Poems Chiefly Written in Retirement, By John Thelwall; With Memoirs of the Life of the Author. Second Edition |
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EFFUSIONS OF SOCIAL
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RELATIVE AFFECTION.
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93
EFFUSIONS OF SOCIAL and RELATIVE AFFECTION.
95
ELEGY On the death of a favourite Schoolfellow, Phillip Bonafous, who died of the small pox, in 1785.
I GRIEVE to think how quick each blossom fades
That decorates the thorny road of life—
How Sorrow's worm the tender bud invades,
How oft 'tis blighted by Misfortune's strife.
That decorates the thorny road of life—
How Sorrow's worm the tender bud invades,
How oft 'tis blighted by Misfortune's strife.
I grieve to think how Disappointment's breath
Shrinks the young foliage of our budding hopes!
How oft the sudden hand of cruel Death
Each sweetest branch of young enjoyment lops.
Shrinks the young foliage of our budding hopes!
How oft the sudden hand of cruel Death
Each sweetest branch of young enjoyment lops.
I had a friend—O, Lucio, ever dear!
Still shall thy memory in my bosom live;
Thy virtues bloom in recollection here,
Dwell on my tongue, and in my theme survive.
Still shall thy memory in my bosom live;
Thy virtues bloom in recollection here,
Dwell on my tongue, and in my theme survive.
I had a friend—tho Heav'n had snatch'd away
Each promis'd comfort of my tender age;
In him it seem'd my losses to repay—
My sweet companion on life's toilsome stage!
Each promis'd comfort of my tender age;
In him it seem'd my losses to repay—
My sweet companion on life's toilsome stage!
How fraught with tender feelings was his mind!
O'erflowing font of sensibility!
To friends how true! to relatives how kind!
In generous zeal, how boundless and how free!
O'erflowing font of sensibility!
To friends how true! to relatives how kind!
In generous zeal, how boundless and how free!
96
But ah, Disease, with envious hand, assail'd
The vital stem of each remaining joy:
O'er his fair form the noxious pest prevail'd;
Prompt to deform, and powerful to destroy.
The vital stem of each remaining joy:
O'er his fair form the noxious pest prevail'd;
Prompt to deform, and powerful to destroy.
Who now shall sooth my sorrow-clouded mind?
Who now the sad reflection shall relieve?
Where shall my heart consoling friendship find?
Misfortune's children still unpity'd grieve.
Who now the sad reflection shall relieve?
Where shall my heart consoling friendship find?
Misfortune's children still unpity'd grieve.
The proud carnation, costly child of art,
Droops not unheeded on the cultur'd plain.
The florist's hand shall soon his aid impart,
With care to rear it, and with props sustain.
Droops not unheeded on the cultur'd plain.
The florist's hand shall soon his aid impart,
With care to rear it, and with props sustain.
But if some hedge-row flower (of humbler worth)
By Erus torn, the wounded head recline,
The careless traveller treads it to the earth—
The herd, unpitying, to its fate resign.
By Erus torn, the wounded head recline,
The careless traveller treads it to the earth—
The herd, unpitying, to its fate resign.
Not so didst thou, my heart's elected friend!
You kindly courted when the world grew coy;
When bland civility was at an end,
And the cold kinsman turn'd the averted eye.
You kindly courted when the world grew coy;
When bland civility was at an end,
And the cold kinsman turn'd the averted eye.
For this shall Memory oft, with glistening tear,
Thy form, thy friendship, and thy name renew—
Still Lucio dwell in recollection here,
And all his virtues blossom in my view.
Thy form, thy friendship, and thy name renew—
Still Lucio dwell in recollection here,
And all his virtues blossom in my view.
97
Elegy, written during the Festival of Christmas, 1785.
The time has been (but ah! farewell those days—
Those cheerful days of innocence and mirth!)
I bless'd the wained sun's convivial rays
That gave this day of joyous pastime birth.
Those cheerful days of innocence and mirth!)
I bless'd the wained sun's convivial rays
That gave this day of joyous pastime birth.
Around the social hearth, at night, we throng'd,
Where humour much, but more good-nature shin'd;
While joke and song the cheerful feast prolong'd
Beyond the usual hour for rest assign'd.
Where humour much, but more good-nature shin'd;
While joke and song the cheerful feast prolong'd
Beyond the usual hour for rest assign'd.
Oft would our Sire the youthful train provoke;
Full oft incite to pastimes gay and bland;
Full oft himself revive the flagging joke,
And, in the comrade, lose the sire's command.
Full oft incite to pastimes gay and bland;
Full oft himself revive the flagging joke,
And, in the comrade, lose the sire's command.
Good, gentle soul! who every soul could cheer!—
Of morals blameless, as of manners gay;
He scorn'd the stoick frown and tone severe,
And rather chose by love than fear to sway.
Of morals blameless, as of manners gay;
He scorn'd the stoick frown and tone severe,
And rather chose by love than fear to sway.
But he is gone; and gone the joys of life—
Now woes on woes roll thickening o'er my head;
While Penury, and keen domestic Strife,
And hopeless Love their mingled venom shed.
Now woes on woes roll thickening o'er my head;
While Penury, and keen domestic Strife,
And hopeless Love their mingled venom shed.
98
Pale Melancholy's first-born daughter, Spleen,
To my sick fancy paints a thousand ills:
Upholds her shadowy, woe-depictur'd screen,
Blasts every hope, and every prospect chills.
To my sick fancy paints a thousand ills:
Upholds her shadowy, woe-depictur'd screen,
Blasts every hope, and every prospect chills.
Ah why, to all the real woes of life,
Should sick Imagination add her store?—
Ideal blending with substantial strife,
To crush the feeble wretch oppress'd before?
Should sick Imagination add her store?—
Ideal blending with substantial strife,
To crush the feeble wretch oppress'd before?
Ye cheerful Hours, unhurt by gnawing Care!
Ye social Days of plenty, joy, and peace!
Say will ye e'er the wrongs of Fate repair?
Shall e'er the frowns of adverse Fortune cease?
Ye social Days of plenty, joy, and peace!
Say will ye e'er the wrongs of Fate repair?
Shall e'er the frowns of adverse Fortune cease?
Elegy, written in 1786, at a time when the subject of Imprisonment for Debt was much discussed.
Farewell thou last dim blush of fading day—
Ye busy scenes—ye bustling Cares, farewell:
Lo Contemplation watch the parting ray,
To lead the Votary to her pensive Cell!
Ye busy scenes—ye bustling Cares, farewell:
Lo Contemplation watch the parting ray,
To lead the Votary to her pensive Cell!
Yes, power serene! your awful haunts I love,
What time, flow-pacing thro' the misty vale,
Wrapp'd in Night's sober mantle, sad you rove,
And breathe your precepts in the sullen gale,
What time, flow-pacing thro' the misty vale,
Wrapp'd in Night's sober mantle, sad you rove,
And breathe your precepts in the sullen gale,
99
And I have heard you, in the breezy sigh
Of Zephyrs moaning in the Moon's pale beam,
While scarce their humid pinnions, as they fly,
Shake the dark spray, or curl the spangled stream.
Of Zephyrs moaning in the Moon's pale beam,
While scarce their humid pinnions, as they fly,
Shake the dark spray, or curl the spangled stream.
And I have heard and felt the solemn call,
What time, more awful, in the stormy blast,
Amid the ruins of some ivy'd wall,
You told of Earth's frail pomps, and follies past.
What time, more awful, in the stormy blast,
Amid the ruins of some ivy'd wall,
You told of Earth's frail pomps, and follies past.
O! lead me then, sad moralizing pow'r!
To where thy Cavern fronts the raging main:
There will I think on life's tempestuous hour,
And human woe shall moralize the strain.
To where thy Cavern fronts the raging main:
There will I think on life's tempestuous hour,
And human woe shall moralize the strain.
Ah me! how long the gaunt disastrous train
That croud with anguish Man's precarious day!
How Sickness, Sorrow, Penury, and Pain,
And Disappointment throng in dark array!
That croud with anguish Man's precarious day!
How Sickness, Sorrow, Penury, and Pain,
And Disappointment throng in dark array!
How perjur'd Friendship darts the treacherous sting—
How all the youthful Passions, gay to view,
Repentance, shame, and wild affliction bring—
While scorpion Furies all their paths pursue!
How all the youthful Passions, gay to view,
Repentance, shame, and wild affliction bring—
While scorpion Furies all their paths pursue!
Where Pleasure courts us with her smiling train,
There Pain and Death prepare the hidden dart—
Where Wealth allures with hopes of promis'd gain,
There Ruin waits to rend the wasted heart.
There Pain and Death prepare the hidden dart—
Where Wealth allures with hopes of promis'd gain,
There Ruin waits to rend the wasted heart.
100
How many from the golden dreams of life,
Has my sad soul seen wak'd to iron woe!
How many sunk in shame and hopeless strife,
Who grasp'd at fame with hope's aspiring glow.
Has my sad soul seen wak'd to iron woe!
How many sunk in shame and hopeless strife,
Who grasp'd at fame with hope's aspiring glow.
From the high summit of well-founded hopes
(If ought were founded in this fragile world)
While each gay prospect round alluring opes,
To Want's abyss what crouds are headlong hurl'd!
(If ought were founded in this fragile world)
While each gay prospect round alluring opes,
To Want's abyss what crouds are headlong hurl'd!
To that abyss as, with imploring hands
And bleeding hearts, precipitate they fall,
Lo prosperous Avarice—fiend unfeeling! stands,
And points the iron door, and grated wall.
And bleeding hearts, precipitate they fall,
Lo prosperous Avarice—fiend unfeeling! stands,
And points the iron door, and grated wall.
Is this the land where liberal feelings glow?
Is this the land where Justice holds the scale?
The felon's lot must pale Disaster know?
And freemen give Misfortune's sons a gaol?—
Is this the land where Justice holds the scale?
The felon's lot must pale Disaster know?
And freemen give Misfortune's sons a gaol?—
A gaol!—oh horror! what a sound is there
To jar the feeling nerve of Virtue's ear!
The dungeon's gloom must guiltless Sorrow share,
Its noxious terrors, and its pangs severe?
To jar the feeling nerve of Virtue's ear!
The dungeon's gloom must guiltless Sorrow share,
Its noxious terrors, and its pangs severe?
From scenes like these, let Contemplation soar,
Nor sink desponding in the cheerless gloom;
A better world, with better hopes, explore,
Mount to the skies, and peer beyond the tomb.
Nor sink desponding in the cheerless gloom;
A better world, with better hopes, explore,
Mount to the skies, and peer beyond the tomb.
101
Sonnet to the Nightingale. 1788.
Sweet Bird of Sympathy! whose voice aloneSooths the attentive ear of darkling Woe,
Whose strains, responsive to the Wretch's moan,
With softly melancholy influence flow,
As thy sweet note thus melts upon my ear,
I heave the sigh—I shed the starting tear.
For oh! of Lucio—dear, departed friend!—
The fond memorial in that note I find.
When Joy forbore her cheerful smile to lend,
When Fortune lour'd on my benighted mind,
Alone, with Friendship's sympathizing strain,
He sooth'd my soul, and lull'd my bosom's pain.
Sweet Bird of Sympathy! for this the tear
Still shall Remembrance shed on Friendship's early bier!
Lines presented by the Author, to his Mother, together with a crutch stick.
Dear source of that life, which your kindness and care
Not only preserv'd, but persists to endear,
Who so oft o'er my infancy fondly would bend,
Protection to yield, and assistance to lend;
Ere yet my young limbs a firm fortitude knew,
Or could hope for a prop, but from love, and from you,
Whose solicitude prov'd (how incessantly tried!)
The strength of my weakness, my help, and my guide;
Since Providence will'd that, thro' infancy's cares,
The follies of childhood, and youth's early snares,
Your hand should conduct me to manhood's estate,
When the full-flowing spirits can combat with Fate;
And since that great Pow'r has now doom'd me to see
Your age want the aid you imparted to me,
O! let me (since mine it by nature appears)
Be the stay of your steps, and the strength of your years.
Not only preserv'd, but persists to endear,
Who so oft o'er my infancy fondly would bend,
Protection to yield, and assistance to lend;
Ere yet my young limbs a firm fortitude knew,
Or could hope for a prop, but from love, and from you,
Whose solicitude prov'd (how incessantly tried!)
The strength of my weakness, my help, and my guide;
102
The follies of childhood, and youth's early snares,
Your hand should conduct me to manhood's estate,
When the full-flowing spirits can combat with Fate;
And since that great Pow'r has now doom'd me to see
Your age want the aid you imparted to me,
O! let me (since mine it by nature appears)
Be the stay of your steps, and the strength of your years.
Meantime, at my hand, this small present accept;
Both as emblem (or type) and a pledge of respect.
What tho no quaint labour a polish impart,
Nor the varnisher's daub, nor the cunning of art;
Yet let not the roughness of Nature offend:
It will ever be ready its service to lend.
And the gift and the giver alike may you find,
The stay of your steps, and the crutch of your mind.
Both as emblem (or type) and a pledge of respect.
What tho no quaint labour a polish impart,
Nor the varnisher's daub, nor the cunning of art;
Yet let not the roughness of Nature offend:
It will ever be ready its service to lend.
And the gift and the giver alike may you find,
The stay of your steps, and the crutch of your mind.
Stanzas On a clay candlestick, given to the Author by an esteemed and valuable friend.
The smallest gift from Friendship's partial hand
To generous minds acquires extrinsic worth;
As homeliest scenes our fond respects command,
If, haply, honour'd by some valu'd birth.
But thou, neat present of well-moulded clay!
From still superior motives claim'st my love;
In thee her humble emblem I survey,
Whose worth you shadow, and whose friendship prove.
The gift, where oft the visual radiance plays,
The nightly studies of my Muse befriends;
The giver, beaming wisdom's mental rays,
My mind irradiates, and my judgment mends.
To generous minds acquires extrinsic worth;
As homeliest scenes our fond respects command,
If, haply, honour'd by some valu'd birth.
But thou, neat present of well-moulded clay!
From still superior motives claim'st my love;
In thee her humble emblem I survey,
Whose worth you shadow, and whose friendship prove.
103
The nightly studies of my Muse befriends;
The giver, beaming wisdom's mental rays,
My mind irradiates, and my judgment mends.
With thee, what time the garish day is fled,
And Noise and Folly quit the sombre scene,
When Contemplation's deepest mantle spread,
Bids passion sleep, and judgment reign serene—
Oft shall my toil explore the classic ground
Where never selfish Care, with heavy eye,
Presum'd to pace his dull unfeeling round,
Dead to the generous woe, or liberal joy—
The classic realms of Fancy, ever gay!
Where smile the Graces, and where haunts the Muse;
Or there where Truth directs the hallow'd way,
Or heav'n-taught Science the dark maze pursues.
And Noise and Folly quit the sombre scene,
When Contemplation's deepest mantle spread,
Bids passion sleep, and judgment reign serene—
Oft shall my toil explore the classic ground
Where never selfish Care, with heavy eye,
Presum'd to pace his dull unfeeling round,
Dead to the generous woe, or liberal joy—
The classic realms of Fancy, ever gay!
Where smile the Graces, and where haunts the Muse;
Or there where Truth directs the hallow'd way,
Or heav'n-taught Science the dark maze pursues.
Nor will I pass with light unheedful tread
The realm, where midst the hoary wrecks of time,
Eventful Histroy hails the mighty dead,
And graves intent the instructive lore sublime.
There too, with solemn Ethics by her side,
I'll rove where Sentiment refines the heart;
Nor shun, with frigid and fastidious pride,
Where sportive Humour wings the glittering dart.
Thus the lov'd scenes where Learning, Genius shine,
Aided by thee, kind gift, will I explore;
And oft the donor hail, in whom combine
The mingled merits of their varied lore.
The realm, where midst the hoary wrecks of time,
Eventful Histroy hails the mighty dead,
And graves intent the instructive lore sublime.
There too, with solemn Ethics by her side,
I'll rove where Sentiment refines the heart;
Nor shun, with frigid and fastidious pride,
Where sportive Humour wings the glittering dart.
Thus the lov'd scenes where Learning, Genius shine,
Aided by thee, kind gift, will I explore;
And oft the donor hail, in whom combine
The mingled merits of their varied lore.
104
O! thou, who blend'st in thy capacious thought,
With these, what these could never teach alone,
The useful lore from life's great drama caught,
To sons of Science but too seldom known;
Fain would digressive Friendship here display
The liberal feelings of thy letter'd soul,
Whose partial care directs my dubious way,
Prompts the bright race, and aids me to the goal.
To infant Genius who a fostering friend,
Can watch the dawning of the faintest ray,
With kindling zeal its influence extend,
And chace the clouds of prejudice away.
With these, what these could never teach alone,
The useful lore from life's great drama caught,
To sons of Science but too seldom known;
Fain would digressive Friendship here display
The liberal feelings of thy letter'd soul,
Whose partial care directs my dubious way,
Prompts the bright race, and aids me to the goal.
To infant Genius who a fostering friend,
Can watch the dawning of the faintest ray,
With kindling zeal its influence extend,
And chace the clouds of prejudice away.
O! should that seeming dawn, you kindly hail,
Prove no false glow-worm's short delusive gleam—
Thro' fortune's low'ring mists at length prevail,
And dart the lustre of no feeble beam;
In Poesy's horizon should it shine
(Fond, flattering thought!) in full meridian glow,
Then shall it boast the fostering care of Cline,
And, Hawes's worth shall unborn Ages know.
From mortal view by hard Misfortune hurl'd,
Deep in oblivion's chaos hid I lay:
He found, and plac'd me in the letter'd world,
There bad my verse a moral light display.
Prove no false glow-worm's short delusive gleam—
Thro' fortune's low'ring mists at length prevail,
And dart the lustre of no feeble beam;
In Poesy's horizon should it shine
(Fond, flattering thought!) in full meridian glow,
Then shall it boast the fostering care of Cline,
And, Hawes's worth shall unborn Ages know.
From mortal view by hard Misfortune hurl'd,
Deep in oblivion's chaos hid I lay:
He found, and plac'd me in the letter'd world,
There bad my verse a moral light display.
Yet still deep shadows o'er my genius hung,
The clouds of error, and the mists of doubt;
Misguided Taste her veil obscuring flung,
Nor Critic-Friendship mark'd the dubious rout.
From quick extinction then you kindly rose
(A heav'n-sent gale) the infant beam to save;
Chas'd, from my clouded course, these envious foes,
And to my rays recruited vigour gave.
Nor shall my mind, while night succeeds to day,
The grateful memory of thy worth resign—
Or Muse forget—while Muse can pour the lay,
Her best, her earliest benefactor—Cline.
The clouds of error, and the mists of doubt;
Misguided Taste her veil obscuring flung,
Nor Critic-Friendship mark'd the dubious rout.
105
(A heav'n-sent gale) the infant beam to save;
Chas'd, from my clouded course, these envious foes,
And to my rays recruited vigour gave.
Nor shall my mind, while night succeeds to day,
The grateful memory of thy worth resign—
Or Muse forget—while Muse can pour the lay,
Her best, her earliest benefactor—Cline.
EXTEMPORE, On receiving a Rose from his Sister.
Why, sever'd from its parent thorn,
Assumes the rose a brighter hue
Than when, impearl'd by dewy morn,
Among surrounding sweets it grew?
Assumes the rose a brighter hue
Than when, impearl'd by dewy morn,
Among surrounding sweets it grew?
Why should it to the feasted sense,
Within a narrow room confin'd,
A richer perfume now dispense,
Than when it breath'd the fresh'ning wind?
Within a narrow room confin'd,
A richer perfume now dispense,
Than when it breath'd the fresh'ning wind?
Fraterna, hear the partial Muse
The mystery's pleasing cause proclaim:
More sweet its breath, more gay its hues,
Since from Affection's hand it came.
The mystery's pleasing cause proclaim:
More sweet its breath, more gay its hues,
Since from Affection's hand it came.
106
The Invitation.
To Stella.
July, 1789.
Say, Stella, wilt thou rove with me,
Far from the cheerful native scene,
From smiling hill and valley flee,
From harvest fields and pasture green?
From these could'st thou contented range
The city's bustling cares to prove?
All, all these tranquil joys exchange—
The sole return thy Damon's love?
Far from the cheerful native scene,
From smiling hill and valley flee,
From harvest fields and pasture green?
From these could'st thou contented range
The city's bustling cares to prove?
All, all these tranquil joys exchange—
The sole return thy Damon's love?
Yet hear me love, ere thou reply,
A youth that scorns deception hear;
No wealth is mine, the heart to buy;
My cot is poor; my fate severe:
Nor may'st thou look for pomp and shew,
Or hope in Pleasure's train to move.
Say, wilt thou, then, these joys forego?—
The sole return thy Damon's love!
A youth that scorns deception hear;
No wealth is mine, the heart to buy;
My cot is poor; my fate severe:
Nor may'st thou look for pomp and shew,
Or hope in Pleasure's train to move.
Say, wilt thou, then, these joys forego?—
The sole return thy Damon's love!
Ah, think, what pain 'twill be to view
The splendid city's gay parade,
The festive dance, the public shew,
The costly dress with pride display'd—
These, these to view; yet ne'er to share—
Ah! would not this thy patience move?
All, all these trials couldst thou bear?—
The sole reward thy Damon's love.
The splendid city's gay parade,
The festive dance, the public shew,
The costly dress with pride display'd—
These, these to view; yet ne'er to share—
Ah! would not this thy patience move?
All, all these trials couldst thou bear?—
The sole reward thy Damon's love.
107
If so, my Stella, come with me,
And quit the cheerful native scene;
From smiling hill and valley flee,
From harvest fields, and pasture green.
And if thou heav'st a parting sigh,
My bosom shall responsive move;
Or shouldst thou weep, my tearful eye
Shall well assure thy Damon's love.
And quit the cheerful native scene;
From smiling hill and valley flee,
From harvest fields, and pasture green.
And if thou heav'st a parting sigh,
My bosom shall responsive move;
Or shouldst thou weep, my tearful eye
Shall well assure thy Damon's love.
Yet, think my Stella, could'st thou bear
To drudge those charms in ceaseless toil
While other forms, less sweetly fair,
In idle pomp around Thee smile.
And when Mischance, or frowning Care
My hasty ruffled temper move—
Say, can'st thou from reproach forbear,
And rest assur'd of Damon's love.
To drudge those charms in ceaseless toil
While other forms, less sweetly fair,
In idle pomp around Thee smile.
And when Mischance, or frowning Care
My hasty ruffled temper move—
Say, can'st thou from reproach forbear,
And rest assur'd of Damon's love.
If so, my Stella, come with me,
Far from these rural scenes to stray:
No youth more blest, more fond shall be,
And none a truer heart display.
For pride or gold let others wed,
In scenes of noisy pomp to move;
While we, by pure affection led,
Will seek for nought but mutual love.
Far from these rural scenes to stray:
No youth more blest, more fond shall be,
And none a truer heart display.
For pride or gold let others wed,
In scenes of noisy pomp to move;
While we, by pure affection led,
Will seek for nought but mutual love.
108
STANZAS written in 1790.
In rural metaphor full oft my song
Hath sung the feverish pains of slighted love;
With artful aim to charm the list'ning throng,
More than the fair one's cruel heart to move.
Hath sung the feverish pains of slighted love;
With artful aim to charm the list'ning throng,
More than the fair one's cruel heart to move.
Though dying sighs might melt through ev'ry strain,
Though tearful woe bedropt each murmur'd line,
Those sighs aspir'd a poet's name to gain,
Those tears impearl'd Ambition's darling shrine.
Though tearful woe bedropt each murmur'd line,
Those sighs aspir'd a poet's name to gain,
Those tears impearl'd Ambition's darling shrine.
'Tis true, with Delia's sense and merit fir'd,
Strong throbb'd my heart to gain the wondrous maid;
Yet fond Ambition the proud wish inspir'd:
And when the substance fled, I woo'd the shade.
Strong throbb'd my heart to gain the wondrous maid;
Yet fond Ambition the proud wish inspir'd:
And when the substance fled, I woo'd the shade.
Nor less Melinda's philosophic mind,
Her fame wide sounded wak'd the glow-worm fire;
'Till what Ambition urg'd, and verse refin'd,
Reflection's beam bad silently expire.
Her fame wide sounded wak'd the glow-worm fire;
'Till what Ambition urg'd, and verse refin'd,
Reflection's beam bad silently expire.
Thus, though full many a radiant fair I sung,
My constant heart hath still remain'd the same;
What name soe'er might falter on my tongue,
Love was the theme, the wish'd-for guerdon—fame!
My constant heart hath still remain'd the same;
What name soe'er might falter on my tongue,
Love was the theme, the wish'd-for guerdon—fame!
109
But now, Ambition's vain pursuit—farewell!
Weary, at length I see the proud deceit;
With plain Simplicity my heart shall dwell,
Nor haughty dreams my social pleasure's cheat.
Weary, at length I see the proud deceit;
With plain Simplicity my heart shall dwell,
Nor haughty dreams my social pleasure's cheat.
And lo! Simplicity herself appears!
In semblance fair, a blooming village maid;
Her tender form my drooping fancy cheers,
Her artless charms my throbbing heart invade.
In semblance fair, a blooming village maid;
Her tender form my drooping fancy cheers,
Her artless charms my throbbing heart invade.
Soft on her youthful lip, a winning smile
(Not such as town-bred Affectation wears)
Speaks the mild temper, free from haughty guile,
And the gay innocence of soul declares.
(Not such as town-bred Affectation wears)
Speaks the mild temper, free from haughty guile,
And the gay innocence of soul declares.
Ye mincing daughters of fantastic Pride!—
Ye glittering flies who pant in Folly's chace!
Votaries of Fashion, lay your airs aside—
Come here, and learn the charms of real grace!
Ye glittering flies who pant in Folly's chace!
Votaries of Fashion, lay your airs aside—
Come here, and learn the charms of real grace!
See, with an ease which Fashion ne'er could teach,
On steady foot she lightly glides along;
While Health's pure glow, which Art may never reach,
And untaught glances charm the gazing throng!
On steady foot she lightly glides along;
While Health's pure glow, which Art may never reach,
And untaught glances charm the gazing throng!
Lo! native modesty her charms pervade,
And with unconscious dignity adorn!
This Pride would imitate—But soon betray'd,
The stiffen'd mimic only claims our scorn.
And with unconscious dignity adorn!
This Pride would imitate—But soon betray'd,
The stiffen'd mimic only claims our scorn.
110
O! sweet Simplicity! dear, rustic fair!
Hence shall my song thy worth, o'er all, approve!
Come—live with me; my pure affections share,
With native Honour, and with artless Love.
Hence shall my song thy worth, o'er all, approve!
Come—live with me; my pure affections share,
With native Honour, and with artless Love.
But ah! these soft desires, this fluttering heart,
Prove the dear form no allegoric shade!
Could fairy dreams such kindling hopes impart,
So charm the senses, and the soul invade?
Prove the dear form no allegoric shade!
Could fairy dreams such kindling hopes impart,
So charm the senses, and the soul invade?
And hark, how Admiration's raptur'd tale
Steals in soft whispers through the rustic throng,
'Tis she—my Stella! pride of Catmose vale,
Joy of each heart—and theme of every song!
Steals in soft whispers through the rustic throng,
'Tis she—my Stella! pride of Catmose vale,
Joy of each heart—and theme of every song!
Yet come Arcadian nymph, as Dryad fair,
Let the pure strain of artless passion move:
Come live with me, my fix'd affections share
With native Honour and with artless Love,
Let the pure strain of artless passion move:
Come live with me, my fix'd affections share
With native Honour and with artless Love,
EPISTLE to MERCUTIO.
July, 1791.
While you, my friend, in London's giddy town,
With jest and song each grave reflection drown,
Flirt with gay belles, besiege fantastic wenches
Who fire Love's glances from their band-box trenches,
Whence, while their banners wave, they dauntless wield
The various arms of Love's triumphant field—
The high-plum'd helm that each fierce bosom awes,
And all the sacred panoply of gauze:
While cares like these your youthful heart detain
Far from the peaceful shade and rustic plain;
Me here, remov'd from scenes of bustling noise,
The town's lewd follies, and its sickly joys,
The Muse perchance, perchance some stronger power
Attracts to loiter in the rural bower.
With jest and song each grave reflection drown,
Flirt with gay belles, besiege fantastic wenches
Who fire Love's glances from their band-box trenches,
Whence, while their banners wave, they dauntless wield
The various arms of Love's triumphant field—
111
And all the sacred panoply of gauze:
While cares like these your youthful heart detain
Far from the peaceful shade and rustic plain;
Me here, remov'd from scenes of bustling noise,
The town's lewd follies, and its sickly joys,
The Muse perchance, perchance some stronger power
Attracts to loiter in the rural bower.
Yet, truth to say, on Catmose' cheerful plains
No pensive gloom, no sombrous silence reigns;
No solemn saws of philosophic pride,
That bid the feelings of the heart subside!
'Tis transport all: the height of festive joy:
And jocund hours on wings of rapture fly.
Here (Iö Hymen!) Love triumphant dwells
With Jest and Glee, and sound of merry bells:
Mirth rules supreme o'er every friendly breast,
And yields reluctant e'en the dues of rest.
And yet, to hail fair Friendship's hallow'd pow'r,
From joys like these I steal a silent hour,
To thee, my lov'd Mercutio! to impart
The new sensations of a social heart:
—But let us here to preface bid adieu,
While I my journey's simple tale pursue.
No pensive gloom, no sombrous silence reigns;
No solemn saws of philosophic pride,
That bid the feelings of the heart subside!
'Tis transport all: the height of festive joy:
And jocund hours on wings of rapture fly.
Here (Iö Hymen!) Love triumphant dwells
With Jest and Glee, and sound of merry bells:
Mirth rules supreme o'er every friendly breast,
And yields reluctant e'en the dues of rest.
And yet, to hail fair Friendship's hallow'd pow'r,
From joys like these I steal a silent hour,
To thee, my lov'd Mercutio! to impart
The new sensations of a social heart:
—But let us here to preface bid adieu,
While I my journey's simple tale pursue.
Releas'd, at length, from Duty's iron chain,
Whose painful links the happier wish restrain,
Full light of heart sets forth the man of rhime,
For cheerful Catmose, Joy's triumphant clime—
Dear Land of Promise! for whose blissful groves
(Haunts of the Virtues! Muses! Graces! Loves!)
Long had I languish'd, thro' my drooping frame
While fond Impatience lanch'd the youthful flame!
And now, no more by angry Fate delay'd,
Eager I fly to clasp the blooming maid.
Tho Stamford's coach the Jewish sabbath kept,
And man and beast in pious malice slept,
My ardent soul disdain'd the feeble bar.
Winds thwart in vain when Love's the pilot star!
Up Highgate-hill, o'er Barnet's fatal heath,
Where factious Warwick breath'd his latest breath;
And hence to Hatfield, once of high renown
For royal domes and heaths of barren brown,
Thro' rain unwet, thro' dangerous roads serene,
With limbs unwearied, and with cheerful mien,
On foot I thrid. The turtle, from the glade,
Trills the sad note that echoes thro' the shade,
While glow-worms oft their amorous fires display,
To light the wandering lover on his way:
Like Hero's torch, that, thro' the midnight hour,
Blaz'd, long-expecting, from the sea-beat tower,
When bold Leander the impetuous tide
Stemm'd with fond arm,—and in the conflict died.
Ah, gentle worm! may no such fate assail
Thy vagrant bridegroom, to the ruthless gale
Who now, perhaps, his little wing displays,
With eye fast anchor'd on thy silver rays.
