape the embargo.
There was Shuckborough, the wonderful mathematician;
And Darwin, the poet, the sage, and physician;
There was Beddoes, and Bruin, and Godwin whose trust is,
He may part with his work on Political Justice
To some Iman or Bonze, or Judaical Rabbin;
So with huge quarto volumes he piles up the cabin.
There was great Dr. Parr, whom we style Bellendenus,
The Doctor and I have a hammock between us—
Tho' 'tis rather unpleasant thus crowding together,
On account of the motion and heat of the weather;
Two souls in one berth we might easily cram,
But Sir John will insist on a place for his ram.
Though the Doctor, I find, is determined to think
'Tis the animal's hide that occasions the stink;
In spite of th' experienced opinion of Truman,
Who contends that the scent is exclusively human.
But Beddoes and Darwin engage to repair
This slight inconvenience with oxygene air.
And we sail'd before day to escape the embargo.
There was Shuckborough, the wonderful mathematician;
And Darwin, the poet, the sage, and physician;
There was Beddoes, and Bruin, and Godwin whose trust is,
He may part with his work on Political Justice
To some Iman or Bonze, or Judaical Rabbin;
So with huge quarto volumes he piles up the cabin.
There was great Dr. Parr, whom we style Bellendenus,
The Doctor and I have a hammock between us—
Tho' 'tis rather unpleasant thus crowding together,
On account of the motion and heat of the weather;
Two souls in one berth we might easily cram,
But Sir John will insist on a place for his ram.
Though the Doctor, I find, is determined to think
'Tis the animal's hide that occasions the stink;
In spite of th' experienced opinion of Truman,
Who contends that the scent is exclusively human.
But Beddoes and Darwin engage to repair
This slight inconvenience with oxygene air.
136
Whither bound? (you will ask) 'Tis a question, my friend,
On which I long doubted; my doubt's at an end.
To Arabia the stony, Sabæa the gummy,
To the land where each man that you meet is a mummy;
To the mouths of the Nile, to the banks of Araxes,
To the Red and the Yellow, the White and the Black seas,
With telescopes, globes, and a quadrant and sextant,
And the works of all authors whose writings are extant;
With surveys and plans, topographical maps,
Theodolites, watches, spring-guns and steel-traps,
Phials, crucibles, air-pumps, electric machinery,
And pencils for painting the natives and scenery.
In short, we are sent to oppose all we know,
To the knowledge and mischievous arts of the foe,
Who, though placing in arms a well-grounded reliance,
Go to war with a flying artillery of science.
On which I long doubted; my doubt's at an end.
To Arabia the stony, Sabæa the gummy,
To the land where each man that you meet is a mummy;
To the mouths of the Nile, to the banks of Araxes,
To the Red and the Yellow, the White and the Black seas,
With telescopes, globes, and a quadrant and sextant,
And the works of all authors whose writings are extant;
With surveys and plans, topographical maps,
Theodolites, watches, spring-guns and steel-traps,
Phials, crucibles, air-pumps, electric machinery,
And pencils for painting the natives and scenery.
In short, we are sent to oppose all we know,
To the knowledge and mischievous arts of the foe,
Who, though placing in arms a well-grounded reliance,
Go to war with a flying artillery of science.
The French savans, it seems, recommended this measure,
With a view to replenish the national treasure.
First, the true Rights of Man they will preach in all places,
But chief (when 'tis found) in the Egyptian Oasis:
And this doctrine, 'tis hoped, in a very few weeks
Will persuade the wild Arabs to murder their Sheiks,
And, to aid the Great Nation's beneficent plans,
Plunder pyramids, catacombs, towns, caravans,
Then enlist under Arcole's gallant commander,
Who will conquer the world like his model Iskander.
His army each day growing bolder and finer,
With the Turcoman tribes he subdues Asia Minor,
Beats Paul and his Scythians, his journey pursues
'Cross the Indus, with tribes of Armenians and Jews,
And Bucharians, and Affghans, and Persians, and Tartars,—
Chokes the wretched Mogul in his grandmother's garters,
And will hang him to dry in the Luxembourg hall,
'Midst the plunder of Carthage and spoils of Bengal.
With a view to replenish the national treasure.
First, the true Rights of Man they will preach in all places,
But chief (when 'tis found) in the Egyptian Oasis:
And this doctrine, 'tis hoped, in a very few weeks
Will persuade the wild Arabs to murder their Sheiks,
And, to aid the Great Nation's beneficent plans,
Plunder pyramids, catacombs, towns, caravans,
Then enlist under Arcole's gallant commander,
Who will conquer the world like his model Iskander.
His army each day growing bolder and finer,
With the Turcoman tribes he subdues Asia Minor,
Beats Paul and his Scythians, his journey pursues
'Cross the Indus, with tribes of Armenians and Jews,
And Bucharians, and Affghans, and Persians, and Tartars,—
Chokes the wretched Mogul in his grandmother's garters,
And will hang him to dry in the Luxembourg hall,
'Midst the plunder of Carthage and spoils of Bengal.
Such, we hear, was the plan; but I trust, if we meet 'em,
That, savant to savant, our cargo will beat 'em.
Our plan of proceeding I'll presently tell;—
But soft—I am call'd—I must bid you farewell;
To attend on our savans my pen I resign,
For, it seems, that they duck them on crossing the Line.
That, savant to savant, our cargo will beat 'em.
Our plan of proceeding I'll presently tell;—
But soft—I am call'd—I must bid you farewell;
137
For, it seems, that they duck them on crossing the Line.
Canning, Ellis, and Frere.
NEW MORALITY.
July 9, 1798.
From mental mists to purge a nation's eyes;
To animate the weak, unite the wise;
To trace the deep infection that pervades
The crowded town, and taints the rural shades;
To mark how wide extends the mighty waste
O'er the fair realms of Science, Learning, Taste;
To drive and scatter all the brood of lies,
And chase the varying falsehood as it flies;
The long arrears of ridicule to pay,
To drag reluctant dulness back to-day;
Much yet remains.—To you these themes belong,
Ye favour'd sons of virtue and of song!
To animate the weak, unite the wise;
To trace the deep infection that pervades
The crowded town, and taints the rural shades;
To mark how wide extends the mighty waste
O'er the fair realms of Science, Learning, Taste;
138
And chase the varying falsehood as it flies;
The long arrears of ridicule to pay,
To drag reluctant dulness back to-day;
Much yet remains.—To you these themes belong,
Ye favour'd sons of virtue and of song!
Say, is the field too narrow? are the times
Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes?
Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes?
Yet, venial vices, in a milder age,
Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage:
The doting miser, and the lavish heir,
The follies and the foibles of the fair,
Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and old Euclio's thrift,
And Sappho's diamonds with her dirty shift,
Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins—meaner subjects fired
The keen-eyed Poet, while the Muse inspired
Her ardent child—entwining, as he sate,
His laurell'd chaplet with the thorns of hate.
Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage:
The doting miser, and the lavish heir,
The follies and the foibles of the fair,
Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and old Euclio's thrift,
And Sappho's diamonds with her dirty shift,
Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins—meaner subjects fired
The keen-eyed Poet, while the Muse inspired
Her ardent child—entwining, as he sate,
His laurell'd chaplet with the thorns of hate.
But say,—indignant does the Muse retire,
Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire?
No pious hand to feed the sacred flame,
No raptured soul a poet's charge to claim?
Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire?
No pious hand to feed the sacred flame,
No raptured soul a poet's charge to claim?
Bethink thee, Gifford; when some future age
Shall trace the promise of thy playful page;—
“The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools away,
Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey!”—
Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse
The tame secession of thy languid Muse?
Shall trace the promise of thy playful page;—
“The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools away,
Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey!”—
Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse
The tame secession of thy languid Muse?
Ah! where is now that promise? why so long
Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song?
Oh! come, with taste and virtue at thy side,
With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride;
With keen poetic glance direct the blow,
And empty all thy quiver on the foe:—
No pause—no rest—till weltering on the ground
The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound.
Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song?
Oh! come, with taste and virtue at thy side,
With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride;
With keen poetic glance direct the blow,
And empty all thy quiver on the foe:—
139
The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound.
Thou too!—the nameless Bard,—whose honest zeal
For law, for morals, for the public weal,
Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes
The stream of verse, and many-languaged prose;
Thou too!—though oft thy ill-advised dislike,
The guiltless head with random censure strike,—
Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined,
Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind;—
Through the mix'd mass yet truth and learning shine,
And manly vigour stamps the nervous line;
And patriot rage the generous verse inspires,
And wakes and points the desultory fires!
For law, for morals, for the public weal,
Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes
The stream of verse, and many-languaged prose;
Thou too!—though oft thy ill-advised dislike,
The guiltless head with random censure strike,—
Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined,
Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind;—
Through the mix'd mass yet truth and learning shine,
And manly vigour stamps the nervous line;
And patriot rage the generous verse inspires,
And wakes and points the desultory fires!
Yet more remain unknown:—for who can tell
What bashful genius, in some rural cell,
As year to year, and day succeeds to day,
In joyless leisure wastes his life away?
In him the flame of early fancy shone;
His genuine worth his old companions own;
In childhood and in youth their chief confess'd,
His master's pride, his pattern to the rest.
Now, far aloof retiring from the strife
Of busy talents, and of active life,
As from the loop-holes of retreat he views
Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and news,
He loathes the world,—or, with reflection sad,
Concludes it irrecoverably mad;
Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft,
No hope, no prospect to redeem it left.
What bashful genius, in some rural cell,
As year to year, and day succeeds to day,
In joyless leisure wastes his life away?
In him the flame of early fancy shone;
His genuine worth his old companions own;
In childhood and in youth their chief confess'd,
His master's pride, his pattern to the rest.
Now, far aloof retiring from the strife
Of busy talents, and of active life,
As from the loop-holes of retreat he views
Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and news,
He loathes the world,—or, with reflection sad,
Concludes it irrecoverably mad;
Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft,
No hope, no prospect to redeem it left.
Frere.
Awake! for shame! or ere thy nobler sense
Sink in th' oblivious pool of indolence!
Must wit be found alone on falsehood's side,
Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied?
Arise! nor scorn thy country's just alarms;
Wield in her cause thy long-neglected arms:
Of lofty satire pour th' indignant strain,
Leagued with her friends, and ardent to maintain
'Gainst Learning's, Virtue's, Truth's, Religion's foes,
A kingdom's safety, and the world's repose.
Sink in th' oblivious pool of indolence!
Must wit be found alone on falsehood's side,
Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied?
140
Wield in her cause thy long-neglected arms:
Of lofty satire pour th' indignant strain,
Leagued with her friends, and ardent to maintain
'Gainst Learning's, Virtue's, Truth's, Religion's foes,
A kingdom's safety, and the world's repose.
If Vice appal thee,—if thou view with awe
Insults that brave, and crimes that 'scape the law;
Yet may the specious bastard brood, which claim
A spurious homage under Virtue's name,
Sprung from a parent nurse of thousand crimes,
The New Philosophy of modern times,—
Yet, these may rouse thee!—With unsparing hand,
Oh, lash the vile impostures from the land!
Insults that brave, and crimes that 'scape the law;
Yet may the specious bastard brood, which claim
A spurious homage under Virtue's name,
Sprung from a parent nurse of thousand crimes,
The New Philosophy of modern times,—
Yet, these may rouse thee!—With unsparing hand,
Oh, lash the vile impostures from the land!
First, stern Philanthropy:—not she, who dries
The orphan's tears, and wipes the widow's eyes;
Not she, who, sainted Charity her guide,
Of British bounty pours the annual tide:—
But French Philanthropy;—whose boundless mind
Glows with the general love of all mankind;—
Philanthropy,—beneath whose baneful sway
Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away.
The orphan's tears, and wipes the widow's eyes;
Not she, who, sainted Charity her guide,
Of British bounty pours the annual tide:—
But French Philanthropy;—whose boundless mind
Glows with the general love of all mankind;—
Philanthropy,—beneath whose baneful sway
Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away.
Taught in her school to imbibe thy mawkish strain,
Condorcet, filtered through the dregs of Paine,
Each pedant prig disowns a Briton's part,
And plucks the name of England from his heart.
Condorcet, filtered through the dregs of Paine,
Each pedant prig disowns a Briton's part,
And plucks the name of England from his heart.
What! shall a name, a word, a sound, control
Th' aspiring thought, and cramp th' expansive soul?
Shall one half-peopled Island's rocky round
A love, that glows for all creation, bound?
And social charities contract the plan
Framed for thy freedom, universal man!
No—through th' extended globe his feelings run
As broad and general as th' unbounded sun!
No narrow bigot he;—his reason'd view
Thy interests, England, ranks with thine, Peru!
France at our doors, he sees no danger nigh,
But heaves for Turkey's woes th' impartial sigh;
A steady patriot of the world alone,
The friend of every country—but his own.
Th' aspiring thought, and cramp th' expansive soul?
Shall one half-peopled Island's rocky round
A love, that glows for all creation, bound?
And social charities contract the plan
Framed for thy freedom, universal man!
No—through th' extended globe his feelings run
As broad and general as th' unbounded sun!
No narrow bigot he;—his reason'd view
Thy interests, England, ranks with thine, Peru!
141
But heaves for Turkey's woes th' impartial sigh;
A steady patriot of the world alone,
The friend of every country—but his own.
Next comes a gentler Virtue.—Ah! beware
Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softness scare.
Visit her not too roughly;—the warm sigh
Dwells on her lips; the tear-drop gems her eye.
Sweet Sensibility, that dwells enshrined
In the fine foldings of the feeling mind;
With delicate Mimosa's sense endued,
That shrinks instinctive from a hand too rude;
Or, like the pimpernel, whose prescient flower,
Shuts her soft leaves at evening's chilly hour.
Sweet child of sickly Fancy!—her of yore
From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore;
And, while midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,
Full of himself, and shunn'd the haunts of man,
Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine steep
To lisp the stories of his wrongs, and weep;
Taught her to cherish still in either eye,
Of tender tears a plentiful supply,
And pour them in the brooks that babbled by;
Taught her to mete by rule her feelings strong,
False by degrees, and delicately wrong;
For the crush'd beetle first,—the widow'd dove,
And all the warbled sorrows of the grove;
Next for poor suff'ring guilt; and last of all,
For parents, friends, a king and country's fall.
Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softness scare.
Visit her not too roughly;—the warm sigh
Dwells on her lips; the tear-drop gems her eye.
Sweet Sensibility, that dwells enshrined
In the fine foldings of the feeling mind;
With delicate Mimosa's sense endued,
That shrinks instinctive from a hand too rude;
Or, like the pimpernel, whose prescient flower,
Shuts her soft leaves at evening's chilly hour.
Sweet child of sickly Fancy!—her of yore
From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore;
And, while midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,
Full of himself, and shunn'd the haunts of man,
Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine steep
To lisp the stories of his wrongs, and weep;
Taught her to cherish still in either eye,
Of tender tears a plentiful supply,
And pour them in the brooks that babbled by;
Taught her to mete by rule her feelings strong,
False by degrees, and delicately wrong;
For the crush'd beetle first,—the widow'd dove,
And all the warbled sorrows of the grove;
Next for poor suff'ring guilt; and last of all,
For parents, friends, a king and country's fall.
Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief,
With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief,
Droop in soft sorrow o'er a faded flower;
O'er a dead jack-ass pour the pearly shower;
But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined flood,
Choked up with slain; of Lyons drenched in blood;
Of crimes that blot the age, the world, with shame,
Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with Freedom's name;
Altars and thrones subverted; social life
Trampled to earth,—the husband from the wife,
Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn;
Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn
In friendless exile,—of the wise and good
Staining the daily scaffold with their blood;
Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind,
The rage of madness with hell's lusts combined,—
Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast,
They hear—and hope that all is for the best.
With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief,
Droop in soft sorrow o'er a faded flower;
O'er a dead jack-ass pour the pearly shower;
But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined flood,
Choked up with slain; of Lyons drenched in blood;
Of crimes that blot the age, the world, with shame,
Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with Freedom's name;
142
Trampled to earth,—the husband from the wife,
Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn;
Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn
In friendless exile,—of the wise and good
Staining the daily scaffold with their blood;
Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind,
The rage of madness with hell's lusts combined,—
Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast,
They hear—and hope that all is for the best.
Fond hope! but Justice sanctifies the prayer—
Justice! here, Satire, strike! 'twere sin to spare!
Not she in British Courts that takes her stand,
The dawdling balance dangling in her hand,
Adjusting punishments to fraud and vice,
With scrupulous quirks, and disquisition nice:
But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance,
Th' avenging angel of regenerate France,
Who visits ancient sins on modern times,
And punishes the Pope for Cæsar's crimes.
Such is the liberal Justice which presides
In these our days, and modern patriots guides;
Justice, whose blood-stain'd book one sole decree,
One statute fills—“the People shall be Free!”
Free by what means?—by folly, madness, guilt,
By boundless rapines, blood in oceans spilt;
By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils
The poor man's pittance with the rich man's spoils,
Mix'd in one common mass, are swept away,
To glut the short-lived tyrant of the day:
By laws, religion, morals, all o'erthrown,
—Rouse then, ye sovereign people, claim your own—
The licence that enthrals, the truth that blinds,
The wealth that starves you, and the power that grinds!
—So Justice bids.—'Twas her enlighten'd doom,
Louis, thy head devoted to the tomb—
'Twas Justice claim'd, in that accursed hour,
The fatal forfeit of too lenient power.
Mourn for the Man we may;—but for the King,—
Freedom, oh! Freedom's such a charming thing!
Justice! here, Satire, strike! 'twere sin to spare!
Not she in British Courts that takes her stand,
The dawdling balance dangling in her hand,
Adjusting punishments to fraud and vice,
With scrupulous quirks, and disquisition nice:
But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance,
Th' avenging angel of regenerate France,
Who visits ancient sins on modern times,
And punishes the Pope for Cæsar's crimes.
Such is the liberal Justice which presides
In these our days, and modern patriots guides;
Justice, whose blood-stain'd book one sole decree,
One statute fills—“the People shall be Free!”
Free by what means?—by folly, madness, guilt,
By boundless rapines, blood in oceans spilt;
By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils
The poor man's pittance with the rich man's spoils,
Mix'd in one common mass, are swept away,
To glut the short-lived tyrant of the day:
By laws, religion, morals, all o'erthrown,
—Rouse then, ye sovereign people, claim your own—
143
The wealth that starves you, and the power that grinds!
—So Justice bids.—'Twas her enlighten'd doom,
Louis, thy head devoted to the tomb—
'Twas Justice claim'd, in that accursed hour,
The fatal forfeit of too lenient power.
Mourn for the Man we may;—but for the King,—
Freedom, oh! Freedom's such a charming thing!
“Much may be said on both sides.”—Hark! I hear
A well-known voice that murmurs in my ear,—
The voice of Candour.—Hail! most solemn sage,
Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age,
Candour, which softens party's headlong rage.
Candour,—which spares its foes; nor e'er descends
With bigot zeal to combat for its friends.
Candour,—which loves in see-saw strain to tell
Of acting foolishly, but meaning well;
Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame,
Convinced that all men's motives are the same;
And finds, with keen discriminating sight,
Black's not so black;—nor white so very white.
A well-known voice that murmurs in my ear,—
The voice of Candour.—Hail! most solemn sage,
Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age,
Candour, which softens party's headlong rage.
Candour,—which spares its foes; nor e'er descends
With bigot zeal to combat for its friends.
Candour,—which loves in see-saw strain to tell
Of acting foolishly, but meaning well;
Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame,
Convinced that all men's motives are the same;
And finds, with keen discriminating sight,
Black's not so black;—nor white so very white.
“Fox, to be sure, was vehement and wrong:
“But then, Pitt's words, you'll own, were rather strong.
“Great men will have their foibles; 'twas just so
“With Fox and Pitt full forty years ago!
“So Walpole, Pulteney—factions in all times
“Have had their follies, ministers their crimes.”
“But then, Pitt's words, you'll own, were rather strong.
“Great men will have their foibles; 'twas just so
“With Fox and Pitt full forty years ago!
“So Walpole, Pulteney—factions in all times
“Have had their follies, ministers their crimes.”
Give me th' avow'd, th' erect, the manly foe,
Bold I can meet—perhaps may turn his blow;
But of all plagues, good Heav'n, thy wrath can send,
Save, save, oh! save me from the Candid Friend!
Bold I can meet—perhaps may turn his blow;
But of all plagues, good Heav'n, thy wrath can send,
Save, save, oh! save me from the Candid Friend!
“Barras loves plunder—Merlin takes a bribe,—
“What then?—shall Candour these good men proscribe?
“No! ere we join the loud-accusing throng,
“Prove,—not the facts,—but, that they thought them wrong.
“What then?—shall Candour these good men proscribe?
“No! ere we join the loud-accusing throng,
“Prove,—not the facts,—but, that they thought them wrong.
“Why hang O'Quigley?—he, misguided man,
“In sober thought his country's weal might plan:
“And, though his deep-laid Treason sapp'd the throne,
“Might act from taste in morals, all his own.”
“In sober thought his country's weal might plan:
“And, though his deep-laid Treason sapp'd the throne,
“Might act from taste in morals, all his own.”
144
Peace to such Reasoners—let them have their way;
Shut their dull eyes against the blaze of day—
Priestley's a Saint, and Stone a Patriot still;
And La Fayette a Hero, if they will.
Shut their dull eyes against the blaze of day—
Priestley's a Saint, and Stone a Patriot still;
And La Fayette a Hero, if they will.
I love the bold uncompromising mind,
Whose principles are fix'd, whose views defined:
Who, sick of modern cant, discredits quite
All taste in morals, innate sense of right,
And Nature's impulse, all uncheck'd by art,
And feelings fine, that float about the heart.
Content, for good men's guidance, bad men's awe,
On moral truth to rest, and Gospel law;
Who owns, when Traitors feel th' avenging rod,
Just retribution, and the hand of God—
Who hears the groans through Olmutz' roofs that ring,
Of him who chained and who betray'd his king—
Hears unappall'd—though Freedom's zealots preach—
Unmoved, unsoften'd by Fitzpatrick's speech.
That speech on which the melting Commons hung,
“While truths divine came mended from his tongue;”
How loving husband clings to duteous wife,—
How pure Religion soothes the ills of life,—
How Popish ladies trust their pious fears
And naughty actions in their chaplain's ears.
Half novel and half sermon, on it flow'd;
With pious zeal the Opposition glow'd;
And as o'er each the soft infection crept,
Sigh'd as he whined, and as he whimper'd, wept;
E'en Curwen dropt a sentimental tear,
And stout St. Andrew yelp'd a softer “Hear!”
Whose principles are fix'd, whose views defined:
Who, sick of modern cant, discredits quite
All taste in morals, innate sense of right,
And Nature's impulse, all uncheck'd by art,
And feelings fine, that float about the heart.
Content, for good men's guidance, bad men's awe,
On moral truth to rest, and Gospel law;
Who owns, when Traitors feel th' avenging rod,
Just retribution, and the hand of God—
Who hears the groans through Olmutz' roofs that ring,
Of him who chained and who betray'd his king—
Hears unappall'd—though Freedom's zealots preach—
Unmoved, unsoften'd by Fitzpatrick's speech.
That speech on which the melting Commons hung,
“While truths divine came mended from his tongue;”
How loving husband clings to duteous wife,—
How pure Religion soothes the ills of life,—
How Popish ladies trust their pious fears
And naughty actions in their chaplain's ears.
Half novel and half sermon, on it flow'd;
With pious zeal the Opposition glow'd;
And as o'er each the soft infection crept,
Sigh'd as he whined, and as he whimper'd, wept;
E'en Curwen dropt a sentimental tear,
And stout St. Andrew yelp'd a softer “Hear!”
Parent of crimes and fashions! which in vain
Our colder servile spirits would attain,
How do we ape thee, France! but, bungling still,
Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill.
The borrow'd step our awkward gait reveals:
As clumsy Courtney mars the verse he steals.
How do we ape thee, France!—nor claim alone
Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals, for our own,
But to thy worthies render homage due,
Their “hair-breadth scapes” with anxious interest view;
Statesmen and heroines whom this age adores,
Though plainer times would call them rogues and whores.
Our colder servile spirits would attain,
How do we ape thee, France! but, bungling still,
Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill.
The borrow'd step our awkward gait reveals:
As clumsy Courtney mars the verse he steals.
145
Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals, for our own,
But to thy worthies render homage due,
Their “hair-breadth scapes” with anxious interest view;
Statesmen and heroines whom this age adores,
Though plainer times would call them rogues and whores.
See Louvet, patriot, pamphleteer, and sage,
Tempering with amorous fire his virtuous rage.
Form'd for all tasks, his various talents see—
The luscious novel, the severe decree—
Then mark him welt'ring in his nasty sty,
Bare his lewd transports to the public eye—
Not his the love in silent groves that strays,
Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar gaze.
In Lodoiska's full possession blest,
One craving void still aches within his breast—
Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms,
Not to himself alone he stints her charms—
Clasp'd in each other's foul embrace they lie,
But know no joy, unless the world stands by.
The fool of vanity, for her alone
He lives, loves, writes, and dies but to be known.
His widow'd mourner flies to poison's aid,
Eager to join her Louvet's parted shade
In those bright realms where sainted lovers stray—
But harsh emetics tear that hope away.
Yet hapless Louvet! where thy bones are laid,
The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade.
There, in the laughing morn of genial spring,
Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets sing;
Eringoes o'er the hallow'd spot shall bloom,
And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb.
Tempering with amorous fire his virtuous rage.
Form'd for all tasks, his various talents see—
The luscious novel, the severe decree—
Then mark him welt'ring in his nasty sty,
Bare his lewd transports to the public eye—
Not his the love in silent groves that strays,
Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar gaze.
In Lodoiska's full possession blest,
One craving void still aches within his breast—
Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms,
Not to himself alone he stints her charms—
Clasp'd in each other's foul embrace they lie,
But know no joy, unless the world stands by.
The fool of vanity, for her alone
He lives, loves, writes, and dies but to be known.
His widow'd mourner flies to poison's aid,
Eager to join her Louvet's parted shade
In those bright realms where sainted lovers stray—
But harsh emetics tear that hope away.
Yet hapless Louvet! where thy bones are laid,
The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade.
There, in the laughing morn of genial spring,
Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets sing;
Eringoes o'er the hallow'd spot shall bloom,
And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb.
146
Or does severer virtue charm? We choose—
Roland the just, with ribands in his shoes—
And Roland's spouse, who paints with chaste delight
The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night;—
Her virgin charms what fierce attacks assail'd,
And how the rigid Minister prevail'd.
Roland the just, with ribands in his shoes—
And Roland's spouse, who paints with chaste delight
The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night;—
Her virgin charms what fierce attacks assail'd,
And how the rigid Minister prevail'd.
But ah! what verse can paint thy stately mien,
Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen,
Neckar's fair daughter,—Stael the Epicene!
Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and purple nose
The bloom of young desire unceasing glows!
Fain would the Muse—but ah! she dares no more,
A mournful voice from lone Guyana's shore,
Sad Quatremer—the bold presumption checks,
Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.
Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen,
Neckar's fair daughter,—Stael the Epicene!
Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and purple nose
The bloom of young desire unceasing glows!
