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 |
 |
|
 |
Moral and Religious Poems.
|
|
|
 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
211
Moral and Religious Poems.
ALAS! WHERE ARE THEY?
“I betook myself to the repositories of the dead; and I exclaimed,
in a plaintive tone, ‘Alas! where are they?’ and Echo
replied, in the same plaintive tone, ‘Alas! where are they?’”
—From the Arabic.
Soft! behold in the shade the dark abbey appearing;
Hark! yon sad plaintive voice,—it is Myra the fair;
The black robe of crape see the virgin is wearing,
And mourns her lost lover deposited there.
What a stillness! how solemn!—'tis awfully fine!
Night's queen throws the dark cloudy vale from her face.
The ivy leaves tremble, as faintly they shine,
And silence is now the sole lord of the place:
'Twas thus when fair Myra turned slow from the dead,
And cried out—“Alas! where are they?”
Echo heard the sad sound—through the cloisters she fled,
And whispered in sorrow—“Alas! where are they?”
212
Sad Laura went slowly to mourn o'er the dead:
Her husband, her son, and her daughter, for ever
Reposed where the branches of cypress were spread.
She leaned on the cold marble statue which stood
At the head of the tomb, till she fainted away!
She revived—the tears gushed from her eyes like a flood,
As her words burst in anguish—“Alas! where are they?”
'Twas silent around, and no answer was heard,
But Echo, which bore the sad question away,
Asked the grottoes, the groves, and each sorrowful bird,
In soft dying cadence—“Alas! where are they?”
To the place of the dead we may walk deeply mourning,
To sigh o'er our children, our lover, or sire,
But from the dark shades there is now no returning,—
Without them in sorrow we weep and retire.
We may gaze on the turf, or the fine-sculptured bust,
And sorrowful ask—“Where are they?”
If a faint mournful voice seems to rise from the dust,
'Tis but soft plaintive Echo that asks—“Where are they?”
213
THE CONSECRATION OF ST PAUL'S CHURCH, SHIPLEY.
How can a sinner dare to sing the praise
Of Him on whom e'en seraphs cannot gaze,
Whose glory shines in ev'ry varied place,
Throughout infinity—unbounded space!
Who formed the hills, who arched the azure sky—
The king of undescribed eternity:
Yet, let my heart with trembling rapture glow,
My tears for all His by-past mercies flow,
That yet I live, that yet He gives me breath,
And saves a sinner from deserved death.
Oh! let my heart be tuned, the praise to sing
Of man's great Saviour! heaven's eternal King!
The universe His glorious temple is,
His secret place the heavens—the seat of bliss;
But that great God who all the world commands,
Stoops down to dwell in temples made with hands,
Accepts the breathings of the contrite breast,
Relieves the burdened, gives the weary rest.
He hears each humble sound poor mortals make,
Though His own choir the heaven of heavens can shake!
Of Him on whom e'en seraphs cannot gaze,
Whose glory shines in ev'ry varied place,
Throughout infinity—unbounded space!
Who formed the hills, who arched the azure sky—
The king of undescribed eternity:
Yet, let my heart with trembling rapture glow,
My tears for all His by-past mercies flow,
That yet I live, that yet He gives me breath,
And saves a sinner from deserved death.
Oh! let my heart be tuned, the praise to sing
Of man's great Saviour! heaven's eternal King!
The universe His glorious temple is,
His secret place the heavens—the seat of bliss;
But that great God who all the world commands,
Stoops down to dwell in temples made with hands,
Accepts the breathings of the contrite breast,
Relieves the burdened, gives the weary rest.
He hears each humble sound poor mortals make,
Though His own choir the heaven of heavens can shake!
How grand the sight! how beautiful to view
The thousands thronging round the churches new;
To see the colours waving on the wind,
The great Archbishop with his flock behind;
To hear the new, the dulcet virgin chime,
Which brings to mind the day of olden time!
The lame are seen with crutches halt along,
The old, the blind, are mingled with the throng;
E'en those who think another creed is right,
Press on the way, to see the noble sight.
'Twas thus, when Fountain's lofty pile of old,
Was opened with the priests adorned in gold;
When all the pomp of ages long gone by,
Burst in magnificence upon each eye.
The grounds of Studley were with people spread,
When the Archbishop first at Fountain said:
“Lift up your heads, ye gates! eternal doors,
Ascend! for God is come—that God is ours!
Who is the Lord?” then burst the mighty song,
“The God of battle, terrible and strong!
He comes! He comes! adorned with power and love,
Ye gates, arise! ye heavenly portals, move!”
The chorus bursts—His praises sound aloud,
And God descends to bless the list'ning crowd.
Whatever other sects shall please to say,
Here let poor mortals find the heavenly way,
Till moss grows on the tow'r, or on the walls,
And each fine antiquated column falls;
Here may discordant sects unite to raise
Loud anthems to their Heavenly Father's praise;
Before His throne in meek submission fall,
And each one strive to crown Him Lord of all!
Let party zeal be banished from each mind,
And all to holiness alone inclined;
Let none in wild and scornful ecstasy,
Cry out—“The temple of the Lord are we!”
But charity let each meek pastor teach,
And love to God and man undaunted preach;
Let servile fear be driven from his breast,
And ever on his Saviour's promise rest:
“Lo! I am with thee always, to defend
And bless the Gospel, till each rebel bend.”
The thousands thronging round the churches new;
214
The great Archbishop with his flock behind;
To hear the new, the dulcet virgin chime,
Which brings to mind the day of olden time!
The lame are seen with crutches halt along,
The old, the blind, are mingled with the throng;
E'en those who think another creed is right,
Press on the way, to see the noble sight.
'Twas thus, when Fountain's lofty pile of old,
Was opened with the priests adorned in gold;
When all the pomp of ages long gone by,
Burst in magnificence upon each eye.
The grounds of Studley were with people spread,
When the Archbishop first at Fountain said:
“Lift up your heads, ye gates! eternal doors,
Ascend! for God is come—that God is ours!
