 | England |  |
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ANCIENT AND MODERN LONDON.
But thou, Old Troynavaunt, as rose of old,
Thy towers and steeples—spires and temples bold,
So hast thou gleam'd unto the farewell sun
Of many a year; and as the seasons run
No spring delayeth thee. The summer ray
Can never pierce the dimness of thy day,
Or War's delusions, where he hath uprear'd
A temple to the phantom joys.
—Broken Heart, by M. S. Milton.
Thy towers and steeples—spires and temples bold,
So hast thou gleam'd unto the farewell sun
Of many a year; and as the seasons run
No spring delayeth thee. The summer ray
Can never pierce the dimness of thy day,
Or War's delusions, where he hath uprear'd
A temple to the phantom joys.
—Broken Heart, by M. S. Milton.
Hearken, Old London, from thine ancient sleep!
When a few straggling houses, here and there,
Were thine, and simple shepherds with their sheep,
The cattle brows'd amid thy meadows fair—
Within thy gardens fed the timid hare—
Thy maidens in the woods, by the moonlight
Lay on love's breast; the tangles of their hair;
Young children play'd around, in beauty bright,
Whilst sires and matrons joy'd to view the happy sight.
When a few straggling houses, here and there,
Were thine, and simple shepherds with their sheep,
The cattle brows'd amid thy meadows fair—
Within thy gardens fed the timid hare—
Thy maidens in the woods, by the moonlight
Lay on love's breast; the tangles of their hair;
Young children play'd around, in beauty bright,
Whilst sires and matrons joy'd to view the happy sight.
Within thy bowers the little birds did sing,
And wiled the winged hours in amorous play;
Within thy streams the silver trout would spring
Among the sunbeams, shining in their ray:
The breezes came afar, and lov'd to pay
Their homage;—every season had its joy;—
Spring had its leaves; and every summer day
Its loves and sports; and autumn did employ
Its liveries; and winter reign'd without alloy.
And wiled the winged hours in amorous play;
Within thy streams the silver trout would spring
Among the sunbeams, shining in their ray:
The breezes came afar, and lov'd to pay
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Spring had its leaves; and every summer day
Its loves and sports; and autumn did employ
Its liveries; and winter reign'd without alloy.
How calmly did thy unsoil'd waters flow,
Their white sails glimmering in the morning sun!
The winds were heavy with the dance and song;
The music and the murmur, never done!
Rich were the harmonies Old Thamis sung,
Whilst yet no bard was in the flowery mead:
In those glad days no spot was on the sun;
And pestilence, and famine, with their breed,
Fire, death, revenge, and hate, had not yet sown their seed.
Their white sails glimmering in the morning sun!
The winds were heavy with the dance and song;
The music and the murmur, never done!
Rich were the harmonies Old Thamis sung,
Whilst yet no bard was in the flowery mead:
In those glad days no spot was on the sun;
And pestilence, and famine, with their breed,
Fire, death, revenge, and hate, had not yet sown their seed.
Then shone the peaceful hut among the trees;
Then satisfaction clad each happy face;
Clear happy voices fill'd the flowing breeze;—
Then flourish'd cheerful hearts and native grace—
Content and trust, that nothing could efface.
The lock, and bar, and chain, were needed not;
The braying dog—the sword, and spear, and mace:—
Unfenced, uncar'd-for, smil'd each pleasant spot;
Whilst equal rights and laws their constant blessings brought.
Then satisfaction clad each happy face;
Clear happy voices fill'd the flowing breeze;—
Then flourish'd cheerful hearts and native grace—
Content and trust, that nothing could efface.
The lock, and bar, and chain, were needed not;
The braying dog—the sword, and spear, and mace:—
Unfenced, uncar'd-for, smil'd each pleasant spot;
Whilst equal rights and laws their constant blessings brought.
The War's loud thunder had not shook the plain;
Her blood-red scarf had not yet glar'd on high;
Her armaments had not yet trod the main;
The savage dungeon had not mock'd the sky,
And vex'd the blue of heaven with groan and cry;
The Demon of Intemperance, and its hell
Of ruin'd homes and hearts, had come not nigh;
Nor Luxury's pomps, that love in halls to dwell;
Nor rude and bloated Wealth, that aye its gold must tell.
Her blood-red scarf had not yet glar'd on high;
Her armaments had not yet trod the main;
The savage dungeon had not mock'd the sky,
And vex'd the blue of heaven with groan and cry;
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Of ruin'd homes and hearts, had come not nigh;
Nor Luxury's pomps, that love in halls to dwell;
Nor rude and bloated Wealth, that aye its gold must tell.
Yet art thou all sublime; and far on high
Thy temples, spires, and monuments, stand fair:
Houses, like rocks, on every side do lie,
That man hath cast about him, without care;
Kings of the earth roll by, with pomp and glare;
And the great sea-like river boundeth free,
With pearl and gem among his rusty hair,
The silks of India hanging to his knee,
And gold and silver sheen, that bear his sov'ranty.
Thy temples, spires, and monuments, stand fair:
Houses, like rocks, on every side do lie,
That man hath cast about him, without care;
Kings of the earth roll by, with pomp and glare;
And the great sea-like river boundeth free,
With pearl and gem among his rusty hair,
The silks of India hanging to his knee,
And gold and silver sheen, that bear his sov'ranty.
Thames—that like liquid glass once flow'd along,
Clear, from its royal source, and scatter'd o'er
With leaves and new blown flowerets, stolen among
Fair pastures, or glad forests, now no more—
Groans, 'neath the burthens huge, from every shore.
The commerce of the whole great world is here:
North, South, East, West, pour in their precious store;
The fruit and gold of every hemisphere;
The sons of every clime, his kingly waters bear!
Clear, from its royal source, and scatter'd o'er
With leaves and new blown flowerets, stolen among
Fair pastures, or glad forests, now no more—
Groans, 'neath the burthens huge, from every shore.
The commerce of the whole great world is here:
North, South, East, West, pour in their precious store;
The fruit and gold of every hemisphere;
The sons of every clime, his kingly waters bear!
And London is sublime. Wed to the sea—
Eye of the universe,—the earth's right hand,
Whose birth and death are with Eternity—
Who art the lord and king of every land—
Whose sons are numerous as the ocean sand—
Whom Freedom blesseth with its sweetest smile,
And scatterest good, as with a magic wand;
Where Genius hath built her noblest pile—
The chief, and guardian god, of this our native isle.
Eye of the universe,—the earth's right hand,
Whose birth and death are with Eternity—
Who art the lord and king of every land—
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Whom Freedom blesseth with its sweetest smile,
And scatterest good, as with a magic wand;
Where Genius hath built her noblest pile—
The chief, and guardian god, of this our native isle.
Shadow'd in earliest dreams, thy visage came;
Amid the woods and fields thy footsteps fell:
On the sea-shore swell'd loud thy dreadful name,
And the high mountains of thy fame would tell:
Yea, London!—London!—fill'd each solemn dell.
Thee sought our kings, our warriors, statesmen—all:
From thee came thought, and wisdom, and the will
Of the inspired bards—of those whose thrall
Binds the great earth, and to their utmost bounds doth call.
Amid the woods and fields thy footsteps fell:
On the sea-shore swell'd loud thy dreadful name,
And the high mountains of thy fame would tell:
Yea, London!—London!—fill'd each solemn dell.
Thee sought our kings, our warriors, statesmen—all:
From thee came thought, and wisdom, and the will
Of the inspired bards—of those whose thrall
Binds the great earth, and to their utmost bounds doth call.
Just twenty-two of life's few years are gone—
Of strangest dreams, of wanderings, and care—
And now I walk thy solemn streets alone,
Wondering that thou art so exceeding fair;
Even as I deem'd, in Fancy's heighten'd glare!
I view thy palaces in festal light—
I hear thy mighty murmur everywhere;
The noblest aims of man attract the sight,
And beauty, greatness, power, are gaz'd on by the night.
Of strangest dreams, of wanderings, and care—
And now I walk thy solemn streets alone,
Wondering that thou art so exceeding fair;
Even as I deem'd, in Fancy's heighten'd glare!
I view thy palaces in festal light—
I hear thy mighty murmur everywhere;
The noblest aims of man attract the sight,
And beauty, greatness, power, are gaz'd on by the night.
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Night!—and the moon in heaven is shining clear,
Even as above my own dear native home;
The thick smokes cannot gloom her face with fear—
O'er all this human life her footsteps roam,
Careless, as if the earth were but a tomb,
And she a lamp beside a monarch's grave.
The din, the war, the strife, can never come
To her; she cannot hear this troublous wave,
Who o'er the heavens doth walk, and bear herself so brave.
Even as above my own dear native home;
The thick smokes cannot gloom her face with fear—
O'er all this human life her footsteps roam,
Careless, as if the earth were but a tomb,
And she a lamp beside a monarch's grave.
The din, the war, the strife, can never come
To her; she cannot hear this troublous wave,
Who o'er the heavens doth walk, and bear herself so brave.
Lo, where Westminster's sisters-towers stand forth!
There go for what great England hath become.
A thousand years within these halls have birth,
And here the mighty dead have fitting home.
There, do the ghosts of sceptred monarchs roam;
There, do dead queens repose the crowned brow;
There, stand the laurell'd bards, their voices dumb;
And knights, who in rough battles fought so true;
And senators of power, a mighty band, though few.
There go for what great England hath become.
A thousand years within these halls have birth,
And here the mighty dead have fitting home.
There, do the ghosts of sceptred monarchs roam;
There, do dead queens repose the crowned brow;
There, stand the laurell'd bards, their voices dumb;
And knights, who in rough battles fought so true;
And senators of power, a mighty band, though few.
Here lies our history!—read it, on the wall!
Here learn how England's thunder hath been heard,
Till the big ocean shook to hear her call—
Beneath her mighty armaments upstirr'd!
Here learn what high-born warriors are interr'd—
The souls that mock at time, and sway the earth!
Here learn that the old bards sung not unheard;
Nor vain was eloquence! celestial birth;
Nor vainly pious saints were lit with truth and worth!
Here learn how England's thunder hath been heard,
Till the big ocean shook to hear her call—
Beneath her mighty armaments upstirr'd!
Here learn what high-born warriors are interr'd—
The souls that mock at time, and sway the earth!
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Nor vain was eloquence! celestial birth;
Nor vainly pious saints were lit with truth and worth!
Green grows the grass at proud Westminster's feet;
Calm lie heaven's shadows on her haughty head:
Below, Thames sings his dirges, wild and sweet—
A solemn requiem to her sculptur'd dead;
And London roareth from his sleepless bed:
Old Time hath scarcely touch'd thy tresses free—
Thy pillar'd glooms—thy carvings, quaintly spread:
And, save the tatter'd flags of victory,
And the old sculpture's rust, thou seem'st eternity.
Calm lie heaven's shadows on her haughty head:
Below, Thames sings his dirges, wild and sweet—
A solemn requiem to her sculptur'd dead;
And London roareth from his sleepless bed:
Old Time hath scarcely touch'd thy tresses free—
Thy pillar'd glooms—thy carvings, quaintly spread:
And, save the tatter'd flags of victory,
And the old sculpture's rust, thou seem'st eternity.
Yet, London, thou art changed. The savage fire
Shall flow no more, along thy paved street,
That burnt from holy martyrs' funeral pyre;
No more kings tread thee, with triumphant feet,
The next day murder'd. War-steeds, rushing fleet,
No more tramp dying men upon thy stone.
May pestilence nor famine never meet
Among thy halls: may Mammon leave his throne;
And lust, hate, pride, revenge, far from thy courts be gone.
Shall flow no more, along thy paved street,
That burnt from holy martyrs' funeral pyre;
No more kings tread thee, with triumphant feet,
The next day murder'd. War-steeds, rushing fleet,
No more tramp dying men upon thy stone.
May pestilence nor famine never meet
Among thy halls: may Mammon leave his throne;
And lust, hate, pride, revenge, far from thy courts be gone.
The wings of knowledge drop the balm of healing,
And the church towers sound constant calls to prayer:
Alas, that, with so much of glad revealing,
The spot and wrinkle dim its visage fair:
That unknown voices shake the troubled air:—
The hate of lofty heads—the envious hate
Of all that time hath sanctified from fear;
The reptile hissings at the pomp of state;
The rebels' traitorous bands, that aye in darkness wait.
And the church towers sound constant calls to prayer:
Alas, that, with so much of glad revealing,
The spot and wrinkle dim its visage fair:
That unknown voices shake the troubled air:—
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Of all that time hath sanctified from fear;
The reptile hissings at the pomp of state;
The rebels' traitorous bands, that aye in darkness wait.
The spirit of the Gracchi hath come down
To English hearths, that once were glad and bright:
A nest of scorpions sleeps around the crown,
And hungry demagogues pollute the light.
When shall we hold again our ancient might—
The heroic times—the splendid deeds of old?
When shall we break from out these glooms of night?
London—arise!—come forth!—be brave and bold,
Even as of yore! and hunt foul treason to its hold!
To English hearths, that once were glad and bright:
A nest of scorpions sleeps around the crown,
And hungry demagogues pollute the light.
When shall we hold again our ancient might—
The heroic times—the splendid deeds of old?
When shall we break from out these glooms of night?
London—arise!—come forth!—be brave and bold,
Even as of yore! and hunt foul treason to its hold!
Thou wast a gorgeous citadel of old,
Where all the kings of all the earth have stay'd:
Freedom was in thy streets, and had its hold
Among thy commerce. Thou didst ever aid
The mighty of this land, when thou wert bade:
Not as a coward;—but the glorious thing
That, with thy splendid towers and temples, made
Thy rule o'er all the world—a royal king;
And o'er the heaven of heavens spread far thine eagle wing.
Where all the kings of all the earth have stay'd:
Freedom was in thy streets, and had its hold
Among thy commerce. Thou didst ever aid
The mighty of this land, when thou wert bade:
Not as a coward;—but the glorious thing
That, with thy splendid towers and temples, made
Thy rule o'er all the world—a royal king;
And o'er the heaven of heavens spread far thine eagle wing.
Thou didst begin coeval with first time;
Of the old world thy pastures still were there;
The smallest of thy atoms was sublime;
When first this world fell from the depths of air
And chaos;—yea, thy visage was most fair:
And, now, 'mid maddest traitors, rebels' guile,
O'er dust and sea, spreads thy redundant hair:
Though Freedom hold false thrones, thou hast not any care.
Of the old world thy pastures still were there;
The smallest of thy atoms was sublime;
When first this world fell from the depths of air
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And, now, 'mid maddest traitors, rebels' guile,
O'er dust and sea, spreads thy redundant hair:
Though Freedom hold false thrones, thou hast not any care.
What is the crime this hath not sanctified?
And for the seas of blood that lave her shrine,
Lift up your eyes to France, when Treason's pride
Made Paris' streets roll wilder than the Seine,
To dye the robes of her who was divine;
Murder and anarchy do spot her train;
On her red brow the steaming blood-drops shine;
Yea, fast as chasing waves on the rude main,
Confusion and dismay dash o'er her stricken plain.
And for the seas of blood that lave her shrine,
Lift up your eyes to France, when Treason's pride
Made Paris' streets roll wilder than the Seine,
To dye the robes of her who was divine;
Murder and anarchy do spot her train;
On her red brow the steaming blood-drops shine;
Yea, fast as chasing waves on the rude main,
Confusion and dismay dash o'er her stricken plain.
What is the crime this hath not sanctified?
The son hath slain his father on his knees;
Brother hath murder'd brother, side by side;
And groans of dying kings have fill'd the breeze:
And you, Greece, Egypt, Rome—beyond the seas—
Shout ye aloud, your sad and awful tale;
How Freedom's blood stain'd Freedom's obsequies;
And Freedom's sons from Freedom's fires did wail;
When then the patriots' groans were echoed on the gale!
The son hath slain his father on his knees;
Brother hath murder'd brother, side by side;
And groans of dying kings have fill'd the breeze:
And you, Greece, Egypt, Rome—beyond the seas—
Shout ye aloud, your sad and awful tale;
How Freedom's blood stain'd Freedom's obsequies;
And Freedom's sons from Freedom's fires did wail;
When then the patriots' groans were echoed on the gale!
Let not the rebel touch her. Give her wings,
And she will float beyond the utmost cloud;
And where young morn, at heaven's clear portal sings—
And when the blue and gold o'er angels shroud,
Stain her white robes—to earth her soul is bowed.
A heavenly diadem is on her head;
The reddest lightnings gleam when she calls loud;
She hath a voice that might arouse the dead,
And shake her murder'd sons, even in their grassy bed.
And she will float beyond the utmost cloud;
And where young morn, at heaven's clear portal sings—
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Stain her white robes—to earth her soul is bowed.
A heavenly diadem is on her head;
The reddest lightnings gleam when she calls loud;
She hath a voice that might arouse the dead,
And shake her murder'd sons, even in their grassy bed.
She spake; and the old world arose anew;
The clouds of night were banished away;
She wrought the age of gold, and gave a hue
To human mould, as of the light of day,
And made sweet flowers to spring from rotten clay:
She lit the towers of cities, and afar,
Among the hills, her beacon glories lay;
Oh! let not drop so pure, and bright a star—
Oh! let not spot or stain pollute a thing so fair.
The clouds of night were banished away;
She wrought the age of gold, and gave a hue
To human mould, as of the light of day,
And made sweet flowers to spring from rotten clay:
She lit the towers of cities, and afar,
Among the hills, her beacon glories lay;
Oh! let not drop so pure, and bright a star—
Oh! let not spot or stain pollute a thing so fair.
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