Fain would the Muse—but ah! she dares no more,
A mournful voice from lone Guyana's shore,
Sad Quatremer—the bold presumption checks,
Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.
Canning.
To thee, proud Barras bows—thy charms control
Rewbell's brute rage, and Merlin's subtle soul—
Raised by thy hands, and fashion'd to thy will,
Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still,
Where at the blood-stain'd board assiduous plies,
The lame artificer of fraud and lies;
He with the mitred head and cloven heel—
Doom'd the coarse edge of Rewbell's jests to feel;
To stand the playful buffet, and to hear
The frequent ink-stand whizzing past his ear;
While all the five Directors laugh to see
“The limping priest so deft at his new ministry.”
Rewbell's brute rage, and Merlin's subtle soul—
Raised by thy hands, and fashion'd to thy will,
Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still,
Where at the blood-stain'd board assiduous plies,
The lame artificer of fraud and lies;
He with the mitred head and cloven heel—
Doom'd the coarse edge of Rewbell's jests to feel;
To stand the playful buffet, and to hear
The frequent ink-stand whizzing past his ear;
147
“The limping priest so deft at his new ministry.”
Last of th' anointed five behold, and least,
The Directorial Lama, Sovereign Priest,—
Lepaux:—whom atheists worship;—at whose nod
Bow their meek heads—the men without a God.
The Directorial Lama, Sovereign Priest,—
Lepaux:—whom atheists worship;—at whose nod
Bow their meek heads—the men without a God.
Ere long, perhaps, to this astonish'd isle,
Fresh from the shores of subjugated Nile,
Shall Buonaparte's victor fleet protect
The genuine Theo-philanthropic sect,—
The sect of Marat, Mirabeau, Voltaire,—
Led by their Pontiff, good La Reveillère.
Rejoiced our Clubs shall greet him, and install
The holy Hunchback in thy dome, St. Paul!
While countless votaries thronging in his train,
Wave their red caps, and hymn this jocund strain:
“Couriers and Stars, Sedition's evening host,
Thou Morning Chronicle and Morning Post,
Whether ye make the Rights of Man your theme,
Your country libel, and your God blaspheme,
Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw,
Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux.
Fresh from the shores of subjugated Nile,
Shall Buonaparte's victor fleet protect
The genuine Theo-philanthropic sect,—
The sect of Marat, Mirabeau, Voltaire,—
Led by their Pontiff, good La Reveillère.
Rejoiced our Clubs shall greet him, and install
The holy Hunchback in thy dome, St. Paul!
While countless votaries thronging in his train,
Wave their red caps, and hymn this jocund strain:
“Couriers and Stars, Sedition's evening host,
Thou Morning Chronicle and Morning Post,
Whether ye make the Rights of Man your theme,
Your country libel, and your God blaspheme,
Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw,
Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux.
“And ye five other wandering bards, that move
In sweet accord of harmony and love,
Coleridge and Southey, Lloyd, and Lambe and Co.
Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux!
In sweet accord of harmony and love,
Coleridge and Southey, Lloyd, and Lambe and Co.
Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux!
Priestley and Wakefield, humble, holy men,
Give praises to his name with tongue and pen!
Give praises to his name with tongue and pen!
148
“Thelwall, and ye that lecture as ye go,
And for your pains get pelted, praise Lepaux!
And for your pains get pelted, praise Lepaux!
“Praise him each Jacobin, or fool, or knave,
And your cropp'd heads in sign of worship wave!
And your cropp'd heads in sign of worship wave!
“All creeping creatures, venemous and low,
Paine, Williams, Godwin, Holcroft, praise Lepáux!
Paine, Williams, Godwin, Holcroft, praise Lepáux!
Frere.
“And thou, Leviathan! on ocean's brim
Hugest of living things that sleep and swim;
Thou, in whose nose, by Burke's gigantic hand,
The hook was fixed to drag thee to the land,
With ---, ---, and --- in thy train.
And --- wallowing in the yeasty main,—
Still as ye snort, and puff, and spout, and blow,
In puffing, and in spouting, praise Lepaux!”
Hugest of living things that sleep and swim;
Thou, in whose nose, by Burke's gigantic hand,
The hook was fixed to drag thee to the land,
With ---, ---, and --- in thy train.
And --- wallowing in the yeasty main,—
Still as ye snort, and puff, and spout, and blow,
In puffing, and in spouting, praise Lepaux!”
Britain, beware; nor let th' insidious foe,
Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow;
Thy peace, thy strength, with devilish wiles assail,
And when her arms are vain, by arts prevail.
True, thou art rich, art powerful!—thro' thine Isle
Industrious skill, contented labour, smile—
Far seas are studded with thy countless sails—
What wind but wafts them, and what shore but hails?
True, thou art brave—o'er all the busy land
In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand!
Thy foes behold with impotent amaze,
And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze.
Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow;
Thy peace, thy strength, with devilish wiles assail,
And when her arms are vain, by arts prevail.
True, thou art rich, art powerful!—thro' thine Isle
Industrious skill, contented labour, smile—
Far seas are studded with thy countless sails—
What wind but wafts them, and what shore but hails?
True, thou art brave—o'er all the busy land
In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand!
Thy foes behold with impotent amaze,
And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze.
But what avails to guard each outward part,
If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart,
Spite of thy courage, of thy pow'r, and wealth,
Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health?
If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart,
Spite of thy courage, of thy pow'r, and wealth,
Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health?
149
So thine own oak, by some fair streamlet's side,
Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy pride,
Shades the green earth, and tow'ring to the skies
Its conscious strength, the tempest's wrath defies:
The fowls of Heaven its ample branches share,
To its cool shade the panting herds repair—
The limpid current works its noiseless way—
The fibres loosen, and the roots decay;
Prostrate the mighty ruin lies; and all
That shared its shelter, perish in its fall.
Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy pride,
Shades the green earth, and tow'ring to the skies
Its conscious strength, the tempest's wrath defies:
The fowls of Heaven its ample branches share,
To its cool shade the panting herds repair—
The limpid current works its noiseless way—
The fibres loosen, and the roots decay;
Prostrate the mighty ruin lies; and all
That shared its shelter, perish in its fall.
O thou—lamented Sage—whose prescient scan
Laid bare foul Anarchy's gigantic plan,
Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose
The guilt of France, and Europe's world of woes—
Thou, on whose name far distant times shall gaze,
The mighty sea-mark of those troubled days,
O large of soul, of genius unconfined,
Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind—
Burke! in whose breast a Roman ardour glow'd:
Whose copious tongue with Grecian richness flow'd;
Well hast thou found (if such thy country's doom)
A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb!
Laid bare foul Anarchy's gigantic plan,
Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose
The guilt of France, and Europe's world of woes—
Thou, on whose name far distant times shall gaze,
The mighty sea-mark of those troubled days,
O large of soul, of genius unconfined,
Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind—
Burke! in whose breast a Roman ardour glow'd:
Whose copious tongue with Grecian richness flow'd;
Well hast thou found (if such thy country's doom)
A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb!
As, in far realms, beneath the cypress shade,
Where eastern kings in pomp of death are laid,
The perfumed lamp with unextinguish'd light
Flames through the vault, and cheers the gloom of night:
So, mighty Burke! in thy sepulchral urn,
To Fancy's view, the lamp of Truth shall burn.
Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes,
Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise.
Where eastern kings in pomp of death are laid,
The perfumed lamp with unextinguish'd light
Flames through the vault, and cheers the gloom of night:
So, mighty Burke! in thy sepulchral urn,
To Fancy's view, the lamp of Truth shall burn.
Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes,
Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise.
There are, to whom (their taste such pleasures cloy)
No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy.
Peace to their heavy heads, and callous hearts,
Peace—such as sloth, as ignorance imparts!
Pleased may they live to plan their country's good,
And crop with calm content their flow'ry food!
No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy.
Peace to their heavy heads, and callous hearts,
Peace—such as sloth, as ignorance imparts!
Pleased may they live to plan their country's good,
And crop with calm content their flow'ry food!
What though thy venturous spirit loved to urge
The labouring theme to Reason's utmost verge,
Kindling and mounting from th' enraptur'd sight;
Still anxious wonder watch'd thy daring flight!
While vulgar souls, with mean malignant stare,
Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share!
Poor triumph! which for oft extorted praise,
To Envy still too daring Genius pays.
The labouring theme to Reason's utmost verge,
150
Still anxious wonder watch'd thy daring flight!
While vulgar souls, with mean malignant stare,
Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share!
Poor triumph! which for oft extorted praise,
To Envy still too daring Genius pays.
Oh! for thy playful smile, thy potent frown,
T' abash bold Vice, and laugh pert Folly down!
So should the Muse in Humour's happiest vein,
Frame with light verse the metaphoric strain,
With apt allusions from the rural trade,
Tell of what wood young Jacobins are made;
How the skill'd gardener grafts with nicest rule
The slip of coxcomb on the stock of fool—
Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender sprig,
A thing to wonder at, perhaps a Whig:
Should tell, how wise each new-fledged pedant prates
Of weightiest matters, grave distractions states—
How rules of policy, and public good,
In Saxon times were rightly understood;
That kings are proper, may be useful things,
But then, some gentlemen object to kings;
How in all times the minister's to blame;
How British liberty's an empty name;
Till each fair burgh, numerically free,
Shall choose its members by the Rule of Three.
T' abash bold Vice, and laugh pert Folly down!
So should the Muse in Humour's happiest vein,
Frame with light verse the metaphoric strain,
With apt allusions from the rural trade,
Tell of what wood young Jacobins are made;
How the skill'd gardener grafts with nicest rule
The slip of coxcomb on the stock of fool—
Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender sprig,
A thing to wonder at, perhaps a Whig:
Should tell, how wise each new-fledged pedant prates
Of weightiest matters, grave distractions states—
How rules of policy, and public good,
In Saxon times were rightly understood;
That kings are proper, may be useful things,
But then, some gentlemen object to kings;
How in all times the minister's to blame;
How British liberty's an empty name;
Till each fair burgh, numerically free,
Shall choose its members by the Rule of Three.
So should the Muse, with verse in thunder clothed,
Proclaim the crimes by God and Nature loathed.
Which—when fell poison revels in the veins—
The poison fell, that frantic Gallia drains
From the curst fruit of Freedom's blasted tree—
Blot the fair records of Humanity.
Proclaim the crimes by God and Nature loathed.
Which—when fell poison revels in the veins—
The poison fell, that frantic Gallia drains
From the curst fruit of Freedom's blasted tree—
Blot the fair records of Humanity.
To feebler nations let proud France afford
Her damning choice,—the chalice or the sword,
To drink or die;—Oh fraud! Oh specious lie!
Delusive choice! for if they drink, they die.
Her damning choice,—the chalice or the sword,
To drink or die;—Oh fraud! Oh specious lie!
Delusive choice! for if they drink, they die.
The sword we dread not:—of ourselves secure,
Firm were our strength, our peace and freedom sure.
Let all the world confederate all its powers,
“Be they not back'd by those that should be ours,”
High on his rock shall Britain's Genius stand,
Scatter the crowded hosts, and vindicate the land.
Firm were our strength, our peace and freedom sure.
151
“Be they not back'd by those that should be ours,”
High on his rock shall Britain's Genius stand,
Scatter the crowded hosts, and vindicate the land.
Guard we but our own hearts: with constant view
To ancient morals, ancient manners true,
Guard we the manlier virtues, such as nerved
Our fathers' breasts, and this proud Isle preserv'd
For many a rugged age—and scorn the while,
(Her arms we fear not), Gallia's specious wiles,
The soft seductions, the refinements nice,
Of gay morality, and easy vice—
So shall we brave the storm—our 'stablish'd pow'r
Thy refuge, Europe, in some happier hour.
But French in heart—though victory crown our brow,
Low at our feet though prostrate nations bow,
Wealth gild our cities, commerce crowd our shore,
London may shine, but England is no more.
To ancient morals, ancient manners true,
Guard we the manlier virtues, such as nerved
Our fathers' breasts, and this proud Isle preserv'd
For many a rugged age—and scorn the while,
(Her arms we fear not), Gallia's specious wiles,
The soft seductions, the refinements nice,
Of gay morality, and easy vice—
So shall we brave the storm—our 'stablish'd pow'r
Thy refuge, Europe, in some happier hour.
But French in heart—though victory crown our brow,
Low at our feet though prostrate nations bow,
Wealth gild our cities, commerce crowd our shore,
London may shine, but England is no more.
Canning.
201
PROSPECTUS AND SPECIMEN OF AN INTENDED Rational Work, BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT WHISTLECRAFT, OF STOW-MARKET, IN SUFFOLK, HARNESS AND COLLAR-MAKERS, INTENDED TO COMPRISE THE MOST INTERESTING PARTICULARS RELATING TO King Arthur and his Round Table.
205
I
Ive often wish'd that I could write a book,Such as all English people might peruse;
I never should regret the pains it took,
That's just the sort of fame that I should choose:
To sail about the world like Captain Cook,
I'd sling a cot up for my favourite Muse,
And we'd take verses out to Demerara,
To New South Wales, and up to Niagara.
II
Poets consume exciseable commodities,They raise the nation's spirit when victorious,
They drive an export trade in whims and oddities,
Making our commerce and revenue glorious;
As an industrious and pains-taking body 'tis
That Poets should be reckon'd meritorious:
And therefore I submissively propose
To erect one Board for Verse and one for Prose.
III
Princes protecting Sciences and ArtI've often seen, in copper-plate and print;
I never saw them elsewhere, for my part,
And therefore I conclude there's nothing in't;
But everybody knows the Regent's heart;
I trust he won't reject a well-meant hint;
Each Board to have twelve members, with a seat
To bring them in per ann. five-hundred neat:—
206
IV
From Princes I descend to the Nobility:In former times all persons of high stations,
Lords, Baronets, and Persons of gentility,
Paid twenty guineas for the dedications:
This practice was attended with utility;
The patrons lived to future generations,
The poets lived by their industrious earning,—
So men alive and dead could live by Learning.
V
Then, twenty guineas was a little fortune;Now, we must starve unless the times should mend:
Our poets now-a-days are deem'd importune
If their addresses are diffusely penn'd;
Most fashionable authors make a short one
To their own wife, or child, or private friend,
To show their independence, I suppose;
And that may do for Gentlemen like those.
VI
Lastly, the common people I beseech—Dear People! if you think my verses clever,
Preserve with care your noble Parts of speech,
And take it as a maxim to endeavour
To talk as your good mothers used to teach,
And then these lines of mine may last for ever;
And don't confound the language of the nation
With long-tail'd words in osity and ation.
VII
I think that Poets (whether Whig or Tory)(Whether they go to meeting or to church)
Should study to promote their country's glory
With patriotic, diligent research;
That children yet unborn may learn the story,
With grammars, dictionaries, canes, and birch:
It stands to reason—This was Homer's plan,
And we must do—like him—the best we can.
207
VIII
Madoc and Marmion, and many more,Are out in print, and most of them have sold;
Perhaps together they may make a score;
Richard the First has had his story told,
But there were Lords and Princes long before,
That had behaved themselves like warriors bold;
Among the rest there was the great King Arthur,
What hero's fame was ever carried farther?
IX
King Arthur, and the Knights of his Round Table,Were reckon'd the best King, and bravest Lords,
Of all that flourish'd since the Tower of Babel,
At least of all that history records;
Therefore I shall endeavour, if I'm able,
To paint their famous actions by my words:
Heroes exert themselves in hopes of Fame,
And having such a strong decisive claim,
X
It grieves me much, that Names that were respectedIn former ages, Persons of such mark,
And Countrymen of ours, should lie neglected,
Just like old portraits lumbering in the dark:
An error such as this should be corrected,
And if my Muse can strike a single spark,
Why then (as poets say) I'll string my lyre;
And then I'll light a great poetic Fire;
XI
I'll air them all, and rub down the Round Table,And wash the Canvas clean, and scour the Frames,
And put a coat of varnish on the Fable,
And try to puzzle out the Dates and Names;
Then (as I said before) I'll heave my cable,
And take a pilot, and drop down the Thames—
—These first eleven stanzas make a Proem,
And now I must sit down and write my Poem.
208
CANTO I.
I
Beginning (as my Bookseller desires)Like an old Minstrel with his gown and beard,
“Fair Ladies, gallant Knights, and gentle Squires,
“Now the last service from the Board is clear'd,
“And if this noble Company requires,
“And if amidst your mirth I may be heard,
“Of sundry strange adventures I could tell,
“That oft were told before, but never told so well.”
II
The Great King Arthur made a sumptuous Feast,And held his Royal Christmas at Carrisle,
And thither came the Vassals, most and least,
From every corner of this British Isle;
And all were entertain'd, both man and beast,
According to their rank, in proper style;
The steeds were fed and litter'd in the stable,
The ladies and the knights sat down to table.
III
The bill of fare (as you may well suppose)Was suited to those plentiful old times,
Before our modern luxuries arose,
With truffles and ragoûts, and various crimes;
And therefore, from the original in prose
I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes:
They served up salmon, venison, and wild boars
By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores.
209
IV
Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine;
Herons and bitterns, peacock, swan and bustard,
Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and in fine
Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies and custard:
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,
With mead, and ale, and cider of our own;
For porter, punch, and negus, were not known.
V
The noise and uproar of the scullery tribe,All pilfering and scrambling in their calling,
Was past all powers of language to describe—
The din of manful oaths and female squalling:
The sturdy porter, huddling up his bribe,
And then at random breaking heads and bawling,
Outcries, and cries of order, and contusions,
Made a confusion beyond all confusions;
VI
Beggars and vagabonds, blind, lame, and sturdy,Minstrels and singers with their various airs,
The pipe, the tabor, and the hurdy-gurdy,
Jugglers and mountebanks with apes and bears,
Continued from the first day to the third day,
An uproar like ten thousand Smithfield fairs;
There were wild beasts and foreign birds and creatures,
And Jews and Foreigners with foreign features.
VII
All sorts of people there were seen together,All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses;
The fool with fox's tail and peacock's feather,
Pilgrims, and penitents, and grave burgesses;
The country people with their coats of leather,
Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes;
Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers and yeomen,
Damsels and waiting-maids, and waiting-women.
210
VIII
But the profane, indelicate amours,The vulgar, unenlighten'd conversation
Of minstrels, menials, courtezans, and boors,
(Although appropriate to their meaner station)
Would certainly revolt a taste like yours;
Therefore I shall omit the calculation
Of all the curses, oaths, and cuts and stabs,
Occasion'd by their dice, and drink, and drabs.
IX
We must take care in our poetic cruise,And never hold a single tack too long;
Therefore my versatile ingenious Muse
Takes leave of this illiterate, low-bred throng,
Intending to present superior views,
Which to genteeler company belong,
And show the higher orders of society
Behaving with politeness and propriety.
X
And certainly they say, for fine behavingKing Arthur's Court has never had its match;
True point of honour, without pride or braving,
Strict etiquette for ever on the watch:
Their manners were refined and perfect—saving
Some modern graces, which they could not catch,
As spitting through the teeth, and driving stages,
Accomplishments reserved for distant ages.
XI
They look'd a manly, generous generation;Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad, and square, and thick,
Their accents firm and loud in conversation,
Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick,
Shew'd them prepared, on proper provocation,
To give the lie, pull noses, stab and kick;
And for that very reason, it is said,
They were so very courteous and well-bred.
211
XII
The ladies look'd of an heroic race—At first a general likeness struck your eye,
Tall figures, open features, oval face,
Large eyes, with ample eyebrows arch'd and high;
Their manners had an odd, peculiar grace,
Neither repulsive, affable, nor shy,
Majestical, reserved, and somewhat sullen;
Their dresses partly silk, and partly woollen.
XIII
In form and figure far above the rest,Sir Launcelot was chief of all the train,
In Arthur's Court an ever welcome guest;
Britain will never see his like again.
Of all the Knights she ever had the best,
Except, perhaps, Lord Wellington in Spain:
I never saw his picture nor his print,
From Morgan's Chronicle I take my hint.
XIV
For Morgan says (at least as I have heard,And as a learned friend of mine assures),
Beside him all that lordly train appear'd
Like courtly minions, or like common boors,
As if unfit for knightly deeds, and rear'd
To rustic labours or to loose amours;
He moved amidst his peers without compare,
So lofty was his stature, look, and air.
XV
Yet oftentimes his courteous cheer forsookHis countenance, and then return'd again,
As if some secret recollection shook
His inward heart with unacknowledged pain;
And something haggard in his eyes and look
(More than his years or hardships could explain)
Made him appear, in person and in mind,
Less perfect than what nature had design'd.
212
XVI
Of noble presence, but of different mien,Alert and lively, voluble and gay,
Sir Tristram at Carlisle was rarely seen,
But ever was regretted while away;
With easy mirth, an enemy to spleen,
His ready converse charm'd the wintry day;
No tales he told of sieges or of fights,
Of foreign marvels, like the foolish Knights,
XVII
But with a playful imitative tone(That merely seem'd a voucher for the truth)
Recounted strange adventures of his own,
The chances of his childhood and his youth,
Of churlish Giants he had seen and known,
Their rustic phrase and courtesies uncouth,
The dwellings, and the diet, and the lives
Of savage Monarchs and their monstrous Wives:
XVIII
Songs, music, languages, and many a layAsturian or Armoric, Irish, Basque,
His ready memory seized and bore away;
And ever when the Ladies chose to ask,
Sir Tristram was prepared to sing and play,
Not like a minstrel earnest at his task,
But with a sportive, careless, easy style,
As if he seem'd to mock himself the while.
XIX
His ready wit and rambling education,With the congenial influence of his stars,
Had taught him all the arts of conversation,
All games of skill and stratagems of wars;
His birth, it seems, by Merlin's calculation,
Was under Venus, Mercury, and Mars;
His mind with all their attributes was mixt,
And, like those planets, wandering and unfixt;
213
XX
From realm to realm he ran—and never staid;Kingdoms and crowns he wan—and gave away:
It seem'd as if his labours were repaid
By the mere noise and movement of the fray:
No conquests nor acquirements had he made:
His chief delight was on some festive day
To ride triumphant, prodigal, and proud,
And shower his wealth amidst the shouting crowd:
XXI
His schemes of war were sudden, unforeseen,Inexplicable both to friend and foe;
It seem'd as if some momentary spleen
Inspired the project and impell'd the blow;
And most his fortune and success were seen
With means the most inadequate and low;
Most master of himself, and least encumber'd,
When overmatch'd, entangled, and outnumber'd.
XXII
Strange instruments and engines he contrivedFor sieges, and constructions for defence,
Inventions some of them that have survived,
Others were deem'd too cumbrous and immense:
Minstrels he loved, and cherish'd while he lived,
And patronized them both with praise and pence;
Somewhat more learned than became a Knight,
It was reported he could read and write.
XXIII
Sir Gawain may be painted in a word—He was a perfect loyal Cavalier;
His courteous manners stand upon record,
A stranger to the very thought of fear.
The proverb says, As brave as his own sword;
And like his weapon was that worthy Peer,
Of admirable temper, clear and bright,
Polish'd yet keen, though pliant yet upright.
214
XXIV
On every point, in earnest or in jest,His judgment, and his prudence, and his wit,
Were deem'd the very touchstone and the test
Of what was proper, graceful, just, and fit;
A word from him set every thing at rest,
His short decisions never fail'd to hit;
His silence, his reserve, his inattention,
Were felt as the severest reprehension:
XXV
His memory was the magazine and hoard,Where claims and grievances, from year to year,
And confidences and complaints were stored,
From dame and knight, from damsel, boor, and peer:
Loved by his friends, and trusted by his Lord,
A generous courtier, secret and sincere,
Adviser-general to the whole community,
He served his friend, but watch'd his opportunity.
XXVI
One riddle I could never understand—But his success in war was strangely various;
In executing schemes that others plann'd,
He seem'd a very Cæsar or a Marius;
Take his own plans, and place him in command,
Your prospect of success became precarious:
His plans were good, but Launcelot succeeded
And realized them better far than He did.
XXVII
His discipline was stedfast and austere,Unalterably fix'd, but calm and kind;
Founded on admiration, more than fear,
It seem'd an emanation from his mind;
The coarsest natures that approach'd him near
Grew courteous for the moment and refined;
Beneath his eye the poorest, weakest wight
Felt full of point-of-honour like a knight.
215
XXVIII
In battle he was fearless to a fault,The foremost in the thickest of the field;
His eager valour knew no pause nor halt,
And the red rampant Lion in his Shield
Scaled Towns and Towers, the foremost in assault,
With ready succour where the battle reel'd:
At random like a thunderbolt he ran,
And bore down shields, and pikes, and horse, and man.
CANTO II.
I
I've finish'd now three hundred lines and more,And therefore I begin Canto the Second,
Just like those wandering ancient Bards of Yore;
They never laid a plan, nor ever reckon'd
What turning they should take the day before;
They follow'd where the lovely Muses beckon'd:
The Muses led them up to Mount Parnassus,
And that's the reason that they all surpass us.
II
The Muses served those Heathens well enough—Bold Britons take a Tankard, or a Bottle,
And when the bottle's out, a pinch of snuff,
And so proceed in spite of Aristotle—
Those Rules of his are dry, dogmatic stuff,
All life and fire they suffocate and throttle—
And therefore I adopt the mode I mention,
Trusting to native judgment and invention.
216
III
This method will, I hope, appear defensible—I shall begin by mentioning the Giants,
A race of mortals, brutal and insensible,
(Postponing the details of the Defiance,
Which came in terms so very reprehensible
From that barbarian sovereign King Ryence)
Displaying simpler manners, forms, and passions,
Unmix'd by transitory modes and fashions.
IV
Before the Feast was ended, a ReportFill'd every soul with horror and dismay;
Some Ladies, on their journey to the Court,
Had been surprised, and were convey'd away
By the Aboriginal Giants, to their Fort—
An unknown Fort—for Government, they say,
Had ascertain'd its actual existence,
But knew not its direction, nor its distance.
V
A waiting damsel, crooked and mis-shaped,Herself the witness of a woful scene,
From which, by miracle, she had escaped,
Appear'd before the Ladies and the Queen;
Her figure was funereal, veil'd and craped,
Her voice convulsed with sobs and sighs between,
That with the sad recital, and the sight,
Revenge and rage inflamed each worthy knight.
VI
Sir Gawain rose without delay or dallying,“Excuse us, madam,—we've no time to waste—”
And at the palace-gate you saw him sallying,
With other knights, equipp'd and arm'd in haste;
And there was Tristram making jests, and rallying
The poor mis-shapen Damsel, whom he placed
Behind him on a pillion, pad, or pannel;
He took, besides, his falcon and his spaniel.
217
VII
But what with horror, and fatigue, and fright,Poor soul, she could not recollect the way.
They reach'd the mountains on the second night,
And wander'd up and down till break of day,
When they discover'd, by the dawning light,
A lonely glen, where heaps of embers lay;
They found unleaven'd fragments, scorch'd and toasted,
And the remains of mules and horses roasted.
VIII
Sir Tristram understood the Giants' courses—He felt the embers, but the heat was out—
He stood contemplating the roasted horses,
And all at once, without suspense or doubt,
His own decided judgment thus enforces—
“The Giants must be somewhere here about!”