Swift to thy virgin bosom may the breeze
Bear him secure, and all thy terrors ease.
Whose painful links the happier wish restrain,
Full light of heart sets forth the man of rhime,
For cheerful Catmose, Joy's triumphant clime—
Dear Land of Promise! for whose blissful groves
(Haunts of the Virtues! Muses! Graces! Loves!)
112
While fond Impatience lanch'd the youthful flame!
And now, no more by angry Fate delay'd,
Eager I fly to clasp the blooming maid.
Tho Stamford's coach the Jewish sabbath kept,
And man and beast in pious malice slept,
My ardent soul disdain'd the feeble bar.
Winds thwart in vain when Love's the pilot star!
Up Highgate-hill, o'er Barnet's fatal heath,
Where factious Warwick breath'd his latest breath;
And hence to Hatfield, once of high renown
For royal domes and heaths of barren brown,
Thro' rain unwet, thro' dangerous roads serene,
With limbs unwearied, and with cheerful mien,
On foot I thrid. The turtle, from the glade,
Trills the sad note that echoes thro' the shade,
While glow-worms oft their amorous fires display,
To light the wandering lover on his way:
Like Hero's torch, that, thro' the midnight hour,
Blaz'd, long-expecting, from the sea-beat tower,
When bold Leander the impetuous tide
Stemm'd with fond arm,—and in the conflict died.
Ah, gentle worm! may no such fate assail
Thy vagrant bridegroom, to the ruthless gale
Who now, perhaps, his little wing displays,
With eye fast anchor'd on thy silver rays.
Swift to thy virgin bosom may the breeze
Bear him secure, and all thy terrors ease.
When now, at length, each cheerful hope was flown,
And round, full oft, the anxious eye was thrown,
Intent to seek (by angry Spleen opprest)
Some neighbouring Inn, for hospitable rest—
(Tho, these approach'd—impatient of delay—
I still pursu'd my solitary way!)
Advancing sounds my drooping spirits cheer,
And the loud lash rings music in my ear.
And lo! a coach, with steeds of fiery breed,
Thro Stamford bound towards the banks of Tweed.
No room within, I cheerly mount the roof,
Against the rain, by love, not cloathing, proof:
For, like a modern friend, so Fate decreed!
My good surtout lurk'd in the hour of need
Secure at home, together folded warm,
And left me fenceless to the pelting storm.
But short the storm: and now, with jocund lay
And vacant laughter we deceive the way,
While our stout guard, well soak'd with gin and ale,
Roar'd at my “Paddy Bull,” and “Sheering Tale;”
Then smoak'd his pipe, laid down his threat'ning gun,
And, while the steeds o'er darkling wild heaths run,
Flat on his belly, o'er the coaches eaves,
Snor'd out amain—to fright away the thieves.
And round, full oft, the anxious eye was thrown,
113
Some neighbouring Inn, for hospitable rest—
(Tho, these approach'd—impatient of delay—
I still pursu'd my solitary way!)
Advancing sounds my drooping spirits cheer,
And the loud lash rings music in my ear.
And lo! a coach, with steeds of fiery breed,
Thro Stamford bound towards the banks of Tweed.
No room within, I cheerly mount the roof,
Against the rain, by love, not cloathing, proof:
For, like a modern friend, so Fate decreed!
My good surtout lurk'd in the hour of need
Secure at home, together folded warm,
And left me fenceless to the pelting storm.
But short the storm: and now, with jocund lay
And vacant laughter we deceive the way,
While our stout guard, well soak'd with gin and ale,
Roar'd at my “Paddy Bull,” and “Sheering Tale;”
Then smoak'd his pipe, laid down his threat'ning gun,
And, while the steeds o'er darkling wild heaths run,
Flat on his belly, o'er the coaches eaves,
Snor'd out amain—to fright away the thieves.
But see!—What comet, with disastrous glare,
Thwarts the thick gloom, and frights the midnight air?
What flame infernal, by demoniac breath
Fann'd, on the confines of the lurid heath—
While haggard phantoms, with discordant yell,
Throng round, malign, to brew the fatal spell?
Such, to the fancy vers'd in Tales of Old,
Might seem the spectres whom we now behold:
But, truth to say, nor comet's hideous glare,
Nor flame infernal frights the midnight air;
Nor hags, nor demons, with discordant yell,
Dance round the cauldron o'er the direful spell;
But vagrant Gipsies, on the forest's bound,
Squat round their fire loquacious on the ground.
Thwarts the thick gloom, and frights the midnight air?
What flame infernal, by demoniac breath
Fann'd, on the confines of the lurid heath—
While haggard phantoms, with discordant yell,
Throng round, malign, to brew the fatal spell?
Such, to the fancy vers'd in Tales of Old,
Might seem the spectres whom we now behold:
114
Nor flame infernal frights the midnight air;
Nor hags, nor demons, with discordant yell,
Dance round the cauldron o'er the direful spell;
But vagrant Gipsies, on the forest's bound,
Squat round their fire loquacious on the ground.
Poor harmless vagrants!—harmless when compar'd
With those whom crouds adore, and courts reward—
The price of fell ambition, and the meed
Of each oppressive, every ruthless deed:
Of cities sack'd, of empires overthrown,
And struggling millions doom'd in chains to groan.—
Poor harmless vagrants! whom the reeking knife,
Red with the midnight wanderer's ravish'd life,
Ne'er yet reproach'd; nor crimes of savage die,
That the sweet flumbers of the night defy:
Whose utmost want ne'er owns the stern appeal
To threaten'd fury, or the brandish'd steel:
Still rove secure; and may no beadle's thong
Remorseless drive your wandering groups along!
But still to ye may wood and heath supply
The darling boon of savage Liberty!—
Oft, harmless vagrants! as I lonely stray,
May your rude groups adorn the woody way;
And round your kettles, pendant o'er the fire,
The ruddy smoak and cheerful flame aspire,
While, loitering near, beneath the hawthorn shade,
The tawny lover wooes the willing maid.
With those whom crouds adore, and courts reward—
The price of fell ambition, and the meed
Of each oppressive, every ruthless deed:
Of cities sack'd, of empires overthrown,
And struggling millions doom'd in chains to groan.—
Poor harmless vagrants! whom the reeking knife,
Red with the midnight wanderer's ravish'd life,
Ne'er yet reproach'd; nor crimes of savage die,
That the sweet flumbers of the night defy:
Whose utmost want ne'er owns the stern appeal
To threaten'd fury, or the brandish'd steel:
Still rove secure; and may no beadle's thong
Remorseless drive your wandering groups along!
But still to ye may wood and heath supply
The darling boon of savage Liberty!—
Oft, harmless vagrants! as I lonely stray,
May your rude groups adorn the woody way;
And round your kettles, pendant o'er the fire,
The ruddy smoak and cheerful flame aspire,
While, loitering near, beneath the hawthorn shade,
The tawny lover wooes the willing maid.
Light wakes the Morn, in vail of fleecy clouds,
Whose meek disguise her glowing beauties shrouds:
The lark in air, the linnet on the spray,
All seem to hail me, gratulous, and gay;
The silver Ouze, as clear it winds along,
Murmurs, responsive to the cheerful song,
While its brisk tenants, as they sportive glide,
Leap from the stream, and shew the glossy side.
Thus pleas'd with all that Nature's stores display,
Auspicious omens cheer me on the way;
Till now, at length, in Stamford's ancient town,
Whose gates and spires four neighbouring counties own,
I light; nor idly linger to survey
Her ancient piles, or Wiland's wandering way;
But mount the steed, and fly before the gale,
With eager hopes, to Catmose' fertile vale.
Whose meek disguise her glowing beauties shrouds:
115
All seem to hail me, gratulous, and gay;
The silver Ouze, as clear it winds along,
Murmurs, responsive to the cheerful song,
While its brisk tenants, as they sportive glide,
Leap from the stream, and shew the glossy side.
Thus pleas'd with all that Nature's stores display,
Auspicious omens cheer me on the way;
Till now, at length, in Stamford's ancient town,
Whose gates and spires four neighbouring counties own,
I light; nor idly linger to survey
Her ancient piles, or Wiland's wandering way;
But mount the steed, and fly before the gale,
With eager hopes, to Catmose' fertile vale.
But here the joys that wait what tongue can tell?
What tender transports in my bosom swell!
Nature's best boons my throbbing heart divide—
The tender mother, and the virgin bride.
Oh! thou canst never guess—canst ne'er conceive
What rapturous charms in love-warm'd Beauty live,
When the soft heart, unknown to practis'd guile,
Speaks in the tear, and sparkles in the smile.—
When the long-sever'd maid, whom passion warms,
With joy commutual, rushes to your arms,
Drops the fond head upon your throbbing breast,
And yields to feelings not to be supprest.
'Tis not the thrilling touch of sensual joys
(Which Nature's boon to lowest brutes supplies,)
The couch of Love—the extatic fond embrace
(Tho these from Virtue snatch a higher grace)
That wake (whate'er the vulgar mind may deem)
The richest transports of their pure esteem,
Whose flames, that glow from intellectual fire,
Give soul to Sense, and defecate Desire.
No: their best joys from nobler sources spring—
Joys saints might taste, and raptur'd seraphs sing:
Soul join'd with soul, the sympathizing mind,
Truth undefil'd—and feelings all refin'd;
One spirit guiding—by one will inform'd—
And two fond bosoms by one essence warm'd.
What tender transports in my bosom swell!
Nature's best boons my throbbing heart divide—
The tender mother, and the virgin bride.
Oh! thou canst never guess—canst ne'er conceive
What rapturous charms in love-warm'd Beauty live,
When the soft heart, unknown to practis'd guile,
Speaks in the tear, and sparkles in the smile.—
When the long-sever'd maid, whom passion warms,
With joy commutual, rushes to your arms,
Drops the fond head upon your throbbing breast,
And yields to feelings not to be supprest.
'Tis not the thrilling touch of sensual joys
(Which Nature's boon to lowest brutes supplies,)
The couch of Love—the extatic fond embrace
(Tho these from Virtue snatch a higher grace)
116
The richest transports of their pure esteem,
Whose flames, that glow from intellectual fire,
Give soul to Sense, and defecate Desire.
No: their best joys from nobler sources spring—
Joys saints might taste, and raptur'd seraphs sing:
Soul join'd with soul, the sympathizing mind,
Truth undefil'd—and feelings all refin'd;
One spirit guiding—by one will inform'd—
And two fond bosoms by one essence warm'd.
HARVEY.
An APOSTROPHE.
Blest was the hour—if bliss, indeed, belong
To the high fervours of Poetic song—
Blest was the hour—if 'tis the bliss of youth
To thirst for knowledge, and to pant for truth—
From Academic shades when Harvey came,
Wak'd the first spark, and fann'd the etherial flame:
When, midst Bæotian fogs, his purer ray
Pour'd on mine eye the intellectual day;
And, sole instructor of my youthful mind,
Rous'd the fine thrill extatic and refin'd—
Touch'd the keen nerve, and taught the tear to flow
O'er Shenstone's moral page, and Jessey's artless woe.
But, ah! more blest had been that fairer day
(Why, why are proffer'd blessings spurn'd away?)
When, gay of heart (the Tutor's talk no more)
He proffer'd Friendship at my natal door:—
More blest had been—but their ill-judging fears
Who claim'd obedience from my tender years
(With prudent saws from Traffic's school imbu'd)
To check the cordial fires of youth intrude:
Whence oft my Muse bewails, in pensive strain,
That hearts for Friendship form'd, are form'd in vain.
To the high fervours of Poetic song—
Blest was the hour—if 'tis the bliss of youth
To thirst for knowledge, and to pant for truth—
From Academic shades when Harvey came,
Wak'd the first spark, and fann'd the etherial flame:
When, midst Bæotian fogs, his purer ray
Pour'd on mine eye the intellectual day;
And, sole instructor of my youthful mind,
Rous'd the fine thrill extatic and refin'd—
Touch'd the keen nerve, and taught the tear to flow
O'er Shenstone's moral page, and Jessey's artless woe.
But, ah! more blest had been that fairer day
(Why, why are proffer'd blessings spurn'd away?)
117
He proffer'd Friendship at my natal door:—
More blest had been—but their ill-judging fears
Who claim'd obedience from my tender years
(With prudent saws from Traffic's school imbu'd)
To check the cordial fires of youth intrude:
Whence oft my Muse bewails, in pensive strain,
That hearts for Friendship form'd, are form'd in vain.
But, oh! that, Harvey! to thy classic ear
Some friendly chance these artless lines might bear!
That she, the Muse (each sordid care aloof)
Who weaves, with feeling hand, the airy woof,
From the wrought web a magic clue might lend,
Once more to guide thee to thy sorrowing friend,
Who loves thy merits, and in memory bears
Thy mirth instructive, and thy friendly cares;
And with this burthen saddens of the strain,
That hearts for Friendship form'd, are form'd in vain.
Some friendly chance these artless lines might bear!
That she, the Muse (each sordid care aloof)
Who weaves, with feeling hand, the airy woof,
From the wrought web a magic clue might lend,
Once more to guide thee to thy sorrowing friend,
Who loves thy merits, and in memory bears
Thy mirth instructive, and thy friendly cares;
And with this burthen saddens of the strain,
That hearts for Friendship form'd, are form'd in vain.
For ah! what pity—since too truly known
How thin the flowers of genuine bliss are strown,
In this low vale of sorrows and of cares,
How small the harvest, and how throng'd the tares;
Along Life's road, how many a bramble grows,
How many a nettle, for one fragrant rose,—
What pity 'tis that Friendship's boon refin'd
(Pleasure and food of every virtuous mind!)
Should thus be cast with heedless scorn away,
Smile unadmir'd, and unenjoy'd decay!
Come, Harvey, come! nor let me more complain,
That hearts for Friendship form'd, are form'd in vain.
How thin the flowers of genuine bliss are strown,
In this low vale of sorrows and of cares,
How small the harvest, and how throng'd the tares;
Along Life's road, how many a bramble grows,
How many a nettle, for one fragrant rose,—
What pity 'tis that Friendship's boon refin'd
(Pleasure and food of every virtuous mind!)
Should thus be cast with heedless scorn away,
Smile unadmir'd, and unenjoy'd decay!
Come, Harvey, come! nor let me more complain,
That hearts for Friendship form'd, are form'd in vain.
118
[_]
The above form a sort of series of the juvenile productions of the author; and as such merely they are presented. The volumes in which they appeared have fallen into meritted oblivion; from which few of the articles, it is hoped, will ever be revived. In the wide chasm that separates these from the ensuing poems, the following is introduced, from another pen.
Invocation to Poetry.
By Stella. 1793.
O, Poesy! enlivening pow'r!
Wilt thou accept my humble praise,
(Sweet soother of the lonely hour!)
Nor frown upon my artless lays?
Wilt thou accept my humble praise,
(Sweet soother of the lonely hour!)
Nor frown upon my artless lays?
When care and sorrow fill the breast,
'Tis thou canst pour the healing balm;
Or sooth the anxious soul to rest,
When Wrongs annoy, or Fears alarm.
'Tis thou canst pour the healing balm;
Or sooth the anxious soul to rest,
When Wrongs annoy, or Fears alarm.
'Tis thine to chace the gloomy thought,
The sullen frown, or glance severe:
By thee the indignant eye is taught
To shed the sympathising tear.
The sullen frown, or glance severe:
By thee the indignant eye is taught
To shed the sympathising tear.
May I thy soft, thy so thing pow'r,
In each distressing moment, hail!
Thou, who canst cheer the troubled hour,
When Wisdom's feebler efforts fail.
In each distressing moment, hail!
Thou, who canst cheer the troubled hour,
When Wisdom's feebler efforts fail.
119
STANZAS To Rosa Bella Bianca, on her Birth-day.
Norwich, August 8, 1796.
Blossom of vernal sweetness, lovely Rose!
Once more I tune the long-neglected lay,
To hail the sun, whose favouring beams disclose
Improving beauties with this genial day.
Once more I tune the long-neglected lay,
To hail the sun, whose favouring beams disclose
Improving beauties with this genial day.
Propitious Day! still as the circling year
Renews its course, may'st thou, at each return,
Vail'd in fresh show'rs of op'ning bliss appear,
While Health's gay fires with purer ardour burn!
Renews its course, may'st thou, at each return,
Vail'd in fresh show'rs of op'ning bliss appear,
While Health's gay fires with purer ardour burn!
And may the Loves and Graces still, as now,
Play round the form and flush the artless cheek;
While taste and virtue crown the polish'd brow,
And thro' her eyes the native feelings speak!
Play round the form and flush the artless cheek;
While taste and virtue crown the polish'd brow,
And thro' her eyes the native feelings speak!
The while some youth, by Nature's partial love
Form'd in the mould of Genius, Worth, and Sense,
In early prime, her virgin heart shall move,
And Hymen's torch its brightest ray dispense.
Form'd in the mould of Genius, Worth, and Sense,
In early prime, her virgin heart shall move,
And Hymen's torch its brightest ray dispense.
So shall the charms on her fair form impress'd
Enhance her bliss, and every tender sigh
That heaves the softness of Bianca's breast,
Be but the herald of approaching joy!
Enhance her bliss, and every tender sigh
That heaves the softness of Bianca's breast,
Be but the herald of approaching joy!
120
Thus does, sweet Maid! the strain of Friendship flow,
Gilding thy fate in colours of the morn:
A spring-tide life, unchil'd by wintry woe—
Day without cloud—a rose without a thorn!
Gilding thy fate in colours of the morn:
A spring-tide life, unchil'd by wintry woe—
Day without cloud—a rose without a thorn!
But 'twill not be: some dregs of envious care
In Life's incongruous cup the Fates will fling.
Beauty and Worth the bitter draught must share,
And Wisdom's self shall drink at Sorrow's spring.
In Life's incongruous cup the Fates will fling.
Beauty and Worth the bitter draught must share,
And Wisdom's self shall drink at Sorrow's spring.
Be then each cloud that glooms life's fickle day,
Like transient show'rs that cool the fervid skies;
And from each vernal blossom's doom'd decay,
May Virtue's store, and Wisdom's fruits arise.
Like transient show'rs that cool the fervid skies;
And from each vernal blossom's doom'd decay,
May Virtue's store, and Wisdom's fruits arise.
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:—
122
“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.
123
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]
The Tartan Pladdie.
Feb. 4, 1797.
In Ossian's Hall, the bard of Yore
Would charm the Highland lass and laddie,
With tuneful harp, and songs in store
Of feats perform'd in Tartan Pladdie.
O! the graceful Tartan Pladdie,
The pride of Highland lass and laddie,
While verse can charm,/Or beauty warm,
We'll ne'er forget the Tartan Pladdie.
Would charm the Highland lass and laddie,
With tuneful harp, and songs in store
Of feats perform'd in Tartan Pladdie.
O! the graceful Tartan Pladdie,
The pride of Highland lass and laddie,
While verse can charm,/Or beauty warm,
We'll ne'er forget the Tartan Pladdie.
124
Then Love was free from sordid guile,
And Freedom warm'd each gallant laddie,
And worth alone could win the smile
Of bonny lass in Tartan Pladdie.
O! the graceful Tartan Pladdie,
That deck'd, of Yore, the lass and laddie!
So brave—so rare!—/So kind—so fair!
Was youth and lass in Tartan Pladdie.
And Freedom warm'd each gallant laddie,
And worth alone could win the smile
Of bonny lass in Tartan Pladdie.
O! the graceful Tartan Pladdie,
That deck'd, of Yore, the lass and laddie!
So brave—so rare!—/So kind—so fair!
Was youth and lass in Tartan Pladdie.
But not on days like these I call,
Nor sing of Highland lass or laddie;
High-bosom'd maid in Ossian's Hall,
Or antique chief in Tartan Pladdie.
But O! the modern Tartan Pladdie,
For Sara wove by skilful laddie!
My verse essays/To sing the praise
Of Sara, in her Tartan Pladdie.—
Nor sing of Highland lass or laddie;
High-bosom'd maid in Ossian's Hall,
Or antique chief in Tartan Pladdie.
But O! the modern Tartan Pladdie,
For Sara wove by skilful laddie!
My verse essays/To sing the praise
Of Sara, in her Tartan Pladdie.—
Soft is her air: no sweeter smile
E'er won the heart of faithful laddie,
Nor bosom more estrang'd to guile
Was ever deck'd with Tartan Pladdie.
O! the modern Tartan Pladdie!
That wins the heart of every laddie:
The proudest fair/In Fashion's glare,
Might envy Sara in her Pladdie.
E'er won the heart of faithful laddie,
Nor bosom more estrang'd to guile
Was ever deck'd with Tartan Pladdie.
O! the modern Tartan Pladdie!
That wins the heart of every laddie:
The proudest fair/In Fashion's glare,
Might envy Sara in her Pladdie.
But should I sing her charms of mind,
My verse would fire each list'ning Laddie,
Her temper gentle, free, and kind,
And gayer than her Tartan Pladdie.
O! the lass in Tartan Pladdie!
How blest shall be that favour'd laddie,
The guileless youth/Whose fervent Truth
Shall win the lass in Tartan Pladdie.
My verse would fire each list'ning Laddie,
Her temper gentle, free, and kind,
And gayer than her Tartan Pladdie.
125
How blest shall be that favour'd laddie,
The guileless youth/Whose fervent Truth
Shall win the lass in Tartan Pladdie.
Thus do the Loves and Graces blend
In her, who wears the Tartan Pladdie,
In every nymph she finds a friend,
A lover in each youthful laddie.
O the graceful Tartan Pladdie!
That wins, alike, the lass and laddie!
Long may the fair/Each blessing share,
And charm us with her Tartan Pladdie!
In her, who wears the Tartan Pladdie,
In every nymph she finds a friend,
A lover in each youthful laddie.
O the graceful Tartan Pladdie!
That wins, alike, the lass and laddie!
Long may the fair/Each blessing share,
And charm us with her Tartan Pladdie!
For me, whose wedded love is plight
To her, far off, who loves her laddie,
In Stella's charms I still delight,
Tho never deck'd in Tartan Pladdie!
Yet—O! the lass in Tartan Pladdie!
My verse shall tell to every laddie,
In friendly lays,/The peerless praise
Of Sara in her Tartan Pladdie.
To her, far off, who loves her laddie,
In Stella's charms I still delight,
Tho never deck'd in Tartan Pladdie!
Yet—O! the lass in Tartan Pladdie!
My verse shall tell to every laddie,
In friendly lays,/The peerless praise
Of Sara in her Tartan Pladdie.
Yes, Stella! thine's the sigh of love—
And well thou know'st thy faithful laddie;
But friendship's flame thou'lt still approve
For Sara in her Tartan Pladdie.
O! the lass in Tartan Pladdie!
Soon may she bless some worthy laddie,
While I still prove/A brother's love
For Sara in her Tartan Pladdie.
And well thou know'st thy faithful laddie;
But friendship's flame thou'lt still approve
For Sara in her Tartan Pladdie.
O! the lass in Tartan Pladdie!
Soon may she bless some worthy laddie,
While I still prove/A brother's love
For Sara in her Tartan Pladdie.
126
To Stella.
Feb. 8, 1797.
When kind Hope, at seasons smiling,
Tells of changing fortune nigh—
When gay Fancy, sweetly guiling,
Whispers of approaching joy,
Then my thoughts, by Love directed,
To my Stella's bosom flee;
And the flattering boon expected,
Hopes its worth from pleasing thee.
Tells of changing fortune nigh—
When gay Fancy, sweetly guiling,
Whispers of approaching joy,
Then my thoughts, by Love directed,
To my Stella's bosom flee;
And the flattering boon expected,
Hopes its worth from pleasing thee.
Or when Fortune, sadly glooming,
Threats with storms of hovering woes,
Fancy still, thy form assuming,
Grief's increasing pang bestows.
Every rude assault of anguish
This undaunted breast can bear;
But shall Stella droop and languish?—
Every shaft can wound me there!
Threats with storms of hovering woes,
Fancy still, thy form assuming,
Grief's increasing pang bestows.
Every rude assault of anguish
This undaunted breast can bear;
But shall Stella droop and languish?—
Every shaft can wound me there!
Lines, written at Bridgewater, in Somersetshire, on the 27th of July, 1797; during a long excursion, in quest of a peaceful retreat.
Day of my double birth! who gave me first
To breathe Life's troubled air; and, kindlier far
Gave all that makes Life welcome—gave me her
Who now, far distant, sheds, perchance, the tear
In pensive solitude, and chides the hours
That keep her truant wanderer from her arms—
Her's and our smiling babes:—Eventful Day!
How shall I greet thee now, at thy return,
So often mark'd with sadness? Art thou, say,
Once more arriv'd a harbinger of woes,
Precursor of a Year of miseries,
Of storms and persecutions, of the pangs
Of disappointed hope, and keen regrets,
Wrung from the bosom by a sordid World
That kindness pays with hatred, and returns
Evil for good?—a World most scorpion-like,
That stings what warms it, and the ardent glow
Of blest Benevolence too oft transmutes
To sullen gloom and sour misanthropy,
Wounding, with venom'd tooth, the fostering breast
That her milk turns to gall. Or art thou come,
In most unwonted guise, O, fateful Day!
With cheering prophecy of kindlier times?—
Of hours of sweet retirement, tranquil joys
Of friendship, and of love—of studious ease,
Of philosophic thought—poetic dreams
In dell romantic, or by bubbling brook,
High wood, or rocky shore; where Fancy's train,
Solemn or gay, shall in the sunbeam sport,
Or murmur in the gloom, peopling earth, air,
Ocean, and woodland haunt,—mountain, and cave,
With wildest phantazies:—wild, but not vain,
For, but for dreams like these, Meonides
Had never shook the soul with epic song,
Nor Milton, slumbering underneath the shade
Of fancy-haunted oak, heard the loud strain
Of heavenly minstrelsey:—nor yet had he,
Shakespear (in praise of whom smooth Avon still
Flows eloquent to every Briton's ear,)
Pierc'd the dark womb of Nature, with keen glance,
Tracing the embrio Passions ere their birth,
And every mystic movement of the soul
Baring to public ken.—O, Bards! to whom
Youth owes its emulation, Age the bliss
Of many a wintry evening, dull and sad,
But for your cheering aid!—Ye from whose strains,
As from a font of Inspiration, oft
The quickning mind, else stagnant, learns to flow
In tides of generous ardour, scattering wide
Smiling fertility, fresh fruits and flowers
Of intellectual worth!—O! might my soul
Henceforth with yours hold converse, in the scenes
Where Nature cherishes Poetic-Thought,
Best cradled in the solitary haunts
Where bustling Cares intrude not, nor the throng
Of cities, or of courts. Yet not for aye
In hermit-like seclusion would I dwell
(My soul estranging from my brother Man)
Forgetful and forgotten: rather oft,
With some few minds congenial, let me stray
Along the Muses' haunts, where converse, meet
For intellectual beings, may arouse
The soul's sublimer energies, or wing
The fleeting Time most cheerily—The Time
Which, tho swift-fleeting, scatters, as he flies,
Seeds of delight, that, like the furrow'd grain,
Strew'd by the farmer, as he onward stalks
Over his well-plough'd acres, shall produce,
In happy season, its abundant fruits.
To breathe Life's troubled air; and, kindlier far
Gave all that makes Life welcome—gave me her
Who now, far distant, sheds, perchance, the tear
In pensive solitude, and chides the hours
127
Her's and our smiling babes:—Eventful Day!
How shall I greet thee now, at thy return,
So often mark'd with sadness? Art thou, say,
Once more arriv'd a harbinger of woes,
Precursor of a Year of miseries,
Of storms and persecutions, of the pangs
Of disappointed hope, and keen regrets,
Wrung from the bosom by a sordid World
That kindness pays with hatred, and returns
Evil for good?—a World most scorpion-like,
That stings what warms it, and the ardent glow
Of blest Benevolence too oft transmutes
To sullen gloom and sour misanthropy,
Wounding, with venom'd tooth, the fostering breast
That her milk turns to gall. Or art thou come,
In most unwonted guise, O, fateful Day!
With cheering prophecy of kindlier times?—
Of hours of sweet retirement, tranquil joys
Of friendship, and of love—of studious ease,
Of philosophic thought—poetic dreams
In dell romantic, or by bubbling brook,
High wood, or rocky shore; where Fancy's train,
Solemn or gay, shall in the sunbeam sport,
Or murmur in the gloom, peopling earth, air,
Ocean, and woodland haunt,—mountain, and cave,
With wildest phantazies:—wild, but not vain,
For, but for dreams like these, Meonides
Had never shook the soul with epic song,
Nor Milton, slumbering underneath the shade
128
Of heavenly minstrelsey:—nor yet had he,
Shakespear (in praise of whom smooth Avon still
Flows eloquent to every Briton's ear,)
Pierc'd the dark womb of Nature, with keen glance,
Tracing the embrio Passions ere their birth,
And every mystic movement of the soul
Baring to public ken.—O, Bards! to whom
Youth owes its emulation, Age the bliss
Of many a wintry evening, dull and sad,
But for your cheering aid!—Ye from whose strains,
As from a font of Inspiration, oft
The quickning mind, else stagnant, learns to flow
In tides of generous ardour, scattering wide
Smiling fertility, fresh fruits and flowers
Of intellectual worth!—O! might my soul
Henceforth with yours hold converse, in the scenes
Where Nature cherishes Poetic-Thought,
Best cradled in the solitary haunts
Where bustling Cares intrude not, nor the throng
Of cities, or of courts. Yet not for aye
In hermit-like seclusion would I dwell
(My soul estranging from my brother Man)
Forgetful and forgotten: rather oft,
With some few minds congenial, let me stray
Along the Muses' haunts, where converse, meet
For intellectual beings, may arouse
The soul's sublimer energies, or wing
The fleeting Time most cheerily—The Time
Which, tho swift-fleeting, scatters, as he flies,
129
Strew'd by the farmer, as he onward stalks
Over his well-plough'd acres, shall produce,
In happy season, its abundant fruits.
Day of my double Birth! if such the Year
Thou usherest in, most welcome!—for my soul
Is sick of public turmoil—ah, most sick
Of the vain effort to redeem a Race
Enslav'd, because degenerate; lost to Hope,
Because to Virtue lost—wrapp'd up in Self,
In sordid avarice, luxurious pomp,
And profligate intemperance—a Race
Fierce without courage; abject, and yet proud;
And most licentious, tho' most far from free.
Thou usherest in, most welcome!—for my soul
Is sick of public turmoil—ah, most sick
Of the vain effort to redeem a Race
Enslav'd, because degenerate; lost to Hope,
Because to Virtue lost—wrapp'd up in Self,
In sordid avarice, luxurious pomp,
And profligate intemperance—a Race
Fierce without courage; abject, and yet proud;
And most licentious, tho' most far from free.
Ah! let me then, far from the strifeful scenes
Of public life (where Reason's warning voice
Is heard no longer, and the trump of Truth
Who blows but wakes The Ruffian Crew of Power
To deeds of maddest anarchy and blood)
Ah! let me, far in some sequester'd dell,
Build my low cot; most happy might it prove,
My Samuel! near to thine, that I might oft
Share thy sweet converse, best-belov'd of friends!—
Long-lov'd ere known: for kindred sympathies
Link'd, tho far distant, our congenial souls.
Of public life (where Reason's warning voice
Is heard no longer, and the trump of Truth
Who blows but wakes The Ruffian Crew of Power
To deeds of maddest anarchy and blood)
Ah! let me, far in some sequester'd dell,
Build my low cot; most happy might it prove,
My Samuel! near to thine, that I might oft
Share thy sweet converse, best-belov'd of friends!—
Long-lov'd ere known: for kindred sympathies
Link'd, tho far distant, our congenial souls.
Ah! 'twould be sweet, beneath the neighb'ring thatch,
In philosophic amity to dwell,
Inditing moral verse, or tale, or theme,
Gay or instructive; and it would be sweet,
With kindly interchange of mutual aid,
To delve our little garden plots, the while
Sweet converse flow'd, suspending oft the arm
And half-driven spade, while, eager, one propounds,
And listens one, weighing each pregnant word,
And pondering fit reply, that may untwist
The knotty point—perchance, of import high—
Of Moral Truth, of Causes Infinite,
Creating Power! or Uncreated Worlds
Eternal and uncaus'd! or whatsoe'er,
Of Metaphysic, or of Ethic lore,
The mind, with curious subtilty, pursues—
Agreeing, or dissenting—sweet alike,
When wisdom, and not victory, the end.
And 'twould be sweet, my Samuel, ah! most sweet
To see our little infants stretch their limbs
In gambols unrestrain'd, and early learn
Practical love, and, Wisdom's noblest lore,
Fraternal kindliness; while rosiest health,
Bloom'd on their sun-burnt cheeks. And 'twould be sweet,
When what to toil was due, to study what,
And literary effort, had been paid,
Alternate, in each other's bower to fit,
In summer's genial season; or, when, bleak,
The wintry blast had stripp'd the leafy shade,
Around the blazing hearth, social and gay,
To share our frugal viands, and the bowl
Sparkling with home-brew'd beverage:—by our sides
Thy Sara, and my Susan, and, perchance,
Allfoxden's musing tenant, and the maid
Of ardent eye, who, with fraternal love,
Sweetens his solitude. With these should join
Arcadian Pool, swain of a happier age,
When Wisdom and Refinement lov'd to dwell
With Rustic Plainness, and the pastoral vale
Was vocal to the melodies of verse—
Echoing sweet minstrelsey. With such, my friend!—
With such how pleasant to unbend awhile,
Winging the idle hour with song, or tale,
Pun, or quaint joke, or converse, such as fits
Minds gay, but innocent: and we would laugh—
(Unless, perchance, pity's more kindly tear
Check the obstreperous mirth) at such who waste
Life's precious hours in the delusive chace
Of wealth and worldly gewgaws, and contend
For honours emptier than the hollow voice
That rings in Echo's cave; and which, like that,
Exists but in the babbling of a world
Creating its own wonder. Wiselier we,
To intellectual joys will thus devote
Our fleeting years; mingling Arcadian sports
With healthful industry. O, it would be
A Golden Age reviv'd!—Nor would we lack
Woodnymph, or Naïd, to complete the group
Of classic fable; for, in happy time,
Sylvanus, Chester, in each hand should bring
The sister nymphs, Julia of radiant eye
And stately tread, the Dryad of the groves;
And she, of softer mien, the meek-ey'd maid,
Pensively sweet! whom Fancy well might deem
The Fairy of the brooks that bubble round.
In philosophic amity to dwell,
Inditing moral verse, or tale, or theme,
Gay or instructive; and it would be sweet,
With kindly interchange of mutual aid,
130
Sweet converse flow'd, suspending oft the arm
And half-driven spade, while, eager, one propounds,
And listens one, weighing each pregnant word,
And pondering fit reply, that may untwist
The knotty point—perchance, of import high—
Of Moral Truth, of Causes Infinite,
Creating Power! or Uncreated Worlds
Eternal and uncaus'd! or whatsoe'er,
Of Metaphysic, or of Ethic lore,
The mind, with curious subtilty, pursues—
Agreeing, or dissenting—sweet alike,
When wisdom, and not victory, the end.
And 'twould be sweet, my Samuel, ah! most sweet
To see our little infants stretch their limbs
In gambols unrestrain'd, and early learn
Practical love, and, Wisdom's noblest lore,
Fraternal kindliness; while rosiest health,
Bloom'd on their sun-burnt cheeks. And 'twould be sweet,
When what to toil was due, to study what,
And literary effort, had been paid,
Alternate, in each other's bower to fit,
In summer's genial season; or, when, bleak,
The wintry blast had stripp'd the leafy shade,
Around the blazing hearth, social and gay,
To share our frugal viands, and the bowl
Sparkling with home-brew'd beverage:—by our sides
Thy Sara, and my Susan, and, perchance,
Allfoxden's musing tenant, and the maid
Of ardent eye, who, with fraternal love,
131
Arcadian Pool, swain of a happier age,
When Wisdom and Refinement lov'd to dwell
With Rustic Plainness, and the pastoral vale
Was vocal to the melodies of verse—
Echoing sweet minstrelsey. With such, my friend!—
With such how pleasant to unbend awhile,
Winging the idle hour with song, or tale,
Pun, or quaint joke, or converse, such as fits
Minds gay, but innocent: and we would laugh—
(Unless, perchance, pity's more kindly tear
Check the obstreperous mirth) at such who waste
Life's precious hours in the delusive chace
Of wealth and worldly gewgaws, and contend
For honours emptier than the hollow voice
That rings in Echo's cave; and which, like that,
Exists but in the babbling of a world
Creating its own wonder. Wiselier we,
To intellectual joys will thus devote
Our fleeting years; mingling Arcadian sports
With healthful industry. O, it would be
A Golden Age reviv'd!—Nor would we lack
Woodnymph, or Naïd, to complete the group
Of classic fable; for, in happy time,
Sylvanus, Chester, in each hand should bring
The sister nymphs, Julia of radiant eye
And stately tread, the Dryad of the groves;
And she, of softer mien, the meek-ey'd maid,
Pensively sweet! whom Fancy well might deem
The Fairy of the brooks that bubble round.
132
Ah! fateful Day! what marvel if my soul
Receive thy visits awfully? and fain
With Fancy's glowing characters would trace
Thy yet to me blank legend?—painting most
What most my bosom yearns for—Friendship's joys,
And social happiness, and tranquil hours
Of studious indolence; or, sweeter far!
The high poetic rapture, that becalms
Even while it agitates?—Ah, fateful Day!
If that the Year thou lead'st (as fain my soul
Would augur, from some hours of joy late past,
And friendship's unexpected)—if the Year
Thou usherest in, has aught, perchance, in store
To realize this vision, welcome most—
Ah most, most welcome! for my soul, at peace,
Shall to it's native pleasures then return,
And in my Susan's arms, each pang forgot,
Nightly will I repose—yielding my soul
(Unshar'd, unharrass'd, by a thankless world)
To the domestic virtues, calm, and sweet,
Of husband and of father—to the joys
Of relative affiance;—its mild cares
And stingless extasies; while gentlest Sleep,
Unwoo'd, uncall'd, on the soft pillow waits
Of envyless Obscurity.—Ah, come!
Hours of long-wish'd tranquility! ah come:
Snatch from my couch the thorn of anxious thought,
That I may taste the joys my soul best loves,
And find, once more, “that Being is a Bliss!”
Receive thy visits awfully? and fain
With Fancy's glowing characters would trace
Thy yet to me blank legend?—painting most
What most my bosom yearns for—Friendship's joys,
And social happiness, and tranquil hours
Of studious indolence; or, sweeter far!
The high poetic rapture, that becalms
Even while it agitates?—Ah, fateful Day!
If that the Year thou lead'st (as fain my soul
Would augur, from some hours of joy late past,
And friendship's unexpected)—if the Year
Thou usherest in, has aught, perchance, in store
To realize this vision, welcome most—
Ah most, most welcome! for my soul, at peace,
Shall to it's native pleasures then return,
And in my Susan's arms, each pang forgot,
Nightly will I repose—yielding my soul
(Unshar'd, unharrass'd, by a thankless world)
To the domestic virtues, calm, and sweet,
Of husband and of father—to the joys
Of relative affiance;—its mild cares
And stingless extasies; while gentlest Sleep,
Unwoo'd, uncall'd, on the soft pillow waits
Of envyless Obscurity.—Ah, come!
Hours of long-wish'd tranquility! ah come:
Snatch from my couch the thorn of anxious thought,
That I may taste the joys my soul best loves,
And find, once more, “that Being is a Bliss!”
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The Farewell.
Written at the request of an intelligent and beautiful young lady, with whom the Author happened to meet, at Uley, in Glocestershire. Aug. 10, 1797.
A wanderer from my distant home,
In quest of Wisdom's various lore,
Awhile, with devious steps, I roam,
And Pleasure's softer scenes explore.
In Uley's sweet sequester'd shades
I seek the fleeting form of Joy,
Where Strife, nor busy Pomp pervades,
Nor envious Cares the soul annoy.
In quest of Wisdom's various lore,
Awhile, with devious steps, I roam,
And Pleasure's softer scenes explore.
In Uley's sweet sequester'd shades
I seek the fleeting form of Joy,
Where Strife, nor busy Pomp pervades,
Nor envious Cares the soul annoy.
“To Lloyd's delightful bower repair!
“Perchance the Nymph may there reside.”
Thanks whispering Sylph.—I found her there,
In Youth's soft bloom, and Beauty's pride.
A wreath of flowers, of roseate glow,
The tresses of her brow confin'd;
While, loosely, o'er her robe of snow,
The playful ringlets flow'd behind.
“Perchance the Nymph may there reside.”
Thanks whispering Sylph.—I found her there,
In Youth's soft bloom, and Beauty's pride.
A wreath of flowers, of roseate glow,
The tresses of her brow confin'd;
While, loosely, o'er her robe of snow,
The playful ringlets flow'd behind.
In modest guise, that robe behold
Enshrine from view each softer grace.
Yet may the eye, thro every fold,
The magic curves of beauty trace.
What more could partial Heaven dispense
To such a shape and such an air?
“The charms of temper—genius—sense!”—
Sense, genius, temper—all are there.
Enshrine from view each softer grace.
Yet may the eye, thro every fold,
The magic curves of beauty trace.
What more could partial Heaven dispense
To such a shape and such an air?
“The charms of temper—genius—sense!”—
Sense, genius, temper—all are there.
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Pleas'd with the Vision—rarely seen,
I gaz'd the happy hours away;
Till Twilight, from her thickening skreen,
Reproachful chid the fond delay.
The Bird of Night (too sadly wise!)
Thus seem'd, in harshest notes, to sing—
“Remember Man, that Pleasure flies:
“She rides on Time's impetuous wing:
I gaz'd the happy hours away;
Till Twilight, from her thickening skreen,
Reproachful chid the fond delay.
The Bird of Night (too sadly wise!)
Thus seem'd, in harshest notes, to sing—
“Remember Man, that Pleasure flies:
“She rides on Time's impetuous wing:
“Or if, awhile, her destin'd flight
“The partial vision would delay,
“Stern Duty, with relentless might,
“The hapless votary tears away.”—
Ah! Bird of Night (too sadly wise!)
I own thy envious warning true;
For Duty calls, and Pleasure flies:—
O! blooming form of Joy, adieu!
“The partial vision would delay,
“Stern Duty, with relentless might,
“The hapless votary tears away.”—
Ah! Bird of Night (too sadly wise!)
I own thy envious warning true;
For Duty calls, and Pleasure flies:—
O! blooming form of Joy, adieu!
“Yet pause,” she said, “or e'er thou part,
“Invoke the Muse, and tune the lay;
“If Uley's shades have sooth'd the heart,
“With grateful verse the boon repay.”
Ah! hard request. A bliss so pure,
What hasty verse can fitly tell?
What can it—but the nymph assure,
“Remembrance shall on Uley dwel?”
“Invoke the Muse, and tune the lay;
“If Uley's shades have sooth'd the heart,
“With grateful verse the boon repay.”
Ah! hard request. A bliss so pure,
What hasty verse can fitly tell?
What can it—but the nymph assure,
“Remembrance shall on Uley dwel?”
Yes, tho thro' adverse regions bound,
Tho Pleasures court, or Cares annoy,
I'll still remember where I found
The blooming form of fleeting Joy:
And, in her distant home reclin'd,
I'll sometimes hope the gentle maid,
With pleas'd regret, will call to mind,
The wandering Bard in Uley's shade.
Tho Pleasures court, or Cares annoy,
I'll still remember where I found
The blooming form of fleeting Joy:
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I'll sometimes hope the gentle maid,
With pleas'd regret, will call to mind,
The wandering Bard in Uley's shade.
The Reply.
“Fortune waft you on your way!”
Sighs the Nymph, in sweet adieu—
“Fortune waft you on your way,
“Pleasure lead, and smiles pursue.
“To the partner of your heart,
“Speed ye on the wings of Joy:
“Blest the partner of your heart!
“Sorrow ne'er your peace annoy.
Sighs the Nymph, in sweet adieu—
“Fortune waft you on your way,
“Pleasure lead, and smiles pursue.
“To the partner of your heart,
“Speed ye on the wings of Joy:
“Blest the partner of your heart!
“Sorrow ne'er your peace annoy.
“Fortune waft you on your way!—
“Till the gentle fair you see.
“Love shall crown you—far away:
“Yet, may Friendship think on me.
“Thy summer bower, thy wintry fire
“May the social pleasures throng:—
“Summer's bower, and winter's fire
“Cheer'd alike with tuneful song.
“Till the gentle fair you see.
“Love shall crown you—far away:
“Yet, may Friendship think on me.
“Thy summer bower, thy wintry fire
“May the social pleasures throng:—
“Summer's bower, and winter's fire
“Cheer'd alike with tuneful song.
“Fortune waft you on your way!”
Sighs the nymph—but sighs in vain.
Fortune turns another way:
Verse and Beauty plead in vain.
Sighs the nymph—but sighs in vain.
Fortune turns another way:
Verse and Beauty plead in vain.
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On leaving the Bottoms of Glocestershire; where the Author had been entertained by several families with great hospitality.
Aug. 12, 1797.
Regions of hospitality! dear scenes
Where I have loiter'd cheerily, and quaft
The nectar'd bowl of Friendship, or have rov'd
The live-long summer's day, in pensive thought,
Or kindlier converse—Ah! delightful vales!
O'er which the hand of partial Nature sheds
Each wilder grace, while Culture and the Arts
Of civiliz'd improvement spread around
Their gay varieties, enlivening all
With social decoration—fare ye well—
For I must leave ye, pleasant haunts! brakes, bourns,
And populous hill, and dale, and pendant woods;
And you, meandering streams, and you, ye cots
And hamlets, that, with many a whiten'd front,
Sprinkle the woody steep; or lowlier stoop,
Thronging, gregarious, round the rustic spire,
Warm in the quiet glen. Ah! with what joy
(Scenes that I leave reluctant!) with what joy
Have I beheld ye, at the varying hour,
Dawn, or the noon of night, or mid the glare
Of Phœbus' sultry season, when your groves
Woo'd to sequester'd musings. Thence, how sweet
(From your romantic scenes, and sylvan haunts—
Tho sylvan, yet not solitary) to hear
The distant hum, that, as from nectar'd hives
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Came whispering on the breeze: for not to gloom
Lethargic, or the hermit's inward prayer
Of visionary silence, are your haunts
(As erst, perchance, in Superstition's day)
Consign'd, and pious inutility—
Once holy deem'd. Here holier Industry,
Even from the dawning to the western ray,
And oft by midnight taper, patient, plies
Her task assiduous; and the day with songs,
The night with many an earth-star, far descried
By the lone traveller, cheers amidst her toil.
Nor cheerless she; nor to her numerous race—
If semblance may be trusted—(as too oft)
Like a penurious step-dame, scantily
'The appointed task rewarding. By her side
Sits lowly Comfort, in her decent stole
(If homely, yet commodious,) dealing round
The well-earn'd bread of sustenance; while shout
The circling infants; their sleek ruddy cheeks,
Like the sunn'd side of brown Pomona's fruit,
Gladdening the kindred eye. Ah! 'tis a scene
That wakes to social rapture. Nor, as yet,
Towers from each peaceful dell the unwieldy pride
Of Factory over-grown; where Opulence,
Dispeopling the neat cottage, crowds his walls
(Made pestilent by congregated lungs,
And lewd association) with a race
Of infant slaves, brok'n timely to the yoke
Of unremitting Drudgery—no more
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Of matronly instruction, interspers'd—
Cheering, or sage; nor by the sports relax'd
(To such how needful!) of their unknit prime
Once deem'd the lawful charter. Little here
Intrude such pompous mansions—better miss'd.
Therefore I love thee, Chalford, and ye vales
Of Stroud, irriguous: but still more I love
For hospitable pleasures here enjoy'd,
And cordial intercourse. Yet must I leave
Your social haunts—for not my unblest feet
Yet may I rest, or my long wanderings close,
Tho weary'd: but thro' many an untried scene
(Perhaps from this how differing!) shape my way,
Beneath my weight of sorrows; where to find
Some nook obscure, that I may lay them down,
And lap me in Oblivion. Once again,
Then, once again, and my full heart no more
Lingering shall falter—once again, farewell—
Dear scenes of hospitality and joy!—
A long farewell:—for I, perchance, no more,
Lonely, or mingling with the cordial group
That made your haunts thrice lovely, hence shall trace
Your wild varieties. Yet in my heart
Shall live your scenes endear'd; and when, at eve,
With her, my soul's lov'd partner, by the light
Of blazing fuel, o'er the wint'ry hearth,
Of joys past by, and the remember'd smiles
Of friendship, still more cheering, I renew
The treasur'd images, ah! then the names
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And hospitable Partridge, not unmark'd
With lengthen'd emphasis, shall frequent dwell:
And theirs, the cordial youths, who to each scene
Of curious observation led my steps
Inquisitive; and, with their social mirth,
Deceiv'd the way. And, as these scenes renew'd,
Cheer our lone cottage, the sooth'd heart shall smile,
Conciliated, that, some there are—some few,
Still warm and generous, by the changeling world
Not yet debauch'd, nor to the yoke of fear
Bending the abject neck: but who, erect
In conscious principle, still dare to love
The Man proscrib'd for loving human kind.
The Woodbine.
Dovedale, Oct. 1797.
Sweet flower! that loiterest on the autumnal branch
Beyond thy wonted season, pleas'd to view,
In Dove's pure mirror, thy reflected charms,
And cheer her with thy fragrance, be thou blest!—
For thou hast sooth'd my heart; and thy soft scent
(Mild as the balmy breath of early love!)
Hath warm'd my kindling fancy with the thoughts
Of joys long past—of vernal days, how sweet!
Past with my gentle Stella, far away—
Even in the vale of Catmose. Or my heart,
Turning from retrospects to dreams of hope—
Paternal hope! can dwell on thee, sweet flower!
(Emblem of artless softness) till I see,
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Seeking the fragrant bower, to breathe, or hear,
(In Youth's due season) the delightful tale
Of foul-awakening passion. Gentle flower!
The thought, perchance, is wild—the hope is vain—
(For, ah! what blighting mildews wait the hours
Of life's frail spring-tide!) yet 'tis cheering sweet—
And my heart hails it, gentle flower!—well pleas'd
If o'er the sterrile scene of real life
Imagination sometimes shed around
Her transient blooms:—for blissful thoughts are bliss.
To the Infant Hampden.—Written during a sleepless night.
Derby. Oct. 1797.
Sweet Babe! that, on thy mother's guardian breast,
Slumberest, unheedful of the autumnal blast
That rocks our lowly dwelling, nor dost dream
Of woes, or cares, or persecuting rage,
Or rending passions, or the pangs that wait
On ill-requited services, sleep on;
Sleep, and be happy!—'Tis the sole relief
This anxious mind can hope, from the dire pangs
Of deep corroding wrong, that thou, my babe!
And the sweet twain—the firstlings of my love!
As yet are blest; and that my heart's best pride,
Who, with maternal fondness, pillows thee
Beside thy Life's warm fountain, is not quite
Hopeless, or joyless; but, with matron cares,
And calm domestic Virtues, can avert
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Read nameless consolations. Ah! sleep on—
As yet unconscious of The Patriot's name,
Or of a patriot's sorrows—of the cares
For which thy name-sire bled; and, more unblest,
Thy natural father, in his native land,
Wanders an exile; and, of all that land,
Can find no spot his home. Ill-omen'd babe!
Conceiv'd in tempests, and in tempests born!
What destiny awaits thee?—Reekless thou.
Oh! blest inapprehension!—Let it last.
Sleep on, my Babe! now while the rocking wind
Pipes, mournful, lengthning my nocturnal plaint
With troubled symphony!—Ah! sleep secure:
And may thy dream of Life be ne'er disturb'd
With visions such as mar thy father's peace—
Visions (Ah! that they were but such indeed!)
That shew this world a wilderness of wrongs—
A waste of troubled waters: whelming floods
Of tyrannous injustice, canopy'd
With clouds dark louring; whence the pelting storms
Of cold unkindness the rough torrents swell,
On every side resistless. There my Ark—
The scanty remnant of my delug'd joys!
Floats anchorless; while thro' the dreary round,
Fluttering on anxious pinion, the tired foot
Of persecuted Virtue cannot find
One spray on which to rest; or scarce one leaf
To cheer with promise of subsiding woe.
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