Who is the Lord?” then burst the mighty song,
“The God of battle, terrible and strong!
He comes! He comes! adorned with power and love,
Ye gates, arise! ye heavenly portals, move!”
The chorus bursts—His praises sound aloud,
And God descends to bless the list'ning crowd.
Whatever other sects shall please to say,
Here let poor mortals find the heavenly way,
Till moss grows on the tow'r, or on the walls,
And each fine antiquated column falls;
Here may discordant sects unite to raise
Loud anthems to their Heavenly Father's praise;
215
And each one strive to crown Him Lord of all!
Let party zeal be banished from each mind,
And all to holiness alone inclined;
Let none in wild and scornful ecstasy,
Cry out—“The temple of the Lord are we!”
But charity let each meek pastor teach,
And love to God and man undaunted preach;
Let servile fear be driven from his breast,
And ever on his Saviour's promise rest:
“Lo! I am with thee always, to defend
And bless the Gospel, till each rebel bend.”
ON THE NEW CHURCH AT WILSDEN.
What temples, various, since old Time began,
Have on this little globe been reared by man!
What different kinds of gods been worshipped here,
Since earth, new formed, was balanced in the sphere
Some, ere the pointed pyramids arose,
In lands remote, which scarce a modern knows.
The sumptuous Jewish temples—where are they,
Which seemed to scorn old ruin and decay?
When cost was nought,—and Asia, at command
Brought forth its treasures to the builder's hand:
But now—would Europe golden millions give
One column from these fabrics to receive,
'Tis all in vain,—no stone nor Hebrew bust,
But cent'ries since have been reduced to dust!
All the old temples built when Hesiod sung,
And those which stood when Homer's harp was strung,
Are covered o'er with herbage or with trees,
And not one stone the antiquarian sees.
The abbeys where “Te Deum” oft was sung,
And where the instruments of music rung,
Where “Venite Exultemus” used to rise
In praise devout, ascending to the skies,
Are clothed with ivy in its solemn green,
And modern artists pencil o'er the scene.
Successive storms the tow'rs in furrows wear,
And on their columns dampy sweats appear;
The creeping shrubs upon the arches grow
Suspended o'er the humbler weeds below;
And high engraved upon the time-worn scroll,
Scarce legible, the words, “Pray for the soul.”
The grass waves wildly on the broken wall,
And ev'ry year some time-worn fragments fall.
Have on this little globe been reared by man!
What different kinds of gods been worshipped here,
Since earth, new formed, was balanced in the sphere
Some, ere the pointed pyramids arose,
In lands remote, which scarce a modern knows.
The sumptuous Jewish temples—where are they,
Which seemed to scorn old ruin and decay?
216
Brought forth its treasures to the builder's hand:
But now—would Europe golden millions give
One column from these fabrics to receive,
'Tis all in vain,—no stone nor Hebrew bust,
But cent'ries since have been reduced to dust!
All the old temples built when Hesiod sung,
And those which stood when Homer's harp was strung,
Are covered o'er with herbage or with trees,
And not one stone the antiquarian sees.
The abbeys where “Te Deum” oft was sung,
And where the instruments of music rung,
Where “Venite Exultemus” used to rise
In praise devout, ascending to the skies,
Are clothed with ivy in its solemn green,
And modern artists pencil o'er the scene.
Successive storms the tow'rs in furrows wear,
And on their columns dampy sweats appear;
The creeping shrubs upon the arches grow
Suspended o'er the humbler weeds below;
And high engraved upon the time-worn scroll,
Scarce legible, the words, “Pray for the soul.”
The grass waves wildly on the broken wall,
And ev'ry year some time-worn fragments fall.
Not so with thee, thou church, so fair and new,
White as the polished marble to the view.
Ere any stone is loosened from thy wall,
New states shall rise, and present empires fall!
Perhaps, like Greece, old Albion shall decay,
Ere those fine columns shall be worn away;
Its commerce and its glory be no more,
And science fled to some far distant shore.
With lofty trees thou may'st be circled round,—
And here the deep-toned organ yet may sound.
A town may flourish on this barren hill,
Renowned for science, commerce, wealth, and skill!
White as the polished marble to the view.
217
New states shall rise, and present empires fall!
Perhaps, like Greece, old Albion shall decay,
Ere those fine columns shall be worn away;
Its commerce and its glory be no more,
And science fled to some far distant shore.
With lofty trees thou may'st be circled round,—
And here the deep-toned organ yet may sound.
A town may flourish on this barren hill,
Renowned for science, commerce, wealth, and skill!
Here shall some pastor, learned, good, and just,
In solemn pause resign the dust to dust,—
Perform each office with a pious care,
And cheer the wretched sinking in despair.
In solemn pause resign the dust to dust,—
Perform each office with a pious care,
And cheer the wretched sinking in despair.
The bride, with modest blushes on her face,
Shall lightly tread across the hallowed place,
So filled with joy when to the altar led,
Joy, mixed with fear,—a momentary dread!
Here will the pious sons and daughters mourn,
As slowly from a parent's tomb they turn;
Here shall the tuneful youths, the virgin train,
Join with the organ in a holy strain,
Touched by the sweet expressive warbling trills,
Which give the undescribed cold shiv'ring thrills,
Such as to those with feeling minds are giv'n,
Which charm the soul, and lift it up to heav'n!
Shall lightly tread across the hallowed place,
So filled with joy when to the altar led,
Joy, mixed with fear,—a momentary dread!
Here will the pious sons and daughters mourn,
As slowly from a parent's tomb they turn;
Here shall the tuneful youths, the virgin train,
Join with the organ in a holy strain,
Touched by the sweet expressive warbling trills,
Which give the undescribed cold shiv'ring thrills,
Such as to those with feeling minds are giv'n,
Which charm the soul, and lift it up to heav'n!
218
But diff'rent sects in time may yet arise,—
The present doctrines of the Church despise;
A future reformation yet may come,
And o'er our blessed religion cast a gloom.
Such great mutations have all earthly things—
How oft have creeds been changed by different kings!