Demonstrating the carcasses, he shows
That they remain'd untouch'd by kites or crows;
IX
“You see no traces of their sleeping here,“No heap of leaves or heath, no Giant's nest—
“Their usual habitation must be near—
“They feed at sunset and retire to rest—
“A moment's search will set the matter clear.”
The fact turn'd out precisely as he guess'd;
And shortly after, scrambling through a gully,
He verified his own conjecture fully.
X
He found a Valley, closed on every side,Resembling that which Rasselas describes;
Six miles in length, and half as many wide,
Where the descendants of the Giant tribes
Lived in their ancient Fortress undescried:
(Invaders tread upon each other's kibes)
First came the Britons, afterwards the Roman,
Our patrimonial lands belong to no man:
218
XI
So Horace said—and so the Giants found,Expelled by fresh invaders in succession;
But they maintained tenaciously the ground
Of ancient, indefeasible possession,
And robb'd and ransack'd all the country round;
And ventured on this horrible transgression,
Claiming a right reserved to waste and spoil,
As Lords and lawful owners of the soil.
XII
Huge mountains of immeasurable heightEncompass'd all the level Valley round,
With mighty slabs of rock, that sloped upright,
An insurmountable, enormous mound;
The very River vanish'd out of sight,
Absorb'd in secret channels under ground:
That Vale was so sequester'd and secluded,
All search for ages past it had eluded.
XIII
High overhead was many a Cave and Den,That with its strange construction seem'd to mock
All thought of how they were contrived, or when—
—Hewn inward in the huge suspended Rock,
The Tombs and Monuments of mighty men:
Such were the patriarchs of this ancient stock.
Alas! what pity that the present race
Should be so barbarous, and depraved, and base!
XIV
For they subsisted (as I said) by pillage,And the wild beasts which they pursued and chased:
Nor house, nor herdsman's hut, nor farm, nor village,
Within the lonely valley could be traced,
Nor roads, nor bounded fields, nor rural tillage,
But all was lonely, desolate, and waste.
The Castle which commanded the domain
Was suited to so rude and wild a Reign:
219
XV
A Rock was in the centre, like a Cone,Abruptly rising from a miry pool,
Where they beheld a Pile of massy stone,
Which masons of the rude primeval school
Had rear'd by help of Giant hands alone,
With rocky fragments unreduc'd by rule,
Irregular, like Nature more than Art,
Huge, rugged, and compact in every part.
XVI
But on the other side a River went,And there the craggy Rock and ancient Wall
Had crumbled down with shelving deep descent;
Time and the wearing stream had work'd its fall:
The modern Giants had repair'd the Rent,
But poor, reduced, and ignorant withal,
They patch'd it up, contriving as they could,
With stones, and earth, and palisades of wood;
XVII
Sir Gawain tried a parley, but in vain—A true bred Giant never trusts a Knight—
He sent a Herald, who return'd again
All torn to rags and perishing with fright;
A Trumpeter was sent, but he was slain—
To Trumpeters they bear a mortal spite:
When all conciliatory measures fail'd,
The Castle and the Fortress were assail'd.
XVIII
But when the Giants saw them fairly under,They shovell'd down a cataract of stones,
A hideous volley like a peal of thunder,
Bouncing and bounding down, and breaking bones,
Rending the earth, and riving rocks asunder;
Sir Gawain inwardly laments and groans,
Retiring last, and standing most exposed;—
Success seem'd hopeless, and the combat closed.
220
XIX
A Council then was call'd, and all agreedTo call in succour from the Country round;
By regular approaches to proceed,
Intrenching, fortifying, breaking ground.
That morning Tristram happen'd to secede:
It seems his Falcon was not to be found;
He went in search of her, but some suspected
He went lest his advice should be neglected.
XX
At Gawain's summons all the Country came;At Gawain's summons all the people aided;
They called upon each other in his name,
And bid their neighbours work as hard as they did.
So well beloved was He, for very shame
They dug, they delved, entrench'd, and palisaded,
Till all the Fort was thoroughly blockaded,
And every Ford where Giants might have waded.
XXI
Sir Tristram found his Falcon, bruised and lame,After a tedious search, as he averr'd,
And was returning back the way he came
When in the neighbouring thicket something stirr'd,
And flash'd across the path, as bright as flame,
Sir Tristram follow'd it, and found a Bird
Much like a Pheasant, only crimson-red,
With a fine tuft of feathers on his head.
XXII
Sir Tristram's mind—invention—powers of thought,Were occupied, abstracted, and engaged,
Devising ways and means to have it caught
Alive—entire—to see it safely caged:
The Giants and their siege he set at nought
Compar'd with this new warfare that he waged.
He gain'd his object after three days wandering,
And three nights watching, meditating, pondering,
221
XXIII
And to the Camp in triumph he return'd:He makes them all admire the creature's crest,
And praise and magnify the prize he earn'd.
Sir Gawain rarely ventured on a jest,
But here his heart with indignation burn'd:
“Good Cousin, yonder stands an Eagle's nest!
—“A Prize for Fowlers such as you and me.”—
Sir Tristram answer'd mildly, “We shall see.”
XXIV
Good humour was Sir Tristram's leading quality,And in the present case he proved it such;
If he forbore, it was that in reality
His conscience smote him with a secret touch,
For having shock'd his worthy friend's formality—
He thought Sir Gawain had not said too much;
He walks apart with him—and he discourses
About their preparation and their forces—
XXV
Approving every thing that had been done—“It serves to put the Giants off their guard—
“Less hazard and less danger will be run—
“I doubt not we shall find them unprepared—
“The Castle will more easily be won,
“And many valuable lives be spared;
“The Ladies else, while we blockade and threaten,
“Will most infallibly be kill'd and eaten.”
XXVI
Sir Tristram talk'd incomparably well;His reasons were irrefragably strong.
As Tristram spoke Sir Gawain's spirits fell,
For he discover'd clearly before long
(What Tristram never would presume to tell),
That his whole system was entirely wrong;
In fact his confidence had much diminish'd
Since all the preparations had been finish'd.
222
XXVII
“Indeed!” Sir Tristram said, “for aught we know—“For aught that we can tell—this very night
The valley's entrance may be closed with snow,
“And we may starve and perish here outright—
“'Tis better risking a decided blow—
“I own this weather puts me in a fright.”
In fine, this tedious conference to shorten,
Sir Gawain trusted to Sir Tristram's fortune.
XXVIII
'Twas twilight, ere the wintry dawn had kistWith cold salute the mountain's chilly brow;
The level lawns were dark, a lake of mist
Inundated the vales and depths below,
When valiant Tristram, with a chosen list
Of bold and hardy men, prepared to go,
Ascending through the vapours dim and hoar,
A secret track, which he descried before.
XXIX
If ever you attempted, when a boy,To walk across the play-ground or the yard
Blindfolded, for an apple or a toy,
Which, when you reach'd the spot, was your reward,
You may conceive the difficult employ
Sir Tristram had, and that he found it hard,
Deprived of landmarks and the power of sight,
To steer their dark and doubtful course aright.
XXX
They climb'd an hour or more with hand and knee;(The distance of a fathom or a rood
Was farther than the keenest eye could see;)
At last the very ground on which they stood,
The broken turf, and many a batter'd tree—
The crush'd and shatter'd shrubs and underwood—
Apprised them that they were arrived once more
Where they were overwhelm'd the time before.
223
XXXI
Sir Tristram saw the people in a fluster;He took them to a shelter'd hollow place:
They crowded round like chickens in a cluster,
And Tristram, with an unembarrass'd face,
Proceeded quietly to take a muster,
To take a muster, and to state the case—
“It was,” he said, “an unexpected error,
“Enough to strike inferior minds with terror;
XXXII
“But since they were assembled and collected,”(All were assembled except nine or ten)
“He thought that their design might be effected;
“All things were easy to determined men.
“If they would take the track which he directed,
“And try their old adventure once again,”
He slapp'd his breast, and swore within an hour
That they should have the Castle in their power.
XXXIII
This mountain was like others I have seen;There was a stratum or a ridge of stone
Projecting high beyond the sloping green,
From top to bottom, like a spinal bone,
Or flight of steps, with gaps and breaks between—
A Copper-plate would make my meaning known
Better than words, and therefore with permission,
I'll give a Print of it the next Edition.
XXXIV
Thither Sir Tristram with his comrades went,For now the misty cloud was clear'd away,
And they must risk the perilous ascent,
Right in the Giants' front, in open day:
They ran to reach the shelter which it lent,
Before the battery should begin to play.
Their manner of ascending up that ridge
Was much like climbing by a broken bridge;
224
XXXV
For there you scramble on from pier to pier,Always afraid to lose your hold half way;
And as they clamber'd each successive tier
Of rugged upright rocks, I dare to say,
It was not altogether without fear—
Just fear enough to make brave people gay:
According to the words of Mr. Gray,
“They wound with toilsome march their long array.”
XXXVI
The more alert and active upward sprung,And let down ropes to drag their comrades after;
Those ropes were their own shirts together strung,
Stript off and twisted with such mirth and laughter,
That with their jokes the rocky echoes rung:
Like countrymen that on a beam or rafter
Attempt to pass a raging wintry flood,
Such was the situation where they stood:
XXXVII
A wild tumultuous torrent raged around,Of fragments tumbling from the mountain's height;
The whirling clouds of dust, the deafening sound,
The hurried motion that amazed the sight,
The constant quaking of the solid ground,
Environ'd them with phantoms of affright;
Yet with heroic hearts they held right on,
Till the last point of their ascent was won.
XXXVIII
The Giants saw them on the topmost crownOf the last rock, and threaten'd and defied—
“Down with the mangy dwarfs there!—Dash them down
“Down with the dirty pismires!”—Thus they cried.
Sir Tristram, with a sharp sarcastic frown,
In their own Giant jargon thus replied,
“Mullinger!—Cacamole!—and Mangonell!
“You cursed cannibals—I know you well—
225
XXXIX
“I'll see that pate of yours upon a post,“And your left-handed squinting brother's too—
“By Heaven and Earth, within an hour at most,
“I'll give the crows a meal of him and you—
“The wolves shall have you—either raw or roast—
“I'll make an end of all your cursed crew.”
These words he partly said, and partly sang,
As usual with the Giants, in their slang.
XL
He darted forward to the mountain's brow—The Giants ran away—they knew not why—
Sir Tristram gain'd the point—he knew not how—
He could account for it no more than I.
Such strange effects we witness often now;
Such strange experiments true Britons try
In sieges, and in skirmishes afloat,
In storming heights, and boarding from a boat.
XLI
True Courage bears about a Charm or Spell—It looks, I think, like an instinctive Law
By which superior natures daunt and quell
Frenchmen and foreigners with fear and awe.
I wonder if Philosophers can tell—
Can they explain the thing with all their jaw?
I can't explain it—but the fact is so,
A fact which every midshipman must know.
XLII
Then instantly the signal was held out,To shew Sir Gawain that the coast was clear:
They heard his Camp re-echo with a shout—
In half an hour Sir Gawain will be here.
But still Sir Tristram was perplext with doubt—
The crisis of the Ladies' fate drew near—
He dreaded what those poor defenceless creatures
Might suffer from such fierce and desperate natures.
226
XLIII
The Giants, with their brutal want of sense,In hurling stones to crush them with the fall,
And in their hurry taking them from thence,
Had half dismantled all the new-built Wall.
They left it here and there, a naked fence
Of stakes and palisades, upright and tall.
Sir Tristram form'd a sudden resolution,
And recommended it for execution.
XLIV
“My Lads,” he cried, “an effort must be made“To keep those Monsters half an hour in play,
“While Gawain is advancing to our aid,
“Or else the Ladies will be made away.
“By mounting close within the palisade,
“You'll parry their two-handed, dangerous sway
“Their Clubs and Maces: recollect my words,
“And use your daggers rather than your swords.”
XLV
That service was most gallantly perform'd:The Giants still endeavour'd to repel
And drive them from the breach that they had storm'd:
The foremost of the Crew was Mangonell.
At sight of him Sir Tristram's spirit warm'd;
With aim unerring Tristram's falchion fell,
Lopt off his Club and fingers at the knuckle,
And thus disabled that stupendous Chuckle.
XLVI
The Giant ran, outrageous with the wound,Roaring and bleeding, to the palisade;
Sir Tristram swerved aside, and reaching round,
Probed all his entrails with his poniard's blade:
His Giant limbs fall thundering on the ground,
His goggling eyes eternal slumbers shade;
Then by the head or heels, I know not which,
They dragg'd him forth, and tost him in the Ditch.
227
XLVII
Sir Tristram, in the warfare that he waged,Strove to attract the Giant's whole attention;
To keep it undivided and engaged,
He rack'd his fiery brain and his invention;
And taunted and reviled, and storm'd, and raged,
In terms far worse, and more than I can mention.
In the mean while, in a more sober manner,
Sir Gawain was advancing with his banner.
XLVIII
But first I must commemorate in rhymeSir Tristram's dextrous swordmanship and might,
(This incident appears to me sublime),
He struck a Giant's head off in the fight:
The head fell down of course, but for some time
The stupid, headless trunk remain'd upright;
For more than twenty seconds there it stood,
But ultimately fell from loss of blood.
XLIX
Behold Sir Gawain with his valiant band;He enters on the work with warmth and haste,
And slays a brace of Giants out of hand,
Sliced downward from the shoulder to the waist.
But our ichnography must now be plann'd,
The Keep or Inner Castle must be traced.
I wish myself at the concluding distich,
Although I think the thing characteristic.
L
Facing your Entrance, just three yards behind,There was a Mass of Stone of moderate height,
It stood before you like a screen or blind:
And there—on either hand to left and right—
Were sloping Parapets or Planes inclined,
On which two massy Stones were placed upright,
Secured by Staples and by leathern Ropes,
Which hinder'd them from sliding down the slopes.
228
LI
“—Cousin, those Dogs have some device or gin!—“—I'll run the gauntlet—and I'll stand a knock—”
He dash'd into the Gate through thick and thin—
He hew'd away the bands which held the block—
It rush'd along the slope with rumbling din,
And closed the entrance with a thundering shock,
(Just like those famous old Symplegades
Discover'd by the Classics in their seas.)
LII
This was Sir Tristram—(as you may suppose)He found some Giants wounded, others dead—
He shortly equalizes these with those;
But one poor Devil there was sick in bed,
In whose behalf the Ladies interpose;
Sir Tristram spared his life, because they said
That he was more humane, and mild, and clever,
And all the time had had an ague-fever.
LIII
The Ladies?—They were tolerably well,At least as well as could have been expected:
Many details I must forbear to tell,
Their toilet had been very much neglected;
But by supreme good luck it so befell
That when the Castle's capture was effected,
When those vile cannibals were overpower'd,
Only two fat Duennas were devour'd.
LIV
Sir Tristram having thus secured the Fort,And seen all safe, was climbing to the Wall,
(Meaning to leap into the outer Court;)
But when he came, he saved himself the fall,
Sir Gawain had been spoiling all the sport,
The Giants were demolish'd one and all:
He pull'd them up the Wall—they climb and enter—
Such was the winding up of this adventure.
229
LV
The only real sufferer in the fightWas a poor neighbouring Squire of little fame,
That came and join'd the party overnight;
He hobbled home, disabled with a maim
Which he received in tumbling from a height:
The Knights from Court had never heard his name,
Nor recollected seeing him before—
Two leopards' faces were the arms he bore.
LVI
Thus Tristram, without loss of life or limb,Conquer'd the Giants' Castle in a day;
But whether it were accident or whim
That kept him in the Woods so long away,
In any other mortal except him
I should not feel a doubt of what to say;
But he was wholly guided by his humour,
Indifferent to report and public rumour.
LVII
It was besides imagined and suspectedThat he had miss'd his course by deep design,
To take the track which Gawain had neglected—
I speak of others' notions, not of mine:
I question even if he recollected—
He might have felt a moment's wish to shine;
I only know that he made nothing of it,
Either for reputation or for profit.
LVIII
The Ladies, by Sir Gawain's kind direction,Proceeded instantaneously to Court,
To thank their Majesties for their protection.
Sir Gawain follow'd with a grand escort,
And was received with favour and affection.
Sir Tristram remain'd loitering in the Fort;
He thought the building and the scenery striking,
And that poor captive Giant took his liking.
230
LIX
And now the thread of our Romance unravels,Presenting new performers on the stage;
A Giant's education and his travels
Will occupy the next succeeding page:
But I begin to tremble at the cavils
Of this fastidious, supercilious age;
Reviews, and paragraphs in morning papers—
The prospect of them gives my Muse the vapours.
LX
“My dear,” says she, “I think it will be well“To ascertain our losses or our gains:
“If this first sample should succeed and sell,
“We can renew the same melodious strains.”
Poor soul! she's had, I think, a tedious spell,
And ought to be consider'd for her pains.
And keeping of my company so long—
A moderate compliment would not be wrong.
CANTO III.
I
I've a proposal here from Mr. Murray,‘He offers handsomely—the money down;
‘My dear, you might recover from your flurry
‘In a nice airy lodging out of town,
‘At Croydon, Epsom, anywhere in Surrey;
‘If every stanza brings us in a crown,
‘I think that I might venture to bespeak
‘A bed-room and front-parlour for next week.
231
II
‘Tell me, my dear Thalia, what you think;‘Your nerves have undergone a sudden shock;
‘Your poor dear spirits have begun to sink;
‘On Banstead Downs you'd muster a new stock,
‘And I'd be sure to keep away from drink,
‘And always go to bed by twelve o'clock.
‘We'll travel down there in the morning stages;
‘Our verses shall go down to distant ages.
III
‘And here in town we'll breakfast on hot rolls,‘And you shall have a better shawl to wear;
‘These pantaloons of mine are chafed in holes;
‘By Monday next I'll compass a new pair:
‘Come, now, fling up the cinders, fetch the coals,
‘And take away the things you hung to air,
‘Set out the tea-things, and bid Phœbe bring
‘The kettle up.’—Arms and the Monks I sing.
IV
Some ten miles off, an ancient abbey stood,Amidst the mountains, near a noble stream;
A level eminence, enshrined with wood,
Slop'd to the river's bank and southern beam;
Within were fifty friars fat and good,
Of goodly persons, and of good esteem,
That pass'd an easy, exemplary life,
Remote from want and care, and worldly strife.
V
Between the Monks and Giants there subsisted,In the first abbot's lifetime, much respect;
The Giants let them settle where they listed;
The Giants were a tolerating sect.
A poor lame Giant once the Monks assisted,
Old and abandon'd, dying with neglect,
The Prior found him, cured his broken bone,
And very kindly cut him for the stone.
232
VI
This seem'd a glorious, golden opportunity,To civilize the whole gigantic race;
To draw them to pay tithes, and dwell in unity;
The Giants' valley was a fertile place,
And might have much enrich'd the whole community,
Had the old Giant lived a longer space;
But he relapsed, and though all means were tried,
They could but just baptize him—when he died.
VII
And, I believe, the Giants never knewOf the kind treatment that befell their mate;
He broke down all at once, and all the crew
Had taken leave, and left him to his fate;
And though the Monks exposed him full in view,
Propt on his crutches, at the garden gate,
To prove their cure, and shew that all was right,
It happen'd that no Giants came in sight:
VIII
They never found another case to cure,But their demeanour calm and reverential,
Their gesture and their vesture grave and pure,
Their conduct sober, cautious, and prudential,
Engaged respect, sufficient to secure
Their properties and interests most essential;
They kept a distant, courteous intercourse;
Salutes and gestures were their sole discourse.
IX
Music will civilize, the poets say,In time it might have civiliz'd the Giants;
The Jesuits found its use in Paraguay;
Orpheus was famous for harmonic science,
And civilized the Thracians in that way;
My judgment coincides with Mr. Bryant's;
He thinks that Orpheus meant a race of cloisterers,
Obnoxious to the Bacchanalian roisterers.
233
X
Deciphering the symbols of mythology,He finds them Monks, expert in their vocation;
Teachers of music, medicine, and theology,
The missionaries of the barbarous Thracian;
The poet's fable was a wild apology
For an inhuman bloody reformation,
Which left those tribes uncivilized and rude,
Naked and fierce, and painted and tattoo'd.
XI
It was a glorious jacobinic jobTo pull down convents, to condemn for treason
Poor peeping Pentheus—to carouse and rob,
With naked raving goddesses of reason,
The festivals and orgies of the mob
That every twentieth century come in season.
Enough of Orpheus—the succeeding page
Relates to Monks of a more recent age;
XII
And oft that wild untutor'd race would draw,Led by the solemn sound and sacred light
Beyond the bank, beneath a lonely shaw,
To listen all the livelong summer night,
Till deep, serene, and reverential awe
Environ'd them with silent calm delight,
Contemplating the Minster's midnight gleam,
Reflected from the clear and glassy stream;
XIII
But chiefly, when the shadowy moon had shedO'er woods and waters her mysterious hue,
Their passive hearts and vacant fancies fed
With thoughts and aspirations strange and new,
Till their brute souls with inward working bred
Dark hints that in the depth of instinct grew
Subjective—not from Locke's associations,
Nor David Hartley's doctrine of vibrations.
234
XIV
Each was ashamed to mention to the othersOne half of all the feelings that he felt,
Yet thus far each could venture—‘Listen, brothers,
‘It seems as if one heard heaven's thunder melt
‘In music—! all at once it soothes—it smothers—
‘It overpowers one—Pillicock, don't pelt!
‘It seems a kind of shame, a kind of sin,
‘To vex those harmless worthy souls within.’
XV
In castles and in courts Ambition dwells,But not in castles or in courts alone;
She breathed a wish, throughout those sacred cells,
For bells of larger size, and louder tone;
Giants abominate the sound of bells,
And soon the fierce antipathy was shown,
The tinkling and the jingling, and the clangour;
Roused their irrational gigantic anger.
XVI
Unhappy mortals! ever blind to fate!Unhappy Monks! you see no danger nigh;
Exulting in their sound and size and weight,
From morn till noon the merry peal you ply:
The belfry rocks, your bosoms are elate,
Your spirits with the ropes and pulleys fly;
Tired, but transported, panting, pulling, hauling,
Ramping and stamping, overjoy'd and bawling.
XVII
Meanwhile the solemn mountains that surroundedThe silent valley where the convent lay,
With tintinnabular uproar were astounded,
When the first peal burst forth at break of day:
Feeling their granite ears severely wounded,
They scarce knew what to think, or what to say;
And (though large mountains commonly conceal
Their sentiments, dissembling what they feel,
235
XVIII
Yet) Cader-Gibbrish from his cloudy throneTo huge Loblommon gave an intimation
Of this strange rumour, with an awful tone,
Thundering his deep surprise and indignation;
The lesser hills, in language of their own,
Discuss'd the topic by reverberation;
Discoursing with their echoes all day long,
Their only conversation was, ‘ding-dong.’
XIX
Those giant-mountains inwardly were moved,But never made an outward change of place:
Not so the mountain-giants—(as behoved
A more alert and locomotive race),
Hearing a clatter which they disapproved,
They ran straight forward to besiege the place
With a discordant universal yell,
Like house-dogs howling at a dinner-bell.
XX
Historians are extremely to be pitied,Obliged to persevere in the narration
Of wrongs and horrid outrages committed,
Oppression, sacrilege, assassination;
The following scenes I wish'd to have omitted,
But truth is an imperious obligation.
So—‘my heart sickens, and I drop my pen,’
And am obliged to pick it up again,
XXI
And, dipping it afresh, I must transcribeAn ancient monkish record, which displays
The savage acts of that gigantic tribe;
I hope, that from the diction of those days,
This noble, national poem will imbibe
A something (in the old reviewing phrase),
‘Of an original flavour, and a raciness;’
I should not else transcribe it out of laziness.
236
XXII
The writer first relates a dream, or vision,Observed by Luke and Lawrence in their cells,
And a nocturnal hideous apparition
Of fiends and devils dancing round the bells:
This last event is stated with precision;
Their persons he describes, their names he tells,
Klaproth, Tantallan, Barbanel, Belphegor,
Long-tail'd, long-talon'd, hairy, black, and meagre.
XXIII
He then rehearses sundry marvels more,Damping the mind with horror by degrees,
Of a prodigious birth a heifer bore,
Of mermaids seen in the surrounding seas,
Of a sea-monster that was cast ashore;
Earthquakes and thunder-stones, events like these,
Which served to shew the times were out of joint,
And then proceeds directly to the point.
XXIV
Erant rumores et timores varii;Dies horroris et confusionis
Evenit in calendis Januarii;
Gigantes, semen maledictionis
Nostri potentes impii adversarii,
Irascebantur campanarum sonis,
Horâ secundâ centum tres gigantes
Venerunt ante januam ululantes.
XXV
At fratres pleni desolationis,Stabant ad necessarium præsidium,
Perterriti pro vitis et pro bonis,
Et perduravit hoc crudele obsidium,
Nostri claustralis pauperis Sionis,
Ad primum diem proximorum Idium;
Tunc in triumpho fracto tintinnabulo,
Gigantes ibant alibi pro pabulo.
237
XXVI
Sed frater Isidorus decumbebatIn lecto per tres menses brachio fracto,
Nam lapides Mangonellus jaciebat,
Et fregit tintinnabulum lapide jacto;
Et omne vicinagium destruebat,
Et nihil relinquebat de intacto,
Ardens molinos, Casas, messuagia,
Et alia multa damna atque outragia.
XXVII
Those Monks were poor proficients in divinity,And scarce knew more of Latin than myself;
Compared with theirs they say that true Latinity
Appears like porcelain compared with delf;
As for the damage done in the vicinity,
Those that have laid their Latin on the shelf
May like to read the subsequent narration
Done into metre from a friend's translation.
XXVIII
Squire Humphry Bamberham, of Boozley Hall,(Whose name I mention with deserved respect),
On market-days was often pleased to call,
And to suggest improvements, or correct;
I own the obligation once for all,
Lest critics should imagine they detect
Traces of learning and superior reading,
Beyond, as they suppose, my birth and breeding.
XXIX
Papers besides, and transcripts most material,He gave me when I went to him to dine;
A trunk full, one coach-seat, and an imperial,
One band-box—But the work is wholly mine;
The tone, the form, the colouring etherial,
‘The vision and the faculty divine,’
The scenery, characters, and triple-rhymes,
I'll swear it—like old Walter of the Times.
238
XXX
Long, long before, upon a point of weight,Such as a ring of bells complete and new,
Chapters were summon'd, frequent, full, and late;
The point was view'd in every point of view,
Till, after fierce discussion and debate,
The wiser monks, the wise are always few,
That from the first opposed the plan in toto,
Were over-borne, canonicali voto.
XXXI
A prudent monk, their reader and librarian,Observed a faction, angry, strong, and warm,
(Himself an anti-tintinnabularian),
He saw, or thought he saw, a party form
To scout him as an alien and sectarian.
There was an undefined impending storm!
The opponents were united, bold, and hot;
They might degrade, imprison him—what not?
XXXII
Now faction in a city, camp, or cloister,While it is yet a tender raw beginner,
Is nourish'd by superfluous warmth and moisture,
Namely, by warmth and moisture after dinner;
And therefore, till the temper and the posture
Of things should alter—till a secret inner
Instinctive voice should whisper, all is right—
He deem'd it safest to keep least in sight.
