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75
GUNDIMORE.
ADDRESSED TO THE SIGNOR AMBROGIO BERCHET, OF BRIGHTON, LATE
SUPERIOR OFFICER OF THE STAFF OF THE ARMY OF ITALY, MEMBER OF
THE LEGION OF HONOR, CAVALIER OF THE IRON CROWN, AND OF THE
CONSTANTINIAN ORDER OF ST. GEORGE.
Docte sermones utriusque linguæ,
(As I, like Ugo Foscolo, may sing thee),
Who having learned in youth some touch of art,
Hast for occasion laid the gift apart;
Which steads thee well, escaped from Russian snows,
And chased from hallowed home, and brief repose;
I know not any one to whom I better
Of my acquaintance, can address this letter,
Painting casino on Italian scheme,
When Italy was but a poet's dream:
Though little in my garden has been changed,
Since I in Roman field and Tuscan ranged.
(As I, like Ugo Foscolo, may sing thee),
Who having learned in youth some touch of art,
Hast for occasion laid the gift apart;
Which steads thee well, escaped from Russian snows,
And chased from hallowed home, and brief repose;
I know not any one to whom I better
Of my acquaintance, can address this letter,
76
When Italy was but a poet's dream:
Though little in my garden has been changed,
Since I in Roman field and Tuscan ranged.
In the first place I would have you understand
That I have built my house upon the strand;
Which, for no other cause than that 'tis small,
The native squirearchy a cottage call;
Though no pine-pillars, wreathed with woodbine, prop
Its porch, nor has the house a toadstool top,
Nor gable ends; nor lawn close shaved and level;
Nor double coachhouse, which delights the devil.
That I have built my house upon the strand;
Which, for no other cause than that 'tis small,
The native squirearchy a cottage call;
Though no pine-pillars, wreathed with woodbine, prop
Its porch, nor has the house a toadstool top,
Nor gable ends; nor lawn close shaved and level;
Nor double coachhouse, which delights the devil.
A gallery-room upon a garden looks,
Which was my library when I had books;
A Doric portico projects before
Its windows, with a tesselated floor;
(Where double-visaged terms, like Lares stand,
Such as sage Tully loved, on either hand)
Catching the first glance of morn's opening eye,
And all the laughing sunshine of the sky;
But a defence against meridian heat,
When the descending beams too fiercely beat:
Upon its ceiling, in warm tints are shown
A burning mountain, and a roofless town;
Which seems (so small its forum and its fanes,
Its tiny dwellings and its narrow lanes,)
A city of the Pigmies sacked by Cranes.
In front, a windmill feeds a fount from well:
This in mid garden falls, and fills a shell,
Whose chrystal waters, poppling, overflow
Their conch into a larger pool below;
And patter, in a quick repeated shower,
Upon a floating bed of leaf and flower;
Beneath whose latticed leaves, white cups, and through
Whose stems, dart fish of gold and silver hue:
Varying with every wind the pillar whirls,
And from its top shakes down a shower of pearls.
Which was my library when I had books;
A Doric portico projects before
Its windows, with a tesselated floor;
(Where double-visaged terms, like Lares stand,
Such as sage Tully loved, on either hand)
77
And all the laughing sunshine of the sky;
But a defence against meridian heat,
When the descending beams too fiercely beat:
Upon its ceiling, in warm tints are shown
A burning mountain, and a roofless town;
Which seems (so small its forum and its fanes,
Its tiny dwellings and its narrow lanes,)
A city of the Pigmies sacked by Cranes.
In front, a windmill feeds a fount from well:
This in mid garden falls, and fills a shell,
Whose chrystal waters, poppling, overflow
Their conch into a larger pool below;
And patter, in a quick repeated shower,
Upon a floating bed of leaf and flower;
Beneath whose latticed leaves, white cups, and through
Whose stems, dart fish of gold and silver hue:
Varying with every wind the pillar whirls,
And from its top shakes down a shower of pearls.
78
Washed by the sea, and flanked by double mount,
A terrace, formed like fan, girds gallery, fount,
And garden; where parterre and walk, in guise
Of antique theatre, are seen to rise.
From the outer part I view the sea and shore,
While I within but hear the watery roar.
So may I, if the hubbub din of life
Must needs be heard, live distant from its strife!
Here a dyke serves the terrace to divide
Into two walks; that on the inner side,
O'erlooks (as said) the garden, fount and tree;
The outer overhangs the foaming sea.
The dyke within is masqued with ilex-screen;
Without by feathery tamarisk's paler green:
I' the middle is a gilded iron gate,
Which to my garden gives a ‘touch of state;’
And (as elsewhere but lighted from on high),
Lets in a look at the horizontal sky.
The outer walk, which with a wider span
Spreads, like the upper portion of a fan,
Towards the sea, is fenced with balustrade,
Or (more correctly) with dwarf-colonnade;
Copied from that in the Palazzo Pitti,
One of the graces of the Tuscan city.
A terrace, formed like fan, girds gallery, fount,
And garden; where parterre and walk, in guise
Of antique theatre, are seen to rise.
From the outer part I view the sea and shore,
While I within but hear the watery roar.
So may I, if the hubbub din of life
Must needs be heard, live distant from its strife!
Here a dyke serves the terrace to divide
Into two walks; that on the inner side,
O'erlooks (as said) the garden, fount and tree;
The outer overhangs the foaming sea.
The dyke within is masqued with ilex-screen;
Without by feathery tamarisk's paler green:
I' the middle is a gilded iron gate,
Which to my garden gives a ‘touch of state;’
And (as elsewhere but lighted from on high),
Lets in a look at the horizontal sky.
The outer walk, which with a wider span
Spreads, like the upper portion of a fan,
79
Or (more correctly) with dwarf-colonnade;
Copied from that in the Palazzo Pitti,
One of the graces of the Tuscan city.
There is a bedroom at the gallery's end:
A kitchen and an anti-room extend
Behind it; and a passage hid with holly,
Leads to what on our coast was called a Folly,
Where sycamore, with clustering groundsel blent
And tamarisk, weatherfends a Persian tent;
Fitted as for the lodging of a Kan,
With curtain, figured cushions, and divan,
Water-pipe,—every thing a Kan could need,
And Persian motto, which I cannot read;
By Hajj Babâa writ, my welcome guest,
What time that worthy pilgrim travelled west;
Whom I on clown and squire of decent rental
Palmed as a pure and portly oriental;
My tent stands on a sandbank, overright
Fair Vectis' northern cliff, and Needle-light.
Eastward, I see another pharos gleam,
To guide the bark through Solent's narrow stream;
Westward, our headland and our haven's mouth;
And wider world of waters to the south;
Which finish in a level line and high,
Dotted with sails that fringe the lower sky.
A kitchen and an anti-room extend
Behind it; and a passage hid with holly,
Leads to what on our coast was called a Folly,
Where sycamore, with clustering groundsel blent
And tamarisk, weatherfends a Persian tent;
Fitted as for the lodging of a Kan,
With curtain, figured cushions, and divan,
Water-pipe,—every thing a Kan could need,
And Persian motto, which I cannot read;
By Hajj Babâa writ, my welcome guest,
What time that worthy pilgrim travelled west;
Whom I on clown and squire of decent rental
Palmed as a pure and portly oriental;
80
Fair Vectis' northern cliff, and Needle-light.
Eastward, I see another pharos gleam,
To guide the bark through Solent's narrow stream;
Westward, our headland and our haven's mouth;
And wider world of waters to the south;
Which finish in a level line and high,
Dotted with sails that fringe the lower sky.
Oft was I wont to leave my garden-home,
To see old Ocean's angry billows foam;
Or, when the distant sea was of one hue,
And from the shore the summer land-wind blew,
Have marked the in-shore swell, and heard it burst
And hiss, from Hengistbury-head to Hurst.
To see old Ocean's angry billows foam;
Or, when the distant sea was of one hue,
And from the shore the summer land-wind blew,
Have marked the in-shore swell, and heard it burst
And hiss, from Hengistbury-head to Hurst.
Meanwhile I fear no carping critic's raillery
Upon my Persian tent and Grecian gallery;
In that no critic in one point of view
(They are so shrouded) can discern the two.
Good bedrooms back the tent, and some, like small
Cells in a convent, line the passage-wall;
Which (as before related) runs between
The tent, and gallery, hid by holly-screen:
Each with a chimney, window, chair, and mat,
And room to swing a cot, if not a cat.
Upon my Persian tent and Grecian gallery;
81
(They are so shrouded) can discern the two.
Good bedrooms back the tent, and some, like small
Cells in a convent, line the passage-wall;
Which (as before related) runs between
The tent, and gallery, hid by holly-screen:
Each with a chimney, window, chair, and mat,
And room to swing a cot, if not a cat.
From gate to postern, whence I wont to sally,
When the alarm-bell rang, extends an alley:
Here marbles, brought from southern region, where
I have loved to wander, if not rich or rare,
Bring back departed vision to the view
Of brighter sun, and sea and sky more blue.
And, like Italian artist's studio, rich in
Fragments of ancient sculpture is my kitchen,
Which stands in the alley, and displays a store
Of bas reliefs from the Lavinian shore:
Such accessories (good and bad) are all,
—Some bricks displaced,—inserted in the wall.
When the alarm-bell rang, extends an alley:
Here marbles, brought from southern region, where
I have loved to wander, if not rich or rare,
Bring back departed vision to the view
Of brighter sun, and sea and sky more blue.
And, like Italian artist's studio, rich in
Fragments of ancient sculpture is my kitchen,
Which stands in the alley, and displays a store
Of bas reliefs from the Lavinian shore:
82
—Some bricks displaced,—inserted in the wall.
Others, in Rome accustomed to conduce
To vulgar needs, are also turned to use.
Thus I, where pump would scarce appear in place,
With a pilaster's shaft the barrel case;
Whence Seneca's wide mouth is made to utter
Water in place of wisdom: for a gutter
In pagan Rome, the terra cotta masque,
As now at home, performs this humble task.
An ara forms the reservoir below,
Into whose hollow the waste waters flow:
Clarke has described this altar, which I bore
With me from Asia Minor's classic shore,
In Adrian's spirit; though I cannot fill a
Garden and house, as he adorned his villa.
To vulgar needs, are also turned to use.
Thus I, where pump would scarce appear in place,
With a pilaster's shaft the barrel case;
Whence Seneca's wide mouth is made to utter
Water in place of wisdom: for a gutter
In pagan Rome, the terra cotta masque,
As now at home, performs this humble task.
An ara forms the reservoir below,
Into whose hollow the waste waters flow:
Clarke has described this altar, which I bore
With me from Asia Minor's classic shore,
In Adrian's spirit; though I cannot fill a
Garden and house, as he adorned his villa.
Because late winter cuts yet growing shoot,
Which rots before 'tis ripe, I have no fruit:
But grow rare herbs, if neither peach nor pine,
And have a greenhouse with a muscat vine.
Which rots before 'tis ripe, I have no fruit:
83
And have a greenhouse with a muscat vine.
Yet if my garden scanty food supply
For dainty palate, or for curious eye,
Here have I hailed a prince, whose high renown
Borrows no lustre from a regal crown;
And (lodged what has been deemed a higher grace,)
‘Chief out of war and statesman out of place;’
As him, that ere he doffed the crimson cap,
With conquering cannon thundered at Gemappe;
Him raised too late to Britain's proudest post,
Too soon to his desiring country lost;
Fashioned in schools of Athens and of Rome,
And fired by brave examples found at home;
Whom heavy spirits censured, as unfit
For rule, because a scholar and a wit.
Who, long sagacious of the rising gale,
Had wisely for the tempest trimmed his sail;
Unlike the steersman, who, unskilled to guide
The ship, would stem unnavigable tide;
And less like him who thinking vain to strive
With wind and weather, lets the vessel drive;
And deems that he has bought short safety cheap,
Flinging her riches to the ravening deep.
Here I from Horner's lips, mild wisdom's type,
Have gathered racy fruit, yet early ripe;
Which, but too like its symbol of the wall,
Sneaped by untimely frost, was doomed to fall.
For dainty palate, or for curious eye,
Here have I hailed a prince, whose high renown
Borrows no lustre from a regal crown;
And (lodged what has been deemed a higher grace,)
‘Chief out of war and statesman out of place;’
As him, that ere he doffed the crimson cap,
With conquering cannon thundered at Gemappe;
Him raised too late to Britain's proudest post,
Too soon to his desiring country lost;
Fashioned in schools of Athens and of Rome,
And fired by brave examples found at home;
Whom heavy spirits censured, as unfit
For rule, because a scholar and a wit.
Who, long sagacious of the rising gale,
Had wisely for the tempest trimmed his sail;
84
The ship, would stem unnavigable tide;
And less like him who thinking vain to strive
With wind and weather, lets the vessel drive;
And deems that he has bought short safety cheap,
Flinging her riches to the ravening deep.
Here I from Horner's lips, mild wisdom's type,
Have gathered racy fruit, yet early ripe;
Which, but too like its symbol of the wall,
Sneaped by untimely frost, was doomed to fall.
Nor harboured them alone whose names will live;
But welcomed those who ‘life to others give.’
Here oftentimes hath the historic page
Been turned by honest Hallam, shrewd and sage.
The strenuous idler in Athenian masque
Has in my sand and sunshine loved to bask;
And he, that robed in the civilian's gown
Handled Thor's hammer, here has laid it down,
To follow many-languaged fowl, that pipe
Their motions, march, or mess—curlew and snipe;
And perfect in their policy of peace
And war, as if he had guested with wild geese,—
Anxious to learn their secret laws of life,
Layed nature bare with his dissecting knife.
Here Walter Scott has wooed the northern muse;
Here has with me rejoiced to walk or cruize:
Hence have we pricked through Yten's holt; where we
Have called to mind, how, under greenwood tree,
Pierced by the partner of his ‘woodland craft,’
King Rufus bled by Tyrrel's random shaft.
Or have reposed, when the meridian ray
Made our light task too heavy for the day,
In yonder fane, which in monastic pride
Looks on cool meadows, cut by chrystal tide:
Founded on hill ('tis said) upon whose post
Whilom some barbarous king encamped his host:
But vainly was the work by man begun;
By angel hands removed 'twixt sun and sun.
—Within we have sat and mused on what we have seen,
And what on this wide stage has acted been;
Of men who have died in vain, their knells unwrung;
Since Fate denied the bard's ennobling tongue.
Hence have we ranged by Celtic camp and barrows;
Or climbed the expectant bark, to thread the narrows
Of Hurst, bound westward to the gloomy bower,
Where Charles was prisoned in the island tower.
Or, from a longer flight alighted, where
Our navies to recruit their strength repair;
And pleased, have seen the ready shot and gun;
Seen in red stream the molten copper run;
Seen shapeless log from plastic steam receive
Its form, and re-appear in block, or sheave,
Through which shall hands the circling cordage reive;
In storm or calm, obedient to whose strings
Will future navies fill or fold their wings;
Seen massive anchor forged, whose iron teeth
Should hold the three-decked ship, when billows seeth;
And when the arsenal's dark stithy rang
With the loud hammers of the Cyclops' gang,
Swallowing the darkness up, have seen with wonder,
The flashing fire, and heard fast-following thunder.
Here Foscolo, escaped from Austria's reach,
In moody silence trod the sounding beach,
Save when the Graces, pleased with him to roam,
An exile, from their second southern home,
Made him forget his sullen discontent,
His country's doom, and his own banishment.
And these ‘ribbed sands’ was Coleridge pleased to pace,
While ebbing seas have hummed a rolling bass
To his rapt talk. Alas! all three are gone—
‘And I and other creeping things live on.’
