 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
387
OXFORD:
OR, Alma Mater.
(1830.)
388
TO THE
CHANCELLOR, MASTERS, AND SCHOLARS
OF
THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,
This Poem
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
BY THEIR OBEDIENT SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
389
I. PART I.
ANALYSIS OF PART I.
Intellectual greatness—The homage due to any Establishment tending to promote it—Oxford—Feelings and associations awakened by its first appearance— Its mental quiet — Its literary Past — Studies — Ancient and Modern Learning—Classical Bigots— System of Study and Examination—The necessity of one General Standard—Reason why Men of Genius have often contemned it—Mind independent of Circumstance—The University—Present appearance— View from the Radcliffe—New College Chapel and Service—Biographical Associations—Illustrations of the same in Addison, Steele, Collins, Johnson, Sir Philip Sydney, Ben Jonson, and Locke—Origin of Locke's famous Essay—Intellectual Society—A Contrast—Canning—Davenant— Wesley — Hervey — Denham — Chatham — Thomas Warton—Lisle Bowles—Country Clergymen—Their seclusion, how fondly anticipated—A Scene suggesting such anticipation — Blenheim — Balliol — Ridley and Latimer—Their Martyrdom—Evelyn—
390
Round the vast miracles achieved by Mind
Throng the deep raptures of entranced mankind:
For what though Empires spread their proud control
Far as the winds exult or waters roll;
Though Tyrian merchandise their ports bedeck
And navies thunder at their awful beck,
The pride of Commerce and the awe of Power
Melt into dreams, at desolation's hour:
Then, what remains of Kingdoms which have been?
Lo! deserts wave, where Capitals were seen!
The wild grass quivers o'er each mangled Pile,
And winter moans along the archless aisle;
Where once they flourished ruins grimly tell,
And shade the air with melancholy spell,
While from their wreck a tide of feeling rolls
In awful wisdom through reflective souls.
Throng the deep raptures of entranced mankind:
For what though Empires spread their proud control
Far as the winds exult or waters roll;
Though Tyrian merchandise their ports bedeck
And navies thunder at their awful beck,
The pride of Commerce and the awe of Power
Melt into dreams, at desolation's hour:
Then, what remains of Kingdoms which have been?
Lo! deserts wave, where Capitals were seen!
The wild grass quivers o'er each mangled Pile,
And winter moans along the archless aisle;
Where once they flourished ruins grimly tell,
And shade the air with melancholy spell,
While from their wreck a tide of feeling rolls
In awful wisdom through reflective souls.
What then alone majestically reigns
When Empires grovel on deserted plains,
In morning lustre to illume the night
Which Time engenders o'er their vanish'd might?
'Tis Mind! an immortality below
That gilds the past and bids the future glow;
'Tis mind!—heroic, pure, devoted Mind
To God appealing for corrupt mankind,
Reflecting back the image that He gave
Ere sin began, or Earth became a slave!
When Empires grovel on deserted plains,
In morning lustre to illume the night
Which Time engenders o'er their vanish'd might?
'Tis Mind! an immortality below
That gilds the past and bids the future glow;
'Tis mind!—heroic, pure, devoted Mind
To God appealing for corrupt mankind,
Reflecting back the image that He gave
Ere sin began, or Earth became a slave!
If then from soaring intellect arise
Perennial triumphs, England's heart may prize,
In towery dimness, gothic, stern, or grand,
Behold her palaces of Learning stand!
When Day was dying into sunset glow
I first beheld them in their beauteous show,
The solemn turrets of each ancient pile,
And thought—How noble is our native Isle!
A silent worship o'er my spirit came,
While feelings far too exquisite for name
Exultingly began their rapt control,
And fluttered, like faint music, in the soul.
Where Greatness trod, is hallow'd ground to me;
There can I lift the heart, and bow the knee,
The past awake to all its living might,
And charm my fancy with unearthly sight,
Restore the features of the famous dead,
Nor take a Kingdom for the tear I shed!
Perennial triumphs, England's heart may prize,
In towery dimness, gothic, stern, or grand,
Behold her palaces of Learning stand!
When Day was dying into sunset glow
I first beheld them in their beauteous show,
The solemn turrets of each ancient pile,
And thought—How noble is our native Isle!
A silent worship o'er my spirit came,
While feelings far too exquisite for name
Exultingly began their rapt control,
And fluttered, like faint music, in the soul.
Where Greatness trod, is hallow'd ground to me;
There can I lift the heart, and bow the knee,
The past awake to all its living might,
And charm my fancy with unearthly sight,
Restore the features of the famous dead,
Nor take a Kingdom for the tear I shed!
And how poetic is that haunted Spot
Where life is mental, and the world forgot!
A spirit wafted from collegiate bowers
And the dim shadow of her ancient towers
To Alma Mater holy calm impart,
And make her scene harmonious with the heart.
The very air seems eloquently fraught
With the deep fulness of devoted thought;
While all around her, famed as eye desires,
Each mind ennobles or some heart inspires.
And here, how many a youthful Soul began
To sketch the drama of the future man;
How many an Eye o'er coming years hath smiled,
And sparkled, as incessant hope beguiled!
The star-like spirits, whose enduring light
Beams on the World, and turns its darkness bright,
In radiant promise here began to rise,
And glow ambitious for eternal Skies.
Oh! none whose souls have felt a mighty name
Thrill to their centre with its sound of fame;
Whose hearts have warm'd at wisdom, truth, or worth,
And half which makes the heaven we meet on earth,
Can tread the ground by Genius often trod,
Nor feel a nature more akin to God!
Here in their blended magic float along
Pindaric rapture and Virgilian song;
Still Homer charms as when he first prevail'd
And honour'd Greece her idol poet hail'd;
See Athens in her classic bloom revive,
Her sages worshipp'd, and her bards alive;
See Rome triumphant, with her banner furl'd,
Awaken genius to enchant a world!
Where life is mental, and the world forgot!
A spirit wafted from collegiate bowers
And the dim shadow of her ancient towers
To Alma Mater holy calm impart,
And make her scene harmonious with the heart.
The very air seems eloquently fraught
With the deep fulness of devoted thought;
While all around her, famed as eye desires,
Each mind ennobles or some heart inspires.
And here, how many a youthful Soul began
To sketch the drama of the future man;
How many an Eye o'er coming years hath smiled,
And sparkled, as incessant hope beguiled!
The star-like spirits, whose enduring light
Beams on the World, and turns its darkness bright,
In radiant promise here began to rise,
And glow ambitious for eternal Skies.
Oh! none whose souls have felt a mighty name
Thrill to their centre with its sound of fame;
Whose hearts have warm'd at wisdom, truth, or worth,
And half which makes the heaven we meet on earth,
Can tread the ground by Genius often trod,
Nor feel a nature more akin to God!
Here in their blended magic float along
Pindaric rapture and Virgilian song;
Still Homer charms as when he first prevail'd
And honour'd Greece her idol poet hail'd;
See Athens in her classic bloom revive,
Her sages worshipp'd, and her bards alive;
See Rome triumphant, with her banner furl'd,
Awaken genius to enchant a world!
There are, who see no intellectual rays
Flash from the spirit-light of other Days;
Who deem no Age transcendent as their own,
And high the Present o'er the Past enthrone.
Yet, not in vain the world hath aye adored
The treasured wisdom ages gone afford;
Or loved the freshness of that youthful Time
When Science woke, and Man became sublime!
For then, the Elements of mind were new,
And Fancy from their unworn magic drew;
Creation's self was one unrifled theme
To form the Poet, and enchant his dream:
As yet unhaunted by inquiring thought,
Each track of mind with mental bloom was fraught;
The first in nature were the first to feel
Impassion'd wonder and romantic zeal;
Hence matchless vigour nerved their living page,
That won the worship of a future age;—
From ancient Lore see modern Learning rise,
The last we honour, but the first we prize.
Flash from the spirit-light of other Days;
Who deem no Age transcendent as their own,
And high the Present o'er the Past enthrone.
Yet, not in vain the world hath aye adored
The treasured wisdom ages gone afford;
Or loved the freshness of that youthful Time
When Science woke, and Man became sublime!
For then, the Elements of mind were new,
And Fancy from their unworn magic drew;
391
To form the Poet, and enchant his dream:
As yet unhaunted by inquiring thought,
Each track of mind with mental bloom was fraught;
The first in nature were the first to feel
Impassion'd wonder and romantic zeal;
Hence matchless vigour nerved their living page,
That won the worship of a future age;—
From ancient Lore see modern Learning rise,
The last we honour, but the first we prize.
Then long enshrined in this august retreat
May Greece and Rome for high communion meet;
Long may their forceful page and free-born style
From year to year enamour'd Youth beguile;
The Judgment form, uncertain Taste direct,
Teach Truth to feel, and Fancy to reflect;
And Learning, hallow'd by immortal fame,
See England glory in her Oxford name!
Yet not forsaken be the proud career
Which circles through the realm of Thought severe;
The studies vast which measure earth and sky,
Or open worlds on the undaunted eye:
Which more offends,—the bigot who can read
No volume from the dust of Ages freed;
Or he who owns no intellectual grace,
But makes a cargo of the human race,
And values man like produce from the ground,—
'Tis hard to say, yet both, alas! are found.
The dark idolater of ancient Time,
And solemn Epicure in prose or rhyme,
The groping Pedant with a gloomy eye,
Who whines an elegy o'er days gone by,—
Oh! still from Oxford be such race removed,
And nobler far her gifted scions proved.
May Greece and Rome for high communion meet;
Long may their forceful page and free-born style
From year to year enamour'd Youth beguile;
The Judgment form, uncertain Taste direct,
Teach Truth to feel, and Fancy to reflect;
And Learning, hallow'd by immortal fame,
See England glory in her Oxford name!
Yet not forsaken be the proud career
Which circles through the realm of Thought severe;
The studies vast which measure earth and sky,
Or open worlds on the undaunted eye:
Which more offends,—the bigot who can read
No volume from the dust of Ages freed;
Or he who owns no intellectual grace,
But makes a cargo of the human race,
And values man like produce from the ground,—
'Tis hard to say, yet both, alas! are found.
The dark idolater of ancient Time,
And solemn Epicure in prose or rhyme,
The groping Pedant with a gloomy eye,
Who whines an elegy o'er days gone by,—
Oh! still from Oxford be such race removed,
And nobler far her gifted scions proved.
What soul so vacant, so profoundly dull,
What brain so wither'd in a barren skull,
As his who, dungeon'd in the gloom of Eld,
From all the light of living mind withheld,
Can deem it half an intellectual shame
To glow at Milton's worth, or Shakspere's name!
What brain so wither'd in a barren skull,
As his who, dungeon'd in the gloom of Eld,
From all the light of living mind withheld,
Can deem it half an intellectual shame
To glow at Milton's worth, or Shakspere's name!
Farewell to Bigots! whatso'er their hue,
Who darken Learning, and disgrace it too;
Another charge let Alma Mater own
By frequent Sages on her wisdom thrown:
Alike one Standard for the great and small
Her Laws decree, by which she judges all;
Hence in one mould must oft confound at once
The daring thinker with the plodding dunce;
The soaring Mind must sink into a plan,
Forget her wings, and crawl where Dulness can;
Those bolder traits, original and bright,
Fade into dimness when they lose the light
Of open, free, and self-created day
Where all the tints of Character can play.
Yet, what could Education's art provide
For countless Minds by varying standard tried?
For public Weal, not individual Mind
As mental Nurse was Oxford first design'd;
And blindly wrong would be her guardian eye,
To love the great, but pass the lesser by;
From each due toil impassion'd Genius save,
And crown for merit what mere Nature gave.
Not all alike discerning Heaven endows,
Nor equal mind to equal heart allows:
Full oft th' ingenuous pang, the noble tear
Or modest Doubt, the phantom-child of fear,
To humble Worth a consecration lends,
Which proves for lost renown sublime amends;—
Let mind be nursed, though doom'd a narrow sphere,
And what his Maker gives, let man revere!
Who darken Learning, and disgrace it too;
Another charge let Alma Mater own
By frequent Sages on her wisdom thrown:
Alike one Standard for the great and small
Her Laws decree, by which she judges all;
Hence in one mould must oft confound at once
The daring thinker with the plodding dunce;
392
Forget her wings, and crawl where Dulness can;
Those bolder traits, original and bright,
Fade into dimness when they lose the light
Of open, free, and self-created day
Where all the tints of Character can play.
Yet, what could Education's art provide
For countless Minds by varying standard tried?
393
As mental Nurse was Oxford first design'd;
And blindly wrong would be her guardian eye,
To love the great, but pass the lesser by;
From each due toil impassion'd Genius save,
And crown for merit what mere Nature gave.
Not all alike discerning Heaven endows,
Nor equal mind to equal heart allows:
Full oft th' ingenuous pang, the noble tear
Or modest Doubt, the phantom-child of fear,
To humble Worth a consecration lends,
Which proves for lost renown sublime amends;—
Let mind be nursed, though doom'd a narrow sphere,
And what his Maker gives, let man revere!
Allow that Genius feels a curbless soul,
Which chafes in fetters, and defies control;
And, haughty as the mountain eagle-chain'd,
Hath every empire but her own disdain'd:
Though customs old, like ancient roots, are found
With stubborn grasp to cling to native ground,
Fain would her boldness to Herself be rule,
And energy its own majestic school!
But when hath Mind such education lost,
However cabin'd, and however cross'd?
Alike triumphant over college-wall,
The mouldy cellar, and plebeian stall
We mark the Soul of Inspiration rise,
Expand her wings, and revel in the skies!
Which chafes in fetters, and defies control;
And, haughty as the mountain eagle-chain'd,
Hath every empire but her own disdain'd:
Though customs old, like ancient roots, are found
With stubborn grasp to cling to native ground,
Fain would her boldness to Herself be rule,
And energy its own majestic school!
But when hath Mind such education lost,
However cabin'd, and however cross'd?
Alike triumphant over college-wall,
The mouldy cellar, and plebeian stall
We mark the Soul of Inspiration rise,
Expand her wings, and revel in the skies!
Then vainly let the powerless sophist frown,
To hide one ray of Oxford's fair renown:
Or quote some verse to vindicate his cause,
Of scornful meaning at her ancient Laws.
Spirits have lived, who could not suffer chains;
The fire which fever'd their electric veins
Burn'd all too restless for obedient thought,
And hence the solace indignation brought.
Yet when was Order known, or due Control,
To quench divinity within the soul?
Oh! little think they, how sublimely pure,
In godlike state above the World secure,
That earthless nature which they Genius call!
In vain the tides of circumstance appal;
Though clouds repress, and darksome woe detain,
The Soul remounts, and is Herself again.
Go, ask of Ages what made dungeons bright,
Vile Sufferance sweet, and Danger a delight?—
'Twas Spirit, independent as sublime,
The King of nature and the Lord of time!
To hide one ray of Oxford's fair renown:
Or quote some verse to vindicate his cause,
Of scornful meaning at her ancient Laws.
Spirits have lived, who could not suffer chains;
The fire which fever'd their electric veins
Burn'd all too restless for obedient thought,
And hence the solace indignation brought.
Yet when was Order known, or due Control,
To quench divinity within the soul?
Oh! little think they, how sublimely pure,
In godlike state above the World secure,
That earthless nature which they Genius call!
In vain the tides of circumstance appal;
Though clouds repress, and darksome woe detain,
The Soul remounts, and is Herself again.
Go, ask of Ages what made dungeons bright,
Vile Sufferance sweet, and Danger a delight?—
'Twas Spirit, independent as sublime,
The King of nature and the Lord of time!
The Sun is up! behold a genial day,
And all things glorious in its glorious ray;
Ascend the Radcliffe's darkly-winding coil
Of countless steps, nor murmur at the toil;
For lo! a Scene, when that ascension's o'er,
Which Painters love, when most their feelings soar.
There, from the base of her commanding Dome
O'er many a mile the spell-bound glance may roam,
While music-wing'd, the winds of freshness sound,
Like airy haunters of the region round.
Yon heavens are azured by one cloudless die;
Beneath—romance in stone to charm the eye!
Spire, tower, and steeple, roofs of radiant tile,
The costly Temple, and collegiate Pile,
In sumptuous mass of mingled form and hue,
Await the wonder of thy lingering view.
Far to the west, autumnal meadows wind
Whose fading tints fall tender on the mind;
And near, a hoary Tower with dial'd side,
And nearer still, in many-window'd pride,
All Souls', with central towers superbly grand;
But see! the clouds are rent,—they break,—expand,
And sunshine, welcomed by each ancient pile,
Like Past and Present when they meet to smile,
With tinting magic beautifully falls
On fretted pinnacles, and fresco'd walls,
Till dark St. Mary, with symmetric spire,
Swells into glory as her shades retire;
And Maudlin' trees, which wave o'er Cherwell-stream,
Flash on the view and flutter in the beam:
In yellow faintness, lo! that sun-burst dies,
The vision changes with the change of skies;
Again have Centuries their dominion won,
And shadows triumph o'er the failing Sun.
And all things glorious in its glorious ray;
Ascend the Radcliffe's darkly-winding coil
394
For lo! a Scene, when that ascension's o'er,
Which Painters love, when most their feelings soar.
There, from the base of her commanding Dome
O'er many a mile the spell-bound glance may roam,
While music-wing'd, the winds of freshness sound,
Like airy haunters of the region round.
Yon heavens are azured by one cloudless die;
Beneath—romance in stone to charm the eye!
Spire, tower, and steeple, roofs of radiant tile,
The costly Temple, and collegiate Pile,
In sumptuous mass of mingled form and hue,
Await the wonder of thy lingering view.
Far to the west, autumnal meadows wind
Whose fading tints fall tender on the mind;
And near, a hoary Tower with dial'd side,
And nearer still, in many-window'd pride,
All Souls', with central towers superbly grand;
But see! the clouds are rent,—they break,—expand,
And sunshine, welcomed by each ancient pile,
Like Past and Present when they meet to smile,
With tinting magic beautifully falls
On fretted pinnacles, and fresco'd walls,
Till dark St. Mary, with symmetric spire,
Swells into glory as her shades retire;
And Maudlin' trees, which wave o'er Cherwell-stream,
Flash on the view and flutter in the beam:
In yellow faintness, lo! that sun-burst dies,
The vision changes with the change of skies;
Again have Centuries their dominion won,
And shadows triumph o'er the failing Sun.
And every where time-hallow'd Temples rise,
Whose classic pomp corroding age defies.
What solemn beauty by the spirit felt!
While feelings into adoration melt,
As in their depth of Gothic gloom we tread
Amid the hush of Ages which are dead.
I well remember, when a stranger, first,
What stately Vision on my senses burst!
From towering lamps a noon-like radiance shone
O'er pavement mottled with mosaic stone,
And white-robed Choristers in due array,
Whose vestments glitter'd like the sheen of day.
There, silver-voiced, in many a heav'nward note,
I heard rich Music in soft billows float,
Now faintly ebb, then loudly swell again,
And grow resistless as the organ-strain
Came river-like, in one impassion'd roll
From the deep harmony of Handel's soul!
Whose classic pomp corroding age defies.
What solemn beauty by the spirit felt!
While feelings into adoration melt,
As in their depth of Gothic gloom we tread
Amid the hush of Ages which are dead.
I well remember, when a stranger, first,
What stately Vision on my senses burst!
From towering lamps a noon-like radiance shone
O'er pavement mottled with mosaic stone,
And white-robed Choristers in due array,
Whose vestments glitter'd like the sheen of day.
There, silver-voiced, in many a heav'nward note,
I heard rich Music in soft billows float,
Now faintly ebb, then loudly swell again,
And grow resistless as the organ-strain
Came river-like, in one impassion'd roll
From the deep harmony of Handel's soul!
And tell me, thou whose wandering feet have trod
Like his who trembled on the ground of God,
The hallow'd soil where classic glories shine
Back on thy spirit with their beam divine,
Hath Oxford, haunted by her long array
Of Memories which cannot glide away,
No local Magic to entrance thy mind,
And make it prouder of thy Human Kind?
Whate'er of good and glorious, learn'd or grand,
Delighted ages and adorn'd the land,
Was foster'd here:—the Senate, Pulpit, Bar,
The scenes of Ocean, and the storms of War,
Wherever Mind hath high dominion shown
To counsel Kingdoms, or secure a Throne,—
There may Oxonia sons of glory hail,
And see the Spirit which she nursed, prevail!
Forget awhile the fever of the hour,
And give the Past its resurrection-power;
Around thee Bards and Sages muse or stray,
And wind the garden that is walk'd to-day.
The pilgrim-clouds, those time-worn trees which wave
On banks whose beauty constant waters lave,
Their eyes beheld:—do burning thoughts begin?
Then dare to rival what you dream within!
Like his who trembled on the ground of God,
The hallow'd soil where classic glories shine
Back on thy spirit with their beam divine,
Hath Oxford, haunted by her long array
Of Memories which cannot glide away,
No local Magic to entrance thy mind,
And make it prouder of thy Human Kind?
Whate'er of good and glorious, learn'd or grand,
Delighted ages and adorn'd the land,
Was foster'd here:—the Senate, Pulpit, Bar,
The scenes of Ocean, and the storms of War,
Wherever Mind hath high dominion shown
To counsel Kingdoms, or secure a Throne,—
There may Oxonia sons of glory hail,
And see the Spirit which she nursed, prevail!
Forget awhile the fever of the hour,
And give the Past its resurrection-power;
Around thee Bards and Sages muse or stray,
And wind the garden that is walk'd to-day.
The pilgrim-clouds, those time-worn trees which wave
On banks whose beauty constant waters lave,
Their eyes beheld:—do burning thoughts begin?
Then dare to rival what you dream within!
Too vast Her list, might pen achieve it all,
Each form of memory into life to call;
Yet fain would fondness with some imaged few
Partake a moment, and believe it true.
Adown yon path, beside the grassy sweep
Of Maudlin' park, where light deer couch and leap,
And giant elms the haughty Winds delay,
There gentle Addison was wont to stray:
And where the mill-stream turns yon restless wheel,
As writhing on those broken waters steal,
His tree-lined walk of beauteous length began,
For ever hallow'd by that holy man!
In many a whirl hath Autumn's driving blast
From these fond trees their summer-foliage cast,
And leafy showers now mournfully abound,
In sallow redness scatter'd o'er the ground;
But here, full oft, the branches waving green,
And heaven's blue magic smiling in between,
The pensive Rambler dream'd an hour away,
Or wove the music of his Attic lay;
Saw Cato's grandeur on his soul arise,
And Heaven half open to a heathen's eyes:
Or, happier themes, whose ethic pureness glows
With every tint that character bestows,
From ancient Lore his tender heart beguiled,
And lit his features when his fancy smiled,
Nor be forgot, who all his worth could feel,
The friend of Addison, delightful Steele!
Whose classic morn let Merton's annals claim,
Where first the Drama woo'd him on to fame:
More roughly hewn than his Athenian friend,
And venturing oft where Virtues never tend;
Yet warm of soul, and child-like to a tear,
As when it dropp'd on Love's parental bier;
Now madly sunk in passion's deep excess,
Now high in wisdom which a saint might bless!
A mixture wild of all that man admires,
Whose faults may warn him, while his fame inspires.
Each form of memory into life to call;
Yet fain would fondness with some imaged few
Partake a moment, and believe it true.
Adown yon path, beside the grassy sweep
Of Maudlin' park, where light deer couch and leap,
And giant elms the haughty Winds delay,
There gentle Addison was wont to stray:
And where the mill-stream turns yon restless wheel,
As writhing on those broken waters steal,
His tree-lined walk of beauteous length began,
For ever hallow'd by that holy man!
In many a whirl hath Autumn's driving blast
From these fond trees their summer-foliage cast,
And leafy showers now mournfully abound,
In sallow redness scatter'd o'er the ground;
But here, full oft, the branches waving green,
And heaven's blue magic smiling in between,
The pensive Rambler dream'd an hour away,
Or wove the music of his Attic lay;
Saw Cato's grandeur on his soul arise,
And Heaven half open to a heathen's eyes:
Or, happier themes, whose ethic pureness glows
With every tint that character bestows,
From ancient Lore his tender heart beguiled,
And lit his features when his fancy smiled,
Nor be forgot, who all his worth could feel,
The friend of Addison, delightful Steele!
395
Where first the Drama woo'd him on to fame:
More roughly hewn than his Athenian friend,
And venturing oft where Virtues never tend;
Yet warm of soul, and child-like to a tear,
As when it dropp'd on Love's parental bier;
Now madly sunk in passion's deep excess,
Now high in wisdom which a saint might bless!
A mixture wild of all that man admires,
Whose faults may warn him, while his fame inspires.
Ere Steele began, what Addison pursued,
The path still trod with mental gratitude,
Those day-born graces, whose refinement blends
The charm of Manner with the soul of friends,
La Casa first in Italy awoke,
And sketch'd the Courtier with a master-stroke.
But next, a Gallic Theophrastus threw
His playful archness o'er the scene he drew,
Dissected truth with Satire's keenest knife,
And mirror'd Nature on the glass of life.
Then rose on English ground the gifted pair,
Who taught to either Sex a softer air,
Proved Elegance to Virtue's self allied,
And laugh'd at Dulness, till her follies died!
O'er weeds and thorns which social life beset,
And tease their martyr into vain regret,
Their morning-smile satirically pass'd,
Till fools turn'd wise, and fops were cured at last!
Nor small the debt Society should pay
To him who flaps her buzzing Flies away;
Those noisesome Insects on eternal wing,
That hum at banquets, or in ball-rooms sting,
Which, though they cannot heart and mind o'erpower,
May fret the smoothness of the calmest hour.
The path still trod with mental gratitude,
Those day-born graces, whose refinement blends
The charm of Manner with the soul of friends,
La Casa first in Italy awoke,
And sketch'd the Courtier with a master-stroke.
But next, a Gallic Theophrastus threw
His playful archness o'er the scene he drew,
Dissected truth with Satire's keenest knife,
And mirror'd Nature on the glass of life.
Then rose on English ground the gifted pair,
Who taught to either Sex a softer air,
Proved Elegance to Virtue's self allied,
And laugh'd at Dulness, till her follies died!
O'er weeds and thorns which social life beset,
And tease their martyr into vain regret,
Their morning-smile satirically pass'd,
Till fools turn'd wise, and fops were cured at last!
Nor small the debt Society should pay
To him who flaps her buzzing Flies away;
Those noisesome Insects on eternal wing,
That hum at banquets, or in ball-rooms sting,
Which, though they cannot heart and mind o'erpower,
May fret the smoothness of the calmest hour.
Here Collins, too, whose perfect numbers roll
Pathetic music o'er the dreaming soul,
In melancholy loneness pined and thought
'Mid the sad gloom by stricken genius wrought.
E'en now the curse was breeding in his brain,—
A nerveless spirit, and a soul insane;
While moon-born fairies would around him throng,
And genii haunt him in the hush of song:
Ill-fated bard! like Chatterton's thy doom,
To seek for fame, and find it in the tomb!
Pathetic music o'er the dreaming soul,
In melancholy loneness pined and thought
'Mid the sad gloom by stricken genius wrought.
E'en now the curse was breeding in his brain,—
A nerveless spirit, and a soul insane;
While moon-born fairies would around him throng,
And genii haunt him in the hush of song:
Ill-fated bard! like Chatterton's thy doom,
To seek for fame, and find it in the tomb!
To Pembroke turn, and what undying charm,
Breathed from the Past, shall there thy spirit warm?
There Johnson dwelt! the dignified and sage,
The noblest Honour of a noble age;
Whose mien and manners, though of graceless kind,
Were all apart from his heroic mind;
They were the bark around some royal tree
Whose branches towering in the heavens we see.
Here lived and mused that unforgotten Man!
Might Language speak, what only Feeling can,
As here I view these venerable walls
And slow as in some fane my footstep falls,
Young hearts would echo to a welcome strain,
And feel, as I do,—Johnson live again!
O'er Time's vast sea a century's waves have roll'd,
And many a knell hath unregarded knoll'd,
Since, fondly wrapt in meditative gloom,
The sage of England sat in this lone room:
Yet, well may Fancy, at yon evening-fire
Behold him seated; and when moods inspire,
(As Sorrow droop'd, or Hope her wings unfurl'd)
His spirit hover through the varied world
Of life and conduct, fortune, truth, or fate,
His future glory, and his present state:
Or, when the noonshine reign'd in golden power
And dimly smiled some melancholy Tower,
Muse at his window with far-wandering eye,
And drink the freshness of the open sky;
Or round the gateway woo admiring Ears
To listen, while he charm'd beyond his years,
By spoken magic, or electric wit
That flash'd severe, yet sparkled where it hit:—
A bright deception! far too often seen
To hide the heart where agony has been.
Oh! hideous mockery the mind endures,
To forge the smile whose merriment allures,
To gild a moment with fictitious ray
Yet feel a viper on the spirit prey!
Departed Soul! how oft when Laughter fed
On the bright frolic which thy fancy bred,
And happy natures, as they saw thee smile,
Seem'd mingling with thy sunny heart awhile,
Back to thy chamber didst thou darkly steal,
And there the blight of thine own bosom feel?
Then sink to slumber with a heated brain,
To-morrow wake, and wear that smile again!
Breathed from the Past, shall there thy spirit warm?
There Johnson dwelt! the dignified and sage,
The noblest Honour of a noble age;
Whose mien and manners, though of graceless kind,
Were all apart from his heroic mind;
They were the bark around some royal tree
Whose branches towering in the heavens we see.
Here lived and mused that unforgotten Man!
Might Language speak, what only Feeling can,
As here I view these venerable walls
And slow as in some fane my footstep falls,
Young hearts would echo to a welcome strain,
And feel, as I do,—Johnson live again!
O'er Time's vast sea a century's waves have roll'd,
And many a knell hath unregarded knoll'd,
Since, fondly wrapt in meditative gloom,
The sage of England sat in this lone room:
Yet, well may Fancy, at yon evening-fire
Behold him seated; and when moods inspire,
(As Sorrow droop'd, or Hope her wings unfurl'd)
His spirit hover through the varied world
Of life and conduct, fortune, truth, or fate,
His future glory, and his present state:
Or, when the noonshine reign'd in golden power
And dimly smiled some melancholy Tower,
Muse at his window with far-wandering eye,
And drink the freshness of the open sky;
Or round the gateway woo admiring Ears
To listen, while he charm'd beyond his years,
By spoken magic, or electric wit
That flash'd severe, yet sparkled where it hit:—
A bright deception! far too often seen
To hide the heart where agony has been.
Oh! hideous mockery the mind endures,
To forge the smile whose merriment allures,
To gild a moment with fictitious ray
Yet feel a viper on the spirit prey!
Departed Soul! how oft when Laughter fed
On the bright frolic which thy fancy bred,
And happy natures, as they saw thee smile,
Seem'd mingling with thy sunny heart awhile,
Back to thy chamber didst thou darkly steal,
And there the blight of thine own bosom feel?
396
To-morrow wake, and wear that smile again!
I know not why, but since a dream of Fame,
My heart hath gloried in great Johnson's name,
And deeper worship to his Spirit vow'd
Than others have to loftier worth allow'd.
In what a mould was his high nature cast,
Who never ventured, but he all surpass'd!
And reign'd amid the realms of thought alone,
Nor left an equal to ascend his throne.
How truly deep, how tenderly divine;
The lofty meaning, the majestic line!
A moral sweetness, a persuasive flow
Of happy diction, whether joy or wo
Touch'd the deep springs of his devoted mind,
Where'er they muse, delighted myriads find;
And though the bleakness of his spirit threw
Round earth's rare sunshine too severe a hue,
How Life and Character before him stand,
Their mysteries open, and their scenes expand!
And well for wisdom, could the loud pretence
Of puny language with profoundest sense,
Such massy substance in the meaning show,
As that which ages to a Johnson owe!
My heart hath gloried in great Johnson's name,
And deeper worship to his Spirit vow'd
Than others have to loftier worth allow'd.
In what a mould was his high nature cast,
Who never ventured, but he all surpass'd!
And reign'd amid the realms of thought alone,
Nor left an equal to ascend his throne.
How truly deep, how tenderly divine;
The lofty meaning, the majestic line!
A moral sweetness, a persuasive flow
Of happy diction, whether joy or wo
Touch'd the deep springs of his devoted mind,
Where'er they muse, delighted myriads find;
And though the bleakness of his spirit threw
Round earth's rare sunshine too severe a hue,
How Life and Character before him stand,
Their mysteries open, and their scenes expand!
And well for wisdom, could the loud pretence
Of puny language with profoundest sense,
Such massy substance in the meaning show,
As that which ages to a Johnson owe!
Descend from learning to the nearer view,
Where Man appears in vital colours true;
And where was Piety more deeply shrined,
Than in the temple of that awful Mind
Whence day and night eternal incense rose
To Him from whom the tide of Being flows!
That self-respect, around whose constant sway
The purest beams of happiness must play,
He ever felt; the same proud dream it gave
To hours that wither'd in the toils of Cave,
And him, in aidless fortune high and free,
Who taught a Lord how mean a Lord could be!
And, mix'd with harshness, irritably loud,
Which came like thunder from the social cloud
Which pride or pertness round the moment threw,
His faith, how firm! his tenderness, how true!
For Goldsmith's worth, or Garrick's lighter grace,
The tears of fondness trembled down his face;
And when did Want or Wo to him appeal,
Nor find a hand to give, a heart to feel?
While Truth he worshipp'd with severest awe,
Of Fame the glory, and to life a law.
So great he lived: yet round the greatest soul
How weakness hovers with its vile control!
As when some organ of the frame appears
In matchless strength beyond the mould of years,
A weakness balancing that strength is found;
So oft in mind where miracles abound,
The lying pettiness of nature seems
Revenged in mocking what perfection dreams.
In Johnson thus: the piety which trod
Each path of life, communing with his God,
In gloomy hours could childish phantoms see,
And give to Penance what was due to tea!
The mind that reason'd on the fate of Man,
And soar'd as high as wingless nature can,
Would oft descend, the petty bigot show,
And roll lip-thunders o'er some prostrate foe!
Or else, in whirlwind fury sweep along,
And risk the right, to prove a victor wrong.
The Soul which spake angelically wise
When Truth and he were throned amid the skies,
In human life his Rasselas forgot
To wear the meanness of our common lot,
By passion bow'd, each prejudice obey'd,
And grew ferocious o'er a smile betray'd!
Yet peace to such! of all by men adored,
Than Johnson, who could better, faults afford?
Let Time exult that such a man hath been,
And England follow where his steps are seen.
Where Man appears in vital colours true;
And where was Piety more deeply shrined,
Than in the temple of that awful Mind
Whence day and night eternal incense rose
To Him from whom the tide of Being flows!
That self-respect, around whose constant sway
The purest beams of happiness must play,
He ever felt; the same proud dream it gave
To hours that wither'd in the toils of Cave,
And him, in aidless fortune high and free,
Who taught a Lord how mean a Lord could be!
And, mix'd with harshness, irritably loud,
Which came like thunder from the social cloud
Which pride or pertness round the moment threw,
His faith, how firm! his tenderness, how true!
For Goldsmith's worth, or Garrick's lighter grace,
The tears of fondness trembled down his face;
And when did Want or Wo to him appeal,
Nor find a hand to give, a heart to feel?
While Truth he worshipp'd with severest awe,
Of Fame the glory, and to life a law.
So great he lived: yet round the greatest soul
How weakness hovers with its vile control!
As when some organ of the frame appears
In matchless strength beyond the mould of years,
A weakness balancing that strength is found;
So oft in mind where miracles abound,
The lying pettiness of nature seems
Revenged in mocking what perfection dreams.
In Johnson thus: the piety which trod
Each path of life, communing with his God,
In gloomy hours could childish phantoms see,
And give to Penance what was due to tea!
The mind that reason'd on the fate of Man,
And soar'd as high as wingless nature can,
Would oft descend, the petty bigot show,
And roll lip-thunders o'er some prostrate foe!
Or else, in whirlwind fury sweep along,
And risk the right, to prove a victor wrong.
The Soul which spake angelically wise
When Truth and he were throned amid the skies,
In human life his Rasselas forgot
To wear the meanness of our common lot,
By passion bow'd, each prejudice obey'd,
And grew ferocious o'er a smile betray'd!
Yet peace to such! of all by men adored,
Than Johnson, who could better, faults afford?
Let Time exult that such a man hath been,
And England follow where his steps are seen.
To swell the records of collegiate-fame
See Lincoln rise, and claim her Davenant's name;
Within her walls the minstrel-student wove
Poetic dreams of melody and love.
On him, as yet a verse-enchanted child,
The prince of nature, Shakspeare's self, had smiled!
Oh! to have listen'd to that glorious Tongue,
And seen the Man on whom a World has hung,
Till admiration, too intensely wrought,
Becomes a worship, and adores in thought!
And, Wesley! often in thy room I see
A holy Shadow which resembles thee;
Let others laugh at that o'erheated mind
Which never gloried but to bless Mankind;
Be ours the tribute to as pure a soul
As Fame recordeth in her sacred roll.
A kindred line to pious Hervey pay,
Whom Lincoln boasted in his morning-day:
When night begins, and starry wonders teem,
My fancy paints him in some mental dream,
With eye upturn'd to where th' Almighty shone
While vision'd angels warbled round His throne.
See Lincoln rise, and claim her Davenant's name;
Within her walls the minstrel-student wove
Poetic dreams of melody and love.
On him, as yet a verse-enchanted child,
The prince of nature, Shakspeare's self, had smiled!
Oh! to have listen'd to that glorious Tongue,
And seen the Man on whom a World has hung,
Till admiration, too intensely wrought,
Becomes a worship, and adores in thought!
And, Wesley! often in thy room I see
A holy Shadow which resembles thee;
Let others laugh at that o'erheated mind
Which never gloried but to bless Mankind;
Be ours the tribute to as pure a soul
As Fame recordeth in her sacred roll.
A kindred line to pious Hervey pay,
Whom Lincoln boasted in his morning-day:
When night begins, and starry wonders teem,
My fancy paints him in some mental dream,
With eye upturn'd to where th' Almighty shone
While vision'd angels warbled round His throne.
From Christ Church, lo! a dazzling Host appears
Whom Time has hallow'd, and the World reveres,
Of prelates, orators, and statesmen high,
To be forgotten,—when the world shall die!
'Twas here the muse of Tragedy divine
Bade Jonson rise, and picture Catiline;
Immortal Ben! to Selden dear, and fraught
With all that Homer loved, or Plato taught.
A later age, and Locke's eternal mind
Here soar'd to Reason, such as Heaven design'd;
Help'd Understanding to redeem her sway,
And out of night call'd intellectual day.
Whom Time has hallow'd, and the World reveres,
397
To be forgotten,—when the world shall die!
'Twas here the muse of Tragedy divine
Bade Jonson rise, and picture Catiline;
Immortal Ben! to Selden dear, and fraught
With all that Homer loved, or Plato taught.
A later age, and Locke's eternal mind
Here soar'd to Reason, such as Heaven design'd;
Help'd Understanding to redeem her sway,
And out of night call'd intellectual day.
One evening, when delightful converse glow'd,
As friend on friend his gleam of thought bestow'd,
That spark was struck which set the soul on fire,
Whence sprang the work fond ages shall admire.
Hours worthy Heaven! when cultured spirits meet
Within the chamber of divine retreat;
There Friendship lives; there mental Fondness reigns;
And hearts, oblivious of their lonely pains,
By feeling blended, one communion make,
To keep the brightness of the soul awake.
As friend on friend his gleam of thought bestow'd,
That spark was struck which set the soul on fire,
Whence sprang the work fond ages shall admire.
Hours worthy Heaven! when cultured spirits meet
Within the chamber of divine retreat;
There Friendship lives; there mental Fondness reigns;
And hearts, oblivious of their lonely pains,
By feeling blended, one communion make,
To keep the brightness of the soul awake.
But who can languish through the leaden hour
When Heart is dead, and only Wine hath power?
That brainless meeting of congenial fools
Whose highest wisdom is to hate the Schools,
Discuss a Tandem, or describe a race,
And curse the Proctor with a solemn face;
Swear Nonsense wit, and Intellect a sin,
Loll o'er the wine, and asininely grin,—
Hard is the doom when awkward chance decoys
A moment's homage to their brutal joys!
What fogs of dulness fill the heated room
Bedimm'd with smoke, and poison'd with perfume!
Where now and then some rattling tongue awakes
In oaths of thunder, till the chamber shakes.
Then Midnight comes, intoxicating maid!
What heroes snore, beneath the table laid!
But, still reserved to upright posture true,
Behold! how stately are yon sterling few:—
Soon o'er their sodden nature wine prevails,
Decanters triumph, and the drunkard fails:
As weary tapers at some wondrous rout
Their strength departed, winkingly go out,
Each spirit flickers till its light is o'er,
And all are darken'd who were drunk before!
When Heart is dead, and only Wine hath power?
That brainless meeting of congenial fools
Whose highest wisdom is to hate the Schools,
Discuss a Tandem, or describe a race,
And curse the Proctor with a solemn face;
Swear Nonsense wit, and Intellect a sin,
Loll o'er the wine, and asininely grin,—
Hard is the doom when awkward chance decoys
A moment's homage to their brutal joys!
What fogs of dulness fill the heated room
Bedimm'd with smoke, and poison'd with perfume!
Where now and then some rattling tongue awakes
In oaths of thunder, till the chamber shakes.
Then Midnight comes, intoxicating maid!
What heroes snore, beneath the table laid!
But, still reserved to upright posture true,
Behold! how stately are yon sterling few:—
Soon o'er their sodden nature wine prevails,
Decanters triumph, and the drunkard fails:
As weary tapers at some wondrous rout
Their strength departed, winkingly go out,
Each spirit flickers till its light is o'er,
And all are darken'd who were drunk before!
Oh! thou, whose eloquence and wit combined
To make their throne the heart of all Mankind;
Whom Memory visions in his wonted place
Where passions lighten'd o'er a speaking face,
And sounds of feeling from the soul were heard,
While music hung on every magic word,—
Regretted Canning! oft has Christ Church seen
Thy glance of lustre sparkle round her scene:
From Eton famed, where dazzling merit shone
In each young theme thy Genius smiled upon,
Her walls received thee; where thy talents grew,
Bright in the welcome of her fostering view,
Till glowing Senates mark'd thy spirit rise,
And England hail'd it with applauding eyes.
Alas! that in thy Manhood's noble bloom,
The shades of death hung grimly o'er thy doom,
Thy frame, too weak, a fiery spirit wore,
Though Mind prevail'd till Life's last pulse was o'er!
To make their throne the heart of all Mankind;
Whom Memory visions in his wonted place
Where passions lighten'd o'er a speaking face,
And sounds of feeling from the soul were heard,
While music hung on every magic word,—
Regretted Canning! oft has Christ Church seen
Thy glance of lustre sparkle round her scene:
From Eton famed, where dazzling merit shone
In each young theme thy Genius smiled upon,
Her walls received thee; where thy talents grew,
Bright in the welcome of her fostering view,
Till glowing Senates mark'd thy spirit rise,
And England hail'd it with applauding eyes.
Alas! that in thy Manhood's noble bloom,
The shades of death hung grimly o'er thy doom,
Thy frame, too weak, a fiery spirit wore,
Though Mind prevail'd till Life's last pulse was o'er!
Thy funeral knell, oh! when I heard it moan
Like the deep echo of a Nation's groan;
That Sky beheld, where sorrow loves to gaze
When mystery wraps us or the world betrays;
And thought how soon thy glorious sun had set!
I felt a sadness, which inspires me yet:
But had I, demon-like, e'er wing'd the dart
Whose poison fed upon thy feeling heart,
Inflicted pangs where only praise was due,
And vilely thwarted every soaring view,
A more than melancholy for him who died,
Slain by the weapons which Renown supplied,
My soul had borne; and, wrung with inward shame,
Cursed the dark hour that wounded Canning's fame!
Like the deep echo of a Nation's groan;
That Sky beheld, where sorrow loves to gaze
When mystery wraps us or the world betrays;
And thought how soon thy glorious sun had set!
I felt a sadness, which inspires me yet:
But had I, demon-like, e'er wing'd the dart
Whose poison fed upon thy feeling heart,
Inflicted pangs where only praise was due,
And vilely thwarted every soaring view,
A more than melancholy for him who died,
Slain by the weapons which Renown supplied,
My soul had borne; and, wrung with inward shame,
Cursed the dark hour that wounded Canning's fame!
The yew-tree'd walk, and wilderness of shade
Where rosily the twilight-hues have play'd,
By Denham haunted, Trinity! revere;
There wander'd he, no step invasive near,
The world forgot, amid Parnassian skill,
And dream'd the melodies of “Cooper's Hill.”
And haughty Chatham, at whose humbling word
Proud Walpole trembled, when its sway was heard;
Who baffled Spain, America, and Gaul,
To throne his England like a Queen o'er all,—
Thy paths have echo'd his immortal feet,
Thy Shades enjoy'd him in sublime retreat.
Here Warton's soul emparadised his hours,
And strew'd Antiquity with classic flowers;
Where'er he went, saw dim Cathedrals rise,
Or Gothic windows in their sunset-dyes.
Where rosily the twilight-hues have play'd,
By Denham haunted, Trinity! revere;
There wander'd he, no step invasive near,
The world forgot, amid Parnassian skill,
And dream'd the melodies of “Cooper's Hill.”
And haughty Chatham, at whose humbling word
Proud Walpole trembled, when its sway was heard;
Who baffled Spain, America, and Gaul,
To throne his England like a Queen o'er all,—
Thy paths have echo'd his immortal feet,
Thy Shades enjoy'd him in sublime retreat.
Here Warton's soul emparadised his hours,
And strew'd Antiquity with classic flowers;
398
Or Gothic windows in their sunset-dyes.
And thou, whose ever-gentle page is fraught
With the sweet lore poetic sadness taught,
Not unremember'd let thy name be found
Where Genius hallows an enchanted ground.
Upon that brow the seal of Time hath set
A mournful grace, but left no dark regret
For wither'd years, whose flowery bloom remains
In the pure freshness of Aonian strains.
Yet oft thy Memory in creative gloom
May fondly sigh o'er many a distant tomb,
Where moulder forms which brighten'd other Days
Whose eyes have glisten'd o'er thy youthful lays!
Thy noontide spent, serener twilight glows
Around thy spirit like a soft repose;
And oft I turn, when fancy wanders free,
Romantic Bowles! to meditate with thee:
Oh! long in Bremhill may the village-chime
Peal solemn anthems o'er departed Time;
And fairy echoes, while they float along,
Awaken visions which were born in song,
Of hope and fame, when first thy feeling Youth
Their beauty painted on a world of truth.
With the sweet lore poetic sadness taught,
Not unremember'd let thy name be found
Where Genius hallows an enchanted ground.
Upon that brow the seal of Time hath set
A mournful grace, but left no dark regret
For wither'd years, whose flowery bloom remains
In the pure freshness of Aonian strains.
Yet oft thy Memory in creative gloom
May fondly sigh o'er many a distant tomb,
Where moulder forms which brighten'd other Days
Whose eyes have glisten'd o'er thy youthful lays!
Thy noontide spent, serener twilight glows
Around thy spirit like a soft repose;
And oft I turn, when fancy wanders free,
Romantic Bowles! to meditate with thee:
Oh! long in Bremhill may the village-chime
Peal solemn anthems o'er departed Time;
And fairy echoes, while they float along,
Awaken visions which were born in song,
Of hope and fame, when first thy feeling Youth
Their beauty painted on a world of truth.
Thy pleasing life, in pastoral quiet spent,
Where heaven and earth comminglingly are blent,
A prayer evokes, that England long may see
In wood-hung vales, from city-murmur free
That landscape-charm in varied shadow drest—
The village-steeple with its towery crest,
When dimly taper'd by romantic height,
Or grayly melted into morning-light.
Not Windsor vast, with battlemented towers,
With charm so deep a pensive gaze o'erpowers
As village-spires, in native valleys seen,
With nature all around them, hush'd and green:
How oft some eye, as o'er the wheel-track'd road
The whirling Coach conducts its motley load,
Hath wistful gazed where neat the parsonage rose,
With Church behind it in revered repose!
Where heaven and earth comminglingly are blent,
A prayer evokes, that England long may see
In wood-hung vales, from city-murmur free
That landscape-charm in varied shadow drest—
The village-steeple with its towery crest,
When dimly taper'd by romantic height,
Or grayly melted into morning-light.
Not Windsor vast, with battlemented towers,
With charm so deep a pensive gaze o'erpowers
As village-spires, in native valleys seen,
With nature all around them, hush'd and green:
How oft some eye, as o'er the wheel-track'd road
The whirling Coach conducts its motley load,
Hath wistful gazed where neat the parsonage rose,
With Church behind it in revered repose!
Ah! little know they, whom the harsh declaim
Of Folly leads to scorn a Curate's name,
In hamlets lone what lofty minds abound
And spread the smiles of charity around!
It was not that a frowning Chance denied
An early wreath of honourable pride:
In College-rolls triumphantly they shine,
And proudly Alma Mater calls them, “mine!”
But heavenlier dreams than ever Fame inspired
Their spirit haunted, as the World retired.
The fameless quiet of parochial care
And sylvan home, their fancy stoop'd to share;
And when arrived, no deeper bliss they sought
Than that which undenying heaven had brought.
On such, perchance, renown may never beam,
Though oft it glitter'd in some College-dream;
But theirs the fame no worldly scenes supply,
Who teach us how to live, and how to die!
Of Folly leads to scorn a Curate's name,
In hamlets lone what lofty minds abound
And spread the smiles of charity around!
It was not that a frowning Chance denied
An early wreath of honourable pride:
In College-rolls triumphantly they shine,
And proudly Alma Mater calls them, “mine!”
399
Their spirit haunted, as the World retired.
The fameless quiet of parochial care
And sylvan home, their fancy stoop'd to share;
And when arrived, no deeper bliss they sought
Than that which undenying heaven had brought.
On such, perchance, renown may never beam,
Though oft it glitter'd in some College-dream;
But theirs the fame no worldly scenes supply,
Who teach us how to live, and how to die!
In life so calm, unworldly, and refined,
What pictured loveliness allures the mind!
Hast thou forgot that balmy summer-noon
That glow'd so fair, and fled, alas! so soon,
My chosen Friend! in whose fond smile I see
A spirit noble, and a nature free,
When Blenheim woo'd us to that proud domain
Where History smiles, and Marlborough lives again.
And on the way how sweet retirement threw
A shade of promise o'er Life's distant view?
How softly-beautiful the bending sky,
Like heaven reveal'd, burst radiant on the eye!
A Spirit, bosom'd in the winds, appear'd
To chant noon-hymns, where'er a sound career'd;
While ev'ry leaf a living gladness wore
And bird-like flutter'd as the breeze pass'd o'er:
The lark made music in the golden air;
The green earth, yellow'd by a sunny glare,
In twinkling dyes beheld its flowery race
Dance to the wind and bloom with sparkling grace;
Faint, sweet, and far, we heard the sheep-bell sound,
While insect-happiness prevail'd around:
And rich varieties of hill and glade,
Where viewless streams, by verdure oft betray'd,
(Like Charity, who walks the world unseen
Yet leaves a light where'er her hand hath been)
By bank and mead roll'd windingly away,—
'Twas ours to witness in adorn'd array.
What pictured loveliness allures the mind!
Hast thou forgot that balmy summer-noon
That glow'd so fair, and fled, alas! so soon,
My chosen Friend! in whose fond smile I see
A spirit noble, and a nature free,
When Blenheim woo'd us to that proud domain
Where History smiles, and Marlborough lives again.
And on the way how sweet retirement threw
A shade of promise o'er Life's distant view?
How softly-beautiful the bending sky,
Like heaven reveal'd, burst radiant on the eye!
A Spirit, bosom'd in the winds, appear'd
To chant noon-hymns, where'er a sound career'd;
While ev'ry leaf a living gladness wore
And bird-like flutter'd as the breeze pass'd o'er:
The lark made music in the golden air;
The green earth, yellow'd by a sunny glare,
In twinkling dyes beheld its flowery race
Dance to the wind and bloom with sparkling grace;
Faint, sweet, and far, we heard the sheep-bell sound,
400
And rich varieties of hill and glade,
Where viewless streams, by verdure oft betray'd,
(Like Charity, who walks the world unseen
Yet leaves a light where'er her hand hath been)
By bank and mead roll'd windingly away,—
'Twas ours to witness in adorn'd array.
Noon glided on, till day's declining glow
Beheld us sweeping o'er the verdant flow
Of meadow'd vales, to where the village-hill
In garden bloom we welcomed, bright and still.
That sunny eve in smiling converse fled
Around a banquet generously spread,
Beneath a roof where Elegance combined
The pure in Taste with Fancy the refined:—
The Church antique, whose ivied turret won
The dream-like changes of departing sun
And glanced upon us at our parting hour,
I still remember in its beauteous power.
Then home we sped beside romantic trees
Whose leaf-pomp glitter'd to the starting breeze,
And fondly view'd in symmetry of shade
The mimic branches on the meadows laid.
In wave-like glory burn'd the sunset sky;
Where rosy billows seem'd to swell and lie
Gleaming and vast;—as if that haughty Day
Ere yet th' horizon saw him sink away,
His clouds and colours vassal-like would see
Once more awake, and own their deity!
Beheld us sweeping o'er the verdant flow
Of meadow'd vales, to where the village-hill
In garden bloom we welcomed, bright and still.
That sunny eve in smiling converse fled
Around a banquet generously spread,
Beneath a roof where Elegance combined
The pure in Taste with Fancy the refined:—
The Church antique, whose ivied turret won
The dream-like changes of departing sun
And glanced upon us at our parting hour,
I still remember in its beauteous power.
Then home we sped beside romantic trees
Whose leaf-pomp glitter'd to the starting breeze,
And fondly view'd in symmetry of shade
The mimic branches on the meadows laid.
In wave-like glory burn'd the sunset sky;
Where rosy billows seem'd to swell and lie
Gleaming and vast;—as if that haughty Day
Ere yet th' horizon saw him sink away,
His clouds and colours vassal-like would see
Once more awake, and own their deity!
Where Balliol frowns along yon ancient road,
By Evelyn hallow'd, his endear'd abode
I never pass, nor think of them who died,
Heroic Martyrs, burning side by side!
Upon her walls there hung a crimson glare,
And red fires raven'd on the breezeless air;
But thou, false Bigot! in that murderous hour
To heaven couldst look, and on thy victims lour,
Then feed thy gaze with agonies of fire,
As limb by limb the tortured Saints expire!
In serpent-writhings, lo! the flames awake,
Hiss as they whirl, and riot round the Stake;
While mitred fiends, as they behold them rise,
Glare on the martyrs with their wolfish eyes!
Yet firm they stand: behold! what Glories smile
Above the fury of that burning pile;
Ten thousand harps, ten thousand anthems swell.
And heaven is worshipp'd in a scene of hell!
By Evelyn hallow'd, his endear'd abode
I never pass, nor think of them who died,
Heroic Martyrs, burning side by side!
Upon her walls there hung a crimson glare,
And red fires raven'd on the breezeless air;
But thou, false Bigot! in that murderous hour
To heaven couldst look, and on thy victims lour,
Then feed thy gaze with agonies of fire,
As limb by limb the tortured Saints expire!
In serpent-writhings, lo! the flames awake,
Hiss as they whirl, and riot round the Stake;
While mitred fiends, as they behold them rise,
Glare on the martyrs with their wolfish eyes!
Yet firm they stand: behold! what Glories smile
Above the fury of that burning pile;
Ten thousand harps, ten thousand anthems swell.
And heaven is worshipp'd in a scene of hell!
Here Southey, in the spring-like morn of youth,
His feeling, conduct, and his fancy, truth,
Beheld the orb of Liberty arise
To gild the earth with glory from the skies:
What wonder, then, if his Chaldean gaze
With glowing worship met her morning-rays,
Beheld them bright as freedom's rays should be
And thought they darted from a deity?
Who did not feel, when first her shackles fell,
The truth sublime that France inspired so well,—
There is a freedom in the Soul of man
No Tyrant quenches, and no Torture can!
But when high Virtue from her throne was hurl'd
And Gaul became the dungeon of the World,
No mean deserter was that patriot proved
Whose Manhood censured what his Youth had loved.
His feeling, conduct, and his fancy, truth,
Beheld the orb of Liberty arise
To gild the earth with glory from the skies:
What wonder, then, if his Chaldean gaze
With glowing worship met her morning-rays,
Beheld them bright as freedom's rays should be
And thought they darted from a deity?
Who did not feel, when first her shackles fell,
The truth sublime that France inspired so well,—
There is a freedom in the Soul of man
No Tyrant quenches, and no Torture can!
But when high Virtue from her throne was hurl'd
And Gaul became the dungeon of the World,
No mean deserter was that patriot proved
Whose Manhood censured what his Youth had loved.
In bloom of life he sought domestic shade,
Devoting hours a world had not betray'd
In deep affection to delightful lore,
Which Feeling loves, and Wisdom may adore.
While others linger'd in the restless Town
To wear the thorny wreath of young renown:
Or, spirit-worn, see rivals mount above,
With few to honour, and with none to love,—
Afar to Keswick's mountain-calm he hied,
And found the haven which a Home supplied.
There Nature pure to his pure soul appeals,
With Her he wanders, and with Her he feels,
While earth and sky for poesy unite,
And the hush'd mountains hallow morn and night.
Thus flowingly the fairy hours depart
And each day adds a virtue to the heart.
Ah, blissful Lot! which few have lived to share
Who haunt the world, and seek to find it there?
Forgetful that one day of Life is fraught
With years of meaning for inductive Thought,
In baffled hope the mind exhales away,
Their each to-morrow a renew'd to-day;
Too meanly anxious for some poor applause,
They burn for Glory, but betray her cause.
True fame is genius, in its earthless hour
Sent from the soul with world-subduing power,
From heart to heart electrically known
Till Realms admire, and Ages are its own!
Devoting hours a world had not betray'd
In deep affection to delightful lore,
Which Feeling loves, and Wisdom may adore.
While others linger'd in the restless Town
To wear the thorny wreath of young renown:
Or, spirit-worn, see rivals mount above,
With few to honour, and with none to love,—
Afar to Keswick's mountain-calm he hied,
And found the haven which a Home supplied.
There Nature pure to his pure soul appeals,
With Her he wanders, and with Her he feels,
While earth and sky for poesy unite,
And the hush'd mountains hallow morn and night.
Thus flowingly the fairy hours depart
And each day adds a virtue to the heart.
Ah, blissful Lot! which few have lived to share
Who haunt the world, and seek to find it there?
Forgetful that one day of Life is fraught
With years of meaning for inductive Thought,
In baffled hope the mind exhales away,
Their each to-morrow a renew'd to-day;
Too meanly anxious for some poor applause,
They burn for Glory, but betray her cause.
True fame is genius, in its earthless hour
Sent from the soul with world-subduing power,
From heart to heart electrically known
Till Realms admire, and Ages are its own!
Oh! blest resolve which consecrates a life
To leave for studious calm the noisome strife
Of London's everlasting round of self,
Pursued by Learning, or career'd for Pelf.
In wise seclusion heaven-ward thoughts incline
To form in Man the elements divine;
From day to day their semblance nearer grows,
Till kindred Mind a kindred Maker knows;
And then, what beautiful accordance seen
In all that Wisdom taught, or time hath been!
What once was dark becomes divinely clear,
And earth itself a heaven-reflecting sphere.
That living God enthron'd all worlds above
Whose Name and Nature are reveal'd by Love,
Our spirit feels within itself abide,
The Will direct, and o'er each thought preside;
In man or nature, whatso'er befal—
True faith can fathom and interpret all!
To leave for studious calm the noisome strife
Of London's everlasting round of self,
Pursued by Learning, or career'd for Pelf.
In wise seclusion heaven-ward thoughts incline
To form in Man the elements divine;
From day to day their semblance nearer grows,
Till kindred Mind a kindred Maker knows;
401
In all that Wisdom taught, or time hath been!
What once was dark becomes divinely clear,
And earth itself a heaven-reflecting sphere.
That living God enthron'd all worlds above
Whose Name and Nature are reveal'd by Love,
Our spirit feels within itself abide,
The Will direct, and o'er each thought preside;
In man or nature, whatso'er befal—
True faith can fathom and interpret all!
Turn from the calm secluded life bestows,
A life which Evelyn loved and Southey knows,
To London; where a world of anxious mind
In one dark fever of excess we find;
Where talent sparkles with incessant rays,
And authors perish—for the want of praise!
Though minds abound, whose magical control,
Like truth from heaven, can elevate the soul,
Too rapidly our soaring authors teem
For each to fill the circle of his dream.
Though high the hope which Energy awakes,
And far the flight a free-wing'd Spirit takes,
A thousand hearts o'er disappointment bleed,
The many venture, but the few succeed.
Hence of all crimes, the last to be forgiven
Eternal barrier to some critic's heaven,
Success is proved;—that hour Her star appears
In daring brightness to outdazzle years,
The fogs of hate, the clouds of dulness rise,
To quench her lustre, and deface her skies;
Hence martial pens in pugilistic rage,
And venom oozing from each vulgar page,
Slander abroad on its exulting wings
To frighten fools, or flap the face of kings,
While faded authors, overcome with bile,
Turn into villains, and lampoon the Isle!
A life which Evelyn loved and Southey knows,
To London; where a world of anxious mind
In one dark fever of excess we find;
Where talent sparkles with incessant rays,
And authors perish—for the want of praise!
Though minds abound, whose magical control,
Like truth from heaven, can elevate the soul,
Too rapidly our soaring authors teem
For each to fill the circle of his dream.
Though high the hope which Energy awakes,
And far the flight a free-wing'd Spirit takes,
A thousand hearts o'er disappointment bleed,
The many venture, but the few succeed.
Hence of all crimes, the last to be forgiven
Eternal barrier to some critic's heaven,
Success is proved;—that hour Her star appears
In daring brightness to outdazzle years,
The fogs of hate, the clouds of dulness rise,
To quench her lustre, and deface her skies;
Hence martial pens in pugilistic rage,
And venom oozing from each vulgar page,
Slander abroad on its exulting wings
To frighten fools, or flap the face of kings,
While faded authors, overcome with bile,
Turn into villains, and lampoon the Isle!
But, hark! to sounds so musically dear,
By Flattery melted into Folly's ear;
Behold a “Lion” who must roar to-night,
And doubt if homage be not man's delight!
Amid the sweet, soft words, which come and go
From lord to lady, and from belle to beau,
There in thyself a night-throned Idol see,
'Tis all thou art, and all a fool should be!
Enamour'd thus, nonsensically dream
Thy mental worth a supernat'ral theme;
Yet, look around thee ere the night be o'er,
Thy heart is free, and thou a fool no more!
Thy mien, thy manners, and thy person tend
To make no charm Politeness could commend;
And, lest they should not quite sufficient see,
The faults of others are bestow'd on thee;
Thus on, till all that once was “glory” thought
From tongue to tongue is whisper'd into nought;
While each is conscious, as thy fame's o'erthrown,
To wound another's, is to heal his own.
By Flattery melted into Folly's ear;
Behold a “Lion” who must roar to-night,
And doubt if homage be not man's delight!
Amid the sweet, soft words, which come and go
From lord to lady, and from belle to beau,
There in thyself a night-throned Idol see,
'Tis all thou art, and all a fool should be!
Enamour'd thus, nonsensically dream
Thy mental worth a supernat'ral theme;
Yet, look around thee ere the night be o'er,
Thy heart is free, and thou a fool no more!
Thy mien, thy manners, and thy person tend
To make no charm Politeness could commend;
And, lest they should not quite sufficient see,
The faults of others are bestow'd on thee;
Thus on, till all that once was “glory” thought
From tongue to tongue is whisper'd into nought;
While each is conscious, as thy fame's o'erthrown,
To wound another's, is to heal his own.
Yet oft ambiguous Hate her truth beguiles,
And Envy wriggles into serpent-smiles!
Some cringing, cawing, sycophantic Sneak
With heart as hollow as his head is weak,
In smother'd voice will chance a rival sue
To feed the pages of a starved Review:
“Dear Sir! I think your genius quite divine,”—
To-morrow, turn, and lash it line by line!
And can it be, to such ignoble life
Of ceaseless longing and chicaning strife,
Where fever'd passion frets the hour along,
That woman's gentler soul would fain belong?
Oh! deem not the assuming pride of Man
Would claim a glory which no Woman can;
Nor think to her soft nature is not given
The flame of genius with the form of heaven.
Her tenderness hath made our harshness weep,
And hush'd our passions into child-like sleep;
Her dewy words fall freshly on the soul;
Her numbers sweet as seraph-music roll;
And beautiful the morn-like burst of mind
When first her spirit wakens o'er mankind!
Now painting clouds, now imaging the sea,
Bloom on the flower, and verdure on the tree!
But diff'rent far a genius thus display'd,
From mind corrupted into menial trade,
When reputation is the theme adored,
And pilfer'd learning all its charms afford,
Those hues divine which delicately please,
The smile unfashion'd, and the soul at ease,
All, all that language is too frail to tell
Which forms in woman what we feel so well,
In public life too often dies away
Like dreams forgotten in the flush of day.
There, taunting Pens dissect her dubious claim,
Or jeering coxcombs jest away her fame:—
Behold the beauty of yon garden-flower
In lovely bloom beside its native bower;
What winning freshness in its healthful dye,
Pure as the spring, and radiant as the sky!
Transplant it thence to some o'erheated room,
Where hands profane it,—and, alas, the bloom!
And Envy wriggles into serpent-smiles!
Some cringing, cawing, sycophantic Sneak
With heart as hollow as his head is weak,
In smother'd voice will chance a rival sue
To feed the pages of a starved Review:
“Dear Sir! I think your genius quite divine,”—
To-morrow, turn, and lash it line by line!
And can it be, to such ignoble life
Of ceaseless longing and chicaning strife,
Where fever'd passion frets the hour along,
That woman's gentler soul would fain belong?
Oh! deem not the assuming pride of Man
Would claim a glory which no Woman can;
Nor think to her soft nature is not given
The flame of genius with the form of heaven.
Her tenderness hath made our harshness weep,
And hush'd our passions into child-like sleep;
Her dewy words fall freshly on the soul;
Her numbers sweet as seraph-music roll;
And beautiful the morn-like burst of mind
When first her spirit wakens o'er mankind!
Now painting clouds, now imaging the sea,
Bloom on the flower, and verdure on the tree!
But diff'rent far a genius thus display'd,
From mind corrupted into menial trade,
When reputation is the theme adored,
And pilfer'd learning all its charms afford,
Those hues divine which delicately please,
The smile unfashion'd, and the soul at ease,
All, all that language is too frail to tell
Which forms in woman what we feel so well,
402
Like dreams forgotten in the flush of day.
There, taunting Pens dissect her dubious claim,
Or jeering coxcombs jest away her fame:—
Behold the beauty of yon garden-flower
In lovely bloom beside its native bower;
What winning freshness in its healthful dye,
Pure as the spring, and radiant as the sky!
Transplant it thence to some o'erheated room,
Where hands profane it,—and, alas, the bloom!
Let Man his intellectual sceptre wield;
To him have Ages in their march appeal'd
To shape the Elements of mind and power
Through the vast scene of Life's unrestful hour.
But thou, fond Woman! on affection's throne,
Behold a kingdom of the Heart thine own!
Their feelings form the subjects of thy sway,
And all is Eden where thy glances play:
'Tis thine to brighten far from public strife
The daily windings of domestic life,
And by thy grace and gentleness of mien
Adorn and beautify Home's varied scene.
To him have Ages in their march appeal'd
To shape the Elements of mind and power
Through the vast scene of Life's unrestful hour.
But thou, fond Woman! on affection's throne,
Behold a kingdom of the Heart thine own!
Their feelings form the subjects of thy sway,
And all is Eden where thy glances play:
'Tis thine to brighten far from public strife
The daily windings of domestic life,
And by thy grace and gentleness of mien
Adorn and beautify Home's varied scene.
Pleasant is Morning, when her radiant eye
Opes on the world, enchanting all the sky;
And Ev'ning, with her balmy glow of light,
The beauteous herald of romantic night:
And pleasant oft to some poetic Mind
The sound of water, and the sweep of wind,
A friend renew'd in some heart-welcomed place,
With years of fondness rising in his face;
The tear which answers to a tale of woe,
And happy feelings in their heavenward flow:
But sweeter far proves his revengeful lot
Whom Fame hath slighted, or the World forgot,
When printed falsehood gratifies each bent,
And mangles volumes to the heart's content;
Corrupts what style, creates what fault you please,
Laughs o'er the truth, and lies with graceful ease!
Thus Envy lives; and Disappointment heals;
The gangrened wounds a tortured memory feels;
And wither'd hopes delightful vengeance wreak,
While pages witness more than scorn could speak.
Opes on the world, enchanting all the sky;
And Ev'ning, with her balmy glow of light,
The beauteous herald of romantic night:
And pleasant oft to some poetic Mind
The sound of water, and the sweep of wind,
A friend renew'd in some heart-welcomed place,
With years of fondness rising in his face;
The tear which answers to a tale of woe,
And happy feelings in their heavenward flow:
But sweeter far proves his revengeful lot
Whom Fame hath slighted, or the World forgot,
When printed falsehood gratifies each bent,
And mangles volumes to the heart's content;
Corrupts what style, creates what fault you please,
Laughs o'er the truth, and lies with graceful ease!
Thus Envy lives; and Disappointment heals;
The gangrened wounds a tortured memory feels;
And wither'd hopes delightful vengeance wreak,
While pages witness more than scorn could speak.
And thus with one, whose life I now recal;
When pens were daggers, he endured them all!
Each Reptile started from his snug review
To spit out poison,—as most reptiles do;
Oh, how they feasted on each faulty line,
And generously made their dulness thine!
From page to page they grinn'd a ghastly smile,
Yet seem'd to look so heaven-like all the while:
Then, talk'd of merit to the world unknown,
Ah! who could doubt them, for they meant their own.
When pens were daggers, he endured them all!
Each Reptile started from his snug review
To spit out poison,—as most reptiles do;
Oh, how they feasted on each faulty line,
And generously made their dulness thine!
From page to page they grinn'd a ghastly smile,
Yet seem'd to look so heaven-like all the while:
Then, talk'd of merit to the world unknown,
Ah! who could doubt them, for they meant their own.
Religion, too! what right had Youth to scan
That scheme of Glory which Heaven unveils for man;
Or paint around him, wheresoe'er he trod,
The glowing fulness of eternal God?
Indeed, 'twas hinted,—hoped it was untrue!
His heart had worn an atheistic hue;
And still religion, though its hallow'd name
Imparted freshness to his early fame,
Had not alike both heart and head inspired;
In short, the World was sick, and they were tired;
And then to prove his verse was more than vile
They wrote bad prose with overflowing bile!
But venal Commerce hired a Serpent too
To sound his rattle in the Scotch review;
And yet, (alas! that such ignoble end
Should baffle those who injured Taste defend!)
Though perfect lies were most profoundly said
A Poet triumph'd and the Public read;
For truth is stronger than the envious know,
And gains new vigour from the vilest blow;
And when abusive falsehoods cease to pay,
Malice grows dumb, and slander dies away.
That scheme of Glory which Heaven unveils for man;
Or paint around him, wheresoe'er he trod,
The glowing fulness of eternal God?
Indeed, 'twas hinted,—hoped it was untrue!
His heart had worn an atheistic hue;
And still religion, though its hallow'd name
Imparted freshness to his early fame,
Had not alike both heart and head inspired;
In short, the World was sick, and they were tired;
And then to prove his verse was more than vile
They wrote bad prose with overflowing bile!
But venal Commerce hired a Serpent too
To sound his rattle in the Scotch review;
403
Should baffle those who injured Taste defend!)
Though perfect lies were most profoundly said
A Poet triumph'd and the Public read;
For truth is stronger than the envious know,
And gains new vigour from the vilest blow;
And when abusive falsehoods cease to pay,
Malice grows dumb, and slander dies away.
The faded past my fancy haunts again;
And lo! thine image shadow'd o'er my strain,
Thou lovely Spirit of celestial worth!
Whose saint-like pureness so adorn'd the earth,
And, when it vanish'd, thrill'd a world with woe,
And thoughts, which seldom into language flow,
But silently within the soul retire
And all the sacredness of grief inspire.
And lo! thine image shadow'd o'er my strain,
Thou lovely Spirit of celestial worth!
Whose saint-like pureness so adorn'd the earth,
And, when it vanish'd, thrill'd a world with woe,
And thoughts, which seldom into language flow,
But silently within the soul retire
And all the sacredness of grief inspire.
Yet, words and tears have minglingly adored,
Deep, warm, and true, as feeling Hearts afford,
Those angel-attributes which good men prize,
Lamented Heber! when they leave the skies,
A while some Spirit pure as thine array,
Smile on the World, and heaven-like pass away.
Deep, warm, and true, as feeling Hearts afford,
Those angel-attributes which good men prize,
Lamented Heber! when they leave the skies,
A while some Spirit pure as thine array,
Smile on the World, and heaven-like pass away.
There is a shadow round the holy Dead:
A mystery, wherein we seem to tread,
As oft their lineaments of Life awake
And sorrowing Thoughts their hallow'd semblance take.
What once they dreamt, when mortal nature threw
Phantasmal dimness round each soaring view,
Now, all unearth'd, beatified, and free
From toil and tears,—their unscaled Eyes can see:
No more on them the fitful whirl of things
From joy to gloom, eternal trial brings;
In light array'd, before The Throne they shine,
And learn the mysteries of Love Divine:
Why tears were shed, why pangs of woe prevail'd,
Why Goodness mourn'd, and Virtue often fail'd,
No longer now a with'ring shadow throws
Like that which hovers round the World's repose.
A mystery, wherein we seem to tread,
As oft their lineaments of Life awake
And sorrowing Thoughts their hallow'd semblance take.
404
Phantasmal dimness round each soaring view,
Now, all unearth'd, beatified, and free
From toil and tears,—their unscaled Eyes can see:
No more on them the fitful whirl of things
From joy to gloom, eternal trial brings;
In light array'd, before The Throne they shine,
And learn the mysteries of Love Divine:
Why tears were shed, why pangs of woe prevail'd,
Why Goodness mourn'd, and Virtue often fail'd,
No longer now a with'ring shadow throws
Like that which hovers round the World's repose.
The holy dead! of Earth and Heaven the dear!
Whene'er the darkness of our troubled sphere
'Twixt God and Man will demon-like arise,
The soul deject, and doubt away the skies,
Then Mem'ry points to where their feet have trod,
Redeems our nature, and recals her God.
Creation's debt to discontented Time
They help'd to cancel by a worth sublime,
And wisdom, which enthrones the good and great
High o'er the meanness of our mortal state;
The smile that withers in its cynic play
Each hope of earth when budding into day,
By merit awed, in forceless meaning falls,
Whenever mind exalted mind recals,
Since eras bright of holiness and love
Their spirits promise from a World above!
Whene'er the darkness of our troubled sphere
'Twixt God and Man will demon-like arise,
The soul deject, and doubt away the skies,
Then Mem'ry points to where their feet have trod,
Redeems our nature, and recals her God.
Creation's debt to discontented Time
They help'd to cancel by a worth sublime,
And wisdom, which enthrones the good and great
High o'er the meanness of our mortal state;
The smile that withers in its cynic play
Each hope of earth when budding into day,
By merit awed, in forceless meaning falls,
Whenever mind exalted mind recals,
Since eras bright of holiness and love
Their spirits promise from a World above!
And such was he, whose toiling virtues won
A tomb of fame beneath a foreign sun.
In childhood, ev'ry dawning sweetness made
A tender magic which no truth betray'd;
While, fond as feeble, blendingly began
Those mental traits that ripen into man.
Romance and fairies, and Crusades inspired
The poesy which deeper Years admired:
Heaven's awful Book he loved to learn and read,
And mourn'd to see the great Redeemer bleed;
In all he did, benevolence prevail'd,
And from his frown no shrinking pauper quail'd;
Nor form of Woe, nor face of Grief, he pass'd,
But pitied all, and pitied to his last!
A tomb of fame beneath a foreign sun.
In childhood, ev'ry dawning sweetness made
A tender magic which no truth betray'd;
While, fond as feeble, blendingly began
Those mental traits that ripen into man.
Romance and fairies, and Crusades inspired
The poesy which deeper Years admired:
Heaven's awful Book he loved to learn and read,
And mourn'd to see the great Redeemer bleed;
In all he did, benevolence prevail'd,
And from his frown no shrinking pauper quail'd;
Nor form of Woe, nor face of Grief, he pass'd,
But pitied all, and pitied to his last!
From Neasden fresh, lo! Oxford hails him now,
And fancies new are bright'ning o'er his brow:
Too warmly toned, too feelingly endow'd,
Companionless to linger in the crowd,
A brother's fame around him lives and blooms,
His mind awakes,—and magic fills his rooms!
Where souls have listen'd as he charm'd the hour,
And young eyes sparkled to confess his power.
Still, unentangled by the social net,
Though smile and banquet oft the heart beset,
Each dawn beheld him at his classic tome,
And pure, as in his unforgotten home.
And fancies new are bright'ning o'er his brow:
Too warmly toned, too feelingly endow'd,
Companionless to linger in the crowd,
A brother's fame around him lives and blooms,
His mind awakes,—and magic fills his rooms!
Where souls have listen'd as he charm'd the hour,
And young eyes sparkled to confess his power.
Still, unentangled by the social net,
Though smile and banquet oft the heart beset,
Each dawn beheld him at his classic tome,
And pure, as in his unforgotten home.
Scarce enter'd yet, and honours flower'd his way!
And soon the music of a master-lay
From circling thousands woke a thrill divine
While England wept o'er weeping “Palestine!”
There are, that still in this cold world remain,
Whose ears are haunted by that holy strain,
Whose eyes dejected Salem still behold
As scene on scene the vision was unroll'd,
When invocation with her sweetest sound
Woo'd angel-forms, and angels watch'd around!
While grandly swelling into giant view,
“Like some tall palm the noiseless Fabric grew!”
Then Israel harping by her willow'd streams,
And Prophets bright with more than prophet-dreams,
The poet vision'd in his pictured strain
Amid the glory of Millennium's reign:
Then, bade his Thunders tell of time no more,
Till Nature shudder'd at their dooming roar!
And soon the music of a master-lay
From circling thousands woke a thrill divine
While England wept o'er weeping “Palestine!”
There are, that still in this cold world remain,
Whose ears are haunted by that holy strain,
Whose eyes dejected Salem still behold
As scene on scene the vision was unroll'd,
When invocation with her sweetest sound
Woo'd angel-forms, and angels watch'd around!
While grandly swelling into giant view,
“Like some tall palm the noiseless Fabric grew!”
Then Israel harping by her willow'd streams,
And Prophets bright with more than prophet-dreams,
The poet vision'd in his pictured strain
Amid the glory of Millennium's reign:
Then, bade his Thunders tell of time no more,
Till Nature shudder'd at their dooming roar!
Fond eyes were fix'd upon the Minstrel now;
A raptured sire beheld his laurell'd brow;
And blest his boy with all that tears bestow
When Heaven seems by, and human hearts o'erflow:
And where was he? escaped the glowing throng,
In the proud moment of triumphant song
He sought his chamber;—silent and alone
A Mother saw him at his Maker's throne!
A raptured sire beheld his laurell'd brow;
And blest his boy with all that tears bestow
When Heaven seems by, and human hearts o'erflow:
And where was he? escaped the glowing throng,
In the proud moment of triumphant song
He sought his chamber;—silent and alone
A Mother saw him at his Maker's throne!
That hour hath pass'd: a village-curate made,
How nobly seen amid the pastoral shade!
Parochial cares his cultured mind employ,
Domestic life and intellectual joy.
The old men cry, a blessing on his head!
And Angels meet him at the dying bed;
Let fever rage; disease or famine roll
Tormenting clouds which madden o'er the soul,
Where life exists, there Heber's love is found,
And heaven created by its welcome sound!
How nobly seen amid the pastoral shade!
Parochial cares his cultured mind employ,
Domestic life and intellectual joy.
The old men cry, a blessing on his head!
And Angels meet him at the dying bed;
Let fever rage; disease or famine roll
Tormenting clouds which madden o'er the soul,
Where life exists, there Heber's love is found,
And heaven created by its welcome sound!
None are all blest; without some mental strife
To ripple, not destroy, the calm of life:
That heart for ever open to the poor,
Who weeping came, but smiling left his door,
Was all unapt, when mean annoyments rose
From rustic fools or mercenary foes,
By happy lightness to o'erleap them all,
And melt the clouds which daily life befal.
More wisely oft, where common nature guides,
A pliant spirit of the world presides,
Than he, whose loftiness of feeling fails
To stoop or wind, as subtlety prevails.
Nor could that Soul, though high its lot had been,
Forget to paint a more expanded scene,
Or sphere of duty where his mind would sway
The wider realms of intellectual day.
They dawn'd at length! a not unclouded dream,
From golden climes by Ganga's idol-stream.
That Indian soil poetic Fancy knew,—
Her sculptured wrecks, and mountain's roseate view,
Her palmy meads by banks of radiant green,
And dusky cots where cooling plantains lean.
But when he felt a meek-eyed Mother's gaze,
And thought how soon might end her lonely days!
Beheld his child in cradled hush asleep,
Too frail to dare the thunders of the deep;
His books deserted, friendship's riven chain,
And he, a pilgrim on the boundless main,—
That strife of soul might well forbid him roam,
And softly hue the tenderness of home!
To ripple, not destroy, the calm of life:
That heart for ever open to the poor,
Who weeping came, but smiling left his door,
Was all unapt, when mean annoyments rose
From rustic fools or mercenary foes,
By happy lightness to o'erleap them all,
And melt the clouds which daily life befal.
405
A pliant spirit of the world presides,
Than he, whose loftiness of feeling fails
To stoop or wind, as subtlety prevails.
Nor could that Soul, though high its lot had been,
Forget to paint a more expanded scene,
Or sphere of duty where his mind would sway
The wider realms of intellectual day.
They dawn'd at length! a not unclouded dream,
From golden climes by Ganga's idol-stream.
That Indian soil poetic Fancy knew,—
Her sculptured wrecks, and mountain's roseate view,
Her palmy meads by banks of radiant green,
And dusky cots where cooling plantains lean.
But when he felt a meek-eyed Mother's gaze,
And thought how soon might end her lonely days!
Beheld his child in cradled hush asleep,
Too frail to dare the thunders of the deep;
His books deserted, friendship's riven chain,
And he, a pilgrim on the boundless main,—
That strife of soul might well forbid him roam,
And softly hue the tenderness of home!
Those shading doubts a Providence dispell'd;
Each home-born fear aspiring goodness quell'd:
The parting o'er, behold! the billows sweep
In rushing music as he rides the Deep,
That wafts him onward to his Indian clime,
While mused his heart on future toil sublime,
Whereby Redemption and her God would smile
On heathen Lands, and many a lonely isle,
Where stinted Nature, in degraded gloom
From age to age had wither'd to the tomb!
And haply, too, when rose the twilight-star,
And billows flutter'd in a breezy war,
At that dim hour regretted England came,
Familiar walks, and sounds of early fame,
And village-steeple, with the lowly race,
Whose fondness brighten'd to behold his face!
Each home-born fear aspiring goodness quell'd:
The parting o'er, behold! the billows sweep
In rushing music as he rides the Deep,
That wafts him onward to his Indian clime,
While mused his heart on future toil sublime,
Whereby Redemption and her God would smile
On heathen Lands, and many a lonely isle,
Where stinted Nature, in degraded gloom
From age to age had wither'd to the tomb!
And haply, too, when rose the twilight-star,
And billows flutter'd in a breezy war,
At that dim hour regretted England came,
Familiar walks, and sounds of early fame,
And village-steeple, with the lowly race,
Whose fondness brighten'd to behold his face!
The Land was reach'd; and oh! too fondly known
How Heber made that sunny Land his own,
Till pagan souls a Christian nature wore,
And feelings sprang which never bloom'd before,
As toil'd he there with apostolic truth,
Redeem'd the Aged, and reform'd her Youth,
For praise to honour with a powerless line
A heart so deep, a spirit so divine!
He lived; he died; in life and death the same,
A Christian martyr! whose majestic fame
In beacon-glory o'er the world shall blaze,
And lighten Empires with celestial rays,
While Virtue throbs, or human hearts admire
A poet's feeling with a prophet's fire,
Or pure Religion hath a shrine to own
Where man can worship at his Maker's throne!
How Heber made that sunny Land his own,
Till pagan souls a Christian nature wore,
And feelings sprang which never bloom'd before,
As toil'd he there with apostolic truth,
Redeem'd the Aged, and reform'd her Youth,
For praise to honour with a powerless line
A heart so deep, a spirit so divine!
He lived; he died; in life and death the same,
A Christian martyr! whose majestic fame
In beacon-glory o'er the world shall blaze,
And lighten Empires with celestial rays,
While Virtue throbs, or human hearts admire
A poet's feeling with a prophet's fire,
Or pure Religion hath a shrine to own
Where man can worship at his Maker's throne!
It was in prison that Boëthius composed his excellent work on the “Consolations of Philosophy;” it was in prison that Goldsmith wrote his “Vicar of Wakefield;” it was in prison that Cervantes wrote “Don Quixote,” which laughed chivalry out of Europe; it was in prison that Charles I. composed that excellent work, the “Portraiture of a Christian King;” it was in prison that Grotius wrote his “Commentary on St. Matthew;” it was in prison that Buchanan composed his excellent “Paraphrase on the Psalms of David;” it was in prison that Daniel De Foe wrote his “Robinson Crusoe;” (he offered it to a bookseller for ten pounds, which that liberal encourager of literature declined giving); it was in prison that Sir W. Raleigh wrote his “History of the World;” it was in prison that Voltaire sketched the plan and composed most of the poem of “The Henriade;” it was in prison that Howel wrote most of his “Familiar Letters;” it was in prison that Elizabeth of England and her victim, Mary Queen of Scots, wrote their best poems; it was in prison that Margaret of France (wife of Henry IV.) wrote an “Apology for the Irregularities of her Conduct;” it was in prison that Sir John Pettas wrote the book on metals, called “Fleta Minor;” it was in prison that Tasso wrote some of his most affecting poems. With the fear of a prison how many works have been written!
II. PART II.
“The still air of delightful studies.”—Milton.
“------ To range
Where silver Isis leads the stripling feet;
Pace the long Avenue, or glide adown
The stream-like windings of that glorious street!”
Wordsworth.
Where silver Isis leads the stripling feet;
Pace the long Avenue, or glide adown
The stream-like windings of that glorious street!”
Wordsworth.
ANALYSIS OF PART II.
The proud feelings arising from a Survey of the Past —Commencement of College Life—Entrance into Oxford—First Morning in the University—Chapel Service—A Walk through the Town—The New Clarendon—Circulation of the Scriptures—Sublime Hopes—Picture of the Indian reading his Bible— Return to Oxford Life—The Freshman—Acquaintances —Characters—Difficulty and danger of Selection — Importance of the First Step in College Life—The Pure Associations of Home—Advancement and Triumph—The Reprobate Tutors—Fellowships—Collegiate Retirement considered in reference to Happiness—Reflections on the same—Chime of Evening Bells—The Student—Fascinations of Midnight Study—Mental and Physical Effects—Nigh Scene—Moonlight—Its Splendours—Reflective con clusion—Time—Youth—Retrospections and Anticipations—Thirst for Fame and Struggles for renown —The Evanescent Nature of Human Glory—A Farewell View, and Apostrophe to Heaven.
And thus, o'er visions of thy matchless few
Hath Fancy revell'd in her fleet review;
And, oh my country, glorious, brave, and free,
Heart of the world! what spirits hallow thee!
There is a magic in thy mighty name,
A swell of glory, and a sound of fame;
And myriads feel upon thy hills and plains
The patriot-blood rush warmer to their veins,
As all thou wert, and art, the mind surveys
With glowing wonder and enchanted gaze!
Hath Fancy revell'd in her fleet review;
And, oh my country, glorious, brave, and free,
Heart of the world! what spirits hallow thee!
There is a magic in thy mighty name,
A swell of glory, and a sound of fame;
And myriads feel upon thy hills and plains
The patriot-blood rush warmer to their veins,
As all thou wert, and art, the mind surveys
With glowing wonder and enchanted gaze!
To this proud scene of architect'ral pride,
To all but Her, the ocean-famed, denied,
A parent sends, with many a voiceless fear,
His child, to arm him for the world's career.
Nor deem unawful that remember'd hour
When Fate and Fortune, with seductive power,
To Inexperience urge their blended claim,
And lead to honour, or allure to shame.
At length, young Novice! comes that hush'd farewell
Which words deny, but tears as truly tell;
The distance won, behold! at evening-hour
Thine eye's first wonder fix'd on Maudlin tower;
Then, Gothic Structures, as they swell to view
In steepled vastness, dark with ages' hue;
And on thine ear when first the morn-bells wake
As o'er the wind their wafted echoes break,
Delighted fancy will illume thy brow,
To feel thyself in ancient Oxford now!
To all but Her, the ocean-famed, denied,
A parent sends, with many a voiceless fear,
His child, to arm him for the world's career.
Nor deem unawful that remember'd hour
When Fate and Fortune, with seductive power,
To Inexperience urge their blended claim,
And lead to honour, or allure to shame.
At length, young Novice! comes that hush'd farewell
Which words deny, but tears as truly tell;
The distance won, behold! at evening-hour
Thine eye's first wonder fix'd on Maudlin tower;
Then, Gothic Structures, as they swell to view
In steepled vastness, dark with ages' hue;
And on thine ear when first the morn-bells wake
As o'er the wind their wafted echoes break,
Delighted fancy will illume thy brow,
To feel thyself in ancient Oxford now!
406
Collegiate life next opens on thy way,
Begins at morn, and mingles with the day;
The pillar'd-Cloister, in whose twilight gloom
Pale dreams arise, like shadows from the tomb,
Now hears thy step: and well at first I ween,
The stately Chapel, with its sculptured screen;
The windows dim, where Bible-dramas live
For ages in the glow which colours give,
And golden beams of mellow'd radiance pass
Through vested figures on the tinted glass,
While Saints and Prophets, Priests and Prelates there,
And mitred Abbots, kneel in blended prayer;
The graven fretwork on the Gothic wall,
And flowery roof, which over-arches all,—
These in full action now, combine their charm,
And thrill young feelings, with devotion warm.
Begins at morn, and mingles with the day;
The pillar'd-Cloister, in whose twilight gloom
Pale dreams arise, like shadows from the tomb,
Now hears thy step: and well at first I ween,
The stately Chapel, with its sculptured screen;
The windows dim, where Bible-dramas live
For ages in the glow which colours give,
And golden beams of mellow'd radiance pass
Through vested figures on the tinted glass,
407
And mitred Abbots, kneel in blended prayer;
The graven fretwork on the Gothic wall,
And flowery roof, which over-arches all,—
408
And thrill young feelings, with devotion warm.
409
But, now the walk of wonder through the town
In the stiff foldings of a new-bought Gown!
From cap and robe what awkward shyness steals!
How wild à truth the dazzled Novice feels!
Restless the eye, his voice a nervous sound,
While laughing echoes are evoked around;
Each look he faces seems on him to leer,
And fancied giggles are for ever near!
Through High-street then, the Town's majestic pride,
Array'd with palaces on either side,
He roams: him tradesmen's greedy eyes behold,
Each pocket gaping for a freshman's gold.
The Clarendon may next his look beguile,
Theatric dome, and Ashmoléan pile;
Or Bodley-chambers, where in dusky rows,
The volumed wonders of the Past repose;
Or, some bold thought his wayward fancy rules,
To take a freeze of horror from the Schools,
From lofty benches send a downward gaze,
Hear awful sounds, and dream of future Days!
In the stiff foldings of a new-bought Gown!
From cap and robe what awkward shyness steals!
How wild à truth the dazzled Novice feels!
Restless the eye, his voice a nervous sound,
While laughing echoes are evoked around;
Each look he faces seems on him to leer,
And fancied giggles are for ever near!
Through High-street then, the Town's majestic pride,
Array'd with palaces on either side,
He roams: him tradesmen's greedy eyes behold,
Each pocket gaping for a freshman's gold.
The Clarendon may next his look beguile,
Theatric dome, and Ashmoléan pile;
Or Bodley-chambers, where in dusky rows,
The volumed wonders of the Past repose;
Or, some bold thought his wayward fancy rules,
To take a freeze of horror from the Schools,
From lofty benches send a downward gaze,
Hear awful sounds, and dream of future Days!
But lo! in towering pride, with massy gate,
The Clarendon uprears its modern state;
There pause, and think; for then a sense sublime,
How proud a victor over Space and Time
When Mind hath wielded its undaunted power
Is man, both slave and monarch of an hour!—
Comes o'er thy spirit with unutter'd thought,
Life melody with years of feeling fraught.
Yet, not the miracles of England's Press,
(That mighty Oracle to curse or bless!)
Alone the worship of high thought demand;
Lo! earth-wide dreams around the soul expand,
As dwells thy gaze on yon enormous piles
Of hallow'd Books, for heathen Lands and Isles;
A godlike present for benighted Man
Far as the soul can read Salvation's plan!
The Clarendon uprears its modern state;
There pause, and think; for then a sense sublime,
How proud a victor over Space and Time
When Mind hath wielded its undaunted power
Is man, both slave and monarch of an hour!—
Comes o'er thy spirit with unutter'd thought,
Life melody with years of feeling fraught.
Yet, not the miracles of England's Press,
(That mighty Oracle to curse or bless!)
410
Lo! earth-wide dreams around the soul expand,
As dwells thy gaze on yon enormous piles
Of hallow'd Books, for heathen Lands and Isles;
A godlike present for benighted Man
Far as the soul can read Salvation's plan!
Transcendent thought! when changing Years have flown
Yon Bibles speak to every Clime and Zone!
The hut, the hovel, or the cottage wild
Where Sorrow shudders o'er her weeping child,
Their living words of holiness and love
Like angel-tones, shall warble from Above.
Omnipotence is there!—a power to be
God's voice on earth, inspired with Deity;
Thou Infidel! in tomb-like darkness laid,
By heaven deserted, and by sin betray'd;
And thou, pale mutt'rer in some midnight-cell,
Whose sad to-morrow is a dream of hell;
There is a Voice to wake, a Word to spread
Deep as the thunders which arouse the dead!
That Sound is heard; a Welcome from the skies!
Despair is vanquish'd, and Dejection flies;
Hope fills a heart where agonies have been,
The dungeon brightens, and a God is seen!
Yon Bibles speak to every Clime and Zone!
The hut, the hovel, or the cottage wild
Where Sorrow shudders o'er her weeping child,
Their living words of holiness and love
Like angel-tones, shall warble from Above.
Omnipotence is there!—a power to be
God's voice on earth, inspired with Deity;
Thou Infidel! in tomb-like darkness laid,
By heaven deserted, and by sin betray'd;
And thou, pale mutt'rer in some midnight-cell,
Whose sad to-morrow is a dream of hell;
There is a Voice to wake, a Word to spread
Deep as the thunders which arouse the dead!
That Sound is heard; a Welcome from the skies!
Despair is vanquish'd, and Dejection flies;
Hope fills a heart where agonies have been,
The dungeon brightens, and a God is seen!
Immortal Pages! may your spirit pour
Celestial day, till heathen night be o'er.
In fiery lands, where roving Ganga reigns,
Eternal pilgrim of a thousand plains!
The tawny Indian, (when the Day is done
And basking waters redden in the sun,
Behold him seated, with his babes around,
To fathom mysteries where a God is found!
The Book is oped, some wondrous page began,
Where heaven is offered to forgiven man;
Lo! as he reads, what voiceless wonder steals
On all he fancies, and on all he feels!
Till o'er his mind, by mute devotion wrought,
The gleaming twilight of regen'rate thought
Begins, and heaven-eyed Faith salutes above
The God of glory, and a Lord of love!
“Thou dread Unknown! Thou unimagined Whole!
Thou vast Supreme, and Universal Soul,
Oft in the whirlwind have I shaped Thy form,
Or throned in thunder heard Thee sway the storm!
And when the ocean's heaving vastness grew
Black with Thy curse,—my spirit darken'd too!
But when the world beneath a sun-gaze smiled
And not a cloud the crystal air defiled,
Then I have loved Thee, Thou parental One,
Thy frown a tempest, and Thy smile a sun!
But if there be, as heaven-breathed words relate,
A seraph-home in some hereafter-State,
Almighty Power! thy dark-soul'd Indian see
And grant the Mercy which has bled for me!”
Celestial day, till heathen night be o'er.
In fiery lands, where roving Ganga reigns,
Eternal pilgrim of a thousand plains!
The tawny Indian, (when the Day is done
And basking waters redden in the sun,
Behold him seated, with his babes around,
To fathom mysteries where a God is found!
The Book is oped, some wondrous page began,
Where heaven is offered to forgiven man;
Lo! as he reads, what voiceless wonder steals
On all he fancies, and on all he feels!
Till o'er his mind, by mute devotion wrought,
The gleaming twilight of regen'rate thought
Begins, and heaven-eyed Faith salutes above
The God of glory, and a Lord of love!
“Thou dread Unknown! Thou unimagined Whole!
Thou vast Supreme, and Universal Soul,
Oft in the whirlwind have I shaped Thy form,
Or throned in thunder heard Thee sway the storm!
And when the ocean's heaving vastness grew
Black with Thy curse,—my spirit darken'd too!
But when the world beneath a sun-gaze smiled
And not a cloud the crystal air defiled,
Then I have loved Thee, Thou parental One,
Thy frown a tempest, and Thy smile a sun!
But if there be, as heaven-breathed words relate,
A seraph-home in some hereafter-State,
Almighty Power! thy dark-soul'd Indian see
And grant the Mercy which has bled for me!”
O'er Oxford thus the staring freshman roves
By solemn Temples, or secluded Groves;
Then, introduced, the social charms begin
By tongues which flatter, or by hearts that win;
Mien, mind, and manner,—all in varied style
Now woo his fortune, or reflect his smile.
For here, as in the World's unbounded sphere,
The countless traits of character appear.
In some proud youth, of feeling soul, we find
The winning magic of a noble mind;
Truth, taste, and sense whate'er he does pervade,
No virtue lost, no principle betray'd;
Another,—wildness marks his mien and tone!
His hand extends—and honours are his own;
Eternal plaudits in his ear resound;
He rides on wings, while others walk the ground!
A contrast see, whom hearts nor dreams inspire,
The booby offspring of a booby sire,
With leaden visage passionlessly cold
And ev'ry feeling round himself enroll'd.
Then, happy Pertness! how sincerely vain!
And, sour Perfection!—what sublime disdain!
For ever in detraction's art employ'd,
No virtue welcomed, and no look enjoy'd:
Then, pompous Learning! deeply read and skill'd
In pages which profoundest heads have fill'd,
Yet harsh and tasteless, and but rarely fraught
With knowledge sprung from self-excited thought.
But, save me, Heav'n! from what no words can tell,
A human Nothing, made of strut and swell,
Who thinks no University contains
Sufficient wisdom to employ his brains:
Yet, frothy Creature! what a vacant skull!
In all but falsehood villanous and dull;
Big words and oaths in one wild volley roll,
And Nature blushes for so mean a soul!
By solemn Temples, or secluded Groves;
411
By tongues which flatter, or by hearts that win;
Mien, mind, and manner,—all in varied style
Now woo his fortune, or reflect his smile.
For here, as in the World's unbounded sphere,
The countless traits of character appear.
In some proud youth, of feeling soul, we find
The winning magic of a noble mind;
Truth, taste, and sense whate'er he does pervade,
No virtue lost, no principle betray'd;
Another,—wildness marks his mien and tone!
His hand extends—and honours are his own;
Eternal plaudits in his ear resound;
He rides on wings, while others walk the ground!
A contrast see, whom hearts nor dreams inspire,
The booby offspring of a booby sire,
With leaden visage passionlessly cold
And ev'ry feeling round himself enroll'd.
Then, happy Pertness! how sincerely vain!
And, sour Perfection!—what sublime disdain!
For ever in detraction's art employ'd,
No virtue welcomed, and no look enjoy'd:
Then, pompous Learning! deeply read and skill'd
In pages which profoundest heads have fill'd,
Yet harsh and tasteless, and but rarely fraught
With knowledge sprung from self-excited thought.
But, save me, Heav'n! from what no words can tell,
A human Nothing, made of strut and swell,
Who thinks no University contains
Sufficient wisdom to employ his brains:
Yet, frothy Creature! what a vacant skull!
In all but falsehood villanous and dull;
Big words and oaths in one wild volley roll,
And Nature blushes for so mean a soul!
By these begirt, how oft may heart-warm Youth
Grow blindly fond, and misinterpret Truth,
When feelings in their flush'd dominion lend
To fancied kindness what completes a friend!
Now dawns the moment, doom'd in future years
To waken triumph, or be born in tears;
When Morals sway, Religion lives or dies,
And cited Principles to action rise.
Oh! thou, o'er whom a Mother's eye has wept,
Or round thy cradle frequent vigils kept;
Whose infant-brow a father's love survey'd,
And oft for thee with Heav'n communion made;
Be thine the circle where true Friendship lives
In the pure light exalted spirit gives;
And far from thee the infamous and vile
Who murder feeling with a Stoic smile,
Blaspheme the Innocence of early days,
Make virtue vice, impiety a praise,
Disease the health of unpolluted mind
And call it glory to disgrace mankind!
What though the eye may sparkle o'er the glass,
Or fondling words for fascination pass,
While flowers of friendship oft appear to bloom,
In the false sunshine of a festive room,
A day will come when sterner truths prevail
And friendship dwindles into folly's tale!
Grow blindly fond, and misinterpret Truth,
When feelings in their flush'd dominion lend
To fancied kindness what completes a friend!
Now dawns the moment, doom'd in future years
To waken triumph, or be born in tears;
When Morals sway, Religion lives or dies,
And cited Principles to action rise.
Oh! thou, o'er whom a Mother's eye has wept,
Or round thy cradle frequent vigils kept;
Whose infant-brow a father's love survey'd,
And oft for thee with Heav'n communion made;
Be thine the circle where true Friendship lives
In the pure light exalted spirit gives;
And far from thee the infamous and vile
Who murder feeling with a Stoic smile,
Blaspheme the Innocence of early days,
Make virtue vice, impiety a praise,
Disease the health of unpolluted mind
And call it glory to disgrace mankind!
What though the eye may sparkle o'er the glass,
Or fondling words for fascination pass,
While flowers of friendship oft appear to bloom,
In the false sunshine of a festive room,
A day will come when sterner truths prevail
And friendship dwindles into folly's tale!
But shouldst thou waver, when the awful hour
Of Pleasure tempteth with a demon-power,
And time and circumstance together seem
To dazzle nature with too bright a dream,
Let Home and Virtue, what thou wert and art,
A Mother's feeling, and a Father's heart,
Full on thy mem'ry rise with blended charm
And all the serpent in thy soul disarm!
For who shall say, when first temptations win
A yielded mind to some enchanting sin,
What future crime, that once appear'd too black
For life to wander o'er its hell-ward track,
May lead the heart to that tremendous doom,
Whose midnight hovers round an early tomb?
Let Home be vision'd where thy budding days
Their beauty open'd on parental gaze:
For there, what memories of thee abound!
Your chamber echoes with its wonted sound;
The flow'r you reared, a sister's nursing hand
Still fondly guards, and helps each leaf expand;
The page you ponder'd with delighted brow
Was ever dear,—but oh! far dearer now;
The walk you loved with her sweet smile to share
She oft repeats, and paints your image there;
And when bright meanings have adorn'd the sky,
Her fancy revels in your fav'rite dye;
While oft at evening when domestic bloom
Hath flung a freshness round a social room,
When hearts unfold, and Music's wingèd note
Can waft a feeling wheresoe'er it float,
Some chord is touch'd, whose melodies awake
The pang of fondness for a brother's sake;
And Eyes are conscious, as they gaze around,
That looks are falling where a son was found!
Of Pleasure tempteth with a demon-power,
And time and circumstance together seem
To dazzle nature with too bright a dream,
Let Home and Virtue, what thou wert and art,
A Mother's feeling, and a Father's heart,
Full on thy mem'ry rise with blended charm
And all the serpent in thy soul disarm!
For who shall say, when first temptations win
A yielded mind to some enchanting sin,
What future crime, that once appear'd too black
For life to wander o'er its hell-ward track,
May lead the heart to that tremendous doom,
Whose midnight hovers round an early tomb?
Let Home be vision'd where thy budding days
Their beauty open'd on parental gaze:
For there, what memories of thee abound!
Your chamber echoes with its wonted sound;
412
Still fondly guards, and helps each leaf expand;
The page you ponder'd with delighted brow
Was ever dear,—but oh! far dearer now;
The walk you loved with her sweet smile to share
She oft repeats, and paints your image there;
And when bright meanings have adorn'd the sky,
Her fancy revels in your fav'rite dye;
While oft at evening when domestic bloom
Hath flung a freshness round a social room,
When hearts unfold, and Music's wingèd note
Can waft a feeling wheresoe'er it float,
Some chord is touch'd, whose melodies awake
The pang of fondness for a brother's sake;
And Eyes are conscious, as they gaze around,
That looks are falling where a son was found!
Let home begird thee like a guardian dream,
And time will wander an unsullied stream,
Whose wildest motion is the rippled play
Of rapid moments as they roll away!
Meanwhile, delightful studies, deep and strong,
To graduate-honours waft thy soul along;
They come at length! and high in listed fame
A College hails, a Country reads thy name;
And in that List when first thy name appears,
What triumph sparkles in those happy tears!
In after-life, when Oxford's ancient towers
Thy mem'ry visions in creative hours,
Or college-friends a college-scene restore,
Thy heart will banquet on the bliss of yore!
And time will wander an unsullied stream,
Whose wildest motion is the rippled play
Of rapid moments as they roll away!
Meanwhile, delightful studies, deep and strong,
To graduate-honours waft thy soul along;
They come at length! and high in listed fame
A College hails, a Country reads thy name;
And in that List when first thy name appears,
What triumph sparkles in those happy tears!
In after-life, when Oxford's ancient towers
Thy mem'ry visions in creative hours,
Or college-friends a college-scene restore,
Thy heart will banquet on the bliss of yore!
Now mark a contrast, in whose meanness lies
What purer thought should soaringly despise.
From careless boyhood to uncultured man
Indulged to act, ere principle began;
With just enough of spirit for excess,
And heart which nothing save a vice, can bless,
In Oxford see the reprobate appear!
Big with the promise of a mad career.
With cash and consequence to lead the way,
A fool by night, and more than fop by day,
What happy vileness does his lot reveal!
How Folly burns with imitative zeal
Whene'er the shadows of his greatness fall
In festive chamber, or collegiate-Hall!
Romantic lot! to vegetate secure
From all which might to mental paths allure;
To wake each morning with no deeper thought
Than that which yesterday's excess hath brought;
Then, wing'd by impulse, as the day proceeds,
To follow where coxcombic fashion leads.
Hark! Woodstock rattles with eternal wheels,
And hounds are ever barking at his heels,
The Chapel, voted a terrific “bore,”
The “Dons,” head-pieces for the college door!
The Lecture scouted, the Degree reviled,
And Alma Mater all save alma styled!
Thus on; till Night advance, whose reign divine
Is chastely delicate to cards and wine,
Where modest themes amusive tongues excite
And faces redden with the soul's delight;
A Roman banquet! with Athenian flowers
Of festive wit, to charm such graceful hours!
What purer thought should soaringly despise.
From careless boyhood to uncultured man
Indulged to act, ere principle began;
With just enough of spirit for excess,
And heart which nothing save a vice, can bless,
In Oxford see the reprobate appear!
Big with the promise of a mad career.
With cash and consequence to lead the way,
A fool by night, and more than fop by day,
What happy vileness does his lot reveal!
How Folly burns with imitative zeal
Whene'er the shadows of his greatness fall
In festive chamber, or collegiate-Hall!
Romantic lot! to vegetate secure
From all which might to mental paths allure;
To wake each morning with no deeper thought
Than that which yesterday's excess hath brought;
Then, wing'd by impulse, as the day proceeds,
To follow where coxcombic fashion leads.
Hark! Woodstock rattles with eternal wheels,
And hounds are ever barking at his heels,
The Chapel, voted a terrific “bore,”
The “Dons,” head-pieces for the college door!
The Lecture scouted, the Degree reviled,
And Alma Mater all save alma styled!
Thus on; till Night advance, whose reign divine
Is chastely delicate to cards and wine,
Where modest themes amusive tongues excite
And faces redden with the soul's delight;
A Roman banquet! with Athenian flowers
Of festive wit, to charm such graceful hours!
Alas! that Truth must fling a doleful shade
On the bright portrait which her hand hath made:
Few years have fled, and what doth now remain
Of him the haughty, who but smiled disdain
On all young Virtue in her meekness dared,
Ambition hoped, or Principle declared?
His friends are dead; his fortune sunk away
In midnight-Hells, where midnight-demons play;
A wither'd Skeleton of sin and shame
With nought but infamy to track his name
The wreck of Fortune, with despairing sighs,
Fades from the world, and like a felon dies!
On the bright portrait which her hand hath made:
Few years have fled, and what doth now remain
Of him the haughty, who but smiled disdain
413
Ambition hoped, or Principle declared?
His friends are dead; his fortune sunk away
In midnight-Hells, where midnight-demons play;
A wither'd Skeleton of sin and shame
With nought but infamy to track his name
The wreck of Fortune, with despairing sighs,
Fades from the world, and like a felon dies!
A nobler Theme! ere yet my strain conclude,—
The learn'd and gifted, dignified and good,
Those tasteful Guides, by whose directing hand
The seeds of learning ripen or expand;
And if one task there be the Soul to try,
Whose with'ring toils a due reward defy,
On them it falls whom Merit ranks her own
And Talent seats on Education's throne.
Each mode of mind, the stubborn, wise, or stern,
The headstrong Wit that cannot stoop to learn,
The dunce or drone, the freshman or the fool
'Tis their's to counsel, teach, o'erawe, and rule!
Their daily meed, some execrating word
To blight the hour when first their voice was heard,
From prating coxcombs, whose foul tongues declare
In froth and flippancy, what fools they are!
The learn'd and gifted, dignified and good,
Those tasteful Guides, by whose directing hand
The seeds of learning ripen or expand;
414
Whose with'ring toils a due reward defy,
On them it falls whom Merit ranks her own
And Talent seats on Education's throne.
Each mode of mind, the stubborn, wise, or stern,
The headstrong Wit that cannot stoop to learn,
The dunce or drone, the freshman or the fool
'Tis their's to counsel, teach, o'erawe, and rule!
Their daily meed, some execrating word
To blight the hour when first their voice was heard,
From prating coxcombs, whose foul tongues declare
In froth and flippancy, what fools they are!
Yet well may such a doom be nobly faced;
There comes a scene by no dark cloud disgraced,
An hour when Genius, borne aloft to fame,
On Oxford sheds the brightness of her name,
Whence first her wings those eagle-heights explored,
Where now She reigns, adoring and adored!
Then, he who taught her, shares with proud surprise
And dewy gladness of delighted eyes,
That hour triumphant, when a World repays
The toilful dulness of collegiate-days.
Ah! who forgets the Parents of the mind?
What heart so dead, as no deep bliss to find
In thoughts which wander to their school-day scene,
Though years and distance darkly intervene?
The foot-worn mead; the playmate, wood, and walk
So sweetly shared in tenderness and talk;
The feats and pranks of undejected Youth
When Fancy wore the fairy mask of Truth,
Dull, drear, and worldly is the Soul that sees
No smile reflected from such joys as these!
There comes a scene by no dark cloud disgraced,
An hour when Genius, borne aloft to fame,
On Oxford sheds the brightness of her name,
Whence first her wings those eagle-heights explored,
Where now She reigns, adoring and adored!
Then, he who taught her, shares with proud surprise
And dewy gladness of delighted eyes,
That hour triumphant, when a World repays
The toilful dulness of collegiate-days.
Ah! who forgets the Parents of the mind?
What heart so dead, as no deep bliss to find
In thoughts which wander to their school-day scene,
Though years and distance darkly intervene?
The foot-worn mead; the playmate, wood, and walk
So sweetly shared in tenderness and talk;
The feats and pranks of undejected Youth
When Fancy wore the fairy mask of Truth,
Dull, drear, and worldly is the Soul that sees
No smile reflected from such joys as these!
And they who haunt, from year to year content,
That sacred home where studious hours are spent,
Does fancy think their stormless life must be
One still romance of mental liberty?
Yet Mind alone, whate'er the lot or state,
Her true delight must fancy or create;
From her the sunshine and the shadows fall,
Which brighten, tint, and oversway it all.
The daily clockwork of collegiate-life
Where nought is new, but Convocation-strife;
The bigotry which olden Times beget;
A sickly dulness, and a proud regret
For aught which seems of reformation sprung,
To let in light where ancient cobwebs hung,
If such combine, where weaker traits are found,
Who would not mourn that Fellowships abound?
The mighty brothers of the Sun and Moon,
Who tremble, lest a lip should smile too soon;
Nor treat their mouths except with college twang,
Where heavy words in heavy speeches hang;
Who hate the Present, but adore the Past,
And think their world the only one to last,—
How pitiful! should such a race be seen,
Where all the Monarchs of the mind have been.
That sacred home where studious hours are spent,
Does fancy think their stormless life must be
One still romance of mental liberty?
Yet Mind alone, whate'er the lot or state,
Her true delight must fancy or create;
From her the sunshine and the shadows fall,
Which brighten, tint, and oversway it all.
The daily clockwork of collegiate-life
Where nought is new, but Convocation-strife;
The bigotry which olden Times beget;
A sickly dulness, and a proud regret
For aught which seems of reformation sprung,
To let in light where ancient cobwebs hung,
If such combine, where weaker traits are found,
Who would not mourn that Fellowships abound?
The mighty brothers of the Sun and Moon,
Who tremble, lest a lip should smile too soon;
Nor treat their mouths except with college twang,
Where heavy words in heavy speeches hang;
Who hate the Present, but adore the Past,
And think their world the only one to last,—
How pitiful! should such a race be seen,
Where all the Monarchs of the mind have been.
Retirement, classic love, and studious ease,
A heart which deems it no disgrace to please,
With retrospections fond of other Days
When minds were nursed, that now repeat their praise,—
A lot so calm no virtue will destroy,
But season life for solitary joy.
And yet, let shades of accident unite
In happy union for its best delight,
A life of Learning is a life forlorn:—
Be mine the world which social scenes adorn,
Where Woman's heart the central bliss is found,
And happiness, the smile it sheds around!’
A heart which deems it no disgrace to please,
415
When minds were nursed, that now repeat their praise,—
A lot so calm no virtue will destroy,
But season life for solitary joy.
And yet, let shades of accident unite
In happy union for its best delight,
A life of Learning is a life forlorn:—
Be mine the world which social scenes adorn,
Where Woman's heart the central bliss is found,
And happiness, the smile it sheds around!’
But night is throned; and full before me frown
The dusky Steeples which o'ershade the town;
High in the midst, a dark-domed shadow see,—
The Radeliffe, pile of unworn majesty;
Around it, silver'd by some window-ray
Whirls many a smoke-wreath in ascending play:
Beneath, what massy roofs inmingled lie,
Misshaped by fancy, till they awe the eye!
Hush'd are the groves, in leafy dimness veil'd,
The winds unheard, as though they ne'er had rail'd.
But hark! the iron voice of Wolsey's bell
Floats o'er the city like his last farewell,
While answ'ring Temples, with obedient sound,
Peal to the night, and moan sad music round;
But dread o'er all, like thunder heard in dreams,
The warning spirit of that Echo seems!
Now gates are barr'd; and, faithful to his stand,
The crusty Porter, with his key-worn hand.
Yet not with day, the day-born studies end;
Wan cheeks, and weary brows,—I see them bend
O'er haughty pages breathing ancient mind,
For Man and Immortality design'd:
The brain may burn, the martyr'd health may fail,
And sunken eyelids speak a mournful tale
Of days protracted into hideous length,
Till mind is dead, and limbs deny their strength:
Still, Honours woo!—and may they smile on thee,
Prophetic Youth! as bright as visions see;
Hours, days, and years severer far than thine,
In toil, and gloom, and loneliness, are mine.
The dusky Steeples which o'ershade the town;
High in the midst, a dark-domed shadow see,—
The Radeliffe, pile of unworn majesty;
Around it, silver'd by some window-ray
Whirls many a smoke-wreath in ascending play:
Beneath, what massy roofs inmingled lie,
Misshaped by fancy, till they awe the eye!
Hush'd are the groves, in leafy dimness veil'd,
The winds unheard, as though they ne'er had rail'd.
But hark! the iron voice of Wolsey's bell
Floats o'er the city like his last farewell,
While answ'ring Temples, with obedient sound,
Peal to the night, and moan sad music round;
But dread o'er all, like thunder heard in dreams,
The warning spirit of that Echo seems!
Now gates are barr'd; and, faithful to his stand,
The crusty Porter, with his key-worn hand.
Yet not with day, the day-born studies end;
Wan cheeks, and weary brows,—I see them bend
O'er haughty pages breathing ancient mind,
For Man and Immortality design'd:
The brain may burn, the martyr'd health may fail,
And sunken eyelids speak a mournful tale
Of days protracted into hideous length,
Till mind is dead, and limbs deny their strength:
Still, Honours woo!—and may they smile on thee,
Prophetic Youth! as bright as visions see;
Hours, days, and years severer far than thine,
In toil, and gloom, and loneliness, are mine.
The Day is earth, but holy Night is heav'n:
To her a solitude of soul is given,
Within whose depth, how beautiful to dream,
And fondly be, what others vainly seem!
Oh! 'tis an hour of consecrated might,
For Earth's Immortals have adored the night;
In song or vision yielding up the soul
To the deep magic of Her still control.
My own loved Hour! there comes no hour like thee,
No world so glorious as thou form'st for me!
The fretful ocean of eventful day
To waveless nothing how it ebbs away!
As oft the chamber, where some haunted Page
Renews a Poet, or revives a Sage
In pensive A thens, or sublimer Rome,
To mental quiet woos the Spirit home.
There Stillness reigns, how eloquently deep!
And soundless air, more beautiful than sleep.
Let Winter sway,—her sounds the scene inspires:
The social murmur of a blazing fire;
The hail-drop, hissing as it melts away
In twinkling gleams of momentary play;
Or wave-like swell of some retreated wind,
In dying sadness echo'd o'er the mind,
But gently ruffle into varied thought
The calm of feeling blissful night has brought.
How eyes the spirit with contented gaze
The chamber mellow'd into social haze,
And smiling walls, where, rank'd in solemn rows,
The wizard Volumes of the Mind repose!
Thus, well may hours like fairy waters glide,
Till morning glimmers o'er their reckless tide;
While dreams, beyond the realm of day to view,
Around us hover in seraphic hue;
Till Nature pines for intellectual rest,
When home awakens, and the heart is blest;
Or, from the window reads our wand'ring eye
The starry language of Chaldèan sky,
And gathers in that one vast gaze above,
A bright eternity of awe and love!
To her a solitude of soul is given,
Within whose depth, how beautiful to dream,
And fondly be, what others vainly seem!
Oh! 'tis an hour of consecrated might,
For Earth's Immortals have adored the night;
In song or vision yielding up the soul
To the deep magic of Her still control.
My own loved Hour! there comes no hour like thee,
No world so glorious as thou form'st for me!
The fretful ocean of eventful day
To waveless nothing how it ebbs away!
As oft the chamber, where some haunted Page
Renews a Poet, or revives a Sage
In pensive A thens, or sublimer Rome,
To mental quiet woos the Spirit home.
There Stillness reigns, how eloquently deep!
And soundless air, more beautiful than sleep.
Let Winter sway,—her sounds the scene inspires:
The social murmur of a blazing fire;
The hail-drop, hissing as it melts away
In twinkling gleams of momentary play;
Or wave-like swell of some retreated wind,
In dying sadness echo'd o'er the mind,
But gently ruffle into varied thought
The calm of feeling blissful night has brought.
How eyes the spirit with contented gaze
The chamber mellow'd into social haze,
And smiling walls, where, rank'd in solemn rows,
The wizard Volumes of the Mind repose!
Thus, well may hours like fairy waters glide,
Till morning glimmers o'er their reckless tide;
While dreams, beyond the realm of day to view,
Around us hover in seraphic hue;
Till Nature pines for intellectual rest,
When home awakens, and the heart is blest;
Or, from the window reads our wand'ring eye
The starry language of Chaldèan sky,
And gathers in that one vast gaze above,
A bright eternity of awe and love!
So heav'nly seems the visionary night:
But, ah! the danger in such deep delight.
The Mind, then beautified to fond excess,
With all things dare to brighten, or to bless:
A world of sense more spiritual is made
Than the stern eye of nature hath survey'd;
Some false perfection which hath never been,
By fancy imaged, lives through ev'ry scene;
But morn awakes, and lo, the spells unwind,
As daylight melts light darkness o'er the mind!
The worldly coarseness of our common lot
Recals the shadows which the night forgot;
Each dream of loftiness then dies away,
And heav'n-light withers in the frown of Day!
And then, the languor of each parching vein,
And the hot weariness of heart and brain,
That hideous shade of Something dread to be,—
Oh, fatal midnight! these are doom'd for thee.
Each breeze comes o'er us with tormenting wing,
Each pulse of Sound an agony can bring;
Let Chatterton Thy deathful charm reveal,
And mournful White, whose genius loved to steal
A placid sense of some angelic Pow'r
Around prevailing at thine earthless hour.
And oft, methinks, in loneliness of heart
As noons of night in dreaming calm depart,
My room is sadden'd with the mingled gaze
Of Those who martyr'd their ambitious days;
The turf-grass o'er their tombs,—I see it wave
And visions waft me to a kindred grave!
But, ah! the danger in such deep delight.
The Mind, then beautified to fond excess,
With all things dare to brighten, or to bless:
A world of sense more spiritual is made
Than the stern eye of nature hath survey'd;
Some false perfection which hath never been,
By fancy imaged, lives through ev'ry scene;
416
As daylight melts light darkness o'er the mind!
The worldly coarseness of our common lot
Recals the shadows which the night forgot;
Each dream of loftiness then dies away,
And heav'n-light withers in the frown of Day!
And then, the languor of each parching vein,
And the hot weariness of heart and brain,
That hideous shade of Something dread to be,—
Oh, fatal midnight! these are doom'd for thee.
Each breeze comes o'er us with tormenting wing,
Each pulse of Sound an agony can bring;
Let Chatterton Thy deathful charm reveal,
And mournful White, whose genius loved to steal
A placid sense of some angelic Pow'r
Around prevailing at thine earthless hour.
And oft, methinks, in loneliness of heart
As noons of night in dreaming calm depart,
My room is sadden'd with the mingled gaze
Of Those who martyr'd their ambitious days;
The turf-grass o'er their tombs,—I see it wave
And visions waft me to a kindred grave!
But lo! the yielding Dark hath gently died,
And stars are sprinkled o'er yon azure tide
Of lustrous air, which high and far prevails,
Where now the queen-like moon in glory sails.
City of fame! when Morn's first wings of light
Wave their fresh beauty o'er thy mansions bright,
Have I beheld thee; but a moonrise seems,
Like hues that wander from a heaven of dreams,
To hallow thee, as there thy Temples stand
Sublimely tender, or serenely grand,—
Spire, tower, and pinnacle, a dim array,
Whose spectral features in the moonlight sway:
The stony muteness of thy massive piles
Now silver'd o'er by melancholy smiles,
With more than language, spirit-like appeals
To the high sense impassion'd Nature feels
Of all which gloriously in earth or sky
Exacts the worship of her gazing eye.
There is a magic in the moonlit-hour
Which Day hath never in its deepest pow'r
Of light and bloom, when bird and bee resound,
And new-born flow'rs imparadise the ground!
And ne'er hath City, since a moon began
To hallow nature for the eye of man,
Steep'd in the freshness of her fairy light,
More richly shone, than Oxford shines to-night.
No lines of harshness on her Temples frown,
But all in one soft magic melted down,
Sublimer grown, through mellow air they rise
And seem with vaster swell to awe the skies!
On archèd windows how intensely gleams
The glassy whiteness of reflected beams!
Whose radiant slumber on the marble-tomb
Of mitred Founders, in funereal gloom,
Extends; or else in pallid shyness falls
On Gothic casements, or collegiate-walls.
The groves in silver-leaf'd array repose;
And, Isis! how serene thy current flows
With tinted surface by the meadow'd way,
Without a ripple, or a breeze at play:
Yet, once again shall summer-barks be seen,
And furrow'd waters, where their flight has been;
While sounding Rapture, as her heroes speed
From Iffly locks, flies glorying o'er the mead,
Hails from the bank as up the river ride
In oary swiftness and exulting pride
Her barks triumphal:—let the flag be rear'd,
And thousands echo, when the Colour's cheer'd!
And stars are sprinkled o'er yon azure tide
Of lustrous air, which high and far prevails,
Where now the queen-like moon in glory sails.
City of fame! when Morn's first wings of light
Wave their fresh beauty o'er thy mansions bright,
Have I beheld thee; but a moonrise seems,
Like hues that wander from a heaven of dreams,
To hallow thee, as there thy Temples stand
Sublimely tender, or serenely grand,—
Spire, tower, and pinnacle, a dim array,
Whose spectral features in the moonlight sway:
The stony muteness of thy massive piles
Now silver'd o'er by melancholy smiles,
With more than language, spirit-like appeals
To the high sense impassion'd Nature feels
Of all which gloriously in earth or sky
Exacts the worship of her gazing eye.
There is a magic in the moonlit-hour
Which Day hath never in its deepest pow'r
Of light and bloom, when bird and bee resound,
And new-born flow'rs imparadise the ground!
And ne'er hath City, since a moon began
To hallow nature for the eye of man,
Steep'd in the freshness of her fairy light,
More richly shone, than Oxford shines to-night.
No lines of harshness on her Temples frown,
But all in one soft magic melted down,
Sublimer grown, through mellow air they rise
And seem with vaster swell to awe the skies!
On archèd windows how intensely gleams
The glassy whiteness of reflected beams!
Whose radiant slumber on the marble-tomb
Of mitred Founders, in funereal gloom,
Extends; or else in pallid shyness falls
On Gothic casements, or collegiate-walls.
The groves in silver-leaf'd array repose;
And, Isis! how serene thy current flows
With tinted surface by the meadow'd way,
Without a ripple, or a breeze at play:
Yet, once again shall summer-barks be seen,
And furrow'd waters, where their flight has been;
While sounding Rapture, as her heroes speed
From Iffly locks, flies glorying o'er the mead,
Hails from the bank as up the river ride
In oary swiftness and exulting pride
Her barks triumphal:—let the flag be rear'd,
And thousands echo, when the Colour's cheer'd!
Again upon the wind a wafted swell
Of ebbing sound, proclaims a midnight-bell;
Lo, phantom-clouds come floating by the moon,
Then melt away, like happiness, too soon:
And as they glide, an overshadowing smile
Of moving light is mirror'd on each pile.
Farewell the Scene! Farewell the fleeting song!
Wherein my spirit hath been borne along
In light and gloom through many a lonely hour,
With nought to gladden but its own weak pow'r.
In morning-youth far brighter dreams have play'd
Around a Heart which hope has oft betray'd,
Than those which hover o'er this dying strain;
But, faded once, they never form again?
“Farewell” to Oxford! soon will destined years
That word awaken which is spoke by tears:
When scheming Boyhood plann'd my future lot,
No scene arose by Oxford centred not;
And now, as oft her many-mingled chimes
Swell into birth, like sounds of other times,
Prophetic life a living mystery seems,
Unravell'd oft by consummated dreams!
Of ebbing sound, proclaims a midnight-bell;
Lo, phantom-clouds come floating by the moon,
Then melt away, like happiness, too soon:
And as they glide, an overshadowing smile
Of moving light is mirror'd on each pile.
Farewell the Scene! Farewell the fleeting song!
Wherein my spirit hath been borne along
In light and gloom through many a lonely hour,
With nought to gladden but its own weak pow'r.
In morning-youth far brighter dreams have play'd
Around a Heart which hope has oft betray'd,
Than those which hover o'er this dying strain;
But, faded once, they never form again?
“Farewell” to Oxford! soon will destined years
That word awaken which is spoke by tears:
When scheming Boyhood plann'd my future lot,
No scene arose by Oxford centred not;
And now, as oft her many-mingled chimes
Swell into birth, like sounds of other times,
Prophetic life a living mystery seems,
Unravell'd oft by consummated dreams!
417
Farewell! if when I cease to haunt her scene
Some gentle heart remember I have been,
As Oxford, with her palaces and spires,
The mind ennobles, or the fancy fires,
No vain reward his chosen theme attends
Howe'er the fate of him who sung it, ends!
Some gentle heart remember I have been,
As Oxford, with her palaces and spires,
The mind ennobles, or the fancy fires,
No vain reward his chosen theme attends
Howe'er the fate of him who sung it, ends!
Oh! fearful Time, the fathomless of thought,
With what a myst'ry are thine ages fraught!
Whose wings are noiseless in their rush sublime
O'er scenes of glory, as o'er years of crime;
Yet comes a moment when their speed is felt,
Till Past and Future through our being melt,
And boding shadows from a world unknown,
Deepen around us, and bedim our own.
With what a myst'ry are thine ages fraught!
Whose wings are noiseless in their rush sublime
O'er scenes of glory, as o'er years of crime;
Yet comes a moment when their speed is felt,
Till Past and Future through our being melt,
And boding shadows from a world unknown,
Deepen around us, and bedim our own.
A moment! well may that a moral be,
Whoe'er thou art, 'tis memory to thee:
A tomb it piled, a mother bore to heaven,
Or like a whirlwind o'er the ocean driven
Rush'd on thy fate with desolating sway,
And flung a desert o'er its darken'd way!
A moment!—Midnight wears a wonted hue,
And orbs of beauty speck yon skyward view;
Deep, hush'd, and holy is the world around,
But yet, what energies of Life abound!
In blended action through the realms of space
Where time and nature multiply their race
What crimes enacted, or what hearts awake
Which beat for glory or with anguish break!
And thou, dread spirit-World! to man unknown,
Where reigns Jehovah on His sightless throne,
Sense cannot view, but dreams would fain expand
Their wings ethereal o'er that mystic Land
Where Glory circles from the awful Three,
And Life is Love, and Love is Deity.
Whoe'er thou art, 'tis memory to thee:
A tomb it piled, a mother bore to heaven,
Or like a whirlwind o'er the ocean driven
Rush'd on thy fate with desolating sway,
And flung a desert o'er its darken'd way!
A moment!—Midnight wears a wonted hue,
And orbs of beauty speck yon skyward view;
Deep, hush'd, and holy is the world around,
But yet, what energies of Life abound!
In blended action through the realms of space
Where time and nature multiply their race
What crimes enacted, or what hearts awake
Which beat for glory or with anguish break!
And thou, dread spirit-World! to man unknown,
Where reigns Jehovah on His sightless throne,
Sense cannot view, but dreams would fain expand
Their wings ethereal o'er that mystic Land
Where Glory circles from the awful Three,
And Life is Love, and Love is Deity.
Who breathes, in good and ill must bear his part,
And each can tell a history of heart,
How Time hath tinged the moral of his years
Through gloom or glory, triumph, pangs, or tears.
And yet, howe'er Confession prove the right,
To give it voice is deem'd a vain delight;
And far too deeply is my mem'ry fraught
With the cold lesson blighted hours have taught,
To think a life so valueless as mine
With the stern feelings of a world may twine.
But words will rise from out perturbèd mind
As heave the waters to the helmless wind,
In some fond mood, when dreaming thoughts control
Departed years that slumber in the soul!
And each can tell a history of heart,
How Time hath tinged the moral of his years
Through gloom or glory, triumph, pangs, or tears.
And yet, howe'er Confession prove the right,
To give it voice is deem'd a vain delight;
And far too deeply is my mem'ry fraught
With the cold lesson blighted hours have taught,
To think a life so valueless as mine
With the stern feelings of a world may twine.
But words will rise from out perturbèd mind
As heave the waters to the helmless wind,
In some fond mood, when dreaming thoughts control
Departed years that slumber in the soul!
Life still is young, but not the world, with me;
For where the freshness I was wont to see?
A bloom hath vanish'd from the face of Things;
Nor more the Syren of enchantment sings
In sunny mead, or shady walk, or bower,
Like that which warbled o'er my youthful hour.
Let reason laugh, or elder wisdom smile
On the warm phantasies which youth beguile,
There is a pureness in that glorious prime
Which mingles not with our maturer time.
All earth is brighten'd from a sun within
As yet unshaded by a world of sin,
While mind and nature blendingly array
In light and love, whate'er our dreams survey:
Though perils darken from the distant years
They vanish'd, cloud-like, when a smile appears!
And the light woes that flutter o'er the mind
Are laugh'd away, as foam upon the wind.
Thou witching Spirit of a younger hour!
Did I not feel thee in thy fullest pow'r,
As oft school-free I rambled, lone and still
Through the green twilight of some wooded hill;
Or oped my lattice, when the moonshine lay
In sleep-like beauty on the brow of Day,
To watch the mystery of moving stars
Through ether gliding on melodious cars;
Or musing wander'd, ere the hectic morn,
To see how beautiful the sun was born?
For where the freshness I was wont to see?
A bloom hath vanish'd from the face of Things;
Nor more the Syren of enchantment sings
In sunny mead, or shady walk, or bower,
Like that which warbled o'er my youthful hour.
Let reason laugh, or elder wisdom smile
On the warm phantasies which youth beguile,
There is a pureness in that glorious prime
Which mingles not with our maturer time.
All earth is brighten'd from a sun within
As yet unshaded by a world of sin,
While mind and nature blendingly array
In light and love, whate'er our dreams survey:
Though perils darken from the distant years
They vanish'd, cloud-like, when a smile appears!
And the light woes that flutter o'er the mind
Are laugh'd away, as foam upon the wind.
Thou witching Spirit of a younger hour!
Did I not feel thee in thy fullest pow'r,
As oft school-free I rambled, lone and still
Through the green twilight of some wooded hill;
Or oped my lattice, when the moonshine lay
In sleep-like beauty on the brow of Day,
To watch the mystery of moving stars
Through ether gliding on melodious cars;
Or musing wander'd, ere the hectic morn,
To see how beautiful the sun was born?
A reign of glory from my soul hath past,
And each Elysium proved mere Earth at last;
Yet mourn I not in mock or puling strain,
For joys are left which never beam in vain:
The voice of friends, the changeless eye of love,
And, oh! that bliss all other bliss above,
To know, if shadow frown, or sunshine fall,
There is One Spirit who pervadeth all!
And each Elysium proved mere Earth at last;
Yet mourn I not in mock or puling strain,
For joys are left which never beam in vain:
The voice of friends, the changeless eye of love,
And, oh! that bliss all other bliss above,
To know, if shadow frown, or sunshine fall,
There is One Spirit who pervadeth all!
And has that fame, for which pure feelings pine,
No motive sanction'd by a Creed divine?
To be remember'd,—is the hope for this,
A false ambition for unholy bliss?
Time, Man, and Nature speak a deeper truth
When hope predicts the fancies of our youth!
But, 'tis not fame to form the midnight-show,
Where Vice and Vanity alike may go;
It is not fame, to hear the shallow prate
Of busy Fondness, or intriguing Hate,
To feast on sounds of patronising pride
And wring from dulness what the world denied.
A high-soul'd nature is its own renown,
And needs no jewels to begem the crown!
For 'mid the heat, the hurry and the strife,
Or daily nothings of distemper'd life,
Our spirit thirsteth for a purer World:
O'er this the wings of fancy are unfurl'd;
Hence painter's hue and poet's dream are brought,
And the rich paradise of blooming thought:
To quench that thirst, let heaven-born feelings flow,
Let genius wake! let inspiration glow!
Why thus we panted for a world like this
May form a knowledge in our future bliss.
No motive sanction'd by a Creed divine?
To be remember'd,—is the hope for this,
A false ambition for unholy bliss?
Time, Man, and Nature speak a deeper truth
When hope predicts the fancies of our youth!
But, 'tis not fame to form the midnight-show,
Where Vice and Vanity alike may go;
418
Of busy Fondness, or intriguing Hate,
To feast on sounds of patronising pride
And wring from dulness what the world denied.
A high-soul'd nature is its own renown,
And needs no jewels to begem the crown!
For 'mid the heat, the hurry and the strife,
Or daily nothings of distemper'd life,
Our spirit thirsteth for a purer World:
O'er this the wings of fancy are unfurl'd;
Hence painter's hue and poet's dream are brought,
And the rich paradise of blooming thought:
To quench that thirst, let heaven-born feelings flow,
Let genius wake! let inspiration glow!
Why thus we panted for a world like this
May form a knowledge in our future bliss.
All are not framed alike: Love, Hope, and Truth,
Those three Inspirers which attend on youth,
To various minds a varied tone impart;
What this man freezes,—fires another's heart!
The words that waken melodies of soul,
In tuneless ears monotonously roll;
The Shapes and Shadows which creation forms
And Fancy moulds from seasons and from storms
To living beauty or to lovely hue,
And waves them phantom-like before our view,
Will rouse the life-blood into fresher play
Of him who visions what the words array:
Another, eyeless save to sterner things,
Will frown them back as false Imaginings!
And thus in nature, as her vales reply
To voices wafted where the echoes lie,
Our spirits answer to appeals alone
When tuned accordant with some inward tone.
I've stood entranced beneath as bright a sun
As Poet's dream hath ever gazed upon,
In the warm stillness of that wooing hour
When skies are floating with seraphic power,
The gales expiring in melodious death,
The waters hush'd, the woods without a breath;
But when I look'd where lay immingled forms
Of fairy mountains or refulgent storms,
And cloud-born phantoms, delicately bright,
Laugh'd in the paleness of departing light,
Each fainting into each, a long array,
Like lovely echoes when they glide away,—
Another babbled in that beauteous hour,
Light as the leaf, and mindless as the flower!
Those three Inspirers which attend on youth,
To various minds a varied tone impart;
What this man freezes,—fires another's heart!
The words that waken melodies of soul,
In tuneless ears monotonously roll;
The Shapes and Shadows which creation forms
And Fancy moulds from seasons and from storms
To living beauty or to lovely hue,
And waves them phantom-like before our view,
Will rouse the life-blood into fresher play
Of him who visions what the words array:
Another, eyeless save to sterner things,
Will frown them back as false Imaginings!
And thus in nature, as her vales reply
To voices wafted where the echoes lie,
Our spirits answer to appeals alone
When tuned accordant with some inward tone.
I've stood entranced beneath as bright a sun
As Poet's dream hath ever gazed upon,
In the warm stillness of that wooing hour
When skies are floating with seraphic power,
The gales expiring in melodious death,
The waters hush'd, the woods without a breath;
But when I look'd where lay immingled forms
Of fairy mountains or refulgent storms,
And cloud-born phantoms, delicately bright,
Laugh'd in the paleness of departing light,
Each fainting into each, a long array,
Like lovely echoes when they glide away,—
Another babbled in that beauteous hour,
Light as the leaf, and mindless as the flower!
Thou young Aspirer! darest thou dream of fame,
And hope another Age will read thy name?
The hidden stirrings of each voiceless pride,
The pangs unutter'd, by the soul supplied,
The ghastly dimness of dejected hope,
By dreams assail'd with which no pride can cope;
Those nameless thoughts of venom'd fierceness, sent
From the dark heavings of our discontent;
And, dreader still,—the clouds of daily life
That welter round us in disease or strife,
And the cold atmosphere of worldly sway
Where Life is self, and Self the life of day,
In mingled power will oft thy soul appal;
Too well I picture, for I felt them all!
Yet bear thou on! and when some breathing page
Of godlike poet, or divinest sage,
And secret energies of soul begin
To feed the passion that is form'd within,
Then let thy Spirit in her power arise
And dare to speak the language of the Skies!
Her voice may fail, in deathlike muteness lost,
Her hopes be visions, and those visions cross'd;
But, pure and noble if thy song began,
And pour'd high meanings through the heart of man,
Not echoless perchance a note hath been
In some lone heart, or unimagined scene.
How many a breeze that wings a noiseless way,
How many a streamlet unbeheld by Day,
How many a sunbeam lights a lonely flower,
Yet works unseen in its creative power!
Then highly soar, whene'er thy spirit feels
The vivid sway impassion'd thought reveals;
Unchill'd by scorn, undarken'd by despair,
So Martyrs lived, and such the Mighty were!
And hope another Age will read thy name?
The hidden stirrings of each voiceless pride,
The pangs unutter'd, by the soul supplied,
The ghastly dimness of dejected hope,
By dreams assail'd with which no pride can cope;
Those nameless thoughts of venom'd fierceness, sent
From the dark heavings of our discontent;
And, dreader still,—the clouds of daily life
That welter round us in disease or strife,
And the cold atmosphere of worldly sway
Where Life is self, and Self the life of day,
In mingled power will oft thy soul appal;
Too well I picture, for I felt them all!
Yet bear thou on! and when some breathing page
Of godlike poet, or divinest sage,
And secret energies of soul begin
To feed the passion that is form'd within,
Then let thy Spirit in her power arise
And dare to speak the language of the Skies!
Her voice may fail, in deathlike muteness lost,
Her hopes be visions, and those visions cross'd;
But, pure and noble if thy song began,
And pour'd high meanings through the heart of man,
Not echoless perchance a note hath been
In some lone heart, or unimagined scene.
How many a breeze that wings a noiseless way,
How many a streamlet unbeheld by Day,
How many a sunbeam lights a lonely flower,
Yet works unseen in its creative power!
Then highly soar, whene'er thy spirit feels
The vivid sway impassion'd thought reveals;
Unchill'd by scorn, undarken'd by despair,
So Martyrs lived, and such the Mighty were!
There is a pleasure in a praise denied;
It feeds a folly, or protects a pride,
It teaches Dulness what no Wit can say,
“I don't approve, let no one write to-day.”
Thou narrow-minded, petty, pompous Thing!
What lent a feather to the boldest wing
Of soaring Fancy,—but a praise when due?
And wouldst thou hive it for the darling few?
Though Shakspere sang, and Milton's soul aspired,
Must Gray be scorn'd, nor Goldsmith be admired?
As well might Ocean of the Earth demand
To let no river roll, no stream expand;
As well might Mountains which embrace the skies
Entreat the heav'ns to let no hills arise!
Eternal Spirit! while thy day-beams smile
Around my path in many a sunny wile,
Their shining truth, oh, let my gaze deny
Ere merit sickens on mine envious eye:
As ocean kindles to her native sun,
As waters freshen when the wind's begun,
So brightening, quickening—let my spirit feel
Wisdom and genius in their just appeal!
It feeds a folly, or protects a pride,
419
“I don't approve, let no one write to-day.”
Thou narrow-minded, petty, pompous Thing!
What lent a feather to the boldest wing
Of soaring Fancy,—but a praise when due?
And wouldst thou hive it for the darling few?
Though Shakspere sang, and Milton's soul aspired,
Must Gray be scorn'd, nor Goldsmith be admired?
As well might Ocean of the Earth demand
To let no river roll, no stream expand;
As well might Mountains which embrace the skies
Entreat the heav'ns to let no hills arise!
Eternal Spirit! while thy day-beams smile
Around my path in many a sunny wile,
Their shining truth, oh, let my gaze deny
Ere merit sickens on mine envious eye:
As ocean kindles to her native sun,
As waters freshen when the wind's begun,
So brightening, quickening—let my spirit feel
Wisdom and genius in their just appeal!
Such dimming shades, thou young Aspirer! wait
On all who seek to glorify their state.
But shouldst thou, wafted by a fearless gale,
Ascend a height no vulgar clouds assail;
Should Fame encrown thee, and thy mind suffuse
O'er other minds its vivifying hues;
Wake feeling, passion, and the pow'r sublime
That bids eternity o'ershadow time,
The sunny raptures of renown enjoy,
But deem, oh! deem them not without alloy.
The smile of Nations may illume thy fame,
The good repeat, the glorious love thy name,
Still, tongues of scorn, and words of venom'd pow'r
To be the vipers of a secret hour,
The petty tribute, and unfeeling phrase,
Which nought but iciness of soul betrays,—
Demand forgiveness in thy brightest reign;
On ev'ry pleasure frowns the demon, pain!
On all who seek to glorify their state.
420
Ascend a height no vulgar clouds assail;
Should Fame encrown thee, and thy mind suffuse
O'er other minds its vivifying hues;
Wake feeling, passion, and the pow'r sublime
That bids eternity o'ershadow time,
The sunny raptures of renown enjoy,
But deem, oh! deem them not without alloy.
The smile of Nations may illume thy fame,
The good repeat, the glorious love thy name,
Still, tongues of scorn, and words of venom'd pow'r
To be the vipers of a secret hour,
The petty tribute, and unfeeling phrase,
Which nought but iciness of soul betrays,—
Demand forgiveness in thy brightest reign;
On ev'ry pleasure frowns the demon, pain!
But deeper peril is the praise which gives
That very light in which young Genius lives:
A tyrant weakness is the worst to see,
Since men are vain, yet all hate vanity;
When safely felt, most insecurely shown,
For who endures it, save it prove his own?
Yet should that energy, whose quenchless ray
Burns through the blackest and the brightest day,
Intensely pure within thy spirit glow
And colour dreams beyond the world to know;
If, eagle-like, thy Spirit dare to soar
On bolder wing than it had waved before;
If virtue love, and wisdom greet thy strain,
If this be vanity,—then still be vain!
That very light in which young Genius lives:
A tyrant weakness is the worst to see,
Since men are vain, yet all hate vanity;
When safely felt, most insecurely shown,
For who endures it, save it prove his own?
Yet should that energy, whose quenchless ray
Burns through the blackest and the brightest day,
Intensely pure within thy spirit glow
And colour dreams beyond the world to know;
If, eagle-like, thy Spirit dare to soar
On bolder wing than it had waved before;
If virtue love, and wisdom greet thy strain,
If this be vanity,—then still be vain!
Oh! for a nobler and a deeper sense
Of all which forms our true pre-eminence;
For high-born energies of heav'nly sway,
And flowers of charity to strew the way,
That Sin no longer may the world defile
And Nature glory in a good man's smile,
As on we hasten to that dreamless Shore
Where passion sleeps, and prejudice is o'er.
Of all which forms our true pre-eminence;
For high-born energies of heav'nly sway,
And flowers of charity to strew the way,
That Sin no longer may the world defile
And Nature glory in a good man's smile,
As on we hasten to that dreamless Shore
Where passion sleeps, and prejudice is o'er.
The days of fever, and the nights of fire
Felt in the blood, till health and hope expire;
An aching slumber, and a spectral tomb
For ever yawning in the spirit's gloom;
And that most agonising waste of soul
Where the deep currents of excitement roll
Morn, noon, and night, in one eternal play,
Are thine, Ambition!—till Thou wear'st away.
And, mix'd with agonies of outward state,
An inward torment which thy dreams create,
Thirsting within for some perfection made
By thought alone, or never yet display'd
Like that pure model which the mind surveys,—
'Tis thine to suffer through uncounted days.
Yet, welcome all! If ever thought of thine
Hath woo'd a spirit into calm divine,
Expanded feelings, purified their flow,
Or shed a sunbeam o'er the hour of wo,
Thy soul may triumph in exhaustless pain
And proudly think it has not lived in vain!
Felt in the blood, till health and hope expire;
An aching slumber, and a spectral tomb
For ever yawning in the spirit's gloom;
And that most agonising waste of soul
Where the deep currents of excitement roll
Morn, noon, and night, in one eternal play,
Are thine, Ambition!—till Thou wear'st away.
And, mix'd with agonies of outward state,
An inward torment which thy dreams create,
Thirsting within for some perfection made
By thought alone, or never yet display'd
Like that pure model which the mind surveys,—
'Tis thine to suffer through uncounted days.
Yet, welcome all! If ever thought of thine
Hath woo'd a spirit into calm divine,
Expanded feelings, purified their flow,
Or shed a sunbeam o'er the hour of wo,
Thy soul may triumph in exhaustless pain
And proudly think it has not lived in vain!
Ye midnight heavens, a Hand celestial hung,
In ev'ry age by ev'ry poet sung,
One parting glance, oh! let my spirit take
Ere dawn-light on your awful beauty break.
With what intensity the eye reveres
Your starry legions, when their pomp appears!
As though the glances Centuries have given
Since dreams first wander'd o'er the vast of heav'n,
Had left a magic where a myst'ry shone,
Enchanting more, the more 'tis gazed upon!
Stars, worlds, or wonders! whatsoe'er ye shine,
The home of Angels, or the haunts divine
Wherein the Bodiless from earth set free
Shine in the blaze of present Deity,
No eyes behold your ever-beaming ray
But think, while earthly visions roll away,
In placid immortality ye glow
Above this chaos of terrestrial wo!
In ev'ry age by ev'ry poet sung,
One parting glance, oh! let my spirit take
Ere dawn-light on your awful beauty break.
With what intensity the eye reveres
Your starry legions, when their pomp appears!
As though the glances Centuries have given
Since dreams first wander'd o'er the vast of heav'n,
Had left a magic where a myst'ry shone,
Enchanting more, the more 'tis gazed upon!
Stars, worlds, or wonders! whatsoe'er ye shine,
The home of Angels, or the haunts divine
Wherein the Bodiless from earth set free
Shine in the blaze of present Deity,
No eyes behold your ever-beaming ray
But think, while earthly visions roll away,
In placid immortality ye glow
Above this chaos of terrestrial wo!
Thy wings, Almighty! let them long o'er-shade
A clime by Thee a matchless empire made;
Here in meek glory may Thy temples stand
While smiles from heav'n fall brightly o'er the land;
And those pure Worlds that have for ages roll'd
O'er Alma Mater, still her towers behold;
Till time be dead, eternity begun,
And darkness blacken round the dying Sun,
The toils of life, the pangs of being o'er,
Our doom completed, and the world no more.
A clime by Thee a matchless empire made;
Here in meek glory may Thy temples stand
While smiles from heav'n fall brightly o'er the land;
And those pure Worlds that have for ages roll'd
O'er Alma Mater, still her towers behold;
Till time be dead, eternity begun,
And darkness blacken round the dying Sun,
The toils of life, the pangs of being o'er,
Our doom completed, and the world no more.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |