Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Chorus; Roldan.
Chorus.
Neighbours, is not yon same, with folded arms,
With head low bent, and pace dejected, slow,
And intermitted, the inhuman wretch
Whose selfish lust the heavy sorrows caus'd,
Beneath whose weight the child of Albert bends
Distracted? 'Tis the same. The graceful locks,
In curls Hesperient negligently dress'd,
The bloomy peach which ripens on his cheek,
The graceful limbs, and brow, where manly Grace
Commanding sits, I can remember well.

Roldan.

Inhuman wretch! What, was it not enough
To cast her off to Misery and Shame?
But must I, barbarous! to Injustice add
The unmanly insult of a mean reproach?—
Reproach for what?—For confidence in me.
Be Lewson curst, and curst the prudent lore

He pour'd so copious in this open ear!

Say, reverend stranger, hast thou lately seen
A weeping maid, disconsolate, and fair,
In humble robes of spotless white array'd,
Among the winding lab'rinths of this wood
Unguarded stray?

Chorus.
Mean'st thou the hapless child
Of hoary Albert, who yon mansion owns?

Roldan.
The same.

Chorus.
Driv'n from her sire, with curses loud,
Some short time since, distracted and forlorn,
The wretched outcast left the spot we tread.

Roldan.
And whither went she?

Chorus.
Where a frantic mind,
Thy treacherous cruelty, and a father's rage

Might drive the wretched lunatic, as yet
I have no power to guess.

Roldan.
Distracting thought!
What if the wretched fair, to madness stung,
Should perpetrate what she did more than hint!

Chorus.
Tell me, base libertine! dost thou suppose
That the hot vengeance of th'Almighty Pow'r
(Whose potent word the forked lightning forms,
And sends it hissing at the guilty head)
Will sleep for ever o'er thy impious crimes?

Roldan.
Oh me!

Chorus.
Thou guilty wretch! who, with pretended love,
Didst win the heart of the deluded fair,
And, for a short-liv'd transport, plunge her down
At once to Shame, and Guilt—perhaps to Death—
The worst of deaths—to suicide.

Roldan.
Alas!
Now glares my guilt in all its proper hues!
Yet let us hope—.

SCENE II.

Roldan; Chorus; Messenger.
Messenger.
Oh horror! Oh my friends!
Sophia!

Roldan.
Ha!

Messenger.
The sweet Sophia! She,
The loveliest flow'r of all Salopia's plains!—

Roldan.
Speak. What of her? Oh torture! Oh my fears!

Messenger.
She's dead! she's dead!

Roldan.
Oh God!

Chorus.
Where? where? and how?

Messenger.

As, even now, her sad, repentant sire,
By me accompanied, the forest rang'd,
To seek, and bring her back, we found the fair
Suspended to a bough; a cruel cord—

But see, the wretched man, and in his arms
His breathless child.

Chorus.
This instant fly to where,
Beside the hill, Pharmacinus resides:
The pupil he of sage Humanicus,
'Tis like the hapless female may restore.

The Lecturer on Suspended Animation.

SCENE III.

Roldan; Chorus.
Albert, with the body in his arms.
Roldan.
Oh agony! Oh horror! Sweet Sophia!
Oh let me—.

Albert.
Monster hence! nor howling thus
Disturb the torpor of my dumb despair.

Roldan.
Oh kill me! kill me!

Albert.

Prithee, wretch, be gone.
My heart's too full of anguish; I've no time
For vengeance now. Th'Almighty settle 'counts
'Tween thee and me.

Oh GOD! my child! my child!
Alas the sad effects of haughty Rage!
See, in my aged arms, the mighty curse,
The deadly fruit of ill-advised Ire,—
Of guilty Ire, which kin with nearest kin
At variance sets, and the paternal hand
Bathes in the heart's blood of his dear-lov'd child.

Oh blossom early cropp'd! dead, dead art thou!
Not by thyself, but by thy father slain.

Chorus.
Oh grief of heart! now dost thou see, too late,
The just resentment of offended Heav'n.

Albert.
Oh torture! anguish! Groaning, yes, I feel
GOD in his anger (on my furious head
Heaping his pond'rous vengeance) weighs me down.
Oh poignant thoughts of Horror and Remorse!
Oh scorpions gender'd of ill-grounded Wrath!
Oh grief of heart! Stript of my only joy!—
Alas, the anguish of a wretched man!

