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diff --git a/old/14100-page-images.zip b/old/14100-page-images.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f6cf407..0000000 --- a/old/14100-page-images.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/14100.txt b/old/14100.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b1270cf..0000000 --- a/old/14100.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,779 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Eighteen Hundred and Eleven, by Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Eighteen Hundred and Eleven - -Author: Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -Release Date: November 19, 2004 [EBook #14100] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN *** - - - - -Produced by David Starner. - - - - -EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN, -_A POEM_. - -BY ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD. - -LONDON: - -PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON AND CO., -ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. - -1812. - -PRINTED BY -RICHARD TAYLOR AND CO., SHOE LANE. - - - - -EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN. - -Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar, -O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war: -To the stern call still Britain bends her ear, -Feeds the fierce strife, the alternate hope and fear; -Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate, -And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state. -Colossal Power with overwhelming force [2] -Bears down each fort of Freedom in its course; -Prostrate she lies beneath the Despot's sway, -While the hushed nations curse him--and obey, - -Bounteous in vain, with frantic man at strife, -Glad Nature pours the means--the joys of life; -In vain with orange blossoms scents the gale, -The hills with olives clothes, with corn the vale; -Man calls to Famine, nor invokes in vain, -Disease and Rapine follow in her train; -The tramp of marching hosts disturbs the plough, -The sword, not sickle, reaps the harvest now, -And where the Soldier gleans the scant supply. -The helpless Peasant but retires to die; -No laws his hut from licensed outrage shield, [3] -And war's least horror is the ensanguined field. - -Fruitful in vain, the matron counts with pride -The blooming youths that grace her honoured side; -No son returns to press her widow'd hand, -Her fallen blossoms strew a foreign strand. ---Fruitful in vain, she boasts her virgin race, -Whom cultured arts adorn and gentlest grace; -Defrauded of its homage, Beauty mourns, -And the rose withers on its virgin thorns. -Frequent, some stream obscure, some uncouth name -By deeds of blood is lifted into fame; -Oft o'er the daily page some soft-one bends -To learn the fate of husband, brothers, friends, -Or the spread map with anxious eye explores, [4] -Its dotted boundaries and penciled shores, -Asks _where_ the spot that wrecked her bliss is found, -And learns its name but to detest the sound. - -And thinks't thou, Britain, still to sit at ease, -An island Queen amidst thy subject seas, -While the vext billows, in their distant roar, -But soothe thy slumbers, and but kiss thy shore? -To sport in wars, while danger keeps aloof, -Thy grassy turf unbruised by hostile hoof? -So sing thy flatterers; but, Britain, know, -Thou who hast shared the guilt must share the woe. -Nor distant is the hour; low murmurs spread, -And whispered fears, creating what they dread; -Ruin, as with an earthquake shock, is here, [5] -There, the heart-witherings of unuttered fear, -And that sad death, whence most affection bleeds, -Which sickness, only of the soul, precedes. -Thy baseless wealth dissolves in air away, -Like mists that melt before the morning ray: -No more on crowded mart or busy street -Friends, meeting friends, with cheerful hurry greet; -Sad, on the ground thy princely merchants bend -Their altered looks, and evil days portend, -And fold their arms, and watch with anxious breast -The tempest blackening in the distant West. - -Yes, thou must droop; thy Midas dream is o'er; -The golden tide of Commerce leaves thy shore, -Leaves thee to prove the alternate ills that haunt [6] -Enfeebling Luxury and ghastly Want; -Leaves thee, perhaps, to visit distant lands, -And deal the gifts of Heaven with equal hands. - -Yet, O my Country, name beloved, revered, -By every tie that binds the soul endeared, -Whose image to my infant senses came -Mixt with Religion's light and Freedom's holy flame! -If prayers may not avert, if 'tis thy fate -To rank amongst the names that once were great, -Not like the dim cold Crescent shalt thou fade, -Thy debt to Science and the Muse unpaid; -Thine are the laws surrounding states revere, -Thine the full harvest of the mental year, -Thine the bright stars in Glory's sky that shine, [7] -And arts that make it life to live are thine. -If westward streams the light that leaves thy shores, -Still from thy lamp the streaming radiance pours. -Wide spreads thy race from Ganges to the pole, -O'er half the western world thy accents roll: -Nations beyond the Apalachian hills -Thy hand has planted and thy spirit fills: -Soon as their gradual progress shall impart -The finer sense of morals and of art, -Thy stores of knowledge the new states shall know, -And think thy thoughts, and with thy fancy glow; -Thy Lockes, thy Paleys shall instruct their youth, -Thy leading star direct their search for truth; -Beneath the spreading Platan's tent-like shade, [8] -Or by Missouri's rushing waters laid, -"Old father Thames" shall be the Poets' theme, -Of Hagley's woods the enamoured virgin dream, -And Milton's tones the raptured ear enthrall, -Mixt with the roar of Niagara's fall; -In Thomson's glass the ingenuous youth shall learn -A fairer face of Nature to discern; -Nor of the Bards that swept the British lyre -Shall fade one laurel, or one note expire. -Then, loved Joanna, to admiring eyes -Thy storied groups in scenic pomp shall rise; -Their high soul'd strains and Shakespear's noble rage -Shall with alternate passion shake the stage. -Some youthful Basil from thy moral lay [9] -With stricter hand his fond desires shall sway; -Some Ethwald, as the fleeting shadows pass, -Start at his likeness in the mystic glass; -The tragic Muse resume her just controul, -With pity and with terror purge the soul, -While wide o'er transatlantic realms thy name -Shall live in light, and gather _all_ its fame. - -Where wanders Fancy down the lapse of years -Shedding o'er imaged woes untimely tears? -Fond moody Power! as hopes--as fears prevail, -She longs, or dreads, to lift the awful veil, -On visions of delight now loves to dwell, -Now hears the shriek of woe or Freedom's knell: -Perhaps, she says, long ages past away, [10] -And set in western waves our closing day, -Night, Gothic night, again may shade the plains -Where Power is seated, and where Science reigns; -England, the seat of arts, be only known -By the gray ruin and the mouldering stone; -That Time may tear the garland from her brow, -And Europe sit in dust, as Asia now. - -Yet then the ingenuous youth whom Fancy fires -With pictured glories of illustrious sires, -With duteous zeal their pilgrimage shall take -From the blue mountains, or Ontario's lake, -With fond adoring steps to press the sod -By statesmen, sages, poets, heroes trod; -On Isis' banks to draw inspiring air, [11] -From Runnymede to send the patriot's prayer; -In pensive thought, where Cam's slow waters wind, -To meet those shades that ruled the realms of mind; -In silent halls to sculptured marbles bow, -And hang fresh wreaths round Newton's awful brow. -Oft shall they seek some peasant's homely shed, -Who toils, unconscious of the mighty dead, -To ask where Avon's winding waters stray, -And thence a knot of wild flowers bear away; -Anxious enquire where Clarkson, friend of man, -Or all-accomplished Jones his race began; -If of the modest mansion aught remains -Where Heaven and Nature prompted Cowper's strains; -Where Roscoe, to whose patriot breast belong [12] -The Roman virtue and the Tuscan song, -Led Ceres to the black and barren moor -Where Ceres never gained a wreath before[1]: -With curious search their pilgrim steps shall rove -By many a ruined tower and proud alcove, -Shall listen for those strains that soothed of yore -Thy rock, stern Skiddaw, and thy fall, Lodore; -Feast with Dun Edin's classic brow their sight, -And visit "Melross by the pale moonlight." - -But who their mingled feelings shall pursue -When London's faded glories rise to view? -The mighty city, which by every road, [13] -In floods of people poured itself abroad; -Ungirt by walls, irregularly great, -No jealous drawbridge, and no closing gate; -Whose merchants (such the state which commerce brings) -Sent forth their mandates to dependant kings: -Streets, where the turban'd Moslem, bearded Jew, -And woolly Afric, met the brown Hindu; -Where through each vein spontaneous plenty flowed, -Where Wealth enjoyed, and Charity bestowed. -Pensive and thoughtful shall the wanderers greet -Each splendid square, and still, untrodden street; -Or of some crumbling turret, mined by time, -The broken stair with perilous step shall climb, -Thence stretch their view the wide horizon round, [14] -By scattered hamlets trace its antient bound, -And, choked no more with fleets, fair Thames survey -Through reeds and sedge pursue his idle way. - -With throbbing bosoms shall the wanderers tread -The hallowed mansions of the silent dead, -Shall enter the long isle and vaulted dome -Where Genius and where Valour find a home; -Awe-struck, midst chill sepulchral marbles breathe, -Where all above is still, as all beneath; -Bend at each antique shrine, and frequent turn -To clasp with fond delight some sculptured urn, -The ponderous mass of Johnson's form to greet, -Or breathe the prayer at Howard's sainted feet. - -Perhaps some Briton, in whose musing mind [15] -Those ages live which Time has cast behind, -To every spot shall lead his wondering guests -On whose known site the beam of glory rests: -Here Chatham's eloquence in thunder broke, -Here Fox persuaded, or here Garrick spoke; -Shall boast how Nelson, fame and death in view, -To wonted victory led his ardent crew, -In England's name enforced, with loftiest tone[2], -Their duty,--and too well fulfilled his own: -How gallant Moore[3], as ebbing life dissolved, -_But_ hoped his country had his fame absolved. -Or call up sages whose capacious mind [16] -Left in its course a track of light behind; -Point where mute crowds on Davy's lips reposed, -And Nature's coyest secrets were disclosed; -Join with their Franklin, Priestley's injured name, -Whom, then, each continent shall proudly claim. - -Oft shall the strangers turn their eager feet -The rich remains of antient art to greet, -The pictured walls with critic eye explore, -And Reynolds be what Raphael was before. -On spoils from every clime their eyes shall gaze, -Ægyptian granites and the Etruscan vase; -And when midst fallen London, they survey -The stone where Alexander's ashes lay, -Shall own with humbled pride the lesson just [17] -By Time's slow finger written in the dust. - -There walks a Spirit o'er the peopled earth, -Secret his progress is, unknown his birth; -Moody and viewless as the changing wind, -No force arrests his foot, no chains can bind; -Where'er he turns, the human brute awakes, -And, roused to better life, his sordid hut forsakes: -He thinks, he reasons, glows with purer fires, -Feels finer wants, and burns with new desires: -Obedient Nature follows where he leads; -The steaming marsh is changed to fruitful meads; -The beasts retire from man's asserted reign, -And prove his kingdom was not given in vain. -Then from its bed is drawn the ponderous ore, [18] -Then Commerce pours her gifts on every shore, -Then Babel's towers and terrassed gardens rise, -And pointed obelisks invade the skies; -The prince commands, in Tyrian purple drest, -And Ægypt's virgins weave the linen vest. -Then spans the graceful arch the roaring tide, -And stricter bounds the cultured fields divide. -Then kindles Fancy, then expands the heart, -Then blow the flowers of Genius and of Art; -Saints, Heroes, Sages, who the land adorn, -Seem rather to descend than to be born; -Whilst History, midst the rolls consigned to fame, -With pen of adamant inscribes their name. - -The Genius now forsakes the favoured shore, [19] -And hates, capricious, what he loved before; -Then empires fall to dust, then arts decay, -And wasted realms enfeebled despots sway; -Even Nature's changed; without his fostering smile -Ophir no gold, no plenty yields the Nile; -The thirsty sand absorbs the useless rill, -And spotted plagues from putrid fens distill. -In desert solitudes then Tadmor sleeps, -Stern Marius then o'er fallen Carthage weeps; -Then with enthusiast love the pilgrim roves -To seek his footsteps in forsaken groves, -Explores the fractured arch, the ruined tower, -Those limbs disjointed of gigantic power; -Still at each step he dreads the adder's sting, [20] -The Arab's javelin, or the tiger's spring; -With doubtful caution treads the echoing ground. -And asks where Troy or Babylon is found. - -And now the vagrant Power no more detains -The vale of Tempe, or Ausonian plains; -Northward he throws the animating ray, -O'er Celtic nations bursts the mental day: -And, as some playful child the mirror turns, -Now here now there the moving lustre burns; -Now o'er his changeful fancy more prevail -Batavia's dykes than Arno's purple vale, -And stinted suns, and rivers bound with frost, -Than Enna's plains or Baia's viny coast; -Venice the Adriatic weds in vain, [21] -And Death sits brooding o'er Campania's plain; -O'er Baltic shores and through Hercynian groves, -Stirring the soul, the mighty impulse moves; -Art plies his tools, arid Commerce spreads her sail, -And wealth is wafted in each shifting gale. -The sons of Odin tread on Persian looms, -And Odin's daughters breathe distilled perfumes; -Loud minstrel Bards, in Gothic halls, rehearse -The Runic rhyme, and "build the lofty verse:" -The Muse, whose liquid notes were wont to swell -To the soft breathings of the' Æolian shell, -Submits, reluctant, to the harsher tone, -And scarce believes the altered voice her own. -And now, where Cæsar saw with proud disdain [22] -The wattled hut and skin of azure stain, -Corinthian columns rear their graceful forms, -And light varandas brave the wintry storms, -While British tongues the fading fame prolong -Of Tully's eloquence and Maro's song. -Where once Bonduca whirled the scythed car, -And the fierce matrons raised the shriek of war, -Light forms beneath transparent muslins float, -And tutored voices swell the artful note. -Light-leaved acacias and the shady plane -And spreading cedar grace the woodland reign; -While crystal walls the tenderer plants confine, -The fragrant orange and the nectared pine; -The Syrian grape there hangs her rich festoons, [23] -Nor asks for purer air, or brighter noons: -Science and Art urge on the useful toil, -New mould a climate and create the soil, -Subdue the rigour of the northern Bear, -O'er polar climes shed aromatic air, -On yielding Nature urge their new demands, -And ask not gifts but tribute at her hands. - -London exults:--on London Art bestows -Her summer ices and her winter rose; -Gems of the East her mural crown adorn, -And Plenty at her feet pours forth her horn; -While even the exiles her just laws disclaim, -People a continent, and build a name: -August she sits, and with extended hands [24] -Holds forth the book of life to distant lands. - -But fairest flowers expand but to decay; -The worm is in thy core, thy glories pass away; -Arts, arms and wealth destroy the fruits they bring; -Commerce, like beauty, knows no second spring. -Crime walks thy streets, Fraud earns her unblest bread, -O'er want and woe thy gorgeous robe is spread, -And angel charities in vain oppose: -With grandeur's growth the mass of misery grows. -For see,--to other climes the Genius soars, -He turns from Europe's desolated shores; -And lo, even now, midst mountains wrapt in storm, -On Andes' heights he shrouds his awful form; -On Chimborazo's summits treads sublime, [25] -Measuring in lofty thought the march of Time; -Sudden he calls:--"'Tis now the hour!" he cries, -Spreads his broad hand, and bids the nations rise. -La Plata hears amidst her torrents' roar, -Potosi hears it, as she digs the ore: -Ardent, the Genius fans the noble strife, -And pours through feeble souls a higher life, -Shouts to the mingled tribes from sea to sea, -And swears--Thy world, Columbus, shall be free. - -THE END. - -Footnotes: - -[1] The Historian of the age of Leo has brought into cultivation -the extensive tract of Chatmoss. - -[2] Every reader will recollect the sublime telegraphic dispatch, -"England expects every man to do his duty." - - -[3] "I hope England will be satisfied," were the last words of -General Moore. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eighteen Hundred and Eleven -by Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN *** - -***** This file should be named 14100.txt or 14100.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/1/0/14100/ - -Produced by David Starner. - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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JOHNSON AND CO., -ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. - -1812. - -PRINTED BY -RICHARD TAYLOR AND CO., SHOE LANE. - - - - -EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN. - -Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar, -O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war: -To the stern call still Britain bends her ear, -Feeds the fierce strife, the alternate hope and fear; -Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate, -And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state. -Colossal Power with overwhelming force [2] -Bears down each fort of Freedom in its course; -Prostrate she lies beneath the Despot's sway, -While the hushed nations curse him--and obey, - -Bounteous in vain, with frantic man at strife, -Glad Nature pours the means--the joys of life; -In vain with orange blossoms scents the gale, -The hills with olives clothes, with corn the vale; -Man calls to Famine, nor invokes in vain, -Disease and Rapine follow in her train; -The tramp of marching hosts disturbs the plough, -The sword, not sickle, reaps the harvest now, -And where the Soldier gleans the scant supply. -The helpless Peasant but retires to die; -No laws his hut from licensed outrage shield, [3] -And war's least horror is the ensanguined field. - -Fruitful in vain, the matron counts with pride -The blooming youths that grace her honoured side; -No son returns to press her widow'd hand, -Her fallen blossoms strew a foreign strand. ---Fruitful in vain, she boasts her virgin race, -Whom cultured arts adorn and gentlest grace; -Defrauded of its homage, Beauty mourns, -And the rose withers on its virgin thorns. -Frequent, some stream obscure, some uncouth name -By deeds of blood is lifted into fame; -Oft o'er the daily page some soft-one bends -To learn the fate of husband, brothers, friends, -Or the spread map with anxious eye explores, [4] -Its dotted boundaries and penciled shores, -Asks _where_ the spot that wrecked her bliss is found, -And learns its name but to detest the sound. - -And thinks't thou, Britain, still to sit at ease, -An island Queen amidst thy subject seas, -While the vext billows, in their distant roar, -But soothe thy slumbers, and but kiss thy shore? -To sport in wars, while danger keeps aloof, -Thy grassy turf unbruised by hostile hoof? -So sing thy flatterers; but, Britain, know, -Thou who hast shared the guilt must share the woe. -Nor distant is the hour; low murmurs spread, -And whispered fears, creating what they dread; -Ruin, as with an earthquake shock, is here, [5] -There, the heart-witherings of unuttered fear, -And that sad death, whence most affection bleeds, -Which sickness, only of the soul, precedes. -Thy baseless wealth dissolves in air away, -Like mists that melt before the morning ray: -No more on crowded mart or busy street -Friends, meeting friends, with cheerful hurry greet; -Sad, on the ground thy princely merchants bend -Their altered looks, and evil days portend, -And fold their arms, and watch with anxious breast -The tempest blackening in the distant West. - -Yes, thou must droop; thy Midas dream is o'er; -The golden tide of Commerce leaves thy shore, -Leaves thee to prove the alternate ills that haunt [6] -Enfeebling Luxury and ghastly Want; -Leaves thee, perhaps, to visit distant lands, -And deal the gifts of Heaven with equal hands. - -Yet, O my Country, name beloved, revered, -By every tie that binds the soul endeared, -Whose image to my infant senses came -Mixt with Religion's light and Freedom's holy flame! -If prayers may not avert, if 'tis thy fate -To rank amongst the names that once were great, -Not like the dim cold Crescent shalt thou fade, -Thy debt to Science and the Muse unpaid; -Thine are the laws surrounding states revere, -Thine the full harvest of the mental year, -Thine the bright stars in Glory's sky that shine, [7] -And arts that make it life to live are thine. -If westward streams the light that leaves thy shores, -Still from thy lamp the streaming radiance pours. -Wide spreads thy race from Ganges to the pole, -O'er half the western world thy accents roll: -Nations beyond the Apalachian hills -Thy hand has planted and thy spirit fills: -Soon as their gradual progress shall impart -The finer sense of morals and of art, -Thy stores of knowledge the new states shall know, -And think thy thoughts, and with thy fancy glow; -Thy Lockes, thy Paleys shall instruct their youth, -Thy leading star direct their search for truth; -Beneath the spreading Platan's tent-like shade, [8] -Or by Missouri's rushing waters laid, -"Old father Thames" shall be the Poets' theme, -Of Hagley's woods the enamoured virgin dream, -And Milton's tones the raptured ear enthrall, -Mixt with the roar of Niagara's fall; -In Thomson's glass the ingenuous youth shall learn -A fairer face of Nature to discern; -Nor of the Bards that swept the British lyre -Shall fade one laurel, or one note expire. -Then, loved Joanna, to admiring eyes -Thy storied groups in scenic pomp shall rise; -Their high soul'd strains and Shakespear's noble rage -Shall with alternate passion shake the stage. -Some youthful Basil from thy moral lay [9] -With stricter hand his fond desires shall sway; -Some Ethwald, as the fleeting shadows pass, -Start at his likeness in the mystic glass; -The tragic Muse resume her just controul, -With pity and with terror purge the soul, -While wide o'er transatlantic realms thy name -Shall live in light, and gather _all_ its fame. - -Where wanders Fancy down the lapse of years -Shedding o'er imaged woes untimely tears? -Fond moody Power! as hopes--as fears prevail, -She longs, or dreads, to lift the awful veil, -On visions of delight now loves to dwell, -Now hears the shriek of woe or Freedom's knell: -Perhaps, she says, long ages past away, [10] -And set in western waves our closing day, -Night, Gothic night, again may shade the plains -Where Power is seated, and where Science reigns; -England, the seat of arts, be only known -By the gray ruin and the mouldering stone; -That Time may tear the garland from her brow, -And Europe sit in dust, as Asia now. - -Yet then the ingenuous youth whom Fancy fires -With pictured glories of illustrious sires, -With duteous zeal their pilgrimage shall take -From the blue mountains, or Ontario's lake, -With fond adoring steps to press the sod -By statesmen, sages, poets, heroes trod; -On Isis' banks to draw inspiring air, [11] -From Runnymede to send the patriot's prayer; -In pensive thought, where Cam's slow waters wind, -To meet those shades that ruled the realms of mind; -In silent halls to sculptured marbles bow, -And hang fresh wreaths round Newton's awful brow. -Oft shall they seek some peasant's homely shed, -Who toils, unconscious of the mighty dead, -To ask where Avon's winding waters stray, -And thence a knot of wild flowers bear away; -Anxious enquire where Clarkson, friend of man, -Or all-accomplished Jones his race began; -If of the modest mansion aught remains -Where Heaven and Nature prompted Cowper's strains; -Where Roscoe, to whose patriot breast belong [12] -The Roman virtue and the Tuscan song, -Led Ceres to the black and barren moor -Where Ceres never gained a wreath before[1]: -With curious search their pilgrim steps shall rove -By many a ruined tower and proud alcove, -Shall listen for those strains that soothed of yore -Thy rock, stern Skiddaw, and thy fall, Lodore; -Feast with Dun Edin's classic brow their sight, -And visit "Melross by the pale moonlight." - -But who their mingled feelings shall pursue -When London's faded glories rise to view? -The mighty city, which by every road, [13] -In floods of people poured itself abroad; -Ungirt by walls, irregularly great, -No jealous drawbridge, and no closing gate; -Whose merchants (such the state which commerce brings) -Sent forth their mandates to dependant kings: -Streets, where the turban'd Moslem, bearded Jew, -And woolly Afric, met the brown Hindu; -Where through each vein spontaneous plenty flowed, -Where Wealth enjoyed, and Charity bestowed. -Pensive and thoughtful shall the wanderers greet -Each splendid square, and still, untrodden street; -Or of some crumbling turret, mined by time, -The broken stair with perilous step shall climb, -Thence stretch their view the wide horizon round, [14] -By scattered hamlets trace its antient bound, -And, choked no more with fleets, fair Thames survey -Through reeds and sedge pursue his idle way. - -With throbbing bosoms shall the wanderers tread -The hallowed mansions of the silent dead, -Shall enter the long isle and vaulted dome -Where Genius and where Valour find a home; -Awe-struck, midst chill sepulchral marbles breathe, -Where all above is still, as all beneath; -Bend at each antique shrine, and frequent turn -To clasp with fond delight some sculptured urn, -The ponderous mass of Johnson's form to greet, -Or breathe the prayer at Howard's sainted feet. - -Perhaps some Briton, in whose musing mind [15] -Those ages live which Time has cast behind, -To every spot shall lead his wondering guests -On whose known site the beam of glory rests: -Here Chatham's eloquence in thunder broke, -Here Fox persuaded, or here Garrick spoke; -Shall boast how Nelson, fame and death in view, -To wonted victory led his ardent crew, -In England's name enforced, with loftiest tone[2], -Their duty,--and too well fulfilled his own: -How gallant Moore[3], as ebbing life dissolved, -_But_ hoped his country had his fame absolved. -Or call up sages whose capacious mind [16] -Left in its course a track of light behind; -Point where mute crowds on Davy's lips reposed, -And Nature's coyest secrets were disclosed; -Join with their Franklin, Priestley's injured name, -Whom, then, each continent shall proudly claim. - -Oft shall the strangers turn their eager feet -The rich remains of antient art to greet, -The pictured walls with critic eye explore, -And Reynolds be what Raphael was before. -On spoils from every clime their eyes shall gaze, -Ægyptian granites and the Etruscan vase; -And when midst fallen London, they survey -The stone where Alexander's ashes lay, -Shall own with humbled pride the lesson just [17] -By Time's slow finger written in the dust. - -There walks a Spirit o'er the peopled earth, -Secret his progress is, unknown his birth; -Moody and viewless as the changing wind, -No force arrests his foot, no chains can bind; -Where'er he turns, the human brute awakes, -And, roused to better life, his sordid hut forsakes: -He thinks, he reasons, glows with purer fires, -Feels finer wants, and burns with new desires: -Obedient Nature follows where he leads; -The steaming marsh is changed to fruitful meads; -The beasts retire from man's asserted reign, -And prove his kingdom was not given in vain. -Then from its bed is drawn the ponderous ore, [18] -Then Commerce pours her gifts on every shore, -Then Babel's towers and terrassed gardens rise, -And pointed obelisks invade the skies; -The prince commands, in Tyrian purple drest, -And Ægypt's virgins weave the linen vest. -Then spans the graceful arch the roaring tide, -And stricter bounds the cultured fields divide. -Then kindles Fancy, then expands the heart, -Then blow the flowers of Genius and of Art; -Saints, Heroes, Sages, who the land adorn, -Seem rather to descend than to be born; -Whilst History, midst the rolls consigned to fame, -With pen of adamant inscribes their name. - -The Genius now forsakes the favoured shore, [19] -And hates, capricious, what he loved before; -Then empires fall to dust, then arts decay, -And wasted realms enfeebled despots sway; -Even Nature's changed; without his fostering smile -Ophir no gold, no plenty yields the Nile; -The thirsty sand absorbs the useless rill, -And spotted plagues from putrid fens distill. -In desert solitudes then Tadmor sleeps, -Stern Marius then o'er fallen Carthage weeps; -Then with enthusiast love the pilgrim roves -To seek his footsteps in forsaken groves, -Explores the fractured arch, the ruined tower, -Those limbs disjointed of gigantic power; -Still at each step he dreads the adder's sting, [20] -The Arab's javelin, or the tiger's spring; -With doubtful caution treads the echoing ground. -And asks where Troy or Babylon is found. - -And now the vagrant Power no more detains -The vale of Tempe, or Ausonian plains; -Northward he throws the animating ray, -O'er Celtic nations bursts the mental day: -And, as some playful child the mirror turns, -Now here now there the moving lustre burns; -Now o'er his changeful fancy more prevail -Batavia's dykes than Arno's purple vale, -And stinted suns, and rivers bound with frost, -Than Enna's plains or Baia's viny coast; -Venice the Adriatic weds in vain, [21] -And Death sits brooding o'er Campania's plain; -O'er Baltic shores and through Hercynian groves, -Stirring the soul, the mighty impulse moves; -Art plies his tools, arid Commerce spreads her sail, -And wealth is wafted in each shifting gale. -The sons of Odin tread on Persian looms, -And Odin's daughters breathe distilled perfumes; -Loud minstrel Bards, in Gothic halls, rehearse -The Runic rhyme, and "build the lofty verse:" -The Muse, whose liquid notes were wont to swell -To the soft breathings of the' Æolian shell, -Submits, reluctant, to the harsher tone, -And scarce believes the altered voice her own. -And now, where Cæsar saw with proud disdain [22] -The wattled hut and skin of azure stain, -Corinthian columns rear their graceful forms, -And light varandas brave the wintry storms, -While British tongues the fading fame prolong -Of Tully's eloquence and Maro's song. -Where once Bonduca whirled the scythed car, -And the fierce matrons raised the shriek of war, -Light forms beneath transparent muslins float, -And tutored voices swell the artful note. -Light-leaved acacias and the shady plane -And spreading cedar grace the woodland reign; -While crystal walls the tenderer plants confine, -The fragrant orange and the nectared pine; -The Syrian grape there hangs her rich festoons, [23] -Nor asks for purer air, or brighter noons: -Science and Art urge on the useful toil, -New mould a climate and create the soil, -Subdue the rigour of the northern Bear, -O'er polar climes shed aromatic air, -On yielding Nature urge their new demands, -And ask not gifts but tribute at her hands. - -London exults:--on London Art bestows -Her summer ices and her winter rose; -Gems of the East her mural crown adorn, -And Plenty at her feet pours forth her horn; -While even the exiles her just laws disclaim, -People a continent, and build a name: -August she sits, and with extended hands [24] -Holds forth the book of life to distant lands. - -But fairest flowers expand but to decay; -The worm is in thy core, thy glories pass away; -Arts, arms and wealth destroy the fruits they bring; -Commerce, like beauty, knows no second spring. -Crime walks thy streets, Fraud earns her unblest bread, -O'er want and woe thy gorgeous robe is spread, -And angel charities in vain oppose: -With grandeur's growth the mass of misery grows. -For see,--to other climes the Genius soars, -He turns from Europe's desolated shores; -And lo, even now, midst mountains wrapt in storm, -On Andes' heights he shrouds his awful form; -On Chimborazo's summits treads sublime, [25] -Measuring in lofty thought the march of Time; -Sudden he calls:--"'Tis now the hour!" he cries, -Spreads his broad hand, and bids the nations rise. -La Plata hears amidst her torrents' roar, -Potosi hears it, as she digs the ore: -Ardent, the Genius fans the noble strife, -And pours through feeble souls a higher life, -Shouts to the mingled tribes from sea to sea, -And swears--Thy world, Columbus, shall be free. - -THE END. - -Footnotes: - -[1] The Historian of the age of Leo has brought into cultivation -the extensive tract of Chatmoss. - -[2] Every reader will recollect the sublime telegraphic dispatch, -"England expects every man to do his duty." - - -[3] "I hope England will be satisfied," were the last words of -General Moore. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eighteen Hundred and Eleven -by Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14100 *** diff --git a/old/old-2025-03-06/14100-page-images.zip b/old/old-2025-03-06/14100-page-images.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f6cf407..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-03-06/14100-page-images.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-03-06/14100.txt b/old/old-2025-03-06/14100.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b1270cf..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-03-06/14100.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,779 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Eighteen Hundred and Eleven, by Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Eighteen Hundred and Eleven - -Author: Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -Release Date: November 19, 2004 [EBook #14100] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN *** - - - - -Produced by David Starner. - - - - -EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN, -_A POEM_. - -BY ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD. - -LONDON: - -PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON AND CO., -ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. - -1812. - -PRINTED BY -RICHARD TAYLOR AND CO., SHOE LANE. - - - - -EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN. - -Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar, -O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war: -To the stern call still Britain bends her ear, -Feeds the fierce strife, the alternate hope and fear; -Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate, -And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state. -Colossal Power with overwhelming force [2] -Bears down each fort of Freedom in its course; -Prostrate she lies beneath the Despot's sway, -While the hushed nations curse him--and obey, - -Bounteous in vain, with frantic man at strife, -Glad Nature pours the means--the joys of life; -In vain with orange blossoms scents the gale, -The hills with olives clothes, with corn the vale; -Man calls to Famine, nor invokes in vain, -Disease and Rapine follow in her train; -The tramp of marching hosts disturbs the plough, -The sword, not sickle, reaps the harvest now, -And where the Soldier gleans the scant supply. -The helpless Peasant but retires to die; -No laws his hut from licensed outrage shield, [3] -And war's least horror is the ensanguined field. - -Fruitful in vain, the matron counts with pride -The blooming youths that grace her honoured side; -No son returns to press her widow'd hand, -Her fallen blossoms strew a foreign strand. ---Fruitful in vain, she boasts her virgin race, -Whom cultured arts adorn and gentlest grace; -Defrauded of its homage, Beauty mourns, -And the rose withers on its virgin thorns. -Frequent, some stream obscure, some uncouth name -By deeds of blood is lifted into fame; -Oft o'er the daily page some soft-one bends -To learn the fate of husband, brothers, friends, -Or the spread map with anxious eye explores, [4] -Its dotted boundaries and penciled shores, -Asks _where_ the spot that wrecked her bliss is found, -And learns its name but to detest the sound. - -And thinks't thou, Britain, still to sit at ease, -An island Queen amidst thy subject seas, -While the vext billows, in their distant roar, -But soothe thy slumbers, and but kiss thy shore? -To sport in wars, while danger keeps aloof, -Thy grassy turf unbruised by hostile hoof? -So sing thy flatterers; but, Britain, know, -Thou who hast shared the guilt must share the woe. -Nor distant is the hour; low murmurs spread, -And whispered fears, creating what they dread; -Ruin, as with an earthquake shock, is here, [5] -There, the heart-witherings of unuttered fear, -And that sad death, whence most affection bleeds, -Which sickness, only of the soul, precedes. -Thy baseless wealth dissolves in air away, -Like mists that melt before the morning ray: -No more on crowded mart or busy street -Friends, meeting friends, with cheerful hurry greet; -Sad, on the ground thy princely merchants bend -Their altered looks, and evil days portend, -And fold their arms, and watch with anxious breast -The tempest blackening in the distant West. - -Yes, thou must droop; thy Midas dream is o'er; -The golden tide of Commerce leaves thy shore, -Leaves thee to prove the alternate ills that haunt [6] -Enfeebling Luxury and ghastly Want; -Leaves thee, perhaps, to visit distant lands, -And deal the gifts of Heaven with equal hands. - -Yet, O my Country, name beloved, revered, -By every tie that binds the soul endeared, -Whose image to my infant senses came -Mixt with Religion's light and Freedom's holy flame! -If prayers may not avert, if 'tis thy fate -To rank amongst the names that once were great, -Not like the dim cold Crescent shalt thou fade, -Thy debt to Science and the Muse unpaid; -Thine are the laws surrounding states revere, -Thine the full harvest of the mental year, -Thine the bright stars in Glory's sky that shine, [7] -And arts that make it life to live are thine. -If westward streams the light that leaves thy shores, -Still from thy lamp the streaming radiance pours. -Wide spreads thy race from Ganges to the pole, -O'er half the western world thy accents roll: -Nations beyond the Apalachian hills -Thy hand has planted and thy spirit fills: -Soon as their gradual progress shall impart -The finer sense of morals and of art, -Thy stores of knowledge the new states shall know, -And think thy thoughts, and with thy fancy glow; -Thy Lockes, thy Paleys shall instruct their youth, -Thy leading star direct their search for truth; -Beneath the spreading Platan's tent-like shade, [8] -Or by Missouri's rushing waters laid, -"Old father Thames" shall be the Poets' theme, -Of Hagley's woods the enamoured virgin dream, -And Milton's tones the raptured ear enthrall, -Mixt with the roar of Niagara's fall; -In Thomson's glass the ingenuous youth shall learn -A fairer face of Nature to discern; -Nor of the Bards that swept the British lyre -Shall fade one laurel, or one note expire. -Then, loved Joanna, to admiring eyes -Thy storied groups in scenic pomp shall rise; -Their high soul'd strains and Shakespear's noble rage -Shall with alternate passion shake the stage. -Some youthful Basil from thy moral lay [9] -With stricter hand his fond desires shall sway; -Some Ethwald, as the fleeting shadows pass, -Start at his likeness in the mystic glass; -The tragic Muse resume her just controul, -With pity and with terror purge the soul, -While wide o'er transatlantic realms thy name -Shall live in light, and gather _all_ its fame. - -Where wanders Fancy down the lapse of years -Shedding o'er imaged woes untimely tears? -Fond moody Power! as hopes--as fears prevail, -She longs, or dreads, to lift the awful veil, -On visions of delight now loves to dwell, -Now hears the shriek of woe or Freedom's knell: -Perhaps, she says, long ages past away, [10] -And set in western waves our closing day, -Night, Gothic night, again may shade the plains -Where Power is seated, and where Science reigns; -England, the seat of arts, be only known -By the gray ruin and the mouldering stone; -That Time may tear the garland from her brow, -And Europe sit in dust, as Asia now. - -Yet then the ingenuous youth whom Fancy fires -With pictured glories of illustrious sires, -With duteous zeal their pilgrimage shall take -From the blue mountains, or Ontario's lake, -With fond adoring steps to press the sod -By statesmen, sages, poets, heroes trod; -On Isis' banks to draw inspiring air, [11] -From Runnymede to send the patriot's prayer; -In pensive thought, where Cam's slow waters wind, -To meet those shades that ruled the realms of mind; -In silent halls to sculptured marbles bow, -And hang fresh wreaths round Newton's awful brow. -Oft shall they seek some peasant's homely shed, -Who toils, unconscious of the mighty dead, -To ask where Avon's winding waters stray, -And thence a knot of wild flowers bear away; -Anxious enquire where Clarkson, friend of man, -Or all-accomplished Jones his race began; -If of the modest mansion aught remains -Where Heaven and Nature prompted Cowper's strains; -Where Roscoe, to whose patriot breast belong [12] -The Roman virtue and the Tuscan song, -Led Ceres to the black and barren moor -Where Ceres never gained a wreath before[1]: -With curious search their pilgrim steps shall rove -By many a ruined tower and proud alcove, -Shall listen for those strains that soothed of yore -Thy rock, stern Skiddaw, and thy fall, Lodore; -Feast with Dun Edin's classic brow their sight, -And visit "Melross by the pale moonlight." - -But who their mingled feelings shall pursue -When London's faded glories rise to view? -The mighty city, which by every road, [13] -In floods of people poured itself abroad; -Ungirt by walls, irregularly great, -No jealous drawbridge, and no closing gate; -Whose merchants (such the state which commerce brings) -Sent forth their mandates to dependant kings: -Streets, where the turban'd Moslem, bearded Jew, -And woolly Afric, met the brown Hindu; -Where through each vein spontaneous plenty flowed, -Where Wealth enjoyed, and Charity bestowed. -Pensive and thoughtful shall the wanderers greet -Each splendid square, and still, untrodden street; -Or of some crumbling turret, mined by time, -The broken stair with perilous step shall climb, -Thence stretch their view the wide horizon round, [14] -By scattered hamlets trace its antient bound, -And, choked no more with fleets, fair Thames survey -Through reeds and sedge pursue his idle way. - -With throbbing bosoms shall the wanderers tread -The hallowed mansions of the silent dead, -Shall enter the long isle and vaulted dome -Where Genius and where Valour find a home; -Awe-struck, midst chill sepulchral marbles breathe, -Where all above is still, as all beneath; -Bend at each antique shrine, and frequent turn -To clasp with fond delight some sculptured urn, -The ponderous mass of Johnson's form to greet, -Or breathe the prayer at Howard's sainted feet. - -Perhaps some Briton, in whose musing mind [15] -Those ages live which Time has cast behind, -To every spot shall lead his wondering guests -On whose known site the beam of glory rests: -Here Chatham's eloquence in thunder broke, -Here Fox persuaded, or here Garrick spoke; -Shall boast how Nelson, fame and death in view, -To wonted victory led his ardent crew, -In England's name enforced, with loftiest tone[2], -Their duty,--and too well fulfilled his own: -How gallant Moore[3], as ebbing life dissolved, -_But_ hoped his country had his fame absolved. -Or call up sages whose capacious mind [16] -Left in its course a track of light behind; -Point where mute crowds on Davy's lips reposed, -And Nature's coyest secrets were disclosed; -Join with their Franklin, Priestley's injured name, -Whom, then, each continent shall proudly claim. - -Oft shall the strangers turn their eager feet -The rich remains of antient art to greet, -The pictured walls with critic eye explore, -And Reynolds be what Raphael was before. -On spoils from every clime their eyes shall gaze, -Ægyptian granites and the Etruscan vase; -And when midst fallen London, they survey -The stone where Alexander's ashes lay, -Shall own with humbled pride the lesson just [17] -By Time's slow finger written in the dust. - -There walks a Spirit o'er the peopled earth, -Secret his progress is, unknown his birth; -Moody and viewless as the changing wind, -No force arrests his foot, no chains can bind; -Where'er he turns, the human brute awakes, -And, roused to better life, his sordid hut forsakes: -He thinks, he reasons, glows with purer fires, -Feels finer wants, and burns with new desires: -Obedient Nature follows where he leads; -The steaming marsh is changed to fruitful meads; -The beasts retire from man's asserted reign, -And prove his kingdom was not given in vain. -Then from its bed is drawn the ponderous ore, [18] -Then Commerce pours her gifts on every shore, -Then Babel's towers and terrassed gardens rise, -And pointed obelisks invade the skies; -The prince commands, in Tyrian purple drest, -And Ægypt's virgins weave the linen vest. -Then spans the graceful arch the roaring tide, -And stricter bounds the cultured fields divide. -Then kindles Fancy, then expands the heart, -Then blow the flowers of Genius and of Art; -Saints, Heroes, Sages, who the land adorn, -Seem rather to descend than to be born; -Whilst History, midst the rolls consigned to fame, -With pen of adamant inscribes their name. - -The Genius now forsakes the favoured shore, [19] -And hates, capricious, what he loved before; -Then empires fall to dust, then arts decay, -And wasted realms enfeebled despots sway; -Even Nature's changed; without his fostering smile -Ophir no gold, no plenty yields the Nile; -The thirsty sand absorbs the useless rill, -And spotted plagues from putrid fens distill. -In desert solitudes then Tadmor sleeps, -Stern Marius then o'er fallen Carthage weeps; -Then with enthusiast love the pilgrim roves -To seek his footsteps in forsaken groves, -Explores the fractured arch, the ruined tower, -Those limbs disjointed of gigantic power; -Still at each step he dreads the adder's sting, [20] -The Arab's javelin, or the tiger's spring; -With doubtful caution treads the echoing ground. -And asks where Troy or Babylon is found. - -And now the vagrant Power no more detains -The vale of Tempe, or Ausonian plains; -Northward he throws the animating ray, -O'er Celtic nations bursts the mental day: -And, as some playful child the mirror turns, -Now here now there the moving lustre burns; -Now o'er his changeful fancy more prevail -Batavia's dykes than Arno's purple vale, -And stinted suns, and rivers bound with frost, -Than Enna's plains or Baia's viny coast; -Venice the Adriatic weds in vain, [21] -And Death sits brooding o'er Campania's plain; -O'er Baltic shores and through Hercynian groves, -Stirring the soul, the mighty impulse moves; -Art plies his tools, arid Commerce spreads her sail, -And wealth is wafted in each shifting gale. -The sons of Odin tread on Persian looms, -And Odin's daughters breathe distilled perfumes; -Loud minstrel Bards, in Gothic halls, rehearse -The Runic rhyme, and "build the lofty verse:" -The Muse, whose liquid notes were wont to swell -To the soft breathings of the' Æolian shell, -Submits, reluctant, to the harsher tone, -And scarce believes the altered voice her own. -And now, where Cæsar saw with proud disdain [22] -The wattled hut and skin of azure stain, -Corinthian columns rear their graceful forms, -And light varandas brave the wintry storms, -While British tongues the fading fame prolong -Of Tully's eloquence and Maro's song. -Where once Bonduca whirled the scythed car, -And the fierce matrons raised the shriek of war, -Light forms beneath transparent muslins float, -And tutored voices swell the artful note. -Light-leaved acacias and the shady plane -And spreading cedar grace the woodland reign; -While crystal walls the tenderer plants confine, -The fragrant orange and the nectared pine; -The Syrian grape there hangs her rich festoons, [23] -Nor asks for purer air, or brighter noons: -Science and Art urge on the useful toil, -New mould a climate and create the soil, -Subdue the rigour of the northern Bear, -O'er polar climes shed aromatic air, -On yielding Nature urge their new demands, -And ask not gifts but tribute at her hands. - -London exults:--on London Art bestows -Her summer ices and her winter rose; -Gems of the East her mural crown adorn, -And Plenty at her feet pours forth her horn; -While even the exiles her just laws disclaim, -People a continent, and build a name: -August she sits, and with extended hands [24] -Holds forth the book of life to distant lands. - -But fairest flowers expand but to decay; -The worm is in thy core, thy glories pass away; -Arts, arms and wealth destroy the fruits they bring; -Commerce, like beauty, knows no second spring. -Crime walks thy streets, Fraud earns her unblest bread, -O'er want and woe thy gorgeous robe is spread, -And angel charities in vain oppose: -With grandeur's growth the mass of misery grows. -For see,--to other climes the Genius soars, -He turns from Europe's desolated shores; -And lo, even now, midst mountains wrapt in storm, -On Andes' heights he shrouds his awful form; -On Chimborazo's summits treads sublime, [25] -Measuring in lofty thought the march of Time; -Sudden he calls:--"'Tis now the hour!" he cries, -Spreads his broad hand, and bids the nations rise. -La Plata hears amidst her torrents' roar, -Potosi hears it, as she digs the ore: -Ardent, the Genius fans the noble strife, -And pours through feeble souls a higher life, -Shouts to the mingled tribes from sea to sea, -And swears--Thy world, Columbus, shall be free. - -THE END. - -Footnotes: - -[1] The Historian of the age of Leo has brought into cultivation -the extensive tract of Chatmoss. - -[2] Every reader will recollect the sublime telegraphic dispatch, -"England expects every man to do his duty." - - -[3] "I hope England will be satisfied," were the last words of -General Moore. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eighteen Hundred and Eleven -by Anna Laetitia Barbauld - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN *** - -***** This file should be named 14100.txt or 14100.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/1/0/14100/ - -Produced by David Starner. - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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