 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
134
PRISON AMUSEMENTS:
WRITTEN DURING NINE MONTHS OF CONFINEMENT IN THE CASTLE OF YORK, IN THE YEARS 1795 AND 1796.
143
VERSES TO A ROBIN RED-BREAST,
WHO VISITS THE WINDOW OF MY PRISON EVERY DAY.
Welcome, pretty little stranger!
Welcome to my lone retreat!
Here, secure from every danger,
Hop about, and chirp, and eat:
Robin! how I envy thee,
Happy child of Liberty!
Welcome to my lone retreat!
Here, secure from every danger,
Hop about, and chirp, and eat:
Robin! how I envy thee,
Happy child of Liberty!
Now, though tyrant Winter, howling,
Shakes the world with tempests round,
Heaven above with vapours scowling,
Frost imprisons all the ground;—
Robin! what are these to thee?
Thou art blest with liberty.
Shakes the world with tempests round,
Heaven above with vapours scowling,
Frost imprisons all the ground;—
Robin! what are these to thee?
Thou art blest with liberty.
Though yon fair majestic river
Mourns in solid icy chains,
Though yon flocks and cattle shiver
On the desolated plains;—
Robin! thou art gay and free,
Happy in thy liberty.
Mourns in solid icy chains,
Though yon flocks and cattle shiver
On the desolated plains;—
Robin! thou art gay and free,
Happy in thy liberty.
Hunger never shall distress thee
While my cates one crumb afford;
Colds nor cramps shall e'er oppress thee;
Come and share my humble board:
Robin! come and live with me,
Live—yet still at liberty.
While my cates one crumb afford;
Colds nor cramps shall e'er oppress thee;
Come and share my humble board:
Robin! come and live with me,
Live—yet still at liberty.
Soon shall Spring in smiles and blushes
Steal upon the blooming year;
Then, amid the enamour'd bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear:
Then shall I, too, join with thee,
Swell the Hymn of Liberty.
Steal upon the blooming year;
Then, amid the enamour'd bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear:
Then shall I, too, join with thee,
Swell the Hymn of Liberty.
Should some rough unfeeling Dobbin,
In this iron-hearted age,
Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin!
And confine thee in a cage,
Then, poor prisoner! think of me,
Think—and sigh for liberty.
In this iron-hearted age,
Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin!
And confine thee in a cage,
Then, poor prisoner! think of me,
Think—and sigh for liberty.
Feb. 2. 1795.
MOONLIGHT.
Gentle Moon! a captive calls;
Gentle Moon! awake, arise!
Gild the prison's sullen walls;
Gild the tears that drown his eyes.
Gentle Moon! awake, arise!
Gild the prison's sullen walls;
Gild the tears that drown his eyes.
Throw thy veil of clouds aside;
Let those smiles that light the pole
Through the liquid ether glide,—
Glide into the mourner's soul.
Let those smiles that light the pole
Through the liquid ether glide,—
Glide into the mourner's soul.
Cheer his melancholy mind;
Soothe his sorrows, heal his smart:
Let thine influence, pure, refined,
Cool the fever of his heart.
Soothe his sorrows, heal his smart:
Let thine influence, pure, refined,
Cool the fever of his heart.
Chase despondency and care,
Fiends that haunt the guilty breast:
Conscious virtue braves despair,
Triumphs most when most oppress'd.
Fiends that haunt the guilty breast:
Conscious virtue braves despair,
Triumphs most when most oppress'd.
Now I feel thy power benign
Swell my bosom, thrill my veins,
As thy beams the brightest shine
When the deepest midnight reigns.
Swell my bosom, thrill my veins,
As thy beams the brightest shine
When the deepest midnight reigns.
Say, fair shepherdess of night!
Who thy starry flock dost lead
Unto rills of living light,
On the blue ethereal mead;
Who thy starry flock dost lead
Unto rills of living light,
On the blue ethereal mead;
At this moment, dost thou see,
From thine elevated sphere,
One kind friend who thinks of me,—
Thinks, and drops a feeling tear?
From thine elevated sphere,
One kind friend who thinks of me,—
Thinks, and drops a feeling tear?
On a brilliant beam convey
This soft whisper to his breast,—
“Wipe that generous drop away;
He for whom it falls is blest.
This soft whisper to his breast,—
“Wipe that generous drop away;
He for whom it falls is blest.
“Blest with Freedom unconfined,
Dungeons cannot hold the Soul:
Who can chain the immortal Mind?
—None but He who spans the pole.”
Dungeons cannot hold the Soul:
Who can chain the immortal Mind?
—None but He who spans the pole.”
Fancy, too, the nimble fairy,
With her subtle magic spell,
In romantic visions airy
Steals the captive from his cell.
With her subtle magic spell,
In romantic visions airy
Steals the captive from his cell.
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On her moonlight pinions borne,
Far he flies from grief and pain;
Never, never to be torn
From his friends and home again.
Far he flies from grief and pain;
Never, never to be torn
From his friends and home again.
Stay, thou dear delusion! stay;
Beauteous bubble! do not break;
Ah! the pageant flits away;
—Who from such a dream would wake?
Beauteous bubble! do not break;
Ah! the pageant flits away;
—Who from such a dream would wake?
March 7. 1795.
THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE.
Nocturnal Silence reigning,
A Nightingale began
In his cold cage complaining
Of cruel-hearted Man:
His drooping pinions shiver'd,
Like wither'd moss so dry;
His heart with anguish quiver'd,
And sorrow dimm'd his eye.
A Nightingale began
In his cold cage complaining
Of cruel-hearted Man:
His drooping pinions shiver'd,
Like wither'd moss so dry;
His heart with anguish quiver'd,
And sorrow dimm'd his eye.
His grief in soothing slumbers
No balmy power could steep;
So sweetly flow'd his numbers,
The music seem'd to weep.
Unfeeling Sons of Folly!
To you the Mourner sung;
While tender melancholy
Inspired his plaintive tongue.
No balmy power could steep;
So sweetly flow'd his numbers,
The music seem'd to weep.
Unfeeling Sons of Folly!
To you the Mourner sung;
While tender melancholy
Inspired his plaintive tongue.
“Now reigns the moon in splendour
Amid the heaven serene;
A thousand stars attend her,
And glitter round their queen:
Sweet hours of inspiration!
When I, the still night long,
Was wont to pour my passion,
And breathe my soul in Song.
Amid the heaven serene;
A thousand stars attend her,
And glitter round their queen:
Sweet hours of inspiration!
When I, the still night long,
Was wont to pour my passion,
And breathe my soul in Song.
“But now, delicious season!
In vain thy charms invite;
Entomb'd in this dire prison,
I sicken at the sight.
This morn, this vernal morning,
The happiest bird was I
That hail'd the sun returning,
Or swam the liquid sky.
In vain thy charms invite;
Entomb'd in this dire prison,
I sicken at the sight.
This morn, this vernal morning,
The happiest bird was I
That hail'd the sun returning,
Or swam the liquid sky.
“In yonder breezy bowers,
Among the foliage green,
I spent my tuneful hours,
In solitude serene:
There soft Melodia's beauty
First fired my ravish'd eye;
I vow'd eternal duty:
She look'd—half kind, half shy!
Among the foliage green,
I spent my tuneful hours,
In solitude serene:
There soft Melodia's beauty
First fired my ravish'd eye;
I vow'd eternal duty:
She look'd—half kind, half shy!
“My plumes with ardour trembling
I flutter'd, sigh'd, and sung;
The fair one, still dissembling,
Refused to trust my tongue:
A thousand tricks inventing,
A thousand arts I tried;
Till the sweet nymph, relenting,
Confess'd herself my bride.
I flutter'd, sigh'd, and sung;
The fair one, still dissembling,
Refused to trust my tongue:
A thousand tricks inventing,
A thousand arts I tried;
Till the sweet nymph, relenting,
Confess'd herself my bride.
“Deep in the grove retiring,
To choose our secret seat,
We found an oak aspiring,
Beneath whose mossy feet,
Where the tall herbage swelling
Had form'd a green alcove,
We built our humble dwelling,
And hallow'd it with love.
To choose our secret seat,
We found an oak aspiring,
Beneath whose mossy feet,
Where the tall herbage swelling
Had form'd a green alcove,
We built our humble dwelling,
And hallow'd it with love.
“Sweet scene of vanish'd pleasure!
This day, this fatal day,
My little ones, my treasure,
My spouse, were stolen away!
I saw the precious plunder
All in a napkin bound;
Then, smit with human thunder,
I flutter'd on the ground!
This day, this fatal day,
My little ones, my treasure,
My spouse, were stolen away!
I saw the precious plunder
All in a napkin bound;
Then, smit with human thunder,
I flutter'd on the ground!
“O Man! beneath whose vengeance
All Nature bleeding lies!
Who charged thine impious engines
With lightning from the skies?
Ah! is thy bosom iron?
Does it thine heart enchain?
As these cold bars environ,
And captive me detain?
All Nature bleeding lies!
Who charged thine impious engines
With lightning from the skies?
Ah! is thy bosom iron?
Does it thine heart enchain?
As these cold bars environ,
And captive me detain?
“Where are my offspring tender?
Where is my widow'd mate?—
Thou Guardian Moon! defend her!
Ye Stars! avert their fate!—
O'erwhelm'd with killing anguish,
In iron cage, forlorn,
I see my poor babes languish:
I hear their mother mourn!
Where is my widow'd mate?—
Thou Guardian Moon! defend her!
Ye Stars! avert their fate!—
145
In iron cage, forlorn,
I see my poor babes languish:
I hear their mother mourn!
“O Liberty! inspire me,
And eagle-strength supply!
Thou, Love almighty! fire me!
I'll burst my prison—or die!”
He sung, and forward bounded;
He broke the yielding door!
But, with the shock confounded,
Fell lifeless on the floor!
And eagle-strength supply!
Thou, Love almighty! fire me!
I'll burst my prison—or die!”
He sung, and forward bounded;
He broke the yielding door!
But, with the shock confounded,
Fell lifeless on the floor!
Farewell, then, Philomela;
Poor martyr'd bird! adieu!
There's one, my charming fellow!
Who thinks, who feels, like you:
The bard that pens thy story,
Amidst a prison's gloom,
Sighs—not for wealth, nor glory—
But freedom, or thy tomb!
Poor martyr'd bird! adieu!
There's one, my charming fellow!
Who thinks, who feels, like you:
The bard that pens thy story,
Amidst a prison's gloom,
Sighs—not for wealth, nor glory—
But freedom, or thy tomb!
Feb. 12. 1796.
ODE TO THE EVENING STAR.
Hail! resplendent Evening Star!
Brightly beaming from afar;
Fairest gem of purest light
In the diadem of night.
Brightly beaming from afar;
Fairest gem of purest light
In the diadem of night.
Now thy mild and modest ray
Lights to rest the weary day,
While the lustre of thine eye
Sweetly trembles through the sky;
As the closing shadows roll
Deep and deeper round the pole,
Lo! thy kindling legions bright
Steal insensibly to light;
Till, magnificent and clear,
Shines the spangled hemisphere.
Lights to rest the weary day,
While the lustre of thine eye
Sweetly trembles through the sky;
As the closing shadows roll
Deep and deeper round the pole,
Lo! thy kindling legions bright
Steal insensibly to light;
Till, magnificent and clear,
Shines the spangled hemisphere.
In these calmly pleasing hours,
When the soul expands her powers,
And, on wings of contemplation,
Ranges round the vast creation;
When the mind's immortal eye
Bounds with rapture to the sky,
And in one triumphant glance
Comprehends the wide expanse,
Where stars, and suns, and systems shine,
Faint beams of majesty divine;—
Now, when visionary sleep
Lulls the world in slumbers deep;
When silence, awfully profound,
Breathes solemn inspiration round,—
Queen of Beauty! queen of stars!
Smile upon these frowning bars;
Softly sliding from thy sphere,
Condescend to visit here.
When the soul expands her powers,
And, on wings of contemplation,
Ranges round the vast creation;
When the mind's immortal eye
Bounds with rapture to the sky,
And in one triumphant glance
Comprehends the wide expanse,
Where stars, and suns, and systems shine,
Faint beams of majesty divine;—
Now, when visionary sleep
Lulls the world in slumbers deep;
When silence, awfully profound,
Breathes solemn inspiration round,—
Queen of Beauty! queen of stars!
Smile upon these frowning bars;
Softly sliding from thy sphere,
Condescend to visit here.
In the circle of this cell
No tormenting demons dwell;
Round these walls in wild despair
No agonising spectres glare:
Here reside no furies gaunt;
No tumultuous passions haunt;
Fell revenge, nor treachery base;
Guilt, with bold unblushing face;
Pale remorse, within whose breast
Scorpion-horrors murder rest;
Coward malice, hatred dire,
Lawless rapine, dark desire;
Pining envy, frantic ire;
Never, never, dare intrude
On this pensive solitude:
—But a sorely-hunted deer
Finds a sad asylum here;
One whose panting sides have been
Pierced with many an arrow keen;
One whose deeply-wounded heart
Bears the scars of many a dart.
In the herd he vainly mingled;
From the herd, when harshly singled,
Too proud to fly, he scorn'd to yield;
Too weak to fight, he lost the field:
Assail'd, and captive led away,
He fell a poor inglorious prey.
No tormenting demons dwell;
Round these walls in wild despair
No agonising spectres glare:
Here reside no furies gaunt;
No tumultuous passions haunt;
Fell revenge, nor treachery base;
Guilt, with bold unblushing face;
Pale remorse, within whose breast
Scorpion-horrors murder rest;
Coward malice, hatred dire,
Lawless rapine, dark desire;
Pining envy, frantic ire;
Never, never, dare intrude
On this pensive solitude:
—But a sorely-hunted deer
Finds a sad asylum here;
One whose panting sides have been
Pierced with many an arrow keen;
One whose deeply-wounded heart
Bears the scars of many a dart.
In the herd he vainly mingled;
From the herd, when harshly singled,
Too proud to fly, he scorn'd to yield;
Too weak to fight, he lost the field:
Assail'd, and captive led away,
He fell a poor inglorious prey.
Deign then, gentle Star! to shed
Thy soft lustre round mine head;
With cheering radiance gild the room,
And melt the melancholy gloom.
When I see thee from thy sphere
Trembling like a brilliant tear,
Shed a sympathising ray
On the pale expiring day,
Then a welcome emanation
Of reviving consolation,
Swifter than the lightning's dart,
Glances through my glowing heart;
Soothes my sorrows, lulls my woes,
In a soft, serene repose.
Like the undulating motion
Of the deep, majestic ocean,
When the whispering billows glide
Smooth along the tranquil tide;
Calmly thus, prepared, resign'd,
Swells the independent mind.
Thy soft lustre round mine head;
With cheering radiance gild the room,
And melt the melancholy gloom.
When I see thee from thy sphere
Trembling like a brilliant tear,
Shed a sympathising ray
On the pale expiring day,
Then a welcome emanation
Of reviving consolation,
146
Glances through my glowing heart;
Soothes my sorrows, lulls my woes,
In a soft, serene repose.
Like the undulating motion
Of the deep, majestic ocean,
When the whispering billows glide
Smooth along the tranquil tide;
Calmly thus, prepared, resign'd,
Swells the independent mind.
But when through clouds thy beauteous light
Streams in splendour on the night,
Hope, like thee, my leading star,
Through the sullen gloom of care,
Sheds an animating ray
On the dark, bewildering way.
Starting, then, with sweet surprise,
Tears of transport swell mine eyes;
Wildly through each throbbing vein,
Rapture thrills with pleasing pain:
All my fretful fears are banish'd,
All my dreams of anguish vanish'd;
Energy my soul inspires,
And wakes the Muse's hallow'd fires;
Rich in melody, my tongue
Warbles forth spontaneous song.
Streams in splendour on the night,
Hope, like thee, my leading star,
Through the sullen gloom of care,
Sheds an animating ray
On the dark, bewildering way.
Starting, then, with sweet surprise,
Tears of transport swell mine eyes;
Wildly through each throbbing vein,
Rapture thrills with pleasing pain:
All my fretful fears are banish'd,
All my dreams of anguish vanish'd;
Energy my soul inspires,
And wakes the Muse's hallow'd fires;
Rich in melody, my tongue
Warbles forth spontaneous song.
Thus my prison moments gay
Swiftly, sweetly, glide away;
Till, the last long day declining,
O'er yon tower thy glory, shining,
Shall the welcome signal be
Of to-morrow's liberty!
Liberty, triumphant borne
On the rosy wings of morn,
Liberty shall then return!
Swiftly, sweetly, glide away;
Till, the last long day declining,
O'er yon tower thy glory, shining,
Shall the welcome signal be
Of to-morrow's liberty!
Liberty, triumphant borne
On the rosy wings of morn,
Liberty shall then return!
Rise to set the captive free;
Rise, O sun of Liberty!
Rise, O sun of Liberty!
Feb. 29. 1796.
SOLILOQUY OF A WATER-WAGTAIL ON THE WALLS OF YORK CASTLE.
On the walls that guard my prison,
Swelling with fantastic pride,
Brisk and merry as the season,
I a feather'd coxcomb spied:
When the little hopping elf
Gaily thus amused himself.
Swelling with fantastic pride,
Brisk and merry as the season,
I a feather'd coxcomb spied:
When the little hopping elf
Gaily thus amused himself.
“Hear your sovereign's proclamation,
All good subjects, young and old:
I'm the Lord of the Creation;
I—a Water-Wagtail bold!
All around, and all you see,
All the world, was made for me!
All good subjects, young and old:
I'm the Lord of the Creation;
I—a Water-Wagtail bold!
All around, and all you see,
All the world, was made for me!
“Yonder sun, so proudly shining,
Rises—when I leave my nest;
And, behind the hills declining,
Sets—when I retire to rest:
Morn and evening, thus you see,
Day and night, were made for me!
Rises—when I leave my nest;
And, behind the hills declining,
Sets—when I retire to rest:
Morn and evening, thus you see,
Day and night, were made for me!
“Vernal gales to love invite me;
Summer sheds for me her beams;
Autumn's jovial scenes delight me;
Winter paves with ice my streams:
All the year is mine, you see;
Seasons change, like moons, for me!
Summer sheds for me her beams;
Autumn's jovial scenes delight me;
Winter paves with ice my streams:
All the year is mine, you see;
Seasons change, like moons, for me!
“On the heads of giant mountains,
Or beneath the shady trees,
By the banks of warbling fountains,
I enjoy myself at ease:
Hills and valleys, thus you see,
Groves and rivers, made for me!
Or beneath the shady trees,
By the banks of warbling fountains,
I enjoy myself at ease:
Hills and valleys, thus you see,
Groves and rivers, made for me!
“Boundless are my vast dominions;
I can hop, or swim, or fly;
When I please, my towering pinions
Trace my empire through the sky:
Air and elements, you see,
Heaven and earth, were made for me!
I can hop, or swim, or fly;
When I please, my towering pinions
Trace my empire through the sky:
Air and elements, you see,
Heaven and earth, were made for me!
“Birds and insects, beasts and fishes,
All their humble distance keep;
Man, subservient to my wishes,
Sows the harvest which I reap:
Mighty man himself, you see,
All that breathe, were made for me!
All their humble distance keep;
Man, subservient to my wishes,
Sows the harvest which I reap:
Mighty man himself, you see,
All that breathe, were made for me!
“'Twas for my accommodation
Nature rose when I was born;
Should I die—the whole creation
Back to nothing would return:
Sun, moon, stars, the world, you see,
Sprung—exist—will fall—with me!”
Nature rose when I was born;
Should I die—the whole creation
Back to nothing would return:
Sun, moon, stars, the world, you see,
Sprung—exist—will fall—with me!”
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Here the pretty prattler, ending,
Spread his wings to soar away;
But a cruel Hawk, descending,
Pounced him up—an helpless prey:
—Couldst thou not, poor Wagtail! see
That the Hawk was made for thee?
Spread his wings to soar away;
But a cruel Hawk, descending,
Pounced him up—an helpless prey:
—Couldst thou not, poor Wagtail! see
That the Hawk was made for thee?
April 15. 1796.
THE PLEASURES OF IMPRISONMENT.
IN TWO EPISTLES TO A FRIEND.
Epistle I.
You ask, my friend, and well you may,
You ask me how I spend the day.
I'll tell you, in unstudied rhyme,
How wisely I befool my time:
Expect not wit nor fancy, then,
In this effusion of my pen;
These idle lines—they might be worse—
Are simple prose, in simple verse.
You ask me how I spend the day.
I'll tell you, in unstudied rhyme,
How wisely I befool my time:
Expect not wit nor fancy, then,
In this effusion of my pen;
These idle lines—they might be worse—
Are simple prose, in simple verse.
Each morning, then, at five o'clock,
The adamantine doors unlock;
Bolts, bars, and portals, crash and thunder;
The gates of iron burst asunder:
Hinges that creak, and keys that jingle,
With clattering chains in concert mingle;
So sweet the din, your dainty ear
For joy would break its drum to hear;
While my dull organs, at the sound,
Rest in tranquillity profound:
Fantastic dreams amuse my brain,
And waft my spirit home again.
Though captive all day long, 'tis true,
At night I am as free as you;
Not ramparts high, nor dungeons deep,
Can hold me when I'm fast asleep.
The adamantine doors unlock;
Bolts, bars, and portals, crash and thunder;
The gates of iron burst asunder:
Hinges that creak, and keys that jingle,
With clattering chains in concert mingle;
So sweet the din, your dainty ear
For joy would break its drum to hear;
While my dull organs, at the sound,
Rest in tranquillity profound:
Fantastic dreams amuse my brain,
And waft my spirit home again.
Though captive all day long, 'tis true,
At night I am as free as you;
Not ramparts high, nor dungeons deep,
Can hold me when I'm fast asleep.
But every thing is good in season;
I dream at large—and wake in prison.
Yet think not, sir, I lie too late;
I rise as early even as eight:
Ten hours of drowsiness are plenty,
For any man, in four-and-twenty.
You smile—and yet 'tis nobly done,
I'm but five hours behind the sun!
I dream at large—and wake in prison.
Yet think not, sir, I lie too late;
I rise as early even as eight:
Ten hours of drowsiness are plenty,
For any man, in four-and-twenty.
You smile—and yet 'tis nobly done,
I'm but five hours behind the sun!
When dress'd, I to the yard repair,
And breakfast on the pure fresh air;
But though this choice Castalian cheer
Keeps both the head and stomach clear,
For reasons strong enough with me,
I mend the meal with toast and tea.
Now air and fame, as poets sing,
Are both the same, the self-same thing.
Yet bards are not chameleons quite,
And heavenly food is very light:
Whoever dined or supp'd on fame,
And went to bed upon a name?
And breakfast on the pure fresh air;
But though this choice Castalian cheer
Keeps both the head and stomach clear,
For reasons strong enough with me,
I mend the meal with toast and tea.
Now air and fame, as poets sing,
Are both the same, the self-same thing.
Yet bards are not chameleons quite,
And heavenly food is very light:
Whoever dined or supp'd on fame,
And went to bed upon a name?
Breakfast despatched, I sometimes read,
To clear the vapours from my head;
For books are magic charms, I ween,
Both for the crotchets and the spleen.
When genius, wisdom, wit abound,
Where sound is sense, and sense is sound;
When art and nature both combine,
And live and breathe in every line;
The reader glows along the page
With all the author's native rage!
But books there are with nothing fraught,—
Ten thousand words, and ne'er a thought;
Where periods without period crawl,
Like caterpillars on a wall,
That fall to climb, and climb to fall;
While still their efforts only tend
To keep them from their journey's end.
The readers yawn with pure vexation,
And nod—but not with approbation.
In such a fog of dulness lost,
Poor patience must give up the ghost:
Not Argus' eyes awake could keep;
Even Death might read himself to sleep.
To clear the vapours from my head;
For books are magic charms, I ween,
Both for the crotchets and the spleen.
When genius, wisdom, wit abound,
Where sound is sense, and sense is sound;
When art and nature both combine,
And live and breathe in every line;
The reader glows along the page
With all the author's native rage!
But books there are with nothing fraught,—
Ten thousand words, and ne'er a thought;
Where periods without period crawl,
Like caterpillars on a wall,
That fall to climb, and climb to fall;
While still their efforts only tend
To keep them from their journey's end.
The readers yawn with pure vexation,
And nod—but not with approbation.
In such a fog of dulness lost,
Poor patience must give up the ghost:
Not Argus' eyes awake could keep;
Even Death might read himself to sleep.
At half-past ten, or thereabout,
My eyes are all upon the scout,
To see the lounging post-boy come
With letters or with news from home.
Believe it, on a captive's word,
Although the doctrine seem absurd,
The paper messengers of friends
For absence almost make amends;—
But if you think I jest or lie,
Come to York Castle, sir, and try.
My eyes are all upon the scout,
To see the lounging post-boy come
With letters or with news from home.
Believe it, on a captive's word,
Although the doctrine seem absurd,
The paper messengers of friends
For absence almost make amends;—
But if you think I jest or lie,
Come to York Castle, sir, and try.
Sometimes to fairy-land I rove:—
Those iron rails become a grove;
These stately buildings fall away
To moss-grown cottages of clay;
Debtors are changed to jolly swains,
Who pipe and whistle on the plains;
Yon felons grim, with fetters bound,
Are satyrs wild with garlands crown'd;
Their clanking chains are wreaths of flowers;
Their horrid cells ambrosial bowers;
The oaths, expiring on their tongues,
Are metamorphosed into songs:
While wretched female prisoners, lo!
Are Dian's nymphs of virgin snow.
Those hideous walls with verdure shoot;
These pillars bend with blushing fruit;
That dunghill swells into a mountain:
The pump becomes a purling fountain;
The noisome smoke of yonder mills,
The circling air with fragrance fills;
This horse-pond spreads into a lake,
And swans of ducks and geese I make;
Sparrows are changed to turtle-doves,
That bill and coo their pretty loves;
Wagtails, turn'd thrushes, charm the vales,
And tomtits sing like nightingales.
No more the wind through key-holes whistles,
But sighs on beds of pinks and thistles;
The rattling rain that beats without,
And gurgles down the leaden spout,
In light delicious dew distils,
And melts away in amber rills;—
Elysium rises on the green,
And health and beauty crown the scene.
Those iron rails become a grove;
These stately buildings fall away
To moss-grown cottages of clay;
148
Who pipe and whistle on the plains;
Yon felons grim, with fetters bound,
Are satyrs wild with garlands crown'd;
Their clanking chains are wreaths of flowers;
Their horrid cells ambrosial bowers;
The oaths, expiring on their tongues,
Are metamorphosed into songs:
While wretched female prisoners, lo!
Are Dian's nymphs of virgin snow.
Those hideous walls with verdure shoot;
These pillars bend with blushing fruit;
That dunghill swells into a mountain:
The pump becomes a purling fountain;
The noisome smoke of yonder mills,
The circling air with fragrance fills;
This horse-pond spreads into a lake,
And swans of ducks and geese I make;
Sparrows are changed to turtle-doves,
That bill and coo their pretty loves;
Wagtails, turn'd thrushes, charm the vales,
And tomtits sing like nightingales.
No more the wind through key-holes whistles,
But sighs on beds of pinks and thistles;
The rattling rain that beats without,
And gurgles down the leaden spout,
In light delicious dew distils,
And melts away in amber rills;—
Elysium rises on the green,
And health and beauty crown the scene.
Then, by the enchantress Fancy led,
On violet-banks I lay my head;
Legions of radiant forms arise,
In fair array, before mine eyes;
Poetic visions gild my brain,
And melt in liquid air again;
As in a magic-lantern clear,
Fantastic images appear,
That, beaming from the spectred glass,
In beautiful succession pass,
Yet steal the lustre of their light
From the deep shadow of the night:
Thus, in the darkness of my head,
Ten thousand shining things are bred,
That borrow splendour from the gloom,
As glow-worms twinkle in a tomb.
On violet-banks I lay my head;
Legions of radiant forms arise,
In fair array, before mine eyes;
Poetic visions gild my brain,
And melt in liquid air again;
As in a magic-lantern clear,
Fantastic images appear,
That, beaming from the spectred glass,
In beautiful succession pass,
Yet steal the lustre of their light
From the deep shadow of the night:
Thus, in the darkness of my head,
Ten thousand shining things are bred,
That borrow splendour from the gloom,
As glow-worms twinkle in a tomb.
But lest these glories should confound me,
Kind Dulness draws her curtain round me;
The visions vanish in a trice,
And I awake as cold as ice:
Nothing remains of all the vapour,
Save—what I send you—ink and paper.
Kind Dulness draws her curtain round me;
The visions vanish in a trice,
And I awake as cold as ice:
Nothing remains of all the vapour,
Save—what I send you—ink and paper.
Thus flow my morning hours along,
Smooth as the numbers of my song:
Yet, let me wander as I will,
I feel I am a prisoner still.
Thus Robin, with the blushing breast,
Is ravish'd from his little nest
By barbarous boys, who bind his leg
To make him flutter round a peg:
See, the glad captive spreads his wings,
Mounts, in a moment mounts and sings,
When suddenly the cruel chain
Twitches him back to earth again!
—The clock strikes one—I can't delay,
For dinner comes but once a day:
At present, worthy friend, farewell;
But by to-morrow's post I'll tell
How, during these half-dozen moons,
I cheat the lazy afternoons.
Smooth as the numbers of my song:
Yet, let me wander as I will,
I feel I am a prisoner still.
Thus Robin, with the blushing breast,
Is ravish'd from his little nest
By barbarous boys, who bind his leg
To make him flutter round a peg:
See, the glad captive spreads his wings,
Mounts, in a moment mounts and sings,
When suddenly the cruel chain
Twitches him back to earth again!
—The clock strikes one—I can't delay,
For dinner comes but once a day:
At present, worthy friend, farewell;
But by to-morrow's post I'll tell
How, during these half-dozen moons,
I cheat the lazy afternoons.
June 13. 1796.
Epistle II.
In this sweet place, where freedom reigns,
Secured by bolts, and snug in chains;
Where innocence and guilt together
Roost like two turtles of a feather;
Where debtors safe at anchor lie
From saucy duns and bailiffs sly;
Where highwaymen and robbers stout
Would, rather than break in, break out;
Where all's so guarded and recluse,
That none his liberty can lose;—
Here each may, as his means afford,
Dine like a pauper or a lord,
And those who can't the cost defray
May live to dine another day.
Secured by bolts, and snug in chains;
Where innocence and guilt together
Roost like two turtles of a feather;
Where debtors safe at anchor lie
From saucy duns and bailiffs sly;
Where highwaymen and robbers stout
Would, rather than break in, break out;
Where all's so guarded and recluse,
That none his liberty can lose;—
Here each may, as his means afford,
Dine like a pauper or a lord,
And those who can't the cost defray
May live to dine another day.
Now let us ramble o'er the green,
To see and hear what's heard and seen;
To breathe the air, enjoy the light,
And hail yon sun, who shines as bright
Upon the dungeon and the gallows
As on York Minster or Kew Palace.
And here let us the scene review:—
That's the old castle,—this the new;
Yonder the felons walk,—and there
The lady-prisoners take the air;
Behind are solitary cells,
Where hermits live like snails in shells;
There stands the chapel for good people;
That black balcony is the steeple;
How gaily spins the weather-cock!
How proudly shines the crazy clock
A clock whose wheels eccentric run
More like my head than like the sun:
And yet it shows us, right or wrong,
The days are only twelve hours long;
Though captives often reckon here
Each day a month, each month a year.
There honest William stands in state,
The porter, at the horrid gate:
Yet no ill-natured soul is he,—
Entrance to all the world is free;
One thing, indeed, is rather hard,
Egress is frequently debarr'd:
Of all the joys within that reign,
There's none like—getting out again!
Across the green, behold the court,
Where jargon reigns and wigs resort;
Where bloody tongues fight bloodless battles,
For life and death, for straws and rattles;
Where juries yawn their patience out,
And judges dream in spite of gout.