XXXIII
He felt as if his neck were in a noose,And evermore retired betimes from table,
For fear of altercation and abuse,
But made the best excuse that he was able;
He never rose without a good excuse,
(Like Master Stork invited in the fable
To Mr. Fox's dinner); there he sat,
Impatient to retire and take his hat.
239
XXXIV
For only once or twice that he remain'dTo change this constant formal course, he found
His brethren awkward, sullen, and constrain'd,
—He caught the conversation at a bound,
And, with a hurried agitation, strain'd
His wits to keep it up, and drive it round.
—It saved him—but he felt the risk and danger,
Behaved-to like a pleasant utter stranger.
XXXV
Wise people sometimes will pretend to sleep,And watch and listen while they droop and snore—
He felt himself a kind of a black sheep,
But studied to be neither less nor more
Obliging than became him—but to keep
His temper, style, and manner as before;
It seem'd the best, the safest, only plan,
Never to seem to feel as a mark'd man.
XXXVI
Wise Curs, when canister'd, refuse to run;They merely crawl and creep about, and whine,
And disappoint the Boys, and spoil the fun—
That picture is too mean—this Monk of mine
Ennobled it, as others since have done,
With grace and ease, and grandeur of design;
He neither ran nor howl'd, nor crept nor turn'd,
But wore it as he walk'd, quite unconcern'd.
XXXVII
To manifest the slightest want of nerveWas evidently perfect, utter ruin,
Therefore the seeming to recant or swerve,
By meddling any way with what was doing,
He felt within himself would only serve
To bring down all the mischief that was brewing;
“No duty binds me, no constraint compels
“To bow before the Dagon of the Bells,
240
XXXVIII
“To flatter this new foolery, to betray“My vote, my conscience, and my better sense,
“By bustling in the Belfry day by day;
“But in the Grange, the Cellar, or the Spence,
“(While all are otherwise employ'd), I may
“Deserve their thanks, at least avoid offence;
“For (while this vile anticipated clatter
“Fills all their hearts and senses), every matter
XXXIX
“Behoveful for our maintenance and needs“Is wholly disregarded, and the course
“Of our conventual management proceeds
“At random, day by day, from bad to worse;
“The Larder dwindles and the Cellar bleeds!
“Besides,—besides the bells, we must disburse
“For masonry, for frame-work, wheels and fliers;
“Next winter we must fast like genuine friars.”
XL
As Bees, that when the skies are calm and fair,In June, or the beginning of July,
Launch forth colonial settlers in the air,
Round, round, and round-about, they whiz, they fly,
With eager worry whirling here and there,
They know not whence, nor whither, where, nor why,
In utter hurry-scurry, going, coming,
Maddening the summer air with ceaseless humming;
XLI
Till the strong Frying-pan's energic jangleWith thrilling thrum their feebler hum doth drown,
Then passive and appeased, they droop and dangle,
Clinging together close, and clustering down,
Link'd in a multitudinous living tangle
Like an old Tassel of a dingy brown;
The joyful Farmer sees, and spreads his hay,
And reckons on a settled sultry day.
241
XLII
E'en so the Monks, as wild as sparks of fire,(Or swarms unpacified by pan or kettle),
Ran restless round the Cloisters and the Quire,
Till those huge masses of sonorous metal
Attracted them toward the Tower and Spire;
There you might see them cluster, crowd, and settle,
Throng'd in the hollow tintinnabular Hive;
The Belfry swarm'd with Monks; it seem'd alive.
XLIII
Then, while the Cloisters, Courts, and Yards were still,Silent and empty, like a long vacation;
The Friar prowl'd about, intent to fill
Details of delegated occupation,
Which, with a ready frankness and good will,
He undertook; he said, “the obligation
“Was nothing—nothing—he could serve their turn
“While they were busy with this new concern.”
XLIV
Combining prudence with a scholar's pride,Poor Tully, like a toad beneath a harrow,
Twitch'd, jerk'd, and haul'd and maul'd on every side,
Tried to identify himself with Varro;
This course our cautious Friar might have tried,
But his poor convent was a field too narrow;
There was not, from the Prior to the Cook,
A single soul that cared about a book:
XLV
Yet, sitting with his books, he felt unclogg'dUnfetter'd; and for two hours together tasted
The calm delight of being neither dogg'd,
Nor watch'd, nor worried; he transcribed, he pasted,
Repair'd old Bindings, index'd, catalogued,
Illuminated, mended Clasps, and wasted
An hour or two sometimes in actual reading;
Meanwhile the belfry business was proceeding;
242
XLVI
And the first opening Peal, the grand display,In prospect ever present to his mind,
Was fast approaching, pregnant with dismay,
With loathing and with horror undefined,
Like the expectation of an Ague-day;
The day before he neither supp'd nor dined,
And felt beforehand, for a fortnight near,
A kind of deafness in his fancy's ear:
XLVII
But most he fear'd his ill-digested spleen,Inflamed by gibes, might lead him on to wrangle,
Or discompose, at least, his looks and mien;
So, with the Belfry's first prelusive jangle,
He sallied from the Garden-gate unseen,
With his worst hat, his boots, his line and angle,
Meaning to pass away the time, and bring
Some fish for supper, as a civil thing.
XLVIII
The prospect of their after-supper talkEmploy'd his thoughts, forecasting many a scoff,
Which he with quick reply must damp and balk,
Parrying at once, without a hem or cough,
“Had not the bells annoy'd him in his walk?—
“No, faith! he liked them best when farthest off.”
Thus he prepared and practised many a sentence,
Expressing ease, good-humour, independence.
XLIX
His ground-bait had been laid the night before,Most fortunately!—for he used to say,
‘That more than once the belfry's bothering roar
‘Almost induced him to remove away;’
Had he so done,—the gigantean corps
Had sack'd the convent on that very day,
But providentially the perch and dace
Bit freely, which detain'd him at the place.
243
L
And here let us detain ourselves awhile,My dear Thalia! party's angry frown
And petty malice in that monkish pile,
(The warfare of the cowl and of the gown),
Had almost dried my wits and drain'd my style;
Here, with our legs, then, idly dangling down,
We'll rest upon the bank, and dip our toes
In the poetic current as it flows.
LI
Or in the narrow sunny plashes near,Observe the puny piscatory Swarm,
That with their tiny Squadrons tack and veer,
Cruising amidst the shelves and shallows warm,
Chasing, or in retreat, with hope or fear
Of petty plunder or minute alarm;
With clannish instinct how they wheel and face,
Inherited arts inherent in the race;
LII
Or mark the jetty, glossy Tribes that glanceUpon the water's firm unruffled breast,
Tracing their ancient labyrinthic dance
In mute mysterious cadence unexpress'd;
Alas! that fresh disaster and mischance
Again must drive us from our place of rest!
Grim Mangonel, with his outrageous crew,
Will scare us hence within an hour or two.
LIII
Poets are privileged to run away—Alcæus and Archilochus could fling
Their shields behind them in a doubtful fray;
And still sweet Horace may be heard to sing
His filthy fright upon Philippi's day;
(—You can retire, too—for the Muse's wing
Is swift as Cupid's pinion when he flies,
Alarm'd at periwigs and human Tyes).
244
LIV
This practice was approved in times of yore,Though later bards behav'd like gentlemen,
And Garcilasso, Camoens, many more,
Disclaim'd the privilege of book and pen;
And bold Aneurin, all bedripp'd with gore,
Bursting by force from the beleaguer'd glen,
Arrogant, haughty, fierce, of fiery mood,
Not meek and mean, as Gray misunderstood.
LV
But we, that write a mere Campaigning Tour,May choose a station for our point of view
That's picturesque and perfectly secure;
Come, now we'll sketch the friar—That will do—
‘Designs and etchings by an amateur;’
‘A frontispiece, and a vignette or two:’
But much I fear that aqua-tint and etching
Will scarce keep pace with true poetic sketching.
LVI
Dogs that inhabit near the banks of Nile,(As ancient authors or old proverbs say),
Dreading the cruel critic Crocodile,
Drink as they run, a mouthful and away;
'Tis a true model for descriptive style;
“Keep moving,” (as the man says in the play),
The power of motion is the poet's forte—
Therefore, again, “keep moving! that's your sort!”
LVII
For, otherwise, while you persist and paint,With your portfolio pinion'd to a spot,
Half of your picture grows effaced and faint,
Imperfectly remember'd, or forgot;
Make sketch, then, upon sketch; and if they a'n't
Complete, it does not signify a jot;
Leave graphic illustrations of your work
To be devised by Westall or by Smirke.
245
LVIII
I'll speak my mind at once, in spite of raillery;I've thought and thought again a thousand times,
What a magnificent Poetic Gallery
Might be design'd from my Stowmarket rhymes;
I look for no reward, nor fee, nor salary,
I look for England's fame in foreign climes
And future ages—Honos alit Artes,
And such a plan would reconcile all parties.
LIX
I'm strongly for the present state of things;I look for no reform, nor innovation,
Because our present Parliaments and Kings
Are competent to improve and rule the Nation,
Provided Projects that true Genius brings
Are held in due respect and estimation.
I've said enough—and now you must be wishing
To see the landscape, and the friar fishing.
CANTO IV.
I
A mighty current, unconfin'd and free,Ran wheeling round beneath the mountain's shade,
Battering its wave-worn base; but you might see
On the near margin many a watery glade,
Becalm'd beneath some little island's lee
All tranquil, and transparent, close embay'd;
Reflecting in the deep serene and even
Each flower and herb, and every cloud of Heaven;
246
II
The painted kingfisher, the branch above her,Stand in the sultry mirror fixt and true;
Anon the fitful breezes brood and hover,
Freshening the surface with a rougher hue;
Spreading, withdrawing, pausing, passing over,
Again returning to retire anew:
So rest and motion, in a narrow range,
Feasted the sight with joyous interchange.
III
The Monk with handy jerk, and petty baits,Stands twitching out apace the perch and roach;
His mightier tackle, pitch'd apart, awaits
The grovelling barbel's unobserved approach:
And soon his motley meal of homely Cates
Is spread, the leather bottle is a-broach;
Eggs, Bacon, Ale, a Napkin, Cheese and Knife,
Forming a charming Picture of Still-life.
IV
The Friar fishing—a design for Cuyp,A cabinet jewel—‘Pray remark the boot;
‘And, leading from the light, that shady stripe,
‘With the dark bulrush-heads how well they suit;
‘And then, that mellow tint so warm and ripe,
‘That falls upon the cassock, and surtout:’
If it were fairly painted, puff'd and sold,
My gallery would be worth its weight in gold.
V
But hark!—the busy Chimes fall fast and strong,Clattering and pealing in their full career;
Closely the thickening sounds together throng,
No longer painful to the Friar's ear,
They bind his Fancy with illusion strong;
While his rapt Spirit hears, or seems to hear,
“Turn, turn again—gen—gèn, thou noble Friar,
“Eleele—lèele—lèele—lected Prior.”
247
VI
Thus the mild Monk, as he unhook'd a gudgeon,Stood musing—when far other sounds arise,
Sounds of despite and ire, and direful dudgeon;
And soon across the River he espies,
In wrathful act, a hideous huge Curmudgeon
Calling his Comrades on with shouts and cries,
“There!—there it is!—I told them so before;”
He left his Line and Hook, and said no more;
VII
But ran right forward, (pelted all the way),And bolted breathless at the Convent-gate,
The messenger and herald of dismay;
But soon with conscious worth, and words of weight,
Gives orders which the ready Monks obey:
Doors, windows, wickets, are blockaded straight;
He reinspires the Convent's drooping sons,
Is here and there, and everywhere, at once.
VIII
“Friends! fellow-Monks!” he cried, (“for well you know“That mightiest Giants must in vain essay
“Across yon river's foaming gulf to go:)
“The mountainous, obscure and winding way,
“That guides their footsteps to the Ford below,
“Affords a respite of desired delay—
“Seize then the passing hour!”—the Monk kept bawling,
In terms to this effect, though not so drawling.
IX
His words were these, “Before the Ford is crost,“We've a good hour,—at least three-quarters good—
“Bestir yourselves, my lads, or all is lost—
“Drive down this Staunchion, bring those Spars of wood;
“This Bench will serve—here, wedge it to the Post;
“Come, Peter, quick! strip off your Gown and Hood—
“Take up the Mallet, Man, and bang away!
“Tighten these Ropes—now lash them, and belay.
248
X
“Finish the job while I return—I fear“Yon Postern-gate will prove the Convent's ruin;
“You, brother John, my Namesake! stay you here,
“And give an eye to what these Monks are doing;
“Bring out the scalding Sweet-wort, and the Beer,
“Keep up the Stoke-hole fire, where we were brewing:
“And pull the Gutters up and melt the Lead—
“(Before a dozen aves can be said,)
XI
“I shall be back amongst you.”—Forth he went,Secured the Postern, and return'd again,
Disposing all with high arbitrement,
With earnest air, and visage on the main
Concern of public safety fixt and bent;
For now the Giants, stretching o'er the plain,
Are seen, presenting in the dim horizon
Tall awful forms, horrific and surprising—
XII
I'd willingly walk barefoot fifty mile,To find a scholar, or divine, or squire,
That could assist me to devise a Style
Fit to describe the conduct of the Friar;
I've tried three different ones within a while,
The Grave, the Vulgar, and the grand High-flyer;
All are I think improper, more or less,
I'll take my chance amongst 'em—you shall guess.
XIII
Intrepid, eager, ever prompt to flyWhere danger and the Convent's safety call;
Where doubtful points demand a judging eye,
Where on the massy gates huge maces fall;
Where missile vollied rocks are whirl'd on high,
Pre-eminent upon the embattled wall,
In gesture, and in voice, he stands confest;
Exhorting all the Monks to do their best.
249
XIV
We redescend to phrase of low degree—For there's a point which you must wish to know,
The real ruling Abbot—where was he?
For (since we make so classical a show,
Our Convent's mighty structure, as you see,
Like Thebes or Troy beleaguer'd by the foe;
Our Friar scuffling like a kind of Cocles),
You'll figure him perhaps like Eteocles
XV
In Æschylus, with sentries, guards and watches,Ready for all contingencies arising,
Pitting his chosen chiefs in equal matches
Against the foe—anon soliloquizing;
Then occupied anew with fresh dispatches—
Nothing like this!—but something more surprising—
Was he like Priam then—that's stranger far—
That in the ninth year of his Trojan war,
XVI
Knew not the names or persons of his foes,But merely points them out as stout or tall,
While (as no Trojan knew them, I suppose),
Helen attends her father to the wall,
To tell him long details of these and those?
'Twas not like this, but strange and odd withal;
‘Nobody knows it—nothing need be said,
‘Our poor dear Abbot is this instant dead.
XVII
‘They wheel'd him out, you know, to take the air—‘It must have been an apoplectic fit—
‘He tumbled forward from his garden-chair—
‘He seem'd completely gone, but warm as yet:
‘I wonder how they came to leave him there;
‘Poor soul! he wanted courage, heart, and wit
‘For Times like these—the Shock and the Surprise!
'Twas very natural the Gout should rise.
250
XVIII
‘But such a sudden end was scarce expected;‘Our parties will be puzzled to proceed;
‘The belfry set divided and dejected:
‘The crisis is a strange one, strange indeed;
‘I'll bet yon fighting Friar is elected;
‘It often happens in the hour of need,
‘From popular ideas of utility,
‘People are pitch'd upon for mere ability.
XIX
‘I'll hint the subject, and communicate‘The sad event—He's standing there apart;
‘Our offer, to be sure, comes somewhat late,
‘But then, we never thought he meant to start,
‘And if he gains his end, at any rate,
‘He has an understanding and a heart;
‘He'll serve or he'll protect his friends, at least,
‘With better spirit than the poor deceased;
XX
‘The convent was all going to the devil‘While he, poor creature, thought himself beloved
‘For saying handsome things, and being civil,
‘Wheeling about as he was pull'd and shoved,
‘By way of leaving things to find their level.’
The funeral sermon ended, both approved,
And went to Friar John, who merely doubted
The fact, and wish'd them to enquire about it;
XXI
Then left them, and return'd to the attack:They found their Abbot in his former place;
They took him up and turn'd him on his back;
At first (you know) he tumbled on his face:
They found him fairly stiff, and cold, and black;
They then unloosed each ligature and lace,
His neckcloth and his girdle, hose and garters,
And took him up, and lodged him in his quarters.
251
XXII
Bees serv'd me for a simile before,And bees again—‘Bees that have lost their king,’
Would seem a repetition and a bore;
Besides, in fact, I never saw the thing;
And though those phrases from the good old store
Of “feebler hummings and a flagging wing,”
Perhaps may be descriptive and exact;
I doubt it; I confine myself to fact.
XXIII
Thus much is certain, that a mighty potherArises; that the frame and the condition
Of things is alter'd, they combine and bother,
And every winged insect politician
Is warm and eager till they choose another.
In our monastic Hive the same ambition
Was active and alert; but angry fortune
Constrain'd them to contract the long, importune,
XXIV
Tedious, obscure, inexplicable train,Qualification, form, and oath and test,
Ballots on ballots, ballotted again;
Accessits, scrutinies, and all the rest;
Theirs was the good old method, short and plain;
Per acclamationem they invest
Their fighting Friar John with Robes and Ring,
Crozier and Mitre, Seals, and every thing.
XXV
With a new warlike active Chief elected,Almost at once, it scarce can be conceived
What a new spirit, real or affected,
Prevail'd throughout; the monks complained and grieved
That nothing was attempted or projected;
While Quiristers and Novices believed
That their new fighting Abbot, Friar John,
Would sally forth at once, and lead them on.
252
XXVI
I pass such gossip, and devote my caresBy diligent inquiry to detect
The genuine state and posture of affairs:
Unmanner'd, uninform'd, and incorrect,
Falsehood and Malice hold alternate chairs,
And lecture and preside in Envy's sect;
The fortunate and great she never spares,
Sowing the soil of history with tares.
XXVII
Thus, jealous of the truth, and feeling lothThat Sir Nathaniel henceforth should accuse
Our noble Monk of cowardice and sloth,
I'll print the Affidavit of the Muse,
And state the facts as ascertain'd on Oath,
Corroborated by Surveys and Views,
When good King Arthur granted them a Brief,
And Ninety Groats were raised for their relief.
XXVIII
Their arbours, walks, and alleys were defaced,Riven and uprooted, and with ruin strown,
And the fair Dial in their garden placed
Batter'd by barbarous hands, and overthrown;
The Deer with wild pursuit dispersed and chased,
The Dove-house ransack'd, and the Pigeons flown;
The Cows all kill'd in one promiscuous slaughter,
The Sheep all drown'd, and floating in the water.
XXIX
The Mill was burn'd down to the water-wheels;The Giants broke away the Dam and Sluice,
Dragg'd up and emptied all the Fishing-reels;
Drain'd and destroy'd the Reservoir and Stews,
Wading about, and groping carp and eels;
In short, no single earthly thing of use
Remain'd untouch'd beyond the convent's wall:
The Friars from their windows view'd it all.
253
XXX
But the bare hope of personal defence,The church, the convent's, and their own protection,
Absorb'd their thoughts, and silenced every sense
Of present loss, till Friar John's election;
Then other schemes arose, I know not whence,
Whether from flattery, zeal, or disaffection,
But the brave Monk, like Fabius with Hannibal,
Against internal faction, and the cannibal
XXXI
Inhuman foe, that threaten'd from without,Stood firmly, with a self-sufficing mind,
Impregnable to rumour, fear, or doubt,
Determined that the casual, idle, blind
Event of battle with that barbarous Rout,
Flush'd with success and garbage, should not bind
Their future destinies, or fix the seal
Of ruin on the claustral Common-weal.
XXXII
He check'd the rash, the boisterous, and the proud,By speech and action, manly but discreet;
During the siege he never once allow'd
Of chapters, or convoked the monks to meet,
Dreading the consultations of a crowd.
Historic parallels we sometimes meet—
I think I could contrive one—if you please,
I shall compare our Monk to Pericles.
XXXIII
In Former Times, amongst the Athenians bold,This Pericles was placed in high command,
Heading their troops (as statesmen used of old),
In all their wars and fights by sea and land;
Besides, in Langhorne's Plutarch we are told
How many fine ingenious things he plann'd;
For Phidias was an Architect and Builder,
Jeweller and Engraver, Carver, Gilder;
254
XXXIV
But altogether quite expert and clever;Pericles took him up and stood his friend,
Persuading these Athenians to endeavour
To raise a Work to last to the world's end,
By means of which their Fame should last for ever;
Likewise an Image (which, you comprehend,
They meant to pray to, for the country's good):
They had before an old one made of wood,
XXXV
But being partly rotten and decay'd,They wish'd to have a new one spick and span,
So Pericles advised it should be made
According to this Phidias's plan,
Of ivory, with gold all overlaid,
Of the height of twenty cubits and a span,
Making eleven yards of English measure,
All to be paid for from the public treasure.
XXXVI
So Phidias's talents were requitedWith talents that were spent upon the work,
And every body busied and delighted,
Building a Temple—this was their next quirk—
Lest it should think itself ill-used and slighted.
This Temple now belongs to the Grand Turk,
The finest in the world allowed to be,
That people go five hundred miles to see.
XXXVII
Its ancient Carvings are safe here at home,Brought round by shipping from as far as Greece,
Finer, they say, than all the things at Rome;
But here you need not pay a penny-piece;
But curious people, if they like to come,
May look at them as often as they please—
I've left my subject, but I was not sorry
To mention things that raise the country's glory.
255
XXXVIII
Well, Pericles made every thing complete,Their town, their harbour, and their city wall;
When their allies rebell'd, he made them treat
And pay for peace, and tax'd and fined them all,
By which means Pericles maintain'd a fleet,
And kept three hundred galleys at his call;
Pericles was a man for every thing;
Pericles was a kind of petty king.
XXXIX
It happen'd Sparta was another State;They thought themselves as good; they could not bear
To see the Athenians grown so proud and great,
Ruling and domineering every where,
And so resolved, before it grew too late,
To fight it out and settle the affair;
Then, being quite determined to proceed,
They muster'd an amazing force indeed;
XL
And (after praying to their idol Mars)March'd on, with all the allies that chose to join,
As was the practice in old heathen wars,
Destroying all the fruit-trees, every vine,
And smashing and demolishing the jars
In which those classic ancients kept their wine;
The Athenians ran within the city wall
To save themselves, their children, wives, and all.
XLI
Then Pericles (whom they compar'd to Jove,As being apt to storm and play the deuce),
Kept quiet, and forbad the troops to move,
Because a battle was no kind of use;
The more they mutinied, the more he strove
To keep them safe in spite of their abuse,
For while the Farms were ransack'd round the Town,
This was the people's language up and down:
256
XLII
‘'Tis better to die once than live to see‘Such an abomination, such a waste;’
‘No! no!’ says Pericles, ‘that must not be,
‘You're too much in hurry,—too much haste—
‘Learned Athenians, leave the thing to me;
‘You think of being bullied and disgraced;
‘Don't think of that, nor answer their defiance;
‘We'll gain the day by our superior science.’
XLIII
Pericles led the people as he pleased,But in most cases something is forgot:
What with the crowd and heat they grew diseased,
And died in heaps like wethers with the rot;
And, at the last, the same distemper seized
Poor Pericles himself—he went to pot.
It answer'd badly;—therefore I admire
So much the more the conduct of the Friar.
XLIV
For in the Garrison where he presided,Neither distress, nor famine, nor disease,
Were felt, nor accident nor harm betided
The happy Monks; but plenteous, and with ease,
All needful monkish viands were provided;
Bacon and Pickled-herring, Pork and Peas;
And when the Table-beer began to fail,
They found resources in the Bottled-ale.
XLV
Dinner and supper kept their usual hours;Breakfast and luncheon never were delay'd,
While to the sentries on the walls and towers
Between two plates hot messes were convey'd.
At the departure of the invading powers,
It was a boast the noble Abbot made,
None of his Monks were weaker, paler, thinner,
Or, during all the siege, had lost a dinner.
257
XLVI
This was the common course of their hostility;The giant forces being foil'd at first,
Had felt the manifest impossibility
Of carrying things before them at a burst,
But still, without a prospect of utility,
At stated hours they pelted, howl'd, and cursed;
And sometimes, at the peril of their pates,
Would bang with clubs and maces at the gates;
XLVII
Them the brave monkish legions, unappall'd,With stones that served before to pave the court,
(Heap'd and prepared at hand), repell'd and maul'd,
Without an effort, smiling as in sport,
With many a broken head, and many a scald
From stones and molten lead and boiling wort;
Thus little Pillicock was left for dead,
And old Loblolly forced to keep his bed.
XLVIII
The giant-troops invariably withdrew,(Like mobs in Naples, Portugal, and Spain),
To dine at twelve o'clock, and sleep till two,
And afterwards (except in case of rain),
Return'd to clamour, hoot, and pelt anew.
The scene was every day the same again;
Thus the Blockade grew tedious: I intended
A week ago, myself, to raise and end it.
XLIX
One morn the drowsy Centry rubb'd his eyes,Foil'd by the scanty, baffling, early light;
It seem'd, a Figure of inferior size
Was traversing the Giants' camp outright;
And soon a Monkish Form they recognize—
And now their brother Martin stands in sight,
That on that morning of alarm and fear
Had rambled out to see the Salmon-Weir;
258
L
Passing the Ford, the Giants' first attackLeft brother Martin's station in their rear,
And thus prevented him from falling back;
But during all the Siege he watch'd them near,
Saw them returning by their former Track
The Night before, and found the Camp was clear;
And so return'd in safety with delight
And rapture, and a ravenous appetite.
LI
“Well! welcome,—welcome, brother!—Brother Martin!“Why, Martin!—we could scarce believe our eyes:
“Ah, brother! strange events here since our parting—”
And Martin dined (dispensing brief replies
To all the questions that the monks were starting,
Betwixt his mouthfuls), while each friar vies
In filling, helping, carving, questioning;
So Martin dined in public like a king.
LII
And now the Gates are open'd, and the ThrongForth issuing, the deserted Camp survey;
‘Here Murdomack, and Mangonel the strong,
‘And Gorboduc were lodged,’ and ‘here,’ they say,
‘This pigsty to Poldavy did belong;
‘Here Brindleback, and here Phagander lay.’
They view the deep indentures, broad and round,
Which mark their posture squatting on the ground.
LIII
Then to the traces of gigantic feet,Huge, wide apart, with half a dozen toes;
They track them on, till they converge and meet,
(An earnest and assurance of repose)
Close at the Ford; the cause of this retreat
They all conjecture, but no creature knows;
It was ascribed to causes multifarious,
To saints, as Jerom, George and Januarius,
259
LIV
To their own pious founder's intercession,To Ave-Maries, and our Lady's Psalter;
To news that Friar John was in possession,
To new wax candles placed upon the altar,
To their own prudence, valour, and discretion;
To reliques, rosaries, and holy water;
To beads and psalms, and feats of arms—in short,
There was no end of their accounting for't:
LV
But though they could not, you, perhaps, may guess;They went, in short, upon their last adventure,
After the Ladies—neither more nor less—
Our story now revolves upon its centre,
And I'm rejoiced myself, I must confess,
To find it tally like an old indenture;
They drove off Mules and Horses half a score,
The same that you saw roasted heretofore.
