’Twere good you flung the drug away,
Rememb’ring ’twas the cruel source
Of sad distrust, and long divorce
’Twixt nations, which, combin’d, had hurl’d
Their conquering javelin round the world.
“O! Indian shrub, thy fragrant flowers
To England’s weal had deadly powers,
When Despotism, with impious hand,
To venom turn’d thine essence bland,
To venom, subtle, foul, and fell,
As steep’d the dart of Isdabel![37]
“Have we forgot that dread libation
Which cost the life of half the nation?
When Boston, with indignant thought,
Saw poison in the perfum’d draught,
And caus’d her troubled bay to be
But one vast bowl of bitter Tea;
While Ate, chiefly bidden guest,[38]
Came sternly to the fatal feast,
And mingled with its baneful flood
Brother’s!--Children’s!--Parent’s blood;
Dire as the banquet Atreus serv’d,
When his own son Thyestes carv’d,
And Phœbus, shrinking from the sight,
Drew o’er his orb the pall of night.
“To-morrow then, at least, refrain,
Nor quaff thy bleeding country’s bane!
For O! reflect, poetic Daughter,
’Twas hapless Britain’s laurel-water!”[39]
ON THE
FUTURE EXISTENCE
OF
BRUTES.
“The beasts that perish.”--Those few words are shown
On the dread pages of inspir’d Record,
By Man, proud Man! as he were doom’d alone
To meet, for guiltless pains, supreme reward.
Yet knows he well, that on the leaves divine,
Oft from the seeming sense we must refrain,
And, lest warm Hope consistency resign,
The letter wave, the spirit to obtain.
For Brutal Life, while reasoning we explore
The text misconstru’d much, it but declares
That Man’s free thoughts, and deeds import him more,
Since this, his state of trial, is not theirs.
To earthly life HE perishes;--but here
The vast momentous difference is implied,
He perishes accountable--aware
That choice was given, and reason for its guide.
I mark the tones of arrogance exclaim,
“Since they are form’d incapable of sin,
“Of innocence instinctive where’s the claim?
“It well may be as it had never been.”
True, if permitted ills did ne’er oppress,
If certain as their innocence, their peace,
With the short date of being Brutes possess,
Heaven might ordain their consciousness should cease:
Yet not infringe those never altering laws
Of equity and mercy, which combin’d
To form the essence of th’ Eternal Cause,
Judge, Guardian, Friend of all existing kind.
But since full oft the pangs of dire disease,
Labour, and famine, and oppression hard,
From cruel Man, the blameless victims seize;
Of Heavenly Justice they may claim reward.
Alas! the dumb defenceless numbers, found
The wretched subjects of a tyrant’s sway,
Who hourly feel his unresisted wound,
And hungry pine through many a weary day;
Or those, of lot more barbarously severe,
Who strain their weak, lame limbs beneath the load
Their fainting strength is basely doom’d to bear,
While smites the lash, the steely torments goad;
Has GOD decreed this helpless, suffering train
Shall groaning yield the vital breath he gave,
Unrecompens’d for years of want, and pain,
And close op them the portals of the grave?
Ah, no! the great Retributory Mind
Will recompense, and may perhaps ordain
Some future mode of being, more refin’d
Than ours, less sullied with inherent stain;
Less torn by passion, and less prone to sin,
Their duty easier, trial less severe,
Till their firm faith, and virtue prov’d, may win
The wreaths of Life in yon Eternal Sphere.
This then may form the much rewarding doom;--
But O! whate’er the nature of the meed,
Theirs it must be; then let us now presume
Their guiltless cause, on other grounds, to plead.
Suppose permitted ills did not oppress,
That certain as their innocence, their peace,
And thus, that with the Being they possess,
Sensation might, without injustice, cease;
Yet still, proud Man! in this scorn’d tribe below
Shall more than innocence thy pride impede,
Nature, where all the generous ardours glow,
And action, vying with thy noblest deed.
If strength, if grace, if magnitude of frame,
To give the dignifying power must fail,
If not from them proceeds the sacred claim,
That lifts the creature on creation’s scale;
If mind shall ever be to form preferr’d,
Courage to force, to beauty sentiment,
One Brute, at least, has powers, by heaven conferr’d,
That for a doom oblivious were not lent.
Ah! what but Heaven-born sentiment corrects,
Refines,--adorns,--ennobles being? still
From the contagious taint of vice protects,
Controuls the organs, and exalts the will?
This should’st thou feel, perforce then shalt thou see,
That animal perfection must depend,
Human and Brute alike, on the degree
In which the lights of sentiment extend.
In Brutal life if exquisite they prove,
If Education may increase their force,
If fond, intelligent, and faithful love
Rise in the breast, and strengthen on its course;
If, in a silent servitude to man,
Energic friendship burns with generous strife,
Say, can’st thou deem thy DOG’S short, vital span
Stopt on the confines of eternal life?
His natural temper fervent, choleric, fierce,
Nay bloody, see, by sentiment subdued!
Subdued, for thee, to every soft reverse,
For thee, in all its native rage renew’d!
When unattach’d, and yet to Man unknown,
Wolfish and wild, the wilderness he roves;
Bays with his horrid howl the silent moon,
And stalks the terror of the desert groves.
Yet mark this heart of savage enterprise,
Moulded by thee to all that’s kind and sweet;
See him approach with mild, imploring eyes,
And lay his strength and courage at thy feet!
Charm’d to exchange them for the soft delights
Of growing love, his duteous head he lays
Light on thy knee;--his lifted eye invites
The wish’d command, which instant he obeys.
At that known voice, with ardour, up he springs,
And in the joy of usefulness elate,
With gladden’d haste th’ endear’d commission brings,
Or drives intruding vagrants from thy gate.
Thy wealth, thy person, anxious to protect,
And gentle only to thy frequent friends,
Nor bribe, nor flattery gain his coy respect,
Useless the flattery, and the bribe offends!
When Night broods sullen o’er the drowsy earth,
Though faint with mid-day toil, he scorns repose,
Leaves the warm comforts of the ember’d hearth,
To guard thy slumbers, and appal thy foes;
Watchful and listening, walks his silent rounds,
Scenting the lurking stranger from afar,
And, if he pass the interdicted bounds,
The loud, indignant bark proclaims the war.
Or Beast,--or Man,--is he to prey devote?
With fangs terrific, and with burning eyes,
Rushes thy brave protector on his throat,
And low in blood the dark destroyer lies!
But yet, if fear resign what theft supplied,
He, pitying, from the prostrate foe recoils.--
Mark then the victor, great in honest pride,
Content with conquest, rest upon his spoils!
Though high in health, the pleas of hunger strong
In tempting opportunity arise,
Generously proud, he scorns his trust to wrong,
And all untouch’d the prey he rescu’d lies.
Vainly do night and secrecy accord,
This sacred sense of honour to controul!
Can human records fairer proof afford,
Of all that elevates a thinking soul?
Exempt the nuptial, and the filial ties,
Hast thou one Friend amongst the reasoning kind,
On whom thy secret heart for truth relies
Thus ardent, noble, constant and refin’d?
To selfish passions thus superior found,
Whom neither interest sways, nor arts beguile?
To thee, in faith and trust, unfaultering bound,
Thy will his law, his happiness thy smile.
Ah, wretch ingrate, to liberal hope unknown!
Does pride encrust thee in so dark a leaven,
To deem this spirit, purer than thine own,
Sinks, while thou soarest to the light of Heaven?
What though, when Reason all her power displays,
Drawn from philosophy’s most copious source,
Too subtle proves creation’s endless maze
For her best skill, too mighty for her force;
Or, when she tries the mystery to explain
Of the tremendous Expiatory Plan,
Shows, only shows, how arrogant, how vain
Such needless, daring scrutiny in Man;
Yet, while Almighty Wisdom thus appears
To human powers inscrutably sublime,
Her gracious form Almighty Justice rears,
Unveil’d, unchanging through the rounds of time.
Hear, from the centre of the Eternal Throne,
Her awful voice the fix’d award disclose,
If evils over guiltless life are strewn,
The GOD, who gave that life, will recompense its woes.
TO
MISS SEWARD.
IMPROMPTU.
As Britain mourn’d, with all a mother’s pain,
Two Sons, two gallant Sons, ignobly slain;
Mild Cook, by savage fury robb’d of breath,
And martial Andre doom’d to baser death!
The Goddess, plung’d in grief too vast to speak,
Hid in her robe her tear-disfigur’d cheek.
The sacred Nine, with sympathetic care,
Survey’d the noble mourner’s dumb despair;
While from their choir the sighs of pity broke,
The Muse of Elegy thus warmly spoke:
“Take, injured Parent, all we can bestow,
“To soothe thy heart, and mitigate thy woe!”
Speaking, to earth the kind enthusiast came,
And veil’d her heavenly power with SEWARD’S name;
And that no vulgar eye might pierce the truth,
Proclaim’d herself the friend of Andre’s youth.
In that fair semblance, with such plaintive fire,
She struck the chords of her pathetic lyre,
The weeping Goddess owns the blest relief,
And fondly listens, with subsiding grief;
Her loveliest daughters lend a willing ear,
Honouring the latent Muse with many a tear.
Her bravest sons, who in their every vein
Feel the strong pathos of the magic strain,
Bless the enchanting lyre, by glory strung,
Envying the dead, who are so sweetly sung.
W. HAYLEY.
MONODY
ON
MAJOR ANDRE.
Loud howls the storm! the vex’d Atlantic roars!
Thy genius, Britain, wanders on its shores!
Hears cries of horror wafted from afar,
And groans of anguish, mid the shrieks of war!
Hears the deep curses of the great and brave,
Borne in the wind, and echoing o’er the wave!
On his damp brow the sable crape he binds,
And throws his victor-garland to the winds;[40]
Bids haggard Winter, in her drear sojourn,
Tear the dim foliage from her drizzling urn;
With sickly yew unfragrant cypress twine,
And hang the dusky wreath round Honour’s shrine;
Bids steel-clad Valour chace his dove-like bride,
Enfeebling Mercy, from his awful side,
Where long she sat, and check’d the glowing rein,
As whirl’d his chariot o’er the embattled plain;
Gilded with sunny smile her April tear,
Rais’d her white arm and stay’d th’ uplifted spear;
Then, in her place, bids Vengeance mount the car,
And glut with gore the insatiate dogs of war!--
With one pale hand the bloody scroll he rears,[41]
And bids his nations blot it with their tears;
And one, extended o’er th’ atlantic wave,
Points to his ANDRE’S ignominious grave!
And shall the Muse, that marks the solemn scene,
“As busy fancy lifts the veil between,”
Refuse to mingle in the awful train,
Nor breathe with glowing zeal the votive strain?
From public fame shall admiration fire
The boldest numbers of her raptur’d lyre
To hymn a stranger?--and with ardent lay
Lead the wild mourner round her COOK’S morai,
While ANDRE fades upon his dreary bier,
And JULIA’S only tribute is her tear?[42]
Dear, lovely Youth! whose gentle virtues stole
Through Friendship’s soft’ning medium on her soul!
Ah no!--with every strong resistless plea,
Rise the recorded days she pass’d with thee,
While each dim shadow of o’erwhelming years,
With eagle-glance reverted, Memory clears.
Belov’d companion of the fairest hours
That rose for her in joy’s resplendent bow’rs,
How gaily shone on thy bright morn of Youth
The Star of Pleasure, and the Sun of Truth!
Full from their source descended on thy mind
Each generous virtue and each taste refined.
Young Genius led thee to his varied fane,
Bade thee ask all his gifts, nor ask in vain;[43]
Hence novel thoughts in ev’ry lustre drest
Of pointed wit, that diamond of the breast;
Hence glow’d thy fancy with poetic ray,
Hence music warbled in thy sprightly lay;
And hence thy pencil, with his colours warm,
Caught ev’ry grace, and copied ev’ry charm,
Whose transient glories beam on beauty’s cheek,
And bid the glowing ivory breathe and speak.
Blest pencil! by kind fate ordain’d to save
HONORA’S semblance from her early grave.[44]
Oh! while on JULIA’S arm it sweetly smiles,[45]
And each lorn thought, each long regret beguiles,
Fondly she weeps the hand, which form’d the spell,
Now shroudless mould’ring in its earthy cell!
But sure the Youth, whose ill-starr’d passion strove
With all the pangs of inauspicious love,
Full oft deplor’d the fatal art, that stole
The jocund freedom of its Master’s soul!
While with nice hand he mark’d the living grace,
And matchless sweetness of HONORA’S face,
The enamour’d youth the faithful traces blest,
That barb’d the dart of Beauty in his breast;
Around his neck th’ enchanting portrait hung,
While a warm vow burst ardent from his tongue,
That from his bosom no succeeding day,
No chance should bear that talisman away.
’Twas thus Apelles bask’d in beauty’s rays,
And felt the mischief of the stedfast gaze;
Trac’d with disorder’d hand Campaspe’s charms,
And as their beam the kindling canvas warms,
Triumphant love, with still superior art,
Engraves their wonders on the Painter’s heart.
Dear lost companion! ever constant youth!
That fate had smil’d propitious on thy truth!
Nor bound th’ ensanguin’d laurel on that brow,
Where Love ordain’d his brightest wreath to glow!
Then Peace had led thee to her softest bow’rs,
And Hymen strew’d thy path with all his flow’rs;
Drawn to thy roof, by friendship’s silver cord,
Each social joy had brighten’d at thy board;
Science, and soft affection’s blended rays
Had shone unclouded on thy lengthen’d days;
From hour to hour thy taste, with conscious pride,
Had mark’d new talents in thy lovely bride;
Till thou hadst own’d the magic of her face
Thy fair HONORA’S least engaging grace.
Dear lost HONORA! o’er thy early bier
Sorrowing the muse still sheds her sacred tear!
The blushing rose-bud in its vernal bed,
By zephyrs fann’d, by glist’ring dew-drops fed,
In June’s gay morn that scents the ambient air,
Was not more sweet, more innocent, or fair.
Oh! when such pairs their kindred spirit find,
When sense and virtue deck each spotless mind,
Hard is the doom that shall the union break,
And fate’s dark billow rises o’er the wreck.
Now Prudence, in her cold and thrifty care,
Frown’d on the maid, and bade the youth despair;
For power parental sternly saw, and strove
To tear the lily bands of plighted love;
Nor strove in vain;--but while the fair-one’s sighs
Disperse like April-storms in sunny skies,
The firmer lover, with unswerving truth,
To his first passion consecrates his youth;
Though four long years a night of absence prove,
Yet Hope’s soft star shone trembling on his love;
Till hovering rumour chas’d the pleasing dream,[46]
And veil’d with raven-wing the silver beam.
“HONORA lost! my happy rival’s bride!
“Swell, ye full sails! and roll, thou mighty tide!
“O’er the dark waves forsaken ANDRE bear
“Amid the volleying thunders of the war!
“To win bright glory from my country’s foes,
“E’en in this ice of love, my bosom glows.
“Voluptuous LONDON! in whose gorgeous bow’rs
“The frolic Pleasures lead the dancing Hours,
“From orient vales sabæan odours bring,
“Nor ask her roses of the tardy Spring;
“Where Painting burns the Grecian meed to claim,
“From the high temple of immortal Fame,
“Bears to the radiant goal, with ardent pace,
“Her Kauffman’s beauty, and her Reynolds’ grace;
“Where music floats the glitt’ring roofs among,
“And with meand’ring cadence swells the song,
“While sun-clad poesy the bard inspires,
“And foils the Grecian harps, the Latian lyres.--
“Ye soft’ning luxuries! ye polish’d arts!
“Bend your enfeebling rays on tranquil hearts!
“I quit the song, the pencil, and the lyre,
“White robes of peace, and pleasure’s soft attire,
“To seize the sword, to mount the rapid car,
“In all the proud habiliments of war.--
“HONORA lost! I woo a sterner bride,
“The arm’d Bellona calls me to her side;
“Harsh is the music of our marriage strain!
“It sounds in thunder from the western plain!
“Wide o’er the wat’ry world its echoes roll,
“And rouse each latent ardour of my soul.
“Add though unlike the soft melodious lay,
“That gaily wak’d HONORA’S nuptial day,
“Its deeper tones shall whisper, ere they cease,
“More genuine transport, and more lasting peace.
“Resolv’d I go!--nor from that fatal bourn
“To these gay scenes shall ANDRE’S step return!
“Set is the star of love, that ought to guide
“His refluent bark across the mighty tide!--
“But while my country’s foes, with impious hand,
“Hurl o’er the blasted plains the livid brand
“Of dire sedition, Oh! let Heav’n ordain,
“While ANDRE lives, he may not live in vain!
“Yet without one adieu, O! could I roam
“Far from my weeping friends, my peaceful home,
“The best affections of my heart must cease,
“And gratitude be lost, with hope and peace!
“My lovely sisters! who were wont to twine
“Your soul’s soft feeling with each wish of mine,
“Shall, when this breast throbs high at glory’s call,
“From your mild eyes the show’rs of sorrow fall?--
“The light of excellence, that round you glows,
“Decks with reflected gleam your brother’s brows!
“Oh! may his fame, in some distinguish’d day,
“Pour on that excellence the brightest ray!
“Dim clouds of woe! ye veil each sprightly grace
“That us’d to sparkle in MARIA’S face;
“My tuneful ANNA to her lute complains,
“But grief’s fond throbs arrest the parting strains.
“Fair as the silver blossom on the thorn,
“Soft as the spirit of the vernal morn,
“LOUISA, chase those trembling fears, that prove
“The ungovern’d terrors of a sister’s love.
“They bend thy sweet head, like yon lucid flow’r,
“That shrinks and fades beneath the summer’s show’r.--
“Oh! smile, my sisters, on this destin’d day,
“And with the radiant omen gild my way!
“And thou, my brother, gentle as the gale,
“Whose breath perfumes anew the blossom’d vale,
“Yet quick of spirit, as the electric beam,
“When from the clouds its darting lightnings stream,
“Soothe with incessant care our mother’s woes,
“And hush her anxious sighs to soft repose.--
“And be ye sure, when distant far I stray
“To share the dangers of the arduous day,
“Your tender faithful amity shall rest
“The last dear record of my grateful breast.[47]
“Oh! graceful priestess at the fane of truth,
“Friend of my soul! and guardian of my youth!
“Skill’d to convert the duty to the choice,
“My gentle mother!--in whose melting voice
“The virtuous precept, that perpetual flow’d,
“With music warbled, and with beauty glow’d,
“Thy tears!--ah Heav’n!--not drops of molten lead,
“Pour’d on thy hapless son’s devoted head,
“With keener smart had each sensation torn!--
“They wake the nerve where agonies are born!
“But Oh! restrain me not!--thy tender strife,
“What would it save?--alas! thy ANDRE’S life!
“Oh! what a weary pilgrimage ’twill prove
“Strew’d with the thorns of disappointed love!
“Ne’er can he break the charm, whose fond controul
“By habit rooted, lords it o’er the soul,
“If here he languish in inglorious ease,
“Where science palls, and pleasures cease to please.
“’Tis glory only, with her potent ray,
“Can chase the clouds that darken all his way.
“Then dry those pearly drops that wildly flow,
“Nor snatch the laurel from my youthful brow!--
“The rebel-standard blazes to the noon,
“And glory’s path is bright before thy son.
“Then join thy voice! and thou with Heav’n ordain,
“While ANDRE lives, he may not live in vain!”--
He says;--and sighing seeks the busy strand,
Where anchor’d navies wait the wish’d command,
To the full gale the nearer billows roar,
And proudly lash the circumscribing shore;
While furious on the craggy coast they rave,
All calm and lovely rolls the distant wave;
For onward, as the unbounded waters spread,
Deep sink the rocks in their capacious bed,
And all their pointed terror’s utmost force
But gently interrupts the billows course.
So on his present hour rude passion preys,
So smooth the prospect of his future days;
Unconscious of the storm, that grimly sleeps,
To wreck its fury on th’ unshelter’d deeps.
Now yielding waves divide before the prow,
The white sails bend, the streaming pennants glow,
And swiftly waft him to the western plain,
Where fierce Bellona rages o’er the slain.
Firm in their strength opposing legions stand,
Prepar’d to drench with blood the thirsty land.
Now Carnage hurls her flaming bolts afar,
And Desolation groans amid the war.
As bleed the valiant, and the mighty yield,
Death stalks, the only victor o’er the field.
Foremost in all the horrors of the day,
Impetuous ANDRE leads the glorious way;
Till, rashly bold, by numbers forc’d to yield,
They drag him captive from the long-fought field.--
Around the hero croud th’ exulting bands,
And seize the spoils of war with bloody hands;
Snatch the dark plumage from his awful crest,
And tear the golden crescent from his breast;
The sword, the tube that wings the death from far,
And all the fatal implements of war!
Silent, unmov’d, the gallant youth survey’d
The lavish spoils triumphant ruffians made;
The idle ornament, the useless spear
He little recks, but oh! there is a fear
Pants with quick throb, while yearning sorrows dart
Through his chill frame, and tremble at his heart.
“What though HONORA’S voice no more shall charm!
“No more her beamy smile my bosom warm!
“Yet from these eyes shall force for ever tear
“The sacred image of that form so dear?--
“Shade of my love!--though mute and cold thy charms,[48]
“Ne’er hast thou blest my happy rival’s arms!
“To my sad heart each dawn has seen thee prest!
“Each night has laid thee pillow’d on my breast!
“Force shall not tear thee from thy faithful shrine;
“Shade of my love! thou shalt be ever mine!
“’Tis fixed!--these lips shall resolute inclose
“The precious soother of my ceaseless woes.
“And should relentless violence invade
“This last retreat, by frantic fondness made,
“One way remains!--Fate whispers to my soul
“Intrepid Portia and her burning coal![49]
“So shall the throbbing inmate of my breast
“From love’s sole gift meet everlasting rest!”
While these sad thoughts in swift succession fire
The smother’d embers of each fond desire,
Quick to his mouth his eager hand removes
The beauteous semblance of the form he loves.
That darling treasure safe, resign’d he wears
The sordid robe, the scanty viand shares;
With chearful fortitude content to wait
The barter’d ransom of a kinder fate.