There, on the outside of the door
(As sang a wicked wag of yore),
Stands Mother Justice, tall and thin,
Who never yet hath ventured in:
The cause, my friend, may soon be shown,
The lady was a stepping-stone,
Till—though the metamorphose odd is—
A chisel made the block a goddess:
—“Odd!” did I say?—I'm wrongt his time;
But I was hamper'd for a rhyme:
Justice at—I could tell you where—
Is just the same as justice there.
To see and hear what's heard and seen;
To breathe the air, enjoy the light,
And hail yon sun, who shines as bright
Upon the dungeon and the gallows
As on York Minster or Kew Palace.
And here let us the scene review:—
That's the old castle,—this the new;
149
The lady-prisoners take the air;
Behind are solitary cells,
Where hermits live like snails in shells;
There stands the chapel for good people;
That black balcony is the steeple;
How gaily spins the weather-cock!
How proudly shines the crazy clock
A clock whose wheels eccentric run
More like my head than like the sun:
And yet it shows us, right or wrong,
The days are only twelve hours long;
Though captives often reckon here
Each day a month, each month a year.
There honest William stands in state,
The porter, at the horrid gate:
Yet no ill-natured soul is he,—
Entrance to all the world is free;
One thing, indeed, is rather hard,
Egress is frequently debarr'd:
Of all the joys within that reign,
There's none like—getting out again!
Across the green, behold the court,
Where jargon reigns and wigs resort;
Where bloody tongues fight bloodless battles,
For life and death, for straws and rattles;
Where juries yawn their patience out,
And judges dream in spite of gout.
There, on the outside of the door
(As sang a wicked wag of yore),
Stands Mother Justice, tall and thin,
Who never yet hath ventured in:
The cause, my friend, may soon be shown,
The lady was a stepping-stone,
Till—though the metamorphose odd is—
A chisel made the block a goddess:
—“Odd!” did I say?—I'm wrongt his time;
But I was hamper'd for a rhyme:
Justice at—I could tell you where—
Is just the same as justice there.
But lo! my frisking dog attends,
The kindest of four-footed friends;
Brim-full of giddiness and mirth,
He is the prettiest fool on earth.
The rogue is twice a squirrel's size,
With short snub nose and big black eyes;
A cloud of brown adorns his tail,
That curls and serves him for a sail;
The same deep auburn dyes his ears,
That never were abridged by shears:
While white around, as Lapland snows,
His hair in soft profusion flows;
Waves on his breast, and plumes his feet
With glossy fringe, like feathers fleet.
A thousand antic tricks he plays,
And looks at one a thousand ways;
His wit, if he has any, lies
Somewhere between his tail and eyes;
Sooner the light those eyes will fail,
Than Billy cease to wag that tail.
The kindest of four-footed friends;
Brim-full of giddiness and mirth,
He is the prettiest fool on earth.
The rogue is twice a squirrel's size,
With short snub nose and big black eyes;
A cloud of brown adorns his tail,
That curls and serves him for a sail;
The same deep auburn dyes his ears,
That never were abridged by shears:
While white around, as Lapland snows,
His hair in soft profusion flows;
Waves on his breast, and plumes his feet
With glossy fringe, like feathers fleet.
A thousand antic tricks he plays,
And looks at one a thousand ways;
His wit, if he has any, lies
Somewhere between his tail and eyes;
Sooner the light those eyes will fail,
Than Billy cease to wag that tail.
And yet the fellow ne'er is safe
From the tremendous beak of Ralph,—
A raven grim, in black and blue,
As arch a knave as e'er you knew;
Who hops about with broken pinions,
And thinks these walls his own dominions.
This wag a mortal foe to Bill is;
They fight like Hector and Achilles:
Bold Billy runs with all his might,
And conquers, Parthian-like, in flight;
While Ralph his own importance feels,
And wages endless war with heels:
Horses and dogs, and geese and deer,
He slily pinches in the rear;
They start, surprised with sudden pain,
While honest Ralph sheers off again.
From the tremendous beak of Ralph,—
A raven grim, in black and blue,
As arch a knave as e'er you knew;
Who hops about with broken pinions,
And thinks these walls his own dominions.
This wag a mortal foe to Bill is;
They fight like Hector and Achilles:
Bold Billy runs with all his might,
And conquers, Parthian-like, in flight;
While Ralph his own importance feels,
And wages endless war with heels:
Horses and dogs, and geese and deer,
He slily pinches in the rear;
They start, surprised with sudden pain,
While honest Ralph sheers off again.
A melancholy stag appears,
With rueful look and flagging ears;
A feeble, lean, consumptive elf,
The very picture of myself!
My ghost-like form, and new-moon phiz,
Are just the counterparts of his:
Blasted like me by fortune's frown;
Like me, twice hunted, twice run down!
Like me pursued, almost to death,
He's come to gaol to save his breath!
Still, on his painful limbs, are seen
The scars where worrying dogs have been;
Still, on his woe-imprinted face,
I weep a broken heart to trace.
Daily the mournful wretch I feed
With crumbs of comfort and of bread;
But man, false man! so well he knows,
He deems the species all his foes:
In vain I smile to soothe his fear,
He will not, dare not, come too near;
He lingers—looks—and fain he would—
Then strains his neck to reach the food.
Oft as his plaintive looks I see,
A brother's bowels yearn in me.
What rocks and tempests yet await
Both him and me, we leave to fate:
We know, by past experience taught,
That innocence availeth nought:
I feel, and 'tis my proudest boast,
That conscience is itself a host:
While this inspires my swelling breast,
Let all forsake me—I'm at rest;
Ten thousand deaths, in every nerve,
I'd rather suffer than deserve.
With rueful look and flagging ears;
A feeble, lean, consumptive elf,
The very picture of myself!
My ghost-like form, and new-moon phiz,
Are just the counterparts of his:
Blasted like me by fortune's frown;
Like me, twice hunted, twice run down!
Like me pursued, almost to death,
He's come to gaol to save his breath!
Still, on his painful limbs, are seen
The scars where worrying dogs have been;
Still, on his woe-imprinted face,
I weep a broken heart to trace.
Daily the mournful wretch I feed
With crumbs of comfort and of bread;
But man, false man! so well he knows,
He deems the species all his foes:
In vain I smile to soothe his fear,
He will not, dare not, come too near;
150
Then strains his neck to reach the food.
Oft as his plaintive looks I see,
A brother's bowels yearn in me.
What rocks and tempests yet await
Both him and me, we leave to fate:
We know, by past experience taught,
That innocence availeth nought:
I feel, and 'tis my proudest boast,
That conscience is itself a host:
While this inspires my swelling breast,
Let all forsake me—I'm at rest;
Ten thousand deaths, in every nerve,
I'd rather suffer than deserve.
But yonder comes the victim's wife,
A dappled doe, all fire and life:
She trips along with gallant pace,
Her limbs alert, her motion grace:
Soft as the moonlight fairies bound,
Her footsteps scarcely kiss the ground;
Gently she lifts her fair brown head,
And licks my hand, and begs for bread:
I pat her forehead, stroke her neck,
She starts and gives a timid squeak;
Then, while her eye with brilliance burns,
The fawning animal returns;
Pricks her bob-tail, and waves her ears,
And happier than a queen appears:
—Poor beast! from fell ambition free,
And all the woes of liberty;
Born in a gaol, a prisoner bred,
No dreams of hunting rack thine head;
Ah! mayst thou never pass these bounds
To see the world—and feel the hounds!
Still all her beauty, all her art,
Have fail'd to win her husband's heart:
Her lambent eyes, and lovely chest;
Her swan-white neck, and ermine breast;
Her taper legs, and spotty hide,
So softly, delicately pied,
In vain their fond allurements spread,—
To love and joy her spouse is dead.
A dappled doe, all fire and life:
She trips along with gallant pace,
Her limbs alert, her motion grace:
Soft as the moonlight fairies bound,
Her footsteps scarcely kiss the ground;
Gently she lifts her fair brown head,
And licks my hand, and begs for bread:
I pat her forehead, stroke her neck,
She starts and gives a timid squeak;
Then, while her eye with brilliance burns,
The fawning animal returns;
Pricks her bob-tail, and waves her ears,
And happier than a queen appears:
—Poor beast! from fell ambition free,
And all the woes of liberty;
Born in a gaol, a prisoner bred,
No dreams of hunting rack thine head;
Ah! mayst thou never pass these bounds
To see the world—and feel the hounds!
Still all her beauty, all her art,
Have fail'd to win her husband's heart:
Her lambent eyes, and lovely chest;
Her swan-white neck, and ermine breast;
Her taper legs, and spotty hide,
So softly, delicately pied,
In vain their fond allurements spread,—
To love and joy her spouse is dead.
But lo! the evening shadows fall
Broader and browner from the wall;
A warning voice, like curfew-bell,
Commands each captive to his cell;
My faithful dog and I retire,
To play and chatter by the fire:
Soon comes a turnkey with “Good night, sir!”
And bolts the door with all his might, sir:
Then leisurely to bed I creep,
And sometimes wake—and sometimes sleep.
Broader and browner from the wall;
A warning voice, like curfew-bell,
Commands each captive to his cell;
My faithful dog and I retire,
To play and chatter by the fire:
Soon comes a turnkey with “Good night, sir!”
And bolts the door with all his might, sir:
Then leisurely to bed I creep,
And sometimes wake—and sometimes sleep.
These are the joys that reign in prison;
And if I'm happy, 'tis with reason:
Yet still this prospect o'er the rest
Makes every blessing doubly blest,—
That soon these pleasures will be vanish'd,
And I from all these comforts banish'd!
And if I'm happy, 'tis with reason:
Yet still this prospect o'er the rest
Makes every blessing doubly blest,—
That soon these pleasures will be vanish'd,
And I from all these comforts banish'd!
June 14. 1796.
THE BRAMIN.
EXTRACT FROM CANTO I.
Once, on the mountain's balmy lap reclined,
The sage unlock'd the treasures of his mind:
Pure from his lips sublime instruction came,
As the blest altar breathes celestial flame;
A band of youths and virgins round him press'd,
Whom thus the prophet and the sage address'd:—
The sage unlock'd the treasures of his mind:
Pure from his lips sublime instruction came,
As the blest altar breathes celestial flame;
A band of youths and virgins round him press'd,
Whom thus the prophet and the sage address'd:—
“Through the wide universe's boundless range,
All that exist decay, revive, and change:
No atom torpid or inactive lies;
A being, once created, never dies.
The waning moon, when quench'd in shades of night,
Renews her youth with all the charms of light:
The flowery beauties of the blooming year
Shrink from the shivering blast, and disappear;
Yet, warm'd with quickening showers of genial rain,
Spring from their graves, and purple all the plain.
As day the night, and night succeeds the day,
So death re-animates, so lives decay:
Like billows on the undulating main,
The swelling fall, the falling swell again;
Thus on the tide of time, inconstant, roll
The dying body and the living soul.
In every animal, inspired with breath,
The flowers of life produce the seeds of death;—
The seeds of death, though scatter'd in the tomb,
Spring with new vigour, vegetate and bloom.
All that exist decay, revive, and change:
No atom torpid or inactive lies;
A being, once created, never dies.
The waning moon, when quench'd in shades of night,
Renews her youth with all the charms of light:
The flowery beauties of the blooming year
Shrink from the shivering blast, and disappear;
Yet, warm'd with quickening showers of genial rain,
Spring from their graves, and purple all the plain.
As day the night, and night succeeds the day,
So death re-animates, so lives decay:
Like billows on the undulating main,
The swelling fall, the falling swell again;
Thus on the tide of time, inconstant, roll
The dying body and the living soul.
In every animal, inspired with breath,
The flowers of life produce the seeds of death;—
The seeds of death, though scatter'd in the tomb,
Spring with new vigour, vegetate and bloom.
“When, wasted down to dust, the creature dies,
Quick from its cell the enfranchised spirit flies;
Fills, with fresh energy, another form,
And towers an elephant, or glides a worm;
The awful lion's royal shape assumes;
The fox's subtlety, or peacock's plumes;
Swims, like an eagle, in the eye of noon,
Or wails, a screech-owl, to the deaf cold moon;
Haunts the dread brakes where serpents hiss and glare,
Or hums, a glittering insect in the air.
The illustrious souls of great and virtuous men,
In noble animals revive again;
But base and vicious spirits wind their way
In scorpions, vultures, sharks, and beasts of prey.
The fair, the gay, the witty, and the brave,
The fool, the coward, courtier, tyrant, slave,
Each, in congenial animals, shall find
A home and kindred for his wandering mind.
Quick from its cell the enfranchised spirit flies;
151
And towers an elephant, or glides a worm;
The awful lion's royal shape assumes;
The fox's subtlety, or peacock's plumes;
Swims, like an eagle, in the eye of noon,
Or wails, a screech-owl, to the deaf cold moon;
Haunts the dread brakes where serpents hiss and glare,
Or hums, a glittering insect in the air.
The illustrious souls of great and virtuous men,
In noble animals revive again;
But base and vicious spirits wind their way
In scorpions, vultures, sharks, and beasts of prey.
The fair, the gay, the witty, and the brave,
The fool, the coward, courtier, tyrant, slave,
Each, in congenial animals, shall find
A home and kindred for his wandering mind.
“Even the cold body, when enshrined in earth,
Rises again in vegetable birth:
From the vile ashes of the bad, proceeds
A baneful harvest of pernicious weeds;
The relics of the good, awaked by showers,
Peep from the lap of death, and live in flowers,
Sweet modest flowers, that blush along the vale,
Whose fragrant lips embalm the passing gale.”
Rises again in vegetable birth:
From the vile ashes of the bad, proceeds
A baneful harvest of pernicious weeds;
The relics of the good, awaked by showers,
Peep from the lap of death, and live in flowers,
Sweet modest flowers, that blush along the vale,
Whose fragrant lips embalm the passing gale.”
EXTRACT FROM CANTO II.
[OMITTED]
“Now, mark the words these dying lips impart,
And wear this grand memorial round your heart:
All that inhabit ocean, air, or earth,
From one eternal sire derive their birth.
The Hand that built the palace of the sky
Form'd the light wings that decorate a fly;
The Power that wheels the circling planets round
Rears every infant floweret on the ground;
That Bounty which the mightiest beings share
Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
Thus all the wild inhabitants of woods,
Children of air, and tenants of the floods,—
All, all are equal, independent, free,
And all the heirs of immortality!
For all that live and breathe have once been men,
And, in succession, will be such again:
Even you, in turn, that human shape must change,
And through ten thousand forms of being range.
And wear this grand memorial round your heart:
All that inhabit ocean, air, or earth,
From one eternal sire derive their birth.
The Hand that built the palace of the sky
Form'd the light wings that decorate a fly;
The Power that wheels the circling planets round
Rears every infant floweret on the ground;
That Bounty which the mightiest beings share
Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
Thus all the wild inhabitants of woods,
Children of air, and tenants of the floods,—
All, all are equal, independent, free,
And all the heirs of immortality!
For all that live and breathe have once been men,
And, in succession, will be such again:
Even you, in turn, that human shape must change,
And through ten thousand forms of being range.
“Ah! then, refrain your brethren's blood to spill,
And, till you can create, forbear to kill!
Oft as a guiltless fellow-creature dies,
The blood of innocence for vengeance cries:
Even grim rapacious savages of prey,
Presume not, save in self-defence, to slay;
What though to Heaven their forfeit lives they owe,
Hath Heaven commission'd thee to deal the blow?
Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm,
Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form!
Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird?
In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard.
When the poor harmless kid, all trembling, lies,
And begs his little life with infant cries,
Think, ere you take the throbbing victim's breath,
You doom a dear, an only, child to death.
When at the ring the beauteous heifer stands,
Stay, monster! stay those parricidal hands;
Canst thou not, in that mild dejected face,
The sacred features of thy mother trace?
When to the stake the generous bull you lead,
Tremble—ah! tremble—lest your father bleed.
Let not your anger on your dog descend,
The faithful animal was once your friend;
The friend whose courage snatch'd you from the grave,
When wrapp'd in flames or sinking in the wave.
Rash, impious youth! renounce that horrid knife;
Spare the sweet antelope!—ah, spare—thy wife!
In the meek victim's tear-illumined eyes
See the soft image of thy consort rise;
Such as she is when by romantic streams
Her spirit greets thee in delightful dreams;—
Not as she look'd when blighted in her bloom;
Not as she lies all pale in yonder tomb:
That mournful tomb, where all thy joys repose!
That hallow'd tomb, where all thy griefs shall close.
And, till you can create, forbear to kill!
Oft as a guiltless fellow-creature dies,
The blood of innocence for vengeance cries:
Even grim rapacious savages of prey,
Presume not, save in self-defence, to slay;
What though to Heaven their forfeit lives they owe,
Hath Heaven commission'd thee to deal the blow?
Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm,
Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form!
Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird?
In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard.
When the poor harmless kid, all trembling, lies,
And begs his little life with infant cries,
Think, ere you take the throbbing victim's breath,
You doom a dear, an only, child to death.
When at the ring the beauteous heifer stands,
Stay, monster! stay those parricidal hands;
Canst thou not, in that mild dejected face,
The sacred features of thy mother trace?
When to the stake the generous bull you lead,
Tremble—ah! tremble—lest your father bleed.
Let not your anger on your dog descend,
The faithful animal was once your friend;
The friend whose courage snatch'd you from the grave,
When wrapp'd in flames or sinking in the wave.
Rash, impious youth! renounce that horrid knife;
Spare the sweet antelope!—ah, spare—thy wife!
In the meek victim's tear-illumined eyes
See the soft image of thy consort rise;
Such as she is when by romantic streams
Her spirit greets thee in delightful dreams;—
Not as she look'd when blighted in her bloom;
Not as she lies all pale in yonder tomb:
That mournful tomb, where all thy joys repose!
That hallow'd tomb, where all thy griefs shall close.
“While yet I sing, the weary king of light
Resigns his sceptre to the queen of night;
Unnumber'd orbs of living fire appear,
And roll in glittering grandeur o'er the sphere.
Perhaps the soul, released from earthly ties,
A thousand ages hence may mount the skies;
Through suns and planets, stars and systems, range,
In each new forms assume, relinquish, change;
From age to age, from world to world, aspire,
And climb the scale of being higher and higher:
But who these awful mysteries dare explore?
Pause, O my soul! and tremble and adore.
Resigns his sceptre to the queen of night;
Unnumber'd orbs of living fire appear,
And roll in glittering grandeur o'er the sphere.
Perhaps the soul, released from earthly ties,
A thousand ages hence may mount the skies;
Through suns and planets, stars and systems, range,
In each new forms assume, relinquish, change;
From age to age, from world to world, aspire,
And climb the scale of being higher and higher:
But who these awful mysteries dare explore?
Pause, O my soul! and tremble and adore.
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“There is a Power, all other powers above,
Whose name is Goodness, and His nature Love;
Who call'd the infant universe to light,
From central nothing and circumfluent night.
On His great providence all worlds depend,
As trembling atoms to their centre tend;
In nature's face His glory shines confess'd,
She wears His sacred image on her breast;
His spirit breathes in every living soul;
His bounty feeds, His presence fills, the whole:
Though seen, invisible—though felt, unknown;
All that exist, exist in Him alone.
But who the wonders of His hand can trace
Through the dread ocean of unfathom'd space?
When from the shore we lift our fainting eyes,
Where boundless scenes of Godlike grandeur rise,
Like sparkling atoms in the noontide rays,
Worlds, stars, and suns, and universes, blaze:
Yet these transcendent monuments that shine,
Eternal miracles of skill divine,
These, and ten thousand more, are only still
The shadow of His power, the transcript of His will.”
Whose name is Goodness, and His nature Love;
Who call'd the infant universe to light,
From central nothing and circumfluent night.
On His great providence all worlds depend,
As trembling atoms to their centre tend;
In nature's face His glory shines confess'd,
She wears His sacred image on her breast;
His spirit breathes in every living soul;
His bounty feeds, His presence fills, the whole:
Though seen, invisible—though felt, unknown;
All that exist, exist in Him alone.
But who the wonders of His hand can trace
Through the dread ocean of unfathom'd space?
When from the shore we lift our fainting eyes,
Where boundless scenes of Godlike grandeur rise,
Like sparkling atoms in the noontide rays,
Worlds, stars, and suns, and universes, blaze:
Yet these transcendent monuments that shine,
Eternal miracles of skill divine,
These, and ten thousand more, are only still
The shadow of His power, the transcript of His will.”
April 14. 1796.
A TALE TOO TRUE
[_]
Being a Supplement to the “Prison Amusements,” originally published under the name of Paul Positive, in which many of the Author's Juvenile Verses were composed. The following were written at Scarborough, whither he had retired, on being liberated from York Castle, for the recovery of his health, before he returned home. They are dated July 23. 1796, and were literally a summer-day's labour.
One beautiful morning, when Paul was a child,
And went with a satchel to school,
The rogue play'd the truant, which shows he was wild,
And, though little, a very great fool.
And went with a satchel to school,
The rogue play'd the truant, which shows he was wild,
And, though little, a very great fool.
He came to a cottage that grew on the moor,
No mushroom was ever so strong;
'Twas snug as a mouse-trap; and close by the door
A river ran rippling along.
No mushroom was ever so strong;
'Twas snug as a mouse-trap; and close by the door
A river ran rippling along.
The cot was embosom'd in rook-nested trees,
The chestnut, the elm, and the oak;
Geese gabbled in concert with bagpiping bees,
While softly ascended the smoke.
The chestnut, the elm, and the oak;
Geese gabbled in concert with bagpiping bees,
While softly ascended the smoke.
At the door sat a damsel, a sweet little girl,
Array'd in a petticoat green;
Her skin was lovely as mother-of-pearl,
And milder than moonlight her mien.
Array'd in a petticoat green;
Her skin was lovely as mother-of-pearl,
And milder than moonlight her mien.
She sang as she knotted a garland of flowers,
Right mellowly warbled her tongue;
Such strains in Elysium's romantical bowers,
To soothe the departed, are sung.
Right mellowly warbled her tongue;
Such strains in Elysium's romantical bowers,
To soothe the departed, are sung.
Paul stood like a gander, he stood like himself,
Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, open'd wide;
When, suddenly rising, the pretty young elf
The wonder-struck wanderer spied.
Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, open'd wide;
When, suddenly rising, the pretty young elf
The wonder-struck wanderer spied.
She started and trembled, she blush'd and she smiled,
Then dropping a courtesy she said,
“Pray, what brought you hither, my dear little child?
Did your legs run away with your head?”
Then dropping a courtesy she said,
“Pray, what brought you hither, my dear little child?
Did your legs run away with your head?”
“Yes! yes!” stammer'd Paul, and he made a fine bow,
At least 'twas the finest he could,
Though the lofty-bred belles of St. James's, I trow,
Would have call'd it a bow made of wood.
At least 'twas the finest he could,
Though the lofty-bred belles of St. James's, I trow,
Would have call'd it a bow made of wood.
No matter, the dimple-cheek'd damsel was pleased,
And modestly gave him her wrist;
Paul took the fine present, and tenderly squeezed,
As if 'twere a wasp in his fist.
And modestly gave him her wrist;
Paul took the fine present, and tenderly squeezed,
As if 'twere a wasp in his fist.
Then into the cottage she led the young fool,
Who stood all aghast to behold
The lass's grim mother, who managed a school,
A beldame, a witch, and a scold.
Who stood all aghast to behold
The lass's grim mother, who managed a school,
A beldame, a witch, and a scold.
Her eyes were as red as two lobsters when boil'd,
Her complexion the colour of straw;
Though she grinn'd like a death's head whenever she smiled,
She show'd not a tooth in her jaw.
Her complexion the colour of straw;
Though she grinn'd like a death's head whenever she smiled,
She show'd not a tooth in her jaw.
Her body was shrivell'd and dried like a kecks,
Her arms were all veins, bone, and skin;
And then she'd a beard, sir, in spite of her sex,
I don't know how long, on her chin.
Her arms were all veins, bone, and skin;
And then she'd a beard, sir, in spite of her sex,
I don't know how long, on her chin.
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Her dress was as mournful as mourning could be,
Black sackcloth, bleach'd white with her tears;
For a widow, fair ladies! a widow was she,
Most dismally stricken in years.
Black sackcloth, bleach'd white with her tears;
For a widow, fair ladies! a widow was she,
Most dismally stricken in years.
The charms of her youth, if she ever had any,
Were all under total eclipse;
While the charms of her daughter, who truly had many,
Were only unfolding their lips.
Were all under total eclipse;
While the charms of her daughter, who truly had many,
Were only unfolding their lips.
Thus, far in a wilderness, bleak and forlorn,
When winter deflowers the year,
All hoary and horrid, I've seen an old thorn,
In icicle trappings appear:
When winter deflowers the year,
All hoary and horrid, I've seen an old thorn,
In icicle trappings appear:
While a sweet-smiling snow-drop enamels its root,
Like the morning-star gladdening the sky;
Or an elegant crocus peeps out at its foot,
As blue as Miss Who-ye-will's eye.
Like the morning-star gladdening the sky;
Or an elegant crocus peeps out at its foot,
As blue as Miss Who-ye-will's eye.
“Dear mother!” the damsel exclaim'd with a sigh,
“I have brought you a poor little wretch,
Your victim and mine,”—but a tear from her eye
Wash'd away all the rest of her speech.
“I have brought you a poor little wretch,
Your victim and mine,”—but a tear from her eye
Wash'd away all the rest of her speech.
The beldame then mounting her spectacles on,
Like an arch o'er the bridge of her nose,
Examined the captive, and, crying “Well done!”
Bade him welcome with twenty dry blows.
Like an arch o'er the bridge of her nose,
Examined the captive, and, crying “Well done!”
Bade him welcome with twenty dry blows.
Paul fell down astounded, and only not dead,
For death was not quite within call;
Recovering, he found himself in a warm bed,
And in a warm fever and all.
For death was not quite within call;
Recovering, he found himself in a warm bed,
And in a warm fever and all.
Reclined on her elbow, to anguish a prey,
The maiden, in lovely distress,
Sate weeping her soul from her eyelids away:
How could the fair mourner do less?
The maiden, in lovely distress,
Sate weeping her soul from her eyelids away:
How could the fair mourner do less?
But when she perceived him reviving again,
She caroll'd a sonnet so sweet,
The captive, transported, forgot all his pain,
And presently fell at her feet.
She caroll'd a sonnet so sweet,
The captive, transported, forgot all his pain,
And presently fell at her feet.
All rapture and fondness, all folly and joy,
“Dear damsel! for your sake,” he cried,
“I'll be your cross mother's own dutiful boy,
And you shall one day be my bride.”
“Dear damsel! for your sake,” he cried,
“I'll be your cross mother's own dutiful boy,
And you shall one day be my bride.”
“For shame!” quoth the nymph, though she look'd the reverse,
“Such nonsense I cannot approve;
Too young we're to wed.”—Paul said, “So much the worse;
But are we too young, then, to love?”
“Such nonsense I cannot approve;
Too young we're to wed.”—Paul said, “So much the worse;
But are we too young, then, to love?”
The lady replied in a language that speaks
Not unto the ear but the eye;
The language that blushes through eloquent cheeks,
When modesty looks very sly.
Not unto the ear but the eye;
The language that blushes through eloquent cheeks,
When modesty looks very sly.
Our true lovers lived—for the fable saith true—
As merry as larks in their nest,
Who are learning to sing while the hawk is in view,
—The ignorant always are blest.
As merry as larks in their nest,
Who are learning to sing while the hawk is in view,
—The ignorant always are blest.
Through valleys and meadows they wander'd by day,
And warbled and whistled along;
So liquidly glided their moments away,
Their life was a galloping song.
And warbled and whistled along;
So liquidly glided their moments away,
Their life was a galloping song.
When they twitter'd their notes from the top of a hill,
If November did not look like May,
If rocks did not caper, nor rivers stand still,
The asses at least did not bray.
If November did not look like May,
If rocks did not caper, nor rivers stand still,
The asses at least did not bray.
If the trees did not leap nor the mountains advance,
They were deafer than bailiffs, 'tis clear;
If sun, moon, and stars, did not lead up a dance,
They wanted a musical ear.
They were deafer than bailiffs, 'tis clear;
If sun, moon, and stars, did not lead up a dance,
They wanted a musical ear.
But sometimes the beldame, cross, crazy, and old,
Would thunder, and threaten, and swear;
Expose them to tempests, to heat, and to cold,
To danger, fatigue, and despair.
Would thunder, and threaten, and swear;
Expose them to tempests, to heat, and to cold,
To danger, fatigue, and despair.
For wisdom, she argued, could only be taught
By bitter experience to fools;
And she acted, as every good school-mistress ought
Quite up to the beard of her rules.
By bitter experience to fools;
And she acted, as every good school-mistress ought
Quite up to the beard of her rules.
Her school, by-the-bye, was the noblest on earth
For mortals to study themselves;
There many great folks, who were folios by birth,
She cut down to pitiful twelves.
For mortals to study themselves;
There many great folks, who were folios by birth,
She cut down to pitiful twelves.
Her rod, like Death's scythe, in her levelling hand
Bow'd down rich, poor, wicked, and just;
Kings, queens, popes, and heroes, the touch of her wand
Could crumble to primitive dust.
Bow'd down rich, poor, wicked, and just;
154
Could crumble to primitive dust.
At length, in due season, the planets that reign,
By chance or some similar art,
Commanded the damsel to honour her swain
With her hand as the key to her heart.
By chance or some similar art,
Commanded the damsel to honour her swain
With her hand as the key to her heart.
The grisly old mother then bless'd the fond pair;
—“While you live, O my darlings!” she cried,
“My favours unask'd for you always shall share,
And cleave like two ribs to my side.
—“While you live, O my darlings!” she cried,
“My favours unask'd for you always shall share,
And cleave like two ribs to my side.
“Poor Paul is a blockhead in marrow and bone,
Whom nought but my rod can make wise;
The fellow will only, when all's said and done,
Be just fit to live when he dies.”
Whom nought but my rod can make wise;
The fellow will only, when all's said and done,
Be just fit to live when he dies.”
The witch was a prophetess, all must allow,
And Paul a strange moon-stricken youth,
Who somewhere had pick'd up, I'll not tell you how,
A sad knack of telling the truth.
And Paul a strange moon-stricken youth,
Who somewhere had pick'd up, I'll not tell you how,
A sad knack of telling the truth.
His sorrows and sufferings his consort may paint,
In colours of water and fire;
She saw him in prison, desponding and faint,
She saw him in act to expire:
In colours of water and fire;
She saw him in prison, desponding and faint,
She saw him in act to expire:
Then, melting her voice to the tenderest tone,
The lovely enthusiast began
To sing in sweet numbers the comforts unknown,
That solace the soul of the man,
The lovely enthusiast began
To sing in sweet numbers the comforts unknown,
That solace the soul of the man,
Who, hated, forsaken, tormented, opprest,
And wrestling with anguish severe,
Can turn his eye inward, and view in his breast
A conscience unclouded and clear.
And wrestling with anguish severe,
Can turn his eye inward, and view in his breast
A conscience unclouded and clear.
The captive look'd up with a languishing eye,
Half quench'd in a tremulous tear;
He saw the meek Angel of Hope standing by,
He heard her solicit his ear.
Half quench'd in a tremulous tear;
He saw the meek Angel of Hope standing by,
He heard her solicit his ear.
Her strain then exalting, and swelling her lyre,
The triumphs of patience she sung,
While passions of music and language of fire
Flow'd full and sublime from her tongue.
The triumphs of patience she sung,
While passions of music and language of fire
Flow'd full and sublime from her tongue.
At length the gay morning of liberty shone,
At length the dread portals flew wide;
Then, hailing each other with transports unknown,
The captive escaped with his bride.
At length the dread portals flew wide;
Then, hailing each other with transports unknown,
The captive escaped with his bride.
Behold in a fable the Poet's own life,
From which this lean moral we draw,—
The Muse is Paul Positive's nightingale-wife,
Misfortune his mother-in-law.
From which this lean moral we draw,—
The Muse is Paul Positive's nightingale-wife,
Misfortune his mother-in-law.
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