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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:56 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:56 -0700 |
| commit | 1053e4763c769fbc0cf987f4f555827d75100b60 (patch) | |
| tree | 4cae88b7b4e7d40e9ee0c243d78ef81050aeac56 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 14617-0.txt | 3158 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/14617-8.txt | 3552 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/14617-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 54115 bytes | |||
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14617-0.txt b/14617-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed1682d --- /dev/null +++ b/14617-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3158 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14617 *** + +POEMS, &c. + + + +POEMS; + +WHEREIN IT IS ATTEMPTED TO DESCRIBE + +CERTAIN VIEWS OF NATURE + +AND OF + +RUSTIC MANNERS; + +AND ALSO, + +TO POINT OUT, IN SOME INSTANCES, THE DIFFERENT INFLUENCE WHICH THE SAME +CIRCUMSTANCES PRODUCE ON DIFFERENT CHARACTERS. + + + +LONDON: + +PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, SAINT PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD. + +MDCCXC. + + + + +A WINTER DAY. + +The cock, warm roosting 'midst his feather'd dames, +Now lifts his beak and snuffs the morning air, +Stretches his neck and claps his heavy wings, +Gives three hoarse crows, and glad his talk is done; +Low, chuckling, turns himself upon the roost, +Then nestles down again amongst his mates. +The lab'ring hind, who on his bed of straw, +Beneath his home-made coverings, coarse, but warm, +Lock'd in the kindly arms of her who spun them, +Dreams of the gain that next year's crop should bring; +Or at some fair disposing of his wool, +Or by some lucky and unlook'd-for bargain. +Fills his skin purse with heaps of tempting gold, +Now wakes from sleep at the unwelcome call, +And finds himself but just the same poor man +As when he went to rest.-- +He hears the blast against his window beat, +And wishes to himself he were a lord, +That he might lie a-bed.-- +He rubs his eyes, and stretches out his arms; +Heigh ho! heigh ho! he drawls with gaping mouth, +Then most unwillingly creeps out of bed, +And without looking-glass puts on his clothes. +With rueful face he blows the smother'd fire, +And lights his candle at the red'ning coal; +First sees that all be right amongst his cattle, +Then hies him to the barn with heavy tread, +Printing his footsteps on the new fall'n snow. +From out the heap of corn he pulls his sheaves, +Dislodging the poor red-breast from his shelter, +Where all the live-long night he slept secure; +But now afrighted, with uncertain flight +He flutters round the walls, to seek some hole, +At which he may escape out to the frost. +And now the flail, high whirling o'er his head, +Descends with force upon the jumping sheave, +Whilst every rugged wall, and neighboring cot +Re-echoes back the noise of his strokes. + + The fam'ly cares call next upon the wife +To quit her mean but comfortable bed. +And first she stirs the fire, and blows the flame, +Then from her heap of sticks, for winter stor'd, +An armful brings; loud crackling as they burn, +Thick fly the red sparks upward to the roof, +While slowly mounts the smoke in wreathy clouds. +On goes the seething pot with morning cheer, +For which some little wishful hearts await, +Who, peeping from the bed-clothes, spy, well pleas'd, +The cheery light that blazes on the wall, +And bawl for leave to rise.---- +Their busy mother knows not where to turn, +Her morning work comes now so thick upon her. +One she must help to tye his little coat, +Unpin his cap, and seck another's shoe. +When all is o'er, out to the door they run, +With new comb'd sleeky hair, and glist'ning cheeks, +Each with some little project in his head. +One on the ice must try his new sol'd shoes: +To view his well-set trap another hies, +In hopes to find some poor unwary bird +(No worthless prize) entangled in his snare; +Whilst one, less active, with round rosy face, +Spreads out his purple fingers to the fire, +And peeps, most wishfully, into the pot. + + But let us leave the warm and cheerful house, +To view the bleak and dreary scene without, +And mark the dawning of a winter day. +For now the morning vapour, red and grumly, +Rests heavy on the hills; and o'er the heav'ns +Wide spreading forth in lighter gradual fliades, +Just faintly colours the pale muddy sky. +Then slowly from behind the southern hills, +Inlarg'd and ruddy looks the rising sun, +Shooting his beams askance the hoary waste, +Which gild the brow of ev'ry swelling height, +And deepen every valley with a shade. +The crusted window of each scatter'd cot, +The icicles that fringe the thatched roof, +The new swept slide upon the frozen pool, +All lightly glance, new kindled with his rays; +And e'en the rugged face of scowling Winter +Looks somewhat gay. But for a little while +He lifts his glory o'er the bright'ning earth, +Then hides his head behind a misty cloud, + + The birds now quit their holes and lurking sheds, +Most mute and melancholy, where thro' night +All nestling close to keep each other warm, +In downy sleep they had forgot their hardships; +But not to chant and carol in the air, +Or lightly swing upon some waving bough, +And merrily return each other's notes; +No; silently they hop from bush to bush, +Yet find no seeds to stop their craving want, +Then bend their flight to the low smoking cot, +Chirp on the roof, or at the window peck, +To tell their wants to those who lodge within. +The poor lank hare flies homeward to his den, +But little burthen'd with his nightly meal +Of wither'd greens grubb'd from the farmer's garden; +A poor and scanty portion snatch'd in fear; +And fearful creatures, forc'd abroad by want, +Are now to ev'ry enemy a prey. + + The husbandman lays bye his heavy flail, +And to the house returns, where on him wait +His smoking breakfast and impatient children; +Who, spoon in hand, and longing to begin, +Towards the door cast many a weary look +To see their dad come in.---- +Then round they sit, a chearful company, +All eagerly begin, and with heap'd spoons +Besmear from ear to ear their rosy cheeks. +The faithful dog stands by his matter's side +Wagging his tail, and looking in his face; +While humble puss pays court to all around, +And purs and rubs them with her furry sides; +Nor goes this little flattery unrewarded. +But the laborious sit not long at table; +The grateful father lifts his eyes to heav'n +To bless his God, whose ever bounteous hand +Him and his little ones doth daily feed; +Then rises satisfied to work again. + + The chearful rousing noise of industry +Is heard, with varied sounds, thro' all the village. +The humming wheel, the thrifty housewife's tongue, +Who scolds to keep her maidens at their work, +Rough grating cards, and voice of squaling children +Issue from every house.---- +But, hark!--the sportsman from the neighb'ring hedge +His thunder sends!--loud bark each village cur; +Up from her wheel each curious maiden starts, +And hastens to the door, whilst matrons chide, +Yet run to look themselves, in spite of thrift, +And all the little town is in a stir. + + Strutting before, the cock leads forth his train, +And, chuckling near the barn among the straw, +Reminds the farmer of his morning's service; +His grateful master throws a lib'ral handful; +They flock about it, whilst the hungry sparrows +Perch'd on the roof, look down with envious eye, +Then, aiming well, amidst the feeders light, +And seize upon the feast with greedy bill, +Till angry partlets peck them off the field. +But at a distance, on the leafless tree, +All woe be gone, the lonely blackbird sits; +The cold north wind ruffles his glossy feathers; +Full oft' he looks, but dare not make approach; +Then turns his yellow bill to peck his side, +And claps his wings close to his sharpen'd breast. +The wand'ring fowler, from behind the hedge, +Fastens his eye upon him, points his gun, +And firing wantonly as at a mark, +E'en lays him low in that same cheerful spot +Which oft' hath ccho'd with his ev'ning's song. + + The day now at its height, the pent-up kine +Are driven from their flails to take the air. +How stupidly they stare! and feel how strange! +They open wide their smoking mouths to low, +But scarcely can their feeble sound be heard; +Then turn and lick themselves, and step by step +Move dull and heavy to their flails again. +In scatter'd groups the little idle boys +With purple fingers, moulding in the snow +Their icy ammunition, pant for war; +And, drawing up in opposite array, +Send forth a mighty fliower of well aim'd balls, +Whilst little hero's try their growing flrength, +And burn to beat the en'my off the field. +Or on the well worn ice in eager throngs, +Aiming their race, shoot rapidly along, +Trip up each other's heels, and on the surface +With knotted shoes, draw many a chalky line. +Untir'd of play, they never cease their sport +Till the faint sun has almost run his course, +And threat'ning clouds, slow rising from the north, +Spread grumly darkness o'er the face of heav'n; +Then, by degrees, they scatter to their homes, +With many a broken head and bloody nose, +To claim their mothers' pity, who, most skilful, +Cures all their troubles with a bit of bread. + + The night comes on a pace---- +Chill blows the blast, and drives the snow in wreaths. +Now ev'ry creature looks around for shelter, +And, whether man or beast, all move alike +Towards their several homes; and happy they +Who have a house to screen them from the cold! +Lo, o'er the frost a rev'rend form advances! +His hair white as the snow on which he treads, +His forehead mark'd with many a care-worn furrow, +Whose feeble body, bending o'er a staff, +Still shew that once it was the seat of strength, +Tho' now it shakes like some old ruin'd tow'r, +Cloth'd indeed, but not disgrac'd with rags, +He still maintains that decent dignity +Which well becomes those who have serv'd their country. +With tott'ring steps he to the cottage moves: +The wife within, who hears his hollow cough, +And patt'ring of iris stick upon the threshold, +Sends out her little boy to see who's there. +The child looks up to view the stranger's face, +And seeing it enlighten'd with a smile, +Holds out his little hand to lead him in. +Rous'd from her work, the mother turns her head, +And sees them, not ill-pleas'd.---- +The stranger whines not with a piteous tale, +But only asks a little, to relieve +A poor old soldier's wants.---- +The gentle matron brings the ready chair, +And bids him sit, to rest his wearied limbs, +And warm himself before her blazing fire. +The children, full of curiosity, +Flock round, and with their fingers in their mouths, +Stand staring at him; whilst the stranger, pleas'd, +Takes up the youngest boy upon his knee. +Proud of its seat, it wags its little feet, +And prates, and laughs, and plays with his white locks. +But soon the soldier's face lays off its smiles; +His thoughtful mind is turn'd on other days, +When his own boys were wont to play around him, +Who now lie distant from their native land +In honourable, but untimely graves. +He feels how helpless and forlorn he is, +And bitter tears gush from his dim-worn eyes. +His toilsome daily labour at an end, +In comes the wearied master of the house, +And marks with satisfaction his old guest, +With all his children round.-- +His honest heart is fill'd with manly kindness; +He bids him stay, and share their homely meal, +And take with them his quarters for the night. +The weary wanderer thankfully accepts, +And, seated with the cheerful family, +Around the plain but hospitable board, +Forgets the many hardships he has pass'd. + + When all are satisfied, about the fire +They draw their seats, and form a cheerful ring. +The thrifty housewife turns her spinning wheel; +The husband, useful even in his rest, +A little basket weaves of willow twigs, +To bear her eggs to town on market days; +And work but serves t'enliven conversation. +Some idle neighbours now come straggling in, +Draw round their chairs, and widen out the circle. +Without a glass the tale and jest go round; +And every one, in his own native way, +Does what he can to cheer the merry group. +Each tells some little story of himself, +That constant subject upon which mankind, +Whether in court or country, love to dwell. +How at a fair he sav'd a simple clown +From being tricked in buying of a cow; +Or laid a bet upon his horse's head +Against his neighbour's, bought for twice his price, +Which fail'd not to repay his better skill: +Or on a harvest day, bound in an hour +More sheaves of corn than any of his fellows, +Tho' ne'er so keen, could do in twice the time. +But chief the landlord, at his own fire-side, +Doth claim the right of being listen'd to; +Nor dares a little bawling tongue be heard, +Tho' but in play, to break upon his story. +The children sit and listen with the rest; +And should the youngest raise its little voice, +The careful mother, ever on the watch, +And always pleas'd with what her husband says, +Gives it a gentle tap upon the fingers, +Or stops its ill tim'd prattle with a kiss. +The soldier next, but not unask'd, begins, +And tells in better speech what he has seen; +Making his simple audience to shrink +With tales of war and blood. They gaze upon him, +And almost weep to see the man so poor, +So bent and feeble, helpless and forlorn, +That oft' has stood undaunted in the battle +Whilst thund'ring cannons shook the quaking earth, +And showering bullets hiss'd around his head. +With little care they pass away the night, +Till time draws on when they should go to bed; +Then all break up, and each retires to rest +With peaceful mind, nor torn with vexing cares, +Nor dancing with the unequal beat of pleasure. + + But long accustom'd to observe the weather, +The labourer cannot lay him down in peace +Till he has look'd to mark what bodes the night, +He turns the heavy door, thrusts out his head, +Sees wreathes of snow heap'd up on ev'ry side, +And black and grimily all above his head, +Save when a red gleam shoots along the waste +To make the gloomy night more terrible +Loud blows the northern blast---- +He hears it hollow grumbling from afar, +Then, gath'ring strength, roll on with doubl'd might, +And break in dreadful bellowings o'er his head; +Like pithless saplings bend the vexed trees, +And their wide branches crack. He shuts the door, +And, thankful for the roof that covers him, +Hies him to bed. + + + +A SUMMER DAY. + +The dark-blue clouds of night in dusky lines, +Drawn wide and streaky o'er the purer sky, +Wear faint the morning purple on their skirts. +The stars that full and bright shone in the west, +But dimly twinkle to the stedfast eye; +And seen, and vanishing, and seen again, +Like dying tapers smoth'ring in their sockets, +Appear at last shut from the face of heav'n; +Whilst every lesser flame which shone by night, +The flashy meteor from the op'ning cloud, +That shoots full oft' across the dusky sky; +Or wand'ring fire which looks across the marsh, +Beaming like candle in a lonely cot, +To cheer the hopes of the benighted trav'ller, +Till swifter than the very change of thought, +It shifts from place to place, escapes his glance, +And makes him wond'ring rub his doubtful eyes; +Or humble glow-worm, or the silver moth, +Which cast a feeble glimm'ring o'er the green, +All die away.---- +For now the sun, slow moving in his grandeur, +Above the eastern mountains lifts his head. +The webs of dew spread o'er the hoary lawn, +The smooth clear bosom of the settled pool, +The polish'd ploughshare on the distant field, +Catch fire from him, and dart their new got beams +Upon die dazzled eye. + + The new-wak'd birds upon the branches hop, +Peck their loft down, and bristle out their feathers; +Then stretch their throats and tune their morning song; +Whilst stately crows, high swinging o'er their heads. +Upon the topmost boughs, in lordly pride, +Mix their hoarse croaking with the linnet's note; +Till gather'd closer in a sable band, +They take their flight to leek their daily food. +The village labourer, with careful mind, +As soon as doth the morning light appear, +Opens his eyes with the first darting ray +That pierces thro' the window of his cot, +And quits his easy bed; then o'er the field, +With lengthen'd swinging strides, betakes his way, +Bearing his spade and hoe across his moulder, +Seen from afar clear glancing in the sun, +And with good will begins his daily work. +The sturdy sun-burnt boy drives forth the cattle, +And vain of power, bawls to the lagging kine, +Who fain would stay to crop the tender shoots +Of the green tempting hedges as they pass; +Or beats the glist'ning bushes with his club, +To please his fancy with a shower of dew, +And frighten the poor birds who lurk within. +At ev'ry open door, thro' all the village, +Half naked children, half awake, are seen +Scratching their heads, and blinking to the light; +Till roused by degrees, they run about, +Or rolling in the sun, amongst the sand +Build many a little house, with heedful art. +The housewife tends within, her morning care; +And stooping 'midst her tubs of curdled milk, +With busy patience, draws the clear green whey +From the press'd sides of the pure snowy curd; +Whilst her brown dimpled maid, with tuck'd-up sleeve, +And swelling arm, assists her in her toil. +Pots smoke, pails rattle, and the warm confusion +Still thickens on them, till within its mould, +With careful hands, they press the well-wrought curd. + + So goes the morning, till the pow'rful sun +High in the heav'ns sends forth his strengthen'd beams, +And all the freshness of the morn is fled. +The sweating trav'ller throws his burden down, +And leans his weary shoulder 'gainst a tree. +The idle horse upon the grassy field +Rolls on his back, nor heeds the tempting clover. +The swain leaves off his labour, and returns +Slow to his house with heavy sober steps, +Where on the board his ready breakfast plac'd, +Invites the eye, and his right cheerful wife +Doth kindly serve him with unfeign'd good will. +No sparkling dew-drops hang upon the grass; +Forth steps the mower with his glitt'ring scythe, +In snowy shirt, and doublet all unbrac'd, +White moves he o'er the ridge, with sideling bend, +And lays the waving grass in many a heap. +In ev'ry field, in ev'ry swampy mead, +The cheerful voice of industry is heard; +The hay-cock rises, and the frequent rake +Sweeps on the yellow hay, in heavy wreaths, +Leaving the smooth green meadow bare behind. +The old and young, the weak and strong are there, +And, as they can, help on the cheerful work. +The father jeers his awkward half-grown lad, +Who trails his tawdry armful o'er the field, +Nor does he fear the jeering to repay. +The village oracle, and simple maid, +Jest in their turns, and raise the ready laugh; +For there authority, hard favour'd, frowns not; +All are companions in the gen'ral glee, +And cheerful complaisance still thro' their roughness, +With placid look enlightens ev'ery face. +Some more advanced raise the tow'ring rick, +Whilst on its top doth stand the parish toast +In loose attire, and swelling ruddy cheek; +With taunts and harmless mock'ry she receives +The toss'd-up heaps from the brown gaping youth, +Who flaring at her, takes his aim awry, +Whilst half the load comes tumbling on himself. +Loud is her laugh, her voice is heard afar; +Each mower, busied in the distant field, +The carter, trudging on his distant way, +The shrill found know, cad up their hats in air, +And roar across the fields to catch her notice: +She waves her arm, and shakes her head at them, +And then renews her work with double spirit. +Thus do they jest, and laugh away their toil, +Till the bright sun, full in his middle course, +Shoots down his fiercest beams, which none may brave. +The stoutest arm hangs listless by its side, +And the broad shoulder'd youth begins to fail. +But to the weary, lo! there comes relief! +A troop of welcome children, o'er the lawn, +With slow and wary steps, their burthens bring. +Some bear upon their heads large baskets, heap'd +With piles of barley bread, and gusty cheese, +And some full pots of milk and cooling whey. +Beneath the branches of a spreading tree, +Or by the shad'wy side of the tall rick, +They spread their homely fare, and seated round, +Taste all the pleasure that a feast can give. + + A drowzy indolence now hangs on all, +And ev'ry creature seeks some place of rest, +Screen'd from the violence of the oppressive heat. +No scatter'd flocks are seen upon the lawn, +Nor chirping birds among the bushes heard. +Within the narrow shadow of the cot +The sleepy dog lies stretched on his side, +Nor heeds the heavy-footed passenger; +At noise of feet but half his eye-lid lifts, +Then gives a feeble growl, and sleeps again: +Whilst puss, less nice, e'en in the scorching window, +On t'other side, sits winking to the sun. +No sound is heard but humming of the bee, +For she alone retires not from her labour, +Nor leaves a meadow flower unsought for gain. + + Heavy and slow so pass the mid-day hours, +Till gently bending on the ridge's top, +The heavy seeded grass begins to wave, +And the high branches of the slender poplar +Shiver aloft in air their rustling leaves. +Cool breaths the rising breeze, and with it wakes +The worn out spirit from its state of stupor. +The lazy boy springs from his mossy bed, +To chace the gaudy tempting butterfly, +Who spreading on the grass its mealy wings, +Oft lights within his reach, e'en at his seer, +Yet still eludes his grasp, and o'er his head +Light hov'ring round, or mounted high in air +Temps his young eye, and wearies out his limbs. +The drouzy dog, who feels the kindly breeze +That passing o'er him, lifts his shaggy ear, +Begins to stretch him, on his legs half-rais'd, +Till fully wak'd, with bristling cock'd-up tail, +He makes the village echo to his bark. + + But let us not forget the busy maid +Who, by the side of the clear pebly stream, +Spreads out her snowy linens to the sun, +And sheds with lib'ral hand the chrystal show'r +O'er many a fav'rite piece of fair attire, +Revolving in her mind her gay appearance +In all this dress, at some approaching fair. +The dimpling half-check'd smile, and mutt'ring lip +Betray the secret workings of her fancy, +And flattering thoughts of the complacent mind. +There little vagrant bands of truant boys +Amongst the bushes try their harmless tricks; +Whilst some a sporting in the shallow stream +Toss up the lashing water round their heads, +Or strive with wily art to catch the trout, +Or 'twixt their fingers grasp the slipp'ry eel. +The shepherd-boy sits singing on the bank, +To pass away the weary lonely hours, +Weaving with art his little crown of rushes, +A guiltless easy crown that brings no care, +Which having made he places on his head, +And leaps and skips about, and bawls full loud +To some companion, lonely as himself, +Far in the distant field; or else delighted +To hear the echo'd sound of his own voice +Returning answer from the neighboring rock, +Holds no unpleasing converse with himself. + + Now weary labourers perceive, well-pleas'd, +The shadows lengthen, and th' oppressive day +With all its toil fast wearing to an end. +The sun, far in the west, with side-long beam +Plays on the yellow head of the round hay-cock, +And fields are checker'd with fantastic shapes +Or tree, or shrub, or gate, or rugged stone, +All lengthen'd out, in antic disproportion, +Upon the darken'd grass.---- +They finish out their long and toilsome talk. +Then, gathering up their rakes and scatter'd coats, +With the less cumb'rous fragments of their feast, +Return right gladly to their peaceful homes. + + The village, lone and silent thro' the day, +Receiving from the fields its merry bands, +Sends forth its ev'ning sound, confus'd but cheerful; +Whilst dogs and children, eager housewives' tongues, +And true love ditties, in no plaintive strain, +By shrill voic'd maid, at open window sung; +The lowing of the home-returning kine, +The herd's low droning trump, and tinkling bell +Tied to the collar of his fav'rite sheep, +Make no contemptible variety +To ears not over nice.---- +With careless lounging gait, the saunt'ring youth +Upon his sweetheart's open window leans, +And as she turns about her buzzing wheel +Diverts her with his jokes and harmless taunts. +Close by the cottage door, with placid mien, +The old man sits upon his seat of turf, +His staff with crooked head laid by his side, +Which oft the younger race in wanton sport, +Gambolling round him, slyly steal away, +And straddling o'er it, shew their horsemanship +By raising round the clouds of summer sand, +While still he smiles, yet chides them for the trick. +His silver locks upon his shoulders spread, +And not ungraceful is his stoop of age. +No stranger passes him without regard; +And ev'ry neighbour stops to wish him well, +And ask him his opinion of the weather. +They fret not at the length of his discourse, +But listen with respect to his remarks +Upon the various seasons he remembers; +For well he knows the many divers signs +Which do fortell high winds, or rain, or drought, +Or ought that may affect the rising crop. +The silken clad, who courtly breeding boast, +Their own discourse still sweetest to their ears, +May grumble at the old man's lengthened story, +But here it is not so.---- + + From ev'ry chimney mounts the curling smoke, +Muddy and gray, of the new ev'ning fire; +On ev'ry window smokes the fam'ly supper, +Set out to cool by the attentive housewife, +While cheerful groups at every door conven'd +Bawl cross the narrow lane the parish news, +And oft the bursting laugh disturbs the air. +But see who comes to set them all agag! +The weary-footed pedlar with his pack. +How stiff he bends beneath his bulky load! +Cover'd with dust, slip-shod, and out at elbows; +His greasy hat sits backward on his head; +His thin straight hair divided on his brow +Hangs lank on either side his glist'ning cheeks, +And woe-begone, yet vacant is his face. +His box he opens and displays his ware. +Full many a varied row of precious stones +Cast forth their dazzling lustre to the light. +To the desiring maiden's wishful eye +The ruby necklace shews its tempting blaze: +The china buttons, stamp'd with love device, +Attract the notice of the gaping youth; +Whilst streaming garters, fasten'd to a pole, +Aloft in air their gaudy stripes display, +And from afar the distant stragglers lure. +The children leave their play and round him flock; +E'en sober aged grand-dame quits her seat, +Where by the door she twines her lengthen'd threads, +Her spindle stops, and lays her distaff by, +Then joins with step sedate the curious throng. +She praises much the fashions of her youth, +And scorns each gaudy nonsense of the day; +Yet not ill-pleas'd the glossy ribband views, +Uproll'd, and changing hues with ev'ry fold, +New measur'd out to deck her daughter's head. + + Now red, but languid, the last weakly beams +Of the departing sun, across the lawn +Deep gild the top of the long sweepy ridge, +And shed a scatter'd brightness, bright but cheerless, +Between the op'nings of the rifted hills; +Which like the farewell looks of some dear friend, +That speaks him kind, yet sadden as they smile, +But only serve to deepen the low vale, +And make the shadows of the night more gloomy. +The varied noises of the cheerful village +By slow degrees now faintly die away, +And more distinct each feeble sound is heard +That gently steals ad own the river's bed, +Or thro' the wood comes with the ruffling breeze. +The white mist rises from the swampy glens, +And from the dappled flatting of the heav'ns +Looks out the ev'ning star.---- +The lover skulking in the neighb'ring copse, +(Whose half-seen form shewn thro' the thicken'd air, +Large and majestic, makes the tray'ller start, +And spreads the story of the haunted grove,) +Curses the owl, whose loud ill-omen'd scream, +With ceaseless spite, robes from his watchful ear +The well known footsteps of his darling maid; +And fretful, chaces from his face the night-fly, +Who buzzing round his head doth often skim, +With flutt'ring wing, across his glowing cheek: +For all but him in deep and balmy sleep +Forget the toils of the oppressive day; +Shut is the door of ev'ry scatter'd cot, +And silence dwells within. + + + +NIGHT SCENES OF OTHER TIMES. + +A POEM, IN THREE PARTS. + + +PART I. + +"The wild winds bellow o'er my head, + And spent eve's fading light; +Where shall I find some friendly shed + To screen me from the night? + +"Ah! round me lies a desert vast, + No habitation near; +And dark and pathless is the waste, + And fills the mind with fear + +"Thou distant tree, whose lonely top + Has bent to many a storm, +No more canst thou deceive my hope, + And take my lover's form; + +"For o'er thy head the dark cloud rolls, + Black as thy blasted pride. +How deep the angry tempest growls + Along the mountain's side! + +"Securely rests the mountain deer + Within his hollow den, +His slumber undisturb'd by fear, + Far from the haunts of men. + +"Beneath the fern the moorcock sleeps, + And twisted adders lie; +Back to his rock the night-bird creeps, + Nor gives his wonted cry. + +"For angry spirits of the night + Ride in the troubled air, +And to their dens, in wild affright, + The beasts of prey repair. + +"But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest? + What shelter covers thee? +O, may this cold and wint'ry blast + But only beat on me! + +"Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find, + Where, undisturb'd with care, +Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind + That ruffles Marg'ret's hair. + +"Ah, no! for thou did'st give thy word + To meet me on the way; +Nor friendly roof, nor coastly board + Will tempt a lover's stay. + +"O, raise thy voice, if thou art near! + Its weakest sound were bliss: +What other sound my heart can cheer + In such a gloom as this? + +"But from the hills with stunning sound + The dashing torrents fall; +Loud is the raging tempest round, + And mocks a lover's call. + +"Ha! see across the dreary waste + A gentle form appears! +It is my love, my cares are past, + How vain were all my fears?" + +The form approach'd, but sad and slow, + Nor with a lover's tread; +And from his cheek the youthful glow, + And greeting smile was fled. + +Dim sadness hung upon his brow; + Fix'd was his beamless eye: +His face was like the moon-light bow + Upon a win'try sky. + +And fix'd and ghastly to the sight, + His strengthen'd features rose; +And bended was his graceful height, + And bloody were his clothes. + +"O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast! + Thy sorrow now is vain: +Thy Edward from his peaceful rest + Shall ne'er return again. + +"A treach'rous friend has brought me low, + And fix'd my early doom; +And laid my corpse, with feigned woe, + Beneath a vaulted tomb + +"To take thee to my home I sware, + And here we were to meet: +Wilt thou a narrow coffin share, + And part my winding-sheet? + +"But late the lord of many lands, + And now a grave is all: +My blood is warm upon his hands + Who revels in my hall. + +"Yet think thy father's hoary hair + Is water'd with his tears; +He has but thee to sooth his care, + And prop his load of years. + +"Remember Edward when he's gone, + He only liv'd for thee; +And when thou'rt pensive, and alone, + O Marg'ret call on me! + +"Yet deep beneath the mould'ring clod + I rest my wounded head: +And terrible that call, and loud, + Which shall awake the dead." + +"No, Edward, I will follow thee, + And share thy hapless doom: +Companions shall our spirits be, + Tho' distant is thy tomb. + +"O! never to my father's tower + Will I return again! +A bleeding heart has little power + To ease another's pain. + +"Upon the wing my spirit flies, + I feel my course is run; +Nor shall these dim and weary eyes + Behold to-morrow's sun." + +Like early dew, or hoary frost, + Spent with the beaming day, +So shrunk the pale and wat'ry ghost, + And dimly wore away. + +No longer Marg'ret felt the storm, + She bow'd her lovely head; +And with her lover's fleeting form, + Her gentle spirit fled. + + +PART II. + +Loud roars the wind that shakes this wall; + It is no common blast: +Deep hollow sounds pass thro' my hall, + O would the night were past! + +"Methinks the dæmons of the air + Upon the turrets growl; +While down the empty winding stair + Their deep'ning murmurs roll. + +"The glimm'ring fire cheers not the gloom: + How blue its weakly ray! +And like a taper in a tomb, + But spreads the more dismay. + +"Athwart its melancholy light + The lengthen'd shadow falls: +My grandsires, to my troubled sight, + Low'r on me from these walls. + +"Methinks yon angry warrior's head + Doth in its casement frown, +And darts a look, as if it said, + Where hast thou laid my son? + +"But will these fancies never cease? + O, would the night were run! +My troubled soul can find no peace, + But with the morning sun. + +"Vain hope! the guilty never rest; + Dismay is always near: +There is a midnight in the breast + No morn shall ever cheer. + +"The weary hind is now at rest, + Tho' lowly is his head, +How sweetly lies the guiltless breast, + Upon the hardest bed! + +"The beggar, in his wretched haunt, + May now a monarch be; +Forget his woe, forget his want, + For all can sleep but me. + +"I've dar'd whate'er the boldest can, + Then why this childish dread; +I never fear'd a living man, + And shall I fear the dead! + +"No, whistling storms may shake my tower, + And passing spirits scream: +Their shadowy arms are void of power, + And but a gloomy dream. + +"But, lo! a form advancing slow + Across my dusky hall! +Art thou a friend? art thou a foe? + O, answer to my call!" + +Still nearer to the glimm'ring light + The tow'ring figure strode, +Till full, and horrid to the sight, + The murther'd Edward stood. + +His hand a broken dagger sway'd, + Like Time's dark threat'ning dart; +And pointed to the rugged blade + That quiver'd in his heart. + +The blood still trickled from his head, + And clotted was his hair, +That on his manly shoulders spread; + His mangled breast was bare. + +His face was like the muddy sky + Before the coming snow; +And dark and dreadful was his eye, + And cloudy was his brow. + +Pale Conrad shrunk, but grasp'd his sword; + Fear thrill'd in ev'ry vein; +His quiv'ring lip half-spoke its word; + He paus'd, and shrunk again. + +"Pale bloody spectre, at this hour + Why do'st thou haunt the night? +Has the deep gloomy vault no power + To keep thee from my sight? + +"Why do'st thou glare? Why do'st thou wave + That fatal cursed knife? +The deed is done, and from the grave + Who can recall to life? + +"Why rolls thine eye beneath thy brow, + Dark as the midnight storm? +What do'st thou want? O, let me know! + But hide thy dreadful form. + +"I'd give the life's blood from my heart + To wash my crime away: +If thou'rt a spirit, O, depart! + Nor haunt a wretch of clay. + +"Say, do'st thou with the blessed dwell? + Return and blessed be! +Or com'st thou from the lowest hell? + I am more curst than thee." + +The form advanc'd with solemn step, + As though it meant to speak; +And thrice it mov'd its mutt'ring lip, + But silence did not break. + +Then sternly stalk'd with heavy pace, + Which shook the trembling wall; +And, frowning, turn'd its angry face, + And vanish'd from the hall. + +With fixed eyes, pale Conrad stood, + That from their sockets swell; +Back on his heart ran the cold blood, + He shudder'd as he fell. + +Night fled, and thro' the window 'gan + The early light to play; +But on a more unhappy man + Ne'er shone the dawning day. + +The gladsome sun all nature cheers, + But cannot charm his cares: +Still dwells his mind with gloomy fears, + And murther'd Edward glares. + + +PART III. + +"No rest nor comfort can I find, + I watch the midnight hour; +I sit and listen to the wind + Which beats upon my tower. + +"Methinks low voices from the ground + Break mournful on mine ear, +And thro' these empty chambers sound + So dismal and so drear. + +"The ghost of some departed friend + Doth in my sorrows share; +Or is it but the rushing wind + That mocketh my despair. + +"Sad thro' the hall the pale lamp gleams + Upon my father's arms: +My soul is fill'd with gloomy dreams, + I fear unknown alarms. + +"Oh! I have known this lonely place + With ev'ry blessing stor'd; +And many a friend with cheerful face + Sit smiling at my board, + +"Whilst round the fire, in early bloom, + My harmless children play'd, +Who now within the narrow tomb + Are with their mother laid. + +"And now low bends my wretched head, + And those I lov'd are gone: +My friends, my family, all are fled, + And I am left alone. + +"Oft' as the cheerless fire declines, + In it I sadly trace, +As 'lone I sit, the half form'd lines + Of many a much lov'd face. + +"But chief, O Marg'ret! to my mind + Thy lovely features rise: +I strive to think thee less unkind, + And wipe my streaming eyes. + +"For only thee I had to vaunt, + Thou wert thy mother's pride: +She left thee like a shooting plant + To screen my widow'd side. + +"But thou hast left me weak, forlorn, + And chill'd with age's frost, +To count my weary days, and mourn + The comforts I have lost. + +"Unkindly fair! why did'st thou go? + O, had I known the truth! +Tho' Edward's father was my foe, + I would have bless'd the youth. + +"O could I see that face again, + Whose smile calm'd ev'ry strife! +And hear that voice, which sooth'd my pain, + And made me wish for life! + +"Thy harp hangs silent by the wall: + My nights are sad and long: +And thou art in a distant hall, + Where strangers raise the song. + +"Ha! some delusion of the mind + My senses doth confound! +It was the harp, and not the wind, + That did so sweetly sound." + +Old Arno rose, all wan as death, + With broken steps of care; +And oft' he check'd his quick-heav'd breath, + And turn'd his eager ear. + +When like a full, but distant choir + The swelling sound return'd; +And with the soft and trembling wire, + The sighing echoes mourn'd. + +Then softly whisper'd o'er the song + Which Marg'ret lov'd to play, +Like some sweet dirge, and sad, and long, + It faintly died away. + +His dim-worn eyes to heav'n he cast, + Where all his griefs were known; +And smote upon his troubled breast, + And heav'd a heavy groan. + +"I know it is my daughter's hand, + But 'tis no hand of clay: +And here a lonely wretch I stand, + All childless, bent, and grey. + +"And art thou low, my lovely child? + And hast thou met thy doom? +And has thy flatt'ring morning smil'd, + To lead but to the tomb? + +"O let me see thee ere we part, + For souls like thine are blest; +O let me fold thee to my heart + If aught of form thou hast. + +"This passing mist enrobes thy charms: + Alas, to nought 'tis shrunk! +And hollow strike my empty arms + Against my aged trunk. + +"Thou'rt fled like the low ev'ning breath + That sighs upon the hill: +O stay! tho' in thy weeds of death, + Thou art my daughter still." + +Loud wak'd the sound, then fainter grew, + And long and sadly mourn'd; +And softly sigh'd a long adieu, + And never more return'd. + +Old Arno stretch'd him on the ground, + Thick as the gloom of night, +Death's misty shadows gather'd round, + And swam before his sight. + +He heav'd a deep and deadly groan, + Which rent his lab'ring breast; +And long before the morning shone, + His spirit was at rest. + + + +A REVERIE. + + Beside a spreading elm, from whose high boughs +Like knotted tufts the crow's light dwelling shows, +Where screen'd from northern blasts, and winter proof, +Snug stands the parson's barn with thatched roof; +At chaff-strew'd door, where, in the morning ray, +The gilded mots in mazy circles play, +And sleepy Comrade in the sun is laid, +More grateful to the cur than neighb'ring shade; +In snowy shirt unbrac'd, brown Robin stood, +And leant upon his flail in thoughtful mood: +His full round cheek where deeper flushes glow, +The dewy drops which glisten on his brow; +His dark cropt pate that erst at church or fair, +So smooth and silky, shew'd his morning's care, +Which all uncouth in matted locks combin'd, +Now, ends erect, defies the ruffling wind; +His neck-band loose, and hosen rumpled low, +A careful lad, nor slack at labour shew. +Nor scraping chickens chirping 'mongst the straw, +Nor croaking rook o'er-head, nor chatt'ring daw; +Loud-breathing cow amongst the rampy weeds, +Nor grunting sow that in the furrow feeds; +Nor sudden breeze that shakes the quaking leaves, +And lightly rustles thro' the scatter'd sheaves; +Nor floating straw that skims athwart his nose, +The deeply musing youth may discompose. +For Nelly fair, and blythest village maid, +Whose tuneful voice beneath the hedge-row shade, +At early milking, o'er the meadows born, +E'er cheer'd the ploughman's toil at rising morn: +The neatest maid that e'er, in linen gown, +Bore cream and butter to the market town: +The tightest lass, that with untutor'd air +E'er footed ale-house floor at wake or fair, +Since Easter last had Robin's heart possest, +And many a time disturb'd his nightly rest. +Full oft' returning from the loosen'd plough, +He slack'd his pace, and knit his thoughtful brow; +And oft' ere half his thresher's talk was o'er, +Would muse, with arms across, at cooling door: +His mind thus bent, with downcast eyes he stood, +And leant upon his flail in thoughtful mood. +His soul o'er many a soft rememb'rance ran, +And, mutt'ring to himself, the youth began. + + "Ah! happy is the man whose early lot +Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; +Who trains the vine that round his window grows, +And after setting sun his garden hoes; +Whose wattled pales his own enclosure shield, +Who toils not daily in another's field. +Where'er he goes, to church or market town, +With more respect he and his dog are known: +A brisker face he wears at wake or fair, +Nor views with longing eyes the pedlar's ware, +But buys at will or ribands, gloves, or beads, +And willing maidens to the ale-house leads: +And, Oh! secure from toils which cumber life, +He makes the maid he loves an easy wife. +Ah, Nelly! can'st thou with contented mind, +Become the help-mate of a lab'ring hind, +And share his lot, whate'er the chances be, +Who hath no dow'r, but love, to fix on thee? +Yes, gayest maid may meekest matron prove, +And things of little note may 'token love. +When from the church thou cam'st at eventide +And I and red-hair'd Susan by thy side, +I pull'd the blossoms from the bending tree, +And some to Susan gave, and some to thee; +Thine were the best, and well thy smiling eye +The diff'rence mark'd, and guess'd the reason why. +When on a holy-day we rambling stray'd, +And pass'd old Hodge's cottage in the glade; +Neat was the garden dress'd, sweet hum'd the bee, +I wish'd both cot and Nelly made for me; +And well methought thy very eyes reveal'd +The self-same wish within thy breast conceal'd. +When artful, once, I sought my love to tell, +And spoke to thee of one who lov'd thee well, +You saw the cheat, and jeering homeward hied, +Yet secret pleasure in thy looks I spied. +Ay, gayest maid may meekest matron prove, +And smaller signs than these have 'token'd love." + + Now, at a distance, on the neighb'ring plain, +With creaking wheels slow comes the heavy wain: +High on its tow'ring load a maid appears, +And Nelly's voice sounds shrill in Robin's ears. +Quick from his hand he throws the cumb'rous flail, +And leaps with lightsome limbs th' enclosing pale. +O'er field and fence he scours, and furrow wide, +With waken'd Comrade barking by his side; +Whilst tracks of trodden grain, and sidelong hay, +And broken hedge-flow'rs sweet, mark his impetuous way. + + + +A DISAPPOINTMENT. + + On village green, whose smooth and well worn sod, +Cross-path'd with every gossip's foot is trod; +By cottage door where playful children run, +And cats and curs sit basking in the sun: +Where o'er the earthen seat the thorn is bent, +Cross-arm'd, and back to wall, poor William leant. +His bonnet broad drawn o'er his gather'd brow, +His hanging lip and lengthen'd visage shew +A mind but ill at ease. With motions strange, +His listless limbs their wayward postures change; +Whilst many a crooked line and curious maze, +With clouted shoon, he on the sand pourtrays. +The half-chew'd straw fell slowly from his mouth, +And to himself low mutt'ring spoke the youth. + + "How simple is the lad! and reft of skill, +Who thinks with love to fix a woman's will: +Who ev'ry Sunday morn, to please her sight, +Knots up his neck-cloth gay, and hosen white: +Who for her pleasure keeps his pockets bare, +And half his wages spends on pedlar's ware; +When every niggard clown, or dotard old, +Who hides in secret nooks his oft told gold, +Whose field or orchard tempts with all her pride, +At little cost may win her for his bride; +Whilst all the meed her silly lover gains +Is but the neighbours' jeering for his pains. +On Sunday last when Susan's bands were read, +And I astonish'd sat with hanging head, +Cold grew my shrinking limbs, and loose my knee, +Whilst every neighbour's eye was fix'd on me. +Ah, Sue! when last we work'd at Hodge's hay, +And still at me you jeer'd in wanton play; +When last at fair, well pleas'd by show-man's stand, +You took the new-bought fairing from my hand; +When at old Hobb's you sung that song so gay, +Sweet William still the burthen of the lay, +I little thought, alas! the lots were cast, +That thou shou'd'st be another's bride at last: +And had, when last we trip'd it on the green +And laugh'd at stiff-back'd Rob, small thought I ween, +Ere yet another scanty month was flown, +To see thee wedded to the hateful clown. +Ay, lucky swain, more gold thy pockets line; +But did these shapely limbs resemble thine, +I'd stay at home, and tend the household geer, +Nor on the green with other lads appear. +Ay, lucky swain, no store thy cottage lacks, +And round thy barn thick stands the shelter'd stacks; +But did such features hard my visage grace, +I'd never budge the bonnet from my face. +Yet let it be: it shall not break my ease: +He best deserves who doth the maiden please. +Such silly cause no more shall give me pain, +Nor ever maiden cross my rest again. +Such grizzly suitors with their taste agree, +And the black fiend may take them all for me!" + + Now thro' the village rise confused sounds, +Hoarse lads, and children shrill, and yelping hounds. +Straight ev'ry matron at the door is seen, +And pausing hedgers on their mattocks lean. +At every narrow lane, and alley mouth, +Loud laughing lasses stand, and joking youth. +A near approaching band in colours gay, +With minstrels blythe before to cheer the way, +From clouds of curling dust which onward fly, +In rural splendour break upon the eye. +As in their way they hold so gayly on, +Caps, beads, and buttons glancing in the sun, +Each village wag, with eye of roguish cast, +Some maiden jogs, and vents the ready jest; +Whilst village toasts the passing belles deride, +And sober matrons marvel at their pride. +But William, head erect, with settled brow, +In sullen silence view'd the passing shew; +And oft' he scratch'd his pate with manful grace, +And scorn'd to pull the bonnet o'er his face; +But did with steady look unmoved wait, +Till hindmost man had turn'd the church-yard gate; +Then turn'd him to his cot with visage flat, +Where honest Tray upon the threshold sat. +Up jump'd the kindly beast his hand to lick, +And, for his pains, receiv'd an angry kick. +Loud shuts the flapping door with thund'ring din; +The echoes round their circling course begin, +From cot to cot, in wide progressive swell, +Deep groans the church-yard wall and neighb'ring dell, +And Tray, responsive, joins with long and piteous yell. + + + +A LAMENTATION. + + Where ancient broken wall encloses round, +From tread of lawless feet, the hallow'd ground, +And somber yews their dewy branches wave +O'er many a motey stone and mounded grave: +Where parish church, confus'dly to the sight, +With deeper darkness prints the shades of night, +And mould'ring tombs uncouthly gape around, +And rails and fallen stones bestrew the ground: +In loosen'd garb derang'd, with scatter'd hair, +His bosom open to the nightly air, +Lone, o'er a new heap'd grave poor Basil bent, +And to himself began his simple plaint. + + "Alas! how cold thy home! how low thou art! +Who wert the pride and mistress of my heart. +The fallen leaves light rustling o'er thee pass, +And o'er thee waves the rank and dewy grass. +The new laid sods in decent order tell +How narrow now the space where thou must dwell. +Now rough and wint'ry winds may on thee beat, +And drizzly drifting snow, and summer's heat; +Each passing season rub, for woe is me! +Or storm, or sunshine, is the same to thee. +Ah, Mary! lovely was thy slender form, +And sweet thy cheerful brow, that knew no storm. +Thy steps were graceful on the village-green, +As tho' thou had'st some courtly lady been: +At church or market, still the gayest lass, +Each younker slack'd his speed to see thee pass. +At early milking, tuneful was thy lay, +And sweet thy homeward song at close of day; +But sweeter far, and ev'ry youth's desire, +Thy cheerful converse by the ev'ning fire. +Alas! no more thou'lt foot the grassy sward! +No song of thine shall ever more be heard! +Yet now they trip it lightly on the green, +As blythe and gay as thou hadst never been: +The careless younker whittles lightsome by, +And other maidens catch his roving eye: +Around the ev'ning fire, with little care, +The neighbours sit, and scarcely miss thee there; +And when the night advancing darkens round, +They to their rest retire, and slumber sound. +But Basil cannot rest; his days are sad, +And long his nights upon the weary bed. +Yet still in broken dreams thy form appears, +And still my bosom proves a lover's fears. +I guide thy footsteps thro' the tangled wood; +I catch thee sinking in the boist'rous flood; +I shield thy bosom from the threaten'd stroke; +I clasp thee falling from the headlong rock; +But ere we reach the dark and dreadful deep, +High heaves my troubled breast, I wake, and weep. +At ev'ry wailing of the midnight wind +Thy lowly dwelling comes into my mind. +When rain beats on my roof, wild storms abroad, +I think upon thy bare and beaten sod; +I hate the comfort of a shelter'd home, +And hie me forth o'er fenceless fields to roam: +I leave the paths of men for dreary waste, +And bare my forehead to the howling blast. +O Mary! loss of thee hath fix'd my doom: +This world around me is a weary gloom: +Dull heavy musings down my spirits weigh, +I cannot sleep by night, nor work by day. +Or wealth or pleasure slowest minds inspire, +But cheerless is their toil who nought desire. +Let happier friends divide my farmers' dock, +Cut down my grain, and sheer my little flock; +For now my only care on earth shall be +Here ev'ry Sunday morn to visit thee; +And in the holy church, with heart sincere, +And humble mind, our worthy curate hear: +He best can tell, when earthly cares are past, +The surest way to meet with thee at last. +I'll thus a while a weary life abide, +Till wasting Time hath laid me by thy side; +For now on earth there is no place for me, +Nor peace, nor slumber, till I rest with thee." + + Loud, from the lofty spire, with piercing knell, +Solemn, and awful, toll'd the parish bell; +A later hour than rusties deem it meet +That church-yard ground be trode by mortal feet, +The wailing lover startled at the sound, +And rais'd his head and cast his eyes around. +The gloomy pile in strengthen'd horrour lower'd, +Large and majestic ev'ry object tower'd: +Dim thro' the gloom they shew'd their forms unknown, +And tall and ghastly rose each whiten'd stone: +Aloft the waking screech-owl 'gan to sing, +And past him skim'd the bat with flapping wing. +The fears of nature woke within his breast; +He left the hallowed spot of Mary's rest, +And sped his way the church-yard wall to gain, +Then check'd his coward heart, and turn'd again. +The shadows round a deeper horrour wear; +A deeper silence hangs upon his ear; +A stiller rest is o'er the settled scene; +His flutt'ring heart recoils, and shrinks again. +With hasty steps he measures back the ground, +And leaps with summon'd force the church-yard bound; +Then home with knocking limbs, and quicken'd breath, +His footstep urges from the place of death. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE MUSES. + +Ye tuneful Sifters of the lyre, +Who dreams and fantasies inspire; +Who over poesy preside, +And on a lofty hill abide +Above the ken of mortal fight, +Fain would I sing of you, could I address ye right. + +Thus known, your pow'r of old was sung, +And temples with your praises rung; +And when the song of battle rose, +Or kindling wine, or lovers' woes, +The poet's spirit inly burn'd, +And still to you his upcast eyes were turn'd. + +The youth all wrapp'd in vision bright, +Beheld your robes of flowing white: +And knew your forms benignly grand, +An awful, but a lovely band; +And felt your inspiration strong, +And warmly pour'd his rapid lay along. + +The aged bard all heav'n-ward glow'd, +And hail'd you daughters of a god: +Tho' to his dimmer eyes were seen +Nor graceful form, nor heav'nly mien, +Full well he felt that ye were near, +And heard you in the blast that shook his hoary hair. + +Ye lighten'd up the valley's bloom, +And deeper spread the forest's gloom; +The lofty hill sublimer flood, +And grander rose the mighty flood; +For then Religion lent her aid, +And o'er the mind of man your sacred empire spread. + +Tho' rolling ages now are past, +And altars low, and temples wade; +Tho' rites and oracles are o'er, +And gods and heros rule no more; +Your fading honours still remain, +And still your vot'ries call, a long and motley train. + +They seek you not on hill and plain, +Nor court you in the sacred sane; +Nor meet you in the mid-day dream, +Upon the bank of hallowed stream; +Yet still for inspiration sue, +And still each lifts his fervent prayer to you. + +He knows ye not in woodland gloom, +But wooes ye in the shelfed room; +And seeks you in the dusty nook, +And meets you in the letter'd book; +Full well he knows you by your names, +And still with poets faith your presence claims. + +The youthful poet, pen in hand, +All by the side of blotted stand, +In rev'rie deep, which none may break, +Sits rubbing of his beardless cheek; +And well his inspiration knows, +E'en by the dewy drops that trickle o'er his nose. + +The tuneful sage of riper fame, +Perceives you not in heated frame; +But at conclusion of his verse, +Which still his mutt'ring lips rehearse, +Oft' waves his hand in grateful pride, +And owns the heav'nly pow'r that did his fancy guide. + +O lovely sisters! is it true, +That they are all inspir'd by you? +And while they write, with magic charm'd, +And high enthusiasm warm'd, +We may not question heav'nly lays, +For well I wot, they give you all the praise. + +O lovely sisters! well it shews +How wide and far your bounty flows: +Then why from me withhold your beams? +Unvisited of heav'nly dreams, +Whene'er I aim at heights sublime, +Still downward am I call'd to seek some stubborn rhyme. + +No hasty lightning breaks the gloom, +Nor flashing thoughts unsought for come, +Nor fancies wake in time of need; +I labour much with little speed; +And when my studied task is done, +Too well, alas! I mark it for my own. + +Yet should you never smile on me, +And rugged still my verses be; +Unpleasing to the tuneful train, +Who only prize a slowing strain; +And still the learned scorn my lays, +I'll lift my heart to you, and sing your praise. + +Your varied ministry to trace, +Your honour'd names, and godlike race; +And lofty bow'rs where fountains flow, +They'll better sing who better know; +I praise ye not with Grecian lyre, +Nor will I hail ye daughters of a heathen fire. + +Ye are the spirits who preside +In earth, and air, and ocean wide; +In hissing flood, and crackling fire; +In horror dread, and tumult dire; +In stilly calm, and stormy wind, +And rule the answ'ring changes in the human mind. + +High on the tempest-beaten hill, +Your misty shapes ye shift at will; +The wild fantastic clouds ye form; +Your voice is in the midnight storm; +Whilst in the dark and lonely hour, +Oft' starts the boldest heart, and owns your secret pow'r. + +From you, when growling storms are past, +And light'ning ceases on the wade, +And when the scene of blood is o'er, +And groans of death are heard no more, +Still holds the mind each parted form, +Like after echoing of the o'erpassed storm. + +When closing glooms o'erspread the day, +And what we love has pass'd away, +Ye kindly bid each pleasing scene +Within the bosom still remain, +Like moons who doth their watches run +With the reflected brightness of the parted sun. + +The shining day, and nightly shade, +The cheerful plain and gloomy glade, +The homeward flocks, and shepherds play, +The busy hamlet's closing day, +Full many a breast with pleasures swell, +Who ne'er shall have the gift of words to tell, + +Oft' when the moon looks from on high, +And black around the shadows lie; +And bright the sparkling waters gleam, +And rushes rustle by the stream, +Shrill sounds, and fairy forms are known +By simple 'nighted swains, who wander late alone. + +Ye kindle up the inward glow, +Ye strengthen ev'ry outward show; +Ye overleap the strongest bar, +And join what Nature sunders far: +And visit oft' in fancies wild, +The bread of learned sage, and simple child. + +From him who wears a monarch's crown, +To the unletter'd artless clown, +All in some strange and lonely hour +Have felt, unsought, your secret pow'r, +And lov'd your roving fancies well, +You add but to the bard the art to tell. + +Ye mighty spirits of the song, +To whom the poets' pray'rs belong, +My lowly bosom to inspire, +And kindle with your sacred fire, +Your wild obscuring heights to brave, +Is boon, alas! too great for me to crave. + +But O, such sense of matter bring! +As they who feel and never sing +Wear on their hearts, it will avail +With simple words to tell my tale; +And still contented will I be, +Tho' greater inspirations never fall to me. + + + +A MELANCHOLY LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + My Phillis, all my hopes are o'er, +And I shall see thy face no more. +Since ev'ry secret wish is vain, +I will not stay to give thee pain. +Then do not hang thy low'ring brow, +But let me bless thee ere I go: +Nor, O, despise my last adieu! +I've lov'd thee long, and lov'd thee true. + + The prospects of my youth are crost, +My health is flown, my vigour lost; +My soothing friends augment my pain, +And cheerless is my native plain; +Dark o'er my spirit hangs the gloom, +And thy disdain has fix'd my doom. +But light gales ruffle o'er the sea, +Which soon shall bear me far from thee; +And wherefoe'er our course is cast, +I know will bear me to my rest. +Full deep beneath the briny wave, +Where rest the venturous and brave, +A place may be decreed for me; +And should no tempest raise the sea, +Far hence upon a foreign land, +Whose sons, perhaps, with friendly hand +The stranger's lowly tomb may raise; +A broken heart will end my days. + + But Heaven's blessing on thee rest! +And may no troubles vex thy breast! +Perhaps, when pensive and alone, +You'll think of me when I am gone; +And gentle tears of pity shed, +When I am in my narrow bed. +Yet softly let thy sorrow flow! +And greater may'st thou never know! +All free from worldly care and strife, +Long may'ft thou live a happy life! +And ev'ry earthly blessing find, +Thou loveliest of womankind: +And blest thy secret wishes be! +Tho' cruel thou hast been to me. + + And do'st thou then thine arm extend +And may I take thy lovely hand? +And do thine eyes thus gently look, +As tho' some kindly wish they spoke? +My gentle Phillis, tho' severe, +I do not grudge the ills I bear; +But still my greatest grief will be, +To think my love has troubled thee. +O, do not scorn this swelling grief! +The laden bosom seeks relief: +Nor yet this infant weakness blame, +For thou hast made me what I am. +But hark! the sailors call away, +No longer may I ling'ring stay; +May peace within thy mansion dwell! +O, gentle Phillis, fare thee well! + + + +A CHEERFUL TEMPERED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + The light winds on the streamers play +That soon shall bear me far away; +My comrades give the parting cheer, +And I alone have linger'd here. +Now Phill. my love, since it will be, +And I must bid farewell to thee, +Since ev'ry hope of thee is flown, +Ne'er send me from thee with a frown; +But let me kindly take thy hand, +And bid God bless me in a foreign land. + + No more I'll loiter by thy side, +Well pleas'd thy gamesome taunts to bide; +Nor lovers' gambols lightly try +To make me graceful in thine eye; +Nor sing the merry roundelay, +To cheer thee at the close of day. +Yet ne'ertheless tho' we must part, +I'll bear thee still upon my heart; +And oft' I'll fill the ruddy glass, +To toast my lovely scornful lass. +Far hence, upon a foreign shore, +Still will I keep an open door, +And still my little fortune share +With all who ever breath'd my native air. +And who thy beauteous face hath seen, +Or ever near thy dwelling been, +Shall push about the flowing bowl, +And be the matter of the whole. +And ev'ry woman for thy sake, +Though proud and cruel, as they're weak, +Shall in my walls protection find, +Thou fairest of a fickle kind. + + O, dearly! dearly! have I paid, +Thou little haughty cruel maid, +To give that inward peace to thee, +Which thou hast ta'en away from me. +Soft hast thou slept, with bosom light, +Whilst I have watch'd the weary night; +And now I cross the surgy deep, +That thou may'st still untroubled sleep-- +But in thine eyes, what do I see, +That looks as tho' they pitied me? +I thank thee, Phill. yet be not sad, +I leave no blame upon thy head. +I would, more grac'd with pleasing make, +I had been better for thy sake, +But yet, perhaps, when I shall dwell +Far hence, thou'lt sometimes think how well-- +I dare not stay, since we must part, +T'expose a fond and foolish heart; +Where'er I go, it beats for you, +God bless ye, Phill. adieu! adieu! + + + +A PROUD LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + Farewell thou haughty, cruel fair! +Upon thy brow no longer wear +That sombre look of cold disdain, +Thou ne'er shalt see my face again. +Now ev'ry silly wish is o'er, +And fears and doubtings are no more. + + All cruel as thou art to me, +Long has my heart been fix'd on thee; +On thee I've mus'd the live-long day, +And thought the weary night away; +I've trac'd thy footsteps o'er the green, +And shar'd thy rambles oft unseen; +I've linger'd near thee night and day, +When thou hast thought me far away; +I've watch'd the turning of thy face, +And fondly mark'd thy moving grace; +And wept thy rising smiles to see; +I've been a fool for love of thee. +Yet do not think I stay the while +Thy weakly pity to beguile: +Let forced favour fruitless prove! +The pity curst, that brings not love! +No woman e'er shall give me pain, +Or ever break my rest again: +Nor aught that comes of woman kind +Have pow'r again to move my mind. +Far on a foreign shore I'll seek +Some lonely island, bare and bleak; +I'll seek some wild and rugged cell, +And with untamed creatures dwell. +To hear their cries is now my choice, +Far more than man's deceitful voice: +To listen to the howling wind, +Than luring tongue of womankind. +They look not beautiful and good, +But ronghsome seem as they are rude. + + O Phillis! thou hast wreck'd a heart, +Which proudly bears, but feels the smart. +Adieu! adieu! should'st thou e'er prove +The pang of ill-requited love, +Thou'lt know what I have borne for thee, +And then thou wilt remember me. + + + +A POET, OR, SOUND-HEARTED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + Fair Nymph, who dost my fate controul, +And reign'st the mistress of my soul, +Where thou all bright in beauties ray +Hast held a long tyrannick sway, +They who the hardest rule maintain, +In their commands do still refrain +From what impossible must prove, +But thou hast bade me cease to love; +Nor would some gentle mercy give, +And only bid me cease to live. +Ah! when the magnet's pow'r is o'er, +The compass then will point no more; +And when no verdure cloaths the spring, +The tuneful birds forget to sing: +But thou all sweet and heav'nly fair, +Hast bade thy swain from love forbear. +In pity let thine own fair hand +A death's-wound to this bosom send: +This tender heart of purest faith +May then resign thee with its breath; +And in the sun-beam of thine eye +A proud and willing victim die. + + But since thou wilt not have it so, +Far from thy presence will I go: +Far from my heart's dear bliss I'll stray, +Since I no longer can obey. +In foreign climes I'll distant roam, +No more to hail my native home: +To foreign swains I'll pour my woe, +In foreign plains my tears shall flow: +By murm'ring stream and shady grove +Shall other echoes tell my love; +And richer flow'rs of vivid hue +Upon my tomb shall other maidens strew. + + Adieu, dear Phillis! should'ft thou e'er +Some soft and plaintive story hear, +Of hapless youth who died for love, +Or all forlorn did banish'd rove, +O think of me! nor then deny +The gentle tribute of a sigh. + + * * * * * + + It may be objected that all these lovers are equally sad, though one is +a cheerful, the other a melancholy lover. It is true they are all equally +sad, for they are all equally in love, and in despair, when it is +impossible for them to be otherwise; but if I have pictured their farewell +complaints in such a way as to give you an idea that one lover is +naturally of a melancholy, one of a cheerful, and one of a proud temper, I +have done all that is intended. + + + +THE STORM-BEAT MAID. + +SOMEWHAT AFTER THE STYLE OF OUR OLD ENGLISH BALLADS. + + +All shrouded in the winter snow, + The maiden held her way; +Nor chilly winds that roughly blow, + Nor dark night could her stay. + +O'er hill and dale, through bush and briar, + She on her journey kept; +Save often when she 'gan to tire, + She stop'd awhile and wept. + +Wild creatures left their caverns drear, + To raise their nightly yell; +But little doth the bosom fear, + Where inward troubles dwell. + +No watch-light from the distant spire, + To cheer the gloom so deep, +Nor twinkling star, nor cottage fire + Did thro' the darkness peep. + +Yet heedless still she held her way, + Nor fear'd the crag nor dell; +Like ghost that thro' the gloom to stray, + Wakes with the midnight bell. + +Now night thro' her dark watches ran, + Which lock the peaceful mind; +And thro' the neighb'ring hamlets 'gan + To wake the yawning hind. + +Yet bark of dog, nor village cock, + That spoke the morning near; +Nor gray-light trembling on the rock, + Her 'nighted mind could cheer. + +The whirling flail, and clacking mill + Wake with the early day; +And careless children, loud and shrill, + With new-made snow-balls play. + +And as she pass'd each cottage door, + They did their gambols cease; +And old men shook their locks so hoar, + And wish'd her spirit peace. + +For sometimes slow; and sometimes fast, + She held her wav'ring pace; +Like early spring's inconstant blast, + That ruffles evening's face. + +At length with weary feet she came, + Where in a shelt'ring wood, +Whose master bore no humble name, + A stately castle stood. + +The open gate, and smoking fires, + Which cloud the air so thin; +And shrill bell tinkling from the spires, + Bespoke a feast within. + +With busy looks, and hasty tread, + The servants cross the hall; +And many a page, in buskins red, + Await the master's call. + +Fair streaming bows of bridal white + On ev'ry shoulder play'd; +And clean, in lily kerchief dight, + Trip'd every houshold maid. + +She ask'd for neither lord nor dame, + Nor who the mansion own'd; +But straight into the hall she came, + And sat her on the ground. + +The busy crew all crouded nigh, + And round the stranger star'd; +But still she roll'd her wand'ring eye, + Nor for their questions car'd. + +"What dost thou want, thou storm-beat' maid, + That thou these portals past? +Ill suiteth here thy looks dismay'd, + Thou art no bidden guest." + +"O chide not!" said a gentle page, + And wip'd his tear-wet cheek, +"Who would not shun the winter's rage? + The wind is cold and bleak. + +"Her robe is stiff with drizly snow, + And rent her mantle grey; +None ever bade the wretched go + Upon his wedding-day." + +Then to his lord he hied him straight, + Where round on silken seat +Sat many a courteous dame and knight. + And made obeisance meet, + +"There is a stranger in your hall, + Who wears no common mien; +Hard were the heart, as flinty wall, + That would not take her in. + +"A fairer dame in hall or bower + Mine eyes did ne'er behold; +Tho' shelter'd in no father's tower, + And turn'd out to the cold. + +"Her face is like an early morn, + Dimm'd with the nightly dew; +Her skin is like the sheeted torn, + Her eyes are wat'ry blue. + +"And tall and slender is her form, + Like willow o'er the brook; +But on her brow there broods a storm, + And restless is her look, + +"And well her troubled motions shew + The tempest in her mind; +Like the unshelter'd sapling bough + Vex'd with the wintry wind. + +"Her head droops on her ungirt breast, + And scatter'd is her hair; +Yet lady brac'd in courtly vest + Was never half so fair." + +Reverse, and cold the turning blood + The bridegroom's cheek forsook: +He shook and stagger'd as he stood, + And falter'd as he spoke. + +"So soft and fair I know a maid, + There is but only she; +A wretched man her love betrayed, + And wretched let him be." + +Deep frowning, turn'd the bride's dark eye, + For bridal morn unmeet; +With trembling steps her lord did hie + The stranger fair to greet. + +Tho' loose in scatter'd weeds array'd, + And ruffled with the storm; +Like lambkin from its fellows stray'd, + He knew her graceful form. + +But when he spy'd her sunken eye, + And features sharp and wan, +He heav'd a deep and heavy sigh, + And down the big tears ran. + +"Why droops thy head, thou lovely maid, + Upon thy hand of snow? +Is it because thy love betray'd, + That thou art brought so low?" + +Quick from her eye the keen glance came + Who question'd her to see: +And oft she mutter'd o'er his name, + And wist not it was he. + +Full hard against his writhing brows + His clenched hands he prest; +Full high his lab'ring bosom rose, + And rent its silken vest. + +"O cursed be the golden price, + That did my baseness prove! +And cursed be my friends advice, + That wil'd me from thy love! + +"And cursed be the woman's art, + That lur'd me to her snare! +And cursed be the faithless heart + That left thee to despair! + +"Yet now I'll hold thee to my side, + Tho' worthless I have been, +Nor friends, nor wealth, nor dizen'd bride, + Shall ever stand between. + +"When thou art weary and depress'd, + I'll lull thee to thy sleep; +And when dark fancies vex thy breast, + I'll sit by thee and weep. + +"I'll tend thee like a restless child + Where'er thy rovings be; +Nor gesture keen, nor eye-ball wild, + Shall turn my love from thee. + +"Night shall not hang cold o'er thy head, + And I securely lie; +Nor drizly clouds upon thee shed, + And I in covert dry. + +"I'll share the cold blast on the heath, + I'll share thy wants and pain: +Nor friend nor foe, nor life nor death, + Shall ever make us twain." + + + +THUNDER. + + Spirit of strength, to whom in wrath 'tis given +To mar the earth, and shake the vasty heaven: +Behold the gloomy robes, that spreading hide +Thy secret majesty, lo! slow and wide, +Thy heavy skirts sail in the middle air, +Thy sultry shroud is o'er the noonday glare: +Th' advancing clouds sublimely roll'd on high, +Deep in their pitchy volumes clothe the sky; +Like hosts of gath'ring foes array'd in death, +Dread hangs their gloom upon the earth beneath, +It is thy hour: the awful deep is still, +And laid to rest the wind of ev'ry hill. +Wild creatures of the forest homeward scour, +And in their dens with fear unwonted cow'r. +Pride in the lordly palace is forgot, +And in the lowly shelter of the cot +The poor man sits, with all his fam'ly round, +In awful expectation of thy sound. +Lone on his way the trav'ller stands aghast; +The fearful looks of man to heav'n are cast, +When, lo! thy lightning gleams on high, +As swiftly turns his startled eye; +And swiftly as thy shooting blaze +Each half performed motion stays, +Deep awe, all human strife and labour stills, +And thy dread voice alone, the earth and heaven fills. + + Bright bursts the lightning from the cloud's dark womb, +As quickly swallow'd in the closing gloom. +The distant streamy flashes, spread askance +In paler sheetings, skirt the wide expanse. +Dread flaming from aloft, the cat'ract dire +Oft meets in middle space the nether fire. +Fierce, red, and ragged, shiv'ring in the air, +Athwart mid-darkness shoots the lengthen'd glare. +Wild glancing round, the feebler lightning plays; +The rifted centre pours the gen'ral blaze; +And from the warring clouds in fury driven,[A] +Red writhing falls the keen embodied bolt of heaven. + +[Footnote A: In poetry we have only to do with appearances; and the +zig-zag lightning, commonly thought to be the thunder-bolt, is certainly +firm and embodied, compared to the ordinary lightning, which takes no +distinct shape at all.] + + From the dark bowels of the burthen'd cloud +Dread swells the rolling peal, full, deep'ning, loud. +Wide ratt'ling claps the heavens scatter'd o'er, +In gathered strength lift the tremendous roar; +With weaning force it rumbles over head, +Then, growling, wears away to silence dread. +Now waking from afar in doubled might, +Slow rolling onward to the middle height; +Like crash of mighty mountains downward hurl'd, +Like the upbreaking of a wrecking world, +In dreadful majesty, th' explosion grand +Bursts wide, and awful, o'er the trembling land. +The lofty mountains echo back the roar, +Deep from afar rebounds earth's rocky shore; +All else existing in the senses bound +Is lost in the immensity of sound. +Wide jarring sounds by turns in strength convene, +And deep, and terrible, the solemn pause between. + + Aloft upon the mountain's side +The kindled forest blazes wide. +Huge fragments of the rugged deep +Are tumbled to the lashing deep. +Firm rooted in the cloven rock, +Loud crashing falls the stubborn oak. +The lightning keen, in wasteful ire, +Fierce darting on the lofty spire, +Wide rends in twain the ir'n-knit stone, +And stately tow'rs are lowly thrown. +Wild flames o'erscour the wide campaign, +And plough askance the hissing main. +Nor strength of man may brave the storm, +Nor shelter skreen the shrinking form; +Nor castle wall its fury stay, +Nor masy gate may bar its way. +It visits those of low estate, +It shakes the dwellings of the great, +It looks athwart the secret tomb, +And glares upon the prison's gloom; +While dungeons deep, in unknown light, +Flash hidious on the wretches' fight, +And lowly groans the downward cell, +Where deadly silence wont to dwell. + + Now upcast eyes to heav'n adore, +And knees that never bow'd before. +In stupid wonder flares the child; +The maiden turns her glances wild, +And lifts to hear the coming roar: +The aged shake their locks so hoar: +And stoutest hearts begin to fail, +And many a manly cheek is pale; +Till nearer closing peals astound, +And crashing ruin mingles round; +Then 'numbing fear awhile up-binds +The pausing action of their minds, +Till wak'd to dreadful sense, they lift their eyes, +And round the stricken corse, shrill shrieks of horror rise. + + Now thinly spreads the falling hall +A motly winter o'er the vale, +The hailstones bounding as they fall +On hardy rock, or storm-beat' wall. +The loud beginning peal its fury checks, +Now full, now fainter, with irreg'lar breaks, +Then weak in force, unites the scatter'd found; +And rolls its lengthen'd grumblings to the distant bound. +A thick and muddy whiteness clothes the sky, +In paler flashes gleams the lightning by; +And thro' the rent cloud, silver'd with his ray, +The sun looks down on all this wild affray; +As high enthron'd above all mortal ken, +A greater Pow'r beholds the strife of men: +Yet o'er the distant hills the darkness scowls, +And deep, and long, the parting tempest growls. + + + +WIND. + + Pow'r uncontrollable, who hold'st thy sway +In the unbounded air, whose trackless way +Is in the firmament, unknown of fight, +Who bend'st the sheeted heavens in thy might, +And lift'st the ocean from its lowest bed +To join in middle space the conflict dread; +Who o'er the peopled earth in ruin scours, +And buffets the firm rock that proudly low'rs, +Thy signs are in the heav'ns. The upper clouds +Draw shapeless o'er the sky their misty shrowds; +Whilst darker fragments rove in lower bands, +And mournful purple cloaths the distant lands. +In gather'd tribes, upon the hanging peak +The sea-fowl scream, ill-omen'd creatures shriek: +Unwonted sounds groan on the distant wave, +And murmurs deep break from the downward cave. +Unlook'd-for gusts the quiet forests shake, +And speak thy coming--awful Pow'r, awake! + + Like burst of mighty waters wakes the blast, +In wide and boundless sweep: thro' regions vast +The floods of air in loosen'd fury drive, +And meeting currents strong, and fiercely strive. +First wildly raving on the mountain's brow +'Tis heard afar, till o'er the plains below +With even rushing force it bears along, +And gradual swelling, louder, full, and strong, +Breaks wide in scatter'd bellowing thro' the air. +Now is it hush'd to calm, now rous'd to war, +Whilst in the pauses of the nearer blast, +The farther gusts howl from the distant waste. +Now rushing furious by with loosen'd sweep, +Now rolling grandly on, solemn and deep, +Its bursting strength the full embodied sound +In wide and shallow brawlings scatters round; +Then wild in eddies shrill, with rage distraught, +And force exhausted, whistles into naught. +With growing might, arising in its room, +From far, like waves of ocean onward come +Succeeding gusts, and spend their wasteful ire, +Then slow, in grumbled mutterings retire: +And solemn stillness overawes the land, +Save where the tempest growls along the distant strand. +But great in doubled strength, afar and wide, +Returning battle wakes on ev'ry side; +And rolling on with full and threat'ning sound, +In wildly mingled fury closes round. +With bellowings loud, and hollow deep'ning swell, +Reiterated hiss, and whistlings shrill, +Fierce wars the varied storm, with fury tore, +Till all is overwhelm'd in one tremendous roar. + + The vexed forest, tossing wide, +Uprooted strews its fairest pride; +The lofty pine in twain is broke, +And crushing falls the knotted oak. +The huge rock trembles in its might; +The proud tow'r tumbles from its height; +Uncover'd stands the social home; +High rocks aloft the city dome; +Whilst bursting bar, and flapping gate, +And crashing roof, and clatt'ring grate, +And hurling wall, and falling spire, +Mingle in jarring din and ruin dire. +Wild ruin scours the works of men; +Their motly fragments strew the plain. +E'en in the desert's pathless waste, +Uncouth destruction marks the blast: +And hollow caves whose secret pride, +Grotesque and grand, was never ey'd +By mortal man, abide its drift, +Of many a goodly pillar reft. +Fierce whirling mounts the desert sand, +And threats aloft the peopl'd land. +The great expanded ocean, heaving wide, +Rolls to the farthest bound its lashing tide; +Whilst in the middle deep afar are seen, +All stately from the sunken gulfs between, +The tow'ring waves, which bend with hoary brow, +Then dash impetuous to the deep below. +With broader sweepy base, in gather'd might +Majestic, swelling to stupendous height, +The mountain billow lifts its awful head, +And, curving, breaks aloft with roarings dread. +Sublimer still the mighty waters rise, +And mingle in the strife of nether skies. +All wildness and uproar, above, beneath, +A world immense of danger, dread, and death. + + In dumb despair the sailor stands, +The frantic merchant wrings his hands, +Advent'rous hope clings to the yard, +And sinking wretches shriek unheard: +Whilst on the land, the matron ill at rest, +Thinks of the distant main, and heaves her heavy breast. +The peasants leave their ruin'd home, +And o'er the fields distracted roam: +Insensible the 'numbed infant sleeps, +And helpless bending age, weak and unshelter'd weeps. +Low shrinking fear, in place of state, +Skulks in the dwellings of the great. +The rich man marks with careful eye, +Each wasteful gust that whistles by; +And ill men fear'd with fancied screams +Sit list'ning to the creaking beams. +At break of ev'ry rising squall +On storm-beat' roof, or ancient wall, +Full many a glance of fearful eye +Is upward cast, till from on high, +From cracking joist, and gaping rent, +And falling fragments warning sent, +Loud wakes around the wild affray, +'Tis all confusion and dismay. + + Now powerful but inconstant in its course, +The tempest varies with uncertain force. +Like doleful wailings on the lonely waste, +Solemn and dreary sounds the weaning blast. +Exhausted gusts recoiling growl away, +And, wak'd anew, return with feebler sway; +Save where between the ridgy mountains pent, +The fierce imprison'd current strives for vent, +With hollow howl, and lamentation deep, +Then rushes o'er the plain with partial sweep. +A parting gust o'erscours the weary land, +And lowly growls along the distant strand: +Light thro' the wood the shiv'ring branches play, +And on the ocean far it slowly dies away. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A FEARFUL MIND. + + Uncertain, awful as the gloom of death, +The Night's grim shadows cover all beneath. +Shapeless and black is ev'ry object round, +And lost in thicker gloom the distant bound. +Each swelling height is clad with dimmer shades, +And deeper darkness marks the hollow glades. +The moon in heavy clouds her glory veils, +And slow along their passing darkness sails; +While lesser clouds in parted fragments roam, +And red stars glimmer thro' the river's gloom. + + Nor cheerful voice is heard from man's abode, +Nor sounding footsteps on the neighb'ring road; +Nor glimm'ring fire the distant cottage tells; +On all around a fearful stillness dwells: +The mingled noise of industry is laid, +And silence deepens with the nightly shade. +Though still the haunts of men, and shut their light, +Thou art not silent, dark mysterious Night, +The cries of savage creatures wildly break +Upon thy quiet; birds ill-omen'd shriek; +Commotions strange disturb the rustling trees; +And heavy plaints come on the passing breeze. +Far on the lonely waste, and distant way, +Unwonted sounds are heard, unknown of day. +With shrilly screams the haunted cavern rings; +And heavy treading of unearthly things +Sounds loud and hollow thro' the ruin'd dome; +Yea, voices issue from the secret tomb. + + But lo! a sudden flow of bursting light! +What wild surrounding scenes break on the sight! +Huge rugged rocks uncouthly low'r on high, +Whilst on the plain their lengthen'd shadows lie. +The wooded banks in streamy brightness glow; +And waving darkness skirts the flood below. +The roving shadow hastens o'er the stream; +And like a ghost's pale shrowd the waters glean. +Black fleeting shapes across the valley stray: +Gigantic forms tow'r on the distant way: +The sudden winds in wheeling eddies change: +'Tis all confus'd, unnatural, and strange. +Now all again in horrid gloom is lost: +Wild wakes the breeze like sound of distant host: +Bright shoots along the swift returning light: +Succeeding shadows close the startled sight. +Some restless spirit holds the nightly sway: +Long is the wild, and doubtful is my way. +Inconstant Night, whate'er thy changes be, +It suits not man to be alone with thee. +O! for the shelt'ring roof of lowest kind, +Secure to rest with others of my hind! + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A DISCONTENTED MIND. + + How thick the clouds of night are rang'd o'er head! +Confounding darkness o'er the earth is spread. +The clouded moon her cheering count'nance hides; +And feeble stars, between the ragged sides +Of broken clouds, with unavailing ray, +Look thro' to mock the trav'ller on his way. +Tree, bush, and rugged rock, and hollow dell, +In deeper shades their forms confus'dly tell, +To cheat the weary wand'rer's doubtful eye; +Whilst chilly passing winds come ruffling by; +And tangled briars perplex the darken'd pass; +And slimy reptiles glimmer on the grass; +And stinging night-flies spend their cursed spite; +Unhospitable are thy shades, O Night! + + Now hard suspicion bars the creaking door; +And safe within the selfish worldlings snore: +And wealthy fools are warm in downy bed: +And houseless beggars shelter in the shed: +And nestling coveys cow'r beneath the brake; +While prowling mischief only is awake. +Each hole and den fends forth its cursed brood, +And savage bloody creatures range the wood. +The thievish vagrant plies his thriftless trade +Beneath the friendly shelter of the shade; +Whilst boldest risk the lawless robber braves: +The day for fools was made, and night for knaves. + + O welcome, kindly moon! thy light display, +And guide a weary trav'ller on his way. +Hill, wood, and valley, brighten in her beam; +And wavy silver glitters on the stream. +The distant path-way shews distinct and clear, +From far inviting, but perplex'd when near. +For blackning shadows add deceitful length, +And lesser objects gain unwonted strength; +Each step misguiding; to the eye unknown, +The shining gutter, from the glist'ning stone; +While crossing shadows checker o'er the ground, +The more perplexing for the brightness round. +Deceitful are thy smiles, untoward Night! +Thy gloom is better than misguiding light. +Then welcome is yon cloud that onward fails, +And all this glary shew in darkness veils. +But see how soon the fleeting shade is past, +And streamy brightness moots across the waste. +Now fly the shadows borne upon the wind; +Succeeding brightness travels fast behind. +And now it low'rs again. Inconstant Night, +Confound thy freaks! be either dark or light. +Yet let them come; whate'er thy changes be, +I was a fool to put my trust in thee. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A SORROWFUL MIND. + + How lone and dreary hangs the sombre Night +O'er wood and valley, stream and craggy height! +While nearer objects, bush, and waving bough, +Their dark uncertain forms but dimly show; +Like those with which disturbed fancies teem, +And shape the scen'ry of a gloomy dream. +The moon is cover'd with her sable shrowd; +And o'er the heav'us rove many a dusky cloud; +Thro' ragged rents the paly sky is seen, +And feebly glance the twinkling stars between: +Whilst earth below is wrapt in stilly gloom, +All sad and silent as the closed tomb. + + No bleating flock is heard upon the vale; +Nor lowing kine upon the open dale; +Nor voice of hunter on the lonely heath; +Nor sound of trav'ller on the distant path. +Shut is the fenced door of man's abode; +And ruffling breezes only are abroad. +How mournful is thy voice, O nightly gale! +Across the wood, or down the narrow vale; +And sad, tho' secret and unknown they be, +The sighs of woeful hearts that wake with thee. +For now no friends the haunts of sorrow seek; +Tears hang unchidden on the mourner's cheek: +No side-look vexes from the curious eye; +Nor calm reproving reasoner is by; +The kindly cumbrous visitor is gone, +And laden spirits love to sigh alone. +O Night! wild sings the wind, deep low'rs the shade; +Thy robe is gloomy, and thy voice is sad: +But weary souls confin'd in earthly cell +Are deep in kindred gloom, and love thee well. + + But now the veiling darkness passes by; +The moon unclouded holds the middle sky. +A soft and mellow light is o'er the wood; +And silv'ry pureness sparkles on the flood. +White tow'r the clifts from many a craggy breach; +The brown heath shews afar its dreary stretch. +While fairer as the brighten'd object swells, +Fast by its side the darker shadow dwells: +The lofty mountains form the deeper glade, +And keener light but marks the blacker made. +Then welcome yonder clouds that swiftly sail, +And o'er yon glary op'ning draw the veil. +But, ah! too swiftly flies the friendly shade! +Returning brightness travels up the glade, +And all is light again. O fickle Night! +No traveller is here to bless thy light. +I seek nor home, nor shed; I have no way; +Why send thy beams to one who cannot stray? +Or wood, or desert, is the same to me; +O low'r again, and let me rest with thee! + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A JOYFUL MIND. + + The warping gloom of night is gather'd round; +And varied darkness marks the uneven ground. +A dimmer shade is on the mountain's brow, +And deeper low'rs the lengthen'd vale below; +While nearer objects all enlarged and dark, +Their strange and shapeless forms uncouthly mark; +Which thro' muddy night are dimly shown, +Like old companions in a garb unknown. +The heavy sheeted clouds are spread on high, +And streaky darkness bounds the farther sky: +And swift along the lighter vagrants sweep, +Whilst clear stars thro' their riven edges peep. +Soft thro' each ragged breach, and streamy rent, +And open gaps in dusky circle pent, +The upper heaven looks serenely bright +In dappled gold, and snowy fleeces dight: +And on the middle current lightly glides +The lesser cloud, with silver wreathy sides. +In sudden gusts awakes the nightly breeze +Across the wood, and rustles thro' the trees; +Or whistles on the plain with eddying sweep; +Or issues from the glen in wailings deep, +Which die away upon the open vale: +Whilst in the pauses of the ruffling gale +The buzzing night-fly rises from the ground, +And wings his flight in many a mazy round; +And lonely owls begin their nightly strain, +So hateful to the ear of 'nighted swain. +Thou do'st the weary trav'ller mislead; +Thy voice is roughsome, and uncooth thy weed, +O gloomy Night! for black thy shadows be, +And fools have rais'd a bad report on thee. +Yet art thou free and friendly to the gay, +And light hearts prize thee equal to the day. + + Now tiresome plodding folks are gone to rest; +And soothing slumber locks the careful breast. +And tell-tale friends, and wise advisers snore; +And softly slip-shod youths unbar the door. +Now footsteps echo far, and watch-dogs bark; +Worms glow, and cats' eyes glitter in the dark. +The vagrant lover crosses moor and hill, +And near the lowly cottage whistles shrill: +Or, bolder grown, beneath the friendly shade, +Taps at the window of his fav'rite maid; +Who from above his simple tale receives, +Whilst stupid matrons start, and think of thieves, +Now daily fools unbar the narrow soul, +All wise and gen'rous o'er the nightly bowl. +The haunted wood receives its motley host, +(By trav'ller shun'd) tho' neither fag nor ghost; +And there the crackling bonfire blazes red, +While merry vagrants feast beneath the shed. +From sleepless beds unquiet spirits rise, +And cunning wags put on their borrow'd guise: +Whilst silly maidens mutter o'er their boon, +And crop their fairy weeds beneath the moon: +And harmless plotters slyly take the road, +And trick and playful mischief is abroad. + + But, lo! the moon looks forth in splendour bright, +Fair and unclouded, from her middle height. +The passing cloud unveils her kindly ray, +And slowly sails its weary length away; +While broken fragments from its fleecy side, +In dusky bands before it swiftly glide; +Their misty texture changing with the wind, +A strange and scatter'd group, of motley kind +As ever earth or fruitful ocean fed, +Or ever youthful poets fancy bred. +His surgy length the wreathing serpent trails, +And by his side the rugged camel sails: +The winged griffith follows close behind, +And spreads his dusky pinions to the wind. +Athwart the sky in scatter'd bands they range +From shape to shape, transform'd in endless change; +Then piece meal torn, in ragged portions stray, +Or thinly spreading, slowly melt away. +A softer brightness covers all below; +Hill, dale, and wood, in mellow'd colour's glow. +High tow'rs the whiten'd rock in added strength; +The brown heath shews afar its dreary length. +The winding river glitters on the vale; +And gilded trees wave in the passing gale. +Upon the ground each black'ning shadow lies, +And hasty darkness o'er the valley flies. +Wide sheeting shadows travel o'er the plain, +And swiftly close upon the varied scene. +Return, O lovely moon! and look from high, +All stately riding in thy motled sky, +Yet, O thy beams in hasty visits come! +As swiftly follow'd by the fleeting gloom. +O Night! thy smiles are short, and short thy shade; +Thou art a freakish friend, and all unstay'd: +Yet from thy varied changes who are free? +Full many an honest friend resembles thee. +Then let my doubtful footsteps darkling stray, +Thy next fair beam will set me on my way: +E'en take thy freedom, whether rough or kind, +I came not forth to quarrel with the wind. + + + +TO FEAR. + + O thou! before whose haggard eyes +A thousand images arise, +Whose forms of horror none may see, +But with a soul disturb'd by thee! +Wilt thon for ever haunt mankind, +And glare upon the darken'd mind! +Whene'er thou enterest a breast, +Thou robb'st it of its joy and rest; +And terrible, and strange to tell, +On what that mind delights to dwell. +The ruffian's knife with reeking blade, +The stranger murder'd in his bed: +The howling wind, the raging deep, +The sailor's cries, the sinking ship: +The awful thunder breaking round: +The yauning gulf, the rocking ground: +The precipice, whose low'ring brow +O'erhangs the horrid deep below; +And tempts the wretch, worn out with strife, +Of worldly cares, to end his life. + + But when thou raisest to the fight +Unearthly forms that walk the night, +The chilly blood, with magic art, +Runs backward on the stoutest heart. +Lo! in his post the soldier stands[See Spectator, No. 12.]! +The deadly weapon in his hands. +In front of death he rushes on, +Renown with life is cheaply won, +Whilst all his soul with ardour burns, +And to the thickest danger turns. +But see the man alone, unbent, +A church-yard near, and twilight spent, +Returning late to his abode, +Upon an unfrequented road: +No choice is left, his feet must tread +The awful dwelling of the dead. +In foul mist doth the pale moon wade, +No twinkling star breaks thro' the shade: +Thick rows of trees increase the gloom, +And awful silence of the tomb. +Swift to his thoughts, unbidden, throng +Full many a tale, forgotten long, +Of ghosts, who at the dead of night +Walk round their graves all wrapt in white, +And o'er the church-yard dark and drear, +Becken the traveller to draw near: +And restless sprites, who from the ground, +Just as the midnight clock doth sound, +Rise slowly to a dreadful height, +Then vanish quickly from the fight: +And wretches who, returning home, +By chance have stumbled near some tomb, +Athwart a coffin or a bone, +And three times heard a hollow groan; +With fearful steps he takes his way, +And shrinks, and wishes it were day. +He starts and quakes at his own tread, +But dare not turn about his head. +Some sound he hears on ev'ry side; +And thro' the trees strange phantoms glide. +His heart beats thick against his breast, +And hardly stays within its chest: +Wild and unsettled are his eyes; +His quicken'd hairs begin to rise: +Ghastly and strong his features grow; +The cold dew trickles from his brow; +Whilst grinning beat his clatt'ring teeth, +And loosen'd knock his joints beneath. +As to the charnel he draws nigh +The whiten'd tomb-stone strikes his eye: +He starts, he stops, his eye-balls glare, +And settle in a death-like stare: +Deep hollow sounds ring in his ear; +Such sounds as dying wretches hear +When the grim dreaded tyrant calls, +A horrid sound, he groans and falls. + + Thou do'st our fairest hope destroy; +Thou art a gloom o'er ev'ry joy; +Unheeded let my dwelling be, +O Fear! but far remov'd from thee! + + + +A STORY OF OTHER TIMES. + +SOMEWHAT IN IMITATION OF THE POEMS OF OSSIAN. + + +LATHMOR. +But why do'st thou stop on the way, and hold me thus hard in thy grasp? +It was but the voice of the winds from the deep narrow glens of Glanarven. + +ALLEN. +The heath is unruffled around, and the oak o'er thy head is at rest: +Calm swells the moon on the lake, and nothing is heard in the reeds. +Sad was the sound, O my father! but it was not the voice of the wind. + +LATHMOR. +What dark tow'ring rock do I see 'midst the grey spreading mist of the +hills? +This is not the vale of Clanarven: my son, we have err'd from the way, + +ALLEN. +It is not a dark tow'ring rock, 'midst the grey settled mist of the hills. +'Tis a dark tow'r of strength which thou seest, and the ocean spreads +dimly behind it. + +LATHMOR. +Then here will we stop for the night, for the tow'r of Arthula is near. +Proceed not, my son, on the way, for it was not the voice of the wind. +The ghost of the valliant is forth; and it mourns round the place of its +woe. +The tray'ller oft' hears it at midnight, and turns him aside from its +haunt. +The sharp moon is spent in her course, and the way of the desert is +doubtful. +This oak with his wide leavy branches will shelter our heads from the +night; +And I'll tell thee a story of old, since the tow'r of Arthula is near. + +From the walls of his strength came Lochallen, with his broad chested sons +of the hills. +He was strong as a bull of the forest, and keen as a bird of the rock. +His friends of the chace were around him, the sons of the heroes of Mora. +They were clad in the strength of their youth; and the sound of their arms +rung afar. +For Uthal had led his dark host from the blue misty isle of his power; +And o'erspread like a cloud of the desert, the land of the white-headed +Lorma. +Of Lorma who sat in the hall, and lamented the sons of his youth; +For Orvina remained alone to support the frail steps of his age. +He sent to the king of Ithona: he remembered the love of his father: +And Lochallen soon join'd him on Loarn with the high minded chieftains of +Mora. + +Loud was the sound of the battle, and many the slain of the field. +Red was the sword of Lochallen: it was red with the blood of the brave. +For his eye sought the combat of heroes, and the mighty withstood not his +arm. +He rag'd like a flame on the heath; and the enemy fled from his face. + +But short was the triumph of Lorma; the hour of his fading was near. +Whilst a bard rais'd the song of the battle, his dim eyes were closed in +death. +He fell like a ruined tow'r; like a fragment of times that are past: +Like a rock whose foundation is worn with the lashes of many a wave. +Four grey head warriors of Lorma remain'd from the days of his youth: +They mourn'd o'er the fall of their lord; and they bore him to his dark +narrow house. +His memorial was rais'd on the hill; and the lovely Orvina wept over it. +She bent her fair form o'er the heap; and her sorrow was silent, and +gentle. +It flow'd like the pure twinkling dream beneath the green shade of the +fern. +The hunters oft bless it at noon, tho' the strangers perceive not its +course. +The wind of the hill rais'd her locks, and Lochallen beheld her in grief. +The soul of the hero was knit to the tear-eyed daughter of Lorma. +She was graceful and tall as the willow, that bends o'er the deep shady +stream. +Her eye like a sun-beam on water, that gleams thro' the dark skirting +reeds. +Her hair like the light wreathing cloud, that floats on the brow of the +hill, +When the beam of the morning is there, and it scatters its skirts to the +wind. +Lovely and soft were her smiles, like a glimpse from the white riven +cloud, +When the sun hastens over the lake, and a summer show'r ruffles its bosom. +Her voice was the sweet sound of midnight, that visits the ear of the +bard, +When he darts from the place of his slumber, and calls on some far distant +friend. +She was fair 'mongst the maids of her time; and she soften'd the wrath of +the mighty. +Their eyes lighten'd up in her presence; they dropt their dark spears as +she spoke. +Lochallen was firm in his strength, and unmov'd in the battle of heroes; +Like a rock-fenced isle of the ocean, that shews its dark head thro' the +storm. +His brow was like a cliff on the shore, that fore-warneth the hunters of +Ithona; +For there gleams the first ray of morning, and there broods the mist ere +the storm: +It shone, and it darken'd by turns, as the strength of his passions arose. +He was terrible as a gathering storm, when his soul learnt the wrongs of +the feeble. +His eye was the lightning of shields; he was swift as a blast in its +course. +When the warriours return'd from the field, and the sons of the mighty +assembled, +He was graceful as the light tow'ring cloud that rises from the blue +bounded main. +Gentle and fair was his form in the tow'rs of the hilly Ithona. +His voice cheer'd the soul of the sad; he would sport with a child in the +hall. + +Matchless in the days of their love were Lochallen and the daughter of +Lorma. +But their beauty has ceas'd on Arthula; and the place of their rest is +unknown. +The family of Lorma has fail'd, and strangers rejoice in his hall: +But voices of sorrow are heard when the stillness of midnight is there; +The stranger is wak'd with the sound, and enquires of the race that is +gone. +But wherefore thus doleful and sad, do ye wander alone on Arthula? +Why look ye thus lonely and sad, ye children of the dark narrow house? +Your names shall be known in the song, when the fame of the mighty is low. + +ALLEN. +From what cloud of the hills do they look? for I see not their forms, O my +father! + +LATHMOR. +Why do'st thou tremble my son? thou hast fought in the battle of shields. +They look'd from no cloud of the hills; but the soul of thy father beheld +them. +Lochallen return'd from the field, to the sea-beaten tower of Arthula. +Five days he abode in the hall, and they pass'd like a glimpse of the sun, +When the clouds of the tempest are rent, and the green island smiles +'midst the storm. +On the sixth a cloud hung on his brow, and his eye shun'd the looks of his +friends. +He spoke to the maid of his soul, and the trouble of his bosom was great. +Pleasant is the hall of my love; but the storm gathers round us, Orvina. +I must go to the island of Uthal, and scatter his gathering force. +But like a cleft oak of the forest, I'll quickly return to my love: +When the hard wedge is drawn from its side, it returns to itself again. +The daughter of Lorma was silent: she turn'd her fair face from his sight. +Go to the war, son of Mora; and the strength of thy fathers go with thee. +I will sit on the high rocky shore, and look o'er the wide foaming sea. +I will watch ev'ry blue rising cloud, till I see thy dark vessels return. + +He gather'd his warriours around him; they darken'd the brown rugged +shore. +The rocks echo'd wide to their cries, and loud was the dashing of oars. +Orvina stood high on a rock, that hung o'er the deep lashing main; +Big swell'd the tear in her eye, and high heav'd the sighs of her bosom; +As she saw the white billows encreasing between his dark ship and the +shore. +Her fixed eye follow'd its course o'er many a far distant wave, +Till its broad sails, and high tow'ring mast but appear'd like a speck on +the waters; +Yet still she beheld in her fancy the form of her love on its side; +And she stretched her white arms to the ocean, and wav'd her loose girdle +on high. + +Soon reach'd the sons of Ithona the blue misty isle of their foe. +Like the pent up dogs of the hunter when let loose from their prison of +night; +Who snuff up the air of the morning, and rejoice at the voice of the +chace; +They leapt from the sides of their vessels, and spread o'er the wide +sounding shore. +Thick on the brown heathy plain, were spread the dark thousands of Uthal. +The warriours of Lochallen were few, but their fathers were known in the +song. +Like a small rapid stream of the hills when it falls on the broad settled +lake, +And troubles its dark muddy bosom, and dashes its waters aloft, +So rush'd the keen sons of Ithona on the thick gather'd host of the foe. +Red gleam'd the arms of the brave thro' the brown rising dust of the +field. +Fierce glar'd the eyes of Lochallen; he fought the dark face of his enemy. +He found the grim king of the isle; but the strength of his chieftains was +round him. +Come forth in thy might, said Lochallen; come forth to the combat of +kings. +Great is the might of thy warriours; but where is the strength of thine +arms? +Youth of Ithona, said Uthal, thy fathers were mighty in battle, +Return to thy brown woody hills, till the hair is grown dark on thy cheek; +Then come from the tow'rs of thy safety, a foe less unworthy of Uthal. +But thou lovest a weakly enemy, foe of the white haired chief. +Thou lovest a foe that is weak, said the red swelling pride of Lochallen. +Seest thou this sword of my youth? it is red with the blood of thy heroes. +Come forth in the strength of thine years, and hand its dark blade in thy +hall. +He lifted a spear in his wrath o'er the head of his high worded foe; +But the strength of his chieftains was there, and it rung on their broad +spreading shields. +He turned himself scornful away, to look for some nobler enemy; +He met thee fair son of Hidallo, as chaffing he strode in his wrath; +But thou never did'st turn from the valiant, youth of the far distant +land. +Fierce fought the heroes, and wonder'd each chief at the might of his foe. +They found themselves matched in strength, and they fought in the pride of +their souls. +Bloody and long was the fight, but the arm of Lochallen prevail'd. +Ah, why did you combat, ye heroes! ah, why did ye meet in the field! +Your souls had been brothers of love, had ye met in the dwellings of +peace. +He was like to thyself, son of Mora, where his voice cheer'd the heart of +the stranger +In the far distant hall of his father, who never shall hear it again; +He was like to thyself whom thou slewest; and he fell in his youth like +thee. +The maid of thy bosom is lovely, thou fair fallen son of the stranger. +She sits on her high hanging bower, and looks to the way of thy promise. +She combs down her long yellow hair; and prepares a fine robe for thy +coming. +She starts at the voice of the breeze, and runs to the door of her bow'r. +But thou art a dim misty form on the clouds of far distant hills. + +Fierce was the rage of the battle, and terrible the clanging of arms. +Loud were the shouts of the mighty, like the wide scatter'd thunder of +Lora, +When its voice is return'd from the rocks, and it strengthens in its broad +spreading course. +Heavy were the groans of the dying; the voice of the fallen was sad, +Like the deep 'prison'd winds of the cavern, when the roar of the tempest +is laid. +The sons of Ithona were terrible: the enemy fled from before them, +Like the dark gather'd fowls of the ocean, that flock to the shore ere a +storm. +They fled from the might of their foes, and the darkness of night clos'd +around them. + +Cold rose the wind of the desert, and blew o'er the dark bloody field. +Sad was its voice on the heath, where it lifted the locks of the dead. +Hollow roar'd the sea at a distance: the ghosts of the slain shriek'd +aloud. +Pale shady forms stalk'd around, and their airy swords gleam'd thro' the +night; +For the spirits of warriours departed came born on the deep rushing blast; +There hail'd they their new fallen sons, and the sound of their meeting +was terrible. +At a distance was gather'd Ithona round many a bright flaming oak; +Till morning rose red o'er the main, like a new bloody field of battle. + +Lochallen assembled his heroes; they rang'd o'er the land of their enemy. +But they found not the king in the field; and the walls of his strength +were deserted. +Then spoke the friend of his bosom, the dark haired chief of Trevallen; +Why seek you the king in his tow'rs? he is fled to the caves of his fear. +Let us fly, said the chief of Ithona, let us fly to the daughter of Lorma! +Let us fight with man in the field, but pull not a deer from his den. + +Two days they buried their dead, and rais'd their memorial on high. +On the third day they loosen'd their vessels, and left the blue isle of +their fame. +The darkness of night was around when the bay of Arthula receiv'd them. +Thick beat the joy of his bosom, as he drew near the place of his love; +But the strength of his limbs was unloos'd, as he trode on the dark +sounding shore. +Thou did'st promise, O maid of my soul! thou did'st promise to watch for +thy love! +But no kindly messenger waits to hail my return from the war. +The tow'r of Arthula is dark; and I hear not the sound of its hall. +The watch dog howls to the night, nor heeds the approach of our feet. +He seized a bright flaming brand, and he hasten'd his steps to the tow'r. +Wide stood the black low'ring gate; and deep was the silence within. +Hollow and loud rung his steps, as he trode thro' the dark empty hall. +He flew to the bow'r of his love; it was still as the chamber of death. +His eyes search'd wildly around him; he call'd on the name of his love; +But his own voice returned alone from the deep-sounding walls of the +tow'r. +He leant with his back to the wall, and cross'd his arms over his breast. +Heavy sunk his head on his shoulder: the blue flame burnt double before +him. +A voice, like the evening breeze when it steals down the bed of the river, +Came softly and sad to his ear, and he raised his drooping head. +The form of his love stood before him: yet it was not the form of his +love; +For fixed and dim was her eye, and the beams of her beauty were fled. +She was pale as the white frozen lake, when it gleams to the light of the +moon. +Her garments were heavy and drench'd, and the streams trickled fast from +her hair. +She was like a snow-crusted tree in winter, when it drops to the mid-day +sun. +O seek not for me, son of Moro, in the light cheerful dwellings of men! +For low is my bed in the deep, and cold is the place of my rest. +The sea monster sports by my side, and the water-snake twines round my +neck. +But do not forget me, Lochallen: O think on the days of our love! +I sat on the high rocky shore, mine eyes look'd afar o'er the ocean. +I saw two dark ships on the waves, and quick beat the joy of my breast. +One vessel drew near to the shore, and six warriours leapt from its side. +I hasten'd to meet thee, my love; but mine ear met the stern voice of +Uthal. +I thought that my hero was slain, and I felt me alone in my weakness. +I felt me deserted and lonely: I flew to the steep hanging rock: +I threw my robe over my head; and I hid me in the dark closing deep. +Yet O do not leave me, Lochallen, to waste in my watery bed! +But raise me a tomb on the hill, where the daughter of Lorma should lie. +The voice of her sorrow did cease; and her form passed quickly away. +It pass'd like the pale shiv'ring light, that is lost in the dark closing +cloud. + +But, lo! the first light of the morning is red on the skirts of the +heavens. +Let us go on my journey, my son, for the length of the heath is before us. + +ALLEN. +It is not the light of the morn which thou see'st on the skirts of the +heavens; +It is but a clear shiv'ring brightness, that changes its hue to the night. +I have seen it like a bloody-spread robe when it hung o'er the waves of +the North. +Sad was the fate of his love, but how fell the king of Ithona? +I have heard of the strength of his arm; did he fall in the battle of +heroes? + +LATHMOR. +He fell in the strength of his youth, but he fell not in battle, my son. +He knew not the sword of a foe, yet he died not the death of the peaceful. +They carried them both to the hill, but the place of their rest is +unknown. + +ALLEN. +But feeble and spent is thy voice, thou grey haired bard of the hill. + +LATHMOR. +Long is this song of the night, and I feel not the strength of my youth. + +ALLEN. +Then let us go on our way: let us go by the way of the heath. +For it is the fair light of the morning which thou see'st on the far +bounding waves. +Slowly it grows in its beauty, and promises good to the traveller. +Red are the small broken clouds that hang on the skirts of the heavens. +Deep glows the clear open sky with the light of the yet hidden sun, +Save where the dark narrow cloud hath stretched its vast length o'er the +heavens; +And the clear ruddy brightness behind it looks fair thro' its blue +streaming lines. +A bloom like the far distant heath is dark on the wide roving clouds. +The broad wavy breast of the ocean is grand in the beauty of morning. +Thick rests the white settled mist on the deep rugged clifts of the shore; +And the grey rocks look dimly between, like the high distant isles in a +calm. +But grim low'r the walks of Arthula; the light of the morn is behind them. + + +LATHMOR. +Dark low'rs the tow'r of Arthula: the time of its glory is past. +The valiant have ceas'd from its hall; and the son of the stranger is +there. +The works of the mighty remain, but they are the vapour of morning. + + + +A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT. + +Now in thy dazzling half-op'd eye, +Thy curled nose, and lip awry, +Thy up-hoist arms, and noddling head, +And little chin with crystal spread, +Poor helpless thing! what do I see, + That I should sing of thee? + +From thy poor tongue no accents come, +Which can but rub thy toothless gum: +Small understanding boast thy face, +Thy shapeless limbs nor step, nor grace: +A few short words thy feats may tell, + And yet I love thee well. + +When sudden wakes the bitter shriek, +And redder swells thy little cheek; +When rattled keys thy woe beguile, +And thro' the wet eye gleams the smile, +Still for thy weakly self is spent + Thy little silly plaint. + +But when thy friends are in distress, +Thou'lt laugh and chuckle ne'er the less; +Nor e'en with sympathy be smitten, +Tho' all are sad but thee and kitten; +Yet little varlet that thou art, + Thou twitchest at the heart. + +Thy rosy cheek so soft and warm; +Thy pinky hand, and dimpled arm; +Thy silken locks that scantly peep, +With gold-tip'd ends, where circle deep +Around thy neck in harmless grace +So soft and sleekly hold their place, +Might harder hearts with kindness fill, + And gain our right good will. + +Each passing clown bestows his blessing, +Thy mouth is worn with old wives' kissing: +E'en lighter looks the gloomy eye +Of surly sense, when thou art by; +And yet I think whoe'er they be, + They love thee not like me. + +Perhaps when time shall add a few +Short years to thee, thou'lt love me too. +Then wilt thou thro' life's weary way +Become my sure and cheering stay: +Wilt care, for me, and be my hold, + When I am weak and old. + +Thou'lt listen to my lengthen'd tale, +And pity me when I am frail-- +But see, the sweepy spinning fly +Upon the window takes thine eye. +Go to thy little senseless play-- + Thou doest not heed my lay. + + + +A CHILD TO HIS SICK GRANDFATHER. + +Grand-dad, they say your old and frail, +Your stocked legs begin to fail: +Your knobbed stick (that was my horse) +Can scarce support your bended corse; +While back to wall, you lean so sad, + I'm vex'd to see you, dad. + +You us'd to smile, and stroke my head, +And tell me how good children did; +But now I wot not how it be, +You take me seldom on your knee; +Yet ne'ertheless I am right glad + To sit beside you, dad. + +How lank and thin your beard hangs down! +Scant are the white hairs on your crown: +How wan and hollow are your cheeks! +Your brow is rough with crossing breaks; +But yet, for all his strength is fled, + I love my own old dad. + +The housewives round their potions brew, +And gossips come to ask for you: +And for your weal each neighbour cares, +And good men kneel, and say their pray'rs: +And ev'ry body looks so sad, + When you are ailing, dad. + +You will not die, and leave us then? +Rouse up and be our dad again. +When you are quiet and laid in bed, +We'll doff our shoes and softly tread; +And when you wake we'll aye be near, + To fill old dad his cheer. + +When thro' the house you shift your stand, +I'll lead you kindly by the hand: +When dinner's set, I'll with you bide, +And aye be serving by your side: +And when the weary fire burns blue, + I'll sit and talk with you. + +I have a tale both long and good, +About a partlet and her brood; +And cunning greedy fox, that stole, +By dead of midnight thro' a hole, +Which slyly to the hen-roost led-- + You love a story, dad? + +And then I have a wond'rous tale +Of men all clad in coats of mail. +With glitt'ring swords----you nod, I think? +Your fixed eyes begin to wink: +Down on your bosom sinks your head: +You do not hear me, dad. + + + +THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER. + +Brac'd in the sinewy vigour of thy breed, +In pride of gen'rous strength, thou stately steed, +Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given, +Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven. +Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break; +Graceful the rising of thine arched neck. +White churning foam thy chaffed bits enlock; +And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke. +Thy kindling eye-balls brave the glaring south; +And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth: +Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend, +Thy sweepy tail involv'd in clouds of sand; +Erect in air thou rear'st thy front of pride, +And ring'st the plated harness on thy side. +But, lo! what creature, goodly to the sight, +Dares thus bestride thee, chaffing in thy might? +Of portly stature, and determin'd mien? +Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene? +And forward looks unmov'd to fields of death: +And smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath? +Whose brandish'd falch'on dreaded gleams afar? +It is a British soldier, arm'd for war! + + +FINIS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, &c. (1790), by Joanna Baillie + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14617 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1137c3a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14617 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14617) diff --git a/old/14617-8.txt b/old/14617-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f455ac2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14617-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3552 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, &c. (1790), by Joanna Baillie + +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: Poems, &c. (1790) + Wherein It Is Attempted To Describe Certain Views Of Nature And Of + Rustic Manners; And Also, To Point Out, In Some Instances, The + Different Influence Which The Same Circumstances Produce On Different + Characters + + +Author: Joanna Baillie + +Release Date: January 6, 2005 [EBook #14617] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, &C. (1790) *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Charles Bidwell and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +POEMS, &c. + + + +POEMS; + +WHEREIN IT IS ATTEMPTED TO DESCRIBE + +CERTAIN VIEWS OF NATURE + +AND OF + +RUSTIC MANNERS; + +AND ALSO, + +TO POINT OUT, IN SOME INSTANCES, THE DIFFERENT INFLUENCE WHICH THE SAME +CIRCUMSTANCES PRODUCE ON DIFFERENT CHARACTERS. + + + +LONDON: + +PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, SAINT PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD. + +MDCCXC. + + + + +A WINTER DAY. + +The cock, warm roosting 'midst his feather'd dames, +Now lifts his beak and snuffs the morning air, +Stretches his neck and claps his heavy wings, +Gives three hoarse crows, and glad his talk is done; +Low, chuckling, turns himself upon the roost, +Then nestles down again amongst his mates. +The lab'ring hind, who on his bed of straw, +Beneath his home-made coverings, coarse, but warm, +Lock'd in the kindly arms of her who spun them, +Dreams of the gain that next year's crop should bring; +Or at some fair disposing of his wool, +Or by some lucky and unlook'd-for bargain. +Fills his skin purse with heaps of tempting gold, +Now wakes from sleep at the unwelcome call, +And finds himself but just the same poor man +As when he went to rest.-- +He hears the blast against his window beat, +And wishes to himself he were a lord, +That he might lie a-bed.-- +He rubs his eyes, and stretches out his arms; +Heigh ho! heigh ho! he drawls with gaping mouth, +Then most unwillingly creeps out of bed, +And without looking-glass puts on his clothes. +With rueful face he blows the smother'd fire, +And lights his candle at the red'ning coal; +First sees that all be right amongst his cattle, +Then hies him to the barn with heavy tread, +Printing his footsteps on the new fall'n snow. +From out the heap of corn he pulls his sheaves, +Dislodging the poor red-breast from his shelter, +Where all the live-long night he slept secure; +But now afrighted, with uncertain flight +He flutters round the walls, to seek some hole, +At which he may escape out to the frost. +And now the flail, high whirling o'er his head, +Descends with force upon the jumping sheave, +Whilst every rugged wall, and neighboring cot +Re-echoes back the noise of his strokes. + + The fam'ly cares call next upon the wife +To quit her mean but comfortable bed. +And first she stirs the fire, and blows the flame, +Then from her heap of sticks, for winter stor'd, +An armful brings; loud crackling as they burn, +Thick fly the red sparks upward to the roof, +While slowly mounts the smoke in wreathy clouds. +On goes the seething pot with morning cheer, +For which some little wishful hearts await, +Who, peeping from the bed-clothes, spy, well pleas'd, +The cheery light that blazes on the wall, +And bawl for leave to rise.---- +Their busy mother knows not where to turn, +Her morning work comes now so thick upon her. +One she must help to tye his little coat, +Unpin his cap, and seck another's shoe. +When all is o'er, out to the door they run, +With new comb'd sleeky hair, and glist'ning cheeks, +Each with some little project in his head. +One on the ice must try his new sol'd shoes: +To view his well-set trap another hies, +In hopes to find some poor unwary bird +(No worthless prize) entangled in his snare; +Whilst one, less active, with round rosy face, +Spreads out his purple fingers to the fire, +And peeps, most wishfully, into the pot. + + But let us leave the warm and cheerful house, +To view the bleak and dreary scene without, +And mark the dawning of a winter day. +For now the morning vapour, red and grumly, +Rests heavy on the hills; and o'er the heav'ns +Wide spreading forth in lighter gradual fliades, +Just faintly colours the pale muddy sky. +Then slowly from behind the southern hills, +Inlarg'd and ruddy looks the rising sun, +Shooting his beams askance the hoary waste, +Which gild the brow of ev'ry swelling height, +And deepen every valley with a shade. +The crusted window of each scatter'd cot, +The icicles that fringe the thatched roof, +The new swept slide upon the frozen pool, +All lightly glance, new kindled with his rays; +And e'en the rugged face of scowling Winter +Looks somewhat gay. But for a little while +He lifts his glory o'er the bright'ning earth, +Then hides his head behind a misty cloud, + + The birds now quit their holes and lurking sheds, +Most mute and melancholy, where thro' night +All nestling close to keep each other warm, +In downy sleep they had forgot their hardships; +But not to chant and carol in the air, +Or lightly swing upon some waving bough, +And merrily return each other's notes; +No; silently they hop from bush to bush, +Yet find no seeds to stop their craving want, +Then bend their flight to the low smoking cot, +Chirp on the roof, or at the window peck, +To tell their wants to those who lodge within. +The poor lank hare flies homeward to his den, +But little burthen'd with his nightly meal +Of wither'd greens grubb'd from the farmer's garden; +A poor and scanty portion snatch'd in fear; +And fearful creatures, forc'd abroad by want, +Are now to ev'ry enemy a prey. + + The husbandman lays bye his heavy flail, +And to the house returns, where on him wait +His smoking breakfast and impatient children; +Who, spoon in hand, and longing to begin, +Towards the door cast many a weary look +To see their dad come in.---- +Then round they sit, a chearful company, +All eagerly begin, and with heap'd spoons +Besmear from ear to ear their rosy cheeks. +The faithful dog stands by his matter's side +Wagging his tail, and looking in his face; +While humble puss pays court to all around, +And purs and rubs them with her furry sides; +Nor goes this little flattery unrewarded. +But the laborious sit not long at table; +The grateful father lifts his eyes to heav'n +To bless his God, whose ever bounteous hand +Him and his little ones doth daily feed; +Then rises satisfied to work again. + + The chearful rousing noise of industry +Is heard, with varied sounds, thro' all the village. +The humming wheel, the thrifty housewife's tongue, +Who scolds to keep her maidens at their work, +Rough grating cards, and voice of squaling children +Issue from every house.---- +But, hark!--the sportsman from the neighb'ring hedge +His thunder sends!--loud bark each village cur; +Up from her wheel each curious maiden starts, +And hastens to the door, whilst matrons chide, +Yet run to look themselves, in spite of thrift, +And all the little town is in a stir. + + Strutting before, the cock leads forth his train, +And, chuckling near the barn among the straw, +Reminds the farmer of his morning's service; +His grateful master throws a lib'ral handful; +They flock about it, whilst the hungry sparrows +Perch'd on the roof, look down with envious eye, +Then, aiming well, amidst the feeders light, +And seize upon the feast with greedy bill, +Till angry partlets peck them off the field. +But at a distance, on the leafless tree, +All woe be gone, the lonely blackbird sits; +The cold north wind ruffles his glossy feathers; +Full oft' he looks, but dare not make approach; +Then turns his yellow bill to peck his side, +And claps his wings close to his sharpen'd breast. +The wand'ring fowler, from behind the hedge, +Fastens his eye upon him, points his gun, +And firing wantonly as at a mark, +E'en lays him low in that same cheerful spot +Which oft' hath ccho'd with his ev'ning's song. + + The day now at its height, the pent-up kine +Are driven from their flails to take the air. +How stupidly they stare! and feel how strange! +They open wide their smoking mouths to low, +But scarcely can their feeble sound be heard; +Then turn and lick themselves, and step by step +Move dull and heavy to their flails again. +In scatter'd groups the little idle boys +With purple fingers, moulding in the snow +Their icy ammunition, pant for war; +And, drawing up in opposite array, +Send forth a mighty fliower of well aim'd balls, +Whilst little hero's try their growing flrength, +And burn to beat the en'my off the field. +Or on the well worn ice in eager throngs, +Aiming their race, shoot rapidly along, +Trip up each other's heels, and on the surface +With knotted shoes, draw many a chalky line. +Untir'd of play, they never cease their sport +Till the faint sun has almost run his course, +And threat'ning clouds, slow rising from the north, +Spread grumly darkness o'er the face of heav'n; +Then, by degrees, they scatter to their homes, +With many a broken head and bloody nose, +To claim their mothers' pity, who, most skilful, +Cures all their troubles with a bit of bread. + + The night comes on a pace---- +Chill blows the blast, and drives the snow in wreaths. +Now ev'ry creature looks around for shelter, +And, whether man or beast, all move alike +Towards their several homes; and happy they +Who have a house to screen them from the cold! +Lo, o'er the frost a rev'rend form advances! +His hair white as the snow on which he treads, +His forehead mark'd with many a care-worn furrow, +Whose feeble body, bending o'er a staff, +Still shew that once it was the seat of strength, +Tho' now it shakes like some old ruin'd tow'r, +Cloth'd indeed, but not disgrac'd with rags, +He still maintains that decent dignity +Which well becomes those who have serv'd their country. +With tott'ring steps he to the cottage moves: +The wife within, who hears his hollow cough, +And patt'ring of iris stick upon the threshold, +Sends out her little boy to see who's there. +The child looks up to view the stranger's face, +And seeing it enlighten'd with a smile, +Holds out his little hand to lead him in. +Rous'd from her work, the mother turns her head, +And sees them, not ill-pleas'd.---- +The stranger whines not with a piteous tale, +But only asks a little, to relieve +A poor old soldier's wants.---- +The gentle matron brings the ready chair, +And bids him sit, to rest his wearied limbs, +And warm himself before her blazing fire. +The children, full of curiosity, +Flock round, and with their fingers in their mouths, +Stand staring at him; whilst the stranger, pleas'd, +Takes up the youngest boy upon his knee. +Proud of its seat, it wags its little feet, +And prates, and laughs, and plays with his white locks. +But soon the soldier's face lays off its smiles; +His thoughtful mind is turn'd on other days, +When his own boys were wont to play around him, +Who now lie distant from their native land +In honourable, but untimely graves. +He feels how helpless and forlorn he is, +And bitter tears gush from his dim-worn eyes. +His toilsome daily labour at an end, +In comes the wearied master of the house, +And marks with satisfaction his old guest, +With all his children round.-- +His honest heart is fill'd with manly kindness; +He bids him stay, and share their homely meal, +And take with them his quarters for the night. +The weary wanderer thankfully accepts, +And, seated with the cheerful family, +Around the plain but hospitable board, +Forgets the many hardships he has pass'd. + + When all are satisfied, about the fire +They draw their seats, and form a cheerful ring. +The thrifty housewife turns her spinning wheel; +The husband, useful even in his rest, +A little basket weaves of willow twigs, +To bear her eggs to town on market days; +And work but serves t'enliven conversation. +Some idle neighbours now come straggling in, +Draw round their chairs, and widen out the circle. +Without a glass the tale and jest go round; +And every one, in his own native way, +Does what he can to cheer the merry group. +Each tells some little story of himself, +That constant subject upon which mankind, +Whether in court or country, love to dwell. +How at a fair he sav'd a simple clown +From being tricked in buying of a cow; +Or laid a bet upon his horse's head +Against his neighbour's, bought for twice his price, +Which fail'd not to repay his better skill: +Or on a harvest day, bound in an hour +More sheaves of corn than any of his fellows, +Tho' ne'er so keen, could do in twice the time. +But chief the landlord, at his own fire-side, +Doth claim the right of being listen'd to; +Nor dares a little bawling tongue be heard, +Tho' but in play, to break upon his story. +The children sit and listen with the rest; +And should the youngest raise its little voice, +The careful mother, ever on the watch, +And always pleas'd with what her husband says, +Gives it a gentle tap upon the fingers, +Or stops its ill tim'd prattle with a kiss. +The soldier next, but not unask'd, begins, +And tells in better speech what he has seen; +Making his simple audience to shrink +With tales of war and blood. They gaze upon him, +And almost weep to see the man so poor, +So bent and feeble, helpless and forlorn, +That oft' has stood undaunted in the battle +Whilst thund'ring cannons shook the quaking earth, +And showering bullets hiss'd around his head. +With little care they pass away the night, +Till time draws on when they should go to bed; +Then all break up, and each retires to rest +With peaceful mind, nor torn with vexing cares, +Nor dancing with the unequal beat of pleasure. + + But long accustom'd to observe the weather, +The labourer cannot lay him down in peace +Till he has look'd to mark what bodes the night, +He turns the heavy door, thrusts out his head, +Sees wreathes of snow heap'd up on ev'ry side, +And black and grimily all above his head, +Save when a red gleam shoots along the waste +To make the gloomy night more terrible +Loud blows the northern blast---- +He hears it hollow grumbling from afar, +Then, gath'ring strength, roll on with doubl'd might, +And break in dreadful bellowings o'er his head; +Like pithless saplings bend the vexed trees, +And their wide branches crack. He shuts the door, +And, thankful for the roof that covers him, +Hies him to bed. + + + +A SUMMER DAY. + +The dark-blue clouds of night in dusky lines, +Drawn wide and streaky o'er the purer sky, +Wear faint the morning purple on their skirts. +The stars that full and bright shone in the west, +But dimly twinkle to the stedfast eye; +And seen, and vanishing, and seen again, +Like dying tapers smoth'ring in their sockets, +Appear at last shut from the face of heav'n; +Whilst every lesser flame which shone by night, +The flashy meteor from the op'ning cloud, +That shoots full oft' across the dusky sky; +Or wand'ring fire which looks across the marsh, +Beaming like candle in a lonely cot, +To cheer the hopes of the benighted trav'ller, +Till swifter than the very change of thought, +It shifts from place to place, escapes his glance, +And makes him wond'ring rub his doubtful eyes; +Or humble glow-worm, or the silver moth, +Which cast a feeble glimm'ring o'er the green, +All die away.---- +For now the sun, slow moving in his grandeur, +Above the eastern mountains lifts his head. +The webs of dew spread o'er the hoary lawn, +The smooth clear bosom of the settled pool, +The polish'd ploughshare on the distant field, +Catch fire from him, and dart their new got beams +Upon die dazzled eye. + + The new-wak'd birds upon the branches hop, +Peck their loft down, and bristle out their feathers; +Then stretch their throats and tune their morning song; +Whilst stately crows, high swinging o'er their heads. +Upon the topmost boughs, in lordly pride, +Mix their hoarse croaking with the linnet's note; +Till gather'd closer in a sable band, +They take their flight to leek their daily food. +The village labourer, with careful mind, +As soon as doth the morning light appear, +Opens his eyes with the first darting ray +That pierces thro' the window of his cot, +And quits his easy bed; then o'er the field, +With lengthen'd swinging strides, betakes his way, +Bearing his spade and hoe across his moulder, +Seen from afar clear glancing in the sun, +And with good will begins his daily work. +The sturdy sun-burnt boy drives forth the cattle, +And vain of power, bawls to the lagging kine, +Who fain would stay to crop the tender shoots +Of the green tempting hedges as they pass; +Or beats the glist'ning bushes with his club, +To please his fancy with a shower of dew, +And frighten the poor birds who lurk within. +At ev'ry open door, thro' all the village, +Half naked children, half awake, are seen +Scratching their heads, and blinking to the light; +Till roused by degrees, they run about, +Or rolling in the sun, amongst the sand +Build many a little house, with heedful art. +The housewife tends within, her morning care; +And stooping 'midst her tubs of curdled milk, +With busy patience, draws the clear green whey +From the press'd sides of the pure snowy curd; +Whilst her brown dimpled maid, with tuck'd-up sleeve, +And swelling arm, assists her in her toil. +Pots smoke, pails rattle, and the warm confusion +Still thickens on them, till within its mould, +With careful hands, they press the well-wrought curd. + + So goes the morning, till the pow'rful sun +High in the heav'ns sends forth his strengthen'd beams, +And all the freshness of the morn is fled. +The sweating trav'ller throws his burden down, +And leans his weary shoulder 'gainst a tree. +The idle horse upon the grassy field +Rolls on his back, nor heeds the tempting clover. +The swain leaves off his labour, and returns +Slow to his house with heavy sober steps, +Where on the board his ready breakfast plac'd, +Invites the eye, and his right cheerful wife +Doth kindly serve him with unfeign'd good will. +No sparkling dew-drops hang upon the grass; +Forth steps the mower with his glitt'ring scythe, +In snowy shirt, and doublet all unbrac'd, +White moves he o'er the ridge, with sideling bend, +And lays the waving grass in many a heap. +In ev'ry field, in ev'ry swampy mead, +The cheerful voice of industry is heard; +The hay-cock rises, and the frequent rake +Sweeps on the yellow hay, in heavy wreaths, +Leaving the smooth green meadow bare behind. +The old and young, the weak and strong are there, +And, as they can, help on the cheerful work. +The father jeers his awkward half-grown lad, +Who trails his tawdry armful o'er the field, +Nor does he fear the jeering to repay. +The village oracle, and simple maid, +Jest in their turns, and raise the ready laugh; +For there authority, hard favour'd, frowns not; +All are companions in the gen'ral glee, +And cheerful complaisance still thro' their roughness, +With placid look enlightens ev'ery face. +Some more advanced raise the tow'ring rick, +Whilst on its top doth stand the parish toast +In loose attire, and swelling ruddy cheek; +With taunts and harmless mock'ry she receives +The toss'd-up heaps from the brown gaping youth, +Who flaring at her, takes his aim awry, +Whilst half the load comes tumbling on himself. +Loud is her laugh, her voice is heard afar; +Each mower, busied in the distant field, +The carter, trudging on his distant way, +The shrill found know, cad up their hats in air, +And roar across the fields to catch her notice: +She waves her arm, and shakes her head at them, +And then renews her work with double spirit. +Thus do they jest, and laugh away their toil, +Till the bright sun, full in his middle course, +Shoots down his fiercest beams, which none may brave. +The stoutest arm hangs listless by its side, +And the broad shoulder'd youth begins to fail. +But to the weary, lo! there comes relief! +A troop of welcome children, o'er the lawn, +With slow and wary steps, their burthens bring. +Some bear upon their heads large baskets, heap'd +With piles of barley bread, and gusty cheese, +And some full pots of milk and cooling whey. +Beneath the branches of a spreading tree, +Or by the shad'wy side of the tall rick, +They spread their homely fare, and seated round, +Taste all the pleasure that a feast can give. + + A drowzy indolence now hangs on all, +And ev'ry creature seeks some place of rest, +Screen'd from the violence of the oppressive heat. +No scatter'd flocks are seen upon the lawn, +Nor chirping birds among the bushes heard. +Within the narrow shadow of the cot +The sleepy dog lies stretched on his side, +Nor heeds the heavy-footed passenger; +At noise of feet but half his eye-lid lifts, +Then gives a feeble growl, and sleeps again: +Whilst puss, less nice, e'en in the scorching window, +On t'other side, sits winking to the sun. +No sound is heard but humming of the bee, +For she alone retires not from her labour, +Nor leaves a meadow flower unsought for gain. + + Heavy and slow so pass the mid-day hours, +Till gently bending on the ridge's top, +The heavy seeded grass begins to wave, +And the high branches of the slender poplar +Shiver aloft in air their rustling leaves. +Cool breaths the rising breeze, and with it wakes +The worn out spirit from its state of stupor. +The lazy boy springs from his mossy bed, +To chace the gaudy tempting butterfly, +Who spreading on the grass its mealy wings, +Oft lights within his reach, e'en at his seer, +Yet still eludes his grasp, and o'er his head +Light hov'ring round, or mounted high in air +Temps his young eye, and wearies out his limbs. +The drouzy dog, who feels the kindly breeze +That passing o'er him, lifts his shaggy ear, +Begins to stretch him, on his legs half-rais'd, +Till fully wak'd, with bristling cock'd-up tail, +He makes the village echo to his bark. + + But let us not forget the busy maid +Who, by the side of the clear pebly stream, +Spreads out her snowy linens to the sun, +And sheds with lib'ral hand the chrystal show'r +O'er many a fav'rite piece of fair attire, +Revolving in her mind her gay appearance +In all this dress, at some approaching fair. +The dimpling half-check'd smile, and mutt'ring lip +Betray the secret workings of her fancy, +And flattering thoughts of the complacent mind. +There little vagrant bands of truant boys +Amongst the bushes try their harmless tricks; +Whilst some a sporting in the shallow stream +Toss up the lashing water round their heads, +Or strive with wily art to catch the trout, +Or 'twixt their fingers grasp the slipp'ry eel. +The shepherd-boy sits singing on the bank, +To pass away the weary lonely hours, +Weaving with art his little crown of rushes, +A guiltless easy crown that brings no care, +Which having made he places on his head, +And leaps and skips about, and bawls full loud +To some companion, lonely as himself, +Far in the distant field; or else delighted +To hear the echo'd sound of his own voice +Returning answer from the neighboring rock, +Holds no unpleasing converse with himself. + + Now weary labourers perceive, well-pleas'd, +The shadows lengthen, and th' oppressive day +With all its toil fast wearing to an end. +The sun, far in the west, with side-long beam +Plays on the yellow head of the round hay-cock, +And fields are checker'd with fantastic shapes +Or tree, or shrub, or gate, or rugged stone, +All lengthen'd out, in antic disproportion, +Upon the darken'd grass.---- +They finish out their long and toilsome talk. +Then, gathering up their rakes and scatter'd coats, +With the less cumb'rous fragments of their feast, +Return right gladly to their peaceful homes. + + The village, lone and silent thro' the day, +Receiving from the fields its merry bands, +Sends forth its ev'ning sound, confus'd but cheerful; +Whilst dogs and children, eager housewives' tongues, +And true love ditties, in no plaintive strain, +By shrill voic'd maid, at open window sung; +The lowing of the home-returning kine, +The herd's low droning trump, and tinkling bell +Tied to the collar of his fav'rite sheep, +Make no contemptible variety +To ears not over nice.---- +With careless lounging gait, the saunt'ring youth +Upon his sweetheart's open window leans, +And as she turns about her buzzing wheel +Diverts her with his jokes and harmless taunts. +Close by the cottage door, with placid mien, +The old man sits upon his seat of turf, +His staff with crooked head laid by his side, +Which oft the younger race in wanton sport, +Gambolling round him, slyly steal away, +And straddling o'er it, shew their horsemanship +By raising round the clouds of summer sand, +While still he smiles, yet chides them for the trick. +His silver locks upon his shoulders spread, +And not ungraceful is his stoop of age. +No stranger passes him without regard; +And ev'ry neighbour stops to wish him well, +And ask him his opinion of the weather. +They fret not at the length of his discourse, +But listen with respect to his remarks +Upon the various seasons he remembers; +For well he knows the many divers signs +Which do fortell high winds, or rain, or drought, +Or ought that may affect the rising crop. +The silken clad, who courtly breeding boast, +Their own discourse still sweetest to their ears, +May grumble at the old man's lengthened story, +But here it is not so.---- + + From ev'ry chimney mounts the curling smoke, +Muddy and gray, of the new ev'ning fire; +On ev'ry window smokes the fam'ly supper, +Set out to cool by the attentive housewife, +While cheerful groups at every door conven'd +Bawl cross the narrow lane the parish news, +And oft the bursting laugh disturbs the air. +But see who comes to set them all agag! +The weary-footed pedlar with his pack. +How stiff he bends beneath his bulky load! +Cover'd with dust, slip-shod, and out at elbows; +His greasy hat sits backward on his head; +His thin straight hair divided on his brow +Hangs lank on either side his glist'ning cheeks, +And woe-begone, yet vacant is his face. +His box he opens and displays his ware. +Full many a varied row of precious stones +Cast forth their dazzling lustre to the light. +To the desiring maiden's wishful eye +The ruby necklace shews its tempting blaze: +The china buttons, stamp'd with love device, +Attract the notice of the gaping youth; +Whilst streaming garters, fasten'd to a pole, +Aloft in air their gaudy stripes display, +And from afar the distant stragglers lure. +The children leave their play and round him flock; +E'en sober aged grand-dame quits her seat, +Where by the door she twines her lengthen'd threads, +Her spindle stops, and lays her distaff by, +Then joins with step sedate the curious throng. +She praises much the fashions of her youth, +And scorns each gaudy nonsense of the day; +Yet not ill-pleas'd the glossy ribband views, +Uproll'd, and changing hues with ev'ry fold, +New measur'd out to deck her daughter's head. + + Now red, but languid, the last weakly beams +Of the departing sun, across the lawn +Deep gild the top of the long sweepy ridge, +And shed a scatter'd brightness, bright but cheerless, +Between the op'nings of the rifted hills; +Which like the farewell looks of some dear friend, +That speaks him kind, yet sadden as they smile, +But only serve to deepen the low vale, +And make the shadows of the night more gloomy. +The varied noises of the cheerful village +By slow degrees now faintly die away, +And more distinct each feeble sound is heard +That gently steals ad own the river's bed, +Or thro' the wood comes with the ruffling breeze. +The white mist rises from the swampy glens, +And from the dappled flatting of the heav'ns +Looks out the ev'ning star.---- +The lover skulking in the neighb'ring copse, +(Whose half-seen form shewn thro' the thicken'd air, +Large and majestic, makes the tray'ller start, +And spreads the story of the haunted grove,) +Curses the owl, whose loud ill-omen'd scream, +With ceaseless spite, robes from his watchful ear +The well known footsteps of his darling maid; +And fretful, chaces from his face the night-fly, +Who buzzing round his head doth often skim, +With flutt'ring wing, across his glowing cheek: +For all but him in deep and balmy sleep +Forget the toils of the oppressive day; +Shut is the door of ev'ry scatter'd cot, +And silence dwells within. + + + +NIGHT SCENES OF OTHER TIMES. + +A POEM, IN THREE PARTS. + + +PART I. + +"The wild winds bellow o'er my head, + And spent eve's fading light; +Where shall I find some friendly shed + To screen me from the night? + +"Ah! round me lies a desert vast, + No habitation near; +And dark and pathless is the waste, + And fills the mind with fear + +"Thou distant tree, whose lonely top + Has bent to many a storm, +No more canst thou deceive my hope, + And take my lover's form; + +"For o'er thy head the dark cloud rolls, + Black as thy blasted pride. +How deep the angry tempest growls + Along the mountain's side! + +"Securely rests the mountain deer + Within his hollow den, +His slumber undisturb'd by fear, + Far from the haunts of men. + +"Beneath the fern the moorcock sleeps, + And twisted adders lie; +Back to his rock the night-bird creeps, + Nor gives his wonted cry. + +"For angry spirits of the night + Ride in the troubled air, +And to their dens, in wild affright, + The beasts of prey repair. + +"But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest? + What shelter covers thee? +O, may this cold and wint'ry blast + But only beat on me! + +"Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find, + Where, undisturb'd with care, +Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind + That ruffles Marg'ret's hair. + +"Ah, no! for thou did'st give thy word + To meet me on the way; +Nor friendly roof, nor coastly board + Will tempt a lover's stay. + +"O, raise thy voice, if thou art near! + Its weakest sound were bliss: +What other sound my heart can cheer + In such a gloom as this? + +"But from the hills with stunning sound + The dashing torrents fall; +Loud is the raging tempest round, + And mocks a lover's call. + +"Ha! see across the dreary waste + A gentle form appears! +It is my love, my cares are past, + How vain were all my fears?" + +The form approach'd, but sad and slow, + Nor with a lover's tread; +And from his cheek the youthful glow, + And greeting smile was fled. + +Dim sadness hung upon his brow; + Fix'd was his beamless eye: +His face was like the moon-light bow + Upon a win'try sky. + +And fix'd and ghastly to the sight, + His strengthen'd features rose; +And bended was his graceful height, + And bloody were his clothes. + +"O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast! + Thy sorrow now is vain: +Thy Edward from his peaceful rest + Shall ne'er return again. + +"A treach'rous friend has brought me low, + And fix'd my early doom; +And laid my corpse, with feigned woe, + Beneath a vaulted tomb + +"To take thee to my home I sware, + And here we were to meet: +Wilt thou a narrow coffin share, + And part my winding-sheet? + +"But late the lord of many lands, + And now a grave is all: +My blood is warm upon his hands + Who revels in my hall. + +"Yet think thy father's hoary hair + Is water'd with his tears; +He has but thee to sooth his care, + And prop his load of years. + +"Remember Edward when he's gone, + He only liv'd for thee; +And when thou'rt pensive, and alone, + O Marg'ret call on me! + +"Yet deep beneath the mould'ring clod + I rest my wounded head: +And terrible that call, and loud, + Which shall awake the dead." + +"No, Edward, I will follow thee, + And share thy hapless doom: +Companions shall our spirits be, + Tho' distant is thy tomb. + +"O! never to my father's tower + Will I return again! +A bleeding heart has little power + To ease another's pain. + +"Upon the wing my spirit flies, + I feel my course is run; +Nor shall these dim and weary eyes + Behold to-morrow's sun." + +Like early dew, or hoary frost, + Spent with the beaming day, +So shrunk the pale and wat'ry ghost, + And dimly wore away. + +No longer Marg'ret felt the storm, + She bow'd her lovely head; +And with her lover's fleeting form, + Her gentle spirit fled. + + +PART II. + +Loud roars the wind that shakes this wall; + It is no common blast: +Deep hollow sounds pass thro' my hall, + O would the night were past! + +"Methinks the dæmons of the air + Upon the turrets growl; +While down the empty winding stair + Their deep'ning murmurs roll. + +"The glimm'ring fire cheers not the gloom: + How blue its weakly ray! +And like a taper in a tomb, + But spreads the more dismay. + +"Athwart its melancholy light + The lengthen'd shadow falls: +My grandsires, to my troubled sight, + Low'r on me from these walls. + +"Methinks yon angry warrior's head + Doth in its casement frown, +And darts a look, as if it said, + Where hast thou laid my son? + +"But will these fancies never cease? + O, would the night were run! +My troubled soul can find no peace, + But with the morning sun. + +"Vain hope! the guilty never rest; + Dismay is always near: +There is a midnight in the breast + No morn shall ever cheer. + +"The weary hind is now at rest, + Tho' lowly is his head, +How sweetly lies the guiltless breast, + Upon the hardest bed! + +"The beggar, in his wretched haunt, + May now a monarch be; +Forget his woe, forget his want, + For all can sleep but me. + +"I've dar'd whate'er the boldest can, + Then why this childish dread; +I never fear'd a living man, + And shall I fear the dead! + +"No, whistling storms may shake my tower, + And passing spirits scream: +Their shadowy arms are void of power, + And but a gloomy dream. + +"But, lo! a form advancing slow + Across my dusky hall! +Art thou a friend? art thou a foe? + O, answer to my call!" + +Still nearer to the glimm'ring light + The tow'ring figure strode, +Till full, and horrid to the sight, + The murther'd Edward stood. + +His hand a broken dagger sway'd, + Like Time's dark threat'ning dart; +And pointed to the rugged blade + That quiver'd in his heart. + +The blood still trickled from his head, + And clotted was his hair, +That on his manly shoulders spread; + His mangled breast was bare. + +His face was like the muddy sky + Before the coming snow; +And dark and dreadful was his eye, + And cloudy was his brow. + +Pale Conrad shrunk, but grasp'd his sword; + Fear thrill'd in ev'ry vein; +His quiv'ring lip half-spoke its word; + He paus'd, and shrunk again. + +"Pale bloody spectre, at this hour + Why do'st thou haunt the night? +Has the deep gloomy vault no power + To keep thee from my sight? + +"Why do'st thou glare? Why do'st thou wave + That fatal cursed knife? +The deed is done, and from the grave + Who can recall to life? + +"Why rolls thine eye beneath thy brow, + Dark as the midnight storm? +What do'st thou want? O, let me know! + But hide thy dreadful form. + +"I'd give the life's blood from my heart + To wash my crime away: +If thou'rt a spirit, O, depart! + Nor haunt a wretch of clay. + +"Say, do'st thou with the blessed dwell? + Return and blessed be! +Or com'st thou from the lowest hell? + I am more curst than thee." + +The form advanc'd with solemn step, + As though it meant to speak; +And thrice it mov'd its mutt'ring lip, + But silence did not break. + +Then sternly stalk'd with heavy pace, + Which shook the trembling wall; +And, frowning, turn'd its angry face, + And vanish'd from the hall. + +With fixed eyes, pale Conrad stood, + That from their sockets swell; +Back on his heart ran the cold blood, + He shudder'd as he fell. + +Night fled, and thro' the window 'gan + The early light to play; +But on a more unhappy man + Ne'er shone the dawning day. + +The gladsome sun all nature cheers, + But cannot charm his cares: +Still dwells his mind with gloomy fears, + And murther'd Edward glares. + + +PART III. + +"No rest nor comfort can I find, + I watch the midnight hour; +I sit and listen to the wind + Which beats upon my tower. + +"Methinks low voices from the ground + Break mournful on mine ear, +And thro' these empty chambers sound + So dismal and so drear. + +"The ghost of some departed friend + Doth in my sorrows share; +Or is it but the rushing wind + That mocketh my despair. + +"Sad thro' the hall the pale lamp gleams + Upon my father's arms: +My soul is fill'd with gloomy dreams, + I fear unknown alarms. + +"Oh! I have known this lonely place + With ev'ry blessing stor'd; +And many a friend with cheerful face + Sit smiling at my board, + +"Whilst round the fire, in early bloom, + My harmless children play'd, +Who now within the narrow tomb + Are with their mother laid. + +"And now low bends my wretched head, + And those I lov'd are gone: +My friends, my family, all are fled, + And I am left alone. + +"Oft' as the cheerless fire declines, + In it I sadly trace, +As 'lone I sit, the half form'd lines + Of many a much lov'd face. + +"But chief, O Marg'ret! to my mind + Thy lovely features rise: +I strive to think thee less unkind, + And wipe my streaming eyes. + +"For only thee I had to vaunt, + Thou wert thy mother's pride: +She left thee like a shooting plant + To screen my widow'd side. + +"But thou hast left me weak, forlorn, + And chill'd with age's frost, +To count my weary days, and mourn + The comforts I have lost. + +"Unkindly fair! why did'st thou go? + O, had I known the truth! +Tho' Edward's father was my foe, + I would have bless'd the youth. + +"O could I see that face again, + Whose smile calm'd ev'ry strife! +And hear that voice, which sooth'd my pain, + And made me wish for life! + +"Thy harp hangs silent by the wall: + My nights are sad and long: +And thou art in a distant hall, + Where strangers raise the song. + +"Ha! some delusion of the mind + My senses doth confound! +It was the harp, and not the wind, + That did so sweetly sound." + +Old Arno rose, all wan as death, + With broken steps of care; +And oft' he check'd his quick-heav'd breath, + And turn'd his eager ear. + +When like a full, but distant choir + The swelling sound return'd; +And with the soft and trembling wire, + The sighing echoes mourn'd. + +Then softly whisper'd o'er the song + Which Marg'ret lov'd to play, +Like some sweet dirge, and sad, and long, + It faintly died away. + +His dim-worn eyes to heav'n he cast, + Where all his griefs were known; +And smote upon his troubled breast, + And heav'd a heavy groan. + +"I know it is my daughter's hand, + But 'tis no hand of clay: +And here a lonely wretch I stand, + All childless, bent, and grey. + +"And art thou low, my lovely child? + And hast thou met thy doom? +And has thy flatt'ring morning smil'd, + To lead but to the tomb? + +"O let me see thee ere we part, + For souls like thine are blest; +O let me fold thee to my heart + If aught of form thou hast. + +"This passing mist enrobes thy charms: + Alas, to nought 'tis shrunk! +And hollow strike my empty arms + Against my aged trunk. + +"Thou'rt fled like the low ev'ning breath + That sighs upon the hill: +O stay! tho' in thy weeds of death, + Thou art my daughter still." + +Loud wak'd the sound, then fainter grew, + And long and sadly mourn'd; +And softly sigh'd a long adieu, + And never more return'd. + +Old Arno stretch'd him on the ground, + Thick as the gloom of night, +Death's misty shadows gather'd round, + And swam before his sight. + +He heav'd a deep and deadly groan, + Which rent his lab'ring breast; +And long before the morning shone, + His spirit was at rest. + + + +A REVERIE. + + Beside a spreading elm, from whose high boughs +Like knotted tufts the crow's light dwelling shows, +Where screen'd from northern blasts, and winter proof, +Snug stands the parson's barn with thatched roof; +At chaff-strew'd door, where, in the morning ray, +The gilded mots in mazy circles play, +And sleepy Comrade in the sun is laid, +More grateful to the cur than neighb'ring shade; +In snowy shirt unbrac'd, brown Robin stood, +And leant upon his flail in thoughtful mood: +His full round cheek where deeper flushes glow, +The dewy drops which glisten on his brow; +His dark cropt pate that erst at church or fair, +So smooth and silky, shew'd his morning's care, +Which all uncouth in matted locks combin'd, +Now, ends erect, defies the ruffling wind; +His neck-band loose, and hosen rumpled low, +A careful lad, nor slack at labour shew. +Nor scraping chickens chirping 'mongst the straw, +Nor croaking rook o'er-head, nor chatt'ring daw; +Loud-breathing cow amongst the rampy weeds, +Nor grunting sow that in the furrow feeds; +Nor sudden breeze that shakes the quaking leaves, +And lightly rustles thro' the scatter'd sheaves; +Nor floating straw that skims athwart his nose, +The deeply musing youth may discompose. +For Nelly fair, and blythest village maid, +Whose tuneful voice beneath the hedge-row shade, +At early milking, o'er the meadows born, +E'er cheer'd the ploughman's toil at rising morn: +The neatest maid that e'er, in linen gown, +Bore cream and butter to the market town: +The tightest lass, that with untutor'd air +E'er footed ale-house floor at wake or fair, +Since Easter last had Robin's heart possest, +And many a time disturb'd his nightly rest. +Full oft' returning from the loosen'd plough, +He slack'd his pace, and knit his thoughtful brow; +And oft' ere half his thresher's talk was o'er, +Would muse, with arms across, at cooling door: +His mind thus bent, with downcast eyes he stood, +And leant upon his flail in thoughtful mood. +His soul o'er many a soft rememb'rance ran, +And, mutt'ring to himself, the youth began. + + "Ah! happy is the man whose early lot +Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; +Who trains the vine that round his window grows, +And after setting sun his garden hoes; +Whose wattled pales his own enclosure shield, +Who toils not daily in another's field. +Where'er he goes, to church or market town, +With more respect he and his dog are known: +A brisker face he wears at wake or fair, +Nor views with longing eyes the pedlar's ware, +But buys at will or ribands, gloves, or beads, +And willing maidens to the ale-house leads: +And, Oh! secure from toils which cumber life, +He makes the maid he loves an easy wife. +Ah, Nelly! can'st thou with contented mind, +Become the help-mate of a lab'ring hind, +And share his lot, whate'er the chances be, +Who hath no dow'r, but love, to fix on thee? +Yes, gayest maid may meekest matron prove, +And things of little note may 'token love. +When from the church thou cam'st at eventide +And I and red-hair'd Susan by thy side, +I pull'd the blossoms from the bending tree, +And some to Susan gave, and some to thee; +Thine were the best, and well thy smiling eye +The diff'rence mark'd, and guess'd the reason why. +When on a holy-day we rambling stray'd, +And pass'd old Hodge's cottage in the glade; +Neat was the garden dress'd, sweet hum'd the bee, +I wish'd both cot and Nelly made for me; +And well methought thy very eyes reveal'd +The self-same wish within thy breast conceal'd. +When artful, once, I sought my love to tell, +And spoke to thee of one who lov'd thee well, +You saw the cheat, and jeering homeward hied, +Yet secret pleasure in thy looks I spied. +Ay, gayest maid may meekest matron prove, +And smaller signs than these have 'token'd love." + + Now, at a distance, on the neighb'ring plain, +With creaking wheels slow comes the heavy wain: +High on its tow'ring load a maid appears, +And Nelly's voice sounds shrill in Robin's ears. +Quick from his hand he throws the cumb'rous flail, +And leaps with lightsome limbs th' enclosing pale. +O'er field and fence he scours, and furrow wide, +With waken'd Comrade barking by his side; +Whilst tracks of trodden grain, and sidelong hay, +And broken hedge-flow'rs sweet, mark his impetuous way. + + + +A DISAPPOINTMENT. + + On village green, whose smooth and well worn sod, +Cross-path'd with every gossip's foot is trod; +By cottage door where playful children run, +And cats and curs sit basking in the sun: +Where o'er the earthen seat the thorn is bent, +Cross-arm'd, and back to wall, poor William leant. +His bonnet broad drawn o'er his gather'd brow, +His hanging lip and lengthen'd visage shew +A mind but ill at ease. With motions strange, +His listless limbs their wayward postures change; +Whilst many a crooked line and curious maze, +With clouted shoon, he on the sand pourtrays. +The half-chew'd straw fell slowly from his mouth, +And to himself low mutt'ring spoke the youth. + + "How simple is the lad! and reft of skill, +Who thinks with love to fix a woman's will: +Who ev'ry Sunday morn, to please her sight, +Knots up his neck-cloth gay, and hosen white: +Who for her pleasure keeps his pockets bare, +And half his wages spends on pedlar's ware; +When every niggard clown, or dotard old, +Who hides in secret nooks his oft told gold, +Whose field or orchard tempts with all her pride, +At little cost may win her for his bride; +Whilst all the meed her silly lover gains +Is but the neighbours' jeering for his pains. +On Sunday last when Susan's bands were read, +And I astonish'd sat with hanging head, +Cold grew my shrinking limbs, and loose my knee, +Whilst every neighbour's eye was fix'd on me. +Ah, Sue! when last we work'd at Hodge's hay, +And still at me you jeer'd in wanton play; +When last at fair, well pleas'd by show-man's stand, +You took the new-bought fairing from my hand; +When at old Hobb's you sung that song so gay, +Sweet William still the burthen of the lay, +I little thought, alas! the lots were cast, +That thou shou'd'st be another's bride at last: +And had, when last we trip'd it on the green +And laugh'd at stiff-back'd Rob, small thought I ween, +Ere yet another scanty month was flown, +To see thee wedded to the hateful clown. +Ay, lucky swain, more gold thy pockets line; +But did these shapely limbs resemble thine, +I'd stay at home, and tend the household geer, +Nor on the green with other lads appear. +Ay, lucky swain, no store thy cottage lacks, +And round thy barn thick stands the shelter'd stacks; +But did such features hard my visage grace, +I'd never budge the bonnet from my face. +Yet let it be: it shall not break my ease: +He best deserves who doth the maiden please. +Such silly cause no more shall give me pain, +Nor ever maiden cross my rest again. +Such grizzly suitors with their taste agree, +And the black fiend may take them all for me!" + + Now thro' the village rise confused sounds, +Hoarse lads, and children shrill, and yelping hounds. +Straight ev'ry matron at the door is seen, +And pausing hedgers on their mattocks lean. +At every narrow lane, and alley mouth, +Loud laughing lasses stand, and joking youth. +A near approaching band in colours gay, +With minstrels blythe before to cheer the way, +From clouds of curling dust which onward fly, +In rural splendour break upon the eye. +As in their way they hold so gayly on, +Caps, beads, and buttons glancing in the sun, +Each village wag, with eye of roguish cast, +Some maiden jogs, and vents the ready jest; +Whilst village toasts the passing belles deride, +And sober matrons marvel at their pride. +But William, head erect, with settled brow, +In sullen silence view'd the passing shew; +And oft' he scratch'd his pate with manful grace, +And scorn'd to pull the bonnet o'er his face; +But did with steady look unmoved wait, +Till hindmost man had turn'd the church-yard gate; +Then turn'd him to his cot with visage flat, +Where honest Tray upon the threshold sat. +Up jump'd the kindly beast his hand to lick, +And, for his pains, receiv'd an angry kick. +Loud shuts the flapping door with thund'ring din; +The echoes round their circling course begin, +From cot to cot, in wide progressive swell, +Deep groans the church-yard wall and neighb'ring dell, +And Tray, responsive, joins with long and piteous yell. + + + +A LAMENTATION. + + Where ancient broken wall encloses round, +From tread of lawless feet, the hallow'd ground, +And somber yews their dewy branches wave +O'er many a motey stone and mounded grave: +Where parish church, confus'dly to the sight, +With deeper darkness prints the shades of night, +And mould'ring tombs uncouthly gape around, +And rails and fallen stones bestrew the ground: +In loosen'd garb derang'd, with scatter'd hair, +His bosom open to the nightly air, +Lone, o'er a new heap'd grave poor Basil bent, +And to himself began his simple plaint. + + "Alas! how cold thy home! how low thou art! +Who wert the pride and mistress of my heart. +The fallen leaves light rustling o'er thee pass, +And o'er thee waves the rank and dewy grass. +The new laid sods in decent order tell +How narrow now the space where thou must dwell. +Now rough and wint'ry winds may on thee beat, +And drizzly drifting snow, and summer's heat; +Each passing season rub, for woe is me! +Or storm, or sunshine, is the same to thee. +Ah, Mary! lovely was thy slender form, +And sweet thy cheerful brow, that knew no storm. +Thy steps were graceful on the village-green, +As tho' thou had'st some courtly lady been: +At church or market, still the gayest lass, +Each younker slack'd his speed to see thee pass. +At early milking, tuneful was thy lay, +And sweet thy homeward song at close of day; +But sweeter far, and ev'ry youth's desire, +Thy cheerful converse by the ev'ning fire. +Alas! no more thou'lt foot the grassy sward! +No song of thine shall ever more be heard! +Yet now they trip it lightly on the green, +As blythe and gay as thou hadst never been: +The careless younker whittles lightsome by, +And other maidens catch his roving eye: +Around the ev'ning fire, with little care, +The neighbours sit, and scarcely miss thee there; +And when the night advancing darkens round, +They to their rest retire, and slumber sound. +But Basil cannot rest; his days are sad, +And long his nights upon the weary bed. +Yet still in broken dreams thy form appears, +And still my bosom proves a lover's fears. +I guide thy footsteps thro' the tangled wood; +I catch thee sinking in the boist'rous flood; +I shield thy bosom from the threaten'd stroke; +I clasp thee falling from the headlong rock; +But ere we reach the dark and dreadful deep, +High heaves my troubled breast, I wake, and weep. +At ev'ry wailing of the midnight wind +Thy lowly dwelling comes into my mind. +When rain beats on my roof, wild storms abroad, +I think upon thy bare and beaten sod; +I hate the comfort of a shelter'd home, +And hie me forth o'er fenceless fields to roam: +I leave the paths of men for dreary waste, +And bare my forehead to the howling blast. +O Mary! loss of thee hath fix'd my doom: +This world around me is a weary gloom: +Dull heavy musings down my spirits weigh, +I cannot sleep by night, nor work by day. +Or wealth or pleasure slowest minds inspire, +But cheerless is their toil who nought desire. +Let happier friends divide my farmers' dock, +Cut down my grain, and sheer my little flock; +For now my only care on earth shall be +Here ev'ry Sunday morn to visit thee; +And in the holy church, with heart sincere, +And humble mind, our worthy curate hear: +He best can tell, when earthly cares are past, +The surest way to meet with thee at last. +I'll thus a while a weary life abide, +Till wasting Time hath laid me by thy side; +For now on earth there is no place for me, +Nor peace, nor slumber, till I rest with thee." + + Loud, from the lofty spire, with piercing knell, +Solemn, and awful, toll'd the parish bell; +A later hour than rusties deem it meet +That church-yard ground be trode by mortal feet, +The wailing lover startled at the sound, +And rais'd his head and cast his eyes around. +The gloomy pile in strengthen'd horrour lower'd, +Large and majestic ev'ry object tower'd: +Dim thro' the gloom they shew'd their forms unknown, +And tall and ghastly rose each whiten'd stone: +Aloft the waking screech-owl 'gan to sing, +And past him skim'd the bat with flapping wing. +The fears of nature woke within his breast; +He left the hallowed spot of Mary's rest, +And sped his way the church-yard wall to gain, +Then check'd his coward heart, and turn'd again. +The shadows round a deeper horrour wear; +A deeper silence hangs upon his ear; +A stiller rest is o'er the settled scene; +His flutt'ring heart recoils, and shrinks again. +With hasty steps he measures back the ground, +And leaps with summon'd force the church-yard bound; +Then home with knocking limbs, and quicken'd breath, +His footstep urges from the place of death. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE MUSES. + +Ye tuneful Sifters of the lyre, +Who dreams and fantasies inspire; +Who over poesy preside, +And on a lofty hill abide +Above the ken of mortal fight, +Fain would I sing of you, could I address ye right. + +Thus known, your pow'r of old was sung, +And temples with your praises rung; +And when the song of battle rose, +Or kindling wine, or lovers' woes, +The poet's spirit inly burn'd, +And still to you his upcast eyes were turn'd. + +The youth all wrapp'd in vision bright, +Beheld your robes of flowing white: +And knew your forms benignly grand, +An awful, but a lovely band; +And felt your inspiration strong, +And warmly pour'd his rapid lay along. + +The aged bard all heav'n-ward glow'd, +And hail'd you daughters of a god: +Tho' to his dimmer eyes were seen +Nor graceful form, nor heav'nly mien, +Full well he felt that ye were near, +And heard you in the blast that shook his hoary hair. + +Ye lighten'd up the valley's bloom, +And deeper spread the forest's gloom; +The lofty hill sublimer flood, +And grander rose the mighty flood; +For then Religion lent her aid, +And o'er the mind of man your sacred empire spread. + +Tho' rolling ages now are past, +And altars low, and temples wade; +Tho' rites and oracles are o'er, +And gods and heros rule no more; +Your fading honours still remain, +And still your vot'ries call, a long and motley train. + +They seek you not on hill and plain, +Nor court you in the sacred sane; +Nor meet you in the mid-day dream, +Upon the bank of hallowed stream; +Yet still for inspiration sue, +And still each lifts his fervent prayer to you. + +He knows ye not in woodland gloom, +But wooes ye in the shelfed room; +And seeks you in the dusty nook, +And meets you in the letter'd book; +Full well he knows you by your names, +And still with poets faith your presence claims. + +The youthful poet, pen in hand, +All by the side of blotted stand, +In rev'rie deep, which none may break, +Sits rubbing of his beardless cheek; +And well his inspiration knows, +E'en by the dewy drops that trickle o'er his nose. + +The tuneful sage of riper fame, +Perceives you not in heated frame; +But at conclusion of his verse, +Which still his mutt'ring lips rehearse, +Oft' waves his hand in grateful pride, +And owns the heav'nly pow'r that did his fancy guide. + +O lovely sisters! is it true, +That they are all inspir'd by you? +And while they write, with magic charm'd, +And high enthusiasm warm'd, +We may not question heav'nly lays, +For well I wot, they give you all the praise. + +O lovely sisters! well it shews +How wide and far your bounty flows: +Then why from me withhold your beams? +Unvisited of heav'nly dreams, +Whene'er I aim at heights sublime, +Still downward am I call'd to seek some stubborn rhyme. + +No hasty lightning breaks the gloom, +Nor flashing thoughts unsought for come, +Nor fancies wake in time of need; +I labour much with little speed; +And when my studied task is done, +Too well, alas! I mark it for my own. + +Yet should you never smile on me, +And rugged still my verses be; +Unpleasing to the tuneful train, +Who only prize a slowing strain; +And still the learned scorn my lays, +I'll lift my heart to you, and sing your praise. + +Your varied ministry to trace, +Your honour'd names, and godlike race; +And lofty bow'rs where fountains flow, +They'll better sing who better know; +I praise ye not with Grecian lyre, +Nor will I hail ye daughters of a heathen fire. + +Ye are the spirits who preside +In earth, and air, and ocean wide; +In hissing flood, and crackling fire; +In horror dread, and tumult dire; +In stilly calm, and stormy wind, +And rule the answ'ring changes in the human mind. + +High on the tempest-beaten hill, +Your misty shapes ye shift at will; +The wild fantastic clouds ye form; +Your voice is in the midnight storm; +Whilst in the dark and lonely hour, +Oft' starts the boldest heart, and owns your secret pow'r. + +From you, when growling storms are past, +And light'ning ceases on the wade, +And when the scene of blood is o'er, +And groans of death are heard no more, +Still holds the mind each parted form, +Like after echoing of the o'erpassed storm. + +When closing glooms o'erspread the day, +And what we love has pass'd away, +Ye kindly bid each pleasing scene +Within the bosom still remain, +Like moons who doth their watches run +With the reflected brightness of the parted sun. + +The shining day, and nightly shade, +The cheerful plain and gloomy glade, +The homeward flocks, and shepherds play, +The busy hamlet's closing day, +Full many a breast with pleasures swell, +Who ne'er shall have the gift of words to tell, + +Oft' when the moon looks from on high, +And black around the shadows lie; +And bright the sparkling waters gleam, +And rushes rustle by the stream, +Shrill sounds, and fairy forms are known +By simple 'nighted swains, who wander late alone. + +Ye kindle up the inward glow, +Ye strengthen ev'ry outward show; +Ye overleap the strongest bar, +And join what Nature sunders far: +And visit oft' in fancies wild, +The bread of learned sage, and simple child. + +From him who wears a monarch's crown, +To the unletter'd artless clown, +All in some strange and lonely hour +Have felt, unsought, your secret pow'r, +And lov'd your roving fancies well, +You add but to the bard the art to tell. + +Ye mighty spirits of the song, +To whom the poets' pray'rs belong, +My lowly bosom to inspire, +And kindle with your sacred fire, +Your wild obscuring heights to brave, +Is boon, alas! too great for me to crave. + +But O, such sense of matter bring! +As they who feel and never sing +Wear on their hearts, it will avail +With simple words to tell my tale; +And still contented will I be, +Tho' greater inspirations never fall to me. + + + +A MELANCHOLY LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + My Phillis, all my hopes are o'er, +And I shall see thy face no more. +Since ev'ry secret wish is vain, +I will not stay to give thee pain. +Then do not hang thy low'ring brow, +But let me bless thee ere I go: +Nor, O, despise my last adieu! +I've lov'd thee long, and lov'd thee true. + + The prospects of my youth are crost, +My health is flown, my vigour lost; +My soothing friends augment my pain, +And cheerless is my native plain; +Dark o'er my spirit hangs the gloom, +And thy disdain has fix'd my doom. +But light gales ruffle o'er the sea, +Which soon shall bear me far from thee; +And wherefoe'er our course is cast, +I know will bear me to my rest. +Full deep beneath the briny wave, +Where rest the venturous and brave, +A place may be decreed for me; +And should no tempest raise the sea, +Far hence upon a foreign land, +Whose sons, perhaps, with friendly hand +The stranger's lowly tomb may raise; +A broken heart will end my days. + + But Heaven's blessing on thee rest! +And may no troubles vex thy breast! +Perhaps, when pensive and alone, +You'll think of me when I am gone; +And gentle tears of pity shed, +When I am in my narrow bed. +Yet softly let thy sorrow flow! +And greater may'st thou never know! +All free from worldly care and strife, +Long may'ft thou live a happy life! +And ev'ry earthly blessing find, +Thou loveliest of womankind: +And blest thy secret wishes be! +Tho' cruel thou hast been to me. + + And do'st thou then thine arm extend +And may I take thy lovely hand? +And do thine eyes thus gently look, +As tho' some kindly wish they spoke? +My gentle Phillis, tho' severe, +I do not grudge the ills I bear; +But still my greatest grief will be, +To think my love has troubled thee. +O, do not scorn this swelling grief! +The laden bosom seeks relief: +Nor yet this infant weakness blame, +For thou hast made me what I am. +But hark! the sailors call away, +No longer may I ling'ring stay; +May peace within thy mansion dwell! +O, gentle Phillis, fare thee well! + + + +A CHEERFUL TEMPERED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + The light winds on the streamers play +That soon shall bear me far away; +My comrades give the parting cheer, +And I alone have linger'd here. +Now Phill. my love, since it will be, +And I must bid farewell to thee, +Since ev'ry hope of thee is flown, +Ne'er send me from thee with a frown; +But let me kindly take thy hand, +And bid God bless me in a foreign land. + + No more I'll loiter by thy side, +Well pleas'd thy gamesome taunts to bide; +Nor lovers' gambols lightly try +To make me graceful in thine eye; +Nor sing the merry roundelay, +To cheer thee at the close of day. +Yet ne'ertheless tho' we must part, +I'll bear thee still upon my heart; +And oft' I'll fill the ruddy glass, +To toast my lovely scornful lass. +Far hence, upon a foreign shore, +Still will I keep an open door, +And still my little fortune share +With all who ever breath'd my native air. +And who thy beauteous face hath seen, +Or ever near thy dwelling been, +Shall push about the flowing bowl, +And be the matter of the whole. +And ev'ry woman for thy sake, +Though proud and cruel, as they're weak, +Shall in my walls protection find, +Thou fairest of a fickle kind. + + O, dearly! dearly! have I paid, +Thou little haughty cruel maid, +To give that inward peace to thee, +Which thou hast ta'en away from me. +Soft hast thou slept, with bosom light, +Whilst I have watch'd the weary night; +And now I cross the surgy deep, +That thou may'st still untroubled sleep-- +But in thine eyes, what do I see, +That looks as tho' they pitied me? +I thank thee, Phill. yet be not sad, +I leave no blame upon thy head. +I would, more grac'd with pleasing make, +I had been better for thy sake, +But yet, perhaps, when I shall dwell +Far hence, thou'lt sometimes think how well-- +I dare not stay, since we must part, +T'expose a fond and foolish heart; +Where'er I go, it beats for you, +God bless ye, Phill. adieu! adieu! + + + +A PROUD LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + Farewell thou haughty, cruel fair! +Upon thy brow no longer wear +That sombre look of cold disdain, +Thou ne'er shalt see my face again. +Now ev'ry silly wish is o'er, +And fears and doubtings are no more. + + All cruel as thou art to me, +Long has my heart been fix'd on thee; +On thee I've mus'd the live-long day, +And thought the weary night away; +I've trac'd thy footsteps o'er the green, +And shar'd thy rambles oft unseen; +I've linger'd near thee night and day, +When thou hast thought me far away; +I've watch'd the turning of thy face, +And fondly mark'd thy moving grace; +And wept thy rising smiles to see; +I've been a fool for love of thee. +Yet do not think I stay the while +Thy weakly pity to beguile: +Let forced favour fruitless prove! +The pity curst, that brings not love! +No woman e'er shall give me pain, +Or ever break my rest again: +Nor aught that comes of woman kind +Have pow'r again to move my mind. +Far on a foreign shore I'll seek +Some lonely island, bare and bleak; +I'll seek some wild and rugged cell, +And with untamed creatures dwell. +To hear their cries is now my choice, +Far more than man's deceitful voice: +To listen to the howling wind, +Than luring tongue of womankind. +They look not beautiful and good, +But ronghsome seem as they are rude. + + O Phillis! thou hast wreck'd a heart, +Which proudly bears, but feels the smart. +Adieu! adieu! should'st thou e'er prove +The pang of ill-requited love, +Thou'lt know what I have borne for thee, +And then thou wilt remember me. + + + +A POET, OR, SOUND-HEARTED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + Fair Nymph, who dost my fate controul, +And reign'st the mistress of my soul, +Where thou all bright in beauties ray +Hast held a long tyrannick sway, +They who the hardest rule maintain, +In their commands do still refrain +From what impossible must prove, +But thou hast bade me cease to love; +Nor would some gentle mercy give, +And only bid me cease to live. +Ah! when the magnet's pow'r is o'er, +The compass then will point no more; +And when no verdure cloaths the spring, +The tuneful birds forget to sing: +But thou all sweet and heav'nly fair, +Hast bade thy swain from love forbear. +In pity let thine own fair hand +A death's-wound to this bosom send: +This tender heart of purest faith +May then resign thee with its breath; +And in the sun-beam of thine eye +A proud and willing victim die. + + But since thou wilt not have it so, +Far from thy presence will I go: +Far from my heart's dear bliss I'll stray, +Since I no longer can obey. +In foreign climes I'll distant roam, +No more to hail my native home: +To foreign swains I'll pour my woe, +In foreign plains my tears shall flow: +By murm'ring stream and shady grove +Shall other echoes tell my love; +And richer flow'rs of vivid hue +Upon my tomb shall other maidens strew. + + Adieu, dear Phillis! should'ft thou e'er +Some soft and plaintive story hear, +Of hapless youth who died for love, +Or all forlorn did banish'd rove, +O think of me! nor then deny +The gentle tribute of a sigh. + + * * * * * + + It may be objected that all these lovers are equally sad, though one is +a cheerful, the other a melancholy lover. It is true they are all equally +sad, for they are all equally in love, and in despair, when it is +impossible for them to be otherwise; but if I have pictured their farewell +complaints in such a way as to give you an idea that one lover is +naturally of a melancholy, one of a cheerful, and one of a proud temper, I +have done all that is intended. + + + +THE STORM-BEAT MAID. + +SOMEWHAT AFTER THE STYLE OF OUR OLD ENGLISH BALLADS. + + +All shrouded in the winter snow, + The maiden held her way; +Nor chilly winds that roughly blow, + Nor dark night could her stay. + +O'er hill and dale, through bush and briar, + She on her journey kept; +Save often when she 'gan to tire, + She stop'd awhile and wept. + +Wild creatures left their caverns drear, + To raise their nightly yell; +But little doth the bosom fear, + Where inward troubles dwell. + +No watch-light from the distant spire, + To cheer the gloom so deep, +Nor twinkling star, nor cottage fire + Did thro' the darkness peep. + +Yet heedless still she held her way, + Nor fear'd the crag nor dell; +Like ghost that thro' the gloom to stray, + Wakes with the midnight bell. + +Now night thro' her dark watches ran, + Which lock the peaceful mind; +And thro' the neighb'ring hamlets 'gan + To wake the yawning hind. + +Yet bark of dog, nor village cock, + That spoke the morning near; +Nor gray-light trembling on the rock, + Her 'nighted mind could cheer. + +The whirling flail, and clacking mill + Wake with the early day; +And careless children, loud and shrill, + With new-made snow-balls play. + +And as she pass'd each cottage door, + They did their gambols cease; +And old men shook their locks so hoar, + And wish'd her spirit peace. + +For sometimes slow; and sometimes fast, + She held her wav'ring pace; +Like early spring's inconstant blast, + That ruffles evening's face. + +At length with weary feet she came, + Where in a shelt'ring wood, +Whose master bore no humble name, + A stately castle stood. + +The open gate, and smoking fires, + Which cloud the air so thin; +And shrill bell tinkling from the spires, + Bespoke a feast within. + +With busy looks, and hasty tread, + The servants cross the hall; +And many a page, in buskins red, + Await the master's call. + +Fair streaming bows of bridal white + On ev'ry shoulder play'd; +And clean, in lily kerchief dight, + Trip'd every houshold maid. + +She ask'd for neither lord nor dame, + Nor who the mansion own'd; +But straight into the hall she came, + And sat her on the ground. + +The busy crew all crouded nigh, + And round the stranger star'd; +But still she roll'd her wand'ring eye, + Nor for their questions car'd. + +"What dost thou want, thou storm-beat' maid, + That thou these portals past? +Ill suiteth here thy looks dismay'd, + Thou art no bidden guest." + +"O chide not!" said a gentle page, + And wip'd his tear-wet cheek, +"Who would not shun the winter's rage? + The wind is cold and bleak. + +"Her robe is stiff with drizly snow, + And rent her mantle grey; +None ever bade the wretched go + Upon his wedding-day." + +Then to his lord he hied him straight, + Where round on silken seat +Sat many a courteous dame and knight. + And made obeisance meet, + +"There is a stranger in your hall, + Who wears no common mien; +Hard were the heart, as flinty wall, + That would not take her in. + +"A fairer dame in hall or bower + Mine eyes did ne'er behold; +Tho' shelter'd in no father's tower, + And turn'd out to the cold. + +"Her face is like an early morn, + Dimm'd with the nightly dew; +Her skin is like the sheeted torn, + Her eyes are wat'ry blue. + +"And tall and slender is her form, + Like willow o'er the brook; +But on her brow there broods a storm, + And restless is her look, + +"And well her troubled motions shew + The tempest in her mind; +Like the unshelter'd sapling bough + Vex'd with the wintry wind. + +"Her head droops on her ungirt breast, + And scatter'd is her hair; +Yet lady brac'd in courtly vest + Was never half so fair." + +Reverse, and cold the turning blood + The bridegroom's cheek forsook: +He shook and stagger'd as he stood, + And falter'd as he spoke. + +"So soft and fair I know a maid, + There is but only she; +A wretched man her love betrayed, + And wretched let him be." + +Deep frowning, turn'd the bride's dark eye, + For bridal morn unmeet; +With trembling steps her lord did hie + The stranger fair to greet. + +Tho' loose in scatter'd weeds array'd, + And ruffled with the storm; +Like lambkin from its fellows stray'd, + He knew her graceful form. + +But when he spy'd her sunken eye, + And features sharp and wan, +He heav'd a deep and heavy sigh, + And down the big tears ran. + +"Why droops thy head, thou lovely maid, + Upon thy hand of snow? +Is it because thy love betray'd, + That thou art brought so low?" + +Quick from her eye the keen glance came + Who question'd her to see: +And oft she mutter'd o'er his name, + And wist not it was he. + +Full hard against his writhing brows + His clenched hands he prest; +Full high his lab'ring bosom rose, + And rent its silken vest. + +"O cursed be the golden price, + That did my baseness prove! +And cursed be my friends advice, + That wil'd me from thy love! + +"And cursed be the woman's art, + That lur'd me to her snare! +And cursed be the faithless heart + That left thee to despair! + +"Yet now I'll hold thee to my side, + Tho' worthless I have been, +Nor friends, nor wealth, nor dizen'd bride, + Shall ever stand between. + +"When thou art weary and depress'd, + I'll lull thee to thy sleep; +And when dark fancies vex thy breast, + I'll sit by thee and weep. + +"I'll tend thee like a restless child + Where'er thy rovings be; +Nor gesture keen, nor eye-ball wild, + Shall turn my love from thee. + +"Night shall not hang cold o'er thy head, + And I securely lie; +Nor drizly clouds upon thee shed, + And I in covert dry. + +"I'll share the cold blast on the heath, + I'll share thy wants and pain: +Nor friend nor foe, nor life nor death, + Shall ever make us twain." + + + +THUNDER. + + Spirit of strength, to whom in wrath 'tis given +To mar the earth, and shake the vasty heaven: +Behold the gloomy robes, that spreading hide +Thy secret majesty, lo! slow and wide, +Thy heavy skirts sail in the middle air, +Thy sultry shroud is o'er the noonday glare: +Th' advancing clouds sublimely roll'd on high, +Deep in their pitchy volumes clothe the sky; +Like hosts of gath'ring foes array'd in death, +Dread hangs their gloom upon the earth beneath, +It is thy hour: the awful deep is still, +And laid to rest the wind of ev'ry hill. +Wild creatures of the forest homeward scour, +And in their dens with fear unwonted cow'r. +Pride in the lordly palace is forgot, +And in the lowly shelter of the cot +The poor man sits, with all his fam'ly round, +In awful expectation of thy sound. +Lone on his way the trav'ller stands aghast; +The fearful looks of man to heav'n are cast, +When, lo! thy lightning gleams on high, +As swiftly turns his startled eye; +And swiftly as thy shooting blaze +Each half performed motion stays, +Deep awe, all human strife and labour stills, +And thy dread voice alone, the earth and heaven fills. + + Bright bursts the lightning from the cloud's dark womb, +As quickly swallow'd in the closing gloom. +The distant streamy flashes, spread askance +In paler sheetings, skirt the wide expanse. +Dread flaming from aloft, the cat'ract dire +Oft meets in middle space the nether fire. +Fierce, red, and ragged, shiv'ring in the air, +Athwart mid-darkness shoots the lengthen'd glare. +Wild glancing round, the feebler lightning plays; +The rifted centre pours the gen'ral blaze; +And from the warring clouds in fury driven,[A] +Red writhing falls the keen embodied bolt of heaven. + +[Footnote A: In poetry we have only to do with appearances; and the +zig-zag lightning, commonly thought to be the thunder-bolt, is certainly +firm and embodied, compared to the ordinary lightning, which takes no +distinct shape at all.] + + From the dark bowels of the burthen'd cloud +Dread swells the rolling peal, full, deep'ning, loud. +Wide ratt'ling claps the heavens scatter'd o'er, +In gathered strength lift the tremendous roar; +With weaning force it rumbles over head, +Then, growling, wears away to silence dread. +Now waking from afar in doubled might, +Slow rolling onward to the middle height; +Like crash of mighty mountains downward hurl'd, +Like the upbreaking of a wrecking world, +In dreadful majesty, th' explosion grand +Bursts wide, and awful, o'er the trembling land. +The lofty mountains echo back the roar, +Deep from afar rebounds earth's rocky shore; +All else existing in the senses bound +Is lost in the immensity of sound. +Wide jarring sounds by turns in strength convene, +And deep, and terrible, the solemn pause between. + + Aloft upon the mountain's side +The kindled forest blazes wide. +Huge fragments of the rugged deep +Are tumbled to the lashing deep. +Firm rooted in the cloven rock, +Loud crashing falls the stubborn oak. +The lightning keen, in wasteful ire, +Fierce darting on the lofty spire, +Wide rends in twain the ir'n-knit stone, +And stately tow'rs are lowly thrown. +Wild flames o'erscour the wide campaign, +And plough askance the hissing main. +Nor strength of man may brave the storm, +Nor shelter skreen the shrinking form; +Nor castle wall its fury stay, +Nor masy gate may bar its way. +It visits those of low estate, +It shakes the dwellings of the great, +It looks athwart the secret tomb, +And glares upon the prison's gloom; +While dungeons deep, in unknown light, +Flash hidious on the wretches' fight, +And lowly groans the downward cell, +Where deadly silence wont to dwell. + + Now upcast eyes to heav'n adore, +And knees that never bow'd before. +In stupid wonder flares the child; +The maiden turns her glances wild, +And lifts to hear the coming roar: +The aged shake their locks so hoar: +And stoutest hearts begin to fail, +And many a manly cheek is pale; +Till nearer closing peals astound, +And crashing ruin mingles round; +Then 'numbing fear awhile up-binds +The pausing action of their minds, +Till wak'd to dreadful sense, they lift their eyes, +And round the stricken corse, shrill shrieks of horror rise. + + Now thinly spreads the falling hall +A motly winter o'er the vale, +The hailstones bounding as they fall +On hardy rock, or storm-beat' wall. +The loud beginning peal its fury checks, +Now full, now fainter, with irreg'lar breaks, +Then weak in force, unites the scatter'd found; +And rolls its lengthen'd grumblings to the distant bound. +A thick and muddy whiteness clothes the sky, +In paler flashes gleams the lightning by; +And thro' the rent cloud, silver'd with his ray, +The sun looks down on all this wild affray; +As high enthron'd above all mortal ken, +A greater Pow'r beholds the strife of men: +Yet o'er the distant hills the darkness scowls, +And deep, and long, the parting tempest growls. + + + +WIND. + + Pow'r uncontrollable, who hold'st thy sway +In the unbounded air, whose trackless way +Is in the firmament, unknown of fight, +Who bend'st the sheeted heavens in thy might, +And lift'st the ocean from its lowest bed +To join in middle space the conflict dread; +Who o'er the peopled earth in ruin scours, +And buffets the firm rock that proudly low'rs, +Thy signs are in the heav'ns. The upper clouds +Draw shapeless o'er the sky their misty shrowds; +Whilst darker fragments rove in lower bands, +And mournful purple cloaths the distant lands. +In gather'd tribes, upon the hanging peak +The sea-fowl scream, ill-omen'd creatures shriek: +Unwonted sounds groan on the distant wave, +And murmurs deep break from the downward cave. +Unlook'd-for gusts the quiet forests shake, +And speak thy coming--awful Pow'r, awake! + + Like burst of mighty waters wakes the blast, +In wide and boundless sweep: thro' regions vast +The floods of air in loosen'd fury drive, +And meeting currents strong, and fiercely strive. +First wildly raving on the mountain's brow +'Tis heard afar, till o'er the plains below +With even rushing force it bears along, +And gradual swelling, louder, full, and strong, +Breaks wide in scatter'd bellowing thro' the air. +Now is it hush'd to calm, now rous'd to war, +Whilst in the pauses of the nearer blast, +The farther gusts howl from the distant waste. +Now rushing furious by with loosen'd sweep, +Now rolling grandly on, solemn and deep, +Its bursting strength the full embodied sound +In wide and shallow brawlings scatters round; +Then wild in eddies shrill, with rage distraught, +And force exhausted, whistles into naught. +With growing might, arising in its room, +From far, like waves of ocean onward come +Succeeding gusts, and spend their wasteful ire, +Then slow, in grumbled mutterings retire: +And solemn stillness overawes the land, +Save where the tempest growls along the distant strand. +But great in doubled strength, afar and wide, +Returning battle wakes on ev'ry side; +And rolling on with full and threat'ning sound, +In wildly mingled fury closes round. +With bellowings loud, and hollow deep'ning swell, +Reiterated hiss, and whistlings shrill, +Fierce wars the varied storm, with fury tore, +Till all is overwhelm'd in one tremendous roar. + + The vexed forest, tossing wide, +Uprooted strews its fairest pride; +The lofty pine in twain is broke, +And crushing falls the knotted oak. +The huge rock trembles in its might; +The proud tow'r tumbles from its height; +Uncover'd stands the social home; +High rocks aloft the city dome; +Whilst bursting bar, and flapping gate, +And crashing roof, and clatt'ring grate, +And hurling wall, and falling spire, +Mingle in jarring din and ruin dire. +Wild ruin scours the works of men; +Their motly fragments strew the plain. +E'en in the desert's pathless waste, +Uncouth destruction marks the blast: +And hollow caves whose secret pride, +Grotesque and grand, was never ey'd +By mortal man, abide its drift, +Of many a goodly pillar reft. +Fierce whirling mounts the desert sand, +And threats aloft the peopl'd land. +The great expanded ocean, heaving wide, +Rolls to the farthest bound its lashing tide; +Whilst in the middle deep afar are seen, +All stately from the sunken gulfs between, +The tow'ring waves, which bend with hoary brow, +Then dash impetuous to the deep below. +With broader sweepy base, in gather'd might +Majestic, swelling to stupendous height, +The mountain billow lifts its awful head, +And, curving, breaks aloft with roarings dread. +Sublimer still the mighty waters rise, +And mingle in the strife of nether skies. +All wildness and uproar, above, beneath, +A world immense of danger, dread, and death. + + In dumb despair the sailor stands, +The frantic merchant wrings his hands, +Advent'rous hope clings to the yard, +And sinking wretches shriek unheard: +Whilst on the land, the matron ill at rest, +Thinks of the distant main, and heaves her heavy breast. +The peasants leave their ruin'd home, +And o'er the fields distracted roam: +Insensible the 'numbed infant sleeps, +And helpless bending age, weak and unshelter'd weeps. +Low shrinking fear, in place of state, +Skulks in the dwellings of the great. +The rich man marks with careful eye, +Each wasteful gust that whistles by; +And ill men fear'd with fancied screams +Sit list'ning to the creaking beams. +At break of ev'ry rising squall +On storm-beat' roof, or ancient wall, +Full many a glance of fearful eye +Is upward cast, till from on high, +From cracking joist, and gaping rent, +And falling fragments warning sent, +Loud wakes around the wild affray, +'Tis all confusion and dismay. + + Now powerful but inconstant in its course, +The tempest varies with uncertain force. +Like doleful wailings on the lonely waste, +Solemn and dreary sounds the weaning blast. +Exhausted gusts recoiling growl away, +And, wak'd anew, return with feebler sway; +Save where between the ridgy mountains pent, +The fierce imprison'd current strives for vent, +With hollow howl, and lamentation deep, +Then rushes o'er the plain with partial sweep. +A parting gust o'erscours the weary land, +And lowly growls along the distant strand: +Light thro' the wood the shiv'ring branches play, +And on the ocean far it slowly dies away. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A FEARFUL MIND. + + Uncertain, awful as the gloom of death, +The Night's grim shadows cover all beneath. +Shapeless and black is ev'ry object round, +And lost in thicker gloom the distant bound. +Each swelling height is clad with dimmer shades, +And deeper darkness marks the hollow glades. +The moon in heavy clouds her glory veils, +And slow along their passing darkness sails; +While lesser clouds in parted fragments roam, +And red stars glimmer thro' the river's gloom. + + Nor cheerful voice is heard from man's abode, +Nor sounding footsteps on the neighb'ring road; +Nor glimm'ring fire the distant cottage tells; +On all around a fearful stillness dwells: +The mingled noise of industry is laid, +And silence deepens with the nightly shade. +Though still the haunts of men, and shut their light, +Thou art not silent, dark mysterious Night, +The cries of savage creatures wildly break +Upon thy quiet; birds ill-omen'd shriek; +Commotions strange disturb the rustling trees; +And heavy plaints come on the passing breeze. +Far on the lonely waste, and distant way, +Unwonted sounds are heard, unknown of day. +With shrilly screams the haunted cavern rings; +And heavy treading of unearthly things +Sounds loud and hollow thro' the ruin'd dome; +Yea, voices issue from the secret tomb. + + But lo! a sudden flow of bursting light! +What wild surrounding scenes break on the sight! +Huge rugged rocks uncouthly low'r on high, +Whilst on the plain their lengthen'd shadows lie. +The wooded banks in streamy brightness glow; +And waving darkness skirts the flood below. +The roving shadow hastens o'er the stream; +And like a ghost's pale shrowd the waters glean. +Black fleeting shapes across the valley stray: +Gigantic forms tow'r on the distant way: +The sudden winds in wheeling eddies change: +'Tis all confus'd, unnatural, and strange. +Now all again in horrid gloom is lost: +Wild wakes the breeze like sound of distant host: +Bright shoots along the swift returning light: +Succeeding shadows close the startled sight. +Some restless spirit holds the nightly sway: +Long is the wild, and doubtful is my way. +Inconstant Night, whate'er thy changes be, +It suits not man to be alone with thee. +O! for the shelt'ring roof of lowest kind, +Secure to rest with others of my hind! + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A DISCONTENTED MIND. + + How thick the clouds of night are rang'd o'er head! +Confounding darkness o'er the earth is spread. +The clouded moon her cheering count'nance hides; +And feeble stars, between the ragged sides +Of broken clouds, with unavailing ray, +Look thro' to mock the trav'ller on his way. +Tree, bush, and rugged rock, and hollow dell, +In deeper shades their forms confus'dly tell, +To cheat the weary wand'rer's doubtful eye; +Whilst chilly passing winds come ruffling by; +And tangled briars perplex the darken'd pass; +And slimy reptiles glimmer on the grass; +And stinging night-flies spend their cursed spite; +Unhospitable are thy shades, O Night! + + Now hard suspicion bars the creaking door; +And safe within the selfish worldlings snore: +And wealthy fools are warm in downy bed: +And houseless beggars shelter in the shed: +And nestling coveys cow'r beneath the brake; +While prowling mischief only is awake. +Each hole and den fends forth its cursed brood, +And savage bloody creatures range the wood. +The thievish vagrant plies his thriftless trade +Beneath the friendly shelter of the shade; +Whilst boldest risk the lawless robber braves: +The day for fools was made, and night for knaves. + + O welcome, kindly moon! thy light display, +And guide a weary trav'ller on his way. +Hill, wood, and valley, brighten in her beam; +And wavy silver glitters on the stream. +The distant path-way shews distinct and clear, +From far inviting, but perplex'd when near. +For blackning shadows add deceitful length, +And lesser objects gain unwonted strength; +Each step misguiding; to the eye unknown, +The shining gutter, from the glist'ning stone; +While crossing shadows checker o'er the ground, +The more perplexing for the brightness round. +Deceitful are thy smiles, untoward Night! +Thy gloom is better than misguiding light. +Then welcome is yon cloud that onward fails, +And all this glary shew in darkness veils. +But see how soon the fleeting shade is past, +And streamy brightness moots across the waste. +Now fly the shadows borne upon the wind; +Succeeding brightness travels fast behind. +And now it low'rs again. Inconstant Night, +Confound thy freaks! be either dark or light. +Yet let them come; whate'er thy changes be, +I was a fool to put my trust in thee. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A SORROWFUL MIND. + + How lone and dreary hangs the sombre Night +O'er wood and valley, stream and craggy height! +While nearer objects, bush, and waving bough, +Their dark uncertain forms but dimly show; +Like those with which disturbed fancies teem, +And shape the scen'ry of a gloomy dream. +The moon is cover'd with her sable shrowd; +And o'er the heav'us rove many a dusky cloud; +Thro' ragged rents the paly sky is seen, +And feebly glance the twinkling stars between: +Whilst earth below is wrapt in stilly gloom, +All sad and silent as the closed tomb. + + No bleating flock is heard upon the vale; +Nor lowing kine upon the open dale; +Nor voice of hunter on the lonely heath; +Nor sound of trav'ller on the distant path. +Shut is the fenced door of man's abode; +And ruffling breezes only are abroad. +How mournful is thy voice, O nightly gale! +Across the wood, or down the narrow vale; +And sad, tho' secret and unknown they be, +The sighs of woeful hearts that wake with thee. +For now no friends the haunts of sorrow seek; +Tears hang unchidden on the mourner's cheek: +No side-look vexes from the curious eye; +Nor calm reproving reasoner is by; +The kindly cumbrous visitor is gone, +And laden spirits love to sigh alone. +O Night! wild sings the wind, deep low'rs the shade; +Thy robe is gloomy, and thy voice is sad: +But weary souls confin'd in earthly cell +Are deep in kindred gloom, and love thee well. + + But now the veiling darkness passes by; +The moon unclouded holds the middle sky. +A soft and mellow light is o'er the wood; +And silv'ry pureness sparkles on the flood. +White tow'r the clifts from many a craggy breach; +The brown heath shews afar its dreary stretch. +While fairer as the brighten'd object swells, +Fast by its side the darker shadow dwells: +The lofty mountains form the deeper glade, +And keener light but marks the blacker made. +Then welcome yonder clouds that swiftly sail, +And o'er yon glary op'ning draw the veil. +But, ah! too swiftly flies the friendly shade! +Returning brightness travels up the glade, +And all is light again. O fickle Night! +No traveller is here to bless thy light. +I seek nor home, nor shed; I have no way; +Why send thy beams to one who cannot stray? +Or wood, or desert, is the same to me; +O low'r again, and let me rest with thee! + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A JOYFUL MIND. + + The warping gloom of night is gather'd round; +And varied darkness marks the uneven ground. +A dimmer shade is on the mountain's brow, +And deeper low'rs the lengthen'd vale below; +While nearer objects all enlarged and dark, +Their strange and shapeless forms uncouthly mark; +Which thro' muddy night are dimly shown, +Like old companions in a garb unknown. +The heavy sheeted clouds are spread on high, +And streaky darkness bounds the farther sky: +And swift along the lighter vagrants sweep, +Whilst clear stars thro' their riven edges peep. +Soft thro' each ragged breach, and streamy rent, +And open gaps in dusky circle pent, +The upper heaven looks serenely bright +In dappled gold, and snowy fleeces dight: +And on the middle current lightly glides +The lesser cloud, with silver wreathy sides. +In sudden gusts awakes the nightly breeze +Across the wood, and rustles thro' the trees; +Or whistles on the plain with eddying sweep; +Or issues from the glen in wailings deep, +Which die away upon the open vale: +Whilst in the pauses of the ruffling gale +The buzzing night-fly rises from the ground, +And wings his flight in many a mazy round; +And lonely owls begin their nightly strain, +So hateful to the ear of 'nighted swain. +Thou do'st the weary trav'ller mislead; +Thy voice is roughsome, and uncooth thy weed, +O gloomy Night! for black thy shadows be, +And fools have rais'd a bad report on thee. +Yet art thou free and friendly to the gay, +And light hearts prize thee equal to the day. + + Now tiresome plodding folks are gone to rest; +And soothing slumber locks the careful breast. +And tell-tale friends, and wise advisers snore; +And softly slip-shod youths unbar the door. +Now footsteps echo far, and watch-dogs bark; +Worms glow, and cats' eyes glitter in the dark. +The vagrant lover crosses moor and hill, +And near the lowly cottage whistles shrill: +Or, bolder grown, beneath the friendly shade, +Taps at the window of his fav'rite maid; +Who from above his simple tale receives, +Whilst stupid matrons start, and think of thieves, +Now daily fools unbar the narrow soul, +All wise and gen'rous o'er the nightly bowl. +The haunted wood receives its motley host, +(By trav'ller shun'd) tho' neither fag nor ghost; +And there the crackling bonfire blazes red, +While merry vagrants feast beneath the shed. +From sleepless beds unquiet spirits rise, +And cunning wags put on their borrow'd guise: +Whilst silly maidens mutter o'er their boon, +And crop their fairy weeds beneath the moon: +And harmless plotters slyly take the road, +And trick and playful mischief is abroad. + + But, lo! the moon looks forth in splendour bright, +Fair and unclouded, from her middle height. +The passing cloud unveils her kindly ray, +And slowly sails its weary length away; +While broken fragments from its fleecy side, +In dusky bands before it swiftly glide; +Their misty texture changing with the wind, +A strange and scatter'd group, of motley kind +As ever earth or fruitful ocean fed, +Or ever youthful poets fancy bred. +His surgy length the wreathing serpent trails, +And by his side the rugged camel sails: +The winged griffith follows close behind, +And spreads his dusky pinions to the wind. +Athwart the sky in scatter'd bands they range +From shape to shape, transform'd in endless change; +Then piece meal torn, in ragged portions stray, +Or thinly spreading, slowly melt away. +A softer brightness covers all below; +Hill, dale, and wood, in mellow'd colour's glow. +High tow'rs the whiten'd rock in added strength; +The brown heath shews afar its dreary length. +The winding river glitters on the vale; +And gilded trees wave in the passing gale. +Upon the ground each black'ning shadow lies, +And hasty darkness o'er the valley flies. +Wide sheeting shadows travel o'er the plain, +And swiftly close upon the varied scene. +Return, O lovely moon! and look from high, +All stately riding in thy motled sky, +Yet, O thy beams in hasty visits come! +As swiftly follow'd by the fleeting gloom. +O Night! thy smiles are short, and short thy shade; +Thou art a freakish friend, and all unstay'd: +Yet from thy varied changes who are free? +Full many an honest friend resembles thee. +Then let my doubtful footsteps darkling stray, +Thy next fair beam will set me on my way: +E'en take thy freedom, whether rough or kind, +I came not forth to quarrel with the wind. + + + +TO FEAR. + + O thou! before whose haggard eyes +A thousand images arise, +Whose forms of horror none may see, +But with a soul disturb'd by thee! +Wilt thon for ever haunt mankind, +And glare upon the darken'd mind! +Whene'er thou enterest a breast, +Thou robb'st it of its joy and rest; +And terrible, and strange to tell, +On what that mind delights to dwell. +The ruffian's knife with reeking blade, +The stranger murder'd in his bed: +The howling wind, the raging deep, +The sailor's cries, the sinking ship: +The awful thunder breaking round: +The yauning gulf, the rocking ground: +The precipice, whose low'ring brow +O'erhangs the horrid deep below; +And tempts the wretch, worn out with strife, +Of worldly cares, to end his life. + + But when thou raisest to the fight +Unearthly forms that walk the night, +The chilly blood, with magic art, +Runs backward on the stoutest heart. +Lo! in his post the soldier stands[See Spectator, No. 12.]! +The deadly weapon in his hands. +In front of death he rushes on, +Renown with life is cheaply won, +Whilst all his soul with ardour burns, +And to the thickest danger turns. +But see the man alone, unbent, +A church-yard near, and twilight spent, +Returning late to his abode, +Upon an unfrequented road: +No choice is left, his feet must tread +The awful dwelling of the dead. +In foul mist doth the pale moon wade, +No twinkling star breaks thro' the shade: +Thick rows of trees increase the gloom, +And awful silence of the tomb. +Swift to his thoughts, unbidden, throng +Full many a tale, forgotten long, +Of ghosts, who at the dead of night +Walk round their graves all wrapt in white, +And o'er the church-yard dark and drear, +Becken the traveller to draw near: +And restless sprites, who from the ground, +Just as the midnight clock doth sound, +Rise slowly to a dreadful height, +Then vanish quickly from the fight: +And wretches who, returning home, +By chance have stumbled near some tomb, +Athwart a coffin or a bone, +And three times heard a hollow groan; +With fearful steps he takes his way, +And shrinks, and wishes it were day. +He starts and quakes at his own tread, +But dare not turn about his head. +Some sound he hears on ev'ry side; +And thro' the trees strange phantoms glide. +His heart beats thick against his breast, +And hardly stays within its chest: +Wild and unsettled are his eyes; +His quicken'd hairs begin to rise: +Ghastly and strong his features grow; +The cold dew trickles from his brow; +Whilst grinning beat his clatt'ring teeth, +And loosen'd knock his joints beneath. +As to the charnel he draws nigh +The whiten'd tomb-stone strikes his eye: +He starts, he stops, his eye-balls glare, +And settle in a death-like stare: +Deep hollow sounds ring in his ear; +Such sounds as dying wretches hear +When the grim dreaded tyrant calls, +A horrid sound, he groans and falls. + + Thou do'st our fairest hope destroy; +Thou art a gloom o'er ev'ry joy; +Unheeded let my dwelling be, +O Fear! but far remov'd from thee! + + + +A STORY OF OTHER TIMES. + +SOMEWHAT IN IMITATION OF THE POEMS OF OSSIAN. + + +LATHMOR. +But why do'st thou stop on the way, and hold me thus hard in thy grasp? +It was but the voice of the winds from the deep narrow glens of Glanarven. + +ALLEN. +The heath is unruffled around, and the oak o'er thy head is at rest: +Calm swells the moon on the lake, and nothing is heard in the reeds. +Sad was the sound, O my father! but it was not the voice of the wind. + +LATHMOR. +What dark tow'ring rock do I see 'midst the grey spreading mist of the +hills? +This is not the vale of Clanarven: my son, we have err'd from the way, + +ALLEN. +It is not a dark tow'ring rock, 'midst the grey settled mist of the hills. +'Tis a dark tow'r of strength which thou seest, and the ocean spreads +dimly behind it. + +LATHMOR. +Then here will we stop for the night, for the tow'r of Arthula is near. +Proceed not, my son, on the way, for it was not the voice of the wind. +The ghost of the valliant is forth; and it mourns round the place of its +woe. +The tray'ller oft' hears it at midnight, and turns him aside from its +haunt. +The sharp moon is spent in her course, and the way of the desert is +doubtful. +This oak with his wide leavy branches will shelter our heads from the +night; +And I'll tell thee a story of old, since the tow'r of Arthula is near. + +From the walls of his strength came Lochallen, with his broad chested sons +of the hills. +He was strong as a bull of the forest, and keen as a bird of the rock. +His friends of the chace were around him, the sons of the heroes of Mora. +They were clad in the strength of their youth; and the sound of their arms +rung afar. +For Uthal had led his dark host from the blue misty isle of his power; +And o'erspread like a cloud of the desert, the land of the white-headed +Lorma. +Of Lorma who sat in the hall, and lamented the sons of his youth; +For Orvina remained alone to support the frail steps of his age. +He sent to the king of Ithona: he remembered the love of his father: +And Lochallen soon join'd him on Loarn with the high minded chieftains of +Mora. + +Loud was the sound of the battle, and many the slain of the field. +Red was the sword of Lochallen: it was red with the blood of the brave. +For his eye sought the combat of heroes, and the mighty withstood not his +arm. +He rag'd like a flame on the heath; and the enemy fled from his face. + +But short was the triumph of Lorma; the hour of his fading was near. +Whilst a bard rais'd the song of the battle, his dim eyes were closed in +death. +He fell like a ruined tow'r; like a fragment of times that are past: +Like a rock whose foundation is worn with the lashes of many a wave. +Four grey head warriors of Lorma remain'd from the days of his youth: +They mourn'd o'er the fall of their lord; and they bore him to his dark +narrow house. +His memorial was rais'd on the hill; and the lovely Orvina wept over it. +She bent her fair form o'er the heap; and her sorrow was silent, and +gentle. +It flow'd like the pure twinkling dream beneath the green shade of the +fern. +The hunters oft bless it at noon, tho' the strangers perceive not its +course. +The wind of the hill rais'd her locks, and Lochallen beheld her in grief. +The soul of the hero was knit to the tear-eyed daughter of Lorma. +She was graceful and tall as the willow, that bends o'er the deep shady +stream. +Her eye like a sun-beam on water, that gleams thro' the dark skirting +reeds. +Her hair like the light wreathing cloud, that floats on the brow of the +hill, +When the beam of the morning is there, and it scatters its skirts to the +wind. +Lovely and soft were her smiles, like a glimpse from the white riven +cloud, +When the sun hastens over the lake, and a summer show'r ruffles its bosom. +Her voice was the sweet sound of midnight, that visits the ear of the +bard, +When he darts from the place of his slumber, and calls on some far distant +friend. +She was fair 'mongst the maids of her time; and she soften'd the wrath of +the mighty. +Their eyes lighten'd up in her presence; they dropt their dark spears as +she spoke. +Lochallen was firm in his strength, and unmov'd in the battle of heroes; +Like a rock-fenced isle of the ocean, that shews its dark head thro' the +storm. +His brow was like a cliff on the shore, that fore-warneth the hunters of +Ithona; +For there gleams the first ray of morning, and there broods the mist ere +the storm: +It shone, and it darken'd by turns, as the strength of his passions arose. +He was terrible as a gathering storm, when his soul learnt the wrongs of +the feeble. +His eye was the lightning of shields; he was swift as a blast in its +course. +When the warriours return'd from the field, and the sons of the mighty +assembled, +He was graceful as the light tow'ring cloud that rises from the blue +bounded main. +Gentle and fair was his form in the tow'rs of the hilly Ithona. +His voice cheer'd the soul of the sad; he would sport with a child in the +hall. + +Matchless in the days of their love were Lochallen and the daughter of +Lorma. +But their beauty has ceas'd on Arthula; and the place of their rest is +unknown. +The family of Lorma has fail'd, and strangers rejoice in his hall: +But voices of sorrow are heard when the stillness of midnight is there; +The stranger is wak'd with the sound, and enquires of the race that is +gone. +But wherefore thus doleful and sad, do ye wander alone on Arthula? +Why look ye thus lonely and sad, ye children of the dark narrow house? +Your names shall be known in the song, when the fame of the mighty is low. + +ALLEN. +From what cloud of the hills do they look? for I see not their forms, O my +father! + +LATHMOR. +Why do'st thou tremble my son? thou hast fought in the battle of shields. +They look'd from no cloud of the hills; but the soul of thy father beheld +them. +Lochallen return'd from the field, to the sea-beaten tower of Arthula. +Five days he abode in the hall, and they pass'd like a glimpse of the sun, +When the clouds of the tempest are rent, and the green island smiles +'midst the storm. +On the sixth a cloud hung on his brow, and his eye shun'd the looks of his +friends. +He spoke to the maid of his soul, and the trouble of his bosom was great. +Pleasant is the hall of my love; but the storm gathers round us, Orvina. +I must go to the island of Uthal, and scatter his gathering force. +But like a cleft oak of the forest, I'll quickly return to my love: +When the hard wedge is drawn from its side, it returns to itself again. +The daughter of Lorma was silent: she turn'd her fair face from his sight. +Go to the war, son of Mora; and the strength of thy fathers go with thee. +I will sit on the high rocky shore, and look o'er the wide foaming sea. +I will watch ev'ry blue rising cloud, till I see thy dark vessels return. + +He gather'd his warriours around him; they darken'd the brown rugged +shore. +The rocks echo'd wide to their cries, and loud was the dashing of oars. +Orvina stood high on a rock, that hung o'er the deep lashing main; +Big swell'd the tear in her eye, and high heav'd the sighs of her bosom; +As she saw the white billows encreasing between his dark ship and the +shore. +Her fixed eye follow'd its course o'er many a far distant wave, +Till its broad sails, and high tow'ring mast but appear'd like a speck on +the waters; +Yet still she beheld in her fancy the form of her love on its side; +And she stretched her white arms to the ocean, and wav'd her loose girdle +on high. + +Soon reach'd the sons of Ithona the blue misty isle of their foe. +Like the pent up dogs of the hunter when let loose from their prison of +night; +Who snuff up the air of the morning, and rejoice at the voice of the +chace; +They leapt from the sides of their vessels, and spread o'er the wide +sounding shore. +Thick on the brown heathy plain, were spread the dark thousands of Uthal. +The warriours of Lochallen were few, but their fathers were known in the +song. +Like a small rapid stream of the hills when it falls on the broad settled +lake, +And troubles its dark muddy bosom, and dashes its waters aloft, +So rush'd the keen sons of Ithona on the thick gather'd host of the foe. +Red gleam'd the arms of the brave thro' the brown rising dust of the +field. +Fierce glar'd the eyes of Lochallen; he fought the dark face of his enemy. +He found the grim king of the isle; but the strength of his chieftains was +round him. +Come forth in thy might, said Lochallen; come forth to the combat of +kings. +Great is the might of thy warriours; but where is the strength of thine +arms? +Youth of Ithona, said Uthal, thy fathers were mighty in battle, +Return to thy brown woody hills, till the hair is grown dark on thy cheek; +Then come from the tow'rs of thy safety, a foe less unworthy of Uthal. +But thou lovest a weakly enemy, foe of the white haired chief. +Thou lovest a foe that is weak, said the red swelling pride of Lochallen. +Seest thou this sword of my youth? it is red with the blood of thy heroes. +Come forth in the strength of thine years, and hand its dark blade in thy +hall. +He lifted a spear in his wrath o'er the head of his high worded foe; +But the strength of his chieftains was there, and it rung on their broad +spreading shields. +He turned himself scornful away, to look for some nobler enemy; +He met thee fair son of Hidallo, as chaffing he strode in his wrath; +But thou never did'st turn from the valiant, youth of the far distant +land. +Fierce fought the heroes, and wonder'd each chief at the might of his foe. +They found themselves matched in strength, and they fought in the pride of +their souls. +Bloody and long was the fight, but the arm of Lochallen prevail'd. +Ah, why did you combat, ye heroes! ah, why did ye meet in the field! +Your souls had been brothers of love, had ye met in the dwellings of +peace. +He was like to thyself, son of Mora, where his voice cheer'd the heart of +the stranger +In the far distant hall of his father, who never shall hear it again; +He was like to thyself whom thou slewest; and he fell in his youth like +thee. +The maid of thy bosom is lovely, thou fair fallen son of the stranger. +She sits on her high hanging bower, and looks to the way of thy promise. +She combs down her long yellow hair; and prepares a fine robe for thy +coming. +She starts at the voice of the breeze, and runs to the door of her bow'r. +But thou art a dim misty form on the clouds of far distant hills. + +Fierce was the rage of the battle, and terrible the clanging of arms. +Loud were the shouts of the mighty, like the wide scatter'd thunder of +Lora, +When its voice is return'd from the rocks, and it strengthens in its broad +spreading course. +Heavy were the groans of the dying; the voice of the fallen was sad, +Like the deep 'prison'd winds of the cavern, when the roar of the tempest +is laid. +The sons of Ithona were terrible: the enemy fled from before them, +Like the dark gather'd fowls of the ocean, that flock to the shore ere a +storm. +They fled from the might of their foes, and the darkness of night clos'd +around them. + +Cold rose the wind of the desert, and blew o'er the dark bloody field. +Sad was its voice on the heath, where it lifted the locks of the dead. +Hollow roar'd the sea at a distance: the ghosts of the slain shriek'd +aloud. +Pale shady forms stalk'd around, and their airy swords gleam'd thro' the +night; +For the spirits of warriours departed came born on the deep rushing blast; +There hail'd they their new fallen sons, and the sound of their meeting +was terrible. +At a distance was gather'd Ithona round many a bright flaming oak; +Till morning rose red o'er the main, like a new bloody field of battle. + +Lochallen assembled his heroes; they rang'd o'er the land of their enemy. +But they found not the king in the field; and the walls of his strength +were deserted. +Then spoke the friend of his bosom, the dark haired chief of Trevallen; +Why seek you the king in his tow'rs? he is fled to the caves of his fear. +Let us fly, said the chief of Ithona, let us fly to the daughter of Lorma! +Let us fight with man in the field, but pull not a deer from his den. + +Two days they buried their dead, and rais'd their memorial on high. +On the third day they loosen'd their vessels, and left the blue isle of +their fame. +The darkness of night was around when the bay of Arthula receiv'd them. +Thick beat the joy of his bosom, as he drew near the place of his love; +But the strength of his limbs was unloos'd, as he trode on the dark +sounding shore. +Thou did'st promise, O maid of my soul! thou did'st promise to watch for +thy love! +But no kindly messenger waits to hail my return from the war. +The tow'r of Arthula is dark; and I hear not the sound of its hall. +The watch dog howls to the night, nor heeds the approach of our feet. +He seized a bright flaming brand, and he hasten'd his steps to the tow'r. +Wide stood the black low'ring gate; and deep was the silence within. +Hollow and loud rung his steps, as he trode thro' the dark empty hall. +He flew to the bow'r of his love; it was still as the chamber of death. +His eyes search'd wildly around him; he call'd on the name of his love; +But his own voice returned alone from the deep-sounding walls of the +tow'r. +He leant with his back to the wall, and cross'd his arms over his breast. +Heavy sunk his head on his shoulder: the blue flame burnt double before +him. +A voice, like the evening breeze when it steals down the bed of the river, +Came softly and sad to his ear, and he raised his drooping head. +The form of his love stood before him: yet it was not the form of his +love; +For fixed and dim was her eye, and the beams of her beauty were fled. +She was pale as the white frozen lake, when it gleams to the light of the +moon. +Her garments were heavy and drench'd, and the streams trickled fast from +her hair. +She was like a snow-crusted tree in winter, when it drops to the mid-day +sun. +O seek not for me, son of Moro, in the light cheerful dwellings of men! +For low is my bed in the deep, and cold is the place of my rest. +The sea monster sports by my side, and the water-snake twines round my +neck. +But do not forget me, Lochallen: O think on the days of our love! +I sat on the high rocky shore, mine eyes look'd afar o'er the ocean. +I saw two dark ships on the waves, and quick beat the joy of my breast. +One vessel drew near to the shore, and six warriours leapt from its side. +I hasten'd to meet thee, my love; but mine ear met the stern voice of +Uthal. +I thought that my hero was slain, and I felt me alone in my weakness. +I felt me deserted and lonely: I flew to the steep hanging rock: +I threw my robe over my head; and I hid me in the dark closing deep. +Yet O do not leave me, Lochallen, to waste in my watery bed! +But raise me a tomb on the hill, where the daughter of Lorma should lie. +The voice of her sorrow did cease; and her form passed quickly away. +It pass'd like the pale shiv'ring light, that is lost in the dark closing +cloud. + +But, lo! the first light of the morning is red on the skirts of the +heavens. +Let us go on my journey, my son, for the length of the heath is before us. + +ALLEN. +It is not the light of the morn which thou see'st on the skirts of the +heavens; +It is but a clear shiv'ring brightness, that changes its hue to the night. +I have seen it like a bloody-spread robe when it hung o'er the waves of +the North. +Sad was the fate of his love, but how fell the king of Ithona? +I have heard of the strength of his arm; did he fall in the battle of +heroes? + +LATHMOR. +He fell in the strength of his youth, but he fell not in battle, my son. +He knew not the sword of a foe, yet he died not the death of the peaceful. +They carried them both to the hill, but the place of their rest is +unknown. + +ALLEN. +But feeble and spent is thy voice, thou grey haired bard of the hill. + +LATHMOR. +Long is this song of the night, and I feel not the strength of my youth. + +ALLEN. +Then let us go on our way: let us go by the way of the heath. +For it is the fair light of the morning which thou see'st on the far +bounding waves. +Slowly it grows in its beauty, and promises good to the traveller. +Red are the small broken clouds that hang on the skirts of the heavens. +Deep glows the clear open sky with the light of the yet hidden sun, +Save where the dark narrow cloud hath stretched its vast length o'er the +heavens; +And the clear ruddy brightness behind it looks fair thro' its blue +streaming lines. +A bloom like the far distant heath is dark on the wide roving clouds. +The broad wavy breast of the ocean is grand in the beauty of morning. +Thick rests the white settled mist on the deep rugged clifts of the shore; +And the grey rocks look dimly between, like the high distant isles in a +calm. +But grim low'r the walks of Arthula; the light of the morn is behind them. + + +LATHMOR. +Dark low'rs the tow'r of Arthula: the time of its glory is past. +The valiant have ceas'd from its hall; and the son of the stranger is +there. +The works of the mighty remain, but they are the vapour of morning. + + + +A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT. + +Now in thy dazzling half-op'd eye, +Thy curled nose, and lip awry, +Thy up-hoist arms, and noddling head, +And little chin with crystal spread, +Poor helpless thing! what do I see, + That I should sing of thee? + +From thy poor tongue no accents come, +Which can but rub thy toothless gum: +Small understanding boast thy face, +Thy shapeless limbs nor step, nor grace: +A few short words thy feats may tell, + And yet I love thee well. + +When sudden wakes the bitter shriek, +And redder swells thy little cheek; +When rattled keys thy woe beguile, +And thro' the wet eye gleams the smile, +Still for thy weakly self is spent + Thy little silly plaint. + +But when thy friends are in distress, +Thou'lt laugh and chuckle ne'er the less; +Nor e'en with sympathy be smitten, +Tho' all are sad but thee and kitten; +Yet little varlet that thou art, + Thou twitchest at the heart. + +Thy rosy cheek so soft and warm; +Thy pinky hand, and dimpled arm; +Thy silken locks that scantly peep, +With gold-tip'd ends, where circle deep +Around thy neck in harmless grace +So soft and sleekly hold their place, +Might harder hearts with kindness fill, + And gain our right good will. + +Each passing clown bestows his blessing, +Thy mouth is worn with old wives' kissing: +E'en lighter looks the gloomy eye +Of surly sense, when thou art by; +And yet I think whoe'er they be, + They love thee not like me. + +Perhaps when time shall add a few +Short years to thee, thou'lt love me too. +Then wilt thou thro' life's weary way +Become my sure and cheering stay: +Wilt care, for me, and be my hold, + When I am weak and old. + +Thou'lt listen to my lengthen'd tale, +And pity me when I am frail-- +But see, the sweepy spinning fly +Upon the window takes thine eye. +Go to thy little senseless play-- + Thou doest not heed my lay. + + + +A CHILD TO HIS SICK GRANDFATHER. + +Grand-dad, they say your old and frail, +Your stocked legs begin to fail: +Your knobbed stick (that was my horse) +Can scarce support your bended corse; +While back to wall, you lean so sad, + I'm vex'd to see you, dad. + +You us'd to smile, and stroke my head, +And tell me how good children did; +But now I wot not how it be, +You take me seldom on your knee; +Yet ne'ertheless I am right glad + To sit beside you, dad. + +How lank and thin your beard hangs down! +Scant are the white hairs on your crown: +How wan and hollow are your cheeks! +Your brow is rough with crossing breaks; +But yet, for all his strength is fled, + I love my own old dad. + +The housewives round their potions brew, +And gossips come to ask for you: +And for your weal each neighbour cares, +And good men kneel, and say their pray'rs: +And ev'ry body looks so sad, + When you are ailing, dad. + +You will not die, and leave us then? +Rouse up and be our dad again. +When you are quiet and laid in bed, +We'll doff our shoes and softly tread; +And when you wake we'll aye be near, + To fill old dad his cheer. + +When thro' the house you shift your stand, +I'll lead you kindly by the hand: +When dinner's set, I'll with you bide, +And aye be serving by your side: +And when the weary fire burns blue, + I'll sit and talk with you. + +I have a tale both long and good, +About a partlet and her brood; +And cunning greedy fox, that stole, +By dead of midnight thro' a hole, +Which slyly to the hen-roost led-- + You love a story, dad? + +And then I have a wond'rous tale +Of men all clad in coats of mail. +With glitt'ring swords----you nod, I think? +Your fixed eyes begin to wink: +Down on your bosom sinks your head: +You do not hear me, dad. + + + +THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER. + +Brac'd in the sinewy vigour of thy breed, +In pride of gen'rous strength, thou stately steed, +Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given, +Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven. +Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break; +Graceful the rising of thine arched neck. +White churning foam thy chaffed bits enlock; +And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke. +Thy kindling eye-balls brave the glaring south; +And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth: +Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend, +Thy sweepy tail involv'd in clouds of sand; +Erect in air thou rear'st thy front of pride, +And ring'st the plated harness on thy side. +But, lo! what creature, goodly to the sight, +Dares thus bestride thee, chaffing in thy might? +Of portly stature, and determin'd mien? +Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene? +And forward looks unmov'd to fields of death: +And smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath? +Whose brandish'd falch'on dreaded gleams afar? +It is a British soldier, arm'd for war! + + +FINIS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, &c. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/14617-8.zip b/old/14617-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a612ff --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14617-8.zip diff --git a/old/14617.txt b/old/14617.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3a83f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14617.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3552 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, &c. (1790), by Joanna Baillie + +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: Poems, &c. (1790) + Wherein It Is Attempted To Describe Certain Views Of Nature And Of + Rustic Manners; And Also, To Point Out, In Some Instances, The + Different Influence Which The Same Circumstances Produce On Different + Characters + + +Author: Joanna Baillie + +Release Date: January 6, 2005 [EBook #14617] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, &C. (1790) *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Charles Bidwell and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +POEMS, &c. + + + +POEMS; + +WHEREIN IT IS ATTEMPTED TO DESCRIBE + +CERTAIN VIEWS OF NATURE + +AND OF + +RUSTIC MANNERS; + +AND ALSO, + +TO POINT OUT, IN SOME INSTANCES, THE DIFFERENT INFLUENCE WHICH THE SAME +CIRCUMSTANCES PRODUCE ON DIFFERENT CHARACTERS. + + + +LONDON: + +PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, SAINT PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD. + +MDCCXC. + + + + +A WINTER DAY. + +The cock, warm roosting 'midst his feather'd dames, +Now lifts his beak and snuffs the morning air, +Stretches his neck and claps his heavy wings, +Gives three hoarse crows, and glad his talk is done; +Low, chuckling, turns himself upon the roost, +Then nestles down again amongst his mates. +The lab'ring hind, who on his bed of straw, +Beneath his home-made coverings, coarse, but warm, +Lock'd in the kindly arms of her who spun them, +Dreams of the gain that next year's crop should bring; +Or at some fair disposing of his wool, +Or by some lucky and unlook'd-for bargain. +Fills his skin purse with heaps of tempting gold, +Now wakes from sleep at the unwelcome call, +And finds himself but just the same poor man +As when he went to rest.-- +He hears the blast against his window beat, +And wishes to himself he were a lord, +That he might lie a-bed.-- +He rubs his eyes, and stretches out his arms; +Heigh ho! heigh ho! he drawls with gaping mouth, +Then most unwillingly creeps out of bed, +And without looking-glass puts on his clothes. +With rueful face he blows the smother'd fire, +And lights his candle at the red'ning coal; +First sees that all be right amongst his cattle, +Then hies him to the barn with heavy tread, +Printing his footsteps on the new fall'n snow. +From out the heap of corn he pulls his sheaves, +Dislodging the poor red-breast from his shelter, +Where all the live-long night he slept secure; +But now afrighted, with uncertain flight +He flutters round the walls, to seek some hole, +At which he may escape out to the frost. +And now the flail, high whirling o'er his head, +Descends with force upon the jumping sheave, +Whilst every rugged wall, and neighboring cot +Re-echoes back the noise of his strokes. + + The fam'ly cares call next upon the wife +To quit her mean but comfortable bed. +And first she stirs the fire, and blows the flame, +Then from her heap of sticks, for winter stor'd, +An armful brings; loud crackling as they burn, +Thick fly the red sparks upward to the roof, +While slowly mounts the smoke in wreathy clouds. +On goes the seething pot with morning cheer, +For which some little wishful hearts await, +Who, peeping from the bed-clothes, spy, well pleas'd, +The cheery light that blazes on the wall, +And bawl for leave to rise.---- +Their busy mother knows not where to turn, +Her morning work comes now so thick upon her. +One she must help to tye his little coat, +Unpin his cap, and seck another's shoe. +When all is o'er, out to the door they run, +With new comb'd sleeky hair, and glist'ning cheeks, +Each with some little project in his head. +One on the ice must try his new sol'd shoes: +To view his well-set trap another hies, +In hopes to find some poor unwary bird +(No worthless prize) entangled in his snare; +Whilst one, less active, with round rosy face, +Spreads out his purple fingers to the fire, +And peeps, most wishfully, into the pot. + + But let us leave the warm and cheerful house, +To view the bleak and dreary scene without, +And mark the dawning of a winter day. +For now the morning vapour, red and grumly, +Rests heavy on the hills; and o'er the heav'ns +Wide spreading forth in lighter gradual fliades, +Just faintly colours the pale muddy sky. +Then slowly from behind the southern hills, +Inlarg'd and ruddy looks the rising sun, +Shooting his beams askance the hoary waste, +Which gild the brow of ev'ry swelling height, +And deepen every valley with a shade. +The crusted window of each scatter'd cot, +The icicles that fringe the thatched roof, +The new swept slide upon the frozen pool, +All lightly glance, new kindled with his rays; +And e'en the rugged face of scowling Winter +Looks somewhat gay. But for a little while +He lifts his glory o'er the bright'ning earth, +Then hides his head behind a misty cloud, + + The birds now quit their holes and lurking sheds, +Most mute and melancholy, where thro' night +All nestling close to keep each other warm, +In downy sleep they had forgot their hardships; +But not to chant and carol in the air, +Or lightly swing upon some waving bough, +And merrily return each other's notes; +No; silently they hop from bush to bush, +Yet find no seeds to stop their craving want, +Then bend their flight to the low smoking cot, +Chirp on the roof, or at the window peck, +To tell their wants to those who lodge within. +The poor lank hare flies homeward to his den, +But little burthen'd with his nightly meal +Of wither'd greens grubb'd from the farmer's garden; +A poor and scanty portion snatch'd in fear; +And fearful creatures, forc'd abroad by want, +Are now to ev'ry enemy a prey. + + The husbandman lays bye his heavy flail, +And to the house returns, where on him wait +His smoking breakfast and impatient children; +Who, spoon in hand, and longing to begin, +Towards the door cast many a weary look +To see their dad come in.---- +Then round they sit, a chearful company, +All eagerly begin, and with heap'd spoons +Besmear from ear to ear their rosy cheeks. +The faithful dog stands by his matter's side +Wagging his tail, and looking in his face; +While humble puss pays court to all around, +And purs and rubs them with her furry sides; +Nor goes this little flattery unrewarded. +But the laborious sit not long at table; +The grateful father lifts his eyes to heav'n +To bless his God, whose ever bounteous hand +Him and his little ones doth daily feed; +Then rises satisfied to work again. + + The chearful rousing noise of industry +Is heard, with varied sounds, thro' all the village. +The humming wheel, the thrifty housewife's tongue, +Who scolds to keep her maidens at their work, +Rough grating cards, and voice of squaling children +Issue from every house.---- +But, hark!--the sportsman from the neighb'ring hedge +His thunder sends!--loud bark each village cur; +Up from her wheel each curious maiden starts, +And hastens to the door, whilst matrons chide, +Yet run to look themselves, in spite of thrift, +And all the little town is in a stir. + + Strutting before, the cock leads forth his train, +And, chuckling near the barn among the straw, +Reminds the farmer of his morning's service; +His grateful master throws a lib'ral handful; +They flock about it, whilst the hungry sparrows +Perch'd on the roof, look down with envious eye, +Then, aiming well, amidst the feeders light, +And seize upon the feast with greedy bill, +Till angry partlets peck them off the field. +But at a distance, on the leafless tree, +All woe be gone, the lonely blackbird sits; +The cold north wind ruffles his glossy feathers; +Full oft' he looks, but dare not make approach; +Then turns his yellow bill to peck his side, +And claps his wings close to his sharpen'd breast. +The wand'ring fowler, from behind the hedge, +Fastens his eye upon him, points his gun, +And firing wantonly as at a mark, +E'en lays him low in that same cheerful spot +Which oft' hath ccho'd with his ev'ning's song. + + The day now at its height, the pent-up kine +Are driven from their flails to take the air. +How stupidly they stare! and feel how strange! +They open wide their smoking mouths to low, +But scarcely can their feeble sound be heard; +Then turn and lick themselves, and step by step +Move dull and heavy to their flails again. +In scatter'd groups the little idle boys +With purple fingers, moulding in the snow +Their icy ammunition, pant for war; +And, drawing up in opposite array, +Send forth a mighty fliower of well aim'd balls, +Whilst little hero's try their growing flrength, +And burn to beat the en'my off the field. +Or on the well worn ice in eager throngs, +Aiming their race, shoot rapidly along, +Trip up each other's heels, and on the surface +With knotted shoes, draw many a chalky line. +Untir'd of play, they never cease their sport +Till the faint sun has almost run his course, +And threat'ning clouds, slow rising from the north, +Spread grumly darkness o'er the face of heav'n; +Then, by degrees, they scatter to their homes, +With many a broken head and bloody nose, +To claim their mothers' pity, who, most skilful, +Cures all their troubles with a bit of bread. + + The night comes on a pace---- +Chill blows the blast, and drives the snow in wreaths. +Now ev'ry creature looks around for shelter, +And, whether man or beast, all move alike +Towards their several homes; and happy they +Who have a house to screen them from the cold! +Lo, o'er the frost a rev'rend form advances! +His hair white as the snow on which he treads, +His forehead mark'd with many a care-worn furrow, +Whose feeble body, bending o'er a staff, +Still shew that once it was the seat of strength, +Tho' now it shakes like some old ruin'd tow'r, +Cloth'd indeed, but not disgrac'd with rags, +He still maintains that decent dignity +Which well becomes those who have serv'd their country. +With tott'ring steps he to the cottage moves: +The wife within, who hears his hollow cough, +And patt'ring of iris stick upon the threshold, +Sends out her little boy to see who's there. +The child looks up to view the stranger's face, +And seeing it enlighten'd with a smile, +Holds out his little hand to lead him in. +Rous'd from her work, the mother turns her head, +And sees them, not ill-pleas'd.---- +The stranger whines not with a piteous tale, +But only asks a little, to relieve +A poor old soldier's wants.---- +The gentle matron brings the ready chair, +And bids him sit, to rest his wearied limbs, +And warm himself before her blazing fire. +The children, full of curiosity, +Flock round, and with their fingers in their mouths, +Stand staring at him; whilst the stranger, pleas'd, +Takes up the youngest boy upon his knee. +Proud of its seat, it wags its little feet, +And prates, and laughs, and plays with his white locks. +But soon the soldier's face lays off its smiles; +His thoughtful mind is turn'd on other days, +When his own boys were wont to play around him, +Who now lie distant from their native land +In honourable, but untimely graves. +He feels how helpless and forlorn he is, +And bitter tears gush from his dim-worn eyes. +His toilsome daily labour at an end, +In comes the wearied master of the house, +And marks with satisfaction his old guest, +With all his children round.-- +His honest heart is fill'd with manly kindness; +He bids him stay, and share their homely meal, +And take with them his quarters for the night. +The weary wanderer thankfully accepts, +And, seated with the cheerful family, +Around the plain but hospitable board, +Forgets the many hardships he has pass'd. + + When all are satisfied, about the fire +They draw their seats, and form a cheerful ring. +The thrifty housewife turns her spinning wheel; +The husband, useful even in his rest, +A little basket weaves of willow twigs, +To bear her eggs to town on market days; +And work but serves t'enliven conversation. +Some idle neighbours now come straggling in, +Draw round their chairs, and widen out the circle. +Without a glass the tale and jest go round; +And every one, in his own native way, +Does what he can to cheer the merry group. +Each tells some little story of himself, +That constant subject upon which mankind, +Whether in court or country, love to dwell. +How at a fair he sav'd a simple clown +From being tricked in buying of a cow; +Or laid a bet upon his horse's head +Against his neighbour's, bought for twice his price, +Which fail'd not to repay his better skill: +Or on a harvest day, bound in an hour +More sheaves of corn than any of his fellows, +Tho' ne'er so keen, could do in twice the time. +But chief the landlord, at his own fire-side, +Doth claim the right of being listen'd to; +Nor dares a little bawling tongue be heard, +Tho' but in play, to break upon his story. +The children sit and listen with the rest; +And should the youngest raise its little voice, +The careful mother, ever on the watch, +And always pleas'd with what her husband says, +Gives it a gentle tap upon the fingers, +Or stops its ill tim'd prattle with a kiss. +The soldier next, but not unask'd, begins, +And tells in better speech what he has seen; +Making his simple audience to shrink +With tales of war and blood. They gaze upon him, +And almost weep to see the man so poor, +So bent and feeble, helpless and forlorn, +That oft' has stood undaunted in the battle +Whilst thund'ring cannons shook the quaking earth, +And showering bullets hiss'd around his head. +With little care they pass away the night, +Till time draws on when they should go to bed; +Then all break up, and each retires to rest +With peaceful mind, nor torn with vexing cares, +Nor dancing with the unequal beat of pleasure. + + But long accustom'd to observe the weather, +The labourer cannot lay him down in peace +Till he has look'd to mark what bodes the night, +He turns the heavy door, thrusts out his head, +Sees wreathes of snow heap'd up on ev'ry side, +And black and grimily all above his head, +Save when a red gleam shoots along the waste +To make the gloomy night more terrible +Loud blows the northern blast---- +He hears it hollow grumbling from afar, +Then, gath'ring strength, roll on with doubl'd might, +And break in dreadful bellowings o'er his head; +Like pithless saplings bend the vexed trees, +And their wide branches crack. He shuts the door, +And, thankful for the roof that covers him, +Hies him to bed. + + + +A SUMMER DAY. + +The dark-blue clouds of night in dusky lines, +Drawn wide and streaky o'er the purer sky, +Wear faint the morning purple on their skirts. +The stars that full and bright shone in the west, +But dimly twinkle to the stedfast eye; +And seen, and vanishing, and seen again, +Like dying tapers smoth'ring in their sockets, +Appear at last shut from the face of heav'n; +Whilst every lesser flame which shone by night, +The flashy meteor from the op'ning cloud, +That shoots full oft' across the dusky sky; +Or wand'ring fire which looks across the marsh, +Beaming like candle in a lonely cot, +To cheer the hopes of the benighted trav'ller, +Till swifter than the very change of thought, +It shifts from place to place, escapes his glance, +And makes him wond'ring rub his doubtful eyes; +Or humble glow-worm, or the silver moth, +Which cast a feeble glimm'ring o'er the green, +All die away.---- +For now the sun, slow moving in his grandeur, +Above the eastern mountains lifts his head. +The webs of dew spread o'er the hoary lawn, +The smooth clear bosom of the settled pool, +The polish'd ploughshare on the distant field, +Catch fire from him, and dart their new got beams +Upon die dazzled eye. + + The new-wak'd birds upon the branches hop, +Peck their loft down, and bristle out their feathers; +Then stretch their throats and tune their morning song; +Whilst stately crows, high swinging o'er their heads. +Upon the topmost boughs, in lordly pride, +Mix their hoarse croaking with the linnet's note; +Till gather'd closer in a sable band, +They take their flight to leek their daily food. +The village labourer, with careful mind, +As soon as doth the morning light appear, +Opens his eyes with the first darting ray +That pierces thro' the window of his cot, +And quits his easy bed; then o'er the field, +With lengthen'd swinging strides, betakes his way, +Bearing his spade and hoe across his moulder, +Seen from afar clear glancing in the sun, +And with good will begins his daily work. +The sturdy sun-burnt boy drives forth the cattle, +And vain of power, bawls to the lagging kine, +Who fain would stay to crop the tender shoots +Of the green tempting hedges as they pass; +Or beats the glist'ning bushes with his club, +To please his fancy with a shower of dew, +And frighten the poor birds who lurk within. +At ev'ry open door, thro' all the village, +Half naked children, half awake, are seen +Scratching their heads, and blinking to the light; +Till roused by degrees, they run about, +Or rolling in the sun, amongst the sand +Build many a little house, with heedful art. +The housewife tends within, her morning care; +And stooping 'midst her tubs of curdled milk, +With busy patience, draws the clear green whey +From the press'd sides of the pure snowy curd; +Whilst her brown dimpled maid, with tuck'd-up sleeve, +And swelling arm, assists her in her toil. +Pots smoke, pails rattle, and the warm confusion +Still thickens on them, till within its mould, +With careful hands, they press the well-wrought curd. + + So goes the morning, till the pow'rful sun +High in the heav'ns sends forth his strengthen'd beams, +And all the freshness of the morn is fled. +The sweating trav'ller throws his burden down, +And leans his weary shoulder 'gainst a tree. +The idle horse upon the grassy field +Rolls on his back, nor heeds the tempting clover. +The swain leaves off his labour, and returns +Slow to his house with heavy sober steps, +Where on the board his ready breakfast plac'd, +Invites the eye, and his right cheerful wife +Doth kindly serve him with unfeign'd good will. +No sparkling dew-drops hang upon the grass; +Forth steps the mower with his glitt'ring scythe, +In snowy shirt, and doublet all unbrac'd, +White moves he o'er the ridge, with sideling bend, +And lays the waving grass in many a heap. +In ev'ry field, in ev'ry swampy mead, +The cheerful voice of industry is heard; +The hay-cock rises, and the frequent rake +Sweeps on the yellow hay, in heavy wreaths, +Leaving the smooth green meadow bare behind. +The old and young, the weak and strong are there, +And, as they can, help on the cheerful work. +The father jeers his awkward half-grown lad, +Who trails his tawdry armful o'er the field, +Nor does he fear the jeering to repay. +The village oracle, and simple maid, +Jest in their turns, and raise the ready laugh; +For there authority, hard favour'd, frowns not; +All are companions in the gen'ral glee, +And cheerful complaisance still thro' their roughness, +With placid look enlightens ev'ery face. +Some more advanced raise the tow'ring rick, +Whilst on its top doth stand the parish toast +In loose attire, and swelling ruddy cheek; +With taunts and harmless mock'ry she receives +The toss'd-up heaps from the brown gaping youth, +Who flaring at her, takes his aim awry, +Whilst half the load comes tumbling on himself. +Loud is her laugh, her voice is heard afar; +Each mower, busied in the distant field, +The carter, trudging on his distant way, +The shrill found know, cad up their hats in air, +And roar across the fields to catch her notice: +She waves her arm, and shakes her head at them, +And then renews her work with double spirit. +Thus do they jest, and laugh away their toil, +Till the bright sun, full in his middle course, +Shoots down his fiercest beams, which none may brave. +The stoutest arm hangs listless by its side, +And the broad shoulder'd youth begins to fail. +But to the weary, lo! there comes relief! +A troop of welcome children, o'er the lawn, +With slow and wary steps, their burthens bring. +Some bear upon their heads large baskets, heap'd +With piles of barley bread, and gusty cheese, +And some full pots of milk and cooling whey. +Beneath the branches of a spreading tree, +Or by the shad'wy side of the tall rick, +They spread their homely fare, and seated round, +Taste all the pleasure that a feast can give. + + A drowzy indolence now hangs on all, +And ev'ry creature seeks some place of rest, +Screen'd from the violence of the oppressive heat. +No scatter'd flocks are seen upon the lawn, +Nor chirping birds among the bushes heard. +Within the narrow shadow of the cot +The sleepy dog lies stretched on his side, +Nor heeds the heavy-footed passenger; +At noise of feet but half his eye-lid lifts, +Then gives a feeble growl, and sleeps again: +Whilst puss, less nice, e'en in the scorching window, +On t'other side, sits winking to the sun. +No sound is heard but humming of the bee, +For she alone retires not from her labour, +Nor leaves a meadow flower unsought for gain. + + Heavy and slow so pass the mid-day hours, +Till gently bending on the ridge's top, +The heavy seeded grass begins to wave, +And the high branches of the slender poplar +Shiver aloft in air their rustling leaves. +Cool breaths the rising breeze, and with it wakes +The worn out spirit from its state of stupor. +The lazy boy springs from his mossy bed, +To chace the gaudy tempting butterfly, +Who spreading on the grass its mealy wings, +Oft lights within his reach, e'en at his seer, +Yet still eludes his grasp, and o'er his head +Light hov'ring round, or mounted high in air +Temps his young eye, and wearies out his limbs. +The drouzy dog, who feels the kindly breeze +That passing o'er him, lifts his shaggy ear, +Begins to stretch him, on his legs half-rais'd, +Till fully wak'd, with bristling cock'd-up tail, +He makes the village echo to his bark. + + But let us not forget the busy maid +Who, by the side of the clear pebly stream, +Spreads out her snowy linens to the sun, +And sheds with lib'ral hand the chrystal show'r +O'er many a fav'rite piece of fair attire, +Revolving in her mind her gay appearance +In all this dress, at some approaching fair. +The dimpling half-check'd smile, and mutt'ring lip +Betray the secret workings of her fancy, +And flattering thoughts of the complacent mind. +There little vagrant bands of truant boys +Amongst the bushes try their harmless tricks; +Whilst some a sporting in the shallow stream +Toss up the lashing water round their heads, +Or strive with wily art to catch the trout, +Or 'twixt their fingers grasp the slipp'ry eel. +The shepherd-boy sits singing on the bank, +To pass away the weary lonely hours, +Weaving with art his little crown of rushes, +A guiltless easy crown that brings no care, +Which having made he places on his head, +And leaps and skips about, and bawls full loud +To some companion, lonely as himself, +Far in the distant field; or else delighted +To hear the echo'd sound of his own voice +Returning answer from the neighboring rock, +Holds no unpleasing converse with himself. + + Now weary labourers perceive, well-pleas'd, +The shadows lengthen, and th' oppressive day +With all its toil fast wearing to an end. +The sun, far in the west, with side-long beam +Plays on the yellow head of the round hay-cock, +And fields are checker'd with fantastic shapes +Or tree, or shrub, or gate, or rugged stone, +All lengthen'd out, in antic disproportion, +Upon the darken'd grass.---- +They finish out their long and toilsome talk. +Then, gathering up their rakes and scatter'd coats, +With the less cumb'rous fragments of their feast, +Return right gladly to their peaceful homes. + + The village, lone and silent thro' the day, +Receiving from the fields its merry bands, +Sends forth its ev'ning sound, confus'd but cheerful; +Whilst dogs and children, eager housewives' tongues, +And true love ditties, in no plaintive strain, +By shrill voic'd maid, at open window sung; +The lowing of the home-returning kine, +The herd's low droning trump, and tinkling bell +Tied to the collar of his fav'rite sheep, +Make no contemptible variety +To ears not over nice.---- +With careless lounging gait, the saunt'ring youth +Upon his sweetheart's open window leans, +And as she turns about her buzzing wheel +Diverts her with his jokes and harmless taunts. +Close by the cottage door, with placid mien, +The old man sits upon his seat of turf, +His staff with crooked head laid by his side, +Which oft the younger race in wanton sport, +Gambolling round him, slyly steal away, +And straddling o'er it, shew their horsemanship +By raising round the clouds of summer sand, +While still he smiles, yet chides them for the trick. +His silver locks upon his shoulders spread, +And not ungraceful is his stoop of age. +No stranger passes him without regard; +And ev'ry neighbour stops to wish him well, +And ask him his opinion of the weather. +They fret not at the length of his discourse, +But listen with respect to his remarks +Upon the various seasons he remembers; +For well he knows the many divers signs +Which do fortell high winds, or rain, or drought, +Or ought that may affect the rising crop. +The silken clad, who courtly breeding boast, +Their own discourse still sweetest to their ears, +May grumble at the old man's lengthened story, +But here it is not so.---- + + From ev'ry chimney mounts the curling smoke, +Muddy and gray, of the new ev'ning fire; +On ev'ry window smokes the fam'ly supper, +Set out to cool by the attentive housewife, +While cheerful groups at every door conven'd +Bawl cross the narrow lane the parish news, +And oft the bursting laugh disturbs the air. +But see who comes to set them all agag! +The weary-footed pedlar with his pack. +How stiff he bends beneath his bulky load! +Cover'd with dust, slip-shod, and out at elbows; +His greasy hat sits backward on his head; +His thin straight hair divided on his brow +Hangs lank on either side his glist'ning cheeks, +And woe-begone, yet vacant is his face. +His box he opens and displays his ware. +Full many a varied row of precious stones +Cast forth their dazzling lustre to the light. +To the desiring maiden's wishful eye +The ruby necklace shews its tempting blaze: +The china buttons, stamp'd with love device, +Attract the notice of the gaping youth; +Whilst streaming garters, fasten'd to a pole, +Aloft in air their gaudy stripes display, +And from afar the distant stragglers lure. +The children leave their play and round him flock; +E'en sober aged grand-dame quits her seat, +Where by the door she twines her lengthen'd threads, +Her spindle stops, and lays her distaff by, +Then joins with step sedate the curious throng. +She praises much the fashions of her youth, +And scorns each gaudy nonsense of the day; +Yet not ill-pleas'd the glossy ribband views, +Uproll'd, and changing hues with ev'ry fold, +New measur'd out to deck her daughter's head. + + Now red, but languid, the last weakly beams +Of the departing sun, across the lawn +Deep gild the top of the long sweepy ridge, +And shed a scatter'd brightness, bright but cheerless, +Between the op'nings of the rifted hills; +Which like the farewell looks of some dear friend, +That speaks him kind, yet sadden as they smile, +But only serve to deepen the low vale, +And make the shadows of the night more gloomy. +The varied noises of the cheerful village +By slow degrees now faintly die away, +And more distinct each feeble sound is heard +That gently steals ad own the river's bed, +Or thro' the wood comes with the ruffling breeze. +The white mist rises from the swampy glens, +And from the dappled flatting of the heav'ns +Looks out the ev'ning star.---- +The lover skulking in the neighb'ring copse, +(Whose half-seen form shewn thro' the thicken'd air, +Large and majestic, makes the tray'ller start, +And spreads the story of the haunted grove,) +Curses the owl, whose loud ill-omen'd scream, +With ceaseless spite, robes from his watchful ear +The well known footsteps of his darling maid; +And fretful, chaces from his face the night-fly, +Who buzzing round his head doth often skim, +With flutt'ring wing, across his glowing cheek: +For all but him in deep and balmy sleep +Forget the toils of the oppressive day; +Shut is the door of ev'ry scatter'd cot, +And silence dwells within. + + + +NIGHT SCENES OF OTHER TIMES. + +A POEM, IN THREE PARTS. + + +PART I. + +"The wild winds bellow o'er my head, + And spent eve's fading light; +Where shall I find some friendly shed + To screen me from the night? + +"Ah! round me lies a desert vast, + No habitation near; +And dark and pathless is the waste, + And fills the mind with fear + +"Thou distant tree, whose lonely top + Has bent to many a storm, +No more canst thou deceive my hope, + And take my lover's form; + +"For o'er thy head the dark cloud rolls, + Black as thy blasted pride. +How deep the angry tempest growls + Along the mountain's side! + +"Securely rests the mountain deer + Within his hollow den, +His slumber undisturb'd by fear, + Far from the haunts of men. + +"Beneath the fern the moorcock sleeps, + And twisted adders lie; +Back to his rock the night-bird creeps, + Nor gives his wonted cry. + +"For angry spirits of the night + Ride in the troubled air, +And to their dens, in wild affright, + The beasts of prey repair. + +"But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest? + What shelter covers thee? +O, may this cold and wint'ry blast + But only beat on me! + +"Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find, + Where, undisturb'd with care, +Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind + That ruffles Marg'ret's hair. + +"Ah, no! for thou did'st give thy word + To meet me on the way; +Nor friendly roof, nor coastly board + Will tempt a lover's stay. + +"O, raise thy voice, if thou art near! + Its weakest sound were bliss: +What other sound my heart can cheer + In such a gloom as this? + +"But from the hills with stunning sound + The dashing torrents fall; +Loud is the raging tempest round, + And mocks a lover's call. + +"Ha! see across the dreary waste + A gentle form appears! +It is my love, my cares are past, + How vain were all my fears?" + +The form approach'd, but sad and slow, + Nor with a lover's tread; +And from his cheek the youthful glow, + And greeting smile was fled. + +Dim sadness hung upon his brow; + Fix'd was his beamless eye: +His face was like the moon-light bow + Upon a win'try sky. + +And fix'd and ghastly to the sight, + His strengthen'd features rose; +And bended was his graceful height, + And bloody were his clothes. + +"O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast! + Thy sorrow now is vain: +Thy Edward from his peaceful rest + Shall ne'er return again. + +"A treach'rous friend has brought me low, + And fix'd my early doom; +And laid my corpse, with feigned woe, + Beneath a vaulted tomb + +"To take thee to my home I sware, + And here we were to meet: +Wilt thou a narrow coffin share, + And part my winding-sheet? + +"But late the lord of many lands, + And now a grave is all: +My blood is warm upon his hands + Who revels in my hall. + +"Yet think thy father's hoary hair + Is water'd with his tears; +He has but thee to sooth his care, + And prop his load of years. + +"Remember Edward when he's gone, + He only liv'd for thee; +And when thou'rt pensive, and alone, + O Marg'ret call on me! + +"Yet deep beneath the mould'ring clod + I rest my wounded head: +And terrible that call, and loud, + Which shall awake the dead." + +"No, Edward, I will follow thee, + And share thy hapless doom: +Companions shall our spirits be, + Tho' distant is thy tomb. + +"O! never to my father's tower + Will I return again! +A bleeding heart has little power + To ease another's pain. + +"Upon the wing my spirit flies, + I feel my course is run; +Nor shall these dim and weary eyes + Behold to-morrow's sun." + +Like early dew, or hoary frost, + Spent with the beaming day, +So shrunk the pale and wat'ry ghost, + And dimly wore away. + +No longer Marg'ret felt the storm, + She bow'd her lovely head; +And with her lover's fleeting form, + Her gentle spirit fled. + + +PART II. + +Loud roars the wind that shakes this wall; + It is no common blast: +Deep hollow sounds pass thro' my hall, + O would the night were past! + +"Methinks the daemons of the air + Upon the turrets growl; +While down the empty winding stair + Their deep'ning murmurs roll. + +"The glimm'ring fire cheers not the gloom: + How blue its weakly ray! +And like a taper in a tomb, + But spreads the more dismay. + +"Athwart its melancholy light + The lengthen'd shadow falls: +My grandsires, to my troubled sight, + Low'r on me from these walls. + +"Methinks yon angry warrior's head + Doth in its casement frown, +And darts a look, as if it said, + Where hast thou laid my son? + +"But will these fancies never cease? + O, would the night were run! +My troubled soul can find no peace, + But with the morning sun. + +"Vain hope! the guilty never rest; + Dismay is always near: +There is a midnight in the breast + No morn shall ever cheer. + +"The weary hind is now at rest, + Tho' lowly is his head, +How sweetly lies the guiltless breast, + Upon the hardest bed! + +"The beggar, in his wretched haunt, + May now a monarch be; +Forget his woe, forget his want, + For all can sleep but me. + +"I've dar'd whate'er the boldest can, + Then why this childish dread; +I never fear'd a living man, + And shall I fear the dead! + +"No, whistling storms may shake my tower, + And passing spirits scream: +Their shadowy arms are void of power, + And but a gloomy dream. + +"But, lo! a form advancing slow + Across my dusky hall! +Art thou a friend? art thou a foe? + O, answer to my call!" + +Still nearer to the glimm'ring light + The tow'ring figure strode, +Till full, and horrid to the sight, + The murther'd Edward stood. + +His hand a broken dagger sway'd, + Like Time's dark threat'ning dart; +And pointed to the rugged blade + That quiver'd in his heart. + +The blood still trickled from his head, + And clotted was his hair, +That on his manly shoulders spread; + His mangled breast was bare. + +His face was like the muddy sky + Before the coming snow; +And dark and dreadful was his eye, + And cloudy was his brow. + +Pale Conrad shrunk, but grasp'd his sword; + Fear thrill'd in ev'ry vein; +His quiv'ring lip half-spoke its word; + He paus'd, and shrunk again. + +"Pale bloody spectre, at this hour + Why do'st thou haunt the night? +Has the deep gloomy vault no power + To keep thee from my sight? + +"Why do'st thou glare? Why do'st thou wave + That fatal cursed knife? +The deed is done, and from the grave + Who can recall to life? + +"Why rolls thine eye beneath thy brow, + Dark as the midnight storm? +What do'st thou want? O, let me know! + But hide thy dreadful form. + +"I'd give the life's blood from my heart + To wash my crime away: +If thou'rt a spirit, O, depart! + Nor haunt a wretch of clay. + +"Say, do'st thou with the blessed dwell? + Return and blessed be! +Or com'st thou from the lowest hell? + I am more curst than thee." + +The form advanc'd with solemn step, + As though it meant to speak; +And thrice it mov'd its mutt'ring lip, + But silence did not break. + +Then sternly stalk'd with heavy pace, + Which shook the trembling wall; +And, frowning, turn'd its angry face, + And vanish'd from the hall. + +With fixed eyes, pale Conrad stood, + That from their sockets swell; +Back on his heart ran the cold blood, + He shudder'd as he fell. + +Night fled, and thro' the window 'gan + The early light to play; +But on a more unhappy man + Ne'er shone the dawning day. + +The gladsome sun all nature cheers, + But cannot charm his cares: +Still dwells his mind with gloomy fears, + And murther'd Edward glares. + + +PART III. + +"No rest nor comfort can I find, + I watch the midnight hour; +I sit and listen to the wind + Which beats upon my tower. + +"Methinks low voices from the ground + Break mournful on mine ear, +And thro' these empty chambers sound + So dismal and so drear. + +"The ghost of some departed friend + Doth in my sorrows share; +Or is it but the rushing wind + That mocketh my despair. + +"Sad thro' the hall the pale lamp gleams + Upon my father's arms: +My soul is fill'd with gloomy dreams, + I fear unknown alarms. + +"Oh! I have known this lonely place + With ev'ry blessing stor'd; +And many a friend with cheerful face + Sit smiling at my board, + +"Whilst round the fire, in early bloom, + My harmless children play'd, +Who now within the narrow tomb + Are with their mother laid. + +"And now low bends my wretched head, + And those I lov'd are gone: +My friends, my family, all are fled, + And I am left alone. + +"Oft' as the cheerless fire declines, + In it I sadly trace, +As 'lone I sit, the half form'd lines + Of many a much lov'd face. + +"But chief, O Marg'ret! to my mind + Thy lovely features rise: +I strive to think thee less unkind, + And wipe my streaming eyes. + +"For only thee I had to vaunt, + Thou wert thy mother's pride: +She left thee like a shooting plant + To screen my widow'd side. + +"But thou hast left me weak, forlorn, + And chill'd with age's frost, +To count my weary days, and mourn + The comforts I have lost. + +"Unkindly fair! why did'st thou go? + O, had I known the truth! +Tho' Edward's father was my foe, + I would have bless'd the youth. + +"O could I see that face again, + Whose smile calm'd ev'ry strife! +And hear that voice, which sooth'd my pain, + And made me wish for life! + +"Thy harp hangs silent by the wall: + My nights are sad and long: +And thou art in a distant hall, + Where strangers raise the song. + +"Ha! some delusion of the mind + My senses doth confound! +It was the harp, and not the wind, + That did so sweetly sound." + +Old Arno rose, all wan as death, + With broken steps of care; +And oft' he check'd his quick-heav'd breath, + And turn'd his eager ear. + +When like a full, but distant choir + The swelling sound return'd; +And with the soft and trembling wire, + The sighing echoes mourn'd. + +Then softly whisper'd o'er the song + Which Marg'ret lov'd to play, +Like some sweet dirge, and sad, and long, + It faintly died away. + +His dim-worn eyes to heav'n he cast, + Where all his griefs were known; +And smote upon his troubled breast, + And heav'd a heavy groan. + +"I know it is my daughter's hand, + But 'tis no hand of clay: +And here a lonely wretch I stand, + All childless, bent, and grey. + +"And art thou low, my lovely child? + And hast thou met thy doom? +And has thy flatt'ring morning smil'd, + To lead but to the tomb? + +"O let me see thee ere we part, + For souls like thine are blest; +O let me fold thee to my heart + If aught of form thou hast. + +"This passing mist enrobes thy charms: + Alas, to nought 'tis shrunk! +And hollow strike my empty arms + Against my aged trunk. + +"Thou'rt fled like the low ev'ning breath + That sighs upon the hill: +O stay! tho' in thy weeds of death, + Thou art my daughter still." + +Loud wak'd the sound, then fainter grew, + And long and sadly mourn'd; +And softly sigh'd a long adieu, + And never more return'd. + +Old Arno stretch'd him on the ground, + Thick as the gloom of night, +Death's misty shadows gather'd round, + And swam before his sight. + +He heav'd a deep and deadly groan, + Which rent his lab'ring breast; +And long before the morning shone, + His spirit was at rest. + + + +A REVERIE. + + Beside a spreading elm, from whose high boughs +Like knotted tufts the crow's light dwelling shows, +Where screen'd from northern blasts, and winter proof, +Snug stands the parson's barn with thatched roof; +At chaff-strew'd door, where, in the morning ray, +The gilded mots in mazy circles play, +And sleepy Comrade in the sun is laid, +More grateful to the cur than neighb'ring shade; +In snowy shirt unbrac'd, brown Robin stood, +And leant upon his flail in thoughtful mood: +His full round cheek where deeper flushes glow, +The dewy drops which glisten on his brow; +His dark cropt pate that erst at church or fair, +So smooth and silky, shew'd his morning's care, +Which all uncouth in matted locks combin'd, +Now, ends erect, defies the ruffling wind; +His neck-band loose, and hosen rumpled low, +A careful lad, nor slack at labour shew. +Nor scraping chickens chirping 'mongst the straw, +Nor croaking rook o'er-head, nor chatt'ring daw; +Loud-breathing cow amongst the rampy weeds, +Nor grunting sow that in the furrow feeds; +Nor sudden breeze that shakes the quaking leaves, +And lightly rustles thro' the scatter'd sheaves; +Nor floating straw that skims athwart his nose, +The deeply musing youth may discompose. +For Nelly fair, and blythest village maid, +Whose tuneful voice beneath the hedge-row shade, +At early milking, o'er the meadows born, +E'er cheer'd the ploughman's toil at rising morn: +The neatest maid that e'er, in linen gown, +Bore cream and butter to the market town: +The tightest lass, that with untutor'd air +E'er footed ale-house floor at wake or fair, +Since Easter last had Robin's heart possest, +And many a time disturb'd his nightly rest. +Full oft' returning from the loosen'd plough, +He slack'd his pace, and knit his thoughtful brow; +And oft' ere half his thresher's talk was o'er, +Would muse, with arms across, at cooling door: +His mind thus bent, with downcast eyes he stood, +And leant upon his flail in thoughtful mood. +His soul o'er many a soft rememb'rance ran, +And, mutt'ring to himself, the youth began. + + "Ah! happy is the man whose early lot +Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; +Who trains the vine that round his window grows, +And after setting sun his garden hoes; +Whose wattled pales his own enclosure shield, +Who toils not daily in another's field. +Where'er he goes, to church or market town, +With more respect he and his dog are known: +A brisker face he wears at wake or fair, +Nor views with longing eyes the pedlar's ware, +But buys at will or ribands, gloves, or beads, +And willing maidens to the ale-house leads: +And, Oh! secure from toils which cumber life, +He makes the maid he loves an easy wife. +Ah, Nelly! can'st thou with contented mind, +Become the help-mate of a lab'ring hind, +And share his lot, whate'er the chances be, +Who hath no dow'r, but love, to fix on thee? +Yes, gayest maid may meekest matron prove, +And things of little note may 'token love. +When from the church thou cam'st at eventide +And I and red-hair'd Susan by thy side, +I pull'd the blossoms from the bending tree, +And some to Susan gave, and some to thee; +Thine were the best, and well thy smiling eye +The diff'rence mark'd, and guess'd the reason why. +When on a holy-day we rambling stray'd, +And pass'd old Hodge's cottage in the glade; +Neat was the garden dress'd, sweet hum'd the bee, +I wish'd both cot and Nelly made for me; +And well methought thy very eyes reveal'd +The self-same wish within thy breast conceal'd. +When artful, once, I sought my love to tell, +And spoke to thee of one who lov'd thee well, +You saw the cheat, and jeering homeward hied, +Yet secret pleasure in thy looks I spied. +Ay, gayest maid may meekest matron prove, +And smaller signs than these have 'token'd love." + + Now, at a distance, on the neighb'ring plain, +With creaking wheels slow comes the heavy wain: +High on its tow'ring load a maid appears, +And Nelly's voice sounds shrill in Robin's ears. +Quick from his hand he throws the cumb'rous flail, +And leaps with lightsome limbs th' enclosing pale. +O'er field and fence he scours, and furrow wide, +With waken'd Comrade barking by his side; +Whilst tracks of trodden grain, and sidelong hay, +And broken hedge-flow'rs sweet, mark his impetuous way. + + + +A DISAPPOINTMENT. + + On village green, whose smooth and well worn sod, +Cross-path'd with every gossip's foot is trod; +By cottage door where playful children run, +And cats and curs sit basking in the sun: +Where o'er the earthen seat the thorn is bent, +Cross-arm'd, and back to wall, poor William leant. +His bonnet broad drawn o'er his gather'd brow, +His hanging lip and lengthen'd visage shew +A mind but ill at ease. With motions strange, +His listless limbs their wayward postures change; +Whilst many a crooked line and curious maze, +With clouted shoon, he on the sand pourtrays. +The half-chew'd straw fell slowly from his mouth, +And to himself low mutt'ring spoke the youth. + + "How simple is the lad! and reft of skill, +Who thinks with love to fix a woman's will: +Who ev'ry Sunday morn, to please her sight, +Knots up his neck-cloth gay, and hosen white: +Who for her pleasure keeps his pockets bare, +And half his wages spends on pedlar's ware; +When every niggard clown, or dotard old, +Who hides in secret nooks his oft told gold, +Whose field or orchard tempts with all her pride, +At little cost may win her for his bride; +Whilst all the meed her silly lover gains +Is but the neighbours' jeering for his pains. +On Sunday last when Susan's bands were read, +And I astonish'd sat with hanging head, +Cold grew my shrinking limbs, and loose my knee, +Whilst every neighbour's eye was fix'd on me. +Ah, Sue! when last we work'd at Hodge's hay, +And still at me you jeer'd in wanton play; +When last at fair, well pleas'd by show-man's stand, +You took the new-bought fairing from my hand; +When at old Hobb's you sung that song so gay, +Sweet William still the burthen of the lay, +I little thought, alas! the lots were cast, +That thou shou'd'st be another's bride at last: +And had, when last we trip'd it on the green +And laugh'd at stiff-back'd Rob, small thought I ween, +Ere yet another scanty month was flown, +To see thee wedded to the hateful clown. +Ay, lucky swain, more gold thy pockets line; +But did these shapely limbs resemble thine, +I'd stay at home, and tend the household geer, +Nor on the green with other lads appear. +Ay, lucky swain, no store thy cottage lacks, +And round thy barn thick stands the shelter'd stacks; +But did such features hard my visage grace, +I'd never budge the bonnet from my face. +Yet let it be: it shall not break my ease: +He best deserves who doth the maiden please. +Such silly cause no more shall give me pain, +Nor ever maiden cross my rest again. +Such grizzly suitors with their taste agree, +And the black fiend may take them all for me!" + + Now thro' the village rise confused sounds, +Hoarse lads, and children shrill, and yelping hounds. +Straight ev'ry matron at the door is seen, +And pausing hedgers on their mattocks lean. +At every narrow lane, and alley mouth, +Loud laughing lasses stand, and joking youth. +A near approaching band in colours gay, +With minstrels blythe before to cheer the way, +From clouds of curling dust which onward fly, +In rural splendour break upon the eye. +As in their way they hold so gayly on, +Caps, beads, and buttons glancing in the sun, +Each village wag, with eye of roguish cast, +Some maiden jogs, and vents the ready jest; +Whilst village toasts the passing belles deride, +And sober matrons marvel at their pride. +But William, head erect, with settled brow, +In sullen silence view'd the passing shew; +And oft' he scratch'd his pate with manful grace, +And scorn'd to pull the bonnet o'er his face; +But did with steady look unmoved wait, +Till hindmost man had turn'd the church-yard gate; +Then turn'd him to his cot with visage flat, +Where honest Tray upon the threshold sat. +Up jump'd the kindly beast his hand to lick, +And, for his pains, receiv'd an angry kick. +Loud shuts the flapping door with thund'ring din; +The echoes round their circling course begin, +From cot to cot, in wide progressive swell, +Deep groans the church-yard wall and neighb'ring dell, +And Tray, responsive, joins with long and piteous yell. + + + +A LAMENTATION. + + Where ancient broken wall encloses round, +From tread of lawless feet, the hallow'd ground, +And somber yews their dewy branches wave +O'er many a motey stone and mounded grave: +Where parish church, confus'dly to the sight, +With deeper darkness prints the shades of night, +And mould'ring tombs uncouthly gape around, +And rails and fallen stones bestrew the ground: +In loosen'd garb derang'd, with scatter'd hair, +His bosom open to the nightly air, +Lone, o'er a new heap'd grave poor Basil bent, +And to himself began his simple plaint. + + "Alas! how cold thy home! how low thou art! +Who wert the pride and mistress of my heart. +The fallen leaves light rustling o'er thee pass, +And o'er thee waves the rank and dewy grass. +The new laid sods in decent order tell +How narrow now the space where thou must dwell. +Now rough and wint'ry winds may on thee beat, +And drizzly drifting snow, and summer's heat; +Each passing season rub, for woe is me! +Or storm, or sunshine, is the same to thee. +Ah, Mary! lovely was thy slender form, +And sweet thy cheerful brow, that knew no storm. +Thy steps were graceful on the village-green, +As tho' thou had'st some courtly lady been: +At church or market, still the gayest lass, +Each younker slack'd his speed to see thee pass. +At early milking, tuneful was thy lay, +And sweet thy homeward song at close of day; +But sweeter far, and ev'ry youth's desire, +Thy cheerful converse by the ev'ning fire. +Alas! no more thou'lt foot the grassy sward! +No song of thine shall ever more be heard! +Yet now they trip it lightly on the green, +As blythe and gay as thou hadst never been: +The careless younker whittles lightsome by, +And other maidens catch his roving eye: +Around the ev'ning fire, with little care, +The neighbours sit, and scarcely miss thee there; +And when the night advancing darkens round, +They to their rest retire, and slumber sound. +But Basil cannot rest; his days are sad, +And long his nights upon the weary bed. +Yet still in broken dreams thy form appears, +And still my bosom proves a lover's fears. +I guide thy footsteps thro' the tangled wood; +I catch thee sinking in the boist'rous flood; +I shield thy bosom from the threaten'd stroke; +I clasp thee falling from the headlong rock; +But ere we reach the dark and dreadful deep, +High heaves my troubled breast, I wake, and weep. +At ev'ry wailing of the midnight wind +Thy lowly dwelling comes into my mind. +When rain beats on my roof, wild storms abroad, +I think upon thy bare and beaten sod; +I hate the comfort of a shelter'd home, +And hie me forth o'er fenceless fields to roam: +I leave the paths of men for dreary waste, +And bare my forehead to the howling blast. +O Mary! loss of thee hath fix'd my doom: +This world around me is a weary gloom: +Dull heavy musings down my spirits weigh, +I cannot sleep by night, nor work by day. +Or wealth or pleasure slowest minds inspire, +But cheerless is their toil who nought desire. +Let happier friends divide my farmers' dock, +Cut down my grain, and sheer my little flock; +For now my only care on earth shall be +Here ev'ry Sunday morn to visit thee; +And in the holy church, with heart sincere, +And humble mind, our worthy curate hear: +He best can tell, when earthly cares are past, +The surest way to meet with thee at last. +I'll thus a while a weary life abide, +Till wasting Time hath laid me by thy side; +For now on earth there is no place for me, +Nor peace, nor slumber, till I rest with thee." + + Loud, from the lofty spire, with piercing knell, +Solemn, and awful, toll'd the parish bell; +A later hour than rusties deem it meet +That church-yard ground be trode by mortal feet, +The wailing lover startled at the sound, +And rais'd his head and cast his eyes around. +The gloomy pile in strengthen'd horrour lower'd, +Large and majestic ev'ry object tower'd: +Dim thro' the gloom they shew'd their forms unknown, +And tall and ghastly rose each whiten'd stone: +Aloft the waking screech-owl 'gan to sing, +And past him skim'd the bat with flapping wing. +The fears of nature woke within his breast; +He left the hallowed spot of Mary's rest, +And sped his way the church-yard wall to gain, +Then check'd his coward heart, and turn'd again. +The shadows round a deeper horrour wear; +A deeper silence hangs upon his ear; +A stiller rest is o'er the settled scene; +His flutt'ring heart recoils, and shrinks again. +With hasty steps he measures back the ground, +And leaps with summon'd force the church-yard bound; +Then home with knocking limbs, and quicken'd breath, +His footstep urges from the place of death. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE MUSES. + +Ye tuneful Sifters of the lyre, +Who dreams and fantasies inspire; +Who over poesy preside, +And on a lofty hill abide +Above the ken of mortal fight, +Fain would I sing of you, could I address ye right. + +Thus known, your pow'r of old was sung, +And temples with your praises rung; +And when the song of battle rose, +Or kindling wine, or lovers' woes, +The poet's spirit inly burn'd, +And still to you his upcast eyes were turn'd. + +The youth all wrapp'd in vision bright, +Beheld your robes of flowing white: +And knew your forms benignly grand, +An awful, but a lovely band; +And felt your inspiration strong, +And warmly pour'd his rapid lay along. + +The aged bard all heav'n-ward glow'd, +And hail'd you daughters of a god: +Tho' to his dimmer eyes were seen +Nor graceful form, nor heav'nly mien, +Full well he felt that ye were near, +And heard you in the blast that shook his hoary hair. + +Ye lighten'd up the valley's bloom, +And deeper spread the forest's gloom; +The lofty hill sublimer flood, +And grander rose the mighty flood; +For then Religion lent her aid, +And o'er the mind of man your sacred empire spread. + +Tho' rolling ages now are past, +And altars low, and temples wade; +Tho' rites and oracles are o'er, +And gods and heros rule no more; +Your fading honours still remain, +And still your vot'ries call, a long and motley train. + +They seek you not on hill and plain, +Nor court you in the sacred sane; +Nor meet you in the mid-day dream, +Upon the bank of hallowed stream; +Yet still for inspiration sue, +And still each lifts his fervent prayer to you. + +He knows ye not in woodland gloom, +But wooes ye in the shelfed room; +And seeks you in the dusty nook, +And meets you in the letter'd book; +Full well he knows you by your names, +And still with poets faith your presence claims. + +The youthful poet, pen in hand, +All by the side of blotted stand, +In rev'rie deep, which none may break, +Sits rubbing of his beardless cheek; +And well his inspiration knows, +E'en by the dewy drops that trickle o'er his nose. + +The tuneful sage of riper fame, +Perceives you not in heated frame; +But at conclusion of his verse, +Which still his mutt'ring lips rehearse, +Oft' waves his hand in grateful pride, +And owns the heav'nly pow'r that did his fancy guide. + +O lovely sisters! is it true, +That they are all inspir'd by you? +And while they write, with magic charm'd, +And high enthusiasm warm'd, +We may not question heav'nly lays, +For well I wot, they give you all the praise. + +O lovely sisters! well it shews +How wide and far your bounty flows: +Then why from me withhold your beams? +Unvisited of heav'nly dreams, +Whene'er I aim at heights sublime, +Still downward am I call'd to seek some stubborn rhyme. + +No hasty lightning breaks the gloom, +Nor flashing thoughts unsought for come, +Nor fancies wake in time of need; +I labour much with little speed; +And when my studied task is done, +Too well, alas! I mark it for my own. + +Yet should you never smile on me, +And rugged still my verses be; +Unpleasing to the tuneful train, +Who only prize a slowing strain; +And still the learned scorn my lays, +I'll lift my heart to you, and sing your praise. + +Your varied ministry to trace, +Your honour'd names, and godlike race; +And lofty bow'rs where fountains flow, +They'll better sing who better know; +I praise ye not with Grecian lyre, +Nor will I hail ye daughters of a heathen fire. + +Ye are the spirits who preside +In earth, and air, and ocean wide; +In hissing flood, and crackling fire; +In horror dread, and tumult dire; +In stilly calm, and stormy wind, +And rule the answ'ring changes in the human mind. + +High on the tempest-beaten hill, +Your misty shapes ye shift at will; +The wild fantastic clouds ye form; +Your voice is in the midnight storm; +Whilst in the dark and lonely hour, +Oft' starts the boldest heart, and owns your secret pow'r. + +From you, when growling storms are past, +And light'ning ceases on the wade, +And when the scene of blood is o'er, +And groans of death are heard no more, +Still holds the mind each parted form, +Like after echoing of the o'erpassed storm. + +When closing glooms o'erspread the day, +And what we love has pass'd away, +Ye kindly bid each pleasing scene +Within the bosom still remain, +Like moons who doth their watches run +With the reflected brightness of the parted sun. + +The shining day, and nightly shade, +The cheerful plain and gloomy glade, +The homeward flocks, and shepherds play, +The busy hamlet's closing day, +Full many a breast with pleasures swell, +Who ne'er shall have the gift of words to tell, + +Oft' when the moon looks from on high, +And black around the shadows lie; +And bright the sparkling waters gleam, +And rushes rustle by the stream, +Shrill sounds, and fairy forms are known +By simple 'nighted swains, who wander late alone. + +Ye kindle up the inward glow, +Ye strengthen ev'ry outward show; +Ye overleap the strongest bar, +And join what Nature sunders far: +And visit oft' in fancies wild, +The bread of learned sage, and simple child. + +From him who wears a monarch's crown, +To the unletter'd artless clown, +All in some strange and lonely hour +Have felt, unsought, your secret pow'r, +And lov'd your roving fancies well, +You add but to the bard the art to tell. + +Ye mighty spirits of the song, +To whom the poets' pray'rs belong, +My lowly bosom to inspire, +And kindle with your sacred fire, +Your wild obscuring heights to brave, +Is boon, alas! too great for me to crave. + +But O, such sense of matter bring! +As they who feel and never sing +Wear on their hearts, it will avail +With simple words to tell my tale; +And still contented will I be, +Tho' greater inspirations never fall to me. + + + +A MELANCHOLY LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + My Phillis, all my hopes are o'er, +And I shall see thy face no more. +Since ev'ry secret wish is vain, +I will not stay to give thee pain. +Then do not hang thy low'ring brow, +But let me bless thee ere I go: +Nor, O, despise my last adieu! +I've lov'd thee long, and lov'd thee true. + + The prospects of my youth are crost, +My health is flown, my vigour lost; +My soothing friends augment my pain, +And cheerless is my native plain; +Dark o'er my spirit hangs the gloom, +And thy disdain has fix'd my doom. +But light gales ruffle o'er the sea, +Which soon shall bear me far from thee; +And wherefoe'er our course is cast, +I know will bear me to my rest. +Full deep beneath the briny wave, +Where rest the venturous and brave, +A place may be decreed for me; +And should no tempest raise the sea, +Far hence upon a foreign land, +Whose sons, perhaps, with friendly hand +The stranger's lowly tomb may raise; +A broken heart will end my days. + + But Heaven's blessing on thee rest! +And may no troubles vex thy breast! +Perhaps, when pensive and alone, +You'll think of me when I am gone; +And gentle tears of pity shed, +When I am in my narrow bed. +Yet softly let thy sorrow flow! +And greater may'st thou never know! +All free from worldly care and strife, +Long may'ft thou live a happy life! +And ev'ry earthly blessing find, +Thou loveliest of womankind: +And blest thy secret wishes be! +Tho' cruel thou hast been to me. + + And do'st thou then thine arm extend +And may I take thy lovely hand? +And do thine eyes thus gently look, +As tho' some kindly wish they spoke? +My gentle Phillis, tho' severe, +I do not grudge the ills I bear; +But still my greatest grief will be, +To think my love has troubled thee. +O, do not scorn this swelling grief! +The laden bosom seeks relief: +Nor yet this infant weakness blame, +For thou hast made me what I am. +But hark! the sailors call away, +No longer may I ling'ring stay; +May peace within thy mansion dwell! +O, gentle Phillis, fare thee well! + + + +A CHEERFUL TEMPERED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + The light winds on the streamers play +That soon shall bear me far away; +My comrades give the parting cheer, +And I alone have linger'd here. +Now Phill. my love, since it will be, +And I must bid farewell to thee, +Since ev'ry hope of thee is flown, +Ne'er send me from thee with a frown; +But let me kindly take thy hand, +And bid God bless me in a foreign land. + + No more I'll loiter by thy side, +Well pleas'd thy gamesome taunts to bide; +Nor lovers' gambols lightly try +To make me graceful in thine eye; +Nor sing the merry roundelay, +To cheer thee at the close of day. +Yet ne'ertheless tho' we must part, +I'll bear thee still upon my heart; +And oft' I'll fill the ruddy glass, +To toast my lovely scornful lass. +Far hence, upon a foreign shore, +Still will I keep an open door, +And still my little fortune share +With all who ever breath'd my native air. +And who thy beauteous face hath seen, +Or ever near thy dwelling been, +Shall push about the flowing bowl, +And be the matter of the whole. +And ev'ry woman for thy sake, +Though proud and cruel, as they're weak, +Shall in my walls protection find, +Thou fairest of a fickle kind. + + O, dearly! dearly! have I paid, +Thou little haughty cruel maid, +To give that inward peace to thee, +Which thou hast ta'en away from me. +Soft hast thou slept, with bosom light, +Whilst I have watch'd the weary night; +And now I cross the surgy deep, +That thou may'st still untroubled sleep-- +But in thine eyes, what do I see, +That looks as tho' they pitied me? +I thank thee, Phill. yet be not sad, +I leave no blame upon thy head. +I would, more grac'd with pleasing make, +I had been better for thy sake, +But yet, perhaps, when I shall dwell +Far hence, thou'lt sometimes think how well-- +I dare not stay, since we must part, +T'expose a fond and foolish heart; +Where'er I go, it beats for you, +God bless ye, Phill. adieu! adieu! + + + +A PROUD LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + Farewell thou haughty, cruel fair! +Upon thy brow no longer wear +That sombre look of cold disdain, +Thou ne'er shalt see my face again. +Now ev'ry silly wish is o'er, +And fears and doubtings are no more. + + All cruel as thou art to me, +Long has my heart been fix'd on thee; +On thee I've mus'd the live-long day, +And thought the weary night away; +I've trac'd thy footsteps o'er the green, +And shar'd thy rambles oft unseen; +I've linger'd near thee night and day, +When thou hast thought me far away; +I've watch'd the turning of thy face, +And fondly mark'd thy moving grace; +And wept thy rising smiles to see; +I've been a fool for love of thee. +Yet do not think I stay the while +Thy weakly pity to beguile: +Let forced favour fruitless prove! +The pity curst, that brings not love! +No woman e'er shall give me pain, +Or ever break my rest again: +Nor aught that comes of woman kind +Have pow'r again to move my mind. +Far on a foreign shore I'll seek +Some lonely island, bare and bleak; +I'll seek some wild and rugged cell, +And with untamed creatures dwell. +To hear their cries is now my choice, +Far more than man's deceitful voice: +To listen to the howling wind, +Than luring tongue of womankind. +They look not beautiful and good, +But ronghsome seem as they are rude. + + O Phillis! thou hast wreck'd a heart, +Which proudly bears, but feels the smart. +Adieu! adieu! should'st thou e'er prove +The pang of ill-requited love, +Thou'lt know what I have borne for thee, +And then thou wilt remember me. + + + +A POET, OR, SOUND-HEARTED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS. + + Fair Nymph, who dost my fate controul, +And reign'st the mistress of my soul, +Where thou all bright in beauties ray +Hast held a long tyrannick sway, +They who the hardest rule maintain, +In their commands do still refrain +From what impossible must prove, +But thou hast bade me cease to love; +Nor would some gentle mercy give, +And only bid me cease to live. +Ah! when the magnet's pow'r is o'er, +The compass then will point no more; +And when no verdure cloaths the spring, +The tuneful birds forget to sing: +But thou all sweet and heav'nly fair, +Hast bade thy swain from love forbear. +In pity let thine own fair hand +A death's-wound to this bosom send: +This tender heart of purest faith +May then resign thee with its breath; +And in the sun-beam of thine eye +A proud and willing victim die. + + But since thou wilt not have it so, +Far from thy presence will I go: +Far from my heart's dear bliss I'll stray, +Since I no longer can obey. +In foreign climes I'll distant roam, +No more to hail my native home: +To foreign swains I'll pour my woe, +In foreign plains my tears shall flow: +By murm'ring stream and shady grove +Shall other echoes tell my love; +And richer flow'rs of vivid hue +Upon my tomb shall other maidens strew. + + Adieu, dear Phillis! should'ft thou e'er +Some soft and plaintive story hear, +Of hapless youth who died for love, +Or all forlorn did banish'd rove, +O think of me! nor then deny +The gentle tribute of a sigh. + + * * * * * + + It may be objected that all these lovers are equally sad, though one is +a cheerful, the other a melancholy lover. It is true they are all equally +sad, for they are all equally in love, and in despair, when it is +impossible for them to be otherwise; but if I have pictured their farewell +complaints in such a way as to give you an idea that one lover is +naturally of a melancholy, one of a cheerful, and one of a proud temper, I +have done all that is intended. + + + +THE STORM-BEAT MAID. + +SOMEWHAT AFTER THE STYLE OF OUR OLD ENGLISH BALLADS. + + +All shrouded in the winter snow, + The maiden held her way; +Nor chilly winds that roughly blow, + Nor dark night could her stay. + +O'er hill and dale, through bush and briar, + She on her journey kept; +Save often when she 'gan to tire, + She stop'd awhile and wept. + +Wild creatures left their caverns drear, + To raise their nightly yell; +But little doth the bosom fear, + Where inward troubles dwell. + +No watch-light from the distant spire, + To cheer the gloom so deep, +Nor twinkling star, nor cottage fire + Did thro' the darkness peep. + +Yet heedless still she held her way, + Nor fear'd the crag nor dell; +Like ghost that thro' the gloom to stray, + Wakes with the midnight bell. + +Now night thro' her dark watches ran, + Which lock the peaceful mind; +And thro' the neighb'ring hamlets 'gan + To wake the yawning hind. + +Yet bark of dog, nor village cock, + That spoke the morning near; +Nor gray-light trembling on the rock, + Her 'nighted mind could cheer. + +The whirling flail, and clacking mill + Wake with the early day; +And careless children, loud and shrill, + With new-made snow-balls play. + +And as she pass'd each cottage door, + They did their gambols cease; +And old men shook their locks so hoar, + And wish'd her spirit peace. + +For sometimes slow; and sometimes fast, + She held her wav'ring pace; +Like early spring's inconstant blast, + That ruffles evening's face. + +At length with weary feet she came, + Where in a shelt'ring wood, +Whose master bore no humble name, + A stately castle stood. + +The open gate, and smoking fires, + Which cloud the air so thin; +And shrill bell tinkling from the spires, + Bespoke a feast within. + +With busy looks, and hasty tread, + The servants cross the hall; +And many a page, in buskins red, + Await the master's call. + +Fair streaming bows of bridal white + On ev'ry shoulder play'd; +And clean, in lily kerchief dight, + Trip'd every houshold maid. + +She ask'd for neither lord nor dame, + Nor who the mansion own'd; +But straight into the hall she came, + And sat her on the ground. + +The busy crew all crouded nigh, + And round the stranger star'd; +But still she roll'd her wand'ring eye, + Nor for their questions car'd. + +"What dost thou want, thou storm-beat' maid, + That thou these portals past? +Ill suiteth here thy looks dismay'd, + Thou art no bidden guest." + +"O chide not!" said a gentle page, + And wip'd his tear-wet cheek, +"Who would not shun the winter's rage? + The wind is cold and bleak. + +"Her robe is stiff with drizly snow, + And rent her mantle grey; +None ever bade the wretched go + Upon his wedding-day." + +Then to his lord he hied him straight, + Where round on silken seat +Sat many a courteous dame and knight. + And made obeisance meet, + +"There is a stranger in your hall, + Who wears no common mien; +Hard were the heart, as flinty wall, + That would not take her in. + +"A fairer dame in hall or bower + Mine eyes did ne'er behold; +Tho' shelter'd in no father's tower, + And turn'd out to the cold. + +"Her face is like an early morn, + Dimm'd with the nightly dew; +Her skin is like the sheeted torn, + Her eyes are wat'ry blue. + +"And tall and slender is her form, + Like willow o'er the brook; +But on her brow there broods a storm, + And restless is her look, + +"And well her troubled motions shew + The tempest in her mind; +Like the unshelter'd sapling bough + Vex'd with the wintry wind. + +"Her head droops on her ungirt breast, + And scatter'd is her hair; +Yet lady brac'd in courtly vest + Was never half so fair." + +Reverse, and cold the turning blood + The bridegroom's cheek forsook: +He shook and stagger'd as he stood, + And falter'd as he spoke. + +"So soft and fair I know a maid, + There is but only she; +A wretched man her love betrayed, + And wretched let him be." + +Deep frowning, turn'd the bride's dark eye, + For bridal morn unmeet; +With trembling steps her lord did hie + The stranger fair to greet. + +Tho' loose in scatter'd weeds array'd, + And ruffled with the storm; +Like lambkin from its fellows stray'd, + He knew her graceful form. + +But when he spy'd her sunken eye, + And features sharp and wan, +He heav'd a deep and heavy sigh, + And down the big tears ran. + +"Why droops thy head, thou lovely maid, + Upon thy hand of snow? +Is it because thy love betray'd, + That thou art brought so low?" + +Quick from her eye the keen glance came + Who question'd her to see: +And oft she mutter'd o'er his name, + And wist not it was he. + +Full hard against his writhing brows + His clenched hands he prest; +Full high his lab'ring bosom rose, + And rent its silken vest. + +"O cursed be the golden price, + That did my baseness prove! +And cursed be my friends advice, + That wil'd me from thy love! + +"And cursed be the woman's art, + That lur'd me to her snare! +And cursed be the faithless heart + That left thee to despair! + +"Yet now I'll hold thee to my side, + Tho' worthless I have been, +Nor friends, nor wealth, nor dizen'd bride, + Shall ever stand between. + +"When thou art weary and depress'd, + I'll lull thee to thy sleep; +And when dark fancies vex thy breast, + I'll sit by thee and weep. + +"I'll tend thee like a restless child + Where'er thy rovings be; +Nor gesture keen, nor eye-ball wild, + Shall turn my love from thee. + +"Night shall not hang cold o'er thy head, + And I securely lie; +Nor drizly clouds upon thee shed, + And I in covert dry. + +"I'll share the cold blast on the heath, + I'll share thy wants and pain: +Nor friend nor foe, nor life nor death, + Shall ever make us twain." + + + +THUNDER. + + Spirit of strength, to whom in wrath 'tis given +To mar the earth, and shake the vasty heaven: +Behold the gloomy robes, that spreading hide +Thy secret majesty, lo! slow and wide, +Thy heavy skirts sail in the middle air, +Thy sultry shroud is o'er the noonday glare: +Th' advancing clouds sublimely roll'd on high, +Deep in their pitchy volumes clothe the sky; +Like hosts of gath'ring foes array'd in death, +Dread hangs their gloom upon the earth beneath, +It is thy hour: the awful deep is still, +And laid to rest the wind of ev'ry hill. +Wild creatures of the forest homeward scour, +And in their dens with fear unwonted cow'r. +Pride in the lordly palace is forgot, +And in the lowly shelter of the cot +The poor man sits, with all his fam'ly round, +In awful expectation of thy sound. +Lone on his way the trav'ller stands aghast; +The fearful looks of man to heav'n are cast, +When, lo! thy lightning gleams on high, +As swiftly turns his startled eye; +And swiftly as thy shooting blaze +Each half performed motion stays, +Deep awe, all human strife and labour stills, +And thy dread voice alone, the earth and heaven fills. + + Bright bursts the lightning from the cloud's dark womb, +As quickly swallow'd in the closing gloom. +The distant streamy flashes, spread askance +In paler sheetings, skirt the wide expanse. +Dread flaming from aloft, the cat'ract dire +Oft meets in middle space the nether fire. +Fierce, red, and ragged, shiv'ring in the air, +Athwart mid-darkness shoots the lengthen'd glare. +Wild glancing round, the feebler lightning plays; +The rifted centre pours the gen'ral blaze; +And from the warring clouds in fury driven,[A] +Red writhing falls the keen embodied bolt of heaven. + +[Footnote A: In poetry we have only to do with appearances; and the +zig-zag lightning, commonly thought to be the thunder-bolt, is certainly +firm and embodied, compared to the ordinary lightning, which takes no +distinct shape at all.] + + From the dark bowels of the burthen'd cloud +Dread swells the rolling peal, full, deep'ning, loud. +Wide ratt'ling claps the heavens scatter'd o'er, +In gathered strength lift the tremendous roar; +With weaning force it rumbles over head, +Then, growling, wears away to silence dread. +Now waking from afar in doubled might, +Slow rolling onward to the middle height; +Like crash of mighty mountains downward hurl'd, +Like the upbreaking of a wrecking world, +In dreadful majesty, th' explosion grand +Bursts wide, and awful, o'er the trembling land. +The lofty mountains echo back the roar, +Deep from afar rebounds earth's rocky shore; +All else existing in the senses bound +Is lost in the immensity of sound. +Wide jarring sounds by turns in strength convene, +And deep, and terrible, the solemn pause between. + + Aloft upon the mountain's side +The kindled forest blazes wide. +Huge fragments of the rugged deep +Are tumbled to the lashing deep. +Firm rooted in the cloven rock, +Loud crashing falls the stubborn oak. +The lightning keen, in wasteful ire, +Fierce darting on the lofty spire, +Wide rends in twain the ir'n-knit stone, +And stately tow'rs are lowly thrown. +Wild flames o'erscour the wide campaign, +And plough askance the hissing main. +Nor strength of man may brave the storm, +Nor shelter skreen the shrinking form; +Nor castle wall its fury stay, +Nor masy gate may bar its way. +It visits those of low estate, +It shakes the dwellings of the great, +It looks athwart the secret tomb, +And glares upon the prison's gloom; +While dungeons deep, in unknown light, +Flash hidious on the wretches' fight, +And lowly groans the downward cell, +Where deadly silence wont to dwell. + + Now upcast eyes to heav'n adore, +And knees that never bow'd before. +In stupid wonder flares the child; +The maiden turns her glances wild, +And lifts to hear the coming roar: +The aged shake their locks so hoar: +And stoutest hearts begin to fail, +And many a manly cheek is pale; +Till nearer closing peals astound, +And crashing ruin mingles round; +Then 'numbing fear awhile up-binds +The pausing action of their minds, +Till wak'd to dreadful sense, they lift their eyes, +And round the stricken corse, shrill shrieks of horror rise. + + Now thinly spreads the falling hall +A motly winter o'er the vale, +The hailstones bounding as they fall +On hardy rock, or storm-beat' wall. +The loud beginning peal its fury checks, +Now full, now fainter, with irreg'lar breaks, +Then weak in force, unites the scatter'd found; +And rolls its lengthen'd grumblings to the distant bound. +A thick and muddy whiteness clothes the sky, +In paler flashes gleams the lightning by; +And thro' the rent cloud, silver'd with his ray, +The sun looks down on all this wild affray; +As high enthron'd above all mortal ken, +A greater Pow'r beholds the strife of men: +Yet o'er the distant hills the darkness scowls, +And deep, and long, the parting tempest growls. + + + +WIND. + + Pow'r uncontrollable, who hold'st thy sway +In the unbounded air, whose trackless way +Is in the firmament, unknown of fight, +Who bend'st the sheeted heavens in thy might, +And lift'st the ocean from its lowest bed +To join in middle space the conflict dread; +Who o'er the peopled earth in ruin scours, +And buffets the firm rock that proudly low'rs, +Thy signs are in the heav'ns. The upper clouds +Draw shapeless o'er the sky their misty shrowds; +Whilst darker fragments rove in lower bands, +And mournful purple cloaths the distant lands. +In gather'd tribes, upon the hanging peak +The sea-fowl scream, ill-omen'd creatures shriek: +Unwonted sounds groan on the distant wave, +And murmurs deep break from the downward cave. +Unlook'd-for gusts the quiet forests shake, +And speak thy coming--awful Pow'r, awake! + + Like burst of mighty waters wakes the blast, +In wide and boundless sweep: thro' regions vast +The floods of air in loosen'd fury drive, +And meeting currents strong, and fiercely strive. +First wildly raving on the mountain's brow +'Tis heard afar, till o'er the plains below +With even rushing force it bears along, +And gradual swelling, louder, full, and strong, +Breaks wide in scatter'd bellowing thro' the air. +Now is it hush'd to calm, now rous'd to war, +Whilst in the pauses of the nearer blast, +The farther gusts howl from the distant waste. +Now rushing furious by with loosen'd sweep, +Now rolling grandly on, solemn and deep, +Its bursting strength the full embodied sound +In wide and shallow brawlings scatters round; +Then wild in eddies shrill, with rage distraught, +And force exhausted, whistles into naught. +With growing might, arising in its room, +From far, like waves of ocean onward come +Succeeding gusts, and spend their wasteful ire, +Then slow, in grumbled mutterings retire: +And solemn stillness overawes the land, +Save where the tempest growls along the distant strand. +But great in doubled strength, afar and wide, +Returning battle wakes on ev'ry side; +And rolling on with full and threat'ning sound, +In wildly mingled fury closes round. +With bellowings loud, and hollow deep'ning swell, +Reiterated hiss, and whistlings shrill, +Fierce wars the varied storm, with fury tore, +Till all is overwhelm'd in one tremendous roar. + + The vexed forest, tossing wide, +Uprooted strews its fairest pride; +The lofty pine in twain is broke, +And crushing falls the knotted oak. +The huge rock trembles in its might; +The proud tow'r tumbles from its height; +Uncover'd stands the social home; +High rocks aloft the city dome; +Whilst bursting bar, and flapping gate, +And crashing roof, and clatt'ring grate, +And hurling wall, and falling spire, +Mingle in jarring din and ruin dire. +Wild ruin scours the works of men; +Their motly fragments strew the plain. +E'en in the desert's pathless waste, +Uncouth destruction marks the blast: +And hollow caves whose secret pride, +Grotesque and grand, was never ey'd +By mortal man, abide its drift, +Of many a goodly pillar reft. +Fierce whirling mounts the desert sand, +And threats aloft the peopl'd land. +The great expanded ocean, heaving wide, +Rolls to the farthest bound its lashing tide; +Whilst in the middle deep afar are seen, +All stately from the sunken gulfs between, +The tow'ring waves, which bend with hoary brow, +Then dash impetuous to the deep below. +With broader sweepy base, in gather'd might +Majestic, swelling to stupendous height, +The mountain billow lifts its awful head, +And, curving, breaks aloft with roarings dread. +Sublimer still the mighty waters rise, +And mingle in the strife of nether skies. +All wildness and uproar, above, beneath, +A world immense of danger, dread, and death. + + In dumb despair the sailor stands, +The frantic merchant wrings his hands, +Advent'rous hope clings to the yard, +And sinking wretches shriek unheard: +Whilst on the land, the matron ill at rest, +Thinks of the distant main, and heaves her heavy breast. +The peasants leave their ruin'd home, +And o'er the fields distracted roam: +Insensible the 'numbed infant sleeps, +And helpless bending age, weak and unshelter'd weeps. +Low shrinking fear, in place of state, +Skulks in the dwellings of the great. +The rich man marks with careful eye, +Each wasteful gust that whistles by; +And ill men fear'd with fancied screams +Sit list'ning to the creaking beams. +At break of ev'ry rising squall +On storm-beat' roof, or ancient wall, +Full many a glance of fearful eye +Is upward cast, till from on high, +From cracking joist, and gaping rent, +And falling fragments warning sent, +Loud wakes around the wild affray, +'Tis all confusion and dismay. + + Now powerful but inconstant in its course, +The tempest varies with uncertain force. +Like doleful wailings on the lonely waste, +Solemn and dreary sounds the weaning blast. +Exhausted gusts recoiling growl away, +And, wak'd anew, return with feebler sway; +Save where between the ridgy mountains pent, +The fierce imprison'd current strives for vent, +With hollow howl, and lamentation deep, +Then rushes o'er the plain with partial sweep. +A parting gust o'erscours the weary land, +And lowly growls along the distant strand: +Light thro' the wood the shiv'ring branches play, +And on the ocean far it slowly dies away. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A FEARFUL MIND. + + Uncertain, awful as the gloom of death, +The Night's grim shadows cover all beneath. +Shapeless and black is ev'ry object round, +And lost in thicker gloom the distant bound. +Each swelling height is clad with dimmer shades, +And deeper darkness marks the hollow glades. +The moon in heavy clouds her glory veils, +And slow along their passing darkness sails; +While lesser clouds in parted fragments roam, +And red stars glimmer thro' the river's gloom. + + Nor cheerful voice is heard from man's abode, +Nor sounding footsteps on the neighb'ring road; +Nor glimm'ring fire the distant cottage tells; +On all around a fearful stillness dwells: +The mingled noise of industry is laid, +And silence deepens with the nightly shade. +Though still the haunts of men, and shut their light, +Thou art not silent, dark mysterious Night, +The cries of savage creatures wildly break +Upon thy quiet; birds ill-omen'd shriek; +Commotions strange disturb the rustling trees; +And heavy plaints come on the passing breeze. +Far on the lonely waste, and distant way, +Unwonted sounds are heard, unknown of day. +With shrilly screams the haunted cavern rings; +And heavy treading of unearthly things +Sounds loud and hollow thro' the ruin'd dome; +Yea, voices issue from the secret tomb. + + But lo! a sudden flow of bursting light! +What wild surrounding scenes break on the sight! +Huge rugged rocks uncouthly low'r on high, +Whilst on the plain their lengthen'd shadows lie. +The wooded banks in streamy brightness glow; +And waving darkness skirts the flood below. +The roving shadow hastens o'er the stream; +And like a ghost's pale shrowd the waters glean. +Black fleeting shapes across the valley stray: +Gigantic forms tow'r on the distant way: +The sudden winds in wheeling eddies change: +'Tis all confus'd, unnatural, and strange. +Now all again in horrid gloom is lost: +Wild wakes the breeze like sound of distant host: +Bright shoots along the swift returning light: +Succeeding shadows close the startled sight. +Some restless spirit holds the nightly sway: +Long is the wild, and doubtful is my way. +Inconstant Night, whate'er thy changes be, +It suits not man to be alone with thee. +O! for the shelt'ring roof of lowest kind, +Secure to rest with others of my hind! + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A DISCONTENTED MIND. + + How thick the clouds of night are rang'd o'er head! +Confounding darkness o'er the earth is spread. +The clouded moon her cheering count'nance hides; +And feeble stars, between the ragged sides +Of broken clouds, with unavailing ray, +Look thro' to mock the trav'ller on his way. +Tree, bush, and rugged rock, and hollow dell, +In deeper shades their forms confus'dly tell, +To cheat the weary wand'rer's doubtful eye; +Whilst chilly passing winds come ruffling by; +And tangled briars perplex the darken'd pass; +And slimy reptiles glimmer on the grass; +And stinging night-flies spend their cursed spite; +Unhospitable are thy shades, O Night! + + Now hard suspicion bars the creaking door; +And safe within the selfish worldlings snore: +And wealthy fools are warm in downy bed: +And houseless beggars shelter in the shed: +And nestling coveys cow'r beneath the brake; +While prowling mischief only is awake. +Each hole and den fends forth its cursed brood, +And savage bloody creatures range the wood. +The thievish vagrant plies his thriftless trade +Beneath the friendly shelter of the shade; +Whilst boldest risk the lawless robber braves: +The day for fools was made, and night for knaves. + + O welcome, kindly moon! thy light display, +And guide a weary trav'ller on his way. +Hill, wood, and valley, brighten in her beam; +And wavy silver glitters on the stream. +The distant path-way shews distinct and clear, +From far inviting, but perplex'd when near. +For blackning shadows add deceitful length, +And lesser objects gain unwonted strength; +Each step misguiding; to the eye unknown, +The shining gutter, from the glist'ning stone; +While crossing shadows checker o'er the ground, +The more perplexing for the brightness round. +Deceitful are thy smiles, untoward Night! +Thy gloom is better than misguiding light. +Then welcome is yon cloud that onward fails, +And all this glary shew in darkness veils. +But see how soon the fleeting shade is past, +And streamy brightness moots across the waste. +Now fly the shadows borne upon the wind; +Succeeding brightness travels fast behind. +And now it low'rs again. Inconstant Night, +Confound thy freaks! be either dark or light. +Yet let them come; whate'er thy changes be, +I was a fool to put my trust in thee. + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A SORROWFUL MIND. + + How lone and dreary hangs the sombre Night +O'er wood and valley, stream and craggy height! +While nearer objects, bush, and waving bough, +Their dark uncertain forms but dimly show; +Like those with which disturbed fancies teem, +And shape the scen'ry of a gloomy dream. +The moon is cover'd with her sable shrowd; +And o'er the heav'us rove many a dusky cloud; +Thro' ragged rents the paly sky is seen, +And feebly glance the twinkling stars between: +Whilst earth below is wrapt in stilly gloom, +All sad and silent as the closed tomb. + + No bleating flock is heard upon the vale; +Nor lowing kine upon the open dale; +Nor voice of hunter on the lonely heath; +Nor sound of trav'ller on the distant path. +Shut is the fenced door of man's abode; +And ruffling breezes only are abroad. +How mournful is thy voice, O nightly gale! +Across the wood, or down the narrow vale; +And sad, tho' secret and unknown they be, +The sighs of woeful hearts that wake with thee. +For now no friends the haunts of sorrow seek; +Tears hang unchidden on the mourner's cheek: +No side-look vexes from the curious eye; +Nor calm reproving reasoner is by; +The kindly cumbrous visitor is gone, +And laden spirits love to sigh alone. +O Night! wild sings the wind, deep low'rs the shade; +Thy robe is gloomy, and thy voice is sad: +But weary souls confin'd in earthly cell +Are deep in kindred gloom, and love thee well. + + But now the veiling darkness passes by; +The moon unclouded holds the middle sky. +A soft and mellow light is o'er the wood; +And silv'ry pureness sparkles on the flood. +White tow'r the clifts from many a craggy breach; +The brown heath shews afar its dreary stretch. +While fairer as the brighten'd object swells, +Fast by its side the darker shadow dwells: +The lofty mountains form the deeper glade, +And keener light but marks the blacker made. +Then welcome yonder clouds that swiftly sail, +And o'er yon glary op'ning draw the veil. +But, ah! too swiftly flies the friendly shade! +Returning brightness travels up the glade, +And all is light again. O fickle Night! +No traveller is here to bless thy light. +I seek nor home, nor shed; I have no way; +Why send thy beams to one who cannot stray? +Or wood, or desert, is the same to me; +O low'r again, and let me rest with thee! + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE NIGHT. + +A JOYFUL MIND. + + The warping gloom of night is gather'd round; +And varied darkness marks the uneven ground. +A dimmer shade is on the mountain's brow, +And deeper low'rs the lengthen'd vale below; +While nearer objects all enlarged and dark, +Their strange and shapeless forms uncouthly mark; +Which thro' muddy night are dimly shown, +Like old companions in a garb unknown. +The heavy sheeted clouds are spread on high, +And streaky darkness bounds the farther sky: +And swift along the lighter vagrants sweep, +Whilst clear stars thro' their riven edges peep. +Soft thro' each ragged breach, and streamy rent, +And open gaps in dusky circle pent, +The upper heaven looks serenely bright +In dappled gold, and snowy fleeces dight: +And on the middle current lightly glides +The lesser cloud, with silver wreathy sides. +In sudden gusts awakes the nightly breeze +Across the wood, and rustles thro' the trees; +Or whistles on the plain with eddying sweep; +Or issues from the glen in wailings deep, +Which die away upon the open vale: +Whilst in the pauses of the ruffling gale +The buzzing night-fly rises from the ground, +And wings his flight in many a mazy round; +And lonely owls begin their nightly strain, +So hateful to the ear of 'nighted swain. +Thou do'st the weary trav'ller mislead; +Thy voice is roughsome, and uncooth thy weed, +O gloomy Night! for black thy shadows be, +And fools have rais'd a bad report on thee. +Yet art thou free and friendly to the gay, +And light hearts prize thee equal to the day. + + Now tiresome plodding folks are gone to rest; +And soothing slumber locks the careful breast. +And tell-tale friends, and wise advisers snore; +And softly slip-shod youths unbar the door. +Now footsteps echo far, and watch-dogs bark; +Worms glow, and cats' eyes glitter in the dark. +The vagrant lover crosses moor and hill, +And near the lowly cottage whistles shrill: +Or, bolder grown, beneath the friendly shade, +Taps at the window of his fav'rite maid; +Who from above his simple tale receives, +Whilst stupid matrons start, and think of thieves, +Now daily fools unbar the narrow soul, +All wise and gen'rous o'er the nightly bowl. +The haunted wood receives its motley host, +(By trav'ller shun'd) tho' neither fag nor ghost; +And there the crackling bonfire blazes red, +While merry vagrants feast beneath the shed. +From sleepless beds unquiet spirits rise, +And cunning wags put on their borrow'd guise: +Whilst silly maidens mutter o'er their boon, +And crop their fairy weeds beneath the moon: +And harmless plotters slyly take the road, +And trick and playful mischief is abroad. + + But, lo! the moon looks forth in splendour bright, +Fair and unclouded, from her middle height. +The passing cloud unveils her kindly ray, +And slowly sails its weary length away; +While broken fragments from its fleecy side, +In dusky bands before it swiftly glide; +Their misty texture changing with the wind, +A strange and scatter'd group, of motley kind +As ever earth or fruitful ocean fed, +Or ever youthful poets fancy bred. +His surgy length the wreathing serpent trails, +And by his side the rugged camel sails: +The winged griffith follows close behind, +And spreads his dusky pinions to the wind. +Athwart the sky in scatter'd bands they range +From shape to shape, transform'd in endless change; +Then piece meal torn, in ragged portions stray, +Or thinly spreading, slowly melt away. +A softer brightness covers all below; +Hill, dale, and wood, in mellow'd colour's glow. +High tow'rs the whiten'd rock in added strength; +The brown heath shews afar its dreary length. +The winding river glitters on the vale; +And gilded trees wave in the passing gale. +Upon the ground each black'ning shadow lies, +And hasty darkness o'er the valley flies. +Wide sheeting shadows travel o'er the plain, +And swiftly close upon the varied scene. +Return, O lovely moon! and look from high, +All stately riding in thy motled sky, +Yet, O thy beams in hasty visits come! +As swiftly follow'd by the fleeting gloom. +O Night! thy smiles are short, and short thy shade; +Thou art a freakish friend, and all unstay'd: +Yet from thy varied changes who are free? +Full many an honest friend resembles thee. +Then let my doubtful footsteps darkling stray, +Thy next fair beam will set me on my way: +E'en take thy freedom, whether rough or kind, +I came not forth to quarrel with the wind. + + + +TO FEAR. + + O thou! before whose haggard eyes +A thousand images arise, +Whose forms of horror none may see, +But with a soul disturb'd by thee! +Wilt thon for ever haunt mankind, +And glare upon the darken'd mind! +Whene'er thou enterest a breast, +Thou robb'st it of its joy and rest; +And terrible, and strange to tell, +On what that mind delights to dwell. +The ruffian's knife with reeking blade, +The stranger murder'd in his bed: +The howling wind, the raging deep, +The sailor's cries, the sinking ship: +The awful thunder breaking round: +The yauning gulf, the rocking ground: +The precipice, whose low'ring brow +O'erhangs the horrid deep below; +And tempts the wretch, worn out with strife, +Of worldly cares, to end his life. + + But when thou raisest to the fight +Unearthly forms that walk the night, +The chilly blood, with magic art, +Runs backward on the stoutest heart. +Lo! in his post the soldier stands[See Spectator, No. 12.]! +The deadly weapon in his hands. +In front of death he rushes on, +Renown with life is cheaply won, +Whilst all his soul with ardour burns, +And to the thickest danger turns. +But see the man alone, unbent, +A church-yard near, and twilight spent, +Returning late to his abode, +Upon an unfrequented road: +No choice is left, his feet must tread +The awful dwelling of the dead. +In foul mist doth the pale moon wade, +No twinkling star breaks thro' the shade: +Thick rows of trees increase the gloom, +And awful silence of the tomb. +Swift to his thoughts, unbidden, throng +Full many a tale, forgotten long, +Of ghosts, who at the dead of night +Walk round their graves all wrapt in white, +And o'er the church-yard dark and drear, +Becken the traveller to draw near: +And restless sprites, who from the ground, +Just as the midnight clock doth sound, +Rise slowly to a dreadful height, +Then vanish quickly from the fight: +And wretches who, returning home, +By chance have stumbled near some tomb, +Athwart a coffin or a bone, +And three times heard a hollow groan; +With fearful steps he takes his way, +And shrinks, and wishes it were day. +He starts and quakes at his own tread, +But dare not turn about his head. +Some sound he hears on ev'ry side; +And thro' the trees strange phantoms glide. +His heart beats thick against his breast, +And hardly stays within its chest: +Wild and unsettled are his eyes; +His quicken'd hairs begin to rise: +Ghastly and strong his features grow; +The cold dew trickles from his brow; +Whilst grinning beat his clatt'ring teeth, +And loosen'd knock his joints beneath. +As to the charnel he draws nigh +The whiten'd tomb-stone strikes his eye: +He starts, he stops, his eye-balls glare, +And settle in a death-like stare: +Deep hollow sounds ring in his ear; +Such sounds as dying wretches hear +When the grim dreaded tyrant calls, +A horrid sound, he groans and falls. + + Thou do'st our fairest hope destroy; +Thou art a gloom o'er ev'ry joy; +Unheeded let my dwelling be, +O Fear! but far remov'd from thee! + + + +A STORY OF OTHER TIMES. + +SOMEWHAT IN IMITATION OF THE POEMS OF OSSIAN. + + +LATHMOR. +But why do'st thou stop on the way, and hold me thus hard in thy grasp? +It was but the voice of the winds from the deep narrow glens of Glanarven. + +ALLEN. +The heath is unruffled around, and the oak o'er thy head is at rest: +Calm swells the moon on the lake, and nothing is heard in the reeds. +Sad was the sound, O my father! but it was not the voice of the wind. + +LATHMOR. +What dark tow'ring rock do I see 'midst the grey spreading mist of the +hills? +This is not the vale of Clanarven: my son, we have err'd from the way, + +ALLEN. +It is not a dark tow'ring rock, 'midst the grey settled mist of the hills. +'Tis a dark tow'r of strength which thou seest, and the ocean spreads +dimly behind it. + +LATHMOR. +Then here will we stop for the night, for the tow'r of Arthula is near. +Proceed not, my son, on the way, for it was not the voice of the wind. +The ghost of the valliant is forth; and it mourns round the place of its +woe. +The tray'ller oft' hears it at midnight, and turns him aside from its +haunt. +The sharp moon is spent in her course, and the way of the desert is +doubtful. +This oak with his wide leavy branches will shelter our heads from the +night; +And I'll tell thee a story of old, since the tow'r of Arthula is near. + +From the walls of his strength came Lochallen, with his broad chested sons +of the hills. +He was strong as a bull of the forest, and keen as a bird of the rock. +His friends of the chace were around him, the sons of the heroes of Mora. +They were clad in the strength of their youth; and the sound of their arms +rung afar. +For Uthal had led his dark host from the blue misty isle of his power; +And o'erspread like a cloud of the desert, the land of the white-headed +Lorma. +Of Lorma who sat in the hall, and lamented the sons of his youth; +For Orvina remained alone to support the frail steps of his age. +He sent to the king of Ithona: he remembered the love of his father: +And Lochallen soon join'd him on Loarn with the high minded chieftains of +Mora. + +Loud was the sound of the battle, and many the slain of the field. +Red was the sword of Lochallen: it was red with the blood of the brave. +For his eye sought the combat of heroes, and the mighty withstood not his +arm. +He rag'd like a flame on the heath; and the enemy fled from his face. + +But short was the triumph of Lorma; the hour of his fading was near. +Whilst a bard rais'd the song of the battle, his dim eyes were closed in +death. +He fell like a ruined tow'r; like a fragment of times that are past: +Like a rock whose foundation is worn with the lashes of many a wave. +Four grey head warriors of Lorma remain'd from the days of his youth: +They mourn'd o'er the fall of their lord; and they bore him to his dark +narrow house. +His memorial was rais'd on the hill; and the lovely Orvina wept over it. +She bent her fair form o'er the heap; and her sorrow was silent, and +gentle. +It flow'd like the pure twinkling dream beneath the green shade of the +fern. +The hunters oft bless it at noon, tho' the strangers perceive not its +course. +The wind of the hill rais'd her locks, and Lochallen beheld her in grief. +The soul of the hero was knit to the tear-eyed daughter of Lorma. +She was graceful and tall as the willow, that bends o'er the deep shady +stream. +Her eye like a sun-beam on water, that gleams thro' the dark skirting +reeds. +Her hair like the light wreathing cloud, that floats on the brow of the +hill, +When the beam of the morning is there, and it scatters its skirts to the +wind. +Lovely and soft were her smiles, like a glimpse from the white riven +cloud, +When the sun hastens over the lake, and a summer show'r ruffles its bosom. +Her voice was the sweet sound of midnight, that visits the ear of the +bard, +When he darts from the place of his slumber, and calls on some far distant +friend. +She was fair 'mongst the maids of her time; and she soften'd the wrath of +the mighty. +Their eyes lighten'd up in her presence; they dropt their dark spears as +she spoke. +Lochallen was firm in his strength, and unmov'd in the battle of heroes; +Like a rock-fenced isle of the ocean, that shews its dark head thro' the +storm. +His brow was like a cliff on the shore, that fore-warneth the hunters of +Ithona; +For there gleams the first ray of morning, and there broods the mist ere +the storm: +It shone, and it darken'd by turns, as the strength of his passions arose. +He was terrible as a gathering storm, when his soul learnt the wrongs of +the feeble. +His eye was the lightning of shields; he was swift as a blast in its +course. +When the warriours return'd from the field, and the sons of the mighty +assembled, +He was graceful as the light tow'ring cloud that rises from the blue +bounded main. +Gentle and fair was his form in the tow'rs of the hilly Ithona. +His voice cheer'd the soul of the sad; he would sport with a child in the +hall. + +Matchless in the days of their love were Lochallen and the daughter of +Lorma. +But their beauty has ceas'd on Arthula; and the place of their rest is +unknown. +The family of Lorma has fail'd, and strangers rejoice in his hall: +But voices of sorrow are heard when the stillness of midnight is there; +The stranger is wak'd with the sound, and enquires of the race that is +gone. +But wherefore thus doleful and sad, do ye wander alone on Arthula? +Why look ye thus lonely and sad, ye children of the dark narrow house? +Your names shall be known in the song, when the fame of the mighty is low. + +ALLEN. +From what cloud of the hills do they look? for I see not their forms, O my +father! + +LATHMOR. +Why do'st thou tremble my son? thou hast fought in the battle of shields. +They look'd from no cloud of the hills; but the soul of thy father beheld +them. +Lochallen return'd from the field, to the sea-beaten tower of Arthula. +Five days he abode in the hall, and they pass'd like a glimpse of the sun, +When the clouds of the tempest are rent, and the green island smiles +'midst the storm. +On the sixth a cloud hung on his brow, and his eye shun'd the looks of his +friends. +He spoke to the maid of his soul, and the trouble of his bosom was great. +Pleasant is the hall of my love; but the storm gathers round us, Orvina. +I must go to the island of Uthal, and scatter his gathering force. +But like a cleft oak of the forest, I'll quickly return to my love: +When the hard wedge is drawn from its side, it returns to itself again. +The daughter of Lorma was silent: she turn'd her fair face from his sight. +Go to the war, son of Mora; and the strength of thy fathers go with thee. +I will sit on the high rocky shore, and look o'er the wide foaming sea. +I will watch ev'ry blue rising cloud, till I see thy dark vessels return. + +He gather'd his warriours around him; they darken'd the brown rugged +shore. +The rocks echo'd wide to their cries, and loud was the dashing of oars. +Orvina stood high on a rock, that hung o'er the deep lashing main; +Big swell'd the tear in her eye, and high heav'd the sighs of her bosom; +As she saw the white billows encreasing between his dark ship and the +shore. +Her fixed eye follow'd its course o'er many a far distant wave, +Till its broad sails, and high tow'ring mast but appear'd like a speck on +the waters; +Yet still she beheld in her fancy the form of her love on its side; +And she stretched her white arms to the ocean, and wav'd her loose girdle +on high. + +Soon reach'd the sons of Ithona the blue misty isle of their foe. +Like the pent up dogs of the hunter when let loose from their prison of +night; +Who snuff up the air of the morning, and rejoice at the voice of the +chace; +They leapt from the sides of their vessels, and spread o'er the wide +sounding shore. +Thick on the brown heathy plain, were spread the dark thousands of Uthal. +The warriours of Lochallen were few, but their fathers were known in the +song. +Like a small rapid stream of the hills when it falls on the broad settled +lake, +And troubles its dark muddy bosom, and dashes its waters aloft, +So rush'd the keen sons of Ithona on the thick gather'd host of the foe. +Red gleam'd the arms of the brave thro' the brown rising dust of the +field. +Fierce glar'd the eyes of Lochallen; he fought the dark face of his enemy. +He found the grim king of the isle; but the strength of his chieftains was +round him. +Come forth in thy might, said Lochallen; come forth to the combat of +kings. +Great is the might of thy warriours; but where is the strength of thine +arms? +Youth of Ithona, said Uthal, thy fathers were mighty in battle, +Return to thy brown woody hills, till the hair is grown dark on thy cheek; +Then come from the tow'rs of thy safety, a foe less unworthy of Uthal. +But thou lovest a weakly enemy, foe of the white haired chief. +Thou lovest a foe that is weak, said the red swelling pride of Lochallen. +Seest thou this sword of my youth? it is red with the blood of thy heroes. +Come forth in the strength of thine years, and hand its dark blade in thy +hall. +He lifted a spear in his wrath o'er the head of his high worded foe; +But the strength of his chieftains was there, and it rung on their broad +spreading shields. +He turned himself scornful away, to look for some nobler enemy; +He met thee fair son of Hidallo, as chaffing he strode in his wrath; +But thou never did'st turn from the valiant, youth of the far distant +land. +Fierce fought the heroes, and wonder'd each chief at the might of his foe. +They found themselves matched in strength, and they fought in the pride of +their souls. +Bloody and long was the fight, but the arm of Lochallen prevail'd. +Ah, why did you combat, ye heroes! ah, why did ye meet in the field! +Your souls had been brothers of love, had ye met in the dwellings of +peace. +He was like to thyself, son of Mora, where his voice cheer'd the heart of +the stranger +In the far distant hall of his father, who never shall hear it again; +He was like to thyself whom thou slewest; and he fell in his youth like +thee. +The maid of thy bosom is lovely, thou fair fallen son of the stranger. +She sits on her high hanging bower, and looks to the way of thy promise. +She combs down her long yellow hair; and prepares a fine robe for thy +coming. +She starts at the voice of the breeze, and runs to the door of her bow'r. +But thou art a dim misty form on the clouds of far distant hills. + +Fierce was the rage of the battle, and terrible the clanging of arms. +Loud were the shouts of the mighty, like the wide scatter'd thunder of +Lora, +When its voice is return'd from the rocks, and it strengthens in its broad +spreading course. +Heavy were the groans of the dying; the voice of the fallen was sad, +Like the deep 'prison'd winds of the cavern, when the roar of the tempest +is laid. +The sons of Ithona were terrible: the enemy fled from before them, +Like the dark gather'd fowls of the ocean, that flock to the shore ere a +storm. +They fled from the might of their foes, and the darkness of night clos'd +around them. + +Cold rose the wind of the desert, and blew o'er the dark bloody field. +Sad was its voice on the heath, where it lifted the locks of the dead. +Hollow roar'd the sea at a distance: the ghosts of the slain shriek'd +aloud. +Pale shady forms stalk'd around, and their airy swords gleam'd thro' the +night; +For the spirits of warriours departed came born on the deep rushing blast; +There hail'd they their new fallen sons, and the sound of their meeting +was terrible. +At a distance was gather'd Ithona round many a bright flaming oak; +Till morning rose red o'er the main, like a new bloody field of battle. + +Lochallen assembled his heroes; they rang'd o'er the land of their enemy. +But they found not the king in the field; and the walls of his strength +were deserted. +Then spoke the friend of his bosom, the dark haired chief of Trevallen; +Why seek you the king in his tow'rs? he is fled to the caves of his fear. +Let us fly, said the chief of Ithona, let us fly to the daughter of Lorma! +Let us fight with man in the field, but pull not a deer from his den. + +Two days they buried their dead, and rais'd their memorial on high. +On the third day they loosen'd their vessels, and left the blue isle of +their fame. +The darkness of night was around when the bay of Arthula receiv'd them. +Thick beat the joy of his bosom, as he drew near the place of his love; +But the strength of his limbs was unloos'd, as he trode on the dark +sounding shore. +Thou did'st promise, O maid of my soul! thou did'st promise to watch for +thy love! +But no kindly messenger waits to hail my return from the war. +The tow'r of Arthula is dark; and I hear not the sound of its hall. +The watch dog howls to the night, nor heeds the approach of our feet. +He seized a bright flaming brand, and he hasten'd his steps to the tow'r. +Wide stood the black low'ring gate; and deep was the silence within. +Hollow and loud rung his steps, as he trode thro' the dark empty hall. +He flew to the bow'r of his love; it was still as the chamber of death. +His eyes search'd wildly around him; he call'd on the name of his love; +But his own voice returned alone from the deep-sounding walls of the +tow'r. +He leant with his back to the wall, and cross'd his arms over his breast. +Heavy sunk his head on his shoulder: the blue flame burnt double before +him. +A voice, like the evening breeze when it steals down the bed of the river, +Came softly and sad to his ear, and he raised his drooping head. +The form of his love stood before him: yet it was not the form of his +love; +For fixed and dim was her eye, and the beams of her beauty were fled. +She was pale as the white frozen lake, when it gleams to the light of the +moon. +Her garments were heavy and drench'd, and the streams trickled fast from +her hair. +She was like a snow-crusted tree in winter, when it drops to the mid-day +sun. +O seek not for me, son of Moro, in the light cheerful dwellings of men! +For low is my bed in the deep, and cold is the place of my rest. +The sea monster sports by my side, and the water-snake twines round my +neck. +But do not forget me, Lochallen: O think on the days of our love! +I sat on the high rocky shore, mine eyes look'd afar o'er the ocean. +I saw two dark ships on the waves, and quick beat the joy of my breast. +One vessel drew near to the shore, and six warriours leapt from its side. +I hasten'd to meet thee, my love; but mine ear met the stern voice of +Uthal. +I thought that my hero was slain, and I felt me alone in my weakness. +I felt me deserted and lonely: I flew to the steep hanging rock: +I threw my robe over my head; and I hid me in the dark closing deep. +Yet O do not leave me, Lochallen, to waste in my watery bed! +But raise me a tomb on the hill, where the daughter of Lorma should lie. +The voice of her sorrow did cease; and her form passed quickly away. +It pass'd like the pale shiv'ring light, that is lost in the dark closing +cloud. + +But, lo! the first light of the morning is red on the skirts of the +heavens. +Let us go on my journey, my son, for the length of the heath is before us. + +ALLEN. +It is not the light of the morn which thou see'st on the skirts of the +heavens; +It is but a clear shiv'ring brightness, that changes its hue to the night. +I have seen it like a bloody-spread robe when it hung o'er the waves of +the North. +Sad was the fate of his love, but how fell the king of Ithona? +I have heard of the strength of his arm; did he fall in the battle of +heroes? + +LATHMOR. +He fell in the strength of his youth, but he fell not in battle, my son. +He knew not the sword of a foe, yet he died not the death of the peaceful. +They carried them both to the hill, but the place of their rest is +unknown. + +ALLEN. +But feeble and spent is thy voice, thou grey haired bard of the hill. + +LATHMOR. +Long is this song of the night, and I feel not the strength of my youth. + +ALLEN. +Then let us go on our way: let us go by the way of the heath. +For it is the fair light of the morning which thou see'st on the far +bounding waves. +Slowly it grows in its beauty, and promises good to the traveller. +Red are the small broken clouds that hang on the skirts of the heavens. +Deep glows the clear open sky with the light of the yet hidden sun, +Save where the dark narrow cloud hath stretched its vast length o'er the +heavens; +And the clear ruddy brightness behind it looks fair thro' its blue +streaming lines. +A bloom like the far distant heath is dark on the wide roving clouds. +The broad wavy breast of the ocean is grand in the beauty of morning. +Thick rests the white settled mist on the deep rugged clifts of the shore; +And the grey rocks look dimly between, like the high distant isles in a +calm. +But grim low'r the walks of Arthula; the light of the morn is behind them. + + +LATHMOR. +Dark low'rs the tow'r of Arthula: the time of its glory is past. +The valiant have ceas'd from its hall; and the son of the stranger is +there. +The works of the mighty remain, but they are the vapour of morning. + + + +A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT. + +Now in thy dazzling half-op'd eye, +Thy curled nose, and lip awry, +Thy up-hoist arms, and noddling head, +And little chin with crystal spread, +Poor helpless thing! what do I see, + That I should sing of thee? + +From thy poor tongue no accents come, +Which can but rub thy toothless gum: +Small understanding boast thy face, +Thy shapeless limbs nor step, nor grace: +A few short words thy feats may tell, + And yet I love thee well. + +When sudden wakes the bitter shriek, +And redder swells thy little cheek; +When rattled keys thy woe beguile, +And thro' the wet eye gleams the smile, +Still for thy weakly self is spent + Thy little silly plaint. + +But when thy friends are in distress, +Thou'lt laugh and chuckle ne'er the less; +Nor e'en with sympathy be smitten, +Tho' all are sad but thee and kitten; +Yet little varlet that thou art, + Thou twitchest at the heart. + +Thy rosy cheek so soft and warm; +Thy pinky hand, and dimpled arm; +Thy silken locks that scantly peep, +With gold-tip'd ends, where circle deep +Around thy neck in harmless grace +So soft and sleekly hold their place, +Might harder hearts with kindness fill, + And gain our right good will. + +Each passing clown bestows his blessing, +Thy mouth is worn with old wives' kissing: +E'en lighter looks the gloomy eye +Of surly sense, when thou art by; +And yet I think whoe'er they be, + They love thee not like me. + +Perhaps when time shall add a few +Short years to thee, thou'lt love me too. +Then wilt thou thro' life's weary way +Become my sure and cheering stay: +Wilt care, for me, and be my hold, + When I am weak and old. + +Thou'lt listen to my lengthen'd tale, +And pity me when I am frail-- +But see, the sweepy spinning fly +Upon the window takes thine eye. +Go to thy little senseless play-- + Thou doest not heed my lay. + + + +A CHILD TO HIS SICK GRANDFATHER. + +Grand-dad, they say your old and frail, +Your stocked legs begin to fail: +Your knobbed stick (that was my horse) +Can scarce support your bended corse; +While back to wall, you lean so sad, + I'm vex'd to see you, dad. + +You us'd to smile, and stroke my head, +And tell me how good children did; +But now I wot not how it be, +You take me seldom on your knee; +Yet ne'ertheless I am right glad + To sit beside you, dad. + +How lank and thin your beard hangs down! +Scant are the white hairs on your crown: +How wan and hollow are your cheeks! +Your brow is rough with crossing breaks; +But yet, for all his strength is fled, + I love my own old dad. + +The housewives round their potions brew, +And gossips come to ask for you: +And for your weal each neighbour cares, +And good men kneel, and say their pray'rs: +And ev'ry body looks so sad, + When you are ailing, dad. + +You will not die, and leave us then? +Rouse up and be our dad again. +When you are quiet and laid in bed, +We'll doff our shoes and softly tread; +And when you wake we'll aye be near, + To fill old dad his cheer. + +When thro' the house you shift your stand, +I'll lead you kindly by the hand: +When dinner's set, I'll with you bide, +And aye be serving by your side: +And when the weary fire burns blue, + I'll sit and talk with you. + +I have a tale both long and good, +About a partlet and her brood; +And cunning greedy fox, that stole, +By dead of midnight thro' a hole, +Which slyly to the hen-roost led-- + You love a story, dad? + +And then I have a wond'rous tale +Of men all clad in coats of mail. +With glitt'ring swords----you nod, I think? +Your fixed eyes begin to wink: +Down on your bosom sinks your head: +You do not hear me, dad. + + + +THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER. + +Brac'd in the sinewy vigour of thy breed, +In pride of gen'rous strength, thou stately steed, +Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given, +Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven. +Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break; +Graceful the rising of thine arched neck. +White churning foam thy chaffed bits enlock; +And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke. +Thy kindling eye-balls brave the glaring south; +And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth: +Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend, +Thy sweepy tail involv'd in clouds of sand; +Erect in air thou rear'st thy front of pride, +And ring'st the plated harness on thy side. +But, lo! what creature, goodly to the sight, +Dares thus bestride thee, chaffing in thy might? +Of portly stature, and determin'd mien? +Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene? +And forward looks unmov'd to fields of death: +And smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath? +Whose brandish'd falch'on dreaded gleams afar? +It is a British soldier, arm'd for war! + + +FINIS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, &c. 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