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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Robert Southey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: Poems
+
+Author: Robert Southey
+
+Posting Date: August 25, 2014 [EBook #8212]
+Release Date: June, 2005
+First Posted: July 2, 2003
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Clytie Siddall and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  POEMS
+
+  by
+
+  Robert Southey
+
+
+  1797
+
+
+
+
+
+  GODDESS of the LYRE! with thee comes
+  Majestic TRUTH; and where TRUTH deigns to come,
+  Her sister LIBERTY will not be far.
+
+  Akenside.
+
+
+
+
+  SONNET.
+
+
+  With wayworn feet a Pilgrim woe-begone
+    Life's upward road I journeyed many a day,
+    And hymning many a sad yet soothing lay
+  Beguil'd my wandering with the charms of song.
+    Lonely my heart and rugged was my way,
+  Yet often pluck'd I as I past along
+    The wild and simple flowers of Poesy,
+  And as beseem'd the wayward Fancy's child
+    Entwin'd each random weed that pleas'd mine eye.
+  Accept the wreath, BELOVED! it is wild
+    And rudely garlanded; yet scorn not thou
+  The humble offering, where the sad rue weaves
+  'Mid gayer flowers its intermingled leaves,
+    And I have twin'd the myrtle for thy brow.
+
+
+
+
+I have collected in this Volume the productions of very distant periods.
+The lyric pieces were written in earlier youth; I now think the Ode the
+most worthless species of composition as well as the most difficult, and
+should never again attempt it, even if my future pursuits were such as
+allowed leisure for poetry. The poems addressed to the heart and the
+understanding are those of my maturer judgment. The Inscriptions will be
+found to differ from the Greek simplicity of Akenside's in the point
+that generally concludes them. The Sonnets were written first, or I
+would have adopted a different title, and avoided the shackle of rhyme
+and the confinement to fourteen lines.
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+
+  To Mary Wollstonecraft ............. 3
+  The Triumph of Woman ............... 7
+  Poems on the Slave-Trade .......... 29
+  Sonnet 1 .......................... 33
+         2 .......................... 34
+         3 .......................... 35
+         4 .......................... 36
+         5 .......................... 37
+         6 .......................... 38
+  To the Genius of Africa ........... 39
+  To my own Miniature Picture ....... 44
+  The Pauper's Funeral .............. 47
+  Ode written on 1st of January ..... 49
+  Inscription 1 ..................... 55
+              2 ..................... 56
+              3 ..................... 57
+              4 ..................... 59
+              5 ..................... 61
+              6 ..................... 62
+              7 ..................... 63
+              8 ..................... 64
+  Birth-Day Ode ..................... 67
+  Birth-Day Ode ..................... 71
+  Botany-bay Eclogues ............... 75
+  Elinor ............................ 77
+  Humphrey and William .............. 83
+  John, Samuel, and Richard ......... 92
+  Frederic .......................... 99
+  Sonnet 1 ......................... 107
+         2 ......................... 108
+         3 ......................... 109
+         4 ......................... 110
+         5 ......................... 111
+         6 ......................... 112
+         7 ......................... 113
+         8 ......................... 114
+         9 ......................... 115
+        10 ......................... 116
+  Sappho ........................... 121
+  Ode written on 1st. Dece. ........ 126
+  Written on Sunday Morning ........ 129
+  On the death of a favorite
+    old Spaniel .................... 132
+  To Contemplation ................. 135
+  To Horror ........................ 140
+  The Soldier's Wife ............... 145
+  The Widow ........................ 147
+  The Chapel Bell .................. 149
+  The Race of Banquo ............... 152
+  Musings on a landscape of
+    Caspar Poussin ................. 154
+  Mary ............................. 163
+  Donica ........................... 175
+  Rudiger .......................... 187
+  Hymn to the Penates .............. 203
+
+
+
+  ERRORS
+
+  p.151  - in the last line but one, for nosal, read nasal.
+  p.192  - line 8, for wild, read mild.
+  p. 203 - in the note, for Complicces, read Complices.
+
+
+
+
+
+  THE TRIUMPH OF WOMAN
+
+
+  [Greek (transliterated):
+                           Ou gar thaeluierais demas opasen aemiielesion
+                           Morphaen, ophra xai allaperi chroi technaesainio.
+
+                                                              NATMACHIOS.]
+
+
+
+
+
+  TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.
+
+
+  The lilly cheek, the "purple light of love,"
+  The liquid lustre of the melting eye,--
+  Mary! of these the Poet sung, for these
+  Did Woman triumph! with no angry frown
+  View this degrading conquest. At that age
+  No MAID OF ARC had snatch'd from coward man
+  The heaven-blest sword of Liberty; thy sex
+  Could boast no female ROLAND'S martyrdom;
+  No CORDE'S angel and avenging arm
+  Had sanctified again the Murderer's name
+  As erst when Caesar perish'd: yet some strains
+  May even adorn this theme, befitting me
+  To offer, nor unworthy thy regard.
+
+
+                                          ROBERT SOUTHEY.
+
+
+
+The Subject of the following Poem may be found in the Third and Fourth
+Chapters of the first Book of Esdras.
+
+
+
+  THE TRIUMPH of WOMAN.
+
+
+     Glad as the weary traveller tempest-tost
+  To reach secure at length his native coast,
+  Who wandering long o'er distant lands has sped,
+  The night-blast wildly howling round his head,
+  Known all the woes of want, and felt the storm
+  Of the bleak winter parch his shivering form;
+  The journey o'er and every peril past
+  Beholds his little cottage-home at last,
+  And as he sees afar the smoke curl slow,
+  Feels his full eyes with transport overflow:
+  So from the scene where Death and Anguish reign,
+  And Vice and Folly drench with blood the plain,
+  Joyful I turn, to sing how Woman's praise
+  Avail'd again Jerusalem to raise,
+  Call'd forth the sanction of the Despot's nod,
+  And freed the nation best-belov'd of God.
+
+     Darius gives the feast: to Persia's court,
+  Awed by his will, the obedient throng resort,
+  Attending Satraps swell the Prince's pride,
+  And vanquish'd Monarchs grace their Conqueror's side.
+  No more the Warrior wears the garb of war,
+  Sharps the strong steel, or mounts the scythed car;
+  No more Judaea's sons dejected go,
+  And hang the head and heave the sigh of woe.
+  From Persia's rugged hills descend the train.
+  From where Orontes foams along the plain,
+  From where Choaspes rolls his royal waves,
+  And India sends her sons, submissive slaves.
+  Thy daughters Babylon to grace the feast
+  Weave the loose robe, and paint the flowery vest,
+  With roseate wreaths they braid the glossy hair.
+  They tinge the cheek which Nature form'd so fair,
+  Learn the soft step, the soul-subduing glance,
+  Melt in the song, and swim adown the dance.
+  Exalted on the Monarch's golden throne
+  In royal state the fair Apame shone;
+
+  Her form of majesty, her eyes of fire
+  Chill with respect, or kindle with desire.
+  The admiring multitude her charms adore,
+  And own her worthy of the crown she wore.
+
+     Now on his couch reclin'd Darius lay,
+  Tir'd with the toilsome pleasures of the day;
+  Without Judaea's watchful sons await
+  To guard the sleeping pageant of the state.
+  Three youths were these of Judah's royal race,
+  Three youths whom Nature dower'd with every grace,
+  To each the form of symmetry she gave,
+  And haughty Genius curs'd each favorite slave;
+  These fill'd the cup, around the Monarch kept,
+  Serv'd as he spake, and guarded whilst he slept.
+
+     Yet oft for Salem's hallowed towers laid low
+  The sigh would heave, the unbidden tear would flow;
+  And when the dull and wearying round of Power
+  Allowed Zorobabel one vacant hour,
+  He lov'd on Babylon's high wall to roam,
+  And stretch the gaze towards his distant home,
+  Or on Euphrates' willowy banks reclin'd
+  Hear the sad harp moan fitful to the wind.
+
+     As now the perfum'd lamps stream wide their light,
+  And social converse chears the livelong night,
+  Thus spake Zorobabel, "too long in vain
+  "For Sion desolate her sons complain;
+  "In anguish worn the joyless years lag slow,
+  "And these proud conquerors mock their captive's woe.
+  "Whilst Cyrus triumph'd here in victor state
+  "A brighter prospect chear'd our exil'd fate,
+  "Our sacred walls again he bade us raise,
+  "And to Jehovah rear the pile of praise.
+  "Quickly these fond hopes faded from our eyes,
+  "As the frail sun that gilds the wintry skies,
+  "And spreads a moment's radiance o'er the plain,
+  "Soon hid by clouds that dim the scene again.
+
+     "Opprest by Artaxerxes' jealous reign
+  "We vainly pleaded here, and wept in vain.
+  "Now when Darius, chief of mild command,
+  "Bids joy and pleasure fill the festive land,
+  "Still shall we droop the head in sullen grief,
+  "And sternly silent shun to seek relief?
+  "What if amid the Monarch's mirthful throng
+  "Our harps should echo to the chearful song?
+
+     "Fair is the occasion," thus the one replied,
+  "And now let all our tuneful skill be tried.
+  "Whilst the gay courtiers quaff the smiling bowl,
+  "And wine's strong fumes inspire the madden'd soul,
+  "Where all around is merriment, be mine
+  "To strike the lute, and praise the power of Wine.
+
+     "And whilst" his friend replied in state alone
+  "Lord of the earth Darius fills the throne,
+  "Be yours the mighty power of Wine to sing,
+  "My lute shall sound the praise of Persia's King."
+
+     To them Zorobabel, on themes like these
+  "Seek ye the Monarch of Mankind to please;
+  "To Wine superior or to Power's strong arms,
+  "Be mine to sing resistless Woman's charms.
+  "To him victorious in the rival lays
+  "Shall just Darius give the meed of praise;
+  "The purple robe his honor'd frame shall fold,
+  "The beverage sparkle in his cup of gold;
+  "A golden couch support his bed of rest,
+  "The chain of honor grace his favor'd breast;
+  "His the soft turban, his the car's array
+  "O'er Babylon's high wall to wheel its way;
+  "And for his wisdom seated on the throne,
+  "For the KING'S COUSIN shall the Bard be known."
+
+     Intent they meditate the future lay,
+  And watch impatient for the dawn of day.
+  The morn rose clear, and shrill were heard the flute,
+  The cornet, sackbut, dulcimer, and lute;
+  To Babylon's gay streets the throng resort,
+  Swarm thro' the gates, and fill the festive court.
+  High on his throne Darius tower'd in pride,
+  The fair Apame grac'd the Sovereign's side;
+  And now she smil'd, and now with mimic frown
+  Placed on her brow the Monarch's sacred crown.
+  In transport o'er her faultless form he bends,
+  Loves every look, and every act commends.
+
+    And now Darius bids the herald call
+  Judaea's Bard to grace the thronging hall.
+  Hush'd is each sound--the attending crowd are mute,
+  The Hebrew lightly strikes the chearful lute:
+
+      When the Traveller on his way,
+    Who has toil'd the livelong day,
+    Feels around on every side
+    The chilly mists of eventide,
+    Fatigued and faint his wearied mind
+    Recurs to all he leaves behind;
+    He thinks upon the well-trimm'd hearth,
+    The evening hour of social mirth,
+    And her who at departing day
+    Weeps for her husband far away.
+    Oh give to him the flowing bowl,
+    Bid it renovate his soul;
+    Then shall sorrow sink to sleep,
+    And he who wept, no more shall weep;
+    For his care-clouded brow shall clear,
+  And his glad eye shall sparkle thro' the tear.
+
+      When the poor man heart-opprest
+    Betakes him to his evening rest,
+    And worn with labour thinks in sorrow
+    Of the labor of to-morrow;
+    When sadly musing on his lot
+    He hies him to his joyless cot,
+    And loathes to meet his children there,
+    The rivals for his scanty fare:
+    Oh give to him the flowing bowl,
+    Bid it renovate his soul;
+    The generous juice with magic power
+    Shall cheat with happiness the hour,
+    And with each warm affection fill
+  The heart by want and wretchedness made chill.
+
+      When, at the dim close of day,
+    The Captive loves alone to stray
+    Along the haunts recluse and rude
+    Of sorrow and of solitude;
+    When he sits with moveless eye
+    To mark the lingering radiance die,
+    And lets distemper'd Fancy roam
+    Amid the ruins of his home,--
+    Oh give to him the flowing bowl,
+    Bid it renovate his soul;
+    The bowl shall better thoughts bestow,
+    And lull to rest his wakeful woe,
+    And Joy shall bless the evening hour,
+  And make the Captive Fortune's conqueror.
+
+      When the wearying cares of state
+    Oppress the Monarch with their weight,
+    When from his pomp retir'd alone
+    He feels the duties of the throne,
+    Feels that the multitude below
+    Depend on him for weal or woe;
+    When his powerful will may bless
+    A realm with peace and happiness,
+    Or with desolating breath
+    Breathe ruin round, and woe, and death:
+    Oh give to him the flowing bowl,
+    Bid it humanize his soul;
+    He shall not feel the empire's weight,
+    He shall not feel the cares of state,
+    The bowl shall each dark thought beguile,
+  And Nations live and prosper from his smile.
+
+     Husht was the lute, the Hebrew ceas'd the song;
+  Long peals of plaudits echoed from the throng;
+  Each tongue the liberal words of praise repaid,
+  On every cheek a smile applauding play'd;
+  The rival Bard advanced, he struck the string,
+  And pour'd the loftier song to Persia's King.
+
+    Why should the wearying cares of state
+    Oppress the Monarch with their weight?
+    Alike to him if Peace shall bless
+    The multitude with happiness;
+  Alike to him if frenzied War
+    Careers triumphant on the embattled plain,
+    And rolling on o'er myriads slain,
+  With gore and wounds shall clog his scythed car.
+  What tho' the tempest rage! no sound
+    Of the deep thunder shakes his distant throne,
+  And the red flash that spreads destruction round,
+    Reflects a glorious splendour on the Crown.
+
+    Where is the Man who with ennobling pride
+  Beholds not his own nature? where is he
+    Who but with deep amazement awe allied
+  Must muse the mysteries of the human mind,
+      The miniature of Deity.
+  For Man the vernal clouds descending
+      Shower down their fertilizing rain,
+  For Man the ripen'd harvest bending
+    Waves with soft murmur o'er the plenteous plain.
+      He spreads the sail on high,
+    The rude gale wafts him o'er the main;
+    For him the winds of Heaven subservient blow,
+    Earth teems for him, for him the waters flow,
+  He thinks, and wills, and acts, a Deity below!
+
+  Where is the King who with elating pride
+    Sees not this Man--this godlike Man his Slave?
+  Mean are the mighty by the Monarch's side,
+    Alike the wife, alike the brave
+    With timid step and pale, advance,
+    And tremble at the royal glance;
+    Suspended millions watch his breath
+  Whose smile is happiness, whose frown is death.
+
+  Why goes the Peasant from that little cot,
+  Where PEACE and LOVE have blest his humble life?
+    In vain his agonizing wife
+    With tears bedews her husband's face,
+  And clasps him in a long and last embrace;
+    In vain his children round his bosom creep,
+    And weep to see their mother weep,
+  Fettering their father with their little arms;
+    What are to him the wars alarms?
+    What are to him the distant foes?
+    He at the earliest dawn of day
+      To daily labor went his way;
+      And when he saw the sun decline,
+      He sat in peace beneath his vine:--
+    The king commands, the peasant goes,
+    From all he lov'd on earth he flies,
+  And for his monarch toils, and fights, and bleeds, and dies.
+
+    What tho' yon City's castled wall
+      Casts o'er the darken'd plain its crested shade?
+    What tho' their Priests in earnest terror call
+      On all their host of Gods to aid?
+    Vain is the bulwark, vain the tower;
+      In vain her gallant youths expose
+      Their breasts, a bulwark, to the foes.
+    In vain at that tremendous hour,
+    Clasp'd in the savage soldier's reeking arms,
+      Shrieks to tame Heaven the violated Maid.
+    By the rude hand of Ruin scatter'd round
+  Their moss-grown towers shall spread the desart ground.
+      Low shall the mouldering palace lie,
+    Amid the princely halls the grass wave high,
+  And thro' the shatter'd roof descend the inclement sky.
+
+      Gay o'er the embattled plain
+      Moves yonder warrior train,
+    Their banners wanton on the morning gale!
+      Full on their bucklers beams the rising ray,
+      Their glittering helmets flash a brighter day,
+    The shout of war rings echoing o'er the vale:
+    Far reaches as the aching eye can strain
+      The splendid horror of their wide array.
+      Ah! not in vain expectant, o'er
+      Their glorious pomp the Vultures soar!
+      Amid the Conqueror's palace high
+      Shall sound the song of victory:
+    Long after journeying o'er the plain
+      The Traveller shall with startled eye
+  See their white bones then blanched by many a winter sky.
+
+    Lord of the Earth! we will not raise
+    The Temple to thy bounded praise.
+    For thee no victim need expire,
+    For thee no altar blaze with hallowed fire!
+    The burning city flames for thee--
+    Thine altar is the field of victory!
+      Thy sacred Majesty to bless
+    Man a self-offer'd victim freely flies;
+      To thee he sacrifices Happiness,
+    And Peace, and Love's endearing ties,
+  To thee a Slave he lives, to thee a Slave he dies.
+
+
+  Husht was the lute, the Hebrew ceas'd to sing;
+  The shout rush'd forth--for ever live the King!
+  Loud was the uproar, as when Rome's decree
+  Pronounc'd Achaia once again was free;
+  Assembled Greece enrapt with fond belief
+  Heard the false boon, and bless'd the villain Chief;
+  Each breast with Freedom's holy ardor glows,
+  From every voice the cry of rapture rose;
+  Their thundering clamors burst the astonish'd sky,
+  And birds o'erpassing hear, and drop, and die.
+  Thus o'er the Persian dome their plaudits ring,
+  And the high hall re-echoed--live the King!
+  The Mutes bow'd reverent down before their Lord,
+  The assembled Satraps envied and ador'd,
+  Joy sparkled in the Monarch's conscious eyes,
+  And his pleas'd pride already doom'd the prize.
+
+  Silent they saw Zorobabel advance:
+  Quick on Apame shot his timid glance,
+  With downward eye he paus'd a moment mute,
+  And with light finger touch'd the softer lute.
+  Apame knew the Hebrew's grateful cause,
+  And bent her head and sweetly smil'd applause.
+
+    Why is the Warrior's cheek so red?
+    Why downward droops his musing head?
+    Why that slow step, that faint advance,
+    That keen yet quick-retreating glance?
+    That crested head in war tower'd high,
+    No backward glance disgrac'd that eye,
+    No flushing fear that cheek o'erspread
+    When stern he strode o'er heaps of dead;
+    Strange tumult now his bosom moves--
+    The Warrior fears because he loves.
+
+    Why does the Youth delight to rove
+    Amid the dark and lonely grove?
+    Why in the throng where all are gay,
+      His wandering eye with meaning fraught,
+      Sits he alone in silent thought?
+    Silent he sits; for far away
+    His passion'd soul delights to stray;
+    Recluse he roves and strives to shun
+  All human-kind because he loves but One!
+
+    Yes, King of Persia, thou art blest;
+      But not because the sparkling bowl
+      To rapture lifts thy waken'd soul [1]
+    But not because of Power possest,
+    Not that the Nations dread thy nod,
+    And Princes reverence thee their earthly God,
+    Even on a Monarch's solitude
+    Care the black Spectre will intrude,
+    The bowl brief pleasure can bestow,
+    The Purple cannot shield from Woe.
+    But King of Persia thou art blest,
+  For Heaven who rais'd thee thus the world above
+  Has made thee happy in Apame's love!
+
+    Oh! I have seen his fond looks trace
+    Each angel feature of her face,
+    Rove o'er her form with eager eye,
+    And sigh and gaze, and gaze and sigh.
+    Lo! from his brow with mimic frown,
+    Apame takes the sacred crown;
+    Her faultless form, her lovely face
+    Add to the diadem new grace
+    And subject to a Woman's laws
+    Darius sees and smiles applause!
+
+  He ceas'd, and silent still remain'd the throng
+  Whilst rapt attention own'd the power of song.
+  Then loud as when the wintry whirlwinds blow
+  From ev'ry voice the thundering plaudits flow;
+  Darius smil'd, Apame's sparkling eyes
+  Glanc'd on the King, and Woman won the prize.
+
+  Now silent sat the expectant crowd, alone
+  The victor Hebrew gaz'd not on the throne;
+  With deeper hue his cheek distemper'd glows,
+  With statelier stature, loftier now he rose;
+  Heavenward he gaz'd, regardless of the throng,
+  And pour'd with awful voice sublimer song.
+
+    Ancient of Days! Eternal Truth! one hymn
+  One holier strain the Bard shall raise to thee,
+  Thee Powerful! Thee Benevolent! Thee Just!
+  Friend! Father! All in All! the Vines rich blood,
+  The Monarch's might, and Woman's conquering charms,--
+  These shall we praise alone? Oh ye who sit
+  Beneath your vine, and quaff at evening hour
+  The healthful bowl, remember him whose dews,
+  Whose rains, whose sun, matur'd the growing fruit,
+  Creator and Preserver! Reverence Him,
+  O thou who from thy throne dispensest life
+  And death, for He has delegated power.
+  And thou shalt one day at the throne of God
+  Render most strict account! O ye who gaze
+  Enrapt on Beauty's fascinating form,
+  Gaze on with love, and loving Beauty, learn
+  To shun abhorrent all the mental eye
+  Beholds deform'd and foul; for so shall Love
+  Climb to the Source of Virtue. God of Truth!
+  All-Just! All-Mighty! I should ill deserve
+  Thy noblest gift, the gift divine of song,
+  If, so content with ear-deep melodies [2]
+  To please all profitless, I did not pour
+  Severer strains; of Truth--eternal Truth,
+  Unchanging Justice, universal Love.
+  Such strains awake the soul to loftiest thoughts,
+  Such strains the Blessed Spirits of the Good
+  Waft, grateful incense, to the Halls of Heaven.
+
+  The dying notes still murmur'd on the string,
+  When from his throne arose the raptur'd King.
+  About to speak he stood, and wav'd his hand,
+  And all expectant sat the obedient band.
+
+  Then just and gen'rous, thus the Monarch cries,
+  "Be thine Zorobabel the well earned prize.
+  "The purple robe of state thy form shall fold,
+  "The beverage sparkle in thy cup of gold;
+  "The golden couch, the car, and honor'd chain,
+  "Requite the merits of thy favor'd strain,
+  "And rais'd supreme the ennobled race among
+  "Be call'd MY COUSIN for the victor song.
+  "Nor these alone the victor song shall bless,
+  "Ask what thou wilt, and what thou wilt, possess."
+  "Fall'n is Jerusalem!" the Hebrew cries.
+  And patriot anguish fills his streaming eyes,
+  "Hurl'd to the earth by Rapine's vengeful rod,
+  "Polluted lies the temple of our God,
+  "Far in a foreign land her sons remain,
+  "Hear the keen taunt, and drag the captive chain:
+  "In fruitless woe they wear the wearying years,
+  "And steep the bread of bitterness in tears.
+  "O Monarch, greatest, mildest, best of men,
+  "Restore us to those ruin'd walls again!
+  "Allow our race to rear that sacred dome,
+  "To live in liberty, and die at Home."
+
+  So spake Zorobabel--thus Woman's praise
+  Avail'd again Jerusalem to raise,
+  Call'd forth the sanction of the Despot's nod,
+  And freed the Nation best belov'd of God.
+
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: text showed "foul" which we think was a long s transferred
+to the modern edition by mistake. Gutenberg Proofreading.]
+
+[Footnote 2: This expression is from OWEN FELLTHAM.]
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+on the
+
+SLAVE TRADE.
+
+
+I am Innocent of this Blood, SEE YE TO IT!
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+When first the Abolition of the SLAVE-TRADE was agitated in England, the
+friends of humanity endeavoured by two means to accomplish it.--To
+destroy the Trade immediately by the interference of Government or by
+the disuse of West-Indian productions: a slow but certain method. For a
+while Government held the language of justice, and individuals with
+enthusiasm banished sugar from their tables. This enthusiasm soon
+cooled; the majority of those who had made this sacrifice (I prostitute
+the word, but they thought it a sacrifice) persuaded themselves that
+Parliament would do all, and that individual efforts were no longer
+necessary. Thus ended the one attempt; and the duplicity with which Mr.
+Wilberforce has been amused, and the Slave-Merchants satisfied, has now
+effectually destroyed the other.
+
+There are yet two other methods remaining, by which this traffic will
+probably be abolished. By the introduction of East-Indian or Maple
+Sugar, or by the just and general rebellion of the Negroes: by the
+vindictive justice of the Africans, or by the civilized Christians
+finding it their interest to be humane.
+
+To these past and present prospects the following Poems occasionally
+allude: to the English custom of exciting wars upon the Slave Coast that
+they may purchase prisoners, and to the punishment sometimes inflicted
+upon a Negro for murder, of which Hector St. John was an eye-witness.
+
+
+
+  SONNET I
+
+  Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain
+    Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood?
+    For ever must your Nigers tainted flood
+  Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain?
+  Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear
+    The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore
+    Can hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore,
+  With laurels water'd by the widow's tear
+  Wreathing his helmet crown? lift high the spear!
+    And like the desolating whirlwinds sweep,
+    Plunge ye yon bark of anguish in the deep;
+  For the pale fiend, cold-hearted Commerce there
+  Breathes his gold-gender'd pestilence afar,
+  And calls to share the prey his kindred Daemon War.
+
+
+
+  SONNET II
+
+  Why dost thou beat thy breast and rend thine hair,
+    And to the deaf sea pour thy frantic cries?
+    Before the gale the laden vessel flies;
+  The Heavens all-favoring smile, the breeze is fair;
+  Hark to the clamors of the exulting crew!
+    Hark how their thunders mock the patient skies!
+    Why dost thou shriek and strain thy red-swoln eyes
+  As the white sail dim lessens from thy view?
+  Go pine in want and anguish and despair,
+    There is no mercy found in human-kind--
+  Go Widow to thy grave and rest thee there!
+    But may the God of Justice bid the wind
+  Whelm that curst bark beneath the mountain wave,
+  And bless with Liberty and Death the Slave!
+
+
+
+  SONNET III
+
+  Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run
+    Down his dark cheek; hold--hold thy merciless hand,
+    Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command
+  O'erwearied Nature sinks. The scorching Sun,
+  As pityless as proud Prosperity,
+    Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies
+    Arraigning with his looks the patient skies,
+  While that inhuman trader lifts on high
+    The mangling scourge. Oh ye who at your ease
+    Sip the blood-sweeten'd beverage! thoughts like these
+  Haply ye scorn: I thank thee Gracious God!
+    That I do feel upon my cheek the glow
+  Of indignation, when beneath the rod
+    A sable brother writhes in silent woe.
+
+
+
+  SONNET IV
+
+  'Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep
+    As undisturb'd as Justice! but no more
+    The wretched Slave, as on his native shore,
+  Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep!
+  Tho' thro' the toil and anguish of the day
+    No tear escap'd him, not one suffering groan
+    Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone
+  In bitterness; thinking that far away
+  Tho' the gay negroes join the midnight song,
+    Tho' merriment resounds on Niger's shore,
+  She whom he loves far from the chearful throng
+    Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door
+  With dim grown eye, silent and woe-begone,
+    And weeps for him who will return no more.
+
+
+
+  SONNET V
+
+  Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword
+    Of Vengeance? drench'd he deep its thirsty blade
+  In the cold bosom of his tyrant lord?
+    Oh! who shall blame him? thro' the midnight shade
+  Still o'er his tortur'd memory rush'd the thought
+    Of every past delight; his native grove,
+    Friendship's best joys, and Liberty and Love,
+  All lost for ever! then Remembrance wrought
+  His soul to madness; round his restless bed
+    Freedom's pale spectre stalk'd, with a stern smile
+    Pointing the wounds of slavery, the while
+  She shook her chains and hung her sullen head:
+  No more on Heaven he calls with fruitless breath,
+  But sweetens with revenge, the draught of death.
+
+
+
+  SONNET VI
+
+  High in the air expos'd the Slave is hung
+    To all the birds of Heaven, their living food!
+  He groans not, tho' awaked by that fierce Sun
+    New torturers live to drink their parent blood!
+  He groans not, tho' the gorging Vulture tear
+    The quivering fibre! hither gaze O ye
+    Who tore this Man from Peace and Liberty!
+  Gaze hither ye who weigh with scrupulous care
+  The right and prudent; for beyond the grave
+    There is another world! and call to mind,
+    Ere your decrees proclaim to all mankind
+  Murder is legalized, that there the Slave
+  Before the Eternal, "thunder-tongued shall plead
+  "Against the deep damnation of your deed."
+
+
+
+  TO THE GENIUS OF AFRICA
+
+    O thou who from the mountain's height
+    Roll'st down thy clouds with all their weight
+  Of waters to old Niles majestic tide;
+    Or o'er the dark sepulchral plain
+  Recallest thy Palmyra's ancient pride,
+    Amid whose desolated domes
+    Secure the savage chacal roams,
+  Where from the fragments of the hallow'd fane
+  The Arabs rear their miserable homes!
+
+  Hear Genius hear thy children's cry!
+    Not always should'st thou love to brood
+    Stern o'er the desert solitude
+  Where seas of sand toss their hot surges high;
+    Nor Genius should the midnight song
+  Detain thee in some milder mood
+    The palmy plains among
+  Where Gambia to the torches light
+  Flows radiant thro' the awaken'd night.
+
+  Ah, linger not to hear the song!
+  Genius avenge thy children's wrong!
+  The Daemon COMMERCE on your shore
+    Pours all the horrors of his train,
+  And hark! where from the field of gore
+    Howls the hyena o'er the slain!
+  Lo! where the flaming village fires the skies!
+  Avenging Power awake--arise!
+
+  Arise thy children's wrong redress!
+  Ah heed the mother's wretchedness
+  When in the hot infectious air
+    O'er her sick babe she bows opprest--
+  Ah hear her when the Christians tear
+    The drooping infant from her breast!
+    Whelm'd in the waters he shall rest!
+  Hear thou the wretched mother's cries,
+  Avenging Power awake! arise!
+
+    By the rank infected air
+    That taints those dungeons of despair,
+    By those who there imprison'd die
+    Where the black herd promiscuous lie,
+    By the scourges blacken'd o'er
+    And stiff and hard with human gore,
+    By every groan of deep distress
+    By every curse of wretchedness,
+    By all the train of Crimes that flow
+    From the hopelessness of Woe,
+    By every drop of blood bespilt,
+    By Afric's wrongs and Europe's guilt,
+    Awake! arise! avenge!
+
+  And thou hast heard! and o'er their blood-fed plains
+  Swept thine avenging hurricanes;
+  And bade thy storms with whirlwind roar
+  Dash their proud navies on the shore;
+  And where their armies claim'd the fight
+  Wither'd the warrior's might;
+  And o'er the unholy host with baneful breath
+  There Genius thou hast breath'd the gales of Death.
+
+  So perish still the robbers of mankind!
+  What tho' from Justice bound and blind
+  Inhuman Power has snatch'd the sword!
+    What tho' thro' many an ignominious age
+    That Fiend with desolating rage
+  The tide of carnage pour'd!
+  Justice shall yet unclose her eyes,
+  Terrific yet in wrath arise,
+  And trample on the tyrant's breast,
+  And make Oppresion groan opprest.
+
+
+
+  To my own
+  MINIATURE PICTURE
+  taken at two years of age.
+
+  And I was once like this! that glowing cheek
+  Was mine, those pleasure-sparkling eyes, that brow
+  Smooth as the level lake, when not a breeze
+  Dies o'er the sleeping surface! twenty years
+  Have wrought strange alteration! Of the friends
+  Who once so dearly prized this miniature,
+  And loved it for its likeness, some are gone
+  To their last home; and some, estranged in heart,
+  Beholding me with quick-averted glance
+  Pass on the other side! But still these hues
+  Remain unalter'd, and these features wear
+  The look of Infancy and Innocence.
+  I search myself in vain, and find no trace
+  Of what I was: those lightly-arching lines
+  Dark and o'erhanging now; and that mild face
+  Settled in these strong lineaments!--There were
+  Who form'd high hopes and flattering ones of thee
+  Young Robert! for thine eye was quick to speak
+  Each opening feeling: should they not have known
+  When the rich rainbow on the morning cloud
+  Reflects its radiant dies, the husbandman
+  Beholds the ominous glory sad, and fears
+  Impending storms? they augur'd happily,
+  For thou didst love each wild and wonderous tale
+  Of faery fiction, and thine infant tongue
+  Lisp'd with delight the godlike deeds of Greece
+  And rising Rome; therefore they deem'd forsooth
+  That thou shouldst tread PREFERMENT'S pleasant path.
+  Ill-judging ones! they let thy little feet
+  Stray in the pleasant paths of POESY,
+  And when thou shouldst have prest amid the crowd
+  There didst thou love to linger out the day
+  Loitering beneath the laurels barren shade.
+  SPIRIT of SPENSER! was the wanderer wrong?
+  This little picture was for ornament
+  Design'd, to shine amid the motley mob
+  Of Fashion and of Folly,--is it not
+  More honour'd by this solitary song?
+
+
+
+  THE PAUPER'S FUNERAL
+
+  What! and not one to heave the pious sigh!
+  Not one whose sorrow-swoln and aching eye
+  For social scenes, for life's endearments fled,
+  Shall drop a tear and dwell upon the dead!
+  Poor wretched Outcast! I will weep for thee,
+  And sorrow for forlorn humanity.
+  Yes I will weep, but not that thou art come
+  To the stern Sabbath of the silent tomb:
+  For squalid Want, and the black scorpion Care,
+  Heart-withering fiends! shall never enter there.
+  I sorrow for the ills thy life has known
+  As thro' the world's long pilgrimage, alone,
+  Haunted by Poverty and woe-begone,
+  Unloved, unfriended, thou didst journey on:
+  Thy youth in ignorance and labour past,
+  And thine old age all barrenness and blast!
+  Hard was thy Fate, which, while it doom'd to woe,
+  Denied thee wisdom to support the blow;
+  And robb'd of all its energy thy mind,
+  Ere yet it cast thee on thy fellow-kind,
+  Abject of thought, the victim of distress,
+  To wander in the world's wide wilderness.
+
+  Poor Outcast sleep in peace! the wintry storm
+  Blows bleak no more on thine unshelter'd form;
+  Thy woes are past; thou restest in the tomb;--
+  I pause--and ponder on the days to come.
+
+
+
+  ODE
+
+  written on the first of January, 1794
+
+  Come melancholy Moralizer--come!
+  Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath;
+      With me engarland now
+      The SEPULCHRE OF TIME!
+
+  Come Moralizer to the funeral song!
+  I pour the dirge of the Departed Days,
+      For well the funeral song
+      Befits this solemn hour.
+
+  But hark! even now the merry bells ring round
+  With clamorous joy to welcome in this day,
+      This consecrated day,
+      To Mirth and Indolence.
+
+  Mortal! whilst Fortune with benignant hand
+  Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness,
+      Whilst her unclouded sun
+      Illumes thy summer day,
+
+  Canst thou rejoice--rejoice that Time flies fast?
+  That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun?
+      That swift the stream of Years
+      Rolls to Eternity?
+
+  If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish,
+  If Power be thine, remember what thou art--
+      Remember thou art Man,
+      And Death thine heritage!
+
+  Hast thou known Love? does Beauty's better sun
+  Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile,
+      Her eye all eloquence,
+      Her voice all harmony?
+
+  Oh state of happiness! hark how the gale
+  Moans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove!
+      Winter is dark and cold--
+      Where now the charms of Spring?
+
+  Sayst thou that Fancy paints the future scene
+  In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stol'd Maid
+      With stern and frowning front
+      Appals the shuddering soul?
+
+  And would'st thou bid me court her faery form
+  When, as she sports her in some happier mood,
+      Her many-colour'd robes
+      Dance varying to the Sun?
+
+  Ah vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long road
+  Leads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vext height,
+      With anxious gaze survey
+      The fruitful far-off vale.
+
+  Oh there are those who love the pensive song
+  To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant!
+      There are who at this hour
+      Will love to contemplate!
+
+  For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,
+  Rejoicing when the fading orb of day
+      Is sunk again in night,
+      That one day more is gone.
+
+  And he who bears Affliction's heavy load
+  With patient piety, well pleas'd he knows
+      The World a pilgrimage,
+      The Grave the inn of rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+Inscriptions
+
+The three Utilitise of Poetry: the praise of Virtue and Goodness, the
+Memory of things remarkable, and to invigorate the affections.
+
+
+  Welsh Triad.
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION I.
+
+  For a TABLET at GODSTOW NUNNERY.
+
+  Here Stranger rest thee! from the neighbouring towers
+  Of Oxford, haply thou hast forced thy bark
+  Up this strong stream, whose broken waters here
+  Send pleasant murmurs to the listening sense:
+  Rest thee beneath this hazel; its green boughs
+  Afford a grateful shade, and to the eye
+  Fair is its fruit: Stranger! the seemly fruit
+  Is worthless, all[1] is hollowness within,
+  For on the grave of ROSAMUND it grows!
+  Young lovely and beloved she fell seduced,
+  And here retir'd to wear her wretched age
+  In earnest prayer and bitter penitence,
+  Despis'd and self-despising: think of her
+  Young Man! and learn to reverence Womankind!
+
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: I have often seen this hazel: its nuts are apparently very
+fine, but always without a kernel.]
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION II.
+
+  For a COLUMN at NEWBURY.
+
+  Art thou a Patriot Traveller? on this field
+  Did FALKLAND fall the blameless and the brave
+  Beneath a Tyrant's banners: dost thou boast
+  Of loyal ardor? HAMBDEN perish'd here,
+  The rebel HAMBDEN, at whose glorious name
+  The heart of every honest Englishman
+  Beats high with conscious pride. Both uncorrupt,
+  Friends to their common country both, they fought,
+  They died in adverse armies. Traveller!
+  If with thy neighbour thou should'st not accord,
+  In charity remember these good men,
+  And quell each angry and injurious thought.
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION III.
+
+  For a CAVERN that overlooks the River AVON.
+
+  Enter this cavern Stranger! the ascent
+  Is long and steep and toilsome; here awhile
+  Thou mayest repose thee, from the noontide heat
+  O'ercanopied by this arch'd rock that strikes
+  A grateful coolness: clasping its rough arms
+  Round the rude portal, the old ivy hangs
+  Its dark green branches down, and the wild Bees,
+  O'er its grey blossoms murmuring ceaseless, make
+  Most pleasant melody. No common spot
+  Receives thee, for the Power who prompts the song,
+  Loves this secluded haunt. The tide below
+  Scarce sends the sound of waters to thine ear;
+  And this high-hanging forest to the wind
+  Varies its many hues. Gaze Stranger here!
+  And let thy soften'd heart intensely feel
+  How good, how lovely, Nature! When from hence
+  Departing to the City's crouded streets,
+  Thy sickening eye at every step revolts
+  From scenes of vice and wretchedness; reflect
+  That Man creates the evil he endures.
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION IV.
+
+For the Apartment in CHEPSTOW-CASTLE where HENRY MARTEN the Regicide was
+imprisoned Thirty Years.
+
+  For thirty years secluded from mankind,
+  Here Marten linger'd. Often have these walls
+  Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread
+  He paced around his prison: not to him
+  Did Nature's fair varieties exist;
+  He never saw the Sun's delightful beams,
+  Save when thro' yon high bars it pour'd a sad
+  And broken splendor. Dost thou ask his crime?
+  He had rebell'd against the King, and sat
+  In judgment on him; for his ardent mind
+  Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth,
+  And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! But such
+  As PLATO lov'd; such as with holy zeal
+  Our MILTON worshipp'd. Blessed hopes! awhile
+  From man withheld, even to the latter days,
+  When CHRIST shall come and all things be fulfill'd.
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION V.
+
+  For a MONUMENT at SILBURY-HILL.
+
+  This mound in some remote and dateless day
+  Rear'd o'er a Chieftain of the Age [1] of Hills,
+  May here detain thee Traveller! from thy road
+  Not idly lingering. In his narrow house
+  Some Warrior sleeps below: his gallant deeds
+  Haply at many a solemn festival
+  The Bard has harp'd, but perish'd is the song
+  Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs
+  The wind that passes and is heard no more.
+  Go Traveller on thy way, and contemplate
+  Glory's brief pageant, and remember then
+  That one good deed was never wrought in vain.
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: The Northern Nations distinguished the two periods when the
+bodies of the dead were consumed by fire, and when they were buried
+beneath the tumuli so common in this country, by the Age of Fire and the
+Age of Hills.]
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION VI.
+
+  For a MONUMENT in the NEW FOREST.
+
+  This is the place where William's kingly power
+  Did from their poor and peaceful homes expel,
+  Unfriended, desolate, and shelterless,
+  The habitants of all the fertile track
+  Far as these wilds extend. He levell'd down
+  Their little cottages, he bade their fields
+  Lie barren, so that o'er the forest waste
+  He might most royally pursue his sports!
+  If that thine heart be human, Passenger!
+  Sure it will swell within thee, and thy lips
+  Will mutter curses on him. Think thou then
+  What cities flame, what hosts unsepulchred
+  Pollute the passing wind, when raging Power
+  Drives on his blood-hounds to the chase of Man;
+  And as thy thoughts anticipate that day
+  When God shall judge aright, in charity
+  Pray for the wicked rulers of mankind.
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION VII.
+
+  For a TABLET on the Banks of a Stream.
+
+  Stranger! awhile upon this mossy bank
+  Recline thee. If the Sun rides high, the breeze,
+  That loves to ripple o'er the rivulet,
+  Will play around thy brow, and the cool sound
+  Of running waters soothe thee. Mark how clear
+  It sparkles o'er the shallows, and behold
+  Where o'er its surface wheels with restless speed
+  Yon glossy insect, on the sand below
+  How the swift shadow flies. The stream is pure
+  In solitude, and many a healthful herb
+  Bends o'er its course and drinks the vital wave:
+  But passing on amid the haunts of man,
+  It finds pollution there, and rolls from thence
+  A tainted tide. Seek'st thou for HAPPINESS?
+  Go Stranger, sojourn in the woodland cot
+  Of INNOCENCE, and thou shalt find her there.
+
+
+
+  INSCRIPTION VIII.
+
+  For the CENOTAPH at ERMENONVILLE.
+
+  STRANGER! the MAN OF NATURE lies not here:
+  Enshrin'd far distant by his [1] rival's side
+  His relics rest, there by the giddy throng
+  With blind idolatry alike revered!
+  Wiselier directed have thy pilgrim feet
+  Explor'd the scenes of Ermenonville. ROUSSEAU
+  Loved these calm haunts of Solitude and Peace;
+  Here he has heard the murmurs of the stream,
+  And the soft rustling of the poplar grove,
+  When o'er their bending boughs the passing wind
+  Swept a grey shade. Here if thy breast be full,
+  If in thine eye the tear devout should gush,
+  His SPIRIT shall behold thee, to thine home
+  From hence returning, purified of heart.
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: Voltaire.]
+
+
+
+
+  Birth-Day Odes.
+
+
+
+                   O my faithful Friend!
+  O early chosen, ever found the same,
+  And trusted and beloved! once more the verse
+  Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear,
+  Attend indulgent.
+
+  AKENSIDE.
+
+
+
+  BIRTH-DAY ODE,
+  1793.
+
+    Small is the new-born plant scarce seen
+    Amid the soft encircling green,
+      Where yonder budding acorn rears,
+    Just o'er the waving grass, its tender head:
+      Slow pass along the train of years,
+    And on the growing plant, their dews and showers they shed.
+      Anon it rears aloft its giant form,
+      And spreads its broad-brown arms to meet the storm.
+    Beneath its boughs far shadowing o'er the plain,
+  From summer suns, repair the grateful village train.
+
+      Nor BEDFORD will my friend survey
+    The book of Nature with unheeding eye;
+      For never beams the rising orb of day,
+      For never dimly dies the refluent ray,
+    But as the moralizer marks the sky,
+  He broods with strange delight upon futurity.
+
+    And we must muse my friend! maturer years
+    Arise, and other Hopes and other Fears,
+      For we have past the pleasant plains of Youth.
+    Oh pleasant plains! that we might stray
+      For ever o'er your faery ground--
+      For ever roam your vales around,
+    Nor onward tempt the dangerous way--
+    For oh--what numerous foes assail
+    The Traveller, from that chearful vale!
+
+    With toil and heaviness opprest
+    Seek not the flowery bank for rest,
+    Tho' there the bowering woodbine spread
+    Its fragrant shelter o'er thy head,
+  Tho' Zephyr there should linger long
+  To hear the sky-lark's wildly-warbled song,
+  There heedless Youth shalt thou awake
+  The vengeance of the coiling snake!
+
+  Tho' fairly smiles the vernal mead
+  To tempt thy pilgrim feet, proceed
+    Hold on thy steady course aright,
+  Else shalt thou wandering o'er the pathless plain,
+    When damp and dark descends the night
+  Shivering and shelterless, repent in vain.
+
+  And yet--tho' Dangers lurk on every side
+  Receive not WORLDLY WISDOM for thy guide!
+    Beneath his care thou wilt not know
+    The throb of unavailing woe,
+    No tear shall tremble in thine eye
+    Thy breast shall struggle with no sigh,
+    He will security impart,
+    But he will apathize thy heart!
+
+    Ah no!
+    Fly Fly that fatal foe,
+  Virtue shall shrink from his torpedo grasp--
+    For not more fatal thro' the Wretches veins
+    Benumb'd in Death's cold pains
+  Creeps the chill poison of the deadly asp.
+
+    Serener joys my friend await
+    Maturer manhood's steady state.
+    The wild brook bursting from its source
+    Meanders on its early course,
+    Delighting there with winding way
+    Amid the vernal vale to stray,
+    Emerging thence more widely spread
+    It foams along its craggy bed,
+    And shatter'd with the mighty shock
+    Rushes from the giddy rock--
+    Hurl'd headlong o'er the dangerous steep
+    On runs the current to the deep,
+      And gathering waters as it goes
+      Serene and calm the river flows,
+      Diffuses plenty o'er the smiling coast,
+  Rolls on its stately waves and is in ocean lost.
+
+
+
+  BIRTH-DAY ODE,
+  1796.
+
+    And wouldst thou seek the low abode
+      Where PEACE delights to dwell?
+    Pause Traveller on thy way of life!
+    With many a snare and peril rife
+      Is that long labyrinth of road:
+    Dark is the vale of years before
+      Pause Traveller on thy way!
+    Nor dare the dangerous path explore
+  Till old EXPERIENCE comes to lend his leading ray.
+
+    Not he who comes with lanthorn light
+    Shall guide thy groping pace aright
+      With faltering feet and slow;
+    No! let him rear the torch on high
+    And every maze shall meet thine eye,
+      And every snare and every foe;
+    Then with steady step and strong,
+    Traveller, shalt thou march along.
+
+    Tho' POWER invite thee to her hall,
+    Regard not thou her tempting call
+      Her splendors meteor glare;
+    Tho' courteous Flattery there await
+    And Wealth adorn the dome of State,
+      There stalks the midnight spectre CARE;
+      PEACE, Traveller! does not sojourn there.
+
+    If FAME allure thee, climb not thou
+    To that steep mountain's craggy brow
+      Where stands her stately pile;
+    For far from thence does PEACE abide,
+      And thou shall find FAME'S favouring smile
+  Cold as the feeble Sun on Heclas snow-clad side,
+
+  And Traveller! as thou hopest to find
+    That low and loved abode,
+    Retire thee from the thronging road
+  And shun the mob of human kind.
+  Ah I hear how old EXPERIENCE schools,
+  "Fly fly the crowd of Knaves and Fools
+    "And thou shalt fly from woe;
+  "The one thy heedless heart will greet
+  "With Judas smile, and thou wilt meet
+    "In every Fool a Foe!"
+
+  So safely mayest thou pass from these,
+  And reach secure the home of PEACE,
+    And FRIENDSHIP find thee there.
+  No happier state can mortal know,
+  No happier lot can Earth bestow
+    If LOVE thy lot shall share.
+  Yet still CONTENT with him may dwell
+    Whom HYMEN will not bless,
+  And VIRTUE sojourn in the cell
+    Of HERMIT HAPPINESS.
+
+
+
+
+  BOTANY BAY
+
+  Eclogues
+
+
+
+  Where a sight shall shuddering Sorrow find.
+  Sad as the ruins of the human mind!
+
+  BOWLES.
+
+
+
+  ELINOR.
+
+  (Time, Morning. Scene, the Shore.[1])
+
+  Once more to daily toil--once more to wear
+  The weeds of infamy--from every joy
+  The heart can feel excluded, I arise
+  Worn out and faint with unremitting woe;
+  And once again with wearied steps I trace
+  The hollow-sounding shore. The swelling waves
+  Gleam to the morning sun, and dazzle o'er
+  With many a splendid hue the breezy strand.
+  Oh there was once a time when ELINOR
+  Gazed on thy opening beam with joyous eye
+  Undimm'd by guilt and grief! when her full soul
+  Felt thy mild radiance, and the rising day
+  Waked but to pleasure! on thy sea-girt verge
+  Oft England! have my evening steps stole on,
+  Oft have mine eyes surveyed the blue expanse,
+  And mark'd the wild wind swell the ruffled surge,
+  And seen the upheaved billows bosomed rage
+  Rush on the rock; and then my timid soul
+  Shrunk at the perils of the boundless deep,
+  And heaved a sigh for suffering mariners.
+  Ah! little deeming I myself was doom'd.
+  To tempt the perils of the boundless deep,
+  An Outcast--unbeloved and unbewail'd.
+
+  Why stern Remembrance! must thine iron hand
+  Harrow my soul? why calls thy cruel power
+  The fields of England to my exil'd eyes,
+  The joys which once were mine? even now I see
+  The lowly lovely dwelling! even now
+  Behold the woodbine clasping its white walls
+  And hear the fearless red-breasts chirp around
+  To ask their morning meal:--for I was wont
+  With friendly band to give their morning meal,
+  Was wont to love their song, when lingering morn
+  Streak'd o'er the chilly landskip the dim light,
+  And thro' the open'd lattice hung my head
+  To view the snow-drop's bud: and thence at eve
+  When mildly fading sunk the summer sun,
+  Oft have I loved to mark the rook's slow course
+  And hear his hollow croak, what time he sought
+  The church-yard elm, whose wide-embowering boughs
+  Full foliaged, half conceal'd the house of God.
+  There, my dead father! often have I heard
+  Thy hallowed voice explain the wonderous works
+  Of Heaven to sinful man. Ah! little deem'd
+  Thy virtuous bosom, that thy shameless child
+  So soon should spurn the lesson! sink the slave
+  Of Vice and Infamy! the hireling prey
+  Of brutal appetite! at length worn out
+  With famine, and the avenging scourge of guilt,
+  Should dare dishonesty--yet dread to die!
+
+    Welcome ye savage lands, ye barbarous climes,
+  Where angry England sends her outcast sons--
+  I hail your joyless shores! my weary bark
+  Long tempest-tost on Life's inclement sea,
+  Here hails her haven! welcomes the drear scene,
+  The marshy plain, the briar-entangled wood,
+  And all the perils of a world unknown.
+  For Elinor has nothing new to fear
+  From fickle Fortune! all her rankling shafts
+  Barb'd with disgrace, and venom'd with disease.
+  Have pierced my bosom, and the dart of death
+  Has lost its terrors to a wretch like me.
+
+    Welcome ye marshy heaths! ye pathless woods,
+  Where the rude native rests his wearied frame
+  Beneath the sheltering shade; where, when the storm,
+  As rough and bleak it rolls along the sky,
+  Benumbs his naked limbs, he flies to seek
+  The dripping shelter. Welcome ye wild plains
+  Unbroken by the plough, undelv'd by hand
+  Of patient rustic; where for lowing herds,
+  And for the music of the bleating flocks,
+  Alone is heard the kangaroo's sad note
+  Deepening in distance. Welcome ye rude climes,
+  The realm of Nature! for as yet unknown
+  The crimes and comforts of luxurious life,
+  Nature benignly gives to all enough,
+  Denies to all a superfluity,
+  What tho' the garb of infamy I wear,
+  Tho' day by day along the echoing beach
+  I cull the wave-worn shells, yet day by day
+  I earn in honesty my frugal food,
+  And lay me down at night to calm repose.
+  No more condemn'd the mercenary tool
+  Of brutal lust, while heaves the indignant heart
+  With Virtue's stiffled sigh, to fold my arms
+  Round the rank felon, and for daily bread
+  To hug contagion to my poison'd breast;
+  On these wild shores Repentance' saviour hand
+  Shall probe my secret soul, shall cleanse its wounds
+  And fit the faithful penitent for Heaven.
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: The female convicts are frequently employed in collecting
+shells for the purpose of making lime.]
+
+
+
+
+  HUMPHREY and WILLIAM.
+
+  (Time, Noon.)
+
+
+  HUMPHREY:
+
+  See'st thou not William that the scorching Sun
+  By this time half his daily race has run?
+  The savage thrusts his light canoe to shore
+  And hurries homeward with his fishy store.
+  Suppose we leave awhile this stubborn soil
+  To eat our dinner and to rest from toil!
+
+
+  WILLIAM:
+
+  Agreed. Yon tree whose purple gum bestows
+  A ready medicine for the sick-man's woes,
+  Forms with its shadowy boughs a cool retreat
+  To shield us from the noontide's sultry heat.
+  Ah Humphrey! now upon old England's shore
+  The weary labourer's morning work is o'er:
+  The woodman now rests from his measur'd stroke
+  Flings down his axe and sits beneath the oak,
+  Savour'd with hunger there he eats his food,
+  There drinks the cooling streamlet of the wood.
+  To us no cooling streamlet winds its way,
+  No joys domestic crown for us the day,
+  The felon's name, the outcast's garb we wear,
+  Toil all the day, and all the night despair.
+
+
+  HUMPHREY:
+
+  Ah William! labouring up the furrowed ground
+  I used to love the village clock's dull sound,
+  Rejoice to hear my morning toil was done,
+  And trudge it homewards when the clock went one.
+  'Twas ere I turn'd a soldier and a sinner!
+  Pshaw! curse this whining--let us fall to dinner.
+
+
+  WILLIAM:
+
+  I too have loved this hour, nor yet forgot
+  Each joy domestic of my little cot.
+  For at this hour my wife with watchful care
+  Was wont each humbler dainty to prepare,
+  The keenest sauce by hunger was supplied
+  And my poor children prattled at my side.
+  Methinks I see the old oak table spread,
+  The clean white trencher and the good brown bread,
+  The cheese my daily food which Mary made,
+  For Mary knew full well the housewife's trade:
+  The jug of cyder,--cyder I could make,
+  And then the knives--I won 'em at the wake.
+  Another has them now! I toiling here
+  Look backward like a child and drop a tear.
+
+
+  HUMPHREY:
+
+  I love a dismal story, tell me thine,
+  Meantime, good Will, I'll listen as I dine.
+  I too my friend can tell a piteous story
+  When I turn'd hero how I purchas'd glory.
+
+
+  WILLIAM:
+
+  But Humphrey, sure thou never canst have known
+  The comforts of a little home thine own:
+  A home so snug, So chearful too as mine,
+  'Twas always clean, and we could make it fine;
+  For there King Charles's golden rules were seen,
+  And there--God bless 'em both--the King and Queen.
+  The pewter plates our garnish'd chimney grace
+  So nicely scour'd, you might have seen your face;
+  And over all, to frighten thieves, was hung
+  Well clean'd, altho' but seldom us'd, my gun.
+  Ah! that damn'd gun! I took it down one morn--
+  A desperate deal of harm they did my corn!
+  Our testy Squire too loved to save the breed,
+  So covey upon covey eat my seed.
+  I mark'd the mischievous rogues, and took my aim,
+  I fir'd, they fell, and--up the keeper came.
+  That cursed morning brought on my undoing,
+  I went to prison and my farm to ruin.
+  Poor Mary! for her grave the parish paid,
+  No tomb-stone tells where her cold corpse is laid!
+  My children--my dear boys--
+
+
+  HUMPHREY:
+
+                      Come--Grief is dry--
+  You to your dinner--to my story I.
+  To you my friend who happier days have known
+  And each calm comfort of a home your own,
+  This is bad living: I have spent my life
+  In hardest toil and unavailing strife,
+  And here (from forest ambush safe at least)
+  To me this scanty pittance seems a feast.
+  I was a plough-boy once; as free from woes
+  And blithesome as the lark with whom I rose.
+  Each evening at return a meal I found
+  And, tho' my bed was hard, my sleep was sound.
+  One Whitsuntide, to go to fair, I drest
+  Like a great bumkin in my Sunday's best;
+  A primrose posey in my hat I stuck
+  And to the revel went to try my luck.
+  From show to show, from booth to booth I stray,
+  See stare and wonder all the live-long day.
+  A Serjeant to the fair recruiting came
+  Skill'd in man-catching to beat up for game;
+  Our booth he enter'd and sat down by me;--
+  Methinks even now the very scene I see!
+  The canvass roof, the hogshead's running store,
+  The old blind fiddler seated next the door,
+  The frothy tankard passing to and fro
+  And the rude rabble round the puppet-show;
+  The Serjeant eyed me well--the punch-bowl comes,
+  And as we laugh'd and drank, up struck the drums--
+  And now he gives a bumper to his Wench--
+  God save the King, and then--God damn the French.
+  Then tells the story of his last campaign.
+  How many wounded and how many slain,
+  Flags flying, cannons roaring, drums a-beating,
+  The English marching on, the French retreating,--
+  "Push on--push on my lads! they fly before ye,
+  "March on to riches, happiness and glory!"
+  At first I wonder'd, by degrees grew bolder,
+  Then cried--"tis a fine thing to be a soldier!"
+  "Aye Humphrey!" says the Serjeant--"that's your name?
+  "'Tis a fine thing to fight the French for fame!
+  "March to the field--knock out a Mounseer's brains
+  "And pick the scoundrel's pocket for your pains.
+  "Come Humphrey come! thou art a lad of spirit!
+  "Rise to a halbert--as I did--by merit!
+  "Would'st thou believe it? even I was once
+  "As thou art now, a plough-boy and a dunce;
+  "But Courage rais'd me to my rank. How now boy!
+  "Shall Hero Humphrey still be Numps the plough-boy?
+  "A proper shaped young fellow! tall and straight!
+  "Why thou wert made for glory! five feet eight!
+  "The road to riches is the field of fight,--
+  "Didst ever see a guinea look so bright?
+  "Why regimentals Numps would give thee grace,
+  "A hat and feather would become that face;
+  "The girls would crowd around thee to be kist--
+  "Dost love a girl?" "Od Zounds!" I cried "I'll list!"
+  So past the night: anon the morning came,
+  And off I set a volunteer for fame.
+  "Back shoulders, turn out your toes, hold up your head,
+  "Stand easy!" so I did--till almost dead.
+  Oh how I long'd to tend the plough again
+  Trudge up the field and whistle o'er the plain,
+  When tir'd and sore amid the piteous throng
+  Hungry and cold and wet I limp'd along,
+  And growing fainter as I pass'd and colder,
+  Curs'd that ill hour when I became a soldier!
+  In town I found the hours more gayly pass
+  And Time fled swiftly with my girl and glass;
+  The girls were wonderous kind and wonderous fair,
+  They soon transferred me to the Doctor's care,
+  The Doctor undertook to cure the evil,
+  And he almost transferred me to the Devil.
+  'Twere tedious to relate the dismal story
+  Of fighting, fasting, wretchedness and glory.
+  At last discharg'd, to England's shores I came
+  Paid for my wounds with want instead of fame,
+  Found my fair friends and plunder'd as they bade me,
+  They kist me, coax'd me, robb'd me and betray'd me.
+  Tried and condemn'd his Majesty transports me,
+  And here in peace, I thank him, he supports me,
+  So ends my dismal and heroic story
+  And Humphrey gets more good from guilt than glory.
+
+
+
+
+  JOHN, SAMUEL, & RICHARD.
+
+  (Time, Evening.)
+
+
+  JOHN.
+
+  'Tis a calm pleasant evening, the light fades away,
+  And the Sun going down has done watch for the day.
+  To my mind we live wonderous well when transported,
+  It is but to work and we must be supported.
+  Fill the cann, Dick! success here to Botany Bay!
+
+
+  RICHARD.
+
+  Success if you will,--but God send me away.
+
+
+  JOHN.
+
+  Ah! you lubberly landsmen don't know when you're well;
+  Hadst thou known half the hardships of which I can tell!
+  The sailor has no place of safety in store--
+  From the tempest at sea, to the press-gang on shore!
+  When Roguery rules all the rest of the earth,
+  God be thanked in this corner I've got a good birth.
+  Talk of hardships! what these are the sailor don't know!
+  'Tis the soldier my friend that's acquainted with woe,
+  Long journeys, short halting, hard work and small pay,
+  To be popt at like pidgeons for sixpence a day!--
+  Thank God! I'm safe quarter'd at Botany Bay.
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+  Ah! you know but little! I'll wager a pot
+  I have suffer'd more evils than fell to your lot.
+  Come we'll have it all fairly and properly tried,
+  Tell story for story, and Dick shall decide.
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  Done.
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+         Done. 'Tis a wager and I shall be winner;
+  Thou wilt go without grog Sam to-morrow at dinner.
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  I was trapp'd by the Serjeant's palavering pretences,
+  He listed me when I was out of my senses.
+  So I took leave to-day of all care and all sorrow
+  And was drill'd to repentance and reason to-morrow.
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+  I would be a sailor and plough the wide ocean,
+  And was soon sick and sad with the billow's commotion.
+  So the Captain he sent me aloft on the mast,
+  And curs'd me, and bid me cry there--and hold fast!
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  After marching all day, faint and hungry and sore,
+  I have lain down at night on the swamps of the moor,
+  Unshelter'd and forced by fatigue to remain.
+  All chill'd by the wind and benumb'd by the rain.
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+  I have rode out the storm when the billows beat high
+  And the red gleaming lightnings flash'd thro' the dark sky,
+  When the tempest of night the black sea overcast
+  Wet and weary I labour'd, yet sung to the blast.
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  I have march'd, trumpets sounding--drums beating--flags flying,
+  Where the music of war drown'd the shrieks of the dying,
+  When the shots whizz'd around me all dangers defied,
+  Push'd on when my comrades fell dead at my side,
+  Drove the foe from the mouth of the Cannon away,
+  Fought, conquer'd and bled, all for sixpence a day.
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+  And I too friend Samuel! have heard the shots rattle,
+  But we seamen rejoice in the play of the battle;
+  Tho' the chain and the grape-shot roll splintering around,
+  With the blood of our messmates tho' slippery the ground,
+  The fiercer the fight, still the fiercer we grow,
+  We heed not our loss so we conquer the foe.
+  And the hard battle won, so the prize be not sunk,
+  The Captain gets rich, and the Sailors get drunk.
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  God help the poor soldier when backward he goes
+  In disgraceful retreat thro' a country of foes!
+  No respite from danger by day or by night
+  He is still forced to fly, still o'ertaken to fight,
+  Every step that he takes he must battle his way,
+  He must force his hard meal from the peasant away;
+  No rest--and no hope, from all succour afar,
+  God forgive the poor Soldier for going to the war!
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+  But what are these dangers to those I have past
+  When the dark billows roar'd to the roar of the blast?
+  When we work'd at the pumps worn with labour and weak
+  And with dread still beheld the increase of the leak,
+  Sometimes as we rose on the wave could our sight
+  From the rocks of the shore catch the light-houses light;
+  In vain to the beach to assist us they press,
+  We fire faster and faster our guns of distress,
+  Still with rage unabating the wind and waves roar--
+  How the giddy wreck reels--as the billows burst o'er--
+  Leap--leap--for she yawns--for she sinks in the wave--
+  Call on God to preserve--for God only can save!
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  There's an end of all troubles however at last!
+  And when I in the waggon of wounded was cast,
+  When my wounds with the chilly night-wind smarted sore
+  And I thought of the friends I should never see more,
+  No hand to relieve--scarce a morsel of bread--
+  Sick at heart I have envied the peace of the dead!
+  Left to rot in a jail till by treaty set free,
+  Old England's white cliffs with what joy did I see!
+  I had gain'd enough glory, some wounds, but no good,
+  And was turn'd on the public to shift how I could.
+  When I think what I've suffer'd and where I am now
+  I curse him who snared me away from the plough.
+
+
+  JOHN:
+
+  When I was discharged I went home to my wife,
+  There in comfort to spend all the rest of my life.
+  My wife was industrious, we earn'd what we spent,
+  And tho' little we had, were with little content;
+  And whenever I listen'd and heard the wind roar,
+  I bless'd God for my little snug cabin on shore.
+  At midnight they seiz'd me, they dragg'd me away,
+  They wounded me sore when I would not obey,
+  And because for my country I'd ventur'd my life,
+  I was dragg'd like a thief from my home and my wife.
+  Then the fair wind of Fortune chopp'd round in my face
+  And Want at length drove me to guilt and disgrace--
+  But all's for the best;--on the world's wide sea cast,
+  I am haven'd in peace in this corner at last.
+
+
+  SAMUEL:
+
+  Come Dick! we have done--and for judgment we call.
+
+
+  RICHARD:
+
+  And in faith I can give ye no judgment at all.
+  I've been listening to all the hard labours you've past
+  And think in plain troth, you're two blockheads at last.
+  My lads where the Deuce was the wit which God gave ye
+  When you sold yourselves first to the army or navy?
+  By land and by sea hunting dangers to roam,
+  When you might have been hang'd so much easier at home!
+  But you're now snug and settled and safe from foul weather,
+  So drink up your grog and be merry together.
+
+
+
+
+
+  FREDERIC.
+
+  (Time Night. Scene the woods.)
+
+
+  Where shall I turn me? whither shall I bend
+  My weary way? thus worn with toil and faint
+  How thro' the thorny mazes of this wood
+  Attain my distant dwelling? that deep cry
+  That rings along the forest seems to sound
+  My parting knell: it is the midnight howl
+  Of hungry monsters prowling for their prey!
+  Again! oh save me--save me gracious Heaven!
+  I am not fit to die!
+                       Thou coward wretch
+  Why heaves thy trembling heart? why shake thy limbs
+  Beneath their palsied burden? is there ought
+  So lovely in existence? would'st thou drain
+  Even to its dregs the bitter draught of life?
+  Dash down the loathly bowl! poor outcast slave
+  Stamp'd with the brand of Vice and Infamy
+  Why should the villain Frederic shrink from Death?
+
+  Death! where the magic in that empty name
+  That chills my inmost heart? why at the thought
+  Starts the cold dew of fear on every limb?
+  There are no terrors to surround the Grave,
+  When the calm Mind collected in itself
+  Surveys that narrow house: the ghastly train
+  That haunt the midnight of delirious Guilt
+  Then vanish; in that home of endless rest
+  All sorrows cease.--Would I might slumber there!
+
+  Why then this panting of the fearful heart?
+  This miser love of Life that dreads to lose
+  Its cherish'd torment? shall the diseased man
+  Yield up his members to the surgeon's knife,
+  Doubtful of succour, but to ease his frame
+  Of fleshly anguish, and the coward wretch,
+  Whose ulcered soul can know no human help
+  Shrink from the best Physician's certain aid?
+  Oh it were better far to lay me down
+  Here on this cold damp earth, till some wild beast
+  Seize on his willing victim!
+
+                               If to die
+  Were all, it were most sweet to rest my head
+  On the cold clod, and sleep the sleep of Death.
+  But if the Archangel's trump at the last hour
+  Startle the ear of Death and wake the soul
+  To frenzy!--dreams of infancy! fit tales
+  For garrulous beldames to affrighten babes!
+  I have been guilty, yet my mind can bear
+  The retrospect of guilt, yet in the hour
+  Of deep contrition to THE ETERNAL look
+  For mercy! for the child of Poverty,
+  And "disinherited of happiness,"
+
+  What if I warr'd upon the world? the world
+  Had wrong'd me first: I had endur'd the ills
+  Of hard injustice; all this goodly earth
+  Was but to me one wild waste wilderness;
+  I had no share in Nature's patrimony,
+  Blasted were all my morning hopes of Youth,
+  Dark DISAPPOINTMENT follow'd on my ways,
+  CARE was my bosom inmate, and keen WANT
+  Gnaw'd at my heart. ETERNAL ONE thou know'st
+  How that poor heart even in the bitter hour
+  Of lewdest revelry has inly yearn'd
+  For peace!
+
+            My FATHER! I will call on thee,
+  Pour to thy mercy seat my earnest prayer,
+  And wait thy peace in bowedness of soul.
+  Oh thoughts of comfort! how the afflicted heart,
+  Tired with the tempest of its passions, rests
+  On you with holy hope! the hollow howl
+  Of yonder harmless tenant of the woods
+  Bursts not with terror on the sober'd sense.
+  If I have sinn'd against mankind, on them
+  Be that past sin; they made me what I was.
+  In these extremest climes can Want no more
+  Urge to the deeds of darkness, and at length
+  Here shall I rest. What tho' my hut be poor--
+  The rains descend not thro' its humble roof:
+  Would I were there again! the night is cold;
+  And what if in my wanderings I should rouse
+  The savage from his thicket!
+
+                                Hark! the gun!
+  And lo--the fire of safety! I shall reach
+  My little hut again! again by toil
+  Force from the stubborn earth my sustenance,
+  And quick-ear'd guilt will never start alarm'd
+  Amid the well-earn'd meal. This felon's garb--
+  Will it not shield me from the winds of Heaven?
+  And what could purple more? Oh strengthen me
+  Eternal One in this serener state!
+  Cleanse thou mine heart, so PENITENCE and FAITH
+  Shall heal my soul and my last days be peace.
+
+
+
+
+  Sonnets
+
+
+  SONNET I.
+
+  Go Valentine and tell that lovely maid
+    Whom Fancy still will pourtray to my sight,
+  How her Bard lingers in this sullen shade,
+    This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.
+  Say that from every joy of life remote
+    At evening's closing hour he quits the throng,
+  Listening alone the ring-dove's plaintive note
+    Who pours like him her solitary song.
+  Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh,
+    Say that of all her charms he loves to speak,
+  In fancy feels the magic of her eye,
+    In fancy views the smile illume her cheek,
+  Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove
+  And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love.
+
+
+
+  SONNET II.
+
+    Think Valentine, as speeding on thy way
+      Homeward thou hastest light of heart along,
+    If heavily creep on one little day
+      The medley crew of travellers among,
+    Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here
+      On Life's sad journey comfortless he roves,
+    Remote from every scene his heart holds dear,
+      From him he values, and from her he loves.
+    And when disgusted with the vain and dull
+      Whom chance companions of thy way may doom,
+    Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full,
+      Turns to itself and meditates on home,
+    Ah think what Cares must ache within his breast
+  Who loaths the lingering road, yet has no home of rest!
+
+
+
+  SONNET III.
+
+    Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
+      Of days departed. Time in his career
+      Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
+    Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
+    Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
+      Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
+      Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
+    'Till full of days he reach the calm abode
+    Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
+      Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
+      The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
+    That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage
+    Now like the monument of strength decayed
+  With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.
+
+
+
+  SONNET IV.
+
+  What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim
+    Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear
+  Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name
+    Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR
+  The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart,
+    Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn
+  Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart,
+    And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn,
+  And the dark spectre of departed JOY
+    Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave
+  Love I the solitary hour to employ
+  Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh
+    Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave
+  Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.
+
+
+
+  SONNET V.
+
+  Hard by the road, where on that little mound
+    The high grass rustles to the passing breeze,
+    The child of Misery rests her head in peace.
+  Pause there in sadness. That unhallowed ground
+  Inshrines what once was Isabel. Sleep on
+    Sleep on, poor Outcast! lovely was thy cheek,
+    And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak
+  The soul of Pity. Pale and woe-begone
+  Soon did thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep
+    The tear of anguish for the babe unborn,
+    The helpless heir of Poverty and Scorn.
+  She drank the draught that chill'd her soul to sleep.
+  I pause and wipe the big drop from mine eye,
+  Whilst the proud Levite scowls and passes by.
+
+
+
+  SONNET VI
+            to a brook near the village of Corston.
+
+    As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
+      And watch thy current, Memory's hand pourtrays
+      The faint form'd scenes of the departed days,
+    Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
+    Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn
+      Upon thy banks the live-long hour away,
+      When sportive Childhood wantoned thro' the day,
+    Joy'd at the opening splendour of the morn,
+    Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sigh
+      Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek
+      At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak
+    The silent eloquence of the full eye.
+    Dim are the long past days, yet still they please
+  As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.
+
+
+
+  SONNET VII
+             to the evening rainbow.
+
+  Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky
+    Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray
+  Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
+    Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
+  Changeful and many-weather'd, seem'd to smile
+  Flashing brief splendor thro' its clouds awhile,
+    That deepen'd dark anon and fell in rain:
+  But pleasant is it now to pause, and view
+  Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
+    And think the storm shall not return again.
+  Such is the smile that Piety bestows
+    On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace
+  Departing gently from a world of woes,
+    Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.
+
+
+
+  SONNET VIII.
+
+  With many a weary step, at length I gain
+    Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays,
+    Gratefully round my brow, as hence the gaze
+  Returns to dwell upon the journeyed plain.
+    'Twas a long way and tedious! to the eye
+  Tho fair the extended vale, and fair to view
+  The falling leaves of many a faded hue,
+    That eddy in the wild gust moaning by.
+  Even so it fared with Life! in discontent
+  Restless thro' Fortune's mingled scenes I went,
+    Yet wept to think they would return no more!
+  But cease fond heart in such sad thoughts to roam,
+  For surely thou ere long shall reach thy home,
+    And pleasant is the way that lies before.
+
+
+
+  SONNET IX.
+
+  Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky
+    The orient sun expands his roseate ray,
+  And lovely to the Bard's enthusiast eye
+    Fades the meek radiance of departing day;
+  But fairer is the smile of one we love,
+    Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway.
+  And sweeter than the music of the grove,
+    The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight
+    EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight
+  From the hard durance of the empty throng.
+    Too swiftly then towards the silent night
+  Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along,
+    Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart,
+    Pour out the feelings of my burthen'd heart.
+
+
+
+  SONNET X.
+
+  How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns
+    The gather'd tempest! from that lurid cloud
+    The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud
+  Tho' distant; while upon the misty downs
+  Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.
+    I never saw so terrible a storm!
+  Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain
+    Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form
+  Cold even as Hope within him! I the while
+  Pause me in sadness tho' the sunbeams smile
+    Cheerily round me. Ah that thus my lot
+  Might be with Peace and Solitude assign'd,
+    Where I might from some little quiet cot,
+  Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankind!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  Sappho.
+
+  A MONODRAMA.
+
+
+  Argument.
+
+  To leap from the promontory of LEUCADIA was believed by the Greeks to be
+  a remedy for hopeless love, if the self-devoted victim escaped with
+  life. Artemisia lost her life in the dangerous experiment: and Sappho is
+  said thus to have perished, in attempting to cure her passion for Phaon.
+
+
+  SAPPHO
+
+  (Scene the promontory of Leucadia.)
+
+  This is the spot:--'tis here Tradition says
+  That hopeless Love from this high towering rock
+  Leaps headlong to Oblivion or to Death.
+  Oh 'tis a giddy height! my dizzy head
+  Swims at the precipice--'tis death to fall!
+
+  Lie still, thou coward heart! this is no time
+  To shake with thy strong throbs the frame convuls'd.
+  To die,--to be at rest--oh pleasant thought!
+  Perchance to leap and live; the soul all still,
+  And the wild tempest of the passions husht
+  In one deep calm; the heart, no more diseas'd
+  By the quick ague fits of hope and fear,
+  Quietly cold!
+                 Presiding Powers look down!
+  In vain to you I pour'd my earnest prayers,
+  In vain I sung your praises: chiefly thou
+  VENUS! ungrateful Goddess, whom my lyre
+  Hymn'd with such full devotion! Lesbian groves,
+  Witness how often at the languid hour
+  Of summer twilight, to the melting song
+  Ye gave your choral echoes! Grecian Maids
+  Who hear with downcast look and flushing cheek
+  That lay of love bear witness! and ye Youths,
+  Who hang enraptur'd on the empassion'd strain
+  Gazing with eloquent eye, even till the heart
+  Sinks in the deep delirium! and ye too
+  Shall witness, unborn Ages! to that song
+  Of warmest zeal; ah witness ye, how hard,
+  Her fate who hymn'd the votive hymn in vain!
+  Ungrateful Goddess! I have hung my lute
+  In yonder holy pile: my hand no more
+  Shall wake the melodies that fail'd to move
+  The heart of Phaon--yet when Rumour tells
+  How from Leucadia Sappho hurl'd her down
+  A self-devoted victim--he may melt
+  Too late in pity, obstinate to love.
+
+  Oh haunt his midnight dreams, black NEMESIS!
+  Whom,[1] self-conceiving in the inmost depths
+  Of CHAOS, blackest NIGHT long-labouring bore,
+  When the stern DESTINIES, her elder brood.
+  And shapeless DEATH, from that more monstrous birth
+  Leapt shuddering! haunt his slumbers, Nemesis,
+  Scorch with the fires of Phlegethon his heart,
+  Till helpless, hopeless, heaven-abandon'd wretch
+  He too shall seek beneath the unfathom'd deep
+  To hide him from thy fury.
+
+                              How the sea
+  Far distant glitters as the sun-beams smile,
+  And gayly wanton o'er its heaving breast
+  Phoebus shines forth, nor wears one cloud to mourn
+  His votary's sorrows! God of Day shine on--
+  By Man despis'd, forsaken by the Gods,
+  I supplicate no more.
+
+                           How many a day,
+  O pleasant Lesbos! in thy secret streams
+  Delighted have I plung'd, from the hot sun
+  Screen'd by the o'er-arching groves delightful shade,
+  And pillowed on the waters: now the waves
+  Shall chill me to repose.
+
+                             Tremendous height!
+  Scarce to the brink will these rebellious limbs
+  Support me. Hark! how the rude deep below
+  Roars round the rugged base, as if it called
+  Its long-reluctant victim! I will come.
+  One leap, and all is over! The deep rest
+  Of Death, or tranquil Apathy's dead calm
+  Welcome alike to me. Away vain fears!
+  Phaon is cold, and why should Sappho live?
+  Phaon is cold, or with some fairer one--
+  Thought worse than death!
+
+  (She throws herself from the precipice.)
+
+
+
+[Footnote A: [Greek (transliterated)]:
+  Ou tini choimaetheisa thea teche NUTH erezennae. HESIOD]
+
+
+
+
+  ODE
+
+  (Written on the FIRST of DECEMBER, 1793.)
+
+  Tho' now no more the musing ear
+  Delights to listen to the breeze
+  That lingers o'er the green wood shade,
+    I love thee Winter! well.
+
+  Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,
+  Sweet is the summer's evening gale,
+  Pleasant the autumnal winds that shake
+    The many-colour'd grove.
+
+  And pleasant to the sober'd soul
+  The silence of the wintry scene,
+  When Nature shrouds her in her trance
+
+  Not undelightful now to roam
+  The wild heath sparkling on the sight;
+  Not undelightful now to pace
+    The forest's ample rounds;
+
+  And see the spangled branches shine,
+  And mark the moss of many a hue
+  That varies the old tree's brown bark,
+    Or o'er the grey stone spreads.
+
+  The cluster'd berries claim the eye
+  O'er the bright hollies gay green leaves,
+  The ivy round the leafless oak
+    Clasps its full foliage close.
+
+  So VIRTUE diffident of strength
+  Clings to RELIGION'S firmer aid,
+  And by RELIGION'S aid upheld
+    Endures calamity.
+
+  Nor void of beauties now the spring,
+  Whose waters hid from summer sun
+  Have sooth'd the thirsty pilgrim's ear
+    With more than melody.
+
+  The green moss shines with icey glare,
+  The long grass bends its spear-like form,
+  And lovely is the silvery scene
+    When faint the sunbeams smile.
+
+  Reflection too may love the hour
+  When Nature, hid in Winter's grave,
+  No more expands the bursting bud
+    Or bids the flowret bloom.
+
+  For Nature soon in Spring's best charms
+  Shall rise reviv'd from Winter's grave.
+  Again expand the bursting bud,
+    And bid the flowret bloom.
+
+
+
+
+  Written on SUNDAY MORNING.
+
+    Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!
+    I to the Woodlands wend, and there
+  In lovely Nature see the GOD OF LOVE.
+    The swelling organ's peal
+    Wakes not my soul to zeal,
+  Like the wild music of the wind-swept grove.
+  The gorgeous altar and the mystic vest
+  Rouse not such ardor in my breast,
+    As where the noon-tide beam
+    Flash'd from the broken stream,
+  Quick vibrates on the dazzled sight;
+    Or where the cloud-suspended rain
+    Sweeps in shadows o'er the plain;
+  Or when reclining on the clift's huge height
+  I mark the billows burst in silver light.
+
+    Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!
+    I to the Woodlands shall repair,
+    Feed with all Natures charms mine eyes,
+    And hear all Natures melodies.
+    The primrose bank shall there dispense
+    Faint fragrance to the awaken'd sense,
+    The morning beams that life and joy impart
+    Shall with their influence warm my heart.
+    And the full tear that down my cheek will steal,
+    Shall speak the prayer of praise I feel!
+
+    Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!
+  I to the woodlands bend my way
+    And meet RELIGION there.
+  She needs not haunt the high-arch'd dome to pray
+  Where storied windows dim the doubtful day:
+  With LIBERTY she loves to rove.
+    Wide o'er the heathy hill or cowslip'd dale;
+  Or seek the shelter of the embowering grove,
+  Sweet are these scenes to her, and when the night
+  Pours in the north her silver streams of light,
+  She woos Reflexion in the silent gloom,
+  And ponders on the world to come.
+
+
+
+
+  ON THE DEATH
+  Of a Favourite Old SPANIEL.
+
+  And they have drown'd thee then at last! poor Phillis!
+  The burthen of old age was heavy on thee.
+  And yet thou should'st have lived! what tho' thine eye
+  Was dim, and watch'd no more with eager joy
+  The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk
+  With fruitless repetition, the warm Sun
+  Would still have cheer'd thy slumber, thou didst love
+  To lick the hand that fed thee, and tho' past
+  Youth's active season, even Life itself
+  Was comfort. Poor old friend! most earnestly
+  Would I have pleaded for thee: thou hadst been
+  Still the companion of my childish sports,
+  And, as I roam'd o'er Avon's woody clifts,
+  From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark
+  Recall'd my wandering soul. I have beguil'd
+  Often the melancholy hours at school,
+  Sour'd by some little tyrant, with the thought
+  Of distant home, and I remember'd then
+  Thy faithful fondness: for not mean the joy,
+  Returning at the pleasant holydays,
+  I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively
+  Sometimes have I remark'd thy slow decay,
+  Feeling myself changed too, and musing much
+  On many a sad vicissitude of Life!
+  Ah poor companion! when thou followedst last
+  Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate
+  That clos'd for ever on him, thou didst lose
+  Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead
+  For the old age of brute fidelity!
+  But fare thee well! mine is no narrow creed,
+  And HE who gave thee being did not frame
+  The mystery of life to be the sport
+  Of merciless man! there is another world
+  For all that live and move--a better one!
+  Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine
+  INFINITE GOODNESS to the little bounds
+  Of their own charity, may envy thee!
+
+
+
+
+  To CONTEMPLATION.
+
+  [Greek (transliterated):
+                 Kai pagas fileoimi ton enguthen aechon achthein,
+                 A terpei psopheoisa ton agrikon, thchi tarassei.
+
+  MOSCHOS.]
+
+
+
+  Faint gleams the evening radiance thro' the sky,
+    The sober twilight dimly darkens round;
+  In short quick circles the shrill bat flits by,
+    And the slow vapour curls along the ground.
+
+  Now the pleas'd eye from yon lone cottage sees
+    On the green mead the smoke long-shadowing play;
+    The Red-breast on the blossom'd spray
+    Warbles wild her latest lay,
+  And sleeps along the dale the silent breeze.
+  Calm CONTEMPLATION,'tis thy favorite hour!
+  Come fill my bosom, tranquillizing Power.
+
+  Meek Power! I view thee on the calmy shore
+      When Ocean stills his waves to rest;
+    Or when slow-moving on the surge's hoar
+    Meet with deep hollow roar
+      And whiten o'er his breast;
+    For lo! the Moon with softer radiance gleams,
+    And lovelier heave the billows in her beams.
+
+    When the low gales of evening moan along,
+      I love with thee to feel the calm cool breeze,
+    And roam the pathless forest wilds among,
+      Listening the mellow murmur of the trees
+    Full-foliaged as they lift their arms on high
+  And wave their shadowy heads in wildest melody.
+
+  Or lead me where amid the tranquil vale
+    The broken stream flows on in silver light,
+  And I will linger where the gale
+    O'er the bank of violets sighs,
+  Listening to hear its soften'd sounds arise;
+    And hearken the dull beetle's drowsy flight,
+    And watch the horn-eyed snail
+    Creep o'er his long moon-glittering trail,
+    And mark where radiant thro' the night
+  Moves in the grass-green hedge the glow-worms living light.
+
+    Thee meekest Power! I love to meet,
+    As oft with even solitary pace
+    The scatter'd Abbeys hallowed rounds I trace
+  And listen to the echoings of my feet.
+    Or on the half demolished tomb,
+    Whole warning texts anticipate my doom:
+    Mark the clear orb of night
+  Cast thro' the storying glass a faintly-varied light.
+
+  Nor will I not in some more gloomy hour
+  Invoke with fearless awe thine holier power,
+  Wandering beneath the sainted pile
+  When the blast moans along the darksome aisle,
+  And clattering patters all around
+  The midnight shower with dreary sound.
+
+      But sweeter 'tis to wander wild
+      By melancholy dreams beguil'd,
+      While the summer moon's pale ray
+      Faintly guides me on my way
+      To the lone romantic glen
+      Far from all the haunts of men,
+      Where no noise of uproar rude
+      Breaks the calm of solitude.
+      But soothing Silence sleeps in all
+      Save the neighbouring waterfall,
+      Whose hoarse waters falling near
+      Load with hollow sounds the ear,
+      And with down-dasht torrent white
+      Gleam hoary thro' the shades of night.
+
+  Thus wandering silent on and slow
+  I'll nurse Reflection's sacred woe,
+  And muse upon the perish'd day
+  When Hope would weave her visions gay,
+  Ere FANCY chill'd by adverse fate
+  Left sad REALITY my mate.
+
+  O CONTEMPLATION! when to Memory's eyes
+  The visions of the long-past days arise,
+  Thy holy power imparts the best relief,
+  And the calm'd Spirit loves the joy of grief.
+
+
+
+
+
+  To HORROR.
+
+
+  [GREEK (transliterated):
+                  Tin gar potaeisomai
+                  tan chai schuliches tromeonti
+                  Erchomenan nechuon ana t'aeria, chai melan aima.
+                                                          Theocritos]
+
+
+  Dark HORROR, hear my call!
+    Stern Genius hear from thy retreat
+    On some old sepulchre's moss-cankered seat,
+  Beneath the Abbey's ivied wall
+    That trembles o'er its shade;
+  Where wrapt in midnight gloom, alone,
+    Thou lovest to lie and hear
+    The roar of waters near,
+  And listen to the deep dull groan
+    Of some perturbed sprite
+  Borne fitful on the heavy gales of night.
+
+  Or whether o'er some wide waste hill
+    Thou mark'st the traveller stray,
+    Bewilder'd on his lonely way,
+  When, loud and keen and chill,
+  The evening winds of winter blow
+  Drifting deep the dismal snow.
+
+  Or if thou followest now on Greenland's shore,
+    With all thy terrors, on the lonely way
+  Of some wrecked mariner, when to the roar
+    Of herded bears the floating ice-hills round
+    Pour their deep echoing sound,
+    And by the dim drear Boreal light
+  Givest half his dangers to the wretches sight.
+
+    Or if thy fury form,
+      When o'er the midnight deep
+      The dark-wing'd tempests sweep
+    Watches from some high cliff the encreasing storm,
+      Listening with strange delight
+    As the black billows to the thunder rave
+      When by the lightnings light
+    Thou seest the tall ship sink beneath the wave.
+
+    Dark HORROR! bear me where the field of fight
+      Scatters contagion on the tainted gale,
+      When to the Moon's faint beam,
+    On many a carcase shine the dews of night
+      And a dead silence stills the vale
+  Save when at times is heard the glutted Raven's scream.
+
+  Where some wreck'd army from the Conquerors might
+  Speed their disastrous flight,
+    With thee fierce Genius! let me trace their way,
+  And hear at times the deep heart-groan
+  Of some poor sufferer left to die alone,
+    His sore wounds smarting with the winds of night;
+  And we will pause, where, on the wild,
+    The [1] Mother to her frozen breast,
+  On the heap'd snows reclining clasps her child
+    And with him sleeps, chill'd to eternal rest!
+
+  Black HORROR! speed we to the bed of Death,
+    Where he whose murderous power afar
+    Blasts with the myriad plagues of war,
+  Struggles with his last breath,
+    Then to his wildly-starting eyes
+    The phantoms of the murder'd rise,
+    Then on his frenzied ear
+  Their groans for vengeance and the Demon's yell
+  In one heart-maddening chorus swell.
+  Cold on his brow convulsing stands the dew,
+  And night eternal darkens on his view.
+
+  HORROR! I call thee yet once more!
+  Bear me to that accursed shore
+  Where round the stake the impaled Negro writhes.
+  Assume thy sacred terrors then! dispense
+  The blasting gales of Pestilence!
+  Arouse the race of Afric! holy Power,
+  Lead them to vengeance! and in that dread hour
+  When Ruin rages wide
+  I will behold and smile by MERCY'S side.
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: I extract the following picture of consummate horror, from
+the notes to a Poem written in twelve syllable verse upon the campaign
+of 1794 and 1795; it was during the retreat to Deventer.
+"We could not proceed a hundred yards without perceiving the dead bodies
+of men, women, children and horses in every direction. One scene made an
+impression upon my memory which time will never be able to efface. Near
+another cart we perceived a stout looking man, and a beautiful young
+woman with an infant, about seven months old, at the breast, all three
+frozen and dead. The mother had most certainly expired in the act of
+suckling her child, as with one breast exposed, she lay upon the drifted
+snow, the milk to all appearance in a stream drawn from the nipple by
+the babe, and instantly congealed. The infant seemed as if its lips had
+but just then been disengaged, and it reposed its little head upon the
+mother's bosom, with, an overflow of milk, frozen as it trickled from
+the mouth; their countenances were perfectly composed and fresh,
+resembling those of persons in a sound and tranquil slumber."]
+
+
+
+
+  The SOLDIER'S WIFE.
+
+
+  DACTYLICS.
+
+  Weary way-wanderer languid and sick at heart
+  Travelling painfully over the rugged road,
+  Wild-visag'd Wanderer! ah for thy heavy chance!
+
+  Sorely thy little one drags by thee bare-footed,
+  Cold is the baby that hangs at thy bending back
+  Meagre and livid and screaming its wretchedness.
+
+  [1] Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony,
+  As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe,
+  Bleakly the blinding snow beats in thy hagged face.
+
+  Thy husband will never return from the war again,
+  Cold is thy hopeless heart even as Charity--
+  Cold are thy famish'd babes--God help thee, widow'd One!
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: This stanza was supplied by S.T. COLERIDGE.]
+
+
+
+
+  The WIDOW.
+
+  SAPPHICs.
+
+  Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snows fell,
+  Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked,
+  When a poor Wanderer struggled on her journey
+          Weary and way-sore.
+
+  Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflexions;
+  Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom!
+  She had no home, the world was all before her,
+          She had no shelter.
+
+  Fast o'er the bleak heath rattling drove a chariot,
+  "Pity me!" feebly cried the poor night wanderer.
+  "Pity me Strangers! lest with cold and hunger
+          Here I should perish.
+
+  "Once I had friends,--but they have all forsook me!
+  "Once I had parents,--they are now in Heaven!
+  "I had a home once--I had once a husband--
+          "Pity me Strangers!
+
+  "I had a home once--I had once a husband--
+  "I am a Widow poor and broken-hearted!"
+  Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining.
+          On drove the chariot.
+
+  On the cold snows she laid her down to rest her;
+  She heard a horseman, "pity me!" she groan'd out;
+  Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining,
+          On went the horseman.
+
+  Worn out with anguish, toil and cold and hunger,
+  Down sunk the Wanderer, sleep had seiz'd her senses;
+  There, did the Traveller find her in the morning,
+          GOD had releast her.
+
+
+
+
+  To the CHAPEL BELL.
+
+    "Lo I, the man who erst the Muse did ask
+      Her deepest notes to swell the Patriot's meeds,
+    Am now enforst a far unfitter task
+      For cap and gown to leave my minstrel weeds,"
+    For yon dull noise that tinkles on the air
+  Bids me lay by the lyre and go to morning prayer.
+
+    Oh how I hate the sound! it is the Knell,
+      That still a requiem tolls to Comfort's hour;
+    And loth am I, at Superstition's bell,
+      To quit or Morpheus or the Muses bower.
+    Better to lie and dose, than gape amain,
+  Hearing still mumbled o'er, the same eternal strain.
+
+    Thou tedious herald of more tedious prayers
+      Say hast thou ever summoned from his rest,
+    One being awakening to religious awe?
+      Or rous'd one pious transport in the breast?
+    Or rather, do not all reluctant creep
+  To linger out the hour, in listlessness or sleep?
+
+    I love the bell, that calls the poor to pray
+      Chiming from village church its chearful sound,
+    When the sun smiles on Labour's holy day,
+      And all the rustic train are gathered round,
+    Each deftly dizen'd in his Sunday's best
+  And pleas'd to hail the day of piety and rest.
+
+    Or when, dim-shadowing o'er the face of day,
+      The mantling mists of even-tide rise slow,
+    As thro' the forest gloom I wend my way,
+      The minster curfew's sullen roar I know;
+    I pause and love its solemn toll to hear,
+  As made by distance soft, it dies upon the ear.
+
+    Nor not to me the unfrequent midnight knell
+      Tolls sternly harmonizing; on mine ear
+    As the deep death-fraught sounds long lingering dwell
+      Sick to the heart of Love and Hope and Fear
+    Soul-jaundiced, I do loathe Life's upland steep
+  And with strange envy muse the dead man's dreamless sleep.
+
+    But thou, memorial of monastic gall!
+      What Fancy sad or lightsome hast thou given?
+    Thy vision-scaring sounds alone recall
+      The prayer that trembles on a yawn to heaven;
+    And this Dean's gape, and that Dean's nosal tone,
+  And Roman rites retain'd, tho' Roman faith be flown.
+
+
+
+
+
+  The RACE of BANQUO.
+
+  Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly!
+  Leave thy guilty sire to die.
+  O'er the heath the stripling fled,
+  The wild storm howling round his head.
+  Fear mightier thro' the shades of night
+  Urged his feet, and wing'd his flight;
+  And still he heard his father cry
+  Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly.
+
+  Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly
+  Leave thy guilty sire to die.
+  On every blast was heard the moan
+  The anguish'd shriek, the death-fraught groan;
+  Loathly night-hags join the yell
+  And see--the midnight rites of Hell.
+
+  Forms of magic! spare my life!
+  Shield me from the murderer's knife!
+  Before me dim in lurid light
+  Float the phantoms of the night--
+  Behind I hear my Father cry,
+  Fly, son of Banquo--Fleance, fly!
+
+  Parent of the sceptred race,
+  Fearless tread the circled space:
+  Fearless Fleance venture near--
+  Sire of monarchs--spurn at fear.
+
+  Sisters with prophetic breath
+  Pour we now the dirge of Death!
+
+
+
+
+  MUSINGS on a LANDSCAPE
+
+  of
+
+  GASPAR POUSSIN.
+
+  Poussin! most pleasantly thy pictur'd scenes
+  Beguile the lonely hour; I sit and gaze
+  With lingering eye, till charmed FANCY makes
+  The lovely landscape live, and the rapt soul
+  From the foul haunts of herded humankind
+  Flies far away with spirit speed, and tastes
+  The untainted air, that with the lively hue
+  Of health and happiness illumes the cheek
+  Of mountain LIBERTY. My willing soul
+  All eager follows on thy faery flights
+  FANCY! best friend; whose blessed witcheries
+  With loveliest prospects cheat the traveller
+  O'er the long wearying desart of the world.
+  Nor dost thou FANCY with such magic mock
+  My heart, as, demon-born, old Merlin knew,
+  Or Alquif, or Zarzafiel's sister sage,
+  Whose vengeful anguish for so many a year
+  Held in the jacinth sepulchre entranced
+  Lisvart and Perion, pride of chivalry.
+  Friend of my lonely hours! thou leadest me
+  To such calm joys as Nature wise and good
+  Proffers in vain to all her wretched sons;
+  Her wretched sons who pine with want amid
+  The abundant earth, and blindly bow them down
+  Before the Moloch shrines of WEALTH and POWER,
+  AUTHORS of EVIL. Oh it is most sweet
+  To medicine with thy wiles the wearied heart,
+  Sick of reality. The little pile
+  That tops the summit of that craggy hill
+  Shall be my dwelling; craggy is the hill
+  And steep, yet thro' yon hazels upward leads
+  The easy path, along whose winding way
+  Now close embowered I hear the unseen stream
+  Dash down, anon behold its sparkling foam
+  Gleam thro' the thicket; and ascending on
+  Now pause me to survey the goodly vale
+  That opens on my vision. Half way up
+  Pleasant it were upon some broad smooth rock
+  To sit and sun me, and look down below
+  And watch the goatherd down that high-bank'd path
+  Urging his flock grotesque; and bidding now
+  His lean rough dog from some near cliff to drive
+  The straggler; while his barkings loud and quick
+  Amid their trembling bleat arising oft,
+  Fainter and fainter from the hollow road
+  Send their far echoes, till the waterfall,
+  Hoarse bursting from the cavern'd cliff beneath,
+  Their dying murmurs drown. A little yet
+  Onward, and I have gain'd the upmost height.
+  Fair spreads the vale below: I see the stream
+  Stream radiant on beneath the noontide sky.
+  Where the town-spires behind the castle towers
+  Rise graceful; brown the mountain in its shade,
+  Whose circling grandeur, part by mists conceal'd,
+  Part with white rocks resplendant in the sun,
+  Should bound mine eyes; aye and my wishes too,
+  For I would have no hope or fear beyond.
+  The empty turmoil of the worthless world,
+  Its vanities and vices would not vex
+  My quiet heart. The traveller, who beheld
+  The low tower of the little pile, might deem
+  It were the house of GOD: nor would he err
+  So deeming, for that home would be the home
+  Of PEACE and LOVE, and they would hallow it
+  To HIM. Oh life of blessedness! to reap
+  The fruit of honorable toil, and bound
+  Our wishes with our wants! delightful Thoughts
+  That sooth the solitude of maniac HOPE,
+  Ye leave her to reality awak'd,
+  Like the poor captive, from some fleeting dream
+  Of friends and liberty and home restor'd,
+  Startled, and listening as the midnight storm
+  Beats hard and heavy thro' his dungeon bars.
+
+
+
+
+
+  Mary.
+
+The story of the following ballad was related to me, when a school boy,
+as a fact which had really happened in the North of England. I have
+adopted the metre of Mr. Lewis's Alonzo and Imogene--a poem deservedly
+popular.
+
+
+  MARY.
+
+  I.
+
+  Who is she, the poor Maniac, whose wildly-fix'd eyes
+    Seem a heart overcharged to express?
+  She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs,
+  She never complains, but her silence implies
+    The composure of settled distress.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  No aid, no compassion the Maniac will seek,
+    Cold and hunger awake not her care:
+  Thro' her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
+  On her poor withered bosom half bare, and her cheek
+    Has the deathy pale hue of despair.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Yet chearful and happy, nor distant the day,
+    Poor Mary the Maniac has been;
+  The Traveller remembers who journeyed this way
+  No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay
+    As Mary the Maid of the Inn.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  Her chearful address fill'd the guests with delight
+    As she welcomed them in with a smile:
+  Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,
+  And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night
+    When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  She loved, and young Richard had settled the day,
+    And she hoped to be happy for life;
+  But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
+  Who knew him would pity poor Mary and say
+    That she was too good for his wife.
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,
+    And fast were the windows and door;
+  Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright,
+  And smoking in silence with tranquil delight
+    They listen'd to hear the wind roar.
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  "Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire side
+    "To hear the wind whistle without."
+  "A fine night for the Abbey!" his comrade replied,
+  "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried
+    "Who should wander the ruins about.
+
+
+  VIII.
+
+  "I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear
+    "The hoarse ivy shake over my head;
+  "And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear,
+  "Some ugly old Abbot's white spirit appear,
+    "For this wind might awaken the dead!"
+
+
+  IX.
+
+  "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,
+    "That Mary would venture there now."
+  "Then wager and lose!" with a sneer he replied,
+  "I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,
+    "And faint if she saw a white cow."
+
+
+  X.
+
+  "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?"
+    His companion exclaim'd with a smile;
+  "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now,
+  "And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough
+    "From the elder that grows in the aisle."
+
+
+  XI.
+
+  With fearless good humour did Mary comply,
+    And her way to the Abbey she bent;
+  The night it was dark, and the wind it was high
+  And as hollowly howling it swept thro' the sky
+    She shiver'd with cold as she went.
+
+
+  XII.
+
+  O'er the path so well known still proceeded the Maid
+    Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight,
+  Thro' the gate-way she entered, she felt not afraid
+  Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade
+    Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.
+
+
+  XIII.
+
+  All around her was silent, save when the rude blast
+    Howl'd dismally round the old pile;
+  Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she past,
+  And arrived in the innermost ruin at last
+    Where the elder tree grew in the aisle.
+
+
+  XIV.
+
+  Well-pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near
+    And hastily gather'd the bough:
+  When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear,
+  She paus'd, and she listen'd, all eager to hear,
+    Aud her heart panted fearfully now.
+
+
+  XV.
+
+  The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head,
+    She listen'd,--nought else could she hear.
+  The wind ceas'd, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread
+  For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread
+    Of footsteps approaching her near.
+
+
+  XVI.
+
+  Behind a wide column half breathless with fear
+    She crept to conceal herself there:
+  That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
+  And she saw in the moon-light two ruffians appear
+    And between them a corpse did they bear.
+
+
+  XVII.
+
+  Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
+    Again the rough wind hurried by,--
+  It blew off the hat of the one, and behold
+  Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd,--
+    She felt, and expected to die.
+
+
+  XVIII.
+
+  "Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay come on and first hide
+    "The dead body," his comrade replies.
+  She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
+  She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,
+    And fast thro' the Abbey she flies.
+
+
+  XIX.
+
+  She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door,
+    She gazed horribly eager around,
+  Then her limbs could support their faint burthen no more,
+  And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor
+    Unable to utter a sound.
+
+
+  XX.
+
+  Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,
+    For a moment the hat met her view;--
+  Her eyes from that object convulsively start,
+  For--oh God what cold horror then thrill'd thro' her heart,
+    When the name of her Richard she knew!
+
+
+  XXI.
+
+  Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by
+    His gibbet is now to be seen.
+  Not far from the road it engages the eye,
+  The Traveller beholds it, and thinks with a sigh
+    Of poor Mary the Maid of the Inn.
+
+
+
+
+
+  Donica.
+
+
+In Finland there is a Castle which is called the New Rock, moated about
+with a river of unfounded depth, the water black and the fish therein
+very distateful to the palate. In this are spectres often seen, which
+foreshew either the death of the Governor, or some prime officer
+belonging to the place; and most commonly it appeareth in the shape of
+an harper, sweetly singing and dallying and playing under the water.
+
+It is reported of one Donica, that after she was dead, the Devil walked
+in her body for the space of two years, so that none suspected but that
+she was still alive; for she did both speak and eat, though very
+sparingly; only she had a deep paleness on her countenance, which was
+the only sign of death. At length a Magician coming by where she was
+then in the company of many other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he
+said, "fair Maids, why keep you company with the dead Virgin whom you
+suppose to be alive?" when taking away the magic charm which was tied
+under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion.
+
+The following Ballad is founded on these stories. They are to be found
+in the notes to The Hierarchies of the blessed Angels; a Poem by Thomas
+Heywood, printed in folio by Adam Islip, 1635.
+
+
+  DONICA.
+
+  High on a rock, whose castled shade
+    Darken'd the lake below,
+  In ancient strength majestic stood
+    The towers of Arlinkow.
+
+  The fisher in the lake below
+    Durst never cast his net,
+  Nor ever swallow in its waves
+    Her passing wings would wet.
+
+  The cattle from its ominous banks
+    In wild alarm would run,
+  Tho' parched with thirst and faint beneath
+    The summer's scorching sun.
+
+  For sometimes when no passing breeze
+    The long lank sedges waved,
+  All white with foam and heaving high
+    Its deafening billows raved;
+
+  And when the tempest from its base
+    The rooted pine would shake,
+  The powerless storm unruffling swept
+    Across the calm dead lake.
+
+  And ever then when Death drew near
+    The house of Arlinkow,
+  Its dark unfathom'd depths did send
+    Strange music from below.
+
+  The Lord of Arlinkow was old,
+    One only child had he,
+  Donica was the Maiden's name
+    As fair as fair might be.
+
+  A bloom as bright as opening morn
+    Flush'd o'er her clear white cheek,
+  The music of her voice was mild,
+    Her full dark eyes were meek.
+
+  Far was her beauty known, for none
+    So fair could Finland boast,
+  Her parents loved the Maiden much,
+    Young EBERHARD loved her most.
+
+  Together did they hope to tread
+    The pleasant path of life,
+  For now the day drew near to make
+    Donica Eberhard's wife.
+
+  The eve was fair and mild the air,
+    Along the lake they stray;
+  The eastern hill reflected bright
+    The fading tints of day.
+
+  And brightly o'er the water stream'd
+    The liquid radiance wide;
+  Donica's little dog ran on
+    And gambol'd at her side.
+
+  Youth, Health, and Love bloom'd on her cheek,
+    Her full dark eyes express
+  In many a glance to Eberhard
+    Her soul's meek tenderness.
+
+  Nor sound was heard, nor passing gale
+    Sigh'd thro' the long lank sedge,
+  The air was hushed, no little wave
+    Dimpled the water's edge.
+
+  Sudden the unfathom'd lake sent forth
+    Strange music from beneath,
+  And slowly o'er the waters sail'd
+    The solemn sounds of Death.
+
+  As the deep sounds of Death arose,
+    Donica's cheek grew pale,
+  And in the arms of Eberhard
+    The senseless Maiden fell.
+
+  Loudly the youth in terror shriek'd,
+    And loud he call'd for aid,
+  And with a wild and eager look
+    Gaz'd on the death-pale Maid.
+
+  But soon again did better thoughts
+    In Eberhard arise,
+  And he with trembling hope beheld
+    The Maiden raise her eyes.
+
+  And on his arm reclin'd she moved
+    With feeble pace and slow,
+  And soon with strength recover'd reach'd
+
+  Yet never to Donica's cheek
+    Return'd the lively hue,
+  Her cheeks were deathy, white, and wan,
+    Her lips a livid blue.
+
+  Her eyes so bright and black of yore
+    Were now more black and bright,
+  And beam'd strange lustre in her face
+    So deadly wan and white.
+
+  The dog that gambol'd by her side,
+    And lov'd with her to stray,
+  Now at his alter'd mistress howl'd
+    And fled in fear away.
+
+  Yet did the faithful Eberhard
+    Not love the Maid the less;
+  He gaz'd with sorrow, but he gaz'd
+    With deeper tenderness.
+
+  And when he found her health unharm'd
+    He would not brook delay,
+  But press'd the not unwilling Maid
+    To fix the bridal day.
+
+  And when at length it came, with joy
+    They hail'd the bridal day,
+  And onward to the house of God
+    They went their willing way.
+
+  And as they at the altar stood
+    And heard the sacred rite,
+  The hallowed tapers dimly stream'd
+    A pale sulphureous light.
+
+  And as the Youth with holy warmth
+    Her hand in his did hold,
+  Sudden he felt Donica's hand
+    Grow deadly damp and cold.
+
+  And loudly did he shriek, for lo!
+    A Spirit met his view,
+  And Eberhard in the angel form
+    His own Donica knew.
+
+  That instant from her earthly frame
+    Howling the Daemon fled,
+  And at the side of Eberhard
+    The livid form fell dead.
+
+
+
+
+  Rudiger.
+
+Divers Princes and Noblemen being assembled in a beautiful and fair
+Palace, which was situate upon the river Rhine, they beheld a boat or
+small barge make toward the shore, drawn by a Swan in a silver chain,
+the one end fastened about her neck, the other to the vessel; and in it
+an unknown soldier, a man of a comely personage and graceful presence,
+who stept upon the shore; which done, the boat guided by the Swan left
+him, and floated down the river. This man fell afterward in league with
+a fair gentlewoman, married her, and by her had many children. After
+some years, the same Swan came with the same barge into the same place;
+the soldier entering into it, was carried thence the way he came, left
+wife, children and family, and was never seen amongst them after.
+
+Now who can judge this to be other than one of those spirits that are
+named Incubi? says Thomas Heywood. I have adopted his story, but not his
+solution, making the unknown soldier not an evil spirit, but one who had
+purchased happiness of a malevolent being, by the promised sacrifice of
+his first-born child.
+
+
+  RUDIGER.
+
+  Bright on the mountain's heathy slope
+    The day's last splendors shine
+  And rich with many a radiant hue
+    Gleam gayly on the Rhine.
+
+  And many a one from Waldhurst's walls
+    Along the river stroll'd,
+  As ruffling o'er the pleasant stream
+    The evening gales came cold.
+
+  So as they stray'd a swan they saw
+    Sail stately up and strong,
+  And by a silver chain she drew
+    A little boat along,
+
+  Whose streamer to the gentle breeze
+    Long floating fluttered light,
+  Beneath whose crimson canopy
+    There lay reclin'd a knight.
+
+  With arching crest and swelling breast
+    On sail'd the stately swan
+  And lightly up the parting tide
+    The little boat came on.
+
+  And onward to the shore they drew
+    And leapt to land the knight,
+  And down the stream the swan-drawn boat
+    Fell soon beyond the sight.
+
+  Was never a Maid in Waldhurst's walls
+    Might match with Margaret,
+  Her cheek was fair, her eyes were dark,
+    Her silken locks like jet.
+
+  And many a rich and noble youth
+    Had strove to win the fair,
+  But never a rich or noble youth
+    Could rival Rudiger.
+
+  At every tilt and turney he
+    Still bore away the prize,
+  For knightly feats superior still
+    And knightly courtesies.
+
+  His gallant feats, his looks, his love,
+    Soon won the willing fair,
+  And soon did Margaret become
+    The wife of Rudiger.
+
+  Like morning dreams of happiness
+    Fast roll'd the months away,
+  For he was kind and she was kind
+    And who so blest as they?
+
+  Yet Rudiger would sometimes sit
+    Absorb'd in silent thought
+  And his dark downward eye would seem
+    With anxious meaning fraught;
+
+  But soon he rais'd his looks again
+    And smil'd his cares eway,
+  And mid the hall of gaiety
+    Was none like him so gay.
+
+  And onward roll'd the waining months,
+    The hour appointed came,
+  And Margaret her Rudiger
+    Hail'd with a father's name.
+
+  But silently did Rudiger
+    The little infant see,
+  And darkly on the babe he gaz'd
+    And very sad was he.
+
+  And when to bless the little babe
+    The holy Father came,
+  To cleanse the stains of sin away
+    In Christ's redeeming name,
+
+  Then did the cheek of Rudiger
+    Assume a death-pale hue,
+  And on his clammy forehead stood
+    The cold convulsive dew;
+
+  And faltering in his speech he bade
+    The Priest the rites delay,
+  Till he could, to right health restor'd,
+    Enjoy the festive day.
+
+  When o'er the many-tinted sky
+    He saw the day decline,
+  He called upon his Margaret
+    To walk beside the Rhine.
+
+  "And we will take the little babe,
+    "For soft the breeze that blows,
+  "And the wild murmurs of the stream
+    "Will lull him to repose."
+
+  So forth together did they go,
+    The evening breeze was mild,
+  And Rudiger upon his arm
+    Did pillow the sweet child.
+
+  And many a one from Waldhurst's walls
+    Along the banks did roam,
+  But soon the evening wind came cold,
+    And all betook them home.
+
+  Yet Rudiger in silent mood
+    Along the banks would roam,
+  Nor aught could Margaret prevail
+    To turn his footsteps home.
+
+  "Oh turn thee--turn thee Rudiger,
+    "The rising mists behold,
+  "The evening wind is damp and chill,
+    "The little babe is cold!"
+
+  "Now hush thee--hush thee Margaret,
+    "The mists will do no harm,
+  "And from the wind the little babe
+    "Lies sheltered on my arm."
+
+  "Oh turn thee--turn thee Rudiger,
+    "Why onward wilt thou roam?
+  "The moon is up, the night is cold,
+    "And we are far from home."
+
+  He answered not, for now he saw
+    A Swan come sailing strong,
+  And by a silver chain she drew
+    A little boat along.
+
+  To shore they came, and to the boat
+    Fast leapt he with the child,
+  And in leapt Margaret--breathless now
+    And pale with fear and wild.
+
+  With arching crest and swelling breast
+    On sail'd the stately swan,
+  And lightly down the rapid tide
+    The little boat went on.
+
+  The full-orb'd moon that beam'd around
+    Pale splendor thro' the night,
+  Cast through the crimson canopy
+    A dim-discoloured light.
+
+  And swiftly down the hurrying stream
+    In silence still they sail,
+  And the long streamer fluttering fast
+    Flapp'd to the heavy gale.
+
+  And he was mute in sullen thought
+    And she was mute with fear,
+  Nor sound but of the parting tide
+    Broke on the listening ear.
+
+  The little babe began to cry
+    And waked his mother's care,
+  "Now give to me the little babe
+    "For God's sake, Rudiger!"
+
+  "Now hush thee, hush thee Margaret!
+    "Nor my poor heart distress--
+  "I do but pay perforce the price
+    "Of former happiness.
+
+  "And hush thee too my little babe,
+    "Thy cries so feeble cease:
+  "Lie still, lie still;--a little while
+    "And thou shalt be at peace."
+
+  So as he spake to land they drew,
+    And swift he stept on shore,
+  And him behind did Margaret
+    Close follow evermore.
+
+  It was a place all desolate,
+    Nor house nor tree was there,
+  And there a rocky mountain rose
+    Barren, and bleak, and bare.
+
+  And at its base a cavern yawn'd,
+    No eye its depth might view,
+  For in the moon-beam shining round
+    That darkness darker grew.
+
+  Cold Horror crept thro' Margaret's blood,
+    Her heart it paus'd with fear,
+  When Rudiger approach'd the cave
+    And cried, "lo I am here!"
+
+  A deep sepulchral sound the cave
+    Return'd "lo I am here!"
+  And black from out the cavern gloom
+    Two giant arms appear.
+
+  And Rudiger approach'd and held
+    The little infant nigh;
+  Then Margaret shriek'd, and gather'd then
+    New powers from agony.
+
+  And round the baby fast and firm
+    Her trembling arms she folds,
+  And with a strong convulsive grasp
+    The little infant holds.
+
+  "Now help me, Jesus!" loud she cries.
+    And loud on God she calls;
+  Then from the grasp of Rudiger
+    The little infant falls.
+
+  And now he shriek'd, for now his frame
+    The huge black arms clasp'd round,
+  And dragg'd the wretched Rudiger
+    Adown the dark profound.
+
+
+
+
+
+  Hymn
+
+  TO THE
+
+  Penates.
+
+  Remove far from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches;
+  feed me with food convenient for me.
+
+  The words of Agur.
+
+
+
+The Title of the following Poem will probably remind the Reader of
+Akenside's Hymn to the Naiads, but the manner in which I have treated
+the subject fortunately precludes comparison.
+
+
+  HYMN to the PENATES.
+
+  Yet one Song more! one high and solemn strain
+  Ere PAEAN! on thy temple's ruined wall
+  I hang the silent harp: there may its strings,
+  When the rude tempest shakes the aged pile,
+  Make melancholy music. One Song more!
+  PENATES! hear me! for to you I hymn
+  The votive lay. Whether, as sages deem,
+  Ye dwell in the [1]inmost Heaven, the [2]COUNSELLORS
+  Of JOVE; or if, SUPREME OF DEITIES,
+  All things are yours, and in your holy train
+  JOVE proudly ranks, and JUNO, white arm'd Queen.
+
+  And wisest of Immortals, aweful Maid
+  ATHENIAN PALLAS. Venerable Powers!
+  Hearken your hymn of praise! tho' from your rites
+  Estranged, and exiled from your altars long,
+  I have not ceased to love you, HOUSEHOLD GODS!
+  In many a long and melancholy hour
+  Of solitude and sorrow, has my heart
+  With earnest longings prayed to rest at length
+  Beside your hallowed hearth--for PEACE is there!
+
+  Yes I have loved you long. I call on you
+  Yourselves to witness with what holy joy,
+  Shunning the polished mob of human kind,
+  I have retired to watch your lonely fires
+  And commune with myself. Delightful hours
+  That gave mysterious pleasure, made me know
+  All the recesses of my wayward heart,
+  Taught me to cherish with devoutest care
+  Its strange unworldly feelings, taught me too
+  The best of lessons--to respect myself!
+
+  Nor have I ever ceas'd to reverence you
+  DOMESTIC DEITIES! from the first dawn
+  Of reason, thro' the adventurous paths of youth
+  Even to this better day, when on mine ear
+  The uproar of contending nations sounds,
+  But like the passing wind--and wakes no pulse
+  To tumult. When a child--(for still I love
+  To dwell with fondness on my childish years,
+  Even as that Persian favorite would retire
+  From the court's dangerous pageantry and pomp,
+  To gaze upon his shepherd garb, and weep,
+  Rememb'ring humble happiness.) When first
+  A little one, I left my father's home,
+  I can remember the first grief I felt,
+  And the first painful smile that cloathed my front
+  With feelings not its own: sadly at night
+  I sat me down beside a stranger's hearth;
+  And when the lingering hour of rest was come,
+  First wet with tears my pillow. As I grew
+  In years and knowledge, and the course of Time
+  Developed the young feelings of my heart,
+  When most I loved in solitude to rove
+  Amid the woodland gloom; or where the rocks
+  Darken'd old Avon's stream, in the ivied cave
+  Recluse to sit and brood the future song,
+  Yet not the less, PENATES, loved I then
+  Your altars, not the less at evening hour
+  Delighted by the well-trimm'd fire to sit,
+  Absorbed in many a dear deceitful dream
+  Of visionary joys: deceitful dreams--
+  Not wholly vain--for painting purest joys,
+  They form'd to Fancy's mould her votary's heart.
+
+  By Cherwell's sedgey side, and in the meads
+  Where Isis in her calm clear stream reflects
+  The willow's bending boughs, at earliest dawn
+  In the noon-tide hour, and when the night-mists rose,
+  I have remembered you: and when the noise
+  Of loud intemperance on my lonely ear
+  Burst with loud tumult, as recluse I sat,
+  Pondering on loftiest themes of man redeemed
+  From servitude, and vice, and wretchedness,
+  I blest you, HOUSEHOLD GODS! because I loved
+  Your peaceful altars and serener rites.
+  Nor did I cease to reverence you, when driven
+  Amid the jarring crowd, an unfit man
+  To mingle with the world; still, still my heart
+  Sighed for your sanctuary, and inly pined;
+  And loathing human converse, I have strayed
+  Where o'er the sea-beach chilly howl'd the blast,
+  And gaz'd upon the world of waves, and wished
+  That I were far beyond the Atlantic deep,
+  In woodland haunts--a sojourner with PEACE.
+
+  Not idly fabled they the Bards inspired,
+  Who peopled Earth with Deities. They trod
+  The wood with reverence where the DRYADS dwelt;
+  At day's dim dawn or evening's misty hour
+  They saw the OREADS on their mountain haunts.
+  And felt their holy influence, nor impure
+  Of thought--or ever with polluted hands
+  Touched they without a prayer the NAIAD'S spring;
+  Yet was their influence transient; such brief awe
+  Inspiring as the thunder's long loud peal
+  Strikes to the feeble spirit. HOUSEHOLD GODS,
+  Not such your empire! in your votaries' breasts
+  No momentary impulse ye awake--
+  Nor fleeting like their local energies,
+  The deep devotion that your fanes impart.
+  O ye whom YOUTH has wilder'd on your way,
+  Or VICE with fair-mask'd foulness, or the lure
+  Of FAME that calls ye to her crowded paths
+  With FOLLY's rattle, to your HOUSEHOLD GODS
+  Return! for not in VICE's gay abodes,
+  Not in the unquiet unsafe halls of FAME
+  Does HAPPINESS abide! O ye who weep
+  Much for the many miseries of Mankind,
+  More for their vices, ye whose honest eyes
+  Frown on OPPRESSION,--ye whose honest hearts
+  Beat high when FREEDOM sounds her dread tocsin;--
+  O ye who quit the path of peaceful life
+  Crusading for mankind--a spaniel race
+  That lick the hand that beats them, or tear all
+  Alike in frenzy--to your HOUSEHOLD GODS
+  Return, for by their altars VIRTUE dwells
+  And HAPPINESS with her; for by their fires
+  TRANQUILLITY in no unsocial mood
+  Sits silent, listening to the pattering shower;
+  For, so [3]SUSPICION sleep not at the gate
+  Of WISDOM,--FALSEHOOD shall not enter there.
+
+  As on the height of some huge eminence,
+  Reach'd with long labour, the way-faring man
+  Pauses awhile, and gazing o'er the plain
+  With many a sore step travelled, turns him then
+  Serious to contemplate the onward road,
+  And calls to mind the comforts of his home,
+  And sighs that he has left them, and resolves
+  To stray no more: I on my way of life
+  Muse thus PENATES, and with firmest faith
+  Devote myself to you. I will not quit
+  To mingle with the mob your calm abodes,
+  Where, by the evening hearth CONTENTMENT sits
+  And hears the cricket chirp; where LOVE delights
+  To dwell, and on your altars lays his torch
+  That burns with no extinguishable flame.
+
+  Hear me ye POWERS benignant! there is one
+  Must be mine inmate--for I may not chuse
+  But love him. He is one whom many wrongs
+  Have sicken'd of the world. There was a time
+  When he would weep to hear of wickedness
+  And wonder at the tale; when for the opprest
+  He felt a brother's pity, to the oppressor
+  A good man's honest anger. His quick eye
+  Betray'd each rising feeling, every thought
+  Leapt to his tongue. When first among mankind
+  He mingled, by himself he judged of them,
+  And loved and trusted them, to Wisdom deaf,
+  And took them to his bosom. FALSEHOOD met
+  Her unsuspecting victim, fair of front,
+  And lovely as [4]Apega's sculptured form,
+  Like that false image caught his warm embrace
+  And gored his open breast. The reptile race
+  Clung round his bosom, and with viper folds
+  Encircling, stung the fool who fostered them.
+  His mother was SIMPLICITY, his sire
+  BENEVOLENCE; in earlier days he bore
+  His father's name; the world who injured him
+  Call him MISANTHROPY. I may not chuse
+  But love him, HOUSEHOLD GODS! for we were nurst
+  In the same school.
+
+                      PENATES! some there are
+  Who say, that not in the inmost heaven ye dwell,
+  Gazing with eye remote on all the ways
+  Of man, his GUARDIAN GODS; wiselier they deem
+  A dearer interest to the human race
+  Links you, yourselves the SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.
+  No mortal eye may pierce the invisible world,
+  No light of human reason penetrate
+  That depth where Truth lies hid. Yet to this faith
+  My heart with instant sympathy assents;
+  And I would judge all systems and all faiths
+  By that best touchstone, from whose test DECEIT
+  Shrinks like the Arch-Fiend at Ithuriel's spear,
+  And SOPHISTRY'S gay glittering bubble bursts,
+  As at the spousals of the Nereid's son,
+  When that false [5] Florimel, by her prototype
+  Display'd in rivalry, with all her charms
+  Dissolved away.
+
+                   Nor can the halls of Heaven
+  Give to the human soul such kindred joy,
+  As hovering o'er its earthly haunts it feels,
+  When with the breeze it wantons round the brow
+  Of one beloved on earth; or when at night
+  In dreams it comes, and brings with it the DAYS
+  And JOYS that are no more, Or when, perchance
+  With power permitted to alleviate ill
+  And fit the sufferer for the coming woe,
+  Some strange presage the SPIRIT breathes, and fills
+  The breast with ominous fear, and disciplines
+  For sorrow, pours into the afflicted heart
+  The balm of resignation, and inspires
+  With heavenly hope. Even as a Child delights
+  To visit day by day the favorite plant
+  His hand has sown, to mark its gradual growth,
+  And watch all anxious for the promised flower;
+  Thus to the blessed spirit, in innocence
+  And pure affections like a little child,
+  Sweet will it be to hover o'er the friends
+  Beloved; then sweetest if, as Duty prompts,
+  With earthly care we in their breasts have sown
+  The seeds of Truth and Virtue, holy flowers
+  Whose odour reacheth Heaven.
+
+                         When my sick Heart,
+  (Sick [6] with hope long delayed, than, which no care
+  Presses the crush'd heart heavier;) from itself
+  Seeks the best comfort, often have I deemed
+  That thou didst witness every inmost thought
+  SEWARD! my dear dead friend! for not in vain,
+  Oh early summon'd in thy heavenly course!
+  Was thy brief sojourn here: me didst thou leave
+  With strengthen'd step to follow the right path
+  Till we shall meet again. Meantime I soothe
+  The deep regret of Nature, with belief,
+  My EDMUND! that thine eye's celestial ken
+  Pervades me now, marking no mean joy
+  The movements of the heart that loved thee well!
+
+  Such feelings Nature prompts, and hence your rites
+  DOMESTIC GODS! arose. When for his son
+  With ceaseless grief Syrophanes bewail'd,
+  Mourning his age left childless, and his wealth
+  Heapt for an alien, he with fixed eye
+  Still on the imaged marble of the dead
+  Dwelt, pampering sorrow. Thither from his wrath
+  A safe asylum, fled the offending slave,
+  And garlanded the statue and implored
+  His young lost Lord to save: Remembrance then
+  Softened the father, and he loved to see
+  The votive wreath renewed, and the rich smoke
+  Curl from the costly censer slow and sweet.
+  From Egypt soon the sorrow-soothing rites
+  Divulging spread; before your [7] idol forms
+  By every hearth the blinded Pagan knelt,
+  Pouring his prayers to these, and offering there
+  Vain sacrifice or impious, and sometimes
+  With human blood your sanctuary defil'd:
+  Till the first BRUTUS, tyrant-conquering chief,
+  Arose; he first the impious rites put down,
+  He fitliest, who for FREEDOM lived and died,
+  The friend of humankind. Then did your feasts
+  Frequent recur and blameless; and when came
+  The solemn [8] festival, whose happiest rites
+  Emblem'd EQUALITY, the holiest truth!
+  Crown'd with gay garlands were your statues seen,
+  To you the fragrant censer smok'd, to you
+  The rich libation flow'd: vain sacrifice!
+  For nor the poppy wreath nor fruits nor wine.
+  Ye ask, PENATES! nor the altar cleans'd
+  With many a mystic form; ye ask the heart
+  Made pure, and by domestic Peace and Love
+  Hallowed to you.
+
+                  Hearken your hymn of praise,
+  PENATES! to your shrines I come for rest,
+  There only to be found. Often at eve,
+  Amid my wanderings I have seen far off
+  The lonely light that spake of comfort there,
+  It told my heart of many a joy of home,
+  And my poor heart was sad. When I have gazed
+  From some high eminence on goodly vales
+  And cots and villages embower'd below,
+  The thought would rise that all to me was strange
+  Amid the scene so fair, nor one small spot
+  Where my tir'd mind might rest and call it home,
+  There is a magic in that little word;
+  It is a mystic circle that surrounds
+  Comforts and Virtues never known beyond
+  The hallowed limit. Often has my heart
+  Ached for that quiet haven; haven'd now,
+  I think of those in this world's wilderness
+  Who wander on and find no home of rest
+  Till to the grave they go! them POVERTY
+  Hollow-eyed fiend, the child of WEALTH and POWER,
+  Bad offspring of worse parents, aye afflicts,
+  Cankering with her foul mildews the chill'd heart--
+  Them WANT with scorpion scourge drives to the den
+  Of GUILT--them SLAUGHTER with the price of death
+  Buys for her raven brood. Oh not on them
+  GOD OF ETERNAL JUSTICE! not on them
+  Let fall thy thunder!
+
+                        HOUSEHOLD DEITIES!
+  Then only shall be Happiness on earth
+  When Man shall feel your sacred power, and love
+  Your tranquil joys; then shall the city stand
+  A huge void sepulchre, and rising fair
+  Amid the ruins of the palace pile
+  The Olive grow, there shall the TREE OF PEACE
+  Strike its roots deep and flourish. This the state
+  Shall bless the race redeemed of Man, when WEALTH
+  And POWER and all their hideous progeny
+  Shall sink annihilate, and all mankind
+  Live in the equal brotherhood of LOVE.
+  Heart-calming hope and sure! for hitherward
+  Tend all the tumults of the troubled world,
+  Its woes, its wisdom, and its wickedness
+  Alike: so he hath will'd whose will is just.
+
+  Meantime, all hoping and expecting all
+  In patient faith, to you, DOMESTIC GODS!
+  I come, studious of other lore than song,
+  Of my past years the solace and support:
+  Yet shall my Heart remember the past years
+  With honest pride, trusting that not in vain
+  Lives the pure song of LIBERTY and TRUTH.
+
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: Hence one explanation of the name Penates, because they
+were supposed to reign in the inmost Heavens.]
+
+[Footnote 2:
+This was the belief of the ancient Hetrusci, who called them Consentes
+and Complicces]
+
+[Footnote 3:
+
+     Oft, tho' Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps
+  At Wisdom's gate, and to Simplicity
+  Resigns her charge, while Goodness thinks no ill
+  Where no ill seems.
+                        MILTON.]
+
+[Footnote 4: One of the Ways and Means of the Tyrant Nabis. If one of
+his Subjects refused to lend him money, he commanded him to embrace his
+Apega; the statue of a beautiful Woman so formed as to clasp the victim
+to her breast, in which a pointed dagger was concealed.]
+
+[Footnote 5:
+
+    Then did he set her by that snowy one,
+      Like the true saint beside the image set,
+    Of both their beauties to make paragone
+      And trial whether should the honour get:
+      Streightway so soone as both together met,
+    The enchaunted damzell vanish'd into nought;
+      Her snowy substance melted as with heat,
+    Ne of that goodly hew remayned ought
+  But the emptie girdle which about her wast was wrought.
+                                                           SPENCER.]
+
+[Footnote 6:       Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.      PROVERBS.
+
+  Qua non gravior mortalibus addita cura,
+  SPES ubi longa venit.
+                         STATIUS.]
+
+[Footnote 7: It is not certainly known under what form the Penates were
+worshipped. Some assert, as wooden or brazen rods shaped like trumpets:
+others, that they were represented as young men.]
+
+[Footnote 8: The Saturnalia.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Robert Southey
+
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