Chorus.
When she, the wretched partner of thy bed,
Shall view her breathless, and self-murder'd child;
How will her agonies thy pangs encrease?

Albert.
Oh Death, grim tyrant! thou hast swallow'd up
The dearest treasure of my bankrupt heart:
Then, in compassion, ope thy friendly port,
And let this shatter'd, storm-toss'd vessel in.

Chorus.

Waste not in fruitless tears the precious time;
But bear thy seeming lifeless daughter hence,
And on a couch, her head with pillows rear'd,

Let her extended lay: for I have sent
For one hard by, who, by th'instruction sage
Of good Humanicus, has haply learn'd
The life-restoring art—an art long time
To Pharmacy unknown; till, of late years,
Philanthropy, of Christian virtues first,
Some generous sons of Æsculapius urg'd
To institute, that honour of their tribe,
That glory of the happy age which gave
Such worthies and such worthy schemes a birth,
The bless'd HUMANE SOCIETY, design'd
To snatch the frantic suicide from hell,
As he seem'd rushing thro' its inmost gates;
To warm once more the breast which whelming tides,
Which cold intense, or suffocating fumes,
Or vivid lightning's desolating flash
Had robb'd of vital functions. Should I tell
The wond'rous triumphs of Resuscitation,
Thou'dst think I dealt in legends far more wild
Than Monmouth, or than Baker ever wrote.

But bear her in; for soon you may expect
The wish'd assistance here.

Albert.
Hopeless, and sad,
I will obey. Oh that the shaft of Death
Would pierce my cruel heart; for I, alas!
Never, no never shall, I fear, behold
These lov'd, these beauteous eyes unclos'd again.

SCENE IV.

Roldan; Chorus.
Chorus.
Rise from the earth, thou poor, distracted wretch!
While I the comfort-giving words of Hope
Pour in thy frantic ear.

Roldan.

Ah me, a wretch!
No, here, for ever, on the earth I'll sit,
Tearing the locks from this detested head,
And weeping till these guilty eyes, dissolv'd
Themselves to tears, no longer—Oh Despair!—
—What was I saying?—Whither rove my thoughts?

Sophia! yes,
Clos'd are thy eyes, and livid are thy lips.—

Yet will I kiss those eyes, those lips will press
Till warmth and animation shall return.

Chorus.
Why hold'st thou converse with the senseless earth? The Messenger and Medical Assistant cross the stage.

Skilful Pharmacinus, beneath that roof
The hapless female lays. O enter quick;
And Heav'n thy efforts crown with kind success.

Roldan.
Alas! no ray of Hope illumes my soul.
Oh! is there none whose hand compassionate
Will plunge a poignard in this aching heart?
For I, a wretch in sorrow overwhelm'd,
Loath the bright glories of the splendid sun.

Chorus.
Take comfort, wretched man! resign not Hope.

Roldan.
Talk not of Hope or Comfort, 'tis in vain:
Despair's cold gripe my aching heart benumbs.

Sophia! oh Sophia! murder'd fair!
Close on me, earth, for I am now no more.

Chorus.
Wilt thou not suffer Hope's soft, soothing voice
Thy anguish to suspend?

Roldan.
There is no hope.
Let this black day of horrors and of guilt
Close the short period of my wretched life—
Wretched thro' sin. Oh strike me, vengeful Heav'n,
Nor let the setting sun behold my woes.

Chorus.
Hear, wretched youth, and learn from thence to hope,
What wonders the resuscitating art
Has oft perform'd.

Roldan.
Sophia! oh Sophia!
Monster that I am! whither shall I turn?
Heav'n on all sides is up in arms against me.

Oh ye deep, gloomy caverns of Despair!
Open and receive me.

(Throws himself along on the ground.)
Chorus.
A guilty mind
Has render'd him to Consolation deaf.
Yet let us soothe him with such sounds as may
Most tend to 'waken Hope and chace Despair.
Relate the youth whose frost-suspended life
On Thames's peopled strand was late restor'd.

Semichorus.
Let not Despair possess thy soul: but mark
The triumphs of Resuscitation's arts.
Ere yet the feeble, distant sun
His second monthly course had run,
A friendless boy, whom cruel Fate
Compell'd with early toil and late
To ply on wintry tides the cheerless oar,
Sunk from his seat of vital pow'rs forlore.
Full bleak the frigid Erus blew;
The chilling fleeces gleaming flew,

Obscur'd the earth and hid the sky,
And scarcely could the clouded eye
The ice-clogg'd stream from the white shore descry;
Thus, till the distant port was gain'd,
Unaided the poor youth remain'd.
When now the boat arriv'd at last;
The tempest bleak, and stormy blast,
Had curv'd the stiffen'd breathless form.
No pulses beat; no part was warm:
The marbled corse no sign of life retain'd.
Clench'd at each ear a shrivell'd hand remain'd,
Nor all the strength which man could lend
The arms contraction could unbend.
Entire the sanguine blush was fled;
A livid pale each limb o'erspread;
Each limb appear'd irremediably dead.
On the left breast the chin reclin'd,
There seem'd indissolubly join'd.
Lock'd was the jaw; the features all
Distorted, shrivell'd, shrunk, and small.
The neck's contracted muscles felt like stone;
His open eyes with no bright lustre shone;
But, in the head retreated far,
The lessen'd balls were fix'd in horrid stare.

But when the kind assistance came,
And on the frost-contracted frame
Each art resuscitating tried,
The corse, at length, with warmth supplied,
Groan'd death-like; while by slow degrees
Spasms the rousing body seize.
With shrieks full loud, and bitter moan,
And limbs in writhes convulsive thrown,
Expressive of excessive pains,
Life her wonted seat regains.

Chorus.
Say, thou despairing wretch! who, prostrate still,
Seem'st to be digging for thyself a grave,
Reap'st thou no comfortable hope from this?

Roldan.

Oh no! 'tis different far. Tho' pinching frost,
Or deep emersion in the 'whelming wave,
May lock the soul within the cold-grown corpse,
And, life suspended, still keep Death at bay,
This cannot give in other cases hope.

Thus, thus I scatter to the vagrant winds
These hated locks; sad emblems of my hopes,

My joys, and comforts, which by anguish keen
Are torn and scatter'd from my wretched soul.

Chorus.

Forbear, rash youth, these acts of desperation:
Patient submit to Heav'n's supreme decree.
Meanwhile once more we'll try to quell Despair
Within thy wretched bosom. Thou shalt learn
There is no case, how desperate so e'er,
That is not gilded with a ray of Hope.

STROPHE

Despair! of Guilt thou frantic child,
In storms and dreadful lightnings got
By fierce Disease, Affliction wild,
Or keen Misfortune's swift embrace,
And in tempestuous whirlwinds born.
How wretched is his lot
Who trembling views thy frantic face,
And owns thy sway with heart forlorn!
Oh Roldan! lift thy pale, desponding head,
And hear how Heav'n's high grace before,
When ev'ry sign of life was fled,
Has deign'd lost Animation to restore.

ANTISTROPHE.

Returning from the banquet gay,
As late a son of Bacchus came,
The forked lightnings cross'd his way;
The awful thunders roll'd on high,
The tempest rag'd on ev'ry side.
And now the gleaming flame
Did round his black'ning temples fly,
And stretch'd him senseless on the ground.
Trembling, aghast, his pale companions stood:
No succour, no relief was near.
The breathless corse, with curdled blood,
They, homeward bearing, drew with many a tear.

EPODE.

Yet even he, tho' many hours he laid
Ere could be got the wonted aid,
Was to his wond'ring friends restor'd:
The blest resuscitating art
The soul-secreting caves explor'd,

And sat the captive spirit free:
Vibrates again the panting heart.
And now, renew'd in second life,
Restor'd to a delighted wife,
An aged mother and a wrinkled sire,
To tender relatives, and loving friends,
Among the social tribe he blends.

Then let not Hope, sad youth, expire;
But to that Power thy fervent pray'rs express,
Who crowns the toils of Charity with such unhop'd success.

Vide Reports for the Year 1783. Case 411. page 15.

This instance of restoring animation to a body struck with lightning was related by Dr. Hawes, in his last course of lectures on the subject of Suspended Animation. Imparted to me by a Pupil.