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SKETCH OF THE LIFE 
 OF 
 
 J. BEATTIE, LUD. 
 
 
 
 For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann’d; 
 Song was his favorite and first pursuit. Minstrel. 
 
 
 
 
 
 | 
 
 | Ir has been frequently observec, that the lives 
 | of literary men are animated by few incidents, and 
 ) therefore seldom afford any great scope for biograe 
 | phical remark; extraordinary adventure and variety 
 of action is not to bes expected in the closet, or in 
 the privacy of study: a simple narrative therefore 
 of their writings and opinions is all that we can hope - 
 to find in their history. 
 
 i, James Beattie was a native of Scotland, born on 
 
 | the 5th of November, 1735. The parish of Law- 
 
 | rencekirk, in the county of Kincardine, has the 
 
 /- honor of evroliing his name among those of several 
 
 | other literary characters, which that remote part 
 
 of the island has produced. The subject of this 
 memoir was deprived of his father at a very tens 
 
 der age; he was then only seven years old. An 
 
 event of this kind is always accompanied with 
 
 serious consequences, and where the circumstances 
 
 of the sufferer are not sufficiently destitute to ex- 
 
 cite the commiseration of the public, and are left ° 
 to their own unassisted exertions, it is that such 
 misfortunes are most severely felt: precisely in 
 this situation was the family of Mrs. Beattie, 
 whose hopes, and those of her helpless offspring, 
 were now fixed upon her eldest son David, who 
 at that time had just seen his eighteenth year. 
 In him they were not disappointed: actuated by 
 those motives which confer a lustre on poverty, 
 
 A 
 
i LIFE OF DR, BEATTIE. 
 by his virtuous exertions, and indefatigable in- 
 
 dustry, he not only supported his mother in cre- 
 
 ditable affluence, but gave James a classical edu- 
 cation at the parochial school of Lawrencekirk, at 
 that time kept by the celebrated James Milne. 
 Here it was that the natural genius of Dr. Beattie 
 began to shine, and after various consultations it 
 was at length determined that the University 
 should give a last polish to what Milne had so suc- 
 cessfully begun. . 
 In the year 1749 the two brothers left Law- 
 rencekirk on one horse, and directed their course 
 to Aberdeen, a distance of thirty English miles, at 
 
 a eT 
 
 a season not the most agreeable for the under- © 
 taking, and when good roads were unknown in _ 
 
 the North. As Beattie’s, or rather his brother’s 
 circumstances were not very affluent, he imme- 
 diately became a candidate for, and obtained the 
 
 office of Bursar, or Bursery, in the Marischal Col-. 
 
 lege; an idea of which is in some measure con- 
 veyed by the expression of being put on the 
 foundation in our Universities; except, that in 
 
 Scotland no opprobrious distinction or menial 
 
 office is attached to it; on the contrary, it is a 
 proof of superior merit, and becomes a premium 
 of a victorious contest, the just reward bestowed on 
 the victor after a competition in which classical ex- 
 cellence alone carries away the palm. 
 
 ** Non sine pulvere palma.” 
 
 After remaining the regular course of four years 
 at college, Mr. Beattie took his degree of Master of 
 Arts, and returned in April 1753 to Lawrencekirk, 
 anxious for some employment that would increase 
 his finances, without greatly interrupting the pro- 
 gress of bis studies; fortunately about this period 
 the neighbouring parish cf Fordoun was deprived of 
 its schoolmaster, and the very high character which 
 Beattie bore as a schelar and a man of genius, easily 
 procured him the humble appointment. Its emolu- 
 
LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. iii 
 
 + ments were small, and by no means suited the 
 
 
 
 ) aspiring views of the young student; however,: in 
 | his duty he was indefatigable, his habits of study 
 | were regular and constant, little time was spent in 
 idleness, because he was ambitious to acquit him- 
 self with credit, and benefit his scholars as far as 
 was in his power. In this situation Mr. Beattie 
 continued for the space of five years, admired by 
 all who knew him for his learning, his amiable 
 manners, and gentleness of character. At length 
 the magistrates of Aberdeen voluntarily presented 
 him with a vacant ushership in the grammar school 
 of that town, with a promise of succession when 
 the head master, who had already been upwards of 
 half a century in that situation, should think pro- 
 per to resign. An event however occurred that 
 soon taught him higher hopes, and afforded him 
 superior expectations ; having loug cultivated a taste 
 for poetry, he applied himself about this period 
 with unremitting assiduity to give a polish to his 
 verses that should entitle them to meet the eye of 
 criticism. Mr. Beattie in this respect soon realised 
 the most sanguine wishes of his friends. The pub- 
 lication however of his poems was delayed for the 
 present, in consequence of a presentation to the 
 vacant Professorship of Moral Philosophy and 
 Logic, in the Marischal College: this he obtained 
 through the interest of the Earl of Erroll, and the 
 late Dake of Argyle, who at that time had the no- 
 mination to almost every office in Scotland under 
 patronage of the crown. 
 
 In 1761 appeared a small volume of Juvenile 
 Poems and Translations, by James Beattie, M.A. 
 several of which had been long known to the pub- 
 lic, under different signatures, in a periodical pub- 
 lication called the Scotts Magazine; and in the 
 following year, his Essay on Poetry and Music ¢ 
 ‘which was delivered before the Literary Society of 
 Aberdeen. This essay is admirably calculated to- 
 initiate youth into the general principles of criti- 
 
 A2 
 
iv LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. 
 
 cism, and is undoubtedly one of the best treatises 
 of the kind in the English language; the remarks 
 on Mosic are exceedingly ingenious and interesting, 
 and discover a thorough acquaintance both with the 
 theory and practice of that art. 
 
 After being thirty years a bachelor, and six 
 a professor, Mr. Beattie, in the year 1766, married 
 Miss Mary Dun, a beautiful and accomplished 
 woman, daughter of Dr. James Dun, nearly seventy 
 years master of the grammar school at Aberdeen; 
 by her he had several children, all of whom their 
 father unfortunately survived. About this time 
 Mr, Beattie planned, and soon after published, his 
 celebrated answer to David Hume, entitled, An 
 Essay on the Immutability of Truth; this is 
 one of the most elegant, argumentative, and philo- . 
 sophical essays that ever appeared in any language, 
 That immense fabric of sophistry and scepticism, 
 reared by Berkeley and Hume, but of _ which 
 Descartes and Locke had laid the foundation, now 
 rose in all its splendor, and threatened to over- 
 whelm that religion, which has been established on 
 a basis of four thousand years’ experience: doubt 
 was to be introduced into every branch of physics, 
 metaphysics, history, ethics, and theology. It re-: 
 quired the pen of a Beattie, and the eloquence of 
 Truth, to refute so attractive an error; his deep 
 mind and extensive erudition saw at once what 
 dreadful consequences followed the doctrine of 
 Ideas, and its baneful tendency on every class of 
 the community; his indignation was roused, and 
 his sympathy excited for those, who, robbed of their 
 religious hopes, are left abandoned to the wretch- 
 edness of unbelief! ‘* Let them know.” says this 
 eloquent writer, “ that in the solitary scenes of life 
 there is many an honest and tender heart pining 
 with incurable anguish, pierced wlth the sharpest 
 sting of disappointment, bereft of friends, chilled 
 with poverty, racked with disease, scourged by the 
 oppressor, whom nothing but trust in Providence 
 
LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. v 
 
 and the hope ofa future retribution, could pre- 
 serve from the agonies of despair, And do they 
 with sacrilegious hands attempt to violate this 
 last refuge of the miserable, and to rob them of 
 the only comfort that had survived the ravages of 
 misfortune, malice, and tyranny! Did it ever hap- 
 pen that the influence of these tenets disturbed the 
 tranquillity of virtuous retirement, deepened the 
 gloom of human distress, or aggravated the horrors 
 | of the grave? Ye traitors to human kind, ye mur- 
 derers of the human soul, how can ye answer for 
 it to your own hearts? Surely every spark of your 
 generosity is extinguished for ever, if this considera- 
 tion do not awaken in you the keer st remorse.”— 
 Again the following pointed lines in the Minstrel: 
 
 eos 
 
 a a 
 
 ae 
 
 O Nature, how in every charm supreme! 
 
 Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new ! 
 
 O for the voice and fire of seraphim, 
 
 To sing thy glories with devotion due! 
 
 Blest be the day I ’scaped the wrangling crews 
 
 From Pyrrho’s maze, and Epicurus’ sty ; 
 
 And held high converse with the godlike few, 
 
 Who to the enraptur’d heart, and ear, and eyes 
 Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody. 
 
 Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind, 
 Sophists! of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane! 
 Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind, 
 
 : Who spread your filthy nets in Truth’s fair fane, 
 And eyer ply your venom’d fangs amain! 
 Hence to dark Error’s den, whose rankling slime 
 First gave you form! hence, lest the Muse should deign 
 
 _ (Though loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme,) 
 With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime. 
 
 In England the Essay on Truth was admired for 
 the perspicuity of its arrangement, the elegance of 
 its language, and the usefulness of its tendency: the 
 clergy in particular, considered it as the most mas- 
 terly refutation of error that had ever been written 5 
 and the University of Oxford, in 1773, presented 
 
 _- him with the honorable distinction of D.C.L. Doctor 
 of Civil Law. ; 
 Dr. Beattie now resumed with new vigor his 
 
 favorite pursuit of cultivating the Muses, (which 
 
 
 
ri LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. 
 
 had in some measure been prevented by his pro- 
 fessional duties,) and gave to the world his beau- 
 tiful poem of the Minstrel, or Progress of Genius. 
 The object of these lines will be best gathered 
 from his own preface. ‘* The design was,” says he, 
 “to trace the progress of a poetical genius born 
 in a-rade age, from the first dawning of fancy 
 and reason, till that period at which he may be 
 supposed capable of appearing in the world as a 
 Minstrel, that is, an itinerant poet and musician 5 
 a character which, according to the notions of our 
 forefathers, was not only respectable, but sacred.” 
 Few poems have been so generally read and so 
 justly admired as the Minstrel, for no person en- 
 dowed with even common taste or sensibility can 
 
 peruse it with indifference; and it has enrolled - 
 
 the name of Beattie in the list of our most dis- 
 tinguished Poets. The powers of imagination that 
 he has displayed are astonishing;—the harmony, 
 simplicity, and variety of the composition, will 
 bear to be compared with the greatest masters of 
 English versification. ‘‘ The measure in which it 
 is written,” observes Dr. Beattie, “* from its Gothic 
 structure and original, seems to bear some re- 
 lation to the subject and spirit of the Poem, and 
 admits both simplicity and magnificence of sound 
 and of language beyond any other stanza that I 
 am acquainted with.” It is impossible for any thing 
 to exceed the introductory lines, every point that 
 imagination can conceive, constituting excellence 
 in poetical composition, is there displayed in its 
 fullest extent. 
 
 Ah! who can tell how bard it is to climb 
 The steep where Fame’s proud temple shines afar! 
 Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
 Hath felt the influence of malignant star, 
 And wag’d with Fortune an eternal war; 
 Check’d by the scoff of Pride, by Envy’s frown, 
 And Poverty’s unconquerable bar, 
 In life’s low vale remote hath pin’d alone, 
 Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown, 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. vii 
 Early in the year 1773, Dr. Beattie, for the second 
 
 time in his life, proposed visiting London. His 
 fame as the author of the Minstrel, and Essay on 
 _ Truth, easily procured him letters of introduction. 
 _ to the most celebrated literary. characters in the 
 | metropolis, among whom -were the Earl of Manse 
 field, Lord Littleton, Drs. Jobusou, Hurd, Porteus, 
 | Mr. Burke, and Mrs. Montague. From each, and 
 
 particularly the latter, Mr. Beattie received the 
 
 greatest civility. On the 30th of June, he had the 
 honor of being presented to the King by Lord 
 Dartmouth, and although the levee was particu- 
 
 i larly crowded, a conversation of some length 
 
 ensued, the substance of which consisted chiefly 
 in high commendations and compliments, strongly 
 
 and elegantly expressed by his Majesty on his 
 
 writings, particularly the Essay on’Truth. Such 
 unexpected panegyric could not fail to make a 
 lasting impression on his mind. Dr. Beattie had 
 also the honor of a private audience at Kew, and 
 uniformly expressed! his admiration of the general 
 knowledge which both the King and Queen dis- 
 
 /_ covered upon every topic which happened to be- 
 
 come the subject of conversation. 
 
 By the recommendation of Lord Chief Justice 
 Mansfield, a gratuity of two hundred pounds per 
 annum from the privy purse was settled upon him, 
 with the compliment that he should lie on the 
 watch, and confute every sceptical and profane 
 opinion that should, after all he had written, dare 
 to start up in the world. On his return to Aber- 
 deen, Dr. Beattie was engaged in preparing for 
 
 _ the press An Essay on Memory and Imagination, 
 
 which had been delivered as lectures to the stu- 
 dents under his care. This contains a vast variety 
 of facts, collected with the greatest care; and his 
 reasoning upon these facts, is in general unexcep- 
 tionable; few essays of the same bulk contain so 
 much good sense, or a greater fund of practical 
 
wili LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. 
 ~remark, suited to a variety of situations, but most 
 “peculiarly adapted for youth. 
 
 From the year 1777 to 1783, nothing remarkable 
 occurred in the history of Dr. Beattie. His fame 
 was firmly established, and if possible, was much 
 higher in England than in his native country, At 
 this latter period he published his Dissertations 
 on the Theory of Language, one of the longest, 
 most important, and original of his detached essays. 
 ¥f the works of Harris and Monboddo are too ab- 
 stract for young stedents, and are rather calculated 
 for those who have acquired some knowledge of 
 the subject, those of Dr. Beattie are simple and 
 eomprehensive, illustrated chiefly by those familiar 
 topics which are best accommodated to the capacity 
 of his readers. At the request of his friend Dr, 
 Porteus, then Bishop of Chester, and now Bishop 
 ef London, he in the following year published his 
 treatise on the Evidence of Christianity, designed 
 with a view of fixing the attention, without fatigu- 
 ing the minds of our youth, and to establish their 
 religious principles on their first entrance into the 
 world: in this he has completely succeeded, and 
 perhaps no tract, if we except the Bishop’s own 
 on the same subject, ever had a greater share of 
 popularity. 
 
 The life of Dr. Beattie had hitherto been one 
 continued series of labor and instruction, and what 
 with cultivating the Belles-Lettres, attending to 
 the improvement of his class in moral Philosophy, 
 composing, preparing for, and correcting the press, 
 but little of his time cam have been devoted to 
 the pleasures of society. He was, however, always 
 cheerful, and readily unbent his mind in the com- 
 pany of his friends; when on the 19th of Novem- 
 ber, 1790, the death of his eldest son, James Hay 
 Beattie, cast a gloom around him, and notwith- 
 standing his singular piety, seemed to annihilate 
 every faculty of his soul, For several years this 
 interesting young man was at once the companion 
 
 ea 
 
 x 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. ix 
 and the friend of his father; extraordinary pains 
 
 ~had been taken by him in his education, while his 
 
 progress in classical knowledge, and his proficiency 
 in every other department of literature, proved 
 how well it had been bestowed. Displaying on 
 one hand such a virtuous disposition as the fondest 
 father might have been proud to behold; and on 
 the other, a developement of genius and talent, 
 which afforded an early promise of future excel- 
 lence. So high indeed was the opinion entertained 
 of his natural powers and literary acquirements, 
 that the University of Aberdeen recommended him 
 to his Majesty, as a proper person to be appointed 
 assistant Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logie 
 to his father, which was accordingly done, when 
 he was not quite nineteen. Dr. Beattie wrote a 
 very affecting account of his son. No one who has 
 any taste for good writing, simplicity of language, 
 and narrative composed of a selection of the most 
 interesting incidents, will, I am persuaded, be 
 satisfied with perusing it only once. The Professor 
 never completely recovered his death; and as if 
 his sorrows bad not already been sufficiently acute, 
 he experienced in 1796 an additional weight of 
 calamity, by the death of his younger son Montague 
 Beattie. so named after our celebrated defender of 
 Shakespeare, who had patronised the doctor at a 
 very early period, and whose essay he has taken 
 so many opportunities of commending. These, and 
 other misfortunes, to use the language of the Poet, 
 s harrowed up the soul” of Dr. Beattie; and his 
 health, never at any time good, was thereby con- 
 siderably impaired. 'The last time he ventured out, 
 was in the month of June, 1800. He was then very 
 corpulent, and discovered extreme debility. Pre- 
 mature old age, with all its infirmities, made rapid 
 advances upon him, and for three years before his 
 death be kept his house, and was for a great part 
 of that time confined to his-bed; however, his lat 
 Ab 
 
x LIFE OF DR. BEATTIE. 
 
 ter days were calm and resigned. He beheld the 
 approach of death with fortitude, composure, and 
 serenity 3 like one, who having acted his part well, — 
 when he arrived at the brink of life, could look | 
 back with pleasure, and forward without apprehen- 
 sion. After he had endured much bodily pain, and — 
 in a great measure had become insensible even to 
 what he himself was suffering, Dr. Beattie died at 
 Aberdeen, upon the 8th of August, 1803, at the 
 age of sixty-eight years. — 
 
 In person the Doctor was of the middle size, in- 
 clined to corpulency, and of a broad, square make, 
 which seemed to indicate a more robust constitution 
 than he really had; during the whole course of his 
 life he was subject to violent attacks of the head- 
 ach, whieh not only interrupted his studies, but pre- 
 vented him from enjoying the society of his dearest 
 friends. His features were regular, and his com- © 
 plexion dark, it was in his eye that the vivacity of 
 the poet seemed to beam, and that at all times ir- 
 radiated his countenance. 
 
 As a man of general literature, and especially as 
 a Poet, Dr. Beattie must be allowed to have attained 
 great excellence; his taste was chaste, his versifica- 
 tien elegant, and in his choice of language and 
 imagery, he will net be found inferior to the greatest 
 of his contemporaries. Had he continued to culti- 
 vate the Muses, his classical talents, and harmoni- 
 ous numbers, would have ensured him still greater 
 fame; but there is reason to suppose he neglected 
 the mountain of “ Olympus” for the hill-of “ Zion,” 
 and latterly had been more anxious to obtain the 
 reputation of a Christian Hero, than that of the 
 greatest of Modern Bards. 
 
 London, G. Db. 
 Ost. 1, 1805. ‘ 
 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 i . Page 
 The Minstrel. —By Dr. Beattie. ...ceeccesceoel 
 | The Grave.—Dr. Blair,.......cc0eccee see. Sk 
 Mason’s Elegy on the Death of Lady Coventry. . 54 
 Hymn, from Psalm 148—Mr. Ogilvie........58 
 | Shaw’s Monody to the Memory of a Young Lady 61 
 Ode to Melancholy.—Mr. Ogilvie......0.+.2. 69 
 Death.—Dr. Porteus, Bishop of London,,.,.. 73 
 Distress, a Poem.—Robert Noyés......002.+. 82 
 aie ns De inal 6. ee 101 Jf 
 | Fire-side.—Cotton... oiecscosssessccesccy 108 
 | Passions. —Colllins, .. 0. cece.sscccccsscves lll 
 Despondency.—Burns . ......ecccceccer ss LIZ” 
 On Slavery. —Cowper.....ceesceeescsceee LG 
 Power of the Supreme Being.—Smart. ...... 118 
 Hymn on Solitude.—Thomson. .......0.0..+- 122 
 Hymn to Darkness,—Yalden ........0000+04123 
 Ode to ‘Pime,—Ogilvies 2 .oicscc esc cdeces b25 
 On the Day of Judgment.—Dr. Glynn ......130 
 - The Ruins of Rome.—Mr, Dyer. ........+. 133 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
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 | 
 
 THE WREATH. 
 
 —— a 
 
 THE MINSTREL: 
 OR, 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS. 
 
 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 
 
 An: who can tell how hard it is to climb 
 
 The steep where Fame’s proud temple shines 
 afar! 
 
 Ah! who can teil how many a soul sublime 
 
 Hath felt the influence of malignant star, 
 
 And wag’d with Fortune an eternal war 5 
 
 Check’d by the scoff of Pride, by Enyy’s frown, 
 
 And Poyerty’s unconquerable bar, 
 
 Tn life’s low vale remote hath pin’d alone, 
 
 Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown. 
 
 Aud yet, the languor of inglorious days 
 
 Not equally oppressive is to all. 
 
 Him, .who ne’er listen’d to the voice of praise, 
 The silence of neglect can ne’er appal. 
 
 There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition’s call, 
 
 - Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of 
 
 Fame; 
 Supremely blest, if to their portion fall 
 Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim 
 
 Had He, whose simple tale these artless lines pro- 
 
 claim, 
 
: 
 
 Z THE MINSTREL. 
 
 The rolls of fame, 1 will not now explores 
 Nor need I here describe in learned lay, 
 How forth The Minstrel far’d in days of yore, 
 Right glad of heart, though homely in array 5 
 His waving locks and beard all hoary grey: 
 And from his bending shoulder decent hung 
 His harp, the sole companion of his way, 
 Which to the whistling wind responsive rung: 
 And ever as he went some merry lay he sung. 
 
 
 
 Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, 
 That a poor villager inspires my strain ; 4 
 With thee let Pageantry and Power abide: 2 
 The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign ; : 
 Where thro’ wild groves at eve the lonely swaia 
 Enraptur’d roams, to gaze on Nature’s charms, 
 They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain, 
 The parasite their influence never warms, 
 
 Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. 
 
 Though richest hues the peacock’s plumes adorn, 
 Yet horror screams from his discordant throat, 
 Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn, 
 While warbling larks on russet pinions float : 
 Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote, 
 Where the grey linnets carol from the hill. 
 O let them ne’er, with artificial note, 
 To please a tyrant, strain the little bill, 
 
 But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where 
 
 they will. 
 
 Liberal, not lavisb, is kind Nature’s hand; 
 
 Nor was perfection made for man below. 
 
 Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann’d, 
 
 Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. 
 
 With gold and gems if Chilian mountain glow, 
 
 If bleak and barren Scotia’s hills arise; 
 
 There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow § 
 
 Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies, 
 And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes 
 
THE MINSTREL. 3 
 
 Then grievé not, thou, to whom the indulgent Muse 
 
 Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire 5~ 
 
 Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse 
 
 The imperial banquet and the rich attire, 
 
 Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre. 
 
 Wilt thou debase the heart which God refin’d? 
 
 No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, 
 
 To fancy, freedom, harmony, resign; 
 Ambition’s groveling crew for ever left behind. 
 
 Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul 
 
 In each fine sense so exquisitely keen, 
 
 _* On the dull couch of luxury to loll, 
 
 Stung with disease and stupified with spleen $ 
 Fain to implore the aid of Flattery’s screen, 
 Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide, 
 (The mansion then no more of joy serene,) 
 
 , Where fear, distrust, malevolence, abide, 
 
 | And impotent desire, and disappointed, pride? 
 
 
 
 Of charms which Nature to her votary yields; 
 The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
 
 | The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields$ 
 
 | All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
 And all that echoes to the song of even, 
 
 | All that the mountain’s sheltering bosom shields, 
 
 And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 
 O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ? 
 
 | 
 Bb O how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
 } 
 | 
 
 These charms shall work thy soul’s eternal health, 
 
 And love, and gentleness, and joy, impart. 
 
 But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth 
 
 E’er win its way to thy corrupted heart; 
 
 For, ah! it poisons like a scorpion’s ‘dart 5 
 
 Prompting th’ ungenerous wish, the selfish scheme, 
 
 The stern resolve, unmov’d by pity’s smart, 
 
 The troublous day, and long distressful dream.— 
 Return, my roving Muse, resume thy purpos’d theme. 
 

 
 4 “ THE MINSTREL. 
 
 There liv’d in Gothic days, as legends tell, 
 A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree; 
 Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell, 
 Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady; | 
 But he, I ween, was of the north countrie :* 
 A nation fam’d for song, and beauty’s charms 3 
 Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free 5 
 Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms; 
 {nflexible in faith; invincible in arms 
 
 The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, 
 On Scotia’s mountains fed his little flock 5 
 
 The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never sway’d$ 
 An honest heart was almost all his stock; 
 
 His drink the living water from the rock : 
 
 The milky dams supplied his board, and lent , 
 Their kindly fleece to baffle winter’s shock 5 
 
 And he, tbo’ oft with dust and sweat besprent, 
 
 Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe’er 
 they went. 
 
 
 
 springs, 
 Contentment opes the source of every joy. 
 He envied not, he never thought of kings: 
 Nor from those appetites sustain’d annoy, 
 Which chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy 3 
 Nor fate his calm and humble hopes beguil’d ; 
 He mourn’d no recreant friend, nor mistress coy, 
 For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smil’d, 
 
 | 
 From labour health, from health contentment _ 
 . 
 And her alone he lov’d, and lov’d her from a child, ~ | 
 
 ‘ | 
 
 * There is hardly an ancient Ballad or Romance, wherein 
 a Minstrel or Harper appears, but he is characterized, by 
 way of eminence, to have been ‘of the North Countric.” : 
 It is probable, that under this appellation were formerly 
 comprehended all the provinces to the north of the Trent. 
 See Percy’s Essay on the English Minstrels. 
 
 a 
 

 
 
 
 _ ‘THE MINSTREL. 5 
 
 Wo jealousy their dawn of love o’ercast, 
 
 Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife; 
 Each season look’d delightful, as it past, 
 
 To the fond husband, and the faithful wife. 
 Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life 
 
 They never roam’d 3 Secure beneath the storm 
 Which in ambition’s ‘lofty land is rife, 
 
 Where peace and love are canker’d by the worm 
 
 Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform, 
 
 The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold, 
 Was all the offspring of this humble pair. 
 
 His birth no oracle or seer foretold : 
 
 No prodigy appear’d in earth or air, 
 
 Nor aught that might a strange event declare. 
 You guess each circumstance of Edwin’s birth; 
 The parent’s transport, and the parent’s care; 
 The gossip’s prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth 5 
 
 And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth. 
 
 And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy; 
 
 Deep thought oft seem’d to fix his infant eye. 
 
 Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude,, nor toy, 
 
 Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy, 
 
 Silent when glad; affectionate though shy ; 
 
 And now his look was most demurely sad, 
 
 And now he laugh’d aloud, yet none knew why. 
 
 The neighbours star’d and sigh’d,yet bless’d the lad 5 
 
 Some deem’d him wondrous wise, and some believ’d 
 him mad. 
 
 But why should I his childish feats display ? 
 
 Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled ; 
 
 Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray 
 
 Of squabbling imps, but to the forest sped, 
 
 Or roam’d at large the lonely mountain’s head ; 
 
 Or, where the maze of some bewilder’d stream 
 
 To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led, 
 
 There would he wander wild, till Phebus’ beam, 
 Shot from the western cliff, releas’d the weary team. 
 
§ THE MINSTREL. ¢ 
 
 The exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, 
 To him nor vanity nor joy could bring. 
 His heart, from cruel sport estrang’d, would bleed 
 To work the woe of any living thing, 
 By trap, or net; by arrow, or by slings . 
 These he detested, those he scorn’d to wield: 
 ie wish’d to be the guardian, not the king, © 
 Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field. 
 And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. 
 
 Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves 
 
 Beneath the precipice o’erhung with pine; 
 
 And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves, 
 
 From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine: 
 
 While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, 
 
 And echo swells the chorus to the skies. 
 
 Would Edwin this majestic scene resign 
 
 For aught the huntsman’s puny craft supplies ? 
 Ah! no: he better knows great Nature’s charms to 
 
 prize. 
 
 And oft he trac’d the uplands to survey, 
 
 When o’er the sky advanc’d the kindling dawn, 
 
 The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey, 
 
 And lake, dim gleaming, on the smoky lawn; 
 
 Kar to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, 
 
 Where twilight loves to linger for a while; 
 
 And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, 
 
 And villager abroad at early toil.— " [smile. 
 But, lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean 
 
 And oft the craggy cliff he lov’d to climb, 
 
 When all in mist the world below was lost. 
 
 What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, 
 
 Like shipwreck’d mariner on desert coast, 
 
 And view th’ enormous waste of vapor, toss’d ~ 
 
 Yn billows, lengthening to the horizon round, 
 
 Now scoop’din gulfs,with mountainsnow emboss’d ! 
 
 And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
 Flocks, herds, and waterfalls,along the hoar profound. 
 
a 
 
 ; THE MINSTREL. 
 
 Yn truth he was a strange and wayward wight, 
 Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene. 
 In darkness, and in storm, he found delight: 
 Nor less, than when on ocean wave serene 
 The southern sun diffus’d his dazzling shene. 
 Even sad vicissitude amus’d his soul: 
 
 _ And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, 
 
 _ And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
 
 _ Asigb, a tear, so sweet, he wish’d not to control. 
 
 
 
 © ye wild groves, @ where is now your bloom!” 
 | (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought) 
 *¢ Your flowers, your verdure,and your balmy gloom, 
 s¢ Of late so grateful in the hour of drought! 
 _ & Why do the birds, thatsong and rapture brought 
 | « To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake ? 
 * Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought ? 
 s¢ For now thestorm howls mournful thro? the brake, 
 _ © Andthe dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake. 
 
 % Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool, 
 * And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty 
 crown’d ! 
 
 “ Ah! see the unsightly slime, and sluggish pool, 
 
 “ Have all the solitary vale imbrown’d; 
 
 “ Fled each fair form,and mute each melting sound; 
 
 “ The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray : 
 
 * And, hark! the river, bursting every mound, 
 
 ** Down the vale thunders, and with wastefal sway 
 ©“ U proots the grove,and rolls theshatter’d rocks away 
 
 Yet such the destiny of all on earth: 
 * So flourishes and fades majestic Man. 
 “ Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, 
 s¢ And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan. 
 % O smile, ye heavens, serene! ye mildews wan, 
 “ Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime 
 ‘© Nor lessen of his life the little span. 
 - © Borne on the swift, tho’ silent, wings of Time, 
 * Old-age come on apace to ravage all the clime. 
 
D 
 
 ““ 
 
 i 
 
 | 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 . J 
 
 “ And be it so, Let those deplore their doom, 4 
 ** Whose hope still grovels ia this dark sojourn. | 
 “ But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, | 
 “ Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. _ 
 ** Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return ¢ 
 
 ‘* Is yonder wave the sun’s eternal bed ?— : 
 “* Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, | 
 “ And spring shall soon her vital influence shed $ 
 Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. 
 
 
 
 ** Shall I be left abandon’d in the dust, g 
 “ When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive? 4 
 *¢ Shall Nature’s voice, to man alone unjust, 
 
 “ Bid him, tho’ doom’d 'to perish, hope to live ? 
 
 * Ts it for this fair Virtue oft must strive 
 
 ‘© With disappointment, penury, and pain ?— 
 
 “ No; Heaven’s immortal spring shall yet arrive; 
 «* And man’s majestic beauty bloom again, [reign.” 
 Bright thro’ the eternal year of Love’s triamphant 
 
 This truth sublime his simple sire had taught, 
 
 Tu sooth, *twas almost all the shepherd knew, 
 
 No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought, E 
 Nor ever wish’d his Edwin to pursue. [view, — 
 ** Let man’s own sphere,” quoth he, ** confine his 
 
 ** Be man’s peculiar work his sole delight.” 
 
 And. much, and oft, he warn’d him to eschew 
 Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right, 
 
 By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might. 
 
 “ And,from the prayer of Want,and plaint of Woe, 
 
 * O never, never turn away thine ear, 
 
 * Forlorn in this bleak wilderness below, 
 
 * Ah! what were man,should Heaven refuse to hear! 
 
 ‘* To others do (the law is not severe) 
 
 “ What to thyself thou wishest to be done. 
 
 * Forgive thy foes; and love thy parents dear, 
 
 * And friends and native land; nor those alone; 
 
 All human weal and woe Jearn thou to make thine 
 ewn.” i . 
 

 
 THE MINSTREL. 9 
 
 See in the rear of the warm sunny shower, 
 ' 'The visionary boy for shelter fly! 
 For now the storm of summer-rain is o’er, 
 And cool, and fresh, and fragrant, is the sky ! 
 And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high, 
 The rainbow brightens to the setting sun 3 
 Fond fool, that deem’st the streaming glory nigh 
 How vain the chase thine ardor has begun! 
 
 _ Tis fled afar, ere half thy purpos’d race be run. 
 
 Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with/age, 
 When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom warm, 
 This baffled hope might tame thy manhood’s rage, 
 And disappointment of her sting disarm.— 
 
 But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm ? 
 Perish the lore that deadens young desire! 
 Pursue, poor imp, the imaginary charm, 
 Indulge gay Hope, and Fancy’s pleasing fire: 
 
 Fancy antl Hope toosoon shall of themselves expire. 
 
 When the long-sounding curfew from afar 
 Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale, 
 
 Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star, 
 Lingering and listening, wandered down the yale. 
 There would he dream of graves, and corses pale 3 
 And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng, 
 And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail, 
 Till silenc’d by the owl’s terrific song, [along. 
 
 Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering isles 
 
 Or, when the setting moon, in crimson died, 
 Hung o’er the dark and melancholy deep, 
 To hauuted stream, remote from man he hied, 
 
 ~ Where Fays of yore their revels wont to keep; 
 And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep 
 A vision brought to his entranced sight. 
 And first, a wildly-murmuring wind ’gan creep, 
 Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright, 
 
 With instantaneous gleam, illum’d the vault of Night. 
 
10 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 _Anon in view a portal’s blazon’d arch ’ 
 Arose3; the trumpet bids the valves unfold, 4 
 And forth an host of little warriors march, 
 Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold. 
 Their look was gentle, their demeanor bold, 
 
 And green their helms. and green their silk attire 
 And here and there, right venerably old, 
 
 The long-rob’d minstrels wake the warbling wire, 
 
 And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire. 
 
 With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, 
 
 A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance}; 
 The little warriors doff the targe and spear, 
 
 And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance. 
 They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance; 
 To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze; | 
 Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance | 
 Rapid along: with many-colour’d rays 
 
 OF tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze. 
 
 The dream is fied. Proud harbinger of day, 
 Who scar’dst the vision with thy clarion shrill, 
 Fell chanticleer! who oft has ’reft away 
 My fancied good, and brought substantial ill! 
 O to thy cursed scream, discordant still, 
 Let Harmony aye shut her gentle ear: 
 Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill, 
 Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear, 
 
 And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear. 
 
 Forbear, my Muse.’ Let love attune thy line. 
 Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so. 
 For how should he at wicked chance repine, — 
 Who feels from every change amusement flow ? 
 Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow, 
 As on he wanders through the scenes of morn, 
 Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow, 
 Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, 
 A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne. 
 
THE MINSTREL. il 
 
 But who the melodies of morn can tell? 
 
 The wild brook babbling down the mountain side 3 
 The lowing herd; the sheepfold’s simple bell; 
 Thy pipe of early shepherd dim descried 
 
 In the lone valley; echoing far and wide 
 
 |. The clamorous horn along the cliffs aboves 
 
 The hollow murmur of the ccean-tide 5 
 
 The hum of bees, and linnet’s lay of love, 
 And the fall choir that wakes the universal grove. 
 
 | / } 
 
 | -' The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; 
 
 | Crown?d with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings $ 
 | 'The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and hark! 
 1 Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; 
 Thro’ rustling corn the hare astonish’d springs 5 
 Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; 
 The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; 
 Deep mourns the turtle in sequester’d bower, 
 
 | And shrill lark carols clear from her aérial tour. 
 
 | O Nature, how ia every charm supreme! 
 
 | Whose votaries feast ou raptures ever new! 
 
 | Ofor the voice and fire of seraphim, 
 
 To sing thy glories with devotion due! 
 
 | Blest be the day I ’scaped the wrangling crew, 
 
 From Pyrrho’s maze, and Epicurus’ sty ; 
 
 And held high converse with the godlike few, 
 
 | Who to th’ enraptur’d heart, and ear, and eye, 
 Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody! 
 
 Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind, 
 
 Sopkists! of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane! 
 
 Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind, 
 
 Who spread your filthy nets in Truth’s fair fane, 
 
 And ever ply your venom’d fangs amain! 
 
 Hence to dark Error’s den, whose rankling slime 
 
 First gave you form! hence! lest the Muse should 
 deign 
 
 (Tho’ loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme,) 
 
 | With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime. 
 
 
 
 { 
 | = 
 } a 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
12 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, 3 
 Nature’s true sons, the friends of man and truth! 
 Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay, 
 Amus’d my childhood, and inform’d my youth. 
 O let your spirit still my bosom soothe, 
 Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide! 
 Your voice each rugged path of lifecan smoothe; — 
 For well I'know, wherever ye reside, 
 
 There harmony, and peace, and innocence, abide. 
 
 
 
 Ah me! abandon’d on the lonesome piain, 
 
 As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, 
 
 Save when against the winter’s drenching rain, 
 
 And driving snow, the cottage shut the door. 
 
 Then, as instructed by tradition hoar, 
 
 Her legends when the Beldam ’gan impart, 
 
 Or chant the old heroic ditty o’er, 
 
 Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his hearts 
 Much he the tale admir’d, but more the tuneful art. 
 
 Various and strange was the long-winded tale 5 
 
 And halls,and knights,and feats of arms, display’d; 
 
 Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, 
 
 And sing, enamour’d, of the nut-brewn maid ; 
 
 The moon-light revel of the fairy glade; 
 
 Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood, 
 
 And ply in cayes the unutterable trade,* 
 
 Midst fiends and spectres, quench the moon in 
 
 blood, é 
 
 Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood. 
 
 But when to horror his amazement rose, 
 
 A gentler strain the Beldam would rehearse , 
 A tale of rural life, a tale of woes, 
 
 The orphan babes, and guardian uncle fierce. 
 
 * Macbeth. How now, ye secret, black, and midnight hags, 
 What is’t you do? 
 Witehes. A deed without a name. 
 

 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 13 
 
 O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce 
 
 That heart by lust of lucre sear’d to stone! 
 For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse, 
 To latest times shall tender souls -bemoan 
 
 - Those helpless orphan-babes by thy fell arts undone, 
 
 | 
 | 
 ! 
 
 Behold, with berries smear’d, with brarables torn,* 
 The babes now famish’d lay them down to die, 
 ?Midst the wild how! of darksome woods forlorn, 
 Folded in one another’s arms they lie; 
 
 Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry $ 
 * For from the town the man returns no more.” 
 
 - But thou, who Heayen’s just vengeance dar’st defy, 
 
 This deed with fruitless tears shall soon deplore, — 
 
 ' When Death lays waste thy house, and flames con- 
 
 sume thy store. 
 
 A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy 
 
 Brighten’d one moment Edwin’s starting tear.— 
 “‘ But why should gold man’s feeble mind decoy, 
 *¢ And innocence thus die by doom severe ?” 
 
 0 Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere, 
 
 Th’ assaults of discontent and doubt repel: 
 Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere 5 
 
 But let us hope—to doubt, is to rebel,— 
 
 Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well. 
 
 Nor be thy generous indignation check’d, 
 
 Nor cheek’d the-tender tear to Misery given; 
 From Guilt’s contagious power shall that protect, 
 This soften and refine the soul for Heaven. 
 
 But dreadful is their doom,whom doubt has driven _ 
 To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego: 
 
 Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, 
 Perfection, beauty, life, they never know, 
 
 But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe. 
 
 * See the fine old ballad, called, The Children in the Wood. 
 
 B 
 
, 
 
 14 THE MINSTREL. FF 
 
 Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age, 
 Scarce fill the circle of one summer-day, 
 Shall the poor gnat with discontent and rage 
 Exclaim, that Nature hastens to decay, 
 If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray, 
 If but a momentary shower descend! 
 Or shall frail man Heayen’s dread decree gainsay, 
 Which bade the series of events extend 
 Wide thro’ unnumber’d worlds, and ages without end! - 
 
 One part, one little part, we dimly scan 
 Thro’ the dark medium of life’s feverish dream, 
 Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, 
 If but that little part incongruous seem. 
 Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem; - 
 Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. iy 
 O then renounce that impious self-esteem, 
 That aims to trace the secrets of the skies : 
 
 For thou art but of dust; be humble, and be wise. 
 
 Thus Heaven enlarg’d his soul in riper years 3 
 
 Nor Nature gave him strength and fire, to soar 
 
 On Fancy’s wing above this vaie of tears; 
 
 Where dark cold-bearted sceptics, creeping, pore 
 
 Through microscope of metaphysic lore ; 
 
 And much they grope for truth, bat never hit. 
 
 For why? their.:powers, inadequate before, 
 
 This art preposterous renders more unfit; _ [wit. 
 Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain bluuders 
 
 Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth, 
 Her ballad, jest, and riddle’s quaint device 
 Oft cheer’d the shepherds round their social hearth 3 
 Whom levity orspleen could ne’er entice 
 To purchase chat or laughter, at the price 
 Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed, 
 That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice. 
 Ab! had they been of court or city breed, 
 Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed. 
 
THE MINSTREL. 13_ 
 
 ©ft when the winter-storm had ceased to rave, 
 
 He roam’d the snowy waste at even, to view 
 
 The cloud stupendous, from th’ Atlantic wave 
 
 High-towering, sail along th’ horizon blue: 
 
 Where ’midst the changeful scenery ever new 
 
 Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries 
 
 More wildly great than ever pencil drew, 
 
 Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant-size, 
 And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise. 
 
 Thence musing onward to the sounding shore, 
 The lone enthusiast oft would take his way, 
 Listening with pleasing dread to the deep roar 
 Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array 
 When sulph’rons clouds roll’d on the vernal day, 
 Even then he hasten’d from the haunt of man, 
 Along the trembling wilderness to stray, 
 What time the lightning’s fierce career began, [ran. 
 And o’er Heaven’s rending arch the rattling thunder 
 
 Responsive to the sprightly pipe when all 
 
 In sprightly dance the village youth were join’d, 
 
 Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall, 
 
 From the rude gambol far remote reclin’d, 
 
 Sooth’d with the soft notes warbling in the wind. 
 
 Ah then, all jollity seem’d noise and folly, 
 
 To the pure soul by Fancy’s fire refin’d, 
 
 Ah what is mirth but turbulence unholy, [choly! 
 When with the charm compar’d of heavenly melan- 
 
 Js there a heart that music cannot melt ? 
 
 Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn ! 
 
 Is there, who ne’er those mystic transports felt 
 
 Of solitude and melancholy born ? 
 
 He needs not woo the Muse; he is her scorn. 
 
 The sophist’s rope of cobweb he shall twine; 
 
 Mope o’er the schoolman’s peevish page; or mourn, 
 
 And delvefor life in Mammon’s dirty mine; [swine. 
 Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton 
 
 B2 
 
16 . THE MINSTREL. 
 
 For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann’d;~ 
 
 Song was his favorite and first pursuit. 
 
 The wild harp rang to his adventurous hand, 
 
 And languish’d to his breast the plaintive flute. 
 
 His infant muse, though artless was not mute: 
 
 Of elegance as yet he took no cares 
 
 For this of time and culture is the fruit 5 
 
 And Edwin gain’d at last this fruit so rare: 
 As in some future verse I purpose to declare. 
 
 Meanwhile, whate’er of beautiful, or new, 
 Sublime or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky 3 
 By chance, or search, was offer’d to his view, 
 He scann’d with curious and romantic eye. 
 Whate’er of lore tradition could supply 
 From Gothic tale, or song, or fable old, 
 Rous’d him, still keen to listen and to pry. 
 At last, though long by penury control’d, 
 And solitude, his soul her graces ’gan unfold, 
 
 Thus on the chill Lapponian’s dreary land, 
 
 For many a long month lost in snow profound, 
 
 When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland, 
 
 And in their northern cave the storms are bound $ 
 
 Froim silent mountains, straight, with startling 
 sound, ° 
 
 Torrents are hurl’d; green hills emerge; and lo, 
 
 The trees with foliage,cliffs with flowers are crown’d; 
 
 Pure rills thro’? vales of yerdure warbling go; 
 
 And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant’s heart o’er- 
 
 flow.* 
 
 Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little while. 
 Fhe leisure hour is all that thou canst claim. 
 But if ***** on this labor smile, 
 
 New strains ere long shall animate thy frame, 
 
 * Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the Laplan- 
 ders. About the time the sun enters Cancer, their fields, 
 which a week before were covered with snow, appear ona 
 sudden full of grass and flowers. Scheffer’s History of Lap-, 
 land, p. 16. 
 
THE MINSTREL. 17 
 
 And his applause to me is more than fame 3 
 * For still with trath accords his taste refin’d. 
 At lucre or renown let others aim, 
 I only wish to please the gentle mind, 
 Whom Nature’s charms inspire, and love of bus 
 mankind. 
 
 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 
 
 Or chance or change O let not man complain, 
 Else shall he never, never cease to wail: 
 _For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain 
 
 Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, 
 
 All feel th’ assault of fortune’s fickle gale 5 
 
 Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom’d 5 
 
 Earthquakes have rais’d to heaven the humble vale, 
 
 And gulfs the mountain’s mighty mass entomb’d, 
 And where the Atlantic rolls, wide continents have 
 
 bioom’d.* 
 
 But sure to foreign climes we need not range, 
 Nor search the ancient records of our race, 
 To learn the dire effects of time and change, 
 Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace. 
 Yet at the darken’d eye, the wither’d face, 
 Or hoary hair, I never will repine: 
 But spare, O Time, whate’er of mental grace, 
 Of candor, love, or sympathy divine, 
 Whate’er of fancy’s ray, or friendship’s flame is mine. 
 
 ® See Plato’s Timeus: 
 
18 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 So J, obsequious to Truth’s dread command, 
 Shall here without reluctance change my lay, 
 And smite the Gothic tyre with harsher hand 3 
 Now when I leave that flowery path fer aye . 
 Of childhood, where I sported many a day, 
 Warbling and sauntering carelessly along; 
 Where every face was innocent and gay, 
 Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue, 
 Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin’s infant song. 
 
 “ Perish the lore that deadens young desire,” 
 
 Is the soft tenor of my song no more. 
 
 Edwin, tho’ lov’d of Heaven, must not aspire 
 
 To bliss which mortals never knew before. 
 
 Ox trembling wings let youthful fancy soar, 
 
 Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy; 
 
 But now and then the shades of life explore, 
 
 Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy, 
 And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy. 
 
 Vigor from toil, from trouble patience grows. 
 The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower, 
 Some tints of transient beauty may disclose 5 
 But, ah! it withers in the chilling hour. 
 Mark yonder oaks! superior to the power 
 Of all the warring winds of heaven they rise, 
 And from the stormy promontory tower, 
 And toss their giant arms amid the skies, 
 
 While each assailing blast increase of strength sup- 
 
 plies. 
 
 And now the downy cheek and deepen’d voice 
 Gave dignity to Edwiu’s blooming prime; ~ 
 And walks of wider circuit were his choice, | 
 And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime. 
 One evening as he framed the careless rhyme, 
 It was his chance to wander far abroad, 
 And o’er.a lonely eminence to climb, 
 Which heretofore his foot had never trode5 
 
 A vale appear’d below, a deep retir’d abode. 
 

 
 THE MINSTREL. 19 
 
 Thither he hied, enamour’d of the scene; 
 For rocks on rocks pil’d, as by magic spell, 
 Here scorch’d with lightning, there with ivy green, 
 Fence’d from the north and east this savage dell; 
 Southward a mountain rose with easy swell, 
 Whose long long groves eternal murmur made} 
 And toward the western sun a streamlet fell, 
 Where, thro’ the cliffs, the eye, remote survey’d 
 Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold 
 array’d. 
 
 Along this narrow valley you might sce 
 The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground, 
 And here and there, a solitary tree, 
 Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown’d. 
 Oft did the cifffs reverberate the sound 
 Of parted fragments tumbling from on high $ 
 And from the summit of that craggy mound 
 The perching eagle oft was heard to cry, 
 
 Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky. 
 
 One cultivated spot there was, that spread 
 
 Its flowery bosom to the noon-day beam, 
 
 Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head, 
 
 And herbs for food with future plenty teem. 
 
 Sooth’d by the lulling sound of grove and stream, 
 
 Romantic visions swarm on Edwin’s soul : 
 
 He minded not the sun’s last trembling gleam, 
 
 Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll ;— 
 When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole. 
 
 * Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, 
 
 ** And woo the weary to profound repose 3, 
 
 ‘‘ Can Passion’s wildest uproar lay to rest, 
 
 “ And whisper comfort to the man of woes! 
 
 * Here Innocence may wander, safe from joes, 
 
 ‘¢ And Contemplation soar on seraph wings, 
 
 “ O Solitude, the man who thee foregoes, 
 
 “ When lucre lures him, or ambition stings, 
 
 “¢ Shall never know the source wheiee real grandeur 
 springs. 
 
6 
 
 “ 
 
 0 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 * Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire? 
 
 * Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid : 
 
 “ To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire ? 
 ** It is thy weakness that requires their aid: 
 
 “ To palaces, with gold and gems inlay’d ? 
 
 “ They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm :— 
 ** To hosts thro’ carnage who to conquest wade? 
 “ Behold, the victor vanquish’d by the worm! 
 Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform! 
 
 * True dignity is his, whose tranquil miod 
 
 ** Virtue has rais’d above the things below, 
 
 * Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resign’d, 
 
 ‘ Shrinks not, tho’ fortune aim her deadliest blow.” 
 
 — This strain from midst the rocks was heard to 
 flow 
 
 Tn solemn sounds. Now beam/’d the evening star; 
 
 And from embattled clouds emerging slow, 
 
 Cynthia came riding on her silver car 5 
 
 And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar. 
 
 os 
 
 6s 
 
 Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew 5 
 
 (While Edwin wrapt in wonder listening stood) 
 
 “© Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu, 
 
 “ Scorn’d by the wise, and hated by the good! 
 
 * Ye only can engage the servile brood 
 
 “© Of Levity and Lust, who, all their days, 
 
 * Asham’d of truth and liberty, have woo’d, 
 
 * And huge’d the chain,that glittering on their gaze 
 
 Seems to outshine the pony of heaven’s empyreal 
 blaze. 
 
 * Like them, abandon’d to Ambition’s sway, 
 
 “ I sought for glory in the paths of guile; _ 
 
 * And fawn’d and smil’d, to plunder and betray, 
 ‘¢ Myself betray’d and plunder’d all the while; 
 “ So gnaw’d the viper the corroding file. 
 
 *¢ But now with pangs of keen remorse I rue, 
 
 “ Those years of trouble and debasement vile.— 
 “ Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue? 
 Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my viewe 
 
THE MINSTREL. al 
 
 ** The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care, 
 ** Andstorms of disappointment all o’erpast; [share 
 ‘* Henceforth bo earthly hope with Heaven shail 
 “¢ This heart, where peace serenely shines at last. 
 «“ And if for-me no treasure be amass’d, 
 “ And if no future age shall bear my name, 
 * T lurk the more secure from fortune’s blast, 
 *¢ And with more leisure feed this pious flame, 
 
 “ Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of 
 
 fame. 
 
 ‘¢ The end and the reward of toil is rest. 
 ** Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace, 
 “ Of wealth and fame,of pomp and power possess’d, 
 s Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease ! 
 « Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, 
 * The lay heaven-prompted,and harmonious string, 
 “The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian ficece, 
 « All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, 
 
 * If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride the bosom wring ! 
 
 
 
 * « Yet Vanity adorn the marble tomb 2 
 . © With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, 
 “In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, 
 * Where night and desolation ever frown. 
 “ Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down 3 
 «“ Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, 
 '“ With here and there a violet bestrown, 
 * Fast by a brook, or fountain’s murmuring wave; 
 *‘And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. 
 
 “ And thither let the village swain repairs 
 * And, light of heart, the village maiden gay, 
 * To deck with flowers her half-disheyell’d hair, 
 « And celebrate the merry morn of May. 
 “ There let the shepherd’s pipe the live-long day 
 “ Fill all the grove with love’s bewitching woe; 
 « And when mild Evening comes with mantle grey, 
 * Let not the blooming band make haste to go, 
 
 “ No ghost norspell my long and last abodeshall know. 
 
 B5 
 
 
 
22 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 “¢ For though I fly to scape from fortune’s rage, 
 
 “ And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn, 
 
 “ Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage, 
 
 ““ Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn: 
 
 “ For virtue lost, and ruin’d man, I mourn. 
 
 “ O Man, creation’s pride, heaven’s darling child, 
 
 * Whom Nature’s best, divinest gifts adern, 
 
 “ ‘Why from thy home are truth and joy exil’d, 
 
 And all thy favorite haunts with blood and tears 
 defil’d ! 
 
 wn 
 
 “ Along yon glittering sky what glory streams! 
 
 “ What majesty attends night’s lovely queen! 
 
 “ Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beams; 
 
 * And mountains rise, and oceans roll between, 
 * And all conspire to beautify the scene. 
 
 “ But, in the mental world, what chaos drear! 
 
 “© What forms of mournful,loathsome,furious mien ! 
 “ O when shall that Eternal Morn appear, [clear ! 
 
 “« These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to 
 
 - 
 
 “ O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven, 
 
 “ In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light, 
 
 ** Rose from the abyss; when dark Confusion,driven 
 
 “ Down, down the bottomless profound of night, 
 
 *« Filed, where he ever flies thy piercing sight ! 
 
 ** O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray, 
 
 * To blast the fury of oppressive might, 
 
 “ Melt the hard heart to love and mercy’s sway, 
 “ And cheer the wandering sou], and light him on 
 
 the way.” 
 
 Silence ensued: and Eéwin rais’d his eyes 
 
 In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart. 
 
 “ And is it thus in courtly life,” he cries, 
 
 * That man to man acts a betrayer’s part! 
 
 ® And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert, 
 
 “© Each social instinct, and sublime desire! — 
 
 *‘ Hail Poverty! if honor, wealth, and art, 
 
 “ If what the great pursue, and learn’d admire, 
 “ Thus dissipate and quench the soul’s ethereal fire!” °— 
 
THE MINSTREL. 23 
 
 He said, and turn’d away; nor did the Sage 
 O’erhear, in silent orisons employ’d. 
 
 The Youth, his rising sorrow to assuage, 
 Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoy’d? 
 For now no cloud obscures the starry void 5 
 The yellow moonlight sleeps on all:the hills $ 
 Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy’d, 
 A soothing murmur the lone region fills 
 
 Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills. 
 
 But he from day to day more anxious grew, 
 
 The voice still seem’d to vibrate on his ear, 
 
 Nor durst he hope the Hermit’s tale untrue 3 
 
 For Man he seem’d to love, and Heaven to fear $ 
 And none speaks false, where there is none to hear. 
 ° Yet can man’s gentle heart become so fell! 
 
 ** No more in vain conjecture let me wear 
 
 “ My hours away, but seek the Hermit’s cell 5 
 
  °Tishe my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel.” 
 
 At early dawn the Youth his journey took, 
 And many a mountain pass’d, and valley wide, 
 Then reach’d the wild; where in a flowery nook, 
 And seated on a mossy stone, he spied 
 
 An ancient man: his harp lay him beside. 
 
 A stag sprang from the pasture at his call, 
 And, kneeling, lick’d the wither’d hand that tied 
 A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall, 
 
 And hung his lofty neck with many a flow’ret small, 
 
 And now the hoary Sage arose, and saw 
 
 The wanderer approachiag: innocence 
 
 Smil’d on his glowing cheek, but modest awe 
 
 Depress’d his eye, that fear’d to give offence. 
 
 *¢ Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from 
 whence? 
 
 * Why roam thy steps to this abandon’d dale ?” 
 
 “ A shepherd-boy,” the Youth replied, ‘* far heate 
 
 “ My habitation: hear my artless tale; 
 
 “ Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail. 
 
24 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 ‘ 
 
 4 
 
 ** Uncheck’d by cold distrust, and uninform’d of ill.” 
 
 “ Late as I roam’d, intent on Nature’s charms, 
 
 “ J reach’d at eve this wilderness profound ; 
 
 ** And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms, 
 “ Heard these rude cliffsthine awful voice rebound, 
 ** (For in thy speech I recognise the sound.) 
 
 “* You mourn’d for rvin’d man, and virtue lost, 
 
 * And seem’d to feel of keen remorse the wound, 
 “* Pondering on former days, by guilt engross’d, 
 Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss’d. 
 
 ** But say, in courtly life can craft be learn’d, 
 
 _ “ Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul ? 
 
 ” 
 
 “* Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearn’d, 
 
 ** Can selfishness the liberal heart control ? 
 
 “Is glory there achiew’d by arts as foul 
 
 “* As those which felons, fiends, and furies plan? 
 ‘* Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tigers prow! 5 
 * Love is the godlike attribute of man. 
 
 O teach asimple Youth this mystery to scan. 
 
 * Or else the lamentable strain disclaim, 
 
 “ And give me back the calm, contented mind 5 
 * Which, late exulting view’d in Nature’s frame, 
 ‘* Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfin’d, 
 
 “* Grace, grandeur, and utility combin’d. 
 
 ‘“« Restore those tranquil days, that saw me stil] 
 
 * Well pleas’d with all, but most with human-kind ; 
 *¢ When Fancy roam’d thro’ Nature’s works at wil}, 
 
 “ Wouldst thou,” the Sage replied,“‘in peace return, 
 * To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth, 
 
 “* Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn, 
 
 * From every gentle ear the dreadful truth : 
 
 _ For if my desultory strain with ruth 
 
 * And indignation make thine eyes o’erflow, 
 “ Alas! what comfort could thy anguish sooth, 
 © Should’st thou the extent of human folly know ? 
 
 ‘“* Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads 
 
 to woe. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 2b 
 
 « But-let untender thoughts afar be driven 5 
 “ Wor venture to arraign the dread decree: 
 “ Por know, to man, as candidate for heaven, 
 ‘¢ The yoice of The Eternal said, Be free; 
 “ And this divine prerogative to thee 
 “ Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey $ 
 “ Tor virtue is the child of liberty, 
 ‘¢ And happiness of virtue; nor can they 
 *© Be free to keep the path who are not free to stray. 
 
 * Yet leave me not. Iwould allay that grief, 
 
 * Which else might thy young virtue overpower ; 
 
 * Andin thy converse [ shall findrelief, 
 © ‘“ When the dark shades of melancholy lower ; 
 
 ‘* For solitude has many a dreary hour, 
 
 « Fiven when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain: 
 - & Come often then; for, haply, in my bower, 
 
 «* Amusement, knowledge,wisdom thou may’st gain. 
 *¢ ¥f { one soul improve, 1 have not liv’d in vain.” 
 
 And now, at length, to Edwin’s ardent gaze 
 'Phe Muse of history unrolls her page. 
 But few, alas! the scenes her art displays, 
 To charm his fancy, or his heart engage, 
 Flere chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage; 
 And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness 
 burn! 
 Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot’s rage, 
 Bat, lo! ere long, is left alone to mourn, 
 And languish in the dust,and clasp the abandon’d urn, 
 
 “ Ah! what avails,” he said, “ to trace the springs 
 
 *“* That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel! 
 
 “Ah! whathave I todo with conquering kings,[steel ! 
 
 * Hands drench’d in blood, and breasts begirt with 
 . * To those, whom Nature taught to think aud feel, 
 
 “ Heroes, alas! are things of small concera. 
 
 s Could History man’s secret heart reveal, 
 
 * And what imports a heavea-born mind to learn, 
 “ Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not 
 
 yearn! © 
 
ww 
 
 6 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 “ This praise, O Cheronean Sage,* is thine. 
 
 “ (Why should this praise to thee alone belong ?) 
 “ All else from Nature’s moral path decline, 
 
 * Lur’d by the toys that captivate the throng; 
 
 “ To herd in cabinets and camps, among 
 
 “ Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride; 
 
 “ Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song, 
 
 “ How tyrant blood, o’er many a region wide, 
 
 *¢ Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide, 
 
 ‘ 
 
 *° O who of man the story will unfold, D 
 
 “ Ere victory and empire wrought annoy, 
 
 “In that Elysian age, (misnam’d of gold,) 
 
 “ The age of love, and innocence, and joy, 
 
 “ When all weregreatand free! man’s soleemploy 
 “ To deck the bosom of his parent earth; [coy, 
 * Or toward his bower the murmuring stream de- 
 ** To aid the floweret’s long-expected birth, [mirth. 
 And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of 
 
 * Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves, 
 
 ** Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent, 
 
 * Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves, 
 
 *¢ Fis eye still smiling, and his heart content.[went. 
 
 *¢ Then, hand in hand, Health, Sport, and Labor 
 
 ‘¢ Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave. 
 
 “ None prowl’d for prey, none watch’d to circum- 
 vent 5 
 
 “ To all an equal lot Heaven’s bounty gave: 
 
 * No vassal fear’d his lord, no tyrant fear’d his slave. 
 
 * But,ah! the’ Historic Muse has never dar’d [beam 
 “ To pierce those hallow’d bowers: °tis Fancy’s 
 * Pcur’d on the vision of th’ enraptur’d Bard, 
 
 “ That paints the charms of that delicious theme. 
 * Then hail, sweet Fancy’sray! and hail the dream 
 “ That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe! 
 * Careless what others of my choice may deem, 
 * I long where Love and Fancy lead to go, - 
 
 * And meditate on Heaven; enough of earth I know.” 
 
 © Plutarch. 
 

 
 6 
 
 - 1@ 
 
 é 
 
 . 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 27 
 
 * ¥ cannot blame thy choice,” the Sage replied, 
 
 ‘© For soft and smooth are Fancy’s flowery ways. 
 
 * And yet even there, if left without a guide, 
 
 * The young adventurer unsafely plays. 
 
 “ Eyes dazzled long by Fiction’s gaudy rays, 
 
 “ In modest Truth no light nor beauty find. 
 
 “ And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze. 
 
 * That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind, 
 
 More dark and helpless far, than if it ne’er had 
 shin’d? k 
 
 “ Fancy enervates, while it soothes, the heart; 
 
 “© And while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight : 
 * To joy each heightening charm it can impart, 
 *¢ But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night. 
 
 * And often, where no real ills affright, 
 
 “ Its visionary fiends, an endless train, 
 
 s Assail with equal or superior might, 
 
 * & And thro’ the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain, 
 
 And shivering nerves, apes stings of more than 
 mortal pain. 
 
 «“ And yet, alas! the real ills of life 
 
 *© Claim the full vigor of a mind prepar’d, 
 
 “ Prepar’d for patient, long, laborious strife, 
 
 “ Its guide Experience, and Truth its guard. 
 
 * We fare on earth as other men have far’d : 
 
 *¢ Were they successful? Let not us despair. 
 
 “ Was disappointment oft their sole reward ? 
 
 ‘¢ Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare 
 
 How they have borne the load ourselves are 
 doom’d to bear. 
 
 & What charms the Historic Muse adorn,from spoils 
 “ And blood,and tyrants, when she wings her flight 
 “ To hail the patriot Prince, whose pious toils 
 
 * Sacred to science, liberty, and right, 
 
 «“ And peace, through every age divinely bright 
 
 “¢ Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind: 
 “6 Sees yonder sun, from his meridian height, 
 
 « A lovelier scene, than Virtuethusenshrin’d [bin’d? 
 
 “ In power, and man with man for mutual aid come 
 
28 ‘THE MINSTREL, 
 
 ** Hail, sacred Polity, by l’'reedom rear’d! 
 “ Hail, sacred Freedom, when by Law restrain’! 
 ** Witbout you what were man? A groveling herd, 
 “ In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain’d. 
 “ Sublim’d by you, the Greek and Roman reign’d 
 *“ In arts unrivall’d: O, to latest days, 
 “In Albion may your influence unprofan’d 
 * To godlike worth the generous bosom raise, 
 
 ** And prompt the Sage’s lore, and fire the Poet’s 
 
 lays! 
 
 “ But now let other themes our care engage. 
 
 “ For, lo! with modest yet majestic grace, 
 
 ** To curb Imaginaticen’s lawless rage, 
 
 ** And from within the cherish’d heart to brace, 
 
 “ Philosophy appears. The gloomy race 
 
 *¢ By indolence and moping Fancy bred, 
 
 “ Fear, Discontent, Solicitude, give place, 
 
 * And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead, 
 s¢ While on the kindling soul her vital beams are 
 
 shed. ° 
 
 * Then waken from long lethargy to life * 
 * The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought ; 
 “ Then jarring appetites forego their strife, 
 “ A strife by ignorance to madness wrought. 
 ** Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought 
 * With fell revenge, lust that defies control, 
 “ With gluttony and death. The mind untaught 
 “Ts a dark waste, where fiends and tempests 
 howl; 
 ‘* As Phebus to the world, is Science to the soul. 
 
 * The influence of the Philosophie Spirit, in humanizing 
 the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion, and 
 delicate pleasure ;---in exploring, by the help of geometry, 
 the system of the universe ;---in banishing snperstition ;--- 
 in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral 
 and political science ;---from this Stanza to the end of the 
 first Stanza, Page 31. 
 
£ 
 4 
 
 shy 
 
 Se eee 
 
 I OT Rael 
 
 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 29 
 
 * And reason now, thro’ number, time, and space, 
 “ Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye, [trace, 
 * And learns, from facts compar’d, the laws to 
 “ Whose long progression leads to Deity. 
 * Can mortal strength presume to soar so high! 
 « Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm/’d with tears, 
 *‘ Such glory bear!—for lo! the shadows fly 
 * From Nature’s face 3; Confusion disappears, 
 
 s¢ And order charms the eyes, and harmony the ears. 
 
 “ In the deep windings of the grove no more 
 ** The hag obscene, and grisly phantom dwell; 
 *¢ Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar 
 “¢ Of winds, is heard the angry spirit’s yell; 
 * No wizard mutters the tremendous spell, 
 ** Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon; 
 “ Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell, 
 * To ease of fancied pangs the laboring moon, 
 * Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of 
 noon. 
 
 ‘¢ Many a long lingering year, in lonely isle, 
 *¢ Stunn’d with the eternal turbulence of waves, 
 s* Lo, with dim eyes that never learn’d to smile, 
 s¢ And trembling hands, the famish’d native craves 
 “‘ Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves, 
 “ Or scorch’d on rocks, he pines from day to day 3 
 * But Science gives the word; and lo, he braves 
 “ The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray, 
 
 s¢ And to a happier land wafts merrily away. 
 
 “ And even where Nature loads the teeming plain 
 
 *¢ With the full pomp of vegetable store, 
 
 “ Her bounty, unimprov’d, is deadly bane: [shore 
 
 * Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to 
 
 “ Stretch their enormous gloom; which to explore 
 
 “ Even Fancy trembles in her sprightliest mood $ 
 
 s¢ Wor there each eye-ball gleams with lust of gore, 
 
 “ Nestles each murderous and st monstrous 
 brood, 
 
 s‘ Plague lurks in every shade, and streams from 
 
 every flood. 
 
30 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 “ 
 
 “ 
 
 s&s 
 
 “ 
 
 * ?Twas from Philosophy man learned to tame 
 
 ** The soil by plenty to intemperance fed. 
 
 ** Lo! from the echoing ax, and thundering flame, 
 
 * Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled. 
 
 ‘* The waters bursting from their slimy bed, 
 
 ** Bring health and melody to every vale: 
 
 “ And, from the breezy main and mountain’s head 
 
 * Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale, 
 
 To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering 
 gale. * 
 
 ** What dire necessities on every hand 
 
 “ Our art, our strength, our fortitude require! 
 
 “ Of foes intestine what a numerous band 
 
 “ Against this little throb of life conspire! 
 
 * Yet Science can elude their fatal ire 
 
 “ Awhile, ard turn aside Death’s levell’d dart, 
 
 ‘“* Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever’s fire, 
 
 * And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the 
 heart, 
 
 And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart. 
 
 ‘¢ Nor less to regulate man’s mortal frame 
 
 ** Science exerts her all-composing sway. 
 
 “ Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, 
 “ Or pines to Indolence and Splcen a prey, 
 
 “ Or Avarice, a fiend more fierce than they? 
 
 ** Flee to the shades of Academus’ grove; 
 
 “© Where cares molest not! discord melts away 
 
 “ [n harmony, and the pure passions prove 
 How sweet the words of truth breath’d from the 
 lips of love. 
 
 “ What cannot Art and Industry perform, 
 
 «* When Science plans the progress of their toil! 
 “© They smile at penury, disease, and storm : 
 
 ‘© And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil. 
 * When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil 
 “¢ A land, or when the rabble’s headlong rage 
 
 “ Order transforms to anarchy and spoil, 
 
 _* Deep-vers’d in man, the philosophic Sage 
 Prepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage. 
 

 
 THE MINSTREL. 31 
 « °Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind, 
 “ From situation, temper, soil, and clime 
 * Explor’d, a nation’s various powers can bind, 
 ** And various orders, in one form sublime 
 “ Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time, 
 * Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear 
 s‘ Th? assault of foreign or domestic crime, 
 “¢ While public faith, and public love sincere, . 
 
 “ And Industry and Law maintain their sway severe.” 
 
 Enraptur’d by the Hermit’s strain, the Youth 
 Proceeds the path of Science to explore. 
 
 And now, expanding to the beams of Truth, 
 New energies, and charms unknown before, 
 His mind discloses: Fancy now no more 
 Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies 5 
 But, fix’d in aim, and conscious of her power, 
 Sublime from cause to cause exults to rise, 
 
 Creation’s blended stores arranging as she flies. 
 
 Nor love of novelty alone inspires, 
 
 Their laws and nice dependencies to scan 3 
 FYor mindful of the aids that life requires, 
 
 And of the services man owes to man, 
 
 He meditates new arts on Nature’s p!an, 
 
 The cold desponding breast of ‘Sloth to warm, 
 The flame of Industry and Genius fan, 
 
 And Emulation’s noble rage alarm, 
 
 And the long hours of Toil and Solitude to charm. 
 
 But she, who set on fire his infant heart, 
 
 And all bis dreams, and all his wanderings shar’d, 
 
 And bless’d, the Muse, and her celestial art, 
 
 Still claim th’ Enthusiast’s fond and first regard. 
 
 From Nature’s beauties variously compar’d 
 
 And variously combin’d, he learus to frame 
 
 Those forms of bright perfection, which the Bard, 
 
 While boundless hopes and boundless views in- 
 flame, 
 
 Enamour’d consecrates to never-dying fame, 
 
32 - THE MINSTREL. 
 
 Of late, with cumbersome, tho’ pompous show, 
 
 Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface 
 
 Through ardor to adorn; but Nature now 
 
 To his experienc’d eye a modest grace 
 
 Presents, where Ornament the second place 
 
 Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design 
 
 Subservient still. Simplicity apace 
 
 Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine, 
 And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the 
 
 unwieldly line. 
 
 Fain would [ sing (much yet unsung remains) 
 What sweet delirium o’er his bosom stole, 
 When the great Shepherd of the Mantuan plains* 
 His deep majestic melody ’gan roll: 
 Fain would I sing, what transport storm’d his soul, 
 How the red current throbb’d his veins along, 
 When, like Pelides, bold beyond control, 
 Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong, 
 
 Homer rais’d high to Heaven the loud, th’ impetuous 
 
 song. 
 
 And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, 
 
 Now skill’d to soothe, to triumph, to complain, 
 
 Warbling at will thro” each harmonious maze, 
 
 Was taught to modulate the artful strain. 
 
 I fain would sing :—but ah! I strive-in vain. 
 
 Sighs from a breaking beart my voice confound.-— 
 
 With trembling step, to join yon weeping train 
 
 I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, 
 And, mix’d with shrieks of woe, the knells of death 
 
 resound. 
 
 Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy’s flowers adorn, 
 The soft amusement of the vacant mind! 
 
 He sleeps in dust, and ail the Muses mourn, 
 He, whom each Virtue fir’d, each Grace refin’d, 
 
 * Virgil. 
 

 
 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 33 
 
 _ Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind !—* 
 He sleeps in dust.—Ah, how should I pursue 
 My theme!—To heart-consuming grief resigo’d, 
 Here on his recent grave I fix my view, 
 
 Aud pour my bitter tears. —Ye flowery lays, adieu ! 
 
 Art thou, my G*******, for ever fied! 
 And am [ left to unavailing woe! 
 When fortune’s storms assail this weary head, 
 Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, 
 Ah! now for comfort whither shall I go? 
 No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers: 
 Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, 
 My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. 
 
 °Tis meet that I should mourn: flow forth afresh 
 
 my tears. 
 
 * This excellent person died suddenly, on the loth of Fe- 
 bruary, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few 
 days after, 
 
THE GRAVE, 
 
 
 
 The house appointed for all living. Jow.- 
 
 
 
 W usr some affect the sun, and some the shade, 
 Some flee the city, some the hermitage, 
 Their aims as various as the roads they take 
 In journeying through life; the task be mine 
 To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb; 
 The appointed place of rendezvous, where all 
 These travellers meet. Thy succours I implore, 
 Eternal King! whose potent arm sustains 
 The keys of hell and death.—The Grave, dread thing! 
 Men shiver when thou’rt nam’d: Nature appall’d 
 Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark 
 Ty long-extended realms and rueful wastes; 
 Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark 
 night, 
 
 Dark as was Chaos ere the infant Sun ~ 
 Was roll’d together, or had tried its beams 
 Athwart the gloam profound! The sickly taper, 
 By glimm’riug thro’ thy low-brow’d misty vaults, 
 Furr’d round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime, 
 Lets fall a supernumerary horror, 
 And only serves to make thy night more irksome. 
 Well do I know thee hy thy trusty yew, : 
 Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell 
 *Midst sculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms 3 
 Where light-heel’d ghosts, and visionary shades, 
 Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) 
 Embodied thick, perform their mystic rounds. 
 No other merriment, dull tree! is thine. 
 
 See yonder hallow’d fane! the pious work 
 Of names once fam’d, now dubious or forgot, 
 And buried ’midst the wreck of things which were : 
 

 
 
 
 THE GRAVE. . 
 
 There lie interr’d the more illustrious dead. 
 The wind is up: bark! how it howls! Methinks, 
 Till now, E never heard a sound so dreary ; 
 Doors creak, and windows clap, and night’s foul bird 
 Rook’d in the spire screams loud; the gloomy ailes 
 Black plasterd, and hung round with shreds of 
 scutcheons, 
 And tatter’d coats of arms, send back the sound 
 Laden with heavier airs, from the low vauits, 
 The mansions ofthe dead. Rous’d from theirslumbers, 
 In grim array the grisly spectres rise, 
 | Grin horrible, and obstinately sullen j 
 Pass and repass, hush’d as the foot of night. | 
 Again! the screech-owl shrieks: ungracious sound! 
 VH hear no more; it makes one’s blood run chill. 
 Quite round the pile, a row of rev’rend elms, 
 Coeval near with that, all ragged show, 
 Long lash’d by the rude winds: some rift half down 
 Their branchless trunks; others so thin a-top, 
 That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. 
 Strangethings,the neighbours say, have happen’d here: 
 While shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs, 
 Dead men have come again, and walk’d about; 
 And the great bell has toll’d, unrung, untouch’d. 
 Such tales their cheer, at wake or gossiping, 
 When it draws near to witching-time of night. 
 Oft in thé lone church-yard at night I’ve seen, 
 By glimpse of moon-shine, cheq’ring through the 
 trees, 
 The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand, 
 Whistling aloud to bear his courage up, 
 And lightly tripping o’er the long flat stones 
 (With nettles skirted, and with moss o’ergrown) 
 That tell in homely phrase who lie below; 
 Sudden he starts! and hears, or thinks he hears 
 _ {he sound of something purring at his heels: 
 Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him, 
 Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows 3 
 Who gather round, and wonder at the tale 
 Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, 
 That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand 
 
 49) 
 Gr 
 
36 THE GRAVE. 
 
 O’er some new-open’d grave; and, strange to tell! 
 Evanishes at crowing of the cock, 
 
 The new-made widow too Pve sometimes spied, 
 Sad sight! slow-moving o’er the prostrate dead : 
 Listless she crawls along in doleful black, 
 
 While bursts of sorrow gush from either eye, 
 Fast-falling down her now untasted cheek. 
 
 Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man a 
 She drops; while busy meddling memory 
 In barbarous succession, musters up 
 
 The past endearmentsof their softer hours, 
 Tenacious of its theme. Still, still she thinks 
 
 She sees him, and indulging the fond thought, 
 Clings yet more closely to the senseless turf, 
 
 Nor heeds the passenger who looks that way. 
 
 Invidious Grave! how dost thou rend in sunder 
 Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one! 
 
 A tye more stubborn far than nature’s band. 
 Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! 
 Sweetner of life, and solder of society! 
 
 I owe thee much. Thou hast deserv’d from me 
 Far, far beyond what I can ever pay. 
 
 Oft have I prov’d the labors of thy love, 
 
 And the warm efforts of the gentle heart 
 
 Anxious to please. O! when my friend and I 
 
 In some thick wood have wander’d heedless on, 
 
 Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down 
 
 Upon the sloping cowslip-cover’d bank, 
 
 Where the pure limpid stream has slid along 
 
 In grateful errors through the underwood 
 
 Sweet murm’ring; methought the shrill-tongu’d thrush 
 Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird 
 Mellow’d his pipe, and soften’d every note; 
 
 The eglantine smell’d sweeter, and the rose 
 Assum’d a dye more deep; whilst every flower 
 
 Vied with his fellow plant in luxury | 
 Of dress. Oh! then the longest summer’s day “a 
 Seem’d too, too much in haste: still the full heart 
 Had not imparted half: *tis happiness — 
 
 Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed, 
 
 Not to return, how painful the remembrance! 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 THE GRAVE. 37 
 
 _ Dull Grave! thou spoil’st the dance of youthful blood, 
 ‘Strik’st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, 
 And every smirking feature from the face 5 
 Branding our laughter with the name of madness. 
 _ Where are the jesters now ? the man of health 
 Complexionally pleasant?’ where the droll ? 
 -Whose every look and gesture was a joke 
 _ To clapping theatres and shouting crowds, 
 And made ev’n thick-lipp’d musing Melancholy 
 To gather up ber face into a smile 
 | Before she was aware? Ah! sullen now, 
 And dumb as the green turf that covers them! 
 Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war? 
 The Roman Czsars and the Grecian chiefs, > 
 The boast of story ? Where the hot-brain’d youth, 
 Who the tiara at his pleasure tore d 
 From kings of all the then discover’d globe, 
 Aud cried, forsooth, because his arm was hamper’d, 
 | And had not room enough to do its work? 
 _ Alas! how slim, dishonourably slim ! 
 | And cramm’d into a space we blush to name, 
 Proud royalty! how alter’d in thy looks! 
 Tiow blank thy features, and how wan thy hue! 
 Son of the morning! whither art thou gone? 
 _ Where hast thou hid thy many-spangied head, 
 _ And the majestic menace of thine eyes © 
 Felt from afar? Pliant and powerless now, 
 Like new-born infant bound up in his swathes, 
 Or victim tumbled flat upon his back, 
 That throbs beneath the sacrificer’s kuife: 
 Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues, 
 And coward insults of the base-born crowd, 
 That grudge a privilege thou never hadst, 
 But only hop’d for in the peaceful Grave, 
 Of being unmolested and alone. 
 _ Araby’s gums and odoriferous drugs, 
 _ And honors by the heralds duly paid 
 _ To mode and form, ev’n to a very scruple: 
 O cruel irony! these come too late; 
 . Cc 
 
 i 
 
38 THE GRAVE. 
 
 And only mock whom they were meant to honor. — 
 Surely, there’s not a dungeon-slave that’s buried 
 In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin’d, 
 But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he.. 
 Sorry pre-eminence of high descent 
 Above the vulgar-born, to rot in state! 
 
 But see! the well-plum’d hearse comes nodding on, 
 Stately and slow; and properly attended 
 By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch 
 The sick man’s door, and live upen the dead, 
 By letting’out their persons by the hour 
 To mimic sorrow, when the heart’s not sad! 
 How rich the trappings, now they’re all unfurl’d 
 Ané glittering in the sun! Triumphant entries 
 Gf conquerors, and coronation pomps, 
 In glory scarce succeed. Great gluts of people 
 Retard the unwieldly show ; whilst from the casements 
 And houses’ tops, ranks behind ranks close wedg’d, 
 Hang bellying o’er. But tell us, why this waste? 
 Why this ado in earthing up a carcass 
 That’s fail’n into disgrace, and in the nostril 
 Smells horrible? Ye undertakers! tell us, 
 *Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit, 
 Why is the principal conceal’d, for which 
 You make this mighty stir? °Tis wisely done: 
 What would offend the eye in a good picture, 
 The Painter casts discreetly into shades. 
 
 Proud lineage, now how little thou appear’st! 
 Below the envy of the private man! 
 Honor, that meddlesome officious ill, 
 Pursues thee ev’n to deaths; nor there stops short. 
 Strange persecution! when the grave itself 
 Is no protection from rude sufferance. 
 
 Absurd! to think to over-reach the grave, 
 And from the wreck of names to rescue ours! 
 The best concerted schemes men lay for fame 
 Die fast away: only themselves die faster. 
 The far-fam’d sculptor, and the laurel’d bard, 
 Those bold insurers of eternal fame, 
 

 
 ; THE GRAVE. ; 39 
 Supply their little feeble aids in vain. 
 The tapering pyramid, the Egyptian’s pride, 
 And wonder of the world! whose spiky top 
 Has wounded .the thick cloud, and long outliv’d 
 The angry shaking of the winter’s storm 3 
 Yet spent at last by th’ injuries of heav’n, 
 Shatter’d with age, and furrow’d o’er with years, 
 The mystic cone with hieroglyphics crusted, 
 Gives way. O lamentable sight! at once 
 The labor of whoie ages lumbers down 3 
 A hideous and mis-shapen length of ruins. 
 Sepuichral columns wrestle but in vain 
 With all-subduing Time; his cankering hand 
 With calm deliberate malice wasteth them : 
 Worn on the edge of days, the brass consumes,, 
 The busto moulders, and the deep cut marble, 
 Unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge. 
 Ambition, half convicted of her folly, 
 Hangs down the head and reddens at the tale. 
 
 Here all the mighty troublers of the earth, 
 Who swam to sov’reign rule thro’ seas of blood; 
 The oppressive, sturdy, man-destroying villains, 
 Who ravag’d kingdoms, and iaid empires waste, 
 And in a cruel wantonness of power 
 _ Thinn’d states of half their people, and gave up 
 | To want the rest; now, like a storm that’s spent, 
 Lie hush’d, and meanly sneak behind thy covert. 
 Vain thought! to hide them from the general scorn 
 That haunts and dogs them like an injur’d ghost 
 Implacable. Here too the petty tyrant, 
 Whose scant domains geographer ne’er notic’d, 
 And, well for neighb’ring grounds, of arm as short, 
 Who fix’d his iron talons on the poor, 
 And grip’d them like some lordly beast of prey, 
 Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger, 
 And piteous plaintive voice of misery \ 
 (As if a slave was not a shred of nature, 
 Of the same common nature with his lord 3) 
 Now tame and humble, like a child that’s whipp’d, 
 Shakes hands with dust,andcallsthe worm his kinsman 5 
 
 C2 : 
 
40 | THE GRAVE. 
 
 Nor pleads his rank and birthright. Under ground 
 Precedency’s a jest 3 vassal and lord, 
 Grossly familiar, side by side consume. 
 When seli-esteem, or cthers’ adulation, 
 Would cunninzly persuade us we were something 
 Above the common level of our kind; 
 The grave gainsays the smooth-complexion’d flattery, 
 And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are. 
 Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit! 
 That steals so softly o’er the stripling’s heart, 
 And gives it a new pulse unknown before! 
 The grave discredits thee: thy charms expung’d, 
 Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil’d, 
 What hast thou more fo boast of ? Will thy lovers 
 Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage? 
 Methinks I see thee with thy head low laid; 
 Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek, 
 The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll’d, 
 Riots unscar‘d. For this was all thy caution ? 
 For this thy painful labors at thy glass, 
 T° improve those charms, and keep them in repair, 
 For which the spoiler thanks thee not? Foul feeder! 
 Coarse fare and carrion please thee fall as well, 
 Anda leave as keen a relish on the sense. 
 Look how the fair one weeps! the conscious tears 
 Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flowers: 
 Honest effusion! the swoln heart in vain 
 Works hard to put a gloss on its distress. 
 Strength too! thou surly, and less gentle boast 
 Of those that laugh loud at the village ring ! 
 A fit of common sickness pulls thee down, 
 With greater ease than e’er thou didst the stripling 
 That rashly dar’d thee to th’ unequal fight. 
 What groan was that I heard? deep groan indeed! 
 With anguish heavy laden! let me trace it: 
 From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man, 
 By stronger arm belabor’d, gasps for breath 
 Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart 
 Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant 
 To give the lungs full play! What now avail 
 
THE GRAVE. Al 
 
 | The strong-built sinewy limbs, and well-spread 
 shoulders? ; 
 
 _ See how he tugs for life, and lays about him, 
 
 _ Mad with his pain! eager he catches hold 
 
 Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard, 
 
 _ Just like a creature drowning! hideous sight! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Oh! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghastly ! 
 . Whilst the distemper’s rank and deadly venom 
 Shoots like a burning arrow cross his bowels, 
 | And drinks his marrow up. Heard you that groan? 
 _ It was his last. See*how the great Goliath, 
 | Just like a child that brawl’d itself to rest, 
 
 Lies still, What mean’st thou then, O mighty boaster ? 
 To vaunt of nerves of thine! What means the bull, 
 Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward, 
 And flee before a feeble thing like man 3 
 
 That, knowing well the slackaess of his arm, 
 Trusts only in the well-invented knife. 
 
 With study pale, and midnizht vigils spent, 
 
 The star-surveying sage, close to his eye 
 
 Applies the sight-invigorating tube 5 
 
 And travelling thro’ the boundless length of space, 
 ~Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs, 
 
 That roll with regular confusion there, 
 
 In ecstasy of thought. But, ah! proud man! 
 Great heights are hazardous to the weak head: 
 Soon, very soon, thy firmest footiag fails; 
 
 And down thou dropp’st into that darksome place, 
 Where nor device nor knowledge ever came. - 
 
 Here the tongue-warrior lies! disabled now, 
 Disarm’d, dishonour’d, like a. wretch that’s gaged, 
 And cannot tell his ail to passers-by. 
 
 Great man of language! whence this mighty change ? 
 This dumb despair, and drooping of the head ? 
 Though strong persuasion hung upon tby lip, 
 
 And sly insinuation’s softer arts 
 
 In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue; 
 
 Alas! how chop-fall’n new! thick mists and silence 
 Rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast 
 Unceasing. Ah! where is the lifted arm, 
 
42 THE GRAVE, 
 
 The strength of action, and the force of words, 
 The well-turn’d period, and the well-tun’d voice, 
 With all the lesser ornaments of phrase! 
 
 Ah! fled for ever, as they ne’er had been ! 
 
 Raz’d from the book of fame: or, more provoking, © 
 
 Perhaps some hackney hunger-bitten scribbler 
 
 Insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb 
 
 With long flat narrative, or duller rhymes 
 
 With heavy halting pace that drawl along + : 
 
 Enough to rouse a dead man into rage, 
 
 And warm with red resentment the wan cheek. 
 Here the great masters of the healing art, 
 
 These mighty mock defrauders of the tomb! 
 
 Spite of their juleps and catholicons, 
 
 Resign to fate. Proud Hsculapius’ son, 
 
 Where are thy boasted implements of art, 
 
 And all thy well-crammed magazines of health ? 
 
 Nor hill, nor vale, as far as ship could go, 
 
 Nor margin of the gravel-bottom’d brook, 
 
 Escap’d thy rifling hand; from stubborn shrubs 
 
 Thou wrung’st their shy retiring virtues out, 
 
 And vex’d them in the fire: nor fly, nor insect, 
 
 Nor writhy snake, escap’d thy deep research. 
 
 But why this apparatus ? why this cost ? 
 
 Tell us, thon doughty keeper from the grave! 
 
 Where are thy recipes and cordials now, 
 
 With the long list of vouchers for thy cures? 
 
 Alas! thou speakest not. The bold impostor 
 
 Looks not more silly, when the cheat’s found out. 
 Here the lank-sided miser, worst of felons! 
 
 Who meanly stole, discreditable shift! 
 
 From back and belly too, their proper cheer! 
 
 Fas’d of a tax it irk’d the wretch to pay 
 
 To his own carcass, now lies cheaply lodg’d, 
 
 ‘By clam’rous appetites no longer teas’d, 
 
 Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs. 
 
 But ah! where are his rents, his comings in? 
 
 Aye! now you’ve made the rich man poor indeed : 
 
 Robb’d of his gods, what has he left behind? 
 
 © cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake 
 

 
 THE GRAVE. As 
 
 _ The fool throws up his int’rest in both worlds, 
 First starv’d in this, then damn’d in that to come. 
 
 How shocking must thy summons be, O Death! 
 To him that is at ease in his possessions 3 
 | Who, counting on long years of pleasure here, 
 | Is quite unfurnish’d for that world to come! 
 | In that dread moment, how the frantic soul 
 _ Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, . 
 Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help, 
 
 But shrieks in vain! how wishfully she looks 
 On all she’s leaving, now no longer hers! 
 
 A little longer, yet a little longer, 
 
 O might she stay to wash away her stains 
 And fit her for her passage! mournful sight ! 
 Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan 
 She heaves is big with horror: but the foe, 
 Like a staunch murd’rer steady to his purpose, 
 Pursues her close through every lane of life, 
 Nor misses once the track, but presses on3 
 All fore’d at last to the tremendous verge, 
 
 At once she sinks to everlasting ruin. 
 
 Sure, ’tis a serious thing to die! my soul! 
 
 What a strange moment must it be, when near 
 Thy journey’s end thou hast the gulfin view! 
 That awful gulf no‘mortal o’er repass’d 
 
 To teil what’s doing on the other side! 
 
 Nature runs back and shudders at the sight, 
 
 And every life-string bleeds at thapghts of parting! 
 For part they must: body and sou] must parts 
 Fond couple! link’d more close than wedded pair, 
 This wings its way to its Almighty Source, 
 
 The witness of its actions, now its judge; 
 
 That drops into the dark and noisome grave, 
 
 Like a disabled pitcher of no use. 
 
 If death was nothing, and nought after death; 
 If, when men died, at once they ceas’d to be, 
 Returning to the barren womb of nothing, 
 Whence first they sprung; then might the debauchee 
 Untrembling mouth the heav’ns; then might the 
 
 drunkard 
 
44 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Reel over his full bow], and when ’tis drain’d, 
 
 Fill up another to the brim, and laugh - 
 
 At the poor bug-bear Death; then might the wretch 
 That’s weary of the world, and tir’d of life, 
 
 At once give each inquietude the slip, 
 
 By stealing out of being when he pleas’d, 
 
 And by what way; whether by hemp or steel: 
 Death’s thousand doorsstand open. Whocould force 
 The ill-pleas’d guest to sit out his full time, 
 
 Or blame him if he goes? Surely! he does well 
 That helps himself as timely as he can, 
 
 When able, But if there is an hereafter, 
 
 And that there is, conscience uninfluenc’d, 
 
 And suffer’d to speak out, tells every man, 
 
 Then must it be an awful thing to die; 
 
 More horrid yet to die by one’s own hand. 
 Self-murder! name it not; our island’s shame, 
 That makes her the reproach of neizhb’ring states, 
 Shall Nature, swerving from her earliest dictate, 
 Self-preservation, fall by her own act? 
 
 Vorbid it, heav’n! let not upon disgust 
 
 'The shameless hand be foully crimson’d o’er 
 
 With blood of its own lord. Dreadful attempt! 
 Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage’ 
 
 ‘fo rush into the presence of our Judge! 
 
 As if we challeng’d him to do his worst, 
 
 And matter’d not bis wrath. Unheard-of tortures 
 Must be reserv’d for such: these herd together 5 
 The common damn’d shun their society, 
 
 And look upon themselves as fiends less foul. 
 
 Our time is fix’d; and all our days are number’d 5 
 How long, how short, we know not: this we know, 
 Duty requires we calmy wait the summons, 
 
 Nor dare to stir till-heaven shall give permission. 
 Like sentries that must keep their destin’d stand, 
 And wait th’ appointed hour, till they’re reliev’d. 
 Those only are the brave who keep their ground, 
 And keep it to the last. To run away » 
 Is but a coward’s trick: to ran away 
 
 From this world’s ills, that at the very worst 
 
THE GRAVE. Ab 
 
 Will soon blow o’er, thinking to mend ourselves 
 By boldly vent’ring on a world unknown, 
 And plunging headiong in the dark! "tis mad: 
 No frenzy half so desperate as this. i 
 ‘Tell us, yedead! will none of you ia pity 
 
 To those you left behind, disclose the secret ? 
 O! that some courteous ghost would blab it out, 
 What’tis you are, and we must shortly be. 
 
 Pye heard, that souls departed have sometimes 
 Forewarn’d men of their death: *twas kindly done 
 To knock and give the alarm. But what means 
 This stinted charity? ’Tis but lame kindness 
 
 That does its work by halves. Why might you not 
 Tell us what ’tis to die? Do the strict laws 
 Of your society forbid your speaking 
 
 Upon a point so nice? PH ask no more; 
 
 Sullen, like lamps in sepulchres, your shine 
 Enlightens but yourselves : well—’tis no matter : 
 A very little time will clear up all, 
 
 And make us learn’d as you are, and as close. 
 
 Death’s shafts fly thick! Here falls the village swain, 
 
 And there his pamper’d lord! ‘The cup goes round, 
 And who so artful as to put it by? 
 
 °Tis long since death had the majority; 
 
 Yet, strange! the living lay it not to heart. 
 
 See yonder maker of the dead man’s bed, 
 
 The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle! 
 
 Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne’er stole 
 
 A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand 
 
 Digs thro’? whole rows of kindred and acquaintance 
 By far his juniors! Scarce a scull’s cast up, 
 
 But well he knew ‘its owner, and can tell 
 
 Some passage of his life. Thus, hand in hand, 
 The sot has walk’d with death twice twenty years ; 
 And yet ne’er younker on the green laughs louder, 
 Or clubs a smuttier tale: when drunkards meet 
 None sings a merrier catch, or lends a hand 
 
 More willing to hiscup. Poor wretch! he minds not 
 That soon some trusty brother of the trade 
 
 Shall do for him what he bas done for thousands, 
 
 C5 
 
46 THE GRAVE. 
 
 On this side, and on that, men see their friends 
 Drop off, like leaves in autumns yet launch out 
 
 Into fantastic schemes, which the long livers ~ 
 
 In the world’s hale and undegenerate days 
 
 Could scarce have leisure for; fools that we are! 
 ‘Never to think of death and of ourselves 
 
 At the same time; as if to learn to die ° 
 ‘Were no concern of ours. _O more than sottish! 
 For creatures of a day, in gamesome mood 
 
 To frolic on eternity’s dread brink, 
 Unapprehensive; when for aught we know 
 
 The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in. 
 Think we, or think we not, time hurries on 
 
 With a resistless unremitting stream, 
 
 Yet treads more soft, than e’er did midnight thief, 
 That slides his hand under the miser’s pillow, 
 And carries off bis prize. What is this world? 
 What but a spacious burial-field unwall’d, 
 Strew’d with death’s spoils, the spoi!s of animals, - 
 Savage and tame, and full of dead men’s bones? 
 The very turf on which we tread once liv’d; 
 
 And we that live must lend our carcasses 
 
 To cover our own offspring: in their turns 
 
 "They too must cover theirs. °Tis here all mect! 
 "The shivering Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor; 
 Men of all climes, that never met before 3 
 
 And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the Christian. 
 Here the proud prince, and favorite yet prouder, 
 His sov’reign’s keeper, and the people’s scourge, 
 Are huddled out of sight. Here lie abash’d. 
 
 "The great negotiators of the earth, 
 
 And celebrated masters of the balance, 
 
 Deep read in stratagems, and wiies of courts: 
 Now vain their treaty-skill! Death scorns to treat. 
 Here the o’erloaded slave flings down, his burden 
 From his gall’d sboulders ?. and when the cruel tyrant, 
 With all his guards and tools of power about him, 
 Is meditating new unheard-of hardships, 
 
 Mocks his. short arm, and quick as thought escapes 
 Where tyrants vex uot, and the weary rest, 
 

 
 THE GRAVE. At 
 
 | Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade, 
 | The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling stream, 
 - Time out of mind the fav’rite seats of love, 
 
 Fast by his gentle mistress lays him dowa 
 
  Unblasted by foul tongue. Here friends and foes 
 | Lie close, unmindful of their former feuds. 
 
 _ The lawn-rob’d prelate, and plain presbyter, 
 
 _ Ere while that stood aloof as shy to meet, 
 
 | Familiar mingle here, like sister-streams 
 
 | That some rude interposing rock had split. 
 
 Here is the large-limb’d peasant; here the child 
 
 _ Of a span long, that never saw the sun, 
 
 Nor press’d the nipple, strangled in life’s porch : 
 Here is the mother with her sons and daughters; 
 The barren wifes the long-demurring maid, 
 
 -Whose lonely unappropriated sweets 
 
 Smil’d like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff, 
 Not to be come at by the willing hand. 
 
 Here are the prude severe, and gay coquette, 
 The sober widow, and the young green virgin, 
 Cropp’d like a rose before ’tis fully blown, 
 
 ' Or half its worth disclos’d. Strange medley here! 
 
 Here garrulous old age winds up his tale; 
 
 And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart, 
 Whose every day was made of melody, 
 
 Hears not the voice of mirth: the shrill-tongu’d shrew, 
 Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding. 
 Here are the wise, the generous, and the brave 5 
 The just, the good, the worthless, the profane, 
 The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred 5 
 The fool, the chur), the scoundrel, and the mean, 
 The supple statesman, and the patriot stern; 
 The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time, 
 With all the lumber of six thousand years. 
 
 Poor man! how happy once ia thy first state, 
 When yet but warm from thy great Maker’s hand, 
 He stamp’d thee with his image, and well-pleas’d 
 Smild on his last fair work! Then all was well. 
 Sound was the body, and the soul serene ; 
 
 Like two sweet instruments, ne’er out of tune, 
 
48 | THE GRAVE. 
 
 That play their several parts. Norhead, nor heart 
 
 Offer’d to ache ; nor was there cause they should, 
 For all was pure within: no fell remorse, 
 
 Nor anxious castings up of what may be, 
 Alarm’d his peaceful bosom: summer seas 
 
 Show not more smooth when kiss’d by southern winds, 
 
 Just ready to expire. . Scarce importun’d, 
 
 ‘The generous soil with a luxuriant hand 
 
 Offer’d the various produce of the year, 
 
 And every thing most perfect in its kind. 
 Blessed, thrice blessed days! but, ah! how short! 
 Bless’d as the pleasing dreams of holy men, 
 But fugitive, like those, and quickly gone. 
 
 O slippery state of things! What sudden turns, 
 What strange vicissitudes, in the first leaf 
 
 Of man’s sad history! to-day most happy; 
 And, ere to-morrow’s sun has set, most abject ! 
 How scant the space between these vast extremes! 
 Thus far’d it with our Sire : not long he enjoy’d 
 His paradise! scarce had the happy tenant 
 
 Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets, 
 Or sum them up, when straight he must be gone, 
 Ne’er to return again. And must he go? 
 
 Can nought compound for the first dire offence 
 Of erring man? Like one that is condemn’d, 
 Fain would he trifie time with idle talk, 
 
 And parley with his fate. But ’tis in vain. 
 
 Not all the lavish odors of the place 
 
 Offer’d in incense can procure his pardon, 
 
 Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel 
 
 With flaming sword forbids his longer stay, 
 
 And drives the loiterer forth; nor must be take 
 One last and farewell round. At encehe lost 
 His glory and hisGod. If mortal now, 
 
 And sorely maim’d, no wonder! Man has:sinn’d. 
 Sick of his bliss, and bent on new adventures, 
 Evil he would needs try: nor tried in vain. 
 (Dreadful experiment! destructive measure! 
 Where the worst thing could bappen, is success.) 
 Alas! teo well he sped: the good he scorn’d 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 THE GRAVE. 49 
 
 Stalk’d off reluctant, like an ill-us’d ghost, 
 
 Not to return; or, if it did, its visits 
 
 Like those of angels short, and far between: 
 Whilst the black demon, with his hell-’scap’d train, 
 Admitted once into its better room, 
 
 Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone; 
 Lording it o’er the man, who now too late 
 
 Saw the rash error which he could not mend ; 
 An error fatal not to him alone, 
 
 But to his future sons, his fortune’s heirs. 
 Inglorious bondage! human nature groans 
 Beneath a vassalage so vile and cruel, 
 
 And its vast body bleeds through every vein. 
 
 What havock hast thou made, foul monster, Sin! 
 
 Greatest and: first of ills! the fruitful parent 
 
 Of woes of all dimensions! but for thee 
 
 Sorrow had never been. All noxious things 
 
 Of vilest nature, other sorts of evils, 
 
 Are kindly circumscrib’d, and have their bounds. 
 The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails 
 That belches molten stone and globes of fire, 
 Involv’d in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench, 
 Mars the adjacent fields for some leagues round, 
 And there it stops. The big-swoln inundation, 
 Of mischief more diffusive, raving loud, 
 
 Buries whole tracts of country, threat’ning more; 
 But that too has its shore it cannot pass. 
 
 More dreadful far than these, sin has jiaid waste, 
 Not here and there a country, but a world; 
 Dispatching at a wide-extended blow 
 
 Entire mankind, and for their sakes defacing 
 
 A whole creation’s beauty with rude hands 5 
 Blasting the foodful grain, the leaded branches, 
 And marking all along its way with ruin. 
 Accursed thing ! O where shall fancy find 
 
 A proper name to call thee by, expressive 
 
 Of all thy horrors? pregnant womb of ills! 
 
 Of temper so transcendently malign, 
 
 That. toads and serpents of most deadly kind 
 
50 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Compar’d to thee are harmless, Sicknesses 
 Of ev’ry size and symptom, racking pains, 
 And bluest plagues are thine! See how the fiend 
 Profusely scatters the contagion round 3 
 Whilst deep-mouth’d slaughter,bellowing at her heels, 
 Wades deep in bloed new-spilt; yet for to-morrow 
 Shapes ont new work of great uncommon daring, 
 And inly pines till the dread blow is struck. 
 But hold! I’ve gone too far; too much discover’d 
 My father’s nakedness, and nature’s shame. 
 Here let me pause! and drop an honest tear, 
 One burst of filial duty, and condolence, 
 O’er all those ample deserts Death hath spread, 
 This chaos of mankind, O great man-eater! 
 Whose every day is carnival, not sated yet! 
 Unheard-of epicure! without a fellow! | 
 The veriest gluttons do not always cram 3 | 
 Some intervals of abstinence are sought 
 To edge the appetite: thou seekest none. 
 Methinks the countless swarms thou-hast devour’d, 
 And thousands that each kour thou gobblest up, 
 This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full. 
 But, ah! rapacious still, thou gap’st for more: 
 Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals, 
 On whem lank hunger lays his skinny hand, 
 And whets to keenest eagerness his cravings 
 (As if Diseases, Massacre, and Poison, * 
 Famine aud War, were not thy caterers!) 
 But now that thou must render up thy dead, 
 And with high interest too! they are not thine; - 
 But only in thy keeping for a season, 
 Till the great promis’d day of restitution 5 
 When loud diffusive sound from brazen trump 
 Of strong-lung’d cherub shall alarm thy captives, 
 And rouse the long, long sleepers into nes 
 Day-light, and liberty.- 
 Then must thy gates fly open, and vewaiil 
 The mines that lay long forming under ground, 
 Ta their dark cells immur’d; but now full ripe, 
 
 
 
_THE GRAVE. 51 
 
 And pure as silver from the crucible, 
 
 That twice has stood the torture of the fire, 
 
 And inquisition of the forge, We know 
 
 The illustrious Beliverer of mankind, 
 
 The Son of God, thee foil’d. Him in thy power 
 Thou couldst not hold: self-vigorous he rose, 
 And, shaking off thy fetters, soon retook 
 
 Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent. 
 
 (Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall!) 
 Twice twenty days ke sojourn’d here on earth, 
 And show’d himself alive to chosen witnesses’ 
 
 By proofs so strong, that the most slow-assenting 
 Had net a scruple left. This having done, 
 
 He mounted up toheaven. Methinks I see him 
 Climb the aérial heights, and glide along 
 Athwart the severing clouds: but the faint eye, 
 Flung backward in the chase, soon drops its hold, 
 Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing, 
 Heaven’s portals wide expand to Jet him ins 
 
 Nor are his friends shut out: as some great prince 
 Not for himself alone procures admission, 
 
 But for his train; it was his royal will, 
 
 That where he is, thereshould his followers be, 
 Death only lies between! a gloomy path! 
 
 Made yet more gloomy by our. coward fear! 
 
 But nor untrod, nor tedious; the fatigue 
 
 Will soon go off. Besides, there’s no by-road 
 
 To bliss. Then why, like ill-condition’d children, 
 Start we at transient hardships in the way 
 
 That leads to purer air and softer skies, 
 
 And a ne’er-setting sun? Fools that weare! 
 
 We wish to be where sweets unwithering bloom 5 
 But straight our wish revoke, and will not go. 
 
 So have I seen, upon a summer’s even, 
 
 Fast by the rivet’s brink a youngster play; 
 
 How wishfully he looks to stem the tide! 
 
 This moment resolute, next unresolv’d, 
 
 At last he dips his foots; but as he dips 
 
 His fears redouble, and he runs away 
 
52 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Fron th’ inoffensive stream, unmindful now 
 
 Of all the flowers that paint the further bank, 
 And smil’d so sweet of late. Thrice welcome Death! 
 That after many a painful bleeding step, 
 Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe - 
 
 On the long wish’d-for shore. Prodigious change! 
 Our bane turn’d to a blessing! Death disarm’d 
 Loses his fellness quite; all thanks to him 
 
 Who scourg’d the venom out! Sure the last end 
 Of the good manis peace, How calm his exit! 
 Night-dews fall not more gently tothe ground, 
 Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft, 
 
 Behold him! in the evening-tide of life, 
 
 A life well spent, whose early care it was 
 
 His riper years should not upbraid his green : 
 
 By unperceiv’d degrees he wears away 5 
 
 Yet like the sun seems larger at his setting! 
 
 High in his faith and hopes, look! how he reaches 
 After the prize in view! and, like a bird 
 
 That’s hamper’d, struggles hard to get away! 
 Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded 
 To let new glories in, the first fair fruits 
 
 Of the fastecoming harvest! Then! O then! 
 Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears, 
 Shrunk to a thing of nought. O how he longs 
 To have his passport sign’d, and be dismiss’d! 
 °"Tis done, and now he’s happy! The glad soul 
 Has not a wish uncrown’d. Even the lag flesh 
 Rests too in hope of meeting once again 
 
 Its better half, never 10 sunder more. 
 
 Nor shall it hope in vain: the time draws on 
 When not a single spot of burial-earth, 
 
 Whether on land, or in the spacious sea, 
 
 But must give back its long-committed dust 
 Inviolate: and faithfully shall these 
 
 Make up the full accounts; not the least atom 
 Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale. 
 
 Each soul shall have a body ready-furnish’d 5 
 
 And each shal] have his own. Hence, ye profane : 
 

 
 
 
 
 THE GRAVE. 53 
 
 | Ask not how this can be. Sure the same power 
 
 That rear’d the piece at first, and took it down, 
 
 /Can re-assemble the loose statterd parts, 
 
 And put them as they were: Almighty God 
 
 ‘Has done much more; nor is his arm impair’d 
 
 | Through length of days; and what he can he will: 
 
 | His faithfulness stands bound to see it done. 
 
 | When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumbering dust, 
 
 Not unattentive to the*call shall wake; 
 
 | And every joint possess its proper place, 
 
 With a new elegance of form, unknown 
 
 | To its first state. Nor shall the conscious soul 
 
 | Mistake its partner; but amidst the crowd, 
 
 Singling its other half, into its arms 
 
 | Shall rush, with al! the impatience of a man 
 
 That’s new come home, who having long been absent, 
 
 | With haste runs over every different room, 
 
 In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting! 
 
 , Nor time, ner death, shall ever part them more. 
 °Tis but a night, a long and moonless night ; 
 
 _ We make the grave our bed, and then are gone. 
 
 Thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird 
 
 | Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake 
 
 , Cowers down, and dozes till the dawn of day; 
 
 - Then claps his well-fledg’d wings and bears away. 
 
 ; 
 
 it 
 q 
 
 
 
 
 
MASON’S ELEGY 
 
 ‘ 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF LADY COVENTRY. 
 
 Written in 1760. 
 
 TH E midnight clock has toll’d—and, hark! the bell 
 Of death beats slow: heard ye the note profound ? 
 It pauses now; and now, with rising knell, 
 Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound. 
 
 Yes—Coventry is dead. Attend the strain, 
 Daughters of Albion! ye that, light as air,” 
 
 So oft have tripp’d in her fantastic train, 
 With hearts as gay, and faces half as fair: 
 
 For she was fair beyond your brightest bloom 5 
 (This envy owns, since now her bloom is fled 5) 
 
 Fair as the forms that, wove in Fancy’s loom, 
 Float in light vision round the poet’s head. 
 
 WVhene’er with soft serenity she smil’d, 
 ’ Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise, 
 How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild, te. 
 The liquid lustre darted from her eyes! 
 
 Each look, each motion, wak’d a new-born grace, 
 That o’er her form its transient glory cast: 
 
 Seme lovelier wonder soon usurp’d the place, 
 Chas’d by a charm still lovelier than the last. 
 
 That bell again! It tells us what she is; 
 On what she was, no more the strain prolong : 
 “Enxuriant fancy, pause! an hour like this 
 Demands the tribute of a serious song. 
 
 
 

 
 | ‘ 
 | ELEGY. ? 5S 
 | Maria claims it from that sable bier, 
 
 Where cold and wan the siumberer rests her head 5 
 Tn still small whispers to reflection’s ear 
 
 She breathes the solemn dictates of the dead. 
 
 | O catch the awful notes, and lift them loud! 
 Proclaim the theme, by sage, by fool, rever’d 5 
 | Hear it, ye young, ye vain, ye great, ye proud! 
 °Tis Nature speaks, and Nature will be heard. 
 
 Yes; ye shall hear, and tremble as ye hear, 
 
 | While high with health, your hearts exulting leap ; 
 E’en in the midst of pleasure’s mad career, 
 
 The mental monitor shall wake and weep! 
 
 For say, than Coventry’s propitious star, 
 What brighter planet on your births arose? 
 
 Or gave of fortune’s gifts an ampler share, 
 In life to lavish, or by death to lose? 
 
 Early to lose! While, borne on busy wing, 
 
 Ye sip the nectar of each varying bloom; 
 | Wor fear, while basking in the means of spring, 
 The wintry storm that sweeps you to the tomb; 
 
 Think of ‘ther fate! revere the heavenly hand 
 
 That led her hence, though soon, by steps so slow $ 
 Long at her couch Death took his patient stand, 
 
 | And menac’d oft, and oft withheld the blow: 
 
 To give reflection time, with lenient art 
 
 Each fond delusion from her soul to steal 5 
 Teach her from folly peaceably to part, 
 
 And wean her from a world she lov’d so well. 
 
 Say, are ye sure his mercy shall extend 
 To you so long a span? Alas, yesigh? 
 
 Make then, while yet ye may, your God your friend, 
 And learn with equal ease to sleep or die » 
 
 Nor think the Muse, whose sober voice you hear, 
 Contracts with bigot frown her sullen brow: 
 
 Casts round religion’s orb the mists of fear, 
 Orshades with horrors what with smiles should glow. 
 
 / 
 
 i 
 
56 ELEGY. 
 
 No—she would warm you with seraphic fire, 
 Heirs as ye are of heaven’s eternal day; 
 
 Would bid you boldly to that heaven aspire, 
 Not sink and slumber in your cells of clay. 
 
 Know, ye were form’d to range yon azure field, 
 In yon ethereal founts of bliss to lave: 
 Force then, secure in faith’s protecting shield, 
 
 The sting from death, the victory from the grave! 
 
 Is this the bigot’s rant? Away, ye vain, 
 
 Your hopes, your fears, in doubt, in dulness steep 3 
 
 Go soothe your souls, in sickness, grief, or pain, 
 With the sad solace of eternal sleep! 
 
 Yet will I praise you, triflers as ye are, 
 
 More than those preachers of your fav’rite creed, © 
 
 Who proudly swell the brazen throat of war, 
 Who form the phalanx, bid the battle bleed, 
 
 Nor wish for more; who conquer but to die. 
 Hear, Folly, hear, and triumph in the tale! 
 Like you they reason, not like you enjey 
 The breeze of bliss that fills your silken sail! 
 
 On pleasure’s glittering stream ye gaily steer 
 Your little course to cold oblivion’s shore; 
 
 They dare the storm, and through th’ inclement year 
 Stem the rough surge, and brave the torrent’s roar. 
 
 Is it for glory? That just fate denies; 
 Long must the warrior moulder in his shroud, 
 Ere from her trump the heaven-breath’d accents rise, 
 That lift the hero from the fighting crowd! 
 
 Is it his grasp of empire to extend ? 
 To curb the fury of insulting foes? 
 _ Ambition, cease! the idle contest end: 
 °Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lose. 
 
 And why must murder’d myriads lose their all, 
 (if life be all,) why desolation lower 
 
 With famish’d frown on this affrighted ball, 
 That thou may’st flame the meteor of an hour? 
 
 * " - 
 
ELEGY. 57 
 
 Go, wiser ye, that flutter life away, 
 | Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high! 
 | Weave the light dance with festive freedom gay, 
 _ And live your moment, since the next ye die! 
 } 
 | Yet know, vain sceptics! know, the Almighty Mind 
 _ Who breath’d on man a portion of his fire, 
 Bade his free soul, by earth nor time confin’d, 
 
 - To heaven, to immortality aspire. 
 
 By vain philosophy be e’er destroy’d : 
 ' Eternity, by all or wish’d or fear’d, 
 Shall be by all or suffer’d or enjoy’d! 
 
 Nor shall the pile of hope his mercy rear’d, 
 
 Note. In a book of French verses, entitled, Guvres du 
 | Philosophe de Sans Souci, and lately reprinted at Berlin by 
 authority, under the title of Poesies Diverses, may be found 
 an Epistle to Marshal Keith, written professedly against the 
 _ immortality of the soul. By way of specimen of the whole, 
 | take the following lines: 
 
 
 
 De Pavenir, cher Keith, jugeons par le passe ; 
 Comme avant que je fusse il n’avoit point pense ; 
 De meme, apres ma mort, quand toutes mes parties 
 Par la corruption seront aneanties, 
 
 Par un meme destin il ne pensera plus! 
 
 Non, rien n’est plus certain, soyons en convaincu, 
 
 It is to this Epistle that the latter part of the Elegy al- 
 ) Indes. 
 
 
 
 
 
HYMN, . 
 FROM PSALM 148. 
 
 — 
 OGILVIE. 
 
 Beer, my soul, the exalted lay! 
 Let each enraptured thought obey, 
 . And praise the Almighty’s name. 
 Lo! heaven and earth, and seas and skies, 
 In one melodious concert rise, 
 To swell the inspiring theme. 
 
 Ye fields of light, celestial plains, 
 
 Where gay transporting beauty reigns, 
 Ye scenes divinely fair! 
 
 Your Maker’s wondrous power proclaim! 
 
 Tell how he form’d your shining frame, 
 And breath’d the fluid air. 
 
 Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound! , 
 
 While all the adoring thrones around 
 His boundless mercy sing: 
 
 Let every listening saint above 
 
 Wake all the tuneful soal of love, 
 And touch the sweetest string. 
 
 Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir; 
 Thou, dazzling orb of liquid fire, 
 The mighty chorus aid: ‘ 
 Soon as grey evening gilds the plain, 
 Thou, moon, protract the melting straia, 
 And praise him in the shade. 
 
] 
 | 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 HYMN. 59 
 
 - Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abode, 
 | Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God, 
 
 Who call’d yon worlds from night : 
 “ Ye shades, dispel!”—th’ Eternal said 5 
 At once th’ involving darkness fled, 
 
 And nature sprung to ligbt. 
 
 | Whate’er a blooming world contains, 
 
 That wings the air, that skims the plains, 
 United praise bestow : 
 Ye dragons, sound his awful name 
 
 | To heaven aloud; and roar acclaim, 
 
 Ye swelling deeps below. 
 
 Let every element rejoice : 
 
 Ye thunders, burst with awful voice 
 To him who bids you roll; 
 
 His praise in softer notes declare, 
 
 Each whispering breeze of yielding air, 
 And breathe it to the soul. 
 
 To him, ye graceful cedars, bow; 
 Ye towering mountains, bending low, 
 Your great Creator own; 
 Tell, when affrighted nature shook, 
 How Sinai kindled at his look, 
 And trembled at his frown. 
 
 Ye flocks, that haunt the humble vale, 
 
 Ye insects, fluttering on the gale, 
 
 In mutual concourse rise: 
 Crop the gay rose’s vermil bloom, a 
 And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume, 
 
 In incense to the skies. 
 
 Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing; 
 
 Ye blooming warblers of the spring, 
 Harmonious anthems raise 
 
 To him who shap’d your finer mould, 
 
 Who tipt your glittering wings with gold, 
 And tun’d your voice to praise, 
 
60 HYMN. 
 
 Let man, by nobler passions sway’d, 
 
 The feeling heart, the judging head, ~ 
 In heavenly praise employ; 
 
 Spread his tremendous name around, 
 
 Till beaven’s broad arch rings back the sound, 
 The general burst of joy. 
 
 Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please, 
 Nurs’d on the downy lap of ease, 
 _ Fall prostrate at his throne: 
 Ye princes, rulers, all adore; 
 Praise him, ye kings, who makes your ney 
 An image of his own. 
 
 Ye fair, by nature form’d to move, 
 O praise the eternal Source of Love 
 With youth’s enlivening fire: 
 
 Let age take up the tuneful lay, 
 Sigh his blest name——then soar away; 
 And ask an angel’s lyre. 
 

 
 | SHAW’S MONODY 
 
 TO THE: 
 
 MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Yer do I live? O bow shall I sustain 
 
 ‘This vast unutterable weight of woe? 
 | This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain, 
 Or ail the complicated ills below ? 
 
 She, in whose life my hopes were treasur’d all, 
 
 Is gone—for ever fled— - 
 1 My dearest Emma’s dead 5 
 . These eyes, these tear-swola eyés beheld her fall. 
 | Ah, no—she lives on some far happier shore, 
 | She lives—but,cruel thought! she lives for meno more. 
 
 
 
 _ I, who the tedious absence of a day 
 ; Remov’d, would languish for my charmer’s sight $ 
 \ Would chide the lingering moments for delay, 
 And fondly blame the slow return of night ; 
 How, how shall { endure 
 (O misery past a cure!) 
 | Hours, days, and years, successively to roll, 
 | Nor ever more behold the comfott of my soul ? 
 
 | Was she not all my fondest wish could frame ? 
 
 Did ever mind so much of heaven partake ? 
 
 | Did she not love me with the purest flame ? 
 
 | And give up friends and fortune for my sake? 
 Though mild as evening skies, 
 With downcast, streamiug eyes, 
 
 | Stood the stern frown of supercilious brows, 
 
 _ Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her vows. 
 
 D 
 
62 MONODY. 
 
 Come then, some Muse, the saddest of the train, 
 (No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays,) 
 Teach me each moving melancholy strain, 
 And, oh! discard the pageantry of phrase: 
 Tll suits the flowers of speech with woes like mine! 
 Thus, haply, as I paint. 
 The source of my complaint, 
 My soul may own th’ impassion’d line; 
 A flood of tears may gush to my relief, 
 And from my swelling heart discharge this load of grief. 
 
 Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear 
 To wound my ears with the sad tales you tell; 
 ** How good she was, how gentle, and how fair?” 
 In pity cease-—alas! I know too well 
 How in her sweet expressive face 
 Beam’d forth the beauties of her mind, 
 Yet heighten’d by exterior grace, 
 Of manners most engaging, most refin’d, 
 
 No piteous object could she see, 
 But her soft bosom shar’d the woe, 
 While smiles of affability 
 Endear’d whatever boon she might bestow. 
 Whate’er the emotions of her heart, 
 Still shone consp*cuous in her eyes, 
 Stranger to every female art, 
 Alike to feign or to disguise: 
 And, oh! the boast how rare! 
 The secret in her faithful breast repos’d 
 She ne’er with lawless tongue disclos’d, 
 In secret silence lodg’d inviolate there. 
 Ob, feeble words —unable to express 
 Her matchless virtues, or my own distress. 
 
 Relentless death! that, steel’d to human woe, 
 With murderous hands deals havock on mankind, 
 
 Why (cruel!) strike this deprecated blow, 
 
 * And leave such wretched multitudes behind ? 
 
MONODY. 68 
 Hark! groans come wing’d on every breeze! 
 
 | The sons of grief prefer their ardent vow, 
 Oppress’d with sorrow, want, or dire disease, 
 
 | And supplicate thy aid, as I do now: 
 
 \ 
 
 And drench in tears the face of joy. 
 | 
 
 But, oh! fell tyrant! yet expect the hour 
 When Virtue shall renounce thy power 5 
 | When thou no more shalt blot the face of day, 
 Nor mortals tremble at thy rigid sway. 
 | Alas, the day! where’er I turn my eyes, 
 _ Some sad memento of my loss appears 5 
 _I fly the fatal house—suppress my sighs, 
 Resolv’d to dry my unavailing tears: 
 But, ah! in vain—no change of time or place 
 The memory can efface : 
 Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air, 
 Now lost; and nought remains but anguish and 
 ) despair. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ‘Where were the delezates of heaven, oh, where! 
 _ Appointed Virtue’s children safe to keep ? 
 Had Innoceiice or Virtue been their care, 
 
 | She had not died, nor had I liv’d to weep: 
 |Mov’d by my tears, and by her patience moy’d, 
 To see her force the endearing smile, 
 
 My sorrows to beguile, 
 
 ‘When Torture’s keenest rage she prov’d$ 
 
 Sure they had warded that untimely dart, 
 ‘Which broke her thread of life, and rent a husband’s 
 heart. 
 
 How shall J e’er forget that dreadful hour, 
 When, feeling Death’s resistless power, 
 
 My hand she press’d wet with her falling tears, 
 And thus, in faltering accents, spoke her fears t 
 
 “ Ah, my lov’d lord, the transient scene is o’er, 
 ‘ And we must part, alas! to meet no more! 
 D2 
 
64 MONODY. 
 
 “ But, oh! if e’er thy Emma’s name was dear, 
 
 *¢ Tf e’er thy vows have charm’d my ravish’d ear; 
 
 “ {f, from thy lov’d embrace my heart to gain, 
 
 “ Proud friends have frown’d, aud fortune smil’d in 
 vain 5 
 
 “If it has been my sole endeavour still 
 
 * 'T’o act in all obsequious to thy will; 
 
 «“ To watch thy very smiles, thy wish to know, 
 
 «© Then only truly blest when thou wert so; 
 
 ““ If I have doated with that fond excess, 
 
 ** Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it less ; 
 
 “If this ’ve done, and more—oh! then be kind 
 
 ‘* To the dear lovely babe I leave behind. 
 
 * When time my once lov’d memory shall efface, 
 
 ss Some happier maid may take thy Emma’s place, 
 
 “ With envious eyes thy partial fondness see, 
 
 “¢ And hate it for the love thou bor’st to me! 
 
 “ My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman’s fears $ 
 
 ‘© But one word more—I cannot bear thy tears— 
 
 ** Promise—and I will trust thy faithful vow 
 
 s¢ (Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true) 
 
 * That to some distant spot thou wilt remove 
 
 ‘¢ This fatal pledge of hapless Emma’s love, 
 
 “ Where safe thy blandishments it may partake, 
 
 * And, oh! be tender for its mother’s sake, 
 
  Wiit thou? 
 
 s* I know thou wilt—sad silence speaks assent 5 
 
 « Andinthat pleasing hope thy Emma dies content.” 
 
 
 
 I, who with more than manly strength have bore 
 The various ills impos’d by cruel Fate, 
 
 Sustain the firmness of my soul no more 3 
 But sink beneath the weight$ 
 
 Just Heaven! I cried, from Memory’s earliest day: 
 No comfort has thy wretched suppliant known 5 
 
 Misfortune still, with unrelenting sway, 
 Has claim’d me for her own. 
 
 But, oh! in pity to my grief, restore 
 
 ‘This only source of bliss; I ask—I ask no more— 
 
MONODY. 65 
 
 Vain hope—the irrevocable doom is past, 
 Ev’n now she looks—she sighs her last— 
 Vainly I strive to stay her fleeting breath, 
 And, with rebellious heart, protest against her death. 
 
 When the stern tyrant clos’ her lovely eyes, 
 How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow! 
 With impious wish to tear her from the skies, 
 How curse my fate in bitterness of woe! 
 But whither would this dreadful frenzy lead? 
 Fond man, forbear, _ 
 Thy fruitless sorrow spare, 
 Dare not to tax what Heaven’s high will decreed ; 
 In humble rey’rence kiss the afflictive rod, 
 And prostrate bow to an offended God. 
 
 Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow, 
 Some saving truth thy roving soul to teach; 
 To wean thy heart from groveling views below, 
 And point out bliss beyond Misfortune’s reach : 
 To show that all the flattering schemes of joy, 
 Which towering Hope so fondly builds in air, 
 One fatal moment can destroy, 
 » And plunge the exulting maniac in despair. 
 Then, oh! with pious fortitude sustain 
 Thy present loss—haply thy future gain; 
 Nor let thy Emma die in vain: 
 Time shall administer its wonted balm, 
 And hush this storm of grief to no unpleasing calm. 
 
 ‘Thus the poor bird, by some disastrous fate 
 Caught and imprison’d in a lonely cage, 
 Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate, 
 
 Flutters awhile, and spends its little rage : 
 Bat finding all its efforts weak and vain, 
 No more it pants and.rages for the plain: 
 Moping awhile, in sullen mood 
 Droops the sweet mourner—but ere long 
 Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food, 
 And meditates the song: 
 Serenely sorrowing, breathes its piteous case, 
 And with its plaintive warbling saddeus all the place, 
 
66 MONODY. 
 
 Forgive me, Heav’n !—yet, yet the tears will flow, 
 To think how soon my scene of bliss is past! — 
 My budding joys, just promising to blow, 
 All nipt and wither’d by one envious biast! 
 My hours that laughing wont to fleet away, 
 Move heavily along 5 
 Where’s now thesprightly jest,the jocund song? 
 Time creeps, unconscious of delight: 
 How shall I cheat the tedious day; 
 And, oh :—the joyless night! 
 Where shall I rest my weary head ? 
 How shall I find repose on a sad widow’d bed ? 
 
 Come, Theban drug,* the wretch’s only aid, 
 To my torn heart its former peace restore; 
 Thy votary, wrapp’d in thy Lethean shade, 
 Awhile shall cease his sorrows to deplore; 
 Haply, when lock’d in sleep’s embrace, 
 Again I shall behold my Emma’s face 5 
 Again with transport hear 
 Her voice soft whispering in my ear; 
 May steal once more a balmy kiss, 
 And taste at least of visionary bliss. * 
 But, ah! the unwelcome morn’s obtruding light 
 Willall my shadowy schemes of bliss depose, 
 Will tear the dear illusion from my sight, 
 And wake me to the sense of all my woes: 
 If to the verdant fields I stray, 
 Alas! what pleasures now can these convey ? 
 Her lovely form pursues where’er I go, 
 And darkens all the scene with woe. 
 By Nature’s lavish bounties cheer’d no more, 
 Sorrowing I rove 
 Through valley, grot, and grove; 
 Nought can their beauties or my loss restore5 
 No herb, no plant, can med’cine my disease, 
 And my sad sighs are borne on every passing breeze. 
 
 ® Laudanum.” 
 
 : 
 
—— 
 
 MONODY. Gi 
 
 Sickness and sorrow hovering round my bed, 
 Who now with anxious haste shall bring relief, 
 With lenient hand support my drooping head, 
 Assuage my pains, and mitigate my grief? 
 Should worldly business call away, 
 Who now sball in my absence fondly mourn, 
 Count every minute of the loitering day, 
 Impatient for my quick return ? 
 Should aught my bosom discompose, 
 Who now, with sweet complacent air, 
 Shall smoothe the rugged brow of Care, 
 Atid soften all my woes? 
 Too faithful Memory—cease, oh! cease— 
 How shall [ e’er regain my peace? 
 (Oh, to forget her!)—but how vain each art, 
 Whilst every virtue lives imprinted on my heart! | 
 
 -And thou, my little cherub, left behind 
 
 To hear a father’s plaints, to share his woes, 
 When Reason’s dawn informs thy infant mind, 
 And thy sweet lisping tongue shall ask the cause, 
 How oft with sorrow shall mine eyes run o’er 
 When, twining round my knees, I trace 
 Thy mother’s smile upon thy face! 
 How oft to my full heart shalt thou restore 
 Sad memory of my joys—ah, now no more! 
 By blessings once enjoy’d now more distress’d, 
 More beggar by the riches once possess’d, 
 My little darling !—dearer to me grown 
 Byall the tearsthou’st caus’d—oh! strange to hear! 
 Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own, 
 Thy crad!e purchas’d with thy mother’s bier: 
 Who now shall seek with fund delight 
 Thy infant steps to guide aright ? 
 She, who with doating eyes would gaze 
 On all thy little artless ways, 
 _ By all thy soft endearments blest, 
 And clasp thee oft with transport to her breast, 
 Alas! is gone—yet shalt thou prove 
 A father’s dearest, tenderest love ; 
 
68 MONODY. 
 
 And, O sweet senseless smiler (envied state!) 
 
 As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate, 
 When years thy judgment shall mature, _ 
 
 And Reason shows those ills it cannot cure, 
 Wilt thou, a father’s grief t? assuage, 
 
 For virtue prove the Phoenix of the earth 
 
 «Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth,) 
 And be the comfort of my age? 
 
 When sick and languishing I lie, 
 Wilt thou my Emma’s wonted care supply ? 
 And, oft as to thy listening ear, 
 Tby mother’s virtues and her fate [I tell, 
 Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear, 
 Whilst on the mournful theme I dwell? 
 Then fondly stealing to thy father’s side, 
 Whene’er thou seest the soft distress, 
 Which £ would vainly seek to hide, 
 Say, wilt thou strive to make it less? 
 To soothe my sorrows all thy cares employ, 
 And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy? 
 
 ven 
 
 
 
Eee 
 
 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 OGILVIE. 
 
 Han, queen of thought sublime! propitious power, 
 Who o’er the unbounded waste art joy’d to roam, 
 Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour 
 Her pale rays tremble through the dusky gloom. 
 
 © bear me, goddess, to thy peaceful seat! 
 Whether to Hecla’s cloud-wrapt brow convey°d, 
 Or lodg’d where mountains screen thy deep retreat, 
 Or wandering wild through Chili’s boundless shade. 
 
 Say, rove thy steps o’er Lybia’s naked waste? 
 Or seek some distant solitary shore? 
 
 Or, on the Andes’ topmost mountain plac’d, 
 Dost sit, and hear the solemn thunder roar? © 
 
 Fix’d on some hanging rock’s projected brow, 
 Hear’st thou low murmurs from the distant dome ? 
 Or stray thy feet where pale dejected Woe 
 Pours her long wail from some lamented-tomb ? 
 
 Hark! yon deep echo strikes the trembling ear! 
 See night’s dun curtain wraps the darksome pole! 
 
 O’er heaven’s blue arch yon rolling worlds appear, 
 And rouse to solemn thought the aspiring soul. 
 
 © lead my steps beneath the moon’s dim ray, 
 Where Tadmor stands all desert and alone! 
 
 While from her time-shook towers the bird of prey 
 Sounds thro’ the night her long-resounding moan. 
 
 Or bear me far to yon dark dismal plain, 
 Where fell-eyed tigers all athirst for blood, 
 Howl to the deserts while the horrid train 
 Roams o’er the wild where once great Babel stood 3, 
 D5 
 
70 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 That queen of nations! whose superior call 
 Rous’d the broad East, and bid her arms destroy! 
 
 When warm’d to mirth, let judgment mark her fall, 
 And deep reflection dash the lip of joy. 
 
 Short is Ambition’s gay deceitful. dream ; 
 Tho’ wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow; 
 Calm thought dispels the visionary scheme, 
 And Time’s cold breath dissolves the withering 
 bough. 
 
 Slow as some miner saps th’ aspiring tower, 
 When working secret with destructive aim, 
 
 Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour, 
 But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name. 
 
 Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man, 
 Full in the draught be keen-ey’d Hope pourtray’d, 
 Let fluttering Cupids crowd the growiag plan: 
 Then give one touch, and dash it deep with shade. 
 
 Beneath the plume that flames with glancing rays 
 Be Care’s deep engines on the soul impress’d; 
 
 Beneath the helmet’s keen-refulgent blaze 
 Let Grief sit pining in the canker’d breast. . 
 
 Let Love’s gay sons, a smiling train, appear, 
 With beauty pierc’d—yet heedless of the dart? - 
 
 While closely couch’d, pale sickening Envy near 
 Whets her fell sting, and points it at the heart. 
 
 Perch’d like a raven on some blasted yew, 
 
 Let guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin! 
 Scar*d while her eyes survey the ethereal blue, 
 
 Lest heaven’s strong lightning burst the dark within. 
 
 Then paint impending o’er the maddening deep ~ 
 That rock where heart-struek Sappho, vainly braye, 
 
 Stood, firm of soul—then frem the dizzy steep 
 Impetuous sprung, and dash’d the boiling wave. 
 
 Here wrapt in studious thought let Fancy rove, 
 Still prompt to mark Suspicion’s secret snare; 
 
 To see where Anguish nips the bloom of Love, 
 Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care. 
 
ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 11 
 
 Should e’er Ambition’s towering hopes inflame, 
 Let judging Reason draw the veil aside 5 
 
 Or, fir’d with envy at some mighty name, 
 Read o’er the monument that tells—He died. 
 
 What are the ensigns of imperial sway, 
 
 What all that Fortune's liberal hand has brought? ’ 
 Teach they the voice to. pour a sweeter lay ? 
 
 Or rouse the soul to more exalted thought! 
 
 ‘When bleeds the heart as Genius blooms unknown, 
 When melts the eye o’er Virtue’s mournful bier : 
 
 Not wealth, but pity, swells the bursting groans 
 Not power,bat whispering Nature,prompts the tear. 
 
 Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault, 
 _Where the worm fattens on some sceptred brow, 
 Beneath that roof with sculptur’d marble fraught, 
 Why sleeps unmov’d the breathless dust below ? 
 
 Sleeps it more sweetly than the simple swain, 
 Beneath some mossy turf that rests his head ; 
 
 Where the lone widow tells the night her pain, 
 And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead ? 
 
 The lily, scree#’d from every ruder gale, 
 
 Courts not the cuitur’d spot where roses spring : 
 But blows neglected in the peaceful vale, 
 
 And scents the zephyr’s balmy-breathing wing. 
 
 The busts of grandeur and the pomp of power, 
 Can these bid Sorrow’s gushing tears subside ? 
 Can these avail in that tremendous heur, 
 When Death’s cold hand congeals the purple tide? 
 
 Ah, no! the mighty names are heard no more: 
 Pride’s thought ols and Beauty’s kindling 
 bloom, 
 Serve but to sport one flying moment o’er, 
 Aud swell with pompous verse th’ escutcheon’} 
 tomb. i 
 
72 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 For me—may passion ne’er my soul invade, 
 Nor be the whims of towering Freazy given ; 
 Let wealth ne’er court me from the peaceful shade, 
 Where Contemplation wings the soul to Heaven! 
 
 Oh! guard me safe from Joy’s enticing snare! 
 With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide, 
 
 The poison’d breath of slow-consuming Care, 
 The noise of Folly, and the dreams of Pride. 
 
 But oft when midnight’s sadly solemn knell 
 
 Sounds long and distant from the sky-topt tower, 
 Calm let me sit in Prosper’s lonely cell,* 
 
 Or walk with Milton through the dark obscure. 
 
 Thus, when the transient dream of fife is fled 
 May some sad friend recall the former years; 
 
 Then, stretch’d in silence o’er my dusty bed, 
 Pour the warm gush of sympathetic tears! 
 
 * See Shakspeare’s Tempest. 
 
DEATH. 
 
 BY DR. PORTEUS, BISHOP OF LONDON. 
 
 F RIEND to the wretch whom every friend forsakes, 
 I woo thee, Death!—In Fancy’s fairy paths 
 Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill 
 
 The strain of empty joy. Life and its joys 
 
 I leave to those that prize them. At this hour, 
 This solemn hour, when silence rules the world, 
 And wearied nature makes a general pause; 
 Wrapt in night’s sable robe, through cloisters drear 
 And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng 
 
 Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path 
 With silent glance, I seek the shadowy vale 
 
 Of Death. Deep in a murky cave’s recess, 
 Lav’d by Oblivion’s listless stream, and fenc’d 
 By shelving rocks, and intermingled horrors 
 
 Of yew and cypress shade, from all intrusion 
 Of busy noontide beam, the Monarch sits 
 
 Tn unsubstavtial majesty enthron’d, 
 
 At his right hand, nearest himself in place 
 And fruitfulness of form, his parent Sin, 
 
 With fatal industry and cruel care 
 
 Busies himself in pointing all his stings, 
 
 And tipping every shaft with venom drawn 
 From her infernal store: around him rang’d 
 
 In terrible array, and mixture strange 
 
 Of uncouth shapes, stand his dread ministers. 
 Foremost Old Age, his natural ally 
 
 And firmest friend: next bim diseases thick, 
 
 A motley train; Fever with cheek of fire 5 
 Consumption wan; Palsy, half-warm with life, 
 “And half a clay-cold lump; joint-tort’ring Gout; 
 And eyer-gnawing Rheum; Convulsion wild 5 
 
74 DEATH. 
 
 Swoln Dropsy; panting Asthma; Apoplex 
 Full-gorg’d. There too the Pestilence that walks 
 In darkness, and the Sickness that destroys 
 At broad noon-day. These, anda thousand more, 
 Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when , 
 By Heaven’s command Death waves his ebon wand, 
 Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose, 
 And scatter desolation o’er the Earth. 
 
 Ill-fated Man, for whom such various forms 
 Of misery wait, and mark their future prey! 
 Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didst thoa make 
 This creature, Man ? Why wake the unconscious dust. 
 To life and wretchedness? O better far j 
 Still had he slept in uncreated night, 
 If this the lot of being! Was it for this 
 Thy breath divine kindled within his breast 
 The vital flame? For this was thy fair image 
 Stamp’d on bis soul in godlike lineaments ? 
 For this dominion given him absolute : 
 O’er all thy works, only that he might reign 
 Supreme in woe? From the blest source of Good 
 Could Pain and Death proceed? Could such foul ills 
 Fall from fair Mercy’s hands? Far be the thought, 
 ‘The impious thought! God never made a creature 
 But what was good. He made a living Soul; 
 The wretched Mortal was the work of Man. 
 Forth from his Maker’s hands he sprung to life, 
 Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew, 
 No fear of change, no check to his desires, 
 Save one command. That one command, which stood 
 *Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience, 
 Urg’d on by wanton curiosity, 
 He broke. There in one moment was undone 
 The fairest of God’s works. ‘The same rash hand, 
 That pluck’d in evil hour the fatal fruit, 
 Unbarr’d the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin 
 And Death, and all the family of Pain, . 
 To prey upon Maukind. Young Nature saw 
 The monstrous crew, and shook thro’ all her frame. * 
 Then fled her new-born lustre, then began 
 

 
 p 
 b 
 
 ; 
 | 
 ‘ 
 
 _ Trampling upon the Serpent’s humbled crest 5 
 
 
 
 DEATH. 75 
 
 _Heaven’s cheerful face to lower, then vapors chok’d 
 |The troubled air, and form’d a veil of clouds 
 _To hide the willing Sun. ‘The earth convuls’d 
 ‘With painful throes threw forth a bristly crop — 
 OF thorns and briars; and insect, bird, and beast, 
 | That wont before with admiration fond 
 | To gaze at man, and fearless crowd around him, 
 Now fled before his face, shunning ia haste ~ 
 The infection of his misery.. He alone 
 Who justly might, the offended Lord of Man, 
 Turn’d not away his face; he, full of pity, 
 Forsook not in this uttermost distress 
 His best-lov’d work. _ That comfort still remain’d 
 (That best, that greatest comfort in affliction,) 
 | The countenance of God, and through the gloom 
 Shot forth some kindly gleams, to cheer and warm 
 The offender’s sinking soul, Hope sent from Heaven 
 Uprais’d his drooping head, and show’d afar 
 
 _ A happier scene of things; the Promised Seed 
 
 Death of his sting disarm’d; and the dark grave, 
 
 | Made pervious to the realms of endless day 
 _ No more the limit but the gate of life. 
 
 Cheer’d with the view, Man went to till the ground. 
 
 _ From whence he rose; seutenc’d indeed to toil 
 _ As to a punishment, yet (ev’n in wrath,» 
 | So merciful is Heaven) this toil became 
 
 ‘The solace of his woes, the sweet employ 
 Of many a live-long hour, and surest guard 
 
 figainst Disease and Death. Death, tho’ denounc’d, 
 
 Was yet a distant ill, by feeble arm 
 
 Of Age, his sole support, led slowly on. 
 
 Not then, as siuce, the short-liv’d sons of men 
 ¥lock’d to his realms in countless multitudes ; 
 Scarce in the course of twice five hundred years, 
 One solitary ghost went shivering down 
 
 To his unpeopled shore. In sober state, 
 Through the sequester’d vale of rural life, 
 
 The venerablé Patriarch guileless held 
 
 The tenor of his way; Labor prepar’d 
 
46 DEATH. 
 
 His simple fare, and Temperance rul’d his board, 
 Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve 
 He sunk to sudden rest; gentle and pure 
 As breath of evening Zephyr, and as sweet 
 Were all his slumbers; with the Sun he rose, 
 Alert and vigorous as He to run 
 His destin’d course. Thusnerv’d with giant strength, 
 He stemm’d the tide of time, and stood the shock 
 Of ages rolling harmless o’er his head. 
 At life’s meridian point arriv’d, he stood, 
 And looking round, saw all the vallies fill’d 
 With nations from his loins; full well content 
 To leave his race thus scatter’d o’er the earth, 
 Along the gentle slope of life’s decline 
 He bent his gradual way, till full of years 
 He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave. 
 
