j^iyg0rjpg.Lli a,f!. ^..,... 6-4J?'J'- f DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure l^om THE COLERIDGE COLLECTION POEMS, BY S. T. COLERIDGE, SECOND EDITION. TO WHICH ARE NOW ADDED POEMS By CHARLES LAMB, AND CHARLES LLOYD. Duplex nobis vinculum, et amicitise et similium junftarumque Camcenarum ; quod utinam neque mors solvat, neque temporis longinquitas ! GrascoU. Epist. ad Car. IJtenbov. et Ptol. Lux.Tast. PRINTED BY N. BIGGS, FOR J, COTTLEj BRISTOL, AND MESSRS, ROBINSONS, LONDON. 1797- ^OEtttS* ^» C» Colentrge* Felix curarura, cul non H«llconia cordi Serta, nee imbelles Parnassi e verticc launis ! Sed viget ingenium, et magnos acclnftus in usus Fert animus quascunque vices. Nos tristia vitas Solamur cantu. Stat.Silv. Ljb.iv, 4. 263817 CONTENTS, Poems by S. T. Coleridge. Dedication^ - - - _ vii Preface to the Firft Edition,xiii Preface to the Second Edit. xvii. Ode to the Neiu Year^ ' - i Monody on Chatterton - 17 Songs of the Pixies, - - 29 The Rose, - - - - 41 The Kiss, - - - - 43 To a young Ass, _ _ - 4^ Domestic Peace, - _ - 48 The Sigh, - - - - - 49 Epitaph on an Infant, - - 51 Lines on the Man of Ross, 52 to a beautiful Spring, 54 on the Death of a Friend 57 To a young Lady, - - 61 To a Friend, with an unfin- ished Poem, - - - 65 Bonnets. To W. L. Bowles, - - 75 On a discovery made too late, 76 On Hope, - - - - - 77 To the River Otter , _ _ 78 On Brockly Comb, - - 79 To an old Man, - - - 81 Sonnet, ------ 82 To Schiller, - - - - 83 On the Birth of a Son^ - - 85 On first seeing my Infant ^ 87 Ode !o Sara, - - - - 88 Composed at Clevcdon, - 96 On leaving a Place of Resi- dence^ ----- 100 On an unfortunate JVoman^ 105 On observing a Blossom^ 107 The Hour ivhen lue shall meet again ^ - - - 1O9 Lines to C. Lloyd j - - lio Religious Musings, - - 117 Poems by Charles Lloyd. The Melancholy Man, - 153 The Maniac, - - - - 161 Lines on the death of an infant, - - - - - 165 Sonnets. To Craig-Millar Castle, - 169 To Scotland, - . - - 170 To November, - - - - 171 To Thomas Pemberton, - 17a Sonnet 5, ----- 174 Sonnet 6, - - - - - 175 Sonnet 7, ----- 176 Sonnet 8, - - - - - 177 Sonnet 9, ..... 178 263817 VI. Lines to S. T. Coleridge, - 179 Christmas, ----- 182 Poems on the Death of PRIS- c i l l a Farm e r. Introductory Sonnet, - - 193 Dedication, - - _ _ 1^5 Sonnet i, - _ - _ igy Sonnet 2, - - - _ i^g Sonnet 3, - - - - 199 Sonnet 4, - _ - _ 200 Sonnet 5, - _ _ _ 201 Sonnet 6, - - - _ 202 Sonnet 7, . _ _ _ 203 Sonnet 8, - - - - 204 Sonnet 9, - - _ _ 205 Sonnet 10, _ _ - _ 207 Written on a Friday, - 207 Poems by Charles Lamb. Dedication, 2i§ Sonnet I, 217 Sonnet 2, 218 Sonnet 3, 219 Sonnet 4, 220 Sonnet 5, 221 Sonnet 6, 222 Sonnet 7, 223 Sonnets, ,,.... 224. Fragments. Childhood, 225^ Grandame, 228 The Sabbath Bells, . . 231 ! Fancy, 233 The Tomb of Douglas, . 234 Lines to Charles Lioyd, . 238 Supplement. Advertisement, .... 243 Lines to Joseph Codle, by S. T. Coleridge, . . ^246 On an Autumnal Evening, by ditto, 249 In the manner of Spencer, by ditto, 256 The Composition of a Kiss, by ditto, 260 To an Infant, by ditto, . 262 On the Christening of a Friend's Child ^ by dit^o, 364 To the Genius of Shake- speare, by Charles Lloyd, 297 Written after a Journey into North Wales, by ditto, . 270 A Vision of Repentance, by Charles Lamb, . . 273 DEDICATION. To the Reverend GEORGE COLERIDGE, OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON. Notus in fratres animi paterni. Hor, Carm. Lib. //. 2. A blessed Lot hath he, who having past His youth and early manhood in the stir And turmoil of the world, retreats at length. With cares that move, not agitate the heart. To the same Dwelling where his Father dwelt i And haply views his tottering little ones Embrace those aged knees and climb that lap. On which first kneeling his own Infancy Lisp'd its brief prayer. Such, my earliest Friend ! Vlll. Thy Lot, and such thy Brothers too enjoy. At distance did ye climb Life's upland road. Yet cheer'd and cheering : now fraternal Love Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live ! To me th' Eternal Wisdom hath dispens'd A different fortune and more different mind — Me from the spot where first I sprang to light. Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix'd Its first domestic loves 5 and hence through life Chacing chance-started Friendships. A brief while Some have preserv'd me from life's pelting ills ; But, like a Tree with leaves of feeble stem. If the clouds lasted, or a sudden breeze Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once Dropt the colle6ted shower : and some most false. False and fair-foliag'd as the Manchineel > IX. Have tempted me to slumber in their shade E'en mid the storm j then breathing subtlest damps, Mix'd their own venom with the rain from heaven. That I woke poison'd ! But, all praise to Him Who gives us all things, more have yielded me Permanent shelter : and beside one Friend, Beneath th' impervious covert of one Oak, I've rais'd a lowly shed, and know the names Of Husband and of Father ; nor unhearing Of that divine and nightly-whispering Voice, Which from my childhood to maturer years Spake to me of predestinated wreaths. Bright with no fading colours ! Yet at times My soul is sad, that I have roam'd through life Still most a Stranger, most with naked heart «3 X. At mine own home and birth-place : chiefly then, "When I remember thee, my earliest Friend ! Thee, who didst watch my boy-hood and my youth j Didst trace my wanderings with a father's eye ; And boding evil yet still hoping good Rebuk'd each fault and wept o'er all my woes. Who counts the beatings of the lonely heart. That Being knows, how I have lov'd thee ever, Lov'd as a Brother, as a Son rever'd thee ! O tis to me an ever-new delight. My eager eye glist'ning with mem'ry's tear, To talk of thee and thine j or when the blast Of the shrill winter, ratfling our rude sash. Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl 3 Or when, as now, on some delicious eve. We in our sweet sequester'd Orchard-plot Sit on the Tree crook'd earth^ward y whose old boughs, XI. That hang above us in an arborous roof, Stirr d by the faint gale of departing May Send their loose blossoms slanting o'er our heads ! Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours. When with the joy of hope thou gav'st thine ear To my wild firstling lays. Since then my song Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem Or that sad wisdom, folly leaves behind ; Or the high raptures of prophetic Faith ; Or such, as tun'd to these tumultuous times Cope with the tempest's swell ! ■\ These various songs. Which I have fram'd in many a various mood. Accept my Brother ! and (for some perchance Will strike discordant on thy milder mind) ci 4 xii. If aught of Error or intemperate Truth Should meet thine ear, think thou that riper Age Will calm it down, and let thy Love forgive it ! S. r. COLERWGK May 26th, 1797. Nether-'StQiveyj Somerset. PREFACE To the FIRST EDITION. Compositions resembling those of the present volume are not unfrequently condemned for their quenil-jus Egotism. But Egotism is to be condemned then only when it otfends against Time and Place, as in an History or an Epic Poem. To censure it in a Monody or Sonnet is almost as absurd as to dislike a circle for being round. Why then write Sonnets or Monodies ? Because they give me pleasure when perhaps nothing else could. After the more violent emotions of Sorrow, the mind demands amusement, and can find it in employ- ment alone j but full of its late sufferings, it can endure no employment not in some measure conne6ted with them. Forcibly to turn away our attention to general subjects is a painful and mo3t often an unavailing effort : XIV. But O ! how grateful to a wounded heart The tale of Misery to impart— From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow, And raise esteem upon the base of Woe ! Shaw. The communicativeness of our Nature leads us to describe our own sorrows ; in the endeavour to describe them, intelle6tual a6livity is exerted; and from intelledual activity there results a pleasure, which is gradually associated, and mingles as a corredive, with the painful subjed of the description. " True !" (it may be an- swered) " but how are the Public interested in your Sorrows or your Description ?" We are for ever attributing personal Unities to imaginary Aggregates. — What is the Public, but a term for a number of scattered Individuals ? Of whom as many will be interested in these sorrows, as have experienced the same or similar. " Holy be the lay Which mourning soothes the mourner on his way." If I could judge of others by myself, I should not hesitate to affirm, that the moft interesting passages in our most interesting Poems are those, in which the Author developes his own feelings. XV. The sweet voice of *Cona never sounds so sweetly^ as when it speaks of itself 3 and I should almost suspe6t that man of an unkindly heart, who could read the opening of the third book of the Paradise Lost without peculiar emotion. By a law of our Nature, he, who labours under a strong feeling, is impelled to seek for sympathy j but a Poet's feelings are all strong. — Quicquid amet valde amat. — Akcnside therefore speaks with philosophical accuracy, when he classes Love and Poetry, as producing the same effects : '• Love and the wish of Poets when their tongue Would teach to others' bosoms, what so charmi Their own." Pleasures of Imagination. There is one species of Egotism which is truly disgusting 3 not that which leads us to com- municate our feelings to others, but that which would reduce the feelings of others to an identity with our own. The Atheist, who exclaims, " pshaw !" when he glances his eye on the praises of Deity, is an Egotist : an old man, when he speaks contemptuously of Love^ Ossian. »> XVI. verses, is an Egotist : and the sleek Favorites of Fortune are Egotists, wnen they condemn all " melancholy, discontented" verses. Surely, it would be candid not merely to ask whether the poem pleases ourselves, but to consider whether or no there may not be others, to whom it is well-calculated to give an innocent pleasure. I shall only add, that each of my readers will, 1 hope, remember, that these Poems on various subjedts, which he reads at one time and under the influence of one set of feelings, were written at different times and prompted by very different feelings j and therefore that the sup- posed inferiority of one Poem to another may sometimes be owing to the temper of mind, in which he happens to peruse it. S. T. C. PREFACE To the SECOND EDITION. I RETURN my acknowledgments to the different Reviewers for the assistance, which they have afforded me, in detefting my poetic deficiencies. I have endeavoured to avail myself of their remarks : one third of the former Volume I have omitted, and the imperfei^ions of the republished part must be considered as errors of taste, not faults of carelessness. My poems have been rightly charged with a pro- fusion of double-epithets, and a general turgid- ness.' I have pruned the double-epithets with no sparing hand 3 and used my best efforts to tame the swell and glitter both of thought and di6tion. This latter fault however had insinu- ated itself into my Religious Musings with such intricacy of jinion, that sometimes I have omitted to disentangle the weed from the fear of snapping the flower. A third and heavier XVlll. accusation has been brought against me, that of obscurity J but not, I think, with equal justice. An Author is obscure, when his conceptions are dim and imperfed, and his language incorred, or unappropriate, or involved. A poem that abounds in allusions, like the Bard of Gray, or one that impersonates high and abstrad truths, like Collins's Ode on the poetical charader 3 claims not to be popular — ^but should be acquitted of obscurity. The deficiency is in the Reader. But this is a charge which every poet, whose imagination is warm and rapid, must expe6t from his contemporaries. Milton did not escape it 3 and it was adduced with virulence against Gray and Collins. "We now hear no more of it 5 not that their poems arc better understood at present, than they were at their first publication j but their fame is esta- blished J and a critic would accuse himself of frigidity or inattention, who should profess not to understand them. But a living writer is yet sub judice; and if we cannot follow his conceptions or enter into his feelings, it is more consoling to our pride to consider him as lost beneath, than as soaring above, us. If any XIX. man expe6t from my poems the same easiness of style which he admires in a drinking-song, for him I have not written. Intelligibilia, non intelledum adfero. I exped neither profit or general fame by my writings j and I consider myself as having been amply repayed without either. Poetry has been to me its own " exceeding great reward:" it has soothed my affli£tions, it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments 5 it has endeared solitude j and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and the Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me. There were inserted in my former Edition, a few Sonnets of my Friend and old School-fellow, Charles Lamb. He has now communicated to me a complete CoUedion of all his Poems -, quae qui non prorsus amet, ilium omnes et Virtutes et Veneres odore. My friend, Charles Lloyd, has likewise joined me > and has con- tributed every poem of his, which he deemed worthy of preservation. With respedt to my own share of the Volume, I have omitted a third of the former Edition, and added almost XX. an equal number. The Poems thus added are marked in the Contents by Italics. Stowey, S.T. C. May, 1797. the Departing ilear- Ttt* ay ]X£ Jgivoj o^^Of/.avTsiocs 'jtovos Xf^O^Slj rOC^QLG'a-UJV ^§01[A101S E^T^IAIOJ^, To /aeAAov Tjjsr xai eru /xtjv 'ra;)^gj ifoc^wy ^scHY. Agamem. 1225. ARGUMENT. The Ode commences with an Address to the Divine Pro* videncey that regulates into one vast Harmony all the events of time' however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The Second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private joy^ and sorrows^ and devote them for awhile to the cause of human nature in general. The first Epode speaks of the Empress of Russia, who died of an Apoplexy on the lyth of November, 1 796 ; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings combined against France, The first and second Antistrophe describe the Image of the departing year, &c, as in a vision. The second Epode prophecies in anguish of spirit, the downfall of this Country, A2 ODE on the DEPARTING YEAR. STROPHE I. oPIRIT ! who sweepest the wild Harp of Timc^ It is most hard with an untroubled Ear Thy dark inwoven Harmonies to hear ! Yet, mine eye fixt on Heaven's unchanging plimc. Long had I listened, free from mortal fear. With inward stillness^, and a bowed mind : When lo ! far onwards waving on the wind I saw the skirts of the Departing Year ( " Ode on the Departing Year^—Thxs Ode was written on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of December, 1796; and published separately on the last day of the year. Starting from my silent sadness Then with no unholy madness. Ere yet the entered cloud forbade my sight, I rais'd th' impetuous song, and solemnized his flight. STROPHE II. Hither from the recent tomb ', From the prison's direr gloom j From Poverty's heart-wasting languish ; From Distemper's midnight anguish : Or where his two bright torches blending Love illumines Manhood's maze j Or where o'er cradled infants bending Hope has fix'd her wishful gaze : Hither, in perplexed dance. Ye Woes, and young-eyed Joys, advance ! By Time's wild harp, and by the Hand Whose indefatigable Sweep 7 Forbids its fateful strings to sleep, I bid you haste, a mixt tumultuous band ! From every private bower. And each domestic hearth. Haste for one solemn hour ; And with a loud and yet a louder voice. O'er Nature straggling in portentous birth. Weep and rejoice ! Still echoes the dread Name that o'er the earth Let slip the storm and woke the brood of Hell : And now advance in saintly Jubilee Justice and Truth : they too have heard the spell. They too obey thy Name, divinest Liberty ! EPODE. I mark'd Ambition in his war-array 5 I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry — *' Ah I wherefore does the Northern Conqucrcss stay? 8 " Groans not her Chariot o'er its onward way ?" FI7, mailed Monarch, fly ! Stunn'd by Death's " twice mortal " mace. No more on Murder's lurid face Th' insatiate Hag shall gloat with drunken eye ! Manes of th' unnumbered Slain ! Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain ! " Ye that erst at Ismail's tower. When human ruin chok'd the streams. Fell in Conquest's glutted hour Mid Women's shrieks and Infants' screams , Whose shrieks, whose screams were vain to stir Loud-laughing, red-eyed Massacre ! Spirits of th' uncofnn'd Slain, Sudden blasts of Triumph swelling Oft, at night, in misty train Kush around her narrow Dwelling ! Th' exterminating Fiend is fled — = 9 (Foul her Life and dark her doom ') Mighty Army of the Dead, Dance, like Death-fires, round her Tomb ! Then v/ith prophetic song relate Each some scepter'd Murderer s fate ! ANTISTROPHE I. Departing Year ! 'twas on no earthly shore My Soul beheld thy Vision. Where, alone. Voiceless and stern, before the Cloudy Throne Aye Memory sits j there, garmented with gore. With many an unimaginable groan Thou storiedst thy sad Hours ! Silence ensued : Peep silence o'er th' ethereal Multitude, Whose wreathed Locks with snow-white Glories shone, Then, his eye wild ardors glancing, From the choired Gods advancing. The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet. And stood up beautiful before the Cloudy Seat I 10 ANTISTROPHE II. On every Harp, on every Tongue, While the mute Enchantment hung j Like Midnight from a thunder-cloud. Spake the sudden Spirit loud — " Thou in stormy Blackness throning *' Love and uncreated Light, " By the Earth's unsolac'd groaning " Seize thy terrors. Arm of Might ! " By Belgium's corse impeded flood ! *' By Vendee steaming Brother's blood ! " By Peace with profFer'd insult scar'd, '' Masked hate and envying scorn ! " By Years of Havoc yet unborn 3 ^ And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bar'd ! By Belgium^ s cor senrnpcded food !" — The Rhine. 11 " But chief by Afric's wrongs " Strange, horrible, and foul ! " By what deep Guilt belongs ''• To the deaf Senate, ^' full of gifts and lies ! " '^ By Wealth's insensate laugh ! By Torture's howl ! '' Avenger^ rise ! " For ever shall the bloody Island scowl ? " For aye, unbroken, shall her cruel Bow " Shoot Famine's arrows o'er thy ravaged World ? " Hark ! how wide Nature joins her groans below— " Rise, God of Nature, rise! Ah why those bolts unhurl'd? EPODE II. The voice had ccas'd, the Phantoms fled. Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread. And ever when the dream of night Renews the vision to my sight. Cold sweat-damps gather on my limbs i 12 My Ears throb hot ; my eye-balls start j My Brain with horrid tumult swims ; Wild is the tempest of my Heart -, And my thick and struggling breath Imitates the toil of Death ! No sjtranger agony confounds The Soldier on the war-field spread. When all foredone with toil and wounds Death-like he dozes among heaps of Dead ! (The strife is o'er, the day-light fled, And the Night-wind clamours hoarse ; See I the startful Wretch's head Lies piilow'd on a Brother's Corse !) O doom'd to fall, enslav'd and vile, O Albion ! O my mother Isle ! Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers. Glitter green with sunny showers ; 13 Thy grassy Uplands' gentle swells Echo to the Bleat of Flocks ; (Those grassy Hills, those glitt'ring Dells Proudly ramparted with rocks) And Ocean mid his uproar wild Speaks safety to his Island-child. Hence for many a fearless age Has social Quiet lov'd thy shore ; Nor ever sworded Foeman's rage Or sack'd thy towers, or stain'd thy fields with gore. Disci aim'd of Heaven ! mad Av'rice at thy side At coward distance, yet with kindling pride — " Dislaim'd of Heaven /"- The Poet from having con- sidered the peculiar advantages, which this Country has enjoyed, passes in rapid transition to the uses, which wc have made of these advantages. Wc have been preserved by our insular situation, from suffering the a£lual horrors 14 Safe 'mid thy herds and corn fields thou hast stood, And johi'd the yell of Famine and of Blood. All nations curse thee : and with eager wond'ring Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream ! Strange-eyed Destruction, who with many a dream Of central fires thro' nether seas upthund'ring of War ourselves, and we have shewn our gratitude to Providence for this immunity by our eagerness to spread those horrors over nations less happily situated. In the midst of plenty and safety we have raised or joined the yell for famine and blood. Of the one hundred and seven last years, fifty have been years of war. — Such wickedness cannot pass unpunished. We have been proud and con- fident in our alliances and our fleets — but God has prepared the canker-worm, and will smite the gourds of our pride. "Art thou better than populous No, that was situate among the rivers, that had the waters round about it, whose rampart was the Sea ? Ethiopia and Egypt were her strength, and it was infinite : Put and Lubim were her helpers. Yet she was carried away, she went into captivity : 15 Soothes her fierce solitude ; yet, as she lies By livid fount, or roar of blazing stream. If ever to her lidless dragon eyes, O Albion ! thy predestin'd ruins rise. The Fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap, Mutt'ring distempered triumph in her charmed sleep. and they cast lots for her honourable men, and all her great men were bound in chains. Thou also shalt be drunken : all thy strong-holds shall be like fig trees with the first ripe figs ; if they be shaken, they shall ever fall into the mouth of the eater. Thou hast muhiplicd thy merchants above the stars of heaven. Thy crowned are as the locusts ; and thy captains as the great grasshoppers which camp in the hedges in the cool-day ; but when the Sun ariseth, they flee away, and their place is not known where they arc. There is no healing of thy bruise ; thy wound is grievous : all, that hear the report of thee, shall clap hands over thee : for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed continually ?'* NaAum, Chap. IIL i6 Away, my soul, away ! In vain, in vain, the birds of warning sing — ' And hark ! I hear the famish'd brood of prey Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind ? Away, my soul, away ! I unpartaking of the evil thing. With daily prayer, and daily toil Soliciting for food my scanty soil. Have wail'd my country with a loud lament. Now I recentcr my immortal mind In the deep sabbath of blest self-content -, Cleans'd from the fears and anguish that bedim God's Image, Sister of the Seraphim. iWlonotip tU 3Beat|) uf Cj^atteitom B 19 MONODY DEATH of CHATTERTON. W HEN faint and sad o'er Sorrow's desart wild Slow journeys onward poor Misfortune's child 3 When fades each lovely form by Fancy drest. And inly pines the self-consuming breast 5 (No scourge of scorpions in thy right arm dread. No helmed terrors nodding o'er thy head,) Assume, O DEATH ! the cherub wings of PEACE, And bid the heart-sick Wanderer's anguish cease ! Thee, Chatterton ! yon unblest stones proted From Want, and the bleak Freezings of negleft ! B2 20 Escap'd the sore wounds of Affliftion's rod Meek at the Throne of Mercy, and of God, Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptur'd hymn Amid the blaze of Seraphim ! Yet oft ('tis nature's call) I weep, that heaven-born Genius so should fall 5 And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl. Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view Thy corse of livid hue ; And now a flash of indignation high Darts thro' the tear, that glistens in mine eye ! Is this the land of song-ennobled Line ? Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain Pour'd forth his lofty strain ? Ah me ! yet Spensee, gentlest bard divine. 21 Beneath chill Disappointment's shade. His weary limbs in lonely anguifh lay'd : And o'er her darling dead Pity hopeless hung her head. While '' mid the pelting of that merciless storm," Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form ! Sublime of thought, and confident of fame. From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel"^ came. Light-hearted youth ! he hastes along. And meditates the future song. How dauntless ^lla fray'd the Dacyan foes ; See, as floating high in air Glitter the sunny visions fair. His eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows ! * Avon, a river near Bristol ; the birth place of Chattrrtnn, 11 Yes ! Clad in Nature's rich array. And bright in all her tender hues. Sweet tree of Hope ! thou loveliest child of Spring Most fair didst thou disclose thine early bloom. Loading the west-winds with its soft perfume ! And Fancy, elfin form of gorgeous wing. On every blossom hung her fostering dews, That, changeful, wanton'd to the orient day f But soon upon thy poor unsheltered head Did Penury her sickly mildew shed : And soon the scathing Light'nrng bade thee stand In frowning horror o'er the blighted land ! Ah ! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace, And Joy's wild gleams, light-flashing o'er thy face ? Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye ! Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view. On thy cold forehead starts the anguish'd dew : And dreadful was that bosom-rending sigh ! as Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour, When Care, of wither'd brow, Prepar'd the poison's power : Already to thy lips was rais'd the bowl. When near thee stood Affection meek (Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek) Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll On scenes that well might melt thy soul ; Thy native cot sl;ie flash'd upon thy view. Thy native cot, where still, at close of day. Peace smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay j Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear. And mark thy Mother's tear -, See, see her breast's convulsive throe. Her silent agony of woe ! Ah ! daih the poison 'd chalice from thy hand ! And thou had'st dafli'd it, at her soft command. But that Despair and Indignation rose. 24 And told again the story of thy woes ; Told the keen insult of th' unfeeling heart ; The dread dependence on the low-bom mind ; Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart, Negle6t, and grinning Scorn, and Want combin'd ! Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain Roll the black tide of Death thro' every freezing vein ! Ye woods ! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep. To Fancy's ear sweet is your murm'ring deep ! For ^ere she loves the cypress wreath to weave 3 Watching, with wistful eye, the sad'ning tints of eve. Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove. In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove. Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide Lone-glittering, thro' the high tree branching wide. And here, in Inspiration's eager hour. When most the big soul feels the mad'ning pow'r. 25 These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er, Round which the screaming sea- gulls soar. With wild unequal steps he pass'd along Oft pouring on the winds a broken song : Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow Would pause abrupt — and gaze upon the waves below- Poor Chatterton ! he sorrows for thy fate Who would have prais'd and lov'd thee, ere too late. Poor Chatterton ! farewell ! of darkest hues This chaplet cast I on thy unshap'd tomb 3 But dare no longer on the sad theme muse. Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom : For oh ! big gall -drops, shook from Folly's wing. Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring ; And the stem Fate transpierc'd v/ith viewless dart The last pale Hope, that shiver'd at my heart ! Hence, gloomy thoughts ! no more my soul shall dwell On joys that were ! No more endure to weigh 26 The shame and anguish of the evil d^. Wisely forgetful ! O'er the ocean swell Sublime of Hope I seek the cottag'd dell Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray j And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay. The wizard passions weave an holy spell! O Chatterton ! that thou wert yet alive ! Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the gale. And love, with us, the tinkling team to drive O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale j And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng. Hanging, enraptur'd, on thy stately song ! And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy All deftly mask'd, as hoar ANTiauiTY. Alas vain Phantasies ! the fleeting brood Of Woe self-solac'd in her dreamy mood ! 27 Yet will 1 love to follow the sweet dream. Where Susquehannah pours his untam'd stream j And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide. Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee, Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy ! And there, sooth'd sadly by the dirgeful wind. Muse on the sore ills I had left behind. Oaoher, 1794. ^ongs OP C|)e l^irits* f The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire ^ are a race of beings invisibly small^ and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county^ halfway up a wood-cover* d hill^ is an excavation^ called the Pixies* Parlour. The roots of old trees form its ceiling ; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers^ among which the Author discovered his own cypher and those of his hrotkersy cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hilljlows the river Otter. To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies, during the Summer months of the year 1793 ; ons of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen : On which occasion, and at which time, the following Irregular Ode wai written » 33 SONGS OF '^HE PIXIES. I. Whom the untaught Shepherds call Pixies in their madrigal. Fancy's children, here we dwell : Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell. Here the wren of softest note Builds it's nest and warbles well 5 Here the blackbird strains his throat : Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell. II. 34 II. When fades the moon all shadowy-pale And scuds the cloud before the gale. Ere Morn with living gems bedight Streaks the east with purple light. We lip the furze-fiowr's fragrant dews Clad in robes of rainbow hues Richer than the deepen'd bloom That glows on Summer's scented plume ; Or sport amid the rosy gleam Sooth'd by the distant- tinkling team. While lusty Labor scouting sorrow Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow. Who jogs th' accustom'd road along. And paces cheery to her cheering song. III. But not our filmy pinion We scorch amid the blaze of day. 35 When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion Flashes the fervid ray. Aye from the sultry heat We to the cave retreat O ercanopied by huge roots intertwin d With wildest texture, Jblacken'd o'er with age : Kound them their mantle green the ivies bind. Beneath whose foliage pale Fann'd by the unfrequent gale We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage. IV. Thither, while the murm'ring throng Of wild-bees, hum their drowsy song. By Indolence and Fancy brought, A youthful Bard, '' unknown to Fame," Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, And heaves the gentle mis'ry of a sigh Gazing with tearful eye, C2 36 As round our sandy grot appear Many a rudely sculptur'd name . To pensive Mem'jsy dear ! Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tin6tnr'd hue We glance before his view : O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witch Vies shed^ And twine owt faery garlands round his head. V. When Evening's dusky car Crown'd with her dewy star Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight j On leaves of aspen trees We tremble to the breeze, Veil'd from the grosser ken of mortal fight. Or, haply, at the visionary hour, - Along our wild sequeftred walk. We listen to th* enamour'd rustic's talk t 37 Heave with the heavlngs of the maiden's breast. Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle nest j Or guide of soul-subduing power Th' eledric fiafh, that from the melting eye Parts the fond question and the soft reply. VI. Or thro' the mystic ringlets of the vale We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank j Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court Circling tlie Spirit of the Western Gale, Where, wearied with his £ower-caressing sport. Supine he slumbers on a violet bank ; Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam. By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading streamy Or where his wave with loud unquiet song Pash'd o'er the rocky channel frotlis along ; C3 38 Or where, his silver waters smooth'd to rest. The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast. VII. Hence ! thou lingerer. Light ! Eve sSddens into Night. Mother of wildly-working dreams ! we view The SOMBRE HOURS, that round thee stand With down-cafl eyes (a duteous band !) Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew. Sorceress of the ebon throne ! Th^ power the Pixies own. When round thy raven brow Heaven's lucent roses glow, And clouds, in watry colours drest. Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest ; What time the pale moon sheds a softer day Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam : 39 For mid the quiv'ring light 'tis our's to play. Aye- dancing to the cadence of the stream. VIII. Welcome, Ladies ! to the cell. Where the blameless Pixies dwell. But thou, sweet Nymph ! proclaim'd our Faery Queen, With what obeisance meet Thy presence shall we greet ? For lo ! attendant on thy steps arc seen Graceful Ease in artless stole. And white-rob'd Purity of soul. With Honor's softer mein : Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair. And meek ey'd Pity eloquently fair, Whofe tearful cheeks are lovely to the view^ As snow-drop wet with dew. 40 IX. Unboastful Maid ! tho' now thg Lily palfc Transparent grace thy beauties meek ; Yet ere again along th' impurpling vale. The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove. Young Zeph3rr his fresh flowers profusely throws. We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek ; And, haply, from the ne6tar-breathing Rosg Extra6t a Blush for Love ! 41 THE ROSE. As late each flower that sweetest blows I pluck'd, tlie Garden s pride ! Within the petals of a Rose A sleeping Love I spied. Around his brows a beamy wreath Of many a lucent huej All purple glow'd his cheek, beneath. Inebriate with dew. I softly" seiz'd th" unguarded Power, Nor scar'd his balmy rest ; And plac'd him, cag d within the flower. On spotless Sara's breast. 42 But when unweeting of the guile Awoke the pris'ner sweet. He struggled to escape awhile And stamp'd his faery feet. Ah ! soon the soul-entrancing sight Subdued th' impatient boy ! He gaz'd ! he thrill'd with deep delight ! Then clapp'd his wings for joy. And 6 ! he cried — " Of magic kind " What charms this Throne endear ! " Some other Love let Venus find— ^' I'll fix my empire here," 43 THE KISS. One kiss, dear Maid ! I said and sigh'd- Your scorn the little boon denied. Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ? Can danger lurk within a kiss ? Yon viewless Wand'rer of the vale. The Spirit of the Western Gale, At Morning's break, at Evening's close Inhales the sweetness of the Rose, And hovers o'er th' unirijur'd Bloom Sighing back the soft perfume. Vigor to the Zephyr's wing Her neftar-breathing Kisses fling ; And He the glitter of the Dew 44 Scatters on the Rose's hue. Bashful lo ! she bends her head, . , And darts a blush of deeper Red ! Too well those lovely lips disclose The Triumphs of the op'ning Rose : O fair ! O graceful ! bid them prove As passive to the breath of Love. In tender accents, faint and low, Well-pleas'd I heat the whisper'd " No ! " The whisper'd *' No" how little meant 1 Sweet Falsehood, that endears Consent ! For on those lovely lips the while Dawns the soft relenting smile. And tempts with feign d dissuasion coy The gentle violence of Joy. 43 TO A YOUNG ASS, ITS MOTHEB BEING TETHERED NEAR IT, X OOR little Foal of an oppressed Race ! I love the languid Patience of thy face : And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread. And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head. But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismay 'd. That never thou dost sport alang the glade ? And (most unlike the nature of things young) That earth -ward still thy moveless head is hung ? Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate. Meek Child of Misery ! thy future fate ? — The starving meal, and all the thousand aches *•' Which patient Merit of th' Unworthy takes ?" Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain To see thy \\Tetclied Mother's shorten'd Chain ? 46 And truly, very piteous is her Lot Chain'd to a Log within a narrow spot Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen. While sweet around her waves the tempting Green ! Poor Ass ! thy Master should have learnt to shew Pity — best taught by fellowship of Woe ! For much I fear me, that He lives, like thee, Half-famish'd in a land of Luxury ! How ashngly it's footsteps hither bend ? It seems to say, " And have I then one Friend ?" Innocent Foal ! thou poor despis'd Forlorn ! I hail thee Brother — spite of the fool's scorn !. And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell. Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bridc^ And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side ! How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play. And frisk about, as Lamb or Kitten gay ! 47 Yea ! and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonan*^^ harsh Bray of Joy would be. Than warbled Melodies that sooth to rest The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast! Decemltr^ 1^94, 43 DOMESTIC PEACE. 1 ELL me, on what holy ground May Domestic Peace be found ? Halcyon Daughter of the skies. Far on fearful wings she flies. From the pomp of scepter'd State, From the Rebel's noisy hate. In a cottaged vale She dwells List'ning to the Sabbath bells 1 Still around her steps are seen Spotless Honor's meeker mien. Love, the sire of pleasing fears, SoKROW smiling through her tears. And conscious of the past employ Memory, bosom-spring of joy* 49 THE SIGH. \V HEN Youth his faery reign began Ere Sorrow had proclaim'd me man 3 While Peace the present hour beguil'd^ And all the lovely Prospe6t smil'd 5 Then, Mary ! 'mid my lightsome glefe I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee. And when, along the waves of woe. My harass'd Heart was doom'd to know The frantic Burst of Outrage keen. And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen 3 Then shipwreck'd on Life's stormy sea 1 heav'd an anguish'd Sigh for thee! But soon Reflection's power imprest A ftiller sadness on my breast 3 D 50 And sickly Hope with waning eye Was well content to droop and die : 1 yielded to the stern decree. Yet heav'd a languid Sigh for thee ! And tho' in distant climes to roam, A Wanderer from my native home, I fain would sooth the sense of Care And lull to sleep the Joys, that were t Thy Image may not banish'd be — Still, Mary ! still I sigh for thee. JUNE, 1794. 51 EPITAPH ON AN INFANT, JjiRE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade. Death came with friendly care 3 The opening bud to Heaven convcy'd And bade it blossom there. 52 LINES mhten at the KIJSTG's-ylRMS, BOSS, Formerly the House of the "MAN OF ROSSr XvlCHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards. Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords, Here dwelt the Man of Ross ! O Trav'ller; hear ! Departed Merit claims a reverent tear. Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass. Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass : To higher zest shall Mem'ry wake thy soul. And Virtue mingle in th' ennobled bowl. Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health. With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth ; He hears the widow's heayen-breath'd prayer of praise. 53 He marks the slielter'd orphan's tearful gaze. Or where the sorrow-shrivel'd captive lay, Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray. But if, like me, thro' life's diftressful scene Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been ; And if, thy breast with heart-lick anguilh fraught. Thou journeyest onward tempest-tost in thought j Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt. And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt ! D3 54 ' LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE. UNCE more, sweet Stream ! with slov/ foot wan- d ring near I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. Escap'd the flafliing of the noontide hours With one frelh garland of Pierian flowers (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. For not thro' pathless grove with murmur rude Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph. Solitude : Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well. The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell ? 55 Pride of the Vale ! thy useful streams supply The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, K'ileas'd from school, their little hearts at rest. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. The rustic here at eve with pensive look Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook. Or starting pauses v^^ith hope-mingled dread To list the much-lov'd maid's accustom'd treads She, vainly mindful of her dame's command. Loiters, the long-fiU'd pitcher in her hand. ,Unboastful Stream ! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls. What time the morning sun of Hope arose. And ail was joy ; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impi6tur'd on thy breast. 56 Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon Or silv'rj' stole beneath the pensive Moon. Ah ! now it works rude brakes and thorns among. Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along ! 57 LINES On a F R I E N D, \\HO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER, Induced ty Calumnious Reports, JjiDMUND ! thy grave with aching eye I scan. And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast, Man ! 'Tis tempest all or gloom : in early youth If gifted with the Itlmriel lance of Truth We force to start amid her feign'd caress Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness, » A Brother's fate wjU haply rouse the tear. And on we go in heaviness and fear ! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, 5S The faithless guest shall stamp th' inchantcd ground And mingled forms of Mis'ry rise around : Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast, That courts the future woe to hide the past ; Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side ; And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied : Till Frenzy, iierce-ey'd child of moping pain. Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain. Hest, injur d shade ! Shall Slander squatting near "Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear ? 'Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe; Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies. The zonelesr Cares, and smiling Courtesies. Nurs'd in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew, ^ Arid in thy heart they wither'd ! Such chill dew Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed; 59 And Vanity her filmy net-work spread. With eye that roll'd around in asking gaze. And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. Thy follies such ! the hard world mark'd them well — Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? Rest, injur'd shade ! the poor man's grateful prayer On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bean As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass. And sit me down upon its recent grass. With introverted eye I contemplate Similitude of soul, perhaps of — Fate ! To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd Energic Reason and a shaping mind. The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. Sloth-jaundic'd all ! and from my graspless hand Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour glass sand. 6o I weep, yet stoop not \ the faint anguish flows, A dreamy pang in Morning's fev'rish doze. Is this pil'd earth our Being's passless mound ? Tell me, cold grave ! is Death with poppies crown'd ? Tir'd Centinel ! mid fitful starts I nod. And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod t November, 1794, (5i TO A r U N G L A D r, WITH A POEM On the FRENCH REVOLUTION. iVlUCH on my early youth I love to dwell. Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell, Wliere first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale, I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale ! Yet tho' the hours flew by on careless wing. Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing. Aye as the star of evening flung its beam Jn broken radiance on the wavy stream. My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom 62 Mourn'd with the breeze, O * Lee Boo ! o'er thy tomb. Where er I wander'd. Pity still was near, Breath'd from the heart and glisten'd in the tear : No knell that toll'd, but fill'd my anxious eye. And snfF'ring Nature wept that one should die ! % Thus to sad sympathies I sooth'd my breast. Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West : When slumb'ring Freedom rous'd by high Disdain With giant fury burst her triple chain ! Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd 3 Her Banners, like a midnight Meteor, flow'd 3 * Lee Boo, thesonof Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands, came over to England with Captain Wilfon, died of the small-pox, and is buried in Qrecnwich Church-yard. See Keate's Account. :*: Southey'^ Retrospeft. 63 Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes ! Then Exultation wak'd the patriot fire And swept with wilder hand th' Alcoean lyre ; Red from the Tyrants' wound I shook the lance. And strode in joy the reeking plains of France ! Pall'n is th' oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low. And my heart akes, tho' Mercy struck the blow. With wearied thought once more I seek the shade. Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid. And 6 ! if Eyes, whose holy glances roll. Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul } If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen Shaping celestial forms in vacant air. If these demand th' empassion'd Poet's care — If Mirth, and soften'd Sense, and Wit refin'd^- 64 The blameless features of a lovely mind ; Then haply shall my trembling hand assign No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine. Nor^ Sara! thou these early flowers refuse Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues : No purple bloom the Child of Natm-e brings From Flatt'rys night-shade : as he feels, he sings. 65 To a FRIEND, TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM, l.HUS far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme Elaborate and swelling : yet the heart Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers I ask not now, my friend ! the aiding verse. Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know) From business wand'ring far and local cares. Thou creepest round a dear-lov'd Sister's bed Witlf noiseless step, and watchest the faint look. Soothing each pang with fond solicitude, E 66 And tenderest tones medicinal of love. I too a Sister had, an only Sister She lov'd me dearly, and I doted on her ! To her I pour'd forth all my puny sorrows, (As a sick Patient in bis Nurse's arms) And of the heart those hidden maladies That shrink asham'd from even Friendship's eye- O ! I have woke at midnight, and have wept. Because she was not ! — Cheerily, dear Charles! Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year : Such warm presages feel I of high Hope. For not uninterested the dear maid I've view'd-^her soul affeftionate yet wise, Her polish'd wit as mild as lambent glories. That play around a sainted infant's head. He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees. Of whose omniscient and all spreading Love 67 Aught to I implore were impotence of mind) That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne^ Prepar'd, when he his healing ray vouchsafes. To pour forth thanksgiving with lifted heart. And praise Him Gracious with a Brother's Joy ! December f 1794. %. I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the Lines Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love Aught to implore were impotence of mind, it being written in Scripture, " Ask^ and it shall be given you," and my human reason being moreover convinced of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity. E2 ^(mntta. ArrEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF THE REV. W. L. BOWLES. Non ita certandi cupidusj quant propter amorem Sluod te IMITARI aveo. LUCRET. E3 71 INTRODUCTION TO THE SONNETS. X HE composition of the Sonnet has been regulated by Boileau in his Art of Poetry, and since Boileau, by William Preston, in the clegant^reface to his Amatory Poems : the rules, which they would establish, are founded on the praflice of Petrarch. I have never yet been able lo discover either sense, nature, or poetic fancy in Petrarch's poems ; they appear to me all one cold glitter of heavy conceits and metaphysical abstradions. However, Petrarch, although not the inventor of the Sonnet, was th« firft who made it popular; and his countrymen have taken his poems as the model. Charlotte Smith and Bowles are they who firft made the Sonnet popular among the prefent Englifli : I am juftified therefore by analogy in deducing its laws from their compositions. The Sonnet then is a fmall poem, in which some lonely feeling is developed. It is limited to z. particular number of lines, in order that the reader's mind having expedled the close at the place in which he finds it, may reft satisfied ; and that so the poem may acquire, as it were, a Totality ^ — in plainer phrase, may become a JVhole. It is confined to fourteen lines, because as some particular number is ncces- E 4 sary n sary, and that particular number must be a small one, it may as well be fourteen as any other number. When no reason can be adduced against a thing, Custom is a sufficient reason for it. Perhaps, if the Sonnet were com- prized in less than fourteen lines, it would become a serious Epigram ; if it extended to more, it would encroach on the province of the Elegy. Poems, in which no lonely feeling is developed, are not Sonne s because the Author has chosen to write them in fourteen lines : they should rather be entitled Odes, or Songs, or Inscriptions. The greater part of Warton's Sonnets are severe and masterly like- nesses of the style of the Greek zHiy^CL^^CLtCL. In a Sonnet then we require a dev elopement of some lonely feeling, by whatever cause it may have been excited ; but those Sonnets appear to me the most exquisite, in which moral Sentiments, Affedlions, or Feelings, are dedu- ced from, and associated with, the scenery of Nature. Such compositions generate a habit of thought highly favourable to delicacy of charadler. They create a sweet and indissoluble union between the intelleftual and the material world. Easily remembered from their briefness, and interesting alike to the eye and the affedions, th^se are the poems which we can " lay up in our heart, and our soul," and repeat them ** when we walk by the way, and when we lie down, and when we rise up." Hence, the Sonnets of Bowles derive their marked superiority over all other Sonnets ; hence they domesticate with the heart, and become, as it were, a part ©f our ide»tity. 73 Respedling the metre of a Sonnet, the Writer should consult his own convenience. — Rhymes, many or few, or no rhymes at all — whatever the chastity of his ear may prefer, whatever the rapid expression of his feelings will permit; — all these things are left at his own disposal. A sameness in the final sound of its words is the great and grevious defeft of the Italian language. That rule there- fore, which the Italians have established, of exadlly yb«r different sounds in the Sonnet, seems to have arisen from their wish to have as many, not from, any dread of finding more. But surely it is ridiculous to make the defeB of a foreign language a reason for our not availing ourselves of one of the marked excellencies of our own. " The Sonnet (says Preston) will ever be cultivated by those who write on tender pathetic subje£ls. It is peculiarly adapted to the state of a man violently agitated by a real passion, and wanting composure and vigor of mind to methodize his thought. It is fitted to express a momentary burst of passion," &c. Now, if there be one species of compo- sition more difficult and artificial than another, it is an English Sonnet on the Italian Model. Adapted to the agitations of a real passion ! Express momentary bursts of feeling in it ! I should sooner expedl to write pathetic Axes or pour forth extempore Eggs and Altars \ But the best confutation of such idle rules is to be found in the Sonnets of those who have observed them, in their inverted sen- tences, their quaint phrases, and incongruous mixture of obsolete and Spenserian words : and when, at last, the thing u thing is toiled and hammered into fit shape, it i« in general racked and tortured Prose rather than any thing resembling Poetry. The Sonnet has been ever a favorite species of composi- tion with me ; but I am conscious that I have not suc- ceeded in it. From a large number I have retained ten wily, as not beneath mediocrity. Whatever more i« said of them, ponamus lucro. ' S. T. COLERIDGE. I 1^ SONNET I. JVlY heart has thank'd thee, Bowles ! for those soft strains Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring ! For hence not callous to the mourner's pains Thro' Youth's gay prime and thojmless paths I went And when the darker day of life began. And I did roam, a thought-bcwilder'd man ! Their mild and manliest melancholy lent A mingled charm, which oft the pang conlign'd To slumber, tho* the big tear it renew'd : Bidding such strange mysterious pleasure brood Over the wavy and timiultuous mind. As made the soul enamour'd of her woe : No common praise, dear Bard ! to thee I owe ! 76 SONNET n. On a Discovery made too late. 1 HOU bleedeft, my poor Heart ! and thy distress Reas'ning I ponder with a scornful smile And probe thy sore wound sternly, the' the while Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness. Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland ? Or list'ning, why forget the healing tale, "When Jealousy with fev'rish fancies pale Jarr'd thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand ? Faint was that Hofe, and rayless ! — Yet 'twas fair And sooth'd with many a dream the hour of rest : Thou should'st have lov'd it most, when most opprest. And nurs'd it with an agony of Care, Ev'n as a Mother her sweet infant heir. That wan and sickly droops upon her breast ! n SONNET III. X HOU gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile, Why hast thou left me ? Still in some fond dream Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile ! As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam : What time, in sickly mood, at parting day I lay me down and think of happier years 3 Of Joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray. Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. O pleasant days of Hope — ^for ever flown ! Could I recall you ! — But that thought is vain. Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone To lure the fleet-wing'd Travellers back again : Yet fair, tho' faint, their images shall gleam Like the bright Rainbow on an evening stream. 78 SO N N E T IV. To the River Otter* Dear native Brook ! wild Streamlet of the West ! How many various-fated Years have past. What blissful and what anguish'd hours, since last I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast. Numbering its light leaps ! Yet so deep imprest Sink the sweet scenes of Childhood, that mine eyes 1 never shut amid the sunny blaze. But strait with all their tints thy waters rise, Thy crossing plank, thy margin's willowy ma^e. And bedded sand that vein'd with various dies Gleam'd thro' thy bright transparence to the gaze ! Visions of Childhood ! oft have ye beguil'd Lone Manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs. Ah I that once more I were a careless Child ! 79 SOJSrJSFET V. Composed while climbing the left ascent of BROCKLEY- COOMB, IN THE COUNTY OF SOMERSET, May, 1795. W ITH many a pause and oft reverted eye I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near • Warble in shade their wild-wood melody : Far off th' unvarying Cuckoo soothes ray ear. Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock That on green plots o'er precipices browze : From the forc'd fissures of the naked rock The Yew tree bursts ! Beneath its dark green boughs (Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white) Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats. 80 I rest. — And now have gain'd the topmost site. Ah ! what a luxury of landscape meets My gaze ! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me 3 Elm-shadow'd Fields, and prospe6t-bounding Sea ! Deep sighs my lonely heart : I drop the tear : Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here ! 81 SOJ^TKET VL bWEET Mercy ! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man ! and thy grey hairs Hoar with the snowy blast ; while no one cares To cloathe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head. My Father ! tlirow away this tatter 'd vest That mocks thy shiv'ring ! take my garment — use A young man^^^rm ! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child : And thou shalt talk, in our fire side's recess. Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness. — He did not scowl, the GALiLiEAN mild. Who met the Lazar turn'd from rich man's doors. And call'd him Friend, and wept upon his sores ! F 82 SONNET ril. i ALE Roamer thro' the Night ! thou poor Forlorn f Remorse that man on his death-bed possess. Who in the credulous hour of tenderness Betrayed, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn ! The world is pityless ; the Chaste one's pride. Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress : Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride : And Vice alone will shelter Wretchedness ! O ! I am sad to think, that there should be Cold-bosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery, And force from Famine the caress of Love ! May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace. He, the great Comforter that rules above I r 83 SOJSfNET nil To the Author of " THE ROBBERS.'* Schiller I * that hour I would have wish'd to die, If thro' the shudd'ring midnight I had sent From the dark Dungeon of the Tower time-rent That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's cry — That in no after moment aught less vast Might stamp me mortal ! A triumphant shout Black Horror scream'd and all htr gohlln rout From * One night in Winter, on leaving a College -friend's room, with whom I had supped, I carelessly took away with me **Thc Robbers*' a drama, the very name of which I had never before heard of: — A Winter mid- night — the wind high — and "The Robbers" for the first time ! The readers of Schiller will conceive what I felt. Schiller introduces no supernatural beings ; yet hl that swell The open'd Rose ! From heaven they fell^ And with the sun-beam blend j Blest visitations from above : Such are the tender woes of Love Fost'ring the heart, they bend ! When stormy Midnight howling round Beats on our roof with clatt'ring sound. To me your arms you'll stretch : Great God ! you'll say — To us so kind, O shelter from this loud bleak wind The houseless, friendless wretch I ' 93 The tears that tremble down your cheek. Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek 111 Pity's dew divine J And from your heart the sighs that steal Shall make your rising bosom feel The answ'ring swell of mine ! How oftj my Love ! with shapings sweet I paint the moment, we shall meet ! With eager speed I dart I seize you in the vacant air^, And fancy, with a Husband's care I press you to my heart! 'Tis said, on Summer's evening hour Flashes the* golden-colour'd flower * hi G HT Jrom plants. In Sweden a very curiofls phenomenon has been observed on certain flowers by M. Haggern, lefturer in natural history. One evening he perceived a faint flash of light repeatedly dart from a 94 A fair electric flame: And so shall flash my love-charg'd eye marigold. Surprized at such an uncommon appearance, he resolved to examine it with attention ; and, to be assured it was no deception of the eye, he placed a man near him, with orders to make a signal at the moment ■when he observed the light. They both saw it constantly at the same moment. The light was most brilliant on marigolds of an orange- or flame colour ; but scarcely visible on pale ones. The flash was frequently seen on the same flower two or three times in quick Successon ; but more commonly at intervals of several minutes ; and when several flowers in the same place emitted their light together, it could be observed at a considerable distance. This phenomenon was remarked in the months of July and August at sun-set, and for half an hour, when the atmosphere was clear; but after a rainy day, or when the air was loaded with vapours nothing of it was seen. The following flowers emitted flashes, more or less vivid, in this order : 1. The marigold, galendula officinalis. 2. Monk's-hood, tropctlum majus. 95 When all the heart's big ecstacy Shoots rapid thro' the frame ! 3. The orange-lily, lilium bulbiferum, 4. The Indian pink, tagetes patula & ereBa, From the rapidity of the flash, and other circum- stances, it may be conjeftured that there is something of eleftricity in this phenomenon. qQ COMPOSED at CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE. JVlYpensiTe Sara ! thy soft cheek reclin'd Thus on mine arm^ most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o'er grown With whitc-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love ! ) And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow-sad'ning round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be) Shine opposite ! How exquisite the scents Snatch'd from yon bean-field ! and the world so hush'd ! The stilly murmur of the distant Sea Tells us of Silence. And that simplest Lute 97 Plac'd length-ways in the clasping casement, hark 1 How by the desultory breeze caress'd. Like some coy Maid half-yielding to her Lov«r, It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong ! And now its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Faery Land, Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause nor perch, hov'ring on untam'd wing. And thus, my Love ! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon. Whilst thro' my half-clos'd eyelids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, G 98 And tranquil muse upon tranquillity 5 . Full many a thought uncall'd and undetainM, And many idle flitting phantasies. Traverse my indolent and passive brain. As wild and various as the random gales That swell or flutter on this subjcd Lute ! And what if all of animated nature Be but organic Harps diversly fram'd. That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps. Plastic and vast, one intelie6tual Breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of all ? — But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved Woman ! nor such thoughts -Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject. And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek Daughter in the Family of Christ, Well hast thou said and holily dispraised These shapings of the unregenerate mind^ 99 Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of Him, Th' Incomprehensible ! save when with awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly* feels; Who with his saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable man Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and Thee, heart-honor'dMaid! * L'athee n'est point a mcs yeux un faux esprit; je puis vivre avec lul aussi bicn et mieux qu'avec le devot, car il raisonne davantage, mais il lui manque un sens, ct mon ame ne se fond point cntierement avec la sienne : il est froid au spcftacle le plus ravissant, et il cherche un syllogisme lorsque je rends un aftion de grace. *' Appel a I'impartiale posterite, par la Citoyenne Roland," troiseme partic, p. 6j. G2 ]00 REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT. Sermoni propriora. — Ho R . IjOW was our pretty Cot : our tallest Rose Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear At silent noon, and eve, and early morn. The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air Our Myrtles blossomed -, and across the porch Thick Jasmins twin'd : the little landscape round Was green and woody and refresh'd the eye. It was a spot, which you might aptly call The Valley of Seclusion ! Once I saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of Commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen : Methought, it calm'd 101 His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings : for he paus'd, and look'd With a pleas'd sadness, and gaz'd all around, Then eyed our cottage, and gaz'd round again. And sigh'd, and said, it tuas a blessed place. And we ivere blessed. Oft with patient ear Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing) in whisper'd tones I've said to my Beloved, " Such, sweet Girl ! " The inobtrusive song of Happiness — '' Unearthly minstrelsy ! then only heard *' When the Soul seeks to hear j when all is hush'd '' And the Heart listens ! " But the time, when first From that low Dell steep up the stony Mount G3 102 I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top, what a goodly scene ! Here the bleak Mount, The bare bleak Mountain speckled thin with sheep : Grey Clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields ; And River, now with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd Now winding bright and full, with naked banks j And Seats, and Lawns, the Abbey, and the Wood, And Cots, and Hamlets, and faint City-spire : The Channel there, the Islands and white Sails, Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shoreless Ocean- It seem'd like Omnipresence ! God, raethought, Had built him there a Temple : the whole World Seem'd imagd in its vast circumference. No nvhh profan'd my overwhelmed Heart. Blest hour ! It was a Luxury — to be ! Ah quiet Dell ! dear Cot ! and Mount sublime ! 1 was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right. 103 l' While my unnumber'd Brethren toll'd and bled. That I should dream away the trusted Hours On rose-leaf Beds, pamp'ring the coward Heart With feelings all too delicate for use ? Sweet is the Tear that from some Howard's eye Drops on the cheek of One, he lifts from earth : And He, that works me good with unmov'd face. Does it but half: he chills me while he aids. My Benefador, not my Brother Man ! Yet even this, this cold Beneficence Seizes my Praise, when I refleft on those. The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe ! Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies ! I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, A6tive and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ. 104 Yet oft when after honourable toil Rests the tir'd mind, and waking loves to dream. My Spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot ! Thy Jasmin and thy window-peeping Rose, And Myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air. And I shall sigh fond wishes — sweet Abode ! Ah — ^had none greater ! And that all had such ! It might be so — ^but the time is not yet. Speed it, O Father ! Let thy Kingdom come I 105 TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN, Whom the Author had known in the days of her Innocence. Myrtle leaf, that ill besped Finest in the gladsome ray, Soil'd beneath the common tread Far from thy proteding spray ! When the Rustic o'er his sheaf Caroll'd in the yellow vale, Sad, I saw thee, headless leaf ! Love the dalliance of the gale. Lightly didst thow, foolish thing I Heave and flutter to his sighs. io6 While the Flatt'rer on his wing Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise. Gaily from thy mother stalk Wert thou danc'd and wafted high 3 Soon on this unshelter'd walk Flung to fade, to rot and die ! 