The flask no more, dear Walter, shall I quaff
With thee, no more enjoy thy hearty laugh;
No more shalt thou to me extend thy hand,
A welcome pilgrim to my father's land.
Alone, such guests and comrades I deplore;
And peopled but with phantoms is the shore:
Hence have I fled my beach; yet would not so
A woodland or a river home forego;
Though wakening fond regrets, its sear and yellow
Leaves, or sweet inland murmur, serve to mellow
And soothe the sobered sorrow they recall,
When mantled in the faded garb of fall.
But wind and wave, unlike the sighing sedge
And murmuring leaf, give grief a coarser edge;
And in each howling blast my fancy hears
‘The voices of the dead and songs of other years.’
But welcomed those who ‘life to others give.’
Here oftentimes hath the historic page
Been turned by honest Hallam, shrewd and sage.
The strenuous idler in Athenian masque
Has in my sand and sunshine loved to bask;
And he, that robed in the civilian's gown
Handled Thor's hammer, here has laid it down,
85
Their motions, march, or mess—curlew and snipe;
And perfect in their policy of peace
And war, as if he had guested with wild geese,—
Anxious to learn their secret laws of life,
Layed nature bare with his dissecting knife.
Here Walter Scott has wooed the northern muse;
Here has with me rejoiced to walk or cruize:
Hence have we pricked through Yten's holt; where we
Have called to mind, how, under greenwood tree,
Pierced by the partner of his ‘woodland craft,’
King Rufus bled by Tyrrel's random shaft.
Or have reposed, when the meridian ray
Made our light task too heavy for the day,
In yonder fane, which in monastic pride
Looks on cool meadows, cut by chrystal tide:
Founded on hill ('tis said) upon whose post
Whilom some barbarous king encamped his host:
86
By angel hands removed 'twixt sun and sun.
—Within we have sat and mused on what we have seen,
And what on this wide stage has acted been;
Of men who have died in vain, their knells unwrung;
Since Fate denied the bard's ennobling tongue.
Hence have we ranged by Celtic camp and barrows;
Or climbed the expectant bark, to thread the narrows
Of Hurst, bound westward to the gloomy bower,
Where Charles was prisoned in the island tower.
Or, from a longer flight alighted, where
Our navies to recruit their strength repair;
And pleased, have seen the ready shot and gun;
Seen in red stream the molten copper run;
Seen shapeless log from plastic steam receive
Its form, and re-appear in block, or sheave,
Through which shall hands the circling cordage reive;
In storm or calm, obedient to whose strings
Will future navies fill or fold their wings;
87
Should hold the three-decked ship, when billows seeth;
And when the arsenal's dark stithy rang
With the loud hammers of the Cyclops' gang,
Swallowing the darkness up, have seen with wonder,
The flashing fire, and heard fast-following thunder.
Here Foscolo, escaped from Austria's reach,
In moody silence trod the sounding beach,
Save when the Graces, pleased with him to roam,
An exile, from their second southern home,
Made him forget his sullen discontent,
His country's doom, and his own banishment.
And these ‘ribbed sands’ was Coleridge pleased to pace,
While ebbing seas have hummed a rolling bass
To his rapt talk. Alas! all three are gone—
‘And I and other creeping things live on.’
The flask no more, dear Walter, shall I quaff
With thee, no more enjoy thy hearty laugh;
No more shalt thou to me extend thy hand,
A welcome pilgrim to my father's land.
88
And peopled but with phantoms is the shore:
Hence have I fled my beach; yet would not so
A woodland or a river home forego;
Though wakening fond regrets, its sear and yellow
Leaves, or sweet inland murmur, serve to mellow
And soothe the sobered sorrow they recall,
When mantled in the faded garb of fall.
But wind and wave, unlike the sighing sedge
And murmuring leaf, give grief a coarser edge;
And in each howling blast my fancy hears
‘The voices of the dead and songs of other years.’
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