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diff --git a/13586-0.txt b/13586-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39688e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/13586-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4796 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13586 *** + +Poems + +by Samuel Rogers + +LONDON: + +PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, +IN THE STRAND, BY T. BENSLEY, BOLT COURT, FLEET, STREET. + +1814. + + + + +Oh could my Mind, unfolded in my page, +Enlighten climes and mould a future age; +There as it glow’d, with noblest frenzy fraught, +Dispense the treasures of exalted thought; +To Virtue wake the pulses of the heart, +And bid the tear of emulation start! +Oh could it still, thro’ each succeeding year, +My life, my manners, and my name endear; +And, when the poet sleeps in silent dust, +Still hold communion with the wise and just!— +Yet should this Verse, my leisure’s best resource, +When thro’ the world it steals its secret course, +Revive but once a generous wish supprest, +Chase but a sigh, or charm a care to rest; +In one good deed a fleeting hour employ, +Or flush one faded cheek with honest joy; +Blest were my lines, tho’ limited their sphere, +Tho’ short their date, as his who trac’d them here. + + + + +Contents + + + The Pleasures of Memory + Epistle to a Friend + Ode to Superstition + Written to be spoken in a Theatre + To—— + The Sailor + To an old Oak + From Euripides + To Two Sisters + Written at Midnight + On a Tear + To a Voice that had been lost + From a Greek Epigram. + To the Torso + To—— + Written in a Sick Chamber + To a Friend on his Marriage + The Alps at Day-break + Imitation of an Italian Sonnet + On——asleep. + To the youngest Daughter of Lady ** + An Epitaph on a Robin-Redbreast + A Wish + An Italian Song + To the Gnat + An Inscription in the Crimea + Captivity + A Character + Written in the Highlands of Scotland + A Farewell + To the Butterfly + Written in Westminster Abbey + The Voyage of Columbus + + + + +THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY + + +IN TWO PARTS + +Hoc est +Vivere bis, vitâ posse priore frui. + +MART. + +THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY +PART I + +Dolce sentier……. +Colle, che mi piacesti,…. +Ov’ ancor per usanza Amor mi mena; +Ben riconosco in voi l’usate forme, +Non, lasso, in me. + +PETRARCH + +ANALYSIS OF THE FIRST PART. + +The Poem begins with the description of an obscure village, and of +the pleasing melancholy which it excites on being revisited after a +long absence. This mixed sensation is an effect of the Memory. From +an effect we naturally ascend to the cause; and the subject proposed +is then unfolded with an investigation of the nature and leading +principles of this faculty. + +It is evident that our ideas flow in continual succession, and +introduce each other with a certain degree of regularity. They are +sometimes excited by sensible objects, and sometimes by an internal +operation of the mind. Of the former species is most probably the +memory of brutes; and its many sources of pleasure to them, as well as +to us, are considered in the first part. The latter is the most perfect +degree of memory, and forms the subject of the second. + +When ideas have any relation whatever, they are attractive of each +other in the mind; and the perception of any object naturally leads +to the idea of another, which was connected with it either in time +or place, or which can be compared or contrasted with it. Hence +arises our attachment to inanimate objects; hence also, in some +degree, the love of our country, and the emotion with which we +contemplate the celebrated scenes of antiquity. Hence a picture +directs our thoughts to the original: and, as cold and darkness +suggest forcibly the ideas of heat and light, he, who feels the +infirmities of age, dwells most on whatever reminds him of the vigour +and vivacity of his youth. + +The associating principle, as here employed, is no less conducive to +virtue than to happiness; and, as such, it frequently discovers +itself in the most tumultuous scenes of life. It addresses our finer +feelings, and gives exercise to every mild and generous propensity. + +Not confined to man, it extends through all animated nature; and its +effects are peculiarly striking in the domestic tribes. + +THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY + +Twilight’s soft dews steal o’er the village-green, +With magic tints to harmonize the scene. +Still’d is the hum that thro’ the hamlet broke, +When round the ruins of their antient oak +The peasants flock’d to hear the minstrel play, +And games and carols clos’d the busy day. +Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more +With treasur’d tales, and legendary lore. +All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows +To chase the dreams of innocent repose. +All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! +What secret charms this silent spot endear? + Mark yon old Mansion frowning thro’ the trees. +Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze. +That casement, arch’d with ivy’s brownest shade, +First to these eyes the light of heav’n convey’d. +The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown court, +Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; +When nature pleas’d, for life itself was new, +And the heart promis’d what the fancy drew. + See, thro’ the fractur’d pediment reveal’d, +Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptur’d shield, +The martin’s old, hereditary nest. +Long may the ruin spare its hallow’d guest! + As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! +Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall! +That hall, where once, in antiquated state, +The chair of justice held the grave debate. + Now stain’d with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, +Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; +When round yon ample board, in due degree, +We sweeten’d every meal with social glee. +The heart’s light laugh pursued the circling jest; +And all was sunshine in each little breast. +’Twas here we chas’d the slipper by the sound; +And turn’d the blindfold hero round and round. +’Twas here, at eve, we form’d our fairy ring; +And Fancy flutter’d on her wildest wing. +Giants and genii chain’d each wondering ear; +And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. +Oft with the babes we wander’d in the wood, +Or view’d the forest-feats of Robin Hood: +Oft, fancy-led, at midnight’s fearful hour, +With startling step we seal’d the lonely tower: +O’er infant innocence to hang and weep, +Murder’d by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. + Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye +Mark’d each pure thought, ere register’d on high; +Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, +And breathe the soul of Inspiration round. + As o’er the dusky furniture I bend, +Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. +The storied arras, source of fond delight, +With old achievement charms the wilder’d sight; +And still, with Heraldry’s rich hues imprest, +On the dim window glows the pictur’d crest. +The screen unfolds its many-colour’d chart. +The clock still points its moral to the heart. +That faithful monitor ’twas heav’n to hear! +When soft it spoke a promis’d pleasure near: +And has its sober hand, its simple chime, +Forgot to trace the feather’d feet of Time? +That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought, +Whence the caged linnet sooth’d my pensive thought; +Those muskets, cas’d with venerable rust; +Those once-lov’d forms, still breathing thro’ their dust, +Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast, +Starting to life—all whisper of the past! + As thro’ the garden’s desert paths I rove, +What fond illusions swarm in every grove! +How oft, when purple evening ting’d the west, +We watch’d the emmet to her grainy nest; +Welcom’d the wild-bee home on weary wing, +Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! +How oft inscrib’d, with ‘Friendship’s votive rhyme, +The bark now silver’d by the touch of Time; +Soar’d in the swing, half pleas’d and half afraid, +Thro’ sister elms that wav’d their summer-shade; +Or strew’d with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat, +To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat! + Childhood’s lov’d group revisits every scene; +The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! +Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and lo, they live! +Cloth’d with far softer hues than Light can give. +Thou first, best friend that Heav’n assigns below, +To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know; +Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, +When nature fades, and life forgets to charm; +Thee would the Muse invoke!—to thee belong +The sage’s precept, and the poet’s song. +What soften’d views thy magic glass reveals, +When o’er the landscape Time’s meek twilight steals! +As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, +Long on the wave reflected lustres play; +Thy temper’d gleams of happiness resign’d +Glance on the darken’d mirror of the mind. + The School’s lone porch, with reverend mosses gray, +Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. +Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, +Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn: +Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, +When the slow dial gave a pause to care. +Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,[1] +Some little friendship form’d and cherish’d here! +And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems +With golden visions, and romantic dreams! + Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blaz’d +The Gipsy’s faggot—there we stood and gaz’d; +Gaz’d on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, +Her tatter’d mantle, and her hood of straw; +Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o’er; +The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, +Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred, +From rifled roost at nightly revel fed; +Whose dark eyes flash’d thro’ locks of blackest shade, +When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay’d:— +And heroes fled the Sibyl’s mutter’d call, +Whose elfin prowess scal’d the orchard-wall. +As o’er my palm the silver piece she drew, +And trac’d the line of life with searching view, +How throbb’d my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears, +To learn the colour of my future years! + Ah, then, what honest triumph flush’d my breast! +This truth once known—To bless is to be blest! +We led the bending beggar on his way, +(Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray) +Sooth’d the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, +And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. +As in his scrip we dropt our little store, +And wept to think that little was no more, +He breath’d his prayer, “Long may such goodness live!” +’Twas all he gave, ’twas all he had to give. +Angels, when Mercy’s mandate wing’d their flight, +Had stopt to catch new rapture from the sight. + But hark! thro’ those old firs, with sullen swell +The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes, farewell! +It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace +The few fond lines that Time may soon efface. + On yon gray stone, that fronts the chancel-door. +Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, +Each eve we shot the marble thro’ the ring, +When the heart danc’d, and life was in its spring; +Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth, +That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. + The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed, +Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. +Oft, as he turn’d the greensward with his spade, +He lectur’d every youth that round him play’d; +And, calmly pointing where his fathers lay, +Rous’d him to rival each, the hero of his day. + Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone +I search the records of each mouldering stone. +Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth! +Who first unveil’d the hallow’d form of Truth; +Whose every word enlighten’d and endear’d; +In age belov’d, in poverty rever’d; +In Friendship’s silent register ye live, +Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give. + —But when the sons of peace and pleasure sleep, +When only Sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep, +What spells entrance my visionary mind, +With sighs so sweet, with transports so refin’d? + Ethereal Power! whose smile, at noon of night, +Recalls the far-fled spirit of delight; +Instils that musing, melancholy mood, +Which charms the wise, and elevates the good; +Blest MEMORY, hail! Oh grant the grateful Muse, +Her pencil dipt in Nature’s living hues, +To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll, +And trace its airy precincts in the soul. + Lull’d in the countless chambers of the brain, +Our thoughts are link’d by many a hidden chain. +Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise![2] +Each stamps its image as the other flies! +Each, as the various avenues of sense +Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, +Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, +Controul the latent fibres of the heart. +As studious PROSPERO’S mysterious spell +Conven’d the subject-spirits to his cell; +Each, at thy call, advances or retires, +As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. +Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source +Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, +And thro’ the frame invisibly convey +The subtle, quick vibrations as they play. + Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; +From Reason’s faintest ray to NEWTON soar, +What different spheres to human bliss assign’d! +What slow gradations in the scale of mind! +Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; +Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought! + The adventurous boy, that asks his little share, +And hies from home with many a gossip’s prayer, +Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see +The dear abode of peace and privacy; +And as he turns, the thatch among the trees, +The smoke’s blue wreaths ascending with the breeze, +The village-common spotted white with sheep, +The church-yard yews round which his fathers sleep;[3] +All rouse Reflection’s sadly-pleasing train. +And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. + So, when the mild TUPIA dar’d explore +Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, +And, with the sons of Science, woo’d the gale +That, rising, swell’d their strange expanse of sail; +So, when he breath’d his firm yet fond adieu,[4] +Borne from his leafy hut, his carv’d canoe, +And all his soul best lov’d—such tears he shed, +While each soft scene of summer-beauty fled: +Long o’er the wave a wistful look he cast, +Long watch’d the streaming signal from the mast; +Till twilight’s dewy tints deceiv’d his eye, +And fairy forests fring’d the evening sky. + So Scotia’s Queen, as slowly dawn’d the day,’[5] +Rose on her couch, and gaz’d her soul away. +Her eyes had bless’d the beacon’s glimmering height, +That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light; +But now the morn with orient hues pourtray’d +Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade: +All touch’d the talisman’s resistless spring, +And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing! + Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire,[6] +As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. +And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, +Warm as the life, and with the mirror’s truth. +Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the Patriot’s sigh;[7] +This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. +For this young FOSCARI, whose hapless fate[8] +Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate, +When exile wore his blooming years away, +To sorrow’s long soliloquies a prey, +When reason, justice, vainly urg’d his cause, +For this he rous’d her sanguinary laws; +Glad to return, tho’ Hope could grant no more, +And chains and torture hail’d him to the shore. + And hence the charm historic scenes impart: +Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. +Aerial forms, in Tempe’s classic vale, +Glance thro’ the gloom, and whisper in the gale; +In wild Vaucluse with love and LAURA dwell, +And watch and weep in ELOISA’S cell.’[9] +’Twas ever thus. As now at VIRGIL’S tomb,[10] +We bless the shade, and bid the verdure bloom: +So TULLY paus’d, amid the wrecks of Time,[11] +On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime; +When at his feet, in honour’d dust disclos’d, +The immortal Sage of Syracuse repos’d. +And as his youth in sweet delusion hung, +Where once a PLATO taught, a PINDAR sung; +Who now but meets him musing, when he roves +His ruin’d Tusculan’s romantic groves? +In Rome’s great forum, who but hears him roll +His moral thunders o’er the subject soul? + And hence that calm delight the portrait gives: +We gaze on every feature till it lives! +Still the fond lover views the absent maid; +And the lost friend still lingers in his shade! +Say why the pensive widow loves to weep,[12] +When on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep: +Tremblingly still, she lifts his veil to trace +The father’s features in his infant face. +The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away, +Won by the charm of Innocence at play; +He bends to meet each artless burst of joy, +Forgets his age, and acts again the boy. + What tho’ the iron school of War erase +Each milder virtue, and each softer grace; +What tho’ the fiend’s torpedo-touch arrest +Each gentler, finer impulse of the breast; +Still shall this active principle preside, +And wake the tear to Pity’s self denied. + The intrepid Swiss, that guards a foreign shore, +Condemn’d to climb his mountain-cliffs no more, +If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild[13] +Which on those cliffs his infant hours beguil’d, +Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, +And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs. + Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm: +Say why VESPASIAN lov’d his Sabine farm;[14] +Why great NAVARRE, when France and freedom bled,[15] +Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed. +When DIOCLETIAN’S self-corrected mind[16] +The imperial fasces of a world resign’d, +Say why we trace the labours of his spade, +In calm Salona’s philosophic shade. +Say, when contentious CHARLES renounc’d a throne,[17] +To muse with monks unletter’d and unknown, +What from his soul the parting tribute drew? +What claim’d the sorrows of a last adieu? +The still retreats that sooth’d his tranquil breast, +Ere grandeur dazzled, and its cares oppress’d. + Undamp’d by time, the generous Instinct glows +Far as Angola’s sands, as Zembla’s snows; +Glows in the tiger’s den, the serpent’s nest, +On every form of varied life imprest. +The social tribes its choicest influence hail:— +And, when the drum beats briskly in the gale, +The war-worn courser charges at the sound, +And with young vigour wheels the pasture round. + Oft has the aged tenant of the vale +Lean’d on his staff to lengthen out the tale; +Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath’d, +From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath’d. +When o’er the blasted heath the day declin’d, +And on the scath’d oak warr’d the winter-wind; +When not a distant taper’s twinkling ray +Gleam’d o’er the furze to light him on his way; +When not a sheep-bell sooth’d his listening ear, +And the big rain-drops told the tempest near; +Then did his horse the homeward track descry,[18] +The track that shunn’d his sad, inquiring eye; +And win each wavering purpose to relent, +With warmth so mild, so gently violent, +That his charm’d hand the careless rein resign’d, +And doubts and terrors vanish’d from his mind. + Recall the traveller, whose alter’d form +Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm; +And who will first his fond impatience meet? +His faithful dog’s already at his feet! +Yes, tho’ the porter spurn him from the door, +Tho’ all, that knew him, know his face no more, +His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, +With that mute eloquence which passes speech.— +And see, the master but returns to die! +Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly? +The blasts of heav’n, the drenching dews of earth, +The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth, +These, when to guard Misfortune’s sacred grave, +Will firm Fidelity exult to brave. + Led by what chart, transports the timid dove +The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love? +Say, thro’ the clouds what compass points her flight? +Monarchs have gaz’d, and nations bless’d the sight. +Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, +Eclipse her native shades, her native skies;— +’Tis vain! thro’ Ether’s pathless wilds she goes, +And lights at last where all her cares repose. + Sweet bird! thy truth shall Harlem’s walls attest,[19] +And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. +When, with the silent energy of grief, +With looks that ask’d, yet dar’d not hope relief, +Want, with her babes, round generous Valour clung, +To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, +’Twas thine to animate her closing eye; +Alas! ’twas thine perchance the first to die, +Crush’d by her meagre hand, when welcom’d from the sky. + Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn,[20] +Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. +O’er thymy downs she bends her busy course, +And many a stream allures her to its source. +’Tis noon, ’tis night. That eye so finely wrought, +Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought. +Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; +Its orb so full, its vision so confin’d! +Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell? +Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell? +With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue +Of varied scents, that charm’d her as she flew? +Hail, MEMORY, hail! thy universal reign +Guards the least link of Being’s glorious chain. + + + + +THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY +PART II. + + +Delle cose custode, e dispensiera. + +TASSO. + +ANALYSIS OF THE SECOND PART. + +The Memory has hitherto acted only in subservience to the senses, and +so far man is not eminently distinguished from other animals: but, +with respect to man, she has a higher province; and is often busily +employed, when excited by no external cause whatever. She preserves, +for his use, the treasures of art and science, history and +philosophy. She colours all the prospects of life: for ‘we can only +anticipate the future, by concluding what is possible from what is +past.’ On her agency depends every effusion of the Fancy, whose +boldest effort can only compound or transpose, augment or diminish +the materials which she has collected and retained. + +When the first emotions of despair have subsided, and sorrow has +softened into melancholy, she amuses with a retrospect of innocent +pleasures, and inspires that noble confidence which results from the +consciousness of having acted well. When sleep has suspended the +organs of sense from their office, she not only supplies the mind +with images, but assists in their combination. And even in madness +itself, when the soul is resigned over to the tyranny of a +distempered imagination, she revives past perceptions, and awakens +the train of thought which was formerly most familiar. + +Nor are we pleased only with a review of the brighter passages of +life. Events, the most distressing in their immediate consequences, +are often cherished in remembrance with a degree of enthusiasm. + +But the world and its occupations give a mechanical impulse to the +passions, which is not very favourable to the indulgence of this +feeling. It is in a calm and well-regulated mind that the Memory is +most perfect; and solitude is her best sphere of action. With this +sentiment is introduced a Tale, illustrative of her influence in +solitude, sickness, and, sorrow. And the subject having now been +considered, so far as it relates to man and the animal world, the +Poem concludes with a conjecture, that superior beings are blest with +a nobler exercise of this faculty. + +THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY + +Sweet MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale, +Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, +To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours. +Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. +Ages and climes remote to Thee impart +What charms in Genius, and refines in Art; +Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science dwell, +The pensive portress of her holy cell; +Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp +Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp. + The friends of Reason, and the guides of Youth, +Whose language breath’d the eloquence of Truth; +Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught +The great in conduct, and the pure in thought; +These still exist, by Thee to Fame consign’d,[21] +Still speak and act, the models of mankind. + From Thee sweet Hope her airy colouring draws; +And Fancy’s flights are subject to thy laws. +From Thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows, +Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue, knows. + When Joy’s bright sun has shed his evening ray, +And Hope’s delusive meteors cease to play; +When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close, +Still thro’ the gloom thy star serenely glows; +Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night +With the mild magic of reflected light. + The beauteous maid, that bids the world adieu, +Oft of that world will snatch a fond review; +Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, +to trace Some social scene, some dear, familiar face, +Forgot, when first a father’s stern controul +Chas’d the gay visions of her opening soul: +And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper-bell +Bursts thro’ the cypress-walk, the convent-cell, +Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive, +To love and joy still tremblingly alive; +The whisper’d vow, the chaste caress prolong, +Weave the light dance and swell the choral song; +With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade, +And, as it melts along the moonlight-glade, +To each soft note return as soft a sigh, +And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. + But not till Time has calm’d the ruffled breast, +Are these fond dreams of happiness confest. +Not till the rushing winds forget to rave, +Is Heav’n’s sweet smile reflected on the wave. + +From Guinea’s coast pursue the lessening sail, +And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. +Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there; +Mark the fixt gaze, the wild and frenzied glare, +The racks of thought, and freezings of despair! +But pause not then—beyond the western wave, +Go, view the captive barter’d as a slave! +Crush’d till his high, heroic spirit bleeds, +And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes. + Yet here, ev’n here, with pleasures long resign’d, +Lo! MEMORY bursts the twilight of the mind: +Her dear delusions sooth his sinking soul, +When the rude scourge presumes its base controul; +And o’er Futurity’s blank page diffuse +The full reflection of her vivid hues. +’Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more, +Then will he wake on Congo’s distant shore; +Beneath his plantain’s antient shade, renew +The simple transports that with freedom flew; +Catch the cool breeze that musky Evening blows, +And quaff the palm’s rich nectar as it glows; +The oral tale of elder time rehearse, +And chant the rude, traditionary verse; +With those, the lov’d companions of his youth, +When life was luxury, and friendship truth. + Ah! why should Virtue fear the frowns of Fate? +Hers what no wealth can win, no power create! +A little world of clear and cloudless day, +Nor wreck’d by storms, nor moulder’d by decay; +A world, with MEMORY’S ceaseless sun-shine blest, +The home of Happiness, an honest breast. + But most we mark the wonders of her reign, +When Sleep has lock’d the senses in her chain. +When sober Judgment has his throne resign’d, +She smiles away the chaos of the mind; +And, as warm Fancy’s bright Elysium glows, +From Her each image springs, each colour flows. +She is the sacred guest! the immortal friend! +Oft seen o’er sleeping Innocence to bend, +In that dead hour of night to Silence giv’n, +Whispering seraphic visions of her heav’n. + When the blithe son of Savoy, journeying round +With humble wares and pipe of merry sound, +From his green vale and shelter’d cabin hies, +And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies; +Tho’ far below the forked lightnings play, +And at his feet the thunder dies away, +Oft, in the saddle rudely rock’d to sleep, +While his mule browses on the dizzy steep, +With MEMORY’S aid, he sits at home, and sees +His children sport beneath their native trees, +And bends, to hear their cherub-voices call, +O’er the loud fury of the torrent’s fall. + But can her smile with gloomy Madness dwell? +Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell? +Each fiery flight on Frenzy’s wing restrain, +And mould the coinage of the fever’d brain? + Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam supplies, +There in the dust the wreck of Genius lies! +He, whose arresting hand sublimely wrought +Each bold conception in the sphere of thought; +And round, in colours of the rainbow, threw +Forms ever fair, creations ever new! +But, as he fondly snatch’d the wreath of Fame, +The spectre Poverty unnerv’d his frame. +Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she wore; +And Hope’s soft energies were felt no more. +Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art![22] +From the rude wall what bright ideas start! +Ev’n now he claims the amaranthine wreath, +With scenes that glow, with images that breathe! +And whence these scenes, these images, declare. +Whence but from Her who triumphs o’er despair? + +Awake, arise! with grateful fervor fraught, +Go, spring the mine of elevating thought. +He, who, thro’ Nature’s various walk, surveys +The good and fair her faultless line pourtrays; +Whose mind, prophan’d by no unhallow’d guest, +Culls from the crowd the purest and the best; +May range, at will, bright Fancy’s golden clime, +Or, musing, mount where Science sits sublime, +Or wake the spirit of departed Time. +Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral muse, +A blooming Eden in his life reviews! +So rich the culture, tho’ so small the space, +Its scanty limits he forgets to trace. +But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky, +Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh![23] +The weary waste, that lengthen’d as he ran, +Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span! + Ah! who can tell the triumphs of the mind, +By truth illumin’d, and by taste refin’d? +When Age has quench’d the eye and clos’d the ear, +Still nerv’d for action in her native sphere, +Oft will she rise—with searching glance pursue +Some long-lov’d image vanish’d from her view; +Dart thro’ the deep recesses of the past, +O’er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast; +With giant-grasp fling back the folds of night, +And snatch the faithless fugitive to light. + So thro’ the grove the impatient mother flies. +Each sunless glade, each secret pathway tries; +Till the light leaves the truant boy disclose, +Long on the wood-moss stretch’d in sweet repose. + Nor yet to pleasing objects are confin’d +The silent feasts of the reflecting mind. +Danger and death a dread delight inspire; +And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire, +When, richly bronz’d by many a summer-sun, +He counts his scars, and tells what deeds were done. + Go, with old Thames, view Chelsea’s glorious pile; +And ask the shatter’d hero, whence his smile? +Go, view the splendid domes of Greenwich—Go, +And own what raptures from Reflection flow. + Hail, noblest structures imag’d in the wave! +A nation’s grateful tribute to the brave. +Hail, blest retreats from war and shipwreck, hail! +That oft arrest the wondering stranger’s sail. +Long have ye heard the narratives of age, +The battle’s havoc, and the tempest’s rage; +Long have ye known Reflection’s genial ray +Gild the calm close of Valour’s various day. + Time’s sombrous touches soon correct the piece, +Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease: +A softer tone of light pervades the whole, +And steals a pensive languor o’er the soul. + Hast thou thro’ Eden’s wild-wood vales pursued[24] +Each mountain-scene, majestically rude; +To note the sweet simplicity of life, +Far from the din of Folly’s idle strife: +Nor there awhile, with lifted eye, rever’d +That modest stone which pious PEMBROKE rear’d; +Which still records, beyond the pencil’s power, +The silent sorrows of a parting hour; +Still to the musing pilgrim points the place, +Her sainted spirit most delights to trace? + Thus, with the manly glow of honest pride, +O’er his dead son the gallant ORMOND sigh’d.[25] +Thus, thro’ the gloom of SHENSTONE’S fairy grove, +MARIA’S urn still breathes the voice of love. + As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower +Awes us less deeply in its morning hour, +Than when the shades of Time serenely fall +On every broken arch and ivy’d wall; +The tender images we love to trace, +Steal from each year a melancholy grace! +And as the sparks of social love expand, +As the heart opens in a foreign land; +And, with a brother’s warmth, a brother’s smile, +The stranger greets each native of his isle; +So scenes of life, when present and confest, +Stamp but their bolder features on the breast; +Yet not an image, when remotely view’d, +However trivial, and however rude, +But wins the heart, and wakes the social sigh, +With every claim of close affinity! + But these pure joys the world can never know; +In gentler climes their silver currents flow. +Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day, +When the hush’d grove has sung its parting lay; +When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car, +Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star; +Above, below, aerial murmurs swell, +From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell! +A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light. +Stealing soft music on the ear of night. +So oft the finer movements of the soul, +That shun the sphere of Pleasure’s gay controul, +In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise, +And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies! + +Once, and domestic annals tell the time, +(Preserv’d in Cumbria’s rude, romantic clime) +When nature smil’d, and o’er the landscape threw +Her richest fragrance, and her brightest hue, +A blithe and blooming Forester explor’d +Those loftier scenes SALVATOR’S soul ador’d; +The rocky pass half hung with shaggy wood, +And the cleft oak flung boldly o’er the flood; +Nor shunn’d the path, unknown to human tread, +That downward to the night of caverns led; +Some antient cataract’s deserted bed. + High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose,[26] +And blew his shrill blast o’er perennial snows +Ere the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar, +Gaz’d on the tumbling tide of dread Lodoar; +And thro’ the rifted cliffs, that scal’d the sky, +Derwent’s clear mirror charm’d his dazzled eye.[27] +Each osier isle, inverted on the wave, +Thro’ morn’s gray mist its melting colours gave; +And, o’er the cygnet’s haunt, the mantling grove +Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove. + Light as the breeze that brush’d the orient dew: +From rock to rock the young adventurer flew; +And day’s last sunshine slept along the shore, +When lo, a path the smile of welcome wore. +Imbowering shrubs with verdure veil’d the sky, +And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye; +Save when a bright and momentary gleam +Glanc’d from the white foam of some shelter’d stream. + O’er the still lake the bell of evening toll’d, +And on the moor the shepherd penn’d his fold; +And on the green hill’s side the meteor play’d; +When, hark! a voice sung sweetly thro’ the shade. +It ceas’d—yet still in FLORIO’S fancy sung, +Still on each note his captive spirit hung; +Till o’er the mead a cool, sequester’d grot +From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot. +A crystal water cross’d the pebbled floor, +And on the front these simple lines it bore: + +Hence away, nor dare intrude! +In this secret, shadowy cell +Musing MEMORY loves to dwell, +With her sister Solitude. + +Far from the busy world she flies, +To taste that peace the world denies. +Entranc’d she sits; from youth to age, +Reviewing Life’s eventful page; +And noting, ere they fade away, +The little lines of yesterday. + +FLORIO had gain’d a rude and rocky seat, +When lo, the Genius of this still retreat! +Fair was her form—but who can hope to trace +The pensive softness of her angel-face? +Can VIRGIL’S verse, can RAPHAEL’S touch impart +Those finer features of the feeling heart, +Those tend’rer tints that shun the careless eye, +And in the world’s contagious climate die? + She left the cave, nor mark’d the stranger there; +Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air +Had breath’d a soft enchantment o’er his soul! +In every nerve he felt her blest controul! +What pure and white-wing’d agents of the sky, +Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy, +Inform congenial spirits when they meet? +Sweet is their office, as their natures sweet! + FLORIO, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, +Till thro’ a vista’s moonlight-checquer’d shade, +Where the bat circled, and the rooks repos’d, +(Their wars suspended, and their councils clos’d) +An antique mansion burst in awful state, +A rich vine clustering round the Gothic gate. +Nor paus’d he there. The master of the scene +Saw his light step imprint the dewy green; +And, slow-advancing, hail’d him as his guest, +Won by the honest warmth his looks express’d, +He wore the rustic manners of a ’Squire; +Age had not quench’d one spark of manly fire; +But giant Gout had bound him in her chain, +And his heart panted for the chase in vain. +Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing power! +Wing’d with delight Confinement’s lingering hour. +The fox’s brush still emulous to wear, +He scour’d the county in his elbow-chair; +And, with view-halloo, rous’d the dreaming hound, +That rung, by starts, his deep-ton’d music round. + Long by the paddock’s humble pale confin’d, +His aged hunters cours’d the viewless wind: +And each, with glowing energy pourtray’d, +The far-fam’d triumphs of the field display’d: +Usurp’d the canvas of the crowded hall, +And chas’d a line of heroes from the wall. +There slept the horn each jocund echo knew. +And many a smile and many a story drew! +High o’er the hearth his forest-trophies hung, +And their fantastic branches wildly flung. +How would he dwell on the vast antlers there! +These dash’d the wave, those fann’d the mountain-air. +All, as they frown’d, unwritten records bore, +Of gallant feats and festivals of yore. + +But why the tale prolong?—His only child, +His darling JULIA on the stranger smil’d. +Her little arts a fretful sire to please, +Her gentle gaiety, and native ease +Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed +Her golden lights, and tints of rosy red. +But ah! few days had pass’d, ere the bright vision fled! + When evening ting’d the lake’s ethereal blue, +And her deep shades irregularly threw; +Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, +Down by St. Herbert’s consecrated grove;[28] +Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taper’d rite +Amus’d the fisher’s solitary night: +And still the mitred window, richly wreath’d, +A sacred calm thro’ the brown foliage breath’d. +The wild deer, starting thro’ the silent glade, +With fearful gaze their various course survey’d. +High hung in air the hoary goat reclin’d, +His streaming beard the sport of every wind; +And, while the coot her jet-wing lov’d to lave, +Rock’d on the bosom of the sleepless wave; +The eagle rush’d from Skiddaw’s purple crest, +A cloud still brooding o’er her giant-nest. + And now the moon had dimm’d, with dewy ray. +The few fine flushes of departing day; +O’er the wide water’s deep serene she hung, +And her broad lights on every mountain flung; +When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew,[29] +And to the surge consign’d the little crew. +All, all escap’d—but ere the lover bore +His faint and faded JULIA, to the shore, +Her sense had fled!—Exhausted by the storm, +A fatal trance hang o’er her pallid form; +Her closing eye a trembling lustre fir’d; +’Twas life’s last spark—it flutter’d and expir’d! + The father strew’d his white hairs in the wind, +Call’d on his child—nor linger’d long behind: +And FLORIO liv’d to see the willow wave, +With many an evening-whisper, o’er their grave. +Yes, FLORIO liv’d—and, still of each possest, +The father cherish’d, and the maid caress’d! + For ever would the fond enthusiast rove, +With JULIA’S spirit, thro’ the shadowy grove; +Gaze with delight on every scene she plann’d, +Kiss every flowret planted by her hand. +Ah! still he trac’d her steps along the glade, +When hazy hues and glimmering lights betray’d +Half-viewless forms; still listen’d as the breeze +Heav’d its deep sobs among the aged trees; +And at each pause her melting accents caught, +In sweet delirium of romantic thought! +Dear was the grot that shunn’d the blaze of day; +She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray. +The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell, +Murmur’d of JULIA’S virtues as it fell; +And o’er the dripping moss, the fretted stone, +In FLORIO’S ear breath’d language not its own. +Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY threw, +A charm that sooths the mind, and sweetens too! + But is Her magic only felt below? +Say, thro’ what brighter realms she bids it flow; +To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere,[30] +She yields delight but faintly imag’d here: +All that till now their rapt researches knew, +Not call’d in slow succession to review; +But, as a landscape meets the eye of day, +At once presented to their glad survey! + Each scene of bliss reveal’d, since chaos fled, +And dawning light its dazzling glories spread; +Each chain of wonders that sublimely glow’d, +Since first Creation’s choral anthem flow’d; +Each ready flight, at Mercy’s smile divine, +To distant worlds that undiscover’d shine; +Full on her tablet flings its living rays, +And all, combin’d, with blest effulgence blaze. + There thy bright train, immortal Friendship, soar; +No more to part, to mingle tears no more! +And, as the softening hand of Time endears +The joys and sorrows of our infant-years, +So there the soul, releas’d from human strife, +Smiles at the little cares and ills of life; +Its lights and shades, its sunshine and its showers; +As at a dream that charm’d her vacant hours! + Oft may the spirits of the dead descend +To watch the silent slumbers of a friend; +To hover round his evening-walk unseen, +And hold sweet converse on the dusky green; +To hail the spot where first their friendship grew, +And heav’n and nature open’d to their view! +Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth, and sees +A smiling circle emulous to please; +There may these gentle guests delight to dwell, +And bless the scene they lov’d in life so well! + Oh thou! with whom my heart was wont to share +From Reason’s dawn each pleasure and each care; +With whom, alas! I fondly hop’d to know +The humble walks of happiness below; +If thy blest nature now unites above +An angel’s pity with a brother’s love, +Still o’er my life preserve thy mild controul, +Correct my views, and elevate my soul; +Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, +Devout yet cheerful, active yet resign’d; +Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no disguise, +Whose blameless wishes never aim’d to rise, +To meet the changes Time and Chance present, +With modest dignity and calm content. +When thy last breath, ere Nature sunk to rest, +Thy meek submission to thy God express’d; +When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, +A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; +What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, +Its hope in death, its triumph o’er the grave? +The sweet Remembrance of unblemish’d youth, +The still inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth! + Hail, MEMORY, hail! in thy exhaustless mine +From age to age unnumber’d treasures shine! +Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, +And Place and Time are subject to thy sway! +Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone; +The only pleasures we can call our own. +Lighter than air, Hope’s summer-visions die, +If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; +If but a beam of sober Reason play, +Lo, Fancy’s fairy frost-work melts away! +But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, +Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? +These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, +Pour round her path a stream of living light; +And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, +Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest! + + +NOTES ON THE FIRST PART. + + [1] +_Up springs at every step to claim a tear_, + +I came to the place of my birth, and cried, “The friends of my Youth, +where are they?”—And an echo answered, “Where are they?” From an +Arabic MS. + + [2] +_Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise!_ + +When a traveller, who was surveying the ruins of Rome, expressed a +desire to possess some relic of its antient grandeur, Poussin, who +attended him, stooped down, and, gathering up a handful of earth +shining with small grains of porphyry, “Take this home,” said he, +“for your cabinet; and say boldly, _Questa è Roma Antica_.” + + [3] +_The church-yard yews round which his fathers sleep_; + +Every man, like Gulliver in Lilliput, is fastened to some spot of +earth, by the thousand small threads which habit and association are +continually stealing over him. Of these, perhaps, one of the +strongest is here alluded to. + When the Canadian Indians were once solicited to emigrate, “What!” +they replied, “shall we say to the bones of our fathers, Arise, and +go with us into a foreign land?”—Hist. des Indes, par Raynal, +vi. 21. + + [4] +_So, when he breath’d his firm yet fond adieu_, + +See COOK’S first voyage, book i. chap. 16. + Another very affecting instance of local attachment is related of his +fellow-countryman Potaveri, who came to Europe with M. de +Bougainville.—See LES JARDINS, chant, ii. + + [5] +_So Scotia’s Queen, &c_. + +Elle se leve sur son lict, et se met a contempler la France encore, +et tant qu’elle peut. BRANTÔME, i. 140. + + [6] +_Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire_. + +To an accidental association may be ascribed some of the noblest +efforts of human genius. The Historian of the Decline and Fall of the +Roman Empire first conceived his design among the ruins of the +Capitol; and to the tones of a Welsh harp are we indebted for the +Bard of Gray.—GIBBON’S Hist. xii. 432.—Mem. of Gray, sect. iv. +let. 25. + + [7] +_Hence home-felt pleasure, &c_. + +Who can sufficiently admire the affectionate attachment of Plutarch, +who thus concludes his enumeration of the advantages of a great city +to men of letters; “As to myself, I live in a little town; and I +choose to live there, lest it should become still less,”—Vit. Demosth. + + [8] +_For this young FOSCARI, &c_. + +He was suspected of murder, and at Venice suspicion is good evidence. +Neither the interest of the Doge, his father, nor the intrepidity of +conscious innocence, which he exhibited in the dungeon and on the +rack, could procure his acquittal. He was banished to the island of +Candia for life. + But here his resolution failed him. At such a distance from home he +could not live; and, as it was a criminal offence to solicit the +intercession of any foreign prince, in a fit of despair he addressed +a letter to the Duke of Milan, and intrusted it to a wretch whose +perfidy, he knew, would occasion his being remanded a prisoner to +Venice. + + [9] +_And watch and weep in ELOISA’S cell_. + +The Paraclete, founded by Abelard, in Champagne. + + [10] +_’Twas ever thus. As now at VIRGIL’S tomb_ + +Vows and pilgrimages are not peculiar to the religious enthusiast. +Silius Italicus performed annual ceremonies on the mountain of +Posilippo; and it was there that Boccaccio, quasi da un divino estro +inspirato, re-solved to dedicate his life to the muses. + + [11] +_So TULLY paus’d amid the wrecks of Time_. + +When Cicero was quæstor in Sicily, he discovered the tomb of +Archimedes by its mathematical inscription. + Tusc. Quæst. v. 3. + + [12] +_Say why the pensive widow loves to weep_. + +The influence of the associating principle is finely exemplified in +the faithful Penelope, when she sheds tears over the bow of Ulysses. +Od. xxi. 55. + + [13] +_If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild_ + +The celebrated Ranz des Vaches; cet air si chéri des Suisses qu’il +fut défendu sous peine de mort de la jouer dans leurs troupes, parce +qu’il faisoit fondre en larmes, deserter Ou mourir ceux qui +l’entendoient, tant il excitoit en eux l’ardent désir de revoir leur +pays. ROUSSEAU. + The _maladie de pays_ is as old as the human heart. JUVENAL’S little +cup-bearer, + + Suspirat longo non visam tempore matrem, + Et casulam, et notes tristis desiderat hædos. + +And the Argive, in the heat of battle, + + Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos. + + [14] +_Say why VESPASIAN lov’d his Saline farm_. + +This emperor, according to Suetonius, constantly passed the summer +in a small villa near Reate, where he was born, and to which he would +never add any embellishment; _ne quid scilicet oculorum consuetudini +deperiret_. SUET. in Vit. Vesp. cap. ii. + A similar instance occurs in the life of the venerable Pertinax, as +related by J. Capitolinus. Posteaquam in Liguriam venit, multis agris +coemptis, tabernam pater-nam, _manente formâ priore_, infinitis +ædificiis circun-dedit.—Hist. August. 54. + And it is said of Cardinal Richelieu, that, when he built his magnificent +palace on the site of the old family chateau at Richelieu, he sacrificed its +symmetry to preserve the room in which he was born. + Mém. de Mlle, de Montpensier, i. 27. An attachment of this nature is +generally the characteristic of a benevolent mind; and a long +acquaintance with the world cannot always extinguish it. + “To a friend,” says John Duke of Buckingham, “I will expose my +weakness: I am oftener missing a pretty gallery in the old house I +pulled down, than pleased with a saloon which I built in its stead, +though a thousand times better in all respects.” +See his Letter to the D. of Sh. + Such were Diderot’s _Regrets sur sa vieille Robe de Chambre_. +“Pourquoi ne avoir pas gardée? Elle étoit faite a moi; j’etois fait a +elle.—Mes amis, gardez vos vieux amis.” + This is the language of the heart; and will remind the reader of that +good-humoured remark in one of Pope’s letters—“I should hardly care +to have an old post pulled up, that I remembered ever since I was a +child.” +POPE’S Works, viii. 151. + Nor did the Poet feel the charm more forcibly than his Editor. +See HURD’S Life of Warburton, 51, 99. + The elegant author of Telemachus has illustrated this subject, with +equal fancy and feeling, in the story of Alibée, Persan. + + [15] +_Why great NAVARRE, &c_. + +That amiable and accomplished monarch, Henry the Fourth of France, +made an excursion from his camp, during the long siege of Laon, to +dine at a house in the forest of Folambray; where he had often been +regaled, when a boy, with fruit, milk, and new cheese; and in +revisiting which he promised himself great pleasure. +Mém. de SULLY, ii. 381. + + [16] +_When DIOCLETIAN’S self-corrected mind_ + +Diocletian retired into his native province, and there amused himself +with building, planting, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is +deservedly celebrated. He was solicited by that restless old man to +re-assume the reins of government, and the Imperial purple. He +rejected the temptation with a smile of pity, calmly observing, “that +if he could shew Maximian the cabbages which he had planted with his +own hands at Salona, he should no longer be urged to relinquish the +enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power.” +GIBBON, ii. 175. + + [17] +_Say, when contentious CHARLES renounc’d a throne_, + +When the emperor Charles V. had executed his memorable resolution, +and had set out for the monastery of St. Justus, he stopped a few +days at Ghent, says his historian, to indulge that tender and +pleasant melancholy, which arises in the mind of every man in the +decline of life, on visiting the place of his nativity, and viewing +the scenes and objects familiar to him in his early youth. +ROBERTSON, iv. 256. + + [18] +_Then did his horse the homeward track descry_. + +The memory of the horse forms the ground-work of a pleasing little +romance of the twelfth century, entitled, “Lai du Palefroi vair.” +See Fabliaux du XII Siecle. + Ariosto likewise introduces it in a passage full of truth and nature. +When Bayardo meets Angelica in the forest, + ……..Va mansueto a la Donzella, + ……………………………. + Ch’in Albracca il servìa già di sua mano. +ORLANDO FURIOSO, canto i. 75. + + [19] +_Sweet bird! thy truth shall HARLEM’S walls attest_. + +During the siege of Harlem, when that city was reduced to the last +extremity, and on the point of opening its gates to a base and +barbarous enemy, a design was formed to relieve it; and the +intelligence was conveyed to the citizens by a letter which was tied +under the wing of a pigeon. +THUANUS, lib. lv, c. 5. + The same messenger was employed at the siege of Mutina, as we are +informed by the elder Pliny. +Hist. Nat. x. 37. + + [20] +_Hark! the bee, &c_. + +This little animal, from the extreme convexity of her eye, cannot see +many inches before her. + +NOTES ON THE SECOND PART. + + [21] +_These still exist, &c_. + +There is a future Existence even in this world; an Existence in the +hearts and minds of those who shall live after us. It is in reserve +for every man, however obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent, +must be equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance can we wish to +hold a place, but such as know, and are known by us? These are within +the sphere of our influence, and among these and their descendants we +may live evermore. + It is a state of rewards and punishments; and, like that revealed to +us in the Gospel, has the happiest influence on our lives. The latter +excites us to gain the favour of GOD; the former to gain the love and +esteem of wise and good men; and both lead to the same end; for, in +framing our conceptions of the DEITY, we only ascribe to Him exalted +degrees of Wisdom and Goodness. + + [22] +_Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art!_ + +The astronomer chalking his figures on the wall, in Hogarth’s view +of Bedlam, is an admirable exemplification of this idea. +See the RAKE’S PROGRESS, plate 8. + + [23] +_Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!_ The following stanzas +are said to have been written on a blank leaf of this Poem. They +present so affecting a reverse of the picture, that I cannot resist +the opportunity of introducing them here. + + Pleasures of Memory!—oh supremely blest, + And justly proud beyond a Poet’s praise; + If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast + Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays! + By me how envied!—for to me, + The herald still of misery, + Memory makes her influence known + By sighs, and tears, and grief alone: + I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong + The vulture’s ravening beak, the raven’s funeral song. + + She tells of time mispent, of comfort lost, + Of fair occasions gone for ever by; + Of hopes too fondly nurs’d, too rudely cross’d, + Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die; + For what, except th’ instinctive fear + Lest she survive, detains me here, + When “all the life of life” is fled?— + What, but the deep inherent dread, + Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign, + And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign? + + [24] +_Hast thou thro’ Eden’s wild-wood vales pursued_ + +On the road-side between Penrith and Appelby there stands a small +pillar with this inscription: + “This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Countess Dowager of +Pembroke, &c. for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with +her good and pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Cumberland, +on the 2nd of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity +of 4£. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, +every 2nd day of April for ever, upon the stone-table placed hard by. +Laus Deo!” + The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and rises in the +wildest part of Westmoreland. + + [25] +_O’er his dead son the gallant ORMOND sigh’d_. + +Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity: though he ever +retained a pleasing, however melancholy, sense of the signal merit of +Ossory. “I would not exchange my dead son,” said he, “for any living +son in Christendom.” HUME, vi. 340. The same sentiment is inscribed +on Miss Dolman’s urn at the Leasowes. + Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse! + + [26] +_High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose_. + +This bird is remarkable for his exultation during the spring. +Brit, Zoology, 266. + + [27] +_Derwent’s clear mirror_ + +Keswick Lake in Cumberland. + + [28] +_Down by St Herbert’s consecrated grove_. + +A small island covered with trees, among which were formerly the +ruins of a religious house. + + [29] +_When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew_. + +In a lake surrounded with mountains, the agitations are often violent +and momentary. The winds blow in gusts and eddies; and the water no +sooner swells, than it subsides. +See BOURN’S Hist, of Westmorland. + + [30] +_To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere_, + +The several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and +some of them he endowed with capacities able to retain together, and +constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past +knowledge at once. +LOCKE on Human Understanding, b. ii, c. x. g. + + + + +AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. + + +Villula,……….et pauper agelle, +Me tibi, et hos unâ mecum, et quos semper amavi, +Commendo. + +PREFACE. + +Every reader turns with pleasure to those passages of Horace, and +Pope, and Boileau, which describe how they lived and where they +dwelt; and which, being interspersed among their satirical writings, +derive a secret and irresistible grace from the contrast, and are +admirable examples of what in Painting is termed repose. + +We have admittance to Horace at all hours. We enjoy the company and +conversation at his table; and his suppers, like Plato’s, ‘non solum +in præsentia, sed etiam postero die jucundæ sunt.’ But when we look +round as we sit there, we find ourselves in a Sabine farm, and not in +a Roman villa. His windows have every charm of prospect; but his +furniture might have descended from Cincin-natus; and gems, and +pictures, and old marbles, are mentioned by him more than once with a +seeming indifference. + +His English Imitator thought and felt, perhaps, more correctly on the +subject; and embellished his garden and grotto with great industry +and success. But to these alone he solicits our notice. On the +ornaments of his house he is silent; and he appears to have reserved +all the minuter touches of his pencil for the library, the chapel, +and the banquetting-room of Timon. ‘Le savoir de notre siècle,’ says +Rousseau, ‘tend beaucoup plus à détruire qu’à edifier. On censure +d’un ton de maitre; pour proposer, il en faut prendre un autre.’ + +It is the design of this Epistle to illustrate the virtue of True +Taste; and to shew how little she requires to secure, not only the +comforts, but even the elegancies of life. True Taste is an excellent +Economist. She confines her choice to few objects, and delights in +producing great effects by small means: while False Taste is for ever +sighing after the new and the rare; and reminds us, in her works, of +the Scholar of Apelles, who, not being able to paint his Helen +beautiful, determined to make her fine. + +ARGUMENT. + +An Invitation, v. 1. The approach to a Villa described, v. 5. Its +situation, v. 17. Its few apartments, v. 57. Furnished with casts +from the Antique, &c. v. 63. The dining-room, v. 83. The library, v. +89. A cold-bath, v. 101. A winter-walk, v. 151. A summer-walk, v. +l63. The invitation renewed, v. 197. Conclusion, v. 205. + +When, with a REAUMUR’S skill, thy curious mind +Has class’d the insect-tribes of human-kind, +Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing, +Its subtle, web-work, or its venom’d sting; +Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours, +Point the green lane that leads thro’ fern and flowers; +The shelter’d gate that opens to my field, +And the white front thro’ mingling elms reveal’d. + In vain, alas, a village-friend invites +To simple comforts, and domestic rites, +When the gay months of Carnival resume +Their annual round of glitter and perfume; +When London hails thee to its splendid mart, +Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art; +And, lo, majestic as thy manly song, +Flows the full tide of human life along. + Still must my partial pencil love to dwell +On the home-prospects of my hermit cell; +The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green, +Here hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen; +And the brown pathway, that, with careless flow, +Sinks, and is lost among the trees below. +Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) +Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live. +Oft o’er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass[a] +Browsing the hedge by fits the pannier’d ass; +The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight, +Whistling his dog to mark the pebble’s flight; +And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid, +With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade. +Far to the south a mountain-vale retires, +Rich in its groves, and glens, and village-spires; +Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung, +Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung: +And thro’ the various year, the various day,[b] +What scenes of glory burst, and melt away! + When April-verdure springs in Grosvenor-square, +And the furr’d Beauty comes to winter there, +She bids old Nature mar the plan no more; +Yet still the seasons circle as before. +Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays, +Tho’ moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze; +As soon the sky-lark pours his matin song, +Tho’ Evening lingers at the mask so long. + There let her strike with momentary ray, +As tapers shine their little lives away; +There let her practise from herself to steal, +And look the happiness she does not feel; +The ready smile and bidden blush employ +At Faro-routs that dazzle to destroy; +Fan with affected ease the essenc’d air, +And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare. +Be thine to meditate an humbler flight, +When morning fills the fields with rosy light; +Be thine to blend, nor thine a vulgar aim, +Repose with dignity, with Quiet fame. + Here no state-chambers in long line unfold, +Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold; +Yet modest ornament, with use combin’d, +Attracts the eye to exercise the mind. +Small change of scene, small space his home requires,[c] +Who leads a life of satisfied desires. + What tho’ no marble breathes, no canvass glows, +From every point a ray of genius flows![d] +Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill, +That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will; +And cheaply circulates, thro’ distant climes, +The fairest relics of the purest times. +Here from the mould to conscious being start +Those finer forms, the miracles of art; +Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine, +That slept for ages in a second mine; +And here the faithful graver dares to trace +A MICHAEL’S grandeur, and a RAPHAEL’S grace! +Thy gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, +And my low roof the Vatican recalls! + Soon as the morning-dream my pillow flies, +To waking sense what brighter visions rise! +O mark! again the coursers of the Sun, +At GUIDO’S call, their round of glory run![e] +Again the rosy Hours resume their flight, +Obscur’d and lost in floods of golden light! + But could thine erring friend so long forget +(Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret) +That here its warmest hues the pencil flings, +Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings; +And still the Few best lov’d and most rever’d[f] +Rise round the board their social smile endear’d? + Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours; +There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers![1] +There, while the shaded lamp’s mild lustre streams, +Read antient books, or woo inspiring dreams;[g] +And, when a sage’s bust arrests thee there,[h] +Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare. +—Ah, most that Art my grateful rapture calls, +Which breathes a soul into the silent walls;[2] +Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue,[i] +All on whose words departed nations hung; +Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet; +Guides in the world, companions in retreat! + Tho’ my thatch’d bath no rich Mosaic knows, +A limpid spring with unfelt current flows. +Emblem of Life! which, still as we survey, +Seems motionless, yet ever glides away! +The shadowy walls record, with Attic art, +The strength and beauty that its waves impart. +Here THETIS, bending, with a mother’s fears +Dips her dear boy, whose pride restrains his tears. +There, VENUS, rising, shrinks with sweet surprize, +As her fair self reflected seems to rise! + Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strife, +And all ‘the dull impertinence of life,’ +These eyelids open to the rising ray, +And close, when Nature bids, at close of day. +Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows; +There noon-day levees call from faint repose. +Here the flush’d wave flings back the parting light; +There glimmering lamps anticipate the night. +When from his classic dreams the student steals,[3] +Amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels, +To muse unnotic’d—while around him press +The meteor-forms of equipage and dress; +Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand +A very stranger in his native land! +And (tho’ perchance of current coin possest, +And modern phrase by living lips exprest) +Like those blest Youths, forgive the fabling page,[j] +Whose blameless lives deceiv’d a twilight age, +Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner’s spade +Unclos’d the cavern, and the morning play’d. +Ah, what their strange surprize, their wild delight! +New arts of life, new manners meet their sight! +In a new world they wake, as from the dead; +Yet doubt the trance dissolv’d, the vision fled! + O come, and, rich in intellectual wealth, +Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge health! +Long, in this shelter’d scene of letter’d talk, +With sober step repeat the pensive walk; +Nor scorn, when graver triflings fail to please, +The cheap amusements of a mind at ease; +Here every care in sweet oblivion cast, +And many an idle hour—not idly pass’d. + No tuneful echoes, ambush’d at my gate, +Catch the blest accents of the wise and great.[k] +Vain of its various page, no Album breathes +The sigh that Friendship or the Muse bequeaths. +Yet some good Genii o’er my hearth preside, +Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide; +And there I trace, when the grey evening lours, +A silent chronicle of happier hours! + When Christmas revels in a world of snow, +And bids her berries blush, her carols flow; +His spangling shower when Frost the wizard flings; +Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings, +O’er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves, +And gems with icicles the sheltering eaves; +—Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, +What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes, +Screen’d from the arrowy North; and duly hies[4] +To meet the morning-rumour as it flies; +To range the murmuring market-place, and view +The motley groups that faithful TENIERS drew. + When Spring bursts forth in blossoms thro’ the vale, +And her wild music triumphs on the gale, +Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile;[5] +Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile, +Framing loose numbers, till declining day +Thro’ the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; +Till the West-wind leads on the twilight hours, +And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers. + Nor boast, O Choisy! seat of soft delight, +The secret charm of thy voluptuous night. +Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power! +Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour, +Thy closet-supper, serv’d by hands unseen, +Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene,[l] +To hail our coming. Not a step prophane +Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain; +And, while the frugal banquet glows reveal’d, +Pure and unbought[6]—the natives of my field; +While blushing fruits thro’ scatter’d leaves invite, +Still clad in bloom, and veil’d in azure light;— +With wine, as rich in years as HORACE sings, +With water, clear as his own fountain flings, +The shifting side-board plays its humbler part, +Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot’s art.[m] + Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught +With mental light, and luxury of thought, +My life steals on; (O could it blend with thine!) +Careless my course, yet not without design. +So thro’ the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide,[n] +The light raft dropping with the silent tide; +So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, +The busy people wing their various flight, +Culling unnumber’d sweets from nameless flowers, +That scent the vineyard in its purple hours. + Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, +Caught thro’ St. James’s groves at blush of day; +Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings +Thro’ trophied tombs of heroes and of kings. +Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease,[7] +Tho’ skill’d alike to dazzle and to please; +Tho’ each gay scene be search’d with anxious eye, +Nor thy shut door be pass’d without a sigh. + If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more, +Some, form’d like thee, should once, like thee, explore; +Invoke the lares of his lov’d retreat, +And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet; +Then be it said, (as, vain of better days, +Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise) +“Unknown he liv’d, unenvied, not unblest; +Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest. +In the clear mirror of his moral page, +We trace the manners of a purer age. +His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught, +Scorn’d the false lustre of licentious thought. +—One fair asylum from the world he knew, +One chosen seat, that charms with various view! +Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain) +Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas! in vain. +Thro’ each he roves, the tenant of a day, +And, with the swallow, wings the year away!”[o] + + [1] +—apis Matinæ + More modoque + Grata carpentis thyma. . .—HOR. + + [2] +Postea verò quàm Tyrannio mihi libros disposuit, mens addita videtur meis +ædibus. CIC. + + [3] +Ingenium, sibi quod vacuas desumsit Athenas, Et studiis +annos septem dedit, insenuitque Libris et curis, statuâ taciturnius +exit Plerumque. . .—HOR. + + [4] +Fallacem circum, vespertinumque pererro +Sæpe forum.—HOR. + + [5] +Tantôt, un livre en main, errantdans les préries— +BOILEAU. + + [6] +Dapes inemtas. . .—HOR. + + [7] +Innocuas amo delicias doctamque quietem. + +NOTES. + + [a] +_Oft o’er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass_ + +Cosmo of Medicis took most pleasure in his Apennine villa, because +all that he commanded from its windows was exclusively his own. How +unlike the wise Athenian, who, when he had a farm to sell, directed +the cryer to proclaim, as its best recommendation, that it had a good +neighbourhood. PLUT. in Vit. Themist. + + [b] +_And, thro’ the various year, the various day,_ + +Horace commends the house, ‘longos quæ prospicit agros.’ Distant +views contain the greatest variety, both in themselves, and in their +accidental variations. GILPIN. + + [c] +_Small change of scene, small space his home requires,_ + +Many a great man, in passing through the apartments of his palace, +has made the melancholy reflection of the venerable Cosmo: “Questa è +troppo gran casa à si poco famiglia.” MACH. Ist. Fior. lib. vii. + “Parva, sed apta mihi,” was Ariosto’s inscription over his door in +Ferrara; and who can wish to say more? + “I confess,” says Cowley, “I love littleness almost in all things. A +little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, +and a very little feast.” Essay vi. + When Socrates was asked why he had built for himself so small a +house, “Small as it is,” he replied, “I wish I could fill it with +friends.” PHÆDRUS, 1. iii. 9. + These indeed are all that a wise man would desire to assemble; “for a +crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and +talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.” +BACON’S Essays, xxvii. + + [d] +_From every point a ray of genius flows!_ + +By this means, when all nature wears a lowering countenance, I +withdraw myself into the visionary worlds of art; where I meet with +shining landscapes, gilded triumphs, beautiful faces, and all those +other objects that fill the mind with gay ideas, &c. ADDISON. + It is remarkable that Antony, in his adversity, passed some time in a +small but splendid retreat, which he called his Timonium, and from +which might originate the idea of the Parisian Boudoir, that +favourite apartment, _ou I’on se retire pour étre seul, mais ou l’on +ne boude point_. STRABO, 1. xvii. PLUT, in Vit. Anton. + + [e] +_At GUIDO’S call, &c_. + +Alluding to his celebrated fresco in the Rospigliosi Palace at Rome. + + [f] +_And still the Few best lov’d and most rever’d_ + +The dining-room is dedicated to Conviviality; or, as Cicero somewhere +expresses it, “Communitati vitæ atque victûs.” There we wish most for +the society of our friends; and, perhaps, in their absence, most +require their portraits. + The moral advantages of this furniture may be illustrated by the +pretty story of an Athenian courtezan, “who, in the midst of a +riotous banquet with her lovers, accidentally cast her eye on the +portrait of a philosopher, that hung opposite to her seat: the happy +character of temperance and virtue struck her with so lively an image +of her own unworthiness, that she instantly quitted the room; and, +retiring home, became ever after an example of temperance, as she had +been before of debauchery.” + + [g] +_Read antient looks, or woo inspiring dreams;_ + +The reader will here remember that passage of Horace, _Nunc +veterum libris, nunc somno, &c_ which was inscribed by Lord +Chesterfield on the frieze of his library. + + [h] +_And, when a sage’s lust arrests then there_, + +Siquidem non solum ex auro argentove, aut certe ex ære in +bibliothecis dicantur illi, quorum immortales animæ in iisdem locis +ibi loquuntur: quinimo etiam quæ non sunt, finguntur, pariuntque +desideria non traditi vultus, sicut in Homero evenit. Quo majus (ut +equidem arbitror) nullum est felicitatis specimen, quam semper omnes +scire cupere, qualis fuerit aliquis. PLIN. Nat. Hist. + Cicero speaks with pleasure of a little seat under Aristotle in the +library of Atticus. “Literis sustentor et recreor; maloque in illa +tua sedecula, quam habes sub imagine Aristotelis, sedere, quàm in +istorum sella curuli!” Ep. ad Att. iv. 10. + Nor should we forget that Dryden drew inspiration from the “majestic +face” of Shakespeare; and that a portrait of Newton was the only +ornament of the closet of Buffon. Ep. to Kneller. Voyage à +Montbart. + In the chamber of a man of genius we + + Write all down: +Such and such pictures;—there the window; +…..the arras, figures, +Why, such and such. CYMBELINE. + + [i] +_Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue_, + +Quis tantis non gaudeat et glorietur hospitibus, exclaims Petrarch. +—Spectare, etsi nihil aliud, certè juvat.—Homerus apud me mutus, +imò verò ego apud illum surdus sum. Gaudeo tamen vel aspectû solo, et +sæpe ilium amplexus ac suspirans dico: O magne vir, &c. + Epist. Var. Lib. 20. + + [j] +_Like those blest Youths_, + +See the Legend of the Seven Sleepers. GIBBON, c. 33. + + [k] +_Catch the blest accents of the wise and great_. + +Mr. Pope delights in enumerating his illustrious guests. Nor is this +an exclusive privilege of the poet. The Medici Palace at Florence +exhibits a long and imposing catalogue. “Semper hi parietes +columnæque eruditis vocibus resonuerunt.” + Another is also preserved at Chanteloup, the seat of the Duke of +Choiseul. + + [l] +_Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene_, + +At a Roman supper statues were sometimes employed to hold the lamps. + + —Aurea sunt juvenum simulacra per ædeis, + Lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris. + LUCR. ii. 24. + +A fashion as old as Homer! Odyss. vii. 100. + On the proper degree and distribution of light we may consult a great +master of effect. Il lume grande, ed alto, e non troppo potente, sarà +quello, che renderà le particole de’ corpi molto grate. +Tratt. della Pittura di LIONARDO DA VINCI, c. xli. + Hence every artist requires a broad and high light. Hence also, in a +banquet-scene, the most picturesque of all poets has thrown his light +from the ceiling. Æn. i. 726. + +And hence the “starry lamps” of Milton, that + ….from the arched roof + Pendent by subtle magic,…. + ……yielded light +As from a sky. Paradise Lost, i. 726. + + [m] +_Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot’s art_. + +At the petits soupés of Choisy were first introduced those admirable +pieces of mechanism, afterwards carried to perfection by Loriot, the +Confidente and the Servante; a table and a side-board, which +descended, and rose again covered with viands and wines. And thus the +most luxurious Court in Europe, after all its boasted refinements, +was glad to return at last, by this singular contrivance, to the +quiet and privacy of humble life. +Vie privée de Louis XV. tom. ii. p. 43. + + [n] +_So thro’ the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide_, + +An allusion to the floating bee-house, or barge laden with bee-hives, +which is seen in some parts of France and Piedmont. + + [o] +_And, with the swallow, wings the year away!_ + +It was the boast of Lucullus that he changed his climate with the +birds of passage. PLUT. in Vit. Lucull. + How often must he have felt the truth here inculcated, that the +master of many houses has no home! + + + + +ODE TO SUPERSTITION.[1] + + +I. 1. + +Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence! + Thy chain of adamant can bind + That little world, the human mind, +And sink its noblest powers to impotence. + Wake the lion’s loudest roar, + Clot his shaggy mane with gore, + With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; + Meek is his savage, sullen soul, to thine! + Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel’d the breast,[2] + Whence, thro’ her April-shower, soft Pity smil’d; + Has clos’d the heart each godlike virtue bless’d, + To all the silent pleadings of his child. + At thy command he plants the dagger deep, +At thy command exults, tho’ Nature bids him weep! + +I. 2. + +When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth,[3] + Thou dartedst thy huge head from high, + Night wav’d her banners o’er the sky, +And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth. + Rocking on the billowy air, + Ha! what withering phantoms glare! +As blows the blast with many a sudden swell, +At each dead pause, what shrill-ton’d voices yell! + The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb, + Points at the murderer’s stab, and shudders by; + In every grove is felt a heavier gloom, + That veils its genius from the vulgar eye: + The spirit of the water rides the storm, +And, thro’ the mist, reveals the terrors of his form. + +I. 3. + + O’er solid seas, where Winter reigns, + And holds each mountain-wave in chains, +The fur-clad savage, ere he guides his deer[4] + By glistering star-light thro’ the snow, + Breathes softly in her wondering ear + Each potent spell thou bad’st him know. + By thee inspir’d, on India’s sands,[5] + Full in the sun the Bramin stands; + And, while the panting tigress hies + To quench her fever in the stream, + His spirit laughs in agonies,[6] +Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam. + Mark who mounts the sacred pyre, + Blooming in her bridal vest: +She hurls the torch! she fans the fire! + To die is to be blest:[7] + She clasps her lord to part no more, + And, sighing, sinks! but sinks to soar. + O’ershadowing Scotia’s desert coast, + The Sisters sail in dusky state,[8] + And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost, + Weave the airy web of fate; + While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main,[9] +Sees o’er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train. + +II. 1. + + Thou spak’st, and lo! a new creation glow’d. + Each unhewn mass of living stone + Was clad in horrors not its own, + And at its base the trembling nations bow’d. + Giant Error, darkly grand, + Grasp’d the globe with iron hand. + Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light + Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height. + The statue, waking with immortal powers,[10] + Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres; + The indignant pyramid sublimely towers, + And braves the efforts of a host of years. + Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; +And bright-ey’d Painting stamps the image of the mind. + +II. 2. + + Round their rude ark old Egypt’s sorcerers rise! + A timbrell’d anthem swells the gale, + And bids the God of Thunders hail;[11] + With lowings loud the captive God replies. + Clouds of incense woo thy smile, + Scaly monarch of the Nile![12] + But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee?[13] + Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea. + Proud land! what eye can trace thy mystic lore, + Lock’d up in characters as dark as night?[14] + What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore,[15] + To which the parted soul oft wings her flight; + Again to visit her cold cell of clay, +Charm’d with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay? + +II. 3. + + On yon hoar summit, mildly bright[16] + With purple ether’s liquid light, +High o’er the world, the white-rob’d Magi gaze + On dazzling bursts of heavenly fire; + Start at each blue, portentous blaze, + Each flame that flits with adverse spire. + But say, what sounds my ear invade[17] + From Delphi’s venerable shade? + The temple rocks, the laurel waves! + “The God! the God!” the Sybil cries. + Her figure swells! she foams, she raves! +Her figure swells to more than mortal size! + Streams of rapture roll along, + Silver notes ascend the skies: +Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song, + Oh catch it, ere it dies! + The Sybil speaks, the dream is o’er, + The holy harpings charm no more. + In vain she checks the God’s controul; + His madding spirit fills her frame, + And moulds the features of her soul, + Breathing a prophetic flame. + The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose! +And, in the thunder’s voice, the fate of empire flows. + +III. 1. + + Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead! + Rites thy brown oaks would never dare + Ev’n whisper to the idle air; + Rites that have chain’d old Ocean on his bed. + Shiver’d by thy piercing glance, + Pointless falls the hero’s lance. + Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly,[18] + And blasts the laureate wreath of victory. + Hark, the bard’s soul inspires the vocal string! + At every pause dread Silence hovers o’er: + While murky Night sails round on raven-wing, + Deepening the tempest’s howl, the torrent’s roar; + Chas’d by the morn from Snowdon’s awful brow, +Where late she sate and scowl’d on the black wave below. + +III. 2. + + Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears! + The red-cross squadrons madly rage,[19] + And mow thro’ infancy and age: + Then kiss the sacred dust and melt in tears. + Veiling from the eye of day, + Penance dreams her life away; + In cloister’d solitude she sits and sighs, + While from each shrine still, small responses rise. + Hear, with what heart-felt beat, the midnight bell + Swings its slow summons thro’ the hollow pile! + The weak, wan votarist leaves her twilight cell, + To walk, with taper dim, the winding isle; + With choral chantings vainly to aspire, +Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture’s wing of fire. + +III. 3. + + Lord of each pang the nerves can feel, + Hence, with the rack and reeking wheel. +Faith lifts the soul above this little ball! + While gleams of glory open round, + And circling choirs of angels call, + Can’st thou, with all thy terrors crown’d, + Hope to obscure that latent spark, + Destin’d to shine when suns are dark? + Thy triumphs cease! thro’ every land, + Hark! Truth proclaims, thy triumphs cease: + Her heavenly form, with glowing hand, +Benignly points to piety and peace. + Flush’d with youth her looks impart + Each fine feeling as it flows; + Her voice the echo of her heart, + Pure as the mountain-snows: + Celestial transports round her play, + And softly, sweetly die away. + She smiles! and where is now the cloud + That blacken’d o’er thy baleful reign? + Grim darkness furls his leaden shroud, + Shrinking from her glance in vain. + Her touch unlocks the day-spring from above, +And lo! it visits man with beams of light and love. + + [1] +Written in the year 1784. + + [2] +An allusion to the sacrifice of Iphigenia. + + [3] +Lucretius, I. 63. + + [4] +When we were ready to set out, our host muttered some +words in the ears of our cattle. See a Voyage to the North of Europe +in 1653. + + [5] +The Bramins expose their bodies to the intense heat of +the sun. + + [6] +Ridens moriar. The conclusion of an old Runic ode. + + [7] +In the Bedas, or sacred writings of the Hindoos, it is +written: “She, who dies with her husband, shall live for ever with +him in heaven.” + + [8] +The Fates of the Northern Mythology. See MALLET’S Antiquities. + + [9] +An allusion to the Second Sight. + + [10] +See that fine description of the sudden animation of +the Palladium in the second book of the Æneid. + + [11] +The bull, Apis. + + [12] +The Crocodile. + + [13] + So numerous were the Deities of Egypt, that, according +to an antient proverb, it was in that country less difficult to find +a god than a man. + + [14] +The Hieroglyphics. + + [15] +The Catacombs, in which the bodies of the earliest +generations yet remain without corruption, by virtue of the gums that +embalmed them. + + [16] +“The Persians,” says Herodotus, “reject the use of +temples, altars, and statues. The tops of the highest mountains are +the places chosen for sacrifices.” I. 131. The elements, and more +particularly Fire, were the objects of their religious reverence. + + [17] +An imitation of some wonderful lines in the sixth +Æneid. + + [18] +See Tacitus, 1. xiv. c. 29. + + [19] +This remarkable event happened at the siege and sack of +Jerusalem, in the last year of the eleventh century. Hume, I.221. + + + + +VERSES +WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY +MRS. SIDDONS.[1] + + +Yes, ’tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain! +I wake, I breathe, and am myself again. +Still in this nether world; no seraph yet! +Nor walks my spirit, when the sun is set, +With troubled step to haunt the fatal board, +Where I died last—by poison or the sword; +Blanching each honest cheek with deeds of night, +Done here so oft by dim and doubtful light. + To drop all metaphor, that little bell +Call’d back reality, and broke the spell. +No heroine claims your tears with tragic tone; +A very woman—scarce restrains her own! +Can she, with fiction, charm the cheated mind, +When to be grateful is the part assign’d? +Ah, No! she scorns the trappings of her Art; +No theme but truth, no prompter but the heart! + But, Ladies, say, must I alone unmask? +Is here no other actress? let me ask. +Believe me, those, who best the heart dissect, +Know every Woman studies stage-effect. +She moulds her manners to the part she fills, +As Instinct teaches, or as Humour wills; +And, as the grave or gay her talent calls, +Acts in the drama, till the curtain falls. + First, how her little breast with triumph swells, +When the red coral rings its golden bells! +To play in pantomime is then the _rage_, +Along the carpet’s many-colour’d stage; +Or lisp her merry thoughts with loud endeavour, +Now here, now there—in noise and mischief ever! + A school-girl next, she curls her hair in papers, +And mimics father’s gout, and mother’s vapours; +Discards her doll, bribes Betty for romances; +Playful at church, and serious when she dances; +Tramples alike on customs and on toes, +And whispers all she hears to all she knows; +Terror of caps, and wigs, and sober notions! +A romp! that _longest_ of perpetual motions! +—Till tam’d and tortur’d into foreign graces, +She sports her lovely face at public places; +And with blue, laughing eyes, behind her fan, +First acts her part with that great actor, MAN. + Too soon a flirt, approach her and she flies! +Frowns when pursued, and, when entreated, sighs! +Plays with unhappy men as cats with mice; +Till fading beauty hints the late advice. +Her prudence dictates what her pride disdain’d, +And now she sues to slaves herself had chain’d! + Then comes that good old character, a Wife, +With all the dear, distracting cares of life; +A thousand cards a day at doors to leave, +And, in return, a thousand cards receive; +Rouge high, play deep, to lead the ton aspire, +With nightly blaze set PORTLAND-PLACE on fire; +Snatch half a glimpse at Concert, Opera, Ball, +A Meteor, trac’d by none, tho’ seen by all; +And, when her shatter’d nerves forbid to roam, +In very spleen—rehearse the girls at home. + Last the grey Dowager, in antient flounces, +With snuff and spectacles the age denounces; +Boasts how the Sires of this degenerate Isle +Knelt for a look, and duell’d for a smile. +The scourge and ridicule of Goth and Vandal, +Her tea she sweetens, as she sips, with scandal; +With modern Belles eternal warfare wages, +Like her own birds that clamour from their cages; +And shuffles round to bear her tale to all, +Like some old Ruin, ‘nodding to its fall!’ + Thus WOMAN makes her entrance and her exit; +Not least an actress, when she least suspects it. +Yet Nature oft peeps out and mars the plot, +Each lesson lost, each poor pretence forgot; +Full oft, with energy that scorns controul, +At once lights up the features of the soul; +Unlocks each thought chain’d by coward Art, +And to full day the latent passions start! +—And she, whose first, best wish is your applause, +Herself exemplifies the truth she draws. +Born on the stage—thro’ every shifting scene, +Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene, +Still has your smile her trembling spirit fir’d! +And can she act, with thoughts like these inspir’d? +_Thus_ from her mind all artifice she flings, +All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things! +To you, uncheck’d, each genuine feeling flows; +For all that life endears—to you she owes. + + [1] +After a Tragedy, performed for her benefit, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, +April 27, 1795. + + + + +To - - - - - + + +Go—you may call it madness, folly; +You shall not chase my gloom away. +There’s such a charm in melancholy, +I would not, if I could, be gay. + +Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure +That fills my bosom when I sigh, +You would not rob me of a treasure +Monarchs are too poor to buy. + + + + +THE SAILOR. + + +The Sailor sighs as sinks his native shore, +As all its lessening turrets bluely fade; +He climbs the mast to feast his eye once more, +And busy Fancy fondly lends her aid. + +Ah! now, each dear, domestic scene he knew, +Recall’d and cherish’d in a foreign clime, +Charms with the magic of a moonlight-view; +Its colours mellow’d, not impair’d, by time, + +True as the needle, homeward points his heart, +Thro’ all the horrors of the stormy main; +This, the last wish that would with life depart, +To meet the smile of her he loves again. + +When Morn first faintly draws her silver line, +Or Eve’s grey cloud descends to drink the wave; +When sea and sky in midnight darkness join, +Still, still he views the parting look she gave. + +Her gentle spirit, lightly hovering o’er, +Attends his little bark from pole to pole; +And, when the beating billows round him roar, +Whispers sweet hope to sooth his troubled soul. + +Carv’d is her name in many a spicy grove, +In many a plaintain-forest, waving wide; +Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove, +And giant palms o’er-arch the golden tide. + +But lo, at last he comes with crowded sail! +Lo, o’er the cliff what eager figures bend! +And hark, what mingled murmurs swell the gale! +In each he hears the welcome of a friend. + +—’Tis she, ’tis she herself! she waves her hand! +Soon is the anchor cast, the canvass furl’d; +Soon thro’ the whitening surge he springs to land, +And clasps the maid he singled from the world. + + + + +TO AN OLD OAK. + + + Immota manet; multosque nepotes, + Multa virûm volvens durando sæcula, vincit. + +VIRG. + +Round thee, alas, no shadows move! +From thee no sacred murmurs breathe! +Yet within thee, thyself a grove, +Once did the eagle scream above, + And the wolf howl beneath. + +There once the steel-clad knight reclin’d, +His sable plumage tempest-toss’d; +And, as the death-bell smote the wind, +From towers long fled by human kind, + His brow the hero cross’d! + +Then Culture came, and days serene, +And village-sports, and garlands gay. +Full many a pathway cross’d the green; +And maids and shepherd-youths were seen, + To celebrate the May. + +Father of many a forest deep, +(Whence many a navy thunder-fraught) +Erst in their acorn-cells asleep, +Soon destin’d o’er the world to sweep, + Opening new spheres of thought! + +Wont in the night of woods to dwell, +The holy druid saw thee rise; +And, planting there the guardian-spell, +Sung forth, the dreadful pomp to swell + Of human sacrifice! + +Thy singed top and branches bare +Now straggle in the evening sky; +And the wan moon wheels round to glare +On the long corse that shivers there + Of him who came to die! + + + + +FRAGMENTS FROM EURIPIDES. + + +Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees; +And all, who know it, come and come again. +The small birds build there; and, at summer-noon, +Oft have I heard a child, gay among flowers, +As in the shining grass she sate conceal’d, +Sing to herself. + +There is a streamlet issuing from a rock. +The village-girls, singing wild madrigals, +Dip their white vestments in its waters clear, +And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her. +Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire, +’Twas heav’n to look upon; and her sweet voice, +As tuneable as harp of many strings, +At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul! + + + + +TWO SISTERS.[1] + + +Well may you sit within, and, fond of grief, +Look in each other’s face, and melt in tears. +Well may you shun all counsel, all relief. +Oh she was great in mind, tho’ young in years! + +Chang’d is that lovely countenance, which shed +Light when she spoke; and kindled sweet surprise, +As o’er her frame each warm emotion spread, +Play’d round her lips, and sparkled in her eyes. + +Those lips so pure, that mov’d but to persuade, +Still to the last enliven’d and endear’d. +Those eyes at once her secret soul convey’d, +And ever beam’d delight when you appear’d. + +Yet has she fled the life of bliss below, +That youthful Hope in bright perspective drew? +False were the tints! false as the feverish glow +That o’er her burning cheek Distemper threw! + +And now in joy she dwells, in glory moves! +(Glory and joy reserv’d for you to share.) +Far, far more blest in blessing those she loves, +Than they, alas! unconscious of her care. + + [1] +On the death of a younger sister. + + + + +WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. + + +1786. + +While thro’ the broken pane the tempest sighs, +And my step falters on the faithless floor, +Shades of departed joys around me rise, +With many a face that smiles on me no more; +With many a voice that thrills of transport gave, +Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave! + + + + +ON A TEAR. + + +Oh! that the Chemist’s magic art +Could crystallize this sacred treasure! +Long should it glitter near my heart, +A secret source of pensive pleasure. + +The little brilliant, ere it fell, +Its lustre caught from CHLOE’S eye; +Then, trembling, left its coral cell— +The spring of Sensibility! + +Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! +In thee the rays of Virtue shine; +More calmly clear, more mildly bright, +Than any gem that gilds the mine. + +Benign restorer of the soul! +Who ever fly’st to bring relief, +When first we feel the rude controul +Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief. + +The sage’s and the poet’s theme, +In every clime, in every age; +Thou charm’st in Fancy’s idle dream, +In Reason’s philosophic page. + +That very law[1] which moulds a tear, +And bids it trickle from its source, +That law preserves the earth a sphere, +And guides the planets in their course. + + [1] +The law of Gravitation. + + + + +TO A VOICE THAT HAD BEEN LOST.[1] + + +Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor? +Aëris et lingua sum filia; +Et, si vis similem pingere, pinge sonum.—AUSONIUS. + +Once more, Enchantress of the soul, +Once more we hail thy soft controul. +—Yet whither, whither did’st thou fly? +To what bright region of the sky? +Say, in what distant star to dwell? +(Of other worlds thou seemst to tell) +Or trembling, fluttering here below, +Resolv’d and unresolv’d to go, +In secret didst thou still impart +Thy raptures to the Pure in heart? + Perhaps to many a desert shore, +Thee, in his rage, the Tempest bore; +Thy broken murmurs swept along, +Mid Echoes yet untun’d by song; +Arrested in the realms of Frost, +Or in the wilds of Ether lost. + Far happier thou! ’twas thine to soar, +Careering on the winged wind. +Thy triumphs who shall dare explore? +Suns and their systems left behind. +No tract of space, no distant star, +No shock of elements at war, +Did thee detain. Thy wing of fire +Bore thee amidst the Cherub-choir; +And there awhile to thee ’twas giv’n +Once more that Voice[2] belov’d to join, +Which taught thee first a flight divine, +And nurs’d thy infant years with many a strain from Heav’n! + + [1] +In the winter of 1805. + + [2] +The late Mrs. Sheridan’s. + + + + +FROM A GREEK EPIGRAM. + + +While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels, +And the blue vales a thousand joys recall, +See, to the last, last verge her infant steals! +O fly—yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall. + Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare, +And the fond boy springs back to nestle there. + + + + +TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, +COMMONLY CALLED +THE TORSO. + + +And dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, +(Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurl’d) +Still sit as on the fragment of a world; +Surviving all, majestic and alone? +What tho’ the Spirits of the North, that swept +Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept, +Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk +Deep in the dust mid tower and temple sunk; +Soon to subdue mankind ’twas thine to rise. +Still, still unquell’d thy glorious energies! +Aspiring minds, with thee conversing, caught[1] +Bright revelations of the Good they sought; +By thee that long-lost spell[2] in secret given, +To draw down Gods, and lift the soul to Heav’n! + + [1] +In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II, it was long +the favourite study of those great men, to whom we owe the revival of the arts, +Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci. + + [2] +Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an antient epigram on +the Gnidian Venus. Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200. + + + + +TO ——[1] + + +Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight, +By many a torrent’s shining track she flew, +When mountain-glens and caverns full of night +O’er her young mind divine enchantment threw, + +That in her veins a secret horror slept, +That her light footsteps should be heard no more, +That she should die—nor watch’d, alas, nor wept +By thee, unconscious of the pangs she bore. + +Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew +The kindred, forms her closing eye requir’d. +There didst thou stand—there, with the smile she knew. +She mov’d her lips to bless thee, and expir’d. + +And now to thee she comes; still, still the same +As in the hours gone unregarded by! +To thee, how chang’d, comes as she ever came; +Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye! + +Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears, +When lingering, as prophetic of the truth, +By the way-side she shed her parting tears— +For ever lovely in the light of Youth? + + [1] +On the death of her sister. + + + + +WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER. + + +There, in that bed so closely curtain’d round, +Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay, +A father sleeps! Oh hush’d be every sound! +Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away! + +He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams +Long o’er his smooth and settled pillow rise; +Till thro’ the shutter’d pane the morning streams, +And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies. + + + + +TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. + + +On thee, blest youth, a father’s hand confers +The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew. +Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers; +Thine be the joys to firm attachment due. + +As on she moves with hesitating grace, +She wins assurance from his soothing voice; +And, with a look the pencil could not trace, +Smiles thro’ her blushes, and confirms the choice. + +Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame! +To thee she turns—forgive a virgin’s fears! +To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim; +Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears! + +At each response the sacred rite requires, +From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh. +A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires; +And on her lips the trembling accents die. + +O’er her fair face what wild emotions play! +What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend! +Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day, +And settled sunshine on her soul descend! + +Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought! +That hand shall strew thy summer-path with flowers; +And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught, +Gild the calm current of domestic hours! + + + + +THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK. + + +The sun-beams streak the azure skies, +And line with light the mountain’s brow: +With hounds and horns the hunters rise, +And chase the roebuck thro’ the snow. + +From rock to rock, with giant-bound, +High on their iron poles they pass; +Mute, lest the air, convuls’d by sound, +Rend from above a frozen mass.[1] + +The goats wind slow their wonted way, +Up craggy steeps and ridges rude; +Mark’d by the wild wolf for his prey, +From desert cave or hanging wood. + +And while the torrent thunders loud, +And as the echoing cliffs reply, +The huts peep o’er the morning-cloud, +Perch’d, like an eagle’s nest, on high. + + [1] +There are passes in the Alps, where the guides tell you to move on with speed, +and say nothing, lest the agitation of the air should loosen the snows above. +GRAY’S MEM. sect. v. lett.4. + + + + +IMITATION OF AN ITALIAN SONNET[1] + + +Love, under Friendship’s vesture white, +Laughs, his little limbs concealing; +And oft in sport, and oft in spite, +Like Pity meets the dazzled sight, +Smiles thro’ his tears revealing. + But now as Rage the God appears! +He frowns, and tempests shake his frame!— +Frowning, or smiling, or in tears, +’Tis Love; and Love is still the same. + + [1] +See Gray’s Mem. sect. II. lett. 30. + + + + +ON - - - - ASLEEP. + + +Sleep on, and dream of Heav’n awhile. +Tho’ shut so close thy laughing eyes, +Thy rosy lips still seem to smile, +And move, and breathe delicious sighs!— + +Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks, +And mantle o’er her neck of snow. +Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks +What most I wish—and fear to know. + +She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! +Her fair hands folded on her breast. +—And now, how like a saint she sleeps! +A seraph in the realms of rest! + +Sleep on secure! Above controul, +Thy thoughts belong to Heav’n and thee! +And may the secret of thy soul +Repose within its sanctuary! + + + + +TO THE YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY **. + + +Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal +What most her blushes would conceal?[1] +Why lift that modest veil to trace +The seraph-sweetness of her face? +Some fairer, better sport prefer; +And feel for us, if not for her. + For this presumption, soon or late, +Know thine shall be a kindred fate. +Another shall in vengeance rise— +Sing Harriet’s cheeks, and Harriet’s eyes; +And, echoing back her wood-notes wild, +—Trace all the mother in the child! + + [1] +Alluding to some verses which she had written on an elder sister. + + + + +AN EPITAPH[1] +ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST. + + +Tread lightly here, for here, ’tis said, +When piping winds are hush’d around, +A small note wakes from underground, +Where now his tiny bones are laid. +No more in lone and leafless groves, +With ruffled wing and faded breast, +His friendless, homeless spirit roves; +—Gone to the world where birds are blest! +Where never cat glides o’er the green, +Or school-boy’s giant form is seen; +But Love, and Joy, and smiling Spring +Inspire their little souls to sing! + + [1] +Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod. + + + + +A WISH. + + +Mine be a cot beside the hill, +A bee-hive’s hum shall sooth my ear; +A willowy brook, that turns a mill, +With many a fall shall linger near. + +The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, +Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; +Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, +And share my meal, a welcome guest. + +Around my ivy’d porch shall spring +Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; +And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing +In russet gown and apron blue. + +The village-church, among the trees, +Where first our marriage-vows were giv’n, +With merry peals shall swell the breeze, +And point with taper spire to heav’n. + + + + +AN ITALIAN SONG. + + +Dear is my little native vale, +The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; +Close by my cot she tells her tale +To every passing villager. +The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, +And shells his nuts at liberty. + +In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, +That breathe a gale of fragrance round, +I charm the fairy-footed hours +With my lov’d lute’s romantic sound; +Or crowns of living laurel weave, +For those that win the race at eve. + +The shepherd’s horn at break of day, +The ballet danc’d in twilight glade, +The canzonet and roundelay +Sung in the silent green-wood shade; +These simple joys, that never fail, +Shall bind me to my native vale. + + + + +TO THE GNAT. + + +When by the green-wood side, at summer eve, +Poetic visions charm my closing eye; +And fairy-scenes, that Fancy loves to weave, +Shift to wild notes of sweetest Minstrelsy; +’Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey, +Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight, +Brush from my lids the hues of heav’n away, +And all is Solitude, and all is Night! +—Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, +Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air! +No guardian sylph, in golden panoply, +Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear. +Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings, +Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore. +Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful laram flings! +—I wake in horror, and ‘dare sleep no more!’ + + + + +AN INSCRIPTION. + + +Shepherd, or Huntsman, or worn Mariner, +Whate’er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst, +Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone, +Arch’d, and o’erwrought with many a sacred verse, +This iron cup chain’d for the general use, +And these rude seats of earth within the grove, +Were giv’n by FATIMA. Borne hence a bride, +’Twas here she turn’d from her beloved sire, +To see his face no more.[1] Oh, if thou canst, +(’Tis not far off) visit his tomb with flowers; +And may some pious hand with water fill +The two small cells scoop’d in the marble there, +That birds may come and drink upon his grave, +Making it holy![2] ———— + + [1] +See an anecdote related by Pausanias. iii. 20. + + [2] +A Turkish superstition. See Clarke’s Travels, I. 546. + + + + +CAPTIVITY. + + +Caged in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake +When the hern screams along the distant lake, +Her little heart oft flutters to be free, +Oft sighs to turn the unrelenting key. +In vain! the nurse that rusted relic wears, +Nor mov’d by gold—nor to be mov’d by tears; +And terraced walls their black reflection throw +On the green-mantled moat that sleeps below. + + + + +A CHARACTER. + + +As thro’ the hedge-row shade the violet steals, +And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals; +Her softer charms, but by their influence known, +Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own. + + + + +WRITTEN IN +THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND, + + +SEPTEMBER 1, 1812. + +Blue was the loch,[1] the clouds were gone, +Ben-Lomond in his glory shone, +When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze +Bore me from thy silver sands, +Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees, +Where, grey with age, the dial stands; +That dial so well-known to me! +—Tho’ many a shadow it had shed, +Beloved Sister, since with thee +The legend on the stone was read. + The fairy-isles fled far away; +That with its woods and uplands green, +Where shepherd-huts are dimly seen, +And songs are heard at close of day; +That too, the deer’s wild covert, fled, +And that, the Asylum of the Dead: +While, as the boat went merrily, +Much of ROB ROY[2] the boat-man told; +His arm that fell below his knee, +His cattle-ford and mountain-hold. + Tarbat,[3] thy shore I climb’d at last, +And, thy shady region pass’d, +Upon another shore I stood, +And look’d upon another flood;[4] +Great Ocean’s self! (’Tis He, who fills +That vast and awful depth of hills;) +Where many an elf was playing round, +Who treads unshod his classic ground; +And speaks, his native rocks among, +As FINGAL spoke, and OSSIAN sung. + Night fell; and dark and darker grew +That narrow sea, that narrow sky, +As o’er the glimmering waves we flew. +The sea-bird rustling, wailing by. +And now the grampus, half descried, +Black and huge above the tide; +The cliffs and promontories there, +Front to front, and broad and bare, +Each beyond each, with giant-feet +Advancing as in haste to meet; +The shatter’d fortress, whence the Dane +Blew his shrill blast, nor rush’d in vain, +Tyrant of the drear domain; +All into midnight-shadow sweep— +When day springs upward from the deep![5] +Kindling the waters in its flight, +The prow wakes splendour; and the oar, +That rose and fell unseen before, +Flashes in a sea of light! +Glad sign, and sure! for now we hail +Thy flowers, Glenfinart, in the gale; +And bright indeed the path should be, +That leads to Friendship and to Thee! + Oh blest retreat, and sacred too! +Sacred as when the bell of prayer +Toll’d duly on the desert air, +And crosses deck’d thy summits blue. +Oft, like some lov’d romantic tale, +Oft shall my weary mind recall, +Amid the hum and stir of men, +Thy beechen grove and waterfall, +Thy ferry with its gliding sail, +And Her—the Lady of the Glen! + + [1] +Loch-Lomond. + + [2] +A famous out-law. + + [3] +Signifying in the Erse language an Isthmus. + + [4] +Loch-Long. + + [5] +A phenomenon described by many navigators. + + + + +A FAREWELL. + + +Once more, enchanting girl, adieu! +I must be gone while yet I may, +Oft shall I weep to think of you; +But here I will not, cannot stay. + +The sweet expression of that face. +For ever changing, yet the same, +Ah no, I dare not turn to trace. +It melts my soul, it fires my frame! + +Yet give me, give me, ere I go, +One little lock of those so blest, +That lend your cheek a warmer glow, +And on your white neck love to rest. + +—Say, when to kindle soft delight, +That hand has chanc’d with mine to meet, +How could its thrilling touch excite +A sigh so short, and yet so sweet? + +O say—but no, it must not be. +Adieu! A long, a long adieu! +—Yet still, methinks, you frown on me; +Or never could I fly from you. + + + + +TO THE BUTTERFLY. + + +Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, +Mingling with her thou lov’st in fields of light; +And, where the flowers of paradise unfold, +Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. +There shall thy wings, rich as an evening-sky, +Expand and shut with silent ecstasy! +—Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept +On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept! +And such is man; soon from his cell of clay +To burst a seraph in the blaze of day! + + + + +VERSES WRITTEN IN +WESTMINSTER ABBEY.[1] + + +Whoe’er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, +Mark where the small remains of Greatness lie.[2] +There sleeps the dust of Him for ever gone; +How near the Scene where once his Glory shone! +And, tho’ no more ascends the voice of Prayer, +Tho’ the last footsteps cease to linger there, +Still, like an awful Dream that comes again, +Alas, at best, as transient and as vain, +Still do I see (while thro’ the vaults of night +The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite) +The moving Pomp along the shadowy Isle, +That, like a Darkness, fill’d the solemn Pile; +The illustrious line, that in long order led, +Of those that lov’d Him living, mourn’d Him dead; +Of those, the Few, that for their Country stood +Round Him who dar’d be singularly good; +All, of all ranks, that claim’d Him for their own; +And nothing wanting—but Himself alone![3] + Oh say, of Him now rests there but a name; +Wont, as He was, to breathe ethereal flame? +Friend of the Absent! Guardian of the Dead![4] +Who but would here their sacred sorrows shed? +(Such as He shed on NELSON’S closing grave; +How soon to claim the sympathy He gave!) +In Him, resentful of another’s wrong, +The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong. +Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew— +Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too? + What tho’ with War the madding Nations rung, +‘Peace,’ when He spoke, dwelt ever on his tongue! +Amidst the frowns of Power, the tricks of State, +Fearless, resolv’d, and negligently great! +In vain malignant vapours gather’d round; +He walk’d, erect, on consecrated ground. +The clouds, that rise to quench the Orb of day, +Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away! + When in retreat He laid his thunder by, +For letter’d ease and calm Philosophy, +Blest were his hours within the silent grove, +Where still his god-like Spirit deigns to rove; +Blest by the orphan’s smile, the widow’s prayer, +For many a deed, long done in secret there. +There shone his lamp on Homer’s hallow’d page. +There, listening, sate the hero and the sage; +And they, by virtue and by blood allied, +Whom most He lov’d, and in whose arms He died. + Friend of all Human-kind! not here alone +(The voice, that speaks, was not to Thee unknown) +Wilt Thou be miss’d,—O’er every land and sea +Long, long shall England be rever’d in Thee! +And, when the Storm is hush’d—in distant years— +Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears! + + [1] +After the Funeral of the Right Hon. CHARLES JAMES FOX on Friday, October 10, +1806. + + [2] +Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, +&c. Bossuet. Oraison funébre de Louis de Bourbon. + + [3] +Et rien enfin ne manque dans tons ces honneurs, que celui à qui on les +rend.—Ibid. + + [4] +Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new writ for the borough of +Tavistock, March 16, 1802. + + + + +THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS. + + +CHI SE’ TU, CHE VIENI——? +DA ME STESSO NON VEGNO. + +DANTE. + + I have seen the day, +That I have worn a visor, and could tell +A tale———— + +SHAKSP. + +PREFACE. + +The following Poem (or, to speak more properly, what remains of it[1]) +has here and there a lyrical turn of thought and expression. It is sudden in +its transitions, and full of historical allusions; leaving much to be imagined +by the reader. + + [1] +The Original in the Castilian language, according to the Inscription that +fellows, was found among other MSS. in an old religious house near Palos, +situated on an island formed by the river Tinto, and dedicated to our Lady of +Rábida. The Writer describes himself as having sailed with Columbus; but his +style and manner are evidently of an after-time. + +The subject is a voyage the most memorable in the annals of mankind. +Columbus was a person of extraordinary virtue and piety, acting under +the sense of a divine impulse; and his achievement the discovery of a +New World, the inhabitants of which were shut out from the light of +Revelation, and given up, as they believed, to the dominion of +malignant spirits. + +Many of the incidents will now be thought extravagant; yet they were +once perhaps received with something more than indulgence. It was an +age of miracles; and who can say that among the venerable legends in +the library of the Escurial, or the more authentic records which +fill the great chamber in the _Archivo_ of Simancas, and which relate +entirely to the deep tragedy of America, there are no volumes that +mention the marvellous things here described? Indeed the story, as +already told throughout Europe, admits of no heightening. Such was +the religious enthusiasm of the early writers, that the Author had +only to transfuse it into his verse; and he appears to have done +little more; though some of the circumstances, which he alludes to as +well-known, have long ceased to be so. By using the language of that +day, he has called up Columbus ‘in his habit as he lived;’ and the +authorities, such as exist, are carefully given by the translator. + +INSCRIBED ON THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT. + +Unclasp me, Stranger; and unfold, +With trembling care, my leaves of gold +Rich in gothic portraiture— +If yet, alas, a leaf endure. + + In RABIDA’S monastic fane +I cannot ask, and ask in vain. +The language of CASTILE I speak; +Mid many an Arab, many a Greek, +Old in the days of CHARLEMAIN; +When minstrel-music wander’ round, +And Science, waking, bless’ the sound. + + No earthly thought has here a place; +The cowl let down on every face. +Yet here, in consecrated dust, +Here would I sleep, if sleep I must. +From GENOA when COLUMBUS came, +(At once her glory and her shame) +’Twas here he caught the holy flame. +’Twas here the generous vow he made; +His banners on the altar laid.— + + One hallow’d morn, methought, +I felt As if a soul within me dwelt! +But who arose and gave to me +The sacred trust I keep for thee, +And in his cell at even-tide +Knelt before the cross and died— +Inquire not now. His name no more +Glimmers on the chancel-floor, +Near the lights that ever shine +Before ST. MARY’S blessed shrine. + + To me one little hour devote, +And lay thy staff and scrip beside thee; +Read in the temper that he wrote, +And may his gentle spirit guide thee! +My leaves forsake me, one by one; +The book-worm thro’ and thro’ has gone. +Oh haste—unclasp me, and unfold; +The tale within was never told! + +THE ARGUMENT. + +Columbus, having wandered from kingdom to kingdom, at length obtains +three ships and sets sail on the Atlantic. The compass alters from +its antient direction; the wind becomes constant and unremitting; +night and day he advances, till he is suddenly stopped in his course +by a mass of vegetation, extending as far as the eye can reach, and +assuming the appearance of a country overwhelmed by the sea. Alarm +and despondence on board. He resigns himself to the care of Heaven, +and proceeds on his voyage; while columns of water move along in his +path before him. + +Meanwhile the deities of America assemble in council; and one of the +Zemi, the gods of the islanders, announces his approach. “In vain,” +says he, “have we guarded the Atlantic for ages. A mortal has baffled +our power; nor will our votaries arm against him. Yours are a sterner +race. Hence; and, while we have recourse to stratagem, do you array +the nations round your altars, and prepare for an exterminating war.” +They disperse while he is yet speaking; and, in the shape of a +condor, he directs his flight to the fleet. His journey described. He +arrives there. A panic. A mutiny. Columbus restores order; continues +on his voyage; and lands in a New World. Ceremonies of the first +interview. Rites of hospitality. The ghost of Cazziva. + +Two months pass away, and an Angel, appearing in a dream to Columbus, +thus addresses him: “Return to Europe; though your Adversaries, such +is the will of Heaven, shall let loose the hurricane against you. A +little while shall they triumph; insinuating themselves into the +hearts of your followers, and making the World, which you came to +bless, a scene of blood and slaughter. Yet is there cause for +rejoicing. Your work is done. The cross of Christ is planted here; +and, in due time, all things shall be made perfect!” + +THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS + +CANTO I. + +Night—Columbus on the Atlantic—the variation of the compass, &c. + +Say who first pass’d the portals of the West, +And the great Secret of the Deep possess’d; +Who first the standard of his Faith unfurl’d +On the dread confines of an unknown World; +Sung ere his coming[a]—and by Heav’n design’d +To lift the veil that cover’d half mankind![b]— +’Twas night. The Moon, o’er the wide wave, disclos’d +Her awful face; and Nature’s self repos’d; +When, slowly rising in the azure sky, +Three white sails shone—but to no mortal eye. +Entering a boundless sea. In slumber cast, +The very ship-boy, on the dizzy mast, +Half breath’d his orisons! Alone unchang’d, +Calmly, beneath, the great Commander rang’d,[c] +Thoughtful not sad; and, as the planet grew, +His noble form, wrapt in his mantle blue, +Athwart the deck a solemn shadow threw. +“Thee hath it pleas’d—Thy will be done!” he said,[d] +Then sought his cabin; and, their capas[1] spread, +Around him lay the sleeping as the dead, +When, by his lamp, to that mysterious Guide, +On whose still counsels all his hopes relied, +That Oracle to man in mercy giv’n, +Whose voice is truth, whose wisdom is from heav’n,[e] +Who over sands and seas directs the stray, +And, as with God’s own finger, points the way, +He turn’d; but what strange thoughts perplex’d his soul, +When, lo, no more attracted to the Pole, +The Compass, faithless as the circling vane, +Flutter’d and fix’d, flutter’d and fix’d again; +And still, as by some unseen Hand imprest, +Explor’d, with trembling energy, the West![2] +“Ah no!” he cried, and calm’d his anxious brow. +“Ill, nor the signs of ill, ’tis thine to show. +Thine but to lead me where I wish’d to go!” + COLUMBUS err’d not.[f] In that awful hour, +Sent forth to save, and girt with God-like power, +And glorious as the regent of the sun,[3] +An Angel came! He spoke, and it was done! +He spoke, and, at his call, a mighty Wind,[g] +Not like the fitful blast, with fury blind, +But deep, majestic, in its destin’d course, +Rush’d with unerring, unrelenting force, +From the bright East. Tides duly ebb’d and flow’d; +Stars rose and set; and new horizons glow’d; +Yet still it blew! As with primeval sway, +Still did its ample spirit, night and day, +Move on the waters!—All, resign’d to Fate, +Folded their arms and sat; and seem’d to wait[h] +Some sudden change; and sought, in chill suspense, +New spheres of being, and new modes of sense; +As men departing, tho’ not doom’d to die, +And midway on their passage to eternity. + + [1] +The capa is the Spanish cloak. + + [2] +Herrera, dec. I. lib. i. c. 9. + + [3] +Rev. xix. 17. + +CANTO II. + +The Voyage continued. + +“What vast foundations in the Abyss are there,[i] +As of a former world?[1] Is it not where +ATLANTIC kings their barbarous pomp display’d;[j] +Sunk into darkness with the realms they sway’d, +When towers and temples, thro’ the closing wave,[k] +A glimmering ray of antient splendour gave— +And we shall rest with them. Arise, behold, +- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +We stop to stir no more…nor will the tale be told.” +The pilot smote his breast; the watch-man cried +“Land!” and his voice in faltering accents died.[l] +At once the fury of the prow was quell’d; +And (whence or why from many an age withheld)[2] +Shrieks, not of men, were mingling in the blast; +And armed shapes of god-like stature pass’d! +Slowly along the evening sky they went, +As on the edge of some vast battlement; +Helmet and shield, and spear and gonfalon +Streaming a baleful light that was not of the sun! + +Long from the stern the great Adventurer gaz’d +With awe not fear; then high his hands he rais’d. +“Thou All-supreme—-in goodness as in power, +Who, from his birth to this eventful hour, +Hast led thy servant[3] over land and sea, +Confessing Thee in all, and all in Thee, +Oh still”—He spoke, and lo, the charm accurst +Fled whence it came, and the broad barrier burst! +A vain illusion! (such as mocks the eyes +Of fearful men, when mountains round them rise +From less than nothing[4]) nothing now beheld, +But scatter’d sedge—repelling, and repell’d! + And once again that valiant company +Right onward came, ploughing the Unknown Sea. +Already borne beyond the range of thought, +With Light divine, with Truth immortal fraught, +From world to world their steady course they keep,[5] +Swift as the winds along the waters sweep, +Mid the mute nations of the purple deep. +—And now the sound of harpy-wings they hear; +Now less and less, as vanishing in fear! +And, see, the heav’ns bow down, the waters rise. +And, rising, shoot in columns to the skies,[6] +That stand—and still, when they proceed, retire, +As in the Desert burn’d the sacred fire;[7] +Moving in silent majesty, till Night +Descends, and shuts the vision from their sight. + + [1] +In like manner the companions of Ulysses utter their thoughts without +reserve. Od. X. + + [2] +The author seems to have anticipated his long slumber in the library of the +Fathers. + + [3] +‘They may give me what name they please. I am servant of Him, +&c.’ F. Columbus, c 2. + + [4] +Isaiah xl. 17. + + [5] +As St. Christopher carried Christ over the deep waters, so Columbus went over +safe, himself and his company.—F. Col. c. 1. + + [6] +Water-spouts. See Edwards’s Hist. of the West Indies. I. 12. Note. + + [7] +Exod. xiii. 21. + +CANTO III. + +An Assembly of Evil Spirits. + +Tho’ chang’d my cloth of gold for amice grey—[m] +In my spring-time, when every month was May, +With hawk and hound I cours’d away the hour, +Or sung my roundelay in lady’s bower. +And tho’ my world be now a narrow cell, +(Renounc’d for ever all I lov’d so well) +Tho’ now my head be bald, my feet be bare, +And scarce my knees sustain my book of prayer, +Oh I was there, one of that gallant crew, +And saw—and wonder’d whence his Power He drew, +Yet little thought, tho’ by his side I stood, +Of his great Foes in earth and air and flood, +Then uninstructed.—But my sand is run, +And the Night coming—-and my Task not done!— +’Twas in the deep, immeasurable cave +Of ANDES, echoing to the Southern wave,[n] +Mid pillars of Basalt, the work of fire, +That, giant-like, to upper day aspire, +’Twas there that now, as wont in heav’n to shine, +Forms of angelic mould, and grace divine, +Assembled. All, exil’d the realms of rest, +In vain the sadness of their souls suppress’d; +Yet of their glory many a scatter’d ray +Shot thro’ the gathering shadows of decay. +Each mov’d a God; and all, as Gods, possess’d +One half the globe; from pole to pole confess’d![1] +These in dim shrines and barbarous symbols reign, +Where PLATA and MARAGNON meet the Main.[o] +Those the wild hunter worships as he roves, +In the green shade of CHILI’S fragrant groves; +Or warrior-tribes with rites of blood implore, +Whose night-fires gleam along the sullen shore +Of HURON or ONTARIO, inland seas,[p] +What time the song of death is in the breeze! + ’Twas now in dismal pomp and order due, +While the vast concave flash’d with lightnings blue, +On shining pavements of metallic ore, +That many an age the fusing sulphur bore, +They held high council. All was silence round, +When, with a voice most sweet yet most profound, +A sovereign Spirit burst the gates of night, +And from his wings of gold shook drops of liquid light! +MERION, commission’d with his host to sweep +From age to age the melancholy deep! +Chief of the ZEMI, whom the Isles obey’d, +By Ocean sever’d from a world of shade.[2] + +I. + + “Prepare, again prepare,” +Thus o’er the soul the thrilling accents’ came, +“Thrones to resign for lakes of living flame, + And triumph for despair. +He, on whose call afflicting thunders wait, + Has will’d it; and his will is fate! +In vain the legions, emulous to save, + Hung in the tempest o’er the troubled main;[q] +Turn’d each presumptuous prow that broke the wave, + And dash’d it on its shores again. +All is fulfill’d! Behold, in close array, +What mighty banners stream in the bright track of day!” + +II. + +“No voice, as erst, shall in the desert rise;[3] +Nor antient, dread solemnities +With scorn of death the trembling tribes inspire. +Wreaths for the Conqueror’s brow the victims bind! +Yet, tho’ we fled yon firmament of fire, +Still shall we fly, all hope of rule resign’d?” +* * * * * +* * * * * +He spoke; and all was silence, all was night![r] +Each had already wing’d his formidable flight. + + [1] +Gods, yet confess’d later.—Milton.——Ils ne laissent +pas d’en être les esclaves, & de les honorer plus que le grand +Esprit, qui de sa nature est bon.—Lafitau. + + [2] +La plûpart de ces îsles ne sont en effet que des pointes +de montagnes; et la mer, qui est au-delà, est une vraie mer +Méditerranée. Buffon. + + [3] +Alluding to the oracles of the Islanders, so soon to +become silent: and particularly to a prophecy, delivered down from +their ancestors, and sung with loud lamentations (Petr. Martyr, dec. +3. lib. 7) at their solemn festivals (Herrera. I. iii. 4) that the +country would be laid waste on the arrival of strangers, completely +clad, from a region near the rising of the sun. Ibid. II. S. 2. It is +said that Cazziva, a great Cacique, after long fasting and many +ablutions, had an interview with one of the Zemi, who announced to +him this terrible event (F. Columbus, c. 62), as the oracle of +Latona, according to Herodotus (II. 152) predicted the overthrow of +eleven kings in Egypt, on the appearance of men of brass, risen out +of the sea. +Nor did this prophecy exist among the Islanders alone. It influenced +the councils of Montezuma, and extended almost universally over the +forests of America. Cortes. Herrera. Gomara. ‘The demons, whom they +worshipped,’ says Acosta, ‘in this instance told them the truth.’ + +CANTO IV. + +The Voyage continued. + +“Ah, why look back, tho’ all is left behind? +No sounds of life are stirring in the wind.— +And you, ye birds, winging your passage home, +How blest ye are!—We know not where we roam, +We go,” they cried, “go to return no more; +Nor ours, alas, the transport to explore +A human footstep on a desert shore!” + +Still, as beyond this mortal life impell’d +By some mysterious energy, He held +His everlasting course. Still self-possess’d, +High on the deck He stood, disdaining rest; +(His amber chain the only badge he bore,[1] +His mantle blue such as his fathers wore) +Fathom’d, with searching hand, the dark profound, +And scatter’d hope and glad assurance round. + At day-break might the Caravels[2] be seen, +Chasing their shadows o’er the deep serene; +Their burnish’d prows lash’d by the sparkling tide. +Their green-cross standards[3] waving far and wide. +And now once more to better thoughts inclin’d, +The sea-man, mounting, clamour’d in the wind. +The soldier told his tales of love and war;[s] +The courtier sung—sung to his gay guitar. +Round, at Primero, sate a whisker’d band; +So Fortune smil’d, careless of sea or land![t] +LEON, MONTALVAN, (serving side by side; +Two with one soul—and, as they liv’d, they died) +VASCO the brave, thrice found among the slain, +Thrice, and how soon, up and in arms again, +As soon to wish he had been sought in vain, +Chain’d down in Fez, beneath the bitter thong, +To the hard bench and heavy oar so long! +ALBERT of FLORENCE, who, at twilight-time, +In my young ear pour’d DANTE’S tragic rhyme, +Screen’d by the sail as near the mast we lay, +Our night illumin’d by the ocean-spray; +LERMA “the generous”, AVILA “the proud;”[4] +VELASQUEZ, GARCIA, thro’ the echoing croud +Trac’d by their mirth—from EBRO’S classic shore, +From golden TAJO—to return no more! + + [1] +It was afterwards given to Guacanahari. See F. Col. c. 32. + + [2] +Light vessels, formerly used by the Spaniards and Portuguese. + + [3] +F. Columbus, c. 23. + + [4] +Many such appellations occur in Bernal Diaz. c. 204. + +CANTO V. + +The Voyage continued. + +Yet who but He undaunted could explore[u] +A world of waves—a sea without a shore, +Trackless and vast and wild as that reveal’d +When round the Ark the birds of tempest wheel’d; +When all was still in the destroying hour— +No sign of man! no vestige of his power! +One at the stern before the hour-glass stood, +As ’twere to count the sands; one o’er the flood +Gaz’d for St. Elmo;[1] while another cried +“Once more good morrow!” and sate down and sigh’d. +Day, when it came, came only with its light. +Tho’ long invok’d, ’twas sadder than the night! +Look where He would, for ever as He turn’d, +He met the eye of one that inly mourn’d. + Then sunk his generous spirit, and He wept. +The friend, the father rose; the hero slept. +PALOS, thy port, with many a pang resign’ d, +Fill’d with its busy scenes his lonely mind; +The solemn march, the vows in concert giv’n,[2] +The bended knees and lifted hands to heav’n, +The incens’d rites, and choral harmonies, +The Guardian’s blessings mingling with his sighs; +While his dear boys—ah, on his neck they hung,[v] +And long at parting to his garments clung. + Oft in the silent night-watch doubt and fear +Broke in uncertain murmurs on his ear. +Oft the stern Catalan, at noon of day, +Mutter’d dark threats, and linger’d to obey; +Tho’ that brave Youth—he, whom his courser bore +Right thro’ the midst, when, fetlock deep in gore, +The great GONZALO[3] battled with the Moor, +(What time the ALHAMBRA shook—soon to unfold +Its sacred courts, and fountains yet untold, +Its holy texts and arabesques of gold) +Tho’ ROLDAN,[4] sleep and death to him alike, +Grasp’d his good sword and half unsheath’d to strike. +“Oh born to wander with your flocks,” he cried, +“And bask and dream along the mountain-side; +To urge your mules, tinkling from hill to hill; +Or at the vintage-feast to drink your fill, +And strike your castanets, with gipsy-maid +Dancing Fandangos in the chesnut shade— +Come on,” he cried, and threw his glove in scorn, +“Not this your wonted pledge, the brimming horn. +Valiant in peace! Adventurous at home! +Oh, had ye vow’d with pilgrim-staff to roam; +Or with banditti sought the sheltering wood, +Where mouldering crosses mark the scene of blood!