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diff --git a/8695-h/8695-h.htm b/8695-h/8695-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41fc906 --- /dev/null +++ b/8695-h/8695-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18931 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>The Poetical Works of Beattie, Blair and Falconer</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {background:#ffff99; margin:10%; text-align:justify} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {color:#A82C28} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Beattie, Blair, and +Falconer, by Various + +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 Beattie, Blair, and Falconer + With Lives, Critical Dissertations, and Explanatory Notes + +Author: Various + +Editor: Rev. George Gilfillan + +Posting Date: April 13, 2014 [EBook #8695] +Release Date: August, 2005 +First Posted: August 2, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF BEATTIE, BLAIR, FALCONER *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Clytie Siddall, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>The <i>Poetical Works</i></h1> + +<br> +<br> + + +<h1>of Beattie, Blair and Falconer</h1> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <b>With Lives, Critical Dissertations, and Explanatory +Notes,<br> +<br> + by the Rev. George Gilfillan</b><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + + +<p><b><a name="toc">Table of Contents</a></b></p> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#introduction">Beattie's Poetical Works</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section1">The Life and Poetry of James +Beattie</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section2">The Minstrel; or, the Progress of +Genius</a></li> + +<li style="list-style: none"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#section2a">Book I</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section2b">Book II</a></li> +</ul> +</li> + +<li><a href="#section3">Miscellaneous Poems</a></li> + +<li style="list-style: none"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#section4">Ode to Hope</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section5">Ode to Peace</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section6">Ode on Lord Hay's Birthday</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section7">The Judgment of Paris</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section8">The Triumph of Melancholy</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section9">Elegy</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section10">Elegy, written in the year 1758</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section11">Retirement</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section11b">The Hermit</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section12">On the Report of a Monument to be +erected in Westminster Abbey, to the Memory of a late Author +(Churchill)</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section13">The Battle of the Pigmies and +Cranes</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section14">The Hares. A Fable</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section15">The Wolf and Shepherds. A Fable</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section16">Song, in imitation of Shakspeare's +"Blow, blow, thou winter wind" .</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section17">To Lady Charlotte Gordon, dressed in a +Tartan Scotch Bonnet, with Plumes, &c</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section18">Epitaph: being part of an Inscription +designed for a Monument erected by a Gentleman to the Memory of +his Lady</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section19">Epitaph on Two Young Men of the name of +Leitch, who were drowned in crossing the River Southesk</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section20">Epitaph, intended for Himself</a></li> +</ul> + +<br> +</li> + +<li><a href="#section21">Blair's Poetical Works</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section22">The Life of Robert Blair</a></li> + +<li style="list-style: none"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#section23">The Grave</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section24">A Poem, dedicated to the Memory of the +late learned and eminent Mr William Law, Professor of Philosophy +in the University of Edinburgh</a></li> +</ul> + +<br> +</li> + +<li><a name="fp1"></a><a href="#section25">Falconer's Poetical +Works</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section26">The Life of William Falconer</a></li> + +<li style="list-style: none"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#section27">The Shipwreck</a></li> + +<li style="list-style: none"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#section27a">The Shipwreck: Introduction</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section27b">The Shipwreck: Canto I</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section27c">The Shipwreck: Canto II</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section27d">The Shipwreck: Canto III</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section28">Occasional Elegy, in which the preceding +narrative is concluded</a></li> +</ul> +</li> + +<li><a href="#section29">Miscellaneous Poems</a></li> + +<li style="list-style: none"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#section30">The Demagogue</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section31">A Poem, sacred to the Memory of His +Royal Highness Frederick Prince of Wales</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section32">Ode on the Duke of York's second +departure from England as Rear-Admiral</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section33">The Fond Lover. A Ballad</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section34">On the Uncommon Scarcity of Poetry in +the Gentleman's Magazine for December last, 1755, by I. W., a +sailor</a></li> + +<li><a href="#section35">Description of a Ninety-Gun +Ship</a></li> +</ul> +</li> +</ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<h2><a name="introduction">Beattie's Poetical Works</a></h2> + +<br> +<hr width="50%" align="left"> +<br> + <br> +<h3><a name="section1">The Life and Poetry of James +Beattie</a></h3> + +<br> +James Beattie, the author of the <i>Minstrel</i> was born at +Laurencekirk, in the county of Kincardineshire—a village +situated in that beautiful trough of land called the Howe of the +Mearns, and surmounted by the ridge of the Garvock Hills, which +divide it from the German Ocean—on the 25th day of October 1735. +His father, who was a small farmer and shopkeeper, and who is +said to have possessed a turn for literature and versifying, died +when James was only seven years old; but his brother David, the +eldest of a family of six, undertook the superintendence of his +education till he was fit to go to the parish school. That school +which had been raised to celebrity by Thomas Ruddiman, the +grammarian, was now taught by one Milne, whom his pupil describes +as also a good grammarian and an excellent Latin scholar, but +destitute of taste, and of all the other qualifications of a +teacher. Milne preferred Ovid to Virgil; but Beattie's taste, +already giving promise of its future classical bent, was +attracted by the less meretricious beantics of Virgil; and this +author, in Dryden's translation, as well as Milton's <i>Paradise +Lost</i>, and Thomson's <i>Seasons</i>, were devoured with +eagerness, and copied with emulation, by him in the intervals of +his school hours. He was assisted in his studies by Mr Thomson, +minister of the parish. In 1749, when he reached the age of +fourteen, he entered Marischal College, Aberdeen, and such was +his proficiency that he took by competition the first of those +bursaries or exhibitions which are given to those students who +are unable to support the expenses of their own education. +Aberdeen has been always distinguished by its eminent professors. +Blackwell, Gerard, Reid, Campbell, the subject of this sketch, +Brown, Blackie, &c. are only a few of the celebrated names the +roll of its two colleges contains. The two first-mentioned were +flourishing at the time when young Beattie entered the +University. Blackwell was a learned but pedantic Grecian, who +wrote with considerable power and great pomp on <i>Mythology</i>, +<i>Homer</i>, and the <i>Court of Augustus</i>. Alexander Gerard +was the author of some books of some merit, although now nearly +forgotten, on the <i>Genius of Christianity</i>, on <i>Taste and +Genius</i>, &c. Under both these Beattie profited very much. He +gained a high prize in Blackwell's class, for an analysis of the +fourth book of the <i>Odyssey</i>. He did not neglect general +reading, nor the art of poetry. He spent much of his leisure in +studying and practising music, which he always loved with a +passion. We can conceive him, too, the "lone enthusiast," +repairing often to the resounding shore of the ocean, or leaning +where a greater than he was by and by to lean, over the Brig of +Balgounie, which bends above the deep, dark Don, or walking out +pensively to the Bridge of Dee, and watching the calm, +translucent, yet strong, victorious river running through its +rich green banks and clustering corn-fields to wed the sea. No +university in wide Britain can be named with Aberdeen, in point +of the wild romantic grandeur of its environs, if we include in +these the upper courses of the two rivers which meet beside it +and Byron Hall. Macintosh, as well as Beattie, have owned the +inspiration which the scenery, still more than the scholastic +training of the Northern Metropolis, breathed into their opening +minds.<br> +<br> +In 1753, having cultivated assiduously every branch of study +taught at college except mathematics, for which he had neither +taste nor aptitude, Beattie took the degree of A.M. He had +hitherto been supported by the kindness of his brother David, but +now he was to look out for a profession for himself. The +situation of parish schoolmaster at Fordoun falling vacant, he +determined to apply for it; and on the 11th of August 1753 he was +elected to the office. Fordoun is situated a few miles to the +north-east of Laurencekirk, and is surrounded by similar +scenery. A series of gentlemen's seats extend, at brief +intervals, from Brechin to Stonehaven, along a ridge of bare and +bold mountains, and overlooking a fair and rich plain, so that +thus the neighbourhood of Fordoun includes a combination of the +soft, the beautiful, the luxuriant, and the nakedly-sublime, +which must have fed to satiety the eye and heart of this true +poet. Otherwise, the situation could not be called eligible. The +salary was small, the society at that time indifferent, and the +sphere limited. There were, however, some counter-balancing +advantages. Near the village resided Lord Gardenstown, who met +Beattie in a romantic glen near his house, with pencil and paper +in his hand—entered into conversation with him—found out that +he was a poet—and gave him the "Invocation to Venus" in the +opening of Lucretius, to translate, which he did on the spot, and +thus removed some doubts Lord Gardenstown had entertained as to +whether his poetry was actually his own; and, besides, Lord +Monboddo, a remarkable man, alike in talent and eccentricity; and +both vied with each other in their patronage of the poetical +_dominie_ when he had undisturbed leisure for study and solitary +communion with nature. On the whole, perhaps, the future +"Minstrel" was happier as a parish schoolmaster than in any part +of his after life; and perhaps often, in more brilliant but less +easy days, would revert with a sigh to the simple school and the +stream which murmurs past the small kirkyard of Fordoun.<br> +<br> +While there, he wrote a few poetical pieces, which he sent with +his initials, and the name of his place of abode, to the _Scots +Magazine_. We can fancy him, like the immortal Peter Pattieson, +on the day the Magazine was due, walking as far as the little +height of Auchcairnie, to watch and weary for the long-expected +carrier's cart wending its slow way from the south and, when the +parcel reached his hand, with eager, trembling fingers, opening +it up, to have all the joy of virgin authorship awakened in his +soul. In these days a poetic production from the country seemed a +phenomenon—as great, to use an expression of De Quincey's, as if +"a dragoon horse had struck up 'Rule Britannia,'" and no doubt, +many an eyebrow in Auld Reekie rose in wonder, and many a voice +exclaimed, "Who can this be?" when verses so good by J. B. +Fordoun, flashed upon the public from time to time. But, although +his poetry procured him more fame than he was then aware of, it +brought him nothing more, and his way to competence and elevation +in society, seemed as completely blocked up as ever.<br> +<br> +It would seem that he had, from an early period of his life, +looked forward to the Church as his profession; and, having +taught for some time in Fordoun, he returned to Aberdeen, to +prosecute those preparatory studies which he had for a while +abandoned for a parish school and poetry. Here he attended the +lectures of Dr Robert Pollock of Marischal College, and Professor +John Lumsden of King's-and performed the exercises prescribed by +both. It was at this time that he delivered a discourse in the +Divinity Hall in language so lofty, that the Professor challenged +him for writing poetry instead of prose—a story reminding us of +similar facts in the history of Thomson, Pollok, and others whose +names we do not mention—and corroborating the truth, that +poetical genius and the halls of philosophy or theology are +seldom congenial, and that "musty, fusty, crusty" old professors +are in general harsh stepfathers to rising poets.<br> +<br> +Whether from chagrin on account of this criticism—and this is +the more probable, because Beattie was all along very sensitive +to depreciation or abuse—or from some other cause, he determined +to abandon the study of Divinity, and to follow teaching as a +profession. In 1757, a vacancy occurring in the Grammar School of +Aberdeen, Beattie offered himself as a candidate, but failed in +the preliminary examination, as he had himself expected, from a +want of circumstantial and minute acquaintance with the Latin +tongue. A few months after, however, a second vacancy having +taken place in the same school, he was elected without the form +of a trial, and entered on the discharge of his duties in June +1758. He was now in a more advantageous and a more reputable +post—and while discharging its duties with exemplary diligence, +he found time for the cultivation of his poetical gift.<br> +<br> +In 1760, through the exertions of his friends, especially the +Earl of Erroll, and Mr Arbuthnott, Beattie was appointed +Professor of Philosophy in Marischal College. It was thought at +the time a startling experiment to appoint a man so young—and +who had given no proof of peculiar proficiency in philosophical +lore—to such an important chair; and was no doubt stigmatised as +one of those arrant <i>jobs</i> by which the history of Scotch +Colleges has been often disgraced. In Beattie's case, however, as +well as in the kindred one of Professor Wilson, the issue was +more fortunate than might have been expected. He set manfully to +work to supply his deficiencies—read and wrote hard—and in a +few years had prepared a very respectable course of lectures—and +became able to front, without shame, such men as Gerard and +Gregory, Campbell and Reid—with whom he was now associated. In +the same year appeared, in a very modest manner, <i>Proposals for +Printing Original Poems and Translations.</i> In 1761, the volume +itself was published—consisting of the pieces formerly printed +in the <i>Scots Magazine</i>, corrected and altered, and of some +new productions. The book appeared simultaneously in Edinburgh +and London, and was hailed with universal applause; the critics +generally maintaining that no poetry so good had been written +since Gray's; which they thought Beattie had taken for his model. +He himself entertained, after a while, a very different opinion +of their merits; he was, in fact, seized with a fastidious +loathing for them; he destroyed every copy he could procure; and +on republishing his poetry before his death, he acknowledged only +four of these early effusions.<br> +<br> +In 1765, he published, in quarto, his <i>Judgment of Paris,</i> +which met with the unfavourable reception it deserved. He added +it to an edition of his poems printed in 1766; but afterwards +refused to reprint it. We have given it, however, as well as all +his original minor poems, in our edition, including a poem on +Churchill, published by him in 1766, and which, acrimonious and +unjust as it is, is full of spirit, and shows Beattie in the +character of a "good hater."<br> +<br> +In 1763, he had visited London, where almost his only +acquaintance was Andrew Millar, the bookseller, and where nothing +remarkable occurred except a visit to Pope's Villa at Twickenham. +In 1765, he had been invited by the Earl of Strathmore to meet +with Gray, then on a visit at Glammis Castle. Lovelier spot, or +more appropriate for the meeting of two poets, does not exist in +broad Scotland than the Castle of Glammis, with its tall, vast, +antique structure, towering over its ancient park, and shadowed +by large ancestral trees—with its interior full of the quiet +memories, quaint paintings, and collected curiosities of a +thousand years—with its chapel situated in the very groin of the +edifice, and in whose dim religious light you see walls +surrounded, by some female hand of a past age, with curious +pictures—and with its leaden roof, commanding a wide view over +forest and lawn, village and stream, mountain, meadow, and all +the glories which replenish the long, fair valley of Strathmore. +Here the poets met, and spent two delightful days. Beattie was +amazed at the taste, the judgment, and the extensive learning of +Gray; and Gray, an older and a more fastidious man, was +nevertheless delighted with Beattie's enthusiasm, bonhommie, and +heart. <br> +<br> +In 1767, he married Mary, the daughter of Dr Dunn, rector of the +Grammar School, Aberdeen. She was an amiable and lovely woman. Dr +Johnson, when he saw her in London, along with her husband, +seemed to think more highly of her than of him. He was not aware, +however, of a fact which became afterwards distressingly +apparent—that from her mother she inherited a tendency to +insanity, which broke out in capricious waywardness, some time +before it culminated in madness. We know not but this may explain +Dr Johnson's saying to Boswell—"Beattie," he said, "when he came +first to London, <i>sunk upon</i> us that he was married," +<i>i.e.</i>, tried to hide that he was married. Perhaps the +reason of this remark, which so much offended Beattie himself, +was, that, afraid of her capricious flightiness being +misunderstood, he was at first reluctant to bring her into +society. His letter to the contrary was we fear, written for a +purpose, and in order to <i>conceal</i> the truth.<br> +<br> +And now came what Beattie and some of his friends—although not +we, nor the literary world now generally—considered the grand +epoch of his life—the publication of his "Essay on Truth." He +had for some time been alarmed at the progress of the sceptical +philosophy, both at home and abroad, and had expressed that alarm +to his friends in his correspondence. At last this fear awoke in +him a Quixotic courage, and he sallied forth like the valiant +Don, in search of all whom he knew or imagined to be the enemies +of Truth—and like him made some considerable mistakes, and +showed more zeal than discretion. We may quote here some sensible +sentences from one of his biographers.—"That his meaning was +excellent, no one can doubt; whether he discovered the right +remedy for the harm which he was desirous of removing, is much +more questionable. To magnify any branch of human knowledge +beyond its just importance, may indeed tend to weaken the force +of religious faith; but many acute metaphysicians have been good +Christians, and before the question thus agitated can be set at +rest, we must suppose a proficiency in those inquiries which he +would proscribe as dangerous. After all, we can discover no more +reason why sciolists in metaphysics should bring that study into +discredit, than that religion itself should be disparaged through +the extravagance of fanaticism. To have met the subject fully, he +ought to have shown, that not only those opinions he controverts +are erroneous, but that all the systems of former metaphysicians +were so likewise." In truth, Beattie would have gained his +purpose far better had he been able to have written another such +satire against Hume and his followers, as Swift's <i>Battle of +the Books</i>, Butler's <i>Elephant in the Moon</i>, or +Voltaire's <i>Micromegas</i>. Had he had sufficient wit and +sufficient knowledge, the inconsistencies, absurdities, and +endless quarrels of metaphysicians might have furnished an +admirable field! But wit was hardly one of his qualities, and his +knowledge of these subjects was superficial. In fact, the gentle +"minstrel" warring against philosophy, reminds us of a plain +English scholar attacking the Talmud, or of one who had never +crossed the <i>Pons Asinorum</i> slandering the Fluxions of +Newton.<br> +<br> +The essay appeared in 1770, and became instantly popular, passed +through five large editions in four years, and was translated +into foreign tongues. Hume smiled at it in his sleeve, but +attempted no answer. Burke, Johnson, and Warburton, who must have +seen through its sounding shallowness, pardoned and praised it +for its good intentions, and because its author, though a +champion rather showy than strong, was on the right side. Flushed +by its success, Beattie, in 1771, revisited London, and obtained +admission to the best literary circles—sate under the +"peacock-hangings" of Mrs Montague—visited Hagley Park, and +became intimate with Lord Lyttelton—chatted cheerily with +Boswell and Garrick—listened with wonder to the deep bow-wows of +Johnson's talk—and as he watched the rich alluvial, yet romantic +mountain stream of thought, knowledge, and imagery that flowed +perpetually from the inspired lips of Burke, perhaps forgot Gray +and Glammis Castle, and felt "a greater is here." These men, in +their turn, seem all to have liked Beattie, although the full +<i>quid pro quo</i> of praise came only from Lord Lyttelton, who +vowed that in him Thomson had come back from the shades, much +purified and refined by his Elysian sojourn! Beattie, we fear, +was a little spoiled by the flatteries he received from Lyttelton +and that peculiar clique which circled round him; and hence his +prejudice in their favour, and the praise he reciprocates, are +enormous. "Lord Lyttelton," says a writer, "is his private +friend, and him he always calls the 'Great Historian,' though he +is obliged to give his lordship's name afterwards, to let his +readers know of whom he is speaking! From his letters it might +appear that all the literary talent, all the taste, and all the +virtue of the country, were confined to his circle of +friends—Lord Lyttelton, Mrs Montague, Dr Porteous, and Major +Mercer."<br> +<br> +In 1773, he again visited London, and the climax of his renown +seemed to be reached, when the University of Oxford gave him the +degree of LL.D.—when three different times he refused the offer +by bishops and archbishops of promotion in the English +Church—and when (oh, brave!) he was admitted to an interview +with their Majesties, complimented on his <i>Essay on Truth</i> +by good old George III., who was much better qualified to judge +of an essay on turnips, and gifted with a pension of £200 a +year. About the same time he was urged to apply for the +Professorship of Moral Philosophy in Edinburgh, which he declined +to do, apparently from a terror at the thought of coming so near +David Hume—a terror which strikes us as exceedingly ludicrous, +when we recollect that, most pernicious as were Hume's +principles, he was in private as harmless, good-natured, and +(<i>Scotticè</i>) <i>sonsy</i> a being as lived.<br> +<br> +A few months after the <i>Essay on Truth</i> appeared, and while +the echoes of its fame were beginning to spread through the +world, there had appeared a thin anonymous quarto, entitled the +<i>First Book of the Minstrel.</i> It slid noiselessly as a star +into the world's air. The critics, finding no name on the title +page, were peculiarly severe, and peculiarly senseless, in their +treatment of the unpretending volume, which would have been +crushed under their heavy strictures, had not—rare event in +those days—the public chosen to judge for itself, and to fall in +love with the beautiful poem. It consequently soon ran through +four editions, each edition containing some corrections and +improvements; and in the year 1774 he published the second part, +which, now that its author's name was known, was loudly praised +by the Reviews, as well as by the general reader. He always meant +to, but never did, add a third.<br> +<br> + From the date of his refusal of promotion in the English Church, +Beattie had made up his mind to remain in Aberdeen, which is a +beautifully built town, and which teemed to him with old +associations. He spent his winters in diligently instructing his +class, and in summer was often found at Peterhead, a town +situated on the most easterly promontory of Scotland, and which +was then noted for its medicinal waters. Beattie was troubled +with a vertiginous complaint, which he found benefited by the use +of the Peterhead Spa. He no doubt also admired and often visited +the noble sea scenery to the south of that town.—Slaines Castle, +standing on its rock, sheer over the savage surge, and begirt by +the perpetual clang of sea-fowl and roar of billows, and the +famous Bullers of Buchan, where the sea has forced its way +through the solid rock, leaving an arch of triumph to commemorate +the passage, and formed a huge round pot where its waters, in the +time of storm, rage and fret and foam like a newly imprisoned +maniac—a pot which Dr Johnson proposes to substitute for the Red +Sea, in the future incarceration of demons.<br> +<br> +In 1776, he published, by subscription, a new and splendid +edition of his <i>Essay on Truth</i>, accompanied by two other +essays, much more interesting, on <i>Poetry and Music</i>, and on +<i>Laughter and Ludicrous Composition</i>, and by <i>Remarks on +the Utility of Classical Learning</i>. This was followed, in +1783, by a volume of <i>Dissertations on Memory and Imagination, +Dreaming</i>, &c. In 1786 he published a little treatise on the +<i>Christian Evidences</i>, which he had shown to Bishop Porteous +in London, two years before, and been recommended by him to give +to the world. Beattie himself preferred it to all his writings, +in "closeness of matter and style." In 1790 and 1793, appeared +two volumes on the <i>Elements of Moral Science</i>, containing +an abridgment of his lectures on Moral Philosophy and Logic. He +wrote also, in the <i>Transactions</i> of the Royal Society, +Edinburgh, a paper on the sixth book of the <i>Æneid</i>, +and contributed a few notes to an edition of Addison's works.<br> +<br> +His wife long ere this had been separated from him by her malady. +By her he had two sons, James Hay, named after the Earl of Errol, +and Montague, after the celebrated Mrs Montague. The history of +both was hapless. James Hay, who gave high literary promise, and +was still more distinguished by his amiable disposition, after +having been appointed to be his father's successor in the chair, +died in 1790, at the age of twenty-two, of a consumption. Beattie +felt the blow deeply, and published, soon after, the life and +remains of the precocious youth. Our readers must all remember +the exquisite story of his teaching him the idea of a Creator by +sowing his name in cresses in the garden. The loss of Montague, +also a youth of much promise, by a rapid fever in 1796, completed +the prostration of the poor father. It was the case of Burke over +again, but worse, inasmuch as Beattie, a weaker nature, was +sometimes driven to seek oblivion in the cup, and as sometimes +his reason reeled on its throne, and he went about the house +asking where his son was, and whether he had or had not a son. He +retired from all society—lost taste for his former pleasures, +such as music, which he had once relished so keenly—was seized, +in 1799, with a paralytic affection, which deprived him of +speech—and languished on, ever and anon visited with new +assaults of the same malady, till at last, on the 18th of August +1803, the gifted, amiable, but most miserable "Minstrel" breathed +his last. He now lies beside his two dear sons in the churchyard +of St Nicholas, Aberdeen, a graceful Latin inscription from the +pen of Dr James Gregory of Edinburgh distinguishing the stone +which covers his ashes.<br> +<br> +Beattie was of the middle size, of slouching gait, and +common-place appearance, redeemed by two fine dark eyes, which, +melancholy in repose, gleamed and glowed whenever he became +animated in conversation. He had warm affections, a tender, +shrinking, sensitive disposition, was a kind parent, an attached +friend, truly pious, and could be charged with no fault, save an +irritability of temper, which grew upon him with his misfortunes +and infirmities, and, latterly, that occasional excess to which +we have alluded, which sprung rather from dotage and wretchedness +than from inclination, and in which he was far more to be pitied +than blamed.<br> +<br> +Of his pretensions as a philosopher we shall say nothing, save +that he has now no name, and is held rather to have struck at and +all about Hume, than to have smote him hip and thigh. His essays +are exceedingly agreeable reading. Cowper relished no book so +well, but they can scarcely be called either profound or +brilliant. They soothe, but do not suggest—they tickle, but do +not tell us anything new. It is as a poet that his name must +survive, and the pæan of reception which saluted him in his +<i>Essay on Truth</i>, entering on stilts, should have been +reserved entirely for the <i>Minstrel</i>, with the meek harp in +his hand.<br> +<br> +Much has been said of the effect of fine scenery upon the +development of genius. And as this is the theme of one-half of +the <i>Minstrel</i>, we must be permitted a few remarks on it. +The finest scenery in the world cannot, then, <i>create</i> +genius. A dunce, born in the Vale of Tempe, will remain a dunce +still. And, on the other hand, a poet reared in St Giles or the +Goosedubs will develop his poetic vein. The true influences, we +suspect, of scenery on genius are the following:—1st, Where +poetry lies deep and latent in a deep but silent nature, scenery +will act like the rod of Moses on the rock in bringing forth the +struggling waters—it will prompt to imitation, and gradually +supply language. 2d, Early familiarity with the beautiful aspects +of nature will enable the youth of genius to realize the +descriptions of nature in the great poetic masters, to test their +truth, and imbibe their spirit, by comparing them day by day with +their archetypes. He can stand on a snow-clad mountain, with +Thomson's <i>Winter</i> in his hands. He can walk through a wood +of pines, swinging in the tempest, and repeat Coleridge's <i>Ode +to Schiller</i>. He can, lying on a twilight hill, with twilight +mountains darkening into night around him, and twilight fields +and rivers glimmering far below, and one cataract, touching the +grand piano of the silence into melancholy music, turn round and +see in the north-east the moon rising in that "clouded majesty" +of which Milton had spoken long before. He can take the <i>Lady +of the Lake</i> to the same summit, while afternoon, the +everlasting autumn of the day, is shedding its thoughtful and +mellow lines over the landscape, and can see in it a counterpart +of the scene at the Trosachs—the woodlands, the mountains, the +isle, the westland heaven—all, except the chase, the stag, and +the stranger, and these the imagination can supply; or he can +plunge into the moorlands, and reaching, toward the close of a +summer's day, some insulated peak, can see a storm of wild +mountains between him and the west, dark and proud, like captives +at the chariot-wheels of the sun, and smitten here and there into +reluctant splendour by his beams, and think of all the gorgeous +descriptions of sunset and its momentary miracles to be found in +Scott, Byron, Wilson, Croly, Shelley, Wordsworth, and Coleridge; +or he can from some mighty Ben look abroad over a +country—Scotland, and the sea below, the blue heaven above, +till, in his enthusiasm, he might deem that he could lay his one +hand on the mane of the ocean, and his other on the tresses of +the sun, and feels for the first time the force of Beattie's own +fine words—<br> + + +<blockquote>"All the dread magnificence of Heaven."</blockquote> + +<br> + Again, scenery will help sometimes to settle a question with a +young mind, whose intellectual and imaginative faculties are +nearly equal, whether it shall turn permanently to philosophy or +to poetry. Such dilemmas or Hercules choices are not uncommon; +and there is a period in life when the sight of a mountain, or a +sunset, or an autumn river, amid its yellow woods, can have more +power than even a book, or the influence of an older mind, or a +young love-passion, in deciding them. Again, early intimacy with +fine scenery furnishes the poetic mind with an exhaustless supply +of images. These being sown in youth, sown broadcast, and without +any effort of the mind to receive or retain them, bear fruit for +ever. It is a shower of morning manna, which no after fervours of +noon, or chills of evening, are able to melt or freeze. Or, shall +we say the mind of the young, especially if gifted, is a +daguerreotype plate of the finest construction, and when +surrounded by romantic or lovely scenes, it receives and +preserves them to the last, and can reproduce them, too, in +ever-varying forms, and perpetual succession? And hence, in fine, +it follows, that the greatest poets have either been brought up +in the country, or have early come in contact with a beautiful +nature, as the names of Homer, Virgil, Shakspeare, Milton, +Thomson, Burns, Scott, Wordsworth, Shelley, Byron, Wilson, and +Thomas Aird, abundantly prove.<br> +<br> +Beattie employs the greater part of his first Canto of the +<i>Minstrel</i> in showing the influence of Nature on the dawning +mind of a poet. And there can be little doubt that it is the +scenery of his own native region, and the progress of his own +mind, that he has described. "The long, long vale withdrawn," is +the Howe of the Mearns—the "uplands" whence he views it, are the +hills of Garvock—the "mountain grey," is the Grampian ridge to +the north-west—the "blue main" is the German Ocean, expanding +eastward—and the "vale" where the hermit is overheard pouring +out his plaint, may not inaptly be figured by that portion of +Glen Esk, which meets the all-beautiful Burn, and where "rocks on +rocks are piled by magic spell," and where, then as now,<br> + + +<blockquote>"Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,<br> + Whose long, long groves eternal murmur made."</blockquote> + +<br> + And, besides, there is his famous piece of cloud scenery, +beginning,<br> + + +<blockquote>"And oft the craggy cliff he loved to +climb,"</blockquote> + +<br> + the truth of which any one may attest by walking up, in the +cloudy and dark day, the Cairn-a-Mount, a lofty knoll, across +which a road leads to Deeside, to the north of the poet's +birthplace, and watching the sea of vapour boiling, shifting, +sinking, rising, tumultuating at his feet.<br> +<br> +Gray used to contend that, the stanza beginning, "O how canst +thou renounce the boundless store?" was absolute inspiration, but +objected, we think erroneously, to one word in it as French—"the +<i>garniture</i> of fields," to which Cary very properly +produces, in reply, the words from our common version of the +Bible—"The Lord <i>garnished</i> the heavens." We have noticed a +stronger objection to a line in this otherwise perfect stanza. It +is this—<br> + + +<blockquote>All that the mountain's sheltering bosom +shields."</blockquote> + +<br> + Here is unquestionably a tautology, since to shield and to +shelter convey precisely the same idea.<br> +<br> +The charm of the <i>Minstrel</i> greatly lies in its blending of +the moral elements with the material imagery of the poem. The +mind, the growth of which he describes, is not forced into +activity, or hatched prematurely by electric heat; it developes +sweetly, gradually, and in finest harmony with the beautiful and +the great around it—like a fir amidst the plantations of +Woodmyre, or a planetree on the far-seen heights of Esslie. The +second canto has beautiful passages, but is, on the whole, more +vague and fantastic than the first. We regret exceedingly that +Beattie never found leisure for writing a third canto, and +leading Edwin, whom he had brought to the threshold, within the +sanctuary of song, and consecrating him the "High Priest of the +Nine," by baptizing him into the Christian faith. The poem is a +dream as well as a fragment—no poetic mind was perhaps ever so +thoroughly insulated as that of his hero—but the "dream is one," +it is consistent with itself, and is painted with trembling truth +of touch and delicate tenderness of feeling. We feel it to be +destitute of profound suggestiveness and massive thought, but its +verse is solemnly dignified, its imagery is chastely grand, and a +rich chiaroscuro rests like a tropical night upon the whole. +Besides the stanzas we have already alluded to, it has some of +those brief touches which show the master's hand: such as—<br> + + +<blockquote>"Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed him +mad;"</blockquote> + +<br> + or in his curse upon the Cock, the line—<br> + + +<blockquote>"And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox +appear;"</blockquote> + +<br> + or the burst of description, how like the scene when the clouds +suddenly disperse, and show us<br> + + +<blockquote>"the evening star.<br> + And from embattled clouds emerging slow,<br> + Cynthia came riding in her silver car:<br> + And hoary mountain cliffs shone faintly from afar."</blockquote> + +<br> + His smaller poems possess many felicitous lines. The <i>Ode to +Peace</i> closes splendidly, and the <i>Hermit</i> is little +inferior to Gray's <i>Elegy</i>. Its burden is the doctrine of +the Resurrection, and it breathes a more evangelical spirit than +Gray. It begins in gloom, but ends in glory—a glory reflected +from the revealed truth of Scripture, which, once believed, seems +then to the poet corroborated by those analogies of nature which +had previously ministered despair instead of hope—such as the +monthly death and resurrection of the moon, and the nightly +darkening and morning revelation of the beauties of the +landscape. The stanza commencing with "'Tis night," may be called +perfectly beautiful; and we shall not soon forget that Dr Thomas +Brown never quoted it without tears, and that he quoted it, in +tones of deep and tremulous pathos, in the last lecture he ever +delivered to his students.<br> +<br> +On the whole, Beattie may be ranked beside, or near, Campbell, +Collins, Gray, and Akenside. Deficient in thought and passion, in +creative power, and copious imagination, he is strong in +sentiment, in mild tenderness, and in delicate description of +nature. Whatever become of his Essay on Truth, or even of his +less elaborate and more pleasing Essays on Music, Imagination, +and Dreams, the world can never, at any stage of its advancement, +forget to read and admire the <i>Minstrel</i> and the +<i>Hermit</i>, or to cherish the memory of their warm-hearted and +sorely-tried author.<br> +<br> +We now bid the author of the <i>Minstrel</i> farewell! We love to +think of him wandering in youth through the black plantations of +firs, which border on his birthplace, or climbing grey Garvock +Hill, and fixing his dark pensive eyes on the distant white +sails, hovering like rare wings over the rounded blue-green +German deep, or crossing those dreary moors which lie between +Stonehaven and Aberdeen, a solitary pedestrian, in search of +learning and distinction, in that noble old city—or teaching his +son to "consider the cresses of the garden 'how they grow,'" and +to find in them something worth a thousand homilies or elaborate +arguments for the being of a God—or taking his last look of the +dead body of his last son, Montague, and saying, "Now I have done +with the world." He had many of the powers, all the virtues, and +scarcely one of the faults generally supposed to be connected +with the character, mind, and temperament of a poet.<br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<br> + + +<h3><a name="section2">The Minstrel; or, the Progress of +Genius</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>Preface</b><br> +<br> +The design was, to trace the progress of a Poetical Genius, born +in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till +that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in +the world as a <b><i>Minstrel</i></b>, that is, as an itinerant +poet and musician:—a character which, according to the notions +of our forefathers, was not only respectable, but sacred.<br> +<br> +I have endeavoured to imitate Spenser in the measure of his +verse, and in the harmony, simplicity, and variety of his +composition. Antique expressions I have avoided; admitting, +however, some old words, where they seemed to suit the subject: +but I hope none will be found that are now obsolete, or in any +degree not intelligible to a reader of English poetry.<br> +<br> +To those who may be disposed to ask what could induce me to write +in so difficult a measure, I can only answer, that it pleases my +ear, and seems from its Gothic structure and original, to bear +some relation to the subject and spirit of the poem. It admits +both simplicity and magnificence of sound and of language, beyond +any other stanza I am acquainted with. It allows the +sententiousness of the couplet, as well as the more complex +modulation of blank verse. What some critics have remarked, of +its uniformity growing at last tiresome to the ear, will be found +to hold true only when the poetry is faulty in other +respects.<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<br> + + +<h3><a name="section2a">Book I</a></h3> + +<blockquote><i>Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musæ,<br> + Quarum sacra fero, ingenti perculsus amore,<br> + Accipiant—<br> +<br> + (Virgil)</i></blockquote> + +<br> +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb<br> + The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar?<br> + Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime<br> + Has felt the influence of malignant star,<br> + And waged with Fortune an eternal war—<br> + Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,<br> + And Poverty's unconquerable bar—<br> + In life's low vale remote has pined alone,<br> +Then dropp'd into the grave, unpitied and unknown?<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + And yet the languor of inglorious days,<br> + Not equally oppressive is to all;<br> + Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,<br> + The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.<br> + There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,<br> + Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame;<br> + Supremely blest, if to their portion fall<br> + Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim<br> +Had he whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + The rolls of fame I will not now explore;<br> + Nor need I here describe, in learned lay,<br> + How forth the Minstrel fared in days of yore,<br> + Right glad of heart, though homely in array;<br> + His waving locks and beard all hoary gray;<br> + While from his bending shoulder, decent hung<br> + His harp, the sole companion of his way,<br> + Which to the whistling wild responsive rung:<br> +And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride,<br> + That a poor villager inspires my strain;<br> + With thee let Pageantry and Power abide:<br> + The gentle Muses, haunt the sylvan reign;<br> + Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain<br> + Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's charms:<br> + They hate the sensual and scorn the vain,<br> + The parasite their influence never warms,<br> +Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,<br> + Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.<br> + Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn,<br> + While warbling larks on russet pinions float:<br> + Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote,<br> + Where the grey linnets carol from the hill.<br> + Oh, let them ne'er, with artificial note,<br> + To please a tyrant, strain the little bill,<br> +But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will!<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand;<br> + Nor was perfection made for man below;<br> + Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd;<br> + Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe.<br> + With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow;<br> + If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise;<br> + There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow;<br> + Here, peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies,<br> +And Freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + Then grieve not, thou, to whom the indulgent Muse<br> + Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire;<br> + Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse<br> + The Imperial banquet and the rich attire.<br> + Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre.<br> + Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined?<br> + No; let thy heaven-taught soul to Heaven aspire,<br> + To fancy, freedom, harmony resign'd;<br> +Ambition's grovelling crew for ever left behind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul<br> + In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,<br> + On the dull couch of Luxury to loll,<br> + Stung with disease, and stupified with spleen;<br> + Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen,<br> + Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide<br> + (The mansion then no more of joy serene),<br> + Where fear, distrust, malevolence abide,<br> +And impotent desire, and disappointed pride?<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store<br> + Of charms which Nature to her votary yields?<br> + The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,<br> + The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;<br> + All that the genial ray of morning gilds,<br> + And all that echoes to the song of even,<br> + All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,<br> + And all the dread magnificence of heaven,<br> +Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health,<br> + And love, and gentleness, and joy impart.<br> + But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth<br> + E'er win its way to thy corrupted heart:<br> + For, ah! it poisons like a scorpion's dart;<br> + Prompting the ungenerous wish, the selfish scheme,<br> + The stern resolve, unmoved by pity's smart,<br> + The troublous day, and long distressful dream.<br> + Return, my roving Muse, resume thy purposed theme.<br> +<br> +<br> + 11<br> +<br> + There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell,<br> + A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree;<br> + Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell,<br> + <a name="fr17">Sicilian</a> groves, or vales of Arcady;<br> + But he, I ween, was of the north countrie<a href= +"#f17"><sup>1</sup></a>;<br> + A nation famed for song and beauty's charms;<br> + Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;<br> + Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;<br> +Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.<br> +<br> +<br> + 12<br> +<br> + The shepherd swain of whom I mention made,<br> + On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock;<br> + The sickle, scythe, or plough he never sway'd:<br> + An honest heart was almost all his stock;<br> + His drink the living water from the rock:<br> + The milky dams supplied his board, and lent<br> + Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock;<br> + And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent,<br> +Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went.<br> +<br> +<br> + 13<br> +<br> + From labour, health, from health, contentment, springs;<br> + Contentment opes the source of every joy.<br> + He envied not, he never thought of kings;<br> + Nor from those appetites sustain'd annoy,<br> + That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy;<br> + Nor Fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled;<br> + He mourn'd no recreant friend, nor mistress coy,<br> + For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled,<br> +And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child.<br> +<br> +<br> + 14<br> +<br> + No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,<br> + Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;<br> + Each season look'd delightful, as it pass'd,<br> + To the fond husband, and the faithful wife.<br> + Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life<br> + They never roam'd: secure beneath the storm<br> + Which in Ambition's lofty hand is rife,<br> + Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm<br> +Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.<br> +<br> +<br> + 15<br> +<br> + The wight whose tale these artless lines unfold,<br> + Was all the offspring of this humble pair:<br> + His birth no oracle or seer foretold;<br> + No prodigy appear'd in earth or air,<br> + Nor aught that might a strange event declare.<br> + You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth;<br> + The parent's transport, and the parent's care;<br> + The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth;<br> +And one long summer day of indolence and mirth.<br> +<br> +<br> + 16<br> +<br> + And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy:<br> + Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye.<br> + Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,<br> + Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy:<br> + Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;<br> + And now his look was most demurely sad;<br> + And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why.<br> + The neighbours stared and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad:<br> +Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.<br> +<br> +<br> + 17<br> +<br> + But why should I his childish feats display?<br> + Concourse, and noise, and toil he ever fled;<br> + Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray<br> + Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped,<br> + Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head,<br> + Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream<br> + To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led,<br> + There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam,<br> +Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.<br> +<br> +<br> + 18<br> +<br> + The exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,<br> + To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.<br> + His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed<br> + To work the woe of any living thing,<br> + By trap, or net; by arrow, or by sling:<br> + Those he detested; those he scorn'd to wield;<br> + He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king,<br> + Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field.<br> +And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.<br> +<br> +<br> + 19<br> +<br> + Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves<br> + Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine:<br> + And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves,<br> + From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine:<br> + While waters; woods, and winds in concert join,<br> + And Echo swells the chorus to the skies.<br> + Would Edwin this majestic scene resign<br> + For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies?<br> +Ah! no; he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.<br> +<br> +<br> + 20<br> +<br> + And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,<br> + When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,<br> + The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray,<br> + And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn:<br> + Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn,<br> + Where twilight loves to linger for a while;<br> + And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,<br> + And villager abroad at early toil.<br> +But, lo! the Sun appears, and heaven, earth, ocean smile!<br> +<br> +<br> + 21<br> +<br> + And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,<br> + When all in mist the world below was lost.<br> + What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,<br> + Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast,<br> + And view the enormous waste of vapour, toss'd<br> + In billows, lengthening to the horizon round,<br> + Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd!<br> + And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound,<br> +Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound!<br> +<br> +<br> + 22<br> +<br> + In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,<br> + Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene.<br> + In darkness, and in storm, he found delight:<br> + <a name="fr18">Nor</a> less than when on ocean-wave serene<br> + The southern Sun diffused his dazzling sheen<a href= +"#f18"><sup>2</sup></a>,<br> + Even sad vicissitude amused his soul:<br> + And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,<br> + And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,<br> +A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control.<br> +<br> +<br> + 23<br> +<br> + "O ye wild groves! O where is now your bloom?"<br> + (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought)<br> + "Your flowers, your verdure and your balmy gloom,<br> + Of late so grateful in the hour of drought?<br> + Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought<br> + To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake?<br> + Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought?<br> + For now the storm howls mournful through the brake,<br> +And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.<br> +<br> +<br> + 24<br> +<br> + "Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool,<br> + And meads, with life and mirth and beauty crown'd?<br> + Ah! see, the unsightly slime and sluggish pool,<br> + Have all the solitary vale imbrown'd;<br> + Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound,<br> + The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray:<br> + And, hark! the river, bursting every mound,<br> + Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful sway<br> +Uproots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks away.<br> +<br> +<br> + 25<br> + "Yet such the destiny of all on earth!<br> + So flourishes and fades majestic Man.<br> + Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,<br> + And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan.<br> + Oh, smile, ye heavens serene! ye mildews wan,<br> + Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime,<br> + Nor lessen of his life the little span!<br> + Borne on the swift, though silent wings of Time,<br> +Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.<br> +<br> +<br> + 26<br> +<br> + "And be it so. Let those deplore their doom,<br> + Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:<br> + But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,<br> + Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.<br> + Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return?<br> + Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed?<br> + Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn,<br> + And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed,<br> +Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.<br> +<br> +<br> + 27<br> +<br> + "Shall I be left forgotten in the dust,<br> + When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive?<br> + Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust,<br> + Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live?<br> + Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive<br> + With disappointment, penury, and pain?<br> + No! Heaven's immortal springs shall yet arrive,<br> + And man's majestic beauty bloom again,<br> +Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign."<br> +<br> +<br> + 28<br> +<br> + This truth sublime his simple sire had taught:<br> + In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew.<br> + No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought,<br> + Nor ever wish'd his Edwin to pursue.<br> + "Let man's own sphere," said he, "confine his view;<br> + Be man's peculiar work his sole delight."<br> + And much, and oft, he warn'd him to eschew<br> + Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right,<br> +By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might.<br> +<br> +<br> + 29<br> +<br> + "And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,<br> + O never, never turn away thine ear!<br> + Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below,<br> + Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear!<br> + To others do (the law is not severe)<br> + What to thyself thou wishest to be done.<br> + Forgive thy foes; and love thy parents dear,<br> + And friends, and native land; nor those alone:<br> +All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own."<br> +<br> +<br> + 30<br> +<br> + See, in the rear of the warm sunny shower<br> + The visionary boy from shelter fly;<br> + For now the storm of summer rain is o'er,<br> + And cool, and fresh, and fragrant is the sky.<br> + And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,<br> + The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun!<br> + Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh,<br> + How vain the chase thine ardour has begun!<br> +'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purposed race be run.<br> +<br> +<br> + 31<br> +<br> + Yet couldst thou learn that thus it fares with age,<br> + When pleasure, wealth, or power the bosom warm;<br> + This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage,<br> + And disappointment of her sting disarm.<br> + But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm?<br> + Perish the lore that deadens young desire!<br> + Pursue, poor imp, the imaginary charm,<br> + Indulge gay hope, and fancy's pleasing fire:<br> + Fancy and hope too soon shall of themselves expire.<br> +<br> +<br> + 32<br> +<br> + When the long-sounding curfew from afar<br> + Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale,<br> + Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star,<br> + Lingering and listening, wander'd down the vale.<br> + There would he dream of graves, and corses pale,<br> + And ghosts that to the charnel-dungeon throng,<br> + And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail,<br> + Till silenced by the owl's terrific song,<br> + Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering aisles along.<br> +<br> +<br> + 33<br> +<br> + Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dyed,<br> + Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep,<br> + To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied,<br> + Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep;<br> + And there let Fancy rove at large, till sleep<br> + A vision brought to his entrancèd sight.<br> + And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep<br> + Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright,<br> + With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of night.<br> +<br> +<br> + 34<br> +<br> + Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch<br> + Arose; the trumpet bids the valves unfold;<br> + And forth a host of little warriors march,<br> + Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold.<br> + Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold,<br> + And green their helms, and green their silk attire;<br> + And here and there, right venerably old,<br> + The long-robed minstrels wake the warbling wire,<br> + And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire.<br> +<br> +<br> + 35<br> +<br> + With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear,<br> + A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance;<br> + The little warriors doff the targe and spear,<br> + And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance.<br> + They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance;<br> + To right, to left, they thread the flying maze;<br> + Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance<br> + Rapid along: with many-colour'd rays<br> + Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze.<br> +<br> +<br> + 36<br> +<br> + The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day,<br> + Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion shrill,<br> + Fell chanticleer; who oft hath reft away<br> + My fancied good, and brought substantial ill!<br> + Oh, to thy cursed scream, discordant still,<br> + Let harmony aye shut her gentle ear:<br> + Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill,<br> + Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear,<br> + And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear!<br> +<br> +<br> + 37<br> +<br> + Forbear, my Muse. Let Love attune thy line.<br> + Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so.<br> + For how should he at wicked chance repine,<br> + Who feels from every change amusement flow?<br> + Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow,<br> + As on he wanders through the scenes of morn,<br> + Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow,<br> + Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn,<br> + A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.<br> +<br> +<br> + 38<br> +<br> + But who the melodies of morn can tell?<br> + The wild brook babbling down the mountain side;<br> + The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;<br> + The pipe of early shepherd dim descried<br> + In the lone valley; echoing far and wide<br> + The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;<br> + The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;<br> + The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,<br> + And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.<br> +<br> +<br> + 39<br> +<br> + The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;<br> + Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;<br> + The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!<br> + Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings;<br> + Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs;<br> + Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour;<br> + The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;<br> + Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower,<br> + And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tour.<br> +<br> +<br> + 40<br> +<br> + O Nature, how in every charm supreme!<br> + Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!<br> + O for the voice and fire of seraphim,<br> + To sing thy glories with devotion due!<br> + Blest be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew,<br> + From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty;<br> + And held high converse with the godlike few,<br> + Who to the enraptured heart, and ear, and eye,<br> + Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody.<br> +<br> +<br> + 41<br> +<br> + Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind,<br> + Sophists! of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane!<br> + Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind,<br> + Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane,<br> + And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain!<br> + Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime<br> + First gave you form! Hence! lest the Muse should deign<br> + (Though loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme),<br> + With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime.<br> +<br> +<br> + 42<br> +<br> + But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay,<br> + Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth!<br> + Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay,<br> + Amused my childhood, and inform'd my youth.<br> + O let your spirit still my bosom soothe,<br> + Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide;<br> + Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth,<br> + For well I know, wherever ye reside,<br> + There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide.<br> +<br> +<br> + 43<br> +<br> + Ah me! neglected on the lonesome plain,<br> + As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore,<br> + Save when against the winter's drenching rain,<br> + And driving snow, the cottage shut the door.<br> + Then, as instructed by tradition hoar,<br> + Her legend when the beldam 'gan impart,<br> + Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er,<br> + Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart;<br> + Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful art.<br> +<br> +<br> + 44<br> +<br> + Various and strange was the long-winded tale;<br> + And halls, and knights, and feats of arms display'd;<br> + Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,<br> + And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid;<br> + The moonlight revel of the fairy glade;<br> + <a name="fr19">Or</a> hags, that suckle an infernal brood,<br> + And ply in caves the unutterable trade<a href= +"#f19"><sup>3</sup></a>,<br> + 'Midst fiends and spectres quench the Moon in blood,<br> + Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood.<br> +<br> +<br> + 45<br> +<br> + But when to horror his amazement rose,<br> + A gentler strain the beldam would rehearse,<br> + A tale of rural life, a tale of woes,<br> + The orphan babes, and guardian uncle fierce.<br> + O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce<br> + That heart, by lust of lucre sear'd to stone?<br> + For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse,<br> + To latest times shall tender souls bemoan<br> + Those hopeless orphan babes by thy fell arts undone.<br> +<br> +<br> + 46<br> +<br> + <a name="fr20">behold</a>, with berries smear'd, with brambles +torn<a href="#f20"><sup>4</sup></a>,<br> + The babes, now famish'd, lay them down to die:<br> + Amidst the howl of darksome woods forlorn,<br> + Folded in one another's arms they lie;<br> + Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry:<br> + "For from the town the man returns no more."<br> + But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy,<br> + This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore,<br> + When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy +store.<br> +<br> +<br> + 47<br> +<br> + A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy<br> + Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear,—<br> + "But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy,<br> + And innocence thus die by doom severe?"<br> + O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere,<br> + The assaults of discontent and doubt repel:<br> + Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere;<br> + But let us hope; to doubt is to rebel:<br> + Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well.<br> +<br> +<br> + 48<br> +<br> + Nor be thy generous indignation check'd,<br> + Nor check'd the tender tear to Misery given;<br> + From Guilt's contagious power shall <i>that</i> protect,<br> + <i>This</i> soften and refine the soul for Heaven.<br> + But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has driven<br> + To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego:<br> + Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven,<br> + Perfection, beauty, life, they never know,<br> + But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe.<br> +<br> +<br> + 49<br> +<br> + Shall he whose birth, maturity, and age<br> + Scarce fill the circle of one summer day,<br> + Shall the poor gnat, with discontent and rage,<br> + Exclaim that Nature hastens to decay,<br> + If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray,<br> + If but a momentary shower descend?<br> + Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay,<br> + Which bade the series of events extend<br> + Wide through unnumber'd worlds, and ages without end?<br> +<br> +<br> + 50<br> +<br> + One part, one little part, we dimly scan<br> + Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;<br> + Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,<br> + If but that little part incongruous seem.<br> + Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem;<br> + Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.<br> + O, then, renounce that impious self-esteem,<br> + That aims to trace the secrets of the skies:<br> + For thou art but of dust; be humble, and be wise.<br> +<br> +<br> + 51<br> +<br> + Thus Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years.<br> + For Nature gave him strength and fire, to soar<br> + On Fancy's wing above this vale of tears;<br> + Where dark cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore<br> + Through microscope of metaphysic lore;<br> + And much they grope for Truth, but never hit.<br> + For why? Their powers, inadequate before,<br> + This idle art makes more and more unfit;<br> + Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders wit.<br> +<br> +<br> + 52<br> +<br> + Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth.<br> + Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device<br> + Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social hearth;<br> + Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice<br> + To purchase chat or laughter, at the price<br> + Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed,<br> + That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice.<br> + Ah! had they been of court or city breed,<br> + Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed.<br> +<br> +<br> + 53<br> +<br> + Oft when the winter storm had ceased to rave,<br> + He roam'd the snowy waste at even, to view<br> + The cloud stupendous, from the Atlantic wave<br> + High-towering, sail along the horizon blue;<br> + Where, 'midst the changeful scenery, ever new,<br> + Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries,<br> + More wildly great than ever pencil drew,<br> + Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size,<br> + And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.<br> +<br> +<br> + 54<br> +<br> + Thence musing onward to the sounding shore,<br> + The lone enthusiast oft would take his way,<br> + Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar<br> + Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array,<br> + When sulphurous clouds roll'd on the autumnal day,<br> + Even then he hasten'd from the haunt of man,<br> + Along the trembling wilderness to stray,<br> + What time the lightning's fierce career began,<br> +And o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran.<br> +<br> +<br> + 55<br> +<br> + Responsive to the lively pipe, when all<br> + In sprightly dance the village youth were join'd,<br> + Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall,<br> + From the rude gambol far remote reclined,<br> + Soothed with the soft notes warbling in the wind,<br> + Ah! then all jollity seem'd noise and folly,<br> + To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined;<br> + Ah! what is mirth but turbulence unholy,<br> +When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy?<br> +<br> +<br> + 56<br> +<br> + Is there a heart that music cannot melt?<br> + Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn!<br> + Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt<br> + Of solitude and melancholy born?<br> + He needs not woo the Muse; he is her scorn.<br> + The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine;<br> + Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page; or mourn,<br> + And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine;<br> +Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swine.<br> +<br> +<br> + 57<br> +<br> + For Edwin, Fate a nobler doom had plann'd;<br> + Song was his favourite and first pursuit.<br> + The wild harp rang to his adventurous hand,<br> + And languish'd to his breath the plaintive flute.<br> + His infant Muse, though artless, was not mute:<br> + Of elegance as yet he took no care;<br> + For this of time and culture is the fruit;<br> + And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare:<br> +As in some future verse I purpose to declare.<br> +<br> +<br> + 58<br> +<br> + Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful or new,<br> + Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky,<br> + By chance or search, was offer'd to his view,<br> + He scann'd with curious and romantic eye.<br> + Whate'er of lore tradition could supply<br> + From Gothic tale, or song, or fable old,<br> + Roused him, still keen to listen and to pry.<br> + At last, though long by penury controll'd<br> +And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold.<br> +<br> +<br> + 59<br> +<br> + Thus on the chill Lapponian's dreary land,<br> + For many a long month lost in snow profound,<br> + When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland,<br> + And in their northern caves the storms are bound;<br> + From silent mountains, straight, with startling sound,<br> + Torrents are hurl'd; green hills emerge; and, lo!<br> + The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crown'd;<br> + <a name="fr21">Pure</a> rills through vales of verdure warbling +go;<br> +And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow<a href= +"#f21"><sup>5</sup></a>.<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> + Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little while,<br> + The leisure hour is all that thou canst claim.<br> + But on this verse if Montagu should smile,<br> + New strains ere long shall animate thy frame.<br> + And her applause to me is more than fame;<br> + For still with truth accords her taste refined.<br> + At lucre or renown let others aim,<br> + I only wish to please the gentle mind,<br> +Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of humankind.</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f17"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� There is hardly an ancient 'ballad' or romance, +wherein a minstrel or a harper appears, but he is characterized, +by way of eminence, to have been 'of the north countrie'. It is +probable that under this appellation were formerly comprehended +all the provinces to the north of the Trent.—See <i>Percy's +Essay on the Minstrels</i>.<br> +<a href="#fr17">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <br> +<a name="f18"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Dazzling sheen:' Brightness, splendour. The word is +used by some late writers, as well as by Milton.<br> +<a href="#fr18">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f19"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +3:</span>� Allusion to Shakspeare:— + +<blockquote><i>Mac</i>. How now, ye secret, black, and midnight +hags,<br> + What is't ye do?<br> +<br> + <i>Wit</i>. A deed without a name.<br> +<br> + (<i>Macbeth</i>, Act 4, Scene 1.)]</blockquote> + +<a href="#fr19">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="f20"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +4:</span>� See the fine old ballad called, <i>The Children in the +Wood</i>.<br> +<a href="#fr20">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f21"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +5:</span>� Spring and autumn are hardly known to the Laplanders. +About the time the sun enters Cancer, their fields, which a week +before were covered with snow, appear on a sudden full of grass +and flowers.—Scheffer's <i>History of Lapland.</i><br> +<br> + <a href="#fr21">return</a><br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<br> + + +<h3><a name="section2b">Book II</a></h3> + +<blockquote><i>Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,<br> + Rectique cultus pectora roborant.<br> +<br> + (Horat.)</i></blockquote> + +<br> +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Of chance or change, O let not man complain,<br> + Else shall he never, never cease to wail;<br> + For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain<br> + Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,<br> + All feel the assault of Fortune's fickle gale;<br> + Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom'd;<br> + Earthquakes have raised to Heaven the humble vale,<br> + <a name="fr22">And</a> gulfs the mountain's mighty mass +entomb'd;<br> +And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloom'd<a href= +"#f22"><sup>1</sup></a>.<br> +<br> +<br> +2<br> +<br> + But sure to foreign climes we need not range,<br> + Nor search the ancient records of our race,<br> + To learn the dire effects of time and change,<br> + Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.<br> + Yet at the darken'd eye, the wither'd face,<br> + Or hoary hair, I never will repine:<br> + But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,<br> + Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,<br> +Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command,<br> + Shall here without reluctance change my lay,<br> + And smite the Gothic lyre with harsher hand;<br> + Now when I leave that flowery path, for aye,<br> + Of childhood, where I sported many a day,<br> + Warbling and sauntering carelessly along;<br> + Where every face was innocent and gay,<br> + Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,<br> +Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + "Perish the lore that deadens young desire,"<br> + Is the soft tenor of my song no more.<br> + Edwin, though loved of Heaven, must not aspire<br> + To bliss, which mortals never knew before.<br> + On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,<br> + Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy:<br> + But now and then the shades of life explore;<br> + Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy,<br> +And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows:<br> + The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,<br> + Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;<br> + But soon it withers in the chilling hour.<br> + Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the power<br> + Of all the warring winds of heaven they rise,<br> + And from the stormy promontory tower,<br> + And toss their giant arms amid the skies,<br> +While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + And now the downy cheek and deepen'd voice<br> + Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime;<br> + And walks of wider circuit were his choice,<br> + And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime.<br> + One evening, as he framed the careless rhyme,<br> + It was his chance to wander far abroad,<br> + And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,<br> + Which heretofore his foot had never trod;<br> +A vale appear'd below, a deep retired abode.<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> +<br> + Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene;<br> + For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell,<br> + Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green,<br> + Fenced from the north and east this savage dell.<br> + Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,<br> + Whose long long groves eternal murmur made:<br> + And toward the western sun a streamlet fell,<br> + Where, through the cliffs, the eye remote survey'd<br> +Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold array'd.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Along this narrow valley you might see<br> + The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,<br> + And, here and there, a solitary tree,<br> + Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.<br> + Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound<br> + Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;<br> + And from the summit of that craggy mound<br> + The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,<br> +Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + One cultivated spot there was, that spread<br> + Its flowery bosom to the noonday beam,<br> + Where many a rosebud rears its blushing head,<br> + And herbs for food with future plenty teem.<br> + Soothed by the lulling sound of grove and stream,<br> + Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul:<br> + He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam,<br> + Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll;<br> +When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole.<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + "Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,<br> + And woo the weary to profound repose!<br> + Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest,<br> + And whisper comfort to the man of woes?<br> + Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes,<br> + And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.<br> + O Solitude! the man who thee foregoes,<br> + When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,<br> +Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.<br> +<br> +<br> + 11<br> +<br> + "Vain man! is grandeur given to gay attire?<br> + Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid:<br> + To friends, attendants, armies bought with hire?<br> + It is thy weakness that requires their aid:<br> + To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?<br> + They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm:<br> + To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?<br> + Behold the victor vanquish'd by the worm!<br> +Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!<br> +<br> +<br> + 12<br> +<br> + "True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind<br> + Virtue has raised above the things below;<br> + Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resign'd,<br> + Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow."<br> + This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flow<br> + In solemn sounds. Now beam'd the evening star;<br> + And from embattled clouds emerging slow,<br> + Cynthia came riding on her silver car;<br> +And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.<br> +<br> +<br> + 13<br> +<br> + Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew<br> + (While Edwin, wrapt in wonder, listening stood):<br> + "Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu,<br> + Scorn'd by the wise, and hated by the good!<br> + Ye only can engage the servile brood<br> + Of Levity and Lust, who all their days,<br> + Ashamed of truth and liberty, have woo'd<br> + And hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their gaze,<br> +Seems to outshine the pomp of Heaven's empyreal blaze<br> +<br> +<br> + 14<br> +<br> + "Like them, abandon'd to Ambition's sway,<br> + I sought for glory in the paths of guile;<br> + And fawn'd and smiled, to plunder and betray,<br> + Myself betray'd and plunder'd all the while;<br> + So gnaw'd the viper the corroding file;<br> + But now with pangs of keen remorse, I rue<br> + Those years of trouble and debasement vile.<br> + Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue?<br> +Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view!<br> +<br> +<br> + 15<br> +<br> + "The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care,<br> + And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast,<br> + Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall share<br> + This heart, where peace serenely shines at last.<br> + And if for me no treasure be amass'd,<br> + And if no future age shall hear my name,<br> + I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast,<br> + And with more leisure feed this pious flame,<br> +Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame.<br> +<br> +<br> + 16<br> +<br> + "The end and the reward of toil is rest.<br> + Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace.<br> + Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd,<br> + Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease?<br> + Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece,<br> + The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string,<br> + The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece,<br> + All that art, fortune, enterprise can bring,<br> +If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride the bosom wring?<br> +<br> +<br> + 17<br> +<br> + "Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb<br> + With trophies, rhymes, and 'scutcheons of renown,<br> + In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome,<br> + Where night and desolation ever frown.<br> + Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down,<br> + Where a green, grassy turf is all I crave,<br> + With here and there a violet bestrewn,<br> + Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave;<br> + And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.<br> +<br> +<br> + 18<br> +<br> + "And thither let the village swain repair;<br> + And, light of heart, the village maiden gay,<br> + To deck with flowers her half-dishevell'd hair,<br> + And celebrate the merry morn of May.<br> + There let the shepherd's pipe the livelong day<br> + Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe;<br> + And when mild Evening comes in mantle gray,<br> + Let not the blooming band make haste to go;<br> + No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know.<br> +<br> +<br> + 19<br> +<br> + "For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage,<br> + And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn,<br> + Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage,<br> + Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn:<br> + For virtue lost, and ruin'd man I mourn.<br> + O man! creation's pride, Heaven's darling child,<br> + Whom Nature's best, divinest gifts adorn,<br> + Why from thy home are truth and joy exiled,<br> + And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears defiled?<br> +<br> +<br> + 20<br> +<br> + "Along yon glittering sky what glory streams!<br> + What majesty attends Night's lovely queen!<br> + Fair laugh our valleys in the vernal beams;<br> + And mountains rise, and oceans roll between,<br> + And all conspire to beautify the scene.<br> + But, in the mental world, what chaos drear!<br> + What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien!<br> + O when shall that Eternal Morn appear,<br> + These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to clear?<br> +<br> +<br> + 21<br> +<br> + "O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon Heaven,<br> + In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light,<br> + Rose from the abyss; when dark Confusion, driven<br> + Down, down the bottomless profound of night,<br> + Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight!<br> + O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray,<br> + To blast the fury of oppressive might,<br> + Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway,<br> + And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way!"<br> +<br> +<br> + 22<br> +<br> + Silence ensued; and Edwin raised his eyes<br> + In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart.<br> + "And is it thus in courtly life," he cries,<br> + "That man to man acts a betrayer's part?<br> + And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert,<br> + Each social instinct, and sublime desire?<br> + Hail, Poverty! if honour, wealth, and art,<br> + If what the great pursue and learn'd admire,<br> + Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!"<br> +<br> +<br> + 23<br> +<br> + He said, and turn'd away; nor did the Sage<br> + O'erhear, in silent orisons employ'd.<br> + The Youth, his rising sorrow to assuage,<br> + Home, as he hied, the evening scene enjoy'd:<br> + <a name="fr23">For</a> now no cloud obscures the starry +void;<br> + The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills<a href= +"#f23"><sup>2</sup></a>;<br> + Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy'd;<br> + A soothing murmur the lone region fills<br> + Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.<br> +<br> +<br> + 24<br> +<br> + But he from day to day more anxious grew,<br> + The voice still seem'd to vibrate on his ear.<br> + Nor durst he hope the hermit's tale untrue;<br> + For man he seem'd to love, and Heaven to fear;<br> + And none speaks false, where there is none to hear.<br> + "Yet, can man's gentle heart become so fell?<br> + No more in vain conjecture let me wear<br> + My hours away, but seek the hermit's cell;<br> + 'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel."<br> +<br> +<br> + 25<br> +<br> + At early dawn the Youth his journey took,<br> + And many a mountain pass'd and valley wide,<br> + Then reach'd the wild; where, in a flowery nook,<br> + And seated on a mossy stone, he spied<br> + An ancient man: his harp lay him beside.<br> + A stag sprang from the pasture at his call,<br> + And, kneeling, lick'd the wither'd hand that tied<br> + A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall,<br> + And hung his lofty neck with many a floweret small.<br> +<br> +<br> + 26<br> +<br> + And now the hoary Sage arose, and saw<br> + The wanderer approaching: innocence<br> + Smiled on his glowing cheek, but modest awe<br> + Depress'd his eye, that fear'd to give offence.<br> + "Who art thou, courteous stranger and from whence<br> + Why roam thy steps to this sequester'd dale?"<br> + "A shepherd boy," the Youth replied, "far hence<br> + My habitation; hear my artless tale;<br> + Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail<br> +<br> +<br> + 27<br> +<br> + "Late as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms,<br> + I reach'd at eve this wilderness profound;<br> + And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms,<br> + Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound<br> + (For in thy speech I recognise the sound).<br> + You mourn'd for ruin'd man, and virtue lost,<br> + And seem'd to feel of keen remorse the wound,<br> + Pondering on former days, by guilt engross'd,<br> + Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss'd.<br> +<br> +<br> + 28<br> +<br> + "But say, in courtly life can craft be learn'd,<br> + Where knowledge opens and exalts the soul?<br> + Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearn'd,<br> + Can selfishness the liberal heart control?<br> + Is glory there achieved by arts as foul<br> + As those that felons, fiends, and furies plan?<br> + Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tigers prowl:<br> + Love is the godlike attribute of man.<br> + O teach a simple youth this mystery to scan.<br> +<br> +<br> + 29<br> +<br> + "Or else the lamentable strain disclaim,<br> + And give me back the calm, contented mind.<br> + Which, late exulting, view'd in Nature's frame<br> + Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfined,<br> + Grace, grandeur, and utility combined.<br> + Restore those tranquil days that saw me still<br> + Well pleased with all, but most with humankind;<br> + When Fancy roam'd through Nature's works at will,<br> + Uncheck'd by cold distrust, and uninform'd by ill."<br> +<br> +<br> + 30<br> +<br> + "Wouldst thou," the Sage replied, "in peace return<br> + To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth,<br> + Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn,<br> + From every gentle ear the dreadful truth:<br> + For if any desultory strain with ruth<br> + And indignation make thine eyes o'erflow,<br> + Alas! what comfort could thy anguish soothe,<br> + Shouldst thou the extent of human folly know?<br> + Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.<br> +<br> +<br> + 31<br> +<br> + "But let untender thoughts afar be driven;<br> + Nor venture to arraign the dread decree.<br> + For know, to man, as candidate for heaven,<br> + The voice of the Eternal said, Be free:<br> + And this divine prerogative to thee<br> + Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey;<br> + For virtue is the child of liberty,<br> + And happiness of virtue; nor can they<br> + Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.<br> +<br> +<br> + 32<br> +<br> + "Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief,<br> + Which else might thy young virtue overpower;<br> + And in thy converse I shall find relief,<br> + When the dark shades of melancholy lower;<br> + For solitude has many a dreary hour,<br> + Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain:<br> + Come often then; for haply, in my bower,<br> + Amusement, knowledge, wisdom thou mayst gain:<br> + If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain."<br> +<br> +<br> + 33<br> +<br> + And now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gaze<br> + The Muse of history unrolls her page.<br> + But few, alas! the scenes her art displays,<br> + To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.<br> + Here chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage,<br> + And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness burn<br> + Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage,<br> + But, lo! ere long, is left alone to mourn,<br> + And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandon'd urn.<br> +<br> +<br> + 34<br> +<br> + "Ambition's slippery verge shall mortals tread,<br> + Where ruin's gulf, unfathom'd, yawns beneath?<br> + Shall life, shall liberty be lost," he said,<br> + "For the vain toys that Pomp and Power bequeath?<br> + The car of victory, the plume, the wreath<br> + Defend not from the bolt of fate the brave:<br> + No note the clarion of Renown can breathe,<br> + To alarm the long night of the lonely grave,<br> +Or check the headlong haste of time's o'erwhelming wave.<br> +<br> +<br> + 35<br> +<br> + "Ah, what avails it to have traced the springs,<br> + That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel?<br> + Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings,<br> + Hands drench'd in blood, and breasts begirt with steel?<br> + To those, whom Nature taught to think and feel,<br> + Heroes, alas! are things of small concern;<br> + Could History man's secret heart reveal,<br> + And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn,<br> +Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not yearn?<br> +<br> +<br> + 36<br> +<br> + <a name="fr24">"This</a> praise, O Cheronean sage<a href= +"#f24"><sup>3</sup></a> is thine!<br> + (Why should this praise to thee alone belong?)<br> + All else from Nature's moral path decline,<br> + Lured by the toys that captivate the throng;<br> + To herd in cabinets and camps, among<br> + Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride;<br> + Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song,<br> + How tyrant blood o'er many a region wide,<br> +Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.<br> +<br> +<br> + 37<br> +<br> + "Oh, who of man the story will unfold,<br> + Ere victory and empire wrought annoy,<br> + In that Elysian age misnamed of gold),<br> + The age of love, and innocence and joy,<br> + When all were great and free! man's sole employ<br> + To deck the bosom of his parent earth;<br> + Or toward his bower the murmuring stream decoy,<br> + To aid the floweret's long-expected birth,<br> + And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of mirth?<br> +<br> +<br> + 38<br> +<br> + "Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves!<br> + Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,<br> + Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves,<br> + His eye still smiling, and his heart content.<br> + Then, hand in hand, Health, Sport, and Labour went.<br> + Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave.<br> + None prowl'd for prey, none watch'd to circumvent;<br> + To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave:<br> + No vassal fear'd his lord, no tyrant fear'd his slave.<br> +<br> +<br> + 39<br> +<br> + "But ah! the Historic Muse has never dared<br> + To pierce those hallow'd bowers: 'tis Fancy's beam<br> + Pour'd on the vision of the enraptured bard,<br> + That paints the charms of that delicious theme.<br> + Then hail, sweet Fancy's ray! and hail, the dream<br> + That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe!<br> + Careless what others of my choice may deem,<br> + I long, where Love and Fancy lead, to go<br> + And meditate on Heaven; enough of Earth I know."<br> +<br> +<br> + 40<br> +<br> + "I cannot blame thy choice," the Sage replied,<br> + "For soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways.<br> + And yet even there, if left without a guide,<br> + The young adventurer unsafely plays.<br> + Eyes dazzled long by fiction's gaudy rays,<br> + In modest truth no light nor beauty find.<br> + And who, my child, would trust the meteor blaze,<br> + That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind,<br> + More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had shined?<br> +<br> +<br> + 41<br> +<br> + "Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart;<br> + And while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight:<br> + To joy each heightening charm it can impart,<br> + But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.<br> + And often, where no real ills affright,<br> + Its visionary fiends, an endless train,<br> + Assail with equal or superior might,<br> + And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain,<br> + And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.<br> +<br> +<br> + 42<br> +<br> + "And yet, alas! the real ills of life<br> + Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared,<br> + Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife,<br> + Its guide experience, and truth its guard.<br> + We fare on earth as other men have fared.<br> + Were they successful? Let us not despair,<br> + Was disappointment oft their sole reward?<br> + Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare<br> + How they have borne the load ourselves are doom'd to bear.<br> +<br> +<br> + 43<br> +<br> + "What charms the Historic Muse adorn, from spoils,<br> + And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her flight,<br> + To hail the patriot prince, whose pious toils,<br> + Sacred to science, liberty, and right,<br> + And peace, through every age divinely bright<br> + Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind!<br> + Sees yonder sun, from his meridian height,<br> + A lovelier scene than virtue thus enshrined<br> + In power, and man with man for mutual aid combined?<br> +<br> +<br> + 44<br> +<br> + "Hail, sacred Polity, by Freedom rear'd!<br> + Hail, sacred Freedom, when by law restrain'd!<br> + Without you, what were man? A grovelling herd,<br> + In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain'd.<br> + Sublimed by you, the Greek and Roman reign'd<br> + In arts unrivall'd! O, to latest days,<br> + In Albion may your influence unprofaned<br> + To godlike worth the generous bosom raise,<br> + And prompt the sage's lore, and fire the poet's lays!<br> +<br> +<br> + 45<br> +<br> + "But now let other themes our care engage.<br> + For, lo, with modest yet majestic grace,<br> + To curb Imagination's lawless rage,<br> + And from within the cherish'd heart to brace,<br> + Philosophy appears! The gloomy race<br> + By Indolence and moping Fancy bred,<br> + Fear, Discontent, Solicitude, give place;<br> + And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead,<br> + While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed!<br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="fr25">46</a><br> +<br> + "Then waken from long lethargy to life<a href= +"#f25"><sup>4</sup></a><br> + The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought;<br> + Then jarring appetites forego their strife,<br> + A strife by ignorance to madness wrought.<br> + Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought<br> + With fell revenge; lust that defies control,<br> + With gluttony and death. The mind untaught<br> + Is a dark waste, where fiends and tempests howl;<br> + As Phoebus to the world, is science to the soul.<br> +<br> +<br> + 47<br> +<br> + "And Reason now through number, time, and space,<br> + Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,<br> + And learns, from facts compared, the laws to trace,<br> + Whose long progression leads to Deity.<br> + Can mortal strength presume to soar so high?<br> + Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm'd with tears,<br> + Such glory bear?—for, lo! the shadows fly<br> + From Nature's face; confusion disappears,<br> + And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears!<br> +<br> +<br> + 48<br> +<br> + "In the deep windings of the grove, no more<br> + The hag obscene and grisly phantom dwell;<br> + Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar<br> + Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell;<br> + No wizard mutters the tremendous spell,<br> + Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon;<br> + Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell,<br> + To ease of fancied pangs the labouring moon,<br> + Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of noon.<br> +<br> +<br> + 49<br> +<br> + "Many a long lingering year, in lonely isle,<br> + Stunn'd with the eternal turbulence of waves,<br> + Lo! with dim eyes, that never learn'd to smile,<br> + And trembling hands, the famish'd native craves<br> + Of Heaven his wretched fare; shivering in caves,<br> + Or scorch'd on rocks, he pines from day to day;<br> + But Science gives the word; and, lo! he braves<br> + The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray,<br> + And to a happier land wafts merrily away!<br> +<br> +<br> + 50<br> +<br> + "And even where Nature loads the teeming plain<br> + With the full pomp of vegetable store,<br> + Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane:<br> + <a name="fr26">Dark</a> woods and rankling wilds, from shore to +shore,<br> + Stretch their enormous gloom; which to explore<a href= +"#f26"><sup>5</sup></a><br> + Even Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood:<br> + For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore,<br> + Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood,<br> + Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every flood.<br> +<br> +<br> + 51<br> +<br> + "'Twas from Philosophy man learn'd to tame<br> + The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.<br> + Lo! from the echoing axe and thundering flame,<br> + Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled.<br> + The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,<br> + Bring health and melody to every vale:<br> + And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,<br> + Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,<br> + To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.<br> +<br> +<br> + 52<br> +<br> + "What dire necessities on every hand<br> + Our art, our strength, our fortitude require!<br> + Of foes intestine what a numerous band<br> + Against this little throb of life conspire!<br> + Yet Science can elude their fatal ire<br> + A while, and turn aside Death's levell'd dart,<br> + Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire,<br> + And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,<br> + And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.<br> +<br> +<br> + 53<br> +<br> + "Nor less to regulate man's moral frame<br> + Science exerts her all-composing sway.<br> + Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,<br> + Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey,<br> + Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they?<br> + Flee to the shade of Academus' grove;<br> + Where cares molest not, discord melts away<br> + In harmony, and the pure passions prove<br> + How sweet the words of Truth, breathed from the lips of +Love.<br> +<br> +<br> + 54<br> +<br> + "What cannot Art and Industry perform,<br> + When Science plans the progress of their toil?<br> + They smile at penury, disease, and storm;<br> + And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.<br> + When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil<br> + A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage<br> + Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,<br> + Deep-versed in man the philosophic sage<br> + Prepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage.<br> +<br> +<br> + 55<br> +<br> + "'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,<br> + From situation, temper, soil, and clime<br> + Explored, a nation's various powers can bind,<br> + And various orders in one Form sublime<br> + Of policy, that 'midst the wrecks of time,<br> + Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear<br> + The assault of foreign or domestic crime,<br> + While public faith, and public love sincere,<br> + And industry and law, maintain their sway severe."<br> +<br> +<br> +56<br> +<br> + Enraptured by the hermit's strain, the youth<br> + Proceeds the path of Science to explore.<br> + And now, expanded to the beams of truth,<br> + New energies, and charms unknown before,<br> + His mind discloses: Fancy now no more<br> + Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies;<br> + But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power,<br> + Aloft from cause to cause exults to rise,<br> + Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies.<br> +<br> +<br> + 57<br> +<br> + Nor love of novelty alone inspires,<br> + Their laws and nice dependencies to scan;<br> + For, mindful of the aids that life requires,<br> + And of the services man owes to man,<br> + He meditates new arts on Nature's plan;<br> + The cold desponding breast of sloth to warm,<br> + The flame of industry and genius fan,<br> + And emulation's noble rage alarm,<br> + And the long hours of toil and solitude to charm.<br> +<br> +<br> + 58<br> +<br> + But she, who set on fire his infant heart,<br> + And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shared<br> + And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art,<br> + Still claim the enthusiast's fond and first regard.<br> + From Nature's beauties, variously compared<br> + <a name="fr27">And</a> variously combined, he learns to +frame<br> + Those forms of bright perfection<a href="#f27"><sup>6</sup></a>, +which the bard,<br> + While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame,<br> + Enamour'd, consecrates to never-dying fame.<br> +<br> +<br> + 59<br> +<br> + Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show,<br> + Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,<br> + Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now<br> + To his experienced eye a modest grace<br> + Presents, where ornament the second place<br> + Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design<br> + Subservient still. Simplicity apace<br> + Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine,<br> + And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the unwieldy line.<br> +<br> +<br> + 60<br> +<br> + Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)<br> + <a name="fr28">What</a> sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,<br> + When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains<a href= +"#f28"><sup>7</sup></a><br> + His deep majestic melody 'gan roll:<br> + Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul,<br> + How the red current throbb'd his veins along,<br> + When, like Pelides, bold beyond control,<br> + Without art graceful, without effort strong,<br> + Homer raised high to heaven the loud, the impetuous song.<br> +<br> +<br> + 61<br> +<br> + And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,<br> + Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain,<br> + Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,<br> + Was taught to modulate the artful strain,<br> + I fain would sing:—But ah! I strive in vain.<br> + Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.<br> + With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,<br> + I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,<br> + And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.<br> +<br> +<br> + 62<br> +<br> + Adieu, ye lays that Fancy's flowers adorn,<br> + The soft amusement of the vacant mind!<br> + He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,<br> + He, whom each virtue fired, each grace refined,<br> + <a name="fr29">Friend,</a> teacher, pattern, darling of +mankind!<br> + He sleeps in dust¡<a href="#f29"><sup>8</sup></a>. Ah, how +shall I pursue<br> + My theme? To heart-consuming grief resign'd,<br> + Here on his recent grave I fix my view,<br> + And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu!<br> +<br> +<br> + 63<br> +<br> + Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled?<br> + And am I left to unavailing woe?<br> + When fortune's storms assail this weary head,<br> + Where cares long since have shed untimely snow,<br> + Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go?<br> + No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers:<br> + Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,<br> + My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.<br> + 'Tis meet that I should mourn: flow forth afresh, my +tears.</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f22"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� See Plato's <i>Timæus</i>.<br> +<a href="#fr22">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f23"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� + +<blockquote>How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.<br> +<br> +(Shakspeare.)</blockquote> + +<a href="#fr23">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f24"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +3:</span>� 'Cheronean sage:' Plutarch.<br> +<a href="#fr24">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f25"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +4:</span>� The influence of the philosophic spirit, in humanizing +the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and delicate +pleasure;—in exploring, by the help of geometry, the system of +the universe;—in banishing superstition; in promoting +navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral and political +science.<br> +<a href="#fr25">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f26"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +5:</span>� 'To explore:' this, from Thomson, who says in his +'Summer'— + +<blockquote>Which even imagination fears to tread.</blockquote> + +<a href="#fr26">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="f27"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +6:</span>� General ideas of excellence, the immediate archetypes +of sublime imitation, both in painting and in poetry. See +Aristotle's <i>Poetics</i>, and the <i>Discourses</i> of Sir +Joshua Reynolds.<br> +<a href="#fr27">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f28"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +7:</span>� 'Great shepherd of the Mantuan plains:' Virgil.<br> +<a href="#fr28">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> + <a name="f29"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +8:</span>� This excellent person died suddenly on the 10th of +February 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days +after.<br> +<a href="#fr29">return</a><br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h2><a name="section3">Miscellaneous Poems</a></h2> + +<br> +<hr width="50%" align="left"> +<br> +<br> +<h3><a name="section4">Ode to Hope</a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="Ode to Hope" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. 1.</td> +<td>O thou, who gladd'st the pensive soul,<br> + More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn,<br> + Left all night long to mourn<br> + Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl,<br> + And shrieks of woe, as intermits the storm,<br> + Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound,<br> + And 'cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form,<br> + And many a fire-eyed visage glares around!<br> + O come, and be once more my guest:<br> + Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard,<br> + And oft with smiles indulgent cheer'd<br> + And soothed him into rest.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. 2.</td> +<td>Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye<br> + Deep flashing through the midnight of their mind,<br> + The sable bands combined,<br> + Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky,<br> + Appall'd retire. Suspicion hides her head,<br> + Nor dares the obliquely gleaming eyeball raise;<br> + Despair, with gorgon-figured veil o'erspread,<br> + Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze.<br> + Lo! startled at the heavenly ray,<br> + With speed unwonted Indolence upsprings,<br> + And, heaving, lifts her leaden wings,<br> + And sullen glides away:</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. 3.</td> +<td>Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy view'd,<br> + Dissolve.—Above the sparkling flood,<br> + When Phoebus rears his awful brow,<br> + From lengthening lawn and valley low<br> + The troops of fen-born mists retire.<br> + Along the plain<br> + The joyous swain<br> + Eyes the gay villages again,<br> + And gold-illumined spire;<br> + While on the billowy ether borne<br> + Floats the loose lay's jovial measure;<br> + And light along the fairy Pleasure,<br> + Her green robes glittering to the morn,<br> + Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all<br> + To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall,<br> + Or westward, with impetuous flight,<br> + Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial night.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II. 1.</td> +<td>When first on childhood's eager gaze<br> + Life's varied landscape, stretch'd immense around,<br> + Starts out of night profound,<br> + Thy voice incites to tempt the untrodden maze.<br> + Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face,<br> + His bashful eye still kindling as he views,<br> + And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace,<br> + With beating heart the upland path pursues:<br> + The path that leads, where, hung sublime,<br> + And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright<br> + In Fancy's rainbow ray, invite<br> + His wingy nerves to climb.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II. 2.</td> +<td>Pursue thy pleasurable way,<br> + Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard,<br> + While melting airs are heard,<br> + And soft-eyed cherub-forms around thee play:<br> + Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd,<br> + Prattling amusive in his accent meek;<br> + And Modesty, half turning as afraid,<br> + The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek!<br> + Content and Leisure, hand in hand<br> + With Innocence and Peace, advance and sing;<br> + And Mirth, in many a mazy ring,<br> + Frisks o'er the flowery land.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II. 3.</td> +<td>Frail man, how various is thy lot below!<br> + To-day though gales propitious blow,<br> + And Peace soft gliding down the sky<br> + Lead Love along and Harmony,<br> + To-morrow the gay scene deforms!<br> + Then all around<br> + The Thunder's sound<br> + Rolls rattling on through Heaven's profound,<br> + And down rush all the storms.<br> + Ye days that balmy influence shed,<br> + When sweet childhood, ever sprightly,<br> + In paths of pleasure sported lightly,<br> + Whither, ah! whither are ye fled?<br> + Ye cherub train, that brought him on his way,<br> + O leave him not 'midst tumult and dismay;<br> + For now youth's eminence he gains;<br> + But what a weary length of lingering toil remains!</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III. 1.</td> +<td>They shrink, they vanish into air,<br> + Now slander taints with pestilence the gale;<br> + And mingling cries assail,<br> + The wail of Woe, and groan of grim Despair,<br> + Lo! wizard Envy from his serpent eye<br> + Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance;<br> + Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy,<br> + Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance.<br> + Behold, amidst the dire array,<br> + Pale wither'd Care his giant stature rears,<br> + And, lo! his iron hand prepares<br> + To grasp its feeble prey.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III. 2.</td> +<td>Who now will guard bewilder'd youth<br> + Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage?<br> + Such war can Virtue wage,<br> + Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth?<br> + Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car<br> + The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne;<br> + While the fair captive, mark'd with many a scar,<br> + In lone obscurity, oppress'd, forlorn,<br> + Resigns to tears her angel form.<br> + Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly?<br> + No friend, no shelter now is nigh,<br> + And onward rolls the storm.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III. 3.</td> +<td>But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?<br> + Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?<br> + Lo! from amidst affliction's night<br> + Hope bursts all radiant on the sight:<br> + Her words the troubled bosom soothe.<br> + "Why thus dismay'd?<br> + Though foes invade,<br> + Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid<br> + Who tread the path of truth.<br> + 'Tis I, who smoothe the rugged way,<br> + I, who close the eyes of Sorrow,<br> + And with glad visions of to-morrow<br> + Repair the weary soul's decay.<br> + When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart,<br> + Dreams of Heaven's opening glories I impart,<br> + Till the freed spirit springs on high<br> + In rapture too severe for weak mortality."</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section5">Ode to Peace</a></h3> + +<br> + + +<table summary="Ode to Peace" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. 1.</td> +<td>Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose powerful voice<br> + From ancient darkness call'd the morn,<br> + Of jarring elements composed the noise;<br> + When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,<br> + With all his bellowing throng,<br> + Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss along;<br> + And all the bright angelic choir<br> + To loftiest raptures tune the heavenly lyre,<br> + Pour'd in loud symphony the impetuous strain;<br> + And every fiery orb and planet sung,<br> + And wide through night's dark desolate domain<br> + Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant rung.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. 2.</td> +<td>Oh, whither art thou fled, Saturnian reign?<br> + Roll round again, majestic Years!<br> + To break fell Tyranny's corroding chain,<br> + From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears,<br> + Ye Years, again roll round!<br> + Hark, from afar what loud tumultuous sound,<br> + While echoes sweep the winding vales,<br> + Swells full along the plains, and loads the gales!<br> + Murder deep-roused, with the wild whirlwind's haste<br> + And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs;<br> + Her tangled serpents girds around her waist,<br> + Smiles ghastly stern, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. 3.</td> +<td>Fierce up the yielding skies<br> + The shouts redoubling rise:<br> + Earth shudders at the dreadful sound,<br> + And all is listening, trembling round.<br> + Torrents, that from yon promontory's head<br> + Dash'd furious down in desperate cascade,<br> + Heard from afar amid the' lonely night,<br> + That oft have led the wanderer right,<br> + Are silent at the noise.<br> + The mighty ocean's more majestic voice,<br> + Drown'd in superior din, is heard no more;<br> + The surge in silence sweeps along the foamy shore.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II. 1.</td> +<td>The bloody banner streaming in the air,<br> + Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow,<br> + The mingling multitudes, the madding car,<br> + Pouring impetuous on the plain below,<br> + War's dreadful lord proclaim.<br> + Bursts out by frequent fits the expansive flame.<br> + Whirl'd in tempestuous eddies flies<br> + The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies.<br> + The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen,<br> + Fades the morn's vivid blush to deadly pale:<br> + The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green,<br> + Night's shrieking birds along the sullen twilight sail.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II. 2.</td> +<td>Involved in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on.<br> + The mangled steeds grim Terror guides.<br> + His forehead writhed to a relentless frown,<br> + Aloft the angry Power of Battles rides:<br> + Grasp'd in his mighty hand<br> + A mace tremendous desolates the land;<br> + Thunders the turret down the steep,<br> + The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep;<br> + Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades,<br> + Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes;<br> + A bloated paleness beauty's bloom o'erspreads,<br> + Fades every flowery field, and every verdure dies.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II. 3.</td> +<td>How startled Frenzy stares,<br> + Bristling her ragged hairs!<br> + Revenge the gory fragment gnaws;<br> + See, with her griping vulture-claws<br> + Imprinted deep, she rends the opening wound!<br> + Hatred her torch blue-streaming tosses round:<br> + The shrieks of agony and clang of arms<br> + Re-echo to the fierce alarms<br> + Her trump terrific blows.<br> + Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose<br> + Of kingly gesture a gigantic form,<br> + That with his scourge sublime directs the whirling storm.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III. 1.</td> +<td>Ambition, outside fair! within more foul<br> + Than fellest fiend from Tartarus sprung,<br> + In caverns hatch'd, where the fierce torrents roll<br> + Of Phlegethon, the burning banks along,<br> + Yon naked waste survey:<br> + Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay;<br> + Where late the rosy-bosom'd Hours<br> + In loose array danced lightly o'er the flowers;<br> + Where late the shepherd told his tender tale;<br> + And, waked by the soft-murmuring breeze of morn,<br> + The voice of cheerful labour fill'd the dale;<br> + And dove-eyed Plenty smiled, and waved her liberal horn.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III. 2.</td> +<td>Yon ruins sable from the wasting flame<br> + But mark the once resplendent dome;<br> + The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream,<br> + And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom.<br> + How sadly silent all!<br> + Save where outstretch'd beneath yon hanging wall<br> + Pale Famine moans with feeble breath,<br> + And Torture yells, and grinds her bloody teeth—<br> + Though vain the muse, and every melting lay,<br> + To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse!<br> + Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way,<br> + I see, I see the Years begin their mighty course.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III. 3.</td> +<td>What scenes of glory rise<br> + Before my dazzled eyes!<br> + Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings,<br> + And melody celestial rings:<br> + Along the lilied lawn the nymphs advance,<br> + Plush'd with love's bloom, and range the sprightly dance:<br> + The gladsome shepherds on the mountain-side,<br> + Array'd in all their rural pride,<br> + Exalt the festive note,<br> + Inviting Echo from her inmost grot—<br> + But ah! the landscape glows with fainter light,<br> + It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>IV. 1.</td> +<td>Illusions vain! Can sacred Peace reside,<br> + Where sordid gold the breast alarms,<br> + Where cruelty inflames the eye of Pride,<br> + And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's arms?<br> + Ambition! these are thine;<br> + These from the soul erase the form divine;<br> + These quench the animating fire<br> + That warms the bosom with sublime desire.<br> + Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel,<br> + Hate rides tremendous on the o'erwhelming brow,<br> + And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel,<br> + Blaze the funereal flames, and sound the shrieks of Woe.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>IV. 2.</td> +<td>From Albion fled, thy once beloved retreat,<br> + What region brightens in thy smile,<br> + Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet<br> + Sees sullen flowers adorn the rugged soil?<br> + In bleak Siberia blows,<br> + Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose?<br> + Waved over by thy magic wand,<br> + Does life inform fell Libya's burning sand?<br> + Or does some isle thy parting flight detain,<br> + Where roves the Indian through primeval shades,<br> + Haunts the pure pleasures of the woodland reign,<br> + And led by Reason's ray the path of Nature treads?</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td><a name="fr30">IV. 3.</a></td> +<td>On Cuba's utmost steep<a href="#f30"><sup>1</sup></a>,<br> + Far leaning o'er the deep,<br> + The Goddess' pensive form was seen.<br> + Her robe of Nature's varied green<br> + Waved on the gale; grief dimm'd her radiant eyes,<br> + Her swelling bosom heaved with boding sighs:<br> + She eyed the main; where, gaining on the view.<br> + Emerging from the ethereal blue,<br> + 'Midst the dread pomp of war<br> + Gleam'd the Iberian streamer from afar.<br> + She saw; and, on refulgent pinions borne,<br> + Slow wing'd her way sublime, and mingled with the morn.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> + <a name="f30"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� This alludes to the discovery of America by the +Spaniards under Columbus. These ravagers are said to have made +their first descent on the islands in the Gulf of Florida, of +which Cuba is one.<br> +<a href="#fr30">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section6">Ode on Lord Hay's Birthday</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + A muse, unskill'd in venal praise,<br> + Unstain'd with flattery's art;<br> + Who loves simplicity of lays<br> + Breathed ardent from the heart;<br> + While gratitude and joy inspire,<br> + Resumes the long unpractised lyre,<br> + To hail, O HAY, thy natal morn:<br> + No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves,<br> + But twines with oak the laurel leaves,<br> + Thy cradle to adorn.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + For not on beds of gaudy flowers<br> + Thine ancestors reclined,<br> + Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devours<br> + All energy of mind.<br> + To hurl the dart, to ride the car,<br> + To stem the deluges of war,<br> + And snatch from fate a sinking land;<br> + Trample the invader's lofty crest,<br> + And from his grasp the dagger wrest,<br> + And desolating brand:<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + 'Twas this that raised th' illustrious line<br> + To match the first in fame!<br> + A thousand years have seen it shine<br> + With unabated flame;<br> + Have seen thy mighty sires appear<br> + Foremost in glory's high career,<br> + The pride and pattern of the brave.<br> + Yet pure from lust of blood their fire,<br> + And from ambition's wild desire,<br> + They triumph'd but to save.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + The Muse with joy attends their way<br> + The vale of peace along:<br> + There to its lord the village gay<br> + Renews the grateful song.<br> + Yon castle's glittering towers contain<br> + No pit of woe, nor clanking chain,<br> + Nor to the suppliant's wail resound:<br> + The open doors the needy bless,<br> + The unfriended hail their calm recess,<br> + And gladness smiles around.<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + There to the sympathetic heart<br> + Life's best delights belong,<br> + To mitigate the mourner's smart,<br> + To guard the weak from wrong.<br> + Ye sons of luxury be wise:<br> + Know happiness for ever flies<br> + The cold and solitary breast;<br> + Then let the social instinct glow,<br> + And learn to feel another's woe,<br> + And in his joy be blest.<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare<br> + For unsuspecting youth;<br> + Ere Flattery her song prepare<br> + To check the voice of Truth;<br> + O may his country's guardian power<br> + Attend the slumbering infant's bower,<br> + And bright inspiring dreams impart;<br> + To rouse the hereditary fire,<br> + To kindle each sublime desire,<br> + Exalt and warm the heart.<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + Swift to reward a parent's fears,<br> + A parent's hopes to crown,<br> + Roll on in peace, ye blooming years,<br> + That rear him to renown;<br> + When in his finish'd form and face<br> + Admiring multitudes shall trace<br> + Each patrimonial charm combined,<br> + The courteous yet majestic mien,<br> + The liberal smile, the look serene,<br> + The great and gentle mind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes,<br> + And win a nation's love,<br> + Let not thy towering mind despise<br> + The village and the grove.<br> + No slander there shall wound thy fame,<br> + No ruffian take his deadly aim,<br> + No rival weave the secret snare:<br> + For innocence with angel smile,<br> + Simplicity that knows no guile,<br> + And Love and Peace are there.<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + When winds the mountain oak assail,<br> + And lay its glories waste,<br> + Content may slumber in the vale,<br> + Unconscious of the blast.<br> + Through scenes of tumult while we roam,<br> + The heart, alas! is ne'er at home,<br> + It hopes in time to roam no more;<br> + The mariner, not vainly brave,<br> + Combats the storm and rides the wave,<br> + To rest at last on shore.<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> + Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,<br> + How vain your mask of state!<br> + The good alone have joy sincere;<br> + The good alone are great:<br> + Great, when, amid the vale of peace.<br> + They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,<br> + And hear the voice of artless praise;<br> + As when along the trophied plain<br> + Sublime they lead the victor train,<br> + While shouting nations gaze.</blockquote> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section7">The Judgment of Paris</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove,<br> + A scene for love and solitude design'd;<br> + Where flowery woodbines wild, by Nature wove,<br> + Form'd the lone bower, the royal swain reclined.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + All up the craggy cliffs, that tower'd to heaven,<br> + Green waved the murmuring pines on every side;<br> + Save where, fair opening to the beam of even,<br> + A dale sloped gradual to the valley wide.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + Echo'd the vale with many a cheerful note;<br> + The lowing of the herds resounding long,<br> + The shrilling pipe, and mellow horn remote,<br> + And social clamours of the festive throng.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + For now, low hovering o'er the western main,<br> + Where amber clouds begirt his dazzling throne,<br> + The Sun with ruddier verdure deck'd the plain;<br> + And lakes and streams and spires triumphal shone.<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + And many a band of ardent youths were seen;<br> + Some into rapture fired by glory's charms,<br> + Or hurl'd the thundering car along the green,<br> + Or march'd embattled on in glittering arms.<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + Others more mild, in happy leisure gay,<br> + The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore,<br> + Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray,<br> + Or the blue Hellespont's resounding shore.<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd,<br> + That gleam'd along the extended champaign far,<br> + And bulwarks in terrific pomp adorn'd,<br> + Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Rich in the spoils of many a subject clime,<br> + In pride luxurious blazed the imperial dome;<br> + Tower'd 'mid the encircling grove the fane sublime,<br> + And dread memorials mark'd the hero's tomb<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + Who from the black and bloody cavern led<br> + The savage stern, and soothed his boisterous breast;<br> + Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head,<br> + And brighten'd o'er the long benighted waste:<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + Or, greatly daring in his country's cause,<br> + Whose heaven-taught soul the awful plan design'd,<br> + Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of laws;<br> + Whence soar'd on Freedom's wing the ethereal mind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 11<br> +<br> + But not the pomp that royalty displays,<br> + Nor all the imperial pride of lofty Troy,<br> + Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise<br> + Could rouse the langour of the lingering boy.<br> +<br> +<br> + 12<br> +<br> + Abandon'd all to soft Enone's charms,<br> + He to oblivion doom'd the listless day;<br> + Inglorious lull'd in Love's dissolving arms,<br> + While flutes lascivious breathed the enfeebling lay.<br> +<br> +<br> + 13<br> +<br> + To trim the ringlets of his scented hair:<br> + To aim, insidious, Love's bewitching glance;<br> + Or cull fresh garlands for the gaudy fair,<br> + Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance:<br> +<br> +<br> + 14<br> +<br> + These were his arts; these won Enone's love,<br> + Nor sought his fetter'd soul a nobler aim.<br> + Ah, why should beauty's smile those arts approve<br> + Which taint with infamy the lover's flame?<br> +<br> +<br> + 15<br> +<br> + Now laid at large beside a murmuring spring,<br> + Melting he listen'd to the vernal song,<br> + And Echo, listening, waved her airy wing,<br> + While the deep winding dales the lays prolong;<br> +<br> +<br> + 16<br> +<br> + When, slowly floating down the azure skies,<br> + A crimson cloud flash'd on his startled sight,<br> + Whose skirts gay-sparkling with unnumber'd dyes<br> + Launch'd the long billowy trails of flickery light.<br> +<br> +<br> + 17<br> +<br> + That instant, hush'd was all the vocal grove,<br> + Hush'd was the gale, and every ruder sound;<br> + And strains aërial, warbling far above,<br> + Rung in the ear a magic peal profound.<br> +<br> +<br> + 18<br> +<br> + Near and more near the swimming radiance roll'd;<br> + Along the mountains stream the lingering fires;<br> + Sublime the groves of Ida blaze with gold,<br> + And all the Heaven resounds with louder lyres.<br> +<br> +<br> + 19<br> +<br> + The trumpet breathed a note: and all in air,<br> + The glories vanish'd from the dazzled eye;<br> + And three ethereal forms, divinely fair,<br> + Down the steep glade were seen advancing nigh.<br> +<br> +<br> + 20<br> +<br> + The flowering glade fell level where they moved;<br> + O'erarching high the clustering roses hung;<br> + And gales from heaven on balmy pinion roved,<br> + And hill and dale with gratulation rung.<br> +<br> +<br> + 21<br> +<br> + The FIRST with slow and stately step drew near,<br> + Fix'd was her lofty eye, erect her mien:<br> + Sublime in grace, in majesty severe,<br> + She look'd and moved a goddess and a queen.<br> +<br> +<br> + 22<br> +<br> + Her robe along the gale profusely stream'd,<br> + Light lean'd the sceptre on her bending arm;<br> + And round her brow a starry circlet gleam'd,<br> + Heightening the pride of each commanding charm.<br> +<br> +<br> + 23<br> +<br> + Milder the NEXT came on with artless grace,<br> + And on a javelin's quivering length reclined:<br> + To exalt her mien she bade no splendour blaze,<br> + Nor pomp of vesture fluctuate on the wind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 24<br> +<br> + Serene, though awful, on her brow the light<br> + Of heavenly wisdom shone; nor roved her eyes.<br> + Save to the shadowy cliffs majestic height,<br> + Or the blue concave of the involving skies.<br> +<br> +<br> + 25<br> +<br> + Keen were her eyes to search the inmost soul:<br> + Yet virtue triumph'd in their beams benign,<br> + <a name="fr31">And</a> impious Pride oft felt their dread +control,<br> + When in fierce lightning flash'd the wrath divine<a href= +"#f31"><sup>1</sup></a>.<br> +<br> +<br> +26<br> +<br> + With awe and wonder gazed the adoring swain;<br> + His kindling cheeks great Virtue's power confess'd;<br> + But soon 'twas o'er; for Virtue prompts in vain,<br> + When Pleasure's influence numbs the nerveless breast.<br> +<br> +<br> + 27<br> +<br> + And now advanced the QUEEN of melting JOY,<br> + Smiling supreme in unresisted charms:<br> + Ah, then, what transports fired the trembling boy!<br> + How throbb'd his sickening frame with fierce alarms!<br> +<br> +<br> + 28<br> +<br> + Her eyes in liquid light luxurious swim,<br> + And languish with unutterable love.<br> + Heaven's warm bloom glows along each brightening limb,<br> + Where fluttering bland the veil's thin mantlings rove.<br> +<br> +<br> + 29<br> +<br> + Quick, blushing as abash'd, she half withdrew:<br> + One hand a bough of flowering myrtle waved.<br> + One graceful spread, where, scarce conceal'd from view,<br> + Soft through the parting robe her bosom heaved.<br> +<br> +<br> + 30<br> +<br> + "Offspring of Jove supreme! beloved of Heaven!<br> + Attend." Thus spoke the Empress of the Skies.<br> + "For know, to thee, high-fated prince, 'tis given<br> + Through the bright realms of Fame sublime to rise,<br> +<br> +<br> + 31<br> +<br> + Beyond man's boldest hope; if nor the wiles<br> + Of Pallas triumph o'er the ennobling thought;<br> + Nor Pleasure lure with artificial smiles<br> + To quaff the poison of her luscious draught.<br> +<br> +<br> + 32<br> +<br> + When Juno's charms the prize of beauty claim,<br> + Shall aught on earth, shall aught in heaven contend?<br> + Whom Juno calls to high triumphant fame,<br> + Shall he to meaner sway inglorious bend?<br> +<br> +<br> + 33<br> +<br> + Yet lingering comfortless in lonesome wild,<br> + Where Echo sleeps 'mid cavern'd vales profound,<br> + The pride of Troy, Dominion's darling child,<br> + Pines while the slow hour stalks in sullen round.<br> +<br> +<br> + 34<br> +<br> + Hear thou, of Heaven unconscious! From the blaze<br> + Of glory, stream'd from Jove's eternal throne,<br> + Thy soul, O mortal, caught the inspiring rays<br> + That to a god exalt Earth's raptured son.<br> +<br> +<br> + 35<br> +<br> + Hence the bold wish, on boundless pinion borne,<br> + That fires, alarms, impels the maddening soul;<br> + The hero's eye, hence, kindling into scorn,<br> + Blasts the proud menace, and defies control.<br> +<br> +<br> + 36<br> +<br> + But, unimproved, Heaven's noblest boons are vain,<br> + No sun with plenty crowns the uncultured vale:<br> + Where green lakes languish on the silent plain,<br> + Death rides the billows of the western gale.<br> +<br> +<br> + 37<br> +<br> + Deep in yon mountain's womb, where the dark cave<br> + Howls to the torrent's everlasting roar,<br> + Does the rich gem its flashy radiance wave?<br> + Or flames with steady ray the imperial ore?<br> +<br> +<br> + 38<br> +<br> + Toil deck'd with glittering domes yon champaign wide,<br> + And wakes yon grove-embosom'd lawns to joy,<br> + And rends the rough ore from the mountain's side,<br> + Spangling with starry pomp the thrones of Troy.<br> +<br> +<br> + 39<br> +<br> + Fly these soft scenes. Even now, with playful art,<br> + Love wreathes the flowery ways with fatal snare;<br> + And nurse the ethereal fire that warms thy heart,<br> + That fire ethereal lives but by thy care.<br> +<br> +<br> + 40<br> +<br> + Lo! hovering near on dark and dampy wing,<br> + Sloth with stern patience waits the hour assign'd,<br> + From her chill plume the deadly dews to fling,<br> + That quench Heaven's beam, and freeze the cheerless mind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 41<br> +<br> + Vain, then, the enlivening sound of Fame's alarms,<br> + For Hope's exulting impulse prompts no more:<br> + Vain even the joys that lure to Pleasure's arms,<br> + The throb of transport is for ever o'er.<br> +<br> +<br> + 42<br> +<br> + O who shall then to Fancy's darkening eyes<br> + Recall the Elysian dreams of joy and light?<br> + Dim through the gloom the formless visions rise,<br> + Snatch'd instantaneous down the gulf of night.<br> +<br> +<br> + 43<br> +<br> + Thou who, securely lull'd in youth's warm ray,<br> + Mark'st not the desolations wrought by Time,<br> + Be roused or perish. Ardent for its prey,<br> + Speeds the fell hour that ravages thy prime.<br> +<br> +<br> + 44<br> +<br> + And, 'midst the horrors shrined of midnight storm,<br> + The fiend Oblivion eyes thee from afar,<br> + Black with intolerable frowns her form,<br> + Beckoning the embattled whirlwinds into war.<br> +<br> +<br> + 45<br> +<br> + Fanes, bulwarks, mountains, worlds, their tempest whelms;<br> + Yet glory braves unmoved the impetuous sweep.<br> + Fly then, ere, hurl'd from life's delightful realms,<br> + Thou sink to Oblivion's dark and boundless deep.<br> +<br> +<br> + 46<br> +<br> + Fly, then, where Glory points the path sublime,<br> + See her crown dazzling with eternal light!<br> + 'Tis Juno prompts thy daring steps to climb,<br> + And girds thy bounding heart with matchless might.<br> +<br> +<br> + 47<br> +<br> + Warm in the raptures of divine desire,<br> + Burst the soft chain that curbs the aspiring mind;<br> + And fly where Victory, borne on wings of fire,<br> + Waves her red banner to the rattling wind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 48<br> +<br> + Ascend the car: indulge the pride of arms,<br> + Where clarions roll their kindling strains on high,<br> + Where the eye maddens to the dread alarms,<br> + And the long shout tumultuous rends the sky.<br> +<br> +<br> + 49<br> +<br> + Plunged in the uproar of the thundering field,<br> + I see thy lofty arm the tempest guide:<br> + Fate scatters lightning from thy meteor-shield,<br> + And Ruin spreads around the sanguine tide.<br> +<br> +<br> + 50<br> +<br> + Go, urge the terrors of thy headlong car<br> + On prostrate Pride, and Grandeur's spoils o'erthrown,<br> + While all amazed even heroes shrink afar,<br> + And hosts embattled vanish at thy frown.<br> +<br> +<br> + 51<br> +<br> + When glory crowns thy godlike toils, and all<br> + The triumph's lengthening pomp exalts thy soul,<br> + When lowly at thy feet the mighty fall,<br> + And tyrants tremble at thy stern control:<br> +<br> +<br> + 52<br> +<br> + When conquering millions hail thy sovereign might,<br> + And tribes unknown dread acclamation join;<br> + How wilt thou spurn the forms of low delight!<br> + For all the ecstasies of heaven are thine:<br> +<br> +<br> + 53<br> +<br> + For thine the joys, that fear no length of days,<br> + Whose wide effulgence scorns all mortal bound:<br> + Fame's trump in thunder shall announce thy praise,<br> + Nor bursting worlds her clarion's blast confound."<br> +<br> +<br> + 54<br> +<br> + The Goddess ceased, not dubious of the prize:<br> + Elate she mark'd his wild and rolling eye,<br> + Mark'd his lip quiver, and his bosom rise,<br> + And his warm cheek suffused with crimson dye.<br> +<br> +<br> + 55<br> +<br> + But Pallas now drew near. Sublime, serene,<br> + In conscious dignity she view'd the swain:<br> + Then, love and pity softening all her mien,<br> + Thus breathed with accents mild the solemn strain:<br> +<br> +<br> + 56<br> +<br> + "Let those whose arts to fatal paths betray,<br> + The soul with passion's gloom tempestuous blind,<br> + And snatch from Reason's ken the auspicious ray<br> + Truth darts from heaven to guide the exploring mind.<br> +<br> +<br> + 57<br> +<br> + "But Wisdom loves the calm and serious hour,<br> + When heaven's pure emanation beams confess'd:<br> + Rage, ecstasy, alike disclaim her power,<br> + She woo's each gentler impulse of the breast.<br> +<br> +<br> + 58<br> +<br> + Sincere the unalter'd bliss her charms impart,<br> + Sedate the enlivening ardours they inspire:<br> + She bids no transient rapture thrill the heart,<br> + She wakes no feverish gust of fierce desire.<br> +<br> +<br> + 59<br> +<br> + Unwise, who, tossing on the watery way,<br> + All to the storm the unfetter'd sail devolve:<br> + Man more unwise resigns the mental sway,<br> + Borne headlong on by passion's keen resolve.<br> +<br> +<br> + 60<br> +<br> + While storms remote but murmur on thine ear,<br> + Nor waves in ruinous uproar round thee roll,<br> + Yet, yet a moment check thy prone career,<br> + And curb the keen resolve that prompts thy soul.<br> +<br> +<br> + 61<br> +<br> + Explore thy heart, that, roused by Glory's name,<br> + Pants all enraptured with the mighty charm—<br> + And does Ambition quench each milder flame?<br> + And is it conquest that alone can warm?<br> +<br> +<br> + 62<br> +<br> + To indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust,<br> + To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore,<br> + To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust—<br> + Are these thy joys? Nor throbs thy heart for more?<br> +<br> +<br> + 63<br> +<br> + Pleased canst thou listen to the patriot's groan,<br> + And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn?<br> + And hear the abandon'd maid's last frantic moan,<br> + Her love for ever from her bosom torn?<br> +<br> +<br> + 64<br> +<br> + Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath<br> + Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head?<br> + Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death,<br> + To glare distraction on thy midnight bed?<br> +<br> +<br> + 65<br> +<br> + Was it for this, though born to regal power,<br> + Kind Heaven to thee did nobler gifts consign,<br> + Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour,<br> + And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine?<br> +<br> +<br> + 66<br> +<br> + Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy,<br> + And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise suborn'd,<br> + Whose eye ne'er lighten'd at the smile of Joy,<br> + Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorn'd:<br> +<br> +<br> + 67<br> +<br> + Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd,<br> + The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies:<br> + Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field,<br> + Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps the unbounded skies.<br> +<br> +<br> + 68<br> +<br> + Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm!<br> + Hail to the pure delights of social love!<br> + Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm,<br> + Nor rack the exulting frame, but gently move!<br> +<br> +<br> + 69<br> +<br> + But Fancy soothes no more, if stern remorse<br> + With iron grasp the tortured bosom wring.<br> + Ah then! even Fancy speeds the venom's course,<br> + Even Fancy points with rage the maddening sting.<br> +<br> +<br> + 70<br> +<br> + Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend,<br> + And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of hell;<br> + The beam of Beauty blasts: dark heavens impend<br> + Tottering: and Music thrills with startling yell.<br> +<br> +<br> + 71<br> +<br> + What then avails, that with exhaustless store<br> + Obsequious Luxury loads thy glittering shrine?<br> + What then avails, that prostrate slaves adore,<br> + And Fame proclaims thee matchless and divine?<br> +<br> +<br> + 72<br> +<br> + What though bland Flattery all her arts apply?<br> + Will these avail to calm the infuriate brain?<br> + Or will the roaring surge, when heaved on high,<br> + Headlong hang, hush'd, to hear the piping swain?<br> +<br> +<br> + 73<br> +<br> + In health how fair, how ghastly in decay<br> + Man's lofty form! how heavenly fair the mind<br> + Sublimed by Virtue's sweet enlivening sway!<br> + But ah! to guilt's outrageous rule resign'd.<br> +<br> +<br> + 74<br> +<br> + How hideous and forlorn! when ruthless Care<br> + With cankering tooth corrodes the seeds of life,<br> + And deaf with passion's storms when pines Despair,<br> + And howling furies rouse the eternal strife.<br> +<br> +<br> + 75<br> +<br> + Oh, by thy hopes of joy that restless glow,<br> + Pledges of Heaven! be taught by Wisdom's lore;<br> + With anxious haste each doubtful path forego,<br> + And life's wild ways with cautious fear explore.<br> +<br> +<br> + 76<br> +<br> + Straight be thy course: nor tempt the maze that leads<br> + Where fell Remorse his shapeless strength conceals,<br> + And oft Ambition's dizzy cliff he treads,<br> + And slumbers oft in Pleasure's flowery vales.<br> +<br> +<br> + 77<br> +<br> + Nor linger unresolved: Heaven prompts the choice,<br> + Save when Presumption shuts the ear of Pride:<br> + With grateful awe attend to Nature's voice,<br> + The voice of Nature Heaven ordain'd thy guide.<br> +<br> +<br> + 78<br> +<br> + Warn'd by her voice the arduous path pursue,<br> + That leads to Virtue's fane a hardy band:<br> + What though no gaudy scenes decoy their view,<br> + Nor clouds of fragrance roll along the land?<br> +<br> +<br> + 79<br> +<br> + What though rude mountains heave the flinty way?<br> + Yet there the soul drinks light and life divine,<br> + And pure aërial gales of gladness play,<br> + Brace every nerve, and every sense refine.<br> +<br> +<br> + 80<br> +<br> + Go, prince, be virtuous and be blest. The throne<br> + Rears not its state to swell the couch of Lust:<br> + Nor dignify Corruption's daring son,<br> + To o'erwhelm his humbler brethren of the dust.<br> +<br> +81<br> + But yield an ampler scene to Bounty's eye,<br> + An ampler range to Mercy's ear expand:<br> + And, 'midst admiring nations, set on high<br> + Virtue's fair model, framed by Wisdom's hand.<br> +<br> +<br> + 82<br> +<br> + Go then: the moan of Woe demands thine aid:<br> + Pride's licensed outrage claims thy slumbering ire:<br> + Pale Genius roams the bleak neglected shade,<br> + And battening Avarice mocks his tuneless lyre.<br> +<br> +<br> + 83<br> +<br> + Even Nature pines, by vilest chains oppress'd:<br> + The astonish'd kingdoms crouch to Fashion's nod.<br> + O ye pure inmates of the gentle breast,<br> + Truth, Freedom, Love, O where is your abode?<br> +<br> +<br> + 84<br> +<br> + O yet once more shall Peace from heaven return,<br> + And young Simplicity with mortals dwell!<br> + Nor Innocence the august pavilion scorn,<br> + Nor meek Contentment fly the humble cell!<br> +<br> +<br> + 85<br> +<br> + Wilt thou, my prince, the beauteous train implore<br> + 'Midst earth's forsaken scenes once more to bide?<br> + Then shall the shepherd sing in every bower,<br> + And Love with garlands wreathe the domes of Pride.<br> +<br> +<br> + 86<br> +<br> + The bright tear starting in the impassion'd eyes<br> + Of silent Gratitude: the smiling gaze<br> + Of Gratulation, faltering while he tries<br> + With voice of transport to proclaim thy praise:<br> +<br> +<br> + 87<br> +<br> + The ethereal glow that stimulates thy frame,<br> + When all the according powers harmonious move,<br> + And wake to energy each social aim,<br> + Attuned spontaneous to the will of Jove:<br> +<br> +<br> + 88<br> +<br> + Be these, O man, the triumphs of thy soul;<br> + And all the conqueror's dazzling glories slight,<br> + That meteor-like o'er trembling nations roll,<br> + To sink at once in deep and dreadful night.<br> +<br> +<br> + 89<br> +<br> + Like thine, yon orb's stupendous glories burn<br> + With genial beam; nor, at the approach of even,<br> + In shades of horror leave the world to mourn,<br> + But gild with lingering light the empurpled heaven."<br> +<br> +<br> + 90<br> +<br> + Thus while she spoke, her eye, sedately meek,<br> + Look'd the pure fervour of maternal love.<br> + No rival zeal intemperate flush'd her cheek—<br> + Can Beauty's boast the soul of Wisdom move?<br> +<br> +<br> + 91<br> +<br> + Worth's noble pride, can Envy's leer appal,<br> + Or staring Folly's vain applauses soothe?<br> + Can jealous Fear Truth's dauntless heart enthrall?<br> + Suspicion lurks not in the heart of Truth.<br> +<br> +<br> + 92<br> +<br> + And now the shepherd raised his pensive head:<br> + Yet unresolved and fearful roved his eyes,<br> + Scared at the glances of the awful maid;<br> + For young unpractised Guilt distrusts the guise<br> +<br> +<br> + 93<br> +<br> + Of shameless Arrogance.—His wavering breast,<br> + Though warm'd by Wisdom, own'd no constant fire,<br> + While lawless Fancy roam'd afar, unblest<br> + Save in the oblivious lap of soft Desire.<br> +<br> +<br> + 94<br> +<br> + When thus the queen of soul-dissolving smiles:<br> + "Let gentler fate my darling prince attend,<br> + Joyless and cruel are the warrior's spoils,<br> + Dreary the path stern Virtue's sons ascend.<br> +<br> +<br> + 95<br> +<br> + Of human joy full short is the career,<br> + And the dread verge still gains upon your sight;<br> + While idly gazing far beyond your sphere,<br> + Ye scan the dream of unapproach'd delight:<br> +<br> +<br> + 96<br> +<br> + Till every sprightly hour and blooming scene<br> + Of life's gay morn unheeded glides away,<br> + And clouds of tempests mount the blue serene,<br> + And storms and ruin close the troublous day.<br> +<br> +<br> + 97<br> +<br> + Then still exult to hail the present joy,<br> + Thine be the boon that comes unearn'd by toil;<br> + No forward vain desire thy bliss annoy,<br> + No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile.<br> +<br> +<br> + 98<br> +<br> + Ah! why should man pursue the charms of Fame,<br> + For ever luring, yet for ever coy?<br> + Light as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam,<br> + That melts illusive from the wondering boy!<br> +<br> +<br> + 99<br> +<br> + What though her throne irradiate many a clime,<br> + If hung loose-tottering o'er the unfathom'd tomb?<br> + What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime,<br> + Display the imperial wreath and glittering plume?<br> +<br> +<br> + 100<br> +<br> + Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath<br> + Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave?<br> + What note of triumph can her clarion breathe,<br> + To alarm the eternal midnight of the grave?<br> +<br> +<br> + 101<br> +<br> + That night draws on: nor will the vacant hour<br> + Of expectation linger as it flies:<br> + Nor fate one moment unenjoy'd restore:<br> + Each moment's flight how precious to the wise!<br> +<br> +<br> + 102<br> +<br> + O shun the annoyance of the bustling throng,<br> + That haunt with zealous turbulence the great:<br> + There coward Office boasts the unpunish'd wrong,<br> + And sneaks secure in insolence of state.<br> +<br> +<br> + 103<br> +<br> + O'er fancied injury Suspicion pines,<br> + And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound:<br> + Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines,<br> + And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around.<br> +<br> +<br> + 104<br> +<br> + Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne,<br> + Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim,<br> + Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown,<br> + The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame:<br> +<br> +<br> + 105<br> +<br> + Hope not, though all that captivates the wise,<br> + All that endears the good exalt thy praise:<br> + Hope not to taste repose: for Envy's eyes<br> + At fairest worth still point their deadly rays.<br> +<br> +<br> + 106<br> +<br> + Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart,<br> + Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm?<br> + Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart,<br> + Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm?<br> +<br> +<br> + 107<br> +<br> + Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains,<br> + And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm,<br> + Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains,<br> + Or soil accursed with balmy life inform.<br> +<br> +<br> + 108<br> +<br> + Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour,<br> + When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme:<br> + When Insult mocks the clemency of Power,<br> + And loud dissension's livid firebrands gleam:<br> +<br> +<br> + 109<br> +<br> + When squint-eyed Slander plies the unhallow'd tongue,<br> + From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line,<br> + And Muse apostate (infamy to song!)<br> + Grovels, low muttering, at Sedition's shrine.<br> +<br> +<br> + 110<br> +<br> + Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade,<br> + The whispering grove, the fountain and the plain:<br> + Power, with the oppressive weight of pomp array'd,<br> + Pants for simplicity and ease in vain.<br> +<br> +<br> + 111<br> +<br> + The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear,<br> + But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn;<br> + And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere:<br> + Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn.<br> +<br> +<br> + 112<br> +<br> + She loves to wander on the untrodden lawn,<br> + Or the green bosom of reclining hill,<br> + Soothed by the careless warbler of the dawn,<br> + Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill.<br> +<br> +<br> + 113<br> +<br> + Or from the mountain glade's aërial brow,<br> + While to her song a thousand echoes call,<br> + Marks the wide woodland wave remote below,<br> + Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall.<br> +<br> +<br> + 114<br> +<br> + Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves,<br> + Where the high carol cheers the exulting ring;<br> + And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves,<br> + Listening the unnumber'd melodies of Spring.<br> +<br> +<br> + 115<br> +<br> + Or to the long and lonely shore retires;<br> + What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beam,<br> + Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry fires<br> + Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening gleam.<br> +<br> +<br> + 116<br> +<br> + Then to the balmy bower of Rapture borne,<br> + While strings self-warbling breathe Elysian rest,<br> + Melts in delicious vision, till the morn<br> + Spangle with twinkling dew the flowery waste.<br> +<br> +<br> + 117<br> +<br> + The frolic Moments, purple-pinion'd, dance<br> + Around, and scatter roses as they play;<br> + And the blithe Graces, hand in hand, advance,<br> + Where, with her loved compeers, she deigns to stray;<br> +<br> +<br> + 118<br> +<br> + Mild Solitude, in veil of rustic dye,<br> + Her sylvan spear with moss-grown ivy bound;<br> + And Indolence, with sweetly languid eye,<br> + And zoneless robe that trails along the ground;<br> +<br> +<br> + 119<br> +<br> + But chiefly Love—O thou, whose gentle mind<br> + Each soft indulgence Nature framed to share;<br> + Pomp, wealth, renown, dominion, all resign'd,<br> + Oh, haste to Pleasure's bower, for Love is there.<br> +<br> +<br> + 120<br> +<br> + Love, the desire of Gods! the feast of heaven!<br> + Yet to Earth's favour'd offspring not denied!<br> + Ah! let not thankless man the blessing given<br> + Enslave to Fame, or sacrifice to Pride.<br> +<br> +<br> + 121<br> +<br> + Nor I from Virtue's call decoy thine ear;<br> + Friendly to Pleasure are her sacred laws:<br> + Let Temperance' smile the cup of gladness cheer;<br> + That cup is death, if he withhold applause.<br> +<br> +<br> + 122<br> +<br> + Far from thy haunt be Envy's baneful sway,<br> + And Hate, that works the harass'd soul to storm;<br> + But woo Content to breathe her soothing lay,<br> + And charm from Fancy's view each angry form.<br> +<br> +<br> + 123<br> +<br> + No savage joy the harmonious hours profane!<br> + Whom Love refines, can barbarous tumults please?<br> + Shall rage of blood pollute the sylvan reign?<br> + Shall Leisure wanton in the spoils of Peace?<br> +<br> +<br> + 124<br> +<br> + Free let the feathery race indulge the song,<br> + Inhale the liberal beam, and melt in love:<br> + Free let the fleet hind bound her hills along,<br> + And in pure streams the watery nations rove.<br> +<br> +<br> + 125<br> +<br> + To joy in Nature's universal smile<br> + Well suits, O man, thy pleasurable sphere;<br> + But why should Virtue doom thy years to toil?<br> + Ah! why should Virtue's laws be deem'd severe?<br> +<br> +<br> + 126<br> +<br> + What meed, Beneficence, thy care repays?<br> + What, Sympathy, thy still returning pang?<br> + And why his generous arm should Justice raise,<br> + To dare the vengeance of a tyrant's fang?<br> +<br> +<br> + 127<br> +<br> + From thankless spite no bounty can secure;<br> + Or froward wish of discontent fulfil,<br> + That knows not to regret thy bounded power,<br> + But blames with keen reproach thy partial will.<br> +<br> +<br> + 128<br> +<br> + To check the impetuous all-involving tide<br> + Of human woes, how impotent thy strife!<br> + High o'er thy mounds devouring surges ride,<br> + Nor reck thy baffled toils, or lavish'd life.<br> +<br> +<br> + 129<br> +<br> + The bower of bliss, the smile of love be thine,<br> + Unlabour'd ease, and leisure's careless dream.<br> + Such be their joys who bend at Venus' shrine,<br> + And own her charms beyond compare supreme."<br> +<br> +<br> + 130<br> +<br> + Warm'd as she spoke, all panting with delight,<br> + Her kindling beauties breathed triumphant bloom;<br> + And Cupids flutter'd round in circlets bright,<br> + And Flora pour'd from all her stores perfume.<br> +<br> +<br> + 131<br> +<br> + "Thine be the prize," exclaim'd the enraptured youth,<br> + "Queen of unrivall'd charms, and matchless joy."—<br> + O blind to fate, felicity, and truth!<br> + But such are they whom Pleasure's snares decoy.<br> +<br> +<br> + 132<br> +<br> + The Sun was sunk; the vision was no more;<br> + Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the frown<br> + Of Jove's awaken'd wrath: deep thunders roar,<br> + And forests howl afar, and mountains groan,<br> +<br> +<br> + 133<br> +<br> + And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain;<br> + With horror's scream the Ilian towers resound,<br> + Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main,<br> + And the strong earthquake rends the shuddering +ground.</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f31"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� This is agreeable to the theology of Homer,—who often +represents Pallas as the executioner of divine vengeance.<br> +<a href="#fr31">return to footnote mark</a> <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section8">The Triumph of Melancholy</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought<br> + These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?<br> + Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,<br> + To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + Yes—from afar a landscape seems to rise,<br> + Deck'd gorgeous by the lavish hand of Spring:<br> + Thin gilded clouds float light along the skies,<br> + And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + How blest the youth in yonder valley laid!<br> + Soft smiles in every conscious feature play,<br> + While to the gale low murmuring through the glade,<br> + He tempers sweet his sprightly-warbling lay.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + Hail, Innocence! whose bosom, all serene,<br> + Feels not fierce Passion's raving tempest roll!<br> + Oh, ne'er may Care distract that placid mien!<br> + Oh, ne'er may Doubt's dark shades o'erwhelm thy soul!<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Vain wish! for, lo! in gay attire conceal'd,<br> + Yonder she comes, the heart-inflaming fiend!<br> + (Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?)<br> + Swift to her destined prey see Passion bend!<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + O smile accursed, to hide the worst designs!<br> + Now with blithe eye she woo's him to be blest,<br> + While round her arm unseen a serpent twines—<br> + And, lo! she hurls it hissing at his breast.<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + And, instant, lo! his dizzy eyeball swims<br> + Ghastly, and reddening darts a threatful glare;<br> + Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs,<br> + And Fear's cold hand erects his bristling hair!<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime?<br> + And does thy spring no happier prospect yield?<br> + Why gilds the vernal sun thy gaudy clime,<br> + When nipping mildews waste the flowery field?<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + How Memory pains! Let some gay theme beguile<br> + The musing mind, and soothe to soft delight.<br> + Ye images of woe, no more recoil;<br> + Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night.<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + Now when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful power,<br> + Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar,<br> + How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower,<br> + To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war!<br> +<br> +<br> + 11<br> +<br> + Ambition here displays no gilded toy<br> + That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise,<br> + Nor Pleasure's flower-embroider'd paths decoy,<br> + Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's gay disguise.<br> +<br> +<br> + 12<br> +<br> + Oft has Contentment cheer'd this lone abode<br> + With the mild languish of her smiling eye;<br> + Here Health has oft in blushing beauty glow'd,<br> + While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour'd by.<br> +<br> +<br> + 13<br> +<br> + Even the storm lulls to more profound repose:<br> + The storm these humble walls assails in vain:<br> + Screen'd is the lily when the whirlwind blows,<br> + While the oak's stately ruin strews the plain.<br> +<br> +<br> + 14<br> +<br> + Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies;<br> + Roll the old ocean, and the vales lay waste:<br> + Nature thy momentary rage defies;<br> + To her relief the gentler seasons haste.<br> +<br> +<br> + 15<br> +<br> + Throned in her emerald car, see Spring appear!<br> + (As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view)<br> + Her emerald car the youthful Zephyrs bear,<br> + Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue.<br> +<br> +<br> + 16<br> +<br> + Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen;<br> + And, lo! her rod the rose-lipp'd power extends.<br> + And, lo! the lawns are deck'd in living green,<br> + And Beauty's bright-eyed train from heaven descends.<br> +<br> +<br> + 17<br> +<br> + Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad—<br> + But will all nature joy at your return?<br> + Say, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed,<br> + Or dry the tears that bathe the untimely urn?<br> +<br> +<br> + 18<br> +<br> + Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart<br> + 'Cross the dark cell where hopeless slavery lies?<br> + To ease tired Disappointment's bleeding heart,<br> + Will all your stores of softening balm suffice?<br> +<br> +<br> + 19<br> +<br> + When fell Oppression in his harpy fangs<br> + From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears,<br> + Can ye allay the heart-wrung parent's pangs,<br> + Whose famish'd child craves help with fruitless tears?<br> +<br> +<br> + 20<br> +<br> + For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past,<br> + Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends,<br> + Who lays the once rejoicing village waste,<br> + Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends.<br> +<br> +<br> + 21<br> +<br> + O ye, to Pleasure who resign the day,<br> + As loose in Luxury's clasping arms you lie,<br> + O yet let pity in your breast bear sway,<br> + And learn to melt at Misery's moving cry.<br> +<br> +<br> + 22<br> +<br> + But hop'st thou, Muse, vain-glorious as thou art,<br> + With the weak impulse of thy humble strain,<br> + Hop'st thou to soften Pride's obdurate heart,<br> + When Errol's bright example shines in vain?<br> +<br> +<br> + 23<br> +<br> + Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye,<br> + Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight;<br> + Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply,<br> + Or transient gleams, that flash and sink in night.<br> +<br> +<br> + 24<br> +<br> + Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego—<br> + Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictured scroll;<br> + Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow,<br> + And swell to thought sublime the exalted soul.<br> +<br> +<br> + 25<br> +<br> + What mingling pomps rush boundless on the gaze!<br> + What gallant navies ride the heaving deep!<br> + What glittering towns their cloud-wrapt turrets raise!<br> + What bulwarks frown horrific o'er the steep!<br> +<br> +<br> + 26<br> +<br> + Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields,<br> + The embattled legions stretch their long array;<br> + Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields,<br> + With bloody tincture stains the face of day.<br> +<br> +<br> + 27<br> +<br> + And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.<br> + How keen their looks whom Liberty inspires!<br> + Quick as the Goddess darts along the line,<br> + Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.<br> +<br> +<br> + 28<br> +<br> + Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien<br> + The smiles of Love stern Wisdom's frown control;<br> + Her fearless eye, determined though serene,<br> + Speaks the great purpose, and the unconquer'd soul.<br> +<br> +<br> + 29<br> +<br> + Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band,<br> + Each feature fierce and haggard, as with pain!<br> + With menace loud he cries, while from his hand<br> + He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.<br> +<br> +<br> + 30<br> +<br> + Lo! at his call, impetuous as the storms,<br> + Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven:<br> + Hatred to madness wrought, each face deforms,<br> + Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.<br> +<br> +<br> +31<br> +<br> + Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend,<br> + Shield them for Liberty who dare to die—<br> + Ah, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend?<br> + Are these thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly?<br> +<br> +<br> + 32<br> +<br> + Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies,<br> + Can brace the loosen'd nerves or warm the heart!<br> + Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs,<br> + When festers in the soul Misfortune's dart.<br> +<br> +<br> + 33<br> +<br> + See where, by heaven-bred terror all dismay'd<br> + The scattering legions pour along the plain;<br> + Ambition's car, with bloody spoils array'd,<br> + Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.<br> +<br> +<br> + 34<br> +<br> + <a name="fr32">But</a> who is he that, by yon lonely brook,<br> + With woods o'erhung and precipices rude<a href= +"#f32"><sup>1</sup></a>,<br> + Abandon'd lies, and with undaunted look<br> + Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?<br> +<br> +<br> + 35<br> +<br> + Ah, Brutus! ever thine be Virtue's tear!<br> + Lo! his dim eyes to Liberty he turns,<br> + As scarce supported on her broken spear<br> + O'er her expiring son the goddess mourns.<br> +<br> +<br> + 36<br> +<br> + Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies,<br> + From her dishevell'd locks she rends the plume;<br> + No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes,<br> + And on her tear-stain'd cheek no roses bloom.<br> +<br> +<br> + 37<br> +<br> + Meanwhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway,<br> + Fame's loudest trumpet labours in thy praise,<br> + For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay,<br> + And Flattery bids for thee her altars blaze.<br> +<br> +<br> + 38<br> +<br> + Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone,<br> + The sphere where monarchs and where heroes toil,<br> + Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown,<br> + While Guilt's thrill'd bosom leaps at Pleasure's smile;<br> +<br> +<br> + 39<br> +<br> + Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell,<br> + Far, far remote, amid the lowly plain,<br> + Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell:<br> + Such is man's doom, and Pity weeps in vain.<br> +<br> +<br> + 40<br> +<br> + Still grief recoils—How vainly have I strove<br> + Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand!<br> + Tired I submit; but yet, O yet remove<br> + Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand.<br> +<br> +<br> + 41<br> +<br> + Yet for a while let the bewilder'd soul<br> + Find in society relief from woe;<br> + O yield a while to Friendship's soft control;<br> + Some respite, Friendship, wilt thou not bestow?<br> +<br> +<br> + 42<br> +<br> + Come, then, Philander! for thy lofty mind<br> + Looks down from far on all that charms the great;<br> + For thou canst bear, unshaken and resign'd,<br> + The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate:<br> +<br> +<br> + 43<br> +<br> + Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere,<br> + Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys;<br> + Who lend'st to misery's moans a pitying ear,<br> + And feel'st with ecstasy another's joys:<br> +<br> +<br> + 44<br> +<br> + Who know'st man's frailty: with a favouring eye,<br> + And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall;<br> + Who, unenslaved by custom's narrow tie,<br> + With manly freedom follow'st reason's call.<br> +<br> +<br> + 45<br> +<br> + And bring thy Delia, softly-smiling fair,<br> + Whose spotless soul no sordid thoughts deform:<br> + Her accents mild would still each throbbing care,<br> + And harmonize the thunder of the storm.<br> +<br> +<br> + 46<br> +<br> + Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refined,<br> + She courts not homage, nor desires to shine:<br> + In her each sentiment sublime is join'd<br> + To female sweetness, and a form divine.<br> +<br> +<br> + 47<br> +<br> + Come, and dispel the deep surrounding shade:<br> + Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ;<br> + O catch the swift-wing'd hour before 'tis fled,<br> + On swiftest pinion flies the hour of joy.<br> +<br> +<br> + 48<br> +<br> + Even while the careless disencumber'd soul<br> + Dissolving sinks to joy's oblivious dream,<br> + Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll<br> + With haste impetuous down life's surgy stream.<br> +<br> +<br> + 49<br> +<br> + Can Gaiety the vanish'd years restore,<br> + Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed,<br> + Or soothe the sad inevitable hour,<br> + Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?<br> +<br> +<br> + 50<br> +<br> + Still sounds the solemn knell in Fancy's ear,<br> + That call'd Cleora to the silent tomb;<br> + To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year!<br> + How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest bloom!<br> +<br> +<br> + 51<br> +<br> + Ah! beauty's bloom avails not in the grave,<br> + Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace:<br> + Moulder unknown the monarch and the slave,<br> + Whelm'd in the enormous wreck of human race.<br> +<br> +<br> + 52<br> +<br> + The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust,<br> + The arch with proud memorials array'd,<br> + The long-lived pyramid shall sink in dust<br> + To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade.<br> +<br> +<br> + 53<br> +<br> + Fancy from comfort wanders still astray.<br> + Ah, Melancholy! how I feel thy power!<br> + Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway!<br> + But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.<br> +<br> +<br> + 54<br> +<br> + The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight waste<br> + Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to roam,<br> + Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last;<br> + For long the night, and distant far his home.</blockquote> + +<br> + <a name="f32"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� Such, according to the description given by Plutarch, +was the scene of Brutus's death.<br> +<a href="#fr32">return to footnote mark</a> <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section9">Elegy</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Tired with the busy crowds, that all the day<br> + Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,<br> + My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,<br> + Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares,<br> + And every weary sense compose to rest,<br> + Lighten the oppressive load which anguish bears,<br> + And warm with hope the cold desponding breast.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow<br> + Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown;<br> + And on the cold earth stretch'd, the son of Woe<br> + Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + When roused by thee, on boundless pinions borne,<br> + Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove,<br> + Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn,<br> + Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove;<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Or skims the main, and listens to the storms,<br> + Marks the long waves roll far remote away;<br> + Or, mingling with ten thousand glittering forms,<br> + Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day.<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + Haply, ere long, pierced by the howling blast,<br> + Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam,<br> + Plunge down the unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast<br> + Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb:<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile<br> + Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale,<br> + Where Mirth's light freaks the unheeded hours beguile,<br> + And airs of rapture warble in the gale.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Instructive emblem of this mortal state!<br> + Where scenes as various every hour arise<br> + In swift succession, which the hand of Fate<br> + Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys,<br> + Thy boasted grandeur and thy glittering store:<br> + Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys;<br> + Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm<br> + Of angry Fortune overhang awhile,<br> + Let not her frowns your inward peace deform;<br> + Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.<br> +<br> +<br> + 11<br> +<br> + Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn,<br> + 'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife;<br> + But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn,<br> + When Death awakes us to immortal life.</blockquote> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section10">Elegy, written in the year 1758</a></h3> + +<table summary="Elegy, written in the year 1758" border="0" +cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>Still shall unthinking man substantial deem<br> + The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?<br> + Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,<br> + And sad realities in prospect rise;<br> + And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn,<br> + The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.<br> + O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,<br> + Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,<br> + Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey,<br> + Glittering in beams of visionary day;<br> + O yet, while Fate delays the impending woe,<br> + Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;<br> + Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill<br> + Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;<br> + Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,<br> + Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,<br> + Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,<br> + And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.<br> + Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combined,<br> + That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!<br> + Fresh, as the floweret opening on the morn,<br> + Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!<br> + Sweet, as the downy pinion'd gale, that roves<br> + To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!<br> + Mild, as the melodies at close of day,<br> + That, heard remote, along the vale decay!<br> + Yet, why with these compared? What tints so fine,<br> + What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine?<br> + Why roam abroad, since recollection true<br> + Restores the lovely form to fancy's view?<br> + Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,<br> + Gaze on that cheek, where all the graces smile;<br> + That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,<br> + Where Meekness beams ineffable delight;<br> + That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene,<br> + Each feature forms, and dignifies the mean:<br> + Still let me listen, while her words impart<br> + The sweet effusions of the blameless heart;<br> + Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away,<br> + Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.<br> + <br> + By thee inspired, O Virtue, age is young,<br> + And music warbles from the faltering tongue:<br> + Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,<br> + And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow,<br> + Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies<br> + Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes:<br> + But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams,<br> + Resistless on the view the glory streams:<br> + Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm,<br> + And beauty dazzles with angelic charm.<br> + <br> + Ah, whither fled? ye dear illusions, stay!<br> + Lo! pale and silent lies the lovely clay.<br> + How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,<br> + Which late the purple light of youth display'd!<br> + Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd:<br> + With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd.<br> + Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky;<br> + Elate with hope, we deem'd no tempest nigh:<br> + When, lo! a whirlwind's instantaneous gust<br> + Left all its beauties withering in the dust.<br> + <br> + Cold the soft hand that soothed Woe's weary head!<br> + And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed!<br> + And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole,<br> + Infusing balm into the rankled soul!<br> + O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,<br> + And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower?<br> + Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven?<br> + Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven?<br> + But, peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart!<br> + We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.<br> + Escaped the dungeon, does the slave complain,<br> + Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain?<br> + Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,<br> + On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn;<br> + Where Reason's meteor rays, with sickly glow,<br> + O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw;<br> + Disclosing, dubious, to the affrighted eye<br> + O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,<br> + Black billowy deeps in storms perpetual tost,<br> + And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost<br> + O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay,<br> + Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day,<br> + And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar,<br> + Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.<br> + Transporting thought! here let me wipe away<br> + The tear of Grief, and wake a bolder lay.<br> + But ah! the swimming eye o'erflows anew;<br> + Nor check the sacred drops to pity due:<br> + Lo! where in speechless, hopeless anguish bend<br> + O'er her loved dust, the parent, brother, friend!<br> + How vain the hope of man! but cease thy strain,<br> + Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane;<br> + Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, on her bier<br> + In silence shed the sympathetic tear.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section11">Retirement</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + When in the crimson cloud of even<br> + The lingering light decays,<br> + And Hesper on the front of heaven<br> + His glittering gem displays;<br> + Deep in the silent vale, unseen,<br> + Beside a lulling stream,<br> + A pensive Youth, of placid mien,<br> + Indulged this tender theme:<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + "Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled<br> + High o'er the glimmering dale;<br> + Ye woods, along whose windings wild<br> + Murmurs the solemn gale:<br> + Where Melancholy strays forlorn,<br> + And Woe retires to weep,<br> + What time the wan Moon's yellow horn<br> + Gleams on the western deep!<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms<br> + Ne'er drew ambition's eye,<br> + 'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,<br> + To your retreats I fly.<br> + Deep in your most sequester'd bower<br> + Let me at last recline,<br> + Where Solitude, mild, modest power,<br> + Leans on her ivied shrine.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + How shall I woo thee, matchless fair?<br> + Thy heavenly smile how win?<br> + Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care,<br> + And stills the storm within.<br> + O wilt thou to thy favourite grove<br> + Thine ardent votary bring,<br> + And bless his hours, and bid them move<br> + Serene on silent wing?<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind<br> + With dreams of former days,<br> + When in the lap of Peace reclined<br> + He framed his infant lays;<br> + When Fancy roved at large, nor Care<br> + Nor cold distrust alarm'd,<br> + Nor Envy, with malignant glare,<br> + His simple youth had harm'd.<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + Twas then, O Solitude, to thee<br> + His early vows were paid,<br> + From heart sincere, and warm, and free,<br> + Devoted to the shade.<br> + Ah! why did Fate his steps decoy<br> + In stormy paths to roam,<br> + Remote from all congenial joy?—<br> + O take the wanderer home!<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,<br> + Thy charms my only theme;<br> + My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine<br> + Waves o'er the gloomy stream.<br> + Whence the scared owl on pinions gray<br> + Breaks from the rustling boughs,<br> + And down the lone vale sails away<br> + To more profound repose.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Oh, while to thee the woodland pours<br> + Its wildly-warbling song,<br> + And balmy from the bank of flowers<br> + The Zephyr breathes along;<br> + Let no rude sound invade from far,<br> + No vagrant foot be nigh,<br> + No ray from Grandeur's gilded car<br> + Flash on the startled eye.<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + But if some pilgrim through the glade<br> + Thy hallow'd bowers explore,<br> + O guard from harm his hoary head,<br> + And listen to his lore;<br> + For he of joys divine shall tell,<br> + That wean from earthly woe,<br> + And triumph o'er the mighty spell<br> + That chains his heart below.<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + For me no more the path invites<br> + Ambition loves to tread;<br> + No more I climb those toilsome heights<br> + By guileful hope misled;<br> + Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more<br> + To Mirth's enlivening strain;<br> + For present pleasure soon is o'er,<br> + And all the past is vain."</blockquote> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section11b">The Hermit</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,<br> + And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,<br> + When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,<br> + And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove<br> + 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,<br> + While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began:<br> + No more with himself or with nature at war,<br> + He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + "Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe,<br> + Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?<br> + For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow,<br> + And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall.<br> + But if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,<br> + Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn:<br> + O, soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away:<br> + Full quickly they pass—but they never return.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky,<br> + The Moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays:<br> + But lately I mark'd when majestic on high<br> + She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.<br> + Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue<br> + The path that conducts thee to splendour again.<br> + But man's faded glory what change shall renew?<br> + Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;<br> + I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you:<br> + For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,<br> + Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew:<br> + Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;<br> + Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.<br> + But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?<br> + O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + 'Twas thus, by the glare of false Science betray'd,<br> + That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind;<br> + My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,<br> + Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.<br> + 'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,<br> + 'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee:<br> + Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:<br> + From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.'<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + And darkness and doubt are now flying away;<br> + No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:<br> + So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,<br> + The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.<br> + See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending,<br> + And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!<br> + On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,<br> + And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."</blockquote> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section12">On the Report of a Monument to be erected +in Westminster Abbey, to the Memory of a late Author +(Churchill)</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>written in 1765</b><br> +<br> +<i>part of a letter to a person of quality</i><br> +<br> +Lest your Lordship, who are so well acquainted with everything +that relates to true honour, should think hardly of me for +attacking the memory of the dead, I beg leave to offer a few +words in my own vindication.<br> +<br> +If I had composed the following verses, with a view to gratify +private resentment, to promote the interest of any faction, or to +recommend myself to the patronage of any person whatsoever, I +should have been altogether inexcusable. To attack the memory of +the dead from selfish considerations, or from mere wantonness of +malice, is an enormity which none can hold in greater detestation +than I. But I composed them from very different motives; as every +intelligent reader, who peruses them with attention, and who is +willing to believe me upon my own testimony, will undoubtedly +perceive. My motives proceeded from a sincere desire to do some +small service to my country, and to the cause of truth and +virtue. The promoters of faction I ever did, and ever will, +consider as the enemies of mankind: to the memory of such I owe +no veneration: to the writings of such I owe no indulgence.<br> +<br> +Your Lordship knows that (Churchill) owed the greatest share of +his renown to the most incompetent of all judges, the mob: +actuated by the most unworthy of all principles, a spirit of +insolence, and inflamed by the vilest of all human passions, +hatred to their fellow-citizens. Those who joined the cry in his +favour seemed to me to be swayed rather by fashion than by real +sentiment: he therefore might have lived and died unmolested by +me, confident as I am, that posterity, when the present unhappy +dissensions are forgotten, will do ample justice to his real +character. But when I saw the extravagant honours that were paid +to his memory, and heard that a monument in Westminster Abbey was +intended for one whom even his admirers acknowledge to have been +an incendiary and a debauchee; I could not help wishing that my +countrymen would reflect a little on what they were doing, before +they consecrated, by what posterity would think the public voice, +a character, which no friend to virtue or true taste can approve. +It was this sentiment, enforced by the earnest request of a +friend, which produced the following little poem; in which I have +said nothing of (Churchill's) manners that is not warranted by +the best authority: nor of his writings, that is not perfectly +agreeable to the opinion of many of the most competent judges in +Britain.<br> +<br> +Aberdeen, <i>January</i> 1765.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + + +<table summary="to Churchill" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>Bufo, begone! with thee may Faction's fire,<br> + That hatch'd thy salamander-fame, expire.<br> + Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd,<br> + What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good!<br> + Since shared by knaves of high and low degree;<br> + Cromwell and Cataline: Guido Faux, and thee.<br> + By nature uninspired, untaught by art;<br> + With not one thought that breathes the feeling heart,<br> + With not one offering vow'd to Virtue's shrine,<br> + With not one pure unprostituted line;<br> + Alike debauch'd in body, soul, and lays;—<br> + For pension'd censure, and for pension'd praise,<br> + For ribaldry, for libels, lewdness, lies,<br> + For blasphemy of all the good and wise:<br> + Coarse violence in coarser doggrel writ,<br> + Which bawling blackguards spell'd, and took for wit:<br> + For conscience, honour, slighted, spurn'd, o'erthrown:—<br> + Lo! Bufo shines the minion of renown.<br> + Is this the land that boasts a Milton's fire,<br> + And magic Spenser's wildly warbling lyre?<br> + The land that owns the omnipotence of song,<br> + When Shakspeare whirls the throbbing heart along?<br> + The land, where Pope, with energy divine,<br> + In one strong blaze bade wit and fancy shine:<br> + Whose verse, by truth in virtue's triumph born,<br> + Gave knaves to infamy, and fools to scorn;<br> + Yet pure in manners, and in thought refined,<br> + Whose life and lays adorn'd and bless'd mankind?<br> + Is this the land, where Gray's unlabour'd art<br> + Soothes, melts, alarms, and ravishes the heart:<br> + While the lone wanderer's sweet complainings flow<br> + In simple majesty of manly woe:<br> + Or while, sublime, on eagle pinion driven,<br> + He soars Pindaric heights, and sails the waste of Heaven?<br> + Is this the land, o'er Shenstone's recent urn,<br> + <a name="fr33">Where</a> all the Loves and gentler Graces +mourn?<br> + And where, to crown the hoary bard of night<a href= +"#f33"><sup>1</sup></a>,<br> + The Muses and the Virtues all unite?<br> + Is this the land where Akenside displays<br> + <a name="fr34">The</a> bold yet temperate flame of ancient +days?<br> + Like the rapt sage<a href="#f34"><sup>2</sup></a>, in genius as +in theme,<br> + <a name="fr35">Whose</a> hallow'd strain renown'd Illyssus' +stream:<br> + Or him, the indignant bard<a href="#f35"><sup>3</sup></a>, whose +patriot ire,<br> + Sublime in vengeance, smote the dreadful lyre:<br> + For truth, for liberty, for virtue warm,<br> + Whose mighty song unnerved a tyrant's arm,<br> + Hush'd the rude roar of discord, rage, and lust,<br> + And spurn'd licentious demagogues to dust.<br> + Is this the queen of realms? the glorious isle,<br> + Britannia, blest in Heaven's indulgent smile?<br> + Guardian of truth, and patroness of art,<br> + Nurse of the undaunted soul, and generous heart!<br> + Where, from a base unthankful world exiled,<br> + Freedom exults to roam the careless wild:<br> + Where taste to science every charm supplies,<br> + And genius soars unbounded to the skies?<br> + And shall a Bufo's most polluted name<br> + Stain her bright tablet of untainted fame?<br> + Shall his disgraceful name with theirs be join'd,<br> + <a name="fr36">Who</a> wish'd and wrought the welfare of their +kind?<br> + His name, accurst, who, leagued with——<a href= +"#f36"><sup>4</sup></a> and Hell,<br> + Labour'd to rouse, with rude and murderous yell,<br> + Discord the fiend, to toss rebellion's brand,<br> + To whelm in rage and woe a guiltless land:<br> + To frustrate wisdom's, virtue's noblest plan,<br> + And triumph in the miseries of man.<br> + Drivelling and dull, when crawls the reptile Muse,<br> + Swoln from the sty, and rankling from the stews,<br> + With envy, spleen, and pestilence replete,<br> + And gorged with dust she lick'd from Treason's feet:<br> + Who once, like Satan, raised to Heaven her sight,<br> + But turn'd abhorrent from the hated light:—<br> + O'er such a Muse shall wreaths of glory bloom?<br> + No—shame and execration be her doom.<br> + Hard-fated Bufo, could not dulness save<br> + Thy soul from sin, from infamy thy grave?<br> + Blackmore and Quarles, those blockheads of renown,<br> + Lavish'd their ink, but never harm'd the town.<br> + Though this, thy brother in discordant song,<br> + Harass'd the ear, and cramp'd the labouring tongue:<br> + And that, like thee, taught staggering prose to stand,<br> + And limp on stilts of rhyme around the land.<br> + Harmless they dozed a scribbling life away,<br> + And yawning nations own'd the innoxious lay,<br> + But from thy graceless, rude, and beastly brain,<br> + What fury breathed the incendiary strain?<br> + Did hate to vice exasperate thy style?<br> + No—Bufo match'd the vilest of the vile.<br> + Yet blazon'd was his verse with Virtue's name—<br> + Thus prudes look down to hide their want of shame:<br> + Thus hypocrites to truth, and fools to sense,<br> + And fops to taste, have sometimes made pretence:<br> + Thus thieves and gamesters swear by honour's laws:<br> + Thus pension-hunters bawl "their country's cause:"<br> + Thus furious Teague for moderation raved,<br> + And own'd his soul to liberty enslaved.<br> + Nor yet, though thousand cits admire thy rage,<br> + Though less of fool than felon marks thy page:<br> + Nor yet, though here and there one lonely spark<br> + Of wit half brightens through the involving dark,<br> + To show the gloom more hideous for the foil,<br> + But not repay the drudging reader's toil;<br> + (For who for one poor pearl of clouded ray<br> + Through Alpine dunghills delves his desperate way?<br> + Did genius to thy verse such bane impart?<br> + No. 'Twas the demon of thy venom'd heart,<br> + (Thy heart with rancour's quintessence endued).<br> + And the blind zeal of a misjudging crowd.<br> + Thus from rank soil a poison'd mushroom sprung,<br> + Nursling obscene of mildew and of dung:<br> + By Heaven design'd on its own native spot<br> + Harmless to enlarge its bloated bulk, and rot.<br> + But gluttony the abortive nuisance saw;<br> + It roused his ravenous, undiscerning maw:<br> + Gulp'd down the tasteless throat, the mess abhorr'd<br> + Shot fiery influence round the maddening board.<br> + O had thy verse been impotent as dull,<br> + Nor spoke the rancorous heart, but lumpish scull;<br> + Had mobs distinguish'd, they who howl'd thy fame,<br> + The icicle from the pure diamond's flame,<br> + From fancy's soul thy gross imbruted sense,<br> + From dauntless truth thy shameless insolence,<br> + From elegance confusion's monstrous mass,<br> + And from the lion's spoils the skulking ass,<br> + From rapture's strain the drawling doggrel line,<br> + From warbling seraphim the grunting swine;<br> + With gluttons, dunces, rakes, thy name had slept,<br> + Nor o'er her sullied fame Britannia wept:<br> + Nor had the Muse, with honest zeal possess'd,<br> + To avenge her country, by thy name disgraced,<br> + Raised this bold strain for virtue, truth, mankind,<br> + And thy fell shade to infamy resign'd.<br> + When frailty leads astray the soul sincere,<br> + Let mercy shed the soft and manly tear.<br> + When to the grave descends the sensual sot,<br> + Unnamed, unnoticed, let his carrion rot.<br> + When paltry rogues, by stealth, deceit, or force,<br> + Hazard their necks, ambitious of your purse:<br> + For such the hangman wreaths his trusty gin,<br> + And let the gallows expiate their sin.<br> + But when a ruffian, whose portentous crimes,<br> + Like plagues and earthquakes terrify the times,<br> + Triumphs through life, from legal judgment free,<br> + For Hell may hatch what law could ne'er foresee:<br> + Sacred from vengeance shall his memory rest?—<br> + Judas, though dead, though damn'd, we still detest.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +140<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> + <a name="f33"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� 'Hoary bard of night:' Dr Young.<br> +<a href="#fr33">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f34"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Rapt sage:' Pluto.<br> +<a href="#fr34">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f35"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +3:</span>� 'Indignant bard:' Alceus; see Akenside's <i>Ode on +Lyric Poetry</i>.<br> +<a href="#fr35">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f36"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +4:</span>� Wilkes.<br> +<a href="#fr36">return</a><br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section13">The Battle of the Pigmies and +Cranes</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>from the <i>Pygmæo-Gerano-Machia</i> of Addison.</b><br> +<br> +1762<br> +<br> +<table summary="The Pygmies and the Cranes" border="0" +cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>The Pigmy people, and the feather'd train,<br> + Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,<br> + I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,<br> + Lead on my squadrons and arrange the lines;<br> + The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,<br> + And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray;<br> + Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes,<br> + Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woes!<br> + The wars and woes of heroes six feet long<br> + Have oft resounded in Pierian song.<br> + Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece,<br> + And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece?<br> + Of Thebes' fell brethren; Theseus stern of face;<br> + And Peleus' son, unrivall'd in the race;<br> + Eneas, founder of the Roman line,<br> + And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?<br> + Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes,<br> + And over Blackmore's epic page to doze?<br> + 'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains,<br> + Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains;<br> + The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size,<br> + And armies rushing down the darken'd skies.<br> + Where India reddens to the early dawn,<br> + Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn:<br> + Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies,<br> + And rocky mountains round the border rise.<br> + Here, till the doom of fate its fall decreed,<br> + The empire flourish'd of the pigmy breed;<br> + Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd,<br> + And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.<br> + But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray,<br> + Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,<br> + He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,<br> + Its godlings mouldering on the abandon'd hearth;<br> + <a name="fr37">And</a> starts where small white bones are spread +around,<br> + "Or little<a href="#f37"><sup>1</sup></a> footsteps lightly +print the ground;"<br> + While the proud crane her nest securely builds,<br> + Chattering amid the desolated fields.<br> + But different fates befell her hostile rage,<br> + While reign'd invincible through many an age<br> + The dreaded pigmy: roused by war's alarms,<br> + Forth rush'd the madding manikin to arms.<br> + Fierce to the field of death the hero flies;<br> + The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground and dies;<br> + And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)<br> + With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road.<br> + And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,<br> + And often made the callow young his prey;<br> + With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smiled,<br> + To avenge the parent's trespass on the child.<br> + Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest,<br> + And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,<br> + Burning for blood in terrible array,<br> + The eighteen-inch militia burst their way:<br> + All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell,<br> + Whence scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.<br> + Loud uproar hence and rage of arms arose,<br> + And the fell rancour of encountering foes;<br> + Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms,<br> + And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy realms.<br> + Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire<br> + Of mice, high theme of the Maeonian lyre;<br> + When bold to battle march'd the accoutred frogs,<br> + And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs.<br> + Pierced by the javelin bulrush on the shore<br> + Here agonizing roll'd the mouse in gore;<br> + And there the frog (a scene full sad to see!)<br> + Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along on three;<br> + He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high,<br> + But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.<br> + And now the day of woe drew on apace,<br> + A day of woe to all the pigmy race,<br> + When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain)<br> + To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain.<br> + For, roused to vengeance by repeated wrong,<br> + From distant climes the long-bill'd legions throng:<br> + From Strymon's lake, Cäyster's plashy meads,<br> + And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds;<br> + From where the Danube winds through many a land,<br> + And Mareotis leaves the Egyptian strand;<br> + To rendezvous they waft on eager wing,<br> + And wait, assembled, the returning spring.<br> + Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight,<br> + Whet their keen beaks and twisting claws for fight:<br> + Each crane the pigmy power in thought o'erturns,<br> + And every bosom for the battle burns.<br> + When genial gales the frozen air unbind,<br> + The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind;<br> + Far in the sky they form their long array,<br> + And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey<br> + Deep, deep beneath; and, triumphing in pride<br> + With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride.<br> + 'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven<br> + Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven.<br> + Nor less the alarm that shook the world below,<br> + Where march'd in pomp of war the embattled foe:<br> + Where manikins with haughty step advance,<br> + And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance:<br> + To right and left the lengthening lines they form,<br> + And rank'd in deep array await the storm.<br> + High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen,<br> + Of giant stature and imperial mien:<br> + Full twenty inches tall, he strode along,<br> + And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng;<br> + And while with many a scar his visage frown'd,<br> + Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound<br> + Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight<br> + The glorious meed of high heroic might.<br> + For with insatiate vengeance he pursued,<br> + And never-ending hate, the feathery brood.<br> + Unhappy they, confiding in the length<br> + Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength,<br> + Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends,<br> + And from the panting trunk the pinion rends:<br> + Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more,<br> + The trunk disfigured stiffens in its gore.<br> + What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force!<br> + What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course!<br> + How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along,<br> + Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song!<br> + And now from far the mingling clamours rise,<br> + Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies.<br> + From skirt to skirt of Heaven, with stormy sway,<br> + A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day.<br> + Near and more near descends the dreadful shade,<br> + And now in battailous array display'd,<br> + On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire,<br> + The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.<br> + The pigmy warriors eye with fearless glare<br> + The host thick swarming o'er the burden'd air;<br> + Thick swarming now, but to their native land<br> + Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band.—<br> + When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven,<br> + Fierce on the expecting foe the cranes are driven,<br> + The kindling frenzy every bosom warms,<br> + The region echoes to the crash of arms;<br> + Loose feathers from the encountering armies fly,<br> + And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.<br> + To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane,<br> + Then with fresh vigour downwards darts again.<br> + Success in equal balance hovering hangs.<br> + Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs,<br> + The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls,<br> + Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls;<br> + There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound,<br> + With little feet the pigmy beats the ground:<br> + Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws,<br> + And, dying, curses the keen-pointed claws.<br> + Trembles the thundering field, thick cover'd o'er<br> + With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore;<br> + And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size,<br> + And here a claw, and there a finger, lies.<br> + Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd foes,<br> + All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows;<br> + And on the assailing host impetuous springs,<br> + Careless of nibbling bills and flapping wings;<br> + And 'midst the tumult wheresoe'er he turns,<br> + The battle with redoubled fury burns;<br> + From every side the avenging cranes amain<br> + Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain.<br> + When suddenly (for such the will of Jove)<br> + A fowl enormous, sousing from above,<br> + The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and, soaring high,<br> + (Sad chance of battle!) bore him up the sky.<br> + The cranes pursue, and, clustering in a ring,<br> + Chatter triumphant round the captive king.<br> + But, ah! what pangs each pigmy bosom wrung,<br> + When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung,<br> + High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord,<br> + His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd.<br> + Lo! yet again with unabated rage,<br> + In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.<br> + The crane with darted bill assaults the foe,<br> + Hovering; then wheels aloft to 'scape the blow:<br> + The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound;<br> + But whirls in empty air the falchion round.<br> + Such was the scene, when 'midst the loud alarms<br> + Sublime the eternal Thunderer rose in arms,<br> + When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,<br> + Heaved Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at heaven,<br> + Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high,<br> + Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky;<br> + Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew,<br> + Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.<br> + But now at length the pigmy legions yield,<br> + And, wing'd with terror, fly the fatal field.<br> + They raise a weak and melancholy wail,<br> + All in distraction scattering o'er the vale.<br> + Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;<br> + Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend;<br> + With unrelenting ire they urge the chase,<br> + Sworn to exterminate the hated race.<br> + 'Twas thus the pigmy name, once great in war,<br> + For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar,<br> + Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,<br> + Short is the date to earthly grandeur given,<br> + And vain are all attempts to roam beyond<br> + Where fate has fix'd the everlasting bound.<br> + Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power,<br> + And Persia's proud dominion is no more:<br> + Yea, though to both superior far in fame,<br> + Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name!<br> + And now, with lofty chiefs of ancient time,<br> + The pigmy heroes roam the Elysian clime.<br> + Or, if belief to matron-tales be due,<br> + Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,<br> + Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd,<br> + Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade:<br> + Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,<br> + And all their woes in long oblivion rest:<br> + Down the deep vale and narrow winding way<br> + They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay:<br> + 'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove,<br> + And Fairy-people is the name they love.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +140<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +150<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +160<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +170<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +180<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +190<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +200<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +210<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f37"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� 'Or little,' &c.: from Gray's <i>Elegy</i>.<br> +<a href="#fr37">return to footnote mark</a><br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section14">The Hares ­ a Fable</a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="The Hares ­ a Fable" border="0" cellspacing= +"10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>Yes, yes, I grant the sons of Earth<br> + Are doom'd to trouble from their birth.<br> + We all of sorrow have our share;<br> + But say, is yours without compare?<br> + Look round the world; perhaps you'll find<br> + Each individual of our kind<br> + Press'd with an equal load of ill,<br> + Equal at least: look further still,<br> + And own your lamentable case<br> + Is little short of happiness.<br> + In yonder hut that stands alone<br> + Attend to Famine's feeble moan;<br> + Or view the couch where Sickness lies,<br> + Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes;<br> + His frame by strong convulsion torn,<br> + His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.<br> + Or see, transfixt with keener pangs,<br> + Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;<br> + Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,<br> + Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares;<br> + Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll<br> + Their tempests on his harass'd soul.<br> + But here perhaps it may avail<br> + To enforce our reasoning with a tale.<br> + Mild was the morn, the sky serene,<br> + The jolly hunting band convene,<br> + The beagle's breast with ardour burns,<br> + The bounding steed the champaign spurns,<br> + And Fancy oft the game descries<br> + Through the hound's nose and huntsman's eyes,<br> + Just then a council of the hares<br> + Had met on national affairs.<br> + The chiefs were set; while o'er their head<br> + The furze its frizzled covering spread.<br> + Long lists of grievances were heard,<br> + And general discontent appear'd.<br> + "Our harmless race shall every savage<br> + Both quadruped and biped ravage?<br> + Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still<br> + Unite their wits to work us ill?<br> + The youth, his parent's sole delight,<br> + Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite,<br> + Whose pulse in every vein beats strong,<br> + Whose limbs leap light the vales along,<br> + May yet ere noontide meet his death,<br> + And lie dismember'd on the heath.<br> + For youth, alas! nor cautious age,<br> + Nor strength, nor speed eludes their rage.<br> + In every field we meet the foe,<br> + Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe;<br> + The morning but awakes our fears,<br> + The evening sees us bathed in tears.<br> + But must we ever idly grieve,<br> + Nor strive our fortunes to relieve?<br> + Small is each individual's force;<br> + To stratagem be our recourse;<br> + And then, from all our tribes combined,<br> + The murderer to his cost may find<br> + No foes are weak whom Justice arms,<br> + Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms.<br> + Be roused; or liberty acquire,<br> + Or in the great attempt expire."<br> + He said no more, for in his breast<br> + Conflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd:<br> + The fire of vengeance seem'd to stream<br> + From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam.<br> + And now the tumults of the war,<br> + Mingling confusedly from afar,<br> + Swell in the wind. Now louder cries<br> + Distinct of hounds and men arise.<br> + Forth from the brake, with beating heart,<br> + The assembled hares tumultuous start,<br> + And, every straining nerve on wing,<br> + Away precipitately spring.<br> + The hunting band, a signal given,<br> + Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven;<br> + O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound,<br> + And river broad, impetuous bound;<br> + Now plunge amid the forest shades,<br> + Glance through the openings of the glades;<br> + Now o'er the level valley sweep,<br> + Now with short step strain up the steep;<br> + While backward from the hunter's eyes<br> + The landscape like a torrent flies.<br> + At last an ancient wood they gain'd,<br> + By pruner's axe yet unprofaned.<br> + High o'er the rest, by nature rear'd,<br> + The oak's majestic boughs appear'd;<br> + Beneath, a copse of various hue<br> + In barbarous luxuriance grew.<br> + No knife had curb'd the rambling sprays,<br> + No hand had wove the implicit maze.<br> + The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind,<br> + The hazel's stubborn stem entwined,<br> + And bramble twigs were wreathed around,<br> + And rough furze crept along the ground.<br> + Here sheltering from the sons of murther,<br> + The hares their tired limbs drag no further.<br> + But, lo! the western wind ere long<br> + Was loud, and roar'd the woods among;<br> + From rustling leaves and crashing boughs<br> + The sound of woe and war arose.<br> + The hares distracted scour the grove,<br> + As terror and amazement drove;<br> + But danger, wheresoe'er they fled,<br> + Still seem'd impending o'er their head.<br> + Now crowded in a grotto's gloom,<br> + All hope extinct, they wait their doom.<br> + Dire was the silence, till, at length,<br> + Even from despair deriving strength,<br> + With bloody eye and furious look,<br> + A daring youth arose and spoke:<br> + "O wretched race, the scorn of Fate,<br> + Whom ills of every sort await!<br> + O cursed with keenest sense to feel<br> + The sharpest sting of every ill!<br> + Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme,<br> + Of liberty and vengeance dream,<br> + What now remains? To what recess<br> + Shall we our weary steps address,<br> + Since Fate is evermore pursuing<br> + All ways, and means to work our ruin?<br> + Are we alone, of all beneath,<br> + Condemn'd to misery worse than death?<br> + Must we, with fruitless labour, strive<br> + In misery worse than death to live?<br> + No. Be the smaller ill our choice;<br> + So dictates Nature's powerful voice.<br> + Death's pang will in a moment cease;<br> + And then, all hail, eternal peace!"<br> + Thus while he spoke, his words impart<br> + The dire resolve to every heart.<br> + A distant lake in prospect lay,<br> + That, glittering in the solar ray,<br> + Gleam'd through the dusky trees, and shot<br> + A trembling light along the grot.<br> + Thither with one consent they bend,<br> + Their sorrows with their lives to end;<br> + While each, in thought, already hears<br> + The water hissing in his ears.<br> + Fast by the margin of the lake,<br> + Conceal'd within a thorny brake,<br> + A linnet sat, whose careless lay<br> + Amused the solitary day.<br> + Careless he sung, for on his breast<br> + Sorrow no lasting trace impress'd;<br> + When suddenly he heard a sound<br> + Of swift feet traversing the ground.<br> + Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies,<br> + Thence trembling casts around his eyes;<br> + No foe appear'd, his fears were vain;<br> + Pleased he renews the sprightly strain.<br> + The hares whose noise had caused his fright,<br> + Saw with surprise the linnet's flight.<br> + "Is there on earth a wretch," they said,<br> + "Whom our approach can strike with dread?"<br> + An instantaneous change of thought<br> + To tumult every bosom wrought.<br> + So fares the system-building sage,<br> + Who, plodding on from youth to age,<br> + At last on some foundation dream<br> + Has rear'd aloft his goodly scheme,<br> + And proved his predecessors fools,<br> + And bound all nature by his rules;<br> + So fares he in that dreadful hour,<br> + When injured Truth exerts her power,<br> + Some new phenomenon to raise,<br> + Which, bursting on his frighted gaze,<br> + From its proud summit to the ground<br> + Proves the whole edifice unsound.<br> + "Children," thus spoke a hare sedate,<br> + Who oft had known the extremes of fate,<br> + "In slight events the docile mind<br> + May hints of good instruction find,<br> + That our condition is the worst,<br> + And we with such misfortunes curst,<br> + As all comparison defy,<br> + Was late the universal cry;<br> + When, lo! an accident so slight<br> + As yonder little linnet's flight,<br> + Has made your stubborn hearts confess<br> + (So your amazement bids me guess)<br> + That all our load of woes and fears<br> + Is but a part of what he bears.<br> + Where can he rest secure from harms,<br> + Whom even a helpless hare alarms?<br> + Yet he repines not at his lot;<br> + When past, the danger is forgot:<br> + On yonder bough he trims his wings,<br> + And with unusual rapture sings:<br> + While we, less wretched, sink beneath<br> + Our lighter ills, and rush to death.<br> + No more of this unmeaning rage,<br> + But hear, my friends, the words of age:<br> + "When, by the winds of autumn driven,<br> + The scatter'd clouds fly 'cross the heaven,<br> + Oft have we, from some mountain's head,<br> + Beheld the alternate light and shade<br> + Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowers<br> + The shadowy cloud; there downward pours,<br> + Streaming direct, a flood of day,<br> + Which from the view flies swift away;<br> + It flies, while other shades advance,<br> + And other streaks of sunshine glance.<br> + Thus chequer'd is the life below<br> + With gleams of joy and clouds of woe.<br> + Then hope not, while we journey on,<br> + Still to be basking in the sun;<br> + Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn,<br> + That sunshine will no more return.<br> + If, by your terrors overcome,<br> + Ye fly before the approaching gloom,<br> + The rapid clouds your flight pursue,<br> + And darkness still o'ercasts your view.<br> + Who longs to reach the radiant plain<br> + Must onward urge his course amain:<br> + For doubly swift the shadow flies,<br> + When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.<br> + At least be firm, and undismay'd<br> + Maintain your ground! the fleeting shade<br> + Ere long spontaneous glides away,<br> + And gives you back the enlivening ray.<br> + Lo, while I speak, our danger past!<br> + No more the shrill horn's angry blast<br> + Howls in our ear: the savage roar<br> + Of war and murder is no more.<br> + Then snatch the moment fate allows,<br> + Nor think of past or future woes."<br> + He spoke; and hope revives; the lake<br> + That instant one and all forsake,<br> + In sweet amusement to employ<br> + The present sprightly hour of joy.<br> + Now from the western mountain's brow,<br> + Compass'd with clouds of various glow,<br> + The sun a broader orb displays,<br> + And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.<br> + The lawn assumes a fresher green,<br> + And dew-drops spangle all the scene.<br> + The balmy zephyr breathes along,<br> + The shepherd sings his tender song,<br> + With all their lays the groves resound,<br> + And falling waters murmur round:<br> + Discord and care were put to flight,<br> + And all was peace and calm delight.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +140<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +150<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +160<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +170<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +180<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +190<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +200<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +210<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +220<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +230<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +240<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section15">The Wolf and Shepherds. A Fable</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>written in 1757 and first published in 1766</b><br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<table summary="The Wolf and Shepherds ­ a Fable" border="0" +cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>Laws, as we read in ancient sages,<br> + Have been like cobwebs in all ages:<br> + Cobwebs for little flies are spread,<br> + And laws for little folks are made;<br> + But if an insect of renown,<br> + Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone,<br> + Be caught in quest of sport or plunder,<br> + The flimsy fetter flies in sunder.<br> + Your simile perhaps may please one<br> + With whom wit holds the place of reason:<br> + But can you prove that this in fact is<br> + Agreeable to life and practice?<br> + Then hear, what in his simple way<br> + Old Æsop told me t' other day.<br> + In days of yore, but (which is very odd)<br> + Our author mentions not the period,<br> + We mortal men, less given to speeches,<br> + Allow'd the beasts sometimes to teach us.<br> + But now we all are prattlers grown,<br> + And suffer no voice but our own;<br> + With us no beast has leave to speak,<br> + Although his honest heart should break.<br> + 'Tis true, your asses and your apes,<br> + And other brutes in human shapes,<br> + And that thing made of sound and show,<br> + Which mortals have misnamed a beau,<br> + (But in the language of the sky<br> + Is call'd a two-legg'd butterfly),<br> + Will make your very heartstrings ache<br> + With loud and everlasting clack,<br> + And beat your auditory drum,<br> + Till you grow deaf, or they grow dumb.<br> + But to our story we return:<br> + 'Twas early on a Summer morn,<br> + A Wolf forsook the mountain den,<br> + And issued hungry on the plain.<br> + Full many a stream and lawn he past<br> + And reach'd a winding vale at last;<br> + Where from a hollow rock he spied<br> + The shepherds drest in flowery pride.<br> + Garlands were strew'd, and all was gay,<br> + To celebrate a holiday.<br> + The merry tabor's gamesome sound<br> + Provoked the sprightly dance around.<br> + Hard by a rural board was rear'd,<br> + On which in fair array appear'd<br> + The peach, the apple, and the raisin,<br> + And all the fruitage of the season.<br> + But, more distinguish'd than the rest,<br> + Was seen a wether ready drest,<br> + That smoking, recent from the flame,<br> + Diffused a stomach-rousing steam.<br> + Our Wolf could not endure the sight,<br> + Courageous grew his appetite:<br> + His entrails groan'd with tenfold pain,<br> + He lick'd his lips, and lick'd again:<br> + At last, with lightning in his eyes,<br> + He bounces forth, and fiercely cries:<br> + "Shepherds, I am not given to scolding,<br> + But now my spleen I cannot hold in.<br> + By Jove, such scandalous oppression<br> + Would put an elephant in passion.<br> + You, who your flocks (as you pretend)<br> + By wholesome laws from harm defend,<br> + Which make it death for any beast,<br> + How much soe'er by hunger press'd,<br> + To seize a sheep by force or stealth,<br> + For sheep have right to life and health;<br> + Can you commit, uncheck'd by shame,<br> + What in a beast so much you blame?<br> + What is a law, if those who make it<br> + Become the forwardest to break it?<br> + The case is plain: you would reserve<br> + All to yourselves, while others starve.<br> + Such laws from base self-interest spring,<br> + Not from the reason of the thing—"<br> + He was proceeding, when a swain<br> + Burst out,—"And dares a wolf arraign<br> + His betters, and condemn their measures,<br> + And contradict their wills and pleasures?<br> + We have establish'd laws, 'tis true,<br> + But laws are made for such as you.<br> + Know, sirrah, in its very nature<br> + A law can't reach the legislature.<br> + For laws, without a sanction join'd,<br> + As all men know, can never bind;<br> + But sanctions reach not us the makers,<br> + For who dares punish us, though breakers?<br> + 'Tis therefore plain, beyond denial,<br> + That laws were ne'er design'd to tie all;<br> + But those, whom sanctions reach alone:<br> + We stand accountable to none.<br> + Besides, 'tis evident, that, seeing<br> + Laws from the great derive their being,<br> + They as in duty bound should love<br> + The great, in whom they live and move,<br> + And humbly yield to their desires:<br> + 'Tis just what gratitude requires.<br> + What suckling, dandled on the lap,<br> + Would tear away its mother's pap?<br> + But hold—Why deign I to dispute<br> + With such a scoundrel of a brute?<br> + Logic is lost upon a knave,<br> + Let action prove the law our slave."<br> + An angry nod his will declared<br> + To his gruff yeoman of the guard;<br> + The full-fed mongrels, train'd to ravage,<br> + Fly to devour the shaggy savage.<br> + The beast had now no time to lose<br> + In chopping logic with his foes;<br> + "This argument," quoth he, "has force,<br> + And swiftness is my sole resource."<br> + He said, and left the swains their prey,<br> + And to the mountains scour'd away.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section16">Song, in imitation of Shakspeare's "Blow, +blow, thou winter wind"</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Blow, blow, thou vernal gale!<br> + Thy balm will not avail<br> + To ease my aching breast;<br> + Though thou the billows smooth,<br> + Thy murmurs cannot soothe<br> + My weary soul to rest.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream!<br> + Infuse the easy dream<br> + Into the peaceful soul;<br> + But thou canst not compose<br> + The tumult of my woes,<br> + Though soft thy waters roll.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers!<br> + Beauties surpassing yours<br> + My Rosalind adorn;<br> + Nor is the Winter's blast,<br> + That lays your glories waste,<br> + So killing as her scorn.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays,<br> + That linger down the maze<br> + Of yonder winding grove;<br> + O let your soft control<br> + Bend her relenting soul<br> + To pity and to love.<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Fade, fade, ye flowerets fair!<br> + Gales, fan no more the air!<br> + Ye streams, forget to glide;<br> + Be hush'd each vernal strain;<br> + Since nought can soothe my pain,<br> + Nor mitigate her pride.</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section17">To Lady Charlotte Gordon, dressed in a +Tartan Scotch Bonnet, with Plumes, &c .</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Why, lady, wilt them bind thy lovely brow<br> + With the dread semblance of that warlike helm;<br> + That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow,<br> + That graced the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm?<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + Thou know'st that Virtue is of power the source,<br> + And all her magic to thy eyes is given;<br> + We own their empire, while we feel their force,<br> + Beaming with the benignity of heaven.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + The plumy helmet and the martial mien<br> + Might dignify Minerva's awful charms;<br> + But more resistless far the Idalian queen—<br> + Smiles, graces, gentleness, her only arms.</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section18">Epitaph: being part of an Inscription +designed for a Monument erected by a Gentleman to the Memory of +his Lady</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>Farewell, my best beloved! whose heavenly mind<br> + Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd;<br> + Devotion, undebased by pride or art,<br> + With meek simplicity, and joy of heart:<br> + Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere;<br> + And only of thyself a judge severe:<br> + Unblamed, unequall'd in each sphere of life,<br> + The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife.<br> + In thee, their patroness the afflicted lost;<br> + Thy friends their pattern, ornament, and boast;<br> + And I—but ah, can words my loss declare,<br> + Or paint the extremes of transport and despair!<br> + O thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell—<br> + My guide, my friend, my best beloved, farewell!</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section19">Epitaph on Two Young Men of the name of +Leitch, who were drowned in crossing the River Southesk</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>O thou! whose steps in sacred reverence tread<br> + These lone dominions of the silent dead;<br> + On this sad stone a pious look bestow,<br> + Nor uninstructed read this tale of woe;<br> + And while the sigh of sorrow heaves thy breast,<br> + Let each rebellious murmur be suppress'd;<br> + Heaven's hidden ways to trace, for us how vain!<br> + Heaven's wise decrees, how impious to arraign!<br> + Pure from the stains of a polluted age,<br> + In early bloom of life they left the stage:<br> + Not doom'd in lingering woe to waste their breath,<br> + One moment snatch'd them from the power of Death:<br> + They lived united, and united died;<br> + Happy the friends whom Death cannot divide!</blockquote> + +<br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section20">Epitaph, intended for Himself</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + Escaped the gloom of mortal life, a soul<br> + Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay,<br> + Safe where no cares their whelming billows roll,<br> + No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life;<br> + Like thee, have languish'd after empty joys;<br> + Like thee, have labour'd in the stormy strife;<br> + Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys.<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + Yet, for a while, 'gainst Passion's threatful blast<br> + Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar;<br> + Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last<br> + Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + Forget my frailties, thou art also frail;<br> + Forgive my lapses, for thyself mayst fall;<br> + Nor read, unmoved, my artless tender tale,<br> + I was a friend, O man! to thee, to all.</blockquote> + +<br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h2><a name="section21">Poetical Works of Robert Blair</a></h2> + +<br> + + +<hr width="50%" align="left"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3><a name="section22">The Life of Robert Blair</a></h3> + +<br> +The paradox of Dr Johnson, in reference to sacred poetry, has +long ago fallen into disrepute. It seems singular indeed, how it +ever obtained credence, even although supported by one of the +most powerful pens that ever wrote in Britain, when we remember +that, previous to that author's day, the best poetry in the world +<i>had</i> been sacred. The Holy Scriptures then existed, with +that poetry which bursts out at their every pore, besides being +collected here and there into masses of rich song, "pressed down, +shaken together, and running over." Dante, too, had written his +great work, which, as if to mark it out for ever from things +unclean and common, he had called the <i><b>Divina</b> +Commedia</i>, and which was worthy of the name. Tasso's +<i>Gerusalemme Liberata</i> had a religious moral, as well as a +title suggestive of religious ideas. Spenser's <i>Faery Queen</i> +was sacred, if not in all the parts, yet at least in the +pervading spirit of its poetry. Cowley's <i>Davideis</i>, +Herbert's <i>Temple</i>, Milton's <i>Paradise Lost</i> and +<i>Paradise Regained,</i> and Young's <i>Night Thoughts</i>, +existed then, were all admitted to be more or less masterpieces, +and were all sacred in their subjects and aims. Blair's +<i>Grave</i> too, had, ere Johnson's day, appeared, and furnished +a good example of a solemn and religious theme, treated with +genuine poetic power.<br> +<br> +We need not say what a flood of sacred song has arisen since, and +drowned the dictum of the lexicographer in the waves. Nay, an +opinion is gaining ground, that all lofty poetry tends toward the +sacred, and lies under the shadow of the divine. Poetry is like +fire, which, even when employed in culinary or destructive +purposes, points its column upwards, and seems to transmit the +flower and essence of its conquests to heaven. All poetry that +does not thus ascend is either morbid in spirit, or secondary in +merit.<br> +<br> + We come now to the life of one of our best religious +poets,—<b>Robert Blair</b>—whose short poem <i>The Grave</i>, +is so admirable as to excite keen regret that it is almost the +only specimen extant of his gifted and original mind.<br> +<br> +The facts of his life are more than usually scanty, and our +biography, therefore, must be brief and meagre. Robert Blair was +born in Edinburgh, in 1699. It is curious, by the way, how few +poets the Modern Athens has produced. It has bred lawyers, +statists, critics, savans, in plenty, but reared but few men of +transcendant genius, and, so far as we remember, only five good +poets,—Scott, Ferguson, Ramsay, Falconer, and Blair,—whom the +manufacturing town of Paisley nearly matches with its Tannahill, +Motherwell, Alexander and John Wilson. Blair was the eldest son +of the Rev. David Blair, who was a minister of the Old Church of +Edinburgh, and one of the chaplains to the King. His mother was +Euphemia Nisbet, daughter of Alexander Nisbet, Esq., of Carfin. +His grandfather, Robert Blair, of Irvine,—descended from the +ancient family of Blair <i>of that ilk</i> (<i>i. e.</i>, of +Blair), in Ayrshire,—distinguished himself, in the troublous +times of the Solemn League and Covenant, as a powerful preacher, +an able negociator, and a brave, determined man. The celebrated +Hugh Blair,—whose writings, once so popular, seem now nearly +forgotten,—was our poet's cousin, although younger by nineteen +years. Robert lost his father while yet a boy, but enjoyed the +anxious care and admirable training of an excellent mother. He +studied first at the University of Edinburgh, and afterwards in +Holland. Of the particulars of either part of his curriculum +nothing is known. On his return from abroad, he seems to have +received license to preach, and to have hung about Edinburgh for +a few years, an unemployed probationer. This was of less +consequence, as he had some hereditary property. It gave him, +too, abundant leisure for study, and he employed it +well—cultivating natural history and the cognate +sciences—publishing a few fugitive verses, which made very +little impression on the public—and drawing out the first rude +draught of the poem which was destined to make him +immortal,—<i>The Grave</i>. In 1731, when he was in his +thirty-second year, he was appointed to the living of +Athelstaneford, a parish in East Lothian, where he continued to +reside all the rest of his life. Dissenter though the author of +this biography be, he is free to confess, that there is very much +that is enviable in the position of a parish minister, +particularly in the country. Possessed of an easy competence, and +a manageable field of labour, surrounded by the simplicities of +rural manners, and the picturesque features of rural +scenery,—lord of his sphere of duty, and master of his +time,—his life can be, and often is, one of the most useful and +happy, honourable in its toils, and graceful in its relaxations, +to be found on earth. Where could we expect elegant studies to be +prosecuted with more success, or whence could we expect more +works of sanctified learning and genius to issue, than in and +from the "manses" of Scotland, always so beautifully situated, +now on the brink of the mountain stream, singing its wild way +through the woods,—now in the centre of rich orchards and +fertile fields,—now on sunny braes, overlooking the whole +parish, prostrate in its loveliness at their feet,—and now +surrounded and shadowed by broad old oaks and tall black +pine-trees? And so, accordingly, it has been, although not +perhaps to the extent we might have wished or expected. +Philosophy of the deepest order has been studied—inquiries the +most profound and extensive into natural science and history have +been prosecuted; and painting, music, and poetry, have found +enthusiastic and gifted votaries, who, at the same time, have not +neglected their higher vocation,—in the quiet manses of our +country; and we rejoice to know that this state of things +continues, and is not confined to the Established Church, but may +be asserted with equal or greater force to exist in others.<br> +<br> +At Athelstaneford, Blair seems to have realised this ideal of a +country minister. He was attentive to his pastoral duties, and +the correspondent of Doddridge and the author of <i>The +Grave</i>, could not fail to be an evangelical, a practical, and +a powerful preacher. He at the same time diligently prosecuted +his favourite studies, which were botany, natural history, and +poetry. Possessing a considerable fortune, he lived on a footing +of equality and friendship with the gentry of the neighbourhood, +and others of similar rank in distant parts of Scotland. Sir +Francis Kinloch of Gilmerton and John Gallander of Craigforth are +mentioned as two of his intimates. We are tempted to figure the +author of <i>The Grave</i> as a morose and melancholy +<i>solitaire</i>—musing amid midnight churchyards—stumbling +over bones—and returning home to light his lamp, inserted in a +gaping skull, and to write out his gloomy cogitations. This is +very far from being his real character. He was more frequently +seen wandering amidst the flowery nooks of summer, with a +microscope in his hand; or, on his way home from his pastoral +visitations, stopping to analyse the fungi and the mosses which +met him on his path; or musing above the long liquid lapse of +some wayside stream, down which were floating the red leaves of +autumn; or turning a telescope of his own construction aloft to +the gleaming host of heaven. In his mode of spending his time, as +well as in some of the stern features of his genius, he resembled +Crabbe, who, believing that every weed was a flower, spent much +of his time amidst the fields and on the sea-shores; who +extracted delight out of the meanest fungus, even as he extracted +poetry out of the humblest characters; and whose life, like +Blair's, was a harmless dream.<br> +<br> +After spending seven years of studious solitude, he, in 1738, +married his relation, Isabella Law, daughter of Mr Law of +Elvingston, who had been professor of moral philosophy in the +University of Edinburgh, and whose death, which had happened ten +years before, he had mourned in some rather lame verses, which +our readers will find in this edition. Her brother was the +sheriff-depute of East Lothian. She is described as a lady of +great beauty and amiable manners, and succeeded in making the +poet very happy. She bore him five sons and one daughter. Of +these, Robert arose, through various gradations of honour at the +Scottish bar, to be President of the Court of Session, and died +in 1811. He was a man of massive and powerful intellect. It is, +we think, in <i>Peter's Letters</i> that Lockhart gives a glowing +portraiture of President Blair's remarkable powers. He had not +the genius or "hairbrained sentimental trace" of his father, but +had inherited that clear, stern understanding, and that profound +insight into men and manners, which are met with in every page of +<i>The Grave.</i><br> +<br> +Of this poem the author had, we said, drawn a first outline when +a youth in Edinburgh. This he completed after his settlement at +Athelstaneford; and, about the year 1742, he began to make +arrangements for its publication. He had, probably through his +neighbour, the celebrated Colonel Gardiner, who fell at the +battle of Prestonpans, become acquainted with Isaac Watts, who +paid him, he says in one of his letters, "many civilities." To +him he forwarded the MS. of his poem. Dr Watts, with +characteristic candour and good taste, admired it, and offered it +to two different London booksellers, both of whom, however, +declined to publish it, expressing a doubt whether any person +living three hundred miles from town could write so as to be +acceptable to the fashionable and the polite! No poetry at that +time went down except imitations of Pope. Blair got back his MS., +and, nothing daunted, sent it to Philip Doddridge, who was also +an intimate of Colonel Gardiner's, requesting his opinion, which +appears to have been as favourable as that of Dr Watts. At length +it was published in London in the year 1743, and reprinted at +Edinburgh in 1747, a year after its author's death.<br> +<br> +Between that event and the appearance of his poem, nothing +remarkable occurred. The success of his work must have shed +additional sweetness into a cup which was rich before. "His +tastes," says one of his biographers, "were elegant and domestic. +Books and flowers seem to have been the only rivals in his +thoughts. His rambles were from his fireside to his garden; and, +although the only record of his genius is of a gloomy character, +it is evident that his habits and life contributed to render him +cheerful and happy." At last that awful chasm, the terrors, +grandeurs, and moral lessons of which he had so powerfully sung, +opened its jaws to receive him, and the Grave crowned its +laureate with its cold and earthy crown. He was seized with +fever, caught probably in the exercise of his pastoral functions, +and expired on the 4th of February 1746, at the early age of +forty-seven, when his body and mind were both in full vigour, and +when, speaking after the manner of men, yet greater works than +<i>The Grave</i> were before him. He left his wife, who lived +till 1774, and five children behind him. His body reposes in the +church-yard of Athelstaneford, without a monument, and with +nothing but the initials K.B. to mark the spot.<br> +<br> +The fact that he died comparatively so young, sufficiently +accounts for the paucity of his poems. He had found a vein of +rich and virgin gold; he had thrown out one mass of ore, and was, +as it were, resting on his pickaxe ere recommencing his labour, +when he was smitten down by a workman who never rests nor +slumbers. Still let us thankfully accept what he has produced; +the more as it is so distinctively original, so free from any +serious alloy, and so impressively religious in its spirit and +tone.<br> +<br> +This masterpiece of Blair's genius is not a great poem so much as +it is a magnificent portion, fragment, or book of a great poem. +The most, alike of its merits and its faults, spring from the +fact, that it keeps close to its subject—it daguerreotypes its +dreadful theme. Many have objected to its conclusion as lame and +impotent, and would have wished a loftier swell of hopeful +anticipation of the Resurrection at the close; but this, in fact, +would have started the subject of another poem. Blair was writing +of the power and triumphs of the tomb. He left it to others, or +possibly to another poem by himself, to celebrate the victory +over it, to be gained at the resurrection. Enough for his purpose +to allude to it at the close, in such a way as to intimate his +own belief in its reality. Surely he expects too much who +requires the painter of <i>Night</i> to introduce <i>Morning</i> +into the same picture.<br> +<br> +The shortness of the poem has been objected to it. But this, we +think, shows the poet's good sense. The subject is too uniform +and too gloomy for a long poem. <i>The Grave, in twelve books</i> +would have been totally unreadable. It was far better to give, as +Blair has given, a strong, stern, rapid, and concentrated sketch +of the grisly gulf. The grave, in one respect, has no unity, and +no story. It stands by itself, hollow, solitary, with its +momentary ghastly yawnings, its general repose, and the dark +mysteries which, whether open or shut, it conceals in its silent +bosom. Reverence, as well as good taste, requires the poet who +would venture on such a theme, to approach it trembling, and to +withdraw from it in haste.<br> +<br> +Yet Blair has been accused of a want of reverence in his +treatment of this awful subject, nor is this objection altogether +unfounded; the poet does treat <i>the Grave</i> in a somewhat +abrupt and cavalier fashion, and does not seem sufficiently +afraid of it. He was young when he wrote the greater part of the +poem, and of young poets we may ask as Wordsworth asks about +little children, "What can they know of death?" It had never +knocked at his door or glared in at his window. He was, besides, +of a bold and daring genius. He consulted rather strong effect +than minute finish. The tone and style of his poem, consequently, +are somewhat hirsute and unpolished. Campbell says of him, +judiciously, "Blair may be a homely and even a gloomy poet in the +eye of fastidious criticism; but there is a masculine and +pronounced character even in his gloom and homeliness that keeps +it most distinctly apart from either dulness or vulgarity. His +style pleases us like the powerful expression of a countenance +without regular beauty." He excels most in describing the darkest +and most terrible ideas suggested by the subject, and seems +almost to exult, while depicting the triumphs of the grave over +the rich, the strong, the lofty, and the powerful. Death himself +he assails in language approaching virulence, as when he says<br> + + +<blockquote>O great maneater,<br> + Unheard-of epicure, without a fellow,<br> + Thou must render up thy dead,<br> + And with high interest too.</blockquote> + +<br> + This exulting spirit, however, springs in him, less from +ferocious feeling than from conscious rejoicing power. He is not +a savage, brandishing his bloody tomahawk, so much as a Michael +Angelo, hewing, with heat and haste, at one of his terrible +pieces of statuary. He characterizes the miser severely; he +lashes the proud wicked man whom he sees pompously hearsed into +Hell; with stern irony he pursues the beauty from her +looking-glass to the clods where<br> + + +<blockquote>"The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,<br> + Feeds on her damask cheek;"</blockquote> + +<br> + he derides the baffled son of Æsculapius, who is deserted +and deceived by his own drugs; and he exerts all the fearful +force of his genius to show us the suicide in that "Other Place," +where<br> + + +<blockquote>"The common damn'd shun his society,<br> + And look upon themselves as fiends less foul."</blockquote> + +<br> + But the fine imagery and the rapid touch serve alike to show +that though he is angry, it is with the wrath of a man—not with +the malignity of a demon. We have sometimes been induced to fancy +that Pollok, in the <i>Course of Time</i>, loves to linger amid +the ruins of fallen and lost natures; and finds a savage luxury +in the contemplation of the agonies of those whom he represents +as damned. He tells us that he loved no scenery so well as that +of solitary wastes, where nature was utterly barren and seemed +willing to decay—where the dark wings of monotonous gloom and +eternal silence met and sullenly embraced over the dreary region; +and he seems to have had the same passion for moral as for +physical desolations. Blair, on the other hand, never tarries +long in such scenes; he does not dwell amidst, and brood over +them like an owl, but crosses them with the swift brushing wing +of a bird returning to her evening nest. He never goes out of his +way to search for them—he sees and shows them merely because +they meet him on his path. There is nothing morbid nor much that +is melancholy in this poem. He takes the hard fact as it is, and +paints it with all his force, but he does not seek to exaggerate +or discolour it. He shows "the Grave" in various lights, at +morning, night, and noon—not under the uniform weight of a +leaden midnight sky, or only by the ghastly illumination of a +waning moon. Southey, in his <i>Life of Cowper</i>, has fallen +into the mistake of supposing Blair one of the imitators of +Young. Now, in fact, Blair's poem was <i>written</i> before the +<i>Last Day</i> of Young, or the <i>Night Thoughts</i> had +appeared. Its originality is indeed one of its greatest merits +and charms. The author has copied no style, imitated no manner, +and scorned to permit any living man or poet to stand between him +and the cold stern reality of death, which he was to reflect in +song. He is worthy, thus, of the name so often misapplied, of +Poet—<i>i. e.</i> Maker. You see an original genius both in the +beauties and the faults of the work. Its language, so simply +strong and daring in its homeliness, its free and energetic +motion, its fresh fearless touch, its fidelity to nature and to +life, the quick succession and sharp brief poignancy of its +pictures, its absence of elaboration, and carelessness about +minute lights and shades—all combine to prove that the author +has an eye, an imagination, and a purpose quite peculiar to +himself. He treats <i>the Grave</i> with as much originality as +if he had been contemporary with the earliest sepulchre—as if he +had plucked grass from Abel's tomb; and yet, while it has not +lost to his eye its first fearful gloss and glory, it has +gathered around it the dear or dismal associations of six +thousand years; and Adam and the "new-made widow" seem to be +leaning side by side over its dust. We could have conceived of +him treating the subject more reconditely, imaginatively, and +metaphysically, but not of handling it with more direct and +masculine power.<br> +<br> +That he has done so, is, undoubtedly, one great cause of the +poem's popularity. Had he woven any gossamer of reverie or +philosophic conjecture over <i>the Grave</i>, or even shown much +personal interest in it, he might have gained a more peculiar set +of admirers, but would not have won his way to the world's heart. +As it is, the popularity of <i>The Grave</i> has been unbounded. +Partly from the subject, partly from the shortness, partly from +the signal truth and force of the poem, it rose rapidly to fame. +It became <i>everybody's Grave</i>. The poem was copied into all +school collections. It lay along with <i>Robinson Crusoe</i> and +Bunyan's <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>, in the windows of cottages, +and on the tables of wayside inns—achieving thus what Coleridge +predicated over that well-thumbed copy of <i>Thomson's +Seasons</i>, in the Welsh ale-house—"true fame!" It pervaded +America. It was translated into other languages, and in its own +it now transmigrated into a tract, now filled the page of a +periodical, and now became a small separate book, telling its +solemn tale to those who, though at first reluctant, as was the +wedding guest to hear the Anciente Marinere, were at last +compelled to listen, if not to learn. Light ballads and other +amusing and clever trifles, had before and have since thus "put a +girdle round about the globe in forty minutes;" but here was the +phenomenon of a sad and serious strain, with little merit or +charm but Christian truth and rugged poetry, passing, as if on +telegraphic wires, through the whole world in a moment of time. +Perhaps we should add a reason, although a very subordinate one, +for the popularity of the poem. It was its author's <i>first</i> +and <i>last</i>. He wrote himself at once and easily +<i>up</i>—he never tried and succeeded in writing himself +laboriously <i>down</i>.<br> +<br> +The only books which should gain permanent reputation are those +which supply materials for thought, and are studded with moveable +gems of expression. We think we may divide the poems of the past +and present into two classes, which we may discriminate into +<i>buildings</i> and <i>quarries</i>. Many works to which you can +hardly deny the character of works of genius may be likened to +elegant and splendid edifices, the structure of which you cannot +but admire, although the secret of their architecture you do not +understand, and although from them you neither do nor can extract +a single stone. They stand up before the view, dazzling and +confounding,—<br> + + +<blockquote>"Distinct but distant, clear, but ah! how +cold."</blockquote> + +<br> + Other books, less magnificent in aspect and rougher in style, +are yet so full of suggestive and germinating thought, that we +must liken them to quarries, surrounded it may be by thorns and +briars, and precipices, but containing the richest of matter, and +communicating with the very depths of the earth. Not to enter on +the vexed questions connected with more celebrated poets, we may +name Darwin and Dr Thomas Brown as two specimens of the building, +and Robert Blair as an admirable example of the quarry. In +household words and sententious truths, he yields (taking his +space into consideration), not even to Young, or Pope, or Cowper, +but to Shakspeare alone. His poem is a tissue of texts; many of +his expressions might pass and have passed for bits of +<i>Hamlet</i>. Take a few:—<br> + + +<blockquote>"Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul,<br> + Sweetener of life, and solder of society."<br> +<br> + "Son of the morning, whither art thou gone?<br> + Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head,<br> + And the majestic menace of thine eyes<br> + Felt from afar?"<br> +<br> + "Sorry pre-eminence of high descent!<br> + Above the vulgar, born to <i>rot in state.</i>"</blockquote> + +<br> + Hence, by the way, Byron's famous lines,—<br> + + +<blockquote>"It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold<br> + The <i>rottenness</i> of eighty years in gold."</blockquote> + +<br> +The exquisite description of beauty in the grave has been already +quoted. That of the strong man dying is quite Shakspearian, and +equally so is the picture commencing, "Death's shafts fly quick," +particularly the passage about the sexton. How much he has +compressed in the few words of the celebrated description!—<br> + + +<blockquote>"The wind is up; hark! how it howls! methinks<br> + Till now I never heard a sound so dreary;<br> + Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird,<br> + Rook'd in the spire, screams loud."</blockquote> + +<br> + Who Blair's favourite authors were, we are not informed, but +internal evidence proves him to have frequently and profitably +read Shakspeare; and in terseness of description, +comprehensiveness of vision, careless grandeur of execution, and +short felicitous strokes of genius, he bears to him a +considerable resemblance.<br> +<br> +Blair's originality is proved by the fact, that many poets since +have been either indebted to or inspired by his manly, noble +verse. A great original, although he seldom steals himself, is +the innocent cause of much theft in others, and his writings +tempt, like the unbolted gate of a bank, to plunder. Young, +although a truly gifted man, has kindled his night-lamp again and +again at the phosphoric flame of <i>The Grave</i>. The author of +the <i>Night Thoughts</i> has written more sustained and sounding +passages than Blair; his style is more antithetic, and his +general mode of thought more ingenious; his book is a much larger +one; he exhibits at times gleams of deeper insight; has +occasional bursts of more impassioned earnestness; and his work +has a personal interest, like an interrupted story or imperfect +plot running through it: but <i>The Grave</i> is superior in +ease, in nature, in healthy tone, and in those happy touches +which light upon even genius only in rare and favoured hours. In +some of these points, as well as in a certain power of rough +moral anatomy, and vivid hurrying sarcasm (like one in haste +lifting, handling, and striking with a red-hot falchion), Blair +reminds us rather of Cowper; but the poet of <i>The Task</i> +teaches a sterner morality, wears around him a mantle of austerer +gloom, abounds more in Scriptural reference and in purely +theological matter, and exhibits a more thoroughly bardic and +prophetic spirit. James Grahame, the author of <i>The +Sabbath</i>, resembles Blair somewhat in happy pictorial flashes, +and in the frequent rudeness of his versification; but is, on the +whole, a milder, a more refined, a tenderer, and a weaker writer. +It is clear that Pollok found the germ of his noble poem, <i>The +Course of Time</i>, in <i>The Grave</i>. They resemble each other +in their want of a plot, a hinge, a "back-bone," both being +collections of loosely-strung moral sketches, with no unity but +that of spirit, as also in the homely force and boldness of the +writing; and if Pollok in aught differ from Blair, it is partly +in the length of his poem and its elaboration, and partly in that +feverish, hectic heat, and that morbid intensity and fury of +temperament, which are the sources of much of Pollok's strength, +and of more of his weakness. No poem on any similar subject, in +our time, can be named with Blair's, except perhaps Bryant's +<i>Thanatopsis</i>. The moral tendency, however, and religious +tone of the two poems are entirely different. <i>Thanatopsis</i> +looks at the Grave solely in its physical and poetical aspects. +It never mentions either the Resurrection or the Future State. An +Indian would have coloured his poem on the sepulchre with finer +and fierier lines, like the stamp of autumn on the fallen leaf. +The main idea in it (an idea probably suggested by a line in +<i>The Grave</i>—<br> + + +<blockquote>"What is this world?<br> + What but a spacious burial-place unwall'd?"</blockquote> + +<br> + is that of the earth as a great sepulchre; and its lesson is to +inculcate on the death-devoted dust, which we call man, the duty +of dropping into its kindred dust as quietly and gracefully as +possible. It is, as a poem, chiefly remarkable for its solemn +music, which reminds you of a burial-march, but is far inferior +to the Scottish poem in lofty moral, in theological truth, and in +illustrative power. Blair, and not Bryant, remains the laureate +of the Grave.<br> +<br> +It is much to have one's name and fame connected with one of the +great centrical truths of the universe, especially when that +truth is related to a fact. Suppose a writer to have produced a +great poem on Light and the Sun—or on Absolute Being and God—or +on Immortal Life and Heaven—how sublime and how enviable were +his reputation! It were for ever bound up, in the bundle of life, +with these great Ideas and Facts. Now, Blair has sung, in notes +as yet unequalled, one of the cardinal, although one of the +gloomiest thoughts and actualities in existence, and his name +ought to stand proportionally high. He has, in a solemn yet happy +hour, turned aside from the highways, and the byeways too, of the +world, and gone a-musing and meditating, like Isaac in the +evening fields, and found among these a field of the dead, a +place of skulls; and, returning home, has recorded that one brief +meditation in verse, and made it and himself immortal. Such, +precisely, is this Poem, and such the experience of this Poet. As +long as "the mourners go about the streets," or assemble in their +crowds, blackening the silent <i>braes</i> on their way to the +country churchyard—as long as the grass of the grave murmurs out +its moral in the western wind, and the sunshine seems to sadden +as it shines upon the memorials and monuments of the dead—so +long shall men read the <i>The Grave</i>, and turn with pensive +joy and tearful gratitude to the memory of its poet.<br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section23">The Grave</a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="The Grave" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>While some affect the sun, and some the shade,<br> + Some flee the city, some the hermitage;<br> + Their aims as various, as the roads they take<br> + In journeying through life;—the task be mine,<br> + To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;<br> + The appointed place of rendezvous, where all<br> + These travellers meet.—Thy succours I implore,<br> + Eternal king! whose potent arm sustains<br> + The keys of Hell and Death.—The Grave, dread thing!<br> + Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appall'd<br> + Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark<br> + Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes!<br> + Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,<br> + Dark as was chaos, ere the infant Sun<br> + Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams<br> + Athwart the gloom profound.—The sickly taper,<br> + By glimmering through thy low-brow'd misty vaults<br> + (Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime),<br> + Lets fall a supernumerary horror,<br> + And only serves to make thy night more irksome.<br> + Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew,<br> + Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell<br> + 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms:<br> + Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades,<br> + Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports)<br> + Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds:<br> + No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.<br> + See yonder hallow'd fane—the pious work<br> + Of names once famed, now dubious or forgot,<br> + And buried 'midst the wreck of things which were;<br> + There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead.<br> + The wind is up: hark! how it howls! Methinks<br> + Till now I never heard a sound so dreary:<br> + Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird,<br> + Rook'd in the spire, screams loud: the gloomy aisles<br> + Black-plaster'd, and hung round with shreds of 'scutcheons,<br> + And tatter'd coats of arms, send back the sound,<br> + Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,<br> + The mansions of the dead.—Roused from their slumbers,<br> + In grim array the grisly spectres rise,<br> + Grin horrible, and, obstinately sullen,<br> + Pass and repass, hush'd as the foot of night.<br> + Again the screech-owl shrieks: ungracious sound!<br> + I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run chill.<br> + Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms,<br> + Coeval near with that, all ragged show,<br> + Long lash'd by the rude winds: some rift half down<br> + Their branchless trunks; others so thin at top,<br> + That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree.<br> + Strange things, the neighbours say, have happen'd here:<br> + Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs;<br> + Dead men have come again, and walk'd about;<br> + And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd!<br> + (Such tales their cheer at wake or gossipping,<br> + When it draws near to witching time of night.)<br> + Oft, in the lone church-yard at night I've seen,<br> + By glimpse of moonshine chequering through the trees,<br> + The schoolboy with his satchel in his hand,<br> + Whistling aloud to bear his courage up,<br> + And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones<br> + (With nettles skirted, and with moss o'ergrown),<br> + That tell in homely phrase who lie below.<br> + Sudden he starts! and hears, or thinks he hears,<br> + The sound of something purring at his heels;<br> + Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him,<br> + Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;<br> + Who gather round, and wonder at the tale<br> + Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,<br> + That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand<br> + O'er some new-open'd grave, and, strange to tell!<br> + Evanishes at crowing of the cock.<br> + The new-made widow too, I've sometimes spied,<br> + Sad sight! slow moving o'er the prostrate dead:<br> + Listless, she crawls along in doleful black,<br> + Whilst bursts of sorrow gush from either eye,<br> + Past falling down her now untasted cheek.<br> + Prone on the lowly grave of the dear man<br> + She drops; whilst busy meddling memory,<br> + In barbarous succession, musters up<br> + The past endearments of their softer hours,<br> + Tenacious of its theme. Still, still she thinks<br> + She sees him, and, indulging the fond thought,<br> + Clings yet more closely to the senseless turf,<br> + Nor heeds the passenger who looks that way.<br> + Invidious grave!—how dost thou rend in sunder<br> + Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one!<br> + A tie more stubborn far than nature's band.<br> + Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul;<br> + Sweetener of life, and solder of society!<br> + I owe thee much: thou hast deserved from me,<br> + Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.<br> + Oft have I proved the labours of thy love,<br> + And the warm efforts of the gentle heart,<br> + Anxious to please.—Oh! when my friend and I<br> + In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on,<br> + Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down<br> + Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank,<br> + Where the pure limpid stream has slid along<br> + In grateful errors through the underwood,<br> + Sweet murmuring,—methought the shrill-tongued thrush<br> + Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird<br> + Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd every note;<br> + The eglantine smelt sweeter, and the rose<br> + Assumed a dye more deep; whilst every flower<br> + Vied with its fellow-plant in luxury<br> + Of dress.—Oh! then the longest summer's day<br> + Seem'd too, too much in haste: still the full heart<br> + Had not imparted half! 'twas happiness<br> + Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed,<br> + Not to return, how painful the remembrance!<br> + Dull Grave!—thou spoil'st the dance of youthful blood,<br> + Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,<br> + And every smirking feature from the face;<br> + Branding our laughter with the name of madness.<br> + Where are the jesters now? the men of health<br> + Complexionally pleasant? Where the droll,<br> + Whose every look and gesture was a joke<br> + To clapping theatres and shouting crowds,<br> + And made even thick-lipp'd musing melancholy<br> + To gather up her face into a smile<br> + Before she was aware? Ah! sullen now,<br> + And dumb as the green turf that covers them.<br> + Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war?<br> + The Roman Cæsars, and the Grecian chiefs,<br> + The boast of story? Where the hotbrain'd youth,<br> + Who the tiara at his pleasure tore<br> + From kings of all the then discover'd globe,<br> + And cried, forsooth, because his arm was hamper'd,<br> + And had not room enough to do its work?—<br> + Alas! how slim, dishonourably slim,<br> + And cramm'd into a place we blush to name!<br> + Proud Royalty! how alter'd in thy looks!<br> + How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue!<br> + Son of the morning, whither art thou gone?<br> + Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head,<br> + And the majestic menace of thine eyes,<br> + Felt from afar? Pliant and powerless now,<br> + Like new-born infant wound up in his swathes,<br> + Or victim tumbled flat upon its back,<br> + That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife.<br> + Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues,<br> + And coward insults of the base-born crowd,<br> + That grudge a privilege thou never hadst,<br> + But only hoped for in the peaceful grave,<br> + Of being unmolested and alone.<br> + Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs,<br> + And honours by the heralds duly paid<br> + In mode and form even to a very scruple:<br> + Oh, cruel irony! these come too late;<br> + And only mock whom they were meant to honour,<br> + Surely there's not a dungeon slave that's buried<br> + In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd,<br> + But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he.<br> + Sorry pre-eminence of high descent,<br> + Above the vulgar born, to rot in state!<br> + But see! the well plumed hearse comes nodding on,<br> + Stately and slow; and properly attended<br> + By the whole sable tribe that painful watch<br> + The sick man's door, and live upon the dead,<br> + By letting out their persons by the hour,<br> + To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad.<br> + How rich the trappings, now they're all unfurl'd<br> + And glittering in the sun! Triumphant entries<br> + Of conquerors, and coronation pomps,<br> + In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people<br> + Retard the unwieldy show; whilst from the casements<br> + And houses' tops, ranks behind ranks close wedged<br> + Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste?<br> + Why this ado in earthing up a carcase<br> + That's fallen into disgrace, and in the nostril<br> + Smells horrible?—Ye undertakers, tell us,<br> + 'Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,<br> + Why is the principal conceal'd, for which<br> + You make this mighty stir?—'Tis wisely done;<br> + What would offend the eye in a good picture,<br> + The painter casts discreetly into shade.<br> + Proud lineage! now how little thou appear'st!<br> + Below the envy of the private man!<br> + Honour, that meddlesome officious ill,<br> + Pursues thee even to death, nor there stops short;<br> + Strange persecution! when the grave itself<br> + Is no protection from rude sufferance.<br> + Absurd to think to overreach the grave,<br> + And from the wreck of names to rescue ours!<br> + The best-concerted schemes men lay for fame<br> + Die fast away: only themselves die faster.<br> + The far-famed sculptor, and the laurell'd bard,<br> + Those bold insurancers of deathless fame,<br> + Supply their little feeble aids in vain.<br> + The tapering pyramid, the Egyptian's pride,<br> + And wonder of the world; whose spiky top<br> + Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outlived<br> + The angry shaking of the winter's storm;<br> + Yet spent at last by the injuries of heaven,<br> + Shatter'd with age and furrow'd o'er with years,<br> + The mystic cone, with hieroglyphics crusted,<br> + At once gives way. Oh, lamentable sight!<br> + The labour of whole ages tumbles down,<br> + A hideous and mis-shapen length of ruins.<br> + Sepulchral columns wrestle, but in vain,<br> + With all-subduing Time: his cankering hand<br> + With calm deliberate malice wasteth them:<br> + Worn on the edge of days, the brass consumes,<br> + The busto moulders, and the deep-cut marble,<br> + Unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge.<br> + Ambition, half convicted of her folly,<br> + Hangs down the head, and reddens at the tale.<br> + Here, all the mighty troublers of the earth,<br> + Who swam to sovereign rule through seas of blood;<br> + The oppressive, sturdy, man-destroying villains,<br> + Who ravaged kingdoms, and laid empires waste,<br> + And in a cruel wantonness of power<br> + Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave up<br> + To want the rest; now, like a storm that's spent,<br> + Lie hush'd, and meanly sneak behind the covert.<br> + Vain thought! to hide them from the general scorn<br> + That haunts and dogs them like an injured ghost<br> + Implacable. Here, too, the petty tyrant,<br> + Whose scant domains geographer ne'er noticed,<br> + And, well for neighbouring grounds, of arm as short;<br> + Who fix'd his iron talons on the poor,<br> + And gripp'd them like some lordly beast of prey;<br> + Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger,<br> + And piteous, plaintive voice of misery<br> + (As if a slave was not a shred of nature,<br> + Of the same common nature with his lord);<br> + Now tame and humble, like a child that's whipp'd,<br> + Shakes hands with dust, and calls the worm his kinsman;<br> + Nor pleads his rank and birthright: Under ground<br> + Precedency's a jest; vassal and lord,<br> + Grossly familiar, side by side consume.<br> + When self-esteem, or others' adulation,<br> + Would cunningly persuade us we are something<br> + Above the common level of our kind,<br> + The Grave gainsays the smooth-complexion'd flattery,<br> + And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.<br> + Beauty,—thou pretty plaything, dear deceit!<br> + That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,<br> + And gives it a new pulse, unknown before,<br> + The Grave discredits thee: thy charms expunged,<br> + Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,<br> + What hast thou more to boast of? Will thy lovers<br> + Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage?<br> + Methinks I see thee with thy head low laid,<br> + Whilst, surfeited upon thy damask cheek,<br> + The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,<br> + Riots unscared. For this, was all thy caution?<br> + For this, thy painful labours at thy glass?<br> + To improve those charms and keep them in repair,<br> + For which the spoiler thanks thee not. Foul feeder!<br> + Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,<br> + And leave as keen a relish on the sense.<br> + Look how the fair one weeps!—the conscious tears<br> + Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flowers:<br> + Honest effusion! the swoln heart in vain<br> + Works hard to put a gloss on its distress.<br> + Strength, too,—thou surly, and less gentle boast<br> + Of those that laugh loud at the village ring!<br> + A fit of common sickness pulls thee down<br> + With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling<br> + That rashly dared thee to the unequal fight.<br> + What groan was that I heard?—deep groan indeed!<br> + With anguish heavy laden; let me trace it:<br> + From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man,<br> + By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath<br> + Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart<br> + Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant<br> + To give the lungs full play. What now avail<br> + The strong-built, sinewy limbs, and well spread shoulders?<br> + See how he tugs for life, and lays about him,<br> + Mad with his pains!—Eager he catches hold<br> + Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard,<br> + Just like a creature drowning;—hideous sight!<br> + Oh! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghastly!<br> + While the distemper's rank and deadly venom<br> + Shoots like a burning arrow 'cross his bowels,<br> + And drinks his marrow up.—Heard you that groan?<br> + It was his last.—See how the great Goliath,<br> + Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest,<br> + Lies still.—What mean'st thou then, O mighty boaster!<br> + To vaunt of nerves of thine? What means the bull,<br> + Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward,<br> + And flee before a feeble thing like man,<br> + That, knowing well the slackness of his arm,<br> + Trusts only in the well-invented knife?<br> + With study pale, and midnight vigils spent,<br> + The star-surveying sage, close to his eye<br> + Applies the sight-invigorating tube;<br> + And, travelling through the boundless length of space,<br> + Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs,<br> + That roll with regular confusion there,<br> + In ecstasy of thought. But, ah, proud man!<br> + Great heights are hazardous to the weak head;<br> + Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails;<br> + And down thou dropp'st into that darksome place,<br> + Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.<br> + Here the tongue-warrior lies, disabled now,<br> + Disarm'd, dishonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd,<br> + And cannot tell his ails to passers-by.<br> + Great man of language!—whence this mighty change,<br> + This dumb despair, and drooping of the head?<br> + Though strong persuasion hung upon thy lip,<br> + And sly insinuation's softer arts<br> + In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue;<br> + Alas, how chop-fallen now! Thick mists and silence<br> + Rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast<br> + Unceasing.—Ah! where is the lifted arm,<br> + The strength of action, and the force of words,<br> + The well-turn'd period, and the well-timed voice,<br> + With all the lesser ornaments of phrase?<br> + Ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been;<br> + Razed from the book of fame; or, more provoking,<br> + Perchance some hackney hunger-bitten scribbler<br> + Insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb<br> + With long flat narrative, or duller rhymes,<br> + With heavy halting pace that drawl along;<br> + Enough to rouse a dead man into rage,<br> + And warm with red resentment the wan cheek.<br> + Here the great masters of the healing art,<br> + These mighty mock defrauders of the tomb,<br> + Spite of their juleps and catholicons,<br> + Resign to fate.—Proud Æsculapius' son!<br> + Where are thy boasted implements of art,<br> + And all thy well-cramm'd magazines of health?<br> + Nor hill nor vale, as far as ship could go,<br> + Nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook,<br> + Escaped thy rifling hand;—from stubborn shrubs<br> + Thou wrung'st their shy retiring virtues out,<br> + And vex'd them in the fire: nor fly, nor insect,<br> + Nor writhy snake, escaped thy deep research.<br> + But why this apparatus Why this cost?<br> + Tell us, thou doughty keeper from the grave,<br> + Where are thy recipes and cordials now,<br> + With the long list of vouchers for thy cures?<br> + Alas! thou speakest not.—The bold impostor<br> + Looks not more silly when the cheat's found out.<br> + Here the lank-sided miser, worst of felons,<br> + Who meanly stole (discreditable shift!)<br> + From back, and belly too, their proper cheer,<br> + Eased of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay<br> + To his own carcase, now lies cheaply lodged.<br> + By clamorous appetites no longer teased,<br> + Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.<br> + But, ah! where are his rents, his comings-in?<br> + Ay! now you've made the rich man poor indeed;<br> + Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind?<br> + O cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake<br> + The fool throws up his interest in both worlds;<br> + First starved in this, then damn'd in that to come.<br> + How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!<br> + To him that is at ease in his possessions;<br> + Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,<br> + Is quite unfurnish'd for that world to come!<br> + In that dread moment, how the frantic soul<br> + Raves round the walls of her clay tenement,<br> + Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help,<br> + But shrieks in vain!—How wishfully she looks<br> + On all she's leaving, now no longer her's!<br> + A little longer, yet a little longer,<br> + Oh! might she stay, to wash away her stains,<br> + And fit her for her passage.—Mournful sight!<br> + Her very eyes weep blood;—and every groan<br> + She heaves is big with horror: but the foe,<br> + Like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose,<br> + Pursues her close through every lane of life,<br> + Nor misses once the track, but presses on;<br> + Till, forced at last to the tremendous verge,<br> + At once she sinks to everlasting ruin.<br> + Sure 'tis a serious thing to die! My soul,<br> + What a strange moment it must be, when near<br> + Thy journey's end, thou hast the gulf in view!<br> + That awful gulf no mortal e'er repass'd<br> + To tell what's doing on the other side.<br> + Nature runs back and shudders at the sight,<br> + And every life-string bleeds at thoughts of parting;<br> + For part they must: body and soul must part;<br> + Fond couple! link'd more close than wedded pair.<br> + This wings its way to its Almighty Source,<br> + The witness of its actions, now its judge:<br> + That drops into the dark and noisome grave,<br> + Like a disabled pitcher of no use.<br> + If death were nothing, and nought after death;<br> + If when men died, at once they ceased to be,<br> + Returning to the barren womb of nothing,<br> + Whence first they sprung; then might the debauchee<br> + Untrembling mouth the heavens:—then might the drunkard<br> + Reel over his full bowl, and, when 'tis drain'd,<br> + Fill up another to the brim, and laugh<br> + At the poor bugbear Death: then might the wretch<br> + That's weary of the world, and tired of life,<br> + At once give each inquietude the slip,<br> + By stealing out of being when he pleased,<br> + And by what way, whether by hemp, or steel.<br> + Death's thousand doors stand open.—Who could force<br> + The ill pleased guest to sit out his full time,<br> + Or blame him if he goes? Sure he does well,<br> + That helps himself, as timely as he can,<br> + When able.—But if there's an Hereafter;<br> + And that there is, conscience, uninfluenced,<br> + And suffer'd to speak out, tells every man;<br> + Then must it be an awful thing to die:<br> + More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.<br> + Self-murder!—name it not: our island's shame,<br> + That makes her the reproach of neighbouring states.<br> + Shall nature, swerving from her earliest dictate,<br> + Self-preservation, fall by her own act?<br> + Forbid it, Heaven!—Let not upon disgust<br> + The shameless hand be foully crimson'd o'er<br> + With blood of its own lord.—Dreadful attempt!<br> + Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage<br> + To rush into the presence of our Judge;<br> + As if we challenged him to do his worst,<br> + And matter'd not his wrath!—Unheard-of tortures<br> + Must be reserved for such: these herd together;<br> + The common damn'd shun their society,<br> + And look upon themselves as fiends less foul.<br> + Our time is fix'd; and all our days are number'd;<br> + How long, how short, we know not:—this we know,<br> + Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,<br> + Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission:<br> + Like sentries that must keep their destined stand,<br> + And wait the appointed hour, till they're relieved.<br> + Those only are the brave who keep their ground,<br> + And keep it to the last. To run away<br> + Is but a coward's trick: to run away<br> + From this world's ills, that at the very worst<br> + Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves,<br> + By boldly venturing on a world unknown,<br> + And plunging headlong in the dark;—'tis mad!<br> + No frenzy half so desperate as this.<br> + Tell us, ye dead! will none of you, in pity<br> + To those you left behind, disclose the secret?<br> + Oh! that some courteous ghost would blab it out;<br> + What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be.<br> + I've heard that souls departed have sometimes<br> + Forewarn'd men of their death:—'twas kindly done<br> + To knock, and give the alarm.—But what means<br> + This stinted charity?—'Tis but lame kindness<br> + That does its work by halves.—Why might you not<br> + Tell us what 'tis to die? do the strict laws<br> + Of your society forbid your speaking<br> + Upon a point so nice?—I'll ask no more:<br> + Sullen, like lamps in sepulchres, your shine<br> + Enlightens but yourselves. Well, 'tis no matter;<br> + A very little time will clear up all,<br> + And make us learn'd as you are, and as close.<br> + Death's shafts fly thick!—Here falls the village-swain,<br> + And there his pamper'd lord!—The cup goes round;<br> + And who so artful as to put it by?<br> + 'Tis long since death had the majority;<br> + Yet, strange! the living lay it not to heart.<br> + See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,<br> + The Sexton, hoary-headed chronicle;<br> + Of hard, unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole<br> + A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand<br> + Digs through whole rows of kindred and acquaintance,<br> + By far his juniors.—Scarce a skull's cast up,<br> + But well he knew its owner, and can tell<br> + Some passage of his life.—Thus hand in hand<br> + The sot has walk'd with death twice twenty years;<br> + And yet ne'er younker on the green laughs louder,<br> + Or clubs a smuttier tale: when drunkards meet,<br> + None sings a merrier catch, or lends a hand<br> + More willing to his cup.—Poor wretch! he minds not,<br> + That soon some trusty brother of the trade<br> + Shall do for him what he has done for thousands.<br> + On this side, and on that, men see their friends<br> + Drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out<br> + Into fantastic schemes, which the long livers<br> + In the world's hale and undegenerate days<br> + Could scarce have leisure for.—Fools that we are!<br> + Never to think of death and of ourselves<br> + At the same time: as if to learn to die<br> + Were no concern of ours.—O more than sottish,<br> + For creatures of a day, in gamesome mood,<br> + To frolic on eternity's dread brink<br> + Unapprehensive; when, for aught we know,<br> + The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in!<br> + Think we, or think we not, time hurries on<br> + With a resistless, unremitting stream;<br> + Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief,<br> + That slides his hand under the miser's pillow,<br> + And carries off his prize.—What is this world?<br> + What but a spacious burial-field unwall'd,<br> + Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals<br> + Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones!<br> + The very turf on which we tread once lived;<br> + And we that live must lend our carcases<br> + To cover our own offspring: in their turns<br> + They too must cover theirs.—'Tis here all meet!<br> + The shivering Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor;<br> + Men of all climes, that never met before;<br> + And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the Christian.<br> + Here the proud prince, and favourite yet prouder,<br> + His sovereign's keeper, and the people's scourge,<br> + Are huddled out of sight.—Here lie abash'd<br> + The great negotiators of the earth,<br> + And celebrated masters of the balance,<br> + Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of courts.<br> + Now vain their treaty skill: death scorns to treat.<br> + Here the o'er-loaded slave flings down his burden<br> + From his gall'd shoulders;—and when the cruel tyrant,<br> + With all his guards and tools of power about him,<br> + Is meditating new unheard-of hardships,<br> + Mocks his short arm,—and, quick as thought, escapes<br> + Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest.<br> + Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade,<br> + The tell-tale echo, and the babbling stream<br> + (Time out of mind the favourite seats of love),<br> + Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down,<br> + Unblasted by foul tongue.—Here friends and foes<br> + Lie close; unmindful of their former feuds.<br> + The lawn-robed prelate and plain presbyter,<br> + Erewhile that stood aloof, as shy to meet,<br> + Familiar mingle here, like sister streams<br> + That some rude interposing rock had split.<br> + Here is the large-limb'd peasant;—here the child<br> + Of a span long, that never saw the sun,<br> + Nor press'd the nipple, strangled in life's porch.<br> + Here is the mother, with her sons and daughters;<br> + The barren wife; the long-demurring maid,<br> + Whose lonely unappropriated sweets<br> + Smiled like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff,<br> + Not to be come at by the willing hand.<br> + Here are the prude severe, and gay coquette,<br> + The sober widow, and the young green virgin,<br> + Cropp'd like a rose before 'tis fully blown,<br> + Or half its worth disclosed. Strange medley here!<br> + Here garrulous old age winds up his tale;<br> + And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart,<br> + Whose every day was made of melody,<br> + Hears not the voice of mirth.—The shrill-tongued shrew,<br> + Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.<br> + Here are the wise, the generous, and the brave;<br> + The just, the good, the worthless, the profane;<br> + The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred;<br> + The fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the mean;<br> + The supple statesman, and the patriot stern;<br> + The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time,<br> + With all the lumber of six thousand years.<br> + Poor man!—how happy once in thy first state!<br> + When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand,<br> + He stamp'd thee with his image, and, well pleased,<br> + Smiled on his last fair work.—Then all was well.<br> + Sound was the body, and the soul serene;<br> + Like two sweet instruments, ne'er out of tune,<br> + That play their several parts.—Nor head, nor heart,<br> + Offer'd to ache: nor was there cause they should;<br> + For all was pure within: no fell remorse,<br> + Nor anxious casting-up of what might be,<br> + Alarm'd his peaceful bosom.—Summer seas<br> + Show not more smooth, when kiss'd by southern winds<br> + Just ready to expire.—Scarce importuned,<br> + The generous soil, with a luxuriant hand,<br> + Offer'd the various produce of the year,<br> + And everything most perfect in its kind.<br> + Blessed! thrice-blessed days!—But ah, how short!<br> + Blest as the pleasing dreams of holy men;<br> + But fugitive like those, and quickly gone.<br> + O slippery state of things!—What sudden turns!<br> + What strange vicissitudes in the first leaf<br> + Of man's sad history!—To-day most happy,<br> + And ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject!<br> + How scant the space between these vast extremes!<br> + Thus fared it with our sire:—not long he enjoy'd<br> + His paradise.—Scarce had the happy tenant<br> + Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets,<br> + Or sum them up, when straight he must be gone,<br> + Ne'er to return again.—And must he go?<br> + Can nought compound for the first dire offence<br> + Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd,<br> + Fain would he trifle time with idle talk,<br> + And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain;<br> + Not all the lavish odours of the place,<br> + Offer'd in incense, can procure his pardon,<br> + Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel,<br> + With flaming sword, forbids his longer stay,<br> + And drives the loiterer forth; nor must he take<br> + One last and farewell round. At once he lost<br> + His glory and his God. If mortal now,<br> + And sorely maim'd, no wonder!—Man has sinn'd.<br> + Sick of his bliss, and bent on new adventures,<br> + Evil he needs would try: nor tried in vain.<br> + (Dreadful experiment! destructive measure!<br> + Where the worst thing could happen is success.)<br> + Alas! too well he sped:—the good he scorn'd<br> + Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-used ghost,<br> + Not to return; or if it did, its visits,<br> + Like those of angels, short and far between:<br> + Whilst the black Demon, with his hell-scaped train,<br> + Admitted once into its better room,<br> + Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone;<br> + Lording it o'er the man: who now too late<br> + Saw the rash error which he could not mend:<br> + An error fatal not to him alone,<br> + But to his future sons, his fortune's heirs.<br> + Inglorious bondage! Human nature groans<br> + Beneath a vassalage so vile and cruel,<br> + And its vast body bleeds through every vein.<br> + What havoc hast thou made, foul monster, Sin!<br> + Greatest and first of ills: the fruitful parent<br> + Of woes of all dimensions: but for thee<br> + Sorrow had never been,—All-noxious thing,<br> + Of vilest nature! Other sorts of evils<br> + Are kindly circumscribed, and have their bounds.<br> + The fierce volcano, from his burning entrails<br> + That belches molten stone and globes of fire,<br> + Involved in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench,<br> + Mars the adjacent fields for some leagues round,<br> + And there it stops. The big-swoln inundation,<br> + Of mischief more diffusive, raving loud,<br> + Buries whole tracts of country, threatening more;<br> + But that too has its shore it cannot pass.<br> + More dreadful far than these! Sin has laid waste,<br> + Not here and there a country, but a world:<br> + Despatching, at a wide-extended blow,<br> + Entire mankind; and for their sakes defacing<br> + A whole creation's beauty with rude hands;<br> + Blasting the foodful grain, the loaded branches;<br> + And marking all along its way with ruin.<br> + Accursed thing!—Oh! where shall fancy find<br> + A proper name to call thee by, expressive<br> + Of all thy horrors?—Pregnant womb of ills!<br> + Of tempers so transcendantly malign,<br> + That toads and serpents of most deadly kind<br> + Compared to thee are harmless.—Sicknesses<br> + Of every size and symptom, racking pains,<br> + And bluest plagues, are thine.—See how the fiend<br> + Profusely scatters the contagion round!<br> + Whilst deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at her heels,<br> + Wades deep in blood new-spilt; yet for to-morrow<br> + Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring,<br> + And inly pines till the dread blow is struck.<br> + But, hold! I've gone too far; too much discover'd<br> + My father's nakedness, and nature's shame.<br> + Here let me pause, and drop an honest tear,<br> + One burst of filial duty and condolence,<br> + O'er all those ample deserts Death hath spread,<br> + This chaos of mankind.—O great man-eater!<br> + Whose every day is carnival, not sated yet!<br> + Unheard-of epicure, without a fellow!<br> + The veriest gluttons do not always cram;<br> + Some intervals of abstinence are sought<br> + To edge the appetite: Thou seekest none.<br> + Methinks the countless swarms thou hast devour'd,<br> + And thousands at each hour thou gobblest up,<br> + This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full!<br> + But, ah! rapacious still, thou gap'st for more:<br> + Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals,<br> + On whom lank Hunger lays her skinny hand,<br> + And whets to keenest eagerness his cravings:<br> + As if diseases, massacres, and poison,<br> + Famine, and war, were not thy caterers.<br> + But know that thou must render up thy dead,<br> + And with high interest too.—They are not thine,<br> + But only in thy keeping for a season,<br> + Till the great promised day of restitution;<br> + When loud-diffusive sound from brazen trump<br> + Of strong-lung'd cherub shall alarm thy captives,<br> + And rouse the long, long sleepers into life,<br> + Day-light, and liberty.—<br> + Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal<br> + The mines that lay long forming under ground,<br> + In their dark cells immured; but now full ripe,<br> + And pure as silver from the crucible,<br> + That twice has stood the torture of the fire<br> + And inquisition of the forge. We know,<br> + The illustrious Deliverer of mankind,<br> + The Son of God, thee foil'd. Him in thy power<br> + Thou couldst not hold: self-vigorous he rose,<br> + And, shaking off thy fetters, soon retook<br> + Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent:<br> + (Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall!)<br> + Twice twenty days he sojourn'd here on earth,<br> + And show'd himself alive to chosen witnesses,<br> + By proofs so strong, that the most slow-assenting<br> + Had not a scruple left. This having done,<br> + He mounted up to heaven. Methinks I see him<br> + Climb the aërial heights, and glide along<br> + Athwart the severing clouds: but the faint eye,<br> + Flung backwards in the chase, soon drops its hold;<br> + Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing.<br> + Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in;<br> + Nor are his friends shut out: as some great prince<br> + Not for himself alone procures admission,<br> + But for his train. It was his royal will<br> + That where he is, there should his followers be.<br> + Death only lies between: a gloomy path,<br> + Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears;<br> + But not untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue<br> + Will soon go off. Besides, there's no bye-road<br> + To bliss. Then why, like ill-condition'd children,<br> + Start we at transient hardships in the way<br> + That leads to purer air, and softer skies,<br> + And a ne'er-setting sun?—Fools that we are!<br> + We wish to be where sweets unwithering bloom;<br> + But straight our wish revoke, and will not go.<br> + So have I seen, upon a summer's even,<br> + Fast by the rivulet's brink a youngster play:<br> + How wishfully he looks to stem the tide!<br> + This moment resolute, next unresolved:<br> + At last he dips his foot; but as he dips,<br> + His fears redouble, and he runs away<br> + From the inoffensive stream, unmindful now<br> + Of all the flowers that paint the further bank,<br> + And smiled so sweet of late.—Thrice welcome death!<br> + That after many a painful bleeding step<br> + Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe<br> + On the long-wish'd-for shore.—Prodigious change!<br> + Our bane turn'd to a blessing!—Death, disarm'd,<br> + Loses his fellness quite.—All thanks to him<br> + Who scourged the venom out!—Sure the last end<br> + Of the good man is peace!—How calm his exit!<br> + Night dews fall not more gently to the ground,<br> + Nor weary, worn-out winds expire so soft.<br> + Behold him in the evening-tide of life,<br> + A life well spent, whose early care it was<br> + His riper years should not upbraid his green:<br> + By unperceived degrees he wears away;<br> + Yet, like the sun, seems larger at his setting.<br> + High in his faith and hopes, look how he reaches<br> + After the prize in view! and, like a bird<br> + That's hamper'd, struggles hard to get away:<br> + Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded<br> + To let new glories in, the first fair fruits<br> + Of the fast-coming harvest.—Then, oh then!<br> + Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,<br> + Shrunk to a thing of nought.—Oh! how he longs<br> + To have his passport sign'd, and be dismiss'd!<br> + 'Tis done! and now he's happy! The glad soul<br> + Has not a wish uncrown'd.—Even the lag flesh<br> + Rests, too, in hope of meeting once again<br> + Its better half, never to sunder more.<br> + Nor shall it hope in vain:—the time draws on,<br> + When not a single spot of burial earth,<br> + Whether on land, or in the spacious sea,<br> + But must give back its long-committed dust<br> + Inviolate!—and faithfully shall these<br> + Make up the full account; not the least atom<br> + Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale.<br> + Each soul shall have a body ready furnish'd;<br> + And each shall have his own.—Hence, ye profane!<br> + Ask not how this can be?—Sure the same power<br> + That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down,<br> + Can re-assemble the loose scatter'd parts,<br> + And put them as they were.—Almighty God<br> + Has done much more; nor is his arm impair'd<br> + Through length of days: and what he can, he will:<br> + His faithfulness stands bound to see it done.<br> + When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumbering dust,<br> + Not unattentive to the call, shall wake;<br> + And every joint possess its proper place,<br> + With a new elegance of form, unknown<br> + To its first state. Nor shall the conscious soul<br> + Mistake its partner, but, amidst the crowd,<br> + Singling its other half, into its arms<br> + Shall rush, with all the impatience of a man<br> + That's new come home; and, having long been absent,<br> + With haste runs over every different room,<br> + In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting!<br> + Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more.<br> + Tis but a night, a long and moonless night;<br> + We make the grave our bed, and then are gone.<br> + Thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird<br> + Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake<br> + Cowers down, and dozes till the dawn of day,<br> + Then claps his well-fledged wings, and bears away.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> 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+<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +740<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +750<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +760<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + </td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section24">A Poem, dedicated to the Memory of the +late learned and eminent Mr William Law, Professor of Philosophy +in the University of Edinburgh</a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="Epitaph" border="0" cellspacing="10" cellpadding= +"5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>In silence to suppress my griefs I've tried,<br> + And kept within its banks the swelling tide!<br> + But all in vain: unbidden numbers flow;<br> + Spite of myself my sorrows vocal grow.<br> + This be my plea.—Nor thou, dear Shade, refuse<br> + The well-meant tribute of the willing muse,<br> + Who trembles at the greatness of its theme,<br> + And fain would say what suits so high a name.<br> + Which, from the crowded journal of thy fame,—<br> + Which of thy many titles shall I name?<br> + For, like a gallant prince, that wins a crown,<br> + By undisputed right before his own,<br> + Variety thou hast: our only care<br> + Is what to single out, and what forbear.<br> + Though scrupulously just, yet not severe;<br> + Though cautious, open; courteous, yet sincere;<br> + Though reverend, yet not magisterial;<br> + Though intimate with few, yet loved by all;<br> + Though deeply read, yet absolutely free<br> + From all the stiffnesses of pedantry;<br> + Though circumspectly good, yet never sour;<br> + Pleasant with innocence, and never more.<br> + Religion, worn by thee, attractive show'd,<br> + And with its own unborrow'd beauty glow'd:<br> + Unlike the bigot, from whose watery eyes<br> + Ne'er sunshine broke, nor smile was seen to rise;<br> + Whose sickly goodness lives upon grimace,<br> + And pleads a merit from a blubber'd face.<br> + Thou kept thy raiment for the needy poor,<br> + And taught the fatherless to know thy door;<br> + From griping hunger set the needy free;<br> + That they were needy, was enough to thee.<br> + Thy fame to please, whilst others restless be,<br> + Fame laid her shyness by, and courted thee;<br> + And though thou bade the flattering thing give o'er,<br> + Yet, in return, she only woo'd thee more.<br> + How sweet thy accents! and how mild thy look!<br> + What smiling mirth was heard in all thou spoke;<br> + Manhood and grizzled age were fond of thee,<br> + And youth itself sought thy society.<br> + The aged thou taught, descended to the young,<br> + Clear'd up the irresolute, confirm'd the strong;<br> + To the perplex'd thy friendly counsel lent,<br> + And gently lifted up the diffident;<br> + Sigh'd with the sorrowful, and bore a part<br> + In all the anguish of a bleeding heart;<br> + Reclaim'd the headstrong; and, with sacred skill,<br> + Committed hallow'd rapes upon the will;<br> + Soothed our affections; and, with their delight,<br> + To gain our actions, bribed our appetite.<br> + Now, who shall, with a greatness like thy own,<br> + Thy pulpit dignify, and grace thy gown?<br> + Who, with pathetic energy like thine,<br> + The head enlighten, and the heart refine?<br> + Learn'd were thy lectures, noble the design,<br> + The language <i>Roman</i>, and the action fine;<br> + The heads well ranged, the inferences clear,<br> + And strong and solid thy deductions were:<br> + Thou mark'd the boundaries out 'twixt right and wrong,<br> + And show'd the land-marks as thou went along.<br> + Plain were thy reasonings, or, if perplex'd,<br> + Thy life was the best comment on thy text;<br> + For, if in darker points we were deceived,<br> + 'Twas only but observing how thou lived.<br> + Bewilder'd in the greatness of thy fame,<br> + What shall the Muse, what next in order name?<br> + Which of thy social qualities commend—<br> + Whether of husband, father, or of friend?<br> + A husband soft, beneficent, and kind,<br> + As ever virgin wish'd, or wife could find;<br> + A father indefatigably true<br> + To both a father's trust and tutor's too;<br> + A friend affectionate and staunch to those<br> + Thou wisely singled out; for few thou chose:<br> + Few, did I say, that word we must recall;<br> + A friend, a willing friend, thou wast to all.<br> + Those properties were thine, nor could we know<br> + Which rose the uppermost, so all wast thou.<br> + So have I seen the many-colour'd mead,<br> + Brush'd by the vernal breeze, its fragrance shed:<br> + Though various sweets the various field exhaled,<br> + Yet could we not determine which prevail'd,<br> + Nor this part <i>rose</i>, that <i>honey-suckle</i> call<br> + But a rich bloomy aggregate of all.<br> + And thou, the once glad partner of his bed,<br> + But now by sorrow's weeds distinguished,<br> + Whose busy memory thy grief supplies,<br> + And calls up all thy husband to thine eyes;<br> + Thou must not be forgot. How alter'd now!<br> + How thick thy tears! How fast thy sorrows flow!<br> + The well known voice that cheer'd thee heretofore,<br> + These soothing accents thou must hear no more.<br> + Untold be all the tender sighs thou drew,<br> + When on thy cheek he fetch'd a long adieu.<br> + Untold be all thy faithful agonies,<br> + At the last anguish of his closing eyes;<br> + For thou, and only such as thou, can tell<br> + The killing anguish of a last farewell.<br> + This earth, yon sun, and these blue-tinctured skies,<br> + Through which it rolls, must have their obsequies:<br> + Pluck'd from their orbits, shall the planets fall,<br> + And smoke and conflagration cover all:<br> + What, then, is man? The creature of a day,<br> + By moments spent, and minutes borne away.<br> + Time, like a raging torrent, hurries on;<br> + Scarce can we say <i>it is</i>, but that 'tis gone.<br> + Whether, fair shade! with social spirits, tell<br> + (Whose properties thou once described so well),<br> + Familiar now thou hearest them relate<br> + The rites and methods of their happy state:<br> + Or if, with forms more fleet, thou roams abroad,<br> + And views the great magnificence of God,<br> + Points out the courses of the orbs on high,<br> + And counts the silver wonders of the sky!<br> + Or if, with glowing seraphim, thou greets<br> + Heaven's King, and shoutest through the golden streets,<br> + That crowds of white-robed choristers display,<br> + Marching in triumph through the pearly way?<br> + Now art thou raised beyond this world of cares,<br> + This weary wilderness, this vale of tears;<br> + Forgetting all thy toils and labours past,<br> + No gloom of sorrow stains thy peaceful breast.<br> + Now, 'midst seraphic splendours shalt thou dwell,<br> + And be what only these pure forms can tell.<br> + How cloudless now, and cheerful is thy day!<br> + What joys, what raptures, in thy bosom play!<br> + How bright the sunshine, and how pure the air!<br> + There's no difficulty of breathing there.<br> + With willing steps a pilgrim at thy shrine,<br> + To dew it with my tears the task be mine;<br> + In lonely dirge, to murmur o'er thy urn<br> + And with new-gather'd flowers thy turf adorn:<br> + Nor shall thy image from my bosom part;<br> + No force shall rip thee from this bleeding heart.<br> + Oft shall I think o'er all I've left in thee,<br> + Nor shall oblivion blot thy memory;<br> + But grateful love its energy express<br> + (The father gone) now to the fatherless.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> + + +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h2><a name="section25">Poetical Works of William +Falconer</a></h2> + +<br> +<hr width="50%" align="left"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3><a name="section26">The Life and Poetry of William +Falconer</a></h3> + +<br> +It may seem singular how the life of a sailor—a life so full of +vicissitude and enterprise, of hair's-breadth escapes, of contact +with wild men and wild usages, and of intercourse with a form of +nature so vast, so fluctuating, so mysterious, and so terribly +sublime as the ocean, which, in its calm and silence, forms an +emblem of all that is peaceful and profound, and, in its +tempestuous rage, of all that is unreconciled and anarchical in +the mind of man, now comparable to a<br> + + +<blockquote>"Cradled child in dreamless slumber +bound!"</blockquote> + +<br> + and now to a mad sister of the earth, screaming and foaming in +fierce and aimless antagonism to her brother—should have reared +so few poets. This may arise either from the uncultivated and +careless character of sailors as a class, or from the influence +of habit in deadening the effect of the grandest objects. It is +the same with other modes of life equally romantic. What more so +than that of a shepherd among the Grampian Mountains, constantly +living between the everlasting hills and the silent sun and +stars, surrounded by streams, cataracts, deep dun moorlands, and +the wild-eyed and wild-winged creatures which dwell in them +alone, their life hid in Nature, and their cries of rude praise +going up continually to Nature's God? And yet the Highlands of +Scotland have not hitherto produced one great rural poet, except +Macpherson, who did belong to the peasantry. And so of the +seafaring class; only, so far as we remember, have expressed, the +one in verse, and the other in prose, the <i>poetry</i> of their +calling,—namely, Cooper and Falconer, both of whose descriptions +of sea storms and scenery have been equalled, if not surpassed, +however, by such landsmen as Byron and Scott. A poetic mind, +which comes in contact with strange and wonderful events or +scenery only at intervals, often carries away a much more vivid +idea of their striking features than those who reside constantly +in their midst. It must be a very rough rope, to borrow an image +from the theme, which does not feel softer after long handling. +It is the short and sudden impression, made in the twinkling of +an eye, which is at once the most lively and the most lasting. +When, however, enthusiasm continues, as in some favoured cases, +unabated by familiarity, and is united to thorough technical +knowledge, then the professional man may be nearly as successful +as the amateur, or if there be any deficiency in freshness of +feeling, it is made up for by accuracy of knowledge. It was so in +the case of James Hogg, the poet of the shepherd life of Southern +Scotland, and in William Falconer, the poet of British shipwreck. +We shall afterwards show how his knowledge of his profession +partly helped and partly hindered him in his poem.<br> +<br> +William Falconer was born in Edinburgh in the year 1736. He was +the son of a poor barber in the Netherbow, who had two other +children, both deaf and dumb, who ended their days in a +poor-house. He early, through frequent visits to Leith, came in +contact with that tremendous element which he was to sing so +powerfully, and in which he was to sink at last—which was to +give him at once his glory and his grave. While a mere boy, he +went, by his own account, reluctantly on board a Leith merchant +ship, and was afterwards in the Royal Navy. Of his early +education or habits very little is known. He had all his +scholarship from one Webster. We figure him (after the similitude +of a dear lost sailor boy, a relative of our own) as a stripling, +with curling hair, ruddy cheek, form prematurely developed into +round robustness, frank, free, and manly bearing, returning ever +and anon from his ocean wanderings, and bearing to his friends +some rare bird or shell of the tropics as a memorial of his +labours and his love. Before he was eighteen years of age, +Providence supplied him with the materials whence he was to pile +up the monument of his future fame. He became second mate in the +ship <i>Britannia</i>, a vessel trading in the Levant. This +vessel was shipwrecked off Cape Colonna, exactly in the manner +described in the poem, which is just a coloured photograph of the +adventures, difficulties, dangers, and disastrous result of the +voyage. In 1751 we find him living in Edinburgh, and publishing +his first poem. This was an elegy on the death of Frederick, +Prince of Wales. It was followed by other pieces, which appeared +in the <i>Gentleman's Magazine</i>, and which will be found in +this volume. Some have claimed for him the authorship of the +favourite sea song, "Cease, Rude Boreas," but this seems +uncertain.<br> +<br> +Falconer is supposed to have continued in the merchant service +(one of his biographers maintains that he was for some time in +the <i>Ramilies</i>, a man-of-war, which suffered shipwreck in +the Channel) till 1762, when he published his <i>Shipwreck</i>. +This poem was dedicated to the Duke of York, who had newly become +Rear-Admiral of the Blue on board the <i>Princess Amelia</i>, +attached to the fleet under Sir Edward Hawke. The Duke was not a +Solomon, but he had sense enough to perceive, that the sailor who +could produce such a poem was no ordinary man, and generous +enough to offer him promotion, if he should leave the merchant +service for the Royal Navy. Falconer, accordingly, was promoted +to be a midshipman on board the <i>Royal George</i> (Sir Edward +Hawke's ship); the same, we believe, which afterwards went down +in such a disastrous manner, and furnished a subject for one of +Cowper's boldest little poems. <i>The Shipwreck</i> was highly +commended by the <i>Monthly Review</i>,—then the leading +literary organ,—and became widely popular.<br> +<br> +While in the <i>Royal George</i>, Falconer contrived to find time +for his poetical studies. Retiring sometimes from his messmates, +into a small space between the cable-trees and the ship's side, +he wrote his Ode on <i>the Duke of York's Second Departure from +England, as Rear-Admiral</i>. This poem was severely criticised +in the <i>Critical Review</i>. It has certainly much pomp, and +thundering sound of language and versification, but wants the +genuine Pindaric inspiration.<br> +<br> +At the peace of 1763 the <i>Royal George</i> was paid off, and +Falconer became purser of the <i>Glory</i>, frigate of 32 guns. +About this time he married a young lady named Hicks, daughter of +a surgeon in Sheerness-yard—a lady more distinguished by her +mental than her physical qualities. The poet dubbed her in his +verses, "Miranda." It is hinted that he had some difficulty in +procuring her consent to marry him, and was forced to lay regular +siege to her in rhyme. At length she capitulated, and the +marriage was eminently happy. She survived her husband many +years; lived at Bath, and enjoyed a comfortable livelihood on the +proceeds of her husband's <i>Marine Dictionary</i>.<br> +<br> +When the <i>Glory</i> was laid up at Chatham, Commissioner +Hanway, brother of the once celebrated Jonas Hanway (whom Dr +Johnson so justly chastised for his diatribe against Tea), showed +much interest in the pursuits and person of our poet. He even +ordered the captain's cabin to be fitted up with every comfort, +that Falconer might pursue his studies without expense, and with +all convenience. Here he brought his <i>Marine Dictionary</i> to +a conclusion—a work which had occupied him for years, and which +supplied a desideratum in the literature of the profession. The +design had been suggested by one Scott, and approved of by Sir +Edward Hawke; and the book, when it appeared in 1769, was greatly +commended by Dr Hamel, the Frenchman, who had gained note +himself, by producing some works on naval architecture. From the +<i>Glory</i> Falconer received an appointment in the +<i>Swift-sure</i>. In 1764 he issued a new edition of <i>The +Shipwreck</i>, carefully corrected, and with considerable +additions. The next year he issued a political poem, in which, +like a true tar of the <i>Royal George</i>, he took the King's +side, and emitted much dull and drivelling bile against Lord +Chatham, Wilkes, and Churchill. The satire proved that, though at +home on the ocean, he was utterly "at sea" in land-politics.<br> +<br> +Falconer had now left his cabin study with its many pleasant +accommodations, and become a scribbler of all work in a London +garret. Here his existence ran on for a while in an obscure and +probably miserable current. It is said that Murray, the +bookseller, the father of <i>the</i> John Murray, of Albemarle +Street, wished to take the poet into partnership,—upon terms of +great advantage,—but that Falconer, for reasons which are not +known, declined the offer. "My Murray," as Byron calls him, was +destined instead to have his name connected with a grander and +ghastlier shipwreck than it lay in the brain of the projected +partner of his firm to conceive, or in his genius to +execute—that, namely, described in the ever-detestable, yet +ever-memorable, second canto of <i>Don Juan.</i><br> +<br> +In 1769, a third edition of his poem was called for, and he was +employed in making improvements and additions when he was again +summoned to sea. In his hurry of departure, he is said to have +committed these to the care of the notorious David Mallett, the +son of a Crieff innkeeper, the friend of Thomson, the biographer +of Bacon, and, as Johnson called him, the "beggarly Scotchman, +who drew the trigger of Bolingbroke's blunderbuss of infidelity," +who seems to have paid no manner of attention to his trust, as +mistakes in the nautical terms and a frequent inferiority in +execution manifest.<br> +<br> +Falconer had undoubtedly thought the sea a hard and sickening +profession; but latterly found that writing for the booksellers +was a slavery still more abject and unendurable. He resolved once +more to embark upon the "melancholy main." Often as he had hugged +its horrors, laid his hand on its mane, and narrowly escaped its +devouring jaws, he was drawn in again as by the fatal suction of +a whirlpool into its power. Perhaps he had imbibed a passion for +the sea. At all events, he accepted the office of purser to the +Aurora frigate, which was going out to India, and on the 30th of +September 1769, he left England for ever. The Aurora was never +heard of more! Some vague rumours, indeed, prevailed of a +contradictory character—that she had been burned—that she had +foundered in the Mozambique Channel—that she had been cast away +on a reef of rocks near Macao—that five persons had been saved +from her wreck, but nothing certain transpired, except that she +was lost; and this fine singer of the sea along with her. +Unfortunate Aurora! dawn soon overcast! Unfortunate poet, so +speedily removed!<br> + + +<blockquote>"It was that fatal and perfidious bark,<br> + Built i' the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,<br> + That laid so low that sacred head of thine."</blockquote> + +<br> + The drowning of one poet of far loftier genius in the Bay of +Spezia, latterly proved that the offering up of Falconer's life +had not fully appeased the wrath of old Neptune, and that bards +may still entertain, in the lines of Wordsworth,<br> + + +<blockquote>"Of the old sea some reverential fear."</blockquote> + +<br> + Burns heard of and deplored the loss of the Poet of the +Shipwreck. In one of his letters to Mrs Dunlop, he mentions the +fact, and adds the beautiful words, "He was one of those daring, +adventurous spirits which Scotland beyond any other country is +remarkable for producing. Little does the fond mother think, as +she hangs delighted over the sweet little leech at her bosom, +where the poor fellow may hereafter wander, and what may be his +fate. I remember a stanza in an old Scottish ballad, which speaks +feelingly to the heart—<br> + + +<blockquote>'Little did my mother think,<br> + That day she cradled me,<br> + What land I was to travel on,<br> + Or what death I should die.'"</blockquote> + +<br> + Falconer is represented as a bluff, blunt, but cheerful +sailor—fond of amusing his shipmates with acrostics on the names +of their mistresses—with little learning except in seamanship, +and what he had picked up in his travels. His smaller pieces +scarcely deserve criticsm. His whole reputation now reposes on +the one pillar of his one poem, <i>The Shipwreck</i>.<br> +<br> +This poem was greatly overrated when it first appeared. It was by +some critics preferred to Virgil's <i>Æneid</i>, and +compared to the <i>Odyssey</i>. It is now, we think, as unjustly +depreciated. That there is a good deal of swollen commonplace in +the diction and sentiments, must be admitted. Falconer arose in a +bad age in respect of poetry. The terseness of Pope was gone, and +in his imitators only his tinkle remained. His exquisite sense +and trembling finish had vanished, and only his conventional +diction—the ghost of his greatness—was to be found in the poets +of the time. It was extremely natural that a half-taught mind +like Falconer's should be captivated by what was the mode of the +day. Indeed, Burns himself was only saved from the same error by +continuing to write in Scotch; many of his English verses and his +letters are marred by more or less of the disgusting and vicious +affectation of style which then prevailed; and in parts of +Campbell's <i>Pleasures of Hope</i>, we find the last modified +specimen of the evil. Hence, in Falconer the obsolete +mythological allusions—the names with classical +terminations—the perpetual apostrophes—the set and stilted +speeches he puts into the mouths of heroes—the bombast, +verbiage, and sounding sameness of much of his verse. Nor do we +greatly admire the story which he introduces with the poem, nor +the discrimination of his characters, nor, what may be called +strictly, the pathos of the piece. Indeed, considering the size +of the poem, there is so much that is vapid and common, that the +counter-balancing excellences must be great ere they could have +floated it so long. To use an expression suitable to the theme, +the vessel which has sailed so far, notwithstanding its numerous +leaks, must be of a strong and sturdy build.<br> +<br> +And this is the main merit of <i>The Shipwreck</i>. It has in +most of its descriptive passages a certain rugged strength and +truth, which prove at once the perspicacity and the poetic vision +of the author, who, while he sees all the minute details of his +subject, sees also the glory of imagination shining around them. +A ship appears before his view, with its every spar and yard, +clear and distinct as if seen in meridian sunshine, and yet with +a radiance of poetry around it all, as if he were looking at it +by moonlight, or in the magical light of a dream. Take the +following lines, for instance:—<br> + + +<blockquote>Up-torn reluctant from its oozy cave,<br> + The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.<br> + High on the slipp'ry masts the yards ascend,<br> + And far abroad the canvas wings extend.<br> + Along the glassy plain the vessel glides,<br> + While azure radiance trembles on her sides."</blockquote> + +<br> + We grant, indeed, that sometimes his technical lore rises up, as +it were, and drowns the poetry. What imaginative quality, for +example, have we in the following verses?<br> + + +<blockquote>"The mainsail, by the squall so lately rent,<br> + In streaming pendants flying, is unbent;<br> + With brails refixed, another soon prepared,<br> + Ascending spreads along beneath the yard;<br> + To each yard-arm the head-rope they extend,<br> + And soon their ear-rings and their robans bend.<br> + That task perform'd, they first the braces slack,<br> + Then to the chess-tree drag the unwilling tack;<br> + And, while the lee clue-garnet's lower'd away,<br> + Taught aft the sheet they tally, and belay."</blockquote> + +<br> + This is mere log-book; and such passages are common in the poem. +But frequently he bathes the web of the shrouds and ship-rigging +in rich ideal gold. Take the following:—<br> + + +<blockquote>"With equal sheets restrain'd, the bellying sail<br> + Spreads a broad concave to the sweeping gale;<br> + While o'er the foam the ship impetuous flies,<br> + The helm the attentive timoneer applies:<br> + As in pursuit along the aërial way,<br> + With ardent eye the falcon marks his prey,<br> + Each motion watches of the doubtful chase,<br> + Obliquely wheeling through the fluid space;<br> + So, govern'd by the steersman's <b>glowing</b> hands,<br> + The regent helm her motion still commands."</blockquote> + +<br> + Falconer may in some points be likened to Crabbe. Like him, he +excels in minute and patient painting. Like him he is capable at +times of extracting the imaginative element from the barest and +simplest details. And, like him, he sometimes sets before us, +mere dry inventories or invoices, instead of such poetical +catalogues as Homer gives of ships, and Milton of devils. It is +remarkable that Falconer never shines at all except when he is +describing ships or sea scenery.<br> + + +<blockquote>"His path is on the mountain waves,<br> + His home is on the deep."</blockquote> + +<br> + No words in Scripture are so strange to him as these, "There +shall be no more sea." The course of his voyage in the +<i>Shipwreck</i>, brings him past lands the most famous in the +ancient world for arts and arms, for philosophy, patriotism, and +poetry. And sore does he labour to lash himself into inspiration +as he apostrophizes them; but in vain—the result is little else +than furious feebleness and stilted bombast. But when he returns +to the element, the impatient, irregular, changeful, treacherous, +terrible ocean—and watches the night, winged with black storm +and red lightning, sinking down over the Mediterranean, and the +devoted bark which is helplessly struggling with its billows, +then his blood rises, his verse heaves, and hurries on, and you +see the full-born poet—<br> + + +<blockquote>"High o'er the poop the audacious seas aspire,<br> + Uproll'd in hills of fluctuating fire:<br> + With labouring throes she rolls on either side,<br> + And dips her gunnells in the yawning tide.<br> + Her joints unhinged in palsied langour play,<br> + As ice-flakes part beneath the noontide ray;<br> + The gale howls doleful through the blocks and shrouds,<br> + And big rain pours a deluge from the clouds.<br> + From wintry magazines that sweep the sky,<br> + Descending globes of hail incessant fly;<br> + High on the masts with pale and lurid rays,<br> + Amid the gloom portentous meteors blaze!<br> + The ethereal dome in mournful pomp array'd,<br> + Now buried lies beneath impervious shade,—<br> + Now flashing round intolerable light,<br> + Redoubles all the horrors of the night.<br> + Such terror Sinai's trembling hill o'erspread,<br> + When Heaven's loud trumpet sounded o'er its head.<br> + It seem'd the wrathful angel of the wind,<br> + Had all the horrors of the skies combined;<br> + And here to one ill-fated ship opposed,<br> + At once the dreadful magazine disclosed."</blockquote> + +<br> + This is noble writing. "Deep calleth unto deep." It reminds us +of Pope's translation of that tremendous passage in the 8th Book +of the <i>Iliad</i>, where Jove comes forth, and darts his angry +lightnings in the eyes of the Grecians, and repels and appals +their mightiest; Nestor alone, but with his horse wounded by the +dart of Paris, sustaining the divine assault.<br> +<br> +Lord Byron, in his letter to Bowles in defence of Pope, alludes +to Falconer's <i>Shipwreck</i>, and cites it in proof of the +poetical use which may be made of the works of art. But it has +justly been remarked by Hazlitt, in his very masterly reply, +published in the <i>London Magazine</i>, that the finest parts of +the <i>Shipwreck</i> are not those in which he appears to versify +parts of his own <i>Marine Dictionary</i>, or in which he makes +vain efforts to describe the vestiges of Grecian grandeur, but +those in which, as in the above passage, he mates with the +sublime and terrible <i>natural</i> phenomena he meets in his +voyage—the gathering of the storm—the treacherous lull of the +sea, breathing itself like a tiger for its fatal spring—the +ship, now walking the calm waters of the glassy sea, and now +wrestling like a demon of kindred power and fury with the angry +billows—the last fearful onset of the maddened surge—and the +secret stab given by the assassin rock from below, which +completes the ruin of the doomed vessel, and scatters its +fragments o'er the tide, growling in joy—these, as the poet +describes them, constitute the poetical glory of <i>The +Shipwreck</i>, and these have little connexion with art, and much +with nature.<br> +<br> +Lord Byron was better at emulating than at criticising Falconer's +<i>chef-d'oeuvre</i>. We have already once or twice alluded to +<i>his</i> Shipwreck—surely the grandest and most characteristic +effort of his genius, in its demoniac force, and demoniac spirit. +As we have elsewhere said, "he describes the horrors of a +shipwreck, like a fiend who had, invisible, sat amid the shrouds, +choked with laughter—with immeasurable glee had heard the wild +farewell rising from sea to sky—had leaped into the long-boat as +it put off with its pale crew—had gloated o'er the cannibal +repast—had leered, unseen, into the 'dim eyes of those +shipwreck'd men'—and with a loud and savage burst of derision +had seen them at length sinking into the waves." The superiority +of his picture over Falconer's, lies in the simplicity and +strength of the style, in the ease of the narrative, in the +variety of the incidents and characters, and in certain short +masterly touches, now of pathos, now of infernal humour, and now +of description, competent only to Byron and to Shakspeare. Such +are,—<br> + + +<blockquote>"Then shriek'd the timid and stood still the +brave."<br> + "The bubbling cry<br> + Of some strong swimmer in his agony."<br> + "For he, poor fellow, had a wife and children,<br> + Two things to dying people quite bewildering,"—</blockquote> + +<br> + and the inimitable description of the rainbow, closing +with,—<br> + + +<blockquote>"Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and +then—<br> + Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men."</blockquote> + +<br> + The technicalities introduced are fewer; and are handled with +greater force, and made to tell more on the general effect. You +marvel, too, at the versatility of the writer, who seems this +moment to be looking at the scene with the eye of the melancholy +Jacques; the next, with the philosophical aspect of the +moralizing Hamlet; the next, with the rage of a misanthropical +Timon; and the next, with the bitter sneer of a malignant Iago: +and yet, who, amidst all these disguises, leaves on you the +impression that he is throughout acting the part, and displaying +the spirit, of a demon—a deep current of mockery at man's +miseries, and at God's providence, running under all his moods +and imitations. We read it once, when recovering from an illness, +and shall never forget the withering horror, and the shock of +disgust and loathing, which it gave to our weakened nerves.<br> +<br> +Since Falconer's time, besides Byron, Scott, in the +<i>Pirate</i>, and Cooper, there has not, as we hinted, been much +of the poetical extracted from the sea. The subject suggested in +Boswell's <i>Johnson</i>, by General Oglethorpe, as a noble theme +for a poem—namely, <i>The Mediterranean</i>, is still unsung, at +least by any competent bard. Mrs Hemans has one sweet strain on +the <i>Treasures of the Deep</i>. Allan Cunningham's <i>Wet Sheet +and Flowing Sea</i>, and Barry Cornwall's <i>The Sea, the +Sea</i>, are in everybody's mouth. We remember a young student at +Glasgow College, long since dead—George Gray by name—a thin +lame lad, with dark mild eyes, and a fine spiritual expression on +his pale face, handing in to Professor Milne of the Moral +Philosophy class, some lines which he read to his class, and by +which they, as well as the old, arid, although profound and +ingenious philosopher, were perfectly electrified. We shall quote +all we remember of them, and it will be thought much, when we +state that twenty-five years have elapsed since we read them. +They began—<br> + + +<blockquote>"The storm is up; the anchor spring,<br> + And man the sails, my merry men;<br> + I must not lose the carolling<br> + Of ocean in a hurricane;<br> + My soul mates with the mountain storm,<br> + The cooing gale disdains.<br> + Bring Ocean in his wildest form,<br> + All booming thunder-strains;<br> + I'll bid him welcome, clap his mane;<br> + I'll dip my temples in his yeast,<br> + And hug his breakers to my breast;<br> + And bid them hail! all hail, I cry,<br> + My younger brethren hail!<br> +<br> + The sea shall be my cemetery<br> + Unto eternity.<br> +<br> + How glorious 'tis to have the wave<br> + For ever dashing o'er thee;—<br> + Besides that dull and lonesome grave,<br> + Where worms and earth devour thee.<br> +<br> + My messmates, when ye drink my dirge,<br> + Go, fill the cup from ocean's surge;<br> + And when ye drain the beverage up,<br> + Remember Neptune in the cup.<br> + For he has been my <i>brawling host</i>,<br> + Since first I roam'd from coast to coast;<br> + And he my <i>brawling</i> host shall be—<br> + I love his ocean courtesy—<br> + His <i>boisterous</i> hospitality."</blockquote> + +<br> + These lines, to us at least, seem to echo the rough roar of the +breakers, as they rush upon an iron-bound coast. Poor G. Gray! He +now sleeps, not in the bosom of that old Ocean he loved so +dearly, but, we think, in the kirkyard of Douglas, in the Upper +Ward of Lanarkshire,—a light early quenched,—but whose memory +this notice and these lines may, perhaps, for a season, preserve! +The <b>Sea</b> still lies over, after all written in prose or +rhyme regarding it, as the subject for a great poem; and it will +task all the energies of even the truest poet. <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section27">The Shipwreck</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>in three cantos.</b><br> +<br> +<i>The time employed in this poem is about six days.</i><br> +<br> +<blockquote>Quæque ipse miserrima vidi,<br> + Et quorum pars magna fui.<br> +<br> + VIRG. <i>ÆN</i>. lib. ii.</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> + + +<h3><a name="section27a">The Shipwreck: Introduction</a></h3> + +<br> + + +<table summary="Shipwreck: Introduction" border="0" cellspacing= +"10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>���While jarring interests wake the world to arms,<br> + And fright the peaceful vale with dire alarms,<br> + While Albion bids the avenging thunder roll<br> + Along her vassal deep from pole to pole;<br> + Sick of the scene, where War with ruthless hand<br> + Spreads desolation o'er the bleeding land;<br> + Sick of the tumult, where the trumpet's breath<br> + Bids ruin smile, and drowns the groan of death;<br> + 'Tis mine, retired beneath this cavern hoar,<br> + That stands all lonely on the sea-beat shore,<br> + Far other themes of deep distress to sing<br> + Than ever trembled from the vocal string:<br> + A scene from dumb oblivion to restore,<br> + To fame unknown, and new to epic lore;<br> + Where hostile elements conflicting rise,<br> + And lawless surges swell against the skies,<br> + Till hope expires, and peril and dismay<br> + Wave their black ensigns on the watery way.<br> + ���Immortal train! who guide the maze of song,<br> + To whom all science, arts, and arms belong;<br> + Who bid the trumpet of eternal fame<br> + Exalt the warrior's and the poet's name,<br> + Or in lamenting elegies express<br> + The varied pang of exquisite distress;<br> + If e'er with trembling hope I fondly stray'd<br> + In life's fair morn beneath your hallow'd shade,<br> + To hear the sweetly-mournful lute complain,<br> + And melt the heart with ecstasy of pain,<br> + Or listen to the enchanting voice of love,<br> + While all Elysium warbled through the grove:<br> + Oh! by the hollow blast that moans around,<br> + That sweeps the wild harp with a plaintive sound;<br> + By the long surge that foams through yonder cave,<br> + Whose vaults remurmur to the roaring wave;<br> + With living colours give my verse to glow,<br> + The sad memorial of a tale of woe!<br> + The fate in lively sorrow to deplore<br> + Of wanderers shipwreck'd on a leeward shore.<br> + ���Alas! neglected by the sacred Nine,<br> + Their suppliant feels no genial ray divine:<br> + Ah! will they leave Pieria's happy shore<br> + To plough the tide where wintry tempests roar?<br> + Or shall a youth approach their hallow'd fane,<br> + Stranger to Phoebus, and the tuneful train?<br> + Far from the Muses' academic grove<br> + 'Twas his the vast and trackless deep to rove;<br> + Alternate change of climates has he known,<br> + And felt the fierce extremes of either zone:<br> + Where polar skies congeal the eternal snow,<br> + Or equinoctial suns for ever glow,<br> + <a name="fr38">Smote</a> by the freezing, or the scorching +blast,<br> + 'A ship-boy on the high and giddy mast,'<a href= +"#f38"><sup>1</sup></a><br> + From regions where Peruvian billows roar,<br> + To the bleak coasts of savage Labrador;<br> + From where Damascus, pride of Asian plains,<br> + <a name="fr39">Stoops</a> her proud neck beneath tyrannic +chains,<br> + To where the Isthmus<a href="#f39"><sup>2</sup></a>, laved by +adverse tides,<br> + Atlantic and Pacific seas divides:<br> + But while he measured o'er the painful race<br> + In fortune's wild illimitable chase,<br> + Adversity, companion of his way,<br> + Still o'er the victim hung with iron sway,<br> + Bade new distresses every instant grow,<br> + Marking each change of place with change of woe:<br> + In regions where the Almighty's chastening hand<br> + With livid pestilence afflicts the land,<br> + Or where pale famine blasts the hopeful year,<br> + Parent of want and misery severe;<br> + Or where, all-dreadful in the embattled line,<br> + The hostile ships in naming combat join,<br> + Where the torn vessel wind and waves assail,<br> + Till o'er her crew distress and death prevail.<br> + Such joyless toils in early youth endured,<br> + The expanding dawn of mental day obscured,<br> + Each genial passion of the soul oppress'd,<br> + And quench'd the ardour kindling in his breast.<br> + Then censure not severe the native song,<br> + Though jarring sounds the measured verse prolong,<br> + Though terms uncouth offend the softer ear,<br> + Yet truth and human anguish deign to hear:<br> + No laurel wreath these lays attempt to claim,<br> + Nor sculptured brass to tell the poet's name.<br> + ��� And, lo! the power that wakes the eventful song<br> + Hastes hither from Lethean banks along:<br> + She sweeps the gloom, and rushing on the sight,<br> + Spreads o'er the kindling scene propitious light.<br> + In her right hand an ample roll appears,<br> + Fraught with long annals of preceding years,<br> + With every wise and noble art of man,<br> + Since first the circling hours their course began:<br> + Her left a silver wand on high display'd,<br> + Whose magic touch dispels oblivion's shade:<br> + Pensive her look; on radiant wings that glow<br> + Like Juno's birds, or Iris' flaming bow,<br> + She sails; and swifter than the course of light<br> + Directs her rapid intellectual flight:<br> + The fugitive ideas she restores,<br> + And calls the wandering thought from Lethe's shores;<br> + To things long past a second date she gives,<br> + And hoary time from her fresh youth receives;<br> + Congenial sister of immortal Fame,<br> + She shares her power, and Memory is her name.<br> + ��� O first-born daughter of primeval time!<br> + By whom transmitted down in every clime<br> + The deeds of ages long elapsed are known,<br> + And blazon'd glories spread from zone to zone;<br> + Whose magic breath dispels the mental night,<br> + And o'er the obscured idea pours the light:<br> + Say on what seas, for thou alone canst tell,<br> + What dire mishap a fated ship befell,<br> + Assail'd by tempests, girt with hostile shores?<br> + Arise! approach! unlock thy treasured stores!<br> + Full on my soul the dreadful scene display,<br> + And give its latent horrors to the day.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f38"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� 'A ship-boy,' &c.: Shakspeare's <i>Henry the +Fourth</i>, act iii.<br> +<a href="#fr38">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f39"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Isthmus:' of Darien.<br> +<a href="#fr39">return</a><br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section27b">The Shipwreck: Canto I</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>The Scene of which lies near the city of Candia.</b><br> +<br> +<i>Time: about four days and a half.</i><br> +<br> +<br> +<b><i>The Argument:</i></b><br> +<br> +<table summary="Shipwreck: Canto I: Argument" border="0" +cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I</td> +<td>Retrospect of the voyage.<br> + Arrival at Candia.<br> + State of that island.<br> + Season of the year described.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II</td> +<td>Character of the master, and his officers, Albert, Rodmond, +and Arion.<br> + Palemon, son to the owner of the ship.<br> + Attachment of Palemon to Anna, the daughter of Albert.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III</td> +<td>Noon.<br> + Palemon's history.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>IV</td> +<td>Sunset.<br> + Midnight.<br> + Arion's dream.<br> + Unmoor by moonlight.<br> + Morning.<br> + Sun's azimuth taken.<br> + Beautiful appearance of the ship, as seen by the natives from +the shore.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> + + +<table summary="Shipwreck: Canto I" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. ���A ship from Egypt, o'er the deep impell'd<br> +������ By guiding winds, her course for Venice held:<br> +������ Of famed Britannia were the gallant crew,<br> +������ And from that isle her name the vessel drew.<br> +������ The wayward steps of fortune they pursued,<br> +������ And sought in certain ills imagined good:<br> +������ Though caution'd oft her slippery path to shun,<br> +������ Hope still with promised joys allured them on;<br> +������ And, while they listen'd to her winning lore,<br> +������ The softer scenes of peace could please no more.<br> +������ Long absent they from friends and native home<br> +������ The cheerless ocean were inured to roam;<br> +������ Yet Heaven, in pity to severe distress,<br> +������ Had crown'd each painful voyage with success;<br> +������ Still, to compensate toils and hazards past,<br> +������ Restored them to maternal plains at last.<br> +������ ���Thrice had the sun, to rule the varying year,<br> +������ Across the equator roll'd his naming sphere,<br> +������ Since last the vessel spread her ample sail<br> +������ From Albion's coast, obsequious to the gale;<br> +������ She o'er the spacious flood, from shore to shore<br> +������ Unwearying wafted her commercial store;<br> +������ The richest ports of Afric she had view'd,<br> +������ Thence to fair Italy her course pursued;<br> +������ Had left behind Trinacria's burning isle,<br> +������ And visited the margin of the Nile.<br> +������ And now that winter deepens round the pole,<br> +������ The circling voyage hastens to its goal:<br> +������ They, blind to fate's inevitable law,<br> +������ No dark event to blast their hope foresaw;<br> +������ But from gay Venice soon expect to steer<br> +������ For Britain's coast, and dread no perils near:<br> +������ Inflamed by hope, their throbbing hearts, elate,<br> +������ Ideal pleasures vainly antedate,<br> +������ Before whose vivid intellectual ray<br> +������ Distress recedes, and danger melts away.<br> +������ Already British coasts appear to rise,<br> +������ The chalky cliffs salute their longing eyes;<br> +������ Each to his breast, where floods of rapture roll,<br> +������ Embracing strains the mistress of his soul;<br> +������ Nor less o'erjoy'd, with sympathetic truth,<br> +������ Each faithful maid expects the approaching youth.<br> +������ In distant souls congenial passions glow,<br> +������ And mutual feelings mutual bliss bestow:<br> +������ Such shadowy happiness their thoughts employ,<br> +������ Illusion all, and visionary joy!<br> +������ ��� Thus time elapsed, while o'er the pathless tide<br> +������ Their ship through Grecian seas the pilots guide.<br> +������ Occasion call'd to touch at Candia's shore,<br> +������ Which, blest with favouring winds, they soon explore;<br> +������ The haven enter, borne before the gale,<br> +������ Despatch their commerce, and prepare to sail.<br> +������ ���Eternal powers! what ruins from afar<br> +������ Mark the fell track of desolating war:<br> +������ Here arts and commerce with auspicious reign<br> +������ Once breathed sweet influence on the happy plain:<br> +������ While o'er the lawn, with dance and festive song,<br> +������ Young Pleasure led the jocund hours along:<br> +������ In gay luxuriance Ceres too was seen<br> +������ To crown the valleys with eternal green:<br> +������ For wealth, for valour, courted and revered,<br> +������ What Albion is, fair Candia then appear'd.<br> +������ Ah! who the flight of ages can revoke?<br> +������ The free-born spirit of her sons is broke,<br> +������ They bow to Ottoman's imperious yoke.<br> +������ No longer fame their drooping heart inspires,<br> +������ For stern oppression quench'd its genial fires:<br> +������ Though still her fields, with golden harvests crown'd,<br> +������ Supply the barren shores of Greece around,<br> +������ Sharp penury afflicts these wretched isles,<br> +������ There hope ne'er dawns, and pleasure never smiles:<br> +������ The vassal wretch contented drags his chain,<br> +������ And hears his famish'd babes lament in vain.<br> +������ These eyes have seen the dull reluctant soil<br> +������ A seventh year mock the weary labourer's toil.<br> +������ No blooming Venus, on the desert shore,<br> +������ Now views with triumph captive gods adore;<br> +������ No lovely Helens now with fatal charms<br> +������ Excite the avenging chiefs of Greece to arms;<br> +������ No fair Penelopes enchant the eye,<br> +������ For whom contending kings were proud to die:<br> +������ Here sullen beauty sheds a twilight ray,<br> +������ While sorrow bids her vernal bloom decay:<br> +������ Those charms, so long renown'd in classic strains,<br> +������ Had dimly shone on Albion's happier plains!<br> +������ ��� Now in the southern hemisphere the sun<br> +������ Through the bright Virgin, and the Scales, had run,<br> +������ And on the Ecliptic wheel'd his winding way,<br> +������ Till the fierce Scorpion felt his flaming ray.<br> +������ Four days becalm'd the vessel here remains,<br> +������ And yet no hopes of aiding wind obtains;<br> +������ For sickening vapours lull the air to sleep,<br> +������ And not a breeze awakes the silent deep:<br> +������ This, when the autumnal equinox is o'er,<br> +������ And Phoebus in the north declines no more,<br> +������ The watchful mariner, whom Heaven informs,<br> +������ Oft deems the prelude of approaching storms.<br> +������ No dread of storms the master's soul restrain,<br> +������ A captive fetter'd to the oar of gain:<br> +������ His anxious heart, impatient of delay,<br> +������ Expects the winds to sail from Candia's bay,<br> +������ Determined, from whatever point they rise,<br> +������ To trust his fortune to the seas and skies.<br> +������ ��� Thou living ray of intellectual fire,<br> +������ Whose voluntary gleams my verse inspire,<br> +������ Ere yet the deepening incidents prevail,<br> +������ Till roused attention feel our plaintive tale;<br> +������ Record whom chief among the gallant crew<br> +������ The unblest pursuit of fortune hither drew!<br> +������ Can sons of Neptune, generous, brave, and bold,<br> +������ In pain and hazard toil for sordid gold?<br> +������ ��� They can! for gold too oft with magic art<br> +������ Can rule the passions, and corrupt the heart:<br> +������ This crowns the prosperous villain with applause,<br> +������ To whom in vain sad merit pleads her cause;<br> +������ This strews with roses life's perplexing road,<br> +������ And leads the way to pleasure's soft abode;<br> +������ This spreads with slaughter'd heaps the bloody plain,<br> +������ And pours adventurous thousands o'er the main.<br> + II.�� The stately ship with all her daring band<br> +������ To skilful Albert own'd the chief command:<br> +������ Though train'd in boisterous elements, his mind<br> +������ Was yet by soft humanity refined;<br> +������ Each joy of wedded love at home he knew;<br> +������ Aboard, confest the father of his crew!<br> +������ Brave, liberal, just, the calm domestic scene<br> +������ Had o'er his temper breathed a gay serene:<br> +������ Him Science taught by mystic lore to trace<br> +������ The planets wheeling in eternal race;<br> +������ To mark the ship in floating balance held,<br> +������ By earth attracted, and by seas repell'd;<br> +������ Or point her devious track through climes unknown<br> +������ That leads to every shore and every zone.<br> +������ He saw the moon through heaven's blue concave glide,<br> +������ And into motion charm the expanding tide,<br> +������ While earth impetuous round her axle rolls,<br> +������ Exalts her watery zone, and sinks the poles;<br> +������ Light and attraction, from their genial source,<br> +������ He saw still wandering with diminish'd force;<br> +������ While on the margin of declining day<br> +������ Night's shadowy cone reluctant melts away—<br> +������ Inured to peril, with unconquer'd soul,<br> +������ The chief beheld tempestuous oceans roll:<br> +������ O'er the wild surge when dismal shades preside,<br> +������ His equal skill the lonely bark could guide;<br> +������ His genius, ever for the event prepared,<br> +������ Rose with the storm, and all its dangers shared.<br> +������ ���Rodmond the next degree to Albert bore,<br> +������ A hardy son of England's farthest shore,<br> +������ Where bleak Northumbria pours her savage train<br> +������ In sable squadrons o'er the northern main;<br> +������ That, with her pitchy entrails stored, resort,<br> +������ A sooty tribe, to fair Augusta's port:<br> +������ Where'er in ambush lurk the fatal sands,<br> +������ They claim the danger, proud of skilful bands;<br> +������ For while with darkling course their vessels sweep<br> +������ The winding shore, or plough the faithless deep,<br> +������ O'er bar and shelf the watery path they sound<br> +������ With dexterous arm, sagacious of the ground:<br> +������ Fearless they combat every hostile wind,<br> +������ Wheeling in mazy tracks, with course inclined:<br> +������ Expert to moor where terrors line the road,<br> +������ Or win the anchor from its dark abode;<br> +������ But drooping, and relax'd, in climes afar,<br> +������ Tumultuous and undisciplined in war.<br> +������ Such Rodmond was; by learning unrefined,<br> +������ That oft enlightens to corrupt the mind—<br> +������ Boisterous of manners; train'd in early youth<br> +������ To scenes that shame the conscious cheek of truth;<br> +������ To scenes that nature's struggling voice control,<br> +������ And freeze compassion rising in the soul:<br> +������ Where the grim hell-hounds, prowling round the shore,<br> +������ With foul intent the stranded bark explore:<br> +������ Deaf to the voice of woe, her decks they board,<br> +������ While tardy justice slumbers o'er her sword.<br> +������ The indignant Muse, severely taught to feel,<br> +������ Shrinks from a theme she blushes to reveal.<br> +������ Too oft example, arm'd with poisons fell,<br> +������ Pollutes the shrine where mercy loves to dwell:<br> +������ Thus Rodmond, train'd by this unhallow'd crew,<br> +������ The sacred social passions never knew.<br> +������ Unskill'd to argue, in dispute yet loud,<br> +������ Bold without caution, without honours proud;<br> +������ In art unschool'd, each veteran rule he prized,<br> +������ And all improvement haughtily despised.<br> +������ Yet, though full oft to future perils blind,<br> +������ With skill superior glow'd his daring mind,<br> +������ Through snares of death the reeling bark to guide,<br> +������ When midnight shades involve the raging tide.<br> +������ ���<a name="fr40">To</a> Rodmond, next in order of +command,<br> +������ Succeeds the youngest<a href="#f40"><sup>1</sup></a> of +our naval band:<br> +������ But what avails it to record a name<br> +������ That courts no rank among the sons of fame;<br> +������ Whose vital spring had just begun to bloom,<br> +������ When o'er it sorrow spread her sickening gloom?<br> +������ While yet a stripling, oft with fond alarms<br> +������ His bosom danced to nature's boundless charms;<br> +������ On him fair science dawn'd in happier hour,<br> +������ Awakening into bloom young fancy's flower<br> +������ But soon adversity, with freezing blast,<br> +������ The blossom wither'd, and the dawn o'ercast.<br> +������ Forlorn of heart, and by severe decree<br> +������ Condemn'd reluctant to the faithless sea,<br> +������ With long farewell he left the laurel grove,<br> +������ Where science and the tuneful sisters rove—<br> +������ Hither he wander'd, anxious to explore<br> +������ Antiquities of nations now no more;<br> +������ To penetrate each distant realm unknown,<br> +������ And range excursive o'er the untravell'd zone.<br> +������ In vain—for rude adversity's command<br> +������ Still on the margin of each famous land,<br> +������ With unrelenting ire his steps opposed,<br> +������ And every gate of hope against him closed.<br> +������ Permit my verse, ye blest Pierian train!<br> +������ To call Arion this ill-fated swain;<br> +������ For, like that bard unhappy, on his head<br> +������ Malignant stars their hostile influence shed:<br> +������ Both, in lamenting numbers, o'er the deep<br> +������ With conscious anguish taught the harp to weep;<br> +������ And both the raging surge in safety bore<br> +������ Amid destruction, panting to the shore:<br> +������ This last, our tragic story from the wave<br> +������ Of dark oblivion haply yet may save;<br> +������ With genuine sympathy may yet complain,<br> +������ While sad remembrance bleeds at every vein.<br> +������ ���These, chief among the ship's conducting train,<br> +������ Her path explored along the deep domain;<br> +������ Train'd to command, and range the swelling sail,<br> +������ Whose varying force conforms to every gale.<br> +������ Charged with the commerce, hither also came<br> +������ A gallant youth, Palemon was his name:<br> +������ A father's stern resentment doom'd to prove,<br> +������ He came the victim of unhappy love!<br> +������ His heart for Albert's beauteous daughter bled,<br> +������ For her a sacred flame his bosom fed:<br> +������ Nor let the wretched slaves of folly scorn<br> +������ This genuine passion, nature's eldest born!<br> +������ 'Twas his with lasting anguish to complain,<br> +������ While blooming Anna mourn'd the cause in vain.<br> +������ ���Graceful of form, by nature taught to please,<br> +������ Of power to melt the female breast with ease;<br> +������ To her Palemon told his tender tale,<br> +������ Soft as the voice of summer's evening gale:<br> +������ His soul, where moral truth spontaneous grew,<br> +������ No guilty wish, no cruel passion knew:<br> +������ Though tremblingly alive to nature's laws,<br> +������ Yet ever firm to honour's sacred cause;<br> +������ O'erjoy'd he saw her lovely eyes relent,<br> +������ The blushing maiden smiled with sweet consent.<br> +������ Oft in the mazes of a neighbouring grove<br> +������ Unheard they breathed alternate vows of love:<br> +������ By fond society their passion grew,<br> +������ Like the young blossom fed with vernal dew;<br> +������ While their chaste souls possess'd the pleasing pains<br> +������ That truth improves, and virtue ne'er restrains.<br> +������ In evil hour the officious tongue of fame<br> +������ Betray'd the secret of their mutual flame.<br> +������ With grief and anger struggling in his breast,<br> +������ Palemon's father heard the tale confest:<br> +������ Long had he listen'd with suspicion's ear,<br> +������ And learn'd, sagacious, this event to fear.<br> +������ Too well, fair youth! thy liberal heart he knew,<br> +������ A heart to nature's warm impressions true:<br> +������ Full oft his wisdom strove with fruitless toil<br> +������ With avarice to pollute that generous soil:<br> +������ That soil, impregnated with nobler seed,<br> +������ Refused the culture of so rank a weed.<br> +������ Elate with wealth in active commerce won,<br> +������ And basking in the smile of fortune's sun;<br> +������ For many freighted ships from shore to shore,<br> +������ Their wealthy charge by his appointment bore:<br> +������ With scorn the parent eyed the lowly shade<br> +������ That veil'd the beauties of this charming maid.<br> +������ He, by the lust of riches only moved,<br> +������ Such mean connexions haughtily reproved:<br> +������ Indignant he rebuked the enamour'd boy,<br> +������ The flattering promise of his future joy:<br> +������ He soothed and menaced, anxious to reclaim<br> +������ This hopeless passion, or divert its aim:<br> +������ Oft led the youth where circling joys delight<br> +������ The ravish'd sense, or beauty charms the sight.<br> +������ With all her powers enchanting music fail'd,<br> +������ And pleasure's syren voice no more prevail'd:<br> +������ Long with unequal art, in vain he strove<br> +������ To quench the ethereal flame of ardent love.<br> +������ The merchant, kindling then with proud disdain,<br> +������ In look and voice assumed a harsher strain.<br> +������ In absence now his only hope remain'd;<br> +������ And such the stern decree his will ordain'd:<br> +������ Deep anguish, while Palemon heard his doom,<br> +������ Drew o'er his lovely face a saddening gloom;<br> +������ High beat his heart, fast flow'd the unbidden tear,<br> +������ His bosom heaved with agony severe:<br> +������ In vain with bitter sorrow he repined,<br> +������ No tender pity touch'd that sordid mind—<br> +������ To thee, brave Albert! was the charge consign'd.<br> +������ The stately ship, forsaking England's shore,<br> +������ To regions far remote Palemon bore.<br> +������ Incapable of change, the unhappy youth<br> +������ Still loved fair Anna with eternal truth;<br> +������ Still Anna's image swims before his sight<br> +������ In fleeting vision through the restless night;<br> +������ From clime to clime an exile doom'd to roam,<br> +������ His heart still panted for its secret home.<br> +������ ���The moon had circled twice her wayward zone,<br> +������ To him since young Arion first was known;<br> +������ Who, wandering here through many a scene renown'd,<br> +������ In Alexandria's port the vessel found;<br> +������ Where, anxious to review his native shore,<br> +������ He on the roaring wave embark'd once more.<br> +������ Oft by pale Cynthia's melancholy light<br> +������ With him Palemon kept the watch of night,<br> +������ In whose sad bosom many a sigh suppress'd<br> +������ Some painful secret of the soul confess'd:<br> +������ Perhaps Arion soon the cause divined,<br> +������ Though shunning still to probe a wounded mind;<br> +������ He felt the chastity of silent woe,<br> +������ Though glad the balm of comfort to bestow.<br> +������ He with Palemon oft recounted o'er<br> +������ The tales of hapless love in ancient lore,<br> +������ Recall'd to memory by the adjacent shore:<br> +������ The scene thus present, and its story known,<br> +������ The lover sigh'd for sorrows not his own.<br> +������ Thus, though a recent date their friendship bore,<br> +������ Soon the ripe metal own'd the quickening ore;<br> +������ For in one tide their passions seem'd to roll,<br> +������ By kindred age and sympathy of soul.<br> +������ These o'er the inferior naval train preside,<br> +������ The course determine, or the commerce guide:<br> +������ O'er all the rest an undistinguished crew,<br> +������ Her wing of deepest shade oblivion drew.<br> +������ ���A sullen languor still the skies oppress'd,<br> +������ And held the unwilling ship in strong arrest:<br> +������ High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day,<br> +������ O'er Ida flaming with meridian ray;<br> +������ Relax'd from toil the sailors range the shore,<br> +������ Where famine, war, and storm are felt no more;<br> +������ The hour to social pleasure they resign,<br> +������ And black remembrance drown in generous wine.<br> +������ On deck, beneath the shading canvas spread,<br> +������ Rodmond a rueful tale of wonders read<br> +������ Of dragons roaring on the enchanted coast;<br> +������ The hideous goblin, and the yelling ghost:<br> +������ But with Arion, from the sultry heat<br> +������ <a name="fr41">Of</a> noon, Palemon sought a cool +retreat.<br> +������ And, lo! the shore with mournful prospects crown'd<a href= +"#f41"><sup>2</sup></a>,<br> +������ The rampart torn with many a fatal wound,<br> +������ The ruin'd bulwark tottering o'er the strand,<br> +������ Bewail the stroke of war's tremendous hand:<br> +������ What scenes of woe this hapless isle o'erspread!<br> +������ Where late thrice fifty thousand warriors bled.<br> +������ Full twice twelve summers were yon towers assail'd,<br> +������ Till barbarous Ottoman at last prevail'd;<br> +������ While thundering mines the lovely plains o'erturn'd,<br> +������ While heroes fell, and domes and temples burn'd.<br> + III.� But now before them happier scenes arise,<br> +������ Elysian vales salute their ravish'd eyes;<br> +������ Olive and cedar form'd a grateful shade,<br> +������ Where light with gay romantic error stray'd:<br> +������ The myrtles here with fond caresses twine,<br> +������ There, rich with nectar, melts the pregnant vine<br> +������ And, lo! the stream renown'd in classic song,<br> +������ Sad Lethe, glides the silent vale along.<br> +������ On mossy banks, beneath the citron grove,<br> +������ The youthful wanderers found a wild alcove;<br> +������ Soft o'er the fairy region languor stole,<br> +������ And with sweet melancholy charm'd the soul.<br> +������ Here first Palemon, while his pensive mind<br> +������ For consolation on his friend reclined,<br> +������ In pity's bleeding bosom pour'd the stream<br> +������ Of love's soft anguish, and of grief supreme:<br> +������ "Too true thy words! by sweet remembrance taught,<br> +������ My heart in secret bleeds with tender thought;<br> +������ In vain it courts the solitary shade,<br> +������ By every action, every look betray'd:<br> +������ The pride of generous woe disdains appeal<br> +������ To hearts that unrelenting frosts congeal;<br> +������ Yet sure, if right Palemon can divine,<br> +������ The sense of gentle pity dwells in thine:<br> +������ Yes! all his cares thy sympathy shall know,<br> +������ And prove the kind companion of his woe.<br> +������ ��� "Albert thou know'st with skill and science +graced,<br> +������ In humble station though by fortune placed,<br> +������ Yet never seaman more serenely brave<br> +������ Led Britain's conquering squadrons o'er the wave:<br> +������ Where full in view Augusta's spires are seen,<br> +������ With flowery lawns and waving woods between,<br> +������ An humble habitation rose, beside<br> +������ Where Thames meandering rolls his ample tide:<br> +������ There live the hope and pleasure of his life,<br> +������ A pious daughter, and a faithful wife:<br> +������ For his return with fond officious care,<br> +������ Still every grateful object these prepare:<br> +������ Whatever can allure the smell or sight,<br> +������ Or wake the drooping spirits to delight.<br> +������ ��� "This blooming maid in virtue's path to guide<br> +������ The admiring parents all their care applied;<br> +������ Her spotless soul to soft affection train'd,<br> +������ No voice untuned, no sickening folly stain'd!<br> +������ Not fairer grows the lily of the vale,<br> +������ Whose bosom opens to the vernal gale:<br> +������ Her eyes, unconscious of their fatal charms,<br> +������ Thrill'd every heart with exquisite alarms:<br> +������ Her face, in beauty's sweet attraction dress'd,<br> +������ The smile of maiden innocence express'd;<br> +������ While health, that rises with the new-born day,<br> +������ Breathed o'er her cheek the softest blush of May:<br> +������ Still in her look complacence smiled serene;<br> +������ She moved the charmer of the rural scene!<br> +������ ��� "'Twas at that season when the fields resume<br> +������ Their loveliest hues, array'd in vernal bloom:<br> +������ Yon ship, rich freighted from the Italian shore,<br> +������ To Thames' fair banks her costly tribute bore:<br> +������ While thus my father saw his ample hoard,<br> +������ From this return, with recent treasures stored,<br> +������ Me, with affairs of commerce charged, he sent<br> +������ To Albert's humble mansion—soon I went!<br> +������ Too soon, alas! unconscious of the event.<br> +������ There, struck with sweet surprise and silent awe,<br> +������ The gentle mistress of my hopes I saw;<br> +������ There, wounded first by love's resistless arms,<br> +������ My glowing bosom throbb'd with strange alarms:<br> +������ My ever charming Anna! who alone<br> +������ Can all the frowns of cruel fate atone;<br> +������ Oh! while all-conscious memory holds her power,<br> +������ Can I forget that sweetly-painful hour,<br> +������ When from those eyes, with lovely lightning fraught,<br> +������ My fluttering spirits first the infection caught?<br> +������ When as I gazed, my faltering tongue betray'd<br> +������ The heart's quick tumults, or refused its aid;<br> +������ While the dim light my ravish'd eyes forsook,<br> +������ And every limb, unstrung with terror, shook;<br> +������ With all her powers dissenting reason strove<br> +������ To tame at first the kindling flame of love:<br> +������ She strove in vain; subdued by charms divine,<br> +������ My soul a victim fell at beauty's shrine.<br> +������ Oft from the din of bustling life I stray'd,<br> +������ In happier scenes to see my lovely maid;<br> +������ Full oft, where Thames his wandering current leads,<br> +������ We roved at evening hour through flowery meads;<br> +������ There, while my heart's soft anguish I reveal'd,<br> +������ To her with tender sighs my hope appeal'd.<br> +������ While the sweet nymph my faithful tale believed,<br> +������ Her snowy breast with secret tumult heaved;<br> +������ For, train'd in rural scenes from earliest youth,<br> +������ Nature was hers, and innocence and truth:<br> +������ She never knew the city damsel's art,<br> +������ Whose frothy pertness charms the vacant heart.<br> +������ My suit prevail'd! for love inform'd my tongue,<br> +������ And on his votary's lips persuasion hung.<br> +������ Her eyes with conscious sympathy withdrew,<br> +������ And o'er her cheek the rosy current flew.<br> +������ Thrice happy hours! where with no dark allay<br> +������ Life's fairest sunshine gilds the vernal day;<br> +������ For here the sigh that soft affection heaves,<br> +������ From stings of sharper woe the soul relieves:<br> +������ Elysian scenes! too happy long to last,<br> +������ Too soon a storm the smiling dawn o'ercast;<br> +������ Too soon some demon to my father bore<br> +������ The tidings that his heart with anguish tore.<br> +������ My pride to kindle, with dissuasive voice<br> +������ Awhile he labour'd to degrade my choice:<br> +������ Then, in the whirling wave of pleasure, sought<br> +������ From its loved object to divert my thought.<br> +������ With equal hope he might attempt to bind<br> +������ In chains of adamant the lawless wind;<br> +������ For love had aim'd the fatal shaft too sure,<br> +������ Hope fed the wound, and absence knew no cure.<br> +������ With alienated look, each art he saw<br> +������ Still baffled by superior nature's law.<br> +������ His anxious mind on various schemes revolved,<br> +������ At last on cruel exile he resolved;<br> +������ The rigorous doom was fix'd; alas, how vain<br> +������ To him of tender anguish to complain!<br> +������ His soul, that never love's sweet influence felt,<br> +������ By social sympathy could never melt:<br> +������ With stern command to Albert's charge he gave<br> +������ To waft Palemon o'er the distant wave.<br> +������ ��� "The ship was laden and prepared to sail,<br> +������ And only waited now the leading gale:<br> +������ 'Twas ours, in that sad period, first to prove<br> +������ The poignant torments of despairing love,<br> +������ The impatient wish that never feels repose,<br> +������ Desire that with perpetual current flows,<br> +������ The fluctuating pangs of hope and fear,<br> +������ Joy distant still, and sorrow ever near.<br> +������ Thus, while the pangs of thought severer grew,<br> +������ The western breezes inauspicious blew,<br> +������ Hastening the moment of our last adieu.<br> +������ The vessel parted on the falling tide,<br> +������ Yet time one sacred hour to love supplied:<br> +������ The night was silent, and advancing fast,<br> +������ The moon o'er Thames her silver mantle cast;<br> +������ Impatient hope the midnight path explored,<br> +������ And led me to the nymph my soul adored.<br> +������ Soon her quick footsteps struck my listening ear;<br> +������ She came confest! the lovely maid drew near!<br> +������ But, ah! what force of language can impart<br> +������ The impetuous joy that glow'd in either heart?<br> +������ O ye! whose melting hearts are form'd to prove<br> +������ The trembling ecstasies of genuine love;<br> +������ When, with delicious agony, the thought<br> +������ Is to the verge of high delirium wrought:<br> +������ Your secret sympathy alone can tell<br> +������ What raptures then the throbbing bosom swell:<br> +������ O'er all the nerves what tender tumults roll,<br> +������ While love with sweet enchantment melts the soul.<br> +������ ���"In transport lost, by trembling hope imprest,<br> +������ The blushing virgin sunk upon my breast,<br> +������ While hers congenial beat with fond alarms;<br> +������ Dissolving softness! Paradise of charms!<br> +������ Flash'd from our eyes, in warm transfusion flew<br> +������ Our blending spirits that each other drew!<br> +������ O bliss supreme! where virtue's self can melt<br> +������ With joys that guilty pleasure never felt;<br> +������ Form'd to refine the thought with chaste desire,<br> +������ And kindle sweet affection's purest fire.<br> +������ Ah! wherefore should my hopeless love, she cries,—<br> +������ While sorrow bursts with interrupting sighs,—<br> +������ For ever destined to lament in vain,<br> +������ Such nattering, fond ideas entertain?<br> +������ My heart through scenes of fair illusion stray'd,<br> +������ To joys decreed for some superior maid.<br> +������ 'Tis mine, abandon'd to severe distress,<br> +������ Still to complain, and never hope redress—<br> +������ Go then, dear youth! thy father's rage atone,<br> +������ And let this tortured bosom beat alone.<br> +������ The hovering anger yet thou mayst appease:<br> +������ Go then, dear youth! nor tempt the faithless seas.<br> +������ Find out some happier maid, whose equal charms<br> +������ With fortune's fairer joys may bless thy arms:<br> +������ Where, smiling o'er thee with indulgent ray,<br> +������ Prosperity shall hail each new-born day:<br> +������ Too well thou know'st good Albert's niggard fate<br> +������ Ill fitted to sustain thy father's hate.<br> +������ Go then, I charge thee by thy generous love,<br> +������ That fatal to my father thus may prove;<br> +������ On me alone let dark affliction fall,<br> +������ Whose heart for thee will gladly suffer all.<br> +������ Then haste thee hence, Palemon, ere too late,<br> +������ Nor rashly hope to brave opposing fate.<br> +������ ���"She ceased: while anguish in her angel-face<br> +������ O'er all her beauties shower'd celestial grace:<br> +������ Not Helen, in her bridal charms array'd,<br> +������ Was half so lovely as this gentle maid.—<br> +������ O soul of all my wishes! I replied,<br> +������ Can that soft fabric stem affliction's tide?<br> +������ Canst thou, bright pattern of exalted truth,<br> +������ To sorrow doom the summer of thy youth,<br> +������ And I, ingrateful! all that sweetness see<br> +������ Consign'd to lasting misery for me?<br> +������ Sooner this moment may the eternal doom<br> +������ Palemon in the silent earth entomb:<br> +������ Attest, thou moon, fair regent of the night!<br> +������ Whose lustre sickens at this mournful sight:<br> +������ By all the pangs divided lovers feel,<br> +������ Which sweet possession only knows to heal;<br> +������ By all the horrors brooding o'er the deep,<br> +������ Where fate, and ruin, sad dominion keep;<br> +������ Though tyrant duty o'er me threatening stands,<br> +������ And claims obedience to her stern commands,<br> +������ Should fortune cruel or auspicious prove,<br> +������ Her smile or frown shall never change my love:<br> +������ My heart, that now must every joy resign,<br> +������ Incapable of change, is only thine.<br> +������ ��� "Oh, cease to weep, this storm will yet decay,<br> +������ And the sad clouds of sorrow melt away:<br> +������ While through the rugged path of life we go,<br> +������ All mortals taste the bitter draught of woe:<br> +������ The famed and great, decreed to equal pain,<br> +������ Full oft in splendid wretchedness complain:<br> +������ For this, prosperity, with brighter ray,<br> +������ In smiling contrast gilds our vital day,<br> +������ Thou, too, sweet maid! ere twice ten months are o'er,<br> +������ Shalt hail Palemon to his native shore,<br> +������ Where never interest shall divide us more.—<br> +������ ��� "Her struggling soul, o'erwhelm'd with tender +grief,<br> +������ Now found an interval of short relief:<br> +������ So melts the surface of the frozen stream<br> +������ Beneath the wintry sun's departing beam.<br> +������ With cruel haste the shades of night withdrew,<br> +������ And gave the signal of a sad adieu.<br> +������ As on my neck the afflicted maiden hung,<br> +������ A thousand racking doubts her spirit wrung:<br> +������ She wept the terrors of the fearful wave,<br> +������ Too oft, alas! the wandering lover's grave:<br> +������ With soft persuasion I dispell'd her fear,<br> +������ And from her cheek beguiled the falling tear,<br> +������ While dying fondness languished in her eyes,<br> +������ She pour'd her soul to heaven in suppliant sighs!<br> +������ 'Look down with pity, O ye powers above!<br> +������ Who hear the sad complaint of bleeding love;<br> +������ Ye, who the secret laws of fate explore,<br> +������ Alone can tell if he returns no more;<br> +������ Or if the hour of future joy remain,<br> +������ Long-wish'd atonement of long-suffer'd pain;<br> +������ Bid every guardian minister attend,<br> +������ And from all ill the much-loved youth defend!'<br> +������ With grief o'erwhelm'd we parted twice in vain,<br> +������ And, urged by strong attraction, met again.<br> +������ At last, by cruel fortune torn apart,<br> +������ While tender passion beat in either heart,<br> +������ Our eyes transfix'd with agonizing look,<br> +������ One sad farewell, one last embrace, we took.<br> +������ Forlorn of hope the lovely maid I left,<br> +������ Pensive and pale, of every joy bereft:<br> +������ She to her silent couch retired to weep,<br> +������ Whilst I embark'd, in sadness, on the deep."<br> +������ ��� His tale thus closed, from sympathy of grief<br> +������ Palemon's bosom felt a sweet relief:<br> +������ To mutual friendship thus sincerely true,<br> +������ No secret wish, or fear their bosoms knew;<br> +������ In mutual hazards oft severely tried,<br> +������ Nor hope, nor danger, could their love divide.<br> +������ ���Ye tender maids! in whose pathetic souls<br> +������ Compassion's sacred stream impetuous rolls,<br> +������ Whose warm affections exquisitely feel<br> +������ The secret wound you tremble to reveal;<br> +������ Ah! may no wanderer of the stormy main<br> +������ Pour through your breasts the soft delicious bane;<br> +������ May never fatal tenderness approve<br> +������ The fond effusions of their ardent love:<br> +������ Oh! warn'd, avoid the path that leads to woe,<br> +������ Where thorns and baneful weeds alternate grow:<br> +������ Let them severer stoic nymphs possess,<br> +������ Whose stubborn passions feel no soft distress.<br> +������ ���Now, as the youths returning o'er the plain<br> +������ Approach'd the lonely margin of the main,<br> +������ First, with attention roused, Arion eyed<br> +������ The graceful lover, form'd in nature's pride.<br> +������ His frame the happiest symmetry display'd,<br> +������ And locks of waving gold his neck array'd;<br> +������ In every look the Paphian graces shine,<br> +������ Soft breathing o'er his cheek their bloom divine;<br> +������ With lighten'd heart he smiled serenely gay,<br> +������ Like young Adonis, or the Son of May.<br> +������ Not Cytherea from a fairer swain<br> +������ Received her apple on the Trojan plain.<br> + IV.��� The sun's bright orb, declining all serene,<br> +������ Now glanced obliquely o'er the woodland scene;<br> +������ Creation smiles around; on every spray<br> +������ The warbling birds exalt their evening lay;<br> +������ Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train<br> +������ Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain;<br> +������ The golden lime and orange there were seen<br> +������ On fragrant branches of perpetual green;<br> +������ The crystal streams that velvet meadows lave,<br> +������ To the green ocean roll with chiding wave.<br> +������ The glassy ocean, hush'd, forgets to roar,<br> +������ But trembling murmurs on the sandy shore;<br> +������ And, lo! his surface lovely to behold,<br> +������ Glows in the west, a sea of living gold!<br> +������ While all above a thousand liveries gay<br> +������ The skies with pomp ineffable array.<br> +������ Arabian sweets perfume the happy plains;<br> +������ Above, beneath, around, enchantment reigns!<br> +������ While glowing Vesper leads the starry train,<br> +������ And night slow draws her veil o'er land and main,<br> +������ Emerging clouds the azure east invade,<br> +������ And wrap the lucid spheres in gradual shade;<br> +������ While yet the songsters of the vocal grove,<br> +������ With dying numbers tune the soul to love:<br> +������ With joyful eyes the attentive master sees<br> +������ The auspicious omens of an eastern breeze.<br> +������ Round the charged bowl the sailors form a ring;<br> +������ By turns recount the wondrous tale, or sing,<br> +������ As love, or battle, hardships of the main,<br> +������ Or genial wine, awake the homely strain.<br> +������ Then some the watch of night alternate keep:<br> +������ The rest lie buried in oblivious sleep.<br> +������ ���Deep midnight now involves the livid skies,<br> +������ When eastern breezes, yet enervate, rise:<br> +������ The waning moon behind a watery shroud<br> +������ Pale glimmer'd o'er the long protracted cloud;<br> +������ A mighty halo round her silver throne,<br> +������ With parting meteors cross'd, portentous shone:<br> +������ This in the troubled sky full oft prevails,<br> +������ Oft deem'd a signal of tempestuous gales.<br> +������ ��� While young Arion sleeps, before his sight<br> +������ Tumultuous swim the visions of the night:<br> +������ Now blooming Anna with her happy swain<br> +������ Approach'd the sacred hymeneal fane;<br> +������ Anon tremendous lightnings flash between,<br> +������ And funeral pomp, and weeping loves are seen:<br> +������ Now with Palemon, up a rocky steep,<br> +������ Whose summit trembles o'er the roaring deep,<br> +������ With painful step he climb'd; while far above<br> +������ Sweet Anna charm'd them with the voice of love:<br> +������ Then sudden from the slippery height they fell,<br> +������ While dreadful yawn'd beneath the jaws of hell.<br> +������ Amid this fearful trance, a thundering sound<br> +������ He hears, and thrice the hollow decks rebound:<br> +������ Upstarting from his couch, on deck he sprung,<br> +������ Thrice with shrill note the boatswain's whistle rung:<br> +������ All hands unmoor! proclaims a boisterous cry;<br> +������ All hands unmoor! the cavern'd rocks reply.<br> +������ Roused from repose, aloft the sailors swarm,<br> +������ And with their levers soon the windlass arm:<br> +������ <a name="fr42">The</a> order given, up springing with a +bound,<br> +������ They fix the bars, and heave the windlass<a href= +"#f42"><sup>3</sup></a> round;<br> +������ At every turn the clanging pauls resound:<br> +������ Up-torn reluctant from its oozy cave,<br> +������ The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.<br> +������ High on the slippery masts the yards ascend,<br> +������ And far abroad the canvas wings extend.<br> +������ Along the glassy plain the vessel glides,<br> +������ While azure radiance trembles on her sides;<br> +������ The lunar rays in long reflection gleam,<br> +������ With silver deluging the fluid stream.<br> +������ Levant and Thracian gales alternate play,<br> +������ Then in the Egyptian quarter die away.<br> +������ A calm ensues; adjacent shores they dread;<br> +������ The boats, with rowers mann'd, are sent ahead;<br> +������ <a name="fr43">With</a> cordage fasten'd to the lofty +prow,<br> +������ Aloof to sea the stately ship they tow<a href= +"#f43"><sup>4</sup></a>;<br> +������ The nervous crew their sweeping oars extend,<br> +������ And pealing shouts the shore of Candia rend:<br> +������ Success attends their skill! the danger's o'er!<br> +������ The port is doubled, and beheld no more.<br> +������ ���Now morn with gradual pace advanced on high,<br> +������ Whitening with orient beam the twilight sky:<br> +������ She comes not in refulgent pomp array'd,<br> +������ But frowning stern, and wrapt in sullen shade.<br> +������ Above incumbent mists, tall Ida's height,<br> +������ Tremendous rock! emerges on the sight;<br> +������ North-east a league, the Isle of Standia bears,<br> +������ And westward, Freschin's woody Cape appears.<br> +������ ���In distant angles while the transient gales<br> +������ Alternate blow, they trim the flagging sails;<br> +������ <a name="fr44">The</a> drowsy air attentive to retain,<br> +������ <a name="fr45">As</a> from unnumber'd points it sweeps the +main.<br> +������ Now swelling stud-sails<a href="#f44"><sup>5</sup></a> on +each side extend,<br> +������ Then stay-sails<a href="#f45"><sup>6</sup></a> sidelong to +the breeze ascend;<br> +������ While all to court the veering winds are placed<br> +������ With yards alternate square, and sharply braced.<br> +������ ���The dim horizon lowering vapours shroud,<br> +������ And blot the sun yet struggling in the cloud;<br> +������ Through the wide atmosphere, condensed with haze,<br> +������ His glaring orb emits a sanguine blaze.<br> +������ The pilots now their azimuth attend,<br> +������ <a name="fr46">On</a> which all courses duly form'd +depend:<br> +������ The compass placed to catch the rising ray<a href= +"#f46"><sup>7</sup></a>,<br> +������ The quadrant's shadows studious they survey;<br> +������ Along the arch the gradual index slides,<br> +������ While Phoebus down the vertic-circle glides;<br> +������ Now seen on ocean's utmost verge to swim,<br> +������ He sweeps it vibrant with his nether limb.<br> +������ Thus height and polar distance are obtain'd,<br> +������ Then latitude and declination gain'd;<br> +������ In chiliads next the analogy is sought,<br> +������ And on the sinical triangle wrought:<br> +������ By this magnetic variance is explored,<br> +������ Just angles known, and polar truth restored.<br> +������ ���The natives, while the ship departs their land,<br> +������ Ashore with admiration gazing stand.<br> +������ Majestically slow, before the breeze<br> +������ She moved triumphant o'er the yielding seas;<br> +������ Her bottom through translucent waters shone,<br> +������ <a name="fr47">White</a> as the clouds beneath the blaze +of noon;<br> +������ The bending wales<a href="#f47"><sup>8</sup></a> their +contrast next display'd,<br> +������ All fore and aft in polish'd jet array'd.<br> +������ Britannia, riding awful on the prow,<br> +������ Gazed o'er the vassal waves that roll'd below:<br> +������ Where'er she moved the vassal waves were seen<br> +������ To yield obsequious, and confess their queen.<br> +������ The imperial trident graced her dexter hand,<br> +������ Of power to rule the surge, like Moses' wand;<br> +������ The eternal empire of the main to keep,<br> +������ And guide her squadrons o'er the trembling deep.<br> +������ Her left, propitious, bore a mystic shield,<br> +������ Around whose margin rolls the watery field;<br> +������ There her bold genius in his floating car<br> +������ <a name="fr48">O'er</a> the wild billow, hurls the storm +of war:<br> +������ And, lo! the beasts<a href="#f48"><sup>9</sup></a> that +oft with jealous rage<br> +������ In bloody combat met, from age to age,<br> +������ Tamed into union, yoked in friendship's chain,<br> +������ Draw his proud chariot round the vanquish'd main;<br> +������ From the proud margin to the centre grew<br> +������ Shelves, rocks, and whirlpools, hideous to the view.<br> +������ The immortal shield from Neptune she received,<br> +������ When first her head above the waters heaved;<br> +������ Loose floated o'er her limbs an azure vest,<br> +������ A figured 'scutcheon glitter'd on her breast;<br> +������ There from one parent soil for ever young,<br> +������ The blooming rose and hardy thistle sprung:<br> +������ Around her head an oaken wreath was seen,<br> +������ Inwove with laurels of unfading green.<br> +������ ���Such was the sculptured prow; from van to rear<br> +������ The artillery frown'd, a black tremendous tier!<br> +������ Embalm'd with orient gum, above the wave<br> +������ The swelling sides a yellow radiance gave.<br> +������ On the broad stern, a pencil warm and bold,<br> +������ That never servile rules of art controll'd,<br> +������ An allegoric tale on high portray'd;<br> +������ There a young hero, here a royal maid:<br> +������ Fair England's genius in the youth express'd,<br> +������ Her ancient foe, but now her friend confess'd,<br> +������ The warlike nymph with fond regard survey'd;<br> +������ No more his hostile frown her heart dismay'd:<br> +������ His look, that once shot terror from afar,<br> +������ Like young Alcides, or the god of war,<br> +������ Serene as summer's evening skies she saw;<br> +������ Serene, yet firm; though mild, impressing awe:<br> +������ Her nervous arm, inured to toils severe,<br> +������ Brandish'd the unconquer'd Caledonian spear:<br> +������ The dreadful falchion of the hills she wore,<br> +������ Sung to the harp in many a tale of yore,<br> +������ That oft her rivers dyed with hostile gore.<br> +������ Blue was her rocky shield; her piercing eye<br> +������ Flash'd like the meteors of her native sky;<br> +������ Her crest high-plumed, was rough with many a scar,<br> +������ And o'er her helmet gleam'd the Northern Star.<br> +������ The warrior youth appear'd of noble frame,<br> +������ The hardy offspring of some Runic dame:<br> +������ Loose o'er his shoulders hung the slacken'd bow,<br> +������ Renown'd in song, the terror of the foe!<br> +������ The sword that oft the barbarous north defied,<br> +������ The scourge of tyrants! glitter'd by his side:<br> +������ Clad in refulgent arms in battle won,<br> +������ The George emblazon'd on his corslet shone;<br> +������ Fast by his side was seen a golden lyre,<br> +������ Pregnant with numbers of eternal fire;<br> +������ Whose strings unlock the witches' midnight spell,<br> +������ Or waft rapt fancy through the gulfs of hell:<br> +������ Struck with contagion, kindling fancy hears<br> +������ The songs of heaven, the music of the spheres!<br> +������ Borne on Newtonian wing, through air she flies,<br> +������ Where other suns to other systems rise.<br> +������ ���These front the scene conspicuous; overhead<br> +������ Albion's proud oak his filial branches spread:<br> +������ While on the sea-beat shore obsequious stood,<br> +������ Beneath their feet, the father of the flood:<br> +������ Here the bold native of her cliffs above,<br> +������ Perch'd by the martial maid the bird of Jove;<br> +������ There on the watch, sagacious of his prey,<br> +������ With eyes of fire, an English mastiff lay:<br> +������ Yonder fair Commerce stretch'd her winged sail,<br> +������ Here frown'd the God that wakes the living gale.<br> +������ High o'er the poop the flattering winds unfurl'd<br> +������ The imperial flag that rules the watery world.<br> +������ Deep blushing armors all the tops invest,<br> +������ And warlike trophies either quarter dress'd;<br> +������ Then tower'd the masts, the canvas swell'd on high,<br> +������ And waving streamers floated in the sky.<br> +������ Thus the rich vessel moves in trim array,<br> +������ Like some fair virgin on her bridal day;<br> +������ Thus, like a swan, she cleaved the watery plain,<br> +������ The pride and wonder of the Ægean main.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> 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+<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +770<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +780<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +790<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +800<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +810<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +820<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +830<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +840<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f40"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� 'The youngest:' Falconer himself.<br> +<a href="#fr40">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f41"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Mournful prospects crown'd,' &c.: these remarks +allude to the ever-memorable siege of Candia, which was taken +from the Venetians by the Turks in 1669; being then considered as +impregnable, and esteemed the most formidable fortress in the +universe.<br> +<a href="#fr41">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f42"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +3:</span>� 'Windlass:' the windlass is a sort of large roller, +used to wind in the cable, or heave up the anchor. It is turned +about vertically, by a number of long bars or levers; in which +operation it is prevented from recoiling, by the 'pauls,' ver. +701.<br> +<a href="#fr42">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f43"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +4:</span>� 'Ship they tow:' towing is the operation of drawing a +ship forward by means of ropes, extending from her fore-part to +one or more of the boats rowing before her.<br> +<a href="#fr43">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f44"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +5:</span>� 'Stud-sails:' studding-sails are long, narrow sails, +which are only used in fine weather and fair winds, on the +outside of the larger square sails.<br> +<a href="#fr44">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f45"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +6:</span>� 'Stay-sails,' are three-cornered sails, which are +hoisted up on the stays, when the wind crosses the ship's course, +either directly or obliquely.<br> +<a href="#fr45">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f46"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +7:</span>� 'Catch the rising ray:' the operation of taking the +sun's azimuth, in order to discover the eastern or western +variation of the magnetical needle.<br> +<a href="#fr46">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f47"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +8:</span>� 'Bending wales:' the wales, here alluded to, are an +assemblage of strong planks which envelop the lower part of the +ship's side, wherein they are broader and thicker than the rest, +and appear somewhat like a range of hoops which separates the +bottom from the upper works.<br> +<a href="#fr47">return</a><br> +<br> +<a name="f48"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +9:</span>� 'Beasts:' the lion and unicorn.<br> +<a href="#fr48">return</a><br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section27c">The Shipwreck: Canto II</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>The Scene lies at sea, between Cape Freschin in Canada, and +the Island of Falconera, which is nearly twelve leagues Northward +of Cape Spado.</b><br> +<br> +<i>Time: from nine in the morning to one o'clock of the next day +at noon.</i><br> +<br> +<b><i>The Argument:</i></b><br> +<br> +<table summary="Shipwreck: Canto II: Argument" border="0" +cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I</td> +<td>Reflections on leaving shore.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II</td> +<td>Favourable breeze.<br> + Water-spout.<br> + The dying dolphin.<br> + Breeze freshens.<br> + Ship's rapid progress along the coast.<br> + Top-sails reefed.<br> + Gale of wind.<br> + Last appearance, bearing, and distance of Cape Spado.<br> + A squall.<br> + Top-sails double-reefed.<br> + Main-sail split.<br> + The ship bears up; again hauls upon the wind.<br> + Another main-sail bent, and set.<br> + Porpoises.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III</td> +<td>The ship driven out of her course from Candia.<br> + Heavy gale.<br> + Top-sails furled.<br> + Top-gallant-yards lowered.<br> + Heavy sea.<br> + Threatening sun-set.<br> + Difference of opinion respecting the mode of taking in the +main-sail.<br> + Courses reefed.<br> + Four seamen lost off the lee mainyard-arm.<br> + Anxiety of the master, and his mates, on being near a +lee-shore.<br> + Mizen reefed.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>IV</td> +<td>A tremendous sea bursts over the deck; its consequences.<br> + The ship labours in great distress.<br> + Guns thrown over-board.<br> + Dismal appearance of the weather.<br> + Very high and dangerous sea.<br> + Storm of lightning.<br> + Severe fatigue of the crew at the pumps.<br> + Critical situation of the ship near the Island of Falconera.<br> + Consultation and resolution of the officers.<br> + Speech and advice of Albert; his devout address to heaven.<br> + Order given to scud.<br> + The fore stay-sail hoisted and split.<br> + The head yards braced aback.<br> + The mizen-mast cut away.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<table summary="Shipwreck: Canto II" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. ������ Adieu! ye pleasures of the sylvan scene,<br> +������ Where peace and calm contentment dwell serene:<br> +������ To me, in vain, on earth's prolific soil,<br> +������ With summer crown'd, the Elysian valleys smile:<br> +������ To me those happier scenes no joy impart,<br> +������ But tantalize with hope my aching heart.<br> +������ Ye tempests! o'er my head congenial roll,<br> +������ To suit the mournful music of my soul;<br> +������ In black progression, lo, they hover near!<br> +������ Hail, social horrors! like my fate severe:<br> +������ Old Ocean hail! beneath whose azure zone<br> +������ The secret deep lies unexplored, unknown.<br> +������ Approach, ye brave companions of the sea!<br> +������ And fearless view this awful scene with me.<br> +������ Ye native guardians of your country's laws!<br> +������ Ye brave assertors of her sacred cause!<br> +������ The Muse invites you, judge if she depart,<br> +������ Unequal, from the thorny rules of art.<br> +������ In practice train'd, and conscious of her power,<br> +������ She boldly moves to meet the trying hour:<br> +������ Her voice attempting themes, before unknown<br> +������ To music, sings distresses all her own.<br> +II. ��O'er the smooth bosom of the faithless tides,<br> +������ Propell'd by flattering gales, the vessel glides:<br> +������ Rodmond, exulting, felt the auspicious wind,<br> +������ And by a mystic charm its aim confined.<br> +������ The thoughts of home that o'er his fancy roll,<br> +������ With trembling joy dilate Palemon's soul;<br> +������ Hope lifts his heart, before whose vivid ray<br> +������ Distress recedes, and danger melts away.<br> +������ <a name="fr49">Tall</a> Ida's summit now more distant +grew,<br> +������ And Jove's high hill<a href="#f49"><sup>1</sup></a> was +rising to the view;<br> +������ When on the larboard quarter they descry<br> +������ A liquid column towering shoot on high;<br> +������ The foaming base the angry whirlwinds sweep,<br> +������ Where curling billows rouse the fearful deep:<br> +������ Still round and round the fluid vortex flies,<br> +������ Diffusing briny vapours o'er the skies.<br> +������ This vast phenomenon, whose lofty head,<br> +������ In heaven immersed, embracing clouds o'erspread,<br> +������ In spiral motion first, as seamen deem,<br> +������ Swells, when the raging whirlwind sweeps the stream.<br> +������ The swift volution, and the enormous train,<br> +������ Let sages versed in nature's lore explain.<br> +������ The horrid apparition still draws nigh,<br> +������ And white with foam the whirling billows fly.<br> +������ The guns were primed; the vessel northward veers,<br> +������ Till her black battery on the column bears:<br> +������ The nitre fired; and, while the dreadful sound,<br> +������ Convulsive shook the slumbering air around,<br> +������ The watery volume, trembling to the sky,<br> +������ Burst down, a dreadful deluge, from on high!<br> +������ The expanding ocean trembled as it fell,<br> +������ And felt with swift recoil her surges swell;<br> +������ But soon, this transient undulation o'er,<br> +������ The sea subsides, the whirlwinds rage no more.<br> +������ While southward now the increasing breezes veer,<br> +������ Dark clouds incumbent on their wings appear:<br> +������ Ahead they see the consecrated grove<br> +������ Of Cyprus, sacred once to Cretan Jove.<br> +������ The ship beneath her lofty pressure reels,<br> +������ And to the freshening gale still deeper heels.<br> +������ ��� But now, beneath the lofty vessel's stern,<br> +������ A shoal of sportive dolphins they discern,<br> +������ Beaming from burnish'd scales refulgent rays,<br> +������ Till all the glowing ocean seems to blaze:<br> +������ In curling wreaths they wanton on the tide,<br> +������ Now bound aloft, now downward swiftly glide;<br> +������ Awhile beneath the waves their tracks remain,<br> +������ And burn in silver streams along the liquid plain.<br> +������ Soon to the sport of death the crew repair,<br> +������ Dart the long lance, or spread the baited snare.<br> +������ One in redoubling mazes wheels along,<br> +������ And glides unhappy near the triple prong:<br> +������ Rodmond, unerring, o'er his head suspends<br> +������ The barbed steel, and every turn attends;<br> +������ Unerring aim'd, the missile weapon flew,<br> +������ And, plunging, struck the fated victim through:<br> +������ The upturning points his ponderous bulk sustain,<br> +������ On deck he struggles with convulsive pain.<br> +������ But while his heart the fatal javelin thrills,<br> +������ And flitting life escapes in sanguine rills,<br> +������ What radiant changes strike the astonish'd sight!<br> +������ What glowing hues of mingled shade and light!<br> +������ Not equal beauties gild the lucid west<br> +������ With parting beams all o'er profusely drest;<br> +������ Not lovelier colours paint the vernal dawn,<br> +������ When orient dews impearl the enamell'd lawn,<br> +������ Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow,<br> +������ That now with gold empyreal seem to glow;<br> +������ Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view,<br> +������ And emulate the soft celestial hue;<br> +������ Now beam a flaming crimson on the eye,<br> +������ And now assume the purple's deeper dye:<br> +������ But here description clouds each shining ray;<br> +������ What terms of art can nature's powers display!<br> +������ ��� The lighter sails, for summer winds and seas,<br> +������ Are now dismiss'd, the straining masts to ease;<br> +������ Swift on the deck the stud-sails all descend,<br> +������ Which ready seamen from the yards unbend;<br> +������ The boats then hoisted in are fix'd on board,<br> +������ And on the deck with fastening gripes secured.<br> +������ The watchful ruler of the helm no more<br> +������ With fix'd attention eyes the adjacent shore,<br> +������ But by the oracle of truth below,<br> +������ The wondrous magnet guides the wayward prow.<br> +������ The powerful sails, with steady breezes swell'd,<br> +������ Swift and more swift the yielding bark impell'd:<br> +������ Across her stem the parting waters run,<br> +������ As clouds, by tempests wafted, pass the sun.<br> +������ Impatient thus she darts along the shore,<br> +������ Till Ida's mount, and Jove's, are seen no more;<br> +������ And, while aloof from Retimo she steers,<br> +������ Maleca foreland full in front appears.<br> +������ Wide o'er yon Isthmus stands the cypress grove,<br> +������ That once enclosed the hallow'd fane of Jove:<br> +������ Here, too, memorial of his name! is found<br> +������ A tomb in marble ruins on the ground.<br> +������ This gloomy tyrant, whose despotic sway<br> +������ Compell'd the trembling nations to obey,<br> +������ Through Greece for murder, rape, and incest known,<br> +������ The Muses raised to high Olympus' throne;<br> +������ For oft, alas! their venal strains adorn<br> +������ The prince whom blushing virtue holds in scorn:<br> +������ Still Rome and Greece record his endless fame,<br> +������ And hence yon mountain yet retains his name.<br> +������ ���But see! in confluence borne before the blast,<br> +������ Clouds roll'd on clouds the dusky noon o'ercast:<br> +������ <a name="fr50">The</a> blackening ocean curls, the winds +arise,<br> +������ And the dark scud<a href="#f50"><sup>2</sup></a> in swift +succession flies.<br> +������ <a name="fr51">While</a> the swoln canvas bends the masts +on high,<br> +������ Low in the wave the leeward<a href="#f51"><sup>3</sup></a> +cannon lie.<br> +������ <a name="fr52">The</a> master calls to give the ship +relief,<br> +������ The top-sails<a href="#f52"><sup>4</sup></a> lower, and +form a single reef<a href="#f53"><sup>5</sup></a> !<br> +������ <a name="fr53">Each</a> lofty yard with slacken'd cordage +reels;<br> +������ Rattle the creaking blocks and ringing wheels.<br> +������ Down the tall masts the top-sails sink amain,<br> +������ Are mann'd and reef'd, then hoisted up again.<br> +������ More distant grew receding Candia's shore,<br> +������ And southward of the west Cape Spado bore.<br> +������ ���Four hours the sun his high meridian throne<br> +������ Had left, and o'er Atlantic regions shone;<br> +������ Still blacker clouds, that all the skies invade,<br> +������ Draw o'er his sullied orb a dismal shade:<br> +������ A lowering squall obscures the southern sky,<br> +������ Before whose sweeping breath the waters fly;<br> +������ Its weight the top-sails can no more sustain—<br> +������ <a name="fr54">Reef</a> top-sails, reef! the master calls +again.<br> +������ The halyards and top-bow-lines<a href= +"#f54"><sup>6</sup></a> soon are gone,<br> +������ To clue-lines and reef-tackles<a href= +"#f55"><sup>7</sup></a> next they run:<br> +������ <a name="fr55">The</a> shivering sails descend; the yards +are square;<br> +������ <a name="fr56">Then</a> quick aloft the ready crew +repair:<br> +������ The weather-earings<a href="#f56"><sup>8</sup></a> and the +lee they past,<br> +������ The reefs enroll'd, and every point made fast.<br> +������ Their task above thus finish'd, they descend,<br> +������ And vigilant the approaching squall attend.<br> +������ It comes resistless! and with foaming sweep<br> +������ Upturns the whitening surface of the deep:<br> +������ In such a tempest, borne to deeds of death,<br> +������ The wayward sisters scour the blasted heath.<br> +������ The clouds, with ruin pregnant, now impend;<br> +������ And storm, and cataracts, tumultuous blend.<br> +������ <a name="fr57">Deep</a> on her side the reeling vessel +lies:<br> +������ Brail up the mizen<a href="#f57"><sup>9</sup></a> quick! +the master cries,<br> +������ Man the clue-garnets<a href="#f58"><sup>10</sup></a> ! let +the main-sheet fly!<br> +������ <a name="fr58">It</a> rends in thousand shivering shreds +on high!<br> +������ The main-sail all in streaming ruins tore,<br> +������ Loud fluttering, imitates the thunder's roar:<br> +������ The ship still labours in the oppressive strain,<br> +������ <a name="fr59">Low</a> bending, as if ne'er to rise +again.<br> +������ Bear up the helm a-weather<a href="#f59"><sup>11</sup></a> +! Rodmond cries:<br> +������ Swift at the word the helm a-weather flies;<br> +������ She feels its guiding power, and veers apace,<br> +������ And now the fore-sail right athwart they brace:<br> +������ With equal sheets restrain'd, the bellying sail<br> +������ Spreads a broad concave to the sweeping gale.<br> +������ <a name="fr60">While</a> o'er the foam the ship impetuous +flies,<br> +������ The helm the attentive timoneer<a href= +"#f60"><sup>12</sup></a> applies:<br> +������ As in pursuit along the aërial way<br> +������ With, ardent eye the falcon marks his prey,<br> +������ Each motion watches of the doubtful chase,<br> +������ Obliquely wheeling through the fluid space;<br> +������ So, govern'd by the steersman's glowing hands,<br> +������ The regent helm her motion still commands.<br> +������ ���But now the transient squall to leeward past,<br> +������ <a name="fr61">Again</a> she rallies to the sullen +blast:<br> +������ The helm to starboard<a href="#f61"><sup>13</sup></a> +moves; each shivering sail<br> +������ Is sharply trimm'd to clasp the augmenting gale.<br> +������ <a name="fr62">The</a> mizen draws; she springs aloof once +more,<br> +������ While the fore stay-sail<a href="#f62"><sup>14</sup></a> +balances before.<br> +������ The fore-sail braced obliquely to the wind,<br> +������ They near the prow the extended tack confined;<br> +������ Then on the leeward sheet the seamen bend,<br> +������ And haul the bow-line to the bowsprit-end.<br> +������ To top-sails next they haste; the bunt-lines gone!<br> +������ Through rattling blocks the clue-lines swiftly run;<br> +������ The extending sheets on either side are mann'd,<br> +������ Abroad they come! the fluttering sails expand;<br> +������ The yards again ascend each comrade mast.<br> +������ <a name="fr63">The</a> leeches taught, the halyards are +made fast,<br> +������ The bow-lines haul'd, and yards to starboard braced<a +href="#f63"><sup>15</sup></a> ,<br> +������ And straggling ropes in pendent order placed.<br> +������ ���The main-sail, by the squall so lately rent,<br> +������ <a name="fr64">In</a> streaming pendants flying, is +unbent:<br> +������ With brails<a href="#f64"><sup>16</sup></a> refix'd, +another soon prepared,<br> +������ <a name="fr65">Ascending</a>, spreads along beneath the +yard.<br> +������ To each yard-arm the head-rope<a href= +"#f65"><sup>17</sup></a> they extend,<br> +������ <a name="fr66">And</a> soon their earings and their +robans<a href="#f66"><sup>18</sup></a> bend.<br> +������ That task perform'd, they first the braces slack<a href= +"#f67"><sup>19</sup></a> ,<br> +������ <a name="fr67">Then</a> to the chesstree drag the +unwilling tack.<br> +������ <a name="fr68">And</a>, while the lee clue-garnet's +lower'd away,<br> +������ Taught aft the sheet they tally, and belay<a href= +"#f68"><sup>20</sup></a> .<br> +������ ���Now to the north from Afric's burning shore,<br> +������ A troop of porpoises their course explore:<br> +������ In curling wreaths they gambol on the tide,<br> +������ Now bound aloft, now down the billow glide:<br> +������ Their tracks awhile the hoary waves retain,<br> +������ That burn in sparkling trails along the main—<br> +������ These fleetest coursers of the finny race,<br> +������ When threatening clouds the ethereal vault deface,<br> +������ Their route to leeward still sagacious form,<br> +������ To shun the fury of the approaching storm.<br> +III. ����Fair Candia now no more, beneath her lee,<br> +������ Protects the vessel from the insulting sea;<br> +������ Round her broad arms, impatient of control,<br> +������ Roused from the secret deep, the billows roll:<br> +������ Sunk were the bulwarks of the friendly shore,<br> +������ And all the scene an hostile aspect wore.<br> +������ The flattering wind, that late with promised aid<br> +������ From Candia's bay the unwilling ship betray'd,<br> +������ No longer fawns beneath the fair disguise,<br> +������ But like a ruffian on his quarry flies.<br> +������ Tost on the tide she feels the tempest blow,<br> +������ And dreads the vengeance of so fell a foe—<br> +������ As the proud horse, with costly trappings gay,<br> +������ Exulting, prances to the bloody fray;<br> +������ Spurning the ground he glories in his might,<br> +������ But reels tumultuous in the shock of fight:<br> +������ Even so, caparison'd in gaudy pride,<br> +������ The bounding vessel dances on the tide.<br> +������ ���Fierce and more fierce the gathering tempest grew,<br> +������ South and by west the threatening demon blew;<br> +������ Auster's resistless force all air invades,<br> +������ And every rolling wave more ample spreads:<br> +������ The ship no longer can her top-sails bear;<br> +������ No hopes of milder weather now appear.<br> +������ Bow-lines and halyards are cast off again,<br> +������ Clue-lines haul'd down, and sheets let fly amain:<br> +������ Embrail'd each top-sail, and by braces squared,<br> +������ The seamen climb aloft, and man each yard:<br> +������ <a name="fr69">They</a> furl'd the sails, and pointed to +the wind<br> +������ The yards, by rolling tackles<a href= +"#f69"><sup>21</sup></a> then confined,<br> +������ While o'er the ship the gallant boatswain flies;<br> +������ Like a hoarse mastiff through the storm he cries—<br> +������ Prompt to direct the unskilful still appears,<br> +������ <a name="fr70">The</a> expert he praises, and the timid +cheers.<br> +������ Now some, to strike top-gallant-yards<a href= +"#f70"><sup>22</sup></a> attend,<br> +������ <a name="fr71">Some</a>, travellers up the +weather-back-stays<a href="#f71"><sup>23</sup></a> send,<br> +������ <a name="fr72">At</a> each mast-head the top-ropes<a href= +"#f72"><sup>24</sup></a> others bend:<br> +������ <a name="fr73">The</a> parrels, lifts<a href= +"#f73"><sup>25</sup></a> , and clue-lines soon are gone,<br> +������ <a name="fr74">Topp'd</a> and unrigg'd, they down the +backstays run;<br> +������ The yards secure along the booms<a href= +"#f74"><sup>26</sup></a> were laid,<br> +������ And all the flying ropes aloft belay'd:<br> +������ Their sails reduced, and all the rigging clear,<br> +������ Awhile the crew relax from toils severe;<br> +������ Awhile their spirits with fatigue opprest,<br> +������ In vain expect the alternate hour of rest—<br> +������ But with redoubling force the tempests blow,<br> +������ And watery hills in dread succession flow:<br> +������ A dismal shade o'ercasts the frowning skies;<br> +������ New troubles grow; fresh difficulties rise;<br> +������ No season this from duty to descend,<br> +������ All hands on deck must now the storm attend.<br> +������ ���His race perform'd, the sacred lamp of day<br> +������ Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray!<br> +������ His languid fires, half lost in ambient haze,<br> +������ Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze;<br> +������ Till deep immerged the sickening orb descends,<br> +������ And cheerless night o'er heaven her reign extends.<br> +������ Sad evening's hour, how different from the past!<br> +������ No flaming pomp, no blushing glories cast,<br> +������ No ray of friendly light is seen around;<br> +������ <a name="fr75">The</a> moon and stars in hopeless shade +are drown'd.<br> +������ ���The ship no longer can whole courses<a href= +"#f75"><sup>27</sup></a> bear,<br> +������ To reef them now becomes the master's care;<br> +������ The sailors summon'd aft all ready stand,<br> +������ And man the enfolding brails at his command:<br> +������ But here the doubtful officers dispute,<br> +������ Till skill and judgment prejudice confute:<br> +������ For Rodmond, to new methods still a foe,<br> +������ Would first, at all events, the sheet let go;<br> +������ To long-tried practice obstinately warm,<br> +������ He doubts conviction, and relies on form.<br> +������ This Albert and Arion disapprove,<br> +������ And first to brail the tack up firmly move:<br> +������ "The watchful seaman, whose sagacious eye<br> +������ On sure experience may with truth rely,<br> +������ Who from the reigning cause foretells the effect,<br> +������ This barbarous practice ever will reject;<br> +������ For, fluttering loose in air, the rigid sail<br> +������ Soon flits to ruins in the furious gale;<br> +������ And he, who strives the tempest to disarm,<br> +������ Will never first embrail the lee yard-arm."<br> +������ So Albert spoke; to windward, at his call,<br> +������ <a name="fr76">Some</a> seamen the clue-garnet stand to +haul—<br> +������ The tack's eased off<a href="#f76"><sup>28</sup></a> , +while the involving clue<br> +������ <a name="fr77">Between</a> the pendent blocks ascending +flew;<br> +������ The sheet and weather-brace they now stand by<a href= +"#f77"><sup>29</sup></a> ,<br> +������ The lee clue-garnet and the bunt-lines ply:<br> +������ Then, all prepared, Let go the sheet! he cries—<br> +������ Loud rattling, jarring, through the blocks it flies!<br> +������ Shivering at first, till by the blast impell'd,<br> +������ <a name="fr78">High</a> o'er the lee yard-arm the canvas +swell'd;<br> +������ By spilling lines<a href="#f78"><sup>30</sup></a> +embraced, with brails confined,<br> +������ It lies at length unshaken by the wind.<br> +������ The fore-sail then secured with equal care,<br> +������ Again to reef the mainsail they repair;<br> +������ <a name="fr79">While</a> some above the yard o'erhaul the +tye,<br> +������ Below the down-haul tackle<a href="#f79"><sup>31</sup></a> +others ply;<br> +������ Jears<a href="#f80"><sup>32</sup></a> , lifts, and brails, +a seaman each attends,<br> +������ <a name="fr80">And</a> down the mast its mighty yard +descends:<br> +������ When lower'd sufficient they securely brace,<br> +������ <a name="fr81">And</a> fix the rolling tackle in its +place;<br> +������ The reef-lines<a href="#f81"><sup>33</sup></a> and their +earings now prepared,<br> +������ <a name="fr82">Mounting</a> on pliant shrouds<a href= +"#f82"><sup>34</sup></a> they man the yard:<br> +������ Far on the extremes appear two able hands,<br> +������ For no inferior skill this task demands—<br> +������ To wind, foremost, young Arion strides;<br> +������ The lee yard-arm the gallant boatswain rides:<br> +������ <a name="fr83">Each</a> earing to its cringle first they +bend,<br> +������ The reef-band<a href="#f83"><sup>35</sup></a> then along +the yard extend;<br> +������ <a name="fr84">The</a> circling earings<a href= +"#f84"><sup>36</sup></a> round the extremes entwined,<br> +������ By outer and by inner turns they bind;<br> +������ The reef-lines next from hand to hand received,<br> +������ Through eyelet-holes and roban-legs were reeved;<br> +������ The folding reefs in plaits inroll'd they lay,<br> +������ Extend the worming lines, and ends belay.<br> +������ ���Hadst thou, Arion! held the leeward post<br> +������ While on the yard by mountain billows tost,<br> +������ Perhaps oblivion o'er our tragic tale<br> +������ Had then for ever drawn her dusky veil;<br> +������ But ruling Heaven prolong'd thy vital date,<br> +������ Severer ills to suffer and relate.<br> +������ ���For, while aloft the order those attend<br> +������ <a name="fr85">To</a> furl the main-sail, or on deck +descend;<br> +������ A sea<a href="#f85"><sup>37</sup></a> , up-surging with +stupendous roll,<br> +������ To instant ruin seems to doom the whole:<br> +������ O friends, secure your hold! Arion cries—<br> +������ It comes all dreadful! down the vessel lies<br> +������ Half buried sideways; while, beneath it tost,<br> +������ Four seamen off the lee yard-arm are lost:<br> +������ Torn with resistless fury from their hold,<br> +������ In vain their struggling arms the yard enfold;<br> +������ In vain to grapple flying ropes they try,<br> +������ The ropes, alas! a solid gripe deny:<br> +������ Prone on the midnight surge with panting breath<br> +������ They cry for aid, and long contend with death;<br> +������ High o'er their heads the rolling billows sweep,<br> +������ And down they sink in everlasting sleep.<br> +������ Bereft of power to help, their comrades see<br> +������ The wretched victims die beneath the lee;<br> +������ With fruitless sorrow their lost state bemoan,<br> +������ Perhaps a fatal prelude to their own!<br> +������ ���In dark suspense on deck the pilots stand,<br> +������ Nor can determine on the next command:<br> +������ Though still they knew the vessel's armed side<br> +������ Impenetrable to the clasping tide;<br> +������ Though still the waters by no secret wound<br> +������ A passage to her deep recesses found;<br> +������ Surrounding evils yet they ponder o'er,<br> +������ A storm, a dangerous sea, and leeward shore!<br> +������ "Should they, though reef'd, again their sails extend,<br> +������ Again in shivering streamers they may rend;<br> +������ Or, should they stand, beneath the oppressive strain,<br> +������ <a name="fr86">The</a> down-press'd ship may never rise +again;<br> +������ Too late to weather now Morea's land<a href= +"#f86"><sup>38</sup></a> ,<br> +������ And drifting fast on Athens' rocky strand."—<br> +������ Thus they lament the consequence severe,<br> +������ Where perils unallay'd by hope appear:<br> +������ Long pondering in their minds each fear'd event,<br> +������ At last to furl the courses they consent;<br> +������ <a name="fr87">That</a> done, to reef the mizen next +agree,<br> +������ And try<a href="#f87"><sup>39</sup></a> beneath it +sidelong in the sea.<br> +������ ���<a name="fr88">Now</a> down the mast the yard they +lower away,<br> +������ Then jears and topping-lift<a href= +"#f88"><sup>40</sup></a> secure belay;<br> +������ The head, with doubling canvas fenced around,<br> +������ In balance near the lofty peak they bound;<br> +������ The reef enwrapp'd, the inserting knittles tied,<br> +������ The halyards throat and peak are next applied—<br> +������ The order given, the yard aloft they sway'd,<br> +������ <a name="fr89">The</a> brails relax'd, the extended sheet +belay'd;<br> +������ The helm its post forsook, and, lash'd a-lee<a href= +"#f89"><sup>41</sup></a> ,<br> +������ Inclined the wayward prow to front the sea.<br> +IV. �����When sacred Orpheus on the Stygian coast,<br> +������ With notes divine deplored his consort lost;<br> +������ Though round him perils grew in fell array,<br> +������ And Fates and Furies stood to bar his way;<br> +������ Not more adventurous was the attempt to move<br> +������ The infernal powers with strains of heavenly love,<br> +������ Than mine, in ornamental verse to dress<br> +������ The harshest sounds that terms of art express:<br> +������ Such arduous toil sage Dædalus endured<br> +������ In mazes, self-invented, long immured,<br> +������ Till genius her superior aid bestow'd,<br> +������ To guide him through that intricate abode—<br> +������ Thus, long imprison'd in a rugged way<br> +������ Where Phoebus' daughters never aim'd to stray,<br> +������ The Muse, that tuned to barbarous sounds her string,<br> +������ Now spreads, like D�dalus, a bolder wing;<br> +������ The verse begins in softer strains to flow,<br> +������ Replete with sad variety of woe.<br> +������ ���As yet, amid this elemental war,<br> +������ Where Desolation in his gloomy car<br> +������ Triumphant rages round the starless void,<br> +������ And Fate on every billow seems to ride;<br> +������ Nor toil, nor hazard, nor distress appear<br> +������ To sink the seamen with unmanly fear.<br> +������ Though their firm hearts no pageant-honour boast,<br> +������ They scorn the wretch that trembles at his post;<br> +������ Who from the face of danger strives to turn,<br> +������ Indignant from the social hour they spurn:<br> +������ Though now full oft they felt the raging tide<br> +������ In proud rebellion climb the vessel's side;<br> +������ Though every rising wave more dreadful grows,<br> +������ And in succession dire the deck o'erflows;<br> +������ No future ills unknown their souls appal,<br> +������ They know no danger, or they scorn it all:<br> +������ But even the generous spirits of the brave,<br> +������ Subdued by toil, a friendly respite crave;<br> +������ They, with severe fatigue alone opprest,<br> +������ Would fain indulge an interval of rest.<br> +������ ���Far other cares the master's mind employ;<br> +������ Approaching perils all his hopes destroy.<br> +������ In vain he spreads the graduated chart,<br> +������ And bounds the distance by the rules of art;<br> +������ Across the geometric plane expands<br> +������ The compasses to circumjacent lands:<br> +������ Ungrateful task! for, no asylum found,<br> +������ Death yawns on every leeward shore around.—<br> +������ While Albert thus, with horrid doubts dismay'd,<br> +������ The geometric distances survey'd;<br> +������ On deck the watchful Rodmond cries aloud,<br> +������ Secure your lives! grasp every man a shroud—<br> +������ Roused from his trance, he mounts with eyes aghast;<br> +������ When o'er the ship, in undulation vast,<br> +������ A giant surge down rushes from on high,<br> +������ And fore and aft dissever'd ruins lie.<br> +������ As when, Britannia's empire to maintain,<br> +������ Great Hawke descends in thunder on the main,<br> +������ Around the brazen voice of battle roars,<br> +������ And fatal lightnings blast the hostile shores;<br> +������ Beneath the storm their shatter'd navies groan;<br> +������ The trembling deep recoils from zone to zone—<br> +������ Thus the torn vessel felt the enormous stroke,<br> +������ The boats beneath the thundering deluge broke;<br> +������ Tom from their planks the cracking ring-bolts drew,<br> +������ And gripes and lashings all asunder flew;<br> +������ Companion, binnacle, in floating wreck,<br> +������ With compasses and glasses strew'd the deck;<br> +������ The balanced mizen, rending to the head,<br> +������ In fluttering fragments from its bolt-rope fled;<br> +������ The sides convulsive shook on groaning beams,<br> +������ <a name="fr90">And</a>, rent with labour, yawn'd their +pitchy seams.<br> +������ ���They sound the well<a href="#f90"><sup>42</sup></a> , +and, terrible to hear!<br> +������ <a name="fr91">Five</a> feet immersed along the line +appear:<br> +������ At either pump they ply the clanking brake<a href= +"#f91"><sup>43</sup></a> ,<br> +������ And, turn by turn, the ungrateful office take:<br> +������ Rodmond, Arion, and Palemon here<br> +������ At this sad task all diligent appear.<br> +������ As some strong citadel, begirt with foes,<br> +������ Tries long the tide of ruin to oppose,<br> +������ Destruction near her spreads his black array,<br> +������ And death and sorrow mark his horrid way;<br> +������ Till, in some destined hour, against her wall<br> +������ In tenfold rage the fatal thunders fall:<br> +������ It breaks! it bursts before the cannonade!<br> +������ And following hosts the shatter'd domes invade:<br> +������ Her inmates long repel the hostile flood,<br> +������ And shield their sacred charge in streams of blood:<br> +������ So the brave mariners their pumps attend,<br> +������ And help incessant, by rotation, lend;<br> +������ But all in vain! for now the sounding cord,<br> +������ Updrawn, an undiminish'd depth explored.<br> +������ Nor this severe distress is found alone,<br> +������ The ribs opprest by ponderous cannon groan;<br> +������ Deep rolling from the watery volume's height,<br> +������ The tortured sides seem bursting with their weight—<br> +������ So reels Pelorus with convulsive throes,<br> +������ When in his veins the burning earthquake glows;<br> +������ Hoarse through his entrails roars the infernal flame,<br> +������ And central thunders rend his groaning frame—<br> +������ Accumulated mischiefs thus arise,<br> +������ And fate, vindictive, all their skill defies:<br> +������ For this, one remedy is only known,<br> +������ From the torn ship her metal must be thrown;<br> +������ Eventful task! which last distress requires,<br> +������ And dread of instant death alone inspires:<br> +������ For, while intent the yawning decks to ease,<br> +������ Fill'd ever and anon with rushing seas,<br> +������ Some fatal billow with recoiling sweep<br> +������ May whirl the helpless wretches in the deep.<br> +������ ���No season this for counsel or delay;<br> +������ Too soon the eventful moments haste away!<br> +������ Here perseverance, with each help of art,<br> +������ Must join the boldest efforts of the heart:<br> +������ These only now their misery can relieve,<br> +������ These only now a dawn of safety give.<br> +������ While o'er the quivering deck, from van to rear,<br> +������ Broad surges roll in terrible career,<br> +������ Rodmond, Arion, and a chosen crew,<br> +������ This office in the face of death pursue:<br> +������ The wheel'd artillery o'er the deck to guide,<br> +������ Rodmond descending claim'd the weather-side;<br> +������ Fearless of heart the chief his orders gave,<br> +������ Fronting the rude assaults of every wave—<br> +������ Like some strong watch-tower nodding o'er the deep,<br> +������ Whose rocky base the foaming waters sweep,<br> +������ Untamed he stood; the stern aërial war,<br> +������ <a name="fr92">Had</a> mark'd his honest face with many a +scar<br> +������ Meanwhile Arion, traversing the waist<a href= +"#f92"><sup>44</sup></a> ,<br> +������ The cordage of the leeward guns unbraced,<br> +������ And pointed crows beneath the metal placed.<br> +������ Watching the roll, their forelocks they withdrew,<br> +������ And from their beds the reeling cannon threw;<br> +������ Then, from the windward battlements unbound,<br> +������ Rodmond's associates wheel'd the artillery round;<br> +������ Pointed with iron fangs, their bars beguile<br> +������ The ponderous arms across the steep defile:<br> +������ Then, hurl'd from sounding hinges o'er the side<br> +������ Thundering they plunge into the flashing tide.<br> +������ ���The ship, thus eased, some little respite finds<br> +������ In this rude conflict of the seas and winds—<br> +������ Such ease Alcides felt, when, clogg'd with gore,<br> +������ The envenom'd mantle from his side he tore;<br> +������ When, stung with burning pain, he strove too late<br> +������ To stop the swift career of cruel fate;<br> +������ Yet then his heart one ray of hope procured,<br> +������ Sad harbinger of sevenfold pangs endured—<br> +������ Such, and so short, the pause of woe she found!<br> +������ Cimmerian darkness shades the deep around,<br> +������ Save when the lightnings in terrific blaze<br> +������ Deluge the cheerless gloom with horrid rays:<br> +������ Above, all ether, fraught with scenes of woe,<br> +������ With grim destruction threatens all below;<br> +������ Beneath, the storm-lash'd surges furious rise,<br> +������ And wave uproll'd on wave assails the skies;<br> +������ With ever-floating bulwarks they surround<br> +������ The ship, half-swallow'd in the black profound.<br> +������ ���With ceaseless hazard and fatigue oppress'd,<br> +������ Dismay and anguish every heart possess'd;<br> +������ For while, with sweeping inundation, o'er<br> +������ The sea-beat ship the booming waters roar,<br> +������ Displaced beneath by her capacious womb,<br> +������ They rage their ancient station to resume;<br> +������ By secret ambushes, their force to prove,<br> +������ Through many a winding channel first they rove;<br> +������ Till gathering fury, like the fever'd blood,<br> +������ Through her dark veins they roll a rapid flood:<br> +������ When unrelenting thus the leaks they found,<br> +������ The clattering pumps with clanking strokes resound;<br> +������ Around each leaping valve, by toil subdued,<br> +������ The tough bull-hide must ever be renew'd:<br> +������ Their sinking hearts unusual horrors chill,<br> +������ And down their weary limbs thick dews distil;<br> +������ No ray of light their dying hope redeems,<br> +������ Pregnant with some new woe each moment teems.<br> +������ ���Again the chief the instructive chart extends,<br> +������ And o'er the figured plane attentive bends;<br> +������ To him the motion of each orb was known,<br> +������ That wheels around the sun's refulgent throne.<br> +������ But here, alas! his science nought avails,<br> +������ Skill droops unequal, and experience fails.<br> +������ The different traverses, since twilight made.<br> +������ He on the hydrographic circle laid;<br> +������ <a name="fr93">Then</a>, in the graduated arch +contain'd,<br> +������ The angle of lee-way<a href="#f93"><sup>45</sup></a> , +seven points, remain'd—<br> +������ Her place discover'd by the rules of art,<br> +������ Unusual terrors shook the master's heart,<br> +������ When, on the immediate line of drift, he found<br> +������ The rugged isle, with rocks and breakers bound,<br> +������ Of Falconera; distant only now<br> +������ Nine lessening leagues beneath the leeward bow:<br> +������ For, if on those destructive shallows tost,<br> +������ The helpless bark with all her crew are lost:<br> +������ As fatal still appears, that danger o'er,<br> +������ The steep St George, and rocky Gardalor.<br> +������ With him the pilots, of their hopeless state,<br> +������ In mournful consultation, long debate—<br> +������ Not more perplexing doubts her chiefs appal,<br> +������ When some proud city verges to her fall,<br> +������ While ruin glares around, and pale affright<br> +������ Convenes her councils in the dead of night.<br> +������ No blazon'd trophies o'er their concave spread,<br> +������ Nor storied pillars raised aloft their head:<br> +������ But here the Queen of shade around them threw<br> +������ Her dragon wing, disastrous to the view!<br> +������ Dire was the scene with whirlwind, hail, and shower;<br> +������ Black melancholy ruled the fearful hour:<br> +������ Beneath, tremendous roll'd the flashing tide,<br> +������ Where fate on every billow seem'd to ride—<br> +������ Enclosed with ills, by peril unsubdued,<br> +������ Great in distress the master-seaman stood!<br> +������ Skill'd to command; deliberate to advise;<br> +������ Expert in action; and in council wise—<br> +������ Thus to his partners, by the crew unheard,<br> +������ The dictates of his soul the chief referr'd:<br> +������ ���"Ye faithful mates! who all my troubles share,<br> +������ Approved companions of your master's care!<br> +������ To you, alas! 'twere fruitless now to tell<br> +������ Our sad distress, already known too well:<br> +������ This morn with favouring gales the port we left,<br> +������ Though now of every flattering hope bereft:<br> +������ No skill nor long experience could forecast<br> +������ The unseen approach of this destructive blast:<br> +������ These seas, where storms at various seasons blow,<br> +������ No reigning winds nor certain omens know—<br> +������ The hour, the occasion, all your skill demands,<br> +������ A leaky ship, embay'd by dangerous lands!<br> +������ Our bark no transient jeopardy surrounds,<br> +������ Groaning she lies beneath unnumber'd wounds:<br> +������ 'Tis ours the doubtful remedy to find,<br> +������ To shun the fury of the seas and wind;<br> +������ For in this hollow swell, with labour sore,<br> +������ Her flank can bear the bursting floods no more.<br> +������ One only shift, though desperate, we must try,<br> +������ And that before the boisterous storm to fly:<br> +������ Then less her sides will feel the surges' power,<br> +������ Which thus may soon the foundering hull devour.<br> +������ 'Tis true the vessel and her costly freight<br> +������ To me consign'd, my orders only wait;<br> +������ Yet, since the charge of every life is mine,<br> +������ To equal votes our counsels I resign—<br> +������ Forbid it, Heaven! that in this dreadful hour<br> +������ I claim the dangerous reins of purblind power!<br> +������ But should we now resolve to bear away,<br> +������ Our hopeless state can suffer no delay:<br> +������ Nor can we, thus bereft of every sail,<br> +������ Attempt to steer obliquely on the gale;<br> +������ For then, if broaching sideway to the sea,<br> +������ Our dropsied ship may founder by the lee;<br> +������ Vain all endeavours then to bear away,<br> +������ Nor helm, nor pilot, would she more obey."<br> +������ ���He said, the listening mates with fix'd regard<br> +������ And silent reverence his opinion heard.<br> +������ Important was the question in debate,<br> +������ And o'er their counsels hung impending fate:<br> +������ Rodmond, in many a scene of peril tried,<br> +������ Had oft the master's happier skill descried,<br> +������ Yet now, the hour, the scene, the occasion known,<br> +������ Perhaps with equal right preferr'd his own:<br> +������ Of long experience in the naval art,<br> +������ Blunt was his speech and naked was his heart;<br> +������ Alike to him each climate, and each blast,<br> +������ The first in danger, in retreat the last:<br> +������ Sagacious, balancing the opposed events,<br> +������ From Albert his opinion thus dissents:—<br> +������ ���"Too true the perils of the present hour,<br> +������ Where toils succeeding toils our strength o'erpower!<br> +������ Our bark, 'tis true, no shelter here can find,<br> +������ Sore shatter'd by the ruffian seas and wind:<br> +������ Yet where with safety can we dare to scud<br> +������ Before this tempest and pursuing flood?<br> +������ At random driven, to present death we haste,<br> +������ And one short hour perhaps may be our last.<br> +������ Though Corinth's gulf extend along the lee,<br> +������ To whose safe ports appears a passage free,<br> +������ Yet think! this furious unremitting gale<br> +������ Deprives the ship of every ruling sail;<br> +������ And if before it she directly flies,<br> +������ New ills enclose us, and new dangers rise:<br> +������ Here Falconera spreads her lurking snares,<br> +������ There distant Greece her rugged shelves prepares:<br> +������ Our hull, if once it strikes that iron coast,<br> +������ Asunder bursts, in instant ruin lost;<br> +������ Nor she alone, but with her all the crew,<br> +������ Beyond relief, are doom'd to perish too:<br> +������ Such mischiefs follow if we bear away;<br> +������ O safer that sad refuge—to delay!<br> +������ ���"Then of our purpose this appears the scope,<br> +������ To weigh the danger with the doubtful hope:<br> +������ Though sorely buffeted by every sea,<br> +������ Our hull unbroken long may try a-lee;<br> +������ The crew, though harass'd much with toils severe,<br> +������ Still at their pumps, perceive no hazards near:<br> +������ Shall we, incautious, then the danger tell,<br> +������ At once their courage and their hope to quell?<br> +������ Prudence forbids! this southern tempest soon<br> +������ May change its quarter with the changing moon;<br> +������ Its rage, though terrible, may soon subside,<br> +������ Nor into mountains lash the unruly tide;<br> +������ These leaks shall then decrease—the sails once more<br> +������ Direct our course to some relieving shore."<br> +������ Thus while he spoke, around from man to man<br> +������ At either pump a hollow murmur ran;<br> +������ For, while the vessel through unnumber'd chinks,<br> +������ Above, below, the invading water drinks,<br> +������ Sounding her depth they eyed the wetted scale,<br> +������ And lo! the leaks o'er all their powers prevail:<br> +������ Yet at their post, by terrors unsubdued,<br> +������ They with redoubling force their task pursued.<br> +������ ���And now the senior pilots seem'd to wait<br> +������ Arion's voice, to close the dark debate.<br> +������ Not o'er his vernal life the ripening sun<br> +������ Had yet progressive twice ten summers run;<br> +������ Slow to debate, yet eager to excel,<br> +������ In thy sad school, stern Neptune! taught too well:<br> +������ With lasting pain to rend his youthful heart,<br> +������ Dire fate in venom dipp'd her keenest dart;<br> +������ Till his firm spirit, temper'd long to ill,<br> +������ Forgot her persecuting scourge to feel;<br> +������ But now the horrors, that around him roll,<br> +������ Thus rouse to action his rekindling soul:<br> +������ ���"Can we, delay'd in this tremendous tide,<br> +������ A moment pause what purpose to decide?<br> +������ Alas! from circling horrors thus combined,<br> +������ One method of relief alone we find:<br> +������ Thus water-logg'd, thus helpless to remain<br> +������ Amid this hollow, how ill judged! how vain!<br> +������ Our sea-breach'd vessel can no longer bear<br> +������ The floods that o'er her burst in dread career;<br> +������ The labouring hull already seems half-fill'd<br> +������ With water through a hundred leaks distill'd;<br> +������ Thus drench'd by every wave, her riven deck,<br> +������ Stript and defenceless, floats a naked wreck;<br> +������ At every pitch the o'erwhelming billows bend<br> +������ Beneath their load the quivering bowsprit's end;<br> +������ A fearful warning! since the masts on high<br> +������ On that support with trembling hope rely;<br> +������ At either pump our seamen pant for breath,<br> +������ In dire dismay anticipating death;<br> +������ Still all our powers the increasing leaks defy,<br> +������ We sink at sea, no shore, no haven nigh.<br> +������ One dawn of hope yet breaks athwart the gloom,<br> +������ To light and save us from a watery tomb;<br> +������ That bids us shun the death impending here,<br> +������ Fly from the following blast, and shoreward steer.<br> +������ ���"'Tis urged indeed, the fury of the gale<br> +������ Precludes the help of every guiding sail;<br> +������ And, driven before it on the watery waste,<br> +������ To rocky shores and scenes of death we haste;<br> +������ But haply Falconera we may shun,<br> +������ And long to Grecian coasts is yet the run:<br> +������ Less harass'd then, our scudding ship may bear<br> +������ The assaulting surge repell'd upon her rear;<br> +������ And since as soon that tempest may decay<br> +������ When steering shoreward—wherefore thus delay?<br> +������ Should we at last be driven by dire decree<br> +������ Too near the fatal margin of the sea,<br> +������ The hull dismasted there awhile may ride<br> +������ With lengthen'd cables, on the raging tide;<br> +������ Perhaps kind Heaven, with interposing power,<br> +������ May curb the tempest ere that dreadful hour;<br> +������ But here, ingulf'd and foundering, while we stay,<br> +������ Fate hovers o'er, and marks us for her prey."<br> +������ ���He said: Palemon saw with grief of heart<br> +������ The storm prevailing o'er the pilot's art;<br> +������ In silent terror and distress involved,<br> +������ He heard their last alternative resolved:<br> +������ High beat his bosom. With such fear subdued,<br> +������ Beneath the gloom of some enchanted wood,<br> +������ Oft in old time the wandering swain explored<br> +������ The midnight wizards' breathing rites abhorr'd;<br> +������ Trembling, approach'd their incantations fell,<br> +������ And, chill'd with horror, heard the songs of hell.<br> +������ Arion saw, with secret anguish moved,<br> +������ The deep affliction, of the friend he loved,<br> +������ And, all awake to friendship's genial heat,<br> +������ His bosom felt consenting tremors beat:<br> +������ Alas! no season this for tender love,<br> +������ Far hence the music of the myrtle grove—<br> +������ He tried with soft persuasion's melting lore<br> +������ Palemon's fainting courage to restore;<br> +������ His wounded spirit heal'd with friendship's balm,<br> +������ And bade each conflict of the mind be calm.<br> +������ ���Now had the pilots all the events revolved,<br> +������ And on their final refuge thus resolved—<br> +������ When, like the faithful shepherd who beholds<br> +������ Some prowling wolf approach his fleecy folds,<br> +������ To the brave crew, whom racking doubts perplex,<br> +������ The dreadful purpose Albert thus directs:<br> +������ ���"Unhappy partners in a wayward fate!<br> +������ Whose courage now is known perhaps too late;<br> +������ Ye! who unmoved behold this angry storm<br> +������ In conflict all the rolling deep deform:<br> +������ Who, patient in adversity, still bear<br> +������ The firmest front when greatest ills are near;<br> +������ The truth, though painful, I must now reveal,<br> +������ That long in vain I purposed to conceal:<br> +������ Ingulf'd, all help of art we vainly try,<br> +������ To weather leeward shores, alas! too nigh:<br> +������ Our crazy bark no longer can abide<br> +������ The seas, that thunder o'er her batter'd side:<br> +������ And while the leaks a fatal warning give<br> +������ That in this raging sea she cannot live,<br> +������ One only refuge from despair we find—<br> +������ At once to wear, and scud before the wind.<br> +������ Perhaps even then to ruin we may steer,<br> +������ For rocky shores beneath our lee appear;<br> +������ But that's remote, and instant death is here:<br> +������ Yet there, by Heaven's assistance, we may gain<br> +������ Some creek or inlet of the Grecian main;<br> +������ Or, shelter'd by some rock, at anchor ride<br> +������ Till with abating rage the blast subside:<br> +������ But if, determined by the will of Heaven,<br> +������ Our helpless bark at last ashore is driven,<br> +������ These councils, follow'd, from a watery grave<br> +������ Our crew perhaps amid the surf may save:—<br> +������ ���"And first, let all our axes be secured,<br> +������ To cut the masts and rigging from aboard;<br> +������ Then to the quarters bind each plank and oar,<br> +������ To float between the vessel and the shore:<br> +������ The longest cordage too must be convey'd<br> +������ On deck, and to the weather-rails belay'd:<br> +������ So they who haply reach alive the land,<br> +������ The extended lines may fasten on the strand,<br> +������ Whene'er, loud thundering on the leeward shore,<br> +������ While yet aloof, we hear the breakers roar<br> +������ Thus for the terrible event prepared,<br> +������ Brace fore and aft to starboard every yard;<br> +������ So shall our masts swim lighter on the wave,<br> +������ And from the broken rocks our seamen save;<br> +������ Then westward turn the stem, that every mast<br> +������ May shoreward fall as from the vessel cast.<br> +������ When o'er her side once more the billows bound,<br> +������ Ascend the rigging till she strikes the ground;<br> +������ And, when you hear aloft the dreadful shock<br> +������ That strikes her bottom on some pointed rock,<br> +������ The boldest of our sailors must descend,<br> +������ The dangerous business of the deck to tend:<br> +������ Then burst the hatches off, and every stay<br> +������ And every fastening laniard cut away;<br> +������ Planks, gratings, booms, and rafts to leeward cast;<br> +������ Then with redoubled strokes attack each mast,<br> +������ That buoyant lumber may sustain you o'er<br> +������ The rocky shelves and ledges to the shore:<br> +������ But, as your firmest succour, till the last<br> +������ O cling securely on each faithful mast!<br> +������ Though great the danger, and the task severe,<br> +������ Yet bow not to the tyranny of fear;<br> +������ If once that slavish yoke your souls subdue,<br> +������ Adieu to hope! to life itself adieu!<br> +������ ���"I know among you some have oft beheld<br> +������ A bloodhound train, by rapine's lust impell'd,<br> +������ On England's cruel coast impatient stand,<br> +������ To rob the wanderers wreck'd upon their strand!<br> +������ These, while their savage office they pursue,<br> +������ Oft wound to death the helpless plunder'd crew,<br> +������ Who, 'scaped from every horror of the main,<br> +������ Implored their mercy, but implored in vain:<br> +������ Yet dread not this, a crime to Greece unknown,<br> +������ Such bloodhounds all her circling shores disown;<br> +������ Who, though by barbarous tyranny oppress'd,<br> +������ Can share affliction with the wretch distress'd:<br> +������ Their hearts, by cruel fate inured to grief,<br> +������ Oft to the friendless stranger yield relief."<br> +������ ���With conscious horror struck, the naval band<br> +������ Detested for a while their native land;<br> +������ They cursed the sleeping vengeance of the laws,<br> +������ That thus forgot her guardian sailors' cause.<br> +������ Meanwhile the master's voice again they heard,<br> +������ Whom, as with filial duty, all revered:<br> +������ "No more remains—but now a trusty band<br> +������ Must ever at the pumps industrious stand;<br> +������ And, while with us the rest attend to wear,<br> +������ Two skilful seamen to the helm repair—<br> +������ And thou, Eternal Power! whose awful sway<br> +������ The storms revere, and roaring seas obey!<br> +������ On thy supreme assistance we rely;<br> +������ Thy mercy supplicate, if doom'd to die!<br> +������ Perhaps this storm is sent with healing breath<br> +������ From neighbouring shores to scourge disease and death:<br> +������ 'Tis ours on thine unerring laws to trust;<br> +������ With thee, great Lord! 'whatever is, is just.'"<br> +������ ���He said: and, with consenting reverence fraught,<br> +������ The sailors join'd his prayer in silent thought:<br> +������ His intellectual eye, serenely bright,<br> +������ Saw distant objects with prophetic light.<br> +������ Thus, in a land that lasting wars oppress,<br> +������ That groans beneath misfortune and distress;<br> +������ Whose wealth to conquering armies falls a prey,<br> +������ Till all her vigour, pride, and fame decay;<br> +������ Some bold sagacious statesman, from the helm,<br> +������ Sees desolation gathering o'er his realm;<br> +������ He darts around his penetrating eyes<br> +������ Where dangers grow, and hostile unions rise;<br> +������ With deep attention marks the invading foe,<br> +������ Eludes their wiles and frustrates every blow,<br> +������ Tries his last art the tottering state to save,<br> +������ Or in its ruins find a glorious grave.<br> +������ ���Still in the yawning trough the vessel reels,<br> +������ Ingulf'd beneath two fluctuating hills;<br> +������ On either side they rise, tremendous scene!<br> +������ A long dark melancholy vale between:<br> +������ The balanced ship, now forward, now behind,<br> +������ Still felt the impression of the waves and wind,<br> +������ And to the right and left by turns inclined;<br> +������ But Albert from behind the balance drew,<br> +������ And on the prow its double efforts threw,<br> +������ The order now was given to bear away!<br> +������ The order given, the timoneers obey:<br> +������ Both stay-sail sheets to mid-ships were convey'd,<br> +������ And round the foremast on each side belay'd:<br> +������ Thus ready, to the halyards they apply—<br> +������ They hoist! away the flitting ruins fly:<br> +������ Yet Albert new resources still prepares,<br> +������ Conceals his grief, and doubles all his cares—<br> +������ "Away there! lower the mizen-yard on deck,"<br> +������ He calls, "and brace the foremost yards aback!"<br> +������ His great example every bosom fires,<br> +������ New life rekindles and new hope inspires:<br> +������ While to the helm unfaithful still she lies,<br> +������ One desperate remedy at last he tries—<br> +������ "Haste! with your weapons cut the shrouds and stay,<br> +������ And hew at once the mizen-mast away!"<br> +������ He said: to cut the girding stay they run,<br> +������ Soon on each side the sever'd shrouds are gone:<br> +������ Fast by the fated pine bold Rodmond stands,<br> +������ The impatient axe hung gleaming in his hands;<br> +������ Brandish'd on high, it fell with dreadful sound,<br> +������ The tall mast, groaning, felt the deadly wound;<br> +������ Deep gash'd beneath, the tottering structure rings,<br> +������ And crashing, thundering, o'er the quarter swings.<br> +������ Thus, when some limb, convulsed with pangs of death,<br> +������ Imbibes the gangrene's pestilential breath,<br> +������ The experienced artist from the blood betrays<br> +������ The latent venom, or its course delays;<br> +������ But if the infection triumphs o'er his art,<br> +������ Tainting the vital stream that warms the heart,<br> +������ To stop the course of death's inflaming tides,<br> +������ The infected member from the trunk divides.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> 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+910<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +920<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +930</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f49"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� 'Jove's high hill:' Dicte.<br> +<a href="#fr49">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f50"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Dark scud:' scud is a name given by seamen to the +lowest clouds, which are driven with great rapidity along the +atmosphere, in squally or tempestuous weather.<br> +<a href="#fr50">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f51"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +3:</span>� 'Leeward:' When the wind crosses a ship's course +either directly or obliquely, that side of the ship, upon which +it acts, is called the weather-side; and the opposite one, which +is then pressed downwards, is called the lee-side. Hence all the +rigging and furniture of the ship are, at this time, +distinguished by the side on which they are situated; as the +lee-cannon, the lee-braces, the weather-braces, &c.<br> +<a href="#fr51">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f52"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +4:</span>� 'Top-sails:' the top-sails are large square sails of +the second degree in height and magnitude.<br> +<a href="#fr52">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f53"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +5:</span>� 'Reef:' reefs are certain divisions or spaces by which +the principal sails are reduced when the wind increases; and +again enlarged proportionally when its force abates.<br> +<a href="#fr53">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f54"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +6:</span>� 'Halyards and top-bow-lines:' halyards are either +single ropes or tackles, by which the sails are hoisted up and +lowered when the sail is to be extended or reduced. Bow-lines are +ropes intended to keep the windward-edge of the sail steady, and +prevent it from shaking in an unfavourable wind.<br> +<a href="#fr54">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f55"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +7:</span>� 'Clue-lines and reef-tackles:' clue-lines are ropes +used to truss up the clues, or lower corners, of the principal +sails to their respective yards, particularly when the sail is to +be close-reefed or furled. Reef-tackles are ropes employed to +facilitate the operation of reefing, by confining the extremities +of the reef close up to the yard, so that the interval becomes +slack, and is therefore easily rolled up and fastened to the yard +by the points employed for this purpose, ver. 154.<br> +<a href="#fr55">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f56"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +8:</span>� 'Earings:' small cords, by which the upper corners of +the principal sails, and also the extremities of the reefs, are +fastened to the yard-arms.<br> +<a href="#fr56">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f57"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +9:</span>� 'Mizen:' the mizen is a large sail of an oblong figure +extended upon the mizen-mast.<br> +<a href="#fr57">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f58"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +10:</span>� 'Clue-garnets,' are employed for the same purposes on +the main-sail and fore-sail as the clue-lines are upon all other +square sails; see the note on ver. 150. It is necessary in this +place to remark, that the sheets, which are universally mistaken +by the English poets and their readers, for the sails themselves, +are no other than the ropes used to extend the clues, or lower +corners of the sails to which they are attached. To the main-sail +and fore-sail there is a sheet and tack on each side; the latter +of which is a thick rope serving to confine the weather-clue of +the sail down to the ship's side, whilst the former draws out the +lee-clue or lower-corner on the opposite side. Tacks are only +used in a side-wind.<br> +<a href="#fr58">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f59"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +11:</span>� 'Helm a-weather:' the helm is said to be a-weather +when the bar by which it is managed is turned to the side of the +ship next the wind.<br> +<a href="#fr59">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f60"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +12:</span>� 'Timoneer:' (from <i>timonnier</i>, Fr.) the +helmsman, or steersman.<br> +<a href="#fr60">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f61"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +13:</span>� 'Helm to starboard:' the helm, being turned to +starboard, or to the right side of the ship, directs the prow to +the left, or to port, and <i>vice versâ</i>. Hence the helm +being put a-starboard, when the ship is running northward, +directs her prow towards the west.<br> +<a href="#fr61">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f62"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +14:</span>� 'Fore stay-sail:' this sail, which is with more +propriety called the fore topmast-stay-sail, is a triangular sail +that runs upon the fore topmast-stay, over the bowsprit. It is +used to command the fore-part of the ship, and counterbalance the +sails extended towards the stern.<br> +<a href="#fr62">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f63"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +15:</span>�'Yards to starboard braced:' a yard is said to be +braced when it is turned about the mast horizontally, either to +the right or left; the ropes employed in this service are +accordingly called braces.<br> +<a href="#fr63">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f64"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +16:</span>� 'Brails:' the ropes used to truss up a sail to the +yard or mast whereto it is attached, are in a general sense +called brails.<br> +<a href="#fr64">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f65"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +17:</span>� 'Head-rope:' the head-rope is a cord to which the +upper part of the sail is sewed.<br> +<a href="#fr65">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f66"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +18:</span>� 'Robans:' rope-bands, pronounced roebins, are small +cords, used to fasten the upper edge of any sail to its +respective yard.<br> +<a href="#fr66">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f67"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +19:</span>� 'Braces slack:' because the lee-brace confines the +yard so that the tack will not come down to its place till the +braces are cast loose.<br> +<a href="#fr67">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f68"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +20:</span>� 'Taught,' 'tally,' and 'belay:' taught implies stiff, +tense, or extended straight; and tally is a phrase particularly +applied to the operation of hauling aft the sheets, or drawing +them towards the ship's stern; to belay, is to fasten.<br> +<a href="#fr68">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f69"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +21:</span>� 'Rolling-tackles:' the rolling-tackle is an +assemblage of pulleys, used to confine the yard to the +weather-side of the mast, and prevent the former from rubbing +against the latter by the fluctuating motion of the ship in a +turbulent sea.<br> +<a href="#fr69">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f70"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +22:</span>� 'Strike top-gallant-yards:' it is usual to send down +the top-gallant yards on the approach of a storm; they are the +highest yards that are rigged in a ship.<br> +<a href="#fr70">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f71"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +23:</span>� 'Travellers' and 'back-stays:' travellers are slender +iron rings, encircling the back-stays, and used to facilitate the +hoisting or lowering of the top-gallant-yards, by confining them +to the backstays, in their ascent or descent, so as to prevent +them from swinging about by the agitation of the vessel. +Back-stays are long ropes, extending from the right and left side +of the ship to the topmast-heads, which they are intended to +secure, by counter-acting the effort of the wind upon the +sails.<br> +<a href="#fr71">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f72"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +24:</span>� 'Top-ropes:' cords by which the top-gallant-yards are +hoisted up from the deck, or lowered again in stormy weather.<br> +<a href="#fr72">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f73"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +25:</span>� 'Parrels,' and 'lifts:' the parrel, which is usually +a moveable band of rope, is employed to confine the yard to its +respective mast. Lifts are ropes extending from the head of any +mast to the extremities of its particular yard, to support the +weight of the latter; to retain it in balance; or to raise one +yard-arm higher than the other, which is accordingly called +'topping,' ver. 261.<br> +<a href="#fr73">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f74"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +26:</span>� 'Booms:' the booms in this place imply any masts or +yards lying on the deck in reserve, to supply the place of others +which may be carried away by distress of weather, &c.<br> +<a href="#fr74">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f75"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +27:</span>� 'Courses:' the courses are generally understood to be +the mainsail, fore-sail, and mizen, which are the largest and +lowest sails on their several masts: the term is however +sometimes taken in a larger sense.<br> +<a href="#fr75">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f76"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +28:</span>� 'Tack's eased off:' it has been remarked before, in +note to ver. 165, p. 211, that the tack is always fastened to +windward; accordingly, as soon as it is cast loose, and the +clue-garnet hauled up, the weather-clue of the sail immediately +mounts to the yard; and this operation must be carefully +performed in a storm, to prevent the sail from splitting, or +being torn to pieces by shivering.<br> +<a href="#fr76">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f77"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +29:</span>� 'Sheet and weather-brace they now stand by:' it is +necessary to pull in the weather-brace, whenever the sheet is +cast off, to preserve the sail from shaking violently.<br> +<a href="#fr77">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f78"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +30:</span>� 'Spilling-lines:' the spilling-lines, which are only +used on particular occasions in tempestuous weather, are employed +to draw together and confine the belly of the sail, when it is +inflated by the wind over the yard.<br> +<a href="#fr78">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f79"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +31:</span>� 'Downhaul-tackle:' the violence of the wind forces +the yard so much outward from the mast on these occasions, that +it cannot easily be lowered so as to reef the sail, without the +application of a tackle to haul it down on the mast. This is +afterwards converted into rolling-tackle; see the note on ver. +252, p. 214<br> +<a href="#fr79">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f80"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +32:</span>� 'Jears' are the same to the mainsail, foresail, and +mizen, as the halyards (note to ver. 149, p. 210), are to all the +inferior sails. The tye is the upper part of the jears.<br> +<a href="#fr80">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f81"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +33:</span>� 'Reef-lines' are only used to reef the mainsail and +foresail; they are passed in spiral turns through the eye-let +holes of the reef, and over the head of the sails between the +rope-band legs, till they reach the extremities of the reef to +which they are firmly extended, so as to lace the reef close up +to the yard.<br> +<a href="#fr81">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f82"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +34:</span>� 'Shrouds' are thick ropes, stretching from the +mastheads downwards to the outside of the ship, serving to +support the masts; they are also used as a range of rope-ladders +by which the seamen ascend or descend to perform whatever is +necessary about the sails and rigging.<br> +<a href="#fr82">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f83"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +35:</span>� 'Reef-band:' the reef-band is a long piece of canvas +sewed across the sail, to strengthen the canvas in the place +where the eyelet-holes of the reef are formed.<br> +<a href="#fr83">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f84"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +36:</span>� 'Circling earings:' the outer turns of the earing +serve to extend the sail along the yard, and the inner tarns are +employed to confine its head-rope close to its surface; see note +to ver. 207, p. 213.<br> +<a href="#fr84">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f85"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +37:</span>� 'A sea' is the general name given by sailors to a +single wave, or billow; hence when a wave bursts over the deck, +the vessel is said to have 'shipped a sea.'<br> +<a href="#fr85">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f86"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +38:</span>� 'To weather' a shore, is to pass to the windward of +it, which at this time is prevented by the violence of the +storm.<br> +<a href="#fr86">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f87"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +39:</span>� 'Try:' to try, is to lay the ship with her side +nearly in the direction of the wind and sea, with the head +somewhat inclined to the windward; the helm being laid a-lee to +retain her in that position.<br> +<a href="#fr87">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f88"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +40:</span>� 'Topping-lift:' the topping-lift, which tops the +upper end of the mizen-yard (see note to ver. 260, p. 215); this +line and the six following describe the operation of reefing and +balancing the mizen. The reef of this sail is towards the lower +end, the knittles being small short lines used in the room of +points for this purpose (see notes to ver. 134, 150, p. 210); +they are accordingly knotted under the foot-rope, or lower edge +of the sail.<br> +<a href="#fr88">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f89"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +41:</span>� 'Lash'd a-lee:' fastened to the lee-side; see note to +ver. 132, p. 209.<br> +<a href="#fr89">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f90"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +42:</span>�'The well' is an apartment in a ship's hold, serving +to inclose the pumps; it is sounded by dropping a measured iron +rod down into it by a long line; hence the increase or diminution +of the leaks is easily discovered.<br> +<a href="#fr90">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f91"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +43:</span>� 'Brake:' the brake is the lever or handle of the +pump, by which it is wrought.<br> +<a href="#fr91">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f92"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +44:</span>� 'The waist' of a ship of this kind is a hollow space, +of about five feet in depth, contained between the elevations of +the quarter-deck and forecastle, and having the upper-deck for +its base or platform.<br> +<a href="#fr92">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f93"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +45:</span>� 'Lee-way:' the lee-way, or drift, which in this place +are synonymous terms, is the movement by which a ship is driven +sideways at the mercy of the wind and sea, when she is deprived +of the government of the sails and helm.<br> +<a href="#fr93">return</a><br> +<br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section27d">The Shipwreck: Canto III</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>The Scene is extended from that part of the archipelago which +lies ten miles to the Northward of Falconera, to Cape Colonna in +Attica</b><br> +<br> +<i>The Time: about seven hours; from one until eight in the +morning.</i><br> +<br> +<br> +<b><i>The Argument:</i></b><br> +<br> +<table summary="Shipwreck: Canto III: Argument" border="0" +cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I</td> +<td>The beneficial influence of poetry in the civilisation of +mankind.<br> + Diffidence of the author.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>II</td> +<td>Wreck of the mizen-mast cleared away.<br> + Ship put before the wind—labours much.<br> + Different stations of the officers.<br> + Appearance of the island of Falconera.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>III</td> +<td>Excursion to the adjacent nations of Greece renowned in +antiquity.<br> + Athens.<br> + Socrates, Plato, Aristides, Solon.<br> + Corinth—its architecture.<br> + Sparta.<br> + Leonidas.<br> + Invasion by Xerxes.<br> + Lycurgus.<br> + Epaminondas.<br> + Present state of the Spartans.<br> + Arcadia.<br> + Former happiness, and fertility.<br> + Its present distress the effect of slavery.<br> + Ithaca.<br> + Ulysses and Penelope.<br> + Argos and Mycæne.<br> + Agamemnon.<br> + Macronisi.<br> + Lemnos.<br> + Vulcan.<br> + Delos.<br> + Apollo and Diana.<br> + Troy.<br> + Sestos.<br> + Leander and Hero.<br> + Delphos.<br> + Temple of Apollo.<br> + Parnassus.<br> + The Muses.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>IV</td> +<td>Subject resumed.<br> + Address to the spirits of the storm.<br> + A tempest, accompanied with rain, hail, and meteors.<br> + Darkness of the night, lightning and thunder.<br> + Daybreak. St George's cliffs open upon them.<br> + The ship, in great danger, passes the island of St George.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>V</td> +<td>Land of Athens appears.<br> + Helmsman struck blind by lightning.<br> + Ship laid broadside to the shore.<br> + Bowsprit, foremast, and main top-mast carried away.<br> + Albert, Rodmond, Arion, and Palemon strive to save themselves on +the wreck of the foremast.<br> + The ship parts asunder.<br> + Death of Albert and Rodmond.<br> + Arion reaches the shore.<br> + Finds Palemon expiring on the beach.<br> + His dying address to Arion, who is led away by the humane +natives.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<table summary="Shipwreck: Canto III" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>I. ���When, in a barbarous age, with blood defiled,<br> +������ The human savage roam'd the gloomy wild;<br> +������ When sullen ignorance her flag display'd,<br> +������ And rapine and revenge her voice obey'd;<br> +������ Sent from the shores of light, the Muses came<br> +������ The dark and solitary race to tame,<br> +������ The war of lawless passions to control,<br> +������ To melt in tender sympathy the soul;<br> +������ The heart's remote recesses to explore,<br> +������ And touch its springs, when prose avail'd no more:<br> +������ The kindling spirit caught the empyreal ray,<br> +������ And glow'd congenial with the swelling lay;<br> +������ Roused from the chaos of primeval night,<br> +������ At once fair truth and reason sprung to light.<br> +������ When great Mæonides, in rapid song,<br> +������ The thundering tide of battle rolls along,<br> +������ Each ravish'd bosom feels the high alarms,<br> +������ And all the burning pulses beat to arms;<br> +������ Hence, war's terrific glory to display,<br> +������ Became the theme of every epic lay:<br> +������ But when his strings with mournful magic tell<br> +������ What dire distress Laertes' son befell,<br> +������ The strains, meandering through the maze of woe<br> +������ Bid sacred sympathy the heart o'erflow:<br> +������ Far through the boundless realms of thought he +springs,<br> +������ From earth upborne on Pegasean wings,<br> +������ While distant poets, trembling as they view<br> +������ His sunward flight, the dazzling track pursue;<br> +������ His magic voice, that rouses and delights,<br> +������ Allures and guides to climb Olympian heights.<br> +������ But I, alas! through scenes bewilder'd stray,<br> +������ Far from the light of his unerring ray;<br> +������ While, all unused the wayward path to tread,<br> +������ Darkling I wander with prophetic dread.<br> +������ To me in vain the bold Mæonian lyre<br> +������ Awakes the numbers fraught with living fire;<br> +������ Full oft indeed that mournful harp of yore<br> +������ Wept the sad wanderer lost upon the shore;<br> +������ 'Tis true he lightly sketch'd the bold design,<br> +������ But toils more joyless, more severe are mine;<br> +������ Since o'er that scene his genius swiftly ran,<br> +������ Subservient only to a nobler plan:<br> +������ But I, perplex'd in labyrinths of art,<br> +������ Anatomize and blazon every part;<br> +������ Attempt with plaintive numbers to display,<br> +������ And chain the events in regular array;<br> +������ Though hard the task to sing in varied strains,<br> +������ When still unchanged the same sad theme remains:<br> +������ O could it draw compassion's melting tear<br> +������ For kindred miseries, oft beheld too near!<br> +������ For kindred wretches, oft in ruin cast<br> +������ On Albion's strand beneath the wintry blast;<br> +������ For all the pangs, the complicated woe,<br> +������ Her bravest sons, her guardian sailors know;<br> +������ Then every breast should sigh at our distress—<br> +������ This were the summit of my hoped success!<br> +������ For this, my theme through mazes I pursue,<br> +������ Which nor Mæonides, nor Maro knew.<br> + II.������ Awhile the mast, in ruins dragg'd behind,<br> +������ Balanced the impression of the helm and wind;<br> +������ The wounded serpent, agonized with pain,<br> +������ Thus trails his mangled volume on the plain:<br> +������ But now, the wreck, dissever'd from the rear,<br> +������ The long reluctant prow began to veer;<br> +������ While round before the enlarging wind it falls,<br> +������ "Square fore and aft the yards," the master calls,<br> +������ "You, timoneers, her motion still attend,<br> +������ <a name="fr94">For</a> on your steerage all our lives +depend:<br> +������ So, steady<a href="#f94"><sup>1</sup></a>! meet her! watch +the curving prow,<br> +������ And from the gale directly let her go."<br> +������ "Starboard again!" the watchful pilot cries,<br> +������ "Starboard!" the obedient timoneer replies:<br> +������ <a name="fr95">Then</a> back to port, revolving at +command,<br> +������ The wheel<a href="#f95"><sup>2</sup></a> rolls swiftly +through each glowing hand.<br> +������ The ship no longer, foundering by the lee,<br> +������ Bears on her side the invasions of the sea;<br> +������ All lonely o'er the desert waste she flies,<br> +������ Scourged on by surges, storms, and bursting skies.<br> +������ As when enclosing harpooneers assail<br> +������ In Hyperborean seas the slumbering whale,<br> +������ Soon as their javelins pierce his scaly side,<br> +������ He groans, he darts impetuous down the tide;<br> +������ And rack'd all o'er with lacerating pain,<br> +������ He flies remote beneath the flood in vain—<br> +������ So with resistless haste the wounded ship<br> +������ Scuds from pursuing waves along the deep;<br> +������ While, dash'd apart by her dividing prow,<br> +������ Like burning adamant the waters glow;<br> +������ Her joints forget their firm elastic tone,<br> +������ Her long keel trembles, and her timbers groan:<br> +������ Upheaved behind her in tremendous height<br> +������ The billows frown, with fearful radiance bright;<br> +������ Now quivering o'er the topmost waves she rides,<br> +������ While deep beneath the enormous gulf divides;<br> +������ Now launching headlong down the horrid vale,<br> +������ Becalm'd she hears no more the howling gale;<br> +������ Till up the dreadful height again she flies,<br> +������ Trembling beneath the current of the skies.<br> +������ As that rebellious angel, who, from heaven,<br> +������ To regions of eternal pain was driven,<br> +������ When dreadless he forsook the Stygian shore<br> +������ The distant realms of Eden to explore;<br> +������ Here, on sulphureous clouds sublime upheaved,<br> +������ With daring wing the infernal air he cleaved;<br> +������ There, in some hideous gulf descending prone,<br> +������ Far in the void abrupt of night was thrown—<br> +������ Even so she climbs the briny mountain's height,<br> +������ Then down the black abyss precipitates her flight:<br> +������ The mast, about whose tops the whirlwinds sing,<br> +������ With long vibration round her axle swing.<br> +������ ��� To guide her wayward course amid the gloom,<br> +������ The watchful pilots different posts assume:<br> +������ Albert and Rodmond on the poop appear,<br> +������ There to direct each guiding timoneer;<br> +������ While at the bow the watch Arion keeps,<br> +������ To shun what cruisers wander o'er the deeps:<br> +������ Where'er he moves Palemon still attends,<br> +������ As if on him his only hope depends;<br> +������ While Rodmond, fearful of some neighbouring shore,<br> +������ Cries, ever and anon, Look out afore!<br> +������ ���Thus o'er the flood four hours she scudding flew,<br> +������ When Falconera's rugged cliffs they view<br> +������ Faintly along the larboard bow descried,<br> +������ As o'er its mountain tops the lightnings glide;<br> +������ High o'er its summit, through the gloom of night,<br> +������ The glimmering watch-tower casts a mournful light:<br> +������ In dire amazement riveted they stand,<br> +������ And hear the breakers lash the rugged strand;<br> +������ But scarce perceived, when past the beam it flies,<br> +������ Swift as the rapid eagle cleaves the skies:<br> +������ That danger past reflects a feeble joy,<br> +������ But soon returning fears their hope destroy.<br> +������ As in the Atlantic ocean, when we find<br> +������ Some Alp of ice driven southward by the wind,<br> +������ The sultry air all sickening pants around,<br> +������ In deluges of torrid ether drown'd;<br> +������ Till when the floating isle approaches nigh,<br> +������ In cooling tides the aërial billows fly:<br> +������ Awhile deliver'd from the scorching heat,<br> +������ In gentler tides our feverish pulses beat:<br> +������ Such transient pleasure, as they pass'd this strand,<br> +������ A moment bade their throbbing hearts expand;<br> +������ The illusive meteors of a lifeless fire,<br> +������ Too soon they kindle, and too soon expire.<br> + III. �����Say, Memory! thou, from whose unerring tongue<br> +������ Instructive flows the animated song,<br> +������ What regions now the scudding ship surround?<br> +������ Regions of old through all the world renown'd;<br> +������ That, once the poet's theme, the Muses' boast,<br> +������ Now lie in ruins, in oblivion lost!<br> +������ Did they whose sad distress these lays deplore,<br> +������ Unskill'd in Grecian or in Roman lore,<br> +������ Unconscious pass along each famous shore?<br> +������ They did: for in this desert, joyless soil,<br> +������ No flowers of genial science deign to smile;<br> +������ Sad Ocean's genius, in untimely hour,<br> +������ Withers the bloom of every springing flower;<br> +������ For native tempests here, with blasting breath,<br> +������ Despoil, and doom the vernal buds to death;<br> +������ Here fancy droops, while sullen clouds and storm,<br> +������ The generous temper of the soul deform:<br> +������ Then if, among the wandering naval train,<br> +������ One stripling, exiled from the Aonian plain,<br> +������ Had e'er, entranced in fancy's soothing dream,<br> +������ Approach'd to taste the sweet Castalian stream<br> +������ (Since those salubrious streams, with power divine,<br> +������ To purer sense the soften'd soul refine);<br> +������ Sure he, amid unsocial mates immured,<br> +������ ���To learning lost, severer grief endured;<br> +������ In vain might Phoebus' ray his mind inspire,<br> +������ Since fate with torrents quench'd the kindling fire:<br> +������ If one this pain of living death possess'd,<br> +������ It dwelt supreme, Arion! in thy breast;<br> +������ When, with Palemon, watching in the night<br> +������ Beneath pale Cynthia's melancholy light,<br> +������ You oft recounted those surrounding states,<br> +������ Whose glory Fame with brazen tongue relates.<br> +������ ���Immortal Athens first, in ruin spread,<br> +������ Contiguous lies at Port Liono's head;<br> +������ Great source of science! whose immortal name<br> +������ Stands foremost in the glorious roll of fame.<br> +������ Here godlike Socrates and Plato shone,<br> +������ And, firm to truth, eternal honour won:<br> +������ The first in virtue's cause his life resign'd,<br> +������ By Heaven pronounced the wisest of mankind:<br> +������ The last proclaim'd the spark of vital fire,<br> +������ The soul's fine essence, never could expire:<br> +������ Here Solon dwelt, the philosophic sage<br> +������ That fled Pisistratus' vindictive rage:<br> +������ Just Aristides here maintain'd the cause,<br> +������ Whose sacred precepts shine through Solon's laws.<br> +������ Of all her towering structures, now alone<br> +������ Some columns stand, with mantling weeds o'ergrown;<br> +������ The wandering stranger near the port descries<br> +������ A milk-white lion of stupendous size,<br> +������ Of antique marble; hence the haven's name.<br> +������ Unknown to modern natives whence it came.<br> +������ ���Next, in the gulf of Engia, Corinth lies,<br> +������ Whose gorgeous fabrics seem'd to strike the skies;<br> +������ Whom, though by tyrant victors oft subdued,<br> +������ Greece, Egypt, Rome, with admiration view'd:<br> +������ Her name, for architecture long renown'd,<br> +������ Spread like the foliage which her pillars crown'd;<br> +������ But now, in fatal desolation laid,<br> +������ Oblivion o'er it draws a dismal shade.<br> +������ ���Then further westward, on Morea's land,<br> +������ Fair Misitra! thy modern turrets stand:<br> +������ Ah! who, unmoved with secret woe, can tell<br> +������ That here great Lacedæmon's glory fell?<br> +������ Here once she flourish'd, at whose trumpet's sound<br> +������ War burst his chains, and nations shook around;<br> +������ Here brave Leonidas from shore to shore<br> +������ Through all Achaia bade her thunders roar:<br> +������ He, when imperial Xerxes from afar<br> +������ Advanced with Persia's sumless hosts to war,<br> +������ Till Macedonia shrunk beneath his spear,<br> +������ And Greece all shudder'd as the chief drew near;<br> +������ He, at Thermopylæ's decisive plain,<br> +������ Their force opposed with Sparta's glorious train;<br> +������ Tall Oeta saw the tyrant's conquer'd bands<br> +������ In gasping millions bleed on hostile lands:<br> +������ Thus vanquish'd, haughty Asia heard thy name,<br> +������ And Thebes and Athens sicken'd at thy fame:<br> +������ Thy state, supported by Lycurgus' laws,<br> +������ Gain'd, like thine arms, superlative applause;<br> +������ Even great Epaminondas strove in vain<br> +������ To curb thy spirit with a Theban chain.<br> +������ But ah! how low that free-born spirit now!<br> +������ Thy abject sons to haughty tyrants bow;<br> +������ A false, degenerate, superstitious race<br> +������ Invest thy region, and its name disgrace.<br> +������ ��� Not distant far, Arcadia's blest domains<br> +������ Peloponnesus' circling shore contains:<br> +������ Thrice happy soil! where, still serenely gay,<br> +������ Indulgent Flora breathed perpetual May;<br> +������ Where buxom Ceres bade each fertile field<br> +������ Spontaneous gifts in rich profusion yield:<br> +������ Then, with some rural nymph supremely blest,<br> +������ While transport glow'd in each enamour'd breast,<br> +������ Each faithful shepherd told his tender pain,<br> +������ And sung of sylvan sports in artless strain;<br> +������ Soft as the happy swain's enchanting lay<br> +������ That pipes among the shades of Endermay.<br> +������ Now, sad reverse! oppression's iron hand<br> +������ Enslaves her natives, and despoils her land;<br> +������ In lawless rapine bred, a sanguine train,<br> +������ With midnight ravage, scour the uncultured plain.<br> +������ ���Westward of these, beyond the Isthmus, lies<br> +������ The long-sought isle of Ithacus the wise;<br> +������ Where fair Penelope, of him deprived,<br> +������ To guard her honour endless schemes contrived:<br> +������ She, only shielded by a stripling son,<br> +������ Her lord Ulysses long to Ilion gone,<br> +������ Each bold attempt of suitor-kings repell'd,<br> +������ And undefiled her nuptial contract held;<br> +������ True to her vows, and resolutely chaste,<br> +������ Met arts with art, and triumph'd at the last.<br> +������ ���Argos, in Greece forgotten and unknown,<br> +������ Still seems her cruel fortune to bemoan;<br> +������ Argos, whose monarch led the Grecian hosts<br> +������ Across the Ægean main to Dardan coasts:<br> +������ Unhappy prince! who, on a hostile shore,<br> +������ Fatigue and danger ten long winters bore;<br> +������ And when to native realms restored at last,<br> +������ To reap the harvest of thy labours past,<br> +������ There found a perjured friend, and faithless wife,<br> +������ Who sacrificed to impious lust thy life;<br> +������ Fast by Arcadia stretch these desert plains,<br> +������ And o'er the land a gloomy tyrant reigns.<br> +������ ���Next, Macronisi is adjacent seen,<br> +������ Where adverse winds detain'd the Spartan queen;<br> +������ For whom, in arms combined, the Grecian host,<br> +������ With vengeance fired, invaded Phrygia's coast;<br> +������ For whom so long they labour'd to destroy<br> +������ The lofty turrets of imperial Troy;<br> +������ Here, driven by Juno's rage, the hapless dame,<br> +������ Forlorn of heart, from ruin'd Ilion came:<br> +������ The port an image bears of Parian stone,<br> +������ Of ancient fabric, but of date unknown.<br> +������ ��� Due east from this appears the immortal shore,<br> +������ That sacred Phoebus and Diana bore—<br> +������ Delos! through all the Ægean seas renown'd,<br> +������ Whose coast the rocky Cyclades surround;<br> +������ By Phoebus honour'd, and by Greece revered,<br> +������ Her hallow'd groves even distant Persia fear'd:<br> +������ But now a desert unfrequented land,<br> +������ No human footstep marks the trackless sand.<br> +������ ���Thence to the north, by Asia's western bound,<br> +������ Fair Lemnos stands, with rising marble crown'd;<br> +������ Where, in her rage, avenging Juno hurl'd<br> +������ Ill-fated Vulcan from the ethereal world.<br> +������ There his eternal anvils first he rear'd;<br> +������ Then, forged by Cyclopean art, appear'd<br> +������ Thunders that shook the skies with dire alarms,<br> +������ And form'd, by skill divine, immortal arms;<br> +������ There, with this crippled wretch, the foul disgrace<br> +������ And living scandal of the empyreal race,<br> +������ In wedlock lived the beauteous queen of love;<br> +������ Can such sensations heavenly bosoms move?<br> +������ ��� Eastward of this appears the Dardan shore,<br> +������ That once the imperial towers of Ilium bore—<br> +������ Illustrious Troy! renown'd in every clime<br> +������ Through the long records of succeeding time;<br> +������ Who saw protecting gods from heaven descend<br> +������ Full oft, thy royal bulwarks to defend:<br> +������ Though chiefs unnumber'd in her cause were slain,<br> +������ With fate the gods and heroes fought in vain!<br> +������ That refuge of perfidious Helen's shame<br> +������ At midnight was involved in Grecian flame;<br> +������ And now, by time's deep ploughshare harrow'd o'er,<br> +������ The seat of sacred Troy is found no more:<br> +������ No trace of her proud fabrics now remains,<br> +������ But corn and vines enrich her cultured plains;<br> +������ Silver Scamander laves the verdant shore,<br> +������ Scamander, oft o'erflow'd with hostile gore.<br> +������ ���Not far removed from Ilion's famous land,<br> +������ In counter-view appears the Thracian strand,<br> +������ Where beauteous Hero, from the turret's height,<br> +������ Display'd her cresset each revolving night;<br> +������ Whose gleam directed loved Leander o'er<br> +������ The rolling Hellespont from Asia's shore;<br> +������ Till, in a fated hour, on Thracia's coast,<br> +������ She saw her lover's lifeless body toss'd:<br> +������ Then felt her bosom agony severe,<br> +������ Her eyes, sad gazing, pour'd the incessant tear;<br> +������ O'erwhelm'd with anguish, frantic with despair,<br> +������ She beat her swelling breast, and tore her hair;<br> +������ On dear Leander's name in vain she cried,<br> +������ Then headlong plunged into the parting tide:<br> +������ The exulting tide received the lovely maid,<br> +������ And proudly from the strand its freight convey'd.<br> +������ ���Far west of Thrace, beyond the Ægean main,<br> +������ Remote from ocean lies the Delphic plain:<br> +������ The sacred oracle of Phoebus there<br> +������ High o'er the mount arose, divinely fair!<br> +������ Achaian marble form'd the gorgeous pile,<br> +������ August the fabric! elegant in style!<br> +������ On brazen hinges turn'd the silver doors,<br> +������ And chequer'd marble paved the polish'd floors;<br> +������ The roof, where storied tablature appear'd,<br> +������ On columns of Corinthian mould was rear'd;<br> +������ Of shining porphyry the shafts were framed,<br> +������ And round the hollow dome bright jewels flamed:<br> +������ Apollo's priests before the holy shrine<br> +������ Suppliant pour'd forth their orisons divine;<br> +������ To front the sun's declining ray 'twas placed,<br> +������ With golden harps and branching laurels graced:<br> +������ Around the fane, engraved by Vulcan's hand,<br> +������ The sciences and arts were seen to stand;<br> +������ Here Æsculapius' snake display'd his crest,<br> +������ And burning glories sparkled on his breast;<br> +������ While from his eye's insufferable light,<br> +������ Disease and death recoil'd in headlong flight:<br> +������ Of this great temple, through all time renown'd,<br> +������ Sunk in oblivion, no remains are found.<br> +������ ��� Contiguous here, with hallow'd woods o'erspread,<br> +������ Renown'd Parnassus lifts its honour'd head;<br> +������ There roses blossom in eternal spring,<br> +������ And strains celestial feather'd warblers sing;<br> +������ Apollo here bestows the unfading wreath;<br> +������ Here Zephyrs aromatic odours breathe;<br> +������ They o'er Castalian plains diffuse perfume,<br> +������ Where round the scene perennial laurels bloom:<br> +������ Fair daughters of the sun, the sacred Nine!<br> +������ Here wake to ecstasy their harps divine,<br> +������ Or bid the Paphian lute mellifluous play,<br> +������ And tune to plaintive lore the liquid lay:<br> +������ Their numbers every mental storm control,<br> +������ And lull to harmony the afflicted soul;<br> +������ With heavenly balm the tortured breast compose,<br> +������ And soothe the agony of latent woes:<br> +������ The verdant shades that Helicon surround,<br> +������ On rosy gales seraphic tunes resound!<br> +������ Perpetual summers crown the happy hours,<br> +������ Sweet as the breath that fans Elysian flowers:<br> +������ Hence pleasure dances in an endless round,<br> +������ And love and joy, ineffable, abound.<br> + IV. �����Stop, wandering thought! methinks I feel their +strains<br> +������ Diffuse delicious languor through my veins.<br> +������ Adieu, ye flowery vales, and fragrant scenes,<br> +������ Delightful bowers, and ever vernal greens!<br> +������ Adieu, ye streams! that o'er enchanted ground<br> +������ In lucid maze the Aonian hill surround;<br> +������ Ye fairy scenes! where fancy loves to dwell,<br> +������ And young delight, for ever, oh, farewell!<br> +������ The soul with tender luxury you fill,<br> +������ And o'er the sense Lethean dews distil—<br> +������ Awake, O memory! from the inglorious dream,<br> +������ With brazen lungs resume the kindling theme;<br> +������ Collect thy powers, arouse thy vital fire,<br> +������ Ye spirits of the storm my verse inspire!<br> +������ Hoarse as the whirlwinds that enrage the main,<br> +������ In torrents pour along the swelling strain.<br> +������ ���Now, through the parting wave impetuous bore,<br> +������ The scudding vessel stemm'd the Athenian shore;<br> +������ The pilots, as the waves behind her swell,<br> +������ <a name="fr96">Still</a> with the wheeling stern their +force repel;<br> +������ For this assault should either quarter<a href= +"#f96"><sup>3</sup></a> feel,<br> +������ Again to flank the tempest she might reel!<br> +������ The steersmen every bidden turn apply,<br> +������ To right and left the spokes alternate fly—<br> +������ Thus, when some conquer'd host retreats in fear,<br> +������ The bravest leaders guard the broken rear;<br> +������ Indignant they retire, and long oppose<br> +������ Superior armies that around them close;<br> +������ Still shield the flanks, the routed squadrons join,<br> +������ And guide the flight in one continued line.<br> +������ Thus they direct the flying bark before<br> +������ The impelling floods, that lash her to the shore:<br> +������ High o'er the poop the audacious seas aspire,<br> +������ Uproll'd in hills of fluctuating fire;<br> +������ With labouring throes she rolls on either side,<br> +������ And dips her gunnels in the yawning tide;<br> +������ Her joints, unhinged, in palsied languors play,<br> +������ As ice-flakes part beneath the noontide ray.<br> +������ The gale howls doleful through the blocks and shrouds,<br> +������ And big rain pours a deluge from the clouds;<br> +������ From wintry magazines that sweep the sky,<br> +������ Descending globes of hail impetuous fly;<br> +������ High on the masts, with pale and livid rays,<br> +������ Amid the gloom portentous meteors blaze;<br> +������ The ethereal dome in mournful pomp array'd<br> +������ Now buried lies beneath impervious shade;<br> +������ Now, flashing round intolerable light,<br> +������ Redoubles all the horror of the night—<br> +������ Such terror Sinai's trembling hill o'erspread,<br> +������ When Heaven's loud trumpet sounded o'er its head:<br> +������ It seem'd, the wrathful Angel of the wind<br> +������ Had all the horrors of the skies combined,<br> +������ And here, to one ill-fated ship opposed,<br> +������ At once the dreadful magazine disclosed;<br> +������ And, lo! tremendous o'er the deep he springs,<br> +������ The inflaming sulphur flashing from his wings;<br> +������ Hark! his strong voice the dismal silence breaks,<br> +������ Mad chaos from the chains of death awakes:<br> +������ Loud, and more loud, the rolling peals enlarge,<br> +������ And blue on deck the fiery tides discharge;<br> +������ There all aghast the shivering wretches stood,<br> +������ While chill suspense and fear congeal'd their blood;<br> +������ Wide bursts in dazzling sheets the living flame,<br> +������ And dread concussion rends the ethereal frame;<br> +������ Sick earth convulsive groans from shore to shore,<br> +������ And nature, shuddering, feels the horrid roar.<br> +������ ���Still the sad prospect rises on my sight,<br> +������ Reveal'd in all its mournful shade and light;<br> +������ Even now my ear with quick vibration feels<br> +������ The explosion burst in strong rebounding peals;<br> +������ Swift through my pulses glides the kindling fire,<br> +������ As lightning glances on the electric wire:<br> +������ Yet, ah! the languid colours vainly strive<br> +������ To bid the scene in native hues revive.<br> +������ ���But, lo! at last, from tenfold darkness born,<br> +������ Forth issues o'er the wave the weeping morn:<br> +������ Hail, sacred vision! who, on orient wings,<br> +������ The cheering dawn of light propitious brings;<br> +������ All nature, smiling, hail'd the vivid ray<br> +������ That gave her beauties to returning day—<br> +������ All but our ship! which, groaning on the tide,<br> +������ No kind relief, no gleam of hope descried;<br> +������ For now in front her trembling inmates see<br> +������ The hills of Greece emerging on the lee.<br> +������ So the lost lover views that fatal morn,<br> +������ On which, for ever from his bosom torn,<br> +������ The maid, adored, resigns her blooming charms,<br> +������ <a name="fr97">To</a> bless with love some happier rival's +arms.<br> +������ So to Eliza<a href="#f97"><sup>4</sup></a> dawn'd that +cruel day<br> +������ That tore Æneas from her sight away,<br> +������ That saw him parting, never to return,<br> +������ Herself in funeral flames decreed to burn.<br> +������ yet in clouds, thou genial source of light!<br> +������ Conceal thy radiant glories from our sight;<br> +������ Go, with thy smile adorn the happy plain,<br> +������ And gild the scenes where health and pleasure reign:<br> +������ But let not here, in scorn, thy wanton beam<br> +������ Insult the dreadful grandeur of my theme.<br> +������ ���While shoreward now the bounding vessel flies,<br> +������ Full in her van St George's cliffs arise;<br> +������ High o'er the rest a pointed crag is seen,<br> +������ That hung projecting o'er a mossy green;<br> +������ Huge breakers on the larboard bow appear,<br> +������ And full a-head its eastern ledges bear:<br> +������ To steer more eastward Albert still commands,<br> +������ And shun, if possible, the fatal strands—<br> +������ Nearer and nearer now the danger grows,<br> +������ And all their skill relentless fates oppose;<br> +������ For while more eastward they direct the prow,<br> +������ Enormous waves the quivering deck o'erflow;<br> +������ <a name="fr98">While</a>, as she wheels, unable to +subdue<br> +������ Her sallies, still they dread her broaching-to<a href= +"#f98"><sup>5</sup></a>:<br> +������ Alarming thought! for now no more a-lee<br> +������ Her trembling side could bear the mountain'd sea,<br> +������ And if pursuing waves she scuds before,<br> +������ Headlong she runs upon the frightful shore;<br> +������ A shore, where shelves and hidden rocks abound,<br> +������ Where death in secret ambush lurks around.<br> +������ Not half so dreadful to Æneas' eyes<br> +������ The straits of Sicily were seen to rise,<br> +������ When Palinurus from the helm descried<br> +������ The rocks of Scylla on his eastern side;<br> +������ While in the west, with hideous yawn disclosed,<br> +������ His onward path Charybdis' gulf opposed:<br> +������ The double danger he alternate view'd,<br> +������ And cautiously his arduous track pursued.<br> +������ Thus, while to right and left destruction lies,<br> +������ Between the extremes the daring vessel flies;<br> +������ With terrible irruption bursting o'er<br> +������ The marble cliffs, tremendous surges roar;<br> +������ Hoarse through each winding creek the tempest raves,<br> +������ And hollow rocks repeat the groan of waves.<br> +������ Should once the bottom strike this cruel shore,<br> +������ The parting ship that instant is no more!<br> +������ Nor she alone, but with her all the crew<br> +������ Beyond relief are doom'd to perish too:<br> +������ But haply she escapes the dreadful strand,<br> +������ Though scarce her length in distance from the land:<br> +������ Swift as the weapon quits the Scythian bow,<br> +������ She cleaves the burning billows with her prow,<br> +������ And forward hurrying with impetuous haste,<br> +������ Borne on the tempest's wings the isle she past:<br> +������ With longing eyes, and agony of mind,<br> +������ The sailors view this refuge left behind;<br> +������ Happy to bribe with India's richest ore<br> +������ A safe accession to that barren shore.<br> +������ When in the dark Peruvian mine confined,<br> +������ Lost to the cheerful commerce of mankind,<br> +������ The groaning captive wastes his life away,<br> +������ For ever exiled from the realms of day,<br> +������ Not half such pangs his bosom agonize<br> +������ When up to distant light he rolls his eyes!<br> +������ Where the broad sun, in his diurnal way<br> +������ Imparts to all beside his vivid ray;<br> +������ While, all forlorn, the victim pines in vain<br> +������ For scenes he never shall possess again.<br> + V.������ But now Athenian mountains they descry,<br> +������ And o'er the surge Colonna frowns on high;<br> +������ Where marble columns, long by time defaced,<br> +������ Moss-cover'd on the lofty Cape are placed:<br> +������ There rear'd by fair devotion to sustain,<br> +������ In elder times, Tritonia's sacred fane;<br> +������ The circling beach in murderous form appears,<br> +������ Decisive goal of all their hopes and fears:<br> +������ The seamen now in wild amazement see<br> +������ The scene of ruin rise beneath their lee;<br> +������ Swift from their minds elapsed all dangers past,<br> +������ As dumb with terror, they behold the last.<br> +������ And now, while wing'd with ruin from on high,<br> +������ Through the rent cloud the ragged lightnings fly,<br> +������ A flash, quick glancing on the nerves of light,<br> +������ Struck the pale helmsman with eternal night:<br> +������ Rodmond, who heard a piteous groan behind,<br> +������ Touch'd with compassion, gazed upon the blind;<br> +������ And, while around his sad companions crowd,<br> +������ He guides the unhappy victim to the shroud:<br> +������ "Hie thee aloft, my gallant friend!" he cries;<br> +������ "Thy only succour on the mast relies."<br> +������ The helm, bereft of half its vital force,<br> +������ Now scarce subdued the wild unbridled course;<br> +������ Quick to the abandon'd wheel Arion came,<br> +������ The ship's tempestuous sallies to reclaim:<br> +������ The vessel, while the dread event draws nigh,<br> +������ Seems more impatient o'er the waves to fly;<br> +������ Fate spurs her on!—Thus, issuing from afar,<br> +������ Advances to the sun some blazing star,<br> +������ And, as it feels attraction's kindling force,<br> +������ Springs onward with accelerated course.<br> +������ ���The moment fraught with fate approaches fast!<br> +������ While thronging sailors climb each quivering mast,<br> +������ The ship no longer now must stem the land,<br> +������ And, Hard a starboard! is the last command:<br> +������ While every suppliant voice to Heaven applies,<br> +������ The prow, swift wheeling, to the westward flies;<br> +������ Twelve sailors, on the fore-mast who depend,<br> +������ High on the platform of the top ascend—<br> +������ Fatal retreat! for, while the plunging prow<br> +������ Immerges headlong in the wave below,<br> +������ Down prest by watery weight the bowsprit bends,<br> +������ And from above the stem deep-crashing rends:<br> +������ Beneath her bow the floating ruins lie;<br> +������ The fore-mast totters, unsustain'd on high;<br> +������ And now the ship, forelifted by the sea,<br> +������ Hurls the tall fabric backward o'er her lee;<br> +������ While, in the general wreck, the faithful stay<br> +������ Drags the main top-mast by the cap away:<br> +������ Flung from the mast, the seamen strive in vain,<br> +������ Through hostile floods, their vessel to regain;<br> +������ Weak hope, alas! they buffet long the wave,<br> +������ And grasp at life though sinking in the grave;<br> +������ Till all exhausted, and bereft of strength,<br> +������ O'erpower'd they yield to cruel fate at length;<br> +������ The burying waters close around their head—<br> +������ They sink! for ever number'd with the dead.<br> +������ ���Those who remain the weather shrouds embrace,<br> +������ Nor longer mourn their lost companions' case:<br> +������ Transfix'd with terror at the approaching doom,<br> +������ Self-pity in their breasts alone has room.<br> +������ Albert, and Rodmond, and Palemon, near,<br> +������ With young Arion, on the mast appear:<br> +������ Even they, amid the unspeakable distress,<br> +������ In every look distracting thoughts confess;<br> +������ In every vein the refluent blood congeals,<br> +������ And every bosom mortal terror feels;<br> +������ Begirt with all the horrors of the main,<br> +������ They view'd the adjacent shore, but view'd in vain.<br> +������ Such torments in the drear abodes of hell,<br> +������ Where sad despair laments with rueful yell,—<br> +������ Such torments agonize the damned breast.<br> +������ That sees remote the mansions of the blest.<br> +������ ���It comes! the dire catastrophe draws near,<br> +������ Lash'd furious on by destiny severe:<br> +������ The ship hangs hovering on the verge of death,<br> +������ Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar beneath!<br> +������ O yet confirm my heart, ye powers above!<br> +������ This last tremendous shock of fate to prove;<br> +������ The tottering frame of reason yet sustain,<br> +������ Nor let this total havoc whirl my brain;<br> +������ Since I, all trembling in extreme distress,<br> +������ Must still the horrible result express.<br> +������ ��� In vain, alas! the sacred shades of yore<br> +������ Would arm the mind with philosophic lore;<br> +������ In vain they'd teach us, at the latest breath<br> +������ To smile serene amid the pangs of death:<br> +������ Immortal Zeno's self would trembling see<br> +������ Inexorable fate beneath the lee;<br> +������ And Epictetus, at the sight, in vain<br> +������ Attempt his Stoic firmness to retain:<br> +������ Had Socrates, for godlike virtue famed,<br> +������ And wisest of the sons of men proclaim'd,<br> +������ Spectator of such various horrors been,<br> +������ Even he had stagger'd at this dreadful scene.<br> +������ ���In vain the cords and axes were prepared,<br> +������ For every wave now smites the quivering yard;<br> +������ High o'er the ship they throw a dreadful shade,<br> +������ Then on her burst in terrible cascade;<br> +������ Across the founder'd deck o'erwhelming roar,<br> +������ And foaming, swelling, bound upon the shore.<br> +������ Swift up the mounting billow now she flies,<br> +������ Her shatter'd top half-buried in the skies;<br> +������ Borne o'er a latent reef the hull impends,<br> +������ Then thundering on the marble crags descends:<br> +������ Her ponderous bulk the dire concussion feels,<br> +������ And o'er upheaving surges wounded reels.<br> +������ Again she plunges! hark! a second shock<br> +������ Bilges the splitting vessel on the rock:<br> +������ Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries,<br> +������ The fated victims shuddering cast their eyes<br> +������ In wild despair; while yet another stroke<br> +������ With strong convulsion rends the solid oak:<br> +������ Ah, Heaven!—behold her crashing ribs divide!<br> +������ She loosens, parts, and spreads in ruin o'er the tide.<br> +������ ���Oh, were it mine with sacred Maro's art,<br> +������ To wake to sympathy the feeling heart;<br> +������ Like him, the smooth and mournful verse to dress<br> +������ In all the pomp of exquisite distress;<br> +������ Then, too severely taught by cruel fate,<br> +������ To share in all the perils I relate,<br> +������ Then might I, with unrivall'd strains, deplore<br> +������ The impervious horrors of a leeward shore.<br> +������ ���As o'er the surf the bending mainmast hung,<br> +������ Still on the rigging thirty seamen clung:<br> +������ Some on a broken crag were struggling cast,<br> +������ And there by oozy tangles grappled fast;<br> +������ Awhile they bore the o'erwhelming billows' rage,<br> +������ Unequal combat with their fate to wage<br> +������ Till all benumb'd and feeble they forego<br> +������ Their slippery hold, and sink to shades below:<br> +������ Some, from the main yard-arm impetuous thrown<br> +������ On marble ridges, die without a groan:<br> +������ Three, with Palemon, on their skill depend,<br> +������ And from the wreck on oars and rafts descend;<br> +������ Now on the mountain-wave on high they ride,<br> +������ Then downward plunge beneath the involving tide;<br> +������ Till one, who seems in agony to strive,<br> +������ The whirling breakers heave on shore alive:<br> +������ The rest a speedier end of anguish knew,<br> +������ And press'd the stony beach—a lifeless crew!<br> +������ ���Next, O unhappy chief! the eternal doom<br> +������ Of Heaven decreed thee to the briny tomb:<br> +������ What scenes of misery torment thy view!<br> +������ What painful struggles of thy dying crew!<br> +������ Thy perish'd hopes all buried in the flood<br> +������ O'erspread with corses, red with human blood!—<br> +������ So, pierced with anguish, hoary Priam gazed,<br> +������ When Troy's imperial domes in ruin blazed;<br> +������ While he, severest sorrow doom'd to feel,<br> +������ Expired beneath the victor's murdering steel—<br> +������ Thus with his helpless partners to the last,<br> +������ Sad refuge! Albert grasps the floating mast:<br> +������ His soul could yet sustain this mortal blow,<br> +������ But droops, alas! beneath superior woe;<br> +������ For now strong nature's sympathetic chain<br> +������ Tugs at his yearning heart with powerful strain:<br> +������ His faithful wife, for ever doom'd to mourn<br> +������ For him, alas! who never shall return,<br> +������ To black adversity's approach exposed,<br> +������ With want and hardships unforeseen enclosed;<br> +������ His lovely daughter, left without a friend<br> +������ Her innocence to succour and defend,<br> +������ By youth and indigence set forth a prey<br> +������ To lawless guilt, that flatters to betray—<br> +������ While these reflections rack his feeling mind,<br> +������ Rodmond, who hung beside, his grasp resign'd;<br> +������ And, as the tumbling waters o'er him roll'd,<br> +������ His outstretch'd arms the master's legs enfold.<br> +������ Sad Albert feels their dissolution near,<br> +������ And strives in vain his fetter'd limbs to clear,<br> +������ For death bids every clenching joint adhere.<br> +������ All faint, to Heaven he throws his dying eyes,<br> +������ And, O protect my wife and child! he cries—<br> +������ The gushing streams roll back the unfinish'd sound,<br> +������ He gasps! and sinks amid the vast profound.<br> +������ ���Five only left of all the shipwreck'd throng<br> +������ Yet ride the mast which shoreward drives along;<br> +������ With these Arion still his hold secures,<br> +������ And all assaults of hostile waves endures;<br> +������ O'er the dire prospect as for life he strives,<br> +������ He looks if poor Palemon yet survives—<br> +������ "Ah! wherefore, trusting to unequal art,<br> +������ Didst thou, incautious! from the wreck depart?<br> +������ Alas! these rocks all human skill defy;<br> +������ Who strikes them once, beyond relief must die:<br> +������ And now sore wounded, thou perhaps art tost<br> +������ On these, or in some oozy cavern lost!"<br> +������ Thus thought Arion; anxious gazing round<br> +������ In vain, his eyes no more Palemon found.<br> +������ The demons of destruction hover nigh,<br> +������ And thick their mortal shafts commission'd fly;<br> +������ When now a breaking surge, with forceful sway,<br> +������ Two, next Arion, furious tears away:<br> +������ Hurl'd on the crags, behold they gasp, they bleed!<br> +������ And, groaning, cling upon the elusive weed;<br> +������ Another billow bursts in boundless roar!<br> +������ Arion sinks! and Memory views no more.<br> +������ ���Ha! total night and horror here preside,<br> +������ My stunn'd ear tingles to the whizzing tide;<br> +������ It is their funeral knell! and, gliding near,<br> +������ Methinks the phantoms of the dead appear:<br> +������ But, lo! emerging from the watery grave,<br> +������ Again they float incumbent on the wave;<br> +������ Again the dismal prospect opens round,—<br> +������ The wreck, the shore, the dying and the drown'd!<br> +������ And see! enfeebled by repeated shocks,<br> +������ Those two, who scramble on the adjacent rocks,<br> +������ Their faithless hold no longer can retain,<br> +������ They sink o'erwhelm'd! and never rise again.<br> +������ ���Two with Arion yet the mast upbore,<br> +������ That now above the ridges reach'd the shore:<br> +������ Still trembling to descend, they downward gaze<br> +������ With horror pale, and torpid with amaze.<br> +������ The floods recoil! the ground appears below!<br> +������ And life's faint embers now rekindling glow;<br> +������ Awhile they wait the exhausted waves' retreat,<br> +������ Then climb slow up the beach with hands and feet.<br> +������ O Heaven! deliver'd by whose sovereign hand<br> +������ Still on destruction's brink they shuddering stand,<br> +������ Receive the languid incense they bestow,<br> +������ That, damp with death, appears not yet to glow:<br> +������ To thee each soul the warm oblation pays<br> +������ With trembling ardour of unequal praise;<br> +������ In every heart dismay with wonder strives,<br> +������ And hope the sicken'd spark of life revives;<br> +������ Her magic powers their exiled health restore,<br> +������ Till horror and despair are felt no more.<br> +������ ��� Roused by the blustering tempest of the night,<br> +������ A troop of Grecians mount Colonna's height;<br> +������ When, gazing down with horror on the flood,<br> +������ Full to their view the scene of ruin stood—<br> +������ The surf with mangled bodies strew'd around,<br> +������ And those yet breathing on the sea-wash'd ground:<br> +������ Though lost to science and the nobler arts,<br> +������ Yet nature's lore inform'd their feeling hearts;<br> +������ Straight down the vale with hastening steps they hied,<br> +������ The unhappy sufferers to assist and guide.<br> +������ ���Meanwhile those three escaped beneath explore<br> +������ The first adventurous youth who reached the shore.<br> +������ Panting, with eyes averted from the day,<br> +������ Prone, helpless, on the tangly beach he lay.<br> +������ It is Palemon! oh, what tumults roll<br> +������ With hope and terror in Arion's soul!—<br> +������ "If yet unhurt he lives again to view<br> +������ His friend, and this sole remnant of our crew,<br> +������ With us to travel through this foreign zone,<br> +������ And share the future good or ill unknown?"<br> +������ Arion thus; but ah, sad doom of fate!<br> +������ That bleeding memory sorrows to relate;<br> +������ While yet afloat, on some resisting rock<br> +������ His ribs were dash'd, and fractured with the shock:<br> +������ Heart-piercing sight! those cheeks so late array'd<br> +������ In beauty's bloom, are pale with mortal shade;<br> +������ Distilling blood his lovely breast o'erspread,<br> +������ And clogg'd the golden tresses of his head;<br> +������ Nor yet the lungs by this pernicious stroke<br> +������ Were wounded, or the vocal organs broke.<br> +������ Down from his neck, with blazing gems array'd,<br> +������ Thy image, lovely Anna! hung portray'd;<br> +������ The unconscious figure, smiling all serene,<br> +������ Suspended in a golden chain was seen.<br> +������ Hadst thou, soft maiden! in this hour of woe<br> +������ Beheld him writhing from the deadly blow,<br> +������ What force of art, what language could express<br> +������ Thine agony, thine exquisite distress?<br> +������ But thou, alas! art doom'd to weep in vain<br> +������ For him thine eyes shall never see again.<br> +������ With dumb amazement pale, Arion gazed,<br> +������ And cautiously the wounded youth upraised:<br> +������ Palemon then, with equal pangs oppress'd,<br> +������ In faltering accents thus his friend address'd:<br> +������ ��� "O rescued from destruction late so nigh,<br> +������ Beneath whose fatal influence doom'd I lie;<br> +������ Are we, then, exiled to this last retreat<br> +������ Of life, unhappy! thus decreed to meet?<br> +������ Ah! how unlike what yester-morn enjoy'd,<br> +������ Enchanting hopes! for ever now destroy'd;<br> +������ For wounded, far beyond all healing power,<br> +������ Palemon dies, and this his final hour:<br> +������ By those fell breakers, where in vain I strove,<br> +������ At once cut off from fortune, life, and love!<br> +������ Far other scenes must soon present my sight,<br> +������ That lie deep-buried yet in tenfold night—<br> +������ Ah! wretched father of a wretched son,<br> +������ Whom thy paternal prudence has undone;<br> +������ How will remembrance of this blinded care<br> +������ Bend down thy head with anguish and despair!<br> +������ Such dire effects from avarice arise,<br> +������ That, deaf to nature's voice, and vainly wise,<br> +������ With force severe endeavours to control<br> +������ The noblest passions that inspire the soul.<br> +������ But, O thou sacred power! whose law connects<br> +������ The eternal chain of causes and effects,<br> +������ Let not thy chastening ministers of rage<br> +������ Afflict with sharp remorse his feeble age!<br> +������ And you, Arion! who with these the last<br> +������ Of all our crew survive the shipwreck past—<br> +������ Ah! cease to mourn, those friendly tears restrain,<br> +������ Nor give my dying moments keener pain!<br> +������ Since Heaven may soon thy wandering steps restore,<br> +������ When parted hence, to England's distant shore.<br> +������ Shouldst thou, the unwilling messenger of fate,<br> +������ To him the tragic story first relate;<br> +������ Oh! friendship's generous ardour then suppress,<br> +������ Nor hint the fatal cause of my distress;<br> +������ Nor let each horrid incident sustain<br> +������ The lengthen'd tale to aggravate his pain:<br> +������ Ah! then remember well my last request<br> +������ For her who reigns for ever in my breast;<br> +������ Yet let him prove a father and a friend,<br> +������ The helpless maid to succour and defend—<br> +������ Say, I this suit implored with parting breath,<br> +������ So Heaven befriend him at his hour of death!<br> +������ But, oh! to lovely Anna shouldst thou tell<br> +������ What dire untimely end thy friend befell;<br> +������ Draw o'er the dismal scene soft pity's veil,<br> +������ And lightly touch the lamentable tale:<br> +������ Say that my love, inviolably true,<br> +������ No change, no diminution ever knew:<br> +������ Lo! her bright image, pendent on my neck,<br> +������ Is all Palemon rescued from the wreck:<br> +������ Take it! and say, when panting in the wave<br> +������ I struggled life and this alone to save.<br> +������ ���"My soul, that fluttering hastens to be free,<br> +������ Would yet a train of thoughts impart to thee,<br> +������ But strives in vain; the chilling ice of death<br> +������ Congeals my blood, and chokes the stream of breath:<br> +������ Resign'd, she quits her comfortless abode<br> +������ To course that long, unknown, eternal road—<br> +������ O sacred source of ever-living light!<br> +������ Conduct the weary wanderer in her flight;<br> +������ Direct her onward to that peaceful shore,<br> +������ Where peril, pain, and death prevail no more.<br> +������ ��� "When thou some tale of hapless love shalt hear,<br> +������ That steals from pity's eye the melting tear;<br> +������ Of two chaste hearts, by mutual passion join'd,<br> +������ To absence, sorrow, and despair consign'd;<br> +������ Oh! then, to swell the tides of social woe<br> +������ That heal the afflicted bosom they o'erflow,<br> +������ While memory dictates, this sad shipwreck tell,<br> +������ And what distress thy wretched friend befell:<br> +������ Then, while in streams of soft compassion drown'd,<br> +������ The swains lament, and maidens weeps around;<br> +������ While lisping children, touch'd with infant fear,<br> +������ With wonder gaze, and drop the unconscious tear;<br> +������ <a name="fr99">Oh</a>! then this moral bid their souls +retain,<br> +������ All thoughts of happiness on earth are vain!<a href= +"#f99"><sup>6</sup></a>"<br> +������ ���The last faint accents trembled on his tongue,<br> +������ That now inactive to the palate clung;<br> +������ His bosom heaves a mortal groan—he dies!<br> +������ And shades eternal sink upon his eyes.<br> +������ As thus defaced in death Palemon lay,<br> +������ Arion gazed upon the lifeless clay;<br> +������ Transfix'd he stood, with awful terror fill'd,<br> +������ While down his cheek the silent drops distill'd:<br> +������ ���"O ill-starr'd votary of unspotted truth!<br> +������ Untimely perish'd in the bloom of youth;<br> +������ Should e'er thy friend arrive on Albion's land,<br> +������ He will obey, though painful, thy command;<br> +������ His tongue the dreadful story shall display,<br> +������ And all the horrors of this dismal day:<br> +������ Disastrous day! what ruin hast thou bred,<br> +������ What anguish to the living and the dead!<br> +������ How hast thou left the widow all forlorn;<br> +������ And ever doom'd the orphan child to mourn,<br> +������ Through life's sad journey hopeless to complain!<br> +������ Can sacred justice these events ordain?<br> +������ But, O my soul! avoid that wondrous maze,<br> +������ Where reason, lost in endless error, strays;<br> +������ As through this thorny vale of life we run,<br> +������ Great Cause of all effects, thy will be done!"<br> +������ ���Now had the Grecians on the beach arrived,<br> +������ To aid the helpless few who yet survived:<br> +������ While passing, they behold the waves o'erspread<br> +������ With shatter'd rafts and corses of the dead;<br> +������ Three still alive, benumb'd and faint they find,<br> +������ In mournful silence on a rock reclined:<br> +������ The generous natives, moved with social pain,<br> +������ The feeble strangers in their arms sustain;<br> +������ With pitying sighs their hapless lot deplore,<br> +������ And lead them trembling from the fatal shore.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> 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footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f95"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'The wheel:' in all large ships the helm is managed by +a wheel.<br> +<a href="#fr95">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f96"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +3:</span>� 'Quarter:' the quarter is the hinder part of a ship's +side, or that part which is near the stern.<br> +<a href="#fr96">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f97"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +4:</span>� 'Eliza:' or Dido.<br> +<a href="#fr97">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f98"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +5:</span>� 'Broaching-to:' a sudden and involuntary movement in +navigation, wherein a ship, whilst scudding or sailing before the +wind, unexpectedly turns her side to windward. It is generally +occasioned by the difficulty of steering her, or by some disaster +happening to the machinery of the helm.<br> +<a href="#fr98">return</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f99"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +6:</span>� + +<blockquote>——sed scilicet ultima semper<br> + Expectanda dies homini; <i>dicique beatus<br> + Ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet.</i></blockquote> + +Ovid, <i>Metam</i>. lib. iii.<br> +<a href="#fr99">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section28">Occasional Elegy, in which the preceding +narrative is concluded</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + The scene of death is closed! the mournful strains<br> + Dissolve in dying languor on the ear;<br> + Yet pity weeps, yet sympathy complains,<br> + And dumb suspense awaits o'erwhelm'd with fear:<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + But the sad Muses with prophetic eye<br> + At once the future and the past explore;<br> + Their harps oblivion's influence can defy,<br> + And waft the spirit to the eternal shore—<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + Then, O Palemon! if thy shade can hear<br> + The voice of friendship still lament thy doom,<br> + Yet to the sad oblations bend thine ear,<br> + That rise in vocal incense o'er thy tomb.<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + From young Arion first the news received<br> + With terror, pale unhappy Anna read;<br> + With inconsolable distress she grieved,<br> + And from her cheek the rose of beauty fled:<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + In vain, alas! the gentle virgin wept,<br> + Corrosive anguish nipt her vital bloom;<br> + O'er her soft frame diseases sternly crept,<br> + And gave the lovely victim to the tomb.<br> +<br> +<br> + 6<br> +<br> + A longer date of woe, the widow'd wife<br> + Her lamentable lot afflicted bore;<br> + Yet both were rescued from the chains of life<br> + Before Arion reach'd his native shore!<br> +<br> +<br> + 7<br> +<br> + The father unrelenting phrenzy stung,<br> + Untaught in virtue's school distress to bear;<br> + Severe remorse his tortured bosom wrung,<br> + He languish'd, groan'd, and perish'd in despair.<br> +<br> +<br> + 8<br> +<br> + Ye lost companions of distress, adieu!<br> + Your toils, and pains, and dangers are no more;<br> + The tempest now shall howl unheard by you,<br> + While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore:<br> +<br> +<br> + 9<br> +<br> + On you the blast, surcharged with rain and snow,<br> + In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat;<br> + Unfelt by you the vertic sun may glow,<br> + And scorch the panting earth with baneful heat;<br> +<br> +<br> + 10<br> +<br> + No more the joyful maid, with sprightly strain,<br> + Shall wake the dance to give you welcome home;<br> + Nor hopeless love impart undying pain,<br> + When far from scenes of social joy you roam:<br> +<br> +<br> + 11<br> +<br> + No more on yon wide watery waste you stray,<br> + While hunger and disease your life consume—<br> + While parching thirst, that burns without allay,<br> + Forbids the blasted rose of health to bloom:<br> +<br> +<br> + 12<br> +<br> + No more you feel contagion's mortal breath<br> + That taints the realms with misery severe,<br> + No more behold pale famine, scattering death,<br> + With cruel ravage desolate the year.<br> +<br> +<br> + 13<br> +<br> + The thundering drum, the trumpet's swelling strain,<br> + Unheard, shall form the long embattled line:<br> + Unheard, the deep foundations of the main<br> + Shall tremble, when the hostile squadrons join.<br> +<br> +<br> + 14<br> +<br> + Since grief, fatigue, and hazards still molest<br> + The wandering vassals of the faithless deep;<br> + Oh! happier now escaped to endless rest,<br> + Than we who still survive to wake and weep.<br> +<br> +<br> + 15<br> +<br> + What though no funeral pomp, no borrow'd tear,<br> + Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell;<br> + Nor weeping friends attend your sable bier,<br> + Who sadly listen to the passing bell;<br> +<br> +<br> + 16<br> +<br> + The tutor'd sigh, the vain parade of woe,<br> + No real anguish to the soul impart;<br> + And oft, alas! the tear that friends bestow<br> + Belies the latent feelings of the heart.<br> +<br> +<br> + 17<br> +<br> + What though no sculptured pile your name displays,<br> + Like those who perish in their country's cause?<br> + What though no epic Muse in living lays<br> + Records your dreadful daring with applause?—<br> +<br> +<br> + 18<br> +<br> + Full oft the nattering marble bids renown<br> + With blazon'd trophies deck the spotted name;<br> + And oft, too oft, the venal Muses crown<br> + The slaves of vice with never-dying fame.<br> +<br> +<br> + 19<br> +<br> + Yet shall remembrance from oblivion's veil<br> + Relieve your scene, and sigh with grief sincere;<br> + And soft compassion at your tragic tale<br> + In silent tribute pay her kindred tear.</blockquote> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section29">Miscellaneous Poems</a></h3> + +<br> +<hr width="50%" align="left"> +<br> +<br> + +<a name="section30"></a> +<h3>The Demagogue<a href="#f100"><sup>1</sup></a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="The Demagogue" border="0" cellspacing="2" +cellpadding="1"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td><a name="fr100">Bold</a> is the attempt, in these licentious +times,<br> + When with such towering strides sedition climbs,<br> + With sense or satire to confront her power,<br> + And charge her in the great decisive hour.<br> + Bold is the man, who, on her conquering day,<br> + Stands in the pass of fate to bar her way:<br> + Whose heart, by frowning arrogance unawed,<br> + Or the deep-lurking snares of specious fraud,<br> + The threats of giant-faction can deride,<br> + And stem with stubborn arm her roaring tide.<br> + For him unnumber'd brooding ills await,<br> + Scorn, malice, insolence, reproach, and hate:<br> + At him, who dares this legion to defy,<br> + A thousand mortal shafts in secret fly:<br> + Revenge, exulting with malignant joy,<br> + Pursues the incautious victim to destroy:<br> + And slander strives, with unrelenting aim,<br> + To spit her blasting venom on his name:<br> + Around him faction's harpies flap their wings,<br> + And rhyming vermin dart their feeble stings:<br> + In vain the wretch retreats, while in full cry<br> + Fierce on his throat the hungry bloodhounds fly.<br> + Enclosed with perils, thus the conscious Muse,<br> + Alarm'd, though undismay'd, her danger views.<br> + Nor shall unmanly Terror now control<br> + The strong resentment struggling in her soul.<br> + While Indignation, with resistless strain,<br> + Pours her full deluge through each swelling vein;<br> + By the vile fear that chills the coward breast,<br> + By sordid caution is her voice suppress'd.<br> + While Arrogance, with big theatric rage,<br> + Audacious struts on power's imperial stage;<br> + While o'er our country, at her dread command,<br> + Black Discord, screaming, shakes her fatal brand;<br> + While, in defiance of maternal laws,<br> + The sacrilegious sword rebellion draws:<br> + Shall she at this important hour retire,<br> + And quench in Lethe's wave her genuine fire?<br> + Honour forbid! she fears no threat'ning foe,<br> + When conscious justice bids her bosom glow:<br> + And while she kindles the reluctant flame,<br> + Let not the prudent voice of friendship blame!<br> + She feels the sting of keen resentment goad,<br> + Though guiltless yet of satire's thorny road.<br> + Let other Quixotes, frantic with renown,<br> + Plant on their brows a tawdry paper crown!<br> + While fools adore, and vassal-bards obey,<br> + Let the great monarch ass through Gotham bray!<br> + Our poet brandishes no mimic sword,<br> + To rule a realm of dunces self-explored;<br> + No bleeding victims curse his iron sway;<br> + Nor murder'd reputation marks his way.<br> + True to herself, unarm'd, the fearless Muse<br> + Through reason's path her steady course pursues:<br> + True to herself advances, undeterr'd<br> + By the rude clamours of the savage herd.<br> + As some bold surgeon, with inserted steel,<br> + Probes deep the putrid sore, intent to heal;<br> + So the rank ulcers that our patriot load,<br> + Shall she with caustic's healing fires corrode.<br> + ���Yet ere from patient slumber satire wakes,<br> + And brandishes the avenging scourge of snakes;<br> + Yet ere her eyes, with lightning's vivid ray,<br> + The dark recesses of his heart display;<br> + Let candour own the undaunted pilot's power,<br> + Felt in severest danger's trying hour!<br> + Let truth consenting, with the trump of fame,<br> + His glory, in auspicious strains, proclaim!<br> + He bade the tempest of the battle roar,<br> + That thunder'd o'er the deep from shore to shore.<br> + How oft, amid the horrors of the war,<br> + Chain'd to the bloody wheels of danger's car,<br> + How oft my bosom at thy name has glow'd,<br> + And from my beating heart applause bestow'd;<br> + Applause, that, genuine as the blush of youth<br> + Unknown to guile, was sanctified by truth!<br> + How oft I blest the patriot's honest rage,<br> + That greatly dared to lash the guilty age;<br> + That, rapt with zeal, pathetic, bold, and strong,<br> + Roll'd the full tide of eloquence along;<br> + That power's big torrent braved with manly pride,<br> + And all corruption's venal arts defied!<br> + When from afar those penetrating eyes<br> + Beheld each secret hostile scheme arise;<br> + Watch'd every motion of the faithless foe,<br> + Each plot o'erturned, and baffled every blow:<br> + A fond enthusiast, kindling at thy name,<br> + I glow'd in secret with congenial flame;<br> + While my young bosom, to deceit unknown,<br> + Believed all real virtue thine alone.<br> + ���Such then he seem'd, and such indeed might be,<br> + If truth with error ever could agree!<br> + Sure satire never with a fairer hand<br> + Portray'd the object she design'd to brand.<br> + Alas! that virtue should so soon decay,<br> + And faction's wild applause thy heart betray!<br> + The Muse with secret sympathy relents,<br> + And human failings, as a friend, laments:<br> + But when those dangerous errors, big with fate,<br> + Spread discord and distraction through the state,<br> + Reason should then exert her utmost power<br> + To guard our passions in that fatal hour.<br> + ���There was a time, ere yet his conscious heart<br> + Durst from the hardy path of truth depart;<br> + While yet with generous sentiment it glow'd,<br> + A stranger to corruption's slippery road;<br> + There was a time our patriot durst avow<br> + Those honest maxims he despises now.<br> + How did he then his country's wounds bewail,<br> + And at the insatiate German vulture rail!<br> + Whose cruel talons Albion's entrails tore,<br> + Whose hungry maw was glutted with her gore!<br> + The mists of error, that in darkness held<br> + Our reason, like the sun, his voice dispell'd.<br> + And lo! exhausted, with no power to save,<br> + We view Britannia panting on the wave:<br> + Hung round her neck, a millstone's pond'rous weight<br> + Drags down the struggling victim to her fate!<br> + While horror at the thought our bosom feels,<br> + We bless the man this horror who reveals.<br> + ���But what alarming thoughts the heart amaze,<br> + When on this Janus' other face we gaze!<br> + For, lo, possess'd of power's imperial reins,<br> + Our chief those visionary ills disdains!<br> + Alas, how soon the steady patriot turns!<br> + In vain this change astonish'd England mourns!<br> + Her vital blood, that pour'd from every vein,<br> + So late, to fill the accursed Westphalian drain,<br> + Then ceased to flow; the vulture now no more<br> + With unrelenting rage her bowels tore.<br> + His magic rod transforms the bird of prey!<br> + The millstone feels the touch, and melts away!<br> + And, strange to tell, still stranger to believe,<br> + What eyes ne'er saw, and heart could ne'er conceive,<br> + At once, transplanted by the sorcerer's wand,<br> + Columbian hills in distant Austria stand!<br> + America, with pangs before unknown,<br> + Now with Westphalia utters groan for groan:<br> + By sympathy she fevers with her fires,<br> + Burns as she burns, and as she dies expires.<br> + ���From maxims long adopted thus he flew,<br> + For ever changing, yet for ever true:<br> + Swoln with success, and with applause imflamed,<br> + He scorn'd all caution, all advice disclaim'd:<br> + Arm'd with war's thunder, he embraced no more<br> + Those patriot principles maintain'd before.<br> + Perverse, inconstant, obstinate, and proud,<br> + Drunk with ambition, turbulent and loud,<br> + He wrecks us headlong on that dreadful strand<br> + He once devoted all his powers to brand!<br> + ���Our hapless country views with weeping eyes,<br> + On every side, o'erwhelming horrors rise;<br> + Drain'd of her wealth, exhausted of her power,<br> + And agonized as in the mortal hour;<br> + Her armies, wasted with incessant toils,<br> + Or doom'd to perish in contagious soils,<br> + To guard some needy royal plunderer's throne,<br> + And sent to fall in battles not their own.<br> + The enormous debt at home, though long o'ercharged,<br> + With grievous burdens annually enlarged:<br> + Crush'd with increasing taxes to the ground,<br> + That suck, like vampires, every bleeding wound:<br> + Ground with severe distress the industrious poor<br> + Driven by the ruthless landlord to the door.<br> + ���While thus our land her hapless fate bemoans<br> + In secret, and with inward sorrow groans;<br> + Though deck'd with tinsel trophies of renown,<br> + All gash'd with sores, with anguish bending down;<br> + Can yet some impious parricide appear,<br> + Who strives to make this anguish more severe?<br> + Can one exist, so much his country's foe,<br> + To bid her wounds with fresh effusion flow?<br> + There can; to him in vain she lifts her eyes,<br> + His soul relentless hears her piercing sighs!<br> + Shameless of front, impatient of control,<br> + He spurs her onward to destruction's goal!<br> + Nor yet content on curst Westphalia's shore<br> + With mad profusion to exhaust her store,<br> + Still peace his pompous fulminations brand,<br> + As pirates tremble at the sight of land:<br> + Still to new wars the public eye he turns,<br> + Defies all peril, and at reason spurns;<br> + Till press'd with danger, by distress assail'd,<br> + That baffled courage, and o'er skill prevail'd;<br> + Till foundering in the storm himself had brew'd,<br> + He strives at last its horrors to elude.<br> + Some wretched shift must still protect his name,<br> + And to the guiltless head transfer his shame:<br> + Then hearing modest diffidence oppose<br> + His rash advice, that golden time he chose;<br> + And while big surges threaten'd to o'erwhelm<br> + The ship, ingloriously forsook the helm.<br> + ���But all the events collected to relate,<br> + Let us his actions recapitulate.<br> + ���He first assumed, by mean perfidious art,<br> + Those patriot tenets foreign to his heart:<br> + Next, by his country's fond applauses swell'd,<br> + Thrust himself forward into power, and held<br> + The reins on principles which he alone,<br> + Grown drunk and wanton with success, could own;<br> + Betray'd her interest and abused her trust;<br> + Then, deaf to prayers, forsook her in disgust;<br> + With tragic mummery, and most vile grimace,<br> + Rode through the city with a woful face,<br> + As in distress, a patriot out of place!<br> + Insults his generous prince, and in the day<br> + Of trouble skulks, because he cannot sway!<br> + In foreign climes embroils him with allies,<br> + And bids at home the flames of discord rise!<br> + ���She comes! from hell the exulting fury springs,<br> + With grim destruction sailing on her wings!<br> + Around her scream a hundred harpies fell!<br> + A hundred demons shriek with hideous yell!<br> + From where, in mortal venom dipt on high,<br> + Full-drawn the deadliest shafts of satire fly;<br> + Where Churchill brandishes his clumsy club,<br> + And Wilkes unloads his excremental tub,<br> + Down to where Entick, awkward and unclean,<br> + Crawls on his native dust, a worm obscene!<br> + While with unnumber'd wings from van to rear<br> + Myriads of nameless buzzing drones appear:<br> + From their dark cells the angry insects swarm,<br> + And every little sting attempt to arm.<br> + <a name="fr101">Here</a> Chaplains, Privileges, moulder +round,<br> + And feeble Scourges<a href="#f101"><sup>2</sup></a>, rot upon +the ground:<br> + Here hungry Kenrick strives, with fruitless aim,<br> + With Grub-street slander to extend his name:<br> + At Bruin flies the slavering, snarling cur,<br> + But only fills his famish'd jaws with fur.<br> + Here Baldwin spreads the assassinating cloak,<br> + Where lurking rancour gives the secret stroke;<br> + While gorged with filth, around this senseless block,<br> + A swarm of spider-bards obsequious flock:<br> + While his demure Welch goat, with lifted hoof,<br> + In Poet's corner hangs each flimsy woof;<br> + And frisky grown, attempts, with awkward prance,<br> + On wit's gay theatre to bleat and dance.<br> + Here, seized with iliac passion, mouthing Leech,<br> + Too low, alas! for satire's whip to reach,<br> + From his black entrails, faction's common sewer,<br> + Disgorges all her excremental store.<br> + ���With equal pity and regret the Muse<br> + The thundering storms that rage around her views;<br> + Impartial views the tides of discord blend,<br> + Where lordly rogues for power and place contend;<br> + Were not her patriot-heart with anguish torn,<br> + Would eye the opposing chiefs with equal scorn.<br> + Let freedom's deadliest foes for freedom bawl,<br> + Alike to her who govern or who fall!<br> + Aloof she stands, all unconcern'd and mute,<br> + While the rude rabble bellow, "Down with Bute!"<br> + While villany the scourge of justice bilks,<br> + Howl on, ye ruffians! "Liberty and Wilkes."<br> + Let some soft mummy of a peer, who stains<br> + His rank, some sodden lump of ass's brains,<br> + To that abandon'd wretch his sanction give;<br> + Support his slander, and his wants relieve!<br> + Let the great hydra roar aloud for Pitt,<br> + And power and wisdom all to him submit!<br> + Let proud ambition's sons, with hearts severe,<br> + Like parricides, their mother's bowels tear!<br> + Sedition her triumphant flag display,<br> + And in embodied ranks her troops array!<br> + While coward justice, trembling on her seat,<br> + Like a vile slave descends to lick her feet!<br> + Nor here let censure draw her awful blade,<br> + If from her theme the wayward Muse has stray'd!<br> + Sometimes the impetuous torrent, o'er its mounds<br> + Redundant bursting, swamps the adjacent grounds;<br> + But rapid, and impatient of delay,<br> + Through the deep channel still pursues its way.<br> + ���Our pilot now retired, no pleasure knows,<br> + But every man and measure to oppose;<br> + Like Æsop's cur, still snarling and perverse,<br> + Bloated with envy, to mankind a curse,<br> + No more at council his advice will lend,<br> + But with all others who advise contend:<br> + He bids distraction o'er his country blaze,<br> + Then, swelter'd with revenge, retreats to Hayes:<br> + Swallows the pension; but, aware of blame,<br> + Transfers the proffer'd peerage to his dame.<br> + The felon thus of old, his name to save,<br> + His pilfer'd mutton to a brother gave.<br> + ���But should some frantic wretch whom all men know<br> + To nature and humanity a foe,<br> + Deaf to the widow's moan and orphan's cry,<br> + And dead to shame and friendship's social tie;<br> + Should such a miscreant, at the hour of death,<br> + To thee his fortunes and domains bequeath;<br> + With cruel rancour wresting from his heirs<br> + What nature taught them to expect as theirs;<br> + Wouldst thou with this detested robber join,<br> + Their legal wealth to plunder and purloin?<br> + Forbid it, Heaven! thou canst not be so base,<br> + To blast thy name with infamous disgrace!<br> + The Muse who wakes, yet triumphs o'er thy hate,<br> + Dares not so black a thought anticipate:<br> + By Heaven, the Muse her ignorance betrays;<br> + For while a thousand eyes with wonder gaze,<br> + Though gorged and glutted with his country's store,<br> + The vulture pounces on the shining ore;<br> + In his strong talons gripes the golden prey,<br> + And from the weeping orphan bears away.<br> + ���The great, the alarming deed is yet to come,<br> + That, big with fate, strikes expectation dumb.<br> + Oh, patient, injured England, yet unveil<br> + Thy eyes, and listen to the Muse's tale,<br> + That true as honour, unadorn'd with art,<br> + Thy wrongs in fair succession shall impart!<br> + ���Ere yet the desolating god of war<br> + Had crush'd pale Europe with his iron car,<br> + Had shook her shores with terrible alarms,<br> + And thunder'd o'er the trembling deep, "To arms!"<br> + In climes remote, beyond the setting sun,<br> + Beyond the Atlantic wave, his rage begun.<br> + Alas! poor country, how with pangs unknown<br> + To Britain did thy filial bosom groan!<br> + What savage armies did thy realms invade,<br> + Unarm'd, and distant from maternal aid!<br> + Thy cottages with cruel flames consumed,<br> + And the sad owner to destruction doom'd;<br> + Mangled with wounds, with pungent anguish torn,<br> + Or left to perish naked and forlorn!<br> + What carnage reek'd upon thy ruin'd plain!<br> + What infants bled! what virgins shriek'd in vain!<br> + In every look distraction seem'd to glare,<br> + Each heart was rack'd with horror and despair.<br> + To Albion then, with groans and piercing cries,<br> + America lift up her dying eyes;<br> + To generous Albion pour'd forth all her pain,<br> + To whom the wretched never wept in vain.<br> + She heard, and instant to relieve her flew,<br> + Her arm the gleaming sword of vengeance drew;<br> + Far o'er the ocean wave her voice was known,<br> + That shook the deep abyss from zone to zone:<br> + She bade the thunder of the battle glow,<br> + And pour'd the storm of lightning on the foe;<br> + Nor ceased till, crown'd with victory complete,<br> + Pale Spain and France lay trembling at her feet.<br> + ���Her fears dispell'd, and all her foes removed,<br> + Her fertile grounds industriously improved,<br> + Her towns with trade, with fleets her harbours crown'd,<br> + And plenty smiling on her plains around:<br> + Thus blest with all that commerce could supply,<br> + America regards with jealous eye,<br> + And canker'd heart, the parent, who so late<br> + Had snatch'd her gasping from the jaws of fate;<br> + Who now, with wars for her begun, relax'd,<br> + With grievous aggravated burthens tax'd,<br> + Her treasures wasted by a hungry brood<br> + Of cormorants, that suck her vital blood;<br> + Who now of her demands that tribute due,<br> + For whom alone the avenging sword she drew.<br> + ���Scarce had America the just request<br> + Received, when, kindling in her faithless breast,<br> + Resentment glows, enraged sedition burns,<br> + And, lo! the mandate of our laws she spurns!<br> + Her secret hate, incapable of shame<br> + Or gratitude, incenses to a flame,<br> + Derides our power, bids insurrection rise,<br> + Insults our honour, and our laws defies;<br> + O'er all her coasts is heard the audacious roar,<br> + "England shall rule America no more!"<br> + ���Soon as on Britain's shore the alarm was heard,<br> + Stern indignation in her look appear'd;<br> + Yet, both to punish, she her scourge withheld<br> + From her perfidious sons who thus rebell'd;<br> + Now stung with anguish, now with rage assail'd,<br> + Till pity in her soul at last prevail'd,<br> + Determined not to draw her penal steel<br> + Till fair persuasion made her last appeal.<br> + ���And now the great decisive hour drew nigh,<br> + She on her darling patriot cast her eye;<br> + His voice like thunder will support her cause,<br> + Enforce her dictates, and sustain her laws;<br> + Rich with her spoils, his sanction will dismay,<br> + And bid the insurgents tremble and obey.<br> + ���He comes!—but where, the amazing theme to hit,<br> + Discover language or ideas fit?<br> + Splay-footed words, that hector, bounce, and swagger,<br> + The sense to puzzle, and the brain to stagger?<br> + Our patriot comes! with frenzy fired, the Muse<br> + With allegoric eye his figure views!<br> + Like the grim portress of hell-gate he stands,<br> + Bellona's scourge hangs trembling in his hands!<br> + Around him, fiercer than the ravenous shark,<br> + "A cry of hell-hounds' never-ceasing bark;"<br> + And lo! the enormous giant to bedeck,<br> + A golden millstone hangs upon his neck!<br> + On him ambition's vulture darts her claws,<br> + And with voracious rage his liver gnaws.<br> + Our patriot comes!—the buckles of whose shoes<br> + Not Cromwell's self was worthy to unloose.<br> + Repeat his name in thunder to the skies!<br> + Ye hills fall prostrate, and ye vales arise!<br> + Through faction's wilderness prepare the way!<br> + Prepare, ye listening senates, to obey!<br> + The idol of the mob, behold him stand,<br> + The Alpha and Omega of the land!<br> + ���Methinks I hear the bellowing demagogue<br> + Dumb-sounding declamations disembogue,<br> + Expressions of immeasurable length,<br> + Where pompous jargon fills the place of strength;<br> + Where fulminating, rumbling eloquence,<br> + With loud theatric rage, bombards the sense;<br> + And words, deep rank'd in horrible array,<br> + Exasperated metaphors convey!<br> + With these auxiliaries, drawn up at large,<br> + He bids enraged sedition beat the charge:<br> + From England's sanguine hope his aid withdraws,<br> + And lists to guide in insurrection's cause.<br> + And lo! where, in her sacrilegious hand,<br> + The parricide lifts high her burning brand!<br> + Go, while she yet suspends her impious aim,<br> + With those infernal lungs arouse the flame!<br> + Though England merits not her least regard,<br> + Thy friendly voice gold boxes shall reward!<br> + Arise, embark! prepare thy martial car,<br> + To lead her armies and provoke the war!<br> + Rebellion wakes, impatient of delay,<br> + The signal her black ensigns to display.<br> + ���To thee, whose soul, all steadfast and serene,<br> + Beholds the tumults that distract our scene;<br> + And, in the calmer seats of wisdom placed,<br> + Enjoys the sweets of sentiment and taste:<br> + To thee, O Marius! whom no factions sway,<br> + The impartial Muse devotes her honest lay!<br> + In her fond breast no prostituted aim,<br> + Nor venal hope, assumes fair friendship's name:<br> + Sooner shall Churchill's feeble meteor-ray,<br> + That led our foundering demagogue astray,<br> + Darkling to grope and flounce in Error's night,<br> + Eclipse great Mansfield's strong meridian light,<br> + Than shall the change of fortune, time, or place,<br> + Thy generous friendship in my heart efface!<br> + Oh! whether wandering from thy country far,<br> + And plunged amid the murdering scenes of war;<br> + Or in the blest retreat of virtue laid,<br> + Where contemplation spreads her awful shade;<br> + If ever to forget thee I have power,<br> + May Heaven desert me at my latest hour!<br> + ���Still satire bids my bosom beat to arms,<br> + And throb with irresistible alarms.<br> + Like some full river charged with falling showers,<br> + Still o'er my breast her swelling deluge pours.<br> + But rest and silence now, who wait beside,<br> + With their strong flood-gates bar the impetuous tide.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +140<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +150<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +160<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +170<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +180<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +190<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +200<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +210<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +220<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +230<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +240<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +250<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +260<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +270<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +280<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +290<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +300<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +310<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +320<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +330<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +340<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +350<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +360<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +370<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +380<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +390<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +400<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +410<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +420<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +430<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +440<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f100"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� This poem was intended by the author to be a political +satire on Lord Chatham, Wilkes, and Churchill, and to refute the +opinions expressed in the poems of Churchill.<br> +<a href="#fr100">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f101"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Chaplains,' 'Privileges,' 'Scourges:' certain poems +intended to be very satirical.<br> +<a href="#fr101">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section31">A Poem, sacred to the Memory of His Royal +Highness Frederick Prince of Wales</a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="Sacred to the Memory" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>���From the big horror of War's hoarse alarms,<br> + And the tremendous clang of clashing arms,<br> + Descend, my Muse! a deeper scene to draw<br> + (A scene will hold the listening world in awe)<br> + Is my intent: Melpomene inspire,<br> + While, with sad notes, I strike the trembling lyre!<br> + And may my lines with easy motion flow,<br> + Melt as they move, and fill each heart with woe:<br> + Big with the sorrow it describes, my song,<br> + In solemn pomp, majestic, move along.<br> + ���O bear me to some awful silent glade,<br> + Where cedars form an unremitting shade;<br> + Where never track of human feet was known;<br> + Where never cheerful light of Phoebus shone;<br> + Where chirping linnets warble tales of love,<br> + And hoarser winds howl murmuring through the grove;<br> + Where some unhappy wretch aye mourns his doom,<br> + Deep melancholy wandering through the gloom;<br> + Where solitude and meditation roam,<br> + And where no dawning glimpse of hope can come!<br> + Place me in such an unfrequented shade,<br> + To speak to none but with the mighty dead;<br> + To assist the pouring rains with brimful eyes,<br> + And aid hoarse howling Boreas with my sighs.<br> + ���When Winter's horrors left Britannia's isle,<br> + And Spring in blooming vendure 'gan to smile;<br> + When rills, unbound, began to purl along,<br> + And warbling larks renew'd the vernal song;<br> + When sprouting roses, deck'd in crimson dye,<br> + Began to bloom, ...<br> + Hard fate! then, noble Frederic, didst thou die:<br> + Doom'd by inexorable fate's decree,<br> + The approaching summer ne'er on earth to see:<br> + In thy parch'd vitals burning fevers rage,<br> + Whose flame the virtue of no herbs assuage;<br> + No cooling medicine can its heat allay,<br> + Relentless destiny cries, "No delay!"<br> + Ye powers! and must a prince so noble die?<br> + (Whose equal breathes not under the ambient sky)<br> + Ah! must he die, then, in youth's full-blown prime,<br> + Cut by the scythe of all-devouring Time?<br> + Yes, fate has doom'd! his soul now leaves its weight,<br> + And all are under the decree of fate;<br> + The irrevocable doom of destiny<br> + Pronounced, "All mortals must submissive die."<br> + The princes wait around with weeping eyes,<br> + And the dome echoes all with piercing cries:<br> + With doleful noise the matrons scream around,<br> + With female shrieks the vaulted roofs rebound:<br> + A dismal noise! Now one promiscuous roar<br> + Cries, "Ah! the noble Frederic is no more!"<br> + The chief reluctant yields his latest breath;<br> + His eye-lids settle in the shades of death;<br> + Dark sable shades present before each eye,<br> + And the deep vast abyss, Eternity!<br> + Through perpetuity's expanse he springs;<br> + And o'er the vast profound he shoots on wings;<br> + The soul to distant regions steers her flight,<br> + And sails incumbent on inferior night:<br> + With vast celerity she shoots away,<br> + And meets the regions of eternal day,<br> + To shine for ever in the heavenly birth,<br> + And leave the body here to rot on earth.<br> + The melancholy patriots round it wait,<br> + And mourn the royal hero's timeless fate.<br> + Disconsolate they move, a mournful band!<br> + In solemn pomp they march along the strand:<br> + The noble chief, interr'd in youthful bloom,<br> + Lies in the dreary regions of the tomb.<br> + ���Adown Augusta's pallid visage flow<br> + The living pearls with unaffected woe:<br> + Disconsolate, hapless, see pale Britain mourn,<br> + Abandon'd isle! forsaken and forlorn<br> + With desperate hands her bleeding breast she beats;<br> + While o'er her, frowning, grim destruction threats.<br> + She mourns with heart-felt grief, she rends her hair,<br> + And fills with piercing cries the echoing air.<br> + Well mayst thou mourn thy patriot's timeless end,<br> + Thy Muse's patron, and thy merchant's friend!<br> + What heart shall pity thy full-flowing grief?<br> + What hand now deign to give thy poor relief?<br> + To encourage arts, whose bounty now shall flow,<br> + And learned science to promote, bestow?<br> + Who now protect thee from the hostile frown,<br> + And to the injured just return his own?<br> + From usury and oppression who shall guard<br> + The helpless, and the threatening ruin ward?<br> + Alas! the truly noble Briton's gone,<br> + And left us here in ceaseless woe to moan!<br> + Impending desolation hangs around,<br> + And ruin hovers o'er the trembling ground:<br> + The blooming spring droops her enamell'd head,<br> + Her glories wither, and her flowers all fade:<br> + The sprouting leaves already drop away;<br> + Languish the living herbs with pale decay:<br> + The bowing trees, see! o'er the blasted heath,<br> + Depending, bend beneath the weight of death:<br> + Wrapp'd in the expansive gloom, the lightnings play,<br> + Hoarse thunder mutters through the aërial way:<br> + All Nature feels the pangs, the storms renew,<br> + And sprouts, with fatal haste, the baleful yew.<br> + ���Some power avert the threatening horrid weight,<br> + And, godlike, prop Britannia's sinking state!<br> + Minerva, hover o'er young George's soul;<br> + May sacred wisdom all his deeds control!<br> + Exalted grandeur in each action shine,<br> + His conduct all declare the youth divine!<br> + Methinks I see him shine a glorious star,<br> + Gentle in peace, but terrible in war!<br> + ���Methinks each region does his praise resound,<br> + And nations tremble at his name around!<br> + His fame, through every distant kingdom rung,<br> + Proclaims him of the race from whence he sprung:<br> + So sable smoke in volumes curls on high;<br> + Heaps roll on heaps, and blacken all the sky:<br> + Already so, his fame, methinks, is hurl'd<br> + Around the admiring, venerating world.<br> + So the benighted wanderer, on his way,<br> + Laments the absence of all-cheering day;<br> + Far distant from his friends and native home,<br> + And not one glimpse does glimmer through the gloom:<br> + In thought he breathes, each sigh his latest breath,<br> + Present, each meditation, pits of death:<br> + Irregular, wild chimeras fill his soul,<br> + And death, and dying, every step control.<br> + Till from the east there breaks a purple gleam,<br> + His fears then vanish as a fleeting dream:<br> + Hid in a cloud the sun first shoots his ray,<br> + Then breaks effulgent on the illumined day;<br> + We see no spot then in the flaming rays,<br> + Confused and lost within the excessive blaze.</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> + <br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section32">Ode on the Duke of York's second +departure from England as Rear-Admiral</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>written aboard the <i>Royal George</i>.</b><br> +<br> +<i>{Note: line-numbering does not count blank lines, only lines +of actual poetry. html Ed.}</i><br> +<br> +<table summary="Ode on the Duke" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>Again the royal streamers play,<br> + To glory Edward hastes away;<br> + Adieu, ye happy silvan bowers,<br> + Where pleasure's sprightly throng await!<br> + Ye domes, where regal grandeur towers<br> + In purple ornaments of state!<br> + Ye scenes where virtue's sacred strain<br> + Bids the tragic Muse complain!<br> + Where satire treads the comic stage,<br> + To scourge and mend a venal age;<br> + Where music pours the soft, melodious lay,<br> + And melting symphonies congenial play:<br> + Ye silken sons of ease, who dwell<br> + In flowery vales of peace, farewell!<br> + In vain the goddess of the myrtle grove<br> + Her charms ineffable displays;<br> + In vain she calls to happier realms of love,<br> + Which Spring's unfading bloom arrays;<br> + In vain her living roses blow,<br> + And ever-vernal pleasures grow;<br> + The gentle sports of youth no more<br> + Allure him to the peaceful shore;<br> + Arcadian ease no longer charms,<br> + For war and fame alone can please:<br> + His throbbing bosom beats to arms,<br> + To war the hero moves, through storms and wintry seas.<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus:</b> + +<blockquote>The gentle sports of youth no more<br> + Allure him to the peaceful shore,<br> +For war and fame alone can please:<br> +To war the hero moves, through storms and wintry +seas.</blockquote> + +Though danger's hostile train appears<br> + To thwart the course that honour steers;<br> + Unmoved he leads the rugged way,<br> + Despising peril and dismay.<br> + His country calls; to guard her laws,<br> + Lo! every joy the gallant youth resigns;<br> + The avenging naval sword he draws,<br> + And o'er the waves conducts her martial lines:<br> + Hark! his sprightly clarions play;<br> + Follow where he leads the way!<br> + The piercing fife, the sounding drum,<br> + Tell the deeps their master's come.<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Hark! his sprightly clarions play,<br> + Follow where he leads the way!<br> + The piercing fife, the sounding drum,<br> + Tell the deeps their master's come.</blockquote> + +Thus Alcmena's warlike son<br> + The thorny course of virtue run,<br> + When, taught by her unerring voice,<br> + He made the glorious choice:<br> + Severe, indeed, the attempt he knew,<br> + Youth's genial ardours to subdue:<br> + For pleasure, Venus' lovely form assumed;<br> + Her glowing charms, divinely bright,<br> + In all the pride of beauty bloom'd,<br> + And struck his ravish'd sight.<br> + Transfix'd, amazed,<br> + Alcides gazed:<br> + Enchanting grace<br> + Adorn'd her face,<br> + And all his changing looks confess'd<br> + The alternate passions in his breast:<br> + Her swelling bosom half reveal'd,<br> + Her eyes that kindling raptures fired,<br> + A thousand tender pains instill'd,<br> + A thousand flattering thoughts inspired:<br> + Persuasion's sweetest language hung<br> + In melting accent on her tongue:<br> + Deep in his heart the winning tale<br> + Infused a magic power;<br> + She press'd him to the rosy vale,<br> + And show'd the Elysian bower:<br> + Her hand that trembling ardours move,<br> + Conducts him blushing to the blest alcove:<br> + Ah! see, o'erpower'd by beauty's charms,<br> + And won by love's resistless arms,<br> + The captive yields to nature's soft alarms!<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Ah! see, o'erpower'd by beauty's charms,<br> + And won by love's resistless arms,<br> + The captive yields to nature's soft alarms!</blockquote> + +Assist, ye guardian powers above!<br> + From ruin save the son of Jove!<br> + By heavenly mandate virtue came,<br> + And check'd the fatal flame:<br> + Swift as the quivering needle wheels,<br> + Whose point the magnet's influence feels,<br> + Inspired with awe,<br> + He, turning, saw<br> + The nymph divine<br> + Transcendent shine;<br> + And, while he view'd the godlike maid,<br> + His heart a sacred impulse sway'd:<br> + His eyes with ardent motion roll,<br> + And love, regret, and hope, divide his soul.<br> + But soon her words his pain destroy,<br> + And all the numbers of his heart,<br> + Return'd by her celestial art,<br> + Now swell'd to strains of nobler joy.<br> + Instructed thus by virtue's lore,<br> + His happy steps the realms explore,<br> + Where guilt and error are no more:<br> + The clouds that veil'd his intellectual ray,<br> + Before his breath dispelling, melt away:<br> + Broke loose from pleasure's glittering chain,<br> + He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign:<br> + Convinced, resolved, to virtue then he turn'd,<br> + And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Broke loose from pleasure's glittering chain,<br> + He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign:<br> + Convinced, resolved, to virtue then he turn'd,<br> + And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.</blockquote> + +So when on Britain's other hope she shone,<br> + Like him the royal youth she won:<br> + Thus taught, he bids his fleet advance<br> + To curb the power of Spain and France:<br> + Aloft his martial ensigns flow,<br> + And hark! his brazen trumpets blow!<br> + The watery profound,<br> + Awaked by the sound,<br> + All trembles around:<br> + While Edward o'er the azure fields<br> + Fraternal wonder wields:<br> + High on the deck behold he stands,<br> + And views around his floating bands<br> + In awful order join:<br> + They, while the warlike trumpet's strain,<br> + Deep sounding, swells along the main,<br> + Extend the embattled line.<br> + Then Britain triumphantly saw<br> + His armament ride<br> + Supreme on the tide,<br> + And o'er the vast ocean give law.<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Then Britain triumphantly saw<br> + His armament ride,<br> + Supreme on the tide,<br> + And o'er the vast ocean give law.</blockquote> + +Now with shouting peals of joy,<br> + The ships their horrid tubes display,<br> + Tier over tier in terrible array,<br> + And wait the signal to destroy.<br> + The sailors all burn to engage:<br> + Hark! hark! their shouts arise,<br> + And shake the vaulted skies!<br> + Exulting with bacchanal rage.<br> + Then, Neptune, the hero revere,<br> + Whose power is superior to thine!<br> + And, when his proud squadrons appear,<br> + The trident and chariot resign!<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Then, Neptune, the hero revere,<br> + Whose power is superior to thine!<br> + And, when his proud squadrons appear,<br> + The trident and chariot resign!</blockquote> + +Albion, wake thy grateful voice!<br> + Let thy hills and vales rejoice!<br> + O'er remotest hostile regions<br> + Thy victorious flags are known;<br> + Thy resistless martial legions<br> + Dreadful move from zone to zone.<br> + Thy flaming bolts unerring roll,<br> + And all the trembling globe control:<br> + Thy seamen, invincibly true,<br> + No menace, no fraud, can subdue:<br> + To thy great trust<br> + Severely just,<br> + All dissonant strife they disclaim:<br> + To meet the foe,<br> + Their bosoms glow;<br> + Who only are rivals in fame.<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Thy seamen, invincibly true,<br> + No menace, no fraud, can subdue:<br> + All dissonant strife they disclaim,<br> + And only are rivals in fame.</blockquote> + +For Edward tune your harps, ye Nine!<br> + Triumphant strike each living string;<br> + For him, in ecstasy divine,<br> + Your choral Io Paeans sing!<br> + For him your festive concerts breathe!<br> + For him your flowery garlands wreath!<br> + Wake! O wake the joyful song!<br> + Ye Fauns of the woods,<br> + Ye Nymphs of the floods,<br> + The musical current prolong!<br> + Ye Silvans, that dance on the plain,<br> + To swell the grand chorus accord!<br> + Ye Tritons, that sport on the main,<br> + Exulting, acknowledge your lord!<br> + Till all the wild numbers combined,<br> + That floating proclaim<br> + Our Admiral's name,<br> + In symphony roll on the wind!<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>Wake! O wake the joyful song!<br> + Ye Silvans, that dance on the plain,<br> + Ye Tritons, that sport on the main,<br> + The musical current prolong!</blockquote> + +Oh, while consenting Britons praise,<br> + These votive measures deign to hear!<br> + For thee my Muse awakes her lays,<br> + For thee the unequal viol plays,<br> + The tribute of a soul sincere.<br> + Nor thou, illustrious chief, refuse<br> + The incense of a nautic Muse!<br> + For ah! to whom shall Neptune's sons complain,<br> + But him whose arms unrivall'd rule the main?<br> + Deep on my grateful breast<br> + Thy favour is imprest:<br> + No happy son of wealth or fame<br> + To court a royal patron came!<br> + A hapless youth, whose vital page<br> + Was one sad lengthen'd tale of woe;<br> + Where ruthless fate, impelling tides of rage,<br> + Bade wave on wave in dire succession flow;<br> + To glittering stars and titled names unknown,<br> + Preferr'd his suit to thee alone.<br> + The tale your sacred pity moved;<br> + You felt, consented, and approved.<br> + Then touch my strings, ye blest Pierian choir!<br> + Exalt to rapture every happy line;<br> + My bosom kindle with Promethean fire;<br> + And swell each note with energy divine!<br> + No more to plaintive sounds of woe<br> + Let the vocal numbers flow!<br> + Perhaps the chief to whom I sing<br> + May yet ordain auspicious days,<br> + To wake the lyre with nobler lays,<br> + And tune to war the nervous string.<br> + For who, untaught in Neptune's school,<br> + Though all the powers of genius he possess,<br> + Though disciplined by classic rule,<br> + With daring pencil can display<br> + The fight that thunders on the watery way;<br> + And all its horrid incidents express?<br> + To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong;<br> + Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song!<br> + <br> + <b>Chorus</b>. + +<blockquote>To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong;<br> + Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song!</blockquote> +</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +60<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +70<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +80<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +90<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +100<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +110<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +120<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +130<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +140<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +150<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +160<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +170<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +180<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +190<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +200<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +210<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +220<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +230<br> +<br> + <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section33">The Fond Lover ­ a Ballad</a></h3> + +<br> +<blockquote>1<br> +<br> + A nymph of every charm possess'd,<br> + That native virtue gives,<br> + Within my bosom all confess'd,<br> + In bright idea lives.<br> + For her my trembling numbers play<br> + Along the pathless deep,<br> + While, sadly social with my lay,<br> + The winds in concert weep.<br> +<br> +<br> + 2<br> +<br> + If beauty's sacred influence charms<br> + The rage of adverse fate;<br> + Say why the pleasing soft alarms<br> + Such cruel pangs create?<br> + Since all her thoughts by sense refined,<br> + Unartful truth express;<br> + Say wherefore sense and truth are join'd<br> + To give my soul distress?<br> +<br> +<br> + 3<br> +<br> + If when her blooming lips I press,<br> + Which vernal fragrance fills,<br> + Through all my veins the sweet excess<br> + In trembling motion thrills;<br> + Say whence this secret anguish grows,<br> + Congenial with my joy?<br> + And why the touch, where pleasure glows,<br> + Should vital peace destroy?<br> +<br> +<br> + 4<br> +<br> + If, when my fair, in melting song,<br> + Awakes the vocal lay,<br> + Not all your notes, ye Phocian throng,<br> + Such pleasing sounds convey;<br> + Thus wrapt all o'er with fondest love,<br> + Why heaves this broken sigh?<br> + For then my blood forgets to move,<br> + I gaze, adore, and die.<br> +<br> +<br> + 5<br> +<br> + Accept, my charming maid, the strain<br> + Which you alone inspire;<br> + To thee the dying strings complain<br> + That quiver on my lyre.<br> + O give this bleeding bosom ease,<br> + That knows no joy but thee;<br> + Teach me thy happy art to please,<br> + Or deign to love like me.</blockquote> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section34">On the Uncommon Scarcity of Poetry in the +Gentleman's Magazine for December last, 1755, by I. W., a +sailor</a></h3> + +<br> +<table summary="Shortage of Poetry" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>The springs of Helicon can winter bind,<br> + And chill the fervour of a poet's mind?<br> + What though the lowering skies and driving storm<br> + The scenes of nature wide around deform,<br> + The birds no longer sing, nor roses blow,<br> + And all the landscape lies conceal'd in snow;<br> + Yet rigid Winter still is known to spare<br> + The brighter beauties of the lovely fair:<br> + Ye lovely fair, your sacred influence bring,<br> + And with your smiles anticipate the Spring!<br> + Yet what avail the smiles of lovely maids,<br> + Or vernal suns that glad the flowery glades?<br> + The wood's green foliage, or the varying scene<br> + Of fields and lawns, and gliding streams between?<br> + What, to the wretch whom harder fates ordain<br> + Through the long year to plough the stormy main?<br> + No murmuring streams, no sound of distant sheep,<br> + Or song of birds invite his eyes to sleep.<br> + By toil exhausted, when he sinks to rest,<br> + Beneath his sun-burnt head no flowers are prest:<br> + Down on the deck his fainting limbs are laid,<br> + No spreading trees dispense their cooling shade,<br> + No zephyrs round his aching temples play,<br> + No fragrant breezes noxious heats allay.<br> + The rude, rough wind which stern AEolus sends,<br> + Drives on in blasts, and while it cools, offends.<br> + He wakes, but hears no music from the grove;<br> + No varied landscape courts his eye to rove.<br> + O'er the wide main he looks to distant skies,<br> + Where nought but waves on rolling waves arise;<br> + The boundless view fatigues his aching sight,<br> + Nor yields his eye one object of delight.<br> + No "female face divine," with cheering smiles,<br> + The lingering hours of dangerous toil beguiles.<br> + Yet distant beauty oft his genius fires,<br> + And oft with love of sacred song inspires.<br> + Even I, the least of all the tuneful train,<br> + On the rough ocean try this artless strain:<br> + Rouse then, ye bards, who happier fortunes prove,<br> + And tune the lyre to Nature or to Love!</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<h3><a name="section35">Description of a Ninety-Gun Ship</a></h3> + +<br> +<b>from the <i>Gentleman's Magazine, May 1759.</i></b><br> +<br> +<table summary="90-gun Ship" border="0" cellspacing="10" +cellpadding="5"> +<tr align="left" valign="top"> +<td>Amidst a wood of oaks with canvas leaves,<br> + Which form'd a floating forest on the waves,<br> + There stood a tower, whose vast stupendous size<br> + Rear'd its huge mast, and seem'd to gore the skies,<br> + From which a bloody pendant stretch'd afar<br> + <a name="fr102">Its</a> comet-tail, denouncing ample war:<br> + Two younger giants<a href="#f102"><sup>1</sup></a>, of inferior +height,<br> + Display'd their sporting streamers to the sight:<br> + The base below, another island rose,<br> + To pour Britannia's thunder on her foes:<br> + With bulk immense, like Ætna, she surveys<br> + Above the rest, the lesser Cyclades:<br> + Profuse of gold, in lustre like the sun,<br> + Splendid with regal luxury she shone,<br> + Lavish in wealth, luxuriant in her pride,<br> + Behold the gilded mass exulting ride!<br> + Her curious prow divides the silver waves,<br> + In the salt ooze her radiant sides she laves;<br> + From stem to stern, her wondrous length survey,<br> + Rising a beauteous Venus from the sea:<br> + Her stem, with naval drapery engraved,<br> + Show'd mimic warriors, who the tempest braved;<br> + Whose visage fierce defied the lashing surge,<br> + Of Gallic pride the emblematic scourge.<br> + <a name="fr103">Tremendous</a> figures, lo! her stern +displays,<br> + And holds a Pharos<a href="#f103"><sup>2</sup></a> of +distinguish'd blaze:<br> + By night it shines a star of brightest form,<br> + To point her way, and light her through the storm:<br> + See dread engagements pictured to the life,<br> + See admirals maintain the glorious strife:<br> + Here breathing images in painted ire,<br> + Seem for their country's freedom to expire:<br> + Victorious fleets the flying fleets pursue—<br> + Here strikes a ship, and there exults a crew:<br> + A frigate here blows up with hideous glare,<br> + And adds fresh terrors to the bleeding war.<br> + But leaving feigned ornaments, behold!<br> + Eight hundred youths, of heart and sinew bold,<br> + Mount up her shrouds, or to her tops ascend,<br> + Some haul her braces, some her foresail bend;<br> + Full ninety brazen guns her port-holes fill,<br> + Ready with nitrous magazines to kill;<br> + From dread embrazures formidably peep,<br> + And seem to threaten ruin to the deep:<br> + On pivots fix'd, the well-ranged swivels lie,<br> + Or to point downward, or to brave the sky;<br> + While peteraroes swell with infant rage,<br> + Prepared, though small, with fury to engage.<br> + Thus arm'd, may Britain long her state maintain,<br> + And with triumphant navies rule the main!</td> +<td><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +10<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +20<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +30<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +40<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +50<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="f102"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +1:</span>� 'Younger giants:' fore and mizen masts.<br> +<a href="#fr102">return to footnote mark</a><br> +<br> + <a name="f103"></a><span style="color: #FF0000;">Footnote +2:</span>� 'Pharos:' her poop lanthorn.<br> +<a href="#fr103">return</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#toc">Contents</a><br> +<a href="#fp1">Contents p.2</a></p> + +<hr> +<br> +<br> +<b><i>end of text</i></b> <br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Beattie, Blair, +and Falconer, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF BEATTIE, BLAIR, FALCONER *** + +***** This file should be named 8695-h.htm or 8695-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/6/9/8695/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Clytie Siddall, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +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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