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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ASCENT OF MR GREEN'S BALLOON,
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
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.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |