[Illustration: JOHN ANDRÉ.--[FROM PORTRAIT BY JOSHUA REYNOLDS.]
THE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
ANNA SEWARD;
WITH
EXTRACTS FROM HER LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE.
EDITED BY
WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
EDINBURGH:
Printed by James Ballantyne and Co.
FOR JOHN BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH;
AND LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW,
LONDON.
1810.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME SECOND.
PAGE
Verses written in Dr Darwin’s Botanic Garden, 1
Elegy on the Death of Mr Joseph Sykes, 5
Charity, 10
Monody on the Death of David Garrick, Esq., 15
Ode on the Pythagorean System, 18
Invocation of the Comic Muse, 22
Amusements of Winter, 25
Bermuda, 29
Elegy on Captain Cook, 33
Verses to a Young Gentleman, 47
Ode to the Sun, 49
Verses to Captain Eliott, 53
Verses to Mrs C----, 55
On the future Existence of Brutes, 58
To Miss Seward, 66
Monody on Major Andre, 68
Letters addressed to the Author by Major Andre, 89
Ode to Poetic Fancy, 105
Epistle to Cornelia, 110
Epistle to Mr Romney, 124
Written in the blank page of the Sorrows of
Werter, 130
Written in the Title-page of a Volume of Mr
Jephson’s Tragedies, 133
Written in a diminutive Edition of Gray’s Poems, 134
Verses written in the blank leaves of Mr Hayley’s
Poems, 135
Written in the blank leaf of a small Pocket Edition
of Thomson’s Seasons, 137
With a Lock of the Author’s Hair to a Gentleman
who requested it, 138
On seeing Mr Hayley’s Works invidiously criticised, 139
Verses to the celebrated Painter, Mr Wright of
Derby, 140
Epistle to William Hayley, Esq., 143
To the Memory of Lady Miller, 150
Epistle to the Rev. Dr William Bagshot Stevens,
of Repton, Derbyshire, 165
To William Hayley, Esq., 172
Address to the Sun, 174
Address to Woman, 176
Verses to the Rev. William Mason, 179
EPITAPH on Hannah Robinson of Lichfield, 181
---- on Lady Miller, 183
Epitaph on Eliza Jones, 184
---- on Miss Anne Lawley, 185
---- on David Garrick, Esq., 186
---- on Mrs Bennet, 187
---- on Eliza Whateley, 189
---- on Elizabeth, wife of J. B. Simpson, Esq., 190
---- on Elizabeth, wife of the Rev. Michael
Baxter, 191
---- on the Hon. Henrietta Bagot, 192
---- on Miss Wingfield of Shrewsbury, 193
Inscribed on the Monument of the Rev. William
Bagshot Stevens, 194
For a Marble Tablet in Lichfield Cathedral, 195
On General Simcoe, 197
Epistle to F. C. R. Mundy, Esq., 199
The Red-breast and Sparrow: A fable, 207
Mount Etna, 209
Epistle to Colonel St George, 215
Ode on Time, 218
Louisa, a Poetical Novel, in Four Epistles, 219
I.--Louisa to Emma, 222
II.--Eugenio to Emma, 240
III.--Louisa to Emma, 265
IV.--Louisa to Emma, 275
Song of Roxana: A Persian Poem, 295
The Song of Zillia, 297
Eastern Ode, 300
Daphne’s coyness accounted for, 305
Verses to Mr Hayley, 307
Written in Autumn, 1784, 310
Colebrook Dale, 314
Independent Industry True Virtue, 320
To the Rev. John Granville, 330
Epistle to Nath. Lister, Esq. of Lichfield, 333
Epistle to George Romney, Esq., 345
Idyllium from the Italian, 348
To Mrs Smith, on her singing in public, 350
Alpine Scenery, 352
Ode on Gen. Elliot’s return from Gibraltar, 374
POEMS
BY
ANNA SEWARD.
VERSES[1]
WRITTEN IN DR DARWIN’S BOTANIC GARDEN,
_Near Lichfield, July, 1778_.
O come not here, ye proud, whose breasts enfold
Th’ insatiate wish of glory, or of gold!
O come not here, whose branded foreheads wear
The eternal frown of envy or of care!
For you no Dryad decks her fragrant bowers,
For you her sparkling urn no Naiad pours;
Unmask’d by you, light Graces skim the green,
And hovering Cupids aim their shafts unseen.
But <small>THOU</small>, whose mind the well-attemper’d ray
Of taste and virtue lights with purer day;
Whose finer sense each soft vibration owns,
Mute and unfeeling to discordant tones;
Like the fair flower, that spreads its lucid form
To meet the sun, but shuts it to the storm;
For thee my borders name the glowing wreath,
My fountains murmur and my zephyrs breathe;
To charm thine eye, amid the crystal tide,
With sinuous track, my silvery nations glide;
My choral birds their vivid plumes unfold,
And insect armies wave their wings of gold.
And if with thee some gentle maid should stray,
Disastrous Love companion of her way,
O! lead her timid step to yonder glade,
Whose arching rock incumbent alders shade!
These, as meek evening wakes the temperate breeze,
And moon-beams glimmer thro’ the trembling trees,
The rills that gurgle round shall sooth her ear,
The weeping rock shall number tear for tear;[2]
And as sad Philomel, alike forlorn,
Sings to the night, reclining on a thorn,
While at mute intervals each falling note
Sighs in the gale, and whispers round the grot,
The sister-woes shall calm her throbbing breast,
And softest slumbers steal her cares to rest.
Thus spoke the GENIUS, as he stept along,[3]
And bade these lawns to Peace and Truth belong;
Down the steep slopes he led, with modest skill,
The willing path-way, and the vagrant rill;
Stretch’d o’er the marshy vale the willowy mound,
Where shines the lake amid the cultur’d ground;
Rear’d the young woodland, smooth’d the wavy green,
And gave to BEAUTY all the quiet scene.
O! may no ruder step the bowers prophane,
No midnight wassaler deface the plain!
And when the tempests of the wintry day
Blow golden autumn’s varied leaves away,
Winds of the North, restrain your icy gales,
Nor chill the bosom of these HAPPY VALES![4]
ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OF MR JOSEPH SYKES,
OF WEST-ELLA,
AT THE AGE OF NINETEEN.
Bleak winds no longer howl around the hill,
Nor wildly eddy through the shrinking vale;
No more the grey frost creeps upon the rill,
But kind Favonius breathes the soften’d gale.
And morn arising, from her vermil wing,
’Mid the coy dell, and on the liberal plain,
Showers each luxuriant blessing of the spring,
Her crystal sun-beam, and her balmy rain.
I hail thee, Spring! but my sad eyes o’erflow,
No joy of mine thy soft revival greets;
Yet still, for purposes of tender woe,
Give me to cull thy choicest bosom’d sweets.
Pure lilies, screen’d by your unfolding leaves,
Violets, that breathe your incense on the morn,
Each flower, that from the dewy light receives
Its orient hues, my votive wreath adorn!
And o’er the dear AMINTOR’S early tomb,
Where Friendship pours her tributary tear,
Strewn by the rivals of his youthful bloom,
And O! congenial garland, languish there!
Fade, blossoms, fade! for so each kindred grace
In young AMINTOR faded in its prime,
When dire disease approach’d with stealing pace,
To antedate the withering power of Time.
Retir’d, like you, no gaudy vain parade
Glanc’d o’er his talents one obtrusive ray;
He woo’d chaste Science in the rural shade,
And won, but shunn’d to lead her into day.
Warm, though unboasted, that ingenuous heart,
Whose every thought was tender, brave, and free,
While all the treasures Knowledge could impart,
Dear soaring Spirit, she prepar’d for thee.
Light of thy parents’ eyes!--but now no more
On thy soul’s treasures shall they proudly gaze;
Treasures, outweighing far the boasted store
Of many, counting twice thy lapse of days.
Still must the dim eyes of bereaved love
Strain on each bright memorial through their tears:
Ah! how the sick’ning Fancy loves to rove
O’er blasted promises of happy years!
And as the essence of a serpent proves
Potent the venom from its bite to throw,
So thus to feed on perish’d hopes, removes
The mortal influence from their sting of woe.
Yes, in the _cause_ that made our grief extreme,
We see our bane and antidote appear,
Sooth’d to remember Hope’s delightful beam,
Though now extinguish’d on the early bier.
We feel how oft illusive shines that ray
When clearest it allures our flatter’d sight,
Shews all the paths of life so bright and gay,
That rise magnetic in its dubious light.
There winds gay Pleasure’s track, with roses strewn,
But now we feel that ne’er unthorn’d they glow;
On Learning’s bays that Envy’s blight is thrown,
That stain’d with blood the warrior-laurels blow.
Yet Prudence may extract each wounding thorn,
Fame, strength’ning as she rises, screen from blight;
And chance avert from Valour’s radiant morn
The sanguine clouds, that threaten timeless night.
They _may_,--but who, ah! who can say they _shall_?
Does no just dread Hope’s fairy dreams annoy?
E’en realis’d, yet Wisdom’s tear will fall
O’er triumph vain for unenduring joy.
Short since we know the most protracted span
Of pale Longevity’s soon number’d years;--
But Hope, contemplating the stinted plan,
Throws it in perspective, and calms our fears.
Now, ere their time, our fairy visions fade,
Relentless Death has quench’d Hope’s silver ray!
But O! what form irradiates wide the shade?
What beauteous Daughter of eternal day?
See, she pervades the dense, and mournful gloom!
With radiant smile the vault funereal cheers!
I know thee, FAITH, thou only canst illume
The night of sorrow, and the vale of tears.
While warm devotion lifts thy starry eyes,
O’er Death’s drear cell thy sacred torch shall wave,
And see! the late extinguish’d fires arise,
In brighter lustre, from the opening grave!
Ah! brighter did I say? the Solar Light,
When from the East his summer’s glory pours,
Not more transcends the waning orb of night,
Than heavenly hopes, the hopes of mortal hours.
Immortal Hope on endless pleasure bends
On transport unallay’d her quenchless beam,
Shews their pure fountain free from all that blends
Danger and pain with joy’s terrestrial stream.
Beyond life’s treacherous rocks and stormy wave,
Reveals the boundless bliss, for us in store,
When past the darksome confines of the grave,
We meet our ANGEL FRIEND to part no more.
To part no more!--blest FAITH, the sounds are thine!
And at those sounds each fond regret will cease,
Parental Love no longer shall repine,
But all its rebel sighs be hush’d to peace.
Now rise the hopes that only _thou_ canst bring,
Supreme from each repining woe to save;
Resistless Death, O! where is now thy sting?
O! where thy victory, insatiate Grave?
CHARITY,
PRIZE POEM AT BATH-EASTON;
_Containing a Paraphrase of the 13th Chap. of Corinthians_.
What awful light invests the day?
Not less unlike proud summer’s ray
Than pallid gleams of cold December’s noon.
The myrtles glow with liveliest green,
The mystic vase seems plainer seen,
Though all ungilded by the lavish sun.
Lady Miller, patroness of that poetic institution, at her villa,
near Bath, always appointed the _subject_ of the verses written for
the festival. A description of its ceremonies will be found
prefixed to the Author’s Monody on Lady Miller.
With clear, yet sober beauty shine
The verdant bower, the classic shrine,
As when, in calmest hour of silent night,
In soft perspective rise the vales,
The silvered lawns, the shadowy dales,
Beneath the full-orb’d moon’s unclouded light.
Behold a beauteous form appears,
Inhabitant of happier spheres,
Whose charms divine all human charms transcend!
Does then, to grace this Delphic grove,
Bright CLIO leave the courts above,
And, glorying in its tuneful powers, descend?
Ah, no! for o’er the placid shrine
Nor solar emanations shine,
Nor lyres Aonian pour the liquid strain;
The tender limbs, the angel face
Have female; but celestial grace,
And yet no Nymph she seems of Phœbus’ train.
In that mild eye’s translucent ray
No frolic pleasures idly play,
Nor raptur’d fancy lifts their sacred ball;
No purple robe redundant flows,
No gemm’d tiara brightly glows;
All snowy white the decent garments fall.
And to her veil’d and spotless breast
A sacred book is fervent press’d,
With red drops stain’d the hallow’d leaves appear;
Now gently o’er the shrine she bends,
Her arm, with modest grace, extends,
And silver sweet the accents meet our ear.
“Attend, ye Fair,--ye Learn’d,--ye Gay;
“To peace I point the certain way,
“To all the happiness your state may claim;
“Ne’er shall ye find its sweet, coy stores
“On Luxury’s voluptuous shores,
“Nor rise they on th’ Icarian wings of fame.
“That to be _blest_ is to be _good_,
“These leaves proclaim, with martyr-blood
“Seal’d is their truth--and awful when they sung
“Me CHARITY, by power divine,
“First Priestess of the Christian shrine,
“The vault of Heaven with seraph-pæans rung.
“Once more my power, my mission learn,
“And know;--could ye events discern,
“As yet dim embryos in the womb of time;
“Though ye were grac’d with every art
“That Wisdom, Science, Wit, impart,
“Though Faith were your’s unswerving and sublime;
“For virtuous purpose, though ye pour[5]
“The votive strain beneath this bower,
“Where blest BENEVOLENCE the garland weaves;
“If not for _me_ ye wake the string,
“With tongues of angels though ye sing,
“No ear divine the tinkling sound perceives:
“And though ye smooth the thorny bed,
“Where Sickness leans her languid head,
“And pining Want, with fainting step, retires;
“Though e’en to the devouring flames
“Ye patient yield your mortal frames
“When superstition lights demoniac pyres;
“If in the proud and rigid breast
“My soft, my generous behest
“Each seeming-virtuous action fails to inspire,
“Then are they fruitless in the eye
“That lights the earth, and glads the sky,
“Of Wisdom, Truth, and Love, th’ ALMIGHTY SIRE.
“He bade me bend the stubborn mind
“To all that’s patient, soft, and kind,
“Suspicion pale, and red-ey’d anger chace;
“The vaunt of Pride, and Envy’s stings;
“Th’ envenom’d dart that Slander flings,
“Cruel Assassin of the Human Race!
“When prophecies are heard no more,
“When vanish’d Wisdom’s priceless lore,
“And cold, and silent every mortal tongue,
“These blest unerring leaves ordain
“That I shall range yon azure plain,
“Immortal as the source from whence I sprung.
“And when, amid the falling spheres,
“With _me_ unswerving Faith appears,
“And Hope triumphant rises o’er the storm,
“Great as they are, yet more sublime
“The OMNIFIC VOICE will hail _me_ prime,
“Who his benign commands did best on earth perform.
She spake--she smil’d!--The Vision, heavenly bright,
Melted in purest rays of liquid light.
MONODY
ON THE DEATH OF DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.
_Prize Poem at Bath-Easton._
Dim sweeps the shower along the misty vale,
And Grief’s low accents murmur in the gale.
O’er the damp vase, Horatio, sighing, leans,
And gazes absent on the faded scenes.
Soft melancholy shades each sprightly grace,
That wont to revel o’er his Laura’s face,
When, with sweet smiles, the garlands gay she twin’d,
And each light spray her roseate ribbons bind.
Dropt from her hand the scattered myrtles lie;
And lo! dark cypress meets the earnest eye!
For lifeless GARRICK sighs from Genius breathe,
And weeping Beauty culls the funeral wreath.
Great SHAKESPEAR’S spirit, with its solar rays,
Led him through all the wide, theatric maze;
Through the deep pathos of its mournful themes,
Through the light magic of its playful dreams.
He caught the genuine humour, glowing there,
Wit’s vivid flash, and Cunning’s sober leer.
The strange distress, that fires the kindling brain,
When roams the heart-rent Sire the stormy plain;[6]
When dire Ambition, from the regal room,[7]
In silence, night, and horror’s breathless gloom,
Conscience-appal’d, his crimson hands surveys,
And turns to fancied sounds the wide reverted gaze;
Or when the pale Youth, in the midnight shade,[8]
Pursues the steel-clad phantom through the glade;
Or, starting from his couch, with wild affright
When the crown’d Murderer glares upon our sight,[9]
And all his senses fly the dire controul
Of guilt-struck terror, rushing on his soul,--
Our subject passions own’d the sway compleat,
And hail’d their GARRICK, as their SHAKESPEAR, great.
That voice, which pour’d its music on the ear,
Sweet as the songsters of the vernal year;
Those graceful gestures, and that eye of fire,
With rage that flam’d, or languish’d with desire;
Awak’d the jocund mirth in dimples sleek,
Or made the chilling blood forsake the cheek,
Where are they now?--Dark, in the narrow cell,
Insensate,--shrunk,--and wan,--and cold, they dwell;
A silence, solemn, and eternal keep,
Where neither love shall smile, nor anguish weep.
Breathe, Genius, still the tributary sigh!
Still gush, ye liquid pearls, from Beauty’s eye!
With slackened strings suspend your harps, ye Nine,
While round his urn yon cypress wreath ye twine;
Then give his talents to your loudest fame,
And grave on your high shrines, Garrick’s unrivall’d name.
ODE
ON THE PYTHAGOREAN SYSTEM.
_Prize Poem at Bath-Easton._
Spirit of man, if thy mysterious fires
Are emanent from that, ETERNAL LIGHT,
In whose comparison the Sun retires,
Eclips’d and pale, can System trace thy flight,
When thou shalt seek, freed from corporeal load,
In dim Futurity a new abode?
Ah no! strange destinies her dreams prepare
For thy undying sense of joys and pains;
How ill the Samian Sage explains[10]
Thy trackless wanderings in yon fields of air!
Inadequate the bonds, by which he tries
To chain thee still to earth, when lost, by guilt, the skies.
And yet, howe’er imperfect, wild, and strange,
His tenets seem; still, as they not discard
A sacred sense, along their erring range,
Of punish’d crime, and virtue’s fair reward,
They soar, though on weak wings, above the sphere
Where broods mad Atheism o’er precepts drear;
Or, with incessant sneer, delights to lead,
By cold Oblivion’s deep and sable waves,
His grovelling crew of sensual slaves,
Inebriate, muttering Epicurus’ creed,
And impious quenching in the sullen stream
The brightning torch of Hope, kindled at Truth’s pure beam.
Our more enlighten’d Sage disdained to fold
In blank Annihilation’s icy shroud,
The Spirit warm, that, from her earthly hold,
Had wings to soar above yon azure cloud;
Yet has he much perplex’d her doubtful way
To Guilt’s dark shores, and Virtue’s realms of day.
But tune thy notes, my lyre, to gayer strains;
Admit the futile system for an hour;
Embrace its creed, invoke its power,
And to its fond illusions give the reins;
Conceive the soaring mind _has_ earthly bounds,
And vegetates, or breathes, through Fate’s eternal rounds.
Then while Revenge meets his congenial lot,
And howls the tiger of the desert plain;
While sensual Love bums in the odious Goat,
And in the Hog the Glutton feasts again;
While selfish Dulness indolently laves,
A cold Torpedo in the stagnant waves;
While Avarice grovels in the sateless Worm,
And baneful Envy, on the Hornet’s wing,
Rises, and darts the barbed sting;
While Vanity assumes a kindred form,
Sports a gay Butterfly in summer’s noon,
And shews her gilded wings, quick glancing to the Sun;
Me, whom nor rage, nor thirst of proud controul,
Nor wish impure, inflames to deeds abhorr’d;
Nor costly viand, nor inebriate bowl
Allures to revel at the Glutton’s board;
I, who can weep for sorrows not my own,
Nor covet gold, nor envy bright renown;
If, for impetuous errors, ill-restrain’d,
For many a frail omission, frequent mourn’d,
For talents wasted, prudence scorn’d,
My struggling spirit must to earth be chain’d,
Ah! gentle be its expiatory doom,
In Brute-Existence dumb, or vegetable gloom!
If sink it must, O grant, ye lenient Powers,
Soft that it fall on LAURA’S Delphic shrine;
Then rise a myrtle in her blooming bowers,
Whose verdant arms may round her altars twine!
There, as the tuneful train, the groves among,
Pour the full cadence of the dulcet song,
While yet around me trill the charming strains,
While gentle Laura bends my glossy spray,
And graceful weaves its garlands gay,
My ardent spirit scarce shall _feel_ its chains;
Scarce shall its silent destiny deplore,
Since yet I _form_ the wreaths, which once with pride I _wore_.
INVOCATION
OF THE
COMIC MUSE.
_Prize Poem at Bath-Easton._
On this mirth-devoted day,
From these festal bowers away,
In your sable vestments flee,
Train of sad MELPOMENE!
Ye, who midnight horrors dart
Through the palpitating heart;
Fear, that flies its shadowy cause,
With hurried step and startled pause;
Straw-crown’d Phrenzy’s glaring gaze,
Chaunting shrill her changing lays:
Nor let dim-ey’d Grief appear,
Weaving mournful garlands here,
Cypress-buds, and fading flowers,
Wet with cold November’s showers;
Nor with the damp, wan brow, and streaming wound,
Let stern, self-pierc’d Despair her hollow groans resound.
THALIA come, fantastic Fair,
Enthron’d in pantomimic car!
Thine open brow with roses bind,
By morning’s lucid rays entwin’d;
Thine azure vest flow lightly down,
And vivid glow thy rainbow zone!
Haste thee, Nymph, with sunny hair,
With varied voice, and jocund air,
Adorn’d with all the laughing grace,
That decks the sweet betwitching face
Of her, who o’er the knee of snow
Archly snaps young Cupid’s bow;[11]
For O! in that more beauteous maid
Than Grecian pencil e’er display’d,
Bright from ANGELICA’S unrival’d hand,
Goddess, thy portrait glows, and charms the gazing Land.
Nor let this Delphic Vase alone
Thy all-enlivening influence own;
Exert then still thy magic power
To whiten every passing hour
For him, whose taste decided shines
In the fair Priestess of these shrines;
For her, who guides the devious feet
Of Genius to this fair retreat,
Her verdant prize extending there;--
Ah still for them, the generous Pair,
Collect thou each idea bright
From Fancy’s shrine of missive light;
From Health, from Love, from Virtue’s ray,
To gild through life their varied day,
Illume the night, and bless the rising morn,
And with the beams of bliss the golden sun adorn.
AMUSEMENTS OF WINTER.
_Written in 1779._
Now, in the tempests of the wintry sky,
The whirling leaves of sickly Autumn fly;
But blithe EUPHROSYNE will soon appear,
And gild the horrors of the darkening year.
Soon shall she hail, with buskin’d Dian’s horn,
The light, ambiguous, of the tardy morn;
Mark the fierce Courser, the gay Youth beneath,
Neigh as he paws the earth, and ardent breathe;
Toss the light mane, and snuff the moisten’d gale,
Till vocal throats proclaim the tainted dale.
Then the fleet hoof the echoing forest shakes,
Then dash the deep-mouth’d hounds among the brakes;
The high, rough hill the hunter-throng deride,
Strain up its steep, and thunder down its side;
Sweep through the misty vale, in long array,
And shout exulting o’er the treacherous prey.
Hygeia’s eyes, whence diamond lustre streams,
Deck the pale Orient with their glad’ning beams.
She can the short and louring day illume,
And, with her dimpled Sister, mock the gloom.
Twins and companions ever on the earth,
Are the bright Goddesses of Health and Mirth.
Now fall the fearful Night’s incumbent shades,
And the swoln river pours along the glades;
Wild as the gulphing waves their eddies form,
Shrieks the remorseless spirit of the storm.
But, for the Social, shines the clean, warm hearth,
And all within the walls is love and mirth.
Pleas’d with the absence of intrusive Day,
Science and Wit their varied stores display;
And the heart feels, whate’er our Bards may sing,
Bright winter-fires propitious as the spring;
Since most the Youth the timid Virgin fires,
When he, and only he, her breast inspires;
No golden suns, no fragrant flowers, to share
The charm’d attention of the list’ning Fair.
And when the howling wind and beating rain
Shake the firm roof, and plough the delug’d plain,
The sweet affections, in those fearful hours,
Rule the kind bosom with augmented powers;
Then most the Sense, and Soul, dependence feel
On Love’s gay smile, and Friendship’s cordial zeal.
In splendid roofs, the brilliant chandelier
Pours trembling lustre on the full-plum’d Fair,
And to their rival eyes the scenes unfold
That glitter azure, and that glitter gold.
Here fickle Fortune leads her motley throng,
Where varied laws to varied states belong:
Solemn Spadille, the Lewis of the Train,
Rules with despotic sway the velvet plain;
Whist’s graver tribes Republic schemes display,
Her still chang’d rulers bearing sober sway;
While Pam, like Prussian Frederic, darts to view,
Exulting o’er the vanquish’d troops of Loo.
All these, and more, with deeds of proud acclaim,
Flock to the standard of the giddy Dame.
His vassal monarchs thus Atrides bore
From Grecian cities to the Trojan shore.
Hark the soft flutes, and loud’ning hautboys sound,
And youthful Beauty glides her graceful round;
Till brisker measures rapid urge along
The light, the mutable, the bounding throng.
When graver pleasures their pursuits engage,
Majestic Tragedy sublimes the stage,
Till her gay Sister puts the pomp to flight,
And Mirth resumes her empire o’er the night.
Now rapt CECILIA strikes the golden lyre,
Wakes to wild rage, or melts in soft desire;
And to her vocal tubes, and marshall’d strings,
A thousand blended harmonies she brings.
Their leader, Melody, they still sustain,
And with sonorous grandeur lift the strain.
Then from the full Orchestra loud resounds
The volant fugue, with its successive sounds.
Heard, and but heard, lo! now the soften’d notes
Invite the song, that round the area floats,
When graceful HARROP pours the liquid lay,
Sweet as the warbler on the moonlight spray.
Her fine expression, her consummate art
Lift the moist eye, and thrill the feeling heart;
Strike e’en the prating fools of fashion dumb,
Till late all _voice_, they now all _ear_ become.
’Twas thus that, listening to the Syren’s strain,
Charm’d Scylla hush’d her barkers on the main.
These are _thy_ Syrens, WINTER,--while they sing,
In vain the wild winds whirl on darken’d wing.
Divine EUPHROSYNE, they form thy train,
For absent _thou_, e’en they would sing in vain;
But from the radiance of thy laughing eye,
The fiends of wintry Nature coward hie
To howling heaths--damp fens--and murky caves,
Uprooted forests, and o’er-whelming waves.
As low-hung skies dismiss their dusky steam,
Before the rising Sun’s pervading beam,
So fly November’s monsters o’er the lea,
And leave the world to Music--Love--and THEE.
BERMUDA,
ADDRESSED TO DOCTOR TUCKER,
_A young Physician, Native of that Island_.
While springs from thy thrill’d heart the patriot tear,
Thine, generous Youth, my sympathy sincere;
Beneath our transient suns and wayward skies,
As bend regretful thy reverted eyes
Far o’er the mighty Ocean of the West,
Where thy lov’d Island lifts her palmy breast,
And shoreless solitudes around her reign,
Gem of the vast, and melancholy main!
Oft, in my fancy, I behold thee trace
Each mild exemption, and each glowing grace,
That bless thy native region, as she laves
Her massy pillars in the lonely waves,[12]
That ceaseless rave, and dash her rocky shore,[13]
But to innoxious winds all idly roar;
Like peevish babes that from the mother’s breast
Fling the wild head and scorn the offer’d rest,
Yet, in their impotence of childish rage,
Excite not anger stern, nor sad presage.
So fair BERMUDA, with maternal smile,
Derides the furious seas that lash her Isle,
Since her bright Year, in youth eternal crown’d,
With flowers perennial decks the glowing ground;
Protrudes successive germs from every root,
And shews, on the same bough, the blossom and the fruit.
Whate’er with liberal hand rich Autumn throws,
Dreads nor the Winter’s wind, nor chilling snows.
She to fresh Spring resigns her ripen’d pride,
And green young leaves the juicy treasures hide.
The sweet Bermuda, Nature’s strife unknown,
Reclines at ease on her cerulean throne;
Feels no swart Sirius o’er her shining day
Breathe the sick gale, or dart the livid ray,
But calls the punctual breeze, to fan the hours,[14]
That dance incessant ’mid her lemon bowers;
To sigh through yellow groves of luscious canes,
Or sweet palmettos, branching o’er the plains;
Gently, with fragrant breath, at eve to blow,
And cool the perfum’d night till morn shall glow;
Hears birds, of every hue, with lavish throat
Pour from each shade the wild, voluptuous note,
Sees Plenty bear an unexhausted horn,
And roseate Beauty deck the bursting morn.
For there no twilight veils the dewy rays,[15]
But o’er the dusk immediate glories blaze,
While lofty cedars rise to meet the beams,
Whose fluid gold o’er the dark foliage streams,
Back as they throw the sable shroud of night,
And give the gorgeous scene to glow in light;
Sees no dim cloud o’ershade her noon-tide bowers,
Or wet her purple eve with chilling showers;
But silent dews the closing florets feed,
Swell the young grain, and saturate the mead
While amber odours cheer the bloomy vale,
And Health’s clear spirit blends with every gale.
Well may thy mind, dear Youth, incessant rove
To those luxuriant scenes of peace, and love;
Where on thy early life, energic, rose
The hope that stimulates, the bliss that glows;
Each good fraternal friendship can impart,
Or parent fondness pour upon the heart.
Yet, if resistless Destiny ordains
Thy future years to our less favour’d plains,
Amid the thicken’d sky, the howling storm,
O! may no mental blast thy peace deform!
May Science bless with richest stores thy youth,
And Wisdom guide thee to the shrine of Truth!
O’er fond Regret, Hope, Love, and Joy prevail,
Warm as Bermuda’s Sun, and gentle as her Gale!
ELEGY
ON
CAPTAIN COOK.
Sorrowing, the Nine beneath yon blasted yew
Shed the soft drops of pity’s holy dew;
Mute are their tuneful tongues, extinct their fires;
Yet not in silence sleep their silver lyres;
To the bleak gale they vibrate sad and slow,
In deep accordance to a Nation’s woe.
Ye, who ere-while for Cook’s illustrious brow
Pluck’d the green laurel, and the oaken bough,
Hung the gay garlands on the trophied oars,
And pour’d his fame along a thousand shores,
Strike the slow death-bell!--weave the sacred verse,
And strew the cypress o’er his honour’d hearse;
In sad procession wander round the shrine,
And weep him mortal, whom ye sung divine!
Say first, what Power inspir’d his dauntless breast
With scorn of danger and inglorious rest,
To quit imperial London’s gorgeous domes,
Where, deck’d in thousand tints, young Pleasure roams;
In cups of summer-ice her nectar pours,
Or twines, ’mid wint’ry snows, her roseate bowers;
Where the warm Orient loads Britannia’s gales
With all the incense of Sabæan vales;
Where soft Italia’s silken sons prolong
The lavish cadence of the artful song;
Where Beauty moves with fascinating grace,
Calls the sweet blush to wanton o’er her face,
On each fond youth her soft artillery tries,
Aims the light smile, and rolls the frolic eyes:
What Power inspir’d his dauntless breast to brave
The scorch’d Equator, and th’ Antarctic wave?
Climes, where fierce Suns in cloudless ardors shine,
And pour the dazzling deluge round the Line;
The realms of frost, where icy mountains rise,
’Mid the pale summer of the polar skies?--
It was BENEVOLENCE!--on coasts unknown,
The shiv’ring natives of the frozen zone,
And the swart Indian, as he faintly strays
“Where Cancer reddens in the solar blaze,”
She bade him seek;--on each inclement shore
Plant the rich seeds of her exhaustless store;
Unite the savage hearts, and hostile hands,
In the firm compact of her gentle bands;
Strew her soft comforts o’er the barren plain,
Sing her sweet lays, and consecrate her fane.
While half the warring world, in senseless strife,
Dire thirst of power, and lavish waste of life,
Sent their hoarse thunders o’er the seas to roar,
And dye the distant waves in human gore,
O fair BENEVOLENCE! thy guiding ray
With light so pure illum’d the wat’ry way,
Amaz’d and charm’d the Sons of Ravage stood,
And by its lustre, streaming o’er the flood,
Mark’d thy mild Hero’s rising ships afar,
And hush’d to peace the brazen throat of War;
His sacred ensigns view’d with moisten’d eye,
And struck the blood-stain’d flag, and sail’d admiring by!
When high in rage the troubled deep they plough’d,
Thus to thy charms War’s haughty chieftains bow’d,
Lovely BENEVOLENCE!--O Nymph divine!
I see thy light step print the burning Line!
Thy lucid eye the dubious pilot guides,
The faint oar struggling with the scalding tides.--
On as thou lead’st the bold, the glorious prow,
Mild, and more mild, the sloping sun-beams glow;
Now weak and pale the lessen’d lustres play,
As round th’ horizon rolls the timid day;
Barb’d with the sleeted snow, the driving hail,
Rush the fierce arrows of the polar gale;
And through the dim, unvaried, ling’ring hours,
Wide o’er the waves incumbent Horror low’rs.
From the rude summit of yon frozen steep,
Contrasting Glory gilds the dreary deep!
Lo!--deck’d with vermil youth and beamy grace,
Hope in her step, and gladness in her face,
Light on the icy rock, with outstretch’d hands,
The Goddess of the new Columbus stands.
Round her bright head the plumy peterels soar,[16]
Blue as her robe, that sweeps the frozen shore;
Glows her soft cheek, as vernal mornings fair,
And warm as summer-suns her golden hair;
O’er the hoar waste her radiant glances stream,
And courage kindles in their magic beam.
She points the ship its mazy path, to thread
The floating fragments of the frozen bed.[17]
While e’er the deep, in many a dreadful form,
The giant Danger howls along the storm,
Furling the iron sails with numbed hands,[18]
Firm on the deck the great Adventurer stands;
Round glitt’ring mountains hears the billows rave,
And the vast ruin thunder on the wave.--[19]
Appal’d he hears!--but checks the rising sigh,
And turns on his firm band a glist’ning eye.--
Not for himself the sighs unbidden break,
Amid the terrors of the icy wreck;
Not for himself starts the impassion’d tear,
Congealing as it falls;--nor pain, nor fear,
Nor Death’s dread darts, impede the great design,
Till Nature draws the circumscribing line.[20]
Huge rocks of ice th’ arrested ship embay,
And bar the gallant Wanderer’s dangerous way.--
His eye regretful marks the Goddess turn
The assiduous prow from its relentless bourn.
And now antarctic Zealand’s drear domain
Frowns, and o’erhangs th’ inhospitable main.
On its chill beach this dove of human-kind
For his long-wand’ring foot short rest shall find.
Bear to the coast the olive-branch in vain,[21]
And quit on wearied wing the hostile plain.--
With jealous low’r the frowning natives view
The stately vessel, and adventurous crew;
Nor fear the brave, nor emulate the good,
But scowl with savage thirst of human blood!
And yet there were, who in this iron clime
Soar’d o’er the herd on Virtue’s wing sublime;
Rever’d the stranger-guest, and smiling strove
To sooth his stay with hospitable love;
Fann’d in full confidence the friendly flame,
Join’d plighted hands, and name exchang’d for name.[22]
To these the Hero leads his living store,[23]
And pours new wonders on th’ uncultur’d shore
The silky fleece, fair fruit, and golden grain;
And future herds and harvests bless the plain.
O’er the green soil the kids exulting play,
And sounds his clarion loud the bird of day;
The downy goose her ruffled bosom laves,
Trims her white wing, and wantons in the waves;
Stern moves the bull along th’ affrighted shores,
And countless nations tremble as he roars.
So when the Daughter of eternal Jove,
And Ocean’s God, to bless their Athens strove,
The massy trident with gigantic force
Cleaves the firm earth--and lo! the stately horse;
He paws the ground, impatient of the rein,
Shakes his high front, and thunders o’er the plain.
Then Wisdom’s Goddess plants the embryon seed,
And bids new foliage shade the sultry mead;
’Mid the pale green the tawny olive shine,
And famish’d thousands bless the hand divine.
Now the warm solstice o’er the shining bay,
Darts from the north its mild meridian ray;
Again the Chief invokes the rising gale,
And spreads again in desert seas the sail;
O’er dangerous shoals his steady steerage keeps,
O’er walls of coral, ambush’d in the deeps;[24]
Strong Labour’s hands the crackling cordage twine,
And sleepless Patience heaves the guardian line.[25]
Borne on fierce eddies black Tornado springs,
Dashing the gulphy main with ebon wings;
In the vex’d foam his sweeping trail he shrouds,
And rears his serpent-crest amid the clouds;
Wrapp’d in dark mists with hideous bellowing roars,
Drives all his tempests on, and shakes the shores.
Already has the groaning ship resign’d
Half her proud glories to the furious wind.
The fear-struck mariner beholds from far,
In gathering rage, the elemental war;
As rolls the rising vortex, stands aghast,
Folds the rent sail, or clasps the shivering mast!
Onward, like Night, the frowning Demon comes,
Show’rs a dread deluge from his shaken plumes;
Fierce as he moves the gulphed sand uptears,
And high in air the shatter’d canvass bears.
Hardly the heroes in that fateful hour
Save the torn navy from his whelming power;
But soon from Industry’s restoring hand,
New masts aspire, and snowy sails expand.
On a lone beach a rock-built temple stands,[26]
Stupendous pile! unwrought by mortal hands;
Sublime the ponderous turrets rise in air,
And the wide roof basaltic columns bear;
Through the long aisles the murm’ring tempests blow,
And Ocean chides his dashing waves below.
From this fair fane, along the silver sands,
Two sister-virgins wave their snowy hands;
First gentle Flora--round her smiling brow[27]
Leaves of new forms, and flow’rs uncultur’d glow;
Thin folds of vegetable silk, behind,[28]
Shade her white neck, and wanton in the wind;
Strange sweets, where’er she turns, perfume the glades,
And fruits unnam’d adorn the bending shades.
--Next Fauna treads, in youthful beauty’s pride,
A playful Kangroo bounding by her side;[29]
Around the Nymph her beauteous Pois display[30]
Their varied plumes, and trill the dulcet lay;
A Giant-bat, with leathern wings outspread,[31]
Umbrella light, hangs quiv’ring o’er her head.
As o’er the cliff her graceful steps she bends,
On glitt’ring wing her insect train attends.
With diamond-eye her scaly tribes survey
Their Goddess-nymph, and gambol in the spray.
With earnest gaze the still enamour’d crew
Mark the fair forms; and as they pass, pursue;
But round the steepy rocks, and dangerous strand,
Rolls the white surf, and shipwreck guards the land.[32]
So, when of old, Sicilian shores along,
Enchanting Syrens trill’d th’ alluring song,
Bound to the mast the charm’d Ulysses hears,
And drinks the sweet tones with insatiate ears;
Strains the strong cords, upbraids the prosp’rous gale,
And sighs, as Wisdom spreads the flying sail.
Now leads BENEVOLENCE the destin’d way,
Where all the Loves in Otaheite stray.
To bid the Arts disclose their wond’rous pow’rs,
To bid the Virtues consecrate the bow’rs,
She gives her Hero to its blooming plain:--
Nor has he wander’d, has he bled in vain!
His lips persuasive charm th’ uncultur’d youth,
Teach Wisdom’s lore, and point the path of Truth.
See! chasten’d love in softer glances flows,[33]
See! with new fires parental duty glows.
Thou smiling Eden of the southern wave,
Could not, alas! thy grateful wishes save
That angel-goodness, which had blest thy plain?--
Ah! vain thy gratitude, thy wishes vain!
On a far distant, and remorseless shore,
Where human fiends their dire libations pour;
Where treachery, hov’ring o’er the blasted heath,
Poises with ghastly smile the darts of death,
Pierc’d by their venom’d points, your favorite bleeds,
And on his limbs the lust of hunger feeds!
Thus when, of old, the muse-born Orpheus bore
Fair Arts and Virtues to the Thracian shore;
Struck with sweet energy the warbling wire,
And pour’d persuasion from th’ immortal lyre;
As soften’d brutes, the waving woods among,
Bow’d their meek heads, and listen’d to the song;
Near, and more near, with rage and tumult loud,
Round the bold bard th’ inebriate maniacs crowd--
Red on the ungrateful soil his life-blood swims,
And Fiends and Furies tear his quiv’ring limbs!
Gay Eden of the south, thy tribute pay,
And raise, in pomp of woe, thy COOK’S Morai![34]
Bid mild Omiah bring his choicest stores,
The juicy fruits, and the luxuriant flow’rs;
Bring the bright plumes, that drink the torrid ray,
And strew the lavish spoil on COOK’S Morai!
Come, Oberea, hapless fair-one! come,
With piercing shrieks bewail thy Hero’s doom!--
She comes!--she gazes round with dire survey!--
Oh! fly the mourner on her frantic way.
See! see! the pointed ivory wounds that head,
Where late the Loves impurpled roses spread;
Now stain’d with gore, her raven tresses flow,
In ruthless negligence of maddening woe;
Loud she laments!--and long the Nymph shall stray
With wild unequal step round COOK’S Morai!
But ah!--aloft on Albion’s rocky steep,
That frowns incumbent o’er the boiling deep,
Solicitous, and sad, a softer form
Eyes the lone flood, and deprecates the storm.--
Ill-fated Matron!--far, alas! in vain
Thy eager glances wander o’er the main!--
’Tis the vex’d billows, that insurgent rave,
Their white foam silvers yonder distant wave,
’Tis not his sails!--thy Husband comes no more!
His bones now whiten an accursed shore!--
Retire,--for hark! the sea-gull shrieking soars,
The lurid atmosphere portentous low’rs;
Night’s sullen spirit groans in ev’ry gale,
And o’er the waters draws the darkling veil,
Sighs in thy hair, and chills thy throbbing breast--
Go, wretched Mourner!--Weep thy griefs to rest!
Yet, though through life is lost each fond delight,
Though set thy earthly sun in dreary night,
Oh! raise thy thoughts to yonder starry plain,
And own thy sorrow selfish, weak, and vain;
Since, while Britannia, to his virtues just,
Twines the bright wreath, and rears th’ immortal bust;
While on each wind of heav’n his fame shall rise,
In endless incense to the smiling skies;
The ATTENDANT POWER, that bade his sails expand,
And waft her blessings to each barren land,
Now raptur’d bears him to the immortal plains,
Where Mercy hails him with congenial strains;
Where soars, on Joy’s white plume, his spirit free,
And angels choir him, while he waits for THEE.
VERSES
TO A
YOUNG GENTLEMAN.
See the sky glows!--how fierce the beams of noon
Pour their wide splendours o’er the yellow hill!
But rosy hours fly fast;--dim Autumn soon
Shall, from her drizzling urn, the gay green valley fill.
Pale billows then shall cast a sickly gleam
Through the thin umbrage of the rifled groves;
Whose rustling leaves, thick show’ring, swell the stream,
That drenches the ’lorn mead, and widens as it roves.
With many a rising sigh for pleasures flown
We view the destin’d ravage, cold, and drear;
But let a few frore months be past and gone,
And the sweet hour of prime shall renovate the year.
But ah! no minstrel of the merry morn
Shall wake to joy the icy sleep of Age;
No purple wreaths the palsied brow adorn,
Or chace of pain and death the desolate presage.
Like broken lustres in the golden West,
Now auburn tints gleam sunny in thy hair;
And Youth’s warm spirit, dancing in thy breast,
Looks through thy shining eyes, and animates thy air.
Seize the awaken’d-moments--for they speed
Thy light gay bark to Age’s torpid wave;
And with th’ exalted thought, the generous deed,
Quick, from Oblivion’s gulph, thy rescu’d memory save!
The Man, whose name on virtuous lips shall dwell,
Disdains to think the mortal lot severe,
Nor heeds the darkness of the funeral cell;
Fame, and the Summer-Morn shall gild his passage there!
ODE TO THE SUN.
_Published in May 1780._
I.
Lord of the Planets! in their course
Through the long tracts of never-ceasing day,
Who to their orbs with matchless force,
Bendest their rapid, wild, reluctant way;
Though midst the vast and glitt’ring maze
Of countless worlds, that round thee blaze,
Small, dim, and cold, our little Earth appears,
Thy life-enkindling light she shares:
From the chill Pole’s far-shining mountains frore,[35]
To sandy Afric’s sultry shore,
Wide o’er her plains thy living lustres stream,
In Lapland’s long pale day, and swart Numidia’s beam.
II.
For her, with delegated right,
Thy virgin-sister in thy absence shines,
Throws her soft robe of snowy light
O’er sullen Night’s opake and shadowy shrines;
Thy watchful sentinel, she reigns
Controuler of the watry plains,
Onward her silver arm the Ocean guides,
Or dashes back the impetuous tides.
But thou, on the green wave’s capacious bed,
Hast light, and life, and gladness shed,
Through liquid mountains, as they roll,
Darting the beauteous beam, the vivifying soul,
III.
That paints the shell’s meand’ring mould,
Or spots the twinkling fin with gold;
That gives the diamond’s eye to blaze
With all thy bright and arrowy rays.--
Low in the billowy hold,
Where the mighty whales are straying,
And the burnish’d dolphins playing,
There, with tremulous light, thou charmest
Nations basking in thy gleam;
And e’en there thy earth thou warmest
With thy mild prolific beam:
From the dwarf coral, with his vermil horns,
Or sea-moss, matted round her briny caves,
To the broad oak, that Albion’s cliff adorns,
And bears her sons triumphant o’er the waves;
Each stem, root, leaf, fair fruit, and floret bright,
Lustre and fragrance drink from thy all-cheering light.
IV.
Remov’d from its more ardent ray,
In grassy Albion’s deep umbrageous vales,
Thou bid’st them bloom in soft array,
And breathe sweet incense on her vernal gales.
Thy red Morn blushes on her shores,
And liquid gems profusely pours;
Thy gay Noon glows with unoppressive beams,
And glitters on her winding streams;
Thy modest Evening draws the deep’ning shades
O’er her green hills, and bowery glades,
Till the fair Months, with faded charms,
Shrink in the chilly grasp of Winter’s icy arms.
V.
But this highly-favoured year[36]
From thee with gifts peculiar sprung;
At thy command Autumna fair
Her golden vest o’er shiv’ring Winter flung;
And bade him his pale lingering hours
Gaily deck with fragrant flow’rs;
For his hoar brow matur’d the Violet wreath,
From his wan lip bid Pleasure breathe;
No more he blasts the plain, or warps the tide,
Thou throw’st his icy bonds aside.
His soften’d gale serenely blows,
Till with Italia’s charms hybernal Albion glows.
VI.
But see!--with bright hair drench’d in blood,
On a rock that braves the flood,
Her Genius sits, and pours the tear,
Mindless of thy rosy year;
Since War’s terrific brood
Bid in chains his Commerce languish,
Fright his shrines with groans of anguish.--
Great SUN! would lovely Peace, descending,
Hither guide her dove-drawn car,
And with thine her influence blending,
Break the wintry clouds of War,
Then should yon Angel-Form, that now deplores
His wasted wealth, his bleeding joys,
Rush from the rock, and, springing to the shores,
Unbind fair Commerce, fetter’d where she lies;
Indignant hurl those fetters to the main,
As thou threw’st back, great SUN! old Hyems’ icy chain.
VERSES
TO
CAPTAIN ELIOTT,
_Written in the blank leaf of a manuscript Book_,
WHICH CONTAINED HIS POEMS.
In life’s gay morn, in Circe’s frolic train,
Health to the youth who shunn’d their tempting harms;
Scorn’d his pure mind, and plighted faith, to stain
With bowls inebriate, and with venal charms!
And led the muse, where muses seldom rove,
Where rudely clang’d Bellona’s gore-stain’d shield;
Sweet is the moral song, the lays of love
That wak’d, and warbled o’er the tented field.
For thee, ’mid prouder laurels of the war,
Long may the bays their classic odours breathe!
And the gay Goddess of the morning star,
Twine the soft myrtle, and complete the wreath!
For thee, th’ impervious cloud again prepare,
That veil’d her Paris on Scamander’s plain;
So, ’mid the volleying thunders of the war,
Round thee its thousand bolts shall fly in vain.
Yet, while the soft suffusion shields thy brow,
A fate unlike the Trojan’s may’st thou prove,
Win the proud trophy from the flying foe,
And live to Glory, while thou liv’st to Love!
VERSES
_Inviting Mrs C---- to Tea on a public Fast-day_,
DURING THE AMERICAN WAR.
Dear Stella, ’mid the pious sorrow
Our monarch bids us feel to-morrow,
The ahs! and ohs! supremely triste,
The abstinence from beef, and whist;
Wisely ordain’d to please the Lord,
And force him whet our edgeless sword,
Till, shipping o’er the Atlantic rill,
We cut provincial throats at will;
’Midst all the penitence we feel
For merry sins,--’midst all the zeal
For vengeance on the saucy foe,
Who lays our boasted legions low;
I wish, when sullen evening comes,
That you, to gild its falling glooms,
Would, without scruple cold, agree
Beneath these walls to sip your tea.
From the chaste, fragrant, Indian weed
Our sins no pampering juices feed;
And though the hours, with contrite faces,
May banish the ungodly aces,
And take of food a sparing bit,
They’ll gluttonize on Stella’s wit.