107 LINES OiVr OBSERVING A BLOSSOM On the Firft of February, 1796, WRITTEN NEAR SHEFFIELD. bWEET Flower ! that peeping from thy russet stem, Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort This darkj freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering Month Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon thee With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor Flov^^er ! These are but flatteries of the faithless Year. Perchance escap'd its unknown polar cave Ev'n now the keen North-East is on its way. Flower, that must perish ! shall I liken thee To some sweet Girl of too, too rapid growth ' Nipp'd by Consumption mid untimely charms ? 108^ Or to Bristowa's *Bard, the wondVous boy ! An Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own^ Blooming mid poverty's drear wintry waste. Till Disappointment came and pelting Wrong Beat it to earth ? Or with indignant grief Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope, Bright flower of hope kill'd in the opening bud ? Farewell, sweet Blossom ! better fate be thine And mock my boding ! dim similitudes Weaving in moral ^trains, I've stolen one hour From black anxiety that gnaws my heart For her who droops far off on a sick bed : And the warm wooings of this sunny day Tremble along my frame and harmonize Th' attemper d brain, that ev'n the saddest thoughts Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes Play'd deftly on a soft-ton'd instrument. Chatterton. 109 THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. (Composed during Illness^ and in Absence.) UlM Hour ! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, O rise and yoke the Turtles to thy car ! Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering Dove, And give me to the bosom of my Love ! My gentle Love, caressing and carest. With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest j Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes. Lull with fond woe, and med'cine me with sighs : While finely-flushing float her kisses meek. Like melted rubies, o'er my pallid cheek. Chill'd by the night, the drooping Rose of May Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day 3 110 Young Day returning at her promis'd hour Weeps o'er the sorrows of her fav'rite Flower j Weeps the soft dewj the balmy gale she sighs^ And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes. New life and joy th' expanding flowret feels : His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourning heals ! Ill To a LLOYD, ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR. A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep. But a green Mountain variously up-pil'd. Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep Or color'd lichens with slow oozing weep j Where cypress and the darker yew start wild j And mid the summer torrent's gentle dash Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash j Beneath whose boughs, by stilly sounds beguil'd^ Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep ; Till haply startled by some fleecy dam. That rustling on the bushy cliff above 112 With melancholy bleat of anxious love Made meek enquiry for her wand 'ring lamb : Such a green Mountain 'twere most sweet to climb E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness — How heavenly sweet, if some dear Friend should bless Th' advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime Now lead, now follow 5 the glad landscape round. Wide and more wide, increasing without bound ! O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark The berries of the half up-rooted ash Dripping and bright ; and list the torrent's dash — Beneath the cypress or the yew more dark. Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock 5 In social silence now, and now t' unlock The treasur'd heart ; arm link'd in friendly arm, Save if the one, his muse's witching charm Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag : 113 Till high o'er head his beck'ning Friend appears^ And from the forehead of the topmost crag Shouts eagerly : for haply there uprears That shadowing Pine its old romantic limbs. Which latest shall detain th' enamoured sight Seen from below, when Eve the valley dims, Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light j And haply, bason'd in some unsunn'd cleft, A beauteous spring, the rock's collefted tears. Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale t Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, Stretch'd on the crag, and shadowed by the pine. And bending o'er the clear delicious fount. Ah dearest Lloyd ! it were a lot divine To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, "While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd : Then downwards slope, oft-pausing, from the mount, H 114 To some low mansion in some woody dale. Where smiling with blue eye Domestic Bliss Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss ! Thus rudelj vers'd in allegoric lore. The hill of knowledge I essay'd to trace ; / That verd'rous hill with many a resting place, And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour To glad, and fertilize the subje6t plains 3 That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod. And many a fancy-blest and holy sod "Where Inspiration, his diviner strains Low-murm'ring, lay 5 and starting from the rocks Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age. And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage ! O meek retiring Spirit ! wc will climb, Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime 3 115 And from the stirring world uplifted high (Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind To quiet musings shall attune the mind. And oft the melancholy theme supply) There while the prospe6t thro' the gazing eye Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul. Well laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame. Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same. As neighb'ring fountains image, each the whole : Then when the mind has drank its fill of truth. We'll discipline the heart to pure delight. Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame. She, whom I love, shall love thee. Honor'd youth. Now may Heaven realize this vision bright ! H2 IReligious JHustttjjs» - What tho' firft, In years unseasonM, I attun'd the Lay To idle Passion and unreal Woe ? Yet serious Truth her empire o'er my song Hath now asserted : Falshood's evil brood. Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once Excluded, and my Fancy's careless toil Drew to the better cause ! Akenside. ARGUMENT. IntroduElion. Person of Christ. His Prayer on the Cross. The process of his DoSirines on the mind of the Individual. Character of the EleB. Super- stition. Digression to the present War. Origin and Uses of Government and Property. The present State of Society. French Revolution, Millenium. Universal Redemption. Conclusion, ng RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. A DESULTORY POEM, Written en the Christinas Eve of 1794. X HIS is the time, when, most divine to hear. The voice of Adoration rouses ncie. As with a Cherub's trump : and high upborne. Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to view The vision of the heavenly multitude, 5 Who hymn'd the song of Peace o'er Betlilehem's fields ! Yet thou more bright than all the Angel blaze. That harbinger'd thy birth. Thou, Man of Woes ! Despised Galilaean ! For the Great Invisible (by symbols only seen) ' ^0 120 "With a peculiar and surpassing light Shines from the visage of th' oppress'd good Man, When heedless of himself the scourged Saint Mourns for th' Oppressor. Fair the vernal Mead, Fair the high Grove, the Sea, the Sun, the Stars j 15 True Impress each of their creating Sire ! Yet nor high Grove, nor many-coloured Mead, Nor the green Ocean with his thousand Isles, Nor the starr'd Azure, nor the sovran Sun, E'er with such. majesty of portraiture 2Q Imag'd the supreme beauty uncreate. As thou, meek Saviour ! at the fearful hour When thy insulted Anguish wing'd the prayer Harp'd by Archangels, when they sing of Mercy ! Which when th' Almighty heard, from forth his Throne, 25 Diviner light fill'd Heaven with extacy ! Heav'n's hymnings paus'd : and Hell her yawning mouth Clos'd a brief moment. 121 Lovely was the Death Of Him, whose Life was Love ! Holy with power 30 He on the thought-benighted Sceptic beam'd Manifest Godhead, melting into day What floating mists of dark Idolatry Broke and misshap'd the Omnipresent Sire : And first by Fear uncharm'd the droused Soul, 35 Till of its nobler Nature it 'gan feel Dim recollections 3 and thence soar'd to Hope, Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good Th' Eternal dooms for his Immortal Sons. From Hope and firmer Faith to perfed Love 40 Attraded and absorb'd : and center'd there Note to Line 35. To NoTjrov oiri^rf^ccG-iv sig TfoXXajy DamAS. DE MYST. JEiGY?T. 122 God only to behold, and know, and feel. Till hj exclusive Consciousness of God All self-annihilated it shall make God its Identity : God all in all I 45 We and our Father one ! And blest are they. Who in this fleshly World, the ele6t of Heaven, Their strong eye darting thro' the deeds of Men, Adore with stedfast unpresuming gaze 50 Him, Nature's Essence, Mind, and Energy ! Note to Line 44. See this demonstrated by Hartley, vol. 1. p. 114, and vol. 2, p. 329. See it likewise proved, and freed from the charge of Mysticism, by Pistorius in his Notes and Additions to part second of Hartley on Man. Addition the 1 8th, the 653d page of the third Volume of Hartley. Oftavo Edition. 123 And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend Treading beneath their feet all visible things As steps, that upward to their Father's Throne Lead gradual — else nor glorified nor lov'd. 55 They nor Contempt imbosom nor Revenge : For THEY dare know of what may seem deform The Supreme Fair sole Operant : in whose sight All things are pure, his strong controlling Love Alike from all educing perfe6t good. 60 Their's too celestial courage, inly arm'd — Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse On their great Father, great beyond compare ! And marching onwards view high o'er their heads His waving Banners of Omnipotence. 65 Who the Creator love, created might Dread not : within their tents no Terrors walk. 124 For they are Holy Things before the Lord Aye-unprofan*d, tho' Earth should league with Hell ! God's Altar grasping with^an eager hand 70 Fear, the wild-visag'd, pale, eye-starting wretch, Sure-refug'd hears his hot pursuing fiends Yell at vain distance. Soon refresh'd from Heaven He calms the throb and tempest of his heart. His countenance settles : a soft solemn bliss ^5 Swims in his eye : his swimming eye uprais'd : And Faith's whole armour glitters on his limbs ! And thus transfigur'd with a dreadless awe, A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds All things of terrible seeming : yea, unmov'd 80 Views e'en th' immitigable ministers That shower down vengeance on these latter days, For kindling with intenser Deity From the celestial Mercy- be at they conie. And at the renovatuig Wells of Love 85 125 Have iiird their Vials with salutary Wrath, To sickly Nature more medicinal That what soft balm the weeping good man pours Into the lone despoiled trav'ller s wounds ! Thus from th' Eleft, regenerate thro' faith, 90 Pass the dark Passions and what thirsty Cares Drink up the spirit and the dim regards Self-center. Lo they vanifli ! or acquire New names, new features — by supernal grace Note to Line 9] Our evil Passions under the influence of Religion, become innocent, and may be made to animate our virtue — in the same manner as the thick mist melted by the Sun, increases the light which it had before excluded. In the preceding paragraph, agreeably to this truth, we had allegorically narrated the transfiguration of Fear into holy Awe. 126 Enrob'd with Light, and naturaliz'd in Heaven. Q9 As when a Shepherd on a vernal morn Thro' some thick fog creeps tim'rous with slow foot. Darkling he fixes on th' immediate road His downward eye : all elfe of fairest kind Hid or deform'd. But lo ! the bursting Sun ! 100 Touch'd by th" enchantment of that sudden beam Strait the black vapor melteth, and in globes Of dewy glitter gems each plant and tree j On every leaf, on every blade it hangs ! Dance glad the new-born intermingling rays, 105 And wide around the landscape streams with glory ! There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, Omnific. His most holy name is Love. Truth of subliming import ! with thewhicK Who feeds and saturates his constant seal, 1 10 He frpm hi? small particular orbit flies 127 With blest outstarting ! From Himself he flies^ Stands in the Sun, and with no partial gaze Views all creation j and he loves it all, .And blesses it, and calls it very good ! 11^ This is indeed to dwell with the most High 1 Cherubs and rapture-trem^bling Seraphim Can press no nearer to th' Almighty's Throne. But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts Unfeeling of our universal Sire, 120 And that in his vast family no Cain Injures uninjur'd (in her best-aim'd blow Viftorious Murder a blind Suicide) Haply for this some younger Angel now Looks down on Human Nature : and, behold ! 125 A sea of blood bestrew'd with wrecks, where mad Embattling Interests on each other rush With unhelm'd Rage ! 128 'Tis the sublime of man. Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves 130 Parts and proportions of one wond'rous whole ! This fraternizes man, this constitutes Our charities and bearings. But 'tis God Diffus'd thro' all, that doth make all one whole j This the worst superstition, him except 135 Aught to desire. Supreme Reality ! Note to Line 135. If to make aught but the Supreme Reality the objeft of final putsuit, be Superstition ; if the attributing of sublime properties to things or persons, which those things or persons neither do or can possess, be Super- stition ; then Avarice and Ambition are Superstitions : Bnd he, who wishes to estimate the evils of Superstition, should transport himself, not to the temple of the Mexican Deities, but to the plains of Flanders, or the coast of Africa. — Such is the sentiment conveyed in this and the subsec^uent lines. 129 The plenitude and permanence of bliss 1 Fiends of Superstition ! not that oft The erring Priest hath stain'd with Brother's blood Your grisly idols^ not for this may Wrath 140 Thunder against you from the Holy One ! But o'er some plain that steamcth to the Sun, Peopled with Death j or where more hideous Trade Loud-laughing packs his bales of human anguish 5 1 will raise up a mourning, O ye Fiends ! 145 And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith, Hiding the present God 3 whose presence lost. The moral world's cohesion, we become An Anarchy of Spirits ! Toy-bewitch'd, Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul, 150 No common center Man, no common sire Knoweth I A sordid solitary thing, Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart I 130 Thro' courts and cities the smooth Savage roams Feeling himself, his own low Self the whole; 155 When he by sacred sympathy might make The whole one self ! self, that no alien knows ! Self, far diffus'd as Fancy's wing can travel ! Self, spreading still ! Oblivious of its own. Yet all of all possessing ! This is Faith ! l6o This the Messiah's destin'd vi6tory ! But first offences needs must come ! Even now (Black Hell laughs horrible — to hear the scoff!) Note to Line 162. January 21ft. 1794, in the debate on the Address to his Majefty, on the speech from the Throne, the Earl of Guildford moved an Amendment to the following cffeft: •< That the House hoped his Majesty would seize the earliest opportunity to conclude a peace with France &c." This motion was opposed by the Duke of Portland, who •* considered the war to be merely 131 Thee to defend^ meek Galilaean ! Thee And thy mild laws of Love unutterable, l63 Mistrust and Enmity have burst the bands Of social Peace ; and list'ning Treachery lurks With pious fraud to snare a brother's life j , And childless widows o'er the groaning land ^¥ail numberless ; and orphans weep for bread ! 170 Thee to defend^ dear Saviour of Mankind ! Thee, Lamb of God ! TheE;, blameless Prince of Peace ! grounded on one principle — the preservation of the Christian Religion." May 30th, 1794, the Duke of Bedford moved a number of Resolutions, with a view to the Establishment of a Peace with France. He was opposed (among others) by Lord Abingdon in these remarkable words ; *' The best road to Peace, my Lords, is War ! and War carried on in the same manner in which wc are taught to worship our Creator, namely, with all our souls, and with all our minds, and \\h\i all our hearts, and with all our strength." 12 132 From all sides rush the thirsty brood of War ! Austria, and that foul Woman of the North, The lustful Murd'ress of her wedded Lord ! lf\ And he, connatural Mind ! whom (in their songs So bards of elder time had haply feign'd) Some Fury fondled in her hate to man. Bidding her serpent hair in mazy surge Lick his young face, and at his mouth inbreathe 180 Horrible sympathy ! And leagued with these Each petty German princeling, nurs'd in gore ! Soul-harden'd barterers of human blood ! Death's prime Slave-mercliants ! Scorpion- whips of Fate ! Nor least in savagery of holy zeal, 185 Apt for the yoke, the race degenerate, Whom Britain erat had blush'd to call her sons ! Thee to defend the Moloch Priest prefers The prayer of hate, and bellows to the herd That Deity, accomplice Deity 19O 133 In the fierce jealousy of waken'd wrath Will go forth with our armies and our fleets To scatter the red ruin on their foes ! O blasphemy ! to mingle fiendish deeds With blessedness 1 105 Lord of unsleeping Love, From everlasting Thou ! We shall not die. Note to Line 196. Art thou not from everlafting, O Lord, mine Holy One ? We shall not die. O Lord, thou hast ordained them for Judgment, &c. Habakkuk, L 12. In this pa- ragraph the Author recalls himfelf from his indignation against the instruments of Evil, to contemplate the uses of these Evlis in the great process of divine Benevolence. In the first age, Men were innocent from ignorance of vice; they fell, that by the knowledge of consequences they might attain intelleftual security, i. e. Virtue, which is a wise and firong-nerv'd Innocence. 13 134 These, even these^ in mercy didst thou form. Teachers of Good thro' Evil, by brief wrong Making Truth lovely, and her future might 200 Magnetic o'er the fix'd untrembling heart. In the primeval age a dateless while The vacant Shepherd wandcr'd with his flock Pitching his tent where'er the green grass wav'd. But soon Imagination conjur'd up , 205 Ap host of new desires : with busy aim. Each for himself. Earth's eager children toil'd. So Property began, twy-streaming fount. Whence Vice and Virtue flow, honey and gall. Hence the foft couch, and many-colour'd vobe, 210 The timbrel, and arch'd dome and costly feast. With all th' inventive arts, that nurs'd the soul To forms of beauty, and by sensual wants Unsensualiz'd the mind, which in the means 135 Learnt to forget the grossness of the end, 215 Best pleasur'd with its own aftivity. And hence Disease that withers manhood's arm. The dagger'd Envy, spirit-quenching Want, ^ Warriors, and Lords, and Priests — all the- sore ills That vex and desolate our mortal life. 220 Wide-wasting ills ! yet each th' immediate source Of mightier good. Their keen necessities To ceaseless a6tion goading human thought Have made Earth's reasoning animal her Lord ; And the pale-featur'd Sage's trembling hand 225 Strong as an host of armed Deities, Such as the blind Ionian fabled erst. From Avarice thus, from Luxury and War Sprang heavenly Science -, and from Science Freedom. O'er waken'd realms Philosophers and Bards 230 Spread in concentric circles : they whose souls 136 Conscious of their high dignities from God Brook not Wealth's rivalry 3 and they who long Enamour'd with the charms of order hate Th' unseemly disproportion : and whoe'er 235 Turn with mild sorrow from the vigor's car And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse On that blest triumph, when the patriot Sage Call'd the red lightnings from th' o er-rushing cloud And dash'd the beauteous Terrors on the earth 240 Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne'er Measur'd firm paces to the calming sound Of Spartan flute ! These on the fated day. When, stung to rage by Pity, eloquent men Have rous'd with pealing voice th' unnumber'd tribes 245 That toil and groan and bleed, hungry and blind, These hush'd awhile with patient eye serene Shall watch the mad careering of the storm j Then o'er the wild and wavy chaos rush 137 And tame th' outrageous mass, with plastic might 250 Moulding Confusion to such perfed forms. As erst were wont, bright visions of the day ! To float before them, when, the Summer noon. Beneath some arch'd romantic rock reclin'd They felt the sea-breeze lift their youthful locks ; 255 Or in the month of blossoms, at mild eve. Wandering with desultory feet inhal'd The wafted perfumes, and the flocks and woods And many-tinted streams and setting Sun With all his gorgeous company of clouds 260 Extatic gaz'd ! then hcHneward as they stray'd Cast the sad eye to earth, and inly mus'd Why there was Misery in a world so fair. Ah far remov'd from all that glads the sense. From all that softens or ennobles Man, 26^ The wretched Many ! Bent beneath their loads They gape at pageant Power, nor recognize 138 Their cots' transmuted plunder ! From the tree Of Knowledge, ere the vernal sap had risen Rudely disbranch'd ! Blessed Society ! 2/0 Fitliest depi6tur'd by some sun-scorcht waste. Where oft majestic thro' the tainted noon The Simoom sails, before whose purple pomp Who falls not prostrate dies ! And where, by night. Fast by each precious fountain on green herbs 2/5 The lion couches ; or hyaena dips Deep in the lucid stream his bloody jaws 5 Or serpent plants his vast moon-glittering bulk. Caught in whose monstrous twine Behemoth yells,. His bones loud-crashing ! 280 Note to Line 279. Behemoth in Hebrew signifies wild beasts in general. Some believe It is the Elephant, some the Hippopotamus; some affirm it is the Wild-Bull. Poetically, it designates any large Quadruped. 139 O ye numberless^ Whom foul Oppression's ruffian gluttony Drives from life's plenteous feast ! O thou poor Wretch, Who nurs'd in darkness and made wild by want Roamest for prey, yea thy unnatural hand 285 Dost lift to deeds of blood ! O pale-eyed Form, The vi6tim of sedu6tion, doom'd to know Polluted nights and days of blasphemy ; Who in loath'd orgies with lewd wassailers Must gaily laugh, while thy rememember'd Home 2Q0 Gnaws like a viper at thy secret heart ! O aged Women ! yc who weekly catch The morsel tost by law-forc'd Charity, And die so slowly, that none call it murder ! O loathly Suppliants] ye, that unreceived 2gS Totter heart-broken from the closing gates Of the full Lazar-house 3 or, gazing, stand 140 Sick with despair ! O ye to Glory's field Forc'd or ensnar'd, who, as ye gasp in death. Bleed with new wounds beneath the Vulture's beak ! 306 O thou poor Widow, who in dreams dost view Thy Husband's mangled corse, and from short doze Start'st with a shriek : or in thy half-thatch'd cot Wak'd by the wintry night-storm, wet and cold, Cowr'st o'er thy screaming baby ! Rest awhile, 305 Children of Wretchedness ! More groans must rise. More blood must steam, or ere your wrongs be full. Yet is the day of Retribution nigh : The Lamb of God hath open'd the fifth seal : And upward rush on swiftest wing of fire 310 Th' innumerable multitude of Wrongs By man on man infii6led ! Rest awhile. Children of Wretchedness I The hour is nigh : And lo ! the Great, the Rich, the Mighty Men, The Kings and the Chief Captains of the World, 3 1 5 141 With all that fix'd on high like stars of Heaven Shot baleful influence, shall be cast to earth. Vile and down-trodden, as the untimely fruit Shook from the fig-tree by a sudden storm. Ev'n now the storm begins : each gentle name, 320 Faith and meek Piety^ with fearful joy Tremble far-off — forlo 1 the Giant FeaXzy Uprooting empires with his whirl. virid arm Mocketh high Heaven ; burst hideous from the cell Where the old Hag, unconquerable, huge, 325 Creation's eyeless drudge, black Ruin, sits Nursing th' impatient earthquake. Note to Line 320. This passage alludes to the French Revolution : And the subsequent paragraph to the downfall oF Religious Establishments. 1 am convinced that the Babylon of the Apocalypse does not apply to Rom2 exclusively ; but to the union of Religion with Power and W^dch, wherever it is found. 142 O return ! Pure Fait» ! meek Piety ! The abhorrred Form Whose scarlet robe was stiff with earthly pomp, 330 Who drank iniquity in cups of Gold, Whose names were many and all blasphemous. Hath met the horrible judgment ! Whence that cry ? The mighty army of foul Spirits shriek'd. Disherited of earth ! For She hath fallen 335 On whose black front was written Mystery j She that reel'd heavily, whose wine was blood ; She that work'd whoredom with the DiEMON Power And from the dark embrace all evil things Brought forth and nurtur'd : mitred Atheismj 340 And patient Folly who on bended knee Gives back the Steel that stabb'd him 3 and pale Fear Hunted by ghastlier shapings, than surround Moon -blasted Madness when he yells at midnight \ 143 Heturn pure Faith ! return meek Piety ! 345 The kingdoms of the world are yours : each heart Self-govern'd, the vast family of Love Rais'd from the common earth by common toil Enjoy the equal produce. Such delights As float to earthy permitted visitants ! 350 When in some hour of solemn jubilee The massy gates of Paradise are thrown Wide open, and forth come in fragments wild Sweet echoes of unearthly melodies. And odors snatch'd from beds of Amaranth, 355 And they, that from the chrystal river of life Spring up on freshen'd wing, ambrosial gales 1 The favor'd good man in his lonely walk Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks Strange bliss which he shall recognize in heaven. 30(> And such delights, such strange beatitude Seize on ray young- anticipating heart 144 When that blest future rushes on my view ! For in his own and in his Father's might The Saviour comes ! While as the Thousand . Years 365 Lead up their mjstic dance, the Desert shouts ! Old Ocean claps his hands ! The mighty Dead Rise to new life, whoe'er from earliest time With conscious zeal had urg'd Love's wondrous plan, 1 Note to Line 365. The Millenium :• — in which I suppose, that Man will continue to enjoy the highest glory, of which his human nature is capable That all who in past ages have endeavoured to ameliorate the state of man, will rise and enjoy the fruits and flowers, the imperceptible seeds of which they had sown in their former Life : and that the wicked will duiing the same period, be suffering the remedies adapted to their feveral bad habits. I suppose that this period will be followed by the passing away of this Earth, and by our entering the state of pure intelleft ; when all Creation shall rest from its labours. 145 Coadjutors of God. To Milton's trump 370 The high Groves of the renovated Earth Unbosom their glad echoes : inly hush*d Adoring Newton his serener eye Kaises to heaven : and he of mortal kind Wisest, he* first who mark'd the ideal tribes 3/5 Up the fine fibres thro' the sentient brain. Lo ! Priestley there. Patriot, and Saint, and Sage, Him, full of years, from his lov'd native land Statesmen blood-stain'd and Priests idolatrous By dark lies mad'ning the blind multitude 380 Drove with vain hate. Calm, pitying he retir'd. And mus'd expectant on these promis'd years. O Years ! the blest preeminence of Saints ! Ye sweep athwart my gaze, so heavenly-bright, * David Hartley. K 146 The wings that veil the adoring Seraph's eyes, 385 AVhat time he bends before the Jasper Throne Kefled no lovelier hues ! yet ye depart. And all beyond is darkness \ Heights most strange. Whence Fancy falls, fluttering her idle wing. For who of woman born may paint the hour, 390 When seiz'd in his mid course, the Sun shall wane Making noon ghastly t Who of woman born May image in the workings of his thought. How the black-visa g'd, red-eyed Fiend outstretcht A^ote to Line 386. Rev. Chap, iv, v. 2, and 3. — And immediately I was in the Spirit : and behold, a Throne was set in Heaven, and one sat on the Throne. And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and sardine stone, &c. Note to Line 394. The final Destrufllon impersonated. 147 Beneath the unsteady feet of Nature groans, 395 In feverish slumbers — destin'd then to wake. When fiery whirlwinds thunder his dread name And Angels shout. Destruction ! How his arm The last great Spirit lifting high in air Shall swear by Him, the ever-living One, 400 Time is no more ! Believe thou, O my soul. Life is a vision shadowy of Truth j And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave. Shapes of a dream ! The veiling clouds retire, 405 Note to Line 402. This paragraph is intelligible to those,, who, like the Author, believe and feel the sublime system of Berkley ; and the doftrine of the final Happiness of all men. K 2 148 And lo ! the Throne of the redeeming God Forth flashing unimaginable day- Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest hell. Contemplant Spirits ! ye that hover o'er With untir'd gaze th' immeasurable fount 410 Ebullient with creative Deity ! And ye of plastic power, that interfus'd Roll thro' the grosser and material mass In organizing surge ! Holies of God ! (And what if Monads of the infinite mind ?) 415 I haply journeying my immortal course Shall sometime join your mystic choir ! Till then I discipline my young noviciate thought In ministeries of heart-stirring song, And aye on Meditation's heaven-ward wing 420 Soaring aloft I breathe th' empyreal air Of Love, omnific, omnipresent Love, 149 Whose day-spring rises glorious In my soul As the great Sun, when he his influence Sheds on the frost-bound waters — The glad stream 425 Flows to the ray and warbles as it flows. SECOND EDITION. ** I wrap me in the mantle of distress, And tell my poor heart this is happiness.'* Bowles. 153 THE MELANCHOLY MAN. I. W HAT means this tumult of thy soul. Those feelings words could ne'er define -, Those languid eyes that vacant roll. Those cherish'd thoughts that inly pine ? Why dost thou wildly love to stray Where dimly gleams the doubtful day. And all-unconscious muse with pensive pace ? Or why in lorn dejeded mood Bend o'er the melancholy flood. And with unmeaning gaze the heedless current trace } II. Ah ! why, thou poor, distrafted thing ! Those muttered accents, broken, low j 154 Those visionary tears that spring From unintelligible woe ? Why does the rose that deck'd thy cheek Pal'd o'er with care, no more bespeak The lovely flush of life's luxuriant morn ^ Or o'er thy shrunk, ambiguous face Bereft of youth's untutor'd grace Thy locks all wildly hang, negleded and forlorn ? III. Should eve's meek star with paly eye Peep lonely o'er the mountain's head, "While on the blue translucent sky Some feathery clouds are lightly spread j Why wilt thou seek the rushy heath. And listen as the gale's low breath Murmurs forlorn the moss-clad waste along ? When from the white-thorn's blossom'd spray The red-breast sings his latest lay. 155 Why with bent downcast brows stand list'ning to the song ? IV. Why does the tear unbidden start. And why those sighs that wildly swell r Why flutters thy tumultuous heart. Thy looks unspoken feelings tell, If chance beneath thy devious feet Thou see'st the lover's last retreat. The cold andunblest grave of pale despair ? Why dost thou drop a feeling tear Upon the flowret lurking near. And bid it ever droop, a meek memento there ? V. Why with unwonted longings yearn O'er this, the last resource of man. And with mysterious envy turn Thy only shelter. Worth ! to scan ? 156 Why dost thou, to Afilidion true. When April sheds her chilly dew. Bend o'er the spot, ere peeps the weeping day r When Eve's unrealizing gleam Confounds the gaze in visual dream. Why dost thou love to hear the curfew die away ? VI. Where (monuinent of past delight. And truer type of joy's brief reign) The Ruin gleams, and dim Affright Shivers the homeward-plodding swain ; Why dost thou love alone to tread Fragments with ivy overspread. And mark the grey-tower half enshrin'd in trees j Or listen, as in vaults beneath From viewless forms deep murmurs breathe. And sighs on mossy walls the melancholy breeze ? 157 VII. Why dost thou loiter on the beach Where rippling dies the bright-blue wave^ And often with fantastic speech To the deaf ocean idly rave ? Why dost thou bid the billow bear Thy/rame unnerv'd by fancied care To realms more pure^ where genial souls inspire ? Why dost thou view the little ikifF, Which flutters near the frowning cliff. With many an " aching wish" and impotent desire ? VIII. When in the crowded walks of men, 'Mid festive scenes thou'rt doom'd to mix. Why on some distant lonely glen Thy ill-attuned spirit fix ? Why dost thou spurn alluring mirth. And bend unconscious to the earth. 158 Mute and unknowing, absent and unknown ? Why dost thou frown on every sport. And curse indignant those that court The motley phantom Joy, on Folly's tinsel throne - IX. And wherefore, when the trump of fame Inflames the soul to glory's deed. Such deed with cynic sternness blame. And quaintly mock th' ephemeral meed f Why now with misanthropic eye The springs of a6tion keenly try Through the pure medium of eternal truth ? Now rais'd above this nether sphere A mere spectator, judge severe. Nor chill'd by fears of age, nor warm'd by hopes of youth ? X. Is it because each tie is gone That bdund thee to this fragile state ? 159 Because thou rt left forlorn^ alone. No friend to love ! — no foe to hate ^ Has keen afFedion often brought The pleasures of a tender thought. And is such thought for ever now bereft ? Say, hast thou felt an ardent flame Which not eternity could tame. And are its joys expir'd, and all its vigour left ? XI. Has fancy to thy madden'd gaze Display'd th' elysian dells of bliss, Say, did her secret wonders raise A wish for happier worlds than this ? And is the wanton faery flown. And left thee chill'd to conscious stone. At this cold prospe me the wildering hour Sooth 'd J and dim-vested Silence seem'd to p(Jur Balm, such as might befit a v/retch that rov'd Sicklied with thought. Nor was not this my lot ! Now was I maz'd with strange perplexities, And nowtomy tranc'dsprightsuch dreams would rise That when I wak'd, I wept *' to find them not !" Wept that stern Reason chaced with blasting eye The feverish mind's fantastic imagery ! 170 SONNET VIL J. WERE well methinks in an indignant mood, When the heart droops unfriended, when mankind With their cold smiles have dup'd thy honest mind. On the wet heath to stray, while dimly brood The gather'd grey-mists on the distant hill : Drear should the prosped be, dreary and wide. No second living one be there espied. None save thyself ; then would thy soul be still. Curbing its sorrows with a proud despair ! Then would'st thou tread thy path with firmer pace. Nor let. one scowl on thy resolved face Blab to the elements thy puny care. But sooth'd to think, that solitude can bless. Muse on the world with lofhr quietness. [ SONNET nil. X E overflowings of a restless heart Why thus torment me ? wishes undefin'd Why thro' my bresst so vehemently dart. Waking convuls'd commotions of the mind ? Oh, stubborn feelings why do ye refuse The high-wrought intercourse of souls to bless ? Why pampering lonesome anguish idly muse. Or mutter workings of obscure distress ? Almighty Parent ! what a thing am I ! Shuddering with ecstacy yet dumb the while ! Thou, only Thou with chaos-piercing eye Can'st see me as I am ! My Father, rise Sublime in love, and with thy calming smile Hush Thou my spirit's stormy phantasies ! M 17 B SOJSrJSTET IX. If the low breathings of the poor in heart. If the still gratitude of wretchedness Reliev'd when least expefting, have access To Thee, the Almighty Parent, thou wilt dart Thy loving kindness on the offering meek . My spirit brings, opprest with thankfulness. At this lone hour : for thou dost ever bless The stricken soul, that sighs and cannot speak ! Omniscient Father ! I have been perplex'd With scoffers link'd ! Yea called them my friends Who snare the soul ! But now by doubt unvex'd My heart uplifts itself 5 its aim extends To Heaven, where thou thy brighter dwelling hast. Oh omnipresent Thou, first, midst, and last ! 179 LINES Addressed to S, T, COLERIDGE, iVlY Coleridge! oft I muse upon the cot To which our footsteps bend ; 1 envy not The enrobed son of wealthy the heir of fame. Or the more happy youth whose ardent flame The yielding maid returns, when I can dwell On the pure pleasures of our simple cell ! For tho' mine eye with no keen rapture swim. Nor fervent Passion thrill each nerveless limb. Yet I shall love where love alone can bless, And learn to steep mine heart in quietness; Shall taste the sweetness of a temperate choice. And list. Oh Conscience ! thy most healing voice, M2 180 Which steals to him who sanftifies his lot. Whispering meek comforts that the earth owns not ! Where from the beaten pathway to recede Heason had taught, Folly's fantastic weed To rend indignant, and the impassion'd swell Of Pleasure's voice (bidding the bosom dwell On softest themes) to scorn with deafen'd ear- Where I this perform'd — yet dropt a tear ! I now shall gird me cheerily to part From these disarmed tempters of the heart ! For Truth might e'en the coldest breast surprise Wafted in Friendship's gentle melodies. I well remember when (on life afar Seen like the radiance of a trembling star Thro' eve's grey dimness) I was wont to fly To weak similitudes of extasy ! When I did bring howe'er the scene were bleak 181 The deep-wrought burnings to mine eager cheek Dwelling on Passion's most convulsed thrill ; And shap'd each object with a wayward skilly Till I had given strange potency to bless E'en to the dismal uncouth wilderness ! I found a tongue in every passing wind : The mist that swept along to my full mind Was dimly chara6ter'd, and seem'd to bring Mysterious portents on its silent wing. But all is fled ! My dreams have had their scope I I seek for Comfort on the grave of Hope ! My Coleridge ! take the wanderer to thy breast. The youth who loves thee, and who faint would rest (Oft rack'd by hopes that frensy and expire) In the long sabbath of subdued desire ! 182 CHRISTMAS. 1 HIS is the time when every vacant breast Expands with simplest mirth. Mem'ry, thou nurse Of mingled feeling, trace the former years And count each jolly festival '. My heart Scarce knew to feel ere it more lively beat. When I beheld the evergreen enwrcathe The ice-emblazon'd lattice, or aloft Shadowing the comely flitch that jovial branch Beneath whose licens'd shade the honest swain Imprints the kiss anblam'd: and even now Something like joy steals to my quicken'd pulse When Friends bid '* merry Christmas." 183 Oh I 'tis good To hear the voice of hospitahty 3 ;' To feel the hearty grasp of love, to quit ■ For a brief interval the forms and pressures I . Of life's tame intercourse. y And now I glean The remnants that I may of parted joys To deck this forlorn year, stealing from hours Long past and flush with jollity. ' There is a time When first sensation paints the burning cheek. Fills the moist eye, and quickens the keen pulse, That mystic meanings half con'ceiv'd invest The simplest forms, and all doth speak, all livc.i To the eager heart ! At such a time to me M 4 184 Thou oam'st, dear holiday I Thy twilight glooms Mysterious thoughts awaken'd, and I mus^ As if possest, yea felt as I had known The dawn of inspiration. Then the days Were sandified by feeling, all around Of an indwelling presence darkly spake. Silence had borrow'd sounds to cheat the soul ! And to the toys of life the teeming brain Impregning them with its own chara6ter Gave preternatural import j the dull face Was eloquent, and e'en the idle air Most potent shapes, varying and yet the same. Substantially express'd. * But soon my heart Unsatisfied with blissful shadows felt Achings of vacancy, and own'd the throb Of undefin'd desire^ while lays of love 185 Firstling and wild stole to nny trem'lous tongue. To me thy rites were niock'ry then, thy glee Of little worth. More pleas'd I trod the waste Sear'd with the sleety wind, and drank its blast; Deeming thy dreary shapes most ftrangely sweet. Mist-shrouded winter ! In mute loneliness I wore away the day which others hail'd So cheerily, still usher'd in with chaunt Of carol, and the merry ringer's peal. Most musical to the good man that wakes And praises Godin gladness. iBut soon fled The dreams of love fantastic ! Still the Friend, The Friend, the wild roam o'er the drifted snows Remain unsung ! Then when the wintry view Objedless, mist-hidden, or in uncouth forms Prank d by the arrowy fiake might aptly yield 186 New stores to shaping phantasy, I rov'd With him my lov'd companion ! Oh ! 'twas sweet ; Ye who have known the swell that heaves the breast Pregnant with loftiest poesy, declare Is aught more soothing to the charmed soul Than friendship's glow, the independent dream Gathering when all the frivolous shews are fled Of artificial life, when the wild step Boundeth wide existence, unbeheld, Uncheck'd, and the heart fashionetli its hope In Nature's school, while Nature bursts around. Nor Man her spoiler meddles in the scene ! Farewell, dear day, much hath it sooth'd my heart To chaunt thy frail memorial. Now advance The darkening years^ and I do sojourn, home 1 .From thee afar. Where the broad-bosom'd hills. 187 Swept by perpetual clouds^ of Scotland, rise. Me fate compels to tany. Ditty quaint Or custom'd carol, there my vacant ear Ne'er blest ! I thought of home and happier days ! And as I thought, my vexed spirit blam'd That austere race, who mindless of the glee Of good old festival, coldly forbade Th' observance which of mortal life relieves The languid sameness, seeming too to bring Sanftion from hoar antiquity and years Long past ! For me a plain and simple man, I rev'rence my forefathers, and would hold Their pious ordnance sacred ! Much I hate The coxcomb innovator who would raze 188 The deecls of other times ' Most sweet to mc These chroniclers of life j oft round them twine Dear recolle6tions of the past, the sum Of all those comforts which the poor heart feels While struggling here, bearing with holy care Its little stock of intermediate joy To bless the circle of domestic love. And now farewell ! Thus former years have fed My retrospe6tive lays ! Sad barrenness Scowls' o'er the present time ! No boyish sports. No youthful dreams, or hopes fantastic, now Endear thy festival ! Rapture is fled. And all that nourish'd high poetic thought Vanish'd afar j yet Resignation meek Chastens past pleasure with her evening hues. And lends a sober charm, mild as the bhade Mantling the scene, which glisten'd late beneath Day's purple radiance, when grey twilight falls 189 Soft harmonizing. Rich variety Pales to a sadden'd sameness ! Nor can I Forget what I have lost since last I hail'd Thy jolly tide ! The aged Friend is dead ! The Friend who mingled in my boyish sports ! The Friend who solac'd my eccentric heart ! The Friend by whose mild suffrage unimpell'd I ne'er could taste of joy ! YeSj She is dead ! So be it I Yet 'tis hard to smile, and know So sad a loss ! I bend before my God, And silent at the past, commune henceforth Of days in store, '^ of righteousness to come," Of faith, of hope, and of a better world ! ^ 5^otm0> ON The Death of PRISCILLA FARMER, By her Grandson CHARLES LLOYD. Death ! Thou hast visited that pleasant Place, Where in this hard World I have happiest been. Bowles. 193 S OJVNE T. X HE piteous sobs that choak the Virgin's breath For him, the fair betrothed Youth, who lies Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries With which a Mother wails her Darling's death. These from our Nature's common impulse spring Unblam'd, unprais'd ; but o'er the piled earth. Which hides the sheeted corse of grey-hair'd Worth, If droops the soaring Youth with slacken'd wing j If He recall in saddest minstrelsy Each tenderness bestow'd, each truth imprest 5 Such Grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety ! And from the Almighty Father shall descend Comforts on his late Evening, whose young breast Mourns with no transient love the Aged Friend. S. T. COLERIDGE. N 195 DEDICATORY LINES TO THE 4UTH0RS BROTHER. iVlY James ! to whom can I more fitly bring These rhymes which I have written sorrowings Than to a Brother who did once possess With me an equal share of kindliness From Her departed ! and whose tears will swell At these^ my dirgelike melodies, that tell How good She was. — Thou sportedst once with me A careless infant round her aged knee. And aye at welcome eve didst haste to share Her pious greetings and her simple fare. When Manhood's maze trac'd by wild-footed Hope Secm'd all inviting, towards our upward slope / ' 196 How did She often turn her moisten *d eye. That but for us were fix'd beyond the sky 5 And ah ! how feelingly would She express The aid that Virtue brings to Happiness. And when She droop'd, we both, my James, did bend O'er a lost Parent, Confessor, and Friend ! My Brother, I have sought that He who gave And took our Friend, her virtues may engrave Deep in our bosoms j as we journey on Cheerily sometimes, oftner woe-bcgone, Still may we think on her with holiest sighs. And " struggle to believe," from yonder skies Her children She regards ; and when we fare Hardly on this bleak road, our mutual prayer Shall rise, that we in heaven may repossess Our earliest Guide to heavenly happiness ! CHARLES LLOYD, 197 SONN^ET L JVlY pleasant Home ! where erst when sad and faint I sought maternal friendship's sheltering arms. My pleasant Home ! where is the rev'renc'd Saint Whose presence gave thee thy peculiar charms ? Ah me ! when slow th' accustom'd doors unfold. No more her looks afFeftionate and mild Beam on my burthen'd heart ! O, still and cold The cherish'ci spot where Welcome sat and smil'd ! My spirit pines not nursing fancied ill ; 'Tis not the fev'rish and romantic tie Which now I weep dissever'd -, not a form That woke brief passion's desultory thrill : I mourn the Cherisher of Infancy ! The dear Protedress from life's morning storm ^ N3 198 SONJSFET II. Oh, I have told thee every secret care. And crept to thee when pale with sickliness ! Thou didst provide my morrow's simple fare. And with meek love my elfin wrongs redress. My Grandmother ! when pondering all alone Fain would I list thy footstep ! but my call Thou dost not hear -, nor mark the tears that fall From my dim eyes ! No, Thou art dead and gone^l How can I think that Thou didst mildly spread Thy feeble arms, and clasp me o'er and o'er Ere infant Gratitude one tear could shed ! How think of thee, to whom its little store My bosom owes, nor tempted by Despair Mix busy anguish with imperfed prayer ! 199 SOJ^N^ET III. Written at the HOTWELLS, near BRISTOL. JVlEEK Friend ! I have been traversing the steep Where when a frolic boy with patient eye Thou hcededst all my wand'rings, (I could weep To think perchance thy Shade might hover nigh. Marking thy alter 'd child) j how little then Dreamt \, that Thou, a tenant of the grave. No more shouldst smile on me, when I might crave Some little solace 'mid the hum of men ! Those times had joys which I no more shall know. And e'en their saddest moments now seem sweet : Such comforts mingle with remember'd woe ! Now with this Hope I prompt my onward feet. That He, who took thee, pitying my lone heart. Will reunite us where Friends never part ! N4 / 200 SOI^IVET IK JdRST when I wander d far from those I lov'd, If weariness o'ertook me, if my heart Heav'd big with sympathy, and ach'd t' impart Its aecret treasures, much have I been mov'd Thinking of those most dear ; and I have known It very sweet all feelingly to pour Of youthful phantasies th' eccentric store Thro' the warm line : nor didst Thou seldom own The tender gratulation, earliest Friend ! And now when heavily the lone hours roll Stealeth an Image on my cheated soul No other than Thyself ! and I would send Tidings of love — till the mind starts from sleep As it had hfeard thy knell !— I pause, and weep I 201 SON^JVET V. When THou that agonized Saint dost see Worn out, and trembling on the verge of death. Murmur nieek praises with convulsed breath, . And sandify each rending, agony. Deeming it a dim Minister of Grace JMedicinal, and stealing her from all That subtly might her ling'ring spirit thrall j When Thou dost read in her unearthly face. How She doth keep in thankful quietness Her bowed soul, dar'st Thou thy hest Friend deem As one deceiv'd by a most idle dream ? Ah, surely no ! if Thou at all possess A humanized heart j e'en if thy mind Hate not the only hopes of humankind ! 202 SONJSTET VL vJFT when I brood on what my heart has felt. And think on former friends, of whom, alas I She the most dear, sleeps where th' autumnal grass To the wet night-wind flags, I inly melt j And oft I seem (my spring-tide fled away. While the heart's anguish darkens on my brow) Likest the lone leaf on the wintry bough That pines for the glad season's parted ray ! Such thoughts as these, when the dull hours pass by Shroud them in hues of saddest sickliness 1 Yet oft I wiselier muse, yea almost bless The shiverings of departed extasy ; Thinking that He who thus my spirit tries Draws it to Heaven a cleansed sacrifice ! 203 SOJS/JSTET VII iVlY Bible, scarcely dare I open thee ! Rememb'ring how each eve I wont to give Thy due texts holily, while She did live. The pious Woman ! What tho' for the meek Thou treasurest glad tidings, still to me Of her I lov'd thou dost so plainly speak. And kindling virtue dost so amply tell Of her most virtuous, that 'twere hard to quell The pang which thou wilt wake ! Yet hallow'd Book, Tho' for a time my bosom thou wilt wring Thy great and precious promises will bring Best consolation ! Come then, I will look In thy long clasped volume, there to find Haply, tho' lost her form, my best friend's mind ! 204 SONNET nil. W HEN from my dreary home I first mov'd on. After my Friend was in her grave-clothes drest, A dim despondence on my spirit prest. As all my pleasant days were come and gone 1 Strange whispers parted from th' entombing clay. The thin air murmur'd, each dumb obje6t spake, ^Bidding my overwhelmed bosom ache : Oft did I look to Heaven, but could not pray ! " How shall I leave thee, quiet scene ?" said I, " How leave the passing breeze that loves to sweep " The holy sod where my due footsteps creep ? " The passing breeze ? 'Twas She ! The Friend pass'dby !' But the time came j the passing breeze I left : '* Farewell !" I sigh'd, and seem'd of all bereft ! 