Sermons Practical and Occasional Dissertations, Translations, Including New Versions of Virgil's Bucolica, and of Milton's Defensio Secunda, Seaton Poems, &c. &c. By the Rev. Francis Wrangham ... In Three Volumes |
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THE
RAISING OF JAÏRUS' DAUGHTER,
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 | Sermons Practical and Occasional |  |
377
THE RAISING OF JAÏRUS' DAUGHTER,
A POEM; 1803.
ORIGINALLY DEDICATED TO WALTER FAWKES, ESQ.
Sed revocare gradum—
(Virg. Æn. vi. 128.)
381
Death's iron slumbers chased, th' expectant tomb
'Reft of it's prey, and o'er the clay-cold cheek
Life's refluent lustre shooting, theme for less
Than seraph's harp too high, with trembling hand
The bard essays. Aonian mockeries, hence!
Back to your Pindus, nor let foot profane
Vex the chaste ground. 'Twas yours of yore to sing,
How with his lyre's soft magic Orpheus thrill'd
The ear of Dis; and from his doleful realm,
But that nor love nor pity dwelt in hell,
Had borne Eurydice: the strain of truth
Claims loftier inspiration. O be thou,
Blest Faith (as 'tis thy wont, 'mid scenes of fate,
With heaven's own strength to nerve the sinking soul)
The Christian poet's Muse; on wing of flame
Buoy his faint flight, and guide him through the gloom.
'Reft of it's prey, and o'er the clay-cold cheek
Life's refluent lustre shooting, theme for less
Than seraph's harp too high, with trembling hand
The bard essays. Aonian mockeries, hence!
Back to your Pindus, nor let foot profane
Vex the chaste ground. 'Twas yours of yore to sing,
How with his lyre's soft magic Orpheus thrill'd
The ear of Dis; and from his doleful realm,
But that nor love nor pity dwelt in hell,
Had borne Eurydice: the strain of truth
Claims loftier inspiration. O be thou,
Blest Faith (as 'tis thy wont, 'mid scenes of fate,
With heaven's own strength to nerve the sinking soul)
The Christian poet's Muse; on wing of flame
Buoy his faint flight, and guide him through the gloom.
For lo! where tossing on her restless couch
Meagre and flush'd, the food of hectic fires,
Gasps in weak conflict with the mortal fiend
Capernaum's lovely daughter; gasps in vain,
Beneath his withering grasp. Nor art can lure,
Nor might can shake him from his destined spoil.
Vainly to him sweet Innocence her palms
Spreads suppliant, and entreats with many a tear
Short respite from her death-pangs: Youth in vain
Pleads his brief hopes, or ere they bloom, decay'd;
In sudden midnight quench'd his morning sun,
His glittering day-dreams fled! The sigh of Love,
Breath'd from the inmost soul; pure Friendship's prayer.
Which fain with life would buy the life she craves;
Affection's tender prompt solicitude,
Keen to explore and eager to relieve
The want, just hinted by the asking glance—
All fruitless to arrest the ebbing blood,
Or check the pulse, with mad precipitance
Fast hurrying to it's goal! But who shall tell
The woe Jaïrus feels, as fix'd he marks
In her (so late his bosom's foremost pride)
The quivering livid lip, it's long farewell
Faint whispering; turn'd to him the dying look,
Him anxious seeking with it's latest beam,
And fondly lingering on the much-loved face!
Ah! whither shall he bend his soul's sad view?
Where find repose? The future, once so bright,
When Hope and Fancy sketch'd the happy groups
Dear to a grandsire's breast, appals him now
With horror's direst forms—the shrouded corse,
The bier, the black procession. Scared he shrinks,
And back through many a well-remember'd year
Darts his quick eye: but O yet deeper pangs
Lie ambush'd there! Too faithful to the past,
Officious Memory throngs the living scene
With all the father's joys—the fond caress,
The heart-sprung smile, the glance intelligent,
The speaking gesture, and the courted knee,
Throne of the babe's delight! In dumb despair,
Dumbness to which all eloquence is mute,
He hides his countenance. At Aulis thus,
When 'midst assembled Greece his knife of death
Stern Calchas brandish'd o'er the victim-maid,
Forth from the circling host in various guise
Burst the wild passions, by immortal art
Stamp'd on the glowing canvas.
Furious here
The frantic mother raved; there prostrate sued
The weeping friend; Achilles half unsheath'd His mighty blade, and Telamon's brave son
Then first knew terror. Even Ulysses felt
Thrill through his icy heart the sudden throe,
And wish'd uncounsell'd now his prosperous wile.
Apart in majesty of grief, with face
(Beyond the painter's happiest mimicry)
Wrapp'd in his lifted robe, Atrides stood
Sadly pre-eminent; and art was hail'd
Even in defeat triumphant. But avaunt
Tales of the Tauric huntress, and the hind
Vicarious, and the rescued nymph, though told
In strains of deathless glory. Holier song
Befits the Christian bard, whose golden lyre
Should own no string, that sounds to aught but heaven.
Meagre and flush'd, the food of hectic fires,
Gasps in weak conflict with the mortal fiend
Capernaum's lovely daughter; gasps in vain,
Beneath his withering grasp. Nor art can lure,
Nor might can shake him from his destined spoil.
Vainly to him sweet Innocence her palms
Spreads suppliant, and entreats with many a tear
Short respite from her death-pangs: Youth in vain
Pleads his brief hopes, or ere they bloom, decay'd;
382
His glittering day-dreams fled! The sigh of Love,
Breath'd from the inmost soul; pure Friendship's prayer.
Which fain with life would buy the life she craves;
Affection's tender prompt solicitude,
Keen to explore and eager to relieve
The want, just hinted by the asking glance—
All fruitless to arrest the ebbing blood,
Or check the pulse, with mad precipitance
Fast hurrying to it's goal! But who shall tell
The woe Jaïrus feels, as fix'd he marks
In her (so late his bosom's foremost pride)
The quivering livid lip, it's long farewell
Faint whispering; turn'd to him the dying look,
Him anxious seeking with it's latest beam,
And fondly lingering on the much-loved face!
Ah! whither shall he bend his soul's sad view?
Where find repose? The future, once so bright,
When Hope and Fancy sketch'd the happy groups
Dear to a grandsire's breast, appals him now
With horror's direst forms—the shrouded corse,
The bier, the black procession. Scared he shrinks,
And back through many a well-remember'd year
Darts his quick eye: but O yet deeper pangs
Lie ambush'd there! Too faithful to the past,
Officious Memory throngs the living scene
With all the father's joys—the fond caress,
The heart-sprung smile, the glance intelligent,
The speaking gesture, and the courted knee,
Throne of the babe's delight! In dumb despair,
Dumbness to which all eloquence is mute,
He hides his countenance. At Aulis thus,
When 'midst assembled Greece his knife of death
Stern Calchas brandish'd o'er the victim-maid,
Forth from the circling host in various guise
Burst the wild passions, by immortal art
383
The frantic mother raved; there prostrate sued
The weeping friend; Achilles half unsheath'd His mighty blade, and Telamon's brave son
Then first knew terror. Even Ulysses felt
Thrill through his icy heart the sudden throe,
And wish'd uncounsell'd now his prosperous wile.
Apart in majesty of grief, with face
(Beyond the painter's happiest mimicry)
Wrapp'd in his lifted robe, Atrides stood
Sadly pre-eminent; and art was hail'd
Even in defeat triumphant. But avaunt
Tales of the Tauric huntress, and the hind
Vicarious, and the rescued nymph, though told
In strains of deathless glory. Holier song
Befits the Christian bard, whose golden lyre
Should own no string, that sounds to aught but heaven.