 Such in the infancy of Time was Man 3 
 So calm was life, so impotent was Death! 
 O bad he but preserv’d these few remains, 
 The shatter’d fragments of lost happiness, 
 Snatch’d by the hand of Heaven from the sad. wreck 
 Of innocence primeval; still had he liv’d 
 In ruin great; though fallen, yet not forlorn 3 
 Though mortal, yet not every where beset 
 With Death in every shape! But he, impatient 
 To be completely wretched, hastes to fill up 
 The measure of his woes:—’T'was Man himself 
 Brought Death into the world; and Man himself 
 Gave keenness to his darts, quicken’d his pace, 
 And raultiplied destruction on mankind, 
 
 First Envy, eldest-born of Hell, embru’d 
 Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men 
 To make a Death which Nature never made, 
 And God abborr’d; with violence rude to break 
 The thread of life ere half its length was run, 
 And rob a wretched brother of his being. 
 With joy Ambition saw, and soon improv’d 
 The execrable deed. °*IT'was not enough 
 By subtle fraud to snatch a single life; . 
 Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell 
 
| 
 | 
 
 i 
 E 
 | 
 : 
 
 a 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 DEATH. He 
 
 To sate the lust of power: more horrid still, 
 The foulest stain and scandal of our nature, 
 Became its boast. One murder made a villain; 
 Millions a hero. Princes were privileg’d — 1 
 
 To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime. 
 _ Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men? 
 _ And Men that they are brethren? Why delight 
 
 In human sacrifice? Why burst the ties 
 6f Nature, that should knit their souls together 
 
 In one soft bond of amity and love? 
 
 Yet still they breathe destruction, still go on 
 
 _ Inhumanly ingenious to find out 
 | New pains for life, new terrors for the grave, 
 
 Artificers of Death! Still Monarchs dream 
 Of universal empire growing up 
 
 From universal ruin. Blast the design, 
 Great God of Hosts, nor let thy creatures fall 
 
 | Unpitied victims at Ambition’s shrine! 
 
 Yet say, should Tyrants learn at last to feel, 
 And the lond din of battle cease to bray 5 
 
 | Should doye-ey’d Peace o'er all the earth extend 
 | Her olive-branch, and give the world repose, 
 | Would Death be foil’d ? Would health, and streng ath, 
 
 and. youth 
 Defy his power? Has he 1 no arts in sone 
 
 ' No other shafts save those ef War? Alas! 
 _ Ev’n in the smile of Peace, that smile which sheds 
 
 A heavenly sunshine o’er the soul, there basks 
 
 | That serpent Luxury. War its thousand slays; 
 
 | Peace its ten thousands. In the embattled plain, 
 . Though Death exults, and claps his raven Wings, 
 _ Yet reigns he not ev’n there so absolute, 
 
 So merciless, as in yon frantic scenes 
 
 _ Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth, 
 . Where in the intoxicating draught conceal’d, 
 
 Or couch’d beneath the glance of lawless love, 
 
 _ He snares the simple youth, who nought suspecting, 
 _ Means to be blest—but finds himself undone. 
 
 Down the smooth stream of life the stripling darts, 
 
 | Gayasthe morn; bright glows the vernal sly. 
 
78 DEATH. 
 
 Hope swells his sails, and Passion steers his course. } | 
 Safe glides his little bark along the shore | 
 Where Virtue takes her stand; but if too far 
 He launches forth beyond Discretion’s mark, 
 Sudden the tempest scowls, the surges roar, . 
 Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep. 
 O sad but-sure mischance! O happier far 
 To lie like gallant Howe ’midst Indian wilds 
 A breathless corse, cut off by savage hands 
 In earliest prime, a generous sacrifice 
 To freedom’s holy cause, than so to fall, 
 Torn immature from life’s meridian joys, 
 A prey to Vice, Intemperance, and Disease. 
 
 Yet die ev’n thus, thus rather perish still, 
 Ye sons of Pleasure, by the Almighty stricken, 
 Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare) 
 To life against yourselves the murderous steel, 
 To wrest from God’s own hand the sword of Justice, 
 And be your own avengers! Hold, rash Man, 
 Though with anticipating speed thou’st rang’d 
 Through every region of delight, nor left 
 One joy to gild the evening of thy days; 
 Though life seem one uncomfortable void, 
 Guilt at thy heels, before thy face Despair $ 
 Yet gay this scene, and light this load of woe, 
 Compar’d with thy hereafter, Think, O think, 
 And, ere thou plunge into the vast abyss, 
 Pause on the verge awhile: look down and see 
 Thy future mansion. Why that start of horror? 
 Frem thy slack hand why drops the uplifted steel ? 
 Didst thou not think such vengeance must await 
 The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh about him 
 Rushes irreverent, unprepar’d, uncall’d, 
 Into his Maker’s presence, throwing back 
 With insolent disdain his choicest gift ? 
 
 Live then, while Heaven in pity lends thee life, 
 And think it all too short to wash away, 
 By penitential tears and deep contrition, 
 The scarlet of thy crimes. So shalt thou find 
 Rest to thy soul; so unappall’d shalt meet 
 

 
 DEATH. 99 
 
 Death when he comes, not wantonly invite 
 His lingering stroke. Be it thy sole concern 
 With innocence to live: with patience wait 
 The appointed hour: too soon that hour will come, 
 Though Naturerun her course. But Nature’s God, 
 If need require, by thousand various ways, 
 | Without thy aid, can shorten that short span, 
 And quench the lamp of life. O when he comes, 
 Rous’d by the cry of wickedness extreme, 
 To Heaven ascending from some guilty land, 
 Now ripe for vengeance ; when. he comes array’d 
 In all the terrors of Almighty wrath, 
 Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm, 
 And on the miscreants pours destruction down3 
 Who can abide his coming ? Who can bear 
 ‘His whole displeasure. Ip no common form 
 Death thin appears, but starting into size 
 Jnormous, measures with gigantic stride 
 ‘The astonish’d Earth,and from his looks throws round 
 Unutterable horror and dismay 5 
 All Nature lends her aid. Each Element 
 Arms in his cause. Ope fly the doors of Heaven; 
 The fountains of the deep their barriers breaks 
 Above, below, the rival torrents pour, 
 And.drown Creation; or in floods of fire 
 Descends a livid cataract, and consumes 
 An impious race. Sometimes, when all seems peace, 
 Wakes the grim whirlwind, aad with rude embrace 
 Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep 
 Whelms the proud wooden world; full many a youth 
 Floats on his watery bier, or lies unwept 
 On some sad desert shore! At dead of night, 
 In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence: 
 Contagion. close behind taints all her steps 
 With poisonous dew; no smiting hand is seen, 
 No sound is heard; but soon her secret path 
 Is mark’d with desolation; heaps on heaps 
 Promiscuous drop. No friend, no refuge, near; 
 All, all is false and treacherous around 5 
 All that they touch, or taste, or breathe, is Death. 
 
Se DEATH. 
 
 But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why fail 
 These tottering feet 2? Earth to its centre feels ¢ 
 The Godhead’s power, and trembling at his touch 
 Through all its pillars, and in every pore, 
 
 Hurls to the ground, with one convulsive heave, 
 Precipitating domes, and towns, and towers, 
 The work of ages. Crush’d beneath the weight 
 Of general devastation, millions find 
 
 One common grave; not even a widow left 
 
 To wail her sons: the house, that should protect, — 
 Fntombs its master; and the faithless plain, 
 
 If there hevflies for help, with sudden yawa 
 
 Starts from beneath him. Shield me, gracious Heaven, 
 O snatch me from destruction! If this Globe, 
 
 This solid Globe, which thine own hand hath made 
 So firm and sure, if this my steps betray; 
 
 If my own mother Earth, from whence I sprung, 
 Rise up with rage unnatural to devour 
 
 Her wretched offspring, whither shall I fly? 
 Where look for succour? Where, but up to thee, 
 Almighty Father? Save, O save thy suppliant 
 From horrors such as these! At thy good time 
 
 Let Death approach; 1 reck not—let him but come 
 {n genuine form, not with thy vengeance arm’d, 
 ‘Too much for man to bear. O rather lend 
 
 Thy kindly aid to mitigate his stroke 5 
 
 And at that hour when all aghast [ stand 
 
 (A trembling candidate for thy compassion) 
 
 On this world’s brink, and look into the next ; 
 When my soul, starting from the dark unknowu, 
 Casts back a wishful look, and fondly clings 
 
 To her frail prop, unwilling to be wrench’d 
 
 From this fair scene, from all her custom’d joys, 
 And all the lovely relatives of life, 
 
 Then shed thy comforts o’er me, then put on 
 
 The gentlest of thy looks. Let no dark crimes, 
 In all their hideous forms then starting up, 
 
 Plant themselves round my couch in grim array, 
 And stab my bleeding heart with two-edg’d torture, 
 Sense ef past guilt, and dread of future woe, 
 
 ~ 
 
DEATH. Sl 
 
 ill) Far be the ghastly crew! And in their stead 
 
 ,, Let cheerful Memory from her purest cells 
 Lead forth a goodly train. of Virtues fair, 
 Cherish’d in earliest youth, now paying back 
 ') With tenfold usury the pious care, 
 And pouring o’er my wounds the heavenly balm 
 Of conscious innocence. But chiefly, Thou, 
 | Whom soft-ey’d Pity once led down from Heaven, 
 | To bleed for man, to teach him how to live, 
 And, oh! still harder lesson! how to dies 
 Disdain not Thou to smoothe the restless bed 
 Of Sickness and of Pain. Forgive the tear 
 | That feeble Nature drops, calm all her fears, 
 Wake all her hopes, aud animate her faith, 
 Till my wrapt soul, anticipating Heaven, 
 Barets from the thraldom of incumbering clay, 
 And on the wing of Eestasy upborne, 
 | Springs into Liberty, and Light, and Life. 
 
 
 
 h 
 
 é 
 
DISTRESS. 
 
 A POEM, 
 
 By ROBERT NOYES.* 
 
 I S there a Muse will her assistanee lend 
 
 To him who wants a patron and a friend ? 
 
 Is there among the gay and sprightly Nine, 
 
 Who on Distress will condescend to shine 
 
 With ray indulgent? Then I'd soar and sing, 
 
 Though Penury’s hard hand hath clipt my wing. 
 
 Humbly Pve urg’d my suit to every Muse; 
 
 All turn disdainful and my suit refuse: 
 
 How shall [ tune, forlorn, the mournful reed, 
 
 While my heart sickens, and my sorrows bleed? 
 Some gentle Spirit whispers in my ear, 
 
 a 
 
 ** Produce the song ”——* Suppress it,” says Despair— 
 A P i 
 
 The gentle Spirit’s whisper I obey, 
 And to his care commit my feeble lay. 
 
 Far from the seats of Affluence and of Ease, 
 Where Plenty riots, and soft sonnets please ; 
 Where Mirth’s associates ia the banquet join, 
 And quaff the richness of Burgundia’s vine, 
 Distress, recluse, a batter’d cottage finds, 
 That yields no shelter from tempestuous winds ; 
 Whose crevic’d walls admit the driven snow 3 
 And mark the tenant for a child of woe; 
 
 Their flimsy texture spiders here extend, 
 
 And crickets here their notes with screech-owls — 
 
 blend; 
 Here hunger ravens: hence sweet rest retires 5 
 Hence comforts vanish, and here hope expires 5 
 
 * The Author of this Poem died in November 1798, at _ 
 Cranbrook in Kent. He was worn out by infirmities, and — 
 
 quietly resigned his soul into the hands of his Maker. 
 
DISTRESS. 83 
 
 This dire abode no traveller ventures near; 
 No brisk associates—for no banquet’s here; 
 Yet her associates pale Distress can name; 
 ‘Hunger, and Thirst, Contempt, and honest Shame, 
 | With anxious Care, and gloomy Solitude, 
 (All guests unwelcome,) on her cot intrude. 
 | Hunger and Thirst on cold Distress await, 
 | And threaten Famine in her small retreat; 
 | These to the rich a transient visit pay ; 
 _Plenty relieves them, and they haste away ; 
 | But with the poor their residence is long, 
 | Their presence painful, and their cravings strong: 
 | & Give bread! Give water !”—but in vain they cry3 
 |The shelf. is empty, and the fountain dry: 
 No pleas avail that Poverty suggests, 
 | T° appease the tumult of her irksome guests; 
 She schemes, she wishes their demands to grant, 
 _ And says, “ To-morrow shall supply their want: ” 
 ' To-morrow!” both with angry haste reply, 
 * Give, give us now, or else to-night you die!” 
 Contempt, foul fiend, the base-born child of Pride, 
 Begot by Folly. and to Hell allied, 
 Thro’ strange perverseness meek Distress pursues, 
 _ And all her woes with cruel pleasure views. 
 Quick from her eye Disdain (a poison’d dart) 
 Flies off oblique, and wounds her broken heart ; 
 Hunger and Thirst have painful pointed stings, 
 But sty Contempt a tenfold sorrow brings, 
 And brings it, laden with a tenfold weight, 
 On those who sink to worse from better state. 
 Whose eye contemptuous keenest flashes sends 7? 
 His, whom we number’d once among our friends. 
 Whose brow reveals the most disgusting scorn? 
 His, but our equal, or inferior born. 
 Whose venom’d tongue excites our saddest tears ? 
 His, whom we once sustain’d in happier years. 
 Can this foul fiend, the base-born child of Pride, 
 In any, but the rankest, breast reside ? 
 The formal Saint, who carries in his face 
 The serious picture of internal grace; 
 
&4 DISTRESS, 
 
 Who pleads the orphan’s and the widow’s cause, 
 With seeming pity, and with self applause; 
 Whose lips the law of charity can teach, 
 And love and friendship most devoutly preach 3 
 Who censures pride with hypocritie zeal, 
 And paints its downfall in a whining tales 
 Who for the wretched heaves an artful sigh, 
 And gives Distress the tribute of his eye; 
 Pleads, pities, preaches, censures, weeps, and sigh 
 Yet is no Saint; but Satan in disguise: 
 A man like this, within his heart. provides 
 A filthy corner, where the fiend resides! 
 If to this Saint some wretch presents his suit, 
 Out starts the fiend, and strikes the suppliant mute. 
 
 Shame, such as ne’er the splendid villain grac’d, 
 Flushes the cheek of competence debas’d : 
 The blush that joins in low Distress’s train, 
 Springs not from guilt but witnesses to pain, 
 A conscious pain, excited by despair, 
 At thought of what we are, and what we were: 
 a traces life’s smooth seasons gone, 
 And mourns the former pleasing scenes withdrawn 5 
 Forward it looks, and gloomy clouds arise 
 That threaten danger, and create surprise 5 
 Peculiar hardships mark the steps of those 
 Who pass from comfort to Distresg and woes. 
 
 What anxious cares the poor man’s bosom vex, 
 In dreams torment him, and by day perplex ! 
 The poor, I mean, whose prosperous noon is past 5 
 Whose adverse night draws on with winged haste: 
 What various schemes his busy thoughts devise 
 To ward off Want, and silence Nature’s cries ! 
 How small the pittance yesterday supplied ! 
 To-day a smaller pittance is denied 5 
 He hopes to-morrow will more liberal be, 
 But proves the greatest niggard of the three. 
 Less anxious thoughts his mind would discomp se, 
 Were none the partners of his daily woes; 
 Had he been doom’d to bear the load alone, 
 ‘This mournful verse the world had never known 5 
 
 ; 
 
 
 
DISTRESS. 2 
 
 The wretch dejected had in secret sigh’d 
 Beneath his burden, and in secret died: _ 
 But tender pledges of connubial love 
 ' Partake his wants, and all his pity move: 
 Their mother’s joy—their mother now tio more, 
 To see—to feel—their sorrows and deplore— 
 Turn from this scene, my soul, awhile, and sigh, 
 And lift to heaven the hand—the heart—the eye! 
 Then to this scene, blest shade! Pil turn again, 
 And solemnize thy death in plaintive strain, 
 Father of mercies! whose indulgent ear 
 Is always open to ant humble prayer! 
 Whose pity sees, whene’er thy creatures grieve 3 
 Whose bounteous hands their indigence Felitive { 
 O! for His sake, whose lips, with grace od 
 Successful plead beforé thy mercy-seat $ 
 Pour down thy blessings on the sons of need, 
 _ Who at. thy throne for blessings intercede! 
 Their fears remove, their pressing wants supply, 
 And guide their feet through life with watchful eye, 
 To their sad hearts restore departed joy, 
 So shall thy praise their grateful tongues employ. 
 To poor Distress sad Solitude repairs, 
 And with her broods in silence o’er her fears 
 | While to the rich base parasites resort, 
 | And at the shrine of Mammon make their court; 
 | Who turn their footsteps to the moss-spread door, 
 | Where sit and pine the solitary poor? 
 Shunn’d by the proud with no less timorous care,, 
 Than fiies'the unwounded from the stricken deer. 
 Is there among the opulent and great, 
 Who deign to enter Poverty’s retreat ? 
 Ts there who makes the Christian name his boast, 
 But to the virtues of a Christian’s lost >— 
 | Some few there are, (how blest and honor’d they!) 
 Who hear the Saviour’s precepts,* and obey $ 
 Who feed the hungry with a heart benign 5 
 | Who give refreshment when the thirsty pine: 
 
 
 
 * See Matthew xxv. 35) Sc- 
 & 
 
86 DISTRESS. 
 
 Who grant the stranger shelter from the storm, 
 Who clothe the naked, and the frost-nipt warm 5 
 The sick who visit with humane intent, 
 _ And seek the cottage where the poor lament 5 
 To these kind, blest, and honor’d few, I raise 
 An humble column of unfeigned. praise; 
 Above the rest, if one in goodness shines, 
 To whom my muse inscribes these artless lines, 
 Benevolus is he-—the friend unsought, 
 Whose soul with every lovely virtue’s fraught. 
 Now, my sad soul, life’s former scenes revise 3 
 Compare the summer with the winter skies! —~ 
 Ye halcyon days! O! why for ever fled? 
 Why beats the storm on this devoted head? 
 ©! that I were as in bright seasons gone, 
 When God * with favor on my dwelling shone! 
 When by his light I walk’d through darksome ways, 
 And peace and safety crown’d my youthful days! 
 When Plenty’s hand my homely table spread, 
 And Rest her roses scatter’d on my bed! 
 ‘When Hunger’s plaint ne’er pierc’d a father’s ear, 
 Nor children’s wants drew forth a mother’s tear!— 
 Now sights of anguish meet my weeping eyes, 
 And prospects dreary all around me rise. 
 The infants’ moan a parent’s heart pervades, 
 Who, in their looks, their wants with sorrow reads §. 
 Reads, in such lines as eloquence excel, 
 The woes and wishes that their bosom swell. 
 Will Heaven the shaggy lion’s young supply, 
 And hear, and feed the ravens when they cry; 
 Yet leave the human offspring to complain, 
 To sigh—to weep—to supplicate in vain? 
 Sooner shall whirlwinds rock the sea to rest, 
 And mothers stab their sucklings at the breast ; 
 Sooner shall tigers from the desert rove, 
 And wander harmless through the festive grove 5 
 Sooner the leopard change his spotted sides 
 A feather sooner stem the rapid tide; 
 
 * See Job xxix. 2, 3y ke. 
 
| 
 i 
 | 
 . 
 
 DISTRESS. $1 
 
 Sooner the Moor efface his sable hue, 
 
 And sooner earth be delug’d with a dew, 
 
 Than God his timely succours shall withhold 
 
 _ From babes oppress’d with hunger, thirst; and cold. 
 
 | Where is the bounty of the sons of Wealth, 
 
 Whom Heaven hath blest with opulence and health ? 
 
 | Where is the eye that ** weeps with those who weep ? ” 
 
 | Where the soft voice that lulls Distress to sleep ? 
 
 | Where the kind hand ?—the sympathizing heart 
 
 To feel another’s woe, and joy impart ?—~ 
 
 Bounty is fled, and seeks her native sky, 
 
 And pitying tears forsake the human eye; 
 
 _No strains to lull Distress—the soothing voice 
 
 Is drown’d in giddy Mirth’s tumultuous noise ; 
 
 | Flinty those hearts that once with pity flow’d; 
 
 _ Clos’d now the hands that Christian alms bestow’d: 
 O Heaven! send Bounty back from where she’s fled! 
 Let eyes relenting tears of pity shed! 
 
 _ Let the soft voice to sorrow comfort give! 
 
 The heart be melted,, and the hand relieve! 
 
 Then will of wretches the most wretched own, 
 
 That Charity on earth hath fix’d her throne: 
 
 | Tis fix’d cn earth—I feel her gentle sway, 
 
 _ And humbly at her shrine my homage pay. 
 
 Straight from thine altar, Charity, shall rise 
 
 The smoke of incense, and perfume the skies! 
 
 Incense of Gratitude, which fragrance yields, 
 
 Surpassing citron-groves or spicy fields; 
 
 Accept the offering which 1 bring to thee, 
 
 Thou fairest sister of the lovely three! 
 
 | My needy hands no costly tribute hold; 
 
 | No bright oblation of Peruvian gold; 
 
 Yet I present what thou wilt ne’er despise, 
 
  —A grateful heart, in willing sacrifice—~ 
 
 A grateful heart is all I have to give; 
 
 O Charity benign! that all receive! 
 
 Now on that scene reflect, my faithful muse, 
 
 Nor to the dead a sigh—a tear refuse— 
 
 To that sad scene Death’s blacken’d pencil wrought, 
 
 _ My soul returns in melancholy thought. 
 
 . E2 
 
 
 
$8 DISTRESS. 
 
 Come, Contemplation,from thy much-lov’d shades, 
 Which scarce a ray of Summer’s oon pervades! — 
 Quit for awhile thy consecrated cave, ; 
 And pay with me a visit to the grave! : 
 Come, solemn Night, in deepest sable clad ! 
 
 Come, join the traiv, with Silence ever sad! 
 
 Come, sit with me beneath yon baneful yew, 
 And see my sorrows pass in slow review! - Q 
 On “ Joys departed, never to return,” 
 
 My soul depress’d shall meditate—and mourn $ 
 
 First mourn “ departed joys,” and then review 
 
 My scenes of woe from yonder baneful yew. 
 
 Once my fond heart with secret rapture glow’d 3 
 
 Once, like a stream, my bosom bliss o’erflow’d : 
 
 Nor thought my rapture like a fleeting dream, 
 
 Or my bliss transient as the flowing stream: 
 
 Delusive world! who on thy smiles presume, 
 
 Rear, unexpected, for their hopes a tomb— 
 
 Once prosperous suns around me lustre shed, 
 
 Now set these suns, and all their rays are fled; 
 What friends and friendship meant, of old, 1 knew 3 
 How cold that friendship now! those friends how few ! 
 As fickle flowers, beneath a vernal sky, 
 
 Bloom and are fragrant, but in winter die; 
 
 So, when ia life, wealth’s store our wishes meets, 
 Friendship shall flourish, and diffuse its sweets 5 
 Let the scene shift, and Poverty ensue, . 
 Friendship withdraws, and scarcely bids Adieu! 
 
 Once sacred Friendship, kindled into love, 
 Made all my hours with Soft endearments move $ 
 Heaven gave a wife—to me—to Heaven endear’d, 
 Who all my comforts and my sorrows shar’d 5 
 But Heaven resum’d her to the world of bliss, 
 And left me lonely to lament in this. 
 
 Now to yon yew I turn my weary feet, 
 
 Where Silence, Night, and Contemplation meet; 
 With these companions, suited to my taste, 
 
 The grave I visit where her ashes rest $ 
 
 Rest in firm hope to rise to life divine, 
 
 When earth and sea shall all their dead resign. 
 
 . 
 
 
 
| DISTRESS. $3 
 
 ‘There I repose, and in calm sadness there 
 
 Pour on her dust a tributary tear; 
 
 ‘Nor shall my soul, while there for her I weep, 
 
 ‘Forget the children * fallen in death asleep : 
 
 Though first my tears a mother’s grave bedew, 
 
 Yet I retain some tender drops for you. 
 
 These branches, blasted by the tainting breath 
 
 Of languid sickness, and relentless death, 
 
 ‘How droop’d my heart! my fainting spirit said, 
 
 * Youths spring like flowers, and soon like flowers 
 
 they fade;” 
 
 ‘But when the stock which those fair branches bore, 
 -Wither’d and died, my hopes were then no more : 
 
 | “Yet calm reflection bids my hopes revive, 
 
 For truth assérts, “ The tree cut down shall live,” + 
 
 And allits branches, now decay’d and dead, 
 
 Again shall shoot, and with new verdure spread. 
 
 ‘Haste, glorious morn! when from the fertile tomb, 
 
 | These all shall rise, and bear eternal bloom: 
 
 And when yon yew shall lose its green, and die, 
 
 Ye shall re-flourish, evergreens on high. 
 
 : When at your graves I shed the friendly tear, 
 
 How empty all terrestrial things appear! 
 
 Then would my soul with transport soar above, 
 
 To realms of life, light, liberty, and love. 
 
 Ye gay, who flutter in the brilliant ball, 
 
 Nor hear when Reason, and when Conscience, call! 
 Return’d from thence, some cemetery tread, 
 
 And wisdom learn amoug the silent dead! 
 
 _ Close by the graves where your lov’d relics rest, 
 ‘Let my cold limbs by some kind hand be plac’d! 
 
 If, when my eyes are by Death’s signet seal’d, 
 
 Some hand of Friendship will that kindness yield 5 
 
 Peace to that friend who with my wish complies, 
 
 And peace attend his manes, whene’er he dies! 
 
 
 
 
 
 * Three of the Author’s children lie buried near their 
 mnother, 
 
 Tt See Job xiv. 7, 8, kee 
 
 
 
v0 DISTRESS, 
 
 See! Morn, awak’d, unfolds ber purple eye, 
 And bids old Night these dreary regions fly! 
 The noisy world, from Morpheus’ chains set loose, — 
 Warns sober Silence to her still recluse; 
 
 The din confus’d of ever busy men, 
 
 Sends Contemplation to her cave again 5 
 With them I leave the baneful yew and tomb, 
 And now the subject of Distress resume. 
 
 Say, from what curs’d, from what polluted spring, 
 Flow the sharp sorrows which I mournful sing ? 
 Than follow these in all their devious course, 
 Sooner my feet might trace Nile’s hidden source: 
 The secret motions of a restless soul, 
 
 What eye can search, what finite power control ? 
 From the foul heart, where pride and malice dwell, - 
 With every vice that bears the stamp of hell, 
 Corrupted actions, as by instinct, flow, 
 
 And make the world a seat of sin and woe: 
 
 But who suspects a treacherous deed from those 
 ‘Whom the fair robes of sanctity enclose ? 
 Prudence against an open foe may shield, 
 
 Aud caution guides us in the dangerous field: 
 With those who friendship’s specious vizard wear, 
 Unarm’d we walk, because we nothing fear: 
 
 The dart that deepest to my bosom went, 
 
 Flew from the bow pretended friendship bent. 
 
 As some poor wretch, whose little crazy boat 
 By cruel hands is set in storms afloat, 
 
 And soon by boisterous winds and waves is tost 
 Far from the covert of a sheltering coast, 
 
 Sees the shore lessen, and the billows rise, 
 And watery ruin spread before his eyes 5 
 While the base authors of his sudden woe 
 Stand on the beach, nor signs of pity show: 
 So in a painful, unexpected hour, 
 By holy cunning and religious power, 
 
 My feeble bark to sea was push’d, to meet 
 The waves that life’s wide shore with fury beat 5 
 And the same craft, the same opposing hand 
 That push’d it off, prevents its reaching land. 
 
DISTRESS. 91 
 
 Strangers to want! of every good possest, 
 That makes mankind, or seems to make them, blest ; 
 Whose golden stores the poor man’s mites exceed, 
 “Whose wealth abounds beyond a creature’s need 3 
 ‘Whose purse commands the dainties of the West, 
 And silken vestments of the splendid East 5 
 Whose tables smoke with every varied dish, 
 From high-saue’d venison to the luscious fish; 
 Amidst the countless treasures of your hoard 3 
 Amidst the plenty that regales your board 5 
 Strangers to want! while with such affluence fraught, 
 Spare ye the poor a pittance, or a thought? 
 Strangers to want! can ye, presumptuous, say, 
 No clouds shall rise to overcast your day? 
 Time past hath prov’d how fleeting riches are, 
 Time future to this truth may witness bear 5 
 
 By means no human wisdom can foresee, 
 
 Or power prevent, a sudden change may be3 
 War, in its route, may plunder all your store, 
 
 And leave you friendless, desolate, and poor $ 
 - Your spacious lands, possest by tenure fair, 
 Earthquakes may swallow, and thus bar the heir; 
 Your wealth, entrusted to the treacherous sea, 
 May sink, or fall to pirates’ hands a prey 3 
 Your all the flames may waste, or lawless men: 
 Strangers to want! shall ye be strangers then? 
 Since so precarious all you now enjoy, 
 A treasure seek which nothing can destroy! 
 
 Should earthquakes, flames, war, seas, and pirates ” 
 Stiil there is one will strip the wealthy bare: [spare, 
 Death —King of Terrors, whose despotic sway 
 The mortal race reluctantly obey, 
 
 Distinction levels, when his bow he bends, 
 And all the noble with the ignoble blends 5 
 With hand impartial strikes the fated blow, 
 And lays mankind in common ruin low: 
 Inspect the dust, o’er which the marble weeps 3 
 Inspect the ashes, where the peasant sleeps ; 
 And say, what difference in the putrid earth 
 That form’d the vulgar and the man of birth: 
 
 
 
92 DISTRESS. 
 
 Hence let false pride instructive lessons learu, ~ 
 
 And hence the folly of contempt discern. . 
 One is our parent, and that parent good, 
 
 Whose numerous children claim an equal blood, 
 
 From India’s savage and the Scythian wild, 
 
 To Europeans and the fondled child; 
 
 Though all from one original advcend, 
 
 And all promiscuous to one exit tend 5 
 
 Yet in their passage through life’s chequer’d state; 
 
 What various scenes their various roads await! 
 
 With restless steps some honor’s heights attain, 
 
 Whift others, humble, tread the lowly plain; 
 
 Some seek the vale, and dangerous summits shun 5 
 
 In devious paths some stray and are undone, 
 
 Nor is their lot less different than their ways, 
 
 Some walk in gloomy, some in gilded days$ 
 
 Their lot unequal, though their Parent good 5 
 
 Perplexing truth! how little understood! 
 
 Unequal lot, as judges reason blind; 
 
 But just and equal in the eternal Mind; 
 
 Though Viee high honors and rewards may reap, 
 
 And Virtue sit disconsolate and weep $ 
 
 Yet Jet not man, at random, hence conclude, 
 
 The heavenly Parent is not just or good 
 
 But rest, with patience rest, in whate’er sphere 
 
 ‘The will of Providence hath plae’d him here, 
 
 And patient wait, till God shall in the end 
 
 Unfold, what now man cannot comprehend. 
 
 ’ Tho’ Heaven, all-wise, hath mark’d mefor Déstress, — 
 
 May Heaven, all-good, my fellow mortals bless! 
 
 May none thro’ earth’s wide peopled regions know 
 
 What ills from friendless poverty will flow! 
 
 What storms await prosperity’s decline, 
 
 And what dread: anguish dwells with woes like mine. 
 
 And may the children of my warmest prayer, 
 
 Heaven’s daily fayor and protection share! 
 
 Almighty Father! shield them with thine arm 3 
 
 Their feet preserve from vanity aud harm 3 
 
 Their steps direct with ever-watchful eye, 
 
 And let thy bounty all their wants supply’ 
 
 
 
DISTRESS. 93 
 
 From sins, and snares, and sorrows keep them free, 
 
 | 
 | 
 
 And may their souls for succour fly to thee! 
 For them my heart in fond affection sighs, 
 And tears for them in secret cloud my eyes; 
 Their smiles of innocence with joy I view, 
 And hear their prattle with a pleasure new; 
 But when my fears anticipate their woes, 
 My heart no longer joy and pleasure knows$ 
 
 . ©! may his hand, whose Providence is good, 
 
 Give for their hodies, raiment, rest, and food! 
 And to their souls impart his needful grace, 
 To dohis will, and early seek his face ! 
 
 In hopes of this my fainting spirits rise, 
 
 And bid farewell to all beneath the skies. 
 
 Will the cold grave afford a quiet rest, 
 
 To all who drop, by want and woe opprest ?—= 
 Hail! peaceful chamber, where the weary sleep; 
 Where slanderous tongues perpetual silence keep ; 
 Where harass’d slaves shake off the galling chain, 
 And where Distress forgets her every pain; 
 Where tears no more descend from sorrow’s eye 5 
 Where the sad heart no longer vents a sigh. 
 Thou hallow’d refuge! still abode of peace! 
 Where dangers reach not, and where troubles cease, 
 Thy portals open, and admission give 
 
 The wretch, to whom ’tis misery to live ! 
 
 Who deem thee cruel are to reason blind 
 
 O! grant me shelter—and Pll call thee kind ! 
 
 From themes distressful, seen and heard by few, 
 I pass to scenes that meet a kingdom’s view 5 
 Scenes where Distress, in awful shade, appears, 
 And asks the tribute of a flood of tears. 
 
 Could my muse, pinion’d, spread her wings and fly 
 From Albion’s borders to the Western sky, 
 Beneath whose ample arch of structure strong, 
 The vast Atlantic rolls his waves along; 8 
 There would she seek Distress, with her deplore, 
 Yn cities, deserts, and the hostile shore 3 
 Paint her sad cheeks, bedew’d with crystal tears 
 Unveil her breast, distent with sickening fears 
 
 E5 
 
. 
 
 4 DISTRESGS.- 
 
 Present to view that sister of Despair, , 
 Tortur’d with anguish, and of frantic air, 
 ‘With hands close clapt,and loose hersanguine hair! 
 
 My muse, adventurous, takes her arduous flight, 
 And reaches safe fam’d Bunker’s towering height ; 
 Thence views with weeping eye, and heart-felt pain, 
 The ransack’d village, and the purpled plain; 
 
 From thence, dejected, sees the mangled dead, 
 
 Who for their country nobly fought and bled; 
 
 Thence hears the wounded hero’s parting groan, 
 
 The mother’s wailings, and the widow’s moan ;_ 
 
 From thence behelds Distress, in solemn mood, 
 Stalk o’er the slain, and tinge her feet with blood: 
 Around, the ghosts of slaughter’d patriots rise, 
 
 And call for vengeance to the dreary skies, 
 
 Far as the eye can reach, my mournful muse 
 
 The wandering footsteps of Distress pursues, 
 
 And sees her rush into the thicket wild, 
 
 (The dreadful haunt of Nature’s fiercest child,) 
 Where the rough savage, train’d to blood and toil, 
 (Murder his trade, and all his treasure, spoil,) . ; 
 In ambush Jies, and whets the pointed steel, \ ) 
 Whose scalping edge, youth, age, and beauty Yeelt 
 So Fame reports—nor doubt her language now, 
 As pure from falsehood as a vestal’s vow. 
 
 Near Penn’s domain once dwelt a sober sage, 
 
 Grown venerably grey with grief and age; 
 
 The bridal partner of his younger years 
 
 Shar’d in his joys and kindly sooth’d his caress 
 One was thei wish, their daily prayer was one, . 
 That Heaven, to seal their bliss, would givea son, — 
 Whose growing strength might prove his parents’ stay, 
 When theirs, through time, was sinking to decay: 
 At length, to recompense.their mutual love, 
 Heaven gave the hope she should a mother proves 
 The expected hour to crown their joy arrives 5 
 When, to! the mother dies—the child survives : 
 Thus in one moment (such the will of Heaven) 
 
 The wife is snatch’d away-——a daughter given. s 
 
 
 
DISTRESS. 95 
 
 . The father eyes the infant with delight; 
 
 | Shields her by day, and wakes to shield by wight ¥ 
 _ She lives the object of his fondest care; 
 
 _ Her health and safety his attention share 3 
 
 ' His lips instruction to her mind impart, 
 
 _ And fix sage lessons on her ductile heart: 
 
 _ With pious joy her reverend sire she hears, 
 
 _ Imbibes his wisdom, and his truths reveres3 
 
 _ Treads in his steps with circumspective care $ 
 
 _ His precepts learns with love and filial fear. 
 
 | Revolving years her lovely tharms disclose, | 
 
 | Pure as the snow, and blushing as the rose; 
 
 _ Her growing beauties spread’ a lustre far; 
 
 Mild as the radiance of the evening star: | 
 Palemon saw the lustre of her eye, 
 
 And modest cheek of roseate damask dye3 
 
 | He saw—and sudden felt love’s pleasing smart 
 Thrill through his breast, and ceutre in his heart 3 
 A kindred flame her tender bosom warms, 
 
 | And adds new beauty to her maiden charuis$ 
 
 _ The youth profess’d a passion for this fair, 
 
 Pure as the thoughts of Heaven’s archangels are, 
 | And she for him a mutual love profest ; 
 
 They wed—and by her father both are blest. 
 
 | Their nuptial state with joys supreme are crown’d, 
 Such as the innocent in Eden founds 
 
 | ‘The sun unclouded gilds each happy day, 
 
 | And Life’s clear stream unruffled glides away $ 
 No storms disturb the silence of their nights, 
 And morn awakes them to renew’d delights 5 
 Heaven on their labors with indulgence smiles, 
 And sweet discourse their evening hours beguiles$ 
 T’ enlarge the measure of their worldly joy, 
 
 | Heaven crown’d their wish by giving them a boy. 
 | In this calm scene of pleasure and repose, 
 
 This favor’d pair nor guilt, nor danger knows! 
 
 _ Secure, in hope, their moments softly past, 
 
 _ And each new day was brighter than the last. 
 
 As gathering clouds obscure the clearest skies, 
 Aud sudden waves ia calmest seas arise 5 
 
 
 
 
 
96 DISTRESS, 
 
 So in one fatal hour, a blast destroys 
 The fragrant bloom of her domestic joys. 
 Dark was the night, and scarce a trembling breeze 
 Was heard to whisper thro’ the neighbouring trees, 
 When to Sleep’s arms the household was withdrawn, 
 To rest in safety till the morrow’s dawn; 
 The morrow dawns and blushes at the sight 
 Of bloody scenes that shun detecting light: 
 Urg’d by a nameless thirst for human prey, 
 A savage band approach’d where Beauty lay ; 
 Where Innocence, and Youth, and age reclin’d 
 In sleep, refreshing as the southern wind. 
 
 Palemon first a harmless victim fell 
 To Rage, relentless as the Prince of Hell, 
 The sire, though bending with a load of years, 
 To save his daughter every danger dares; 
 With wrath paternal to the assassins flew, 
 And at one blow a swarthy murderer slew, 
 By some rough hand this ancient hero dies— 
 The trembling mother for her husband sighs$ 
 Sighs and entreats to spare her infant’s life, 
 Her sighs they hear, and spare him—with the knife 
 The tender parent, frantic with despair, 
 To meet Death’s arrow lays her bosom bare; 
 Death—how unkind! refus’d to bend his bow, 
 And life prolong’d for scenes of future woe. 
 
 Pleas’d with the charms of beauty, drench’d in tears, _ 
 The savage tribe to gloomy deserts bears 
 The weeping mother, void of al! defence, 
 Save what she hop’d from Heaven and innocence: 
 Now thoughts distressful agitate her breast, 
 And from her eye-lids steal their wonted rest : 
 The lovely captive held in bondage dire, 
 ‘Weeps for herself—her infant—husband—-sire$ 
 _ Weeps—and no eye to shed a social tear; 
 No friend to soothe her sorrows, or to share, 
 Amidst the scene of misery and awe . 
 (Too sad and complex for my muse to draw) 
 She boldly braves, by solitary flight, 
 Danger in deserts, and the gloom of night, 
 
DISTRESS. 9% 
 
 ‘Thro’ woods and swamps, unprest by human feet, 
 She seeks from savages a wild retreat 5 
 With heedless steps she traverses the glade, 
 | And finds, at length, the covert of a shade! 
 | There droops and sleeps, forgetful of her pain} 
 _ The sun revives her—and-she sighs again 
 _ Fatigu’d with wanderings, and depress’d with care, 
 _ Deaths all around her, and no succour near 5 
 | With hunger faint; to slake her thirst no stream 5 
 | And Hope, once shining, left her now no gleam 5 
 She sinks beneath the burden of her grief, 
 _ And prays for death to minister relief. 
 _ At once she faints, and lifts to Heaven her eyes, 
 | Leans on the bosom of Distress—and dies. 
 From those bleak hills, where bloody fountains 
 spring, 
 My roving muse returns with-wearied wing 
 To visit happier climes—climes happier made 
 By sweet vicissitudes of heat and shade3 
 | By wholesome laws, and by a clement throne 
 That hears with pity every prisoner’s moan} 
 By watery walls, which Heaven decreed should flow 
 To give protection from each foreign foe; 
 Yet these blest climes, tho’ safe from Gallia’s host, 
 From sudden dangers no exemption boast. 
 As in some green, plain, smooth, and fair to sight, 
 Rubs check the bowl at hand directed right, 
 Divert its bias, or impede its force, 
 And leave it distant from its destin’d course: 
 So on life’s green unnumber’d rubs arise, 
 And least expected always most surprise : 
 Thus safe at anchor lay old Ocean’s * pride, 
 And rode triumphant on the lordly tide: 
 No danger seen; no wave to wake a fear3 
 No danger seen, and yet was ruin near; 
 
 
 
 * The Royal George first rate ship of 100 guns, overset and 
 sunk at anchor at Spithead, on August 29, 1782, having then 
 on board 789 persons, of whom 495 were lost. 
 
3s DISTRESS. 
 Mirth such ag ne’er a home-bred landman charm’d, 
 
 Glow’d in each heart, and every bosom warm’d 5 
 
 The boatswain’s whistle thro’ the ship was heard ! 
 The caulkers labor’d, and the sailors cheer’d $ 
 
 No dangers seen; no fear to raise a sighs 
 
 No danger fear’d; and yet was ruin nigh! 
 
 Heel’d on her side the stately fabric lay, 
 
 And wide her broad flag wav’d in proud display $ 
 When (weep, my muse! at her disaster weep!) 
 A sudden gust consigns her to the deep: 
 
 Then with her sunk the hardy tars and brave, 
 From life and service, to a fluid grave} 
 
 ' With them descended Valor’s fav’rite son,* 
 
 Who fought her battles, and her laurels won. 
 Distressful scene! what piteous moans arise! 
 Spread through the decks, and echo to the skies 5 
 The childless mother heard the tale with woe 3 
 Tears from the father, childless, secret flow ! 
 The widow wails her husband sunk in death, 
 Kisses her children, and resigns her breath. 
 
 Distress! associate of all human kind! 
 
 In calms we meet thee; meet thee in the winds 
 From thy assaults no garrison can shield 5 
 
 To thy domain must every mortal yield; 
 
 Thou visit’st where the splendid monarch reigns, 
 And haunt’st the cottager on lonely plains; 
 
 No breast so sacred but thy power invades, 
 And each frail creature through thy river wades. 
 Where from thy arm for refuge shall we fly ? 
 -——To Earth’s cold bosom, and yon friendly sky— 
 There no Distress the body can annoy, 
 
 And there the soul exults in endless joy. 
 
 If thus Distress pursues the human race, 
 And me pursues with unremitting pace} 
 Then— ; 
 
 Farewell, ye sublunary scenes and gay! 
 Where the old trifie, and where children plays; 
 
 ae 
 © Rear-Admiral Kempenfeldt. 
 
 ’ 
 
DISTRESS. 9g 
 
 | Where youths fantastic wave the magic dance, 
 
 And to the grave with heedless steps advance 3 
 
 Where busy crowds, like insects, swarm and die3 
 
 And Pleasure’s sons pursue a painted fly! 
 Farewell, ye sublunary scenes and sage! 
 
 | Where the grave sophist turns the midnight page; 
 
 With close attention into nature pries, 
 
 Reads till he’s lost, and thinks he grows more wise; 
 
 Where the deep Magi of our learned ef 
 
 In fancy tread the cometary way 3 Pry 
 
 Where Locke’s disciples spin the logic thread! 
 
 ‘Where Galen’s pupils from the Grecian dead, 
 
 ‘Like bees industrious, gather healing skill, 
 
 And thence prescribe the salutary pill; 
 
 Where studious minds from Coke instruction draw, 
 
 And leatn to trace the Jabyrinths of law; 
 
 ‘Where priests sedate, to heap polemic lore, 
 
 Turn dusty volumes of the fathers o’er, 
 
 _ Farewell, ye sublunary scenes and dull! 
 
 Made more insipid by the prating fool 
 
 Where fluttering fops at Wisdom’s lectures hiss; 
 
 Where at Wit’s target coxcombs aim and miss 5 
 
 | Where self-conceit o’er modesty prevails, 
 
 And cloys society with senseless tales: 
 
 Where misers waste their years in heaping store, 
 
 Toil to be rich, and yet are always poor 3 
 
 Where sordid Epicures, of boasted taste, 
 
 Pamper themselves to give the worms a feast, 
 
 Farewell, ye sublunary scenes and sad? 
 
 Hung round with ’scutcheons, and in mourning clad 3 
 
 Where cruel War and ghastly Famine rage 5 
 
 And sudden sweep Life’s temporary stage 5 
 
 Where pale Disease destructive power assumes, 
 
 And fills the world with hospitals and tombs + 
 
 Where pains the body rack, the limbs distore 
 
 | And fix their arrows in the sicken’d heart 5 
 
 | Where poignant Grief o’erwhelms the human mind, 
 
 Robs it of reason, and distracts mankind; 
 
 Where Hope by Disappointment’s dagger bleeds, 
 
 And Woe to Woe with speedy step sueceeds 5 
 
 
 
100 DISTRESS. 
 
 Where Poverty stalks forth in all her gloom, — 
 ' And Jeads her children pensive to the tomb; _ 
 Where Death, the monarch of this tragic scence, 
 With rage insatiate, and with poniard keen, 
 Spreads ruin wide—and when the tyrant calls, é 
 The drama closes, and the curtain falls. & 
 Once more, ye sublunary scenes, farewell ! ‘ 
 I’m warn’d to quit you by each solemn knell: 
 Dull world, and sage! of thee 1 take my leave; 
 Form’d to distress, disquiet, and bereave: oa 
 Let others fawn, and pay their court to thee$ 3 
 Thou hast no friendship, and no charms for Me! 
 Gay world to some—to me sad world, adieu! 
 Till the last day shall break with glories new. % 
 
 
 
THE HERMIT. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 By DR. PARNELL. 
 
 ' F AR in a wild, unknown to public view, 
 | From youth to age a reverend Hermit grew, | 
 @ The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, 
 His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well, 
 ‘Remote from man, with God he pass’d his days, 
 @ Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 
 A life so sacred, such serene repose, 
 Seem’d Heaven itself, till one suggestion rose--- 
 That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey$ 
 This sprung some doubt of Providence’s sway: 
 _ His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, 
 | And ali the tenor of his soul is lost. 
 1} So when a smooth expanse receives imprest 
 Calm nature’s image on its watery breast, 
 Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, 
 And skies beneath with answering colours glow; 
 But if a stone the gentle sea divide, 
 | Swift rushing cifcles curl on every side, 
 And glimmering fragments of a broken sun: 
 Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 
 - To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, 
 To find if books or swains report it right, 
 (For yet by swains alone-the world he knew, 
 Whose feet came wandering o’er the nightly dew,) 
 He quits his cell: the pilgrim-staff he bore, 
 And fix’d the scallop in his hat before, 
 ' Then with the sun a rising journey went, 
 Sedate to think, and watching each event. 
 The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, 
 And Jong and lonesome was the wild to pass: 
 
 
 
us 
 
 102 THE HERMIT. 
 
 But when the southern sun had warm’d the day, 
 
 A youth came posting o’er a crossing way; 
 
 His raiment decent, his complexion fair, 
 
 And soft in graceful ringlets way’d his hair; 
 
 Then near approaching, “ Father, hail! ” he cried; 
 And “ Hail, my son! ” the reverend sire replied : 
 Words follow’d words, from question answer flow’d, 
 And talk of various kind deceiv’d the road 5 
 
 Till each with other pleas’d, and loth to part, 
 While in their age they differ, join in heart, 
 
 Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, 
 
 Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. 
 
 Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day 
 Came onward, mantled o’er with sober grey 5 
 Nature in silence bid the world repose; 
 
 When near the road a stately palace rose: 
 
 There, by the moon, thro’ ranks of trees they pass, 
 Whose verdure crown’d their sloping sides of grass, 
 It chanc’d the noble master of the dome ; 
 Still made his housé the wandering stranger’s home 3 
 Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, 
 Prov’d the vain flourish of expensive ease. 
 
 The pair arrive: the liveried servants wait 5 
 
 Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. 
 
 The table groans with costly piles of food, 
 
 And all is more than hospitably good. 
 
 Then, led to rest, the day’s long toil they drown, 
 Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. 
 
 At length tis morn, and at the dawn of day 
 Along the wide canals the zephyrs play; 
 
 Fresh o’er the gay parterres the breezes creep, 
 
 And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. 
 Uprise the guests, obedient to thecall; 
 
 An early banquet deck’d the splendid hall; 
 
 Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac’d, 
 
 Which the kind master fore’d the guests to taste. 
 Then, pleas’d and thankful, from the porch they got 
 And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe: 
 
 His cup was vanish’d$ for in secret guise 
 
 The younger guest purloin’d the glittering prize. 
 
 so le 
 
THE HERMIT. 108 
 
 As one who spies a serpent in his way, 
 | Glistening and basking in the summer ray, 
 _Disorder’d stops to shun the danger near, 
 Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear $ 
 So seem’d the sire, when far upon the road 
 | The shining spoil his wily partner show’d. 
 | He stopp’d with silence, walk’d with trembling heart, 
 | And much he wish’d, but durst not ask, to part: 
 _ Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard 
 _ That generous actions meet a base reward. 
 | While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, 
 The changing skies hang out theirsable clouds; 
 A sound in air presag’d approaching rain, 
 | And beasts to covert scud across the plain. 
 Warn’d by the signs, the wandering pair retreat 
 To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat: 
 *T was built. with turrets on a rising ground, 
 | And strong, and large, and unimproy’d around $ 
 Its owner’s temper, timorous and severe, 
 Unkind and griping, caus’d a desert there. 
 As near the miser’s heavy doors they drew, 
 Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew 3 
 | The nimble lightning mix’d with showers began, 
 And o’er their heads loud rolling thunder ran. 
 | Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, 
 | Driv’n by the wiad, and batter’d by the rain. 
 | At length some pity warm’d the master’s breast 
 | (CT was then his threshold first receiv’d a guest :) 
 Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, 
 And half be welcomes in the shivering pair; 
 One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, 
 And nature’s fervor through their limbs recalls: 
 Bread of the coarsest sort with meagre wine, 
 (Each hardly granted) serv’d them both to dine; 
 And when the tempest first appear’d to cease, 
 A ready warning bid them part in peace. 
 With still remark the pondering hermit view’d, 
 In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; 
 And why should such (within himself he cried) 
 Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
104 THE HERMIT. 
 
 But what new marks of wonder soon take place 
 In every setting feature of his face, 
 When from his vest the young companion bore 
 That cup the generous landlord own’d before, 
 And paid profusely with the precious bowl =, 
 The stinted kindness of this churlish soul! 
 
 But now the clouds-in airy tumult fly 5 
 The sun emerging opes an azure sky $ 
 A fresher green the smelling leaves display, 
 And glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: 
 The weather courts them from the poor retreat, 
 And the glad master bolts the wary gate. 
 
 While hence they walk,the Pilgrim’s bosom wrought 
 With all the travajl! of uncertain thought; 
 His partner’s acts without their cause appear $ 
 °T was there a vice, and seem’d a madness here: 
 Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, 
 Lost and confounded with the various shows, 
 
 Now night’s dim shades again involve the sa 
 
 + 
 
 Again the wanderers want a place to lie; 
 Again they search, and finda lodging nigh, 
 The soil improv’d areund,“the mansion neat, 
 And neither poorly low, nor idly great, 
 Tt seem’d to speak its master’s turn of mind, 
 Content, and not for praise but virtue kind, 
 
 Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, 
 Then bless the mansion, and the master greet. « 
 Their greeting fair, bestow’d with modest guise, 
 The courteous master hears, and thus replies: 
 
 ** Without a vain, without a grudging heart, 
 To him who gives us all, I yield a part5 
 From him you come, for him accept it here, | 
 A frank and sober, more'than costly cheer.” | 
 He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, 
 Then talk’d of virtue till the time of bed; 
 When the grave household round his hall repair, 
 Warn’d by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. 
 At length the world, renew’d by calm repose, — 
 Was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose$ 
 

 
 THE HERMIT. 105 
 ‘Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept 
 Near the clos’d cradle, where an‘infant slept, 
 And writh’d bis neck; the landlord’s little pride, 
 O strange return! grew black, and gasp’d, and died. 
 Horror of horrors! what! his only son! 
 How look’d our Hermit when the fact was done! 
 Not hell, though hell’s black jaws in sunder part, 
 And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart.’ 
 Confus’d and struck with silence at the deed, 
 He flies; but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. | 
 His steps the youth pursues; the country lay 
 Perplex’d with roads; a servant showed the way 
 A river cross’d the path; the passage o’er 
 Was nice to find; the servant trod before: 
 Long arms of oak an open bridge supplied, (glide. 
 _ And deep the waves beneath the bending branches 
 The youth, who seem’d to watch a time to sin, 
 Approach’d the careless guide and thrust him in: 
 | Plunging he falls, andwising lifts his head : 
 Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. 
 Wild sparkling rage inflames the father’s eyes 3 
 He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, 
 “ Detested wretch! ”---But scarce his speech began, 
 When the strange partner seem’d no longer man: 
 His youthful face grew more serenely sweet: 
 His robe turn’d white, and flow’d upon his feet 5 
 Fair rounds of radiant points invest bis hair; 
 . Celestial odors breathe through purpled air; 
 | And wings, whose colours glitter’d en the day, 
 | Wide at his back their gradual plumes display, 
 _ The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 
 And moves in all the majesty of light. 
 Though loud at first the Pilgrim’s passion grew, 
 Sudden he gaz’d, and wist not what to do; 
 | Surprise in secret:chains his words suspends, 
 And in a calm his settling temper ends. t 
 | But silence here the beauteous angel broke 
 | (The voice of music ravish’d as he spoke :) 
 _. “ Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, 
 _ In sweet memorial rise before the throne: 
 
106 THE HERMIT. 
 
 These charms success in our bright region find, 
 And force an angel downto calmthy mind; 
 For this commission’d, I forsook the sky— * 
 
 Nay, cease to kneel!—thy fellow-servant I. B 
 
 “ Then know the truth of government Divine, 
 
 ? 
 And let these scruples be no longer thine. 
 
 *¢ The Maker justly claims that world he made, 
 In this the right of Providence is laid 5 4j 
 Its sacred majesty through all depeniin 
 On using second means to work his ends3 ? 
 *Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, 
 The Power exerts his attributes on highs 
 Your actions uses, nor controls your will, 
 And bids the doubting sons of men be still. 
 
 ** What strangeevents can strike with more surprise, 
 
 Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes ? 
 Yet, taught by these, confess the: Almighty just; 
 And, where you can’t unriddle, learn to trust. 
 
 “ The great, vain man, wh® far’d on costly — 
 Whose life was too luxurious to be good; 
 Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, 
 And fore’d his guests to morning draughts of wine ;— 
 Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, 
 And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. 
 
 “ The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door 
 Ne’er mov’d in pity to the wandering poor, 
 With him I left the cup to teach his mind i 
 That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. 
 Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, 
 And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. 
 Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, 
 With heaping coals of fire upon its head 5 
 In the kind warmth. the metal learns to glow, 
 And, loose from dross, the silver runs below. 
 
 ‘© Long had our pious friend in #irtue trod, 
 But now the child half-wean’d his heart from God $ 
 (Child of his age) for him he liv’d in pain, ; 
 And measur’d back his steps to earth again. 
 To what excesses had his dotage run! 
 But God, to save the father, took the son. 
 
 a RE I 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 | THE HERMIT. 107 
 To all but thee in fits he seem’d to go $ 
 And ’twas my ministry to deal the blow. 
 ‘The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, 
 Now owns in tears the punishment was just. 
 
 ** But how had all his fortunes felt a wreck, 
 | Had that false servant sped in safety back! 
 (This night his treasur’d heaps he meant to steal, 
 “And what a fund of charity would fail! 
 : Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this lee o’er, 
 Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more.” 
 On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew 5 _ 
 “The sage stood wondering as the seraph fléw. 
 Thus look’d Elisha, when to mount on high, 
 j His master took the chariot of the sky: 
 | The fiery pomp ascending left the view 5 
 | The prophet gaz’d, and wish’d to follow too. 
 i The bending Hermit here a prayer begun: 
 Lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done.. 
 _ Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, 
 And pass’d a life of piety and peace. 
 
 
 
THE FIRE-SIDE. f 
 COTTON. 
 
 Dear Chloe, while the busy erowd, 
 ‘The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, 
 In Folly’s maze advance; 
 Though singularity and pride 
 Be call’d our choice, we'll step aside, 
 * Nor join the giddy dance, 
 
 From the gay world we'll oft retire 
 To our own family and fire, 
 
 Where love our hours employs3- 
 No noisy neighbour enters here, 
 No intermeddling stranger near, 
 
 To spoil our heart-felt joys. 
 
 If solid happiness we prize, 
 
 Within our breast this jewel lies $ 
 And they are fools who roam: 
 
 The world has nothing to bestow 3 
 
 From. our own selves our joys must flow, 
 And that dear hut our home, . 
 
 Of rest was Noah’s dove bereft, 
 When with impatient wing she left 
 That safe retreat the ark 3 
 
 Giving her vain excursion o’er, 
 The disappointed bird once more 
 Explor’d the sacred bark, 
 
 Though fools spurn. Hymen’s gentle powers, 
 
 We, who improve his golden hours, =~ 
 By sweet experience know, af 
 
 That marriage, rightly understood, © 
 
 Gives to the tender and the good 
 A paradise below. 
 
 Pi 
 
 
 

 
 THE FIRE-SIDE. 109 
 Our babes shall richest comforts brings 
 If tutor’d right, they’ll prove a spring 
 Whence pleasures ever rise: 
 We'll form their minds, with studious eare, — 
 To all that’s manly, good, and fair, 
 And train them for the skies, 
 
 | While they our wisest hours engage, 
 
 They’ll joy our youth, support our age, 
 And crown our hoary hairs: 
 They’ll grow in virtue every day, 
 And thus our fondest loves repay, 
 And recompense our cares. - 
 
 No borrow’d joys, they’re all our own, 
 
 _ While to the world we live unknown, 
 
 Or by the world forgot : 
 Monarchs! we envy not your state; 
 We look with pity on the great, 
 
 .And bless our humble lot. 
 
 Our portion is not large, indeed ; 
 
 _ But then how little do we need! 
 
 For nature’s calls are few :’ 
 Tn this the art of living lies, 
 To want no more than may suffice, 
 And make that little do. 
 
 We'll therefore relish, with content, 
 Whate’er kind Providence has sent, 
 Nor aim beyond our power; 
 For if our stock be very small, 
 
 *Tis prudence to enjoy it all, 
 Nor lose the present hour. 
 
 To be resign’d when ills betide, 
 Patient when favors are denied, 
 _ And pleas’d with favors given; 
 Dear Chloe, this is wisdom’s part; 
 This is that incense of the heart 
 Whose fragrance smells to heayen. 
 F 
 
110 THE FIRE-SIDE. 
 We'll ask no long protracted treat, 
 Since winter-life is seldom sweet; 
 But when our feast is o’er, 
 * Grateful from table we'll arise, 
 Nor grudge our sons with envious, eyes 
 The relics of our store. 
 
 Thus, hand in hand, through life we’ll go3 
 Its chequer’d paths of joy and woe 
 
 With cautious steps we'll tread ; 
 Quit its vain scenes without a tear, ~ 
 Without a trouble or a fear, 
 
 And mingle with the dead. 
 
 While Conscience, like a faithful friend, 
 Shall through the gloomy vale attend, 
 And cheer our dying breath 3; 
 Shall, when all other comforts cease, 
 Like a kind angel whisper peace, 
 And smoothe the bed of death. 
 
 
 

 
 ‘ 
 
 THE PASSIONS. 
 COLLINS. 
 
 Wuen Music, heavenly maid, was young, | 
 While yet in early Greece she sung, 
 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
 Throng’d around her magic cell, 
 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
 Possest beyond the Muse’s painting 5 
 
 By turns they felt the glowing mind 
 
 | Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refin’d; 
 Till once, ’tis said, when all were fir’d, 
 Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir’d, 
 
 _ From the supporting myrtles round 
 
 They snatch’d her instruments of sound ; 
 And as they oft had heard apart 
 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
 
 Each (for Madness rul’d the hour) 
 Would prove his.own expressive power. 
 
 . 
 
 First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 
 Amid the chords bewilder’d laid, 
 
 And back recoil’d, he knew not why, 
 F’en at the sound himself had made. 
 
 Next Anger rush’d, his eyes on fire, 
 In lightnings own’d his secret stings, 
 In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
 And swept with hurried hand the striugs. 
 
 With woeful measures, wan Despair, 
 Low sullen sounds, his grief beguil’d 5 
 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 
 °T was sad by fits, by starts *twas wild. 
 F2 
 
 = 
 
112 ; THE PASSIONS. 
 
 But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, 
 What was thy delighted measure? 
 Still it whispez’*d promis’d pleasure, 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong, 
 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
 She call’d on Echo still through-all the song $ 
 And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 
 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, — 
 
 And Hope enchanted smil’d, and way’d her golden 
 hair. 
 And longer had she sung—but, with a frown, 
 Revenge impatient rose, 
 He threw his blood-staiu’d sword in thunder down, 
 And, witha withering look, 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
 Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe. 
 And ever and anon he beat 
 The doubling drum with furious heat; 
 And tho’ sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 Dejected Pity at his side 
 “Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
 ~ Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien; 
 
 While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting from 
 
 his head. 
 
 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix’d, 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state! 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d, 
 
 And now it courted Love, now raving call’d on 
 
 Hate, 
 With eyes uprais’d, as one inspir’d, , 
 Pale Melancholy sat retir*d, 
 And from her wild sequester’d seat, 
 Jn notes by distance made more sweet, 
 Pour’d through the mellow horn her pensive soul: 
 And dashing soft from rocks around,’ * 
 Bubbling runnels join’d the sound; 
 Thro’ glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 
 

 
 THE PASSIONS. 113 
 
 Or o’er some haunted streams with fond delay, 
 Round an holy cali diffusing, 
 Love of peace, and lonely musing, _ 
 - In hollow murmurs died away. 
 
 But, O, how alter’d was its sprightlier tone! 
 
 When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
 Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
 
 Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew, 
 
 Blew an aspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
 The hunter’s call, to Faun and Dryad known; 
 The oak-crown’d sisters,and theirchaste-ey’d queen, 
 Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green; 
 
 Brown Exercise rejoic’d to hear, 
 
 _ And Sport leap’d up, and seiz’d his beechen spear. 
 
 Last came Joy’s ecstatic trial. 
 He, with viny crown advancing, 
 
 First to the lively pipe his hand address’d, 
 But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
 
 Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov’d the best. 
 They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
 They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids, 
 Amidst the festal sounding shades, 
 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
 
 While, as his flying fingers kiss’d the strings, 
 
 _ Love fram’d with Mirth a gay fantastic round 3 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, 
 And he, amidst his frolic play, 
 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 
 
 O Music! sphere-descended maid, 
 Friend of pleasure, wisdom’s aid, 
 Why, Goddess, why, to us denied, 
 Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside? 
 
 As in that lov’d Athenian bower, 
 
 You learn’d an all-commanding power, 
 | ‘Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d, 
 
 _ Can well recall what then it heard, 
 
 } 
 
114 DESPONDENCY. 
 
 Where is thy native simple heart, 
 Devote to virtue, fancy, art? 
 
 Arise, as in that elder time, 
 
 Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! 
 Thy wonders, in that godlike age, 
 
 Fill thy recording sister’s page--- 
 
 Tis said, and ! believe the tale, 
 
 Thy humblest reed could more preyail, 
 Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
 Than all which charms this laggard age, 
 Ev’n all at once together found ; 
 Cecilia’s mingled world of sound--- 
 O, bid our vain endeavours cease, 
 Revive the just designs of Greece, 
 Return in all thy simple state, 
 Confirm the tales her sons relate! 
 
 . <i 
 
 DESPONDENCY. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 Oppress’p with grief, oppress’d with care, 
 A burden more than I can bear, 
 I sit me down and sigh: 
 O life! thou art a galling load, 
 Along a rough, a weary road, 
 To wretches such as I! 
 Dim-backward as I cast my view, 
 What sickening scenes appear! 
 What sorrows yet may pierce me through, 
 Too justly £ may fear! 
 Still caring, despairing, 
 Must be my bitter doom; | 
 My woes here shall close ne’er, 
 But with the closing tomb! 
 
DESPONDENCY. 
 
 Happy! ye sons of busy life, 
 Who, equal to the bustling strife, 
 ‘No other view regard ! 
 Ev’n when the wished end’s denied, 
 Yet, while the busy means are plied, 
 They bring their own reward: 
 Whilst I, a hope-abandon’d ect 
 Unfitted with an aim, 
 Meet every sad returning night 
 And joyless morn the same. 
 You, bustling and justling, 
 Forget each grief and pain; 
 I, Kstless yet restless, 
 Find every prospect vain. 
 
 How blest the Solitary’s lot, 
 Who, all-forgetting, all forgot, 
 Within his humble cell, 
 The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
 Sits o’er his newly-gather’d fruits, 
 Beside his crystal well! 
 Or haply to his evening thought, 
 By unfrequented stream, 
 The ways of men are distant brought, 
 A faint-collected dream : 
 While praising, and raising 
 His thoughts to Heaven on high, 
 As wand’ring, meand’ring, 
 He views the solemn sky. 
 
 Than I, no lonely Hermit plac’d 
 Where never human footstep trac’d, 
 Less fit to play the part, 
 The lucky moment to improve, 
 And just to stop, and just to move, 
 With self-respecting art: 
 But, ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, 
 Which I too keenly taste, 
 The Solitary can despise, 
 Can want, and yet be blest! 
 
 115 
 
116 ' SLAVERY. 
 
 He needs not, he heeds not,’ 
 Or human love or hate; ‘ 
 Whilst I here, must cry here, - 
 
 At perfidy ingrate! 
 
 Oh! enviable early days, 
 
 When dancing thoughtless Pleasure’s maze, 
 To Care, to Guilt unknown! 
 How ill exchang’d for riper times, 
 
 To feel the follies or the crimes 
 Of others, or my own! 
 
 Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport 
 Like linnets in the bush,, 
 
 Ye little know the ills ye court, 
 When manhood is your wish! 
 The losses, the crosses, 
 
 That active man engage, 
 The fears all, the tears all, 
 Of dim declining age! 
 
 a 
 ON SLAVERY. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 Bur, ah! what wish can prosper, or what prayer 
 For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, 
 
 Who drive a loathsome traffic, gage and span, 
 And buy the muscles and the bones of man? 
 The tender ties of father, husband, friend, 
 
 All bonds of nature, in that moment end 5 
 
 And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, 
 A stroke as fatal as the seythe of death, 
 
 The sable warrior, frantic with regret 
 
 Of her he loves, and never can forget, 
 
 Loses in tears the far-receding shore, 
 
 But not the thought that they must meet no more: 
 

 
 
 
 SLAVERY. 117 
 
 * 
 
 Depriv’d of her and freedom at a blow, 
 
 What has he left that he can yet forego? 
 
 | Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign’d, 
 
 He feels his body’s bondage in his mind 5 
 
 | Puts off his generous nature; and, to suit 
 
 | His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. 
 
 - Oh most degrading of all ills that wait 
 
 | On man, a mourner in his best estate! 
 
 All other sorrows virtue may endure, 
 
 And find submission more than half a cure 5 
 Grief is itself a med’cine, and bestow’d 
 
 | T? improve the fortitude that bears a lead5 
 
 To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, 
 The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace. 
 But slavery! —virtue dreads it as her grave; 
 Patience itself is meanness in a slave: 
 
 Or if the will and sovereignty of God 
 
 Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod 3 
 
 Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, 
 
 And snap the chain the moment when you may. 
 Nature imprints upon whate’er we see, 
 
 That has a heart and life in it, Be free! 
 
 The beasts are charter’d,—néither age nor force 
 Can quell the love of freedom in a horse: 
 
 He breaks the cord that held him at the rack, 
 And, couscious of an unincumber’d back, 
 Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein, 
 Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane; 
 Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs, 
 
 Nor stops till, overleaping all delays, 
 
 He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. - 
 
POWER OF 
 
 THE SUPREME BEING. 
 
 SMART. 
 
 “ . F : ¥ 
 ‘Tremere, thou Earth !” th’ anointed poet said! 
 
 Fh aes a 
 
 MT 
 
 “* At God’s bright presence; tremble, all ye moun= 
 
 tains! ; 
 “ And all ye hillocks on the surface bound!” 
 Then once again, ye glorious thunders, poll! 
 The Muse with transport hears ye; once again 
 Convulse the solid continent! and shake, 
 Grand music of Ompipotence, the isles! 
 Tis thy terrific voice; all nature hears it, 
 Awaken’d and alarm’d3 she feels its force ; 
 In every spring she feels it, every wheel, 
 And every movement of her vast machine, 
 Behold! quakes Apennines behold! recoils 
 Athos: and all the hoary-headed Alps 
 Leap from their bases at the godlike sound. 
 But what is this, celestial though the note, 
 And proclamation of the reign supreme, 
 Compar’d with sueh as, for a mortal ear 
 Too great, amaze the inccrporeal worlds ? 
 Should Ocean to his congregated wayes 
 Callin each river, cataract, and lake, 
 And with the watery world down a huge rock 
 Fall headlong in one horrible cascade, 
 ?>T were but the echo of the parting breeze, 
 When zephyr faints upon the lily’s breast; 
 *Twere but the ceasing of some instrument, 
 When the last lingering undulation 
 Dies on the doubting ear, if nam’d with sounds 
 So mighty! so stupendous! so divine! 
 
 ’ 
 
 Pa 
 
 
 

 
 ee 
 
 
 
 POWER OF THE SUPREME BEING. 119 
 But not alone in the aérial vault 
 
 Does He the dread theocracy maintain 3 
 
 ) For oft, enrag’d with his intestine thunders, 
 
 He harrows up the bowels of the earth, 
 
 And shocks the central magnet—Cities then 
 Totter on their foundations, stately columns, 
 
 | Magnific walls, and heaven-assaulting spires. 
 
 | What though in haughty eminence erect 
 
 _ Stands the strong citadel, and frowns defiance 
 
 On adverse hosts; though many a bastion jut | 
 
 | Forth from the rampart’s eleyated mound 5 
 
 _ Vain the poor providence of human art, 
 
 , And mortal strength how vain! while iadertiesth 
 _ Triumphs his mining vengeance in th’ uproar 
 
 Of shatter’d towers, riven rocks, and mountains, 
 With clamor iaconceivable uptorn, 
 
 _ And hur?d down th’ abyss. Sulphureous pyrites 
 
 Bursting abrupt from darkness into day, 
 
 - With dia outrageous and destructive ire, 
 
 Augment the hideous tumult, while it wounds 
 Tb’ afflictive ear, and terrifies the eye, 
 And rends the heart in twain. Twice have we felt, 
 Within Augusta’s walls twice have we felt, 
 Thy threaten’d indignation: but even Thou, 
 Tncens’d Omnipotent, art gracious ever; 
 Thy goodness infinite but mildly warn’d us, 
 With mercy blended wrath; O spare us still, 
 Nor-send more dire conviction! We confess 
 That thou art He, th’? Almighty: we believe, 
 For at thy righteous power whole systems quakes 
 For at thy nod tremble ten thousand worlds, 
 Hark! on the winged whirlwind’s rapid rage, 
 Which is and is not ina moment—hark ! 
 
 _ On the hurricane’s tempestuous sweep he rides 
 
 Invincible, and oaks, and pineg and cedars, - 
 And forests are no more. For, conflict dreadful! 
 The West encounters East, and Notus meets 
 
 In his career the Hyperborean blast. 
 
 The lordly lions shuddering seek their dens, 
 
 And fly like timerous deer; the king of birds, 
 
120 POWER OF , 
 
 Who dar’d the solar ray, is weak of wing, ; 
 And faints, and falls, and dies;-—-while He supreme — 
 Stands steadfast in the centre of the storm. git 
 Wherefore, ye objects terrible and great, ¢ 
 ‘Ye thunders, earthquakes, and ye fire-fraught wombs 
 Of fell volcanos, whirlwinds, hurricanes, 4 
 And boiling billows, hail! in chorus join Bs: 
 To celebrate and magnify your Maker, 
 Who yet in works of a minuter mould 
 Ys not less manifest, is not less mighty. 
 Survey the magnet’s sympathetic love, 
 That woos the yielding needle; contemplate 
 Th’ attractive amber’s power, invisible 
 Ev’a to the mental eye; or when the blow — 
 Sent from th’ electric sphere assaults thy frame, 
 Show me the hand that dealt it!—Baffled here 
 By his Omnipotence, Philosophy 
 Slowly her thoughts inadequate revolves, 
 And stands with all his circling wonders round her, 
 Like heavy Saturn in th’ ethereal space 
 Begirt with an inexplicable ring. 
 If such the operations of his power, 
 Which at all seasons and in every place 
 (Rul’d by establish’d laws and current nature) 
 Arrest th’ attention; who, oh who shall tell 
 His acts miraculous? when his own decrees 
 Repeals he, or suspends; when by the hand 
 Of Moses or of Joshua, or the mouths 
 Of his prophetic seers, such deeds he wrought, 
 Before th’ astonish’d sun’s all-seeing eye, 
 That faith was scarce a virtue. Need [ sing 
 The fate of Pharaoh and his numerous band 
 Lost in the reflux of the watery wails, 
 That melted to their fluid state again ? 
 Need I recount how Samson’s warlike arm 
 With more than mortal nerves was strung,t’ o’erthrow 
 Idolatrous Philistia ? Shall I tell 
 How David triumph’d, and what Job sustain’d t 
 ~—But, O supreme, unutterable mercy! 
 O love unequall’d, mystery immense, 
 
 (ea EC I NS St SCS I RNR 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 ‘ THE SUPREME BEING. 121) 
 
 ’ Which angels long t? unfold! ’tis man’s redemption 
 | That crowns thy glory, and thy power confirms; 
 
 | Confirms the great, th’ uncontroverted claim, 
 
 _ When from the Virgin’s unpolluted womb 
 
 | Shone forth the Sun of Righteousness reveal’d, 
 
 _ And on benighted reason pour’d the day; 
 
 _ * Let there be peace!” he said, and all was calm 
 Amongst the warring world—calm as the sea 
 
 - When, “.0 be still, ye boisterous winds!” he eried, 
 | And not a breath was blown, nor murmur heard, 
 His was a life of miracles and might, | 
 And charity and love, ere yet he taste : 
 
 _ The bitter draught of death, ere yet he rise 
 
 ' Victorious o’er the universal foe, 
 
 _ And death, and sin, and hell in triumph lead. 
 
 _ His by the right of conquest is mankind, 
 
 | And in sweet servitude and golden bonds 
 
 Were tied to him for ever.—0O how easy 
 
 | 4s his ungalling yoke, and all his burdens 
 
 | °Tis ecstasy to bear! Him, blessed Shepherd! 
 
 His flocks shall follow through the maze of life, 
 And shades that tend to day-spring from on high; 
 And as the radiant roses, after fading, \ 
 In fuller foliage and more fragrant breath 
 
 Revive in smiling spring, so shall it fare 
 
 With those that love him—for sweet is their savor, 
 And all Eternity shall be their spring. 
 
 Then shall the gates and everlasting doors, 
 
 At which the King of Glory enters in, 
 
 Be to the saints unbarr’d: and there, where pleasure 
 
 _ Boasts an undying bloom, where dubious hope 
 
 
 
 Is certainty, and grief-attended love 
 
 Is freed from passion—there we'll celebrate, 
 With worthier numbers, Him whois, and was, 
 And, in immortal prowess King of kings, 
 
 Shall be the monarch of all worlds for ever. 
 
HYMN ON SOLITUDE, 
 THOMSON. 
 
 Han, mildly pleasing Solitude, 
 Companion of the wise and good; 
 But from whose holy piercing eye, 
 The herd of fools and, villains fly. 
 
 Oh! how I love with thee to walk, 
 And listen to thy whisper’d talk, 
 Which innocence and truth imparts, 
 And melts the most obdurate hearts, 
 
 A thousand shapes you wear with ease, 
 And still in every shape you please. 
 Now wrapt in some mysterious dream, 
 A lone philosopher you seem ; 
 
 Now quick from hill to vale you fly, 
 And now you sweep the vaulted sky. 
 
 A shepherd next you haunt the plain, 
 And warble forth your oaten strain. 
 
 A lover now, with all the grace 
 
 Of that sweet passion in your face: 
 Then, calm’d to friendship, you assume 
 The gentle-looking Hartford’s bloom, 
 As, with her Musidora, she 
 
 (Her Musidora fond of thee) 
 
 Amid the long withdrawing vale, 
 Awakes the rivall’d nightingale. 
 
 Thine is the balmy breath of morn, 
 Just as the dew-bent rose is born 5 
 And while meridian fervors beat, 
 Thine is the woodland dumb retreat; 
 But chief, when evening scenes decay, 
 And the faint landscape swims away, 
 Thine is the doubtful soft decline, 
 And that best hour of musing, thine, 
 
 Descending angels bless thy train, 
 The virtues of the sage and swain 3 
 
 
 

 
 HYMN TO DARKNESS. 3123 
 | Plain innocence in white array’d, 
 
 Before thee lifts her fearless head ; 
 Religion’s beams around thee shine, 
 And cheer thy glooms with light divine: 
 | About thee sports sweet liberty 5 
 
 _ And wrapt Urania sings to thee. 
 
 _ Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell, 
 
 | And in thy deep recesses dwell. 
 
 | Perhaps from Norwood’s oak-clad hill, 
 | When meditation has her fill, - 
 
 I just may cast my careless eyes 
 
 Where London’s spiry turrets rise 5 
 Think ef its crimes, its cares, its pain, 
 Then shield me in the woods again. 
 
 egies 
 
 HYMN TO DARKNESS, 
 YALDEN. 
 
 Darkness, thou first great parent of us all, 
 Thou art our great original 5 
 Since from thy universal womb [come. 
 _ Does all thou shad’st below, thy numerous offspring 
 
 Thy wondrous birth is even to Time unknown, 
 Or, like Eternity, thou’dst none; 
 Whilst Light did its first being owe 
 
 Unto that awful shade it dares to rival now. 
 
 Say, in what distant region dost thou dwell, 
 To Reason inaccessible ? 
 From form and duller matter free, 
 Thou soar’st above the reach of man’s philosophy, 
 
 ‘Involv’d in thee, we-first receive our breath, 
 
 Thou art our refuge too in death : 
 
 Great Monarch of the grave and womb, 
 *Where’er our souls shall go, to thee our bodies come, 
 
< 
 
 124” HYMN TO DARKNESS. 
 
 The silent globe is struck with awful fear, 
 When thy majestic shades appear: 
 Thou dost compose the air and sea, 
 
 And Earth a sabbath keeps, sacred to rest and thee, 
 
 
 
 i. 
 oo 
 Tn thy serener shades our ghosts delight, | 
 And court the umbrage of the night; % 
 In vaults and gloomy caves they stray, +a 
 
 But fly the morning beams, and sicken at the day. 
 
 Though solid bodies dare exclude the light, . 
 Nor will the brightest ray admit 5 
 No substance can thy force repel, § (dwell. — 
 
 Thou reign’st in depths below, dost in the centre 
 
 The sparkling gems, and ore in mines below, 
 
 To thee their beauteous lustre owe; 
 
 Tho’ form’d within the womb of night, _[light. 
 Bright as their sire they shine, with native rays of 
 
 When thou dost raise thy venerable head, 
 
 And art in genuine night array’d, 
 
 Thy negro beauties then delight 5 (bright. 
 Beauties like polish’d jet, with their own darkness 
 
 Thou dost thy smiles impartially bestow, A 
 And know’st no difference here below ; 
 All things appear the same by thee, 
 
 Tho’ light distinction makes, thou giv’st equality. 
 
 Thou, Darkness, art the lover’s kind retreat, 
 
 And dost the nuptial joys complete 5 
 
 Thou dost inspire them with thy shade, [maid 
 Giv’st vigor to the youth, and warm’st the yielding 
 
 Calm as the biess’d above the Anchorites dwell 
 Within their peaceful gloomy cell 5 
 Their minds with heavenly joys are fill’d 5 
 
 The pleasures Light deny, thy shades for ever yield. 
 
 Jn caves of night, the oracles of old 
 ‘Did all their mysteries unfold: 
 Darkness did first Religion grace, 
 Gave terrors to the God, and reverence to the place. 
 
ODE TO TIME. 125 
 
 “When the Almighty did on Horeb stand, 
 Thy shades enclos’d the hallow’d land; 
 In clouds of night he was array’d, 
 And venerable darkness his pavilion made. 
 
 _ When he appear’d arm’d in his power and might, 
 He veil’d the beatific light; 
 q When terrible with majesty, 
 
 In tempests he gave laws, and clad himself in thee. 
 
 
 
 Ere the foundation of the earth was laid, 
 Or brighter firmament was made}; 
 Ere matter, time, or place Was known, ~ 
 , Thou, Monarch Darkness, sway’dst these spacious 
 realms alone. ‘ 
 
 But now the moon (tliough gay with borrow’d light) 
 Invades thy scanty lot of Night: 
 By rebel subjects thou’rt betray’d, 
 
 The anarchy of stars depose their monarch, Shade. 
 
 Yet fading Light its empire must resign, 
 
 | And Nature’s power submit to thine: 
 
 | And universal ruin shall erect thy throne, 
 And Fate confirm thy kingdom evermore thy own. 
 
 oe ies 
 ODE TO TIME, 
 Occasioned by seeing the Ruins of an old Castle. 
 
 OGILVIE. 
 
 : O THOU who, mid the SsiLotr ine gloom, 
 Sit’st on yon solitary spire! 
 
 Or slowly shak’st the sounding dome, 
 
 Or heaz’st the wildly warbling lyre; 
 
 Say, when thy musing soul 
 
 Bids distant times unroll, 
 
 And marks the flight of each revolving year, 
 
 Of years whose slow-consuming power 
 
 Has clad with moss yon leaning tower, 
 
126 ODE TO TIME. 
 
 That saw the race of Glory run, 
 
 That mark’d Ambition’s setting sun, 
 
 That shook old Empire’s towering pride, 
 
 That swept them down the floating tide— 
 
 Say, when these long-unfolding scenes appear, 
 
 Streams down thy hoary cheek the pity-darting tear? 
 
 fee Be 
 
 Cast o’er, yon trackless waste thy wandering eye: 
 
 Yon hill, whose gold-illumin’d brow, 
 
 Just trembling through the bending sky, 
 
 O’erlooks the boundless wild below 3 
 
 Once bore the branching wood 
 
 That o’er yon murmuring flood 
 
 Hung wildly waving to the rustling gales 
 
 The naked heath with moss o’ergrown, 
 
 That hears the lone owl’s nightly moan, 
 
 Once bloom’d with summer’s copious store, 
 
 Once rais’d the lawn-bespangling flower 3 
 
 Or heard some lover’s plaintive lay, 
 
 When by pale Cynthia’s silver ray 
 
 All wild he wander’d o’er the lonely dale, 
 
 And taught the listening moon the melancholy tale. 
 I. 3. 
 
 Ye wilds where heaven-wrapt Fancy roves ! 
 
 Ye sky-crown’d hills, and solemn groves! 
 
 Ye low-brow’d vaults, ye gloomy cells! | 
 
 Ye caves where night-bred Silence dwells! 
 
 Ghosts that ineyon lonely hall 
 
 Lightly glance along the wall; | 
 
 Or beneath yon ivy’d tower, 
 
 At the silent midnight hour, 
 
 Stand array’d in spotless white, 
 
 And stain the dusky robe of Night; — 
 
 Or with slow solemn pauses roam 
 
 O’er the long-sounding hollow dome! 
 
 Say, mid yon desert solitary round, 
 
 When darkness wraps the boundless spheres, 
 
 Does ne'er some dismal dying sound 
 
 On Night’s dull serious ear rebound, {years 
 
 That mourns the ceaseless lapse of life-consumin; 
 
 
 

 
 ODE TO TIME. “197 
 
 hs ites 
 
 © call the inspiring glorious hour to view, 
 
 When Caledonia’s martial train 
 
 From yon steep reck’s high-arching brow 
 
 | Pour’d on the heart-struck flying Dane! 
 
 | When War’s blood-tinctur’d spear 
 
 | Hung o’er the trembling rear$ 
 
 | When light-heel’d Terror wing’d their headlong flight: 
 | Yon towers then wrung with wild alarms! 
 
 | Youdesert gleam’d with shining arms! 
 
 | While on the bleak hill’s brightening spire 
 
 Bold Victory flam’d, with eyes of fire; 
 
 | Her limbs celestial robes infold, 
 
 | Her wings were ting’d with spangling gold, 
 
 | She spoke—her words infus’d resistless might, * 
 
 _ And warm’d the bounding heart, and rous’d the soul 
 of tight. 
 
 » 
 
 IL 2. 
 
 But, ah! what hand the smiling prospect brings? 
 What voice recalls the expiring day? 
 
 See, darting swift on eagle-wings, 
 ‘The glancing moment bursts away! 
 
 So from some mountain’s head, 
 
 In mantling gold array’d, 
 
 While bright-ey’d Fancy stands in sweet surprise : 
 The vale where musing Quiet treads, 
 
 The flower-clad lawns, and bloomy meads, 
 
 Or streams where zephyr loves to stray 
 
 Beneath the pale eve’s twinkling ray 5 
 
 Or waving woods detain the sight— 
 
 ‘When from the gloomy cave of night 
 
 Some clouds sweep shadowy o’er the dusky skies, 
 And wraps the flying scene, that fades, and swims, 
 
 and dies. 
 
 IL, 3, 
 
 Lo! rising from yon dreary tomb, 
 What spectres stalk across the gloom! 
 
128 ODE TO TIME. 
 
 With haggard eyes, and visage pale, 
 And voice that moans with feeble wail! 
 O’er yon long resounding plain 
 Slowly moves the solemn train $ 
 Wailing wild with shrieks of woe 
 O’er the bones that rest below! 
 While the dull night’s startled ear 
 Shrinks, aghast with thrilling fear! 
 Or stand with thin robes wasting soon, 
 And eyes that blast the sickening moon! 
 Yet these, ere Time had roll’d their years away, 
 Ere Death’s fell arm had mark’d its aim 3 
 Rul’d yon proud towers with ample sway, 
 Beheld the trembling swains obey : 
 And wrought the glorious deed that swell’d the trump 
 of Kame. 
 HI, 1. 
 
 But why o’er these indulge the bursting sigh? 
 Feels not each shrub the tempest’s power ? 
 Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly ? 
 Nor shakes the hill when thunders roar? 
 Lo! mouldering, wild, unknown, 
 What fanes, what towers o’erthrown, 
 What tumbling chaos marks the waste of Time! 
 I see Palmyra’s temples fall ; 
 Old Ruin shakes the hanging wall! 
 Yon waste where roaming lions howl, 
 Yon aisle where moans the grey-ey’d owl, 
 Shows the proud Persian’s great abode ; * 
 Where scepter’d once, an earthly god! 
 His power-clad arm controll’d each happier clime, 
 Where sports the warbling Muse, and Fancy soars 
 sublime. 
 Ill. 2. 
 Hark! what dire sound rolls murm’ring on the gale? 
 Ah! what soul-thrilling scene appears? 
 I see the column’d arches fail! 
 And structures hoar, the boast of years! 
 
 * Persepolis. 
 
ODE TO TIME. 129 
 
 What mouldering piles decay’d ; 
 Gleam through the moon-streak’d shade, 
 Where Rome’s proud Genius rear’d her awful brow! 
 | Sad monument!—Ambition near 
 | Rolls on the dust, and pours a tear; 
 | Pale Honor drops the fluttering plume, 
 | Aud Conquest weeps o’er Cesar’s tomb 5 
 | Slow Patience sits with eye deprest, 
 | And Courage beats his sobbing breasts 5 
 Ev’n War’s red cheek the gushing streams o’erflow, 
 | And Fancy’s listening ear attends the plaint of Woe. 
 
 If. 3. 
 
 Lo, on yon pyramid sublime, 
 
 “Whence lies Olid Egypt's desert clime, 
 
 Bleak, naked, wild! where ruin lowers, 
 
 Mid fanes, and wrecks, and tumbling towers : 
 On the steep height waste and bare, 
 
 Stands the power with hoary hair! 
 
 | O’er his scythe he bends; his hand 
 
 Slowly shakes the flowing sand, 
 
 While the hours, in airy ring, 
 
 Lightly flit with downy wing, 
 
 And sap the works of man; and shade 
 
 | With silver’d locks his furrow’d head 3 
 
 | Thence rolls the mighty power his broad survey, 
 | And seals the nations’ awful doom: 
 
 _ He sees proud-Grandeur’s mcteor-ray $ 
 
 He yields to Joy the festive day; 
 
 | Then sweeps the lengthening shade, and marks thera 
 for the tomb, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 A SEATONIAN PRIZE-POEM. 
 
 By DR. GLYNN. 
 
 Try Justice, heavenly King! and that great day, 
 
 When Virtue, long abandon’d and forlorn, 
 
 Shall raise her pensive head; and Vice, that erst 
 Rang’d unreprov’d and free, shall sink appalPd 5 
 Ising advent’rous—But what eye can pierce 
 
 The vast immeasurable realms of space, 
 
 O’er which Messiah drives his flaming car 
 
 To that bright region, where enthron’d hé sits, 
 First-born of Heav’a, to judge assembled worlds, 
 Cloth’d in celestial radiance? Can the Muse, 
 
 Her feeble wing ali damp with earthly dew, 
 
 Soar to that bright empyreal, where around 
 Myriads of angels, God’s perpetual choir, 
 
 Hymn hallelujahs, and ia concert loud 
 Chant songs of triumph to their Maker’s praise ?—~ 
 Yet will I strive to sing, albeit unus’d 
 
 To tread poetic soil. What though the wiles 
 
 Of Fancy me enchanted, ne’er could lure 
 
 To rove o’er fairy lands; to swim the streams 
 That through her vallies wave their mazy way 5 
 Or climd her mountain tops; yet will I raise 
 
 My feeble voice to tell what harmony 
 
 (Sweet as the music of the rolling spheres) 
 
 Attunes the moral world: that Virtue still 
 
 May hope her promis’d crown; that Vice may dread 
 Vengeance, tho’ late; that reas’ning Pride may own 
 Just, though unsearchable, the ways of Heaven. 
 
 
 
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. - 131 
 
 Sceptic! whoe’er thou art, who say’st the soul, 
 That divine particle, which God’s own breath 
 Inspir’d into the mortal mass, shall rest 
 Annihilate, till Duration has unroll’d 
 
 Her never-ending line; tell, if thou know’st, 
 
 | Why every nation, every clime, though all 
 
 In Jaws, in rites, in manners disagree, 
 
 | With one consent expect another world, 
 
 | Where wickedness shall weep ? Why Paynim bards 
 | Fabled Elysian plains, Tartarean lakes, 
 | Styx and Cocytus? Tell, why Hali’s sons 
 
 Have feign’d a paradise of mirth and love, 
 
 ) Banquets, and blooming nymphs? Or rather tell, 
 Why, on the brink of Orellana’s stream, 
 
 Where never Science rear’d her sacred torch, 
 TW’ untutor’d Indian dreams of happier worlds 
 Behind the cloud-topt hill? Why in each breast 
 Is plac’d a friendly monitor, that prompts, 
 Informs, directs, encourages, forbids ? 
 
 Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends, 
 
 | Or joy on secret good? Why conscience acts 
 
 | With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain 
 Stands tott’ring on the precipice of death? 
 
 | Or why such horror gnaws the guilty soul 
 
 | Of dying sinners, while the good man sleeps 
 
 | Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires ? 
 
 | Look round the world! with what a partial hand 
 | The scale of bliss and mis’ry is sustain’d! 
 Beneath the shade of cold obscurity 
 
 Pale Virtue lies; no arm supports her head, 
 
 No friendly voice speaks comfort to her soul, 
 Nor soft-eyed Pity drops a melting tear; 
 
 But, in their stead, Contempt and rude Disdain 
 
 | Insult the banish’d wanderer: on she goes, 
 Neglected and forlorn: Disease and Cold, 
 
 _ And Famine, worst of ills, her steps attend! 
 
 | Yet patient, and to Heaven’s just will resign’d, 
 
 | She ne’er is seen to weep, or heard to sigh. 
 
 Now turn your eyes to yon sweet-smelling bow’r, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 } 
 
182 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 Where, flush’d with all the insolence of wealth, . 
 Sits pamper’d Vice! for him th’ Arabian gale 
 Breathes forth delicious odors; Gallia’s hills 
 
 For him pour nectar from the purple vine. 
 
 Nor think for these he pays the tribute due 
 
 To Heav’n: of Heay’n he never names the name, 
 Save when with imprecations dark and dire 
 
 He points his jest obscene. Yet buxom Health 
 Sits on his rosy cheek; yet Honor gilds 
 
 His high exploits; and downy-pinion’d Sleep 
 Sheds a soft opiate o’er his peaceful couch. 
 
 Seest thou this, righteous Father! seest thou this, 
 And wilt thou ne’er repay? Shall good and ill 
 Be carried undistinguish’d to the land : 
 Where all things are forgot ?—Ah, no! the day | 
 Will come, when Virtue from the cloud shall burst, 
 That long obscur’d her beams; when Sin shall fly 
 Back to the native Hell; there sink eclips’d | 
 Jn penal darkness; where nor star shall rise, 
 
 Nor ever sunshine pierce th’ impervious gloom. 
 
 On that great day the solemn trump shall sound, 
 (That trump which once in heav’n, on man’s revolt 
 Convok’d th? astonish’d seraphs) at whose voice 
 Th’ unpeopled graves shall pour forth all their dead. 
 Then shall th’ assembled nations of the earth 
 From ev’ry quarter, at the judgment-seat 
 Unite; Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks, 
 
 Parthians; and they who dwelt on Tyber’s banks, 
 Names fam’d of old: or who of later age, 
 Chinese and Russian, Mexican and Turk, 
 Tenant the wild terrene; and they who pitch 
 Their tents on Niger’s banks; or, where the sun 
 Pours on Golconda’s spires his early light, 
 
 Drink Ganges? sacred stream. At once shall rise, 
 Whom distant ages to each other’s sight 4 
 Had long denied: before the throne shal! kneel 
 Some great Progenitor, while at his side 
 
 Stand his descendants through a thousand lines. 
 Whate’er their nation, and whate’er their rank, 
 
¥ 
 
 
 
 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 133 
 
 Heroes and patriarchs, slaves and sceptred kings, 
 With equal eye the God of all shall see, 
 
 And judge with equal love. What tho’ the great 
 With costly pomp and aromatic sweets 
 
 Embalm’d his poor remains; or through the dome 
 A thousand tapers shed their gloomy light, 
 
 While solemn organs to his parting soul 
 
 Chanted slow crisons? Say, by what mark 
 
 Dost thou discern him from that lowly swain | 
 Whose mouldering bones beneath the thorn-bound turf 
 Long lay neglected? All at once shall rise, 
 
 But not to equal glory; for, alas! 
 
 With howlings dire, and execrations loud, 
 
 Some wail their fatal birth.---First among these 
 Bebold the mighty murd’rers of mankind: 
 
 They who in sport whole kingdoms slew; or they 
 Who to the tott’ring pinnacle of power 
 
 Waded through seas of blood! How will they curse 
 The madness of ambition! how lament 
 
 Their dear: bought laurels; when the widow’d wife 
 And childless mother at the judgment seat 
 
 Plead trumpet-tongued against them !---Here are they 
 Who sunk an aged father to the grave$ 
 
 Or with unkinduess hard, and cold disdain, 
 Slighted a brother’s suff’rings.---Here are they 
 Whom fraud and skilful treachery long secur’d; — 
 Who from the infant virgin tore her dow’r, 
 
 And ate the orphan’s bread; who spent their stores 
 
 | Jn selfish luxury; or o’er their gold 
 
 Prostrate and pale ador’d the useless heap. 
 Here too who stain’d the chaste counubial bed !--- 
 Who mix’d the pois’nous bowl;---or broke the ties 
 Of hospitable friendship 3---and the wretch 
 Whose listless soul, sick with the cares of life, 
 Unsummon'd, to the presence of his God 
 Iiush’d in with insult rude. How would they joy 
 Once more to yisit earth, and, though oppress’d 
 With all that pain and famine can inflict, 
 Pant up the hill of life? Vain wish! the Judge 
 G 
 
134 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 Pronounces doom eternal on their heads, 
 Perpetual punishment. Seek not to know 
 What punishment! for that th? Almighty will 
 Has hid from mortal eyes: and sball vain man: 
 With curious search refin’d presume to pry 
 Into thy secrets, Father? No! let him 
 With humble patience all thy works adore, 
 And walk in all thy paths; so shall his meed 
 Be great in heav’n, so haply shall he *scape - 
 Th’ immortal worm and never-ceasing fire, 
 
 But who are they, who bound in tenfold chains 
 Stand horribly aghast? This is that crew 
 ‘Who strove to pull Jehovah from his throne, 
 And in the place of heaven’s eternal King 
 Set up the phantom Chance, Forthem in vain 
 Alternate seasons cheer’d the rolling year; 
 Jn vain the sun o’er herb, tree, fruit, and flow’r 
 Shed genial influence mild; and the pale moon 
 Repair’d her waning orb.---Next these is plac’d 
 The vile blasphemer; he whose impious wit 
 Profan’d the sacred mysteries of faith, 
 And ’gainst th’ impenetrable walls of heav’n 
 Planted his feeble battery. By these stands 
 The Arch-Apostate: he with many a wile 
 Exhorts them still to foul revolt. Alas! 
 No hope have they from black despair, no ray 
 Shines thro’ the gloom to cheer their sinking souls: 
 In agonies of grief they curse the hour 
 When first they left Religion’s onward way. 
 
 These on the left are rang’d: but on the right 
 A chosen band appears, who fought beneath 
 The banner of Jehovah, and defied 
 Satan’s united legions, Some, unmoy’d 
 At the grim tyrant’s frown, o’er barb’rous climes 
 Diffus'd the Gospel’s light: some long immur’d 
 (Sad servitude!) in chains and dungeons pin’d3 
 Or, rack’d with all the agonies of pain, 
 Breath’d out their faithful lives. Thrice happy they 
 Whom Heay’n elected to that glorious strife!--- 
 

 
 
 
 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 135 
 
 Here are they plac’d, whose kind munificence 
 Made heav’n-bora Science raise her drooping head 3 
 And on the labors of a future race 
 Entai!’d their just reward. ‘Thou amongst these, 
 Good Seaton! whose well-judg’d benevoleace 
 Fost’ring fair Genius, bade the poet’s hand 
 Bring annua! off’rings to his Maker’s shrine, 
 Shalt find the generous care was not in vain.— 
 Here is that fav’rite band, whom mercy mild, 
 God’s best-lov’d attribute, adorn’d; whose gate 
 Stood ever open to the stranger’s call 5 
 Who fed the hungry; to the thirsty Jip 
 Reach’d out the friendly cup; whose care benign 
 From the rude blast secur’d the pilzrim’s side 5 
 Who heard the widow’s tender tale, and shook 
 The galling shackle from the pris’ner’s feet 5 
 Who each endearing tie, each office knew 
 Of meck-eyed, heav’n-descended Charity. 
 O Charity, thou nymph divinely fair! 
 Sweeter than those whom ancient poets bound 
 In amity’s indissoluble chain, 
 The Graces! how shall I essay to paint 
 Thy charms, celestial maid! and in rude verse 
 Blazon those deeds thyself didst ne’er reveal? 
 For thee nor rankling Envy ean infect, 
 Nor Rage transport, nor high o’erweening Pride 
 Puff up with vaia conceit: ne’er didst thou smile 
 To see the sinner as a verdant tree 
 Spread his luxuriant branches o’er the stream $ 
 While, like some blasted trunk, the righteous fall 
 Prostrate, forlorn. When prophecies shall fail, 
 When tongues shall cease, when knowledge is no 
 more, 
 
 _ And this great day is come, thou by the throne 
 Shalt sit triumphaut. Thither, lovely maid! 
 Bear me, O bear me on thy soaring wing, 
 And through the adamantine gates of heav’n 
 Conduct my steps, safe from the fiery gulf 
 And dark abyss, where Sin and Satan reign ! 
 
 But can the Muse, her numbers all too weak, 
 
 G2 
 
136 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 ‘Tell how that restless element of fire 
 
 Shall wage with seas and earth intestine war, 
 And deluge all creation? Whether (so + ig 
 Some think) the comet, as through fields of air 
 Lawless he wanders, shall rush headlong on 
 Thwarting tl’ ecliptic, where-th’ uneonscious earth 
 Rolls in her wonted courses whether the sun. 
 With force centripetal into his orb 
 
 Attract her, long reluctant; or the caves,. 
 
 Those dread volcanos, where engend’sing lie 
 Sulphureous minerals, from their dark abyss 
 Pour streams of liquid fire; while from above, 
 As erst on Sodom, Heaven’s avenging hand 
 Rains fierce combustion.--- Where are now the works 
 Of art, the toil of ages ?--- Where are now 
 
 TY imperial cities, sepulehres, and domes, 
 Trophies and pillars? Where is Ezypt’s boast, 
 Thoce lofty pyramids, which high in air 
 
 Rear’d their aspiring heads, to distant times 
 
 Of Memphian pride a lasting monument ?--- 
 
 ‘Tell me where Athens rais’d hertowers ? where Thebes 
 Open’d her hundred portals ?---Tell me where 
 Stood sea-girt Albion? where imperial Rome, 
 Propt by seven hills, sat like a sceptred queen, 
 And aw’d the tributary world to peace ?--- 
 
 Show me the rampart which o’er many a hill, 
 Through many a valley, stretch’d its wide extent, 
 Rais’d by that mighty monarch to repel 
 
 The roving Tartar, when with insult rude 
 
 *Gainst Pekin’s tow’rs he bent th? unerring bow. 
 But what is mimic art? K’en Natuare’s works, 
 Seas, meadows, pastures; the meand’ring streams, 
 And everlasting hills, shal! be no more. 
 
 No more shall Teneriff, cloud-piercing height ! 
 O’erharg th’ Atlantic surge; nor that fam’d cliff, 
 Thro’ which the Persian steer’d with many a sail,. 
 Throw to the Lemnian isle its evening shade 
 
 O’er half the wide /Egean.---Where are sow 
 
 The Alps that confin’d with unnumber’d realms, 
 ‘And from the Black Sea to the ocean stream 
 

 
 
 
 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 137 
 
 Stretch?d their extended arms ?---Where’s Ararat, 
 
 That hill on which the faithful patriarch’s ark, 
 
 Which seven long months had voyag’d o’er its top, 
 
 First rested, when the earth with all her sons, 
 
 As now by. streaming cataracts of fire, 
 
 Was whelm’d by mighty waters ?---All at once 
 
 Aire vanish’d and dissoly’d3; no trace remains, 
 
 No mark of vain distinction: heaven itself, 
 
 That azure vault, with all those radiant orbs, 
 
 Sinks in the universal ruin lost. 
 
 No more shall planets round their central sun 
 
 Move in harmonious dance; no more the moon 
 
 Hang out her silver lamp; and those fix’d stars, 
 
 Spangling the golden canopy of night, 
 
 Which oft the 'Tuscan with his optic glass 
 
 Cal’d from their wondrous height, to read their 
 
 names 
 
 And magnitude, some winged minister 
 
 Shall quench; and (surest sign-that allon earth 
 
 Is lost) shail rend from heaven the mystic bow. 
 Such is that awful, that tremendous day, 
 
 Whose coming who shall tell? For as a thief 
 
 Unheard, unseen, it steals with silent pace 
 
 Thro’ night’s dark gloom.---Perhaps as here I sit, 
 
 And rudely carol these incondite lays, 
 
 Soon shall the hand be check’d, and dumb the mouth 
 
 That lisps the falt’ring straio.---O may it ne’er. 
 
 Intrade unwelcome on an ill-spent hour; 
 
 But find me wrapt in meditations high, 
 
 Hymning my great Creator! 
 
 * Pow’r Supreme! 
 
 “© everlasting King! to thee | kneel, 
 
 *-T'o thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat 
 
 * Melt, all ye elements! And thou, high heav’n, 
 
 “ Shrink like a shriveil’d scroll! But think, O Lord, 
 
 “ Think on the best, the noblest of thy works; 
 
 * Think on thine own bright image! Think on him 
 
 * Who died to save usfrom thy righteous wrath ; 
 
 ** And *midst the wreck of worlds remember man!” 
 
 
 
 
 
THE 
 RUINS OF ROME. 
 
 BY MR. DYER. 
 
 
 
 Aspice murorum moles, preruptaque saxay 
 Obrutaque horrenti vasta theatra situ: 
 Hec sunt Roma. Viden’ velut ipsa cadavera tants 
 Urbis adhuc spirent imperiosa minas ? 
 Janus Vitalis. 
 
 ———— . 
 
 Enoucu of Grongar, and the shady dales 
 
 Of winding Towy, Merlin’s fabled haunt, 
 
 I sung inglorious. Now the love of arts, 
 
 And what in metal or ia stone remains 
 
 Of proud antiquity, through various realms 
 
 And various languages and ages fam’d, 
 
 Bears me remote, o’er Gallia’s woody bounds, 
 
 O’er the cloud-piercing Alps remote; beyond 
 
 The Vale of Arno purpled with the vine, 
 
 Beyond the Umbrian and Etruscan hills, 
 
 To Latium’s wide champaign, forlorn and waste, 
 
 Where yellow Tyber his neglected wave 
 
 Mourpfully rolls. Yet once azain, my Muse, 
 
 Yet once again, and soar a loftier flight 5 
 
 Lo! the resistless theme, imperial Rome. 
 Fall’n, fall’o, a silent heap; her heroes all 
 
 Sunk in their urns; behold the pride of pomp, 
 
 ‘The throne of nations fall’n; obseur’d in dust; 
 
 K’en yet majestical: the solemn scene 
 
 Elates the soul, while now the rising sug 
 
 ‘Flames on the ruins, in the purer air 
 
 Tow’viog aleft, upon the glitt’ring plain, 
 

 
 
 
 THE RUINS OF ROME, 139 
 
 Like broken rocks, a vast circumference! 
 
 Rent palaces, crush’d columns, rifted moles, 
 
 Fanes roll’d on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs. 
 Deep lies in dust the Theban obelisk, 
 
 Immense along the waste, minuter art, 
 
 Gliconian forms, or Phidian, subtly fair, 
 
 O’erwhelming; as the immense Leviathan 
 
 The finny brood, when near Ierne’s shore 
 
 Out-stretch’d, unwieldly, his island length appears, 
 
 Above the foamy flood. Globose and huge, 
 
 Grey-mould’ring temples swell, and wide o’ercast 
 
 The solitary landscape, hills and woods, 
 
 And boundless wilds; while the vine-mantled brows 
 
 The pendent goats unveil, regardless they 
 
 Of hourly peril, though the clefted domes 
 
 Tremble to every wind. The pilgrim oft 
 
 At dead of night, ’mid his orison hears 
 
 Aghast the voice of time, disparting tow’rs, 
 
 Tumbling all precipitate down-dash’d, 
 
 Rattling aronnd, loud thund’ring to the Moon: 
 
 While murmurs soothe each awful interval 
 
 Of ever-falling waters; shrouded Nile,* 
 
 Eridanus, and Tyber with his twins, 
 
 And palsy Euphrates; they with dropping locks, 
 
 Hang o’er their urns, and mournfully among 
 
 The plaintive-echoing ruins pour their streams, 
 Yet here advent’rous in the sacred search 
 
 Of ancient arts, the delicate of mind, 
 
 Curious and modest, from all climes resort, 
 
 Grateful society: with these I raise 
 
 The toilsome step up the proud Palatin, 
 
 Through spiry cypress groves, and tow’ring pine, 
 
 Waving aloft o’er the big ruin’s brows, 
 
 ' On num’rous arches rear’d: and frequent stopp’d, 
 
 The sunk ground startles me with dreadful chasta, 
 
 Breathing forth darkness from the vast profound 
 
 Of isles and halls, within the mountain’s womb, 
 
 ‘ 
 
 * Fountains at Reme adorned with the statues ef these 
 Trivers. 
 
140 THE RUINS OF ROME. 
 
 Nor these the nether works3 all these beneath, 
 Aud all beneath the vales and hills around; 
 Extend the cavern’d sewers, massy, firi, 
 As the Sibylline grot beside the dead 
 Lake of Avernus; such the sewers huge, 
 Whither the great Tarquinian genius dooms 
 Each waveimpures; and proud with added rains, 
 Hark how the mighty billows lash their vaults, © 
 And thunder; how they heave their rocks in vain! 
 Though now incessant time has roll’d around 
 A thousand wiuters o’er the changeful world, 
 And yet a thousand siace, th’ indignant floods 
 Roar loud in their firm bounds, and dash and swell,’ 
 In vain; convey’d to Tyber’s lowest wave. 
 
 Hence over airy plains, by crystal founts, 
 That weave their glitt’riag waves with tuneful lapse, 
 Among the sleeky pebbles; agate clear, 
 Cerulean ophite, and the flow’ry vein 
 Of orient jasper, pleas’d I meve along, 
 And vases boss’d, and huge inscriptive stones, 
 And intermingling vines; and figur’d nymphs, 
 Floras and Chioes of delicious mould, 
 Cheering the darkness; and deep, empty tombs5 
 And deils, and mouldering shrines, with old decay 
 Rustic and green; and wide-embow’ring shades, 
 Shot from the crooked clefts of noddiog tow’rs; 
 A solemn wilderness! With error sweet, 
 I wind the ling’ring step, where’er the path 
 Mazy conducts me, which the vulgar foot 
 O’er sculptures maim’d has made; Anubis, Sphinx, 
 Idols of antique guise, and horned Pan, 
 Terrific, monstrous shapes! prepost’rous Gods, 
 Of Fear and Ign’rance, by the sculptor’s hand 
 Hewn into form, and worshipp’d; as ev’n now 
 Blindly they worship at their breathless ities * 
 In varied appellations: men to these 
 (From depth to depth in dark’ning error fall's) 
 At length ascrib’d th’ Inapplicable Name. 
 
 * Several statues of the Pagan gods have been convertes 
 inte images of saints 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 THE RUINS OF ROME. 141 
 
 Bow doth it please and fill the memory 
 With deeds of brave renown, while on each band 
 Historic urns and breathing statues rise, 
 And speaking busts: Sweet Scipio, Marius stern, 
 Pompey superb, the spirit-stirring form 
 Of Cesar raptur’d with the charm of rule 
 And boundless fame; impatient for exploits, 
 His eager eyes up-cast, he soars in thought 
 Above all height: and his own Bratus see; | 
 Desponding Brutus, dubious of the right, 
 In evil days; of faith, of public weal 
 Solicitous and sad. Thy next regard 
 Be Tally’s graceful attitude: uprais’d, 
 His out-stretch’d arm he waves, in act to speak 
 Before the silent masters of the world, 
 And eloguence arrays him. There behold, 
 Prepar’d for combat in the front of war, 
 The pious brothers; Jealous Alba stands 
 {n fearful expectation of the strife, 
 And youthful Rome intent: the kindred foes 
 Fail on each other’s neck in silent tears; 
 In sorrowful benevolence embrace——- 
 Howe’er they soon unsheath’d the flashing sword, 
 Their country calls to arms; now all in vain 
 The motber clasps the knee, and ev’n the fair 
 Now weeps in vain; their country calls to arms. 
 Such virtue Clelia, Cocles, Manlius, rous’d; 
 Such were the Fabii, Decii; so inspir’d 
 The Scipios battled, and the Gracchi spoke: 
 So rose the Homan state. Me now, of these 
 Deep musing, high ambitious thoughts inflame 
 Greatiy to serve my country, distant land, 
 Aad build my virtuous fame; nor shall the dust 
 Of these fall’s piles with show of sad decay 
 Avert the good resolve, mean argument, 
 The fate alone of matter.—Now the brow 
 We gain enraptur’d; beauteously distinct * © 
 The num’rous porticos and domes upswell, 
 
 * From the Palatin hill one sees most of the remarkable 
 antiquities. 
 G 
 
142 THE RUINS GF ROME. 
 
 With obelisks and columns interpos’d, 
 
 And pine, and fir, and oak: so fair a scene 
 
 Sees not the dervise from the spiral tomb 
 
 Of ancient Chammos, while his eye beholds 
 Proud Memphis’ relics o’er th’ Hgyptian plain: 
 Nor hoary bermit from Hymettus’ brow, 
 
 Though graceful Athens, in the vale beneath, 
 Along the windings of the Muse’s stream, 
 
 Lucid lyssus, weeps her silent schools, 
 
 And groves, unvisited by bard or sage, 
 
 Amid the tow’ry ruins, huge, supreme, 
 
 Th’ enormous amphitheatre bebold, 
 Mountainous pile! o’er whose capacious womb 
 Pours the broad firmament. its varied light 5 
 While from the central floor the seats ascend 
 Round above round, slow-wid’ning to the verge, 
 A circuit vast and high; nor less had held 
 Imperial Rome, and her attendant realms, 
 When drunk with rule she will’d the fierce delight, 
 And op’d the gloomy caverns, whence out-rush’d 
 Before th’ innumerable shouting crowd 
 
 The fiery, madded, tyrants of the wilds, 
 
 Lions and tigers,, wolves and elephants, 
 
 And desp’rate men, more fell. Abhorr’d intent t 
 By frequent converse with familiar death, 
 
 To kindle brutal daring apt for war; 
 
 ''o lock the breast, and steel th’ obdurate heart 
 Amid the piercing cries ‘of score distress 
 Impenetrable. —But away thine eye; 
 
 Behold yon steepy cliff; the modern pile 
 Perchance may now Gelight, while that, rever’d * 
 In ancient days, the page alone declares, 
 
 Or narrow coin through dim czrulean rust. 
 
 The fane wasJove’s. its spacious golden roof, 
 O’er thick-surrounding temples beaming wide, 
 Appear’d, as when above the morning hills 
 
 Half the round sun ascends; and tower’d aloft, 
 Sustain’d by columns huge, innumerous. 
 
 ®@ The Capitoi, 
 
 ae itl 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 THE RUINS OF ROME. 143 
 
 As cedars proud on Canaan’s verdant heights 
 Darl’ning their idols, when Astarte lurd 
 oo prosp’rous Israel from his living strength. 
 
 And next regard yon venerable dome, 
 
 Which virtuous Latium, with erroneous aim, 
 Rais’d to her various deities, and nam’d 
 Pantheon; plain and round; of this our world 
 Majestie emblem; with peculiar grace, 
 
 Before its ample orb, projected stands oe Me 
 The'many-pillar’d portal; noblest work 
 
 Of human skill: here, curious architect, 
 
 If thou assay’st, ambitious, to surpass 
 Palladius, Angelus, or British Jones, 
 
 On these fair walls extend the certain scale, 
 And turn th’ instructive compass: careful mark 
 How far ia hidden art, the noble plain . 
 Extends, and where the lovely forms commence 
 Of flowing sculpture: nor neglect te note 
 
 How range the taper columns, and what weight 
 Their leafy brows sustain: fair Corinth first 
 Boasted their order which Callimachus 
 (Reclining studious on Asopus’ banks 
 
 Beneath an urn of some Jamented nymph) 
 Haply compos’d; the urn with foliage curl’d 
 Thinly conceal’d, the chapiter inform’, 
 
 See the tall obelisks from Memphis old, : 
 One stone enormous each, or Thebes convey’d; 
 Like Albion’s spires they rush into the skies. 
 
 And there the temple, where the summon’ state * 
 In deep of night conven’d: e’en yet methinks 
 The vehement orator in reat attire 
 
 Persuasion pours, ambition sinks her crest 5 
 
 And lo the villaia, like a troubled sea, 
 
 That tosses up her mire! Liver disguis’d, 
 
 Shall treason walk? shall proud oppression yoke 
 The neck of virtue? Lo the wretch, abash’d, 
 Self-betray’d Catiline! O- Liberty, 
 
 © The temple of Concerd, whore the senate met on Cati- 
 line’s conspiracy. 
 
44 THE RUINS OF ROME. 
 
 Parent of happiness, celestial born; 
 
 When the first man became a living soul, 
 
 His sacred genius thou; be Britain’s care; 
 
 With her secure, prolong thy lov’d retreat 5 
 Thence bless mankind; while yet among her sons, 
 F’en yet there are, to shield thine equal laws, - 
 Whose bosoms kindle at the sacred names 
 
 Of Cecil, Raleigh, Walsingham, and Drake. 
 
 May others more delight in tuneful airs; 
 
 In masque and dance excel; to sculptur’d stone 
 Give with superior skill the living look; 
 
 More pompous piles erect, or peucil soft 
 
 With warmer touch the visionary board: 
 
 But thou, thy nobler Britons teach to rule; 
 
 To check the ravage of tyrannic sway 5 
 
 To quell the proud; to spread the joys of peace 
 And various blessings of ingenious trade. 
 
 Be these our arts; and ever may we guard, © 
 Ever defend thee with undaunted heart, 
 Inestimable good! who giv’st us Truth, 
 
 Whose hand upleads to light, divinest Truth, 
 Array’d in every charm: whose hand benign 
 Teaches unwearied toil to clothe the fields, 
 
 And on his various fruits inscribes the namé 
 
 Of Property: O nobly hail’d of old 
 
 By thy majestic daughters, Jadah fair, 
 
 And Tyrus and Sidonia, lovely nymphs, 
 
 And Libya bright, and all-enchanting Greece, ~~ 
 Whose num’rous towns and isles, and peopled seas, 
 Rejoic’d around her lyre; th’ heroic note 
 (Smit with sublime delight) Ausonia caught, 
 And plann’d imperial Rome, Thy hand benign 
 Rear’d up her tow’ry battlements in strength ; 
 Bent her wide bridges o’er the swelling stream 
 Of Tuscan Tybers; thine those solemn domes 
 Devoted to the voice of humbler pray’r 5 
 
 And thine those piles undeck’d, capacious, vast,* 
 tn days of dearth where tender Charity 
 
 ~ 
 
 * The public granaries, 
 

 
 
 
 THE RUINS OF ROME. 145 
 
 Diepens’d her timely succours to the poor. 
 
 Thine too those musically-falling founts 
 
 To slake the clammy lip; adown they fall, 
 
 Musical ever; while from yon blue bills 
 
 Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueducts 
 
 Turn their innumerable arches o’er 
 
 The spacious desert, bright’ning in the sun, 
 
 Proad and more proud, ia their august approach : 
 
 High o’er irriguous vales, and woods and towns, 
 
 Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind, 
 
 And here united pour their silver streams 
 
 Among the figur’d rocks, in murm’ring falls, 
 
 Musical ever. ‘These thy beauteous works : 
 
 And what beside felicity could tell 
 
 Of human benefit: more late the rest; 
 
 At various times their turrets chanc’d to raise, 
 
 When impious tyranny vouchsaf’d to smile. 
 Behold by Tyber’s flood, where modern Rome * 
 
 Couches beneath the ruins: there of old 
 
 With arms and trophies gleam’d the field of Mars$ 
 
 - There to their daily sports the noble youth 
 
 Rush’d emulous; to fling the pointed lance $ 
 
 To yault the steed 5 or with the kindling wheel 
 
 In dusty whirlwinds sweep the trembling goal; 
 
 Or wrestling, cope with adverse swelling breasts, 
 
 Strong grappling arms, clos’d heads, and distant feet ; © 
 
 Or clash the lifted gauntlets: there they form’d 
 
 Their ardent virtues: lo the bossy piles, 
 
 The proud triumphal arches; all their wars, 
 
 Their conquests, honors, in the sculptures live. 
 
 And see from ev’ry gate those ancient roads, 
 
 With tombs high-verg’d the solemn paths of Fame: 
 
 Deserve they not regard? O’er whose broad flints 
 
 Such crowds have roll’d, so many storms of war 5 
 
 Such trains of consuls, tribunes, sages, kings 5 
 
 So many pomps; so many wond’ring realms: 
 
 Yet still thro? mountains piere’d, o’er vallies rais’d, 
 
 In even state, to distant seas around, ; 
 
 * Modern Rome. stands chieSy on the old Campus Martitise 
 

 
 146 THE RUINS OF ROME, 
 
 They stretch their pavements. Lo the fane of Peace, — 
 Built by that prince, who to the trust of power * 
 Was honest, the delight of human kind. 
 ‘Three nodding isles femain 3 the rest an heap 
 Of sand and weeds; her shrines, her radiant roofs, 
 And columns proud, that from her spacious floor, 
 As from a shining sea, majestic rose 
 An hundred foot aloft, like stately beech 4 
 Around the brim of Dion’s glassy lake, 
 Charming the mimic painter: on the walls 
 Hung Salem’s sacred spoils; the golden board, 
 And golden trumpets, now conceal’d, entomb’d 
 By the sunk roof.—O’er which in distant view 
 Th’ Etruscan mountains swell, with ruias crown’d 
 Of ancients towns; and blue Soracte spires, 
 Wrapping his sides in tempests. Eastward hence, 
 Nigh where the Cestian pyramid divides + 
 The mould’ring wall, behold yon fabric huge, 
 Whose dust the solemn antiquarian turns, 
 And theuce, in broken sculptures cast abroad, 
 Like Sibyl’s leaves, collects the builde:’s name 
 Rejoic’d, amd the green medals frequent found 
 Doom Caracalla to perpetual fame: 
 The stately pines, that spread their branches wide 
 In the dun ruins of its ample halts, t 
 Appear but tufts; as may whate’er is high 
 Sink in comparison, minute and vile. 
 
 These, and unnumber’d, jet their brows uplift, 
 Rent of their graces; as Britannia’s oaks 
 On Merlin’s mount, or Snowdon’s rugged sides, 
 Stand in the clouds, their branches svatter’d round, 
 After the tempest; Mausolenms, Cirques, 
 Naumachios, Forums; Trajan’s column tall, 
 From whose low base the sculptures wind aloft, 
 And lead through various toils, up the rough steep, 
 
 * Begun by Vespasian and finished by Titus. 
 
 + The tomb of Cestius, partly within and partly withont. 
 the walls. 
 
 ’ $ Phe baths of Caracalla, a vast ruin. 
 
THE RUINS OF ROME. 147 
 
 ¥Its hero to the skies: and his dark tow’r * 
 Whose execrable hand the city fir'd, 
 And while’the dreadful conflagratiou blaz’d, 
 Play’d to the flames; and Phebus’ letter’d dome; t 
 And the rough relics of Carinsz’s strect, 
 W bere now the shepherd to his nibbling sheep, 
 Sits piping with his oaten reed 3 as erst 
 There pip’d the shepherd to his nibbling sheep, 
 When th’ humble roof Anchises’ sou explor’d | 
 Of good Evander, wealth-despisivg king, 
 Amii the thickets 3 so revolves the scenes 
 So Time ordains, who rolls the things of pride 
 From dust again to dust. Behold that heap 
 Of mould’ring urns (their ashes-blown away, 
 Dust of the mighty!) the same story tells 
 And at its base, from whence the serpent glides 
 Down the green desert street, yon hoary mouk 
 Laments the same, the visiou as he views, 
 The solitary, silent, solemn scene, _ 
 ‘Where Cesars, heroes, peasants, hermits, lie, 
 Blended in dust together; where the slave 
 Rests from his labors; where th’ insulting proud 
 Resigns his pow’r; the miser drops his hoard ; 
 Where human folly sleeps.---There is a mood, 
 ({ sing not to the vacant and the young,) 
 There is a kindly mood of melancholy, 
 That wings the soul, and points her to the skies$ 
 When tribulation clothes the child of man, 
 When age descends with sorrow to the grave. 
 °Tis sweetly-soothing sympathy to pain, 
 A gently wak’ning call to health and ease, 
 ’ How musical! when all-devouring 'Fime, 
 Here sitting on his throne of ‘ruins boar, 
 While winds and tempests.sweep his various lyre, 
 How sweet thy diapason, Melancholy! 
 Cool evening comes; the setting sun displays 
 His visible great round. between you tow’rs, 
 As through two shady cliffs; away, my Muse, 
 
 
 
 * Nero’s. + The Palatin library 
 
 
 
148 THE RUINS OF ROME. 
 
 Though yet the prospect pleases, ever new 
 
 fn vast variety, and yet delight 
 
 The many-figur’d sculptures of the path — 
 
 Half beauteous, half effac’d$ the traveller 
 
 Such antique marbles to his native land 
 
 Oft hence conveys; and ev’ry realm and state 
 
 With Rome’s august remains, heroes and goda, 
 
 Deck their long galleries and winding groves; 
 
 Y¢t miss we not th’ innumerable thefts, 
 
 Yet still profuse of graces teems the waste. 
 Suffice it now th’ Esquilian mount to reach 
 
 With weary wing, and seek the sacred rests 
 
 Of Mare’s humble tenement; a low 
 
 Plain wall remains; a little sun-gilt heap, 
 
 Grotesque and wild; the gourd and elive brown 
 
 Weave the light roof; the gourd and olive fan 
 
 Their am’rous foliage, mingling with the vine, 
 
 Who drops her purple clusters through the green. 
 
 Here let me lie, with pleasing fancy sooth’d : 
 
 Here flew’d his fountain; here his laure|s grew; 
 
 Here oft the meek good man, the lofty bard 
 
 Fram’d the celestial song, or social walk’d 
 
 With Horace and the Ruler of the world: 
 
 Happy Augustus! who, so well inspir’d, 
 
 Couldst throw thy pomps and royalties aside, 
 
 Attentive to the wise, the great of soul, 
 
 And dignify thy mind. ‘Thrice glorious days, 
 
 Auspicious to the Muses! then rever’d, 
 
 Then hallow’d was the fount, or secret shade, 
 
 Or open mountain, or whatever scene 
 
 The poet chose to tune th’ ennobling rhyme 
 
 Melodious; ev’n the rugged sons of war, 
 
 Ev’n the rude hinds rever’d the Poet’s name: 
 
 But now---another age, alas! is ours 
 
 Yet will the Muse a little longer soar, 
 
 Unless the clouds of care weigh down her wing, 
 
 Since nature’s stores are shut with cruel hand, 
 
 And each aggrieves his brothers since in vain 
 
 The thirsty pilgrim at the fowntain asks 
 
 Th’ oerflowing wave---Enough---the plaint disdain.--. 
 
 
 
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 THE RUINS OF ROME. 149 
 
 See’st thou yon fane? e’en now incessant time * 
 Sweeps her low mould’ring marbles to the dust 5 
 And Phebus’ temple, nodding with its weods, 
 Threatens huge ruin o’er the small rotund, 
 
 - ?T was there beneath a fig-tree’s umbrage broad, 
 
 | 'Th’ astonish’d swains with rev’rend awe beheld 
 
 _ Thee, O Quirinus, and thy brother-twin, 
 
 Pressing the teat within a monster’s grasp 
 
 Sportive; while oft the gaunt and rugged wolf | 
 
 Turn’d her stretch’d neck and form’d your tender 
 limbs: 
 
 So taught of Jove, ev’n the fell savage fed 
 
 Your sacred infancies, your virtues, toils, 
 
 The conquests, glories of th? Ausonian state, 
 
 Wrapp’d in their secret seeds. Each kindred soul, 
 
 Robust and stout, ye grapple to your hearts, 
 
 And little Rome appears. Her cots arise, 
 
 Green twigs of osier weave the slender walls, 
 
 _ Green rushes spread the roofs; and here and there 
 
 _ Opens beneath the rock the gloomy cave. 
 
 | Elate with joy, Etruscan Tyber views 
 
 ' Her spreading scenes enamelling his waves, 
 
 Her huts and hollow dells, and flocks and herds, 
 
 | And gath’ring swains; and rolls his yellow car 
 
 | To Neptune’s court with more majestic train. 
 
 Her speedy growth alarm’d the states around 
 | Jealous; yet soon, by wondrous virtue won, 
 
 _ They siuk into her bosom,  Froin the plough 
 Rose her dictators; fought, o’ercame, return’d, 
 _ Yes, to the plough return’d, and hail’d their peers; 
 | For then no private pomp, no household state, 
 The public only swell’d the gen’rous breast, 
 Who has not heard the Fabian heroes sung ? 
 Dentatus’ scars, or Mutius’ flaming hand ? 
 How Manlius sav’d the Capitol? the choice 
 
 Of steady Regulus? As yet they stood, 
 
 Simple of life; as yet seducing wealth 
 
 Was unexplor’d, and shame of poverty 
 
 * The temple of Romulus and Remus under mountPalatin, 
 
150 THE RUINS OF ROME. 
 
 Yet unimagin’d --Shine not all the fields 
 
 With various fruitage? murmur not the brooks 
 
 Along the flow’ry vallies? They, content, 
 
 Feasted at nature’s hand, indelicate, 
 
 Blithe, in their easy taste; and only sought 
 
 To know their duties; that their only strife, 
 
 Their gen’rous strife, and greatly to perform, 
 
 They through all shapes of peril and of pain, 
 
 Intent on honor, dar’d in thickest death 
 
 To snatch the glorious deed. Nor Trebia quell’d, 
 
 Nor Thrasymene, nor Canne’s bloody field, 
 
 Their dauntless courage; storming Hannibal 
 
 In vain the thunder of the battle roll’d, 
 
 The thunder of the battle they retarn’d 
 
 Back on his Punic shores$ *till Carthage fell, 
 
 And danger fled afar. The city gleam’d 
 
 With precious spoils: alas prosperity! 
 
 Ah baneful state! yet ebb’d not all their strength 
 
 In soft luxurious pleasures; proud desire 
 
 Of boundless sway, and fev’rish thirst of gold, 
 
 Rous’d them again to battle. Beauteous Greece, 
 
 Torn from her joys, in vain with languid arm 
 
 Half rais’d her rusty shield 5 nor could avail 
 
 The sword of Dacia, nor the Parthian dart; 
 
 Nor yet the car of that fam’d British chief, 
 
 Which seven brave years beneath the doubtfal wing 
 
 Of vict’ry, dreadful roll’d its grinding wheels 
 
 Over the bloody war: the Roman arms 
 
 Triumph’d, °till Fame was silent of their foes. 
 And now the world, unrivall’d, they enjoy’d 
 
 Tn proud security: the crested helm, 
 
 The plated greave and corslet hung -unbrac’d 5 
 
 Nor clank’d their arms, the spear and sounding shield, 
 
 But on the glitt’ring trophy to the wind. 
 Disselv’d in ease and soft delights they lie, 
 
 "Till ev’ry sun annoys, and ev’ry wind 
 
 Has chilling force, and ev’ry rain offends: 
 
 For now the frame no more is girt with strength 
 
 Masculine, nor, in lustiness of heart, 
 
 Laughs at the winter storm, and summer beam, 
 

 
 R 
 
 THE RUINS OF ROME. 11 
 
 Superior to their rage: enfeebling vice 
 Withers each nerve, and opens every pore 
 
 To painful feelings: flow’ry bow’rs they seek 
 (As ether prompts, as the sick sense approves) 
 Or cool Nymphean grots; or tepid baths 
 
 + (Taught by the soft fonians) they, along 
 
 The lawny vale, of every beauteous stone, 
 Pile in the roseate air with food expanse: 
 Through silver channels glide the yagrant waves, 
 And fall on silver beds crystalline down, 
 Melodious murmuring; while luxury, 
 Over their naked limbs, with wanton hand, 
 Sheds roses, odors, sheds unheeded bane. 
 
 Swift is the flight of wealth; unnumber’d wants, 
 Brood of volupt’ousness, cry out aloud 
 Necessity! and seek the splendid bribe. 
 
 _ The citron board, the bowl emboss’d with gems, 
 
 And tender foliage wildly wreath’d around 
 
 Of seeming ivy, by that artful hand, 
 
 Corinthian Thericles; whate’er is known 
 
 Of rarest acquisitions Tyrian garbs, 
 
 Neptunian Albion’s high testaceous food, 
 
 And flavor’d Chian wines, with incense fum’d, 
 
 To slake Patrician thirst: for these, their rights 
 
 In the vile streets they prostitute to sale; 
 
 Their ancient rights, their dignities, their laws, 
 Their native glorious freedom. Is there none, 
 
 Is there no villain, that will bind the neck 
 Stretch’d to the yoke? They come! the market throngs. 
 But who has most by fraud or force amass’d ? 
 
 Who most can charm corruption with bis doles? 
 He be the monarch of the state; and, lo! 
 Didius,* vile us’rer, through the crowd he mouats, 
 Beneath his feet the Roman eagle cow’rs, 
 
 And the red arrows fill his grasp uncouth. 
 
 O Britons, O my countrymen, beware, 
 
 Gird, gird your hearts! the Romans once were free, 
 Were brave, were virtuous.---Tyranny, howe’er, 
 
 © Didius Julianus, who bought the empire. 
 
152 ’ THE RUINS OF ROME. ~ 
 
 Deign’d to walk forth awhile in pageant state, 
 
 And with licentious pleasures fed the rout, 
 
 The thoughtless many: to the wanton sound 
 
 Of fifes and drums they danc’d, or in the shade 
 
 Sung Cesar, great and terrible in war, 
 
 Immortal Cesar! lo, a God, a God, 
 
 He cleaves the yielding skies! Caesar meanwhile 
 
 Gathers the ocean pebbles; or the gnat. 
 
 Enrag’d pursues; or at his lonely meal 
 
 Starves a wide province; tastes, dislikes, and flings 
 
 To dogs and sycophants: a God, a God! 
 
 The flow’ry shades and shrines obscene return. 
 But see along the north the tempest swell 
 
 O’er the rough Alps, and darken all their snows! 
 
 Sudden the Goth and Vandal, dreaded names, 
 
 Rush as the breach of waters, whelming all 
 
 Their domes, their villas; down the festive piles, 
 
 Down fall their Parian porches, gilded baths, 
 
 And roll before the storm in clouds of dust. ’ 
 Vain end of human strength, of human skill, 
 
 Conguests, and triumph, and domain, and pomp, 
 
 And ease and luxury! O luxury, 
 
 Bane of elated life, of affluent states, 
 
 What dreary change, what ruin is not thine? 
 
 How doth thy bowi intoxicate the mind! 
 
 To the soft entrance of thy rosy cave 
 
 How dost thou lure the fortunate and great! 
 
 Dreadful attraction! while behind thee gapes 
 
 Th’ unfathomable gulf where Asbur lies 
 
 O’erwhelm’d, forgotten; and high boasting Cham 5 
 
 And Elam’s haughty pomp; and beauteous Greece 5 
 
 And the great queen of earth, imperial Rome. 
 
 ‘ 
 
 - 
 

 
 ON THE IMMENSITY OF~ 
 
 THE SUPREME BEING. 
 
 Once more I dare to rouse the sounding string, 
 The poet of my God! Awake my glory, | 
 Awake my lute and harp---myself shall wake, , 
 Soon as the stately night-exploding bird 
 In lively lay sings welcome to the dawn. 
 
 List ye! how nature with ten thousand tongues 
 Begins the grand thanksgiving, Hail, all hail, 
 Ye tenants of the forest and the field! 
 
 _ My fellow subjects of th’? Eternal King, 
 
 ¥ gladly join your matins, and with you 
 Confess his presence, and report his praise. 
 O thou, who or the lambkin, or the dove, 
 When offer’d by the lowly, meek, and poor, 
 Prefer’st to pride’s whole hecatomb, accept 
 This mean essay, nor from thy treasure-house 
 Of glory immense, the orphan’s mite exclude. 
 What though th’ Almighty’s regalthrone he rais*d 
 Hish o’er yon azure heaven’s exalted dome, 
 By mortal eye unken’d---where east nor west, 
 Nor south, nor blust’ring north has breath to blow 3 
 Albeit, he there with angels and with saints 
 Holds conference, and to his radiant host / 
 E’en face to face stands visibly confess’d : 
 Yet know that nor ia presence or in power 
 Shines he less perfect heres. °tis man’s dim eye 
 That makes the obscurity. He is the same, 
 Alike in all his universe the same. . 
 Whether the mind along the spangled sky 
 Measure her pathless walk, studious to view 
 Thy works of vaster fabric, where the planets 
 Weave their harmonious rounds, their march di- 
 Still faithful, still inconstant to the sun3 {recting 
 Or where the comet through space infinite 
 (Though whirling worlds oppose, and globes of fire) 
 Darts, like a javelin, to his destin’d goal. 
 
154 ON THE IMMENSITY OF ' 
 
 Or where in heaven above the Heaven of heav’as 
 
 Burn brighter suns, and goodlier planets roll 
 
 With satellites more glorious---Thou art there! 
 Or whether on the ocean’s boist’rous back 
 
 Thou ride triumphant, -and with outstretch’d arm - 
 
 Curb the wild winds, and discipline the billows, 
 
 The suppliant sailor finds thee there, his chief, : 
 
 His only help---When thou rebuk’st the storm--- ; 
 
 It ceases---and the vessel gently glides ie 
 
 Along the glassy level of the calm. F| 
 Oh! could I search the bosom of the sea, 
 
 Down the great depth descending; there thy works 
 
 Would also speak thy residence; and there 
 
 Would I thy servant, like the still profound, 
 
 Astonish’d into silence, muse thy praise! 
 
 Behold! behoid! th? implanted garden round 
 
 Of vegetable coral, sea-flow’rs gay, 
 
 And shrubs, with amber, from the pearl-pay'd bottom 
 
 Rise richly varied, where the finny race 
 
 In blithe security their gambols play: 
 
 While high above their heads leviathan, 
 
 The terror and the glory of the main, 
 
 His pastime takes with transport, proud to see 
 
 The ocean’s vast dominion all his own. 
 Hence through the genial bowels of the earth 
 
 Easy may fancy pass ; till at thy mines, 
 
 Gani, or Raolconda, she arrive, 
 
 And from the adamant’s imperial blaze 
 
 Form weak ideas of her Maker’s glory. 
 
 Next to Pegu or Ceylon let me rove, 
 
 Where the rich ruby (deem’d by sages old 
 
 Of sovereign virtue) sparkles ev’n like Sirius, 
 
 And blushes into flames. Thence will I go 
 
 To undermine the treasure-fertile womb 
 
 Of the huge Pyrenean, to-detect 
 
 The agate and the deep-entrenched gem 
 
 Of kindred jasper---Nature in them both 
 
 Delights to play the mimic on herself 5 
 
 And in their veins she oft pourtrays the forms 
 
 Of Jeaping hills, of trees erect, and streams 
 
THE SUPREME BEING. 155 
 
 Now stealing softly on, now thundering down 
 
 In desperate cascade, with flowers and beasts, 
 
 And all the living landscape of the vale. 
 
 In vain thy penci], Claudio, or Poussin, 
 
 Or thise, immortal Guido, would essay 
 
 | Such skill to imitate---it is the hand . 
 
 Of God himself---for God himself is there! 
 Henee with th’ ascending springs let me advance, 
 
 Through beds of magnets, minerals, and spar, | 
 
 _ Up to the mountain’s summit, there t’ indulge 
 
 Th’ ambition of the comprehensive eye, 
 
 That dares to call th’ horizon all her own. 
 
 Behold the forest, and th’? expansive verdure 
 
 Of yonder level lawn, whose smooth shorn sod 
 
 No object interrupts, unless the oak 
 
 His lordly head uprears, and branching arms 
 
 Extends---Behold in regal solitude 
 
 And pastoral magnificence he stands. 
 
 So simple! and so great! the under-woods 
 
 Of meaner rank, an awful distance keep. 
 
 Yet thou art there, and God himself is there 
 
 _ E’en in the bush, (though not as when to Moses 
 
 __ He shone in burning majesty reveal’d,) 
 
 Nathless conspicuous in the linnet’s throat 
 
 Is his unbounded goodness---Thee, her Maker, 
 
 Thee, her Preserver, chants she in her song; 
 
 While all the emulative vocal tribe 
 
 The grateful lesson learn---no other voice 
 
 Is heard, no other sound---for in attention 
 
 Buried, e’en babbling echo holds her peace. 
 Now from the plains, where th’ unbounded 
 
 prospect 
 
 Gives liberty her utmost scope to range, 
 
 Turn we to yon enclosures, where appears 
 
 Chequer’d variety in all her forms, 
 
 Which the vague mind attract and still suspend 
 
 With sweet perplexity. What are yon towers, 
 
 The work of labouring man and clumsy art, 
 
 Seen with the ring-dove’s nest---on that tall beech 
 
 . Her pensile house the feather’d artist builds--- 
 
156 ON THE IMMENSITY, &e. 
 
 The rocking winds molest her not; for see, 
 
 With such due poise the wondrous fabric’s hung, 
 
 That, like the compass in the bark, it keeps 
 
 True to itself, and steadfast e’en in storms. 
 
 Thou idiot, that assért’st there is no God, 
 
 View, and be dumb for ever--- 
 
 Go bid Vitruvius or Paliadio yield 
 
 The bee his mansion, or the ant her cave--- 
 
 Go call Correggio, or Jet Titian come 
 
 To paint the hawthorn’s bloom, or teach the cherry” 
 
 To blush with just vermilion---hence away--- 
 
 Hence, ye profane! for God himself is here. 
 
 Vain were th’ attempt, and impious, to trace 
 
 Through ali his works th’ Artificer divine--- 
 
 And though nor shining sun, nor twinkling star, 
 
 . Bedeck’d the crimson curtains of the sky; 
 
 Though neither vegetable, beast, nor bird, 
 
 Were extant on the surface of this ball, 
 
 Nor lurking gem beneath; though the great sea © 
 
 Slept in profound stagnation, and the air 
 
 Had left no thunder to proncurce its Maker$ 
 
 Yet man at home, withiu himself, might find 
 
 The Deity immense, and ia that frame 
 
 So fearfully, so wonderfully made, 
 
 See and adore his providence and power--- 
 
 I see, and I adore---O God most bounteous= 
 
 O Infiuite of Goodness and of Glory! ‘ 
 
 The knee that thou hast shap’d shall bend to thee - 
 
 The tongue which thou has tun’d shall chant thy 
 praise, } 
 
 And thy own image, the immortal seul, 
 
 Shall consecrate herself to thee for ever. 
 
 
 
 
 
 THE END. 
 
 C. Baldwin, Printer, 3 
 New Bridge-street, London. 
 

 
 
 
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