Original, serious, and religious poetry by the Rev. Richard Cobbold |
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ON THE PROSPECT OF LEAVING MY NATIVE TOWN. |
 | Original, serious, and religious poetry |  |
215
ON THE PROSPECT OF LEAVING MY NATIVE TOWN.
Ipswich farewell! o'er many a distant scene,
Where fancy's bark, is sailing on the stream,
With sails of pleasure, I shall often pause;—
Oft too to mind, the vivid scenes of youth,
Recall and sigh! ah! but that God has sent,
A mental comfort, sweeter than the past,
The hope of future glory; I should weep,
In deepest agony to say farewell.
Where fancy's bark, is sailing on the stream,
With sails of pleasure, I shall often pause;—
Oft too to mind, the vivid scenes of youth,
Recall and sigh! ah! but that God has sent,
A mental comfort, sweeter than the past,
The hope of future glory; I should weep,
In deepest agony to say farewell.
Dear place of love, where life and light have shone
In joyous concert, where mine infant steps,
Trod in full gaiety thy verdant plains,
Since nature opened to my heart the hope
Of meeting happiness; O still be dear.
If God be love, O truly may I say,
God has been with me from the first to last.
O memory! how often wilt thou call
From hidden days, the retrospect of love.
First, when my steps in childhoods frolic hour
Wandered delighted, in the Christ Church park,
And heard with horror, that the midnight clock,
Bade giant statues walk upon the plain;
And when they heard it, they obeyed the call:
Then too the swans! if any dare defame,
A watery grave awaited him. But now,
This very morning with mine infant boy,
I walked and bless'd him! pray'd that God would bless,
And make him happier, and better too,
Than ever I have been! O not that life,
Has not afforded me the greatest joy
That man on earth, I care not who he be,
Could ever here experience; and yet,
Whilst life be with me shall the joy increase.
Spirit is spirit of no common kind,
For nature's spirit, I have had my zest,
But ever found God's Spirit was the best.
In joyous concert, where mine infant steps,
Trod in full gaiety thy verdant plains,
Since nature opened to my heart the hope
Of meeting happiness; O still be dear.
216
God has been with me from the first to last.
O memory! how often wilt thou call
From hidden days, the retrospect of love.
First, when my steps in childhoods frolic hour
Wandered delighted, in the Christ Church park,
And heard with horror, that the midnight clock,
Bade giant statues walk upon the plain;
And when they heard it, they obeyed the call:
Then too the swans! if any dare defame,
A watery grave awaited him. But now,
This very morning with mine infant boy,
I walked and bless'd him! pray'd that God would bless,
And make him happier, and better too,
Than ever I have been! O not that life,
Has not afforded me the greatest joy
That man on earth, I care not who he be,
Could ever here experience; and yet,
Whilst life be with me shall the joy increase.
217
For nature's spirit, I have had my zest,
But ever found God's Spirit was the best.
O pause awhile thou dear transporting days,
When love of virtue midst the scenes of life,
Led me to think how dearly should I love
To serve my God, my fellow creatures bless,
And speak out boldly what my spirit thought.
Young was the vision, brilliant as a star,
The sweet enchanting dream of ecstasy,
That all would love me, for my love of God.
How sweet are hopes, alas! alas! the world
Soon taught me otherwise; the serpent sin
In thousand shapes, beset my youthful path,
And made me creep along the dust in pain.
When love of virtue midst the scenes of life,
Led me to think how dearly should I love
To serve my God, my fellow creatures bless,
And speak out boldly what my spirit thought.
Young was the vision, brilliant as a star,
The sweet enchanting dream of ecstasy,
That all would love me, for my love of God.
How sweet are hopes, alas! alas! the world
Soon taught me otherwise; the serpent sin
In thousand shapes, beset my youthful path,
And made me creep along the dust in pain.
The schoolboy's days, all terror and no love,
Train'd to a character my soul abhorred
When taught like Cæsar to be brave and kill,
To die, for liberty, or love of gold,
Ought, but affection, ought, but native tongue,
Or pure religion, piety, or peace.
Flogged, for my negligence of that I spurn'd,
And disencouraged, in my thirst for love,
Too fond of play, wherever spirit led,
Or cruelty no poignancy enforced;
The foremost, happy, happy, boy of love.
God bless ye masters, though your iron rods
Cut deeply in the flesh! my spirit lov'd;
And had ye taught me with a gentle hand,
Mine had been gratitude that more than this
Had spoken faithfully such words of truth,
As never schoolboy uttered in his youth.
Train'd to a character my soul abhorred
When taught like Cæsar to be brave and kill,
218
Ought, but affection, ought, but native tongue,
Or pure religion, piety, or peace.