LVI
Our Giants' memoirs still remain on hand,For all my notions, being genuine gold,
Beat out beneath the hammer and expand,
And multiply themselves a thousandfold
Beyond the first idea that I plann'd;
Besides,—this present copy must be sold:
Besides,—I promised Murray t'other day,
To let him have it by the tenth of May.
END OF CANTO IV.
261
MISCELLANIES.
263
FABLES FOR FIVE YEARS OLD.
FABLE I. Of the Boy and his Top.
A little boy had bought a Top,
The best in all the toyman's shop;
He made a whip with good eel's-skin,
He lash'd the top, and made it spin;
All the children within call,
And the servants, one and all,
Stood round to see it and admire.
At last the Top began to tire,
He cried out, “Pray don't whip me, Master,
“You whip too hard,—I can't spin faster,
“I can spin quite as well without it.”
The little Boy replied, “I doubt it;
“I only whip you for your good,
“You were a foolish lump of wood,
“By dint of whipping you were raised
“To see yourself admired and praised,
“And if I left you, you'd remain
“A foolish lump of wood again.”
The best in all the toyman's shop;
He made a whip with good eel's-skin,
He lash'd the top, and made it spin;
All the children within call,
And the servants, one and all,
Stood round to see it and admire.
At last the Top began to tire,
He cried out, “Pray don't whip me, Master,
“You whip too hard,—I can't spin faster,
“I can spin quite as well without it.”
The little Boy replied, “I doubt it;
“I only whip you for your good,
“You were a foolish lump of wood,
“By dint of whipping you were raised
“To see yourself admired and praised,
“And if I left you, you'd remain
“A foolish lump of wood again.”
Explanation.
Whipping sounds a little odd,It don't mean whipping with a rod,
It means to teach a boy incessantly,
Whether by lessons or more pleasantly,
Every hour and every day,
By every means, in every way,
264
By riding to see sights, and walking:
If you leave off he drops at once,
A lumpish, wooden-headed dunce.
FABLE II. Of the Boy and the Parrot
Parrot, if I had your wings,“I should do so many things.
“The first thing I should like to do
“If I had little wings like you,
“I should fly to uncle Bartle.
“Don't you think 'twould make him startle,
“If he saw me when I came,
“Flapping at the window-frame,
“Exactly like the print of Fame?”
All this the wise old Parrot heard,
The Parrot was an ancient bird,
And paused and ponder'd every word.
First, therefore, he began to cough,
Then said,—“It is a great way off,—
“A great way off, My Dear:”—and then
He paused awhile, and cough'd again,—
“Master John, pray think a little,
“What will you do for beds and victual?”
—“Oh! parrot, uncle John can tell—
“But we should manage very well.
“At night we'd perch upon the trees,
“And so fly forward by degrees.”—
—“Does uncle John,” the parrot said,
“Put nonsense in his nephew's head?
“Instead of telling you such things,
“And teaching you to wish for wings,
“I think he might have taught you better;
“You might have learnt to write a letter:—
“That is the thing that I should do
“If I had little hands like you.”
265
FABLE III. Of the Boy and the Wolf.
A little boy was set to keep
A little flock of goats or sheep.
He thought the task too solitary,
And took a strange perverse vagary,
To call the people out of fun,
To see them leave their work and run,
He cried and scream'd with all his might,—
“Wolf! wolf!” in a pretended fright.
Some people, working at a distance,
Came running in to his assistance.
They search'd the fields and bushes round,
The Wolf was no where to be found.
The Boy, delighted with his game,
A few days after did the same,
And once again the People came.
The trick was many times repeated,
At last they found that they were cheated.
One day the wolf appeared in sight,
The Boy was in a real fright,
He cried, “Wolf! wolf!”—The Neighbours heard,
But not a single creature stirr'd.
“We need not go from our employ,—
“'Tis nothing but that idle boy.”
The little boy cried out again,
“Help, help! the Wolf!”—he cried in vain.
At last his master went to beat him,
He came too late, the wolf had eat him.
A little flock of goats or sheep.
He thought the task too solitary,
And took a strange perverse vagary,
To call the people out of fun,
To see them leave their work and run,
He cried and scream'd with all his might,—
“Wolf! wolf!” in a pretended fright.
Some people, working at a distance,
Came running in to his assistance.
They search'd the fields and bushes round,
The Wolf was no where to be found.
The Boy, delighted with his game,
A few days after did the same,
And once again the People came.
The trick was many times repeated,
At last they found that they were cheated.
One day the wolf appeared in sight,
The Boy was in a real fright,
He cried, “Wolf! wolf!”—The Neighbours heard,
But not a single creature stirr'd.
“We need not go from our employ,—
“'Tis nothing but that idle boy.”
The little boy cried out again,
“Help, help! the Wolf!”—he cried in vain.
At last his master went to beat him,
He came too late, the wolf had eat him.
This shews the bad effects of lying,
And likewise of continual crying;
If I had heard you scream and roar,
For nothing, twenty times before,
Although you might have broke your arm,
Or met with any serious harm,
Your cries could give me no alarm,
They would not make me move the faster,
Nor apprehend the least disaster;
I should be sorry when I came,
But you yourself would be to blame.
And likewise of continual crying;
If I had heard you scream and roar,
For nothing, twenty times before,
Although you might have broke your arm,
Or met with any serious harm,
Your cries could give me no alarm,
266
Nor apprehend the least disaster;
I should be sorry when I came,
But you yourself would be to blame.
FABLE IV. Of the Piece of Glass and the Piece of Ice.
Once on a time, it came to pass,
A piece of ice and piece of glass
Were lying on a bank together.
There came a sudden change of weather,
The sun shone through them both.—The ice
Turn'd to his neighbour for advice.
The piece of glass made this reply,—
“Take care by all means not to cry.”
The foolish piece of ice relied
On being pitied if he cried.
The story says—That he cried on
Till he was melted and quite gone.
A piece of ice and piece of glass
Were lying on a bank together.
There came a sudden change of weather,
The sun shone through them both.—The ice
Turn'd to his neighbour for advice.
The piece of glass made this reply,—
“Take care by all means not to cry.”
The foolish piece of ice relied
On being pitied if he cried.
The story says—That he cried on
Till he was melted and quite gone.
This may serve you for a rule
With the little boys at school;
If you weep, I must forewarn ye,
All the boys will teaze and scorn ye.
With the little boys at school;
If you weep, I must forewarn ye,
All the boys will teaze and scorn ye.
FABLE V. Of the Cavern and the Hut.
An ancient cavern, huge and wide,
Was hollow'd in a mountain's side,
It served no purpose that I know,
Except to shelter sheep or so,
Yet it was spacious, warm, and dry.
There stood a little hut hard by.—
The cave was empty quite, and poor,
The hut was full of furniture;
By looking to his own affairs,
He got a table and some chairs,
All useful instruments of metal,
A pot, a frying-pan, a kettle,
A clock, a warming-pan, a jack,
A salt-box and a bacon-rack;
With plates, and knives, and forks, and dishes,
And lastly, to complete his wishes,
He got a sumptuous pair of bellows.—
The cavern was extremely jealous:
“How can that paltry hut contrive
“In this poor neighbourhood to thrive?”—
“The reason's plain,” replied the hut,
“Because I keep my mouth close shut;
“Whatever my good master brings,
“For furniture, or household things,
“I keep them close, and shut the door,
“While you stand yawning evermore.”
Was hollow'd in a mountain's side,
It served no purpose that I know,
Except to shelter sheep or so,
Yet it was spacious, warm, and dry.
There stood a little hut hard by.—
The cave was empty quite, and poor,
The hut was full of furniture;
267
He got a table and some chairs,
All useful instruments of metal,
A pot, a frying-pan, a kettle,
A clock, a warming-pan, a jack,
A salt-box and a bacon-rack;
With plates, and knives, and forks, and dishes,
And lastly, to complete his wishes,
He got a sumptuous pair of bellows.—
The cavern was extremely jealous:
“How can that paltry hut contrive
“In this poor neighbourhood to thrive?”—
“The reason's plain,” replied the hut,
“Because I keep my mouth close shut;
“Whatever my good master brings,
“For furniture, or household things,
“I keep them close, and shut the door,
“While you stand yawning evermore.”
If a little boy is yawning
At his lessons every morning,
Teaching him in prose or rhyme
Will be merely loss of time;
All your pains are thrown away,
Nothing will remain a day,
(Nothing you can teach or say,
Nothing he has heard or read,)
In his poor unfurnish'd head.
At his lessons every morning,
Teaching him in prose or rhyme
Will be merely loss of time;
All your pains are thrown away,
Nothing will remain a day,
(Nothing you can teach or say,
Nothing he has heard or read,)
In his poor unfurnish'd head.
FABLE VI. Showing how the Cavern followed the Hut's Advice.
This fable is a very short one:
The cave resolved to make his fortune;
He got a door, and in a year
Enrich'd himself with wine and beer.
The cave resolved to make his fortune;
He got a door, and in a year
Enrich'd himself with wine and beer.
Mamma will ask you, can you tell her,
What did the cave become?—A cellar.
What did the cave become?—A cellar.
268
FABLE VII. By Master John's desire, about the Rod and the Whip.
The Rod and Whip had some disputes;One managed boys, the other brutes,
Each pleaded his superior nature,
The Goad was chosen arbitrator,
A judge acquainted with the matter,
Upright, inflexible, and dry,
And always pointed in reply:—
“'Tis hard,” he said, “to pass a sentence,
“Betwixt two near and old acquaintance;
“The Whip alleges that he drives
“The plough, by which the farmer lives,
“And keeps his horses in obedience,
“And on this ground he claims precedence.
“The Rod asserts, that little boys,
“With nonsense, nastiness, and noise,
“Screaming, and quarrelling, and fighting,
“Not knowing figures, books, or writing,
“Would be far worse than farmer's horses,
“But for the rules which he enforces—
“He proves his claim as clear as day,
“So Whips and Goads must both give way.”
FABLE VIII. Of the Nine-pins.
A ninepin that was left alone,
When all his friends were overthrown,
Every minute apprehending,
The destructive stroke impending,
Earnestly complain'd and cried;
But Master Henry thus replied:—
“Are you the wisest and the best?
“Or any better than the rest?
“While you linger to the last,
“How has all your time been past?
“Standing stupid, unimproved,
“Idle, useless, unbeloved;
“Nothing you can do or say
“Shall debar me from my play.”
When all his friends were overthrown,
Every minute apprehending,
The destructive stroke impending,
Earnestly complain'd and cried;
But Master Henry thus replied:—
269
“Or any better than the rest?
“While you linger to the last,
“How has all your time been past?
“Standing stupid, unimproved,
“Idle, useless, unbeloved;
“Nothing you can do or say
“Shall debar me from my play.”
The Nine-pins you perceive are men,
'Tis death that answers them again;
And the fable's moral truth,
Suits alike with age and youth.
How can age of death complain,
If his life has past in vain?
How can youth deserve to last
If his life is idly past?
And the final application,
Marks the separate obligation,
Fairly placed within our reach,
Your's to learn, and mine to teach.
'Tis death that answers them again;
And the fable's moral truth,
Suits alike with age and youth.
How can age of death complain,
If his life has past in vain?
How can youth deserve to last
If his life is idly past?
And the final application,
Marks the separate obligation,
Fairly placed within our reach,
Your's to learn, and mine to teach.
270
A FABLE.
A dingy donkey, formal and unchanged,
Browzed in the lane and o'er the common ranged,
Proud of his ancient asinine possessions,
Free from the panniers of the grave professions
He lived at ease; and chancing once to find
A lion's skin, the fancy took his mind
To personate the monarch of the wood;
And for a time the stratagem held good.
He moved with so majestical a pace
That bears and wolves and all the savage race
Gazed in admiring awe, ranging aloof,
Not over anxious for a clearer proof—
Longer he might have triumphed—but alas!
In an unguarded hour it came to pass
He brayed aloud; and shewed himself an ass!
Browzed in the lane and o'er the common ranged,
Proud of his ancient asinine possessions,
Free from the panniers of the grave professions
He lived at ease; and chancing once to find
A lion's skin, the fancy took his mind
To personate the monarch of the wood;
And for a time the stratagem held good.
He moved with so majestical a pace
That bears and wolves and all the savage race
Gazed in admiring awe, ranging aloof,
Not over anxious for a clearer proof—
Longer he might have triumphed—but alas!
In an unguarded hour it came to pass
He brayed aloud; and shewed himself an ass!
The moral of this tale I could not guess
Till Mr. Landor sent his works to press.
Till Mr. Landor sent his works to press.
271
AN APPEAL TO THE PROFESSORS OF ART AND LITERATURE IN THE UNITED KINGDOM
ON BEHALF OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, ESQUIRE; CONCLUDING WITH A RESPECTFUL REPRESENTATION TO THE ASTRONOMICAL SOCIETY.
Ye painters and engravers! hear my call,
Sculptors and poets, artists one and all,
Let Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, Walter Scott,
Pitt, Fox, and Burke, and Canning be forgot:
—Pre-eminent in priggery supreme
Let Walter Savage Landor be your theme:
Neither a Tory, Radical, nor Whig,
But an immaculate consummate prig!
—Ye Shaftesbury's and prigs of elder time,
Less perfect, and of priggery less sublime,
In those Elysian fields where now you tread
Engaged in conversations with the dead,
With contemplation of the immortal Plato,
And admiration of the virtuous Cato,
And other mighty prigs renowned in story;
Alas, alas, for your departed glory!
Here Walter Savage Landor comes to snatch
The laurel from the brows of all your batch!
Rise then, and with profound obeisance greet
Bowing at Walter Savage Landor's feet!
And own yourselves (as needs you must confess,
In prose less prosy, and in priggishness,
Beyond dispute, immeasurably less—
But I proceed too fast. It may be said
That Walter Savage Landor is not dead.
'Tis well observed, and therefore I return
To speak a word to those it may concern—
Painters and artists (as I said before)
I wish you to proceed on a new score.
Let Walter Savage Landor's glorious noddle
Be your exclusive, universal model.
Work! Work upon it! with renewed delight,
Work! Work (I tell ye) morning, noon, and night,
That in shop windows it may charm the sight,
Attracting every gaze; eclipsing all
Modern celebrities, both great and small,
Whiggish, Conservative, and Radical.
—Ye printsellers all! wherefore should ye deal
In lithographs of Wellington and Peel,
O'Connells, and Lord Melbournes, and Lord Johns?
List to my words! discard them all at once!
Compared, I say, with Walter Savage Landor
The most distinguished statesman and commander
In future ages will be deemed a gander.
Yes! Walter Savage Landor beats them hollow,
Away with them; let wits and poets follow,
Let the great Landor be your great Apollo;
Discard Lord Byron with his loose shirt collar,
Our glorious Landor is a better scholar,
Riper, as Shakespeare has it, and completer,
And makes Hendecasyllables in metre
As good as any fifth-form boy could do,
Without false quantities, or very few;
And tho' Lord Byron's peerage ranks him higher,
Yet Mister Landor writes himself “Esquire,”
And keeps a groom! and boasts himself to be
A scion of heraldic ancestry,
Wearing a coat of arms upon his seal!
A circumstance which animates his zeal
Against a base plebeian prelacy,
Fellows without a genealogy!
Poised on the cherub contemplation's wings,
His lordship sits blaspheming as he sings,
Cursing and damning all terrestrial things,
Feeling the persecution and malignity
Of providence; but feeling it with dignity,
Such as befits a person of his quality,
Pursued by a predestinate fatality,
But an essential poet in reality.
Admitting, therefore, that his lines are grander
Than those of Mister Walter Savage Landor,
We still maintain that in another sense
Our Landor claims a first pre-eminence.
I should be sorry to be deemed severe,
But Byron was a most licentious peer,
Leading, in fact, a dissipated life,
Without respect of widow, maid, or wife.
While Walter Savage Landor's immorality
Is mere imaginary classicality,
Wholly devoid of criminal reality.
Yet Walter Savage Landor in his way
Is often-times unutterably gay.
“He frolicketh,” and “doth frolic,” and in fine
(Adhering strictly to the classic line
With such methodic gambols as become
A classic Prig) Landor is frolicsome:
Quite a beau garcon, a consummate beau,
In the beau-monde two thousand years ago.
A perfect master of the savoir vivre.
Un homme à bonnes fortunes, a gay deceiver.
In his own conduct cautious and correct,
But a decided rake in retrospect
With classic ardour, rash and uncontrolled,
With Lais and with Thais he makes bold,
The Harriette Wilsons of the days of old.
He loves a tête-a-tête with fair Aspasia,
And takes his daily lounge in the gymnasia;
But his supreme delight is Alcibiades.
A rhyme, I want a rhyme for Alcibiades;
There's none that I can think of, none but Pleiades.
And a more lucky rhyme I never met!
For it suggests a scheme I might forget.
One point is settled, that we must not squander,
While we possess a Walter Savage Landor,
Honour or praise on any man beside;
Is he not Europe's wonder? England's pride?
Therefore, I say, let every means be tried
To immortalize the most immortal man;
Let all true Britons do the best they can,
Whatever art can do with brass and copper,
Canvas and marble, will be just and proper:
Whilst we that manufacture prose and verse
In humble strains endeavour to disburse
Our debt of admiration; and express
His high deserts by dint of letter-press;—
But all is transitory—prose and verse,
Sculpture and painting—Wise astronomers!
“In all things I prefer the permanent.”
Could you not place our Landor in the firmament?
Marble will decompose, and canvas moulder,
Before the world is many centuries older
Moreover, in all likelihood, God knows!
Our compositions, whether verse or prose,
Compose them as we may, will decompose:
Even great Landor's deathless works may die.
Whereas, if you could place him in the sky,
Nothing that happened here need signify.
There he might shine in spite of the ravages
And devastations of invading savages,
Tranquil and bright; whilst a benighted age
Profaned in filthy sort his mighty page.
Surely with all your curious observation
You might detect a vacant constellation;
Or make another new one here or there,
Just as you did with Berenice's hair.
Pope asked the question once, and so shall I!
“Is there no bright reversion in the sky?”
No reserved district? Nothing unallotted?
Were all your predecessors so besotted
As to grant out a total hemisphere
Assigned to the first claimants that appear
(Like that proud Pontiff the sixth Alexander.)
Is nothing left for Walter Savage Landor?
I should not wish for our heraldic scion
To stand a whole-length figure like Orion,
Perseus, and other astronomic giants;
I merely think that by the kind compliance,
Favour and aid of an illustrious science,
Somewhere or other in the bounds of space
His glorious inkstand might obtain a place.
See what a list of articles appear
Established in the southern hemisphere;
Their own chronometers and telescopes
Canonized by your astronomic Popes!
With other objects that still less concern us,
A painter's easel, and a chemist's furnace,
A sculptor's tools and workshop in a lot,
A microscope, an air-pump, and what not,
And, oh! shall Landor's Inkstand be forgot.
For Landor “scrawls not upon greasy platters,”
Nor such like sordid sublunary matters;
His paper and his ink are transcendental,
Warranted sempiternal, elemental,
His patent right in ink is a good rental,
His affidavit states that the true article
Does not contain a perishable particle.
Sculptors and poets, artists one and all,
Let Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, Walter Scott,
Pitt, Fox, and Burke, and Canning be forgot:
—Pre-eminent in priggery supreme
Let Walter Savage Landor be your theme:
Neither a Tory, Radical, nor Whig,
But an immaculate consummate prig!
—Ye Shaftesbury's and prigs of elder time,
Less perfect, and of priggery less sublime,
In those Elysian fields where now you tread
Engaged in conversations with the dead,
With contemplation of the immortal Plato,
And admiration of the virtuous Cato,
And other mighty prigs renowned in story;
Alas, alas, for your departed glory!
Here Walter Savage Landor comes to snatch
The laurel from the brows of all your batch!
Rise then, and with profound obeisance greet
Bowing at Walter Savage Landor's feet!
And own yourselves (as needs you must confess,
In prose less prosy, and in priggishness,
Beyond dispute, immeasurably less—
But I proceed too fast. It may be said
272
'Tis well observed, and therefore I return
To speak a word to those it may concern—
Painters and artists (as I said before)
I wish you to proceed on a new score.
Let Walter Savage Landor's glorious noddle
Be your exclusive, universal model.
Work! Work upon it! with renewed delight,
Work! Work (I tell ye) morning, noon, and night,
That in shop windows it may charm the sight,
Attracting every gaze; eclipsing all
Modern celebrities, both great and small,
Whiggish, Conservative, and Radical.
—Ye printsellers all! wherefore should ye deal
In lithographs of Wellington and Peel,
O'Connells, and Lord Melbournes, and Lord Johns?
List to my words! discard them all at once!
Compared, I say, with Walter Savage Landor
The most distinguished statesman and commander
In future ages will be deemed a gander.
Yes! Walter Savage Landor beats them hollow,
Away with them; let wits and poets follow,
Let the great Landor be your great Apollo;
Discard Lord Byron with his loose shirt collar,
Our glorious Landor is a better scholar,
Riper, as Shakespeare has it, and completer,
And makes Hendecasyllables in metre
As good as any fifth-form boy could do,
Without false quantities, or very few;
And tho' Lord Byron's peerage ranks him higher,
Yet Mister Landor writes himself “Esquire,”
And keeps a groom! and boasts himself to be
A scion of heraldic ancestry,
273
A circumstance which animates his zeal
Against a base plebeian prelacy,
Fellows without a genealogy!
Poised on the cherub contemplation's wings,
His lordship sits blaspheming as he sings,
Cursing and damning all terrestrial things,
Feeling the persecution and malignity
Of providence; but feeling it with dignity,
Such as befits a person of his quality,
Pursued by a predestinate fatality,
But an essential poet in reality.
Admitting, therefore, that his lines are grander
Than those of Mister Walter Savage Landor,
We still maintain that in another sense
Our Landor claims a first pre-eminence.
I should be sorry to be deemed severe,
But Byron was a most licentious peer,
Leading, in fact, a dissipated life,
Without respect of widow, maid, or wife.
While Walter Savage Landor's immorality
Is mere imaginary classicality,
Wholly devoid of criminal reality.
Yet Walter Savage Landor in his way
Is often-times unutterably gay.
“He frolicketh,” and “doth frolic,” and in fine
(Adhering strictly to the classic line
With such methodic gambols as become
A classic Prig) Landor is frolicsome:
Quite a beau garcon, a consummate beau,
In the beau-monde two thousand years ago.
A perfect master of the savoir vivre.
Un homme à bonnes fortunes, a gay deceiver.
In his own conduct cautious and correct,
But a decided rake in retrospect
With classic ardour, rash and uncontrolled,
With Lais and with Thais he makes bold,
The Harriette Wilsons of the days of old.
He loves a tête-a-tête with fair Aspasia,
And takes his daily lounge in the gymnasia;
274
A rhyme, I want a rhyme for Alcibiades;
There's none that I can think of, none but Pleiades.
And a more lucky rhyme I never met!
For it suggests a scheme I might forget.
One point is settled, that we must not squander,
While we possess a Walter Savage Landor,
Honour or praise on any man beside;
Is he not Europe's wonder? England's pride?
Therefore, I say, let every means be tried
To immortalize the most immortal man;
Let all true Britons do the best they can,
Whatever art can do with brass and copper,
Canvas and marble, will be just and proper:
Whilst we that manufacture prose and verse
In humble strains endeavour to disburse
Our debt of admiration; and express
His high deserts by dint of letter-press;—
But all is transitory—prose and verse,
Sculpture and painting—Wise astronomers!
“In all things I prefer the permanent.”
Could you not place our Landor in the firmament?
Marble will decompose, and canvas moulder,
Before the world is many centuries older
Moreover, in all likelihood, God knows!
Our compositions, whether verse or prose,
Compose them as we may, will decompose:
Even great Landor's deathless works may die.
Whereas, if you could place him in the sky,
Nothing that happened here need signify.
There he might shine in spite of the ravages
And devastations of invading savages,
Tranquil and bright; whilst a benighted age
Profaned in filthy sort his mighty page.
Surely with all your curious observation
You might detect a vacant constellation;
Or make another new one here or there,
Just as you did with Berenice's hair.
Pope asked the question once, and so shall I!
“Is there no bright reversion in the sky?”
No reserved district? Nothing unallotted?
275
As to grant out a total hemisphere
Assigned to the first claimants that appear
(Like that proud Pontiff the sixth Alexander.)
Is nothing left for Walter Savage Landor?
I should not wish for our heraldic scion
To stand a whole-length figure like Orion,
Perseus, and other astronomic giants;
I merely think that by the kind compliance,
Favour and aid of an illustrious science,
Somewhere or other in the bounds of space
His glorious inkstand might obtain a place.
See what a list of articles appear
Established in the southern hemisphere;
Their own chronometers and telescopes
Canonized by your astronomic Popes!
With other objects that still less concern us,
A painter's easel, and a chemist's furnace,
A sculptor's tools and workshop in a lot,
A microscope, an air-pump, and what not,
And, oh! shall Landor's Inkstand be forgot.
For Landor “scrawls not upon greasy platters,”
Nor such like sordid sublunary matters;
His paper and his ink are transcendental,
Warranted sempiternal, elemental,
His patent right in ink is a good rental,
His affidavit states that the true article
Does not contain a perishable particle.
P.S. and N. B.
A necessary caution to the buyer—Counterfeits are abroad—please to enquire
For packets sealed and signed, “Landor, Esquire.”
The Aeidian fluid, ink of immortality,
The rest are frauds of an inferior quality.
276
P.S.
On second thoughts, “I must recall my groom,And add a postscript, tho' for want of room
It must be short—a warning was omitted
Which to the sons of science is submitted.
My dear Astronomers! you must be sensible
That caution in this case is indispensable;
—I feel I must confess—my doubts and fears,
From Landor's exaltation to the spheres.
Let it be done with care and circumspection;
And don't proclaim a general election
Of candidates for the new constellation,
Or every star will hurry from his station:
The least of them that feels the least ambition
To change his place and better his condition
Will bustle and start forth in the confusion
Of a chaotic general dissolution,—
Depend upon it, we shall hear the sky.
Re-echoing with an universal cry,
“Place us in Landor's inkstand or we die.
“—Yes, welcome chaos! if we can attain
“That high distinction, let it come again.
277
MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.
The cumbrous pollards that o'ershade,Those uplands rough with brakes and thorns,
The green way with its track-worn glade
The solitary grange forlorn,
The lonely pastures wild and drear
The lonely dwellings wide apart,
Are whispering to the fancy's ear
A secret strain that moves the heart.
No forms of grandeur or of grace,
In the rude landscape you behold,
But their rough lineaments retrace
The features of the times of old:
They speak of customs long retained
Of simple, plain, primeval life,
They mark the little we have gained,
With all our study, toil and strife;
Such England was to Shakespeare's eyes,
So Chaucer viewed her as he roved,
In russet weeds of rustic guise,
In homelier beauty more beloved.
Our ancient halls have left the land,
Turrets and towers have passed away,
Arcades and porticoes were planned
And these again have had their day:
Impatient, peevish wealth recalls
The forms which she defaced before,
Unthrifty sires destroyed the halls,
Which modern prodigals restore;
Confounding England, Rome, and Greece,
Our antient and our modern grace,
We dislocate with wild caprice
All unities of time and place;
Yet here attended by the Muse
Let harassed Fancy pause awhile
And unpolluted yet peruse
This remnant of our ancient isle.
278
JOURNEY TO HARDINGHAM
TO VISIT THE REV. W. WHITER, OF CLARE HALL.
The rude South-wester from his den
Comes raving o'er a range of fen;
The window frame of massy cast,
Unhinged, unpullied, never fast,
Trembles and jostles to the blast:
The drops still standing on the pane,
The shivering twigs that drip with rain,
The prospect of the distant plain,
Obscure and undistinguish'd furnish
No motive for cross country journeys.
Besides—with waiting for the post—
The morning is already lost.
While Reason pauses to decide,
Let Fancy paint the future ride.
From famed Winfarthing's lonely pound
To Buckenham's huge mysterious mound,
How dull and dismal is the scene—
Dreary, monotonous, and mean.
Its ancient Common, wide and bare,
Dissected into straight and square,
How cheerless and devoid of grace!
With painful interrupted pace,
The drooping Peasantry retire
Comes raving o'er a range of fen;
The window frame of massy cast,
Unhinged, unpullied, never fast,
Trembles and jostles to the blast:
The drops still standing on the pane,
The shivering twigs that drip with rain,
The prospect of the distant plain,
Obscure and undistinguish'd furnish
No motive for cross country journeys.
Besides—with waiting for the post—
The morning is already lost.
While Reason pauses to decide,
Let Fancy paint the future ride.
From famed Winfarthing's lonely pound
To Buckenham's huge mysterious mound,
How dull and dismal is the scene—
Dreary, monotonous, and mean.
Its ancient Common, wide and bare,
Dissected into straight and square,
How cheerless and devoid of grace!
With painful interrupted pace,
The drooping Peasantry retire
Stumbling and staggering thro' the mire:
From scattered huts the transient rays
Betray their frugal evening blaze;
The wintry sun's descending beam,
With chilly melancholy gleam,
Reflected from the stagnant drains
Illuminates those endless lanes:
Such scenes absorb my thoughts and bring 'em,
Prepared with joy to enter Hingham;
Her stately steeple strikes the sight,
And cheerful sounds and lively light,
My past antipathies requite;
Again, afraid to miss the mark,
I plunge thro' turnings close and dark,
Immerging among trackless acres
I hope to light upon the Quakers.
The Quakers—sure it must be so—
The stream lies glimmering there below,
Look on—the steeple stands in view—
The parsonage and the steeple too—
The clattering gate returning hard,
Announces guests within the yard;
I see the worthy priest rejoice—
With open face and hearty voice,
His old acquaintance kindly hailing,
With hand outstretched across the paling.
Alighting now, we pass the hall
And view the parlour snug and small,
The fire of logs, the tapestry wall;
Huge volumes prostrate on the floor;
A parsonage of the days of yore.
Our dinner ended, we discourse
Of old traditions and their source,
Of times beyond the reach of history,
Of many a mythologic mystery,
Of primitive records and acts,
Their traces and surviving facts,
Of tribes, of languages, and nations,
Of immemorial old migrations;
Hence our digressive chat enquires
Of justices, divines, and squires,
Of births, and marriages, and deaths,
Enclosures of the neighbouring heaths,
Of ancient friends at Caius and King's.
And such like sublunary things.
Again—we soar to the sublime,
On pinions of recited rhyme,
While you persuade me to proceed
With “Well,” or “Very well, indeed!”
A long continued recitation,
Epistle, fable, or translation,
Exhausting all my last year's stock,
Conducts us on to twelve o'clock.
So be it then—In spite of weather,
I'll take the good and bad together;
So George put up of shirts a pair,
And bid them saddle me the mare.
From scattered huts the transient rays
Betray their frugal evening blaze;
The wintry sun's descending beam,
With chilly melancholy gleam,
279
Illuminates those endless lanes:
Such scenes absorb my thoughts and bring 'em,
Prepared with joy to enter Hingham;
Her stately steeple strikes the sight,
And cheerful sounds and lively light,
My past antipathies requite;
Again, afraid to miss the mark,
I plunge thro' turnings close and dark,
Immerging among trackless acres
I hope to light upon the Quakers.
The Quakers—sure it must be so—
The stream lies glimmering there below,
Look on—the steeple stands in view—
The parsonage and the steeple too—
The clattering gate returning hard,
Announces guests within the yard;
I see the worthy priest rejoice—
With open face and hearty voice,
His old acquaintance kindly hailing,
With hand outstretched across the paling.
Alighting now, we pass the hall
And view the parlour snug and small,
The fire of logs, the tapestry wall;
Huge volumes prostrate on the floor;
A parsonage of the days of yore.
Our dinner ended, we discourse
Of old traditions and their source,
Of times beyond the reach of history,
Of many a mythologic mystery,
Of primitive records and acts,
Their traces and surviving facts,
Of tribes, of languages, and nations,
Of immemorial old migrations;
Hence our digressive chat enquires
Of justices, divines, and squires,
Of births, and marriages, and deaths,
Enclosures of the neighbouring heaths,
280
And such like sublunary things.
Again—we soar to the sublime,
On pinions of recited rhyme,
While you persuade me to proceed
With “Well,” or “Very well, indeed!”
A long continued recitation,
Epistle, fable, or translation,
Exhausting all my last year's stock,
Conducts us on to twelve o'clock.
So be it then—In spite of weather,
I'll take the good and bad together;
So George put up of shirts a pair,
And bid them saddle me the mare.
IMITATION OF HORACE, LIB. I. EP. XI.
Quid tibi visa Chios, etc.
Dear Bartle,
How does Turkey suit your taste,Compared with it is Lisbon quite effaced,
Seville, and all the scenes we viewed together,
What sort of climate have you found, and weather?
The fish, the figs, the grapes, and Grecian wine,
In real earnest, are they quite as fine
As modern travellers have represented?
Inform us—are you joyous and contented,
Or are you sick of Dragomans and Turks,
Muftis, Bashaws, and all their wicked works?
And pine to visit our domestic scene,
Roydon and Finningham, and Mellis' Green,
To pass a rainy winter afternoon
With Mr. Mrs. and the Misses Moon,
Till, like an affable convivial priest,
Returning late from his parochial feast,
Temple diverts us from backgammon playing,
281
Next morning we must saunter out once more
To view the scenes so often viewed before.
The solemn feature and commanding stare
Of antient-justices and ladies fair,
Which Rednall still preserves with loyal care,
Arranged in order round his parlour wall,
Poor emigrants from the deserted hall;
Or prune with grave discussion and suspense
The rising saplings in the new-made fence;
Or wander forth where Syret's wife deplores
The broken pantiles in her pantry floors;
Or eastward pass to that remoter scene
Where tracts of hostile acres intervene,
To look at Kersey's maid, and taste his ale,
And grieve to see the new-made plaister fail.
Then to return, and find at every station
Old topics, that revive the conversation,
Themes of complacency and consolation.
“That stream with proper care might overflow
“The strip of pasture ground that lies below;
“Those trees have of themselves contrived to grow;
“Those ancient chimneys have been well replaced,”
And “Temple's chancel has been tiled with taste.”
Such joys as these attend on my return
To Roydon, from the place of date—Eastbourne.
August 23, 1812.
FRAGMENT.
Is the dominion of an abstract rule
Restricted to the Geometric School,
To be recognized there, and there alone,
Shall we conclude of sciences unknown
Restricted to the Geometric School,
To be recognized there, and there alone,
Shall we conclude of sciences unknown
Analogy forbids it. What is true
In an established science, in a new
May be true likewise. Her reply would say,
“Must—absolutely must—not only may—
“But struggle for yourselves, I point the way.”
And what say we? shall our familiar guide
Hear her instructions scoffed at, and denied?
Good old analogy that first supplied
Our infant world with elemental speech!
She, that in daily life descends to teach
With nature at her side, adult, and grown
And wise in an experience of our own,
What nature dictates, and analogy,
Shall we with peremptory pride deny?
Or shall we follow where she points the way,
A path of steep ascent and hard assay,
Yet leading to a summit clear and high,
Of boundless vision, in a cloudless sky,
Where nature's mighty landscape, unsurveyed
By mortal eye, lies open and displayed.
In an established science, in a new
282
“Must—absolutely must—not only may—
“But struggle for yourselves, I point the way.”
And what say we? shall our familiar guide
Hear her instructions scoffed at, and denied?
Good old analogy that first supplied
Our infant world with elemental speech!
She, that in daily life descends to teach
With nature at her side, adult, and grown
And wise in an experience of our own,
What nature dictates, and analogy,
Shall we with peremptory pride deny?
Or shall we follow where she points the way,
A path of steep ascent and hard assay,
Yet leading to a summit clear and high,
Of boundless vision, in a cloudless sky,
Where nature's mighty landscape, unsurveyed
By mortal eye, lies open and displayed.
The Ideal ruling law, like words to deeds,
In numbers and geometry, precedes
The Concrete, Thought is there the lord and king,
The sov'reign; the mechanic subject thing
Is substance, practice, and experiment;
And shall we deem, that intellect was lent
To light a single science? Have the rest
Lost their high caste, degraded and deprest
Irrevocably: doomed to labour here
For fame and gain, in an inferior sphere,
Surveyor, architect, or engineer?
Is there no spirit of a loftier strain,
A Kepler or a Newton once again,
With light upon the chaos, to divide,
And fix the mass of knowledge dark and wide,
With a divining hand, to seize the clue,
To keep the known conclusion full in view,
And work the problem till he proves it true?
Must we for ever shrewd and worldly wise,
Confine ourselves to Solomon's advice,
To seek enjoyment, and escape from want,
To take our pattern from the labouring ant,
Where imitative nature emulates
The forms of understanding, and creates
Devoid of intellect, her pigmy states,
A single soul in sundry forms combined,
A patriotic universal mind,
An instrumental nature, ever striving
For a fixt purpose, labouring and contriving,
United, orderly, coherent, still
Without a selfish aim or separate will,
With nothing individual? Which is he,
The legislator master of the free,
The great preceptor, teaching from his tomb
A living multitude, that shall presume
To place his model for the rule of man,
In parallel with this, the simple plan
Fixed and ordained for an inferior state,
Penultimate of man's penultimate?
In numbers and geometry, precedes
The Concrete, Thought is there the lord and king,
The sov'reign; the mechanic subject thing
Is substance, practice, and experiment;
And shall we deem, that intellect was lent
To light a single science? Have the rest
Lost their high caste, degraded and deprest
Irrevocably: doomed to labour here
For fame and gain, in an inferior sphere,
Surveyor, architect, or engineer?
Is there no spirit of a loftier strain,
A Kepler or a Newton once again,
With light upon the chaos, to divide,
And fix the mass of knowledge dark and wide,
With a divining hand, to seize the clue,
To keep the known conclusion full in view,
And work the problem till he proves it true?
Must we for ever shrewd and worldly wise,
Confine ourselves to Solomon's advice,
To seek enjoyment, and escape from want,
To take our pattern from the labouring ant,
283
The forms of understanding, and creates
Devoid of intellect, her pigmy states,
A single soul in sundry forms combined,
A patriotic universal mind,
An instrumental nature, ever striving
For a fixt purpose, labouring and contriving,
United, orderly, coherent, still
Without a selfish aim or separate will,
With nothing individual? Which is he,
The legislator master of the free,
The great preceptor, teaching from his tomb
A living multitude, that shall presume
To place his model for the rule of man,
In parallel with this, the simple plan
Fixed and ordained for an inferior state,
Penultimate of man's penultimate?
With righteous or perverted will to take
Good simply as good—evil for evil's sake;
Mischief in children—bold debauch in men
Exulting and approved—the pimping pen
That seeks to pander for a race unborn,
The unholy league that pours contempt and scorn
On every better purpose, industry
Perverse and servile, that descends to pry
In crevices of forgotten infamy,
With unrewarded toil, to canonize
The rakes and drabs of former centuries,
Their relics and remains.
These and a thousand other signs reveal
The existence of a pure unpurchased zeal,
Zeal in the cause of evil, that divests
The obedient mind of selfish interests,
And ranks them in the legendary list,
The martyrs of the great antagonist.
Enough of Evil—for the bve of good
Misconstrued, scandalized, misunderstood,
Denied and hated—still that it exists
I feel and know—Deny it he that lists—
But grant it—and gou see human will
Working in eager chase of good or ill.
These rudiments of an ulterior state
Embarrass and bewilder with debate
Our human hive and ant-hill—as the wings
Unfledged, are cumbrous and contentious things
To callow birds (that struggle in the nest
Naked and crowded) useless at the best.
Good simply as good—evil for evil's sake;
Mischief in children—bold debauch in men
Exulting and approved—the pimping pen
That seeks to pander for a race unborn,
The unholy league that pours contempt and scorn
On every better purpose, industry
Perverse and servile, that descends to pry
In crevices of forgotten infamy,
With unrewarded toil, to canonize
The rakes and drabs of former centuries,
Their relics and remains.
These and a thousand other signs reveal
The existence of a pure unpurchased zeal,
Zeal in the cause of evil, that divests
The obedient mind of selfish interests,
And ranks them in the legendary list,
The martyrs of the great antagonist.
Enough of Evil—for the bve of good
Misconstrued, scandalized, misunderstood,
Denied and hated—still that it exists
I feel and know—Deny it he that lists—
But grant it—and gou see human will
284
These rudiments of an ulterior state
Embarrass and bewilder with debate
Our human hive and ant-hill—as the wings
Unfledged, are cumbrous and contentious things
To callow birds (that struggle in the nest
Naked and crowded) useless at the best.
FRAGMENT. II.
The revelation of an element,
Its accidents and forms—What else is meant
By that established phrase, “the visible world?”
What but a single element unfurled
And manifested to a single sense?
Its accidents and forms—What else is meant
By that established phrase, “the visible world?”
What but a single element unfurled
And manifested to a single sense?
Is tangible creation more immense,
More multiform than the domain of Light,
That visible creation which the sight
Holds as its empire through the ministry
Of light, its elemental sole ally?
The Almighty Wisdom and Power that could direct,
And with a single element effect
So vast a purpose, shall we dare deny
(What reason teaches and analogy)
That the same Wisdom and Power, working his will
With the like simple means, with the same skill,
In a like form and method might devise
All that a grosser sense can recognize?
No! the celestial Author and Creator
In those two volumes of the Book of Nature
Ordained for our instruction, represents,
By multiform but single elements,
One universe of sense, all that we know,
The visible world of instantaneous show
And tangible creation, hard and slow,
The last remaining inlet of the mind,
The dreary blank creation of the blind.
Nor is it vain what elder bards indite
Of Love self-born, and by inherent might
Emerged from chaos and primeval night.
Was this the form, which idle fancy sings,
With glowing cheeks adorned and glittering wings,
The classic idol and the modern toy,
A torch, a quiver, and a blinded boy?
Was this the sense? or does it represent
Some sovereign and controlling element,
Some impulse unapproachable by thought,
Some force that 'midst the eternal tumult wrought,
And this fair order from confusion brought;
Established motion's substance, form, and weight,
The statutes of this earth's material state?
—Suppose a single element the source
Of all attractive and impelling force,
That motion and cohesion are the extreme
United opposites upon the beam
Of Nature's balance, a magnetic whole,
Single itself, and one; but pole to pole
Contrasted; as the powers of heat and light
Stand each confronted with its opposite
Darkness and cold; not mere negations they,
But negatives with a divided sway,
Pressing—oppressed—advancing—giving way.
Suppose then (as has been supposed before
By wisest men) that in the days of yore
There was a deeper knowledge, and a store
Of science more exalted and sublime,
Whose relics on the barren shore of time
Lie stranded and dispersed, retaining still
Intelligible marks of art and skill,
Of an intended purpose and appliance,
The scanty salvage of a shipwrecked science
Submerged time out of mind! Kepler could draw
From these remains the mighty truth he saw
Of an harmonic, necessary law;
Then with an indefatigable mind
Analogies incessantly combined
With a foreseen conclusion full in view
He worked the problem till he proved it true.
Is there no spirit of a nobler strain,
A Kepler or a Newton once again,
With light upon the chaos to divide,
And fix the mass of knowledge waste and wide;
For as “the crowd of trees conceals the wood,”
With all things known, with nothing understood,
Perplexed with new results from year to year,
As on the puzzled Ptolemaic sphere
With cycles epicycles scribbled o'er,
Like ancient Philomaths we doze and pore:
Thus Ashmole, Lilly, shine in portraiture
(Dear to the calcographic connoisseur);
While the wise nightcap and the Jacob's staff
Awe the beholder and conceal his laugh.
—If we despair then to decypher nature
With our new facts and novel nomenclature:
Those almanacks of science that appear
Framed and adjusted for the current year,
And warranted correct for months to come;
If calculation fails to find the sum
(A formula to comprehend the whole)
Of countless items on the crowded scroll,
Corrected, re-corrected, and replaced,
Obliterated, interlined, effaced,
Blotted and torn in philosophic squabble,
And endless, unintelligible scrabble;
If the huge labyrinth with its winding ways
Entangled in the inextricable maze,
The wilderness of waste experiment,
Has foiled your weary spirits worn and spent,
Since every path is trodden round and tried,
—Trust for a moment a superior guide;
The trembling needle or the stedfast star,
Some point of lofty mark and distant far,
These shall conduct you, whatsoe'er your fate,
At least in a decided path and strait;
Not running round in circles, evermore
Bewildered and bewitched as heretofore:
Like the poor clown that robbed the wizard's store
Breathless and hurrying in his endless race,
With eager action, and a ghastly face,
By subtle magic tether'd to the place.
More multiform than the domain of Light,
That visible creation which the sight
Holds as its empire through the ministry
Of light, its elemental sole ally?
The Almighty Wisdom and Power that could direct,
And with a single element effect
So vast a purpose, shall we dare deny
(What reason teaches and analogy)
That the same Wisdom and Power, working his will
With the like simple means, with the same skill,
In a like form and method might devise
All that a grosser sense can recognize?
No! the celestial Author and Creator
In those two volumes of the Book of Nature
Ordained for our instruction, represents,
By multiform but single elements,
One universe of sense, all that we know,
The visible world of instantaneous show
And tangible creation, hard and slow,
The last remaining inlet of the mind,
The dreary blank creation of the blind.
Nor is it vain what elder bards indite
Of Love self-born, and by inherent might
Emerged from chaos and primeval night.
285
With glowing cheeks adorned and glittering wings,
The classic idol and the modern toy,
A torch, a quiver, and a blinded boy?
Was this the sense? or does it represent
Some sovereign and controlling element,
Some impulse unapproachable by thought,
Some force that 'midst the eternal tumult wrought,
And this fair order from confusion brought;
Established motion's substance, form, and weight,
The statutes of this earth's material state?
—Suppose a single element the source
Of all attractive and impelling force,
That motion and cohesion are the extreme
United opposites upon the beam
Of Nature's balance, a magnetic whole,
Single itself, and one; but pole to pole
Contrasted; as the powers of heat and light
Stand each confronted with its opposite
Darkness and cold; not mere negations they,
But negatives with a divided sway,
Pressing—oppressed—advancing—giving way.
Suppose then (as has been supposed before
By wisest men) that in the days of yore
There was a deeper knowledge, and a store
Of science more exalted and sublime,
Whose relics on the barren shore of time
Lie stranded and dispersed, retaining still
Intelligible marks of art and skill,
Of an intended purpose and appliance,
The scanty salvage of a shipwrecked science
Submerged time out of mind! Kepler could draw
From these remains the mighty truth he saw
Of an harmonic, necessary law;
Then with an indefatigable mind
Analogies incessantly combined
With a foreseen conclusion full in view
He worked the problem till he proved it true.
Is there no spirit of a nobler strain,
A Kepler or a Newton once again,
With light upon the chaos to divide,
286
For as “the crowd of trees conceals the wood,”
With all things known, with nothing understood,
Perplexed with new results from year to year,
As on the puzzled Ptolemaic sphere
With cycles epicycles scribbled o'er,
Like ancient Philomaths we doze and pore:
Thus Ashmole, Lilly, shine in portraiture
(Dear to the calcographic connoisseur);
While the wise nightcap and the Jacob's staff
Awe the beholder and conceal his laugh.
—If we despair then to decypher nature
With our new facts and novel nomenclature:
Those almanacks of science that appear
Framed and adjusted for the current year,
And warranted correct for months to come;
If calculation fails to find the sum
(A formula to comprehend the whole)
Of countless items on the crowded scroll,
Corrected, re-corrected, and replaced,
Obliterated, interlined, effaced,
Blotted and torn in philosophic squabble,
And endless, unintelligible scrabble;
If the huge labyrinth with its winding ways
Entangled in the inextricable maze,
The wilderness of waste experiment,
Has foiled your weary spirits worn and spent,
Since every path is trodden round and tried,
—Trust for a moment a superior guide;
The trembling needle or the stedfast star,
Some point of lofty mark and distant far,
These shall conduct you, whatsoe'er your fate,
At least in a decided path and strait;
Not running round in circles, evermore
Bewildered and bewitched as heretofore:
Like the poor clown that robbed the wizard's store
Breathless and hurrying in his endless race,
With eager action, and a ghastly face,
By subtle magic tether'd to the place.
Yet let us hope that something may befall!
That things will find their level after all!
That these atomic facts, ever at war,
Tumbled together in perpetual jar,
After a certain period more or less
Will ultimately form or coalesce.
So shall it be! Strife shall engender motion,
And kindle into life each tardy notion.
Keen disputants in a judicial fight,
Sparring with spurs of controversial spite,
In battle-royal shall decide the right.
Till truth's majestic image stands revealed
The sole surviving game-cock in the field!
—That venerable, old, reviewing phrase,
Threadbare and overworn—mark what it says
The fashionable tenet of the time,
Tho' stale in prose, it may be hashed in rhyme.
—When disputants, it says, with hasty zeal
Clash in hard discord like the flint and steel,
The sparks elided from their angry knocks,
Caught in a philosophic tinder-box,
Falling upon materials cut and dried,
With modest brimstone diligently ply'd,
And urged with puffs incessantly supplied,
As an atonement for the noise and scandal,
Will serve to light a scientific candle.
—But no!—the wrath of man never attains
To pure results, nor his ambitious pains,
Nor busy canvas, nor a learned league,
(Except in undermining and intrigue;)
In lonely shades those miracles of thought
Are brought to light. No miracles are wrought
To gratify the scruples or the whim
Of a contentious testy Sanhedrim.
“To satisfy just doubts,” “to guide decision,”
For no such purposes, the mighty vision
Was ever yet vouchsaf'd sudden and bright,
Descending in a soft illapse of light.
Quenching its murky steam of filthy vapour,
It kindles at a touch the fumy taper.
That things will find their level after all!
287
Tumbled together in perpetual jar,
After a certain period more or less
Will ultimately form or coalesce.
So shall it be! Strife shall engender motion,
And kindle into life each tardy notion.
Keen disputants in a judicial fight,
Sparring with spurs of controversial spite,
In battle-royal shall decide the right.
Till truth's majestic image stands revealed
The sole surviving game-cock in the field!
—That venerable, old, reviewing phrase,
Threadbare and overworn—mark what it says
The fashionable tenet of the time,
Tho' stale in prose, it may be hashed in rhyme.
—When disputants, it says, with hasty zeal
Clash in hard discord like the flint and steel,
The sparks elided from their angry knocks,
Caught in a philosophic tinder-box,
Falling upon materials cut and dried,
With modest brimstone diligently ply'd,
And urged with puffs incessantly supplied,
As an atonement for the noise and scandal,
Will serve to light a scientific candle.
—But no!—the wrath of man never attains
To pure results, nor his ambitious pains,
Nor busy canvas, nor a learned league,
(Except in undermining and intrigue;)
In lonely shades those miracles of thought
Are brought to light. No miracles are wrought
To gratify the scruples or the whim
Of a contentious testy Sanhedrim.
“To satisfy just doubts,” “to guide decision,”
For no such purposes, the mighty vision
Was ever yet vouchsaf'd sudden and bright,
Descending in a soft illapse of light.
Quenching its murky steam of filthy vapour,
It kindles at a touch the fumy taper.
Let, then, a new progressive step be tried,
Since light and heat, it is not now denied,
Are agents, consubstantial and allied.
Now for this other power, which we must call
(Taking a single quality for all)
Attraction, or the power of gravity,
The power of motion, form, solidity,
Third person of the Pagan Trinity.
This power, then, of attraction, truly viewed,
Displays a likeness and similitude
With light, as a congenial kindred force;
For common reason will concede, of course,
That all attractive forces great and small
Are retroactive and reciprocal;
As when the mariners with trampling feet,
In even cadence round the capstan beat,
Moving in order round the mighty beam,
To warp their vessel against wind and stream,
While the huge cable, with its dripping fold,
In weary coils incessantly enrolled,
Drags forth the labouring vessel to the deep.
The point, then, we have conquer'd, and can keep:
As being drawn itself, the cable draws,
Tho' passive, it becomes a moving cause.
Take then at once the reason and the facts,
Light is attracted, therefore light attracts—
And though the nobler attributes of light
Have left this incident unnoticed quite,
And tho' we find its feebler efforts fail,
Of marked effect on a material scale,
Unheeded and impalpable to sense,
Yet reason must acknowledge its pretence
Enough to range it in a kindred class
Tho' inefficient on the subject mass.
The facts and inferences fairly viewed,
With this result we finally conclude—
If ever Reason justly gave assent
To truths too subtle for experiment,
Then light is an attracting element,
And heat, its congener, will be the same,
A joint supporter of this worldly frame.
Nor these alone—but that attractive force
Described in the first lines of our discourse,
Whose nature and existence known of yore
Was but a portion of the secret store
Of Eastern learning, which the busy Greek,
Active and eager, started forth to seek,
Purchasing here and there a wealthy prize,
Amidst the ruins of the rich and wise,
The mighty sacerdotal monarchies,
Stupendous Egypt—Stately Babylon
By the barbarian Persian overthrown.
(The Chivalrous Barbarian in his line,
A gallant loyal warrior, but in fine
A fierce Iconoclastic Ghibelline!)
Such is the fact—our first historic page
—Herodotus—begins with a dark age,
An age of antient Empires overturned,
Records obliterated, temples burned,
Their living archives, all the learned class,
Methodically murder'd in a mass.
Hence like a sutler at a city's sack,
The wary Grecian pedlar filled his pack,
And cannily contrived to bring it back
With merchandize: such as a pedlar gets,
Remnants and damaged samples, broken sets,
Fragments of plunder, purchased or purloined,
Rich fragments but incongruously joined.
Since light and heat, it is not now denied,
Are agents, consubstantial and allied.
288
(Taking a single quality for all)
Attraction, or the power of gravity,
The power of motion, form, solidity,
Third person of the Pagan Trinity.
This power, then, of attraction, truly viewed,
Displays a likeness and similitude
With light, as a congenial kindred force;
For common reason will concede, of course,
That all attractive forces great and small
Are retroactive and reciprocal;
As when the mariners with trampling feet,
In even cadence round the capstan beat,
Moving in order round the mighty beam,
To warp their vessel against wind and stream,
While the huge cable, with its dripping fold,
In weary coils incessantly enrolled,
Drags forth the labouring vessel to the deep.
The point, then, we have conquer'd, and can keep:
As being drawn itself, the cable draws,
Tho' passive, it becomes a moving cause.
Take then at once the reason and the facts,
Light is attracted, therefore light attracts—
And though the nobler attributes of light
Have left this incident unnoticed quite,
And tho' we find its feebler efforts fail,
Of marked effect on a material scale,
Unheeded and impalpable to sense,
Yet reason must acknowledge its pretence
Enough to range it in a kindred class
Tho' inefficient on the subject mass.
The facts and inferences fairly viewed,
With this result we finally conclude—
If ever Reason justly gave assent
To truths too subtle for experiment,
Then light is an attracting element,
And heat, its congener, will be the same,
A joint supporter of this worldly frame.
Nor these alone—but that attractive force
Described in the first lines of our discourse,
Whose nature and existence known of yore
289
Of Eastern learning, which the busy Greek,
Active and eager, started forth to seek,
Purchasing here and there a wealthy prize,
Amidst the ruins of the rich and wise,
The mighty sacerdotal monarchies,
Stupendous Egypt—Stately Babylon
By the barbarian Persian overthrown.
(The Chivalrous Barbarian in his line,
A gallant loyal warrior, but in fine
A fierce Iconoclastic Ghibelline!)
Such is the fact—our first historic page
—Herodotus—begins with a dark age,
An age of antient Empires overturned,
Records obliterated, temples burned,
Their living archives, all the learned class,
Methodically murder'd in a mass.
Hence like a sutler at a city's sack,
The wary Grecian pedlar filled his pack,
And cannily contrived to bring it back
With merchandize: such as a pedlar gets,
Remnants and damaged samples, broken sets,
Fragments of plunder, purchased or purloined,
Rich fragments but incongruously joined.
The scheme of Hutchinson was incomplete,
It stands without its complement of feet:
A tripod resting upon light and heat
His third supporter fails, limping and bare
Of evidence, his element of air.
His scheme then at the time was doomed to fall,
Or left with lumber propt against the wall,
A maim'd utensil, destitute of use,
Obscure with dust of obsolete abuse—
The learned dust excited in the frays
Of Jacobite and Hanoverian days.
Newton and Cambridge and the Brunswick line,
And Dr. Clarke, and Gracious Caroline,
Matched against Oxford and the right divine.
Whether, in fact, as all opinions mix,
They finally converge to politics,
Or shrewd intriguers had contrived to fix
On their opponents a disloyal stain,
Blind to the glories of so bright a Reign,
The name with Jacobite opinions link't
With Jacobite opinions was extinct:
Each cultivated ornamental prig
Of hybrid form, a parson and a whig,
(A whig by principle or calculation,
A Christian Priest by trade and occupation)
Each smooth aspirant, loyal and correct,
Was bound in policy to shun the sect;
While of the sacred bench each righteous son,
Clayton and Hoadley, and meek Warburton,
Condemned them soul and body, blood and bone!
Meanwhile Sir Isaac's theory of attraction,
Afforded universal satisfaction;
Applauded by the clerical profession
As friendly to the Protestant succession;
A sober well-affected theory
Which none but a nonjuror could deny—
A theory may be false or incomplete,
While the phenomena and the rules may meet;
Conceive (as was imagined formerly)
That vision is ejected from the eye
—You'll find the rules of perspective apply.
We judge from practice the physician's skill,
And let him choose what principles he will,
Bad theories may cure and good ones kill.
First then our drugs and aliments we see,
Dry, cold, or hot in some assigned degree:
Next mathematic learning came in use,
The blood was clogged with particles obtuse:
Poisons were points which antidotes must sheath,
Mechanic action made us move and breathe:
A chemic system rose upon its fall,
Acids and alkalis were all in all:
A change of argument, a change of style,
Mere speculative change, for all the while
The same prescriptions rested on the file,
And while the verbal argument endured,
The patients as before were killed or cured.
It stands without its complement of feet:
A tripod resting upon light and heat
His third supporter fails, limping and bare
Of evidence, his element of air.
His scheme then at the time was doomed to fall,
Or left with lumber propt against the wall,
A maim'd utensil, destitute of use,
Obscure with dust of obsolete abuse—
The learned dust excited in the frays
Of Jacobite and Hanoverian days.
Newton and Cambridge and the Brunswick line,
And Dr. Clarke, and Gracious Caroline,
Matched against Oxford and the right divine.
Whether, in fact, as all opinions mix,
They finally converge to politics,
Or shrewd intriguers had contrived to fix
290
Blind to the glories of so bright a Reign,
The name with Jacobite opinions link't
With Jacobite opinions was extinct:
Each cultivated ornamental prig
Of hybrid form, a parson and a whig,
(A whig by principle or calculation,
A Christian Priest by trade and occupation)
Each smooth aspirant, loyal and correct,
Was bound in policy to shun the sect;
While of the sacred bench each righteous son,
Clayton and Hoadley, and meek Warburton,
Condemned them soul and body, blood and bone!
Meanwhile Sir Isaac's theory of attraction,
Afforded universal satisfaction;
Applauded by the clerical profession
As friendly to the Protestant succession;
A sober well-affected theory
Which none but a nonjuror could deny—
A theory may be false or incomplete,
While the phenomena and the rules may meet;
Conceive (as was imagined formerly)
That vision is ejected from the eye
—You'll find the rules of perspective apply.
We judge from practice the physician's skill,
And let him choose what principles he will,
Bad theories may cure and good ones kill.
First then our drugs and aliments we see,
Dry, cold, or hot in some assigned degree:
Next mathematic learning came in use,
The blood was clogged with particles obtuse:
Poisons were points which antidotes must sheath,
Mechanic action made us move and breathe:
A chemic system rose upon its fall,
Acids and alkalis were all in all:
A change of argument, a change of style,
Mere speculative change, for all the while
The same prescriptions rested on the file,
And while the verbal argument endured,
The patients as before were killed or cured.
A theory that enables us to plant
A tortoise underneath our elephant,
But wants a creature of some other sort,
To serve us for our tortoise's support:
In other words it teaches us the laws
—Of motion and attraction—not the cause.
The laws are undisputed, and we see
How punctually predicted facts agree;
Meanwhile the cause unnoticed or denied
Is with a monstrous postulate supplied:
First we suppose that our terrestrial ball,
Launched forth with an enormous capital
Of motion—like a wandering prodigal
Without a stipend of in-coming rent,
In all his course of travel, has not spent
One stiver of the first allotted sum,
Nor ever will, for ages yet to come.
The quantum still remains as heretofore,
An unexhausted, undiminished store,
The same precisely, neither less nor more;
An article of faith hard to digest,
If common sense and nature are the test,
Yet proselytes must bolt it, husk and bran,
And keep it on their stomachs if they can—
—No theory or conjecture, not a notion,
Of the first causes of a planet's motion!
Whence it originates no creature knows,
But with a given impulse forth it goes;
Attraction's laws prohibit it to roam,
And bind the wand'rer to his central home;
Else had the wretched orb been whirl'd away,
Far from the stars of night and beams of day,
A cheerless, endless, solitary way.
Rescued, and grateful for the glad reprieve,
It gilds the morn or decks the front of eve,
And winds a joyous uneccentric way
In the warm precincts of the solar ray:
Obedient system clears the bounds of space
From all that might retard the yearly race.
The same incessant circuit is pursued,
With the same force for ages unrenewed,
And sages of the sacred gown conclude.
That independent of an acting cause,
The properties of matters, motions, laws,
Preserve the punctual planet in his sphere,
Ordain the seasons and bring round the year—
See here the lessons reverend gownsmen teach,
The proud result of Learning's utmost reach.
291
But wants a creature of some other sort,
To serve us for our tortoise's support:
In other words it teaches us the laws
—Of motion and attraction—not the cause.
The laws are undisputed, and we see
How punctually predicted facts agree;
Meanwhile the cause unnoticed or denied
Is with a monstrous postulate supplied:
First we suppose that our terrestrial ball,
Launched forth with an enormous capital
Of motion—like a wandering prodigal
Without a stipend of in-coming rent,
In all his course of travel, has not spent
One stiver of the first allotted sum,
Nor ever will, for ages yet to come.
The quantum still remains as heretofore,
An unexhausted, undiminished store,
The same precisely, neither less nor more;
An article of faith hard to digest,
If common sense and nature are the test,
Yet proselytes must bolt it, husk and bran,
And keep it on their stomachs if they can—
—No theory or conjecture, not a notion,
Of the first causes of a planet's motion!
Whence it originates no creature knows,
But with a given impulse forth it goes;
Attraction's laws prohibit it to roam,
And bind the wand'rer to his central home;
Else had the wretched orb been whirl'd away,
Far from the stars of night and beams of day,
A cheerless, endless, solitary way.
Rescued, and grateful for the glad reprieve,
It gilds the morn or decks the front of eve,
And winds a joyous uneccentric way
In the warm precincts of the solar ray:
Obedient system clears the bounds of space
From all that might retard the yearly race.
The same incessant circuit is pursued,
With the same force for ages unrenewed,
And sages of the sacred gown conclude.
292
The properties of matters, motions, laws,
Preserve the punctual planet in his sphere,
Ordain the seasons and bring round the year—
See here the lessons reverend gownsmen teach,
The proud result of Learning's utmost reach.
Since wisest moderns have approved it true,
We take it as a fact—Nothing is new.
No—not the boast of this new century,
Our busy science of geology;
The terms of parturition and of birth
Express the first development of earth.
“This habitable earth, cheerful and fair,
“Heaved from the teeming depth to light and air;”
This truth which Hutton's school has taught us newly
Where do we find it first? In Moses truly!
You see the passage paraphrased and quoted,
In the two lines above with commas noted,
Much weaker than the original. Again—
The wisest, in his time, of living men
Adopts the same expression, adding more,
How the protruded mountains pierced the core
Of secondary strata formed before,
Even as a finger passing thro' “a ring,”
This truth was known to the “sapient king—”
See Proverbs, chapter eight, verse twenty-five,
And try what other meaning you can give;
Or take the converse; to characterise
The sense proposed, and frame it otherwise,
In Hebrew words, clearer and more precise;
And we shall hail you when the task is done
A better scholar than King Solomon—
—The Hetrurian priesthood knew the identity
Of lightning and of electricity.
Discovery or tradition!—Such things were
Sources of hidden knowledge, deep and rare,
Before the days of Franklin and Voltaire,
(In the good days of old idolatry,
And priestcraft! undisturbed by blasphemy)
—Or tell me! By what strange coincidence
Is the same word employed in the same sense,
A single word that serves to signify
The electric substance and the Deity
Of storms and lightning; (their Elician Jove)
Whom with due rites invoked from the dark clouds above,
The priest attracted downwards! woe betide
The novice that presumptuously tried,
Ignorant of the ritual and the form,
To dally with the Deity of the storm;
Like the rash Roman king, by the dread stroke,
Which his unpractised art dared to provoke,
Smitten and slain; a just example made
For ancient sovereigns who might dare to invade,
And tamper with the sacerdotal trade.
We take it as a fact—Nothing is new.
No—not the boast of this new century,
Our busy science of geology;
The terms of parturition and of birth
Express the first development of earth.
“This habitable earth, cheerful and fair,
“Heaved from the teeming depth to light and air;”
This truth which Hutton's school has taught us newly
Where do we find it first? In Moses truly!
You see the passage paraphrased and quoted,
In the two lines above with commas noted,
Much weaker than the original. Again—
The wisest, in his time, of living men
Adopts the same expression, adding more,
How the protruded mountains pierced the core
Of secondary strata formed before,
Even as a finger passing thro' “a ring,”
This truth was known to the “sapient king—”
See Proverbs, chapter eight, verse twenty-five,
And try what other meaning you can give;
Or take the converse; to characterise
The sense proposed, and frame it otherwise,
In Hebrew words, clearer and more precise;
And we shall hail you when the task is done
A better scholar than King Solomon—
—The Hetrurian priesthood knew the identity
Of lightning and of electricity.
Discovery or tradition!—Such things were
Sources of hidden knowledge, deep and rare,
Before the days of Franklin and Voltaire,
(In the good days of old idolatry,
And priestcraft! undisturbed by blasphemy)
—Or tell me! By what strange coincidence
Is the same word employed in the same sense,
293
The electric substance and the Deity
Of storms and lightning; (their Elician Jove)
Whom with due rites invoked from the dark clouds above,
The priest attracted downwards! woe betide
The novice that presumptuously tried,
Ignorant of the ritual and the form,
To dally with the Deity of the storm;
Like the rash Roman king, by the dread stroke,
Which his unpractised art dared to provoke,
Smitten and slain; a just example made
For ancient sovereigns who might dare to invade,
And tamper with the sacerdotal trade.
In the vast depths of ocean far below,
Where neither storms disturb nor currents flow,
Fish would remain unconscious of the water:
And reason, if experience had not taught her
By the rude impulse of the changeful wind,
Mere common understanding would not find,
That air existed—Nothing here below,
Unless it can be felt or make a show,
Is marked or heeded, nothing else we know.
If light were universally displayed
Without its opposites, darkness and shade,
Constant and uniform in operation,
It never would attract our observation.
Where neither storms disturb nor currents flow,
Fish would remain unconscious of the water:
And reason, if experience had not taught her
By the rude impulse of the changeful wind,
Mere common understanding would not find,
That air existed—Nothing here below,
Unless it can be felt or make a show,
Is marked or heeded, nothing else we know.
If light were universally displayed
Without its opposites, darkness and shade,
Constant and uniform in operation,
It never would attract our observation.
Suppose the case, and that it were denied
That light existed—how could we decide,
Or judge the question by what test applied?
Strong Reason and superior Art perhaps,
Long labouring in a long continued lapse
Of ages, might at length attain to show
What infants from their first impression know:
—“Ever the same yesterday and to-day;”
Powers that exhibit no phenomena,
(No signs of life in change or difference)
To the mere understanding and the sense,
Are non-existencies; but here again,
Can our acknowledged principles explain
All our acknowledged facts? Do none remain?
When causes are assigned to their effects,
Will there be no Lacuna, no defects,
Nothing anomalous or unexplained?
I doubt it—otherwise the point is gained;
The point, I presuppose, that there exists
An unacknowledged power, that as it lists
Rules paramount in its domain of air,
Guiding its endless eddies here and there:
But whither or from whence the currents flow,
Their source or end our senses cannot show,
And science never has attained to know.
That light existed—how could we decide,
Or judge the question by what test applied?
Strong Reason and superior Art perhaps,
Long labouring in a long continued lapse
Of ages, might at length attain to show
What infants from their first impression know:
—“Ever the same yesterday and to-day;”
Powers that exhibit no phenomena,
(No signs of life in change or difference)
To the mere understanding and the sense,
Are non-existencies; but here again,
Can our acknowledged principles explain
All our acknowledged facts? Do none remain?
294
Will there be no Lacuna, no defects,
Nothing anomalous or unexplained?
I doubt it—otherwise the point is gained;
The point, I presuppose, that there exists
An unacknowledged power, that as it lists
Rules paramount in its domain of air,
Guiding its endless eddies here and there:
But whither or from whence the currents flow,
Their source or end our senses cannot show,
And science never has attained to know.
Darwin has sung in verse beyond compare,
That in the North, beneath the Frozen Bear,
A huge chamelion spits and swallows air.
In fact, an instantaneous formation,
And a precipitous annihilation
Of our aerial fluid seems implied
In facts not yet developed or denied.
As in a whirlpool's strife the waters flow,
Pressing in eager eddies as they go
Precipitously to the void below,
In their own giddy circle wheeled and held
By mutual haste impelling and impell'd:
With a like action airy currents move
To some unseen and hasty void above.
Now mark a strong coincidence!—Compare
The whirlpool's centre with its spire of air
Drawn downwards; and behold the waters move
From the smooth ocean's surface rear'd above
In fluid spires! Phenomena like these,
The careless seaman, in the summer seas,
Views unalarmed, the momentary play
Of nature's power, an innocent display.
But what a power is here! how little known,
That not beneath the Frozen north alone,
As Darwin deemed, but in the sultry zone
Exists and acts—an atmosphere destroyed,
And the creation of an instant void!
What other explanation can be found?
You see the watery columns whirling round,
They rise and move while Gravitation's laws
Are modified by a suspending clause—
In fine, if all our explanations fail,
When neither reason nor research avail
To solve the difficulty, this remains
The fair result and guerdon of our pains—
That ex absurdo thus it might be shown
That Gravity has phenomena of its own.
Thus far, at least, we might presume to say—
Here is a power without phenomena,
And the phenomena of a power unknown,
If both can be combined and brought in one
We gain a point, and something may be done.
The mere suggestion sure may be permitted:
No damage is incurred, no harm committed,
If not, they both remain on their own score
Obscure and unconnected as before.
That in the North, beneath the Frozen Bear,
A huge chamelion spits and swallows air.
In fact, an instantaneous formation,
And a precipitous annihilation
Of our aerial fluid seems implied
In facts not yet developed or denied.
As in a whirlpool's strife the waters flow,
Pressing in eager eddies as they go
Precipitously to the void below,
In their own giddy circle wheeled and held
By mutual haste impelling and impell'd:
With a like action airy currents move
To some unseen and hasty void above.
Now mark a strong coincidence!—Compare
The whirlpool's centre with its spire of air
Drawn downwards; and behold the waters move
From the smooth ocean's surface rear'd above
In fluid spires! Phenomena like these,
The careless seaman, in the summer seas,
Views unalarmed, the momentary play
Of nature's power, an innocent display.
But what a power is here! how little known,
That not beneath the Frozen north alone,
As Darwin deemed, but in the sultry zone
Exists and acts—an atmosphere destroyed,
And the creation of an instant void!
What other explanation can be found?
You see the watery columns whirling round,
295
Are modified by a suspending clause—
In fine, if all our explanations fail,
When neither reason nor research avail
To solve the difficulty, this remains
The fair result and guerdon of our pains—
That ex absurdo thus it might be shown
That Gravity has phenomena of its own.
Thus far, at least, we might presume to say—
Here is a power without phenomena,
And the phenomena of a power unknown,
If both can be combined and brought in one
We gain a point, and something may be done.
The mere suggestion sure may be permitted:
No damage is incurred, no harm committed,
If not, they both remain on their own score
Obscure and unconnected as before.
Now then, resuming what before was stated,
We seek to show the converse: Air created,
And a continued efflux generated,
Where seamen witness in a cloudless sky
A driving hurricane eager and dry,
Continuous fury—without pause or shift
Its unappeasable, impetuous drift
Scourges and harasses the main for hours,
For days, for weeks, with unabated powers,
The Spirit of the Tempest hurries by,
With hideous impulse, and a piercing cry,
A persevering wild monotony.
Shorn of her topmast, all her goodly pride
And rich attire of canvas stript aside;
In a bare staysail, with an abject mien,
The vessel labours in the deep ravine,
A watery vale that intercepts the sight,
Or in an instant hurried to the height,
Pauses upon the fluid precipice,
Then downward to the dark and deep abyss
Shoots forth afresh, and with a plunging shock
Achieves the leap of her Tarpeian rock.
Her joints of massy frame compactly clenched
With the tormenting strain, are racked and wrenched;
The baffled mariners, forlorn and pale,
Beneath eternal buffet droop and fail.
—Yet strange it seems the while! no signs are given
Betokening hope or fear—no vapour driven
In quick career across the void of Heaven!
Tranquil and calm and blank, the mighty space
Wears an unconscious and unruffled face
Impassive in sublimity serene,
Mocking our toil, smiling upon the scene!
And yet the strong commotion was foretold,
(The sign Archilochus beheld of old)
The crooked, wicked cloud that, creeping slow
Around the distant mountain's haughty brow,
Folded its angry wreath, settled and fixed,
Coiled in itself, unmoving and unmixed,
—A talismanic atmospheric spell—
The wary seaman knew the signal well;
The seal of wrath: and from the token drew
A timely warning, terrible but true—
—Will the known principles of any school,
Will hydrostatic laws, or those which rule
The motions of elastic fluids guide
Our judgment, or assist us to decide
On facts like these? Alas! when all is said,
We seek a living power among the dead,
And struggle to draw water in a sieve.
The cause of such effects must act and live,
Subsisting as a separate element,
Not as a mere result and accident
A simple passive thing urged or controuled
By change of cold to heat, or heat to cold,
The vassal of a fickle temperature,
But a distinct and active power of nature.
We seek to show the converse: Air created,
And a continued efflux generated,
Where seamen witness in a cloudless sky
A driving hurricane eager and dry,
Continuous fury—without pause or shift
Its unappeasable, impetuous drift
Scourges and harasses the main for hours,
For days, for weeks, with unabated powers,
The Spirit of the Tempest hurries by,
With hideous impulse, and a piercing cry,
A persevering wild monotony.
Shorn of her topmast, all her goodly pride
And rich attire of canvas stript aside;
In a bare staysail, with an abject mien,
The vessel labours in the deep ravine,
A watery vale that intercepts the sight,
Or in an instant hurried to the height,
Pauses upon the fluid precipice,
Then downward to the dark and deep abyss
Shoots forth afresh, and with a plunging shock
Achieves the leap of her Tarpeian rock.
Her joints of massy frame compactly clenched
With the tormenting strain, are racked and wrenched;
296
Beneath eternal buffet droop and fail.
—Yet strange it seems the while! no signs are given
Betokening hope or fear—no vapour driven
In quick career across the void of Heaven!
Tranquil and calm and blank, the mighty space
Wears an unconscious and unruffled face
Impassive in sublimity serene,
Mocking our toil, smiling upon the scene!
And yet the strong commotion was foretold,
(The sign Archilochus beheld of old)
The crooked, wicked cloud that, creeping slow
Around the distant mountain's haughty brow,
Folded its angry wreath, settled and fixed,
Coiled in itself, unmoving and unmixed,
—A talismanic atmospheric spell—
The wary seaman knew the signal well;
The seal of wrath: and from the token drew
A timely warning, terrible but true—
—Will the known principles of any school,
Will hydrostatic laws, or those which rule
The motions of elastic fluids guide
Our judgment, or assist us to decide
On facts like these? Alas! when all is said,
We seek a living power among the dead,
And struggle to draw water in a sieve.
The cause of such effects must act and live,
Subsisting as a separate element,
Not as a mere result and accident
A simple passive thing urged or controuled
By change of cold to heat, or heat to cold,
The vassal of a fickle temperature,
But a distinct and active power of nature.
297
TO A LADY WITH A PRESENT OF A WALKING STICK.
A compliment upon a crutchDoes not appear to promise much;
A theme no lover ever chose
For writing billet-doux in prose,
Or for an amatory sonnet;
But thus I may comment upon it.
Its heart is whole, its head is bright,
'Tis smooth and yielding, yet upright.
In this you see an emblem of the donor,
Clear and unblemished as his honor,
Formed for your use, framed to your hand,
Obedient to your least command.
Its proper place is by your side,
Its main utility and pride
To be your prop, support, and guide.
298
LINES ON ED. NUCELLA, ESQ., ÆT. 75.
DANCES; GOES LONG JOURNEYS; AND WALKS SIX MILES AN HOUR FOR TWO HOURS DAILY.
See the spirit and the vigourOf an aged hearty figure,
Fit to dance and fit to sing,
Fit for any kind of thing,
To be sober, to be sad,
To be merry, to be mad;
Never weary or afraid,
Undejected, undismayed,
With a manner and a tone,
A demeanour of his own,
Like a former age reviving,
Lingering among the living.
1833.
299
WRITTEN IN THE FLY-LEAF OF MR. POLLOK'S POEM, “THE COURSE OF TIME.”
Robert Pollok, A.M! this work of yoursIs meant, I do not doubt, extremely well,
And the design I deem most laudable,
But since I find the book laid on my table,
I shall presume (with the fair owner's leave)
To note a single slight deficiency:
I mean, in short (since it is called a poem),
That in the course of ten successive books
If something in the shape of poetry
Were to be met with, we should like it better;
But nothing of the kind is to be found,
Nothing, alas! but words of the olden time,
Quaint and uncouth, contorted phrase and queer,
With the familiar language that befits
Tea-drinking parties most unmeetly matched.
1832.
SPAIN.
Alas, alas! for the fair land of Spain,That noble and haughty nation, whose domain,
Stretched from the rising to the setting sun,
Are not her judgments even now begun?
Is she not marked and sealed, stamped with the stain
Of unrelenting fiery persecution?
And this the final hour of retribution
Fallen upon her? her that we beheld
Roused into wrath unquenchable, unquelled,
Disarmed and circumvented and betrayed
With an unanimous outbreak undismayed,
Daring him single-handed to the fight,
The fiend whose recreation and delight
300
The multitudinous European herd,
A meaner Race,
Politic and refined, sordid and base,
Enlightened, scientific, and polite,
Courts, cabinets, and camps crouched in affright,
Nor was their cumbrous and unwieldy strength
Roused by the fierce example, till at length
They saw the new Sennacherib down cast,
Smitten and withered in the wintry blast
With all his legions: then the cry went forth
Summoning to the field the people north,
Swarming in arms, and the quick life and soul
That had excited Spain inspired the whole.
Then warfare in another form was seen,
The strenuous effort—the people's strife,
And the tremendous tactical machine,
Moved on its mighty wheels instinct with life.
Malta, 1844.
HEXAMETERS.
Malta, sovereign isle, the destined seat and asylum
Of chivalry, honour, and arms—the nursing mother of heroes,
Mirror of ancient days, monumental trophy recording
All that of old was felt, or feared, or achieved, or attempted,
When proud Europe's strength, restored with the slumber of ages,
Roused and awoke to behold the triumphant impious empire
Throned in the East, and vaunting aloud with lordly defiance;
When from the Euxine shore to the Caspian and to the southern
Vast Erythrean main to the Gulfs of Ophir and Ormus,
Lydia Syrian Sion and all the dominion eastward,
Which the old Assyrian controlled to the bounds of Imaus,
Bowed to the Sultan's yoke: when slavery bitter and hopeless,
Hopeless and helpless, oppressed the dejected lowly believers.
Of chivalry, honour, and arms—the nursing mother of heroes,
Mirror of ancient days, monumental trophy recording
All that of old was felt, or feared, or achieved, or attempted,
When proud Europe's strength, restored with the slumber of ages,
Roused and awoke to behold the triumphant impious empire
Throned in the East, and vaunting aloud with lordly defiance;
When from the Euxine shore to the Caspian and to the southern
Vast Erythrean main to the Gulfs of Ophir and Ormus,
Lydia Syrian Sion and all the dominion eastward,
Which the old Assyrian controlled to the bounds of Imaus,
301
Hopeless and helpless, oppressed the dejected lowly believers.
Thence to the setting sun, where Mauritanian Atlas,
Chilled with eternal snows in a boundless cheerless horizon,
Views the deserted plain where Carthage, briefly triumphant,
(Africa's only boast, the rival of Italy, Carthage,)
Claimed for a while to command the subject world, and accomplish'd
That which destiny doom'd—her dark oblivion's annals
Torn and blotted in hate; her policy, valour, and ancient
Glory reduced to a scoff; with a proverb left to the pedant,
Thence enslaved and adorn'd with the toys of slavery—temples
Palaces, arches, baths—till they, the remorseless, apostate
Infidel enemy came to avenge that gaudy debasement,
Trampling in hate and scorn laws, learning, lazy religion,
Luxury, sumptuous art, antiquity. Woe to the vanquish'd!
Woe to the fields of Spain, to the towers of lordly Toledo,
Wealthy Valencia, proud Castile, and stately Granada!
Chilled with eternal snows in a boundless cheerless horizon,
Views the deserted plain where Carthage, briefly triumphant,
(Africa's only boast, the rival of Italy, Carthage,)
Claimed for a while to command the subject world, and accomplish'd
That which destiny doom'd—her dark oblivion's annals
Torn and blotted in hate; her policy, valour, and ancient
Glory reduced to a scoff; with a proverb left to the pedant,
Thence enslaved and adorn'd with the toys of slavery—temples
Palaces, arches, baths—till they, the remorseless, apostate
Infidel enemy came to avenge that gaudy debasement,
Trampling in hate and scorn laws, learning, lazy religion,
Luxury, sumptuous art, antiquity. Woe to the vanquish'd!
Woe to the fields of Spain, to the towers of lordly Toledo,
Wealthy Valencia, proud Castile, and stately Granada!
Woe to the Gascon tribes, to the mountain glens, to the lonely
Pyrenean abodes, to the herdsman and hunter and hermit;
Even amidst your shades, your woody recesses, and inmost
Rocky ravines, shall the armed tide with hideous impulse
Rise and inundate all, pouring, precipitous, headlong,
Forth to the fields of France.
Pyrenean abodes, to the herdsman and hunter and hermit;
Even amidst your shades, your woody recesses, and inmost
Rocky ravines, shall the armed tide with hideous impulse
Rise and inundate all, pouring, precipitous, headlong,
Forth to the fields of France.
THE BUBBLE YEAR.
Might we not hope, with humble confidence,That finally a benignant Providence
Will extricate the British nation
From her embarrassed situation,
And graciously dispense
An earthquake or a pestilence.
An earthquake would be far the best,
To set the question once for all, at rest;
Sinking the sister isle
At least a statute mile,
With a low, subsiding motion,
Beneath the level of the German Ocean,
302
Into something queer and strange:
Then if their “bones are coral made.”
They may supply the British trade
With an important new commodity:
Besides, when each Papistic churl
Shall have his eye-balls turn'd to pearl,
When “those are pearls which were his eyes.”
When each invaluable ball
Is fish'd to light by British enterprize
And British capital,
To what a premium will the shares arise.
308
EPITAPH ON LORD LAVINGTON.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY LAVINGTON.
With every part well acted—life enjoyed,And every talent to the last employed,
Here Lavington is laid; a people's grief
Consigns to memory their regretted chief.
That easy vein of unaffected sense,
The wit devoid of effort or offence,
The cordial welcome and the smile sincere
To living memory long shall linger near.
Not that they feared those traces to forget,
Their ready suffrage paid the general debt,
And gave this lasting form to long regret.
No, fixt to future years they bid it stand,
A record of well exercised command.
Strict and exact, though popular and kind,
Discordant virtues in a single mind;
High principles with easy manners join'd,
A courtier's graces, but without his art;
A patriot's zeal where faction had no part,
And manly virtues in a gentle heart.
EPITAPH ON LORD NELSON.
The fragile texture of this earthly form,
Which Death has stript aside and cast below,
Must never more be shaken by the storm,
Nor worn with care, nor shatter'd by the foe.
Which Death has stript aside and cast below,
Must never more be shaken by the storm,
Nor worn with care, nor shatter'd by the foe.
At war's grim sacrifice in fire and blood
My living presence never must preside;
The keen pursuit across the trackless flood
My watchful spirit never more must guide.
My living presence never must preside;
The keen pursuit across the trackless flood
My watchful spirit never more must guide.
309
Britons, farewell! Our country's utmost claim,
My life, my labours all are past and paid;
The tears of vain regret, the toys of fame,
Are idle offerings to your champion's shade.
My life, my labours all are past and paid;
The tears of vain regret, the toys of fame,
Are idle offerings to your champion's shade.
This only tribute to my memory give:—
In all your struggles, both by land and sea,
Let Nelson's name in emulation live,
And in the hour of danger think on me.
In all your struggles, both by land and sea,
Let Nelson's name in emulation live,
And in the hour of danger think on me.
EPITAPH ON THE REV. WALTER WHITER,
AUTHOR OF THE “ETYMOLOGICON UNIVERSALE,” ETC. ETC.
If, wandering here, the learned or the wiseShould wish to view the spot where Whiter lies,
Here is his last abode! and close beside
The simple dwelling where he lived and died.
For forty years an unpromoted priest,
310
By genius and by learning placed above
The greedy, noisy, literary drove
Immeasurably high. Without a frown,
He views the silly press, the busy town,
And clouds of blockheads clamouring for renown.
The purpose of his life, its end and aim
The search of hidden truth; careless of fame,
Of empty dignities or dirty pelf,
Learning he sought—and loved it for itself.
1834.
311
EPITAPHS ON MR. CANNING.
While sister arts in rivalry combineFor Canning's honour,—Sculpture and Design,
Verse claims her portion; a memorial line
Such as he lov'd; and fittest to rehearse
His merit and his praises—Truth in verse.
The pride of Honor, and the love of Truth,
Adorn'd his age, and dignified his youth.
Approv'd thro' life, and tried with every test,
In power, in favour, in disgrace, confest
The first of his coevals, and the best.
Unchanged thro' life, from Childhood's early day,
Playfully wise, and innocently gay,
Ever the same; with wit correctly pure,
Reason miraculously premature,
Vivid imagination ever new,
Decision instantaneously true,
A fervid and precipitated power
312
What tardier wits, with toil of many a day,
Polish'd to less perfection by delay.
By nature gifted with a power and skill
To charm the heart, and subjugate the will:
Born with an ancient name of little worth,
And disinherited before his birth;
A landless Orphan—rank and wealth and pride
Were freely rang'd around him; nor denied
His clear precedence, and the warrant given
Of nobler rank; stamp'd by the hand of Heav'n
In every form of genius and of grace,
In loftiness of thought, figure and face.
Such Canning was: and, half a century past,
Such all the world beheld him to the last:
Admir'd of all, and by the best approv'd,
By those, who best had known him, best belov'd;
His Sovereign's support and the people's choice,
When Europe's balance trembled on the poise,
Call'd to command by their united voice;
Fate snatch'd him from the applauding world; the first
Omen of Europe's danger, and the worst.
ANOTHER ON THE SAME, SHOULD THE FORMER BE CONSIDERED TOO LONG.
While sister arts in rivalry combineFor Canning's honor,—Sculpture and Design,
Verse claims her portion; a memorial line
Such as he lov'd; and fittest to rehearse
His merit and his praises—Truth in verse.
Truth was his idol; and the pride of truth
Adorn'd his age, and dignified his youth.
313
Reason miraculously premature,
Vivid imagination ever new,
Decision instantaneously true.
By nature gifted with a power and skill
To charm the heart, and subjugate the will,
Admir'd of all, and by the best approv'd,
By those, who best had known him, best belov'd;
His Sovereign's support, and the people's choice,
When Europe's balance trembled on the poise,
Call'd to command by their united voice:
Fate snatch'd him from the applauding world; the first
Omen of Europe's danger, and the worst.
ANOTHER MORE CONCISE.
I was destroyed by Wellington and Grey.They both succeeded. Each has had his day.
Both tried to govern, each in his own way;
And both repent of it—as well they may!
LINES INSCRIBED IN ROYDON CHURCH
[_]
In Memory of his nephews, Temple and Griffith Frere, the eldest and the youngest son of Temple and Jane Frere. The elder was drowned when saving the life of a fellow student at Trinity College, Cambridge; and the younger died in the fire which consumed the Vicarage House, at Warfield, Berks.
A manly tender heart, a form and frame
Heroical, the pride of all his race,
Their pride and hope in early youth he came
An unexpected inmate of the place
Ordain'd for all that breathe on earth below.
Exempted from the common ills of life,
Heroical, the pride of all his race,
Their pride and hope in early youth he came
An unexpected inmate of the place
Ordain'd for all that breathe on earth below.
Exempted from the common ills of life,
314
No wearisome disease, painful and slow,
No wild excess, nor youthful hasty strife,
Consigned him to the tomb. The prompt endeavour
Of a kind heart to succour and to save,
Darkened our dawn of hope, and closed for ever
His rising worth in an untimely grave.
No wild excess, nor youthful hasty strife,
Consigned him to the tomb. The prompt endeavour
Of a kind heart to succour and to save,
Darkened our dawn of hope, and closed for ever
His rising worth in an untimely grave.
Deem them not unprepared, nor overtaken
At unawares, whose daily life is pure.
God's chosen children never are forsaken:
His mercies and his promises are sure.
At unawares, whose daily life is pure.
God's chosen children never are forsaken:
His mercies and his promises are sure.
TABLET IN ROYDON CHURCH.
[_]
Richard Edward Frere, sixth son of Edward and Mary Anne Frere, born at Llanelly, Brecknockshire, 28th February, 1817, died at Rawul Pindee Punjab, 18th November, 1842, Lieùtenant in H.M. 13th Regiment Light Infantry.
Sends forth to distant enterprise and strife
Her daring offspring: we must not repine
If, from the frozen circle to the line,
Our graves lie scattered: and the sole relief
For kindred sorrow and parental grief
Is, to record upon an empty tomb
Honour and worth, and their untimely doom.
LINES ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD EDWARD FRERE.
WRITTEN FOR A MONUMENT PROPOSED TO BE ERECTED BY HIS BROTHER OFFICERS.
In early youth, with a determined heart,I sought to study war's tremendous art;
Thence all that studious hours or busy thought,
Or rudimental discipline had taught,
To the true test of practice was applied,
For daily scenes of action proved and tried.
315
I placed our colours on the citadel;
Thence other toils and hardships were essayed,
An unexampled siege and marches made
Twice to Cabool and homewards in a line
Of inexpugnable defiles—in fine,
We visited again that Indian flood
Improvidently passed, and gladly stood
In a secure and peaceable domain,
When a severer foe, disease and pain,
Approach'd, and in that hard assault I fell,
A soldier! having served and suffer'd well;
My duties all discharged, with a firm mind,
Tranquil and pure, and peaceably resigned,
My course is closed; and if I leave a name
Unregister'd upon the rolls of fame,
Still my kind comrades' care may make it known,
Recording on a monumental stone
A gentle, generous spirit like their own.
LINES
DESCRIBING THE ALTERED FEELINGS AND CHARACTER OF THE APOSTLES BEFORE AND AFTER THE EFFUSION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.
—“And he took------the twelve, and began to tell them what things should
happen unto him.”—
Mark x. 32.
Alas, what words are these! we vainly thought
When Israel's redemption should be wrought,
And David's ancient dynasty restored,
That we—the first disciples of the Lord,
Whom his own wise and understanding heart
Had chosen for himself, and classed apart
From the promiscuous giddy multitude,
The gazing, empty crowd, fickle and rude,
Taught in his secret hours to feel the force
And unsuspected depth of his discourse:
On whose behalf, vouchsafing to perform
His mightiest miracle, he rebuked the storm—
On the lone waves, and at the midnight hour
That wondrous act of elemental power
Was wrought; and the presumptuous challenge given
(The challenge to produce a sign from heaven)
Was answered—for our comfort and behoof!
To fix our faith affording us a proof
Of his assured divinity, denied
To the demand of Pharisaic pride!—
Ordain'd in pairs, on his own errand sent,
For works of love and mercy forth we went,
When, as our faith availed us, the distrest
Were healed, and evil spirits dispossest,
And our kind Lord, unused to show concern,
Rejoiced in spirit at our glad return.
Thus therefore, as distinguish'd and preferr'd
To the proud learned and the vulgar herd—
—We deem'd that his disciples and his friends
Might look in cheerful hope to loftier ends;
That when the promised kingdom was his own,
With a deputed power, each on his throne,
We might preside, sitting in humble state
With our great Chief, gravely subordinate.
When Israel's redemption should be wrought,
And David's ancient dynasty restored,
That we—the first disciples of the Lord,
Whom his own wise and understanding heart
Had chosen for himself, and classed apart
From the promiscuous giddy multitude,
The gazing, empty crowd, fickle and rude,
Taught in his secret hours to feel the force
And unsuspected depth of his discourse:
On whose behalf, vouchsafing to perform
316
On the lone waves, and at the midnight hour
That wondrous act of elemental power
Was wrought; and the presumptuous challenge given
(The challenge to produce a sign from heaven)
Was answered—for our comfort and behoof!
To fix our faith affording us a proof
Of his assured divinity, denied
To the demand of Pharisaic pride!—
Ordain'd in pairs, on his own errand sent,
For works of love and mercy forth we went,
When, as our faith availed us, the distrest
Were healed, and evil spirits dispossest,
And our kind Lord, unused to show concern,
Rejoiced in spirit at our glad return.
Thus therefore, as distinguish'd and preferr'd
To the proud learned and the vulgar herd—
—We deem'd that his disciples and his friends
Might look in cheerful hope to loftier ends;
That when the promised kingdom was his own,
With a deputed power, each on his throne,
We might preside, sitting in humble state
With our great Chief, gravely subordinate.
And must it end in this? must we behold
The sad result so fatally foretold?
Our promised Saviour, our expected King,
Reduced to a rejected, abject thing!
Must we behold him baffled and defied,
Insulted and tormented—crucified?
The sad result so fatally foretold?
Our promised Saviour, our expected King,
Reduced to a rejected, abject thing!
Must we behold him baffled and defied,
Insulted and tormented—crucified?
Far other thoughts were ours, of happy days,
Of peaceful empire, glory, power, and praise,
Of all the nations of the world combined
Beneath the rule of an harmonious mind,
A divine spirit affable and kind.
Of peaceful empire, glory, power, and praise,
Of all the nations of the world combined
Beneath the rule of an harmonious mind,
A divine spirit affable and kind.
Must we behold him thus? we that have seen
His tender and compassionating mien
When witnessing in others the distress
Of griefs in daily life lighter and less!
His tender and compassionating mien
When witnessing in others the distress
Of griefs in daily life lighter and less!
All vanishes at once! the long delusion
Of our mistaken hopes—fears and confusion
Must haunt our future years! where shall we find
The firm support of his celestial mind,
For exhortation, comfort, or reproof;
Dispersed, pursued, and scattered wide aloof
Without a master and without a friend,
Sinking in shame for his opprobrious end;
Outcasts of every synagogue—the scorn
Of Jews and heathen—hated and forlorn!
Of our mistaken hopes—fears and confusion
Must haunt our future years! where shall we find
317
For exhortation, comfort, or reproof;
Dispersed, pursued, and scattered wide aloof
Without a master and without a friend,
Sinking in shame for his opprobrious end;
Outcasts of every synagogue—the scorn
Of Jews and heathen—hated and forlorn!
Such were the thoughts the poor apostles had,
Communing in their hearts, cheerless, and sad,
Weakness and faith united! grief and love!
Till strengthened by the Spirit from above.
Communing in their hearts, cheerless, and sad,
Weakness and faith united! grief and love!
Till strengthened by the Spirit from above.
“And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty
wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared
unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them.”—
Acts
ii. 2, 3.
The promise is fulfilled; we see and own
The force and action of a power unknown.
What in a thousand forms our weary mind
And feeble spirit, ignorant and blind,
In vain imaginings had turn'd and cast,
That mighty blessing is conferred at last:
(Dimly conceived as an expected good
Now thankfully received and understood)
That spirit which inures us to behold
With a collected mind, tranquil and cold,
All that alarmed us or allured of old:
Prospective rank and power, the public breath,
Censuring or applauding, chains or death;
That Spirit which enables us to stand
In presence of the rulers of the land,
Aweless and unabash'd, with confidence
Unshaken, and spontaneous eloquence
Infused and prompted at the present hour;
Or in the public place with the like power
To quell the raving, giddy multitude,
Pierced to the quick, dejected, and subdued,
With self-conviction of their past offence:
Thence eager all with ready penitence,
Imploring consolation and advice,
Pledged in remorse and shame to pay the price
Of their announced redemption; to discard
Their former hopes and fears; to disregard
Their ancient fixed adherence to the rules
Of Pharisaic hypocritic schools,
Emancipated from the vulgar awe
Of subtle formalists and priestly law.
Nor these alone, but other gifts and powers,
Our Lord's bequests, are attributes of ours,
Authentic warrants of a power Divine
Confirmed by many a wonder, many a sign
Wrought in His name and in the public view,
Proving our faith and testimony true.
The force and action of a power unknown.
What in a thousand forms our weary mind
And feeble spirit, ignorant and blind,
In vain imaginings had turn'd and cast,
That mighty blessing is conferred at last:
(Dimly conceived as an expected good
Now thankfully received and understood)
That spirit which inures us to behold
With a collected mind, tranquil and cold,
All that alarmed us or allured of old:
Prospective rank and power, the public breath,
Censuring or applauding, chains or death;
That Spirit which enables us to stand
In presence of the rulers of the land,
Aweless and unabash'd, with confidence
Unshaken, and spontaneous eloquence
Infused and prompted at the present hour;
Or in the public place with the like power
To quell the raving, giddy multitude,
Pierced to the quick, dejected, and subdued,
With self-conviction of their past offence:
Thence eager all with ready penitence,
Imploring consolation and advice,
318
Of their announced redemption; to discard
Their former hopes and fears; to disregard
Their ancient fixed adherence to the rules
Of Pharisaic hypocritic schools,
Emancipated from the vulgar awe
Of subtle formalists and priestly law.
Nor these alone, but other gifts and powers,
Our Lord's bequests, are attributes of ours,
Authentic warrants of a power Divine
Confirmed by many a wonder, many a sign
Wrought in His name and in the public view,
Proving our faith and testimony true.
The beggar crouching at the temple gate,
A cripple from the cradle that had sate
With hand outstretching and imploring eye,
And an unvaried customary cry,
Known and habitual to the passers-by;
Him (for he saw the power of inward faith
Lodged in his heart) Peter accosts and saith—
“Of gold or silver or the coin you crave,
“Nought we possess—we give you what we have:
“Through faith in Christ our Lord, and in His name
“Stand forth upon thy feet—cease to be lame.”
'Twas done! (Such miracles are witness'd still
Of a free grace adjuring a free will.
The cripples rise with an obedient start,
With a strong effort and believing heart).
The great Apostle, with an outstretch'd hand,
Rears and assists, and teaches him to stand,
Plying his ignorant unpractised feet:
While—not to leave the blessing incomplete,
The loved disciple at his other side
Attends the novice to support and guide
Within the temple, where he never stood,
With heart elate, leaping and praising God.
Nor are there wanting to the later law
Severer signs such as our fathers saw
Quelling their rebel hearts with fear and awe:
The perjured hypocrite bereft of life,
With his prevaricating, sordid wife,
Firm and erect in steady perjury
They stand, and in the twinkling of an eye
Struck by the deadly sentence, there they lie.
A cripple from the cradle that had sate
With hand outstretching and imploring eye,
And an unvaried customary cry,
Known and habitual to the passers-by;
Him (for he saw the power of inward faith
Lodged in his heart) Peter accosts and saith—
“Of gold or silver or the coin you crave,
“Nought we possess—we give you what we have:
“Through faith in Christ our Lord, and in His name
“Stand forth upon thy feet—cease to be lame.”
'Twas done! (Such miracles are witness'd still
Of a free grace adjuring a free will.
The cripples rise with an obedient start,
With a strong effort and believing heart).
The great Apostle, with an outstretch'd hand,
Rears and assists, and teaches him to stand,
Plying his ignorant unpractised feet:
While—not to leave the blessing incomplete,
The loved disciple at his other side
Attends the novice to support and guide
Within the temple, where he never stood,
With heart elate, leaping and praising God.
Nor are there wanting to the later law
Severer signs such as our fathers saw
Quelling their rebel hearts with fear and awe:
319
With his prevaricating, sordid wife,
Firm and erect in steady perjury
They stand, and in the twinkling of an eye
Struck by the deadly sentence, there they lie.
Such are the powers conferr'd; and for their use
Thus gifted and endow'd—can we refuse
Danger or toil or pain or hardship? No!
With a fix'd faith and purpose forth we go,
In face of a vain world, bound to proclaim
His mission, and atonement in His name.
Secure of our reward, sure to succeed,
And well content to suffer and to bleed.
Thus gifted and endow'd—can we refuse
Danger or toil or pain or hardship? No!
With a fix'd faith and purpose forth we go,
In face of a vain world, bound to proclaim
His mission, and atonement in His name.
Secure of our reward, sure to succeed,
And well content to suffer and to bleed.
Malta, 2nd April, 1840.
A FRAGMENT.
Our fancies figure a Divinity,
Like Fielding's squire, a Mr. Alworthy:
Easy, benignant, equitable, kind—
A sort of patron, suited to our mind;
(A kind of character we should revere
For an estated neighbour or a peer);
The qualities by fellow mortals praised,
Ad infinitum multiplied and raised,
Become our graven image in effect
By mortal handicraft advanced and deck'd.
Imagination, ever poor and blind,
Frames its own idol, after its own kind,
In its own likeness. We construct on high
A mighty form of human quality,
And worship the colossal effigy;
We puzzle and confuse our puny wits
To build an infinite with endless bits
As silly children use—we strive to fill
A mimic fountain of eternal will,
And form a puddle with our idle skill.
Like Fielding's squire, a Mr. Alworthy:
Easy, benignant, equitable, kind—
A sort of patron, suited to our mind;
(A kind of character we should revere
For an estated neighbour or a peer);
The qualities by fellow mortals praised,
Ad infinitum multiplied and raised,
Become our graven image in effect
By mortal handicraft advanced and deck'd.
Imagination, ever poor and blind,
Frames its own idol, after its own kind,
In its own likeness. We construct on high
A mighty form of human quality,
And worship the colossal effigy;
We puzzle and confuse our puny wits
To build an infinite with endless bits
As silly children use—we strive to fill
A mimic fountain of eternal will,
And form a puddle with our idle skill.
But deem not of the Deity as is meant
In daily phrase—good, wise, omnipotent:
No; nor all-wise, all-good; nor hope to span
That mighty compass with the speech of man.
Not entity, but essence, such is He
Beyond all measure, quality, or degree—
Power, wisdom, goodness in infinity,
In abstract. He, the Centre and the Source
Of the attributes of good, which vain discourse
Collects, concentrates—and, when all is done,
Reflects its idle mirror to the sun.
In daily phrase—good, wise, omnipotent:
320
That mighty compass with the speech of man.
Not entity, but essence, such is He
Beyond all measure, quality, or degree—
Power, wisdom, goodness in infinity,
In abstract. He, the Centre and the Source
Of the attributes of good, which vain discourse
Collects, concentrates—and, when all is done,
Reflects its idle mirror to the sun.
With Him the past abides—the eternal past—
The future is fulfill'd—and first and last
Stand obvious to the immeasurable sense,
Mere digits in the vast circumference.
Thro' chinks and crevices we dimly trace
Existence in the forms of time and place;
Predicamental loopholes, poor and small,
That bound our vision through the dungeon-wall:
The future, or the present, or the past,
The there or here—a simultaneous, vast
Infinite omnipresence—First and last
Centre in Him, the ineffably sublime,
Beyond all thought or language. If a crime—
I feel it or I fear it even thus,
In words of human usage to discuss
The Eternal Essence, and delineate
Infinitude—Shall the puny prate
Be suffer'd, which would limit and confine,
In an imaginary moral line,
The compass of eternal power and law?
Shall human reason frame a rule to draw
Before its puny court the cognizance
Of a Divine eternal ordinance
With warrants of its own? Not more uncouth
The fines or forfeits in a barber's booth,
Or regulations in a billiard-room—
If quoted and applied to guide the doom
Of ermined judges in the learned hall
Bent on a serious plea—than those you call
Your axioms absolute and general.
The future is fulfill'd—and first and last
Stand obvious to the immeasurable sense,
Mere digits in the vast circumference.
Thro' chinks and crevices we dimly trace
Existence in the forms of time and place;
Predicamental loopholes, poor and small,
That bound our vision through the dungeon-wall:
The future, or the present, or the past,
The there or here—a simultaneous, vast
Infinite omnipresence—First and last
Centre in Him, the ineffably sublime,
Beyond all thought or language. If a crime—
I feel it or I fear it even thus,
In words of human usage to discuss
The Eternal Essence, and delineate
Infinitude—Shall the puny prate
Be suffer'd, which would limit and confine,
In an imaginary moral line,
The compass of eternal power and law?
Shall human reason frame a rule to draw
Before its puny court the cognizance
Of a Divine eternal ordinance
With warrants of its own? Not more uncouth
The fines or forfeits in a barber's booth,
Or regulations in a billiard-room—
If quoted and applied to guide the doom
Of ermined judges in the learned hall
Bent on a serious plea—than those you call
Your axioms absolute and general.
Or wilt thou call for archives and records,
Thy charter of existence, and the words
Which qualify the grant—with curious eye
Decyphering obsolete eternity?
Canst thou peruse the content and declare
No covenant exists recited there
Of older date? No former forfeit due—
Mere affirmation? Can you prove it true?
The Apostle shall reply—“Nay, what art thou,
“Oh man, that with a bold and hardy brow
“Arraign'd, and pleading in thine own defence,
“Question and cross-examine Providence?
Thy charter of existence, and the words
Which qualify the grant—with curious eye
321
Canst thou peruse the content and declare
No covenant exists recited there
Of older date? No former forfeit due—
Mere affirmation? Can you prove it true?
The Apostle shall reply—“Nay, what art thou,
“Oh man, that with a bold and hardy brow
“Arraign'd, and pleading in thine own defence,
“Question and cross-examine Providence?
To be considered as a fellow-creature
Seems a pretension of a modest nature,
But fails you when address'd to the Creator:
Justice you call for—justice let it be,
Such as inferior life receives from thee:
Your justice slays your vermin, and the fly
In pity saved, or left to drown or die,
Is the true pattern of a sinking spirit,
(In thorough parallel) its works and merit,
Of equal worth, whatever claims arise
Of just demeanour with his fellow flies,
Moral effort, or struggling to be free,
And to crawl out by mere congruity—
Your aidance is gratuitously given;
Gratuitously,—like the grace of Heaven.
Seems a pretension of a modest nature,
But fails you when address'd to the Creator:
Justice you call for—justice let it be,
Such as inferior life receives from thee:
Your justice slays your vermin, and the fly
In pity saved, or left to drown or die,
Is the true pattern of a sinking spirit,
(In thorough parallel) its works and merit,
Of equal worth, whatever claims arise
Of just demeanour with his fellow flies,
Moral effort, or struggling to be free,
And to crawl out by mere congruity—
Your aidance is gratuitously given;
Gratuitously,—like the grace of Heaven.
Pietà, November, 1824.
| The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose | |