 | The Isle of Wight, a poem |  |
xxxvi
CANTO III.
Amid the monuments that mark this land,
Behold on high the lofty Carisbrook stand,
At distance with surprise and pleasure seen,
In Gothic attributes and warlike mien;
A witness there of crimes that long hath stood,
Of British crimes confess'd and Danish blood;
The mark of savage guilt and civil rage,
A monument of wrath from age to age.
What bloody battles near thy base were fought,
How dear the day and conquer'd field were bought;
Proud story paints thy sanguine deeds of yore,
Thy precipice o'er whelm'd with human gore;
Thy little world was ravag'd like the great,
Here time hath drawn the horrid scene of fate;
Blind fortune here her various webb hath wrought,
Here savage Cæsars and rude Pompeys fought;
Such tragic woes were acted here of yore,
Which grief regrets, and time laments no more;
By dark oblivion in his list enroll'd,
But modern mischiefs with a tear are told;
But let them pass, let love refer the strain,
To peace, to plenty, and to George's reign;
Look round, see art and nature in their pride,
The neighbouring Newport and the forest wide;
The royal forest rich with rural dies,
Beneath the castle's foot see Carisbrook rise;
Delightful village, mentioned oft by fame,
That to the lofty fortress gives it's name;
That seems to slide adown the adjacent hill,
The trees, the steeple and the houses fill;
With pleasing glad alternatives the sight,
That mingle moral gloom with nature's light;
From fractur'd battlements and broken walls,
Where horror's curtain o'er the fancy falls.
But now the Sun, in all his Glory drest,
Beats fiercely with his rays upon my breast;
To yon inviting arbour's cool retreat,
I'll turn and shield me from the oppressive heat,
And seated by Maria's gentle stream,
Review my numbers, and admire my theme.
Here the gay Wood-bine hangs from every bough,
Her lucid drops and Jessmines pure as snow,
Have lined the green alcove; fit haunt for those,
Who know the calm delights, the muse bestows:
Here peace and plenty dwell, nor care nor fear,
Nor bold intruding follies enter here:
Hail ye refreshing shades; my bosom feels,
Your cheering pow'r, as from the fervid hills;
Faint I retire, my spirits flow again,
And genius pours new vigour thro' my strain.
Oh! see what pleasing landscapes shine from far,
In contrast to the rage of civil war;
A continent out spread to pleasure's view;
For ever beautiful for ever new,
Where nature triumphs in her genial toil,
Who faster can produce than war can spoil:
How plenty there with pleasure joins the hand,
Smiles on the sea and swells upon the land;
Lo! Ashy Down, where angels oft might play,
As erst at Eden in their bright array;
Appears at distance to the longing eye,
A paradise just fallen from the sky:
Let down for innocence and joy to kiss,
A stage of pleasure, and a scene of bliss;
Exulting there on high it joyful reigns,
O'er waving vallies and o'er wooded plains;
There sweet variety the picture draws,
From nature's hand, that gives to art it's laws;
There art and nature in sweet league combine,
On earth, producing images divine;
Such specimens to sense with rapture tell,
How beauty rose e'er human nature fell.
Descending now the slopes that gently show
Where Newport rises on the plain below;
Newport in decent character display'd,
A wealthy dame in comely weeds array'd;
Serene and smiling at her happy state,
By health, by plenty crown'd, content, not great;
The capital confess'd, where Ceres reigns,
With Indian plenty o'er Medina's plains,
Where stretching from her weekly throne the hand,
She glads the vitals of Britannia's land;
Where navigation loiters on the tide,
To gaze on nature's charms, from side to side;
That plows with double appetite the slood,
For private pleasure and for public good:
This other Thames whose banks with plenty smile,
This Thames in little, and this narrow Nile,
By nature's hand entic'd, by beauty led,
Along the windings of it's fruitful bed;
Equal to Nile and Thames for fertile grace,
It gains in beauty what it wants in space;
The seaman ravish'd by the hills and plains,
Pursues his pleasure and forgets his gains;
The helm let go, he gazes all around,
He dreads no lurking rock or dangerous ground;
Rich profit here and rapture hand in hand,
Allure each other and the soul command:
The swelling bounty Neptune's chariot rides,
On teeming billows and alternate tides;
Lo! Whippingham-hill, the muse must long command,
Fair object of the variegated land!
