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diff --git a/old/spoem10.txt b/old/spoem10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e23ae88 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/spoem10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4252 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Robert Southey +#3 in our series by Robert Southey + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Robert Southey + +Release Date: June, 2005 [EBook #8212] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 2, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE 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 + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +This file should be named spoem10.txt or spoem10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, spoem11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, spoem10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Clytie Siddall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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