Flogged, for my negligence of that I spurn'd,
And disencouraged, in my thirst for love,
Too fond of play, wherever spirit led,
Or cruelty no poignancy enforced;
The foremost, happy, happy, boy of love.
God bless ye masters, though your iron rods
Cut deeply in the flesh! my spirit lov'd;
And had ye taught me with a gentle hand,
Mine had been gratitude that more than this
Had spoken faithfully such words of truth,
As never schoolboy uttered in his youth.
But rods, and horrors, dread of masters frowns,
Spite of the ushers, idleness, and pains,
All fled with school! the dear domestic home,
A mother's love, a father's just remarks,
Though sometimes lost, were dearer to my soul,
Than any pleasures, which the world could give.
Then came the days when liberty commenced.—
A horse! a horse! and such a one was he,
I never saw from that day to this hour,
So dear an animal! as white as snow,
His black eye piercing to my heart's delight,
O noble fellow, thou wast many a day,
My sole companion to the Orwell's shore;
Oft as I cross'd thee, I have thought of God;
And riding to the summit of the hills,
Looked over Ipswich, and with joy bethought,
How glorious the leader of a throng,
Who lead to virtue, honor, love, and God.
Ambition's sire, yet knew I naught, or how
Would swell my eye, expand my rising soul,
Bid pure affection glitter in the sun,
And ask the vallies to behold and smile.
Then thought I of a partner for my life,
And as my love was anxious to be true,
Soon was an object offered to mine eye,
To which all virtue that my soul could give,
Was close attach'd. I cannot speak of days,
In which that impress natural and pure,
First gain'd the mastery! suffice it now!
All that in woman I could ever hope,
Whilst earth is present,—I have found in her.
Spite of the ushers, idleness, and pains,
All fled with school! the dear domestic home,
A mother's love, a father's just remarks,
Though sometimes lost, were dearer to my soul,
219
Then came the days when liberty commenced.—
A horse! a horse! and such a one was he,
I never saw from that day to this hour,
So dear an animal! as white as snow,
His black eye piercing to my heart's delight,
O noble fellow, thou wast many a day,
My sole companion to the Orwell's shore;
Oft as I cross'd thee, I have thought of God;
And riding to the summit of the hills,
Looked over Ipswich, and with joy bethought,
How glorious the leader of a throng,
Who lead to virtue, honor, love, and God.
Ambition's sire, yet knew I naught, or how
Would swell my eye, expand my rising soul,
Bid pure affection glitter in the sun,
And ask the vallies to behold and smile.
Then thought I of a partner for my life,
And as my love was anxious to be true,
Soon was an object offered to mine eye,
220
Was close attach'd. I cannot speak of days,
In which that impress natural and pure,
First gain'd the mastery! suffice it now!
All that in woman I could ever hope,
Whilst earth is present,—I have found in her.
In Ipswich! nature, spirit, love, and life,
As far as mortal could expect the same,
Have been enjoyed!—the waters of my youth
Long long I lov'd them, and can truly say,
That never spot, in distant lands I saw,
Had half the charm. In foreign realms I sigh'd:—
The towns or cities, rivers, meads, or plains,
Were none so dear, as Orwell, and her town.
The dancing damsels, of an other clime,
No charm for one! whose memory was keen;
And pure attachment to his native soil,
Made every face, that innocence of youth
Could love, shine happily.—But now farewell—
O not in sorrow—but in joy farewell.—
God whom I lov'd far dearer than myself,
And dearer still than any thing on earth,
Will make me happy, be I where I will:
Duty is pleasure, when our nature's pangs
Subdued, or softened by celestial love,
Make Heaven's high mandate glory of the heart.
Through sorrow, joy, through good and ill report,
With front of fearlessness, no strength of mind,
But spirit's boldness, I have gone my course.
Have I offended 'gainst a single soul,
No soul should think it; for to none on earth,
Save to the enemy of God and man,
Have I felt ought, but sympathy and love.
Those who have known me, and have been my friends
Have found me meeting them with friendship's hand,
Accompanied with feelings of the soul,
As truly grateful as their own to me.
Few have I found who met me in that way
I most sincerely loved! but none to whom,
I bear not something of sincere respect!—
Forgive me friends, the egotist forgive,
I speak but truth,—may truth for ever live.
As far as mortal could expect the same,
Have been enjoyed!—the waters of my youth
Long long I lov'd them, and can truly say,
That never spot, in distant lands I saw,
Had half the charm. In foreign realms I sigh'd:—
The towns or cities, rivers, meads, or plains,
Were none so dear, as Orwell, and her town.
The dancing damsels, of an other clime,
No charm for one! whose memory was keen;
And pure attachment to his native soil,
Made every face, that innocence of youth
Could love, shine happily.—But now farewell—
221
God whom I lov'd far dearer than myself,
And dearer still than any thing on earth,
Will make me happy, be I where I will:
Duty is pleasure, when our nature's pangs
Subdued, or softened by celestial love,
Make Heaven's high mandate glory of the heart.
Through sorrow, joy, through good and ill report,
With front of fearlessness, no strength of mind,
But spirit's boldness, I have gone my course.
Have I offended 'gainst a single soul,
No soul should think it; for to none on earth,
Save to the enemy of God and man,
Have I felt ought, but sympathy and love.
Those who have known me, and have been my friends
Have found me meeting them with friendship's hand,
Accompanied with feelings of the soul,
As truly grateful as their own to me.
Few have I found who met me in that way
222
I bear not something of sincere respect!—
Forgive me friends, the egotist forgive,
I speak but truth,—may truth for ever live.
Dear Ipswich can I leave thee and the wave
Where youth and life cemented more by love,
Than worldly feeling, have outliv'd the past.
O can I leave thee and without a sigh,
Spirit will sigh but not for nature's face.
Truly in thee, my natures' God I view'd,
And more admired than merely scenery.
The pang is past, a greater love I know
Than human feeling; so I shall not weep,
Or if I do, no eye but his who knows
The secret cause of sorrow, shall behold.
Forgive my weakness, reader of the line,
And conquer thou hypocrisy and hate!
I write my soul: and if I write in love,
That soul transported can endure the scorn,
Of any being saving God my Lord.
It seems that nature undergoes a pang
Whilst spirit cheers me. 'Tis enough to feel
To feel most powerfully truth—farewell,
O I could write, but must not write of thee.
Another pen descriptive and sublime,
Shall write thy praises, and if talent shine,
If virtue be in letters, so shall speak,
The language of a poet to the world,
That cherished, genius, or spirit shewn
Shall soon in Ipswich be express'd and known.
Where youth and life cemented more by love,
Than worldly feeling, have outliv'd the past.
O can I leave thee and without a sigh,
Spirit will sigh but not for nature's face.
Truly in thee, my natures' God I view'd,
And more admired than merely scenery.
The pang is past, a greater love I know
Than human feeling; so I shall not weep,
Or if I do, no eye but his who knows
The secret cause of sorrow, shall behold.
Forgive my weakness, reader of the line,
And conquer thou hypocrisy and hate!
I write my soul: and if I write in love,
That soul transported can endure the scorn,
Of any being saving God my Lord.
223
Whilst spirit cheers me. 'Tis enough to feel
To feel most powerfully truth—farewell,
O I could write, but must not write of thee.
Another pen descriptive and sublime,
Shall write thy praises, and if talent shine,
If virtue be in letters, so shall speak,
The language of a poet to the world,
That cherished, genius, or spirit shewn
Shall soon in Ipswich be express'd and known.
One word to thee thou native kindred flame,
Thou poor, deserving, yet, most gifted man!
O Cordingley! the moment that thy line
Before my vision playfully was placed,
I own'd thy worth; nor have I chang'd my tone.
Write on and prosper! sing thy native song,
And now and then responsive to my own,
Lift thine high sentiment to sing of love.
Exalted rise and long thou Ipswich bard,
May undisputed laurels, be thy claim.
Thou hast a spirit full of fire and truth,
A wisdom, which if nurtur'd shall be great!
Long may thy townsmen, greet thee for thy worth;
Encourage, cherish, and respect thy pen.
The proudest day, my nature ever knew,
Was that I found thee! prosper thou!—adieu.—
Thou poor, deserving, yet, most gifted man!
O Cordingley! the moment that thy line
Before my vision playfully was placed,
I own'd thy worth; nor have I chang'd my tone.
Write on and prosper! sing thy native song,
And now and then responsive to my own,
Lift thine high sentiment to sing of love.
Exalted rise and long thou Ipswich bard,
224
Thou hast a spirit full of fire and truth,
A wisdom, which if nurtur'd shall be great!
Long may thy townsmen, greet thee for thy worth;
Encourage, cherish, and respect thy pen.
The proudest day, my nature ever knew,
Was that I found thee! prosper thou!—adieu.—
Friends of my youth, and friends of present day
Accept the parting pressure of my pen,
And you, parishoners, believe the fact,
My soul is tranquil with regard to all;
Rejoice with me that duty has prevailed
And though I bid you with my pen farewell,
Oft on your spirits shall my spirit dwell.
The secret prayer shall fervently be rais'd,
And God, for all things be beloved and prais'd.
Accept the parting pressure of my pen,
And you, parishoners, believe the fact,
My soul is tranquil with regard to all;
Rejoice with me that duty has prevailed
And though I bid you with my pen farewell,
Oft on your spirits shall my spirit dwell.
The secret prayer shall fervently be rais'd,
And God, for all things be beloved and prais'd.
| Original, serious, and religious poetry | |