What mingled beauties strike the ravish'd sight,
Here contemplation feels supreme delight;
Doats on the prospect that it's summit shows,
While stretch'd around the purple harvest glows;
And there the herd are at their ease reclin'd;
While see beneath the glassy river wind;
Yon clumps of trees that in perspective bend,
A verdant amphitheatre extend;
The setting ray adds grandeur to the scene;
Plays o'er the Spire and trembles on the green;
Sparkles thro' waving leaves mild lustre round,
And gilds the atmosphere's extremest bound.
Capacious Cowes, thy hospitable port,
Where Neptune sleeps, where safety holds her court;
Around thy sleets it's strong protection throws,
And storms and tempests are in vain thy foes;
All nature's war within thy arms must cease,
Thy sheltering bosom is the throne of peace;
Creation flings her fences round thy shore,
And chaos, where they rise, can rage no more;
The different winds that war in this agree,
To send by every storm rich freights to thee;
Thy wide spread arms with universal grace,
Takes in the south, the north at one embrace,
The east, the west, with every part of space;
Whilst loaded ships securely come and go,
Nor heed the scanty ebb nor copious slow:
Here time and Neptune wait upon each bark,
Her pilot safety through the thickest dark;
To thy embrace through night's black cope they run,
Secure as lighted by the noon-day sun;
Here Europe's terror and Britannia's pride,
The world's great terror, can with safety ride;
Here George's thunder unprovok'd may sleep,
Rock'd by the swellings of the subject deep;
On thy soft bosom peace may here repose,
Whilst France and whirlwinds are in vain it's foes.
Behold on high the lofty Carisbrook stand,
At distance with surprise and pleasure seen,
In Gothic attributes and warlike mien;
A witness there of crimes that long hath stood,
Of British crimes confess'd and Danish blood;
The mark of savage guilt and civil rage,
A monument of wrath from age to age.
What bloody battles near thy base were fought,
How dear the day and conquer'd field were bought;
Proud story paints thy sanguine deeds of yore,
Thy precipice o'er whelm'd with human gore;
Thy little world was ravag'd like the great,
Here time hath drawn the horrid scene of fate;
xxxvii
Here savage Cæsars and rude Pompeys fought;
Such tragic woes were acted here of yore,
Which grief regrets, and time laments no more;
By dark oblivion in his list enroll'd,
But modern mischiefs with a tear are told;
But let them pass, let love refer the strain,
To peace, to plenty, and to George's reign;
Look round, see art and nature in their pride,
The neighbouring Newport and the forest wide;
The royal forest rich with rural dies,
Beneath the castle's foot see Carisbrook rise;
Delightful village, mentioned oft by fame,
That to the lofty fortress gives it's name;
That seems to slide adown the adjacent hill,
The trees, the steeple and the houses fill;
With pleasing glad alternatives the sight,
That mingle moral gloom with nature's light;
From fractur'd battlements and broken walls,
Where horror's curtain o'er the fancy falls.
But now the Sun, in all his Glory drest,
Beats fiercely with his rays upon my breast;
xxxviii
I'll turn and shield me from the oppressive heat,
And seated by Maria's gentle stream,
Review my numbers, and admire my theme.
Here the gay Wood-bine hangs from every bough,
Her lucid drops and Jessmines pure as snow,
Have lined the green alcove; fit haunt for those,
Who know the calm delights, the muse bestows:
Here peace and plenty dwell, nor care nor fear,
Nor bold intruding follies enter here:
Hail ye refreshing shades; my bosom feels,
Your cheering pow'r, as from the fervid hills;
Faint I retire, my spirits flow again,
And genius pours new vigour thro' my strain.
