The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
When o'er Brussels dark Night had cast her shade,
Hundreds were dressing for the masquerade,
In all the varied costumes nations wear
In every clime throughout each hemisphere.
As great Apollo Philo's head was crowned,
Who led the dance, with Muses circled round.
With grand, majestic step Apollo trod—
The sons of song paid homage to the god.
First Homer came, a venerable form,
Upon his breast portrayed the ocean storm,
Above, the gods, descending from the sky,
Some to defend, and some to ruin Troy;
Across the poet's breast a robe was flung,
And there portrayed the battles that he sung.
Next ancient Hesiod, whose mighty strains
Were heard from earth to the celestial plains;
Sappho and tuneful Virgil next appear,
Horace and Pindar pay their homage there.
Then Shakespeare comes, with a majestic mien,
The trumpet's sounds the greatest bard proclaim;
Apollo bows, and reaches forth his hand,
Around the Muses and the poets stand;
Apollo crowns him with a wreath of light,
Whereon is written, “Nature, Depth, and Height.”
Cupid is on his robe, the dying maid
Within the tomb of Capulets portrayed;
The field of battle, and the ocean storm,
The solemn ghost, and Ariel's fancied form;
The meeting armies, and the murdered kings,
E'en some short sketch of all created things.
Philo, to praise the mighty bard, displayed
The noblest scene of all the masquerade;
His robes he changed, the merry dance he joined
With fair French belles, as lovely as refined.
Through every stage of life he strove to pass,
Resolved to see how varied Nature was:
But here the youth was foolish, learned, and vain,
His genius drowned in the bright champagne;
Wisdom departed, riot took her place,
And led young Philo into deep disgrace.
The scene must drop, and hide him from our sight,
With all the follies of a drunkard's night.
Learning is not true wisdom. Youths may be
Refined and polished to a high degree;
Genius may mark the scholar for her own,
Yet by her brightest sons is often shown
Minds that can soar in rapture to the skies,
On Learning's wings—feel noblest ecstasies,
Then sink to earth; and mixing with the throng,
In Folly's path with drunkards roll along.
With best of resolutions Philo came,
And deeply sighed, through grief and inward shame.
Oppressed with sickness, his ideas fled,
His memory weakened, and an aching head;
A ruined appetite, a trembling hand,
His pen obeying not his mind's command.
To drive away the melancholy train
Of dark ideas, he flew to wine again;
An ecstasy he felt in getting drunk—
To what a depth his learned mind was sunk!
Then horror seized him, and his eyes rained tears,
That all the learning of his youthful years,
With which his father hoped to make him blessed,
Should only leave his bosom more oppressed.
Oft would his mind upon the muses' wings
Soar to the skies, and leave all earthly things;
Beyond mortality were Philo's strains
Tuned to the orbs that deck the heavenly plains.
He sung not love's soft passion, lovers' care,
His theme the heavens, the ocean, earth, and air;
In deepest bursts of passion he could shine,
And power and harmony filled every line.
With thoughts original, with words at will,
His verses made his readers' blood run chill,
But not with horror,—'mid the stars he trod,
And sung th' omnipotence of Nature's God;
On wings of fancy his unfettered soul
Flew far as comets soar or planets roll.
Where undescribed Infinity had birth,
He looked in vain for this small spot of earth,
Beheld the Almighty's power the systems guide,
Then asked—“What am I? what is human pride,
What our conceptions, learn whate'er we can,
What is the pomp, the dignity of man,
Compared with Him? How mighty is the thought!
He spoke—the worlds, the systems sprung from nought?
Rolling in darkness all the heavenly spheres,
He says, ‘Let there be light!’ and light appears;
And when it shall be the Creator's will,
A word can make the rolling orbs be still.
At His command the orbs burst out in flame,
Or fade to nothing, whence at first they came.”
Hundreds were dressing for the masquerade,
In all the varied costumes nations wear
In every clime throughout each hemisphere.
156
Who led the dance, with Muses circled round.
With grand, majestic step Apollo trod—
The sons of song paid homage to the god.
First Homer came, a venerable form,
Upon his breast portrayed the ocean storm,
Above, the gods, descending from the sky,
Some to defend, and some to ruin Troy;
Across the poet's breast a robe was flung,
And there portrayed the battles that he sung.
Next ancient Hesiod, whose mighty strains
Were heard from earth to the celestial plains;
Sappho and tuneful Virgil next appear,
Horace and Pindar pay their homage there.
Then Shakespeare comes, with a majestic mien,
The trumpet's sounds the greatest bard proclaim;
Apollo bows, and reaches forth his hand,
Around the Muses and the poets stand;
Apollo crowns him with a wreath of light,
Whereon is written, “Nature, Depth, and Height.”
Cupid is on his robe, the dying maid
Within the tomb of Capulets portrayed;
The field of battle, and the ocean storm,
The solemn ghost, and Ariel's fancied form;
The meeting armies, and the murdered kings,
E'en some short sketch of all created things.
Philo, to praise the mighty bard, displayed
The noblest scene of all the masquerade;
157
With fair French belles, as lovely as refined.
Through every stage of life he strove to pass,
Resolved to see how varied Nature was:
But here the youth was foolish, learned, and vain,
His genius drowned in the bright champagne;
Wisdom departed, riot took her place,
And led young Philo into deep disgrace.
The scene must drop, and hide him from our sight,
With all the follies of a drunkard's night.
Learning is not true wisdom. Youths may be
Refined and polished to a high degree;
Genius may mark the scholar for her own,
Yet by her brightest sons is often shown
Minds that can soar in rapture to the skies,
On Learning's wings—feel noblest ecstasies,
Then sink to earth; and mixing with the throng,
In Folly's path with drunkards roll along.
With best of resolutions Philo came,
And deeply sighed, through grief and inward shame.
Oppressed with sickness, his ideas fled,
His memory weakened, and an aching head;
A ruined appetite, a trembling hand,
His pen obeying not his mind's command.
To drive away the melancholy train
Of dark ideas, he flew to wine again;
An ecstasy he felt in getting drunk—
To what a depth his learned mind was sunk!
158
That all the learning of his youthful years,
With which his father hoped to make him blessed,
Should only leave his bosom more oppressed.
Oft would his mind upon the muses' wings
Soar to the skies, and leave all earthly things;
Beyond mortality were Philo's strains
Tuned to the orbs that deck the heavenly plains.
He sung not love's soft passion, lovers' care,
His theme the heavens, the ocean, earth, and air;
In deepest bursts of passion he could shine,
And power and harmony filled every line.
With thoughts original, with words at will,
His verses made his readers' blood run chill,
But not with horror,—'mid the stars he trod,
And sung th' omnipotence of Nature's God;
On wings of fancy his unfettered soul
Flew far as comets soar or planets roll.
Where undescribed Infinity had birth,
He looked in vain for this small spot of earth,
Beheld the Almighty's power the systems guide,
Then asked—“What am I? what is human pride,
What our conceptions, learn whate'er we can,
What is the pomp, the dignity of man,
Compared with Him? How mighty is the thought!
He spoke—the worlds, the systems sprung from nought?
159
He says, ‘Let there be light!’ and light appears;
And when it shall be the Creator's will,
A word can make the rolling orbs be still.
At His command the orbs burst out in flame,
Or fade to nothing, whence at first they came.”
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |