Poems Chiefly Written in Retirement, By John Thelwall; With Memoirs of the Life of the Author. Second Edition |
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To Stella in the Country, Dec. 1796.
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To Stella in the Country, Dec. 1796.
Joy of my soul! who now, in Catmose' vale,
Cradlest our drooping Infant on thy breast,
And shield'st from Wintry blasts, that would assail
His fading Cheek, ah! may no gale unblest
Shake thy own tender frame, nor anxious care,
For him thou leav'st, reluctant, mar thy rest.
Midst thy long-sever'd Kindred may'st thou share
The season's pastime's, and its joys encrease
With fond remember'd tales of Infancy—
Its artless pranks, and freaks of wayward ire,
When griefs were transient, when the halcyon, Peace,
Spread her gay pinion, and high-bounding Glee
Could every wish to kindling hope inspire.
Cradlest our drooping Infant on thy breast,
And shield'st from Wintry blasts, that would assail
His fading Cheek, ah! may no gale unblest
Shake thy own tender frame, nor anxious care,
For him thou leav'st, reluctant, mar thy rest.
Midst thy long-sever'd Kindred may'st thou share
The season's pastime's, and its joys encrease
With fond remember'd tales of Infancy—
Its artless pranks, and freaks of wayward ire,
When griefs were transient, when the halcyon, Peace,
Spread her gay pinion, and high-bounding Glee
Could every wish to kindling hope inspire.
121
Nor wilt thou, as around the social fire
Thy childhood's first companions throng to hear
The tale, and much relate, and much enquire—
Nor wilt thou then forget (the pleasing tear
Stealing from thy lov'd eye) to name the day
When first thy artless form (remembrance dear!)
Array'd in rustic innocence, and gay
With all the modest graces that adorn
The unadulterate mind, entranc'd my soul,
And fir'd my raptur'd fancy, as I gaz'd.
Ah! be thou ever blest! thrice-happy morn,
Whose imag'd joys can present griefs controul!
Bright tints of memory ne'er to be eras'd!
Ye shall not fade with Fortune's transient day,
But still life's thickening gloom cheer with reflective ray.
Thy childhood's first companions throng to hear
The tale, and much relate, and much enquire—
Nor wilt thou then forget (the pleasing tear
Stealing from thy lov'd eye) to name the day
When first thy artless form (remembrance dear!)
Array'd in rustic innocence, and gay
With all the modest graces that adorn
The unadulterate mind, entranc'd my soul,
And fir'd my raptur'd fancy, as I gaz'd.
Ah! be thou ever blest! thrice-happy morn,
Whose imag'd joys can present griefs controul!
Bright tints of memory ne'er to be eras'd!
Ye shall not fade with Fortune's transient day,
But still life's thickening gloom cheer with reflective ray.
“Here” wilt thou say, “beneath this rustic roof,
“Along those walks, and where yon woodbines twine
“Their winter-widow'd arms, in mournful proof
“That all that's sweet is transient—all that shine
“In vernal hope, must yield to the stern power
“Of bleak Disaster, and each bloom resign
“Wak'd to short rapture in youth's feverish hour:
“Here first we met—here chang'd the mutual glance
“That with mysterious musings thrill'd the heart,
“And wak'd the illusive glow of young desire:
“Pleasing, scarce felt, till Absence from his trance
“Awak'd the slumbering Love, and barb'd his dart,
“And fann'd, with many a sigh, the genial fire:—
“Here first he told his passion, mingling oft
“A melancholy tale, of stars unkind,
“And threat'ning woes, and faithless friends, that scoft
“At undeserv'd misfortunes; there reclin'd,
“His plaintive verse, colour'd with darkest hues,
“His hopeless fortunes, and his wayward mind;
“Deep'ning each shade, and with a moral muse,
“Warning the partial heart he sought to gain.”
Thus wilt thou say, and own, with modest pride,
Thy artless looks that spoke the mutual flame,
When thy young bosom, kindling at the strain,
Confess'd the lover, monitor, and guide—
Most blest, if thy propitious smiles might claim
The power to gild for him life's rugged road
And guide his wounded step to Pleasure's calm abode.
“Along those walks, and where yon woodbines twine
“Their winter-widow'd arms, in mournful proof
“That all that's sweet is transient—all that shine
“In vernal hope, must yield to the stern power
“Of bleak Disaster, and each bloom resign
“Wak'd to short rapture in youth's feverish hour:
“Here first we met—here chang'd the mutual glance
“That with mysterious musings thrill'd the heart,
“And wak'd the illusive glow of young desire:
“Pleasing, scarce felt, till Absence from his trance
“Awak'd the slumbering Love, and barb'd his dart,
“And fann'd, with many a sigh, the genial fire:—
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“A melancholy tale, of stars unkind,
“And threat'ning woes, and faithless friends, that scoft
“At undeserv'd misfortunes; there reclin'd,
“His plaintive verse, colour'd with darkest hues,
“His hopeless fortunes, and his wayward mind;
“Deep'ning each shade, and with a moral muse,
“Warning the partial heart he sought to gain.”
Thus wilt thou say, and own, with modest pride,
Thy artless looks that spoke the mutual flame,
When thy young bosom, kindling at the strain,
Confess'd the lover, monitor, and guide—
Most blest, if thy propitious smiles might claim
The power to gild for him life's rugged road
And guide his wounded step to Pleasure's calm abode.
Yes, Stella, thus, amid the cordial throng,
Wilt thou our days of early love renew:
Days of delight! which memory would prolong—
To passion sacred, and to nature true.
Wilt thou our days of early love renew:
Days of delight! which memory would prolong—
To passion sacred, and to nature true.
But other days—another scene succeeds,
And private bliss is lost in public woes:
O'er prostrate rights the patriot bosom bleeds,
And Love's soft flame, for Ate's torch foregoes.
And private bliss is lost in public woes:
O'er prostrate rights the patriot bosom bleeds,
And Love's soft flame, for Ate's torch foregoes.
Me, first arous'd by Afric's clanking chain,
Then urg'd by Gallia's struggle, to enquire
What woes, what wrongs Man's trampled race sustain,
Stern Duty bids to strike the bolder lyre.
Then urg'd by Gallia's struggle, to enquire
What woes, what wrongs Man's trampled race sustain,
Stern Duty bids to strike the bolder lyre.
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Harsh sounds the note in Power's infatuate ear;
Yet Man still groans; and claims a louder string:
The heart's torn fibres feel the call severe!—
The heart's best pleasures fly, with trembling wing.
Yet Man still groans; and claims a louder string:
The heart's torn fibres feel the call severe!—
The heart's best pleasures fly, with trembling wing.
Ah! most unblest, whom thoughts like these inspire!
His eyes no more shall tranquil slumbers close;
His proudest joy—a feverish, transient fire!
His fairest hope—a catalogue of woes!
His eyes no more shall tranquil slumbers close;
His proudest joy—a feverish, transient fire!
His fairest hope—a catalogue of woes!
Him lasting hatreds, short-liv'd friendships wait,
Envy's foul breath, and Slander's forked tongue.
Whom most he serves, shall darken most his fate,
And whom he shelters, load with heaviest wrong.
Envy's foul breath, and Slander's forked tongue.
Whom most he serves, shall darken most his fate,
And whom he shelters, load with heaviest wrong.
Imperious Duty! rigid, Spartan guide!
Strew, strew, at times, a rose among thy thorns;
Or steel each votive breast with stoic pride,
'Till from the gloom resurgent Virtue dawns.
[OMITTED]
Strew, strew, at times, a rose among thy thorns;
Or steel each votive breast with stoic pride,
'Till from the gloom resurgent Virtue dawns.
[OMITTED]
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