Malvern Hills with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition |
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THE WARRIOR's GRAVE ON SNOWDON.
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 | Malvern Hills |  |
THE WARRIOR's GRAVE ON SNOWDON.
LHYRARCH'S SONG OVER THE GRAVE OF PRINCE DAVID, AND HIS FRIEND, THE GALLANT EDWALL.
I.
THOUGH sorrow mark no cheek but mine;Though hostile spears around me shine;
Shall the Bard his thoughts dissemble,
Or at danger deign to tremble,
Whose presence (freedom-like) alone
Shakes the despot on his throne?—
Bard! who holds the sacred lyre,
Prodigal of earth's applause,
To whom, in Truth and Virtue's cause,
The Highest delegates his fire?
Shall he to idols lift his hands—
He, flattery to the abject breathe,
Who, mid the humble, humblest stands,
And on the proudest looks beneath?
Pretenders vile may touch the string,
And incense to the tyrant raise,
Who buys, for gold, his worthless praise;
But who, at Inspiration's spring,
Drinks deep, and feels the power within,
Mines, in vain, might strive to win.
Like the sun-shine and the sun,
Liberty and Bard are one.
He, while cowards feel despair,
The pinnacle of right shall dare.
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An empire, boundless as the main,
To his breast, no fortress higher,
Independence shall retire,
And, to a threatening world, reply
But with the disdainful eye.
II.
O Scorn! no more deform my brow,Milder thoughts oppress me now.
This day hath closed the mortal span
Of a great, a gallant man;
Old in fame, though young in years,
For whom a thousand sighs arise,
Faithful, generous, valiant, wise,
For whom are shed a thousand tears.
Hark! the spirits of the air,
They, who weep o'er human woe,
With the hurrying hand or slow,
Wake by turns the note of care;
Now declining, now ascending,
With the gale of midnight blending,
For David is dead;
On the bier lies his head,
And his corse we convey to the home of the dead.
III.
Whilst on earth our friends we bear,Whose sun below no more shall rise;
What so soothing, and so fair,
As the planet-spangled skies?
When, as the deepening shade prevails,
Night, her sister Silence, hails,
And Heaven's verge, in sober grey,
Lengthens long the closing day.
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Deep truths are to our hearts reveal'd—
Soften'd, mellow'd, taught to feel
That Nature, Nature's wounds can heal.
While glows the concave, calm, and clear,
Our little mole-hills disappear;
We forget affliction's wave,
The worm, the mattock, and the grave.
Amid the hour, to mourning due,
A gentle joy the heart beguiles;
As around she scatters rue,
Sorrow, for a moment, smiles.
IV.
Tell me, men! who roam to seeSights renown'd of majesty,
What so grand as here to bow,
Thus on Snowdon's awful brow,
Raised so high, scarce knowing where,
Suspended, like a lamp, in air,
When no forms arrest the sight,
But the sailing clouds of night,
Or, the countless orbs that shine
Through the canopy divine;—
Here some lonely planet fair,
Many a well-known cluster there:
Gems that stud the heavenly throne,
(Which speak of worlds beyond our own;)
View'd with rapture, oft of yore,
Yet now lovelier than before;—
Awe-inspiring as we gaze;—
While oft the vagrant meteors blaze,;
Some, darting far their lines of fire,
Which, ere we look, in night expire;
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Gliding, slow, from star to star,
To the subjects of their mind,
Paying visitations kind,
Downward then to cast our eye,
From our stand amid the sky,
And view the misty vale below,
Through which peaceful rivers flow,
Whilst upon the winding streams,
Day, expiring, faintly beams.
Fill'd with thoughts of amplest sweep,
We, a holy silence, keep,
And half, to our own selves, appear,
Beings of another sphere,
As we to Death had bent the knee,
And quaff'd our immortality.
V.
Roving Fancy, I abjure thee!Now substantial tears shall flow;
O prince! before the grave immure thee,
I will pour the song of woe.
In her strength, for David's sake,
The bold, the trembling harp shall wake.
Why should friend the truth withhold,
The praise which from affection springs?
Thou art fallen, thou art cold,
Heir, and hope, of mighty kings!
When last the sun arose sublime,
We David saw, a mountain strong,
Beneath his shade we march'd along,
Nor fear'd the wasting hand of Time,
Him we thought ordain'd for praise,
Cambria, drooping, born to raise
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Great as when our Roderic reign'd;
That unwreath'd, immortal hour,
When we the loftiest foe disdain'd;
But our hero is fled,
On the bier lies his head,
And his corse we now bear to the home of the dead.
VI.
Earth hath still her charms to boast,Some, abiding, short-lived, most;
Such as to the soul pertain,
Spurn at life's contracted chain,
Ocean, narrow'd to a span,
Germ of heaven abides in man—
One little light to cheer his cell,
One spark of his primeval mind;
Not all was lost when Adam fell,
For Friendship linger'd yet behind.
Edwall! in the prosperous day,
Thou didst well thy truth display;
And the adverse hour, for thee,
Was to shew thy constancy.
Thou, in battle fierce, wast torn
From the man whom now we mourn.
Here, friend from friend must be divided,
Like the sands on the sea-beat shore;
But in a world, far off provided,
They shall meet, to part no more!
O, hear and rejoice,
With your heart and your voice!
Blessings, and great,
For the good await,
After the storms of this mortal state!
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VII.
Generous youth! so true, so brave,We consign thee to the grave,
While the stifled groans reveal
That even foes for thee can feel.—
These are honours due to none,
But to high-born Valour's son.
Upon the bud that low doth lie,
We bestow the passing sigh;
But the youth, like morning red,
Adorn'd with virtue's choicest bloom,
Hurried to the silent tomb,
Who beholds, nor droops the head?
On the mound where he is laid,
The glow-worm, calm, and constant, shines,
The broken bull-rush slow declines;—
O'er the spot, so precious made,
The star of evening lingers long,
Whilst from the ancient yew-tree's shade,
Through the stillness, warbling clear,
Till the first faint dawn appear,
The bird of sorrow pours his song.
Village maidens, chaste, as fair,
Often bow in silence there;
And let fall, memento true,
Some sweet flower of tender hue.
E'en the old sexton, whom no common fate
Stops in his road, and leads to contemplate,
Here pauses sad—feels for a father's woe,
And wipes the tear that will, unbidden, flow.
VIII.
Bear the rich remains away!As we march with solemn tread,
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And for their souls devoutly pray.
Lo! the hallowed spot we reach!
The grave is deep! the grave is wide!
This lonely sepulchre might teach
Lesson stern to human pride.
Lay the heroes side by side!
They, in life, were friends sincere!
They, in death, are joined here!
Now place the sod beneath their head!
Whilst each restrains the faintest word,
While not a breath profane is heard,
Gently earth upon them spread!
Then, as the clods descending sound,
One by one, in order slow;
Let the warriors, crowding round,
With no idle pomp of woe,
While I mourn, securely feel
In their courage, and their steel,
For David is dead!
Oh! his spirit is fled!
And here, on the turf, rests his peaceable head!
IX.
What a bubble all things are,Between this clod, and yonder star!
From youth to age we toil along,
Against a thousand currents strong,
Fierce to gain some gaudy prize,
Which the world doth idolize;—
Power—the source of killing care;
Fame—a column raised on air;
Wealth—at best, a golden chain,
Soon resign'd to men as vain;
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Weigh'd by wisdom—vanity!
Whilst our moments swifter fly
Than the cloud of jagged form,
Hurried fast before the storm,
Through the warring wintry sky!
Like the pageants of a day,
All earth's glories pass away!
Rode there not upon the wind
Warning notes, as mercy kind?
Again the utterance! Whispers mild,
Sent to Folly's thoughtless child!—
The tower on which the sun hath shone,
The restless vapour sailing on,
The falling leaf, the winged dart,
The friend who cheers us soon to part,
The blush of eve, the shadowy dream,
The reed that floats upon the stream,
The wave, rough foaming up the shore,
The voice of music heard no more;—
The lightning fierce, the thunder dread,
Of which remembrance long has fled;
The thought that once disturb'd the mind,
Now in the robe of twilight drest,
Calm as ocean sunk to rest;
The wind that leaves no trace behind,—
These have a voice! Where now are found
Names and nations once renown'd?
These emblem life—these all impress,
(In the hour of thoughtfulness)
The spirit, with mysterious force,
Like the unbound tempest hoarse,
Wrapp'd in midnight!—these declare
How frail is man, what grass we are,
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And, at even, fade and die.
Lo! to rouse our hopes and fears
For things, of small concernment, never,
Now secured, or lost for ever,
A silent monitor appears!
From the tomb, a hand I spy,
Pointing to Eternity!
X.
One leaf of cypress more I strew,And then the long, the last adieu.
Sons of promise, your career
Terminates in darkness here;
Your rapturous joy, and your distress
In the grave's deep quietness!
If my heart might cease to swell,
For the cause in which you fell,
From life, its cares, its thorny bed,
Could I mourn that you are fled?
Brief is sorrow! brief is pleasure!
You have had your destined measure,
And to nobler life are born!—
Till the Resurrection Morn,
When our friendships we renew,
Take my long, my last adieu!
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