The future generations yet may hope
For heav'nly bliss through pardons from the pope.
The cross, the holy water, and the shrine
Of some famed saint, may yet be thought divine!
But whatsoever doctrine here is giv'n,
May each succeeding pastor teach the way to heav'n!
The present doctrines of the Church despise;
A future reformation yet may come,
And o'er our blessed religion cast a gloom.
Such great mutations have all earthly things—
How oft have creeds been changed by different kings!
The future generations yet may hope
For heav'nly bliss through pardons from the pope.
The cross, the holy water, and the shrine
Of some famed saint, may yet be thought divine!
But whatsoever doctrine here is giv'n,
May each succeeding pastor teach the way to heav'n!
RETURN OF THE SWALLOW.
Swift-winged and pleasing harbinger of spring!
Thou from thy winter's voyage art returned,
To skim above the lake, or dip thy wings
In the sequestered river's winding streams.
Instinct has brought thee to the rural cot,
From whence, with new-fledged wings, thou took'st thy flight.
Oh! could I give thee intellect and tongue,
That thou to man might'st tell what mazes wild;
And what eccentric circles thou hast flown
Since thou didst soar in autumn far away!
Cities in rising splendour thou hast seen,
And those where solemn desolation dwells.
Hast thou not peaceful slept the night away,
Perched on the distant pyramid's high point;
Or on some massive column's hoary top,
Beheld great Ætna's dark sulphureous smoke,
Then dipped thy wings upon the orient waves?
Thou from thy winter's voyage art returned,
To skim above the lake, or dip thy wings
In the sequestered river's winding streams.
Instinct has brought thee to the rural cot,
From whence, with new-fledged wings, thou took'st thy flight.
Oh! could I give thee intellect and tongue,
219
And what eccentric circles thou hast flown
Since thou didst soar in autumn far away!
Cities in rising splendour thou hast seen,
And those where solemn desolation dwells.
Hast thou not peaceful slept the night away,
Perched on the distant pyramid's high point;
Or on some massive column's hoary top,
Beheld great Ætna's dark sulphureous smoke,
Then dipped thy wings upon the orient waves?
Like thee, could man, with philosophic eye,
Survey mankind in every varying clime,
How would his mind expand! his spacious soul,
Released from bigotry and party zeal,
Would grasp the human race in ev'ry form,—
Denominations, sects, and creeds, would sink,
His mind o'erpowered with the thought that He
Who formed the universe, regards them all!
Survey mankind in every varying clime,
How would his mind expand! his spacious soul,
Released from bigotry and party zeal,
Would grasp the human race in ev'ry form,—
Denominations, sects, and creeds, would sink,
His mind o'erpowered with the thought that He
Who formed the universe, regards them all!
Upon this little wave-encircled isle,
What scenes diversified might he behold!
Here men of commerce, seeking after gain,
To the emporium throng, as ants haste home
When frowns the sky, and distant thunders roll;
And there their youthful inexperienced sons,
In wide extremes of pleasure, mirth, and joy,
Heed not the cares their fathers' bosoms feel,
But carelessly carouse the night away,
Regardless of the wealth by prudence gained.
What scenes diversified might he behold!
Here men of commerce, seeking after gain,
To the emporium throng, as ants haste home
When frowns the sky, and distant thunders roll;
And there their youthful inexperienced sons,
In wide extremes of pleasure, mirth, and joy,
Heed not the cares their fathers' bosoms feel,
220
Regardless of the wealth by prudence gained.
Some crowd the theatres, by pleasure led;—
But where's the theatre like Nature's own?
Where sects of various creeds, like summer flies,
Meet and re-meet, as though their hopes were placed
As widely opposite as the extremes
Of inconceivable unbounded space.
Then what is man? think, O ye vain, ye proud!
What his achievements, glory, wealth, or fame?
Where can the history reach of all his deeds?
Scarce o'er the little molehill of this earth.
And what the various sects—Jews, Pagans, Turks,
With those who to the mighty Spirit bow,
The wand'ring Arabs, or the sable hordes
Who scorched dwell in Afric's torrid vales,—
Their idol gods, their temples, or their mosques,
And even Christians, with their numerous sects,
Divided, parted, and anatomised,
Till almost ev'ry man's a different creed?—
Astonished, he who thinks must make them one,
And breathe a fervent pray'r,—Heav'n bless the whole!
But where's the theatre like Nature's own?
Where sects of various creeds, like summer flies,
Meet and re-meet, as though their hopes were placed
As widely opposite as the extremes
Of inconceivable unbounded space.
Then what is man? think, O ye vain, ye proud!
What his achievements, glory, wealth, or fame?
Where can the history reach of all his deeds?
Scarce o'er the little molehill of this earth.
And what the various sects—Jews, Pagans, Turks,
With those who to the mighty Spirit bow,
The wand'ring Arabs, or the sable hordes
Who scorched dwell in Afric's torrid vales,—
Their idol gods, their temples, or their mosques,
And even Christians, with their numerous sects,
Divided, parted, and anatomised,
Till almost ev'ry man's a different creed?—
Astonished, he who thinks must make them one,
And breathe a fervent pray'r,—Heav'n bless the whole!
All works of man, performed with greatest art,
Shall change, shall waste, and into ruin turn.
Where are the pristine altars and the groves;
The first rude temples, and the sacred rocks;
The hieroglyphics, and the works of priests,
Written in characters to us unknown?
Where are the walls of Babylon? or where
The glorious splendour of the Trojan courts;
Egypt's geometry, and Grecian lore,—
The thrones of emperors; the crowns of kings;
The weapons of the warriors of old;
The martial airs which cheered the Roman hosts;
The wreaths with which the conquerors were crowned?
All lost,—and dark oblivion wraps the whole!
Shall change, shall waste, and into ruin turn.
Where are the pristine altars and the groves;
The first rude temples, and the sacred rocks;
221
Written in characters to us unknown?
Where are the walls of Babylon? or where
The glorious splendour of the Trojan courts;
Egypt's geometry, and Grecian lore,—
The thrones of emperors; the crowns of kings;
The weapons of the warriors of old;
The martial airs which cheered the Roman hosts;
The wreaths with which the conquerors were crowned?
All lost,—and dark oblivion wraps the whole!
The mighty Chinese empire yet may fall
Like those of Greece, of Egypt, and of Rome.
Canton, with all its millions, may decay,
And golden Hindoostan may yet arise,
Turn from its gods,—embrace the Christian creed.
Like those of Greece, of Egypt, and of Rome.
Canton, with all its millions, may decay,
And golden Hindoostan may yet arise,
Turn from its gods,—embrace the Christian creed.
Ye narrow-minded men, whose souls are bound,
Give wings to thought, and let your fancy soar!
See the tossed ocean leaping at the rocks,
To tear them from their stations, and engulf
The pond'rous masses in its foaming jaws!
Behold the vessels wrecked,—the wretched crews,
Pale with dread horrors, leave their grasp and sink,
Their last faint shrieks all lost in ocean's roar!
These are your fellow-mortals, and their state,
Man with his reason, reading, wit, and all,
May guess, but nought of certainty is there.
Give wings to thought, and let your fancy soar!
See the tossed ocean leaping at the rocks,
To tear them from their stations, and engulf
The pond'rous masses in its foaming jaws!
Behold the vessels wrecked,—the wretched crews,
Pale with dread horrors, leave their grasp and sink,
Their last faint shrieks all lost in ocean's roar!
These are your fellow-mortals, and their state,
Man with his reason, reading, wit, and all,
May guess, but nought of certainty is there.
222
Next view the field of war,—behold the fray
On that small ant-hill, see the curling smoke,
And hear the roar which twice three leagues can drown.
Stand at a distance, and the armies fade.
Let the volcano burst, the hosts are lost,—
Smoke, lava, ashes would entomb the whole!
Or did the earthquake open its wide jaws,
Victor and vanquished, armour, banners, all
Would sink,—and war be silent as the grave!
On that small ant-hill, see the curling smoke,
And hear the roar which twice three leagues can drown.
Stand at a distance, and the armies fade.
Let the volcano burst, the hosts are lost,—
Smoke, lava, ashes would entomb the whole!
Or did the earthquake open its wide jaws,
Victor and vanquished, armour, banners, all
Would sink,—and war be silent as the grave!
Search for great Hannibal or Cæsar now;
Where shines their grandeur? what can we behold
But some few letters which record their names?
Sage and philosopher, the ignorant and learned;
The tyrant hated, and the prince beloved;
The statesman, patriot, poet, and Mogul;
The Indian chiefs, the despicable Deys;
Those who with microscopes behold the mite,
And they who calculate the comet's course,
Measure the distances of heavenly orbs,
Number their satellites, and think they view
Islands and seas stretched o'er the distant spheres;—
Kings, priests, and paupers—live, and then expire!
Where shines their grandeur? what can we behold
But some few letters which record their names?
Sage and philosopher, the ignorant and learned;
The tyrant hated, and the prince beloved;
The statesman, patriot, poet, and Mogul;
The Indian chiefs, the despicable Deys;
Those who with microscopes behold the mite,
And they who calculate the comet's course,
Measure the distances of heavenly orbs,
Number their satellites, and think they view
Islands and seas stretched o'er the distant spheres;—
Kings, priests, and paupers—live, and then expire!
Had poets but thy pinions, they would soar
To taste the far-famed streams of Helicon;
Artists and antiquarians, winged like thee,
Would fly to view the works of Grecian art,
Then soar to Atlas, or the pointed Alps,
And rest where mortal footsteps ne'er were seen:
Myriads would visit then the sacred place
Where heav'n's Eternal Majesty expired.
But man, proud man, with all his vaunted skill,
Must travel slowly o'er this atom globe,—
Though wonderful his new invented things,
His art still leaves him destitute of wings.
To taste the far-famed streams of Helicon;
Artists and antiquarians, winged like thee,
223
Then soar to Atlas, or the pointed Alps,
And rest where mortal footsteps ne'er were seen:
Myriads would visit then the sacred place
Where heav'n's Eternal Majesty expired.
But man, proud man, with all his vaunted skill,
Must travel slowly o'er this atom globe,—
Though wonderful his new invented things,
His art still leaves him destitute of wings.
ASCENT OF MR GREEN'S BALLOON,
FROM HALIFAX, APRIL 19, 1824.
Behold th' assembled myriads near,—
The shouts, the drums, the trumpets hear,
When expectation's on the wing
To see of aeronauts the king,
Rise in his ornamented car,
On wings of gas to soar afar!
Behold the beauties in the place,—
How pale is ev'ry lady's face,
When the decisive moment's near,
And from the strings all hands are clear,
Like some bright meteor's flame on high,
Self-moved, he soars towards the sky!
When he arrives a mile in height,
What then are mortals in his sight?
All dwindle to a pigmy size,
They look like emmets in his eyes.
The steeples, halls, and verdant parks,
Are in his view but little marks;
The mountains seem but little hills,
Broad rapid rivers look like rills,—
And those alone who there have been,
Can truly paint the circling scene.
The shouts, the drums, the trumpets hear,
When expectation's on the wing
To see of aeronauts the king,
Rise in his ornamented car,
On wings of gas to soar afar!
Behold the beauties in the place,—
How pale is ev'ry lady's face,
When the decisive moment's near,
And from the strings all hands are clear,
224
Self-moved, he soars towards the sky!
When he arrives a mile in height,
What then are mortals in his sight?
All dwindle to a pigmy size,
They look like emmets in his eyes.
The steeples, halls, and verdant parks,
Are in his view but little marks;
The mountains seem but little hills,
Broad rapid rivers look like rills,—
And those alone who there have been,
Can truly paint the circling scene.
The air balloon a picture is
Of man's most elevated bliss.
As on the wings of hope he hastes,
He finds all earthly pleasure wastes.
The sweetest bliss that man enjoys
In its possession only cloys;
Though with good fortune for his gas
He o'er the clouds of want may pass,
Yet come a storm, the weakened air
May drop him on a sea of care.
Of man's most elevated bliss.
As on the wings of hope he hastes,
He finds all earthly pleasure wastes.
The sweetest bliss that man enjoys
In its possession only cloys;
Though with good fortune for his gas
He o'er the clouds of want may pass,
Yet come a storm, the weakened air
May drop him on a sea of care.
The enthusiasts, who soar on high,
And seem as if they'd grasp the sky,
With reason weak, and fancy strong,
Think all the sects but theirs are wrong;
Condemn all creeds, and think that they
Alone are heirs of endless day.
They cling around their car of hopes,
Till demon Nature cuts the ropes.
As through this evil world they pass,
And fierce temptations waste their gas,
They downward fall—the phantom vain
Comes rapid to the earth again:
And when they can get breath to speak,
They own they are but mortals weak.
And seem as if they'd grasp the sky,
With reason weak, and fancy strong,
Think all the sects but theirs are wrong;
225
Alone are heirs of endless day.
They cling around their car of hopes,
Till demon Nature cuts the ropes.
As through this evil world they pass,
And fierce temptations waste their gas,
They downward fall—the phantom vain
Comes rapid to the earth again:
And when they can get breath to speak,
They own they are but mortals weak.
The playful boy, when young his hope,
First forms his weak balloon with soap;
With joy bright glitt'ring in his eyes,
He views it from the tube arise,
Dances and laughs to see it soar
With Nature's colours painted o'er.
Thus miniature balloons of boys
Are emblems true of riper joys.
First forms his weak balloon with soap;
With joy bright glitt'ring in his eyes,
He views it from the tube arise,
Dances and laughs to see it soar
With Nature's colours painted o'er.
Thus miniature balloons of boys
Are emblems true of riper joys.
The gay coquette, whose thoughts despise
The sober youth, though e'er so wise,
Becomes a spendthrift's mistress soon,
And soars aloft in love's balloon.
Through all the gayest scenes they pass,—
Her marriage portion is the gas
That bears them in the circle gay,
And turns the midnight into day.
But after all these golden hours,
They find the air-borne chariot low'rs;
Their lofty flight they then repent,
For friends all fly from the descent,
And those who envied them before,
Rejoice to see their flying o'er.
The sober youth, though e'er so wise,
Becomes a spendthrift's mistress soon,
And soars aloft in love's balloon.
Through all the gayest scenes they pass,—
Her marriage portion is the gas
That bears them in the circle gay,
And turns the midnight into day.
226
They find the air-borne chariot low'rs;
Their lofty flight they then repent,
For friends all fly from the descent,
And those who envied them before,
Rejoice to see their flying o'er.
The dashing youth who sports along,
Amid the wine, the dance, the song,
The opera, the park, the ball,
At Covent Garden and Vauxhall,
Upon the turf, or at the ring,
With gold enough, is just the thing.
High in his atmosphere of pride
In his balloon he loves to ride;
While round his car the nymphs attend,
His ample fortune help to spend.
For ballast he no reason takes,
Till debts increased the phantom shakes;
He falls, amid the gloomy cloud
Of creditors, and cries aloud,—
“Could I but live past moments o'er,
“Folly's balloon I'd mount no more!”
Amid the wine, the dance, the song,
The opera, the park, the ball,
At Covent Garden and Vauxhall,
Upon the turf, or at the ring,
With gold enough, is just the thing.
High in his atmosphere of pride
In his balloon he loves to ride;
While round his car the nymphs attend,
His ample fortune help to spend.
For ballast he no reason takes,
Till debts increased the phantom shakes;
He falls, amid the gloomy cloud
Of creditors, and cries aloud,—
“Could I but live past moments o'er,
“Folly's balloon I'd mount no more!”
The tyrant in his horrid car,
Hung round with implements of war,
While on its edge sit Rage and Death,
And murder'd myriads lay beneath,
Elately rides,—his flags unfurled,
And waving o'er a prostrate world.
The ruined empires see him pass,
Pride and ambition for his gas;
Despair below looks wildly up,
And, frantic, drinks the pois'nous cup;
Orphans and widows curse his flight,
And Mercy, weeping, shuns the sight!
When he to loftier heights would soar,
His ballast is the warrior's gore,
Which from his car the monster throws,
And sprinkles on the field of woes;
But He who rules above, looks down,—
His lightnings blaze—the tyrant's crown
Drops from his head,—his mighty car
Is broken on the field of war!
The wounded warriors join with all
In joy to shout the tyrant's fall.
Hung round with implements of war,
While on its edge sit Rage and Death,
And murder'd myriads lay beneath,
227
And waving o'er a prostrate world.
The ruined empires see him pass,
Pride and ambition for his gas;
Despair below looks wildly up,
And, frantic, drinks the pois'nous cup;
Orphans and widows curse his flight,
And Mercy, weeping, shuns the sight!
When he to loftier heights would soar,
His ballast is the warrior's gore,
Which from his car the monster throws,
And sprinkles on the field of woes;
But He who rules above, looks down,—
His lightnings blaze—the tyrant's crown
Drops from his head,—his mighty car
Is broken on the field of war!
The wounded warriors join with all
In joy to shout the tyrant's fall.
The humble poet, oft, alas!
Fills his balloon with fancy's gas;
To see him launch it few attend,
He just is aided by one friend,
Who finds him ballast, silk, and ropes,
And keeps alive his trembling hopes;
Then loosed from earth and anxious care,
Aloft he springs upon the air;
With lofty themes his passions glow,
The sordid world he views below;
Through clouds he soars, and thinks he hears
The heav'nly chorus of the spheres.
He looks behind,—his fancy views
Close to his car, the Tragic Muse;
And, as in air he rides along,
She charms him with her solemn song.
Her car's adorned with sword and spear,
The dagger and the scimitar;
The pois'nous goblet,—broken crown,
And palaces half tumbled down.—
The bloody vest, the murdered maid,
Are on the muse's car portrayed.
The wide-stretched scene is spread below,
Where rich meand'ring rivers flow!
The flow'ry fields, the foaming seas,
The mountains topped with waving trees;
The dancing nymphs, the sportive swains,
And crippled age, oppressed with pains.—
Time present, past, and future, lies
All spread before his fancy's eyes;
While his enraptured passions glow,
His lines in easy accents flow:
But humble bards must soon descend,
And in the shades their raptures end.
Fills his balloon with fancy's gas;
To see him launch it few attend,
He just is aided by one friend,
Who finds him ballast, silk, and ropes,
And keeps alive his trembling hopes;
Then loosed from earth and anxious care,
Aloft he springs upon the air;
228
The sordid world he views below;
Through clouds he soars, and thinks he hears
The heav'nly chorus of the spheres.
He looks behind,—his fancy views
Close to his car, the Tragic Muse;
And, as in air he rides along,
She charms him with her solemn song.
Her car's adorned with sword and spear,
The dagger and the scimitar;
The pois'nous goblet,—broken crown,
And palaces half tumbled down.—
The bloody vest, the murdered maid,
Are on the muse's car portrayed.
The wide-stretched scene is spread below,
Where rich meand'ring rivers flow!
The flow'ry fields, the foaming seas,
The mountains topped with waving trees;
The dancing nymphs, the sportive swains,
And crippled age, oppressed with pains.—
Time present, past, and future, lies
All spread before his fancy's eyes;
While his enraptured passions glow,
His lines in easy accents flow:
But humble bards must soon descend,
And in the shades their raptures end.
229
MAN'S LIFE.
I'll sing no more of cheerful things,
My lyre shall mourn in pensive strain,
The muse with tears shall wet her wings,
And with her feeble voice complain:
Grief shall her future hours employ—
No more her features shine with joy;
Each day and night will I declare—
Man's little life's a life of care!
My lyre shall mourn in pensive strain,
The muse with tears shall wet her wings,
And with her feeble voice complain:
Grief shall her future hours employ—
No more her features shine with joy;
Each day and night will I declare—
Man's little life's a life of care!
Through every stage of life, what woe!
What various forms can sorrow take!
Pleasures may charm an hour or so,
But sorrows ever are awake!
Even infants, weeping at their birth,
As if they feared the ills of earth,
In feeble plaintive cries declare—
Man's little life's a life of care!
What various forms can sorrow take!
Pleasures may charm an hour or so,
But sorrows ever are awake!
Even infants, weeping at their birth,
As if they feared the ills of earth,
In feeble plaintive cries declare—
Man's little life's a life of care!
How oft we see the young at play
Sore grieved and weeping o'er their toys;
E'en in the morning of their day
Are sorrows blended with their joys:
Then 'tis best to take the cup,
With resignation drink it up,
Since of this truth we're well aware,
Man's little life's a life of care!
Sore grieved and weeping o'er their toys;
E'en in the morning of their day
Are sorrows blended with their joys:
Then 'tis best to take the cup,
With resignation drink it up,
Since of this truth we're well aware,
Man's little life's a life of care!
230
The youth on love's strong pinions soars
Far—far beyond what he can gain,
And sees the nymph his soul adores,
Reject him, heedless of his pain;
While she must feel love's painful dart,
From one who slights her in his heart.
Thus, disappointed youths declare—
Man's little life's a life of care!
Far—far beyond what he can gain,
And sees the nymph his soul adores,
Reject him, heedless of his pain;
While she must feel love's painful dart,
From one who slights her in his heart.
Thus, disappointed youths declare—
Man's little life's a life of care!
Where is the busy tradesman's peace,
When losses after losses come?
His rising family increase,
And ruin hastens to his home.
O'ercome with grief, he sits and sighs,
Broods o'er his sorrows in despair,
Then, weeping, to his partner cries—
Man's little life's a life of care!
When losses after losses come?
His rising family increase,
And ruin hastens to his home.
O'ercome with grief, he sits and sighs,
Broods o'er his sorrows in despair,
Then, weeping, to his partner cries—
Man's little life's a life of care!
The sire, upon his crutches stayed,
Weakened by age, disease, and pain;
His grey locks tott'ring on his head,
Declares the joys of earth are vain!
His joyless nights are spent in sighs,
His hearing lost, and dim his eyes:
No hopes of shortest pleasure here,
He dies—and leaves a life of care!
Weakened by age, disease, and pain;
His grey locks tott'ring on his head,
Declares the joys of earth are vain!
His joyless nights are spent in sighs,
His hearing lost, and dim his eyes:
No hopes of shortest pleasure here,
He dies—and leaves a life of care!
231
A NIGHT SCENE.
While others love the concert, mask, or ball,
And walk in grandeur through the gazing crowd,
I'll seek the spot where bursting cat'racts fall,
And o'er my head the tempest roars aloud,
While the deep dark abyss is murm'ring hoarse,
That the swollen stream comes rushing with such force.
And walk in grandeur through the gazing crowd,
I'll seek the spot where bursting cat'racts fall,
And o'er my head the tempest roars aloud,
While the deep dark abyss is murm'ring hoarse,
That the swollen stream comes rushing with such force.
There, when the moon's broad orb is glimmering seen
Just rising in the orient atmosphere,
And trembling leaves but thinly intervene,
And all night's glories in full pomp appear,—
Pensive I'll walk, to study nature o'er,
And on the wings of meditation soar;—
Just rising in the orient atmosphere,
And trembling leaves but thinly intervene,
And all night's glories in full pomp appear,—
Pensive I'll walk, to study nature o'er,
And on the wings of meditation soar;—
List to the treble rills, whose tinklings sweet
Ring softly on the cavern's rocky side;
Behold them with the larger current meet,
Whose tenor murmurs on the stony tide;
While the majestic bass the cat'ract roars,
Like the deep notes of ocean on its shores!
Ring softly on the cavern's rocky side;
Behold them with the larger current meet,
Whose tenor murmurs on the stony tide;
While the majestic bass the cat'ract roars,
Like the deep notes of ocean on its shores!
232
Such are the concerts that my soul admires;
These I can hear with feelings of delight!
A solemn awe my thoughtful breast inspires,
When heav'n is decked by the great jeweller Night!
Tis then my thoughts, on fancy's airy road,
Soar far, and ask—“Where dwells great Nature's God?”
These I can hear with feelings of delight!
A solemn awe my thoughtful breast inspires,
When heav'n is decked by the great jeweller Night!
Tis then my thoughts, on fancy's airy road,
Soar far, and ask—“Where dwells great Nature's God?”
The shining orbs responsive answer—“Here!”
The twinkling glow-worms say by Him they shine!
The loud abyss deep murmurs He is there!
And ev'ry object shows a Pow'r Divine!
Nature proclaims Him there, in ev'ry part,
And conscience whispers—He can read my heart!
The twinkling glow-worms say by Him they shine!
The loud abyss deep murmurs He is there!
And ev'ry object shows a Pow'r Divine!
Nature proclaims Him there, in ev'ry part,
And conscience whispers—He can read my heart!
PSALM XVIII. PARAPHRASED
(from verses 6 to 16).
When in the temple of his God
In sorrow Israel's monarch prayed,
Revenge!—the great Eternal vowed;
The earth—the heav'ns were sore afraid!
In sorrow Israel's monarch prayed,
Revenge!—the great Eternal vowed;
The earth—the heav'ns were sore afraid!
233
When frowned the Great Eternal King,
All nature trembled at His look;
Heav'n's choristers all ceased to sing,
While the eternal pillars shook!
All nature trembled at His look;
Heav'n's choristers all ceased to sing,
While the eternal pillars shook!
Wild rolled the clouds of darkest hue,
And wrapped the day in sable vest,—
The affrighted sun his light withdrew,
And thunders rolled from east to west!
And wrapped the day in sable vest,—
The affrighted sun his light withdrew,
And thunders rolled from east to west!
Earth trembled, and the ocean roar'd;
The clouds all blush'd with cheeks of flame;
Dread terrors veil'd the mountains o'er,
And earthquakes shook old Nature's frame!
The clouds all blush'd with cheeks of flame;
Dread terrors veil'd the mountains o'er,
And earthquakes shook old Nature's frame!
The bending heav'ns obeisance made,
As He on fiery cherubs rode;
Beneath His feet the darkest shade
Rolled as a chariot for its God!
As He on fiery cherubs rode;
Beneath His feet the darkest shade
Rolled as a chariot for its God!
The stars had from their orbits fled,
And melted all created things,
Had not the darkness wrapped His head,
As high He rode on whirlwinds' wings.
And melted all created things,
Had not the darkness wrapped His head,
As high He rode on whirlwinds' wings.
The channels of the mighty deep,—
The centre of the world was bare;
The earth—the ocean could not keep
Their stations, when their God was there!
The centre of the world was bare;
The earth—the ocean could not keep
Their stations, when their God was there!
234
As heralds He the lightnings sent,
The thunder was His trumpet strong;
Devouring clouds before Him went,—
Hail, fire, and storms flew swift along!
The thunder was His trumpet strong;
Devouring clouds before Him went,—
Hail, fire, and storms flew swift along!
His enemies His arrows felt,
And as a shadow fled away:
Thus Israel's foes to nothing melt,
When faithful to their God they pray.
And as a shadow fled away:
Thus Israel's foes to nothing melt,
When faithful to their God they pray.
PSALM CXIV. PARAPHRASED.
When from proud Egypt's cruel land
The Lord His people led,
Encircling them on ev'ry hand,
The sea beheld and fled.
The Lord His people led,
Encircling them on ev'ry hand,
The sea beheld and fled.
His holy place with Judah was,
O'er Israel He reigned;
The waters moved to let them pass,
But Israel still complained.
O'er Israel He reigned;
The waters moved to let them pass,
But Israel still complained.
On either hand Jehovah made
A wall across the deep;
The mountains skipp'd, were sore afraid,
The hills removed like sheep!
A wall across the deep;
The mountains skipp'd, were sore afraid,
The hills removed like sheep!
235
Jordan roll'd backward to its source,
And left its channel dry;—
It durst not keep its wonted course,
While Israel's God was nigh!
And left its channel dry;—
It durst not keep its wonted course,
While Israel's God was nigh!
When they within the desert prayed,
And told their wants and fears,
The flinty rocks in pity wept,
And Israel drank their tears.
And told their wants and fears,
The flinty rocks in pity wept,
And Israel drank their tears.
Tremble then, earth, at Jacob's God,
His holy name adore;
Large as thou art, were He to nod,
Thy place would be no more!
His holy name adore;
Large as thou art, were He to nod,
Thy place would be no more!
PSALM CXLVIII. PARAPHRASED.
Praise ye the Lord! let songs of praise
Through highest heav'ns in chorus ring!
Ye heights, where mortals cannot gaze,
Adore your great eternal King!
Through highest heav'ns in chorus ring!
Ye heights, where mortals cannot gaze,
Adore your great eternal King!
Ye angels, that are clothed in light,
Ye hosts, which marshal at His word,
Ascribe both majesty and night,
In holy concert, to the Lord!
Ye hosts, which marshal at His word,
Ascribe both majesty and night,
In holy concert, to the Lord!
236
Shine to His praise, thou glorious sun!
And thou, pale moon, at midnight hour
Adoring in thy orbit run
And show thy great Creator's pow'r!
And thou, pale moon, at midnight hour
Adoring in thy orbit run
And show thy great Creator's pow'r!
Ye comets, too, which wand'ring far,
And in the wide-stretched ether blaze,
Tell ev'ry distant unknown star
To join ye in Jehovah's praise!
And in the wide-stretched ether blaze,
Tell ev'ry distant unknown star
To join ye in Jehovah's praise!
Ye stars, beheld by mortal eyes,
For ever steadfast, fixed and true,
The anthem join—till praise arise
From all the wide extended blue!
For ever steadfast, fixed and true,
The anthem join—till praise arise
From all the wide extended blue!
Ye heav'ns beyond the heav'ns, rejoice!
In praise, ye unknown oceans, roar,
Which heard at first th' Almighty's voice
Bid you to last for evermore!
In praise, ye unknown oceans, roar,
Which heard at first th' Almighty's voice
Bid you to last for evermore!
Fixed in His great eternal throne,
By an unchangeable decree,
To last when ev'ry orb is gone,
Existing through eternity!
By an unchangeable decree,
To last when ev'ry orb is gone,
Existing through eternity!
Ye mountains, lift your heads on high;
In praise toward His throne ascend!
Praise Him, ye lesser hills! reply
In awe, ye oaks,—ye cedars, bend!
In praise toward His throne ascend!
Praise Him, ye lesser hills! reply
In awe, ye oaks,—ye cedars, bend!
237
Ye fruitful trees, wave ev'ry bough,
With blossoms or with fruit arrayed!
By ev'ry shrub that blooms below,
Let homage to His name be paid!
With blossoms or with fruit arrayed!
By ev'ry shrub that blooms below,
Let homage to His name be paid!
Thou earth, in songs thy glory give,—
One universal Sabbath keep:
With all that in the ocean live,
And monsters of th' unfathomed deep.
One universal Sabbath keep:
With all that in the ocean live,
And monsters of th' unfathomed deep.
Ye clouds, that crown the mountain's brow,
Fraught with the lightning's vivid blaze,
To distant thunders, deep and low,
Echo on high His awful praise!
Fraught with the lightning's vivid blaze,
To distant thunders, deep and low,
Echo on high His awful praise!
Ye storms of hail, that ride along,
On the wild wings of tempests borne,
Learn in the air the holy song,
And with it to the earth return!
On the wild wings of tempests borne,
Learn in the air the holy song,
And with it to the earth return!
Learn it, ye snows! and ev'ry cloud
That sails in grandeur on the air!
Ye whirlwinds, bear His praise abroad,
And His tremendous pow'r declare!
That sails in grandeur on the air!
Ye whirlwinds, bear His praise abroad,
And His tremendous pow'r declare!
Lions, which in the desert roar,
And all the mighty beasts of prey
That range the unknown forests o'er,
To Him your nightly homage pay!
And all the mighty beasts of prey
That range the unknown forests o'er,
To Him your nightly homage pay!
238
Ye creeping reptiles, weak and small,
By man unnoticed and unknown,
Show forth His skill—He formed you all,
Ye live by Him and Him alone!
By man unnoticed and unknown,
Show forth His skill—He formed you all,
Ye live by Him and Him alone!
Ye larks, ascending toward the sky,
Ye birds, which warble in the wood,
With all the various fowls that fly,
Tune your wild notes in praise to God!
Ye birds, which warble in the wood,
With all the various fowls that fly,
Tune your wild notes in praise to God!
Praise Him, ye kings, by mortals crowned;
And ye who judge by earthly law:
Let songs in ev'ry court resound;
Ye princes, bend your plumes in awe!
And ye who judge by earthly law:
Let songs in ev'ry court resound;
Ye princes, bend your plumes in awe!
Ye youths, His sacred name adore;
Ye maidens, on His glories gaze;
Old men, whose earthly joys are o'er,
And infant children, shout His praise!
Ye maidens, on His glories gaze;
Old men, whose earthly joys are o'er,
And infant children, shout His praise!
To God, the great eternal King
(For He alone deserves all praise),
Let joyful hallelujahs ring
Through all creation's boundless space!
(For He alone deserves all praise),
Let joyful hallelujahs ring
Through all creation's boundless space!
The glorious lustre of the sky
Is darkness to th' eternal light
Wherein He dwells enthroned on high,
Below all depth—above all height.
Is darkness to th' eternal light
Wherein He dwells enthroned on high,
Below all depth—above all height.
239
Praise Him, ye saints! though last, the best;
Ye whom He still delights to raise
To bliss, and crown you with the blessed,
Close by His throne to sing His praise!
Ye whom He still delights to raise
To bliss, and crown you with the blessed,
Close by His throne to sing His praise!
SOLEMN REFLECTIONS.
My life wastes away, o'erburden'd with care;
My days are o'erclouded with gloom;
I'm toss'd through the night on the verge of despair,
And shudder to think on the tomb.
My days are o'erclouded with gloom;
I'm toss'd through the night on the verge of despair,
And shudder to think on the tomb.
When backward I look, nought but folly and sin
Have been my employment below;
I've err'd from the way I should have walk'd in,
And run in the high road to woe.
Have been my employment below;
I've err'd from the way I should have walk'd in,
And run in the high road to woe.
The strength of my passions has hurried me on,
Until I've run so far astray:
I'm afraid ev'ry beam of Heaven's mercy is gone,
And my bosom too harden'd to pray!
Until I've run so far astray:
I'm afraid ev'ry beam of Heaven's mercy is gone,
And my bosom too harden'd to pray!
240
Shall the blessings, the threat'nings, the sermons I've heard,
Against me in judgment arise?
Or in vain mortal pride shall I question the Word
Which points to a crown in the skies?
Against me in judgment arise?
Or in vain mortal pride shall I question the Word
Which points to a crown in the skies?
The time soon will come when all I have read
Will be lost in the thoughts of the grave;
And my tongue, which so many light verses has said,
Will be asking for mercy to save—
Will be lost in the thoughts of the grave;
And my tongue, which so many light verses has said,
Will be asking for mercy to save—
To save a lost soul which has stray'd from the road
Wherein it once ran with delight—
Which has sought lying vanities rather than God,
And, like Samson, is robb'd of its might.
Wherein it once ran with delight—
Which has sought lying vanities rather than God,
And, like Samson, is robb'd of its might.
If yet there is mercy, O may I return
To Him who is mercy above!
In deepest repentance, O Lord! let me mourn,
And this rock from my bosom remove.
To Him who is mercy above!
In deepest repentance, O Lord! let me mourn,
And this rock from my bosom remove.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |