 |
III. 1.
They shrink, they vanish into air, Now slander taints with pestilence the gale; And mingling cries assail, The wail of Woe, and groan of grim Despair, Lo! wizard Envy from his serpent eye Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance; Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy, Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance. Behold, amidst the dire array, Pale wither'd Care his giant stature rears, And, lo! his iron hand prepares To grasp its feeble prey.
III. 2.
Who now will guard bewilder'd youth Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage? Such war can Virtue wage, Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth? Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne; While the fair captive, mark'd with many a scar, In lone obscurity, oppress'd, forlorn, Resigns to tears her angel form. Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly? No friend, no shelter now is nigh, And onward rolls the storm.
III. 3.
But whence the sudden beam that shoots along? Why shrink aghast the hostile throng? Lo! from amidst affliction's night Hope bursts all radiant on the sight: Her words the troubled bosom soothe. "Why thus dismay'd? Though foes invade, Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid Who tread the path of truth. 'Tis I, who smoothe the rugged way, I, who close the eyes of Sorrow, And with glad visions of to-morrow Repair the weary soul's decay. When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart, Dreams of Heaven's opening glories I impart, Till the freed spirit springs on high In rapture too severe for weak mortality."
ODE TO PEACE.
I. 1.
Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose powerful voice From ancient darkness call'd the morn, Of jarring elements composed the noise; When Chaos, from his old dominion torn, With all his bellowing throng, Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss along; And all the bright angelic choir To loftiest raptures tune the heavenly lyre, Pour'd in loud symphony the impetuous strain; And every fiery orb and planet sung, And wide through night's dark desolate domain Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant rung.
I. 2.
Oh, whither art thou fled, Saturnian reign? Roll round again, majestic Years! To break fell Tyranny's corroding chain, From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears, Ye Years, again roll round! Hark, from afar what loud tumultuous sound, While echoes sweep the winding vales, Swells full along the plains, and loads the gales! Murder deep-roused, with the wild whirlwind's haste And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs; Her tangled serpents girds around her waist, Smiles ghastly stern, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.
I. 3.
Fierce up the yielding skies The shouts redoubling rise: Earth shudders at the dreadful sound, And all is listening, trembling round. Torrents, that from yon promontory's head Dash'd furious down in desperate cascade, Heard from afar amid the' lonely night, That oft have led the wanderer right, Are silent at the noise. The mighty ocean's more majestic voice, Drown'd in superior din, is heard no more; The surge in silence sweeps along the foamy shore.
II. 1.
The bloody banner streaming in the air, Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow, The mingling multitudes, the madding car, Pouring impetuous on the plain below, War's dreadful lord proclaim. Bursts out by frequent fits the expansive flame. Whirl'd in tempestuous eddies flies The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies. The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen, Fades the morn's vivid blush to deadly pale: The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green, Night's shrieking birds along the sullen twilight sail.
II. 2.
Involved in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on. The mangled steeds grim Terror guides. His forehead writhed to a relentless frown, Aloft the angry Power of Battles rides: Grasp'd in his mighty hand A mace tremendous desolates the land; Thunders the turret down the steep, The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep; Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades, Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes; A bloated paleness beauty's bloom o'erspreads, Fades every flowery field, and every verdure dies.
II. 3.
How startled Frenzy stares, Bristling her ragged hairs! Revenge the gory fragment gnaws; See, with her griping vulture-claws Imprinted deep, she rends the opening wound! Hatred her torch blue-streaming tosses round: The shrieks of agony and clang of arms Re-echo to the fierce alarms Her trump terrific blows. Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose Of kingly gesture a gigantic form, That with his scourge sublime directs the whirling storm.
III. 1.
Ambition, outside fair! within more foul Than fellest fiend from Tartarus sprung, In caverns hatch'd, where the fierce torrents roll Of Phlegethon, the burning banks along, Yon naked waste survey: Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay; Where late the rosy-bosom'd Hours In loose array danced lightly o'er the flowers; Where late the shepherd told his tender tale; And, waked by the soft-murmuring breeze of morn, The voice of cheerful labour fill'd the dale; And dove-eyed Plenty smiled, and waved her liberal horn.
III. 2.
Yon ruins sable from the wasting flame But mark the once resplendent dome; The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream, And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom. How sadly silent all! Save where outstretch'd beneath yon hanging wall Pale Famine moans with feeble breath, And Torture yells, and grinds her bloody teeth— Though vain the muse, and every melting lay, To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse! Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way, I see, I see the Years begin their mighty course.
III. 3.
What scenes of glory rise Before my dazzled eyes! Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings, And melody celestial rings: Along the lilied lawn the nymphs advance, Plush'd with love's bloom, and range the sprightly dance: The gladsome shepherds on the mountain-side, Array'd in all their rural pride, Exalt the festive note, Inviting Echo from her inmost grot— But ah! the landscape glows with fainter light, It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight.
IV. 1.
Illusions vain! Can sacred Peace reside, Where sordid gold the breast alarms, Where cruelty inflames the eye of Pride, And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's arms? Ambition! these are thine; These from the soul erase the form divine; These quench the animating fire That warms the bosom with sublime desire. Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel, Hate rides tremendous on the o'erwhelming brow, And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel, Blaze the funereal flames, and sound the shrieks of Woe.
IV. 2.
From Albion fled, thy once beloved retreat, What region brightens in thy smile, Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet Sees sullen flowers adorn the rugged soil? In bleak Siberia blows, Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose? Waved over by thy magic wand, Does life inform fell Libya's burning sand? Or does some isle thy parting flight detain, Where roves the Indian through primeval shades, Haunts the pure pleasures of the woodland reign, And led by Reason's ray the path of Nature treads?
IV. 3.
On Cuba's utmost steep, [1] Far leaning o'er the deep, The Goddess' pensive form was seen. Her robe of Nature's varied green Waved on the gale; grief dimm'd her radiant eyes, Her swelling bosom heaved with boding sighs: She eyed the main; where, gaining on the view. Emerging from the ethereal blue, 'Midst the dread pomp of war Gleam'd the Iberian streamer from afar. She saw; and, on refulgent pinions borne, Slow wing'd her way sublime, and mingled with the morn.
[Footnote 1: 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.]
ODE ON LORD HAY'S BIRTHDAY.
1
A muse, unskill'd in venal praise, Unstain'd with flattery's art; Who loves simplicity of lays Breathed ardent from the heart; While gratitude and joy inspire, Resumes the long unpractised lyre, To hail, O HAY, thy natal morn: No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves, But twines with oak the laurel leaves, Thy cradle to adorn.
2
For not on beds of gaudy flowers Thine ancestors reclined, Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devours All energy of mind. To hurl the dart, to ride the car, To stem the deluges of war, And snatch from fate a sinking land; Trample the invader's lofty crest, And from his grasp the dagger wrest, And desolating brand:
3
'Twas this that raised th' illustrious line To match the first in fame! A thousand years have seen it shine With unabated flame; Have seen thy mighty sires appear Foremost in glory's high career, The pride and pattern of the brave. Yet pure from lust of blood their fire, And from ambition's wild desire, They triumph'd but to save.
4
The Muse with joy attends their way The vale of peace along: There to its lord the village gay Renews the grateful song. Yon castle's glittering towers contain No pit of woe, nor clanking chain, Nor to the suppliant's wail resound: The open doors the needy bless, The unfriended hail their calm recess, And gladness smiles around.
5
There to the sympathetic heart Life's best delights belong, To mitigate the mourner's smart, To guard the weak from wrong. Ye sons of luxury be wise: Know happiness for ever flies The cold and solitary breast; Then let the social instinct glow, And learn to feel another's woe, And in his joy be blest.
6
O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare For unsuspecting youth; Ere Flattery her song prepare To check the voice of Truth; O may his country's guardian power Attend the slumbering infant's bower, And bright inspiring dreams impart; To rouse the hereditary fire, To kindle each sublime desire, Exalt and warm the heart.
7
Swift to reward a parent's fears, A parent's hopes to crown, Roll on in peace, ye blooming years, That rear him to renown; When in his finish'd form and face Admiring multitudes shall trace Each patrimonial charm combined, The courteous yet majestic mien, The liberal smile, the look serene, The great and gentle mind.
8
Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes, And win a nation's love, Let not thy towering mind despise The village and the grove. No slander there shall wound thy fame, No ruffian take his deadly aim, No rival weave the secret snare: For innocence with angel smile, Simplicity that knows no guile, And Love and Peace are there.
9
When winds the mountain oak assail, And lay its glories waste, Content may slumber in the vale, Unconscious of the blast. Through scenes of tumult while we roam, The heart, alas! is ne'er at home, It hopes in time to roam no more; The mariner, not vainly brave, Combats the storm and rides the wave, To rest at last on shore.
10
Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe, How vain your mask of state! The good alone have joy sincere; The good alone are great: Great, when, amid the vale of peace. They bid the plaint of sorrow cease, And hear the voice of artless praise; As when along the trophied plain Sublime they lead the victor train, While shouting nations gaze.
THE JUDGMENT OP PARIS.
1
Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove, A scene for love and solitude design'd; Where flowery woodbines wild, by Nature wove, Form'd the lone bower, the royal swain reclined.
2
All up the craggy cliffs, that tower'd to heaven, Green waved the murmuring pines on every side; Save where, fair opening to the beam of even, A dale sloped gradual to the valley wide.
3
Echo'd the vale with many a cheerful note; The lowing of the herds resounding long, The shrilling pipe, and mellow horn remote, And social clamours of the festive throng.
4
For now, low hovering o'er the western main, Where amber clouds begirt his dazzling throne, The Sun with ruddier verdure deck'd the plain; And lakes and streams and spires triumphal shone.
5
And many a band of ardent youths were seen; Some into rapture fired by glory's charms, Or hurl'd the thundering car along the green, Or march'd embattled on in glittering arms.
6
Others more mild, in happy leisure gay, The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore, Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray, Or the blue Hellespont's resounding shore.
7
But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd, That gleam'd along the extended champaign far, And bulwarks in terrific pomp adorn'd, Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War.
8
Rich in the spoils of many a subject clime, In pride luxurious blazed the imperial dome; Tower'd 'mid the encircling grove the fane sublime, And dread memorials mark'd the hero's tomb
9
Who from the black and bloody cavern led The savage stern, and soothed his boisterous breast; Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head, And brighten'd o'er the long benighted waste:
10
Or, greatly daring in his country's cause, Whose heaven-taught soul the awful plan design'd, Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of laws; Whence soar'd on Freedom's wing the ethereal mind.
11
But not the pomp that royalty displays, Nor all the imperial pride of lofty Troy, Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise Could rouse the langour of the lingering boy.
12
Abandon'd all to soft Enone's charms, He to oblivion doom'd the listless day; Inglorious lull'd in Love's dissolving arms, While flutes lascivious breathed the enfeebling lay.
13
To trim the ringlets of his scented hair: To aim, insidious, Love's bewitching glance; Or cull fresh garlands for the gaudy fair, Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance:
14
These were his arts; these won Enone's love, Nor sought his fetter'd soul a nobler aim. Ah, why should beauty's smile those arts approve Which taint with infamy the lover's flame?
15
Now laid at large beside a murmuring spring, Melting he listen'd to the vernal song, And Echo, listening, waved her airy wing, While the deep winding dales the lays prolong;
16
When, slowly floating down the azure skies, A crimson cloud flash'd on his startled sight, Whose skirts gay-sparkling with unnumber'd dyes Launch'd the long billowy trails of flickery light.
17
That instant, hush'd was all the vocal grove, Hush'd was the gale, and every ruder sound; And strains aerial, warbling far above, Rung in the ear a magic peal profound.
18
Near and more near the swimming radiance roll'd; Along the mountains stream the lingering fires; Sublime the groves of Ida blaze with gold, And all the Heaven resounds with louder lyres.
19
The trumpet breathed a note: and all in air, The glories vanish'd from the dazzled eye; And three ethereal forms, divinely fair, Down the steep glade were seen advancing nigh.
20
The flowering glade fell level where they moved; O'erarching high the clustering roses hung; And gales from heaven on balmy pinion roved, And hill and dale with gratulation rung.
21
The FIRST with slow and stately step drew near, Fix'd was her lofty eye, erect her mien: Sublime in grace, in majesty severe, She look'd and moved a goddess and a queen.
22
Her robe along the gale profusely stream'd, Light lean'd the sceptre on her bending arm; And round her brow a starry circlet gleam'd, Heightening the pride of each commanding charm.
23
Milder the NEXT came on with artless grace, And on a javelin's quivering length reclined: To exalt her mien she bade no splendour blaze, Nor pomp of vesture fluctuate on the wind.
24
Serene, though awful, on her brow the light Of heavenly wisdom shone; nor roved her eyes. Save to the shadowy cliffs majestic height, Or the blue concave of the involving skies.
25
Keen were her eyes to search the inmost soul: Yet virtue triumph'd in their beams benign, And impious Pride oft felt their dread control, When in fierce lightning flash'd the wrath divine. [1]
26
With awe and wonder gazed the adoring swain; His kindling cheeks great Virtue's power confess'd; But soon 'twas o'er; for Virtue prompts in vain, When Pleasure's influence numbs the nerveless breast.
27
And now advanced the QUEEN of melting JOY, Smiling supreme in unresisted charms: Ah, then, what transports fired the trembling boy! How throbb'd his sickening frame with fierce alarms!
28
Her eyes in liquid light luxurious swim, And languish with unutterable love. Heaven's warm bloom glows along each brightening limb, Where fluttering bland the veil's thin mantlings rove.
29
Quick, blushing as abash'd, she half withdrew: One hand a bough of flowering myrtle waved. One graceful spread, where, scarce conceal'd from view, Soft through the parting robe her bosom heaved.
30
"Offspring of Jove supreme! beloved of Heaven! Attend." Thus spoke the Empress of the Skies. "For know, to thee, high-fated prince, 'tis given Through the bright realms of Fame sublime to rise,
31
Beyond man's boldest hope; if nor the wiles Of Pallas triumph o'er the ennobling thought; Nor Pleasure lure with artificial smiles To quaff the poison of her luscious draught.
32
When Juno's charms the prize of beauty claim, Shall aught on earth, shall aught in heaven contend? Whom Juno calls to high triumphant fame, Shall he to meaner sway inglorious bend?
33
Yet lingering comfortless in lonesome wild, Where Echo sleeps 'mid cavern'd vales profound, The pride of Troy, Dominion's darling child, Pines while the slow hour stalks in sullen round.
34
Hear thou, of Heaven unconscious! From the blaze Of glory, stream'd from Jove's eternal throne, Thy soul, O mortal, caught the inspiring rays That to a god exalt Earth's raptured son.
35
Hence the bold wish, on boundless pinion borne, That fires, alarms, impels the maddening soul; The hero's eye, hence, kindling into scorn, Blasts the proud menace, and defies control.
36
But, unimproved, Heaven's noblest boons are vain, No sun with plenty crowns the uncultured vale: Where green lakes languish on the silent plain, Death rides the billows of the western gale.
37
Deep in yon mountain's womb, where the dark cave Howls to the torrent's everlasting roar, Does the rich gem its flashy radiance wave? Or flames with steady ray the imperial ore?
38
Toil deck'd with glittering domes yon champaign wide, And wakes yon grove-embosom'd lawns to joy, And rends the rough ore from the mountain's side, Spangling with starry pomp the thrones of Troy.
39
Fly these soft scenes. Even now, with playful art, Love wreathes the flowery ways with fatal snare; And nurse the ethereal fire that warms thy heart, That fire ethereal lives but by thy care.
40
Lo! hovering near on dark and dampy wing, Sloth with stern patience waits the hour assign'd, From her chill plume the deadly dews to fling, That quench Heaven's beam, and freeze the cheerless mind.
41
Vain, then, the enlivening sound of Fame's alarms, For Hope's exulting impulse prompts no more: Vain even the joys that lure to Pleasure's arms, The throb of transport is for ever o'er.
42
O who shall then to Fancy's darkening eyes Recall the Elysian dreams of joy and light? Dim through the gloom the formless visions rise, Snatch'd instantaneous down the gulf of night.
43
Thou who, securely lull'd in youth's warm ray, Mark'st not the desolations wrought by Time, Be roused or perish. Ardent for its prey, Speeds the fell hour that ravages thy prime.
44
And, 'midst the horrors shrined of midnight storm, The fiend Oblivion eyes thee from afar, Black with intolerable frowns her form, Beckoning the embattled whirlwinds into war.
45
Fanes, bulwarks, mountains, worlds, their tempest whelms; Yet glory braves unmoved the impetuous sweep. Fly then, ere, hurl'd from life's delightful realms, Thou sink to Oblivion's dark and boundless deep.
46
Fly, then, where Glory points the path sublime, See her crown dazzling with eternal light! 'Tis Juno prompts thy daring steps to climb, And girds thy bounding heart with matchless might.
47
Warm in the raptures of divine desire, Burst the soft chain that curbs the aspiring mind; And fly where Victory, borne on wings of fire, Waves her red banner to the rattling wind.
48
Ascend the car: indulge the pride of arms, Where clarions roll their kindling strains on high, Where the eye maddens to the dread alarms, And the long shout tumultuous rends the sky.
49
Plunged in the uproar of the thundering field, I see thy lofty arm the tempest guide: Fate scatters lightning from thy meteor-shield, And Ruin spreads around the sanguine tide.
50
Go, urge the terrors of thy headlong car On prostrate Pride, and Grandeur's spoils o'erthrown, While all amazed even heroes shrink afar, And hosts embattled vanish at thy frown.
51
When glory crowns thy godlike toils, and all The triumph's lengthening pomp exalts thy soul, When lowly at thy feet the mighty fall, And tyrants tremble at thy stern control:
52
When conquering millions hail thy sovereign might, And tribes unknown dread acclamation join; How wilt thou spurn the forms of low delight! For all the ecstasies of heaven are thine:
53
For thine the joys, that fear no length of days, Whose wide effulgence scorns all mortal bound: Fame's trump in thunder shall announce thy praise, Nor bursting worlds her clarion's blast confound."
54
The Goddess ceased, not dubious of the prize: Elate she mark'd his wild and rolling eye, Mark'd his lip quiver, and his bosom rise, And his warm cheek suffused with crimson dye.
55
But Pallas now drew near. Sublime, serene, In conscious dignity she view'd the swain: Then, love and pity softening all her mien, Thus breathed with accents mild the solemn strain:
56
"Let those whose arts to fatal paths betray, The soul with passion's gloom tempestuous blind, And snatch from Reason's ken the auspicious ray Truth darts from heaven to guide the exploring mind.
57
"But Wisdom loves the calm and serious hour, When heaven's pure emanation beams confess'd: Rage, ecstasy, alike disclaim her power, She woo's each gentler impulse of the breast.
58
Sincere the unalter'd bliss her charms impart, Sedate the enlivening ardours they inspire: She bids no transient rapture thrill the heart, She wakes no feverish gust of fierce desire.
59
Unwise, who, tossing on the watery way, All to the storm the unfetter'd sail devolve: Man more unwise resigns the mental sway, Borne headlong on by passion's keen resolve.
60
While storms remote but murmur on thine ear, Nor waves in ruinous uproar round thee roll, Yet, yet a moment check thy prone career, And curb the keen resolve that prompts thy soul.
61
Explore thy heart, that, roused by Glory's name, Pants all enraptured with the mighty charm— And does Ambition quench each milder flame? And is it conquest that alone can warm?
62
To indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust, To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore, To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust— Are these thy joys? Nor throbs thy heart for more?
63
Pleased canst thou listen to the patriot's groan, And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn? And hear the abandon'd maid's last frantic moan, Her love for ever from her bosom torn?
64
Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head? Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death, To glare distraction on thy midnight bed?
65
Was it for this, though born to regal power, Kind Heaven to thee did nobler gifts consign, Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour, And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine?
66
Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy, And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise suborn'd, Whose eye ne'er lighten'd at the smile of Joy, Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorn'd:
67
Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd, The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies: Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field, Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps the unbounded skies.
68
Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm! Hail to the pure delights of social love! Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm, Nor rack the exulting frame, but gently move!
69
But Fancy soothes no more, if stern remorse With iron grasp the tortured bosom wring. Ah then! even Fancy speeds the venom's course, Even Fancy points with rage the maddening sting.
70
Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend, And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of hell; The beam of Beauty blasts: dark heavens impend Tottering: and Music thrills with startling yell.
71
What then avails, that with exhaustless store Obsequious Luxury loads thy glittering shrine? What then avails, that prostrate slaves adore, And Fame proclaims thee matchless and divine?
72
What though bland Flattery all her arts apply? Will these avail to calm the infuriate brain? Or will the roaring surge, when heaved on high, Headlong hang, hush'd, to hear the piping swain?
73
In health how fair, how ghastly in decay Man's lofty form! how heavenly fair the mind Sublimed by Virtue's sweet enlivening sway! But ah! to guilt's outrageous rule resign'd.
74
How hideous and forlorn! when ruthless Care With cankering tooth corrodes the seeds of life, And deaf with passion's storms when pines Despair, And howling furies rouse the eternal strife.
75
Oh, by thy hopes of joy that restless glow, Pledges of Heaven! be taught by Wisdom's lore; With anxious haste each doubtful path forego, And life's wild ways with cautious fear explore.
76
Straight be thy course: nor tempt the maze that leads Where fell Remorse his shapeless strength conceals, And oft Ambition's dizzy cliff he treads, And slumbers oft in Pleasure's flowery vales.
77
Nor linger unresolved: Heaven prompts the choice, Save when Presumption shuts the ear of Pride: With grateful awe attend to Nature's voice, The voice of Nature Heaven ordain'd thy guide.
78
Warn'd by her voice the arduous path pursue, That leads to Virtue's fane a hardy band: What though no gaudy scenes decoy their view, Nor clouds of fragrance roll along the land?
79
What though rude mountains heave the flinty way? Yet there the soul drinks light and life divine, And pure aerial gales of gladness play, Brace every nerve, and every sense refine.
80
Go, prince, be virtuous and be blest. The throne Rears not its state to swell the couch of Lust: Nor dignify Corruption's daring son, To o'erwhelm his humbler brethren of the dust.
81
But yield an ampler scene to Bounty's eye, An ampler range to Mercy's ear expand: And, 'midst admiring nations, set on high Virtue's fair model, framed by Wisdom's hand.
82
Go then: the moan of Woe demands thine aid: Pride's licensed outrage claims thy slumbering ire: Pale Genius roams the bleak neglected shade, And battening Avarice mocks his tuneless lyre.
83
Even Nature pines, by vilest chains oppress'd: The astonish'd kingdoms crouch to Fashion's nod. O ye pure inmates of the gentle breast, Truth, Freedom, Love, O where is your abode?
84
O yet once more shall Peace from heaven return, And young Simplicity with mortals dwell! Nor Innocence the august pavilion scorn, Nor meek Contentment fly the humble cell!
85
Wilt thou, my prince, the beauteous train implore 'Midst earth's forsaken scenes once more to bide? Then shall the shepherd sing in every bower, And Love with garlands wreathe the domes of Pride.
86
The bright tear starting in the impassion'd eyes Of silent Gratitude: the smiling gaze Of Gratulation, faltering while he tries With voice of transport to proclaim thy praise:
87
The ethereal glow that stimulates thy frame, When all the according powers harmonious move, And wake to energy each social aim, Attuned spontaneous to the will of Jove:
88
Be these, O man, the triumphs of thy soul; And all the conqueror's dazzling glories slight, That meteor-like o'er trembling nations roll, To sink at once in deep and dreadful night.
89
Like thine, yon orb's stupendous glories burn With genial beam; nor, at the approach of even, In shades of horror leave the world to mourn, But gild with lingering light the empurpled heaven."
90
Thus while she spoke, her eye, sedately meek, Look'd the pure fervour of maternal love. No rival zeal intemperate flush'd her cheek— Can Beauty's boast the soul of Wisdom move?
91
Worth's noble pride, can Envy's leer appal, Or staring Folly's vain applauses soothe? Can jealous Fear Truth's dauntless heart enthrall? Suspicion lurks not in the heart of Truth.
92
And now the shepherd raised his pensive head: Yet unresolved and fearful roved his eyes, Scared at the glances of the awful maid; For young unpractised Guilt distrusts the guise
93
Of shameless Arrogance.—His wavering breast, Though warm'd by Wisdom, own'd no constant fire, While lawless Fancy roam'd afar, unblest Save in the oblivious lap of soft Desire.
94
When thus the queen of soul-dissolving smiles: "Let gentler fate my darling prince attend, Joyless and cruel are the warrior's spoils, Dreary the path stern Virtue's sons ascend.
95
Of human joy full short is the career, And the dread verge still gains upon your sight; While idly gazing far beyond your sphere, Ye scan the dream of unapproach'd delight:
96
Till every sprightly hour and blooming scene Of life's gay morn unheeded glides away, And clouds of tempests mount the blue serene, And storms and ruin close the troublous day.
97
Then still exult to hail the present joy, Thine be the boon that comes unearn'd by toil; No forward vain desire thy bliss annoy, No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile.
98
Ah! why should man pursue the charms of Fame, For ever luring, yet for ever coy? Light as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam, That melts illusive from the wondering boy!
99
What though her throne irradiate many a clime, If hung loose-tottering o'er the unfathom'd tomb? What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime, Display the imperial wreath and glittering plume?
100
Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave? What note of triumph can her clarion breathe, To alarm the eternal midnight of the grave?
101
That night draws on: nor will the vacant hour Of expectation linger as it flies: Nor fate one moment unenjoy'd restore: Each moment's flight how precious to the wise!
102
O shun the annoyance of the bustling throng, That haunt with zealous turbulence the great: There coward Office boasts the unpunish'd wrong, And sneaks secure in insolence of state.
103
O'er fancied injury Suspicion pines, And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound: Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines, And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around.
104
Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne, Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim, Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown, The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame:
105
Hope not, though all that captivates the wise, All that endears the good exalt thy praise: Hope not to taste repose: for Envy's eyes At fairest worth still point their deadly rays.
106
Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart, Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm? Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart, Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm?
107
Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains, And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm, Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains, Or soil accursed with balmy life inform.
108
Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour, When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme: When Insult mocks the clemency of Power, And loud dissension's livid firebrands gleam:
109
When squint-eyed Slander plies the unhallow'd tongue, From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line, And Muse apostate (infamy to song!) Grovels, low muttering, at Sedition's shrine.
110
Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade, The whispering grove, the fountain and the plain: Power, with the oppressive weight of pomp array'd, Pants for simplicity and ease in vain.
111
The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear, But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn; And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere: Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn.
112
She loves to wander on the untrodden lawn, Or the green bosom of reclining hill, Soothed by the careless warbler of the dawn, Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill.
113
Or from the mountain glade's aerial brow, While to her song a thousand echoes call, Marks the wide woodland wave remote below, Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall.
114
Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves, Where the high carol cheers the exulting ring; And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves, Listening the unnumber'd melodies of Spring.
115
Or to the long and lonely shore retires; What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beam, Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry fires Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening gleam.
116
Then to the balmy bower of Rapture borne, While strings self-warbling breathe Elysian rest, Melts in delicious vision, till the morn Spangle with twinkling dew the flowery waste.
117
The frolic Moments, purple-pinion'd, dance Around, and scatter roses as they play; And the blithe Graces, hand in hand, advance, Where, with her loved compeers, she deigns to stray;
118
Mild Solitude, in veil of rustic dye, Her sylvan spear with moss-grown ivy bound; And Indolence, with sweetly languid eye, And zoneless robe that trails along the ground;
119
But chiefly Love—O thou, whose gentle mind Each soft indulgence Nature framed to share; Pomp, wealth, renown, dominion, all resign'd, Oh, haste to Pleasure's bower, for Love is there.
120
Love, the desire of Gods! the feast of heaven! Yet to Earth's favour'd offspring not denied! Ah! let not thankless man the blessing given Enslave to Fame, or sacrifice to Pride.
121
Nor I from Virtue's call decoy thine ear; Friendly to Pleasure are her sacred laws: Let Temperance' smile the cup of gladness cheer; That cup is death, if he withhold applause.
122
Far from thy haunt be Envy's baneful sway, And Hate, that works the harass'd soul to storm; But woo Content to breathe her soothing lay, And charm from Fancy's view each angry form.
123
No savage joy the harmonious hours profane! Whom Love refines, can barbarous tumults please? Shall rage of blood pollute the sylvan reign? Shall Leisure wanton in the spoils of Peace?
124
Free let the feathery race indulge the song, Inhale the liberal beam, and melt in love: Free let the fleet hind bound her hills along, And in pure streams the watery nations rove.
125
To joy in Nature's universal smile Well suits, O man, thy pleasurable sphere; But why should Virtue doom thy years to toil? Ah! why should Virtue's laws be deem'd severe?
126
What meed, Beneficence, thy care repays? What, Sympathy, thy still returning pang? And why his generous arm should Justice raise, To dare the vengeance of a tyrant's fang?
127
From thankless spite no bounty can secure; Or froward wish of discontent fulfil, That knows not to regret thy bounded power, But blames with keen reproach thy partial will.
128
To check the impetuous all-involving tide Of human woes, how impotent thy strife! High o'er thy mounds devouring surges ride, Nor reck thy baffled toils, or lavish'd life.
129
The bower of bliss, the smile of love be thine, Unlabour'd ease, and leisure's careless dream. Such be their joys who bend at Venus' shrine, And own her charms beyond compare supreme."
130
Warm'd as she spoke, all panting with delight, Her kindling beauties breathed triumphant bloom; And Cupids flutter'd round in circlets bright, And Flora pour'd from all her stores perfume.
131
"Thine be the prize," exclaim'd the enraptured youth, "Queen of unrivall'd charms, and matchless joy."— O blind to fate, felicity, and truth! But such are they whom Pleasure's snares decoy.
132
The Sun was sunk; the vision was no more; Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the frown Of Jove's awaken'd wrath: deep thunders roar, And forests howl afar, and mountains groan,
133
And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain; With horror's scream the Ilian towers resound, Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main, And the strong earthquake rends the shuddering ground.
[Footnote 1: This is agreeable to the theology of Homer,—who often represents Pallas as the executioner of divine vengeance.]
THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.
1
Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye? Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught, To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?
2
Yes—from afar a landscape seems to rise, Deck'd gorgeous by the lavish hand of Spring: Thin gilded clouds float light along the skies, And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing.
3
How blest the youth in yonder valley laid! Soft smiles in every conscious feature play, While to the gale low murmuring through the glade, He tempers sweet his sprightly-warbling lay.
4
Hail, Innocence! whose bosom, all serene, Feels not fierce Passion's raving tempest roll! Oh, ne'er may Care distract that placid mien! Oh, ne'er may Doubt's dark shades o'erwhelm thy soul!
5
Vain wish! for, lo! in gay attire conceal'd, Yonder she comes, the heart-inflaming fiend! (Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?) Swift to her destined prey see Passion bend!
6
O smile accursed, to hide the worst designs! Now with blithe eye she woo's him to be blest, While round her arm unseen a serpent twines— And, lo! she hurls it hissing at his breast.
7
And, instant, lo! his dizzy eyeball swims Ghastly, and reddening darts a threatful glare; Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs, And Fear's cold hand erects his bristling hair!
8 Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime? And does thy spring no happier prospect yield? Why gilds the vernal sun thy gaudy clime, When nipping mildews waste the flowery field?
9
How Memory pains! Let some gay theme beguile The musing mind, and soothe to soft delight. Ye images of woe, no more recoil; Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night.
10
Now when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful power, Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar, How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower, To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war!
11
Ambition here displays no gilded toy That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise, Nor Pleasure's flower-embroider'd paths decoy, Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's gay disguise.
12
Oft has Contentment cheer'd this lone abode With the mild languish of her smiling eye; Here Health has oft in blushing beauty glow'd, While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour'd by.
13
Even the storm lulls to more profound repose: The storm these humble walls assails in vain: Screen'd is the lily when the whirlwind blows, While the oak's stately ruin strews the plain.
14
Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies; Roll the old ocean, and the vales lay waste: Nature thy momentary rage defies; To her relief the gentler seasons haste.
15
Throned in her emerald car, see Spring appear! (As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view) Her emerald car the youthful Zephyrs bear, Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue.
16
Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen; And, lo! her rod the rose-lipp'd power extends. And, lo! the lawns are deck'd in living green, And Beauty's bright-eyed train from heaven descends.
17
Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad— But will all nature joy at your return? Say, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed, Or dry the tears that bathe the untimely urn?
18
Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart 'Cross the dark cell where hopeless slavery lies? To ease tired Disappointment's bleeding heart, Will all your stores of softening balm suffice?
19
When fell Oppression in his harpy fangs From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears, Can ye allay the heart-wrung parent's pangs, Whose famish'd child craves help with fruitless tears?
20
For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past, Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends, Who lays the once rejoicing village waste, Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends.
21
O ye, to Pleasure who resign the day, As loose in Luxury's clasping arms you lie, O yet let pity in your breast bear sway, And learn to melt at Misery's moving cry.
22
But hop'st thou, Muse, vain-glorious as thou art, With the weak impulse of thy humble strain, Hop'st thou to soften Pride's obdurate heart, When Errol's bright example shines in vain?
23
Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye, Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight; Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply, Or transient gleams, that flash and sink in night.
24
Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego— Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictured scroll; Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow, And swell to thought sublime the exalted soul.
25
What mingling pomps rush boundless on the gaze! What gallant navies ride the heaving deep! What glittering towns their cloud-wrapt turrets raise! What bulwarks frown horrific o'er the steep!
26
Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields, The embattled legions stretch their long array; Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields, With bloody tincture stains the face of day.
27
And now the hosts in silence wait the sign. How keen their looks whom Liberty inspires! Quick as the Goddess darts along the line, Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.
28
Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien The smiles of Love stern Wisdom's frown control; Her fearless eye, determined though serene, Speaks the great purpose, and the unconquer'd soul.
29
Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band, Each feature fierce and haggard, as with pain! With menace loud he cries, while from his hand He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.
30
Lo! at his call, impetuous as the storms, Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven: Hatred to madness wrought, each face deforms, Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.
31
Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend, Shield them for Liberty who dare to die— Ah, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend? Are these thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly?
32
Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies, Can brace the loosen'd nerves or warm the heart! Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs, When festers in the soul Misfortune's dart.
33
See where, by heaven-bred terror all dismay'd The scattering legions pour along the plain; Ambition's car, with bloody spoils array'd, Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.
34
But who is he that, by yon lonely brook, With woods o'erhung and precipices rude, [1] Abandon'd lies, and with undaunted look Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?
35
Ah, Brutus! ever thine be Virtue's tear! Lo! his dim eyes to Liberty he turns, As scarce supported on her broken spear O'er her expiring son the goddess mourns.
36
Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies, From her dishevell'd locks she rends the plume; No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes, And on her tear-stain'd cheek no roses bloom.
37
Meanwhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway, Fame's loudest trumpet labours in thy praise, For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay, And Flattery bids for thee her altars blaze.
38
Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone, The sphere where monarchs and where heroes toil, Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown, While Guilt's thrill'd bosom leaps at Pleasure's smile;
39
Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell, Far, far remote, amid the lowly plain, Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell: Such is man's doom, and Pity weeps in vain.
40
Still grief recoils—How vainly have I strove Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand! Tired I submit; but yet, O yet remove Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand.
41
Yet for a while let the bewilder'd soul Find in society relief from woe; O yield a while to Friendship's soft control; Some respite, Friendship, wilt thou not bestow?
42
Come, then, Philander! for thy lofty mind Looks down from far on all that charms the great; For thou canst bear, unshaken and resign'd, The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate:
43
Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere, Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys; Who lend'st to misery's moans a pitying ear, And feel'st with ecstasy another's joys:
44
Who know'st man's frailty: with a favouring eye, And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall; Who, unenslaved by custom's narrow tie, With manly freedom follow'st reason's call.
45
And bring thy Delia, softly-smiling fair, Whose spotless soul no sordid thoughts deform: Her accents mild would still each throbbing care, And harmonize the thunder of the storm.
46
Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refined, She courts not homage, nor desires to shine: In her each sentiment sublime is join'd To female sweetness, and a form divine.
47
Come, and dispel the deep surrounding shade: Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ; O catch the swift-wing'd hour before 'tis fled, On swiftest pinion flies the hour of joy.
48
Even while the careless disencumber'd soul Dissolving sinks to joy's oblivious dream, Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll With haste impetuous down life's surgy stream.
49
Can Gaiety the vanish'd years restore, Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed, Or soothe the sad inevitable hour, Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?
50
Still sounds the solemn knell in Fancy's ear, That call'd Cleora to the silent tomb; To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year! How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest bloom!
51
Ah! beauty's bloom avails not in the grave, Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace: Moulder unknown the monarch and the slave, Whelm'd in the enormous wreck of human race.
52
The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust, The arch with proud memorials array'd, The long-lived pyramid shall sink in dust To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade.
53
Fancy from comfort wanders still astray. Ah, Melancholy! how I feel thy power! Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway! But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.
54
The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight waste Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to roam, Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last; For long the night, and distant far his home.
[Footnote 1: Such, according to the description given by Plutarch, was the scene of Brutus's death.]
ELEGY.
1
Tired with the busy crowds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.
2
Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares, And every weary sense compose to rest, Lighten the oppressive load which anguish bears, And warm with hope the cold desponding breast.
3
Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown; And on the cold earth stretch'd, the son of Woe Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown.
4
When roused by thee, on boundless pinions borne, Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove, Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn, Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove;
5
Or skims the main, and listens to the storms, Marks the long waves roll far remote away; Or, mingling with ten thousand glittering forms, Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day.
6
Haply, ere long, pierced by the howling blast, Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam, Plunge down the unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb:
7
Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale, Where Mirth's light freaks the unheeded hours beguile, And airs of rapture warble in the gale.
8
Instructive emblem of this mortal state! Where scenes as various every hour arise In swift succession, which the hand of Fate Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.
9
Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur and thy glittering store: Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys; Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.
10
And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile, Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.
11
Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn, 'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life.
ELEGY.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1758.
Still shall unthinking man substantial deem The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream? Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies, And sad realities in prospect rise; And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn, The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn. O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance, Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance, Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey, Glittering in beams of visionary day; 10 O yet, while Fate delays the impending woe, Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow; Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill; Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom, Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb, Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear, And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe. Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combined, That charms the eye, or captivates the mind! 20 Fresh, as the floweret opening on the morn, Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn! Sweet, as the downy pinion'd gale, that roves To gather fragrance in Arabian groves! Mild, as the melodies at close of day, That, heard remote, along the vale decay! Yet, why with these compared? What tints so fine, What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine? Why roam abroad, since recollection true Restores the lovely form to fancy's view? 30 Still let me gaze, and every care beguile, Gaze on that cheek, where all the graces smile; That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright, Where Meekness beams ineffable delight; That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene, Each feature forms, and dignifies the mean: Still let me listen, while her words impart The sweet effusions of the blameless heart; Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away, Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway. 40
By thee inspired, O Virtue, age is young, And music warbles from the faltering tongue: Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow, And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow, Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes: But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams, Resistless on the view the glory streams: Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm, And beauty dazzles with angelic charm. 50
Ah, whither fled? ye dear illusions, stay! Lo! pale and silent lies the lovely clay. How are the roses on that cheek decay'd, Which late the purple light of youth display'd! Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd: With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd. Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky; Elate with hope, we deem'd no tempest nigh: When, lo! a whirlwind's instantaneous gust Left all its beauties withering in the dust. 60
Cold the soft hand that soothed Woe's weary head! And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed! And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole, Infusing balm into the rankled soul! O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power, And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower? Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven? Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven? But, peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart! We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart. 70 Escaped the dungeon, does the slave complain, Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain? Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn; Where Reason's meteor rays, with sickly glow, O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw; Disclosing, dubious, to the affrighted eye O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high, Black billowy deeps in storms perpetual tost, And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost 80 O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay, Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day, And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar, Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more. Transporting thought! here let me wipe away The tear of Grief, and wake a bolder lay. But ah! the swimming eye o'erflows anew; Nor check the sacred drops to pity due: Lo! where in speechless, hopeless anguish bend O'er her loved dust, the parent, brother, friend! 90 How vain the hope of man! but cease thy strain, Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane; Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, on her bier In silence shed the sympathetic tear.
RETIREMENT. 1758.
1
When in the crimson cloud of even The lingering light decays, And Hesper on the front of heaven His glittering gem displays; Deep in the silent vale, unseen, Beside a lulling stream, A pensive Youth, of placid mien, Indulged this tender theme:
2
"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled High o'er the glimmering dale; Ye woods, along whose windings wild Murmurs the solemn gale: Where Melancholy strays forlorn, And Woe retires to weep, What time the wan Moon's yellow horn Gleams on the western deep!
3
To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew ambition's eye, 'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms, To your retreats I fly. Deep in your most sequester'd bower Let me at last recline, Where Solitude, mild, modest power, Leans on her ivied shrine.
4
How shall I woo thee, matchless fair? Thy heavenly smile how win? Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care, And stills the storm within. O wilt thou to thy favourite grove Thine ardent votary bring, And bless his hours, and bid them move Serene on silent wing?
5
Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind With dreams of former days, When in the lap of Peace reclined He framed his infant lays; When Fancy roved at large, nor Care Nor cold distrust alarm'd, Nor Envy, with malignant glare, His simple youth had harm'd.
6
Twas then, O Solitude, to thee His early vows were paid, From heart sincere, and warm, and free, Devoted to the shade. Ah! why did Fate his steps decoy In stormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy?— O take the wanderer home!
7
Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine Waves o'er the gloomy stream. Whence the scared owl on pinions gray Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away To more profound repose.
8
Oh, while to thee the woodland pours Its wildly-warbling song, And balmy from the bank of flowers The Zephyr breathes along; Let no rude sound invade from far, No vagrant foot be nigh, No ray from Grandeur's gilded car Flash on the startled eye.
9
But if some pilgrim through the glade Thy hallow'd bowers explore, O guard from harm his hoary head, And listen to his lore; For he of joys divine shall tell, That wean from earthly woe, And triumph o'er the mighty spell That chains his heart below.
10
For me no more the path invites Ambition loves to tread; No more I climb those toilsome heights By guileful hope misled; Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more To Mirth's enlivening strain; For present pleasure soon is o'er, And all the past is vain."
THE HERMIT.
1
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began: No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
2
"Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe, Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow, And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. But if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn: O, soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away: Full quickly they pass—but they never return.
3
Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky, The Moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays: But lately I mark'd when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again. But man's faded glory what change shall renew? Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
4
'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you: For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
5
'Twas thus, by the glare of false Science betray'd, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind; My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, 'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee: Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.'
6
And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn: So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."
ON
THE REPORT OF A MONUMENT TO BE ERECTED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, TO THE MEMORY OF A LATE AUTHOR (CHURCHILL).
(WRITTEN IN 1765.)
[PART OF A LETTER TO A PERSON OF QUALITY.]
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.
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.
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.
ABERDEEN, January 1765.
Bufo, begone! with thee may Faction's fire, That hatch'd thy salamander-fame, expire. Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd, What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good! Since shared by knaves of high and low degree; Cromwell and Cataline: Guido Faux, and thee. By nature uninspired, untaught by art; With not one thought that breathes the feeling heart, With not one offering vow'd to Virtue's shrine, With not one pure unprostituted line; 10 Alike debauch'd in body, soul, and lays;— For pension'd censure, and for pension'd praise, For ribaldry, for libels, lewdness, lies, For blasphemy of all the good and wise: Coarse violence in coarser doggrel writ, Which bawling blackguards spell'd, and took for wit: For conscience, honour, slighted, spurn'd, o'erthrown:— Lo! Bufo shines the minion of renown. Is this the land that boasts a Milton's fire, And magic Spenser's wildly warbling lyre? 20 The land that owns the omnipotence of song, When Shakspeare whirls the throbbing heart along? The land, where Pope, with energy divine, In one strong blaze bade wit and fancy shine: Whose verse, by truth in virtue's triumph born, Gave knaves to infamy, and fools to scorn; Yet pure in manners, and in thought refined, Whose life and lays adorn'd and bless'd mankind? Is this the land, where Gray's unlabour'd art Soothes, melts, alarms, and ravishes the heart: 30 While the lone wanderer's sweet complainings flow In simple majesty of manly woe: Or while, sublime, on eagle pinion driven, He soars Pindaric heights, and sails the waste of Heaven? Is this the land, o'er Shenstone's recent urn, Where all the Loves and gentler Graces mourn? And where, to crown the hoary bard of night, [1] The Muses and the Virtues all unite? Is this the land where Akenside displays The bold yet temperate flame of ancient days? 40 Like the rapt sage, [2] in genius as in theme, Whose hallow'd strain renown'd Illyssus' stream: Or him, the indignant bard, [3] whose patriot ire, Sublime in vengeance, smote the dreadful lyre: For truth, for liberty, for virtue warm, Whose mighty song unnerved a tyrant's arm, Hush'd the rude roar of discord, rage, and lust, And spurn'd licentious demagogues to dust. Is this the queen of realms? the glorious isle, Britannia, blest in Heaven's indulgent smile? 50 Guardian of truth, and patroness of art, Nurse of the undaunted soul, and generous heart! Where, from a base unthankful world exiled, Freedom exults to roam the careless wild: Where taste to science every charm supplies, And genius soars unbounded to the skies? And shall a Bufo's most polluted name Stain her bright tablet of untainted fame? Shall his disgraceful name with theirs be join'd, Who wish'd and wrought the welfare of their kind? 60 His name, accurst, who, leagued with——[4] and Hell, Labour'd to rouse, with rude and murderous yell, Discord the fiend, to toss rebellion's brand, To whelm in rage and woe a guiltless land: To frustrate wisdom's, virtue's noblest plan, And triumph in the miseries of man. Drivelling and dull, when crawls the reptile Muse, Swoln from the sty, and rankling from the stews, With envy, spleen, and pestilence replete, And gorged with dust she lick'd from Treason's feet: 70 Who once, like Satan, raised to Heaven her sight, But turn'd abhorrent from the hated light:— O'er such a Muse shall wreaths of glory bloom? No—shame and execration be her doom. Hard-fated Bufo, could not dulness save Thy soul from sin, from infamy thy grave? Blackmore and Quarles, those blockheads of renown, Lavish'd their ink, but never harm'd the town. Though this, thy brother in discordant song, Harass'd the ear, and cramp'd the labouring tongue: 80 And that, like thee, taught staggering prose to stand, And limp on stilts of rhyme around the land. Harmless they dozed a scribbling life away, And yawning nations own'd the innoxious lay, But from thy graceless, rude, and beastly brain, What fury breathed the incendiary strain? Did hate to vice exasperate thy style? No—Bufo match'd the vilest of the vile. Yet blazon'd was his verse with Virtue's name— Thus prudes look down to hide their want of shame: 90 Thus hypocrites to truth, and fools to sense, And fops to taste, have sometimes made pretence: Thus thieves and gamesters swear by honour's laws: Thus pension-hunters bawl "their country's cause:" Thus furious Teague for moderation raved, And own'd his soul to liberty enslaved. Nor yet, though thousand cits admire thy rage, Though less of fool than felon marks thy page: Nor yet, though here and there one lonely spark Of wit half brightens through the involving dark, 100 To show the gloom more hideous for the foil, But not repay the drudging reader's toil; (For who for one poor pearl of clouded ray Through Alpine dunghills delves his desperate way? Did genius to thy verse such bane impart? No. 'Twas the demon of thy venom'd heart, (Thy heart with rancour's quintessence endued). And the blind zeal of a misjudging crowd. Thus from rank soil a poison'd mushroom sprung, Nursling obscene of mildew and of dung: 110 By Heaven design'd on its own native spot Harmless to enlarge its bloated bulk, and rot. But gluttony the abortive nuisance saw; It roused his ravenous, undiscerning maw: Gulp'd down the tasteless throat, the mess abhorr'd Shot fiery influence round the maddening board. O had thy verse been impotent as dull, Nor spoke the rancorous heart, but lumpish scull; Had mobs distinguish'd, they who howl'd thy fame, The icicle from the pure diamond's flame, 120 From fancy's soul thy gross imbruted sense, From dauntless truth thy shameless insolence, From elegance confusion's monstrous mass, And from the lion's spoils the skulking ass, From rapture's strain the drawling doggrel line, From warbling seraphim the grunting swine; With gluttons, dunces, rakes, thy name had slept, Nor o'er her sullied fame Britannia wept: Nor had the Muse, with honest zeal possess'd, To avenge her country, by thy name disgraced, 130 Raised this bold strain for virtue, truth, mankind, And thy fell shade to infamy resign'd. When frailty leads astray the soul sincere, Let mercy shed the soft and manly tear. When to the grave descends the sensual sot, Unnamed, unnoticed, let his carrion rot. When paltry rogues, by stealth, deceit, or force, Hazard their necks, ambitious of your purse: For such the hangman wreaths his trusty gin, And let the gallows expiate their sin. 140 But when a ruffian, whose portentous crimes, Like plagues and earthquakes terrify the times, Triumphs through life, from legal judgment free, For Hell may hatch what law could ne'er foresee: Sacred from vengeance shall his memory rest?— Judas, though dead, though damn'd, we still detest.
[Footnote 1: 'Hoary bard of night:' Dr Young.] [Footnote 2: 'Rapt sage:' Pluto.] [Footnote 3: 'Indignant bard:' Alceus; see Akenside's 'Ode on Lyric Poetry.']
[Footnote 4: Wilkes.]
THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND CRANES.
(FROM THE "PYGMAEO-GERANO-MACHIA" OF ADDISON.)
1762.
The Pigmy people, and the feather'd train, Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs, Lead on my squadrons and arrange the lines; The flashing swords and fluttering wings display, And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray; Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes, Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woes! The wars and woes of heroes six feet long Have oft resounded in Pierian song. 10 Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece, And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece? Of Thebes' fell brethren; Theseus stern of face; And Peleus' son, unrivall'd in the race; Eneas, founder of the Roman line, And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne? Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes, And over Blackmore's epic page to doze? 'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains, Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains; 20 The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size, And armies rushing down the darken'd skies. Where India reddens to the early dawn, Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn: Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies, And rocky mountains round the border rise. Here, till the doom of fate its fall decreed, The empire flourish'd of the pigmy breed; Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd, And busy multitudes o'erspread the land. 30 But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray, Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way, He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth, Its godlings mouldering on the abandon'd hearth; And starts where small white bones are spread around, "Or little [1] footsteps lightly print the ground;" While the proud crane her nest securely builds, Chattering amid the desolated fields. But different fates befell her hostile rage, While reign'd invincible through many an age 40 The dreaded pigmy: roused by war's alarms, Forth rush'd the madding manikin to arms. Fierce to the field of death the hero flies; The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground and dies; And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!) With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road. And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay, And often made the callow young his prey; With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smiled, To avenge the parent's trespass on the child. 50 Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest, And laid her eggs and household gods to rest, Burning for blood in terrible array, The eighteen-inch militia burst their way: All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell, Whence scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell. Loud uproar hence and rage of arms arose, And the fell rancour of encountering foes; Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms, And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy realms. 60 Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire Of mice, high theme of the Maeonian lyre; When bold to battle march'd the accoutred frogs, And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs. Pierced by the javelin bulrush on the shore Here agonizing roll'd the mouse in gore; And there the frog (a scene full sad to see!) Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along on three; He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high, But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny. 70 And now the day of woe drew on apace, A day of woe to all the pigmy race, When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain) To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain. For, roused to vengeance by repeated wrong, From distant climes the long-bill'd legions throng: From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads, And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds; From where the Danube winds through many a land, And Mareotis leaves the Egyptian strand; 80 To rendezvous they waft on eager wing, And wait, assembled, the returning spring. Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight, Whet their keen beaks and twisting claws for fight: Each crane the pigmy power in thought o'erturns, And every bosom for the battle burns. When genial gales the frozen air unbind, The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind; Far in the sky they form their long array, And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey 90 Deep, deep beneath; and, triumphing in pride With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride. 'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven. Nor less the alarm that shook the world below, Where march'd in pomp of war the embattled foe: Where manikins with haughty step advance, And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance: To right and left the lengthening lines they form, And rank'd in deep array await the storm. 100 High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen, Of giant stature and imperial mien: Full twenty inches tall, he strode along, And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng; And while with many a scar his visage frown'd, Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight The glorious meed of high heroic might. For with insatiate vengeance he pursued, And never-ending hate, the feathery brood. 110 Unhappy they, confiding in the length Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength, Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends, And from the panting trunk the pinion rends: Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more, The trunk disfigured stiffens in its gore. What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force! What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course! How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along, Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song! 120 And now from far the mingling clamours rise, Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies. From skirt to skirt of Heaven, with stormy sway, A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day. Near and more near descends the dreadful shade, And now in battailous array display'd, On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire, The cranes rush onward, and the fight require. The pigmy warriors eye with fearless glare The host thick swarming o'er the burden'd air; 130 Thick swarming now, but to their native land Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band.— When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven, Fierce on the expecting foe the cranes are driven, The kindling frenzy every bosom warms, The region echoes to the crash of arms; Loose feathers from the encountering armies fly, And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky. To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane, Then with fresh vigour downwards darts again. 140 Success in equal balance hovering hangs. Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs, The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls, Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls; There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound, With little feet the pigmy beats the ground: Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws, And, dying, curses the keen-pointed claws. Trembles the thundering field, thick cover'd o'er With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore; 150 And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size, And here a claw, and there a finger, lies. Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd foes, All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows; And on the assailing host impetuous springs, Careless of nibbling bills and flapping wings; And 'midst the tumult wheresoe'er he turns, The battle with redoubled fury burns; From every side the avenging cranes amain Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain. 160 When suddenly (for such the will of Jove) A fowl enormous, sousing from above, The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and, soaring high, (Sad chance of battle!) bore him up the sky. The cranes pursue, and, clustering in a ring, Chatter triumphant round the captive king. But, ah! what pangs each pigmy bosom wrung, When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung, High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord, His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd. 170 Lo! yet again with unabated rage, In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage. The crane with darted bill assaults the foe, Hovering; then wheels aloft to 'scape the blow: The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound; But whirls in empty air the falchion round. Such was the scene, when 'midst the loud alarms Sublime the eternal Thunderer rose in arms, When Briareus, by mad ambition driven, Heaved Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at heaven, 180 Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high, Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky; Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew, Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue. But now at length the pigmy legions yield, And, wing'd with terror, fly the fatal field. They raise a weak and melancholy wail, All in distraction scattering o'er the vale. Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend; Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend; 190 With unrelenting ire they urge the chase, Sworn to exterminate the hated race. 'Twas thus the pigmy name, once great in war, For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar, Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven, Short is the date to earthly grandeur given, And vain are all attempts to roam beyond Where fate has fix'd the everlasting bound. Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power, And Persia's proud dominion is no more: 200 Yea, though to both superior far in fame, Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name! And now, with lofty chiefs of ancient time, The pigmy heroes roam the Elysian clime. Or, if belief to matron-tales be due, Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view, Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd, Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade: Secure, for no alarming cranes molest, And all their woes in long oblivion rest: 210 Down the deep vale and narrow winding way They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay: 'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove, And Fairy-people is the name they love.
[Footnote 1: 'Or little,' &c.: from Gray's Elegy.]
THE HARES.
A FABLE.
Yes, yes, I grant the sons of Earth Are doom'd to trouble from their birth. We all of sorrow have our share; But say, is yours without compare? Look round the world; perhaps you'll find Each individual of our kind Press'd with an equal load of ill, Equal at least: look further still, And own your lamentable case Is little short of happiness. 10 In yonder hut that stands alone Attend to Famine's feeble moan; Or view the couch where Sickness lies, Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes; His frame by strong convulsion torn, His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn. Or see, transfixt with keener pangs, Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs; Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares, Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares; 20 Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll Their tempests on his harass'd soul. But here perhaps it may avail To enforce our reasoning with a tale. Mild was the morn, the sky serene, The jolly hunting band convene, The beagle's breast with ardour burns, The bounding steed the champaign spurns, And Fancy oft the game descries Through the hound's nose and huntsman's eyes, 30 Just then a council of the hares Had met on national affairs. The chiefs were set; while o'er their head The furze its frizzled covering spread. Long lists of grievances were heard, And general discontent appear'd. "Our harmless race shall every savage Both quadruped and biped ravage? Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still Unite their wits to work us ill? 40 The youth, his parent's sole delight, Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite, Whose pulse in every vein beats strong, Whose limbs leap light the vales along, May yet ere noontide meet his death, And lie dismember'd on the heath. For youth, alas! nor cautious age, Nor strength, nor speed eludes their rage. In every field we meet the foe, Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe; 50 The morning but awakes our fears, The evening sees us bathed in tears. But must we ever idly grieve, Nor strive our fortunes to relieve? Small is each individual's force; To stratagem be our recourse; And then, from all our tribes combined, The murderer to his cost may find No foes are weak whom Justice arms, Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms. 60 Be roused; or liberty acquire, Or in the great attempt expire." He said no more, for in his breast Conflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd: The fire of vengeance seem'd to stream From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam. And now the tumults of the war, Mingling confusedly from afar, Swell in the wind. Now louder cries Distinct of hounds and men arise. 70 Forth from the brake, with beating heart, The assembled hares tumultuous start, And, every straining nerve on wing, Away precipitately spring. The hunting band, a signal given, Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven; O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound, And river broad, impetuous bound; Now plunge amid the forest shades, Glance through the openings of the glades; 80 Now o'er the level valley sweep, Now with short step strain up the steep; While backward from the hunter's eyes The landscape like a torrent flies. At last an ancient wood they gain'd, By pruner's axe yet unprofaned. High o'er the rest, by nature rear'd, The oak's majestic boughs appear'd; Beneath, a copse of various hue In barbarous luxuriance grew. 90 No knife had curb'd the rambling sprays, No hand had wove the implicit maze. The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind, The hazel's stubborn stem entwined, And bramble twigs were wreathed around, And rough furze crept along the ground. Here sheltering from the sons of murther, The hares their tired limbs drag no further. But, lo! the western wind ere long Was loud, and roar'd the woods among; 100 From rustling leaves and crashing boughs The sound of woe and war arose. The hares distracted scour the grove, As terror and amazement drove; But danger, wheresoe'er they fled, Still seem'd impending o'er their head. Now crowded in a grotto's gloom, All hope extinct, they wait their doom. Dire was the silence, till, at length, Even from despair deriving strength, 110 With bloody eye and furious look, A daring youth arose and spoke: "O wretched race, the scorn of Fate, Whom ills of every sort await! O cursed with keenest sense to feel The sharpest sting of every ill! Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme, Of liberty and vengeance dream, What now remains? To what recess Shall we our weary steps address, 120 Since Fate is evermore pursuing All ways, and means to work our ruin? Are we alone, of all beneath, Condemn'd to misery worse than death? Must we, with fruitless labour, strive In misery worse than death to live? No. Be the smaller ill our choice; So dictates Nature's powerful voice. Death's pang will in a moment cease; And then, all hail, eternal peace!" 130 Thus while he spoke, his words impart The dire resolve to every heart. A distant lake in prospect lay, That, glittering in the solar ray, Gleam'd through the dusky trees, and shot A trembling light along the grot. Thither with one consent they bend, Their sorrows with their lives to end; While each, in thought, already hears The water hissing in his ears. 140 Fast by the margin of the lake, Conceal'd within a thorny brake, A linnet sat, whose careless lay Amused the solitary day. Careless he sung, for on his breast Sorrow no lasting trace impress'd; When suddenly he heard a sound Of swift feet traversing the ground. Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies, Thence trembling casts around his eyes; 150 No foe appear'd, his fears were vain; Pleased he renews the sprightly strain. The hares whose noise had caused his fright, Saw with surprise the linnet's flight. "Is there on earth a wretch," they said, "Whom our approach can strike with dread?" An instantaneous change of thought To tumult every bosom wrought. So fares the system-building sage, Who, plodding on from youth to age, 160 At last on some foundation dream Has rear'd aloft his goodly scheme, And proved his predecessors fools, And bound all nature by his rules; So fares he in that dreadful hour, When injured Truth exerts her power, Some new phenomenon to raise, Which, bursting on his frighted gaze, From its proud summit to the ground Proves the whole edifice unsound. 170 "Children," thus spoke a hare sedate, Who oft had known the extremes of fate, "In slight events the docile mind May hints of good instruction find, That our condition is the worst, And we with such misfortunes curst, As all comparison defy, Was late the universal cry; When, lo! an accident so slight As yonder little linnet's flight, 180 Has made your stubborn hearts confess (So your amazement bids me guess) That all our load of woes and fears Is but a part of what he bears. Where can he rest secure from harms, Whom even a helpless hare alarms? Yet he repines not at his lot; When past, the danger is forgot: On yonder bough he trims his wings, And with unusual rapture sings: 190 While we, less wretched, sink beneath Our lighter ills, and rush to death. No more of this unmeaning rage, But hear, my friends, the words of age: "When, by the winds of autumn driven, The scatter'd clouds fly 'cross the heaven, Oft have we, from some mountain's head, Beheld the alternate light and shade Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowers The shadowy cloud; there downward pours, 200 Streaming direct, a flood of day, Which from the view flies swift away; It flies, while other shades advance, And other streaks of sunshine glance. Thus chequer'd is the life below With gleams of joy and clouds of woe. Then hope not, while we journey on, Still to be basking in the sun; Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn, That sunshine will no more return. 210 If, by your terrors overcome, Ye fly before the approaching gloom, The rapid clouds your flight pursue, And darkness still o'ercasts your view. Who longs to reach the radiant plain Must onward urge his course amain: For doubly swift the shadow flies, When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies. At least be firm, and undismay'd Maintain your ground! the fleeting shade 220 Ere long spontaneous glides away, And gives you back the enlivening ray. Lo, while I speak, our danger past! No more the shrill horn's angry blast Howls in our ear: the savage roar Of war and murder is no more. Then snatch the moment fate allows, Nor think of past or future woes." He spoke; and hope revives; the lake That instant one and all forsake, 230 In sweet amusement to employ The present sprightly hour of joy. Now from the western mountain's brow, Compass'd with clouds of various glow, The sun a broader orb displays, And shoots aslope his ruddy rays. The lawn assumes a fresher green, And dew-drops spangle all the scene. The balmy zephyr breathes along, The shepherd sings his tender song, 240 With all their lays the groves resound, And falling waters murmur round: Discord and care were put to flight, And all was peace and calm delight.
THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS.
A FABLE.
(WRITTEN IN 1757, AND FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1766.)
Laws, as we read in ancient sages, Have been like cobwebs in all ages: Cobwebs for little flies are spread, And laws for little folks are made; But if an insect of renown, Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone, Be caught in quest of sport or plunder, The flimsy fetter flies in sunder. Your simile perhaps may please one With whom wit holds the place of reason: 10 But can you prove that this in fact is Agreeable to life and practice? Then hear, what in his simple way Old AEsop told me t' other day. In days of yore, but (which is very odd) Our author mentions not the period, We mortal men, less given to speeches, Allow'd the beasts sometimes to teach us. But now we all are prattlers grown, And suffer no voice but our own; 20 With us no beast has leave to speak, Although his honest heart should break. 'Tis true, your asses and your apes, And other brutes in human shapes, And that thing made of sound and show, Which mortals have misnamed a beau, (But in the language of the sky Is call'd a two-legg'd butterfly), Will make your very heartstrings ache With loud and everlasting clack, 30 And beat your auditory drum, Till you grow deaf, or they grow dumb. But to our story we return: 'Twas early on a Summer morn, A Wolf forsook the mountain den, And issued hungry on the plain. Full many a stream and lawn he past And reach'd a winding vale at last; Where from a hollow rock he spied The shepherds drest in flowery pride. 40 Garlands were strew'd, and all was gay, To celebrate a holiday. The merry tabor's gamesome sound Provoked the sprightly dance around. Hard by a rural board was rear'd, On which in fair array appear'd The peach, the apple, and the raisin, And all the fruitage of the season. But, more distinguish'd than the rest, Was seen a wether ready drest, 50 That smoking, recent from the flame, Diffused a stomach-rousing steam. Our Wolf could not endure the sight, Courageous grew his appetite: His entrails groan'd with tenfold pain, He lick'd his lips, and lick'd again: At last, with lightning in his eyes, He bounces forth, and fiercely cries: "Shepherds, I am not given to scolding, But now my spleen I cannot hold in. 60 By Jove, such scandalous oppression Would put an elephant in passion. You, who your flocks (as you pretend) By wholesome laws from harm defend, Which make it death for any beast, How much soe'er by hunger press'd, To seize a sheep by force or stealth, For sheep have right to life and health; Can you commit, uncheck'd by shame, What in a beast so much you blame? 70 What is a law, if those who make it Become the forwardest to break it? The case is plain: you would reserve All to yourselves, while others starve. Such laws from base self-interest spring, Not from the reason of the thing—" He was proceeding, when a swain Burst out,—"And dares a wolf arraign His betters, and condemn their measures, And contradict their wills and pleasures? 80 We have establish'd laws, 'tis true, But laws are made for such as you. Know, sirrah, in its very nature A law can't reach the legislature. For laws, without a sanction join'd, As all men know, can never bind; But sanctions reach not us the makers, For who dares punish us, though breakers? 'Tis therefore plain, beyond denial, That laws were ne'er design'd to tie all; 90 But those, whom sanctions reach alone: We stand accountable to none. Besides, 'tis evident, that, seeing Laws from the great derive their being, They as in duty bound should love The great, in whom they live and move, And humbly yield to their desires: 'Tis just what gratitude requires. What suckling, dandled on the lap, Would tear away its mother's pap? 100 But hold—Why deign I to dispute With such a scoundrel of a brute? Logic is lost upon a knave, Let action prove the law our slave." An angry nod his will declared To his gruff yeoman of the guard; The full-fed mongrels, train'd to ravage, Fly to devour the shaggy savage. The beast had now no time to lose In chopping logic with his foes; 110 "This argument," quoth he, "has force, And swiftness is my sole resource." He said, and left the swains their prey, And to the mountains scour'd away.
SONG;
IN IMITATION OF SHAKSPEARE'S "BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND."
1
Blow, blow, thou vernal gale! Thy balm will not avail To ease my aching breast; Though thou the billows smooth, Thy murmurs cannot soothe My weary soul to rest.
2
Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream! Infuse the easy dream Into the peaceful soul; But thou canst not compose The tumult of my woes, Though soft thy waters roll.
3
Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers! Beauties surpassing yours My Rosalind adorn; Nor is the Winter's blast, That lays your glories waste, So killing as her scorn.
4
Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays, That linger down the maze Of yonder winding grove; O let your soft control Bend her relenting soul To pity and to love.
5
Fade, fade, ye flowerets fair! Gales, fan no more the air! Ye streams, forget to glide; Be hush'd each vernal strain; Since nought can soothe my pain, Nor mitigate her pride.
TO LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON,
DRESSED IN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET, WITH PLUMES, ETC.
1
Why, lady, wilt them bind thy lovely brow With the dread semblance of that warlike helm; That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow, That graced the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm?
2
Thou know'st that Virtue is of power the source, And all her magic to thy eyes is given; We own their empire, while we feel their force, Beaming with the benignity of heaven.
3
The plumy helmet and the martial mien Might dignify Minerva's awful charms; But more resistless far the Idalian queen— Smiles, graces, gentleness, her only arms.
EPITAPH:
BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT ERECTED BY A GENTLEMAN TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY.
Farewell, my best beloved! whose heavenly mind Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd; Devotion, undebased by pride or art, With meek simplicity, and joy of heart: Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere; And only of thyself a judge severe: Unblamed, unequall'd in each sphere of life, The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife. In thee, their patroness the afflicted lost; Thy friends their pattern, ornament, and boast; And I—but ah, can words my loss declare, Or paint the extremes of transport and despair! O thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell— My guide, my friend, my best beloved, farewell!
EPITAPH
ON TWO YOUNG MEN OF THE NAME OF LEITCH, WHO WERE DROWNED IN CROSSING THE RIVER SOUTHESK. 1757.
O thou! whose steps in sacred reverence tread These lone dominions of the silent dead; On this sad stone a pious look bestow, Nor uninstructed read this tale of woe; And while the sigh of sorrow heaves thy breast, Let each rebellious murmur be suppress'd; Heaven's hidden ways to trace, for us how vain! Heaven's wise decrees, how impious to arraign! Pure from the stains of a polluted age, In early bloom of life they left the stage: Not doom'd in lingering woe to waste their breath, One moment snatch'd them from the power of Death: They lived united, and united died; Happy the friends whom Death cannot divide!
EPITAPH, INTENDED FOR HIMSELF.
1
Escaped the gloom of mortal life, a soul Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay, Safe where no cares their whelming billows roll, No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray.
2
Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life; Like thee, have languish'd after empty joys; Like thee, have labour'd in the stormy strife; Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys.
3
Yet, for a while, 'gainst Passion's threatful blast Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar; Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore.
4
Forget my frailties, thou art also frail; Forgive my lapses, for thyself mayst fall; Nor read, unmoved, my artless tender tale, I was a friend, O man! to thee, to all.
END OF BEATTIE'S POEMS.
POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BLAIR.
THE LIFE OF ROBERT BLAIR.
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 'had' 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 "'Divina' Commedia," and which was worthy of the name. Tasso's "Gerusalemme Liberata" had a religious moral, as well as a title suggestive of religious ideas. Spenser's "Faery Queen" was sacred, if not in all the parts, yet at least in the pervading spirit of its poetry. Cowley's "Davideis," Herbert's "Temple," Milton's "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained," and Young's "Night Thoughts," existed then, were all admitted to be more or less masterpieces, and were all sacred in their subjects and aims. Blair's "Grave" too, had, ere Johnson's day, appeared, and furnished a good example of a solemn and religious theme, treated with genuine poetic power. |
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