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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/18915-0.txt b/18915-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a36d03b --- /dev/null +++ b/18915-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13405 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. 1, by William Lisle Bowles + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. 1 +With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes by George Gilfillan + +Author: William Lisle Bowles + +Editor: George Gilfillan + +Release Date: July 26, 2006 [eBook #18915] +[Most recently updated: October 17, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: richyfourtytwo, Leonard Johnson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES *** + + + + +THE + +POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES, + +CANON OF ST PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, AND RECTOR OF BREMHILL. + + +With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and +Explanatory Notes, + +BY THE + +REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + +VOL. I. + + +EDINBURGH: +JAMES NICHOL, 9 NORTH BANK STREET. +LONDON: JAMES NISBET AND CO. +DUBLIN: W. ROBERTSON. + +M.DCCC.LV. + + + + +EDINBURGH: +PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, +PAUL'S WORK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +SONNETS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + + PAGE + +SONNETS:-- + +At Tynemouth Priory, after a Tempestuous Voyage 7 +Bamborough Castle 8 +The River Wainsbeck 8 +The Tweed Visited 9 +On leaving a Village in Scotland 9 +Evening 10 +To the River Itchin 11 +On Resigning a Scholarship of Trinity College, Oxford, and Retiring + to a Country Curacy 11 +Dover Cliffs 12 +On Landing at Ostend 12 +The Bells of Ostend 13 +The Rhine 13 +Influence of Time on Grief 14 +The Convent 14 +The River Cherwell 15 +On Entering Switzerland 15 +Distant View of England from the Sea 16 +Hope 16 +To a Friend 17 +Absence 17 +Bereavement 18 +Oxford Revisited 19 +In Memoriam 19 +On the Death of the Rev. William Benwell, M.A. 20 +At Malvern 20 +Netley Abbey 21 +Associations 21 +Music 22 +Approach of Summer 22 +At Oxford, 1786 23 +At Dover, 1786 23 +Retrospection 24 +On Accidentally Meeting a Lady, now no more 24 +On hearing "The Messiah" performed in Gloucester + Cathedral, Sept. 18, 1835 25 +Woodspring Abbey, 1836 26 +Lacock Nunnery, 1837 26 +On a Beautiful Landscape 27 +Art and Nature: the Bridge between Clifton and Leigh + Woods 27 +Picture of an Old Man 28 +Picture of a Young Lady 29 +Hour-glass and Bible 29 +Milton. Two Sonnets on the bust of Milton, in Youth and + Age, at Stourhead 30 +To Sir Walter Scott 31 + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:-- + +Elegy written at the Hotwells, Bristol 32 +Monody on Henry Headley 36 +Howard's Account of Lazarettos 37 +The Grave of Howard 42 +Shakspeare 46 +Abbe Thule's Lament for his Son Prince Le Boo 49 +Southampton Water 51 +The Philanthropic Society 52 +The Dying Slave 58 +Song of the American Indian 60 +Monody, written at Matlock 61 +The Right Honourable Edmund Burke 67 +On Leaving a Place of Residence 72 +Elegiac Stanzas written during Sickness at Bath 73 +On leaving Winchester School 77 +Hope: an Allegorical Sketch 77 +The Battle of the Nile 88 +A Garden-Seat at Home 94 +In Horto Rev. J. Still 95 +Greenwich Hospital 95 +A Rustic Seat near the Sea 96 +Wardour Castle 96 +Pole-vellum, Cornwall 97 +On a Beautiful Spring 98 +On a Cenotaph to the Memory of Lieut-Col. Isaac 99 +Translation of a Latin Poem, by Rev. Newton Ogle 100 +St Michael's Mount 101 +On an Unfortunate and Beautiful Woman 111 +Hymn to Woden 113 +Coombe-Ellen 115 +Summer Evening at Home 125 +Winter Evening at Home 126 +The Spirit of Navigation 127 +Water-party on Beaulieu River, in the New Forest 134 +Monody on the Death of Dr Warton 135 +Epitaph on H. Walmsley, Esq., in Alverstoke{a} Church, + Hants 141 +Age 142 +On a Landscape by Rubens 142 +The Harp, and Despair, of Cowper 151 +Stanzas for Music 152 +Music 152 +Absence 153 +Fairy Sketch 154 +Inscription 155 +Pictures from Theocritus 156 +Sketches in the Exhibition, 1805 161 +Do. in the Exhibition, 1807 162 +Southampton Castle 164 +The Winds 166 +On William Sommers of Bremhill 169 +The Visionary Boy 170 +Cadland, Southampton River 180 +The Last Song of Camoens 182 +The Sylph of Summer 184 +The Harp of Hoel 201 +Avenue in Savernake Forest 215 +Dirge of Nelson 216 +Death of Captain Cooke, of "The Bellerophon" 217 +Battle of Corruna 218 +Sketch from Bowden Hill after Sickness 219 +Sun-Dial in the Churchyard of Bremhill 223 + + +THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY: + +A Descriptive and Historical Poem 225 +Book the First 231 +Book the Second 245 +Book the Third 258 +Book the Fourth 266 +Book the Fifth 285 + +THE MISSIONARY 295 +Introduction 297 +Canto First 298 +Canto Second 309 +Canto Third 318 +Canto Fourth 330 +Canto Fifth 339 +Canto Sixth 344 +Canto Seventh 350 +Canton Eighth 359 + +_The Memoir and Critical Dissertation being unavoidably delayed, will be +prefixed to Vol. II._ + + + + +PREFACE. + + +A Ninth Edition of the following Poems having been called for by the +public, the author is induced to say a few words, particularly +concerning those which, under the name of Sonnets, describe his personal +feelings. + +They can be considered in no other light than as exhibiting occasional +reflections which naturally arose in his mind, chiefly during various +excursions, undertaken to relieve, at the time, depression of spirits. +They were, therefore, in general, suggested by the scenes before them; +and wherever such scenes appeared to harmonise with his disposition at +the moment, the sentiments were involuntarily prompted. + +Numberless poetical trifles of the same kind have occurred to him, when +perhaps, in his solitary rambles, he has been "chewing the cud of sweet +and bitter fancy;" but they have been forgotten as he left the places +which gave rise to them; and the greater part of those originally +committed to the press were written down, for the first time, from +memory. + +This is nothing to the public; but it may serve in some measure to +obviate the common remark on melancholy poetry, that it has been very +often gravely composed, when possibly the heart of the writer had very +little share in the distress he chose to describe. + +But there is a great difference between _natural_ and _fabricated_ +feelings, even in poetry. To which of these two characters the poems +before the reader belong, the author leaves those who have felt +sensations of sorrow to judge. + +They who know him, know the occasions of them to have been real; to the +public he might only mention the sudden death of a deserving young +woman, with whom, + + ... _Sperabat longos heu! ducere soles, + Et fido acclinis consenuisse sinu._[1] + + DONHEAD, _April 1805._ + +[1] The early editions of these Sonnets, 1791, were dedicated to the +Reverend Newton Ogle, D.D., Dean of Winchester. + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE EDITION OF 1837. + + +To account for the variations which may be remarked in this last edition +of my Sonnets, from that which was first published fifty years ago, it +may be proper to state, that to the best of my recollection, they now +appear nearly as they were originally composed in my solitary hours; +when, in youth a wanderer among distant scenes, I sought forgetfulness +of the first disappointment in early affections. + +Delicacy even now, though the grave has long closed over the beloved +object, would forbid entering on a detail of the peculiar circumstances +in early life, and the anguish which occasioned these poetical +meditations. In fact, I never thought of writing them down at the time, +and many had escaped my recollection;[2] but three years after my return +to England, on my way to the banks of Cherwell, where + + "I bade the pipe farewell, and that sad lay + Whose music, on my melancholy way, + I wooed," + +passing through Bath, I wrote down all I could recollect of these +effusions, most elaborately _mending_ the versification from the natural +flow of music in which they occurred to me, and having thus _corrected_ +and written them out, took them myself to the late Mr Cruttwell, with +the name of "Fourteen Sonnets, written chiefly on Picturesque Spots +during a Journey." + +I had three times knocked at this amiable printer's door, whose kind +smile I still recollect; and at last, with much hesitation, ventured to +unfold my message; it was to inquire whether he would give any thing for +"Fourteen Sonnets," to be published with or without the name.[3] He at +once declined the purchase, and informed me he doubted very much whether +the publication would repay the expense of printing, which would come to +about five pounds. It was at last determined one hundred copies, in +quarto, should be published as a kind of "forlorn hope;" and these +"Fourteen Sonnets" I left to their fate and thought no more of getting +rich by poetry! In fact, I owed the most I ever owed at Oxford, at this +time, namely, seventy pounds;[4] and knowing my father's large family +and trying circumstances, and those of my poor mother, I shrunk from +asking more money when I left home, and went back with a heavy heart to +Oxford, under the conscious weight, that my poetic scheme failing, I had +no means of paying Parsons, the mercer's, bill! This was the origin of +the publication. + +As this plain account is so connected with whatever may be my name in +criticism and poetry, it is hoped it will be pardoned. + +All thoughts of succeeding as a poet were now abandoned; but, half a +year afterwards, I received a letter from the printer informing me that +the hundred copies were all sold, adding, that if I had published FIVE +HUNDRED copies, he had no doubt they would have been sold also. + +This, in my then situation, my father now dead, and my mother a widow +with seven children, and with a materially reduced income (from the loss +of the rectories of Uphill and Brean in Somerset), was gratifying +indeed; all my golden dreams of poetical success were renewed;--the +number of the sonnets first published was increased, and five hundred +copies, by the congratulating printer, with whose family I have lived in +kindest amity from that hour, were recommended to issue from the press +of the editor of the _Bath Chronicle_. + +But this was not all, the five hundred copies were sold to great +advantage, for it was against my will that _five hundred_ copies should +be printed, till the printer told me he would take the risk on himself, +on the usual terms, at that time, of bookseller and author. + +Soon afterwards, it was agreed that _seven hundred and fifty_ copies +should be printed, in a smaller and elegant size. I had received +Coleridge's warm testimony; but soon after this third edition came out, +my friend, Mr Cruttwell, the printer, wrote a letter saying that two +young gentlemen, strangers, one a particularly handsome and pleasing +youth, lately from Westminster School, and both literary and +intelligent, spoke in high commendation of my volume, and if I recollect +right, expressed a desire to have some poems printed in the same type +and form. Who these young men were I knew not at the time, but the +communication of the circumstance was to me most gratifying; and how +much more gratifying, when, from one of them, after he himself had +achieved the fame of one of the most virtuous and eloquent of the +writers in his generation, I received a first visit at my parsonage in +Wiltshire upwards of forty years afterwards! It was ROBERT SOUTHEY. We +parted in my garden last year, when stealing time and sorrow had marked +his still manly, but most interesting countenance.[5]--Therefore, + + + TO + + ROBERT SOUTHEY, + + WHO HAS EXHIBITED IN HIS PROSE WORKS, AS IN HIS LIFE, + + THE PURITY AND VIRTUES OF ADDISON AND LOCKE, + + AND IN HIS POETRY THE IMAGINATION + + AND SOUL OF SPENSER, + + THESE POEMS, + + WITH EVERY AFFECTIONATE PRAYER, ARE INSCRIBED + + BY + + HIS SINCERE FRIEND, + + WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES. + +[2] I confined myself to fourteen lines, because fourteen lines seemed +best adapted to unity of sentiment. I thought nothing about the strict +Italian model; the verses naturally flowed in unpremeditated harmony, as +my ear directed, but the slightest inspection will prove they were far +from being mere elegiac couplets. The subjects were chiefly from river +scenery, and the reader will recollect what Sir Humphrey Davy has said +on this subject so beautifully; it will be recollected, also, that they +were published ten years before those of Mr Wordsworth on the river +Duddon, Yarrow, _et cet._ There have been many claimants, among modern +poets, for the laurel of the sonnet, but, in picturesque description, +sentiment, and harmony, I know none superior to those of my friend the +Rev. Charles Hoyle, on scenery in Scotland, the mountains of Ben Nevis, +Loch Lomond, _et cet._ + +[3] To account for the present variations, some remained as originally +with their natural pauses, others for the press I thought it best to +correct into verse less broken, and now, after fifty years, they are +recorrected, and restored, I believe, more nearly to the original shape +in which they were first meditated. + +[4] I hoped by my Sonnets to pay this vast debt. + +[5] His companion, Mr Lovel, died in youth. + + + + +SONNETS, ETC. + + +AT TYNEMOUTH PRIORY,[6] + +AFTER A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE. + + As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, + Much musing on the track of terror past, + When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast, + Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide + That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam + Of evening smiles on the gray battlement, + And yon forsaken tower that time has rent:-- + The lifted oar far off with transient gleam + Is touched, and hushed is all the billowy deep! + Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's breast + A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest; + While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep, + Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre, + Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire! + +[6] The remains of this monastery are situated on a lofty point, on the +north side of the entrance into the river Tyne, about a mile and a half +below North Shields. The rock on which the monastery stood rendered it +visible at sea a long way off, in every direction, whence it presented +itself as if exhorting the seamen in danger to make their vows, and +promise masses and presents to the Virgin Mary and St Oswin for their +deliverance. + + +BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.[7] + + Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep, + Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime, + Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time + Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep + Round your dark battlements; for far from halls + Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat, + Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat + With hollow bodings round your ancient walls; + And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour + Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high, + Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower, + And turns her ear to each expiring cry; + Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save, + And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave. + +[7] This ancient castle, with its extensive domains, heretofore the +property of the family of Forster, whose heiress married Lord Crewe, +Bishop of Durham, is appropriated by the will of that pious prelate to +many benevolent purposes; particularly to that of administering instant +relief to such shipwrecked mariners as may happen to be cast upon this +dangerous coast; for whose preservation and that of their vessels every +possible assistance is contrived, and is at all times ready. The estate +is in the hands of trustees appointed under the Bishop's will. + + +THE RIVER WAINSBECK.[8] + + While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream, + WAINSBECK, the mossy-scattered rocks among, + In fancy's ear making a plaintive song + To the dark woods above, that waving seem + To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed + From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind, + And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined + O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!-- + Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown, + To him who passes weary on his way;-- + Yet recreated here he may delay + A while to thank you; and when years have flown, + And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew, + In the world's crowd he will remember you. + +[8] The Wainsbeck is a sequestered river in Northumberland, having on +its banks "Our Lady's Chapel," three-quarters of a mile west of Bothal. +It has been commemorated by Akenside. + + +THE TWEED VISITED. + + O Tweed! a stranger, that with wandering feet + O'er hill and dale has journeyed many a mile, + (If so his weary thoughts he might beguile), + Delighted turns thy stranger-stream to greet. + The waving branches that romantic bend + O'er thy tall banks a soothing charm bestow; + The murmurs of thy wandering wave below + Seem like the converse of some long-lost friend. + Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, + When spring returns in all her wonted pride, + The distant pastoral pipe is heard no more;[9] + Yet here while laverocks sing could I abide, + Far from the stormy world's contentious roar, + To muse upon thy banks at eventide. + +[9] Alluding to the simple and affecting pastoral strains for which +Scotland has been so long celebrated. I need not mention Lochaber, the +Braes of Bellendine, Tweedside, _et cet._ + + +ON LEAVING A VILLAGE IN SCOTLAND. + + Clysdale! as thy romantic vales I leave, + And bid farewell to each retiring hill, + Where musing memory seems to linger still, + Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve + That, mingled with the toiling crowd, no more + I may return your varied views to mark, + Of rocks amid the sunshine towering dark, + Of rivers winding wild,[10] or mountains hoar, + Or castle gleaming on the distant steep!-- + Yet many a look back on thy hills I cast, + And many a softened image of the past + Sadly combine, and bid remembrance keep, + To soothe me with fair scenes, and fancies rude, + When I pursue my path in solitude. + +[10] There is a wildness almost fantastic in the view of the river from +Stirling Castle, the course of which is seen for many miles, making a +thousand turnings. + + +EVENING. + + Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend, + Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, + The lonely, battlement, the farthest hill + And wood, I think of those who have no friend; + Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led, + From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts, + Retiring, wander to the ring-dove's haunts + Unseen; and watch the tints that o'er thy bed + Hang lovely; oft to musing Fancy's eye + Presenting fairy vales, where the tired mind + Might rest beyond the murmurs of mankind, + Nor hear the hourly moans of misery! + Alas for man! that Hope's fair views the while + Should smile like you, and perish as they smile! + + +TO THE RIVER ITCHIN.[11] + + Itchin! when I behold thy banks again, + Thy crumbling margin, and thy silver breast, + On which the self-same tints still seem to rest, + Why feels my heart a shivering sense of pain! + Is it, that many a summer's day has past + Since, in life's morn, I carolled on thy side! + Is it, that oft since then my heart has sighed, + As Youth, and Hope's delusive gleams, flew fast! + Is it, that those who gathered on thy shore, + Companions of my youth, now meet no more! + Whate'er the cause, upon thy banks I bend, + Sorrowing; yet feel such solace at my heart, + As at the meeting of some long-lost friend, + From whom, in happier hours, we wept to part. + +[11] The Itchin is a river running from Winchester to Southampton, the +banks of which have been the scene of many _a holiday sport_. The lines +were composed on an evening in a journey from Oxford to Southampton, the +first time I had seen the Itchin since I left school. + + +ON RESIGNING A SCHOLARSHIP OF TRINITY COLLEGE, OXFORD, + +AND RETIRING TO A COUNTRY CURACY. + + Farewell! a long farewell! O Poverty, + Affection's fondest dream how hast thou reft! + But though, on thy stern brow no trace is left + Of youthful joys, that on the cold heart die, + With thee a sad companionship I seek, + Content, if poor;--for patient wretchedness, + Tearful, but uncomplaining of distress, + Who turns to the rude storm her faded cheek; + And Piety, who never told her wrong; + And calm Content, whose griefs no more rebel; + And Genius, warbling sweet, his saddest song, + When evening listens to some village knell,-- + Long banished from the world's insulting throng;-- + With thee, and thy unfriended children dwell. + + +DOVER CLIFFS. + + On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood + Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet + Hear not the surge that has for ages beat, + How many a lonely wanderer has stood! + And, whilst the lifted murmur met his ear, + And o'er the distant billows the still eve + Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave + To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear; + Of social scenes, from which he wept to part! + Oh! if, like me, he knew how fruitless all + The thoughts that would full fain the past recall, + Soon would he quell the risings of his heart, + And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide-- + The World his country, and his GOD his guide. + + +ON LANDING AT OSTEND. + + The orient beam illumes the parting oar;-- + From yonder azure track, emerging white, + The earliest sail slow gains upon the sight, + And the blue wave comes rippling to the shore. + Meantime far off the rear of darkness flies: + Yet 'mid the beauties of the morn, unmoved, + Like one for ever torn from all he loved, + Back o'er the deep I turn my longing eyes, + And chide the wayward passions that rebel: + Yet boots it not to think, or to complain, + Musing sad ditties to the reckless main. + To dreams like these, adieu! the pealing bell + Speaks of the hour that stays not--and the day + To life's sad turmoil calls my heart away. + + 1787. + + +THE BELLS, OSTEND.[12] + + How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal! + As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze + Breathes on the trembling sense of pale disease, + So piercing to my heart their force I feel! + And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall! + And now, along the white and level tide, + They fling their melancholy music wide; + Bidding me many a tender thought recall + Of summer-days, and those delightful years + When from an ancient tower, in life's fair prime, + The mournful magic of their mingling chime + First waked my wondering childhood into tears! + But seeming now, when all those days are o'er, + The sounds of joy once heard, and heard no more. + + 1787. + +[12] Written on landing at Ostend, and hearing, very early in the +morning, the carillons. + + +THE RHINE. + + 'Twas morn, and beauteous on the mountain's brow + (Hung with the clusters of the bending vine) + Shone in the early light, when on the Rhine + We bounded, and the white waves round the prow + In murmurs parted:--varying as we go, + Lo! the woods open, and the rocks retire, + As some gray convent-wall or glistening spire + 'Mid the bright landscape's track unfolding slow! + Here dark, with furrowed aspect, like Despair, + Frowns the bleak cliff! There on the woodland's side + The shadowy sunshine pours its streaming tide; + Whilst Hope, enchanted with the scene so fair, + Counts not the hours of a long summer's day, + Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away. + + +INFLUENCE OF TIME ON GRIEF. + + O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay + Softest on Sorrow's wound, and slowly thence + (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) + The faint pang stealest unperceived away; + On thee I rest my only hope at last, + And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear + That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, + I may look back on every sorrow past, + And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile:-- + As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, + Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower + Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:-- + Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure, + Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure! + + +THE CONVENT. + + If chance some pensive stranger, hither led, + His bosom glowing from majestic views, + Temple and tower 'mid the bright landscape's hues, + Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed? + A maid of sorrow. To the cloistered scene, + Unknown and beautiful a mourner came, + Seeking with unseen tears to quench the flame + Of hapless love: yet was her look serene + As the pale moonlight in the midnight aisle;-- + Her voice was gentle and a charm could lend, + Like that which spoke of a departed friend; + And a meek sadness sat upon her smile!-- + Now, far removed from every earthly ill, + Her woes are buried, and her heart is still. + + +THE RIVER CHERWELL. + + Cherwell! how pleased along thy willowed edge + Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began + To tinge the distant turret's golden fan, + Or evening glimmered o'er the sighing sedge! + And now reposing on thy banks once more, + I bid the lute farewell, and that sad lay + Whose music on my melancholy way + I wooed: beneath thy willows waving hoar, + Seeking a while to rest--till the bright sun + Of joy return; as when Heaven's radiant Bow + Beams on the night-storm's passing wings below: + Whate'er betide, yet something have I won + Of solace, that may bear me on serene, + Till eve's last hush shall close the silent scene. + + +ON ENTERING SWITZERLAND. + + Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day + I journey on, yet pensive turn to view, + Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue, + The streams, and vales, and hills, that steal away. + So fares it with the children of the earth: + For when life's goodly prospect opens round, + Their spirits burn to tread that fairy ground, + Where every vale sounds to the pipe of mirth. + But them, alas! the dream of youth beguiles, + And soon a longing look, like me, they cast + Back on the mountains of the morning past: + Yet Hope still beckons us, and beckoning smiles, + And to a brighter world her view extends, + When earth's long darkness on her path descends. + + +DISTANT VIEW OF ENGLAND FROM THE SEA. + + Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start, + As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight + Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white + Above the wave, once more my beating heart + With eager hope and filial transport hails! + Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring, + As when erewhile the tuneful morn of spring + Joyous awoke amidst your hawthorn vales, + And filled with fragrance every village lane: + Fled are those hours, and all the joys they gave! + Yet still I gaze, and count each rising wave + That bears me nearer to my home again; + If haply, 'mid those woods and vales so fair, + Stranger to Peace, I yet may meet her there. + + +HOPE. + + As one who, long by wasting sickness worn, + Weary has watched the lingering night, and heard + Unmoved the carol of the matin bird + Salute his lonely porch; now first at morn + Goes forth, leaving his melancholy bed; + He the green slope and level meadow views, + Delightful bathed with slow-ascending dews; + Or marks the clouds, that o'er the mountain's head + In varying forms fantastic wander white; + Or turns his ear to every random song, + Heard the green river's winding marge along, + The whilst each sense is steeped in still delight. + So o'er my breast young Summer's breath I feel, + Sweet Hope! thy fragrance pure and healing incense steal! + + +TO A FRIEND. + + Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng! + Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears; + To busy phantasies, and boding fears, + Lest ill betide thee; but 'twill not be long + Ere the hard season shall be past; till then + Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade + Remembering, and these trees now left to fade; + Nor, 'mid the busy scenes and hum of men, + Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness + To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow, + Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow + Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless + That shall restore thee from the crowd again, + To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain. + + 1792. + + +ABSENCE. + + There is strange music in the stirring wind, + When lowers the autumnal eve, and all alone + To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone, + Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined + Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere. + If in such shades, beneath their murmuring, + Thou late hast passed the happier hours of spring, + With sadness thou wilt mark the fading year; + Chiefly if one, with whom such sweets at morn + Or evening thou hast shared, afar shall stray. + O Spring, return! return, auspicious May! + But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn, + If she return not with thy cheering ray, + Who from these shades is gone, far, far away. + + +BEREAVEMENT. + + Whose was that gentle voice, that, whispering sweet, + Promised methought long days of bliss sincere! + Soothing it stole on my deluded ear, + Most like soft music, that might sometimes cheat + Thoughts dark and drooping! 'Twas the voice of Hope. + Of love, and social scenes, it seemed to speak, + Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek; + That, oh! poor friend, might to life's downward slope + Lead us in peace, and bless our latest hours. + Ah me! the prospect saddened as she sung; + Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung; + Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers, + Whilst Horror, pointing to yon breathless clay, + "No peace be thine," exclaimed, "away, away!" + + 1793. + + +OXFORD REVISITED. + + I never hear the sound of thy glad bells, + Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say, + Sighing to think how time has worn away, + Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells, + Heard after years of absence, from the vale + Where Cherwell winds. Most true it speaks the tale + Of days departed, and its voice recalls + Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide + Of life, and many friends now scattered wide + By many fates. Peace be within thy walls! + I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet, + Denied the joys sought in thy shades,--denied + Each better hope, since my poor Harriet died, + What I have owed to thee, my heart can ne'er forget! + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + How blessed with thee the path could I have trod + Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate, + (And little wishing more) nor of the great + Envious, or their proud name; but it pleased GOD + To take thee to his mercy: thou didst go + In youth and beauty to thy cold death-bed; + Even whilst on dreams of bliss we fondly fed, + Of years to come of comfort! Be it so. + Ere this I have felt sorrow; and even now, + Though sometimes the unbidden tear will start, + And half unman the miserable heart, + The cold dew I shall wipe from my sad brow, + And say, since hopes of bliss on earth are vain, + Best friend, farewell, till we do meet again! + + +ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. WILLIAM BENWELL, M.A.[13] + + Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink + Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice + Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice, + Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think + That thou, my friend, wouldst the first victim fall + To the stern King of Terrors! Thou didst fly, + By pity prompted, at the poor man's cry; + And soon thyself were stretched beneath the pall, + Livid infection's prey. The deep distress + Of her, who best thy inmost bosom knew, + To whom thy faith was vowed; thy soul was true, + What powers of faltering language shall express? + As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own, + And sorrowing say, Pure spirit, thou art gone! + +[13] An accomplished young friend of the author--a poet and a scholar, +formerly fellow of Trinity College, Oxford--who died of a typhus fever, +caught in administering the sacrament to one of his parishioners. Mr +Benwell had only been married eleven weeks when he died. + + +AT MALVERN. + + I shall behold far off thy towering crest, + Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray + Down through the distant vale my homeward way, + I shall behold upon thy rugged breast, + The parting sun sit smiling: me the while + Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness + May visit, as life's bitter losses press + Hard on my bosom; but I shall beguile + The thing I am, and think, that ev'n as thou + Dost lift in the pale beam thy forehead high, + Proud mountain! whilst the scattered vapours fly + Unheeded round thy breast,--so, with calm brow, + The shades of sorrow I may meet, and wear + The smile unchanged of peace, though pressed by care! + + +NETLEY ABBEY. + + Fall'n pile! I ask not what has been thy fate; + But when the winds, slow wafted from the main, + Through each rent arch, like spirits that complain, + Come hollow to my ear, I meditate + On this world's passing pageant, and the lot + Of those who once majestic in their prime + Stood smiling at decay, till bowed by time + Or injury, their early boast forgot, + They may have fall'n like thee! Pale and forlorn, + Their brow, besprent with thin hairs, white as snow, + They lift, still unsubdued, as they would scorn + This short-lived scene of vanity and woe; + Whilst on their sad looks smilingly they bear + The trace of creeping age, and the pale hue of care! + + +ASSOCIATIONS. + + As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds, + Still on that vision which is flown I dwell, + On images I loved, alas, too well! + Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds + Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep + Such recollections, painful though they seem, + And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream + I start, and find them not; then I could weep + To think how Fortune blights the fairest flowers; + To think how soon life's first endearments fail, + And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale, + Who, like a flatterer, when the happiest hours + Pass, and when most we call on her to stay, + Will fly, as faithless and as fleet as they! + + +MUSIC. + + O harmony! thou tenderest nurse of pain, + If that thy note's sweet magic e'er can heal + Griefs which the patient spirit oft may feel, + Oh! let me listen to thy songs again; + Till memory her fairest tints shall bring; + Hope wake with brighter eye, and listening seem + With smiles to think on some delightful dream, + That waved o'er the charmed sense its gladsome wing! + For when thou leadest all thy soothing strains + More smooth along, the silent passions meet + In one suspended transport, sad and sweet; + And nought but sorrow's softest touch remains; + That, when the transitory charm is o'er, + Just wakes a tear, and then is felt no more. + + +APPROACH OF SUMMER. + + How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill + My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide + First came, and on the Coomb's romantic side + Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow bill! + Fresh flowers shall fringe the margin of the stream, + As with the songs of joyance and of hope + The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope + The poplars sparkle in the passing beam; + The shrubs and laurels that I loved to tend, + Thinking their May-tide fragrance would delight, + With many a peaceful charm, thee, my poor friend, + Shall put forth their green shoots, and cheer the sight! + But I shall mark their hues with sadder eyes, + And weep the more for one who in the cold earth lies! + + +AT OXFORD, 1786. + + Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams, + Which won my heart, or when the gay career + Of life begun, or when at times a tear + Sat sad on memory's cheek--though loftier themes + Await the awakened mind to the high prize + Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain, + Aspiring patient; yet on life's wide plain + Left fatherless, where many a wanderer sighs + Hourly, and oft our road is lone and long, + 'Twere not a crime should we a while delay + Amid the sunny field; and happier they + Who, as they journey, woo the charm of song, + To cheer their way;--till they forget to weep, + And the tired sense is hushed, and sinks to sleep. + + +AT DOVER, 1786. + + Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm, + That, borne on Terror's desolating wings, + Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings + The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform + Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,-- + When thou dost mark the melancholy tide + Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,-- + Tossed on the surge of life how many sink! + And if thy cheek with one kind tear be wet, + And if thy heart be smitten, when the cry + Of danger and of death is heard more nigh, + Oh, learn thy private sorrows to forget; + Intent, when hardest beats the storm, to save + One who, like thee, has suffered from the wave. + + +RETROSPECTION. + + I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say, + Alas! how many friends of youth are dead; + How many visions of fair hope have fled, + Since first, my Muse, we met.--So speeds away + Life, and its shadows; yet we sit and sing, + Stretched in the noontide bower, as if the day + Declined not, and we yet might trill our lay + Beneath the pleasant morning's purple wing + That fans us; while aloft the gay clouds shine! + Oh, ere the coming of the long cold night, + Religion, may we bless thy purer light, + That still shall warm us, when the tints decline + O'er earth's dim hemisphere; and sad we gaze + On the vain visions of our passing days! + + +ON ACCIDENTALLY MEETING A LADY NOW NO MORE. + +WRITTEN MANY YEARS AFTER THE FOREGOING SONNETS. + + When last we parted, thou wert young and fair-- + How beautiful let fond remembrance say! + Alas! since then old Time has stol'n away + Nigh forty years, leaving my temples bare:-- + So hath it perished, like a thing of air, + That dream of love and youth:--we now are gray; + Yet still remembering youth's enchanted way, + Though time has changed my look, and blanched my hair, + Though I remember one sad hour with pain, + And never thought, long as I yet might live, + And parted long, to hear that voice again;-- + I can a sad, but cordial greeting, give, + And for thy welfare breathe as warm a prayer, + Lady, as when I loved thee young and fair! + + +ON HEARING "THE MESSIAH" + +PERFORMED IN GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL, SEPT. 18, 1835. + + Oh, stay, harmonious and sweet sounds, that die + In the long vaultings of this ancient fane! + Stay, for I may not hear on earth again + Those pious airs--that glorious harmony; + Lifting the soul to brighter orbs on high, + Worlds without sin or sorrow! + Ah, the strain + Has died--ev'n the last sounds that lingeringly + Hung on the roof ere they expired! + And I, + Stand in the world of strife, amidst a throng, + A throng that recks not or of death, or sin! + Oh, jarring scenes! to cease, indeed, ere long; + The worm hears not the discord and the din; + But he whose heart thrills to this angel song, + Feels the pure joy of heaven on earth begin! + + +WOODSPRING ABBEY, 1836.[14] + + These walls were built by men who did a deed + Of blood:--terrific conscience, day by day, + Followed, where'er their shadow seemed to stay, + And still in thought they saw their victim bleed, + Before God's altar shrieking: pangs succeed, + As dire upon their heart the deep sin lay, + No tears of agony could wash away: + Hence! to the land's remotest limit, speed! + These walls are raised in vain, as vainly flows + Contrition's tear: Earth, hide them, and thou, Sea, + Which round the lone isle, where their bones repose, + Dost sound for ever, their sad requiem be, + In fancy's ear, at pensive evening's close, + Still murmuring{b} MISERERE, DOMINE. + +[14] Three mailed men, in Canterbury Cathedral, rushed on the Archbishop +of Canterbury, and murdered him before the altar. Conscience-stricken, +they fled and built Woodspring Abbey, in the remote corner of +Somersetshire, near Western Super Mare, where the land looks on the +Atlantic sea. There are three unknown graves on the Flat Holms. + + +LACOCK NUNNERY. + +JUNE 24, 1837. + + I stood upon the stone where ELA lay, + The widowed founder of these ancient walls, + Where fancy still on meek devotion calls, + Marking the ivied arch, and turret gray-- + For her soul's rest--eternal rest--to pray;[15] + Where visionary nuns yet seem to tread, + A pale dim troop, the cloisters of the dead, + Though twice three hundred years have flown away! + But when, with silent step and pensive mien, + In weeds, as mourning for her sisters gone, + The mistress of this lone monastic scene + Came; and I heard her voice's tender tone, + I said, Though centuries have rolled between, + One gentle, beauteous nun is left, on earth, alone. + +[15] "Eternam Requiem dona." + + +ON A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE. + + Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee + For hours, unmindful of the storm and strife, + And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life. + Here, all is still as fair; the stream, the tree, + The wood, the sunshine on the bank: no tear, + No thought of Time's swift wing, or closing night, + That comes to steal away the long sweet light-- + No sighs of sad humanity are here. + Here is no tint of mortal change; the day,-- + Beneath whose light the dog and peasant-boy + Gambol, with look, and almost bark, of joy,-- + Still seems, though centuries have passed, to stay. + Then gaze again, that shadowed scenes may teach + Lessons of peace and love, beyond all speech. + + +ART AND NATURE. + +THE BRIDGE BETWEEN CLIFTON AND LEIGH WOODS. + + Frown ever opposite, the angel cried, + Who, with an earthquake's might and giant hand, + Severed these riven rocks, and bade them stand + Severed for ever! The vast ocean-tide, + Leaving its roar without at his command, + Shrank, and beneath the woods through the green land + Went gently murmuring on, so to deride + The frowning barriers that its force defied! + But Art, high o'er the trailing smoke below + Of sea-bound steamer, on yon summit's head + Sat musing; and where scarce a wandering crow + Sailed o'er the chasm, in thought a highway led; + Conquering, as by an arrow from a bow, + The scene's lone Genius by her elfin-thread. + + CLIFTON, _27th August 1836._ + + +PICTURE OF AN OLD MAN. + + Old man, I saw thee in thy garden chair + Sitting in silence 'mid the shrubs and trees + Of thy small cottage-croft, whilst murmuring bees + Went by, and almost touched thy temples bare, + Edged with a few flakes of the whitest hair. + And, soothed by the faint hum of ebbing seas, + And song of birds, and breath of the young breeze, + Thus didst thou sit, feeling the summer air + Blow gently;--with a sad still decadence, + Sinking to earth in hope, but all alone. + Oh! hast thou wept to feel the lonely sense + Of earthly loss, musing on voices gone! + Hush the vain murmur, that, without offence, + Thy head may rest in peace beneath the churchyard stone. + + +PICTURE OF A YOUNG LADY. + + When I was sitting, sad, and all alone, + Remembering youth and love for ever fled, + And many friends now resting with the dead, + While the still summer's light departing shone, + Like many sweet and silent summers gone; + Thou camest, as a vision, with a mien + And smile like those I once on earth had seen, + And with a voice of that remembered tone + Which I in other days, long since, had heard: + Like Peace approaching, when distempers fret + Most the tired spirit, thy fair form appeared; + And till I die, I never shall forget,-- + For at thy footstep light, the gloom was cheered,-- + Thy look and voice, oh! gentle Margaret. + + +HOUR-GLASS AND BIBLE. + + Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass + That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days, + And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says, + To every human heart: so mortals pass + On to their dark and silent grave! Alas + For man! an exile upon earth he strays, + Weary, and wandering through benighted ways; + To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass + That withers at his feet!--Lift up thy head, + Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears; + That book declares whose blood for thee was shed, + Who died to give thee life; and though thy years + Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed, + Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears, + And by his guiding hand thy steps to heaven are led! + + +MILTON. + +ON THE BUSTS OF MILTON, IN YOUTH AND AGE, AT STOURHEAD. + +IN YOUTH. + + Milton, our noblest poet, in the grace + Of youth, in those fair eyes and clustering hair, + That brow untouched by one faint line of care, + To mar its openness, we seem to trace + The front of the first lord of human race, + 'Mid thine own Paradise portrayed so fair, + Ere Sin or Sorrow scathed it: such the air + That characters thy youth. Shall time efface + These lineaments as crowding cares assail! + It is the lot of fall'n humanity. + What boots it! armed in adamantine mail, + The unconquerable mind, and genius high, + Right onward hold their way through weal and woe, + Or whether life's brief lot be high or low! + + +IN AGE. + + And art thou he, now "fall'n on evil days," + And changed indeed! Yet what do this sunk cheek, + These thinner locks, and that calm forehead speak! + A spirit reckless of man's blame or praise,-- + A spirit, when thine eyes to the noon's blaze + Their dark orbs roll in vain, in suffering meek, + As in the sight of God intent to seek, + 'Mid solitude or age, or through the ways + Of hard adversity, the approving look + Of its great Master; whilst the conscious pride + Of wisdom, patient and content to brook + All ills to that sole Master's task applied, + Shall show before high heaven the unaltered mind, + Milton, though thou art poor, and old, and blind! + + +TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. + +ON ACCIDENTLY MEETING AND PARTING WITH SIR WALTER SCOTT, WHOM I HAD NOT +SEEN FOR MANY YEARS, IN THE STREETS OF LONDON, MAY 1828. + + Since last I saw that countenance so mild, + Slow-stealing age, and a faint line of care, + Had gently touched, methought, some features there; + Yet looked the man as placid as a child, + And the same voice,--whilst mingled with the throng, + Unknowing, and unknown, we passed along,-- + That voice, a share of the brief time beguiled! + That voice I ne'er may hear again, I sighed + At parting,--wheresoe'er our various way, + In this great world,--but from the banks of Tweed, + As slowly sink the shades of eventide, + Oh! I shall hear the music of his reed, + Far off, and thinking of that voice, shall say, + A blessing rest upon thy locks of gray! + + +ELEGY WRITTEN AT THE HOTWELLS, BRISTOL, + +JULY, 1789. + +INSCRIBED TO THE REV. W. HOWLEY.[16] + + The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray, 1 + The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold, + Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way, + And long and loud the bell's slow chime is tolled. + + The reddening light gains fast upon the skies, 2 + And far away the glistening vapours sail, + Down the rough steep the accustomed hedger hies, + And the stream winds in brightness through the vale. + + Mark how those riven rocks on either shore 3 + Uplift their bleak and furrowed fronts on high; + How proudly desolate their foreheads hoar, + That meet the earliest sunbeams of the sky! + + Bound for yon dusky mart,[17] with pennants gay, 4 + The tall bark, on the winding water's line, + Between the riven cliffs slow plies her way, + And peering on the sight the white sails shine. + + Alas! for those by drooping sickness worn, 5 + Who now come forth to meet the cheering ray; + And feel the fragrance of the tepid morn + Round their torn breasts and throbbing temples play![18] + + Perhaps they muse with a desponding sigh 6 + On the cold vault that shall their bones inurn; + Whilst every breeze seems, as it whispers by, + To breathe of comfort never to return. + + Yet oft, as sadly thronging dreams arise, 7 + Awhile forgetful of their pain they gaze, + A transient lustre lights their faded eyes, + And o'er their cheek the tender hectic plays. + + The purple morn that paints with sidelong gleam 8 + The cliff's tall crest, the waving woods that ring + With songs of birds rejoicing in the beam, + Touch soft the wakeful nerve's according string. + + Then at sad Meditation's silent hour 9 + A thousand wishes steal upon the heart; + And, whilst they meekly bend to Heaven's high power, + Ah! think 'tis hard, 'tis surely hard to part: + + To part from every hope that brought delight, 10 + From those that loved them, those they loved so much! + Then Fancy swells the picture on the sight, + And softens every scene at every touch. + + Sweet as the mellowed woods beneath the moon, 11 + Remembrance lends her soft-uniting shades; + "Some natural tears she drops, but wipes them soon:"-- + The world retires, and its dim prospect fades! + + Airs of delight, that soothe the aching sense; 12 + Waters of health, that through yon caverns glide; + Oh! kindly yet your healing powers dispense, + And bring back feeble life's exhausted tide! + + Perhaps to these gray rocks and mazy springs 13 + Some heart may come, warmed with the purest fire; + For whom bright Fancy plumes her radiant wings, + And warbling Muses wake the lonely lyre. + + Some orphan Maid, deceived in early youth, 14 + Pale o'er yon spring may hang in mute distress; + Who dream of faith, of happiness, and truth, + Of love--that Virtue would protect and bless. + + Some musing Youth in silence there may bend, 15 + Untimely stricken by sharp Sorrow's dart; + For friendship formed, yet left without a friend, + And bearing still the arrow at his heart. + + Such was lamented RUSSELL'S[19] early doom, 16 + The gay companion of our stripling prime; + Ev'n so he sank unwept into the tomb, + And o'er his head closed the dark gulph of time. + + Hither he came, a wan and weary guest, 17 + A softening balm for many a wound to crave; + And wooed the sunshine to his aching breast, + Which now seems smiling on his verdant grave! + + He heard the whispering winds that now I hear, 18 + As, boding much, along these hills he passed; + Yet ah! how mournful did they meet his ear + On that sad morn he heard them for the last! + + So sinks the scene, like a departed dream, 19 + Since late we sojourned blythe in Wykeham's bowers,[20] + Or heard the merry bells by Isis' stream, + And thought our way was strewed with fairy flowers! + + Of those with whom we played upon the lawn 20 + Of early life, in the fresh morning played; + Alas! how many, since that vernal dawn, + Like thee, poor RUSSELL, 'neath the turf are laid! + + Joyous a while they wandered hand in hand, 21 + By friendship led along the springtide plain; + How oft did Fancy wake her transports bland, + And on the lids the glistening tear detain! + + I yet survive, now musing other song, 22 + Than that which early pleased my vacant years; + Thinking how days and hours have passed along, + Marked by much pleasure some, and some by tears! + + Thankful, that to these verdant scenes I owe 23 + That he[21] whom late I saw all drooping pale, + Raised from the couch of sickness and of woe, + Now lives with me these mantling views to hail. + + Thankful, that still the landscape beaming bright, 24 + Of pendant mountain, or of woodland gray, + Can wake the wonted sense of pure delight, + And charm a while my solitary way. + + Enough:--through the high heaven the proud sun rides, 25 + My wandering steps their silent path pursue + Back to the crowded world where fortune guides: + Clifton, to thy white rocks and woods adieu! + +[16] Afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. + +[17] Bristol. + +[18] From a latin prize poem, by W. Jackson-- + +"Et lacerum Pectus zephyri mulcere tepentes." + +[19] The Rev. Thomas Russell, Fellow of New College, Oxford, author of +some beautiful sonnets, died at the Hotwells 1788, in the twenty-sixth +year of his age. His poems were first published by Mr Howley, with whom +we wooed the Muses together on the banks of Itchen. Headley was a pupil +of Dr Parr. + +[20] Winchester College. + +[21] The Rev. Dr Howley, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. + + +MONODY ON HENRY HEADLEY. + + To every gentle Muse in vain allied, + In youth's full early morning HEADLEY died! + Too long had sickness left her pining trace, + With slow, still touch, on each decaying grace: + Untimely sorrow marked his thoughtful mien! + Despair upon his languid smile was seen! + Yet Resignation, musing on the grave, + (When now no hope could cheer, no pity save), + And Virtue, that scarce felt its fate severe, + And pale Affection, dropping soft a tear 10 + For friends beloved, from whom she soon must part, + Breathed a sad solace on his aching heart. + Nor ceased he yet to stray, where, winding wild, + The Muse's path his drooping steps beguiled, + Intent to rescue some neglected rhyme, + Lone-blooming, from the mournful waste of time; + And cull each scattered sweet, that seemed to smile + Like flowers upon some long-forsaken pile.[22] + Far from the murmuring crowd, unseen, he sought + Each charm congenial to his saddened thought. 20 + When the gray morn illumed the mountain's side, + To hear the sweet birds' earliest song he hied; + When meekest eve to the fold's distant bell + Listened, and bade the woods and vales farewell, + Musing in tearful mood, he oft was seen + The last that lingered on the fading green. + The waving wood high o'er the cliff reclined, + The murmuring waterfall, the winter's wind, + His temper's trembling texture seemed to suit; 29 + As airs of sadness the responsive lute. + Yet deem not hence the social spirit dead, + Though from the world's hard gaze his feelings fled: + Firm was his friendship, and his faith sincere, + And warm as Pity's his unheeded tear, + That wept the ruthless deed, the poor man's fate, + By fortune's storms left cold and desolate. + Farewell! yet be this humble tribute paid + To all his virtues, from that social shade + Where once we sojourned.[23] I, alas! remain + To mourn the hours of youth, yet mourn in vain, 40 + That fled neglected. Wisely thou hast trod + The better path; and that High Meed, which GOD + Ordained for Virtue towering from the dust, + Shall bless thy labours, spirit pure and just! + +[22] Alluding to the _Beauties of Ancient Poetry_, published by Mr +Headley, a short time before his death. He was also the author of some +pleasing original poetry. + +[23] Trinity College, Oxford. Among my contemporaries were several young +men of literary taste and talent, Headley, Kett, Benwell, Dallaway, +Richards, and Dornford; Thomas Warton was one of the Senior Fellows. + + +ON MR HOWARD'S ACCOUNT OF LAZARETTOS. + + Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude, + The path of good right onward hast pursued; + May HE, to whose eternal throne on high + The sufferers of the earth with anguish cry, + Be thy protector! On that dreary road + That leads thee patient to the last abode + Of wretchedness, in peril and in pain, + May HE thy steps direct, thy heart sustain! + 'Mid scenes, where pestilence in darkness flies; + In caverns, where deserted misery lies; 10 + So safe beneath His shadow thou may'st go, + To cheer the dismal wastes of human woe. + O CHARITY! our helpless nature's pride, + Thou friend to him who knows no friend beside, + Is there in morning's breath, or the sweet gale + That steals o'er the tired pilgrim of the vale, + Cheering with fragrance fresh his weary frame, + Aught like the incense of thy sacred flame? + Is aught in all the beauties that adorn + The azure heaven, or purple lights of morn; 20 + Is aught so fair in evening's lingering gleam, + As from thine eye the meek and pensive beam + That falls like saddest moonlight on the hill + And distant grove, when the wide world is still! + Thine are the ample views, that unconfined + Stretch to the utmost walks of human kind: + Thine is the spirit that with widest plan + Brother to brother binds, and man to man. + But who for thee, O Charity! will bear + Hardship, and cope with peril and with care! 30 + Who, for thy sake, will social sweets forego + For scenes of sickness, and the sights of woe! + Who, for thy sake, will seek the prison's gloom, + Where ghastly Guilt implores her lingering doom; + Where Penitence unpitied sits, and pale, + That never told to human ears her tale; + Where Agony, half-famished, cries in vain; + Where dark Despondence murmurs o'er her chain; + Where gaunt Disease is wasted to the bone, + And hollow-eyed Despair forgets to groan! 40 + Approving Mercy marks the vast design, + And proudly cries--HOWARD, the task be thine! + Already 'mid the darksome vaults profound, + The inner prison deep beneath the ground, + Consoling hath thy tender look appeared: + In horror's realm the voice of peace is heard! + Be the sad scene disclosed; fearless unfold + The grating door--the inmost cell behold! + Thought shrinks from the dread sight; the paly lamp + Burns faint amid the infectious vapours damp; 50 + Beneath its light full many a livid mien, + And haggard eye-ball, through the dusk are seen. + In thought I see thee, at each hollow sound, + With humid lids oft anxious gaze around. + But oh! for him who, to yon vault confined, + Has bid a long farewell to human kind; + His wasted form, his cold and bloodless cheek, + A tale of sadder sorrow seem to speak: + Of friends, perhaps now mingled with the dead; + Of hope, that, like a faithless flatterer, fled 60 + In the utmost hour of need; or of a son + Cast to the bleak world's mercy; or of one + Whose heart was broken, when the stern behest + Tore him from pale affection's bleeding breast. + Despairing, from his cold and flinty bed, + With fearful muttering he has raised his head: + What pitying spirit, what unwonted guest, + Strays to this last retreat, these shades unblest? + From life and light shut out, beneath this cell + Long have I bid the cheering sun farewell. 70 + I heard for ever closed the jealous door, + I marked my bed on the forsaken floor, + I had no hope on earth, no human friend: + Let me unpitied to the dust descend! + Cold is his frozen heart--his eye is reared + To Heaven no more--and on his sable beard + The tear has ceased to fall. Thou canst not bring + Back to his mournful heart the morn of spring;-- + Thou canst not bid the rose of health renew + Upon his wasted cheek its crimson hue; 80 + But at thy look, (ere yet to hate resigned, + He murmurs his last curses on mankind), + At thy kind look one tender thought shall rise, + And his full soul shall thank thee ere he dies! + Oh ye, who list to Pleasure's vacant song, + As in her silken train ye troop along; + Who, like rank cowards, from affliction fly, + Or, whilst the precious hours of life pass by, + Lie slumbering in the sun! Awake, arise, + To these instructive pictures turn your eyes; 90 + The awful view with other feelings scan, + And learn from HOWARD what man owes to man! + These, Virtue! are thy triumphs, that adorn + Fitliest our nature, and bespeak us born + For loftier action; not to gaze and run + From clime to clime; nor flutter in the sun, + Dragging a droning flight from flower to flower, + Like summer insects in a gaudy hour; + Nor yet o'er love-sick tales with fancy range, + And cry--'Tis pitiful, 'tis wondrous strange! 100 + But on life's varied views to look around, + And raise expiring sorrow from the ground:-- + And he who thus has borne his part assigned + In the sad fellowship of human kind, + Or for a moment soothed the bitter pain + Of a poor brother, has not lived in vain! + But 'tis not that Compassion should bestow + An unavailing tear on want or woe: + Lo! fairer Order rises from thy plan, + Befriending virtue, and adorning man. 110 + That Comfort cheers the dark abode of pain, + Where wan Disease prayed for relief in vain; + That Mercy soothes the hard behest of law; + That Misery smiles upon her bed of straw; + That the dark felon's clan no more, combined, + Murmur in murderous leagues against mankind; + That to each cell, a mild yet mournful guest, + Contrition comes, and calms the laboring breast, + Whilst long-forgotten tears of virtue flow; + Thou, generous friend of all--to thee we owe! 120 + To thee, that Pity sees her views expand + To many a cheerless haunt, and distant land! + Whilst warm Philanthropy extends her ray, + Wide as the world, and general as the day! + HOWARD! I view those deeds, and think how vain + The triumphs of weak man, the feeble strain + That Flattery brings to Conquest's crimson car, + Amid the bannered host, and the proud tents of war! + From realm to realm the hideous War-fiend hies + Wide o'er the wasted earth; before him flies 130 + Affright, on pinions fleeter than the wind; + Whilst Death and Desolation fast behind + The havoc of his echoing march pursue: + Meantime his steps are bathed in the warm dew + Of bloodshed, and of tears;--but his dread name + Shall perish--the loud clarion of his fame + One day shall cease, and, wrapt in hideous gloom, + Forgetfulness bestride his shapeless tomb! + But bear thou fearless on;--the God of all, + To whom the afflicted kneel, the friendless call, 140 + From His high throne of mercy shall approve + The holy deeds of Mercy and of Love: + For when the vanities of life's brief day + Oblivion's hurrying wing shall sweep away, + Each act by Charity and Mercy done, 145 + High o'er the wrecks of time, shall live alone, + Immortal as the heavens, and beauteous bloom + To other worlds, and realms beyond the tomb. + + +THE GRAVE OF HOWARD. + + Spirit of Death! whose outstretched pennons dread + Wave o'er the world beneath their shadow spread; + Who darkly speedest on thy destined way, + Midst shrieks and cries, and sounds of dire dismay; + Spirit! behold thy victory! Assume + A form more terrible, an ampler plume; + For he, who wandered o'er the world alone, + Listening to Misery's universal moan; + He who, sustained by Virtue's arm sublime, + Tended the sick and poor from clime to clime, 10 + Low in the dust is laid, thy noblest spoil! + And Mercy ceases from her awful toil! + 'Twas where the pestilence at thy command + Arose to desolate the sickening land, + When many a mingled cry and dying prayer + Resounded to the listening midnight air, + When deep dismay heard not the frequent knell, + And the wan carcase festered as it fell: + 'Twas there, with holy Virtue's awful mien, + Amid the sad sights of that fearful scene, 20 + Calm he was found: the dews of death he dried; + He spoke of comfort to the poor that cried; + He watched the fading eye, the flagging breath, + Ere yet the languid sense was lost in death; + And with that look protecting angels wear, + Hung o'er the dismal couch of pale Despair! + Friend of mankind! thy righteous task is o'er; + The heart that throbbed with pity beats no more. + Around the limits of this rolling sphere, + Where'er the just and good thy tale shall hear, 30 + A tear shall fall: alone, amidst the gloom + Of the still dungeon, his long sorrow's tomb, + The captive, mourning, o'er his chain shall bend, + To think the cold earth holds his only friend! + He who with labour draws his wasting breath + On the forsaken silent bed of death, + Remembering thy last look and anxious eye, + Shall gaze around, unvisited, and die. + Friend of mankind, farewell! These tears we shed-- + So nature dictates--o'er thy earthly bed; 40 + Yet we forget not, it was His high will, + Who saw thee Virtue's arduous task fulfil, + Thy spirit from its toil at last should rest:-- + So wills thy GOD, and what He wills is best! + Thou hast encountered dark Disease's train, + Thou hast conversed with Poverty and Pain, + Thou hast beheld the dreariest forms of woe, + That through this mournful vale unfriended go; + And, pale with sympathy, hast paused to hear + The saddest plaints e'er told to human ear. 50 + Go then, the task fulfilled, the trial o'er, + Where sickness, want, and pain are known no more! + How awful did thy lonely track appear, + Enlightening Misery's benighted sphere! + As when an angel all-serene goes forth + To still the raging tempest of the north, + The embattled clouds that hid the struggling day, + Slow from his face retire in dark array; + On the black waves, like promontories hung, + A light, as of the orient morn, is flung, 60 + Till blue and level heaves the silent brine, + And the new-lighted rocks at distance shine; + Ev'n so didst thou go forth with cheering eye-- + Before thy glance the shades of misery fly; + So didst thou hush the tempest, stilling wide + Of human woe the loud-lamenting tide. + Nor shall the spirit of those deeds expire, + As fades the feeble spark of vital fire, + But beam abroad, and cheer with lustre mild + Humanity's remotest prospects wild, 70 + Till this frail orb shall from its sphere be hurled, + Till final ruin hush the murmuring world, + And all its sorrows, at the awful blast + Of the archangel's trump, be but as shadows past! + Relentless Time, that steals with silent tread, + Shall tear away the trophies of the dead. + Fame, on the pyramid's aspiring top, + With sighs shall her recording trumpet drop; + The feeble characters of Glory's hand + Shall perish, like the tracks upon the sand; 80 + But not with these expire the sacred flame + Of Virtue, or the good man's honoured name. + HOWARD! it matters not, that far away + From Albion's peaceful shore thy bones decay: + Him it might please, by whose sustaining hand + Thy steps were led through many a distant land. + Thy long and last abode should there be found, + Where many a savage nation prowls around: + That Virtue from the hallowed spot might rise, + And, pointing to the finished sacrifice, 90 + Teach to the roving Tartar's savage clan + Lessons of love, and higher aims of man. + The hoary chieftain, who thy tale shall hear, + Pale on thy grave shall drop his faltering spear; + The cold, unpitying Cossack thirst no more + To bathe his burning falchion deep in gore; + Relentless to the cry of carnage speed, + Or urge o'er gasping heaps his panting steed! + Nor vain the thought that fairer hence may rise + New views of life, and wider charities. 100 + Far from the bleak Riphean mountains hoar, + From the cold Don, and Wolga's wandering shore, + From many a shady forest's lengthening tract, + From many a dark-descending cataract, + Succeeding tribes shall come, and o'er the place, + Where sleeps the general friend of human race, + Instruct their children what a debt they owe; + Speak of the man who trode the paths of woe; + Then bid them to their native woods depart, + With new-born virtue stirring in their heart. 110 + When o'er the sounding Euxine's stormy tides + In hostile pomp the Turk's proud navy rides, + Bent on the frontiers of the Imperial Czar, + To pour the tempest of vindictive war; + If onward to those shores they haply steer, + Where, HOWARD, thy cold dust reposes near, + Whilst o'er the wave the silken pennants stream, + And seen far off the golden crescents gleam, + Amid the pomp of war, the swelling breast + Shall feel a still unwonted awe impressed, 120 + And the relenting Pagan turn aside + To think--on yonder shore the _Christian_ died! + But thou, O Briton! doomed perhaps to roam + An exile many a year and far from home, + If ever fortune thy lone footsteps leads + To the wild Nieper's banks, and whispering reeds, + O'er HOWARD's grave thou shalt impassioned bend, + As if to hold sad converse with a friend. + Whate'er thy fate upon this various scene, + Where'er thy weary pilgrimage hath been, 130 + There shalt thou pause; and shutting from thy heart + Some vain regrets that oft unbidden start, + Think upon him to every lot resigned, + Who wept, who toiled, and perished for mankind. + For me, who musing, HOWARD, on thy fate, + These pensive strains at evening meditate, + I thank thee for the lessons thou hast taught + To mend my heart, or animate my thought. + I thank thee, HOWARD, for that awful view + Of life which thou hast drawn, most sad, most true. 140 + Thou art no more! and the frail fading bloom + Of this poor offering dies upon thy tomb. + Beyond the transient sound of earthly praise + Thy virtues live, perhaps, in seraph's lays! + I, borne in thought, to the wild Nieper's wave, + Sigh to the reeds that whisper o'er thy grave.[24] + +[24] The town of Cherson, on the Black Sea, where Howard the +philanthropist died, is entirely supplied with fuel by reeds, of which +there is an inexhaustible forest in the shallows of the +Nieper.--_Craven's Travels._ + + +SHAKSPEARE. + + O sovereign Master! who with lonely state 1 + Dost rule as in some isle's enchanted land, + On whom soft airs and shadowy spirits wait, + Whilst scenes of "faerie" bloom at thy command, + On thy wild shores forgetful could I lie, + And list, till earth dissolved to thy sweet minstrelsy! + + Called by thy magic from the hoary deep, 2 + AÎrial forms should in bright troops ascend, + And then a wondrous masque before me sweep; + Whilst sounds, _that the earth owned not_, seem to blend + Their stealing melodies, that when the strain + Ceased, _I should weep, and would so dream again_! + + The song hath ceased. Ah! who, pale shade, art thou, 3 + Sad raving to the rude tempestuous night! + Sure thou hast had much wrong, so stern thy brow, + So piteous thou dost tear thy tresses white; + So wildly thou dost cry, _Blow, bitter wind_! + _Ye elements, I call not you unkind_![25] + + Beneath the shade of nodding branches gray, 4 + 'Mid rude romantic woods, and glens forlorn, + The merry hunters wear the hours away; + Rings the deep forest to the joyous horn! + Joyous to all, but him,[26] who with sad look + Hangs idly musing by the brawling brook. + + But mark the merry elves of fairy land![27] 5 + To the high moon's gleamy glance, + They with shadowy morrice dance; + Soft music dies along the desert sand; + Soon at peep of cold-eyed day, + Soon the numerous lights decay; + Merrily, now merrily, + After the dewy moon they fly. + + The charm is wrought: I see an aged form, 6 + In white robes, on the winding sea-shore stand; + O'er the careering surge he waves his wand: + Hark! on the bleak rock bursts the swelling storm: + Now from bright opening clouds I hear a lay, + _Come to these yellow sands, fair stranger,[28] come away!_ + + Saw ye pass by the weird sisters pale![29] 7 + Marked ye the lowering castle on the heath! + Hark, hark, is the deed done--the deed of death! + The deed is done:--Hail, king of Scotland, hail! + I see no more;--to many a fearful sound + The bloody cauldron sinks, and all is dark around. + + Pity! touch the trembling strings, 8 + A maid, a beauteous maniac, wildly sings: + They laid him in the ground so cold,[30] + Upon his breast the earth is thrown; + High is heaped the grassy mould, + _Oh! he is dead and gone._ + The winds of the winter blow o'er his cold breast, + But pleasant shall be his rest. + + O sovereign Master! at whose sole command 9 + We start with terror, or with pity weep; + Oh! where is now thy all-creating wand; + Buried ten thousand thousand fathoms deep! + The staff is broke, the powerful spell is fled, + And never earthly guest shall in thy circle tread. + +[25] Lear. + +[26] Jaques: _As You Like It._ + +[27] _Midsummer Night's Dream._ + +[28] Ferdinand: see _The Tempest._ + +[29] See _Macbeth._ + +[30] Ophelia: _Hamlet._ + + +ABBA THULE'S LAMENT FOR HIS SON PRINCE LE BOO. + + I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound + Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around; + I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness + Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless + The isles again; but my long-straining eye, + No speck, no shadow can, far off, descry, + That I might weep tears of delight, and say, + It is the bark that bore my child away! + Sun, that returnest bright, beneath whose eye + The worlds unknown, and out-stretched waters lie, 10 + Dost thou behold him now! On some rude shore, + Around whose crags the cheerless billows roar, + Watching the unwearied surges doth he stand, + And think upon his father's distant land! + Or has his heart forgot, so far away, + These native woods, these rocks, and torrents gray, + The tall bananas whispering to the breeze, + The shores, the sound of these encircling seas, + Heard from his infant days, and the piled heap + Of holy stones, where his forefathers sleep! 20 + Ah, me! till sunk by sorrow, I shall dwell + With them forgetful in the narrow cell, + Never shall time from my fond heart efface + His image; oft his shadow I shall trace + Upon the glimmering waters, when on high + The white moon wanders through the cloudless sky. + Oft in my silent cave, when to its fire + From the night's rushing tempest we retire, + I shall behold his form, his aspect bland; + I shall retrace his footsteps on the sand; 30 + And, when the hollow-sounding surges swell, + Still think I listen to his echoing shell. + Would I had perished ere that hapless day, + When the tall vessel, in its trim array, + First rushed upon the sounding surge, and bore + My age's comfort from this sheltering shore! + I saw it spread its white wings to the wind, + Too soon it left these hills and woods behind, + Gazing, its course I followed till mine eye + No longer could its distant track descry; 40 + Till on the confines of the billows hoar + A while it hung, and then was seen no more, + And only the blue hollow cope I spied, + And the long waste of waters tossing wide. + More mournful then each falling surge I heard, + Then dropt the stagnant tear upon my beard. + Methought the wild waves said, amidst their roar + At midnight, Thou shalt see thy son no more! + Now thrice twelve moons through the mid heavens have rolled + And many a dawn, and slow night, have I told: 50 + And still as every weary day goes by, + A knot recording on my line I tie;[31] + But never more, emerging from the main, + I see the stranger's bark approach again. + Has the fell storm o'erwhelmed him! Has its sweep + Buried the bounding vessel in the deep! + Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain! + Upon his father did he call in vain! + Have pitiless and bloody tribes defiled + The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child! 60 + Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice; + The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice, + But faint and weary I shall meet the morn, + And 'mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn! + The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud, + O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd; + Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove; + The fisher carols in the winding cove; + And light canoes along the lucid tide + With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide. 70 + I linger on the desert rock alone, + Heartless, and cry for thee, my son, my son. + +[31] I find on referring to the narrative of Captain Wilson's voyage to +the Pelew Islands, that the knots were tied at the time of Prince Le +Boo's departure, and that one was untied every moon by the disconsolate +father. + +The evening before the "Oroolong" sailed, the King asked Captain Wilson +how long it might be before his return to Pelew; and being told that it +would probably be about thirty moons, or might chance to extend to six +more, Abba Thule drew from his basket a piece of line, and after making +thirty knots on it, a little distance from each other, left a long +space, and then adding six others, carefully put it by. + + +SOUTHAMPTON WATER. + + Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas, + Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind, + Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined + Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze + That o'er us whispering passed, or idly played + With the lithe flag aloft. A woodland scene + On either side drew its slope line of green, + And hung the water's shining edge with shade. + Above the woods, Netley! thy ruins pale + Peered as we passed; and Vecta's[32] azure hue 10 + Beyond the misty castle[33] met our view; + Where in mid channel hung the scarce seen sail. + So all was calm and sunshine as we went + Cheerily o'er the briny element. + Oh! were this little boat to us the world, + As thus we wandered far from sounds of care, + Circled by friends and gentle maidens fair, + Whilst morning airs the waving pennant curled; + How sweet were life's long voyage, till in peace + We gained that haven still, where all things cease! 20 + +[32] Isle of Wight. + +[33] Kelshot Castle. + + +THE PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETY.[34] + +INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS. + + When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye, + Retires in silence to her cell to die; + When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread, + Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread; + Who shall approach to bid the conflict cease, + And to her parting spirit whisper peace! + Who thee, poor infant, that with aspect bland + Dost stretch forth innocent thy helpless hand, + Shall pitying then protect, when thou art thrown + On the world's waste, unfriended and alone! 10 + O hapless Infancy! if aught could move + The hardest heart to pity and to love + 'Twere surely found in thee: dim passions mark + Stern manhood's brow, where age impresses dark + The stealing line of sorrow; but thine eye + Wears not distrust, or grief, or perfidy. + Though fortune's storms with dismal shadow lower, + Thy heart nor fears, nor feels the bitter shower; + Thy tear is soon forgotten; thou wilt weep, + And then the murmuring winds will hush thy sleep, 20 + As 'twere with some sad music;--and thy smiles, + Unlike to those that cover cruel wiles, + Plead best thy speechless innocence, and lend + A charm might win the world to be thy friend. + But thou art oft abandoned in thy smiles, + And early vice thy easy heart beguiles. + Oh for some voice, that of the secret maze + Where the grim passions lurk, the winding ways + That lead to sin, and ruth, and deep lament, + Might haply warn thee, whilst yet innocent 30 + And beauteous as the spring-time o'er the hills + Advancing, when each vale glad music fills! + Else lost and wandering, the benighted mind + No spot of rest again shall ever find; + Then the sweet smiles, that erst enchanting laid + Their magic beauty on thy look, shall fade; + Then the bird's warbled song no more shall cheer + With morning music thy delighted ear; + Fell thoughts and muttering passions shall awake, + And the fair rose the sullied cheek forsake! 40 + As when still Autumn's gradual gloom is laid + Far o'er the fading forest's saddened shade, + A mournful gleam illumines the cold hill, + Yet palely wandering o'er the distant rill; + But when the hollow gust, slow rising, raves, + And high the pine on yon lone summit waves, + Each milder charm, like pictures of a dream, + Hath perished, mute the birds, and dark the stream! + Scuds the dreer sleet upon the whirlwind borne, + And scowls the landscape clouded and forlorn! 50 + So fades, so perishes frail Virtue's hue; + Her last and lingering smile seems but to rue, + Like autumn, every summer beauty reft, + Till all is dark and to the winter left. + Yet spring, with living touch, shall paint again + The green-leaved forest, and the purple plain; + With mingling melody the woods shall ring, + The whispering breeze its long-lost incense fling: + But, Innocence! when once thy tender flower + The sickly taint has touched, where is the power 60 + That shall bring back its fragrance, or restore + The tints of loveliness, that shine no more? + How then for thee, who pinest in life's gloom, + Abandoned child! can hope or virtue bloom! + For thee, exposed amid the desert drear, + Which no glad gales or vernal sunbeams cheer! + Though some there are, who lift their head sublime, + Nor heed the transient storms of fate or time; + Too oft, alas! beneath unfriendly skies, + The tender blossom shrinks its leaves, and dies! 70 + Go, struggle with thy fate, pursue thy way;-- + Though thou art poor, the world around is gay! + Thou hast no bread; but on thy aching sight + Proud luxury's pavilions glitter bright; + In thy cold ear the song of gladness swells, + Whilst vacant folly chimes her tinkling bells: + The careless crowd prolong their hollow glee, + Nor one relenting bosom thinks of thee. + Will not the indignant spirit then rebel, + And the dark tide of passions fearful swell! 80 + Will not despight, perhaps, or bitter need, + Urge then thy temper to some direful deed! + Pale Guilt shall call thee to her ghastly band, + Or Murder welcome thee with reeking hand! + O wretched state, where our best feelings lie + Deep sunk in sullen, hopeless apathy! + Or wakeful cares, or gloomy terrors start, + And night and tempest mingle in the heart! + All mournful to the pensive sage's eye, + The monuments of human glory lie; 90 + Fall'n palaces, crushed by the ruthless haste + Of time, and many an empire's silent waste, + Where, 'midst the vale of long-departed years, + The form of desolation dim appears, + Pointing to the wild plain with ruin spread, + The wrecks of age, and records of the dead! + But where a sight shall shuddering sorrow find, + Sad as the ruins of the human mind;-- + As Man, by his GREAT MAKER raised sublime + Amid the universe, ordained to climb 100 + The arduous height where Virtue sits serene;-- + As Man, the high lord of this nether scene, + So fall'n, so lost!--his noblest boast destroyed, + His sweet affections left a piteous void! + But oh, sweet Charity! what sounds were those + That met the listening ear, soft as the close + Of distant music, when the hum of day + Is hushed, and dying gales the airs convey! + Come, hapless orphans, meek Compassion cried, + Where'er, unsheltered outcasts! ye abide 110 + The bitter driving wind, the freezing sky, + _The oppressor's scourge, the proud man's contumely_; + Come, hapless orphans! ye who never saw + A tear of kindness shed on your cold straw; + Who never met with joy the morning light, + Or lisped your little prayer of peace at night; + Come, hapless orphans! nor, when youth should spring + Soaring aloft, as on an eagle's wing, + Shall ye forsaken on the ground be left, + Of hope, of virtue, and of peace bereft! 120 + Far from the springtide gale, and joyous day, + In the deep caverns of Despair ye lay: + She, iron-hearted mother, never pressed + Your wasted forms with transport to her breast; + When none o'er all the world your 'plaint would hear, + She never kissed away the falling tear, + Or fondly smiled, forgetful, to behold + Some infant grace its early charm unfold. + She ne'er with mingling hopes and rising fears, + Sighed for the fortune of your future years: 130 + Or saw you hand in hand rejoicing stray + Beneath the morning sun, on youth's delightful way. + But happier scenes invite, and fairer skies; + From your dark bed, children of woe, arise! + In caves where peace ne'er smiled, where joy ne'er came, + Where Friendship's eye ne'er glistened at the name + Of one she loved, where famine and despair + Sat silent 'mid the damp and lurid air, + The soothing voice is heard; a beam of light + Is cast upon their features, sunk and white; 140 + With trembling joy they catch the stealing sound; + Their famished little ones come smiling round. + Sweet Infancy! whom all the world forsook, + Thou hast put on again thy cherub look: + Guilt, shrinking at the sight, in deep dismay + Flies cowering, and resigns his wonted prey. + But who is she, in garb of misery clad, + Yet of less vulgar mien? A look so sad + The mourning maniac wears, so wild, yet meek; + A beam of joy now wanders o'er her cheek, 150 + The pale eye visiting; it leaves it soon, + As fade the dewy glances of the moon + Upon some wandering cloud, while slow the ray + Retires, and leaves more dark the heaven's wide way. + Lost mother, early doomed to guilt and shame, + Whose friends of youth now sigh not o'er thy name, + Heavy has sorrow fall'n upon thy head, + Yet think--one hope remains when thou art dead; + Thy houseless child, thy only little one, + Shall not look round, defenceless and alone, 160 + For one to guide her youth;--nor with dismay + Each stranger's cold unfeeling look survey. + She shall not now be left a prey to shame, + Whilst slow disease preys on her faded frame; + Nor, when the bloom of innocence is fled, + Thus fainting bow her unprotected head. + Oh, she shall live, and Piety and Truth, + The loveliest ornaments, shall grace her youth. + And should her eye with softest lustre shine, + And should she wear such smiles as once were thine, 170 + The smiles of peace and virtue they shall prove, + Blessing the calm abode of faithful love. + For ye[35] who thus, by pure compassion taught, + Have wept o'er human sorrows;--who have sought + Want's dismal cell, and pale as from the dead + To life and light the speechless orphan led;-- + Trust that the deed, in Mercy's book enrolled, + Approving spirits of the just behold! + Meanwhile, new virtues here, as on the wing + Of morn, from Sorrow's dreary shades shall spring; 180 + Young Modesty, with fair untainted bloom; + And Industry, that sings beside her loom; + And ruddy Labour, issuing from his hatch + Ere the slant sunbeam strikes the lowly thatch; + And sweet Contentment, smiling on a rock, + Like a fair shepherdess beside her flock; + And tender Love, that hastes with myrtle-braid + To bind the tresses of the favoured maid; + And Piety, with unclasped holy book, + Lifting to heaven her mildly-beaming look: 190 + These village virtues on the plain shall throng, + And Albion's hills resound a cheerful song; + Whilst Charity, with dewy eyelids bland, + Leading a lisping infant in her hand, + Shall bend at pure Religion's holy shrine, + And say, These children, GOD OF LOVE, are thine! + +[34] The Philanthropic Society was instituted in September 1788, for the +prevention of crimes, by seeking out and training up to virtue and +industry the children of the most abject and criminal among the vagrant +and profligate poor; by these means more effectually to alleviate human +misery, and to oppose the progress of vice. + +[35] The promoters of the charity. + + +THE DYING SLAVE. + + Faint-gazing on the burning orb of day, + When Afric's injured son expiring lay, + His forehead cold, his labouring bosom bare, + His dewy temples, and his sable hair, + His poor companions kissed, and cried aloud, + Rejoicing, whilst his head in peace he bowed:-- + Now thy long, long task is done, + Swiftly, brother, wilt thou run, + Ere to-morrow's golden beam + Glitter on thy parent stream, 10 + Swiftly the delights to share, + The feast of joy that waits thee there. + Swiftly, brother, wilt thou ride + O'er the long and stormy tide, + Fleeter than the hurricane, + Till thou see'st those scenes again, + Where thy father's hut was reared, + Where thy mother's voice was heard; + Where thy infant brothers played + Beneath the fragrant citron shade; 20 + Where through green savannahs wide + Cooling rivers silent glide, + Or the shrill cicalas sing + Ceaseless to their murmuring; + Where the dance, the festive song, + Of many a friend divided long, + Doomed through stranger lands to roam, + Shall bid thy spirit welcome home! + Fearless o'er the foaming tide + Again thy light canoe shall ride; 30 + Fearless on the embattled plain + Thou shalt lift thy lance again; + Or, starting at the call of morn, + Wake the wild woods with thy horn; + Or, rushing down the mountain-slope, + O'ertake the nimble antelope; + Or lead the dance, 'mid blissful bands, + On cool Andracte's yellow sands; + Or, in the embowering orange-grove, + Tell to thy long-forsaken love 40 + The wounds, the agony severe, + Thy patient spirit suffered here! + Fear not now the tyrant's power, + Past is his insulting hour; + Mark no more the sullen trait + On slavery's brow of scorn and hate; + Hear no more the long sigh borne + Murmuring on the gales of morn! + Go in peace; yet we remain + Far distant toiling on in pain; 50 + Ere the great Sun fire the skies + To our work of woe we rise; + And see each night, without a friend, + The world's great comforter descend! + Tell our brethren, where ye meet, + Thus we toil with weary feet; + Yet tell them that Love's generous flame, + In joy, in wretchedness the same, + In distant worlds was ne'er forgot; + And tell them that we murmur not; 60 + Tell them, though the pang will start, + And drain the life-blood from the heart,-- + Tell them, generous shame forbids + The tear to stain our burning lids! + Tell them, in weariness and want, + For our native hills we pant, + Where soon, from shame and sorrow free, + We hope in death to follow thee! + + +SONG OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN. + + Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb + The heights of yonder hills sublime; + For there strange shapes and spirits dwell,[36] + That oft the murmuring thunders swell, + Of power from the impending steep + To hurl thee headlong to the deep; + But secure with us abide, + By the winding river's side; + Our gladsome toil, our pleasures share, + And think not of a world of care. 10 + The lonely cayman,[37] where he feeds + Among the green high-bending reeds, + Shall yield thee pastime; thy keen dart + Through his bright scales shall pierce his heart. + Home returning from our toils, + Thou shalt bear the tiger's spoils; + And we will sing our loudest strain + O'er the forest-tyrant slain! + Sometimes thou shalt pause to hear + The beauteous cardinal sing clear; 20 + Where hoary oaks, by time decayed, + Nod in the deep wood's pathless glade; + And the sun, with bursting ray, + Quivers on the branches gray. + By the river's craggy banks, + O'erhung with stately cypress-ranks, + Where the bush-bee[38] hums his song, + Thy trim canoe shall glance along. + To-night at least, in this retreat, + Stranger! rest thy wandering feet; 30 + To-morrow, with unerring bow, + To the deep thickets fearless we will go. + +[36] The Indians believe some of their high mountains to be inhabited by +supernatural beings. + +[37] The alligator. + +[38] The bush-bee lives on shrubs and low trees. + + +MONODY, WRITTEN AT MATLOCK. + + Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views, + Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks + Which yon forsaken crag all dark o'erlooks; + Once more I court the long neglected Muse, + As erst when by the mossy brink and falls + Of solitary Wainsbeck, or the side + Of Clysdale's cliffs, where first her voice she tried, + I strayed a pensive boy. Since then, the thralls + That wait life's upland road have chilled her breast, + And much, as much they might, her wing depressed. 10 + Wan Indolence, resigned, her deadening hand + Laid on her heart, and Fancy her cold wand + Dropped at the frown of fortune; yet once more + I call her, and once more her converse sweet, + 'Mid the still limits of this wild retreat, + I woo;--if yet delightful as of yore + My heart she may revisit, nor deny + The soothing aid of some sweet melody! + I hail the rugged scene that bursts around; + I mark the wreathed roots, the saplings gray, 20 + That bend o'er the dark Derwent's wandering way; + I mark its stream with peace-persuading sound, + That steals beneath the fading foliage pale, + Or, at the foot of frowning crags upreared, + Complains like one forsaken and unheard. + To me, it seems to tell the pensive tale + Of spring-time, and the summer days all flown; + And while sad autumn's voice ev'n now I hear + Along the umbrage of the high-wood moan, + At intervals, whose shivering leaves fall sere; 30 + Whilst o'er the group of pendant groves I view + The slowly-spreading tints of pining hue, + I think of poor Humanity's brief day, + How fast its blossoms fade, its summers speed away! + When first young Hope, a golden-tressed boy,[39] + Most musical his early madrigal + Sings to the whispering waters as they fall, + Breathing fresh airs of fragrance and of joy, + The wild woods gently wave, the morning sheds + Her rising radiance on the mountain heads, 40 + Strewed with green isles appears old ocean's reign, + And seen at distance rays of resting light + Silver the farthest promontory's height: + Then hushed is the long murmur of the main, + Whilst silent o'er the slowly-crisping tides, + Bound to some beaming spot, the bark of pleasure glides. + Alas! the scenes that smile in light arrayed + But catch the sense, and then in darkness fade. + We, poor adventurers, of peace bereft, + Look back on the green hills that late we left, 50 + Or turn, with beating breast and anxious eye, + To some faint hope that glimmering meets our sight + (Like the lone watch-tower in the storm of night), + Then on the dismal waste are driv'n despairing by! + Meantime, amid the landscape cold and mute, + Hope, sweet enchanter, sighing drops his lute: + So sad decay and mortal change succeeds, + And o'er the silent scene Time, like a giant, speeds! + Yet the bleak cliffs that lift their heads so high + (Around whose beetling crags, with ceaseless coil, 60 + And still-returning flight, the ravens toil) + Heed not the changeful seasons as they fly, + Nor spring, nor autumn: they their hoary brow + Uprear, and ages past, as in this now, + The same deep trenches unsubdued have worn, + The same majestic frown, and looks of lofty scorn. + So Fortitude, a mailed warrior old, + Appears; he lifts his scar-intrenched crest; + The tempest gathers round his dauntless breast; + He hears far off the storm of havoc rolled; 70 + The feeble fall around: their sound is past; + Their sun is set, their place no more is known; + Like the wan leaves before the winter's blast + They perish:--He, unshaken and alone + Remains, his brow a sterner shade assumes, + By age ennobled, whilst the hurricane, + That raves resistless o'er the ravaged plain, + But shakes unfelt his helmet's quivering plume. + And so yon sovereign of the scene[40] I mark + Above the woods rear his majestic head, 80 + That soon all shattered at his feet shall shed + Their short-lived beauties: he the winter dark + Regardless, and the wasteful time that flies, + Rejoicing in his lonely might, defies. + Thee, wandering in the deep and craggy dell, + Sequestered stream, with other thoughts I view: + Thou dost in solitude thy course pursue, + As thou hadst bid life's busy scenes farewell, + Yet making still such music as might cheer + The weary passenger that journeys near. 90 + Such are the songs of Peace in Virtue's shade; + Unheard of Folly, or the vacant train + That pipe and dance upon the noontide plain, + Till in the dust together they are laid! + But not unheard of Him, who sits sublime + Above the clouds of this tempestuous clime, + Its stir and strife; to whom more grateful rise + The humble incense, and the still small voice + Of those that on their pensive way rejoice, + Than shouts of thousands echoing to the skies; 100 + Than songs of conquest pealing round the car + Of hard Ambition, or the Fiend of War, + Sated with slaughter. Nor may I, sweet stream, + From thy wild banks and still retreats depart, + Where now I meditate my casual theme, + Without some mild improvement on my heart + Poured sad, yet pleasing! so may I forget + The crosses and the cares that sometimes fret + Life's smoothest channel, and each wish prevent 109 + That mars the silent current of content! + In such a spot, amidst these rugged views, + The pensive poet in his drooping age + Might wish to place his reed-roofed hermitage; + Where much on life's vain shadows he might muse. + If fortune smiled not on his early way, + If he were doomed to mourn a faithless friend, + Here he might rest, and when his hairs were gray, + Behold in peace the parting day descend. + If a hard world his errors scanned severe, + When late the earth received his mouldering clay, 120 + Perhaps some loved companion, wandering near, + Plucking the gray moss from the stone, might say: + Him I remember, in our careless days, + Vacant and glad, till many a loss severe + First hung his placid eyelids with a tear; + Yet on such visions ardent would he gaze, + As the Muse loved, that oft would smile and die, + Like the faint bow that leaves the weeping sky; + His heart unguarded, yet it proudly beat + Against hard wrong, or coward cold deceit;-- 130 + Nor passed he e'er without a sigh the cell + Where wretchedness and her pale children dwell. + He never wished to win the world's cold ear, + Nor, prized by those he loved, its blame could fear; + Its praise he left to those who, at their will, + The ingenious strain of torturing art could trill! + Content, as random fancies might inspire, + If his weak reed, at times, or plaintive lyre, + He touched with desultory hand, and drew + Some softened tones, to Nature not untrue. 140 + The leaves, O Derwent! on thy bosom still + Oft with the gust now fall--the season pale + Hath smote with hand unseen the silent vale, + And slowly steals the verdure from the hill; + So the fair scene departs, yet wears a while + The lingering traces of its beauteous smile: + But we who by thy margin stray, or climb + The cliff's aÎrial height, or join the song + Of hope and gladness amidst yonder throng, + Losing the brief and fleeting hours of time, 150 + Reck not how age, even thus, with icy hand, + Hangs o'er us;--how, as with a wizard's wand, + Youth blooming like the spring, and roseate mirth, + To slow and sere consumption he shall change, + And with invisible mutation strange, + Withered and wasted send them to the earth; + Whilst hushed, and by the mace of ruin rent, + Sinks the forsaken hall of merriment! + Bright bursts the sun upon the shaggy scene! + The aged rocks their glittering summits gray 160 + Hang beautiful amid the beams of day; + And all the woods, with slowly-fading green, + Yet smiling wave:--severer thoughts, away! + The night is distant, and the lovely day + Looks on us yet;--the sound of mirthful cheer + From yonder dome comes pleasant to mine ear. + From rock to rock reverberated swells, + Hark,--the glad music of the village bells! + On the crag's naked point the heifer lows, + And wide below the brightening landscape glows! 170 + Though brief the time and short our course to run, + Derwent! amid the scenes that deck thy side, + Ere yet the parting paths of life divide, + Let us rejoice, seeking what may be won + From the laborious day, or fortune's frown: + Here may we, ere the sun of life goes down, + A while regardless of the morrow, dwell; 177 + Then to our destined roads, and speed us well! + +[39] I have ventured in this place to make Hope a boy. + +[40] Matlock High Tor. + + +THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDMUND BURKE. + + Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind + Science has stored, and Piety refined, + That fading Chivalry displays no more + Her pomp and stately tournaments of yore! + Lo! when Philosophy and Truth advance, + Scared at their frown, she drops her glittering lance; + Round her reft castles the pale ivy crawls, + And sunk and silent are her bannered halls! + As when far off the golden evening sails, + And slowly sink the fancy-painted vales, 10 + With rich pavilions spread in long array; + So rolls the enchanter's radiant realm away; + So on the sight the parting glories fade, + The gorgeous vision sets in endless shade. + But shall the musing mind for this lament, + Or mourn the wizard's Gothic fabric rent! + Shall he, with Fancy's poor and pensive child, + Gaze on his shadowy vales, and prospects wild, + With lingering love, and sighing bid farewell + To the dim pictures of his parting spell! 20 + No, BURKE! thy heart, by juster feelings led, + Mourns for the spirit of high Honour fled; + Mourns that Philosophy, abstract and cold, + Withering should smite life's fancy-flowered mould; + And many a smiling sympathy depart, + That graced the sternness of the manly heart. + Nor shall the wise and virtuous scan severe + These fair illusions, ev'n to nature dear. + Though now no more proud Chivalry recalls + Her tourneys bright, and pealing festivals; 30 + Though now on high her idle spear is hung, + Though Time her mouldering harp has half unstrung; + Her milder influence shall she still impart, + To decorate, but not disguise, the heart; + To nurse the tender sympathies that play + In the short sunshine of life's early way; + For female worth and meekness to inspire + Homage and love, and temper rude desire; + Nor seldom with sweet dreams sad thoughts to cheer, + And half beguile affliction of her tear! 40 + Lo! this her boast; and still, O BURKE! be thine + Her glowing hues that warm, yet tempered shine; + Whilst whispers bland, and fairest dreams, attend + Thy evening path, till the last shade descend! + So may she soothe, with loftier wisdom's aid, + Thy musing leisure in the silent shade, + And bid poor Fancy, her cold pinions wet, + Life's cloudy skies and beating showers forget. + But can her fairest form, her sweetest song, + Soothe thee, assailed by calumny and wrong! 50 + Ev'n now thy foes with louder accents cry: + Champion of unrelenting tyranny, + At Freedom hast thou aimed the deadly blow, + And striven with impious arm to lay her altars low! + No, BURKE! indignant at the voice we start: + We trust thy liberal views, thy generous heart; + We think of those who, naked, pale, and poor, + Relieved and blessed, have wandered from thy door; + We see thee with unwearied step explore + Each track of bloodshed on the farthest shore 60 + Of injured Asia, and thy swelling breast + Harrowing the oppressor, mourning for the oppressed, + No, BURKE! where'er Injustice rears her head, + Where'er with blood her idol grim is fed; + Where'er fell Cruelty, at her command, + With crimson banner marches through the land, + And striding, like a giant, onward hies, + Whilst man, a trodden worm, looks up, and dies; + Where'er pale Murder in her train appears, + With reeking axe, and garments wet with tears; 70 + Or, lowering Jealousy, unmoved as Fate, + Bars fast the prison-cage's iron gate + Upon the buried sorrows and the cries + Of him who there, lost and forgotten, lies;-- + When ministers like these, in fearful state, + Upon a bloody tyrant's bidding wait, + Thou too shalt own (and Justice lift her rod) + The cause of Freedom is the cause of GOD! + Fair spirit, who dost rise in beauteous pride, + Where proud Oppression hath thine arm defied! 80 + When led by Virtue thou dost firm advance, + And bathe in Guilt's warm blood thy burning lance; + When all thy form its awful port assumes, + And in the tempest shake thy crimson plumes, + I mark thy lofty mien, thy steady eye, + So fall thy foes! with tears of joy I cry. + But ne'er may Anarchy, with eyes a-flame, + And mien distract, assume thy awful name; + Her pale torch sheds afar its hideous glare, + And shows the blood-drops in her dabbled hair; 90 + The fiends of discord hear her hollow voice, + The spirits of the deathful storm rejoice: + As when the rising blast with muttering sweep + Sounds 'mid the branches of the forest deep, + The sad horizon lowers, the parting sun + Is hid, strange murmurs through the high wood run, + The falcon wheels away his mournful flight, + And leaves the glens to solitude and night; + Till soon the hurricane, in dismal shroud, + Comes fearful forth, and sounds her conch aloud; 100 + The oak majestic bows his hoary head, + And ruin round his ancient reign is spread: + So the dark fiend, rejoicing in her might, + Pours desolation and the storm of night; + Before her dread career the good and just + Fly far, or sink expiring in the dust; + Wide wastes and mighty wrecks around her lie, + And the earth trembles at her impious cry! + Whether her temple, wet with human gore, + She thus may raise on Gallia's ravaged shore, 110 + Belongs to HIM alone, and His high will, + Who bids the tempests of the world be still.[41] + With joy we turn to Albion's happier plain, + Where ancient Freedom holds her temperate reign; + Where Justice sits majestic on her throne; + Where Mercy turns her ear to every groan. + O Albion! fairest isle, whose verdant plain + Springs beauteous from the blue and billowy main; + In peaceful pomp whose glittering cities rise, + And lift their crowded temples to the skies; 120 + Whose navy on the broad brine awful rolls; + Whose commerce glows beneath the distant poles; + Whose streams reflect full many an Attic pile; + Whose velvet lawns in long luxuriance smile; + Amid whose winding coombs contentment dwells, + Whose vales rejoice to hear the Sabbath bells; + Whose humblest shed, that steady laws protect, + The villager with woodbine bowers hath decked! + Sweet native land, whose every haunt is dear, + Whose every gale is music to mine ear; 130 + Amidst whose hills one poor retreat I sought, + Where I might sometimes hide a saddening thought, + And having wandered far, and marked mankind + In their vain mask, might rest and safety find: + Oh! still may Freedom, with majestic mien, + Pacing thy rocks and the green vales, be seen; + Around thy cliffs, that glitter o'er the main, + May smiling Order wind her silver chain; + Whilst from thy calm abodes, and azure skies, + Far off the fiend of Discord murmuring flies! 140 + To him who firm thy injured cause has fought, + This humble offering, lo! the Muse has brought; + Nor heed thou, BURKE, if, with averted eye, + Scowling, cold Envy may thy worth decry! + It is the lot of man:--the best oft mourn, + As sad they journey through this cloudy bourne: + If conscious Genius stamp their chosen breast, + And on the forehead show her seal impressed, + Perhaps they mourn, in bleak Misfortune's shade, + Their age and cares with penury repaid; 150 + Their errors deeply scanned, their worth forgot, + Or marked by hard injustice with a blot. + If high they soar, and keep their distant way, + And spread their ample pinions to the day, + Malignant Faction hears with hate their name, + And all her tongues are busy with their fame. + But 'tis enough to hold, as best we may, + Our destined track, till sets the closing day; + Whether with living lustre we adorn + Our high sphere, like the radiance of the morn; 160 + Or whether silent in the shade we move, + Cheered by the lonely star of pensive love; + Or whether wild opposing storms we stem, + Panting for Virtue's distant diadem; + 'Tis the unshaken mind, the conscience pure, + That bids us firmly act, meekly endure; + 'Tis this may shield us when the storm beats hard, + Content, though poor, had we no other guard![42] + +[41] These lines were written before the murder of the late King of +France, and many of the events of horror which have since taken place in +that miserable country. + +[42] Milton. + + +ON LEAVING A PLACE OF RESIDENCE. + + If I could bid thee, pleasant shade, farewell + Without a sigh, amidst whose circling bowers + My stripling prime was passed, and happiest hours, + Dead were I to the sympathies that swell + The human breast! These woods, that whispering wave, + My father reared and nursed, now to the grave + Gone down; he loved their peaceful shades, and said, + Perhaps, as here he mused: Live, laurels green; + Ye pines that shade the solitary scene, + Live blooming and rejoice! When I am dead 10 + My son shall guard you, and amid your bowers, + Like me, find shelter from life's beating showers. + These thoughts, my father, every spot endear; + And whilst I think, with self-accusing pain, + A stranger shall possess the loved domain, + In each low wind I seem thy voice to hear. + But these are shadows of the shaping brain + That now my heart, alas! can ill sustain: + We must forget--the world is wide--the abode + Of peace may still be found, nor hard the road. 20 + It boots not, so, to every chance resigned, + Where'er the spot, we bear the unaltered mind. + Yet, oh! poor cottage, and thou sylvan shade, + Remember, ere I left your coverts green, + Where in my youth I mused, in childhood played, + I gazed, I paused, I dropped a tear unseen, + That bitter from the font of memory fell, + Thinking on him who reared you; now, farewell! + + +ELEGIAC STANZAS. + +WRITTEN DURING SICKNESS AT BATH. + + When I lie musing on my bed alone, 1 + And listen to the wintry waterfall;[43] + And many moments that are past and gone, + Moments of sunshine and of joy, recall; + + Though the long night is dark and damp around, 2 + And no still star hangs out its friendly flame; + And the winds sweep the sash with sullen sound, + And freezing palsy creeps o'er all my frame; + + I catch consoling phantasies that spring 3 + From the thick gloom, and as the night airs beat, + They touch my heart, like wind-swift wires[44] that ring + In mournful modulations, strange and sweet. + + Was it the voice of thee, my buried friend? 4 + Was it the whispered vow of faithful love? + Do I in Knoyle's green shades thy steps attend, + And hear the high pines murmur thus above? + + 'Twas not thy voice, my buried friend!--Oh, no: 5 + 'Twas not, O Knoyle! the murmur of thy trees; + But at the thought I feel my bosom glow, + And woo the dream whose air-drawn shadows please. + + And I can think I see the groves again, 6 + The larches that yon peaceful roof embower; + The airy down, the cattle-speckled plain, + And the slant sunshine on the village tower. + + And I can think I hear its Sabbath chime 7 + Come smoothly softened down the woody vale; + Or mark on yon lone eminence sublime, + Fast whirling in the wind, the white mill's sail. + + Phantom, that by my bed dost beckoning glide, 8 + Spectre of Death, to the damp charnel hie! + Thy dim pale hand, thy festering visage hide; + Thou com'st to say, I with thy worms shall lie! + + Thou com'st to say that my once vacant mind 9 + Amid those scenes shall never more rejoice; + Nor on the day of rest the hoary hind + Bend o'er his staff, attentive to my voice. + + Hast thou not visited that pleasant place 10 + Where in this hard world I have happiest been? + And shall I tremble at thy lifted mace + That hath pierced all on which life seemed to lean? + + But Hope might whisper: Many a smiling day 11 + And many a cheerful eve may yet be mine, + Ere age's autumn strew my locks with gray, + And weary to the dust my steps decline. + + I argue not, but uncomplaining bow 12 + To Heaven's high 'hest; secure, whate'er my lot, + Meek spirit of resigned Content, that thou + Wilt smooth my pillow, and forsake me not! + + Thou to the turfy hut with pilgrim feet 13 + Wanderest, from halls of loud tumultuous joy; + Or on the naked down, when the winds beat, + Dost sing to the forsaken shepherd boy. + + Thou art the sick man's nurse, the poor man's friend, 14 + And through each change of life thou hast been mine; + In every ill thou canst a comfort blend, + And bid the eye, though sad, in sadness shine. + + Thee I have met on Cherwell's willowed side, 15 + And when our destined road far onward lay, + Thee I have found, whatever chance betide, + The kind companion of my devious way. + + With thee unwearied have I loved to roam, 16 + By the smooth-flowing Scheldt, or rushing Rhine; + And thou hast gladdened my sequestered home, + And hung my peaceful porch with eglantine. + + When cares and crosses my tired spirits tried, 17 + When to the dust my father I resigned; + Amidst the quiet shade unseen I sighed, + And, blest with thee, forgot a world unkind. + + Ev'n now, while toiling through the sleepless night, 18 + A tearful look to distant scenes I cast, + And the glad objects that once charmed my sight + Remember, like soft views of "faerie" past; + + I see thee come half-smiling to my bed, 19 + With Fortitude more awfully severe, + Whose arm sustaining holds my drooping head, + Who dries with her dark locks the tender tear. + + O firmer Spirit! on some craggy height 20 + Who, when the tempest sails aloft, dost stand, + And hear'st the ceaseless billows of the night + Rolling upon the solitary strand; + + At this sad hour, when no harsh thoughts intrude 21 + To mar the melancholy mind's repose, + When I am left to night and solitude, + And languid life seems verging to its close; + + Oh, let me thy pervading influence feel; 22 + Be every weak and wayward thought repressed; + And hide thou, as with plates of coldest steel, + The faded aspect and the throbbing breast! + + Silent the motley pageant may retreat, 23 + And vain mortality's brief scenes remove; + Yet let my bosom, whilst with life it beat, + Breathe a last prayer for all on earth I love. + + Slow-creeping pain weighs down my heavy eye, 24 + A chiller faintness steals upon my breast; + "O gentle Muse, with some sweet lullaby" + Rock me in long forgetfulness to rest! + +[43] The fall of the river, heard from the Parade. + +[44] The ∆olian harp. + + +ON LEAVING WINCHESTER SCHOOL. + +WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1782. + + The spring shall visit thee again, + Itchin! and yonder ancient fane,[45] + That casts its shadow on thy breast, + As if, by many winters beat, + The blooming season it would greet, + With many a straggling wild-flower shall be dressed. + + But I, amid the youthful train + That stray at evening by thy side, + No longer shall a guest remain, + To mark the spring's reviving pride. + I go not unrejoicing; but who knows, + When I have shared, O world! thy common woes, + Returning I may drop some natural tears; + As these same fields I look around, + And hear from yonder dome[46] the slow bell sound, + And think upon the joys that crowned my stripling years! + +[45] St Croix. + +[46] The Cathedral. + + +HOPE, AN ALLEGORICAL SKETCH. + + But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, + What was thy delightful measure? + COLLINS. + + I am the comforter of them that mourn; + My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet, + Cheer the poor passengers of life's rude bourne, + Till they are sheltered in that last retreat, + Where human toils and troubles are forgot. + These sounds I heard amid this mortal road, + When I had reached with pain one pleasant spot, + So that for joy some tears in silence flowed; + I raised mine eyes, sickness had long depressed, + And felt thy warmth, O sun! come cheering to my breast. + + The storm of night had ceased upon the plain, + When thoughtful in the forest-walk I strayed, + To the long hollow murmur of the main + Listening, and to the many leaves that made + A drowsy cadence, as the high trees waved; + When straight a beauteous scene burst on my sight; + Smooth were the waters that the lowland laved: + And lo! a form, as of some fairy sprite, + Who held in her right hand a budding spray, + And like a sea-maid sung her sweetly warbled lay. + + Soothing as steals the summer-wave she sung: + The grisly phantoms of the night are gone + To hear in shades forlorn the death-bell rung; + But thou whom sickness hast left weak and wan, + Turn from their spectre-terrors the green sea + That whispers at my feet, the matin gale + That crisps its shining marge shall solace thee, + And thou my long-forgotten voice shalt hail, + For I am Hope, whom weary hearts confess + The soothest sprite that sings on life's long wilderness. + + As slowly ceased her tender voice, I stood + Delighted: the hard way, so lately passed, + Seemed smooth; the ocean's bright extended flood + Before me stretched; the clouds that overcast + Heaven's melancholy vault hurried away, + Driven seaward, and the azure hills appeared; + The sunbeams shone upon their summits gray, + Strange saddening sounds no more by fits were heard, + But birds, in new leaves shrouded, sung aloft, + And o'er the level seas Spring's healing airs blew soft. + + As when a traveller, who many days + Hath journeyed 'mid Arabian deserts still, + A dreary solitude far on surveys, + And met, nor flitting bird, nor gushing rill, + But near some marble ruin, gleaming pale, + Sighs mindful of the haunts of cheerful man, + And thinks he hears in every sickly gale + The bells of some approaching caravan; + At length, emerging o'er the dim tract, sees + Damascus' golden fanes, and minarets, and trees: + + So beat my bosom when my winding way + Led through the thickets to a sheltered vale, + Where the fair syren sat; a smooth clear bay + Skirted with woods appeared, where many a sail + Went shining o'er the watery surface still, + Lessening at last in the gray ocean flood; + And yonder, half-way up the fronting hill, + Peeping from forth the trees, a cottage stood, + Above whose peaceful umbrage, trailing high, + A little smoke went up, and stained the cloudless sky. + + I turned, and lo! a mountain seemed to rise, + Upon whose top a spiry citadel + Lifted its dim-seen turrets to the skies, + Where some high lord of the domain might dwell; + And onward, where the eye scarce stretched its sight, + Hills over hills in long succession rose, + Touched with a softer and yet softer light, + And all was blended as in deep repose; + The woods, the sea, the hills that shone so fair, + Till woods, and sea, and hills seemed fading into air. + + At once, methought, I saw a various throng + To this enchanting spot their footsteps bend; + All drawn, sweet Hope! by thy inspiring song, + Which melodies scarce mortal seem to blend. + First buxom Youth, with cheeks of glowing red, + Came lightly tripping o'er the morning dew, + He wore a harebell garland on his head, + And stretched his hands at the bright-bursting view: + A mountain fawn went bounding by his side, + Around whose slender neck a silver bell was tied. + + Then said I: Mistress of the magic song, + Oh, pity 'twere that hearts that know no guile + Should ever feel the pangs of truth or wrong! + She heeded not, but sang with lovelier smile: + Enjoy, O youth, the season of thy May; + Hark, how the throstles in the hawthorn sing! + The hoary Time, that resteth night nor day, + O'er the earth's shade may speed with noiseless wing; + But heed not thou; snatch the brief joys that rise, + And sport beneath the light of these unclouded skies. + + His fine eye flashing an unwonted fire, + Then Fancy o'er the glade delighted went; + He struck at times a small and silver lyre, + Or gazed upon the rolling element; + Sometimes he took his mirror, which did show + The various landscape lovelier than the life; + Beaming more bright the vivid tints did glow, + And so well mingled was the colours' strife, + That the fond heart, the beauteous shades once seen, + Would sigh for such retreats, for vales and woods so green! + + Gay was his aspect, and his airy vest, + As loose it flowed, such colours did display, + As paint the clouds reposing in the west, + Or the moist rainbow's radiant arch inlay; + And now he tripped, like fairy of the wood, + And seemed with dancing spirits to rejoice, + And now he hung his head in pensive mood: + Meantime, O Hope! he listened to thy voice, + And whilst of joy and youth it cheerly sung, + He touched his answering harp, and o'er the valley sprung. + + Pleasure, a frolic nymph, to the glad sound + Came dancing, as all tears she might forget; + And now she gazed with a sweet archness round, + And wantonly displayed a silken net: + She won her way with fascinating air-- + Her eyes illumined with a tender light, + Her smile's strange blandishment, her shaded hair + That lengthening hung, her teeth as ivory white, + That peeped from her moist lip, seemed to inspire + Tumultuous wishes warm, and dreams of fond desire. + + What softer passions did thy bosom move, + When those melodious measures met thine ear, + Child of Sincerity, and virtuous Love! + Thine eyes did shine beneath a blissful tear + That still were turned towards the tranquil scene, + Where the thin smoke rose from the embowered cot; + And thou didst think, that there, with smile serene, + In quiet shades, and every pang forgot, + Thou mightest sink on pure Affection's breast, + And listen to the winds that whispered thee to rest. + + I thought, O Love, how seldom art thou found + Without annoyance in this earthly state! + For, haply, thou dost feed some rankling wound, + Or on thy youth pale poverty doth wait, + Till years, on heavy wing, have rolled away; + Or where thou most didst hope firm faith to see, + Thou meetest fickleness estranged and cold; + Or if some true and tender heart there be, + On which, through every change, thy soul might trust, + Death comes with his fell dart, and smites it to the dust! + + But lusty Enterprise, with looks of glee, + Approached the drooping youth, as he would say, + Come to the high woods and the hills with me, + And cast thy sullen myrtle-wreath away. + Upon a neighing courser he did sit, + That stretched its arched neck, in conscious pride, + And champed as with disdain a golden bit, + But Hope her animating voice applied, + And Enterprise with speed impetuous passed, + Whilst the long vale returned his wreathed bugle's blast. + + Suddenly, lifting high his ponderous spear, + A mailed man came forth with scornful pride, + I saw him, towering in his proud career, + Along the valley with a giant stride: + Upon his helm, in letters of bright gold, + That to the sun's meridian splendour shone, + Ambition's name far off I might behold. + Meantime from earth there came a hollow moan; + But Fame, who followed, her loud trumpet blew, + And to the murmuring beach with eyes a-flame he flew. + + And now already had he gained the strand, + Where a tall vessel rode with sail unfurled, + And soon he thought to reach the farther land, + Which to his eager eye seemed like a world + That he by strength might win and make his own; + And in that citadel, which shone so bright, + Seat him, a purple sovereign, on his throne. + So he went tilting o'er the waters white, + And whilst he oft looked back with stern disdain, + In louder tone, methought, was heard the inspiring strain: + + By the shade of cities old,[47] + By many a river stained with gore, + By the sword of Sesac bold, + Who smote the nations from the shore + Of ancient Nile to India's farthest plain, + By Fame's proud pillars, and by Valour's shield + By mighty chiefs in glorious battle slain, + Assert thy sway; amid the bloody field + Pursue thy march, and to the heights sublime + Of Honour's glittering cliffs, a mighty conqueror climb! + + Then said I, in my heart: Man, thou dost rear + Thine eye to heaven, and vaunt thy lofty worth; + The ensign of dominion thou dost bear + O'er nature's works; but thou dost oft go forth, + Urged by proud hopes to ravage and destroy, + Thou dost build up a name by cruel deeds; + Whilst to the peaceful scenes of love and joy, + Sorrow, and crime, and solitude, succeeds. + Hence, when her war-song Victory doth sing, + Destruction flaps aloft her iron-hurtling wing. + + But see, as one awakened from a trance, + With hollow and dim eyes and stony stare, + Captivity with faltering step advance! + Dripping and knotted was her coal-black hair; + For she had long been hid, as in the grave; + No sounds the silence of her prison broke, + Nor one companion had she in her cave, + Save Terror's dismal shape, that no word spoke; + But to a stony coffin on the floor + With lean and hideous finger pointed evermore. + + The lark's shrill song, the early village chime, + The upland echo of the winding horn, + The far-heard clock that spoke the passing time, + Had never pierced her solitude forlorn; + At length, released from the deep dungeon's gloom, + She feels the fragrance of the vernal gale; + She sees more sweet the living landscape bloom, + And while she listens to Hope's tender tale, + She thinks her long-lost friends shall bless her sight, + And almost faints with joy amid the broad daylight. + + And near the spot, as with reluctant feet, + Slowly desponding Melancholy drew, + The wind and rain her naked breast had beat, + Sunk was her eye, and sallow was her hue: + In the huge forest's unrejoicing shade + Bewildered had she wandered day by day, + And many a grisly fiend her heart dismayed, + And cold and wet upon the ground she lay; + But now such sounds with mellow sweetness stole, + As lapped in dreams of bliss her slow-consenting soul. + + Next, to the woody glen poor Mania strayed, + Most pale and wild, yet gentle was her look; + A slender garland she of straw had made, + Of flowers and rushes from the running brook; + But as she sadly passed, the tender sound + Of its sharp pang her wounded heart beguiled; + She dropped her half-made garland on the ground, + And then she sighed, and then in tears she smiled: + But in such sort, that Pity would have said, + O GOD, be merciful to that poor hapless maid! + + Now ravingly she cried: The whelming main-- + The wintry wave rolls over his cold head; + I never shall behold his form again; + Hence flattering fancies--he is dead, is dead! + Perhaps on some wild shore he may be cast, + Where on their prey barbarians howling rush, + Oh, fiercer they, than is the whelming blast! + Hush, my poor heart! my wakeful sorrows, hush! + He lives! I yet shall press him to my heart, + And cry, Oh no, no, no,--we never more will part! + + So sang she, when despairing, from his cell, + Hid furthest in the lone umbrageous wood, + Where many a winter he had loved to dwell, + Came grim Remorse; fixed in deep thought he stood, + His senses pierced by the unwonted tone; + Some stagnant blood-drops from his locks he shook; + He saw the trees that waved, the sun that shone, + He cast around an agonised look; + Then with a ghastly smile, that spoke his pain, + He hied him to his cave in thickest shades again. + + And now the sun sank westward, and the sky + Was hung with thousand lucid pictures gay; + When gazing on the scene{c} with placid eye, + An ancient man appeared in amice gray; + His sandal shoes were by long travel worn, + O'er hill and valley, many a weary mile, + Yet drooped he not, like one in years forlorn; + His pale cheek wore a sad, but tender smile; + 'Twas sage Experience, by his look confessed, + And white as frost his beard descended to his breast. + + Thus said I: Master, pleasant is this place, + And sweet are those melodious notes I hear, + And happy they among man's toiling race + Who, of their cares forgetful, wander near; + Me they delight, whom sickness and slow pain + Have bowed almost to death with heavy hand; + The fairy scenes refresh my heart again, + And, pleased, I listen to that music bland, + Which seems to promise hours of joy to come, + And bids me tranquil seek my poor but peaceful home.[48] + + He said: Alas! these shadows soon may fly, + Like the gay creatures of the element; + Yet do poor mortals still with raptured eye + Behold like thee the pictures they present; + And, charmed by Hope's sweet music, on they fare, + And think they soon shall reach that blissful goal, + Where never more the sullen knell of Care + For buried friends and severed loves shall toll: + So on they fare, till all their troubles cease, + And on a lap of earth they lie them down in peace. + + But not there ceases their immortal claim; + From golden clouds I heard a small voice say: + Wisdom rejoiceth in a higher aim, + Nor heeds the transient shadows of a day; + These earthly sounds may die away, and all + These perishable pictures sink in night, + But Virtue from the dust her sons shall call, + And lead them forth to joy, and life, and light; + Though from their languid grasp earth's comforts fly, + And with the silent worm their buried bodies lie. + + For other scenes there are; and in a clime + Purer, and other strains to earth unknown, + Where heaven's high host, with symphonies sublime, + Sing unto Him that sitteth on the throne. + Enough for man, if he the task fulfil + Which GOD ordained, and to his journey's end + Bear him right on, betide him good or ill; + Then Hope to soothe his death-bed shall descend, + Nor leave him, till in mansions of the blest + He gains his destined home, his everlasting rest. + +[47] Written at the time of Bonaparte's expedition to Egypt. + +[48] That of a village curate. + + +THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.[49] + + Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously! + Upon the shores of that renowned land, + Where erst His mighty arm and outstretched hand + He lifted high, + And dashed, in pieces dashed the enemy;-- + Upon that ancient coast, + Where Pharaoh's chariot and his host + He cast into the deep, + Whilst o'er their silent pomp He bid the swoll'n sea sweep; + Upon that eastern shore, 10 + That saw His awful arm revealed of yore, + Again hath He arisen, and opposed + His foes' defying vaunt: o'er them the deep hath closed! + + Shades of mighty chiefs of yore, + Who triumphed on the self-same shore: + Ammon, who first o'er ocean's empire wide + Didst bid the bold bark stem the roaring tide; + Sesac, who from the East to farthest West + Didst rear thy pillars over realms subdued; + And thou, whose bones do rest 20 + In the huge pyramid's dim solitude, + Beneath the uncouth stone, + Thy name and deeds unknown; + And Philip's glorious son, + With conquest flushed, for fields and cities won; + And thou, imperial CÊsar, whose sole sway + The long-disputed world at length confessed, + When on these shores thy bleeding rival lay! + Oh, could ye, starting from your long cold rest, + Burst Death's oblivious trance, 30 + And once again with plumed pride advance, + How would ye own your fame surpassed, + And on the sand your trophies cast, + When, the storm of conflict o'er, + And ceased the burning battle's roar, + Beneath the morning's orient light, + Ye saw, with sails all swelling white, + Britain's proud fleet, to many a joyful cry, + Ride o'er the rolling surge in awful sovereignty! + + For fierce Ambition fired your mind-- 40 + Beside your glittering car, + Amid the thickest war, + Went Superstition, sorceress blind, + In dimly-figured robe, with scowling mien, + Half hid in jealous hood; + And Tyranny, beneath whose helm was seen + His eye suffused with blood; + And giant Pride, + That the great sun with haughty smile defied; + And Avarice, that grasped his guilty gold; 50 + These, as the sorceress her loud sistrum rung, + Their dismal pÊan sung; + And still, far off, pale Pity hung her head, + Whilst o'er the dying and the dead + The victor's brazen wheels with gory axle rolled. + Now look on him, in holy courage bold; + The asserter of his country's cause behold! + He lifts his gaze to heaven, serenely brave, + And whilst around war's fearful banners wave, + He prays: Protect us, as our cause is just; 60 + For in thy might alone, Judge of the world, we trust! + + And they are scattered--the destroyers die! + They that usurped the bloody victor's claim, + That spoke of freedom; but, behold a cry! + They, that like a wasteful flame, + Or the huge sandy pillar, that amain + Whirls 'mid the silence of the desert plain, + Deathful in their career of terror came, + And scattered ruin as they passed! + So rush they, like the simoom's horrid blast; 70 + They sweep, and all around is wilderness! + But from thy throne on high, + Thou, God, hast heard the cry + Of nations in distress! + Britain goes forth, beneath thy might, + To quell the proud blasphemers in the fight; + And Egypt, far along her winding main, + Echoes the shout of joy, and genuine Freedom's strain! + + Now let them, who thy name, O GOD! defy, + Invoke the mighty Prophet of the East; 80 + Or deck, as erst, the mystic feast + To Ashtaroth, queen of the starry sky! + Let them, in some cavern dark, + Seek Osiris' buried ark; + Or call on Typhon, of gigantic form, + Lifting his hundred arms, and howling 'mid the storm! + Or to that grisly king + In vain their cymbals let them ring, + To him in Tophet's vale revered + (With smoke his brazen idol smeared), 90 + Grim Moloch, in whose fuming furnace blue + The unpitying priest the shrieking infant threw, + Whilst to shrill cries, and drums' and timbrels' sound, + The frantic and unhearing troop danced round; + To _him_ despairing let them go, + And tell their fearful tale of hideous overthrow! + + Calm breathed the airs along the evening bay, + Where, all in warlike pride, + The Gallic squadron stretched its long array; + And o'er the tranquil tide 100 + With beauteous bend the streamers waved on high + But, ah! how changed the scene ere night descends! + Hark to the shout that heaven's high concave rends! + Hark to that dying cry! + Whilst, louder yet, the cannon's roar + Resounds along the Nile's affrighted shore, + Where, from his oozy bed, + The cowering crocodile hath raised his head! + What bursting flame + Lightens the long track of the gleamy brine! 110 + From yon proud ship it came, + That towered the leader of the hostile line! + Now loud explosion rends the midnight air! + Heard ye the last deep groaning of despair? + Heaven's fiery cope unwonted thunders fill, + Then, with one dreadful pause, earth, air, and seas are still! + + But now the mingled fight + Begins its awful strife again! + Through the dun shades of night + Along the darkly-heaving main 120 + Is seen the frequent flash; + And many a towering mast with dreadful crash + Rings falling. Is the scene of slaughter o'er? + Is the death-cry heard no more? + Lo! where the East a glimmering freckle streaks, + Slow o'er the shadowy wave the gray dawn breaks. + Behold, O Sun, the flood + Strewed with the dead, and dark with blood! + Behold, all scattered on the rocking tide, + The wrecks of haughty Gallia's pride! 130 + But Britain's floating bulwarks, with serene + And silent pomp, amid the deathful scene + Move glorious, and more beautiful display + Their ensigns streaming to thy orient ray. + + Awful Genius of the land! + Who (thy reign of glory closed) + By marble wrecks, half-hid in sand, + Hast mournfully reposed; + Who long, amid the wasteful desert wide, + Hast loved with death-like stillness to abide; 140 + Or wrapped in tenfold gloom, + From noise of human things for ages hid, + Hast sat upon the shapeless tomb + In the forlorn and dripping pyramid; + Awake! Arise! + Though thou behold the day no more + That saw thy pride and pomp of yore; + Though, like the sounds that in the morning ray + Trembled and died away + From Memnon's statue; though, like these, the voice 150 + That bade thy vernal plains rejoice, + The voice of Science, is no longer heard; + And all thy gorgeous state hath disappeared: + Yet hear, with triumph, and with hope again, + The shouts of joy that swell from thy forsaken main! + + And, oh! might He, at whose command + Deep darkness shades a mourning land; + At whose command, bursting from night, + And flaming with redoubled light, + The Sun of Science mounts again, 160 + And re-illumes the wide-extended plain! + Might He, from this eventful day, + Illustrious Egypt, to thy shore + Science, Freedom, Peace restore, + And bid thy crowded ports their ancient pomp display! + No more should Superstition mark, + In characters uncouth and dark, + Her dreary, monumental shrine! + No more should meek-eyed Piety + Outcast, insulted lie 170 + Beneath the mosque, whose golden crescents shine, + But starting from her trance, + O'er Nubia's sands advance + Beyond the farthest fountains of the Nile! + The dismal Gallas should behold her smile, + And Abyssinia's inmost rocks rejoice + To hear her awful lore, yet soft consoling voice! + + Hasten, O GOD! the time, when never more + Pale Pity, from her moonlight seat shall hear, + And dropping at the sound a fruitless tear, 180 + The far-off battle's melancholy roar; + When never more Horror's portentous cry + Shall sound amid the troubled sky; + Or dark Destruction's grimly-smiling mien, + Through the red flashes of the fight be seen! + Father in heaven! our ardent hopes fulfil; + Thou speakest "Peace," and the vexed world is still! + Yet should Oppression huge arise, + And with bloody banners spread, + Upon the gasping nations tread, 190 + Whilst he thy name defies, + Trusting in Thee alone, we hope to quell + His furious might, his purpose fell; + And as the ensigns of his baffled pride + O'er the seas are scattered wide, + We will take up a joyous strain and cry-- + Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously! + +[49] This poem, "Coombe Ellen," "St Michael's Mount," _et cet._, down to +the Monody on Dr Warton, originally dedicated to the Countess of +Mansfield, are dated from Donhead, 1802. + + +A GARDEN-SEAT AT HOME. + + Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home, + Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose, + And slender woods that the still scene inclose, + For yon magnificent and ample dome[50] + That glitters in my sight! yet I can praise + Thee, Arundel, who, shunning the thronged ways + Of glittering vice, silently dost dispense + The blessings of retired munificence. + Me, a sequestered cottage, on the verge + Of thy outstretched domain, delights; and here + I wind my walks, and sometimes drop a tear + O'er Harriet's urn, scarce wishing to emerge + Into the troubled ocean of that life, + Where all is turbulence, and toil, and strife. + Calm roll the seasons o'er my shaded niche; + I dip the brush, or touch the tuneful string, + Or hear at eve the unscared blackbirds sing; + Enough if, from their loftier sphere, the rich + Deign my abode to visit, and the poor + Depart not, cold and hungry, from my door. + + DONHEAD, _Oct. 12, 1798._ + +[50] Wardour Castle. + + +IN HORTO REV. J. STILL, + +APUD KNOYLE, VILLAM AMOENISSIMAM. + + Stranger! a while beneath this aged tree + Rest thee, the hills beyond, and flowery meads, + Surveying; and if Nature's charms may wake + A sweet and silent transport at thine heart, + In spring-time, whilst the bee hums heedless nigh, + Rejoice! for thee the verdant spot is dressed, + Circled with laurels green, and sprinkled o'er + With many a budding rose: the shrubs all ring + To the birds' warblings, and by fits the air + Whispers amid the foliage o'er thine head! + Rejoice, and oh! if life's sweet spring be thine, + So gather its brief rose-buds, and deceive + The cares and crosses of humanity. + + +GREENWICH HOSPITAL. + + Come to these peaceful seats, and think no more + Of cold, of midnight watchings, or the roar + Of Ocean, tossing on his restless bed! + Come to these peaceful seats, ye who have bled + For honour, who have traversed the great flood, + Or on the battle's front with stern eye stood, + When rolled its thunder, and the billows red + Oft closed, with sudden flashings, o'er the dead! + Oh, heavy are the sorrows that beset + Old age! and hard it is--hard to forget + The sunshine of our youth, our manhood's pride! + But here, O aged men! ye may abide + Secure, and see the last light on the wave + Of Time, which wafts you silent to your grave; + Like the calm evening ray, that smiles serene + Upon the tranquil Thames, and cheers the sinking scene. + + +A RUSTIC SEAT NEAR THE SEA. + + To him, who, many a night upon the main, + At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side, + Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide, + Oh, how delightful smile thy views again, + Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill + That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill + That o'er the gray sand glitters; the clear sky, + Beneath whose blue vault shines the village tower, + That high elms, swaying in the wind, embower; + And hedge-rows, where the small birds' melody + Solace the lithe and loitering peasant lad! + O Stranger! is thy pausing fancy sad + At thought of many evils which do press + On wide humanity!--Look up; address + The GOD who made the world; but let thy heart + Be thankful, though some heavy thoughts have part, + That, sheltered from the human storms' career, + Thou meetest innocence and quiet here. + + +WARDOUR CASTLE. + + If rich designs of sumptuous art may please, + Or Nature's loftier views, august and old, + Stranger! behold this spreading scene;--behold + This amphitheatre of aged trees, + That solemn wave above thee, and around + Darken the towering hills! Dost thou complain + That thou shouldst cope with penury or pain, + Or sigh to think what pleasures might be found + Amid such wide possessions!--Pause awhile; + Imagine thou dost see the sick man smile; + See the pale exiles, that in yonder dome, + Safe from the wasteful storm, have found a home;[51] + And thank the Giver of all good, that lent + To the humane, retired, beneficent, + The power to bless. Nor lift thy heart elate, + If such domains be thine; but emulate + The fair example, and those deeds, that rise + Like holy incense wafted to the skies; + Those deeds that shall sustain the conscious soul, + When all this empty world hath perished, like a scroll! + +[51] French emigrants, chiefly supported by the bounty of Lord Arundel. + + +POLE-VELLUM, CORNWALL. + +A PICTURESQUE COTTAGE AND GROUNDS BELONGING TO J. LEMON, ESQ. + + Stranger! mark this lovely scene, + When the evening sets serene, + And starting o'er the silent wood, + The last pale sunshine streaks the flood, + And the water gushing near + Soothes, with ceaseless drip, thine ear; + Then bid each passion sink to rest;-- + Should ev'n one wish rise in thy breast, + One tender wish, as now in mine, + That some such quiet spot were thine, + And thou, recalling seasons fled, + Couldst wake the slumbers of the dead, + And bring back her you loved, to share + With thee calm peace and comfort there;-- + Oh, check the thought, but inly pray + To HE, "who gives and takes away," + That many years this fair domain + Its varied beauties may retain;-- + So when some wanderer, who has lost + His heart's best treasure, who has crossed + In life bleak hills and passes rude, + Should gain this lovely solitude; + Delighted he may pause a while, + And when he marks the landscape smile, + Leave with its willows, ere he part, + The blessings of a softened heart. + + JULY 1786. + + +ON A BEAUTIFUL SPRING, + +FORMING A COLD BATH, AT COOMBE, NEAR DONHEAD, BELONGING TO MY BROTHER, +CHAS. BOWLES, ESQ. + + Fountain, that sparklest through the shady place, + Making a soft, sad murmur o'er the stones + That strew thy lucid way! Oh, if some guest + Should haply wander near, with slow disease + Smitten, may thy cold springs the rose of health + Bring back, and the quick lustre to his eye! + The ancient oaks that on thy margin wave, + The song of birds, and through the rocky cave + The clear stream gushing, their according sounds + Should mingle, and, like some strange music, steal + Sadly, yet soothing, o'er his aching breast. + And thou, pale exile from thy native shores,[52] + Here drink,--oh, couldst thou!--as of Lethe's stream! + Nor friends, nor bleeding country, nor the views + Of hills or streams beloved, nor vesper bell, + Heard in the twilight vale, remember more! + +[52] French priests, who have a residence near. + + +A CENOTAPH, + +TO THE MEMORY OF LIEUTENANT-COLONEL ISAAC, WHO DIED AT CAPE ST NICHOLA +MOLE, 1797. + + Oh, hadst thou fall'n, brave youth! on that proud day,[53] + When our victorious fleet o'er the red surge + Rolled in terrific glory, thou hadst fall'n + Most honoured; and Remembrance, while she thought + Upon thy gallant end, had dried her tear! + Now far beyond the huge Atlantic wave + Thy bones decay; the withering pestilence, + That swept the islands of the western world, + Smote thee, untimely drooping to the tomb! + But 'tis enough; whate'er a soldier's fate, + That firm he hied him, where stern honour bade; + Though with unequal strength, he sunk and died. + +[53] The 1st of June 1794, when Colonel Isaac greatly distinguished +himself as commander of the military on board Lord Howe's ship. + + +TRANSLATION{d} OF A LATIN POEM + +BY THE REV. NEWTON OGLE, DEAN OF MANCHESTER. + + Oh thou, that prattling on thy pebbled way + Through my paternal vale dost stray, + Working thy shallow passage to the sea! + Oh, stream, thou speedest on + The same as many seasons gone; + But not, alas, to me + Remain the feelings that beguiled + My early road, when, careless and content, + (Losing the hours in pastimes innocent) + Upon thy banks I strayed a playful child; 10 + Whether the pebbles that thy margin strew, + Collecting, heedlessly I threw; + Or loved in thy translucent wave + My tender shrinking feet to lave; + Or else ensnared your little fry, + And thought how wondrous skilled was I! + So passed my boyish days, unknown to pain, + Days that will ne'er return again. + It seems but yesterday + I was a child, to-morrow to be gray! 20 + So years succeeding years steal silently away. + Not fleeter thy own current, hurrying thee, + Rolls down to the great sea. + Thither oh carry these sad thoughts; the deep + Bury them!--thou, meantime, thy tenor keep, + And winding through the green-wood, cheer, + As erst, my native, peaceful pastures here. + + +ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT. + +INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD SOMERS. + + While summer airs scarce breathe along the tide, + Oft pausing, up the mountain's craggy side + We climb, how beautiful, how still, how clear, + The scenes that stretch around! The rocks that rear + Their shapes, in rich fantastic colours dressed; + The hill-tops, where the softest shadows rest; + The long-retiring bay, the level sand, + The fading sea-line, and the furthest land, + That seems, as low it lessens from the eye, + To steal away beneath the cloudless sky! 10 + But yesterday, the misty morn was spread + In dreariness on the bleak mountain's head; + No glittering prospect from the upland smiled, + The driving squall came dark, the sea heaved wild, + And, lost and lonely, the wayfarer sighed, + Wet with the hoar spray of the flashing tide. + How changed is now the circling scene! The deep + Stirs not; the glancing roofs and white towers peep + Along the margin of the lucid bay; + The sails, descried far in the offing gray, 20 + Hang motionless, and the pale headland's height + Is touched as with sweet gleams of fairy light! + Oh, lives there on earth's busy-stirring scene, + Whom Nature's tranquil charms, her airs serene, + Her seas, her skies, her sunbeams, fail to move + With stealing tenderness and grateful love! + Go, thankless man, to Misery's cave--behold + Captivity, stretched in her dungeon cold! + Or think on those who, in yon dreary mine,[54] + Sunk fathoms deep beneath the rolling brine, 30 + From year to year, amid the lurid shade, + O'er-wearied, ply their melancholy trade; + That thou may'st bless the glorious sun; and hail + Him who with beauty clothed the hill and vale; + Who bent the arch of the high heavens for thee, + And stretched in amplitude the broad blue sea! + Now sunk are all its murmurs; and the air + But moves by fits the bents, that here and there + Upshoot in casual spots of faded green: + Here straggling sheep the scanty pasture glean, 40 + Or, on the jutting fragments that impend, + Stray fearlessly, and gaze, as we ascend.[55] + Mountain, no pomp of waving woods hast thou, + That deck with varied shade thy hoary brow; + No sunny meadows at thy feet are spread, + No streamlets sparkle o'er their pebbly bed! + But thou canst boast thy beauties: ample views + That catch the rapt eye of the pausing Muse; + Headlands around new-lighted; sails, and seas, + Now glassy-smooth, now wrinkling to the breeze; 50 + And when the drisly Winter, wrapped in sleet, + Goes by, and winds and rain thy ramparts beat, + Fancy can see thee standing thus aloof, + And frowning, bleak, and bare, and tempest-proof, + Look as with awful confidence, and brave + The howling hurricane, the dashing wave; + More graceful, when the storm's dark vapours frown, + Than when the summer suns in pomp go down! + And such is he, who, clad in watchet weeds, + And boasting little more than nature needs, 60 + Can wrap him in contentedness, and wear + A port unchanged, in seasons rude or fair. + His may be Fancy's sunshine, and the Muse + May deck his visions with her fairest hues; + And he may lift his honest front, and say + To the hard storm, that rends his locks of gray, + I heed thee not;--he unappalled may stand + Beneath the cloud that shades a sinking land, + While heedless of the storm that onward sweeps, + Mad, impious Riot his loud wassail keeps, 70 + Pre-eminent in native worth; nor bend, + Though gathering ills on his bare head descend: + And when the wasteful storm sweeps o'er its prey, + And rends the kingdoms of the world away, + He, firm as stands the rock's unshaken base, + Yet panting for a surer resting-place, + The human hurricane unmoved can see, + And say, O GOD, my refuge is in Thee! + States, anchored deep, that far their shadow cast, + Rock, and are scattered by the ALMIGHTY'S blast; 80 + As when, awakened from his horrid sleep, + In fiery caves, a thousand fathoms deep, + The Earthquake's Demon hies aloft; he waits, + Nigh some high-turreted proud city's gates, + As listening to the mingled shouts and din + Of the mad crowd that feast or dance within. + Mean time sad Nature feels his sway, the wave + Heaves, and low sounds moan through the mountain cave; + Then all at once is still, still as midnight, + When not the lime-leaf moves: Oh, piteous sight! 90 + For now the glittering domes crash from on high-- + And hark, a strange and lamentable cry! + It ceases, and the tide's departing roar + Alone is heard upon the desert shore, + That, as it sweeps with slow huge swell away, + Remorseless mutters o'er its buried prey. + So Ruin hurrieth o'er this shaken ball: 97 + He bids his blast go forth, and lo! doth fall + A Carthage or a Rome. Then rolls the tide + Of deep Forgetfulness, whelming the pride + Of man, his shattered and forsaken bowers, + His noiseless cities, and his prostrate towers. + Some columns, eminent and awful, stand, + Like Egypt's pillars on the lonely sand; + We read upon their base, inscribed by Fame, + A HOMER'S here, or here a SHAKESPEARE'S name; + Yet think not of the surge, that soon may sweep + Ourselves unnumbered to the oblivious deep. + Yet time has been, as mouldering legends say,[56] + When all yon western tract, and this bright bay, 110 + Where now the sunshine sleeps, and wheeling white + The sea-mew circles in fantastic flight, + Was peopled wide; but the loud storm hath raved, + Where its green top the high wood whispering waved, + And many a year the slowly-rising flood + Raked, where the Druids' uncooth altar stood. + Thou only, aged mountain, dost remain, + Stern monument amidst the deluged plain! + And fruitless the big waves thy bulwarks beat; + The big waves slow retire, and murmur at thy feet:[57] 120 + Thou, half-encircled by the refluent tide, + As if thy state its utmost rage defied, + Dost tower above the scene, as in thine ancient pride. + Mountain! the curious Muse might love to gaze + On the dim record of thy early days; + Oft fancying that she heard, like the low blast, + The sounds of mighty generations past. + Thee the Phoenician, as remote he sailed + Along the unknown coast, exulting hailed, + And when he saw thy rocky point aspire, 130 + Thought on his native shores of Aradus or Tyre. + Distained with many a ghastly giant's blood, + Upon thy height huge Corineus[58] stood, + And clashed his shield; whilst, hid in caves profound, + His monstrous foe cowered at the fearful sound. + Hark to the brazen clarion's pealing swell! + The shout at intervals, the deepening yell! + Long ages speed away, yet now again + The noise of battle hurtles on the plain! + Behold the dark-haired warriors!--down thy side, + O mountain! sternly terrible, they stride! + Ev'n now, impatient for the promised war, + They rear their axes[59] huge, and shouting, cry to Thor. + The sounds of conflict cease--at dead of night + A voice is heard: Prepare the Druid rite! + And hark! the bard upon thy summit rings + The deep chords of his thrilling harp, and sings + To Night's pale Queen, that through the heavens wide, + Amidst her still host list'ning seems to ride! + Slow sinks the cadence of the solemn lay, 150 + And all the sombrous scenery steals away-- + The shadowy Druid throng, the darksome wood, + And the hoar altar, wet with human blood! + Marked ye the Angel-spectre that appeared? + By other hands the holy fane[60] is reared + High on the point, where, gazing o'er the flood, + Confessed, the glittering apparition stood. + And now the sailor, on his watch of night, + Sees, like a glimmering star, the far-off light; + Or, homeward bound, hears on the twilight bay 160 + The slowly-chanted vespers die away! + These scenes are fled and passed, yet still sublime, + And wearing graceful the gray tints of Time, + Upon the steep rock's craggy eminence + The embattled castle sits, surveying thence + The villages that strew the subject plain, + And the long winding of the lucid main: + Meantime the stranger marks its turrets high, + And muses on the tale of changeful years gone by. + Of this no more: lo! here our journey ends; 170 + Wide and more wide the arch of heaven extends, + And on this topmost fragment as we lean, + We feel removed from dim earth's distant scene. + Lift up the hollow trump[61] that on the ground + Is cast, and let it, rolling its long sound, + Speak to the surge below, that we may gain + Tidings from those who traverse the wide main. + Or tread we now some spot of wizard-land, + And mark the sable trump, that may command + The brazen doors to fly, and with loud call 180 + Scare the grim giant in his murky hall! + Hail, solitary castle! that dost crown + This desert summit, and supreme look down + On the long-lessening landscape stretched below; + Fearless to trace thy inmost haunts we go! + We climb the steps:--No warning signs are sent, + No fiery shapes flash on the battlement. + We enter; the long chambers without fear + We traverse; no strange echoes meet the ear; + No time-worn tapestry spontaneous shakes, 190 + No spell-bound maiden from her trance awakes, + But Taste's fair hand arrays the peaceful dome, + And hither the domestic virtues come; + Pleased, while to this secluded scene they bear + Sweets that oft wither in a world of care. + Castle! no more thou frownest on the main + In the dark terror of thy ancient reign; + No more thy long and dreary halls affright, + Swept by the stoled spirits of the night; + But calm, and heedless of the storms that beat, 200 + Here Elegance and Peace assume their seat; + And when the night descends, and Ocean roars, + Rocking without upon his darkened shores, + These vaulted roofs to gentle sounds reply, + The voice of social cheer, or song of harmony.[62] + So fade the modes of life with slow decay, + And various ages various hues display! + Fled are the grimly shadows of Romance-- + And, pleased, we see in beauteous troop advance + New arts, new manners, from the Gothic gloom 210 + Escaped, and scattering flowers that sweetlier bloom! + Refinement wakes; before her beaming eye + Dispersed, the fumes of feudal darkness fly. + Like orient Morning on the mountain's head, + A softer light on life's wide scene is shed; + Lapping in bliss the sense of human cares, + Hark! Melody pours forth her sweetest airs; + And like the shades that on the still lake lie, + Of rocks, or fringing woods, or tinted sky, + Painting her hues on the clear tablet lays, 220 + And her own beauteous world with tender touch displays! + Then Science lifts her form, august and fair, + And shakes the night-dews from her glittering hair; + Meantime rich Culture clothes the living waste, + And purer patterns of Athenian Taste + Invite the eye, and wake the kindling sense; + And milder Manners, as they play, dispense, + Like tepid airs of Spring, their genial influence! + Such is thy boast, Refinement. But deep dyes + Oft mar the splendour of thy noontide skies: 230 + Then Fancy, sick of follies that deform + The face of day, and in the sunshine swarm; + Sick of the fluttering fopperies that engage + The vain pursuits of a degenerate age; + Sick of smooth Sophistry's insidious cant, + Or cold Impiety's defying rant; + Sick of the muling sentiment that sighs + O'er its dead bird, while Want unpitied cries; + Sick of the pictures that pale Lust inflame, + And flush the cheek of Love with deep, deep shame; 240 + Would fain the shade of elder days recall, + The Gothic battlements, the bannered hall; + Or list of elfin harps the fabling rhyme, + Or wrapped in melancholy trance sublime, + Pause o'er the working of some wond'rous tale, + Or bid the spectres of the castle hail! + Oh, might I now, amid the frowning storm, + Behold, great Vision of the Mount! thy form, + Such and so vast as thou wert seen of yore, + When looking steadfast to Bayonna's shore, 250 + Thou sattest awful on the topmost stone, + Making the rock thy solitary throne! + For up the narrow steps, winding with pain, + The watch-tower's loftiest platform now we gain. + Departed spirit! fruitless is the prayer, + We see alone thy long-deserted chair;[63] + And never more, or in the storm of night, + Or by the glimmering moon's illusive light, + Or when the flash, with red and hasty glance, + Sudden illumes the sea's remote expanse, 260 + The shores, the cliffs, the mountain, till again + Deep darkness closes on the roaring main, + Shalt thou, dread Angel, with unaltered mien, + Sublime upon thy cloudy seat be seen! + Yet, musing much on wild tradition's lore, + And many a phantom tale, believed of yore, + Chiefly remembering the sweet song (whose strain + Shall never die) of him who wept in vain + For his loved Lycidas, in the wide sea + Whelmed, when he cried, great Angel, unto thee, 270 + The fabled scene of thy renown we trace, + And hail, with thronging thoughts, thy hallowed resting-place! + The stealing Morn goes out--here let us end + Fitliest our song, and to the shore descend. + Yet once more, azure ocean, and once more, + Ye lighted headlands, and thou stretching shore, + Down on the beauties of your scenes we cast + A tender look, the longest and the last! + Amid the arch of heaven, extended clear, + Scarce the thin flecks of feathery clouds appear; 280 + Beyond the long curve of the lessening bay + The still Atlantic stretches its bright way; + The tall ship moves not on the tranquil brine; + Around, the solemn promontories shine; + No sounds approach us, save, at times, the cry + Of the gray gull, that scarce is heard so high; + The billows make no noise, and on the breast + Of charmed Ocean, Silence sinks to rest! + Oh, might we thus from heaven's bright battlements + Behold the scene Humanity presents; 290 + And see, like this, all harmonised and still, + And hear no far-off sounds of earthly ill! + Wide landscape of the world, in purest light + Arrayed, how fair, how cheering were the sight! + Alas! we think upon this seat of care, + And ask, if peace, if harmony be there. + We hear the clangours and the cries that shake + The mad world, and their dismal music make; + We see gaunt Vice, of dread, enormous size, + That fearless in the broad day sweltering lies, 300 + And scorns the feeble arrow that assails + His Heaven-defying crest and iron scales; + His brows with wan and withered roses crowned, + And reeling to the pipe's lascivious sound, + We see Intemperance his goblet quaff; + And mocking Blasphemy, with mad loud laugh, + Acting before high Heaven a direr part, + Sport with the weapons that shall pierce his heart! + If o'er the southern wave[64] we turn our sight, + More dismal shapes of hideous woe affright: 310 + Grim-visaged War, that ruthless, as he hies, + Drowns with his trumpet's blast a brother's cries; + And Massacre, by yelling furies led, + With ghastly grin and eye-balls rolling red! + O'er a vast field, wide heaped with festering slain, + Hark! how the Demon Passions shout amain, + And cry, exulting, while the death-storm lowers, + Hurrah! the kingdoms of the world are ours! + O GOD! who madest man, I see these things, + And wearied wish for a fleet angel's wings, 320 + That I might fly away, and hear no more + The surge that moans along this mortal shore! + But Joy's unclouded sunshine may not be, + Till, Father of all worlds, we rest with Thee! + Then Truth, uplifting from thy works the pall, + Shall speak: In wisdom hast Thou made them all; + Then angels and archangels, as they gaze, + And all the acclaiming host of heaven, shall raise + The loud hosannah of eternal praise! + Here all is mixed with sorrow; and the clouds 330 + Hang awfully, whose shade the dim earth shrouds; + Therefore I mourn for man, and sighing say, + As down the steep I wind my homeward way, + Oh, when will Earth's long muttering tempests cease, + And all be sunshine (like this scene) and peace! + +[54] A mine called the Wherry-Mine, beneath the surface of the sea near +Penzance. + +[55] Three or four sheep were seen rambling among the precipices, and +picking here and there a blade of grass; but in general the rock is +naked, and extremely steep and craggy. + +[56] Tradition reports that the rock was anciently connected by a large +tract of land with the Isles of Scilly, and that the whole space between +was inundated by an incursion of the sea. + +[57] It is only at high tide the rock is entirely surrounded by the sea; +at low water it is accessible by land. + +[58] One of the supposed followers of Brutus, to whom Cornwall was +allotted. The rather by him liked, says Milton, for that the hugest +giants in rocks and caves were said to lurk there; which kind of +monsters to deal with was his old exercise. + +[59] At the bottom of this mountain, as they were digging for tin, they +found spear-heads, axes, _et cet._--_Camden._ + +[60] A convent built on the top of the rock, where the apparition of St +Michael was said to have appeared. + +[61] A speaking-trumpet lying on the ground. + +[62] This and the foregoing reflections were suggested by seeing +instruments of music, books, _et cet._, in an apartment, elegantly but +appropriately fitted up. + +[63] On the highest turret of the castle is a place called St Michael's +Chair. + +[64] Alluding to the cruelties committed in France. + + +ON AN UNFORTUNATE AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. + +WRITTEN DECEMBER 1783. + + Oh, Mary, when distress and anguish came, + And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame; + When every friend, ev'n like thy bloom, was fled, + And Want bowed low thy unsupported head; + Sure sad Humanity a tear might give, + And Virtue say, Live, beauteous sufferer, live! + But should there one be found, (amidst the few + Who with compassion thy last pangs might view), + One who beheld thy errors with a tear, + To whom the ruins of thy heart were dear, 10 + Who fondly hoped, the ruthful season past, + Thy faded virtues might revive at last; + Should such be found--oh! when he saw thee lie, + Closing on every earthly hope thine eye; + When he beheld despair, with rueful trace, + Mark the strange features of thy altered face; + When he beheld, as painful death drew nigh, + Thy pale, pale cheek, thy feebly lifted eye, + Thy chill, shrunk hand, hung down as in despair, + Or slowly raised, with many a muttered prayer;-- 20 + When thus, in early youth, he saw thee bend + Poor to the grave, and die without a friend; + Some sadder feelings might unbidden start, + And more than common pity touch his heart! + The eventful scene is closed; with pausing dread + And sorrow I drew nigh the silent bed; + Thy look was calm--thy heart was cold and still, + As if the world had never used it ill; + Methought the last faint smile, with traces weak, + Still seemed to linger on thy faded cheek. 30 + Poor Mary! though most beauteous in thy face, + Ere sorrow touched it, beamed each lovely grace; + Yet, oh! thy living features never wore + A look so sweet, so eloquent before, + As this, which bids all human passions cease, + And tells my pitying heart you died in peace! + + +HYMN TO WODEN. + + God of the battle, hear our prayer! + By the lifted falchion's glare; + By the uncouth fane sublime, + Marked with many a Runic rhyme; + By the "weird sisters"[65] dread, + That, posting through the battle red, + Choose the slain, and with them go + To Valhalla's halls below, + Where the phantom-chiefs prolong + Their echoing feast, a giant throng, 10 + And their dreadful beverage drain + From the skulls of warriors slain: + God of the battle, hear our prayer; + And may we thy banquet share! + Save us, god, from slow disease; + From pains that the brave spirit freeze; + From the burning fever's rage; + From wailings of unhonoured age, + Drawing painful his last breath; + Give us in the battle death! 20 + Let us lift our glittering shield, + And perish, perish in the field! + Now o'er Cumri's hills of snow + To death, or victory, we go; + Hark! the chiefs their cars prepare; + See! they bind their yellow hair; + Frenzy flashes from their eye, + They fly--our foes before them fly! + Woden, in thy empire drear, + Thou the groans of death dost hear, 30 + And welcome to thy dusky hall + Those that for their country fall! + Hail, all hail the godlike train, + That with thee the goblet drain; + Or with many a huge compeer, + Lift, as erst, the shadowy spear! + Whilst Hela's inmost caverns dread + Echo to their giant tread, + And ten thousand thousand shields + Flash lightning o'er the glimmering fields! 40 + Hark! the battle-shouts begin-- + Louder sounds the glorious din: + Louder than the ice's roar, + Bursting on the thawing shore; + Or crashing pines that strew the plain, + When the whirlwinds hurl the main! + Riding through the death-field red, + And singling fast the destined dead, + See the fatal sisters fly! + Now my throbbing breast beats high-- 50 + Now I urge my panting steed, + Where the foemen thickest bleed. + Soon exulting I shall go, + Woden, to thy halls below; + Or o'er the victims, as they die, + Chaunt the song of Victory! + +[65] ValkyriÊ, or choosers of the slain. See Gray's "Fatal Sisters," _et +cet._ + + +COOMBE-ELLEN.[66] + + Call the strange spirit that abides unseen + In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes, + And bid his dim hand lead thee through these scenes + That burst immense around! By mountains, glens, + And solitary cataracts that dash + Through dark ravines; and trees, whose wreathed roots + O'erhang the torrent's channelled course; and streams, + That far below, along the narrow vale, + Upon their rocky way wind musical. + Stranger! if Nature charm thee, if thou lovest 10 + To trace her awful steps, in glade or glen, + Or under covert of the rocking wood, + That sways its murmuring and mossy boughs + Above thy head; now, when the wind at times + Stirs its deep silence round thee, and the shower + Falls on the sighing foliage, hail her here + In these her haunts; and, rapt in musings high, + Think that thou holdest converse with some Power + Invisible and strange; such as of yore + Greece, in the shades of piney MÊnalaus, 20 + The abode of Pan, or Ida's hoary caves, + Worshipped; and our old Druids, 'mid the gloom + Of rocks and woods like these, with muttered spell + Invoked, and the loud ring of choral harps. + Hast thou oft mourned the chidings of the world, + The sound of her disquiet, that ascends + For ever, mocking the high throne of GOD! + Hast thou in youth known sorrow! Hast thou drooped, + Heart-stricken, over youth's and beauty's grave, + And ever after thought on the sad sound 30 + The cold earth made, which, cast into the vault, + Consigned thy heart's best treasure--dust to dust! + Here, lapped into a sweet forgetfulness, + Hang o'er the wreathed waterfall, and think + Thou art alone in this dark world and wide! + Here Melancholy, on the pale crags laid, + Might muse herself to sleep; or Fancy come, + Witching the mind with tender cozenage, + And shaping things that are not; here all day + Might Meditation listen to the lapse 40 + Of the white waters, flashing through the cleft, + And, gazing on the many shadowing trees, + Mingle a pensive moral as she gazed. + High o'er thy head, amidst the shivered slate, + Behold, a sapling yet, the wild ash bend, + Its dark red berries clustering, as it wished + In the clear liquid mirror, ere it fell, + To trace its beauties; o'er the prone cascade, + Airy, and light, and elegant, the birch + Displays its glossy stem, amidst the gloom 50 + Of alders and jagged fern, and evermore + Waves her light pensile foliage, as she wooed + The passing gale to whisper flatteries. + Upon the adverse bank, withered, and stripped + Of all its pleasant leaves, a scathed oak + Hangs desolate, once sovereign of the scene, + Perhaps, proud of its beauty and its strength, + And branching its broad arms along the glen: + Oh, speaks it no remonstrance to the heart! + It seems to say: So shall the spoiler come, 60 + The season that shall shatter your fair leaves, + Gay children of the summer! yet enjoy + Your pleasant prime, and lift your green heads high, + Exulting; but the storm will come at last, + That shall lay low your strength, and give your pride + To the swift-hurrying stream of age, like mine. + And so severe Experience oft reproves + The gay and careless children of the world; + They hear the cold rebuke, and then again + Turn to their sport, as likes them, and dance on! 70 + And let them dance; so all their blooming prime + They give not up to vanity, but learn + That wisdom and that virtue which shall best + Avail them, when the evil days draw nigh, + And the brief blossoms of their spring-time fade. + Now wind we up the glen, and hear below + The dashing torrent, in deep woods concealed, + And now again white-flashing on the view, + O'er the huge craggy fragments. Ancient stream, + That murmurest through the mountain solitudes, 80 + The time has been when no eye marked thy course, + Save His who made the world! Fancy might dream + She saw thee thus bound on from age to age + Unseen of man, whilst awful Nature sat + On the rent rocks, and said: These haunts be mine. + Now Taste has marked thy features; here and there + Touching with tender hand, but injuring not, + Thy beauties; whilst along thy woody verge + Ascends the winding pathway, and the eye + Catches at intervals thy varied falls. 90 + But loftier scenes invite us; pass the hill, + And through the woody hanging, at whose feet + The tinkling Ellen winds, pursue thy way. + Yon bleak and weather-whitened rock, immense, + Upshoots amidst the scene, craggy and steep, + And like some high-embattled citadel, + That awes the low plain shadowing. Half-way up + The purple heath is seen, but bare its brow, + And deep-intrenched, and all beneath it spread + With massy fragments riven from its top. 100 + Amidst the crags, and scarce discerned so high, + Hangs here and there a sheep, by its faint bleat + Discovered, whilst the astonished eye looks up, + And marks it on the precipice's brink + Pick its scant food secure:--and fares it not + Ev'n so with you, poor orphans, ye who climb + The rugged path of life without a friend; + And over broken crags bear hardly on, + With pale imploring looks, that seem to say, + My mother! she is buried, and at rest, 110 + Laid in her grave-clothes; and the heart is still, + The only heart that throughout all the world + Beat anxiously for you! Oh, yet bear on; + He who sustains the bleating lamb shall feed + And comfort you: meantime the heaven's pure beam, + That breaks above the sable mountain's brow, + Lighting, one after one, the sunless crags, + Awakes the blissful confidence, that here, + Or in a world where sorrow never comes, + All shall be well. 120 + Now through the whispering wood + We steal, and mark the old and mossy oaks + Imboss the mountain slope; or the wild ash, + With rich red clusters mantling; or the birch, + In lonely glens light-wavering; till behold! + The rapid river shooting through the gloom + Its lucid line along; and on its side + The bordering pastures green, where the swinked ox + Lies dreaming, heedless of the numerous flies + That, in the transitory sunshine, hum 130 + Round his broad breast; and further up the cot, + With blue, light smoke ascending; images + Of peace and comfort! The wild rocks around + Endear your smile the more, and the full mind, + Sliding from scenes of dread magnificence, + Sinks on your charms reposing; such repose + The sage may feel, when, filled and half-oppressed + With vast conceptions, smiling he returns + To life's consoling sympathies, and hears, + With heartfelt tenderness, the bells ring out; 140 + Or pipe upon the mountains; or the low + Of herds slow winding down the cottaged vale, + Where day's last sunshine linger. Such repose + He feels, who, following where his SHAKSPEARE leads, + As in a dream, through an enchanted land, + Here, with Macbeth, in the dread cavern hails + The weird sisters, and the dismal deed + Without a name; there sees the charmed isle, + The lone domain of Prospero; and, hark! + Wild music, such as earth scarce seems to own, 150 + And Ariel o'er the slow-subsiding surge + Singing her smooth air quaintly! Such repose + Steals o'er her spirits, when, through storms at sea, + Fancy has followed some nigh-foundered bark + Full many a league, in ocean's solitude + Tossed far beyond the Cape of utmost Horn, + That stems the roaring deep; her dreary track + Still Fancy follows, and at dead of night + Hears, with strange thunder, the huge fragments fall + Crashing, from mountains of high-drifting ice 160 + That o'er her bows gleam fearful; till at last + She hails the gallant ship in some still bay + Safe moored; or of delightful Tinian; + Smiling, like fairy isle, amid the waste; + Or of New Zealand, where from sheltering rocks + The clear cascades gush beautiful, and high + The woodland scenery towers above the mast, + Whose long and wavy ensign streams beneath. + Far inland, clad in snow, the mountains lift + Their spiry summits, and endear the more 170 + The sylvan scene around; the healing air + Breathes o'er green myrtles, and the poe-bird flits, + Amid the shade of aromatic shrubs, + With silver neck and blue enamelled wing. + Now cross the stream, and up the narrow track, + That winds along the mountain's edge, behold + The peasant girl ascend: cheerful her look, + Beneath the umbrage of her broad black hat, + And loose her dark-brown hair; the plodding pad + That bears her panting climbs, and with sure step 180 + Avoids the jutting fragments; she, meantime, + Sits unconcerned, till, lessening from the view, + She gains the summit and is seen no more. + All day, along that mountain's heathy waste, + Booted and strapped, and in rough coat succinct, + His small shrill whistle pendent at his breast, + With dogs and gun, untired the sportsman roams; + Nor quits his wildly-devious range, till eve, + Upon the woods, the rocks, and mazy rills + Descending, warns him home: then he rejoins 190 + The social circle, just as the clear moon, + Emerging o'er the sable mountain, sails + Silent, and calm, and beautiful, and sheds + Its solemn grandeur on the shadowy scene. + To music then; and let some chosen strain + Of HANDEL gently recreate the sense, + And give the silent heart to tender joy. + Pass on to the hoar cataract,[67] that foams + Through the dark fissures of the riven rock; + Prone-rushing it descends, and with white whirl, 200 + Save where some silent shady pool receives + Its dash; thence bursting, with collected sweep, + And hollow sound, it hurries, till it falls + Foaming in the wild stream that winds below. + Dark trees, that to the mountain's height ascend, + O'ershade with pendent boughs its mossy course, + And, looking up, the eye beholds it flash + Beneath the incumbent gloom, from ledge to ledge + Shooting its silvery foam, and far within + Wreathing its curve fantastic. If the harp 210 + Of deep poetic inspiration, struck + At times by the pale minstrel, whilst a strange + And beauteous light filled his uplifted eye, + Hath ever sounded into mortal ears, + Here I might think I heard its tones, and saw, + Sublime amidst the solitary scene, + With dimly-gleaming harp, and snowy stole, + And cheek in momentary frenzy flushed, + The great musician stand. Hush, every wind + That shakes the murmuring branches! and thou stream, 220 + Descending still with hollow-sounding sweep, + Hush! 'Twas the bard struck the loud strings: Arise, + Son of the magic song, arise! + And bid the deep-toned lyre + Pour forth its manly melodies. + With eyes on fire, + CARADOC rushed upon the foe; + He reared his arm--he laid the mighty low! + O'er the plain see him urge his gore-bathed steed! + They bleed, the Romans[68] bleed! 230 + He lifts his lance on high, + They fly! the fierce invaders fly! + Fear not now the horse or spear, + Fear not now the foeman's might; + Victory the cry shall hear + Of those who for their country fight; + O'er the slain + That strew the plain, + Stern on her sable war-horse shall she ride, + And lift her red right hand, in their heart's blood deep dyed! 240 + Return, my Muse! the fearful sound is past; + And now a little onward, where the way + Ascends above the oaks that far below + Shade the rude steep, let Contemplation lead + Our footsteps; from this shady eminence + 'Tis pleasant and yet fearful to look down + Upon the river roaring, and far off + To see it stretch in peace, and mark the rocks + One after one, in solemn majesty + Unfolding their wild reaches; here with wood 250 + Mantled, beyond abrupt and bare, and each + As if it strove, with emulous disdain, + To tower in ruder, darker amplitude. + Pause, ere we enter the long craggy vale; + It seems the abode of Solitude. So high + The rock's bleak summit[69] frowns above our head, + Looking immediate down, we almost fear + Lest some enormous fragment should descend + With hideous sweep into the vale, and crush + The intruding visitant. No sound is here, 260 + Save of the stream that shrills, and now and then + A cry as of faint wailing, when the kite + Comes sailing o'er the crags, or straggling lamb + Bleats for its mother. Here, remote from man, + And life's discordant roar, might Piety + Lift up her early orisons to Him + Who made the world; who piled up, mighty rocks, + Your huge o'ershadowing summits; who devolved + The mighty rivers on their mazy course; + Who bade the seasons roll, and they rolled on 270 + In harmony; who filled the earth with joy, + And spread it in magnificence. O GOD! + Thou also madest the great water-flood, + The deep that uttereth thy voice; whose waves + Toss fearful at thy bidding. Thou didst speak, + And lo! the great and glorious sun, from night + Tenfold upspringing, through the heavens' wide way + Held his untired career. These, in their course, + As with one shout of acclamation, praise + Thee, LORD! thee, FATHER! thee, ALMIGHTY KING! 280 + Maker of earth and heaven! Nor less the flower + That shakes its purple head, and smiles unseen + Upon the mountain's van; nor less the stream + That tinkles through the cliff-encircled bourne, + Cheering with music the lone place, proclaim: + In wisdom, Father, hast thou made them all! + Scenes of retired sublimity, that fill + With fearful ecstasy and holy trance + The pausing mind! we leave your awful gloom, + And lo! the footway plank, that leads across 290 + The narrow torrent, foaming through the chasm + Below; the rugged stones are washed and worn + Into a thousand shapes, and hollows scooped + By long attrition of the ceaseless surge, + Smooth, deep, and polished as the marble urn, + In their hard forms. Here let us sit, and watch + The struggling current burst its headlong way, + Hearing the noise it makes, and musing much + On the strange changes of this nether world. + How many ages must have swept to dust 300 + The still succeeding multitudes, that "fret + Their little hour" upon this restless scene, + Or ere the sweeping waters could have cut + The solid rock so deep! As now its roar + Comes hollow from below, methinks we hear + The noise of generations, as they pass, + O'er the frail arch of earthly vanity, + To silence and oblivion. The loud coil + Ne'er ceases; as the running river sounds + From age to age, though each particular wave 310 + That made its brief noise, as it hurried on, + Ev'n whilst we speak, is past, and heard no more; + So ever to the ear of Heaven ascends + The long, loud murmur of the rolling globe; + Its strife, its toils, its sighs, its shouts, the same! + But lo! upon the hilly croft, and scarce + Distinguished from the crags, the peasant hut + Forth peeping; nor unwelcome is the sight. + It seems to say: Though solitude be sweet, + And sweet are all the images that float 320 + Like summer-clouds before the eye, and charm + The pensive wanderer's way, 'tis sweeter yet + To think that in this world a brother lives. + And lovelier smiles the scene, that, 'mid the wilds + Of rocks and mountains, the bemused thought + Remembers of humanity, and calls + The wildly-roving fancy back to life. + Here, then, I leave my harp, which I have touched + With careless hand, and here I bid farewell + To Fancy's fading pictures, and farewell 330 + The ideal spirit that abides unseen + 'Mid rocks, and woods, and solitudes. I hail + Rather the steps of Culture, that ascend + The precipice's side. She bids the wild + Bloom, and adorns with beauty not its own + The ridged mountain's tract; she speaks, and lo! + The yellow harvest nods upon the slope; + And through the dark and matted moss upshoots + The bursting clover, smiling to the sun. + These are thy offspring, Culture! the green herb 340 + Is thine, that decks with rich luxuriance + The pasture's lawny range; the yellow corn, + That waves upon the upland ridge, is thine; + Thine too the elegant abode, that smiles + Amidst the rocky scene, and wakes the thought, + The tender thought, of all life's charities. + And senseless were my heart, could I look back + Upon the varied way my feet have trod, + Without a silent prayer that health and joy, + And love and happiness, may long abide 350 + In the romantic vale where Ellen winds. + +[66] Coombe-Ellen (in Welsh, Cwm Elan) is situated among the most +romantic mountains of Radnorshire, about five miles from Rhayd'r. This +poem is inscribed to Thomas Grove, Esq. of Fern, Wiltshire, at whose +summer residence, in Radnorshire, it was written. + +[67] Nant-Vola. + +[68] The _Silures_, comprehending Radnorshire, Herefordshire, +Brecknockshire, Monmouthshire, and Glamorganshire, were the bravest of +the Britons; Caractacus, the greatest and most renowned leader Britain +had ever produced, was their king. + +[69] Dole-Vinoc rock. + + +SUMMER EVENING AT HOME. + + Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace + Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in, + Not with loud shouts, and the thronged city's din, + But with such sounds as bid all tumult cease + Of the sick heart; the grasshopper's faint pipe + Beneath the blades of dewy grass unripe, + The bleat of the lone lamb, the carol rude + Heard indistinctly from the village green, + The bird's last twitter, from the hedge-row seen, + Where, just before, the scattered crumbs I strewed, + To pay him for his farewell song;--all these + Touch soothingly the troubled ear, and please + The stilly-stirring fancies. Though my hours + (For I have drooped beneath life's early showers) + Pass lonely oft, and oft my heart is sad, + Yet I can leave the world, and feel most glad + To meet thee, Evening, here; here my own hand + Has decked with trees and shrubs the slopes around, + And whilst the leaves by dying airs are fanned, + Sweet to my spirit comes the farewell sound, + That seems to say: Forget the transient tear + Thy pale youth shed--Repose and Peace are here. + + +WINTER EVENING AT HOME. + + Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline + Of sharp December through my cottage pane + Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane! + In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine, + Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey + Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way; + And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light, + Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall + Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall, + Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night! + Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze, + Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze, + I think, around me in this twilight room, + I but remark mortality's sad gloom; + Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear, + In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere. + + +THE SPIRIT OF NAVIGATION.[70] + + Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide + Amid the solitude of the vast deep, + For ever listening to the sullen tide, + And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep! + Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice; + The rule of the tempestuous main is thine, + Outstretched and lone; thou utterest thy voice, + Like solemn thunders: These wild waves are mine; + Mine their dread empire; nor shall man profane + The eternal secrets of my ancient reign. + + The voice is vain: secure, and as in scorn, + The gallant vessel scuds before the wind; + Her parting sails swell stately to the morn; + She leaves the green earth and its hills behind; + Gallant before the wind she goes, her prow + High bearing, and disparting the blue tide + That foams and flashes in its rage below; + Meantime the helmsman feels a conscious pride, + And while far onward the long billows swell, + Looks to the lessening land, that seems to say, Farewell! + + Father of storms! then let thy whirlwinds roar + O'er seas of solitary amplitude; + Man, the poor tenant of thy rocky shore, + Man, thy terrific empire hath subdued; + And though thy waves toss his high-foundered bark + Where no dim watch-light gleams, still he defies + Thy utmost rage, and in his buoyant ark + Speeds on, regardless of the darkening skies; + And o'er the mountain-surges, as they roll, + Subdues his destined way, and speeds from pole to pole. + + Behold him now, far from his native plain, + Where high woods shade some wild Hesperian bay, + Or green isles glitter in the southern main, + His streaming ensign to the morn display! + Behold him, where the North's pale meteors dance, + And icy rocks roll glimmering from afar, + Fearless through night and solitude advance! + Or where the pining sons of Andamar, + When dark eclipse has wrapt the labouring moon, + Howl to the demon of the dread monsoon! + + Time was, like them, poor Nature's shivering child, + Pacing the beach, and by the salt spray beat, + He watched the melancholy surge, or smiled + To see it burn and bicker at his feet; + In some rude shaggy spot, by fortune placed, + He dreamed not of strange lands, and empires spread, + Beyond the rolling of the watery waste; + He saw the sun shine on the mountain's head, + But knew not, whilst he hailed the orient light, + What myriads blessed his beam, or sickened at the sight. + + From some dark promontory, that o'erbent + The flashing waves, he heard their ceaseless roar; + Or carolled in his light canoe content, + As, bound from creek to creek, it grazed the shore; + Gods of the storm the dreary space might sweep, + And shapes of death, and gliding spectres gaunt, + Might flit, he thought, o'er the remoter deep; + And whilst strange voices cried, Avaunt, avaunt! + Uncertain lights, seen through the midnight gloom, + Might lure him sadly on to his cold watery tomb. + + No city, then, amid the calm clear day, + O'er the blue waters' undulating line, + With battlements, and fans that glittered gay, + And piers, and thronging masts, was seen to shine. + No cheerful sounds were wafted on the gale, + Nor hummed the shores with early industry; + But mournful birds in hollow cliffs did wail, + And there all day the cormorant did cry, + While with sunk eye, and matted, dripping locks, + The houseless savage slept beneath the foam-beat rocks. + + Thus slumbering long upon the dreamy verge + Of instinct, see, he rouses from his trance! + Faint, and as glimmering yet, the Arts emerge, + One after one, from darkness, and advance, + Beauteous, as o'er the heavens the stars' still way. + Now see the track of his dominion wide, + Fair smiling as the dayspring; cities gay + Lift their proud heads, and o'er the yellow tide, + Whilst sounds of fervent industry arise, + A thousand pennants float bright streaming in the skies! + + Genius of injured Asia! once sublime + And glorious, now dim seen amid the storm, + And melancholy clouds of sweeping time, + Who yet dost half reveal thine awful form, + Pointing, with saddened aspect and slow hand, + To vast emporiums, desolate and waste; + To wrecks of unknown cities, sunk in sand! + 'Twas at thy voice, Arts, Order, Science, Taste. + Upsprung, the East adorning, like the smile + Of Spring upon the banks of thy own swelling Nile. + + 'Twas at thy voice huge Enterprise awoke, + That, long on rocky Aradus reclined, + Slumbered to the hoarse surge that round her broke, + And hollow pipings of the idle wind; + She heard thy voice, upon the rock she stood + Gigantic, the rude scene she marked--she cried, + Let there be intercourse, and the great flood + Waft the rich plenty to these shores denied! + And soon thine eye delighted saw aspire, + Crowning the midland main, thy own Imperial Tyre. + + Queen of the waters! who didst ope the gate + Of Commerce, and display in lands unknown + Thy venturous sail, ev'n now in ancient state + Methinks I see thee on thy rocky throne; + I see their massy piles thy cothons[71] rear, + And on the deep a solemn shadow cast; + I traverse thy once echoing shores, and hear + The sound of mighty generations past: + I see thy kingly merchants' thronged resort, + And gold and purple gleam o'er all thy spacious port. + + I mark thy glittering galleys sweep along-- + The steady rowers to the strokes incline, + And chaunt in unison their choral song; + White through their oars the ivory benches shine; + The fine-wrought sails, which looms of Egypt wove, + Swell beautiful beneath the bending mast; + Hewn from proud Lebanon's immortal grove, + The oaks of Bashan brave the roaring blast! + So o'er the western wave thy vessels float, + For verdant Egypt bound, or Calpe's cliffs remote. + + Queen of the waters! throned upon thy seat + Amid the sea, thy beauty and thy fame + The deep, that rolls low-murmuring at thy feet, + And all the multitude of isles, proclaim! + For thee Damascus piles her woolly store; + To thee their flocks Arabia's princes bring; + And Sheba heaps her spice and glittering ore; + The ships of Tarshish of thy glory sing:[72] + Queen of the waters! who is like to thee, + Replenished in thy might, and throned on the sea! + + The purple streamers fly, the trumpets sound, + The adventurous bark glides on in tranquil state; + The voyagers, with leafy garlands crowned, + Draw back their arms together, and elate + Sweep o'er the surge; the spray far scattered flies + Beneath the stroke of their unwearied oars; + To their loud shouts the circling coast replies; + And now, o'er the deep ocean, where it roars + They fly; till slowly lessening from the shore, + Beneath the haze they sink--sink, and are seen no more. + + When Night descends, and with her silver bow + The Queen of Heaven[73] comes forth in radiance bright, + Surveying the dim earth and seas below; + Why from afar resounds the mystic rite + Hymned round her uncouth altar? Virgins there + (Amid the brazen cymbal's hollow ring) + And aged priests the solemn feast prepare; + To her their nightly orisons they sing; + That she may look from her high throne, and guide + The wandering bark secure along the trackless tide. + + Her on his nightly watch the pilot views + Careful, and by her soft and tranquil light, + Along the uncertain coast his track pursues; + And now he sees great Carmel's woody height, + Where nightly fires to grisly Baal burn; + Round the rough cape he winds; meantime far on + Thick eddying scuds the hollow surf upturn; + He thinks of the sweet light of summer gone! + He thinks, perhaps, dashed on the rugged shore, + He never shall behold his babes' loved mother more! + + Slow comes the morn; but ah! what demon form,[74] + While pealing thunder the high concave rends, + Rises more vast amid the rushing storm! + With dreadful shade his horrid bulk ascends + Dark to the driving clouds; beneath him roars + The deep; his troubled brow is wrapped in gloom; + See, it moves onwards; now more huge it soars! + Who shall avert the poor seafarer's doom! + Who now shall save him from the spectre's might + That treads the rocking waves in thunder and in night! + + Dread phantom! art thou he whose fearful sway, + As Egypt's hoary chronicles have told, + The clouds, the whirlwinds, and the seas obey, + Typhon, of aspect hideous to behold! + Oh, spare the wretched wanderers, who, led + By flattering hopes, have left the peaceful shore! + Behold, they shrink, they bend with speechless dread; + From their faint grasp drops the unheeded oar! + It answers not, but mingling seas and sky, + In clouds, and wind, and thunder, rushes by. + + Hail to thy light, lord of the golden day, + That, bursting through the sable clouds again, + Dost cheer the seaman's solitary way, + And with new splendour deck the lucid main! + And lo! the voyage past, where many a palm,[75] + Its green top only seen, the prospect bounds, + Fringing the sunny sea-line, clear and calm; + Now hark the slowly-swelling human sounds! + Meantime the bark along the placid bay + Of Tamiatis keeps her easy-winding way. + + Here rest we safe from scenes of peril past, + No danger lurks in this serene retreat; + No more is heard the roaring of the blast, + But pastoral sounds of scattered flocks that bleat, + Or evening herds that o'er the champaign low; + Here citrons tall and purple dates around + Delicious fragrance and cool shade bestow; + The shores with murmuring industry resound; + While through the vernal pastures where he strays, + The Nile, as with delight, his mazy course delays. + +[70] Inscribed to the Rev. Dr Vincent Hind, Master of Westminster +School. + +[71] Artificial harbours. + +[72] Ezekiel xxvii. 25, "The ships of Tarshish did sing of thee, and +thou wast replenished, and made very glorious in the midst of the seas." + +[73] Astarte, or the Moon, the goddess of the Sidonians, called the +_Queen of Heaven_. "The women knead their dough, to make cakes to the +Queen of Heaven" (Jer. vii. 18). + +[74] Waterspouts are more frequent near the capes of Latikea, Grecgo, +and Carmel, than in any other parts of the Mediterranean Sea.--_Shaw's +Travels._ + +[75] The coast of Egypt is not discovered till its trees are seen. + + +WATER-PARTY ON BEAULIEU RIVER, IN THE NEW FOREST. + + I thought 'twas a toy of the fancy, a dream + That leads with illusion the senses astray, + And I sighed with delight as we stole down the stream, + While the sun, as he smiled on our sail, seemed to say, + Rejoice in my light, ere it fade fast away! + + We left the loud rocking of ocean behind, + And stealing along the clear current serene, + The PhÊdria[76] spread her white sails to the wind, + And they who divided had many a day been, + Gazed with added delight on the charms of the scene. + + Each bosom one spirit of peace seemed to feel; + We heard not the tossing, the stir, and the roar + Of the ocean without; we heard only the keel, + The keel that went whispering along the green shore, + And the stroke, as it dipped, of the feathering oar. + + Beneath the dark woods now, as winding we go, + What sounds of rich harmony burst on the ear! + Hark, cheer'ly the loud-swelling clarionets blow; + Now the tones gently die, now more mellow we hear + The horns through the high forest echoing clear! + + They cease; and no longer the echoes prolong + The swell of the concert; in silence we float-- + In silence! Oh, listen! 'tis woman's[77] sweet song-- + The bends of the river reply to each note, + And the oar is held dripping and still from the boat. + + Mark the sun that descends o'er the curve of the flood! + Seize, Wilmot,[78] the pencil, and instant convey + To the tablet the water, the banks, and the wood, + That their colours may live without change or decay, + When these beautiful tints die in darkness away. + + So when we are parted, and tossed on the deep, + And no longer the light on our prospect shall gleam, + The semblance of one lovely scene we may keep, + And remember the day, and the hour, like a dream, + When we sighed with delight as we stole down the stream! + +[76] Cutter belonging to Nathaniel Ogle, Esq. + +[77] Mrs Sheridan. + +[78] Mrs Wilmot, well known for her great talents in drawing, _et cet._ + + +MONODY ON THE DEATH OF DR WARTON. + + Oh! I should ill thy generous cares requite + Thou who didst first inspire my timid Muse, + Could I one tuneful tear to thee refuse, + Now that thine aged eyes are closed in night, + Kind Warton! Thou hast stroked my stripling head, + And sometimes, mingling soft reproof with praise, + My path hast best directed through the maze + Of thorny life: by thee my steps were led + To that romantic valley, high o'erhung + With sable woods, where many a minstrel rung 10 + His bold harp to the sweeping waterfall; + Whilst Fancy loved around each form to call + That fill the poet's dream: to this retreat + Of Fancy, (won by whose enticing lay + I have forgot how sunk the summer's day), + Thou first did guide my not unwilling feet; + Meantime inspiring the gay breast of youth + With love of taste, of science, and of truth. + The first inciting sounds of human praise, + A parent's love excepted, came from thee; 20 + And but for thee, perhaps, my boyish days + Had all passed idly, and whate'er in me + Now live of hope, been buried. + I was one, + Long bound by cold dejection's numbing chain, + As in a torpid trance, that deemed it vain + To struggle; nor my eyelids to the sun + Uplifted: but I heard thy cheering voice; + I shook my deadly slumber off; I gazed + Delighted 'round; awaked, inspired, amazed, 30 + I marked another world, and in my choice + Lovelier, and decked with light! On fairy ground + Methought I buoyant trod, and heard the sound + As of enchanting melodies, that stole, + Stole gently, and entranced my captive soul. + Then all was life and hope! 'Twas thy first ray, + Sweet Fancy, on the heart; as when the day + Of Spring, along the melancholy tract + Of wintry Lapland, dawns; the cataract, + From ice dissolving on the silent side 40 + Of some white precipice, with paly gleam + Descends, while the cold hills a slanting beam + Faint tinges: till, ascending in his pride, + The great Sun from the red horizon looks, + And wakes the tuneless birds, the stagnant brooks, + And sleeping lakes! So on my mind's cold night + The ray of Fancy shone, and gave delight + And hope past utterance. + Thy cheering voice, + O Warton! bade my silent heart rejoice, 50 + And wake to love of nature; every breeze, + On Itchin's brink was melody; the trees + Waved in fresh beauty; and the wind and rain, + That shook the battlements of Wykeham's fane, + Not less delighted, when, with random pace, + I trod the cloistered aisles; and witness thou, + Catherine,[79] upon whose foss-encircled brow + We met the morning, how I loved to trace + The prospect spread around; the rills below, + That shone irriguous in the gleaming plain; 60 + The river's bend, where the dark barge went slow, + And the pale light on yonder time-worn fane![80] + So passed my days with new delight; mean time + To Learning's tender eye thou didst unfold + The classic page, and what high bards of old, + With solemn notes, and minstrelsy sublime, + Have chanted, we together heard; and thou, + Warton! wouldst bid me listen, till a tear + Sprang to mine eye: now the bold song we hear + Of Greece's sightless master-bard:[81] the breast 70 + Beats high; with stern Pelides to the plain + We rush; or o'er the corpse of Hector slain + Hang pitying;--and lo! where pale, oppressed + With age and grief, sad Priam comes;[82] with beard + All white he bows, kissing the hands besmeared + With his last hope's best blood! + The oaten reed[83] + Now from the mountain sounds; the sylvan Muse, + Reclined by the clear stream of Arethuse, + Wakes the Sicilian pipe; the sunny mead 80 + Swarms with the bees, whose drowsy lullaby + Soothes the reclining ox with half-closed eye; + While in soft cadence to the madrigal, + From rock to rock the whispering waters fall! + But who is he,[84] that, by yon gloomy cave, + Bids heaven and earth bear witness to his woe! + And hark! how hollowly the ocean-wave + Echoes his plaint, and murmurs deep below! + Haste, let the tall ship stem the tossing tide, + That he may leave his cave, and hear no more 90 + The Lemnian surges unrejoicing roar; + And be great Fate through the dark world thy guide, + Sad Philoctetes![85] + So Instruction bland, + With young-eyed Sympathy, went hand in hand + O'er classic fields; and let my heart confess + Its holier joy, when I essayed to climb + The lonely heights where Shakspeare sat sublime, + Lord of the mighty spell: around him press + Spirits and fairy-forms. He, ruling wide 100 + His visionary world, bids terror fill + The shivering breast, or softer pity thrill + Ev'n to the inmost heart. Within me died + All thoughts of this low earth, and higher powers + Seemed in my soul to stir; till, strained too long, + The senses sunk. + Then, Ossian, thy wild song + Haply beguiled the unheeded midnight hours, + And, like the blast that swept Berrathron's towers, + Came pleasant and yet mournful to my soul! 110 + See o'er the autumnal heath the gray mists roll! + Hark to the dim ghosts' faint and feeble cry, + As on the cloudy tempest they pass by! + Saw ye huge Loda's spectre-shape advance, + Through which the stars look pale! + Nor ceased the trance + Which bound the erring fancy, till dark night + Flew silent by, and at my window-grate + The morning bird sang loud: nor less delight + The spirit felt, when still and charmed I sate 120 + Great Milton's solemn harmonies to hear, + That swell from the full chord, and strong and clear, + Beyond the tuneless couplets' weak control, + Their long-commingling diapason roll, + In varied sweetness. + Nor, amidst the choir + Of pealing minstrelsy, was thy own lyre, + Warton, unheard;--as Fancy poured the song, + The measured music flowed along, + Till all the heart and all the sense 130 + Felt her divinest influence, + In throbbing sympathy:--Prepare the car,[86] + And whirl us, goddess, to the war, + Where crimson banners fire the skies, + Where the mingled shouts arise, + Where the steed, with fetlock red, + Tramples the dying and the dead; + And amain, from side to side, + Death his pale horse is seen to ride! + Or rather, sweet enthusiast, lead 140 + Our footsteps to the cowslip mead, + Where, as the magic spell is wound, + Dying music floats around:-- + Or seek we some gray ruin's shade, + And pity the cold beggar,[87] laid + Beneath the ivy-rustling tower, + At the dreary midnight hour, + Scarce sheltered from the drifting snow; + While her dark locks the bleak winds blow + O'er her sleeping infant's cheek! 150 + Then let the shrilling trumpet speak, + And pierce in louder tones the ear, + Till, while it peals, we seem to hear + The sounding march, as of the Theban's song;[88] + And varied numbers, in their course, + With gathering fulness, and collected force, + Like the broad cataract, swell and sweep along! + Struck by the sounds, what wonder that I laid, + As thou, O Warton! didst the theme inspire, + My inexperienced hand upon the lyre, 160 + And soon with transient touch faint music made, + As soon forgotten! + So I loved to lie + By the wild streams of elfin poesy, + Rapt in strange musings; but when life began, + I never roamed a visionary man; + For, taught by thee, I learned with sober eyes + To look on life's severe realities. + I never made (a dream-distempered thing) + Poor Fiction's realm my world; but to cold Truth 170 + Subdued the vivid shapings of my youth. + Save when the drisly woods were murmuring, + Or some hard crosses had my spirit bowed; + Then I have left, unseen, the careless crowd, + And sought the dark sea roaring, or the steep + That braved the storm; or in the forest deep, + As all its gray leaves rustled, wooed the tone + Of the loved lyre, that, in my springtide gone, + Waked me to transport. + Eighteen summers now 180 + Have smiled on Itchin's margin, since the time + When these delightful visions of our prime + Rose on my view in loveliness. And thou + Friend of my muse, in thy death-bed art cold, + Who, with the tenderest touches, didst unfold + The shrinking leaves of Fancy, else unseen + And shelterless: therefore to thee are due + Whate'er their summer sweetness; and I strew, + Sadly, such flowerets as on hillocks green, + Or mountain-slope, or hedge-row, yet my hand 190 + May cull, with many a recollection bland, + And mingled sorrow, Warton, on thy tomb, + To whom, if bloom they boast, they owe their bloom! + +[79] Catherine Hill. + +[80] St Cross Hospital. + +[81] Homer. + +[82] See the last book. + +[83] Theocritus. + +[84] [Greek: MegalÍ moira.]--_Soph._ + +[85] Philoctetes, see Sophocles. Youthful impressions on first reading +it. + +[86] See Warton's "Ode to Fancy." + +[87] Alluding to some pathetic lines in Warton's "Ode to Fancy." + +[88] See Warton's "Ode on West's Translation of Pindar." + + +EPITAPH ON H. WALMSLEY, ESQ., + +IN ALVERSTOKE CHURCH, HANTS. + + Oh! they shall ne'er forget thee, they who knew + Thy soul benevolent, sincere, and true; + The poor thy kindness cheered, thy bounty fed, + Whom age left shivering in its dreariest shed; + Thy friends, who sorrowing saw thee, when disease + Seemed first the genial stream of life to freeze, + Pale from thy hospitable home depart, + Thy hand still open, and yet warm thy heart! + But how shall she her love, her loss express, + Thy widow, in this uttermost distress, + When she with anguish hears her lisping train + Upon their buried father call in vain! + She wipes the tear despair had forced to flow, + She lifts her look beyond this vale of woe, + And rests (while humbled in the dust she kneels) + On Him who only knows how much she feels. + + +AGE. + + Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn! + But thou art passing to that night-still bourne, + Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud + To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud, + Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest; + And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast! + + +ON A LANDSCAPE BY RUBENS. + + Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full, + Upon the rich creation, shadowed so + That not great Nature, in her loftiest pomp + Of living beauty, ever on the sight + Rose more magnificent; nor aught so fair + Hath Fancy, in her wildest, brightest mood, + Imaged of things most lovely, when the sounds + Of this cold cloudy world at distance sink, + And all alone the warm idea lives + Of what is great, or beautiful, or good, 10 + In Nature's general plan. + So the vast scope, + O Rubens! of thy mighty mind, and such + The fervour of thy pencil, pouring wide + The still illumination, that the mind + Pauses, absorbed, and scarcely thinks what powers + Of mortal art the sweet enchantment wrought. + She sees the painter, with no human touch, + Create, embellish, animate at will, + The mimic scenes, from Nature's ampler range 20 + Caught as by inspiration; while the clouds, + High wandering, and the fairest form of things, + Seem at his bidding to emerge, and burn + With radiance and with life! + Let us, subdued, + Now to the magic of the moment lose + The thoughts of life, and mingle every sense + Ev'n in the scenes before us! + The fresh morn + Of summer shines; the white clouds of the east 30 + Are crisped; beneath, the bright blue champaign steams; + The banks, the meadows, and the flowers, send up + An incensed exhalation, like the meek + And holy praise of Him whose soul's deep joy + The lone woods witness. Thou, whose heart is sick + Of vanities; who, in the throng of men, + Dost feel no lenient fellowship; whose eye + Turns, with a languid carelessness, around + Upon the toiling crowd, still murmuring on, + Restless;--oh, think, in summer scenes like these, 40 + How sweet the sense of quiet gladness is, + That, like the silent breath of morning, steals + From lowly nooks, and feels itself expand + Amid the works of Nature, to the Power + That made them: to the awful thought of HIM + Who, when the morning stars shouted for joy, + Bade the great sun from tenfold darkness burst, + The green earth roll in light, and solitude + First hear the voice of man, whilst hills and woods + Stood eminent, in orient hues arrayed, 50 + His dwelling; and all living Nature smiled, + As in this pictured semblance, beaming full + Before us! + Mark again the various view: + Some city's far-off spires and domes appear, + Breaking the long horizon, where the morn + Sits blue and soft: what glowing imagery + Is spread beneath!--Towns, villages, light smoke, + And scarce-seen windmill-sails, and devious woods, + Chequering 'mid sunshine the grass-level land, 60 + That stretches from the sight. + Now nearer trace + The forms of trees distinct--the broad brown oak; + The poplars, that, with silvery trunks, incline, + Shading the lonely castle; flakes of light + Are flung behind the massy groups, that, now + Enlarging and enlarging still, unfold + Their separate beauties. But awhile delay; + Pass the foot-bridge, and listen (for we hear, + Or think we hear her), listen to the song 70 + Of yonder milkmaid, as she brims her pail; + Whilst, in the yellow pasture, pensive near, + The red cows ruminate. + Break off, break off, for lo! where, all alarmed, + The small birds,[89] from the late resounding perch, + Fly various, hushed their early song; and mark, + Beneath the darkness of the bramble-bank + That overhangs the half-seen brook, where nod + The flowing rushes, dew-besprent, with breast + Ruddy, and emerald wing, the kingfisher 80 + Steals through the dripping sedge away. What shape + Of terrors scares the woodland habitants, + Marring the music of the dawn? Look round; + See, where he creeps, beneath the willowy stump, + Cowering and low, step silent after step, + The booted fowler: keen his look, and fixed + Upon the adverse bank, while, with firm hand, + He grasps the deadly tube; his dog, with ears + Hung back, and still and steady eye of fire, + Points to the prey; the boor, intent, moves on 90 + Panting, and creeping close beneath the leaves, + And fears lest ev'n the rustling reeds betray + His footfall; nearer yet, and yet more near, + He stalks. Who now shall save the heedless group, + The speckled partridges, that in the sun, + On yonder hillock green, across the stream, + Bask unalarmed beneath the hawthorn bush, + Whose aged boughs the crawling blackberry + Entwines! + And thus, upon the sweetest scenes 100 + Of human loveliness, and social peace + Domestic, when the full fond heart reclines + Upon its hopes, and almost mingles tears + Of joy, to think that in this hollow world + Such bliss should be its portion; then (alas, + The bitter change!), then, with his unheard step, + In darkness shrouded, yet approaching fast, + Death, from amidst the sunny flowers, lifts up + His giant dread anatomy, and smites, + Smites the fair prospect once, whilst every bloom 110 + Hangs shrivelled, and a sound of mourning fills + The lone and blasted valley: but no sound + Is here of sorrow or of death, though she, + The country Kate, with shining morning cheek + (Who, in the tumbril, with her market-gear, + Sits seated high), seems to expect the flash + Exploding, that shall lay the innocent + And feathered tenants of the landscape low. + Not so the clown, who, heedless whether life + Or death betide, across the plashy ford 120 + Drives slow; the beasts plod on, foot following foot, + Aged and grave, with half-erected ears, + As now his whip above their matted manes + Hangs tremulous, while the dark and shallow stream + Flashes beneath their fetlock: he, astride + On harness saddle, not a sidelong look + Deigns at the breathing landscape, or the maid + Smiling behind; the cold and lifeless calf + Her sole companion: and so mated oft + Is some sweet maid, whose thrilling heart was formed 130 + For dearer fellowship. But lift the eye, + And hail the abode of rural ease. The man + Walks forth, from yonder antique hall, that looks + The mistress of the scene; its turrets gleam + Amid the trees, and cheerful smoke is seen, + As if no spectred shape (though most retired + The spot) there ever wandered, stoled in white, + Along the midnight chambers; but quaint Mab + Her tiny revels led, till the rare dawn + Peeped out, and chanticleer his shrill alarm 140 + Beneath the window rang, then, with a wink, + The shadowy rout have vanished! + As the morn + Jocund ascends, how lovely is the view + To him who owns the fair domain! The friend + Of his still hours is near, to whom he vowed + His truth; her eyes reflect his bliss; his heart + Beats high with joy; his little children play, + Pleased, in his pathway; one the scattered flowers + Straggling collects, the other spreads its arms, 150 + In speechless blandishment, upon the neck + Of its caressing nurse. + Still let us gaze, + And image every form of heartfelt joy + Which scenes like these bestow, that charm the sight, + Yet soothe the spirit. All is quiet here, + Yet cheerful as the green sea, when it shines + In some still bay, shines in its loneliness + Beneath the breeze, that moves, and hardly moves, + The placid surface. 160 + On the balustrade + Of the old bridge, that o'er the moat is thrown, + The fisher with his angle leans intent, + And turns, from the bright pomp of spreading plains, + To watch the nimble fry, that glancing oft + Beneath the gray arch shoot! Oh, happiest he + Who steals through life, untroubled as unseen! + The distant city, with its crowded spires, + That dimly shines upon his view, awakes + No thought but that of pleasure more composed, 170 + As the winds whisper him to sounder sleep. + He leans upon the faithful arm of her + For whom his youthful heart beat, fondly beat, + When life was new: time steals away, yet health + And exercise are his; and in these shades, + Though sometimes he has mourned a proud world's wrong, + He feels an independence that all cares + Breasts with a carol of content; he hears + The green leaves of his old paternal trees + Make music, soothing as they stir: the elm, 180 + And poplar with its silvery trunk, that shades + The green sward of the bank before his porch, + Are to him as companions;--whilst he turns + With more endearment to the living smile + Of those his infants, who, when he is dead, + Shall hear the music of the self-same trees + Waving, till years roll on, and their gray hairs + Go to the dust in peace. + Away, sad thought! + Lo! where the morning light, through the dark wood, 190 + Upon the window-pane is flung like fire, + Hail, Life and Hope; and thou, great work of art, + That 'mid this populous and busy swarm + Of men dost smile serene, as with the hues + Of fairest, grandest Nature; may'st thou speak + Not vainly of the endearments and best joys + That Nature yields. The manliest heart that swells + With honest English feelings,--while the eye, + Saddened, but not cast down, beholds far off + The darkness of the onward rolling storm,-- 200 + Charmed for a moment by this mantling view, + Its anxious tumults shall suspend: and such, + The pensive patriot shall exclaim, thy scenes, + My own beloved country, such the abode + Of rural peace! and while the soul has warmth, + And voice has energy, the brave arm strength, + England, thou shalt not fall! The day shall come, + Yes, and now is, that thou shalt lift thyself; + And woe to him who sets upon thy shores + His hostile foot! Proud victor though he be, 210 + His bloody march shall never soil a flower + That hangs its sweet head, in the morning dew, + On thy green village banks! His mustered hosts + Shall be rolled back in thousands, and the surge + Bury them! Then, when peace illumes once more, + My country, thy green nooks and inmost vales, + It will be sweet amidst the forest glens + To stray, and think upon the distant storm + That howled, but injured not! + At thoughts like these, 220 + What heart, what English heart, but shall beat high! + Meantime, its keen flash passed, thine eye intent, + Beaumont, shall trace the master-strokes of art, + And view the assemblage of the finished piece, + As with his skill who formed it: ruder views, + Savage, with solitary pines, hung high + Amid the broken crags (where scowling wait + The fierce banditti), stern Salvator's hand + Shall aptly shade: o'er Poussin's clustering domes, + With ampler umbrage, the black woods shall hang, 230 + Beneath whose waving gloom the sudden flash + Of broken light upon the brawling stream + Is flung below. + AÎrial Claude shall paint + The gray fane peering o'er the summer woods, + The azure lake below, or distant seas, + And sails, in the pellucid atmosphere, + Soft gleaming to the morn. Dark on the rock, + Where the red lightnings burst, shall Wilson stand, + Like mighty Shakspeare, whom the imps of fire 240 + Await. Nor oh, sweet Gainsborough! shall thee + The Muse forget, whose simple landscape smiles + Attractive, whether we delight to view + The cottage chimney through the high wood peep; + Or beggar beauty stretch her little hand, + With look most innocent; or homeward kine + Wind through the hollow road at eventide, + Or browse the straggling branches. + Scenes like these + Shall charm all hearts, while truth and beauty live, 250 + And Nature's pictured loveliness shall own + Each master's varied touch; but chiefly thou, + Great Rubens! shalt the willing senses lead, + Enamoured of the varied imagery, + That fills the vivid canvas, swelling still + On the enraptured eye of taste, and still + New charms unfolding; though minute, yet grand, + Simple, yet most luxuriant; every light + And every shade, greatly opposed, and all + Subserving to one magical effect 260 + Of truth and harmony. + So glows the scene; + And to the pensive thought refined displays + The richest rural poem. Oh, may views + So pictured animate thy classic mind, + Beaumont, to wander 'mid Sicilian scenes, + And catch the beauties of the pastoral bard,[90] + Shadowing his wildest landscapes! ∆tna's fires, + Bebrycian rocks, Anapus' holy stream, + And woods of ancient Pan; the broken crag 270 + And the old fisher here; the purple vines + There bending; and the smiling boy set down + To guard, who, innocent and happy, weaves, + Intent, his rushy basket, to ensnare + The chirping grasshoppers, nor sees the while + The lean fox meditate her morning meal, + Eyeing his scrip askance; whilst further on + Another treads the purple grapes--he sits, + Nor aught regards, but the green rush he weaves. + O Beaumont! let this pomp of light and shade 280 + Wake thee, to paint the woods that the sweet Muse + Has consecrated: then the summer scenes + Of Phasidamus, clad in richer light, + Shall glow, the glancing poplars, and clear fount; + While distant times admire (as now we trace + This summer-mantling view) hoar ∆tna's pines, + The vine-hung grotts, and branching planes, that shade + The silver Arethusa's stealing wave. + +[89] The landscape is on so large a scale, that all these circumstances +are most accurately delineated. + +[90] Theocritus. Alluding to a design of illustrating the _picturesque +character_ of the venerable Sicilian, by paintings of Sir George, from +new translations of Messrs Sotheby, Rogers, Howley, W. Spencer, and the +author. + + +THE HARP, AND DESPAIR, OF COWPER. + + Sweet bard, whose tones great Milton might approve, + And Shakspeare, from high Fancy's sphere, + Turning to the sound his ear, + Bend down a look of sympathy and love; + Oh, swell the lyre again, + As if in full accord it poured an angel's strain! + But oh! what means that look aghast, + Ev'n whilst it seemed in holy trance, + On scenes of bliss above to glance! + Was it a fiend of darkness passed! + Oh, speak-- + Paleness is upon his cheek-- + On his brow the big drops stand, + To airy vacancy + Points the dread silence of his eye, + And the loved lyre it falls, falls from his nerveless hand! + Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! + Oh, come, and make thy downy nest + Once more on his sad heart! + Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed; + Sweet Hope, support his aged head; + And Charity, avert the burning dart! + Fruitless the prayer--the night of deeper woes + Seems o'er the head even now to close; + In vain the path of purity he trod, + In vain, in vain, + He poured from Fancy's shell his sweetest hermit strain-- + He has no hope on earth: forsake him not, O God! + + +STANZAS FOR MUSIC. + + I trust the happy hour will come, 1 + That shall to peace thy breast restore; + And that we two, beloved friend, + Shall one day meet to part no more. + + It grieves me most, that parting thus, 2 + All my soul feels I dare not speak; + And when I turn me from thy sight, + The tears in silence wet my cheek. + + Yet I look forward to the time, 3 + That shall each wound of sorrow heal; + When I may press thee to my heart, + And tell thee all that now I feel.{e} + + +MUSIC. + + O Music! if thou hast a charm + That may the sense of pain disarm, + Be all thy tender tones addressed + To soothe to peace my Harriet's breast; + And bid the magic of thy strain + So still the wakeful throb of pain, + That, rapt in the delightful measure, + Sweet Hope again may whisper pleasure, + And seem the notes of Spring to hear, + Prelusive to a happier year! + And if thy magic can restore + The shade of days that smile no more, + And softer, sweeter colours give + To scenes that in remembrance live; + Be to her pensive heart a friend, + And, whilst the tender shadows blend, + Recall, ere the brief trace be lost, + Each moment that she prized the most. + Perhaps, when many a cheerful day + Hereafter shall have stolen away, + If then some old and favourite strain + Should bring back to her thoughts again + The hours when, silent by her side, + I listened to her song and sighed; + Perhaps a long-forgotten name, + A thought, if not a tear may claim; + And when in distant plains away, + Alone I count each lingering day, + She may a silent prayer prefer + For him whose heart once bled for her. + + +ABSENCE. + +OCTOBER 26, 1791. + + How shall I cheat the heavy hours, of thee + Deprived, of thy kind looks and converse sweet, + Now that the waving grove the dark storms beat, + And wintry winds sad sounding o'er the lea,[91] + Scatter the sallow leaf! I would believe, + Thou, at this hour, with tearful tenderness + Dost muse on absent images, and press + In thought my hand, and say: Oh do not grieve, + Friend of my heart! at wayward fortune's power; + One day we shall be happy, and each hour + Of pain forget, cheered by the summer ray. + These thoughts beguile my sorrow for thy loss, + And, as the aged pines their dark heads toss, + Oft steal the sense of solitude away. + So am I sadly soothed, yet do I cast + A wishful glance upon the seasons past, + And think how different was the happy tide, + When thou, with looks of love, wert smiling by my side. + +[91] Summer-Lees, near Knoyle. + + +FAIRY SKETCH. + +SCENE--NETLEY ABBEY. + + There was a morrice on the moonlight plain, + And music echoed in the woody glade, + For fay-like forms, as of Titania's train, + Upon a summer eve, beneath the shade + Of Netley's ivied ruins, to the sound + Of sprightly minstrelsy did beat the ground:-- + Come, take hands! and lightly move, + While our boat, in yonder cove, + Rests upon the darkening sea; + Come, take hands, and follow me! + + Netley! thy dim and desolated fane + Hath heard, perhaps, the spirits of the night + Shrieking, at times, amid the wind and rain; + Or haply, when the full-orbed moon shone bright, + Thy glimmering aisles have echoed to the song + Of fairy Mab, who led her shadowy masque along. + Now, as to the sprightly sound + Of moonlight minstrelsy we beat the ground; + From the pale nooks, in accent clear, + Now, methinks, her voice I hear, + Sounding o'er the darksome sea; + Come, take hands, and follow me! + + Here, beneath the solemn wood, + When faintly-blue is all the sky, + And the moon is still on high, + To the murmurs of the flood, + To the glimpses of the night, + We perform our airy rite;-- + Care and pain to us unknown, + To the darkening seas are flown. + + Hear no more life's fretful noise, + Heed not here pale Envy's sting, + Far from life's distempered joys; + To the waters murmuring, + To the shadows of the sky, + To the moon that rides on high, + To the glimpses of the night, + We perform our airy rite, + While care and pain, to us unknown, + To the darkening seas are flown. + + +INSCRIPTION. + + Come, and where these runnels fall, + Listen to my madrigal! + Far from all sounds of all the strife, + That murmur through the walks of life; + From grief, inquietude, and fears, + From scenes of riot, or of tears; + From passions, cankering day by day, + That wear the inmost heart away; + From pale Detraction's envious spite, + That worries where it fears to bite; + From mad Ambition's worldly chase, + Come, and in this shady place, + Be thine Contentment's humble joys, + And a life that makes no noise, + Save when fancy, musing long, + Turns to desultory song;[92] + And wakes some lonely melody, + Like the water dripping by. + Come, and where these runnels fall, + Listen to my madrigal! + +BREMHILL GARDEN, _Sept. 1808._ + +[92] "And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song."--_Parnell._ + + +PICTURES FROM THEOCRITUS. + +FROM IDYL I. + +[Greek: Ady ti to psthyrisma], _etc._ + + Goat-herd, how sweet above the lucid spring + The high pines wave with breezy murmuring! + So sweet thy song, whose music might succeed + To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed. + + THYRSIS. + + More sweet thy pipe's enchanting melody + Than streams that fall from broken rocks on high. + Say, by the nymphs, that guard the sacred scene, + Where lowly tamarisks shade these hillocks green, + At noontide shall we lie? + No; for o'erwearied with the forest chase, + Pan, the great hunter god, sleeps in this place. + Beneath the branching elm, while thy sad verse, + O Thyrsis! Daphnis' sorrows shall rehearse, + Fronting the wood-nymph's solitary seat, + Whose fountains flash amid the dark retreat; + Where the old statue leans, and brown oaks wave + Their ancient umbrage o'er the pastoral cave; + There will we rest, and thou, as erst, prolong + The sweet enchantment of the Doric song! + + FROM THE SAME IDYL. + + Mark, where the beetling precipice appears, + The toil of the old fisher, gray with years; + Mark, as to drag the laden net he strains, + The labouring muscle and the swelling veins! + There, in the sun, the clustered vineyard bends, + And shines empurpled, as the morn ascends! + A little boy, with idly-happy mien, + To guard the grapes upon the ground is seen; + Two wily foxes creeping round appear,-- + The scrip that holds his morning meal is near,-- + One breaks the bending vines; with longing lip, + And look askance, one eyes the tempting scrip. + He plats and plats his rushy net all day, + And makes the vagrant grasshopper his prey; + He plats his net, intent with idle care, + Nor heeds how vineyard, grape, or scrip may fare. + + FROM THE SAME. + + Where were ye, nymphs, when Daphnis drooped with love? + In fair Peneus' Tempe, or the grove + Of Pindus! Nor your pastimes did ye keep, + Where huge Anapus' torrent waters sweep; + On ∆tna's height, ah! impotent to save, + Nor yet where Akis winds his holy wave! + + FROM THE SAME. + + Pan, Pan, oh mighty hunter! whether now, + Thou roamest o'er Lyceus' shaggy brow, + Or Moenalaus, outstretched in amplest shade, + Thy solitary footsteps have delayed; + Leave Helice's romantic rock a while, + And haste, oh haste, to the Sicilian isle; + Leave the dread monument, approached with fear, + That Lycaonian tomb the gods revere. + Here cease, Sicilian Muse, the Doric lay;-- + Come, Forest King, and bear this pipe away; + Daphnis, subdued by love, and bowed with woe, + Sinks, sinks for ever to the shades below. + + FROM IDYL VII. + + He left us;--we, the hour of parting come, + To Prasidamus' hospitable home, + Myself and Eucritus, together wend, + With young Amynticus, our blooming friend: + There, all delighted, through the summer day, + On beds of rushes, pillowed deep, we lay; + Around, the lentils, newly cut, were spread; + Dark elms and poplars whispered o'er our head; + A hallowed stream, to all the wood-nymphs dear, + Fresh from the rocky cavern murmured near; + Beneath the fruit-leaves' many-mantling shade, + The grasshoppers a coil incessant made; + From the wild thorny thickets, heard remote, + The wood-lark trilled his far-resounding note; + Loud sung the thrush, musician of the scene, + And soft and sweet was heard the dove's sad note between; + Then yellow bees, whose murmur soothed the ear, + Went idly flitting round the fountain clear. + Summer and Autumn seemed at once to meet, + Filling with redolence the blest retreat, + While the ripe pear came rolling to our feet. + + FROM IDYL XXII. + + When the famed Argo now secure had passed + The crushing rocks,[93] and that terrific strait + That guards the wintry Pontic, the tall ship + Reached wild Bebrycia's shores; bearing like gods + Her god-descended chiefs. They, from her sides, + With scaling steps descend, and on the shore, + Savage, and sad, and beat by ocean winds, + Strewed their rough beds, and on the casual fire + The vessels place. The brothers, by themselves, + CASTOR and red-haired POLLUX, wander far + Into the forest solitudes. A wood + Immense and dark, shagging the mountain side, + Before them rose; a cold and sparkling fount + Welled with perpetual lapse, beneath its feet, + Of purest water clear; scattering below, + Streams as of silver and of crystal rose, + Bright from the bottom: Pines, of stateliest height, + Poplar, and plane, and cypress, branching wide, + Were near, thick bordered by the scented flowers + That lured the honeyed bee, when spring declines, + Thick swarming o'er the meadows. There all day + A huge man sat, of savage, wild aspect; + His breast stood roundly forward, his broad back + Seemed as of iron, such as might befit + A vast Colossus sculptured. Full to view + The muscles of his brawny shoulders stood, + Like the round mountain-stones the torrent wave + Has polished; from his neck and back hung down + A lion's skin, held by its claws. Him first + The red-haired youth addressed: Hail, stranger, hail, + And say, what tribes unknown inhabit here! + Take to the seas thy Hail: I ask it not, + Who never saw before, or thee, or thine. + Courage! thou seest not men that are unjust + Or cruel. + Courage shall I learn from thee! + Thy heart is savage; thou art passion's slave. + Such as I am thou seest; but land of thine + I tread not. + Come, these hospitable gifts + Accept, and part in peace. + No: not from thee. + My gifts are yet in store. + Say, may we drink + Of this clear fount? + Ask, when wan thirst has parched + Thy lips. + What present shall I give to thee? + None. Stand before me as a man; lift high + Thy brandished arms, and try, weak pugilist, + Thy strength. + But say, with whom shall I contend? + Thou seest him here; nor in his art unskilled. + Then what shall be the prize of him who wins? + Or thou shalt be my slave, or I be thine. + The crested birds so fight. + Whether like birds + Or lions, for no other prize fight we! + He said: and sounded loud his hollow conch; + The gaunt Bebrycian brethren, at the sound, + With long lank hair, come flocking to the shade + Of that vast plain. + Then Castor hied, and called + The hero chiefs from the Magnesian[94] ship. + +[93] Rocks which were supposed to strike one against the other, and so +crush the ship that attempted to pass between. + +[94] So called, from the country where it was built. + + +SKETCHES IN THE EXHIBITION, 1805. + + What various objects strike with various force, + Achilles, Hebe, and Sir Watkin's horse! + Here summer scenes, there Pentland's stormy ridge, + Lords, ladies, Noah's ark, and Cranford bridge! + Some that display the elegant design, + The lucid colours, and the flowing line; + Some that might make, alas! Walsh Porter[95] stare, + And wonder how the devil they got there! + + LADY M----VE. + + How clear a strife of light and shade is spread! + The face how touched with nature's loveliest red! + The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek! + The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek! + M----ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face, + But all is nature, dignity, and grace! + + HON. MISS MERCER.--HOPNER. + + Oh! hide those tempting eyes, that faultless form, + Those looks with feeling and with nature warm; + The neck, the softly-swelling bosom hide, + Nor, wanton gales, blow the light vest aside; + For who, when beauties more than life excite + Silent applause, can gaze without delight! + But innocence, enchanting maid, is thine; + Thine eyes in liquid light unconscious shine; + And may thy breast no other feelings prove, + Than those of sympathy and mutual love! + +[95] A gentleman well known for his taste and fine collection. + + +EXHIBITION, 1807. + + BLIND FIDDLER.--WILKIE. + + With mirth unfeigned the cottage chimney rings, + Though only vocal with four fiddle-strings: + And see, the poor blind fiddler draws his bow, + And lifts intent his time-denoting toe; + While yonder maid, as blythe as birds in June, + You almost hear her whistle to the tune! + Hard by, a lad, in imitative guise, + Fixed, fiddle-like, the broken bellows plies; + Before the hearth, with looks of honest joy, + The father chirrups to the chattering boy, + And snaps his lifted thumbs with mimic glee, + To the glad urchin on his mother's knee! + + MORNING.--TURNER. + + Up! for the morning shines with welcome ray, + And to the sunny seabeach let us stray. + What orient hues proclaim the master's hand! + How light the wave upon the half-wet sand! + How beautiful the sun, as still we gaze, + Streams all diffusive through the opening haze! + Artist--when to the thunder's pealing sound, + Fire mixed with hailstones ran upon the ground, + When partial darkness the dread prospect hid, + And sole aspired the aged pyramid-- + Sublimity thy genius seemed to guide + O'er Egypt's champaign, desolate and wide; + But here delightful beauty reigns alone, + And decks the morning scene with graces all her own. + + KESWICK.--SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. + + How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill + Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will; + Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray, + Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display; + The lake where sober evening seems to sleep, + Hills far retiring into umbrage deep; + Blend all with classic, pure, poetic taste, + And strike the more with forms and colours chaste! + + MARKET-DAY.--CALCOT. + + Through the wood's maze our eyes delighted stray, + To mark the rustics on the market-day. + Beneath the branches winds the long white road; + Here peeps the rustic cottager's abode; + There in the morning sun, the children play, + Or the crone creeps along the dusty way. + + SCENE IN FRANCE.--LOUTHERBOURG. + + Artist, I own thy genius; but the touch + May be too restless, and the glare too much: + And sure none ever saw a landscape shine, + Basking in beams of such a sun as thine, + But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz, + And panting cried, O Lord, how hot it is! + + DEATH OF NELSON.--WEST. + + Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main: + See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain, + Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war, + And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar! + Here cease the strain; but while thy hulls shall ride, + Britain, dark shadowing the tumultuous tide, + May other Nelsons, on the sanguine main, + Guide, like a god, the battle's hurricane; + And when the funeral's transient pomp is past, + High hung the banner, hushed the battle's blast, + May the brave character to ages shine, + And Genius consecrate the immortal shrine! + + +SOUTHAMPTON CASTLE.[96] + +INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE. + + The moonlight is without; and I could lose + An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here, + As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign! + Regardless of the lights that blaze within, + I look upon the wide and silent sea, + That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps: + How still, + Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies; + Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam, + The eve of pleasant yesterdays! 10 + The clouds + Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars + Seem in their watches set, as gazing on; + While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful, + Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens + Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks, + Of gazing worlds! + How different is the scene + That lies beneath this arched window's height! + The town, that murmured through the busy day, 20 + Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade + Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above, + The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls, + And masts that throng around the southern pier, + Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote, + O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane. + Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine + How more attractive! but few years have passed, + Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness, + All circling round an aged sire,[97] whose hairs 30 + Are now in peace gone down; he was to me + A friend, and almost with a father's smile + Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice + Of fellowship, the song of harmony, + And mirth, and wit,[98] were there. + That scene is passed: + Cold death and separation have dissolved + The evening circle of once-happy friends! + So has it ever fared, and so must fare, + With all! I see the moonlight watery tract 40 + That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades: + What seems it, but the mirror of that tide, + Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world, + Holds its inevitable course, the tide + Of years departing; to the distant eye + Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on + From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows, + The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam + To-day, to-morrow other passing sails + Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn. 50 + Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light + On the pale ripple, passing as it shines! + But shall the pensive bard for this lament, + Who knows how transitory are all worlds + Before His eye who made them! + Cease the strain; + And welcome still the social intercourse + That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour + When, universal darkness wrapping all + This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream 60 + Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard: + Here only pure and lasting bliss is found! + +[96] Southampton Castle is a magnificent pile, erected by the Marquis of +Lansdowne, commanding the most striking views of the river, the Isle of +Wight, the New Forest, _et cet._ + +[97] Late Dean of Winchester, Dr Newton Ogle. + +[98] I speak this of Mr Sheridan, who was often of the party. + + +THE WINDS. + + When dark November bade the leaves adieu, + And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds, + Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew, + With garments streaming light, amid the clouds; + From adverse regions of the sky, + In dim succession, they went by. + The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed, + Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast. + Upon a beaked promontory high, + With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe, 10 + Marked ye the father of the frowning year![99] + Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempestuous sky, + When creeping WINTER from his cave came forth; + Stern courier of the storm, he cried, what from the north? + + NORTH WIND. + + From the vast and desert deeps, + Where the lonely Kraken sleeps, + Where fixed the icy mountains high + Glimmer to the twilight sky; + Where, six lingering months to last, 20 + The night has closed, the day is past, + Father, lo, I come, I come: + I have heard the wizard's drum, + And the withered Lapland hag, + Seal, with muttered spell, her bag: + O'er mountains white, and forests sere, + I flew, and with a wink am here. + + WINTER. + + Spirit of unwearied wing, + From the Baltic's frozen main, + From the Russ's bleak domain, 30 + Say, what tidings dost thou bring! + Shouts, and the noise of battle! and again + The winged wind blew loud a deadly blast; + Shouts, and the noise of battle! the long main + Seemed with hoarse voice to answer as he passed. + The moody South went by, and silence kept; + The cloudy rack oft hid his mournful mien, + And frequent fell the showers, as if he wept + The eternal havoc of this mortal scene. + He had heard the yell, and cry, 40 + And howling dance of Anarchy, + Where the Rhone, with rushing flood, + Murmured to the main, through blood:-- + He seemed to wish he could for ever throw + His misty mantle o'er a world of woe. + But rousing him from his desponding trance, + Cold Eurus blew his sharp and shrilling horn; + In his right hand he bore an icy lance, + That far off glittered in the frost of morn; + The old man knew the clarion from afar, 50 + What from the East? he cried. + + EAST WIND. + + Shouts, and the noise of war! + Far o'er the land hath been my flight, + O'er many a forest dark as night, + O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds, + O'er Wolga's wild and giant reeds, + O'er the Carpathian summits hoar, + Beneath whose snows and shadows frore, + Poland's level length unfolds + Her trackless woods and wildering wolds, 60 + Like a spirit, seeking rest, + I have passed from east to west, + While sounds of discord and lament + Rose from the earth where'er I went. + I care not; hurrying, as in scorn, + I shook my lance, and blew my horn; + The day shows clear; and merrily + Along the Atlantic now I fly. + Who comes in soft and spicy vest, + From the mild regions of the West? 70 + An azure veil bends waving o'er his head, + And showers of violets from his hands are shed. + 'Tis Zephyr, with a look as young and fair + As when his lucid wings conveyed + That beautiful and gentle maid + Psyche, transported through the air, + The blissful couch of Love's own god to share. + Winter, avaunt! thy haggard eye + Will scare him, as he wanders by, + Him and the timid butterfly. 80 + He brings again the morn of May; + The lark, amid the clear blue sky, + Carols, but is not seen so high, + And all the winter's winds fly far away! + I cried: O Father of the world, whose might + The storm, the darkness, and the winds obey, + Oh, when will thus the long tempestuous night + Of warfare and of woe be rolled away! + Oh, when will cease the uproar and the din, + And Peace breathe soft, Summer is coming in! 90 + +[99] "Then comes the father of the tempest forth."--_Thomson._ + + +ON WILLIAM SOMMERS OF BREMHILL. + + When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs, + O aged man! Thy sand is almost run, + And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun, + Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares + Have been thy visitants from morn to morn. + While trembling on existence thou dost live, + Accept what human charity can give; + But standing thus, time-palsied, and forlorn, + Like a scathed oak, of all its boughs bereft, + God and the grave are thy best refuge left. + When the bells rung, and summer's smiling ray + Welcomed again the merry Whitsuntide, + And all my humble villagers were gay; + I saw thee sitting on the highway side, + To feel once more the warm sun's blessed beam: + Didst thou then think upon thy own gay prime, + On such a holiday, and the glad time + When thou wert young and happy, like a dream + Now perished! No; the murmured prayer alone + Rose from the trembling lips towards the Throne + Of Mercy; that ere spring returned again, + And the long winter blew its dreary blast, + To sweep the verdure from the fading plain, + Thy burden would be dropped, thy sorrows past! + O blind and aged man, bowed down with cares, + When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs! + + +THE VISIONARY BOY. + + Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me! + Enough of care and heaviness + The weary lids of life depress, + And doubly blest that gentle heart shall be, + That wooes of poesy the visions bland, + And strays forgetful o'er enchanted land! + Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me! + So spoke, with ardent look, yet eyebrow sad, + When he had passed o'er many a mountain rude, + And many a wild and weary solitude, 10 + 'Mid a green vale, a wandering minstrel-lad. + With eyes that shone in softened flame, + With wings and wand, young Fancy came; + And as she touched a trembling lute, + The lone enthusiast stood entranced and mute. + It was a sound that made his soul forego + All thoughts of sadness in a world of woe. + Oh, lend that lute! he cried: Hope, Pity, Love, + Shall listen; and each valley, rock, and grove, + Shall witness, as with deep delight, 20 + From orient morn to dewy-stealing night. + My spirit, rapt in trance of sweetness high, + Shall drink the heartfelt sound with tears of ecstasy! + As thus he spoke, soft voices seemed to say, + Come away, come away; + Where shall the heart-sick minstrel stray, + But (viewing all things like a dream) + By haunted wood, or wizard stream? + That, like a hermit weeping, + Amid the gray stones creeping; 30 + With voice distinct, yet faint, + Calls on Repose herself to hear its soothing plaint. + For him, romantic Solitude + Shall pile sublime her mountains rude; + For him, with shades more soft impressed, + The lucid lake's transparent breast + Shall show the banks, the woods, the hill, + More clear, more beautiful, more still. + For him more musical shall wave + The pines o'er Echo's moonlit cave; 40 + While sounds as of a fairy lyre + Amid the shadowy cliffs expire! + This valley where the raptured minstrel stood + Was shaded with a circling slope of wood, + And rich in beauty, with that valley vied, + Thessalian Tempe, crowned with verdant bay, + Where smooth and clear Peneus winds his way; + And Ossa and Olympus, on each side, + Rise dark with woods; or that Sicilian plain + Which Arethusa's clearest waters lave, 50 + By many a haunt of Pan, and wood-nymph's cave, + Lingering and listening to the Doric strain + Of him,[100] the bard whose music might succeed + To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed! + This scene the mistress of the valley held, + Fancy, a magic maid; and at her will, + AÎrial castles crowned the gleaming hill, + Or forests rose, or lapse of water welled. + Sometimes she sat with lifted eye, + And marked the dark storm in the western sky; 60 + Sometimes she looked, and scarce her breath would draw, + As fearful things, not to be told, she saw; + And sometimes, like a vision of the air, + On wings of shifting light she floated here and there. + In the breeze her garments flew, + Of the brightest skiey blue, + Lucid as the tints of morn, + When Summer trills his pipe of corn: + Her tresses to each wing descending fall, + Or, lifted by the wind, 70 + Stream loose and unconfined, + Like golden threads, beneath her myrtle coronal. + The listening passions stood aloof and mute, + As oft the west wind touched her trembling lute. + But when its sounds the youthful minstrel heard, + Strange mingled feelings, not to be expressed, + Rose undefined, yet blissful, on his breast, + And all the softened scene in sweeter light appeared. + Then Fancy waved her wand, and lo! + An airy troop went beckoning by: 80 + Come, from toil and worldly woe; + Come, live with us in vales remote! they cry. + These are the flitting phantasies; the dreams + That lead the heart through all that elfin land, + Where half-seen shapes entice with whispers bland. + Meantime the clouds, impressed with livelier beams, + Roll, in the lucid track of air, + Arrayed in coloured brede, with semblances more fair. + The airy troop, as on they sail, + Thus the pensive stranger hail: 90 + In the pure and argent sky, + There our distant chambers lie; + The bed is strewed with blushing roses, + When Quietude at eve reposes, + Oft trembling lest her bowers should fade, + In the cold earth's humid shade. + Come, rest with us! evanishing, they cried-- + Come, rest with us! the lonely vale replied. + Then Fancy beckoned, and with smiling mien, + A radiant form arose, like the fair Queen 100 + Of Beauty: from her eye divinely bright, + A richer lustre shot, a more attractive light. + She said: With fairer tints I can adorn + The living landscape, fairer than the morn. + The summer clouds in shapes romantic rolled, + And those they edge the fading west, like gold; + The lake that sleeps in sunlight, yet impressed + With shades more sweet than real on its breast; + 'Mid baffling stones, beneath a partial ray, + The small brook huddling its uneven way; 110 + The blue far distant hills, the silvery sea, + And every scene of summer speaks of me: + But most I wake the sweetest wishes warm, + Where the fond gaze is turned on woman's breathing form. + So passing silent through a myrtle grove, + Beauty first led him to the bower of Love. + A mellow light through the dim covert strayed, + And opening roses canopied the shade. + Why does the hurrying pulse unbidden leap! + Behold, in yonder glade that nymph asleep! 120 + The heart-struck minstrel hangs, with lingering gaze, + O'er every charm his eye impassioned strays! + An edge of white is seen, and scarcely seen, + As soft she breathes, her coral lips between; + A lambent ray steals from her half-closed eye, + As her breast heaves a short imperfect sigh. + Sleep, winds of summer, o'er the leafy bower, + Nor move the light bells of the nodding flower; + Lest but a sound of stirring leaves might seem + To break the charm of her delicious dream! 130 + And ye, fond, rising, throbbing thoughts, away, + Lest syren Pleasure all the soul betray! + Oh! turn, and listen to the ditty + From the lowly cave of Pity. + On slaughter's plain, while Valour grieves, + There he sunk to rest, + And the ring-dove scattered leaves + Upon his bleeding breast! + Her face was hid, while her pale arms enfold + What seemed an urn of alabaster cold; 140 + To this she pressed her heaving bosom bare: + The drops that gathered in the dank abode + Fell dripping, on her long dishevelled hair; + And still her tears, renewed, and silent, flowed: + And when the winds of autumn ceased to swell, + At times was heard a slow and melancholy knell! + 'Twas in the twilight of the deepest wood, + Beneath whose boughs like sad Cocytus, famed + Through fabling Greece, from lamentation named[101] + A river dark and silent flowed, there stood 150 + A pale and melancholy man, intent + His look upon that drowsy stream he bent, + As ever counting, when the fitful breeze + With strange and hollow sound sung through the trees, + Counting the sallow leaves, that down the current went. + He saw them not: + Earth seemed to him one universal blot. + Sometimes, as most distempered, to and fro + He paced; and sometimes fixed his chilling look + Upon a dreadful book, 160 + Inscribed with secret characters of woe; + While gibbering imps, as mocking him, appeared, + And airy laughter 'mid the dusk was heard. + Then Fancy waved her wand again, + And all that valley that so lovely smiled + Was changed to a bare champaign, waste and wild. + "What pale and phantom-horseman rides amain?" + 'Tis Terror;--all the plain, far on, is spread + With skulls and bones, and relics of the dead! + From his black trump he blew a louder blast, 170 + And earthquakes muttered as the giant passed. + Then said that magic maid, with aspect bland, + 'Tis thine to seize his phantom spear, + 'Tis thine his sable trumpet to command, + And thrill the inmost heart with shuddering fear. + But hark! to Music's softer sound, + New scenes and fairer views accordant rise: + Above, around, + The mingled measure swells in air, and dies. + Music, in thy charmed shell, 180 + What sounds of holy magic dwell! + Oft when that shell was to the ear applied, + Confusion of rich harmonies, + All swelling rose, + That came, as with a gently-swelling tide: + Then at the close, + Angelic voices seemed, aloft, + To answer as it died the cadence soft. + Now, like the hum of distant ocean's stream, + The murmurs of the wond'rous concave seem; 190 + And now exultingly their tones prolong + The chorded pÊans of the choral song, + Then Music, with a voice more wildly sweet + Than winds that pipe on the forsaken shore, + When the last rain-drops of the west are o'er, + Warbled: Oh, welcome to my blest retreat, + And give my sounds to the responsive lyre: + With me to these melodious groves retire, + And such pure feelings share, + As, far from noise and folly, soothe thee there. 200 + Here Fancy, as the prize were won, + And now she hailed her favourite son, + With energy impatient cried: + The weary world is dark and wide, + Lo! I am with thee still to comfort and to guide.[102] + Nor fear, if, grim before thine eyes, + Pale worldly Want, a spectre, lowers; + What is a world of vanities + To a world as sweet as ours! + When thy heart is sad and lone, 210 + And loves to dwell on pleasures flown, + When that heart no more shall bound + At some kind voice's well-known sound, + My spells thy drooping languor shall relieve, + And airy spirits touch thy lonely harp at eve. + Look!--Delight and Hope advancing, + Music joins her thrilling notes, + O'er the level lea come dancing; + Seize the vision as it floats, + Bright-eyed Rapture hovers o'er them, 220 + Waving light his seraph wings, + Youth exulting flies before them, + Scattering cowslips as he sings! + Come now, my car pursue, + The wayward Fairy cried; + And high amid the fields of air, + Above the clouds, together we will ride, + And posting on the viewless winds, + So leave the cares of earth and all its thoughts behind. + I can sail, and I can fly, 230 + To all regions of the sky, + On the shooting meteor's course, + On a winged griffin-horse! + She spoke: when Wisdom's self drew nigh, + A noble sternness in her searching eye; + Like Pallas helmed, and in her hand a spear, + As not in idle warfare bent, but still, + As resolute, to cope with every earthly ill. + In youthful dignity severe, + She stood: And shall the aspiring mind, 240 + To Fancy be alone resigned! + Alas! she cried, her witching lay + Too often leads the heart astray! + Still, weak minstrel, wouldst thou rove, + Drooping in the distant grove, + Forgetful of all ties that bind + Thee, a brother, to mankind? + Has Fancy's feeble voice defied + The ills to poor humanity allied? + Can she, like Wisdom, bid thy soul sustain 250 + Its post of duty in a life of pain! + Can she, like meek Religion, bid thee bear + Contempt and hardship in a world of care! + Yet let not my rebuke decry, + In all, her blameless witchery, + Or from the languid bosom tear + Each sweet illusion nourished there. + With dignity and truth, combined, + Still may she rule the manly mind; + Her sweetest magic still impart 260 + To soften, not subdue, the heart: + Still may she warm the chosen breast, + Not as the sovereign, but the guest. + Then shall she lead the blameless Muse + Through all her fairest, wildest views; + To mark amid the flowers of morn, + The bee go forth with early horn; + Or when the moon, a softer light + Sheds on the rocks and seas of night, + To hear the circling fairy bands 270 + Sing, Come unto these yellow sands! + Sweeter is our light than day, + Fond enthusiast, come away! + Then Chivalry again shall call + The champions to her bannered hall! + The pipe, and song, with many a mingled shout, + Ring through the forest, as the satyr-rout, + Dance round the dragon-chariot of Romance; + Forth pricks the errant knight with rested lance; + Imps, demons, fays, in antic train succeed, 280 + The wandering maiden, and the winged steed! + The muttering wizard turns, with haggard look, + The bloody leaves of the accursed book, + Whilst giants, from the gloomy castle tower, + With lifted bats of steel, more dreadful lower! + At times, the magic shall prevail + Of the wild and wonderous tale; + At times, high rapture shall prolong + The deep, enthusiastic song. + Hence, at midnight, thou shalt stray, 290 + Where dark ocean flings its spray, + To hear o'er heaven's resounding arch + The Thunder-Lord begin his march! + Or mark the flashes, that present + Some far-off shattered monument; + Whilst along the rocky vale, + Red fires, mingled with the hail, + Run along upon the ground, + And the thunders deeper sound! + The loftier Muse, with awful mien, 300 + Upon a lonely rock is seen: + Full is the eye that speaks the dauntless soul; + She seems to hear the gathering tempest roll + Beneath her feet; she bids an eagle fly, + Breasting the whirlwind, through the dark-red sky; + Or, with elated look, lifts high the spear, + As sounds of distant battles roll more near. + Now deep-hushed in holy trance, + She sees the powers of Heaven advance, + And wheels, instinct with spirit, bear 310 + God's living chariot through the air; + Now on the wings of morn she seems to rise, + And join the strain of more than mortal harmonies. + Thy heart shall beat exulting as she sings, + And thou shalt cry: Give me an angel's wings! + With sadder sound, o'er Pity's cave, + The willow in the wind shall wave; + And all the listening passions stand, 318 + Obedient to thy great command. + With Poesy's sweet charm impressed, + Fancy thus shall warm thy breast; + Still her smiling train be thine, + Still her lovely visions shine, + To cheer, beyond my boasted power, + A sad or solitary hour. + Thus let them soothe a while thy heart, + "Come like shadows, so depart;" + But never may the witching lay + Lead each sense from life astray; + For vain the poet's muse of fire, 330 + Vain the magic of his lyre, + Unless the touch subdued impart + Truth and wisdom to the heart! + +[100] Theocritus. + +[101] "From lamentation named, and loud lament."--_Milton._ + +[102] I have placed Music last, as I think a perfect musical ear implies +the highest degree of cultivation. + + +CADLAND,[103] SOUTHAMPTON RIVER. + + If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave, + Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved + To pass delighted from her green abode, + And, seated on a summer bank, to sing + No earthly music; in a spot like this, + The bard might feign he heard her, as she dried + Her golden hair, yet dripping from the main, + In the slant sunbeam. + So the pensive bard + Might image, warmed by this enchanting scene, 10 + The ideal form; but though such things are not, + He who has ever felt a thought refined; + He who has wandered on the sea of life, + Forming delightful visions of a home + Of beauty and repose; he who has loved, + With filial warmth his country, will not pass + Without a look of more than tenderness + On all the scene; from where the pensile birch + Bends on the bank, amid the clustered group + Of the dark hollies; to the woody shore 20 + That steals diminished, to the distant spires + Of Hampton, crowning the long lucid wave. + White in the sun, beneath the forest-shade, + Full shines the frequent sail, like Vanity, + As she goes onward in her glittering trim, + Amid the glances of life's transient morn, + Calling on all to view her! + Vectis[104] there, + That slopes its greensward to the lambent wave, + And shows through softest haze its woods and domes, 30 + With gray St Catherine's[105] creeping to the sky, + Seems like a modest maid, who charms the more + Concealing half her beauties. + To the East, + Proud, yet complacent, on its subject realm, + With masts innumerable thronged, and hulls + Seen indistinct, but formidable, mark + Albion's vast fleet, that, like the impatient storm, + Waits but the word to thunder and flash death + On him who dares approach to violate 40 + The shores and living scenes that smile secure + Beneath its dragon-watch! + Long may they smile! + And long, majestic Albion (while the sound + From East to West, from Albis[106] to the Po, + Of dark contention hurtles), may'st thou rest, + As calm and beautiful this sylvan scene + Looks on the refluent wave that steals below. + +[103] A beautiful seat of Henry Drummond, Esq. + +[104] The Isle of Wight. + +[105] The highest slowly-rising eminence in the Isle of Wight, seen from +the river. + +[106] The Elbe. + + +THE LAST SONG OF CAMOENS.[107] + + The morning shone on Tagus' rocky side, + And airs of summer swelled the yellow tide, + When, rising from his melancholy bed, + And faint, and feebly by Antonio[108] led, + Poor Camoens, subdued by want and woe, + Along the winding margin wandered slow, + His harp, that once could each warm feeling move + Of patriot glory or of tenderest love, + His sole and sable friend[109] (while a faint tone + Rose from the wires) placed by a mossy stone. 10 + How beautiful the sun ascending shines + From ridge to ridge, along the purple vines! + How pure the azure of the opening skies! + How resonant the nearer rock replies + To call of early mariners! and, hark! + The distant whistle from yon parting bark, + That down the channel as serene she strays, + Her gray sail mingles with the morning haze, + Bound to explore, o'er ocean's stormy reign, + New lands that lurk amid the lonely main! 20 + A transient fervour touched the old man's breast; + He raised his eyes, so long by care depressed, + And while they shone with momentary fire, + Ardent he struck the long-forgotten lyre. + From Tagus' yellow-sanded shore, + O'er the billows, as they roar, + O'er the blue sea, waste and wide, + Our bark threw back the burning tide, + By northern breezes cheer'ly borne, + On to the kingdoms of the morn. 30 + Blanco, whose cold shadow vast + Chills the western wave, is past! + Huge Bojador, frowning high, + Thy dismal terrors we defy! + But who may violate the sleep + And silence of the sultry deep; + Where, beneath the intenser sun,[110] + Hot showers descend, red lightnings run; + Whilst all the pale expanse beneath + Lies burning wide, without a breath; 40 + And at mid-day from the mast, + No shadow on the deck is cast! + Night by night, still seen the same, + Strange lights along the cordage flame, + Perhaps, the spirits of the good,[111] + That wander this forsaken flood + Sing to the seas, as slow we float, + A solemn and a holy note! + Spectre[112] of the southern main, + Thou barr'st our onward way in vain, 50 + Wrapping the terrors of thy form, + In the thunder's rolling storm! + Fearless o'er the indignant tide, + On to the east our galleys ride. + Triumph! for the toil is o'er-- + We kiss the far-sought Indian shore! + Glittering to the orient ray, + The banners of the Cross display! + Does my heart exulting bound? + Alas, forlorn, I gaze around: 60 + Feeble, poor, and old, I stand, + A stranger in my native land! + My sable slave (ah, no! my only friend, + Whose steps upon my rugged path attend) + Sees, but with tenderness that fears to speak, + The tear that trickles down my aged cheek! + My harp is silent,--famine shrinks mine eye,-- + "Give me a little food for charity!"[113] + +[107] Inscribed to Lord Strangford. + +[108] The faithful Indian who attended him in all his sorrows, a native +of Java. + +[109] Antonio, "who begged alms through Lisbon, and at night shared the +produce with his broken-hearted master."--_Strangford's Preface._ + +[110] Crossing the Line. + +[111] Lights called by the Portuguese _Corpo Sancto's_, supposed to be +the spirits of saints, hovering on the shrouds. + +[112] The terrific Phantom of the Cape, described by Camoens. + +[113] Camoens, the great poet of Portugal, is supposed to have gone to +the East Indies in the same ship with the first Discoverer, round the +Cape of Good Hope, Vasco de Gama. This is not the case, though he wrote +the noble poem descriptive of the voyage. He went to India some years +afterwards, but the general idea is sufficient for poetical purposes. +His subsequent sorrows and poverty, in his native land, are well known. + + +THE SYLPH OF SUMMER.[114] + + God said, Let there be light, and there was light! + At once the glorious sun, at his command, + From space illimitable, void and dark, + Sprang jubilant, and angel hierarchies, + Whose long hosannahs pealed from orb to orb, + Sang, Glory be to Thee, God of all worlds! + Then beautiful the ball of this terrene + Rolled in the beam of first-created day, + And all its elements obeyed the voice + Of Him, the great Creator; Air, and Fire, 10 + And Earth, and Water, each its ministry + Performed, whilst Chaos from his ebon throne + Leaped up; and so magnificent, and decked, + And mantled in its ambient atmosphere, + The living world began its state! + To thee, + Spirit of Air, I lift the venturous song, + Whose viewless presence fills the living scene, + Whose element ten thousand thousand wings + Fan joyous; o'er whose fields the morning clouds 20 + Ride high; whose rule the lightning-shafts obey, + And the deep thunder's long-careering march! + The Winds too are thy subjects; from the breeze, + That, like a child upon a holiday, + On the high mountain's van pursues the down + Of the gray thistle, ere the autumnal shower + Steals soft, and mars his pastime; to the King + Of Hurricanes, that sounds his mighty shell, + And bids Tornado sweep the Western world. + Sylph of the Summer Gale, on thee I call! 30 + Oh, come, when now gay June is in her car, + Wafting the breath of roses as she moves; + Come to this garden bower, which I have hung + With tendrils, and the fragrant eglantine, + And mandrake, rich with many mantling stars! + 'Tis pleasant, when thy breath is on the leaves + Without, to rest in this embowering shade, + And mark the green fly, circling to and fro, + O'er the still water, with his dragon wings, + Shooting from bank to bank, now in quick turns, 40 + Then swift athwart, as is the gazer's glance, + Pursuing still his mate; they, with delight, + As if they moved in morris, to the sound + Harmonious of this ever-dripping rill, + Now in advance, now in retreat, now round, + Dart through their mazy rings, and seem to say: + The Summer and the Sun are ours! + But thou, + Sylph of the Summer Gale, delay a while + Thy airy flight, whilst here Francesca leans, 50 + And, charmed by Ossian's harp, seems in the breeze + To hear Malvina's plaint; thou to her ear + Come unperceived, like music of the song + From Cona's vale of streams; _then_ with the bee, + That sounds his horn, busied from flower to flower, + Speed o'er the yellow meadows, breathing ripe + Their summer incense; or amid the furze, + That paints with bloom intense the upland crofts, + With momentary essence tinge thy wings; + Or in the grassy lanes, one after one, 60 + Lift light the nodding foxglove's purple bell. + Thence, to the distant sea, and where the flag + Hangs idly down, without a wavy curl, + Thou hoverest o'er the topmast, or dost raise + The full and flowing mainsail: Steadily, + The helmsman cries, as now thy breath is heard + Among the stirring cordage o'er his head; + So, steadily, he cries, as right he steers, + Speeds our proud ship along the world of waves. + Sylph, may thy favouring breath more gently blow, 70 + More gently round the temples and the cheek + Of him, who, leaving home and friends behind, + In silence musing o'er the ocean leans, + And watches every passing shade that marks + The southern Channel's fast-retiring line; + Then, as the ship rolls on, keeps a long look + Fixed on the lessening Lizard,[115] the last point + Of that delightful country, where he left + All his fond hopes behind: it lessens still; + Still, still it lessens, and now disappears! 80 + He turns, and only sees the waves that rock + Boundless. How many anxious morns shall rise, + How many moons shall light the farthest seas, + O'er what new scenes and regions shall he stray, + A weary man, still thinking of his home, + Ere he again that shore shall view, and greet + With blissful thronging hopes and starting tears, + Of heartfelt welcome, and of warmest love! + Perhaps, ah! never! So didst thou go forth, + My poor lost brother![116] 90 + The airs of morning as enticing played, + And gently, round thee, and their whisperings + Might sooth (if aught could sooth) a boding heart; + For thou wert bound to visit scenes of death, + Where the sick gale (alas! unlike the breeze + That bore the gently-swelling sail along) + Was tainted with the breath of pestilence, + That smote the silent camp, and night and day + Sat mocking on the putrid carcases. + Thou too didst perish! As the south-west blows, 100 + Thy bones, perhaps, now whiten on the coast + Of old Algarva.[117] I, meantime, these shades + Of village solitude, hoping erewhile + To welcome thee from many a toil restored, + Still deck, and now thy empty urn[118] alone + I meet, where, swaying in the summer gale, + The willow whispers in my evening walk. + Sylph, in thy airy robe, I see thee float, + A rainbow o'er thy head, and in thy hand + The magic instrument,[119] that, as thy wing, 110 + Lucid, and painted like the butterfly's, + Waves to and from, most musically rings; + Sometimes in joyance, as the flaunting leaf + Of the white poplar, sometimes sad and slow, + As bearing pensive airs from Pity's grave. + Soft child of air, thou tendest on his sway, + As gentle Ariel at the bidding hies + Of mighty Prospero; yet other winds + Throng to his wizard 'hest, inspiring some, + Some melancholy, and yet soothing much 120 + The drooping wanderer in the fading copse; + Some terrible, with solitude and death + Attendant on their march:--the wild Simoom,[120] + Riding on whirling spires of burning sand, + That move along the Nubian wilderness, + And bury deep the silent caravan;-- + Monsoon, up-starting from his half-year sleep, + Upon the vernal shores of Hindostan, + And tempesting with sounds of torrent rain, + And hail, the darkening main;--and red Sameel, 130 + Blasting and withering, like a rivelled leaf, + The pilgrim as he roams;--Sirocco sad, + That pants, all summer, on the cloudless shores + Of faint Parthenope;--deep in the mine + Oft lurks the lurid messenger of death, + The ghastly fiend that blows, when the pale light + Quivers, and leaves the gasping wretch to die;-- + The imp, that when the hollow curfew knolls, + Wanders the misty marish, lighting it + At night with errant and fantastic flame. 140 + Spirit of air, these are thy ministers, + That wait thy will; but thou art all in all, + And dead without thee were the flower, the leaf, + The waving forest rivelled, the great sea + Still, the lithe birds of heaven extinct, and ceased + The soul of melting music. + This fair scene + Lives in thy tender touch, for so it seems; + Whilst universal nature owns thy sway; + From the mute insect on the summer pool, 150 + That with long cobweb legs, firm as on earth + The ostrich skims, flits idly to and fro, + Making no dimple on the watery mass; + To the huge grampus, spouting, as he rolls, + A cataract, amid the cold clear sky, + And furrowing far and wide the northern deep. + Thy presence permeates and fills the whole! + As the poor butterfly, that, painted gay, + With mealy wings, red, amber, white, or dropped + With golden stains, floats o'er the yellow corn, 160 + Idly, as bent on pastime, while the morn + Smiles on his devious voyage; if inclosed + In the exhausted prison,[121] whence thy breath + With suction slow is drawn, he feels the change + How dire! in palsied inanition drops! + Weak flags his weary wing, and weaker yet; + His frame with tremulous convulsion moves + A moment, and the next is still in death. + So were the great and glorious world itself; + The tenants of its continents, all ceased! 170 + A wide, a motionless, a putrid waste, + Its seas! How droops the languid mariner, + When not a breath, along the sluggish main, + Strays on the sultry surface as it sleeps; + When far away the winds are flown, to dash + The congregated ocean on the Cape + Of Southern Africa, leaving the while + The flood's vast surface noiseless, waveless, white, + Beneath Mozambique's long-reflected woods, + A gleaming mirror, spread from east to west, 180 + Where the still ship, as on a bed of glass, + Sits motionless. Awake, ye hurricanes! + Ye winds that harrow up the wintry waste, + Awake! for Thunder in his sounding car, + Flashing thick lightning from the rolling wheels, + And the red volley, charged with instant death, + Were music to this lingering, sickening calm, + The same eternal sunshine; still, all still, + Without a vapour, or a sound. + If thus, 190 + Beneath the burning, breathless atmosphere, + Faint Nature sickening droop; who shall ascend + The height, where Silence, since the world began, + Has sat on Cimborazzo's highest peak, + A thousand toises o'er the cloud's career, + Soaring in finest ether? Far below, + He sees the mountains burning at his feet, + Whose smoke ne'er reached his forehead; never there, + Though the black whirlwind shake the distant shores, + The passing gale has murmured; never there 200 + The eagle's cry has echoed; never there + The solitary condor's weary wing + Hath yet ascended! + Let the rising thought + Beyond the confines of this vapoury vault + Be lifted, to the boundless void of space, + How dread, how infinite! where other worlds, + Ten million and ten million leagues aloft, + In other precincts with their shadows roll. + There roams the sole erratic comet, borne 210 + With lightning speed, yet twice three hundred years + Its destined course accomplishing. + Then whirled, + Far from the attractive orb of central fire, + Back through the dim and infinite abyss, + Dread flaming visitant, ere thou return'st, + Empires may rise and fail; the palaces, + That shone on earth, may vanish like the dews + Of morning, scarce illumined ere they fly. + Dread flaming visitant, who that pursues 220 + Thy long and lonely voyage, ev'n in thought, + (Till thought itself seem in the effort lost,) + But tremblingly exclaims, There is a God: + There is a God who lights ten thousand suns,[122] + Round which revolve worlds wheeling amid worlds. + He launched thy voyage through the vast abyss, + He hears his universe, through all its orbs, + As with one voice, proclaim, + There is a God! + Lifted above this dim diurnal sphere, 230 + So fancy, rising with her theme, ascends, + And voyaging the illimitable void, + Where comets flame, sees other worlds and suns + Emerge, and on this earth, like a dim speck, + Looks down: nor in the wonderful and vast + Of the dread scene magnificent, she views + Alone the Almighty Ruler, but the web + That shines in summer time, and only seen + In the slant sunbeam, wakes a moral thought. + In autumn, when the thin long spider gains 240 + The leafy bush's top, he from his seat + Shoots the soft filament, like threads of air, + Scarce seen, into the sky; and thus sustained, + Boldly ascends into the breezy void, + Dependent on the trembling line he wove, + Insidious, and intent on scenes of spoil + And death:--So mounts Ambition, and aloft + On his proud summit meditates new scenes + Of plunder and dominion, till the breeze + Of fortune change, that blows to empty air 250 + His feeble, frail support, and once again + Leaves him a reptile, struggling in the dust! + But what the world itself, what in His view + Whose dread Omnipotence is over all! + A twinkling air-thread in the vast of space. + And what the works of that proud insect, Man! + His mausoleums, fanes, and pyramids, + Frown in the dusk of long-revolving years, + While generations, as they rise and drop, + Each following each to silence and to dust, 260 + Point as they pass, and say, It was a God[123] + That made them: but nor date, nor name + Oblivion shows; cloud only, rolling on, + And wrapping darker as it rolls, the works + Of man! + Now raised on Contemplation's wing, + The blue vault, fervent with unnumbered stars, + He ranges: speeds, as with an angel's flight, + From orb to orb; sees distant suns illume + The boundless space, then bends his head to earth, 270 + So poor is all he knows! + O'er sanguine fields + Now rides he, armed and crested like the god + Of fabled battles; where he points, pale Death + Strides over weltering carcases; nor leaves,-- + But still a horrid shadow, step by step, + Stalks mocking after him, till now the noise + Of rolling acclamation, and the shout + Of multitude on multitude, is past: + The scene of all his triumphs, wormy earth, 280 + Closes upon his perishable pride; + For "dust he is, and shall to dust return"! + But Conscience, a small voice from heaven replies, + Conscience shall meet him in another world. + Let man, then, walk meek, humble, pure, and just; + Though meek, yet dignified; though humble, raised, + The heir of life and immortality; + Conscious that in this awful world he stands, + He only of all living things, ordained + To think, and know, and feel, there is a God! 290 + Child of the air, though most I love to hear + Thy gentle summons whisper, when the Spring, + At the first carol of the village lark, + Looks out and smiles, or June is in her car; + Not undelightful is the purer air + In winter, when the keen north-east is high, + When frost fantastic his cold garland weaves + Of brittle flowers, or soft-succeeding snows + Gather without apace, and heavy load + The berried sweetbrier, clinging to my pane. 300 + The blackbird, then, that marks the ruddy pods + Peep through the snow, though silent is his song, + Yet, pressed by cold and hunger, ventures near. + The robin group, familiar, muster round + The garden-shed, where, at his dinner set, + The laboured hind strews here and there a crumb + From his brown bread; then heedless of the winds + That blow without, and sweep the shivered snow, + Sees from his broken tube the smoke ascend + On an inverted barrow, as in state 310 + He sits, though poor, the monarch of the scene, + As pondering deep the garden's future state, + His kingdom; the rude instruments of death + Lie at his feet, fashioned with simple skill, + With which he hopes to snare the prowling race, + The mice, rapacious of his vernal hopes. + So seated, on the spring he ruminates, + And solemn as a sophi,[124] moves nor hand, + Nor eye, till haply some more venturous bird, + (The crumbs exhausted that he lately strewed 320 + Upon the groundsill,) with often dipping beak, + And sidelong look, as asking larger dole, + Comes hopping to his feet: and say, ye great, + Ye mighty monarchs of this earthly scene, + What nobler views can elevate the heart + Of a proud patriot king, than thus to chase + The bold rapacious spoilers from the field, + And with an eye of merciful regard + To look on humble worth, wet from the storm, + And chilled by indigence! 330 + But thoughts like these + Ill suit the radiant summer's rosy prime, + And the still temper of the calm blue sky. + The sunny shower is past; at intervals + The silent glittering drops descend; and mark, + Upon the blue bank of yon western cloud, + That looms direct against the emerging orb, + How bright, how beautiful the rainbow's hues + Steal out, how stately bends the graceful arch + Above the hills, and tinging at his foot 340 + The mead and trees! Fancy might think young Hope + Pants for the vision, and with ardent eye + Pursues the unreal shade, and spreads her hands, + Weeping to see it fade, as all her dreams + Have faded. + These, O Air! are but the toys, + That sometimes deck thy fairy element; + So oft the eye observant loves to trace + The colours, and the shadows, and the forms, + That wander o'er the veering atmosphere. 350 + See, in the east, the rare parhelia shine + In mimic glory, and so seem to mock + (Fixed parallel to the ascending orb) + The majesty, the splendour, and the shape, + Of the sole luminary that informs + The world with light and heat! The halo-ring + Bends over all! + With desultory shafts, + And long and arrowy glance, the night-lights[125] shoot + Pale coruscations o'er the northern sky; 360 + Now lancing to the cope, in sheets of flame, + Now wavering wild, as the reflected wave, + On the arched roof of the umbrageous grot. + Hence Superstition dreams of armaments, + Of fiery conflicts, and of bleeding fields + Of slaughter; so on great Jerusalem, + Ere yet she fell, the flaming meteor glared; + A waving sword ensanguined seemed to point + To the devoted city, and a voice + Was heard, Depart, depart![126] 370 + The atmosphere, + That with the ceaseless hurry of its clouds, + Encircles the round globe, resembles oft + The passing sunshine, or the glooms that stray + O'er every human spirit. + Thin light streaks + Of thought pass vapoury o'er the vacant mind, + And fade to nothing. Now fantastic gleams + Play, flashing or expiring, of gay hope, + Or deep despair; then clouds of sadness close 380 + In one dark settled gloom, and all the man + Droops, in despondence lost. + AÎrial tints + Please most the pensive poet: and the views + He forms, though evanescent, and as vain + As the air's mockery, seem to his eye + Ev'n as substantial images, and shapes, + Till in a hurrying rack they all dissolve. + So in the cloudless sky, amusive shines + The soft and mimic scenery; distant hills 390 + That, in refracted light, hang beautiful + Beneath the golden car of eve, ere yet + The daylight lingering fades. + Hence, on the heights + Of Apennine, far stretching to the south, + The goat-herd, while the westering sun, far off, + Hangs o'er the hazy ocean's brim, beholds + In the horizon's faintly-glowing verge + A landscape,[127] like the rainbow, rise, with rocks + That softened shine, and shores that trend away, 400 + Beneath the winding woods of Sicily, + And Etna, smouldering in the still pale sky; + And dim Messina, with her spires, and bays + That wind among the mountains, and the tower + Of Faro, gleaming on the tranquil straits; + Unreal all, yet on the air impressed, + From light's refracted ray,[128] the shadow seems + The certain scene: the hind astonished views, + Yet most delighted, till at once the light + Changes, and all has vanished! 410 + But to him, + How different in still air the unreal view, + Who wanders in Arabian solitudes, + When, faint with thirst, he sees illusive streams[129] + Shine in the arid desert! + All around, + A silent waste of dark gray sand is spread, + Like ashes; not a speck in heaven appears, + But the red sun, high in his burning noon, + Shoots down intolerable fire: no sound 420 + Of beast, or blast, or moving insect, stirs + The horrid stillness. Oh! what hand will guide + The pilgrim, panting in the trackless dust, + To where the pure and sparkling fountain cheers + The green oasis.[130] See, as now his lip + Hangs parched and quivering, see before him spread + The long and level lake! + He gazes; still + He gazes, till he drops upon the sands, + And to the vision stretches, as he faints, 430 + His feeble hand. + Come, Sylph of Summer, come! + Return to these green pastures, that, remote + From fiery blasts, or deadly blistering frosts, + Beneath the temperate atmosphere rejoice! + A crown of flame, a javelin in his hand, + Like the red arrow that the lightning shoots + Through night, impetuous steeds, and burning wheels, + That, as they whirl, flash to the cope of heaven, + Proclaim the angel of the world of fire! 440 + The ocean-king, lord of the waters, rides + High on his hissing car, whose concave skirrs + The azure deep beneath him, flashing wide, + As to the sun the dark-green wave upturns, + And foaming far behind: sea-horses breast + The bickering surge, with nostrils sounding far, + And eyes that flash above the wave, and necks, + Whose mane, like breakers whitening in the wind, + Toss through the broken foam: he kingly bears + His trident sceptre high; around him play 450 + Nereids, and sea-maids, singing as he rides + Their choral song: huge Triton, weltering on, + With scaly train, at times his wreathed shell + Sounds, that the caverns of old ocean shake! + But milder thou, soft daughter of the air, + Sylph of the Summer, come! the silent shower + Is past, and 'mid the dripping fern, the wren + Peeps, till the sun looks through the clouds again. + Oh, come, and breathe thy gentler influence, + And send a home-felt quiet to my heart, 460 + Soothed as I hear, by fits, thy whisper run, + Stirring the tall acacia's pendent leaves, + And through yon hazel alley rustling soft + Upon the vacant ear! + Yon eastern downs, + That weather-fence the blossoms of the vale, + Where winds from hill to hill the mighty Dike,[131] + Of Woden named, with many an antique mound, + The warrior's grave, bids exercise awake, + And health, the breeze of morning to inhale: 470 + Meantime, remote from storms, the myrtle blooms + Beneath my southern sash. + The hurricane + May rend the pines of snowy Labrador, + The blasting whirlwinds of the desert sweep + The Nubian wilderness--we fear them not; + Nor yet, my country, do thy breezes bear, + From citrons, or the blooming orange-grove, + As in Rousillon's jasmine-bordered vales, + Incense at eve. 480 + But temperate airs are thine, + England; and as thy climate, so thy sons + Partake the temper of thine isle; not rude, + Nor soft, voluptuous, nor effeminate; + Sincere, indeed, and hardy, as becomes + Those who can lift their look elate, and say, + We strike for injured freedom; and yet mild, + And gentle, when the voice of charity + Pleads like a voice from heaven: and, thanks to GOD, + The chain that fettered Afric's groaning race, 490 + The murderous chain, that, link by link, dropped blood, + Is severed; we have lost that foul reproach + To all our virtuous boast! + Humanity, + England, is thine! not _that_ false substitute, + That meretricious sadness, which, all sighs + For lark or lambkin, yet can hear unmoved + The bloodiest orgies of blood-boltered France; + Thine is consistent, manly, rational, + Nor needing the false glow of sentiment 500 + To melt it into sympathy, but mild, + And looking with a gentle eye on all; + Thy manners open, social, yet refined, + Are tempered with reflection; gaiety, + In her long-lighted halls, may lead the dance, + Or wake the sprightly chord; yet nature, truth, + Still warm the ingenuous heart: there is a blush + With those most gay, and lovely; and a tear + With those most manly! + Temperate Liberty 510 + Hath yet the fairest altar on thy shores; + Such, and so warm with patriot energy, + As raised its arm when a false Stuart fled; + Yet mingled with deep wisdom's cautious lore, + That when it bade a Papal tyrant pause + And tremble, held the undeviating reins + On the fierce neck of headlong Anarchy. + Thy Church, (nor here let zealot bigotry, + Vaunting, condemn all altars but its own), + Thy Church, majestic, but not sumptuous, 520 + Sober, but not austere, with lenity + Tempering her fair pre-eminence, sustains + Her liberal charities, yet decent state. + The tempest is abroad; the fearful sounds + Of armament, and gathering tumult, fill + The ear of anxious Europe. If, O GOD! + It is thy will, that in the storm of death, + When we have lifted the brave sword in vain, + We too should sink, sustain us in that hour! + Meantime be mine, in cheerful privacy, 530 + To wait Thy will, not sanguine, nor depressed; + In even course, nor splendid, nor obscure, + To steal through life among my villagers! + The hum of the discordant crowd, the buzz + Of faction, the poor fly that threads the air + Self-pleased, the wasp that points its tiny sting + Unfelt, pass by me like the idle wind + That I regard not; while the Summer Sylph, + That whispers through the laurels, wakes the thought + Of quietude, and home-felt happiness, 540 + And independence, in a land I love! + +[114] Inscribed to William Sotheby, Esq. + +[115] The last point of Cornwall. + +[116] Dr Henry Bowles, on the medical staff sent to Gibraltar during the +pestilential fever there. + +[117] South coast of Portugal. + +[118] An urn is erected to his memory in Bremhill Garden. + +[119] ∆olian harp. + +[120] Simoom, Sameel, destructive winds in the deserts of Asia. See +Bruce, &c. + +[121] Air-pump. + +[122] Fixed stars. + +[123] So the Arabs say, speaking of the stupendous monuments in the +deserts. + +[124] Title of the Persian Emperor. + +[125] Aurora Borealis. + +[126] From Josephus. + +[127] A curious effect of vision in the air from refraction, by which +objects appear distinct, and as real, which are below the horizon. This +often appears on the coast of Italy, and has been sometimes observed +from our shores, where a line of the opposite coast appears. + +[128] The Fata Morgana are all explained in books; the effect is +ascribed to reflection and refraction, as one alone will not correspond +with the effects. The time when they occur is not the evening; but the +looming in our country is towards the evening. + +[129] The Mirage: see Denon. + +[130] Green spots in the desert. + +[131] Wandsdike, on the Marlborough Downs, opposite. + + +THE HARP OF HOEL.[132] + + It was a high and holy sight, 1 + When Baldwin[133] and his train, + With cross and crosier gleaming bright, + Came chanting slow the solemn rite, + To Gwentland's[134] pleasant plain. + + High waved before, in crimson pride, 2 + The banner of the Cross; + The silver rood was then descried, + While deacon youths, from side to side, + The fuming censer toss. + + The monks went two and two along, 3 + And winding through the glade, + Sang, as they passed, a holy song, + And harps and citterns, 'mid the throng, + A mingled music made. + + They ceased; when lifting high his hand, 4 + The white-robed prelate cried: + Arise, arise, at Christ's command, + To fight for his name in the Holy Land, + Where a Saviour lived and died! + + With gloves of steel, and good broadsword, 5 + And plumed helm of brass, + Hoel, Landoga's youthful lord, + To hear the father's holy word, + Came riding to the pass. + + More earnestly the prelate spake: 6 + Oh, heed no earthly loss! + He who will friends and home forsake, + Now let him kneel, and fearless take + The sign of the Holy Cross. + + Then many a maid her tresses rent, 7 + And did her love implore: + Oh, go not thou to banishment! + For me, and the pleasant vales of Gwent, + Thou never wilt see more. + + And many a mother, pale with fears, 8 + Did kiss her infant son; + Said, Who will shield thy helpless years, + Who dry thy widowed mother's tears, + When thy brave father's gone? + + GOD, with firm voice the prelate cried, 9 + God will the orphan bless; + Sustain the widow's heart, and guide + Through the hard world, obscure and wild, + The poor and fatherless. + + Then might you see a shade o'ercast 10 + Brave Hoel's ruddy hue, + But soon the moment's thought is past:-- + Hark, hark, 'tis the trumpet's stirring blast! + And he grasped his bow of yew. + + Then might you see a moment's gloom 11 + Sit in brave Hoel's eye: + Make in the stranger's land my tomb, + I follow thee, be it my doom, + O CHRIST, to live or die! + + No more he thought, though rich in fee, 12 + Of any earthly loss, + But lighting, on his bended knee, + Said, Father, here I take from thee + The sign of the Holy Cross. + + I have a wife, to me more dear 13 + Then is my own heart's blood; + I have a child, (a starting tear, + Which soon he dried, of love sincere, + On his stern eyelid stood); + + To them farewell! O God above, 14 + Thine is the fate of war; + But oh! reward Gwenlhian's[135] love, + And may my son a comfort prove, + When I am distant far! + + Farewell, my harp!--away, away! 15 + To the field of death I go; + Welcome the trumpet's blast, the neigh + Of my bold and barbed steed of gray, + And the clang of the steel crossbow! + + Gwenlhian sat in the hall at night, 16 + Counting the heavy hours; + She saw the moon, with tranquil light, + Shine on the circling mountain's height, + And the dim castle towers. + + Deep stillness was on hill and glen, 17 + When she heard a bugle blow; + A trump from the watch-tower answered then, + And the tramp of steeds, and the voice of men, + Were heard in the court below. + + The watch-dog started at the noise, 18 + Then crouched at his master's feet; + He knew his step, he heard his voice; + But who can now like her rejoice, + Who flies her own lord to greet? + + And soon her arms his neck enfold: 19 + But whence that altered mien! + O say, then, is thy love grown cold, + Or hast thou been hurt by the robbers bold, + That won in the forest of Dean? + + Oh no, he cried, the God above, 20 + Who all my soul can see, + Knows my sincere, my fervent love; + If aught my stern resolve could move, + It were one tear from thee. + + But I have sworn, in the Holy Land,-- 21 + Need I the sequel speak; + Too well, she cried, I understand! + Then grasped in agony his hand, + And hid her face on his cheek. + + My loved Gwenlhian, weep not so, 22 + From the lid that tear I kiss; + Though to the wars far off I go, + Betide me weal, betide me woe, + We yet may meet in bliss. + + Fourteen suns their course had rolled, 23 + When firmly thus he spake; + Hear now my last request: behold + This ring, it is of purest gold, + Love, keep it for my sake! + + When summers seven have robed each tree, 24 + And clothed the vales with green, + If I come not back, then thou art free, + To wed or not, and to think of me, + As I had never been! + + Nay, answer not,--what wouldst thou say! + Come, let my harp be brought; + For the last time, I fain would play, + Ere yet we part, our favourite lay, + And cheat severer thought: + + THE AIR. + + Oh, cast every care to the wind, + And dry, best beloved, the tear! + Secure, that thou ever shalt find, + The friend of thy bosom sincere. + Still friendship shall live in the breast of the brave, + And we'll love, the long day, where the forest-trees wave. + + I have felt each emotion of bliss, + That affection the fondest can prove, + Have received on my lip the first kiss + Of thy holy and innocent love; + But perish each hope of delight, + Like the flashes of night on the sea, + If ever, though far from thy sight, + My soul is forgetful of thee! + Still the memory shall live in the breast of the brave, + How we loved, the long day, where the forest-trees wave. + + Now bring my boy; may God above 26 + Shower blessings on his head! + May he requite his mother's love, + And to her age a comfort prove, + When I perhaps am dead! + + The beams of morn on his helm did play, 27 + And aloud the bugle blew, + Then he leaped on his harnessed steed of gray, + And sighed to the winds as he galloped{f} away, + Adieu, my heart's love, adieu! + + And now he has joined the warrior train 28 + Of knights and barons bold, + That, bound to Salem's holy plain, + Across the gently-swelling main, + Their course exulting hold. + + With a cross of gold, as on they passed, 29 + The crimson streamers flew; + The shields hung glittering round the mast, + And on the waves a radiance cast, + Whilst all the trumpets blew. + + O'er the Severn-surge, in long array, 30 + So, the proud galleys went, + Till soon, as dissolved in ether gray, + The woods, and the shores, and the Holms[136] steal away, + And the long blue hills of Gwent. + +[132] This lyrical ballad is founded on a story connected with an old +Welsh melody. I have placed the circumstance in the time of the +Crusades. + +[133] Archbishop of Canterbury, who preached the Crusade in Wales. + +[134] Monmouthshire. + +[135] The Welsh tune is called the "Remembrance of Gwenlhian," the name +of the woman. + +[136] Islands in the Bristol Channel. + + +PART II. + + High on the hill, with moss o'ergrown, 1 + A hermit chapel stood; + It spoke the tale of seasons gone, + And half-revealed its ivied stone. + Amid the beechen wood. + + Here often, when the mountain trees 2 + A leafy murmur made, + Now still, now swaying to the breeze, + (Sounds that the musing fancy please), + The widowed mourner strayed. + + And many a morn she climbed the steep, 3 + From whence she might behold, + Where, 'neath the clouds, in shining sweep, + And mingling with the mighty deep, + The sea-broad Severn rolled. + + Her little boy beside her played, 4 + With sea-shells in his hand; + And sometimes, 'mid the bents delayed, + And sometimes running onward, said, + Oh, where is Holy Land! + + My child, she cried, my prattler dear! 5 + And kissed his light-brown hair; + Her eyelid glistened with a tear, + And none but God above could hear, + That hour, her secret prayer. + + As thus she nursed her secret woes, 6 + Oft to the wind and rain + She listened, at sad autumn's close, + Whilst many a thronging shadow rose, + Dark-glancing o'er her brain. + + Now lonely to the cloudy height 7 + Of the steep hill she strays; + Below, the raven wings his flight, + And often on the screaming kite + She sees the wild deer gaze. + + The clouds were gathered on its brow, 8 + The warring winds were high; + She heard a hollow voice, and now + She lifts to heaven a secret vow, + Whilst the king of the storm rides by. + + Seated on a craggy rock, 9 + What aged man appears! + There is no hind, no straggling flock; + Comes the strange shade my thoughts to mock, + And shake my soul with fears? + + Fast drive the hurrying clouds of morn; 10 + A pale man stands confessed; + With look majestic, though forlorn, + A mirror in his hand, and horn + Of ivory on his breast. + + Daughter of grief, he gently said, 11 + And beckoned her: come near; + Now say, what would you give to me, + If you brave Hoel's form might see, + Or the sound of his bugle hear! + + Hoel, my love, where'er thou art, 12 + All England I would give,[137] + If, never, never more to part, + I now could hold thee to my heart, + For whom alone I live! + + He placed the white horn to her ear, 13 + And sudden a sweet voice + Stole gently, as of fairies near, + While accents soft she seemed to hear, + Daughter of grief, rejoice! + + For soon to love and thee I fly, 14 + From Salem's hallowed plain! + The mirror caught her turning eye, + As pale in death she saw him lie, + And sinking 'mid the slain. + + She turned to the strange phantom-man, 15 + But she only saw the sky, + And the clouds on the lonely mountains' van, + And the Clydden-Shoots,[138] that rushing ran, + To meet the waves of Wye. + + Thus seven long years had passed away,-- 16 + She heard no voice of mirth; + No minstrel raised his festive lay, + At the sad close of the drisly day, + Beside the blazing hearth. + + She seemed in sorrow, yet serene, 17 + No tear was on her face; + And lighting oft her pensive mien, + Upon her languid look was seen + A meek attractive grace. + + In beauty's train she yet might vie, 18 + For though in mourning weeds, + No friar, I deem, that passed her by, + Ere saw her dark, yet gentle eye, + But straight forgot his beads. + + Eineon, generous and good, 19 + Alone with friendship's aid, + Eineon, of princely Rhys's blood, + Who 'mid the bravest archers stood, + To sooth her griefs essayed. + + He had himself been early tried 20 + By stern misfortune's doom; + For she who loved him drooped and died, + And on the green hill's flowery side + He raised her grassy tomb. + + What marvel, in his lonely heart, 21 + To faith a friendship true, + If, when her griefs she did impart, + And tears of memory oft would start, + If more than pity grew. + + With converse mild he oft would seek 22 + To sooth her sense of care; + As the west wind, with breathings weak, + Wakes, on the hectic's faded cheek + A smile of faint despair. + + The summer's eve was calm and still, 23 + When once his harp he strung; + Soft as the twilight on the hill, + Affection seemed his heart to fill, + Whilst eloquent he sung: + + When Fortune to all thy warm hopes was unkind, + And the morn of thy youth was o'erclouded with woe, + In me, not a stranger to grief, thou should'st find, + All that friendship and kindness and truth could bestow. + + Yes, the time it has been, when my soul was oppressed, + But no longer this heart would for heaviness pine, + Could I lighten the load of an innocent breast, + And steal but a moment of sadness from thine. + + He paused, then with a starting tear, 24 + And trembling accent, cried, + O lady, hide that look severe,-- + The voice of love, of friendship hear, + And be again a bride. + + Mourn not thy much-loved Hoel lost,-- 25 + Lady, he is dead, is dead,-- + Far distant wanders his pale ghost,-- + His bones by the white surge are tossed, + And the wave rolls o'er his head. + + She said, Sev'n years their course have rolled, 26 + Since thus brave Hoel spake, + When last I heard his voice, Behold, + This ring,--it is of purest gold,-- + Then, keep it for my sake. + + When summers seven have robed each tree, 27 + And decked the coombs with green, + If I come not back, then thou art free, + To wed or not, and to think of me + As I had never been. + + Those seven sad summers now are o'er, 28 + And three I yet demand; + If in that space I see no more + The friend I ever must deplore, + Then take a mourner's hand. + + The time is passed:--the laugh, the lay, 29 + The nuptial feast proclaim; + From many a rushing torrent gray, + From many a wild brook's wandering way, + The hoary minstrels came. + + From Kymin's crag, with fragments strewed; 30 + From Skirid, bleak and high; + From Penalt's shaggy solitude; + From Wyndcliff, desolate and rude, + That frowns o'er mazy Wye. + + With harps the gallery glittered bright,-- 31 + The pealing rafters rung; + Far off upon the woods of night, + From the tall window's arch, the light + Of tapers clear was flung. + + The harpers ceased the acclaiming lay, 32 + When, with descending beard, + Scallop, and staff his steps to stay, + As, foot-sore, on his weary way, + A pilgrim wan appeared. + + Now lend me a harp for St Mary's sake, 33 + For my skill I fain would try, + A poor man's offering to make, + If haply still my hand may wake + Some pleasant melody. + + With scoffs the minstrel crowd replied, 34 + Dost thou a harp request! + And loud in mirth, and swelled with pride, + Some his rain-dripping hair deride, + And some his sordid vest. + + Pilgrim, a harp shall soon be found, 35 + Young Hoel instant cried; + There lies a harp upon the ground, + And none hath ever heard its sound, + Since my brave father died. + + The harp is brought: upon the frame 36 + A filmy cobweb hung; + The strings were few, yet 'twas the same; + The old man drawing near the flame, + The chords imperfect rung: + + Oh! cast every care to the wind, + And dry, best beloved, the tear; + Secure that thou ever shalt find + The friend of thy bosom sincere. + + She speechless gazed:--he stands confessed,-- 37 + The dark eyes of her Hoel shine; + Her heart has forgotten it e'er was oppressed, + And she murmurs aloud, as she sinks on his breast, + Oh! press my heart to thine. + + He turned his look a little space, 38 + To hide the tears of joy; + Then rushing, with a warm embrace, + Cried, as he kissed young Hoel's face, + My boy, my heart-loved boy! + + Proud harpers, strike a louder lay,-- 39 + No more forlorn I bend! + Prince Eineon, with the rest, be gay, + Though fate hath torn a bride away, + Accept a long-lost friend. + + * * * * * + + This tale I heard, when at the close of day + The village harper tuned an ancient lay; + He struck his harp, beneath a ruin hoar, + And sung of love and truth, in days of yore, + And I retained the song, with counsel sage, + To teach _one_ lesson to a wiser age! + +[137] + +"Wales, England, and Llewellyn, All would I give for a sight of +William." + +_Giraldus_, vol. i. p. 46. + +[138] "Nearly through the centre of the hill that backs the village +(Landoga) is a deep ravine, called Clydden-Shoots, which, when the +springs are full, forms a beautiful cascade."--_Heath._ + + +AVENUE IN SAVERNAKE FOREST. + + How soothing sound the gentle airs that move + The innumerable leaves, high overhead, + When autumn first, from the long avenue, + That lifts its arching height of ancient shade, + Steals here and there a leaf! + Within the gloom, + In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear, + Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shade + Some mingle their dark branches, but yet all, + All make a sad sweet music, as they move, + Not undelightful to a stranger's heart. + They seem to say, in accents audible, + Farewell to summer, and farewell the strains + Of many a lithe and feathered chorister, + That through the depth of these incumbent woods + Made the long summer gladsome. + I have heard + To the deep-mingling sounds of organs clear, + (When slow the choral anthem rose beneath), + The glimmering minster, through its pillared aisles, + Echo;--but not more sweet the vaulted roof + Rang to those linked harmonies, than here + The high wood answers to the lightest breath + Of nature. + Oh, may such sweet music steal, + Soothing the cares of venerable age,[139] + From public toil retired: may it awake, + As, still and slow, the sun of life declines, + Remembrances, not mournful, but most sweet; + May it, as oft beneath the sylvan shade + Their honoured owner strays, come like the sound + Of distant seraph harps, yet speaking clear! + How poor is every sound of earthly things, + When heaven's own music waits the just and pure! + +[139] The Earl of Aylesbury. + + +DIRGE OF NELSON. + + Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave + Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave! + Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave, + Toll Nelson's knell! + + The ball of Death unerring flew; + His cheek has lost its ardent hue; + He sinks, amid his gallant crew! + Toll Nelson's knell! + + Yet lift, brave chief, thy dying eyes; + Hark! loud huzzas around thee rise; + Aloft the flag of conquest flies! + The day is won! + + The day is won--peace to the brave! + But whilst the joyous streamers wave, + We'll think upon the victor's grave! + Peace to the brave! + + +DEATH OF CAPTAIN COOKE, + +OF "THE BELLEROPHON," KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE. + + When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore, + From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight's roar; + When flash succeeding flash, tremendous broke + The haze incumbent, and the clouds of smoke, + As oft the volume rolled away, thy mien, + Thine eye, serenely terrible, was seen, + My gallant friend.--Hark! the shrill bugle[140] calls, + Is the day won! alas, he falls--he falls! + His soul from pain, from agony release! + Hear his last murmur, Let me die in peace![141] + Yet still, brave Cooke, thy country's grateful tear, + Shall wet the bleeding laurel on thy bier. + But who shall wake to joy, through a long life + Of sadness, thy beloved and widowed wife, + Who now, perhaps, thinks how the green seas foam, + That bear thy victor ship impatient home! + Alas! the well-known views,--the swelling plain, + Thy laurel-circled home, endeared in vain, + The brook, the church, those chestnuts darkly-green,[142] + Yon fir-crowned summit,[143] and the village scene, + Wardour's long sweep of woods, the nearer mill, + And high o'er all, the turrets of Font Hill: + These views, when summer comes, shall charm no more + Him o'er whose welt'ring corse the wild waves roar, + Enough: 'twas Honour's voice that awful cried, + Glory to him who for his country died! + Yet dreary is her solitude who bends + And mourns the best of husbands, fathers, friends! + Oh! when she wakes at midnight, but to shed + Fresh tears of anguish on her lonely bed, + Thinking on him who is not; then restrain + The tear, O God, and her sad heart sustain! + Giver of life, may she remember still + Thy chastening hand, and to thy sovereign will + Bow silently; not hopeless, while her eye + She raises to a bright futurity, + And meekly trusts, in heaven, Thou wilt restore + That happiness the world can give no more! + +[140] He bore down into the thickest fight with a bugle-horn sounding. + +[141] His own words, the last he spoke. If I have here been more +particular in this description than in that of the great commander, it +will be attributed to private friendship, Captain Cooke having lived in +the same village. + +[142] Portrait of Captain Cooke's place, at Donhead. + +[143] Barker's Hill, near Donhead. + + +BATTLE OF CORRUNA. + + The tide of fate rolls on!--heart-pierced and pale, + The gallant soldier lies,[144] nor aught avail, + The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave, + From rapine's armed hand thy vales to save, + Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore, + Drenched the same plains with the invader's gore, + Stood frowning, in the front of death, and hurled + Defiance to the conquerors[145] of the world! + Oh, when we hear the agonising tale + Of those who, faint, and fugitive, and pale, + Saw hourly, harassed through their long retreat, + Some worn companion sinking at their feet, + Yet even in danger and from toil more bold, + Back on their gathering foes the tide of battle rolled;-- + While tears of pity mingle with applause, + On the dread scene in silence let us pause; + Yes, pause, and ask, Is not thy awful hand + Stretched out, O God, o'er a devoted land, + Whose vales of beauty Nature spread in vain, + Where misery moaned on the uncultured plain, + Where Bigotry went by with jealous scowl, + Where Superstition muttered in his cowl; + Whilst o'er the Inquisition's dismal holds, + Its horrid banner waved in bleeding folds! + And dost thou thus, Lord of all might, fulfil + With wreck and tempests thy eternal will, + Shatter the arms in which weak kingdoms trust, + And strew their scattered ensigns in the dust? + Oh, if no human wisdom may withstand + The terrors, Lord, of thy uplifted hand; + If the dark tide no prowess can control, + Yet nearer, charged with dread commission, roll; + Still may my country's ark majestic ride, + Though sole, yet safe, on the conflicting tide; + Till hushed be the wild rocking of the blast, + And the red storm of death be overpast! + +[144] Sir John Moore. + +[145] "Near Mount Medulio, the remains of a great native force destroyed +themselves in sight of a Roman army, rather than submit to +bondage."--_Southey's Travels in Spain and Portugal._ + + +SKETCH FROM BOWDEN HILL AFTER SICKNESS. + + How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill, + To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow + Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again + The upland breeze, the comfortable sun, + And all the landscape's hues! Upon the point + Of the descending steep I stand. + How rich, + How mantling in the gay and gorgeous tints + Of summer! far beneath me, sweeping on, + From field to field, from vale to cultured vale, + The prospect spreads its crowded beauties wide! + Long lines of sunshine, and of shadow, streak + The farthest distance; where the passing light + Alternate falls, 'mid undistinguished trees, + White dots of gleamy domes, and peeping towers, + As from the painter's instant touch, appear. + As thus the eye ranges from hill to hill, + Here white with passing sunshine, there with trees + Innumerable shaded, clustering more, + As the long vale retires, the ample scene, + Warm with new grace and beauty, seems to live. + Lives! all is animation! beauty! hope! + Snatched from the dark and dreamless grave, so late, + Shall I pass silent, now first issuing forth, + To feel again thy fragrance, to respire + Thy breath, to hail thy look, thy living look, + O Nature! + Let me the deep joy contrast, + Which now the inmost heart like music fills, + With the sick chamber's sorrows, oft from morn, + Silent, till lingering eve, save when the sound + Of whispers steal, and bodings breathed more low, + As friends approach the pillow: so awaked + From deadly trance, the sick man lifts his eyes, + Then in despondence closes them on all, + All earth's fond wishes! Oh, how changed are now + His thoughts! he sees rich nature glowing round, + He feels her influence! languid with delight, + And whilst his eye is filled with transient fire, + He almost thinks he hears her gently say, + Live, live! O Nature, thee, in the soft winds, + Thee, in the soothing sound of summer leaves, + When the still earth lies sultry; thee, methinks, + Ev'n now I hear bid welcome to thy vales + And woods again! + And I will welcome them, + And pour, as erst, the song of heartfelt praise. + From yonder line, where fade the farthest hills + Which bound the blue lap of the swelling vale, + On whose last line, seen like a beacon, hangs + Thy tower,[146] benevolent, accomplished Hoare, + To where I stand, how wide the interval! + Yet instantaneous, to the hurrying eye + Displayed; though peeping towers and villages + Thick scattered, 'mid the intermingling elms, + And towns remotely marked by hovering smoke, + And grass-green pastures with their herds, and seats + Of rural beauty, cottages and farms, + Unnumbered as the hedgerows, lie between! + Roaming at large to where the gray sky bends, + The eye scarce knows to rest, till back recalled + By yonder ivied cloisters[147] in the plain, + Whose turret, peeping pale above the shade, + Smiles in the venerable grace of years. + As the few threads of age's silver hairs, + Just sprinkled o'er the forehead, lend a grace + Of saintly reverence, seemly, though compared + With blooming Mary's tresses like the morn; + So the gray weather-stained towers yet wear + A secret charm impressive, though opposed + To views in verdure flourishing, the woods, + And scenes of Attic taste, that glitter near.[148] + O venerable pile,[149] though now no more + The pensive passenger, at evening, hears + The slowly-chanted vesper; or the sounds + Of "Miserere," die along the vale; + Yet piety and honoured age[150] retired, + There hold their blameless sojourn, ere the bowl + Be broken, or the silver chord be loosed. + Nor can I pass, snatched from untimely fate, + Without a secret prayer, that so my age, + When many a circling season has declined, + In charity and peace may wait its close. + Yet still be with me, O delightful friend, + Soothing companion of my vacant hours, + Oh, still be with me, Spirit of the Muse! + Not to subdue, or hold in moody spell, + The erring senses, but to animate + And warm my heart, where'er the prospect smiles, + With Nature's fairest views; not to display + Vain ostentations of a poet's art, + But silent, and associate of my joys + Or sorrows, to infuse a tenderness, + A thought, that seems to mingle, as I gaze, + With all the works of GOD. So cheer my path, + From youth to sober manhood, till the light + Of evening smile upon the fading scene. + And though no pealing clarion swell my fame, + When all my days are gone; let me not pass, + Like the forgotten clouds of yesterday, + Nor unremembered by the fatherless + Of the loved village where my bones are laid. + +[146] Sir Richard Hoare's tower at Stourhead. + +[147] Lacock Abbey. + +[148] Bowood, Mr Dickenson's and Mr Methuen's magnificent mansion. + +[149] Lacock Abbey. + +[150] The venerable Catholic Countess, who resides in the abbey. + + +SUN-DIAL, IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BREMHILL. + + So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade, + Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day, + The pleasing pictures of the present fade, + And like a summer vapour steal away! + + And have not they, who here forgotten lie + (Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!) + Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye, + Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast! + + Since thou hast stood, and thus thy vigil kept, + Noting each hour, o'er mouldering stones beneath; + The pastor and his flock alike have slept, + And dust to dust proclaimed the stride of death. + + Another race succeeds, and counts the hour, + Careless alike; the hour still seems to smile, + As hope, and youth, and life, were in our power; + So smiling and so perishing the while. + + I heard the village bells, with gladsome sound, + When to these scenes a stranger I drew near, + Proclaim the tidings to the village round, + While memory wept upon the good man's bier.[151] + + Even so, when I am dead, shall the same bells + Ring merrily, when my brief days are gone; + While still the lapse of time thy shadow tells, + And strangers gaze upon my humble stone! + + Enough, if we may wait in calm content, + The hour that bears us to the silent sod; + Blameless improve the time that heaven has lent, + And leave the issue to thy will, O God! + +[151] My predecessor, Rev. Nathaniel Hume, canon residentiary and +precentor of Salisbury, a man of exemplary benevolence. + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA: + +A DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL POEM. + +INTRODUCTION.[152] + + +I need not perhaps inform the reader, that I had before written a Canto +on the subject of this poem; but I was dissatisfied with the metre, and +felt the necessity of some connecting idea that might give it a degree +of unity and coherence. + +This difficulty I considered as almost inseparable from the subject; I +therefore relinquished the design of making an extended poem on events, +which, though highly interesting and poetical, were too unconnected with +each other to unite properly in one regular whole. But on being kindly +permitted to peruse the sheets of Mr Clarke's valuable work on the +_History of Navigation_, I conceived (without supposing _historically_ +with him that all ideas of navigation were derived from the ark of Noah) +that I might adopt the circumstance _poetically_, as capable of +furnishing an unity of design; besides which, it had the advantage of +giving a more serious cast and character to the whole. + +To obviate such objections as might be made by those who, from an +inattentive survey, might imagine there was any carelessness of +arrangement, I shall lay before the reader a general analysis of the +several books; and, I trust, he will readily perceive a leading +principle, on which the poem begins, proceeds, and ends. + +I feel almost a necessity for doing this in _justice_ to myself, as some +compositions have been certainly misunderstood, where the _connexion_ +might, by the least attention, have been perceived. In going over part +of the same ground which I had taken before, I could not always avoid +the use of similar expressions. + +I trust I need not apologise for having, in some instances, departed +from strict historical facts. It is not true that Camoens sailed with De +Gama, though, from the authority of Voltaire, it has been sometimes +supposed that he did. There are other circumstances for which I may have +less reason to expect pardon. The Egyptians were never, or but for a +short time, a maritime nation. In answer to this, I must say, that +_history_ and _poetry_ are two things; and though the poet has no right +to _contradict_ the historian, yet, if he find two opinions upon points +of history, he may certainly take that which is most susceptible of +poetical ornament; particularly if it have sufficient plausibility, and +the sanction of respectable names. + +In deducing the first maritime attempts from _Thebes_, so called from +_Thebaoth_, the _Ark_, founded by the sons of Cush, who first inhabited +the caves on the granite mountains of Ethiopia, I have followed the +idea of Bruce, which has many testimonies, particularly that of +Herodotus, in its favour. In making the ships of Ammon first pass the +straits of Babelmandel, and sail to Ophir, I have the authority of Sir +Isaac Newton. But still these points must, from their nature, be +obscure; the poet, however, has a right to build upon them, whilst what +he advances is not in _direct contradiction_ to all historical admitted +facts. He may take what is _shadowy_, if it be _plausible_, poetical, +and coherent with his general plan. Having said ingenuously thus much, I +hope I shall not be severely accused for having admitted, _en passant_, +some ideas (which may be thought visionary) in the notes, respecting the +allusion to the ark in Theocritus, the situation of Ophir, the temple of +Solomon, and the algum-tree. + +I must also submit to the candour of the critic, the necessity I +sometimes felt myself under of varying the verse, and admitting, when +the subject seemed particularly to require it, a break into the measure. +He will consider, as this poem is neither didactic, nor epic, that might +lead on the mind by diversity of characters, and of prospects; it was +therefore necessary (at least I thought myself at liberty so to do) to +break the uniformity of the subject by digression, contrast, occasional +change of verse, _et cet._ But after all, at a time so unfavourable to +long poems, I doubt whether the reader will have patience to accompany +me to the end of my _circumnavigation_. If he do, and if this much +larger poetical work than I have ever attempted should be as favourably +received as what I have before published has been, I shall sincerely +rejoice. + +At all events, in an age which I think has produced genuine poetry, if I +cannot say "_Ed Io, anchi, sono pittore;_" it will be a consolation to +me to reflect, that I have no otherwise courted the muse, than as the +consoler of sorrow, the painter of scenes romantic and interesting, the +handmaid of good sense, unadulterated feelings, and religious hope. + +It was at first intended that the poem should consist of six books; one +book being assigned to De Gama, and another to Columbus. These have been +compressed. I was the more inclined to this course, as the great subject +of the DISCOVERY OF AMERICA is in the hands of such poets as Mr Southey +and Mr Rogers. + + DONHEAD, _Nov. 3, 1804._ + +[152] Dedicated to His Royal Highness George Prince of Wales (afterwards +George IV.) + + + + +ANALYSIS. + +BOOK THE FIRST. + + +The book opens with the resting of the Ark on the mountains of the great +Indian Caucasus, considered by many authors as Ararat: the present state +of the _inhabited_ world, contrasted with its melancholy appearance +immediately after the flood. The poem returns to the situation of our +forefathers on leaving the ark; beautiful evening described. The Angel +of Destruction appears to Noah in a dream, and informs him that although +he and his family alone have escaped, the VERY ARK, which was the means +of his present preservation, shall be the cause of the future triumph of +Destruction. + +In his dream, the evils in consequence of the discovery of America, the +slave-trade, _et cet._, are set before him. Noah, waking from disturbed +sleep, ascends the summit of Caucasus. An angel appears to him; tells +him that the revelations in his dream were PERMITTED BY THE ALMIGHTY; +that he is commissioned to explain everything; he presents to his view +the _shadow of the world_ as it exists; regions are pointed out; the +dispersion of mankind; the rise of superstition; the birth of a SAVIOUR, +and the triumph of Charity: that navigation shall be the means of +extending the knowledge of GOD over the globe; and though some evils +must take place, happiness and love shall finally prevail upon the +earth. + + +BOOK THE SECOND + +Commences with an ardent wish, that as our forefather viewed the world +clearly displayed before him in a vision, so we of these late days might +be able, through the clouds of time, to look back upon the early ages of +the globe; we might then see, in their splendour, Thebes, Edom, _et +cet._; but the early history of mankind is obscure, the only certain +light is from the sacred writings. By these we are informed of the +_dispersion_ of earth's first inhabitants, after the flood. The +descendants of HAM, after this dispersion, according to Bruce, having +first gained the summits of the Ethiopian mountains, there form +subterraneous abodes. In process of time they descend, people Egypt, +build Thebes; obscure tradition of the Ark; first make voyages. + +Ophir is not long afterwards discovered. This Bruce places, on most +respectable authority, at Sofala; I have ventured to place it +otherwhere, but still admitting one general idea, that when the way to +it overland was attended with difficulties, an easier course was at last +opened by sea. As to Ammon's exploits, I must shelter myself under the +authority of Sir Isaac Newton. After a sacrifice by the Egyptians, the +monsoon sets in. The ships follow its direction, as the mariners imagine +a god leads them. Hence the discovery of so much of the world by _sea_. +Reflection on commerce. The voyage of Solomon. A description of the +glory of TYRE, the most commercial mart of the early world. Tyrian +discoveries in the Mediterranean; voyages to the coast of Italy and +Spain, to the Straits, and from thence to Britain. + +Tyre is destroyed, and the thought naturally arises, that Britain, +which, at the time of the splendour of the _maritime Tyrians_, was an +obscure island, is now at the summit of maritime renown; while TYRE is a +place where only "the fisherman dries his net." This leads to an +EULOGIUM ON ENGLAND; and the book concludes with the triumphs of her +fleets and armies on that very shore, on which science, and art, and +commerce, and MARITIME RENOWN, first arose. + +This digression, introducing the siege of Acre, appeared to the author +not only natural, but in some measure necessary to break the uniformity +of the subject. + + +BOOK THE THIRD + +Commences with the feelings excited by the conclusion of the last, by a +warm wish that England may for ages retain her present elevated rank. +This leads to the consideration of her NAVAL OPULENCE, which carries us +back to the subject we had left--THE FATE OF TYRE. + +The history of the empires succeeding Tyre is touched on: the fall of +her destroyer, Babylon; the succession of Cyrus; the character of Cyrus, +and his want of enlarged policy, having so many means of encouraging +commerce; and his ill-fated expedition to the East Indies. + +ALEXANDER THE GREAT first conceives the idea of establishing a vast +MARITIME EMPIRE: in his march of conquest, he proceeds to the last river +of the Punjab, the Hyphasis, which descends into the Indus, the sources +of which are near the mountains of CAUCASUS, WHERE THE ARK RESTED. + +The Indian account of the Deluge, it is well known, resembles most +wonderfully the history of Moses. When Alexander can proceed no further, +poetical fiction introduces the person of a Brahmin, who relates the +history of the Deluge: viz., that _one sacred man was_, in this part of +the world, _miraculously preserved by an ark_; the further march of the +conqueror towards the holy spot is deprecated: his best glory shall be +derived from the sea, and from uniting either world in commerce. +Alexander is animated with the idea; and his fleet, under Nearchus, +proceeds down the Indus to the sea. This forms a middle, connected with +the account of the Deluge, book first. + + +BOOK THE FOURTH. + +Nearchus' voyage being accomplished, and Alexandria now complete, +Commerce is represented as standing on the Pharos, and calling to all +nations. The tide of commerce would have flowed still in the track +pointed out by the sagacity of Alexander, but that a wider scene, beyond +THE ANCIENT WORLD, opens to the VIEW OF DISCOVERY. The use of the magnet +is discovered; and Henry of Portugal prosecutes the plan of opening a +passage along the coast of Africa to the East. One of his ships on its +return from the expedition has been driven from Cape Bojador (the +formidable boundary of Portuguese research) by a storm at sea. The isle +afterwards called Porto Santo is discovered. The circumstance related; +but the extraordinary appearance of a supernatural shade over the waters +at a distance excites many fears and superstitions. The attempt, +however, to penetrate the mystery, is resolved on. Zarco reaches the +island of Madeira; tomb found; which introduces the episode. At the tomb +of the first discoverer (whether this be fanciful or not, is nothing to +poetry) the Spirit of Discovery casts her eyes over the globe; she +pursues De Gama to the East; history of Camoens touched on; Columbus; +sees with triumph the discovery of a new world, and from thence extends +her ideas till the great globe is encompassed; after which she returns +to the "tranquil bosom of the Thames," with Drake, the first +circumnavigator, whose ship, after its various perils, being laid up in +that river, gives rise to some brief concluding reflections. + + +BOOK THE FIFTH. + +Hitherto we have described only the triumphs of Discovery; but it +appears necessary that many incidental evils, special and general, +should be mentioned. Fate and miserable end of some great +commanders,--of our gallant and benevolent countryman, Cook. After the +natural feelings of regret, the mind is led to contemplate the great +advantages of his voyages: the health of seamen; the accessions to +geographical knowledge; the spirit of humanity and science; his +exploring the east part of New-Holland; and being the first to determine +the proximity of America to Asia. This circumstance leads us back from +the point whence we set out--THE ARK OF NOAH; and hence we are partly +enabled to solve, what has been for so many ages unknown, the +difficulty{g} respecting the earth's being peopled from one family. + +The poem having thus gained a middle and end, the conclusion of the +whole is, that as this uncertainty in the physical world has been by +DISCOVERY cleared up, so all the apparent contradictions in the moral +world shall be reconciled. We have yet many existing evils to deplore; +but when the SUPREME DISPOSER's plan shall have been completed, then the +earth, which has been explored and enlightened by discovery and +knowledge, shall be destroyed; but the MIND OF MAN, rendered at last +perfect, shall endure through all ages, and "justify His ways from whom +it sprung." + + * * * * * + +Such is the outline and plan of the following poem. I have felt myself +obliged to give this hasty analysis, thinking that self-defence almost +required it, lest a _careless_ reader might charge me with _carelessness +of arrangement_. + +I must again beg it to be remembered, that History and Poetry are two +things; and that the poet has a right to build his system, not on what +is exact truth, but on what is, at least, plausible; what will form, in +the clearest manner, a WHOLE; and what is most susceptible of poetical +ornament. + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA. + +BOOK THE FIRST. + + + Awake a louder and a loftier strain! + Beloved harp, whose tones have oft beguiled + My solitary sorrows, when I left + The scene of happier hours, and wandered far, + A pale and drooping stranger; I have sat + (While evening listened to the convent bell) + On the wild margin of the Rhine, and wooed + Thy sympathies, "a-weary of the world," + And I have found with thee sad fellowship, + Yet always sweet, whene'er my languid hand 10 + Passed carelessly o'er the responsive wires, + While unambitious of the laurelled meed + That crowns the gifted bard, I only asked + Some stealing melodies, the heart might love, + And a brief sonnet to beguile my tears! + But I had hope that one day I might wake + Thy strings to loftier utterance; and now, + Bidding adieu to glens, and woods, and streams, + And turning where, magnificent and vast, + Main Ocean bursts upon my sight, I strike,-- 20 + Rapt in the theme on which I long have mused,-- + Strike the loud lyre, and as the blue waves rock, + Swell to their solemn roar the deepening chords. + Lift thy indignant billows high, proclaim + Thy terrors, Spirit of the hoary seas! + I sing thy dread dominion, amid wrecks, + And storms, and howling solitudes, to Man + Submitted: awful shade of Camoens + Bend from the clouds of heaven. + By the bold tones 30 + Of minstrelsy, that o'er the unknown surge + (Where never daring sail before was spread) + Echoed, and startled from his long repose + The indignant Phantom[153] of the stormy Cape; + Oh, let me think that in the winds I hear + Thy animating tones, whilst I pursue + With ardent hopes, like thee, my venturous way, + And bid the seas resound my song! And thou, + Father of Albion's streams, majestic Thames, + Amid the glittering scene, whose long-drawn wave 40 + Goes noiseless, yet with conscious pride, beneath + The thronging vessels' shadows; nor through scenes + More fair, the yellow Tagus, or the Nile, + That ancient river, winds. THOU to the strain + Shalt haply listen, that records the MIGHT + Of OCEAN, like a giant at thy feet + Vanquished, and yielding to thy gentle state + The ancient sceptre of his dread domain! + All was one waste of waves, that buried deep + Earth and its multitudes: the Ark alone, 50 + High on the cloudy van of Ararat, + Rested; for now the death-commissioned storm + Sinks silent, and the eye of day looks out + Dim through the haze; while short successive gleams + Flit o'er the weltering Deluge as it shrinks, + Or the transparent rain-drops, falling few, + Distinct and larger glisten. So the Ark + Rests upon Ararat; but nought around + Its inmates can behold, save o'er th' expanse + Of boundless waters, the sun's orient orb 60 + Stretching the hull's long shadow, or the moon + In silence, through the silver-cinctured clouds, + Sailing as she herself were lost, and left + In Nature's loneliness! + But oh, sweet Hope, + Thou bid'st a tear of holy ecstasy + Start to their eye-lids, when at night the Dove, + Weary, returns, and lo! an olive leaf + Wet in her bill: again she is put forth, + When the seventh morn shines on the hoar abyss:-- 70 + Due evening comes: her wings are heard no more! + The dawn awakes, not cold and dripping sad, + But cheered with lovelier sunshine; far away + The dark-red mountains slow their naked peaks + Upheave above the waste; Imaus[154] gleams; + Fume the huge torrents on his desert sides; + Till at the awful voice of Him who rules + The storm, the ancient Father and his train + On the dry land descend. + Here let us pause. 80 + No noise in the vast circuit of the globe + Is heard; no sound of human stirring: none + Of pasturing herds, or wandering flocks; nor song + Of birds that solace the forsaken woods + From morn till eve; save in that spot that holds + The sacred Ark: there the glad sounds ascend, + And Nature listens to the breath of Life. + The fleet horse bounds, high-neighing to the wind + That lifts his streaming mane; the heifer lows; + Loud sings the lark amid the rainbow's hues; 90 + The lion lifts him muttering; MAN comes forth-- + He kneels upon the earth--he kisses it; + And to the GOD who stretched that radiant bow, + He lifts his trembling transports. + From one spot + Alone of earth such sounds ascend. How changed + The human prospect! when from realm to realm, + From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle, + Flung to the stormy main, man's murmuring race, + Various and countless as the shells that strew 100 + The ocean's winding marge, are spread; from shores + Sinensian, where the passing proas gleam + Innumerous 'mid the floating villages: + To Acapulco west, where laden deep + With gold and gems rolls the superb galleon, + Shadowing the hoar Pacific: from the North, + Where on some snowy promontory's height + The Lapland wizard beats his drum, and calls + The spirits of the winds, to th' utmost South, + Where savage Fuego shoots its cold white peaks, 110 + Dreariest of lands, and the poor Pecherais[155] + Shiver and moan along its waste of snows. + So stirs the earth; and for the Ark that passed + Alone and darkling o'er the dread abyss, + Ten thousand and ten thousand barks are seen + Fervent and glancing on the friths and sounds; + From the Bermudian that, with masts inclined, + Shoots like a dart along; to the tall ship + That, like a stately swan, in conscious pride + Breasts beautiful the rising surge, and throws 120 + The gathered waters back, and seems to move + A living thing, along her lucid way + Streaming in white-winged glory to the sun! + Some waft the treasures of the east; some bear + Their country's dark artillery o'er the surge + Frowning; some in the southern solitudes, + Bound on discovery of new regions, spread, + 'Mid rocks of driving ice, that crash around, + Their weather-beaten mainsail; or explore + Their perilous way from isle to isle, and wind 130 + The tender social tie; connecting man, + Wherever scattered, with his fellow-man. + How many ages rolled away ere thus, + From NATURE'S GENERAL WRECK, the world's great scene + Was tenanted! See from their sad abode, + At Heaven's dread voice, heard from the solitude, + As in the dayspring of created things, + The sad survivors of a buried world + Come forth; on them, though desolate their seat, + The sky looks down with smiles; for the broad sun, 140 + That to the west slopes his untired career, + Hangs o'er the water's brim. The aged sire, + Now rising from his evening sacrifice, + Amid his offspring stands, and lifts his eyes, + Moist with a tear, to the bright bow: the fire + Yet on the altar burns, whose trailing fume + Goes slowly up, and marks the lucid cope + Of the soft sky, where distant clouds hang still + And beautiful. So placid Evening steals + After the lurid storm, like a sweet form 150 + Of fairy following a perturbed shape + Of giant terror, that in darkness strode. + Slow sinks the lord of day; the clustering clouds + More ardent burn; confusion of rich hues, + Crimson, and gold, and purple, bright, inlay + Their varied edges; till before the eye, + As their last lustre fades, small silver stars + Succeed; and twinkling each in its own sphere, + Thick as the frost's unnumbered spangles, strew + The slowly-paling heavens. Tired Nature seems 160 + Like one who, struggling long for life, had beat + The billows, and scarce gained a desert crag, + O'er-spent, to sink to rest: the tranquil airs + Whisper repose. Now sunk in sleep reclines + The Father of the world; then the sole moon + Mounts high in shadowy beauty; every cloud + Retires, as in the blue space she moves on + Amid the fulgent orbs supreme, and looks + The queen of heaven and earth. Stilly the streams + Retiring sound; midnight's high hollow vault 170 + Faint echoes; stilly sound the distant streams. + When, hark! a strange and mingled wail, and cries + As of ten thousand thousand perishing! + A phantom, 'mid the shadows of the dead, + Before the holy Patriarch, as he slept, + Stood terrible:--Dark as a storm it stood + Of thunder and of winds, like hollow seas + Remote; meantime a voice was heard: Behold, + Noah, the foe of thy weak race! my name + Destruction, whom thy sons in yonder plains 180 + Shall worship, and all grim, with mooned horns + Paint fabling: when the flood from off the earth + Before it swept the living multitudes, + I rode amid the hurricane; I heard + The universal shriek of all that lived. + In vain they climbed the rocky heights: I struck + The adamantine mountains, and like dust + They crumbled in the billowy foam. My hall, + Deep in the centre of the seas, received + The victims as they sank! Then, with dark joy, 190 + I sat amid ten thousand carcases, + That weltered at my feet! But THOU and THINE + Have braved my utmost fury: what remains + But vengeance, vengeance on thy hated race;-- + And be that sheltering shrine the instrument! + Thence, taught to stem the wild sea when it roars, + In after-times to lands remote, where roamed + The naked man and his wan progeny, + They, more instructed in the fatal use + Of arts and arms, shall ply their way; and thou 200 + Wouldst bid the great deep cover thee to see + The sorrows of thy miserable sons: + But turn, and view in part the truths I speak. + He said, and vanished with a dismal sound + Of lamentation from his grisly troop. + Then saw the just man in his dream what seemed + A new and savage land: huge forests stretched + Their world of wood, shading like night the banks + Of torrent-foaming rivers, many a league + Wandering and lost in solitudes; green isles 210 + Here shone, and scattered huts beneath the shade + Of branching palms were seen; whilst in the sun + A naked infant playing, stretched his hand + To reach a speckled snake, that through the leaves + Oft darted, or its shining volumes rolled + Erratic. + From the woods a sable man + Came, as from hunting; in his arms he took + The smiling child, that with the feathers played + Which nodded on his brow; the sheltering hut 220 + Received them, and the cheerful smoke went up + Above the silent woods. + Anon was heard + The sound as of strange thunder, from the mouths + Of hollow engines, as, with white sails spread, + Tall vessels, hulled like the great Ark, approached + The verdant shores: they, in a woody cove + Safe-stationed, hang their pennants motionless + Beneath the palms. Meantime, with shouts and song, + The boat rows hurrying to the land; nor long 230 + Ere the great sea for many a league is tinged, + While corpse on corpse, down the red torrent rolled,[156] + Floats, and the inmost forests murmur--Blood. + Now vast savannahs meet the view, where high + Above the arid grass the serpent lifts + His tawny crest:--Not far a vessel rides + Upon the sunny main, and to the shore + Black savage tribes a mournful captive urge, + Who looks to heaven with anguish. Him they cast + Bound in the rank hold of the prison-ship, 240 + With many a sad associate in despair, + Each panting chained to his allotted space; + And moaning, whilst their wasted eye-balls roll. + Another scene appears: the naked slave + Writhes to the bloody lash; but more to view + Nature forbad, for starting from his dream + The just Man woke. Shuddering he gazed around; + He saw the earliest beam of morning shine + Slant on the hills without; he heard the breath + Of placid kine, but troubled thoughts and sad 250 + Arose. He wandered forth; and now far on, + By heavy musings led, reached a ravine + Most mild amid the tempest-riven rocks, + Through whose dark pass he saw the flood remote + Gray-spreading, while the mists of morn went up. + He paused; when on his lonely pathway flashed + A light, and sounds as of approaching wings + Instant were heard. A radiant form appeared, + Celestial, and with heavenly accent said: + Noah, I come commissioned from above, 260 + Where angels move before th' eternal throne + Of heaven's great King in glory, to dispel + The mists of darkness from thy sight; for know, + Not unpermitted of th' Eternal One + The shadows of thy melancholy dream + Hung o'er thee slumbering: Mine the task to show + Futurity's faint scene;--now follow me. + He said; and up to the unclouded height + Of that great Eastern mountain,[157] that surveys + Dim Asia, they ascended. Then his brow 270 + The Angel touched, and cleared with whispered charm + The mortal mist before his eyes.--At once + (As in the skiey mirage, when the seer + From lonely Kilda's western summit sees + A wondrous scene in shadowy vision rise) + The NETHER WORLD, with seas and shores, appeared + Submitted to his view: but not as then, + A melancholy waste, deform and sad; + But fair as now the green earth spreads, with woods, + Champaign, and hills, and many winding streams 280 + Robed, the magnificent illusion rose. + He saw in mazy longitude devolved + The mighty Brahma-Pooter; to the East + Thibet and China, and the shining sea + That sweeps the inlets of Japan, and winds + Amid the Curile and Aleutian isles, + Pale to the north. Siberia's snowy scenes + Are spread; Jenisca and the freezing Ob + Appear, and many a forest's shady track + Far as the Baltic, and the utmost bounds 290 + Of Scandinavia; thence the eye returns: + And lo! great Lebanon--abrupt and dark + With pines, and airy Carmel, rising slow + Above the midland main, where hang the capes + Of Italy and Greece; swart Africa, + Beneath the parching sun, her long domain + Reveals, the mountains of the Moon, the source + Of Nile, the wild mysterious Niger, lost + Amid the torrid sands; and to the south + Her stormy cape. Beyond the misty main 300 + The weary eye scarce wanders, when behold + Plata, through vaster territory poured; + And Andes, sweeping the horizon's tract, + Mightiest of mountains! whose eternal snows + Feel not the nearer sun; whose umbrage chills + The murmuring ocean; whose volcanic fires + A thousand nations view, hung like the moon + High in the middle waste of heaven; thy range, + Shading far off the Southern hemisphere, + A dusky file Titanic. 310 + So spread + Before our great forefather's view the globe + Appeared; with seas, and shady continents, + And verdant isles, and mountains lifting dark + Their forests, and indenting rivers, poured + In silvery maze. And, Lo! the Angel said, + These scenes, O Noah, thy posterity + Shall people; but remote and scattered wide, + They shall forget their GOD, and see no trace, + Save dimly, of their Great Original. 320 + Rude caves shall be their dwellings: till, with noise + Of multitudes, imperial cities rise. + But the Arch Fiend, the foe of GOD and man, + Shall fling his spells; and, 'mid illusions drear, + Blear Superstition shall arise, the earth + Eclipsing.--Deep in caves,[158] vault within vault + Far winding; or in night of thickest woods, + Where no bird sings; or 'mid huge circles gray + Of uncouth stone, her aspect wild, and pale + As the terrific flame that near her burns, 330 + She her mysterious rites, 'mid hymns and cries, + Shall wake, and to her shapeless idols, vast + And smeared with blood, or shrines of lust, shall lead + Her votaries, maddening as she waves her torch, + With visage more expanded, to the groans + Of human sacrifice. + Nor think that love + And happiness shall dwell in vales remote: + The naked man shall see the glorious sun, + And think it but enlightens his poor isle, 340 + Hid in the watery waste; cold on his limbs + The ocean-spray shall beat; his Deities + Shall be the stars, the thunder, and the winds; + And if a stranger on his rugged shores + Be cast, his offered blood shall stain the strand. + O wretched man! who then shall raise thee up + From this thy dark estate, forlorn and lost? + The Patriarch said. + The Angel answered mild, + His God, who destined him to noblest ends! 350 + But mutual intercourse shall stir at first + The sunk and grovelling spirit, and from sleep + The sullen energies of man rouse up, + As of a slumbering giant. He shall walk + Sublime amid the works of GOD: the earth + Shall own his wide dominion; the great sea + Shall toss in vain its roaring waves; his eye + Shall scan the bright orbs as they roll above + Glorious, and his expanding heart shall burn, + As wide and wider in magnificence 360 + The vast scene opens; in the winds and clouds, + The seas, and circling planets, he shall see + The shadow of a dread Almighty move. + Then shall the Dayspring rise, before whose beam + The darkness of the world is past:--For, hark! + Seraphs and angel-choirs with symphonies + Acclaiming of ten thousand golden harps, + Amid the bursting clouds of heaven revealed, + At once, in glory jubilant, they sing-- + God the Redeemer liveth! He who took 370 + Man's nature on him, and in human shroud + Veiled his immortal glory! He is risen! + God the Redeemer liveth! And behold! + The gates of life and immortality + Open to all that breathe! + Oh, might the strains + But win the world to love; meek Charity + Should lift her looks and smile; and with faint voice + The weary pilgrim of the earth exclaim, + As close his eye-lids--Death, where is thy sting? 380 + O Grave, where is thy victory? + And ye, + Whom ocean's melancholy wastes divide, + Who slumber to the sullen surge, awake, + Break forth into thanksgiving, for the bark + That rolled upon the desert deep, shall bear + The tidings of great joy to all that live, + Tidings of life and light. + Oh, were those men, + (The Patriarch raised his drooping looks, and said) 390 + Such in my dream I saw, who to the isles + And peaceful sylvan scenes o'er the wide seas + Came tilting; then their murderous instruments + Lifted, that flashed to the indignant sun, + Whilst the poor native died:--Oh, were those men + Instructed in the laws of holier love, + Thou hast displayed? + The Angel meek replied-- + Call rather fiends of hell those who abuse + The mercies they receive: that such, indeed, 400 + On whom the light of clearer knowledge beams, + Should wander forth, and for the tender voice + Of charity should scatter crimes and woe, + And drench, where'er they pass, the earth with blood, + Might make ev'n angels weep: + But the poor tribes + That groaned and died, deem not them innocent + As injured; more ensanguined rites and deeds + Of deepest stain were theirs; and what if God, + So to approve his justice, and exact 410 + Most even retribution, blood for blood, + Bid forth the Angel of the storm of death! + Thou saw'st, indeed, the seeming innocence + Of man the savage; but thou saw'st not all. + Behold the scene more near! hear the shrill whoop + Of murderous war! See tribes on neighbour tribes + Rush howling, their red hatchets wielding high, + And shouting to their barbarous gods! Behold + The captive bound, yet vaunting direst hate, + And mocking his tormentors, while they gash 420 + His flesh unshrinking, tear his eyeballs, burn + His beating breast! Hear the dark temples ring + To groans and hymns of murderous sacrifice; + While the stern priest, the rites of horror done, + With hollow-echoing chaunt lifts up the heart + Of the last victim 'mid the yelling throng, + Quivering, and red, and reeking to the sun![159] + Reclaimed by gradual intercourse, his heart + Warmed with new sympathies, the forest-chief + Shall cast the bleeding hatchet to his gods 430 + Of darkness, and one Lord of all adore-- + Maker of heaven and earth. + Let it suffice, + He hath permitted EVIL for a while + To mingle its deep hues and sable shades + Amid life's fair perspective, as thou saw'st + Of late the blackening clouds; but in the end + All these shall roll away, and evening still + Come smilingly, while the great sun looks down + On the illumined scene. So Charity 440 + Shall smile on all the earth, and Nature's God + Look down upon his works; and while far off + The shrieking night-fiends fly, one voice shall rise + From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle-- + Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, + Peace and good-will to men! + Thou rest in hope, + And Him with meekness and with trust adore! + He said, and spreading bright his ampler wing, + Flew to the heaven of heavens; the meek man bowed + Adoring, and, with pensive thoughts resigned, + Bent from the aching height his lonely way. + +[153] See Camoens' description of the dreadful Phantom at the Cape of +Good Hope. + +[154] Part of the mountainous range of the vast Indian Caucasus, where +the Ark rested. + +[155] Forster says the miserable creatures who visited the ship in the +Straits of Magellan, seldom uttered any other word than +"Passeray"--hence the name of Pecherais was given to them. + +[156] From Dariena to Nicaragua, the Spaniards slew 400,000 people with +dogs, sword, fire, and divers tortures.--_Purchas._ + +[157] That tremendous Caff (according to the Indian superstition) +inhabited by spirits, demons, and the griffin Simorg. + +[158] The caves of Elephanta and Salsette. + +[159] At the dedication of the temple of Vitzuliputzli, A.D. 1486, +64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four days. + + +BOOK THE SECOND. + + Oh for a view, as from that cloudless height + Where the great Patriarch gazed upon the world, + His offspring's future seat, back on the vale + Of years departed! We might then behold + Thebes, from her sleep of ages, awful rise, + Like an imperial shadow, from the Nile, + To airy harpings;[160] and with lifted torch + Scatter the darkness through the labyrinths + Of death, where rest her kings, without a name, + And light the winding caves and pyramids 10 + In the long night of years! We might behold + Edom, in towery strength, majestic rise, + And awe the ErithrÊan, to the plains + Where Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood,[161] + Before whose naval shrine the Memphian host + And Pharaoh's pomp were shattered! As her fleets + From Ezion went seaward, to the sound + Of shouts and brazen trumpets, we might say, 18 + How glorious, Edom, in thy ships art thou, + And mighty as the rushing winds! + But night + Is on the mournful scene: a voice is heard, + As of the dead, from hollow sepulchres, + And echoing caverns of the Nile--So pass + The shades of mortal glory! One pure ray + From Sinai bursts (where God of old revealed + His glory, through the darkness terrible + That sat on the dread Mount), and we descry + Thy sons, O Noah! peopling wide the scene, + From Shinar's plain to Egypt. 30 + Let the song + Reveal, who first "went down to the great sea + In ships," and braved the stormy element. + THE SONS OF CUSH.[162] Still fearful of the FLOOD, + They on the marble range and cloudy heights + Of that vast mountain barrier,--which uprises + High o'er the Red Sea coast, and stretches on + With the sea-line of Afric's southern bounds + To Sofala,--delved in the granite mass + Their dark abode, spreading from rock to rock 40 + Their subterranean cities, whilst they heard, + Secure, the rains of vexed Orion rush. + Emboldened they descend, and now their fanes + On Egypt's champaign darken, whilst the noise + Of caravans is heard, and pyramids + In the pale distance gleam. Imperial THEBES + Starts, like a giant, from the dust; as when + Some dread enchanter waves his wand, and towers + And palaces far in the sandy wilds + Spring up: and still, her sphinxes, huge and high, 50 + Her marble wrecks colossal, seem to speak + The work of some great arm invisible, + Surpassing human strength; while toiling Time, + That sways his desolating scythe so vast, + And weary havoc murmuring at his side, + Smite them in vain. Heard ye the mystic song + Resounding from her caverns as of yore? + Sing to Osiris,[163] for his ark + No more in night profound + Of ocean, fathomless and dark, 60 + Typhon[164] has sunk! Aloud the sistrums ring-- + Osiris!--to our god Osiris sing!-- + And let the midnight shore to rites of joy resound! + Thee, great restorer of the world, the song + Darkly described, and that mysterious shrine + That bore thee o'er the desolate abyss, + When the earth sank with all its noise! + So taught, + The borderers of the ErithrÊan launch'd + Their barks, and to the shores of Araby 70 + First their brief voyage stretched, and thence returned + With aromatic gums, or spicy wealth + Of India. Prouder triumphs yet await, + For lo! where Ophir's gold unburied shines + New to the sun; but perilous the way, + O'er Ariana's[165] spectred wilderness, + Where ev'n the patient camel scarce endures + The long, long solitude of rocks and sands, + Parched, faint, and sinking, in his mid-day course. + But see! upon the shore great Ammon[166] stands-- 80 + Be the deep opened! At his voice the deep + Is opened; and the shading ships that ride + With statelier masts and ampler hulls the seas, + Have passed the Straits, and left the rocks and GATES + OF DEATH.[167] Where Asia's cape the autumnal surge + Throws blackening back, beneath a hollow cove, + Awhile the mariners their fearful course + Ponder, ere yet they tempt the further deep; + Then plunged into the sullen main, they cast + The youthful victim, to the dismal gods 90 + Devoted, whilst the smoke of sacrifice + Slowly ascends: + Hear, King of Ocean! hear, + Dark phantom! whether in thy secret cave + Thou sittest, where the deeps are fathomless, + Nor hear'st the waters hum, though all above + Is uproar loud; or on the widest waste, + Far from all land, mov'st in the noontide sun, + With dread and lonely shadow; or on high + Dost ride upon the whirling spires, and fume 100 + Of that enormous volume, that ascends + Black to the skies, and with the thunder's roar + Bursts, while the waves far on are still: Oh, hear, + Dread power, and save! lest hidden eddies whirl + The helpless vessels down,--down to the deeps + Of night, where thou, O Father of the Storm, + Dost sleep; or thy vast stature might appear + High o'er the flashing waves, and (as thy beard + Streamed to the cloudy winds) pass o'er their track, + And they are seen no more; or monster-birds 110 + Darkening, with pennons lank, the morn, might bear + The victims to some desert rock, and leave + Their scattered bones to whiten in the winds! + The Ocean-gods, with sacrifice appeased, + Propitious smile; the thunder's roar has ceased, + Smooth and in silence o'er the azure realm + The tall ships glide along; for the South-West + Cheerly and steady blows, and the blue seas + Beneath the shadow sparkle; on they speed, + The long coast varies as they pass from cove 120 + To sheltering cove, the long coast winds away; + Till now emboldened by the unvarying gale, + Still urging to the East, the sailors deem + Some god inviting swells their willing sails, + Or Destiny's fleet dragons through the surge + Cut their mid-way, yoked to the beaked prows + Unseen! + Night after night the heavens' still cope, + That glows with stars, they watch, till morning bears + Airs of sweet fragrance o'er the yellow tide: 130 + Then Malabar her green declivities + Hangs beauteous, beaming to the eye afar + Like scenes of pictured bliss, the shadowy land + Of soft enchantment. Now Salmala's peak + Shines high in air, and Ceylon's dark green woods + Beneath are spread; while, as the strangers wind + Along the curving shores, sounds of delight + Are heard; and birds of richest plumage, red + And yellow, glance along the shades; or fly + With morning twitter, circling o'er the mast, 140 + As singing welcome to the weary crew. + Here rest, till westering gales again invite. + Then o'er the line of level seas glide on, + As the green deities of ocean guide, + Till Ophir's distant hills spring from the main, + And their long labours cease. + + Hence Asia slow + Her length unwinds; and Siam and Ceylon + Through wider channels pour their gems and gold + To swell the pomp of Egypt's kings, or deck 150 + With new magnificence the rising dome[168] + Of Palestine's imperial lord. + His wants + To satisfy; "with comelier draperies" + To clothe his shivering form; to bid his arm + Burst, like the Patagonian's,[169] the vain cords + That bound his untried strength; to nurse the flame + Of wider heart-ennobling sympathies;-- + For this young Commerce roused the energies + Of man; else rolling back, stagnant and foul, 160 + Like the GREAT ELEMENT on which his ships + Go forth, without the currents, winds, and tides + That swell it, as with awful life, and keep + From rank putrescence the long-moving mass: + And He, the sovereign Maker of the world, + So to excite man's high activities, + Bad various climes their various produce pour. + On Asia's plain mark where the cotton-tree + Hangs elegant its golden gems; the date + Sits purpling the soft lucid haze, that lights 170 + The still, pale, sultry landscape; breathing sweet + Along old Ocean's billowy marge, the eve + Bears spicy fragrance far; the bread-fruit shades + The southern isles; and gems, and richest ore, + Lurk in the caverned mountains of the west. + With ampler shade the northern oak uplifts + His strength, itself a forest, and descends + Proud to the world of waves, to bear afar + The wealth collected, on the swelling tides, + To every land:--Where nature seems to mourn 180 + Her rugged outcast rocks, there Enterprise + Leaps up; he gazes, like a god, around; + He sees on other plains rich harvests wave; + He marks far off the diamond blaze; he burns + To reach the glittering prize; he looks; he speaks; + The pines of Lebanon fall at his voice; + He rears the towering mast: o'er the long main + He wanders, and becomes, himself though poor, + The sovereign of the globe! + So Sidon rose; 190 + And Tyre, yet prouder o'er the subject waves,-- + When in his manlier might the Ammonian spread + Beyond Philistia to the Syrian sands,-- + Crowned on her rocky citadel, beheld + The treasures of all lands poured at her feet. + Her daring prows the inland main disclosed; + Freedom and Glory, Eloquence, and Arts, + Follow their track, upspringing where they passed; + Till, lo! another Thebes, an ATHENS springs, + From the ∆gean shores, and airs are heard, 200 + As of no mortal melody, from isles + That strew the deep around! On to the STRAITS + Where tower the brazen pillars[170] to the clouds, + Her vessels ride. But what a shivering dread + Quelled their bold hopes, when on their watch by night + The mariners first saw the distant flames + Of ∆tna, and its red portentous glare + Streaking the midnight waste! 'Tis not thy lamp, + Astarte, hung in the dun vault of night, + To guide the wanderers of the main! Aghast 210 + They eye the fiery cope, and wait the dawn. + Huge pitchy clouds upshoot, and bursting fires + Flash through the horrid volume as it mounts; + Voices are heard, and thunders muttering deep. + Haste, snatch the oars, fly o'er the glimmering surge-- + Fly far--already louder thunders roll, + And more terrific flames arise! Oh, spare, + Dread Power! for sure some deity abides + Deep in the central earth, amidst the reek + Of sacrifice and blue sulphureous fume 220 + Involved. Perhaps the living Moloch[171] there + Rules in his horrid empire, amid flames, + Thunders, and blackening volumes, that ascend + And wrap his burning throne! + So was their path, + To those who first the cheerless ocean roamed, + Darkened with dread and peril. Scylla here, + And fell Charybdis, on their whirling gulph + Sit, like the sisters of Despair, and howl, + As the devoted ship, dashed on the crags, 230 + Goes down: and oft the neighbour shores are strewn + With bones of strangers sacrificed, whose bark + Has foundered nigh, where the red watch-tower glares + Through darkness. Hence mysterious dread, and tales + Of Polyphemus and his monstrous rout; + And warbling syrens on the fatal shores + Of soft Parthenope. Yet oft the sound + Of sea-conch through the night from some rude rock + Is heard, to warn the wandering passenger + Of fiends that lurk for blood! 240 + These dangers past, + The sea puts on new beauties: Italy, + Beneath the blue soft sky beaming afar, + Opens her azure bays; Liguria's gulph + Is past; the BÊtic rocks, and ramparts high, + That CLOSE THE WORLD, appear. The dashing bark + Bursts through the fearful frith: Ah! all is now + One boundless billowy waste; the huge-heaved wave + Beneath the keel turns more intensely blue; + And vaster rolls the surge, that sweeps the shores 250 + Of Cerne, and the green Hesperides, + And long-renowned Atlantis,[172] whether sunk + Now to the bottom of the "monstrous world;" + Or was it but a shadow of the mind, + Vapoury and baseless, like the distant clouds + That seem the promise of an unknown land + To the pale-eyed and wasted mariner, + Cold on the rocking mast. The pilot plies, + Now tossed upon Bayonna's mountain-surge, + High to the north his way; when, lo! the cliffs 260 + Of Albion, o'er the sea-line rising calm + And white, and Marazion's woody mount + Lifting its dark romantic point between. + So did thy ships to Earth's wide bounds proceed, + O Tyre! and thou wert rich and beautiful + In that thy day of glory. Carthage rose, + Thy daughter, and the rival of thy fame, + Upon the sands of Lybia; princes were + Thy merchants; on thy golden throne thy state + Shone, like the orient sun. Dark Lebanon 270 + Waved all his pines for thee; for thee the oaks + Of Bashan towered in strength: thy galleys cut, + Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners, + On ivory benches, furled th' embroidered sails, + That looms of Egypt wove, or to the oars, + That measuring dipped, their choral sea-songs sung; + The multitude of isles did shout for thee, + And cast their emeralds at thy feet, and said-- + Queen of the Waters, who is like to thee! + So wert thou glorious on the seas, and said'st, 280 + _I am a God_, and there is none like me. + But the dread voice prophetic is gone forth:-- + Howl, for the whirlwind of the desert comes! + Howl ye again, for Tyre, her multitude + Of sins and dark abominations cry + Against her, saith the LORD; in the mid seas + Her beauty shall be broken; I will bring + Her pride to ashes; she shall be no more, + The distant isles shall tremble at the sound + When thou dost fall; the princes of the sea 290 + Shall from their thrones come down, and cast away + Their gorgeous robes; for thee they shall take up + A bitter lamentation, and shall say-- + How art thou fallen, renowned city! THOU, + Who wert enthroned glorious on the seas, + To rise no more! + So visible, O GOD, + Is thy dread hand in all the earth! Where Tyre + In gold and purple glittered o'er the scene, + Now the poor fisher dries his net, nor thinks 300 + How great, how rich, how glorious, once she rose! + Meantime the furthest isle, cold and obscure, + Whose painted natives roamed their woody wilds, + From all the world cut off, that wondering marked + Her stately sails approach, now in her turn + Rises a star of glory in the West-- + Albion, the wonder of the illumined world! + See there a Newton wing the highest heavens; + See there a Herschell's daring hand withdraw + The luminous pavilion, and the throne 310 + Of the bright SUN reveal; there hear the voice + Of holy truth amid her cloistered fane, + As the clear anthem swells; see Taste adorn + Her palaces; and Painting's fervid touch, + That bids the canvas breathe; hear angel-strains, + When Handel, or melodious Purcell, pours + His sweetest harmonies; see Poesy + Open her vales romantic, and the scenes + Where Fancy, an enraptured votary, roves + At eve; and hark! 'twas Shakspeare's voice! he sits 320 + Upon a high and charmed rock alone, + And, like the genius of the mountain, gives + The rapt song to the winds; whilst Pity weeps, + Or Terror shudders at the changeful tones, + As when his Ariel soothes the storm! Then pause, + For the wild billows answer--Lycidas + Is dead, young Lycidas, dead ere his prime, + Whelmed in the deep, beyond the Orcades, + Or where the "vision of the guarded Mount, + BELERUS holds." 330 + Nor skies, nor earth, confine + The march of England's glory; on she speeds-- + The unknown barriers of the utmost deep + Her prow has burst, where the dread genius slept + For ages undisturbed, save when he walked + Amid the darkness of the storm! Her fleet + Even now along the East rides terrible, + Where early-rising commerce cheered the scene! + Heard ye the thunders of her vengeance roll, + As Nelson, through the battle's dark-red haze 340 + Aloft upon the burning prow directs, + Where the dread hurricane, with sulphureous flash, + Shall burst unquenchable, while from the grave + Osiris ampler seems to rise? Where thou, + O Tyre! didst awe the subject seas of yore, + Acre even now, and ancient Carmel, hears + The cry of conquest. 'Mid the fire and smoke + Of the war-shaken citadel, with eye + Of temper'd flame, yet resolute command, + His brave sword beaming, and his cheering voice 350 + Heard 'mid the onset's cries, his dark-brown hair + Spread on his fearless forehead, and his hand + Pointing to Gallia's baffled chief, behold + The British Hero stand! Why beats my heart + With kindred animation? The warm tear + Of patriot triumph fills mine eye. I strike + A louder strain unconscious, while the harp + Swells to the bold involuntary song. + + I. + + Fly, SON OF TERROR, fly! + Back o'er the burning desert he is fled! 360 + In heaps the gory dead + And livid in the trenches lie! + His dazzling files no more + Flash on the Syrian sands, + As when from Egypt's ravaged shore, + Aloft their gleamy falchions swinging, + Aloud their victor pÊans singing, + Their onward way the Gallic legions took. + Despair, dismay, are on his altered look, + Yet hate indignant lowers; 370 + Whilst high on Acre's granite towers + The shade of English Richard seems to stand; + And frowning far, in dusky rows, + A thousand archers draw their bows! + They join the triumph of the British band, + And the rent watch-tower echoes to the cry, + Heard o'er the rolling surge--They fly, they fly! + + II. + + Now the hostile fires decline, + Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine; + Now above the bastions gray 380 + The clouds of battle roll away; + Where, with calm, yet glowing mien, + Britain's victorious youth is seen! + He lifts his eye, + His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high, + Whilst the long-mingled shout is heard--They fly, they fly! + + III. + + Hoary CARMEL, witness thou, + And lift in conscious pride thy brow; + As when upon thy cloudy plain + BAAL'S PROPHETS cried in vain! 390 + They gashed their flesh, and leaped, and cried, + From morn till lingering even-tide. + Then stern ELIJAH on his foes + Strong in the might of Heaven arose!-- + On CARMEL'S top he stood, + And while the blackening clouds and rain + Came sounding from the Western main, + Raised his right hand that dropped with impious blood. + ANCIENT KISHON prouder swell, + On whose banks they bowed, they fell, 400 + The mighty ones of yore, when, pale with dread, + Inglorious SISERA fled! + So let them perish, Holy LORD, + Who for OPPRESSION lift the sword; + But let all those who, armed for freedom, fight, 405 + "Be as the sun who goes forth in his might." + +[160] Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes. + +[161] Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; +Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the coast. + +[162] The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along the Red +Sea. + +[163] When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, "Let us +rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah. + +[164] The deluge or devastating storm. + +[165] The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished. + +[166] Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first artificer who +built large ships, and passed the Straits. + +[167] The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of Affliction. + +[168] Temple of Solomon. + +[169] Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords when +taken. + +[170] Pillars of Hercules. + +[171] Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was worshipped along +the coast of Syria. + +[172] The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be America. + + +BOOK THE THIRD. + + My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought + That the dark tide of time might one day close, + England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed + On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence, + From the Pacific's billowy loneliness, + Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isle + Might rise in green-haired beauty eminent, + And like a goddess, glittering from the deep, + Hereafter sway the sceptre of domain + From pole to pole; and such as now thou art, 10 + Perhaps NEW-HOLLAND be. For who shall say + What the OMNIPOTENT ETERNAL ONE, + That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these, + Though visionary, rise; and sometimes move + A moment's sadness, when I think of thee, + My country, of thy greatness, and thy name, + Among the nations; and thy character,-- + Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,-- + Of loveliest beauty: I have never passed + Through thy green hamlets on a summer's morn, 20 + Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youths + And smiling maidens of thy villages, + Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said, + With passing tenderness--Live, happy land, + Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small, + An independence and a pride, that fill + His honest heart with joy--joy such as they + Who crowd the mart of men may never feel! + Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heard + The roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks, 30 + Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire, + Far as the eye could reach, from every port + Of every nation, streaming with their flags + O'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,-- + Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swell + That I was British-born; that I had lived + A witness of thy glory, my most loved + And honoured country; and a silent prayer + Would rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and Love + And Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing 40 + Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelled + Hostility, even as thy guardian cliffs + Repel the dash of that dread element + Which calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames, + On to my destined voyage, by the shores + Of Asia, and the wreck of cities old, + Ere yet we burst into the wilder deep + With Gama; or the huge Atlantic waste + With bold Columbus stem; or view the bounds + Of field-ice, stretching to the southern pole, 50 + With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook! + Tyre be no more! said the ALMIGHTY voice: + But thou too, Monarch of the world,[173] whose arm + Rent the proud bulwarks of the golden queen + Of cities, throned upon her subject seas, + ART THOU TOO FALL'N? + The whole earth is at rest: + "They break forth into singing:" Lebanon + Waves all his hoary pines, and seems to say, + No feller now comes here; HELL from beneath 60 + Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs up + The DEAD for thee; the CHIEF ONES of the earth, + Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say-- + Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought down + E'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased, + The worm spread under thee, the crawling worm + To cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven, + Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst, + I will ascend to Heaven; I will exalt + My throne above the stars of God! Die--die, 70 + Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot, + Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out! + And SHE, the great, the guilty Babel--SHE + Who smote the wasted cities, and the world + Made as a wilderness--SHE, in her turn, + Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voice + Of HIM who sits in judgment on her crimes! + Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers, + Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream; + And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades 80 + Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness. + On that same night, when with a cry she fell, + (Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,) + There was a strange eclipse, and long laments + Were heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towers + Of the high palace where his wassail loud + Belshazzar kept, mocking the GOD OF HEAVEN, + And flushed with impious mirth; for BEL had left + With sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat, + With many a gloomy apparition girt, 90 + NISROCH and NEBO chief, in the dim sphere + Of mooned ASTORETH, whose orb now rolled + In darkness:--They their earthly empire mourned; + Meantime the host of Cyrus through the night + Silent advanced more nigh; and at that hour, + In the torch-blazing hall of revelry, + The fingers of a shadowy hand distinct + Came forth, and unknown figures marked the wall, + Searing the eye-balls of the starting king: + Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n! 100 + Bel and her gods are shattered! + PRINCE, to thee + Called by the voice of God to execute + His will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne, + CYRUS, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tints + Most clear by the historian's magic art, + Thy features wear a gentleness and grace + Unlike the stern cold aspect and the frown + Of the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clan + Of heroes, from humanity and love 110 + Removed: To thee a brighter character + Belongs--high dignity, unbending truth-- + Yet Nature; not that lordly apathy + Which confidence and human sympathy + Represses, but a soul that bids all hearts + Smiling approach. We almost burn in thought + To kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains, + And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear, + Who stood a guardian angel in distress + To the unfriended, and the beautiful, 120 + Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touched + With tints of softest light, thus wins all hearts + To love thee; but severer policy, + Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hears + No stir of commerce on the sullen marge + Of waters that along thy empire's verge + Beat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships, + Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the main + From cape to cape. But on the desert sands + Hurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought 130 + Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan, + As the poor savage fells the blooming tree + To gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while! + For in the wilderness the noise is lost + Of all thy archers;--they have ceased;--the wind + Blows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries: + So perish they who grasp with avarice + Another's blessed portion, and disdain + That interchange of mutual good, that crowns + The slow, sure toil of commerce. 140 + It was thine, + Immortal son of Macedon! to hang + In the high fane of maritime renown + The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine, + THEN only like a god, when thy great mind + Swayed in its master council the deep tide + Of things, predestining th' eventful roll + Of commerce, and uniting either world, + Europe and Asia, in thy vast design. + Twas when the victor, in his proud career, 150 + O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced + Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks + Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp + Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise, + The awful records to succeeding years + Of his long march of glory, and to point + The spot where, like the thunder rolled away, + His army paused. Now shady eve came down; + The trumpet sounded to the setting sun, + That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm 160 + Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still, + And lovely as his parting light, the world + Beneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans, + Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks, + Were ever wafted from a bleeding land, + After the havoc of a conqueror's sword. + So calm the sun declined; when from the woods, + That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old + Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray, + That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front 170 + Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast + A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed + Before the conqueror of the world. At once + All, as in death, was still. The victor chief + Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased + Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved + No more in folds insulting to the Lord + Of the reposing world. The pallid front + Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm, + Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell 180 + His beating heart. He paused--and then abrupt: + Victor, avaunt! he cried, + Hence! and the banners of thy pride + Bear to the deep! Behold on high + Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky! + It is the place + Where the great Father of the human race + Rested, when all the world and all its sounds + Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds + The earth, leaped from its dark abode 190 + Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed, + The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list! + And dread His might no mortal may resist. + Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep, + When Hayagraiva[174] came, + With mooned horns and eyes of flame, + And bore the holy Vedas[175] to the deep. + Far from the sun's rejoicing ray, + Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay. + Then foamed the billowy desert wide, 200 + And all that breathed--they died, + Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crime + And violence of earth. But he above, + Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love, + Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublime + Floated, in safety borne: + For his stupendous horn, + Blazing like gold, and many a rood + Extended o'er the dismal flood, + The precious freight sustained, till on the crest 210 + Of Himakeel,[176] yon mountain high, + That darkly mingles with the sky, + Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest. + And Heaven decrees that here + Shall cease thy slaughtering spear: + Enough we bleed, enough we weep, + Hence, victor, to the deep! + Ev'n now along the tide + I see thy ships triumphant ride: + I see the world of trade emerge 220 + From ocean's solitude! What fury fires + My breast! The flood, the flood retires,[177] + And owns its future sovereign! Urge + Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream! + (Or is it but the shadow of a dream?) + Ev'n now old Indus hails + Thy daring prows in long array, + That o'er the lone seas gliding, + Around the sea-gods riding, + Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way. 230 + Fill high the bowl of mirth! + From west to east the earth + Proclaims thee Lord; shall the blue main + Confine thy reign? + But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring, + With language dread + Above thy head, + The dark Assoors[178] thy death-song sing. + What mortal blow + Hath laid the king of nations low? 240 + No hand: his own despair.-- + But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air, + Thy ships explore + Unknown Persia's winding shore, + While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain. + And see, uprising from the level main, + A new and glorious city springs;-- + Hither speed thy woven wings, + That glance along the azure tide; + Asia and Europe own thy might;-- 250 + The willing seas of either world unite: + Thy name shall consecrate the sands, + And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands. + He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood. + With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried-- + Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the gods + Of Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same track + My spirit pointed; and, let death betide, + My name shall live in glory! + At his word 260 + The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire; + The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curves + Of INDUS; to the Moderators' song[179] + The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guides + Aloft the gallies. On the foremost prow + The monarch from his golden goblet pours + A full libation to the gods, and calls + By name the mighty rivers, through whose course + He seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loud + The songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft 270 + The streamers fly, whilst on the evening wave + Majestic to the main the fleet descends. + +[173] Nebuchadnezzar, the destroyer of Tyre. + +[174] Hayagraiva, the evil spirit of the ocean. + +[175] The sacred writings of the Hindus. + +[176] Caucasus. + +[177] Alluding to the astonishment of Alexander's soldiers, when they +first witnessed the effects of the tide. + +[178] Assoors, the evil genii of India. + +[179] Moderators were people stationed on the poop, to excite with songs +the maritime ardour, while the oars kept time. + + +BOOK THE FOURTH. + + Stand on the gleaming Pharos,[180] and aloud + Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth; + Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide, + And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft, + In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way + That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek + Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track + Of the adventurous mariner, who steers + Steady, with eye intent upon the stars, + To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high 10 + Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers + Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart + Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky, + At distance from the palmy marge, displays + Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn. + Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there. + Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum; + The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song, + Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n? + A prouder city crowns the inland sea, 20 + Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus + His mighty mind were swayed to recompense + The evil of his march through cities stormed, + And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed + The tide of commerce through the destined track, + Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed + The world he conquered with a sage's eye, + As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene + More awful opens: ancient world, adieu! + Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds; 30 + And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop + The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu! + What though the seas with wilder fury rave, + Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape,[181] + Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below, + That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air + Appear with giant amplitude; his head + Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet, + And standing thus terrific, seem to say, + Incensed--Approach who dare! What though the fears 40 + Of superstition people the vexed space + With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make + To the sad surge beyond--yet Enterprise, + Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands + Striding, but led by Science, and advanced + To a more awful height, on the wide scene + Looks down commanding. + Does a shuddering thought + Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea + Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile, 50 + Displays the wondrous index, that still points, + With nice vibration tremulous, to the Pole. + And such, she whispers, is the just man's hope + In this tempestuous scene of human things; + Even as the constant needle to the North + Still points; so Piety and meek-eyed Faith + Direct, though trembling oft, their constant gaze + Heavenward, as to their lasting home, nor fear + The night, fast closing on their earthly way. + And guided by this index, thou shall pass 60 + The world of seas secure. Far from all land, + Where not a sea-bird wanders; where nor star, + Nor moon appears, nor the bright noonday sun, + Safe in the wildering storm, as when the breeze + Of summer gently blows; through day, through night, + Where sink the well-known stars, and others rise + Slow from the South, the victor bark shall ride. + Henry! thy ardent mind first pierced the gloom + Of dark disastrous ignorance, that sat + Upon the Southern wave, like the deep cloud 70 + That lowered upon the woody skirts, and veiled + From mortal search, with umbrage ominous, + Madeira's unknown isle. But look! the morn + Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks + Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements + Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still + To the unwearied surge; and turning still + His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds. + A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high + Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull 80 + Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on + Aloft--the weather-beaten ship--and now + Streams by the watch-tower! + Zarco,[182] from the deep + What tidings? + The loud storm of night prevailed, + And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks + Far out to sea; a sylvan isle[183] received + Our sails; so willed the ALMIGHTY--He who speaks, + And all the waves are still! 90 + Hail, HENRY cried, + The omen: we have burst the sole barrier, + (Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!) + We speed to Asia. + Soon upon the deep + The brave ship speeds again. Bojador's rocks + Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf, + That boils for many a league without. Its course + The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle, + That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, 100 + Springs o'er the wave again. Here they refresh + Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven, + But Heaven denies their further search; for ah! + What fearful apparition, palled in clouds, + For ever sits upon the Western wave, + Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom + Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds + Of Nature? Still it sits, day after day, + The same mysterious vision. Holy saints! + Is it the dread abyss where all things cease? 110 + Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle, + Cipango, and that unapproached seat + Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate + Of Moorish pride pursued? Whate'er it be, + Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on + To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore,[184] + Or beings more than mortal pace the sands. + The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears + Right onward to the fearful shade; more black + The cloudy spectre towers; already fear 120 + Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless. Hark! + 'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge + That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom + Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air + Their misty arms; yet, yet--bear boldly on-- + The mist dissolves;--seen through the parting haze, + Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds, + Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness + Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air; + Where fruits of "golden rind," thick interspersed 130 + And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam + Inviting. Cypress here, and stateliest pine, + Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous + Of sole distinction where all nature smiles. + Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head + And graceful stem uplifting, mark below + The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons + The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime + Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song + And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, 140 + With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed, + Now near in airy circles sing, then speed + Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers, + Whose silence, broken only by their song, + From the foundation of this busy world, + Perhaps had never echoed to the voice, + Or heard the steps, of Man. What rapture fired + The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade + They passed, admiring all, and gazing still + With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; 150 + Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods + PrimÊval fearful hangs: a green recess + Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers + Of unknown name purple the yielding sward; + The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one + Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees, + Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests! + Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears, + O'er which the green banana gently waves + Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near 160 + Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound, + That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause-- + Approach with reverence! Maker of the world, + There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone + A name, yet legible amid its moss,-- + Anna! + In that remote, sequestered spot, + Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost + In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark + The emblems of their holy faith, from all 170 + Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced, + Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung + To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile, + The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse + Her name and fate, who in this desert deep, + Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found + Her long and last abode; there where no eye + Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart + Sigh in remembrance of her fate:-- + She left 180 + The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved + O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales + Of happiness in distant lands, where care + Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds + That shone above the waves, when evening came, + Whispered--Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace, + Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,-- + Where gold alone bears sway,--scenes of delight, + Where love may lay his head upon the lap + Of innocence, and smile at all the toil 190 + Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth + Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these. + Leave the vain chidings of the world behind, + Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me + Where love and peace in distant vales invite. + What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look + Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes + Of tenderness and soft subdued desire, + Thy form, thy limbs--oh, madness!--be the prey + Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?-- 200 + Perish his treasure with him. Haste with me; + We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then, + If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills, + When they are distant far, and drop a tear, + Yes--I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp + Thy angel beauties closer to my breast; + And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun + Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek + Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus, + And proudly cry, My friend--my love--my wife! 210 + So tempted he, and soon her heart approved, + Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve, + When the moon shone upon the wandering stream, + She paced the castle's battlements, that threw + Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned + To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet + To wander o'er the world with him she loved. + Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone + 'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign: + With countenance erect, and honest eye 220 + Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness + At times), and smiles that like the lightning played + On his brown cheek,--so gently stern he stood, + Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,-- + Robert a Machin. But the sullen pride + Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim + To his high heritage, save what the pomp + Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave. + Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks + One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone 230 + He worshipped; and for this he could consign + His only child, his aged hope, to loathed + Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here + His hard ambition ended; for he sought, + By secret whispers of conspiracies, + His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift + His arm avenging, and upon a youth + Of promise close the dark forgotten gates + Of living sepulture, and in the gloom + Inhume the slowly-wasting victim. 240 + So + He purposed, but in vain; the ardent youth + Rescued her--her whom more than life he loved, + Ev'n when the horrid day of sacrifice + Drew nigh. He pointed to the distant bark, + And while he kissed a stealing tear that fell + On her pale cheek, as trusting she reclined + Her head upon his breast, with ardour cried-- + Be mine, be only mine! the hour invites; + Be mine, be only mine! So won, she cast 250 + A look of last affection on the towers + Where she had passed her infant days, that now + Shone to the setting sun. I follow thee, + Her faint voice said; and lo! where in the air + A sail hangs tremulous, and soon her feet + Ascend the vessel's side: The vessel glides + Down the smooth current, as the twilight fades, + Till soon the woods of Severn, and the spot + Where D'Arfet's solitary turrets rose, + Is lost; a tear starts to her eye, she thinks 260 + Of him whose gray head to the earth shall bend, + When he speaks nothing--but be all, like death, + Forgotten. Gently blows the placid breeze, + And oh! that now some fairy pinnace light + Might flit across the wave (by no seen power + Directed, save when Love upon the prow + Gathered or spread with tender hand the sail), + That now some fairy pinnace, o'er the surge + Silent, as in a summer's dream, might waft + The passengers upon the conscious flood 270 + To regions bright of undisturbed joy! + But hark! + The wind is in the shrouds;--the cordage sings + With fitful violence;--the blast now swells, + Now sinks. Dread gloom invests the further wave, + Whose foaming toss alone is seen, beneath + The veering bowsprit. + Oh, retire to rest, + Maiden, whose tender heart would beat, whose cheek + Turn pale to see another thus exposed! 280 + Hark! the deep thunder louder peals--Oh, save!-- + The high mast crashes; but the faithful arm + Of love is o'er thee, and thy anxious eye, + Soon as the gray of morning peeps, shall view + Green Erin's hills aspiring! + The sad morn + Comes forth; but terror on the sunless wave + Still, like a sea-fiend, sits, and darkly smiles + Beneath the flash that through the struggling clouds + Bursts frequent, half revealing his scathed front, 290 + Above the rocking of the waste that rolls + Boundless around. + No word through the long day + She spoke;--another slowly came;--no word + The beauteous drooping mourner spoke. The sun + Twelve times had sunk beneath the sullen surge, + And cheerless rose again:--Ah, where are now + Thy havens, France! But yet--resign not yet-- + Ye lost seafarers--oh, resign not yet + All hope--the storm is passed; the drenched sail 300 + Shines in the passing beam! Look up, and say-- + Heaven, thou hast heard our prayers! + And lo! scarce seen, + A distant dusky spot appears;--they reach + An unknown shore, and green and flowery vales, + And azure hills, and silver-gushing streams, + Shine forth; a Paradise, which Heaven alone, + Who saw the silent anguish of despair, + Could raise in the waste wilderness of waves. + They gain the haven; through untrodden scenes, 310 + Perhaps untrodden by the foot of man + Since first the earth arose, they wind. The voice + Of Nature hails them here with music, sweet, + As waving woods retired, or falling streams, + Can make; most soothing to the weary heart, + Doubly to those who, struggling with their fate, + And wearied long with watchings and with grief, + Seek but a place of safety. All things here + Whisper repose and peace; the very birds + That 'mid the golden fruitage glance their plumes, 320 + The songsters of the lonely valley, sing-- + Welcome from scenes of sorrow, live with us. + The wild wood opens, and a shady glen + Appears, embowered with mantling laurels high, + That sloping shade the flowery valley's side; + A lucid stream, with gentle murmur, strays + Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves, + Till gaining, with soft lapse, the nether plain, + It glances light along its yellow bed;-- + The shaggy inmates of the forest lick 330 + The feet of their new guests, and gazing stand. + A beauteous tree upshoots amid the glade + Its trembling top; and there upon the bank + They rest them, while each heart o'erflows with joy. + Now evening, breathing richer odours sweet, + Came down: a softer sound the circling seas, + The ancient woods resounded, while the dove, + Her murmurs interposing, tenderness + Awaked, yet more endearing, in the hearts + Of those who, severed wide from human kind, 340 + Woman and man, by vows sincere betrothed, + Heard but the voice of Nature. The still moon + Arose--they saw it not--cheek was to cheek + Inclined, and unawares a stealing tear + Witnessed how blissful was that hour, that seemed + Not of the hours that time could count. A kiss + Stole on the listening silence; ne'er till now + Here heard; they trembled, ev'n as if the Power + That made the world, that planted the first pair + In Paradise, amid the garden walked:-- 350 + This since the fairest garden that the world + Has witnessed, by the fabling sons of Greece + Hesperian named, who feigned the watchful guard + Of the scaled Dragon, and the Golden Fruit. + Such was this sylvan Paradise; and here + The loveliest pair, from a hard world remote, + Upon each other's neck reclined; their breath + Alone was heard, when the dove ceased on high + Her plaint; and tenderly their faithful arms + Infolded each the other. 360 + Thou, dim cloud, + That from the search of men these beauteous vales + Hast closed, oh, doubly veil them! But alas, + How short the dream of human transport! Here, + In vain they built the leafy bower of love, + Or culled the sweetest flowers and fairest fruit. + The hours unheeded stole! but ah, not long-- + Again the hollow tempest of the night + Sounds through the leaves; the inmost woods resound; + Slow comes the dawn, but neither ship nor sail 370 + Along the rocking of the windy waste + Is seen: the dash of the dark-heaving wave + Alone is heard. Start from your bed of bliss, + Poor victims! never more shall ye behold + Your native vales again; and thou, sweet child! + Who, listening to the voice of love, hast left + Thy friends, thy country,--oh, may the wan hue + Of pining memory, the sunk cheek, the eye + Where tenderness yet dwells, atone (if love + Atonement need, by cruelty and wrong 380 + Beset), atone ev'n now thy rash resolves! + Ah, fruitless hope! Day after day, thy bloom + Fades, and the tender lustre of thy eye + Is dimmed: thy form, amid creation, seems + The only drooping thing. + Thy look was soft, + And yet most animated, and thy step + Light as the roe's upon the mountains. Now, + Thou sittest hopeless, pale, beneath the tree + That fanned its joyous leaves above thy head, 390 + Where love had decked the blooming bower, and strewn + The sweets of summer: DEATH is on thy cheek, + And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns + Of him, who, agonised and hopeless, hangs + With tears and trembling o'er thee. Spare the sight,-- + She faints--she dies!-- + He laid her in the earth, + Himself scarce living, and upon her tomb + Beneath the beauteous tree where they reclined, + Placed the last tribute of his earthly love. 400 + + INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF ANNA D'ARFET. + + O'er my poor ANNA'S lowly grave + No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring; + But angels, as the high pines wave, + Their half-heard "Miserere" sing. + + No flowers of transient bloom at eve + The maidens on the turf shall strew; + Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave, + Sweets to the sweet! a long adieu! + + But in this wilderness profound, + O'er her the dove shall build her nest; 410 + And ocean swell with softer sound + A requiem to her dreams of rest! + + Ah! when shall I as quiet be, + When not a friend, or human eye, + Shall mark beneath the mossy tree + The spot where we forgotten lie! + + To kiss her name on the cold stone, + Is all that now on earth I crave; + For in this world I am alone-- + Oh, lay me with her in the grave! 420 + + ROBERT A MACHIN, 1344. + + _Miserere nobis, Domine._ + + He placed the rude inscription on her stone, + Which he with faltering hands had graved, and soon + Himself beside it sunk--yet ere he died, + Faintly he spoke: If ever ye shall hear, + Companions of my few and evil days, + Again the convent's vesper bells, oh! think + Of me; and if in after-times the search + Of men should reach this far removed spot, + Let sad remembrance raise an humble shrine, + And virgin choirs chaunt duly o'er our grave: 430 + Peace, peace! His arm upon the mournful stone + He dropped; his eyes, ere yet in death they closed, + Turned to the name, till he could see no more + ANNA. His pale survivors, earth to earth, + Weeping consigned his poor remains, and placed + Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid. + Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods, + They sought their country o'er the waves, and left + Those scenes once more to deepest solitude. + The beauteous ponciana hung its head 440 + O'er the gray stone; but never human eye + Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave + Of the unfortunate, but for the voice + Of ENTERPRISE, that spoke, from Sagre's towers, + Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes-- + Speed we to Asia! + Here, Discovery, pause!-- + Then from the tomb of him who first was cast + Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze + Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms 450 + Pursue De Gama's tract. Mark the rich shores + Of Madagascar, till the purple East + Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed. + But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!--a bard, + In tones whose patriot sound shall never die, + Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme + Recorded. + Say, what lofty meed awaits + The triumph of his victor conch, that swells + Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, 460 + As when Arion, with his glittering harp + And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main, + Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice + Again! Alas, I see an aged form, + An old man worn by penury, his hair + Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand + Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch + Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by: + His very countrymen, whose fame his song + Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy 470 + Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap, + Regard not. As he plays, a sable man + Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song + Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand. + Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look, + Thine, Camoens? Oh, shame upon the world! + And is there none, none to sustain thee found, + But he, himself unfriended, who so far + Has followed, severed from his native isles, + To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, 480 + Thee and thy broken fortunes! + GOD of worlds! + Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast + Of social life, let me not wrong the sense + Of kindness, planted in the human heart + By man's great Maker, therefore I record + Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love + To his heartbroken master, that might teach, + High as it bears itself, a polished world + More charity. 490 + DISCOVERY, turn thine eyes! + COLUMBUS' toiling ship is on the deep, + Stemming the mid Atlantic. + Waste and wild + The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves + The murmuring mariners, with languid eye, + Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day! + At midnight in the wind sad voices sound! + When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns, + Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste 500 + Of seas: and when the sun again goes down + Silent, hope dies within them, and they think + Of parting friendship's last despairing look! + See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers + Her trembling point--will Heaven forsake them too! + But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look, + Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:-- + Below the slowly-parting prow the sea + Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen + To wing the desert tract, as hasting on 510 + To the green valleys of their distant home. + Yet morn succeeds to morn--and nought around + Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league, + The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness + Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds. + Watchman, what from the giddy mast? + A shade + Appears on the horizon's hazy line. + Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot + Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze-- 520 + It fades, and there is nothing--nothing now + But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas! + As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst, + Upon the trackless and forsaken sands + Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives, + As mocking his last torments, while it seems, + To his distempered vision, like th' expanse + Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles + Th' illusive land upon the water's edge, + To the long-straining eye showing what seems 530 + Its headlands and its distant trending shores;-- + But all is false, and like the pensive dream + Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves + Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues, + And ending soon in emptiness and tears. + 'Tis midnight, and the thoughtful chief, retired + From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears + The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes, + And casts a silent anxious look without. + It is a light--great God--it is a light! 540 + It moves upon the shore!--Land--there is land! + He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy + Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell. + Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes + Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers; + While thus he fondly hopes the purer light + Of thy great truths on the benighted world + Shall beam! + The lingering night is past;--the sun + Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave 550 + High up the gently-surging bay. From all + Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud, + Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry, + Another living world!--Awe-struck and mute + The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears, + In homage to the gods! + So from the deep + They hail emerging; sight more awful far + Than ever yet the wondering voyager + Greeted;--the prospect of a new-found world, 560 + Now from the night of dark uncertainty + At once revealed in living light! + How beats + The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung + The roaming nations? From that ancient race + That peopled Asia--Noah's sons? How, then, + Passed they the long and lone expanse between + Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth + Cut off, and lost, for unknown ages, lost + In the vast deep? But whilst the awful view 570 + Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake + To prouder energies! Even now, in thought, + I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract![185] + The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand, + Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye + Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule, + The long Pacific stretches. Nor here cease + Thy search, but with De Quiros[186] to the South + Still urge thy way, if yet some continent + Stretch to its dusky pole, with nations spread, 580 + Forests, and hills, and streams. + So be thy search + With ampler views rewarded, till, at length, + Lo, the round world is compassed! Then return + Back to the bosom of the tranquil Thames, + And hail Britannia's victor ship,[187] that now + From many a storm restored, winds its slow way + Silently up the current, and so finds, + Like to a time-worn pilgrim of the world, + Rest, in that haven where all tempests cease. 590 + +[180] The Pharos was not erected by Alexander, but Alexandria is here +supposed to be finished. + +[181] Cape Bojador. + +[182] John Gongalez Zarco was employed by Prince Henry to conduct the +enterprise of discovery along the Western coast of Africa. + +[183] Porto Santo. + +[184] I have called the three islands of Madeiras the Hesperides, who, +in ancient mythology, are the three daughters of Atlas; as I consider +the orange-trees and mysterious shade, with the rocks discerned through +it on a nearer approach, to be the best solution of the fable of the +golden fruit, the dragon, and the three daughters of Atlas. + +[185] Magellan's ship first circumnavigated the globe, passing through +the straits, called by his name, into the South Sea, and proceeding West +to the East Indies. He himself, like our revered Cooke, perished in the +enterprise. + +[186] De Quiros first discovered the New Hebrides, in the South Sea; +afterwards explored by Cooke, who bears testimony to the accuracy of De +Quiros. These islands were supposed part of a great continent stretching +to the South pole, called _Terra Australis incognita._ + +[187] Drake's ship, in which he sailed round the world; she was laid up +at Deptford--hence Ben Johnson, in _Every Man in his Humour_, "O Coz, it +cannot be altered, go not about it; Drake's old ship at Deptford may +sooner circle the world again." + + +BOOK THE FIFTH. + + Such are thy views, DISCOVERY! The great world + Rolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the Deep + Submits its awful empire; Industry + Awakes, and Commerce to the echoing marts + From east to west unwearied pours her wealth. + Man walks sublimer; and Humanity, + Matured by social intercourse, more high, + More animated, lifts her sovereign mien, + And waves her golden sceptre. Yet the heart + Asks trembling, is no evil found! Oh, turn, 10 + Meek Charity, and drop a human tear + For the sad fate of Afric's injured sons, + And hide, for ever hide, the sight of chains, + Anguish, and bondage! Yes, the heart of man + Is sick, and Charity turns pale, to think + How soon, for pure religion's holy beam, + Dark crimes, that sullied the sweet day, pursued, + Like vultures, the Discoverer's ocean tract, + Screaming for blood, to fields of rich Peru, + Or ravaged Mexico, while Gold more Gold! 20 + The caverned mountains echoed, Gold more Gold! + Then see the fell-eyed, prowling buccaneer, + Grim as a libbard! He his jealous look + Turns to the dagger at his belt, his hand + By instinct grasps a bloody scymitar, + And ghastly is his smile, as o'er the woods + He sees the smoke of burning villages + Ascend, and thinks ev'n now he counts his spoil. + See thousands destined to the lurid mine, + Never to see the sun again; all names 30 + Of husband, sire, all tender charities + Of love, deep buried with them in that grave, + Where life is as a thing long passed; and hope + No more its sickly ray, to cheer the gloom, + Extends. + Thou, too, dread Ocean, toss thine arms, + Exulting, for the treasures and the gems + That thy dark oozy realm emblaze; and call + The pale procession of the dead, from caves + Where late their bodies weltered, to attend 40 + Thy kingly sceptre, and proclaim thy might! + Lord of the Hurricane! bid all thy winds + Swell, and destruction ride upon the surge, + Where, after the red lightning flash that shows + The labouring ship, all is at once deep night + And long suspense, till the slow dawn of day + Gleams on the scattered corses of the dead, + That strew the sounding shore! + Then think of him, + Ye who rejoice with those you love, at eve, 50 + When winds of winter shake the window-frame, + And more endear your fire, oh, think of him, + Who, saved alone from the destroying storm, + Is cast on some deserted rock; who sees + Sun after sun descend, and hopeless hears; + At morn the long surge of the troubled main, + That beats without his wretched cave; meantime + He fears to wake the echoes with his voice, + So dread the solitude! + Let Greenland's snows 60 + Then shine, and mark the melancholy train + There left to perish, whilst the cold pale day + Declines along the further ice, that binds + The ship, and leaves in night the sinking scene. + Sad winter closes on the deep; the smoke + Of frost, that late amusive to the eye + Rose o'er the coast, is passed, and all is now + One torpid blank; the freezing particles + Blown blistering, and the white bear seeks her cave. + Ill-fated outcasts, when the morn again 70 + Shall streak with feeble beam the frozen waste, + Your air-bleached and unburied carcases + Shall press the ground, and, as the stars fade off, + Your stony eyes glare 'mid the desert snows! + These triumphs boast, fell Demon of the Deep! + Though never more the universal shriek + Of all that perish thou shalt hear, as when + The deep foundations of the guilty earth + Were shaken at the voice of God, and man + Ceased in his habitations; yet the sea 80 + Thy might tempestuous still, and joyless rule, + Confesses. Ah! what bloodless shadows throng + Ev'n now, slow rising from their oozy beds, + From Mete,[188] and those gates of burial + That guard the ErythrÊan; from the vast + Unfathomed caverns of the Western main + Or stormy Orcades; whilst the sad shell + Of poor Arion,[189] to the hollow blast + Slow seems to pour its melancholy tones, + And faintly vibrate, as the dead pass by. 90 + I see the chiefs, who fell in distant lands, + The prey of murderous savages, when yells, + And shouts, and conch, resounded through the woods. + Magellan and De Solis seem to lead + The mournful train. Shade of Perouse! oh, say + Where, in the tract of unknown seas, thy bones + Th' insulting surge has swept? + But who is he, + Whose look, though pale and bloody, wears the trace + Of pure philanthropy? The pitying sigh 100 + Forbid not; he was dear to Britons, dear + To every beating heart, far as the world + Extends; and my faint faltering touch ev'n now + Dies on the strings, when I pronounce thy name, + Oh, lost, lamented, generous, hapless Cook! + But cease the vain complaint; turn from the shores, + Wet with his blood, Remembrance: cast thine eyes + Upon the long seas, and the wider world, + Displayed from his research. Smile, glowing Health! + For now no more the wasted seaman sinks, 110 + With haggard eye and feeble frame diseased; + No more with tortured longings for the sight + Of fields and hillocks green, madly he calls + On Nature, when before his swimming eye + The liquid long expanse of cheerless seas + Seems all one flowery plain. Then frantic dreams + Arise; his eye's distemper'd flash is seen + From the sunk socket, as a demon there + Sat mocking, till he plunges in the flood, + And the dark wave goes o'er him. 120 + Nor wilt thou, + O Science! fail to deck the cold morai[190] + Of him who wider o'er earth's hemisphere + Thy views extended. On, from deep to deep, + Thou shalt retrace the windings of his track; + From the high North to where the field-ice binds + The still Antarctic. Thence, from isle to isle, + Thou shalt pursue his progress; and explore + New-Holland's eastern shores,[191] where now the sons + Of distant Britain, from her lap cast out, 130 + Water the ground with tears of penitence, + Perhaps, hereafter, in their destined time, + Themselves to rise pre-eminent. Now speed, + By Asia's eastern bounds, still to the North, + Where the vast continents of either world + Approach: Beyond, 'tis silent boundless ice, + Impenetrable barrier, where all thought + Is lost; where never yet the eagle flew, + Nor roamed so far the white bear through the waste. + But thou, dread POWER! whose voice from chaos called 140 + The earth, who bad'st the Lord of light go forth, + Ev'n as a giant, and the sounding seas + Roll at thy fiat: may the dark deep clouds, + That thy pavilion shroud from mortal sight, + So pass away, as now the mystery, + Obscure through rolling ages, is disclosed; + How man, from one great Father sprung, his race + Spread to that severed continent! Ev'n so, + FATHER, in thy good time, shall all things stand + Revealed to knowledge. 150 + As the mind revolves + The change of mighty empires, and the fate + Of HIM whom Thou hast made, back through the dusk + Of ages Contemplation turns her view: + We mark, as from its infancy, the world + Peopled again, from that mysterious shrine + That rested on the top of Ararat, + Highest of Asian mountains; spreading on, + The Cushites from their mountain caves descend; + Then before GOD the sons of Ammon stood 160 + In their gigantic might, and first the seas + Vanquished: But still from clime to clime the groan + Of sacrifice, and Superstition's cry, + Was heard; but when the Dayspring rose of heaven, + Greece's hoar forests echoed, The great Pan + Is dead! From Egypt, and the rugged shores + Of Syrian Tyre, the gods of darkness fly; + Bel is cast down, and Nebo, horrid king, + Bows in imperial Babylon: But, ah! + Too soon, the Star of Bethlehem, whose ray 170 + The host of heaven hailed jubilant, and sang, + Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, + With long eclipse is veiled. + Red Papacy + Usurped the meek dominion of the Lord + Of love and charity: vast as a fiend + She rose, Heaven's light was darkened with her frown, + And the earth murmured back her hymns of blood, + As the meek martyr at the burning stake + Stood, his last look uplifted to his GOD! 180 + But she is now cast down, her empire reft. + They who in darkness walked, and in the shade + Of death, have seen a new and holy light, + As in th' umbrageous forest, through whose boughs, + Mossy and damp, for many a league, the morn + With languid beam scarce pierces, here and there + Touching some solitary trunk, the rest + Dark waving in the noxious atmosphere: + Through the thick-matted leaves the serpent winds + His way, to find a spot of casual sun; 190 + The gaunt hyÊna through the thicket glides + At eve: then, too, the couched tiger's eye + Flames in the dusk, and oft the gnashing jaws + Of the fell crocodile are heard. At length, + By man's superior energy and toil, + The sunless brakes are cleared; the joyous morn + Shines through the opening leaves; rich culture smiles + Around; and howling to their distant wilds + The savage inmates of the wood retire. + Such is the scene of human life, till want 200 + Bids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreads + The cultured stream of mild humanity, + And gentler virtues, and more noble aims + Employ the active mind, till beauty beams + Around, and Nature wears her richest robe, + Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charms + Of woman, fairest of the works of Heaven, + Whom the cold savage, in his sullen pride, + Scorned as unworthy of his equal love, + With more attractive influence wins the heart 210 + Of her protector. Then the names of sire, + Of home, of brother, and of children, grow + More sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye, + Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholds + A Father who looks down from heaven on all! + O Britain, my loved country! dost thou rise + Most high among the nations! Do thy fleets + Ride o'er the surge of ocean, that subdued + Rolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wear + Thy garb of gentler morals gracefully! 220 + Is widest science thine, and the fair train + Of lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy ports + With her ten thousand streamers, is the tract + Of the undeviating ploughshare white + That rips the reeking furrow, followed soon + By plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice, + Even like a cultured garden! Do the streams + That steal along thy peaceful vales, reflect + Temples, and Attic domes, and village towers! + Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things, 230 + Woman; and doth she gain that liberal love + And homage, which the meekness of her voice, + The rapture of her smile, commanding most + When she seems weakest, must demand from him, + Her master; whose stern strength at once submits + In manly, but endearing, confidence, + Unlike his selfish tyranny who sits + The sultan of his harem! + Oh, then, think + How great the blessing, and how high thy rank 240 + Amid the civilised and social world! + But hast thou no deep failings, that may turn + Thy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sun + That shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy power + Ne'er scattered sorrow over distant lands! + Ask of the East, have never thy proud sails + Borne plunder from dismembered provinces, + Leaving the groans of miserable men + Behind! And free thyself, and lifting high + The charter of thy freedom, bought with blood, 250 + Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy, + A witness of the tortures and the chains + That Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up; + Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheered + The gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shed + A beam of comfort and of righteousness + On isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shade + Th' Hesperian regions, and has softened much + With bland amelioration, and with charms + Of social sweetness, the hard lot of man. 260 + But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if all + Be even. Do not crimes of ranker growth + Batten amid thy cities, whose loud din, + From flashing and contending cars, ascends, + Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweet + Ne'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weeds + Of calm domestic peace and wedded love; + Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dash + Gay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lips + Untasted! Hath not sullen atheism, 270 + Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so sought + To hide the darkness of his withered brow + With faded and fantastic gallantry + Of roses, thus to win the thoughtless smile + Of youthful ignorance! Hast thou with awe + Looked up to Him whose power is in the clouds, + Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earth + The nations that offend, and they are gone, + Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself: + Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the might 280 + Of thy Protector, and the gathered hate + Of hostile bands shall be but as the sand + Blown on the everlasting pyramid. + Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work, + Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the world + Extends may your divinest influence + Be felt, and more than felt, to teach mankind + They all are brothers, and to drown the cries + Of superstition, anarchy, or blood! + Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banks 290 + Still superstition hails the flame of death, + Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire, + The self-devoted beauteous victim slow + Ascend the pile where her dead husband lies: + She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breast + On his, and lights herself the fatal pile + That shall consume them both! + On Egypt's shore, + Where Science rose, now Sloth and Ignorance + Sleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun! 300 + The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' blood + The inmost sands of Afric. But all these + The light shall visit, and that vaster tract + From Fuego to the furthest Labrador, + Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hear + The voice of social fellowship; the chief + Whose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom, + Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalp + Of his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears! + Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity! 310 + Complete the lovely prospect: every land + Shall lift up one hosannah; every tongue + Proclaim thee FATHER, INFINITE, and WISE, + And GOOD. The shores of palmy Senegal + (Sad Afric's injured sons no more enslaved) + Shall answer HALLELUJAH, for the LORD + Of truth and mercy reigns;--reigns KING OF KINGS;-- + HOSANNAH--KING OF KINGS--and LORD OF LORDS! + So may His kingdom come, when all the earth, + Uniting thus as in one hymn of praise, 320 + Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe, + His awful plan accomplished, then shall sink + In flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the place + Where it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voice + Of the ARCHANGEL, and the TRUMP OF GOD, + Amid heaven's darkness rolling fast away, + Shall sound! + Then shall the sea give up its dead;-- + But man's immortal mind, all trials past + That shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenes 330 + Of peril and distemper, shall ascend + Exulting to its destined seat of rest, + And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung. + +[188] Mete, in the Arabic, according to Bruce, signifies "the place of +burial." The entrance of the Red Sea was so called, from the dangers of +the navigation. See Bruce. + +[189] Alluding to the pathetic poem of the _Shipwreck_, whose author, +Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who was +afterwards lost in the "Aurora." + +[190] "Morai" is a grave. + +[191] Botany Bay. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + +Amor patriÊ ratione potentior omni. + +PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.[192] + + +It is not necessary to relate the causes which induced me to publish +this poem without a name. + +The favour with which it has been received may make me less diffident in +avowing it; and, as a second edition has been generally called for, I +have endeavoured to make it, in every respect, less unworthy of the +public eye. + +I have availed myself of every sensible objection, the most material of +which was the circumstance, that the Indian maid, described in the first +book, had not a part assigned to her of sufficient interest in the +subsequent events of the poem, and that the character of the Missionary +was not sufficiently professional. + +The single circumstance that a Spanish commander, with his army in South +America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treachery +of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is all +that has been taken from history. The rest of this poem, the personages, +father, daughter, wife, _et cet._ (with the exception of the names of +Indian warriors) is imaginary. The time is two months. The first four +books include as many days and nights. The rest of the time is occupied +by the Spaniards' march, the assembly of warriors, _et cet._ + +The place in which the scene is laid, was selected because South America +has of late years received additional interest, and because the ground +was at once new, poetical, and picturesque. + +From old-fashioned feelings, perhaps, I have admitted some aÎrial +agents, or what is called machinery. It is true that the spirits cannot +be said to accelerate or retard the events; but surely they may be +allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical +fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence. They may be further +excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery. + +The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced +me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least +accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in +itself, most difficult. I mention this, in order that, if some passages +should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour +of the reader may pardon them. + + +_Scene_--SOUTH AMERICA. + +_Characters._--Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies--Lautaro, his +page, a native of Chili--Anselmo, the missionary--Indiana, his adopted +daughter, wife of Lautaro--Zarinel, the wandering minstrel. + +_Indians._--Attacapac, father of Lautaro--Olola, his daughter, sister of +Lautaro--Caupolican, chief of the Indians--Indian warriors. + +The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as +the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the +moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the title which +was originally given to the poem. + +[192] Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + +INTRODUCTION. + + + When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast, + Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign passed, + Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne + Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown, + To seek a refuge on that distant shore, + That once her country's legions dyed with gore;-- + Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood, + Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood; + Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay, + Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; 10 + And the huge Cordilleras to the skies + With all their burning summits seemed to rise. + Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice + The waves and woods replied:--Mountains, rejoice! + Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep + The margin of my forests, dark and deep, + Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow, + That smote the golden shrines of Mexico, + In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain, + Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain; 20 + Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood, + Back on thy shores the tide of human blood, + Think of my murdered millions! of the cries + That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise; + Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;-- + Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear, + How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood, + Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood; + And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!) + Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! 30 + + +CANTO FIRST. + +ARGUMENT. + + _One Day and Part of Night._ + + Valley in the Andes--Old Indian warrior--Loss of his son and + daughter. + + Beneath aÎrial cliffs, and glittering snows, + The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose, + Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead, + The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread, + Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires, + And Chillan[193] trailed its smoke and smouldering fires. + A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest, + Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest. + Summer was in its prime;--the parrot-flocks + Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks; 10 + The chrysomel[194] and purple butterfly,[195] + Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by; + The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers, + With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers, + The woodpecker is heard with busy bill, + The mock-bird sings--and all beside is still, + And look! the cataract that bursts so high, + As not to mar the deep tranquillity, + The tumult of its dashing fall suspends, + And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; 20 + Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews, + Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues. + Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon, + And arching the gray rock with wild festoon, + Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine, + The purple cogul[196] threads from pine to pine, + And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe, + Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath. + There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white, + The sunshine darts its interrupted light, 30 + And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes, + With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes. + So smiles the scene;--but can its smiles impart + Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart? + He heeds not now, when beautifully bright, + The humming-bird is circling in his sight; + Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still, + Hears the green woodpecker's resounding bill; + But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild, + Rock after rock, in glittering masses piled 40 + To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high + Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky, + He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled + To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,-- + In yonder tract of purest light above, + Dear long-lost object of a father's love, + Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come, + Circling the scenes of thy remembered home, + And passing with the breeze, or, in the beam + Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! 50 + Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard, + In the sad notes of that melodious bird,[197] + Which, as we listen with mysterious dread, + Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead? + Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away, + Thine eyes yet view the living light of day; + Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain + A weary life of servitude and pain, + With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam, + And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, 60 + Never to hear the summer cocoa wave, + Or weep upon thy father's distant grave. + Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear, + When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near; + With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast, + As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast, + And o'er the withered earth the armed giant passed! + Ye, who his track with terror have pursued, + When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued, + He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, 70 + That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide, + Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong + The last deep echoes of his parting gong; + Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot + Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot, + Save livid corses that unburied lie, + And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;-- + Come listen, whilst the causes I relate + That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate, + And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. 80 + In other days, when, in his manly pride, + Two children for a father's fondness vied,-- + Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield + His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield; + Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade, + Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played, + Brother and sister. She, along the dew, + Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew; + Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair + Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; 90 + Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made, + That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade. + Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced + The azure-dyed ichella[198] round her waist; + Her ancles rung with shells, as unconfined + She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind. + With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye, + So beautiful in youth she bounded by. + Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,-- + The tame alpaca[199] stood and licked her hand; 100 + She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck + With flowery twine his tall and stately neck, + Whilst he with silent gratitude replies, + And bends to her caress his large blue eyes. + These children danced together in the shade, + Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade; + Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee, + The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree; + Or through the forest's wildest solitude, + From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; 110 + And thought the light of parting day too short, + That called them, lingering, from their daily sport. + In that fair season of awakening life, + When dawning youth and childhood are at strife; + When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands + Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands; + With airy look, and form and footsteps light, + And glossy locks, and features berry-bright, + And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray + Of noon unblenching as he sails away; 120 + A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung, + A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung, + With slender lance, and feathers blue and red, + That, like the heron's[200] crest, waved on his head,-- + Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy, + Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy: + Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow, + Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow; + Startled the condor, on the craggy height; + Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, 130 + Lessening in ether to a speck of white. + But when the impassioned chieftain spoke of war, + Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,-- + Spoke of the strangers of the distant main, + And the proud banners of insulting Spain,-- + Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke, + And his red gods, that, wrapped in rolling smoke, + Roared from the guns;--the boy, with still-drawn breath, + Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death; + Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, 140 + Oh, let me perish by my father's side! + Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height, + Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light, + A predatory band of mailed men + Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen: + They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high, + That shone terrific to the moonlight sky; + Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill + Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still. + The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, 150 + Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep, + Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said, + Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head, + AÎrial nymphs![201] that in the moonlight stray, + O gentle spirits! here awhile delay; + Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy, + Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy. + If the GREAT SPIRIT will, in future days, + O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise, + And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, 160 + Avenge his violated country's cause! + Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone + Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone, + As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood + Sprang, like hyÊnas, from the secret wood. + They rush, they seize their unresisting prey, + Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away; + But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound, + The father sank, expiring, on the ground. + He waked from the dark trance to life and pain, 170 + But never saw his darling child again. + Seven snows had fallen, and seven green summers passed, + Since here he heard that son's loved accents last. + Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares, + Whilst time began to strew with white his hairs. + Oft as his painted feathers he unbound, + Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground, + Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak, + Light she approached, and climbed to reach his cheek, + Held with both hands his forehead, then her head 180 + Drew smiling back, and kissed the tear he shed. + But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey, + She left his side, and wandered far away. + Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled + Beneath the crags of precipices wild, + Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose, + The warrior half forgot his country's woes; + Forgot how many, impotent to save, + Shed their best blood upon a father's grave; + How many, torn from wife and children, pine 190 + In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine, + Never to see again the blessed morn;-- + Slaves in the lovely land where they were born; + How many at sad sunset, with a tear, + The distant roar of sullen cannons hear, + Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw + A deadlier stillness on a nation's woe! + So the dark warrior, day succeeding day, + Wore in distempered thought the noons away; + And still, when weary evening came, he sighed, 200 + My son, my son! or, with emotion, cried, + When I descend to the cold grave alone, + Who shall be there to mourn for me?--Not one![202] + The crimson orb of day now westering flung + His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung; + When from afar a shrilling sound was heard, + And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appeared. + The watchful warrior knew the piercing tones, + The signal-call of war, from human bones,-- + What tidings? with impatient look, he cried. 210 + Tidings of war, the hurrying scout replied; + Then the sharp pipe[203] with shriller summons blew, + And held the blood-red arrow high in view.[204] + + CHIEF. + + Where speed the foes? + + INDIAN. + + Along the southern main, + Have passed the vultures of accursed Spain. + + CHIEF. + + Ruin pursue them on the distant flood, + And be their deadly portion--blood for blood! + + INDIAN. + + When, round and red, the moon shall next arise, + The chiefs attend the midnight sacrifice 220 + In Encol's wood, where the great wizard dwells, + Who wakes the dead man by his thrilling spells; + Thee,[205] Ulmen of the Mountains, they command + To lift the hatchet for thy native land; + Whilst in dread circle, round the sere-wood smoke, + The mighty gods of vengeance they invoke; + And call the spirits of their fathers slain, + To nerve their lifted arm, and curse devoted Spain. + So spoke the scout of war;--and o'er the dew, + Onward along the craggy valley, flew. 230 + Then the stern warrior sang his song of death-- + And blew his conch, that all the glens beneath + Echoed, and rushing from the hollow wood, + Soon at his side three hundred warriors stood. + + WARRIOR. + + Children, who for his country dares to die? + + Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky: + We perish, or we leave our country free; + Father, our blood for Chili and for thee! + The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield, + And shook the dust indignant from the shield. 240 + Then spoke:-- + + O Thou! that with thy lingering light + Dost warm the world, till all is hushed in night; + I look upon thy parting beams, O sun! + And say, ev'n thus my course is almost run. + When thou dost hide thy head, as in the grave, + And sink to glorious rest beneath the wave, + Dost thou, majestic in repose, retire, + Below the deep, to unknown worlds of fire! + Yet though thou sinkest, awful, in the main, 250 + The shadowy moon comes forth, and all the train + Of stars, that shine with soft and silent light, + Making so beautiful the brow of night. + Thus, when I sleep within the narrow bed, + The light of after-fame around shall spread; + The sons of distant Ocean, when they see + The grass-green heap beneath the mountain tree, + And hear the leafy boughs at evening wave, + Shall pause and say, There sleep in dust the brave! + All earthly hopes my lonely heart have fled! 260 + Stern Guecubu,[206] angel of the dead, + Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire; + Whose dwelling is beneath the central fire + Of yonder burning mountain; who hast passed + O'er my poor dwelling, and with one fell blast + Scattered my summer-leaves that clustered round, + And swept my fairest blossoms to the ground; + Angel of dire despair, oh! come not nigh, + Nor wave thy red wings o'er me where I lie; + But thou, O mild and gentle spirit! stand, 270 + Angel[207] of hope and peace, at my right hand, + (When blood-drops stagnate on my brow) and guide + My pathless voyage o'er the unknown tide, + To scenes of endless joy, to that fair isle, + Where bowers of bliss, and soft savannahs smile: + Where my forefathers oft the fight renew, + And Spain's black visionary steeds pursue; + Where, ceased the struggles of all human pain, + I may behold thee--thee, my son, again! + He spoke, and whilst at evening's glimmering close 280 + The distant mist, like the gray ocean, rose, + With patriot sorrows swelling at his breast, + He sank upon a jagguar's hide to rest. + 'Twas night: remote on Caracalla's bay, + Valdivia's army, hushed in slumber, lay. + Around the limits of the silent camp, + Alone was heard the steed's patroling tramp + From line to line, whilst the fixed sentinel + Proclaimed the watch of midnight--All is well! + Valdivia dreamed of millions yet untold, 290 + Villrica's gems, and El Dorado's gold! + What different feelings, by the scene impressed, + Rose in sad tumult o'er Lautaro's breast! + On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept, + Thoughtful he turned his waking eyes, and wept, + And whilst the thronging forms of memory start, + Thus holds communion with his lonely heart: + Land of my fathers, still I tread your shore, + And mourn the shade of hours that are no more; + Whilst night-airs, like remembered voices, sweep, 300 + And murmur from the undulating deep. + Was it thy voice, my father! Thou art dead, + The green rush waves on thy forsaken bed. + Was it thy voice, my sister! Gentle maid, + Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid; + Perhaps, even now, thy spirit sees me stand + A homeless stranger in my native land; + Perhaps, even now, along the moonlight sea, + It bends from the blue cloud, remembering me! + Land of my fathers! yet, oh yet forgive, 310 + That with thy deadly enemies I live: + The tenderest ties (it boots not to relate) + Have bound me to their service, and their fate; + Yet, whether on Peru's war-wasted plain, + Or visiting these sacred shores again, + Whate'er the struggles of this heart may be, + Land of my fathers, it shall beat for thee! + +[193] A volcano in Chili. + +[194] The chrysomela is a beautiful insect of which the young women of +Chili make necklaces. + +[195] The parrot butterfly, peculiar to this part of America, the +largest and most brilliant of its kind.--_Papilio psittacus._ + +[196] A most beautiful climbing plant. The vine is of the size of +packthread: it climbs on the trees without attaching itself to them: +when it reaches the top, it descends perpendicularly; and as it +continues to grow, it extends itself from tree to tree, until it offers +to the eye a confused tissue, exhibiting some resemblance to the rigging +of a ship.--_Molina._ + +[197] I chanced once to lodge in a village named Upec by the Frenchmen: +there, in the night, I heard _those birds, not singing_, but making a +lamentable noise. I saw the barbarians most attentive, and, being +ignorant of the whole matter, reproved their folly. But when I smiled a +little upon a Frenchman standing by me, a certain old man, severely +enough, restrained me with these words: "Hold your peace, lest you +hinder us who attentively hearken _to the happy tidings of our +ancestors_; for as often as we hear these birds, so often also are we +cheered, and our strength receiveth increase."--_Callender's Voyage._ + +[198] The ichella is a short cloak, of a greenish-blue colour, of wool, +fastened before with a silver buckle.--_Molina._ + +[199] The alpaca is perhaps the most beautiful, gentle, and interesting +of living animals: one was to be seen in London in 1812. + +[200] _Ardea cristata._ + +[201] Every warrior of Chili, according to Molina, has his attendant +"nymph" or fairy--the belief in which is nearly similar to the popular +and poetical idea of those beings in Europe. Meulen is the benevolent +spirit. + +[202] I have taken this line from the conclusion of the celebrated +speech of the old North American warrior, Logan, "Who is there to mourn +for Logan?--not one!" + +[203] Their pipes of war are made of the bones of their enemies, who +have been sacrificed. + +[204] The way in which the warriors are summoned, is something like the +"running the cross" in Scotland, which is so beautifully described by +Walter Scott. The scouts on this occasion bear an arrow bound with red +fillets. + +[205] Ulmen is the same as Casique, or chief. + +[206] Guecubu{h} is the evil spirit of the Chilians. + +[207] They have their evil and good spirits. + + +CANTO SECOND. + +ARGUMENT. + + _The Second Day._ + + Night--Spirit of the Andes--Valdivia--Lautaro--Missionary--The + Hermitage. + + The night was still and clear, when, o'er the snows, + Andes! thy melancholy Spirit rose,-- + A shadow stern and sad: he stood alone, + Upon the topmost mountain's burning cone; + And whilst his eyes shone dim, through surging smoke, + Thus to the spirits of the fire he spoke:-- + + Ye, who tread the hidden deeps, + Where the silent earthquake sleeps; + Ye, who track the sulphurous tide, + Or on hissing vapours ride,-- 10 + Spirits, come! + From worlds of subterraneous night; + From fiery realms of lurid light; + From the ore's unfathomed bed; + From the lava's whirlpools red,-- + Spirits, come! + On Chili's foes rush with vindictive sway, + And sweep them from the light of living day! + Heard ye not the ravenous brood, + That flap their wings, and scream for blood? 20 + On Peru's devoted shore + Their murderous beaks are red with gore; + Yet here, impatient for new prey, + The insatiate vultures track their way. + Let them perish! they, whose bands + Swept remote and peaceful lands! + Let them perish!--on their head, + Descend the darkness of the dead! + Spirits, now your caves forsake: + Hark! ten thousand warriors wake!-- 30 + Spirits, their high cause defend!-- + From your caves ascend! ascend! + + As thus the Genius of the Andes spoke, + The trembling mountain heaved with darker smoke; + Lightnings, and phantom-forms, by fits appeared; + His mighty voice far off Osorno heard; + The caverned deeps shook through their vast profound, + And Chimborazzo's height rolled back the sound. + With lifted arm, and towering stature high, + And aspect frowning to the middle sky 40 + (Its misty form dilated in the wind), + The phantom stood,--till, less and less defined, + Into thin air it faded from the sight, + Lost in the ambient haze of slow-returning light. + Its feathery-seeming crown, its giant spear, + Its limbs of huge proportion, disappear; + And the bare mountains to the dawn disclose + The same long line of solitary snows. + The morning shines, the military train + Streams far and wide along the tented plain; 50 + And plaited cuirasses, and helms of steel, + Throw back the sunbeams, as the horsemen wheel: + Thus, with arms glancing to the eastern light, + Pass, in review, proud steeds and cohorts bright; + For all the host, by break of morrow's gray, + Wind back their march to Penco's northern bay, + Valdivia, fearful lest confederate foes, + Ambushed and dark, his progress might oppose, + Marshals to-day the whole collected force, + File and artillery, cuirassier and horse: 60 + Himself yet lingers ere he joins the train, + That moves, in ordered march, along the plain, + While troops, and Indian slaves beneath his eye, + The labours of the rising city ply:[208] + Wide glows the general toil; the mole extends, + The watch-tower o'er the desert surge ascends; + And battlements, and rising ramparts, shine + Above the ocean's blue and level line. + The sun ascended to meridian height, + And all the northern bastions shone in light; 70 + With hoarse acclaim, the gong and trumpet rung, + The Moorish slaves aloft their cymbals swung, + When the proud victor, in triumphant state, + Rode forth, in arms, through the portcullis' gate. + With neck high-arching as he smote the ground, + And restless pawing to the trumpet's sound,-- + With mantling mane, o'er his broad shoulders spread, + And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,-- + The coal-black steed, in rich caparison + Far trailing to the ground, went proudly on. 80 + Proudly he tramped, as conscious of his charge, + And turned around his eye-balls, bright and large, + And shook the frothy boss, as in disdain; + And tossed the flakes, indignant, off his mane; + And, with high-swelling veins, exulting pressed + Proudly against the barb his heaving breast. + The fate of empires glowing in his thought, + Thus armed, the tented field Valdivia sought. + On the left side his poised shield he bore, + With quaint devices richly blazoned o'er; 90 + Above the plumes, upon his helmet's cone, + Castile's imperial crest illustrious shone; + Blue in the wind the escutcheoned mantle flowed, + O'er the chained mail, which tinkled as he rode. + The barred vizor raised, you might discern + His clime-changed countenance,[209] though pale, yet stern, + And resolute as death,--whilst in his eye + Sat proud Assurance, Fame, and Victory. + Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride, + Rode, with a lance, attendant at his side, 100 + In Spanish mantle gracefully arrayed; + Upon his brow a tuft of feathers played: + His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace, + Shaded the noonday sunbeams on his face. + Though passed in tears the dayspring of his youth, + Valdivia loved his gratitude and truth: + He, in Valdivia, owned a nobler friend; + Kind to protect, and mighty to defend. + So, on he rode; upon his youthful mien + A mild but sad intelligence was seen; 110 + Courage was on his open brow, yet care + Seemed like a wandering shade to linger there; + And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright, + It beamed with humid, melancholy light + When now Valdivia saw the embattled line, + Helmets, and swords, and shields, and matchlocks, shine; + Now the long phalanx still and steady stand, + Fixed every eye, and motionless each hand; + Then slowly clustering, into columns wheel, + Each with the red-cross banners of Castile; 120 + While trumps, and drums, and cymbals, to his ear + Made music such as soldiers love to hear; + While horsemen checked their steeds, or, bending low + With levelled lances, o'er the saddle-bow, + Rode gallantly at tilt; and thunders broke, + Instant involving van and rear in smoke, + Till winds the obscuring volume rolled away, + And the red file, stretched out in long array, + More radiant moved beneath the beams of day; + While ensigns, arms, and crosses, glittered bright,-- 130 + Philip![210] he cried, seest thou the glorious sight? + And dost thou deem the tribes of this poor land + Can men, and arms, and steeds, like these, withstand? + Forgive!--the youth replied, and checked a tear,-- + The land where my forefathers sleep is dear!-- + My native land!--this spot of blessed earth, + The scene where I, and all I love, had birth! + What gratitude fidelity can give + Is yours, my lord!--you shielded--bade me live, + When, in the circuit of the world so wide, 140 + I had but one, one only friend beside. + I bowed resigned to fate; I kissed the hand, + Red with the best blood of my father's land![211] + But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know, + Though Cortes' desolating march laid low + The shrines of rich, voluptuous Mexico; + With carcases, though proud Pizarro strew + The Sun's imperial temple in Peru, + Yet the rude dwellers of this land are brave, + And the last spot they lose will be their grave! 150 + A moment's crimson crossed Valdivia's cheek-- + Then o'er the plain he spurred, nor deigned to speak, + Waving the youth, at distance, to retire; + None saw the eye that shot terrific fire. + As their commander sternly rode along, + Troop after troop, halted the martial throng; + And all the pennoned trumps a louder blast + Blew, as the Southern World's great victor passed. + Lautaro turned, scarce heeding, from the view, + And from the noise of trumps and drums withdrew; 160 + And now, while troubled thoughts his bosom swell, + Seeks the gray Missionary's humble cell. + Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken + Of public view, and sounds of murmuring men, + Of unhewn roots composed, and gnarled wood, + A small and rustic oratory stood; + Upon its roof of reeds appeared a cross, + The porch within was lined with mantling moss; + A crucifix and hour-glass, on each side-- + One to admonish seemed, and one to guide; 170 + This, to impress how soon life's race is o'er; + And that, to lift our hopes where time shall be no more. + O'er the rude porch, with wild and gadding stray, + The clustering copu weaved its trellis gay; + Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove + Their aged and fantastic arms above. + In front, amid the gay surrounding flowers, + A dial counted the departing hours, + On which the sweetest light of summer shone,-- + A rude and brief inscription marked the stone: 180 + To count, with passing shade, the hours, + I placed the dial 'mid the flowers; + That, one by one, came forth, and died, + Blooming, and withering, round its side. + Mortal, let the sight impart + Its pensive moral to thy heart! + Just heard to trickle through a covert near, + And soothing, with perpetual lapse, the ear, + A fount, like rain-drops, filtered through the stone, + And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. 190 + Intent his fairy pastime to pursue, + And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue, + The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song + Heedlessly murmured, all the summer long; + And when the winter came, retired to rest, + And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest. + No sounds of a conflicting world were near; + The noise of ocean faintly met the ear, + That seemed, as sunk to rest the noontide blast, + But dying sounds of passions that were past; 200 + Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire + The lessening echoes of the distant choir. + Here, every human sorrow hushed to rest, + His pale hands meekly crossed upon his breast, + Anselmo sat: the sun, with westering ray, + Just touched his temples, and his locks of gray. + There was no worldly feeling in his eye; + The world to him was "as a thing gone by." + Now, all his features lit, he raised his look, + Then bent it thoughtful, and unclasped the book; 210 + And whilst the hour-glass shed its silent sand, + A tame opossum[212] licked his withered hand. + That sweetest light of slow-declining day, + Which through the trellis poured its slanting ray, + Resting a moment on his few gray hairs, + Seemed light from heaven sent down to bless his prayers. + When the trump echoed to the quiet spot, + He thought upon the world, but mourned it not; + Enough if his meek wisdom could control, + And bend to mercy, one proud soldier's soul; 220 + Enough, if, while these distant scenes he trod, + He led one erring Indian to his God. + Whence comes my son? with kind complacent look + He asked, and closed again the embossed book. + I come to thee for peace, the youth replied: + Oh, there is strife, and cruelty, and pride, + In this sad Christian world! My native land + Was happy, ere the soldier, with his band + Of fell destroyers, like a vulture, came, + And gave its peaceful scenes to blood and flame. 230 + When will the turmoil of earth's tempests cease? + Father, I come to thee for peace--for peace! + Seek peace, the father cried, with God above: + In His good time, all will be peace and love. + We mourn, indeed, mourn that all sounds of ill, + Earth's fairest scenes with one deep murmur fill; + That yonder sun, when evening paints the sky, + Sinks, beauteous, on a world of misery; + The course of wide destruction to withstand, + We lift our feeble voice--our trembling hand; 240 + But still, bowed low, or smitten to the dust, + Father of mercy, still in Thee we trust! + Through good or ill, in poverty or wealth, + In joy or woe, in sickness or in health, + Meek Piety thy awful hand surveys, + And the faint murmur turns to prayer and praise! + We know--whatever evils we deplore-- + Thou hast permitted, and we know no more! + Behold, illustrious on the subject plain, + Some tow'r-crowned city of imperial Spain! 250 + Hark! 'twas the earthquake![213] clouds of dust alone + Ascend from earth, where tower and temple shone! + Such is the conqueror's dread path: the grave + Yawns for its millions where his banners wave; + But shall vain man, whose life is but a sigh, + With sullen acquiescence gaze and die? + Alas, how little of the mighty maze + Of Providence our mortal ken surveys! + Heaven's awful Lord, pavilioned in the clouds, + Looks through the darkness that all nature shrouds; 260 + And, far beyond the tempest and the night, + Bids man his course hold on to scenes of endless light. + +[208] The city Baldivia. + +[209] He had served in the wars of Italy. + +[210] Lautaro had been baptized by that name. + +[211] Valdivia had before been in Chili. + +[212] A small and beautiful species, which is domesticated. + +[213] No part of the world is so subject to earthquakes as Peru. + + +CANTO THIRD. + +ARGUMENT. + + _Evening and Night of the same Day._ + + Anselmo's story--Converted Indians--Confession of the Wandering + Minstrel--Night-Scene. + + Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,-- + And whilst our time may brook a brief delay + With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear, + An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear. + I wished not to reveal it;--thoughts that dwell + Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell + Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake, + And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, + When, starting from our slumberous apathy, + We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by. 10 + Yet, if a moment's irritating flush, + Darkens thy cheek,[214] as thoughts conflicting rush, + When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale + May more than wisdom or reproof prevail. + Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease, + To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace; + Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay, + Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away! + Where fair Seville's Morisco[215] turrets gleam + On Guadilquiver's gently-stealing stream; 20 + Whose silent waters, seaward as they glide, + Reflect the wild-rose thickets on its side, + My youth was passed. Oh, days for ever gone! + How touched with Heaven's own light your mornings shone + Even now, when lonely and forlorn I bend, + My weary journey hastening to its end, + A drooping exile on a distant shore, + I mourn the hours of youth that are no more. + The tender thought amid my prayers has part, + And steals, at times, from Heaven my aged heart. 30 + Forgive the cause, O God!--forgive the tear, + That flows, even now, o'er Leonora's bier; + For, 'midst the innocent and lovely, none + More beautiful than Leonora shone. + As by her widowed mother's side she knelt, + A sad and sacred sympathy I felt. + At Easter-tide, when the high mass was sung, + And, fuming high, the silver censer swung; + When rich-hued windows, from the arches' height, + Poured o'er the shrines a soft and yellow light; 40 + From aisle to aisle, amid the service clear, + When "Adoremus" swelled upon the ear. + (Such as to Heaven thy rapt attention drew + First in the Christian churches of Peru), + She seemed, methought, some spirit of the sky, + Descending to that holy harmony. + But wherefore tell, when life and hope were new, + How by degrees the soul's first passion grew! + I loved her, and I won her virgin heart; + But fortune whispered, we a while must part. 50 + The minster tolled the middle hour of night, + When, waked to agony and wild affright, + I heard those words, words of appalling dread-- + "The Holy Inquisition!"--from the bed + I started; snatched my dagger, and my cloak-- + Who dare accuse me!--none, in answer, spoke. + The demons seized, in silence, on their prey, + And tore me from my dreams of bliss away. + How frightful was their silence, and their shade, + In torch-light, as their victim they conveyed, 60 + By dark-inscribed, and massy-windowed walls, + Through the dim twilight of terrific halls; + (For thou hast heard me speak of that foul stain + Of pure religion, and the rights of Spain;) + Whilst the high windows shook to night's cold blast, + And echoed to the foot-fall as we passed! + They left me, faint and breathless with affright, + In a cold cell, to solitude and night; + Oh! think, what horror through the heart must thrill + When the last bolt was barred, and all at once was still! 70 + Nor day nor night was here, but a deep gloom, + Sadder than darkness, wrapped the living tomb. + Some bread and water, nature to sustain, + Duly was brought when eve returned again; + And thus I knew, hoping it were the last, + Another day of lingering life was passed. + Five years immured in that deep den of night, + I never saw the sweet sun's blessed light. + Once as the grate, with sullen sound, was barred, + And to the bolts the inmost cavern jarred, 80 + Methought I heard, as clanged the iron door, + A dull and hollow echo from the floor; + I stamped; the vault, and winding caves around, + Returned a long and melancholy sound. + With patient toil I raised a massy stone, + And looked into a depth of shade unknown; + The murky twilight of the lurid place + Helped me, at length, a secret way to trace: + I entered; step by step explored the road, + In darkness, from my desolate abode; 90 + Till, winding through long passages of night, + I saw, at distance, a dim streak of light:-- + It was the sun--the bright, the blessed beam + Of day! I knelt--I wept;--the glittering stream + Rolled on beneath me, as I left the cave, + Concealed in woods above the winding wave. + I rested on a verdant bank a while, + I saw around the summer landscape smile; + I gained a peasant's hut; nor dared to leave, + Till, with slow step, advanced the glimmering eve. 100 + Remembering still affection's fondest hours, + I turned my footsteps to the city towers; + In pilgrim's dress, I traced the streets unknown: + No light in Leonora's lattice shone. + The morning came; the busy tumult swells; + Knolling to church, I heard the minster bells; + Involuntary to that scene I strayed, + Disguised, where first I saw my faithful maid. + I saw her, pallid, at the altar stand, + And yield, half-shrinking, her reluctant hand; 110 + She turned her head; she saw my hollow eyes, + And knew me, wasted, wan, in my disguise; + She shrieked, and fell;--breathless, I left the fane + In agony--nor saw her form again; + And from that day her voice, her look were given, + Her name, her memory, to the winds of heaven. + Far off I bent my melancholy way, + Heart-sick and faint, and, in this gown of gray, + From every human eye my sorrows hid, + Unknown, amidst the tumult of Madrid. 120 + Grief in my heart, despair upon my look, + With no companion save my beads and book, + My morsel with Affliction's sons to share, + To tend the sick and poor, my only care, + Forgotten, thus I lived; till day by day + Had worn nigh thirteen years of grief away. + One winter's night, when I had closed my cell, + And bid the labours of the day farewell, + An aged crone approached, with panting breath, + And bade me hasten to the house of death. 130 + I came. With moving lips intent to pray, + A dying woman on a pallet lay; + Her lifted hands were wasted to the bone, + And ghastly on her look the lamp-light shone; + Beside the bed a pious daughter stands + Silent, and, weeping, kisses her pale hands. + Feebly she spoke, and raised her languid head, + Forgive, forgive!--they told me he was dead!-- + But in the sunshine of that dreadful day, + That gave me to another's arms away, 140 + I saw him, like a ghost, with deadly stare; + I saw his wasted eye-balls' ghastly glare; + I saw his lips (oh, hide them, God of love!) + I saw his livid lips, half-muttering, move, + To curse the maid--forgetful of her vow:-- + Perhaps he lives to curse--to curse me now! + He lives to bless! I cried; and, drawing nigh, + Held up the crucifix; her heavy eye + She raised, and scarce pronounced--Does he yet live? + Can he his lost, his dying child forgive? 150 + Will God forgive--the Lord who bled--will He?-- + Ah, no, there is no mercy left for me! + Words were but vain, and colours all too faint, + That awful moment of despair to paint. + She knew me; her exhausted breath, with pain, + Drawing, she pressed my hand, and spoke again: + By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived, + The tale of fraudful falsehood I believed, + And thought thee dead; he gave the stern command, + And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand. 160 + I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees; + Ruthless inquisitor, he held the keys + Of the dark torture-house.[216] Trembling for life, + Yes, I became a sad, heart-broken wife! + Yet curse me not; of every human care + Already my full heart has had its share: + Abandoned, left in youth to want and woe, + Oh! let these tears, that agonising flow, + Witness how deep ev'n now my heart is rent! + Yet one is lovely--one is innocent! 170 + Protect, protect, (and faint in death she smiled) + When I am dead, protect my orphan child! + The dreadful prison, that so long detained + My wasting life, her dying words explained. + The wretched priest, who wounded me by stealth, + Bartered her love, her innocence for wealth! + I laid her bones in earth; the chanted hymn + Echoed along the hollow cloister dim; + I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll, + And sorrowing said: Now peace be with her soul! 180 + Far o'er the Western Ocean I conveyed, + And Indiana called the orphan maid; + Beneath my eye she grew, and, day by day, + Seemed, grateful, every kindness to repay. + Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes, + Amid untutored tribes, in distant climes, + 'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save + From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave. + I saw thee, young and innocent, alone, + Cast on the mercies of a race unknown; 190 + I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour, + Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower; + From chains and slavery I redeemed thy youth, + Poured on thy mental sight the beams of truth; + By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won, + Called thee my other child--my age's son. + I need not tell the sequel;--not unmoved + Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved; + Some sympathy a kindred fate might claim; + Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the same; + Both early of a parent's care bereft, 201 + Both strangers in a world of sadness left; + I marked each slowly-struggling thought; I shed + A tear of love paternal on each head; + And, while I saw her timid eyes incline, + Blessed the affection that had made her thine! + Here let the murmurs of despondence cease: + There is a God--believe--and part in peace! + Rich hues illumed the track of dying day + As the great sun sank in the western bay, 210 + And only its last light yet lingering shone, + Upon the highest palm-tree's feathery cone; + When at a distance on the dewy plain, + In mingled group appeared an Indian train; + Men, women, children, round Anselmo press, + Farewell! they cried. He raised his hand to bless, + And said: My children, may the God above + Still lead you in the paths of peace and love; + To-morrow, we must part;--when I am gone, + Raise on this spot a cross, and place a stone, 220 + That tribes unborn may some memorial have, + When I far off am mouldering in the grave, + Of that poor messenger, who tidings bore + Of Gospel-mercy to your distant shore. + The crowd retired; along the twilight gray, + The condor kept its solitary way, + The fire-flies shone, when to the hermit's cell + Who hastens but the minstrel Zarinel! + In foreign lands, far from his native home, + 'Twas his, a gay, romantic youth, to roam, 230 + With a light cittern o'er his shoulders slung, + Where'er he passed he played, and loved, and sung; + And thus accomplished, late had joined the train + Of gallant soldiers on the southern plain. + Father, he cried, uncertain of the fate + That may to-morrow's toilsome march await, + For long will be the road, I would confess + Some secret thoughts that on my bosom press. + They are of one I left, an Indian maid, + Whose trusting love my careless heart betrayed. 240 + Say, may I speak? + Say on, the father cried, + Nor be to penitence all hope denied. + Then hear, Anselmo! From a very child + I loved all fancies marvellous and wild; + I turned from truth, to listen to the lore + Of many an old and fabling troubadour. + Thus, with impassioned heart, and wayward mind, + To dreams and shapes of shadowy things resigned, + I left my native vales and village home, 250 + Wide o'er the world a minstrel boy to roam. + I never shall forget the day, the hour, + When, all my soul resigned to Fancy's power, + First, from the snowy Pyrenees, I cast + My labouring vision o'er the landscape vast, + And saw beneath my feet long vapours float, + Streams, mountains, woods, and ocean's mist remote. + There once I met a soldier, poor and old, + Who tales of Cortes and Bilboa told, + And this new world; he spoke of Indian maids, 260 + Rivers like seas, and forests whose deep shades + Had never yet been pierced by morning ray, + And how the green bird mocked, and talked all day. + Imagination thus, in colours new, + This distant world presented to my view; + Young, and enchanted with the fancied scene, + I crossed the toiling seas that roared between, + And with ideal images impressed, + Stood on these unknown shores a wondering guest. + Still to romantic phantasies resigned, 270 + I left Callao's crowded port behind, + And climbed the mountains which their shadow threw + Upon the lessening summits of Peru. + Some sheep the armed peasants drove before, + That all our food through the wild passes bore, + Had wandered in the frost-smoke of the morn, + Far from the track; I blew the signal horn-- + But echo only answered: 'mid the snows, + Wildered and lost, I saw the evening close. + The sun was setting in the crimson west; 280 + In all the earth I had no home of rest; + The last sad light upon the ice-hills shone; + I seemed forsaken in a world unknown; + How did my cold and sinking heart rejoice, + When, hark! methought I heard a human voice! + It might be some wild Indian's roving troop, + Or the dread echo of their distant whoop; + Still it was human, and I seemed to find + Again some commerce with remote mankind. + The voice comes nearer, rising through the shade-- 290 + Is it the song of some rude mountain-maid? + And now I heard the tread of hastening feet, + And, in the western glen, a Llama bleat. + I listened--all is still; but hark! again + Near and more near is heard the welcome strain; + It is a wild maid's carolling, who seeks + Her wandering Llama 'midst the snowy peaks: + Truant, she cried, thy lurking place is found! + With languid touch I waked the cittern's sound, + And soon a maid, by the pale light, I saw 300 + Gaze breathless with astonishment and awe: + What instant terrors to her fancy rose, + Ha! is it not the Spirit of the snows! + But when she saw me, weary, cold, and weak, + Stretch forth my hand (for now I could not speak), + She pitied, raised me from the snows, and led + My faltering footsteps to her father's shed; + The Llama followed with her tinkling bell; + The dwelling rose within a craggy dell, + O'erhung with icy summits. To be brief, 310 + She was the daughter of an aged chief; + He, by her gentle voice to pity won, + Showed mercy, for himself had lost a son. + The father spoke not; by the pine-wood blaze, + The daughter stood, and turned a cake of maize; + And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw + Such features as no artist hand might draw. + Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air, + Father! thy age must such recital spare:-- + She saved my life; and kindness, if not love, 320 + Might sure in time the coldest bosom move! + Mine was not cold; she loved to hear me sing, + And sometimes touched with playful hand the string; + And when I waked some melancholy strain, + She wept, and smiled, and bade me sing again. + So many a happy day, in this deep glen, + Far from the noise of life, and sounds of men, + Was passed! Nay, father, the sad sequel hear: + 'Twas now the leafy spring-time of the year-- + Ambition called me: true, I knew to part 330 + Would break her generous, warm, and trusting heart; + True, I had vowed, but now estranged and cold, + She saw my look, and shuddered to behold:-- + She would go with me, leave the lonely glade + Where she grew up, but my stern voice forbade; + She hid her face and wept: Go then away, + (Father, methinks, ev'n now, I hear her say) + Go to thy distant land, forget this tear, + Forget these rocks, forget I once was dear; + Fly to the world, o'er the wide ocean fly, 340 + And leave me unremembered here to die! + Yet to my father should I all relate, + Death, instant death, would be a traitor's fate! + Nor fear, nor pity moved my stubborn mind, + I left her sorrows and the scene behind; + I sought Valdivia on the southern plain, + And joined the careless military train; + Oh! ere I sleep, thus, lowly on my knee, + Father, I absolution crave from thee! + Anselmo spoke, with look and voice severe: 350 + Yes, thoughtless youth, my absolution hear. + First, by deep penitence the wrong atone, + Then absolution ask from God alone! + Yet stay, and to my warning voice attend, + And hear me as a father, and a friend. + Let Truth severe be wayward Fancy's guide, + Let stern-eyed Conscience o'er each thought preside; + The passions, that on noblest natures prey, + Oh! cast them, like corroding bonds, away! + Disdain to act mean falsehood's coward part, 360 + And let religion dignify thine art. + If, by thy bed, thou seest at midnight stand + Pale Conscience, pointing, with terrific hand, + To deeds of darkness done, whilst, like a corse, + To shake thy soul, uprises dire Remorse; + Fly to God's mercy, fly, ere yet too late-- + Perhaps one hour marks thy eternal fate; + Let the warm tear of deep contrition flow, + The heart obdurate melt, like softening snow, + The last vain follies of thy youth deplore, 370 + Then go, in secret weep, and sin no more! + The stars innumerous in their watches shone-- + Anselmo knelt before the cross alone. + Ten thousand glowing orbs their pomp displayed, + Whilst, looking up, thus silently he prayed:-- + Oh! how oppressive to the aching sense, + How fearful were this vast magnificence, + This prodigality of glory, spread + Above a poor and dying emmet's head, + That toiled his transient hour upon the shore 380 + Of mortal life, and then was seen no more; + If man beheld, on his terrific throne, + A dark, cold, distant Deity, alone! + Felt no relating, no endearing tie, + That Hope might upwards raise her glistening eye, + And think, with deep unutterable bliss, + In yonder radiant realm my kingdom is! + More glorious than those orbs that silent roll, + Shines Heaven's redeeming mercy on the soul-- + Oh, pure effulgence of unbounded love! 390 + In Thee, I think--I feel--I live--I move; + Yet when, O Thou, whose name is Love and Light, + When will thy Dayspring on these realms of night + Arise! Oh! when shall severed nations raise + One hallelujah of triumphant praise, + Tibet on Fars, Andes on Atlas call, + And "roll the loud hosannah" round the ball! + Soon may Thy kingdom come, that love, and peace, + And charity, may bid earth's chidings cease! + Meantime, in life or death, through good or ill, 400 + Thy poor and feeble servant, I fulfil, + As best I may, Thy high and holy will, + Till, weary, on the world my eyelids close, + And I enjoy my long and last repose! + +[214] Indians of Chili are of the lightest class, called by some "white +Indians." + +[215]--Of Moorish architecture. + +[216] Seville was the first place in Spain in which the Inquisition was +established, in 1481. + + +CANTO FOURTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Assembly of Indian warriors--Caupolican, Ongolmo, Teucapel, + Mountain-chief--Song of the Indian Wizard--White woman and child. + + Far in the centre of the deepest wood, + The assembled fathers of their country stood. + 'Twas midnight now; the pine-wood fire burned red, + And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread; + The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance, + Obscured, or showed, some dreadful countenance; + And every warrior, as his club he reared, + With larger shadow, indistinct, appeared; + While more terrific, his wild locks and mien, + And fierce eye, through the quivering smoke, was seen. 10 + In sea-wolf's skin, here Mariantu stood; + Gnashed his white teeth, impatient, and cried, blood! + His lofty brow, with crimson feathers bound, + Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frowned; + And, like a giant of no earthly race, + To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace. + With lifted hatchet, as in act to fell, + Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel. + Like a lone cypress, stately in decay, + When time has worn its summer boughs away, 20 + And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere, + The Mountain-warrior rested on his spear. + And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs, + Chosen avengers of their country's griefs; + Chiefs of the scattered tribes that roam the plain, + That sweeps from Andes to the western main, + Their country-gods, around the coiling smoke, + With sacrifice, and silent prayers, invoke. + For all, at first, were silent as the dead; + The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head, 30 + So stood the stern assembly; but apart, + Wrapped in the spirit of his fearful art, + Alone, to hollow sounds of hideous hum, + The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum. + Silent they stood, and watched with anxious eyes, + What phantom-shape might from the ground arise; + No voices came, no spectre-form appeared; + A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard + Among the leaves, and distant thunder low, + Which seemed like moans of an expiring foe. 40 + His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke, + Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke: + Hail we the omen! Spirits of the slain, + I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain! + Pale-visaged tyrants! still, along our coasts, + Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts! + Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race + Who thus your name, your memory disgrace! + No; though yon mountain's everlasting snows + In vain Almagro's[217] toilsome march oppose; 50 + Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain + Be heaped with blackening carcases in vain; + Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale, + And scare the Llamas with their glittering mail; + Though sullen castles lour along our shore; + Though our polluted soil be drenched with gore; + Insolent tyrants! we, prepared to die, + Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy! + He spoke: the warriors stamped upon the ground, + And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound. 60 + Insolent tyrants! burst the general cry, + We, met for vengeance--we, prepared to die, + Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy! + Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried: + This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed; + May it be buried deep within my heart, + If living from the conflict I depart, + Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry, + See! in their gore where the last tyrants lie! + The Mountain-warrior: Oh, that I could raise 70 + The hatchet too, as in my better days, + When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood; + And while the indignant river rolled in blood, + And our swift arrows hissed like rushing rain, + I cleft Almagro's iron helm in twain! + My strength is well-nigh gone! years marked with woe + Have o'er me passed, and bowed my spirit low! + Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy, + Thy father's last, best hope, his pride, his joy! + Oh, hadst thou lived, sole object of my prayers, 80 + To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs, + How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride, + Swung the uplifted war-club by my side! + But the Great Spirit willed not! Thou art gone; + And, weary, on this earth I walk alone; + Thankful if I may yield my latest breath, + And bless my country in the pangs of death! + With words deliberate, and uplifted hand, + Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command, + Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican 90 + Surveyed the assembled chiefs, and thus began: + Friends, fathers, brothers, dear and sacred names! + Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims; + On then to conquest; let one hope inspire, + One spirit animate, one vengeance fire! + Who doubts the glorious issue! To our foes + A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose. + In them no god protects his mortal sons, + Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns. + Nor come they children of the radiant sky; 100 + But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die. + Then, rush resistless on their prostrate bands, + Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands, + And swear to the great spirits, hovering near, + Who now this awful invocation hear, + That we shall never see our household hearth, + Till, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth. + But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight, + Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might, + Unless to one the hatchet we confide; 110 + Let one our numbers, one our counsels guide. + And, lo! for all that in this world is dear, + I raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear, + Never again to lay it down, till we, + And all who love this injured land, are free! + At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran: + Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican! + With thee, for all that in this world is dear, + We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear, + Never again to lay them down, till we, 120 + And all who love this injured land, are free! + Then thus the chosen chief: Bring forth the slave, + And let the death-dance recreate the brave. + Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound + With thongs; his eyes were fixed upon the ground. + Dark cypresses the mournful spot inclose: + High in the midst an ancient mound arose, + Marked on each side with monumental stones, + And white beneath with skulls and scattered bones. + Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood, 130 + With points erect, dark with forgotten blood. + Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands: + Bring forth the lots, unbind the captive's hands; + Then north, towards his country, turn his face, + And dig beneath his feet a narrow space.[218] + Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries: + Gods, of our land be yours this sacrifice!-- + Now, listen, warriors!--and forthwith commands + To place the billets in the captive's hands-- + Soldier, cast in the lot! 140 + With looks aghast, + The captive in the trench a billet cast. + Soldier, declare, who leads the arms of Spain, + Where Santiago frowns upon the plain? + + CAPTIVE. + + Villagra! + + WARRIOR. + + Earth upon the billet heap; + So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! + The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, + Accursed be his nation and his name! 150 + + WARRIOR. + + Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands, + Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands. + + CAPTIVE. + + Ocampo! + + WARRIOR. + + Earth upon the billet heap; + So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! + The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, + Accursed be his nation and his name! + + WARRIOR. + + Cast in the lot. + Again, with looks aghast, + The captive in the trench a billet cast. 160 + Pronounce his name who here pollutes the plain, + The leader of the mailed hosts of Spain! + + CAPTIVE. + + Valdivia! + At that name a sudden cry + Burst forth, and every lance was lifted high. + + WARRIOR. + + Valdivia! + Earth upon the billet heap; + So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! + The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, + Accursed be his nation and his name! 170 + + And now loud yells, and whoops of death resound; + The shuddering captive ghastly gazed around, + When the huge war-club smote him to the ground. + Again deep stillness hushed the listening crowd, + While the prophetic wizard sang aloud. + + SONG TO THE GOD OF WAR. + + By thy habitation dread, + In the valley of the dead, + Where no sun, nor day, nor night, + Breaks the red and dusky light; + By the grisly troops, that ride, 180 + Of slaughtered Spaniards, at thy side,-- + Slaughtered by the Indian spear, + Mighty Epananum,[219] hear! + Hark, the battle! Hark, the din! + Now the deeds of Death begin! + The Spaniards come, in clouds! above, + I hear their hoarse artillery move! + Spirits of our fathers slain, + Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain! + The noise was in the northern sky! 190 + Haste, pursue! They fly--they fly! + Now from the cavern's secret cell, + Where the direst phantoms dwell, + See they rush,[220] and, riding high, + Break the moonlight as they fly; + And, on the shadowed plain beneath, + Shoot, unseen, the shafts of Death! + O'er the devoted Spanish camp, + Like a vapour, dark and damp, + May they hover, till the plain 200 + Is hid beneath the countless slain; + And none but silent women tread + From corse to corse, to seek the dead! + + The wavering fire flashed with expiring light, + When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night, + A distant shout was heard; at intervals, + Increasing on the listening ear it falls. + It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood, + With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood; + Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, 210 + Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare, + A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms, + And folding a white infant in her arms, + Appeared. Each warrior stooped his lance to gaze + On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze. + Save! she exclaimed, with harrowed aspect wild; + Oh, save my innocent, my helpless child! + Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke; + Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke: + Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, 220 + At this dread hour, the warriors of the night? + From ocean. + Who is she who fainting lies, + And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes? + The Spanish ship went down; the seamen bore, + In a small boat, this woman to the shore: + They fell beneath our hatchets,--and again, + We gave them back to the insulted main.[221] + The child and woman--of a race we hate-- + Warriors, 'tis yours, here to decide their fate. 230 + Vengeance! aloud fierce Mariantu cried: + Let vengeance on the race be satisfied! + Let none of hated Spanish blood remain, + Woman or child, to violate our plain! + Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child + Stretched to the mountain-chief his hands and smiled. + A starting tear of pity dimmed the eye + Of the old warrior, though he knew not why. + Oh, think upon your little ones! he cried, + Nor be compassion to the weak denied. 240 + Caupolican then fixed his aspect mild + On the white woman and her shrinking child, + Then firmly spoke:-- + White woman, we were free, + When first thy brethren of the distant sea + Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt! + Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt! + Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose + The hate of foreign and remorseless foes; + Thou camest here a captive, so abide, 250 + Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide. + He spoke: the warriors of the night obey; + And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day, + They lead her from the scene of blood away. + +[217] The first Spaniard who visited Chili. He entered it by the +dreadful passage of the snows of the Andes; but afterwards the passage +was attempted through the desert of Atacama. + +[218] The reader is referred to Molina for a particular description of +the war sacrifice, which is very striking and poetical. + +[219] Name of the War-deity. + +[220] Terrific imaginary beings, called "man-animals," that leave their +caves by night, and scatter pestilence and death as they fly.--See +_Molina._ + +[221] "Render them back upon the insulted ocean."--_Coleridge._ + + +CANTO FIFTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Ocean Cave--Spanish Captive--Wild Indian Maid--Genius of Andes, + and Spirits. + + 'Tis dawn:--the distant Andes' rocky spires, + One after one, have caught the orient fires. + Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight, + His wings are touched with momentary light. + Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads, + A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads, + That o'er the champaign, stretching far below, + Moves now, in clustered masses, rising slow, + Till all the living landscape is displayed + In various pomp of colour, light, and shade, 10 + Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain, + Lessening in sunshine to the southern main. + The Llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew; + The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew; + And there, by the wild river's devious side, + The tall flamingo, in its crimson pride, + Stalks on, in richest plumage bright arrayed, + With snowy neck superb,[222] and legs of lengthening shade. + Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring, + For other ears the birds of morning sing; 20 + For other eyes the palms in beauty wave, + Dark is thy prison in the ocean-cave! + Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade, + A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made: + Masses of dim-discovered crags aloof, + Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof: + And through a fissure, in its glimmering height, + Seen like a star, appeared the distant light; + Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine, + Far down, the rock-weed hung its slender twine. 30 + Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay, + Till morn on morn, in silence, passed away; + When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung, + And sad her evening supplication sung; + Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night, + A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,-- + And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed + Faint lustre o'er her sleeping infant's head; + And hark! a voice--a woman's voice, its sound + Dies in faint echoes, 'mid the vault profound: 40 + Let us pity the poor white maid![223] + She has no mother near! + No friend to dry her tear! + Upon the cold earth she is laid: + Let us pity the poor white maid! + It seemed the burden of a song of woe; + And see, across the gloom an Indian girl move slow! + Her nearer look is sorrowful, yet mild, + Her hanging locks are wreathed with rock-weed wild; + Gently she spoke, Poor Christian, dry thy tear: 50 + Art thou afraid? all are not cruel here. + Oh! still more wretched may my portion be, + Stranger, if I could injure thine and thee! + And, lo! I bring, from banks and thickets wild, + Wood-strawberries, and honey for thy child. + Whence, who art thou, who, in this fearful place, + Does comfort speak to one of Spanish race? + + INDIAN. + + It is an Indian maid, who chanced to hear + Thy tale of sorrow, as she wandered near: + I loved a white man once; but he is flown, 60 + And now I wander heartless and alone. + I traced the dark and winding way beneath: + But well I know to lead thee hence were death. + Oh, say! what fortunes cast thee o'er the wave, + On these sad shores perhaps to find a grave? + + SPANISH WOMAN. + + Three years have passed since a fond husband left + Me and this infant, of his love bereft; + Him I have followed; need I tell thee more, + Cast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore. + + INDIAN. + + Oh! did he love thee, then? Let death betide, 70 + Yes, from this cavern I will be thy guide. + Nay, do not shrink! from Caracalla's bay, + Ev'n now, the Spaniards wind their march this way. + As late in yester eve I paced the shore + I heard their signal-guns at distance roar. + Wilt thou not follow? He will shield thy child,-- + The Christian's God,--through passes dark and wild + He will direct thy way! Come, follow me; + Oh, yet be loved, be happy, and be free! + But I, an outcast on my native plain, 80 + The poor Olola ne'er shall smile again! + So guiding from the cave, when all was still, + And pointing to the furthest glimmering hill, + The Indian led, till, on Itata's side, + The Spanish camp and night-fires they descried: + Then on the stranger's neck that wild maid fell, + And said, Thy own gods prosper thee, farewell! + The owl[224] is hooting overhead; below, + On dusky wing, the vampire-bat sails slow. + Ongolmo stood before the cave of night, 90 + Where the great wizard sat:--a lurid light + Was on his face; twelve giant shadows frowned, + His mute and dreadful ministers, around. + Each eye-ball, as in life, was seen to roll, + Each lip to move; but not a living soul + Was there, save bold Ongolmo and the seer. + The warrior half advanced his lifted spear, + Then spoke: Dread master of the mighty lore! + Say, shall the Spaniards welter in their gore? + Let these dark ministers the answer tell, 100 + Replied the master of the mighty spell. + Then every giant-shadow, as it stood, + Lifted on high a skull that dropped with blood. + Yet more, the impatient warrior cried; yet more! + Say, shall I live, and drink the tyrant's gore? + 'Twas silence. Speak! he cried: none made reply. + At once strange thunder shook the distant sky, + And all was o'er; the grisly shapes are flown, + And the grim warrior stands in the wild woods alone. + St Pedro's church had rung its midnight chimes, 110 + And the gray friars were chanting at their primes, + When winds, as of a rushing hurricane, + Shook the tall windows of the towered fane;-- + Sounds more than earthly with the storm arose, + And a dire troop are passed to Andes' snows, + Where mighty spirits in mysterious ring + Their dread prophetic incantations sing, + Round Chillan's crater-smoke, whose lurid light + Streams high against the hollow cope of night. + Thy genius, Andes, towering o'er the rest, 120 + Rose vast, and thus a phantom-shape addressed: + Who comes so swift amid the storm? + Ha! I know thy bloodless form, + I know thee, angel, who thou art, + By the hissing of thy dart! + 'Tis Death, the king! the rocks around, + Hark! echo back the fearful sound;-- + 'Tis Death, the king! away, away! + The famished vulture scents its prey. + Spectre, hence! we cannot die-- 130 + Thy withering weapons we defy; + Dire and potent as thou art! + Then spoke the phantom of the uplifted dart: + Spirits who in darkness dwell, + I heard far off your secret spell! + Enough, on yonder fatal shore, + My fiends have drank your children's gore; + Lo! I come, and doom to fate + The murderers, and the foe you hate! + Of all who shook their hostile spears, 140 + And marked their way through blood and tears, + (Now sleeping still on yonder plain) + But one--one only shall remain, + Ere thrice the morn shall shine again. + Then sang the mighty spirits. Thee, they sing, + Hail to thee, Death, all hail to Death, the king! + The penguin flaps her wings in gore, + Devoted Spain, along the shore. + Whence that shriek? with ghastly eyes, + Thy victor-chief abandoned lies! 150 + Victor of the southern world, + Whose crimson banners were unfurled + O'er the silence of the waves,-- + O'er a land of bleeding slaves! + Victor, where is now thy boast; + Thine iron steeds, thy mailed host? + Hark! hark! even now I hear his cries!-- + Spirits, hence!--he dies! he dies! + +[222] The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of rich and +beautiful crimson. + +[223] From Mungo Park. + +[224] The owl is an object of peculiar dread to the Indian of Chili. + + +CANTO SIXTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + The City of Conception--The City of Penco--Castle--Lautaro--Wild + Indian Maid--Zarinel--Missionary. + + The second moon had now begun to wane, + Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain; + Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay, + Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay. + The wayworn veteran, who had slowly passed + Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast, + With hope impatient sees the city spires + Gild the horizon, like ascending fires. + Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near + The citadel and battlements appear; 10 + The approaching trumpets ring at intervals; + The trumpet answers from the rampart walls, + Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye, + Some long-lost object of her love to espy, + Or watches, as the evening light illumes + The points of lances, or the passing plumes. + The grating drawbridge and the portal-arch, + Now echo to the long battalion's march; + Whilst every eye some friend remembered greets, + Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets. 20 + As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng, + Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along, + How sacred, 'mid the noise of arms, appeared + His venerable mien and snowy beard! + Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestowed, + Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode: + Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand, + And ask for tidings of the southern land. + As from the turret tolls the vesper bell, + He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell, 30 + No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state, + Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait; + But o'er a little bread, with folded hands, + Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands; + Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease, + Upon his pallet lays him down in peace. + The scene how different, where the castle-hall + Rings to the loud triumphant festival: + A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof, + Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,-- 40 + Whilst, seen far off, the illumined windows throw + A splendour on the shore and seas below. + Amid his captains, in imperial state, + Beneath a crimson canopy, elate, + Valdivia sits--and, striking loud the strings, + The wandering ministrel of Valentia sings. + For Chili conquered, fill the bowl again! + For Chili conquered, raise the heroic strain! + Lautaro left the hall of jubilee + Unmarked, and wandered by the moonlit sea: 50 + He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim, + The song, the shout, and his loved country's name. + As swelled at times the trump's insulting sound, + He raised his eyes impatient from the ground; + Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried, + Chili! my country; would that I had died + On the sad night of that eventful day + When on the ground my murdered father lay! + I should not then, dejected and alone, + Have thought I heard his injured spirit groan. 60 + Ha! was it not his form--his face--his hair? + Hold, soldier! stern, inhuman soldier, spare! + Ha! is it not his blood? Avenge, he cries, + Avenge, my son, these wounds! He faints--he dies! + Leave me, dread shadow! Can I then forget + My father's look--his voice? He beckons yet! + Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand: + Avenge! he cries, and waves his dim-seen hand! + Thus mused the youth, distempered and forlorn, + When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn 70 + Swells o'er the surge! he turned his look around, + And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound: + It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain + Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main? + I heard the song of gladness; + It seemed but yesterday, + But it turned my thoughts to madness, + So soon it died away: + I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try + To bring back that enchanting harmony! 80 + Hark! heard ye not the surges say, + Oh! heartless maid, what canst thou do? + O'er the moon-gleaming ocean, I'll wander away, + And paddle to Spain in my light canoe! + The youth drew near, by the strange accents led, + Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head, + And holding a large sea-conch in her hand, + He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand. 90 + A tattered poncho o'er her shoulders hung; + On either side her long black locks were flung; + And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies + Her high cheek-bones, and bright but hollow eyes. + Lautaro spoke: Oh! say what cruel wrong + Weighs on thy heart, maiden, what bodes thy song? + She answered not, but blew her shell again; + Then thus renewed the desultory strain: + Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide; + My music now shall be the dashing tide: 100 + In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim-- + With the breath of the South o'er the sea-blossom[225] skim. + If ever, stranger, on thy way, + Sounds, more than earthly sweet, thy soul should move, + It is the youth! Oh! do not say-- + That poor Olola died for love. + Lautaro stretched his hand; she said, Adieu! + And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew. + He followed, and still heard at distance swell + The lessening echoes of that mournful shell. 110 + It ceased at once; and now he heard no more + Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore. + Olola!--ha! his sister had that name! + Oh, horrid fancies! shake not thus his frame! + All night he wandered by the desert main, + To catch the melancholy sounds again. + No torches blaze in Penco's castled hall + That echoed to the midnight festival. + The weary soldiers by their toils oppressed, + Had now retired to silence and to rest. 120 + The minstrel only, who the song had sung + Of noble Cid, as o'er the strings he hung, + Upon the instrument had fall'n asleep, + Weary, and now was hushed in slumbers deep. + Tracing the scenes long past, in busy dreams + Again he wanders by his native streams; + Or sits, his evening saraband to sing + To the clear Garonne's gentle murmuring. + Cold o'er the fleckered clouds the morning broke + Aslant ere from his slumbers he awoke; 130 + Still as he sat, nor yet had left the place, + The first dim light fell on his pallid face. + He wakes--he gazes round--the dawning day + Comes from the deep, in garb of cloudy gray. + The woods with crow of early turkeys ring, + The glancing birds beneath the castle sing, + And the sole sun his rising orb displays, + Radiant and reddening, through the scattered haze. + To recreate the languid sense a while, + When earth and ocean wore their sweetest smile, 140 + He wandered to the beach: the early air + Blew soft, and lifted, as it blew, his hair; + Flushed was his cheek; his faded eye, more bright, + Shone with a faint but animated light, + While the soft morning ray seemed to bestow + On his tired mind a transient kindred glow. + As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand, + He mused and wandered on the winding strand, + At distance tossed upon the tumbling tide, + A dark and floating substance he espied. 150 + He stood, and where the eddying surges beat, + An Indian corse was rolled beneath his feet: + The hollow wave retired with sullen sound; + The face of that sad corse was to the ground; + It seemed a female, by the slender form; + He touched the hand--it was no longer warm; + He turned its face--O God! that eye, though dim, + Seemed with its deadly glare as fixed on him! + How sunk his shuddering sense, how changed his hue, + When poor Olola in that corse he knew! 160 + Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanced; + His keen eye, like a startled eagle's glanced: + 'Tis she!--he knew her by a mark impressed + From earliest infancy beneath her breast. + Oh, my poor sister! when all hopes were past + Of meeting, do we meet--thus meet--at last! + Then full on Zarinel, as one amazed, + With rising wrath and stern suspicion gazed; + For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand, + And to his forehead pressed the dead maid's hand. 170 + Speak! whence art thou? + Pale Zarinel, his head + Upraising answered, + Peace is with the dead! + Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee? + Here--strike the fell assassin--I am he! + Die! he exclaimed, and with convulsive start + Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart, + When the meek father, with his holy book, + And placid aspect, met his frenzied look. 180 + He trembled--struck his brow--and, turning round, + Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground. + Then murmured: Father, Heaven has heard thy prayer-- + But oh! the sister of my soul lies there! + The Christian's God has triumphed! father, heap + Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep! + Anselmo with calm brow approached the place, + And hastened with his staff his faltering pace: + Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness, he cried, + Speak!--Holy father, the sad youth replied, 190 + God bade the seas the accusing victim roll + Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul + Its guilt: Oh! father, holy father, pray + That heaven may take the deep, dire curse away! + Oh! yet, Anselmo cried, live and repent, + For not in vain was this dread warning sent; + The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare, + Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer. + The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock, + And severed from the dead maid's hair a lock; 200 + This to his heart with trembling hand he pressed, + And dried the salt-sea moisture on his breast. + They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave, + And prayed: Her soul, O blessed Mary, save! + +[225] The "sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by the name of +"Portuguese man of war," is among the most striking and beautiful +objects in the calms of the Southern ocean. + + +CANTO SEVENTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Midnight--Valdivia's tent--Missionary--March to the Valley + Arauco--First sight of assembled Indians. + + The watchman on the tower his bugle blew, + And swelling to the morn the streamers flew; + The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave, + Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave; + When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried, + What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied; + Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail, + Their gathering numbers darken all the vale! + Valdivia called to the attendant youth, + Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; 10 + The formidable host, by holy James, + Might well appal our priests and city dames! + Dost thou not fear? Nay--dost thou not reply? + Now by the rood, and all the saints on high, + I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand + Against thy brothers in thy native land! + But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies + Me and my feeble legions would despise. + Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride, + Spectator of their prowess, by my side! 20 + Come life, come death, our battle shall display + Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day! + With louder summons ring the rampart-bell, + And haste the shriving father from his cell; + A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms: + And let the trump at midnight sound to arms! + And now, obedient to the chief's commands, + The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands. + Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,-- + The last event of war GOD only knows;-- 30 + Let mass be sung; father, this very night + I would attend the high and holy rite. + Yet deem not that I doubt of victory, + Or place defeat or death before mine eye; + It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall, + Good father, I would part in peace with all. + So, tell Lautaro--his ingenuous mind + Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:-- + Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way + Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, 40 + No wanton exercise of barbarous power + Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour. + If hasty passions oft my spirit fire, + They flash a moment and the next expire; + Lautaro knows it. There is somewhat more: + I would not, here--here, on this distant shore + (Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail, + And this good sword and these firm sinews fail) + Amid my deadly enemies be found, + "Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, 50 + A dying man;--thy look, thy reverend age, + Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage; + And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies, + O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:-- + So GOD be with thee! + By the torches' light, + The slow procession moves; the solemn rite + Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim, + At intervals, is heard the imploring hymn.[226] + Now all is still, that only you might hear-- 60 + (The tall and slender tapers burning clear, + Whose light Anselmo's palid brow illumes, + Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes) + Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread, + That echoed through the cloisters of the dead. + Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's wide way; + Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh + Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height + The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night. + By the dim taper's solitary ray, 70 + Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay. + Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams + 'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes, + Where terraces, and battlements, and towers, + Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers. + Sudden the visionary pomp is past; + The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast; + A dismal vault appears, where, with swoll'n eyes, + As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies. + It is Almagro's[227] corse!--roll on, ye drums, 80 + Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes! + Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew + Before the mighty conqueror of Peru! + Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand-- + With ghastly look--see the assassin stand! + Pizarro falls;[228]--he welters in his gore! + Lord of the western world, art thou no more! + Valdivia, hark!--it was another groan! + Another shadow comes, it is thy own! + Ah, bind not thus his arms!--give, give him breath! 90 + Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death! + Valdivia, starting, woke. He is alone: + The taper in his tent yet dimly shone. + Lautaro, haste! he cried; Lautaro, save + Thy dying master! Ah! is this the brave, + The haughty victor? Hush, the dream is past! + The early trumpets ring the second blast! + Arm, arm! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs! + Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays! + By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, 100 + Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band, + With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed, + A troop observant on the heights to lead. + Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch, + Appeared the main battalion's moving march; + The banner of the cross was borne before, + And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar, + The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed + A crucifix, in silence, to his breast. + Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, 110 + Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played, + Majestic reined his steed, and seemed alone, + Worthy the southern world's imperial throne. + His features through the barred casque that glow, + His pole-axe pendent from the saddle-bow; + His dazzling armour, and the glitter bright + Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light, + Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament + Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent, + And deeds of deadly strife. In blooming pride, 120 + The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side. + Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind, + Two hundred clanking horsemen tramped behind, + In iron harness clad. The bugles blew, + And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew. + The arbalasters{j} next, with cross-bows slung, + Marched, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals swung. + Auxiliar-Indians here, a various train. + With spears and bows, darkened the distant plain; + Drums rolled, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, 130 + At intervals, as near and yet more near, + While flags and intermingled halberds shine, + The long battalion drew its passing line. + Last rolled the heavy guns, a sable tier, + By Indians drawn, with matchmen in the rear; + And many a straggling mule and sumpter-train + Closed the embattled order on the plain, + Till nought beneath the azure sky appears + But the projecting points of scarce-discovered spears, + Slow up the hill, with floating vapours hoar, 140 + Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore, + Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze, + The glittering file its bannered length displays; + Now winding from the woods, again appears + The moving line of matchlocks and of spears. + Part seen, part lost; the long illustrious march + Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch; + And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow, + A radiant segment of a living bow. + Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, 150 + O'er plains and headlands, held their eastern way. + On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe + And horror, in the last defile they saw + Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run, + All gashed, and grim, and blackening in the sun. + These were the gallant troop that passed before, + The Indians' vast encampment to explore, + Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound + Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground. + The horses startled, as they tramped in blood; 160 + The troops a moment half-recoiling stood. + But boots not now to pause, or to retire; + Valdivia's eye flashed with indignant fire: + Follow! he cried, brave comrades, to the hill! + And instant shouts the pealing valley fill. + And now, up to the hill's ascending crest, + With animated look and beating breast, + He urged his steed; when, wide beneath his eye, + He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie. + Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, 170 + One undulating mass of club and lance, + One animated surface seemed to fill + The many-stirring scene from hill to hill: + To the deep mass he pointed with his sword, + Banner, advance! give out "Castile!" the word. + Instant the files advance, the trumpets bray, + And now the host in terrible array, + Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain, + Has halted! + But the task were long and vain 180 + To tell what nations, from the seas that roar + Round Patagonia's melancholy shore; + From forests, brown with everlasting shades; + From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades; + From snowy summits, where the Llama roams, + Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams; + From streams whose bridges[229] tremble from the steep; + From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep; + Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb, + With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, 190 + Flocked fearless. + When they saw the Spanish line + Arrayed, and front to front, descending shine, + Burst, instant burst, the universal cry, + (Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky)-- + Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die! + Grim Mariantu led the Indian force + A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse, + Hurled with unerring aim the involving thong, + Then fearless sprang amidst the mailed throng. 200 + Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel, + And shouting, as he rode, Castile! Castile! + Led on the charge: like a descending flood, + It swept, till every spur was black with blood. + His force a-right, where Harratomac led, + A thousand spears went hissing overhead, + And feathered arrows, of each varying hue, + In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew. + Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel + Advancing in the front of carnage fell. 210 + At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rushed, + And swaying their huge clubs together, crushed + Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in gore, + And limb from limb the panting carcase tore. + Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds, + Hosts and succeeding hosts undaunted leads, + Till, torn and shattered by the ceaseless fire, + Thousands, with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, expire. + Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies, + And grasps his club terrific as he dies. 220 + With breathless expectation, on the height, + Lautaro watched the long and dubious fight: + Pale and resigned the meek man stood, and pressed + More close the holy image to his breast. + Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew, + When on the ground a warrior met his view, + Upon whose features memory seemed to trace + A faint resemblance of his father's face; + O'er him a horseman, with collected might, + Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, 230 + When the youth springing on, without a word, + Snatched from a soldier's wearied grasp his sword, + And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell + Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell. + Lautaro{k} shouted, On! brave brothers, on! + Scatter them like the snow!--the day is won! + Lo, I! Lautaro{k},--Attacapac's son! + The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds, + Cleft are the helms and crushed the struggling steeds. + The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, 240 + Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat. + Stand, brave companions! bold Valdivia cried, + And shook his sword, in recent carnage dyed; + Oh! droop not--droop not yet--all is not o'er-- + Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more. + Where is Lautaro! leaps his willing sword + Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord! + He waited not for answer, but again + Spurred to the centre of the horrid plain. + Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death inclose, 250 + And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose. + 'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corse, + Lies the caparisoned and dying horse. + While still the rushing multitudes assail, + Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail! + The Spanish horsemen faint; long yells resound, + As the dragged ensign trails the gory ground: + Shout, for the chief is seized!--a thousand cries + Burst forth--Valdivia! for the sacrifice! + And lo, in silent dignity resigned, 260 + The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind! + His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel + Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell; + The spear that to his heart a passage found + Left poor Olola's hair within the wound. + Now all is hushed, save where, at times, alone, + Deep midnight listens to a distant moan; + Save where the condors clamour, overhead, + And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the dead. + +[226] It may be necessary here to say, that whenever the Spaniards +founded a city, after the immediate walls of defence, their first object +was to build a church, and to have, with as much pomp as possible, the +ecclesiastical services performed. Hence the cathedrals founded by them +in America were of transcendent beauty and magnificence. + +[227] Almagro, who first penetrated into Chili, was afterwards +strangled. + +[228] Pizarro was assassinated. + +[229] Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives. + + +CANTO EIGHTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Indian festival for victory--Old Warrior brought in wounded-- + Recognises his long-lost son, and dies--Discovery--Conclusion + with the Old Warrior's funeral, and prophetic oration by the + Missionary. + + The morn returns, and, reddening, seems to shed + One ray of glory on the patriot-dead. + Round the dark stone, the victor-chiefs behold! + Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold! + There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride + Of Chili, young Lautaro, by his side! + Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood, + Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dripping blood. + Shrill sound the notes of death: in festive dance, + The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance; 10 + The tinkling sea-shells on their ancles ring, + As, hailing thus the victor-youth, they sing:-- + + SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS. + + Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave! + The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, + When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain, + And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain! + + 'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er, + Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their gore; + When, in front, young Lautaro invincible stood, + And the horses and iron-men rolled in their blood! + + As the snows of the mountain are swept by the blast, + The earthquake of death o'er the white men has passed; + Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won, + And we dance round the heads that are black in the sun! + + Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound, + Oft turned an anxious look inquiring round. + He is not here!--Say, does my father live? 15 + Ere eager voices could an answer give, + With faltering footsteps and declining head, + And slowly by an aged Indian led, + Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears: + Live, live! Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, 20 + And fell upon his neck, and, kissing, pressed, + With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast. + Oh, live! I am thy son--thy long-lost child! + The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled; + Chili, my country, is avenged! he cried: + My son!--then sunk upon a shield--and died. + Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bowed, + And kissed his bleeding breast, and wept aloud. + The sounds of sadness through the circle ran, + When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican: 30 + What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain, + Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain? + Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red, + To sooth the spirits of the brave who bled, + Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead. + Bring forth the chief in bonds! Fathers, to-day + Devote we to our gods the noblest prey! + Lautaro turned his eyes, and, gazing round, + Beheld Valdivia and Anselmo bound! + One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, 40 + His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare, + Where streaks of blood that dropped upon his mail, + Served but to show his face more deadly pale: + His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent, + And stood, composed, to wait the dire event. + Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast, + As if all thought of this vain world was passed, + And in a world of light, without a shade, + Ev'n now his meek and guileless spirit strayed. + Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound 50 + Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground; + When, starting from his father's corse, his sword + Waving before his once-triumphant lord, + Lautaro cried, My breast shall meet the blow: + But save--save him, to whom my life I owe! + Valdivia marked him with unmoving eye, + Then looked upon his bonds, nor deigned reply; + When Harratomac, stealing with slow pace, + And lifting high his iron-jagged mace, + Smote him to earth; a thousand voices rose, 60 + Mingled with shouts and yells, So fall our foes! + Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space, + As black in death he marked Valdivia's face, + Then cried--Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupolican, + Oh, spare this innocent and holy man! + He never sailed, rapacious, o'er the deep, + The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap; + He never gave the armed hosts his aid, + But meekly to the Mighty Spirit prayed, + That in all lands the sounds of woe might cease, 70 + And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace! + The victor-youth saw generous sympathy + Already steal to every warrior's eye; + Then thus again: Oh, if this filial tear + Bear witness my own father was most dear; + If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel + Speak for my country what I felt and feel; + If, at this hour, I meet her high applause, + While my heart beats still ardent in her cause;-- + Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, 80 + Oh! hear, how much to this poor man I owe! + I was a child--when to my sire's abode, + In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode: + Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay, + Far off the crested soldiers bore away, + And for a captive sold. No friend was near, + To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear! + This humble man, with kind parental care, + Snatched me from slavery--saved from dark despair; + And as my years increased, protected, fed, 90 + And breathed a father's blessings on my head. + A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak? + Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek! + Years, as they passed, matured in ripening grace + Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face: + She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear, + And sometimes for my fortunes dropped a tear. + I could have bowed to direst ills resigned, + But wept at looks so sweet, at words so kind. + Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, 100 + And claimed me from the father as his page; + The chief too cherished me, yea, saved my life, + When in Peru arose the civil strife. + Yet still remembering her I loved so well, + Oft I returned to the gray father's cell: + His voice instructed me; recalled my youth + From rude idolatry to heavenly truth: + Of this hereafter; he my darkling mind + Cleared, and from low and sensual thoughts refined. + Then first, with feelings new impressed, I strove 110 + To hide the tear of tenderness and love: + Amid the fairest maidens of Peru, + My eyes, my heart, one only object knew: + I lived that object's love and faith to share; + He saw, and blessed us with a father's prayer. + Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command, + I came, a stranger in my native land! + Anselmo (so him call--now most in need-- + And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead) + Came, by our chief so summoned, and for aid 120 + To the Great Spirit of the Christians prayed: + Here as a son I loved him, but I left + A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft, + Never to see again; for death awaits + My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates. + Caupolican, didst thou thy father love? + Did his last dying look affection move? + Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow: + He was my father--is my father, now! + Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien. 130 + But who is this, what pallid form is seen, + As crushed already by the fatal blow, + Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow, + Her hands upon her breast, scarce drawn her breath, + A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death, + Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side, + An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried! + Lautaro started: + Injured maid of Spain! + Me!--me! oh, take me to thine arms again! 140 + She heard his voice, and, by the scene oppressed, + With one faint sigh fell senseless on his breast. + Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried, + Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! + Live, aged father!--and forthwith commands + A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands. + She raised her head: his eyes first met her view, + As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw, + Ah, no! she feebly spoke; it is not true! + It is some form of the distempered brain! 150 + Then hid her face upon his breast again. + Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around: + Here, his brains scattered by the deadly wound, + The Spanish chief lay on the gory ground. + With lowering brows, and mace yet drooping blood, + And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood. + Anselmo here, sad, yet in sorrow mild, + Appeared: she cried, A blessing on your child, + And knelt, as slow revived her waking sense, + And then, with looks aghast, Oh bear us hence! 160 + Now all the assembled chiefs, assenting, cried, + Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! + With eager arms Lautaro snatched his boy, + And kissed him in an agony of joy; + Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak, + And felt the tear first burning on his cheek: + The infant held his neck with strict embrace, + And kissed his pale emaciated face. + From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore, + His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. 170 + There was a bank, where slept the summer-light, + A small stream whispering went in mazes bright, + And stealing from the sea, the western wind + Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined: + The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green, + And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen; + And, arched with gay and pendent flowers above, + The floripondio[230] its rich trellis wove. + Lautaro bent, with looks of love and joy, + O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy: 180 + Oh, by what miracle, beloved! say, + Hast thou escaped the perils of the way + From Lima, where our humble dwelling stood, + To these tumultuous scenes, this vale of blood? + Roused by his voice, as from the sleep of death, + Faint she replied, with slow-recovering breath, + Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert gone, + How sunk my heart!--deserted and alone! + Would I were with thee! oft I sat and sighed, + When the pale moon shone on the silent tide-- 190 + At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas: + The brave bark cheer'ly went before the breeze, + That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore, + From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore: + I seized the fair occasion--ocean smiled, + As to the sire I bore his lisping child. + The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock + The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock. + Some mariners, amidst the billows wild, + Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child. 200 + What I have borne, a captive since that day-- + Forgive these tears--I scarce have heart to say! + None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid-- + A wild maid--of her looks I was afraid; + Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell, + And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell. + Lautaro for a moment turned aside, + And, Oh, my sister! with faint voice he cried. + Already free from sorrow and alarms, + I clasped in thought a husband in my arms, 210 + When a dark warrior, stationed on the height, + Who held his solitary watch by night, + Before me stood, and lifting high his lance, + Exclaimed: No further, on thy life, advance! + Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread, + Back to the dismal cave my steps he led. + Only at eve, within the craggy cleft, + Some water, and a cake of maize, were left. + The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky; + When morning came, they brought me forth to die; + But hushed be every sigh, each boding fear, + Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here! 220 + Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, + To reach a large and radiant butterfly, + That fluttered near his face; with looks of love, + And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove + To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire, + His eyes faint-lighted with a transient fire, + Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addressed, + While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. 230 + An aged Indian came, with feathers crowned, + And knelt before Lautaro on the ground. + What tidings, Indian? + + INDIAN. + + When I led thy sire, + Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire, + Son of our Ulmen, didst thou mark no trace, + In these sad looks, of a remembered face? + Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look here! + It is thy father's hatchet and his spear. + Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice, 240 + Lautaro cried, once more to hear that voice! + Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled-- + Oh, my beloved sister, thou art dead! + + INDIAN. + + I come to guide thee through untrodden ways, + To the lone valley, where thy father's days + Were passed; where every cave and every tree, + From morn to morn, reminded him of thee! + Lautaro cried: Here, faithful Indian, stay; + I have a last sad duty yet to pay. + A little while we part:--thou here remain. 250 + He spake, and passed like lightning o'er the plain. + Ah, cease, Castilian maid, thy vain alarms! + See where he comes--his father in his arms! + Now lead, he cried. The Indian, sad and still, + Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill; + Her infant tired, and hushed a while to rest, + Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast; + The pensive mother gray Anselmo led; + Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead. + Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; 260 + The small birds waked them ere the morning light. + Before their path, in distant view, appeared + The mountain-smoke, that its dark column reared + O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky, + Lifting their icy pinnacles so high. + Four days they onward held their eastern way; + On the fifth rising morn, before them lay + Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green, + The Warrior's loved and last abode was seen. + No smoke went up, a stillness reigned around, 270 + Save where the waters fell with soothing sound, + Save where the Thenca sang so loud and clear, + And the bright humming-bird was spinning near. + Yet here all human tumults seemed to cease, + And sunshine rested on the spot of peace; + The myrtles bloomed as fragrant and as green + As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene; + And in his ear the falling waters' spray + Seemed swelling with the sounds of yesterday. + Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, 280 + There shall my father's bones in peace be laid. + Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground; + The small and sad communion gathered round. + Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel, + And broke the spear, and cried: Farewell, farewell! + Lautaro hid his face, and sighed Adieu! + As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw. + The little child that to its mother clung, + Stretched out its arm, then on her garment hung, + With sidelong looks, half-shrinking, half-amazed, 290 + And dropped its flowers, unconscious, as it gazed. + And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined, + The honoured relics, dust to dust, consigned + With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee, + "Eternam pacem dona, Domine." + Then rising up he closed the holy book; + And lifting in the beam his lighted look, + (The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast), + Here, too, he cried, my bones in peace shall rest! + Few years remain to me, and never more 300 + Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore! + Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave + O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave. + Oh, may it (when the sons of future days + Shall hear our tale and on the hillock gaze), + Oh, may it teach, that charity should bind, + Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind! + The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear + Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering spear. + Yet we condemn not him who bravely stood, 310 + To seal his country's freedom with his blood; + And if, in after-times, a ruthless band + Of fell invaders sweep my native land, + May she, by Chili's stern example led, + Hurl back his thunder on the assailant's head; + Sustained by Freedom, strike the avenging blow, + And learn one virtue from her ancient foe! + +[230] One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing plants of +South America. + + + + +END OF VOLUME I. + +EDINBURGH: BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS. + + + + +Transcriber's notes: The following were corrected in text as shown. +They are indicated with curly brackets, thus: {a}. + +{a} Pg iv: Alverstock => Alverstoke. + +{b} Pg 26: mumuring => murmuring + +{c} Pg 86: seene => scene + +{d} Pg 100: TRANSATION => TRANSLATION + +{e} Pg 152: fell => feel + +{f} Pg 206: gallopped => galloped + +{g} Pg 230: diffculty => difficulty + +{h} Pg 307: Guecuba => Guecubu to match text reference. + +{j} Pg 354: arbalaster is probably a variation of arbalester or + arbalister: a cross-bowman. + +k Pg 357: Lautora => Lautaro to be consistent with earlier use. + + +A few words are hyphenated inconsistently. They are listed here but +remain unchanged. + +eventide even-tide +eyeballs eye-balls +eyelids eye-lids +footfall foot-fall +heartbroken heart-broken +hedgerows hedge-rows +outstretched out-stretched + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. 1<br /> + With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes by George Gilfillan</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: William Lisle Bowles</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: George Gilfillan</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 26, 2006 [eBook #18915]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 17, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: richyfourtytwo, Leonard Johnson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES ***</div> + +<h5>THE</h5> + +<h1>POETICAL WORKS</h1> + +<h5>OF</h5> + +<h1>WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES,</h1> + +<h5>CANON OF ST PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, AND RECTOR OF BREMHILL.</h5> + + +<h2>With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes,</h2> + +<h5>BY THE</h5> + +<h4>REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.</h4> + +<hr /> +<h3>VOL. I.</h3> + + +<p class="center">EDINBURGH: JAMES NICHOL, 9 NORTH BANK STREET. +<br />LONDON: JAMES NISBET AND CO. +<br />DUBLIN: W. ROBERTSON. +<br />M.DCCC.LV.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<p class="center">EDINBURGH:<br /> +PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY,<br /> +PAUL'S WORK.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<h3>SONNETS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.</h3> + + +<div class='center'> +<table class="center" width="100%" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>SONNETS:—</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Tynemouth Priory, after a Tempestuous Voyage</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bamborough Castle</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The River Wainsbeck</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Tweed Visited</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On leaving a Village in Scotland</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Evening</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To the River Itchin</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On Resigning a Scholarship of Trinity College, Oxford, and Retiring to a Country Curacy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dover Cliffs</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On Landing at Ostend</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Bells of Ostend</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Rhine</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Influence of Time on Grief</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Convent</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The River Cherwell</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On Entering Switzerland</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Distant View of England from the Sea</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hope</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To a Friend</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Absence</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bereavement</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Oxford Revisited</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In Memoriam</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On the Death of the Rev. William Benwell, M.A.</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Malvern</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Netley Abbey</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Associations</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Music</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Approach of Summer</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Oxford, 1786</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Dover, 1786</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Retrospection</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On Accidentally Meeting a Lady, now no more</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On hearing "The Messiah" performed in Gloucester Cathedral, Sept. 18, 1835</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Woodspring Abbey, 1836</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Lacock Nunnery, 1837</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On a Beautiful Landscape</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Art and Nature: the Bridge between Clifton and Leigh Woods</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Picture of an Old Man</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Picture of a Young Lady</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hour-glass and Bible</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Milton. Two Sonnets on the bust of Milton, in Youth and Age, at Stourhead</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To Sir Walter Scott</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:—</td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Elegy written at the Hotwells, Bristol</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Monody on Henry Headley</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Howard's Account of Lazarettos</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Grave of Howard</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Shakspeare</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Abbe Thule's Lament for his Son Prince Le Boo</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Southampton Water</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Philanthropic Society</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Dying Slave</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song of the American Indian</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Monody, written at Matlock</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Right Honourable Edmund Burke</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On Leaving a Place of Residence</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Elegiac Stanzas written during Sickness at Bath</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On leaving Winchester School</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hope: an Allegorical Sketch</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Battle of the Nile</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Garden-Seat at Home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In Horto Rev. J. Still</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Greenwich Hospital</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Rustic Seat near the Sea</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Wardour Castle</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Pole-vellum, Cornwall</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On a Beautiful Spring</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On a Cenotaph to the Memory of Lieut-Col. Isaac</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Translation of a Latin Poem, by Rev. Newton Ogle</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>St Michael's Mount</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On an Unfortunate and Beautiful Woman</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hymn to Woden</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Coombe-Ellen</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Summer Evening at Home</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Winter Evening at Home</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Spirit of Navigation</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Water-party on Beaulieu River, in the New Forest</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Monody on the Death of Dr Warton</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Epitaph on H. Walmsley, Esq., in <ins class="correction" title="Original was Alverstock">Alverstoke</ins> Church, Hants</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Age</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On a Landscape by Rubens</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Harp, and Despair, of Cowper</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Stanzas for Music</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Music</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Absence</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fairy Sketch</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Inscription</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Pictures from Theocritus</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sketches in the Exhibition, 1805</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Do. in the Exhibition, 1807</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Southampton Castle</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Winds</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On William Sommers of Bremhill</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Visionary Boy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cadland, Southampton River</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Last Song of Camoens</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Sylph of Summer</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Harp of Hoel</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Avenue in Savernake Forest</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dirge of Nelson</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Death of Captain Cooke, of "The Bellerophon"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Battle of Corruna</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sketch from Bowden Hill after Sickness</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sun-Dial in the Churchyard of Bremhill</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY:</td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> A Descriptive and Historical Poem</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Book the First</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Book the Second</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Book the Third</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Book the Fourth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Book the Fifth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE MISSIONARY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_295">295</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Introduction</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto First</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto Second</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto Third</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto Fourth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto Fifth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto Sixth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_344">344</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canto Seventh</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> Canton Eighth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><i>The Memoir and Critical Dissertation being unavoidably delayed, will be +prefixed to Vol. II.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>A Ninth Edition of the following Poems having been called for by the +public, the author is induced to say a few words, particularly +concerning those which, under the name of Sonnets, describe his personal +feelings.</p> + +<p>They can be considered in no other light than as exhibiting occasional +reflections which naturally arose in his mind, chiefly during various +excursions, undertaken to relieve, at the time, depression of spirits. +They were, therefore, in general, suggested by the scenes before them; +and wherever such scenes appeared to harmonise with his disposition at +the moment, the sentiments were involuntarily prompted.</p> + +<p>Numberless poetical trifles of the same kind have occurred to him, when +perhaps, in his solitary rambles, he has been "chewing the cud of sweet +and bitter fancy;" but they have been forgotten as he left the places +which gave rise to them; and the greater part of those originally +committed to the press were written down, for the first time, from +memory.</p> + +<p>This is nothing to the public; but it may serve in some measure to +obviate the common remark on melancholy poetry, that it has been very +often gravely composed, when possibly the heart of the writer had very +little share in the distress he chose to describe.</p> + +<p>But there is a great difference between <i>natural</i> and <i>fabricated</i> +feelings, even in poetry. To which of these two characters the poems +before the reader belong, the author leaves those who have felt +sensations of sorrow to judge.</p> + +<p>They who know him, know the occasions of them to have been real; to the +public he might only mention the sudden death of a deserving young +woman, with whom,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">... <i>Sperabat longos heu! ducere soles,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Et fido acclinis consenuisse sinu.</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Donhead</span>, <i>April 1805.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The early editions of these Sonnets, 1791, were dedicated +to the Reverend Newton Ogle, D.D., Dean of Winchester.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h2>INTRODUCTION TO THE EDITION OF 1837.</h2> + + +<p>To account for the variations which may be remarked in this last edition +of my Sonnets, from that which was first published fifty years ago, it +may be proper to state, that to the best of my recollection, they now +appear nearly as they were originally composed in my solitary hours; +when, in youth a wanderer among distant scenes, I sought forgetfulness +of the first disappointment in early affections.</p> + +<p>Delicacy even now, though the grave has long closed over the beloved +object, would forbid entering on a detail of the peculiar circumstances +in early life, and the anguish which occasioned these poetical +meditations. In fact, I never thought of writing them down at the time, +and many had escaped my recollection;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> but three years after my return +to England, on my way to the banks of Cherwell, where</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I bade the pipe farewell, and that sad lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose music, on my melancholy way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wooed,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>passing through Bath, I wrote down all I could recollect of these +effusions, most elaborately <i>mending</i> the versification from the natural +flow of music in which they occurred to me, and having thus <i>corrected</i> +and written them out, took them myself to the late Mr Cruttwell, with +the name of "Fourteen Sonnets, written chiefly on Picturesque Spots +during a Journey."</p> + +<p>I had three times knocked at this amiable printer's door, whose kind +smile I still recollect; and at last, with much hesitation, ventured to +unfold my message; it was to inquire whether he would give any thing for +"Fourteen Sonnets," to be published with or without the name.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> He at +once declined the purchase, and informed me he doubted very much whether +the publication would repay the expense of printing, which would come to +about five pounds. It was at last determined one hundred copies, in +quarto, should be published<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> as a kind of "forlorn hope;" and these +"Fourteen Sonnets" I left to their fate and thought no more of getting +rich by poetry! In fact, I owed the most I ever owed at Oxford, at this +time, namely, seventy pounds;<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> and knowing my father's large family +and trying circumstances, and those of my poor mother, I shrunk from +asking more money when I left home, and went back with a heavy heart to +Oxford, under the conscious weight, that my poetic scheme failing, I had +no means of paying Parsons, the mercer's, bill! This was the origin of +the publication.</p> + +<p>As this plain account is so connected with whatever may be my name in +criticism and poetry, it is hoped it will be pardoned.</p> + +<p>All thoughts of succeeding as a poet were now abandoned; but, half a +year afterwards, I received a letter from the printer informing me that +the hundred copies were all sold, adding, that if I had published <span class="smcap">five +hundred</span> copies, he had no doubt they would have been sold also.</p> + +<p>This, in my then situation, my father now dead, and my mother a widow +with seven children, and with a materially reduced income (from the loss +of the rectories of Uphill and Brean in Somerset), was gratifying +indeed; all my golden dreams of poetical success were renewed;—the +number of the sonnets first published was increased, and five hundred +copies, by the congratulating printer, with whose family I have lived in +kindest amity from that hour, were recommended to issue from the press +of the editor of the <i>Bath Chronicle</i>.</p> + +<p>But this was not all, the five hundred copies were sold to great +advantage, for it was against my will that <i>five hundred</i> copies should +be printed, till the printer told me he would take the risk on himself, +on the usual terms, at that time, of bookseller and author.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards, it was agreed that <i>seven hundred and fifty</i> copies +should be printed, in a smaller and elegant size. I had received +Coleridge's warm testimony; but soon after this third edition came out, +my friend, Mr Cruttwell, the printer, wrote a letter saying that two +young gentlemen, strangers, one a particularly handsome and pleasing +youth, lately from Westminster School, and both literary and +intelligent, spoke in high commendation of my volume, and if I recollect +right, expressed a desire to have some poems printed in the same type +and form. Who these young men were I knew not at the time, but the +communication of the circumstance was to me most gratifying; and how +much more gratifying, when, from one of them, after he himself had +achieved the fame of one of the most virtuous and eloquent of the +writers in his generation, I received a first visit at my parsonage in +Wiltshire upwards of forty years afterwards! It was <span class="smcap">Robert Southey</span>. We +parted in my garden last year, when stealing time and sorrow had marked +his still manly, but most interesting countenance.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>—Therefore,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"> +TO<br /> +<br /> +ROBERT SOUTHEY,<br /> +<br /> +WHO HAS EXHIBITED IN HIS PROSE WORKS, AS IN HIS LIFE,<br /> +<br /> +THE PURITY AND VIRTUES OF ADDISON AND LOCKE,<br /> +<br /> +AND IN HIS POETRY THE IMAGINATION<br /> +<br /> +AND SOUL OF SPENSER,<br /> +<br /> +THESE POEMS,<br /> +<br /> +WITH EVERY AFFECTIONATE PRAYER, ARE INSCRIBED<br /> +<br /> +BY<br /> +<br /> +HIS SINCERE FRIEND,<br /> +<br /> +WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> I confined myself to fourteen lines, because fourteen lines +seemed best adapted to unity of sentiment. I thought nothing about the +strict Italian model; the verses naturally flowed in unpremeditated +harmony, as my ear directed, but the slightest inspection will prove +they were far from being mere elegiac couplets. The subjects were +chiefly from river scenery, and the reader will recollect what Sir +Humphrey Davy has said on this subject so beautifully; it will be +recollected, also, that they were published ten years before those of Mr +Wordsworth on the river Duddon, Yarrow, <i>et cet.</i> There have been many +claimants, among modern poets, for the laurel of the sonnet, but, in +picturesque description, sentiment, and harmony, I know none superior to +those of my friend the Rev. Charles Hoyle, on scenery in Scotland, the +mountains of Ben Nevis, Loch Lomond, <i>et cet.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> To account for the present variations, some remained as +originally with their natural pauses, others for the press I thought it +best to correct into verse less broken, and now, after fifty years, they +are recorrected, and restored, I believe, more nearly to the original +shape in which they were first meditated.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> I hoped by my Sonnets to pay this vast debt.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> His companion, Mr Lovel, died in youth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> +<h2>SONNETS, ETC.</h2> + + + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2>SONNETS, ETC.</h2> + + +<h3>AT TYNEMOUTH PRIORY,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h3> + +<h4>AFTER A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Much musing on the track of terror past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of evening smiles on the gray battlement,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yon forsaken tower that time has rent:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lifted oar far off with transient gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is touched, and hushed is all the billowy deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The remains of this monastery are situated on a lofty +point, on the north side of the entrance into the river Tyne, about a +mile and a half below North Shields. The rock on which the monastery +stood rendered it visible at sea a long way off, in every direction, +whence it presented itself as if exhorting the seamen in danger to make +their vows, and promise masses and presents to the Virgin Mary and St +Oswin for their deliverance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round your dark battlements; for far from halls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hollow bodings round your ancient walls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And turns her ear to each expiring cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> This ancient castle, with its extensive domains, heretofore +the property of the family of Forster, whose heiress married Lord Crewe, +Bishop of Durham, is appropriated by the will of that pious prelate to +many benevolent purposes; particularly to that of administering instant +relief to such shipwrecked mariners as may happen to be cast upon this +dangerous coast; for whose preservation and that of their vessels every +possible assistance is contrived, and is at all times ready. The estate +is in the hands of trustees appointed under the Bishop's will.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>THE RIVER WAINSBECK.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Wainsbeck</span>, the mossy-scattered rocks among,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fancy's ear making a plaintive song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the dark woods above, that waving seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him who passes weary on his way;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet recreated here he may delay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A while to thank you; and when years have flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the world's crowd he will remember you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The Wainsbeck is a sequestered river in Northumberland, +having on its banks "Our Lady's Chapel," three-quarters of a mile west +of Bothal. It has been commemorated by Akenside.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TWEED VISITED.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Tweed! a stranger, that with wandering feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er hill and dale has journeyed many a mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(If so his weary thoughts he might beguile),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delighted turns thy stranger-stream to greet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waving branches that romantic bend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er thy tall banks a soothing charm bestow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The murmurs of thy wandering wave below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem like the converse of some long-lost friend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delightful stream! though now along thy shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When spring returns in all her wonted pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant pastoral pipe is heard no more;<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet here while laverocks sing could I abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the stormy world's contentious roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To muse upon thy banks at eventide.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Alluding to the simple and affecting pastoral strains for +which Scotland has been so long celebrated. I need not mention Lochaber, +the Braes of Bellendine, Tweedside, <i>et cet.</i></p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>ON LEAVING A VILLAGE IN SCOTLAND.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Clysdale! as thy romantic vales I leave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bid farewell to each retiring hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where musing memory seems to linger still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, mingled with the toiling crowd, no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I may return your varied views to mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of rocks amid the sunshine towering dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rivers winding wild,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> or mountains hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or castle gleaming on the distant steep!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet many a look back on thy hills I cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many a softened image of the past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly combine, and bid remembrance keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe me with fair scenes, and fancies rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I pursue my path in solitude.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> There is a wildness almost fantastic in the view of the +river from Stirling Castle, the course of which is seen for many miles, +making a thousand turnings.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>EVENING.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lonely, battlement, the farthest hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wood, I think of those who have no friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retiring, wander to the ring-dove's haunts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen; and watch the tints that o'er thy bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang lovely; oft to musing Fancy's eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Presenting fairy vales, where the tired mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might rest beyond the murmurs of mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hear the hourly moans of misery!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas for man! that Hope's fair views the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should smile like you, and perish as they smile!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>TO THE RIVER ITCHIN.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Itchin! when I behold thy banks again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy crumbling margin, and thy silver breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On which the self-same tints still seem to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why feels my heart a shivering sense of pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it, that many a summer's day has past<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since, in life's morn, I carolled on thy side!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is it, that oft since then my heart has sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Youth, and Hope's delusive gleams, flew fast!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is it, that those who gathered on thy shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Companions of my youth, now meet no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er the cause, upon thy banks I bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sorrowing; yet feel such solace at my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As at the meeting of some long-lost friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From whom, in happier hours, we wept to part.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The Itchin is a river running from Winchester to +Southampton, the banks of which have been the scene of many <i>a holiday +sport</i>. The lines were composed on an evening in a journey from Oxford +to Southampton, the first time I had seen the Itchin since I left +school.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>ON RESIGNING A SCHOLARSHIP OF TRINITY COLLEGE, OXFORD,</h3> + +<h4>AND RETIRING TO A COUNTRY CURACY.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell! a long farewell! O Poverty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Affection's fondest dream how hast thou reft!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But though, on thy stern brow no trace is left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of youthful joys, that on the cold heart die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee a sad companionship I seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Content, if poor;—for patient wretchedness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tearful, but uncomplaining of distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who turns to the rude storm her faded cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Piety, who never told her wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And calm Content, whose griefs no more rebel;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Genius, warbling sweet, his saddest song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When evening listens to some village knell,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long banished from the world's insulting throng;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With thee, and thy unfriended children dwell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>DOVER CLIFFS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hear not the surge that has for ages beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many a lonely wanderer has stood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, whilst the lifted murmur met his ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er the distant billows the still eve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of social scenes, from which he wept to part!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! if, like me, he knew how fruitless all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thoughts that would full fain the past recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon would he quell the risings of his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The World his country, and his <span class="smcap">God</span> his guide.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON LANDING AT OSTEND.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The orient beam illumes the parting oar;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From yonder azure track, emerging white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The earliest sail slow gains upon the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the blue wave comes rippling to the shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime far off the rear of darkness flies:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet 'mid the beauties of the morn, unmoved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like one for ever torn from all he loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back o'er the deep I turn my longing eyes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chide the wayward passions that rebel:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet boots it not to think, or to complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Musing sad ditties to the reckless main.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dreams like these, adieu! the pealing bell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speaks of the hour that stays not—and the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To life's sad turmoil calls my heart away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">1787.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE BELLS, OSTEND.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathes on the trembling sense of pale disease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So piercing to my heart their force I feel!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now, along the white and level tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They fling their melancholy music wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bidding me many a tender thought recall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of summer-days, and those delightful years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When from an ancient tower, in life's fair prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mournful magic of their mingling chime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First waked my wondering childhood into tears!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But seeming now, when all those days are o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sounds of joy once heard, and heard no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">1787.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Written on landing at Ostend, and hearing, very early in +the morning, the carillons.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>THE RHINE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas morn, and beauteous on the mountain's brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Hung with the clusters of the bending vine)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shone in the early light, when on the Rhine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We bounded, and the white waves round the prow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In murmurs parted:—varying as we go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lo! the woods open, and the rocks retire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As some gray convent-wall or glistening spire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid the bright landscape's track unfolding slow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here dark, with furrowed aspect, like Despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Frowns the bleak cliff! There on the woodland's side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shadowy sunshine pours its streaming tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Hope, enchanted with the scene so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Counts not the hours of a long summer's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>INFLUENCE OF TIME ON GRIEF.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Softest on Sorrow's wound, and slowly thence<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faint pang stealest unperceived away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thee I rest my only hope at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I may look back on every sorrow past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE CONVENT.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If chance some pensive stranger, hither led,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His bosom glowing from majestic views,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Temple and tower 'mid the bright landscape's hues,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A maid of sorrow. To the cloistered scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unknown and beautiful a mourner came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seeking with unseen tears to quench the flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hapless love: yet was her look serene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the pale moonlight in the midnight aisle;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her voice was gentle and a charm could lend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like that which spoke of a departed friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a meek sadness sat upon her smile!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, far removed from every earthly ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her woes are buried, and her heart is still.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE RIVER CHERWELL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cherwell! how pleased along thy willowed edge<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tinge the distant turret's golden fan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or evening glimmered o'er the sighing sedge!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now reposing on thy banks once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I bid the lute farewell, and that sad lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose music on my melancholy way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wooed: beneath thy willows waving hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking a while to rest—till the bright sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of joy return; as when Heaven's radiant Bow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beams on the night-storm's passing wings below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er betide, yet something have I won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of solace, that may bear me on serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till eve's last hush shall close the silent scene.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON ENTERING SWITZERLAND.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I journey on, yet pensive turn to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The streams, and vales, and hills, that steal away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fares it with the children of the earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For when life's goodly prospect opens round,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their spirits burn to tread that fairy ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where every vale sounds to the pipe of mirth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But them, alas! the dream of youth beguiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soon a longing look, like me, they cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Back on the mountains of the morning past:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet Hope still beckons us, and beckoning smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to a brighter world her view extends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When earth's long darkness on her path descends.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>DISTANT VIEW OF ENGLAND FROM THE SEA.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the wave, once more my beating heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eager hope and filial transport hails!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when erewhile the tuneful morn of spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyous awoke amidst your hawthorn vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And filled with fragrance every village lane:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fled are those hours, and all the joys they gave!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet still I gaze, and count each rising wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bears me nearer to my home again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If haply, 'mid those woods and vales so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stranger to Peace, I yet may meet her there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>HOPE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As one who, long by wasting sickness worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weary has watched the lingering night, and heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unmoved the carol of the matin bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Salute his lonely porch; now first at morn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes forth, leaving his melancholy bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He the green slope and level meadow views,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delightful bathed with slow-ascending dews;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or marks the clouds, that o'er the mountain's head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In varying forms fantastic wander white;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or turns his ear to every random song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heard the green river's winding marge along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whilst each sense is steeped in still delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So o'er my breast young Summer's breath I feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet Hope! thy fragrance pure and healing incense steal!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>TO A FRIEND.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To busy phantasies, and boding fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest ill betide thee; but 'twill not be long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the hard season shall be past; till then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembering, and these trees now left to fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, 'mid the busy scenes and hum of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shall restore thee from the crowd again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">1792.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ABSENCE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is strange music in the stirring wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When lowers the autumnal eve, and all alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If in such shades, beneath their murmuring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou late hast passed the happier hours of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sadness thou wilt mark the fading year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chiefly if one, with whom such sweets at morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or evening thou hast shared, afar shall stray.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Spring, return! return, auspicious May!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she return not with thy cheering ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who from these shades is gone, far, far away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>BEREAVEMENT.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whose was that gentle voice, that, whispering sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Promised methought long days of bliss sincere!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most like soft music, that might sometimes cheat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts dark and drooping! 'Twas the voice of Hope.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of love, and social scenes, it seemed to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, oh! poor friend, might to life's downward slope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lead us in peace, and bless our latest hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah me! the prospect saddened as she sung;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Horror, pointing to yon breathless clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"No peace be thine," exclaimed, "away, away!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">1793.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>OXFORD REVISITED.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never hear the sound of thy glad bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sighing to think how time has worn away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heard after years of absence, from the vale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Cherwell winds. Most true it speaks the tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of days departed, and its voice recalls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of life, and many friends now scattered wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By many fates. Peace be within thy walls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Denied the joys sought in thy shades,—denied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each better hope, since my poor Harriet died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What I have owed to thee, my heart can ne'er forget!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>IN MEMORIAM.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How blessed with thee the path could I have trod<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(And little wishing more) nor of the great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Envious, or their proud name; but it pleased <span class="smcap">God</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take thee to his mercy: thou didst go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In youth and beauty to thy cold death-bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even whilst on dreams of bliss we fondly fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of years to come of comfort! Be it so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere this I have felt sorrow; and even now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though sometimes the unbidden tear will start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And half unman the miserable heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cold dew I shall wipe from my sad brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, since hopes of bliss on earth are vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Best friend, farewell, till we do meet again!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. WILLIAM BENWELL, M.A.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou, my friend, wouldst the first victim fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the stern King of Terrors! Thou didst fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By pity prompted, at the poor man's cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon thyself were stretched beneath the pall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Livid infection's prey. The deep distress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her, who best thy inmost bosom knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To whom thy faith was vowed; thy soul was true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What powers of faltering language shall express?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrowing say, Pure spirit, thou art gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> An accomplished young friend of the author—a poet and a +scholar, formerly fellow of Trinity College, Oxford—who died of a +typhus fever, caught in administering the sacrament to one of his +parishioners. Mr Benwell had only been married eleven weeks when he +died.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>AT MALVERN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shall behold far off thy towering crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down through the distant vale my homeward way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall behold upon thy rugged breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The parting sun sit smiling: me the while<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May visit, as life's bitter losses press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard on my bosom; but I shall beguile<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thing I am, and think, that ev'n as thou<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost lift in the pale beam thy forehead high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proud mountain! whilst the scattered vapours fly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheeded round thy breast,—so, with calm brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shades of sorrow I may meet, and wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smile unchanged of peace, though pressed by care!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>NETLEY ABBEY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fall'n pile! I ask not what has been thy fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when the winds, slow wafted from the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through each rent arch, like spirits that complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come hollow to my ear, I meditate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On this world's passing pageant, and the lot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of those who once majestic in their prime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stood smiling at decay, till bowed by time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or injury, their early boast forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They may have fall'n like thee! Pale and forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their brow, besprent with thin hairs, white as snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They lift, still unsubdued, as they would scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This short-lived scene of vanity and woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst on their sad looks smilingly they bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trace of creeping age, and the pale hue of care!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ASSOCIATIONS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still on that vision which is flown I dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On images I loved, alas, too well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such recollections, painful though they seem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I start, and find them not; then I could weep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think how Fortune blights the fairest flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To think how soon life's first endearments fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, like a flatterer, when the happiest hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass, and when most we call on her to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will fly, as faithless and as fleet as they!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>MUSIC.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O harmony! thou tenderest nurse of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If that thy note's sweet magic e'er can heal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Griefs which the patient spirit oft may feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let me listen to thy songs again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till memory her fairest tints shall bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope wake with brighter eye, and listening seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With smiles to think on some delightful dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That waved o'er the charmed sense its gladsome wing!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For when thou leadest all thy soothing strains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More smooth along, the silent passions meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one suspended transport, sad and sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And nought but sorrow's softest touch remains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, when the transitory charm is o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just wakes a tear, and then is felt no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>APPROACH OF SUMMER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First came, and on the Coomb's romantic side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow bill!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh flowers shall fringe the margin of the stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As with the songs of joyance and of hope<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poplars sparkle in the passing beam;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shrubs and laurels that I loved to tend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thinking their May-tide fragrance would delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a peaceful charm, thee, my poor friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall put forth their green shoots, and cheer the sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I shall mark their hues with sadder eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weep the more for one who in the cold earth lies!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>AT OXFORD, 1786.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which won my heart, or when the gay career<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of life begun, or when at times a tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat sad on memory's cheek—though loftier themes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Await the awakened mind to the high prize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aspiring patient; yet on life's wide plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left fatherless, where many a wanderer sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hourly, and oft our road is lone and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twere not a crime should we a while delay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid the sunny field; and happier they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, as they journey, woo the charm of song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cheer their way;—till they forget to weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tired sense is hushed, and sinks to sleep.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>AT DOVER, 1786.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, borne on Terror's desolating wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thou dost mark the melancholy tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossed on the surge of life how many sink!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if thy cheek with one kind tear be wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if thy heart be smitten, when the cry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of danger and of death is heard more nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, learn thy private sorrows to forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intent, when hardest beats the storm, to save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One who, like thee, has suffered from the wave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>RETROSPECTION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! how many friends of youth are dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How many visions of fair hope have fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since first, my Muse, we met.—So speeds away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life, and its shadows; yet we sit and sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched in the noontide bower, as if the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Declined not, and we yet might trill our lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the pleasant morning's purple wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fans us; while aloft the gay clouds shine!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, ere the coming of the long cold night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Religion, may we bless thy purer light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That still shall warm us, when the tints decline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er earth's dim hemisphere; and sad we gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the vain visions of our passing days!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON ACCIDENTALLY MEETING A LADY NOW NO MORE.</h3> + +<h4>WRITTEN MANY YEARS AFTER THE FOREGOING SONNETS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When last we parted, thou wert young and fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How beautiful let fond remembrance say!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! since then old Time has stol'n away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nigh forty years, leaving my temples bare:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So hath it perished, like a thing of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That dream of love and youth:—we now are gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet still remembering youth's enchanted way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though time has changed my look, and blanched my hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I remember one sad hour with pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And never thought, long as I yet might live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And parted long, to hear that voice again;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can a sad, but cordial greeting, give,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for thy welfare breathe as warm a prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady, as when I loved thee young and fair!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON HEARING "THE MESSIAH"</h3> + +<h4>PERFORMED IN GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL, SEPT. 18, 1835.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, stay, harmonious and sweet sounds, that die<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the long vaultings of this ancient fane!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stay, for I may not hear on earth again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those pious airs—that glorious harmony;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting the soul to brighter orbs on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worlds without sin or sorrow!<br /></span> +<span class="i29">Ah, the strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has died—ev'n the last sounds that lingeringly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung on the roof ere they expired!<br /></span> +<span class="i38">And I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand in the world of strife, amidst a throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A throng that recks not or of death, or sin!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, jarring scenes! to cease, indeed, ere long;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The worm hears not the discord and the din;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he whose heart thrills to this angel song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feels the pure joy of heaven on earth begin!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>WOODSPRING ABBEY, 1836.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These walls were built by men who did a deed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of blood:—terrific conscience, day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Followed, where'er their shadow seemed to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still in thought they saw their victim bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before God's altar shrieking: pangs succeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As dire upon their heart the deep sin lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No tears of agony could wash away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence! to the land's remotest limit, speed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These walls are raised in vain, as vainly flows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Contrition's tear: Earth, hide them, and thou, Sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which round the lone isle, where their bones repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost sound for ever, their sad requiem be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fancy's ear, at pensive evening's close,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still <ins class="correction" title="Original was mumuring">murmuring</ins> <span class="smcap">Miserere, Domine</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Three mailed men, in Canterbury Cathedral, rushed on the +Archbishop of Canterbury, and murdered him before the altar. +Conscience-stricken, they fled and built Woodspring Abbey, in the remote +corner of Somersetshire, near Western Super Mare, where the land looks +on the Atlantic sea. There are three unknown graves on the Flat Holms.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>LACOCK NUNNERY.</h3> + +<h4>JUNE 24, 1837.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I stood upon the stone where <span class="smcap">Ela</span> lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The widowed founder of these ancient walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where fancy still on meek devotion calls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marking the ivied arch, and turret gray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her soul's rest—eternal rest—to pray;<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where visionary nuns yet seem to tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pale dim troop, the cloisters of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though twice three hundred years have flown away!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when, with silent step and pensive mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In weeds, as mourning for her sisters gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mistress of this lone monastic scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came; and I heard her voice's tender tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I said, Though centuries have rolled between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One gentle, beauteous nun is left, on earth, alone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> "Eternam Requiem dona."</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>ON A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For hours, unmindful of the storm and strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, all is still as fair; the stream, the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wood, the sunshine on the bank: no tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No thought of Time's swift wing, or closing night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That comes to steal away the long sweet light—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sighs of sad humanity are here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here is no tint of mortal change; the day,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath whose light the dog and peasant-boy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gambol, with look, and almost bark, of joy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still seems, though centuries have passed, to stay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then gaze again, that shadowed scenes may teach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lessons of peace and love, beyond all speech.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ART AND NATURE.</h3> + +<h4>THE BRIDGE BETWEEN CLIFTON AND LEIGH WOODS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Frown ever opposite, the angel cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, with an earthquake's might and giant hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Severed these riven rocks, and bade them stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Severed for ever! The vast ocean-tide,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leaving its roar without at his command,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shrank, and beneath the woods through the green land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went gently murmuring on, so to deride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frowning barriers that its force defied!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Art, high o'er the trailing smoke below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sea-bound steamer, on yon summit's head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sat musing; and where scarce a wandering crow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed o'er the chasm, in thought a highway led;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conquering, as by an arrow from a bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scene's lone Genius by her elfin-thread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Clifton</span>, <i>27th August 1836.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>PICTURE OF AN OLD MAN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old man, I saw thee in thy garden chair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sitting in silence 'mid the shrubs and trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thy small cottage-croft, whilst murmuring bees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went by, and almost touched thy temples bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edged with a few flakes of the whitest hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, soothed by the faint hum of ebbing seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And song of birds, and breath of the young breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus didst thou sit, feeling the summer air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow gently;—with a sad still decadence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sinking to earth in hope, but all alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! hast thou wept to feel the lonely sense<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of earthly loss, musing on voices gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hush the vain murmur, that, without offence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy head may rest in peace beneath the churchyard stone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr /> +<h3>PICTURE OF A YOUNG LADY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I was sitting, sad, and all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembering youth and love for ever fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many friends now resting with the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the still summer's light departing shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like many sweet and silent summers gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou camest, as a vision, with a mien<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smile like those I once on earth had seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with a voice of that remembered tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which I in other days, long since, had heard:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like Peace approaching, when distempers fret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most the tired spirit, thy fair form appeared;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And till I die, I never shall forget,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For at thy footstep light, the gloom was cheered,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy look and voice, oh! gentle Margaret.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>HOUR-GLASS AND BIBLE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every human heart: so mortals pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On to their dark and silent grave! Alas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For man! an exile upon earth he strays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weary, and wandering through benighted ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That withers at his feet!—Lift up thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That book declares whose blood for thee was shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who died to give thee life; and though thy years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by his guiding hand thy steps to heaven are led!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>MILTON.</h3> + +<h4>ON THE BUSTS OF MILTON, IN YOUTH AND AGE, AT STOURHEAD.</h4> + +<h4>IN YOUTH.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Milton, our noblest poet, in the grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of youth, in those fair eyes and clustering hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That brow untouched by one faint line of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mar its openness, we seem to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The front of the first lord of human race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid thine own Paradise portrayed so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere Sin or Sorrow scathed it: such the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That characters thy youth. Shall time efface<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These lineaments as crowding cares assail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is the lot of fall'n humanity.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What boots it! armed in adamantine mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unconquerable mind, and genius high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right onward hold their way through weal and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or whether life's brief lot be high or low!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>IN AGE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And art thou he, now "fall'n on evil days,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And changed indeed! Yet what do this sunk cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These thinner locks, and that calm forehead speak!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit reckless of man's blame or praise,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit, when thine eyes to the noon's blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their dark orbs roll in vain, in suffering meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As in the sight of God intent to seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid solitude or age, or through the ways<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of hard adversity, the approving look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of its great Master; whilst the conscious pride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of wisdom, patient and content to brook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All ills to that sole Master's task applied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall show before high heaven the unaltered mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Milton, though thou art poor, and old, and blind!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>TO SIR WALTER SCOTT.</h3> + +<h4>ON ACCIDENTLY MEETING AND PARTING WITH SIR WALTER SCOTT, WHOM I HAD NOT +SEEN FOR MANY YEARS, IN THE STREETS OF LONDON, MAY 1828.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since last I saw that countenance so mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slow-stealing age, and a faint line of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had gently touched, methought, some features there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet looked the man as placid as a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the same voice,—whilst mingled with the throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unknowing, and unknown, we passed along,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That voice, a share of the brief time beguiled!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That voice I ne'er may hear again, I sighed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At parting,—wheresoe'er our various way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In this great world,—but from the banks of Tweed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As slowly sink the shades of eventide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! I shall hear the music of his reed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off, and thinking of that voice, shall say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blessing rest upon thy locks of gray!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ELEGY WRITTEN AT THE HOTWELLS, BRISTOL,</h3> + +<h4>JULY, 1789.</h4> + +<h4>INSCRIBED TO THE REV. W. HOWLEY.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray, <span class="linenum">1</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And long and loud the bell's slow chime is tolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The reddening light gains fast upon the skies, <span class="linenum">2</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And far away the glistening vapours sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the rough steep the accustomed hedger hies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stream winds in brightness through the vale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mark how those riven rocks on either shore <span class="linenum">3</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uplift their bleak and furrowed fronts on high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How proudly desolate their foreheads hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That meet the earliest sunbeams of the sky!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bound for yon dusky mart,<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> with pennants gay, <span class="linenum">4</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tall bark, on the winding water's line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the riven cliffs slow plies her way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And peering on the sight the white sails shine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! for those by drooping sickness worn, <span class="linenum">5</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who now come forth to meet the cheering ray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feel the fragrance of the tepid morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round their torn breasts and throbbing temples play!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Perhaps they muse with a desponding sigh <span class="linenum">6</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the cold vault that shall their bones inurn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst every breeze seems, as it whispers by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To breathe of comfort never to return.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet oft, as sadly thronging dreams arise, <span class="linenum">7</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Awhile forgetful of their pain they gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A transient lustre lights their faded eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er their cheek the tender hectic plays.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The purple morn that paints with sidelong gleam <span class="linenum">8</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cliff's tall crest, the waving woods that ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With songs of birds rejoicing in the beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touch soft the wakeful nerve's according string.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then at sad Meditation's silent hour <span class="linenum">9</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thousand wishes steal upon the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, whilst they meekly bend to Heaven's high power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! think 'tis hard, 'tis surely hard to part:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To part from every hope that brought delight, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From those that loved them, those they loved so much!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Fancy swells the picture on the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And softens every scene at every touch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet as the mellowed woods beneath the moon, <span class="linenum">11</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembrance lends her soft-uniting shades;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Some natural tears she drops, but wipes them soon:"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world retires, and its dim prospect fades!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Airs of delight, that soothe the aching sense; <span class="linenum">12</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waters of health, that through yon caverns glide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! kindly yet your healing powers dispense,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bring back feeble life's exhausted tide!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Perhaps to these gray rocks and mazy springs <span class="linenum">13</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some heart may come, warmed with the purest fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom bright Fancy plumes her radiant wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And warbling Muses wake the lonely lyre.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some orphan Maid, deceived in early youth, <span class="linenum">14</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pale o'er yon spring may hang in mute distress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dream of faith, of happiness, and truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of love—that Virtue would protect and bless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some musing Youth in silence there may bend, <span class="linenum">15</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Untimely stricken by sharp Sorrow's dart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For friendship formed, yet left without a friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bearing still the arrow at his heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such was lamented <span class="smcap">Russell's</span><a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> early doom, <span class="linenum">16</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gay companion of our stripling prime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n so he sank unwept into the tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er his head closed the dark gulph of time.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hither he came, a wan and weary guest, <span class="linenum">17</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A softening balm for many a wound to crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wooed the sunshine to his aching breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which now seems smiling on his verdant grave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He heard the whispering winds that now I hear, <span class="linenum">18</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As, boding much, along these hills he passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet ah! how mournful did they meet his ear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On that sad morn he heard them for the last!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So sinks the scene, like a departed dream, <span class="linenum">19</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since late we sojourned blythe in Wykeham's bowers,<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or heard the merry bells by Isis' stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thought our way was strewed with fairy flowers!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of those with whom we played upon the lawn <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of early life, in the fresh morning played;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! how many, since that vernal dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like thee, poor <span class="smcap">Russell</span>, 'neath the turf are laid!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Joyous a while they wandered hand in hand, <span class="linenum">21</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">By friendship led along the springtide plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How oft did Fancy wake her transports bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on the lids the glistening tear detain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I yet survive, now musing other song, <span class="linenum">22</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than that which early pleased my vacant years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking how days and hours have passed along,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marked by much pleasure some, and some by tears!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thankful, that to these verdant scenes I owe <span class="linenum">23</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> whom late I saw all drooping pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised from the couch of sickness and of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now lives with me these mantling views to hail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thankful, that still the landscape beaming bright, <span class="linenum">24</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of pendant mountain, or of woodland gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can wake the wonted sense of pure delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And charm a while my solitary way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Enough:—through the high heaven the proud sun rides, <span class="linenum">25</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">My wandering steps their silent path pursue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the crowded world where fortune guides:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clifton, to thy white rocks and woods adieu!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Bristol.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> From a latin prize poem, by W. Jackson— +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Et lacerum Pectus zephyri mulcere tepentes."</span> +</div></div> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> The Rev. Thomas Russell, Fellow of New College, Oxford, +author of some beautiful sonnets, died at the Hotwells 1788, in the +twenty-sixth year of his age. His poems were first published by Mr +Howley, with whom we wooed the Muses together on the banks of Itchen. +Headley was a pupil of Dr Parr.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Winchester College.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> The Rev. Dr Howley, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>MONODY ON HENRY HEADLEY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To every gentle Muse in vain allied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In youth's full early morning <span class="smcap">Headley</span> died!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too long had sickness left her pining trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With slow, still touch, on each decaying grace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untimely sorrow marked his thoughtful mien!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despair upon his languid smile was seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet Resignation, musing on the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(When now no hope could cheer, no pity save),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Virtue, that scarce felt its fate severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale Affection, dropping soft a tear <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For friends beloved, from whom she soon must part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathed a sad solace on his aching heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ceased he yet to stray, where, winding wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Muse's path his drooping steps beguiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intent to rescue some neglected rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lone-blooming, from the mournful waste of time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cull each scattered sweet, that seemed to smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like flowers upon some long-forsaken pile.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far from the murmuring crowd, unseen, he sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each charm congenial to his saddened thought. <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the gray morn illumed the mountain's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear the sweet birds' earliest song he hied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When meekest eve to the fold's distant bell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listened, and bade the woods and vales farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Musing in tearful mood, he oft was seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last that lingered on the fading green.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The waving wood high o'er the cliff reclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murmuring waterfall, the winter's wind,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His temper's trembling texture seemed to suit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As airs of sadness the responsive lute. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet deem not hence the social spirit dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though from the world's hard gaze his feelings fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firm was his friendship, and his faith sincere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warm as Pity's his unheeded tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wept the ruthless deed, the poor man's fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By fortune's storms left cold and desolate.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Farewell! yet be this humble tribute paid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all his virtues, from that social shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where once we sojourned.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> I, alas! remain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mourn the hours of youth, yet mourn in vain, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fled neglected. Wisely thou hast trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The better path; and that High Meed, which <span class="smcap">God</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ordained for Virtue towering from the dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall bless thy labours, spirit pure and just!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Alluding to the <i>Beauties of Ancient Poetry</i>, published by +Mr Headley, a short time before his death. He was also the author of +some pleasing original poetry.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Trinity College, Oxford. Among my contemporaries were +several young men of literary taste and talent, Headley, Kett, Benwell, +Dallaway, Richards, and Dornford; Thomas Warton was one of the Senior +Fellows.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON MR HOWARD'S ACCOUNT OF LAZARETTOS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The path of good right onward hast pursued;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May <span class="smcap">He</span>, to whose eternal throne on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sufferers of the earth with anguish cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thy protector! On that dreary road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That leads thee patient to the last abode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wretchedness, in peril and in pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May <span class="smcap">He</span> thy steps direct, thy heart sustain!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid scenes, where pestilence in darkness flies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In caverns, where deserted misery lies; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So safe beneath His shadow thou may'st go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cheer the dismal wastes of human woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">O Charity</span>! our helpless nature's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou friend to him who knows no friend beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is there in morning's breath, or the sweet gale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That steals o'er the tired pilgrim of the vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheering with fragrance fresh his weary frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aught like the incense of thy sacred flame?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is aught in all the beauties that adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The azure heaven, or purple lights of morn; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is aught so fair in evening's lingering gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from thine eye the meek and pensive beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That falls like saddest moonlight on the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And distant grove, when the wide world is still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine are the ample views, that unconfined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch to the utmost walks of human kind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine is the spirit that with widest plan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother to brother binds, and man to man.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But who for thee, O Charity! will bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hardship, and cope with peril and with care! <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, for thy sake, will social sweets forego<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For scenes of sickness, and the sights of woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, for thy sake, will seek the prison's gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where ghastly Guilt implores her lingering doom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Penitence unpitied sits, and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That never told to human ears her tale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Agony, half-famished, cries in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where dark Despondence murmurs o'er her chain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where gaunt Disease is wasted to the bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hollow-eyed Despair forgets to groan! <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approving Mercy marks the vast design,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And proudly cries—<span class="smcap">Howard</span>, the task be thine!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Already 'mid the darksome vaults profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The inner prison deep beneath the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consoling hath thy tender look appeared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In horror's realm the voice of peace is heard!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be the sad scene disclosed; fearless unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grating door—the inmost cell behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought shrinks from the dread sight; the paly lamp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burns faint amid the infectious vapours damp; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath its light full many a livid mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And haggard eye-ball, through the dusk are seen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thought I see thee, at each hollow sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With humid lids oft anxious gaze around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! for him who, to yon vault confined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has bid a long farewell to human kind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wasted form, his cold and bloodless cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tale of sadder sorrow seem to speak:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of friends, perhaps now mingled with the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hope, that, like a faithless flatterer, fled <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the utmost hour of need; or of a son<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast to the bleak world's mercy; or of one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose heart was broken, when the stern behest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tore him from pale affection's bleeding breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despairing, from his cold and flinty bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fearful muttering he has raised his head:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What pitying spirit, what unwonted guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strays to this last retreat, these shades unblest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From life and light shut out, beneath this cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long have I bid the cheering sun farewell. <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard for ever closed the jealous door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I marked my bed on the forsaken floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had no hope on earth, no human friend:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me unpitied to the dust descend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold is his frozen heart—his eye is reared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Heaven no more—and on his sable beard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tear has ceased to fall. Thou canst not bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to his mournful heart the morn of spring;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou canst not bid the rose of health renew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his wasted cheek its crimson hue; <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But at thy look, (ere yet to hate resigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He murmurs his last curses on mankind),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At thy kind look one tender thought shall rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his full soul shall thank thee ere he dies!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh ye, who list to Pleasure's vacant song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in her silken train ye troop along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, like rank cowards, from affliction fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, whilst the precious hours of life pass by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie slumbering in the sun! Awake, arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To these instructive pictures turn your eyes; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The awful view with other feelings scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learn from <span class="smcap">Howard</span> what man owes to man!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These, Virtue! are thy triumphs, that adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fitliest our nature, and bespeak us born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For loftier action; not to gaze and run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From clime to clime; nor flutter in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragging a droning flight from flower to flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like summer insects in a gaudy hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet o'er love-sick tales with fancy range,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry—'Tis pitiful, 'tis wondrous strange! <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But on life's varied views to look around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raise expiring sorrow from the ground:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he who thus has borne his part assigned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sad fellowship of human kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or for a moment soothed the bitter pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a poor brother, has not lived in vain!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But 'tis not that Compassion should bestow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An unavailing tear on want or woe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! fairer Order rises from thy plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Befriending virtue, and adorning man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Comfort cheers the dark abode of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where wan Disease prayed for relief in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Mercy soothes the hard behest of law;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Misery smiles upon her bed of straw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the dark felon's clan no more, combined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murmur in murderous leagues against mankind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That to each cell, a mild yet mournful guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contrition comes, and calms the laboring breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst long-forgotten tears of virtue flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, generous friend of all—to thee we owe! <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thee, that Pity sees her views expand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To many a cheerless haunt, and distant land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst warm Philanthropy extends her ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide as the world, and general as the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Howard!</span> I view those deeds, and think how vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The triumphs of weak man, the feeble strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Flattery brings to Conquest's crimson car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the bannered host, and the proud tents of war!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From realm to realm the hideous War-fiend hies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide o'er the wasted earth; before him flies <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affright, on pinions fleeter than the wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Death and Desolation fast behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The havoc of his echoing march pursue:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime his steps are bathed in the warm dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bloodshed, and of tears;—but his dread name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall perish—the loud clarion of his fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day shall cease, and, wrapt in hideous gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgetfulness bestride his shapeless tomb!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But bear thou fearless on;—the God of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom the afflicted kneel, the friendless call, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From His high throne of mercy shall approve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The holy deeds of Mercy and of Love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For when the vanities of life's brief day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oblivion's hurrying wing shall sweep away,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each act by Charity and Mercy done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the wrecks of time, shall live alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal as the heavens, and beauteous bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To other worlds, and realms beyond the tomb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE GRAVE OF HOWARD.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Spirit of Death! whose outstretched pennons dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wave o'er the world beneath their shadow spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who darkly speedest on thy destined way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midst shrieks and cries, and sounds of dire dismay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirit! behold thy victory! Assume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form more terrible, an ampler plume;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he, who wandered o'er the world alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listening to Misery's universal moan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who, sustained by Virtue's arm sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tended the sick and poor from clime to clime, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low in the dust is laid, thy noblest spoil!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mercy ceases from her awful toil!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas where the pestilence at thy command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose to desolate the sickening land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When many a mingled cry and dying prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resounded to the listening midnight air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When deep dismay heard not the frequent knell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wan carcase festered as it fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas there, with holy Virtue's awful mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the sad sights of that fearful scene, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm he was found: the dews of death he dried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spoke of comfort to the poor that cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watched the fading eye, the flagging breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet the languid sense was lost in death;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with that look protecting angels wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung o'er the dismal couch of pale Despair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friend of mankind! thy righteous task is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart that throbbed with pity beats no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around the limits of this rolling sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er the just and good thy tale shall hear, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tear shall fall: alone, amidst the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the still dungeon, his long sorrow's tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The captive, mourning, o'er his chain shall bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think the cold earth holds his only friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who with labour draws his wasting breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the forsaken silent bed of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering thy last look and anxious eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall gaze around, unvisited, and die.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friend of mankind, farewell! These tears we shed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So nature dictates—o'er thy earthly bed; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet we forget not, it was His high will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who saw thee Virtue's arduous task fulfil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy spirit from its toil at last should rest:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So wills thy <span class="smcap">God</span>, and what He wills is best!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou hast encountered dark Disease's train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast conversed with Poverty and Pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast beheld the dreariest forms of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That through this mournful vale unfriended go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, pale with sympathy, hast paused to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The saddest plaints e'er told to human ear. <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go then, the task fulfilled, the trial o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sickness, want, and pain are known no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How awful did thy lonely track appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enlightening Misery's benighted sphere!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when an angel all-serene goes forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To still the raging tempest of the north,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The embattled clouds that hid the struggling day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow from his face retire in dark array;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the black waves, like promontories hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light, as of the orient morn, is flung, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till blue and level heaves the silent brine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the new-lighted rocks at distance shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n so didst thou go forth with cheering eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before thy glance the shades of misery fly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So didst thou hush the tempest, stilling wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of human woe the loud-lamenting tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor shall the spirit of those deeds expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fades the feeble spark of vital fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But beam abroad, and cheer with lustre mild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humanity's remotest prospects wild, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till this frail orb shall from its sphere be hurled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till final ruin hush the murmuring world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all its sorrows, at the awful blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the archangel's trump, be but as shadows past!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Relentless Time, that steals with silent tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall tear away the trophies of the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fame, on the pyramid's aspiring top,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sighs shall her recording trumpet drop;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feeble characters of Glory's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall perish, like the tracks upon the sand; <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not with these expire the sacred flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Virtue, or the good man's honoured name.<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Howard!</span> it matters not, that far away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Albion's peaceful shore thy bones decay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him it might please, by whose sustaining hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy steps were led through many a distant land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy long and last abode should there be found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where many a savage nation prowls around:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Virtue from the hallowed spot might rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, pointing to the finished sacrifice, <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Teach to the roving Tartar's savage clan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lessons of love, and higher aims of man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hoary chieftain, who thy tale shall hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale on thy grave shall drop his faltering spear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cold, unpitying Cossack thirst no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bathe his burning falchion deep in gore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relentless to the cry of carnage speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or urge o'er gasping heaps his panting steed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor vain the thought that fairer hence may rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New views of life, and wider charities. <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the bleak Riphean mountains hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the cold Don, and Wolga's wandering shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a shady forest's lengthening tract,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a dark-descending cataract,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Succeeding tribes shall come, and o'er the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sleeps the general friend of human race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instruct their children what a debt they owe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak of the man who trode the paths of woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then bid them to their native woods depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With new-born virtue stirring in their heart. <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When o'er the sounding Euxine's stormy tides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hostile pomp the Turk's proud navy rides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bent on the frontiers of the Imperial Czar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pour the tempest of vindictive war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If onward to those shores they haply steer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, <span class="smcap">Howard</span>, thy cold dust reposes near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst o'er the wave the silken pennants stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seen far off the golden crescents gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the pomp of war, the swelling breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall feel a still unwonted awe impressed, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the relenting Pagan turn aside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think—on yonder shore the <i>Christian</i> died!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thou, O Briton! doomed perhaps to roam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An exile many a year and far from home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever fortune thy lone footsteps leads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the wild Nieper's banks, and whispering reeds,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er <span class="smcap">Howard</span>'s grave thou shalt impassioned bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if to hold sad converse with a friend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er thy fate upon this various scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er thy weary pilgrimage hath been, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There shalt thou pause; and shutting from thy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some vain regrets that oft unbidden start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think upon him to every lot resigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wept, who toiled, and perished for mankind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For me, who musing, <span class="smcap">Howard</span>, on thy fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These pensive strains at evening meditate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thank thee for the lessons thou hast taught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mend my heart, or animate my thought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thank thee, <span class="smcap">Howard</span>, for that awful view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life which thou hast drawn, most sad, most true. <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art no more! and the frail fading bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this poor offering dies upon thy tomb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the transient sound of earthly praise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy virtues live, perhaps, in seraph's lays!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, borne in thought, to the wild Nieper's wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sigh to the reeds that whisper o'er thy grave.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> The town of Cherson, on the Black Sea, where Howard the +philanthropist died, is entirely supplied with fuel by reeds, of which +there is an inexhaustible forest in the shallows of the +Nieper.—<i>Craven's Travels.</i></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SHAKSPEARE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sovereign Master! who with lonely state <span class="linenum">1</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost rule as in some isle's enchanted land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On whom soft airs and shadowy spirits wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst scenes of "faerie" bloom at thy command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thy wild shores forgetful could I lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And list, till earth dissolved to thy sweet minstrelsy!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Called by thy magic from the hoary deep, <span class="linenum">2</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aërial forms should in bright troops ascend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then a wondrous masque before me sweep;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst sounds, <i>that the earth owned not</i>, seem to blend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their stealing melodies, that when the strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceased, <i>I should weep, and would so dream again</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The song hath ceased. Ah! who, pale shade, art thou, <span class="linenum">3</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad raving to the rude tempestuous night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure thou hast had much wrong, so stern thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So piteous thou dost tear thy tresses white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So wildly thou dost cry, <i>Blow, bitter wind</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ye elements, I call not you unkind</i>!<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath the shade of nodding branches gray, <span class="linenum">4</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid rude romantic woods, and glens forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merry hunters wear the hours away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rings the deep forest to the joyous horn!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyous to all, but him,<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> who with sad look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs idly musing by the brawling brook.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But mark the merry elves of fairy land!<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> <span class="linenum">5</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the high moon's gleamy glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They with shadowy morrice dance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft music dies along the desert sand;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon at peep of cold-eyed day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon the numerous lights decay;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Merrily, now merrily,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">After the dewy moon they fly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The charm is wrought: I see an aged form, <span class="linenum">6</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In white robes, on the winding sea-shore stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the careering surge he waves his wand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! on the bleak rock bursts the swelling storm:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now from bright opening clouds I hear a lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Come to these yellow sands, fair stranger,<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> come away!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Saw ye pass by the weird sisters pale!<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> <span class="linenum">7</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marked ye the lowering castle on the heath!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark, hark, is the deed done—the deed of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deed is done:—Hail, king of Scotland, hail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see no more;—to many a fearful sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bloody cauldron sinks, and all is dark around.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pity! touch the trembling strings, <span class="linenum">8</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A maid, a beauteous maniac, wildly sings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They laid him in the ground so cold,<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon his breast the earth is thrown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High is heaped the grassy mould,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Oh! he is dead and gone.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds of the winter blow o'er his cold breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But pleasant shall be his rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sovereign Master! at whose sole command <span class="linenum">9</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">We start with terror, or with pity weep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! where is now thy all-creating wand;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Buried ten thousand thousand fathoms deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The staff is broke, the powerful spell is fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never earthly guest shall in thy circle tread.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Lear.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Jaques: <i>As You Like It</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> <i>Midsummer Night's Dream</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Ferdinand: see <i>The Tempest</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> See <i>Macbeth</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Ophelia: <i>Hamlet</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ABBA THULE'S LAMENT FOR HIS SON PRINCE LE BOO.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The isles again; but my long-straining eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No speck, no shadow can, far off, descry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I might weep tears of delight, and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is the bark that bore my child away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sun, that returnest bright, beneath whose eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worlds unknown, and out-stretched waters lie, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost thou behold him now! On some rude shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around whose crags the cheerless billows roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watching the unwearied surges doth he stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think upon his father's distant land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or has his heart forgot, so far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These native woods, these rocks, and torrents gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall bananas whispering to the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shores, the sound of these encircling seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard from his infant days, and the piled heap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of holy stones, where his forefathers sleep! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah, me! till sunk by sorrow, I shall dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With them forgetful in the narrow cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never shall time from my fond heart efface<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His image; oft his shadow I shall trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the glimmering waters, when on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white moon wanders through the cloudless sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft in my silent cave, when to its fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the night's rushing tempest we retire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall behold his form, his aspect bland;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall retrace his footsteps on the sand;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when the hollow-sounding surges swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still think I listen to his echoing shell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would I had perished ere that hapless day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the tall vessel, in its trim array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First rushed upon the sounding surge, and bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My age's comfort from this sheltering shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw it spread its white wings to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too soon it left these hills and woods behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing, its course I followed till mine eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer could its distant track descry; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till on the confines of the billows hoar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A while it hung, and then was seen no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only the blue hollow cope I spied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the long waste of waters tossing wide.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More mournful then each falling surge I heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then dropt the stagnant tear upon my beard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methought the wild waves said, amidst their roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight, Thou shalt see thy son no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now thrice twelve moons through the mid heavens have rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a dawn, and slow night, have I told: <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still as every weary day goes by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A knot recording on my line I tie;<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never more, emerging from the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the stranger's bark approach again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has the fell storm o'erwhelmed him! Has its sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buried the bounding vessel in the deep!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his father did he call in vain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have pitiless and bloody tribes defiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child! <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But faint and weary I shall meet the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fisher carols in the winding cove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And light canoes along the lucid tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide. <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I linger on the desert rock alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heartless, and cry for thee, my son, my son.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> I find on referring to the narrative of Captain Wilson's +voyage to the Pelew Islands, that the knots were tied at the time of +Prince Le Boo's departure, and that one was untied every moon by the +disconsolate father. +</p><p> +The evening before the "Oroolong" sailed, the King asked Captain Wilson +how long it might be before his return to Pelew; and being told that it +would probably be about thirty moons, or might chance to extend to six +more, Abba Thule drew from his basket a piece of line, and after making +thirty knots on it, a little distance from each other, left a long +space, and then adding six others, carefully put it by.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SOUTHAMPTON WATER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er us whispering passed, or idly played<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the lithe flag aloft. A woodland scene<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On either side drew its slope line of green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hung the water's shining edge with shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the woods, Netley! thy ruins pale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Peered as we passed; and Vecta's<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> azure hue <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the misty castle<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> met our view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where in mid channel hung the scarce seen sail.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So all was calm and sunshine as we went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cheerily o'er the briny element.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! were this little boat to us the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thus we wandered far from sounds of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Circled by friends and gentle maidens fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst morning airs the waving pennant curled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet were life's long voyage, till in peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We gained that haven still, where all things cease!<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Isle of Wight.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Kelshot Castle.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETY.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></h3> + +<h4>INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retires in silence to her cell to die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shall approach to bid the conflict cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to her parting spirit whisper peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who thee, poor infant, that with aspect bland<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost stretch forth innocent thy helpless hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall pitying then protect, when thou art thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the world's waste, unfriended and alone! <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">O hapless Infancy! if aught could move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hardest heart to pity and to love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere surely found in thee: dim passions mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern manhood's brow, where age impresses dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stealing line of sorrow; but thine eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wears not distrust, or grief, or perfidy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though fortune's storms with dismal shadow lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy heart nor fears, nor feels the bitter shower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy tear is soon forgotten; thou wilt weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the murmuring winds will hush thy sleep, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As 'twere with some sad music;—and thy smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unlike to those that cover cruel wiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plead best thy speechless innocence, and lend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A charm might win the world to be thy friend.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thou art oft abandoned in thy smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And early vice thy easy heart beguiles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh for some voice, that of the secret maze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the grim passions lurk, the winding ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lead to sin, and ruth, and deep lament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might haply warn thee, whilst yet innocent <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beauteous as the spring-time o'er the hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advancing, when each vale glad music fills!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Else lost and wandering, the benighted mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No spot of rest again shall ever find;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the sweet smiles, that erst enchanting laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their magic beauty on thy look, shall fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the bird's warbled song no more shall cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With morning music thy delighted ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell thoughts and muttering passions shall awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fair rose the sullied cheek forsake! <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when still Autumn's gradual gloom is laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far o'er the fading forest's saddened shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mournful gleam illumines the cold hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet palely wandering o'er the distant rill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the hollow gust, slow rising, raves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high the pine on yon lone summit waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each milder charm, like pictures of a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath perished, mute the birds, and dark the stream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scuds the dreer sleet upon the whirlwind borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scowls the landscape clouded and forlorn!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So fades, so perishes frail Virtue's hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her last and lingering smile seems but to rue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like autumn, every summer beauty reft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all is dark and to the winter left.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet spring, with living touch, shall paint again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green-leaved forest, and the purple plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mingling melody the woods shall ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whispering breeze its long-lost incense fling:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, Innocence! when once thy tender flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sickly taint has touched, where is the power <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shall bring back its fragrance, or restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tints of loveliness, that shine no more?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How then for thee, who pinest in life's gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abandoned child! can hope or virtue bloom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee, exposed amid the desert drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which no glad gales or vernal sunbeams cheer!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though some there are, who lift their head sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heed the transient storms of fate or time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too oft, alas! beneath unfriendly skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender blossom shrinks its leaves, and dies! <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go, struggle with thy fate, pursue thy way;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though thou art poor, the world around is gay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast no bread; but on thy aching sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud luxury's pavilions glitter bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy cold ear the song of gladness swells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst vacant folly chimes her tinkling bells:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The careless crowd prolong their hollow glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor one relenting bosom thinks of thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will not the indignant spirit then rebel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dark tide of passions fearful swell! <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will not despight, perhaps, or bitter need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Urge then thy temper to some direful deed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale Guilt shall call thee to her ghastly band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Murder welcome thee with reeking hand!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O wretched state, where our best feelings lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep sunk in sullen, hopeless apathy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wakeful cares, or gloomy terrors start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And night and tempest mingle in the heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All mournful to the pensive sage's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monuments of human glory lie; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall'n palaces, crushed by the ruthless haste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of time, and many an empire's silent waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, 'midst the vale of long-departed years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The form of desolation dim appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pointing to the wild plain with ruin spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wrecks of age, and records of the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But where a sight shall shuddering sorrow find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad as the ruins of the human mind;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Man, by his <span class="smcap">Great Maker</span> raised sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the universe, ordained to climb <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arduous height where Virtue sits serene;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Man, the high lord of this nether scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fall'n, so lost!—his noblest boast destroyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sweet affections left a piteous void!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But oh, sweet Charity! what sounds were those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That met the listening ear, soft as the close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of distant music, when the hum of day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is hushed, and dying gales the airs convey!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, hapless orphans, meek Compassion cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er, unsheltered outcasts! ye abide <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bitter driving wind, the freezing sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The oppressor's scourge, the proud man's contumely</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, hapless orphans! ye who never saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tear of kindness shed on your cold straw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never met with joy the morning light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lisped your little prayer of peace at night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, hapless orphans! nor, when youth should spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soaring aloft, as on an eagle's wing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall ye forsaken on the ground be left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hope, of virtue, and of peace bereft! <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the springtide gale, and joyous day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the deep caverns of Despair ye lay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, iron-hearted mother, never pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your wasted forms with transport to her breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When none o'er all the world your 'plaint would hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She never kissed away the falling tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or fondly smiled, forgetful, to behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some infant grace its early charm unfold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She ne'er with mingling hopes and rising fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighed for the fortune of your future years: <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or saw you hand in hand rejoicing stray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the morning sun, on youth's delightful way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But happier scenes invite, and fairer skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From your dark bed, children of woe, arise!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In caves where peace ne'er smiled, where joy ne'er came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Friendship's eye ne'er glistened at the name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one she loved, where famine and despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat silent 'mid the damp and lurid air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soothing voice is heard; a beam of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is cast upon their features, sunk and white; <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With trembling joy they catch the stealing sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their famished little ones come smiling round.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet Infancy! whom all the world forsook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast put on again thy cherub look:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guilt, shrinking at the sight, in deep dismay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flies cowering, and resigns his wonted prey.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But who is she, in garb of misery clad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet of less vulgar mien? A look so sad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mourning maniac wears, so wild, yet meek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beam of joy now wanders o'er her cheek, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pale eye visiting; it leaves it soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fade the dewy glances of the moon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon some wandering cloud, while slow the ray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retires, and leaves more dark the heaven's wide way.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lost mother, early doomed to guilt and shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose friends of youth now sigh not o'er thy name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavy has sorrow fall'n upon thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet think—one hope remains when thou art dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy houseless child, thy only little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall not look round, defenceless and alone, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one to guide her youth;—nor with dismay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each stranger's cold unfeeling look survey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She shall not now be left a prey to shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst slow disease preys on her faded frame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, when the bloom of innocence is fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus fainting bow her unprotected head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, she shall live, and Piety and Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loveliest ornaments, shall grace her youth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And should her eye with softest lustre shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And should she wear such smiles as once were thine, <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smiles of peace and virtue they shall prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessing the calm abode of faithful love.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For ye<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> who thus, by pure compassion taught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have wept o'er human sorrows;—who have sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Want's dismal cell, and pale as from the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To life and light the speechless orphan led;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trust that the deed, in Mercy's book enrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approving spirits of the just behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meanwhile, new virtues here, as on the wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of morn, from Sorrow's dreary shades shall spring; <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young Modesty, with fair untainted bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Industry, that sings beside her loom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ruddy Labour, issuing from his hatch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the slant sunbeam strikes the lowly thatch;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet Contentment, smiling on a rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a fair shepherdess beside her flock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tender Love, that hastes with myrtle-braid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bind the tresses of the favoured maid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Piety, with unclasped holy book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting to heaven her mildly-beaming look: <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">These village virtues on the plain shall throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Albion's hills resound a cheerful song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Charity, with dewy eyelids bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leading a lisping infant in her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall bend at pure Religion's holy shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, These children, <span class="smcap">God of Love</span>, are thine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> The Philanthropic Society was instituted in September +1788, for the prevention of crimes, by seeking out and training up to +virtue and industry the children of the most abject and criminal among +the vagrant and profligate poor; by these means more effectually to +alleviate human misery, and to oppose the progress of vice.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> The promoters of the charity.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE DYING SLAVE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Faint-gazing on the burning orb of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Afric's injured son expiring lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His forehead cold, his labouring bosom bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His dewy temples, and his sable hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His poor companions kissed, and cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoicing, whilst his head in peace he bowed:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now thy long, long task is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swiftly, brother, wilt thou run,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere to-morrow's golden beam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glitter on thy parent stream, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swiftly the delights to share,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The feast of joy that waits thee there.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swiftly, brother, wilt thou ride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the long and stormy tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fleeter than the hurricane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till thou see'st those scenes again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where thy father's hut was reared,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where thy mother's voice was heard;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where thy infant brothers played<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the fragrant citron shade; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where through green savannahs wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cooling rivers silent glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the shrill cicalas sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ceaseless to their murmuring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the dance, the festive song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of many a friend divided long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doomed through stranger lands to roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall bid thy spirit welcome home!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fearless o'er the foaming tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again thy light canoe shall ride; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fearless on the embattled plain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou shalt lift thy lance again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, starting at the call of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wake the wild woods with thy horn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, rushing down the mountain-slope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'ertake the nimble antelope;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or lead the dance, 'mid blissful bands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On cool Andracte's yellow sands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, in the embowering orange-grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell to thy long-forsaken love <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wounds, the agony severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy patient spirit suffered here!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fear not now the tyrant's power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Past is his insulting hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mark no more the sullen trait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On slavery's brow of scorn and hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hear no more the long sigh borne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Murmuring on the gales of morn!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Go in peace; yet we remain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far distant toiling on in pain; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere the great Sun fire the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To our work of woe we rise;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And see each night, without a friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's great comforter descend!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tell our brethren, where ye meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus we toil with weary feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet tell them that Love's generous flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In joy, in wretchedness the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In distant worlds was ne'er forgot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tell them that we murmur not; <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell them, though the pang will start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drain the life-blood from the heart,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell them, generous shame forbids<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tear to stain our burning lids!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell them, in weariness and want,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For our native hills we pant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where soon, from shame and sorrow free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We hope in death to follow thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SONG OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heights of yonder hills sublime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there strange shapes and spirits dwell,<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That oft the murmuring thunders swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of power from the impending steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hurl thee headlong to the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But secure with us abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the winding river's side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our gladsome toil, our pleasures share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think not of a world of care. <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lonely cayman,<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> where he feeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the green high-bending reeds,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall yield thee pastime; thy keen dart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through his bright scales shall pierce his heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Home returning from our toils,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt bear the tiger's spoils;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we will sing our loudest strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the forest-tyrant slain!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sometimes thou shalt pause to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauteous cardinal sing clear; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where hoary oaks, by time decayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nod in the deep wood's pathless glade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sun, with bursting ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quivers on the branches gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the river's craggy banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erhung with stately cypress-ranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the bush-bee<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> hums his song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy trim canoe shall glance along.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-night at least, in this retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stranger! rest thy wandering feet; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow, with unerring bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the deep thickets fearless we will go.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> The Indians believe some of their high mountains to be +inhabited by supernatural beings.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> The alligator.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> The bush-bee lives on shrubs and low trees.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>MONODY, WRITTEN AT MATLOCK.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which yon forsaken crag all dark o'erlooks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more I court the long neglected Muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As erst when by the mossy brink and falls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of solitary Wainsbeck, or the side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Clysdale's cliffs, where first her voice she tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I strayed a pensive boy. Since then, the thralls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wait life's upland road have chilled her breast,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And much, as much they might, her wing depressed. <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wan Indolence, resigned, her deadening hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laid on her heart, and Fancy her cold wand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropped at the frown of fortune; yet once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I call her, and once more her converse sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid the still limits of this wild retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I woo;—if yet delightful as of yore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart she may revisit, nor deny<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soothing aid of some sweet melody!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hail the rugged scene that bursts around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mark the wreathed roots, the saplings gray, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bend o'er the dark Derwent's wandering way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mark its stream with peace-persuading sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That steals beneath the fading foliage pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, at the foot of frowning crags upreared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Complains like one forsaken and unheard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me, it seems to tell the pensive tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of spring-time, and the summer days all flown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while sad autumn's voice ev'n now I hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the umbrage of the high-wood moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At intervals, whose shivering leaves fall sere; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst o'er the group of pendant groves I view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slowly-spreading tints of pining hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think of poor Humanity's brief day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How fast its blossoms fade, its summers speed away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When first young Hope, a golden-tressed boy,<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most musical his early madrigal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings to the whispering waters as they fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathing fresh airs of fragrance and of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild woods gently wave, the morning sheds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her rising radiance on the mountain heads, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strewed with green isles appears old ocean's reign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seen at distance rays of resting light<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silver the farthest promontory's height:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then hushed is the long murmur of the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst silent o'er the slowly-crisping tides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound to some beaming spot, the bark of pleasure glides.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! the scenes that smile in light arrayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But catch the sense, and then in darkness fade.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We, poor adventurers, of peace bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look back on the green hills that late we left, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or turn, with beating breast and anxious eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To some faint hope that glimmering meets our sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Like the lone watch-tower in the storm of night),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then on the dismal waste are driv'n despairing by!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meantime, amid the landscape cold and mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope, sweet enchanter, sighing drops his lute:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sad decay and mortal change succeeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the silent scene Time, like a giant, speeds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet the bleak cliffs that lift their heads so high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Around whose beetling crags, with ceaseless coil, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still-returning flight, the ravens toil)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heed not the changeful seasons as they fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor spring, nor autumn: they their hoary brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uprear, and ages past, as in this now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same deep trenches unsubdued have worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same majestic frown, and looks of lofty scorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So Fortitude, a mailed warrior old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appears; he lifts his scar-intrenched crest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tempest gathers round his dauntless breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hears far off the storm of havoc rolled; <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feeble fall around: their sound is past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sun is set, their place no more is known;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the wan leaves before the winter's blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They perish:—He, unshaken and alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remains, his brow a sterner shade assumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By age ennobled, whilst the hurricane,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That raves resistless o'er the ravaged plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shakes unfelt his helmet's quivering plume.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so yon sovereign of the scene<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> I mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the woods rear his majestic head, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That soon all shattered at his feet shall shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their short-lived beauties: he the winter dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regardless, and the wasteful time that flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoicing in his lonely might, defies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thee, wandering in the deep and craggy dell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sequestered stream, with other thoughts I view:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou dost in solitude thy course pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thou hadst bid life's busy scenes farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet making still such music as might cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weary passenger that journeys near. <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such are the songs of Peace in Virtue's shade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheard of Folly, or the vacant train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pipe and dance upon the noontide plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till in the dust together they are laid!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not unheard of Him, who sits sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the clouds of this tempestuous clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its stir and strife; to whom more grateful rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humble incense, and the still small voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those that on their pensive way rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than shouts of thousands echoing to the skies; <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than songs of conquest pealing round the car<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hard Ambition, or the Fiend of War,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sated with slaughter. Nor may I, sweet stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy wild banks and still retreats depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where now I meditate my casual theme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without some mild improvement on my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poured sad, yet pleasing! so may I forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crosses and the cares that sometimes fret<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's smoothest channel, and each wish prevent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mars the silent current of content! <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In such a spot, amidst these rugged views,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pensive poet in his drooping age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might wish to place his reed-roofed hermitage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where much on life's vain shadows he might muse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If fortune smiled not on his early way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he were doomed to mourn a faithless friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here he might rest, and when his hairs were gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold in peace the parting day descend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If a hard world his errors scanned severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When late the earth received his mouldering clay, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps some loved companion, wandering near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucking the gray moss from the stone, might say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him I remember, in our careless days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vacant and glad, till many a loss severe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First hung his placid eyelids with a tear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet on such visions ardent would he gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the Muse loved, that oft would smile and die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the faint bow that leaves the weeping sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart unguarded, yet it proudly beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against hard wrong, or coward cold deceit;— <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor passed he e'er without a sigh the cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where wretchedness and her pale children dwell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never wished to win the world's cold ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, prized by those he loved, its blame could fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its praise he left to those who, at their will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ingenious strain of torturing art could trill!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Content, as random fancies might inspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If his weak reed, at times, or plaintive lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He touched with desultory hand, and drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some softened tones, to Nature not untrue. <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The leaves, O Derwent! on thy bosom still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft with the gust now fall—the season pale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath smote with hand unseen the silent vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly steals the verdure from the hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the fair scene departs, yet wears a while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lingering traces of its beauteous smile:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we who by thy margin stray, or climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cliff's aërial height, or join the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hope and gladness amidst yonder throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Losing the brief and fleeting hours of time, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reck not how age, even thus, with icy hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs o'er us;—how, as with a wizard's wand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Youth blooming like the spring, and roseate mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To slow and sere consumption he shall change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with invisible mutation strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Withered and wasted send them to the earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst hushed, and by the mace of ruin rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks the forsaken hall of merriment!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright bursts the sun upon the shaggy scene!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The aged rocks their glittering summits gray <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang beautiful amid the beams of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the woods, with slowly-fading green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet smiling wave:—severer thoughts, away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night is distant, and the lovely day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks on us yet;—the sound of mirthful cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From yonder dome comes pleasant to mine ear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rock to rock reverberated swells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark,—the glad music of the village bells!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the crag's naked point the heifer lows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wide below the brightening landscape glows! <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though brief the time and short our course to run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Derwent! amid the scenes that deck thy side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet the parting paths of life divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let us rejoice, seeking what may be won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the laborious day, or fortune's frown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here may we, ere the sun of life goes down,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A while regardless of the morrow, dwell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then to our destined roads, and speed us well!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> I have ventured in this place to make Hope a boy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> Matlock High Tor.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDMUND BURKE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Science has stored, and Piety refined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fading Chivalry displays no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pomp and stately tournaments of yore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! when Philosophy and Truth advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scared at their frown, she drops her glittering lance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round her reft castles the pale ivy crawls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sunk and silent are her bannered halls!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when far off the golden evening sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly sink the fancy-painted vales, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rich pavilions spread in long array;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So rolls the enchanter's radiant realm away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So on the sight the parting glories fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gorgeous vision sets in endless shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shall the musing mind for this lament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mourn the wizard's Gothic fabric rent!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall he, with Fancy's poor and pensive child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaze on his shadowy vales, and prospects wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lingering love, and sighing bid farewell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the dim pictures of his parting spell! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">No, <span class="smcap">Burke</span>! thy heart, by juster feelings led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mourns for the spirit of high Honour fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mourns that Philosophy, abstract and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Withering should smite life's fancy-flowered mould;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a smiling sympathy depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That graced the sternness of the manly heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor shall the wise and virtuous scan severe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These fair illusions, ev'n to nature dear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though now no more proud Chivalry recalls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tourneys bright, and pealing festivals; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though now on high her idle spear is hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Time her mouldering harp has half unstrung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her milder influence shall she still impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To decorate, but not disguise, the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To nurse the tender sympathies that play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the short sunshine of life's early way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For female worth and meekness to inspire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Homage and love, and temper rude desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor seldom with sweet dreams sad thoughts to cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half beguile affliction of her tear! <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lo! this her boast; and still, O <span class="smcap">Burke</span>! be thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her glowing hues that warm, yet tempered shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst whispers bland, and fairest dreams, attend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy evening path, till the last shade descend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may she soothe, with loftier wisdom's aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy musing leisure in the silent shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid poor Fancy, her cold pinions wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's cloudy skies and beating showers forget.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But can her fairest form, her sweetest song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothe thee, assailed by calumny and wrong! <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now thy foes with louder accents cry:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Champion of unrelenting tyranny,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Freedom hast thou aimed the deadly blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And striven with impious arm to lay her altars low!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No, <span class="smcap">Burke</span>! indignant at the voice we start:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We trust thy liberal views, thy generous heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We think of those who, naked, pale, and poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relieved and blessed, have wandered from thy door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see thee with unwearied step explore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each track of bloodshed on the farthest shore <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of injured Asia, and thy swelling breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harrowing the oppressor, mourning for the oppressed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">No, <span class="smcap">Burke</span>! where'er Injustice rears her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er with blood her idol grim is fed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er fell Cruelty, at her command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With crimson banner marches through the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And striding, like a giant, onward hies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst man, a trodden worm, looks up, and dies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er pale Murder in her train appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reeking axe, and garments wet with tears; <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, lowering Jealousy, unmoved as Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bars fast the prison-cage's iron gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the buried sorrows and the cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him who there, lost and forgotten, lies;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When ministers like these, in fearful state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a bloody tyrant's bidding wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou too shalt own (and Justice lift her rod)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cause of Freedom is the cause of <span class="smcap">God</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair spirit, who dost rise in beauteous pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where proud Oppression hath thine arm defied! <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When led by Virtue thou dost firm advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bathe in Guilt's warm blood thy burning lance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all thy form its awful port assumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the tempest shake thy crimson plumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mark thy lofty mien, thy steady eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fall thy foes! with tears of joy I cry.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ne'er may Anarchy, with eyes a-flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mien distract, assume thy awful name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pale torch sheds afar its hideous glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shows the blood-drops in her dabbled hair; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fiends of discord hear her hollow voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits of the deathful storm rejoice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when the rising blast with muttering sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds 'mid the branches of the forest deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sad horizon lowers, the parting sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is hid, strange murmurs through the high wood run,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The falcon wheels away his mournful flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leaves the glens to solitude and night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till soon the hurricane, in dismal shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes fearful forth, and sounds her conch aloud; <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The oak majestic bows his hoary head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ruin round his ancient reign is spread:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the dark fiend, rejoicing in her might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pours desolation and the storm of night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before her dread career the good and just<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly far, or sink expiring in the dust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide wastes and mighty wrecks around her lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the earth trembles at her impious cry!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether her temple, wet with human gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She thus may raise on Gallia's ravaged shore, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Belongs to <span class="smcap">Him</span> alone, and His high will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who bids the tempests of the world be still.<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With joy we turn to Albion's happier plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where ancient Freedom holds her temperate reign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Justice sits majestic on her throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Mercy turns her ear to every groan.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Albion! fairest isle, whose verdant plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Springs beauteous from the blue and billowy main;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peaceful pomp whose glittering cities rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lift their crowded temples to the skies; <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose navy on the broad brine awful rolls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose commerce glows beneath the distant poles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose streams reflect full many an Attic pile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose velvet lawns in long luxuriance smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid whose winding coombs contentment dwells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose vales rejoice to hear the Sabbath bells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose humblest shed, that steady laws protect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The villager with woodbine bowers hath decked!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet native land, whose every haunt is dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose every gale is music to mine ear; <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst whose hills one poor retreat I sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where I might sometimes hide a saddening thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And having wandered far, and marked mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their vain mask, might rest and safety find:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! still may Freedom, with majestic mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacing thy rocks and the green vales, be seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around thy cliffs, that glitter o'er the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May smiling Order wind her silver chain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst from thy calm abodes, and azure skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off the fiend of Discord murmuring flies! <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him who firm thy injured cause has fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This humble offering, lo! the Muse has brought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heed thou, <span class="smcap">Burke</span>, if, with averted eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scowling, cold Envy may thy worth decry!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is the lot of man:—the best oft mourn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sad they journey through this cloudy bourne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If conscious Genius stamp their chosen breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the forehead show her seal impressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps they mourn, in bleak Misfortune's shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their age and cares with penury repaid; <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their errors deeply scanned, their worth forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or marked by hard injustice with a blot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If high they soar, and keep their distant way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spread their ample pinions to the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Malignant Faction hears with hate their name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all her tongues are busy with their fame.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But 'tis enough to hold, as best we may,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our destined track, till sets the closing day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether with living lustre we adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our high sphere, like the radiance of the morn; <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or whether silent in the shade we move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheered by the lonely star of pensive love;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or whether wild opposing storms we stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Panting for Virtue's distant diadem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the unshaken mind, the conscience pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bids us firmly act, meekly endure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis this may shield us when the storm beats hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Content, though poor, had we no other guard!<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> These lines were written before the murder of the late +King of France, and many of the events of horror which have since taken +place in that miserable country.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Milton.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON LEAVING A PLACE OF RESIDENCE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I could bid thee, pleasant shade, farewell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a sigh, amidst whose circling bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My stripling prime was passed, and happiest hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead were I to the sympathies that swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The human breast! These woods, that whispering wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father reared and nursed, now to the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone down; he loved their peaceful shades, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, as here he mused: Live, laurels green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye pines that shade the solitary scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live blooming and rejoice! When I am dead <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My son shall guard you, and amid your bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like me, find shelter from life's beating showers.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These thoughts, my father, every spot endear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst I think, with self-accusing pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stranger shall possess the loved domain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In each low wind I seem thy voice to hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these are shadows of the shaping brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That now my heart, alas! can ill sustain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We must forget—the world is wide—the abode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of peace may still be found, nor hard the road. <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It boots not, so, to every chance resigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er the spot, we bear the unaltered mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, oh! poor cottage, and thou sylvan shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember, ere I left your coverts green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where in my youth I mused, in childhood played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gazed, I paused, I dropped a tear unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bitter from the font of memory fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking on him who reared you; now, farewell!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ELEGIAC STANZAS.</h3> + +<h4>WRITTEN DURING SICKNESS AT BATH.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I lie musing on my bed alone, <span class="linenum">1</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And listen to the wintry waterfall;<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many moments that are past and gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moments of sunshine and of joy, recall;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though the long night is dark and damp around, <span class="linenum">2</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And no still star hangs out its friendly flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the winds sweep the sash with sullen sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And freezing palsy creeps o'er all my frame;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I catch consoling phantasies that spring <span class="linenum">3</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the thick gloom, and as the night airs beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They touch my heart, like wind-swift wires<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> that ring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In mournful modulations, strange and sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was it the voice of thee, my buried friend? <span class="linenum">4</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was it the whispered vow of faithful love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do I in Knoyle's green shades thy steps attend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hear the high pines murmur thus above?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas not thy voice, my buried friend!—Oh, no: <span class="linenum">5</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas not, O Knoyle! the murmur of thy trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But at the thought I feel my bosom glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And woo the dream whose air-drawn shadows please.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I can think I see the groves again, <span class="linenum">6</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The larches that yon peaceful roof embower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The airy down, the cattle-speckled plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the slant sunshine on the village tower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I can think I hear its Sabbath chime <span class="linenum">7</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come smoothly softened down the woody vale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mark on yon lone eminence sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fast whirling in the wind, the white mill's sail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Phantom, that by my bed dost beckoning glide, <span class="linenum">8</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spectre of Death, to the damp charnel hie!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy dim pale hand, thy festering visage hide;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou com'st to say, I with thy worms shall lie!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou com'st to say that my once vacant mind <span class="linenum">9</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid those scenes shall never more rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor on the day of rest the hoary hind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bend o'er his staff, attentive to my voice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hast thou not visited that pleasant place <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where in this hard world I have happiest been?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shall I tremble at thy lifted mace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hath pierced all on which life seemed to lean?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Hope might whisper: Many a smiling day <span class="linenum">11</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many a cheerful eve may yet be mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere age's autumn strew my locks with gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And weary to the dust my steps decline.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I argue not, but uncomplaining bow <span class="linenum">12</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Heaven's high 'hest; secure, whate'er my lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meek spirit of resigned Content, that thou<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wilt smooth my pillow, and forsake me not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou to the turfy hut with pilgrim feet <span class="linenum">13</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wanderest, from halls of loud tumultuous joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or on the naked down, when the winds beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost sing to the forsaken shepherd boy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou art the sick man's nurse, the poor man's friend, <span class="linenum">14</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And through each change of life thou hast been mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every ill thou canst a comfort blend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bid the eye, though sad, in sadness shine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thee I have met on Cherwell's willowed side, <span class="linenum">15</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when our destined road far onward lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee I have found, whatever chance betide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kind companion of my devious way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With thee unwearied have I loved to roam, <span class="linenum">16</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the smooth-flowing Scheldt, or rushing Rhine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou hast gladdened my sequestered home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hung my peaceful porch with eglantine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When cares and crosses my tired spirits tried, <span class="linenum">17</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When to the dust my father I resigned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst the quiet shade unseen I sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, blest with thee, forgot a world unkind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now, while toiling through the sleepless night, <span class="linenum">18</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tearful look to distant scenes I cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the glad objects that once charmed my sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remember, like soft views of "faerie" past;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see thee come half-smiling to my bed, <span class="linenum">19</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Fortitude more awfully severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose arm sustaining holds my drooping head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who dries with her dark locks the tender tear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O firmer Spirit! on some craggy height <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, when the tempest sails aloft, dost stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear'st the ceaseless billows of the night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rolling upon the solitary strand;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At this sad hour, when no harsh thoughts intrude <span class="linenum">21</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To mar the melancholy mind's repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I am left to night and solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And languid life seems verging to its close;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, let me thy pervading influence feel; <span class="linenum">22</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be every weak and wayward thought repressed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hide thou, as with plates of coldest steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The faded aspect and the throbbing breast!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Silent the motley pageant may retreat, <span class="linenum">23</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vain mortality's brief scenes remove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet let my bosom, whilst with life it beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathe a last prayer for all on earth I love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Slow-creeping pain weighs down my heavy eye, <span class="linenum">24</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A chiller faintness steals upon my breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O gentle Muse, with some sweet lullaby"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rock me in long forgetfulness to rest!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> The fall of the river, heard from the Parade.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> The Æolian harp.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON LEAVING WINCHESTER SCHOOL.</h3> + +<h4>WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1782.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The spring shall visit thee again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Itchin! and yonder ancient fane,<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That casts its shadow on thy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As if, by many winters beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The blooming season it would greet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a straggling wild-flower shall be dressed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But I, amid the youthful train<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That stray at evening by thy side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No longer shall a guest remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To mark the spring's reviving pride.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I go not unrejoicing; but who knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I have shared, O world! thy common woes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Returning I may drop some natural tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As these same fields I look around,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hear from yonder dome<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> the slow bell sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think upon the joys that crowned my stripling years!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> St Croix.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> The Cathedral.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>HOPE, AN ALLEGORICAL SKETCH.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What was thy delightful measure?<br /></span> +<span class="i36"><span class="smcap">Collins</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am the comforter of them that mourn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheer the poor passengers of life's rude bourne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till they are sheltered in that last retreat,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where human toils and troubles are forgot.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">These sounds I heard amid this mortal road,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I had reached with pain one pleasant spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So that for joy some tears in silence flowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I raised mine eyes, sickness had long depressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt thy warmth, O sun! come cheering to my breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The storm of night had ceased upon the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When thoughtful in the forest-walk I strayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the long hollow murmur of the main<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Listening, and to the many leaves that made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A drowsy cadence, as the high trees waved;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When straight a beauteous scene burst on my sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smooth were the waters that the lowland laved:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lo! a form, as of some fairy sprite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who held in her right hand a budding spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a sea-maid sung her sweetly warbled lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Soothing as steals the summer-wave she sung:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The grisly phantoms of the night are gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear in shades forlorn the death-bell rung;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But thou whom sickness hast left weak and wan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turn from their spectre-terrors the green sea<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That whispers at my feet, the matin gale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That crisps its shining marge shall solace thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And thou my long-forgotten voice shalt hail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I am Hope, whom weary hearts confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soothest sprite that sings on life's long wilderness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As slowly ceased her tender voice, I stood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Delighted: the hard way, so lately passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seemed smooth; the ocean's bright extended flood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before me stretched; the clouds that overcast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heaven's melancholy vault hurried away,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Driven seaward, and the azure hills appeared;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sunbeams shone upon their summits gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Strange saddening sounds no more by fits were heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But birds, in new leaves shrouded, sung aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the level seas Spring's healing airs blew soft.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As when a traveller, who many days<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hath journeyed 'mid Arabian deserts still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A dreary solitude far on surveys,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And met, nor flitting bird, nor gushing rill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But near some marble ruin, gleaming pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sighs mindful of the haunts of cheerful man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thinks he hears in every sickly gale<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The bells of some approaching caravan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length, emerging o'er the dim tract, sees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Damascus' golden fanes, and minarets, and trees:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So beat my bosom when my winding way<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Led through the thickets to a sheltered vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the fair syren sat; a smooth clear bay<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Skirted with woods appeared, where many a sail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went shining o'er the watery surface still,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lessening at last in the gray ocean flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yonder, half-way up the fronting hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Peeping from forth the trees, a cottage stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above whose peaceful umbrage, trailing high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little smoke went up, and stained the cloudless sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I turned, and lo! a mountain seemed to rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon whose top a spiry citadel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lifted its dim-seen turrets to the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where some high lord of the domain might dwell;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And onward, where the eye scarce stretched its sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hills over hills in long succession rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touched with a softer and yet softer light,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all was blended as in deep repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woods, the sea, the hills that shone so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till woods, and sea, and hills seemed fading into air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">At once, methought, I saw a various throng<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To this enchanting spot their footsteps bend;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All drawn, sweet Hope! by thy inspiring song,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which melodies scarce mortal seem to blend.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First buxom Youth, with cheeks of glowing red,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Came lightly tripping o'er the morning dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He wore a harebell garland on his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stretched his hands at the bright-bursting view:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mountain fawn went bounding by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around whose slender neck a silver bell was tied.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Then said I: Mistress of the magic song,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, pity 'twere that hearts that know no guile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should ever feel the pangs of truth or wrong!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She heeded not, but sang with lovelier smile:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enjoy, O youth, the season of thy May;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hark, how the throstles in the hawthorn sing!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hoary Time, that resteth night nor day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er the earth's shade may speed with noiseless wing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But heed not thou; snatch the brief joys that rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sport beneath the light of these unclouded skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">His fine eye flashing an unwonted fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then Fancy o'er the glade delighted went;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He struck at times a small and silver lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or gazed upon the rolling element;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sometimes he took his mirror, which did show<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The various landscape lovelier than the life;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beaming more bright the vivid tints did glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And so well mingled was the colours' strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the fond heart, the beauteous shades once seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would sigh for such retreats, for vales and woods so green!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Gay was his aspect, and his airy vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As loose it flowed, such colours did display,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As paint the clouds reposing in the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or the moist rainbow's radiant arch inlay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now he tripped, like fairy of the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And seemed with dancing spirits to rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now he hung his head in pensive mood:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Meantime, O Hope! he listened to thy voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst of joy and youth it cheerly sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He touched his answering harp, and o'er the valley sprung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Pleasure, a frolic nymph, to the glad sound<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Came dancing, as all tears she might forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now she gazed with a sweet archness round,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And wantonly displayed a silken net:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She won her way with fascinating air—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her eyes illumined with a tender light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her smile's strange blandishment, her shaded hair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That lengthening hung, her teeth as ivory white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That peeped from her moist lip, seemed to inspire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tumultuous wishes warm, and dreams of fond desire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">What softer passions did thy bosom move,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When those melodious measures met thine ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Child of Sincerity, and virtuous Love!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thine eyes did shine beneath a blissful tear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That still were turned towards the tranquil scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the thin smoke rose from the embowered cot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou didst think, that there, with smile serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In quiet shades, and every pang forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou mightest sink on pure Affection's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listen to the winds that whispered thee to rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I thought, O Love, how seldom art thou found<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Without annoyance in this earthly state!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For, haply, thou dost feed some rankling wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or on thy youth pale poverty doth wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till years, on heavy wing, have rolled away;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or where thou most didst hope firm faith to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou meetest fickleness estranged and cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or if some true and tender heart there be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which, through every change, thy soul might trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death comes with his fell dart, and smites it to the dust!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But lusty Enterprise, with looks of glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Approached the drooping youth, as he would say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come to the high woods and the hills with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And cast thy sullen myrtle-wreath away.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon a neighing courser he did sit,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That stretched its arched neck, in conscious pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And champed as with disdain a golden bit,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But Hope her animating voice applied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Enterprise with speed impetuous passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst the long vale returned his wreathed bugle's blast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Suddenly, lifting high his ponderous spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A mailed man came forth with scornful pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw him, towering in his proud career,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Along the valley with a giant stride:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon his helm, in letters of bright gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That to the sun's meridian splendour shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ambition's name far off I might behold.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Meantime from earth there came a hollow moan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Fame, who followed, her loud trumpet blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the murmuring beach with eyes a-flame he flew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And now already had he gained the strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where a tall vessel rode with sail unfurled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soon he thought to reach the farther land,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which to his eager eye seemed like a world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he by strength might win and make his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And in that citadel, which shone so bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seat him, a purple sovereign, on his throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So he went tilting o'er the waters white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst he oft looked back with stern disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In louder tone, methought, was heard the inspiring strain:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">By the shade of cities old,<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">By many a river stained with gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the sword of Sesac bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who smote the nations from the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ancient Nile to India's farthest plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By Fame's proud pillars, and by Valour's shield<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By mighty chiefs in glorious battle slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Assert thy sway; amid the bloody field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursue thy march, and to the heights sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Honour's glittering cliffs, a mighty conqueror climb!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Then said I, in my heart: Man, thou dost rear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thine eye to heaven, and vaunt thy lofty worth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ensign of dominion thou dost bear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er nature's works; but thou dost oft go forth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Urged by proud hopes to ravage and destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou dost build up a name by cruel deeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst to the peaceful scenes of love and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sorrow, and crime, and solitude, succeeds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence, when her war-song Victory doth sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Destruction flaps aloft her iron-hurtling wing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But see, as one awakened from a trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With hollow and dim eyes and stony stare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Captivity with faltering step advance!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dripping and knotted was her coal-black hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For she had long been hid, as in the grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No sounds the silence of her prison broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor one companion had she in her cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Save Terror's dismal shape, that no word spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to a stony coffin on the floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lean and hideous finger pointed evermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The lark's shrill song, the early village chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The upland echo of the winding horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The far-heard clock that spoke the passing time,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Had never pierced her solitude forlorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At length, released from the deep dungeon's gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She feels the fragrance of the vernal gale;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sees more sweet the living landscape bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And while she listens to Hope's tender tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She thinks her long-lost friends shall bless her sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And almost faints with joy amid the broad daylight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And near the spot, as with reluctant feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Slowly desponding Melancholy drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wind and rain her naked breast had beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sunk was her eye, and sallow was her hue:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the huge forest's unrejoicing shade<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bewildered had she wandered day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many a grisly fiend her heart dismayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And cold and wet upon the ground she lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now such sounds with mellow sweetness stole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As lapped in dreams of bliss her slow-consenting soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Next, to the woody glen poor Mania strayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Most pale and wild, yet gentle was her look;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A slender garland she of straw had made,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of flowers and rushes from the running brook;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But as she sadly passed, the tender sound<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of its sharp pang her wounded heart beguiled;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She dropped her half-made garland on the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And then she sighed, and then in tears she smiled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in such sort, that Pity would have said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O <span class="smcap">God</span>, be merciful to that poor hapless maid!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Now ravingly she cried: The whelming main—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The wintry wave rolls over his cold head;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never shall behold his form again;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hence flattering fancies—he is dead, is dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps on some wild shore he may be cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where on their prey barbarians howling rush,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, fiercer they, than is the whelming blast!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hush, my poor heart! my wakeful sorrows, hush!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lives! I yet shall press him to my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry, Oh no, no, no,—we never more will part!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So sang she, when despairing, from his cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hid furthest in the lone umbrageous wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where many a winter he had loved to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Came grim Remorse; fixed in deep thought he stood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">His senses pierced by the unwonted tone;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Some stagnant blood-drops from his locks he shook;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He saw the trees that waved, the sun that shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He cast around an agonised look;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then with a ghastly smile, that spoke his pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hied him to his cave in thickest shades again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And now the sun sank westward, and the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was hung with thousand lucid pictures gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When gazing on the <ins class="correction" title="Original was seene">scene</ins> with placid eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An ancient man appeared in amice gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His sandal shoes were by long travel worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er hill and valley, many a weary mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet drooped he not, like one in years forlorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His pale cheek wore a sad, but tender smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas sage Experience, by his look confessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white as frost his beard descended to his breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thus said I: Master, pleasant is this place,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sweet are those melodious notes I hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And happy they among man's toiling race<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who, of their cares forgetful, wander near;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Me they delight, whom sickness and slow pain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Have bowed almost to death with heavy hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fairy scenes refresh my heart again,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, pleased, I listen to that music bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which seems to promise hours of joy to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bids me tranquil seek my poor but peaceful home.<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He said: Alas! these shadows soon may fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like the gay creatures of the element;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet do poor mortals still with raptured eye<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Behold like thee the pictures they present;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, charmed by Hope's sweet music, on they fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And think they soon shall reach that blissful goal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where never more the sullen knell of Care<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For buried friends and severed loves shall toll:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So on they fare, till all their troubles cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on a lap of earth they lie them down in peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But not there ceases their immortal claim;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From golden clouds I heard a small voice say:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wisdom rejoiceth in a higher aim,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor heeds the transient shadows of a day;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These earthly sounds may die away, and all<br /></span> +<span class="i4">These perishable pictures sink in night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Virtue from the dust her sons shall call,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lead them forth to joy, and life, and light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though from their languid grasp earth's comforts fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with the silent worm their buried bodies lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">For other scenes there are; and in a clime<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Purer, and other strains to earth unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where heaven's high host, with symphonies sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sing unto Him that sitteth on the throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enough for man, if he the task fulfil<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which <span class="smcap">God</span> ordained, and to his journey's end<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear him right on, betide him good or ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then Hope to soothe his death-bed shall descend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor leave him, till in mansions of the blest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gains his destined home, his everlasting rest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Written at the time of Bonaparte's expedition to Egypt.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> That of a village curate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the shores of that renowned land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where erst His mighty arm and outstretched hand<br /></span> +<span class="i10">He lifted high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dashed, in pieces dashed the enemy;—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon that ancient coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where Pharaoh's chariot and his host<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He cast into the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst o'er their silent pomp He bid the swoll'n sea sweep;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon that eastern shore, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That saw His awful arm revealed of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again hath He arisen, and opposed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His foes' defying vaunt: o'er them the deep hath closed!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Shades of mighty chiefs of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who triumphed on the self-same shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ammon, who first o'er ocean's empire wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didst bid the bold bark stem the roaring tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sesac, who from the East to farthest West<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Didst rear thy pillars over realms subdued;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And thou, whose bones do rest <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the huge pyramid's dim solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Beneath the uncouth stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thy name and deeds unknown;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And Philip's glorious son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With conquest flushed, for fields and cities won;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou, imperial Cæsar, whose sole sway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long-disputed world at length confessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When on these shores thy bleeding rival lay!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, could ye, starting from your long cold rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Burst Death's oblivious trance, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once again with plumed pride advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How would ye own your fame surpassed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on the sand your trophies cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">When, the storm of conflict o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And ceased the burning battle's roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beneath the morning's orient light,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ye saw, with sails all swelling white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Britain's proud fleet, to many a joyful cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ride o'er the rolling surge in awful sovereignty!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">For fierce Ambition fired your mind— <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Beside your glittering car,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Amid the thickest war,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went Superstition, sorceress blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dimly-figured robe, with scowling mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Half hid in jealous hood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Tyranny, beneath whose helm was seen<br /></span> +<span class="i6">His eye suffused with blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And giant Pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the great sun with haughty smile defied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Avarice, that grasped his guilty gold; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, as the sorceress her loud sistrum rung,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Their dismal pæan sung;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still, far off, pale Pity hung her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst o'er the dying and the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victor's brazen wheels with gory axle rolled.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now look on him, in holy courage bold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The asserter of his country's cause behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lifts his gaze to heaven, serenely brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst around war's fearful banners wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He prays: Protect us, as our cause is just; <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in thy might alone, Judge of the world, we trust!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they are scattered—the destroyers die!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They that usurped the bloody victor's claim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spoke of freedom; but, behold a cry!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They, that like a wasteful flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the huge sandy pillar, that amain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whirls 'mid the silence of the desert plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Deathful in their career of terror came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And scattered ruin as they passed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So rush they, like the simoom's horrid blast; <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sweep, and all around is wilderness!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But from thy throne on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou, God, hast heard the cry<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of nations in distress!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Britain goes forth, beneath thy might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To quell the proud blasphemers in the fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Egypt, far along her winding main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoes the shout of joy, and genuine Freedom's strain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now let them, who thy name, O <span class="smcap">God</span>! defy,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Invoke the mighty Prophet of the East; <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or deck, as erst, the mystic feast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Ashtaroth, queen of the starry sky!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Let them, in some cavern dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seek Osiris' buried ark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or call on Typhon, of gigantic form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting his hundred arms, and howling 'mid the storm!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or to that grisly king<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In vain their cymbals let them ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To him in Tophet's vale revered<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(With smoke his brazen idol smeared), <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grim Moloch, in whose fuming furnace blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unpitying priest the shrieking infant threw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst to shrill cries, and drums' and timbrels' sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frantic and unhearing troop danced round;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">To <i>him</i> despairing let them go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell their fearful tale of hideous overthrow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Calm breathed the airs along the evening bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where, all in warlike pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Gallic squadron stretched its long array;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And o'er the tranquil tide <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With beauteous bend the streamers waved on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, ah! how changed the scene ere night descends!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark to the shout that heaven's high concave rends!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hark to that dying cry!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst, louder yet, the cannon's roar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Resounds along the Nile's affrighted shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Where, from his oozy bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cowering crocodile hath raised his head!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What bursting flame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lightens the long track of the gleamy brine! <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">From yon proud ship it came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That towered the leader of the hostile line!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now loud explosion rends the midnight air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard ye the last deep groaning of despair?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven's fiery cope unwonted thunders fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, with one dreadful pause, earth, air, and seas are still!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But now the mingled fight<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Begins its awful strife again!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through the dun shades of night<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Along the darkly-heaving main <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i8">Is seen the frequent flash;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a towering mast with dreadful crash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rings falling. Is the scene of slaughter o'er?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is the death-cry heard no more?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! where the East a glimmering freckle streaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow o'er the shadowy wave the gray dawn breaks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i8">Behold, O Sun, the flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strewed with the dead, and dark with blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold, all scattered on the rocking tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wrecks of haughty Gallia's pride! <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Britain's floating bulwarks, with serene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And silent pomp, amid the deathful scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Move glorious, and more beautiful display<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their ensigns streaming to thy orient ray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Awful Genius of the land!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Who (thy reign of glory closed)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By marble wrecks, half-hid in sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hast mournfully reposed;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who long, amid the wasteful desert wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hast loved with death-like stillness to abide; <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Or wrapped in tenfold gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From noise of human things for ages hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hast sat upon the shapeless tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the forlorn and dripping pyramid;<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Awake! Arise!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though thou behold the day no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That saw thy pride and pomp of yore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though, like the sounds that in the morning ray<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Trembled and died away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Memnon's statue; though, like these, the voice <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bade thy vernal plains rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The voice of Science, is no longer heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all thy gorgeous state hath disappeared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet hear, with triumph, and with hope again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shouts of joy that swell from thy forsaken main!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, oh! might He, at whose command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep darkness shades a mourning land;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At whose command, bursting from night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flaming with redoubled light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sun of Science mounts again, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And re-illumes the wide-extended plain!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Might He, from this eventful day,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Illustrious Egypt, to thy shore<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Science, Freedom, Peace restore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid thy crowded ports their ancient pomp display!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">No more should Superstition mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In characters uncouth and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her dreary, monumental shrine!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">No more should meek-eyed Piety<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Outcast, insulted lie <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the mosque, whose golden crescents shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But starting from her trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">O'er Nubia's sands advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the farthest fountains of the Nile!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dismal Gallas should behold her smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Abyssinia's inmost rocks rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear her awful lore, yet soft consoling voice!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hasten, <span class="smcap">O God</span>! the time, when never more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pale Pity, from her moonlight seat shall hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dropping at the sound a fruitless tear, <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The far-off battle's melancholy roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When never more Horror's portentous cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall sound amid the troubled sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dark Destruction's grimly-smiling mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the red flashes of the fight be seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father in heaven! our ardent hopes fulfil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou speakest "Peace," and the vexed world is still!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Yet should Oppression huge arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And with bloody banners spread,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Upon the gasping nations tread, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whilst he thy name defies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Trusting in Thee alone, we hope to quell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His furious might, his purpose fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as the ensigns of his baffled pride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the seas are scattered wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will take up a joyous strain and cry—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> This poem, "Coombe Ellen," "St Michael's Mount," <i>et +cet.</i>, down to the Monody on Dr Warton, originally dedicated to the +Countess of Mansfield, are dated from Donhead, 1802.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>A GARDEN-SEAT AT HOME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And slender woods that the still scene inclose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For yon magnificent and ample dome<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That glitters in my sight! yet I can praise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee, Arundel, who, shunning the thronged ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of glittering vice, silently dost dispense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blessings of retired munificence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me, a sequestered cottage, on the verge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy outstretched domain, delights; and here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wind my walks, and sometimes drop a tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Harriet's urn, scarce wishing to emerge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the troubled ocean of that life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all is turbulence, and toil, and strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm roll the seasons o'er my shaded niche;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dip the brush, or touch the tuneful string,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or hear at eve the unscared blackbirds sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough if, from their loftier sphere, the rich<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deign my abode to visit, and the poor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Depart not, cold and hungry, from my door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Donhead</span>, <i>Oct. 12, 1798.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> Wardour Castle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>IN HORTO REV. J. STILL,</h3> + +<h4>APUD KNOYLE, VILLAM AMŒNISSIMAM.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stranger! a while beneath this aged tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest thee, the hills beyond, and flowery meads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surveying; and if Nature's charms may wake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sweet and silent transport at thine heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In spring-time, whilst the bee hums heedless nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice! for thee the verdant spot is dressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circled with laurels green, and sprinkled o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a budding rose: the shrubs all ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the birds' warblings, and by fits the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispers amid the foliage o'er thine head!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice, and oh! if life's sweet spring be thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So gather its brief rose-buds, and deceive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cares and crosses of humanity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>GREENWICH HOSPITAL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come to these peaceful seats, and think no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of cold, of midnight watchings, or the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Ocean, tossing on his restless bed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come to these peaceful seats, ye who have bled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For honour, who have traversed the great flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or on the battle's front with stern eye stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When rolled its thunder, and the billows red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft closed, with sudden flashings, o'er the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, heavy are the sorrows that beset<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old age! and hard it is—hard to forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine of our youth, our manhood's pride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here, O aged men! ye may abide<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure, and see the last light on the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Time, which wafts you silent to your grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the calm evening ray, that smiles serene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the tranquil Thames, and cheers the sinking scene.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>A RUSTIC SEAT NEAR THE SEA.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To him, who, many a night upon the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, how delightful smile thy views again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er the gray sand glitters; the clear sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath whose blue vault shines the village tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That high elms, swaying in the wind, embower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hedge-rows, where the small birds' melody<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Solace the lithe and loitering peasant lad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Stranger! is thy pausing fancy sad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At thought of many evils which do press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On wide humanity!—Look up; address<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <span class="smcap">God</span> who made the world; but let thy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thankful, though some heavy thoughts have part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, sheltered from the human storms' career,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou meetest innocence and quiet here.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>WARDOUR CASTLE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If rich designs of sumptuous art may please,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Nature's loftier views, august and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stranger! behold this spreading scene;—behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This amphitheatre of aged trees,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That solemn wave above thee, and around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Darken the towering hills! Dost thou complain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thou shouldst cope with penury or pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sigh to think what pleasures might be found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid such wide possessions!—Pause awhile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imagine thou dost see the sick man smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See the pale exiles, that in yonder dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe from the wasteful storm, have found a home;<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thank the Giver of all good, that lent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the humane, retired, beneficent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The power to bless. Nor lift thy heart elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If such domains be thine; but emulate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fair example, and those deeds, that rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like holy incense wafted to the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those deeds that shall sustain the conscious soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all this empty world hath perished, like a scroll!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> French emigrants, chiefly supported by the bounty of Lord +Arundel.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>POLE-VELLUM, CORNWALL.</h3> + +<h4>A PICTURESQUE COTTAGE AND GROUNDS BELONGING TO J. LEMON, ESQ.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stranger! mark this lovely scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the evening sets serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And starting o'er the silent wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last pale sunshine streaks the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the water gushing near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothes, with ceaseless drip, thine ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then bid each passion sink to rest;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should ev'n one wish rise in thy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One tender wish, as now in mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That some such quiet spot were thine,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, recalling seasons fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Couldst wake the slumbers of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring back her you loved, to share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee calm peace and comfort there;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, check the thought, but inly pray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To <span class="smcap">He</span>, "who gives and takes away,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That many years this fair domain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its varied beauties may retain;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So when some wanderer, who has lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart's best treasure, who has crossed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In life bleak hills and passes rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should gain this lovely solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delighted he may pause a while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he marks the landscape smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave with its willows, ere he part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blessings of a softened heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">July</span> 1786.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON A BEAUTIFUL SPRING,</h3> + +<h4>FORMING A COLD BATH, AT COOMBE, NEAR DONHEAD, BELONGING TO MY BROTHER, +CHAS. BOWLES, ESQ.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fountain, that sparklest through the shady place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making a soft, sad murmur o'er the stones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That strew thy lucid way! Oh, if some guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should haply wander near, with slow disease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smitten, may thy cold springs the rose of health<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring back, and the quick lustre to his eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ancient oaks that on thy margin wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song of birds, and through the rocky cave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clear stream gushing, their according sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should mingle, and, like some strange music, steal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly, yet soothing, o'er his aching breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, pale exile from thy native shores,<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here drink,—oh, couldst thou!—as of Lethe's stream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor friends, nor bleeding country, nor the views<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hills or streams beloved, nor vesper bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard in the twilight vale, remember more!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> French priests, who have a residence near.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>A CENOTAPH,</h3> + +<h4>TO THE MEMORY OF LIEUTENANT-COLONEL ISAAC, WHO DIED AT CAPE ST NICHOLA +MOLE, 1797.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, hadst thou fall'n, brave youth! on that proud day,<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When our victorious fleet o'er the red surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled in terrific glory, thou hadst fall'n<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most honoured; and Remembrance, while she thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy gallant end, had dried her tear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now far beyond the huge Atlantic wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy bones decay; the withering pestilence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swept the islands of the western world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smote thee, untimely drooping to the tomb!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But 'tis enough; whate'er a soldier's fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That firm he hied him, where stern honour bade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though with unequal strength, he sunk and died.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> The 1st of June 1794, when Colonel Isaac greatly +distinguished himself as commander of the military on board Lord Howe's +ship.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3><ins class="correction" title="Original was TRANSATION">TRANSLATION</ins> OF A LATIN POEM</h3> + +<h4>BY THE REV. NEWTON OGLE, DEAN OF MANCHESTER.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh thou, that prattling on thy pebbled way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through my paternal vale dost stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Working thy shallow passage to the sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, stream, thou speedest on<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The same as many seasons gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i8">But not, alas, to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remain the feelings that beguiled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My early road, when, careless and content,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Losing the hours in pastimes innocent)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy banks I strayed a playful child; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether the pebbles that thy margin strew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Collecting, heedlessly I threw;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or loved in thy translucent wave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My tender shrinking feet to lave;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or else ensnared your little fry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thought how wondrous skilled was I!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So passed my boyish days, unknown to pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Days that will ne'er return again.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">It seems but yesterday<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was a child, to-morrow to be gray! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So years succeeding years steal silently away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not fleeter thy own current, hurrying thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rolls down to the great sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thither oh carry these sad thoughts; the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bury them!—thou, meantime, thy tenor keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And winding through the green-wood, cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As erst, my native, peaceful pastures here.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span><br /></span></div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT.</h3> + +<h4>INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD SOMERS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While summer airs scarce breathe along the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft pausing, up the mountain's craggy side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We climb, how beautiful, how still, how clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scenes that stretch around! The rocks that rear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their shapes, in rich fantastic colours dressed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hill-tops, where the softest shadows rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long-retiring bay, the level sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fading sea-line, and the furthest land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seems, as low it lessens from the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To steal away beneath the cloudless sky! <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But yesterday, the misty morn was spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dreariness on the bleak mountain's head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No glittering prospect from the upland smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The driving squall came dark, the sea heaved wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lost and lonely, the wayfarer sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wet with the hoar spray of the flashing tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How changed is now the circling scene! The deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stirs not; the glancing roofs and white towers peep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the margin of the lucid bay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sails, descried far in the offing gray, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang motionless, and the pale headland's height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is touched as with sweet gleams of fairy light!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, lives there on earth's busy-stirring scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom Nature's tranquil charms, her airs serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her seas, her skies, her sunbeams, fail to move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With stealing tenderness and grateful love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go, thankless man, to Misery's cave—behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Captivity, stretched in her dungeon cold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or think on those who, in yon dreary mine,<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunk fathoms deep beneath the rolling brine,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From year to year, amid the lurid shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-wearied, ply their melancholy trade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou may'st bless the glorious sun; and hail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him who with beauty clothed the hill and vale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who bent the arch of the high heavens for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stretched in amplitude the broad blue sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now sunk are all its murmurs; and the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But moves by fits the bents, that here and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upshoot in casual spots of faded green:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here straggling sheep the scanty pasture glean, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, on the jutting fragments that impend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stray fearlessly, and gaze, as we ascend.<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mountain, no pomp of waving woods hast thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That deck with varied shade thy hoary brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sunny meadows at thy feet are spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No streamlets sparkle o'er their pebbly bed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou canst boast thy beauties: ample views<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That catch the rapt eye of the pausing Muse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Headlands around new-lighted; sails, and seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now glassy-smooth, now wrinkling to the breeze; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the drisly Winter, wrapped in sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes by, and winds and rain thy ramparts beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancy can see thee standing thus aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And frowning, bleak, and bare, and tempest-proof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look as with awful confidence, and brave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The howling hurricane, the dashing wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More graceful, when the storm's dark vapours frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than when the summer suns in pomp go down!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And such is he, who, clad in watchet weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And boasting little more than nature needs, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can wrap him in contentedness, and wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A port unchanged, in seasons rude or fair.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His may be Fancy's sunshine, and the Muse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May deck his visions with her fairest hues;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he may lift his honest front, and say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the hard storm, that rends his locks of gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heed thee not;—he unappalled may stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the cloud that shades a sinking land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While heedless of the storm that onward sweeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mad, impious Riot his loud wassail keeps, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pre-eminent in native worth; nor bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though gathering ills on his bare head descend:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the wasteful storm sweeps o'er its prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rends the kingdoms of the world away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, firm as stands the rock's unshaken base,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet panting for a surer resting-place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The human hurricane unmoved can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, O <span class="smcap">God</span>, my refuge is in Thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">States, anchored deep, that far their shadow cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rock, and are scattered by the <span class="smcap">Almighty's</span> blast; <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when, awakened from his horrid sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fiery caves, a thousand fathoms deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Earthquake's Demon hies aloft; he waits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nigh some high-turreted proud city's gates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As listening to the mingled shouts and din<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the mad crowd that feast or dance within.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mean time sad Nature feels his sway, the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaves, and low sounds moan through the mountain cave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all at once is still, still as midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When not the lime-leaf moves: Oh, piteous sight! <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now the glittering domes crash from on high—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark, a strange and lamentable cry!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ceases, and the tide's departing roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone is heard upon the desert shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, as it sweeps with slow huge swell away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remorseless mutters o'er its buried prey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So Ruin hurrieth o'er this shaken ball:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bids his blast go forth, and lo! doth fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Carthage or a Rome. Then rolls the tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of deep Forgetfulness, whelming the pride <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man, his shattered and forsaken bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His noiseless cities, and his prostrate towers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some columns, eminent and awful, stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Egypt's pillars on the lonely sand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We read upon their base, inscribed by Fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A <span class="smcap">Homer's</span> here, or here a <span class="smcap">Shakespeare's</span> name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet think not of the surge, that soon may sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ourselves unnumbered to the oblivious deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet time has been, as mouldering legends say,<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all yon western tract, and this bright bay, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where now the sunshine sleeps, and wheeling white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea-mew circles in fantastic flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was peopled wide; but the loud storm hath raved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where its green top the high wood whispering waved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a year the slowly-rising flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raked, where the Druids' uncooth altar stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou only, aged mountain, dost remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern monument amidst the deluged plain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fruitless the big waves thy bulwarks beat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The big waves slow retire, and murmur at thy feet:<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, half-encircled by the refluent tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if thy state its utmost rage defied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost tower above the scene, as in thine ancient pride.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mountain! the curious Muse might love to gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the dim record of thy early days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft fancying that she heard, like the low blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sounds of mighty generations past.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee the Phœnician, as remote he sailed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the unknown coast, exulting hailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he saw thy rocky point aspire, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought on his native shores of Aradus or Tyre.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distained with many a ghastly giant's blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy height huge Corineus<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clashed his shield; whilst, hid in caves profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His monstrous foe cowered at the fearful sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark to the brazen clarion's pealing swell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shout at intervals, the deepening yell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long ages speed away, yet now again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noise of battle hurtles on the plain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold the dark-haired warriors!—down thy side, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O mountain! sternly terrible, they stride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now, impatient for the promised war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They rear their axes<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> huge, and shouting, cry to Thor.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sounds of conflict cease—at dead of night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A voice is heard: Prepare the Druid rite!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! the bard upon thy summit rings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep chords of his thrilling harp, and sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Night's pale Queen, that through the heavens wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst her still host list'ning seems to ride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow sinks the cadence of the solemn lay, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the sombrous scenery steals away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadowy Druid throng, the darksome wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hoar altar, wet with human blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marked ye the Angel-spectre that appeared?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By other hands the holy fane<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> is reared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">High on the point, where, gazing o'er the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confessed, the glittering apparition stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the sailor, on his watch of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sees, like a glimmering star, the far-off light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, homeward bound, hears on the twilight bay <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slowly-chanted vespers die away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These scenes are fled and passed, yet still sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wearing graceful the gray tints of Time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the steep rock's craggy eminence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The embattled castle sits, surveying thence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The villages that strew the subject plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the long winding of the lucid main:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the stranger marks its turrets high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And muses on the tale of changeful years gone by.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of this no more: lo! here our journey ends; <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide and more wide the arch of heaven extends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on this topmost fragment as we lean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We feel removed from dim earth's distant scene.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift up the hollow trump<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> that on the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is cast, and let it, rolling its long sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak to the surge below, that we may gain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tidings from those who traverse the wide main.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or tread we now some spot of wizard-land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mark the sable trump, that may command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brazen doors to fly, and with loud call <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scare the grim giant in his murky hall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail, solitary castle! that dost crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This desert summit, and supreme look down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the long-lessening landscape stretched below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearless to trace thy inmost haunts we go!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We climb the steps:—No warning signs are sent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No fiery shapes flash on the battlement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">We enter; the long chambers without fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We traverse; no strange echoes meet the ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No time-worn tapestry spontaneous shakes, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No spell-bound maiden from her trance awakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Taste's fair hand arrays the peaceful dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hither the domestic virtues come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleased, while to this secluded scene they bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweets that oft wither in a world of care.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Castle! no more thou frownest on the main<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the dark terror of thy ancient reign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more thy long and dreary halls affright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept by the stoled spirits of the night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But calm, and heedless of the storms that beat, <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here Elegance and Peace assume their seat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the night descends, and Ocean roars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rocking without upon his darkened shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These vaulted roofs to gentle sounds reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of social cheer, or song of harmony.<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So fade the modes of life with slow decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And various ages various hues display!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fled are the grimly shadows of Romance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, pleased, we see in beauteous troop advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New arts, new manners, from the Gothic gloom <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Escaped, and scattering flowers that sweetlier bloom!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Refinement wakes; before her beaming eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispersed, the fumes of feudal darkness fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like orient Morning on the mountain's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A softer light on life's wide scene is shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lapping in bliss the sense of human cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! Melody pours forth her sweetest airs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the shades that on the still lake lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rocks, or fringing woods, or tinted sky,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Painting her hues on the clear tablet lays, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her own beauteous world with tender touch displays!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Science lifts her form, august and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shakes the night-dews from her glittering hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime rich Culture clothes the living waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And purer patterns of Athenian Taste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invite the eye, and wake the kindling sense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And milder Manners, as they play, dispense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like tepid airs of Spring, their genial influence!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such is thy boast, Refinement. But deep dyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft mar the splendour of thy noontide skies: <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Fancy, sick of follies that deform<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The face of day, and in the sunshine swarm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sick of the fluttering fopperies that engage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vain pursuits of a degenerate age;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sick of smooth Sophistry's insidious cant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or cold Impiety's defying rant;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sick of the muling sentiment that sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er its dead bird, while Want unpitied cries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sick of the pictures that pale Lust inflame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flush the cheek of Love with deep, deep shame; <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would fain the shade of elder days recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Gothic battlements, the bannered hall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or list of elfin harps the fabling rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wrapped in melancholy trance sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pause o'er the working of some wond'rous tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or bid the spectres of the castle hail!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, might I now, amid the frowning storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, great Vision of the Mount! thy form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such and so vast as thou wert seen of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When looking steadfast to Bayonna's shore, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou sattest awful on the topmost stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the rock thy solitary throne!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For up the narrow steps, winding with pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The watch-tower's loftiest platform now we gain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Departed spirit! fruitless is the prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see alone thy long-deserted chair;<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never more, or in the storm of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or by the glimmering moon's illusive light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when the flash, with red and hasty glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden illumes the sea's remote expanse, <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shores, the cliffs, the mountain, till again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep darkness closes on the roaring main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt thou, dread Angel, with unaltered mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sublime upon thy cloudy seat be seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, musing much on wild tradition's lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a phantom tale, believed of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chiefly remembering the sweet song (whose strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall never die) of him who wept in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For his loved Lycidas, in the wide sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whelmed, when he cried, great Angel, unto thee, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fabled scene of thy renown we trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hail, with thronging thoughts, thy hallowed resting-place!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stealing Morn goes out—here let us end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fitliest our song, and to the shore descend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet once more, azure ocean, and once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye lighted headlands, and thou stretching shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down on the beauties of your scenes we cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tender look, the longest and the last!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the arch of heaven, extended clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce the thin flecks of feathery clouds appear; <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the long curve of the lessening bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The still Atlantic stretches its bright way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall ship moves not on the tranquil brine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around, the solemn promontories shine;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sounds approach us, save, at times, the cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the gray gull, that scarce is heard so high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The billows make no noise, and on the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of charmed Ocean, Silence sinks to rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, might we thus from heaven's bright battlements<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold the scene Humanity presents; <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see, like this, all harmonised and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear no far-off sounds of earthly ill!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide landscape of the world, in purest light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed, how fair, how cheering were the sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! we think upon this seat of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ask, if peace, if harmony be there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We hear the clangours and the cries that shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mad world, and their dismal music make;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see gaunt Vice, of dread, enormous size,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fearless in the broad day sweltering lies, <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scorns the feeble arrow that assails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Heaven-defying crest and iron scales;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His brows with wan and withered roses crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reeling to the pipe's lascivious sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see Intemperance his goblet quaff;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mocking Blasphemy, with mad loud laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acting before high Heaven a direr part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sport with the weapons that shall pierce his heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If o'er the southern wave<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> we turn our sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More dismal shapes of hideous woe affright: <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grim-visaged War, that ruthless, as he hies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drowns with his trumpet's blast a brother's cries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Massacre, by yelling furies led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ghastly grin and eye-balls rolling red!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er a vast field, wide heaped with festering slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! how the Demon Passions shout amain,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry, exulting, while the death-storm lowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurrah! the kingdoms of the world are ours!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O <span class="smcap">God</span>! who madest man, I see these things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wearied wish for a fleet angel's wings, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I might fly away, and hear no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The surge that moans along this mortal shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Joy's unclouded sunshine may not be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, Father of all worlds, we rest with Thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Truth, uplifting from thy works the pall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall speak: In wisdom hast Thou made them all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then angels and archangels, as they gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the acclaiming host of heaven, shall raise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loud hosannah of eternal praise!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here all is mixed with sorrow; and the clouds <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang awfully, whose shade the dim earth shrouds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore I mourn for man, and sighing say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As down the steep I wind my homeward way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, when will Earth's long muttering tempests cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all be sunshine (like this scene) and peace!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> A mine called the Wherry-Mine, beneath the surface of the +sea near Penzance.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> Three or four sheep were seen rambling among the +precipices, and picking here and there a blade of grass; but in general +the rock is naked, and extremely steep and craggy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> Tradition reports that the rock was anciently connected by +a large tract of land with the Isles of Scilly, and that the whole space +between was inundated by an incursion of the sea.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> It is only at high tide the rock is entirely surrounded by +the sea; at low water it is accessible by land.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> One of the supposed followers of Brutus, to whom Cornwall +was allotted. The rather by him liked, says Milton, for that the hugest +giants in rocks and caves were said to lurk there; which kind of +monsters to deal with was his old exercise.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> At the bottom of this mountain, as they were digging for +tin, they found spear-heads, axes, <i>et cet.</i>—<i>Camden</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> A convent built on the top of the rock, where the +apparition of St Michael was said to have appeared.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> A speaking-trumpet lying on the ground.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> This and the foregoing reflections were suggested by +seeing instruments of music, books, <i>et cet.</i>, in an apartment, +elegantly but appropriately fitted up.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> On the highest turret of the castle is a place called St +Michael's Chair.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> Alluding to the cruelties committed in France.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON AN UNFORTUNATE AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.</h3> + +<h4>WRITTEN DECEMBER 1783.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, Mary, when distress and anguish came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When every friend, ev'n like thy bloom, was fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Want bowed low thy unsupported head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure sad Humanity a tear might give,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Virtue say, Live, beauteous sufferer, live!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But should there one be found, (amidst the few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who with compassion thy last pangs might view),<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">One who beheld thy errors with a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom the ruins of thy heart were dear, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fondly hoped, the ruthful season past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy faded virtues might revive at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should such be found—oh! when he saw thee lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closing on every earthly hope thine eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he beheld despair, with rueful trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark the strange features of thy altered face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he beheld, as painful death drew nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy pale, pale cheek, thy feebly lifted eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy chill, shrunk hand, hung down as in despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or slowly raised, with many a muttered prayer;— <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thus, in early youth, he saw thee bend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor to the grave, and die without a friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some sadder feelings might unbidden start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more than common pity touch his heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The eventful scene is closed; with pausing dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrow I drew nigh the silent bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy look was calm—thy heart was cold and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the world had never used it ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methought the last faint smile, with traces weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still seemed to linger on thy faded cheek. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Mary! though most beauteous in thy face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere sorrow touched it, beamed each lovely grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, oh! thy living features never wore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A look so sweet, so eloquent before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As this, which bids all human passions cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tells my pitying heart you died in peace!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>HYMN TO WODEN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God of the battle, hear our prayer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the lifted falchion's glare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the uncouth fane sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked with many a Runic rhyme;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the "weird sisters"<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, posting through the battle red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Choose the slain, and with them go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Valhalla's halls below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the phantom-chiefs prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their echoing feast, a giant throng, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their dreadful beverage drain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the skulls of warriors slain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God of the battle, hear our prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And may we thy banquet share!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save us, god, from slow disease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From pains that the brave spirit freeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the burning fever's rage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wailings of unhonoured age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drawing painful his last breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give us in the battle death! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let us lift our glittering shield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And perish, perish in the field!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now o'er Cumri's hills of snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To death, or victory, we go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! the chiefs their cars prepare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See! they bind their yellow hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frenzy flashes from their eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fly—our foes before them fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Woden, in thy empire drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou the groans of death dost hear,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And welcome to thy dusky hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those that for their country fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hail, all hail the godlike train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with thee the goblet drain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or with many a huge compeer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift, as erst, the shadowy spear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Hela's inmost caverns dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echo to their giant tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ten thousand thousand shields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flash lightning o'er the glimmering fields! <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hark! the battle-shouts begin—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Louder sounds the glorious din:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Louder than the ice's roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursting on the thawing shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or crashing pines that strew the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the whirlwinds hurl the main!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Riding through the death-field red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singling fast the destined dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See the fatal sisters fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now my throbbing breast beats high— <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now I urge my panting steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the foemen thickest bleed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon exulting I shall go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woden, to thy halls below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or o'er the victims, as they die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chaunt the song of Victory!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> Valkyriæ, or choosers of the slain. See Gray's "Fatal +Sisters," <i>et cet.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<h4>COOMBE-ELLEN.<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Call the strange spirit that abides unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid his dim hand lead thee through these scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That burst immense around! By mountains, glens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And solitary cataracts that dash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through dark ravines; and trees, whose wreathed roots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erhang the torrent's channelled course; and streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That far below, along the narrow vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon their rocky way wind musical.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stranger! if Nature charm thee, if thou lovest <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To trace her awful steps, in glade or glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or under covert of the rocking wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sways its murmuring and mossy boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above thy head; now, when the wind at times<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stirs its deep silence round thee, and the shower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Falls on the sighing foliage, hail her here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In these her haunts; and, rapt in musings high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think that thou holdest converse with some Power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisible and strange; such as of yore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greece, in the shades of piney Mænalaus, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The abode of Pan, or Ida's hoary caves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worshipped; and our old Druids, 'mid the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rocks and woods like these, with muttered spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invoked, and the loud ring of choral harps.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hast thou oft mourned the chidings of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound of her disquiet, that ascends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever, mocking the high throne of <span class="smcap">God</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou in youth known sorrow! Hast thou drooped,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart-stricken, over youth's and beauty's grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever after thought on the sad sound <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cold earth made, which, cast into the vault,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consigned thy heart's best treasure—dust to dust!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, lapped into a sweet forgetfulness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang o'er the wreathed waterfall, and think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art alone in this dark world and wide!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here Melancholy, on the pale crags laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might muse herself to sleep; or Fancy come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Witching the mind with tender cozenage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shaping things that are not; here all day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might Meditation listen to the lapse <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the white waters, flashing through the cleft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, gazing on the many shadowing trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingle a pensive moral as she gazed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High o'er thy head, amidst the shivered slate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, a sapling yet, the wild ash bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its dark red berries clustering, as it wished<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the clear liquid mirror, ere it fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To trace its beauties; o'er the prone cascade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Airy, and light, and elegant, the birch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Displays its glossy stem, amidst the gloom <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of alders and jagged fern, and evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waves her light pensile foliage, as she wooed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passing gale to whisper flatteries.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the adverse bank, withered, and stripped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all its pleasant leaves, a scathed oak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs desolate, once sovereign of the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, proud of its beauty and its strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And branching its broad arms along the glen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, speaks it no remonstrance to the heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems to say: So shall the spoiler come, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The season that shall shatter your fair leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gay children of the summer! yet enjoy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your pleasant prime, and lift your green heads high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting; but the storm will come at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shall lay low your strength, and give your pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the swift-hurrying stream of age, like mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so severe Experience oft reproves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gay and careless children of the world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hear the cold rebuke, and then again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turn to their sport, as likes them, and dance on! <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let them dance; so all their blooming prime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They give not up to vanity, but learn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wisdom and that virtue which shall best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avail them, when the evil days draw nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the brief blossoms of their spring-time fade.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now wind we up the glen, and hear below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dashing torrent, in deep woods concealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now again white-flashing on the view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the huge craggy fragments. Ancient stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That murmurest through the mountain solitudes, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time has been when no eye marked thy course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save His who made the world! Fancy might dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw thee thus bound on from age to age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen of man, whilst awful Nature sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the rent rocks, and said: These haunts be mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now Taste has marked thy features; here and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touching with tender hand, but injuring not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy beauties; whilst along thy woody verge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascends the winding pathway, and the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Catches at intervals thy varied falls. <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But loftier scenes invite us; pass the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the woody hanging, at whose feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tinkling Ellen winds, pursue thy way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon bleak and weather-whitened rock, immense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upshoots amidst the scene, craggy and steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like some high-embattled citadel,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That awes the low plain shadowing. Half-way up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The purple heath is seen, but bare its brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep-intrenched, and all beneath it spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With massy fragments riven from its top. <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amidst the crags, and scarce discerned so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs here and there a sheep, by its faint bleat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discovered, whilst the astonished eye looks up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marks it on the precipice's brink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pick its scant food secure:—and fares it not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n so with you, poor orphans, ye who climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rugged path of life without a friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over broken crags bear hardly on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pale imploring looks, that seem to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother! she is buried, and at rest, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laid in her grave-clothes; and the heart is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only heart that throughout all the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beat anxiously for you! Oh, yet bear on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who sustains the bleating lamb shall feed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And comfort you: meantime the heaven's pure beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That breaks above the sable mountain's brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighting, one after one, the sunless crags,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awakes the blissful confidence, that here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in a world where sorrow never comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All shall be well. <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i10">Now through the whispering wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We steal, and mark the old and mossy oaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imboss the mountain slope; or the wild ash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rich red clusters mantling; or the birch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lonely glens light-wavering; till behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rapid river shooting through the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its lucid line along; and on its side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bordering pastures green, where the swinked ox<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies dreaming, heedless of the numerous flies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, in the transitory sunshine, hum<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round his broad breast; and further up the cot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blue, light smoke ascending; images<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of peace and comfort! The wild rocks around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Endear your smile the more, and the full mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sliding from scenes of dread magnificence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks on your charms reposing; such repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sage may feel, when, filled and half-oppressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With vast conceptions, smiling he returns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To life's consoling sympathies, and hears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With heartfelt tenderness, the bells ring out; <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or pipe upon the mountains; or the low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of herds slow winding down the cottaged vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where day's last sunshine linger. Such repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He feels, who, following where his <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span> leads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in a dream, through an enchanted land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, with Macbeth, in the dread cavern hails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weird sisters, and the dismal deed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a name; there sees the charmed isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lone domain of Prospero; and, hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild music, such as earth scarce seems to own, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ariel o'er the slow-subsiding surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing her smooth air quaintly! Such repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steals o'er her spirits, when, through storms at sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancy has followed some nigh-foundered bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full many a league, in ocean's solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossed far beyond the Cape of utmost Horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stems the roaring deep; her dreary track<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still Fancy follows, and at dead of night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hears, with strange thunder, the huge fragments fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crashing, from mountains of high-drifting ice <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er her bows gleam fearful; till at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hails the gallant ship in some still bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe moored; or of delightful Tinian;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling, like fairy isle, amid the waste;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or of New Zealand, where from sheltering rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clear cascades gush beautiful, and high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woodland scenery towers above the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose long and wavy ensign streams beneath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far inland, clad in snow, the mountains lift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their spiry summits, and endear the more <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sylvan scene around; the healing air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathes o'er green myrtles, and the poe-bird flits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the shade of aromatic shrubs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With silver neck and blue enamelled wing.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now cross the stream, and up the narrow track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That winds along the mountain's edge, behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peasant girl ascend: cheerful her look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the umbrage of her broad black hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loose her dark-brown hair; the plodding pad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bears her panting climbs, and with sure step <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avoids the jutting fragments; she, meantime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits unconcerned, till, lessening from the view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She gains the summit and is seen no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All day, along that mountain's heathy waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Booted and strapped, and in rough coat succinct,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His small shrill whistle pendent at his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dogs and gun, untired the sportsman roams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor quits his wildly-devious range, till eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the woods, the rocks, and mazy rills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descending, warns him home: then he rejoins <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The social circle, just as the clear moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emerging o'er the sable mountain, sails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent, and calm, and beautiful, and sheds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its solemn grandeur on the shadowy scene.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To music then; and let some chosen strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">Handel</span> gently recreate the sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And give the silent heart to tender joy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pass on to the hoar cataract,<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> that foams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the dark fissures of the riven rock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prone-rushing it descends, and with white whirl, <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where some silent shady pool receives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its dash; thence bursting, with collected sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hollow sound, it hurries, till it falls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foaming in the wild stream that winds below.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark trees, that to the mountain's height ascend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'ershade with pendent boughs its mossy course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, looking up, the eye beholds it flash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the incumbent gloom, from ledge to ledge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shooting its silvery foam, and far within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wreathing its curve fantastic. If the harp <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of deep poetic inspiration, struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times by the pale minstrel, whilst a strange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beauteous light filled his uplifted eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath ever sounded into mortal ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here I might think I heard its tones, and saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sublime amidst the solitary scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dimly-gleaming harp, and snowy stole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheek in momentary frenzy flushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great musician stand. Hush, every wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shakes the murmuring branches! and thou stream, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descending still with hollow-sounding sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hush! 'Twas the bard struck the loud strings: Arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Son of the magic song, arise!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And bid the deep-toned lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pour forth its manly melodies.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With eyes on fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Caradoc</span> rushed upon the foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He reared his arm—he laid the mighty low!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the plain see him urge his gore-bathed steed!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">They bleed, the Romans<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> bleed! <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">He lifts his lance on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">They fly! the fierce invaders fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fear not now the horse or spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Fear not now the foeman's might;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Victory the cry shall hear<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of those who for their country fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i10">O'er the slain<br /></span> +<span class="i10">That strew the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern on her sable war-horse shall she ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lift her red right hand, in their heart's blood deep dyed! <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Return, my Muse! the fearful sound is past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now a little onward, where the way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascends above the oaks that far below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shade the rude steep, let Contemplation lead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our footsteps; from this shady eminence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis pleasant and yet fearful to look down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the river roaring, and far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see it stretch in peace, and mark the rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One after one, in solemn majesty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfolding their wild reaches; here with wood <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mantled, beyond abrupt and bare, and each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if it strove, with emulous disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tower in ruder, darker amplitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pause, ere we enter the long craggy vale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems the abode of Solitude. So high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rock's bleak summit<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> frowns above our head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looking immediate down, we almost fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest some enormous fragment should descend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hideous sweep into the vale, and crush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The intruding visitant. No sound is here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save of the stream that shrills, and now and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cry as of faint wailing, when the kite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes sailing o'er the crags, or straggling lamb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bleats for its mother. Here, remote from man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life's discordant roar, might Piety<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift up her early orisons to Him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who made the world; who piled up, mighty rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your huge o'ershadowing summits; who devolved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mighty rivers on their mazy course;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who bade the seasons roll, and they rolled on <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In harmony; who filled the earth with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spread it in magnificence. O <span class="smcap">God</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou also madest the great water-flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep that uttereth thy voice; whose waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toss fearful at thy bidding. Thou didst speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! the great and glorious sun, from night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tenfold upspringing, through the heavens' wide way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Held his untired career. These, in their course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with one shout of acclamation, praise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee, <span class="smcap">Lord</span>! thee, <span class="smcap">Father</span>! thee, <span class="smcap">Almighty King</span>!<span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maker of earth and heaven! Nor less the flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shakes its purple head, and smiles unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the mountain's van; nor less the stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tinkles through the cliff-encircled bourne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheering with music the lone place, proclaim:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wisdom, Father, hast thou made them all!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scenes of retired sublimity, that fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fearful ecstasy and holy trance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pausing mind! we leave your awful gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! the footway plank, that leads across <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The narrow torrent, foaming through the chasm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below; the rugged stones are washed and worn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a thousand shapes, and hollows scooped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By long attrition of the ceaseless surge,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth, deep, and polished as the marble urn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their hard forms. Here let us sit, and watch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The struggling current burst its headlong way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing the noise it makes, and musing much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the strange changes of this nether world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many ages must have swept to dust <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The still succeeding multitudes, that "fret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their little hour" upon this restless scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ere the sweeping waters could have cut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The solid rock so deep! As now its roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes hollow from below, methinks we hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noise of generations, as they pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the frail arch of earthly vanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To silence and oblivion. The loud coil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er ceases; as the running river sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From age to age, though each particular wave <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made its brief noise, as it hurried on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n whilst we speak, is past, and heard no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So ever to the ear of Heaven ascends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long, loud murmur of the rolling globe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its strife, its toils, its sighs, its shouts, the same!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But lo! upon the hilly croft, and scarce<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distinguished from the crags, the peasant hut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth peeping; nor unwelcome is the sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems to say: Though solitude be sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet are all the images that float <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like summer-clouds before the eye, and charm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pensive wanderer's way, 'tis sweeter yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think that in this world a brother lives.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovelier smiles the scene, that, 'mid the wilds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rocks and mountains, the bemused thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembers of humanity, and calls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wildly-roving fancy back to life.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here, then, I leave my harp, which I have touched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With careless hand, and here I bid farewell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Fancy's fading pictures, and farewell <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ideal spirit that abides unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid rocks, and woods, and solitudes. I hail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rather the steps of Culture, that ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The precipice's side. She bids the wild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bloom, and adorns with beauty not its own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ridged mountain's tract; she speaks, and lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yellow harvest nods upon the slope;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the dark and matted moss upshoots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bursting clover, smiling to the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are thy offspring, Culture! the green herb <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is thine, that decks with rich luxuriance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pasture's lawny range; the yellow corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That waves upon the upland ridge, is thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine too the elegant abode, that smiles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst the rocky scene, and wakes the thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender thought, of all life's charities.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And senseless were my heart, could I look back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the varied way my feet have trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a silent prayer that health and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And love and happiness, may long abide <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the romantic vale where Ellen winds.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Coombe-Ellen (in Welsh, Cwm Elan) is situated among the +most romantic mountains of Radnorshire, about five miles from Rhayd'r. +This poem is inscribed to Thomas Grove, Esq. of Fern, Wiltshire, at +whose summer residence, in Radnorshire, it was written.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> Nant-Vola.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> The <i>Silures</i>, comprehending Radnorshire, Herefordshire, +Brecknockshire, Monmouthshire, and Glamorganshire, were the bravest of +the Britons; Caractacus, the greatest and most renowned leader Britain +had ever produced, was their king.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> Dole-Vinoc rock.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SUMMER EVENING AT HOME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not with loud shouts, and the thronged city's din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But with such sounds as bid all tumult cease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sick heart; the grasshopper's faint pipe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the blades of dewy grass unripe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bleat of the lone lamb, the carol rude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard indistinctly from the village green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bird's last twitter, from the hedge-row seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, just before, the scattered crumbs I strewed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pay him for his farewell song;—all these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touch soothingly the troubled ear, and please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stilly-stirring fancies. Though my hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For I have drooped beneath life's early showers)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass lonely oft, and oft my heart is sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I can leave the world, and feel most glad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet thee, Evening, here; here my own hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has decked with trees and shrubs the slopes around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst the leaves by dying airs are fanned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet to my spirit comes the farewell sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seems to say: Forget the transient tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy pale youth shed—Repose and Peace are here.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>WINTER EVENING AT HOME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sharp December through my cottage pane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think, around me in this twilight room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I but remark mortality's sad gloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE SPIRIT OF NAVIGATION.<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Amid the solitude of the vast deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For ever listening to the sullen tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The rule of the tempestuous main is thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Outstretched and lone; thou utterest thy voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like solemn thunders: These wild waves are mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine their dread empire; nor shall man profane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eternal secrets of my ancient reign.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The voice is vain: secure, and as in scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The gallant vessel scuds before the wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her parting sails swell stately to the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She leaves the green earth and its hills behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gallant before the wind she goes, her prow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">High bearing, and disparting the blue tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That foams and flashes in its rage below;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Meantime the helmsman feels a conscious pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while far onward the long billows swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks to the lessening land, that seems to say, Farewell!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Father of storms! then let thy whirlwinds roar<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er seas of solitary amplitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man, the poor tenant of thy rocky shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Man, thy terrific empire hath subdued;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though thy waves toss his high-foundered bark<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where no dim watch-light gleams, still he defies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy utmost rage, and in his buoyant ark<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Speeds on, regardless of the darkening skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the mountain-surges, as they roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Subdues his destined way, and speeds from pole to pole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Behold him now, far from his native plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where high woods shade some wild Hesperian bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or green isles glitter in the southern main,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His streaming ensign to the morn display!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold him, where the North's pale meteors dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And icy rocks roll glimmering from afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fearless through night and solitude advance!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or where the pining sons of Andamar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When dark eclipse has wrapt the labouring moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howl to the demon of the dread monsoon!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Time was, like them, poor Nature's shivering child,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pacing the beach, and by the salt spray beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He watched the melancholy surge, or smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To see it burn and bicker at his feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In some rude shaggy spot, by fortune placed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He dreamed not of strange lands, and empires spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the rolling of the watery waste;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He saw the sun shine on the mountain's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But knew not, whilst he hailed the orient light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What myriads blessed his beam, or sickened at the sight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">From some dark promontory, that o'erbent<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The flashing waves, he heard their ceaseless roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or carolled in his light canoe content,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As, bound from creek to creek, it grazed the shore;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gods of the storm the dreary space might sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And shapes of death, and gliding spectres gaunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might flit, he thought, o'er the remoter deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And whilst strange voices cried, Avaunt, avaunt!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uncertain lights, seen through the midnight gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might lure him sadly on to his cold watery tomb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">No city, then, amid the calm clear day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er the blue waters' undulating line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With battlements, and fans that glittered gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And piers, and thronging masts, was seen to shine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No cheerful sounds were wafted on the gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor hummed the shores with early industry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But mournful birds in hollow cliffs did wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And there all day the cormorant did cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While with sunk eye, and matted, dripping locks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The houseless savage slept beneath the foam-beat rocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thus slumbering long upon the dreamy verge<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of instinct, see, he rouses from his trance!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faint, and as glimmering yet, the Arts emerge,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">One after one, from darkness, and advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauteous, as o'er the heavens the stars' still way.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now see the track of his dominion wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair smiling as the dayspring; cities gay<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lift their proud heads, and o'er the yellow tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst sounds of fervent industry arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand pennants float bright streaming in the skies!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Genius of injured Asia! once sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And glorious, now dim seen amid the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And melancholy clouds of sweeping time,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who yet dost half reveal thine awful form,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pointing, with saddened aspect and slow hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To vast emporiums, desolate and waste;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wrecks of unknown cities, sunk in sand!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Twas at thy voice, Arts, Order, Science, Taste.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upsprung, the East adorning, like the smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Spring upon the banks of thy own swelling Nile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Twas at thy voice huge Enterprise awoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That, long on rocky Aradus reclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slumbered to the hoarse surge that round her broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hollow pipings of the idle wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She heard thy voice, upon the rock she stood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gigantic, the rude scene she marked—she cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let there be intercourse, and the great flood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Waft the rich plenty to these shores denied!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon thine eye delighted saw aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowning the midland main, thy own Imperial Tyre.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Queen of the waters! who didst ope the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of Commerce, and display in lands unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy venturous sail, ev'n now in ancient state<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Methinks I see thee on thy rocky throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see their massy piles thy cothons<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> rear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And on the deep a solemn shadow cast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I traverse thy once echoing shores, and hear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sound of mighty generations past:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see thy kingly merchants' thronged resort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gold and purple gleam o'er all thy spacious port.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I mark thy glittering galleys sweep along—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The steady rowers to the strokes incline,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And chaunt in unison their choral song;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">White through their oars the ivory benches shine;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fine-wrought sails, which looms of Egypt wove,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Swell beautiful beneath the bending mast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hewn from proud Lebanon's immortal grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The oaks of Bashan brave the roaring blast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So o'er the western wave thy vessels float,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For verdant Egypt bound, or Calpe's cliffs remote.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Queen of the waters! throned upon thy seat<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Amid the sea, thy beauty and thy fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deep, that rolls low-murmuring at thy feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all the multitude of isles, proclaim!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thee Damascus piles her woolly store;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To thee their flocks Arabia's princes bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Sheba heaps her spice and glittering ore;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The ships of Tarshish of thy glory sing:<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Queen of the waters! who is like to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replenished in thy might, and throned on the sea!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The purple streamers fly, the trumpets sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The adventurous bark glides on in tranquil state;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The voyagers, with leafy garlands crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Draw back their arms together, and elate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweep o'er the surge; the spray far scattered flies<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beneath the stroke of their unwearied oars;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To their loud shouts the circling coast replies;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And now, o'er the deep ocean, where it roars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fly; till slowly lessening from the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the haze they sink—sink, and are seen no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When Night descends, and with her silver bow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The Queen of Heaven<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> comes forth in radiance bright,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Surveying the dim earth and seas below;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why from afar resounds the mystic rite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hymned round her uncouth altar? Virgins there<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(Amid the brazen cymbal's hollow ring)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And aged priests the solemn feast prepare;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To her their nightly orisons they sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she may look from her high throne, and guide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wandering bark secure along the trackless tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Her on his nightly watch the pilot views<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Careful, and by her soft and tranquil light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the uncertain coast his track pursues;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And now he sees great Carmel's woody height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where nightly fires to grisly Baal burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Round the rough cape he winds; meantime far on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thick eddying scuds the hollow surf upturn;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He thinks of the sweet light of summer gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thinks, perhaps, dashed on the rugged shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never shall behold his babes' loved mother more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Slow comes the morn; but ah! what demon form,<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">While pealing thunder the high concave rends,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rises more vast amid the rushing storm!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With dreadful shade his horrid bulk ascends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark to the driving clouds; beneath him roars<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The deep; his troubled brow is wrapped in gloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See, it moves onwards; now more huge it soars!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who shall avert the poor seafarer's doom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who now shall save him from the spectre's might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That treads the rocking waves in thunder and in night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Dread phantom! art thou he whose fearful sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As Egypt's hoary chronicles have told,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The clouds, the whirlwinds, and the seas obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Typhon, of aspect hideous to behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, spare the wretched wanderers, who, led<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By flattering hopes, have left the peaceful shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold, they shrink, they bend with speechless dread;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From their faint grasp drops the unheeded oar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It answers not, but mingling seas and sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In clouds, and wind, and thunder, rushes by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Hail to thy light, lord of the golden day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That, bursting through the sable clouds again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost cheer the seaman's solitary way,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And with new splendour deck the lucid main!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lo! the voyage past, where many a palm,<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its green top only seen, the prospect bounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fringing the sunny sea-line, clear and calm;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now hark the slowly-swelling human sounds!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the bark along the placid bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Tamiatis keeps her easy-winding way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Here rest we safe from scenes of peril past,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No danger lurks in this serene retreat;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more is heard the roaring of the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But pastoral sounds of scattered flocks that bleat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or evening herds that o'er the champaign low;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Here citrons tall and purple dates around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delicious fragrance and cool shade bestow;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The shores with murmuring industry resound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While through the vernal pastures where he strays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nile, as with delight, his mazy course delays.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> Inscribed to the Rev. Dr Vincent Hind, Master of +Westminster School.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> Artificial harbours.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> Ezekiel xxvii. 25, "The ships of Tarshish did sing of +thee, and thou wast replenished, and made very glorious in the midst of +the seas."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Astarte, or the Moon, the goddess of the Sidonians, called +the <i>Queen of Heaven</i>. "The women knead their dough, to make cakes to +the Queen of Heaven" (Jer. vii. 18).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> Waterspouts are more frequent near the capes of Latikea, +Grecgo, and Carmel, than in any other parts of the Mediterranean +Sea.—<i>Shaw's Travels.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> The coast of Egypt is not discovered till its trees are +seen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>WATER-PARTY ON BEAULIEU RIVER, IN THE NEW FOREST.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I thought 'twas a toy of the fancy, a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That leads with illusion the senses astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I sighed with delight as we stole down the stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the sun, as he smiled on our sail, seemed to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rejoice in my light, ere it fade fast away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We left the loud rocking of ocean behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stealing along the clear current serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Phædria<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> spread her white sails to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they who divided had many a day been,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gazed with added delight on the charms of the scene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each bosom one spirit of peace seemed to feel;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We heard not the tossing, the stir, and the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the ocean without; we heard only the keel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The keel that went whispering along the green shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stroke, as it dipped, of the feathering oar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath the dark woods now, as winding we go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What sounds of rich harmony burst on the ear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark, cheer'ly the loud-swelling clarionets blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now the tones gently die, now more mellow we hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The horns through the high forest echoing clear!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They cease; and no longer the echoes prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The swell of the concert; in silence we float—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence! Oh, listen! 'tis woman's<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> sweet song—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bends of the river reply to each note,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the oar is held dripping and still from the boat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mark the sun that descends o'er the curve of the flood!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seize, Wilmot,<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> the pencil, and instant convey<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the tablet the water, the banks, and the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That their colours may live without change or decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When these beautiful tints die in darkness away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when we are parted, and tossed on the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And no longer the light on our prospect shall gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The semblance of one lovely scene we may keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And remember the day, and the hour, like a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we sighed with delight as we stole down the stream!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> Cutter belonging to Nathaniel Ogle, Esq.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> Mrs Sheridan.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> Mrs Wilmot, well known for her great talents in drawing, +<i>et cet.</i></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>MONODY ON THE DEATH OF DR WARTON.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! I should ill thy generous cares requite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou who didst first inspire my timid Muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could I one tuneful tear to thee refuse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now that thine aged eyes are closed in night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind Warton! Thou hast stroked my stripling head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sometimes, mingling soft reproof with praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My path hast best directed through the maze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thorny life: by thee my steps were led<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To that romantic valley, high o'erhung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sable woods, where many a minstrel rung <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bold harp to the sweeping waterfall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Fancy loved around each form to call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fill the poet's dream: to this retreat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Fancy, (won by whose enticing lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have forgot how sunk the summer's day),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou first did guide my not unwilling feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meantime inspiring the gay breast of youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With love of taste, of science, and of truth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first inciting sounds of human praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A parent's love excepted, came from thee; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And but for thee, perhaps, my boyish days<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had all passed idly, and whate'er in me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now live of hope, been buried.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">I was one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long bound by cold dejection's numbing chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As in a torpid trance, that deemed it vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To struggle; nor my eyelids to the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uplifted: but I heard thy cheering voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shook my deadly slumber off; I gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delighted 'round; awaked, inspired, amazed, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I marked another world, and in my choice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lovelier, and decked with light! On fairy ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methought I buoyant trod, and heard the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As of enchanting melodies, that stole,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stole gently, and entranced my captive soul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all was life and hope! 'Twas thy first ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet Fancy, on the heart; as when the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Spring, along the melancholy tract<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wintry Lapland, dawns; the cataract,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From ice dissolving on the silent side <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some white precipice, with paly gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descends, while the cold hills a slanting beam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faint tinges: till, ascending in his pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great Sun from the red horizon looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wakes the tuneless birds, the stagnant brooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sleeping lakes! So on my mind's cold night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ray of Fancy shone, and gave delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hope past utterance.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Thy cheering voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Warton! bade my silent heart rejoice, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wake to love of nature; every breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Itchin's brink was melody; the trees<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waved in fresh beauty; and the wind and rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shook the battlements of Wykeham's fane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less delighted, when, with random pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I trod the cloistered aisles; and witness thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Catherine,<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> upon whose foss-encircled brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We met the morning, how I loved to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The prospect spread around; the rills below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shone irriguous in the gleaming plain; <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The river's bend, where the dark barge went slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pale light on yonder time-worn fane!<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So passed my days with new delight; mean time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Learning's tender eye thou didst unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The classic page, and what high bards of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With solemn notes, and minstrelsy sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have chanted, we together heard; and thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warton! wouldst bid me listen, till a tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprang to mine eye: now the bold song we hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Greece's sightless master-bard:<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> the breast <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beats high; with stern Pelides to the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We rush; or o'er the corpse of Hector slain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang pitying;—and lo! where pale, oppressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With age and grief, sad Priam comes;<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> with beard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All white he bows, kissing the hands besmeared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his last hope's best blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i31">The oaten reed<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now from the mountain sounds; the sylvan Muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reclined by the clear stream of Arethuse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wakes the Sicilian pipe; the sunny mead <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swarms with the bees, whose drowsy lullaby<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothes the reclining ox with half-closed eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While in soft cadence to the madrigal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rock to rock the whispering waters fall!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But who is he,<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> that, by yon gloomy cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids heaven and earth bear witness to his woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hark! how hollowly the ocean-wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoes his plaint, and murmurs deep below!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haste, let the tall ship stem the tossing tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he may leave his cave, and hear no more <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Lemnian surges unrejoicing roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be great Fate through the dark world thy guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad Philoctetes!<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i20">So Instruction bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With young-eyed Sympathy, went hand in hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er classic fields; and let my heart confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its holier joy, when I essayed to climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lonely heights where Shakspeare sat sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lord of the mighty spell: around him press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirits and fairy-forms. He, ruling wide <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">His visionary world, bids terror fill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shivering breast, or softer pity thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n to the inmost heart. Within me died<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All thoughts of this low earth, and higher powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed in my soul to stir; till, strained too long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The senses sunk.<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Then, Ossian, thy wild song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haply beguiled the unheeded midnight hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like the blast that swept Berrathron's towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came pleasant and yet mournful to my soul! <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">See o'er the autumnal heath the gray mists roll!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark to the dim ghosts' faint and feeble cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As on the cloudy tempest they pass by!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw ye huge Loda's spectre-shape advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which the stars look pale!<br /></span> +<span class="i22">Nor ceased the trance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which bound the erring fancy, till dark night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flew silent by, and at my window-grate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morning bird sang loud: nor less delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spirit felt, when still and charmed I sate <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Milton's solemn harmonies to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swell from the full chord, and strong and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the tuneless couplets' weak control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their long-commingling diapason roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In varied sweetness.<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Nor, amidst the choir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pealing minstrelsy, was thy own lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warton, unheard;—as Fancy poured the song,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The measured music flowed along,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till all the heart and all the sense <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Felt her divinest influence,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In throbbing sympathy:—Prepare the car,<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And whirl us, goddess, to the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where crimson banners fire the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the mingled shouts arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the steed, with fetlock red,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tramples the dying and the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And amain, from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Death his pale horse is seen to ride!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or rather, sweet enthusiast, lead <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our footsteps to the cowslip mead,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where, as the magic spell is wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dying music floats around:—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or seek we some gray ruin's shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And pity the cold beggar,<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> laid<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beneath the ivy-rustling tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At the dreary midnight hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce sheltered from the drifting snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While her dark locks the bleak winds blow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er her sleeping infant's cheek! <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then let the shrilling trumpet speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And pierce in louder tones the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till, while it peals, we seem to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sounding march, as of the Theban's song;<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And varied numbers, in their course,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With gathering fulness, and collected force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the broad cataract, swell and sweep along!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Struck by the sounds, what wonder that I laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thou, O Warton! didst the theme inspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My inexperienced hand upon the lyre, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon with transient touch faint music made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As soon forgotten!<br /></span> +<span class="i18">So I loved to lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the wild streams of elfin poesy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapt in strange musings; but when life began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never roamed a visionary man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, taught by thee, I learned with sober eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look on life's severe realities.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never made (a dream-distempered thing)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Fiction's realm my world; but to cold Truth <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Subdued the vivid shapings of my youth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save when the drisly woods were murmuring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some hard crosses had my spirit bowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I have left, unseen, the careless crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sought the dark sea roaring, or the steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That braved the storm; or in the forest deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As all its gray leaves rustled, wooed the tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the loved lyre, that, in my springtide gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waked me to transport.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">Eighteen summers now <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have smiled on Itchin's margin, since the time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When these delightful visions of our prime<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose on my view in loveliness. And thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friend of my muse, in thy death-bed art cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, with the tenderest touches, didst unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shrinking leaves of Fancy, else unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shelterless: therefore to thee are due<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whate'er their summer sweetness; and I strew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly, such flowerets as on hillocks green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mountain-slope, or hedge-row, yet my hand <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">May cull, with many a recollection bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mingled sorrow, Warton, on thy tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom, if bloom they boast, they owe their bloom!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> Catherine Hill.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> St Cross Hospital.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> Homer.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> See the last book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> Theocritus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> <ins class="correction" title="Megalê moira.">Μεγαλη μοιρα—</ins><i>Soph</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> Philoctetes, see Sophocles. Youthful impressions on first +reading it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> See Warton's "Ode to Fancy."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> Alluding to some pathetic lines in Warton's "Ode to +Fancy."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> See Warton's "Ode on West's Translation of Pindar."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>EPITAPH ON H. WALMSLEY, ESQ.,</h3> + +<h4>IN ALVERSTOKE CHURCH, HANTS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! they shall ne'er forget thee, they who knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy soul benevolent, sincere, and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poor thy kindness cheered, thy bounty fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom age left shivering in its dreariest shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy friends, who sorrowing saw thee, when disease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed first the genial stream of life to freeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale from thy hospitable home depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy hand still open, and yet warm thy heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But how shall she her love, her loss express,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy widow, in this uttermost distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she with anguish hears her lisping train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon their buried father call in vain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wipes the tear despair had forced to flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lifts her look beyond this vale of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rests (while humbled in the dust she kneels)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Him who only knows how much she feels.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>AGE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou art passing to that night-still bourne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON A LANDSCAPE BY RUBENS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the rich creation, shadowed so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That not great Nature, in her loftiest pomp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of living beauty, ever on the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose more magnificent; nor aught so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath Fancy, in her wildest, brightest mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imaged of things most lovely, when the sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this cold cloudy world at distance sink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all alone the warm idea lives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what is great, or beautiful, or good, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Nature's general plan.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">So the vast scope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Rubens! of thy mighty mind, and such<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fervour of thy pencil, pouring wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The still illumination, that the mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pauses, absorbed, and scarcely thinks what powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mortal art the sweet enchantment wrought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sees the painter, with no human touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Create, embellish, animate at will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mimic scenes, from Nature's ampler range <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught as by inspiration; while the clouds,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">High wandering, and the fairest form of things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem at his bidding to emerge, and burn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With radiance and with life!<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Let us, subdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now to the magic of the moment lose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thoughts of life, and mingle every sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n in the scenes before us!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The fresh morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of summer shines; the white clouds of the east <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are crisped; beneath, the bright blue champaign steams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The banks, the meadows, and the flowers, send up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An incensed exhalation, like the meek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And holy praise of Him whose soul's deep joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lone woods witness. Thou, whose heart is sick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of vanities; who, in the throng of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost feel no lenient fellowship; whose eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns, with a languid carelessness, around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the toiling crowd, still murmuring on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Restless;—oh, think, in summer scenes like these, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet the sense of quiet gladness is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, like the silent breath of morning, steals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lowly nooks, and feels itself expand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the works of Nature, to the Power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made them: to the awful thought of <span class="smcap">Him</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, when the morning stars shouted for joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bade the great sun from tenfold darkness burst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green earth roll in light, and solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First hear the voice of man, whilst hills and woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood eminent, in orient hues arrayed, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His dwelling; and all living Nature smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in this pictured semblance, beaming full<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before us!<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Mark again the various view:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some city's far-off spires and domes appear,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaking the long horizon, where the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits blue and soft: what glowing imagery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is spread beneath!—Towns, villages, light smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce-seen windmill-sails, and devious woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chequering 'mid sunshine the grass-level land, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stretches from the sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Now nearer trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forms of trees distinct—the broad brown oak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poplars, that, with silvery trunks, incline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shading the lonely castle; flakes of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are flung behind the massy groups, that, now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enlarging and enlarging still, unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their separate beauties. But awhile delay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass the foot-bridge, and listen (for we hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or think we hear her), listen to the song <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of yonder milkmaid, as she brims her pail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst, in the yellow pasture, pensive near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red cows ruminate.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Break off, break off, for lo! where, all alarmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The small birds,<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> from the late resounding perch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly various, hushed their early song; and mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the darkness of the bramble-bank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That overhangs the half-seen brook, where nod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowing rushes, dew-besprent, with breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruddy, and emerald wing, the kingfisher <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steals through the dripping sedge away. What shape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of terrors scares the woodland habitants,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marring the music of the dawn? Look round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See, where he creeps, beneath the willowy stump,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cowering and low, step silent after step,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The booted fowler: keen his look, and fixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the adverse bank, while, with firm hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He grasps the deadly tube; his dog, with ears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung back, and still and steady eye of fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Points to the prey; the boor, intent, moves on <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Panting, and creeping close beneath the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fears lest ev'n the rustling reeds betray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His footfall; nearer yet, and yet more near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stalks. Who now shall save the heedless group,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The speckled partridges, that in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On yonder hillock green, across the stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bask unalarmed beneath the hawthorn bush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose aged boughs the crawling blackberry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Entwines!<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And thus, upon the sweetest scenes <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of human loveliness, and social peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Domestic, when the full fond heart reclines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon its hopes, and almost mingles tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of joy, to think that in this hollow world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such bliss should be its portion; then (alas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bitter change!), then, with his unheard step,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkness shrouded, yet approaching fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death, from amidst the sunny flowers, lifts up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His giant dread anatomy, and smites,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smites the fair prospect once, whilst every bloom <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs shrivelled, and a sound of mourning fills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lone and blasted valley: but no sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is here of sorrow or of death, though she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The country Kate, with shining morning cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Who, in the tumbril, with her market-gear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits seated high), seems to expect the flash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exploding, that shall lay the innocent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feathered tenants of the landscape low.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so the clown, who, heedless whether life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or death betide, across the plashy ford<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drives slow; the beasts plod on, foot following foot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aged and grave, with half-erected ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As now his whip above their matted manes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs tremulous, while the dark and shallow stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashes beneath their fetlock: he, astride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On harness saddle, not a sidelong look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deigns at the breathing landscape, or the maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling behind; the cold and lifeless calf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sole companion: and so mated oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is some sweet maid, whose thrilling heart was formed <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For dearer fellowship. But lift the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hail the abode of rural ease. The man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walks forth, from yonder antique hall, that looks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mistress of the scene; its turrets gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the trees, and cheerful smoke is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if no spectred shape (though most retired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spot) there ever wandered, stoled in white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the midnight chambers; but quaint Mab<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tiny revels led, till the rare dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peeped out, and chanticleer his shrill alarm <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the window rang, then, with a wink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadowy rout have vanished!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">As the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jocund ascends, how lovely is the view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him who owns the fair domain! The friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his still hours is near, to whom he vowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His truth; her eyes reflect his bliss; his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beats high with joy; his little children play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleased, in his pathway; one the scattered flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straggling collects, the other spreads its arms, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In speechless blandishment, upon the neck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of its caressing nurse.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Still let us gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And image every form of heartfelt joy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which scenes like these bestow, that charm the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet soothe the spirit. All is quiet here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet cheerful as the green sea, when it shines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some still bay, shines in its loneliness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the breeze, that moves, and hardly moves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The placid surface. <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i24">On the balustrade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the old bridge, that o'er the moat is thrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fisher with his angle leans intent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turns, from the bright pomp of spreading plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To watch the nimble fry, that glancing oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the gray arch shoot! Oh, happiest he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who steals through life, untroubled as unseen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant city, with its crowded spires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dimly shines upon his view, awakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No thought but that of pleasure more composed, <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the winds whisper him to sounder sleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He leans upon the faithful arm of her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom his youthful heart beat, fondly beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When life was new: time steals away, yet health<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And exercise are his; and in these shades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though sometimes he has mourned a proud world's wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He feels an independence that all cares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breasts with a carol of content; he hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green leaves of his old paternal trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make music, soothing as they stir: the elm, <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And poplar with its silvery trunk, that shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green sward of the bank before his porch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are to him as companions;—whilst he turns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With more endearment to the living smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those his infants, who, when he is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall hear the music of the self-same trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waving, till years roll on, and their gray hairs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go to the dust in peace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i22">Away, sad thought!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! where the morning light, through the dark wood, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the window-pane is flung like fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail, Life and Hope; and thou, great work of art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That 'mid this populous and busy swarm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of men dost smile serene, as with the hues<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fairest, grandest Nature; may'st thou speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not vainly of the endearments and best joys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Nature yields. The manliest heart that swells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With honest English feelings,—while the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saddened, but not cast down, beholds far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darkness of the onward rolling storm,— <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Charmed for a moment by this mantling view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its anxious tumults shall suspend: and such,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pensive patriot shall exclaim, thy scenes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My own beloved country, such the abode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rural peace! and while the soul has warmth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And voice has energy, the brave arm strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">England, thou shalt not fall! The day shall come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, and now is, that thou shalt lift thyself;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woe to him who sets upon thy shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hostile foot! Proud victor though he be, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bloody march shall never soil a flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hangs its sweet head, in the morning dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thy green village banks! His mustered hosts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall be rolled back in thousands, and the surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bury them! Then, when peace illumes once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My country, thy green nooks and inmost vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It will be sweet amidst the forest glens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stray, and think upon the distant storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That howled, but injured not!<br /></span> +<span class="i22">At thoughts like these, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What heart, what English heart, but shall beat high!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, its keen flash passed, thine eye intent,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beaumont, shall trace the master-strokes of art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And view the assemblage of the finished piece,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with his skill who formed it: ruder views,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Savage, with solitary pines, hung high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the broken crags (where scowling wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fierce banditti), stern Salvator's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall aptly shade: o'er Poussin's clustering domes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ampler umbrage, the black woods shall hang, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath whose waving gloom the sudden flash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of broken light upon the brawling stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is flung below.<br /></span> +<span class="i15">Aërial Claude shall paint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gray fane peering o'er the summer woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The azure lake below, or distant seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sails, in the pellucid atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft gleaming to the morn. Dark on the rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the red lightnings burst, shall Wilson stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like mighty Shakspeare, whom the imps of fire <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Await. Nor oh, sweet Gainsborough! shall thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Muse forget, whose simple landscape smiles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attractive, whether we delight to view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cottage chimney through the high wood peep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or beggar beauty stretch her little hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With look most innocent; or homeward kine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wind through the hollow road at eventide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or browse the straggling branches.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Scenes like these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall charm all hearts, while truth and beauty live, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Nature's pictured loveliness shall own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each master's varied touch; but chiefly thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Rubens! shalt the willing senses lead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enamoured of the varied imagery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fills the vivid canvas, swelling still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the enraptured eye of taste, and still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">New charms unfolding; though minute, yet grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Simple, yet most luxuriant; every light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every shade, greatly opposed, and all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Subserving to one magical effect <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of truth and harmony.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">So glows the scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the pensive thought refined displays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The richest rural poem. Oh, may views<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So pictured animate thy classic mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beaumont, to wander 'mid Sicilian scenes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And catch the beauties of the pastoral bard,<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowing his wildest landscapes! Ætna's fires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bebrycian rocks, Anapus' holy stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woods of ancient Pan; the broken crag <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old fisher here; the purple vines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There bending; and the smiling boy set down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guard, who, innocent and happy, weaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intent, his rushy basket, to ensnare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chirping grasshoppers, nor sees the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lean fox meditate her morning meal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyeing his scrip askance; whilst further on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another treads the purple grapes—he sits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor aught regards, but the green rush he weaves.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Beaumont! let this pomp of light and shade <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake thee, to paint the woods that the sweet Muse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has consecrated: then the summer scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Phasidamus, clad in richer light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall glow, the glancing poplars, and clear fount;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While distant times admire (as now we trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This summer-mantling view) hoar Ætna's pines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vine-hung grotts, and branching planes, that shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver Arethusa's stealing wave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> The landscape is on so large a scale, that all these +circumstances are most accurately delineated.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Theocritus. Alluding to a design of illustrating the +<i>picturesque character</i> of the venerable Sicilian, by paintings of Sir +George, from new translations of Messrs Sotheby, Rogers, Howley, W. +Spencer, and the author.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE HARP, AND DESPAIR, OF COWPER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet bard, whose tones great Milton might approve,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And Shakspeare, from high Fancy's sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Turning to the sound his ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bend down a look of sympathy and love;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Oh, swell the lyre again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if in full accord it poured an angel's strain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! what means that look aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ev'n whilst it seemed in holy trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On scenes of bliss above to glance!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it a fiend of darkness passed!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Oh, speak—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Paleness is upon his cheek—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On his brow the big drops stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">To airy vacancy<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Points the dread silence of his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the loved lyre it falls, falls from his nerveless hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Come, peace of mind, delightful guest!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, come, and make thy downy nest<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Once more on his sad heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweet Hope, support his aged head;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And Charity, avert the burning dart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fruitless the prayer—the night of deeper woes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems o'er the head even now to close;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain the path of purity he trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In vain, in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He poured from Fancy's shell his sweetest hermit strain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has no hope on earth: forsake him not, O God!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>STANZAS FOR MUSIC.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I trust the happy hour will come, <span class="linenum">1</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That shall to peace thy breast restore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that we two, beloved friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall one day meet to part no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It grieves me most, that parting thus, <span class="linenum">2</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">All my soul feels I dare not speak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when I turn me from thy sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tears in silence wet my cheek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet I look forward to the time, <span class="linenum">3</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That shall each wound of sorrow heal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I may press thee to my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tell thee all that now I <ins class="correction" title="Original was fell">feel.</ins><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>MUSIC.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Music! if thou hast a charm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That may the sense of pain disarm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be all thy tender tones addressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe to peace my Harriet's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid the magic of thy strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So still the wakeful throb of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, rapt in the delightful measure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet Hope again may whisper pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seem the notes of Spring to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prelusive to a happier year!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if thy magic can restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shade of days that smile no more,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And softer, sweeter colours give<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To scenes that in remembrance live;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be to her pensive heart a friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, whilst the tender shadows blend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recall, ere the brief trace be lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each moment that she prized the most.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps, when many a cheerful day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hereafter shall have stolen away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If then some old and favourite strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should bring back to her thoughts again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hours when, silent by her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I listened to her song and sighed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps a long-forgotten name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thought, if not a tear may claim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when in distant plains away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone I count each lingering day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She may a silent prayer prefer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him whose heart once bled for her.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ABSENCE.</h3> + +<h4>OCTOBER 26, 1791.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How shall I cheat the heavy hours, of thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deprived, of thy kind looks and converse sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now that the waving grove the dark storms beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wintry winds sad sounding o'er the lea,<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scatter the sallow leaf! I would believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou, at this hour, with tearful tenderness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost muse on absent images, and press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thought my hand, and say: Oh do not grieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friend of my heart! at wayward fortune's power;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One day we shall be happy, and each hour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pain forget, cheered by the summer ray.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These thoughts beguile my sorrow for thy loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, as the aged pines their dark heads toss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft steal the sense of solitude away.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So am I sadly soothed, yet do I cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A wishful glance upon the seasons past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think how different was the happy tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou, with looks of love, wert smiling by my side.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> Summer-Lees, near Knoyle.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>FAIRY SKETCH.</h3> + +<h4>SCENE—NETLEY ABBEY.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was a morrice on the moonlight plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And music echoed in the woody glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fay-like forms, as of Titania's train,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon a summer eve, beneath the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Netley's ivied ruins, to the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sprightly minstrelsy did beat the ground:—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Come, take hands! and lightly move,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">While our boat, in yonder cove,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Rests upon the darkening sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Come, take hands, and follow me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Netley! thy dim and desolated fane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath heard, perhaps, the spirits of the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrieking, at times, amid the wind and rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or haply, when the full-orbed moon shone bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy glimmering aisles have echoed to the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fairy Mab, who led her shadowy masque along.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Now, as to the sprightly sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of moonlight minstrelsy we beat the ground;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the pale nooks, in accent clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, methinks, her voice I hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounding o'er the darksome sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, take hands, and follow me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, beneath the solemn wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When faintly-blue is all the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the moon is still on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the murmurs of the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the glimpses of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We perform our airy rite;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Care and pain to us unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the darkening seas are flown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Hear no more life's fretful noise,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Heed not here pale Envy's sting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far from life's distempered joys;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To the waters murmuring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the shadows of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the moon that rides on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the glimpses of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We perform our airy rite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While care and pain, to us unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the darkening seas are flown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>INSCRIPTION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, and where these runnels fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen to my madrigal!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from all sounds of all the strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That murmur through the walks of life;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From grief, inquietude, and fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From scenes of riot, or of tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From passions, cankering day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wear the inmost heart away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From pale Detraction's envious spite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That worries where it fears to bite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From mad Ambition's worldly chase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, and in this shady place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thine Contentment's humble joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a life that makes no noise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save when fancy, musing long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns to desultory song;<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wakes some lonely melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the water dripping by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, and where these runnels fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen to my madrigal!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bremhill Garden</span>, <i>Sept. 1808.</i></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> "And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song."—<i>Parnell</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>PICTURES FROM THEOCRITUS.</h3> + +<h4>FROM IDYL I.</h4> + +<p class="center"><ins class="correction" title="Ady ti to psthyrisma">Αδυ τι το ψθὑρισμα</ins>, <i>etc</i>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Goat-herd, how sweet above the lucid spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The high pines wave with breezy murmuring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sweet thy song, whose music might succeed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">THYRSIS.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More sweet thy pipe's enchanting melody<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than streams that fall from broken rocks on high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, by the nymphs, that guard the sacred scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where lowly tamarisks shade these hillocks green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At noontide shall we lie?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">No; for o'erwearied with the forest chase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pan, the great hunter god, sleeps in this place.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the branching elm, while thy sad verse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Thyrsis! Daphnis' sorrows shall rehearse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fronting the wood-nymph's solitary seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose fountains flash amid the dark retreat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the old statue leans, and brown oaks wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their ancient umbrage o'er the pastoral cave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There will we rest, and thou, as erst, prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweet enchantment of the Doric song!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">FROM THE SAME IDYL.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mark, where the beetling precipice appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The toil of the old fisher, gray with years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark, as to drag the laden net he strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The labouring muscle and the swelling veins!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, in the sun, the clustered vineyard bends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shines empurpled, as the morn ascends!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little boy, with idly-happy mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guard the grapes upon the ground is seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two wily foxes creeping round appear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scrip that holds his morning meal is near,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One breaks the bending vines; with longing lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look askance, one eyes the tempting scrip.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He plats and plats his rushy net all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And makes the vagrant grasshopper his prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He plats his net, intent with idle care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heeds how vineyard, grape, or scrip may fare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">FROM THE SAME.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Where were ye, nymphs, when Daphnis drooped with love?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fair Peneus' Tempe, or the grove<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Pindus! Nor your pastimes did ye keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where huge Anapus' torrent waters sweep;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Ætna's height, ah! impotent to save,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet where Akis winds his holy wave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">FROM THE SAME.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pan, Pan, oh mighty hunter! whether now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou roamest o'er Lyceus' shaggy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Mœnalaus, outstretched in amplest shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy solitary footsteps have delayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave Helice's romantic rock a while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And haste, oh haste, to the Sicilian isle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave the dread monument, approached with fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Lycaonian tomb the gods revere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here cease, Sicilian Muse, the Doric lay;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, Forest King, and bear this pipe away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daphnis, subdued by love, and bowed with woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks, sinks for ever to the shades below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">FROM IDYL VII.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He left us;—we, the hour of parting come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Prasidamus' hospitable home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself and Eucritus, together wend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With young Amynticus, our blooming friend:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, all delighted, through the summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On beds of rushes, pillowed deep, we lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around, the lentils, newly cut, were spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark elms and poplars whispered o'er our head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hallowed stream, to all the wood-nymphs dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh from the rocky cavern murmured near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the fruit-leaves' many-mantling shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grasshoppers a coil incessant made;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the wild thorny thickets, heard remote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wood-lark trilled his far-resounding note;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud sung the thrush, musician of the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soft and sweet was heard the dove's sad note between;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then yellow bees, whose murmur soothed the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went idly flitting round the fountain clear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summer and Autumn seemed at once to meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filling with redolence the blest retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the ripe pear came rolling to our feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">FROM IDYL XXII.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the famed Argo now secure had passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crushing rocks,<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> and that terrific strait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That guards the wintry Pontic, the tall ship<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reached wild Bebrycia's shores; bearing like gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her god-descended chiefs. They, from her sides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scaling steps descend, and on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Savage, and sad, and beat by ocean winds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strewed their rough beds, and on the casual fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vessels place. The brothers, by themselves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Castor</span> and red-haired <span class="smcap">Pollux</span>, wander far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the forest solitudes. A wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immense and dark, shagging the mountain side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before them rose; a cold and sparkling fount<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welled with perpetual lapse, beneath its feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of purest water clear; scattering below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streams as of silver and of crystal rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright from the bottom: Pines, of stateliest height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poplar, and plane, and cypress, branching wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were near, thick bordered by the scented flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lured the honeyed bee, when spring declines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick swarming o'er the meadows. There all day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A huge man sat, of savage, wild aspect;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His breast stood roundly forward, his broad back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed as of iron, such as might befit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vast Colossus sculptured. Full to view<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The muscles of his brawny shoulders stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the round mountain-stones the torrent wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has polished; from his neck and back hung down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lion's skin, held by its claws. Him first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red-haired youth addressed: Hail, stranger, hail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, what tribes unknown inhabit here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take to the seas thy Hail: I ask it not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never saw before, or thee, or thine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Courage! thou seest not men that are unjust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or cruel.<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Courage shall I learn from thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy heart is savage; thou art passion's slave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as I am thou seest; but land of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tread not.<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Come, these hospitable gifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accept, and part in peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">No: not from thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My gifts are yet in store.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Say, may we drink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this clear fount?<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Ask, when wan thirst has parched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy lips.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">What present shall I give to thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None. Stand before me as a man; lift high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy brandished arms, and try, weak pugilist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy strength.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">But say, with whom shall I contend?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou seest him here; nor in his art unskilled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then what shall be the prize of him who wins?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or thou shalt be my slave, or I be thine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crested birds so fight.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Whether like birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lions, for no other prize fight we!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He said: and sounded loud his hollow conch;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gaunt Bebrycian brethren, at the sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With long lank hair, come flocking to the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that vast plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Then Castor hied, and called<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hero chiefs from the Magnesian<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> ship.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> Rocks which were supposed to strike one against the other, +and so crush the ship that attempted to pass between.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> So called, from the country where it was built.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SKETCHES IN THE EXHIBITION, 1805.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What various objects strike with various force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Achilles, Hebe, and Sir Watkin's horse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here summer scenes, there Pentland's stormy ridge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lords, ladies, Noah's ark, and Cranford bridge!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some that display the elegant design,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lucid colours, and the flowing line;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some that might make, alas! Walsh Porter<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> stare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonder how the devil they got there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">LADY M——VE.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How clear a strife of light and shade is spread!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The face how touched with nature's loveliest red!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">M——ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all is nature, dignity, and grace!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">HON. MISS MERCER.—HOPNER.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! hide those tempting eyes, that faultless form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those looks with feeling and with nature warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The neck, the softly-swelling bosom hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, wanton gales, blow the light vest aside;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For who, when beauties more than life excite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent applause, can gaze without delight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But innocence, enchanting maid, is thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine eyes in liquid light unconscious shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And may thy breast no other feelings prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than those of sympathy and mutual love!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>EXHIBITION, 1807.</h3> + +<h4>BLIND FIDDLER.—WILKIE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With mirth unfeigned the cottage chimney rings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though only vocal with four fiddle-strings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see, the poor blind fiddler draws his bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifts intent his time-denoting toe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yonder maid, as blythe as birds in June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You almost hear her whistle to the tune!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard by, a lad, in imitative guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed, fiddle-like, the broken bellows plies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the hearth, with looks of honest joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The father chirrups to the chattering boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snaps his lifted thumbs with mimic glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the glad urchin on his mother's knee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">MORNING.—TURNER.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up! for the morning shines with welcome ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the sunny seabeach let us stray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What orient hues proclaim the master's hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How light the wave upon the half-wet sand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How beautiful the sun, as still we gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streams all diffusive through the opening haze!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Artist—when to the thunder's pealing sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fire mixed with hailstones ran upon the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When partial darkness the dread prospect hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sole aspired the aged pyramid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sublimity thy genius seemed to guide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Egypt's champaign, desolate and wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here delightful beauty reigns alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And decks the morning scene with graces all her own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">KESWICK.—SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lake where sober evening seems to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hills far retiring into umbrage deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blend all with classic, pure, poetic taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strike the more with forms and colours chaste!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">MARKET-DAY.—CALCOT.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through the wood's maze our eyes delighted stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mark the rustics on the market-day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the branches winds the long white road;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here peeps the rustic cottager's abode;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There in the morning sun, the children play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the crone creeps along the dusty way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">SCENE IN FRANCE.—LOUTHERBOURG.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Artist, I own thy genius; but the touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May be too restless, and the glare too much:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sure none ever saw a landscape shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Basking in beams of such a sun as thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And panting cried, O Lord, how hot it is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">DEATH OF NELSON.—WEST.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here cease the strain; but while thy hulls shall ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Britain, dark shadowing the tumultuous tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May other Nelsons, on the sanguine main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guide, like a god, the battle's hurricane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the funeral's transient pomp is past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High hung the banner, hushed the battle's blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May the brave character to ages shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Genius consecrate the immortal shrine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> A gentleman well known for his taste and fine collection.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SOUTHAMPTON CASTLE.<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a></h3> + +<h4>INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The moonlight is without; and I could lose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regardless of the lights that blaze within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I look upon the wide and silent sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps:<br /></span> +<span class="i32">How still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eve of pleasant yesterdays! <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i32">The clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem in their watches set, as gazing on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gazing worlds!<br /></span> +<span class="i27">How different is the scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lies beneath this arched window's height!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The town, that murmured through the busy day, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And masts that throng around the southern pier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How more attractive! but few years have passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All circling round an aged sire,<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> whose hairs <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are now in peace gone down; he was to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A friend, and almost with a father's smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fellowship, the song of harmony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mirth, and wit,<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> were there.<br /></span> +<span class="i27">That scene is passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold death and separation have dissolved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The evening circle of once-happy friends!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So has it ever fared, and so must fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all! I see the moonlight watery tract <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What seems it, but the mirror of that tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds its inevitable course, the tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of years departing; to the distant eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-day, to-morrow other passing sails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn. <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the pale ripple, passing as it shines!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shall the pensive bard for this lament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows how transitory are all worlds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before His eye who made them!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Cease the strain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And welcome still the social intercourse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, universal darkness wrapping all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here only pure and lasting bliss is found!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> Southampton Castle is a magnificent pile, erected by the +Marquis of Lansdowne, commanding the most striking views of the river, +the Isle of Wight, the New Forest, <i>et etc</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> Late Dean of Winchester, Dr Newton Ogle.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> I speak this of Mr Sheridan, who was often of the party.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE WINDS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When dark November bade the leaves adieu,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With garments streaming light, amid the clouds;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From adverse regions of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In dim succession, they went by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon a beaked promontory high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked ye the father of the frowning year!<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempestuous sky,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When creeping <span class="smcap">Winter</span> from his cave came forth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern courier of the storm, he cried, what from the north?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">NORTH WIND.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">From the vast and desert deeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the lonely Kraken sleeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where fixed the icy mountains high<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Glimmer to the twilight sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where, six lingering months to last, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">The night has closed, the day is past,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Father, lo, I come, I come:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I have heard the wizard's drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the withered Lapland hag,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seal, with muttered spell, her bag:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er mountains white, and forests sere,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I flew, and with a wink am here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WINTER.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Spirit of unwearied wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From the Baltic's frozen main,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From the Russ's bleak domain, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say, what tidings dost thou bring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouts, and the noise of battle! and again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The winged wind blew loud a deadly blast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouts, and the noise of battle! the long main<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seemed with hoarse voice to answer as he passed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moody South went by, and silence kept;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cloudy rack oft hid his mournful mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And frequent fell the showers, as if he wept<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The eternal havoc of this mortal scene.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He had heard the yell, and cry, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And howling dance of Anarchy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the Rhone, with rushing flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Murmured to the main, through blood:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He seemed to wish he could for ever throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His misty mantle o'er a world of woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But rousing him from his desponding trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cold Eurus blew his sharp and shrilling horn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his right hand he bore an icy lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That far off glittered in the frost of morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man knew the clarion from afar, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">What from the East? he cried.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">EAST WIND.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i16">Shouts, and the noise of war!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far o'er the land hath been my flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er many a forest dark as night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Wolga's wild and giant reeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the Carpathian summits hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath whose snows and shadows frore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poland's level length unfolds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her trackless woods and wildering wolds, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a spirit, seeking rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have passed from east to west,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While sounds of discord and lament<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rose from the earth where'er I went.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I care not; hurrying, as in scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shook my lance, and blew my horn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The day shows clear; and merrily<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the Atlantic now I fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who comes in soft and spicy vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the mild regions of the West? <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">An azure veil bends waving o'er his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And showers of violets from his hands are shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Zephyr, with a look as young and fair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when his lucid wings conveyed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That beautiful and gentle maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Psyche, transported through the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blissful couch of Love's own god to share.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Winter, avaunt! thy haggard eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will scare him, as he wanders by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him and the timid butterfly. <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">He brings again the morn of May;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The lark, amid the clear blue sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Carols, but is not seen so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the winter's winds fly far away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cried: O Father of the world, whose might<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The storm, the darkness, and the winds obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, when will thus the long tempestuous night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of warfare and of woe be rolled away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, when will cease the uproar and the din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Peace breathe soft, Summer is coming in! <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> "Then comes the father of the tempest forth."—<i>Thomson</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>ON WILLIAM SOMMERS OF BREMHILL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O aged man! Thy sand is almost run,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Have been thy visitants from morn to morn.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While trembling on existence thou dost live,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accept what human charity can give;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But standing thus, time-palsied, and forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a scathed oak, of all its boughs bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God and the grave are thy best refuge left.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the bells rung, and summer's smiling ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Welcomed again the merry Whitsuntide,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my humble villagers were gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw thee sitting on the highway side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel once more the warm sun's blessed beam:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Didst thou then think upon thy own gay prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On such a holiday, and the glad time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou wert young and happy, like a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now perished! No; the murmured prayer alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose from the trembling lips towards the Throne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Mercy; that ere spring returned again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the long winter blew its dreary blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sweep the verdure from the fading plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy burden would be dropped, thy sorrows past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O blind and aged man, bowed down with cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE VISIONARY BOY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enough of care and heaviness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The weary lids of life depress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doubly blest that gentle heart shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wooes of poesy the visions bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strays forgetful o'er enchanted land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So spoke, with ardent look, yet eyebrow sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he had passed o'er many a mountain rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many a wild and weary solitude, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid a green vale, a wandering minstrel-lad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eyes that shone in softened flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wings and wand, young Fancy came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as she touched a trembling lute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lone enthusiast stood entranced and mute.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a sound that made his soul forego<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All thoughts of sadness in a world of woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, lend that lute! he cried: Hope, Pity, Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall listen; and each valley, rock, and grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall witness, as with deep delight, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From orient morn to dewy-stealing night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit, rapt in trance of sweetness high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall drink the heartfelt sound with tears of ecstasy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thus he spoke, soft voices seemed to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come away, come away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where shall the heart-sick minstrel stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But (viewing all things like a dream)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By haunted wood, or wizard stream?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That, like a hermit weeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Amid the gray stones creeping; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">With voice distinct, yet faint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calls on Repose herself to hear its soothing plaint.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him, romantic Solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall pile sublime her mountains rude;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him, with shades more soft impressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lucid lake's transparent breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall show the banks, the woods, the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More clear, more beautiful, more still.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him more musical shall wave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pines o'er Echo's moonlit cave; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">While sounds as of a fairy lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid the shadowy cliffs expire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This valley where the raptured minstrel stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was shaded with a circling slope of wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rich in beauty, with that valley vied,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thessalian Tempe, crowned with verdant bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where smooth and clear Peneus winds his way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ossa and Olympus, on each side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise dark with woods; or that Sicilian plain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Arethusa's clearest waters lave, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">By many a haunt of Pan, and wood-nymph's cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lingering and listening to the Doric strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him,<a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> the bard whose music might succeed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This scene the mistress of the valley held,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fancy, a magic maid; and at her will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aërial castles crowned the gleaming hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or forests rose, or lapse of water welled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes she sat with lifted eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marked the dark storm in the western sky; <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes she looked, and scarce her breath would draw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fearful things, not to be told, she saw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes, like a vision of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On wings of shifting light she floated here and there.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the breeze her garments flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the brightest skiey blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lucid as the tints of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When Summer trills his pipe of corn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tresses to each wing descending fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Or, lifted by the wind, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Stream loose and unconfined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like golden threads, beneath her myrtle coronal.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The listening passions stood aloof and mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As oft the west wind touched her trembling lute.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when its sounds the youthful minstrel heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strange mingled feelings, not to be expressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rose undefined, yet blissful, on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the softened scene in sweeter light appeared.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Fancy waved her wand, and lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An airy troop went beckoning by: <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, from toil and worldly woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, live with us in vales remote! they cry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are the flitting phantasies; the dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That lead the heart through all that elfin land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where half-seen shapes entice with whispers bland.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the clouds, impressed with livelier beams,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Roll, in the lucid track of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed in coloured brede, with semblances more fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The airy troop, as on they sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus the pensive stranger hail: <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the pure and argent sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There our distant chambers lie;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bed is strewed with blushing roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Quietude at eve reposes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oft trembling lest her bowers should fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the cold earth's humid shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, rest with us! evanishing, they cried—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, rest with us! the lonely vale replied.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Fancy beckoned, and with smiling mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A radiant form arose, like the fair Queen <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Beauty: from her eye divinely bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A richer lustre shot, a more attractive light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She said: With fairer tints I can adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The living landscape, fairer than the morn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The summer clouds in shapes romantic rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those they edge the fading west, like gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lake that sleeps in sunlight, yet impressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With shades more sweet than real on its breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid baffling stones, beneath a partial ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The small brook huddling its uneven way; <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue far distant hills, the silvery sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every scene of summer speaks of me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But most I wake the sweetest wishes warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the fond gaze is turned on woman's breathing form.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So passing silent through a myrtle grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauty first led him to the bower of Love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mellow light through the dim covert strayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And opening roses canopied the shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why does the hurrying pulse unbidden leap!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, in yonder glade that nymph asleep! <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart-struck minstrel hangs, with lingering gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er every charm his eye impassioned strays!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An edge of white is seen, and scarcely seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As soft she breathes, her coral lips between;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lambent ray steals from her half-closed eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As her breast heaves a short imperfect sigh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleep, winds of summer, o'er the leafy bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor move the light bells of the nodding flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest but a sound of stirring leaves might seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To break the charm of her delicious dream! <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ye, fond, rising, throbbing thoughts, away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest syren Pleasure all the soul betray!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! turn, and listen to the ditty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the lowly cave of Pity.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On slaughter's plain, while Valour grieves,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">There he sunk to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the ring-dove scattered leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Upon his bleeding breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her face was hid, while her pale arms enfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What seemed an urn of alabaster cold; <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To this she pressed her heaving bosom bare:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The drops that gathered in the dank abode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell dripping, on her long dishevelled hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still her tears, renewed, and silent, flowed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the winds of autumn ceased to swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times was heard a slow and melancholy knell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas in the twilight of the deepest wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath whose boughs like sad Cocytus, famed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through fabling Greece, from lamentation named<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A river dark and silent flowed, there stood <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pale and melancholy man, intent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His look upon that drowsy stream he bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever counting, when the fitful breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With strange and hollow sound sung through the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Counting the sallow leaves, that down the current went.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw them not:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth seemed to him one universal blot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes, as most distempered, to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He paced; and sometimes fixed his chilling look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon a dreadful book, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inscribed with secret characters of woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gibbering imps, as mocking him, appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And airy laughter 'mid the dusk was heard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Fancy waved her wand again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all that valley that so lovely smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was changed to a bare champaign, waste and wild.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What pale and phantom-horseman rides amain?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Terror;—all the plain, far on, is spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With skulls and bones, and relics of the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his black trump he blew a louder blast, <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earthquakes muttered as the giant passed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then said that magic maid, with aspect bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thine to seize his phantom spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis thine his sable trumpet to command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrill the inmost heart with shuddering fear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But hark! to Music's softer sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New scenes and fairer views accordant rise:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above, around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mingled measure swells in air, and dies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music, in thy charmed shell, <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What sounds of holy magic dwell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft when that shell was to the ear applied,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Confusion of rich harmonies,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i10">All swelling rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That came, as with a gently-swelling tide:<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Then at the close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angelic voices seemed, aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To answer as it died the cadence soft.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, like the hum of distant ocean's stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murmurs of the wond'rous concave seem; <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now exultingly their tones prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chorded pæans of the choral song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Music, with a voice more wildly sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than winds that pipe on the forsaken shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the last rain-drops of the west are o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warbled: Oh, welcome to my blest retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And give my sounds to the responsive lyre:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With me to these melodious groves retire,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And such pure feelings share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, far from noise and folly, soothe thee there. <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here Fancy, as the prize were won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now she hailed her favourite son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With energy impatient cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weary world is dark and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! I am with thee still to comfort and to guide.<a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor fear, if, grim before thine eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pale worldly Want, a spectre, lowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What is a world of vanities<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To a world as sweet as ours!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thy heart is sad and lone, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loves to dwell on pleasures flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When that heart no more shall bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At some kind voice's well-known sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spells thy drooping languor shall relieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And airy spirits touch thy lonely harp at eve.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look!—Delight and Hope advancing,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Music joins her thrilling notes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the level lea come dancing;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seize the vision as it floats,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright-eyed Rapture hovers o'er them, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Waving light his seraph wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Youth exulting flies before them,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Scattering cowslips as he sings!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come now, my car pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wayward Fairy cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high amid the fields of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above the clouds, together we will ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And posting on the viewless winds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So leave the cares of earth and all its thoughts behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">I can sail, and I can fly, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i8">To all regions of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">On the shooting meteor's course,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">On a winged griffin-horse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She spoke: when Wisdom's self drew nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A noble sternness in her searching eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like Pallas helmed, and in her hand a spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As not in idle warfare bent, but still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As resolute, to cope with every earthly ill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In youthful dignity severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stood: And shall the aspiring mind, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Fancy be alone resigned!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! she cried, her witching lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too often leads the heart astray!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still, weak minstrel, wouldst thou rove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drooping in the distant grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgetful of all ties that bind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee, a brother, to mankind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has Fancy's feeble voice defied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ills to poor humanity allied?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can she, like Wisdom, bid thy soul sustain <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its post of duty in a life of pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can she, like meek Religion, bid thee bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contempt and hardship in a world of care!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet let not my rebuke decry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all, her blameless witchery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or from the languid bosom tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each sweet illusion nourished there.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With dignity and truth, combined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still may she rule the manly mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sweetest magic still impart <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soften, not subdue, the heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still may she warm the chosen breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not as the sovereign, but the guest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shall she lead the blameless Muse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all her fairest, wildest views;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mark amid the flowers of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bee go forth with early horn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when the moon, a softer light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheds on the rocks and seas of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear the circling fairy bands <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Come unto these yellow sands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeter is our light than day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond enthusiast, come away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Chivalry again shall call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The champions to her bannered hall!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pipe, and song, with many a mingled shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring through the forest, as the satyr-rout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dance round the dragon-chariot of Romance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth pricks the errant knight with rested lance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imps, demons, fays, in antic train succeed, <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wandering maiden, and the winged steed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The muttering wizard turns, with haggard look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bloody leaves of the accursed book,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst giants, from the gloomy castle tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lifted bats of steel, more dreadful lower!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times, the magic shall prevail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the wild and wonderous tale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times, high rapture shall prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep, enthusiastic song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence, at midnight, thou shalt stray, <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where dark ocean flings its spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear o'er heaven's resounding arch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Thunder-Lord begin his march!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mark the flashes, that present<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some far-off shattered monument;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst along the rocky vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red fires, mingled with the hail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Run along upon the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the thunders deeper sound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loftier Muse, with awful mien, <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a lonely rock is seen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full is the eye that speaks the dauntless soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She seems to hear the gathering tempest roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath her feet; she bids an eagle fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breasting the whirlwind, through the dark-red sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, with elated look, lifts high the spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sounds of distant battles roll more near.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now deep-hushed in holy trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sees the powers of Heaven advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wheels, instinct with spirit, bear <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's living chariot through the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now on the wings of morn she seems to rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And join the strain of more than mortal harmonies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy heart shall beat exulting as she sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou shalt cry: Give me an angel's wings!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sadder sound, o'er Pity's cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The willow in the wind shall wave;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the listening passions stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obedient to thy great command.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Poesy's sweet charm impressed, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancy thus shall warm thy breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still her smiling train be thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still her lovely visions shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cheer, beyond my boasted power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sad or solitary hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus let them soothe a while thy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come like shadows, so depart;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never may the witching lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lead each sense from life astray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For vain the poet's muse of fire, <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain the magic of his lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless the touch subdued impart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Truth and wisdom to the heart!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> Theocritus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> "From lamentation named, and loud lament."—<i>Milton.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> I have placed Music last, as I think a perfect musical +ear implies the highest degree of cultivation.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CADLAND,<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> SOUTHAMPTON RIVER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pass delighted from her green abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, seated on a summer bank, to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No earthly music; in a spot like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bard might feign he heard her, as she dried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her golden hair, yet dripping from the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the slant sunbeam.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">So the pensive bard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might image, warmed by this enchanting scene, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ideal form; but though such things are not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who has ever felt a thought refined;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who has wandered on the sea of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forming delightful visions of a home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of beauty and repose; he who has loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With filial warmth his country, will not pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a look of more than tenderness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On all the scene; from where the pensile birch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bends on the bank, amid the clustered group<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dark hollies; to the woody shore <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That steals diminished, to the distant spires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hampton, crowning the long lucid wave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White in the sun, beneath the forest-shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full shines the frequent sail, like Vanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she goes onward in her glittering trim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the glances of life's transient morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calling on all to view her!<br /></span> +<span class="i31">Vectis<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That slopes its greensward to the lambent wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shows through softest haze its woods and domes, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gray St Catherine's<a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> creeping to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems like a modest maid, who charms the more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Concealing half her beauties.<br /></span> +<span class="i42">To the East,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud, yet complacent, on its subject realm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With masts innumerable thronged, and hulls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen indistinct, but formidable, mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albion's vast fleet, that, like the impatient storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waits but the word to thunder and flash death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On him who dares approach to violate <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shores and living scenes that smile secure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath its dragon-watch!<br /></span> +<span class="i29">Long may they smile!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long, majestic Albion (while the sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From East to West, from Albis<a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> to the Po,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dark contention hurtles), may'st thou rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As calm and beautiful this sylvan scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks on the refluent wave that steals below.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> A beautiful seat of Henry Drummond, Esq.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> The Isle of Wight.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> The highest slowly-rising eminence in the Isle of Wight, +seen from the river.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> The Elbe.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE LAST SONG OF CAMOENS.<a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morning shone on Tagus' rocky side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And airs of summer swelled the yellow tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, rising from his melancholy bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faint, and feebly by Antonio<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Camoens, subdued by want and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the winding margin wandered slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His harp, that once could each warm feeling move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of patriot glory or of tenderest love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sole and sable friend<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> (while a faint tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose from the wires) placed by a mossy stone. <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">How beautiful the sun ascending shines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From ridge to ridge, along the purple vines!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How pure the azure of the opening skies!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How resonant the nearer rock replies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To call of early mariners! and, hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant whistle from yon parting bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That down the channel as serene she strays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her gray sail mingles with the morning haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound to explore, o'er ocean's stormy reign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New lands that lurk amid the lonely main! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A transient fervour touched the old man's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised his eyes, so long by care depressed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while they shone with momentary fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ardent he struck the long-forgotten lyre.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">From Tagus' yellow-sanded shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er the billows, as they roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er the blue sea, waste and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our bark threw back the burning tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By northern breezes cheer'ly borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On to the kingdoms of the morn. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Blanco, whose cold shadow vast<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Chills the western wave, is past!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Huge Bojador, frowning high,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy dismal terrors we defy!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But who may violate the sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And silence of the sultry deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where, beneath the intenser sun,<a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hot showers descend, red lightnings run;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whilst all the pale expanse beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lies burning wide, without a breath; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And at mid-day from the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No shadow on the deck is cast!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Night by night, still seen the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Strange lights along the cordage flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Perhaps, the spirits of the good,<a name="FNanchor_111_111" id="FNanchor_111_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">That wander this forsaken flood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sing to the seas, as slow we float,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A solemn and a holy note!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Spectre<a name="FNanchor_112_112" id="FNanchor_112_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a> of the southern main,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou barr'st our onward way in vain, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wrapping the terrors of thy form,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the thunder's rolling storm!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fearless o'er the indignant tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On to the east our galleys ride.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Triumph! for the toil is o'er—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We kiss the far-sought Indian shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Glittering to the orient ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The banners of the Cross display!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Does my heart exulting bound?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Alas, forlorn, I gaze around: <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Feeble, poor, and old, I stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A stranger in my native land!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">My sable slave (ah, no! my only friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whose steps upon my rugged path attend)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sees, but with tenderness that fears to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The tear that trickles down my aged cheek!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My harp is silent,—famine shrinks mine eye,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Give me a little food for charity!"<a name="FNanchor_113_113" id="FNanchor_113_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> Inscribed to Lord Strangford.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> The faithful Indian who attended him in all his sorrows, +a native of Java.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> Antonio, "who begged alms through Lisbon, and at night +shared the produce with his broken-hearted master."—<i>Strangford's +Preface</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> Crossing the Line.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_111_111" id="Footnote_111_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a> Lights called by the Portuguese <i>Corpo Sancto's</i>, +supposed to be the spirits of saints, hovering on the shrouds.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_112_112" id="Footnote_112_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> The terrific Phantom of the Cape, described by Camoens.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_113_113" id="Footnote_113_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> Camoens, the great poet of Portugal, is supposed to have +gone to the East Indies in the same ship with the first Discoverer, +round the Cape of Good Hope, Vasco de Gama. This is not the case, though +he wrote the noble poem descriptive of the voyage. He went to India some +years afterwards, but the general idea is sufficient for poetical +purposes. His subsequent sorrows and poverty, in his native land, are +well known.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE SYLPH OF SUMMER.<a name="FNanchor_114_114" id="FNanchor_114_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God said, Let there be light, and there was light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once the glorious sun, at his command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From space illimitable, void and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprang jubilant, and angel hierarchies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose long hosannahs pealed from orb to orb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang, Glory be to Thee, God of all worlds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then beautiful the ball of this terrene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled in the beam of first-created day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all its elements obeyed the voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Him, the great Creator; Air, and Fire, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Earth, and Water, each its ministry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Performed, whilst Chaos from his ebon throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaped up; and so magnificent, and decked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mantled in its ambient atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The living world began its state!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">To thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirit of Air, I lift the venturous song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose viewless presence fills the living scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose element ten thousand thousand wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fan joyous; o'er whose fields the morning clouds <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ride high; whose rule the lightning-shafts obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the deep thunder's long-careering march!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Winds too are thy subjects; from the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, like a child upon a holiday,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the high mountain's van pursues the down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the gray thistle, ere the autumnal shower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steals soft, and mars his pastime; to the King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hurricanes, that sounds his mighty shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bids Tornado sweep the Western world.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sylph of the Summer Gale, on thee I call! <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, come, when now gay June is in her car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wafting the breath of roses as she moves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come to this garden bower, which I have hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tendrils, and the fragrant eglantine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mandrake, rich with many mantling stars!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis pleasant, when thy breath is on the leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without, to rest in this embowering shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mark the green fly, circling to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the still water, with his dragon wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shooting from bank to bank, now in quick turns, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then swift athwart, as is the gazer's glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursuing still his mate; they, with delight,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they moved in morris, to the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harmonious of this ever-dripping rill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now in advance, now in retreat, now round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dart through their mazy rings, and seem to say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Summer and the Sun are ours!<br /></span> +<span class="i26">But thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sylph of the Summer Gale, delay a while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy airy flight, whilst here Francesca leans, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, charmed by Ossian's harp, seems in the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear Malvina's plaint; thou to her ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come unperceived, like music of the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Cona's vale of streams; <i>then</i> with the bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sounds his horn, busied from flower to flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speed o'er the yellow meadows, breathing ripe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their summer incense; or amid the furze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That paints with bloom intense the upland crofts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With momentary essence tinge thy wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in the grassy lanes, one after one, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift light the nodding foxglove's purple bell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence, to the distant sea, and where the flag<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs idly down, without a wavy curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hoverest o'er the topmast, or dost raise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The full and flowing mainsail: Steadily,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The helmsman cries, as now thy breath is heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the stirring cordage o'er his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, steadily, he cries, as right he steers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speeds our proud ship along the world of waves.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sylph, may thy favouring breath more gently blow, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">More gently round the temples and the cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him, who, leaving home and friends behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence musing o'er the ocean leans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watches every passing shade that marks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The southern Channel's fast-retiring line;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, as the ship rolls on, keeps a long look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed on the lessening Lizard,<a name="FNanchor_115_115" id="FNanchor_115_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> the last point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that delightful country, where he left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All his fond hopes behind: it lessens still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, still it lessens, and now disappears! <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turns, and only sees the waves that rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boundless. How many anxious morns shall rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many moons shall light the farthest seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er what new scenes and regions shall he stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A weary man, still thinking of his home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere he again that shore shall view, and greet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blissful thronging hopes and starting tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heartfelt welcome, and of warmest love!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps, ah! never! So didst thou go forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My poor lost brother!<a name="FNanchor_116_116" id="FNanchor_116_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The airs of morning as enticing played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gently, round thee, and their whisperings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might sooth (if aught could sooth) a boding heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thou wert bound to visit scenes of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the sick gale (alas! unlike the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bore the gently-swelling sail along)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was tainted with the breath of pestilence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That smote the silent camp, and night and day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat mocking on the putrid carcases.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou too didst perish! As the south-west blows, <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy bones, perhaps, now whiten on the coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of old Algarva.<a name="FNanchor_117_117" id="FNanchor_117_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> I, meantime, these shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of village solitude, hoping erewhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To welcome thee from many a toil restored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still deck, and now thy empty urn<a name="FNanchor_118_118" id="FNanchor_118_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I meet, where, swaying in the summer gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The willow whispers in my evening walk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sylph, in thy airy robe, I see thee float,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rainbow o'er thy head, and in thy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The magic instrument,<a name="FNanchor_119_119" id="FNanchor_119_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> that, as thy wing, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lucid, and painted like the butterfly's,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waves to and from, most musically rings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes in joyance, as the flaunting leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the white poplar, sometimes sad and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bearing pensive airs from Pity's grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soft child of air, thou tendest on his sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As gentle Ariel at the bidding hies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mighty Prospero; yet other winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throng to his wizard 'hest, inspiring some,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some melancholy, and yet soothing much <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drooping wanderer in the fading copse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some terrible, with solitude and death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attendant on their march:—the wild Simoom,<a name="FNanchor_120_120" id="FNanchor_120_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Riding on whirling spires of burning sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That move along the Nubian wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bury deep the silent caravan;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Monsoon, up-starting from his half-year sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the vernal shores of Hindostan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tempesting with sounds of torrent rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hail, the darkening main;—and red Sameel, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blasting and withering, like a rivelled leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pilgrim as he roams;—Sirocco sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pants, all summer, on the cloudless shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of faint Parthenope;—deep in the mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft lurks the lurid messenger of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ghastly fiend that blows, when the pale light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quivers, and leaves the gasping wretch to die;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The imp, that when the hollow curfew knolls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wanders the misty marish, lighting it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At night with errant and fantastic flame. <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirit of air, these are thy ministers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wait thy will; but thou art all in all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dead without thee were the flower, the leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waving forest rivelled, the great sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, the lithe birds of heaven extinct, and ceased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul of melting music.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">This fair scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lives in thy tender touch, for so it seems;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst universal nature owns thy sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the mute insect on the summer pool, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with long cobweb legs, firm as on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ostrich skims, flits idly to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making no dimple on the watery mass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the huge grampus, spouting, as he rolls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cataract, amid the cold clear sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And furrowing far and wide the northern deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy presence permeates and fills the whole!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the poor butterfly, that, painted gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mealy wings, red, amber, white, or dropped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With golden stains, floats o'er the yellow corn, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Idly, as bent on pastime, while the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiles on his devious voyage; if inclosed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the exhausted prison,<a name="FNanchor_121_121" id="FNanchor_121_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> whence thy breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With suction slow is drawn, he feels the change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dire! in palsied inanition drops!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weak flags his weary wing, and weaker yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His frame with tremulous convulsion moves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment, and the next is still in death.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So were the great and glorious world itself;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tenants of its continents, all ceased! <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wide, a motionless, a putrid waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its seas! How droops the languid mariner,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When not a breath, along the sluggish main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strays on the sultry surface as it sleeps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When far away the winds are flown, to dash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The congregated ocean on the Cape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Southern Africa, leaving the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flood's vast surface noiseless, waveless, white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath Mozambique's long-reflected woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gleaming mirror, spread from east to west, <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the still ship, as on a bed of glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits motionless. Awake, ye hurricanes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye winds that harrow up the wintry waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awake! for Thunder in his sounding car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashing thick lightning from the rolling wheels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the red volley, charged with instant death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were music to this lingering, sickening calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same eternal sunshine; still, all still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a vapour, or a sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">If thus, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the burning, breathless atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint Nature sickening droop; who shall ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The height, where Silence, since the world began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has sat on Cimborazzo's highest peak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand toises o'er the cloud's career,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soaring in finest ether? Far below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees the mountains burning at his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose smoke ne'er reached his forehead; never there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the black whirlwind shake the distant shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passing gale has murmured; never there <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eagle's cry has echoed; never there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The solitary condor's weary wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath yet ascended!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Let the rising thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the confines of this vapoury vault<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be lifted, to the boundless void of space,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dread, how infinite! where other worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten million and ten million leagues aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In other precincts with their shadows roll.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There roams the sole erratic comet, borne <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lightning speed, yet twice three hundred years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its destined course accomplishing.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Then whirled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the attractive orb of central fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back through the dim and infinite abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dread flaming visitant, ere thou return'st,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Empires may rise and fail; the palaces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shone on earth, may vanish like the dews<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of morning, scarce illumined ere they fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dread flaming visitant, who that pursues <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy long and lonely voyage, ev'n in thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Till thought itself seem in the effort lost,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But tremblingly exclaims, There is a God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a God who lights ten thousand suns,<a name="FNanchor_122_122" id="FNanchor_122_122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round which revolve worlds wheeling amid worlds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He launched thy voyage through the vast abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hears his universe, through all its orbs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with one voice, proclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i32">There is a God!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lifted above this dim diurnal sphere, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fancy, rising with her theme, ascends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And voyaging the illimitable void,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where comets flame, sees other worlds and suns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emerge, and on this earth, like a dim speck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks down: nor in the wonderful and vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dread scene magnificent, she views<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone the Almighty Ruler, but the web<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shines in summer time, and only seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the slant sunbeam, wakes a moral thought.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In autumn, when the thin long spider gains <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leafy bush's top, he from his seat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoots the soft filament, like threads of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce seen, into the sky; and thus sustained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boldly ascends into the breezy void,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dependent on the trembling line he wove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insidious, and intent on scenes of spoil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And death:—So mounts Ambition, and aloft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his proud summit meditates new scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of plunder and dominion, till the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fortune change, that blows to empty air <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His feeble, frail support, and once again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaves him a reptile, struggling in the dust!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what the world itself, what in His view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose dread Omnipotence is over all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A twinkling air-thread in the vast of space.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what the works of that proud insect, Man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mausoleums, fanes, and pyramids,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frown in the dusk of long-revolving years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While generations, as they rise and drop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each following each to silence and to dust, <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Point as they pass, and say, It was a God<a name="FNanchor_123_123" id="FNanchor_123_123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made them: but nor date, nor name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oblivion shows; cloud only, rolling on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrapping darker as it rolls, the works<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man!<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Now raised on Contemplation's wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue vault, fervent with unnumbered stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ranges: speeds, as with an angel's flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From orb to orb; sees distant suns illume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boundless space, then bends his head to earth, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So poor is all he knows!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i12">O'er sanguine fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now rides he, armed and crested like the god<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fabled battles; where he points, pale Death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strides over weltering carcases; nor leaves,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still a horrid shadow, step by step,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stalks mocking after him, till now the noise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rolling acclamation, and the shout<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of multitude on multitude, is past:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scene of all his triumphs, wormy earth, <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closes upon his perishable pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For "dust he is, and shall to dust return"!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Conscience, a small voice from heaven replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conscience shall meet him in another world.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let man, then, walk meek, humble, pure, and just;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though meek, yet dignified; though humble, raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heir of life and immortality;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conscious that in this awful world he stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He only of all living things, ordained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think, and know, and feel, there is a God! <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Child of the air, though most I love to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy gentle summons whisper, when the Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the first carol of the village lark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks out and smiles, or June is in her car;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not undelightful is the purer air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In winter, when the keen north-east is high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When frost fantastic his cold garland weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of brittle flowers, or soft-succeeding snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gather without apace, and heavy load<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The berried sweetbrier, clinging to my pane. <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blackbird, then, that marks the ruddy pods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peep through the snow, though silent is his song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, pressed by cold and hunger, ventures near.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The robin group, familiar, muster round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The garden-shed, where, at his dinner set,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laboured hind strews here and there a crumb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his brown bread; then heedless of the winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That blow without, and sweep the shivered snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sees from his broken tube the smoke ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On an inverted barrow, as in state <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sits, though poor, the monarch of the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As pondering deep the garden's future state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His kingdom; the rude instruments of death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie at his feet, fashioned with simple skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With which he hopes to snare the prowling race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mice, rapacious of his vernal hopes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So seated, on the spring he ruminates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And solemn as a sophi,<a name="FNanchor_124_124" id="FNanchor_124_124"></a><a href="#Footnote_124_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> moves nor hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor eye, till haply some more venturous bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The crumbs exhausted that he lately strewed <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the groundsill,) with often dipping beak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sidelong look, as asking larger dole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes hopping to his feet: and say, ye great,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye mighty monarchs of this earthly scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What nobler views can elevate the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a proud patriot king, than thus to chase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bold rapacious spoilers from the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with an eye of merciful regard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look on humble worth, wet from the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chilled by indigence! <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i12">But thoughts like these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill suit the radiant summer's rosy prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the still temper of the calm blue sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunny shower is past; at intervals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent glittering drops descend; and mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the blue bank of yon western cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That looms direct against the emerging orb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How bright, how beautiful the rainbow's hues<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steal out, how stately bends the graceful arch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the hills, and tinging at his foot <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mead and trees! Fancy might think young Hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pants for the vision, and with ardent eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursues the unreal shade, and spreads her hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeping to see it fade, as all her dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have faded.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">These, O Air! are but the toys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sometimes deck thy fairy element;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So oft the eye observant loves to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The colours, and the shadows, and the forms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wander o'er the veering atmosphere. <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">See, in the east, the rare parhelia shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mimic glory, and so seem to mock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Fixed parallel to the ascending orb)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The majesty, the splendour, and the shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sole luminary that informs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world with light and heat! The halo-ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bends over all!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">With desultory shafts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long and arrowy glance, the night-lights<a name="FNanchor_125_125" id="FNanchor_125_125"></a><a href="#Footnote_125_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a> shoot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale coruscations o'er the northern sky; <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now lancing to the cope, in sheets of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now wavering wild, as the reflected wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the arched roof of the umbrageous grot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence Superstition dreams of armaments,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fiery conflicts, and of bleeding fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of slaughter; so on great Jerusalem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet she fell, the flaming meteor glared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A waving sword ensanguined seemed to point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the devoted city, and a voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was heard, Depart, depart!<a name="FNanchor_126_126" id="FNanchor_126_126"></a><a href="#Footnote_126_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i28">The atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with the ceaseless hurry of its clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Encircles the round globe, resembles oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passing sunshine, or the glooms that stray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er every human spirit.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Thin light streaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thought pass vapoury o'er the vacant mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fade to nothing. Now fantastic gleams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Play, flashing or expiring, of gay hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or deep despair; then clouds of sadness close <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one dark settled gloom, and all the man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Droops, in despondence lost.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Aërial tints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Please most the pensive poet: and the views<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He forms, though evanescent, and as vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the air's mockery, seem to his eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n as substantial images, and shapes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till in a hurrying rack they all dissolve.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So in the cloudless sky, amusive shines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soft and mimic scenery; distant hills <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, in refracted light, hang beautiful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the golden car of eve, ere yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daylight lingering fades.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Hence, on the heights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Apennine, far stretching to the south,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The goat-herd, while the westering sun, far off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs o'er the hazy ocean's brim, beholds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the horizon's faintly-glowing verge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A landscape,<a name="FNanchor_127_127" id="FNanchor_127_127"></a><a href="#Footnote_127_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a> like the rainbow, rise, with rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That softened shine, and shores that trend away, <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the winding woods of Sicily,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Etna, smouldering in the still pale sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dim Messina, with her spires, and bays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wind among the mountains, and the tower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Faro, gleaming on the tranquil straits;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unreal all, yet on the air impressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From light's refracted ray,<a name="FNanchor_128_128" id="FNanchor_128_128"></a><a href="#Footnote_128_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a> the shadow seems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The certain scene: the hind astonished views,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet most delighted, till at once the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changes, and all has vanished! <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i28">But to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How different in still air the unreal view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wanders in Arabian solitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, faint with thirst, he sees illusive streams<a name="FNanchor_129_129" id="FNanchor_129_129"></a><a href="#Footnote_129_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine in the arid desert!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">All around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silent waste of dark gray sand is spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like ashes; not a speck in heaven appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the red sun, high in his burning noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoots down intolerable fire: no sound <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of beast, or blast, or moving insect, stirs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horrid stillness. Oh! what hand will guide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pilgrim, panting in the trackless dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where the pure and sparkling fountain cheers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green oasis.<a name="FNanchor_130_130" id="FNanchor_130_130"></a><a href="#Footnote_130_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a> See, as now his lip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs parched and quivering, see before him spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long and level lake!<br /></span> +<span class="i26">He gazes; still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gazes, till he drops upon the sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the vision stretches, as he faints, <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His feeble hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i18">Come, Sylph of Summer, come!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Return to these green pastures, that, remote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From fiery blasts, or deadly blistering frosts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the temperate atmosphere rejoice!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A crown of flame, a javelin in his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the red arrow that the lightning shoots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through night, impetuous steeds, and burning wheels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, as they whirl, flash to the cope of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaim the angel of the world of fire! <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ocean-king, lord of the waters, rides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High on his hissing car, whose concave skirrs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The azure deep beneath him, flashing wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to the sun the dark-green wave upturns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And foaming far behind: sea-horses breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bickering surge, with nostrils sounding far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eyes that flash above the wave, and necks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose mane, like breakers whitening in the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toss through the broken foam: he kingly bears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His trident sceptre high; around him play <span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nereids, and sea-maids, singing as he rides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their choral song: huge Triton, weltering on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scaly train, at times his wreathed shell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds, that the caverns of old ocean shake!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But milder thou, soft daughter of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sylph of the Summer, come! the silent shower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is past, and 'mid the dripping fern, the wren<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peeps, till the sun looks through the clouds again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, come, and breathe thy gentler influence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And send a home-felt quiet to my heart, <span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothed as I hear, by fits, thy whisper run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stirring the tall acacia's pendent leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through yon hazel alley rustling soft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the vacant ear!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i24">Yon eastern downs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That weather-fence the blossoms of the vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where winds from hill to hill the mighty Dike,<a name="FNanchor_131_131" id="FNanchor_131_131"></a><a href="#Footnote_131_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Woden named, with many an antique mound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warrior's grave, bids exercise awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And health, the breeze of morning to inhale: <span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, remote from storms, the myrtle blooms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath my southern sash.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">The hurricane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May rend the pines of snowy Labrador,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blasting whirlwinds of the desert sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nubian wilderness—we fear them not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet, my country, do thy breezes bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From citrons, or the blooming orange-grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in Rousillon's jasmine-bordered vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Incense at eve. <span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> +<span class="i14">But temperate airs are thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">England; and as thy climate, so thy sons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Partake the temper of thine isle; not rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor soft, voluptuous, nor effeminate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sincere, indeed, and hardy, as becomes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those who can lift their look elate, and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We strike for injured freedom; and yet mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gentle, when the voice of charity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleads like a voice from heaven: and, thanks to <span class="smcap">God</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chain that fettered Afric's groaning race, <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murderous chain, that, link by link, dropped blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is severed; we have lost that foul reproach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all our virtuous boast!<br /></span> +<span class="i38">Humanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">England, is thine! not <i>that</i> false substitute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That meretricious sadness, which, all sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lark or lambkin, yet can hear unmoved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bloodiest orgies of blood-boltered France;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine is consistent, manly, rational,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor needing the false glow of sentiment <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To melt it into sympathy, but mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looking with a gentle eye on all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy manners open, social, yet refined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are tempered with reflection; gaiety,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her long-lighted halls, may lead the dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wake the sprightly chord; yet nature, truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still warm the ingenuous heart: there is a blush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With those most gay, and lovely; and a tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With those most manly!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Temperate Liberty <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath yet the fairest altar on thy shores;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such, and so warm with patriot energy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As raised its arm when a false Stuart fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet mingled with deep wisdom's cautious lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when it bade a Papal tyrant pause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tremble, held the undeviating reins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the fierce neck of headlong Anarchy.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy Church, (nor here let zealot bigotry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vaunting, condemn all altars but its own),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy Church, majestic, but not sumptuous, <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sober, but not austere, with lenity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tempering her fair pre-eminence, sustains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her liberal charities, yet decent state.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tempest is abroad; the fearful sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of armament, and gathering tumult, fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ear of anxious Europe. If, O <span class="smcap">God</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is thy will, that in the storm of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we have lifted the brave sword in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We too should sink, sustain us in that hour!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meantime be mine, in cheerful privacy, <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wait Thy will, not sanguine, nor depressed;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In even course, nor splendid, nor obscure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To steal through life among my villagers!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hum of the discordant crowd, the buzz<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of faction, the poor fly that threads the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Self-pleased, the wasp that points its tiny sting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfelt, pass by me like the idle wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I regard not; while the Summer Sylph,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That whispers through the laurels, wakes the thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of quietude, and home-felt happiness, <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And independence, in a land I love!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_114_114" id="Footnote_114_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a> Inscribed to William Sotheby, Esq.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_115_115" id="Footnote_115_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a> The last point of Cornwall.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_116_116" id="Footnote_116_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> Dr Henry Bowles, on the medical staff sent to Gibraltar +during the pestilential fever there.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_117_117" id="Footnote_117_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a> South coast of Portugal.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_118_118" id="Footnote_118_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a> An urn is erected to his memory in Bremhill Garden.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_119_119" id="Footnote_119_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a> Æolian harp.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_120_120" id="Footnote_120_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a> Simoom, Sameel, destructive winds in the deserts of Asia. +See Bruce, &c.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_121_121" id="Footnote_121_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a> Air-pump.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_122_122" id="Footnote_122_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor_122_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a> Fixed stars.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_123_123" id="Footnote_123_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor_123_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a> So the Arabs say, speaking of the stupendous monuments in +the deserts.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_124_124" id="Footnote_124_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor_124_124"><span class="label">[124]</span></a> Title of the Persian Emperor.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_125_125" id="Footnote_125_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor_125_125"><span class="label">[125]</span></a> Aurora Borealis.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_126_126" id="Footnote_126_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor_126_126"><span class="label">[126]</span></a> From Josephus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_127_127" id="Footnote_127_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor_127_127"><span class="label">[127]</span></a> A curious effect of vision in the air from refraction, by +which objects appear distinct, and as real, which are below the horizon. +This often appears on the coast of Italy, and has been sometimes +observed from our shores, where a line of the opposite coast appears.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_128_128" id="Footnote_128_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor_128_128"><span class="label">[128]</span></a> The Fata Morgana are all explained in books; the effect +is ascribed to reflection and refraction, as one alone will not +correspond with the effects. The time when they occur is not the +evening; but the looming in our country is towards the evening.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_129_129" id="Footnote_129_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor_129_129"><span class="label">[129]</span></a> The Mirage: see Denon.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_130_130" id="Footnote_130_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor_130_130"><span class="label">[130]</span></a> Green spots in the desert.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_131_131" id="Footnote_131_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor_131_131"><span class="label">[131]</span></a> Wandsdike, on the Marlborough Downs, opposite.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>THE HARP OF HOEL.<a name="FNanchor_132_132" id="FNanchor_132_132"></a><a href="#Footnote_132_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was a high and holy sight, <span class="linenum">1</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Baldwin<a name="FNanchor_133_133" id="FNanchor_133_133"></a><a href="#Footnote_133_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> and his train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With cross and crosier gleaming bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came chanting slow the solemn rite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Gwentland's<a name="FNanchor_134_134" id="FNanchor_134_134"></a><a href="#Footnote_134_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a> pleasant plain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High waved before, in crimson pride, <span class="linenum">2</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The banner of the Cross;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver rood was then descried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While deacon youths, from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fuming censer toss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The monks went two and two along, <span class="linenum">3</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And winding through the glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang, as they passed, a holy song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And harps and citterns, 'mid the throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mingled music made.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They ceased; when lifting high his hand, <span class="linenum">4</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The white-robed prelate cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arise, arise, at Christ's command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fight for his name in the Holy Land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where a Saviour lived and died!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With gloves of steel, and good broadsword, <span class="linenum">5</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And plumed helm of brass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoel, Landoga's youthful lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear the father's holy word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came riding to the pass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More earnestly the prelate spake: <span class="linenum">6</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, heed no earthly loss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who will friends and home forsake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now let him kneel, and fearless take<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sign of the Holy Cross.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then many a maid her tresses rent, <span class="linenum">7</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And did her love implore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, go not thou to banishment!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me, and the pleasant vales of Gwent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou never wilt see more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And many a mother, pale with fears, <span class="linenum">8</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did kiss her infant son;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said, Who will shield thy helpless years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dry thy widowed mother's tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thy brave father's gone?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">God</span>, with firm voice the prelate cried, <span class="linenum">9</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">God will the orphan bless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustain the widow's heart, and guide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the hard world, obscure and wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The poor and fatherless.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then might you see a shade o'ercast <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brave Hoel's ruddy hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soon the moment's thought is past:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark, hark, 'tis the trumpet's stirring blast!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he grasped his bow of yew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then might you see a moment's gloom <span class="linenum">11</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sit in brave Hoel's eye:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make in the stranger's land my tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I follow thee, be it my doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O <span class="smcap">Christ</span>, to live or die!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No more he thought, though rich in fee, <span class="linenum">12</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of any earthly loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lighting, on his bended knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said, Father, here I take from thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sign of the Holy Cross.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have a wife, to me more dear <span class="linenum">13</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then is my own heart's blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a child, (a starting tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which soon he dried, of love sincere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On his stern eyelid stood);<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To them farewell! O God above, <span class="linenum">14</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine is the fate of war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! reward Gwenlhian's<a name="FNanchor_135_135" id="FNanchor_135_135"></a><a href="#Footnote_135_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a> love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And may my son a comfort prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I am distant far!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell, my harp!—away, away! <span class="linenum">15</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the field of death I go;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welcome the trumpet's blast, the neigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my bold and barbed steed of gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the clang of the steel crossbow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gwenlhian sat in the hall at night, <span class="linenum">16</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Counting the heavy hours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw the moon, with tranquil light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine on the circling mountain's height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dim castle towers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deep stillness was on hill and glen, <span class="linenum">17</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When she heard a bugle blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A trump from the watch-tower answered then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tramp of steeds, and the voice of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were heard in the court below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The watch-dog started at the noise, <span class="linenum">18</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then crouched at his master's feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew his step, he heard his voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who can now like her rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who flies her own lord to greet?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And soon her arms his neck enfold: <span class="linenum">19</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But whence that altered mien!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O say, then, is thy love grown cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or hast thou been hurt by the robbers bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That won in the forest of Dean?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh no, he cried, the God above, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who all my soul can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knows my sincere, my fervent love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If aught my stern resolve could move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It were one tear from thee.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But I have sworn, in the Holy Land,— <span class="linenum">21</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Need I the sequel speak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too well, she cried, I understand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then grasped in agony his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hid her face on his cheek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My loved Gwenlhian, weep not so, <span class="linenum">22</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the lid that tear I kiss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though to the wars far off I go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betide me weal, betide me woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We yet may meet in bliss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fourteen suns their course had rolled, <span class="linenum">23</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When firmly thus he spake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear now my last request: behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This ring, it is of purest gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Love, keep it for my sake!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When summers seven have robed each tree, <span class="linenum">24</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clothed the vales with green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I come not back, then thou art free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wed or not, and to think of me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I had never been!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, answer not,—what wouldst thou say!<span class="linenum">25</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, let my harp be brought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the last time, I fain would play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet we part, our favourite lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cheat severer thought:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">THE AIR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, cast every care to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And dry, best beloved, the tear!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Secure, that thou ever shalt find,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The friend of thy bosom sincere.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still friendship shall live in the breast of the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we'll love, the long day, where the forest-trees wave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I have felt each emotion of bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That affection the fondest can prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have received on my lip the first kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of thy holy and innocent love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But perish each hope of delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like the flashes of night on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If ever, though far from thy sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My soul is forgetful of thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still the memory shall live in the breast of the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How we loved, the long day, where the forest-trees wave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now bring my boy; may God above <span class="linenum">26</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shower blessings on his head!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May he requite his mother's love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to her age a comfort prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I perhaps am dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The beams of morn on his helm did play, <span class="linenum">27</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And aloud the bugle blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he leaped on his harnessed steed of gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sighed to the winds as he <ins class="correction" title="Original was gallopped">galloped</ins> away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adieu, my heart's love, adieu!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now he has joined the warrior train <span class="linenum">28</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of knights and barons bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, bound to Salem's holy plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the gently-swelling main,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their course exulting hold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With a cross of gold, as on they passed, <span class="linenum">29</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crimson streamers flew;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shields hung glittering round the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the waves a radiance cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst all the trumpets blew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O'er the Severn-surge, in long array, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So, the proud galleys went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till soon, as dissolved in ether gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woods, and the shores, and the Holms<a name="FNanchor_136_136" id="FNanchor_136_136"></a><a href="#Footnote_136_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a> steal away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the long blue hills of Gwent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_132_132" id="Footnote_132_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor_132_132"><span class="label">[132]</span></a> This lyrical ballad is founded on a story connected with +an old Welsh melody. I have placed the circumstance in the time of the +Crusades.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_133_133" id="Footnote_133_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor_133_133"><span class="label">[133]</span></a> Archbishop of Canterbury, who preached the Crusade in +Wales.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_134_134" id="Footnote_134_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor_134_134"><span class="label">[134]</span></a> Monmouthshire.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_135_135" id="Footnote_135_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor_135_135"><span class="label">[135]</span></a> The Welsh tune is called the "Remembrance of Gwenlhian," +the name of the woman.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_136_136" id="Footnote_136_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor_136_136"><span class="label">[136]</span></a> Islands in the Bristol Channel.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Part II.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High on the hill, with moss o'ergrown, <span class="linenum">1</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hermit chapel stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It spoke the tale of seasons gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half-revealed its ivied stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid the beechen wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here often, when the mountain trees <span class="linenum">2</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A leafy murmur made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now still, now swaying to the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Sounds that the musing fancy please),<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The widowed mourner strayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And many a morn she climbed the steep, <span class="linenum">3</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From whence she might behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, 'neath the clouds, in shining sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mingling with the mighty deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sea-broad Severn rolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her little boy beside her played, <span class="linenum">4</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sea-shells in his hand;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes, 'mid the bents delayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes running onward, said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, where is Holy Land!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My child, she cried, my prattler dear! <span class="linenum">5</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kissed his light-brown hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyelid glistened with a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And none but God above could hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hour, her secret prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As thus she nursed her secret woes, <span class="linenum">6</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oft to the wind and rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She listened, at sad autumn's close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst many a thronging shadow rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark-glancing o'er her brain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now lonely to the cloudy height <span class="linenum">7</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the steep hill she strays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below, the raven wings his flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often on the screaming kite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sees the wild deer gaze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The clouds were gathered on its brow, <span class="linenum">8</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warring winds were high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She heard a hollow voice, and now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lifts to heaven a secret vow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst the king of the storm rides by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seated on a craggy rock, <span class="linenum">9</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">What aged man appears!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no hind, no straggling flock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes the strange shade my thoughts to mock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shake my soul with fears?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fast drive the hurrying clouds of morn; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pale man stands confessed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With look majestic, though forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mirror in his hand, and horn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ivory on his breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Daughter of grief, he gently said, <span class="linenum">11</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And beckoned her: come near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now say, what would you give to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you brave Hoel's form might see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the sound of his bugle hear!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hoel, my love, where'er thou art, <span class="linenum">12</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">All England I would give,<a name="FNanchor_137_137" id="FNanchor_137_137"></a><a href="#Footnote_137_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, never, never more to part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I now could hold thee to my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For whom alone I live!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He placed the white horn to her ear, <span class="linenum">13</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sudden a sweet voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stole gently, as of fairies near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While accents soft she seemed to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Daughter of grief, rejoice!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For soon to love and thee I fly, <span class="linenum">14</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Salem's hallowed plain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mirror caught her turning eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As pale in death she saw him lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sinking 'mid the slain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She turned to the strange phantom-man, <span class="linenum">15</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But she only saw the sky,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clouds on the lonely mountains' van,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Clydden-Shoots,<a name="FNanchor_138_138" id="FNanchor_138_138"></a><a href="#Footnote_138_138" class="fnanchor">[138]</a> that rushing ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To meet the waves of Wye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus seven long years had passed away,— <span class="linenum">16</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">She heard no voice of mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No minstrel raised his festive lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the sad close of the drisly day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside the blazing hearth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She seemed in sorrow, yet serene, <span class="linenum">17</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">No tear was on her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lighting oft her pensive mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her languid look was seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A meek attractive grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In beauty's train she yet might vie, <span class="linenum">18</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For though in mourning weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No friar, I deem, that passed her by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere saw her dark, yet gentle eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But straight forgot his beads.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Eineon, generous and good, <span class="linenum">19</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone with friendship's aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eineon, of princely Rhys's blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who 'mid the bravest archers stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sooth her griefs essayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He had himself been early tried <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">By stern misfortune's doom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she who loved him drooped and died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the green hill's flowery side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He raised her grassy tomb.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What marvel, in his lonely heart, <span class="linenum">21</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To faith a friendship true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, when her griefs she did impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tears of memory oft would start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If more than pity grew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With converse mild he oft would seek <span class="linenum">22</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sooth her sense of care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the west wind, with breathings weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wakes, on the hectic's faded cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A smile of faint despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The summer's eve was calm and still, <span class="linenum">23</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When once his harp he strung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft as the twilight on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affection seemed his heart to fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst eloquent he sung:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Fortune to all thy warm hopes was unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the morn of thy youth was o'erclouded with woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In me, not a stranger to grief, thou should'st find,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that friendship and kindness and truth could bestow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, the time it has been, when my soul was oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But no longer this heart would for heaviness pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could I lighten the load of an innocent breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And steal but a moment of sadness from thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He paused, then with a starting tear, <span class="linenum">24</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trembling accent, cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O lady, hide that look severe,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of love, of friendship hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And be again a bride.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mourn not thy much-loved Hoel lost,— <span class="linenum">25</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lady, he is dead, is dead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far distant wanders his pale ghost,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bones by the white surge are tossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the wave rolls o'er his head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She said, Sev'n years their course have rolled, <span class="linenum">26</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since thus brave Hoel spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When last I heard his voice, Behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This ring,—it is of purest gold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, keep it for my sake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When summers seven have robed each tree, <span class="linenum">27</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And decked the coombs with green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I come not back, then thou art free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wed or not, and to think of me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I had never been.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Those seven sad summers now are o'er, <span class="linenum">28</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And three I yet demand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If in that space I see no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friend I ever must deplore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then take a mourner's hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The time is passed:—the laugh, the lay, <span class="linenum">29</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The nuptial feast proclaim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a rushing torrent gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a wild brook's wandering way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hoary minstrels came.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From Kymin's crag, with fragments strewed; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Skirid, bleak and high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Penalt's shaggy solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Wyndcliff, desolate and rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That frowns o'er mazy Wye.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With harps the gallery glittered bright,— <span class="linenum">31</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pealing rafters rung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off upon the woods of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the tall window's arch, the light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of tapers clear was flung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The harpers ceased the acclaiming lay, <span class="linenum">32</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, with descending beard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scallop, and staff his steps to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, foot-sore, on his weary way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pilgrim wan appeared.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now lend me a harp for St Mary's sake, <span class="linenum">33</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For my skill I fain would try,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poor man's offering to make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If haply still my hand may wake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some pleasant melody.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With scoffs the minstrel crowd replied, <span class="linenum">34</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost thou a harp request!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loud in mirth, and swelled with pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some his rain-dripping hair deride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some his sordid vest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pilgrim, a harp shall soon be found, <span class="linenum">35</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young Hoel instant cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lies a harp upon the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And none hath ever heard its sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since my brave father died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The harp is brought: upon the frame <span class="linenum">36</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A filmy cobweb hung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strings were few, yet 'twas the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man drawing near the flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The chords imperfect rung:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Oh! cast every care to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And dry, best beloved, the tear;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Secure that thou ever shalt find<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The friend of thy bosom sincere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She speechless gazed:—he stands confessed,— <span class="linenum">37</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dark eyes of her Hoel shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her heart has forgotten it e'er was oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she murmurs aloud, as she sinks on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! press my heart to thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He turned his look a little space, <span class="linenum">38</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hide the tears of joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rushing, with a warm embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried, as he kissed young Hoel's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My boy, my heart-loved boy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud harpers, strike a louder lay,— <span class="linenum">39</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more forlorn I bend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prince Eineon, with the rest, be gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though fate hath torn a bride away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accept a long-lost friend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This tale I heard, when at the close of day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The village harper tuned an ancient lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He struck his harp, beneath a ruin hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sung of love and truth, in days of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I retained the song, with counsel sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To teach <i>one</i> lesson to a wiser age!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_137_137" id="Footnote_137_137"></a><a href="#FNanchor_137_137"><span class="label">[137]</span></a> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wales, England, and Llewellyn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All would I give for a sight of William."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<i>Giraldus</i>, vol. i. p. 46.</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_138_138" id="Footnote_138_138"></a><a href="#FNanchor_138_138"><span class="label">[138]</span></a> "Nearly through the centre of the hill that backs the +village (Landoga) is a deep ravine, called Clydden-Shoots, which, when +the springs are full, forms a beautiful cascade."—<i>Heath.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>AVENUE IN SAVERNAKE FOREST.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How soothing sound the gentle airs that move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The innumerable leaves, high overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When autumn first, from the long avenue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lifts its arching height of ancient shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steals here and there a leaf!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Within the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some mingle their dark branches, but yet all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All make a sad sweet music, as they move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not undelightful to a stranger's heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They seem to say, in accents audible,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell to summer, and farewell the strains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of many a lithe and feathered chorister,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That through the depth of these incumbent woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made the long summer gladsome.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">I have heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the deep-mingling sounds of organs clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(When slow the choral anthem rose beneath),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glimmering minster, through its pillared aisles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echo;—but not more sweet the vaulted roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang to those linked harmonies, than here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The high wood answers to the lightest breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of nature.<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Oh, may such sweet music steal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothing the cares of venerable age,<a name="FNanchor_139_139" id="FNanchor_139_139"></a><a href="#Footnote_139_139" class="fnanchor">[139]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From public toil retired: may it awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, still and slow, the sun of life declines,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembrances, not mournful, but most sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May it, as oft beneath the sylvan shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their honoured owner strays, come like the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of distant seraph harps, yet speaking clear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How poor is every sound of earthly things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When heaven's own music waits the just and pure!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_139_139" id="Footnote_139_139"></a><a href="#FNanchor_139_139"><span class="label">[139]</span></a> The Earl of Aylesbury.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>DIRGE OF NELSON.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Toll Nelson's knell!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ball of Death unerring flew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His cheek has lost its ardent hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sinks, amid his gallant crew!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Toll Nelson's knell!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet lift, brave chief, thy dying eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! loud huzzas around thee rise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aloft the flag of conquest flies!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The day is won!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The day is won—peace to the brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whilst the joyous streamers wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll think upon the victor's grave!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Peace to the brave!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>DEATH OF CAPTAIN COOKE,</h3> + +<h4>OF "THE BELLEROPHON," KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight's roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When flash succeeding flash, tremendous broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haze incumbent, and the clouds of smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As oft the volume rolled away, thy mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine eye, serenely terrible, was seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My gallant friend.—Hark! the shrill bugle<a name="FNanchor_140_140" id="FNanchor_140_140"></a><a href="#Footnote_140_140" class="fnanchor">[140]</a> calls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the day won! alas, he falls—he falls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His soul from pain, from agony release!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear his last murmur, Let me die in peace!<a name="FNanchor_141_141" id="FNanchor_141_141"></a><a href="#Footnote_141_141" class="fnanchor">[141]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet still, brave Cooke, thy country's grateful tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall wet the bleeding laurel on thy bier.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who shall wake to joy, through a long life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sadness, thy beloved and widowed wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who now, perhaps, thinks how the green seas foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bear thy victor ship impatient home!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! the well-known views,—the swelling plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy laurel-circled home, endeared in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brook, the church, those chestnuts darkly-green,<a name="FNanchor_142_142" id="FNanchor_142_142"></a><a href="#Footnote_142_142" class="fnanchor">[142]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon fir-crowned summit,<a name="FNanchor_143_143" id="FNanchor_143_143"></a><a href="#Footnote_143_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a> and the village scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wardour's long sweep of woods, the nearer mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high o'er all, the turrets of Font Hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These views, when summer comes, shall charm no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him o'er whose welt'ring corse the wild waves roar,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enough: 'twas Honour's voice that awful cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glory to him who for his country died!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet dreary is her solitude who bends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mourns the best of husbands, fathers, friends!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! when she wakes at midnight, but to shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh tears of anguish on her lonely bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking on him who is not; then restrain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tear, O God, and her sad heart sustain!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Giver of life, may she remember still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy chastening hand, and to thy sovereign will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bow silently; not hopeless, while her eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She raises to a bright futurity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And meekly trusts, in heaven, Thou wilt restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That happiness the world can give no more!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_140_140" id="Footnote_140_140"></a><a href="#FNanchor_140_140"><span class="label">[140]</span></a> He bore down into the thickest fight with a bugle-horn +sounding.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_141_141" id="Footnote_141_141"></a><a href="#FNanchor_141_141"><span class="label">[141]</span></a> His own words, the last he spoke. If I have here been +more particular in this description than in that of the great commander, +it will be attributed to private friendship, Captain Cooke having lived +in the same village.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_142_142" id="Footnote_142_142"></a><a href="#FNanchor_142_142"><span class="label">[142]</span></a> Portrait of Captain Cooke's place, at Donhead.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_143_143" id="Footnote_143_143"></a><a href="#FNanchor_143_143"><span class="label">[143]</span></a> Barker's Hill, near Donhead.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>BATTLE OF CORRUNA.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tide of fate rolls on!—heart-pierced and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gallant soldier lies,<a name="FNanchor_144_144" id="FNanchor_144_144"></a><a href="#Footnote_144_144" class="fnanchor">[144]</a> nor aught avail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rapine's armed hand thy vales to save,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drenched the same plains with the invader's gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood frowning, in the front of death, and hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defiance to the conquerors<a name="FNanchor_145_145" id="FNanchor_145_145"></a><a href="#Footnote_145_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a> of the world!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, when we hear the agonising tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those who, faint, and fugitive, and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw hourly, harassed through their long retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some worn companion sinking at their feet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet even in danger and from toil more bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back on their gathering foes the tide of battle rolled;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While tears of pity mingle with applause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the dread scene in silence let us pause;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, pause, and ask, Is not thy awful hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched out, O God, o'er a devoted land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose vales of beauty Nature spread in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where misery moaned on the uncultured plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Bigotry went by with jealous scowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Superstition muttered in his cowl;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst o'er the Inquisition's dismal holds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its horrid banner waved in bleeding folds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dost thou thus, Lord of all might, fulfil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wreck and tempests thy eternal will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shatter the arms in which weak kingdoms trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strew their scattered ensigns in the dust?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, if no human wisdom may withstand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The terrors, Lord, of thy uplifted hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the dark tide no prowess can control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet nearer, charged with dread commission, roll;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still may my country's ark majestic ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though sole, yet safe, on the conflicting tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till hushed be the wild rocking of the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the red storm of death be overpast!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_144_144" id="Footnote_144_144"></a><a href="#FNanchor_144_144"><span class="label">[144]</span></a> Sir John Moore.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_145_145" id="Footnote_145_145"></a><a href="#FNanchor_145_145"><span class="label">[145]</span></a> "Near Mount Medulio, the remains of a great native force +destroyed themselves in sight of a Roman army, rather than submit to +bondage."—<i>Southey's Travels in Spain and Portugal.</i></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SKETCH FROM BOWDEN HILL AFTER SICKNESS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The upland breeze, the comfortable sun,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the landscape's hues! Upon the point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the descending steep I stand.<br /></span> +<span class="i33">How rich,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How mantling in the gay and gorgeous tints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of summer! far beneath me, sweeping on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From field to field, from vale to cultured vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prospect spreads its crowded beauties wide!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long lines of sunshine, and of shadow, streak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The farthest distance; where the passing light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alternate falls, 'mid undistinguished trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White dots of gleamy domes, and peeping towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from the painter's instant touch, appear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thus the eye ranges from hill to hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here white with passing sunshine, there with trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Innumerable shaded, clustering more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the long vale retires, the ample scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm with new grace and beauty, seems to live.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lives! all is animation! beauty! hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched from the dark and dreamless grave, so late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I pass silent, now first issuing forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel again thy fragrance, to respire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy breath, to hail thy look, thy living look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Nature!<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Let me the deep joy contrast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which now the inmost heart like music fills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the sick chamber's sorrows, oft from morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent, till lingering eve, save when the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of whispers steal, and bodings breathed more low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As friends approach the pillow: so awaked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From deadly trance, the sick man lifts his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then in despondence closes them on all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All earth's fond wishes! Oh, how changed are now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His thoughts! he sees rich nature glowing round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He feels her influence! languid with delight,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst his eye is filled with transient fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He almost thinks he hears her gently say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live, live! O Nature, thee, in the soft winds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee, in the soothing sound of summer leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the still earth lies sultry; thee, methinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now I hear bid welcome to thy vales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woods again!<br /></span> +<span class="i17">And I will welcome them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pour, as erst, the song of heartfelt praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From yonder line, where fade the farthest hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which bound the blue lap of the swelling vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On whose last line, seen like a beacon, hangs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy tower,<a name="FNanchor_146_146" id="FNanchor_146_146"></a><a href="#Footnote_146_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a> benevolent, accomplished Hoare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where I stand, how wide the interval!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet instantaneous, to the hurrying eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Displayed; though peeping towers and villages<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick scattered, 'mid the intermingling elms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And towns remotely marked by hovering smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grass-green pastures with their herds, and seats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rural beauty, cottages and farms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unnumbered as the hedgerows, lie between!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Roaming at large to where the gray sky bends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eye scarce knows to rest, till back recalled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By yonder ivied cloisters<a name="FNanchor_147_147" id="FNanchor_147_147"></a><a href="#Footnote_147_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a> in the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose turret, peeping pale above the shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiles in the venerable grace of years.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the few threads of age's silver hairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just sprinkled o'er the forehead, lend a grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of saintly reverence, seemly, though compared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blooming Mary's tresses like the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the gray weather-stained towers yet wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A secret charm impressive, though opposed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To views in verdure flourishing, the woods,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scenes of Attic taste, that glitter near.<a name="FNanchor_148_148" id="FNanchor_148_148"></a><a href="#Footnote_148_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O venerable pile,<a name="FNanchor_149_149" id="FNanchor_149_149"></a><a href="#Footnote_149_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> though now no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pensive passenger, at evening, hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slowly-chanted vesper; or the sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of "Miserere," die along the vale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet piety and honoured age<a name="FNanchor_150_150" id="FNanchor_150_150"></a><a href="#Footnote_150_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a> retired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There hold their blameless sojourn, ere the bowl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be broken, or the silver chord be loosed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor can I pass, snatched from untimely fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a secret prayer, that so my age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When many a circling season has declined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In charity and peace may wait its close.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet still be with me, O delightful friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothing companion of my vacant hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, still be with me, Spirit of the Muse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to subdue, or hold in moody spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The erring senses, but to animate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warm my heart, where'er the prospect smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Nature's fairest views; not to display<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain ostentations of a poet's art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But silent, and associate of my joys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sorrows, to infuse a tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thought, that seems to mingle, as I gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the works of <span class="smcap">God</span>. So cheer my path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From youth to sober manhood, till the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of evening smile upon the fading scene.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though no pealing clarion swell my fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all my days are gone; let me not pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the forgotten clouds of yesterday,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor unremembered by the fatherless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the loved village where my bones are laid.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_146_146" id="Footnote_146_146"></a><a href="#FNanchor_146_146"><span class="label">[146]</span></a> Sir Richard Hoare's tower at Stourhead.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_147_147" id="Footnote_147_147"></a><a href="#FNanchor_147_147"><span class="label">[147]</span></a> Lacock Abbey.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_148_148" id="Footnote_148_148"></a><a href="#FNanchor_148_148"><span class="label">[148]</span></a> Bowood, Mr Dickenson's and Mr Methuen's magnificent +mansion.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_149_149" id="Footnote_149_149"></a><a href="#FNanchor_149_149"><span class="label">[149]</span></a> Lacock Abbey.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_150_150" id="Footnote_150_150"></a><a href="#FNanchor_150_150"><span class="label">[150]</span></a> The venerable Catholic Countess, who resides in the +abbey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>SUN-DIAL, IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BREMHILL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pleasing pictures of the present fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And like a summer vapour steal away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And have not they, who here forgotten lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since thou hast stood, and thus thy vigil kept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Noting each hour, o'er mouldering stones beneath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pastor and his flock alike have slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dust to dust proclaimed the stride of death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Another race succeeds, and counts the hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Careless alike; the hour still seems to smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As hope, and youth, and life, were in our power;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So smiling and so perishing the while.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I heard the village bells, with gladsome sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When to these scenes a stranger I drew near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaim the tidings to the village round,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While memory wept upon the good man's bier.<a name="FNanchor_151_151" id="FNanchor_151_151"></a><a href="#Footnote_151_151" class="fnanchor">[151]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even so, when I am dead, shall the same bells<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ring merrily, when my brief days are gone;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While still the lapse of time thy shadow tells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strangers gaze upon my humble stone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Enough, if we may wait in calm content,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hour that bears us to the silent sod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blameless improve the time that heaven has lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leave the issue to thy will, O God!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_151_151" id="Footnote_151_151"></a><a href="#FNanchor_151_151"><span class="label">[151]</span></a> My predecessor, Rev. Nathaniel Hume, canon residentiary +and precentor of Salisbury, a man of exemplary benevolence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA:</h2> + +<h3>A DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL POEM.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></h3> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.<a name="FNanchor_152_152" id="FNanchor_152_152"></a><a href="#Footnote_152_152" class="fnanchor">[152]</a></h2> + + +<p>I need not perhaps inform the reader, that I had before written a Canto +on the subject of this poem; but I was dissatisfied with the metre, and +felt the necessity of some connecting idea that might give it a degree +of unity and coherence.</p> + +<p>This difficulty I considered as almost inseparable from the subject; I +therefore relinquished the design of making an extended poem on events, +which, though highly interesting and poetical, were too unconnected with +each other to unite properly in one regular whole. But on being kindly +permitted to peruse the sheets of Mr Clarke's valuable work on the +<i>History of Navigation</i>, I conceived (without supposing <i>historically</i> +with him that all ideas of navigation were derived from the ark of Noah) +that I might adopt the circumstance <i>poetically</i>, as capable of +furnishing an unity of design; besides which, it had the advantage of +giving a more serious cast and character to the whole.</p> + +<p>To obviate such objections as might be made by those who, from an +inattentive survey, might imagine there was any carelessness of +arrangement, I shall lay before the reader a general analysis of the +several books; and, I trust, he will readily perceive a leading +principle, on which the poem begins, proceeds, and ends.</p> + +<p>I feel almost a necessity for doing this in <i>justice</i> to myself, as some +compositions have been certainly misunderstood, where the <i>connexion</i> +might, by the least attention, have been perceived. In going over part +of the same ground which I had taken before, I could not always avoid +the use of similar expressions.</p> + +<p>I trust I need not apologise for having, in some instances, departed +from strict historical facts. It is not true that Camoens sailed with De +Gama, though, from the authority of Voltaire, it has been sometimes +supposed that he did. There are other circumstances for which I may have +less reason to expect pardon. The Egyptians were never, or but for a +short time, a maritime nation. In answer to this, I must say, that +<i>history</i> and <i>poetry</i> are two things; and though the poet has no right +to <i>contradict</i> the historian, yet, if he find two opinions upon points +of history, he may certainly take that which is most susceptible of +poetical ornament; particularly if it have sufficient plausibility, and +the sanction of respectable names.</p> + +<p>In deducing the first maritime attempts from <i>Thebes</i>, so called from +<i>Thebaoth</i>, the <i>Ark</i>, founded by the sons of Cush, who first inhabited +the caves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> on the granite mountains of Ethiopia, I have followed the +idea of Bruce, which has many testimonies, particularly that of +Herodotus, in its favour. In making the ships of Ammon first pass the +straits of Babelmandel, and sail to Ophir, I have the authority of Sir +Isaac Newton. But still these points must, from their nature, be +obscure; the poet, however, has a right to build upon them, whilst what +he advances is not in <i>direct contradiction</i> to all historical admitted +facts. He may take what is <i>shadowy</i>, if it be <i>plausible</i>, poetical, +and coherent with his general plan. Having said ingenuously thus much, I +hope I shall not be severely accused for having admitted, <i>en passant</i>, +some ideas (which may be thought visionary) in the notes, respecting the +allusion to the ark in Theocritus, the situation of Ophir, the temple of +Solomon, and the algum-tree.</p> + +<p>I must also submit to the candour of the critic, the necessity I +sometimes felt myself under of varying the verse, and admitting, when +the subject seemed particularly to require it, a break into the measure. +He will consider, as this poem is neither didactic, nor epic, that might +lead on the mind by diversity of characters, and of prospects; it was +therefore necessary (at least I thought myself at liberty so to do) to +break the uniformity of the subject by digression, contrast, occasional +change of verse, <i>et cet.</i> But after all, at a time so unfavourable to +long poems, I doubt whether the reader will have patience to accompany +me to the end of my <i>circumnavigation</i>. If he do, and if this much +larger poetical work than I have ever attempted should be as favourably +received as what I have before published has been, I shall sincerely +rejoice.</p> + +<p>At all events, in an age which I think has produced genuine poetry, if I +cannot say "<i>Ed Io, anchi, sono pittore</i>;" it will be a consolation to +me to reflect, that I have no otherwise courted the muse, than as the +consoler of sorrow, the painter of scenes romantic and interesting, the +handmaid of good sense, unadulterated feelings, and religious hope.</p> + +<p>It was at first intended that the poem should consist of six books; one +book being assigned to De Gama, and another to Columbus. These have been +compressed. I was the more inclined to this course, as the great subject +of the <span class="smcap">Discovery of America</span> is in the hands of such poets as Mr Southey +and Mr Rogers.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Donhead</span>, <i>Nov. 3, 1804.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_152_152" id="Footnote_152_152"></a><a href="#FNanchor_152_152"><span class="label">[152]</span></a> Dedicated to His Royal Highness George Prince of Wales +(afterwards George IV.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>ANALYSIS.</h2> + +<h3>BOOK THE FIRST.</h3> + + +<p>The book opens with the resting of the Ark on the mountains of the great +Indian Caucasus, considered by many authors as Ararat: the present state +of the <i>inhabited</i> world, contrasted with its melancholy appearance +immediately after the flood. The poem returns to the situation of our +forefathers on leaving the ark; beautiful evening described. The Angel +of Destruction appears to Noah in a dream, and informs him that although +he and his family alone have escaped, the <span class="smcap">very Ark</span>, which was the means +of his present preservation, shall be the cause of the future triumph of +Destruction.</p> + +<p>In his dream, the evils in consequence of the discovery of America, the +slave-trade, <i>et cet.</i>, are set before him. Noah, waking from disturbed +sleep, ascends the summit of Caucasus. An angel appears to him; tells +him that the revelations in his dream were <span class="smcap">permitted by the Almighty</span>; +that he is commissioned to explain everything; he presents to his view +the <i>shadow of the world</i> as it exists; regions are pointed out; the +dispersion of mankind; the rise of superstition; the birth of a <span class="smcap">Saviour</span>, +and the triumph of Charity: that navigation shall be the means of +extending the knowledge of <span class="smcap">God</span> over the globe; and though some evils +must take place, happiness and love shall finally prevail upon the +earth.</p> + + +<h3>BOOK THE SECOND</h3> + +<p>Commences with an ardent wish, that as our forefather viewed the world +clearly displayed before him in a vision, so we of these late days might +be able, through the clouds of time, to look back upon the early ages of +the globe; we might then see, in their splendour, Thebes, Edom, <i>et +cet.</i>; but the early history of mankind is obscure, the only certain +light is from the sacred writings. By these we are informed of the +<i>dispersion</i> of earth's first inhabitants, after the flood. The +descendants of <span class="smcap">Ham</span>, after this dispersion, according to Bruce, having +first gained the summits of the Ethiopian mountains, there form +subterraneous abodes. In process of time they descend, people Egypt, +build Thebes; obscure tradition of the Ark; first make voyages.</p> + +<p>Ophir is not long afterwards discovered. This Bruce places, on most +respectable authority, at Sofala; I have ventured to place it +otherwhere, but still admitting one general idea, that when the way to +it overland was attended with difficulties, an easier course was at last +opened by sea. As to Ammon's exploits, I must shelter myself under the +authority of Sir Isaac Newton. After a sacrifice by the Egyptians, the +monsoon sets in. The ships follow its direction, as the mariners imagine +a god leads them. Hence the discovery of so much of the world by <i>sea</i>. +Reflection on commerce. The voyage of Solomon. A description of the +glory of <span class="smcap">Tyre</span>, the most commercial mart of the early world. Tyrian +discoveries in the Mediterranean; voyages to the coast of Italy and +Spain, to the Straits, and from thence to Britain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tyre is destroyed, and the thought naturally arises, that Britain, +which, at the time of the splendour of the <i>maritime Tyrians</i>, was an +obscure island, is now at the summit of maritime renown; while <span class="smcap">Tyre</span> is a +place where only "the fisherman dries his net." This leads to an +<span class="smcap">eulogium on England</span>; and the book concludes with the triumphs of her +fleets and armies on that very shore, on which science, and art, and +commerce, and <span class="smcap">maritime renown</span>, first arose.</p> + +<p>This digression, introducing the siege of Acre, appeared to the author +not only natural, but in some measure necessary to break the uniformity +of the subject.</p> + + +<h3>BOOK THE THIRD</h3> + +<p>Commences with the feelings excited by the conclusion of the last, by a +warm wish that England may for ages retain her present elevated rank. +This leads to the consideration of her <span class="smcap">naval opulence</span>, which carries us +back to the subject we had left—<span class="smcap">the fate of Tyre</span>.</p> + +<p>The history of the empires succeeding Tyre is touched on: the fall of +her destroyer, Babylon; the succession of Cyrus; the character of Cyrus, +and his want of enlarged policy, having so many means of encouraging +commerce; and his ill-fated expedition to the East Indies.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Alexander the Great</span> first conceives the idea of establishing a vast +<span class="smcap">maritime empire</span>: in his march of conquest, he proceeds to the last river +of the Punjab, the Hyphasis, which descends into the Indus, the sources +of which are near the mountains of <span class="smcap">Caucasus, where the ark rested</span>.</p> + +<p>The Indian account of the Deluge, it is well known, resembles most +wonderfully the history of Moses. When Alexander can proceed no further, +poetical fiction introduces the person of a Brahmin, who relates the +history of the Deluge: viz., that <i>one sacred man was</i>, in this part of +the world, <i>miraculously preserved by an ark</i>; the further march of the +conqueror towards the holy spot is deprecated: his best glory shall be +derived from the sea, and from uniting either world in commerce. +Alexander is animated with the idea; and his fleet, under Nearchus, +proceeds down the Indus to the sea. This forms a middle, connected with +the account of the Deluge, book first.</p> + + +<h3>BOOK THE FOURTH.</h3> + +<p>Nearchus' voyage being accomplished, and Alexandria now complete, +Commerce is represented as standing on the Pharos, and calling to all +nations. The tide of commerce would have flowed still in the track +pointed out by the sagacity of Alexander, but that a wider scene, beyond +<span class="smcap">the ancient world</span>, opens to the <span class="smcap">view of Discovery</span>. The use of the magnet +is discovered; and Henry of Portugal prosecutes the plan of opening a +passage along the coast of Africa to the East. One of his ships on its +return from the expedition has been driven from Cape Bojador (the +formidable boundary of Portuguese research) by a storm at sea. The isle +afterwards called Porto Santo is discovered. The circumstance related; +but the extraordinary appearance of a supernatural shade over the waters +at a distance excites many fears and superstitions. The attempt, +however, to penetrate the mystery, is resolved on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> Zarco reaches the +island of Madeira; tomb found; which introduces the episode. At the tomb +of the first discoverer (whether this be fanciful or not, is nothing to +poetry) the Spirit of Discovery casts her eyes over the globe; she +pursues De Gama to the East; history of Camoens touched on; Columbus; +sees with triumph the discovery of a new world, and from thence extends +her ideas till the great globe is encompassed; after which she returns +to the "tranquil bosom of the Thames," with Drake, the first +circumnavigator, whose ship, after its various perils, being laid up in +that river, gives rise to some brief concluding reflections.</p> + + +<h3>BOOK THE FIFTH.</h3> + +<p>Hitherto we have described only the triumphs of Discovery; but it +appears necessary that many incidental evils, special and general, +should be mentioned. Fate and miserable end of some great +commanders,—of our gallant and benevolent countryman, Cook. After the +natural feelings of regret, the mind is led to contemplate the great +advantages of his voyages: the health of seamen; the accessions to +geographical knowledge; the spirit of humanity and science; his +exploring the east part of New-Holland; and being the first to determine +the proximity of America to Asia. This circumstance leads us back from +the point whence we set out—<span class="smcap">the ark of Noah</span>; and hence we are partly +enabled to solve, what has been for so many ages unknown, the +<ins class="correction" title="Original was diffculty">difficulty</ins> respecting the earth's being peopled from one family.</p> + +<p>The poem having thus gained a middle and end, the conclusion of the +whole is, that as this uncertainty in the physical world has been by +<span class="smcap">Discovery</span> cleared up, so all the apparent contradictions in the moral +world shall be reconciled. We have yet many existing evils to deplore; +but when the <span class="smcap">Supreme Disposer</span>'s plan shall have been completed, then the +earth, which has been explored and enlightened by discovery and +knowledge, shall be destroyed; but the <span class="smcap">mind of man</span>, rendered at last +perfect, shall endure through all ages, and "justify His ways from whom +it sprung."</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>Such is the outline and plan of the following poem. I have felt myself +obliged to give this hasty analysis, thinking that self-defence almost +required it, lest a <i>careless</i> reader might charge me with <i>carelessness +of arrangement</i>.</p> + +<p>I must again beg it to be remembered, that History and Poetry are two +things; and that the poet has a right to build his system, not on what +is exact truth, but on what is, at least, plausible; what will form, in +the clearest manner, a <span class="smcap">whole</span>; and what is most susceptible of poetical +ornament.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA.</h2> + +<h3>BOOK THE FIRST.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Awake a louder and a loftier strain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved harp, whose tones have oft beguiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My solitary sorrows, when I left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scene of happier hours, and wandered far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pale and drooping stranger; I have sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(While evening listened to the convent bell)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the wild margin of the Rhine, and wooed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sympathies, "a-weary of the world,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I have found with thee sad fellowship,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet always sweet, whene'er my languid hand <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed carelessly o'er the responsive wires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While unambitious of the laurelled meed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That crowns the gifted bard, I only asked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some stealing melodies, the heart might love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a brief sonnet to beguile my tears!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I had hope that one day I might wake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy strings to loftier utterance; and now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bidding adieu to glens, and woods, and streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turning where, magnificent and vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Main Ocean bursts upon my sight, I strike,—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapt in the theme on which I long have mused,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike the loud lyre, and as the blue waves rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swell to their solemn roar the deepening chords.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lift thy indignant billows high, proclaim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy terrors, Spirit of the hoary seas!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sing thy dread dominion, amid wrecks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And storms, and howling solitudes, to Man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Submitted: awful shade of Camoens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bend from the clouds of heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">By the bold tones <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of minstrelsy, that o'er the unknown surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Where never daring sail before was spread)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed, and startled from his long repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The indignant Phantom<a name="FNanchor_153_153" id="FNanchor_153_153"></a><a href="#Footnote_153_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a> of the stormy Cape;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, let me think that in the winds I hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy animating tones, whilst I pursue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ardent hopes, like thee, my venturous way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid the seas resound my song! And thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father of Albion's streams, majestic Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the glittering scene, whose long-drawn wave <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes noiseless, yet with conscious pride, beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thronging vessels' shadows; nor through scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More fair, the yellow Tagus, or the Nile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ancient river, winds. <span class="smcap">Thou</span> to the strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt haply listen, that records the <span class="smcap">might</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">Ocean</span>, like a giant at thy feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanquished, and yielding to thy gentle state<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ancient sceptre of his dread domain!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All was one waste of waves, that buried deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth and its multitudes: the Ark alone, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">High on the cloudy van of Ararat,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rested; for now the death-commissioned storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks silent, and the eye of day looks out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim through the haze; while short successive gleams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flit o'er the weltering Deluge as it shrinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the transparent rain-drops, falling few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distinct and larger glisten. So the Ark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rests upon Ararat; but nought around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its inmates can behold, save o'er th' expanse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of boundless waters, the sun's orient orb <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretching the hull's long shadow, or the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence, through the silver-cinctured clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailing as she herself were lost, and left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Nature's loneliness!<br /></span> +<span class="i21">But oh, sweet Hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou bid'st a tear of holy ecstasy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Start to their eye-lids, when at night the Dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weary, returns, and lo! an olive leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wet in her bill: again she is put forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the seventh morn shines on the hoar abyss:— <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Due evening comes: her wings are heard no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dawn awakes, not cold and dripping sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cheered with lovelier sunshine; far away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark-red mountains slow their naked peaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upheave above the waste; Imaus<a name="FNanchor_154_154" id="FNanchor_154_154"></a><a href="#Footnote_154_154" class="fnanchor">[154]</a> gleams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fume the huge torrents on his desert sides;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till at the awful voice of Him who rules<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm, the ancient Father and his train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the dry land descend.<br /></span> +<span class="i25">Here let us pause. <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No noise in the vast circuit of the globe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is heard; no sound of human stirring: none<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pasturing herds, or wandering flocks; nor song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of birds that solace the forsaken woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From morn till eve; save in that spot that holds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sacred Ark: there the glad sounds ascend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Nature listens to the breath of Life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fleet horse bounds, high-neighing to the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lifts his streaming mane; the heifer lows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud sings the lark amid the rainbow's hues; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lion lifts him muttering; <span class="smcap">Man</span> comes forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kneels upon the earth—he kisses it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the <span class="smcap">God</span> who stretched that radiant bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lifts his trembling transports.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">From one spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone of earth such sounds ascend. How changed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The human prospect! when from realm to realm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flung to the stormy main, man's murmuring race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Various and countless as the shells that strew <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ocean's winding marge, are spread; from shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinensian, where the passing proas gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Innumerous 'mid the floating villages:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Acapulco west, where laden deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gold and gems rolls the superb galleon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowing the hoar Pacific: from the North,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where on some snowy promontory's height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lapland wizard beats his drum, and calls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits of the winds, to th' utmost South,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where savage Fuego shoots its cold white peaks, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreariest of lands, and the poor Pecherais<a name="FNanchor_155_155" id="FNanchor_155_155"></a><a href="#Footnote_155_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shiver and moan along its waste of snows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So stirs the earth; and for the Ark that passed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone and darkling o'er the dread abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand and ten thousand barks are seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fervent and glancing on the friths and sounds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the Bermudian that, with masts inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoots like a dart along; to the tall ship<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, like a stately swan, in conscious pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breasts beautiful the rising surge, and throws <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gathered waters back, and seems to move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A living thing, along her lucid way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streaming in white-winged glory to the sun!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some waft the treasures of the east; some bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their country's dark artillery o'er the surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frowning; some in the southern solitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound on discovery of new regions, spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid rocks of driving ice, that crash around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their weather-beaten mainsail; or explore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their perilous way from isle to isle, and wind <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender social tie; connecting man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherever scattered, with his fellow-man.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How many ages rolled away ere thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From <span class="smcap">Nature's general wreck</span>, the world's great scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was tenanted! See from their sad abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Heaven's dread voice, heard from the solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in the dayspring of created things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sad survivors of a buried world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come forth; on them, though desolate their seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sky looks down with smiles; for the broad sun, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That to the west slopes his untired career,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs o'er the water's brim. The aged sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now rising from his evening sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid his offspring stands, and lifts his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moist with a tear, to the bright bow: the fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet on the altar burns, whose trailing fume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes slowly up, and marks the lucid cope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the soft sky, where distant clouds hang still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beautiful. So placid Evening steals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the lurid storm, like a sweet form <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fairy following a perturbed shape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of giant terror, that in darkness strode.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow sinks the lord of day; the clustering clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More ardent burn; confusion of rich hues,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crimson, and gold, and purple, bright, inlay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their varied edges; till before the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As their last lustre fades, small silver stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Succeed; and twinkling each in its own sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick as the frost's unnumbered spangles, strew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slowly-paling heavens. Tired Nature seems <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one who, struggling long for life, had beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The billows, and scarce gained a desert crag,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-spent, to sink to rest: the tranquil airs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whisper repose. Now sunk in sleep reclines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Father of the world; then the sole moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mounts high in shadowy beauty; every cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retires, as in the blue space she moves on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the fulgent orbs supreme, and looks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The queen of heaven and earth. Stilly the streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retiring sound; midnight's high hollow vault <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint echoes; stilly sound the distant streams.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, hark! a strange and mingled wail, and cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of ten thousand thousand perishing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A phantom, 'mid the shadows of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the holy Patriarch, as he slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood terrible:—Dark as a storm it stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thunder and of winds, like hollow seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remote; meantime a voice was heard: Behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noah, the foe of thy weak race! my name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Destruction, whom thy sons in yonder plains <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall worship, and all grim, with mooned horns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paint fabling: when the flood from off the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before it swept the living multitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rode amid the hurricane; I heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The universal shriek of all that lived.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain they climbed the rocky heights: I struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The adamantine mountains, and like dust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They crumbled in the billowy foam. My hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the centre of the seas, received<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victims as they sank! Then, with dark joy, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sat amid ten thousand carcases,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That weltered at my feet! But <span class="smcap">thou</span> and <span class="smcap">thine</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have braved my utmost fury: what remains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But vengeance, vengeance on thy hated race;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be that sheltering shrine the instrument!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence, taught to stem the wild sea when it roars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In after-times to lands remote, where roamed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The naked man and his wan progeny,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They, more instructed in the fatal use<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of arts and arms, shall ply their way; and thou <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wouldst bid the great deep cover thee to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sorrows of thy miserable sons:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But turn, and view in part the truths I speak.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He said, and vanished with a dismal sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lamentation from his grisly troop.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then saw the just man in his dream what seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A new and savage land: huge forests stretched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their world of wood, shading like night the banks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of torrent-foaming rivers, many a league<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wandering and lost in solitudes; green isles <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here shone, and scattered huts beneath the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of branching palms were seen; whilst in the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A naked infant playing, stretched his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reach a speckled snake, that through the leaves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft darted, or its shining volumes rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erratic.<br /></span> +<span class="i13">From the woods a sable man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came, as from hunting; in his arms he took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smiling child, that with the feathers played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which nodded on his brow; the sheltering hut <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Received them, and the cheerful smoke went up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the silent woods.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Anon was heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound as of strange thunder, from the mouths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hollow engines, as, with white sails spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tall vessels, hulled like the great Ark, approached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The verdant shores: they, in a woody cove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe-stationed, hang their pennants motionless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the palms. Meantime, with shouts and song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boat rows hurrying to the land; nor long <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the great sea for many a league is tinged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While corpse on corpse, down the red torrent rolled,<a name="FNanchor_156_156" id="FNanchor_156_156"></a><a href="#Footnote_156_156" class="fnanchor">[156]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floats, and the inmost forests murmur—Blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now vast savannahs meet the view, where high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the arid grass the serpent lifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tawny crest:—Not far a vessel rides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the sunny main, and to the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black savage tribes a mournful captive urge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who looks to heaven with anguish. Him they cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound in the rank hold of the prison-ship, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a sad associate in despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each panting chained to his allotted space;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And moaning, whilst their wasted eye-balls roll.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Another scene appears: the naked slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Writhes to the bloody lash; but more to view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature forbad, for starting from his dream<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The just Man woke. Shuddering he gazed around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw the earliest beam of morning shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slant on the hills without; he heard the breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of placid kine, but troubled thoughts and sad <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose. He wandered forth; and now far on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By heavy musings led, reached a ravine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most mild amid the tempest-riven rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through whose dark pass he saw the flood remote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray-spreading, while the mists of morn went up.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused; when on his lonely pathway flashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light, and sounds as of approaching wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instant were heard. A radiant form appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Celestial, and with heavenly accent said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noah, I come commissioned from above, <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where angels move before th' eternal throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven's great King in glory, to dispel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mists of darkness from thy sight; for know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not unpermitted of th' Eternal One<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadows of thy melancholy dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung o'er thee slumbering: Mine the task to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Futurity's faint scene;—now follow me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He said; and up to the unclouded height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that great Eastern mountain,<a name="FNanchor_157_157" id="FNanchor_157_157"></a><a href="#Footnote_157_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a> that surveys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim Asia, they ascended. Then his brow <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angel touched, and cleared with whispered charm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mortal mist before his eyes.—At once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(As in the skiey mirage, when the seer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lonely Kilda's western summit sees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wondrous scene in shadowy vision rise)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <span class="smcap">nether world</span>, with seas and shores, appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Submitted to his view: but not as then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A melancholy waste, deform and sad;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fair as now the green earth spreads, with woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Champaign, and hills, and many winding streams <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robed, the magnificent illusion rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw in mazy longitude devolved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mighty Brahma-Pooter; to the East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thibet and China, and the shining sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sweeps the inlets of Japan, and winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the Curile and Aleutian isles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale to the north. Siberia's snowy scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are spread; Jenisca and the freezing Ob<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appear, and many a forest's shady track<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far as the Baltic, and the utmost bounds <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Scandinavia; thence the eye returns:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! great Lebanon—abrupt and dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pines, and airy Carmel, rising slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the midland main, where hang the capes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Italy and Greece; swart Africa,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the parching sun, her long domain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reveals, the mountains of the Moon, the source<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Nile, the wild mysterious Niger, lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the torrid sands; and to the south<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her stormy cape. Beyond the misty main <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weary eye scarce wanders, when behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plata, through vaster territory poured;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Andes, sweeping the horizon's tract,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mightiest of mountains! whose eternal snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feel not the nearer sun; whose umbrage chills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murmuring ocean; whose volcanic fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand nations view, hung like the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High in the middle waste of heaven; thy range,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shading far off the Southern hemisphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dusky file Titanic. <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i31">So spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before our great forefather's view the globe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeared; with seas, and shady continents,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And verdant isles, and mountains lifting dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their forests, and indenting rivers, poured<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silvery maze. And, Lo! the Angel said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These scenes, O Noah, thy posterity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall people; but remote and scattered wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shall forget their <span class="smcap">God</span>, and see no trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save dimly, of their Great Original. <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rude caves shall be their dwellings: till, with noise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of multitudes, imperial cities rise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Arch Fiend, the foe of <span class="smcap">God</span> and man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall fling his spells; and, 'mid illusions drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blear Superstition shall arise, the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eclipsing.—Deep in caves,<a name="FNanchor_158_158" id="FNanchor_158_158"></a><a href="#Footnote_158_158" class="fnanchor">[158]</a> vault within vault<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far winding; or in night of thickest woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where no bird sings; or 'mid huge circles gray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of uncouth stone, her aspect wild, and pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the terrific flame that near her burns, <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She her mysterious rites, 'mid hymns and cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall wake, and to her shapeless idols, vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smeared with blood, or shrines of lust, shall lead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her votaries, maddening as she waves her torch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With visage more expanded, to the groans<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of human sacrifice.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Nor think that love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happiness shall dwell in vales remote:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The naked man shall see the glorious sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think it but enlightens his poor isle, <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hid in the watery waste; cold on his limbs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ocean-spray shall beat; his Deities<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall be the stars, the thunder, and the winds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if a stranger on his rugged shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be cast, his offered blood shall stain the strand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">O wretched man! who then shall raise thee up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From this thy dark estate, forlorn and lost?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Patriarch said.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">The Angel answered mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His God, who destined him to noblest ends! <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mutual intercourse shall stir at first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunk and grovelling spirit, and from sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sullen energies of man rouse up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of a slumbering giant. He shall walk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sublime amid the works of <span class="smcap">God</span>: the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall own his wide dominion; the great sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall toss in vain its roaring waves; his eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall scan the bright orbs as they roll above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glorious, and his expanding heart shall burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wide and wider in magnificence <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vast scene opens; in the winds and clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seas, and circling planets, he shall see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadow of a dread Almighty move.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shall the Dayspring rise, before whose beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darkness of the world is past:—For, hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seraphs and angel-choirs with symphonies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acclaiming of ten thousand golden harps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the bursting clouds of heaven revealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once, in glory jubilant, they sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God the Redeemer liveth! He who took <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man's nature on him, and in human shroud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Veiled his immortal glory! He is risen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God the Redeemer liveth! And behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gates of life and immortality<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Open to all that breathe!<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Oh, might the strains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But win the world to love; meek Charity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should lift her looks and smile; and with faint voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weary pilgrim of the earth exclaim,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As close his eye-lids—Death, where is thy sting? <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Grave, where is thy victory?<br /></span> +<span class="i39">And ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom ocean's melancholy wastes divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who slumber to the sullen surge, awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Break forth into thanksgiving, for the bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rolled upon the desert deep, shall bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tidings of great joy to all that live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tidings of life and light.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Oh, were those men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The Patriarch raised his drooping looks, and said) <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such in my dream I saw, who to the isles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And peaceful sylvan scenes o'er the wide seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came tilting; then their murderous instruments<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted, that flashed to the indignant sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst the poor native died:—Oh, were those men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instructed in the laws of holier love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast displayed?<br /></span> +<span class="i29">The Angel meek replied—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call rather fiends of hell those who abuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mercies they receive: that such, indeed, <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On whom the light of clearer knowledge beams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should wander forth, and for the tender voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of charity should scatter crimes and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drench, where'er they pass, the earth with blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might make ev'n angels weep:<br /></span> +<span class="i31">But the poor tribes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That groaned and died, deem not them innocent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As injured; more ensanguined rites and deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of deepest stain were theirs; and what if God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So to approve his justice, and exact <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most even retribution, blood for blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bid forth the Angel of the storm of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou saw'st, indeed, the seeming innocence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man the savage; but thou saw'st not all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold the scene more near! hear the shrill whoop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of murderous war! See tribes on neighbour tribes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rush howling, their red hatchets wielding high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouting to their barbarous gods! Behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The captive bound, yet vaunting direst hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mocking his tormentors, while they gash <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His flesh unshrinking, tear his eyeballs, burn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His beating breast! Hear the dark temples ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To groans and hymns of murderous sacrifice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the stern priest, the rites of horror done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hollow-echoing chaunt lifts up the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the last victim 'mid the yelling throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quivering, and red, and reeking to the sun!<a name="FNanchor_159_159" id="FNanchor_159_159"></a><a href="#Footnote_159_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reclaimed by gradual intercourse, his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warmed with new sympathies, the forest-chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall cast the bleeding hatchet to his gods <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of darkness, and one Lord of all adore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maker of heaven and earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i29">Let it suffice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hath permitted <span class="smcap">evil</span> for a while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mingle its deep hues and sable shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid life's fair perspective, as thou saw'st<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of late the blackening clouds; but in the end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All these shall roll away, and evening still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come smilingly, while the great sun looks down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the illumined scene. So Charity <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall smile on all the earth, and Nature's God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look down upon his works; and while far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shrieking night-fiends fly, one voice shall rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glory to God on high, and on earth peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace and good-will to men!<br /></span> +<span class="i29">Thou rest in hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Him with meekness and with trust adore!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He said, and spreading bright his ampler wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flew to the heaven of heavens; the meek man bowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adoring, and, with pensive thoughts resigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bent from the aching height his lonely way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_153_153" id="Footnote_153_153"></a><a href="#FNanchor_153_153"><span class="label">[153]</span></a> See Camoens' description of the dreadful Phantom at the +Cape of Good Hope.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_154_154" id="Footnote_154_154"></a><a href="#FNanchor_154_154"><span class="label">[154]</span></a> Part of the mountainous range of the vast Indian +Caucasus, where the Ark rested.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_155_155" id="Footnote_155_155"></a><a href="#FNanchor_155_155"><span class="label">[155]</span></a> Forster says the miserable creatures who visited the ship +in the Straits of Magellan, seldom uttered any other word than +"Passeray"—hence the name of Pecherais was given to them.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_156_156" id="Footnote_156_156"></a><a href="#FNanchor_156_156"><span class="label">[156]</span></a> From Dariena to Nicaragua, the Spaniards slew 400,000 +people with dogs, sword, fire, and divers tortures.—<i>Purchas</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_157_157" id="Footnote_157_157"></a><a href="#FNanchor_157_157"><span class="label">[157]</span></a> That tremendous Caff (according to the Indian +superstition) inhabited by spirits, demons, and the griffin Simorg.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_158_158" id="Footnote_158_158"></a><a href="#FNanchor_158_158"><span class="label">[158]</span></a> The caves of Elephanta and Salsette.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_159_159" id="Footnote_159_159"></a><a href="#FNanchor_159_159"><span class="label">[159]</span></a> At the dedication of the temple of Vitzuliputzli, <span class="smcap">a.d.</span> +1486, 64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four days.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>BOOK THE SECOND.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh for a view, as from that cloudless height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the great Patriarch gazed upon the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His offspring's future seat, back on the vale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of years departed! We might then behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thebes, from her sleep of ages, awful rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an imperial shadow, from the Nile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To airy harpings;<a name="FNanchor_160_160" id="FNanchor_160_160"></a><a href="#Footnote_160_160" class="fnanchor">[160]</a> and with lifted torch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scatter the darkness through the labyrinths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of death, where rest her kings, without a name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And light the winding caves and pyramids <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the long night of years! We might behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edom, in towery strength, majestic rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And awe the Erithræan, to the plains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood,<a name="FNanchor_161_161" id="FNanchor_161_161"></a><a href="#Footnote_161_161" class="fnanchor">[161]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before whose naval shrine the Memphian host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Pharaoh's pomp were shattered! As her fleets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Ezion went seaward, to the sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of shouts and brazen trumpets, we might say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How glorious, Edom, in thy ships art thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mighty as the rushing winds! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i32">But night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is on the mournful scene: a voice is heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of the dead, from hollow sepulchres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echoing caverns of the Nile—So pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shades of mortal glory! One pure ray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Sinai bursts (where God of old revealed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His glory, through the darkness terrible<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sat on the dread Mount), and we descry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sons, O Noah! peopling wide the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Shinar's plain to Egypt. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i31">Let the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reveal, who first "went down to the great sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ships," and braved the stormy element.<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><span class="smcap">The Sons of Cush</span>.<a name="FNanchor_162_162" id="FNanchor_162_162"></a><a href="#Footnote_162_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a> Still fearful of the <span class="smcap">flood</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They on the marble range and cloudy heights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that vast mountain barrier,—which uprises<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the Red Sea coast, and stretches on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the sea-line of Afric's southern bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Sofala,—delved in the granite mass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dark abode, spreading from rock to rock <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their subterranean cities, whilst they heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure, the rains of vexed Orion rush.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emboldened they descend, and now their fanes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Egypt's champaign darken, whilst the noise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of caravans is heard, and pyramids<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the pale distance gleam. Imperial <span class="smcap">Thebes</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Starts, like a giant, from the dust; as when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some dread enchanter waves his wand, and towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And palaces far in the sandy wilds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spring up: and still, her sphinxes, huge and high,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her marble wrecks colossal, seem to speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The work of some great arm invisible,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surpassing human strength; while toiling Time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sways his desolating scythe so vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weary havoc murmuring at his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smite them in vain. Heard ye the mystic song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resounding from her caverns as of yore?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sing to Osiris,<a name="FNanchor_163_163" id="FNanchor_163_163"></a><a href="#Footnote_163_163" class="fnanchor">[163]</a> for his ark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more in night profound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ocean, fathomless and dark, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Typhon<a name="FNanchor_164_164" id="FNanchor_164_164"></a><a href="#Footnote_164_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a> has sunk! Aloud the sistrums ring—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Osiris!—to our god Osiris sing!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let the midnight shore to rites of joy resound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee, great restorer of the world, the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkly described, and that mysterious shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bore thee o'er the desolate abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the earth sank with all its noise!<br /></span> +<span class="i34">So taught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The borderers of the Erithræan launch'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their barks, and to the shores of Araby <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">First their brief voyage stretched, and thence returned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With aromatic gums, or spicy wealth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of India. Prouder triumphs yet await,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lo! where Ophir's gold unburied shines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New to the sun; but perilous the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Ariana's<a name="FNanchor_165_165" id="FNanchor_165_165"></a><a href="#Footnote_165_165" class="fnanchor">[165]</a> spectred wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where ev'n the patient camel scarce endures<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long, long solitude of rocks and sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parched, faint, and sinking, in his mid-day course.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But see! upon the shore great Ammon<a name="FNanchor_166_166" id="FNanchor_166_166"></a><a href="#Footnote_166_166" class="fnanchor">[166]</a> stands—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be the deep opened! At his voice the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is opened; and the shading ships that ride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With statelier masts and ampler hulls the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have passed the Straits, and left the rocks and GATES<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of death</span>.<a name="FNanchor_167_167" id="FNanchor_167_167"></a><a href="#Footnote_167_167" class="fnanchor">[167]</a> Where Asia's cape the autumnal surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throws blackening back, beneath a hollow cove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awhile the mariners their fearful course<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ponder, ere yet they tempt the further deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then plunged into the sullen main, they cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The youthful victim, to the dismal gods <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devoted, whilst the smoke of sacrifice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly ascends:<br /></span> +<span class="i17">Hear, King of Ocean! hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark phantom! whether in thy secret cave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou sittest, where the deeps are fathomless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hear'st the waters hum, though all above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is uproar loud; or on the widest waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from all land, mov'st in the noontide sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dread and lonely shadow; or on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost ride upon the whirling spires, and fume <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that enormous volume, that ascends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black to the skies, and with the thunder's roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursts, while the waves far on are still: Oh, hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dread power, and save! lest hidden eddies whirl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The helpless vessels down,—down to the deeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of night, where thou, O Father of the Storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost sleep; or thy vast stature might appear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the flashing waves, and (as thy beard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streamed to the cloudy winds) pass o'er their track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they are seen no more; or monster-birds <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkening, with pennons lank, the morn, might bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victims to some desert rock, and leave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their scattered bones to whiten in the winds!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Ocean-gods, with sacrifice appeased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Propitious smile; the thunder's roar has ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth and in silence o'er the azure realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall ships glide along; for the South-West<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheerly and steady blows, and the blue seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the shadow sparkle; on they speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long coast varies as they pass from cove <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sheltering cove, the long coast winds away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till now emboldened by the unvarying gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still urging to the East, the sailors deem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some god inviting swells their willing sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Destiny's fleet dragons through the surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut their mid-way, yoked to the beaked prows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Night after night the heavens' still cope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That glows with stars, they watch, till morning bears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Airs of sweet fragrance o'er the yellow tide: <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Malabar her green declivities<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs beauteous, beaming to the eye afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like scenes of pictured bliss, the shadowy land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of soft enchantment. Now Salmala's peak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines high in air, and Ceylon's dark green woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath are spread; while, as the strangers wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the curving shores, sounds of delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are heard; and birds of richest plumage, red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yellow, glance along the shades; or fly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With morning twitter, circling o'er the mast, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As singing welcome to the weary crew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here rest, till westering gales again invite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then o'er the line of level seas glide on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the green deities of ocean guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Ophir's distant hills spring from the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their long labours cease.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i32">Hence Asia slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her length unwinds; and Siam and Ceylon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through wider channels pour their gems and gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To swell the pomp of Egypt's kings, or deck <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With new magnificence the rising dome<a name="FNanchor_168_168" id="FNanchor_168_168"></a><a href="#Footnote_168_168" class="fnanchor">[168]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Palestine's imperial lord.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">His wants<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To satisfy; "with comelier draperies"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To clothe his shivering form; to bid his arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst, like the Patagonian's,<a name="FNanchor_169_169" id="FNanchor_169_169"></a><a href="#Footnote_169_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a> the vain cords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bound his untried strength; to nurse the flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wider heart-ennobling sympathies;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this young Commerce roused the energies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man; else rolling back, stagnant and foul, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the <span class="smcap">great element</span> on which his ships<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go forth, without the currents, winds, and tides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swell it, as with awful life, and keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rank putrescence the long-moving mass:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And He, the sovereign Maker of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So to excite man's high activities,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bad various climes their various produce pour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Asia's plain mark where the cotton-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs elegant its golden gems; the date<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits purpling the soft lucid haze, that lights <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The still, pale, sultry landscape; breathing sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along old Ocean's billowy marge, the eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bears spicy fragrance far; the bread-fruit shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The southern isles; and gems, and richest ore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lurk in the caverned mountains of the west.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ampler shade the northern oak uplifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His strength, itself a forest, and descends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud to the world of waves, to bear afar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wealth collected, on the swelling tides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every land:—Where nature seems to mourn <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her rugged outcast rocks, there Enterprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaps up; he gazes, like a god, around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees on other plains rich harvests wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He marks far off the diamond blaze; he burns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reach the glittering prize; he looks; he speaks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pines of Lebanon fall at his voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rears the towering mast: o'er the long main<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wanders, and becomes, himself though poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sovereign of the globe!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">So Sidon rose; <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Tyre, yet prouder o'er the subject waves,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in his manlier might the Ammonian spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond Philistia to the Syrian sands,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned on her rocky citadel, beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The treasures of all lands poured at her feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her daring prows the inland main disclosed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freedom and Glory, Eloquence, and Arts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Follow their track, upspringing where they passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, lo! another Thebes, an <span class="smcap">Athens</span> springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the Ægean shores, and airs are heard, <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of no mortal melody, from isles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That strew the deep around! On to the <span class="smcap">Straits</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where tower the brazen pillars<a name="FNanchor_170_170" id="FNanchor_170_170"></a><a href="#Footnote_170_170" class="fnanchor">[170]</a> to the clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her vessels ride. But what a shivering dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quelled their bold hopes, when on their watch by night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mariners first saw the distant flames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Ætna, and its red portentous glare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streaking the midnight waste! 'Tis not thy lamp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Astarte, hung in the dun vault of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guide the wanderers of the main! Aghast <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They eye the fiery cope, and wait the dawn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge pitchy clouds upshoot, and bursting fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flash through the horrid volume as it mounts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices are heard, and thunders muttering deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haste, snatch the oars, fly o'er the glimmering surge—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly far—already louder thunders roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more terrific flames arise! Oh, spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dread Power! for sure some deity abides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the central earth, amidst the reek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sacrifice and blue sulphureous fume <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Involved. Perhaps the living Moloch<a name="FNanchor_171_171" id="FNanchor_171_171"></a><a href="#Footnote_171_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a> there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rules in his horrid empire, amid flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thunders, and blackening volumes, that ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrap his burning throne!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">So was their path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To those who first the cheerless ocean roamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkened with dread and peril. Scylla here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell Charybdis, on their whirling gulph<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sit, like the sisters of Despair, and howl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the devoted ship, dashed on the crags, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes down: and oft the neighbour shores are strewn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bones of strangers sacrificed, whose bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has foundered nigh, where the red watch-tower glares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through darkness. Hence mysterious dread, and tales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Polyphemus and his monstrous rout;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warbling syrens on the fatal shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of soft Parthenope. Yet oft the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sea-conch through the night from some rude rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is heard, to warn the wandering passenger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fiends that lurk for blood! <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i26">These dangers past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea puts on new beauties: Italy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the blue soft sky beaming afar,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opens her azure bays; Liguria's gulph<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is past; the Bætic rocks, and ramparts high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <span class="smcap">close the world</span>, appear. The dashing bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursts through the fearful frith: Ah! all is now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One boundless billowy waste; the huge-heaved wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the keel turns more intensely blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vaster rolls the surge, that sweeps the shores <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Cerne, and the green Hesperides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long-renowned Atlantis,<a name="FNanchor_172_172" id="FNanchor_172_172"></a><a href="#Footnote_172_172" class="fnanchor">[172]</a> whether sunk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now to the bottom of the "monstrous world;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or was it but a shadow of the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vapoury and baseless, like the distant clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seem the promise of an unknown land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the pale-eyed and wasted mariner,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold on the rocking mast. The pilot plies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now tossed upon Bayonna's mountain-surge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High to the north his way; when, lo! the cliffs <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Albion, o'er the sea-line rising calm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white, and Marazion's woody mount<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting its dark romantic point between.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So did thy ships to Earth's wide bounds proceed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Tyre! and thou wert rich and beautiful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that thy day of glory. Carthage rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy daughter, and the rival of thy fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the sands of Lybia; princes were<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy merchants; on thy golden throne thy state<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone, like the orient sun. Dark Lebanon <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waved all his pines for thee; for thee the oaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Bashan towered in strength: thy galleys cut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On ivory benches, furled th' embroidered sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That looms of Egypt wove, or to the oars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That measuring dipped, their choral sea-songs sung;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The multitude of isles did shout for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cast their emeralds at thy feet, and said—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Queen of the Waters, who is like to thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So wert thou glorious on the seas, and said'st, <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I am a God</i>, and there is none like me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the dread voice prophetic is gone forth:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howl, for the whirlwind of the desert comes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howl ye again, for Tyre, her multitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sins and dark abominations cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against her, saith the <span class="smcap">Lord</span>; in the mid seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her beauty shall be broken; I will bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pride to ashes; she shall be no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant isles shall tremble at the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou dost fall; the princes of the sea <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall from their thrones come down, and cast away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their gorgeous robes; for thee they shall take up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bitter lamentation, and shall say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How art thou fallen, renowned city! <span class="smcap">thou</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wert enthroned glorious on the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To rise no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i18">So visible, O <span class="smcap">God</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is thy dread hand in all the earth! Where Tyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gold and purple glittered o'er the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now the poor fisher dries his net, nor thinks <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How great, how rich, how glorious, once she rose!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the furthest isle, cold and obscure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose painted natives roamed their woody wilds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all the world cut off, that wondering marked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her stately sails approach, now in her turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rises a star of glory in the West—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albion, the wonder of the illumined world!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See there a Newton wing the highest heavens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See there a Herschell's daring hand withdraw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The luminous pavilion, and the throne<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the bright <span class="smcap">sun</span> reveal; there hear the voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of holy truth amid her cloistered fane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the clear anthem swells; see Taste adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her palaces; and Painting's fervid touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bids the canvas breathe; hear angel-strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Handel, or melodious Purcell, pours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sweetest harmonies; see Poesy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Open her vales romantic, and the scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Fancy, an enraptured votary, roves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At eve; and hark! 'twas Shakspeare's voice! he sits <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a high and charmed rock alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like the genius of the mountain, gives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rapt song to the winds; whilst Pity weeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Terror shudders at the changeful tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when his Ariel soothes the storm! Then pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the wild billows answer—Lycidas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dead, young Lycidas, dead ere his prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whelmed in the deep, beyond the Orcades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or where the "vision of the guarded Mount,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Belerus</span> holds." <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i18">Nor skies, nor earth, confine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The march of England's glory; on she speeds—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unknown barriers of the utmost deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her prow has burst, where the dread genius slept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ages undisturbed, save when he walked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the darkness of the storm! Her fleet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even now along the East rides terrible,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where early-rising commerce cheered the scene!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard ye the thunders of her vengeance roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Nelson, through the battle's dark-red haze <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aloft upon the burning prow directs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the dread hurricane, with sulphureous flash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall burst unquenchable, while from the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Osiris ampler seems to rise? Where thou,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Tyre! didst awe the subject seas of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acre even now, and ancient Carmel, hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cry of conquest. 'Mid the fire and smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the war-shaken citadel, with eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of temper'd flame, yet resolute command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His brave sword beaming, and his cheering voice <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard 'mid the onset's cries, his dark-brown hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread on his fearless forehead, and his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pointing to Gallia's baffled chief, behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The British Hero stand! Why beats my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With kindred animation? The warm tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of patriot triumph fills mine eye. I strike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A louder strain unconscious, while the harp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swells to the bold involuntary song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i20">I.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Fly, <span class="smcap">Son of Terror</span>, fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Back o'er the burning desert he is fled! <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In heaps the gory dead<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And livid in the trenches lie!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His dazzling files no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flash on the Syrian sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when from Egypt's ravaged shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aloft their gleamy falchions swinging,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aloud their victor pæans singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their onward way the Gallic legions took.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despair, dismay, are on his altered look,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Yet hate indignant lowers; <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst high on Acre's granite towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shade of English Richard seems to stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And frowning far, in dusky rows,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A thousand archers draw their bows!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They join the triumph of the British band,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rent watch-tower echoes to the cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard o'er the rolling surge—They fly, they fly!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i20">II.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Now the hostile fires decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now above the bastions gray <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">The clouds of battle roll away;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where, with calm, yet glowing mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Britain's victorious youth is seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">He lifts his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst the long-mingled shout is heard—They fly, they fly!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i20">III.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Hoary <span class="smcap">Carmel</span>, witness thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lift in conscious pride thy brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As when upon thy cloudy plain<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Baal's prophets</span> cried in vain! <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">They gashed their flesh, and leaped, and cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From morn till lingering even-tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then stern <span class="smcap">Elijah</span> on his foes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Strong in the might of Heaven arose!—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">On <span class="smcap">Carmel's</span> top he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And while the blackening clouds and rain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Came sounding from the Western main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised his right hand that dropped with impious blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Ancient Kishon</span> prouder swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On whose banks they bowed, they fell, <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mighty ones of yore, when, pale with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Inglorious <span class="smcap">Sisera</span> fled!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So let them perish, Holy <span class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who for <span class="smcap">oppression</span> lift the sword;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let all those who, armed for freedom, fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be as the sun who goes forth in his might."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_160_160" id="Footnote_160_160"></a><a href="#FNanchor_160_160"><span class="label">[160]</span></a> Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_161_161" id="Footnote_161_161"></a><a href="#FNanchor_161_161"><span class="label">[161]</span></a> Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; +Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the +coast.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_162_162" id="Footnote_162_162"></a><a href="#FNanchor_162_162"><span class="label">[162]</span></a> The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along +the Red Sea.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_163_163" id="Footnote_163_163"></a><a href="#FNanchor_163_163"><span class="label">[163]</span></a> When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, +"Let us rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_164_164" id="Footnote_164_164"></a><a href="#FNanchor_164_164"><span class="label">[164]</span></a> The deluge or devastating storm.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_165_165" id="Footnote_165_165"></a><a href="#FNanchor_165_165"><span class="label">[165]</span></a> The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_166_166" id="Footnote_166_166"></a><a href="#FNanchor_166_166"><span class="label">[166]</span></a> Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first +artificer who built large ships, and passed the Straits.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_167_167" id="Footnote_167_167"></a><a href="#FNanchor_167_167"><span class="label">[167]</span></a> The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of +Affliction.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_168_168" id="Footnote_168_168"></a><a href="#FNanchor_168_168"><span class="label">[168]</span></a> Temple of Solomon.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_169_169" id="Footnote_169_169"></a><a href="#FNanchor_169_169"><span class="label">[169]</span></a> Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords +when taken.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_170_170" id="Footnote_170_170"></a><a href="#FNanchor_170_170"><span class="label">[170]</span></a> Pillars of Hercules.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_171_171" id="Footnote_171_171"></a><a href="#FNanchor_171_171"><span class="label">[171]</span></a> Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was +worshipped along the coast of Syria.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_172_172" id="Footnote_172_172"></a><a href="#FNanchor_172_172"><span class="label">[172]</span></a> The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be +America.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>BOOK THE THIRD.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the dark tide of time might one day close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the Pacific's billowy loneliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might rise in green-haired beauty eminent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a goddess, glittering from the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hereafter sway the sceptre of domain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From pole to pole; and such as now thou art, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps <span class="smcap">New-Holland</span> be. For who shall say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What the <span class="smcap">Omnipotent Eternal One</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though visionary, rise; and sometimes move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment's sadness, when I think of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My country, of thy greatness, and thy name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the nations; and thy character,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of loveliest beauty: I have never passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through thy green hamlets on a summer's morn, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiling maidens of thy villages,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With passing tenderness—Live, happy land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">An independence and a pride, that fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His honest heart with joy—joy such as they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who crowd the mart of men may never feel!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far as the eye could reach, from every port<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of every nation, streaming with their flags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I was British-born; that I had lived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A witness of thy glory, my most loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And honoured country; and a silent prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and Love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hostility, even as thy guardian cliffs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repel the dash of that dread element<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On to my destined voyage, by the shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Asia, and the wreck of cities old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet we burst into the wilder deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Gama; or the huge Atlantic waste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bold Columbus stem; or view the bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of field-ice, stretching to the southern pole, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyre be no more! said the <span class="smcap">Almighty</span> voice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou too, Monarch of the world,<a name="FNanchor_173_173" id="FNanchor_173_173"></a><a href="#Footnote_173_173" class="fnanchor">[173]</a> whose arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rent the proud bulwarks of the golden queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of cities, throned upon her subject seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Art thou too fall'n</span>?<br /></span> +<span class="i21">The whole earth is at rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"They break forth into singing:" Lebanon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waves all his hoary pines, and seems to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No feller now comes here; <span class="smcap">Hell</span> from beneath <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <span class="smcap">dead</span> for thee; the <span class="smcap">chief ones</span> of the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worm spread under thee, the crawling worm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will ascend to Heaven; I will exalt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My throne above the stars of God! Die—die, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <span class="smcap">she</span>, the great, the guilty Babel—<span class="smcap">she</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who smote the wasted cities, and the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made as a wilderness—<span class="smcap">she</span>, in her turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">Him</span> who sits in judgment on her crimes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On that same night, when with a cry she fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a strange eclipse, and long laments<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the high palace where his wassail loud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Belshazzar kept, mocking the <span class="smcap">God of heaven</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flushed with impious mirth; for <span class="smcap">Bel</span> had left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a gloomy apparition girt, <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Nisroch</span> and <span class="smcap">Nebo</span> chief, in the dim sphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mooned <span class="smcap">Astoreth</span>, whose orb now rolled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkness:—They their earthly empire mourned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the host of Cyrus through the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent advanced more nigh; and at that hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the torch-blazing hall of revelry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fingers of a shadowy hand distinct<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came forth, and unknown figures marked the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searing the eye-balls of the starting king:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n! <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bel and her gods are shattered!<br /></span> +<span class="i30"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>, to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called by the voice of God to execute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Cyrus</span>, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most clear by the historian's magic art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy features wear a gentleness and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unlike the stern cold aspect and the frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heroes, from humanity and love <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Removed: To thee a brighter character<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Belongs—high dignity, unbending truth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet Nature; not that lordly apathy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which confidence and human sympathy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Represses, but a soul that bids all hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling approach. We almost burn in thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who stood a guardian angel in distress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the unfriended, and the beautiful, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tints of softest light, thus wins all hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To love thee; but severer policy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No stir of commerce on the sullen marge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of waters that along thy empire's verge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the main<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From cape to cape. But on the desert sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the poor savage fells the blooming tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in the wilderness the noise is lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all thy archers;—they have ceased;—the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So perish they who grasp with avarice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another's blessed portion, and disdain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That interchange of mutual good, that crowns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slow, sure toil of commerce. <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i32">It was thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal son of Macedon! to hang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the high fane of maritime renown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Then</span> only like a god, when thy great mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swayed in its master council the deep tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of things, predestining th' eventful roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of commerce, and uniting either world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Europe and Asia, in thy vast design.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Twas when the victor, in his proud career, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The awful records to succeeding years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his long march of glory, and to point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spot where, like the thunder rolled away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His army paused. Now shady eve came down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trumpet sounded to the setting sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovely as his parting light, the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were ever wafted from a bleeding land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the havoc of a conqueror's sword.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So calm the sun declined; when from the woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the conqueror of the world. At once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, as in death, was still. The victor chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more in folds insulting to the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the reposing world. The pallid front<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His beating heart. He paused—and then abrupt:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Victor, avaunt! he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence! and the banners of thy pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bear to the deep! Behold on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky!<br /></span> +<span class="i24">It is the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the great Father of the human race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rested, when all the world and all its sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth, leaped from its dark abode <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dread His might no mortal may resist.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">When Hayagraiva<a name="FNanchor_174_174" id="FNanchor_174_174"></a><a href="#Footnote_174_174" class="fnanchor">[174]</a> came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mooned horns and eyes of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bore the holy Vedas<a name="FNanchor_175_175" id="FNanchor_175_175"></a><a href="#Footnote_175_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a> to the deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the sun's rejoicing ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then foamed the billowy desert wide, <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all that breathed—they died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And violence of earth. But he above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Floated, in safety borne:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For his stupendous horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blazing like gold, and many a rood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extended o'er the dismal flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The precious freight sustained, till on the crest <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Himakeel,<a name="FNanchor_176_176" id="FNanchor_176_176"></a><a href="#Footnote_176_176" class="fnanchor">[176]</a> yon mountain high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That darkly mingles with the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And Heaven decrees that here<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shall cease thy slaughtering spear:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Enough we bleed, enough we weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hence, victor, to the deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ev'n now along the tide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I see thy ships triumphant ride:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I see the world of trade emerge <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">From ocean's solitude! What fury fires<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My breast! The flood, the flood retires,<a name="FNanchor_177_177" id="FNanchor_177_177"></a><a href="#Footnote_177_177" class="fnanchor">[177]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And owns its future sovereign! Urge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(Or is it but the shadow of a dream?)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Ev'n now old Indus hails<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy daring prows in long array,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That o'er the lone seas gliding,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Around the sea-gods riding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way. <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fill high the bowl of mirth!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From west to east the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaims thee Lord; shall the blue main<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Confine thy reign?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With language dread<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Above thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark Assoors<a name="FNanchor_178_178" id="FNanchor_178_178"></a><a href="#Footnote_178_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a> thy death-song sing.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What mortal blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath laid the king of nations low? <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">No hand: his own despair.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thy ships explore<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Unknown Persia's winding shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see, uprising from the level main,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A new and glorious city springs;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hither speed thy woven wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That glance along the azure tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Asia and Europe own thy might;— <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The willing seas of either world unite:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy name shall consecrate the sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same track<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit pointed; and, let death betide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My name shall live in glory!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">At his word <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">Indus</span>; to the Moderators' song<a name="FNanchor_179_179" id="FNanchor_179_179"></a><a href="#Footnote_179_179" class="fnanchor">[179]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aloft the gallies. On the foremost prow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monarch from his golden goblet pours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A full libation to the gods, and calls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By name the mighty rivers, through whose course<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The streamers fly, whilst on the evening wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Majestic to the main the fleet descends.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_173_173" id="Footnote_173_173"></a><a href="#FNanchor_173_173"><span class="label">[173]</span></a> Nebuchadnezzar, the destroyer of Tyre.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_174_174" id="Footnote_174_174"></a><a href="#FNanchor_174_174"><span class="label">[174]</span></a> Hayagraiva, the evil spirit of the ocean.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_175_175" id="Footnote_175_175"></a><a href="#FNanchor_175_175"><span class="label">[175]</span></a> The sacred writings of the Hindus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_176_176" id="Footnote_176_176"></a><a href="#FNanchor_176_176"><span class="label">[176]</span></a> Caucasus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_177_177" id="Footnote_177_177"></a><a href="#FNanchor_177_177"><span class="label">[177]</span></a> Alluding to the astonishment of Alexander's soldiers, +when they first witnessed the effects of the tide.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_178_178" id="Footnote_178_178"></a><a href="#FNanchor_178_178"><span class="label">[178]</span></a> Assoors, the evil genii of India.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_179_179" id="Footnote_179_179"></a><a href="#FNanchor_179_179"><span class="label">[179]</span></a> Moderators were people stationed on the poop, to excite +with songs the maritime ardour, while the oars kept time.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>BOOK THE FOURTH.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stand on the gleaming Pharos,<a name="FNanchor_180_180" id="FNanchor_180_180"></a><a href="#Footnote_180_180" class="fnanchor">[180]</a> and aloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the adventurous mariner, who steers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steady, with eye intent upon the stars,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At distance from the palmy marge, displays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A prouder city crowns the inland sea, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mighty mind were swayed to recompense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The evil of his march through cities stormed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tide of commerce through the destined track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world he conquered with a sage's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More awful opens: ancient world, adieu!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What though the seas with wilder fury rave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape,<a name="FNanchor_181_181" id="FNanchor_181_181"></a><a href="#Footnote_181_181" class="fnanchor">[181]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appear with giant amplitude; his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And standing thus terrific, seem to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Incensed—Approach who dare! What though the fears <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of superstition people the vexed space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the sad surge beyond—yet Enterprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Striding, but led by Science, and advanced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To a more awful height, on the wide scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks down commanding.<br /></span> +<span class="i21">Does a shuddering thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Displays the wondrous index, that still points,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nice vibration tremulous, to the Pole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And such, she whispers, is the just man's hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this tempestuous scene of human things;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as the constant needle to the North<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still points; so Piety and meek-eyed Faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Direct, though trembling oft, their constant gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavenward, as to their lasting home, nor fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night, fast closing on their earthly way.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And guided by this index, thou shall pass <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world of seas secure. Far from all land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where not a sea-bird wanders; where nor star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor moon appears, nor the bright noonday sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe in the wildering storm, as when the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of summer gently blows; through day, through night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sink the well-known stars, and others rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow from the South, the victor bark shall ride.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Henry! thy ardent mind first pierced the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dark disastrous ignorance, that sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the Southern wave, like the deep cloud <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lowered upon the woody skirts, and veiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From mortal search, with umbrage ominous,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Madeira's unknown isle. But look! the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the unwearied surge; and turning still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aloft—the weather-beaten ship—and now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streams by the watch-tower!<br /></span> +<span class="i19">Zarco,<a name="FNanchor_182_182" id="FNanchor_182_182"></a><a href="#Footnote_182_182" class="fnanchor">[182]</a> from the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What tidings?<br /></span> +<span class="i10">The loud storm of night prevailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far out to sea; a sylvan isle<a name="FNanchor_183_183" id="FNanchor_183_183"></a><a href="#Footnote_183_183" class="fnanchor">[183]</a> received<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our sails; so willed the <span class="smcap">Almighty</span>—He who speaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the waves are still! <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i21">Hail, <span class="smcap">Henry</span> cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The omen: we have burst the sole barrier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We speed to Asia.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Soon upon the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brave ship speeds again. Bojador's rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That boils for many a league without. Its course<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Springs o'er the wave again. Here they refresh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Heaven denies their further search; for ah!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What fearful apparition, palled in clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever sits upon the Western wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Nature? Still it sits, day after day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same mysterious vision. Holy saints!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the dread abyss where all things cease? <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cipango, and that unapproached seat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Moorish pride pursued? Whate'er it be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore,<a name="FNanchor_184_184" id="FNanchor_184_184"></a><a href="#Footnote_184_184" class="fnanchor">[184]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or beings more than mortal pace the sands.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right onward to the fearful shade; more black<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cloudy spectre towers; already fear <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless. Hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their misty arms; yet, yet—bear boldly on—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mist dissolves;—seen through the parting haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where fruits of "golden rind," thick interspersed <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inviting. Cypress here, and stateliest pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sole distinction where all nature smiles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And graceful stem uplifting, mark below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now near in airy circles sing, then speed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose silence, broken only by their song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the foundation of this busy world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps had never echoed to the voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or heard the steps, of Man. What rapture fired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They passed, admiring all, and gazing still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Primæval fearful hangs: a green recess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of unknown name purple the yielding sward;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er which the green banana gently waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approach with reverence! Maker of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A name, yet legible amid its moss,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anna!<br /></span> +<span class="i14">In that remote, sequestered spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The emblems of their holy faith, from all <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her name and fate, who in this desert deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her long and last abode; there where no eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sigh in remembrance of her fate:—<br /></span> +<span class="i30">She left <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of happiness in distant lands, where care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shone above the waves, when evening came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispered—Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where gold alone bears sway,—scenes of delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where love may lay his head upon the lap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of innocence, and smile at all the toil <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave the vain chidings of the world behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where love and peace in distant vales invite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tenderness and soft subdued desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy form, thy limbs—oh, madness!—be the prey<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?— <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perish his treasure with him. Haste with me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they are distant far, and drop a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy angel beauties closer to my breast;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And proudly cry, My friend—my love—my wife! <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So tempted he, and soon her heart approved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the moon shone upon the wandering stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She paced the castle's battlements, that threw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wander o'er the world with him she loved.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With countenance erect, and honest eye <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times), and smiles that like the lightning played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his brown cheek,—so gently stern he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robert a Machin. But the sullen pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his high heritage, save what the pomp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He worshipped; and for this he could consign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only child, his aged hope, to loathed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hard ambition ended; for he sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By secret whispers of conspiracies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His arm avenging, and upon a youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of promise close the dark forgotten gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of living sepulture, and in the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inhume the slowly-wasting victim.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i40">So<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He purposed, but in vain; the ardent youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rescued her—her whom more than life he loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n when the horrid day of sacrifice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew nigh. He pointed to the distant bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while he kissed a stealing tear that fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her pale cheek, as trusting she reclined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her head upon his breast, with ardour cried—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be mine, be only mine! the hour invites;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be mine, be only mine! So won, she cast <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A look of last affection on the towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where she had passed her infant days, that now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone to the setting sun. I follow thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her faint voice said; and lo! where in the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sail hangs tremulous, and soon her feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascend the vessel's side: The vessel glides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the smooth current, as the twilight fades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till soon the woods of Severn, and the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where D'Arfet's solitary turrets rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is lost; a tear starts to her eye, she thinks <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him whose gray head to the earth shall bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he speaks nothing—but be all, like death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgotten. Gently blows the placid breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oh! that now some fairy pinnace light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might flit across the wave (by no seen power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Directed, save when Love upon the prow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathered or spread with tender hand the sail),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That now some fairy pinnace, o'er the surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent, as in a summer's dream, might waft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passengers upon the conscious flood <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To regions bright of undisturbed joy!<br /></span> +<span class="i36">But hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind is in the shrouds;—the cordage sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fitful violence;—the blast now swells,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now sinks. Dread gloom invests the further wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose foaming toss alone is seen, beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The veering bowsprit.<br /></span> +<span class="i21">Oh, retire to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maiden, whose tender heart would beat, whose cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turn pale to see another thus exposed! <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! the deep thunder louder peals—Oh, save!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The high mast crashes; but the faithful arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love is o'er thee, and thy anxious eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon as the gray of morning peeps, shall view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green Erin's hills aspiring!<br /></span> +<span class="i29">The sad morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes forth; but terror on the sunless wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, like a sea-fiend, sits, and darkly smiles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the flash that through the struggling clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursts frequent, half revealing his scathed front, <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the rocking of the waste that rolls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boundless around.<br /></span> +<span class="i15">No word through the long day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She spoke;—another slowly came;—no word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauteous drooping mourner spoke. The sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twelve times had sunk beneath the sullen surge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheerless rose again:—Ah, where are now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy havens, France! But yet—resign not yet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye lost seafarers—oh, resign not yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All hope—the storm is passed; the drenched sail <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines in the passing beam! Look up, and say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven, thou hast heard our prayers!<br /></span> +<span class="i31">And lo! scarce seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A distant dusky spot appears;—they reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An unknown shore, and green and flowery vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And azure hills, and silver-gushing streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine forth; a Paradise, which Heaven alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who saw the silent anguish of despair,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could raise in the waste wilderness of waves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gain the haven; through untrodden scenes, <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps untrodden by the foot of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since first the earth arose, they wind. The voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Nature hails them here with music, sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As waving woods retired, or falling streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can make; most soothing to the weary heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubly to those who, struggling with their fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wearied long with watchings and with grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek but a place of safety. All things here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whisper repose and peace; the very birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That 'mid the golden fruitage glance their plumes, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songsters of the lonely valley, sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welcome from scenes of sorrow, live with us.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wild wood opens, and a shady glen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appears, embowered with mantling laurels high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sloping shade the flowery valley's side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lucid stream, with gentle murmur, strays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till gaining, with soft lapse, the nether plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It glances light along its yellow bed;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shaggy inmates of the forest lick <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feet of their new guests, and gazing stand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beauteous tree upshoots amid the glade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its trembling top; and there upon the bank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They rest them, while each heart o'erflows with joy.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now evening, breathing richer odours sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came down: a softer sound the circling seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ancient woods resounded, while the dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her murmurs interposing, tenderness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awaked, yet more endearing, in the hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those who, severed wide from human kind, <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woman and man, by vows sincere betrothed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard but the voice of Nature. The still moon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose—they saw it not—cheek was to cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inclined, and unawares a stealing tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Witnessed how blissful was that hour, that seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not of the hours that time could count. A kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stole on the listening silence; ne'er till now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here heard; they trembled, ev'n as if the Power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made the world, that planted the first pair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Paradise, amid the garden walked:— <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This since the fairest garden that the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has witnessed, by the fabling sons of Greece<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hesperian named, who feigned the watchful guard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the scaled Dragon, and the Golden Fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such was this sylvan Paradise; and here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loveliest pair, from a hard world remote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon each other's neck reclined; their breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone was heard, when the dove ceased on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her plaint; and tenderly their faithful arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infolded each the other. <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i25">Thou, dim cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That from the search of men these beauteous vales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast closed, oh, doubly veil them! But alas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How short the dream of human transport! Here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain they built the leafy bower of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or culled the sweetest flowers and fairest fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hours unheeded stole! but ah, not long—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the hollow tempest of the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds through the leaves; the inmost woods resound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow comes the dawn, but neither ship nor sail <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the rocking of the windy waste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is seen: the dash of the dark-heaving wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone is heard. Start from your bed of bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor victims! never more shall ye behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your native vales again; and thou, sweet child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, listening to the voice of love, hast left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy friends, thy country,—oh, may the wan hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pining memory, the sunk cheek, the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where tenderness yet dwells, atone (if love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Atonement need, by cruelty and wrong <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beset), atone ev'n now thy rash resolves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, fruitless hope! Day after day, thy bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fades, and the tender lustre of thy eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dimmed: thy form, amid creation, seems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only drooping thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i25">Thy look was soft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet most animated, and thy step<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light as the roe's upon the mountains. Now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou sittest hopeless, pale, beneath the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fanned its joyous leaves above thy head, <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where love had decked the blooming bower, and strewn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweets of summer: <span class="smcap">Death</span> is on thy cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him, who, agonised and hopeless, hangs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tears and trembling o'er thee. Spare the sight,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She faints—she dies!—<br /></span> +<span class="i23">He laid her in the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself scarce living, and upon her tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the beauteous tree where they reclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Placed the last tribute of his earthly love. <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF ANNA D'ARFET.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O'er my poor <span class="smcap">Anna's</span> lowly grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But angels, as the high pines wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their half-heard "Miserere" sing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No flowers of transient bloom at eve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The maidens on the turf shall strew;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweets to the sweet! a long adieu!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But in this wilderness profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er her the dove shall build her nest; <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ocean swell with softer sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A requiem to her dreams of rest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! when shall I as quiet be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When not a friend, or human eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall mark beneath the mossy tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spot where we forgotten lie!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To kiss her name on the cold stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is all that now on earth I crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in this world I am alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, lay me with her in the grave! <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i26"><span class="smcap">Robert a Machin</span>, 1344.</span> + +<span class="i10"><i>Miserere nobis, Domine.</i></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He placed the rude inscription on her stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which he with faltering hands had graved, and soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself beside it sunk—yet ere he died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faintly he spoke: If ever ye shall hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Companions of my few and evil days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the convent's vesper bells, oh! think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of me; and if in after-times the search<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of men should reach this far removed spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let sad remembrance raise an humble shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And virgin choirs chaunt duly o'er our grave: <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace, peace! His arm upon the mournful stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dropped; his eyes, ere yet in death they closed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turned to the name, till he could see no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Anna</span>. His pale survivors, earth to earth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeping consigned his poor remains, and placed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sought their country o'er the waves, and left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those scenes once more to deepest solitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauteous ponciana hung its head <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the gray stone; but never human eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the unfortunate, but for the voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">Enterprise</span>, that spoke, from Sagre's towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speed we to Asia!<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Here, Discovery, pause!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then from the tomb of him who first was cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms <span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursue De Gama's tract. Mark the rich shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Madagascar, till the purple East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!—a bard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In tones whose patriot sound shall never die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recorded.<br /></span> +<span class="i23">Say, what lofty meed awaits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The triumph of his victor conch, that swells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, <span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when Arion, with his glittering harp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again! Alas, I see an aged form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old man worn by penury, his hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His very countrymen, whose fame his song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy <span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regard not. As he plays, a sable man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine, Camoens? Oh, shame upon the world!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is there none, none to sustain thee found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he, himself unfriended, who so far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has followed, severed from his native isles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, <span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee and thy broken fortunes!<br /></span> +<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">God</span> of worlds!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of social life, let me not wrong the sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of kindness, planted in the human heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By man's great Maker, therefore I record<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his heartbroken master, that might teach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High as it bears itself, a polished world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More charity. <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i19"><span class="smcap">Discovery</span>, turn thine eyes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Columbus'</span> toiling ship is on the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stemming the mid Atlantic.<br /></span> +<span class="i27">Waste and wild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murmuring mariners, with languid eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight in the wind sad voices sound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of seas: and when the sun again goes down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent, hope dies within them, and they think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of parting friendship's last despairing look!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her trembling point—will Heaven forsake them too!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below the slowly-parting prow the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wing the desert tract, as hasting on <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the green valleys of their distant home.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet morn succeeds to morn—and nought around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watchman, what from the giddy mast?<br /></span> +<span class="i24">A shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appears on the horizon's hazy line.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze— <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It fades, and there is nothing—nothing now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the trackless and forsaken sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As mocking his last torments, while it seems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his distempered vision, like th' expanse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' illusive land upon the water's edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the long-straining eye showing what seems <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its headlands and its distant trending shores;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all is false, and like the pensive dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ending soon in emptiness and tears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis midnight, and the thoughtful chief, retired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And casts a silent anxious look without.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is a light—great God—it is a light! <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It moves upon the shore!—Land—there is land!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While thus he fondly hopes the purer light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy great truths on the benighted world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall beam!<br /></span> +<span class="i11">The lingering night is past;—the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave <span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">High up the gently-surging bay. From all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another living world!—Awe-struck and mute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In homage to the gods!<br /></span> +<span class="i18">So from the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hail emerging; sight more awful far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than ever yet the wondering voyager<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greeted;—the prospect of a new-found world, <span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now from the night of dark uncertainty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once revealed in living light!<br /></span> +<span class="i31">How beats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roaming nations? From that ancient race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That peopled Asia—Noah's sons? How, then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed they the long and lone expanse between<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut off, and lost, for unknown ages, lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the vast deep? But whilst the awful view <span class="linenum">570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To prouder energies! Even now, in thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract!<a name="FNanchor_185_185" id="FNanchor_185_185"></a><a href="#Footnote_185_185" class="fnanchor">[185]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long Pacific stretches. Nor here cease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy search, but with De Quiros<a name="FNanchor_186_186" id="FNanchor_186_186"></a><a href="#Footnote_186_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a> to the South<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still urge thy way, if yet some continent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch to its dusky pole, with nations spread, <span class="linenum">580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forests, and hills, and streams.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">So be thy search<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ampler views rewarded, till, at length,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, the round world is compassed! Then return<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the bosom of the tranquil Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hail Britannia's victor ship,<a name="FNanchor_187_187" id="FNanchor_187_187"></a><a href="#Footnote_187_187" class="fnanchor">[187]</a> that now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a storm restored, winds its slow way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silently up the current, and so finds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like to a time-worn pilgrim of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest, in that haven where all tempests cease. <span class="linenum">590</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_180_180" id="Footnote_180_180"></a><a href="#FNanchor_180_180"><span class="label">[180]</span></a> The Pharos was not erected by Alexander, but Alexandria +is here supposed to be finished.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_181_181" id="Footnote_181_181"></a><a href="#FNanchor_181_181"><span class="label">[181]</span></a> Cape Bojador.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_182_182" id="Footnote_182_182"></a><a href="#FNanchor_182_182"><span class="label">[182]</span></a> John Gongalez Zarco was employed by Prince Henry to +conduct the enterprise of discovery along the Western coast of Africa.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_183_183" id="Footnote_183_183"></a><a href="#FNanchor_183_183"><span class="label">[183]</span></a> Porto Santo.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_184_184" id="Footnote_184_184"></a><a href="#FNanchor_184_184"><span class="label">[184]</span></a> I have called the three islands of Madeiras the +Hesperides, who, in ancient mythology, are the three daughters of Atlas; +as I consider the orange-trees and mysterious shade, with the rocks +discerned through it on a nearer approach, to be the best solution of +the fable of the golden fruit, the dragon, and the three daughters of +Atlas.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_185_185" id="Footnote_185_185"></a><a href="#FNanchor_185_185"><span class="label">[185]</span></a> Magellan's ship first circumnavigated the globe, passing +through the straits, called by his name, into the South Sea, and +proceeding West to the East Indies. He himself, like our revered Cooke, +perished in the enterprise.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_186_186" id="Footnote_186_186"></a><a href="#FNanchor_186_186"><span class="label">[186]</span></a> De Quiros first discovered the New Hebrides, in the South +Sea; afterwards explored by Cooke, who bears testimony to the accuracy +of De Quiros. These islands were supposed part of a great continent +stretching to the South pole, called <i>Terra Australis incognita</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_187_187" id="Footnote_187_187"></a><a href="#FNanchor_187_187"><span class="label">[187]</span></a> Drake's ship, in which he sailed round the world; she was +laid up at Deptford—hence Ben Johnson, in <i>Every Man in his Humour</i>, "O +Coz, it cannot be altered, go not about it; Drake's old ship at Deptford +may sooner circle the world again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>BOOK THE FIFTH.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such are thy views, <span class="smcap">Discovery</span>! The great world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the Deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Submits its awful empire; Industry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awakes, and Commerce to the echoing marts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From east to west unwearied pours her wealth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man walks sublimer; and Humanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Matured by social intercourse, more high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More animated, lifts her sovereign mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waves her golden sceptre. Yet the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Asks trembling, is no evil found! Oh, turn, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meek Charity, and drop a human tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the sad fate of Afric's injured sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hide, for ever hide, the sight of chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anguish, and bondage! Yes, the heart of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is sick, and Charity turns pale, to think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How soon, for pure religion's holy beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark crimes, that sullied the sweet day, pursued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like vultures, the Discoverer's ocean tract,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Screaming for blood, to fields of rich Peru,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ravaged Mexico, while Gold more Gold! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The caverned mountains echoed, Gold more Gold!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then see the fell-eyed, prowling buccaneer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grim as a libbard! He his jealous look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns to the dagger at his belt, his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By instinct grasps a bloody scymitar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ghastly is his smile, as o'er the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees the smoke of burning villages<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascend, and thinks ev'n now he counts his spoil.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See thousands destined to the lurid mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to see the sun again; all names<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of husband, sire, all tender charities<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love, deep buried with them in that grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where life is as a thing long passed; and hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more its sickly ray, to cheer the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extends.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Thou, too, dread Ocean, toss thine arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting, for the treasures and the gems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thy dark oozy realm emblaze; and call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pale procession of the dead, from caves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where late their bodies weltered, to attend <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy kingly sceptre, and proclaim thy might!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord of the Hurricane! bid all thy winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swell, and destruction ride upon the surge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, after the red lightning flash that shows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The labouring ship, all is at once deep night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long suspense, till the slow dawn of day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleams on the scattered corses of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That strew the sounding shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i22">Then think of him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye who rejoice with those you love, at eve, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When winds of winter shake the window-frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more endear your fire, oh, think of him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, saved alone from the destroying storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is cast on some deserted rock; who sees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun after sun descend, and hopeless hears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At morn the long surge of the troubled main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That beats without his wretched cave; meantime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fears to wake the echoes with his voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So dread the solitude!<br /></span> +<span class="i19">Let Greenland's snows <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shine, and mark the melancholy train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There left to perish, whilst the cold pale day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Declines along the further ice, that binds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ship, and leaves in night the sinking scene.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad winter closes on the deep; the smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of frost, that late amusive to the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose o'er the coast, is passed, and all is now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One torpid blank; the freezing particles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown blistering, and the white bear seeks her cave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill-fated outcasts, when the morn again <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall streak with feeble beam the frozen waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your air-bleached and unburied carcases<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall press the ground, and, as the stars fade off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your stony eyes glare 'mid the desert snows!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These triumphs boast, fell Demon of the Deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though never more the universal shriek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all that perish thou shalt hear, as when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep foundations of the guilty earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were shaken at the voice of God, and man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceased in his habitations; yet the sea <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy might tempestuous still, and joyless rule,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confesses. Ah! what bloodless shadows throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now, slow rising from their oozy beds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Mete,<a name="FNanchor_188_188" id="FNanchor_188_188"></a><a href="#Footnote_188_188" class="fnanchor">[188]</a> and those gates of burial<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That guard the Erythræan; from the vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfathomed caverns of the Western main<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or stormy Orcades; whilst the sad shell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of poor Arion,<a name="FNanchor_189_189" id="FNanchor_189_189"></a><a href="#Footnote_189_189" class="fnanchor">[189]</a> to the hollow blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow seems to pour its melancholy tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faintly vibrate, as the dead pass by. <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see the chiefs, who fell in distant lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prey of murderous savages, when yells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouts, and conch, resounded through the woods.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Magellan and De Solis seem to lead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mournful train. Shade of Perouse! oh, say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, in the tract of unknown seas, thy bones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' insulting surge has swept?<br /></span> +<span class="i28">But who is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose look, though pale and bloody, wears the trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pure philanthropy? The pitying sigh <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forbid not; he was dear to Britons, dear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every beating heart, far as the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extends; and my faint faltering touch ev'n now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dies on the strings, when I pronounce thy name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, lost, lamented, generous, hapless Cook!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But cease the vain complaint; turn from the shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wet with his blood, Remembrance: cast thine eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the long seas, and the wider world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Displayed from his research. Smile, glowing Health!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now no more the wasted seaman sinks, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With haggard eye and feeble frame diseased;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more with tortured longings for the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fields and hillocks green, madly he calls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Nature, when before his swimming eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The liquid long expanse of cheerless seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems all one flowery plain. Then frantic dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arise; his eye's distemper'd flash is seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the sunk socket, as a demon there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat mocking, till he plunges in the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dark wave goes o'er him. <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i29">Nor wilt thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Science! fail to deck the cold morai<a name="FNanchor_190_190" id="FNanchor_190_190"></a><a href="#Footnote_190_190" class="fnanchor">[190]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him who wider o'er earth's hemisphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy views extended. On, from deep to deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt retrace the windings of his track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the high North to where the field-ice binds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The still Antarctic. Thence, from isle to isle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt pursue his progress; and explore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New-Holland's eastern shores,<a name="FNanchor_191_191" id="FNanchor_191_191"></a><a href="#Footnote_191_191" class="fnanchor">[191]</a> where now the sons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of distant Britain, from her lap cast out, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Water the ground with tears of penitence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, hereafter, in their destined time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Themselves to rise pre-eminent. Now speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Asia's eastern bounds, still to the North,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the vast continents of either world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approach: Beyond, 'tis silent boundless ice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impenetrable barrier, where all thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is lost; where never yet the eagle flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor roamed so far the white bear through the waste.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thou, dread <span class="smcap">Power</span>! whose voice from chaos called<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth, who bad'st the Lord of light go forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n as a giant, and the sounding seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roll at thy fiat: may the dark deep clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thy pavilion shroud from mortal sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So pass away, as now the mystery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obscure through rolling ages, is disclosed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How man, from one great Father sprung, his race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread to that severed continent! Ev'n so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Father</span>, in thy good time, shall all things stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revealed to knowledge. <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i26">As the mind revolves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The change of mighty empires, and the fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">him</span> whom Thou hast made, back through the dusk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of ages Contemplation turns her view:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We mark, as from its infancy, the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peopled again, from that mysterious shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rested on the top of Ararat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Highest of Asian mountains; spreading on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Cushites from their mountain caves descend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then before <span class="smcap">God</span> the sons of Ammon stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their gigantic might, and first the seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanquished: But still from clime to clime the groan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sacrifice, and Superstition's cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was heard; but when the Dayspring rose of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greece's hoar forests echoed, The great Pan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dead! From Egypt, and the rugged shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Syrian Tyre, the gods of darkness fly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bel is cast down, and Nebo, horrid king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bows in imperial Babylon: But, ah!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too soon, the Star of Bethlehem, whose ray <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The host of heaven hailed jubilant, and sang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glory to God on high, and on earth peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With long eclipse is veiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Red Papacy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Usurped the meek dominion of the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love and charity: vast as a fiend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She rose, Heaven's light was darkened with her frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the earth murmured back her hymns of blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the meek martyr at the burning stake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood, his last look uplifted to his <span class="smcap">God</span>! <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she is now cast down, her empire reft.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They who in darkness walked, and in the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of death, have seen a new and holy light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in th' umbrageous forest, through whose boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mossy and damp, for many a league, the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With languid beam scarce pierces, here and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touching some solitary trunk, the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark waving in the noxious atmosphere:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the thick-matted leaves the serpent winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His way, to find a spot of casual sun; <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gaunt hyæna through the thicket glides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At eve: then, too, the couched tiger's eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flames in the dusk, and oft the gnashing jaws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the fell crocodile are heard. At length,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By man's superior energy and toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunless brakes are cleared; the joyous morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines through the opening leaves; rich culture smiles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around; and howling to their distant wilds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The savage inmates of the wood retire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is the scene of human life, till want <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cultured stream of mild humanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gentler virtues, and more noble aims<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Employ the active mind, till beauty beams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around, and Nature wears her richest robe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of woman, fairest of the works of Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom the cold savage, in his sullen pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorned as unworthy of his equal love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With more attractive influence wins the heart <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her protector. Then the names of sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of home, of brother, and of children, grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Father who looks down from heaven on all!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Britain, my loved country! dost thou rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most high among the nations! Do thy fleets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ride o'er the surge of ocean, that subdued<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy garb of gentler morals gracefully! <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is widest science thine, and the fair train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy ports<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her ten thousand streamers, is the tract<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the undeviating ploughshare white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rips the reeking furrow, followed soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even like a cultured garden! Do the streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That steal along thy peaceful vales, reflect<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Temples, and Attic domes, and village towers!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woman; and doth she gain that liberal love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And homage, which the meekness of her voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rapture of her smile, commanding most<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she seems weakest, must demand from him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her master; whose stern strength at once submits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In manly, but endearing, confidence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unlike his selfish tyranny who sits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sultan of his harem!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Oh, then, think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How great the blessing, and how high thy rank <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the civilised and social world!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But hast thou no deep failings, that may turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er scattered sorrow over distant lands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ask of the East, have never thy proud sails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne plunder from dismembered provinces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving the groans of miserable men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind! And free thyself, and lifting high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The charter of thy freedom, bought with blood, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A witness of the tortures and the chains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beam of comfort and of righteousness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' Hesperian regions, and has softened much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bland amelioration, and with charms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of social sweetness, the hard lot of man. <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be even. Do not crimes of ranker growth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Batten amid thy cities, whose loud din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From flashing and contending cars, ascends,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of calm domestic peace and wedded love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untasted! Hath not sullen atheism, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide the darkness of his withered brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With faded and fantastic gallantry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of roses, thus to win the thoughtless smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of youthful ignorance! Hast thou with awe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked up to Him whose power is in the clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nations that offend, and they are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the might <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy Protector, and the gathered hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hostile bands shall be but as the sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown on the everlasting pyramid.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extends may your divinest influence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be felt, and more than felt, to teach mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They all are brothers, and to drown the cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of superstition, anarchy, or blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banks <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still superstition hails the flame of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The self-devoted beauteous victim slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascend the pile where her dead husband lies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his, and lights herself the fatal pile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shall consume them both!<br /></span> +<span class="i29">On Egypt's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Science rose, now Sloth and Ignorance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun! <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The inmost sands of Afric. But all these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light shall visit, and that vaster tract<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Fuego to the furthest Labrador,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of social fellowship; the chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity! <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Complete the lovely prospect: every land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall lift up one hosannah; every tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaim thee <span class="smcap">Father</span>, <span class="smcap">infinite</span>, and <span class="smcap">wise</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <span class="smcap">good</span>. The shores of palmy Senegal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Sad Afric's injured sons no more enslaved)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall answer <span class="smcap">Hallelujah</span>, for the <span class="smcap">Lord</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of truth and mercy reigns;—reigns <span class="smcap">King of kings</span>;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hosannah—King of kings</span>—and <span class="smcap">Lord of lords</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So may His kingdom come, when all the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uniting thus as in one hymn of praise, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His awful plan accomplished, then shall sink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the <span class="smcap">Archangel</span>, and the <span class="smcap">trump of God</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid heaven's darkness rolling fast away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall sound!<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Then shall the sea give up its dead;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But man's immortal mind, all trials past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenes <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of peril and distemper, shall ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting to its destined seat of rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_188_188" id="Footnote_188_188"></a><a href="#FNanchor_188_188"><span class="label">[188]</span></a> Mete, in the Arabic, according to Bruce, signifies "the +place of burial." The entrance of the Red Sea was so called, from the +dangers of the navigation. See Bruce.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_189_189" id="Footnote_189_189"></a><a href="#FNanchor_189_189"><span class="label">[189]</span></a> Alluding to the pathetic poem of the <i>Shipwreck</i>, whose +author, Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who was +afterwards lost in the "Aurora."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_190_190" id="Footnote_190_190"></a><a href="#FNanchor_190_190"><span class="label">[190]</span></a> "Morai" is a grave.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_191_191" id="Footnote_191_191"></a><a href="#FNanchor_191_191"><span class="label">[191]</span></a> Botany Bay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>THE MISSIONARY.</h2> + + +<p class="center">Amor patriæ ratione potentior omni.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.<a name="FNanchor_192_192" id="FNanchor_192_192"></a><a href="#Footnote_192_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a></h2> + + +<p>It is not necessary to relate the causes which induced me to publish +this poem without a name.</p> + +<p>The favour with which it has been received may make me less diffident in +avowing it; and, as a second edition has been generally called for, I +have endeavoured to make it, in every respect, less unworthy of the +public eye.</p> + +<p>I have availed myself of every sensible objection, the most material of +which was the circumstance, that the Indian maid, described in the first +book, had not a part assigned to her of sufficient interest in the +subsequent events of the poem, and that the character of the Missionary +was not sufficiently professional.</p> + +<p>The single circumstance that a Spanish commander, with his army in South +America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treachery +of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is all +that has been taken from history. The rest of this poem, the personages, +father, daughter, wife, <i>et cet.</i> (with the exception of the names of +Indian warriors) is imaginary. The time is two months. The first four +books include as many days and nights. The rest of the time is occupied +by the Spaniards' march, the assembly of warriors, <i>et cet.</i></p> + +<p>The place in which the scene is laid, was selected because South America +has of late years received additional interest, and because the ground +was at once new, poetical, and picturesque.</p> + +<p>From old-fashioned feelings, perhaps, I have admitted some aërial +agents, or what is called machinery. It is true that the spirits cannot +be said to accelerate or retard the events; but surely they may be +allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical +fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence. They may be further +excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery.</p> + +<p>The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced +me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least +accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in +itself, most difficult. I mention this, in order that, if some passages +should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour +of the reader may pardon them.</p> + + +<p><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">South America</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Characters.</i>—Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies—Lautaro, his +page, a native of Chili—Anselmo, the missionary—Indiana, his adopted +daughter, wife of Lautaro—Zarinel, the wandering minstrel.</p> + +<p><i>Indians.</i>—Attacapac, father of Lautaro—Olola, his daughter, sister of +Lautaro—Caupolican, chief of the Indians—Indian warriors.</p> + +<p>The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as +the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the +moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the title which +was originally given to the poem.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_192_192" id="Footnote_192_192"></a><a href="#FNanchor_192_192"><span class="label">[192]</span></a> Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>THE MISSIONARY.</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seek a refuge on that distant shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once her country's legions dyed with gore;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the huge Cordilleras to the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all their burning summits seemed to rise.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waves and woods replied:—Mountains, rejoice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The margin of my forests, dark and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That smote the golden shrines of Mexico,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back on thy shores the tide of human blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think of my murdered millions! of the cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO FIRST.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>One Day and Part of Night.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Valley in the Andes—Old Indian warrior—Loss of his son and +daughter.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath aërial cliffs, and glittering snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Chillan<a name="FNanchor_193_193" id="FNanchor_193_193"></a><a href="#Footnote_193_193" class="fnanchor">[193]</a> trailed its smoke and smouldering fires.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Summer was in its prime;—the parrot-flocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chrysomel<a name="FNanchor_194_194" id="FNanchor_194_194"></a><a href="#Footnote_194_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a> and purple butterfly,<a name="FNanchor_195_195" id="FNanchor_195_195"></a><a href="#Footnote_195_195" class="fnanchor">[195]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woodpecker is heard with busy bill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mock-bird sings—and all beside is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look! the cataract that bursts so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As not to mar the deep tranquillity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tumult of its dashing fall suspends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And arching the gray rock with wild festoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The purple cogul<a name="FNanchor_196_196" id="FNanchor_196_196"></a><a href="#Footnote_196_196" class="fnanchor">[196]</a> threads from pine to pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine darts its interrupted light, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So smiles the scene;—but can its smiles impart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heeds not now, when beautifully bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humming-bird is circling in his sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hears the green woodpecker's resounding bill;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rock after rock, in glittering masses piled <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In yonder tract of purest light above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear long-lost object of a father's love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling the scenes of thy remembered home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passing with the breeze, or, in the beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sad notes of that melodious bird,<a name="FNanchor_197_197" id="FNanchor_197_197"></a><a href="#Footnote_197_197" class="fnanchor">[197]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, as we listen with mysterious dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine eyes yet view the living light of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A weary life of servitude and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to hear the summer cocoa wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or weep upon thy father's distant grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the withered earth the armed giant passed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye, who his track with terror have pursued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last deep echoes of his parting gong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save livid corses that unburied lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come listen, whilst the causes I relate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In other days, when, in his manly pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two children for a father's fondness vied,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother and sister. She, along the dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The azure-dyed ichella<a name="FNanchor_198_198" id="FNanchor_198_198"></a><a href="#Footnote_198_198" class="fnanchor">[198]</a> round her waist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her ancles rung with shells, as unconfined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So beautiful in youth she bounded by.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tame alpaca<a name="FNanchor_199_199" id="FNanchor_199_199"></a><a href="#Footnote_199_199" class="fnanchor">[199]</a> stood and licked her hand; <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flowery twine his tall and stately neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst he with silent gratitude replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bends to her caress his large blue eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These children danced together in the shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or through the forest's wildest solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought the light of parting day too short,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That called them, lingering, from their daily sport.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In that fair season of awakening life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When dawning youth and childhood are at strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With airy look, and form and footsteps light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glossy locks, and features berry-bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of noon unblenching as he sails away; <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With slender lance, and feathers blue and red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, like the heron's<a name="FNanchor_200_200" id="FNanchor_200_200"></a><a href="#Footnote_200_200" class="fnanchor">[200]</a> crest, waved on his head,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Startled the condor, on the craggy height;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lessening in ether to a speck of white.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when the impassioned chieftain spoke of war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoke of the strangers of the distant main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the proud banners of insulting Spain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his red gods, that, wrapped in rolling smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roared from the guns;—the boy, with still-drawn breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, let me perish by my father's side!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A predatory band of mailed men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shone terrific to the moonlight sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aërial nymphs!<a name="FNanchor_201_201" id="FNanchor_201_201"></a><a href="#Footnote_201_201" class="fnanchor">[201]</a> that in the moonlight stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O gentle spirits! here awhile delay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the <span class="smcap">great spirit</span> will, in future days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avenge his violated country's cause!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprang, like hyænas, from the secret wood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They rush, they seize their unresisting prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The father sank, expiring, on the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He waked from the dark trance to life and pain, <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never saw his darling child again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seven snows had fallen, and seven green summers passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since here he heard that son's loved accents last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst time began to strew with white his hairs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft as his painted feathers he unbound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light she approached, and climbed to reach his cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Held with both hands his forehead, then her head <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew smiling back, and kissed the tear he shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She left his side, and wandered far away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the crags of precipices wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warrior half forgot his country's woes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgot how many, impotent to save,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shed their best blood upon a father's grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many, torn from wife and children, pine <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to see again the blessed morn;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slaves in the lovely land where they were born;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many at sad sunset, with a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant roar of sullen cannons hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A deadlier stillness on a nation's woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So the dark warrior, day succeeding day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wore in distempered thought the noons away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still, when weary evening came, he sighed, <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My son, my son! or, with emotion, cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I descend to the cold grave alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shall be there to mourn for me?—Not one!<a name="FNanchor_202_202" id="FNanchor_202_202"></a><a href="#Footnote_202_202" class="fnanchor">[202]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crimson orb of day now westering flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from afar a shrilling sound was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appeared.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The watchful warrior knew the piercing tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The signal-call of war, from human bones,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What tidings? with impatient look, he cried. <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tidings of war, the hurrying scout replied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the sharp pipe<a name="FNanchor_203_203" id="FNanchor_203_203"></a><a href="#Footnote_203_203" class="fnanchor">[203]</a> with shriller summons blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And held the blood-red arrow high in view.<a name="FNanchor_204_204" id="FNanchor_204_204"></a><a href="#Footnote_204_204" class="fnanchor">[204]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">CHIEF.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where speed the foes?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">INDIAN.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i26">Along the southern main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have passed the vultures of accursed Spain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">CHIEF.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ruin pursue them on the distant flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be their deadly portion—blood for blood!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">INDIAN.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When, round and red, the moon shall next arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chiefs attend the midnight sacrifice <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Encol's wood, where the great wizard dwells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wakes the dead man by his thrilling spells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee,<a name="FNanchor_205_205" id="FNanchor_205_205"></a><a href="#Footnote_205_205" class="fnanchor">[205]</a> Ulmen of the Mountains, they command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lift the hatchet for thy native land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst in dread circle, round the sere-wood smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mighty gods of vengeance they invoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And call the spirits of their fathers slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To nerve their lifted arm, and curse devoted Spain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So spoke the scout of war;—and o'er the dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Onward along the craggy valley, flew. <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the stern warrior sang his song of death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blew his conch, that all the glens beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed, and rushing from the hollow wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon at his side three hundred warriors stood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WARRIOR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Children, who for his country dares to die?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We perish, or we leave our country free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, our blood for Chili and for thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shook the dust indignant from the shield. <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spoke:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">O Thou! that with thy lingering light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost warm the world, till all is hushed in night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I look upon thy parting beams, O sun!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, ev'n thus my course is almost run.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou dost hide thy head, as in the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sink to glorious rest beneath the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost thou, majestic in repose, retire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below the deep, to unknown worlds of fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet though thou sinkest, awful, in the main, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadowy moon comes forth, and all the train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of stars, that shine with soft and silent light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making so beautiful the brow of night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, when I sleep within the narrow bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light of after-fame around shall spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sons of distant Ocean, when they see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grass-green heap beneath the mountain tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the leafy boughs at evening wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall pause and say, There sleep in dust the brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All earthly hopes my lonely heart have fled! <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern Guecubu,<a name="FNanchor_206_206" id="FNanchor_206_206"></a><a href="#Footnote_206_206" class="fnanchor">[206]</a> angel of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose dwelling is beneath the central fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of yonder burning mountain; who hast passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er my poor dwelling, and with one fell blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattered my summer-leaves that clustered round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swept my fairest blossoms to the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angel of dire despair, oh! come not nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wave thy red wings o'er me where I lie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou, O mild and gentle spirit! stand, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angel<a name="FNanchor_207_207" id="FNanchor_207_207"></a><a href="#Footnote_207_207" class="fnanchor">[207]</a> of hope and peace, at my right hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(When blood-drops stagnate on my brow) and guide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pathless voyage o'er the unknown tide,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To scenes of endless joy, to that fair isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where bowers of bliss, and soft savannahs smile:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where my forefathers oft the fight renew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Spain's black visionary steeds pursue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, ceased the struggles of all human pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I may behold thee—thee, my son, again!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He spoke, and whilst at evening's glimmering close <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant mist, like the gray ocean, rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With patriot sorrows swelling at his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sank upon a jagguar's hide to rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas night: remote on Caracalla's bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia's army, hushed in slumber, lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the limits of the silent camp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone was heard the steed's patroling tramp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From line to line, whilst the fixed sentinel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaimed the watch of midnight—All is well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia dreamed of millions yet untold, <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Villrica's gems, and El Dorado's gold!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What different feelings, by the scene impressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose in sad tumult o'er Lautaro's breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughtful he turned his waking eyes, and wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst the thronging forms of memory start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus holds communion with his lonely heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Land of my fathers, still I tread your shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mourn the shade of hours that are no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst night-airs, like remembered voices, sweep, <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And murmur from the undulating deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it thy voice, my father! Thou art dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green rush waves on thy forsaken bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it thy voice, my sister! Gentle maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, even now, thy spirit sees me stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A homeless stranger in my native land;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, even now, along the moonlight sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bends from the blue cloud, remembering me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Land of my fathers! yet, oh yet forgive, <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with thy deadly enemies I live:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tenderest ties (it boots not to relate)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have bound me to their service, and their fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, whether on Peru's war-wasted plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or visiting these sacred shores again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er the struggles of this heart may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Land of my fathers, it shall beat for thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_193_193" id="Footnote_193_193"></a><a href="#FNanchor_193_193"><span class="label">[193]</span></a> A volcano in Chili.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_194_194" id="Footnote_194_194"></a><a href="#FNanchor_194_194"><span class="label">[194]</span></a> The chrysomela is a beautiful insect of which the young +women of Chili make necklaces.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_195_195" id="Footnote_195_195"></a><a href="#FNanchor_195_195"><span class="label">[195]</span></a> The parrot butterfly, peculiar to this part of America, +the largest and most brilliant of its kind.—<i>Papilio psittacus</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_196_196" id="Footnote_196_196"></a><a href="#FNanchor_196_196"><span class="label">[196]</span></a> A most beautiful climbing plant. The vine is of the size +of packthread: it climbs on the trees without attaching itself to them: +when it reaches the top, it descends perpendicularly; and as it +continues to grow, it extends itself from tree to tree, until it offers +to the eye a confused tissue, exhibiting some resemblance to the rigging +of a ship.—<i>Molina</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_197_197" id="Footnote_197_197"></a><a href="#FNanchor_197_197"><span class="label">[197]</span></a> I chanced once to lodge in a village named Upec by the +Frenchmen: there, in the night, I heard <i>those birds, not singing</i>, but +making a lamentable noise. I saw the barbarians most attentive, and, +being ignorant of the whole matter, reproved their folly. But when I +smiled a little upon a Frenchman standing by me, a certain old man, +severely enough, restrained me with these words: "Hold your peace, lest +you hinder us who attentively hearken <i>to the happy tidings of our +ancestors</i>; for as often as we hear these birds, so often also are we +cheered, and our strength receiveth increase."—<i>Callender's Voyage</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_198_198" id="Footnote_198_198"></a><a href="#FNanchor_198_198"><span class="label">[198]</span></a> The ichella is a short cloak, of a greenish-blue colour, +of wool, fastened before with a silver buckle.—<i>Molina</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_199_199" id="Footnote_199_199"></a><a href="#FNanchor_199_199"><span class="label">[199]</span></a> The alpaca is perhaps the most beautiful, gentle, and +interesting of living animals: one was to be seen in London in 1812.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_200_200" id="Footnote_200_200"></a><a href="#FNanchor_200_200"><span class="label">[200]</span></a> <i>Ardea cristata.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_201_201" id="Footnote_201_201"></a><a href="#FNanchor_201_201"><span class="label">[201]</span></a> Every warrior of Chili, according to Molina, has his +attendant "nymph" or fairy—the belief in which is nearly similar to the +popular and poetical idea of those beings in Europe. Meulen is the +benevolent spirit.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_202_202" id="Footnote_202_202"></a><a href="#FNanchor_202_202"><span class="label">[202]</span></a> I have taken this line from the conclusion of the +celebrated speech of the old North American warrior, Logan, "Who is +there to mourn for Logan?—not one!"</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_203_203" id="Footnote_203_203"></a><a href="#FNanchor_203_203"><span class="label">[203]</span></a> Their pipes of war are made of the bones of their +enemies, who have been sacrificed.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_204_204" id="Footnote_204_204"></a><a href="#FNanchor_204_204"><span class="label">[204]</span></a> The way in which the warriors are summoned, is something +like the "running the cross" in Scotland, which is so beautifully +described by Walter Scott. The scouts on this occasion bear an arrow +bound with red fillets.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_205_205" id="Footnote_205_205"></a><a href="#FNanchor_205_205"><span class="label">[205]</span></a> Ulmen is the same as Casique, or chief.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_206_206" id="Footnote_206_206"></a><a href="#FNanchor_206_206"><span class="label">[206]</span></a> <ins class="correction" title="Original was Guecuba">Guecubu</ins> is the evil spirit of the Chilians.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_207_207" id="Footnote_207_207"></a><a href="#FNanchor_207_207"><span class="label">[207]</span></a> They have their evil and good spirits.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO SECOND.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>The Second Day.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Night—Spirit of the Andes—Valdivia—Lautaro—Missionary—The +Hermitage.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The night was still and clear, when, o'er the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Andes! thy melancholy Spirit rose,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shadow stern and sad: he stood alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the topmost mountain's burning cone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst his eyes shone dim, through surging smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus to the spirits of the fire he spoke:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Ye, who tread the hidden deeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the silent earthquake sleeps;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ye, who track the sulphurous tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or on hissing vapours ride,— <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Spirits, come!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">From worlds of subterraneous night;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From fiery realms of lurid light;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From the ore's unfathomed bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From the lava's whirlpools red,—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Spirits, come!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Chili's foes rush with vindictive sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweep them from the light of living day!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heard ye not the ravenous brood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That flap their wings, and scream for blood? <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">On Peru's devoted shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their murderous beaks are red with gore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet here, impatient for new prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The insatiate vultures track their way.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let them perish! they, whose bands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swept remote and peaceful lands!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let them perish!—on their head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Descend the darkness of the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spirits, now your caves forsake:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hark! ten thousand warriors wake!— <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spirits, their high cause defend!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From your caves ascend! ascend!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As thus the Genius of the Andes spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trembling mountain heaved with darker smoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lightnings, and phantom-forms, by fits appeared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mighty voice far off Osorno heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The caverned deeps shook through their vast profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Chimborazzo's height rolled back the sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With lifted arm, and towering stature high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And aspect frowning to the middle sky <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Its misty form dilated in the wind),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The phantom stood,—till, less and less defined,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into thin air it faded from the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost in the ambient haze of slow-returning light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its feathery-seeming crown, its giant spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its limbs of huge proportion, disappear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bare mountains to the dawn disclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same long line of solitary snows.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The morning shines, the military train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streams far and wide along the tented plain; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plaited cuirasses, and helms of steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throw back the sunbeams, as the horsemen wheel:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, with arms glancing to the eastern light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass, in review, proud steeds and cohorts bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all the host, by break of morrow's gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wind back their march to Penco's northern bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia, fearful lest confederate foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambushed and dark, his progress might oppose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marshals to-day the whole collected force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">File and artillery, cuirassier and horse: <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself yet lingers ere he joins the train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moves, in ordered march, along the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While troops, and Indian slaves beneath his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The labours of the rising city ply:<a name="FNanchor_208_208" id="FNanchor_208_208"></a><a href="#Footnote_208_208" class="fnanchor">[208]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide glows the general toil; the mole extends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The watch-tower o'er the desert surge ascends;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And battlements, and rising ramparts, shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the ocean's blue and level line.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun ascended to meridian height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the northern bastions shone in light; <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hoarse acclaim, the gong and trumpet rung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Moorish slaves aloft their cymbals swung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the proud victor, in triumphant state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode forth, in arms, through the portcullis' gate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With neck high-arching as he smote the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And restless pawing to the trumpet's sound,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mantling mane, o'er his broad shoulders spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coal-black steed, in rich caparison<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far trailing to the ground, went proudly on. <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proudly he tramped, as conscious of his charge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turned around his eye-balls, bright and large,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shook the frothy boss, as in disdain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tossed the flakes, indignant, off his mane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with high-swelling veins, exulting pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proudly against the barb his heaving breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fate of empires glowing in his thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus armed, the tented field Valdivia sought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the left side his poised shield he bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With quaint devices richly blazoned o'er; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the plumes, upon his helmet's cone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Castile's imperial crest illustrious shone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue in the wind the escutcheoned mantle flowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the chained mail, which tinkled as he rode.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The barred vizor raised, you might discern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His clime-changed countenance,<a name="FNanchor_209_209" id="FNanchor_209_209"></a><a href="#Footnote_209_209" class="fnanchor">[209]</a> though pale, yet stern,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And resolute as death,—whilst in his eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat proud Assurance, Fame, and Victory.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode, with a lance, attendant at his side, <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Spanish mantle gracefully arrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his brow a tuft of feathers played:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaded the noonday sunbeams on his face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though passed in tears the dayspring of his youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia loved his gratitude and truth:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, in Valdivia, owned a nobler friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind to protect, and mighty to defend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, on he rode; upon his youthful mien<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mild but sad intelligence was seen; <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Courage was on his open brow, yet care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed like a wandering shade to linger there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It beamed with humid, melancholy light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When now Valdivia saw the embattled line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Helmets, and swords, and shields, and matchlocks, shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now the long phalanx still and steady stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed every eye, and motionless each hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then slowly clustering, into columns wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each with the red-cross banners of Castile; <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While trumps, and drums, and cymbals, to his ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made music such as soldiers love to hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While horsemen checked their steeds, or, bending low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With levelled lances, o'er the saddle-bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode gallantly at tilt; and thunders broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instant involving van and rear in smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till winds the obscuring volume rolled away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the red file, stretched out in long array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More radiant moved beneath the beams of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While ensigns, arms, and crosses, glittered bright,— <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Philip!<a name="FNanchor_210_210" id="FNanchor_210_210"></a><a href="#Footnote_210_210" class="fnanchor">[210]</a> he cried, seest thou the glorious sight?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dost thou deem the tribes of this poor land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can men, and arms, and steeds, like these, withstand?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forgive!—the youth replied, and checked a tear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land where my forefathers sleep is dear!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My native land!—this spot of blessed earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scene where I, and all I love, had birth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What gratitude fidelity can give<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is yours, my lord!—you shielded—bade me live,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, in the circuit of the world so wide, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had but one, one only friend beside.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bowed resigned to fate; I kissed the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red with the best blood of my father's land!<a name="FNanchor_211_211" id="FNanchor_211_211"></a><a href="#Footnote_211_211" class="fnanchor">[211]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Cortes' desolating march laid low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shrines of rich, voluptuous Mexico;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With carcases, though proud Pizarro strew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sun's imperial temple in Peru,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the rude dwellers of this land are brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the last spot they lose will be their grave! <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A moment's crimson crossed Valdivia's cheek—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then o'er the plain he spurred, nor deigned to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waving the youth, at distance, to retire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None saw the eye that shot terrific fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As their commander sternly rode along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Troop after troop, halted the martial throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the pennoned trumps a louder blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blew, as the Southern World's great victor passed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro turned, scarce heeding, from the view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the noise of trumps and drums withdrew; <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, while troubled thoughts his bosom swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeks the gray Missionary's humble cell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of public view, and sounds of murmuring men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of unhewn roots composed, and gnarled wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A small and rustic oratory stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon its roof of reeds appeared a cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The porch within was lined with mantling moss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A crucifix and hour-glass, on each side—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One to admonish seemed, and one to guide; <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This, to impress how soon life's race is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that, to lift our hopes where time shall be no more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the rude porch, with wild and gadding stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clustering copu weaved its trellis gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their aged and fantastic arms above.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In front, amid the gay surrounding flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dial counted the departing hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which the sweetest light of summer shone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rude and brief inscription marked the stone: <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">To count, with passing shade, the hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I placed the dial 'mid the flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That, one by one, came forth, and died,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Blooming, and withering, round its side.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mortal, let the sight impart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its pensive moral to thy heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just heard to trickle through a covert near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soothing, with perpetual lapse, the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fount, like rain-drops, filtered through the stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intent his fairy pastime to pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heedlessly murmured, all the summer long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the winter came, retired to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sounds of a conflicting world were near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noise of ocean faintly met the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seemed, as sunk to rest the noontide blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dying sounds of passions that were past; <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lessening echoes of the distant choir.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here, every human sorrow hushed to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pale hands meekly crossed upon his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anselmo sat: the sun, with westering ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just touched his temples, and his locks of gray.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was no worldly feeling in his eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world to him was "as a thing gone by."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, all his features lit, he raised his look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then bent it thoughtful, and unclasped the book; <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst the hour-glass shed its silent sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tame opossum<a name="FNanchor_212_212" id="FNanchor_212_212"></a><a href="#Footnote_212_212" class="fnanchor">[212]</a> licked his withered hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sweetest light of slow-declining day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which through the trellis poured its slanting ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resting a moment on his few gray hairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed light from heaven sent down to bless his prayers.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the trump echoed to the quiet spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thought upon the world, but mourned it not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough if his meek wisdom could control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bend to mercy, one proud soldier's soul; <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough, if, while these distant scenes he trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He led one erring Indian to his God.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whence comes my son? with kind complacent look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He asked, and closed again the embossed book.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I come to thee for peace, the youth replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, there is strife, and cruelty, and pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this sad Christian world! My native land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was happy, ere the soldier, with his band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fell destroyers, like a vulture, came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave its peaceful scenes to blood and flame. <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When will the turmoil of earth's tempests cease?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, I come to thee for peace—for peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seek peace, the father cried, with God above:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In His good time, all will be peace and love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We mourn, indeed, mourn that all sounds of ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's fairest scenes with one deep murmur fill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That yonder sun, when evening paints the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks, beauteous, on a world of misery;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The course of wide destruction to withstand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We lift our feeble voice—our trembling hand; <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still, bowed low, or smitten to the dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father of mercy, still in Thee we trust!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through good or ill, in poverty or wealth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In joy or woe, in sickness or in health,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meek Piety thy awful hand surveys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the faint murmur turns to prayer and praise!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know—whatever evils we deplore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast permitted, and we know no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, illustrious on the subject plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some tow'r-crowned city of imperial Spain! <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! 'twas the earthquake!<a name="FNanchor_213_213" id="FNanchor_213_213"></a><a href="#Footnote_213_213" class="fnanchor">[213]</a> clouds of dust alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascend from earth, where tower and temple shone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is the conqueror's dread path: the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yawns for its millions where his banners wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shall vain man, whose life is but a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sullen acquiescence gaze and die?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas, how little of the mighty maze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Providence our mortal ken surveys!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven's awful Lord, pavilioned in the clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks through the darkness that all nature shrouds; <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, far beyond the tempest and the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids man his course hold on to scenes of endless light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_208_208" id="Footnote_208_208"></a><a href="#FNanchor_208_208"><span class="label">[208]</span></a> The city Baldivia.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_209_209" id="Footnote_209_209"></a><a href="#FNanchor_209_209"><span class="label">[209]</span></a> He had served in the wars of Italy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_210_210" id="Footnote_210_210"></a><a href="#FNanchor_210_210"><span class="label">[210]</span></a> Lautaro had been baptized by that name.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_211_211" id="Footnote_211_211"></a><a href="#FNanchor_211_211"><span class="label">[211]</span></a> Valdivia had before been in Chili.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_212_212" id="Footnote_212_212"></a><a href="#FNanchor_212_212"><span class="label">[212]</span></a> A small and beautiful species, which is domesticated.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_213_213" id="Footnote_213_213"></a><a href="#FNanchor_213_213"><span class="label">[213]</span></a> No part of the world is so subject to earthquakes as +Peru.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO THIRD.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>Evening and Night of the same Day.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Anselmo's story—Converted Indians—Confession of the Wandering +Minstrel—Night-Scene.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come,—for the sun yet hangs above the bay,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whilst our time may brook a brief delay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wished not to reveal it;—thoughts that dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, starting from our slumberous apathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by. <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, if a moment's irritating flush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkens thy cheek,<a name="FNanchor_214_214" id="FNanchor_214_214"></a><a href="#Footnote_214_214" class="fnanchor">[214]</a> as thoughts conflicting rush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May more than wisdom or reproof prevail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where fair Seville's Morisco<a name="FNanchor_215_215" id="FNanchor_215_215"></a><a href="#Footnote_215_215" class="fnanchor">[215]</a> turrets gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Guadilquiver's gently-stealing stream; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose silent waters, seaward as they glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflect the wild-rose thickets on its side,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My youth was passed. Oh, days for ever gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How touched with Heaven's own light your mornings shone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even now, when lonely and forlorn I bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My weary journey hastening to its end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A drooping exile on a distant shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mourn the hours of youth that are no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender thought amid my prayers has part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And steals, at times, from Heaven my aged heart. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forgive the cause, O God!—forgive the tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flows, even now, o'er Leonora's bier;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, 'midst the innocent and lovely, none<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More beautiful than Leonora shone.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As by her widowed mother's side she knelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sad and sacred sympathy I felt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Easter-tide, when the high mass was sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, fuming high, the silver censer swung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When rich-hued windows, from the arches' height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poured o'er the shrines a soft and yellow light; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From aisle to aisle, amid the service clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When "Adoremus" swelled upon the ear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Such as to Heaven thy rapt attention drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First in the Christian churches of Peru),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She seemed, methought, some spirit of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descending to that holy harmony.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But wherefore tell, when life and hope were new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How by degrees the soul's first passion grew!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loved her, and I won her virgin heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fortune whispered, we a while must part. <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The minster tolled the middle hour of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, waked to agony and wild affright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard those words, words of appalling dread—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Holy Inquisition!"—from the bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I started; snatched my dagger, and my cloak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dare accuse me!—none, in answer, spoke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The demons seized, in silence, on their prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tore me from my dreams of bliss away.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How frightful was their silence, and their shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In torch-light, as their victim they conveyed, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By dark-inscribed, and massy-windowed walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the dim twilight of terrific halls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For thou hast heard me speak of that foul stain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pure religion, and the rights of Spain;)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst the high windows shook to night's cold blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echoed to the foot-fall as we passed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They left me, faint and breathless with affright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a cold cell, to solitude and night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! think, what horror through the heart must thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the last bolt was barred, and all at once was still! <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor day nor night was here, but a deep gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadder than darkness, wrapped the living tomb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some bread and water, nature to sustain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Duly was brought when eve returned again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus I knew, hoping it were the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another day of lingering life was passed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Five years immured in that deep den of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never saw the sweet sun's blessed light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once as the grate, with sullen sound, was barred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the bolts the inmost cavern jarred, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methought I heard, as clanged the iron door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dull and hollow echo from the floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stamped; the vault, and winding caves around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returned a long and melancholy sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With patient toil I raised a massy stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looked into a depth of shade unknown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murky twilight of the lurid place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Helped me, at length, a secret way to trace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I entered; step by step explored the road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkness, from my desolate abode;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, winding through long passages of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw, at distance, a dim streak of light:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the sun—the bright, the blessed beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of day! I knelt—I wept;—the glittering stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled on beneath me, as I left the cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Concealed in woods above the winding wave.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I rested on a verdant bank a while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw around the summer landscape smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gained a peasant's hut; nor dared to leave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, with slow step, advanced the glimmering eve. <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering still affection's fondest hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned my footsteps to the city towers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pilgrim's dress, I traced the streets unknown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No light in Leonora's lattice shone.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The morning came; the busy tumult swells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knolling to church, I heard the minster bells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Involuntary to that scene I strayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disguised, where first I saw my faithful maid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her, pallid, at the altar stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yield, half-shrinking, her reluctant hand; <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She turned her head; she saw my hollow eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knew me, wasted, wan, in my disguise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She shrieked, and fell;—breathless, I left the fane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In agony—nor saw her form again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from that day her voice, her look were given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her name, her memory, to the winds of heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far off I bent my melancholy way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart-sick and faint, and, in this gown of gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From every human eye my sorrows hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unknown, amidst the tumult of Madrid. <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grief in my heart, despair upon my look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With no companion save my beads and book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My morsel with Affliction's sons to share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tend the sick and poor, my only care,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgotten, thus I lived; till day by day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had worn nigh thirteen years of grief away.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One winter's night, when I had closed my cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid the labours of the day farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An aged crone approached, with panting breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bade me hasten to the house of death. <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I came. With moving lips intent to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dying woman on a pallet lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her lifted hands were wasted to the bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ghastly on her look the lamp-light shone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the bed a pious daughter stands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent, and, weeping, kisses her pale hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feebly she spoke, and raised her languid head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgive, forgive!—they told me he was dead!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in the sunshine of that dreadful day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gave me to another's arms away, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw him, like a ghost, with deadly stare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw his wasted eye-balls' ghastly glare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw his lips (oh, hide them, God of love!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw his livid lips, half-muttering, move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To curse the maid—forgetful of her vow:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps he lives to curse—to curse me now!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He lives to bless! I cried; and, drawing nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Held up the crucifix; her heavy eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She raised, and scarce pronounced—Does he yet live?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can he his lost, his dying child forgive? <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will God forgive—the Lord who bled—will He?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, no, there is no mercy left for me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Words were but vain, and colours all too faint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That awful moment of despair to paint.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She knew me; her exhausted breath, with pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drawing, she pressed my hand, and spoke again:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tale of fraudful falsehood I believed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought thee dead; he gave the stern command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand. <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruthless inquisitor, he held the keys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dark torture-house.<a name="FNanchor_216_216" id="FNanchor_216_216"></a><a href="#Footnote_216_216" class="fnanchor">[216]</a> Trembling for life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, I became a sad, heart-broken wife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet curse me not; of every human care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already my full heart has had its share:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abandoned, left in youth to want and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let these tears, that agonising flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Witness how deep ev'n now my heart is rent!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet one is lovely—one is innocent! <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Protect, protect, (and faint in death she smiled)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I am dead, protect my orphan child!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dreadful prison, that so long detained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My wasting life, her dying words explained.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wretched priest, who wounded me by stealth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bartered her love, her innocence for wealth!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I laid her bones in earth; the chanted hymn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed along the hollow cloister dim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrowing said: Now peace be with her soul! <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far o'er the Western Ocean I conveyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Indiana called the orphan maid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath my eye she grew, and, day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed, grateful, every kindness to repay.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid untutored tribes, in distant climes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw thee, young and innocent, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast on the mercies of a race unknown;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From chains and slavery I redeemed thy youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poured on thy mental sight the beams of truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called thee my other child—my age's son.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I need not tell the sequel;—not unmoved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some sympathy a kindred fate might claim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the same; <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both early of a parent's care bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both strangers in a world of sadness left;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I marked each slowly-struggling thought; I shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tear of love paternal on each head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, while I saw her timid eyes incline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed the affection that had made her thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here let the murmurs of despondence cease:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a God—believe—and part in peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rich hues illumed the track of dying day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the great sun sank in the western bay, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only its last light yet lingering shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the highest palm-tree's feathery cone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When at a distance on the dewy plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mingled group appeared an Indian train;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men, women, children, round Anselmo press,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell! they cried. He raised his hand to bless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said: My children, may the God above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still lead you in the paths of peace and love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow, we must part;—when I am gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raise on this spot a cross, and place a stone, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tribes unborn may some memorial have,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I far off am mouldering in the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that poor messenger, who tidings bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Gospel-mercy to your distant shore.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crowd retired; along the twilight gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The condor kept its solitary way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fire-flies shone, when to the hermit's cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who hastens but the minstrel Zarinel!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In foreign lands, far from his native home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas his, a gay, romantic youth, to roam, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a light cittern o'er his shoulders slung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er he passed he played, and loved, and sung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus accomplished, late had joined the train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gallant soldiers on the southern plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, he cried, uncertain of the fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That may to-morrow's toilsome march await,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For long will be the road, I would confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some secret thoughts that on my bosom press.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are of one I left, an Indian maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose trusting love my careless heart betrayed. <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, may I speak?<br /></span> +<span class="i15">Say on, the father cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor be to penitence all hope denied.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then hear, Anselmo! From a very child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loved all fancies marvellous and wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned from truth, to listen to the lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of many an old and fabling troubadour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, with impassioned heart, and wayward mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dreams and shapes of shadowy things resigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I left my native vales and village home, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide o'er the world a minstrel boy to roam.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never shall forget the day, the hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, all my soul resigned to Fancy's power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First, from the snowy Pyrenees, I cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My labouring vision o'er the landscape vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw beneath my feet long vapours float,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streams, mountains, woods, and ocean's mist remote.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There once I met a soldier, poor and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who tales of Cortes and Bilboa told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this new world; he spoke of Indian maids, <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rivers like seas, and forests whose deep shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had never yet been pierced by morning ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how the green bird mocked, and talked all day.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Imagination thus, in colours new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This distant world presented to my view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young, and enchanted with the fancied scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I crossed the toiling seas that roared between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with ideal images impressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood on these unknown shores a wondering guest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still to romantic phantasies resigned, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I left Callao's crowded port behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And climbed the mountains which their shadow threw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the lessening summits of Peru.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some sheep the armed peasants drove before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all our food through the wild passes bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had wandered in the frost-smoke of the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the track; I blew the signal horn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But echo only answered: 'mid the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wildered and lost, I saw the evening close.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun was setting in the crimson west; <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the earth I had no home of rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last sad light upon the ice-hills shone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seemed forsaken in a world unknown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How did my cold and sinking heart rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, hark! methought I heard a human voice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It might be some wild Indian's roving troop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the dread echo of their distant whoop;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still it was human, and I seemed to find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again some commerce with remote mankind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice comes nearer, rising through the shade— <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the song of some rude mountain-maid?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now I heard the tread of hastening feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in the western glen, a Llama bleat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I listened—all is still; but hark! again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near and more near is heard the welcome strain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is a wild maid's carolling, who seeks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her wandering Llama 'midst the snowy peaks:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Truant, she cried, thy lurking place is found!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With languid touch I waked the cittern's sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon a maid, by the pale light, I saw <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaze breathless with astonishment and awe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What instant terrors to her fancy rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ha! is it not the Spirit of the snows!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when she saw me, weary, cold, and weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch forth my hand (for now I could not speak),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She pitied, raised me from the snows, and led<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My faltering footsteps to her father's shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Llama followed with her tinkling bell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dwelling rose within a craggy dell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erhung with icy summits. To be brief, <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was the daughter of an aged chief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, by her gentle voice to pity won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showed mercy, for himself had lost a son.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The father spoke not; by the pine-wood blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daughter stood, and turned a cake of maize;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such features as no artist hand might draw.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father! thy age must such recital spare:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saved my life; and kindness, if not love, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might sure in time the coldest bosom move!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine was not cold; she loved to hear me sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes touched with playful hand the string;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when I waked some melancholy strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wept, and smiled, and bade me sing again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So many a happy day, in this deep glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the noise of life, and sounds of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was passed! Nay, father, the sad sequel hear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas now the leafy spring-time of the year—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambition called me: true, I knew to part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would break her generous, warm, and trusting heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True, I had vowed, but now estranged and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw my look, and shuddered to behold:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She would go with me, leave the lonely glade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where she grew up, but my stern voice forbade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hid her face and wept: Go then away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Father, methinks, ev'n now, I hear her say)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go to thy distant land, forget this tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forget these rocks, forget I once was dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly to the world, o'er the wide ocean fly, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave me unremembered here to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet to my father should I all relate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death, instant death, would be a traitor's fate!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor fear, nor pity moved my stubborn mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I left her sorrows and the scene behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought Valdivia on the southern plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joined the careless military train;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! ere I sleep, thus, lowly on my knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, I absolution crave from thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Anselmo spoke, with look and voice severe: <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, thoughtless youth, my absolution hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First, by deep penitence the wrong atone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then absolution ask from God alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet stay, and to my warning voice attend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear me as a father, and a friend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Truth severe be wayward Fancy's guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let stern-eyed Conscience o'er each thought preside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passions, that on noblest natures prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! cast them, like corroding bonds, away!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disdain to act mean falsehood's coward part, <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let religion dignify thine art.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, by thy bed, thou seest at midnight stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale Conscience, pointing, with terrific hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To deeds of darkness done, whilst, like a corse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shake thy soul, uprises dire Remorse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly to God's mercy, fly, ere yet too late—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps one hour marks thy eternal fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the warm tear of deep contrition flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart obdurate melt, like softening snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last vain follies of thy youth deplore, <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then go, in secret weep, and sin no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stars innumerous in their watches shone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anselmo knelt before the cross alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand glowing orbs their pomp displayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst, looking up, thus silently he prayed:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! how oppressive to the aching sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How fearful were this vast magnificence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This prodigality of glory, spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above a poor and dying emmet's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That toiled his transient hour upon the shore <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mortal life, and then was seen no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If man beheld, on his terrific throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dark, cold, distant Deity, alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt no relating, no endearing tie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Hope might upwards raise her glistening eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think, with deep unutterable bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In yonder radiant realm my kingdom is!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More glorious than those orbs that silent roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines Heaven's redeeming mercy on the soul—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, pure effulgence of unbounded love! <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Thee, I think—I feel—I live—I move;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet when, O Thou, whose name is Love and Light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When will thy Dayspring on these realms of night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arise! Oh! when shall severed nations raise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One hallelujah of triumphant praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tibet on Fars, Andes on Atlas call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "roll the loud hosannah" round the ball!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon may Thy kingdom come, that love, and peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And charity, may bid earth's chidings cease!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, in life or death, through good or ill, <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy poor and feeble servant, I fulfil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As best I may, Thy high and holy will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, weary, on the world my eyelids close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I enjoy my long and last repose!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_214_214" id="Footnote_214_214"></a><a href="#FNanchor_214_214"><span class="label">[214]</span></a> Indians of Chili are of the lightest class, called by +some "white Indians."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_215_215" id="Footnote_215_215"></a><a href="#FNanchor_215_215"><span class="label">[215]</span></a>—Of Moorish architecture.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_216_216" id="Footnote_216_216"></a><a href="#FNanchor_216_216"><span class="label">[216]</span></a> Seville was the first place in Spain in which the +Inquisition was established, in 1481.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2>CANTO FOURTH.</h2> + +<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Assembly of Indian warriors—Caupolican, Ongolmo, Teucapel, +Mountain-chief—Song of the Indian Wizard—White woman and child.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far in the centre of the deepest wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The assembled fathers of their country stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas midnight now; the pine-wood fire burned red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obscured, or showed, some dreadful countenance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every warrior, as his club he reared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With larger shadow, indistinct, appeared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While more terrific, his wild locks and mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fierce eye, through the quivering smoke, was seen. <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sea-wolf's skin, here Mariantu stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gnashed his white teeth, impatient, and cried, blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lofty brow, with crimson feathers bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frowned;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like a giant of no earthly race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lifted hatchet, as in act to fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a lone cypress, stately in decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When time has worn its summer boughs away, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Mountain-warrior rested on his spear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chosen avengers of their country's griefs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chiefs of the scattered tribes that roam the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sweeps from Andes to the western main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their country-gods, around the coiling smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sacrifice, and silent prayers, invoke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all, at first, were silent as the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So stood the stern assembly; but apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapped in the spirit of his fearful art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone, to hollow sounds of hideous hum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silent they stood, and watched with anxious eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What phantom-shape might from the ground arise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No voices came, no spectre-form appeared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the leaves, and distant thunder low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which seemed like moans of an expiring foe. <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hail we the omen! Spirits of the slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale-visaged tyrants! still, along our coasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who thus your name, your memory disgrace!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No; though yon mountain's everlasting snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain Almagro's<a name="FNanchor_217_217" id="FNanchor_217_217"></a><a href="#Footnote_217_217" class="fnanchor">[217]</a> toilsome march oppose; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be heaped with blackening carcases in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scare the Llamas with their glittering mail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though sullen castles lour along our shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though our polluted soil be drenched with gore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insolent tyrants! we, prepared to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He spoke: the warriors stamped upon the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound. <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insolent tyrants! burst the general cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We, met for vengeance—we, prepared to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May it be buried deep within my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If living from the conflict I depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See! in their gore where the last tyrants lie!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Mountain-warrior: Oh, that I could raise <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hatchet too, as in my better days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while the indignant river rolled in blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our swift arrows hissed like rushing rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cleft Almagro's iron helm in twain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My strength is well-nigh gone! years marked with woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have o'er me passed, and bowed my spirit low!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy father's last, best hope, his pride, his joy!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, hadst thou lived, sole object of my prayers, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swung the uplifted war-club by my side!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Great Spirit willed not! Thou art gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, weary, on this earth I walk alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thankful if I may yield my latest breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bless my country in the pangs of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With words deliberate, and uplifted hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surveyed the assembled chiefs, and thus began:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friends, fathers, brothers, dear and sacred names!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On then to conquest; let one hope inspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One spirit animate, one vengeance fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who doubts the glorious issue! To our foes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In them no god protects his mortal sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor come they children of the radiant sky; <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, rush resistless on their prostrate bands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swear to the great spirits, hovering near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who now this awful invocation hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we shall never see our household hearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless to one the hatchet we confide; <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let one our numbers, one our counsels guide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lo! for all that in this world is dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never again to lay it down, till we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all who love this injured land, are free!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee, for all that in this world is dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never again to lay them down, till we, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all who love this injured land, are free!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then thus the chosen chief: Bring forth the slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let the death-dance recreate the brave.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thongs; his eyes were fixed upon the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark cypresses the mournful spot inclose:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High in the midst an ancient mound arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked on each side with monumental stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white beneath with skulls and scattered bones.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With points erect, dark with forgotten blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring forth the lots, unbind the captive's hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then north, towards his country, turn his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dig beneath his feet a narrow space.<a name="FNanchor_218_218" id="FNanchor_218_218"></a><a href="#Footnote_218_218" class="fnanchor">[218]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gods, of our land be yours this sacrifice!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, listen, warriors!—and forthwith commands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To place the billets in the captive's hands—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soldier, cast in the lot! <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i26">With looks aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The captive in the trench a billet cast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soldier, declare, who leads the arms of Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Santiago frowns upon the plain?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">CAPTIVE.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Villagra!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WARRIOR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18">Earth upon the billet heap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accursed be his nation and his name! <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WARRIOR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">CAPTIVE.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ocampo!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WARRIOR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18">Earth upon the billet heap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accursed be his nation and his name!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WARRIOR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cast in the lot.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Again, with looks aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The captive in the trench a billet cast. <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pronounce his name who here pollutes the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leader of the mailed hosts of Spain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">CAPTIVE.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Valdivia!<br /></span> +<span class="i21">At that name a sudden cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst forth, and every lance was lifted high.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">WARRIOR.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Valdivia!<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Earth upon the billet heap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accursed be his nation and his name! <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And now loud yells, and whoops of death resound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shuddering captive ghastly gazed around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the huge war-club smote him to the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again deep stillness hushed the listening crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the prophetic wizard sang aloud.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i20">SONG TO THE GOD OF WAR.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">By thy habitation dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the valley of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where no sun, nor day, nor night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Breaks the red and dusky light;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By the grisly troops, that ride, <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of slaughtered Spaniards, at thy side,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Slaughtered by the Indian spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mighty Epananum,<a name="FNanchor_219_219" id="FNanchor_219_219"></a><a href="#Footnote_219_219" class="fnanchor">[219]</a> hear!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hark, the battle! Hark, the din!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now the deeds of Death begin!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The Spaniards come, in clouds! above,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I hear their hoarse artillery move!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Spirits of our fathers slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The noise was in the northern sky! <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Haste, pursue! They fly—they fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now from the cavern's secret cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the direst phantoms dwell,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">See they rush,<a name="FNanchor_220_220" id="FNanchor_220_220"></a><a href="#Footnote_220_220" class="fnanchor">[220]</a> and, riding high,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Break the moonlight as they fly;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, on the shadowed plain beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shoot, unseen, the shafts of Death!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er the devoted Spanish camp,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like a vapour, dark and damp,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">May they hover, till the plain <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is hid beneath the countless slain;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And none but silent women tread<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From corse to corse, to seek the dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The wavering fire flashed with expiring light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A distant shout was heard; at intervals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increasing on the listening ear it falls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And folding a white infant in her arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeared. Each warrior stooped his lance to gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save! she exclaimed, with harrowed aspect wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, save my innocent, my helpless child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At this dread hour, the warriors of the night?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From ocean.<br /></span> +<span class="i21">Who is she who fainting lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Spanish ship went down; the seamen bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a small boat, this woman to the shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fell beneath our hatchets,—and again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We gave them back to the insulted main.<a name="FNanchor_221_221" id="FNanchor_221_221"></a><a href="#Footnote_221_221" class="fnanchor">[221]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The child and woman—of a race we hate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warriors, 'tis yours, here to decide their fate. <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vengeance! aloud fierce Mariantu cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let vengeance on the race be satisfied!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let none of hated Spanish blood remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woman or child, to violate our plain!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched to the mountain-chief his hands and smiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A starting tear of pity dimmed the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the old warrior, though he knew not why.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, think upon your little ones! he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor be compassion to the weak denied. <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Caupolican then fixed his aspect mild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the white woman and her shrinking child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then firmly spoke:—<br /></span> +<span class="i18">White woman, we were free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first thy brethren of the distant sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hate of foreign and remorseless foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou camest here a captive, so abide, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He spoke: the warriors of the night obey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They lead her from the scene of blood away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_217_217" id="Footnote_217_217"></a><a href="#FNanchor_217_217"><span class="label">[217]</span></a> The first Spaniard who visited Chili. He entered it by +the dreadful passage of the snows of the Andes; but afterwards the +passage was attempted through the desert of Atacama.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_218_218" id="Footnote_218_218"></a><a href="#FNanchor_218_218"><span class="label">[218]</span></a> The reader is referred to Molina for a particular +description of the war sacrifice, which is very striking and poetical.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_219_219" id="Footnote_219_219"></a><a href="#FNanchor_219_219"><span class="label">[219]</span></a> Name of the War-deity.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_220_220" id="Footnote_220_220"></a><a href="#FNanchor_220_220"><span class="label">[220]</span></a> Terrific imaginary beings, called "man-animals," that +leave their caves by night, and scatter pestilence and death as they +fly.—See <i>Molina</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_221_221" id="Footnote_221_221"></a><a href="#FNanchor_221_221"><span class="label">[221]</span></a> "Render them back upon the insulted +ocean."—<i>Coleridge</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO FIFTH.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ocean Cave—Spanish Captive—Wild Indian Maid—Genius of Andes, +and Spirits.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis dawn:—the distant Andes' rocky spires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One after one, have caught the orient fires.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wings are touched with momentary light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er the champaign, stretching far below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves now, in clustered masses, rising slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all the living landscape is displayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In various pomp of colour, light, and shade, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lessening in sunshine to the southern main.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there, by the wild river's devious side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall flamingo, in its crimson pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stalks on, in richest plumage bright arrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With snowy neck superb,<a name="FNanchor_222_222" id="FNanchor_222_222"></a><a href="#Footnote_222_222" class="fnanchor">[222]</a> and legs of lengthening shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For other ears the birds of morning sing; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For other eyes the palms in beauty wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark is thy prison in the ocean-cave!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Masses of dim-discovered crags aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through a fissure, in its glimmering height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen like a star, appeared the distant light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far down, the rock-weed hung its slender twine. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till morn on morn, in silence, passed away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sad her evening supplication sung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint lustre o'er her sleeping infant's head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! a voice—a woman's voice, its sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dies in faint echoes, 'mid the vault profound: <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Let us pity the poor white maid!<a name="FNanchor_223_223" id="FNanchor_223_223"></a><a href="#Footnote_223_223" class="fnanchor">[223]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i6">She has no mother near!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">No friend to dry her tear!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon the cold earth she is laid:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Let us pity the poor white maid!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It seemed the burden of a song of woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see, across the gloom an Indian girl move slow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her nearer look is sorrowful, yet mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hanging locks are wreathed with rock-weed wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gently she spoke, Poor Christian, dry thy tear: <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art thou afraid? all are not cruel here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! still more wretched may my portion be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stranger, if I could injure thine and thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lo! I bring, from banks and thickets wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wood-strawberries, and honey for thy child.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence, who art thou, who, in this fearful place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does comfort speak to one of Spanish race?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">INDIAN.</span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is an Indian maid, who chanced to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy tale of sorrow, as she wandered near:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loved a white man once; but he is flown, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now I wander heartless and alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I traced the dark and winding way beneath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But well I know to lead thee hence were death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, say! what fortunes cast thee o'er the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On these sad shores perhaps to find a grave?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">SPANISH WOMAN.</span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three years have passed since a fond husband left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me and this infant, of his love bereft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him I have followed; need I tell thee more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i20">INDIAN.</span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! did he love thee, then? Let death betide, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, from this cavern I will be thy guide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, do not shrink! from Caracalla's bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now, the Spaniards wind their march this way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As late in yester eve I paced the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard their signal-guns at distance roar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou not follow? He will shield thy child,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christian's God,—through passes dark and wild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will direct thy way! Come, follow me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, yet be loved, be happy, and be free!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I, an outcast on my native plain, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poor Olola ne'er shall smile again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So guiding from the cave, when all was still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pointing to the furthest glimmering hill,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Indian led, till, on Itata's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spanish camp and night-fires they descried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then on the stranger's neck that wild maid fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said, Thy own gods prosper thee, farewell!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The owl<a name="FNanchor_224_224" id="FNanchor_224_224"></a><a href="#Footnote_224_224" class="fnanchor">[224]</a> is hooting overhead; below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On dusky wing, the vampire-bat sails slow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ongolmo stood before the cave of night, <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the great wizard sat:—a lurid light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was on his face; twelve giant shadows frowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mute and dreadful ministers, around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each eye-ball, as in life, was seen to roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each lip to move; but not a living soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was there, save bold Ongolmo and the seer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warrior half advanced his lifted spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spoke: Dread master of the mighty lore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, shall the Spaniards welter in their gore?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let these dark ministers the answer tell, <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replied the master of the mighty spell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then every giant-shadow, as it stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted on high a skull that dropped with blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet more, the impatient warrior cried; yet more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, shall I live, and drink the tyrant's gore?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas silence. Speak! he cried: none made reply.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once strange thunder shook the distant sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all was o'er; the grisly shapes are flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the grim warrior stands in the wild woods alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">St Pedro's church had rung its midnight chimes, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gray friars were chanting at their primes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When winds, as of a rushing hurricane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook the tall windows of the towered fane;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds more than earthly with the storm arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a dire troop are passed to Andes' snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where mighty spirits in mysterious ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dread prophetic incantations sing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round Chillan's crater-smoke, whose lurid light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streams high against the hollow cope of night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy genius, Andes, towering o'er the rest, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose vast, and thus a phantom-shape addressed:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Who comes so swift amid the storm?<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Ha! I know thy bloodless form,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I know thee, angel, who thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By the hissing of thy dart!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Tis Death, the king! the rocks around,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hark! echo back the fearful sound;—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Tis Death, the king! away, away!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The famished vulture scents its prey.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Spectre, hence! we cannot die— <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thy withering weapons we defy;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Dire and potent as thou art!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then spoke the phantom of the uplifted dart:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Spirits who in darkness dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I heard far off your secret spell!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Enough, on yonder fatal shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">My fiends have drank your children's gore;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Lo! I come, and doom to fate<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The murderers, and the foe you hate!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of all who shook their hostile spears, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">And marked their way through blood and tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">(Now sleeping still on yonder plain)<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But one—one only shall remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Ere thrice the morn shall shine again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then sang the mighty spirits. Thee, they sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail to thee, Death, all hail to Death, the king!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The penguin flaps her wings in gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Devoted Spain, along the shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Whence that shriek? with ghastly eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thy victor-chief abandoned lies! <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Victor of the southern world,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Whose crimson banners were unfurled<br /></span> +<span class="i6">O'er the silence of the waves,—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">O'er a land of bleeding slaves!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Victor, where is now thy boast;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thine iron steeds, thy mailed host?<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hark! hark! even now I hear his cries!—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Spirits, hence!—he dies! he dies!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_222_222" id="Footnote_222_222"></a><a href="#FNanchor_222_222"><span class="label">[222]</span></a> The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of rich +and beautiful crimson.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_223_223" id="Footnote_223_223"></a><a href="#FNanchor_223_223"><span class="label">[223]</span></a> From Mungo Park.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_224_224" id="Footnote_224_224"></a><a href="#FNanchor_224_224"><span class="label">[224]</span></a> The owl is an object of peculiar dread to the Indian of +Chili.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO SIXTH.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The City of Conception—The City of Penco—Castle—Lautaro—Wild +Indian Maid—Zarinel—Missionary.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The second moon had now begun to wane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wayworn veteran, who had slowly passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hope impatient sees the city spires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gild the horizon, like ascending fires.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The citadel and battlements appear; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The approaching trumpets ring at intervals;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trumpet answers from the rampart walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some long-lost object of her love to espy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or watches, as the evening light illumes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The points of lances, or the passing plumes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grating drawbridge and the portal-arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now echo to the long battalion's march;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst every eye some friend remembered greets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets. <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sacred, 'mid the noise of arms, appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His venerable mien and snowy beard!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ask for tidings of the southern land.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As from the turret tolls the vesper bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But o'er a little bread, with folded hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his pallet lays him down in peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The scene how different, where the castle-hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rings to the loud triumphant festival:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,— <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst, seen far off, the illumined windows throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A splendour on the shore and seas below.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid his captains, in imperial state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath a crimson canopy, elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia sits—and, striking loud the strings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wandering ministrel of Valentia sings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Chili conquered, fill the bowl again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Chili conquered, raise the heroic strain!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro left the hall of jubilee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmarked, and wandered by the moonlit sea:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song, the shout, and his loved country's name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As swelled at times the trump's insulting sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised his eyes impatient from the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chili! my country; would that I had died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the sad night of that eventful day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on the ground my murdered father lay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I should not then, dejected and alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have thought I heard his injured spirit groan. <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ha! was it not his form—his face—his hair?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hold, soldier! stern, inhuman soldier, spare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ha! is it not his blood? Avenge, he cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avenge, my son, these wounds! He faints—he dies!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave me, dread shadow! Can I then forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father's look—his voice? He beckons yet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avenge! he cries, and waves his dim-seen hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus mused the youth, distempered and forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swells o'er the surge! he turned his look around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I heard the song of gladness;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">It seemed but yesterday,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But it turned my thoughts to madness,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">So soon it died away:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bring back that enchanting harmony! <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hark! heard ye not the surges say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! heartless maid, what canst thou do?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er the moon-gleaming ocean, I'll wander away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And paddle to Spain in my light canoe!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The youth drew near, by the strange accents led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And holding a large sea-conch in her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand. <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tattered poncho o'er her shoulders hung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On either side her long black locks were flung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her high cheek-bones, and bright but hollow eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro spoke: Oh! say what cruel wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weighs on thy heart, maiden, what bodes thy song?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She answered not, but blew her shell again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thus renewed the desultory strain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My music now shall be the dashing tide: <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the breath of the South o'er the sea-blossom<a name="FNanchor_225_225" id="FNanchor_225_225"></a><a href="#Footnote_225_225" class="fnanchor">[225]</a> skim.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If ever, stranger, on thy way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds, more than earthly sweet, thy soul should move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is the youth! Oh! do not say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That poor Olola died for love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro stretched his hand; she said, Adieu!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He followed, and still heard at distance swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lessening echoes of that mournful shell. <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ceased at once; and now he heard no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Olola!—ha! his sister had that name!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, horrid fancies! shake not thus his frame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night he wandered by the desert main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To catch the melancholy sounds again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No torches blaze in Penco's castled hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That echoed to the midnight festival.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weary soldiers by their toils oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had now retired to silence and to rest. <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The minstrel only, who the song had sung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of noble Cid, as o'er the strings he hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the instrument had fall'n asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weary, and now was hushed in slumbers deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tracing the scenes long past, in busy dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he wanders by his native streams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sits, his evening saraband to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the clear Garonne's gentle murmuring.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cold o'er the fleckered clouds the morning broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aslant ere from his slumbers he awoke; <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still as he sat, nor yet had left the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first dim light fell on his pallid face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wakes—he gazes round—the dawning day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes from the deep, in garb of cloudy gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woods with crow of early turkeys ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glancing birds beneath the castle sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sole sun his rising orb displays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Radiant and reddening, through the scattered haze.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To recreate the languid sense a while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When earth and ocean wore their sweetest smile, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wandered to the beach: the early air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blew soft, and lifted, as it blew, his hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flushed was his cheek; his faded eye, more bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone with a faint but animated light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the soft morning ray seemed to bestow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his tired mind a transient kindred glow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He mused and wandered on the winding strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At distance tossed upon the tumbling tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dark and floating substance he espied. <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood, and where the eddying surges beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An Indian corse was rolled beneath his feet:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hollow wave retired with sullen sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The face of that sad corse was to the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed a female, by the slender form;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He touched the hand—it was no longer warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned its face—O God! that eye, though dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed with its deadly glare as fixed on him!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sunk his shuddering sense, how changed his hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When poor Olola in that corse he knew! <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanced;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His keen eye, like a startled eagle's glanced:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis she!—he knew her by a mark impressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From earliest infancy beneath her breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, my poor sister! when all hopes were past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of meeting, do we meet—thus meet—at last!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then full on Zarinel, as one amazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rising wrath and stern suspicion gazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to his forehead pressed the dead maid's hand. <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speak! whence art thou?<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Pale Zarinel, his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upraising answered,<br /></span> +<span class="i19">Peace is with the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here—strike the fell assassin—I am he!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Die! he exclaimed, and with convulsive start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the meek father, with his holy book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And placid aspect, met his frenzied look. <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He trembled—struck his brow—and, turning round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then murmured: Father, Heaven has heard thy prayer—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! the sister of my soul lies there!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christian's God has triumphed! father, heap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anselmo with calm brow approached the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hastened with his staff his faltering pace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness, he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak!—Holy father, the sad youth replied, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">God bade the seas the accusing victim roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its guilt: Oh! father, holy father, pray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That heaven may take the deep, dire curse away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! yet, Anselmo cried, live and repent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For not in vain was this dread warning sent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And severed from the dead maid's hair a lock; <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This to his heart with trembling hand he pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dried the salt-sea moisture on his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prayed: Her soul, O blessed Mary, save!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_225_225" id="Footnote_225_225"></a><a href="#FNanchor_225_225"><span class="label">[225]</span></a> The "sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by the +name of "Portuguese man of war," is among the most striking and +beautiful objects in the calms of the Southern ocean.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO SEVENTH.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Midnight—Valdivia's tent—Missionary—March to the Valley +Arauco—First sight of assembled Indians.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The watchman on the tower his bugle blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swelling to the morn the streamers flew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their gathering numbers darken all the vale!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia called to the attendant youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The formidable host, by holy James,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might well appal our priests and city dames!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost thou not fear? Nay—dost thou not reply?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now by the rood, and all the saints on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against thy brothers in thy native land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me and my feeble legions would despise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spectator of their prowess, by my side! <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come life, come death, our battle shall display<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With louder summons ring the rampart-bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And haste the shriving father from his cell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let the trump at midnight sound to arms!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now, obedient to the chief's commands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last event of war <span class="smcap">God</span> only knows;— <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let mass be sung; father, this very night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would attend the high and holy rite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet deem not that I doubt of victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or place defeat or death before mine eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good father, I would part in peace with all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, tell Lautaro—his ingenuous mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No wanton exercise of barbarous power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If hasty passions oft my spirit fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They flash a moment and the next expire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro knows it. There is somewhat more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not, here—here, on this distant shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this good sword and these firm sinews fail)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid my deadly enemies be found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dying man;—thy look, thy reverend age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So <span class="smcap">God</span> be with thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i22">By the torches' light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slow procession moves; the solemn rite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At intervals, is heard the imploring hymn.<a name="FNanchor_226_226" id="FNanchor_226_226"></a><a href="#Footnote_226_226" class="fnanchor">[226]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now all is still, that only you might hear— <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The tall and slender tapers burning clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose light Anselmo's palid brow illumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That echoed through the cloisters of the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's wide way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the dim taper's solitary ray, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where terraces, and battlements, and towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden the visionary pomp is past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dismal vault appears, where, with swoll'n eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is Almagro's<a name="FNanchor_227_227" id="FNanchor_227_227"></a><a href="#Footnote_227_227" class="fnanchor">[227]</a> corse!—roll on, ye drums, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the mighty conqueror of Peru!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ghastly look—see the assassin stand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pizarro falls;<a name="FNanchor_228_228" id="FNanchor_228_228"></a><a href="#Footnote_228_228" class="fnanchor">[228]</a>—he welters in his gore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord of the western world, art thou no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia, hark!—it was another groan!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another shadow comes, it is thy own!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, bind not thus his arms!—give, give him breath! <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Valdivia, starting, woke. He is alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The taper in his tent yet dimly shone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro, haste! he cried; Lautaro, save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy dying master! Ah! is this the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haughty victor? Hush, the dream is past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The early trumpets ring the second blast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arm, arm! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A troop observant on the heights to lead.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeared the main battalion's moving march;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The banner of the cross was borne before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A crucifix, in silence, to his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Majestic reined his steed, and seemed alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worthy the southern world's imperial throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His features through the barred casque that glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pole-axe pendent from the saddle-bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His dazzling armour, and the glitter bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deeds of deadly strife. In blooming pride, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two hundred clanking horsemen tramped behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In iron harness clad. The bugles blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <ins class="correction" title="Spelling varies: a cross-bowman">arbalasters</ins> next, with cross-bows slung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marched, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals swung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Auxiliar-Indians here, a various train.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With spears and bows, darkened the distant plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drums rolled, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At intervals, as near and yet more near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While flags and intermingled halberds shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long battalion drew its passing line.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last rolled the heavy guns, a sable tier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Indians drawn, with matchmen in the rear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a straggling mule and sumpter-train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed the embattled order on the plain,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till nought beneath the azure sky appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the projecting points of scarce-discovered spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slow up the hill, with floating vapours hoar, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glittering file its bannered length displays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now winding from the woods, again appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moving line of matchlocks and of spears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Part seen, part lost; the long illustrious march<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A radiant segment of a living bow.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er plains and headlands, held their eastern way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And horror, in the last defile they saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All gashed, and grim, and blackening in the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These were the gallant troop that passed before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Indians' vast encampment to explore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horses startled, as they tramped in blood; <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The troops a moment half-recoiling stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But boots not now to pause, or to retire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valdivia's eye flashed with indignant fire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Follow! he cried, brave comrades, to the hill!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And instant shouts the pealing valley fill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now, up to the hill's ascending crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With animated look and beating breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He urged his steed; when, wide beneath his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">One undulating mass of club and lance,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">One animated surface seemed to fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The many-stirring scene from hill to hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the deep mass he pointed with his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banner, advance! give out "Castile!" the word.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Instant the files advance, the trumpets bray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the host in terrible array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has halted!<br /></span> +<span class="i15">But the task were long and vain <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell what nations, from the seas that roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round Patagonia's melancholy shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From forests, brown with everlasting shades;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From snowy summits, where the Llama roams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From streams whose bridges<a name="FNanchor_229_229" id="FNanchor_229_229"></a><a href="#Footnote_229_229" class="fnanchor">[229]</a> tremble from the steep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flocked fearless.<br /></span> +<span class="i23">When they saw the Spanish line<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed, and front to front, descending shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst, instant burst, the universal cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky)—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grim Mariantu led the Indian force<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurled with unerring aim the involving thong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fearless sprang amidst the mailed throng. <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouting, as he rode, Castile! Castile!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Led on the charge: like a descending flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It swept, till every spur was black with blood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His force a-right, where Harratomac led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand spears went hissing overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feathered arrows, of each varying hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advancing in the front of carnage fell. <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swaying their huge clubs together, crushed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And limb from limb the panting carcase tore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hosts and succeeding hosts undaunted leads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, torn and shattered by the ceaseless fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thousands, with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, expire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grasps his club terrific as he dies. <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With breathless expectation, on the height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro watched the long and dubious fight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale and resigned the meek man stood, and pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More close the holy image to his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on the ground a warrior met his view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose features memory seemed to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A faint resemblance of his father's face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er him a horseman, with collected might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the youth springing on, without a word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched from a soldier's wearied grasp his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><ins class="correction" title="Original was Lautora">Lautaro</ins> shouted, On! brave brothers, on!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scatter them like the snow!—the day is won!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, I! <ins class="correction" title="Original was Lautora">Lautaro</ins>,—Attacapac's son!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cleft are the helms and crushed the struggling steeds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand, brave companions! bold Valdivia cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shook his sword, in recent carnage dyed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! droop not—droop not yet—all is not o'er—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is Lautaro! leaps his willing sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He waited not for answer, but again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spurred to the centre of the horrid plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death inclose, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies the caparisoned and dying horse.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While still the rushing multitudes assail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spanish horsemen faint; long yells resound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the dragged ensign trails the gory ground:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout, for the chief is seized!—a thousand cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst forth—Valdivia! for the sacrifice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, in silent dignity resigned, <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spear that to his heart a passage found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left poor Olola's hair within the wound.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now all is hushed, save where, at times, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep midnight listens to a distant moan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the condors clamour, overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_226_226" id="Footnote_226_226"></a><a href="#FNanchor_226_226"><span class="label">[226]</span></a> It may be necessary here to say, that whenever the +Spaniards founded a city, after the immediate walls of defence, their +first object was to build a church, and to have, with as much pomp as +possible, the ecclesiastical services performed. Hence the cathedrals +founded by them in America were of transcendent beauty and +magnificence.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_227_227" id="Footnote_227_227"></a><a href="#FNanchor_227_227"><span class="label">[227]</span></a> Almagro, who first penetrated into Chili, was afterwards +strangled.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_228_228" id="Footnote_228_228"></a><a href="#FNanchor_228_228"><span class="label">[228]</span></a> Pizarro was assassinated.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_229_229" id="Footnote_229_229"></a><a href="#FNanchor_229_229"><span class="label">[229]</span></a> Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr /> +<h3>CANTO EIGHTH.</h3> + +<h4>ARGUMENT.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Indian festival for victory—Old Warrior brought in +wounded—Recognises his long-lost son, and +dies—Discovery—Conclusion with the Old Warrior's funeral, and +prophetic oration by the Missionary.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morn returns, and, reddening, seems to shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One ray of glory on the patriot-dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round the dark stone, the victor-chiefs behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Chili, young Lautaro, by his side!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dripping blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrill sound the notes of death: in festive dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tinkling sea-shells on their ancles ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, hailing thus the victor-youth, they sing:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their gore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, in front, young Lautaro invincible stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the horses and iron-men rolled in their blood!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the snows of the mountain are swept by the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earthquake of death o'er the white men has passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we dance round the heads that are black in the sun!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft turned an anxious look inquiring round.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is not here!—Say, does my father live?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere eager voices could an answer give,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With faltering footsteps and declining head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly by an aged Indian led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live, live! Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell upon his neck, and, kissing, pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, live! I am thy son—thy long-lost child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chili, my country, is avenged! he cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My son!—then sunk upon a shield—and died.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kissed his bleeding breast, and wept aloud.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sounds of sadness through the circle ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican: <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sooth the spirits of the brave who bled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring forth the chief in bonds! Fathers, to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devote we to our gods the noblest prey!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro turned his eyes, and, gazing round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld Valdivia and Anselmo bound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where streaks of blood that dropped upon his mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Served but to show his face more deadly pale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stood, composed, to wait the dire event.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if all thought of this vain world was passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in a world of light, without a shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n now his meek and guileless spirit strayed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, starting from his father's corse, his sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waving before his once-triumphant lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro cried, My breast shall meet the blow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But save—save him, to whom my life I owe!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Valdivia marked him with unmoving eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then looked upon his bonds, nor deigned reply;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Harratomac, stealing with slow pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifting high his iron-jagged mace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smote him to earth; a thousand voices rose, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingled with shouts and yells, So fall our foes!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As black in death he marked Valdivia's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then cried—Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupolican,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, spare this innocent and holy man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never sailed, rapacious, o'er the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never gave the armed hosts his aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But meekly to the Mighty Spirit prayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in all lands the sounds of woe might cease, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victor-youth saw generous sympathy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already steal to every warrior's eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thus again: Oh, if this filial tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bear witness my own father was most dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak for my country what I felt and feel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, at this hour, I meet her high applause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While my heart beats still ardent in her cause;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! hear, how much to this poor man I owe!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was a child—when to my sire's abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off the crested soldiers bore away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for a captive sold. No friend was near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This humble man, with kind parental care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched me from slavery—saved from dark despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as my years increased, protected, fed, <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breathed a father's blessings on my head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Years, as they passed, matured in ripening grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes for my fortunes dropped a tear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could have bowed to direst ills resigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wept at looks so sweet, at words so kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And claimed me from the father as his page;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chief too cherished me, yea, saved my life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in Peru arose the civil strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet still remembering her I loved so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft I returned to the gray father's cell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His voice instructed me; recalled my youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rude idolatry to heavenly truth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this hereafter; he my darkling mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cleared, and from low and sensual thoughts refined.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then first, with feelings new impressed, I strove <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide the tear of tenderness and love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the fairest maidens of Peru,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My eyes, my heart, one only object knew:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lived that object's love and faith to share;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw, and blessed us with a father's prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I came, a stranger in my native land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anselmo (so him call—now most in need—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came, by our chief so summoned, and for aid <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the Great Spirit of the Christians prayed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here as a son I loved him, but I left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to see again; for death awaits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Caupolican, didst thou thy father love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did his last dying look affection move?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was my father—is my father, now!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien. <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who is this, what pallid form is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As crushed already by the fatal blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hands upon her breast, scarce drawn her breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro started:<br /></span> +<span class="i19">Injured maid of Spain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me!—me! oh, take me to thine arms again! <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She heard his voice, and, by the scene oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With one faint sigh fell senseless on his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live, aged father!—and forthwith commands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She raised her head: his eyes first met her view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, no! she feebly spoke; it is not true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is some form of the distempered brain! <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then hid her face upon his breast again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, his brains scattered by the deadly wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spanish chief lay on the gory ground.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lowering brows, and mace yet drooping blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anselmo here, sad, yet in sorrow mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeared: she cried, A blessing on your child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knelt, as slow revived her waking sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, with looks aghast, Oh bear us hence! <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now all the assembled chiefs, assenting, cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eager arms Lautaro snatched his boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kissed him in an agony of joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt the tear first burning on his cheek:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The infant held his neck with strict embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kissed his pale emaciated face.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a bank, where slept the summer-light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A small stream whispering went in mazes bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stealing from the sea, the western wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, arched with gay and pendent flowers above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The floripondio<a name="FNanchor_230_230" id="FNanchor_230_230"></a><a href="#Footnote_230_230" class="fnanchor">[230]</a> its rich trellis wove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro bent, with looks of love and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy: <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, by what miracle, beloved! say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou escaped the perils of the way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Lima, where our humble dwelling stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To these tumultuous scenes, this vale of blood?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Roused by his voice, as from the sleep of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint she replied, with slow-recovering breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sunk my heart!—deserted and alone!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would I were with thee! oft I sat and sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the pale moon shone on the silent tide— <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brave bark cheer'ly went before the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seized the fair occasion—ocean smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to the sire I bore his lisping child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some mariners, amidst the billows wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child. <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What I have borne, a captive since that day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgive these tears—I scarce have heart to say!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wild maid—of her looks I was afraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro for a moment turned aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, Oh, my sister! with faint voice he cried.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Already free from sorrow and alarms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I clasped in thought a husband in my arms, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a dark warrior, stationed on the height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who held his solitary watch by night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before me stood, and lifting high his lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exclaimed: No further, on thy life, advance!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the dismal cave my steps he led.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only at eve, within the craggy cleft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some water, and a cake of maize, were left.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When morning came, they brought me forth to die; <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hushed be every sigh, each boding fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reach a large and radiant butterfly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fluttered near his face; with looks of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes faint-lighted with a transient fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">An aged Indian came, with feathers crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knelt before Lautaro on the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What tidings, Indian?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">INDIAN.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">When I led thy sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Son of our Ulmen, didst thou mark no trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In these sad looks, of a remembered face?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is thy father's hatchet and his spear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro cried, once more to hear that voice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, my beloved sister, thou art dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">INDIAN.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I come to guide thee through untrodden ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the lone valley, where thy father's days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were passed; where every cave and every tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From morn to morn, reminded him of thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lautaro cried: Here, faithful Indian, stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a last sad duty yet to pay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little while we part:—thou here remain. <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake, and passed like lightning o'er the plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, cease, Castilian maid, thy vain alarms!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See where he comes—his father in his arms!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now lead, he cried. The Indian, sad and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her infant tired, and hushed a while to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pensive mother gray Anselmo led;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The small birds waked them ere the morning light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before their path, in distant view, appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountain-smoke, that its dark column reared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting their icy pinnacles so high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four days they onward held their eastern way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the fifth rising morn, before them lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Warrior's loved and last abode was seen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No smoke went up, a stillness reigned around, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the waters fell with soothing sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the Thenca sang so loud and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bright humming-bird was spinning near.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet here all human tumults seemed to cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sunshine rested on the spot of peace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The myrtles bloomed as fragrant and as green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in his ear the falling waters' spray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed swelling with the sounds of yesterday.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There shall my father's bones in peace be laid.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The small and sad communion gathered round.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And broke the spear, and cried: Farewell, farewell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lautaro hid his face, and sighed Adieu!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little child that to its mother clung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched out its arm, then on her garment hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sidelong looks, half-shrinking, half-amazed, <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dropped its flowers, unconscious, as it gazed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The honoured relics, dust to dust, consigned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Eternam pacem dona, Domine."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rising up he closed the holy book;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifting in the beam his lighted look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, too, he cried, my bones in peace shall rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few years remain to me, and never more <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, may it (when the sons of future days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall hear our tale and on the hillock gaze),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, may it teach, that charity should bind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering spear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet we condemn not him who bravely stood, <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seal his country's freedom with his blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if, in after-times, a ruthless band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fell invaders sweep my native land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May she, by Chili's stern example led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurl back his thunder on the assailant's head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustained by Freedom, strike the avenging blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learn one virtue from her ancient foe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_230_230" id="Footnote_230_230"></a><a href="#FNanchor_230_230"><span class="label">[230]</span></a> One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing +plants of South America.</p></div> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>END OF VOLUME I.</h2> + +<hr /> +<h3>EDINBURGH: BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS.</h3> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>Transcriber's notes:</b> The following were corrected in text as shown. They +are indicated with light dotted underline and pop up on cursor hover.</p> + +<p>Pg iv: Alverstock => Alverstoke.</p> + +<p>Pg 26: mumuring => murmuring</p> + +<p>Pg 86: seene => scene</p> + +<p>Pg 100: TRANSATION => TRANSLATION</p> + +<p>Pg 152: fell => feel</p> + +<p>Pg 206: gallopped => galloped</p> + +<p>Pg 230: diffculty => difficulty</p> + +<p>Pg 307: Guecuba => Guecubu to match text reference.</p> + +<p>Pg 354: arbalaster is probably a variation or arbalester or arbalister: a cross-bowman.</p> + +<p>Pg 357: Lautora => Lautaro to be consistent with earlier use.</p> + + +<p>A few words are hyphenated inconsistently. They are listed here, but remain unchanged.</p> + +<table class="hyph" summary="inconsistently hyphenated words"> +<tr><td>eventide</td><td>even-tide</td></tr> +<tr><td>eyeballs</td><td>eye-balls</td></tr> +<tr><td>eyelids</td><td>eye-lids</td></tr> +<tr><td>footfall</td><td>foot-fall</td></tr> +<tr><td>heartbroken</td><td>heart-broken</td></tr> +<tr><td>hedgerows</td><td>hedge-rows</td></tr> +<tr><td>outstretched</td><td>out-stretched</td></tr> +</table> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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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..97e6414 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #18915 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18915) diff --git a/old/18915.txt b/old/18915.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5f20c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/18915.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13430 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, +Vol. 1, by William Lisle Bowles + +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: The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. 1 + With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes + by George Gilfillan + +Author: William Lisle Bowles + +Editor: George Gilfillan + +Release Date: July 26, 2006 [EBook #18915] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS *** + + + + +Produced by richyfourtytwo, Leonard Johnson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +THE + +POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES, + +CANON OF ST PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, AND RECTOR OF BREMHILL. + + +With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and +Explanatory Notes, + +BY THE + +REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + +VOL. I. + + +EDINBURGH: +JAMES NICHOL, 9 NORTH BANK STREET. +LONDON: JAMES NISBET AND CO. +DUBLIN: W. ROBERTSON. + +M.DCCC.LV. + + + + +EDINBURGH: +PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, +PAUL'S WORK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +SONNETS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + + PAGE + +SONNETS:-- + +At Tynemouth Priory, after a Tempestuous Voyage 7 +Bamborough Castle 8 +The River Wainsbeck 8 +The Tweed Visited 9 +On leaving a Village in Scotland 9 +Evening 10 +To the River Itchin 11 +On Resigning a Scholarship of Trinity College, Oxford, and Retiring + to a Country Curacy 11 +Dover Cliffs 12 +On Landing at Ostend 12 +The Bells of Ostend 13 +The Rhine 13 +Influence of Time on Grief 14 +The Convent 14 +The River Cherwell 15 +On Entering Switzerland 15 +Distant View of England from the Sea 16 +Hope 16 +To a Friend 17 +Absence 17 +Bereavement 18 +Oxford Revisited 19 +In Memoriam 19 +On the Death of the Rev. William Benwell, M.A. 20 +At Malvern 20 +Netley Abbey 21 +Associations 21 +Music 22 +Approach of Summer 22 +At Oxford, 1786 23 +At Dover, 1786 23 +Retrospection 24 +On Accidentally Meeting a Lady, now no more 24 +On hearing "The Messiah" performed in Gloucester + Cathedral, Sept. 18, 1835 25 +Woodspring Abbey, 1836 26 +Lacock Nunnery, 1837 26 +On a Beautiful Landscape 27 +Art and Nature: the Bridge between Clifton and Leigh + Woods 27 +Picture of an Old Man 28 +Picture of a Young Lady 29 +Hour-glass and Bible 29 +Milton. Two Sonnets on the bust of Milton, in Youth and + Age, at Stourhead 30 +To Sir Walter Scott 31 + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:-- + +Elegy written at the Hotwells, Bristol 32 +Monody on Henry Headley 36 +Howard's Account of Lazarettos 37 +The Grave of Howard 42 +Shakspeare 46 +Abbe Thule's Lament for his Son Prince Le Boo 49 +Southampton Water 51 +The Philanthropic Society 52 +The Dying Slave 58 +Song of the American Indian 60 +Monody, written at Matlock 61 +The Right Honourable Edmund Burke 67 +On Leaving a Place of Residence 72 +Elegiac Stanzas written during Sickness at Bath 73 +On leaving Winchester School 77 +Hope: an Allegorical Sketch 77 +The Battle of the Nile 88 +A Garden-Seat at Home 94 +In Horto Rev. J. Still 95 +Greenwich Hospital 95 +A Rustic Seat near the Sea 96 +Wardour Castle 96 +Pole-vellum, Cornwall 97 +On a Beautiful Spring 98 +On a Cenotaph to the Memory of Lieut-Col. Isaac 99 +Translation of a Latin Poem, by Rev. Newton Ogle 100 +St Michael's Mount 101 +On an Unfortunate and Beautiful Woman 111 +Hymn to Woden 113 +Coombe-Ellen 115 +Summer Evening at Home 125 +Winter Evening at Home 126 +The Spirit of Navigation 127 +Water-party on Beaulieu River, in the New Forest 134 +Monody on the Death of Dr Warton 135 +Epitaph on H. Walmsley, Esq., in Alverstoke{a} Church, + Hants 141 +Age 142 +On a Landscape by Rubens 142 +The Harp, and Despair, of Cowper 151 +Stanzas for Music 152 +Music 152 +Absence 153 +Fairy Sketch 154 +Inscription 155 +Pictures from Theocritus 156 +Sketches in the Exhibition, 1805 161 +Do. in the Exhibition, 1807 162 +Southampton Castle 164 +The Winds 166 +On William Sommers of Bremhill 169 +The Visionary Boy 170 +Cadland, Southampton River 180 +The Last Song of Camoens 182 +The Sylph of Summer 184 +The Harp of Hoel 201 +Avenue in Savernake Forest 215 +Dirge of Nelson 216 +Death of Captain Cooke, of "The Bellerophon" 217 +Battle of Corruna 218 +Sketch from Bowden Hill after Sickness 219 +Sun-Dial in the Churchyard of Bremhill 223 + + +THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY: + +A Descriptive and Historical Poem 225 +Book the First 231 +Book the Second 245 +Book the Third 258 +Book the Fourth 266 +Book the Fifth 285 + +THE MISSIONARY 295 +Introduction 297 +Canto First 298 +Canto Second 309 +Canto Third 318 +Canto Fourth 330 +Canto Fifth 339 +Canto Sixth 344 +Canto Seventh 350 +Canton Eighth 359 + +_The Memoir and Critical Dissertation being unavoidably delayed, will be +prefixed to Vol. II._ + + + + +PREFACE. + + +A Ninth Edition of the following Poems having been called for by the +public, the author is induced to say a few words, particularly +concerning those which, under the name of Sonnets, describe his personal +feelings. + +They can be considered in no other light than as exhibiting occasional +reflections which naturally arose in his mind, chiefly during various +excursions, undertaken to relieve, at the time, depression of spirits. +They were, therefore, in general, suggested by the scenes before them; +and wherever such scenes appeared to harmonise with his disposition at +the moment, the sentiments were involuntarily prompted. + +Numberless poetical trifles of the same kind have occurred to him, when +perhaps, in his solitary rambles, he has been "chewing the cud of sweet +and bitter fancy;" but they have been forgotten as he left the places +which gave rise to them; and the greater part of those originally +committed to the press were written down, for the first time, from +memory. + +This is nothing to the public; but it may serve in some measure to +obviate the common remark on melancholy poetry, that it has been very +often gravely composed, when possibly the heart of the writer had very +little share in the distress he chose to describe. + +But there is a great difference between _natural_ and _fabricated_ +feelings, even in poetry. To which of these two characters the poems +before the reader belong, the author leaves those who have felt +sensations of sorrow to judge. + +They who know him, know the occasions of them to have been real; to the +public he might only mention the sudden death of a deserving young +woman, with whom, + + ... _Sperabat longos heu! ducere soles, + Et fido acclinis consenuisse sinu._[1] + + DONHEAD, _April 1805._ + +[1] The early editions of these Sonnets, 1791, were dedicated to the +Reverend Newton Ogle, D.D., Dean of Winchester. + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE EDITION OF 1837. + + +To account for the variations which may be remarked in this last edition +of my Sonnets, from that which was first published fifty years ago, it +may be proper to state, that to the best of my recollection, they now +appear nearly as they were originally composed in my solitary hours; +when, in youth a wanderer among distant scenes, I sought forgetfulness +of the first disappointment in early affections. + +Delicacy even now, though the grave has long closed over the beloved +object, would forbid entering on a detail of the peculiar circumstances +in early life, and the anguish which occasioned these poetical +meditations. In fact, I never thought of writing them down at the time, +and many had escaped my recollection;[2] but three years after my return +to England, on my way to the banks of Cherwell, where + + "I bade the pipe farewell, and that sad lay + Whose music, on my melancholy way, + I wooed," + +passing through Bath, I wrote down all I could recollect of these +effusions, most elaborately _mending_ the versification from the natural +flow of music in which they occurred to me, and having thus _corrected_ +and written them out, took them myself to the late Mr Cruttwell, with +the name of "Fourteen Sonnets, written chiefly on Picturesque Spots +during a Journey." + +I had three times knocked at this amiable printer's door, whose kind +smile I still recollect; and at last, with much hesitation, ventured to +unfold my message; it was to inquire whether he would give any thing for +"Fourteen Sonnets," to be published with or without the name.[3] He at +once declined the purchase, and informed me he doubted very much whether +the publication would repay the expense of printing, which would come to +about five pounds. It was at last determined one hundred copies, in +quarto, should be published as a kind of "forlorn hope;" and these +"Fourteen Sonnets" I left to their fate and thought no more of getting +rich by poetry! In fact, I owed the most I ever owed at Oxford, at this +time, namely, seventy pounds;[4] and knowing my father's large family +and trying circumstances, and those of my poor mother, I shrunk from +asking more money when I left home, and went back with a heavy heart to +Oxford, under the conscious weight, that my poetic scheme failing, I had +no means of paying Parsons, the mercer's, bill! This was the origin of +the publication. + +As this plain account is so connected with whatever may be my name in +criticism and poetry, it is hoped it will be pardoned. + +All thoughts of succeeding as a poet were now abandoned; but, half a +year afterwards, I received a letter from the printer informing me that +the hundred copies were all sold, adding, that if I had published FIVE +HUNDRED copies, he had no doubt they would have been sold also. + +This, in my then situation, my father now dead, and my mother a widow +with seven children, and with a materially reduced income (from the loss +of the rectories of Uphill and Brean in Somerset), was gratifying +indeed; all my golden dreams of poetical success were renewed;--the +number of the sonnets first published was increased, and five hundred +copies, by the congratulating printer, with whose family I have lived in +kindest amity from that hour, were recommended to issue from the press +of the editor of the _Bath Chronicle_. + +But this was not all, the five hundred copies were sold to great +advantage, for it was against my will that _five hundred_ copies should +be printed, till the printer told me he would take the risk on himself, +on the usual terms, at that time, of bookseller and author. + +Soon afterwards, it was agreed that _seven hundred and fifty_ copies +should be printed, in a smaller and elegant size. I had received +Coleridge's warm testimony; but soon after this third edition came out, +my friend, Mr Cruttwell, the printer, wrote a letter saying that two +young gentlemen, strangers, one a particularly handsome and pleasing +youth, lately from Westminster School, and both literary and +intelligent, spoke in high commendation of my volume, and if I recollect +right, expressed a desire to have some poems printed in the same type +and form. Who these young men were I knew not at the time, but the +communication of the circumstance was to me most gratifying; and how +much more gratifying, when, from one of them, after he himself had +achieved the fame of one of the most virtuous and eloquent of the +writers in his generation, I received a first visit at my parsonage in +Wiltshire upwards of forty years afterwards! It was ROBERT SOUTHEY. We +parted in my garden last year, when stealing time and sorrow had marked +his still manly, but most interesting countenance.[5]--Therefore, + + + TO + + ROBERT SOUTHEY, + + WHO HAS EXHIBITED IN HIS PROSE WORKS, AS IN HIS LIFE, + + THE PURITY AND VIRTUES OF ADDISON AND LOCKE, + + AND IN HIS POETRY THE IMAGINATION + + AND SOUL OF SPENSER, + + THESE POEMS, + + WITH EVERY AFFECTIONATE PRAYER, ARE INSCRIBED + + BY + + HIS SINCERE FRIEND, + + WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES. + +[2] I confined myself to fourteen lines, because fourteen lines seemed +best adapted to unity of sentiment. I thought nothing about the strict +Italian model; the verses naturally flowed in unpremeditated harmony, as +my ear directed, but the slightest inspection will prove they were far +from being mere elegiac couplets. The subjects were chiefly from river +scenery, and the reader will recollect what Sir Humphrey Davy has said +on this subject so beautifully; it will be recollected, also, that they +were published ten years before those of Mr Wordsworth on the river +Duddon, Yarrow, _et cet._ There have been many claimants, among modern +poets, for the laurel of the sonnet, but, in picturesque description, +sentiment, and harmony, I know none superior to those of my friend the +Rev. Charles Hoyle, on scenery in Scotland, the mountains of Ben Nevis, +Loch Lomond, _et cet._ + +[3] To account for the present variations, some remained as originally +with their natural pauses, others for the press I thought it best to +correct into verse less broken, and now, after fifty years, they are +recorrected, and restored, I believe, more nearly to the original shape +in which they were first meditated. + +[4] I hoped by my Sonnets to pay this vast debt. + +[5] His companion, Mr Lovel, died in youth. + + + + +SONNETS, ETC. + + +AT TYNEMOUTH PRIORY,[6] + +AFTER A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE. + + As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, + Much musing on the track of terror past, + When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast, + Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide + That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam + Of evening smiles on the gray battlement, + And yon forsaken tower that time has rent:-- + The lifted oar far off with transient gleam + Is touched, and hushed is all the billowy deep! + Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's breast + A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest; + While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep, + Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre, + Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire! + +[6] The remains of this monastery are situated on a lofty point, on the +north side of the entrance into the river Tyne, about a mile and a half +below North Shields. The rock on which the monastery stood rendered it +visible at sea a long way off, in every direction, whence it presented +itself as if exhorting the seamen in danger to make their vows, and +promise masses and presents to the Virgin Mary and St Oswin for their +deliverance. + + +BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.[7] + + Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep, + Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime, + Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time + Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep + Round your dark battlements; for far from halls + Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat, + Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat + With hollow bodings round your ancient walls; + And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour + Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high, + Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower, + And turns her ear to each expiring cry; + Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save, + And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave. + +[7] This ancient castle, with its extensive domains, heretofore the +property of the family of Forster, whose heiress married Lord Crewe, +Bishop of Durham, is appropriated by the will of that pious prelate to +many benevolent purposes; particularly to that of administering instant +relief to such shipwrecked mariners as may happen to be cast upon this +dangerous coast; for whose preservation and that of their vessels every +possible assistance is contrived, and is at all times ready. The estate +is in the hands of trustees appointed under the Bishop's will. + + +THE RIVER WAINSBECK.[8] + + While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream, + WAINSBECK, the mossy-scattered rocks among, + In fancy's ear making a plaintive song + To the dark woods above, that waving seem + To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed + From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind, + And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined + O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!-- + Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown, + To him who passes weary on his way;-- + Yet recreated here he may delay + A while to thank you; and when years have flown, + And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew, + In the world's crowd he will remember you. + +[8] The Wainsbeck is a sequestered river in Northumberland, having on +its banks "Our Lady's Chapel," three-quarters of a mile west of Bothal. +It has been commemorated by Akenside. + + +THE TWEED VISITED. + + O Tweed! a stranger, that with wandering feet + O'er hill and dale has journeyed many a mile, + (If so his weary thoughts he might beguile), + Delighted turns thy stranger-stream to greet. + The waving branches that romantic bend + O'er thy tall banks a soothing charm bestow; + The murmurs of thy wandering wave below + Seem like the converse of some long-lost friend. + Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, + When spring returns in all her wonted pride, + The distant pastoral pipe is heard no more;[9] + Yet here while laverocks sing could I abide, + Far from the stormy world's contentious roar, + To muse upon thy banks at eventide. + +[9] Alluding to the simple and affecting pastoral strains for which +Scotland has been so long celebrated. I need not mention Lochaber, the +Braes of Bellendine, Tweedside, _et cet._ + + +ON LEAVING A VILLAGE IN SCOTLAND. + + Clysdale! as thy romantic vales I leave, + And bid farewell to each retiring hill, + Where musing memory seems to linger still, + Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve + That, mingled with the toiling crowd, no more + I may return your varied views to mark, + Of rocks amid the sunshine towering dark, + Of rivers winding wild,[10] or mountains hoar, + Or castle gleaming on the distant steep!-- + Yet many a look back on thy hills I cast, + And many a softened image of the past + Sadly combine, and bid remembrance keep, + To soothe me with fair scenes, and fancies rude, + When I pursue my path in solitude. + +[10] There is a wildness almost fantastic in the view of the river from +Stirling Castle, the course of which is seen for many miles, making a +thousand turnings. + + +EVENING. + + Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend, + Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, + The lonely, battlement, the farthest hill + And wood, I think of those who have no friend; + Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led, + From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts, + Retiring, wander to the ring-dove's haunts + Unseen; and watch the tints that o'er thy bed + Hang lovely; oft to musing Fancy's eye + Presenting fairy vales, where the tired mind + Might rest beyond the murmurs of mankind, + Nor hear the hourly moans of misery! + Alas for man! that Hope's fair views the while + Should smile like you, and perish as they smile! + + +TO THE RIVER ITCHIN.[11] + + Itchin! when I behold thy banks again, + Thy crumbling margin, and thy silver breast, + On which the self-same tints still seem to rest, + Why feels my heart a shivering sense of pain! + Is it, that many a summer's day has past + Since, in life's morn, I carolled on thy side! + Is it, that oft since then my heart has sighed, + As Youth, and Hope's delusive gleams, flew fast! + Is it, that those who gathered on thy shore, + Companions of my youth, now meet no more! + Whate'er the cause, upon thy banks I bend, + Sorrowing; yet feel such solace at my heart, + As at the meeting of some long-lost friend, + From whom, in happier hours, we wept to part. + +[11] The Itchin is a river running from Winchester to Southampton, the +banks of which have been the scene of many _a holiday sport_. The lines +were composed on an evening in a journey from Oxford to Southampton, the +first time I had seen the Itchin since I left school. + + +ON RESIGNING A SCHOLARSHIP OF TRINITY COLLEGE, OXFORD, + +AND RETIRING TO A COUNTRY CURACY. + + Farewell! a long farewell! O Poverty, + Affection's fondest dream how hast thou reft! + But though, on thy stern brow no trace is left + Of youthful joys, that on the cold heart die, + With thee a sad companionship I seek, + Content, if poor;--for patient wretchedness, + Tearful, but uncomplaining of distress, + Who turns to the rude storm her faded cheek; + And Piety, who never told her wrong; + And calm Content, whose griefs no more rebel; + And Genius, warbling sweet, his saddest song, + When evening listens to some village knell,-- + Long banished from the world's insulting throng;-- + With thee, and thy unfriended children dwell. + + +DOVER CLIFFS. + + On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood + Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet + Hear not the surge that has for ages beat, + How many a lonely wanderer has stood! + And, whilst the lifted murmur met his ear, + And o'er the distant billows the still eve + Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave + To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear; + Of social scenes, from which he wept to part! + Oh! if, like me, he knew how fruitless all + The thoughts that would full fain the past recall, + Soon would he quell the risings of his heart, + And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide-- + The World his country, and his GOD his guide. + + +ON LANDING AT OSTEND. + + The orient beam illumes the parting oar;-- + From yonder azure track, emerging white, + The earliest sail slow gains upon the sight, + And the blue wave comes rippling to the shore. + Meantime far off the rear of darkness flies: + Yet 'mid the beauties of the morn, unmoved, + Like one for ever torn from all he loved, + Back o'er the deep I turn my longing eyes, + And chide the wayward passions that rebel: + Yet boots it not to think, or to complain, + Musing sad ditties to the reckless main. + To dreams like these, adieu! the pealing bell + Speaks of the hour that stays not--and the day + To life's sad turmoil calls my heart away. + + 1787. + + +THE BELLS, OSTEND.[12] + + How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal! + As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze + Breathes on the trembling sense of pale disease, + So piercing to my heart their force I feel! + And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall! + And now, along the white and level tide, + They fling their melancholy music wide; + Bidding me many a tender thought recall + Of summer-days, and those delightful years + When from an ancient tower, in life's fair prime, + The mournful magic of their mingling chime + First waked my wondering childhood into tears! + But seeming now, when all those days are o'er, + The sounds of joy once heard, and heard no more. + + 1787. + +[12] Written on landing at Ostend, and hearing, very early in the +morning, the carillons. + + +THE RHINE. + + 'Twas morn, and beauteous on the mountain's brow + (Hung with the clusters of the bending vine) + Shone in the early light, when on the Rhine + We bounded, and the white waves round the prow + In murmurs parted:--varying as we go, + Lo! the woods open, and the rocks retire, + As some gray convent-wall or glistening spire + 'Mid the bright landscape's track unfolding slow! + Here dark, with furrowed aspect, like Despair, + Frowns the bleak cliff! There on the woodland's side + The shadowy sunshine pours its streaming tide; + Whilst Hope, enchanted with the scene so fair, + Counts not the hours of a long summer's day, + Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away. + + +INFLUENCE OF TIME ON GRIEF. + + O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay + Softest on Sorrow's wound, and slowly thence + (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) + The faint pang stealest unperceived away; + On thee I rest my only hope at last, + And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear + That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, + I may look back on every sorrow past, + And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile:-- + As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, + Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower + Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:-- + Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure, + Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure! + + +THE CONVENT. + + If chance some pensive stranger, hither led, + His bosom glowing from majestic views, + Temple and tower 'mid the bright landscape's hues, + Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed? + A maid of sorrow. To the cloistered scene, + Unknown and beautiful a mourner came, + Seeking with unseen tears to quench the flame + Of hapless love: yet was her look serene + As the pale moonlight in the midnight aisle;-- + Her voice was gentle and a charm could lend, + Like that which spoke of a departed friend; + And a meek sadness sat upon her smile!-- + Now, far removed from every earthly ill, + Her woes are buried, and her heart is still. + + +THE RIVER CHERWELL. + + Cherwell! how pleased along thy willowed edge + Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began + To tinge the distant turret's golden fan, + Or evening glimmered o'er the sighing sedge! + And now reposing on thy banks once more, + I bid the lute farewell, and that sad lay + Whose music on my melancholy way + I wooed: beneath thy willows waving hoar, + Seeking a while to rest--till the bright sun + Of joy return; as when Heaven's radiant Bow + Beams on the night-storm's passing wings below: + Whate'er betide, yet something have I won + Of solace, that may bear me on serene, + Till eve's last hush shall close the silent scene. + + +ON ENTERING SWITZERLAND. + + Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day + I journey on, yet pensive turn to view, + Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue, + The streams, and vales, and hills, that steal away. + So fares it with the children of the earth: + For when life's goodly prospect opens round, + Their spirits burn to tread that fairy ground, + Where every vale sounds to the pipe of mirth. + But them, alas! the dream of youth beguiles, + And soon a longing look, like me, they cast + Back on the mountains of the morning past: + Yet Hope still beckons us, and beckoning smiles, + And to a brighter world her view extends, + When earth's long darkness on her path descends. + + +DISTANT VIEW OF ENGLAND FROM THE SEA. + + Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start, + As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight + Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white + Above the wave, once more my beating heart + With eager hope and filial transport hails! + Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring, + As when erewhile the tuneful morn of spring + Joyous awoke amidst your hawthorn vales, + And filled with fragrance every village lane: + Fled are those hours, and all the joys they gave! + Yet still I gaze, and count each rising wave + That bears me nearer to my home again; + If haply, 'mid those woods and vales so fair, + Stranger to Peace, I yet may meet her there. + + +HOPE. + + As one who, long by wasting sickness worn, + Weary has watched the lingering night, and heard + Unmoved the carol of the matin bird + Salute his lonely porch; now first at morn + Goes forth, leaving his melancholy bed; + He the green slope and level meadow views, + Delightful bathed with slow-ascending dews; + Or marks the clouds, that o'er the mountain's head + In varying forms fantastic wander white; + Or turns his ear to every random song, + Heard the green river's winding marge along, + The whilst each sense is steeped in still delight. + So o'er my breast young Summer's breath I feel, + Sweet Hope! thy fragrance pure and healing incense steal! + + +TO A FRIEND. + + Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng! + Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears; + To busy phantasies, and boding fears, + Lest ill betide thee; but 'twill not be long + Ere the hard season shall be past; till then + Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade + Remembering, and these trees now left to fade; + Nor, 'mid the busy scenes and hum of men, + Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness + To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow, + Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow + Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless + That shall restore thee from the crowd again, + To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain. + + 1792. + + +ABSENCE. + + There is strange music in the stirring wind, + When lowers the autumnal eve, and all alone + To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone, + Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined + Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere. + If in such shades, beneath their murmuring, + Thou late hast passed the happier hours of spring, + With sadness thou wilt mark the fading year; + Chiefly if one, with whom such sweets at morn + Or evening thou hast shared, afar shall stray. + O Spring, return! return, auspicious May! + But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn, + If she return not with thy cheering ray, + Who from these shades is gone, far, far away. + + +BEREAVEMENT. + + Whose was that gentle voice, that, whispering sweet, + Promised methought long days of bliss sincere! + Soothing it stole on my deluded ear, + Most like soft music, that might sometimes cheat + Thoughts dark and drooping! 'Twas the voice of Hope. + Of love, and social scenes, it seemed to speak, + Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek; + That, oh! poor friend, might to life's downward slope + Lead us in peace, and bless our latest hours. + Ah me! the prospect saddened as she sung; + Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung; + Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers, + Whilst Horror, pointing to yon breathless clay, + "No peace be thine," exclaimed, "away, away!" + + 1793. + + +OXFORD REVISITED. + + I never hear the sound of thy glad bells, + Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say, + Sighing to think how time has worn away, + Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells, + Heard after years of absence, from the vale + Where Cherwell winds. Most true it speaks the tale + Of days departed, and its voice recalls + Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide + Of life, and many friends now scattered wide + By many fates. Peace be within thy walls! + I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet, + Denied the joys sought in thy shades,--denied + Each better hope, since my poor Harriet died, + What I have owed to thee, my heart can ne'er forget! + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + How blessed with thee the path could I have trod + Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate, + (And little wishing more) nor of the great + Envious, or their proud name; but it pleased GOD + To take thee to his mercy: thou didst go + In youth and beauty to thy cold death-bed; + Even whilst on dreams of bliss we fondly fed, + Of years to come of comfort! Be it so. + Ere this I have felt sorrow; and even now, + Though sometimes the unbidden tear will start, + And half unman the miserable heart, + The cold dew I shall wipe from my sad brow, + And say, since hopes of bliss on earth are vain, + Best friend, farewell, till we do meet again! + + +ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. WILLIAM BENWELL, M.A.[13] + + Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink + Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice + Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice, + Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think + That thou, my friend, wouldst the first victim fall + To the stern King of Terrors! Thou didst fly, + By pity prompted, at the poor man's cry; + And soon thyself were stretched beneath the pall, + Livid infection's prey. The deep distress + Of her, who best thy inmost bosom knew, + To whom thy faith was vowed; thy soul was true, + What powers of faltering language shall express? + As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own, + And sorrowing say, Pure spirit, thou art gone! + +[13] An accomplished young friend of the author--a poet and a scholar, +formerly fellow of Trinity College, Oxford--who died of a typhus fever, +caught in administering the sacrament to one of his parishioners. Mr +Benwell had only been married eleven weeks when he died. + + +AT MALVERN. + + I shall behold far off thy towering crest, + Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray + Down through the distant vale my homeward way, + I shall behold upon thy rugged breast, + The parting sun sit smiling: me the while + Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness + May visit, as life's bitter losses press + Hard on my bosom; but I shall beguile + The thing I am, and think, that ev'n as thou + Dost lift in the pale beam thy forehead high, + Proud mountain! whilst the scattered vapours fly + Unheeded round thy breast,--so, with calm brow, + The shades of sorrow I may meet, and wear + The smile unchanged of peace, though pressed by care! + + +NETLEY ABBEY. + + Fall'n pile! I ask not what has been thy fate; + But when the winds, slow wafted from the main, + Through each rent arch, like spirits that complain, + Come hollow to my ear, I meditate + On this world's passing pageant, and the lot + Of those who once majestic in their prime + Stood smiling at decay, till bowed by time + Or injury, their early boast forgot, + They may have fall'n like thee! Pale and forlorn, + Their brow, besprent with thin hairs, white as snow, + They lift, still unsubdued, as they would scorn + This short-lived scene of vanity and woe; + Whilst on their sad looks smilingly they bear + The trace of creeping age, and the pale hue of care! + + +ASSOCIATIONS. + + As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds, + Still on that vision which is flown I dwell, + On images I loved, alas, too well! + Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds + Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep + Such recollections, painful though they seem, + And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream + I start, and find them not; then I could weep + To think how Fortune blights the fairest flowers; + To think how soon life's first endearments fail, + And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale, + Who, like a flatterer, when the happiest hours + Pass, and when most we call on her to stay, + Will fly, as faithless and as fleet as they! + + +MUSIC. + + O harmony! thou tenderest nurse of pain, + If that thy note's sweet magic e'er can heal + Griefs which the patient spirit oft may feel, + Oh! let me listen to thy songs again; + Till memory her fairest tints shall bring; + Hope wake with brighter eye, and listening seem + With smiles to think on some delightful dream, + That waved o'er the charmed sense its gladsome wing! + For when thou leadest all thy soothing strains + More smooth along, the silent passions meet + In one suspended transport, sad and sweet; + And nought but sorrow's softest touch remains; + That, when the transitory charm is o'er, + Just wakes a tear, and then is felt no more. + + +APPROACH OF SUMMER. + + How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill + My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide + First came, and on the Coomb's romantic side + Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow bill! + Fresh flowers shall fringe the margin of the stream, + As with the songs of joyance and of hope + The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope + The poplars sparkle in the passing beam; + The shrubs and laurels that I loved to tend, + Thinking their May-tide fragrance would delight, + With many a peaceful charm, thee, my poor friend, + Shall put forth their green shoots, and cheer the sight! + But I shall mark their hues with sadder eyes, + And weep the more for one who in the cold earth lies! + + +AT OXFORD, 1786. + + Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams, + Which won my heart, or when the gay career + Of life begun, or when at times a tear + Sat sad on memory's cheek--though loftier themes + Await the awakened mind to the high prize + Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain, + Aspiring patient; yet on life's wide plain + Left fatherless, where many a wanderer sighs + Hourly, and oft our road is lone and long, + 'Twere not a crime should we a while delay + Amid the sunny field; and happier they + Who, as they journey, woo the charm of song, + To cheer their way;--till they forget to weep, + And the tired sense is hushed, and sinks to sleep. + + +AT DOVER, 1786. + + Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm, + That, borne on Terror's desolating wings, + Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings + The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform + Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,-- + When thou dost mark the melancholy tide + Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,-- + Tossed on the surge of life how many sink! + And if thy cheek with one kind tear be wet, + And if thy heart be smitten, when the cry + Of danger and of death is heard more nigh, + Oh, learn thy private sorrows to forget; + Intent, when hardest beats the storm, to save + One who, like thee, has suffered from the wave. + + +RETROSPECTION. + + I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say, + Alas! how many friends of youth are dead; + How many visions of fair hope have fled, + Since first, my Muse, we met.--So speeds away + Life, and its shadows; yet we sit and sing, + Stretched in the noontide bower, as if the day + Declined not, and we yet might trill our lay + Beneath the pleasant morning's purple wing + That fans us; while aloft the gay clouds shine! + Oh, ere the coming of the long cold night, + Religion, may we bless thy purer light, + That still shall warm us, when the tints decline + O'er earth's dim hemisphere; and sad we gaze + On the vain visions of our passing days! + + +ON ACCIDENTALLY MEETING A LADY NOW NO MORE. + +WRITTEN MANY YEARS AFTER THE FOREGOING SONNETS. + + When last we parted, thou wert young and fair-- + How beautiful let fond remembrance say! + Alas! since then old Time has stol'n away + Nigh forty years, leaving my temples bare:-- + So hath it perished, like a thing of air, + That dream of love and youth:--we now are gray; + Yet still remembering youth's enchanted way, + Though time has changed my look, and blanched my hair, + Though I remember one sad hour with pain, + And never thought, long as I yet might live, + And parted long, to hear that voice again;-- + I can a sad, but cordial greeting, give, + And for thy welfare breathe as warm a prayer, + Lady, as when I loved thee young and fair! + + +ON HEARING "THE MESSIAH" + +PERFORMED IN GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL, SEPT. 18, 1835. + + Oh, stay, harmonious and sweet sounds, that die + In the long vaultings of this ancient fane! + Stay, for I may not hear on earth again + Those pious airs--that glorious harmony; + Lifting the soul to brighter orbs on high, + Worlds without sin or sorrow! + Ah, the strain + Has died--ev'n the last sounds that lingeringly + Hung on the roof ere they expired! + And I, + Stand in the world of strife, amidst a throng, + A throng that recks not or of death, or sin! + Oh, jarring scenes! to cease, indeed, ere long; + The worm hears not the discord and the din; + But he whose heart thrills to this angel song, + Feels the pure joy of heaven on earth begin! + + +WOODSPRING ABBEY, 1836.[14] + + These walls were built by men who did a deed + Of blood:--terrific conscience, day by day, + Followed, where'er their shadow seemed to stay, + And still in thought they saw their victim bleed, + Before God's altar shrieking: pangs succeed, + As dire upon their heart the deep sin lay, + No tears of agony could wash away: + Hence! to the land's remotest limit, speed! + These walls are raised in vain, as vainly flows + Contrition's tear: Earth, hide them, and thou, Sea, + Which round the lone isle, where their bones repose, + Dost sound for ever, their sad requiem be, + In fancy's ear, at pensive evening's close, + Still murmuring{b} MISERERE, DOMINE. + +[14] Three mailed men, in Canterbury Cathedral, rushed on the Archbishop +of Canterbury, and murdered him before the altar. Conscience-stricken, +they fled and built Woodspring Abbey, in the remote corner of +Somersetshire, near Western Super Mare, where the land looks on the +Atlantic sea. There are three unknown graves on the Flat Holms. + + +LACOCK NUNNERY. + +JUNE 24, 1837. + + I stood upon the stone where ELA lay, + The widowed founder of these ancient walls, + Where fancy still on meek devotion calls, + Marking the ivied arch, and turret gray-- + For her soul's rest--eternal rest--to pray;[15] + Where visionary nuns yet seem to tread, + A pale dim troop, the cloisters of the dead, + Though twice three hundred years have flown away! + But when, with silent step and pensive mien, + In weeds, as mourning for her sisters gone, + The mistress of this lone monastic scene + Came; and I heard her voice's tender tone, + I said, Though centuries have rolled between, + One gentle, beauteous nun is left, on earth, alone. + +[15] "Eternam Requiem dona." + + +ON A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE. + + Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee + For hours, unmindful of the storm and strife, + And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life. + Here, all is still as fair; the stream, the tree, + The wood, the sunshine on the bank: no tear, + No thought of Time's swift wing, or closing night, + That comes to steal away the long sweet light-- + No sighs of sad humanity are here. + Here is no tint of mortal change; the day,-- + Beneath whose light the dog and peasant-boy + Gambol, with look, and almost bark, of joy,-- + Still seems, though centuries have passed, to stay. + Then gaze again, that shadowed scenes may teach + Lessons of peace and love, beyond all speech. + + +ART AND NATURE. + +THE BRIDGE BETWEEN CLIFTON AND LEIGH WOODS. + + Frown ever opposite, the angel cried, + Who, with an earthquake's might and giant hand, + Severed these riven rocks, and bade them stand + Severed for ever! The vast ocean-tide, + Leaving its roar without at his command, + Shrank, and beneath the woods through the green land + Went gently murmuring on, so to deride + The frowning barriers that its force defied! + But Art, high o'er the trailing smoke below + Of sea-bound steamer, on yon summit's head + Sat musing; and where scarce a wandering crow + Sailed o'er the chasm, in thought a highway led; + Conquering, as by an arrow from a bow, + The scene's lone Genius by her elfin-thread. + + CLIFTON, _27th August 1836._ + + +PICTURE OF AN OLD MAN. + + Old man, I saw thee in thy garden chair + Sitting in silence 'mid the shrubs and trees + Of thy small cottage-croft, whilst murmuring bees + Went by, and almost touched thy temples bare, + Edged with a few flakes of the whitest hair. + And, soothed by the faint hum of ebbing seas, + And song of birds, and breath of the young breeze, + Thus didst thou sit, feeling the summer air + Blow gently;--with a sad still decadence, + Sinking to earth in hope, but all alone. + Oh! hast thou wept to feel the lonely sense + Of earthly loss, musing on voices gone! + Hush the vain murmur, that, without offence, + Thy head may rest in peace beneath the churchyard stone. + + +PICTURE OF A YOUNG LADY. + + When I was sitting, sad, and all alone, + Remembering youth and love for ever fled, + And many friends now resting with the dead, + While the still summer's light departing shone, + Like many sweet and silent summers gone; + Thou camest, as a vision, with a mien + And smile like those I once on earth had seen, + And with a voice of that remembered tone + Which I in other days, long since, had heard: + Like Peace approaching, when distempers fret + Most the tired spirit, thy fair form appeared; + And till I die, I never shall forget,-- + For at thy footstep light, the gloom was cheered,-- + Thy look and voice, oh! gentle Margaret. + + +HOUR-GLASS AND BIBLE. + + Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass + That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days, + And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says, + To every human heart: so mortals pass + On to their dark and silent grave! Alas + For man! an exile upon earth he strays, + Weary, and wandering through benighted ways; + To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass + That withers at his feet!--Lift up thy head, + Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears; + That book declares whose blood for thee was shed, + Who died to give thee life; and though thy years + Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed, + Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears, + And by his guiding hand thy steps to heaven are led! + + +MILTON. + +ON THE BUSTS OF MILTON, IN YOUTH AND AGE, AT STOURHEAD. + +IN YOUTH. + + Milton, our noblest poet, in the grace + Of youth, in those fair eyes and clustering hair, + That brow untouched by one faint line of care, + To mar its openness, we seem to trace + The front of the first lord of human race, + 'Mid thine own Paradise portrayed so fair, + Ere Sin or Sorrow scathed it: such the air + That characters thy youth. Shall time efface + These lineaments as crowding cares assail! + It is the lot of fall'n humanity. + What boots it! armed in adamantine mail, + The unconquerable mind, and genius high, + Right onward hold their way through weal and woe, + Or whether life's brief lot be high or low! + + +IN AGE. + + And art thou he, now "fall'n on evil days," + And changed indeed! Yet what do this sunk cheek, + These thinner locks, and that calm forehead speak! + A spirit reckless of man's blame or praise,-- + A spirit, when thine eyes to the noon's blaze + Their dark orbs roll in vain, in suffering meek, + As in the sight of God intent to seek, + 'Mid solitude or age, or through the ways + Of hard adversity, the approving look + Of its great Master; whilst the conscious pride + Of wisdom, patient and content to brook + All ills to that sole Master's task applied, + Shall show before high heaven the unaltered mind, + Milton, though thou art poor, and old, and blind! + + +TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. + +ON ACCIDENTLY MEETING AND PARTING WITH SIR WALTER SCOTT, WHOM I HAD NOT +SEEN FOR MANY YEARS, IN THE STREETS OF LONDON, MAY 1828. + + Since last I saw that countenance so mild, + Slow-stealing age, and a faint line of care, + Had gently touched, methought, some features there; + Yet looked the man as placid as a child, + And the same voice,--whilst mingled with the throng, + Unknowing, and unknown, we passed along,-- + That voice, a share of the brief time beguiled! + That voice I ne'er may hear again, I sighed + At parting,--wheresoe'er our various way, + In this great world,--but from the banks of Tweed, + As slowly sink the shades of eventide, + Oh! I shall hear the music of his reed, + Far off, and thinking of that voice, shall say, + A blessing rest upon thy locks of gray! + + +ELEGY WRITTEN AT THE HOTWELLS, BRISTOL, + +JULY, 1789. + +INSCRIBED TO THE REV. W. HOWLEY.[16] + + The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray, 1 + The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold, + Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way, + And long and loud the bell's slow chime is tolled. + + The reddening light gains fast upon the skies, 2 + And far away the glistening vapours sail, + Down the rough steep the accustomed hedger hies, + And the stream winds in brightness through the vale. + + Mark how those riven rocks on either shore 3 + Uplift their bleak and furrowed fronts on high; + How proudly desolate their foreheads hoar, + That meet the earliest sunbeams of the sky! + + Bound for yon dusky mart,[17] with pennants gay, 4 + The tall bark, on the winding water's line, + Between the riven cliffs slow plies her way, + And peering on the sight the white sails shine. + + Alas! for those by drooping sickness worn, 5 + Who now come forth to meet the cheering ray; + And feel the fragrance of the tepid morn + Round their torn breasts and throbbing temples play![18] + + Perhaps they muse with a desponding sigh 6 + On the cold vault that shall their bones inurn; + Whilst every breeze seems, as it whispers by, + To breathe of comfort never to return. + + Yet oft, as sadly thronging dreams arise, 7 + Awhile forgetful of their pain they gaze, + A transient lustre lights their faded eyes, + And o'er their cheek the tender hectic plays. + + The purple morn that paints with sidelong gleam 8 + The cliff's tall crest, the waving woods that ring + With songs of birds rejoicing in the beam, + Touch soft the wakeful nerve's according string. + + Then at sad Meditation's silent hour 9 + A thousand wishes steal upon the heart; + And, whilst they meekly bend to Heaven's high power, + Ah! think 'tis hard, 'tis surely hard to part: + + To part from every hope that brought delight, 10 + From those that loved them, those they loved so much! + Then Fancy swells the picture on the sight, + And softens every scene at every touch. + + Sweet as the mellowed woods beneath the moon, 11 + Remembrance lends her soft-uniting shades; + "Some natural tears she drops, but wipes them soon:"-- + The world retires, and its dim prospect fades! + + Airs of delight, that soothe the aching sense; 12 + Waters of health, that through yon caverns glide; + Oh! kindly yet your healing powers dispense, + And bring back feeble life's exhausted tide! + + Perhaps to these gray rocks and mazy springs 13 + Some heart may come, warmed with the purest fire; + For whom bright Fancy plumes her radiant wings, + And warbling Muses wake the lonely lyre. + + Some orphan Maid, deceived in early youth, 14 + Pale o'er yon spring may hang in mute distress; + Who dream of faith, of happiness, and truth, + Of love--that Virtue would protect and bless. + + Some musing Youth in silence there may bend, 15 + Untimely stricken by sharp Sorrow's dart; + For friendship formed, yet left without a friend, + And bearing still the arrow at his heart. + + Such was lamented RUSSELL'S[19] early doom, 16 + The gay companion of our stripling prime; + Ev'n so he sank unwept into the tomb, + And o'er his head closed the dark gulph of time. + + Hither he came, a wan and weary guest, 17 + A softening balm for many a wound to crave; + And wooed the sunshine to his aching breast, + Which now seems smiling on his verdant grave! + + He heard the whispering winds that now I hear, 18 + As, boding much, along these hills he passed; + Yet ah! how mournful did they meet his ear + On that sad morn he heard them for the last! + + So sinks the scene, like a departed dream, 19 + Since late we sojourned blythe in Wykeham's bowers,[20] + Or heard the merry bells by Isis' stream, + And thought our way was strewed with fairy flowers! + + Of those with whom we played upon the lawn 20 + Of early life, in the fresh morning played; + Alas! how many, since that vernal dawn, + Like thee, poor RUSSELL, 'neath the turf are laid! + + Joyous a while they wandered hand in hand, 21 + By friendship led along the springtide plain; + How oft did Fancy wake her transports bland, + And on the lids the glistening tear detain! + + I yet survive, now musing other song, 22 + Than that which early pleased my vacant years; + Thinking how days and hours have passed along, + Marked by much pleasure some, and some by tears! + + Thankful, that to these verdant scenes I owe 23 + That he[21] whom late I saw all drooping pale, + Raised from the couch of sickness and of woe, + Now lives with me these mantling views to hail. + + Thankful, that still the landscape beaming bright, 24 + Of pendant mountain, or of woodland gray, + Can wake the wonted sense of pure delight, + And charm a while my solitary way. + + Enough:--through the high heaven the proud sun rides, 25 + My wandering steps their silent path pursue + Back to the crowded world where fortune guides: + Clifton, to thy white rocks and woods adieu! + +[16] Afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. + +[17] Bristol. + +[18] From a latin prize poem, by W. Jackson-- + +"Et lacerum Pectus zephyri mulcere tepentes." + +[19] The Rev. Thomas Russell, Fellow of New College, Oxford, author of +some beautiful sonnets, died at the Hotwells 1788, in the twenty-sixth +year of his age. His poems were first published by Mr Howley, with whom +we wooed the Muses together on the banks of Itchen. Headley was a pupil +of Dr Parr. + +[20] Winchester College. + +[21] The Rev. Dr Howley, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. + + +MONODY ON HENRY HEADLEY. + + To every gentle Muse in vain allied, + In youth's full early morning HEADLEY died! + Too long had sickness left her pining trace, + With slow, still touch, on each decaying grace: + Untimely sorrow marked his thoughtful mien! + Despair upon his languid smile was seen! + Yet Resignation, musing on the grave, + (When now no hope could cheer, no pity save), + And Virtue, that scarce felt its fate severe, + And pale Affection, dropping soft a tear 10 + For friends beloved, from whom she soon must part, + Breathed a sad solace on his aching heart. + Nor ceased he yet to stray, where, winding wild, + The Muse's path his drooping steps beguiled, + Intent to rescue some neglected rhyme, + Lone-blooming, from the mournful waste of time; + And cull each scattered sweet, that seemed to smile + Like flowers upon some long-forsaken pile.[22] + Far from the murmuring crowd, unseen, he sought + Each charm congenial to his saddened thought. 20 + When the gray morn illumed the mountain's side, + To hear the sweet birds' earliest song he hied; + When meekest eve to the fold's distant bell + Listened, and bade the woods and vales farewell, + Musing in tearful mood, he oft was seen + The last that lingered on the fading green. + The waving wood high o'er the cliff reclined, + The murmuring waterfall, the winter's wind, + His temper's trembling texture seemed to suit; 29 + As airs of sadness the responsive lute. + Yet deem not hence the social spirit dead, + Though from the world's hard gaze his feelings fled: + Firm was his friendship, and his faith sincere, + And warm as Pity's his unheeded tear, + That wept the ruthless deed, the poor man's fate, + By fortune's storms left cold and desolate. + Farewell! yet be this humble tribute paid + To all his virtues, from that social shade + Where once we sojourned.[23] I, alas! remain + To mourn the hours of youth, yet mourn in vain, 40 + That fled neglected. Wisely thou hast trod + The better path; and that High Meed, which GOD + Ordained for Virtue towering from the dust, + Shall bless thy labours, spirit pure and just! + +[22] Alluding to the _Beauties of Ancient Poetry_, published by Mr +Headley, a short time before his death. He was also the author of some +pleasing original poetry. + +[23] Trinity College, Oxford. Among my contemporaries were several young +men of literary taste and talent, Headley, Kett, Benwell, Dallaway, +Richards, and Dornford; Thomas Warton was one of the Senior Fellows. + + +ON MR HOWARD'S ACCOUNT OF LAZARETTOS. + + Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude, + The path of good right onward hast pursued; + May HE, to whose eternal throne on high + The sufferers of the earth with anguish cry, + Be thy protector! On that dreary road + That leads thee patient to the last abode + Of wretchedness, in peril and in pain, + May HE thy steps direct, thy heart sustain! + 'Mid scenes, where pestilence in darkness flies; + In caverns, where deserted misery lies; 10 + So safe beneath His shadow thou may'st go, + To cheer the dismal wastes of human woe. + O CHARITY! our helpless nature's pride, + Thou friend to him who knows no friend beside, + Is there in morning's breath, or the sweet gale + That steals o'er the tired pilgrim of the vale, + Cheering with fragrance fresh his weary frame, + Aught like the incense of thy sacred flame? + Is aught in all the beauties that adorn + The azure heaven, or purple lights of morn; 20 + Is aught so fair in evening's lingering gleam, + As from thine eye the meek and pensive beam + That falls like saddest moonlight on the hill + And distant grove, when the wide world is still! + Thine are the ample views, that unconfined + Stretch to the utmost walks of human kind: + Thine is the spirit that with widest plan + Brother to brother binds, and man to man. + But who for thee, O Charity! will bear + Hardship, and cope with peril and with care! 30 + Who, for thy sake, will social sweets forego + For scenes of sickness, and the sights of woe! + Who, for thy sake, will seek the prison's gloom, + Where ghastly Guilt implores her lingering doom; + Where Penitence unpitied sits, and pale, + That never told to human ears her tale; + Where Agony, half-famished, cries in vain; + Where dark Despondence murmurs o'er her chain; + Where gaunt Disease is wasted to the bone, + And hollow-eyed Despair forgets to groan! 40 + Approving Mercy marks the vast design, + And proudly cries--HOWARD, the task be thine! + Already 'mid the darksome vaults profound, + The inner prison deep beneath the ground, + Consoling hath thy tender look appeared: + In horror's realm the voice of peace is heard! + Be the sad scene disclosed; fearless unfold + The grating door--the inmost cell behold! + Thought shrinks from the dread sight; the paly lamp + Burns faint amid the infectious vapours damp; 50 + Beneath its light full many a livid mien, + And haggard eye-ball, through the dusk are seen. + In thought I see thee, at each hollow sound, + With humid lids oft anxious gaze around. + But oh! for him who, to yon vault confined, + Has bid a long farewell to human kind; + His wasted form, his cold and bloodless cheek, + A tale of sadder sorrow seem to speak: + Of friends, perhaps now mingled with the dead; + Of hope, that, like a faithless flatterer, fled 60 + In the utmost hour of need; or of a son + Cast to the bleak world's mercy; or of one + Whose heart was broken, when the stern behest + Tore him from pale affection's bleeding breast. + Despairing, from his cold and flinty bed, + With fearful muttering he has raised his head: + What pitying spirit, what unwonted guest, + Strays to this last retreat, these shades unblest? + From life and light shut out, beneath this cell + Long have I bid the cheering sun farewell. 70 + I heard for ever closed the jealous door, + I marked my bed on the forsaken floor, + I had no hope on earth, no human friend: + Let me unpitied to the dust descend! + Cold is his frozen heart--his eye is reared + To Heaven no more--and on his sable beard + The tear has ceased to fall. Thou canst not bring + Back to his mournful heart the morn of spring;-- + Thou canst not bid the rose of health renew + Upon his wasted cheek its crimson hue; 80 + But at thy look, (ere yet to hate resigned, + He murmurs his last curses on mankind), + At thy kind look one tender thought shall rise, + And his full soul shall thank thee ere he dies! + Oh ye, who list to Pleasure's vacant song, + As in her silken train ye troop along; + Who, like rank cowards, from affliction fly, + Or, whilst the precious hours of life pass by, + Lie slumbering in the sun! Awake, arise, + To these instructive pictures turn your eyes; 90 + The awful view with other feelings scan, + And learn from HOWARD what man owes to man! + These, Virtue! are thy triumphs, that adorn + Fitliest our nature, and bespeak us born + For loftier action; not to gaze and run + From clime to clime; nor flutter in the sun, + Dragging a droning flight from flower to flower, + Like summer insects in a gaudy hour; + Nor yet o'er love-sick tales with fancy range, + And cry--'Tis pitiful, 'tis wondrous strange! 100 + But on life's varied views to look around, + And raise expiring sorrow from the ground:-- + And he who thus has borne his part assigned + In the sad fellowship of human kind, + Or for a moment soothed the bitter pain + Of a poor brother, has not lived in vain! + But 'tis not that Compassion should bestow + An unavailing tear on want or woe: + Lo! fairer Order rises from thy plan, + Befriending virtue, and adorning man. 110 + That Comfort cheers the dark abode of pain, + Where wan Disease prayed for relief in vain; + That Mercy soothes the hard behest of law; + That Misery smiles upon her bed of straw; + That the dark felon's clan no more, combined, + Murmur in murderous leagues against mankind; + That to each cell, a mild yet mournful guest, + Contrition comes, and calms the laboring breast, + Whilst long-forgotten tears of virtue flow; + Thou, generous friend of all--to thee we owe! 120 + To thee, that Pity sees her views expand + To many a cheerless haunt, and distant land! + Whilst warm Philanthropy extends her ray, + Wide as the world, and general as the day! + HOWARD! I view those deeds, and think how vain + The triumphs of weak man, the feeble strain + That Flattery brings to Conquest's crimson car, + Amid the bannered host, and the proud tents of war! + From realm to realm the hideous War-fiend hies + Wide o'er the wasted earth; before him flies 130 + Affright, on pinions fleeter than the wind; + Whilst Death and Desolation fast behind + The havoc of his echoing march pursue: + Meantime his steps are bathed in the warm dew + Of bloodshed, and of tears;--but his dread name + Shall perish--the loud clarion of his fame + One day shall cease, and, wrapt in hideous gloom, + Forgetfulness bestride his shapeless tomb! + But bear thou fearless on;--the God of all, + To whom the afflicted kneel, the friendless call, 140 + From His high throne of mercy shall approve + The holy deeds of Mercy and of Love: + For when the vanities of life's brief day + Oblivion's hurrying wing shall sweep away, + Each act by Charity and Mercy done, 145 + High o'er the wrecks of time, shall live alone, + Immortal as the heavens, and beauteous bloom + To other worlds, and realms beyond the tomb. + + +THE GRAVE OF HOWARD. + + Spirit of Death! whose outstretched pennons dread + Wave o'er the world beneath their shadow spread; + Who darkly speedest on thy destined way, + Midst shrieks and cries, and sounds of dire dismay; + Spirit! behold thy victory! Assume + A form more terrible, an ampler plume; + For he, who wandered o'er the world alone, + Listening to Misery's universal moan; + He who, sustained by Virtue's arm sublime, + Tended the sick and poor from clime to clime, 10 + Low in the dust is laid, thy noblest spoil! + And Mercy ceases from her awful toil! + 'Twas where the pestilence at thy command + Arose to desolate the sickening land, + When many a mingled cry and dying prayer + Resounded to the listening midnight air, + When deep dismay heard not the frequent knell, + And the wan carcase festered as it fell: + 'Twas there, with holy Virtue's awful mien, + Amid the sad sights of that fearful scene, 20 + Calm he was found: the dews of death he dried; + He spoke of comfort to the poor that cried; + He watched the fading eye, the flagging breath, + Ere yet the languid sense was lost in death; + And with that look protecting angels wear, + Hung o'er the dismal couch of pale Despair! + Friend of mankind! thy righteous task is o'er; + The heart that throbbed with pity beats no more. + Around the limits of this rolling sphere, + Where'er the just and good thy tale shall hear, 30 + A tear shall fall: alone, amidst the gloom + Of the still dungeon, his long sorrow's tomb, + The captive, mourning, o'er his chain shall bend, + To think the cold earth holds his only friend! + He who with labour draws his wasting breath + On the forsaken silent bed of death, + Remembering thy last look and anxious eye, + Shall gaze around, unvisited, and die. + Friend of mankind, farewell! These tears we shed-- + So nature dictates--o'er thy earthly bed; 40 + Yet we forget not, it was His high will, + Who saw thee Virtue's arduous task fulfil, + Thy spirit from its toil at last should rest:-- + So wills thy GOD, and what He wills is best! + Thou hast encountered dark Disease's train, + Thou hast conversed with Poverty and Pain, + Thou hast beheld the dreariest forms of woe, + That through this mournful vale unfriended go; + And, pale with sympathy, hast paused to hear + The saddest plaints e'er told to human ear. 50 + Go then, the task fulfilled, the trial o'er, + Where sickness, want, and pain are known no more! + How awful did thy lonely track appear, + Enlightening Misery's benighted sphere! + As when an angel all-serene goes forth + To still the raging tempest of the north, + The embattled clouds that hid the struggling day, + Slow from his face retire in dark array; + On the black waves, like promontories hung, + A light, as of the orient morn, is flung, 60 + Till blue and level heaves the silent brine, + And the new-lighted rocks at distance shine; + Ev'n so didst thou go forth with cheering eye-- + Before thy glance the shades of misery fly; + So didst thou hush the tempest, stilling wide + Of human woe the loud-lamenting tide. + Nor shall the spirit of those deeds expire, + As fades the feeble spark of vital fire, + But beam abroad, and cheer with lustre mild + Humanity's remotest prospects wild, 70 + Till this frail orb shall from its sphere be hurled, + Till final ruin hush the murmuring world, + And all its sorrows, at the awful blast + Of the archangel's trump, be but as shadows past! + Relentless Time, that steals with silent tread, + Shall tear away the trophies of the dead. + Fame, on the pyramid's aspiring top, + With sighs shall her recording trumpet drop; + The feeble characters of Glory's hand + Shall perish, like the tracks upon the sand; 80 + But not with these expire the sacred flame + Of Virtue, or the good man's honoured name. + HOWARD! it matters not, that far away + From Albion's peaceful shore thy bones decay: + Him it might please, by whose sustaining hand + Thy steps were led through many a distant land. + Thy long and last abode should there be found, + Where many a savage nation prowls around: + That Virtue from the hallowed spot might rise, + And, pointing to the finished sacrifice, 90 + Teach to the roving Tartar's savage clan + Lessons of love, and higher aims of man. + The hoary chieftain, who thy tale shall hear, + Pale on thy grave shall drop his faltering spear; + The cold, unpitying Cossack thirst no more + To bathe his burning falchion deep in gore; + Relentless to the cry of carnage speed, + Or urge o'er gasping heaps his panting steed! + Nor vain the thought that fairer hence may rise + New views of life, and wider charities. 100 + Far from the bleak Riphean mountains hoar, + From the cold Don, and Wolga's wandering shore, + From many a shady forest's lengthening tract, + From many a dark-descending cataract, + Succeeding tribes shall come, and o'er the place, + Where sleeps the general friend of human race, + Instruct their children what a debt they owe; + Speak of the man who trode the paths of woe; + Then bid them to their native woods depart, + With new-born virtue stirring in their heart. 110 + When o'er the sounding Euxine's stormy tides + In hostile pomp the Turk's proud navy rides, + Bent on the frontiers of the Imperial Czar, + To pour the tempest of vindictive war; + If onward to those shores they haply steer, + Where, HOWARD, thy cold dust reposes near, + Whilst o'er the wave the silken pennants stream, + And seen far off the golden crescents gleam, + Amid the pomp of war, the swelling breast + Shall feel a still unwonted awe impressed, 120 + And the relenting Pagan turn aside + To think--on yonder shore the _Christian_ died! + But thou, O Briton! doomed perhaps to roam + An exile many a year and far from home, + If ever fortune thy lone footsteps leads + To the wild Nieper's banks, and whispering reeds, + O'er HOWARD's grave thou shalt impassioned bend, + As if to hold sad converse with a friend. + Whate'er thy fate upon this various scene, + Where'er thy weary pilgrimage hath been, 130 + There shalt thou pause; and shutting from thy heart + Some vain regrets that oft unbidden start, + Think upon him to every lot resigned, + Who wept, who toiled, and perished for mankind. + For me, who musing, HOWARD, on thy fate, + These pensive strains at evening meditate, + I thank thee for the lessons thou hast taught + To mend my heart, or animate my thought. + I thank thee, HOWARD, for that awful view + Of life which thou hast drawn, most sad, most true. 140 + Thou art no more! and the frail fading bloom + Of this poor offering dies upon thy tomb. + Beyond the transient sound of earthly praise + Thy virtues live, perhaps, in seraph's lays! + I, borne in thought, to the wild Nieper's wave, + Sigh to the reeds that whisper o'er thy grave.[24] + +[24] The town of Cherson, on the Black Sea, where Howard the +philanthropist died, is entirely supplied with fuel by reeds, of which +there is an inexhaustible forest in the shallows of the +Nieper.--_Craven's Travels._ + + +SHAKSPEARE. + + O sovereign Master! who with lonely state 1 + Dost rule as in some isle's enchanted land, + On whom soft airs and shadowy spirits wait, + Whilst scenes of "faerie" bloom at thy command, + On thy wild shores forgetful could I lie, + And list, till earth dissolved to thy sweet minstrelsy! + + Called by thy magic from the hoary deep, 2 + Aerial forms should in bright troops ascend, + And then a wondrous masque before me sweep; + Whilst sounds, _that the earth owned not_, seem to blend + Their stealing melodies, that when the strain + Ceased, _I should weep, and would so dream again_! + + The song hath ceased. Ah! who, pale shade, art thou, 3 + Sad raving to the rude tempestuous night! + Sure thou hast had much wrong, so stern thy brow, + So piteous thou dost tear thy tresses white; + So wildly thou dost cry, _Blow, bitter wind_! + _Ye elements, I call not you unkind_![25] + + Beneath the shade of nodding branches gray, 4 + 'Mid rude romantic woods, and glens forlorn, + The merry hunters wear the hours away; + Rings the deep forest to the joyous horn! + Joyous to all, but him,[26] who with sad look + Hangs idly musing by the brawling brook. + + But mark the merry elves of fairy land![27] 5 + To the high moon's gleamy glance, + They with shadowy morrice dance; + Soft music dies along the desert sand; + Soon at peep of cold-eyed day, + Soon the numerous lights decay; + Merrily, now merrily, + After the dewy moon they fly. + + The charm is wrought: I see an aged form, 6 + In white robes, on the winding sea-shore stand; + O'er the careering surge he waves his wand: + Hark! on the bleak rock bursts the swelling storm: + Now from bright opening clouds I hear a lay, + _Come to these yellow sands, fair stranger,[28] come away!_ + + Saw ye pass by the weird sisters pale![29] 7 + Marked ye the lowering castle on the heath! + Hark, hark, is the deed done--the deed of death! + The deed is done:--Hail, king of Scotland, hail! + I see no more;--to many a fearful sound + The bloody cauldron sinks, and all is dark around. + + Pity! touch the trembling strings, 8 + A maid, a beauteous maniac, wildly sings: + They laid him in the ground so cold,[30] + Upon his breast the earth is thrown; + High is heaped the grassy mould, + _Oh! he is dead and gone._ + The winds of the winter blow o'er his cold breast, + But pleasant shall be his rest. + + O sovereign Master! at whose sole command 9 + We start with terror, or with pity weep; + Oh! where is now thy all-creating wand; + Buried ten thousand thousand fathoms deep! + The staff is broke, the powerful spell is fled, + And never earthly guest shall in thy circle tread. + +[25] Lear. + +[26] Jaques: _As You Like It._ + +[27] _Midsummer Night's Dream._ + +[28] Ferdinand: see _The Tempest._ + +[29] See _Macbeth._ + +[30] Ophelia: _Hamlet._ + + +ABBA THULE'S LAMENT FOR HIS SON PRINCE LE BOO. + + I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound + Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around; + I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness + Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless + The isles again; but my long-straining eye, + No speck, no shadow can, far off, descry, + That I might weep tears of delight, and say, + It is the bark that bore my child away! + Sun, that returnest bright, beneath whose eye + The worlds unknown, and out-stretched waters lie, 10 + Dost thou behold him now! On some rude shore, + Around whose crags the cheerless billows roar, + Watching the unwearied surges doth he stand, + And think upon his father's distant land! + Or has his heart forgot, so far away, + These native woods, these rocks, and torrents gray, + The tall bananas whispering to the breeze, + The shores, the sound of these encircling seas, + Heard from his infant days, and the piled heap + Of holy stones, where his forefathers sleep! 20 + Ah, me! till sunk by sorrow, I shall dwell + With them forgetful in the narrow cell, + Never shall time from my fond heart efface + His image; oft his shadow I shall trace + Upon the glimmering waters, when on high + The white moon wanders through the cloudless sky. + Oft in my silent cave, when to its fire + From the night's rushing tempest we retire, + I shall behold his form, his aspect bland; + I shall retrace his footsteps on the sand; 30 + And, when the hollow-sounding surges swell, + Still think I listen to his echoing shell. + Would I had perished ere that hapless day, + When the tall vessel, in its trim array, + First rushed upon the sounding surge, and bore + My age's comfort from this sheltering shore! + I saw it spread its white wings to the wind, + Too soon it left these hills and woods behind, + Gazing, its course I followed till mine eye + No longer could its distant track descry; 40 + Till on the confines of the billows hoar + A while it hung, and then was seen no more, + And only the blue hollow cope I spied, + And the long waste of waters tossing wide. + More mournful then each falling surge I heard, + Then dropt the stagnant tear upon my beard. + Methought the wild waves said, amidst their roar + At midnight, Thou shalt see thy son no more! + Now thrice twelve moons through the mid heavens have rolled + And many a dawn, and slow night, have I told: 50 + And still as every weary day goes by, + A knot recording on my line I tie;[31] + But never more, emerging from the main, + I see the stranger's bark approach again. + Has the fell storm o'erwhelmed him! Has its sweep + Buried the bounding vessel in the deep! + Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain! + Upon his father did he call in vain! + Have pitiless and bloody tribes defiled + The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child! 60 + Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice; + The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice, + But faint and weary I shall meet the morn, + And 'mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn! + The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud, + O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd; + Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove; + The fisher carols in the winding cove; + And light canoes along the lucid tide + With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide. 70 + I linger on the desert rock alone, + Heartless, and cry for thee, my son, my son. + +[31] I find on referring to the narrative of Captain Wilson's voyage to +the Pelew Islands, that the knots were tied at the time of Prince Le +Boo's departure, and that one was untied every moon by the disconsolate +father. + +The evening before the "Oroolong" sailed, the King asked Captain Wilson +how long it might be before his return to Pelew; and being told that it +would probably be about thirty moons, or might chance to extend to six +more, Abba Thule drew from his basket a piece of line, and after making +thirty knots on it, a little distance from each other, left a long +space, and then adding six others, carefully put it by. + + +SOUTHAMPTON WATER. + + Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas, + Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind, + Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined + Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze + That o'er us whispering passed, or idly played + With the lithe flag aloft. A woodland scene + On either side drew its slope line of green, + And hung the water's shining edge with shade. + Above the woods, Netley! thy ruins pale + Peered as we passed; and Vecta's[32] azure hue 10 + Beyond the misty castle[33] met our view; + Where in mid channel hung the scarce seen sail. + So all was calm and sunshine as we went + Cheerily o'er the briny element. + Oh! were this little boat to us the world, + As thus we wandered far from sounds of care, + Circled by friends and gentle maidens fair, + Whilst morning airs the waving pennant curled; + How sweet were life's long voyage, till in peace + We gained that haven still, where all things cease! 20 + +[32] Isle of Wight. + +[33] Kelshot Castle. + + +THE PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETY.[34] + +INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS. + + When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye, + Retires in silence to her cell to die; + When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread, + Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread; + Who shall approach to bid the conflict cease, + And to her parting spirit whisper peace! + Who thee, poor infant, that with aspect bland + Dost stretch forth innocent thy helpless hand, + Shall pitying then protect, when thou art thrown + On the world's waste, unfriended and alone! 10 + O hapless Infancy! if aught could move + The hardest heart to pity and to love + 'Twere surely found in thee: dim passions mark + Stern manhood's brow, where age impresses dark + The stealing line of sorrow; but thine eye + Wears not distrust, or grief, or perfidy. + Though fortune's storms with dismal shadow lower, + Thy heart nor fears, nor feels the bitter shower; + Thy tear is soon forgotten; thou wilt weep, + And then the murmuring winds will hush thy sleep, 20 + As 'twere with some sad music;--and thy smiles, + Unlike to those that cover cruel wiles, + Plead best thy speechless innocence, and lend + A charm might win the world to be thy friend. + But thou art oft abandoned in thy smiles, + And early vice thy easy heart beguiles. + Oh for some voice, that of the secret maze + Where the grim passions lurk, the winding ways + That lead to sin, and ruth, and deep lament, + Might haply warn thee, whilst yet innocent 30 + And beauteous as the spring-time o'er the hills + Advancing, when each vale glad music fills! + Else lost and wandering, the benighted mind + No spot of rest again shall ever find; + Then the sweet smiles, that erst enchanting laid + Their magic beauty on thy look, shall fade; + Then the bird's warbled song no more shall cheer + With morning music thy delighted ear; + Fell thoughts and muttering passions shall awake, + And the fair rose the sullied cheek forsake! 40 + As when still Autumn's gradual gloom is laid + Far o'er the fading forest's saddened shade, + A mournful gleam illumines the cold hill, + Yet palely wandering o'er the distant rill; + But when the hollow gust, slow rising, raves, + And high the pine on yon lone summit waves, + Each milder charm, like pictures of a dream, + Hath perished, mute the birds, and dark the stream! + Scuds the dreer sleet upon the whirlwind borne, + And scowls the landscape clouded and forlorn! 50 + So fades, so perishes frail Virtue's hue; + Her last and lingering smile seems but to rue, + Like autumn, every summer beauty reft, + Till all is dark and to the winter left. + Yet spring, with living touch, shall paint again + The green-leaved forest, and the purple plain; + With mingling melody the woods shall ring, + The whispering breeze its long-lost incense fling: + But, Innocence! when once thy tender flower + The sickly taint has touched, where is the power 60 + That shall bring back its fragrance, or restore + The tints of loveliness, that shine no more? + How then for thee, who pinest in life's gloom, + Abandoned child! can hope or virtue bloom! + For thee, exposed amid the desert drear, + Which no glad gales or vernal sunbeams cheer! + Though some there are, who lift their head sublime, + Nor heed the transient storms of fate or time; + Too oft, alas! beneath unfriendly skies, + The tender blossom shrinks its leaves, and dies! 70 + Go, struggle with thy fate, pursue thy way;-- + Though thou art poor, the world around is gay! + Thou hast no bread; but on thy aching sight + Proud luxury's pavilions glitter bright; + In thy cold ear the song of gladness swells, + Whilst vacant folly chimes her tinkling bells: + The careless crowd prolong their hollow glee, + Nor one relenting bosom thinks of thee. + Will not the indignant spirit then rebel, + And the dark tide of passions fearful swell! 80 + Will not despight, perhaps, or bitter need, + Urge then thy temper to some direful deed! + Pale Guilt shall call thee to her ghastly band, + Or Murder welcome thee with reeking hand! + O wretched state, where our best feelings lie + Deep sunk in sullen, hopeless apathy! + Or wakeful cares, or gloomy terrors start, + And night and tempest mingle in the heart! + All mournful to the pensive sage's eye, + The monuments of human glory lie; 90 + Fall'n palaces, crushed by the ruthless haste + Of time, and many an empire's silent waste, + Where, 'midst the vale of long-departed years, + The form of desolation dim appears, + Pointing to the wild plain with ruin spread, + The wrecks of age, and records of the dead! + But where a sight shall shuddering sorrow find, + Sad as the ruins of the human mind;-- + As Man, by his GREAT MAKER raised sublime + Amid the universe, ordained to climb 100 + The arduous height where Virtue sits serene;-- + As Man, the high lord of this nether scene, + So fall'n, so lost!--his noblest boast destroyed, + His sweet affections left a piteous void! + But oh, sweet Charity! what sounds were those + That met the listening ear, soft as the close + Of distant music, when the hum of day + Is hushed, and dying gales the airs convey! + Come, hapless orphans, meek Compassion cried, + Where'er, unsheltered outcasts! ye abide 110 + The bitter driving wind, the freezing sky, + _The oppressor's scourge, the proud man's contumely_; + Come, hapless orphans! ye who never saw + A tear of kindness shed on your cold straw; + Who never met with joy the morning light, + Or lisped your little prayer of peace at night; + Come, hapless orphans! nor, when youth should spring + Soaring aloft, as on an eagle's wing, + Shall ye forsaken on the ground be left, + Of hope, of virtue, and of peace bereft! 120 + Far from the springtide gale, and joyous day, + In the deep caverns of Despair ye lay: + She, iron-hearted mother, never pressed + Your wasted forms with transport to her breast; + When none o'er all the world your 'plaint would hear, + She never kissed away the falling tear, + Or fondly smiled, forgetful, to behold + Some infant grace its early charm unfold. + She ne'er with mingling hopes and rising fears, + Sighed for the fortune of your future years: 130 + Or saw you hand in hand rejoicing stray + Beneath the morning sun, on youth's delightful way. + But happier scenes invite, and fairer skies; + From your dark bed, children of woe, arise! + In caves where peace ne'er smiled, where joy ne'er came, + Where Friendship's eye ne'er glistened at the name + Of one she loved, where famine and despair + Sat silent 'mid the damp and lurid air, + The soothing voice is heard; a beam of light + Is cast upon their features, sunk and white; 140 + With trembling joy they catch the stealing sound; + Their famished little ones come smiling round. + Sweet Infancy! whom all the world forsook, + Thou hast put on again thy cherub look: + Guilt, shrinking at the sight, in deep dismay + Flies cowering, and resigns his wonted prey. + But who is she, in garb of misery clad, + Yet of less vulgar mien? A look so sad + The mourning maniac wears, so wild, yet meek; + A beam of joy now wanders o'er her cheek, 150 + The pale eye visiting; it leaves it soon, + As fade the dewy glances of the moon + Upon some wandering cloud, while slow the ray + Retires, and leaves more dark the heaven's wide way. + Lost mother, early doomed to guilt and shame, + Whose friends of youth now sigh not o'er thy name, + Heavy has sorrow fall'n upon thy head, + Yet think--one hope remains when thou art dead; + Thy houseless child, thy only little one, + Shall not look round, defenceless and alone, 160 + For one to guide her youth;--nor with dismay + Each stranger's cold unfeeling look survey. + She shall not now be left a prey to shame, + Whilst slow disease preys on her faded frame; + Nor, when the bloom of innocence is fled, + Thus fainting bow her unprotected head. + Oh, she shall live, and Piety and Truth, + The loveliest ornaments, shall grace her youth. + And should her eye with softest lustre shine, + And should she wear such smiles as once were thine, 170 + The smiles of peace and virtue they shall prove, + Blessing the calm abode of faithful love. + For ye[35] who thus, by pure compassion taught, + Have wept o'er human sorrows;--who have sought + Want's dismal cell, and pale as from the dead + To life and light the speechless orphan led;-- + Trust that the deed, in Mercy's book enrolled, + Approving spirits of the just behold! + Meanwhile, new virtues here, as on the wing + Of morn, from Sorrow's dreary shades shall spring; 180 + Young Modesty, with fair untainted bloom; + And Industry, that sings beside her loom; + And ruddy Labour, issuing from his hatch + Ere the slant sunbeam strikes the lowly thatch; + And sweet Contentment, smiling on a rock, + Like a fair shepherdess beside her flock; + And tender Love, that hastes with myrtle-braid + To bind the tresses of the favoured maid; + And Piety, with unclasped holy book, + Lifting to heaven her mildly-beaming look: 190 + These village virtues on the plain shall throng, + And Albion's hills resound a cheerful song; + Whilst Charity, with dewy eyelids bland, + Leading a lisping infant in her hand, + Shall bend at pure Religion's holy shrine, + And say, These children, GOD OF LOVE, are thine! + +[34] The Philanthropic Society was instituted in September 1788, for the +prevention of crimes, by seeking out and training up to virtue and +industry the children of the most abject and criminal among the vagrant +and profligate poor; by these means more effectually to alleviate human +misery, and to oppose the progress of vice. + +[35] The promoters of the charity. + + +THE DYING SLAVE. + + Faint-gazing on the burning orb of day, + When Afric's injured son expiring lay, + His forehead cold, his labouring bosom bare, + His dewy temples, and his sable hair, + His poor companions kissed, and cried aloud, + Rejoicing, whilst his head in peace he bowed:-- + Now thy long, long task is done, + Swiftly, brother, wilt thou run, + Ere to-morrow's golden beam + Glitter on thy parent stream, 10 + Swiftly the delights to share, + The feast of joy that waits thee there. + Swiftly, brother, wilt thou ride + O'er the long and stormy tide, + Fleeter than the hurricane, + Till thou see'st those scenes again, + Where thy father's hut was reared, + Where thy mother's voice was heard; + Where thy infant brothers played + Beneath the fragrant citron shade; 20 + Where through green savannahs wide + Cooling rivers silent glide, + Or the shrill cicalas sing + Ceaseless to their murmuring; + Where the dance, the festive song, + Of many a friend divided long, + Doomed through stranger lands to roam, + Shall bid thy spirit welcome home! + Fearless o'er the foaming tide + Again thy light canoe shall ride; 30 + Fearless on the embattled plain + Thou shalt lift thy lance again; + Or, starting at the call of morn, + Wake the wild woods with thy horn; + Or, rushing down the mountain-slope, + O'ertake the nimble antelope; + Or lead the dance, 'mid blissful bands, + On cool Andracte's yellow sands; + Or, in the embowering orange-grove, + Tell to thy long-forsaken love 40 + The wounds, the agony severe, + Thy patient spirit suffered here! + Fear not now the tyrant's power, + Past is his insulting hour; + Mark no more the sullen trait + On slavery's brow of scorn and hate; + Hear no more the long sigh borne + Murmuring on the gales of morn! + Go in peace; yet we remain + Far distant toiling on in pain; 50 + Ere the great Sun fire the skies + To our work of woe we rise; + And see each night, without a friend, + The world's great comforter descend! + Tell our brethren, where ye meet, + Thus we toil with weary feet; + Yet tell them that Love's generous flame, + In joy, in wretchedness the same, + In distant worlds was ne'er forgot; + And tell them that we murmur not; 60 + Tell them, though the pang will start, + And drain the life-blood from the heart,-- + Tell them, generous shame forbids + The tear to stain our burning lids! + Tell them, in weariness and want, + For our native hills we pant, + Where soon, from shame and sorrow free, + We hope in death to follow thee! + + +SONG OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN. + + Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb + The heights of yonder hills sublime; + For there strange shapes and spirits dwell,[36] + That oft the murmuring thunders swell, + Of power from the impending steep + To hurl thee headlong to the deep; + But secure with us abide, + By the winding river's side; + Our gladsome toil, our pleasures share, + And think not of a world of care. 10 + The lonely cayman,[37] where he feeds + Among the green high-bending reeds, + Shall yield thee pastime; thy keen dart + Through his bright scales shall pierce his heart. + Home returning from our toils, + Thou shalt bear the tiger's spoils; + And we will sing our loudest strain + O'er the forest-tyrant slain! + Sometimes thou shalt pause to hear + The beauteous cardinal sing clear; 20 + Where hoary oaks, by time decayed, + Nod in the deep wood's pathless glade; + And the sun, with bursting ray, + Quivers on the branches gray. + By the river's craggy banks, + O'erhung with stately cypress-ranks, + Where the bush-bee[38] hums his song, + Thy trim canoe shall glance along. + To-night at least, in this retreat, + Stranger! rest thy wandering feet; 30 + To-morrow, with unerring bow, + To the deep thickets fearless we will go. + +[36] The Indians believe some of their high mountains to be inhabited by +supernatural beings. + +[37] The alligator. + +[38] The bush-bee lives on shrubs and low trees. + + +MONODY, WRITTEN AT MATLOCK. + + Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views, + Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks + Which yon forsaken crag all dark o'erlooks; + Once more I court the long neglected Muse, + As erst when by the mossy brink and falls + Of solitary Wainsbeck, or the side + Of Clysdale's cliffs, where first her voice she tried, + I strayed a pensive boy. Since then, the thralls + That wait life's upland road have chilled her breast, + And much, as much they might, her wing depressed. 10 + Wan Indolence, resigned, her deadening hand + Laid on her heart, and Fancy her cold wand + Dropped at the frown of fortune; yet once more + I call her, and once more her converse sweet, + 'Mid the still limits of this wild retreat, + I woo;--if yet delightful as of yore + My heart she may revisit, nor deny + The soothing aid of some sweet melody! + I hail the rugged scene that bursts around; + I mark the wreathed roots, the saplings gray, 20 + That bend o'er the dark Derwent's wandering way; + I mark its stream with peace-persuading sound, + That steals beneath the fading foliage pale, + Or, at the foot of frowning crags upreared, + Complains like one forsaken and unheard. + To me, it seems to tell the pensive tale + Of spring-time, and the summer days all flown; + And while sad autumn's voice ev'n now I hear + Along the umbrage of the high-wood moan, + At intervals, whose shivering leaves fall sere; 30 + Whilst o'er the group of pendant groves I view + The slowly-spreading tints of pining hue, + I think of poor Humanity's brief day, + How fast its blossoms fade, its summers speed away! + When first young Hope, a golden-tressed boy,[39] + Most musical his early madrigal + Sings to the whispering waters as they fall, + Breathing fresh airs of fragrance and of joy, + The wild woods gently wave, the morning sheds + Her rising radiance on the mountain heads, 40 + Strewed with green isles appears old ocean's reign, + And seen at distance rays of resting light + Silver the farthest promontory's height: + Then hushed is the long murmur of the main, + Whilst silent o'er the slowly-crisping tides, + Bound to some beaming spot, the bark of pleasure glides. + Alas! the scenes that smile in light arrayed + But catch the sense, and then in darkness fade. + We, poor adventurers, of peace bereft, + Look back on the green hills that late we left, 50 + Or turn, with beating breast and anxious eye, + To some faint hope that glimmering meets our sight + (Like the lone watch-tower in the storm of night), + Then on the dismal waste are driv'n despairing by! + Meantime, amid the landscape cold and mute, + Hope, sweet enchanter, sighing drops his lute: + So sad decay and mortal change succeeds, + And o'er the silent scene Time, like a giant, speeds! + Yet the bleak cliffs that lift their heads so high + (Around whose beetling crags, with ceaseless coil, 60 + And still-returning flight, the ravens toil) + Heed not the changeful seasons as they fly, + Nor spring, nor autumn: they their hoary brow + Uprear, and ages past, as in this now, + The same deep trenches unsubdued have worn, + The same majestic frown, and looks of lofty scorn. + So Fortitude, a mailed warrior old, + Appears; he lifts his scar-intrenched crest; + The tempest gathers round his dauntless breast; + He hears far off the storm of havoc rolled; 70 + The feeble fall around: their sound is past; + Their sun is set, their place no more is known; + Like the wan leaves before the winter's blast + They perish:--He, unshaken and alone + Remains, his brow a sterner shade assumes, + By age ennobled, whilst the hurricane, + That raves resistless o'er the ravaged plain, + But shakes unfelt his helmet's quivering plume. + And so yon sovereign of the scene[40] I mark + Above the woods rear his majestic head, 80 + That soon all shattered at his feet shall shed + Their short-lived beauties: he the winter dark + Regardless, and the wasteful time that flies, + Rejoicing in his lonely might, defies. + Thee, wandering in the deep and craggy dell, + Sequestered stream, with other thoughts I view: + Thou dost in solitude thy course pursue, + As thou hadst bid life's busy scenes farewell, + Yet making still such music as might cheer + The weary passenger that journeys near. 90 + Such are the songs of Peace in Virtue's shade; + Unheard of Folly, or the vacant train + That pipe and dance upon the noontide plain, + Till in the dust together they are laid! + But not unheard of Him, who sits sublime + Above the clouds of this tempestuous clime, + Its stir and strife; to whom more grateful rise + The humble incense, and the still small voice + Of those that on their pensive way rejoice, + Than shouts of thousands echoing to the skies; 100 + Than songs of conquest pealing round the car + Of hard Ambition, or the Fiend of War, + Sated with slaughter. Nor may I, sweet stream, + From thy wild banks and still retreats depart, + Where now I meditate my casual theme, + Without some mild improvement on my heart + Poured sad, yet pleasing! so may I forget + The crosses and the cares that sometimes fret + Life's smoothest channel, and each wish prevent 109 + That mars the silent current of content! + In such a spot, amidst these rugged views, + The pensive poet in his drooping age + Might wish to place his reed-roofed hermitage; + Where much on life's vain shadows he might muse. + If fortune smiled not on his early way, + If he were doomed to mourn a faithless friend, + Here he might rest, and when his hairs were gray, + Behold in peace the parting day descend. + If a hard world his errors scanned severe, + When late the earth received his mouldering clay, 120 + Perhaps some loved companion, wandering near, + Plucking the gray moss from the stone, might say: + Him I remember, in our careless days, + Vacant and glad, till many a loss severe + First hung his placid eyelids with a tear; + Yet on such visions ardent would he gaze, + As the Muse loved, that oft would smile and die, + Like the faint bow that leaves the weeping sky; + His heart unguarded, yet it proudly beat + Against hard wrong, or coward cold deceit;-- 130 + Nor passed he e'er without a sigh the cell + Where wretchedness and her pale children dwell. + He never wished to win the world's cold ear, + Nor, prized by those he loved, its blame could fear; + Its praise he left to those who, at their will, + The ingenious strain of torturing art could trill! + Content, as random fancies might inspire, + If his weak reed, at times, or plaintive lyre, + He touched with desultory hand, and drew + Some softened tones, to Nature not untrue. 140 + The leaves, O Derwent! on thy bosom still + Oft with the gust now fall--the season pale + Hath smote with hand unseen the silent vale, + And slowly steals the verdure from the hill; + So the fair scene departs, yet wears a while + The lingering traces of its beauteous smile: + But we who by thy margin stray, or climb + The cliff's aerial height, or join the song + Of hope and gladness amidst yonder throng, + Losing the brief and fleeting hours of time, 150 + Reck not how age, even thus, with icy hand, + Hangs o'er us;--how, as with a wizard's wand, + Youth blooming like the spring, and roseate mirth, + To slow and sere consumption he shall change, + And with invisible mutation strange, + Withered and wasted send them to the earth; + Whilst hushed, and by the mace of ruin rent, + Sinks the forsaken hall of merriment! + Bright bursts the sun upon the shaggy scene! + The aged rocks their glittering summits gray 160 + Hang beautiful amid the beams of day; + And all the woods, with slowly-fading green, + Yet smiling wave:--severer thoughts, away! + The night is distant, and the lovely day + Looks on us yet;--the sound of mirthful cheer + From yonder dome comes pleasant to mine ear. + From rock to rock reverberated swells, + Hark,--the glad music of the village bells! + On the crag's naked point the heifer lows, + And wide below the brightening landscape glows! 170 + Though brief the time and short our course to run, + Derwent! amid the scenes that deck thy side, + Ere yet the parting paths of life divide, + Let us rejoice, seeking what may be won + From the laborious day, or fortune's frown: + Here may we, ere the sun of life goes down, + A while regardless of the morrow, dwell; 177 + Then to our destined roads, and speed us well! + +[39] I have ventured in this place to make Hope a boy. + +[40] Matlock High Tor. + + +THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDMUND BURKE. + + Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind + Science has stored, and Piety refined, + That fading Chivalry displays no more + Her pomp and stately tournaments of yore! + Lo! when Philosophy and Truth advance, + Scared at their frown, she drops her glittering lance; + Round her reft castles the pale ivy crawls, + And sunk and silent are her bannered halls! + As when far off the golden evening sails, + And slowly sink the fancy-painted vales, 10 + With rich pavilions spread in long array; + So rolls the enchanter's radiant realm away; + So on the sight the parting glories fade, + The gorgeous vision sets in endless shade. + But shall the musing mind for this lament, + Or mourn the wizard's Gothic fabric rent! + Shall he, with Fancy's poor and pensive child, + Gaze on his shadowy vales, and prospects wild, + With lingering love, and sighing bid farewell + To the dim pictures of his parting spell! 20 + No, BURKE! thy heart, by juster feelings led, + Mourns for the spirit of high Honour fled; + Mourns that Philosophy, abstract and cold, + Withering should smite life's fancy-flowered mould; + And many a smiling sympathy depart, + That graced the sternness of the manly heart. + Nor shall the wise and virtuous scan severe + These fair illusions, ev'n to nature dear. + Though now no more proud Chivalry recalls + Her tourneys bright, and pealing festivals; 30 + Though now on high her idle spear is hung, + Though Time her mouldering harp has half unstrung; + Her milder influence shall she still impart, + To decorate, but not disguise, the heart; + To nurse the tender sympathies that play + In the short sunshine of life's early way; + For female worth and meekness to inspire + Homage and love, and temper rude desire; + Nor seldom with sweet dreams sad thoughts to cheer, + And half beguile affliction of her tear! 40 + Lo! this her boast; and still, O BURKE! be thine + Her glowing hues that warm, yet tempered shine; + Whilst whispers bland, and fairest dreams, attend + Thy evening path, till the last shade descend! + So may she soothe, with loftier wisdom's aid, + Thy musing leisure in the silent shade, + And bid poor Fancy, her cold pinions wet, + Life's cloudy skies and beating showers forget. + But can her fairest form, her sweetest song, + Soothe thee, assailed by calumny and wrong! 50 + Ev'n now thy foes with louder accents cry: + Champion of unrelenting tyranny, + At Freedom hast thou aimed the deadly blow, + And striven with impious arm to lay her altars low! + No, BURKE! indignant at the voice we start: + We trust thy liberal views, thy generous heart; + We think of those who, naked, pale, and poor, + Relieved and blessed, have wandered from thy door; + We see thee with unwearied step explore + Each track of bloodshed on the farthest shore 60 + Of injured Asia, and thy swelling breast + Harrowing the oppressor, mourning for the oppressed, + No, BURKE! where'er Injustice rears her head, + Where'er with blood her idol grim is fed; + Where'er fell Cruelty, at her command, + With crimson banner marches through the land, + And striding, like a giant, onward hies, + Whilst man, a trodden worm, looks up, and dies; + Where'er pale Murder in her train appears, + With reeking axe, and garments wet with tears; 70 + Or, lowering Jealousy, unmoved as Fate, + Bars fast the prison-cage's iron gate + Upon the buried sorrows and the cries + Of him who there, lost and forgotten, lies;-- + When ministers like these, in fearful state, + Upon a bloody tyrant's bidding wait, + Thou too shalt own (and Justice lift her rod) + The cause of Freedom is the cause of GOD! + Fair spirit, who dost rise in beauteous pride, + Where proud Oppression hath thine arm defied! 80 + When led by Virtue thou dost firm advance, + And bathe in Guilt's warm blood thy burning lance; + When all thy form its awful port assumes, + And in the tempest shake thy crimson plumes, + I mark thy lofty mien, thy steady eye, + So fall thy foes! with tears of joy I cry. + But ne'er may Anarchy, with eyes a-flame, + And mien distract, assume thy awful name; + Her pale torch sheds afar its hideous glare, + And shows the blood-drops in her dabbled hair; 90 + The fiends of discord hear her hollow voice, + The spirits of the deathful storm rejoice: + As when the rising blast with muttering sweep + Sounds 'mid the branches of the forest deep, + The sad horizon lowers, the parting sun + Is hid, strange murmurs through the high wood run, + The falcon wheels away his mournful flight, + And leaves the glens to solitude and night; + Till soon the hurricane, in dismal shroud, + Comes fearful forth, and sounds her conch aloud; 100 + The oak majestic bows his hoary head, + And ruin round his ancient reign is spread: + So the dark fiend, rejoicing in her might, + Pours desolation and the storm of night; + Before her dread career the good and just + Fly far, or sink expiring in the dust; + Wide wastes and mighty wrecks around her lie, + And the earth trembles at her impious cry! + Whether her temple, wet with human gore, + She thus may raise on Gallia's ravaged shore, 110 + Belongs to HIM alone, and His high will, + Who bids the tempests of the world be still.[41] + With joy we turn to Albion's happier plain, + Where ancient Freedom holds her temperate reign; + Where Justice sits majestic on her throne; + Where Mercy turns her ear to every groan. + O Albion! fairest isle, whose verdant plain + Springs beauteous from the blue and billowy main; + In peaceful pomp whose glittering cities rise, + And lift their crowded temples to the skies; 120 + Whose navy on the broad brine awful rolls; + Whose commerce glows beneath the distant poles; + Whose streams reflect full many an Attic pile; + Whose velvet lawns in long luxuriance smile; + Amid whose winding coombs contentment dwells, + Whose vales rejoice to hear the Sabbath bells; + Whose humblest shed, that steady laws protect, + The villager with woodbine bowers hath decked! + Sweet native land, whose every haunt is dear, + Whose every gale is music to mine ear; 130 + Amidst whose hills one poor retreat I sought, + Where I might sometimes hide a saddening thought, + And having wandered far, and marked mankind + In their vain mask, might rest and safety find: + Oh! still may Freedom, with majestic mien, + Pacing thy rocks and the green vales, be seen; + Around thy cliffs, that glitter o'er the main, + May smiling Order wind her silver chain; + Whilst from thy calm abodes, and azure skies, + Far off the fiend of Discord murmuring flies! 140 + To him who firm thy injured cause has fought, + This humble offering, lo! the Muse has brought; + Nor heed thou, BURKE, if, with averted eye, + Scowling, cold Envy may thy worth decry! + It is the lot of man:--the best oft mourn, + As sad they journey through this cloudy bourne: + If conscious Genius stamp their chosen breast, + And on the forehead show her seal impressed, + Perhaps they mourn, in bleak Misfortune's shade, + Their age and cares with penury repaid; 150 + Their errors deeply scanned, their worth forgot, + Or marked by hard injustice with a blot. + If high they soar, and keep their distant way, + And spread their ample pinions to the day, + Malignant Faction hears with hate their name, + And all her tongues are busy with their fame. + But 'tis enough to hold, as best we may, + Our destined track, till sets the closing day; + Whether with living lustre we adorn + Our high sphere, like the radiance of the morn; 160 + Or whether silent in the shade we move, + Cheered by the lonely star of pensive love; + Or whether wild opposing storms we stem, + Panting for Virtue's distant diadem; + 'Tis the unshaken mind, the conscience pure, + That bids us firmly act, meekly endure; + 'Tis this may shield us when the storm beats hard, + Content, though poor, had we no other guard![42] + +[41] These lines were written before the murder of the late King of +France, and many of the events of horror which have since taken place in +that miserable country. + +[42] Milton. + + +ON LEAVING A PLACE OF RESIDENCE. + + If I could bid thee, pleasant shade, farewell + Without a sigh, amidst whose circling bowers + My stripling prime was passed, and happiest hours, + Dead were I to the sympathies that swell + The human breast! These woods, that whispering wave, + My father reared and nursed, now to the grave + Gone down; he loved their peaceful shades, and said, + Perhaps, as here he mused: Live, laurels green; + Ye pines that shade the solitary scene, + Live blooming and rejoice! When I am dead 10 + My son shall guard you, and amid your bowers, + Like me, find shelter from life's beating showers. + These thoughts, my father, every spot endear; + And whilst I think, with self-accusing pain, + A stranger shall possess the loved domain, + In each low wind I seem thy voice to hear. + But these are shadows of the shaping brain + That now my heart, alas! can ill sustain: + We must forget--the world is wide--the abode + Of peace may still be found, nor hard the road. 20 + It boots not, so, to every chance resigned, + Where'er the spot, we bear the unaltered mind. + Yet, oh! poor cottage, and thou sylvan shade, + Remember, ere I left your coverts green, + Where in my youth I mused, in childhood played, + I gazed, I paused, I dropped a tear unseen, + That bitter from the font of memory fell, + Thinking on him who reared you; now, farewell! + + +ELEGIAC STANZAS. + +WRITTEN DURING SICKNESS AT BATH. + + When I lie musing on my bed alone, 1 + And listen to the wintry waterfall;[43] + And many moments that are past and gone, + Moments of sunshine and of joy, recall; + + Though the long night is dark and damp around, 2 + And no still star hangs out its friendly flame; + And the winds sweep the sash with sullen sound, + And freezing palsy creeps o'er all my frame; + + I catch consoling phantasies that spring 3 + From the thick gloom, and as the night airs beat, + They touch my heart, like wind-swift wires[44] that ring + In mournful modulations, strange and sweet. + + Was it the voice of thee, my buried friend? 4 + Was it the whispered vow of faithful love? + Do I in Knoyle's green shades thy steps attend, + And hear the high pines murmur thus above? + + 'Twas not thy voice, my buried friend!--Oh, no: 5 + 'Twas not, O Knoyle! the murmur of thy trees; + But at the thought I feel my bosom glow, + And woo the dream whose air-drawn shadows please. + + And I can think I see the groves again, 6 + The larches that yon peaceful roof embower; + The airy down, the cattle-speckled plain, + And the slant sunshine on the village tower. + + And I can think I hear its Sabbath chime 7 + Come smoothly softened down the woody vale; + Or mark on yon lone eminence sublime, + Fast whirling in the wind, the white mill's sail. + + Phantom, that by my bed dost beckoning glide, 8 + Spectre of Death, to the damp charnel hie! + Thy dim pale hand, thy festering visage hide; + Thou com'st to say, I with thy worms shall lie! + + Thou com'st to say that my once vacant mind 9 + Amid those scenes shall never more rejoice; + Nor on the day of rest the hoary hind + Bend o'er his staff, attentive to my voice. + + Hast thou not visited that pleasant place 10 + Where in this hard world I have happiest been? + And shall I tremble at thy lifted mace + That hath pierced all on which life seemed to lean? + + But Hope might whisper: Many a smiling day 11 + And many a cheerful eve may yet be mine, + Ere age's autumn strew my locks with gray, + And weary to the dust my steps decline. + + I argue not, but uncomplaining bow 12 + To Heaven's high 'hest; secure, whate'er my lot, + Meek spirit of resigned Content, that thou + Wilt smooth my pillow, and forsake me not! + + Thou to the turfy hut with pilgrim feet 13 + Wanderest, from halls of loud tumultuous joy; + Or on the naked down, when the winds beat, + Dost sing to the forsaken shepherd boy. + + Thou art the sick man's nurse, the poor man's friend, 14 + And through each change of life thou hast been mine; + In every ill thou canst a comfort blend, + And bid the eye, though sad, in sadness shine. + + Thee I have met on Cherwell's willowed side, 15 + And when our destined road far onward lay, + Thee I have found, whatever chance betide, + The kind companion of my devious way. + + With thee unwearied have I loved to roam, 16 + By the smooth-flowing Scheldt, or rushing Rhine; + And thou hast gladdened my sequestered home, + And hung my peaceful porch with eglantine. + + When cares and crosses my tired spirits tried, 17 + When to the dust my father I resigned; + Amidst the quiet shade unseen I sighed, + And, blest with thee, forgot a world unkind. + + Ev'n now, while toiling through the sleepless night, 18 + A tearful look to distant scenes I cast, + And the glad objects that once charmed my sight + Remember, like soft views of "faerie" past; + + I see thee come half-smiling to my bed, 19 + With Fortitude more awfully severe, + Whose arm sustaining holds my drooping head, + Who dries with her dark locks the tender tear. + + O firmer Spirit! on some craggy height 20 + Who, when the tempest sails aloft, dost stand, + And hear'st the ceaseless billows of the night + Rolling upon the solitary strand; + + At this sad hour, when no harsh thoughts intrude 21 + To mar the melancholy mind's repose, + When I am left to night and solitude, + And languid life seems verging to its close; + + Oh, let me thy pervading influence feel; 22 + Be every weak and wayward thought repressed; + And hide thou, as with plates of coldest steel, + The faded aspect and the throbbing breast! + + Silent the motley pageant may retreat, 23 + And vain mortality's brief scenes remove; + Yet let my bosom, whilst with life it beat, + Breathe a last prayer for all on earth I love. + + Slow-creeping pain weighs down my heavy eye, 24 + A chiller faintness steals upon my breast; + "O gentle Muse, with some sweet lullaby" + Rock me in long forgetfulness to rest! + +[43] The fall of the river, heard from the Parade. + +[44] The AEolian harp. + + +ON LEAVING WINCHESTER SCHOOL. + +WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1782. + + The spring shall visit thee again, + Itchin! and yonder ancient fane,[45] + That casts its shadow on thy breast, + As if, by many winters beat, + The blooming season it would greet, + With many a straggling wild-flower shall be dressed. + + But I, amid the youthful train + That stray at evening by thy side, + No longer shall a guest remain, + To mark the spring's reviving pride. + I go not unrejoicing; but who knows, + When I have shared, O world! thy common woes, + Returning I may drop some natural tears; + As these same fields I look around, + And hear from yonder dome[46] the slow bell sound, + And think upon the joys that crowned my stripling years! + +[45] St Croix. + +[46] The Cathedral. + + +HOPE, AN ALLEGORICAL SKETCH. + + But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, + What was thy delightful measure? + COLLINS. + + I am the comforter of them that mourn; + My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet, + Cheer the poor passengers of life's rude bourne, + Till they are sheltered in that last retreat, + Where human toils and troubles are forgot. + These sounds I heard amid this mortal road, + When I had reached with pain one pleasant spot, + So that for joy some tears in silence flowed; + I raised mine eyes, sickness had long depressed, + And felt thy warmth, O sun! come cheering to my breast. + + The storm of night had ceased upon the plain, + When thoughtful in the forest-walk I strayed, + To the long hollow murmur of the main + Listening, and to the many leaves that made + A drowsy cadence, as the high trees waved; + When straight a beauteous scene burst on my sight; + Smooth were the waters that the lowland laved: + And lo! a form, as of some fairy sprite, + Who held in her right hand a budding spray, + And like a sea-maid sung her sweetly warbled lay. + + Soothing as steals the summer-wave she sung: + The grisly phantoms of the night are gone + To hear in shades forlorn the death-bell rung; + But thou whom sickness hast left weak and wan, + Turn from their spectre-terrors the green sea + That whispers at my feet, the matin gale + That crisps its shining marge shall solace thee, + And thou my long-forgotten voice shalt hail, + For I am Hope, whom weary hearts confess + The soothest sprite that sings on life's long wilderness. + + As slowly ceased her tender voice, I stood + Delighted: the hard way, so lately passed, + Seemed smooth; the ocean's bright extended flood + Before me stretched; the clouds that overcast + Heaven's melancholy vault hurried away, + Driven seaward, and the azure hills appeared; + The sunbeams shone upon their summits gray, + Strange saddening sounds no more by fits were heard, + But birds, in new leaves shrouded, sung aloft, + And o'er the level seas Spring's healing airs blew soft. + + As when a traveller, who many days + Hath journeyed 'mid Arabian deserts still, + A dreary solitude far on surveys, + And met, nor flitting bird, nor gushing rill, + But near some marble ruin, gleaming pale, + Sighs mindful of the haunts of cheerful man, + And thinks he hears in every sickly gale + The bells of some approaching caravan; + At length, emerging o'er the dim tract, sees + Damascus' golden fanes, and minarets, and trees: + + So beat my bosom when my winding way + Led through the thickets to a sheltered vale, + Where the fair syren sat; a smooth clear bay + Skirted with woods appeared, where many a sail + Went shining o'er the watery surface still, + Lessening at last in the gray ocean flood; + And yonder, half-way up the fronting hill, + Peeping from forth the trees, a cottage stood, + Above whose peaceful umbrage, trailing high, + A little smoke went up, and stained the cloudless sky. + + I turned, and lo! a mountain seemed to rise, + Upon whose top a spiry citadel + Lifted its dim-seen turrets to the skies, + Where some high lord of the domain might dwell; + And onward, where the eye scarce stretched its sight, + Hills over hills in long succession rose, + Touched with a softer and yet softer light, + And all was blended as in deep repose; + The woods, the sea, the hills that shone so fair, + Till woods, and sea, and hills seemed fading into air. + + At once, methought, I saw a various throng + To this enchanting spot their footsteps bend; + All drawn, sweet Hope! by thy inspiring song, + Which melodies scarce mortal seem to blend. + First buxom Youth, with cheeks of glowing red, + Came lightly tripping o'er the morning dew, + He wore a harebell garland on his head, + And stretched his hands at the bright-bursting view: + A mountain fawn went bounding by his side, + Around whose slender neck a silver bell was tied. + + Then said I: Mistress of the magic song, + Oh, pity 'twere that hearts that know no guile + Should ever feel the pangs of truth or wrong! + She heeded not, but sang with lovelier smile: + Enjoy, O youth, the season of thy May; + Hark, how the throstles in the hawthorn sing! + The hoary Time, that resteth night nor day, + O'er the earth's shade may speed with noiseless wing; + But heed not thou; snatch the brief joys that rise, + And sport beneath the light of these unclouded skies. + + His fine eye flashing an unwonted fire, + Then Fancy o'er the glade delighted went; + He struck at times a small and silver lyre, + Or gazed upon the rolling element; + Sometimes he took his mirror, which did show + The various landscape lovelier than the life; + Beaming more bright the vivid tints did glow, + And so well mingled was the colours' strife, + That the fond heart, the beauteous shades once seen, + Would sigh for such retreats, for vales and woods so green! + + Gay was his aspect, and his airy vest, + As loose it flowed, such colours did display, + As paint the clouds reposing in the west, + Or the moist rainbow's radiant arch inlay; + And now he tripped, like fairy of the wood, + And seemed with dancing spirits to rejoice, + And now he hung his head in pensive mood: + Meantime, O Hope! he listened to thy voice, + And whilst of joy and youth it cheerly sung, + He touched his answering harp, and o'er the valley sprung. + + Pleasure, a frolic nymph, to the glad sound + Came dancing, as all tears she might forget; + And now she gazed with a sweet archness round, + And wantonly displayed a silken net: + She won her way with fascinating air-- + Her eyes illumined with a tender light, + Her smile's strange blandishment, her shaded hair + That lengthening hung, her teeth as ivory white, + That peeped from her moist lip, seemed to inspire + Tumultuous wishes warm, and dreams of fond desire. + + What softer passions did thy bosom move, + When those melodious measures met thine ear, + Child of Sincerity, and virtuous Love! + Thine eyes did shine beneath a blissful tear + That still were turned towards the tranquil scene, + Where the thin smoke rose from the embowered cot; + And thou didst think, that there, with smile serene, + In quiet shades, and every pang forgot, + Thou mightest sink on pure Affection's breast, + And listen to the winds that whispered thee to rest. + + I thought, O Love, how seldom art thou found + Without annoyance in this earthly state! + For, haply, thou dost feed some rankling wound, + Or on thy youth pale poverty doth wait, + Till years, on heavy wing, have rolled away; + Or where thou most didst hope firm faith to see, + Thou meetest fickleness estranged and cold; + Or if some true and tender heart there be, + On which, through every change, thy soul might trust, + Death comes with his fell dart, and smites it to the dust! + + But lusty Enterprise, with looks of glee, + Approached the drooping youth, as he would say, + Come to the high woods and the hills with me, + And cast thy sullen myrtle-wreath away. + Upon a neighing courser he did sit, + That stretched its arched neck, in conscious pride, + And champed as with disdain a golden bit, + But Hope her animating voice applied, + And Enterprise with speed impetuous passed, + Whilst the long vale returned his wreathed bugle's blast. + + Suddenly, lifting high his ponderous spear, + A mailed man came forth with scornful pride, + I saw him, towering in his proud career, + Along the valley with a giant stride: + Upon his helm, in letters of bright gold, + That to the sun's meridian splendour shone, + Ambition's name far off I might behold. + Meantime from earth there came a hollow moan; + But Fame, who followed, her loud trumpet blew, + And to the murmuring beach with eyes a-flame he flew. + + And now already had he gained the strand, + Where a tall vessel rode with sail unfurled, + And soon he thought to reach the farther land, + Which to his eager eye seemed like a world + That he by strength might win and make his own; + And in that citadel, which shone so bright, + Seat him, a purple sovereign, on his throne. + So he went tilting o'er the waters white, + And whilst he oft looked back with stern disdain, + In louder tone, methought, was heard the inspiring strain: + + By the shade of cities old,[47] + By many a river stained with gore, + By the sword of Sesac bold, + Who smote the nations from the shore + Of ancient Nile to India's farthest plain, + By Fame's proud pillars, and by Valour's shield + By mighty chiefs in glorious battle slain, + Assert thy sway; amid the bloody field + Pursue thy march, and to the heights sublime + Of Honour's glittering cliffs, a mighty conqueror climb! + + Then said I, in my heart: Man, thou dost rear + Thine eye to heaven, and vaunt thy lofty worth; + The ensign of dominion thou dost bear + O'er nature's works; but thou dost oft go forth, + Urged by proud hopes to ravage and destroy, + Thou dost build up a name by cruel deeds; + Whilst to the peaceful scenes of love and joy, + Sorrow, and crime, and solitude, succeeds. + Hence, when her war-song Victory doth sing, + Destruction flaps aloft her iron-hurtling wing. + + But see, as one awakened from a trance, + With hollow and dim eyes and stony stare, + Captivity with faltering step advance! + Dripping and knotted was her coal-black hair; + For she had long been hid, as in the grave; + No sounds the silence of her prison broke, + Nor one companion had she in her cave, + Save Terror's dismal shape, that no word spoke; + But to a stony coffin on the floor + With lean and hideous finger pointed evermore. + + The lark's shrill song, the early village chime, + The upland echo of the winding horn, + The far-heard clock that spoke the passing time, + Had never pierced her solitude forlorn; + At length, released from the deep dungeon's gloom, + She feels the fragrance of the vernal gale; + She sees more sweet the living landscape bloom, + And while she listens to Hope's tender tale, + She thinks her long-lost friends shall bless her sight, + And almost faints with joy amid the broad daylight. + + And near the spot, as with reluctant feet, + Slowly desponding Melancholy drew, + The wind and rain her naked breast had beat, + Sunk was her eye, and sallow was her hue: + In the huge forest's unrejoicing shade + Bewildered had she wandered day by day, + And many a grisly fiend her heart dismayed, + And cold and wet upon the ground she lay; + But now such sounds with mellow sweetness stole, + As lapped in dreams of bliss her slow-consenting soul. + + Next, to the woody glen poor Mania strayed, + Most pale and wild, yet gentle was her look; + A slender garland she of straw had made, + Of flowers and rushes from the running brook; + But as she sadly passed, the tender sound + Of its sharp pang her wounded heart beguiled; + She dropped her half-made garland on the ground, + And then she sighed, and then in tears she smiled: + But in such sort, that Pity would have said, + O GOD, be merciful to that poor hapless maid! + + Now ravingly she cried: The whelming main-- + The wintry wave rolls over his cold head; + I never shall behold his form again; + Hence flattering fancies--he is dead, is dead! + Perhaps on some wild shore he may be cast, + Where on their prey barbarians howling rush, + Oh, fiercer they, than is the whelming blast! + Hush, my poor heart! my wakeful sorrows, hush! + He lives! I yet shall press him to my heart, + And cry, Oh no, no, no,--we never more will part! + + So sang she, when despairing, from his cell, + Hid furthest in the lone umbrageous wood, + Where many a winter he had loved to dwell, + Came grim Remorse; fixed in deep thought he stood, + His senses pierced by the unwonted tone; + Some stagnant blood-drops from his locks he shook; + He saw the trees that waved, the sun that shone, + He cast around an agonised look; + Then with a ghastly smile, that spoke his pain, + He hied him to his cave in thickest shades again. + + And now the sun sank westward, and the sky + Was hung with thousand lucid pictures gay; + When gazing on the scene{c} with placid eye, + An ancient man appeared in amice gray; + His sandal shoes were by long travel worn, + O'er hill and valley, many a weary mile, + Yet drooped he not, like one in years forlorn; + His pale cheek wore a sad, but tender smile; + 'Twas sage Experience, by his look confessed, + And white as frost his beard descended to his breast. + + Thus said I: Master, pleasant is this place, + And sweet are those melodious notes I hear, + And happy they among man's toiling race + Who, of their cares forgetful, wander near; + Me they delight, whom sickness and slow pain + Have bowed almost to death with heavy hand; + The fairy scenes refresh my heart again, + And, pleased, I listen to that music bland, + Which seems to promise hours of joy to come, + And bids me tranquil seek my poor but peaceful home.[48] + + He said: Alas! these shadows soon may fly, + Like the gay creatures of the element; + Yet do poor mortals still with raptured eye + Behold like thee the pictures they present; + And, charmed by Hope's sweet music, on they fare, + And think they soon shall reach that blissful goal, + Where never more the sullen knell of Care + For buried friends and severed loves shall toll: + So on they fare, till all their troubles cease, + And on a lap of earth they lie them down in peace. + + But not there ceases their immortal claim; + From golden clouds I heard a small voice say: + Wisdom rejoiceth in a higher aim, + Nor heeds the transient shadows of a day; + These earthly sounds may die away, and all + These perishable pictures sink in night, + But Virtue from the dust her sons shall call, + And lead them forth to joy, and life, and light; + Though from their languid grasp earth's comforts fly, + And with the silent worm their buried bodies lie. + + For other scenes there are; and in a clime + Purer, and other strains to earth unknown, + Where heaven's high host, with symphonies sublime, + Sing unto Him that sitteth on the throne. + Enough for man, if he the task fulfil + Which GOD ordained, and to his journey's end + Bear him right on, betide him good or ill; + Then Hope to soothe his death-bed shall descend, + Nor leave him, till in mansions of the blest + He gains his destined home, his everlasting rest. + +[47] Written at the time of Bonaparte's expedition to Egypt. + +[48] That of a village curate. + + +THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.[49] + + Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously! + Upon the shores of that renowned land, + Where erst His mighty arm and outstretched hand + He lifted high, + And dashed, in pieces dashed the enemy;-- + Upon that ancient coast, + Where Pharaoh's chariot and his host + He cast into the deep, + Whilst o'er their silent pomp He bid the swoll'n sea sweep; + Upon that eastern shore, 10 + That saw His awful arm revealed of yore, + Again hath He arisen, and opposed + His foes' defying vaunt: o'er them the deep hath closed! + + Shades of mighty chiefs of yore, + Who triumphed on the self-same shore: + Ammon, who first o'er ocean's empire wide + Didst bid the bold bark stem the roaring tide; + Sesac, who from the East to farthest West + Didst rear thy pillars over realms subdued; + And thou, whose bones do rest 20 + In the huge pyramid's dim solitude, + Beneath the uncouth stone, + Thy name and deeds unknown; + And Philip's glorious son, + With conquest flushed, for fields and cities won; + And thou, imperial Caesar, whose sole sway + The long-disputed world at length confessed, + When on these shores thy bleeding rival lay! + Oh, could ye, starting from your long cold rest, + Burst Death's oblivious trance, 30 + And once again with plumed pride advance, + How would ye own your fame surpassed, + And on the sand your trophies cast, + When, the storm of conflict o'er, + And ceased the burning battle's roar, + Beneath the morning's orient light, + Ye saw, with sails all swelling white, + Britain's proud fleet, to many a joyful cry, + Ride o'er the rolling surge in awful sovereignty! + + For fierce Ambition fired your mind-- 40 + Beside your glittering car, + Amid the thickest war, + Went Superstition, sorceress blind, + In dimly-figured robe, with scowling mien, + Half hid in jealous hood; + And Tyranny, beneath whose helm was seen + His eye suffused with blood; + And giant Pride, + That the great sun with haughty smile defied; + And Avarice, that grasped his guilty gold; 50 + These, as the sorceress her loud sistrum rung, + Their dismal paean sung; + And still, far off, pale Pity hung her head, + Whilst o'er the dying and the dead + The victor's brazen wheels with gory axle rolled. + Now look on him, in holy courage bold; + The asserter of his country's cause behold! + He lifts his gaze to heaven, serenely brave, + And whilst around war's fearful banners wave, + He prays: Protect us, as our cause is just; 60 + For in thy might alone, Judge of the world, we trust! + + And they are scattered--the destroyers die! + They that usurped the bloody victor's claim, + That spoke of freedom; but, behold a cry! + They, that like a wasteful flame, + Or the huge sandy pillar, that amain + Whirls 'mid the silence of the desert plain, + Deathful in their career of terror came, + And scattered ruin as they passed! + So rush they, like the simoom's horrid blast; 70 + They sweep, and all around is wilderness! + But from thy throne on high, + Thou, God, hast heard the cry + Of nations in distress! + Britain goes forth, beneath thy might, + To quell the proud blasphemers in the fight; + And Egypt, far along her winding main, + Echoes the shout of joy, and genuine Freedom's strain! + + Now let them, who thy name, O GOD! defy, + Invoke the mighty Prophet of the East; 80 + Or deck, as erst, the mystic feast + To Ashtaroth, queen of the starry sky! + Let them, in some cavern dark, + Seek Osiris' buried ark; + Or call on Typhon, of gigantic form, + Lifting his hundred arms, and howling 'mid the storm! + Or to that grisly king + In vain their cymbals let them ring, + To him in Tophet's vale revered + (With smoke his brazen idol smeared), 90 + Grim Moloch, in whose fuming furnace blue + The unpitying priest the shrieking infant threw, + Whilst to shrill cries, and drums' and timbrels' sound, + The frantic and unhearing troop danced round; + To _him_ despairing let them go, + And tell their fearful tale of hideous overthrow! + + Calm breathed the airs along the evening bay, + Where, all in warlike pride, + The Gallic squadron stretched its long array; + And o'er the tranquil tide 100 + With beauteous bend the streamers waved on high + But, ah! how changed the scene ere night descends! + Hark to the shout that heaven's high concave rends! + Hark to that dying cry! + Whilst, louder yet, the cannon's roar + Resounds along the Nile's affrighted shore, + Where, from his oozy bed, + The cowering crocodile hath raised his head! + What bursting flame + Lightens the long track of the gleamy brine! 110 + From yon proud ship it came, + That towered the leader of the hostile line! + Now loud explosion rends the midnight air! + Heard ye the last deep groaning of despair? + Heaven's fiery cope unwonted thunders fill, + Then, with one dreadful pause, earth, air, and seas are still! + + But now the mingled fight + Begins its awful strife again! + Through the dun shades of night + Along the darkly-heaving main 120 + Is seen the frequent flash; + And many a towering mast with dreadful crash + Rings falling. Is the scene of slaughter o'er? + Is the death-cry heard no more? + Lo! where the East a glimmering freckle streaks, + Slow o'er the shadowy wave the gray dawn breaks. + Behold, O Sun, the flood + Strewed with the dead, and dark with blood! + Behold, all scattered on the rocking tide, + The wrecks of haughty Gallia's pride! 130 + But Britain's floating bulwarks, with serene + And silent pomp, amid the deathful scene + Move glorious, and more beautiful display + Their ensigns streaming to thy orient ray. + + Awful Genius of the land! + Who (thy reign of glory closed) + By marble wrecks, half-hid in sand, + Hast mournfully reposed; + Who long, amid the wasteful desert wide, + Hast loved with death-like stillness to abide; 140 + Or wrapped in tenfold gloom, + From noise of human things for ages hid, + Hast sat upon the shapeless tomb + In the forlorn and dripping pyramid; + Awake! Arise! + Though thou behold the day no more + That saw thy pride and pomp of yore; + Though, like the sounds that in the morning ray + Trembled and died away + From Memnon's statue; though, like these, the voice 150 + That bade thy vernal plains rejoice, + The voice of Science, is no longer heard; + And all thy gorgeous state hath disappeared: + Yet hear, with triumph, and with hope again, + The shouts of joy that swell from thy forsaken main! + + And, oh! might He, at whose command + Deep darkness shades a mourning land; + At whose command, bursting from night, + And flaming with redoubled light, + The Sun of Science mounts again, 160 + And re-illumes the wide-extended plain! + Might He, from this eventful day, + Illustrious Egypt, to thy shore + Science, Freedom, Peace restore, + And bid thy crowded ports their ancient pomp display! + No more should Superstition mark, + In characters uncouth and dark, + Her dreary, monumental shrine! + No more should meek-eyed Piety + Outcast, insulted lie 170 + Beneath the mosque, whose golden crescents shine, + But starting from her trance, + O'er Nubia's sands advance + Beyond the farthest fountains of the Nile! + The dismal Gallas should behold her smile, + And Abyssinia's inmost rocks rejoice + To hear her awful lore, yet soft consoling voice! + + Hasten, O GOD! the time, when never more + Pale Pity, from her moonlight seat shall hear, + And dropping at the sound a fruitless tear, 180 + The far-off battle's melancholy roar; + When never more Horror's portentous cry + Shall sound amid the troubled sky; + Or dark Destruction's grimly-smiling mien, + Through the red flashes of the fight be seen! + Father in heaven! our ardent hopes fulfil; + Thou speakest "Peace," and the vexed world is still! + Yet should Oppression huge arise, + And with bloody banners spread, + Upon the gasping nations tread, 190 + Whilst he thy name defies, + Trusting in Thee alone, we hope to quell + His furious might, his purpose fell; + And as the ensigns of his baffled pride + O'er the seas are scattered wide, + We will take up a joyous strain and cry-- + Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously! + +[49] This poem, "Coombe Ellen," "St Michael's Mount," _et cet._, down to +the Monody on Dr Warton, originally dedicated to the Countess of +Mansfield, are dated from Donhead, 1802. + + +A GARDEN-SEAT AT HOME. + + Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home, + Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose, + And slender woods that the still scene inclose, + For yon magnificent and ample dome[50] + That glitters in my sight! yet I can praise + Thee, Arundel, who, shunning the thronged ways + Of glittering vice, silently dost dispense + The blessings of retired munificence. + Me, a sequestered cottage, on the verge + Of thy outstretched domain, delights; and here + I wind my walks, and sometimes drop a tear + O'er Harriet's urn, scarce wishing to emerge + Into the troubled ocean of that life, + Where all is turbulence, and toil, and strife. + Calm roll the seasons o'er my shaded niche; + I dip the brush, or touch the tuneful string, + Or hear at eve the unscared blackbirds sing; + Enough if, from their loftier sphere, the rich + Deign my abode to visit, and the poor + Depart not, cold and hungry, from my door. + + DONHEAD, _Oct. 12, 1798._ + +[50] Wardour Castle. + + +IN HORTO REV. J. STILL, + +APUD KNOYLE, VILLAM AMOENISSIMAM. + + Stranger! a while beneath this aged tree + Rest thee, the hills beyond, and flowery meads, + Surveying; and if Nature's charms may wake + A sweet and silent transport at thine heart, + In spring-time, whilst the bee hums heedless nigh, + Rejoice! for thee the verdant spot is dressed, + Circled with laurels green, and sprinkled o'er + With many a budding rose: the shrubs all ring + To the birds' warblings, and by fits the air + Whispers amid the foliage o'er thine head! + Rejoice, and oh! if life's sweet spring be thine, + So gather its brief rose-buds, and deceive + The cares and crosses of humanity. + + +GREENWICH HOSPITAL. + + Come to these peaceful seats, and think no more + Of cold, of midnight watchings, or the roar + Of Ocean, tossing on his restless bed! + Come to these peaceful seats, ye who have bled + For honour, who have traversed the great flood, + Or on the battle's front with stern eye stood, + When rolled its thunder, and the billows red + Oft closed, with sudden flashings, o'er the dead! + Oh, heavy are the sorrows that beset + Old age! and hard it is--hard to forget + The sunshine of our youth, our manhood's pride! + But here, O aged men! ye may abide + Secure, and see the last light on the wave + Of Time, which wafts you silent to your grave; + Like the calm evening ray, that smiles serene + Upon the tranquil Thames, and cheers the sinking scene. + + +A RUSTIC SEAT NEAR THE SEA. + + To him, who, many a night upon the main, + At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side, + Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide, + Oh, how delightful smile thy views again, + Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill + That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill + That o'er the gray sand glitters; the clear sky, + Beneath whose blue vault shines the village tower, + That high elms, swaying in the wind, embower; + And hedge-rows, where the small birds' melody + Solace the lithe and loitering peasant lad! + O Stranger! is thy pausing fancy sad + At thought of many evils which do press + On wide humanity!--Look up; address + The GOD who made the world; but let thy heart + Be thankful, though some heavy thoughts have part, + That, sheltered from the human storms' career, + Thou meetest innocence and quiet here. + + +WARDOUR CASTLE. + + If rich designs of sumptuous art may please, + Or Nature's loftier views, august and old, + Stranger! behold this spreading scene;--behold + This amphitheatre of aged trees, + That solemn wave above thee, and around + Darken the towering hills! Dost thou complain + That thou shouldst cope with penury or pain, + Or sigh to think what pleasures might be found + Amid such wide possessions!--Pause awhile; + Imagine thou dost see the sick man smile; + See the pale exiles, that in yonder dome, + Safe from the wasteful storm, have found a home;[51] + And thank the Giver of all good, that lent + To the humane, retired, beneficent, + The power to bless. Nor lift thy heart elate, + If such domains be thine; but emulate + The fair example, and those deeds, that rise + Like holy incense wafted to the skies; + Those deeds that shall sustain the conscious soul, + When all this empty world hath perished, like a scroll! + +[51] French emigrants, chiefly supported by the bounty of Lord Arundel. + + +POLE-VELLUM, CORNWALL. + +A PICTURESQUE COTTAGE AND GROUNDS BELONGING TO J. LEMON, ESQ. + + Stranger! mark this lovely scene, + When the evening sets serene, + And starting o'er the silent wood, + The last pale sunshine streaks the flood, + And the water gushing near + Soothes, with ceaseless drip, thine ear; + Then bid each passion sink to rest;-- + Should ev'n one wish rise in thy breast, + One tender wish, as now in mine, + That some such quiet spot were thine, + And thou, recalling seasons fled, + Couldst wake the slumbers of the dead, + And bring back her you loved, to share + With thee calm peace and comfort there;-- + Oh, check the thought, but inly pray + To HE, "who gives and takes away," + That many years this fair domain + Its varied beauties may retain;-- + So when some wanderer, who has lost + His heart's best treasure, who has crossed + In life bleak hills and passes rude, + Should gain this lovely solitude; + Delighted he may pause a while, + And when he marks the landscape smile, + Leave with its willows, ere he part, + The blessings of a softened heart. + + JULY 1786. + + +ON A BEAUTIFUL SPRING, + +FORMING A COLD BATH, AT COOMBE, NEAR DONHEAD, BELONGING TO MY BROTHER, +CHAS. BOWLES, ESQ. + + Fountain, that sparklest through the shady place, + Making a soft, sad murmur o'er the stones + That strew thy lucid way! Oh, if some guest + Should haply wander near, with slow disease + Smitten, may thy cold springs the rose of health + Bring back, and the quick lustre to his eye! + The ancient oaks that on thy margin wave, + The song of birds, and through the rocky cave + The clear stream gushing, their according sounds + Should mingle, and, like some strange music, steal + Sadly, yet soothing, o'er his aching breast. + And thou, pale exile from thy native shores,[52] + Here drink,--oh, couldst thou!--as of Lethe's stream! + Nor friends, nor bleeding country, nor the views + Of hills or streams beloved, nor vesper bell, + Heard in the twilight vale, remember more! + +[52] French priests, who have a residence near. + + +A CENOTAPH, + +TO THE MEMORY OF LIEUTENANT-COLONEL ISAAC, WHO DIED AT CAPE ST NICHOLA +MOLE, 1797. + + Oh, hadst thou fall'n, brave youth! on that proud day,[53] + When our victorious fleet o'er the red surge + Rolled in terrific glory, thou hadst fall'n + Most honoured; and Remembrance, while she thought + Upon thy gallant end, had dried her tear! + Now far beyond the huge Atlantic wave + Thy bones decay; the withering pestilence, + That swept the islands of the western world, + Smote thee, untimely drooping to the tomb! + But 'tis enough; whate'er a soldier's fate, + That firm he hied him, where stern honour bade; + Though with unequal strength, he sunk and died. + +[53] The 1st of June 1794, when Colonel Isaac greatly distinguished +himself as commander of the military on board Lord Howe's ship. + + +TRANSLATION{d} OF A LATIN POEM + +BY THE REV. NEWTON OGLE, DEAN OF MANCHESTER. + + Oh thou, that prattling on thy pebbled way + Through my paternal vale dost stray, + Working thy shallow passage to the sea! + Oh, stream, thou speedest on + The same as many seasons gone; + But not, alas, to me + Remain the feelings that beguiled + My early road, when, careless and content, + (Losing the hours in pastimes innocent) + Upon thy banks I strayed a playful child; 10 + Whether the pebbles that thy margin strew, + Collecting, heedlessly I threw; + Or loved in thy translucent wave + My tender shrinking feet to lave; + Or else ensnared your little fry, + And thought how wondrous skilled was I! + So passed my boyish days, unknown to pain, + Days that will ne'er return again. + It seems but yesterday + I was a child, to-morrow to be gray! 20 + So years succeeding years steal silently away. + Not fleeter thy own current, hurrying thee, + Rolls down to the great sea. + Thither oh carry these sad thoughts; the deep + Bury them!--thou, meantime, thy tenor keep, + And winding through the green-wood, cheer, + As erst, my native, peaceful pastures here. + + +ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT. + +INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD SOMERS. + + While summer airs scarce breathe along the tide, + Oft pausing, up the mountain's craggy side + We climb, how beautiful, how still, how clear, + The scenes that stretch around! The rocks that rear + Their shapes, in rich fantastic colours dressed; + The hill-tops, where the softest shadows rest; + The long-retiring bay, the level sand, + The fading sea-line, and the furthest land, + That seems, as low it lessens from the eye, + To steal away beneath the cloudless sky! 10 + But yesterday, the misty morn was spread + In dreariness on the bleak mountain's head; + No glittering prospect from the upland smiled, + The driving squall came dark, the sea heaved wild, + And, lost and lonely, the wayfarer sighed, + Wet with the hoar spray of the flashing tide. + How changed is now the circling scene! The deep + Stirs not; the glancing roofs and white towers peep + Along the margin of the lucid bay; + The sails, descried far in the offing gray, 20 + Hang motionless, and the pale headland's height + Is touched as with sweet gleams of fairy light! + Oh, lives there on earth's busy-stirring scene, + Whom Nature's tranquil charms, her airs serene, + Her seas, her skies, her sunbeams, fail to move + With stealing tenderness and grateful love! + Go, thankless man, to Misery's cave--behold + Captivity, stretched in her dungeon cold! + Or think on those who, in yon dreary mine,[54] + Sunk fathoms deep beneath the rolling brine, 30 + From year to year, amid the lurid shade, + O'er-wearied, ply their melancholy trade; + That thou may'st bless the glorious sun; and hail + Him who with beauty clothed the hill and vale; + Who bent the arch of the high heavens for thee, + And stretched in amplitude the broad blue sea! + Now sunk are all its murmurs; and the air + But moves by fits the bents, that here and there + Upshoot in casual spots of faded green: + Here straggling sheep the scanty pasture glean, 40 + Or, on the jutting fragments that impend, + Stray fearlessly, and gaze, as we ascend.[55] + Mountain, no pomp of waving woods hast thou, + That deck with varied shade thy hoary brow; + No sunny meadows at thy feet are spread, + No streamlets sparkle o'er their pebbly bed! + But thou canst boast thy beauties: ample views + That catch the rapt eye of the pausing Muse; + Headlands around new-lighted; sails, and seas, + Now glassy-smooth, now wrinkling to the breeze; 50 + And when the drisly Winter, wrapped in sleet, + Goes by, and winds and rain thy ramparts beat, + Fancy can see thee standing thus aloof, + And frowning, bleak, and bare, and tempest-proof, + Look as with awful confidence, and brave + The howling hurricane, the dashing wave; + More graceful, when the storm's dark vapours frown, + Than when the summer suns in pomp go down! + And such is he, who, clad in watchet weeds, + And boasting little more than nature needs, 60 + Can wrap him in contentedness, and wear + A port unchanged, in seasons rude or fair. + His may be Fancy's sunshine, and the Muse + May deck his visions with her fairest hues; + And he may lift his honest front, and say + To the hard storm, that rends his locks of gray, + I heed thee not;--he unappalled may stand + Beneath the cloud that shades a sinking land, + While heedless of the storm that onward sweeps, + Mad, impious Riot his loud wassail keeps, 70 + Pre-eminent in native worth; nor bend, + Though gathering ills on his bare head descend: + And when the wasteful storm sweeps o'er its prey, + And rends the kingdoms of the world away, + He, firm as stands the rock's unshaken base, + Yet panting for a surer resting-place, + The human hurricane unmoved can see, + And say, O GOD, my refuge is in Thee! + States, anchored deep, that far their shadow cast, + Rock, and are scattered by the ALMIGHTY'S blast; 80 + As when, awakened from his horrid sleep, + In fiery caves, a thousand fathoms deep, + The Earthquake's Demon hies aloft; he waits, + Nigh some high-turreted proud city's gates, + As listening to the mingled shouts and din + Of the mad crowd that feast or dance within. + Mean time sad Nature feels his sway, the wave + Heaves, and low sounds moan through the mountain cave; + Then all at once is still, still as midnight, + When not the lime-leaf moves: Oh, piteous sight! 90 + For now the glittering domes crash from on high-- + And hark, a strange and lamentable cry! + It ceases, and the tide's departing roar + Alone is heard upon the desert shore, + That, as it sweeps with slow huge swell away, + Remorseless mutters o'er its buried prey. + So Ruin hurrieth o'er this shaken ball: 97 + He bids his blast go forth, and lo! doth fall + A Carthage or a Rome. Then rolls the tide + Of deep Forgetfulness, whelming the pride + Of man, his shattered and forsaken bowers, + His noiseless cities, and his prostrate towers. + Some columns, eminent and awful, stand, + Like Egypt's pillars on the lonely sand; + We read upon their base, inscribed by Fame, + A HOMER'S here, or here a SHAKESPEARE'S name; + Yet think not of the surge, that soon may sweep + Ourselves unnumbered to the oblivious deep. + Yet time has been, as mouldering legends say,[56] + When all yon western tract, and this bright bay, 110 + Where now the sunshine sleeps, and wheeling white + The sea-mew circles in fantastic flight, + Was peopled wide; but the loud storm hath raved, + Where its green top the high wood whispering waved, + And many a year the slowly-rising flood + Raked, where the Druids' uncooth altar stood. + Thou only, aged mountain, dost remain, + Stern monument amidst the deluged plain! + And fruitless the big waves thy bulwarks beat; + The big waves slow retire, and murmur at thy feet:[57] 120 + Thou, half-encircled by the refluent tide, + As if thy state its utmost rage defied, + Dost tower above the scene, as in thine ancient pride. + Mountain! the curious Muse might love to gaze + On the dim record of thy early days; + Oft fancying that she heard, like the low blast, + The sounds of mighty generations past. + Thee the Phoenician, as remote he sailed + Along the unknown coast, exulting hailed, + And when he saw thy rocky point aspire, 130 + Thought on his native shores of Aradus or Tyre. + Distained with many a ghastly giant's blood, + Upon thy height huge Corineus[58] stood, + And clashed his shield; whilst, hid in caves profound, + His monstrous foe cowered at the fearful sound. + Hark to the brazen clarion's pealing swell! + The shout at intervals, the deepening yell! + Long ages speed away, yet now again + The noise of battle hurtles on the plain! + Behold the dark-haired warriors!--down thy side, + O mountain! sternly terrible, they stride! + Ev'n now, impatient for the promised war, + They rear their axes[59] huge, and shouting, cry to Thor. + The sounds of conflict cease--at dead of night + A voice is heard: Prepare the Druid rite! + And hark! the bard upon thy summit rings + The deep chords of his thrilling harp, and sings + To Night's pale Queen, that through the heavens wide, + Amidst her still host list'ning seems to ride! + Slow sinks the cadence of the solemn lay, 150 + And all the sombrous scenery steals away-- + The shadowy Druid throng, the darksome wood, + And the hoar altar, wet with human blood! + Marked ye the Angel-spectre that appeared? + By other hands the holy fane[60] is reared + High on the point, where, gazing o'er the flood, + Confessed, the glittering apparition stood. + And now the sailor, on his watch of night, + Sees, like a glimmering star, the far-off light; + Or, homeward bound, hears on the twilight bay 160 + The slowly-chanted vespers die away! + These scenes are fled and passed, yet still sublime, + And wearing graceful the gray tints of Time, + Upon the steep rock's craggy eminence + The embattled castle sits, surveying thence + The villages that strew the subject plain, + And the long winding of the lucid main: + Meantime the stranger marks its turrets high, + And muses on the tale of changeful years gone by. + Of this no more: lo! here our journey ends; 170 + Wide and more wide the arch of heaven extends, + And on this topmost fragment as we lean, + We feel removed from dim earth's distant scene. + Lift up the hollow trump[61] that on the ground + Is cast, and let it, rolling its long sound, + Speak to the surge below, that we may gain + Tidings from those who traverse the wide main. + Or tread we now some spot of wizard-land, + And mark the sable trump, that may command + The brazen doors to fly, and with loud call 180 + Scare the grim giant in his murky hall! + Hail, solitary castle! that dost crown + This desert summit, and supreme look down + On the long-lessening landscape stretched below; + Fearless to trace thy inmost haunts we go! + We climb the steps:--No warning signs are sent, + No fiery shapes flash on the battlement. + We enter; the long chambers without fear + We traverse; no strange echoes meet the ear; + No time-worn tapestry spontaneous shakes, 190 + No spell-bound maiden from her trance awakes, + But Taste's fair hand arrays the peaceful dome, + And hither the domestic virtues come; + Pleased, while to this secluded scene they bear + Sweets that oft wither in a world of care. + Castle! no more thou frownest on the main + In the dark terror of thy ancient reign; + No more thy long and dreary halls affright, + Swept by the stoled spirits of the night; + But calm, and heedless of the storms that beat, 200 + Here Elegance and Peace assume their seat; + And when the night descends, and Ocean roars, + Rocking without upon his darkened shores, + These vaulted roofs to gentle sounds reply, + The voice of social cheer, or song of harmony.[62] + So fade the modes of life with slow decay, + And various ages various hues display! + Fled are the grimly shadows of Romance-- + And, pleased, we see in beauteous troop advance + New arts, new manners, from the Gothic gloom 210 + Escaped, and scattering flowers that sweetlier bloom! + Refinement wakes; before her beaming eye + Dispersed, the fumes of feudal darkness fly. + Like orient Morning on the mountain's head, + A softer light on life's wide scene is shed; + Lapping in bliss the sense of human cares, + Hark! Melody pours forth her sweetest airs; + And like the shades that on the still lake lie, + Of rocks, or fringing woods, or tinted sky, + Painting her hues on the clear tablet lays, 220 + And her own beauteous world with tender touch displays! + Then Science lifts her form, august and fair, + And shakes the night-dews from her glittering hair; + Meantime rich Culture clothes the living waste, + And purer patterns of Athenian Taste + Invite the eye, and wake the kindling sense; + And milder Manners, as they play, dispense, + Like tepid airs of Spring, their genial influence! + Such is thy boast, Refinement. But deep dyes + Oft mar the splendour of thy noontide skies: 230 + Then Fancy, sick of follies that deform + The face of day, and in the sunshine swarm; + Sick of the fluttering fopperies that engage + The vain pursuits of a degenerate age; + Sick of smooth Sophistry's insidious cant, + Or cold Impiety's defying rant; + Sick of the muling sentiment that sighs + O'er its dead bird, while Want unpitied cries; + Sick of the pictures that pale Lust inflame, + And flush the cheek of Love with deep, deep shame; 240 + Would fain the shade of elder days recall, + The Gothic battlements, the bannered hall; + Or list of elfin harps the fabling rhyme, + Or wrapped in melancholy trance sublime, + Pause o'er the working of some wond'rous tale, + Or bid the spectres of the castle hail! + Oh, might I now, amid the frowning storm, + Behold, great Vision of the Mount! thy form, + Such and so vast as thou wert seen of yore, + When looking steadfast to Bayonna's shore, 250 + Thou sattest awful on the topmost stone, + Making the rock thy solitary throne! + For up the narrow steps, winding with pain, + The watch-tower's loftiest platform now we gain. + Departed spirit! fruitless is the prayer, + We see alone thy long-deserted chair;[63] + And never more, or in the storm of night, + Or by the glimmering moon's illusive light, + Or when the flash, with red and hasty glance, + Sudden illumes the sea's remote expanse, 260 + The shores, the cliffs, the mountain, till again + Deep darkness closes on the roaring main, + Shalt thou, dread Angel, with unaltered mien, + Sublime upon thy cloudy seat be seen! + Yet, musing much on wild tradition's lore, + And many a phantom tale, believed of yore, + Chiefly remembering the sweet song (whose strain + Shall never die) of him who wept in vain + For his loved Lycidas, in the wide sea + Whelmed, when he cried, great Angel, unto thee, 270 + The fabled scene of thy renown we trace, + And hail, with thronging thoughts, thy hallowed resting-place! + The stealing Morn goes out--here let us end + Fitliest our song, and to the shore descend. + Yet once more, azure ocean, and once more, + Ye lighted headlands, and thou stretching shore, + Down on the beauties of your scenes we cast + A tender look, the longest and the last! + Amid the arch of heaven, extended clear, + Scarce the thin flecks of feathery clouds appear; 280 + Beyond the long curve of the lessening bay + The still Atlantic stretches its bright way; + The tall ship moves not on the tranquil brine; + Around, the solemn promontories shine; + No sounds approach us, save, at times, the cry + Of the gray gull, that scarce is heard so high; + The billows make no noise, and on the breast + Of charmed Ocean, Silence sinks to rest! + Oh, might we thus from heaven's bright battlements + Behold the scene Humanity presents; 290 + And see, like this, all harmonised and still, + And hear no far-off sounds of earthly ill! + Wide landscape of the world, in purest light + Arrayed, how fair, how cheering were the sight! + Alas! we think upon this seat of care, + And ask, if peace, if harmony be there. + We hear the clangours and the cries that shake + The mad world, and their dismal music make; + We see gaunt Vice, of dread, enormous size, + That fearless in the broad day sweltering lies, 300 + And scorns the feeble arrow that assails + His Heaven-defying crest and iron scales; + His brows with wan and withered roses crowned, + And reeling to the pipe's lascivious sound, + We see Intemperance his goblet quaff; + And mocking Blasphemy, with mad loud laugh, + Acting before high Heaven a direr part, + Sport with the weapons that shall pierce his heart! + If o'er the southern wave[64] we turn our sight, + More dismal shapes of hideous woe affright: 310 + Grim-visaged War, that ruthless, as he hies, + Drowns with his trumpet's blast a brother's cries; + And Massacre, by yelling furies led, + With ghastly grin and eye-balls rolling red! + O'er a vast field, wide heaped with festering slain, + Hark! how the Demon Passions shout amain, + And cry, exulting, while the death-storm lowers, + Hurrah! the kingdoms of the world are ours! + O GOD! who madest man, I see these things, + And wearied wish for a fleet angel's wings, 320 + That I might fly away, and hear no more + The surge that moans along this mortal shore! + But Joy's unclouded sunshine may not be, + Till, Father of all worlds, we rest with Thee! + Then Truth, uplifting from thy works the pall, + Shall speak: In wisdom hast Thou made them all; + Then angels and archangels, as they gaze, + And all the acclaiming host of heaven, shall raise + The loud hosannah of eternal praise! + Here all is mixed with sorrow; and the clouds 330 + Hang awfully, whose shade the dim earth shrouds; + Therefore I mourn for man, and sighing say, + As down the steep I wind my homeward way, + Oh, when will Earth's long muttering tempests cease, + And all be sunshine (like this scene) and peace! + +[54] A mine called the Wherry-Mine, beneath the surface of the sea near +Penzance. + +[55] Three or four sheep were seen rambling among the precipices, and +picking here and there a blade of grass; but in general the rock is +naked, and extremely steep and craggy. + +[56] Tradition reports that the rock was anciently connected by a large +tract of land with the Isles of Scilly, and that the whole space between +was inundated by an incursion of the sea. + +[57] It is only at high tide the rock is entirely surrounded by the sea; +at low water it is accessible by land. + +[58] One of the supposed followers of Brutus, to whom Cornwall was +allotted. The rather by him liked, says Milton, for that the hugest +giants in rocks and caves were said to lurk there; which kind of +monsters to deal with was his old exercise. + +[59] At the bottom of this mountain, as they were digging for tin, they +found spear-heads, axes, _et cet._--_Camden._ + +[60] A convent built on the top of the rock, where the apparition of St +Michael was said to have appeared. + +[61] A speaking-trumpet lying on the ground. + +[62] This and the foregoing reflections were suggested by seeing +instruments of music, books, _et cet._, in an apartment, elegantly but +appropriately fitted up. + +[63] On the highest turret of the castle is a place called St Michael's +Chair. + +[64] Alluding to the cruelties committed in France. + + +ON AN UNFORTUNATE AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. + +WRITTEN DECEMBER 1783. + + Oh, Mary, when distress and anguish came, + And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame; + When every friend, ev'n like thy bloom, was fled, + And Want bowed low thy unsupported head; + Sure sad Humanity a tear might give, + And Virtue say, Live, beauteous sufferer, live! + But should there one be found, (amidst the few + Who with compassion thy last pangs might view), + One who beheld thy errors with a tear, + To whom the ruins of thy heart were dear, 10 + Who fondly hoped, the ruthful season past, + Thy faded virtues might revive at last; + Should such be found--oh! when he saw thee lie, + Closing on every earthly hope thine eye; + When he beheld despair, with rueful trace, + Mark the strange features of thy altered face; + When he beheld, as painful death drew nigh, + Thy pale, pale cheek, thy feebly lifted eye, + Thy chill, shrunk hand, hung down as in despair, + Or slowly raised, with many a muttered prayer;-- 20 + When thus, in early youth, he saw thee bend + Poor to the grave, and die without a friend; + Some sadder feelings might unbidden start, + And more than common pity touch his heart! + The eventful scene is closed; with pausing dread + And sorrow I drew nigh the silent bed; + Thy look was calm--thy heart was cold and still, + As if the world had never used it ill; + Methought the last faint smile, with traces weak, + Still seemed to linger on thy faded cheek. 30 + Poor Mary! though most beauteous in thy face, + Ere sorrow touched it, beamed each lovely grace; + Yet, oh! thy living features never wore + A look so sweet, so eloquent before, + As this, which bids all human passions cease, + And tells my pitying heart you died in peace! + + +HYMN TO WODEN. + + God of the battle, hear our prayer! + By the lifted falchion's glare; + By the uncouth fane sublime, + Marked with many a Runic rhyme; + By the "weird sisters"[65] dread, + That, posting through the battle red, + Choose the slain, and with them go + To Valhalla's halls below, + Where the phantom-chiefs prolong + Their echoing feast, a giant throng, 10 + And their dreadful beverage drain + From the skulls of warriors slain: + God of the battle, hear our prayer; + And may we thy banquet share! + Save us, god, from slow disease; + From pains that the brave spirit freeze; + From the burning fever's rage; + From wailings of unhonoured age, + Drawing painful his last breath; + Give us in the battle death! 20 + Let us lift our glittering shield, + And perish, perish in the field! + Now o'er Cumri's hills of snow + To death, or victory, we go; + Hark! the chiefs their cars prepare; + See! they bind their yellow hair; + Frenzy flashes from their eye, + They fly--our foes before them fly! + Woden, in thy empire drear, + Thou the groans of death dost hear, 30 + And welcome to thy dusky hall + Those that for their country fall! + Hail, all hail the godlike train, + That with thee the goblet drain; + Or with many a huge compeer, + Lift, as erst, the shadowy spear! + Whilst Hela's inmost caverns dread + Echo to their giant tread, + And ten thousand thousand shields + Flash lightning o'er the glimmering fields! 40 + Hark! the battle-shouts begin-- + Louder sounds the glorious din: + Louder than the ice's roar, + Bursting on the thawing shore; + Or crashing pines that strew the plain, + When the whirlwinds hurl the main! + Riding through the death-field red, + And singling fast the destined dead, + See the fatal sisters fly! + Now my throbbing breast beats high-- 50 + Now I urge my panting steed, + Where the foemen thickest bleed. + Soon exulting I shall go, + Woden, to thy halls below; + Or o'er the victims, as they die, + Chaunt the song of Victory! + +[65] Valkyriae, or choosers of the slain. See Gray's "Fatal Sisters," _et +cet._ + + +COOMBE-ELLEN.[66] + + Call the strange spirit that abides unseen + In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes, + And bid his dim hand lead thee through these scenes + That burst immense around! By mountains, glens, + And solitary cataracts that dash + Through dark ravines; and trees, whose wreathed roots + O'erhang the torrent's channelled course; and streams, + That far below, along the narrow vale, + Upon their rocky way wind musical. + Stranger! if Nature charm thee, if thou lovest 10 + To trace her awful steps, in glade or glen, + Or under covert of the rocking wood, + That sways its murmuring and mossy boughs + Above thy head; now, when the wind at times + Stirs its deep silence round thee, and the shower + Falls on the sighing foliage, hail her here + In these her haunts; and, rapt in musings high, + Think that thou holdest converse with some Power + Invisible and strange; such as of yore + Greece, in the shades of piney Maenalaus, 20 + The abode of Pan, or Ida's hoary caves, + Worshipped; and our old Druids, 'mid the gloom + Of rocks and woods like these, with muttered spell + Invoked, and the loud ring of choral harps. + Hast thou oft mourned the chidings of the world, + The sound of her disquiet, that ascends + For ever, mocking the high throne of GOD! + Hast thou in youth known sorrow! Hast thou drooped, + Heart-stricken, over youth's and beauty's grave, + And ever after thought on the sad sound 30 + The cold earth made, which, cast into the vault, + Consigned thy heart's best treasure--dust to dust! + Here, lapped into a sweet forgetfulness, + Hang o'er the wreathed waterfall, and think + Thou art alone in this dark world and wide! + Here Melancholy, on the pale crags laid, + Might muse herself to sleep; or Fancy come, + Witching the mind with tender cozenage, + And shaping things that are not; here all day + Might Meditation listen to the lapse 40 + Of the white waters, flashing through the cleft, + And, gazing on the many shadowing trees, + Mingle a pensive moral as she gazed. + High o'er thy head, amidst the shivered slate, + Behold, a sapling yet, the wild ash bend, + Its dark red berries clustering, as it wished + In the clear liquid mirror, ere it fell, + To trace its beauties; o'er the prone cascade, + Airy, and light, and elegant, the birch + Displays its glossy stem, amidst the gloom 50 + Of alders and jagged fern, and evermore + Waves her light pensile foliage, as she wooed + The passing gale to whisper flatteries. + Upon the adverse bank, withered, and stripped + Of all its pleasant leaves, a scathed oak + Hangs desolate, once sovereign of the scene, + Perhaps, proud of its beauty and its strength, + And branching its broad arms along the glen: + Oh, speaks it no remonstrance to the heart! + It seems to say: So shall the spoiler come, 60 + The season that shall shatter your fair leaves, + Gay children of the summer! yet enjoy + Your pleasant prime, and lift your green heads high, + Exulting; but the storm will come at last, + That shall lay low your strength, and give your pride + To the swift-hurrying stream of age, like mine. + And so severe Experience oft reproves + The gay and careless children of the world; + They hear the cold rebuke, and then again + Turn to their sport, as likes them, and dance on! 70 + And let them dance; so all their blooming prime + They give not up to vanity, but learn + That wisdom and that virtue which shall best + Avail them, when the evil days draw nigh, + And the brief blossoms of their spring-time fade. + Now wind we up the glen, and hear below + The dashing torrent, in deep woods concealed, + And now again white-flashing on the view, + O'er the huge craggy fragments. Ancient stream, + That murmurest through the mountain solitudes, 80 + The time has been when no eye marked thy course, + Save His who made the world! Fancy might dream + She saw thee thus bound on from age to age + Unseen of man, whilst awful Nature sat + On the rent rocks, and said: These haunts be mine. + Now Taste has marked thy features; here and there + Touching with tender hand, but injuring not, + Thy beauties; whilst along thy woody verge + Ascends the winding pathway, and the eye + Catches at intervals thy varied falls. 90 + But loftier scenes invite us; pass the hill, + And through the woody hanging, at whose feet + The tinkling Ellen winds, pursue thy way. + Yon bleak and weather-whitened rock, immense, + Upshoots amidst the scene, craggy and steep, + And like some high-embattled citadel, + That awes the low plain shadowing. Half-way up + The purple heath is seen, but bare its brow, + And deep-intrenched, and all beneath it spread + With massy fragments riven from its top. 100 + Amidst the crags, and scarce discerned so high, + Hangs here and there a sheep, by its faint bleat + Discovered, whilst the astonished eye looks up, + And marks it on the precipice's brink + Pick its scant food secure:--and fares it not + Ev'n so with you, poor orphans, ye who climb + The rugged path of life without a friend; + And over broken crags bear hardly on, + With pale imploring looks, that seem to say, + My mother! she is buried, and at rest, 110 + Laid in her grave-clothes; and the heart is still, + The only heart that throughout all the world + Beat anxiously for you! Oh, yet bear on; + He who sustains the bleating lamb shall feed + And comfort you: meantime the heaven's pure beam, + That breaks above the sable mountain's brow, + Lighting, one after one, the sunless crags, + Awakes the blissful confidence, that here, + Or in a world where sorrow never comes, + All shall be well. 120 + Now through the whispering wood + We steal, and mark the old and mossy oaks + Imboss the mountain slope; or the wild ash, + With rich red clusters mantling; or the birch, + In lonely glens light-wavering; till behold! + The rapid river shooting through the gloom + Its lucid line along; and on its side + The bordering pastures green, where the swinked ox + Lies dreaming, heedless of the numerous flies + That, in the transitory sunshine, hum 130 + Round his broad breast; and further up the cot, + With blue, light smoke ascending; images + Of peace and comfort! The wild rocks around + Endear your smile the more, and the full mind, + Sliding from scenes of dread magnificence, + Sinks on your charms reposing; such repose + The sage may feel, when, filled and half-oppressed + With vast conceptions, smiling he returns + To life's consoling sympathies, and hears, + With heartfelt tenderness, the bells ring out; 140 + Or pipe upon the mountains; or the low + Of herds slow winding down the cottaged vale, + Where day's last sunshine linger. Such repose + He feels, who, following where his SHAKSPEARE leads, + As in a dream, through an enchanted land, + Here, with Macbeth, in the dread cavern hails + The weird sisters, and the dismal deed + Without a name; there sees the charmed isle, + The lone domain of Prospero; and, hark! + Wild music, such as earth scarce seems to own, 150 + And Ariel o'er the slow-subsiding surge + Singing her smooth air quaintly! Such repose + Steals o'er her spirits, when, through storms at sea, + Fancy has followed some nigh-foundered bark + Full many a league, in ocean's solitude + Tossed far beyond the Cape of utmost Horn, + That stems the roaring deep; her dreary track + Still Fancy follows, and at dead of night + Hears, with strange thunder, the huge fragments fall + Crashing, from mountains of high-drifting ice 160 + That o'er her bows gleam fearful; till at last + She hails the gallant ship in some still bay + Safe moored; or of delightful Tinian; + Smiling, like fairy isle, amid the waste; + Or of New Zealand, where from sheltering rocks + The clear cascades gush beautiful, and high + The woodland scenery towers above the mast, + Whose long and wavy ensign streams beneath. + Far inland, clad in snow, the mountains lift + Their spiry summits, and endear the more 170 + The sylvan scene around; the healing air + Breathes o'er green myrtles, and the poe-bird flits, + Amid the shade of aromatic shrubs, + With silver neck and blue enamelled wing. + Now cross the stream, and up the narrow track, + That winds along the mountain's edge, behold + The peasant girl ascend: cheerful her look, + Beneath the umbrage of her broad black hat, + And loose her dark-brown hair; the plodding pad + That bears her panting climbs, and with sure step 180 + Avoids the jutting fragments; she, meantime, + Sits unconcerned, till, lessening from the view, + She gains the summit and is seen no more. + All day, along that mountain's heathy waste, + Booted and strapped, and in rough coat succinct, + His small shrill whistle pendent at his breast, + With dogs and gun, untired the sportsman roams; + Nor quits his wildly-devious range, till eve, + Upon the woods, the rocks, and mazy rills + Descending, warns him home: then he rejoins 190 + The social circle, just as the clear moon, + Emerging o'er the sable mountain, sails + Silent, and calm, and beautiful, and sheds + Its solemn grandeur on the shadowy scene. + To music then; and let some chosen strain + Of HANDEL gently recreate the sense, + And give the silent heart to tender joy. + Pass on to the hoar cataract,[67] that foams + Through the dark fissures of the riven rock; + Prone-rushing it descends, and with white whirl, 200 + Save where some silent shady pool receives + Its dash; thence bursting, with collected sweep, + And hollow sound, it hurries, till it falls + Foaming in the wild stream that winds below. + Dark trees, that to the mountain's height ascend, + O'ershade with pendent boughs its mossy course, + And, looking up, the eye beholds it flash + Beneath the incumbent gloom, from ledge to ledge + Shooting its silvery foam, and far within + Wreathing its curve fantastic. If the harp 210 + Of deep poetic inspiration, struck + At times by the pale minstrel, whilst a strange + And beauteous light filled his uplifted eye, + Hath ever sounded into mortal ears, + Here I might think I heard its tones, and saw, + Sublime amidst the solitary scene, + With dimly-gleaming harp, and snowy stole, + And cheek in momentary frenzy flushed, + The great musician stand. Hush, every wind + That shakes the murmuring branches! and thou stream, 220 + Descending still with hollow-sounding sweep, + Hush! 'Twas the bard struck the loud strings: Arise, + Son of the magic song, arise! + And bid the deep-toned lyre + Pour forth its manly melodies. + With eyes on fire, + CARADOC rushed upon the foe; + He reared his arm--he laid the mighty low! + O'er the plain see him urge his gore-bathed steed! + They bleed, the Romans[68] bleed! 230 + He lifts his lance on high, + They fly! the fierce invaders fly! + Fear not now the horse or spear, + Fear not now the foeman's might; + Victory the cry shall hear + Of those who for their country fight; + O'er the slain + That strew the plain, + Stern on her sable war-horse shall she ride, + And lift her red right hand, in their heart's blood deep dyed! 240 + Return, my Muse! the fearful sound is past; + And now a little onward, where the way + Ascends above the oaks that far below + Shade the rude steep, let Contemplation lead + Our footsteps; from this shady eminence + 'Tis pleasant and yet fearful to look down + Upon the river roaring, and far off + To see it stretch in peace, and mark the rocks + One after one, in solemn majesty + Unfolding their wild reaches; here with wood 250 + Mantled, beyond abrupt and bare, and each + As if it strove, with emulous disdain, + To tower in ruder, darker amplitude. + Pause, ere we enter the long craggy vale; + It seems the abode of Solitude. So high + The rock's bleak summit[69] frowns above our head, + Looking immediate down, we almost fear + Lest some enormous fragment should descend + With hideous sweep into the vale, and crush + The intruding visitant. No sound is here, 260 + Save of the stream that shrills, and now and then + A cry as of faint wailing, when the kite + Comes sailing o'er the crags, or straggling lamb + Bleats for its mother. Here, remote from man, + And life's discordant roar, might Piety + Lift up her early orisons to Him + Who made the world; who piled up, mighty rocks, + Your huge o'ershadowing summits; who devolved + The mighty rivers on their mazy course; + Who bade the seasons roll, and they rolled on 270 + In harmony; who filled the earth with joy, + And spread it in magnificence. O GOD! + Thou also madest the great water-flood, + The deep that uttereth thy voice; whose waves + Toss fearful at thy bidding. Thou didst speak, + And lo! the great and glorious sun, from night + Tenfold upspringing, through the heavens' wide way + Held his untired career. These, in their course, + As with one shout of acclamation, praise + Thee, LORD! thee, FATHER! thee, ALMIGHTY KING! 280 + Maker of earth and heaven! Nor less the flower + That shakes its purple head, and smiles unseen + Upon the mountain's van; nor less the stream + That tinkles through the cliff-encircled bourne, + Cheering with music the lone place, proclaim: + In wisdom, Father, hast thou made them all! + Scenes of retired sublimity, that fill + With fearful ecstasy and holy trance + The pausing mind! we leave your awful gloom, + And lo! the footway plank, that leads across 290 + The narrow torrent, foaming through the chasm + Below; the rugged stones are washed and worn + Into a thousand shapes, and hollows scooped + By long attrition of the ceaseless surge, + Smooth, deep, and polished as the marble urn, + In their hard forms. Here let us sit, and watch + The struggling current burst its headlong way, + Hearing the noise it makes, and musing much + On the strange changes of this nether world. + How many ages must have swept to dust 300 + The still succeeding multitudes, that "fret + Their little hour" upon this restless scene, + Or ere the sweeping waters could have cut + The solid rock so deep! As now its roar + Comes hollow from below, methinks we hear + The noise of generations, as they pass, + O'er the frail arch of earthly vanity, + To silence and oblivion. The loud coil + Ne'er ceases; as the running river sounds + From age to age, though each particular wave 310 + That made its brief noise, as it hurried on, + Ev'n whilst we speak, is past, and heard no more; + So ever to the ear of Heaven ascends + The long, loud murmur of the rolling globe; + Its strife, its toils, its sighs, its shouts, the same! + But lo! upon the hilly croft, and scarce + Distinguished from the crags, the peasant hut + Forth peeping; nor unwelcome is the sight. + It seems to say: Though solitude be sweet, + And sweet are all the images that float 320 + Like summer-clouds before the eye, and charm + The pensive wanderer's way, 'tis sweeter yet + To think that in this world a brother lives. + And lovelier smiles the scene, that, 'mid the wilds + Of rocks and mountains, the bemused thought + Remembers of humanity, and calls + The wildly-roving fancy back to life. + Here, then, I leave my harp, which I have touched + With careless hand, and here I bid farewell + To Fancy's fading pictures, and farewell 330 + The ideal spirit that abides unseen + 'Mid rocks, and woods, and solitudes. I hail + Rather the steps of Culture, that ascend + The precipice's side. She bids the wild + Bloom, and adorns with beauty not its own + The ridged mountain's tract; she speaks, and lo! + The yellow harvest nods upon the slope; + And through the dark and matted moss upshoots + The bursting clover, smiling to the sun. + These are thy offspring, Culture! the green herb 340 + Is thine, that decks with rich luxuriance + The pasture's lawny range; the yellow corn, + That waves upon the upland ridge, is thine; + Thine too the elegant abode, that smiles + Amidst the rocky scene, and wakes the thought, + The tender thought, of all life's charities. + And senseless were my heart, could I look back + Upon the varied way my feet have trod, + Without a silent prayer that health and joy, + And love and happiness, may long abide 350 + In the romantic vale where Ellen winds. + +[66] Coombe-Ellen (in Welsh, Cwm Elan) is situated among the most +romantic mountains of Radnorshire, about five miles from Rhayd'r. This +poem is inscribed to Thomas Grove, Esq. of Fern, Wiltshire, at whose +summer residence, in Radnorshire, it was written. + +[67] Nant-Vola. + +[68] The _Silures_, comprehending Radnorshire, Herefordshire, +Brecknockshire, Monmouthshire, and Glamorganshire, were the bravest of +the Britons; Caractacus, the greatest and most renowned leader Britain +had ever produced, was their king. + +[69] Dole-Vinoc rock. + + +SUMMER EVENING AT HOME. + + Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace + Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in, + Not with loud shouts, and the thronged city's din, + But with such sounds as bid all tumult cease + Of the sick heart; the grasshopper's faint pipe + Beneath the blades of dewy grass unripe, + The bleat of the lone lamb, the carol rude + Heard indistinctly from the village green, + The bird's last twitter, from the hedge-row seen, + Where, just before, the scattered crumbs I strewed, + To pay him for his farewell song;--all these + Touch soothingly the troubled ear, and please + The stilly-stirring fancies. Though my hours + (For I have drooped beneath life's early showers) + Pass lonely oft, and oft my heart is sad, + Yet I can leave the world, and feel most glad + To meet thee, Evening, here; here my own hand + Has decked with trees and shrubs the slopes around, + And whilst the leaves by dying airs are fanned, + Sweet to my spirit comes the farewell sound, + That seems to say: Forget the transient tear + Thy pale youth shed--Repose and Peace are here. + + +WINTER EVENING AT HOME. + + Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline + Of sharp December through my cottage pane + Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane! + In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine, + Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey + Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way; + And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light, + Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall + Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall, + Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night! + Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze, + Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze, + I think, around me in this twilight room, + I but remark mortality's sad gloom; + Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear, + In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere. + + +THE SPIRIT OF NAVIGATION.[70] + + Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide + Amid the solitude of the vast deep, + For ever listening to the sullen tide, + And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep! + Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice; + The rule of the tempestuous main is thine, + Outstretched and lone; thou utterest thy voice, + Like solemn thunders: These wild waves are mine; + Mine their dread empire; nor shall man profane + The eternal secrets of my ancient reign. + + The voice is vain: secure, and as in scorn, + The gallant vessel scuds before the wind; + Her parting sails swell stately to the morn; + She leaves the green earth and its hills behind; + Gallant before the wind she goes, her prow + High bearing, and disparting the blue tide + That foams and flashes in its rage below; + Meantime the helmsman feels a conscious pride, + And while far onward the long billows swell, + Looks to the lessening land, that seems to say, Farewell! + + Father of storms! then let thy whirlwinds roar + O'er seas of solitary amplitude; + Man, the poor tenant of thy rocky shore, + Man, thy terrific empire hath subdued; + And though thy waves toss his high-foundered bark + Where no dim watch-light gleams, still he defies + Thy utmost rage, and in his buoyant ark + Speeds on, regardless of the darkening skies; + And o'er the mountain-surges, as they roll, + Subdues his destined way, and speeds from pole to pole. + + Behold him now, far from his native plain, + Where high woods shade some wild Hesperian bay, + Or green isles glitter in the southern main, + His streaming ensign to the morn display! + Behold him, where the North's pale meteors dance, + And icy rocks roll glimmering from afar, + Fearless through night and solitude advance! + Or where the pining sons of Andamar, + When dark eclipse has wrapt the labouring moon, + Howl to the demon of the dread monsoon! + + Time was, like them, poor Nature's shivering child, + Pacing the beach, and by the salt spray beat, + He watched the melancholy surge, or smiled + To see it burn and bicker at his feet; + In some rude shaggy spot, by fortune placed, + He dreamed not of strange lands, and empires spread, + Beyond the rolling of the watery waste; + He saw the sun shine on the mountain's head, + But knew not, whilst he hailed the orient light, + What myriads blessed his beam, or sickened at the sight. + + From some dark promontory, that o'erbent + The flashing waves, he heard their ceaseless roar; + Or carolled in his light canoe content, + As, bound from creek to creek, it grazed the shore; + Gods of the storm the dreary space might sweep, + And shapes of death, and gliding spectres gaunt, + Might flit, he thought, o'er the remoter deep; + And whilst strange voices cried, Avaunt, avaunt! + Uncertain lights, seen through the midnight gloom, + Might lure him sadly on to his cold watery tomb. + + No city, then, amid the calm clear day, + O'er the blue waters' undulating line, + With battlements, and fans that glittered gay, + And piers, and thronging masts, was seen to shine. + No cheerful sounds were wafted on the gale, + Nor hummed the shores with early industry; + But mournful birds in hollow cliffs did wail, + And there all day the cormorant did cry, + While with sunk eye, and matted, dripping locks, + The houseless savage slept beneath the foam-beat rocks. + + Thus slumbering long upon the dreamy verge + Of instinct, see, he rouses from his trance! + Faint, and as glimmering yet, the Arts emerge, + One after one, from darkness, and advance, + Beauteous, as o'er the heavens the stars' still way. + Now see the track of his dominion wide, + Fair smiling as the dayspring; cities gay + Lift their proud heads, and o'er the yellow tide, + Whilst sounds of fervent industry arise, + A thousand pennants float bright streaming in the skies! + + Genius of injured Asia! once sublime + And glorious, now dim seen amid the storm, + And melancholy clouds of sweeping time, + Who yet dost half reveal thine awful form, + Pointing, with saddened aspect and slow hand, + To vast emporiums, desolate and waste; + To wrecks of unknown cities, sunk in sand! + 'Twas at thy voice, Arts, Order, Science, Taste. + Upsprung, the East adorning, like the smile + Of Spring upon the banks of thy own swelling Nile. + + 'Twas at thy voice huge Enterprise awoke, + That, long on rocky Aradus reclined, + Slumbered to the hoarse surge that round her broke, + And hollow pipings of the idle wind; + She heard thy voice, upon the rock she stood + Gigantic, the rude scene she marked--she cried, + Let there be intercourse, and the great flood + Waft the rich plenty to these shores denied! + And soon thine eye delighted saw aspire, + Crowning the midland main, thy own Imperial Tyre. + + Queen of the waters! who didst ope the gate + Of Commerce, and display in lands unknown + Thy venturous sail, ev'n now in ancient state + Methinks I see thee on thy rocky throne; + I see their massy piles thy cothons[71] rear, + And on the deep a solemn shadow cast; + I traverse thy once echoing shores, and hear + The sound of mighty generations past: + I see thy kingly merchants' thronged resort, + And gold and purple gleam o'er all thy spacious port. + + I mark thy glittering galleys sweep along-- + The steady rowers to the strokes incline, + And chaunt in unison their choral song; + White through their oars the ivory benches shine; + The fine-wrought sails, which looms of Egypt wove, + Swell beautiful beneath the bending mast; + Hewn from proud Lebanon's immortal grove, + The oaks of Bashan brave the roaring blast! + So o'er the western wave thy vessels float, + For verdant Egypt bound, or Calpe's cliffs remote. + + Queen of the waters! throned upon thy seat + Amid the sea, thy beauty and thy fame + The deep, that rolls low-murmuring at thy feet, + And all the multitude of isles, proclaim! + For thee Damascus piles her woolly store; + To thee their flocks Arabia's princes bring; + And Sheba heaps her spice and glittering ore; + The ships of Tarshish of thy glory sing:[72] + Queen of the waters! who is like to thee, + Replenished in thy might, and throned on the sea! + + The purple streamers fly, the trumpets sound, + The adventurous bark glides on in tranquil state; + The voyagers, with leafy garlands crowned, + Draw back their arms together, and elate + Sweep o'er the surge; the spray far scattered flies + Beneath the stroke of their unwearied oars; + To their loud shouts the circling coast replies; + And now, o'er the deep ocean, where it roars + They fly; till slowly lessening from the shore, + Beneath the haze they sink--sink, and are seen no more. + + When Night descends, and with her silver bow + The Queen of Heaven[73] comes forth in radiance bright, + Surveying the dim earth and seas below; + Why from afar resounds the mystic rite + Hymned round her uncouth altar? Virgins there + (Amid the brazen cymbal's hollow ring) + And aged priests the solemn feast prepare; + To her their nightly orisons they sing; + That she may look from her high throne, and guide + The wandering bark secure along the trackless tide. + + Her on his nightly watch the pilot views + Careful, and by her soft and tranquil light, + Along the uncertain coast his track pursues; + And now he sees great Carmel's woody height, + Where nightly fires to grisly Baal burn; + Round the rough cape he winds; meantime far on + Thick eddying scuds the hollow surf upturn; + He thinks of the sweet light of summer gone! + He thinks, perhaps, dashed on the rugged shore, + He never shall behold his babes' loved mother more! + + Slow comes the morn; but ah! what demon form,[74] + While pealing thunder the high concave rends, + Rises more vast amid the rushing storm! + With dreadful shade his horrid bulk ascends + Dark to the driving clouds; beneath him roars + The deep; his troubled brow is wrapped in gloom; + See, it moves onwards; now more huge it soars! + Who shall avert the poor seafarer's doom! + Who now shall save him from the spectre's might + That treads the rocking waves in thunder and in night! + + Dread phantom! art thou he whose fearful sway, + As Egypt's hoary chronicles have told, + The clouds, the whirlwinds, and the seas obey, + Typhon, of aspect hideous to behold! + Oh, spare the wretched wanderers, who, led + By flattering hopes, have left the peaceful shore! + Behold, they shrink, they bend with speechless dread; + From their faint grasp drops the unheeded oar! + It answers not, but mingling seas and sky, + In clouds, and wind, and thunder, rushes by. + + Hail to thy light, lord of the golden day, + That, bursting through the sable clouds again, + Dost cheer the seaman's solitary way, + And with new splendour deck the lucid main! + And lo! the voyage past, where many a palm,[75] + Its green top only seen, the prospect bounds, + Fringing the sunny sea-line, clear and calm; + Now hark the slowly-swelling human sounds! + Meantime the bark along the placid bay + Of Tamiatis keeps her easy-winding way. + + Here rest we safe from scenes of peril past, + No danger lurks in this serene retreat; + No more is heard the roaring of the blast, + But pastoral sounds of scattered flocks that bleat, + Or evening herds that o'er the champaign low; + Here citrons tall and purple dates around + Delicious fragrance and cool shade bestow; + The shores with murmuring industry resound; + While through the vernal pastures where he strays, + The Nile, as with delight, his mazy course delays. + +[70] Inscribed to the Rev. Dr Vincent Hind, Master of Westminster +School. + +[71] Artificial harbours. + +[72] Ezekiel xxvii. 25, "The ships of Tarshish did sing of thee, and +thou wast replenished, and made very glorious in the midst of the seas." + +[73] Astarte, or the Moon, the goddess of the Sidonians, called the +_Queen of Heaven_. "The women knead their dough, to make cakes to the +Queen of Heaven" (Jer. vii. 18). + +[74] Waterspouts are more frequent near the capes of Latikea, Grecgo, +and Carmel, than in any other parts of the Mediterranean Sea.--_Shaw's +Travels._ + +[75] The coast of Egypt is not discovered till its trees are seen. + + +WATER-PARTY ON BEAULIEU RIVER, IN THE NEW FOREST. + + I thought 'twas a toy of the fancy, a dream + That leads with illusion the senses astray, + And I sighed with delight as we stole down the stream, + While the sun, as he smiled on our sail, seemed to say, + Rejoice in my light, ere it fade fast away! + + We left the loud rocking of ocean behind, + And stealing along the clear current serene, + The Phaedria[76] spread her white sails to the wind, + And they who divided had many a day been, + Gazed with added delight on the charms of the scene. + + Each bosom one spirit of peace seemed to feel; + We heard not the tossing, the stir, and the roar + Of the ocean without; we heard only the keel, + The keel that went whispering along the green shore, + And the stroke, as it dipped, of the feathering oar. + + Beneath the dark woods now, as winding we go, + What sounds of rich harmony burst on the ear! + Hark, cheer'ly the loud-swelling clarionets blow; + Now the tones gently die, now more mellow we hear + The horns through the high forest echoing clear! + + They cease; and no longer the echoes prolong + The swell of the concert; in silence we float-- + In silence! Oh, listen! 'tis woman's[77] sweet song-- + The bends of the river reply to each note, + And the oar is held dripping and still from the boat. + + Mark the sun that descends o'er the curve of the flood! + Seize, Wilmot,[78] the pencil, and instant convey + To the tablet the water, the banks, and the wood, + That their colours may live without change or decay, + When these beautiful tints die in darkness away. + + So when we are parted, and tossed on the deep, + And no longer the light on our prospect shall gleam, + The semblance of one lovely scene we may keep, + And remember the day, and the hour, like a dream, + When we sighed with delight as we stole down the stream! + +[76] Cutter belonging to Nathaniel Ogle, Esq. + +[77] Mrs Sheridan. + +[78] Mrs Wilmot, well known for her great talents in drawing, _et cet._ + + +MONODY ON THE DEATH OF DR WARTON. + + Oh! I should ill thy generous cares requite + Thou who didst first inspire my timid Muse, + Could I one tuneful tear to thee refuse, + Now that thine aged eyes are closed in night, + Kind Warton! Thou hast stroked my stripling head, + And sometimes, mingling soft reproof with praise, + My path hast best directed through the maze + Of thorny life: by thee my steps were led + To that romantic valley, high o'erhung + With sable woods, where many a minstrel rung 10 + His bold harp to the sweeping waterfall; + Whilst Fancy loved around each form to call + That fill the poet's dream: to this retreat + Of Fancy, (won by whose enticing lay + I have forgot how sunk the summer's day), + Thou first did guide my not unwilling feet; + Meantime inspiring the gay breast of youth + With love of taste, of science, and of truth. + The first inciting sounds of human praise, + A parent's love excepted, came from thee; 20 + And but for thee, perhaps, my boyish days + Had all passed idly, and whate'er in me + Now live of hope, been buried. + I was one, + Long bound by cold dejection's numbing chain, + As in a torpid trance, that deemed it vain + To struggle; nor my eyelids to the sun + Uplifted: but I heard thy cheering voice; + I shook my deadly slumber off; I gazed + Delighted 'round; awaked, inspired, amazed, 30 + I marked another world, and in my choice + Lovelier, and decked with light! On fairy ground + Methought I buoyant trod, and heard the sound + As of enchanting melodies, that stole, + Stole gently, and entranced my captive soul. + Then all was life and hope! 'Twas thy first ray, + Sweet Fancy, on the heart; as when the day + Of Spring, along the melancholy tract + Of wintry Lapland, dawns; the cataract, + From ice dissolving on the silent side 40 + Of some white precipice, with paly gleam + Descends, while the cold hills a slanting beam + Faint tinges: till, ascending in his pride, + The great Sun from the red horizon looks, + And wakes the tuneless birds, the stagnant brooks, + And sleeping lakes! So on my mind's cold night + The ray of Fancy shone, and gave delight + And hope past utterance. + Thy cheering voice, + O Warton! bade my silent heart rejoice, 50 + And wake to love of nature; every breeze, + On Itchin's brink was melody; the trees + Waved in fresh beauty; and the wind and rain, + That shook the battlements of Wykeham's fane, + Not less delighted, when, with random pace, + I trod the cloistered aisles; and witness thou, + Catherine,[79] upon whose foss-encircled brow + We met the morning, how I loved to trace + The prospect spread around; the rills below, + That shone irriguous in the gleaming plain; 60 + The river's bend, where the dark barge went slow, + And the pale light on yonder time-worn fane![80] + So passed my days with new delight; mean time + To Learning's tender eye thou didst unfold + The classic page, and what high bards of old, + With solemn notes, and minstrelsy sublime, + Have chanted, we together heard; and thou, + Warton! wouldst bid me listen, till a tear + Sprang to mine eye: now the bold song we hear + Of Greece's sightless master-bard:[81] the breast 70 + Beats high; with stern Pelides to the plain + We rush; or o'er the corpse of Hector slain + Hang pitying;--and lo! where pale, oppressed + With age and grief, sad Priam comes;[82] with beard + All white he bows, kissing the hands besmeared + With his last hope's best blood! + The oaten reed[83] + Now from the mountain sounds; the sylvan Muse, + Reclined by the clear stream of Arethuse, + Wakes the Sicilian pipe; the sunny mead 80 + Swarms with the bees, whose drowsy lullaby + Soothes the reclining ox with half-closed eye; + While in soft cadence to the madrigal, + From rock to rock the whispering waters fall! + But who is he,[84] that, by yon gloomy cave, + Bids heaven and earth bear witness to his woe! + And hark! how hollowly the ocean-wave + Echoes his plaint, and murmurs deep below! + Haste, let the tall ship stem the tossing tide, + That he may leave his cave, and hear no more 90 + The Lemnian surges unrejoicing roar; + And be great Fate through the dark world thy guide, + Sad Philoctetes![85] + So Instruction bland, + With young-eyed Sympathy, went hand in hand + O'er classic fields; and let my heart confess + Its holier joy, when I essayed to climb + The lonely heights where Shakspeare sat sublime, + Lord of the mighty spell: around him press + Spirits and fairy-forms. He, ruling wide 100 + His visionary world, bids terror fill + The shivering breast, or softer pity thrill + Ev'n to the inmost heart. Within me died + All thoughts of this low earth, and higher powers + Seemed in my soul to stir; till, strained too long, + The senses sunk. + Then, Ossian, thy wild song + Haply beguiled the unheeded midnight hours, + And, like the blast that swept Berrathron's towers, + Came pleasant and yet mournful to my soul! 110 + See o'er the autumnal heath the gray mists roll! + Hark to the dim ghosts' faint and feeble cry, + As on the cloudy tempest they pass by! + Saw ye huge Loda's spectre-shape advance, + Through which the stars look pale! + Nor ceased the trance + Which bound the erring fancy, till dark night + Flew silent by, and at my window-grate + The morning bird sang loud: nor less delight + The spirit felt, when still and charmed I sate 120 + Great Milton's solemn harmonies to hear, + That swell from the full chord, and strong and clear, + Beyond the tuneless couplets' weak control, + Their long-commingling diapason roll, + In varied sweetness. + Nor, amidst the choir + Of pealing minstrelsy, was thy own lyre, + Warton, unheard;--as Fancy poured the song, + The measured music flowed along, + Till all the heart and all the sense 130 + Felt her divinest influence, + In throbbing sympathy:--Prepare the car,[86] + And whirl us, goddess, to the war, + Where crimson banners fire the skies, + Where the mingled shouts arise, + Where the steed, with fetlock red, + Tramples the dying and the dead; + And amain, from side to side, + Death his pale horse is seen to ride! + Or rather, sweet enthusiast, lead 140 + Our footsteps to the cowslip mead, + Where, as the magic spell is wound, + Dying music floats around:-- + Or seek we some gray ruin's shade, + And pity the cold beggar,[87] laid + Beneath the ivy-rustling tower, + At the dreary midnight hour, + Scarce sheltered from the drifting snow; + While her dark locks the bleak winds blow + O'er her sleeping infant's cheek! 150 + Then let the shrilling trumpet speak, + And pierce in louder tones the ear, + Till, while it peals, we seem to hear + The sounding march, as of the Theban's song;[88] + And varied numbers, in their course, + With gathering fulness, and collected force, + Like the broad cataract, swell and sweep along! + Struck by the sounds, what wonder that I laid, + As thou, O Warton! didst the theme inspire, + My inexperienced hand upon the lyre, 160 + And soon with transient touch faint music made, + As soon forgotten! + So I loved to lie + By the wild streams of elfin poesy, + Rapt in strange musings; but when life began, + I never roamed a visionary man; + For, taught by thee, I learned with sober eyes + To look on life's severe realities. + I never made (a dream-distempered thing) + Poor Fiction's realm my world; but to cold Truth 170 + Subdued the vivid shapings of my youth. + Save when the drisly woods were murmuring, + Or some hard crosses had my spirit bowed; + Then I have left, unseen, the careless crowd, + And sought the dark sea roaring, or the steep + That braved the storm; or in the forest deep, + As all its gray leaves rustled, wooed the tone + Of the loved lyre, that, in my springtide gone, + Waked me to transport. + Eighteen summers now 180 + Have smiled on Itchin's margin, since the time + When these delightful visions of our prime + Rose on my view in loveliness. And thou + Friend of my muse, in thy death-bed art cold, + Who, with the tenderest touches, didst unfold + The shrinking leaves of Fancy, else unseen + And shelterless: therefore to thee are due + Whate'er their summer sweetness; and I strew, + Sadly, such flowerets as on hillocks green, + Or mountain-slope, or hedge-row, yet my hand 190 + May cull, with many a recollection bland, + And mingled sorrow, Warton, on thy tomb, + To whom, if bloom they boast, they owe their bloom! + +[79] Catherine Hill. + +[80] St Cross Hospital. + +[81] Homer. + +[82] See the last book. + +[83] Theocritus. + +[84] [Greek: Megale moira.]--_Soph._ + +[85] Philoctetes, see Sophocles. Youthful impressions on first reading +it. + +[86] See Warton's "Ode to Fancy." + +[87] Alluding to some pathetic lines in Warton's "Ode to Fancy." + +[88] See Warton's "Ode on West's Translation of Pindar." + + +EPITAPH ON H. WALMSLEY, ESQ., + +IN ALVERSTOKE CHURCH, HANTS. + + Oh! they shall ne'er forget thee, they who knew + Thy soul benevolent, sincere, and true; + The poor thy kindness cheered, thy bounty fed, + Whom age left shivering in its dreariest shed; + Thy friends, who sorrowing saw thee, when disease + Seemed first the genial stream of life to freeze, + Pale from thy hospitable home depart, + Thy hand still open, and yet warm thy heart! + But how shall she her love, her loss express, + Thy widow, in this uttermost distress, + When she with anguish hears her lisping train + Upon their buried father call in vain! + She wipes the tear despair had forced to flow, + She lifts her look beyond this vale of woe, + And rests (while humbled in the dust she kneels) + On Him who only knows how much she feels. + + +AGE. + + Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn! + But thou art passing to that night-still bourne, + Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud + To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud, + Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest; + And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast! + + +ON A LANDSCAPE BY RUBENS. + + Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full, + Upon the rich creation, shadowed so + That not great Nature, in her loftiest pomp + Of living beauty, ever on the sight + Rose more magnificent; nor aught so fair + Hath Fancy, in her wildest, brightest mood, + Imaged of things most lovely, when the sounds + Of this cold cloudy world at distance sink, + And all alone the warm idea lives + Of what is great, or beautiful, or good, 10 + In Nature's general plan. + So the vast scope, + O Rubens! of thy mighty mind, and such + The fervour of thy pencil, pouring wide + The still illumination, that the mind + Pauses, absorbed, and scarcely thinks what powers + Of mortal art the sweet enchantment wrought. + She sees the painter, with no human touch, + Create, embellish, animate at will, + The mimic scenes, from Nature's ampler range 20 + Caught as by inspiration; while the clouds, + High wandering, and the fairest form of things, + Seem at his bidding to emerge, and burn + With radiance and with life! + Let us, subdued, + Now to the magic of the moment lose + The thoughts of life, and mingle every sense + Ev'n in the scenes before us! + The fresh morn + Of summer shines; the white clouds of the east 30 + Are crisped; beneath, the bright blue champaign steams; + The banks, the meadows, and the flowers, send up + An incensed exhalation, like the meek + And holy praise of Him whose soul's deep joy + The lone woods witness. Thou, whose heart is sick + Of vanities; who, in the throng of men, + Dost feel no lenient fellowship; whose eye + Turns, with a languid carelessness, around + Upon the toiling crowd, still murmuring on, + Restless;--oh, think, in summer scenes like these, 40 + How sweet the sense of quiet gladness is, + That, like the silent breath of morning, steals + From lowly nooks, and feels itself expand + Amid the works of Nature, to the Power + That made them: to the awful thought of HIM + Who, when the morning stars shouted for joy, + Bade the great sun from tenfold darkness burst, + The green earth roll in light, and solitude + First hear the voice of man, whilst hills and woods + Stood eminent, in orient hues arrayed, 50 + His dwelling; and all living Nature smiled, + As in this pictured semblance, beaming full + Before us! + Mark again the various view: + Some city's far-off spires and domes appear, + Breaking the long horizon, where the morn + Sits blue and soft: what glowing imagery + Is spread beneath!--Towns, villages, light smoke, + And scarce-seen windmill-sails, and devious woods, + Chequering 'mid sunshine the grass-level land, 60 + That stretches from the sight. + Now nearer trace + The forms of trees distinct--the broad brown oak; + The poplars, that, with silvery trunks, incline, + Shading the lonely castle; flakes of light + Are flung behind the massy groups, that, now + Enlarging and enlarging still, unfold + Their separate beauties. But awhile delay; + Pass the foot-bridge, and listen (for we hear, + Or think we hear her), listen to the song 70 + Of yonder milkmaid, as she brims her pail; + Whilst, in the yellow pasture, pensive near, + The red cows ruminate. + Break off, break off, for lo! where, all alarmed, + The small birds,[89] from the late resounding perch, + Fly various, hushed their early song; and mark, + Beneath the darkness of the bramble-bank + That overhangs the half-seen brook, where nod + The flowing rushes, dew-besprent, with breast + Ruddy, and emerald wing, the kingfisher 80 + Steals through the dripping sedge away. What shape + Of terrors scares the woodland habitants, + Marring the music of the dawn? Look round; + See, where he creeps, beneath the willowy stump, + Cowering and low, step silent after step, + The booted fowler: keen his look, and fixed + Upon the adverse bank, while, with firm hand, + He grasps the deadly tube; his dog, with ears + Hung back, and still and steady eye of fire, + Points to the prey; the boor, intent, moves on 90 + Panting, and creeping close beneath the leaves, + And fears lest ev'n the rustling reeds betray + His footfall; nearer yet, and yet more near, + He stalks. Who now shall save the heedless group, + The speckled partridges, that in the sun, + On yonder hillock green, across the stream, + Bask unalarmed beneath the hawthorn bush, + Whose aged boughs the crawling blackberry + Entwines! + And thus, upon the sweetest scenes 100 + Of human loveliness, and social peace + Domestic, when the full fond heart reclines + Upon its hopes, and almost mingles tears + Of joy, to think that in this hollow world + Such bliss should be its portion; then (alas, + The bitter change!), then, with his unheard step, + In darkness shrouded, yet approaching fast, + Death, from amidst the sunny flowers, lifts up + His giant dread anatomy, and smites, + Smites the fair prospect once, whilst every bloom 110 + Hangs shrivelled, and a sound of mourning fills + The lone and blasted valley: but no sound + Is here of sorrow or of death, though she, + The country Kate, with shining morning cheek + (Who, in the tumbril, with her market-gear, + Sits seated high), seems to expect the flash + Exploding, that shall lay the innocent + And feathered tenants of the landscape low. + Not so the clown, who, heedless whether life + Or death betide, across the plashy ford 120 + Drives slow; the beasts plod on, foot following foot, + Aged and grave, with half-erected ears, + As now his whip above their matted manes + Hangs tremulous, while the dark and shallow stream + Flashes beneath their fetlock: he, astride + On harness saddle, not a sidelong look + Deigns at the breathing landscape, or the maid + Smiling behind; the cold and lifeless calf + Her sole companion: and so mated oft + Is some sweet maid, whose thrilling heart was formed 130 + For dearer fellowship. But lift the eye, + And hail the abode of rural ease. The man + Walks forth, from yonder antique hall, that looks + The mistress of the scene; its turrets gleam + Amid the trees, and cheerful smoke is seen, + As if no spectred shape (though most retired + The spot) there ever wandered, stoled in white, + Along the midnight chambers; but quaint Mab + Her tiny revels led, till the rare dawn + Peeped out, and chanticleer his shrill alarm 140 + Beneath the window rang, then, with a wink, + The shadowy rout have vanished! + As the morn + Jocund ascends, how lovely is the view + To him who owns the fair domain! The friend + Of his still hours is near, to whom he vowed + His truth; her eyes reflect his bliss; his heart + Beats high with joy; his little children play, + Pleased, in his pathway; one the scattered flowers + Straggling collects, the other spreads its arms, 150 + In speechless blandishment, upon the neck + Of its caressing nurse. + Still let us gaze, + And image every form of heartfelt joy + Which scenes like these bestow, that charm the sight, + Yet soothe the spirit. All is quiet here, + Yet cheerful as the green sea, when it shines + In some still bay, shines in its loneliness + Beneath the breeze, that moves, and hardly moves, + The placid surface. 160 + On the balustrade + Of the old bridge, that o'er the moat is thrown, + The fisher with his angle leans intent, + And turns, from the bright pomp of spreading plains, + To watch the nimble fry, that glancing oft + Beneath the gray arch shoot! Oh, happiest he + Who steals through life, untroubled as unseen! + The distant city, with its crowded spires, + That dimly shines upon his view, awakes + No thought but that of pleasure more composed, 170 + As the winds whisper him to sounder sleep. + He leans upon the faithful arm of her + For whom his youthful heart beat, fondly beat, + When life was new: time steals away, yet health + And exercise are his; and in these shades, + Though sometimes he has mourned a proud world's wrong, + He feels an independence that all cares + Breasts with a carol of content; he hears + The green leaves of his old paternal trees + Make music, soothing as they stir: the elm, 180 + And poplar with its silvery trunk, that shades + The green sward of the bank before his porch, + Are to him as companions;--whilst he turns + With more endearment to the living smile + Of those his infants, who, when he is dead, + Shall hear the music of the self-same trees + Waving, till years roll on, and their gray hairs + Go to the dust in peace. + Away, sad thought! + Lo! where the morning light, through the dark wood, 190 + Upon the window-pane is flung like fire, + Hail, Life and Hope; and thou, great work of art, + That 'mid this populous and busy swarm + Of men dost smile serene, as with the hues + Of fairest, grandest Nature; may'st thou speak + Not vainly of the endearments and best joys + That Nature yields. The manliest heart that swells + With honest English feelings,--while the eye, + Saddened, but not cast down, beholds far off + The darkness of the onward rolling storm,-- 200 + Charmed for a moment by this mantling view, + Its anxious tumults shall suspend: and such, + The pensive patriot shall exclaim, thy scenes, + My own beloved country, such the abode + Of rural peace! and while the soul has warmth, + And voice has energy, the brave arm strength, + England, thou shalt not fall! The day shall come, + Yes, and now is, that thou shalt lift thyself; + And woe to him who sets upon thy shores + His hostile foot! Proud victor though he be, 210 + His bloody march shall never soil a flower + That hangs its sweet head, in the morning dew, + On thy green village banks! His mustered hosts + Shall be rolled back in thousands, and the surge + Bury them! Then, when peace illumes once more, + My country, thy green nooks and inmost vales, + It will be sweet amidst the forest glens + To stray, and think upon the distant storm + That howled, but injured not! + At thoughts like these, 220 + What heart, what English heart, but shall beat high! + Meantime, its keen flash passed, thine eye intent, + Beaumont, shall trace the master-strokes of art, + And view the assemblage of the finished piece, + As with his skill who formed it: ruder views, + Savage, with solitary pines, hung high + Amid the broken crags (where scowling wait + The fierce banditti), stern Salvator's hand + Shall aptly shade: o'er Poussin's clustering domes, + With ampler umbrage, the black woods shall hang, 230 + Beneath whose waving gloom the sudden flash + Of broken light upon the brawling stream + Is flung below. + Aerial Claude shall paint + The gray fane peering o'er the summer woods, + The azure lake below, or distant seas, + And sails, in the pellucid atmosphere, + Soft gleaming to the morn. Dark on the rock, + Where the red lightnings burst, shall Wilson stand, + Like mighty Shakspeare, whom the imps of fire 240 + Await. Nor oh, sweet Gainsborough! shall thee + The Muse forget, whose simple landscape smiles + Attractive, whether we delight to view + The cottage chimney through the high wood peep; + Or beggar beauty stretch her little hand, + With look most innocent; or homeward kine + Wind through the hollow road at eventide, + Or browse the straggling branches. + Scenes like these + Shall charm all hearts, while truth and beauty live, 250 + And Nature's pictured loveliness shall own + Each master's varied touch; but chiefly thou, + Great Rubens! shalt the willing senses lead, + Enamoured of the varied imagery, + That fills the vivid canvas, swelling still + On the enraptured eye of taste, and still + New charms unfolding; though minute, yet grand, + Simple, yet most luxuriant; every light + And every shade, greatly opposed, and all + Subserving to one magical effect 260 + Of truth and harmony. + So glows the scene; + And to the pensive thought refined displays + The richest rural poem. Oh, may views + So pictured animate thy classic mind, + Beaumont, to wander 'mid Sicilian scenes, + And catch the beauties of the pastoral bard,[90] + Shadowing his wildest landscapes! AEtna's fires, + Bebrycian rocks, Anapus' holy stream, + And woods of ancient Pan; the broken crag 270 + And the old fisher here; the purple vines + There bending; and the smiling boy set down + To guard, who, innocent and happy, weaves, + Intent, his rushy basket, to ensnare + The chirping grasshoppers, nor sees the while + The lean fox meditate her morning meal, + Eyeing his scrip askance; whilst further on + Another treads the purple grapes--he sits, + Nor aught regards, but the green rush he weaves. + O Beaumont! let this pomp of light and shade 280 + Wake thee, to paint the woods that the sweet Muse + Has consecrated: then the summer scenes + Of Phasidamus, clad in richer light, + Shall glow, the glancing poplars, and clear fount; + While distant times admire (as now we trace + This summer-mantling view) hoar AEtna's pines, + The vine-hung grotts, and branching planes, that shade + The silver Arethusa's stealing wave. + +[89] The landscape is on so large a scale, that all these circumstances +are most accurately delineated. + +[90] Theocritus. Alluding to a design of illustrating the _picturesque +character_ of the venerable Sicilian, by paintings of Sir George, from +new translations of Messrs Sotheby, Rogers, Howley, W. Spencer, and the +author. + + +THE HARP, AND DESPAIR, OF COWPER. + + Sweet bard, whose tones great Milton might approve, + And Shakspeare, from high Fancy's sphere, + Turning to the sound his ear, + Bend down a look of sympathy and love; + Oh, swell the lyre again, + As if in full accord it poured an angel's strain! + But oh! what means that look aghast, + Ev'n whilst it seemed in holy trance, + On scenes of bliss above to glance! + Was it a fiend of darkness passed! + Oh, speak-- + Paleness is upon his cheek-- + On his brow the big drops stand, + To airy vacancy + Points the dread silence of his eye, + And the loved lyre it falls, falls from his nerveless hand! + Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! + Oh, come, and make thy downy nest + Once more on his sad heart! + Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed; + Sweet Hope, support his aged head; + And Charity, avert the burning dart! + Fruitless the prayer--the night of deeper woes + Seems o'er the head even now to close; + In vain the path of purity he trod, + In vain, in vain, + He poured from Fancy's shell his sweetest hermit strain-- + He has no hope on earth: forsake him not, O God! + + +STANZAS FOR MUSIC. + + I trust the happy hour will come, 1 + That shall to peace thy breast restore; + And that we two, beloved friend, + Shall one day meet to part no more. + + It grieves me most, that parting thus, 2 + All my soul feels I dare not speak; + And when I turn me from thy sight, + The tears in silence wet my cheek. + + Yet I look forward to the time, 3 + That shall each wound of sorrow heal; + When I may press thee to my heart, + And tell thee all that now I feel.{e} + + +MUSIC. + + O Music! if thou hast a charm + That may the sense of pain disarm, + Be all thy tender tones addressed + To soothe to peace my Harriet's breast; + And bid the magic of thy strain + So still the wakeful throb of pain, + That, rapt in the delightful measure, + Sweet Hope again may whisper pleasure, + And seem the notes of Spring to hear, + Prelusive to a happier year! + And if thy magic can restore + The shade of days that smile no more, + And softer, sweeter colours give + To scenes that in remembrance live; + Be to her pensive heart a friend, + And, whilst the tender shadows blend, + Recall, ere the brief trace be lost, + Each moment that she prized the most. + Perhaps, when many a cheerful day + Hereafter shall have stolen away, + If then some old and favourite strain + Should bring back to her thoughts again + The hours when, silent by her side, + I listened to her song and sighed; + Perhaps a long-forgotten name, + A thought, if not a tear may claim; + And when in distant plains away, + Alone I count each lingering day, + She may a silent prayer prefer + For him whose heart once bled for her. + + +ABSENCE. + +OCTOBER 26, 1791. + + How shall I cheat the heavy hours, of thee + Deprived, of thy kind looks and converse sweet, + Now that the waving grove the dark storms beat, + And wintry winds sad sounding o'er the lea,[91] + Scatter the sallow leaf! I would believe, + Thou, at this hour, with tearful tenderness + Dost muse on absent images, and press + In thought my hand, and say: Oh do not grieve, + Friend of my heart! at wayward fortune's power; + One day we shall be happy, and each hour + Of pain forget, cheered by the summer ray. + These thoughts beguile my sorrow for thy loss, + And, as the aged pines their dark heads toss, + Oft steal the sense of solitude away. + So am I sadly soothed, yet do I cast + A wishful glance upon the seasons past, + And think how different was the happy tide, + When thou, with looks of love, wert smiling by my side. + +[91] Summer-Lees, near Knoyle. + + +FAIRY SKETCH. + +SCENE--NETLEY ABBEY. + + There was a morrice on the moonlight plain, + And music echoed in the woody glade, + For fay-like forms, as of Titania's train, + Upon a summer eve, beneath the shade + Of Netley's ivied ruins, to the sound + Of sprightly minstrelsy did beat the ground:-- + Come, take hands! and lightly move, + While our boat, in yonder cove, + Rests upon the darkening sea; + Come, take hands, and follow me! + + Netley! thy dim and desolated fane + Hath heard, perhaps, the spirits of the night + Shrieking, at times, amid the wind and rain; + Or haply, when the full-orbed moon shone bright, + Thy glimmering aisles have echoed to the song + Of fairy Mab, who led her shadowy masque along. + Now, as to the sprightly sound + Of moonlight minstrelsy we beat the ground; + From the pale nooks, in accent clear, + Now, methinks, her voice I hear, + Sounding o'er the darksome sea; + Come, take hands, and follow me! + + Here, beneath the solemn wood, + When faintly-blue is all the sky, + And the moon is still on high, + To the murmurs of the flood, + To the glimpses of the night, + We perform our airy rite;-- + Care and pain to us unknown, + To the darkening seas are flown. + + Hear no more life's fretful noise, + Heed not here pale Envy's sting, + Far from life's distempered joys; + To the waters murmuring, + To the shadows of the sky, + To the moon that rides on high, + To the glimpses of the night, + We perform our airy rite, + While care and pain, to us unknown, + To the darkening seas are flown. + + +INSCRIPTION. + + Come, and where these runnels fall, + Listen to my madrigal! + Far from all sounds of all the strife, + That murmur through the walks of life; + From grief, inquietude, and fears, + From scenes of riot, or of tears; + From passions, cankering day by day, + That wear the inmost heart away; + From pale Detraction's envious spite, + That worries where it fears to bite; + From mad Ambition's worldly chase, + Come, and in this shady place, + Be thine Contentment's humble joys, + And a life that makes no noise, + Save when fancy, musing long, + Turns to desultory song;[92] + And wakes some lonely melody, + Like the water dripping by. + Come, and where these runnels fall, + Listen to my madrigal! + +BREMHILL GARDEN, _Sept. 1808._ + +[92] "And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song."--_Parnell._ + + +PICTURES FROM THEOCRITUS. + +FROM IDYL I. + +[Greek: Ady ti to psthyrisma], _etc._ + + Goat-herd, how sweet above the lucid spring + The high pines wave with breezy murmuring! + So sweet thy song, whose music might succeed + To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed. + + THYRSIS. + + More sweet thy pipe's enchanting melody + Than streams that fall from broken rocks on high. + Say, by the nymphs, that guard the sacred scene, + Where lowly tamarisks shade these hillocks green, + At noontide shall we lie? + No; for o'erwearied with the forest chase, + Pan, the great hunter god, sleeps in this place. + Beneath the branching elm, while thy sad verse, + O Thyrsis! Daphnis' sorrows shall rehearse, + Fronting the wood-nymph's solitary seat, + Whose fountains flash amid the dark retreat; + Where the old statue leans, and brown oaks wave + Their ancient umbrage o'er the pastoral cave; + There will we rest, and thou, as erst, prolong + The sweet enchantment of the Doric song! + + FROM THE SAME IDYL. + + Mark, where the beetling precipice appears, + The toil of the old fisher, gray with years; + Mark, as to drag the laden net he strains, + The labouring muscle and the swelling veins! + There, in the sun, the clustered vineyard bends, + And shines empurpled, as the morn ascends! + A little boy, with idly-happy mien, + To guard the grapes upon the ground is seen; + Two wily foxes creeping round appear,-- + The scrip that holds his morning meal is near,-- + One breaks the bending vines; with longing lip, + And look askance, one eyes the tempting scrip. + He plats and plats his rushy net all day, + And makes the vagrant grasshopper his prey; + He plats his net, intent with idle care, + Nor heeds how vineyard, grape, or scrip may fare. + + FROM THE SAME. + + Where were ye, nymphs, when Daphnis drooped with love? + In fair Peneus' Tempe, or the grove + Of Pindus! Nor your pastimes did ye keep, + Where huge Anapus' torrent waters sweep; + On AEtna's height, ah! impotent to save, + Nor yet where Akis winds his holy wave! + + FROM THE SAME. + + Pan, Pan, oh mighty hunter! whether now, + Thou roamest o'er Lyceus' shaggy brow, + Or Moenalaus, outstretched in amplest shade, + Thy solitary footsteps have delayed; + Leave Helice's romantic rock a while, + And haste, oh haste, to the Sicilian isle; + Leave the dread monument, approached with fear, + That Lycaonian tomb the gods revere. + Here cease, Sicilian Muse, the Doric lay;-- + Come, Forest King, and bear this pipe away; + Daphnis, subdued by love, and bowed with woe, + Sinks, sinks for ever to the shades below. + + FROM IDYL VII. + + He left us;--we, the hour of parting come, + To Prasidamus' hospitable home, + Myself and Eucritus, together wend, + With young Amynticus, our blooming friend: + There, all delighted, through the summer day, + On beds of rushes, pillowed deep, we lay; + Around, the lentils, newly cut, were spread; + Dark elms and poplars whispered o'er our head; + A hallowed stream, to all the wood-nymphs dear, + Fresh from the rocky cavern murmured near; + Beneath the fruit-leaves' many-mantling shade, + The grasshoppers a coil incessant made; + From the wild thorny thickets, heard remote, + The wood-lark trilled his far-resounding note; + Loud sung the thrush, musician of the scene, + And soft and sweet was heard the dove's sad note between; + Then yellow bees, whose murmur soothed the ear, + Went idly flitting round the fountain clear. + Summer and Autumn seemed at once to meet, + Filling with redolence the blest retreat, + While the ripe pear came rolling to our feet. + + FROM IDYL XXII. + + When the famed Argo now secure had passed + The crushing rocks,[93] and that terrific strait + That guards the wintry Pontic, the tall ship + Reached wild Bebrycia's shores; bearing like gods + Her god-descended chiefs. They, from her sides, + With scaling steps descend, and on the shore, + Savage, and sad, and beat by ocean winds, + Strewed their rough beds, and on the casual fire + The vessels place. The brothers, by themselves, + CASTOR and red-haired POLLUX, wander far + Into the forest solitudes. A wood + Immense and dark, shagging the mountain side, + Before them rose; a cold and sparkling fount + Welled with perpetual lapse, beneath its feet, + Of purest water clear; scattering below, + Streams as of silver and of crystal rose, + Bright from the bottom: Pines, of stateliest height, + Poplar, and plane, and cypress, branching wide, + Were near, thick bordered by the scented flowers + That lured the honeyed bee, when spring declines, + Thick swarming o'er the meadows. There all day + A huge man sat, of savage, wild aspect; + His breast stood roundly forward, his broad back + Seemed as of iron, such as might befit + A vast Colossus sculptured. Full to view + The muscles of his brawny shoulders stood, + Like the round mountain-stones the torrent wave + Has polished; from his neck and back hung down + A lion's skin, held by its claws. Him first + The red-haired youth addressed: Hail, stranger, hail, + And say, what tribes unknown inhabit here! + Take to the seas thy Hail: I ask it not, + Who never saw before, or thee, or thine. + Courage! thou seest not men that are unjust + Or cruel. + Courage shall I learn from thee! + Thy heart is savage; thou art passion's slave. + Such as I am thou seest; but land of thine + I tread not. + Come, these hospitable gifts + Accept, and part in peace. + No: not from thee. + My gifts are yet in store. + Say, may we drink + Of this clear fount? + Ask, when wan thirst has parched + Thy lips. + What present shall I give to thee? + None. Stand before me as a man; lift high + Thy brandished arms, and try, weak pugilist, + Thy strength. + But say, with whom shall I contend? + Thou seest him here; nor in his art unskilled. + Then what shall be the prize of him who wins? + Or thou shalt be my slave, or I be thine. + The crested birds so fight. + Whether like birds + Or lions, for no other prize fight we! + He said: and sounded loud his hollow conch; + The gaunt Bebrycian brethren, at the sound, + With long lank hair, come flocking to the shade + Of that vast plain. + Then Castor hied, and called + The hero chiefs from the Magnesian[94] ship. + +[93] Rocks which were supposed to strike one against the other, and so +crush the ship that attempted to pass between. + +[94] So called, from the country where it was built. + + +SKETCHES IN THE EXHIBITION, 1805. + + What various objects strike with various force, + Achilles, Hebe, and Sir Watkin's horse! + Here summer scenes, there Pentland's stormy ridge, + Lords, ladies, Noah's ark, and Cranford bridge! + Some that display the elegant design, + The lucid colours, and the flowing line; + Some that might make, alas! Walsh Porter[95] stare, + And wonder how the devil they got there! + + LADY M----VE. + + How clear a strife of light and shade is spread! + The face how touched with nature's loveliest red! + The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek! + The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek! + M----ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face, + But all is nature, dignity, and grace! + + HON. MISS MERCER.--HOPNER. + + Oh! hide those tempting eyes, that faultless form, + Those looks with feeling and with nature warm; + The neck, the softly-swelling bosom hide, + Nor, wanton gales, blow the light vest aside; + For who, when beauties more than life excite + Silent applause, can gaze without delight! + But innocence, enchanting maid, is thine; + Thine eyes in liquid light unconscious shine; + And may thy breast no other feelings prove, + Than those of sympathy and mutual love! + +[95] A gentleman well known for his taste and fine collection. + + +EXHIBITION, 1807. + + BLIND FIDDLER.--WILKIE. + + With mirth unfeigned the cottage chimney rings, + Though only vocal with four fiddle-strings: + And see, the poor blind fiddler draws his bow, + And lifts intent his time-denoting toe; + While yonder maid, as blythe as birds in June, + You almost hear her whistle to the tune! + Hard by, a lad, in imitative guise, + Fixed, fiddle-like, the broken bellows plies; + Before the hearth, with looks of honest joy, + The father chirrups to the chattering boy, + And snaps his lifted thumbs with mimic glee, + To the glad urchin on his mother's knee! + + MORNING.--TURNER. + + Up! for the morning shines with welcome ray, + And to the sunny seabeach let us stray. + What orient hues proclaim the master's hand! + How light the wave upon the half-wet sand! + How beautiful the sun, as still we gaze, + Streams all diffusive through the opening haze! + Artist--when to the thunder's pealing sound, + Fire mixed with hailstones ran upon the ground, + When partial darkness the dread prospect hid, + And sole aspired the aged pyramid-- + Sublimity thy genius seemed to guide + O'er Egypt's champaign, desolate and wide; + But here delightful beauty reigns alone, + And decks the morning scene with graces all her own. + + KESWICK.--SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. + + How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill + Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will; + Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray, + Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display; + The lake where sober evening seems to sleep, + Hills far retiring into umbrage deep; + Blend all with classic, pure, poetic taste, + And strike the more with forms and colours chaste! + + MARKET-DAY.--CALCOT. + + Through the wood's maze our eyes delighted stray, + To mark the rustics on the market-day. + Beneath the branches winds the long white road; + Here peeps the rustic cottager's abode; + There in the morning sun, the children play, + Or the crone creeps along the dusty way. + + SCENE IN FRANCE.--LOUTHERBOURG. + + Artist, I own thy genius; but the touch + May be too restless, and the glare too much: + And sure none ever saw a landscape shine, + Basking in beams of such a sun as thine, + But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz, + And panting cried, O Lord, how hot it is! + + DEATH OF NELSON.--WEST. + + Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main: + See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain, + Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war, + And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar! + Here cease the strain; but while thy hulls shall ride, + Britain, dark shadowing the tumultuous tide, + May other Nelsons, on the sanguine main, + Guide, like a god, the battle's hurricane; + And when the funeral's transient pomp is past, + High hung the banner, hushed the battle's blast, + May the brave character to ages shine, + And Genius consecrate the immortal shrine! + + +SOUTHAMPTON CASTLE.[96] + +INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE. + + The moonlight is without; and I could lose + An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here, + As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign! + Regardless of the lights that blaze within, + I look upon the wide and silent sea, + That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps: + How still, + Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies; + Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam, + The eve of pleasant yesterdays! 10 + The clouds + Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars + Seem in their watches set, as gazing on; + While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful, + Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens + Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks, + Of gazing worlds! + How different is the scene + That lies beneath this arched window's height! + The town, that murmured through the busy day, 20 + Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade + Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above, + The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls, + And masts that throng around the southern pier, + Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote, + O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane. + Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine + How more attractive! but few years have passed, + Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness, + All circling round an aged sire,[97] whose hairs 30 + Are now in peace gone down; he was to me + A friend, and almost with a father's smile + Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice + Of fellowship, the song of harmony, + And mirth, and wit,[98] were there. + That scene is passed: + Cold death and separation have dissolved + The evening circle of once-happy friends! + So has it ever fared, and so must fare, + With all! I see the moonlight watery tract 40 + That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades: + What seems it, but the mirror of that tide, + Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world, + Holds its inevitable course, the tide + Of years departing; to the distant eye + Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on + From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows, + The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam + To-day, to-morrow other passing sails + Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn. 50 + Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light + On the pale ripple, passing as it shines! + But shall the pensive bard for this lament, + Who knows how transitory are all worlds + Before His eye who made them! + Cease the strain; + And welcome still the social intercourse + That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour + When, universal darkness wrapping all + This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream 60 + Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard: + Here only pure and lasting bliss is found! + +[96] Southampton Castle is a magnificent pile, erected by the Marquis of +Lansdowne, commanding the most striking views of the river, the Isle of +Wight, the New Forest, _et cet._ + +[97] Late Dean of Winchester, Dr Newton Ogle. + +[98] I speak this of Mr Sheridan, who was often of the party. + + +THE WINDS. + + When dark November bade the leaves adieu, + And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds, + Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew, + With garments streaming light, amid the clouds; + From adverse regions of the sky, + In dim succession, they went by. + The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed, + Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast. + Upon a beaked promontory high, + With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe, 10 + Marked ye the father of the frowning year![99] + Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempestuous sky, + When creeping WINTER from his cave came forth; + Stern courier of the storm, he cried, what from the north? + + NORTH WIND. + + From the vast and desert deeps, + Where the lonely Kraken sleeps, + Where fixed the icy mountains high + Glimmer to the twilight sky; + Where, six lingering months to last, 20 + The night has closed, the day is past, + Father, lo, I come, I come: + I have heard the wizard's drum, + And the withered Lapland hag, + Seal, with muttered spell, her bag: + O'er mountains white, and forests sere, + I flew, and with a wink am here. + + WINTER. + + Spirit of unwearied wing, + From the Baltic's frozen main, + From the Russ's bleak domain, 30 + Say, what tidings dost thou bring! + Shouts, and the noise of battle! and again + The winged wind blew loud a deadly blast; + Shouts, and the noise of battle! the long main + Seemed with hoarse voice to answer as he passed. + The moody South went by, and silence kept; + The cloudy rack oft hid his mournful mien, + And frequent fell the showers, as if he wept + The eternal havoc of this mortal scene. + He had heard the yell, and cry, 40 + And howling dance of Anarchy, + Where the Rhone, with rushing flood, + Murmured to the main, through blood:-- + He seemed to wish he could for ever throw + His misty mantle o'er a world of woe. + But rousing him from his desponding trance, + Cold Eurus blew his sharp and shrilling horn; + In his right hand he bore an icy lance, + That far off glittered in the frost of morn; + The old man knew the clarion from afar, 50 + What from the East? he cried. + + EAST WIND. + + Shouts, and the noise of war! + Far o'er the land hath been my flight, + O'er many a forest dark as night, + O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds, + O'er Wolga's wild and giant reeds, + O'er the Carpathian summits hoar, + Beneath whose snows and shadows frore, + Poland's level length unfolds + Her trackless woods and wildering wolds, 60 + Like a spirit, seeking rest, + I have passed from east to west, + While sounds of discord and lament + Rose from the earth where'er I went. + I care not; hurrying, as in scorn, + I shook my lance, and blew my horn; + The day shows clear; and merrily + Along the Atlantic now I fly. + Who comes in soft and spicy vest, + From the mild regions of the West? 70 + An azure veil bends waving o'er his head, + And showers of violets from his hands are shed. + 'Tis Zephyr, with a look as young and fair + As when his lucid wings conveyed + That beautiful and gentle maid + Psyche, transported through the air, + The blissful couch of Love's own god to share. + Winter, avaunt! thy haggard eye + Will scare him, as he wanders by, + Him and the timid butterfly. 80 + He brings again the morn of May; + The lark, amid the clear blue sky, + Carols, but is not seen so high, + And all the winter's winds fly far away! + I cried: O Father of the world, whose might + The storm, the darkness, and the winds obey, + Oh, when will thus the long tempestuous night + Of warfare and of woe be rolled away! + Oh, when will cease the uproar and the din, + And Peace breathe soft, Summer is coming in! 90 + +[99] "Then comes the father of the tempest forth."--_Thomson._ + + +ON WILLIAM SOMMERS OF BREMHILL. + + When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs, + O aged man! Thy sand is almost run, + And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun, + Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares + Have been thy visitants from morn to morn. + While trembling on existence thou dost live, + Accept what human charity can give; + But standing thus, time-palsied, and forlorn, + Like a scathed oak, of all its boughs bereft, + God and the grave are thy best refuge left. + When the bells rung, and summer's smiling ray + Welcomed again the merry Whitsuntide, + And all my humble villagers were gay; + I saw thee sitting on the highway side, + To feel once more the warm sun's blessed beam: + Didst thou then think upon thy own gay prime, + On such a holiday, and the glad time + When thou wert young and happy, like a dream + Now perished! No; the murmured prayer alone + Rose from the trembling lips towards the Throne + Of Mercy; that ere spring returned again, + And the long winter blew its dreary blast, + To sweep the verdure from the fading plain, + Thy burden would be dropped, thy sorrows past! + O blind and aged man, bowed down with cares, + When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs! + + +THE VISIONARY BOY. + + Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me! + Enough of care and heaviness + The weary lids of life depress, + And doubly blest that gentle heart shall be, + That wooes of poesy the visions bland, + And strays forgetful o'er enchanted land! + Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me! + So spoke, with ardent look, yet eyebrow sad, + When he had passed o'er many a mountain rude, + And many a wild and weary solitude, 10 + 'Mid a green vale, a wandering minstrel-lad. + With eyes that shone in softened flame, + With wings and wand, young Fancy came; + And as she touched a trembling lute, + The lone enthusiast stood entranced and mute. + It was a sound that made his soul forego + All thoughts of sadness in a world of woe. + Oh, lend that lute! he cried: Hope, Pity, Love, + Shall listen; and each valley, rock, and grove, + Shall witness, as with deep delight, 20 + From orient morn to dewy-stealing night. + My spirit, rapt in trance of sweetness high, + Shall drink the heartfelt sound with tears of ecstasy! + As thus he spoke, soft voices seemed to say, + Come away, come away; + Where shall the heart-sick minstrel stray, + But (viewing all things like a dream) + By haunted wood, or wizard stream? + That, like a hermit weeping, + Amid the gray stones creeping; 30 + With voice distinct, yet faint, + Calls on Repose herself to hear its soothing plaint. + For him, romantic Solitude + Shall pile sublime her mountains rude; + For him, with shades more soft impressed, + The lucid lake's transparent breast + Shall show the banks, the woods, the hill, + More clear, more beautiful, more still. + For him more musical shall wave + The pines o'er Echo's moonlit cave; 40 + While sounds as of a fairy lyre + Amid the shadowy cliffs expire! + This valley where the raptured minstrel stood + Was shaded with a circling slope of wood, + And rich in beauty, with that valley vied, + Thessalian Tempe, crowned with verdant bay, + Where smooth and clear Peneus winds his way; + And Ossa and Olympus, on each side, + Rise dark with woods; or that Sicilian plain + Which Arethusa's clearest waters lave, 50 + By many a haunt of Pan, and wood-nymph's cave, + Lingering and listening to the Doric strain + Of him,[100] the bard whose music might succeed + To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed! + This scene the mistress of the valley held, + Fancy, a magic maid; and at her will, + Aerial castles crowned the gleaming hill, + Or forests rose, or lapse of water welled. + Sometimes she sat with lifted eye, + And marked the dark storm in the western sky; 60 + Sometimes she looked, and scarce her breath would draw, + As fearful things, not to be told, she saw; + And sometimes, like a vision of the air, + On wings of shifting light she floated here and there. + In the breeze her garments flew, + Of the brightest skiey blue, + Lucid as the tints of morn, + When Summer trills his pipe of corn: + Her tresses to each wing descending fall, + Or, lifted by the wind, 70 + Stream loose and unconfined, + Like golden threads, beneath her myrtle coronal. + The listening passions stood aloof and mute, + As oft the west wind touched her trembling lute. + But when its sounds the youthful minstrel heard, + Strange mingled feelings, not to be expressed, + Rose undefined, yet blissful, on his breast, + And all the softened scene in sweeter light appeared. + Then Fancy waved her wand, and lo! + An airy troop went beckoning by: 80 + Come, from toil and worldly woe; + Come, live with us in vales remote! they cry. + These are the flitting phantasies; the dreams + That lead the heart through all that elfin land, + Where half-seen shapes entice with whispers bland. + Meantime the clouds, impressed with livelier beams, + Roll, in the lucid track of air, + Arrayed in coloured brede, with semblances more fair. + The airy troop, as on they sail, + Thus the pensive stranger hail: 90 + In the pure and argent sky, + There our distant chambers lie; + The bed is strewed with blushing roses, + When Quietude at eve reposes, + Oft trembling lest her bowers should fade, + In the cold earth's humid shade. + Come, rest with us! evanishing, they cried-- + Come, rest with us! the lonely vale replied. + Then Fancy beckoned, and with smiling mien, + A radiant form arose, like the fair Queen 100 + Of Beauty: from her eye divinely bright, + A richer lustre shot, a more attractive light. + She said: With fairer tints I can adorn + The living landscape, fairer than the morn. + The summer clouds in shapes romantic rolled, + And those they edge the fading west, like gold; + The lake that sleeps in sunlight, yet impressed + With shades more sweet than real on its breast; + 'Mid baffling stones, beneath a partial ray, + The small brook huddling its uneven way; 110 + The blue far distant hills, the silvery sea, + And every scene of summer speaks of me: + But most I wake the sweetest wishes warm, + Where the fond gaze is turned on woman's breathing form. + So passing silent through a myrtle grove, + Beauty first led him to the bower of Love. + A mellow light through the dim covert strayed, + And opening roses canopied the shade. + Why does the hurrying pulse unbidden leap! + Behold, in yonder glade that nymph asleep! 120 + The heart-struck minstrel hangs, with lingering gaze, + O'er every charm his eye impassioned strays! + An edge of white is seen, and scarcely seen, + As soft she breathes, her coral lips between; + A lambent ray steals from her half-closed eye, + As her breast heaves a short imperfect sigh. + Sleep, winds of summer, o'er the leafy bower, + Nor move the light bells of the nodding flower; + Lest but a sound of stirring leaves might seem + To break the charm of her delicious dream! 130 + And ye, fond, rising, throbbing thoughts, away, + Lest syren Pleasure all the soul betray! + Oh! turn, and listen to the ditty + From the lowly cave of Pity. + On slaughter's plain, while Valour grieves, + There he sunk to rest, + And the ring-dove scattered leaves + Upon his bleeding breast! + Her face was hid, while her pale arms enfold + What seemed an urn of alabaster cold; 140 + To this she pressed her heaving bosom bare: + The drops that gathered in the dank abode + Fell dripping, on her long dishevelled hair; + And still her tears, renewed, and silent, flowed: + And when the winds of autumn ceased to swell, + At times was heard a slow and melancholy knell! + 'Twas in the twilight of the deepest wood, + Beneath whose boughs like sad Cocytus, famed + Through fabling Greece, from lamentation named[101] + A river dark and silent flowed, there stood 150 + A pale and melancholy man, intent + His look upon that drowsy stream he bent, + As ever counting, when the fitful breeze + With strange and hollow sound sung through the trees, + Counting the sallow leaves, that down the current went. + He saw them not: + Earth seemed to him one universal blot. + Sometimes, as most distempered, to and fro + He paced; and sometimes fixed his chilling look + Upon a dreadful book, 160 + Inscribed with secret characters of woe; + While gibbering imps, as mocking him, appeared, + And airy laughter 'mid the dusk was heard. + Then Fancy waved her wand again, + And all that valley that so lovely smiled + Was changed to a bare champaign, waste and wild. + "What pale and phantom-horseman rides amain?" + 'Tis Terror;--all the plain, far on, is spread + With skulls and bones, and relics of the dead! + From his black trump he blew a louder blast, 170 + And earthquakes muttered as the giant passed. + Then said that magic maid, with aspect bland, + 'Tis thine to seize his phantom spear, + 'Tis thine his sable trumpet to command, + And thrill the inmost heart with shuddering fear. + But hark! to Music's softer sound, + New scenes and fairer views accordant rise: + Above, around, + The mingled measure swells in air, and dies. + Music, in thy charmed shell, 180 + What sounds of holy magic dwell! + Oft when that shell was to the ear applied, + Confusion of rich harmonies, + All swelling rose, + That came, as with a gently-swelling tide: + Then at the close, + Angelic voices seemed, aloft, + To answer as it died the cadence soft. + Now, like the hum of distant ocean's stream, + The murmurs of the wond'rous concave seem; 190 + And now exultingly their tones prolong + The chorded paeans of the choral song, + Then Music, with a voice more wildly sweet + Than winds that pipe on the forsaken shore, + When the last rain-drops of the west are o'er, + Warbled: Oh, welcome to my blest retreat, + And give my sounds to the responsive lyre: + With me to these melodious groves retire, + And such pure feelings share, + As, far from noise and folly, soothe thee there. 200 + Here Fancy, as the prize were won, + And now she hailed her favourite son, + With energy impatient cried: + The weary world is dark and wide, + Lo! I am with thee still to comfort and to guide.[102] + Nor fear, if, grim before thine eyes, + Pale worldly Want, a spectre, lowers; + What is a world of vanities + To a world as sweet as ours! + When thy heart is sad and lone, 210 + And loves to dwell on pleasures flown, + When that heart no more shall bound + At some kind voice's well-known sound, + My spells thy drooping languor shall relieve, + And airy spirits touch thy lonely harp at eve. + Look!--Delight and Hope advancing, + Music joins her thrilling notes, + O'er the level lea come dancing; + Seize the vision as it floats, + Bright-eyed Rapture hovers o'er them, 220 + Waving light his seraph wings, + Youth exulting flies before them, + Scattering cowslips as he sings! + Come now, my car pursue, + The wayward Fairy cried; + And high amid the fields of air, + Above the clouds, together we will ride, + And posting on the viewless winds, + So leave the cares of earth and all its thoughts behind. + I can sail, and I can fly, 230 + To all regions of the sky, + On the shooting meteor's course, + On a winged griffin-horse! + She spoke: when Wisdom's self drew nigh, + A noble sternness in her searching eye; + Like Pallas helmed, and in her hand a spear, + As not in idle warfare bent, but still, + As resolute, to cope with every earthly ill. + In youthful dignity severe, + She stood: And shall the aspiring mind, 240 + To Fancy be alone resigned! + Alas! she cried, her witching lay + Too often leads the heart astray! + Still, weak minstrel, wouldst thou rove, + Drooping in the distant grove, + Forgetful of all ties that bind + Thee, a brother, to mankind? + Has Fancy's feeble voice defied + The ills to poor humanity allied? + Can she, like Wisdom, bid thy soul sustain 250 + Its post of duty in a life of pain! + Can she, like meek Religion, bid thee bear + Contempt and hardship in a world of care! + Yet let not my rebuke decry, + In all, her blameless witchery, + Or from the languid bosom tear + Each sweet illusion nourished there. + With dignity and truth, combined, + Still may she rule the manly mind; + Her sweetest magic still impart 260 + To soften, not subdue, the heart: + Still may she warm the chosen breast, + Not as the sovereign, but the guest. + Then shall she lead the blameless Muse + Through all her fairest, wildest views; + To mark amid the flowers of morn, + The bee go forth with early horn; + Or when the moon, a softer light + Sheds on the rocks and seas of night, + To hear the circling fairy bands 270 + Sing, Come unto these yellow sands! + Sweeter is our light than day, + Fond enthusiast, come away! + Then Chivalry again shall call + The champions to her bannered hall! + The pipe, and song, with many a mingled shout, + Ring through the forest, as the satyr-rout, + Dance round the dragon-chariot of Romance; + Forth pricks the errant knight with rested lance; + Imps, demons, fays, in antic train succeed, 280 + The wandering maiden, and the winged steed! + The muttering wizard turns, with haggard look, + The bloody leaves of the accursed book, + Whilst giants, from the gloomy castle tower, + With lifted bats of steel, more dreadful lower! + At times, the magic shall prevail + Of the wild and wonderous tale; + At times, high rapture shall prolong + The deep, enthusiastic song. + Hence, at midnight, thou shalt stray, 290 + Where dark ocean flings its spray, + To hear o'er heaven's resounding arch + The Thunder-Lord begin his march! + Or mark the flashes, that present + Some far-off shattered monument; + Whilst along the rocky vale, + Red fires, mingled with the hail, + Run along upon the ground, + And the thunders deeper sound! + The loftier Muse, with awful mien, 300 + Upon a lonely rock is seen: + Full is the eye that speaks the dauntless soul; + She seems to hear the gathering tempest roll + Beneath her feet; she bids an eagle fly, + Breasting the whirlwind, through the dark-red sky; + Or, with elated look, lifts high the spear, + As sounds of distant battles roll more near. + Now deep-hushed in holy trance, + She sees the powers of Heaven advance, + And wheels, instinct with spirit, bear 310 + God's living chariot through the air; + Now on the wings of morn she seems to rise, + And join the strain of more than mortal harmonies. + Thy heart shall beat exulting as she sings, + And thou shalt cry: Give me an angel's wings! + With sadder sound, o'er Pity's cave, + The willow in the wind shall wave; + And all the listening passions stand, 318 + Obedient to thy great command. + With Poesy's sweet charm impressed, + Fancy thus shall warm thy breast; + Still her smiling train be thine, + Still her lovely visions shine, + To cheer, beyond my boasted power, + A sad or solitary hour. + Thus let them soothe a while thy heart, + "Come like shadows, so depart;" + But never may the witching lay + Lead each sense from life astray; + For vain the poet's muse of fire, 330 + Vain the magic of his lyre, + Unless the touch subdued impart + Truth and wisdom to the heart! + +[100] Theocritus. + +[101] "From lamentation named, and loud lament."--_Milton._ + +[102] I have placed Music last, as I think a perfect musical ear implies +the highest degree of cultivation. + + +CADLAND,[103] SOUTHAMPTON RIVER. + + If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave, + Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved + To pass delighted from her green abode, + And, seated on a summer bank, to sing + No earthly music; in a spot like this, + The bard might feign he heard her, as she dried + Her golden hair, yet dripping from the main, + In the slant sunbeam. + So the pensive bard + Might image, warmed by this enchanting scene, 10 + The ideal form; but though such things are not, + He who has ever felt a thought refined; + He who has wandered on the sea of life, + Forming delightful visions of a home + Of beauty and repose; he who has loved, + With filial warmth his country, will not pass + Without a look of more than tenderness + On all the scene; from where the pensile birch + Bends on the bank, amid the clustered group + Of the dark hollies; to the woody shore 20 + That steals diminished, to the distant spires + Of Hampton, crowning the long lucid wave. + White in the sun, beneath the forest-shade, + Full shines the frequent sail, like Vanity, + As she goes onward in her glittering trim, + Amid the glances of life's transient morn, + Calling on all to view her! + Vectis[104] there, + That slopes its greensward to the lambent wave, + And shows through softest haze its woods and domes, 30 + With gray St Catherine's[105] creeping to the sky, + Seems like a modest maid, who charms the more + Concealing half her beauties. + To the East, + Proud, yet complacent, on its subject realm, + With masts innumerable thronged, and hulls + Seen indistinct, but formidable, mark + Albion's vast fleet, that, like the impatient storm, + Waits but the word to thunder and flash death + On him who dares approach to violate 40 + The shores and living scenes that smile secure + Beneath its dragon-watch! + Long may they smile! + And long, majestic Albion (while the sound + From East to West, from Albis[106] to the Po, + Of dark contention hurtles), may'st thou rest, + As calm and beautiful this sylvan scene + Looks on the refluent wave that steals below. + +[103] A beautiful seat of Henry Drummond, Esq. + +[104] The Isle of Wight. + +[105] The highest slowly-rising eminence in the Isle of Wight, seen from +the river. + +[106] The Elbe. + + +THE LAST SONG OF CAMOENS.[107] + + The morning shone on Tagus' rocky side, + And airs of summer swelled the yellow tide, + When, rising from his melancholy bed, + And faint, and feebly by Antonio[108] led, + Poor Camoens, subdued by want and woe, + Along the winding margin wandered slow, + His harp, that once could each warm feeling move + Of patriot glory or of tenderest love, + His sole and sable friend[109] (while a faint tone + Rose from the wires) placed by a mossy stone. 10 + How beautiful the sun ascending shines + From ridge to ridge, along the purple vines! + How pure the azure of the opening skies! + How resonant the nearer rock replies + To call of early mariners! and, hark! + The distant whistle from yon parting bark, + That down the channel as serene she strays, + Her gray sail mingles with the morning haze, + Bound to explore, o'er ocean's stormy reign, + New lands that lurk amid the lonely main! 20 + A transient fervour touched the old man's breast; + He raised his eyes, so long by care depressed, + And while they shone with momentary fire, + Ardent he struck the long-forgotten lyre. + From Tagus' yellow-sanded shore, + O'er the billows, as they roar, + O'er the blue sea, waste and wide, + Our bark threw back the burning tide, + By northern breezes cheer'ly borne, + On to the kingdoms of the morn. 30 + Blanco, whose cold shadow vast + Chills the western wave, is past! + Huge Bojador, frowning high, + Thy dismal terrors we defy! + But who may violate the sleep + And silence of the sultry deep; + Where, beneath the intenser sun,[110] + Hot showers descend, red lightnings run; + Whilst all the pale expanse beneath + Lies burning wide, without a breath; 40 + And at mid-day from the mast, + No shadow on the deck is cast! + Night by night, still seen the same, + Strange lights along the cordage flame, + Perhaps, the spirits of the good,[111] + That wander this forsaken flood + Sing to the seas, as slow we float, + A solemn and a holy note! + Spectre[112] of the southern main, + Thou barr'st our onward way in vain, 50 + Wrapping the terrors of thy form, + In the thunder's rolling storm! + Fearless o'er the indignant tide, + On to the east our galleys ride. + Triumph! for the toil is o'er-- + We kiss the far-sought Indian shore! + Glittering to the orient ray, + The banners of the Cross display! + Does my heart exulting bound? + Alas, forlorn, I gaze around: 60 + Feeble, poor, and old, I stand, + A stranger in my native land! + My sable slave (ah, no! my only friend, + Whose steps upon my rugged path attend) + Sees, but with tenderness that fears to speak, + The tear that trickles down my aged cheek! + My harp is silent,--famine shrinks mine eye,-- + "Give me a little food for charity!"[113] + +[107] Inscribed to Lord Strangford. + +[108] The faithful Indian who attended him in all his sorrows, a native +of Java. + +[109] Antonio, "who begged alms through Lisbon, and at night shared the +produce with his broken-hearted master."--_Strangford's Preface._ + +[110] Crossing the Line. + +[111] Lights called by the Portuguese _Corpo Sancto's_, supposed to be +the spirits of saints, hovering on the shrouds. + +[112] The terrific Phantom of the Cape, described by Camoens. + +[113] Camoens, the great poet of Portugal, is supposed to have gone to +the East Indies in the same ship with the first Discoverer, round the +Cape of Good Hope, Vasco de Gama. This is not the case, though he wrote +the noble poem descriptive of the voyage. He went to India some years +afterwards, but the general idea is sufficient for poetical purposes. +His subsequent sorrows and poverty, in his native land, are well known. + + +THE SYLPH OF SUMMER.[114] + + God said, Let there be light, and there was light! + At once the glorious sun, at his command, + From space illimitable, void and dark, + Sprang jubilant, and angel hierarchies, + Whose long hosannahs pealed from orb to orb, + Sang, Glory be to Thee, God of all worlds! + Then beautiful the ball of this terrene + Rolled in the beam of first-created day, + And all its elements obeyed the voice + Of Him, the great Creator; Air, and Fire, 10 + And Earth, and Water, each its ministry + Performed, whilst Chaos from his ebon throne + Leaped up; and so magnificent, and decked, + And mantled in its ambient atmosphere, + The living world began its state! + To thee, + Spirit of Air, I lift the venturous song, + Whose viewless presence fills the living scene, + Whose element ten thousand thousand wings + Fan joyous; o'er whose fields the morning clouds 20 + Ride high; whose rule the lightning-shafts obey, + And the deep thunder's long-careering march! + The Winds too are thy subjects; from the breeze, + That, like a child upon a holiday, + On the high mountain's van pursues the down + Of the gray thistle, ere the autumnal shower + Steals soft, and mars his pastime; to the King + Of Hurricanes, that sounds his mighty shell, + And bids Tornado sweep the Western world. + Sylph of the Summer Gale, on thee I call! 30 + Oh, come, when now gay June is in her car, + Wafting the breath of roses as she moves; + Come to this garden bower, which I have hung + With tendrils, and the fragrant eglantine, + And mandrake, rich with many mantling stars! + 'Tis pleasant, when thy breath is on the leaves + Without, to rest in this embowering shade, + And mark the green fly, circling to and fro, + O'er the still water, with his dragon wings, + Shooting from bank to bank, now in quick turns, 40 + Then swift athwart, as is the gazer's glance, + Pursuing still his mate; they, with delight, + As if they moved in morris, to the sound + Harmonious of this ever-dripping rill, + Now in advance, now in retreat, now round, + Dart through their mazy rings, and seem to say: + The Summer and the Sun are ours! + But thou, + Sylph of the Summer Gale, delay a while + Thy airy flight, whilst here Francesca leans, 50 + And, charmed by Ossian's harp, seems in the breeze + To hear Malvina's plaint; thou to her ear + Come unperceived, like music of the song + From Cona's vale of streams; _then_ with the bee, + That sounds his horn, busied from flower to flower, + Speed o'er the yellow meadows, breathing ripe + Their summer incense; or amid the furze, + That paints with bloom intense the upland crofts, + With momentary essence tinge thy wings; + Or in the grassy lanes, one after one, 60 + Lift light the nodding foxglove's purple bell. + Thence, to the distant sea, and where the flag + Hangs idly down, without a wavy curl, + Thou hoverest o'er the topmast, or dost raise + The full and flowing mainsail: Steadily, + The helmsman cries, as now thy breath is heard + Among the stirring cordage o'er his head; + So, steadily, he cries, as right he steers, + Speeds our proud ship along the world of waves. + Sylph, may thy favouring breath more gently blow, 70 + More gently round the temples and the cheek + Of him, who, leaving home and friends behind, + In silence musing o'er the ocean leans, + And watches every passing shade that marks + The southern Channel's fast-retiring line; + Then, as the ship rolls on, keeps a long look + Fixed on the lessening Lizard,[115] the last point + Of that delightful country, where he left + All his fond hopes behind: it lessens still; + Still, still it lessens, and now disappears! 80 + He turns, and only sees the waves that rock + Boundless. How many anxious morns shall rise, + How many moons shall light the farthest seas, + O'er what new scenes and regions shall he stray, + A weary man, still thinking of his home, + Ere he again that shore shall view, and greet + With blissful thronging hopes and starting tears, + Of heartfelt welcome, and of warmest love! + Perhaps, ah! never! So didst thou go forth, + My poor lost brother![116] 90 + The airs of morning as enticing played, + And gently, round thee, and their whisperings + Might sooth (if aught could sooth) a boding heart; + For thou wert bound to visit scenes of death, + Where the sick gale (alas! unlike the breeze + That bore the gently-swelling sail along) + Was tainted with the breath of pestilence, + That smote the silent camp, and night and day + Sat mocking on the putrid carcases. + Thou too didst perish! As the south-west blows, 100 + Thy bones, perhaps, now whiten on the coast + Of old Algarva.[117] I, meantime, these shades + Of village solitude, hoping erewhile + To welcome thee from many a toil restored, + Still deck, and now thy empty urn[118] alone + I meet, where, swaying in the summer gale, + The willow whispers in my evening walk. + Sylph, in thy airy robe, I see thee float, + A rainbow o'er thy head, and in thy hand + The magic instrument,[119] that, as thy wing, 110 + Lucid, and painted like the butterfly's, + Waves to and from, most musically rings; + Sometimes in joyance, as the flaunting leaf + Of the white poplar, sometimes sad and slow, + As bearing pensive airs from Pity's grave. + Soft child of air, thou tendest on his sway, + As gentle Ariel at the bidding hies + Of mighty Prospero; yet other winds + Throng to his wizard 'hest, inspiring some, + Some melancholy, and yet soothing much 120 + The drooping wanderer in the fading copse; + Some terrible, with solitude and death + Attendant on their march:--the wild Simoom,[120] + Riding on whirling spires of burning sand, + That move along the Nubian wilderness, + And bury deep the silent caravan;-- + Monsoon, up-starting from his half-year sleep, + Upon the vernal shores of Hindostan, + And tempesting with sounds of torrent rain, + And hail, the darkening main;--and red Sameel, 130 + Blasting and withering, like a rivelled leaf, + The pilgrim as he roams;--Sirocco sad, + That pants, all summer, on the cloudless shores + Of faint Parthenope;--deep in the mine + Oft lurks the lurid messenger of death, + The ghastly fiend that blows, when the pale light + Quivers, and leaves the gasping wretch to die;-- + The imp, that when the hollow curfew knolls, + Wanders the misty marish, lighting it + At night with errant and fantastic flame. 140 + Spirit of air, these are thy ministers, + That wait thy will; but thou art all in all, + And dead without thee were the flower, the leaf, + The waving forest rivelled, the great sea + Still, the lithe birds of heaven extinct, and ceased + The soul of melting music. + This fair scene + Lives in thy tender touch, for so it seems; + Whilst universal nature owns thy sway; + From the mute insect on the summer pool, 150 + That with long cobweb legs, firm as on earth + The ostrich skims, flits idly to and fro, + Making no dimple on the watery mass; + To the huge grampus, spouting, as he rolls, + A cataract, amid the cold clear sky, + And furrowing far and wide the northern deep. + Thy presence permeates and fills the whole! + As the poor butterfly, that, painted gay, + With mealy wings, red, amber, white, or dropped + With golden stains, floats o'er the yellow corn, 160 + Idly, as bent on pastime, while the morn + Smiles on his devious voyage; if inclosed + In the exhausted prison,[121] whence thy breath + With suction slow is drawn, he feels the change + How dire! in palsied inanition drops! + Weak flags his weary wing, and weaker yet; + His frame with tremulous convulsion moves + A moment, and the next is still in death. + So were the great and glorious world itself; + The tenants of its continents, all ceased! 170 + A wide, a motionless, a putrid waste, + Its seas! How droops the languid mariner, + When not a breath, along the sluggish main, + Strays on the sultry surface as it sleeps; + When far away the winds are flown, to dash + The congregated ocean on the Cape + Of Southern Africa, leaving the while + The flood's vast surface noiseless, waveless, white, + Beneath Mozambique's long-reflected woods, + A gleaming mirror, spread from east to west, 180 + Where the still ship, as on a bed of glass, + Sits motionless. Awake, ye hurricanes! + Ye winds that harrow up the wintry waste, + Awake! for Thunder in his sounding car, + Flashing thick lightning from the rolling wheels, + And the red volley, charged with instant death, + Were music to this lingering, sickening calm, + The same eternal sunshine; still, all still, + Without a vapour, or a sound. + If thus, 190 + Beneath the burning, breathless atmosphere, + Faint Nature sickening droop; who shall ascend + The height, where Silence, since the world began, + Has sat on Cimborazzo's highest peak, + A thousand toises o'er the cloud's career, + Soaring in finest ether? Far below, + He sees the mountains burning at his feet, + Whose smoke ne'er reached his forehead; never there, + Though the black whirlwind shake the distant shores, + The passing gale has murmured; never there 200 + The eagle's cry has echoed; never there + The solitary condor's weary wing + Hath yet ascended! + Let the rising thought + Beyond the confines of this vapoury vault + Be lifted, to the boundless void of space, + How dread, how infinite! where other worlds, + Ten million and ten million leagues aloft, + In other precincts with their shadows roll. + There roams the sole erratic comet, borne 210 + With lightning speed, yet twice three hundred years + Its destined course accomplishing. + Then whirled, + Far from the attractive orb of central fire, + Back through the dim and infinite abyss, + Dread flaming visitant, ere thou return'st, + Empires may rise and fail; the palaces, + That shone on earth, may vanish like the dews + Of morning, scarce illumined ere they fly. + Dread flaming visitant, who that pursues 220 + Thy long and lonely voyage, ev'n in thought, + (Till thought itself seem in the effort lost,) + But tremblingly exclaims, There is a God: + There is a God who lights ten thousand suns,[122] + Round which revolve worlds wheeling amid worlds. + He launched thy voyage through the vast abyss, + He hears his universe, through all its orbs, + As with one voice, proclaim, + There is a God! + Lifted above this dim diurnal sphere, 230 + So fancy, rising with her theme, ascends, + And voyaging the illimitable void, + Where comets flame, sees other worlds and suns + Emerge, and on this earth, like a dim speck, + Looks down: nor in the wonderful and vast + Of the dread scene magnificent, she views + Alone the Almighty Ruler, but the web + That shines in summer time, and only seen + In the slant sunbeam, wakes a moral thought. + In autumn, when the thin long spider gains 240 + The leafy bush's top, he from his seat + Shoots the soft filament, like threads of air, + Scarce seen, into the sky; and thus sustained, + Boldly ascends into the breezy void, + Dependent on the trembling line he wove, + Insidious, and intent on scenes of spoil + And death:--So mounts Ambition, and aloft + On his proud summit meditates new scenes + Of plunder and dominion, till the breeze + Of fortune change, that blows to empty air 250 + His feeble, frail support, and once again + Leaves him a reptile, struggling in the dust! + But what the world itself, what in His view + Whose dread Omnipotence is over all! + A twinkling air-thread in the vast of space. + And what the works of that proud insect, Man! + His mausoleums, fanes, and pyramids, + Frown in the dusk of long-revolving years, + While generations, as they rise and drop, + Each following each to silence and to dust, 260 + Point as they pass, and say, It was a God[123] + That made them: but nor date, nor name + Oblivion shows; cloud only, rolling on, + And wrapping darker as it rolls, the works + Of man! + Now raised on Contemplation's wing, + The blue vault, fervent with unnumbered stars, + He ranges: speeds, as with an angel's flight, + From orb to orb; sees distant suns illume + The boundless space, then bends his head to earth, 270 + So poor is all he knows! + O'er sanguine fields + Now rides he, armed and crested like the god + Of fabled battles; where he points, pale Death + Strides over weltering carcases; nor leaves,-- + But still a horrid shadow, step by step, + Stalks mocking after him, till now the noise + Of rolling acclamation, and the shout + Of multitude on multitude, is past: + The scene of all his triumphs, wormy earth, 280 + Closes upon his perishable pride; + For "dust he is, and shall to dust return"! + But Conscience, a small voice from heaven replies, + Conscience shall meet him in another world. + Let man, then, walk meek, humble, pure, and just; + Though meek, yet dignified; though humble, raised, + The heir of life and immortality; + Conscious that in this awful world he stands, + He only of all living things, ordained + To think, and know, and feel, there is a God! 290 + Child of the air, though most I love to hear + Thy gentle summons whisper, when the Spring, + At the first carol of the village lark, + Looks out and smiles, or June is in her car; + Not undelightful is the purer air + In winter, when the keen north-east is high, + When frost fantastic his cold garland weaves + Of brittle flowers, or soft-succeeding snows + Gather without apace, and heavy load + The berried sweetbrier, clinging to my pane. 300 + The blackbird, then, that marks the ruddy pods + Peep through the snow, though silent is his song, + Yet, pressed by cold and hunger, ventures near. + The robin group, familiar, muster round + The garden-shed, where, at his dinner set, + The laboured hind strews here and there a crumb + From his brown bread; then heedless of the winds + That blow without, and sweep the shivered snow, + Sees from his broken tube the smoke ascend + On an inverted barrow, as in state 310 + He sits, though poor, the monarch of the scene, + As pondering deep the garden's future state, + His kingdom; the rude instruments of death + Lie at his feet, fashioned with simple skill, + With which he hopes to snare the prowling race, + The mice, rapacious of his vernal hopes. + So seated, on the spring he ruminates, + And solemn as a sophi,[124] moves nor hand, + Nor eye, till haply some more venturous bird, + (The crumbs exhausted that he lately strewed 320 + Upon the groundsill,) with often dipping beak, + And sidelong look, as asking larger dole, + Comes hopping to his feet: and say, ye great, + Ye mighty monarchs of this earthly scene, + What nobler views can elevate the heart + Of a proud patriot king, than thus to chase + The bold rapacious spoilers from the field, + And with an eye of merciful regard + To look on humble worth, wet from the storm, + And chilled by indigence! 330 + But thoughts like these + Ill suit the radiant summer's rosy prime, + And the still temper of the calm blue sky. + The sunny shower is past; at intervals + The silent glittering drops descend; and mark, + Upon the blue bank of yon western cloud, + That looms direct against the emerging orb, + How bright, how beautiful the rainbow's hues + Steal out, how stately bends the graceful arch + Above the hills, and tinging at his foot 340 + The mead and trees! Fancy might think young Hope + Pants for the vision, and with ardent eye + Pursues the unreal shade, and spreads her hands, + Weeping to see it fade, as all her dreams + Have faded. + These, O Air! are but the toys, + That sometimes deck thy fairy element; + So oft the eye observant loves to trace + The colours, and the shadows, and the forms, + That wander o'er the veering atmosphere. 350 + See, in the east, the rare parhelia shine + In mimic glory, and so seem to mock + (Fixed parallel to the ascending orb) + The majesty, the splendour, and the shape, + Of the sole luminary that informs + The world with light and heat! The halo-ring + Bends over all! + With desultory shafts, + And long and arrowy glance, the night-lights[125] shoot + Pale coruscations o'er the northern sky; 360 + Now lancing to the cope, in sheets of flame, + Now wavering wild, as the reflected wave, + On the arched roof of the umbrageous grot. + Hence Superstition dreams of armaments, + Of fiery conflicts, and of bleeding fields + Of slaughter; so on great Jerusalem, + Ere yet she fell, the flaming meteor glared; + A waving sword ensanguined seemed to point + To the devoted city, and a voice + Was heard, Depart, depart![126] 370 + The atmosphere, + That with the ceaseless hurry of its clouds, + Encircles the round globe, resembles oft + The passing sunshine, or the glooms that stray + O'er every human spirit. + Thin light streaks + Of thought pass vapoury o'er the vacant mind, + And fade to nothing. Now fantastic gleams + Play, flashing or expiring, of gay hope, + Or deep despair; then clouds of sadness close 380 + In one dark settled gloom, and all the man + Droops, in despondence lost. + Aerial tints + Please most the pensive poet: and the views + He forms, though evanescent, and as vain + As the air's mockery, seem to his eye + Ev'n as substantial images, and shapes, + Till in a hurrying rack they all dissolve. + So in the cloudless sky, amusive shines + The soft and mimic scenery; distant hills 390 + That, in refracted light, hang beautiful + Beneath the golden car of eve, ere yet + The daylight lingering fades. + Hence, on the heights + Of Apennine, far stretching to the south, + The goat-herd, while the westering sun, far off, + Hangs o'er the hazy ocean's brim, beholds + In the horizon's faintly-glowing verge + A landscape,[127] like the rainbow, rise, with rocks + That softened shine, and shores that trend away, 400 + Beneath the winding woods of Sicily, + And Etna, smouldering in the still pale sky; + And dim Messina, with her spires, and bays + That wind among the mountains, and the tower + Of Faro, gleaming on the tranquil straits; + Unreal all, yet on the air impressed, + From light's refracted ray,[128] the shadow seems + The certain scene: the hind astonished views, + Yet most delighted, till at once the light + Changes, and all has vanished! 410 + But to him, + How different in still air the unreal view, + Who wanders in Arabian solitudes, + When, faint with thirst, he sees illusive streams[129] + Shine in the arid desert! + All around, + A silent waste of dark gray sand is spread, + Like ashes; not a speck in heaven appears, + But the red sun, high in his burning noon, + Shoots down intolerable fire: no sound 420 + Of beast, or blast, or moving insect, stirs + The horrid stillness. Oh! what hand will guide + The pilgrim, panting in the trackless dust, + To where the pure and sparkling fountain cheers + The green oasis.[130] See, as now his lip + Hangs parched and quivering, see before him spread + The long and level lake! + He gazes; still + He gazes, till he drops upon the sands, + And to the vision stretches, as he faints, 430 + His feeble hand. + Come, Sylph of Summer, come! + Return to these green pastures, that, remote + From fiery blasts, or deadly blistering frosts, + Beneath the temperate atmosphere rejoice! + A crown of flame, a javelin in his hand, + Like the red arrow that the lightning shoots + Through night, impetuous steeds, and burning wheels, + That, as they whirl, flash to the cope of heaven, + Proclaim the angel of the world of fire! 440 + The ocean-king, lord of the waters, rides + High on his hissing car, whose concave skirrs + The azure deep beneath him, flashing wide, + As to the sun the dark-green wave upturns, + And foaming far behind: sea-horses breast + The bickering surge, with nostrils sounding far, + And eyes that flash above the wave, and necks, + Whose mane, like breakers whitening in the wind, + Toss through the broken foam: he kingly bears + His trident sceptre high; around him play 450 + Nereids, and sea-maids, singing as he rides + Their choral song: huge Triton, weltering on, + With scaly train, at times his wreathed shell + Sounds, that the caverns of old ocean shake! + But milder thou, soft daughter of the air, + Sylph of the Summer, come! the silent shower + Is past, and 'mid the dripping fern, the wren + Peeps, till the sun looks through the clouds again. + Oh, come, and breathe thy gentler influence, + And send a home-felt quiet to my heart, 460 + Soothed as I hear, by fits, thy whisper run, + Stirring the tall acacia's pendent leaves, + And through yon hazel alley rustling soft + Upon the vacant ear! + Yon eastern downs, + That weather-fence the blossoms of the vale, + Where winds from hill to hill the mighty Dike,[131] + Of Woden named, with many an antique mound, + The warrior's grave, bids exercise awake, + And health, the breeze of morning to inhale: 470 + Meantime, remote from storms, the myrtle blooms + Beneath my southern sash. + The hurricane + May rend the pines of snowy Labrador, + The blasting whirlwinds of the desert sweep + The Nubian wilderness--we fear them not; + Nor yet, my country, do thy breezes bear, + From citrons, or the blooming orange-grove, + As in Rousillon's jasmine-bordered vales, + Incense at eve. 480 + But temperate airs are thine, + England; and as thy climate, so thy sons + Partake the temper of thine isle; not rude, + Nor soft, voluptuous, nor effeminate; + Sincere, indeed, and hardy, as becomes + Those who can lift their look elate, and say, + We strike for injured freedom; and yet mild, + And gentle, when the voice of charity + Pleads like a voice from heaven: and, thanks to GOD, + The chain that fettered Afric's groaning race, 490 + The murderous chain, that, link by link, dropped blood, + Is severed; we have lost that foul reproach + To all our virtuous boast! + Humanity, + England, is thine! not _that_ false substitute, + That meretricious sadness, which, all sighs + For lark or lambkin, yet can hear unmoved + The bloodiest orgies of blood-boltered France; + Thine is consistent, manly, rational, + Nor needing the false glow of sentiment 500 + To melt it into sympathy, but mild, + And looking with a gentle eye on all; + Thy manners open, social, yet refined, + Are tempered with reflection; gaiety, + In her long-lighted halls, may lead the dance, + Or wake the sprightly chord; yet nature, truth, + Still warm the ingenuous heart: there is a blush + With those most gay, and lovely; and a tear + With those most manly! + Temperate Liberty 510 + Hath yet the fairest altar on thy shores; + Such, and so warm with patriot energy, + As raised its arm when a false Stuart fled; + Yet mingled with deep wisdom's cautious lore, + That when it bade a Papal tyrant pause + And tremble, held the undeviating reins + On the fierce neck of headlong Anarchy. + Thy Church, (nor here let zealot bigotry, + Vaunting, condemn all altars but its own), + Thy Church, majestic, but not sumptuous, 520 + Sober, but not austere, with lenity + Tempering her fair pre-eminence, sustains + Her liberal charities, yet decent state. + The tempest is abroad; the fearful sounds + Of armament, and gathering tumult, fill + The ear of anxious Europe. If, O GOD! + It is thy will, that in the storm of death, + When we have lifted the brave sword in vain, + We too should sink, sustain us in that hour! + Meantime be mine, in cheerful privacy, 530 + To wait Thy will, not sanguine, nor depressed; + In even course, nor splendid, nor obscure, + To steal through life among my villagers! + The hum of the discordant crowd, the buzz + Of faction, the poor fly that threads the air + Self-pleased, the wasp that points its tiny sting + Unfelt, pass by me like the idle wind + That I regard not; while the Summer Sylph, + That whispers through the laurels, wakes the thought + Of quietude, and home-felt happiness, 540 + And independence, in a land I love! + +[114] Inscribed to William Sotheby, Esq. + +[115] The last point of Cornwall. + +[116] Dr Henry Bowles, on the medical staff sent to Gibraltar during the +pestilential fever there. + +[117] South coast of Portugal. + +[118] An urn is erected to his memory in Bremhill Garden. + +[119] AEolian harp. + +[120] Simoom, Sameel, destructive winds in the deserts of Asia. See +Bruce, &c. + +[121] Air-pump. + +[122] Fixed stars. + +[123] So the Arabs say, speaking of the stupendous monuments in the +deserts. + +[124] Title of the Persian Emperor. + +[125] Aurora Borealis. + +[126] From Josephus. + +[127] A curious effect of vision in the air from refraction, by which +objects appear distinct, and as real, which are below the horizon. This +often appears on the coast of Italy, and has been sometimes observed +from our shores, where a line of the opposite coast appears. + +[128] The Fata Morgana are all explained in books; the effect is +ascribed to reflection and refraction, as one alone will not correspond +with the effects. The time when they occur is not the evening; but the +looming in our country is towards the evening. + +[129] The Mirage: see Denon. + +[130] Green spots in the desert. + +[131] Wandsdike, on the Marlborough Downs, opposite. + + +THE HARP OF HOEL.[132] + + It was a high and holy sight, 1 + When Baldwin[133] and his train, + With cross and crosier gleaming bright, + Came chanting slow the solemn rite, + To Gwentland's[134] pleasant plain. + + High waved before, in crimson pride, 2 + The banner of the Cross; + The silver rood was then descried, + While deacon youths, from side to side, + The fuming censer toss. + + The monks went two and two along, 3 + And winding through the glade, + Sang, as they passed, a holy song, + And harps and citterns, 'mid the throng, + A mingled music made. + + They ceased; when lifting high his hand, 4 + The white-robed prelate cried: + Arise, arise, at Christ's command, + To fight for his name in the Holy Land, + Where a Saviour lived and died! + + With gloves of steel, and good broadsword, 5 + And plumed helm of brass, + Hoel, Landoga's youthful lord, + To hear the father's holy word, + Came riding to the pass. + + More earnestly the prelate spake: 6 + Oh, heed no earthly loss! + He who will friends and home forsake, + Now let him kneel, and fearless take + The sign of the Holy Cross. + + Then many a maid her tresses rent, 7 + And did her love implore: + Oh, go not thou to banishment! + For me, and the pleasant vales of Gwent, + Thou never wilt see more. + + And many a mother, pale with fears, 8 + Did kiss her infant son; + Said, Who will shield thy helpless years, + Who dry thy widowed mother's tears, + When thy brave father's gone? + + GOD, with firm voice the prelate cried, 9 + God will the orphan bless; + Sustain the widow's heart, and guide + Through the hard world, obscure and wild, + The poor and fatherless. + + Then might you see a shade o'ercast 10 + Brave Hoel's ruddy hue, + But soon the moment's thought is past:-- + Hark, hark, 'tis the trumpet's stirring blast! + And he grasped his bow of yew. + + Then might you see a moment's gloom 11 + Sit in brave Hoel's eye: + Make in the stranger's land my tomb, + I follow thee, be it my doom, + O CHRIST, to live or die! + + No more he thought, though rich in fee, 12 + Of any earthly loss, + But lighting, on his bended knee, + Said, Father, here I take from thee + The sign of the Holy Cross. + + I have a wife, to me more dear 13 + Then is my own heart's blood; + I have a child, (a starting tear, + Which soon he dried, of love sincere, + On his stern eyelid stood); + + To them farewell! O God above, 14 + Thine is the fate of war; + But oh! reward Gwenlhian's[135] love, + And may my son a comfort prove, + When I am distant far! + + Farewell, my harp!--away, away! 15 + To the field of death I go; + Welcome the trumpet's blast, the neigh + Of my bold and barbed steed of gray, + And the clang of the steel crossbow! + + Gwenlhian sat in the hall at night, 16 + Counting the heavy hours; + She saw the moon, with tranquil light, + Shine on the circling mountain's height, + And the dim castle towers. + + Deep stillness was on hill and glen, 17 + When she heard a bugle blow; + A trump from the watch-tower answered then, + And the tramp of steeds, and the voice of men, + Were heard in the court below. + + The watch-dog started at the noise, 18 + Then crouched at his master's feet; + He knew his step, he heard his voice; + But who can now like her rejoice, + Who flies her own lord to greet? + + And soon her arms his neck enfold: 19 + But whence that altered mien! + O say, then, is thy love grown cold, + Or hast thou been hurt by the robbers bold, + That won in the forest of Dean? + + Oh no, he cried, the God above, 20 + Who all my soul can see, + Knows my sincere, my fervent love; + If aught my stern resolve could move, + It were one tear from thee. + + But I have sworn, in the Holy Land,-- 21 + Need I the sequel speak; + Too well, she cried, I understand! + Then grasped in agony his hand, + And hid her face on his cheek. + + My loved Gwenlhian, weep not so, 22 + From the lid that tear I kiss; + Though to the wars far off I go, + Betide me weal, betide me woe, + We yet may meet in bliss. + + Fourteen suns their course had rolled, 23 + When firmly thus he spake; + Hear now my last request: behold + This ring, it is of purest gold, + Love, keep it for my sake! + + When summers seven have robed each tree, 24 + And clothed the vales with green, + If I come not back, then thou art free, + To wed or not, and to think of me, + As I had never been! + + Nay, answer not,--what wouldst thou say! + Come, let my harp be brought; + For the last time, I fain would play, + Ere yet we part, our favourite lay, + And cheat severer thought: + + THE AIR. + + Oh, cast every care to the wind, + And dry, best beloved, the tear! + Secure, that thou ever shalt find, + The friend of thy bosom sincere. + Still friendship shall live in the breast of the brave, + And we'll love, the long day, where the forest-trees wave. + + I have felt each emotion of bliss, + That affection the fondest can prove, + Have received on my lip the first kiss + Of thy holy and innocent love; + But perish each hope of delight, + Like the flashes of night on the sea, + If ever, though far from thy sight, + My soul is forgetful of thee! + Still the memory shall live in the breast of the brave, + How we loved, the long day, where the forest-trees wave. + + Now bring my boy; may God above 26 + Shower blessings on his head! + May he requite his mother's love, + And to her age a comfort prove, + When I perhaps am dead! + + The beams of morn on his helm did play, 27 + And aloud the bugle blew, + Then he leaped on his harnessed steed of gray, + And sighed to the winds as he galloped{f} away, + Adieu, my heart's love, adieu! + + And now he has joined the warrior train 28 + Of knights and barons bold, + That, bound to Salem's holy plain, + Across the gently-swelling main, + Their course exulting hold. + + With a cross of gold, as on they passed, 29 + The crimson streamers flew; + The shields hung glittering round the mast, + And on the waves a radiance cast, + Whilst all the trumpets blew. + + O'er the Severn-surge, in long array, 30 + So, the proud galleys went, + Till soon, as dissolved in ether gray, + The woods, and the shores, and the Holms[136] steal away, + And the long blue hills of Gwent. + +[132] This lyrical ballad is founded on a story connected with an old +Welsh melody. I have placed the circumstance in the time of the +Crusades. + +[133] Archbishop of Canterbury, who preached the Crusade in Wales. + +[134] Monmouthshire. + +[135] The Welsh tune is called the "Remembrance of Gwenlhian," the name +of the woman. + +[136] Islands in the Bristol Channel. + + +PART II. + + High on the hill, with moss o'ergrown, 1 + A hermit chapel stood; + It spoke the tale of seasons gone, + And half-revealed its ivied stone. + Amid the beechen wood. + + Here often, when the mountain trees 2 + A leafy murmur made, + Now still, now swaying to the breeze, + (Sounds that the musing fancy please), + The widowed mourner strayed. + + And many a morn she climbed the steep, 3 + From whence she might behold, + Where, 'neath the clouds, in shining sweep, + And mingling with the mighty deep, + The sea-broad Severn rolled. + + Her little boy beside her played, 4 + With sea-shells in his hand; + And sometimes, 'mid the bents delayed, + And sometimes running onward, said, + Oh, where is Holy Land! + + My child, she cried, my prattler dear! 5 + And kissed his light-brown hair; + Her eyelid glistened with a tear, + And none but God above could hear, + That hour, her secret prayer. + + As thus she nursed her secret woes, 6 + Oft to the wind and rain + She listened, at sad autumn's close, + Whilst many a thronging shadow rose, + Dark-glancing o'er her brain. + + Now lonely to the cloudy height 7 + Of the steep hill she strays; + Below, the raven wings his flight, + And often on the screaming kite + She sees the wild deer gaze. + + The clouds were gathered on its brow, 8 + The warring winds were high; + She heard a hollow voice, and now + She lifts to heaven a secret vow, + Whilst the king of the storm rides by. + + Seated on a craggy rock, 9 + What aged man appears! + There is no hind, no straggling flock; + Comes the strange shade my thoughts to mock, + And shake my soul with fears? + + Fast drive the hurrying clouds of morn; 10 + A pale man stands confessed; + With look majestic, though forlorn, + A mirror in his hand, and horn + Of ivory on his breast. + + Daughter of grief, he gently said, 11 + And beckoned her: come near; + Now say, what would you give to me, + If you brave Hoel's form might see, + Or the sound of his bugle hear! + + Hoel, my love, where'er thou art, 12 + All England I would give,[137] + If, never, never more to part, + I now could hold thee to my heart, + For whom alone I live! + + He placed the white horn to her ear, 13 + And sudden a sweet voice + Stole gently, as of fairies near, + While accents soft she seemed to hear, + Daughter of grief, rejoice! + + For soon to love and thee I fly, 14 + From Salem's hallowed plain! + The mirror caught her turning eye, + As pale in death she saw him lie, + And sinking 'mid the slain. + + She turned to the strange phantom-man, 15 + But she only saw the sky, + And the clouds on the lonely mountains' van, + And the Clydden-Shoots,[138] that rushing ran, + To meet the waves of Wye. + + Thus seven long years had passed away,-- 16 + She heard no voice of mirth; + No minstrel raised his festive lay, + At the sad close of the drisly day, + Beside the blazing hearth. + + She seemed in sorrow, yet serene, 17 + No tear was on her face; + And lighting oft her pensive mien, + Upon her languid look was seen + A meek attractive grace. + + In beauty's train she yet might vie, 18 + For though in mourning weeds, + No friar, I deem, that passed her by, + Ere saw her dark, yet gentle eye, + But straight forgot his beads. + + Eineon, generous and good, 19 + Alone with friendship's aid, + Eineon, of princely Rhys's blood, + Who 'mid the bravest archers stood, + To sooth her griefs essayed. + + He had himself been early tried 20 + By stern misfortune's doom; + For she who loved him drooped and died, + And on the green hill's flowery side + He raised her grassy tomb. + + What marvel, in his lonely heart, 21 + To faith a friendship true, + If, when her griefs she did impart, + And tears of memory oft would start, + If more than pity grew. + + With converse mild he oft would seek 22 + To sooth her sense of care; + As the west wind, with breathings weak, + Wakes, on the hectic's faded cheek + A smile of faint despair. + + The summer's eve was calm and still, 23 + When once his harp he strung; + Soft as the twilight on the hill, + Affection seemed his heart to fill, + Whilst eloquent he sung: + + When Fortune to all thy warm hopes was unkind, + And the morn of thy youth was o'erclouded with woe, + In me, not a stranger to grief, thou should'st find, + All that friendship and kindness and truth could bestow. + + Yes, the time it has been, when my soul was oppressed, + But no longer this heart would for heaviness pine, + Could I lighten the load of an innocent breast, + And steal but a moment of sadness from thine. + + He paused, then with a starting tear, 24 + And trembling accent, cried, + O lady, hide that look severe,-- + The voice of love, of friendship hear, + And be again a bride. + + Mourn not thy much-loved Hoel lost,-- 25 + Lady, he is dead, is dead,-- + Far distant wanders his pale ghost,-- + His bones by the white surge are tossed, + And the wave rolls o'er his head. + + She said, Sev'n years their course have rolled, 26 + Since thus brave Hoel spake, + When last I heard his voice, Behold, + This ring,--it is of purest gold,-- + Then, keep it for my sake. + + When summers seven have robed each tree, 27 + And decked the coombs with green, + If I come not back, then thou art free, + To wed or not, and to think of me + As I had never been. + + Those seven sad summers now are o'er, 28 + And three I yet demand; + If in that space I see no more + The friend I ever must deplore, + Then take a mourner's hand. + + The time is passed:--the laugh, the lay, 29 + The nuptial feast proclaim; + From many a rushing torrent gray, + From many a wild brook's wandering way, + The hoary minstrels came. + + From Kymin's crag, with fragments strewed; 30 + From Skirid, bleak and high; + From Penalt's shaggy solitude; + From Wyndcliff, desolate and rude, + That frowns o'er mazy Wye. + + With harps the gallery glittered bright,-- 31 + The pealing rafters rung; + Far off upon the woods of night, + From the tall window's arch, the light + Of tapers clear was flung. + + The harpers ceased the acclaiming lay, 32 + When, with descending beard, + Scallop, and staff his steps to stay, + As, foot-sore, on his weary way, + A pilgrim wan appeared. + + Now lend me a harp for St Mary's sake, 33 + For my skill I fain would try, + A poor man's offering to make, + If haply still my hand may wake + Some pleasant melody. + + With scoffs the minstrel crowd replied, 34 + Dost thou a harp request! + And loud in mirth, and swelled with pride, + Some his rain-dripping hair deride, + And some his sordid vest. + + Pilgrim, a harp shall soon be found, 35 + Young Hoel instant cried; + There lies a harp upon the ground, + And none hath ever heard its sound, + Since my brave father died. + + The harp is brought: upon the frame 36 + A filmy cobweb hung; + The strings were few, yet 'twas the same; + The old man drawing near the flame, + The chords imperfect rung: + + Oh! cast every care to the wind, + And dry, best beloved, the tear; + Secure that thou ever shalt find + The friend of thy bosom sincere. + + She speechless gazed:--he stands confessed,-- 37 + The dark eyes of her Hoel shine; + Her heart has forgotten it e'er was oppressed, + And she murmurs aloud, as she sinks on his breast, + Oh! press my heart to thine. + + He turned his look a little space, 38 + To hide the tears of joy; + Then rushing, with a warm embrace, + Cried, as he kissed young Hoel's face, + My boy, my heart-loved boy! + + Proud harpers, strike a louder lay,-- 39 + No more forlorn I bend! + Prince Eineon, with the rest, be gay, + Though fate hath torn a bride away, + Accept a long-lost friend. + + * * * * * + + This tale I heard, when at the close of day + The village harper tuned an ancient lay; + He struck his harp, beneath a ruin hoar, + And sung of love and truth, in days of yore, + And I retained the song, with counsel sage, + To teach _one_ lesson to a wiser age! + +[137] + +"Wales, England, and Llewellyn, All would I give for a sight of +William." + +_Giraldus_, vol. i. p. 46. + +[138] "Nearly through the centre of the hill that backs the village +(Landoga) is a deep ravine, called Clydden-Shoots, which, when the +springs are full, forms a beautiful cascade."--_Heath._ + + +AVENUE IN SAVERNAKE FOREST. + + How soothing sound the gentle airs that move + The innumerable leaves, high overhead, + When autumn first, from the long avenue, + That lifts its arching height of ancient shade, + Steals here and there a leaf! + Within the gloom, + In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear, + Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shade + Some mingle their dark branches, but yet all, + All make a sad sweet music, as they move, + Not undelightful to a stranger's heart. + They seem to say, in accents audible, + Farewell to summer, and farewell the strains + Of many a lithe and feathered chorister, + That through the depth of these incumbent woods + Made the long summer gladsome. + I have heard + To the deep-mingling sounds of organs clear, + (When slow the choral anthem rose beneath), + The glimmering minster, through its pillared aisles, + Echo;--but not more sweet the vaulted roof + Rang to those linked harmonies, than here + The high wood answers to the lightest breath + Of nature. + Oh, may such sweet music steal, + Soothing the cares of venerable age,[139] + From public toil retired: may it awake, + As, still and slow, the sun of life declines, + Remembrances, not mournful, but most sweet; + May it, as oft beneath the sylvan shade + Their honoured owner strays, come like the sound + Of distant seraph harps, yet speaking clear! + How poor is every sound of earthly things, + When heaven's own music waits the just and pure! + +[139] The Earl of Aylesbury. + + +DIRGE OF NELSON. + + Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave + Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave! + Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave, + Toll Nelson's knell! + + The ball of Death unerring flew; + His cheek has lost its ardent hue; + He sinks, amid his gallant crew! + Toll Nelson's knell! + + Yet lift, brave chief, thy dying eyes; + Hark! loud huzzas around thee rise; + Aloft the flag of conquest flies! + The day is won! + + The day is won--peace to the brave! + But whilst the joyous streamers wave, + We'll think upon the victor's grave! + Peace to the brave! + + +DEATH OF CAPTAIN COOKE, + +OF "THE BELLEROPHON," KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE. + + When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore, + From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight's roar; + When flash succeeding flash, tremendous broke + The haze incumbent, and the clouds of smoke, + As oft the volume rolled away, thy mien, + Thine eye, serenely terrible, was seen, + My gallant friend.--Hark! the shrill bugle[140] calls, + Is the day won! alas, he falls--he falls! + His soul from pain, from agony release! + Hear his last murmur, Let me die in peace![141] + Yet still, brave Cooke, thy country's grateful tear, + Shall wet the bleeding laurel on thy bier. + But who shall wake to joy, through a long life + Of sadness, thy beloved and widowed wife, + Who now, perhaps, thinks how the green seas foam, + That bear thy victor ship impatient home! + Alas! the well-known views,--the swelling plain, + Thy laurel-circled home, endeared in vain, + The brook, the church, those chestnuts darkly-green,[142] + Yon fir-crowned summit,[143] and the village scene, + Wardour's long sweep of woods, the nearer mill, + And high o'er all, the turrets of Font Hill: + These views, when summer comes, shall charm no more + Him o'er whose welt'ring corse the wild waves roar, + Enough: 'twas Honour's voice that awful cried, + Glory to him who for his country died! + Yet dreary is her solitude who bends + And mourns the best of husbands, fathers, friends! + Oh! when she wakes at midnight, but to shed + Fresh tears of anguish on her lonely bed, + Thinking on him who is not; then restrain + The tear, O God, and her sad heart sustain! + Giver of life, may she remember still + Thy chastening hand, and to thy sovereign will + Bow silently; not hopeless, while her eye + She raises to a bright futurity, + And meekly trusts, in heaven, Thou wilt restore + That happiness the world can give no more! + +[140] He bore down into the thickest fight with a bugle-horn sounding. + +[141] His own words, the last he spoke. If I have here been more +particular in this description than in that of the great commander, it +will be attributed to private friendship, Captain Cooke having lived in +the same village. + +[142] Portrait of Captain Cooke's place, at Donhead. + +[143] Barker's Hill, near Donhead. + + +BATTLE OF CORRUNA. + + The tide of fate rolls on!--heart-pierced and pale, + The gallant soldier lies,[144] nor aught avail, + The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave, + From rapine's armed hand thy vales to save, + Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore, + Drenched the same plains with the invader's gore, + Stood frowning, in the front of death, and hurled + Defiance to the conquerors[145] of the world! + Oh, when we hear the agonising tale + Of those who, faint, and fugitive, and pale, + Saw hourly, harassed through their long retreat, + Some worn companion sinking at their feet, + Yet even in danger and from toil more bold, + Back on their gathering foes the tide of battle rolled;-- + While tears of pity mingle with applause, + On the dread scene in silence let us pause; + Yes, pause, and ask, Is not thy awful hand + Stretched out, O God, o'er a devoted land, + Whose vales of beauty Nature spread in vain, + Where misery moaned on the uncultured plain, + Where Bigotry went by with jealous scowl, + Where Superstition muttered in his cowl; + Whilst o'er the Inquisition's dismal holds, + Its horrid banner waved in bleeding folds! + And dost thou thus, Lord of all might, fulfil + With wreck and tempests thy eternal will, + Shatter the arms in which weak kingdoms trust, + And strew their scattered ensigns in the dust? + Oh, if no human wisdom may withstand + The terrors, Lord, of thy uplifted hand; + If the dark tide no prowess can control, + Yet nearer, charged with dread commission, roll; + Still may my country's ark majestic ride, + Though sole, yet safe, on the conflicting tide; + Till hushed be the wild rocking of the blast, + And the red storm of death be overpast! + +[144] Sir John Moore. + +[145] "Near Mount Medulio, the remains of a great native force destroyed +themselves in sight of a Roman army, rather than submit to +bondage."--_Southey's Travels in Spain and Portugal._ + + +SKETCH FROM BOWDEN HILL AFTER SICKNESS. + + How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill, + To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow + Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again + The upland breeze, the comfortable sun, + And all the landscape's hues! Upon the point + Of the descending steep I stand. + How rich, + How mantling in the gay and gorgeous tints + Of summer! far beneath me, sweeping on, + From field to field, from vale to cultured vale, + The prospect spreads its crowded beauties wide! + Long lines of sunshine, and of shadow, streak + The farthest distance; where the passing light + Alternate falls, 'mid undistinguished trees, + White dots of gleamy domes, and peeping towers, + As from the painter's instant touch, appear. + As thus the eye ranges from hill to hill, + Here white with passing sunshine, there with trees + Innumerable shaded, clustering more, + As the long vale retires, the ample scene, + Warm with new grace and beauty, seems to live. + Lives! all is animation! beauty! hope! + Snatched from the dark and dreamless grave, so late, + Shall I pass silent, now first issuing forth, + To feel again thy fragrance, to respire + Thy breath, to hail thy look, thy living look, + O Nature! + Let me the deep joy contrast, + Which now the inmost heart like music fills, + With the sick chamber's sorrows, oft from morn, + Silent, till lingering eve, save when the sound + Of whispers steal, and bodings breathed more low, + As friends approach the pillow: so awaked + From deadly trance, the sick man lifts his eyes, + Then in despondence closes them on all, + All earth's fond wishes! Oh, how changed are now + His thoughts! he sees rich nature glowing round, + He feels her influence! languid with delight, + And whilst his eye is filled with transient fire, + He almost thinks he hears her gently say, + Live, live! O Nature, thee, in the soft winds, + Thee, in the soothing sound of summer leaves, + When the still earth lies sultry; thee, methinks, + Ev'n now I hear bid welcome to thy vales + And woods again! + And I will welcome them, + And pour, as erst, the song of heartfelt praise. + From yonder line, where fade the farthest hills + Which bound the blue lap of the swelling vale, + On whose last line, seen like a beacon, hangs + Thy tower,[146] benevolent, accomplished Hoare, + To where I stand, how wide the interval! + Yet instantaneous, to the hurrying eye + Displayed; though peeping towers and villages + Thick scattered, 'mid the intermingling elms, + And towns remotely marked by hovering smoke, + And grass-green pastures with their herds, and seats + Of rural beauty, cottages and farms, + Unnumbered as the hedgerows, lie between! + Roaming at large to where the gray sky bends, + The eye scarce knows to rest, till back recalled + By yonder ivied cloisters[147] in the plain, + Whose turret, peeping pale above the shade, + Smiles in the venerable grace of years. + As the few threads of age's silver hairs, + Just sprinkled o'er the forehead, lend a grace + Of saintly reverence, seemly, though compared + With blooming Mary's tresses like the morn; + So the gray weather-stained towers yet wear + A secret charm impressive, though opposed + To views in verdure flourishing, the woods, + And scenes of Attic taste, that glitter near.[148] + O venerable pile,[149] though now no more + The pensive passenger, at evening, hears + The slowly-chanted vesper; or the sounds + Of "Miserere," die along the vale; + Yet piety and honoured age[150] retired, + There hold their blameless sojourn, ere the bowl + Be broken, or the silver chord be loosed. + Nor can I pass, snatched from untimely fate, + Without a secret prayer, that so my age, + When many a circling season has declined, + In charity and peace may wait its close. + Yet still be with me, O delightful friend, + Soothing companion of my vacant hours, + Oh, still be with me, Spirit of the Muse! + Not to subdue, or hold in moody spell, + The erring senses, but to animate + And warm my heart, where'er the prospect smiles, + With Nature's fairest views; not to display + Vain ostentations of a poet's art, + But silent, and associate of my joys + Or sorrows, to infuse a tenderness, + A thought, that seems to mingle, as I gaze, + With all the works of GOD. So cheer my path, + From youth to sober manhood, till the light + Of evening smile upon the fading scene. + And though no pealing clarion swell my fame, + When all my days are gone; let me not pass, + Like the forgotten clouds of yesterday, + Nor unremembered by the fatherless + Of the loved village where my bones are laid. + +[146] Sir Richard Hoare's tower at Stourhead. + +[147] Lacock Abbey. + +[148] Bowood, Mr Dickenson's and Mr Methuen's magnificent mansion. + +[149] Lacock Abbey. + +[150] The venerable Catholic Countess, who resides in the abbey. + + +SUN-DIAL, IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BREMHILL. + + So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade, + Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day, + The pleasing pictures of the present fade, + And like a summer vapour steal away! + + And have not they, who here forgotten lie + (Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!) + Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye, + Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast! + + Since thou hast stood, and thus thy vigil kept, + Noting each hour, o'er mouldering stones beneath; + The pastor and his flock alike have slept, + And dust to dust proclaimed the stride of death. + + Another race succeeds, and counts the hour, + Careless alike; the hour still seems to smile, + As hope, and youth, and life, were in our power; + So smiling and so perishing the while. + + I heard the village bells, with gladsome sound, + When to these scenes a stranger I drew near, + Proclaim the tidings to the village round, + While memory wept upon the good man's bier.[151] + + Even so, when I am dead, shall the same bells + Ring merrily, when my brief days are gone; + While still the lapse of time thy shadow tells, + And strangers gaze upon my humble stone! + + Enough, if we may wait in calm content, + The hour that bears us to the silent sod; + Blameless improve the time that heaven has lent, + And leave the issue to thy will, O God! + +[151] My predecessor, Rev. Nathaniel Hume, canon residentiary and +precentor of Salisbury, a man of exemplary benevolence. + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA: + +A DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL POEM. + +INTRODUCTION.[152] + + +I need not perhaps inform the reader, that I had before written a Canto +on the subject of this poem; but I was dissatisfied with the metre, and +felt the necessity of some connecting idea that might give it a degree +of unity and coherence. + +This difficulty I considered as almost inseparable from the subject; I +therefore relinquished the design of making an extended poem on events, +which, though highly interesting and poetical, were too unconnected with +each other to unite properly in one regular whole. But on being kindly +permitted to peruse the sheets of Mr Clarke's valuable work on the +_History of Navigation_, I conceived (without supposing _historically_ +with him that all ideas of navigation were derived from the ark of Noah) +that I might adopt the circumstance _poetically_, as capable of +furnishing an unity of design; besides which, it had the advantage of +giving a more serious cast and character to the whole. + +To obviate such objections as might be made by those who, from an +inattentive survey, might imagine there was any carelessness of +arrangement, I shall lay before the reader a general analysis of the +several books; and, I trust, he will readily perceive a leading +principle, on which the poem begins, proceeds, and ends. + +I feel almost a necessity for doing this in _justice_ to myself, as some +compositions have been certainly misunderstood, where the _connexion_ +might, by the least attention, have been perceived. In going over part +of the same ground which I had taken before, I could not always avoid +the use of similar expressions. + +I trust I need not apologise for having, in some instances, departed +from strict historical facts. It is not true that Camoens sailed with De +Gama, though, from the authority of Voltaire, it has been sometimes +supposed that he did. There are other circumstances for which I may have +less reason to expect pardon. The Egyptians were never, or but for a +short time, a maritime nation. In answer to this, I must say, that +_history_ and _poetry_ are two things; and though the poet has no right +to _contradict_ the historian, yet, if he find two opinions upon points +of history, he may certainly take that which is most susceptible of +poetical ornament; particularly if it have sufficient plausibility, and +the sanction of respectable names. + +In deducing the first maritime attempts from _Thebes_, so called from +_Thebaoth_, the _Ark_, founded by the sons of Cush, who first inhabited +the caves on the granite mountains of Ethiopia, I have followed the +idea of Bruce, which has many testimonies, particularly that of +Herodotus, in its favour. In making the ships of Ammon first pass the +straits of Babelmandel, and sail to Ophir, I have the authority of Sir +Isaac Newton. But still these points must, from their nature, be +obscure; the poet, however, has a right to build upon them, whilst what +he advances is not in _direct contradiction_ to all historical admitted +facts. He may take what is _shadowy_, if it be _plausible_, poetical, +and coherent with his general plan. Having said ingenuously thus much, I +hope I shall not be severely accused for having admitted, _en passant_, +some ideas (which may be thought visionary) in the notes, respecting the +allusion to the ark in Theocritus, the situation of Ophir, the temple of +Solomon, and the algum-tree. + +I must also submit to the candour of the critic, the necessity I +sometimes felt myself under of varying the verse, and admitting, when +the subject seemed particularly to require it, a break into the measure. +He will consider, as this poem is neither didactic, nor epic, that might +lead on the mind by diversity of characters, and of prospects; it was +therefore necessary (at least I thought myself at liberty so to do) to +break the uniformity of the subject by digression, contrast, occasional +change of verse, _et cet._ But after all, at a time so unfavourable to +long poems, I doubt whether the reader will have patience to accompany +me to the end of my _circumnavigation_. If he do, and if this much +larger poetical work than I have ever attempted should be as favourably +received as what I have before published has been, I shall sincerely +rejoice. + +At all events, in an age which I think has produced genuine poetry, if I +cannot say "_Ed Io, anchi, sono pittore;_" it will be a consolation to +me to reflect, that I have no otherwise courted the muse, than as the +consoler of sorrow, the painter of scenes romantic and interesting, the +handmaid of good sense, unadulterated feelings, and religious hope. + +It was at first intended that the poem should consist of six books; one +book being assigned to De Gama, and another to Columbus. These have been +compressed. I was the more inclined to this course, as the great subject +of the DISCOVERY OF AMERICA is in the hands of such poets as Mr Southey +and Mr Rogers. + + DONHEAD, _Nov. 3, 1804._ + +[152] Dedicated to His Royal Highness George Prince of Wales (afterwards +George IV.) + + + + +ANALYSIS. + +BOOK THE FIRST. + + +The book opens with the resting of the Ark on the mountains of the great +Indian Caucasus, considered by many authors as Ararat: the present state +of the _inhabited_ world, contrasted with its melancholy appearance +immediately after the flood. The poem returns to the situation of our +forefathers on leaving the ark; beautiful evening described. The Angel +of Destruction appears to Noah in a dream, and informs him that although +he and his family alone have escaped, the VERY ARK, which was the means +of his present preservation, shall be the cause of the future triumph of +Destruction. + +In his dream, the evils in consequence of the discovery of America, the +slave-trade, _et cet._, are set before him. Noah, waking from disturbed +sleep, ascends the summit of Caucasus. An angel appears to him; tells +him that the revelations in his dream were PERMITTED BY THE ALMIGHTY; +that he is commissioned to explain everything; he presents to his view +the _shadow of the world_ as it exists; regions are pointed out; the +dispersion of mankind; the rise of superstition; the birth of a SAVIOUR, +and the triumph of Charity: that navigation shall be the means of +extending the knowledge of GOD over the globe; and though some evils +must take place, happiness and love shall finally prevail upon the +earth. + + +BOOK THE SECOND + +Commences with an ardent wish, that as our forefather viewed the world +clearly displayed before him in a vision, so we of these late days might +be able, through the clouds of time, to look back upon the early ages of +the globe; we might then see, in their splendour, Thebes, Edom, _et +cet._; but the early history of mankind is obscure, the only certain +light is from the sacred writings. By these we are informed of the +_dispersion_ of earth's first inhabitants, after the flood. The +descendants of HAM, after this dispersion, according to Bruce, having +first gained the summits of the Ethiopian mountains, there form +subterraneous abodes. In process of time they descend, people Egypt, +build Thebes; obscure tradition of the Ark; first make voyages. + +Ophir is not long afterwards discovered. This Bruce places, on most +respectable authority, at Sofala; I have ventured to place it +otherwhere, but still admitting one general idea, that when the way to +it overland was attended with difficulties, an easier course was at last +opened by sea. As to Ammon's exploits, I must shelter myself under the +authority of Sir Isaac Newton. After a sacrifice by the Egyptians, the +monsoon sets in. The ships follow its direction, as the mariners imagine +a god leads them. Hence the discovery of so much of the world by _sea_. +Reflection on commerce. The voyage of Solomon. A description of the +glory of TYRE, the most commercial mart of the early world. Tyrian +discoveries in the Mediterranean; voyages to the coast of Italy and +Spain, to the Straits, and from thence to Britain. + +Tyre is destroyed, and the thought naturally arises, that Britain, +which, at the time of the splendour of the _maritime Tyrians_, was an +obscure island, is now at the summit of maritime renown; while TYRE is a +place where only "the fisherman dries his net." This leads to an +EULOGIUM ON ENGLAND; and the book concludes with the triumphs of her +fleets and armies on that very shore, on which science, and art, and +commerce, and MARITIME RENOWN, first arose. + +This digression, introducing the siege of Acre, appeared to the author +not only natural, but in some measure necessary to break the uniformity +of the subject. + + +BOOK THE THIRD + +Commences with the feelings excited by the conclusion of the last, by a +warm wish that England may for ages retain her present elevated rank. +This leads to the consideration of her NAVAL OPULENCE, which carries us +back to the subject we had left--THE FATE OF TYRE. + +The history of the empires succeeding Tyre is touched on: the fall of +her destroyer, Babylon; the succession of Cyrus; the character of Cyrus, +and his want of enlarged policy, having so many means of encouraging +commerce; and his ill-fated expedition to the East Indies. + +ALEXANDER THE GREAT first conceives the idea of establishing a vast +MARITIME EMPIRE: in his march of conquest, he proceeds to the last river +of the Punjab, the Hyphasis, which descends into the Indus, the sources +of which are near the mountains of CAUCASUS, WHERE THE ARK RESTED. + +The Indian account of the Deluge, it is well known, resembles most +wonderfully the history of Moses. When Alexander can proceed no further, +poetical fiction introduces the person of a Brahmin, who relates the +history of the Deluge: viz., that _one sacred man was_, in this part of +the world, _miraculously preserved by an ark_; the further march of the +conqueror towards the holy spot is deprecated: his best glory shall be +derived from the sea, and from uniting either world in commerce. +Alexander is animated with the idea; and his fleet, under Nearchus, +proceeds down the Indus to the sea. This forms a middle, connected with +the account of the Deluge, book first. + + +BOOK THE FOURTH. + +Nearchus' voyage being accomplished, and Alexandria now complete, +Commerce is represented as standing on the Pharos, and calling to all +nations. The tide of commerce would have flowed still in the track +pointed out by the sagacity of Alexander, but that a wider scene, beyond +THE ANCIENT WORLD, opens to the VIEW OF DISCOVERY. The use of the magnet +is discovered; and Henry of Portugal prosecutes the plan of opening a +passage along the coast of Africa to the East. One of his ships on its +return from the expedition has been driven from Cape Bojador (the +formidable boundary of Portuguese research) by a storm at sea. The isle +afterwards called Porto Santo is discovered. The circumstance related; +but the extraordinary appearance of a supernatural shade over the waters +at a distance excites many fears and superstitions. The attempt, +however, to penetrate the mystery, is resolved on. Zarco reaches the +island of Madeira; tomb found; which introduces the episode. At the tomb +of the first discoverer (whether this be fanciful or not, is nothing to +poetry) the Spirit of Discovery casts her eyes over the globe; she +pursues De Gama to the East; history of Camoens touched on; Columbus; +sees with triumph the discovery of a new world, and from thence extends +her ideas till the great globe is encompassed; after which she returns +to the "tranquil bosom of the Thames," with Drake, the first +circumnavigator, whose ship, after its various perils, being laid up in +that river, gives rise to some brief concluding reflections. + + +BOOK THE FIFTH. + +Hitherto we have described only the triumphs of Discovery; but it +appears necessary that many incidental evils, special and general, +should be mentioned. Fate and miserable end of some great +commanders,--of our gallant and benevolent countryman, Cook. After the +natural feelings of regret, the mind is led to contemplate the great +advantages of his voyages: the health of seamen; the accessions to +geographical knowledge; the spirit of humanity and science; his +exploring the east part of New-Holland; and being the first to determine +the proximity of America to Asia. This circumstance leads us back from +the point whence we set out--THE ARK OF NOAH; and hence we are partly +enabled to solve, what has been for so many ages unknown, the +difficulty{g} respecting the earth's being peopled from one family. + +The poem having thus gained a middle and end, the conclusion of the +whole is, that as this uncertainty in the physical world has been by +DISCOVERY cleared up, so all the apparent contradictions in the moral +world shall be reconciled. We have yet many existing evils to deplore; +but when the SUPREME DISPOSER's plan shall have been completed, then the +earth, which has been explored and enlightened by discovery and +knowledge, shall be destroyed; but the MIND OF MAN, rendered at last +perfect, shall endure through all ages, and "justify His ways from whom +it sprung." + + * * * * * + +Such is the outline and plan of the following poem. I have felt myself +obliged to give this hasty analysis, thinking that self-defence almost +required it, lest a _careless_ reader might charge me with _carelessness +of arrangement_. + +I must again beg it to be remembered, that History and Poetry are two +things; and that the poet has a right to build his system, not on what +is exact truth, but on what is, at least, plausible; what will form, in +the clearest manner, a WHOLE; and what is most susceptible of poetical +ornament. + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA. + +BOOK THE FIRST. + + + Awake a louder and a loftier strain! + Beloved harp, whose tones have oft beguiled + My solitary sorrows, when I left + The scene of happier hours, and wandered far, + A pale and drooping stranger; I have sat + (While evening listened to the convent bell) + On the wild margin of the Rhine, and wooed + Thy sympathies, "a-weary of the world," + And I have found with thee sad fellowship, + Yet always sweet, whene'er my languid hand 10 + Passed carelessly o'er the responsive wires, + While unambitious of the laurelled meed + That crowns the gifted bard, I only asked + Some stealing melodies, the heart might love, + And a brief sonnet to beguile my tears! + But I had hope that one day I might wake + Thy strings to loftier utterance; and now, + Bidding adieu to glens, and woods, and streams, + And turning where, magnificent and vast, + Main Ocean bursts upon my sight, I strike,-- 20 + Rapt in the theme on which I long have mused,-- + Strike the loud lyre, and as the blue waves rock, + Swell to their solemn roar the deepening chords. + Lift thy indignant billows high, proclaim + Thy terrors, Spirit of the hoary seas! + I sing thy dread dominion, amid wrecks, + And storms, and howling solitudes, to Man + Submitted: awful shade of Camoens + Bend from the clouds of heaven. + By the bold tones 30 + Of minstrelsy, that o'er the unknown surge + (Where never daring sail before was spread) + Echoed, and startled from his long repose + The indignant Phantom[153] of the stormy Cape; + Oh, let me think that in the winds I hear + Thy animating tones, whilst I pursue + With ardent hopes, like thee, my venturous way, + And bid the seas resound my song! And thou, + Father of Albion's streams, majestic Thames, + Amid the glittering scene, whose long-drawn wave 40 + Goes noiseless, yet with conscious pride, beneath + The thronging vessels' shadows; nor through scenes + More fair, the yellow Tagus, or the Nile, + That ancient river, winds. THOU to the strain + Shalt haply listen, that records the MIGHT + Of OCEAN, like a giant at thy feet + Vanquished, and yielding to thy gentle state + The ancient sceptre of his dread domain! + All was one waste of waves, that buried deep + Earth and its multitudes: the Ark alone, 50 + High on the cloudy van of Ararat, + Rested; for now the death-commissioned storm + Sinks silent, and the eye of day looks out + Dim through the haze; while short successive gleams + Flit o'er the weltering Deluge as it shrinks, + Or the transparent rain-drops, falling few, + Distinct and larger glisten. So the Ark + Rests upon Ararat; but nought around + Its inmates can behold, save o'er th' expanse + Of boundless waters, the sun's orient orb 60 + Stretching the hull's long shadow, or the moon + In silence, through the silver-cinctured clouds, + Sailing as she herself were lost, and left + In Nature's loneliness! + But oh, sweet Hope, + Thou bid'st a tear of holy ecstasy + Start to their eye-lids, when at night the Dove, + Weary, returns, and lo! an olive leaf + Wet in her bill: again she is put forth, + When the seventh morn shines on the hoar abyss:-- 70 + Due evening comes: her wings are heard no more! + The dawn awakes, not cold and dripping sad, + But cheered with lovelier sunshine; far away + The dark-red mountains slow their naked peaks + Upheave above the waste; Imaus[154] gleams; + Fume the huge torrents on his desert sides; + Till at the awful voice of Him who rules + The storm, the ancient Father and his train + On the dry land descend. + Here let us pause. 80 + No noise in the vast circuit of the globe + Is heard; no sound of human stirring: none + Of pasturing herds, or wandering flocks; nor song + Of birds that solace the forsaken woods + From morn till eve; save in that spot that holds + The sacred Ark: there the glad sounds ascend, + And Nature listens to the breath of Life. + The fleet horse bounds, high-neighing to the wind + That lifts his streaming mane; the heifer lows; + Loud sings the lark amid the rainbow's hues; 90 + The lion lifts him muttering; MAN comes forth-- + He kneels upon the earth--he kisses it; + And to the GOD who stretched that radiant bow, + He lifts his trembling transports. + From one spot + Alone of earth such sounds ascend. How changed + The human prospect! when from realm to realm, + From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle, + Flung to the stormy main, man's murmuring race, + Various and countless as the shells that strew 100 + The ocean's winding marge, are spread; from shores + Sinensian, where the passing proas gleam + Innumerous 'mid the floating villages: + To Acapulco west, where laden deep + With gold and gems rolls the superb galleon, + Shadowing the hoar Pacific: from the North, + Where on some snowy promontory's height + The Lapland wizard beats his drum, and calls + The spirits of the winds, to th' utmost South, + Where savage Fuego shoots its cold white peaks, 110 + Dreariest of lands, and the poor Pecherais[155] + Shiver and moan along its waste of snows. + So stirs the earth; and for the Ark that passed + Alone and darkling o'er the dread abyss, + Ten thousand and ten thousand barks are seen + Fervent and glancing on the friths and sounds; + From the Bermudian that, with masts inclined, + Shoots like a dart along; to the tall ship + That, like a stately swan, in conscious pride + Breasts beautiful the rising surge, and throws 120 + The gathered waters back, and seems to move + A living thing, along her lucid way + Streaming in white-winged glory to the sun! + Some waft the treasures of the east; some bear + Their country's dark artillery o'er the surge + Frowning; some in the southern solitudes, + Bound on discovery of new regions, spread, + 'Mid rocks of driving ice, that crash around, + Their weather-beaten mainsail; or explore + Their perilous way from isle to isle, and wind 130 + The tender social tie; connecting man, + Wherever scattered, with his fellow-man. + How many ages rolled away ere thus, + From NATURE'S GENERAL WRECK, the world's great scene + Was tenanted! See from their sad abode, + At Heaven's dread voice, heard from the solitude, + As in the dayspring of created things, + The sad survivors of a buried world + Come forth; on them, though desolate their seat, + The sky looks down with smiles; for the broad sun, 140 + That to the west slopes his untired career, + Hangs o'er the water's brim. The aged sire, + Now rising from his evening sacrifice, + Amid his offspring stands, and lifts his eyes, + Moist with a tear, to the bright bow: the fire + Yet on the altar burns, whose trailing fume + Goes slowly up, and marks the lucid cope + Of the soft sky, where distant clouds hang still + And beautiful. So placid Evening steals + After the lurid storm, like a sweet form 150 + Of fairy following a perturbed shape + Of giant terror, that in darkness strode. + Slow sinks the lord of day; the clustering clouds + More ardent burn; confusion of rich hues, + Crimson, and gold, and purple, bright, inlay + Their varied edges; till before the eye, + As their last lustre fades, small silver stars + Succeed; and twinkling each in its own sphere, + Thick as the frost's unnumbered spangles, strew + The slowly-paling heavens. Tired Nature seems 160 + Like one who, struggling long for life, had beat + The billows, and scarce gained a desert crag, + O'er-spent, to sink to rest: the tranquil airs + Whisper repose. Now sunk in sleep reclines + The Father of the world; then the sole moon + Mounts high in shadowy beauty; every cloud + Retires, as in the blue space she moves on + Amid the fulgent orbs supreme, and looks + The queen of heaven and earth. Stilly the streams + Retiring sound; midnight's high hollow vault 170 + Faint echoes; stilly sound the distant streams. + When, hark! a strange and mingled wail, and cries + As of ten thousand thousand perishing! + A phantom, 'mid the shadows of the dead, + Before the holy Patriarch, as he slept, + Stood terrible:--Dark as a storm it stood + Of thunder and of winds, like hollow seas + Remote; meantime a voice was heard: Behold, + Noah, the foe of thy weak race! my name + Destruction, whom thy sons in yonder plains 180 + Shall worship, and all grim, with mooned horns + Paint fabling: when the flood from off the earth + Before it swept the living multitudes, + I rode amid the hurricane; I heard + The universal shriek of all that lived. + In vain they climbed the rocky heights: I struck + The adamantine mountains, and like dust + They crumbled in the billowy foam. My hall, + Deep in the centre of the seas, received + The victims as they sank! Then, with dark joy, 190 + I sat amid ten thousand carcases, + That weltered at my feet! But THOU and THINE + Have braved my utmost fury: what remains + But vengeance, vengeance on thy hated race;-- + And be that sheltering shrine the instrument! + Thence, taught to stem the wild sea when it roars, + In after-times to lands remote, where roamed + The naked man and his wan progeny, + They, more instructed in the fatal use + Of arts and arms, shall ply their way; and thou 200 + Wouldst bid the great deep cover thee to see + The sorrows of thy miserable sons: + But turn, and view in part the truths I speak. + He said, and vanished with a dismal sound + Of lamentation from his grisly troop. + Then saw the just man in his dream what seemed + A new and savage land: huge forests stretched + Their world of wood, shading like night the banks + Of torrent-foaming rivers, many a league + Wandering and lost in solitudes; green isles 210 + Here shone, and scattered huts beneath the shade + Of branching palms were seen; whilst in the sun + A naked infant playing, stretched his hand + To reach a speckled snake, that through the leaves + Oft darted, or its shining volumes rolled + Erratic. + From the woods a sable man + Came, as from hunting; in his arms he took + The smiling child, that with the feathers played + Which nodded on his brow; the sheltering hut 220 + Received them, and the cheerful smoke went up + Above the silent woods. + Anon was heard + The sound as of strange thunder, from the mouths + Of hollow engines, as, with white sails spread, + Tall vessels, hulled like the great Ark, approached + The verdant shores: they, in a woody cove + Safe-stationed, hang their pennants motionless + Beneath the palms. Meantime, with shouts and song, + The boat rows hurrying to the land; nor long 230 + Ere the great sea for many a league is tinged, + While corpse on corpse, down the red torrent rolled,[156] + Floats, and the inmost forests murmur--Blood. + Now vast savannahs meet the view, where high + Above the arid grass the serpent lifts + His tawny crest:--Not far a vessel rides + Upon the sunny main, and to the shore + Black savage tribes a mournful captive urge, + Who looks to heaven with anguish. Him they cast + Bound in the rank hold of the prison-ship, 240 + With many a sad associate in despair, + Each panting chained to his allotted space; + And moaning, whilst their wasted eye-balls roll. + Another scene appears: the naked slave + Writhes to the bloody lash; but more to view + Nature forbad, for starting from his dream + The just Man woke. Shuddering he gazed around; + He saw the earliest beam of morning shine + Slant on the hills without; he heard the breath + Of placid kine, but troubled thoughts and sad 250 + Arose. He wandered forth; and now far on, + By heavy musings led, reached a ravine + Most mild amid the tempest-riven rocks, + Through whose dark pass he saw the flood remote + Gray-spreading, while the mists of morn went up. + He paused; when on his lonely pathway flashed + A light, and sounds as of approaching wings + Instant were heard. A radiant form appeared, + Celestial, and with heavenly accent said: + Noah, I come commissioned from above, 260 + Where angels move before th' eternal throne + Of heaven's great King in glory, to dispel + The mists of darkness from thy sight; for know, + Not unpermitted of th' Eternal One + The shadows of thy melancholy dream + Hung o'er thee slumbering: Mine the task to show + Futurity's faint scene;--now follow me. + He said; and up to the unclouded height + Of that great Eastern mountain,[157] that surveys + Dim Asia, they ascended. Then his brow 270 + The Angel touched, and cleared with whispered charm + The mortal mist before his eyes.--At once + (As in the skiey mirage, when the seer + From lonely Kilda's western summit sees + A wondrous scene in shadowy vision rise) + The NETHER WORLD, with seas and shores, appeared + Submitted to his view: but not as then, + A melancholy waste, deform and sad; + But fair as now the green earth spreads, with woods, + Champaign, and hills, and many winding streams 280 + Robed, the magnificent illusion rose. + He saw in mazy longitude devolved + The mighty Brahma-Pooter; to the East + Thibet and China, and the shining sea + That sweeps the inlets of Japan, and winds + Amid the Curile and Aleutian isles, + Pale to the north. Siberia's snowy scenes + Are spread; Jenisca and the freezing Ob + Appear, and many a forest's shady track + Far as the Baltic, and the utmost bounds 290 + Of Scandinavia; thence the eye returns: + And lo! great Lebanon--abrupt and dark + With pines, and airy Carmel, rising slow + Above the midland main, where hang the capes + Of Italy and Greece; swart Africa, + Beneath the parching sun, her long domain + Reveals, the mountains of the Moon, the source + Of Nile, the wild mysterious Niger, lost + Amid the torrid sands; and to the south + Her stormy cape. Beyond the misty main 300 + The weary eye scarce wanders, when behold + Plata, through vaster territory poured; + And Andes, sweeping the horizon's tract, + Mightiest of mountains! whose eternal snows + Feel not the nearer sun; whose umbrage chills + The murmuring ocean; whose volcanic fires + A thousand nations view, hung like the moon + High in the middle waste of heaven; thy range, + Shading far off the Southern hemisphere, + A dusky file Titanic. 310 + So spread + Before our great forefather's view the globe + Appeared; with seas, and shady continents, + And verdant isles, and mountains lifting dark + Their forests, and indenting rivers, poured + In silvery maze. And, Lo! the Angel said, + These scenes, O Noah, thy posterity + Shall people; but remote and scattered wide, + They shall forget their GOD, and see no trace, + Save dimly, of their Great Original. 320 + Rude caves shall be their dwellings: till, with noise + Of multitudes, imperial cities rise. + But the Arch Fiend, the foe of GOD and man, + Shall fling his spells; and, 'mid illusions drear, + Blear Superstition shall arise, the earth + Eclipsing.--Deep in caves,[158] vault within vault + Far winding; or in night of thickest woods, + Where no bird sings; or 'mid huge circles gray + Of uncouth stone, her aspect wild, and pale + As the terrific flame that near her burns, 330 + She her mysterious rites, 'mid hymns and cries, + Shall wake, and to her shapeless idols, vast + And smeared with blood, or shrines of lust, shall lead + Her votaries, maddening as she waves her torch, + With visage more expanded, to the groans + Of human sacrifice. + Nor think that love + And happiness shall dwell in vales remote: + The naked man shall see the glorious sun, + And think it but enlightens his poor isle, 340 + Hid in the watery waste; cold on his limbs + The ocean-spray shall beat; his Deities + Shall be the stars, the thunder, and the winds; + And if a stranger on his rugged shores + Be cast, his offered blood shall stain the strand. + O wretched man! who then shall raise thee up + From this thy dark estate, forlorn and lost? + The Patriarch said. + The Angel answered mild, + His God, who destined him to noblest ends! 350 + But mutual intercourse shall stir at first + The sunk and grovelling spirit, and from sleep + The sullen energies of man rouse up, + As of a slumbering giant. He shall walk + Sublime amid the works of GOD: the earth + Shall own his wide dominion; the great sea + Shall toss in vain its roaring waves; his eye + Shall scan the bright orbs as they roll above + Glorious, and his expanding heart shall burn, + As wide and wider in magnificence 360 + The vast scene opens; in the winds and clouds, + The seas, and circling planets, he shall see + The shadow of a dread Almighty move. + Then shall the Dayspring rise, before whose beam + The darkness of the world is past:--For, hark! + Seraphs and angel-choirs with symphonies + Acclaiming of ten thousand golden harps, + Amid the bursting clouds of heaven revealed, + At once, in glory jubilant, they sing-- + God the Redeemer liveth! He who took 370 + Man's nature on him, and in human shroud + Veiled his immortal glory! He is risen! + God the Redeemer liveth! And behold! + The gates of life and immortality + Open to all that breathe! + Oh, might the strains + But win the world to love; meek Charity + Should lift her looks and smile; and with faint voice + The weary pilgrim of the earth exclaim, + As close his eye-lids--Death, where is thy sting? 380 + O Grave, where is thy victory? + And ye, + Whom ocean's melancholy wastes divide, + Who slumber to the sullen surge, awake, + Break forth into thanksgiving, for the bark + That rolled upon the desert deep, shall bear + The tidings of great joy to all that live, + Tidings of life and light. + Oh, were those men, + (The Patriarch raised his drooping looks, and said) 390 + Such in my dream I saw, who to the isles + And peaceful sylvan scenes o'er the wide seas + Came tilting; then their murderous instruments + Lifted, that flashed to the indignant sun, + Whilst the poor native died:--Oh, were those men + Instructed in the laws of holier love, + Thou hast displayed? + The Angel meek replied-- + Call rather fiends of hell those who abuse + The mercies they receive: that such, indeed, 400 + On whom the light of clearer knowledge beams, + Should wander forth, and for the tender voice + Of charity should scatter crimes and woe, + And drench, where'er they pass, the earth with blood, + Might make ev'n angels weep: + But the poor tribes + That groaned and died, deem not them innocent + As injured; more ensanguined rites and deeds + Of deepest stain were theirs; and what if God, + So to approve his justice, and exact 410 + Most even retribution, blood for blood, + Bid forth the Angel of the storm of death! + Thou saw'st, indeed, the seeming innocence + Of man the savage; but thou saw'st not all. + Behold the scene more near! hear the shrill whoop + Of murderous war! See tribes on neighbour tribes + Rush howling, their red hatchets wielding high, + And shouting to their barbarous gods! Behold + The captive bound, yet vaunting direst hate, + And mocking his tormentors, while they gash 420 + His flesh unshrinking, tear his eyeballs, burn + His beating breast! Hear the dark temples ring + To groans and hymns of murderous sacrifice; + While the stern priest, the rites of horror done, + With hollow-echoing chaunt lifts up the heart + Of the last victim 'mid the yelling throng, + Quivering, and red, and reeking to the sun![159] + Reclaimed by gradual intercourse, his heart + Warmed with new sympathies, the forest-chief + Shall cast the bleeding hatchet to his gods 430 + Of darkness, and one Lord of all adore-- + Maker of heaven and earth. + Let it suffice, + He hath permitted EVIL for a while + To mingle its deep hues and sable shades + Amid life's fair perspective, as thou saw'st + Of late the blackening clouds; but in the end + All these shall roll away, and evening still + Come smilingly, while the great sun looks down + On the illumined scene. So Charity 440 + Shall smile on all the earth, and Nature's God + Look down upon his works; and while far off + The shrieking night-fiends fly, one voice shall rise + From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle-- + Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, + Peace and good-will to men! + Thou rest in hope, + And Him with meekness and with trust adore! + He said, and spreading bright his ampler wing, + Flew to the heaven of heavens; the meek man bowed + Adoring, and, with pensive thoughts resigned, + Bent from the aching height his lonely way. + +[153] See Camoens' description of the dreadful Phantom at the Cape of +Good Hope. + +[154] Part of the mountainous range of the vast Indian Caucasus, where +the Ark rested. + +[155] Forster says the miserable creatures who visited the ship in the +Straits of Magellan, seldom uttered any other word than +"Passeray"--hence the name of Pecherais was given to them. + +[156] From Dariena to Nicaragua, the Spaniards slew 400,000 people with +dogs, sword, fire, and divers tortures.--_Purchas._ + +[157] That tremendous Caff (according to the Indian superstition) +inhabited by spirits, demons, and the griffin Simorg. + +[158] The caves of Elephanta and Salsette. + +[159] At the dedication of the temple of Vitzuliputzli, A.D. 1486, +64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four days. + + +BOOK THE SECOND. + + Oh for a view, as from that cloudless height + Where the great Patriarch gazed upon the world, + His offspring's future seat, back on the vale + Of years departed! We might then behold + Thebes, from her sleep of ages, awful rise, + Like an imperial shadow, from the Nile, + To airy harpings;[160] and with lifted torch + Scatter the darkness through the labyrinths + Of death, where rest her kings, without a name, + And light the winding caves and pyramids 10 + In the long night of years! We might behold + Edom, in towery strength, majestic rise, + And awe the Erithraean, to the plains + Where Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood,[161] + Before whose naval shrine the Memphian host + And Pharaoh's pomp were shattered! As her fleets + From Ezion went seaward, to the sound + Of shouts and brazen trumpets, we might say, 18 + How glorious, Edom, in thy ships art thou, + And mighty as the rushing winds! + But night + Is on the mournful scene: a voice is heard, + As of the dead, from hollow sepulchres, + And echoing caverns of the Nile--So pass + The shades of mortal glory! One pure ray + From Sinai bursts (where God of old revealed + His glory, through the darkness terrible + That sat on the dread Mount), and we descry + Thy sons, O Noah! peopling wide the scene, + From Shinar's plain to Egypt. 30 + Let the song + Reveal, who first "went down to the great sea + In ships," and braved the stormy element. + THE SONS OF CUSH.[162] Still fearful of the FLOOD, + They on the marble range and cloudy heights + Of that vast mountain barrier,--which uprises + High o'er the Red Sea coast, and stretches on + With the sea-line of Afric's southern bounds + To Sofala,--delved in the granite mass + Their dark abode, spreading from rock to rock 40 + Their subterranean cities, whilst they heard, + Secure, the rains of vexed Orion rush. + Emboldened they descend, and now their fanes + On Egypt's champaign darken, whilst the noise + Of caravans is heard, and pyramids + In the pale distance gleam. Imperial THEBES + Starts, like a giant, from the dust; as when + Some dread enchanter waves his wand, and towers + And palaces far in the sandy wilds + Spring up: and still, her sphinxes, huge and high, 50 + Her marble wrecks colossal, seem to speak + The work of some great arm invisible, + Surpassing human strength; while toiling Time, + That sways his desolating scythe so vast, + And weary havoc murmuring at his side, + Smite them in vain. Heard ye the mystic song + Resounding from her caverns as of yore? + Sing to Osiris,[163] for his ark + No more in night profound + Of ocean, fathomless and dark, 60 + Typhon[164] has sunk! Aloud the sistrums ring-- + Osiris!--to our god Osiris sing!-- + And let the midnight shore to rites of joy resound! + Thee, great restorer of the world, the song + Darkly described, and that mysterious shrine + That bore thee o'er the desolate abyss, + When the earth sank with all its noise! + So taught, + The borderers of the Erithraean launch'd + Their barks, and to the shores of Araby 70 + First their brief voyage stretched, and thence returned + With aromatic gums, or spicy wealth + Of India. Prouder triumphs yet await, + For lo! where Ophir's gold unburied shines + New to the sun; but perilous the way, + O'er Ariana's[165] spectred wilderness, + Where ev'n the patient camel scarce endures + The long, long solitude of rocks and sands, + Parched, faint, and sinking, in his mid-day course. + But see! upon the shore great Ammon[166] stands-- 80 + Be the deep opened! At his voice the deep + Is opened; and the shading ships that ride + With statelier masts and ampler hulls the seas, + Have passed the Straits, and left the rocks and GATES + OF DEATH.[167] Where Asia's cape the autumnal surge + Throws blackening back, beneath a hollow cove, + Awhile the mariners their fearful course + Ponder, ere yet they tempt the further deep; + Then plunged into the sullen main, they cast + The youthful victim, to the dismal gods 90 + Devoted, whilst the smoke of sacrifice + Slowly ascends: + Hear, King of Ocean! hear, + Dark phantom! whether in thy secret cave + Thou sittest, where the deeps are fathomless, + Nor hear'st the waters hum, though all above + Is uproar loud; or on the widest waste, + Far from all land, mov'st in the noontide sun, + With dread and lonely shadow; or on high + Dost ride upon the whirling spires, and fume 100 + Of that enormous volume, that ascends + Black to the skies, and with the thunder's roar + Bursts, while the waves far on are still: Oh, hear, + Dread power, and save! lest hidden eddies whirl + The helpless vessels down,--down to the deeps + Of night, where thou, O Father of the Storm, + Dost sleep; or thy vast stature might appear + High o'er the flashing waves, and (as thy beard + Streamed to the cloudy winds) pass o'er their track, + And they are seen no more; or monster-birds 110 + Darkening, with pennons lank, the morn, might bear + The victims to some desert rock, and leave + Their scattered bones to whiten in the winds! + The Ocean-gods, with sacrifice appeased, + Propitious smile; the thunder's roar has ceased, + Smooth and in silence o'er the azure realm + The tall ships glide along; for the South-West + Cheerly and steady blows, and the blue seas + Beneath the shadow sparkle; on they speed, + The long coast varies as they pass from cove 120 + To sheltering cove, the long coast winds away; + Till now emboldened by the unvarying gale, + Still urging to the East, the sailors deem + Some god inviting swells their willing sails, + Or Destiny's fleet dragons through the surge + Cut their mid-way, yoked to the beaked prows + Unseen! + Night after night the heavens' still cope, + That glows with stars, they watch, till morning bears + Airs of sweet fragrance o'er the yellow tide: 130 + Then Malabar her green declivities + Hangs beauteous, beaming to the eye afar + Like scenes of pictured bliss, the shadowy land + Of soft enchantment. Now Salmala's peak + Shines high in air, and Ceylon's dark green woods + Beneath are spread; while, as the strangers wind + Along the curving shores, sounds of delight + Are heard; and birds of richest plumage, red + And yellow, glance along the shades; or fly + With morning twitter, circling o'er the mast, 140 + As singing welcome to the weary crew. + Here rest, till westering gales again invite. + Then o'er the line of level seas glide on, + As the green deities of ocean guide, + Till Ophir's distant hills spring from the main, + And their long labours cease. + + Hence Asia slow + Her length unwinds; and Siam and Ceylon + Through wider channels pour their gems and gold + To swell the pomp of Egypt's kings, or deck 150 + With new magnificence the rising dome[168] + Of Palestine's imperial lord. + His wants + To satisfy; "with comelier draperies" + To clothe his shivering form; to bid his arm + Burst, like the Patagonian's,[169] the vain cords + That bound his untried strength; to nurse the flame + Of wider heart-ennobling sympathies;-- + For this young Commerce roused the energies + Of man; else rolling back, stagnant and foul, 160 + Like the GREAT ELEMENT on which his ships + Go forth, without the currents, winds, and tides + That swell it, as with awful life, and keep + From rank putrescence the long-moving mass: + And He, the sovereign Maker of the world, + So to excite man's high activities, + Bad various climes their various produce pour. + On Asia's plain mark where the cotton-tree + Hangs elegant its golden gems; the date + Sits purpling the soft lucid haze, that lights 170 + The still, pale, sultry landscape; breathing sweet + Along old Ocean's billowy marge, the eve + Bears spicy fragrance far; the bread-fruit shades + The southern isles; and gems, and richest ore, + Lurk in the caverned mountains of the west. + With ampler shade the northern oak uplifts + His strength, itself a forest, and descends + Proud to the world of waves, to bear afar + The wealth collected, on the swelling tides, + To every land:--Where nature seems to mourn 180 + Her rugged outcast rocks, there Enterprise + Leaps up; he gazes, like a god, around; + He sees on other plains rich harvests wave; + He marks far off the diamond blaze; he burns + To reach the glittering prize; he looks; he speaks; + The pines of Lebanon fall at his voice; + He rears the towering mast: o'er the long main + He wanders, and becomes, himself though poor, + The sovereign of the globe! + So Sidon rose; 190 + And Tyre, yet prouder o'er the subject waves,-- + When in his manlier might the Ammonian spread + Beyond Philistia to the Syrian sands,-- + Crowned on her rocky citadel, beheld + The treasures of all lands poured at her feet. + Her daring prows the inland main disclosed; + Freedom and Glory, Eloquence, and Arts, + Follow their track, upspringing where they passed; + Till, lo! another Thebes, an ATHENS springs, + From the AEgean shores, and airs are heard, 200 + As of no mortal melody, from isles + That strew the deep around! On to the STRAITS + Where tower the brazen pillars[170] to the clouds, + Her vessels ride. But what a shivering dread + Quelled their bold hopes, when on their watch by night + The mariners first saw the distant flames + Of AEtna, and its red portentous glare + Streaking the midnight waste! 'Tis not thy lamp, + Astarte, hung in the dun vault of night, + To guide the wanderers of the main! Aghast 210 + They eye the fiery cope, and wait the dawn. + Huge pitchy clouds upshoot, and bursting fires + Flash through the horrid volume as it mounts; + Voices are heard, and thunders muttering deep. + Haste, snatch the oars, fly o'er the glimmering surge-- + Fly far--already louder thunders roll, + And more terrific flames arise! Oh, spare, + Dread Power! for sure some deity abides + Deep in the central earth, amidst the reek + Of sacrifice and blue sulphureous fume 220 + Involved. Perhaps the living Moloch[171] there + Rules in his horrid empire, amid flames, + Thunders, and blackening volumes, that ascend + And wrap his burning throne! + So was their path, + To those who first the cheerless ocean roamed, + Darkened with dread and peril. Scylla here, + And fell Charybdis, on their whirling gulph + Sit, like the sisters of Despair, and howl, + As the devoted ship, dashed on the crags, 230 + Goes down: and oft the neighbour shores are strewn + With bones of strangers sacrificed, whose bark + Has foundered nigh, where the red watch-tower glares + Through darkness. Hence mysterious dread, and tales + Of Polyphemus and his monstrous rout; + And warbling syrens on the fatal shores + Of soft Parthenope. Yet oft the sound + Of sea-conch through the night from some rude rock + Is heard, to warn the wandering passenger + Of fiends that lurk for blood! 240 + These dangers past, + The sea puts on new beauties: Italy, + Beneath the blue soft sky beaming afar, + Opens her azure bays; Liguria's gulph + Is past; the Baetic rocks, and ramparts high, + That CLOSE THE WORLD, appear. The dashing bark + Bursts through the fearful frith: Ah! all is now + One boundless billowy waste; the huge-heaved wave + Beneath the keel turns more intensely blue; + And vaster rolls the surge, that sweeps the shores 250 + Of Cerne, and the green Hesperides, + And long-renowned Atlantis,[172] whether sunk + Now to the bottom of the "monstrous world;" + Or was it but a shadow of the mind, + Vapoury and baseless, like the distant clouds + That seem the promise of an unknown land + To the pale-eyed and wasted mariner, + Cold on the rocking mast. The pilot plies, + Now tossed upon Bayonna's mountain-surge, + High to the north his way; when, lo! the cliffs 260 + Of Albion, o'er the sea-line rising calm + And white, and Marazion's woody mount + Lifting its dark romantic point between. + So did thy ships to Earth's wide bounds proceed, + O Tyre! and thou wert rich and beautiful + In that thy day of glory. Carthage rose, + Thy daughter, and the rival of thy fame, + Upon the sands of Lybia; princes were + Thy merchants; on thy golden throne thy state + Shone, like the orient sun. Dark Lebanon 270 + Waved all his pines for thee; for thee the oaks + Of Bashan towered in strength: thy galleys cut, + Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners, + On ivory benches, furled th' embroidered sails, + That looms of Egypt wove, or to the oars, + That measuring dipped, their choral sea-songs sung; + The multitude of isles did shout for thee, + And cast their emeralds at thy feet, and said-- + Queen of the Waters, who is like to thee! + So wert thou glorious on the seas, and said'st, 280 + _I am a God_, and there is none like me. + But the dread voice prophetic is gone forth:-- + Howl, for the whirlwind of the desert comes! + Howl ye again, for Tyre, her multitude + Of sins and dark abominations cry + Against her, saith the LORD; in the mid seas + Her beauty shall be broken; I will bring + Her pride to ashes; she shall be no more, + The distant isles shall tremble at the sound + When thou dost fall; the princes of the sea 290 + Shall from their thrones come down, and cast away + Their gorgeous robes; for thee they shall take up + A bitter lamentation, and shall say-- + How art thou fallen, renowned city! THOU, + Who wert enthroned glorious on the seas, + To rise no more! + So visible, O GOD, + Is thy dread hand in all the earth! Where Tyre + In gold and purple glittered o'er the scene, + Now the poor fisher dries his net, nor thinks 300 + How great, how rich, how glorious, once she rose! + Meantime the furthest isle, cold and obscure, + Whose painted natives roamed their woody wilds, + From all the world cut off, that wondering marked + Her stately sails approach, now in her turn + Rises a star of glory in the West-- + Albion, the wonder of the illumined world! + See there a Newton wing the highest heavens; + See there a Herschell's daring hand withdraw + The luminous pavilion, and the throne 310 + Of the bright SUN reveal; there hear the voice + Of holy truth amid her cloistered fane, + As the clear anthem swells; see Taste adorn + Her palaces; and Painting's fervid touch, + That bids the canvas breathe; hear angel-strains, + When Handel, or melodious Purcell, pours + His sweetest harmonies; see Poesy + Open her vales romantic, and the scenes + Where Fancy, an enraptured votary, roves + At eve; and hark! 'twas Shakspeare's voice! he sits 320 + Upon a high and charmed rock alone, + And, like the genius of the mountain, gives + The rapt song to the winds; whilst Pity weeps, + Or Terror shudders at the changeful tones, + As when his Ariel soothes the storm! Then pause, + For the wild billows answer--Lycidas + Is dead, young Lycidas, dead ere his prime, + Whelmed in the deep, beyond the Orcades, + Or where the "vision of the guarded Mount, + BELERUS holds." 330 + Nor skies, nor earth, confine + The march of England's glory; on she speeds-- + The unknown barriers of the utmost deep + Her prow has burst, where the dread genius slept + For ages undisturbed, save when he walked + Amid the darkness of the storm! Her fleet + Even now along the East rides terrible, + Where early-rising commerce cheered the scene! + Heard ye the thunders of her vengeance roll, + As Nelson, through the battle's dark-red haze 340 + Aloft upon the burning prow directs, + Where the dread hurricane, with sulphureous flash, + Shall burst unquenchable, while from the grave + Osiris ampler seems to rise? Where thou, + O Tyre! didst awe the subject seas of yore, + Acre even now, and ancient Carmel, hears + The cry of conquest. 'Mid the fire and smoke + Of the war-shaken citadel, with eye + Of temper'd flame, yet resolute command, + His brave sword beaming, and his cheering voice 350 + Heard 'mid the onset's cries, his dark-brown hair + Spread on his fearless forehead, and his hand + Pointing to Gallia's baffled chief, behold + The British Hero stand! Why beats my heart + With kindred animation? The warm tear + Of patriot triumph fills mine eye. I strike + A louder strain unconscious, while the harp + Swells to the bold involuntary song. + + I. + + Fly, SON OF TERROR, fly! + Back o'er the burning desert he is fled! 360 + In heaps the gory dead + And livid in the trenches lie! + His dazzling files no more + Flash on the Syrian sands, + As when from Egypt's ravaged shore, + Aloft their gleamy falchions swinging, + Aloud their victor paeans singing, + Their onward way the Gallic legions took. + Despair, dismay, are on his altered look, + Yet hate indignant lowers; 370 + Whilst high on Acre's granite towers + The shade of English Richard seems to stand; + And frowning far, in dusky rows, + A thousand archers draw their bows! + They join the triumph of the British band, + And the rent watch-tower echoes to the cry, + Heard o'er the rolling surge--They fly, they fly! + + II. + + Now the hostile fires decline, + Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine; + Now above the bastions gray 380 + The clouds of battle roll away; + Where, with calm, yet glowing mien, + Britain's victorious youth is seen! + He lifts his eye, + His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high, + Whilst the long-mingled shout is heard--They fly, they fly! + + III. + + Hoary CARMEL, witness thou, + And lift in conscious pride thy brow; + As when upon thy cloudy plain + BAAL'S PROPHETS cried in vain! 390 + They gashed their flesh, and leaped, and cried, + From morn till lingering even-tide. + Then stern ELIJAH on his foes + Strong in the might of Heaven arose!-- + On CARMEL'S top he stood, + And while the blackening clouds and rain + Came sounding from the Western main, + Raised his right hand that dropped with impious blood. + ANCIENT KISHON prouder swell, + On whose banks they bowed, they fell, 400 + The mighty ones of yore, when, pale with dread, + Inglorious SISERA fled! + So let them perish, Holy LORD, + Who for OPPRESSION lift the sword; + But let all those who, armed for freedom, fight, 405 + "Be as the sun who goes forth in his might." + +[160] Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes. + +[161] Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; +Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the coast. + +[162] The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along the Red +Sea. + +[163] When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, "Let us +rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah. + +[164] The deluge or devastating storm. + +[165] The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished. + +[166] Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first artificer who +built large ships, and passed the Straits. + +[167] The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of Affliction. + +[168] Temple of Solomon. + +[169] Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords when +taken. + +[170] Pillars of Hercules. + +[171] Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was worshipped along +the coast of Syria. + +[172] The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be America. + + +BOOK THE THIRD. + + My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought + That the dark tide of time might one day close, + England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed + On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence, + From the Pacific's billowy loneliness, + Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isle + Might rise in green-haired beauty eminent, + And like a goddess, glittering from the deep, + Hereafter sway the sceptre of domain + From pole to pole; and such as now thou art, 10 + Perhaps NEW-HOLLAND be. For who shall say + What the OMNIPOTENT ETERNAL ONE, + That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these, + Though visionary, rise; and sometimes move + A moment's sadness, when I think of thee, + My country, of thy greatness, and thy name, + Among the nations; and thy character,-- + Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,-- + Of loveliest beauty: I have never passed + Through thy green hamlets on a summer's morn, 20 + Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youths + And smiling maidens of thy villages, + Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said, + With passing tenderness--Live, happy land, + Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small, + An independence and a pride, that fill + His honest heart with joy--joy such as they + Who crowd the mart of men may never feel! + Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heard + The roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks, 30 + Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire, + Far as the eye could reach, from every port + Of every nation, streaming with their flags + O'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,-- + Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swell + That I was British-born; that I had lived + A witness of thy glory, my most loved + And honoured country; and a silent prayer + Would rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and Love + And Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing 40 + Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelled + Hostility, even as thy guardian cliffs + Repel the dash of that dread element + Which calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames, + On to my destined voyage, by the shores + Of Asia, and the wreck of cities old, + Ere yet we burst into the wilder deep + With Gama; or the huge Atlantic waste + With bold Columbus stem; or view the bounds + Of field-ice, stretching to the southern pole, 50 + With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook! + Tyre be no more! said the ALMIGHTY voice: + But thou too, Monarch of the world,[173] whose arm + Rent the proud bulwarks of the golden queen + Of cities, throned upon her subject seas, + ART THOU TOO FALL'N? + The whole earth is at rest: + "They break forth into singing:" Lebanon + Waves all his hoary pines, and seems to say, + No feller now comes here; HELL from beneath 60 + Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs up + The DEAD for thee; the CHIEF ONES of the earth, + Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say-- + Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought down + E'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased, + The worm spread under thee, the crawling worm + To cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven, + Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst, + I will ascend to Heaven; I will exalt + My throne above the stars of God! Die--die, 70 + Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot, + Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out! + And SHE, the great, the guilty Babel--SHE + Who smote the wasted cities, and the world + Made as a wilderness--SHE, in her turn, + Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voice + Of HIM who sits in judgment on her crimes! + Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers, + Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream; + And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades 80 + Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness. + On that same night, when with a cry she fell, + (Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,) + There was a strange eclipse, and long laments + Were heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towers + Of the high palace where his wassail loud + Belshazzar kept, mocking the GOD OF HEAVEN, + And flushed with impious mirth; for BEL had left + With sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat, + With many a gloomy apparition girt, 90 + NISROCH and NEBO chief, in the dim sphere + Of mooned ASTORETH, whose orb now rolled + In darkness:--They their earthly empire mourned; + Meantime the host of Cyrus through the night + Silent advanced more nigh; and at that hour, + In the torch-blazing hall of revelry, + The fingers of a shadowy hand distinct + Came forth, and unknown figures marked the wall, + Searing the eye-balls of the starting king: + Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n! 100 + Bel and her gods are shattered! + PRINCE, to thee + Called by the voice of God to execute + His will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne, + CYRUS, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tints + Most clear by the historian's magic art, + Thy features wear a gentleness and grace + Unlike the stern cold aspect and the frown + Of the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clan + Of heroes, from humanity and love 110 + Removed: To thee a brighter character + Belongs--high dignity, unbending truth-- + Yet Nature; not that lordly apathy + Which confidence and human sympathy + Represses, but a soul that bids all hearts + Smiling approach. We almost burn in thought + To kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains, + And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear, + Who stood a guardian angel in distress + To the unfriended, and the beautiful, 120 + Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touched + With tints of softest light, thus wins all hearts + To love thee; but severer policy, + Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hears + No stir of commerce on the sullen marge + Of waters that along thy empire's verge + Beat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships, + Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the main + From cape to cape. But on the desert sands + Hurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought 130 + Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan, + As the poor savage fells the blooming tree + To gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while! + For in the wilderness the noise is lost + Of all thy archers;--they have ceased;--the wind + Blows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries: + So perish they who grasp with avarice + Another's blessed portion, and disdain + That interchange of mutual good, that crowns + The slow, sure toil of commerce. 140 + It was thine, + Immortal son of Macedon! to hang + In the high fane of maritime renown + The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine, + THEN only like a god, when thy great mind + Swayed in its master council the deep tide + Of things, predestining th' eventful roll + Of commerce, and uniting either world, + Europe and Asia, in thy vast design. + Twas when the victor, in his proud career, 150 + O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced + Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks + Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp + Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise, + The awful records to succeeding years + Of his long march of glory, and to point + The spot where, like the thunder rolled away, + His army paused. Now shady eve came down; + The trumpet sounded to the setting sun, + That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm 160 + Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still, + And lovely as his parting light, the world + Beneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans, + Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks, + Were ever wafted from a bleeding land, + After the havoc of a conqueror's sword. + So calm the sun declined; when from the woods, + That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old + Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray, + That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front 170 + Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast + A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed + Before the conqueror of the world. At once + All, as in death, was still. The victor chief + Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased + Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved + No more in folds insulting to the Lord + Of the reposing world. The pallid front + Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm, + Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell 180 + His beating heart. He paused--and then abrupt: + Victor, avaunt! he cried, + Hence! and the banners of thy pride + Bear to the deep! Behold on high + Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky! + It is the place + Where the great Father of the human race + Rested, when all the world and all its sounds + Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds + The earth, leaped from its dark abode 190 + Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed, + The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list! + And dread His might no mortal may resist. + Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep, + When Hayagraiva[174] came, + With mooned horns and eyes of flame, + And bore the holy Vedas[175] to the deep. + Far from the sun's rejoicing ray, + Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay. + Then foamed the billowy desert wide, 200 + And all that breathed--they died, + Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crime + And violence of earth. But he above, + Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love, + Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublime + Floated, in safety borne: + For his stupendous horn, + Blazing like gold, and many a rood + Extended o'er the dismal flood, + The precious freight sustained, till on the crest 210 + Of Himakeel,[176] yon mountain high, + That darkly mingles with the sky, + Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest. + And Heaven decrees that here + Shall cease thy slaughtering spear: + Enough we bleed, enough we weep, + Hence, victor, to the deep! + Ev'n now along the tide + I see thy ships triumphant ride: + I see the world of trade emerge 220 + From ocean's solitude! What fury fires + My breast! The flood, the flood retires,[177] + And owns its future sovereign! Urge + Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream! + (Or is it but the shadow of a dream?) + Ev'n now old Indus hails + Thy daring prows in long array, + That o'er the lone seas gliding, + Around the sea-gods riding, + Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way. 230 + Fill high the bowl of mirth! + From west to east the earth + Proclaims thee Lord; shall the blue main + Confine thy reign? + But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring, + With language dread + Above thy head, + The dark Assoors[178] thy death-song sing. + What mortal blow + Hath laid the king of nations low? 240 + No hand: his own despair.-- + But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air, + Thy ships explore + Unknown Persia's winding shore, + While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain. + And see, uprising from the level main, + A new and glorious city springs;-- + Hither speed thy woven wings, + That glance along the azure tide; + Asia and Europe own thy might;-- 250 + The willing seas of either world unite: + Thy name shall consecrate the sands, + And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands. + He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood. + With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried-- + Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the gods + Of Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same track + My spirit pointed; and, let death betide, + My name shall live in glory! + At his word 260 + The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire; + The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curves + Of INDUS; to the Moderators' song[179] + The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guides + Aloft the gallies. On the foremost prow + The monarch from his golden goblet pours + A full libation to the gods, and calls + By name the mighty rivers, through whose course + He seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loud + The songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft 270 + The streamers fly, whilst on the evening wave + Majestic to the main the fleet descends. + +[173] Nebuchadnezzar, the destroyer of Tyre. + +[174] Hayagraiva, the evil spirit of the ocean. + +[175] The sacred writings of the Hindus. + +[176] Caucasus. + +[177] Alluding to the astonishment of Alexander's soldiers, when they +first witnessed the effects of the tide. + +[178] Assoors, the evil genii of India. + +[179] Moderators were people stationed on the poop, to excite with songs +the maritime ardour, while the oars kept time. + + +BOOK THE FOURTH. + + Stand on the gleaming Pharos,[180] and aloud + Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth; + Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide, + And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft, + In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way + That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek + Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track + Of the adventurous mariner, who steers + Steady, with eye intent upon the stars, + To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high 10 + Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers + Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart + Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky, + At distance from the palmy marge, displays + Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn. + Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there. + Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum; + The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song, + Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n? + A prouder city crowns the inland sea, 20 + Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus + His mighty mind were swayed to recompense + The evil of his march through cities stormed, + And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed + The tide of commerce through the destined track, + Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed + The world he conquered with a sage's eye, + As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene + More awful opens: ancient world, adieu! + Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds; 30 + And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop + The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu! + What though the seas with wilder fury rave, + Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape,[181] + Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below, + That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air + Appear with giant amplitude; his head + Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet, + And standing thus terrific, seem to say, + Incensed--Approach who dare! What though the fears 40 + Of superstition people the vexed space + With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make + To the sad surge beyond--yet Enterprise, + Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands + Striding, but led by Science, and advanced + To a more awful height, on the wide scene + Looks down commanding. + Does a shuddering thought + Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea + Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile, 50 + Displays the wondrous index, that still points, + With nice vibration tremulous, to the Pole. + And such, she whispers, is the just man's hope + In this tempestuous scene of human things; + Even as the constant needle to the North + Still points; so Piety and meek-eyed Faith + Direct, though trembling oft, their constant gaze + Heavenward, as to their lasting home, nor fear + The night, fast closing on their earthly way. + And guided by this index, thou shall pass 60 + The world of seas secure. Far from all land, + Where not a sea-bird wanders; where nor star, + Nor moon appears, nor the bright noonday sun, + Safe in the wildering storm, as when the breeze + Of summer gently blows; through day, through night, + Where sink the well-known stars, and others rise + Slow from the South, the victor bark shall ride. + Henry! thy ardent mind first pierced the gloom + Of dark disastrous ignorance, that sat + Upon the Southern wave, like the deep cloud 70 + That lowered upon the woody skirts, and veiled + From mortal search, with umbrage ominous, + Madeira's unknown isle. But look! the morn + Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks + Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements + Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still + To the unwearied surge; and turning still + His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds. + A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high + Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull 80 + Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on + Aloft--the weather-beaten ship--and now + Streams by the watch-tower! + Zarco,[182] from the deep + What tidings? + The loud storm of night prevailed, + And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks + Far out to sea; a sylvan isle[183] received + Our sails; so willed the ALMIGHTY--He who speaks, + And all the waves are still! 90 + Hail, HENRY cried, + The omen: we have burst the sole barrier, + (Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!) + We speed to Asia. + Soon upon the deep + The brave ship speeds again. Bojador's rocks + Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf, + That boils for many a league without. Its course + The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle, + That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, 100 + Springs o'er the wave again. Here they refresh + Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven, + But Heaven denies their further search; for ah! + What fearful apparition, palled in clouds, + For ever sits upon the Western wave, + Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom + Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds + Of Nature? Still it sits, day after day, + The same mysterious vision. Holy saints! + Is it the dread abyss where all things cease? 110 + Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle, + Cipango, and that unapproached seat + Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate + Of Moorish pride pursued? Whate'er it be, + Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on + To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore,[184] + Or beings more than mortal pace the sands. + The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears + Right onward to the fearful shade; more black + The cloudy spectre towers; already fear 120 + Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless. Hark! + 'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge + That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom + Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air + Their misty arms; yet, yet--bear boldly on-- + The mist dissolves;--seen through the parting haze, + Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds, + Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness + Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air; + Where fruits of "golden rind," thick interspersed 130 + And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam + Inviting. Cypress here, and stateliest pine, + Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous + Of sole distinction where all nature smiles. + Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head + And graceful stem uplifting, mark below + The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons + The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime + Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song + And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, 140 + With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed, + Now near in airy circles sing, then speed + Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers, + Whose silence, broken only by their song, + From the foundation of this busy world, + Perhaps had never echoed to the voice, + Or heard the steps, of Man. What rapture fired + The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade + They passed, admiring all, and gazing still + With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; 150 + Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods + Primaeval fearful hangs: a green recess + Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers + Of unknown name purple the yielding sward; + The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one + Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees, + Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests! + Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears, + O'er which the green banana gently waves + Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near 160 + Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound, + That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause-- + Approach with reverence! Maker of the world, + There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone + A name, yet legible amid its moss,-- + Anna! + In that remote, sequestered spot, + Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost + In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark + The emblems of their holy faith, from all 170 + Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced, + Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung + To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile, + The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse + Her name and fate, who in this desert deep, + Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found + Her long and last abode; there where no eye + Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart + Sigh in remembrance of her fate:-- + She left 180 + The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved + O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales + Of happiness in distant lands, where care + Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds + That shone above the waves, when evening came, + Whispered--Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace, + Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,-- + Where gold alone bears sway,--scenes of delight, + Where love may lay his head upon the lap + Of innocence, and smile at all the toil 190 + Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth + Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these. + Leave the vain chidings of the world behind, + Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me + Where love and peace in distant vales invite. + What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look + Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes + Of tenderness and soft subdued desire, + Thy form, thy limbs--oh, madness!--be the prey + Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?-- 200 + Perish his treasure with him. Haste with me; + We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then, + If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills, + When they are distant far, and drop a tear, + Yes--I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp + Thy angel beauties closer to my breast; + And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun + Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek + Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus, + And proudly cry, My friend--my love--my wife! 210 + So tempted he, and soon her heart approved, + Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve, + When the moon shone upon the wandering stream, + She paced the castle's battlements, that threw + Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned + To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet + To wander o'er the world with him she loved. + Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone + 'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign: + With countenance erect, and honest eye 220 + Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness + At times), and smiles that like the lightning played + On his brown cheek,--so gently stern he stood, + Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,-- + Robert a Machin. But the sullen pride + Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim + To his high heritage, save what the pomp + Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave. + Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks + One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone 230 + He worshipped; and for this he could consign + His only child, his aged hope, to loathed + Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here + His hard ambition ended; for he sought, + By secret whispers of conspiracies, + His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift + His arm avenging, and upon a youth + Of promise close the dark forgotten gates + Of living sepulture, and in the gloom + Inhume the slowly-wasting victim. 240 + So + He purposed, but in vain; the ardent youth + Rescued her--her whom more than life he loved, + Ev'n when the horrid day of sacrifice + Drew nigh. He pointed to the distant bark, + And while he kissed a stealing tear that fell + On her pale cheek, as trusting she reclined + Her head upon his breast, with ardour cried-- + Be mine, be only mine! the hour invites; + Be mine, be only mine! So won, she cast 250 + A look of last affection on the towers + Where she had passed her infant days, that now + Shone to the setting sun. I follow thee, + Her faint voice said; and lo! where in the air + A sail hangs tremulous, and soon her feet + Ascend the vessel's side: The vessel glides + Down the smooth current, as the twilight fades, + Till soon the woods of Severn, and the spot + Where D'Arfet's solitary turrets rose, + Is lost; a tear starts to her eye, she thinks 260 + Of him whose gray head to the earth shall bend, + When he speaks nothing--but be all, like death, + Forgotten. Gently blows the placid breeze, + And oh! that now some fairy pinnace light + Might flit across the wave (by no seen power + Directed, save when Love upon the prow + Gathered or spread with tender hand the sail), + That now some fairy pinnace, o'er the surge + Silent, as in a summer's dream, might waft + The passengers upon the conscious flood 270 + To regions bright of undisturbed joy! + But hark! + The wind is in the shrouds;--the cordage sings + With fitful violence;--the blast now swells, + Now sinks. Dread gloom invests the further wave, + Whose foaming toss alone is seen, beneath + The veering bowsprit. + Oh, retire to rest, + Maiden, whose tender heart would beat, whose cheek + Turn pale to see another thus exposed! 280 + Hark! the deep thunder louder peals--Oh, save!-- + The high mast crashes; but the faithful arm + Of love is o'er thee, and thy anxious eye, + Soon as the gray of morning peeps, shall view + Green Erin's hills aspiring! + The sad morn + Comes forth; but terror on the sunless wave + Still, like a sea-fiend, sits, and darkly smiles + Beneath the flash that through the struggling clouds + Bursts frequent, half revealing his scathed front, 290 + Above the rocking of the waste that rolls + Boundless around. + No word through the long day + She spoke;--another slowly came;--no word + The beauteous drooping mourner spoke. The sun + Twelve times had sunk beneath the sullen surge, + And cheerless rose again:--Ah, where are now + Thy havens, France! But yet--resign not yet-- + Ye lost seafarers--oh, resign not yet + All hope--the storm is passed; the drenched sail 300 + Shines in the passing beam! Look up, and say-- + Heaven, thou hast heard our prayers! + And lo! scarce seen, + A distant dusky spot appears;--they reach + An unknown shore, and green and flowery vales, + And azure hills, and silver-gushing streams, + Shine forth; a Paradise, which Heaven alone, + Who saw the silent anguish of despair, + Could raise in the waste wilderness of waves. + They gain the haven; through untrodden scenes, 310 + Perhaps untrodden by the foot of man + Since first the earth arose, they wind. The voice + Of Nature hails them here with music, sweet, + As waving woods retired, or falling streams, + Can make; most soothing to the weary heart, + Doubly to those who, struggling with their fate, + And wearied long with watchings and with grief, + Seek but a place of safety. All things here + Whisper repose and peace; the very birds + That 'mid the golden fruitage glance their plumes, 320 + The songsters of the lonely valley, sing-- + Welcome from scenes of sorrow, live with us. + The wild wood opens, and a shady glen + Appears, embowered with mantling laurels high, + That sloping shade the flowery valley's side; + A lucid stream, with gentle murmur, strays + Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves, + Till gaining, with soft lapse, the nether plain, + It glances light along its yellow bed;-- + The shaggy inmates of the forest lick 330 + The feet of their new guests, and gazing stand. + A beauteous tree upshoots amid the glade + Its trembling top; and there upon the bank + They rest them, while each heart o'erflows with joy. + Now evening, breathing richer odours sweet, + Came down: a softer sound the circling seas, + The ancient woods resounded, while the dove, + Her murmurs interposing, tenderness + Awaked, yet more endearing, in the hearts + Of those who, severed wide from human kind, 340 + Woman and man, by vows sincere betrothed, + Heard but the voice of Nature. The still moon + Arose--they saw it not--cheek was to cheek + Inclined, and unawares a stealing tear + Witnessed how blissful was that hour, that seemed + Not of the hours that time could count. A kiss + Stole on the listening silence; ne'er till now + Here heard; they trembled, ev'n as if the Power + That made the world, that planted the first pair + In Paradise, amid the garden walked:-- 350 + This since the fairest garden that the world + Has witnessed, by the fabling sons of Greece + Hesperian named, who feigned the watchful guard + Of the scaled Dragon, and the Golden Fruit. + Such was this sylvan Paradise; and here + The loveliest pair, from a hard world remote, + Upon each other's neck reclined; their breath + Alone was heard, when the dove ceased on high + Her plaint; and tenderly their faithful arms + Infolded each the other. 360 + Thou, dim cloud, + That from the search of men these beauteous vales + Hast closed, oh, doubly veil them! But alas, + How short the dream of human transport! Here, + In vain they built the leafy bower of love, + Or culled the sweetest flowers and fairest fruit. + The hours unheeded stole! but ah, not long-- + Again the hollow tempest of the night + Sounds through the leaves; the inmost woods resound; + Slow comes the dawn, but neither ship nor sail 370 + Along the rocking of the windy waste + Is seen: the dash of the dark-heaving wave + Alone is heard. Start from your bed of bliss, + Poor victims! never more shall ye behold + Your native vales again; and thou, sweet child! + Who, listening to the voice of love, hast left + Thy friends, thy country,--oh, may the wan hue + Of pining memory, the sunk cheek, the eye + Where tenderness yet dwells, atone (if love + Atonement need, by cruelty and wrong 380 + Beset), atone ev'n now thy rash resolves! + Ah, fruitless hope! Day after day, thy bloom + Fades, and the tender lustre of thy eye + Is dimmed: thy form, amid creation, seems + The only drooping thing. + Thy look was soft, + And yet most animated, and thy step + Light as the roe's upon the mountains. Now, + Thou sittest hopeless, pale, beneath the tree + That fanned its joyous leaves above thy head, 390 + Where love had decked the blooming bower, and strewn + The sweets of summer: DEATH is on thy cheek, + And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns + Of him, who, agonised and hopeless, hangs + With tears and trembling o'er thee. Spare the sight,-- + She faints--she dies!-- + He laid her in the earth, + Himself scarce living, and upon her tomb + Beneath the beauteous tree where they reclined, + Placed the last tribute of his earthly love. 400 + + INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF ANNA D'ARFET. + + O'er my poor ANNA'S lowly grave + No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring; + But angels, as the high pines wave, + Their half-heard "Miserere" sing. + + No flowers of transient bloom at eve + The maidens on the turf shall strew; + Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave, + Sweets to the sweet! a long adieu! + + But in this wilderness profound, + O'er her the dove shall build her nest; 410 + And ocean swell with softer sound + A requiem to her dreams of rest! + + Ah! when shall I as quiet be, + When not a friend, or human eye, + Shall mark beneath the mossy tree + The spot where we forgotten lie! + + To kiss her name on the cold stone, + Is all that now on earth I crave; + For in this world I am alone-- + Oh, lay me with her in the grave! 420 + + ROBERT A MACHIN, 1344. + + _Miserere nobis, Domine._ + + He placed the rude inscription on her stone, + Which he with faltering hands had graved, and soon + Himself beside it sunk--yet ere he died, + Faintly he spoke: If ever ye shall hear, + Companions of my few and evil days, + Again the convent's vesper bells, oh! think + Of me; and if in after-times the search + Of men should reach this far removed spot, + Let sad remembrance raise an humble shrine, + And virgin choirs chaunt duly o'er our grave: 430 + Peace, peace! His arm upon the mournful stone + He dropped; his eyes, ere yet in death they closed, + Turned to the name, till he could see no more + ANNA. His pale survivors, earth to earth, + Weeping consigned his poor remains, and placed + Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid. + Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods, + They sought their country o'er the waves, and left + Those scenes once more to deepest solitude. + The beauteous ponciana hung its head 440 + O'er the gray stone; but never human eye + Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave + Of the unfortunate, but for the voice + Of ENTERPRISE, that spoke, from Sagre's towers, + Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes-- + Speed we to Asia! + Here, Discovery, pause!-- + Then from the tomb of him who first was cast + Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze + Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms 450 + Pursue De Gama's tract. Mark the rich shores + Of Madagascar, till the purple East + Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed. + But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!--a bard, + In tones whose patriot sound shall never die, + Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme + Recorded. + Say, what lofty meed awaits + The triumph of his victor conch, that swells + Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, 460 + As when Arion, with his glittering harp + And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main, + Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice + Again! Alas, I see an aged form, + An old man worn by penury, his hair + Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand + Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch + Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by: + His very countrymen, whose fame his song + Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy 470 + Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap, + Regard not. As he plays, a sable man + Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song + Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand. + Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look, + Thine, Camoens? Oh, shame upon the world! + And is there none, none to sustain thee found, + But he, himself unfriended, who so far + Has followed, severed from his native isles, + To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, 480 + Thee and thy broken fortunes! + GOD of worlds! + Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast + Of social life, let me not wrong the sense + Of kindness, planted in the human heart + By man's great Maker, therefore I record + Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love + To his heartbroken master, that might teach, + High as it bears itself, a polished world + More charity. 490 + DISCOVERY, turn thine eyes! + COLUMBUS' toiling ship is on the deep, + Stemming the mid Atlantic. + Waste and wild + The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves + The murmuring mariners, with languid eye, + Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day! + At midnight in the wind sad voices sound! + When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns, + Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste 500 + Of seas: and when the sun again goes down + Silent, hope dies within them, and they think + Of parting friendship's last despairing look! + See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers + Her trembling point--will Heaven forsake them too! + But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look, + Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:-- + Below the slowly-parting prow the sea + Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen + To wing the desert tract, as hasting on 510 + To the green valleys of their distant home. + Yet morn succeeds to morn--and nought around + Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league, + The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness + Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds. + Watchman, what from the giddy mast? + A shade + Appears on the horizon's hazy line. + Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot + Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze-- 520 + It fades, and there is nothing--nothing now + But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas! + As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst, + Upon the trackless and forsaken sands + Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives, + As mocking his last torments, while it seems, + To his distempered vision, like th' expanse + Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles + Th' illusive land upon the water's edge, + To the long-straining eye showing what seems 530 + Its headlands and its distant trending shores;-- + But all is false, and like the pensive dream + Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves + Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues, + And ending soon in emptiness and tears. + 'Tis midnight, and the thoughtful chief, retired + From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears + The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes, + And casts a silent anxious look without. + It is a light--great God--it is a light! 540 + It moves upon the shore!--Land--there is land! + He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy + Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell. + Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes + Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers; + While thus he fondly hopes the purer light + Of thy great truths on the benighted world + Shall beam! + The lingering night is past;--the sun + Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave 550 + High up the gently-surging bay. From all + Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud, + Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry, + Another living world!--Awe-struck and mute + The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears, + In homage to the gods! + So from the deep + They hail emerging; sight more awful far + Than ever yet the wondering voyager + Greeted;--the prospect of a new-found world, 560 + Now from the night of dark uncertainty + At once revealed in living light! + How beats + The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung + The roaming nations? From that ancient race + That peopled Asia--Noah's sons? How, then, + Passed they the long and lone expanse between + Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth + Cut off, and lost, for unknown ages, lost + In the vast deep? But whilst the awful view 570 + Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake + To prouder energies! Even now, in thought, + I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract![185] + The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand, + Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye + Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule, + The long Pacific stretches. Nor here cease + Thy search, but with De Quiros[186] to the South + Still urge thy way, if yet some continent + Stretch to its dusky pole, with nations spread, 580 + Forests, and hills, and streams. + So be thy search + With ampler views rewarded, till, at length, + Lo, the round world is compassed! Then return + Back to the bosom of the tranquil Thames, + And hail Britannia's victor ship,[187] that now + From many a storm restored, winds its slow way + Silently up the current, and so finds, + Like to a time-worn pilgrim of the world, + Rest, in that haven where all tempests cease. 590 + +[180] The Pharos was not erected by Alexander, but Alexandria is here +supposed to be finished. + +[181] Cape Bojador. + +[182] John Gongalez Zarco was employed by Prince Henry to conduct the +enterprise of discovery along the Western coast of Africa. + +[183] Porto Santo. + +[184] I have called the three islands of Madeiras the Hesperides, who, +in ancient mythology, are the three daughters of Atlas; as I consider +the orange-trees and mysterious shade, with the rocks discerned through +it on a nearer approach, to be the best solution of the fable of the +golden fruit, the dragon, and the three daughters of Atlas. + +[185] Magellan's ship first circumnavigated the globe, passing through +the straits, called by his name, into the South Sea, and proceeding West +to the East Indies. He himself, like our revered Cooke, perished in the +enterprise. + +[186] De Quiros first discovered the New Hebrides, in the South Sea; +afterwards explored by Cooke, who bears testimony to the accuracy of De +Quiros. These islands were supposed part of a great continent stretching +to the South pole, called _Terra Australis incognita._ + +[187] Drake's ship, in which he sailed round the world; she was laid up +at Deptford--hence Ben Johnson, in _Every Man in his Humour_, "O Coz, it +cannot be altered, go not about it; Drake's old ship at Deptford may +sooner circle the world again." + + +BOOK THE FIFTH. + + Such are thy views, DISCOVERY! The great world + Rolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the Deep + Submits its awful empire; Industry + Awakes, and Commerce to the echoing marts + From east to west unwearied pours her wealth. + Man walks sublimer; and Humanity, + Matured by social intercourse, more high, + More animated, lifts her sovereign mien, + And waves her golden sceptre. Yet the heart + Asks trembling, is no evil found! Oh, turn, 10 + Meek Charity, and drop a human tear + For the sad fate of Afric's injured sons, + And hide, for ever hide, the sight of chains, + Anguish, and bondage! Yes, the heart of man + Is sick, and Charity turns pale, to think + How soon, for pure religion's holy beam, + Dark crimes, that sullied the sweet day, pursued, + Like vultures, the Discoverer's ocean tract, + Screaming for blood, to fields of rich Peru, + Or ravaged Mexico, while Gold more Gold! 20 + The caverned mountains echoed, Gold more Gold! + Then see the fell-eyed, prowling buccaneer, + Grim as a libbard! He his jealous look + Turns to the dagger at his belt, his hand + By instinct grasps a bloody scymitar, + And ghastly is his smile, as o'er the woods + He sees the smoke of burning villages + Ascend, and thinks ev'n now he counts his spoil. + See thousands destined to the lurid mine, + Never to see the sun again; all names 30 + Of husband, sire, all tender charities + Of love, deep buried with them in that grave, + Where life is as a thing long passed; and hope + No more its sickly ray, to cheer the gloom, + Extends. + Thou, too, dread Ocean, toss thine arms, + Exulting, for the treasures and the gems + That thy dark oozy realm emblaze; and call + The pale procession of the dead, from caves + Where late their bodies weltered, to attend 40 + Thy kingly sceptre, and proclaim thy might! + Lord of the Hurricane! bid all thy winds + Swell, and destruction ride upon the surge, + Where, after the red lightning flash that shows + The labouring ship, all is at once deep night + And long suspense, till the slow dawn of day + Gleams on the scattered corses of the dead, + That strew the sounding shore! + Then think of him, + Ye who rejoice with those you love, at eve, 50 + When winds of winter shake the window-frame, + And more endear your fire, oh, think of him, + Who, saved alone from the destroying storm, + Is cast on some deserted rock; who sees + Sun after sun descend, and hopeless hears; + At morn the long surge of the troubled main, + That beats without his wretched cave; meantime + He fears to wake the echoes with his voice, + So dread the solitude! + Let Greenland's snows 60 + Then shine, and mark the melancholy train + There left to perish, whilst the cold pale day + Declines along the further ice, that binds + The ship, and leaves in night the sinking scene. + Sad winter closes on the deep; the smoke + Of frost, that late amusive to the eye + Rose o'er the coast, is passed, and all is now + One torpid blank; the freezing particles + Blown blistering, and the white bear seeks her cave. + Ill-fated outcasts, when the morn again 70 + Shall streak with feeble beam the frozen waste, + Your air-bleached and unburied carcases + Shall press the ground, and, as the stars fade off, + Your stony eyes glare 'mid the desert snows! + These triumphs boast, fell Demon of the Deep! + Though never more the universal shriek + Of all that perish thou shalt hear, as when + The deep foundations of the guilty earth + Were shaken at the voice of God, and man + Ceased in his habitations; yet the sea 80 + Thy might tempestuous still, and joyless rule, + Confesses. Ah! what bloodless shadows throng + Ev'n now, slow rising from their oozy beds, + From Mete,[188] and those gates of burial + That guard the Erythraean; from the vast + Unfathomed caverns of the Western main + Or stormy Orcades; whilst the sad shell + Of poor Arion,[189] to the hollow blast + Slow seems to pour its melancholy tones, + And faintly vibrate, as the dead pass by. 90 + I see the chiefs, who fell in distant lands, + The prey of murderous savages, when yells, + And shouts, and conch, resounded through the woods. + Magellan and De Solis seem to lead + The mournful train. Shade of Perouse! oh, say + Where, in the tract of unknown seas, thy bones + Th' insulting surge has swept? + But who is he, + Whose look, though pale and bloody, wears the trace + Of pure philanthropy? The pitying sigh 100 + Forbid not; he was dear to Britons, dear + To every beating heart, far as the world + Extends; and my faint faltering touch ev'n now + Dies on the strings, when I pronounce thy name, + Oh, lost, lamented, generous, hapless Cook! + But cease the vain complaint; turn from the shores, + Wet with his blood, Remembrance: cast thine eyes + Upon the long seas, and the wider world, + Displayed from his research. Smile, glowing Health! + For now no more the wasted seaman sinks, 110 + With haggard eye and feeble frame diseased; + No more with tortured longings for the sight + Of fields and hillocks green, madly he calls + On Nature, when before his swimming eye + The liquid long expanse of cheerless seas + Seems all one flowery plain. Then frantic dreams + Arise; his eye's distemper'd flash is seen + From the sunk socket, as a demon there + Sat mocking, till he plunges in the flood, + And the dark wave goes o'er him. 120 + Nor wilt thou, + O Science! fail to deck the cold morai[190] + Of him who wider o'er earth's hemisphere + Thy views extended. On, from deep to deep, + Thou shalt retrace the windings of his track; + From the high North to where the field-ice binds + The still Antarctic. Thence, from isle to isle, + Thou shalt pursue his progress; and explore + New-Holland's eastern shores,[191] where now the sons + Of distant Britain, from her lap cast out, 130 + Water the ground with tears of penitence, + Perhaps, hereafter, in their destined time, + Themselves to rise pre-eminent. Now speed, + By Asia's eastern bounds, still to the North, + Where the vast continents of either world + Approach: Beyond, 'tis silent boundless ice, + Impenetrable barrier, where all thought + Is lost; where never yet the eagle flew, + Nor roamed so far the white bear through the waste. + But thou, dread POWER! whose voice from chaos called 140 + The earth, who bad'st the Lord of light go forth, + Ev'n as a giant, and the sounding seas + Roll at thy fiat: may the dark deep clouds, + That thy pavilion shroud from mortal sight, + So pass away, as now the mystery, + Obscure through rolling ages, is disclosed; + How man, from one great Father sprung, his race + Spread to that severed continent! Ev'n so, + FATHER, in thy good time, shall all things stand + Revealed to knowledge. 150 + As the mind revolves + The change of mighty empires, and the fate + Of HIM whom Thou hast made, back through the dusk + Of ages Contemplation turns her view: + We mark, as from its infancy, the world + Peopled again, from that mysterious shrine + That rested on the top of Ararat, + Highest of Asian mountains; spreading on, + The Cushites from their mountain caves descend; + Then before GOD the sons of Ammon stood 160 + In their gigantic might, and first the seas + Vanquished: But still from clime to clime the groan + Of sacrifice, and Superstition's cry, + Was heard; but when the Dayspring rose of heaven, + Greece's hoar forests echoed, The great Pan + Is dead! From Egypt, and the rugged shores + Of Syrian Tyre, the gods of darkness fly; + Bel is cast down, and Nebo, horrid king, + Bows in imperial Babylon: But, ah! + Too soon, the Star of Bethlehem, whose ray 170 + The host of heaven hailed jubilant, and sang, + Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, + With long eclipse is veiled. + Red Papacy + Usurped the meek dominion of the Lord + Of love and charity: vast as a fiend + She rose, Heaven's light was darkened with her frown, + And the earth murmured back her hymns of blood, + As the meek martyr at the burning stake + Stood, his last look uplifted to his GOD! 180 + But she is now cast down, her empire reft. + They who in darkness walked, and in the shade + Of death, have seen a new and holy light, + As in th' umbrageous forest, through whose boughs, + Mossy and damp, for many a league, the morn + With languid beam scarce pierces, here and there + Touching some solitary trunk, the rest + Dark waving in the noxious atmosphere: + Through the thick-matted leaves the serpent winds + His way, to find a spot of casual sun; 190 + The gaunt hyaena through the thicket glides + At eve: then, too, the couched tiger's eye + Flames in the dusk, and oft the gnashing jaws + Of the fell crocodile are heard. At length, + By man's superior energy and toil, + The sunless brakes are cleared; the joyous morn + Shines through the opening leaves; rich culture smiles + Around; and howling to their distant wilds + The savage inmates of the wood retire. + Such is the scene of human life, till want 200 + Bids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreads + The cultured stream of mild humanity, + And gentler virtues, and more noble aims + Employ the active mind, till beauty beams + Around, and Nature wears her richest robe, + Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charms + Of woman, fairest of the works of Heaven, + Whom the cold savage, in his sullen pride, + Scorned as unworthy of his equal love, + With more attractive influence wins the heart 210 + Of her protector. Then the names of sire, + Of home, of brother, and of children, grow + More sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye, + Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholds + A Father who looks down from heaven on all! + O Britain, my loved country! dost thou rise + Most high among the nations! Do thy fleets + Ride o'er the surge of ocean, that subdued + Rolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wear + Thy garb of gentler morals gracefully! 220 + Is widest science thine, and the fair train + Of lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy ports + With her ten thousand streamers, is the tract + Of the undeviating ploughshare white + That rips the reeking furrow, followed soon + By plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice, + Even like a cultured garden! Do the streams + That steal along thy peaceful vales, reflect + Temples, and Attic domes, and village towers! + Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things, 230 + Woman; and doth she gain that liberal love + And homage, which the meekness of her voice, + The rapture of her smile, commanding most + When she seems weakest, must demand from him, + Her master; whose stern strength at once submits + In manly, but endearing, confidence, + Unlike his selfish tyranny who sits + The sultan of his harem! + Oh, then, think + How great the blessing, and how high thy rank 240 + Amid the civilised and social world! + But hast thou no deep failings, that may turn + Thy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sun + That shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy power + Ne'er scattered sorrow over distant lands! + Ask of the East, have never thy proud sails + Borne plunder from dismembered provinces, + Leaving the groans of miserable men + Behind! And free thyself, and lifting high + The charter of thy freedom, bought with blood, 250 + Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy, + A witness of the tortures and the chains + That Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up; + Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheered + The gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shed + A beam of comfort and of righteousness + On isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shade + Th' Hesperian regions, and has softened much + With bland amelioration, and with charms + Of social sweetness, the hard lot of man. 260 + But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if all + Be even. Do not crimes of ranker growth + Batten amid thy cities, whose loud din, + From flashing and contending cars, ascends, + Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweet + Ne'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weeds + Of calm domestic peace and wedded love; + Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dash + Gay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lips + Untasted! Hath not sullen atheism, 270 + Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so sought + To hide the darkness of his withered brow + With faded and fantastic gallantry + Of roses, thus to win the thoughtless smile + Of youthful ignorance! Hast thou with awe + Looked up to Him whose power is in the clouds, + Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earth + The nations that offend, and they are gone, + Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself: + Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the might 280 + Of thy Protector, and the gathered hate + Of hostile bands shall be but as the sand + Blown on the everlasting pyramid. + Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work, + Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the world + Extends may your divinest influence + Be felt, and more than felt, to teach mankind + They all are brothers, and to drown the cries + Of superstition, anarchy, or blood! + Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banks 290 + Still superstition hails the flame of death, + Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire, + The self-devoted beauteous victim slow + Ascend the pile where her dead husband lies: + She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breast + On his, and lights herself the fatal pile + That shall consume them both! + On Egypt's shore, + Where Science rose, now Sloth and Ignorance + Sleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun! 300 + The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' blood + The inmost sands of Afric. But all these + The light shall visit, and that vaster tract + From Fuego to the furthest Labrador, + Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hear + The voice of social fellowship; the chief + Whose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom, + Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalp + Of his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears! + Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity! 310 + Complete the lovely prospect: every land + Shall lift up one hosannah; every tongue + Proclaim thee FATHER, INFINITE, and WISE, + And GOOD. The shores of palmy Senegal + (Sad Afric's injured sons no more enslaved) + Shall answer HALLELUJAH, for the LORD + Of truth and mercy reigns;--reigns KING OF KINGS;-- + HOSANNAH--KING OF KINGS--and LORD OF LORDS! + So may His kingdom come, when all the earth, + Uniting thus as in one hymn of praise, 320 + Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe, + His awful plan accomplished, then shall sink + In flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the place + Where it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voice + Of the ARCHANGEL, and the TRUMP OF GOD, + Amid heaven's darkness rolling fast away, + Shall sound! + Then shall the sea give up its dead;-- + But man's immortal mind, all trials past + That shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenes 330 + Of peril and distemper, shall ascend + Exulting to its destined seat of rest, + And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung. + +[188] Mete, in the Arabic, according to Bruce, signifies "the place of +burial." The entrance of the Red Sea was so called, from the dangers of +the navigation. See Bruce. + +[189] Alluding to the pathetic poem of the _Shipwreck_, whose author, +Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who was +afterwards lost in the "Aurora." + +[190] "Morai" is a grave. + +[191] Botany Bay. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + +Amor patriae ratione potentior omni. + +PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.[192] + + +It is not necessary to relate the causes which induced me to publish +this poem without a name. + +The favour with which it has been received may make me less diffident in +avowing it; and, as a second edition has been generally called for, I +have endeavoured to make it, in every respect, less unworthy of the +public eye. + +I have availed myself of every sensible objection, the most material of +which was the circumstance, that the Indian maid, described in the first +book, had not a part assigned to her of sufficient interest in the +subsequent events of the poem, and that the character of the Missionary +was not sufficiently professional. + +The single circumstance that a Spanish commander, with his army in South +America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treachery +of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is all +that has been taken from history. The rest of this poem, the personages, +father, daughter, wife, _et cet._ (with the exception of the names of +Indian warriors) is imaginary. The time is two months. The first four +books include as many days and nights. The rest of the time is occupied +by the Spaniards' march, the assembly of warriors, _et cet._ + +The place in which the scene is laid, was selected because South America +has of late years received additional interest, and because the ground +was at once new, poetical, and picturesque. + +From old-fashioned feelings, perhaps, I have admitted some aerial +agents, or what is called machinery. It is true that the spirits cannot +be said to accelerate or retard the events; but surely they may be +allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical +fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence. They may be further +excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery. + +The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced +me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least +accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in +itself, most difficult. I mention this, in order that, if some passages +should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour +of the reader may pardon them. + + +_Scene_--SOUTH AMERICA. + +_Characters._--Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies--Lautaro, his +page, a native of Chili--Anselmo, the missionary--Indiana, his adopted +daughter, wife of Lautaro--Zarinel, the wandering minstrel. + +_Indians._--Attacapac, father of Lautaro--Olola, his daughter, sister of +Lautaro--Caupolican, chief of the Indians--Indian warriors. + +The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as +the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the +moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the title which +was originally given to the poem. + +[192] Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + +INTRODUCTION. + + + When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast, + Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign passed, + Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne + Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown, + To seek a refuge on that distant shore, + That once her country's legions dyed with gore;-- + Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood, + Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood; + Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay, + Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; 10 + And the huge Cordilleras to the skies + With all their burning summits seemed to rise. + Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice + The waves and woods replied:--Mountains, rejoice! + Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep + The margin of my forests, dark and deep, + Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow, + That smote the golden shrines of Mexico, + In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain, + Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain; 20 + Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood, + Back on thy shores the tide of human blood, + Think of my murdered millions! of the cries + That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise; + Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;-- + Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear, + How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood, + Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood; + And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!) + Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! 30 + + +CANTO FIRST. + +ARGUMENT. + + _One Day and Part of Night._ + + Valley in the Andes--Old Indian warrior--Loss of his son and + daughter. + + Beneath aerial cliffs, and glittering snows, + The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose, + Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead, + The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread, + Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires, + And Chillan[193] trailed its smoke and smouldering fires. + A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest, + Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest. + Summer was in its prime;--the parrot-flocks + Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks; 10 + The chrysomel[194] and purple butterfly,[195] + Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by; + The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers, + With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers, + The woodpecker is heard with busy bill, + The mock-bird sings--and all beside is still, + And look! the cataract that bursts so high, + As not to mar the deep tranquillity, + The tumult of its dashing fall suspends, + And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; 20 + Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews, + Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues. + Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon, + And arching the gray rock with wild festoon, + Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine, + The purple cogul[196] threads from pine to pine, + And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe, + Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath. + There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white, + The sunshine darts its interrupted light, 30 + And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes, + With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes. + So smiles the scene;--but can its smiles impart + Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart? + He heeds not now, when beautifully bright, + The humming-bird is circling in his sight; + Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still, + Hears the green woodpecker's resounding bill; + But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild, + Rock after rock, in glittering masses piled 40 + To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high + Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky, + He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled + To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,-- + In yonder tract of purest light above, + Dear long-lost object of a father's love, + Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come, + Circling the scenes of thy remembered home, + And passing with the breeze, or, in the beam + Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! 50 + Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard, + In the sad notes of that melodious bird,[197] + Which, as we listen with mysterious dread, + Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead? + Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away, + Thine eyes yet view the living light of day; + Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain + A weary life of servitude and pain, + With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam, + And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, 60 + Never to hear the summer cocoa wave, + Or weep upon thy father's distant grave. + Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear, + When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near; + With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast, + As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast, + And o'er the withered earth the armed giant passed! + Ye, who his track with terror have pursued, + When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued, + He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, 70 + That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide, + Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong + The last deep echoes of his parting gong; + Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot + Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot, + Save livid corses that unburied lie, + And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;-- + Come listen, whilst the causes I relate + That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate, + And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. 80 + In other days, when, in his manly pride, + Two children for a father's fondness vied,-- + Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield + His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield; + Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade, + Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played, + Brother and sister. She, along the dew, + Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew; + Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair + Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; 90 + Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made, + That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade. + Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced + The azure-dyed ichella[198] round her waist; + Her ancles rung with shells, as unconfined + She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind. + With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye, + So beautiful in youth she bounded by. + Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,-- + The tame alpaca[199] stood and licked her hand; 100 + She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck + With flowery twine his tall and stately neck, + Whilst he with silent gratitude replies, + And bends to her caress his large blue eyes. + These children danced together in the shade, + Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade; + Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee, + The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree; + Or through the forest's wildest solitude, + From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; 110 + And thought the light of parting day too short, + That called them, lingering, from their daily sport. + In that fair season of awakening life, + When dawning youth and childhood are at strife; + When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands + Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands; + With airy look, and form and footsteps light, + And glossy locks, and features berry-bright, + And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray + Of noon unblenching as he sails away; 120 + A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung, + A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung, + With slender lance, and feathers blue and red, + That, like the heron's[200] crest, waved on his head,-- + Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy, + Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy: + Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow, + Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow; + Startled the condor, on the craggy height; + Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, 130 + Lessening in ether to a speck of white. + But when the impassioned chieftain spoke of war, + Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,-- + Spoke of the strangers of the distant main, + And the proud banners of insulting Spain,-- + Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke, + And his red gods, that, wrapped in rolling smoke, + Roared from the guns;--the boy, with still-drawn breath, + Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death; + Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, 140 + Oh, let me perish by my father's side! + Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height, + Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light, + A predatory band of mailed men + Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen: + They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high, + That shone terrific to the moonlight sky; + Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill + Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still. + The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, 150 + Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep, + Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said, + Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head, + Aerial nymphs![201] that in the moonlight stray, + O gentle spirits! here awhile delay; + Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy, + Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy. + If the GREAT SPIRIT will, in future days, + O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise, + And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, 160 + Avenge his violated country's cause! + Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone + Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone, + As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood + Sprang, like hyaenas, from the secret wood. + They rush, they seize their unresisting prey, + Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away; + But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound, + The father sank, expiring, on the ground. + He waked from the dark trance to life and pain, 170 + But never saw his darling child again. + Seven snows had fallen, and seven green summers passed, + Since here he heard that son's loved accents last. + Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares, + Whilst time began to strew with white his hairs. + Oft as his painted feathers he unbound, + Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground, + Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak, + Light she approached, and climbed to reach his cheek, + Held with both hands his forehead, then her head 180 + Drew smiling back, and kissed the tear he shed. + But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey, + She left his side, and wandered far away. + Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled + Beneath the crags of precipices wild, + Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose, + The warrior half forgot his country's woes; + Forgot how many, impotent to save, + Shed their best blood upon a father's grave; + How many, torn from wife and children, pine 190 + In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine, + Never to see again the blessed morn;-- + Slaves in the lovely land where they were born; + How many at sad sunset, with a tear, + The distant roar of sullen cannons hear, + Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw + A deadlier stillness on a nation's woe! + So the dark warrior, day succeeding day, + Wore in distempered thought the noons away; + And still, when weary evening came, he sighed, 200 + My son, my son! or, with emotion, cried, + When I descend to the cold grave alone, + Who shall be there to mourn for me?--Not one![202] + The crimson orb of day now westering flung + His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung; + When from afar a shrilling sound was heard, + And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appeared. + The watchful warrior knew the piercing tones, + The signal-call of war, from human bones,-- + What tidings? with impatient look, he cried. 210 + Tidings of war, the hurrying scout replied; + Then the sharp pipe[203] with shriller summons blew, + And held the blood-red arrow high in view.[204] + + CHIEF. + + Where speed the foes? + + INDIAN. + + Along the southern main, + Have passed the vultures of accursed Spain. + + CHIEF. + + Ruin pursue them on the distant flood, + And be their deadly portion--blood for blood! + + INDIAN. + + When, round and red, the moon shall next arise, + The chiefs attend the midnight sacrifice 220 + In Encol's wood, where the great wizard dwells, + Who wakes the dead man by his thrilling spells; + Thee,[205] Ulmen of the Mountains, they command + To lift the hatchet for thy native land; + Whilst in dread circle, round the sere-wood smoke, + The mighty gods of vengeance they invoke; + And call the spirits of their fathers slain, + To nerve their lifted arm, and curse devoted Spain. + So spoke the scout of war;--and o'er the dew, + Onward along the craggy valley, flew. 230 + Then the stern warrior sang his song of death-- + And blew his conch, that all the glens beneath + Echoed, and rushing from the hollow wood, + Soon at his side three hundred warriors stood. + + WARRIOR. + + Children, who for his country dares to die? + + Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky: + We perish, or we leave our country free; + Father, our blood for Chili and for thee! + The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield, + And shook the dust indignant from the shield. 240 + Then spoke:-- + + O Thou! that with thy lingering light + Dost warm the world, till all is hushed in night; + I look upon thy parting beams, O sun! + And say, ev'n thus my course is almost run. + When thou dost hide thy head, as in the grave, + And sink to glorious rest beneath the wave, + Dost thou, majestic in repose, retire, + Below the deep, to unknown worlds of fire! + Yet though thou sinkest, awful, in the main, 250 + The shadowy moon comes forth, and all the train + Of stars, that shine with soft and silent light, + Making so beautiful the brow of night. + Thus, when I sleep within the narrow bed, + The light of after-fame around shall spread; + The sons of distant Ocean, when they see + The grass-green heap beneath the mountain tree, + And hear the leafy boughs at evening wave, + Shall pause and say, There sleep in dust the brave! + All earthly hopes my lonely heart have fled! 260 + Stern Guecubu,[206] angel of the dead, + Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire; + Whose dwelling is beneath the central fire + Of yonder burning mountain; who hast passed + O'er my poor dwelling, and with one fell blast + Scattered my summer-leaves that clustered round, + And swept my fairest blossoms to the ground; + Angel of dire despair, oh! come not nigh, + Nor wave thy red wings o'er me where I lie; + But thou, O mild and gentle spirit! stand, 270 + Angel[207] of hope and peace, at my right hand, + (When blood-drops stagnate on my brow) and guide + My pathless voyage o'er the unknown tide, + To scenes of endless joy, to that fair isle, + Where bowers of bliss, and soft savannahs smile: + Where my forefathers oft the fight renew, + And Spain's black visionary steeds pursue; + Where, ceased the struggles of all human pain, + I may behold thee--thee, my son, again! + He spoke, and whilst at evening's glimmering close 280 + The distant mist, like the gray ocean, rose, + With patriot sorrows swelling at his breast, + He sank upon a jagguar's hide to rest. + 'Twas night: remote on Caracalla's bay, + Valdivia's army, hushed in slumber, lay. + Around the limits of the silent camp, + Alone was heard the steed's patroling tramp + From line to line, whilst the fixed sentinel + Proclaimed the watch of midnight--All is well! + Valdivia dreamed of millions yet untold, 290 + Villrica's gems, and El Dorado's gold! + What different feelings, by the scene impressed, + Rose in sad tumult o'er Lautaro's breast! + On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept, + Thoughtful he turned his waking eyes, and wept, + And whilst the thronging forms of memory start, + Thus holds communion with his lonely heart: + Land of my fathers, still I tread your shore, + And mourn the shade of hours that are no more; + Whilst night-airs, like remembered voices, sweep, 300 + And murmur from the undulating deep. + Was it thy voice, my father! Thou art dead, + The green rush waves on thy forsaken bed. + Was it thy voice, my sister! Gentle maid, + Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid; + Perhaps, even now, thy spirit sees me stand + A homeless stranger in my native land; + Perhaps, even now, along the moonlight sea, + It bends from the blue cloud, remembering me! + Land of my fathers! yet, oh yet forgive, 310 + That with thy deadly enemies I live: + The tenderest ties (it boots not to relate) + Have bound me to their service, and their fate; + Yet, whether on Peru's war-wasted plain, + Or visiting these sacred shores again, + Whate'er the struggles of this heart may be, + Land of my fathers, it shall beat for thee! + +[193] A volcano in Chili. + +[194] The chrysomela is a beautiful insect of which the young women of +Chili make necklaces. + +[195] The parrot butterfly, peculiar to this part of America, the +largest and most brilliant of its kind.--_Papilio psittacus._ + +[196] A most beautiful climbing plant. The vine is of the size of +packthread: it climbs on the trees without attaching itself to them: +when it reaches the top, it descends perpendicularly; and as it +continues to grow, it extends itself from tree to tree, until it offers +to the eye a confused tissue, exhibiting some resemblance to the rigging +of a ship.--_Molina._ + +[197] I chanced once to lodge in a village named Upec by the Frenchmen: +there, in the night, I heard _those birds, not singing_, but making a +lamentable noise. I saw the barbarians most attentive, and, being +ignorant of the whole matter, reproved their folly. But when I smiled a +little upon a Frenchman standing by me, a certain old man, severely +enough, restrained me with these words: "Hold your peace, lest you +hinder us who attentively hearken _to the happy tidings of our +ancestors_; for as often as we hear these birds, so often also are we +cheered, and our strength receiveth increase."--_Callender's Voyage._ + +[198] The ichella is a short cloak, of a greenish-blue colour, of wool, +fastened before with a silver buckle.--_Molina._ + +[199] The alpaca is perhaps the most beautiful, gentle, and interesting +of living animals: one was to be seen in London in 1812. + +[200] _Ardea cristata._ + +[201] Every warrior of Chili, according to Molina, has his attendant +"nymph" or fairy--the belief in which is nearly similar to the popular +and poetical idea of those beings in Europe. Meulen is the benevolent +spirit. + +[202] I have taken this line from the conclusion of the celebrated +speech of the old North American warrior, Logan, "Who is there to mourn +for Logan?--not one!" + +[203] Their pipes of war are made of the bones of their enemies, who +have been sacrificed. + +[204] The way in which the warriors are summoned, is something like the +"running the cross" in Scotland, which is so beautifully described by +Walter Scott. The scouts on this occasion bear an arrow bound with red +fillets. + +[205] Ulmen is the same as Casique, or chief. + +[206] Guecubu{h} is the evil spirit of the Chilians. + +[207] They have their evil and good spirits. + + +CANTO SECOND. + +ARGUMENT. + + _The Second Day._ + + Night--Spirit of the Andes--Valdivia--Lautaro--Missionary--The + Hermitage. + + The night was still and clear, when, o'er the snows, + Andes! thy melancholy Spirit rose,-- + A shadow stern and sad: he stood alone, + Upon the topmost mountain's burning cone; + And whilst his eyes shone dim, through surging smoke, + Thus to the spirits of the fire he spoke:-- + + Ye, who tread the hidden deeps, + Where the silent earthquake sleeps; + Ye, who track the sulphurous tide, + Or on hissing vapours ride,-- 10 + Spirits, come! + From worlds of subterraneous night; + From fiery realms of lurid light; + From the ore's unfathomed bed; + From the lava's whirlpools red,-- + Spirits, come! + On Chili's foes rush with vindictive sway, + And sweep them from the light of living day! + Heard ye not the ravenous brood, + That flap their wings, and scream for blood? 20 + On Peru's devoted shore + Their murderous beaks are red with gore; + Yet here, impatient for new prey, + The insatiate vultures track their way. + Let them perish! they, whose bands + Swept remote and peaceful lands! + Let them perish!--on their head, + Descend the darkness of the dead! + Spirits, now your caves forsake: + Hark! ten thousand warriors wake!-- 30 + Spirits, their high cause defend!-- + From your caves ascend! ascend! + + As thus the Genius of the Andes spoke, + The trembling mountain heaved with darker smoke; + Lightnings, and phantom-forms, by fits appeared; + His mighty voice far off Osorno heard; + The caverned deeps shook through their vast profound, + And Chimborazzo's height rolled back the sound. + With lifted arm, and towering stature high, + And aspect frowning to the middle sky 40 + (Its misty form dilated in the wind), + The phantom stood,--till, less and less defined, + Into thin air it faded from the sight, + Lost in the ambient haze of slow-returning light. + Its feathery-seeming crown, its giant spear, + Its limbs of huge proportion, disappear; + And the bare mountains to the dawn disclose + The same long line of solitary snows. + The morning shines, the military train + Streams far and wide along the tented plain; 50 + And plaited cuirasses, and helms of steel, + Throw back the sunbeams, as the horsemen wheel: + Thus, with arms glancing to the eastern light, + Pass, in review, proud steeds and cohorts bright; + For all the host, by break of morrow's gray, + Wind back their march to Penco's northern bay, + Valdivia, fearful lest confederate foes, + Ambushed and dark, his progress might oppose, + Marshals to-day the whole collected force, + File and artillery, cuirassier and horse: 60 + Himself yet lingers ere he joins the train, + That moves, in ordered march, along the plain, + While troops, and Indian slaves beneath his eye, + The labours of the rising city ply:[208] + Wide glows the general toil; the mole extends, + The watch-tower o'er the desert surge ascends; + And battlements, and rising ramparts, shine + Above the ocean's blue and level line. + The sun ascended to meridian height, + And all the northern bastions shone in light; 70 + With hoarse acclaim, the gong and trumpet rung, + The Moorish slaves aloft their cymbals swung, + When the proud victor, in triumphant state, + Rode forth, in arms, through the portcullis' gate. + With neck high-arching as he smote the ground, + And restless pawing to the trumpet's sound,-- + With mantling mane, o'er his broad shoulders spread, + And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,-- + The coal-black steed, in rich caparison + Far trailing to the ground, went proudly on. 80 + Proudly he tramped, as conscious of his charge, + And turned around his eye-balls, bright and large, + And shook the frothy boss, as in disdain; + And tossed the flakes, indignant, off his mane; + And, with high-swelling veins, exulting pressed + Proudly against the barb his heaving breast. + The fate of empires glowing in his thought, + Thus armed, the tented field Valdivia sought. + On the left side his poised shield he bore, + With quaint devices richly blazoned o'er; 90 + Above the plumes, upon his helmet's cone, + Castile's imperial crest illustrious shone; + Blue in the wind the escutcheoned mantle flowed, + O'er the chained mail, which tinkled as he rode. + The barred vizor raised, you might discern + His clime-changed countenance,[209] though pale, yet stern, + And resolute as death,--whilst in his eye + Sat proud Assurance, Fame, and Victory. + Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride, + Rode, with a lance, attendant at his side, 100 + In Spanish mantle gracefully arrayed; + Upon his brow a tuft of feathers played: + His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace, + Shaded the noonday sunbeams on his face. + Though passed in tears the dayspring of his youth, + Valdivia loved his gratitude and truth: + He, in Valdivia, owned a nobler friend; + Kind to protect, and mighty to defend. + So, on he rode; upon his youthful mien + A mild but sad intelligence was seen; 110 + Courage was on his open brow, yet care + Seemed like a wandering shade to linger there; + And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright, + It beamed with humid, melancholy light + When now Valdivia saw the embattled line, + Helmets, and swords, and shields, and matchlocks, shine; + Now the long phalanx still and steady stand, + Fixed every eye, and motionless each hand; + Then slowly clustering, into columns wheel, + Each with the red-cross banners of Castile; 120 + While trumps, and drums, and cymbals, to his ear + Made music such as soldiers love to hear; + While horsemen checked their steeds, or, bending low + With levelled lances, o'er the saddle-bow, + Rode gallantly at tilt; and thunders broke, + Instant involving van and rear in smoke, + Till winds the obscuring volume rolled away, + And the red file, stretched out in long array, + More radiant moved beneath the beams of day; + While ensigns, arms, and crosses, glittered bright,-- 130 + Philip![210] he cried, seest thou the glorious sight? + And dost thou deem the tribes of this poor land + Can men, and arms, and steeds, like these, withstand? + Forgive!--the youth replied, and checked a tear,-- + The land where my forefathers sleep is dear!-- + My native land!--this spot of blessed earth, + The scene where I, and all I love, had birth! + What gratitude fidelity can give + Is yours, my lord!--you shielded--bade me live, + When, in the circuit of the world so wide, 140 + I had but one, one only friend beside. + I bowed resigned to fate; I kissed the hand, + Red with the best blood of my father's land![211] + But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know, + Though Cortes' desolating march laid low + The shrines of rich, voluptuous Mexico; + With carcases, though proud Pizarro strew + The Sun's imperial temple in Peru, + Yet the rude dwellers of this land are brave, + And the last spot they lose will be their grave! 150 + A moment's crimson crossed Valdivia's cheek-- + Then o'er the plain he spurred, nor deigned to speak, + Waving the youth, at distance, to retire; + None saw the eye that shot terrific fire. + As their commander sternly rode along, + Troop after troop, halted the martial throng; + And all the pennoned trumps a louder blast + Blew, as the Southern World's great victor passed. + Lautaro turned, scarce heeding, from the view, + And from the noise of trumps and drums withdrew; 160 + And now, while troubled thoughts his bosom swell, + Seeks the gray Missionary's humble cell. + Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken + Of public view, and sounds of murmuring men, + Of unhewn roots composed, and gnarled wood, + A small and rustic oratory stood; + Upon its roof of reeds appeared a cross, + The porch within was lined with mantling moss; + A crucifix and hour-glass, on each side-- + One to admonish seemed, and one to guide; 170 + This, to impress how soon life's race is o'er; + And that, to lift our hopes where time shall be no more. + O'er the rude porch, with wild and gadding stray, + The clustering copu weaved its trellis gay; + Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove + Their aged and fantastic arms above. + In front, amid the gay surrounding flowers, + A dial counted the departing hours, + On which the sweetest light of summer shone,-- + A rude and brief inscription marked the stone: 180 + To count, with passing shade, the hours, + I placed the dial 'mid the flowers; + That, one by one, came forth, and died, + Blooming, and withering, round its side. + Mortal, let the sight impart + Its pensive moral to thy heart! + Just heard to trickle through a covert near, + And soothing, with perpetual lapse, the ear, + A fount, like rain-drops, filtered through the stone, + And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. 190 + Intent his fairy pastime to pursue, + And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue, + The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song + Heedlessly murmured, all the summer long; + And when the winter came, retired to rest, + And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest. + No sounds of a conflicting world were near; + The noise of ocean faintly met the ear, + That seemed, as sunk to rest the noontide blast, + But dying sounds of passions that were past; 200 + Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire + The lessening echoes of the distant choir. + Here, every human sorrow hushed to rest, + His pale hands meekly crossed upon his breast, + Anselmo sat: the sun, with westering ray, + Just touched his temples, and his locks of gray. + There was no worldly feeling in his eye; + The world to him was "as a thing gone by." + Now, all his features lit, he raised his look, + Then bent it thoughtful, and unclasped the book; 210 + And whilst the hour-glass shed its silent sand, + A tame opossum[212] licked his withered hand. + That sweetest light of slow-declining day, + Which through the trellis poured its slanting ray, + Resting a moment on his few gray hairs, + Seemed light from heaven sent down to bless his prayers. + When the trump echoed to the quiet spot, + He thought upon the world, but mourned it not; + Enough if his meek wisdom could control, + And bend to mercy, one proud soldier's soul; 220 + Enough, if, while these distant scenes he trod, + He led one erring Indian to his God. + Whence comes my son? with kind complacent look + He asked, and closed again the embossed book. + I come to thee for peace, the youth replied: + Oh, there is strife, and cruelty, and pride, + In this sad Christian world! My native land + Was happy, ere the soldier, with his band + Of fell destroyers, like a vulture, came, + And gave its peaceful scenes to blood and flame. 230 + When will the turmoil of earth's tempests cease? + Father, I come to thee for peace--for peace! + Seek peace, the father cried, with God above: + In His good time, all will be peace and love. + We mourn, indeed, mourn that all sounds of ill, + Earth's fairest scenes with one deep murmur fill; + That yonder sun, when evening paints the sky, + Sinks, beauteous, on a world of misery; + The course of wide destruction to withstand, + We lift our feeble voice--our trembling hand; 240 + But still, bowed low, or smitten to the dust, + Father of mercy, still in Thee we trust! + Through good or ill, in poverty or wealth, + In joy or woe, in sickness or in health, + Meek Piety thy awful hand surveys, + And the faint murmur turns to prayer and praise! + We know--whatever evils we deplore-- + Thou hast permitted, and we know no more! + Behold, illustrious on the subject plain, + Some tow'r-crowned city of imperial Spain! 250 + Hark! 'twas the earthquake![213] clouds of dust alone + Ascend from earth, where tower and temple shone! + Such is the conqueror's dread path: the grave + Yawns for its millions where his banners wave; + But shall vain man, whose life is but a sigh, + With sullen acquiescence gaze and die? + Alas, how little of the mighty maze + Of Providence our mortal ken surveys! + Heaven's awful Lord, pavilioned in the clouds, + Looks through the darkness that all nature shrouds; 260 + And, far beyond the tempest and the night, + Bids man his course hold on to scenes of endless light. + +[208] The city Baldivia. + +[209] He had served in the wars of Italy. + +[210] Lautaro had been baptized by that name. + +[211] Valdivia had before been in Chili. + +[212] A small and beautiful species, which is domesticated. + +[213] No part of the world is so subject to earthquakes as Peru. + + +CANTO THIRD. + +ARGUMENT. + + _Evening and Night of the same Day._ + + Anselmo's story--Converted Indians--Confession of the Wandering + Minstrel--Night-Scene. + + Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,-- + And whilst our time may brook a brief delay + With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear, + An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear. + I wished not to reveal it;--thoughts that dwell + Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell + Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake, + And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, + When, starting from our slumberous apathy, + We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by. 10 + Yet, if a moment's irritating flush, + Darkens thy cheek,[214] as thoughts conflicting rush, + When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale + May more than wisdom or reproof prevail. + Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease, + To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace; + Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay, + Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away! + Where fair Seville's Morisco[215] turrets gleam + On Guadilquiver's gently-stealing stream; 20 + Whose silent waters, seaward as they glide, + Reflect the wild-rose thickets on its side, + My youth was passed. Oh, days for ever gone! + How touched with Heaven's own light your mornings shone + Even now, when lonely and forlorn I bend, + My weary journey hastening to its end, + A drooping exile on a distant shore, + I mourn the hours of youth that are no more. + The tender thought amid my prayers has part, + And steals, at times, from Heaven my aged heart. 30 + Forgive the cause, O God!--forgive the tear, + That flows, even now, o'er Leonora's bier; + For, 'midst the innocent and lovely, none + More beautiful than Leonora shone. + As by her widowed mother's side she knelt, + A sad and sacred sympathy I felt. + At Easter-tide, when the high mass was sung, + And, fuming high, the silver censer swung; + When rich-hued windows, from the arches' height, + Poured o'er the shrines a soft and yellow light; 40 + From aisle to aisle, amid the service clear, + When "Adoremus" swelled upon the ear. + (Such as to Heaven thy rapt attention drew + First in the Christian churches of Peru), + She seemed, methought, some spirit of the sky, + Descending to that holy harmony. + But wherefore tell, when life and hope were new, + How by degrees the soul's first passion grew! + I loved her, and I won her virgin heart; + But fortune whispered, we a while must part. 50 + The minster tolled the middle hour of night, + When, waked to agony and wild affright, + I heard those words, words of appalling dread-- + "The Holy Inquisition!"--from the bed + I started; snatched my dagger, and my cloak-- + Who dare accuse me!--none, in answer, spoke. + The demons seized, in silence, on their prey, + And tore me from my dreams of bliss away. + How frightful was their silence, and their shade, + In torch-light, as their victim they conveyed, 60 + By dark-inscribed, and massy-windowed walls, + Through the dim twilight of terrific halls; + (For thou hast heard me speak of that foul stain + Of pure religion, and the rights of Spain;) + Whilst the high windows shook to night's cold blast, + And echoed to the foot-fall as we passed! + They left me, faint and breathless with affright, + In a cold cell, to solitude and night; + Oh! think, what horror through the heart must thrill + When the last bolt was barred, and all at once was still! 70 + Nor day nor night was here, but a deep gloom, + Sadder than darkness, wrapped the living tomb. + Some bread and water, nature to sustain, + Duly was brought when eve returned again; + And thus I knew, hoping it were the last, + Another day of lingering life was passed. + Five years immured in that deep den of night, + I never saw the sweet sun's blessed light. + Once as the grate, with sullen sound, was barred, + And to the bolts the inmost cavern jarred, 80 + Methought I heard, as clanged the iron door, + A dull and hollow echo from the floor; + I stamped; the vault, and winding caves around, + Returned a long and melancholy sound. + With patient toil I raised a massy stone, + And looked into a depth of shade unknown; + The murky twilight of the lurid place + Helped me, at length, a secret way to trace: + I entered; step by step explored the road, + In darkness, from my desolate abode; 90 + Till, winding through long passages of night, + I saw, at distance, a dim streak of light:-- + It was the sun--the bright, the blessed beam + Of day! I knelt--I wept;--the glittering stream + Rolled on beneath me, as I left the cave, + Concealed in woods above the winding wave. + I rested on a verdant bank a while, + I saw around the summer landscape smile; + I gained a peasant's hut; nor dared to leave, + Till, with slow step, advanced the glimmering eve. 100 + Remembering still affection's fondest hours, + I turned my footsteps to the city towers; + In pilgrim's dress, I traced the streets unknown: + No light in Leonora's lattice shone. + The morning came; the busy tumult swells; + Knolling to church, I heard the minster bells; + Involuntary to that scene I strayed, + Disguised, where first I saw my faithful maid. + I saw her, pallid, at the altar stand, + And yield, half-shrinking, her reluctant hand; 110 + She turned her head; she saw my hollow eyes, + And knew me, wasted, wan, in my disguise; + She shrieked, and fell;--breathless, I left the fane + In agony--nor saw her form again; + And from that day her voice, her look were given, + Her name, her memory, to the winds of heaven. + Far off I bent my melancholy way, + Heart-sick and faint, and, in this gown of gray, + From every human eye my sorrows hid, + Unknown, amidst the tumult of Madrid. 120 + Grief in my heart, despair upon my look, + With no companion save my beads and book, + My morsel with Affliction's sons to share, + To tend the sick and poor, my only care, + Forgotten, thus I lived; till day by day + Had worn nigh thirteen years of grief away. + One winter's night, when I had closed my cell, + And bid the labours of the day farewell, + An aged crone approached, with panting breath, + And bade me hasten to the house of death. 130 + I came. With moving lips intent to pray, + A dying woman on a pallet lay; + Her lifted hands were wasted to the bone, + And ghastly on her look the lamp-light shone; + Beside the bed a pious daughter stands + Silent, and, weeping, kisses her pale hands. + Feebly she spoke, and raised her languid head, + Forgive, forgive!--they told me he was dead!-- + But in the sunshine of that dreadful day, + That gave me to another's arms away, 140 + I saw him, like a ghost, with deadly stare; + I saw his wasted eye-balls' ghastly glare; + I saw his lips (oh, hide them, God of love!) + I saw his livid lips, half-muttering, move, + To curse the maid--forgetful of her vow:-- + Perhaps he lives to curse--to curse me now! + He lives to bless! I cried; and, drawing nigh, + Held up the crucifix; her heavy eye + She raised, and scarce pronounced--Does he yet live? + Can he his lost, his dying child forgive? 150 + Will God forgive--the Lord who bled--will He?-- + Ah, no, there is no mercy left for me! + Words were but vain, and colours all too faint, + That awful moment of despair to paint. + She knew me; her exhausted breath, with pain, + Drawing, she pressed my hand, and spoke again: + By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived, + The tale of fraudful falsehood I believed, + And thought thee dead; he gave the stern command, + And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand. 160 + I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees; + Ruthless inquisitor, he held the keys + Of the dark torture-house.[216] Trembling for life, + Yes, I became a sad, heart-broken wife! + Yet curse me not; of every human care + Already my full heart has had its share: + Abandoned, left in youth to want and woe, + Oh! let these tears, that agonising flow, + Witness how deep ev'n now my heart is rent! + Yet one is lovely--one is innocent! 170 + Protect, protect, (and faint in death she smiled) + When I am dead, protect my orphan child! + The dreadful prison, that so long detained + My wasting life, her dying words explained. + The wretched priest, who wounded me by stealth, + Bartered her love, her innocence for wealth! + I laid her bones in earth; the chanted hymn + Echoed along the hollow cloister dim; + I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll, + And sorrowing said: Now peace be with her soul! 180 + Far o'er the Western Ocean I conveyed, + And Indiana called the orphan maid; + Beneath my eye she grew, and, day by day, + Seemed, grateful, every kindness to repay. + Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes, + Amid untutored tribes, in distant climes, + 'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save + From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave. + I saw thee, young and innocent, alone, + Cast on the mercies of a race unknown; 190 + I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour, + Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower; + From chains and slavery I redeemed thy youth, + Poured on thy mental sight the beams of truth; + By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won, + Called thee my other child--my age's son. + I need not tell the sequel;--not unmoved + Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved; + Some sympathy a kindred fate might claim; + Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the same; + Both early of a parent's care bereft, 201 + Both strangers in a world of sadness left; + I marked each slowly-struggling thought; I shed + A tear of love paternal on each head; + And, while I saw her timid eyes incline, + Blessed the affection that had made her thine! + Here let the murmurs of despondence cease: + There is a God--believe--and part in peace! + Rich hues illumed the track of dying day + As the great sun sank in the western bay, 210 + And only its last light yet lingering shone, + Upon the highest palm-tree's feathery cone; + When at a distance on the dewy plain, + In mingled group appeared an Indian train; + Men, women, children, round Anselmo press, + Farewell! they cried. He raised his hand to bless, + And said: My children, may the God above + Still lead you in the paths of peace and love; + To-morrow, we must part;--when I am gone, + Raise on this spot a cross, and place a stone, 220 + That tribes unborn may some memorial have, + When I far off am mouldering in the grave, + Of that poor messenger, who tidings bore + Of Gospel-mercy to your distant shore. + The crowd retired; along the twilight gray, + The condor kept its solitary way, + The fire-flies shone, when to the hermit's cell + Who hastens but the minstrel Zarinel! + In foreign lands, far from his native home, + 'Twas his, a gay, romantic youth, to roam, 230 + With a light cittern o'er his shoulders slung, + Where'er he passed he played, and loved, and sung; + And thus accomplished, late had joined the train + Of gallant soldiers on the southern plain. + Father, he cried, uncertain of the fate + That may to-morrow's toilsome march await, + For long will be the road, I would confess + Some secret thoughts that on my bosom press. + They are of one I left, an Indian maid, + Whose trusting love my careless heart betrayed. 240 + Say, may I speak? + Say on, the father cried, + Nor be to penitence all hope denied. + Then hear, Anselmo! From a very child + I loved all fancies marvellous and wild; + I turned from truth, to listen to the lore + Of many an old and fabling troubadour. + Thus, with impassioned heart, and wayward mind, + To dreams and shapes of shadowy things resigned, + I left my native vales and village home, 250 + Wide o'er the world a minstrel boy to roam. + I never shall forget the day, the hour, + When, all my soul resigned to Fancy's power, + First, from the snowy Pyrenees, I cast + My labouring vision o'er the landscape vast, + And saw beneath my feet long vapours float, + Streams, mountains, woods, and ocean's mist remote. + There once I met a soldier, poor and old, + Who tales of Cortes and Bilboa told, + And this new world; he spoke of Indian maids, 260 + Rivers like seas, and forests whose deep shades + Had never yet been pierced by morning ray, + And how the green bird mocked, and talked all day. + Imagination thus, in colours new, + This distant world presented to my view; + Young, and enchanted with the fancied scene, + I crossed the toiling seas that roared between, + And with ideal images impressed, + Stood on these unknown shores a wondering guest. + Still to romantic phantasies resigned, 270 + I left Callao's crowded port behind, + And climbed the mountains which their shadow threw + Upon the lessening summits of Peru. + Some sheep the armed peasants drove before, + That all our food through the wild passes bore, + Had wandered in the frost-smoke of the morn, + Far from the track; I blew the signal horn-- + But echo only answered: 'mid the snows, + Wildered and lost, I saw the evening close. + The sun was setting in the crimson west; 280 + In all the earth I had no home of rest; + The last sad light upon the ice-hills shone; + I seemed forsaken in a world unknown; + How did my cold and sinking heart rejoice, + When, hark! methought I heard a human voice! + It might be some wild Indian's roving troop, + Or the dread echo of their distant whoop; + Still it was human, and I seemed to find + Again some commerce with remote mankind. + The voice comes nearer, rising through the shade-- 290 + Is it the song of some rude mountain-maid? + And now I heard the tread of hastening feet, + And, in the western glen, a Llama bleat. + I listened--all is still; but hark! again + Near and more near is heard the welcome strain; + It is a wild maid's carolling, who seeks + Her wandering Llama 'midst the snowy peaks: + Truant, she cried, thy lurking place is found! + With languid touch I waked the cittern's sound, + And soon a maid, by the pale light, I saw 300 + Gaze breathless with astonishment and awe: + What instant terrors to her fancy rose, + Ha! is it not the Spirit of the snows! + But when she saw me, weary, cold, and weak, + Stretch forth my hand (for now I could not speak), + She pitied, raised me from the snows, and led + My faltering footsteps to her father's shed; + The Llama followed with her tinkling bell; + The dwelling rose within a craggy dell, + O'erhung with icy summits. To be brief, 310 + She was the daughter of an aged chief; + He, by her gentle voice to pity won, + Showed mercy, for himself had lost a son. + The father spoke not; by the pine-wood blaze, + The daughter stood, and turned a cake of maize; + And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw + Such features as no artist hand might draw. + Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air, + Father! thy age must such recital spare:-- + She saved my life; and kindness, if not love, 320 + Might sure in time the coldest bosom move! + Mine was not cold; she loved to hear me sing, + And sometimes touched with playful hand the string; + And when I waked some melancholy strain, + She wept, and smiled, and bade me sing again. + So many a happy day, in this deep glen, + Far from the noise of life, and sounds of men, + Was passed! Nay, father, the sad sequel hear: + 'Twas now the leafy spring-time of the year-- + Ambition called me: true, I knew to part 330 + Would break her generous, warm, and trusting heart; + True, I had vowed, but now estranged and cold, + She saw my look, and shuddered to behold:-- + She would go with me, leave the lonely glade + Where she grew up, but my stern voice forbade; + She hid her face and wept: Go then away, + (Father, methinks, ev'n now, I hear her say) + Go to thy distant land, forget this tear, + Forget these rocks, forget I once was dear; + Fly to the world, o'er the wide ocean fly, 340 + And leave me unremembered here to die! + Yet to my father should I all relate, + Death, instant death, would be a traitor's fate! + Nor fear, nor pity moved my stubborn mind, + I left her sorrows and the scene behind; + I sought Valdivia on the southern plain, + And joined the careless military train; + Oh! ere I sleep, thus, lowly on my knee, + Father, I absolution crave from thee! + Anselmo spoke, with look and voice severe: 350 + Yes, thoughtless youth, my absolution hear. + First, by deep penitence the wrong atone, + Then absolution ask from God alone! + Yet stay, and to my warning voice attend, + And hear me as a father, and a friend. + Let Truth severe be wayward Fancy's guide, + Let stern-eyed Conscience o'er each thought preside; + The passions, that on noblest natures prey, + Oh! cast them, like corroding bonds, away! + Disdain to act mean falsehood's coward part, 360 + And let religion dignify thine art. + If, by thy bed, thou seest at midnight stand + Pale Conscience, pointing, with terrific hand, + To deeds of darkness done, whilst, like a corse, + To shake thy soul, uprises dire Remorse; + Fly to God's mercy, fly, ere yet too late-- + Perhaps one hour marks thy eternal fate; + Let the warm tear of deep contrition flow, + The heart obdurate melt, like softening snow, + The last vain follies of thy youth deplore, 370 + Then go, in secret weep, and sin no more! + The stars innumerous in their watches shone-- + Anselmo knelt before the cross alone. + Ten thousand glowing orbs their pomp displayed, + Whilst, looking up, thus silently he prayed:-- + Oh! how oppressive to the aching sense, + How fearful were this vast magnificence, + This prodigality of glory, spread + Above a poor and dying emmet's head, + That toiled his transient hour upon the shore 380 + Of mortal life, and then was seen no more; + If man beheld, on his terrific throne, + A dark, cold, distant Deity, alone! + Felt no relating, no endearing tie, + That Hope might upwards raise her glistening eye, + And think, with deep unutterable bliss, + In yonder radiant realm my kingdom is! + More glorious than those orbs that silent roll, + Shines Heaven's redeeming mercy on the soul-- + Oh, pure effulgence of unbounded love! 390 + In Thee, I think--I feel--I live--I move; + Yet when, O Thou, whose name is Love and Light, + When will thy Dayspring on these realms of night + Arise! Oh! when shall severed nations raise + One hallelujah of triumphant praise, + Tibet on Fars, Andes on Atlas call, + And "roll the loud hosannah" round the ball! + Soon may Thy kingdom come, that love, and peace, + And charity, may bid earth's chidings cease! + Meantime, in life or death, through good or ill, 400 + Thy poor and feeble servant, I fulfil, + As best I may, Thy high and holy will, + Till, weary, on the world my eyelids close, + And I enjoy my long and last repose! + +[214] Indians of Chili are of the lightest class, called by some "white +Indians." + +[215]--Of Moorish architecture. + +[216] Seville was the first place in Spain in which the Inquisition was +established, in 1481. + + +CANTO FOURTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Assembly of Indian warriors--Caupolican, Ongolmo, Teucapel, + Mountain-chief--Song of the Indian Wizard--White woman and child. + + Far in the centre of the deepest wood, + The assembled fathers of their country stood. + 'Twas midnight now; the pine-wood fire burned red, + And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread; + The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance, + Obscured, or showed, some dreadful countenance; + And every warrior, as his club he reared, + With larger shadow, indistinct, appeared; + While more terrific, his wild locks and mien, + And fierce eye, through the quivering smoke, was seen. 10 + In sea-wolf's skin, here Mariantu stood; + Gnashed his white teeth, impatient, and cried, blood! + His lofty brow, with crimson feathers bound, + Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frowned; + And, like a giant of no earthly race, + To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace. + With lifted hatchet, as in act to fell, + Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel. + Like a lone cypress, stately in decay, + When time has worn its summer boughs away, 20 + And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere, + The Mountain-warrior rested on his spear. + And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs, + Chosen avengers of their country's griefs; + Chiefs of the scattered tribes that roam the plain, + That sweeps from Andes to the western main, + Their country-gods, around the coiling smoke, + With sacrifice, and silent prayers, invoke. + For all, at first, were silent as the dead; + The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head, 30 + So stood the stern assembly; but apart, + Wrapped in the spirit of his fearful art, + Alone, to hollow sounds of hideous hum, + The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum. + Silent they stood, and watched with anxious eyes, + What phantom-shape might from the ground arise; + No voices came, no spectre-form appeared; + A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard + Among the leaves, and distant thunder low, + Which seemed like moans of an expiring foe. 40 + His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke, + Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke: + Hail we the omen! Spirits of the slain, + I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain! + Pale-visaged tyrants! still, along our coasts, + Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts! + Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race + Who thus your name, your memory disgrace! + No; though yon mountain's everlasting snows + In vain Almagro's[217] toilsome march oppose; 50 + Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain + Be heaped with blackening carcases in vain; + Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale, + And scare the Llamas with their glittering mail; + Though sullen castles lour along our shore; + Though our polluted soil be drenched with gore; + Insolent tyrants! we, prepared to die, + Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy! + He spoke: the warriors stamped upon the ground, + And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound. 60 + Insolent tyrants! burst the general cry, + We, met for vengeance--we, prepared to die, + Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy! + Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried: + This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed; + May it be buried deep within my heart, + If living from the conflict I depart, + Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry, + See! in their gore where the last tyrants lie! + The Mountain-warrior: Oh, that I could raise 70 + The hatchet too, as in my better days, + When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood; + And while the indignant river rolled in blood, + And our swift arrows hissed like rushing rain, + I cleft Almagro's iron helm in twain! + My strength is well-nigh gone! years marked with woe + Have o'er me passed, and bowed my spirit low! + Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy, + Thy father's last, best hope, his pride, his joy! + Oh, hadst thou lived, sole object of my prayers, 80 + To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs, + How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride, + Swung the uplifted war-club by my side! + But the Great Spirit willed not! Thou art gone; + And, weary, on this earth I walk alone; + Thankful if I may yield my latest breath, + And bless my country in the pangs of death! + With words deliberate, and uplifted hand, + Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command, + Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican 90 + Surveyed the assembled chiefs, and thus began: + Friends, fathers, brothers, dear and sacred names! + Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims; + On then to conquest; let one hope inspire, + One spirit animate, one vengeance fire! + Who doubts the glorious issue! To our foes + A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose. + In them no god protects his mortal sons, + Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns. + Nor come they children of the radiant sky; 100 + But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die. + Then, rush resistless on their prostrate bands, + Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands, + And swear to the great spirits, hovering near, + Who now this awful invocation hear, + That we shall never see our household hearth, + Till, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth. + But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight, + Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might, + Unless to one the hatchet we confide; 110 + Let one our numbers, one our counsels guide. + And, lo! for all that in this world is dear, + I raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear, + Never again to lay it down, till we, + And all who love this injured land, are free! + At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran: + Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican! + With thee, for all that in this world is dear, + We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear, + Never again to lay them down, till we, 120 + And all who love this injured land, are free! + Then thus the chosen chief: Bring forth the slave, + And let the death-dance recreate the brave. + Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound + With thongs; his eyes were fixed upon the ground. + Dark cypresses the mournful spot inclose: + High in the midst an ancient mound arose, + Marked on each side with monumental stones, + And white beneath with skulls and scattered bones. + Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood, 130 + With points erect, dark with forgotten blood. + Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands: + Bring forth the lots, unbind the captive's hands; + Then north, towards his country, turn his face, + And dig beneath his feet a narrow space.[218] + Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries: + Gods, of our land be yours this sacrifice!-- + Now, listen, warriors!--and forthwith commands + To place the billets in the captive's hands-- + Soldier, cast in the lot! 140 + With looks aghast, + The captive in the trench a billet cast. + Soldier, declare, who leads the arms of Spain, + Where Santiago frowns upon the plain? + + CAPTIVE. + + Villagra! + + WARRIOR. + + Earth upon the billet heap; + So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! + The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, + Accursed be his nation and his name! 150 + + WARRIOR. + + Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands, + Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands. + + CAPTIVE. + + Ocampo! + + WARRIOR. + + Earth upon the billet heap; + So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! + The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, + Accursed be his nation and his name! + + WARRIOR. + + Cast in the lot. + Again, with looks aghast, + The captive in the trench a billet cast. 160 + Pronounce his name who here pollutes the plain, + The leader of the mailed hosts of Spain! + + CAPTIVE. + + Valdivia! + At that name a sudden cry + Burst forth, and every lance was lifted high. + + WARRIOR. + + Valdivia! + Earth upon the billet heap; + So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! + The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, + Accursed be his nation and his name! 170 + + And now loud yells, and whoops of death resound; + The shuddering captive ghastly gazed around, + When the huge war-club smote him to the ground. + Again deep stillness hushed the listening crowd, + While the prophetic wizard sang aloud. + + SONG TO THE GOD OF WAR. + + By thy habitation dread, + In the valley of the dead, + Where no sun, nor day, nor night, + Breaks the red and dusky light; + By the grisly troops, that ride, 180 + Of slaughtered Spaniards, at thy side,-- + Slaughtered by the Indian spear, + Mighty Epananum,[219] hear! + Hark, the battle! Hark, the din! + Now the deeds of Death begin! + The Spaniards come, in clouds! above, + I hear their hoarse artillery move! + Spirits of our fathers slain, + Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain! + The noise was in the northern sky! 190 + Haste, pursue! They fly--they fly! + Now from the cavern's secret cell, + Where the direst phantoms dwell, + See they rush,[220] and, riding high, + Break the moonlight as they fly; + And, on the shadowed plain beneath, + Shoot, unseen, the shafts of Death! + O'er the devoted Spanish camp, + Like a vapour, dark and damp, + May they hover, till the plain 200 + Is hid beneath the countless slain; + And none but silent women tread + From corse to corse, to seek the dead! + + The wavering fire flashed with expiring light, + When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night, + A distant shout was heard; at intervals, + Increasing on the listening ear it falls. + It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood, + With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood; + Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, 210 + Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare, + A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms, + And folding a white infant in her arms, + Appeared. Each warrior stooped his lance to gaze + On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze. + Save! she exclaimed, with harrowed aspect wild; + Oh, save my innocent, my helpless child! + Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke; + Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke: + Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, 220 + At this dread hour, the warriors of the night? + From ocean. + Who is she who fainting lies, + And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes? + The Spanish ship went down; the seamen bore, + In a small boat, this woman to the shore: + They fell beneath our hatchets,--and again, + We gave them back to the insulted main.[221] + The child and woman--of a race we hate-- + Warriors, 'tis yours, here to decide their fate. 230 + Vengeance! aloud fierce Mariantu cried: + Let vengeance on the race be satisfied! + Let none of hated Spanish blood remain, + Woman or child, to violate our plain! + Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child + Stretched to the mountain-chief his hands and smiled. + A starting tear of pity dimmed the eye + Of the old warrior, though he knew not why. + Oh, think upon your little ones! he cried, + Nor be compassion to the weak denied. 240 + Caupolican then fixed his aspect mild + On the white woman and her shrinking child, + Then firmly spoke:-- + White woman, we were free, + When first thy brethren of the distant sea + Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt! + Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt! + Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose + The hate of foreign and remorseless foes; + Thou camest here a captive, so abide, 250 + Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide. + He spoke: the warriors of the night obey; + And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day, + They lead her from the scene of blood away. + +[217] The first Spaniard who visited Chili. He entered it by the +dreadful passage of the snows of the Andes; but afterwards the passage +was attempted through the desert of Atacama. + +[218] The reader is referred to Molina for a particular description of +the war sacrifice, which is very striking and poetical. + +[219] Name of the War-deity. + +[220] Terrific imaginary beings, called "man-animals," that leave their +caves by night, and scatter pestilence and death as they fly.--See +_Molina._ + +[221] "Render them back upon the insulted ocean."--_Coleridge._ + + +CANTO FIFTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Ocean Cave--Spanish Captive--Wild Indian Maid--Genius of Andes, + and Spirits. + + 'Tis dawn:--the distant Andes' rocky spires, + One after one, have caught the orient fires. + Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight, + His wings are touched with momentary light. + Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads, + A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads, + That o'er the champaign, stretching far below, + Moves now, in clustered masses, rising slow, + Till all the living landscape is displayed + In various pomp of colour, light, and shade, 10 + Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain, + Lessening in sunshine to the southern main. + The Llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew; + The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew; + And there, by the wild river's devious side, + The tall flamingo, in its crimson pride, + Stalks on, in richest plumage bright arrayed, + With snowy neck superb,[222] and legs of lengthening shade. + Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring, + For other ears the birds of morning sing; 20 + For other eyes the palms in beauty wave, + Dark is thy prison in the ocean-cave! + Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade, + A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made: + Masses of dim-discovered crags aloof, + Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof: + And through a fissure, in its glimmering height, + Seen like a star, appeared the distant light; + Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine, + Far down, the rock-weed hung its slender twine. 30 + Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay, + Till morn on morn, in silence, passed away; + When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung, + And sad her evening supplication sung; + Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night, + A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,-- + And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed + Faint lustre o'er her sleeping infant's head; + And hark! a voice--a woman's voice, its sound + Dies in faint echoes, 'mid the vault profound: 40 + Let us pity the poor white maid![223] + She has no mother near! + No friend to dry her tear! + Upon the cold earth she is laid: + Let us pity the poor white maid! + It seemed the burden of a song of woe; + And see, across the gloom an Indian girl move slow! + Her nearer look is sorrowful, yet mild, + Her hanging locks are wreathed with rock-weed wild; + Gently she spoke, Poor Christian, dry thy tear: 50 + Art thou afraid? all are not cruel here. + Oh! still more wretched may my portion be, + Stranger, if I could injure thine and thee! + And, lo! I bring, from banks and thickets wild, + Wood-strawberries, and honey for thy child. + Whence, who art thou, who, in this fearful place, + Does comfort speak to one of Spanish race? + + INDIAN. + + It is an Indian maid, who chanced to hear + Thy tale of sorrow, as she wandered near: + I loved a white man once; but he is flown, 60 + And now I wander heartless and alone. + I traced the dark and winding way beneath: + But well I know to lead thee hence were death. + Oh, say! what fortunes cast thee o'er the wave, + On these sad shores perhaps to find a grave? + + SPANISH WOMAN. + + Three years have passed since a fond husband left + Me and this infant, of his love bereft; + Him I have followed; need I tell thee more, + Cast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore. + + INDIAN. + + Oh! did he love thee, then? Let death betide, 70 + Yes, from this cavern I will be thy guide. + Nay, do not shrink! from Caracalla's bay, + Ev'n now, the Spaniards wind their march this way. + As late in yester eve I paced the shore + I heard their signal-guns at distance roar. + Wilt thou not follow? He will shield thy child,-- + The Christian's God,--through passes dark and wild + He will direct thy way! Come, follow me; + Oh, yet be loved, be happy, and be free! + But I, an outcast on my native plain, 80 + The poor Olola ne'er shall smile again! + So guiding from the cave, when all was still, + And pointing to the furthest glimmering hill, + The Indian led, till, on Itata's side, + The Spanish camp and night-fires they descried: + Then on the stranger's neck that wild maid fell, + And said, Thy own gods prosper thee, farewell! + The owl[224] is hooting overhead; below, + On dusky wing, the vampire-bat sails slow. + Ongolmo stood before the cave of night, 90 + Where the great wizard sat:--a lurid light + Was on his face; twelve giant shadows frowned, + His mute and dreadful ministers, around. + Each eye-ball, as in life, was seen to roll, + Each lip to move; but not a living soul + Was there, save bold Ongolmo and the seer. + The warrior half advanced his lifted spear, + Then spoke: Dread master of the mighty lore! + Say, shall the Spaniards welter in their gore? + Let these dark ministers the answer tell, 100 + Replied the master of the mighty spell. + Then every giant-shadow, as it stood, + Lifted on high a skull that dropped with blood. + Yet more, the impatient warrior cried; yet more! + Say, shall I live, and drink the tyrant's gore? + 'Twas silence. Speak! he cried: none made reply. + At once strange thunder shook the distant sky, + And all was o'er; the grisly shapes are flown, + And the grim warrior stands in the wild woods alone. + St Pedro's church had rung its midnight chimes, 110 + And the gray friars were chanting at their primes, + When winds, as of a rushing hurricane, + Shook the tall windows of the towered fane;-- + Sounds more than earthly with the storm arose, + And a dire troop are passed to Andes' snows, + Where mighty spirits in mysterious ring + Their dread prophetic incantations sing, + Round Chillan's crater-smoke, whose lurid light + Streams high against the hollow cope of night. + Thy genius, Andes, towering o'er the rest, 120 + Rose vast, and thus a phantom-shape addressed: + Who comes so swift amid the storm? + Ha! I know thy bloodless form, + I know thee, angel, who thou art, + By the hissing of thy dart! + 'Tis Death, the king! the rocks around, + Hark! echo back the fearful sound;-- + 'Tis Death, the king! away, away! + The famished vulture scents its prey. + Spectre, hence! we cannot die-- 130 + Thy withering weapons we defy; + Dire and potent as thou art! + Then spoke the phantom of the uplifted dart: + Spirits who in darkness dwell, + I heard far off your secret spell! + Enough, on yonder fatal shore, + My fiends have drank your children's gore; + Lo! I come, and doom to fate + The murderers, and the foe you hate! + Of all who shook their hostile spears, 140 + And marked their way through blood and tears, + (Now sleeping still on yonder plain) + But one--one only shall remain, + Ere thrice the morn shall shine again. + Then sang the mighty spirits. Thee, they sing, + Hail to thee, Death, all hail to Death, the king! + The penguin flaps her wings in gore, + Devoted Spain, along the shore. + Whence that shriek? with ghastly eyes, + Thy victor-chief abandoned lies! 150 + Victor of the southern world, + Whose crimson banners were unfurled + O'er the silence of the waves,-- + O'er a land of bleeding slaves! + Victor, where is now thy boast; + Thine iron steeds, thy mailed host? + Hark! hark! even now I hear his cries!-- + Spirits, hence!--he dies! he dies! + +[222] The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of rich and +beautiful crimson. + +[223] From Mungo Park. + +[224] The owl is an object of peculiar dread to the Indian of Chili. + + +CANTO SIXTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + The City of Conception--The City of Penco--Castle--Lautaro--Wild + Indian Maid--Zarinel--Missionary. + + The second moon had now begun to wane, + Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain; + Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay, + Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay. + The wayworn veteran, who had slowly passed + Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast, + With hope impatient sees the city spires + Gild the horizon, like ascending fires. + Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near + The citadel and battlements appear; 10 + The approaching trumpets ring at intervals; + The trumpet answers from the rampart walls, + Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye, + Some long-lost object of her love to espy, + Or watches, as the evening light illumes + The points of lances, or the passing plumes. + The grating drawbridge and the portal-arch, + Now echo to the long battalion's march; + Whilst every eye some friend remembered greets, + Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets. 20 + As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng, + Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along, + How sacred, 'mid the noise of arms, appeared + His venerable mien and snowy beard! + Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestowed, + Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode: + Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand, + And ask for tidings of the southern land. + As from the turret tolls the vesper bell, + He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell, 30 + No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state, + Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait; + But o'er a little bread, with folded hands, + Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands; + Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease, + Upon his pallet lays him down in peace. + The scene how different, where the castle-hall + Rings to the loud triumphant festival: + A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof, + Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,-- 40 + Whilst, seen far off, the illumined windows throw + A splendour on the shore and seas below. + Amid his captains, in imperial state, + Beneath a crimson canopy, elate, + Valdivia sits--and, striking loud the strings, + The wandering ministrel of Valentia sings. + For Chili conquered, fill the bowl again! + For Chili conquered, raise the heroic strain! + Lautaro left the hall of jubilee + Unmarked, and wandered by the moonlit sea: 50 + He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim, + The song, the shout, and his loved country's name. + As swelled at times the trump's insulting sound, + He raised his eyes impatient from the ground; + Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried, + Chili! my country; would that I had died + On the sad night of that eventful day + When on the ground my murdered father lay! + I should not then, dejected and alone, + Have thought I heard his injured spirit groan. 60 + Ha! was it not his form--his face--his hair? + Hold, soldier! stern, inhuman soldier, spare! + Ha! is it not his blood? Avenge, he cries, + Avenge, my son, these wounds! He faints--he dies! + Leave me, dread shadow! Can I then forget + My father's look--his voice? He beckons yet! + Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand: + Avenge! he cries, and waves his dim-seen hand! + Thus mused the youth, distempered and forlorn, + When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn 70 + Swells o'er the surge! he turned his look around, + And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound: + It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain + Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main? + I heard the song of gladness; + It seemed but yesterday, + But it turned my thoughts to madness, + So soon it died away: + I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try + To bring back that enchanting harmony! 80 + Hark! heard ye not the surges say, + Oh! heartless maid, what canst thou do? + O'er the moon-gleaming ocean, I'll wander away, + And paddle to Spain in my light canoe! + The youth drew near, by the strange accents led, + Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head, + And holding a large sea-conch in her hand, + He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand. 90 + A tattered poncho o'er her shoulders hung; + On either side her long black locks were flung; + And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies + Her high cheek-bones, and bright but hollow eyes. + Lautaro spoke: Oh! say what cruel wrong + Weighs on thy heart, maiden, what bodes thy song? + She answered not, but blew her shell again; + Then thus renewed the desultory strain: + Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide; + My music now shall be the dashing tide: 100 + In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim-- + With the breath of the South o'er the sea-blossom[225] skim. + If ever, stranger, on thy way, + Sounds, more than earthly sweet, thy soul should move, + It is the youth! Oh! do not say-- + That poor Olola died for love. + Lautaro stretched his hand; she said, Adieu! + And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew. + He followed, and still heard at distance swell + The lessening echoes of that mournful shell. 110 + It ceased at once; and now he heard no more + Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore. + Olola!--ha! his sister had that name! + Oh, horrid fancies! shake not thus his frame! + All night he wandered by the desert main, + To catch the melancholy sounds again. + No torches blaze in Penco's castled hall + That echoed to the midnight festival. + The weary soldiers by their toils oppressed, + Had now retired to silence and to rest. 120 + The minstrel only, who the song had sung + Of noble Cid, as o'er the strings he hung, + Upon the instrument had fall'n asleep, + Weary, and now was hushed in slumbers deep. + Tracing the scenes long past, in busy dreams + Again he wanders by his native streams; + Or sits, his evening saraband to sing + To the clear Garonne's gentle murmuring. + Cold o'er the fleckered clouds the morning broke + Aslant ere from his slumbers he awoke; 130 + Still as he sat, nor yet had left the place, + The first dim light fell on his pallid face. + He wakes--he gazes round--the dawning day + Comes from the deep, in garb of cloudy gray. + The woods with crow of early turkeys ring, + The glancing birds beneath the castle sing, + And the sole sun his rising orb displays, + Radiant and reddening, through the scattered haze. + To recreate the languid sense a while, + When earth and ocean wore their sweetest smile, 140 + He wandered to the beach: the early air + Blew soft, and lifted, as it blew, his hair; + Flushed was his cheek; his faded eye, more bright, + Shone with a faint but animated light, + While the soft morning ray seemed to bestow + On his tired mind a transient kindred glow. + As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand, + He mused and wandered on the winding strand, + At distance tossed upon the tumbling tide, + A dark and floating substance he espied. 150 + He stood, and where the eddying surges beat, + An Indian corse was rolled beneath his feet: + The hollow wave retired with sullen sound; + The face of that sad corse was to the ground; + It seemed a female, by the slender form; + He touched the hand--it was no longer warm; + He turned its face--O God! that eye, though dim, + Seemed with its deadly glare as fixed on him! + How sunk his shuddering sense, how changed his hue, + When poor Olola in that corse he knew! 160 + Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanced; + His keen eye, like a startled eagle's glanced: + 'Tis she!--he knew her by a mark impressed + From earliest infancy beneath her breast. + Oh, my poor sister! when all hopes were past + Of meeting, do we meet--thus meet--at last! + Then full on Zarinel, as one amazed, + With rising wrath and stern suspicion gazed; + For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand, + And to his forehead pressed the dead maid's hand. 170 + Speak! whence art thou? + Pale Zarinel, his head + Upraising answered, + Peace is with the dead! + Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee? + Here--strike the fell assassin--I am he! + Die! he exclaimed, and with convulsive start + Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart, + When the meek father, with his holy book, + And placid aspect, met his frenzied look. 180 + He trembled--struck his brow--and, turning round, + Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground. + Then murmured: Father, Heaven has heard thy prayer-- + But oh! the sister of my soul lies there! + The Christian's God has triumphed! father, heap + Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep! + Anselmo with calm brow approached the place, + And hastened with his staff his faltering pace: + Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness, he cried, + Speak!--Holy father, the sad youth replied, 190 + God bade the seas the accusing victim roll + Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul + Its guilt: Oh! father, holy father, pray + That heaven may take the deep, dire curse away! + Oh! yet, Anselmo cried, live and repent, + For not in vain was this dread warning sent; + The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare, + Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer. + The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock, + And severed from the dead maid's hair a lock; 200 + This to his heart with trembling hand he pressed, + And dried the salt-sea moisture on his breast. + They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave, + And prayed: Her soul, O blessed Mary, save! + +[225] The "sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by the name of +"Portuguese man of war," is among the most striking and beautiful +objects in the calms of the Southern ocean. + + +CANTO SEVENTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Midnight--Valdivia's tent--Missionary--March to the Valley + Arauco--First sight of assembled Indians. + + The watchman on the tower his bugle blew, + And swelling to the morn the streamers flew; + The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave, + Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave; + When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried, + What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied; + Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail, + Their gathering numbers darken all the vale! + Valdivia called to the attendant youth, + Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; 10 + The formidable host, by holy James, + Might well appal our priests and city dames! + Dost thou not fear? Nay--dost thou not reply? + Now by the rood, and all the saints on high, + I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand + Against thy brothers in thy native land! + But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies + Me and my feeble legions would despise. + Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride, + Spectator of their prowess, by my side! 20 + Come life, come death, our battle shall display + Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day! + With louder summons ring the rampart-bell, + And haste the shriving father from his cell; + A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms: + And let the trump at midnight sound to arms! + And now, obedient to the chief's commands, + The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands. + Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,-- + The last event of war GOD only knows;-- 30 + Let mass be sung; father, this very night + I would attend the high and holy rite. + Yet deem not that I doubt of victory, + Or place defeat or death before mine eye; + It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall, + Good father, I would part in peace with all. + So, tell Lautaro--his ingenuous mind + Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:-- + Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way + Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, 40 + No wanton exercise of barbarous power + Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour. + If hasty passions oft my spirit fire, + They flash a moment and the next expire; + Lautaro knows it. There is somewhat more: + I would not, here--here, on this distant shore + (Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail, + And this good sword and these firm sinews fail) + Amid my deadly enemies be found, + "Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, 50 + A dying man;--thy look, thy reverend age, + Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage; + And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies, + O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:-- + So GOD be with thee! + By the torches' light, + The slow procession moves; the solemn rite + Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim, + At intervals, is heard the imploring hymn.[226] + Now all is still, that only you might hear-- 60 + (The tall and slender tapers burning clear, + Whose light Anselmo's palid brow illumes, + Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes) + Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread, + That echoed through the cloisters of the dead. + Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's wide way; + Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh + Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height + The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night. + By the dim taper's solitary ray, 70 + Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay. + Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams + 'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes, + Where terraces, and battlements, and towers, + Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers. + Sudden the visionary pomp is past; + The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast; + A dismal vault appears, where, with swoll'n eyes, + As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies. + It is Almagro's[227] corse!--roll on, ye drums, 80 + Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes! + Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew + Before the mighty conqueror of Peru! + Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand-- + With ghastly look--see the assassin stand! + Pizarro falls;[228]--he welters in his gore! + Lord of the western world, art thou no more! + Valdivia, hark!--it was another groan! + Another shadow comes, it is thy own! + Ah, bind not thus his arms!--give, give him breath! 90 + Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death! + Valdivia, starting, woke. He is alone: + The taper in his tent yet dimly shone. + Lautaro, haste! he cried; Lautaro, save + Thy dying master! Ah! is this the brave, + The haughty victor? Hush, the dream is past! + The early trumpets ring the second blast! + Arm, arm! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs! + Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays! + By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, 100 + Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band, + With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed, + A troop observant on the heights to lead. + Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch, + Appeared the main battalion's moving march; + The banner of the cross was borne before, + And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar, + The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed + A crucifix, in silence, to his breast. + Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, 110 + Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played, + Majestic reined his steed, and seemed alone, + Worthy the southern world's imperial throne. + His features through the barred casque that glow, + His pole-axe pendent from the saddle-bow; + His dazzling armour, and the glitter bright + Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light, + Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament + Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent, + And deeds of deadly strife. In blooming pride, 120 + The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side. + Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind, + Two hundred clanking horsemen tramped behind, + In iron harness clad. The bugles blew, + And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew. + The arbalasters{j} next, with cross-bows slung, + Marched, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals swung. + Auxiliar-Indians here, a various train. + With spears and bows, darkened the distant plain; + Drums rolled, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, 130 + At intervals, as near and yet more near, + While flags and intermingled halberds shine, + The long battalion drew its passing line. + Last rolled the heavy guns, a sable tier, + By Indians drawn, with matchmen in the rear; + And many a straggling mule and sumpter-train + Closed the embattled order on the plain, + Till nought beneath the azure sky appears + But the projecting points of scarce-discovered spears, + Slow up the hill, with floating vapours hoar, 140 + Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore, + Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze, + The glittering file its bannered length displays; + Now winding from the woods, again appears + The moving line of matchlocks and of spears. + Part seen, part lost; the long illustrious march + Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch; + And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow, + A radiant segment of a living bow. + Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, 150 + O'er plains and headlands, held their eastern way. + On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe + And horror, in the last defile they saw + Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run, + All gashed, and grim, and blackening in the sun. + These were the gallant troop that passed before, + The Indians' vast encampment to explore, + Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound + Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground. + The horses startled, as they tramped in blood; 160 + The troops a moment half-recoiling stood. + But boots not now to pause, or to retire; + Valdivia's eye flashed with indignant fire: + Follow! he cried, brave comrades, to the hill! + And instant shouts the pealing valley fill. + And now, up to the hill's ascending crest, + With animated look and beating breast, + He urged his steed; when, wide beneath his eye, + He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie. + Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, 170 + One undulating mass of club and lance, + One animated surface seemed to fill + The many-stirring scene from hill to hill: + To the deep mass he pointed with his sword, + Banner, advance! give out "Castile!" the word. + Instant the files advance, the trumpets bray, + And now the host in terrible array, + Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain, + Has halted! + But the task were long and vain 180 + To tell what nations, from the seas that roar + Round Patagonia's melancholy shore; + From forests, brown with everlasting shades; + From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades; + From snowy summits, where the Llama roams, + Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams; + From streams whose bridges[229] tremble from the steep; + From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep; + Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb, + With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, 190 + Flocked fearless. + When they saw the Spanish line + Arrayed, and front to front, descending shine, + Burst, instant burst, the universal cry, + (Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky)-- + Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die! + Grim Mariantu led the Indian force + A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse, + Hurled with unerring aim the involving thong, + Then fearless sprang amidst the mailed throng. 200 + Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel, + And shouting, as he rode, Castile! Castile! + Led on the charge: like a descending flood, + It swept, till every spur was black with blood. + His force a-right, where Harratomac led, + A thousand spears went hissing overhead, + And feathered arrows, of each varying hue, + In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew. + Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel + Advancing in the front of carnage fell. 210 + At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rushed, + And swaying their huge clubs together, crushed + Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in gore, + And limb from limb the panting carcase tore. + Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds, + Hosts and succeeding hosts undaunted leads, + Till, torn and shattered by the ceaseless fire, + Thousands, with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, expire. + Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies, + And grasps his club terrific as he dies. 220 + With breathless expectation, on the height, + Lautaro watched the long and dubious fight: + Pale and resigned the meek man stood, and pressed + More close the holy image to his breast. + Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew, + When on the ground a warrior met his view, + Upon whose features memory seemed to trace + A faint resemblance of his father's face; + O'er him a horseman, with collected might, + Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, 230 + When the youth springing on, without a word, + Snatched from a soldier's wearied grasp his sword, + And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell + Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell. + Lautaro{k} shouted, On! brave brothers, on! + Scatter them like the snow!--the day is won! + Lo, I! Lautaro{k},--Attacapac's son! + The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds, + Cleft are the helms and crushed the struggling steeds. + The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, 240 + Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat. + Stand, brave companions! bold Valdivia cried, + And shook his sword, in recent carnage dyed; + Oh! droop not--droop not yet--all is not o'er-- + Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more. + Where is Lautaro! leaps his willing sword + Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord! + He waited not for answer, but again + Spurred to the centre of the horrid plain. + Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death inclose, 250 + And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose. + 'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corse, + Lies the caparisoned and dying horse. + While still the rushing multitudes assail, + Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail! + The Spanish horsemen faint; long yells resound, + As the dragged ensign trails the gory ground: + Shout, for the chief is seized!--a thousand cries + Burst forth--Valdivia! for the sacrifice! + And lo, in silent dignity resigned, 260 + The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind! + His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel + Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell; + The spear that to his heart a passage found + Left poor Olola's hair within the wound. + Now all is hushed, save where, at times, alone, + Deep midnight listens to a distant moan; + Save where the condors clamour, overhead, + And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the dead. + +[226] It may be necessary here to say, that whenever the Spaniards +founded a city, after the immediate walls of defence, their first object +was to build a church, and to have, with as much pomp as possible, the +ecclesiastical services performed. Hence the cathedrals founded by them +in America were of transcendent beauty and magnificence. + +[227] Almagro, who first penetrated into Chili, was afterwards +strangled. + +[228] Pizarro was assassinated. + +[229] Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives. + + +CANTO EIGHTH. + +ARGUMENT. + + Indian festival for victory--Old Warrior brought in wounded-- + Recognises his long-lost son, and dies--Discovery--Conclusion + with the Old Warrior's funeral, and prophetic oration by the + Missionary. + + The morn returns, and, reddening, seems to shed + One ray of glory on the patriot-dead. + Round the dark stone, the victor-chiefs behold! + Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold! + There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride + Of Chili, young Lautaro, by his side! + Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood, + Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dripping blood. + Shrill sound the notes of death: in festive dance, + The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance; 10 + The tinkling sea-shells on their ancles ring, + As, hailing thus the victor-youth, they sing:-- + + SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS. + + Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave! + The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, + When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain, + And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain! + + 'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er, + Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their gore; + When, in front, young Lautaro invincible stood, + And the horses and iron-men rolled in their blood! + + As the snows of the mountain are swept by the blast, + The earthquake of death o'er the white men has passed; + Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won, + And we dance round the heads that are black in the sun! + + Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound, + Oft turned an anxious look inquiring round. + He is not here!--Say, does my father live? 15 + Ere eager voices could an answer give, + With faltering footsteps and declining head, + And slowly by an aged Indian led, + Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears: + Live, live! Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, 20 + And fell upon his neck, and, kissing, pressed, + With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast. + Oh, live! I am thy son--thy long-lost child! + The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled; + Chili, my country, is avenged! he cried: + My son!--then sunk upon a shield--and died. + Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bowed, + And kissed his bleeding breast, and wept aloud. + The sounds of sadness through the circle ran, + When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican: 30 + What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain, + Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain? + Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red, + To sooth the spirits of the brave who bled, + Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead. + Bring forth the chief in bonds! Fathers, to-day + Devote we to our gods the noblest prey! + Lautaro turned his eyes, and, gazing round, + Beheld Valdivia and Anselmo bound! + One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, 40 + His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare, + Where streaks of blood that dropped upon his mail, + Served but to show his face more deadly pale: + His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent, + And stood, composed, to wait the dire event. + Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast, + As if all thought of this vain world was passed, + And in a world of light, without a shade, + Ev'n now his meek and guileless spirit strayed. + Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound 50 + Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground; + When, starting from his father's corse, his sword + Waving before his once-triumphant lord, + Lautaro cried, My breast shall meet the blow: + But save--save him, to whom my life I owe! + Valdivia marked him with unmoving eye, + Then looked upon his bonds, nor deigned reply; + When Harratomac, stealing with slow pace, + And lifting high his iron-jagged mace, + Smote him to earth; a thousand voices rose, 60 + Mingled with shouts and yells, So fall our foes! + Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space, + As black in death he marked Valdivia's face, + Then cried--Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupolican, + Oh, spare this innocent and holy man! + He never sailed, rapacious, o'er the deep, + The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap; + He never gave the armed hosts his aid, + But meekly to the Mighty Spirit prayed, + That in all lands the sounds of woe might cease, 70 + And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace! + The victor-youth saw generous sympathy + Already steal to every warrior's eye; + Then thus again: Oh, if this filial tear + Bear witness my own father was most dear; + If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel + Speak for my country what I felt and feel; + If, at this hour, I meet her high applause, + While my heart beats still ardent in her cause;-- + Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, 80 + Oh! hear, how much to this poor man I owe! + I was a child--when to my sire's abode, + In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode: + Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay, + Far off the crested soldiers bore away, + And for a captive sold. No friend was near, + To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear! + This humble man, with kind parental care, + Snatched me from slavery--saved from dark despair; + And as my years increased, protected, fed, 90 + And breathed a father's blessings on my head. + A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak? + Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek! + Years, as they passed, matured in ripening grace + Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face: + She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear, + And sometimes for my fortunes dropped a tear. + I could have bowed to direst ills resigned, + But wept at looks so sweet, at words so kind. + Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, 100 + And claimed me from the father as his page; + The chief too cherished me, yea, saved my life, + When in Peru arose the civil strife. + Yet still remembering her I loved so well, + Oft I returned to the gray father's cell: + His voice instructed me; recalled my youth + From rude idolatry to heavenly truth: + Of this hereafter; he my darkling mind + Cleared, and from low and sensual thoughts refined. + Then first, with feelings new impressed, I strove 110 + To hide the tear of tenderness and love: + Amid the fairest maidens of Peru, + My eyes, my heart, one only object knew: + I lived that object's love and faith to share; + He saw, and blessed us with a father's prayer. + Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command, + I came, a stranger in my native land! + Anselmo (so him call--now most in need-- + And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead) + Came, by our chief so summoned, and for aid 120 + To the Great Spirit of the Christians prayed: + Here as a son I loved him, but I left + A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft, + Never to see again; for death awaits + My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates. + Caupolican, didst thou thy father love? + Did his last dying look affection move? + Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow: + He was my father--is my father, now! + Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien. 130 + But who is this, what pallid form is seen, + As crushed already by the fatal blow, + Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow, + Her hands upon her breast, scarce drawn her breath, + A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death, + Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side, + An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried! + Lautaro started: + Injured maid of Spain! + Me!--me! oh, take me to thine arms again! 140 + She heard his voice, and, by the scene oppressed, + With one faint sigh fell senseless on his breast. + Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried, + Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! + Live, aged father!--and forthwith commands + A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands. + She raised her head: his eyes first met her view, + As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw, + Ah, no! she feebly spoke; it is not true! + It is some form of the distempered brain! 150 + Then hid her face upon his breast again. + Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around: + Here, his brains scattered by the deadly wound, + The Spanish chief lay on the gory ground. + With lowering brows, and mace yet drooping blood, + And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood. + Anselmo here, sad, yet in sorrow mild, + Appeared: she cried, A blessing on your child, + And knelt, as slow revived her waking sense, + And then, with looks aghast, Oh bear us hence! 160 + Now all the assembled chiefs, assenting, cried, + Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! + With eager arms Lautaro snatched his boy, + And kissed him in an agony of joy; + Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak, + And felt the tear first burning on his cheek: + The infant held his neck with strict embrace, + And kissed his pale emaciated face. + From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore, + His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. 170 + There was a bank, where slept the summer-light, + A small stream whispering went in mazes bright, + And stealing from the sea, the western wind + Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined: + The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green, + And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen; + And, arched with gay and pendent flowers above, + The floripondio[230] its rich trellis wove. + Lautaro bent, with looks of love and joy, + O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy: 180 + Oh, by what miracle, beloved! say, + Hast thou escaped the perils of the way + From Lima, where our humble dwelling stood, + To these tumultuous scenes, this vale of blood? + Roused by his voice, as from the sleep of death, + Faint she replied, with slow-recovering breath, + Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert gone, + How sunk my heart!--deserted and alone! + Would I were with thee! oft I sat and sighed, + When the pale moon shone on the silent tide-- 190 + At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas: + The brave bark cheer'ly went before the breeze, + That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore, + From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore: + I seized the fair occasion--ocean smiled, + As to the sire I bore his lisping child. + The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock + The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock. + Some mariners, amidst the billows wild, + Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child. 200 + What I have borne, a captive since that day-- + Forgive these tears--I scarce have heart to say! + None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid-- + A wild maid--of her looks I was afraid; + Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell, + And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell. + Lautaro for a moment turned aside, + And, Oh, my sister! with faint voice he cried. + Already free from sorrow and alarms, + I clasped in thought a husband in my arms, 210 + When a dark warrior, stationed on the height, + Who held his solitary watch by night, + Before me stood, and lifting high his lance, + Exclaimed: No further, on thy life, advance! + Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread, + Back to the dismal cave my steps he led. + Only at eve, within the craggy cleft, + Some water, and a cake of maize, were left. + The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky; + When morning came, they brought me forth to die; + But hushed be every sigh, each boding fear, + Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here! 220 + Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, + To reach a large and radiant butterfly, + That fluttered near his face; with looks of love, + And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove + To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire, + His eyes faint-lighted with a transient fire, + Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addressed, + While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. 230 + An aged Indian came, with feathers crowned, + And knelt before Lautaro on the ground. + What tidings, Indian? + + INDIAN. + + When I led thy sire, + Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire, + Son of our Ulmen, didst thou mark no trace, + In these sad looks, of a remembered face? + Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look here! + It is thy father's hatchet and his spear. + Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice, 240 + Lautaro cried, once more to hear that voice! + Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled-- + Oh, my beloved sister, thou art dead! + + INDIAN. + + I come to guide thee through untrodden ways, + To the lone valley, where thy father's days + Were passed; where every cave and every tree, + From morn to morn, reminded him of thee! + Lautaro cried: Here, faithful Indian, stay; + I have a last sad duty yet to pay. + A little while we part:--thou here remain. 250 + He spake, and passed like lightning o'er the plain. + Ah, cease, Castilian maid, thy vain alarms! + See where he comes--his father in his arms! + Now lead, he cried. The Indian, sad and still, + Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill; + Her infant tired, and hushed a while to rest, + Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast; + The pensive mother gray Anselmo led; + Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead. + Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; 260 + The small birds waked them ere the morning light. + Before their path, in distant view, appeared + The mountain-smoke, that its dark column reared + O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky, + Lifting their icy pinnacles so high. + Four days they onward held their eastern way; + On the fifth rising morn, before them lay + Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green, + The Warrior's loved and last abode was seen. + No smoke went up, a stillness reigned around, 270 + Save where the waters fell with soothing sound, + Save where the Thenca sang so loud and clear, + And the bright humming-bird was spinning near. + Yet here all human tumults seemed to cease, + And sunshine rested on the spot of peace; + The myrtles bloomed as fragrant and as green + As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene; + And in his ear the falling waters' spray + Seemed swelling with the sounds of yesterday. + Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, 280 + There shall my father's bones in peace be laid. + Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground; + The small and sad communion gathered round. + Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel, + And broke the spear, and cried: Farewell, farewell! + Lautaro hid his face, and sighed Adieu! + As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw. + The little child that to its mother clung, + Stretched out its arm, then on her garment hung, + With sidelong looks, half-shrinking, half-amazed, 290 + And dropped its flowers, unconscious, as it gazed. + And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined, + The honoured relics, dust to dust, consigned + With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee, + "Eternam pacem dona, Domine." + Then rising up he closed the holy book; + And lifting in the beam his lighted look, + (The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast), + Here, too, he cried, my bones in peace shall rest! + Few years remain to me, and never more 300 + Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore! + Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave + O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave. + Oh, may it (when the sons of future days + Shall hear our tale and on the hillock gaze), + Oh, may it teach, that charity should bind, + Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind! + The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear + Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering spear. + Yet we condemn not him who bravely stood, 310 + To seal his country's freedom with his blood; + And if, in after-times, a ruthless band + Of fell invaders sweep my native land, + May she, by Chili's stern example led, + Hurl back his thunder on the assailant's head; + Sustained by Freedom, strike the avenging blow, + And learn one virtue from her ancient foe! + +[230] One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing plants of +South America. + + + + +END OF VOLUME I. + +EDINBURGH: BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS. + + + + +Transcriber's notes: The following were corrected in text as shown. +They are indicated with curly brackets, thus: {a}. + +{a} Pg iv: Alverstock => Alverstoke. + +{b} Pg 26: mumuring => murmuring + +{c} Pg 86: seene => scene + +{d} Pg 100: TRANSATION => TRANSLATION + +{e} Pg 152: fell => feel + +{f} Pg 206: gallopped => galloped + +{g} Pg 230: diffculty => difficulty + +{h} Pg 307: Guecuba => Guecubu to match text reference. + +{j} Pg 354: arbalaster is probably a variation of arbalester or + arbalister: a cross-bowman. + +k Pg 357: Lautora => Lautaro to be consistent with earlier use. + + +A few words are hyphenated inconsistently. They are listed here but +remain unchanged. + +eventide even-tide +eyeballs eye-balls +eyelids eye-lids +footfall foot-fall +heartbroken heart-broken +hedgerows hedge-rows +outstretched out-stretched + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of William Lisle +Bowles, Vol. 1, by William Lisle Bowles + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS *** + +***** This file should be named 18915.txt or 18915.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/9/1/18915/ + +Produced by richyfourtytwo, Leonard Johnson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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