England :: :: University of Virginia Library

“The silver Thames, that sweetly pleas'd mine eye,
Procur'd me golden thoughts of majesty:
The kind content and murmurs of the water,
Made me forget the woes that would come after.

On gold and silver looms my garments fair
Were woven still, by women, strange and rare:
Embroider'd variously with Medean silk;
More white than thistle down, or morning's milk.

My coaches any my stately pamper'd steeds,
Well furnish'd in their gold betrapped weeds;
With gentle glidings in the summer nights,
Still yielding me the evening's sweet delights.

My feet, that lately trod the steps of pleasure,
Now flinty stones so sharp were forced to measure;
Yet none alive, where I did come or go,
Durst shed one trickling tear at this my woe.

Farewell, dear friends! Farewell, my courtly trains!
My late renown is turn'd to lingering pains!
My melody of music's silver sound,
Are snakes and adders hissing on the ground.

The downy bed, whereon I lay full oft,
Are sunburnt heaps of moss now seeming soft;
And waxen tapers, lighting to my bed,
Are stars, about the silver moon bespread.

Ring out my knell, ye birds in top of sky!
Quite tir'd with woes, here Elinor must die!
Receive me, earth, into thy gentle womb,
A banish'd lady craves no other tomb.”

—Old Ballad.

There was a time, when yet the world was young,
In ages long ago. Chaos had heard
The voice of heaven, and from her caverns rung
Wild dirges, that through earth's foundations stirr'd;
The sun shone forth to hear God's awful Word;
The moon appeared; the stars came out on high;
Then, gradually, of their own sweet accord,
The seasons came, and looked with placid eye;
And the green earth with joy and rapture met the sky.

Then, from their mountain caverns, roll'd each river,
And with deep music met the sounding sea,
That roar'd as if its voice would last for ever.
Then, like loud trumpets, spake the winds in glee,
And swept the earth, majestical and free.
Then, like the clang of battle fields, arose
The clattering cataracts. Then 'gan to be
The hideous thunder, shaking heaven's repose,
Earthquake, and pestilence, war, hate, and all our woe.

The curse had fallen, that wail'd in paradise,
And wither'd all that heaven had made so fair:
Time's march began, and with it every vice
Walk'd hand in hand. The nations, in despair,
Shriek'd loud, and lamentations fill'd the air.
Man had not yet attained his dignity,
But wallow'd in the sullen depths of care.
Knowledge, that makes the spirit high and free,
Had not yet burst the bonds that chained her liberty.

Even as the mighty deluge, gradual fell
The ocean waters from each mountain side,
Till nought was left behind their track to tell,
Save beauteous shells of the retreating tide;
So man declined, and towards the earth did glide.
He had a soul to count the stars of night,
And tell the planet's course, and wander wide,
Far as the viewless winds in giant might—
Twas fallen—its strength was gone—gone its tremendous light.

Angels had ceased to walk the silent earth,
Nought but the memory of their love was known;
The rays that deep in heaven receiv'd their birth,
And shone o'er earthly human flowers was gone:
Chang'd were the planets— chang'd the spheric tone!
The mind of man, erst high, exalted, pure,
Ne'er in its former wondrous splendour shone,
But, grovelling low, nought lofty could endure,
Deceiv'd by earthly sound and every sensual lure.

He had an eye that, like the eagle's, far
Could gaze upon the red and burning sun,
And watch at ease the elemental war;
Swift limbs that with the frighted deer could run,
And pride, strength, courage, by no toil undone;
A trusting heart triumphant o'er the world.
These, had new times, fallen and degenerate, won;
These, from their high and glorious dwellings hurl'd,
Gladden'd the skies no more, their banners all unfurl'd.

Then superstition, brooding in her cave,
Shrieked, and the depths of hell sent meet reply.
Shadows, like ghosts, fiend-hunted from the grave,
Attended her, and join'd her hideous cry;
Red fires for ever filled her blood-stain'd eye:
Her wings upon the midnight tempests rung,
And pestilential fires did ever fly
About her feet, and frightful nightmares hung
Upon her haggard breast, and to her tresses clung!

The owl and bat and every thing obscene,
The spotted serpent, and the poisonous toad,
And sharp-tooth'd asp about her steps were seen.
Through mossy fens and quagmires was her road,
Loving with filth and mire to make abode,
And with their misty, meteor-phantoms play.
There did she love her worshippers to goad,
And with their spoils her hideous gods array,
Who, thron'd mid reeking blood, still held mysterious sway.

She wander'd by the torrent-swollen Nile,
And, 'neath those heavens of deep continual blue,
Rear'd wondrous rites o'er continent and isle.
With dreams magnificent she did embue
Her mysteries, and with the gorgeous hue
Of an unreal creed upheld her sway;
Lamenting oft, with many a bitter rue,
Osiris and lost Isis far away,
And Bacchus' mystic flight beyond the realms of day.

In domes magnificent she held high state,
Thron'd on pure gold, with jewels in her hair;
Tyrannic priests did ever round her wait
To bear her robes and watch her eyeballs glare,
Who sought for blood, even like a tiger's care.
And in these temples did the enthusiast bow,
Senseless, and with wild howlings fill'd the air;
Whilst heaven alone beheld the accursed show,
Mumbled 'mid secret oaths, that shook the soul with awe.

That too is gone—and, 'mid the desert sands,
The pyramids and temples shade their height
(True that their glory spreads o'er myriad lands,
Thousands of miles afar, in constant light,
And shall, till time shall cease in endless night.)
The songs of holy Memnon have no sound,
That erstwhile own'd the sun's celestial might,
Thebes, Memphis, sleep beneath the burning ground,
And the great kings are dead that made the earth their round.

Then Zoroaster rose, and from his cave,
Shaped to a temple constellated o'er
With shapes of heaven, did solemnly engrave
Majestic visions of mysterious lore.
There, too, the enthusiast, streaming in his gore,
By men, like tigers hunted, from his soul
Deep-groaning, worshipped phantoms now no more;
Whilst dreams, such as our Christian martyrs roll,
Bore up his madden'd brain o'er agony's control.

It was a glorious creed. Was it not so,
Thou sun, that in bright ether aye dost dwell
'Mid gentle airs, that ever round the flow
To jar thy locks? O say was it not well
That constant praise should ever round thee swell?
Bright messenger, disperser of the mist,
Conqueror of night, who in thy luminous shell
Bearest rich gold; and, with heaven's glories kist,
Makest the rainbow's hues to wander where they wist!

Yea, Persia, well indeed thy hills did shine,
With fires of incense, to the uprisen sun.
Thy worship in its essence was divine,
Though the true living God it seem'd to shun—
God the Omnipotent, the Only One!
Let us not blame the false idolatry
That hath to broken shrines and altars gone.
Its hearts were bent upon the spreading sky;
And in its utmost depths still dwelt the God most high.

Greece caught the rays from Egypt. In the land
Of sunny fields, blue heavens, and glorious clime,
Still superstition led her maniac band.
Their creed, even in its falseness, was sublime:
Men then were gods, whose deeds had conquer'd time.
They had a sylph for every fruitful wood;
And satyrs that among the rocks would climb;
Naiads that tenanted each glassy flood;
And mermaids singing sweet 'mid ocean's solitude.

But Mars is gone, and Venus dead of love;
Gone are the wings from swift Apollo's feet,
No more doth Dian 'mong the forests rove,
Chacing, with all her nymphs, the wild-deer fleet;
Long since hath Bacchus left his vine-clad seat:
The glorious heavens, that bore on every cloud
A conquering god, have lost their ancient heat;
And that bright land, to which the nations bow'd,
Is now a land of slaves, and buried in its shroud.

Yea, Zoroaster, Vishnou, Thoth are gone—
Oannes, Melicesta, Odin—all
To whose red chariot wheels the earth was won,
And bound in chains. The earth hath had a call
From heaven, whose wildest murmur could appal.
The cities of their pride are sunk away,
Deep buried, far within oblivion's pall,
And from the throne of God hath come a ray,
That yet shall fill the earth with all the blaze of day.

Alas! alas! and shall it now be said
That what was once so high hath sunk so low?—
That those same thoughts, to loftiest actions wed,
And dreams immortal, should all earthward bow,
Where nought but sin and ignorance we know?
That the same passion, once with gods surrounded,
And halos dropt from heaven to man below,
In later times by meanest fancies bounded,
Should, o'er sweet Cobham's grave, like winter winds have sounded.

It spake among the rocky Hebrides,
And wizards started from the hollow earth,
Pretended seers arose, and shook the seas
With fears and doubts that ne'er before had birth,
(Enough to make grim death laugh loud in mirth.)
It spake in England through its utmost bound.
Of ghosts, and ghouls, and witches, was no dearth;
And woes of persecution did surround
Poor wretches worn with age—burnt, hunted down, or drown'd.

A better time hath come; old things are new.
Would, lovely Elinor, thy gentle soul
Had known this long ago. O is it true
That storms could o'er so sweet a spirit roll,
And thou be left beneath the base control
And insults of a rabble? made the show
Of scorn within thy penitential pall,
With lights to shew thy shame, whilst scoffings low
Broke from each ruffian's breast wherever thou didst go.

The head that ever shone with pearl and gem,
And those long glistening ringlets falling low,
Once hid beneath the jewell'd diadem,
Are now exposed to winds that coldly blow.
Those eyes, whose dreams none but her lord might know,
And coral cheeks now tell the mob their shame!
Yea, she who once in stately halls might go,
Where all did homage to her lofty name,
Now, barefoot trod the streets, 'mid noontide's burning flame!

Ah! little did thy lady-mother deem,
Fair Elinor, when thy young eyes first spake,
That e'er should come so horrible a dream,
Or her proud heart had broken of its ache.
As little, when ye trod the pleasant brake,
Did he, thy lover, wist that such a woe
This lovely form could ever overtake;
As little did thy gentle bridesmaid know,
That one, so meek as thou, through such wild sights must go.

And, O, still less couldst thou, angelic maid,
In thy delightful youth of love and gladness,
View on the azure heavens the coming shade:
If, to thy joy, had come this dream of sadness,
Thy brain had sunk in instant death or madness.
'Tis well that God hath wisely spread a veil
O'er future joys or woe. So much of badness
Blackens our fate, that we could ne'er assail
The pains of coming years, if we should know their tale.

Know of the dreadful woes and agonies,
The wringing pains that throng the beating breast;
Sleep's hideous phantoms and convulsive cries,
And all that night or day disturb our rest;
The hate and scorn with which we are opprest;
The liar's contumelies, the scoffer's sneer,
The pangs that rend the highest and the best;
Love's bitter grief, and friendship's hollow tear,
Despair's horrific throes—the ecstacies of fear.

Thanks to the God of heaven, who made us all,
Shame cannot sink the heart that feels not shame;
There is no storm nor tempest can appal
The strong of soul, whose actions know no blame.
What though the world may seek to stain their name,
And plant its foot upon their sorrowing head,
Banding, like wolves, to hunt away their fame!
Are they not with the balms of heaven fed,
And shall they not be judged among the uprisen dead?

Men are but cowards, pending, savagely,
To scatter evil. But the God on high
Dwelleth alone, 'mid councils ever free.
All things must pass before his sovran eye.
He is the righteous judger of the sky:
With Him is retribution. Then live on,
Ye injured ones, and sink not down to die:
There is a light that shines for you alone,
And ye shall sit in glory on a heavenly throne.