Oh! see what pleasing landscapes shine from far,
In contrast to the rage of civil war;
A continent out spread to pleasure's view;
For ever beautiful for ever new,
Where nature triumphs in her genial toil,
Who faster can produce than war can spoil:
xxxix
Smiles on the sea and swells upon the land;
Lo! Ashy Down, where angels oft might play,
As erst at Eden in their bright array;
Appears at distance to the longing eye,
A paradise just fallen from the sky:
Let down for innocence and joy to kiss,
A stage of pleasure, and a scene of bliss;
Exulting there on high it joyful reigns,
O'er waving vallies and o'er wooded plains;
There sweet variety the picture draws,
From nature's hand, that gives to art it's laws;
There art and nature in sweet league combine,
On earth, producing images divine;
Such specimens to sense with rapture tell,
How beauty rose e'er human nature fell.
Descending now the slopes that gently show
Where Newport rises on the plain below;
Newport in decent character display'd,
A wealthy dame in comely weeds array'd;
xxxx
By health, by plenty crown'd, content, not great;
The capital confess'd, where Ceres reigns,
With Indian plenty o'er Medina's plains,
Where stretching from her weekly throne the hand,
She glads the vitals of Britannia's land;
Where navigation loiters on the tide,
To gaze on nature's charms, from side to side;
That plows with double appetite the slood,
For private pleasure and for public good:
This other Thames whose banks with plenty smile,
This Thames in little, and this narrow Nile,
By nature's hand entic'd, by beauty led,
Along the windings of it's fruitful bed;
Equal to Nile and Thames for fertile grace,
It gains in beauty what it wants in space;
The seaman ravish'd by the hills and plains,
Pursues his pleasure and forgets his gains;
The helm let go, he gazes all around,
He dreads no lurking rock or dangerous ground;
Rich profit here and rapture hand in hand,
Allure each other and the soul command:
xxxxi
On teeming billows and alternate tides;
Lo! Whippingham-hill, the muse must long command,
Fair object of the variegated land!
What mingled beauties strike the ravish'd sight,
Here contemplation feels supreme delight;
Doats on the prospect that it's summit shows,
While stretch'd around the purple harvest glows;
And there the herd are at their ease reclin'd;
While see beneath the glassy river wind;
Yon clumps of trees that in perspective bend,
A verdant amphitheatre extend;
The setting ray adds grandeur to the scene;
Plays o'er the Spire and trembles on the green;
Sparkles thro' waving leaves mild lustre round,
And gilds the atmosphere's extremest bound.
Capacious Cowes, thy hospitable port,
Where Neptune sleeps, where safety holds her court;
Around thy sleets it's strong protection throws,
And storms and tempests are in vain thy foes;
All nature's war within thy arms must cease,
Thy sheltering bosom is the throne of peace;
xxxxii
And chaos, where they rise, can rage no more;
The different winds that war in this agree,
To send by every storm rich freights to thee;
Thy wide spread arms with universal grace,
Takes in the south, the north at one embrace,
The east, the west, with every part of space;
Whilst loaded ships securely come and go,
Nor heed the scanty ebb nor copious slow:
Here time and Neptune wait upon each bark,
Her pilot safety through the thickest dark;
To thy embrace through night's black cope they run,
Secure as lighted by the noon-day sun;
Here Europe's terror and Britannia's pride,
The world's great terror, can with safety ride;
Here George's thunder unprovok'd may sleep,
Rock'd by the swellings of the subject deep;
On thy soft bosom peace may here repose,
Whilst France and whirlwinds are in vain it's foes.
See ruddy health with naked bosom stand,
On yonder cliff, and wave the vigorous hand,
Above the banks, with florid cheeks that glow,
Pointing triumphant at the tide below ;
The pregnant tide with healing power replete,
Where health, where vigour, and where pleasure meet:
Here ocean's breath comes mingled with the breeze,
And drives far off the bloated fiend, disease;
Here oceans balm the sinking heart delights,
And drooping Britain to the shore invites;
His essence here shall energetic glow,
And health and spirits on her sons bestow;
Her beautious offspring on the bank shall smile
And bless the breezes of Medina's isle;
Here ocean's essence unpoluted reigns,
From nature's vitals and from Neptune's veins;
Here lusty health comes rushing day and night,
Unmix'd as truth and clear as morning light;
No foul infection mingles with the tide,
In healing virtue pure and virgin pride;
Along the tented shore shall beauty skim,
The bosom bright shall lave the lovely limb;
New kindled orbs shall strike with sweet surprize,
As stars relumin'd from the ocean rise;
No more to foreign baths shall Britain roam,
But plunge at Cowes and find rich health at home:
Thither shall merit and shall beauty throng,
Proclaim it's worth and vindicate my song;
Through future times the raptur'd muse can see,
What years unborn shall joyful bring to thee;
Thy crowded ports with trade shall rich run o'er,
And stately structures glitter on thy shore;
The world shall find thee and with wonder tell,
That Vecta's shining scenes the world excel;
Thou precious cabinet where nature locks,
Her richest gems within thy beauteous rocks;
Thou casket fill'd with all her choicest store,
Of matter freely, but of fancy more;
The muse prophetic shall thy bliss foretel,
And on that theme with raptur'd note shall dwell:
Concord shall here assume the social smile,
And envy fade and faction fly the isle;
Friendship and virtue shall thy sons unite,
Discord shall die and harmony delight;
Firm loyalty and truth shall bless the land,
And health shall crown, and Holmes shall lead the band.
On yonder cliff, and wave the vigorous hand,
xxxxiii
Pointing triumphant at the tide below ;
The pregnant tide with healing power replete,
Where health, where vigour, and where pleasure meet:
Here ocean's breath comes mingled with the breeze,
And drives far off the bloated fiend, disease;
Here oceans balm the sinking heart delights,
And drooping Britain to the shore invites;
His essence here shall energetic glow,
And health and spirits on her sons bestow;
Her beautious offspring on the bank shall smile
And bless the breezes of Medina's isle;
Here ocean's essence unpoluted reigns,
From nature's vitals and from Neptune's veins;
Here lusty health comes rushing day and night,
Unmix'd as truth and clear as morning light;
No foul infection mingles with the tide,
In healing virtue pure and virgin pride;
Along the tented shore shall beauty skim,
The bosom bright shall lave the lovely limb;
New kindled orbs shall strike with sweet surprize,
As stars relumin'd from the ocean rise;
xxxxiv
But plunge at Cowes and find rich health at home:
Thither shall merit and shall beauty throng,
Proclaim it's worth and vindicate my song;
Through future times the raptur'd muse can see,
What years unborn shall joyful bring to thee;
Thy crowded ports with trade shall rich run o'er,
And stately structures glitter on thy shore;
The world shall find thee and with wonder tell,
That Vecta's shining scenes the world excel;
Thou precious cabinet where nature locks,
Her richest gems within thy beauteous rocks;
Thou casket fill'd with all her choicest store,
Of matter freely, but of fancy more;
The muse prophetic shall thy bliss foretel,
And on that theme with raptur'd note shall dwell:
Concord shall here assume the social smile,
And envy fade and faction fly the isle;
Friendship and virtue shall thy sons unite,
Discord shall die and harmony delight;
Firm loyalty and truth shall bless the land,
And health shall crown, and Holmes shall lead the band.
FINIS.
Carisbrooke River so called from the Church above, being dedicated to the Virgin Mary.—The River which rises about two Miles above the Village, and meanders through the meads on the North-west side of Newport, is remarkable for the number of Mills upon it.—There being Seven of considerable consequence, within a mile and a half. The several Ponds which are seen from the Hill, or break upon the Eye, in walking to the Castle, have a fine effect, and if their borders were more under the culture of taste, would form patches of beauty to rival the most delicate ornaments of Piedmont.
| The Isle of Wight, a poem | |