205 SON]!iET IX. vJH, She was almost speechless I nor could hold Awakening converse with me ! (I shall bless No more the modulated tenderness Of that dear voice !) Alas^, 'twas shrunk and cold Her honour'd face ! yet when I sought to speak. Through her half-open'd eye-lids She did send Faint looks, that said " I would be yet thy friend !" And (O my choak'd breast !) e'en on that shrunk cheek I saw one slow tear roll ! my hand She took. Placing it on her heart — I heard her sigh " 'Tis too, too much !" 'Twas Love's last agony ! I tore me from Her ! 'Twas her latest look. Her latest accents — Oh my heart, retain That look, those accents, till we meet again ! 206 SONNET X. As o'er the dying embers oft I cower. When my tir'd spirits rest, and ray heart swells LuU'd by domestic quiet, MemVy dwells On that blest tide, when Thou the evening hour Didst gladden : while upon th' accustom'd chair > I look, it seems as if Thou still wert there ; Kirtled in snowy apron thy dear knees Propt on the fender'd hearth my faiicy sees. O'er which exchanging souls we wont to bend I And as I lift my head, thy features send A cheering smile to me — but, in its flight. O'er my rain-pelted sash a blast of night Sweeps surlily ! I start, and fain would creep To the bleak dwelling where thy cold limbs sleep \ 207 LINES Written on a FRIDAT, the Day in each Week formerly devoted by the Author and hii Brothers ahd Sisters to the Society of their Grai^dmoteer. JL HIS is the day wc children wont to go In best attire, with gay high-swelling hearts^ And infant pride, to the belov'd repast Of her, our rev renc'd Grandmother ! the time By us delighted infants still was call'd An holiday ! E'en ere the shadowy mom Peep'd dimly thro' our half-drawn curtains, we Would tell each other of the day, and hail With one accord, and interchange of soul. The heartsome festival of home-born love ! Our matin task, with o'ercharg'd restless souls That wearily supprcss'd joy's giddiness. 208 How ill perform'd ! Learning's dull mockery o'er How did we shout, and rend the air with cries Of glad deliverance ! For the hour Was come. The hour of Joy ! Faint- heard the rumbling wheels Proclaim the kind conveyance sent by her. The watchful Friend, to bear the feeble ones : Perchance some babe that still in helplessness Clings to its Mother's breast, or one that left But now its Nurse's lap, another yet That scarcely lisps its benefaftress' name. Yet calls itself in pride of infancy, "Woman or Man ! Ah, enviable state. When in simplicity of heart we're pleas'd With misery-meaning names ! The mother still With kisses fond, or smiles of anxious hope Tended afFe6tion's tott'ring troop : while we. By pedant watch'd, hurried along with step Measuring back half its way, all anxious now 209 To reach the lov'd abode, yet oft repress'd By him the surly tyrant of those years When freedom seems most precious. But the tree First seen that screen'd that spot, how eagerly We hail'd it, beat our hearts, our froward steps Now quicken'd, now untra£table, in spite Of threaten'd durance, bore us on, till soon, A happy train ! athwart the lawn we rush'd. Mounted the steps, burst swiftly thro' each door In vain our course impeding, and at last Threw our fond arms around the much-lov'd form That smil'd our welcome, bright'ning every face With kind reflection of propitious Love ! Oh ! 'twas a scene that fiU'd the happy heart ! A scene, which when ray musing memory feigns, Starts a warm tear unwittingly, a sigh Rises v/ithin, for it will ne'er return ! O 210 The welcome o'er, and intercourse of looks Anxiously smiling, interrupted oft By quaint enquiry, and meek playfulness. Each hastens to his sport. This to a spot Trimly defended from the intruding step, Hight by the busy urchin who had there Exhausted all his little store of taste, A Garden ! — There he weekly brought some flower. Primrose or violet, or, of costlier kind, The rose tree, or the tulip's gaudy gloss ; For all his scanty hoard unsparingly This tiny scene engross'd — the well-earn'd ^ift Was here expended, and he oft would gaze With big-swoln heart, exulting at the thought That he might call the spot belov'd his hill, dale, and sparkling broo^k between ! 255 Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song. That soars on Morning's wing your vales among. Scenes of my Hope ! the aking eye ye leave Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve ! Tearful and sad'ning with the sadden'd blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze : Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend. Till chill and damp the moonless night descend. 256 In the MANNER of SPENCER. PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree, 1 would, that from the pinions of thy Dove One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be ! For 6 ! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee. And fain to her some soothing song would write. Lest she resent my rude discourtesy. Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light. But broke my plighted word — ah 1 false and recreant Wight! Last night as I my weary head did pillow With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engross'd. Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willoW, As the' my breast entomb'd a pining ghost. 257 '* From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast, " Rejected Slumber ! hither wing thy way ; " But leave mc with the matin hour, at most ! " As night-clos'd flowret to the orient ray, " My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey. But Love, who '' heard the silence of my thought," Contriv'd a too successful wile, I ween : And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught — " Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen '. " To-morrow shall he ken her altcr'd mien !" He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed The Morning shot her dewy glances keen. When as I 'gan uplift ray drowsy head — " Now, Bard ! I'll work thee woe I " the laughing Elfin said. R 258 ^ Sleep, softly-breathing God ! his downy wing Was flutt'ring now, as quickly to depart j When twang'd an arrow from Love's mystic stiing. With pathless wound it pierc'd him to the heait. Was there some Magic in the Elfin's dart ? Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ? For strait so fair a FoVm did upwards start (No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor mov'd from his sweet Trance ! My Sara canac, with gentlest Look divine -, Bright shone her Eye, yet tender was its beam : I felt the pressure of her Lip to mine ! Whisp'ring we went, and Love was all our tlieme — Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem. He sprang from Heaven ! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide. i ^59 That I the living Image of my Dream Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd— " O ! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide I' July, 1795. 112 26o " The COMPOSITION of a KISS. L/UPID, if storying * Legends tell aright, Oncefram'd a rich Elixir of delight. A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he lix'd. And in it Ne6tar and Ambrosia mix'd : With these the magic dews, which Evening brings, Brush'd from the Idalian star by faery wings : ** Effinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem Basia lasciva Cypria Diva mana. Ambrosiae succos occulta temperat arte, Fragransque infuso neftare tingit opus. Sufficit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim Non impune favis surripuisset Amor, Dccussos violae foliis admiscet odores Et spolia aestlvis plurima rapta rosis. Addit et illecebras ct mille et mille lepores, Et quot Acidallus guadia Cestus habet. Ex his composuit Dea basia j et omnia libans Invenias nitidae sparsa per ora Cloes." Carm. Quad. Vol. II, 26l Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he joln'd, j^ach gentler Pleasure of th' unspotted mind — Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow And Hope, the blameless Parasite of Woe. The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise. The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs j Sweet sounds transpir'd, as when the enamour'd Dove Pours the soft murm'ring of responsive Love. The finished work might Envy vainly blame. And '*^ Kisses" was the precious Compound's name. With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest. And breath'd on Sara's lovelier lips the rest. R3 262 TO AN INFANT, Ah cease thy Tears and Sobs, my little Life I I did but snatch away the unclasp'd Knife : Some safer Toy will soon arrest thine eye And to quick Laughter change this peevish cry ! Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe, Tutor'd by Pain each source of Pain to know ! Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire. Or rouse thy screams or wake thy young desire t Yet art thou wise, for mid thy brief alarms Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms. Nestling thy little face in that fond breast Whose anxious Hcavings lull thee to thy rest ! Man's breathing Miniature ! thou mak'st me sigh*' A Babo art thou-— and such a Thing am I ! 263 To anger rapid and as soon appcas'd. For trifles mourning and by trifles pleas'd. Break Friendship's Mirror with a fretful blow Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow ! O thou that rearest with celestial aim The future Seraph in my mortal frame. Thrice holy Faith ! whatever thorns I meet As on I totter with unpraftis'd feet. Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee. Meek Nurse of Souli thro' their long Infancy ! 264 On the CHRISTENIISTG of a Friend's CHILD. X HIS day among the faithful plac'd And fed with fontal manna ^ O with maternal title grac'd Dear Anna's dearest Anna ! While others wish thee wise and fair, A maid of spotless fame, I'll breathe this more compendious prayer May'st thou deserve thy name ! Thy Mother s name, a potent spell. That bids the Virtues hie From mystic grove and living cell Confest to Fancy's eye ; ^ Meek Quietness without offence j Content in lioraespun kirtle j True Love ; and True Love's Innocence, White Blossom of the Myrtle ' Associates of thy name, sweet Child ! These Virtues may'st thou win 5 With face as eloquently mild To say, they lodge within. So, w^hen her tale of days all flown. Thy Mother shall be miss'd here ; When Heaven at length shall claim its own, And Angels snatch their Sister j Some hoary-headed Friend, perchance, May gaze with stifled breath ; And oft, in momentary trance, Forget the waste of death. 266 Ev'n thus a lovely rose I view'd In summer- swelling Pride j Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude Peep'd at the Rose's side. It chanc'd, I pass'd again that way In Autumn's latest hour. And wond'ring saw the self-same spray Rich with the self-same flower. — Ah fond deceit ! the rude green Bud Alike in shape, place, name. Had bloom'd^ where bloom'd its parent stud. Another and the same ! ♦« 267 ADDRESS To the GENIUS of SHAKESPEARE. By CHARLES LLOYD. When first thine eyes beheld the hght. And Nature bursting on thy sight Pour'd on thy beating Heart a kindred day j (xenius, the fire-eyed Child of Fame ! Circled thy brows with mystic flame. And warm with hopc^, pronounc'd this prophet-lay. Thee, darling Boy ! I give to know Each viewless source of Joy and Woe, For thee my vivid visions shall unfold ; Each form, that freezes sense to stone 5 Each phantom of the world unknown 5 Shall flit before thine eyes, and waken thoughts untold> 268 The bent of purpose unavow'd^ Of Hopes and Fears the wildering crowd 5 The incongruous train of wishes undefin'd ; Shall all be subjeded to thee ! The excess of Bliss and Agony Shall oft alternate seize thy high-atteraper*d mind. Oft o'er the woody summer vale When Evening breathes her balmy gale j Oft by the wild brook's margin shalt thou rove. When just above the western line The clouds with richer radiance shine. Yellowing the dark tops of the mountain-grove. There Love's warm hopes thy breast shall fill. For Nature's charms with kindliest skill Prepare for Love's delicious extacy ; Thy prostrate mind shall sink subdued. While in a strange fantastic mood The wild power fires thy veins, and mantles in thine eye ! 269 For know where'er my influence dwells^ Each selfish interest it expels. And wakes each latent energy of soul 3 Indifference of the marble mien Shall ne'er with lazy spells be seen. To quench th' immortal wish, that aims perfedion's goal. There shalt thou burst, whate'er it be That manacles mortality. And range thro' scenes by fleshly feet untrod 3 And Inspiration to thine eye Shall bid futurity be nigh. And with mysterious power approximate to God. 270 STANZAS, Written after a Journey into NORTH WALES ^ By CHARLES LLOYD. Y E Powers unseen, whose pure aerial forms Hover on Cambria's awful mountains hoar. Who breathe your fury in her raging storms. And join your deep yells to the tempest's roar Assist my visionary soul to soar Once more enraptur'd o'er your prospers drear. Let each sensation warm my heart once more That wont to prompt th' enthusiastic tear And raise my restless soul when your wild scenes were near ! 271 Sure ye who viewless range those prospers blest. And swiftly glance o'er many a heath-clad hill. Sure ye oft animate the glowing breast. And often warm with many a mystic thrill The pure poetic fancy ! Oh ! deign still Those high, those speechless pleasures to renew ; Let Memory trace each scene with faithful skill. And let Imagination's fervour true. With no dim tints recall each magic mountain-view ! In all the tedious intercourse of life Say, is there aught of bliss sublime and high ? Amid the fluttering worlds unmeaning strife Say, is there aught to soothe or satisfy The soul aspiring to her kindred sky ? No ! Nature, thou alone canst boast the power To reillume the melancholy eye. Cheer the dejedion of the restless hour. Or bid advent'rous thought to trackless regions tower } 272 If thou perchance hast ever felt the smart Of unrequited friendship, go and soothe In independence wild, thy wearied heart ! The charm of solitary pleasures prove. Ye who the world's cold scorn may sometimes move To curse mankind -, and ye that doubt and fear. Oh ! see how Nature beams with boundless love ! The God of Nature shall instrud you there. All rapture to the heart, all music to the ear ! 273 A VISION OF REPENTANCE, 1 SAW a famous fountain in my dream. Where shady pathways to a valley led j A weeping willow lay upon that stream. And all around the fountain brink were spread Wide branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad* Forming a doubtful twilight desolate and sad. The place was such, that whoso enter'd in Disrobed was of every earthly thought. And straight became as one that knew not sin. Or to the world's first innocence was brought 5 Ensecm'd it now, he stood on holy ground, In sweet and tender melancholy wrapt around, S ^74 A most strange calm stole o'er my soothed sprite; Long time I stood, and longer had I staid. When lo ! I saw, saw by the sweet moonlight. Which came in silence o'er that silent shade. Where near the fountain something like despair Made of that weeping willow garlands for her hair. And eke with painful fingers she inwove Many an uncouth stem of savage thorn — " The willow garland, that v^as for her liOve," '' And these her bleeding temples would adorn." With sighs her heart nigh burst- — salt tears fast fell. As mournfully she bended o'er that sacred well. To whom when I addrest myself to speak. She lifted up her eyes, and nothing saidj The delicate red came mantling o'er her cheek. And gathering up her loose attire, she fled To the dark covert of that woody shade And in her goings seem'd a timid gentle maid. 11^ Revolving in my mind vi^hat this should mean, , And why that lovely Lady plained so ; Perplex'd in thought at that mysterious scene. And doubting if 'twere best to stay or go, I cast mine eyes in wistful gaze around. When from the shades came slow a small and plaintive sound : « " * Psyche am I, who love to dwell In these brown shades, this woody dell. Where never busy mortal came. Till now, to pry upon my shame." *' At thy feet what thou dost see The Waters of Repentance be. Which, night and day, I must augment With tears, like a true penitent. * The Soul. If haply so my day of grace Be not yet past 5 and this lone place, Oer- shadowy, dark, excludeth hence All thoughts but grief and penitence." " JVhy dost thou ^veep, thou gentle maid! And ivherefore in this harren shade Thy hidden thoughts%uith sorroivfeed^ Can thing so fair repentance need . And still I haunt this woody dell. And bathe me in that healing well. Whose waters clear have influence From sin's foul stains the soul to cleanse | And night and day I them augment 278 With tears, like a true Penitent, Until, due expiation made. And fit atonement fully paid. The Lord and Bridegroom me present Where in sweet strains of high consent, God's throne before, the Seraphim Shall chaunt the extatic marriage hymn." " Noiv Christ restore thee soon''-^l said. And thenceforth all my dream was fled. END. Errata. In the Poem to the Man of Ross, from the /iftb to the eighth lijie should have been placed aftef the fourteenth. — Two or three typographical errors the reader will correA as they occur. J