Borne on that sigh, her gentle spirit rose
Buoyant through yon blue concave; and shook off
(Half angel, ere it fled) it's beauteous clay:
To it's bright home by sister-seraphs led,
And by glad myriads of the sainted just
Greeted with hymns of triumph. So the lark,
Late in some sunless cottage-nook confined,
The toy of froward youth, if chance throw wide
It's prison-doors and bid the captive range
Free as it's kindred choir, with strange delight
Hears and obeys; and, soaring to the skies,
Floats on light plume amid the liquid noon.
Buoyant through yon blue concave; and shook off
(Half angel, ere it fled) it's beauteous clay:
To it's bright home by sister-seraphs led,
And by glad myriads of the sainted just
Greeted with hymns of triumph. So the lark,
Late in some sunless cottage-nook confined,
The toy of froward youth, if chance throw wide
It's prison-doors and bid the captive range
Free as it's kindred choir, with strange delight
384
O ye, around whose knee a daughter's arms
(As, tottering on, she hail'd your wish'd return)
Have fondly fasten'd; whose transported ear
Has drunk the prattler's accents, as she lisp'd
Your welcome back with many a proffer'd kiss,
And smiles which art would emulate in vain—
Weep for the lost Jaïrus. Ye have known
What 'twas, amid the million cares and woes
(Man's hapless lot below) to find at home
That magic circle, o'er whose charmed round,
Save by the guidance of the wizard fates,
Nor cares nor woes intrude. O pause and think,
Even in your noontide blaze of rapture think,
If God his fostering beam should turn aside,
What darkness may be yours! and, while ye kneel
In grateful fervor to protecting heaven,
In generous sadness for Jaïrus weep.
(As, tottering on, she hail'd your wish'd return)
Have fondly fasten'd; whose transported ear
Has drunk the prattler's accents, as she lisp'd
Your welcome back with many a proffer'd kiss,
And smiles which art would emulate in vain—
Weep for the lost Jaïrus. Ye have known
What 'twas, amid the million cares and woes
(Man's hapless lot below) to find at home
That magic circle, o'er whose charmed round,
Save by the guidance of the wizard fates,
Nor cares nor woes intrude. O pause and think,
Even in your noontide blaze of rapture think,
If God his fostering beam should turn aside,
What darkness may be yours! and, while ye kneel
In grateful fervor to protecting heaven,
In generous sadness for Jaïrus weep.
No; o'er his agonies rejoice: rejoice,
That sharpest suffering led his anxious step
To life's pure source, and bade him from that fount
Exhaustless drink and live. With show of hate
Thus oft kind Mercy, mask'd in anger's guise,
Smites whom she loves. The mad tornado oft
Sweeps on rough wing across a smiling land;
And what was Eden ere the spoiler came,
Lies a waste wilderness: but thence the breeze,
Which stagnant erst in sultry stillness slept,
Is quicken'd into health, and genial gales
Play round the languid temple. Borne from far,
Where Nubia melts beneath the burning day,
Oft the broad torrent with resistless flood
Whelms infant Spring; and trembling Egypt views
O'er his soft bloom the wide-spread deluge close:
Yet thence emerging soon the rosy boy,
With lusty sinew by the billow strung,
Quaffs the rich tide and thrives at every pore.
That sharpest suffering led his anxious step
To life's pure source, and bade him from that fount
Exhaustless drink and live. With show of hate
Thus oft kind Mercy, mask'd in anger's guise,
Smites whom she loves. The mad tornado oft
Sweeps on rough wing across a smiling land;
And what was Eden ere the spoiler came,
Lies a waste wilderness: but thence the breeze,
Which stagnant erst in sultry stillness slept,
Is quicken'd into health, and genial gales
Play round the languid temple. Borne from far,
385
Oft the broad torrent with resistless flood
Whelms infant Spring; and trembling Egypt views
O'er his soft bloom the wide-spread deluge close:
Yet thence emerging soon the rosy boy,
With lusty sinew by the billow strung,
Quaffs the rich tide and thrives at every pore.
Haste then to Christ, and prostrate at his feet,
With hope's bright ardor glowing in thine heart,
Implore his sovereign aid. To that blest ear
The good man's sorrows never rise in vain.
O tell him that thy child, thy manhood's joy,
Th' expected grace and guardian of thine age,
In Death's chill gripe has wither'd, like a flower
Scathed by the summer-storm.—But no; forbear!
He knows thy woes: thy bosom's inmost pulse
Throbs to his eye. And lo, with eager haste
Zealous through thronging crowds he presses on,
At thine and Pity's summons! Stay him not,
Ye curious, ye diseased: And thou, whose blood
Twelve tedious springs th' insatiate plague has drain'd,
Catch not his robe; though thou art wretched too,
Revere a parent's anguish. Wondrous man!
Even from his hem, by Faith's pure finger touch'd,
The healing virtue flows, nor aught delays
His onward foot.
With hope's bright ardor glowing in thine heart,
Implore his sovereign aid. To that blest ear
The good man's sorrows never rise in vain.
O tell him that thy child, thy manhood's joy,
Th' expected grace and guardian of thine age,
In Death's chill gripe has wither'd, like a flower
Scathed by the summer-storm.—But no; forbear!
He knows thy woes: thy bosom's inmost pulse
Throbs to his eye. And lo, with eager haste
Zealous through thronging crowds he presses on,
At thine and Pity's summons! Stay him not,
Ye curious, ye diseased: And thou, whose blood
Twelve tedious springs th' insatiate plague has drain'd,
Catch not his robe; though thou art wretched too,
Revere a parent's anguish. Wondrous man!
Even from his hem, by Faith's pure finger touch'd,
The healing virtue flows, nor aught delays
His onward foot.
And now the deafening din
Of minstrel mourners marks the drear abode,
Where fast the maiden slumbers; undisturb'd
By wailing friends, the deep funercal dirge,
And all the pomp of grief. And now her hand
The Saviour takes; now from th' almighty lip
Issues the irresistible decree,
“Damsel, arise.” Her mortal sleep dispell'd,
And life's new vigour tingling through her veins,
Instant she wakes, as from a raptured dream
Chased by the morn's soft whisper; and beholds,
With all the daughter rushing to her eyes,
Her father by her side. O what was then
His gush of joy, as to his bounding heart
He caught, he clasp'd her close! Not more the bliss
The patriot hero feels, whose lifted arm
Guards his loved prince, while round his country's coasts
Invasion's hovering harpies scream for prey:
Not more his bliss when, sheath'd the hallow'd steel
(It's work of glory done, and in the dust
Th' insulting foe laid low) with honest toil,
'Mid the dear pledges of domestic love,
He tills the fields his unbought valour saved.
Of minstrel mourners marks the drear abode,
Where fast the maiden slumbers; undisturb'd
386
And all the pomp of grief. And now her hand
The Saviour takes; now from th' almighty lip
Issues the irresistible decree,
“Damsel, arise.” Her mortal sleep dispell'd,
And life's new vigour tingling through her veins,
Instant she wakes, as from a raptured dream
Chased by the morn's soft whisper; and beholds,
With all the daughter rushing to her eyes,
Her father by her side. O what was then
His gush of joy, as to his bounding heart
He caught, he clasp'd her close! Not more the bliss
The patriot hero feels, whose lifted arm
Guards his loved prince, while round his country's coasts
Invasion's hovering harpies scream for prey:
Not more his bliss when, sheath'd the hallow'd steel
(It's work of glory done, and in the dust
Th' insulting foe laid low) with honest toil,
'Mid the dear pledges of domestic love,
He tills the fields his unbought valour saved.
And so when, sign of universal doom,
'Midst heaven's circumference yon golden orb
Shall veil his flaming forehead; and the moon,
Portentous phase! on æther's azure vest
Glare a red blood-spot—while in fearful course
Athwart or backward, whirling through the void,
The lawless planets rush; and earth, convulsed,
Deep to her centre shakes—on Death's dull ear
Again the thrilling voice shall burst, again
From his gaunt grasp the shrouded victim rend,
And pour through all his caves empyreal day.
