BOOK II.

I.

Of chance or change O let not man complain,

Else shall he never never cease to wail:

For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain

Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,

All feel th' assault of fortune's fickle gale;

Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom'd;

Earthquakes have rais'd to heaven the humble vale:

And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entomb'd,

And where th' Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloom'd.[1]

II.

But sure to foreign climes we need not range,

Nor search the ancient records of our race,

To learn the dire effects of time and change,

Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.

Yet at the darken'd eye, the wither'd face,

Or hoary hair, I never will repine:

But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,

Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,

Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine!

III.

So I, obsequious to truth's dread command,

Shall here without reluctance change my lay,

And smite the gothic lyre with harsher hand;

Now when I leave that flowery path for aye

Of childhood, where I sported many a day,

Warbling and sauntering carelessly along;

Where every face was innocent and gay,

Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,

Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.

IV.

"Perish the lore that deadens young desire,"

Is the soft tenor of my song no more.

Edwin, though lov'd of Heaven, must not aspire

To bliss, which mortals never knew before.

On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,

Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy:

But now and then the shades of life explore;

Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy,

And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.

V.

Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows,

The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,

Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;

But soon it withers in the chilling hour.

Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the power

Of all the warring winds of heaven they rise,

And from the stormy promontory tower,

And toss their giant arms amid the skies,

While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.

VI.

And now the downy cheek and deepen'd voice

Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime;

And walks of wider circuit were his choice,

And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime.

One evening, as he fram'd the careless rhyme,

It was his chance to wander far abroad,

And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,

Which heretofore his foot had never trode;

A vale appear'd below, a deep retir'd abode.

VII.

Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene.

For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell,

Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green,

Fenc'd from the north and east this savage dell.

Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,

Whose long long groves eternal murmur made:

And toward the western sun a streamlet fell,

Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, survey'd

Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold array'd.

VIII.

Along this narrow valley you might see

The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,

And, here and there, a solitary tree,

Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.

Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound

Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;

And from the summit of that craggy mound

The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,

Or on resounding wings, to shoot athwart the sky.

IX.

One cultivated spot there was, that spread

Its flowery bosom to the noonday beam,

Where many a rosebud rears its blushing head,

And herbs for food with future plenty teem.

Sooth'd by the lulling sound of grove and stream,

Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul:

He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam,

Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll;

When slowly on his ear these moving accents Stole:

X.

"Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,

And woo the weary to profound repose!

Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest,

And whisper comfort to the man of woes!

Here innocence may wander, safe from foes,

And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.

O Solitude! the man who thee foregoes,

When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,

Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.

XI.

"Vain man! is grandeur given to gay attire?

Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid:

To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?

It is thy weakness that requires their aid:

To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?

They fear the thief and tremble in the storm:

To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?

Behold the victor vanquish'd by the worm!

Behold, what deeds of woe the locust can perform!

XII.

"True dignity is his whose tranquil mind

Virtue has raised above the things below;

Who every hope and fear to Heaven resign'd,

Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow."

This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flow

In solemn sounds. Now beam'd the evening star;

And from embattled clouds emerging slow

Cynthia came riding on her silver car;

And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.

XIII.

Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew;

(While Edwin wrapt in wonder listening stood)

"Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu,

Scorn'd by the wise, and hated by the good!

Ye only can engage the servile brood

Of Levity and Lust, who all their days,

Asham'd of truth and liberty, have woo'd

And hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their gaze,

Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven's empyreal blaze.

XIV.

"Like them, abandon'd to Ambition's sway,

I sought for glory in the paths of guile;

And fawn'd and smil'd, to plunder and betray,

Myself betray'd and plunder'd all the while;

So gnaw'd the viper the corroding file:

But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rue

Those years of trouble and debasement vile.

Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue!

Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view!

XV.

"The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care,

And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast,

Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall share

This heart, where peace serenely shines at last.

And if for me no treasure be amass'd,

And if no future age shall hear my name,

I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast,

And with more leisure feed this pious flame,

Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame.

XVI.

"The end and the reward of toil is rest.

Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace.

Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd,

Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease!

Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece,

The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string,

The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece,

All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring,

If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring!

XVII.

"Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb

With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown,

In the deep dungeon of some gothic dome,

Where night and desolation ever frown.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;

Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,

With here and there a violet bestrown,

Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;

And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.

XVIII.

"And thither let the village swain repair;

And, light of heart, the village maiden gay,

To deck with flowers her half-dishevel'd hair,

And celebrate the merry morn of May.

There let the shepherd's pipe the livelong day

Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe;

And when mild Evening comes in mantle gray,

Let not the blooming band make haste to go;

No ghost, nor spell, my long, my last abode shall know.

XIX.

"For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage,

And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn,

Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage,

Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn:

For virtue lost, and ruin'd man, I mourn.

O man! creation's pride, Heaven's darling child,

Whom Nature's best, divinest gifts adorn,

Why from thy home are truth and joy exil'd,

And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears defil'd?

XX.

"Along yon glittering sky what glory streams!

What majesty attends Night's lovely queen!

Fair laugh our valleys in the vernal beams;

And mountains rise, and oceans roll between,

And all conspire to beautify the scene.

But, in the mental world, what chaos drear!

What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien!

O when shall that eternal morn appear,

These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to clear!

XXI.

"O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven,

In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light,

Rose from th' abyss; when dark Confusion, driven

Down, down the bottomless profound of night,

Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight!

O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray,

To blast the fury of oppressive might,

Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway,

And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way!"

XXII.

Silence ensu'd; and Edwin rais'd his eyes

In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart.

"And is it thus in courtly life," he cries,

"That man to man acts a betrayer's part?

And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert,

Each social instinct, and sublime desire?

Hail Poverty, if honour, wealth, and art,

If what the great pursue, and learn'd admire,

Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!"

XXIII.

He said, and turn'd away; nor did the sage

O'erhear, in silent orisons employ'd.

The youth, his rising sorrow to assuage,

Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoy'd:

For now no cloud obscures the starry void;

The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills;[2]

Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy'd,

A soothing murmur the lone region fills,

Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.

XXIV.

But he from day to day more anxious grew,

The voice still seem'd to vibrate on his ear.

Nor durst he hope the hermit's tale untrue;

For man he seem'd to love, and Heaven to fear;

And none speaks false, where there is none to hear.

"Yet can man's gentle heart become so fell!

No more in vain conjecture let me wear

My hours away, but seek the hermit's cell;

'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel."

XXV.

At early dawn the youth his journey took,

And many a mountain pass'd and valley wide,

Then reach'd the wild; where, in a flowery nook,

And seated on a mossy stone, he spied

An ancient man: his harp lay him beside.

A stag sprang from the pasture at his call,

And, kneeling, lick'd the wither'd hand that tied

A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall,

And hung his lofty neck with many a flow'ret small.

XXVI.

And now the hoary sage arose, and saw

The wanderer approaching: innocence

Smil'd on his glowing cheek, but modest awe

Depress'd his eye, that fear'd to give offence.

"Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from whence?

Why roam thy steps to this sequester'd dale?"

"A shepherd-boy," the youth replied, "far hence

My habitation; hear my artless tale;

Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail.

XXVII.

"Late as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms,

I reach'd at eve this wilderness profound;

And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms,

Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound:

(For in thy speech I recognize the sound).

You mourn'd for ruin'd man, and virtue lost,

And seem'd to feel of keen remorse the wound,

Pondering on former days by guilt engross'd,

Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss'd.

XXVIII.

"But say, in courtly life can craft be learn'd,

Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul?

Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearn'd,

Can selfishness the liberal heart control?

Is glory there achiev'd by arts, as foul

As those that felons, fiends, and furies plan?

Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tigers prowl;

Love is the godlike attribute of man.

O teach a simple youth this mystery to scan!

XXIX.

"Or else the lamentable strain disclaim,

And give me back the calm, contented mind;

Which, late exulting, view'd in Nature's frame,

Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfin'd,

Grace, grandeur, and utility combin'd.

Restore those tranquil days, that saw me still

Well pleas'd with all, but most with humankind;

When Fancy roam'd through Nature's works at will,

Uncheck'd by cold distrust, and uninform'd of ill."

XXX.

"Wouldst thou," the sage replied, "in peace return

To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth,

Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn,

From every gentle ear the dreadful truth:

For if my desultory strain with ruth

And indignation make thine eyes o'erflow,

Alas! what comfort could thy anguish soothe,

Shouldst thou th' extent of human folly know.

Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.

XXXI.

"But let untender thoughts afar be driven;

Nor venture to arraign the dread decree.

For know, to man, as candidate for heaven,

The voice of the Eternal said, Be free:

And this divine prerogative to thee

Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey;

For virtue is the child of liberty,

And happiness of virtue; nor can they

Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.

XXXII.

"Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief,

Which else might thy young virtue overpower;

And in thy converse I shall find relief;

When the dark shades of melancholy lower;

For solitude has many a dreary hour,

Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain:

Come often then; for, haply, in my bower,

Amusement, knowledge, wisdom thou may'st gain:

If I one soul improve, I have not liv'd in vain."

XXXIII.

And now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gaze

The Muse of history unrolls her page.

But few, alas! the scenes her art displays,

To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.

Here chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage,

And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness burn:

Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage,

But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn,

And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandon'd urn!

XXXIV.

"Ambition's slippery verge shall mortals tread,

Where ruin's gulf unfathom'd yawns beneath?

Shall life, shall liberty be lost," he said,

"For the vain toys that pomp and power bequeath?

The car of victory, the plume, the wreath,

Defend not from the bolt of fate the brave:

No note the clarion of renown can breathe,

To alarm the long night of the lonely grave,

Or check the headlong haste of time's o'erwhelming wave.

XXXV.

"Ah, what avails it to have trac'd the springs

That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel!

Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings,

Hands drench'd in blood, and breasts begirt with steel!

To those whom Nature taught to think and feel,

Heroes, alas! are things of small concern.

Could History man's secret heart reveal,

And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn,

Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not yearn!

XXXVI.

"This praise, O Cheronean sage,[3] is thine!

(Why should this praise to thee alone belong?)

All else from Nature's moral path decline,

Lur'd by the toys that captivate the throng;

To herd in cabinets and camps, among

Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride;

Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song,

How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide,

Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.

XXXVII.

"O who of man the story will unfold,

Ere victory and empire wrought annoy,

In that elysian age (misnam'd of gold),

The age of love, and innocence, and joy,

When all were great and free! man's sole employ

To deck the bosom of his parent earth;

Or toward his bower the murmuring stream decoy,

To aid the floweret's long-expected birth,

And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of mirth.

XXXVIII.

"Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves!

Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,

Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves,

His eyes still smiling, and his heart content.

Then, hand in hand, health, sport, and labour went.

Nature supply'd the wish she taught to crave.

None prowl'd for prey, none watch'd to circumvent.

To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave:

No vassal fear'd his lord, no tyrant fear'd his slave.

XXXIX.

"But ah! th' historic Muse has never dar'd

To pierce those hallow'd bowers: 'tis Fancy's beam

Pour'd on the vision of th' enraptur'd bard,

That paints the charms of that delicious theme.

Then hail sweet Fancy's ray! and hail the dream

That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe!

Careless what others of my choice may deem,

I long, where Love and Fancy lead, to go

And meditate on Heaven; enough of Earth I know."

XL.

"I cannot blame thy choice," the sage replied,

"For soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways.

And yet, even there, if left without a guide,

The young adventurer unsafely plays.

Eyes dazzled long by fiction's gaudy rays

In modest truth no light nor beauty find.

And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze,

That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind,

More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had shin'd?

XLI.

"Fancy enervates, while it soothes, the heart,

And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight:

To joy each heightening charm it can impart,

But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.

And often, where no real ills affright,

Its visionary fiends, an endless train,

Assail with equal or superior might,

And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain,

And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.

XLII.

"And yet, alas! the real ills of life

Claim the full vigour of a mind prepar'd,

Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife,

Its guide experience, and truth its guard.

We fare on Earth as other men have far'd.

Were they successful? Let not us despair.

Was disappointment oft their sole reward?

Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare

How they have borne the load ourselves are doom'd to bear.

XLIII.

"What charms th' historic Muse adorn, from spoils,

And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her flight,

To hail the patriot prince, whose pious toils,

Sacred to science, liberty, and right,

And peace, through every age divinely bright

Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind!

Sees yonder Sun, from his meridian height,

A lovelier scene, than virtue thus enshrin'd

In power, and man with man for mutual aid combin'd?

XLIV.

"Hail sacred Polity, by Freedom rear'd!

Hail sacred Freedom, when by law restrain'd!

Without you what were man? A grovelling herd,

In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain'd.

Sublim'd by you, the Greek and Roman reign'd

In arts unrivall'd: O, to latest days,

In Albion may your influence unprofan'd

To godlike worth the generous bosom raise,

And prompt the sage's lore, and fire the poet's lays!

XLV.

"But how let other themes our care engage.

For lo, with modest yet majestic grace,

To curb Imagination's lawless rage,

And from within the cherish'd heart to brace,

Philosophy appears. The gloomy race

By Indolence and moping Fancy bred,

Fear, Discontent, Solicitude, give place,

And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead,

While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed.

XLVI.

"Then waken from long lethargy to life[4]

The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought;

Then jarring appetites forego their strife,

A strife by ignorance to madness wrought.

Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought

With fell revenge, lust that defies control,

With gluttony and death. The mind untaught

Is a dark waste where fiends and tempests howl:

As Phoebus to the world, is science to the soul.

XLVII.

"And reason now through number, time, and space,

Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,

And learns from facts compar'd, the laws to trace,

Whose long progression leads to Deity.

Can mortal strength presume to soar so high!

Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm'd with tears,

Such glory bear!--for lo, the shadows fly

From Nature's face; confusion disappears,

And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears.

XLVIII.

"In the deep windings of the grove, no more

The hag obscene and grisly phantom dwell;

Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar

Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell;

No wizard mutters the tremendous spell,

Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon;

Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell,

To ease of fancied pangs the labouring Moon,

Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of noon.

XLIX.

"Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle,

Stunn'd with th' eternal turbulence of waves,

Lo, with dim eyes, that never learn'd to smile,

And trembling hands, the famish'd native craves

Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves,

Or scorch'd on rocks, he pines from day to day;

But Science gives the word; and lo, he braves

The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray,

And to a happier land wafts merrily away!

L.

"And even where Nature loads the teeming plain

With the full pomp of vegetable store,

Her bounty unimprov'd, is deadly bane.

Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore,

Stretch their enormous gloom; which to explore

Even Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood;

For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore,

Nestless each murderous and each monstrous brood,

Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every flood.

LI.

"Twas from Philosophy man learn'd to tame

The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.

Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame,

Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled!

The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,

Bring health and melody to every vale:

And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,

Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,

To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.

LII.

What dire necessities on every hand

Our art, our strength, our fortitude require!

Of foes intestine what a numerous band

Against this little throb of life conspire!

Yet Science can elude their fatal ire

Awhile, and turn aside Death's levell'd dart,

Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire,

And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,

And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.

LIII.

"Nor less to regulate man's moral frame

Science exerts her all-composing sway.

Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,

Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey,

Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they?

Flee to the shade of Academus' grove;

Where cares molest not, discord melts away

In harmony, and the pure passions prove

How sweet the words of Truth breath'd from the lips of Love.

LIV.

"What cannot Art and Industry perform,

When Science plans the progress of their toil!

They smile at penury, disease, and storm;

And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.

When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil

A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage

Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,

Deep-vers'd in man the philosophic sage

Prepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage.

LV.

"'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,

From situation, temper, soil, and clime

Explor'd, a nation's various powers can bind,

And various orders, in one form sublime

Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time,

Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear

Th' assault of foreign or domestic crime,

While public faith, and public love sincere,

And industry and law maintain their sway severe."

LVI.

Enraptur'd by the hermit's strain, the youth

Proceeds the path of Science to explore.

And now, expanded to the beams of truth,

New energies and charms unknown before

His mind discloses: Fancy now no more

Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies;

But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power,

Aloft from cause to cause exults to rise,

Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies.

LVII.

Nor love of novelty alone inspires,

Their laws and nice dependencies to scan;

For, mindful of the aids that life requires,

And of the services man owes to man,

He meditates new arts on Nature's plan;

The cold desponding breast of sloth to warm,

The flame of industry and genius fan,

And emulation's noble rage alarm,

And the long hours of toil and solitude to charm.

LVIII.

But she, who set on fire his infant heart,

And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shar'd

And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art,

Still claim th' enthusiast's fond and first regard.

From Nature's beauties variously compar'd

And variously combin'd, he learns to frame

Those forms of bright perfection,[5] which the bard,

While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame,

Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame.

LIX.

Of late, with cumbersome, tho' pompous show,

Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,

Through ardour to adorn: but Nature now

To his experienc'd eye a modest grace

Presents, where ornament the second place

Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design

Subservient still. Simplicity apace

Tempers his rage; he owns her charm divine,

And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy line.

LX.

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)

What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,

When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains[6]

His deep majestic melody 'gan roll:

Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul,

How the red current throbb'd his veins along,

When, like Pelides, bold beyond control,

Without art graceful, without effort strong,

Homer rais'd high to Heaven the loud, th' impetuous song.

LXI.

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,

Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain,

Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,

Was taught to modulate the artful strain,

I fain would sing:--but ah! I strive in vain.

Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.

With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,

I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,

And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.

LXII.

Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,

The soft amusement of the vacant mind!

He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,

He, whom each virtue fir'd, each grace refin'd,

Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!

He sleeps in dust.[7] Ah, how shall I pursue

My theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd,

Here on his recent grave I fix my view,

And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu!

LXIII.

Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled!

And am I left to unavailing woe!

When fortune's storms assail this weary head,

Where cares long since have shed untimely snow!

Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!

No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers:

Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,

My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.

'Tis meet that I should mourn; flow forth afresh, my tears.

[1] See Plato's Timeus.

[2] How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.

_Shakspeare._

[3] Plutarch.

[4] The influence of the philosophic spirit, in humanizing the mind, and

preparing it for intellectual exertion and delicate pleasure;--in

exploring, by the help of geometry, the system of the universe;--in

banishing superstition;--in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine,

and moral and political science.

[5] General ideas of excellence, the immediate archetypes of sublime

imitation, both in painting and in poetry. See Aristotle's Poetics, and

the Discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

[6] Virgil.

[7] This excellent person died suddenly on the 10th of February, 1773.

The conclusion of the poem was written a few days after.

RETIREMENT.

When in the crimson cloud of even

The lingering light decays,

And Hesper on the front of heaven

His glittering gem displays;

Deep in the silent vale, unseen,

Beside a lulling stream,

A pensive youth of placid mien

Indulg'd this tender theme:

"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd

High o'er the glimmering dale;

Ye woods, along whose windings wild

Murmurs the solemn gale:

Where Melancholy strays forlorn,

And Woe retires to weep,

What time the wan moon's yellow horn

Gleams on the western deep:

"To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms

Ne'er drew ambition's eye,

Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms,

To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequester'd bower

Let me at last recline,

Where Solitude, mild, modest power,

Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

"How shall I woo thee, matchless fair!

Thy heavenly smile how win!

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care

And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move

Serene, on silent wing!

"Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind

With dreams of former days,

When in the lap of Peace reclin'd

He fram'd his infant lays;

When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care

Nor cold Distrust alarm'd,

Nor Envy with malignant glare

His simple youth had harm'd.

"'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee

His early vows were paid,

From heart sincere, and warm, and free,

Devoted to the shade.

Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy

In stormy paths to roam,

Remote from all congenial joy!--

O take the wanderer home.

"Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,

Thy charms my only theme;

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine

Waves o'er the gloomy stream,

Whence the scar'd owl on pinions gray

Breaks from the rustling boughs,

And down the lone vale sails away

To more profound repose.

"O while to thee the woodland pours

Its wildly warbling song,

And balmy from the bank of flowers

The Zephyr breathes along;

Let no rude sound invade from far,

No vagrant foot be nigh,

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car

Flash on the startled eye.

"But if some pilgrim through the glade

Thy hallow'd bowers explore,

O guard from harm his hoary head,

And listen to his lore;

For he of joys divine shall tell

That wean from earthly woe,

And triumph o'er the mighty spell

That chains this heart below.

"For me, no more the path invites

Ambition loves to tread:

No more I climb those toilsome heights

By guileful Hope misled;

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enlivening strain;

For present pleasure soon is o'er,

And all the past is vain."

ELEGY.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1758.

Still shall unthinking man substantial deem

The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?

Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,

And sad realities in prospect rise;

And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn,

The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.

O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,

Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,

Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey,

Glittering in beams of visionary day;

O yet, while Fate delays th' impending woe,

Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow;

Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill

Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;

Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,

Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,

Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,

And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.

Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combin'd,

That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!

Fresh, as the floweret opening on the morn,

Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!

Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves

To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!

Mild, as the melodies at close of day,

That, heard remote, along the vale decay!

Yet, why with these compar'd? What tints so fine,

What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine?

Why roam abroad, since recollection true

Restores the lovely form to fancy's view?

Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,

Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;

That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,

Where meekness beams ineffable delight;

That brow, where wisdom sits enthron'd serene,

Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:

Still let me listen, while her words impart

The sweet effusions of the blameless heart,

Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away,

Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.

By thee inspir'd, O Virtue, age is young,

And music warbles from the faltering tongue:

Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,

And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow,

Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies

Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes:

But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams,

Resistless on the view the glory streams;

Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm,

And beauty dazzles with angelic charm.

Ah, whither fled! ye dear illusions stay!

Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay.

How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,

Which late the purple light of youth display'd!

Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd;

With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd,

Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky;

Elate with hope, we deem'd no tempest nigh:

When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gust

Left all its beauties withering in the dust.

Cold the soft hand, that sooth'd Woe's weary head!

And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed!

And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole,

Infusing balm, into the rankled soul!

O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,

And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower!

Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven!

Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven!

But peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart!

We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.

Escap'd the dungeon, does the slave complain,

Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain?

Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,

On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn?

Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow,

O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw;

Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted eye

O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,

Black billowy deeps in storms perpetual toss'd,

And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost?

O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay,

Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day,

And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar,

Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.

Transporting thought! here let me wipe away

The tear of grief, and wake a bolder lay.

But ah! the swimming eye o'erflows anew;

Nor check the sacred drops to pity due:

Lo, where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bend

O'er her lov'd dust, the parent, brother, friend!

How vain the hope of man! but cease thy strain,

Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane;

Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, on her bier

In silence shed the sympathetic tear.

ODE TO HOPE.

I. 1.

O Thou, who gladd'st the pensive soul,

More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn,

Left all night long to mourn

Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl;

And shrieks of woe, as intermits the storm,

Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound,

And 'cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form,

And many a fire-ey'd visage glares around;

O come, and be once more my guest!

Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard

And oft with smiles indulgent cheer'd

And sooth'd him into rest.

I. 2.

Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye

Deep flashing through the midnight of their mind,

The sable bands combin'd,

Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky,

Appall'd retire. Suspicion hides her head,

Nor dares the obliquely gleaming eyeball raise:

Despair, with gorgon-figur'd veil o'erspread,

Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze

Lo, startled at the heavenly ray,

With speed unwonted Indolence upsprings,

And, heaving, lifts her leaden wings,

And sullen glides away:

I. 3.

Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy view'd,

Dissolve.--Above the sparkling flood

When Phoebus rears his awful brow,

From lengthening lawn and valley low

The troops of fen-born mists retire.

Along the plain

The joyous swain

Eyes the gay villages again,

And gold-illumin'd spire;

While on the billowy ether borne

Floats the loose lay's jovial measure;

And light along the fairy Pleasure,

Her green robes glittering to the morn,

Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all

To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall,

Or westward, with impetuous flight,

Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial night.

II. 1.

When first on childhood's eager gaze

Life's varied landscape, stretch'd immense around,

Starts out of night profound,

Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze.

Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face,

His bashful eye still kindling as he views,

And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace,

With beating heart the upland path pursues:

The path that leads where, hung sublime,

And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright

In Fancy's rainbow ray, invite

His wingy nerves to climb.

II. 2.

Pursue thy pleasurable way,

Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard,

While melting airs are heard,

And soft-ey'd cherub-forms around thee play:

Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd,

Prattling amusive in his accent meek;

And Modesty, half turning as afraid,

The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek!

Content and Leisure, hand in hand

With Innocence and Peace, advance, and sing;

And Mirth, in many a mazy ring,

Frisks o'er the flowery land.

II. 3.

Frail man, how various is thy lot below!

To-day though gales propitious blow,

And Peace soft gliding down the sky,

Lead Love along, and Harmony,

To-morrow the gay scene deforms:

Then all around

The thunder's sound

Rolls rattling on through heaven's profound,

And down rush all the storms.

Ye days, that balmy influence shed,

When sweet childhood, ever sprightly,

In paths of pleasure sported lightly,

Whither, ah whither are ye fled?

Ye cherub train, that brought him on his way

O leave him not midst tumult and dismay;

For now youth's eminence he gains:

But what a weary length of lingering toil remains!

III. 1.

They shrink, they vanish into air.

Now Slander taints with pestilence the gale;

And mingling cries assail,

The wail of Woe, and groan of grim Despair.

Lo, wizard Envy from his serpent eye

Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance;

Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy,

Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance;

Behold, amidst the dire array,

Pale wither'd Care his giant-stature rears,

And lo, his iron hand prepares

To grasp its feeble prey.

III. 2.

Who now will guard bewilder'd youth

Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage?

Such war can Virtue wage,

Virtue that bears the sacred shield of Truth?

Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car,

The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne;

While the fair captive, mark'd with many a scar,

In long obscurity, oppress'd, forlorn,

Resigns to tears her angel form.

Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly?

No friend, no shelter now is nigh,

And onward rolls the storm

III. 3.

But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?

Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?

Lo, from amidst affliction's night

Hope bursts all radiant on the sight:

Her words the troubled bosom soothe.

"Why thus dismay'd?

Though foes invade,

Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid,

Who tread the path of truth.

'Tis I, who smooth the rugged way,

I, who close the eyes of Sorrow,

And with glad visions of to-morrow

Repair the weary soul's decay.

When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart,

Dreams of heaven's opening glories I impart,

Till the freed spirit springs on high

In rapture too severe for weak mortality."

ODE ON LORD HAY'S BIRTH-DAY.

A Muse, unskill'd in venal praise,

Unstain'd with flattery's art;

Who loves simplicity of lays

Breath'd ardent from the heart;

While gratitude and joy inspire,

Resumes the long-unpractis'd lyre,

To hail, O HAY, thy natal morn:

No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves,

But twines with oak the laurel leaves,

Thy cradle to adorn.

For not on beds of gaudy flowers

Thine ancestors reclin'd,

Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devours

All energy of mind.

To hurl the dart, to ride the car,

To stem the deluges of war,

And snatch from fate a sinking land;

Trample th' invaders' lofty crest,

And from his grasp the dagger wrest,

And desolating brand:

'Twas this that rais'd th' illustrious line

To match the first in fame!

A thousand years have seen it shine

With unabated flame;

Have seen thy mighty sires appear

Foremost in glory's high career,

The pride and pattern of the brave:

Yet pure from lust of blood their fire,

And from ambition's wild desire,

They triumph'd but to save.

The Muse with joy attends their way

The vale of peace along;

There to its lord the village gay

Renews the grateful song.

Yon castle's glittering towers contain

No pit of woe, nor clanking chain,

Nor to the suppliant's wail resound;

The open doors the needy bless,

Th' unfriended hail their calm recess,

And gladness smiles around.

There to the sympathetic heart

Life's best delights belong,

To mitigate the mourner's smart,

To guard the weak from wrong.

Ye sons of luxury, be wise:

Know, happiness for ever flies

The cold and solitary breast;

Then let the social instinct glow,

And learn to feel another's woe,

And in his joy be blest.

O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare

For unsuspecting youth;

Ere Flattery her song prepare

To check the voice of Truth;

O may his country's guardian power

Attend the slumbering infant's bower,

And bright, inspiring dreams impart;

To rouse th' hereditary fire,

To kindle each sublime desire,

Exalt, and warm the heart.

Swift to reward a parent's fears,

A parent's hopes to crown,

Roll on in peace, ye blooming years,

That rear him to renown;

When in his finish'd form and face

Admiring multitudes shall trace

Each patrimonial charm combin'd,

The courteous yet majestic mien,

The liberal smile, the look serene,

The great and gentle mind.

Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes,

And win a nation's love,

Let not thy towering mind despise

The village and the grove.

No slander there shall wound thy fame,

No ruffian take his deadly aim,

No rival weave the secret snare:

For Innocence with angel smile,

Simplicity that knows no guile,

And Love and Peace are there.

When winds the mountain oak assail,

And lay its glories waste,

Content may slumber in the vale,

Unconscious of the blast.

Through scenes of tumult while we roam,

The heart, alas! is ne'er at home,

It hopes in time to roam no more;

The mariner, not vainly brave,

Combats the storm, and rides the wave,

To rest at last on shore.

Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,

How vain your mask of state!

The good alone have joy sincere,

The good alone are great:

Great, when, amid the vale of peace,

They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,

And hear the voice of artless praise;

As when along the trophy'd plain

Sublime they lead the victor train,

While shouting nations gaze.

THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND CRANES.

FROM THE PYGMÆO-GERANO-MACHIA OF ADDISON.

The pigmy-people, and the feather'd train,

Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,

I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,

Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;

The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,

And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray;

Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes,

Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woes.

The wars and woes of heroes six feet long

Have oft resounded in Pierian song.

Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece,

And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece?

Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus stern of face,

And Peleus' son, unrivall'd in the race;

Æneas, founder of the Roman line,

And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?

Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes,

And over Blackmore's epic page to doze?

'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains,

Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains;

The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size,

And armies rushing down the darken'd skies.

Where India reddens to the early dawn,

Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn;

Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies,

And rocky mountains round the border rise.

Here, till the doom of fate its fall decreed,

The empire flourish'd of the pigmy-breed;

Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd,

And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.

But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray,

Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,

He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,

Its godlings mouldering on th' abandon'd hearth;

And starts, where small white bones are spread around,

"Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;"

While the proud crane her nest securely builds,

Chattering amid the desolated fields.

But different fates befell her hostile rage,

While reign'd, invincible through many an age,

The dreaded pigmy: rous'd by war's alarms,

Forth rush'd the madding manikin to arms.

Fierce to the field of death the hero flies;

The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies;

And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)

With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road.

And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,

And often made the callow young his prey;

With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smil'd,

T' avenge the parent's trespass on the child.

Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest,

And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,

Burning for blood, in terrible array,

The eighteen-inch militia burst their way;

All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell,

When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.

Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose,

And the fell rancour of encountering foes;

Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms,

And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy-realms.

Not half so furious blaz'd the warlike fire

Of mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre;

When bold to battle march'd the accoutred frogs,

And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs.

Pierc'd by the javelin bulrush on the shore

Here agonizing roll'd the mouse in gore;

And there the frog, (a scene full sad to see!)

Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along on three:

He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high,

But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.

And now the day of woe drew on apace,

A day of woe to all the pigmy-race,

When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain)

To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain.

For, roused to vengeance by repeated wrong,

From distant climes the long-bill'd legions throng:

From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads,

And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds,

From where the Danube winds through many a land,

And Mareotis laves th' Egyptian strand,

To rendezvous they waft on eager wing,

And wait assembled the returning spring.

Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight,

Whet their keen beaks and twisting claws for fight;

Each crane the pigmy power in thought o'erturns,

And every bosom for the battle burns.

When genial gales the frozen air unbind,

The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind:

Far in the sky they form their long array,

And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey

Deep deep beneath: and, triumphing in pride,

With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride;

'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven

Whirls in tempestuous undulation driven.

Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below,

Where march'd in pomp of war th' embattled foe:

Where manikins with haughty step advance,

And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance:

To right and left the lengthening lines they form,

And rank'd in deep array await the storm.

High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen,

Of giant stature, and imperial mien:

Full twenty inches tall he strode along,

And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng:

And while with many a scar his visage frown'd,

Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound

Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight

The glorious meed of high heroic might:

For with insatiate vengeance, he pursued,

And never-ending hate, the feathery brood.

Unhappy they, confiding in the length

Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength,

Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends,

And from the panting trunk the pinion rends:

Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more,

The trunk disfigur'd stiffens in its gore.

What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force!

What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course!

How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along,

Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song!

And now from far the mingling clamours rise,

Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies.

From skirt to skirt of heaven, with stormy sway,

A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day.

Near and more near descends the dreadful shade;

And now in battalions array display'd,

On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire,

The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.

The pigmy warriors eye with fearless glare

The host thick swarming o'er the burden'd air:

Thick swarming now, but to their native land

Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band--

When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven,

Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes are driven.

The kindling frenzy every bosom warms,

The region echoes to the crash of arms:

Loose feathers from th' encountering armies fly,

And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.

To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane,

Then with fresh vigour downward darts again.

Success in equal balance hovering hangs.

Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs,

The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls,

Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls:

There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound,

With little feet the pigmy beats the ground;

Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws,

And dying curses the keen pointed claws.

Trembles the thundering field, thick cover'd o'er

With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore,

And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size,

And here a claw, and there a finger lies.

Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd foes,

All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows,

And on th' assailing host impetuous springs,

Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings;

And midst the tumult, wheresoe'er he turns,

The battle with redoubled fury burns.

From every side th' avenging cranes amain

Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain:

When suddenly (for such the will of Jove)

A fowl enormous, sousing from above,

The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and, soaring high,

(Sad chance of battle!) bore him up the sky.

The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring,

Chatter triumphant round the captive king.

But ah! what pangs each pigmy bosom wrung,

When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung,

High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord,

His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd.

Lo! yet again, with unabated rage,

In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.

The crane with darted bill assaults the foe,

Hovering; then wheels aloft to scape the blow:

The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound;

But whirls in empty air the falchion round.

Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarms

Sublime th' eternal Thunderer rose in arms:

When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,

Heav'd Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at heaven.

Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high,

Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky;

Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew,

Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.

But now at length the pigmy legions yield,

And wing'd with terror fly the fatal field.

They raise a weak and melancholy wail,

All in distraction scattering o'er the vale.

Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;

Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend:

With unrelenting ire they urge the chase,

Sworn to exterminate the hated race.

'Twas thus the pigmy name, once great in war,

For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar,

Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,

Short is the date to earthly grandeur given,

And vain are all attempts to roam beyond

Where fate has fix'd the everlasting bound.

Fall'n are the trophies of Assyrian power,

And Persia's proud dominion is no more;

Yea, though to both superior far in fame,

Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name.

And now with lofty chiefs of ancient time

The pigmy heroes roam'd th' Elysian clime.

Or, if belief to matron-tales be due,

Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,

Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd,

Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade.

Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,

And all their woes in long oblivion rest:

Down the deep dale, and narrow winding way,

They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay:

'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove,

And Fairy-people is the name they love.

THE HARES.

A FABLE.

Yes, yes, I grant the sons of Earth

Are doom'd to trouble from their birth.

We all of sorrow have our share;

But say, is yours without compare?

Look round the world; perhaps you'll find

Each individual of our kind

Press'd with an equal load of ill,

Equal at least. Look further still,

And own your lamentable case

Is little short of happiness.

In yonder hut that stands alone

Attend to Famine's feeble moan;

Or view the couch where Sickness lies,

Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes,

His frame by strong convulsion torn,

His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.

Or see, transfix'd with keener pangs,

Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;

Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,

Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares;

Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll,

Their tempests on his harass'd soul.

But here perhaps it may avail

T' enforce our reasoning with a tale.

Mild was the morn, the sky serene,

The jolly hunting band convene,

The beagle's breast with ardour burns,

The bounding steed the champaign spurns,

And Fancy oft the game descries

Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.

Just then, a council of the hares

Had met, on national affairs.

The chiefs were set; while o'er their head

The furze its frizzled covering spread.

Long lists of grievances were heard,

And general discontent appear'd.

"Our harmless race shall every savage

Both quadruped and biped ravage?

Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still

Unite their wits to work us ill?

The youth, his parent's sole delight,

Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite,

Whose pulse in every vein beats strong,

Whose limbs leap light the vales along,

May yet ere noontide meet his death,

And lie dismember'd on the heath.

For youth, alas, nor cautious age,

Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage.

In every field we meet the foe,

Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe;

The morning but awakes our fears,

The evening sees us bath'd in tears.

But must we ever idly grieve,

Nor strive our fortunes to relieve?

Small is each individual's force:

To stratagem be our recourse;

And then, from all our tribes combin'd,

The murderer to his cost may find

No foes are weak, whom Justice arms,

Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms.

Be rous'd; or liberty acquire,

Or in the great attempt expire."

He said no more, for in his breast

Conflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd:

The fire of vengeance seem'd to stream

From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam.

And now the tumults of the war,

Mingling confusedly from afar,

Swell in the wind. Now louder cries

Distinct of hounds and men arise.

Forth from the brake, with beating heart,

Th' assembled hares tumultuous start,

And, every straining nerve on wing,

Away precipitately spring.

The hunting band, a signal given,

Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven;

O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound,

And river broad, impetuous bound:

Now plunge amid the forest shades,

Glance through the openings of the glades;

Now o'er the level valley sweep,

Now with short steps strain up the steep;

While backward from the hunter's eyes

The landscape like a torrent flies.

At last an ancient wood they gain'd,

By pruner's axe yet unprofan'd.

High o'er the rest, by Nature rear'd,

The oak's majestic boughs appear'd:

Beneath, a copse of various hue

In barbarous luxuriance grew.

No knife had curb'd the rambling sprays,

No hand had wove th' implicit maze.

The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind,

The hazel's stubborn stem entwin'd,

And bramble twigs were wreath'd around,

And rough furze crept along the ground.

Here sheltering, from the sons of murther,

The hares drag their tir'd limbs no further.

But lo, the western wind ere long

Was loud, and roar'd the woods among;

From rustling leaves, and crashing boughs

The sound of woe and war arose.

The hares distracted scour the grove,

As terror and amazement drove;

But danger, wheresoe'er they fled,

Still seem'd impending o'er their head.

Now crowded in a grotto's gloom,

All hope extinct, they wait their doom.

Dire was the silence, till, at length,

Even from despair deriving strength,

With bloody eye and furious look,

A daring youth arose and spoke.

"O wretched race, the scorn of Fate,

Whom ills of every sort await!

O, curs'd with keenest sense to feel

The sharpest sting of every ill!

Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme,

Of liberty and vengeance dream,

What now remains? To what recess

Shall we our weary steps address,

Since Fate is evermore pursuing

All ways and means to work our ruin?

Are we alone, of all beneath,

Condemn'd to misery worse than death?

Must we, with fruitless labour, strive

In misery worse than death to live?

No. Be the smaller ill our choice:

So dictates Nature's powerful voice.

Death's pang will in a moment cease;

And then, All hail, eternal peace!"

Thus while he spoke, his words impart

The dire resolve to every heart.

A distant lake in prospect lay,

That, glittering in the solar ray,

Gleam'd through the dusky trees, and shot

A trembling light along the grot.

Thither with one consent they bend,

Their sorrows with their lives to end,

While each, in thought, already hears

The water hissing in his ears.

Fast by the margin of the lake,

Conceal'd within a thorny brake,

A linnet sate, whose careless lay

Amus'd the solitary day.

Careless he sung, for on his breast

Sorrow no lasting trace impress'd;

When suddenly he heard a sound

Of swift feet traversing the ground.

Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies,

Thence trembling casts around his eyes;

No foe appear'd, his fears were vain;

Pleas'd he renews the sprightly strain.

The hares, whose noise had caus'd his fright,

Saw with surprise the linnet's flight.

"Is there on Earth a wretch," they said,

"Whom our approach can strike with dread?"

An instantaneous change of thought

To tumult every bosom wrought.

So fares the system-building sage,

Who, plodding on from youth to age,

At last on some foundation-dream

Has rear'd aloft his goodly scheme,

And prov'd his predecessors fools,

And bound all nature by his rules;

So fares he in that dreadful hour,

When injur'd Truth exerts her power,

Some new phenomenon to raise,

Which, bursting on his frighted gaze,

From its proud summit to the ground

Proves the whole edifice unsound.

"Children," thus spoke a hare sedate,

Who oft had known th' extremes of fate,

"In slight events the docile mind

May hints of good instruction find.

That our condition is the worst,

And we with such misfortunes curst

As all comparison defy,

Was late the universal cry;

When lo, an accident so slight

As yonder little linnet's flight

Has made your stubborn heart confess

(So your amazement bids me guess)

That all our load of woes and fears

Is but a part of what he bears.

Where can he rest secure from harms,

Whom even a helpless hare alarms?

Yet he repines not at his lot,

When past, the danger is forgot:

On yonder bough he trims his wings,

And with unusual rapture sings:

While we, less wretched, sink beneath

Our lighter ills, and rush to death.

No more of this unmeaning rage,

But hear, my friends, the words of age.

"When by the winds of autumn driven

The scatter'd clouds fly cross the heaven,

Oft have we, from some mountain's head,

Beheld th' alternate light and shade

Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowers

The shadowy cloud; there downward pours,

Streaming direct, a flood of day,

Which from the view flies swift away;

It flies, while other shades advance,

And other streaks of sunshine glance.

Thus chequer'd is the life below

With gleams of joy and clouds of woe.

Then hope not, while we journey on,

Still to be basking in the sun:

Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn,

That sunshine will no more return.

If, by your terrors overcome,

Ye fly before th' approaching gloom,

The rapid clouds your flight pursue,

And darkness still o'ercasts your view.

Who longs to reach the radiant plain

Must onward urge his course amain;

For doubly swift the shadow flies,

When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.

At least be firm, and undismay'd

Maintain your ground; the fleeting shade

Ere long spontaneous glides away,

And gives you back th' enlivening ray.

Lo, while I speak, our danger past!

No more the shrill horn's angry blast

Howls in our ear; the savage roar

Of war and murder is no more.

Then snatch the moment fate allows,

Nor think of past or future woes."

He spoke; and hope revives; the lake

That instant one and all forsake,

In sweet amusement to employ

The present sprightly hour of joy.

Now from the western mountain's brow,

Compass'd with clouds of various glow,

The sun a broader orb displays,

And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.

The lawn assumes a fresher green,

And dewdrops spangle all the scene;

The balmy zephyr breathes along,

The shepherd sings his tender song,

With all their lays the groves resound,

And falling waters murmur round.

Discord and care were put to flight,

And all was peace, and calm delight.

EPITAPH:

BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT ERECTED BY A

GENTLEMAN TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY.

Farewell! my best-belov'd; whose heavenly mind

Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd;

Devotion, undebas'd by pride or art,

With meek simplicity, and joy of heart;

Though sprightly, gentle: though polite, sincere;

And only of thyself a judge severe;

Unblam'd, unequall'd in each sphere of life,

The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife.

In thee their patroness th' afflicted lost;

Thy friends, their pattern, ornament, and boast;

And I--but ah, can words my loss declare,

Or paint th' extremes of transport and despair!

O thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell,

My guide, my friend, my best beloved, farewell!

THE HERMIT.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,

And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,

When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,

And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove:

'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,

While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began;

No more with himself or with nature at war,

He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

"Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe,

Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?

For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,

And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall.

But, if pity inspire thee renew the sad lay,

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;

O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away:

Full quickly they pass--but they never return.

"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,

The Moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays:

But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.

Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue

The path that conducts thee to splendour again:

But man's faded glory what change shall renew!

Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

"'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:

I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;

For morn is approaching your charms to restore,

Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew:

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save:

But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!

O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!"

''Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd,

That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind,

My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

"O pity, great Father of light," then I cried,

"Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee;

Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free."

'And darkness and doubt are now flying away;

No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.

See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,

And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!

On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.'

PIECES REJECTED BY THE AUTHOR FROM THE LATER EDITIONS OF HIS POEMS.

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove,

A scene for love and solitude design'd,

Where flowery woodbines wild by Nature wove

Form'd the lone bower, the Royal Swain reclin'd.

All up the craggy cliffs, that tower'd to heaven,

Green wav'd the murmuring pines on every side;

Save where, fair opening to the beam of even,

A dale slop'd gradual to the valley wide.

Echoed the vale with many a cheerful note;

The lowing of the herds resounding long.

The shrilling pipe, and mellow horn remote,

And social clamours of the festive throng.

For now, low hovering o'er the western main,

Where amber clouds begirt his dazzling throne,

The sun with ruddier verdure deck'd the plain,

And lakes, and streams, and spires triumphal shone.

And many a band of ardent youths were seen;

Some into rapture fir'd by glory's charms,

Or hurl'd the thundering car along the green,

Or march'd embattled on in glittering arms.

Others more mild, in happy leisure gay,

The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore,

Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray,

Or the blue Hellespont's resounding shore.

But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd

That gleam'd along th' extended champaign far,

And bulwarks, in terrific pomp adorn'd,

Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War.

Rich in the spoils of many a subject-clime,

In pride luxurious blaz'd th' imperial dome;

Tower'd mid th' encircling grove the fane sublime,

And dread memorials mark'd the hero's tomb,

Who from the black and bloody cavern led

The savage stern, and sooth'd his boisterous breast;

Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head,

And brighten'd o'er the long benighted waste;

Or, greatly daring in his country's cause,

Whose heaven-taught soul the awful plan design'd,

Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of laws,

Whence soar'd on Freedom's wing th' ethereal mind.

But not the pomp that royalty displays,

Nor all the imperial pride of lofty Troy,

Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise,

Could rouse the languor of the lingering boy.

Abandon'd all to soft Enone's charms,

He to oblivion doom'd the listless day;

Inglorious lull'd in Love's dissolving arms,

While flutes lascivious breath'd th' enfeebling lay.

To trim the ringlets of his scented hair,

To aim, insidious, Love's bewitching glance,

Or cull fresh garlands for the gaudy fair,

Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance;

These were his arts; these won Enone's love,

Nor sought his fetter'd soul a nobler aim.

Ah, why should beauty's smile those arts approve,

Which taint with infamy the lover's flame?

Now laid at large beside a murmuring spring,

Melting he listen'd to the vernal song,

And Echo listening wav'd her airy wing,

While the deep winding dales the lays prolong.

When slowly floating down the azure skies

A crimson cloud flash'd on his startled sight;

Whose skirts gay-sparkling with unnumber'd dyes

Launch'd the long billowy trails of flickering light.

That instant, hush'd was all the vocal grove,

Hush'd was the gale, and every ruder sound,

And strains aërial, warbling far above,

Rung in the ear a magic peal profound.

Near, and more near, the swimming radiance roll'd;

Along the mountains stream the lingering fires,

Sublime the groves of Ida blaze with gold,

And all the heaven resounds with louder lyres.

The trumpet breath'd a note: and all in air

The glories vanish'd from the dazzled eye;

And three ethereal forms, divinely fair,

Down the steep glade were seen advancing nigh.

The flowering glade fell level where they mov'd,

O'erarching high the clustering roses hung,

And gales from heaven on balmy pinion rov'd,

And hill and dale with gratulation rung.

The first with slow and stately step drew near,

Fix'd was her lofty eye, erect her mien:

Sublime in grace, in majesty severe,

She look'd and mov'd a goddess and a queen.

Her robe along the gale profusely stream'd,

Light lean'd the sceptre on her bending arm;

And round her brow a starry circlet gleam'd,

Heightening the pride of each commanding charm.

Milder the next came on with artless grace,

And on a javelin's quivering length reclin'd:

T' exalt her mien she bade no splendour blaze,

Nor pomp of vesture fluctuate on the wind.

Serene, though awful, on her brow the light

Of heavenly wisdom shone; nor rov'd her eyes,

Save to the shadowy cliff's majestic height,

Or the blue concave of th' involving skies.

Keen were her eyes to search the inmost soul;

Yet Virtue triumph'd in their beams benign,

And impious Pride oft felt their dread control,

When in fierce lightning flash'd the wrath divine.[1]

With awe and wonder gaz'd th' adoring swain;

His kindling cheek great Virtue's power confess'd;

But soon 'twas o'er; for Virtue prompts in vain,

Where Pleasure's influence numbs the nerveless breast.

And now advanc'd the queen of melting joy,

Smiling supreme in unresisted charms.

Ah, then, what transports fir'd the trembling boy!

How throb'd his sickening frame with fierce alarms!

Her eyes in liquid light luxurious swim,

And languish with unutterable love:

Heaven's warm bloom glows along each brightening limb,

Where fluttering bland the veil's thin mantlings rove.

Quick, blushing as abash'd, she half withdrew:

One hand a bough of flowering myrtle wav'd,

One graceful spread, where, scarce conceal'd from view,

Soft through the parting robe her bosom heav'd.

"Offspring of Jove supreme! belov'd of Heaven!

Attend." Thus spoke the empress of the skies.

"For know, to thee, high-fated prince, 'tis given

Thro' the bright realms of Fame sublime to rise.

"Beyond man's boldest hope; if nor the wiles

Of Pallas triumph o'er th' ennobling thought;

Nor Pleasure lure with artificial smiles

To quaff the poison of her luscious draught.

"When Juno's charms the prize of beauty claim,

Shall aught on Earth, shall aught in Heaven contend?

Whom Juno calls to high triumphant fame,

Shall he to meaner sway inglorious bend?

"Yet lingering comfortless in lonesome wild,

Where Echo sleeps mid cavern'd vales profound,

The pride of Troy, Dominion's darling child,

Pines while the slow hour stalks its sullen round.

"Hear thou, of Heaven unconscious! From the blaze

Of glory, stream'd from Jove's eternal throne,

Thy soul, O mortal, caught th' inspiring rays

That to a god exalt earth's raptur'd son.

"Hence the bold wish, on boundless pinion borne,

That fires, alarms, impels the maddening soul;

The hero's eye, hence, kindling into scorn,

Blasts the proud menace, and defies control.

"But, unimprov'd, Heaven's noblest boons are vain:

No sun with plenty crowns th' uncultur'd vale;

Where green lakes languish on the silent plain,

Death rides the billows of the western gale.

"Deep in yon mountain's womb, where the dark cave

Howls to the torrent's everlasting roar,

Does the rich gem its flashy radiance wave?

Or flames with steady ray th' imperial ore?

"Toil deck'd with glittering domes yon champaign wide,

And wakes yon grove-embosom'd lawns to joy,

And rends the rough ore from the mountain's side,

Spangling with starry pomp the thrones of Troy.

"Fly these soft scenes. Even now, with playful art,

Love wreathes thy flowery ways with fatal snare.

And nurse th' ethereal fire that warms thy heart,

That fire ethereal lives but by thy care.

"Lo, hovering near on dark and dampy wing.

Sloth with stern patience waits the hour assign'd,

From her chill plume the deadly dews to fling,

That quench Heaven's beam, and freeze the cheerless mind.

"Vain, then, th' enlivening sound of Fame's alarms,

For Hope's exulting impulse prompts no more;

Vain even the joys that lure to Pleasure's arms,

The throb of transport is for ever o'er.

"O who shall then to Fancy's darkening eyes

Recall th' Elysian dreams of joy and light?

Dim through the gloom the formless visions rise,

Snatch'd instantaneous down, the gulf of night.

"Thou, who securely lull'd in youth's warm ray,

Mark'st not the desolations wrought by Time,

Be rous'd or perish. Ardent for its prey

Speeds the fell hour that ravages thy prime.

"And, midst the horrors shrin'd of midnight storm,

The fiend Oblivion eyes thee from afar,

Black with intolerable frowns her form,

Beckoning th' embattled whirlwinds into war.

"Fanes, bulwarks, mountains, worlds, their tempest whelms:

Yet Glory braves unmov'd th' impetuous sweep.

Fly then, ere hurl'd from life's delightful realms,

Thou sink t' Oblivion's dark and boundless deep.

"Fly then, where Glory points the path sublime:

See her crown dazzling with eternal light!

'Tis Juno prompts thy daring steps to climb,

And girds thy bounding heart with matchless might.

"Warm in the raptures of divine desire,

Burst the soft chain that curbs th' aspiring mind;

And fly, where Victory, borne on wings of fire,

Waves her red banner to the rattling wind.

"Ascend the car. Indulge the pride of arms,

Where clarions roll their kindling strains on high,

Where the eye maddens to the dread alarms,

And the long shout tumultuous rends the sky.

"Plung'd in the uproar of the thundering field

I see thy lofty arm the tempest guide;

Fate scatters lightning from thy meteor-shield,

And Ruin spreads around the sanguine tide.

"Go, urge the terrors of thy headlong car

On prostrate Pride, and Grandeur's spoils o'erthrown,

While all amaz'd even heroes shrink afar,

And hosts embattled vanish at thy frown.

"When glory crowns thy godlike toils, and all

The triumph's lengthening pomp exalts thy soul,

When lowly at thy feet the mighty fall,

And tyrants tremble at thy stern control;

"When conquering millions hail thy sovereign might,

And tribes unknown dread acclamation join;

How wilt thou spurn the forms of low delight!

For all the ecstasies of heaven are thine:

"For thine the joys, that fear no length of days,

Whose wide effulgence scorns all mortal bound:

Fame's trump in thunder shall announce thy praise,

Nor bursting worlds her clarion's blast confound."

The goddess ceas'd, not dubious of the prize:

Elate she mark'd his wild and rolling eye,

Mark'd his lip quiver, and his bosom rise,

And his warm cheek suffus'd with crimson dye.

But Pallas now drew near. Sublime, serene

In conscious dignity, she view'd the swain;

Then, love and pity softening all her mien,

Thus breathed with accents mild the solemn strain.

"Let those, whose arts to fatal paths betray,

The soul with passion's gloom tempestuous blind,

And snatch from Reason's ken th' auspicious ray

Truth darts from Heaven to guide th' exploring mind.

"But Wisdom loves the calm and serious hour,

When Heaven's pure emanation beams confess'd:

Rage, ecstasy, alike disclaim her power,

She wooes each gentler impulse of the breast.

"Sincere th' unalter'd bliss her charms impart,

Sedate th' enlivening ardours they inspire:

She bids no transient rapture thrill the heart,

She wakes no feverish gust of fierce desire.

"Unwise, who, tossing on the watery way,

All to the storm th' unfetter'd sail devolve:

Man more unwise resigns the mental sway,

Borne headlong on by passion's keen resolve.

"While storms remote but murmur on thine ear,

Nor waves in ruinous uproar round thee roll,

Yet, yet a moment check thy prone career,

And curb the keen resolve that prompts thy soul.

"Explore thy heart, that, rous'd by Glory's name,

Pants all enraptur'd with the mighty charm--

And, does Ambition quench each milder flame?

And is it conquest that alone can warm?

"T' indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust,

To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore,

To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust--

Are these thy joys? Nor throbs thy heart for more?

"Pleas'd canst thou listen to the patriot's groan,

And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn?

And hear th' abandon'd maid's last frantic moan,

Her love for ever from her bosom torn?

"Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath

Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head?

Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death,

To glare distraction on thy midnight bed?

"Was it for this, though born to regal power,

Kind Heaven to thee did nobler gifts consign,

Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour,

And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine?

"Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy,

And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise suborn'd,

Whose eye ne'er lighten'd at the smile of Joy,

Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorn'd;

"Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd,

The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies;

Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field,

Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps th' unbounded skies.

"Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm!

Hail to the pure delights of social love!

Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm,

Nor rack th' exulting frame, but gently move!

"But Fancy soothes no more, if stern Remorse

With iron grasp the tortur'd bosom wring.

Ah then, even Fancy speeds the venom's course,

Even Fancy points with rage the maddening sting!

"Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend,

And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of hell:

The beam of Beauty blasts; dark Heavens impend

Tottering; and Music thrills with startling yell.

"What then avails, that with exhaustless store

Obsequious Luxury loads thy glittering shrine?

What then avails, that prostrate slaves adore,

And Fame proclaims thee matchless and divine?

"What though bland Flattery all her arts apply?

Will these avail to calm th' infuriate brain?

Or will the roaring surge, when heav'd on high,

Headlong hang, hush'd, to hear the piping swain?

"In health how fair, how ghastly in decay

Man's lofty form! how heavenly fair the mind

Sublim'd by Virtue's sweet enlivening sway!

But ah! to guilt's outrageous rule resign'd,

"How hideous and forlorn! when ruthless Care

With cankering tooth corrodes the seeds of life,

And deaf with passion's storms when pines Despair,

And howling furies rouse th' eternal strife.

"O, by thy hopes of joy that restless glow,

Pledges of Heaven! be taught by Wisdom's lore:

With anxious haste each doubtful path forego,

And life's wild ways with cautious fear explore.

"Straight be thy course; nor tempt the maze that leads

Where fell Remorse his shapeless strength conceals:

And oft Ambition's dizzy cliff he treads,

And slumbers oft in Pleasure's flowery vales.

"Nor linger unresolv'd: Heaven prompts the choice;

Save when Presumption shuts the ear of Pride:

With grateful awe attend to Nature's voice,

The voice of Nature Heaven ordain'd thy guide.

"Warn'd by her voice the arduous path pursue,

That leads to Virtue's fane a hardy band.

What, though no gaudy scenes decoy their view,

Nor clouds of fragrance roll along the land;

"What, though rude mountains heave the flinty way,

Yet there the soul drinks light and life divine,

And pure aërial gales of gladness play,

Brace every nerve, and every sense refine.

"Go, prince, be virtuous and be blest. The throne

Rears not its state to swell the couch of Lust;

Nor dignify Corruption's daring son,

T' o'erwhelm his humbler brethren of the dust.

"But yield an ampler scene to Bounty's eye,

And ampler range to Mercy's ear expand;

And 'midst admiring nations, set on high

Virtue's fair model, fram'd by Wisdom's hand.

"Go then: the moan of Woe demands thine aid;

Pride's licens'd outrage claims thy slumbering ire;

Pale Genius roams the bleak neglected shade,

And battening Avarice mocks his tuneless lyre.

"Even Nature pines by vilest chains oppress'd;

Th' astonish'd kingdoms crouch to Fashion's nod.

O ye pure inmates of the gentle breast,

Truth, Freedom, Love, O where is your abode?

"O yet once more shall Peace from heaven return,

And young Simplicity with mortals dwell!

Nor Innocence th' august pavilion scorn,

Nor meek Contentment fly the humble cell!

"Wilt thou, my prince, the beauteous train implore,

Midst earth's forsaken scenes once more to bide?

Then shall the shepherd sing in every bower,

And Love with garlands wreathe the domes of Pride.

"The bright tear starting in th' impassion'd eyes

Of silent gratitude; the smiling gaze

Of gratulation, faltering while he tries

With voice of transport to proclaim thy praise;

"Th' ethereal glow that stimulates thy frame,

When all th' according powers harmonious move,

And wake to energy each social aim,

Attun'd spontaneous to the will of Jove;

"Be these, O man, the triumphs of thy soul;

And all the conqueror's dazzling glories slight,

That meteor-like o'er trembling nations roll,

To sink at once in deep and dreadful night.

"Like thine, yon orb's stupendous glories burn

With genial beam; nor at th' approach of even,

In shades of horror leave the world to mourn,

But gild with lingering light th' empurpled heaven."

Thus while she spoke, her eye, sedately meek,

Look'd the pure fervour of maternal love.

No rival zeal intemperate flush'd her cheek--

Can Beauty's boast the soul of Wisdom move?

Worth's noble pride, can Envy's leer appall,

Or staring Folly's vain applauses soothe?

Can jealous Fear Truth's dauntless heart enthrall?

Suspicion lurks not in the heart of Truth.

And now the shepherd rais'd his pensive head:

Yet unresolv'd and fearful rov'd his eyes,

Scared at the glances of the awful maid;

For young unpractis'd guilt distrusts the guise

Of shameless Arrogance. His wavering breast,

Though warm'd by Wisdom, own'd no constant fire;

While lawless Fancy roam'd afar, unblest

Save in th' oblivious lap of soft Desire.

When thus the queen of soul-dissolving smiles.

"Let gentle fates my darling prince attend:

Joyless and cruel are the warrior's spoils,

Dreary the path stern Virtue's sons ascend.

"Of human joy full short is the career,

And the dread verge still gains upon your sight:

While idly gazing, far beyond your sphere,

Ye scan the dream of unapproach'd delight;

"Till every sprightly hour and blooming scene

Of life's gay morn unheeded glides away,

And clouds of tempests mount the blue serene,

And storm and ruin close the troublous day.

"Thou still exult to hail the present joy,

Thine be the boon that comes unearn'd by toil;

No forward vain desire thy bliss annoy,

No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile.

"Ah! why should man pursue the charms of Fame,

For ever luring, yet forever coy?

Light as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam,

That melts illusive from the wondering boy!

"What though her throne irradiate many a clime,

If hung loose-tottering o'er th' unfathom'd tomb?

What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime,

Display the imperial wreath and glittering plume?

"Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath

Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave?

What note of triumph can her clarion breathe,

T' alarm th' eternal midnight of the grave?

"That night draws on: nor will the vacant hour

Of expectation linger as it flies;

Nor Fate one moment unenjoy'd restore:

Each moment's flight how precious to the wise!

"O shun th' annoyance of the bustling throng,

That haunt with zealous turbulence the great;

Their coward Office boasts th' unpunish'd wrong,

And sneaks secure in insolence of state.

"O'er fancy'd injury Suspicion pines,

And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound;

Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines,

And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around.

"Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne,

Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim,

Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown,

The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame:

"Hope not, though all that captivates the wise,

All that endears the good exalt thy praise;

Hope not to taste repose; for Envy's eyes

At fairest worth still point their deadly rays.

"Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart,

Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm?

Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart,

Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm?

"Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains,

And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm,

Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains,

Or soil accurs'd with balmy life inform.

"Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour,

When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme;

When Insult mocks the clemency of Power,

And loud Dissension's livid firebrands gleam;

"When squint-ey'd Slander plies th' unhallow'd tongue,

From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line,

And Muse apostate (infamy to song!)

Grovels, low-muttering, at Sedition's shrine.

"Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade,

The whispering grove, the fountain, and the plain:

Power, with th' oppressive weight of pomp array'd,

Pants for simplicity and ease in vain.

"The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear,

But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn;

And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere;

Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn.

"She loves to wander on th' untrodden lawn,

Or the green bosom of reclining hill,

Sooth'd by the careless warbler of the dawn,

Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill.

"Or from the mountain-glade's aërial brow,

While to her song a thousand echoes call,

Marks the wild woodland wave remote below,

Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall.

"Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves,

Where the high carol cheers th' exulting ring;

And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves,

Listening th' unnumber'd melodies of spring.

"Or to the long and lonely shore retires;

What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beam,

Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry fires

Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening gleam.

"Then, to the balmy bower of Rapture borne,

While strings self-warbling breathe Elysian rest,

Melts in delicious vision, till the morn

Spangle with twinkling dew the flowery waste.

"The frolic Moments, purple-pinion'd, dance

Around, and scatter roses as they play:

And the blithe Graces, hand in hand, advance,

Where, with her lov'd compeers, she deigns to stray;

"Mild Solitude, in veil of russet dye,

Her sylvan spear with moss-grown ivy bound;

And Indolence, with sweetly-languid eye,

And zoneless robe that trails along the ground;

"But chiefly Love--O thou, whose gentle mind

Each soft indulgence Nature fram'd to share;

Pomp, wealth, renown, dominion, all resign'd,

O haste to Pleasure's bower, for Love is there!

"Love, the desire of gods! the feast of Heaven:

Yet to Earth's favour'd offspring not denied!

Ah, let not thankless man the blessing given

Enslave to Fame, or sacrifice to Pride!

"Nor I from Virtue's call decoy thine ear;

Friendly to Pleasure are her sacred laws.

Let Temperance' smile the cup of gladness cheer;

That cup is death, if he withhold applause.

"Far from thy haunt be Envy's baneful sway,

And Hate, that works the harass'd soul to storm:

But woo Content to breathe her soothing lay,

And charm from Fancy's view each angry form.

"No savage joy th' harmonious hours profane!

Whom Love refines, can barbarous tumult please?

Shall rage of blood pollute the sylvan reign?

Shall Leisure wanton in the spoils of Peace?

"Free let the feathery race indulge the song,

Inhale the liberal beam, and melt in love;

Free let the fleet hind bound her hills along,

And in pure streams the watery nations rove.

"To joy in Nature's universal smile

Well suits, O man, thy pleasurable sphere;

But why should Virtue doom thy years to toil?

Ah, why should Virtue's law be deem'd severe?

"What meed, Beneficence, thy care repays?

What, Sympathy, thy still returning pang?

And why his generous arm should Justice raise,

To dare the vengeance of a tyrant's fang?

"From thankless spite no bounty can secure;

Or froward wish of discontent fulfil,

That knows not to regret thy bounded power,

But blames with keen reproach thy partial will.

"To check th' impetuous all-involving tide

Of human woes, how impotent thy strife!

High o'er thy mounds devouring surges ride,

Nor reck thy baffled toils, or lavish'd life.

"The bower of bliss, the smile of love be thine,

Unlabour'd ease, and leisure's careless dream.

Such be their joys, who bend at Venus' shrine,

And own her charms beyond compare supreme."

Warm'd as she spoke, all panting with delight,

Her kindling beauties breathed triumphant bloom;

And Cupids flutter'd round in circlets bright,

And Flora pour'd from all her stores perfume.

"Thine be the prize," exclaim'd th' enraptur'd youth,

"Queen of unrivall'd charms, and matchless joy."--

O blind to fate, felicity, and truth!--

But such are they whom Pleasure's snares decoy.

The Sun was sunk; the vision was no more:

Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the frown

Of Jove's awaken'd wrath; deep thunders roar,

The forests howl afar, and mountains groan,

And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain:

With horror's scream the Ilian towers resound;

Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main,

And the strong earthquake rends the shuddering ground.

[1] This is agreeable to the theology of Homer, who often represents

Pallas as the executioner of divine vengeance.

ODE TO PEACE.

I. 1.

Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose powerful voice

From ancient darkness call'd the morn;

And hush'd of jarring elements the noise;

When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,

With all his bellowing throng,

Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss along;

And all the bright angelic choir

Striking through all their ranks th' eternal lyre,

Pour'd in loud symphony th' impetuous strain;

And every fiery orb and planet sung,

And wide, through night's dark solitary reign

Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant rung.

I. 2.

Oh whither art thou fled, Saturnian age!

Roll round again, majestic years!

To break the sceptre of tyrannic rage,

From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears,

Ye years, again roll round!

Hark, from afar what desolating sound,

While echoes load the sighing gales,

With dire presage the throbbing heart assails!

Murder deep-rous'd, with all the whirlwind's haste

And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs,

Her tangled serpents girds around her waist,

Smiles ghastly-fierce, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.

I. 3.

The shouts redoubling rise

In thunder to the skies.

The Nymphs disorder'd dart along,

Sweet Powers of solitude and song,

Stunn'd with the horrors of discordant sound;

And all is listening trembling round.

Torrents far heard amid the waste of night

That oft have led the wanderer right,

Are silent at the noise.

The mighty ocean's more majestic voice

Drown'd in superior din is heard no more;

The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.

II. 1.

The bloody banner streaming in the air

Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow,

The mingling multitudes, the madding car,

Driven in confusion to the plain below,

War's dreadful lord proclaim.

Bursts out by frequent fits th' expansive flame.

Snatch'd in tempestuous eddies flies

The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies.

The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen,

The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale,

The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green,

And night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail.

II. 2.

Involv'd in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on.

The rushing steeds grim Terror guides.

His forehead writh'd to a relentless frown,

Aloft the angry Power of battles rides:

Grasp'd in his mighty hand

A mace tremendous desolates the land;

The tower rolls headlong down the steep,

The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep:

Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades;

Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes,

A deeper gloom invests the howling shades,

Stript is the shatter'd grove, and every verdure dies.

II. 3.

How startled Frenzy stares,

Bristling her ragged hairs!

Revenge the gory fragment gnaws;

See, with her griping vulture claws

Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound!

Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round;

The shrieks of agony, and clang of arms,

Reëcho to the hoarse alarms

Her trump terrific blows.

Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose

Of kingly gesture a gigantic form,

That with his scourge sublime rules the careering storm.

III. 1.

Ambition, outside fair! within as foul

As fiends of fiercest heart below,

Who ride the hurricanes of fire that roll

Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe.

Yon naked waste survey;

Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay;

Where late the rosy-bosom'd hours

In loose array danc'd lightly o'er the flowers;

Where late the shepherd told his tender tale;

And waken'd by the murmuring breeze of morn,

The voice of cheerful Labour fill'd the dale;

And dove-eyed Plenty smil'd, and wav'd her liberal horn.

III. 2.

Yon ruins, sable from the wasting flame,

But mark the once resplendent dome;

The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream,

And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom.

How sadly silent all!

Save where, outstretch'd beneath yon hanging wall,

Pale Famine moans with feeble breath,

And Anguish yells, and grinds his bloody teeth--

Though vain the Muse, and every melting lay,

To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse!

Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way,

I see, I see the years begin their mighty course.

III. 3.

What scenes of glory rise

Before my dazzled eyes!

Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings,

And melody celestial rings:

All blooming on the lawn the nymphs advance,

And touch the lute, and range the dance;

And the blithe shepherds on the mountain's-side,

Array'd in all their rural pride,

Exalt the festive note,

Inviting Echo from her inmost grot--

But ah! the landscape glows with fainter light,

It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight.

IV. 1.

Illusions vain! Can sacred Peace reside

Where sordid gold the breast alarms,

Where Cruelty inflames the eye of Pride,

And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's arms?

Ambition! these are thine:

These from the soul erase the form divine;

And quench the animating fire,

That warms the bosom with sublime desire.

Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel,

And Hatred triumphs on th' o'erwhelming brow,

And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel,

Blaze the blue flames of death, and sound the shrieks of Woe.

IV. 2.

From Albion fled, thy once belov'd retreat,

What region brightens in thy smile,

Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet

Sees sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil?

In bleak Siberia blows,

Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose?

Wav'd over by thy magic wand

Does life inform fell Lybia's burning sand?

Or does some isle thy parting flight detain,

Where roves the Indian through primeval shades,

Haunts the pure pleasures of the sylvan reign,

And led by reason's light the path of nature treads.

IV. 3.

On Cuba's utmost steep[1]

Far leaning o'er the deep

The Goddess' pensive form was seen.

Her robe of Nature's varied green

Wav'd on the gale; grief dimm'd her radiant eyes,

Her bosom heav'd with boding sighs:

She ey'd the main; where, gaining on the view,

Emerging from th' ethereal blue,

Midst the dread pomp of war,

Blaz'd the Iberian streamer from afar.

She saw; and, on refulgent pinions borne,

Slow wing'd her way sublime, and mingled with the morn.

[1] This alludes to the discovery of America by the Spaniards under

Columbus. Those ravagers are said to have made their first descent on

the islands in the Gulf of Florida, of which Cuba is one.

THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.

Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought

These scenes so deeply-stain'd with Sorrow's dye?

Is there in all thy stores no cheerful draught,

To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye?

Yes--from afar a landscape seems to rise,

Embellish'd by the lavish hand of Spring;

Thin gilded clouds float lightly o'er the skies,

And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing.

How blest the youth in yonder valley laid!

What smiles in every conscious feature play!

While to the murmurs of the breezy glade

His merry pipe attunes the rural lay.

Hail Innocence! whose bosom, all serene,

Feels not as yet th' internal tempest roll!

O ne'er may Care distract that placid mien!

Ne'er may the shades of Doubt o'erwhelm thy soul!

Vain wish! for lo, in gay attire conceal'd,

Yonder she comes! the heart-inflaming fiend!

(Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?)

Swift to her destin'd prey see Passion bend!

O smile accurs'd, to hide the worst designs!

Now with blithe eye she wooes him to be blest,

While round her arm unseen a serpent twines--

And lo, she hurls it hissing at his breast!

And, instant, lo, his dizzy eyeball swims

Ghastly, and reddening darts a frantic glare;

Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs,

And Fear's cold hand erects his frozen hair!

Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime!

And does thy spring no happier prospect yield?

Why should the sunbeam paint thy glittering clime,

When the keen mildew desolates the field?

How memory pains! Let some gay theme beguile

The musing mind, and soothe to soft delight.

Ye images of woe, no more recoil;

Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night.

Now when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful power,

Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar,

How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower,

To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war!

Ambition here displays no gilded toy

That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise

Nor Pleasure's paths to wilds of woe decoy,

Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's proud disguise.

Oft has Contentment cheer'd this lone abode

With the mild languish of her smiling eye;

Here Health in rosy bloom has often glow'd,

While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour'd by.

Even the storm lulls to more profound repose;

The storm these humble walls assails in vain;

The shrub is shelter'd when the whirlwind blows,

While the oak's mighty ruin strows the plain.

Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies,

And toss'd th' infuriate surge, and vales lay waste:

Nature thy temporary rage defies;

To her relief the gentler Seasons haste.

Thron'd in her emerald-car see Spring appear!

(As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view)

Her emerald-car the youthful Zephyrs bear,

Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue.

Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen;

And lo, her rod the rose-lipp'd power extends!

And lo, the lawns are deck'd in living green,

And Beauty's bright-ey'd train from heaven descends!

Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad--

But will all nature joy at your return?

O, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed,

Or dry the tears that bathe th' untimely urn?

Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart

Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail?

To ease tir'd Disappointment's bleeding heart,

Will all your stores of softening balm avail?

When stern Oppression in his harpy-fangs

From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears,

Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs,

Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears?

For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past.

Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends?

Who lays the once-rejoicing village waste,

Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends?

But hope not, Muse, vainglorious as thou art,

With the weak impulse of thy humble strain,

Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart,

When Errol's bright example shines in vain.

Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye,

Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight;

Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply,

Or transient gleams, that flash, and sink in night.

Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego--

Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictur'd scroll;

Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow,

And rouse to thought sublime th' exulting soul.

What mingling pomps rush on th' enraptur'd gaze!

Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep!

Here glittering towns their spiry turrets raise!

There bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep!

Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields,

Th' embattled legions stretch their long array;

Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields,

With bloody tincture stains the face of day.

And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.

Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires.

Quick as the Goddess darts along the line,

Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.

Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien

The smiles of love stern wisdom's frown control;

Her fearless eye, determin'd though serene,

Speaks the great purpose, and th' unconquer'd soul.

Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band,

Each feature fierce and haggard, as with pain!

With menace loud he cries, while from his hand

He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.

Lo, at his call, impetuous as the storms,

Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven;

Hatred to madness wrought, each fine deforms,

Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.

Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend,

Shield them for Liberty who dare to die--

Ah, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend!

Are those thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly!

Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies,

Can brace the loosen'd nerves, or warm the heart;

Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs,

When festers in the soul Misfortune's dart.

See, where by terror and despair dismay'd,

The scattering legions pour along the plain!

Ambition's car in bloody spoils array'd

Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.

But who is he, that, by yon lonely brook

With woods o'erhung and precipices rude,[1]

Lies all abandon'd, yet with dauntless look

Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?

Ah, Brutus! ever thine be Virtue's tear!

Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns,

As scarce-supported on her broken spear

O'er her expiring son the Goddess mourns.

Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies,

From her dishevell'd locks she rends the plume;

No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes,

And on her tear-stain'd cheek no roses bloom.

Meanwhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway,

Fame's loudest trumpet labours with thy name,

For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay,

And Flattery bids for thee her altars flame.

Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone,

The sphere where monarchs and where heroes toil,

Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown,

While Guilt's thrill'd bosom leaps at Pleasure's smile;

Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell,

Far, far remote amid the lowly plain,

Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell.

Such is man's doom, and Pity weeps in vain.

Still grief recoils--How vainly have I strove

Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand!

Tir'd I submit; but yet, O yet remove,

Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand!

Yet for awhile let the bewilder'd soul

Find in society relief from woe;

O yield awhile to Friendship's soft control;

Some, respite, Friendship, wilt thou not bestow!

Come, then, Philander, whose exalted mind

Looks down from far on all that charms the great;

For thou canst bear, unshaken and resign'd,

The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate:

Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere,

Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys;

Who lend'st to Misery's moan a pitying ear,

And feel'st with ecstasy another's joys:

Who know'st man's frailty; with a favouring eye,

And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall;

Who, unenslav'd by Fashion's narrow tie,

With manly freedom follow'st Nature's call.

And bring thy Delia, sweetly-smiling fair,

Whose spotless soul no rankling thoughts deform;

Her gentle accents calm each throbbing care,

And harmonize the thunder of the storm:

Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refin'd,

She courts no homage, nor desires to shine;

In her each sentiment sublime is join'd

To female softness, and a form divine.

Come, and disperse th' involving shadows drear;

Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ;

O catch the swift-wing'd moment while 'tis near,

On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy.

Even while the careless disencumber'd soul

Sinks all dissolving into pleasure's dream,

Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll

With headlong haste along life's surgy stream.

Can Gayety the vanish'd years restore,

Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed,

Or soothe the sad inevitable hour,

Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?

Still sounds the solemn knell in fancy's ear,

That call'd Eliza to the silent tomb;

To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year!

How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest bloom!

Ah! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave,

Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace;

Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave,

Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race.

The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust,

The arch with proud memorials array'd,

The long-liv'd pyramid shall sink in dust

To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade.

Fancy from joy still wanders far astray.

Ah, Melancholy! how I feel thy power!

Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway!

But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.

The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight-waste

Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to roam,

Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last;

For long the night, and distant far his home.

[1] Such, according to Plutarch, was the scene of Brutus's death.

ELEGY.

Tir'd with the busy crowds, that all the day

Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,

My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,

'Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.

Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares,

And every weary sense compose to rest,

Lighten th' oppressive load which anguish bears,

And warm with hope the cold desponding breast.

Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow

Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown;

And on the cold earth stretch'd the son of Woe

Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown.

When rous'd by thee, on boundless pinions borne

Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove,

Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn,

Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove;

Or skims the main, and listens to the storms,

Marks the long waves roll far remote away;

Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms,

Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day.

Haply, ere long, pierc'd by the howling blast,

Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam,

Plunge down th' unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast

Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb:

Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile

Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale,

Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours beguile,

And airs of rapture warble in the gale.

Instructive emblem of this mortal state!

Where scenes as various every hour arise

In swift succession, which the hand of Fate

Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.

Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys,

Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store;

Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys,

Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.

And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm

Of angry Fortune overhang awhile,

Let not her frowns your inward peace deform;

Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.

Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn,

'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife;

But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn,

When Death awakes us to immortal life.

ELEGY.

Exults the fluttering heart, O Mortal-born,

If Fame pronounce thee beautiful and wise,

If pompous blazonry thy name adorn!----

Approach, with trembling awe, where **** lies;

And pause; and know thy boasted honours vain.

Vain all the gifts that fortune can bestow.

Late shone around Her all the gorgeous train,

But shine not round the mouldering dust below.

Gaz'd at from far by Envy's lifted eye

What then avails to deck th' exalted scene,

If there the blasting storms of anguish fly,

If Frailty there displays her withering mien?

But Virtue (sacred plant!) no soil disdains;

The plant that Frailty's fiercest frown defies.

Retir'd it blooms amid the lowly plains;

Or decks the mountain's brow that mates the skies,

And there conspicuous forms the Pilgrim's bower,

When Sorrow darts direct the feverish ray;

And forms his shelter from the tempest's power

In stern Oppression's desolating day.

This, Grandeur, be thy praise; 'tis more than fame.

This praise was Hers; yet not to this confin'd,

Hers was th' indulgent soul untaught to blame,

Hers all the graces of the mildest mind.

Slight is your wound, who mourn a Guardian lost,

Though grief's sharp sting now prompts the pious sigh;

He lives the friend of man, the Muse's boast,

And Bounty's hand shall wipe your streaming eye.

But ah! what balm shall heal His bleeding heart,

Who for the Friend, and for the Lover mourns!

Of all the joys that friendship can impart,

When love's divinest flame united burns,

Possess'd so late! but now possess'd no more!--

Thus triumphs fate o'er all that charms below;

Thus curbs the storm till joy's meridian hour,

To wrap the smiling scene in darker woe.

Sole object of a Mother's tender care,

Could ought of song avail to ease thy pain;

Or charm a Parent's, Sister's, Friend's despair;

Fain would the Muse attempt some soothing strain.

But what can soothe, when Hope denies her aid!

Far in the silent depth of yonder gloom,

Where the weak lamp wan wavers o'er the dead,

She hides in sable dust her sparkling plume.

T' enrage their smart, Remembrance wakes severe,

And bids the vanish'd years again to roll;

Again they seem that soothing voice to hear,

Again those looks shoot transport to the soul.

The vision flies, and leaves the mind to mourn,

Saddening each scene that pleas'd while She was by;

For ah! those vanish'd years no more return;

Mute the soft voice, and clos'd the gentle eye.

Come, Resignation, with uplifted brow,

And eye of rapture smiling though in tears;

Come, for thou lov'st the silent house of woe,

When no fond friend the abandon'd mansion cheers.

Come, for 'tis thine to soothe the Mourner's smart,

The throbs of hopeless anguish to control,

With healing balm to point Death's levell'd dart,

And melt in heavenly dreams the parting soul.

We mark'd Thy triumphs in that hour of dread;

When from Her eyes, that look'd a last adieu,

Each weeping friend seem'd vanishing in shade,

And darkening slow the swimming scene withdrew.

'Twas then, Her pale cheek caught Thy rapturous smile,

Thy cheering whispers calm'd her labouring breast,

And hymns of quiring angels charm'd the while;

Till the weak frame dissolv'd in endless rest.

THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS.

A FABLE.