Mundi et Cordis De Rebus Sempiternis et Temporariis: Carmina. Poems and Sonnets. By Thomas Wade |
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 | TEMPORALIA. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Mundi et Cordis |  |
259
TEMPORALIA.
261
I. THE THREE GREAT DAYS.
TO THE FRENCH.
(WRITTEN IN AUGUST, 1830.)
1
High Pharos of the Nations! HeliceOf those that navigate the unslumbering sea
Whose billows waft, through tempest and through terror,
Unto the golden shores of Liberty!
Your beacon and your star again are burning;
A guide to enterprise, a sign to error;
And those Saturnian times, anew returning,
Life's antique heart make strong and young
As Hebe's when from Air she sprung!
The Kingdoms gaze on ye, and pant for breath;
Grey Superstition trembles;
Old Tyranny is gloating on his death;
And the world's hope resembles
The dark sky's, when the free wind speaks aloud,
And constellations leap from every cloud!
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2
Ye have been hiving wisdom from the Past:Your freedom's harvest old was overcast
By showers that deluged it with freedom's blood;
But from that gory feast this afterpast
Of holy joy and temperate revel cometh;
The plenty, not repletion, of whose food
Gives to pale Liberty the health that bloometh.
Your deeds unto the kindling Nations
Shall be, as solemn inspirations
Unto the Poet's and the Prophet's heart!
Ye have erased the stains
Ye and your sires did to her cause impart;
And now alone remains
The glory of her beauty undefiled,
To shame the dotards that too long reviled.
3
Like strong Tirynthius, ye but ascendedThe burning pile your madness had upblended—
And died on Liberty's Nemæan pillow!
To rise again, with vision more extended,
And commune closely with the powers of Heaven.
Now, now, the impulse to that thundering billow
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'Tis salt upon the lips of Spain;
The Lusian drinks the glorious rain;
The Islands and the Ghost of buried Rome
Feel their locks wet withal:
Its echoes fill the everlasting dome;
And rock to rock doth call
Of living heart, with an awaken'd mirth—
'Tis ye have struck this spirit from the Earth!
4
America and England, each to other,Greet the regeneration of a brother;
For the Isle's King, as yours, is Freedom's guard!
And o'er the wave salute they one another:—
“We are our people's Chief, but not their Master;
“We rule in love, and love is our reward!”
The cement of your strength is past disaster:
The freedom ye have dearly earn'd
Shall not again be overturn'd
By democrat's blood-quaffing violence:
If Anarchy arise,
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That beams in Freedom's eyes,
With tears of gore, excite her infant strength
To stretch the writhed snake at innocuous length!
5
O, holy Battailers in that contention,Of Myriads to strike down the Few's pretension,
Which still hath been the birthdom of the world!
Ye have wrought bravely for the bright extension
Of each man's influence in his own behoof:
And Right's proud banner shall no more be furl'd
As heretofore; but underneath the roof
Of million-tinted air and heaven,
With suns and planets densely paven
Whose aspect prompteth Liberty's strong panting,
It shall wave high for ever!
Her seeds of amaranth Great Mind is planting,
With infinite endeavour,
Thick in the human heart's unfathom'd soil;
Whose blooms no solemn drones hereafter shall despoil!
6
Your triumph in this Verse be high-recorded!The tottering Despot's scabbard was unsworded,
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And some few tyrant slaves their aid afforded
To wield the weapon that must crush the striker,
Turn'd on himself by her repelling charm.
He smote: ye rose indignantly; and, liker
To storm and earthquake than to mortal
In rapid power, from her arm'd portal
Struck mail'd Oppression, with one gush of blood!
Who are the mighty now?
The Bourbon stoops, a mendicant for food!
Upon his uncrown'd brow
Sit thoughts of curses from his desolate heirs;
Whilst bitter scorn laughs loud in the supervolant airs.
7
The thunder of your great deliverance roll'dOver the hills of Fame: she heard and told,
The lightning of her spirit round her flashing,
Of feminine limbs and babes, as manhood bold,
Wearing the armour of your retribution;
The base male recreants of the earth abashing:
And stripling boyhood framing the confusion
Of rage, just bursting wrong's old border,
Into sublime, consummate order:
Of cruelty and wrath and selfishness
To depths Avernal vanish'd;
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Of Love; and Memory banish'd
From a grieved Nation's heart, save that sufficient
To sceptre Wisdom on her throne omniscient.
8
As sunbeams play above the heated shingle,The rays of Freedom glowingly did tingle
Over your shores, with swift, tremescent motion,
And in a blaze of light electric mingle!
One mighty waste of wild and writhing foam—
An agony of tempest—was your ocean:
Until its sullen barriers, overcome,
Left it to flow in gentle state;
And none could deem a storm so late
Had cleft it to its undermost foundations!
Ye have enforced the world
Into a labyrinth of contemplations;
Which soon, unintertwirl'd,
Must open to the light of human glory;
When Earth shall gaze on Life from Freedom's promontory,
9
Succeed to farms legitimate dullards mayAs long as clods are clods; but not to sway
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That fashion from the world shall die away;
And ye have set the signet to that fiat!
The lessons ye have taught old Time inherits,
To wean the Future from subjection's quiet.
As the wing'd wind unto the sea,
To Mind shall your example be;
Urging on high the waters of her splendour,
Whose tempest Love assuages;
But to whose curbed force must slow surrender
The tyranny of ages
Enrock'd around them: Despots stand aghast
In their high towers, which shake in Freedom's thunderblast!
10
A solemn voice is heard immurmurateFrom the oppressed Lands Peninsulate,
Caught from the tempest of your exultation!
The heart of Europe beats in high debate
In the full senate-house of Liberty;
And to your eloquent lip breathes confirmation
Which, pass'd some brooding years, shall burst on high!
The American hath kindled long
Pure fires upon her altars strong;
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Striking the air afar,
And view her deep eye fix'd on their dominions—
A clear, though distant, star!
That full orb from Life's World all darkness shall disperse;
Those gorgeous plumes enfold our Human Universe!
269
II. FRANCE.
THE 27TH, 28TH AND 29TH OF JULY, 1830.
France, from intemperate waking, fell asleep;
And mortal demons did oppress her slumber
With chains, from which she could not disencumber
Her numb'd and feverish limbs: they still did keep
Their heavy hands upon her troubled heart;
And as she shrank beneath them, twisted tighter
The bands that fetter'd her gigantic members;
Till, shrieking, from her drunken trance she woke!
Howling, the demons of her slumber fled; she broke
Their iron chains like threads; the holy embers
Upon her freedom's hearth rekindled brighter,
And played again an unforgotten part.
Be taught, O, Kings! Millions before the One!
Time from great knowledge hath great wisdom won.
270
III. “REFORM-BILL” HYMNS.
1. THE “NEWSPAPER.”
It goeth forth, an instrument of power,
Ruling and ruled by Great Society;
Noting the human business of the hour,
With retrospection far, and prophecy;
Showing the world the world, and to the tide
Of Time its own vast flowings—self-supplied!
Ruling and ruled by Great Society;
Noting the human business of the hour,
With retrospection far, and prophecy;
Showing the world the world, and to the tide
Of Time its own vast flowings—self-supplied!
A wondrous and a mighty Thing it is,
Speaking to distant millions as to near;
Rousing all passions and all sympathies,
And forcing the earth's space to disappear
By its connecting course o'er all the lands,
Which makes the globe's antipodes shake hands!
Speaking to distant millions as to near;
Rousing all passions and all sympathies,
And forcing the earth's space to disappear
By its connecting course o'er all the lands,
Which makes the globe's antipodes shake hands!
Before its all-detecting, all-proclaiming
And all-truth-telling voice, the Tyrant's throne
And the bald Bigot's altar, heavenward flaming
With fires derived from hell, quiver and groan;
For it is clothed in liberty and light,
And casts destroying sun-shafts through their night!
And all-truth-telling voice, the Tyrant's throne
And the bald Bigot's altar, heavenward flaming
With fires derived from hell, quiver and groan;
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And casts destroying sun-shafts through their night!
Hail it, ye stirring Millions! as your Saver
From the Old Law of Things, that kept ye under
The foot-tread of the Few—as the way-paver
To your redemption-goal! And, of its thunder
Ye who sit throned the Joves invisible,
Use the mighty weapon well!
Hide it not in cloudy sphere
Of pale apathy, or fear;
But, ever let its radiant bolts be hurl'd
Against the Giant Ills that still bestride the World!
From the Old Law of Things, that kept ye under
The foot-tread of the Few—as the way-paver
To your redemption-goal! And, of its thunder
Ye who sit throned the Joves invisible,
Use the mighty weapon well!
Hide it not in cloudy sphere
Of pale apathy, or fear;
But, ever let its radiant bolts be hurl'd
Against the Giant Ills that still bestride the World!
2. A SONG OF THE PEOPLE.
The Hoary Dotard, Aristocracy,
Shakes in his crumbling palace-halls; for, hark!
On the broad Ocean of Democracy
Floats Liberty, prepared to disembark
On her predestin'd strand,
This English land!
In glory, o'er a world of tribulation,
She raiseth her bright banner—as the Sun
O'er clouds and storms ascendeth burningly—
And, with a loud and multitudinous voice,
The millions of the congregated Nation
(Myriad-lipp'd; but its great hearts as one!) Rejoice!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
And we, the mighty People, to regain
Our stolen birthright have not wrought in vain—
We live! we live, again!
Shakes in his crumbling palace-halls; for, hark!
On the broad Ocean of Democracy
Floats Liberty, prepared to disembark
On her predestin'd strand,
This English land!
272
She raiseth her bright banner—as the Sun
O'er clouds and storms ascendeth burningly—
And, with a loud and multitudinous voice,
The millions of the congregated Nation
(Myriad-lipp'd; but its great hearts as one!) Rejoice!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
And we, the mighty People, to regain
Our stolen birthright have not wrought in vain—
We live! we live, again!
Still bloodless be the sword we draw,
To make our lawful wills the law
O'er dull Convention, Tyranny and Wrong,
Made by the Ignorance of Ages strong!
No gory weapon will we deign to wield,
Drenching with brother-blood our brother's field;
Dungeons and chains, death-blocks and torturings
Shall vanish from the world with Slaves and Kings:
We fight to conquer and convert our Foes;
Not use them bloodily! From Freedom flows
Nor human tears, nor human gore:
With spiritual weapons for things spiritual
The living Many battle, as of yore
Did here and there some solitary Sage,
The one soul-beacon of his mindless Age!
For Knowledge now on myriad wings
From the Press, self-plumed, springs
And floats around us all!
We have not striven in vain
Against the tyrant-chain!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
We live! we live, again!
To make our lawful wills the law
O'er dull Convention, Tyranny and Wrong,
Made by the Ignorance of Ages strong!
No gory weapon will we deign to wield,
Drenching with brother-blood our brother's field;
Dungeons and chains, death-blocks and torturings
Shall vanish from the world with Slaves and Kings:
We fight to conquer and convert our Foes;
Not use them bloodily! From Freedom flows
Nor human tears, nor human gore:
With spiritual weapons for things spiritual
273
Did here and there some solitary Sage,
The one soul-beacon of his mindless Age!
For Knowledge now on myriad wings
From the Press, self-plumed, springs
And floats around us all!
We have not striven in vain
Against the tyrant-chain!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
We live! we live, again!
3. TO THE PEERS.
Some golden bubbles, in the unquiet air(Creations of a Childish Fantasy!)
Floating, I saw: lo! bare arms muscular
Approach'd them; and two hands—like Destiny
Crushing old worlds—destroy'd them utterly.
Slight sun-hatch'd creatures, in the calmness veering
Which did precede the storm, as though their fans
Of down were eagle-pinions, nothing fearing
274
I saw, and pitied for their vain careering:
The mighty winds came on, and mightier storms,
And whirl'd into the dust their insect-forms.
Bubbles and butterflies of men!—Ye Peers!—
Make for yourselves a safety in your fears!
4. TO THE COMMONS, AT THEIR SQUABBLES.
What is't ye do, Dull Spiders! darkly weavingThe web of your poor passions in the corners
Of your old Chamber, for the vile deceiving
Of idle fools, making the wise your scorners;
When all your words should be as songs of day
From bees and birds, all-cheering and intense
With peaceful power and thrilling influence
Over the list'ning world? Unto the Mass
Who toil with head or hand, what boot the feuds
That furnish gabble to your heated moods,
When truth runs o'er with wine, and shows ye—liars!
We must have answer to our great desires
For Social Progress; or we force the way,
And o'er ye, as a mighty whirlwind, pass!
275
5. TO THE HIERARCHY.
Thou hast not built thy house upon the rockOf Christ and his Good-Tidings, thou proud Thing,
Self-baptized with the name of “Hierarchy”!
But on the sand of this world's vanishing;
Wherefore, it shall not brave the coming shock
Of Truth and Knowledge, in their flowings high
Up the vast banks of Time; but, undermined,
Must shake, and great shall be the fall thereof.
Thy title is usurp'd, swollen Hierarchy!
“Chief of the Sacred” art thou not; for, know
That not with Mammon and his rust, below,
Abideth Sacredness, whose mansion-roof
Archeth the Universe!—O, Base-of-Mind!
Thou in the Church of Christ hast dug a gluttonous stye.
6. TO MY COUNTRY.
England! that in thy confidence of powerDost lie like guarded sleep—keep wide thine eyes!
276
That shall make chaff of all thy vanities:
But of that scattering, whether smiles or sighs
Shall be the issue, doth depend on thee—
Awake, old Country! from thine apathy;
And, gentle Mother! make thine Offspring blest
With more of equal plenty and sweet rest
Than is their dowry now, that they may feel
A filial heart-beat for their Parent's weal:
Let not a few wax gross with luxury,
Whilst thousands famish on one scanty meal—
Old Parent, wake! and hear thy Children's cry.
277
IV. THE BIRD AND CHILD.
1
A Lady with an eye most mildAnd lips as beautiful as closing flowers
Was the young mother of a child
Whose prattle made the pastime of her hours.
2
She in a cottage dwelt, whose thatchWas oft the perch of a melodious bird,
Which seem'd that infant's glee to watch,
And piped sweet songs whene'er its voice was heard.
3
Death touch'd the child, that it was dying,And by it the pale mother moaning lay;
And the bird ever had been flying
Around the thatch, but voiceless all the day.
278
4
And when the gentle infant died,Ere scarce the breath from its blue lips was gone,
The bird trill'd one brief song in pride—
Flew far, and never to return was known.
5
The mother sorrow'd, and went mad—And often in her phrensy this would say:—
“It is the bird that makes me sad,
“For with my sweet child's soul it flew away.”
279
V. A SONG.
1
A lady put to sea,Nor thought of wind and tide;
But soon dismay'd was she—
And, “bear me back!” she cried.
2
Another (or the same)Took boat in a balloon;
But when to a cloud she came,
Must needs with terror swoon.
3
And whether these fair voyagersArrived at worlds unknown;
Or got back safe to land, the dears!
I cannot tell, I own.
280
4
But 'tis most like they perish'dIn the dread depths which they braved,
With thoughts for all they cherish'd,
Or would—had they been saved.
5
O, Ladies! never trustTo water, or to air;
Where swim, or sink, ye must,
And go—the gods know where!
281
VI. CALVUS.
Bald Mortal! thou dost ape the SkeletonThat satirizes man and all his doings,
From every open'd grave; and shouldst seem one,
But for the glow-worm which is in thine eyes,
And certain airs that from thy lips arise.
Why, now to see thee at thine amorous cooings,
282
To which thy living death's-head gives the lie,
Would make the Shadow that all Life receiveth
Shake his dim sides with horrible derision.
Tell us, old Calvus! what about thee cleaveth,
To make distinction still between the vision
Of a death's-head and thine? Get thee false hair,
For thy sole privilege to upper air!
The above Sonnet having been put into the hands of Mr. Leigh Hunt, at the period of his editorship of “The Taller” (a journal which conferred a new grace upon its adopted name) he did it the honour to accompany it in that publication with the following jocular(?) “Answer,” under the appropriate signature of “Calviultor”:—
“I've got my wig:—and now, thou rash Hirsutus,
Crinitus, Whiskerandos, Ogre, Bear,
Or whatsoever title please thine hair,
Why vex the bald? Why loveless thus repute us?
Sweet Shakspeare, omni nectare imbutus,
Was bald; and he, the wise beyond compare,
Socrates, teacher of the young and fair;
And Cæsar, victim of a natural Brutus!
Fresh is the bald man's head; for love so apt,
That England's gallants, in her wittiest time,
In voluntary baldness, velvet-capp'd,
Through reams of letters urged their amorous rhyme:
Then issued forth, peruked; and o'er their shoulders
From ev'ry curl shook loves at all the fair beholders.”
Crinitus, Whiskerandos, Ogre, Bear,
Or whatsoever title please thine hair,
Why vex the bald? Why loveless thus repute us?
Sweet Shakspeare, omni nectare imbutus,
Was bald; and he, the wise beyond compare,
Socrates, teacher of the young and fair;
And Cæsar, victim of a natural Brutus!
Fresh is the bald man's head; for love so apt,
That England's gallants, in her wittiest time,
In voluntary baldness, velvet-capp'd,
Through reams of letters urged their amorous rhyme:
Then issued forth, peruked; and o'er their shoulders
From ev'ry curl shook loves at all the fair beholders.”
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VII. TO A MALIGNANT PERSON.
Poor rogue! I pity thee; but do not blame:The spirit which is in us must have scope;
The toad must spit its venom—thou the same!
The hangman were a jest without his rope;
And thou without thy spleen were a disdain
To the recoiling world. I should as soon,
Having my reason clear, vent angry thought
On flies, for stinging in the summer-noon,
Flesh vexing with the pettiness of pain;
On worms, for living in the dirt and crawling;
On swine, for wallowing in the mire; on aught
Most foul of all things filthy, for appalling
The delicate nostril's sense, as blame on thee,
For glutting thy soul's life—thy deep malignity!
284
VIII. THE PHAETONS OF KNOWLEDGE.
Still, still they prate! and common-place opinionUtter on themes abstruse, whose comprehension
Hath long defied the mightiest dominion
Of the great minds of Earth, to whose dimension
Theirs are as bats to eagles!—Get ye home!
Search all the lore o' the past; and then, walk forth,
And air your damp wits by the Ocean-foam!
Study from east to west, from south to north,
And tell us to what end your labours come!
Phaetons of Knowledge! ye the reins essay
As if ye were indeed fit charioteers
To guide her wheels of glory through the spheres!
Refrain!—Eat, love, and die! or sport, or pray!
But with your shadows pave not Thought's bright way!
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IX. “PUBLISHING.”
O, dull mechanic means!—the only means—Since Minstrel-harp and chant have pass'd away,
And we are fall'n on other modes and scenes—
By which to current make the Poet's lay!
O, that the godly human utterance
Of centred thought and interchanged feeling
Might the great Music of the Spheres enhance;
And, in the Vast of Space for ever pealing,
Go sounding onward through the Universe!
For, then; though deaf as now the Mortal Millions
To all the mystic harmonies of Verse;
The Stars and Birds, in their serene pavilions,
And all sweet things that heavenly music make,
Would listen—for their Fellow-Singers' sake!
FINIS.
| Mundi et Cordis | |