No single corse, as when with joy's wild throb
Close to his heaving breast Jaïrus strain'd
His rescued child; but swarms, to equal whom
Night's spangled host or Libya's world of sand
Were faint comparison, to sudden life
Shall start amazed. With keen compunction some,
Self-sentenced ere they meet their righteous Judge,
Shall to the crashing rocks and mountains cry
To screen them from his presence. Fruitless prayer!
Nor rocks, nor whelming mountains, can subdue
The conscious bosom's anguish: deep within
Coil'd round their life-strings lies th' immortal worm,
And gnaws with sharp remorse the quivering heart.
Others (and O may he, whose feeble hand
Frames this weak verse, the chosen number swell!)
Their mortal clay resign'd, in heavenly forms
Shall rise, resplendent as the summer-sun
Even in his midday lustre; and with bliss,
O'erpaying years of bitterest agony,
Hear the glad accents: “Faithful servants, come;
“Receive your promised meed. Your toils were great,
“And great is their reward. The God ye served,
“Steadfast when Passion sapp'd and Scorn assail'd,
“He, He is yours: for you is twined the wreath
“Of Eden's greenest amaranth, and for you
“Flung wide th' eternal portals. Enter in,
“Your task complete, your race of duty run,
“And share the joys and glories of your Lord.”
'Midst heaven's circumference yon golden orb
Shall veil his flaming forehead; and the moon,
Portentous phase! on æther's azure vest
Glare a red blood-spot—while in fearful course
Athwart or backward, whirling through the void,
The lawless planets rush; and earth, convulsed,
Deep to her centre shakes—on Death's dull ear
Again the thrilling voice shall burst, again
From his gaunt grasp the shrouded victim rend,
And pour through all his caves empyreal day.
No single corse, as when with joy's wild throb
Close to his heaving breast Jaïrus strain'd
His rescued child; but swarms, to equal whom
Night's spangled host or Libya's world of sand
Were faint comparison, to sudden life
387
Self-sentenced ere they meet their righteous Judge,
Shall to the crashing rocks and mountains cry
To screen them from his presence. Fruitless prayer!
Nor rocks, nor whelming mountains, can subdue
The conscious bosom's anguish: deep within
Coil'd round their life-strings lies th' immortal worm,
And gnaws with sharp remorse the quivering heart.
Others (and O may he, whose feeble hand
Frames this weak verse, the chosen number swell!)
Their mortal clay resign'd, in heavenly forms
Shall rise, resplendent as the summer-sun
Even in his midday lustre; and with bliss,
O'erpaying years of bitterest agony,
Hear the glad accents: “Faithful servants, come;
“Receive your promised meed. Your toils were great,
“And great is their reward. The God ye served,
“Steadfast when Passion sapp'd and Scorn assail'd,
“He, He is yours: for you is twined the wreath
“Of Eden's greenest amaranth, and for you
“Flung wide th' eternal portals. Enter in,
“Your task complete, your race of duty run,
“And share the joys and glories of your Lord.”
The pretended marriage with Achilles, which Ulysses suggested as a lure to draw Iphigenia to Aulis, with the substitution of a stag for the royal victim, and the daring originality with which Timanthes represented the agonies of Agamemnon in his picture of the Sacrifice, are too well known to need detail.
Amidst the trifling discordancy of the Evangelists, which occurs in this place, it may be proper to state that I have followed St. Matthew.
“Tempests occasionally shake our dwellings and dissipate our commerce, but they scourge before them the lazy elements, which without them would stagnate into pestilence. In like manner Liberty herself, the last and best gift of God to his creatures, must be taken just as she is. You might pare her down into bashful regularity, and shape her into a model of severe scrupulous law; but she would, then, be Liberty no longer: and you must be content to die under the lash of this inexorable Justice, which you had exchanged for the bannera of Freedom.” (Erskine's Speech for Stockdale, II. 268.)
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