—” +He said, he drew; then, at his Master’s frown, +Sullenly sheath’d, plunging the weapon down. + + [1] +A luminous appearance of good omen. + + [2] +His public procession to the Convent of Rábida on the day before he set sail. +It was there that his sons had received their education; and he himself appears +to have passed some time there, the venerable Guardian, Juan Perez de Marchena, +being his zealous and affectionate friend.—The ceremonies of his +departure and return are represented in many of the fresco-paintings in the +palaces of Genoa. + + [3] +Gonzalo Fernandez, already known by the name of The great Captain. Granada +surrendered on the 2nd of January, 1492. Columbus set sail on the, 3rd of +August following. + + [4] +Probably a soldier of fortune. There were more than one of the name on board. + +CANTO VI. + +The flight of an Angel of Darkness. + +War and the Great in War let others sing. +Havoc and spoil, and tears and triumphing; +The morning-march that flashes to the sun, +The feast of vultures when the day is done; +And the strange tale of many slain for one! +I sing a Man, amidst his sufferings here, +Who watch’d and serv’d in humbleness and fear; +Gentle to others, to himself severe. + Still unsubdued by Danger’s varying form, +Still, as unconscious of the coming storm, +He look’d elate! His beard, his mien sublime, +Shadow’d by Age;—by Age before the time,[1] +From many a sorrow borne in many a clime, +Mov’d every heart. And now in opener skies +Stars yet unnam’d of purer radiance rise! +Stars, milder suns, that love a shade to cast, +And on the bright wave fling the trembling mast.[2] + +’Twas the mid hour, when He, whose accents dread +Still wander’d thro’ the regions of the dead, +(MERION, commission’d with his host to sweep +From age to age the melancholy deep) +To elude the seraph-guard that watch’d for man, +And mar, as erst, the Eternal’s perfect plan, +Rose like the Condor, and, at towering height, +In pomp of plumage sail’d, deepening the shades of night. +Roc of the West! to him all empire giv’n![w] +Who bears[3] +Axalhua’s dragon-folds to heav’n;[4] +His flight a whirlwind, and, when heard afar, +Like thunder, or the distant din of war! + Mountains and seas fled backward as he pass’d +O’er the great globe, by not a cloud o’ercast +From the ANTARCTICK, from the Land of Fire[5] +To where ALASKA’S[6] wintry wilds retire; +From mines[7] of gold, and giant-sons of earth, +To grotts of ice, and tribes of pigmy birth +Who freeze alive, nor, dead, in dust repose, +High-hung in forests to the casing snows.[x] + Now mid angelic multitudes he flies, +That hourly come with blessings from the skies; +Wings the blue element, and, borne sublime, +Eyes the set sun, gilding each distant clime; +Then, like a meteor, shooting to the main, +Melts into pure intelligence again. + + [1] +F. Col. c.3. + + [2] +Splendour of the nights in a tropical climate. + + [3] +Axalhua, or the Emperor. The name in the Mexican +language for the great serpent of America. + + [4] +As the Roc of the East is said to have carried off the Elephant. See Marco +Polo. + + [5] +Tierra del Fuego. + + [6] +Northern extremity of the New World. See Cook’s last Voyage. + + [7] +Mines of Chili; which extend, says Ovalle, to the Strait of Magellan. I. 4. + +CANTO VII. + +A mutiny excited. + +What tho’ Despondence reign’d, and wild Affright; +Stretch’d in the midst, and, thro’ that dismal night,[y] +By his white plume reveal’d and buskins white,[z] +Slept ROLDAN. When he clos’d his gay career, +Hope fled for ever, and with Hope fled Fear, +Blest with each gift indulgent Fortune sends, +Birth and its rights, wealth and its train of friends, +Star-like he shone! Now beggar’d, and alone, +Danger he woo’d, and claim’d her for his own. + O’er him a Vampire[1] his dark wings display’d. +’Twas MERION’S self, covering with dreadful shade.[a] +He came, and, couch’d on ROLDAN’S ample breast, +Each secret pore of breathing life possess’d, +Fanning the sleep that seem’d his final rest; +Then, inly gliding like a subtle flame,[b] +Subdued the man, and from his thrilling frame +Sent forth the voice! “We live, we breathe no more! +The fatal wind blows on the dreary shore! +On yonder cliffs, beckoning their fellow-prey, +The spectres stalk, and murmur at delay![2] +—Yet if thou canst (not for myself I plead, +Mine but to follow where ’tis thine to lead) +Oh turn and save! To thee, with streaming eyes, +To thee each widow kneels, each orphan cries! +Who now, condemn’d the lingering hours to tell, +Think and but think of those they lov’d so well!” + All melt in tears! but what can tears avail? +These climb the mast, and shift the swelling sail. +These snatch the helm; and round me now I hear +Smiting of hands, out-cries of grief and fear, +(That In the aisles at midnight haunt me still, +Turning my lonely thoughts from good to ill) +“Were there no graves—none in our land,” they cry, +“That thou hast brought us on the deep to die?” + Silent with sorrow, long within his cloak +His face He muffled—then the Hero spoke. +“Generous and brave! when God himself is’ here, +Why shake at shadows in your mid career? +He can suspend the Jaws himself design’d, +He walks the waters, and the winged wind;[3] +Himself your guide! and yours the high behest +To lift your voice, and bid a world be blest! +And can you shrink?[4] to you, to you consign’d +The glorious privilege to serve mankind! +Oh had I perish’d, when my failing frame[5] +Clung to the shatter’d oar mid wrecks of flame! +—Was it for this I linger’d life away, +The scorn of Folly, and of Fraud the prey;[c] +Bow’d down my mind, the gift His bounty gave, +At courts a suitor, and to slaves a slave? +—Yet in His name whom only we should fear, +(’Tis all, all I shall ask, or you shall hear) +Grant but three days”—He spoke not uninspir’d;[6] +And each in silence to his watch retir’d. + At length among us came an unknown Voice! +“Go, if ye will; and, if ye can, rejoice. +Go, with unbidden guests the banquet share. +In his own shape shall Death receive you there.”[7] + + [1] +A species of bat in S. America; which refreshes by the +gentle agitation of its wings, while it sucks the blood of the +sleeper, turning his sleep into death. Ulloa. + + [2] +Euripides in Alcest. v. 255. + + [3] +Ps. civ. 3. + + [4] +The same language had been addressed to Isabella. F..Cpl. c 15. + + [5] +His miraculous escape, in early life, during a sea-fight off the coast of +Portugal. Ibid. c. 5. + + [6] +He used to affirm, that he stood in need of God’s particular assistance; +like Moses, when he led forth the people of Israel, who forbore to lay violent +hands upon him, because of the miracles which God wrought by his means. +‘So,’ said the Admiral, ‘did it happen to me on that +voyage.’ F. Columbus, c. 19.——’ And so easily,’ +says a Commentator, ‘are the workings of the Evil one overcome by the +power of God!’ + + [7] +This denunciation, fulfilled as it appears to be in the eleventh canto, may +remind the reader of the Harpy’s in Virgil. Æn. III v. 247. + +CANTO VIII. + +Land discovered. + +Twice in the zenith blaz’d the orb of light; +No shade, all sun, insufferably bright! +Then the long line found rest[1]—in coral groves +Silent and dark, where the sea-lion roves:— +And all on deck, kindling to life again, +Sent forth their anxious spirits o’er the main. +“Oh whence, as wafted from Elysium, whence +These perfumes, strangers to the raptur’d sense? +These boughs of gold, and fruits of heav’nly hue, +Tinging with vermeil light the billows blue? +And (thrice, thrice blessed is the eye that spied, +The hand that snatch’d it sparkling in the tide)[d] +Whose cunning carv’d this vegetable bowl, +Symbol of social rites, and intercourse of soul?” +Such to their grateful ear the gush of springs, +Who course the ostrich, as away she wings; +Sons of the desert! who delight to dwell +Mid kneeling camels round the sacred well. +The sails were furl’d:[2] with many a melting close, +Solemn and slow the evening anthem rose, +Rose to the Virgin.[e] ’Twas the hour of day, +When setting suns o’er summer-seas display +A path of glory, opening in the west +To golden climes, and islands of the blest; +And human voices, on the silent air, +Went o’er the waves in songs of gladness there! + Chosen of Men![f] ’twas thine, at noon of night, +First from the prow to hail the glimmering light;[3] +(Emblem of Truth divine, whose secret ray +Enters the soul, and makes the darkness day!) +“PEDRO! RODRIGO![4] there, methought, it shone! +There—in the west! and now, alas, ’tis gone!— +’Twas all a dream! we gaze and gaze in vain! +—But mark and speak not, there it comes again! +It moves!—what form unseen, what being there +With torch-like lustre fires the murky air? +His instincts, passions, say, how like our own? +Oh! when will day reveal a world unknown?” + + [1] +For thirty-five days they were advancing ‘where +fathom-line could never touch the ground.’ + + [2] +On Thursday, the 11th of October, 1492. + + [3] +A light in the midst of darkness, signifying the spiritual light that he came +to spread there. F. Col. c. 22. Herrera, I i 12. + + [4] +Pedro Gutierrez, a Page of the King’s Chamber. Rodrigo Sanchez of +Segovia, Comptroller of the Fleet. + +CANTO IX. + +The New World. + +Long on the wave the morning mists repos’d, +Then broke—and, melting into light, disclos’d +Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods +Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods. +—And say, when all, to holy transport giv’n, +Embraced and wept as at the gates of Heaven, +When one and all of us, repentant, ran, +And, on our faces, bless’ the wondrous Man; +Say, was I then deceiv’d, or from the skies +Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies? +“Glory to God!” unnumber’d voices sung, +“Glory to God!” the vales and mountains rung, +Voices that hail’ Creation’s primal morn, +And to the shepherds sung a Saviour born. + Slowly to land the sacred cross we bore,[g] +And, kneeling, kiss’d with pious lips the shore. +But how the scene pourtray?[h] Nymphs of romance,[i] +Youths graceful as the Faun,[j] with rapturous glance, +Spring from the glades, and down the green steeps run, +To greet their mighty guests, “The children of the Sun!” + Features so fair, in garments richly wrought, +From citadels, with Heav’n’s own thunder fraught, +Check’d their light footsteps—statue-like they stood, +As worshipp’d forms, the Genii of the Wood! + But see, the regal plumes, the couch of state![k] +Still, where it moves, the wise in council wait! +See now borne forth the monstrous mask of gold,[1] +And ebon chair [also Footnote 1] of many a serpent-fold; +These now exchang’d for gifts that thrice surpass +The wondrous ring, and lamp, and horse of brass.[l] +What long-drawn tube transports the gazer home,[2] +Kindling with stars at noon the ethereal dome? +’Tis here: and here circles of solid light[3] +Charm with another self the cheated sight; +As man to man another self disclose, +That now with terror starts, with triumph glows! + + [1] +F. Columbus, c. 28 34. & 69. + + [2] +For the effects of the telescope, and the mirror, on an +uncultivated mind, see Wallis’s Voyage round the World, c. 2 & 6. + + [3] +F. Columbus, c. 28 34. & 69. + +CANTO X. + +Cora—luxuriant vegetation—the Humming-bird—the Fountain of Youth. + +—Then CORA came, the youngest of her race, +And in her hands she hid her lovely face; +Yet oft by stealth a timid glance she cast, +And now with playful step the Mirror pass’d, +Each bright reflection brighter than the last! +And oft behind it flew, and oft before; +The more she search’d, pleas’d and perplex’d the more! +And look’d and laugh’d, and blush’d with quick surprize; +Her lips all mirth, all ecstasy her eyes! +But soon the telescope attracts her view; +And lo, her lover in his light canoe +Rocking, at noon-tide, on the silent sea, +Before her lies! It cannot, cannot be. +Late as he left the shore, she linger’d there, +Till, less and less, he melted into air!— +Sigh after sigh steals from her gentle frame, +And say—that murmur—was it not his name? +She turns, and thinks; and, lost in wild amaze, +Gazes again, and could for ever gaze! + Nor can thy flute, ALONSO, now excite, +As in VALENCIA, when, with fond delight, +FRANCISCA, waking, to the lattice flew, +So soon to love and to be wretched too! +Hers thro’ a convent-grate to send her last adieu. +—Yet who now comes uncall’d; and round and round, +And near and nearer flutters to its sound; +Then stirs not, breathes not—on enchanted ground? +Who now lets fall the flowers she cull’d to wear +When he, who promis’d, should at eve be there; +And faintly smiles, and hangs her head aside +The tear that glistens on her cheek to hide? +Ah, who but CORA?—till inspir’d, possess’d, +At once she springs, and clasps it to her breast! + +Soon from the bay the mingling croud ascends, +Kindred first met! by sacred instinct Friends! +Thro’ citron groves, and fields of yellow maize,[1] +Thro’ plantain-walks where not a sun-beam plays. +Here blue savannas fade into the sky. +There forests frown in midnight majesty; +Ceiba,[m] and Indian fig, and plane sublime, +Nature’s first-born, and reverenc’d by Time! +There sits the bird that speaks![2] there, quivering, rise +Wings that reflect the glow of evening skies! +Half bird, half fly,[n] the fairy king of flowers[3] +Reigns there, and revels thro’ the fragrant hours;[o] +Gem full of life, and joy, and song divine, +Soon in the virgin’s graceful ear to shine.[4] + ’Twas he that sung, if antient Fame speaks truth, +“Come! follow, follow to the Fount of Youth! +I quaff the ambrosial mists that round it rise, +Dissolv’d and lost in dreams of Paradise!” +For there call’d forth, to bless a happier hour, +It met the sun in many a rainbow-shower! +Murmuring delight, its living waters roll’d +’Mid branching palms and amaranths of gold![5] + + [1] +Ætas est illis aurea. Apertis vivunt hortis. P. Martyr, dec. I. 3. + + [2] +The Parrot, as described by Aristotle. Hist. Animal, viii. 12. + + [3] +The Humming-bird. Kakopit (florum regulus) is the name of an Indian bird, +referred to this class by Seba. + + [4] +Il sert après sa mort àparer les jeunes Indiennes, qui +portent en pendans d’oreilles deux de ces charmans oiseaux. Buffon. + + [5] +According to an antient tradition. See Oviedo, Vega, +Herrera, &c. Not many years afterwards a Spaniard of distinction +wandered every where in search of it; and no wonder, as Robertson +observes, when Columbus himself could imagine that he had found the +seat of Paradise, + +CANTO XI. + +Evening—a banquet—the ghost of Cazziva. + +Her leaves at length the conscious tamarind clos’d, +And from wild sport the marmoset repos’d; +Fresh from the lake the breeze of twilight blew, +And vast and deep the mountain-shadows grew; +When many a fire-fly, shooting thro’ the glade, +Spangled the locks of many a lovely maid, +Who now danc’d forth to strew His path with flowers.[p] +And hymn His welcome to celestial bowers.[1] + There od’rous lamps adorn’d the festal rite, +And guavas blush’d as in the vales of light,[2] +—There silent sat many an unbidden Guest,[3] +Whose stedfast looks a secret dread impress’d; +Not there forgot the sacred fruit that fed +At nightly feasts the Spirits of the Dead, +Mingling in scenes that mirth to mortals give, +Tho’ by their sadness known from those that live. +There met, as erst, within the wonted grove, +Unmarried girls and youths that died for love! +Sons now beheld their antient sires again; +And sires, alas, their sons in battle slain! + But whence that sigh? ’Twas from a heart that broke! +And whence that voice? As from the grave it spoke! +And who, as unresolv’d the feast to share, +Sits half-withdrawn in faded splendour there? +’Tis he of yore, the warrior and the sage, +Whose lips have mov’d in prayer from age to age; +Whose eyes, that wander’d as in search before, +Now on COLUMBUS fix’d—to search no more! +CAZZIVA,[4] gifted in his day to know +The gathering signs of a long night of woe; +Gifted by Those who give but to enslave; +No rest in death! no refuge in the grave! +—With sudden spring as at the shout of war, +He flies! and, turning in his flight, from far +Glares thro’ the gloom like some portentous star! +Unseen, unheard!—Hence, Minister of Ill![5] +Hence, ’tis not yet the hour; tho’ come it will! +They that foretold—too soon shall they fulfil;[6] +When forth they rush as with the torrent’s sweep,[7] +And deeds are done that make the Angels weep!— + +Hark, o’er the busy mead the shell[8] proclaim +Triumphs, and masques, and high heroic games. +And now the old sit round; and now the young +Climb the green boughs, the murmuring doves among. +Who claims the prize, when winged feet contend; +When twanging bows the flaming arrows[9] send? +Who stands self-centred in the field of fame, +And, grappling, flings to earth a giant’s frame? +Whilst all, with anxious hearts and eager eyes, +Bend as he bends, and, as he rises, rise! +And CORA’S self, in pride of beauty here, +Trembles with grief and joy, and hope and fear! +(She who, the fairest, ever flew the first, +With cup of balm to quench his burning thirst; +Knelt at his head, her fan-leaf in her hand, +And humm’d the air that pleas’d him, while she fann’d) +How blest his lot!—tho’, by the Muse unsung, +His name shall perish, when his knell is rung. + +That night, transported, with a sigh I said +“’Tis all a dream!”—Now, like a dream, ’tis fled; +And many and many a year has pass’d away, +And I alone remain to watch and pray! +Yet oft in darkness, on my bed of straw, +Oft I awake and think on what I saw! +The groves, the birds, the youths, the nymphs recall, +And CORA, loveliest, sweetest of them all! + + [1] +P. Martyr, dec. i. 5. + + [2] +They believed that the souls of good men were conveyed +to a pleasant valley, abounding in guavas and other delicious fruits. +Herrera, I. iii. 3. F Columbus, c. 62. + + [3] +“The dead walk abroad in the night, and feast with the +living;” (F. Columbus, c. 62) and “eat of the fruit called Guannàba.” +P. Martyr, dec. I. 9. + + [4] +An antient Cacique, in his life-time and after his +death, employed by the Zemi to alarm his people. +See F. Columbus, c. 62. + + [5] +The Author is speaking in his inspired character. Hidden +things are revealed to him, and placed before his mind as if they +were present. + + [6] +Nor could they (the Powers of Darkness) have more +effectually prevented the progress of the Faith, than by desolating +the New World; by burying nations alive in mines, or consigning them +in all their errors to the sword. Relacion de B. de las Casas. + + [7] +Not man alone, but many other animals became extinct there. + + [8] +P. Martyr, dec. iii. c. 7. + + [9] +Rochefort. c. xx. p. 559. + +CANTO XII. + +A Vision. + +Still would I speak of Him before I went, +Who among us a life of sorrow spent,[q] +And, dying, left a world his monument; +Still, if the time allow’d! My Hour draws near; +But He will prompt me when I faint with fear. +—-Alas, He hears me not! He cannot hear! + +* * * * * + +Twice the Moon fill’d her silver urn with light. +Then from the Throne an Angel wing’d his flight; +He, who unfix’d the compass, and assign’d +O’er the wild waves a pathway to the wind; +Who, while approach’d by none but Spirits pure, +Wrought, in his progress thro’ the dread obscure, +Signs like the ethereal bow—that shall endure![1] +Before the great Discoverer, laid to rest, +He stood, and thus his secret soul address’d.[2] + “The wind recalls thee; its still voice obey. +Millions await thy coming; hence, away. +To thee blest tidings of great joy consign’d, +Another Nature, and a new Mankind! +The vain to dream, the wise to doubt shall cense; +Young men be glad, and old depart in peace![3] +Hence! tho’ assembling in the fields of air, +Now, in a night of clouds, thy Foes prepare +To rock the globe with elemental wars, +And dash the floods of ocean to the stars;[4] +To bid the meek repine, the valiant weep, +And Thee restore thy Secret to the Deep![5] + Not then to leave Thee! to their vengeance cast, +Thy heart their aliment, their dire repast![6] +To other eyes shall MEXICO unfold +Her feather’d tapestries,[7] and roofs of gold. +To other eyes, from distant cliff descried,[r] +Shall the PACIFIC roll his ample tide. +Chains thy reward! beyond the ATLANTIC wave +Hung in thy chamber, buried in thy grave![s] +Thy reverend form[t] to time and grief a prey, +A phantom wandering in the light of day! + What tho’ thy grey hairs to the dust descend, +Their scent shall track thee, track thee to the end;[8] +Thy sons reproach’d with their great father’s fame, +And on his world inscrib’d another’s name! +That world a prison-house, full of sights of woe, +Where groans burst forth, and tears in torrents flow! +These gardens of the sun, sacred to song, +By dogs of carnage, howling loud and long,[9] +Swept—till the voyager, in the desert air,[u] +Starts back to hear his alter’d accents there![10] + Not thine the olive, but the sword to bring, +Not peace, but war! Yet from these shores shall spring +Peace without end;[11] from these, with blood defil’d, +Spread the pure spirit of thy Master mild! +Here, in His train, shall arts and arms attend,[v] +Arts to adorn, and arms but to defend. +Assembling here, all nations shall be blest;[w] +The sad be comforted; the weary rest: +Untouch’d shall drop the fetters from the slave;[x] +And He shall rule the world he died to save! + Hence, and rejoice. The glorious work is done. +A spark is thrown that shall eclipse the sun! +And, tho’ bad men shall long thy course pursue, +As erst the ravening brood o’er chaos flew,[12] +He, whom I serve, shall vindicate his reign; +The spoiler spoil’d of all;[y] the slayer slain;[13] +The tyrant’s self, oppressing and opprest, +Mid gems and gold unenvied and unblest:[14] +While to the starry sphere thy name shall rise, +(Not there unsung thy generous enterprise!) +Thine in all hearts to dwell—by Fame enshrin’d, +With those, the Few, that live but for Mankind.” + + [1] +It is remarkable that these phenomena still remain among +the mysteries of nature. + + [2] +Te tua fata docebo. Virg.——Saprai di tua vita il +viaggio. Dante. + + [3] +P. Martyr. Epist, 133. 152. + + [4] +When he entered the Tagus, all the seamen ran from all +parts to behold, as it were some wonder, a ship that had escaped so +terrible a storm. F. Columbus, c. 40. + + [5] +I wrote on a parchment that I had discovered what I had +promised! —and, having put it into a cask, I threw it into the sea. +Ibid. c. 37. + + [6] +See the Eumenides of Æschylus, v. 305, &c. + + [7] +Clavigero. VII. 52. + + [8] +See the Eumenides. v. 246. + + [9] +One of these, on account of his extraordinary sagacity +and fierceness, received the full allowance of a soldier. His name +was Bezerillo. + + [10] +No unusual effect of an exuberant vegetation. ‘The air +was so vitiated,’ says an African traveller, ‘that our torches burnt +dim, and seemed ready to be extinguished; and even the human voice +lost its natural tone.’ + + [11] +See Washington’s farewell address to his fellow-citizens. + + [12] +See Paradise Lost. X. + + [13] +Cortes, Pizarro.—‘Almost all,’ says Las Casas, ‘have +perished. The innocent blood, which they had shed, cried aloud for +vengeance; the sighs, the tears of so many victims went up before +God.’ + + [14] +L’Espagne a fâit comme ce roi insensé qui demanda que +tout ce qu’il toucheroit se convertit en or, et qui fut obligé de +revenir aux dieux pour les prier de finir sa misère. Montesquieu. + +On the two last leaves, and written in another hand, are some stanzas +in the romance or ballad measure of the Spaniards. The subject is an +adventure soon related. + +Thy lonely watch-tower, Larenille, +Had lost the western sun; +And loud and long from hill to hill +Echoed the evening-gun, +When Hernan, rising on his oar, +Shot like an arrow from the shore. +—“Those lights are on St. Mary’s Isle; +They glimmer from the sacred pile.”[1] +The waves were rough; the hour was late. +But soon across the Tinto borne, +Thrice he blew the signal-horn, +He blew and would not wait. +Home by his dangerous path he went; +Leaving, in rich habiliment, +Two Strangers at the Convent-gate. + +They ascended by steps hewn out in the rock; and, having asked for +admittance, were lodged there, + +Brothers in arms the Guests appear’d; +The Youngest with a Princely grace! +Short and sable was his beard, +Thoughtful and wan his face. +His velvet cap a medal bore, +And ermine fring’d his broider’d vest; +And, ever sparkling on his breast, +An image of St. John he wore.[2] + +The Eldest had a rougher aspect, and there was craft in his eye. He +stood a little behind in a long black mantle, his hand resting upon +the hilt of his sword; and his white hat and white shoes glittered in +the moon-shine.[3] + +“Not here unwelcome, tho’ unknown. +Enter and rest!” the Friar said. +The moon, that thro’ the portal shone, +Shone on his reverend head. +Thro’ many a court and gallery dim +Slowly he led, the burial-hymn +Swelling from the distant choir. +But now the holy men retire; +The arched cloisters issuing thro’ + In long long order, two and two. +* * * * * +When other sounds had died away, +And the waves were heard alone, +They enter’d, tho’ unus’d to pray, +Where God was worshipp’d, night and day, +And the dead knelt round in stone; +They enter’d, and from aisle to aisle +Wander’d with folded arms awhile, +Where on his altar-tomb reclin’d[z] +The crosier’d Abbot; and the Knight +In harness for the Christian fight, +His hands in supplication join’d;— +Then said as in a solemn mood, +“Now stand we where COLUMBUS stood!” +* * * * * +“PEREZ,[4] thou good old man,” they cried, +“And art thou in thy place of rest?— +Tho’ in the western world His grave,[5] [a] +That other world, the gift He gave,[6] +Would ye were sleeping side by side! +Of all his friends He lov’d thee best.” +* * * * * +The supper in the chamber done, +Much of a Southern Sea they spake, +And of that glorious City[7] won +Near the setting of the Sun, +Thron’d in a silver lake; +Of seven kings in chains of gold[8]— +And deeds of death by tongue untold, +Deeds such as breath’d in secret there +Had shaken the Confession-chair! + +The Eldest swore by our Lady,[9] the Youngest by his +conscience;[10] while the Franciscan, sitting by in his +grey habit, turned away and crossed himself again and again. “Here +is a little book,” said he at last, “the work of one in his shroud +below. It tells of things you have mentioned; and, were Cortes and +Pizarro here, it might perhaps make them reflect for a moment.” The +Youngest smiled as he took it into his hand. He read it aloud to his +companion with an unfaltering voice; but, when he laid it down, a +silence ensued; nor was he seen to smile again that night.[11] +“The curse is heavy,” said he at parting, “but Cortes +may live to disappoint it.”—“Aye, and Pizarro too!” + + [1] +The Convent of Rábida. + + [2] +See Bernal Diaz, c. 203; and also a well-known portrait +of Cortes, ascribed to Titian. Cortes was now in the 43d, Pizarro in +the 60th year of his age. + + [3] +Augustin Zaratè, lib. iv. c. 9. + + [4] +Late Superior of the House. + + [5] +In the chancel of the cathedral of St. Domingo. + + [6] +The words of the epitaph. “A Castilia y a Leon nuevo Mundo dio +Colon.” + + [7] +Mexico. + + [8] +Afterwards the arms of Cortes and his descendants. + + [9] +Fernandez, lib. ii. c. 63. + + [10] +B. Diaz, c. 203. + + [11] +‘After the death of Guatimotzin,’ says B. Diaz, ‘he +became gloomy and restless; rising continually from his bed, and +wandering about in the dark.’.—‘Nothing prospered with him; and it +was ascribed to the curses he was loaded with.’ + +A circumstance, recorded by Herrera, renders this visit not +improbable. ‘In May, 1528, Cortes arrived unexpectedly at Palos; and, +soon after he had landed, he and Pizarro met and rejoiced; and it was +remarkable that they should meet, as they were two of the most +renowned men in the world.’ B. Diaz makes no mention of the +interview; but, relating an occurrence that took place at this time +in Palos, says, ‘that Cortes was now absent at Nuestra Senora de la +Rábida.’ The Convent is within half a league of the town. + +ADDITIONAL NOTES. + + [a] +_Sung ere his coming—_ + +In him was fulfilled the antient prophecy, + +- - - - - venient annis +Secula seris, quibus Oceanus +Vincula rerum laxet, &c. +SENECA in Medea, v. 374. + +Which Tasso has imitated in his Giemsalemme Liberata. + +Tempo verrà, chie fian d’Ercole i segui +Favola vile, &c. +c. xv. 30. + + [b] +_To lift the veil that cover’d half mankind!_ + +An introductory couplet is here omitted. + +Dying, to-night I would fulfill my vow. +Praise cannot wound his generous spirit now. + +The Poem opens on Friday, the 14th of September, 1402. + + [c] +_——the great Commander_ + +In the original,’ El Almirante.’ In Spanish America, says M. de +Humboldt, when _El Almirante_ is pronounced without the addition of a +name, that of Columbus is understood; as, from the lips of a Mexican, +_El Marchese_ signifies Cortes. + + [d] +_“Thee hath it pleas’d—Thy will be done!” he said,_ + +‘It has pleased our Lord to grant me faith and assurance for this +enterprize—He has opened my understanding, and made me most willing +to go.’ See his Life by his son, Ferd. Columbus, entitled, Hist. del +Almirante Don Christoval. Colon, c. 4 & 37. + + [e] +_Whose voice is truth, whose wisdom is from heav’n,_ + +The compass might well be an object of superstition. A belief is said +to prevail even at this day, that it will refuse to traverse when +there is a dead body on board. +Hist. des Navig. aux Terres Australes. + + [f] +_COLUMBUS err’d not._ + +When these regions were to be illuminated, says Acosta, cùm divino +consilio decretum esset, prospectum etiam divinitus est, ut tarn +longi itineris dux certus hominibus præberetur. +De Natura Novi Orbis. + A romantic circumstance is related of some early navigator in the +Histoire Gen. des Voyages, I. i. 2. “On trouva dans l’isle de Cuervo +une statue équestre, couverte d’un manteau, mais la tête nue, qui +tenoit de la main gauche la bride du cheval, et qui montroit +l’occident de la main droite. Il y avoit sur le bas d’un roc quelques +lettres gravées, qui ne furent point entendues; mais il parut +clairement que le signe de la main regardoit l’Amérique.” + + [g] +_He spoke, and, at his call, a mighty Wind,_ + +The more Christian opinion is, that God, at the length, with eyes of +compassion as it were looking downe from heaven, intended even then +to rayse those _windes of mercy_, whereby…….this newe worlde +receyved the hope of salvation.—Certaine Preambles to the Decades of +the Ocean. + + [h] +_Folded their arms and sat;_ + +To return was deemed impossible, as it blew always from home. +F. Columbus, c. 19. Nos pavidi—at pater Anchises—lætus. + + [i] +_What vast foundations in the Abyss are there,_ + +Tasso employs preternatural agents on a similar occasion, + +Trappassa, et ecco in quel silvestre loco +Sorge improvisa la città del foco. + Gier. Lib, c. xiii. 33. + +Gli incanti d’Ismeno, che ingannano con delusioni, altro non +significano, che la falsità delle ragioni, et delle persuasioni, +la qual si genera nella moltitudine, et varietà de’ pareri, et de’ +discorsi humani. + + [j] +_ATLANTIC kings their barbarous pomp display’d;_ + +See Plato’s Timæus; where mention is made of mighty kingdoms, which, +in a day and a night, had disappeared in the Atlantic, rendering its +waters unnavigable. + + [k] +_When towers and temples, thro’ the closing wave,_ + +Si quæras Helicen et Burin, Achaïdas urbes, +Invenies sub aquis. + +At the destruction of Callao, in 1747, no more than one of all the +inhabitants escaped; and he, by a providence the most extraordinary. +This man was on the fort that overlooked the harbour, going to strike +the flag, when he perceived the sea to retire to a considerable +distance; and then, swelling mountain high, it returned with great +violence. The people ran from their houses in terror and confusion; +he heard a cry of _Miserere_ rise from all parts of the city; and +immediately all was silent; the sea had entirely overwhelmed it, and +buried it for ever in its bosom: but the same wave that destroyed it, +drove a little boat by the place where he stood, into which he threw +himself and was saved. Europ. Settlements. + + [l] +_“Land!” and his voice in faltering accents died._ + +Historians are not silent on the subject. The sailors, according to +Herrera, saw the signs of an inundated country (tierras anegadas); +and it was the general expectation that they should end their lives +there, as others had done in the frozen sea, ‘where St. Amaro suffers +no ship to stir backwards or forwards.’ F. Columbus, c. 19. + + [m] +_Tho’ chang’d my cloth of gold for amice grey—_ + +Many of the first discoverers, if we may believe B. Diaz and other +contemporary writers, ended their days in a hermitage, or a cloister. + + [n] +_’Twas in the deep, immeasurable cave Of ANDES,_ + +Vast indeed must be those dismal regions, if it be true, as +conjectured (Kircher. Mund. Subt. I. 202), that Etna, in her +eruptions, has discharged twenty times her original bulk. Well might +she be called by Euripides (Troades, v. 222) the _Mother of +Mountains;_ yet Etna herself is but ‘a mere firework, when compared +to the burning summits of the Andes.’ + + [o] +_Where PLATA and MARAGNON meet the Main._ + +Rivers of South America. Their collision with the tide has the effect +of a tempest. + + [p] +_Of HURON or ONTARIO, inland seas,_ + +Lakes of North America. Huron is above a thousand miles in +circumference. Ontario receives the waters of the Niagara, so famous +for its falls; and discharges itself into the Atlantic by the river +St. Lawrence. + + [q] +_Hung in the tempest o’er the troubled main;_ + +The dominion of a bad angel over an unknown sea, _infestandole con +sus torbellinos y tempestades_, and his flight before a Christian +hero, are described in glowing language by Ovalle. Hist, de Chile. +IV. 8. + + [r] +_He spoke; and all was silence, all was night!_ + +These scattered fragments may be compared to shreds of old arras, or +reflections from a river broken and confused by the oar; and now and +then perhaps the imagination of the reader may supply more than is +lost. Si qua latent, meliora putat. + Illud vero perquam rarum ac memoria dignum, etiam suprema opera +artificum imperfectasque tabulas, sicut Irin Aristidis, Tyndaridas +Nicomachi, Medeam Timomachi, et quam diximus Venerem Apellis, in +majori admiratione esse, quam perfecta. + + [s] +_The soldier, &c._ + +So Fortune smil +In the Lusiad, to beguile the heavy hours at sea, Veloso relates to +his companions of the second watch the story of the Twelve Knights. +L. vi. + + [t] +_So Fortune smil’d, careless of sea or land!_ + +Among those, who went with Columbus, were many adventurers, and +gentlemen of the court. Primero was the game then in fashion. See +Vega, p. 2, lib. iii. c. 9. + + [u] +_Yet who but He undaunted could explore_ + +Many sighed and wept; and every hour seemed a year, says Herrera. +I. i. 9 and 10. + + [v] +_While his dear boys—ah, on his neck they hung,_ + +‘But I was most afflicted, when I thought of my two sons, whom I had +left behind me in a strange country….before I had done, or at least +could be known to have done, any thing which might incline your +highnesses to remember them. And though I comforted myself with the +reflection that our Lord would not suffer so earnest an endeavour for +the exaltation of his church to come to nothing, yet I considered +that, on account of my unworthiness,’ &c.—F. Columbus, c. 37. + + [w] +_Roc of the West! to him all empire giv’n!_ + +Le Condor est le même oiseau que le Roc des Orientaux. Buffon. ‘By the +Peruvians,’ says Vega, ‘he was antiently worshipped; and there were +those who claimed their descent from him.’ In these degenerate days he +still ranks above the Eagle. + + [x] +_High-hung in forests to the casing snows._ + +A custom not peculiar to the Western Hemisphere. The Tunguses of +Siberia hang their dead on trees; ‘parceque la terre ne se laisse +point ouvrir.’ Recherches Philos. sur les Americ. I. 140. + + [y] +_——and, thro’ that dismal night,_ + +‘Aquella noche triste.’ The night, on which Cortes made his famous +retreat from Mexico through the street of Tlacopan, still goes by the +name of LA NOCHE TRISTE. +HUMBOLDT. + + [z] +_By his white plume reveal’d and buskins white,_ + +It is said that Pizarro used to dress in this fashion; after Gonzalo, +whom he had served under in Italy. + + [a] +_’Twas MERION’S self, covering with dreadful shade._ + + Now one, + Now other, as their shape serv’d best his end. + +Undoubtedly, says Herrera, the Infernal Spirit assumed various shapes +in that region of the world. + + [b] +_Then, inly gliding, &c._ + +The original passage is here translated at full length. + + Then, inly gliding like a subtle flame, + Thrice, with a cry that thrill’d the mortal frame, + Call’d on the Spirit within. Disdaining flight, + Calmly she rose, collecting all her might.[1] + Dire was the dark encounter! Long unquell’d, + Her sacred seat, sovereign and pure, she held. + At length the great Foe binds her for his prize, + And awful, as in death, the body lies! + Not long to slumber! In an evil hour + Inform’d and lifted by the unknown Power, + It starts, it speaks’. “We live, we breathe no more!” &c. + +Many a modern reader will exclaim in the language of Pococurantè, +‘Quelle triste extravagance!’ Let a great theologian of that day, a +monk of the Augustine order, be consulted on the subject. ‘Corpus +ille perimere vel jugulare potest; nec id modò, verùm et animam ita +urgere, et in angustum coarctare novit, ut in momento quoque illi +excedendum sit.’ + + [1]—magnum si pectore possit + Excussisse deum. + + [c] +_The scorn of Folly, and of Fraud the prey;_ + +Nudo nocchier, promettitor di regni! + By the Genoese and the Spaniards he was regarded as a man resolved on +‘a wild dedication of himself to unpath’d waters, undream’d +shores;’ and the court of Portugal endeavoured to rob him of the glory of +his enterprise, by secretly dispatching a vessel in the course which he had +pointed out. ‘Lorsqu’il avail promis un nouvel hémisphère,’ +says Voltaire, ‘on lui avait soutenu que cet hémisphère ne pouvait +exister; et quand il l’eut découvert, on prétendit qu’il avait été +connu depuis long-temps.’ + + [d] +_The hand that snatch’d it sparkling in the tide,_ + +The drinking cups of the Islanders, if we may believe a contemporary of +Columbus, were _ex lignu…lucido confecta, el arte mirá lalorata._ P. +Martyr, dec. i. 5. + + [e] +_Rose to the Virgin._ + +Salve, regina. Herrera, I. i. 12.—It was the usual service, and +always sung with great solemnity. ‘I remember one evening,’ says +Oviedo, ‘when the ship was in full sail, and all the men were on +their knees, singing Salve, regina, &c. Relacion Sommaria.—The hymn, +O Sanctissima, is still to be heard after sunset along the shores of +Sicily, and its effect may be better conceived than described. See +Brydone, I. 330. + + [f] +_Chosen of Men!_ + +I believe that he was _chosen_ for this great service; and that, +because he was to be so truly an apostle, as in effect be proved to +be, therefore was his origin obscure; that therein he might resemble +those who were called to make known the name of the Lord from seas +and rivers, and not from courts and palaces. And I believe also, +that, as in most of his doings he was guarded by some special +providence, his very name was not without some mystery: for in it is +expressed the wonder he performed; inasmuch as he conveyed to a new +world the grace of the Holy Ghost, &c. F. COL. c. 1. + + [g] +_Slowly to land the sacred cross we bore,_ + +Signifying to the Infernal Powers (all’ infierno todo) the will of +the Most High, that they should renounce a world over which they had +tyrannised for so many ages. OVALLE, iv. 5. + + [h] +_But how the scene pourtray?_ + +‘This country excels all others, as far as the day surpasses the night in +splendour.—Nor is there a better people in the world. They love their +neighbour as themselves; their conversation is the sweetest imaginable, their +faces always smiling; and so gentle, so affectionate are they, that I swear to +your highnesses,’ &c. F. COL. c. 30, 33. + + [i] +_Nymphs of romance,_ + +Dryades formosissimas, aut nativas fontium nymphas, de quibus +fabulatur antiquitas, se vidisse arbitrati sunt. P. MARTYR, dec. i. +lib. 5. + + [j] +_Youths graceful as the Faun,_ + +An eminent Painter, when he first saw the Apollo of the Belvidere, +was struck with its resemblance to an American warrior. West’s +discourse in the Royal Academy, 1794. + + [k] +_But see, the regal plumes, the couch of state!_ + +‘The Cacique came down to the shore in a sort of palanquin—attended +by his antient men.—The gifts, which he received from me, were +afterwards carried before him.’ F. COLUMBUS, c. 32. + + [l] +_The wondrous ring, and lamp, and horse of brass._ + +The ring of Gyges, the lamp of Aladdin, and the horse of the Tartar king. + + [m] +_Ceiba,_ + +The wild cotton tree, often mentioned in History. ‘Cortes,’ says +Bernal Diaz, ‘took possession of the Country in the following manner. +Drawing his sword, he gave three cuts with it into a great Ceiba +and said———’ + + [n] +_Half bird, half fly,_ + +Here are birds so small, says Herrera, that, though they are birds, +they are taken for bees or butterflies. + + [o] +_Reigns there, and revels, &c._ + +There also was heard the wild cry of the Flamingo. + + What clarion winds along the yellow sands? + Far in the deep the giant-fisher stand, + Folding his wings of flame. + + [p] +_Who now danc’d forth, &c._ + +Their dances, which continued from evening to the dawn, were accompanied with +singing. +P. MARTYR, dec. iii. 7. + + [q] +_Who among us a life of sorrow spoil,_ + +For a summary of his life and character see ‘An Account of the +European Colonies.’ P. I. c. 8. + + [r] +_To other eyes, from distant cliff descried,_ + +Balboa immediately concluded it to be the ocean for which Columbus +had searched in vain; and when, at length, after a toilsome march +among the mountains, his guides pointed out to him the summit from +which it might be seen, he commanded his men to halt, and _went up +alone_. HERRERA, I.x. 1. + + [s] +_Hung in thy chamber, buried in thy grave!_ + +I always saw them in his room, and he ordered them to be buried with his body. +F. COL. c. 86. + + [t] +_Thy reverend form_ + +His person, says Herrera, had an air of grandeur. His hair, from many +hardships, had long been grey. In him you saw a man of an unconquerable +courage, and high thoughts; patient of wrongs, calm in adversity, ever trusting +in God:—and, had he lived in antient times, statues and temples would +have been erected to him without number, and his name would have been placed +among the stars. + + [u] +_Swept—till the voyager, in the desert air,_ + +With my own eyes I saw kingdoms as full of people, as hives are full +of bees; and now where are they? +LAS CASAS. + + [v] +_Here, in His train, shall arts and arms attend,_ + +‘There are those alive,’ said an illustrious orator, ‘whose +memory might touch the two extremities. Lord Bathurst, in 1704, was of an age +to comprehend such things—and, if his angel had then drawn up the +curtain, and, whilst he was gazing with admiration, had pointed out to him a +speck, and had told him, “Young man, there is America—which, at +this day, serves for little more than to amuse you with stories of savage men +and uncouth manners; yet shall, before you taste of death,”’ +&c. BURKE in 1775. + + [w] +_Assembling here, &c._ + +How simple were the manners of the early colonists! The first +ripening of any European fruit was distinguished by a +family-festival. Garcilasso de la Vega relates how his dear father, +the valorous Andres, collected together in his chamber seven or eight +gentlemen to share with him three asparaguses, the first that ever +grew on the table-land of Cusco. When the operation of dressing them +was over (and it is minutely described) he distributed the two +largest among his friends; begging that the company would not take it +ill, if he reserved the third for himself, _as it was a thing from +Spain_. + North America became instantly an asylum for the oppressed; +huguenots, and catholics, and sects of every name and country. Such +were the first settlers in Carolina and Maryland, Pennsylvania and +New England. Nor is South America altogether without a claim to the +title. Even now, while I am writing, the antient house of Braganza is +on its passage across the Atlantic, + Cum sociis, natoque, Penatibus, et magnis dîs. + + [x] +_Untouch’d shall drop the fetters from the slave ,_ + +Je me transporte quelquefois au delà d’un siècle. J’y vois le +bonheur à côté de l’industrie, la douce tolerance remplacant la farouche +inquisition; j’y vois un jour de fête; Péruvians, Mexicains, Américains +libres, François, s’embrassant comme des frères, et bénissant le règne de +la liberté, qui doit amener partout une harmonic universelle.—Mais les +mines, les esclaves, que deviendront-ils? Les mines se fermerout; les esclaves +seront les frères de leurs maitres. +Nouv. Voy. dans l’Amérique. + + [y] +_The spoiler spoil’d of all;_ + +Cortes. A peine put-il obtenir audience de Charles-Quint. un jour il fendit la +presse qui entourait le coche de l’empereur, et monta sur l’étrier +de la portière. Charles demanda quel était cet homme: +‘C’est,’ repondit Cortez, ‘celui qui vous a donné plus +d’etats que vos pères ne vous ont laissé de villes.’ VOLTAIRE. + + [z] +_Where on his altar-tomb, &c._ + +An Interpolation. + + [a] +_Tho’ in the western world His grave,_ + +An Anachronism. The body of Columbus was not yet removed from Seville. + It is almost unnecessary to point out another in the Ninth Canto. The +telescope was not then in use; though described long before with great accuracy +by Roger Bacon. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13586 *** |