Volume 3 / Book 22 — FRAGMENTS OF TALES AND MISCELLANEOUS VERSES NOT PREVIOUSLY PRINTED, ARRANGED (SO FAR AS POSSIBLE) IN CHRONOLOGICAL SEQUENCE (continued 2)
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From thee ’tis Death to part, from Heav’n is more;
’Tis worse than Death to that which cannot die.
“A vain, weak Boy, I took the offered Hand
Of One who with it her poor Pittance gave;
Then fled to Sea, and wrecked upon your Land, 310
To live their Bane who snatch’d me from the Grave.
“And yet, to leave thee! leave that rosy Boy,
A Life of Toil and Penury to share!
To quit all worldly Good, all earthly Joy—
It is too hard, and more than I can bear.
484“For none beside thee will I ever live—
For thee I must not, though so fond and true;
But must to Heav’ns high Will my Being Give,
And pray for Strength to bid the World adieu.”
The Brother read; it grieved him at his heart, 320
And Pity softly questioned, “Must they part?”
“They must,” more calm in reasoning, he replied,
“And I remain her sole Support and Guide.
I loved to hear him, nay I loved to speak
Of Men religious as the Crazed and Weak;
And weak they were, but foolish Men will bring
When Sinners judge, Disgrace on everything.
Religion’s Self our Rashness dar’d condemn,
Because like Folly it appeared in them.
But, if an Actor plays the King amiss, 330
Shall I the Monarch in the Mimic hiss?
The thing itself is holy just and good,
When duly sought and justly understood;
But, when such weak and vain Expounders try
To force my Faith, the more resisting I.
And many a Laugh had we, not all confined
To those Expounders, though for them designed;
Cool and contemptuous we the Man survey’d,
And smil’d at Prayer, because a Bigot prayed.
I see it now—and he, unhappy! saw 340
The Aweful Truth, and he abides in Awe!—
Me too this Lesson shall to thought restore;
I may offend, but will deride no more.
Yet hope, Matilda! thy pure Bosom feels
No Pains but those which thy Devotion heals;
Time and thy Duties will their Balm afford,
The Works of God His Wonders and His Word.
If thou thy Peace, and I my Pardon, gain,
Then shall this Suffering not be lent in vain.”
Years pass’d; the School-days of the Boy were come, 350
And now the happier Girls are schooled at Home.
The Widowed Mother her sad Part sustained; }
She still a Widow in her Heart remained; }
Nor in her State repined nor of her State complain’d. }
Sometimes her pensive Spirit took the Way
To the lone Beach, where best she loved to stray.
There was a chosen Place that she would seek—
A rare Indulgence not of ev’ry Week;
But, at some Seasons, she, with Heart oppressed,
Prayed Grief away and then returned at rest. 360
This Place she loved, where, far as Eye could reach,
There seemed a boundless Length of peb’ly beach.
She loved the deep green hollow Lane, where grow
The Ferns that flourish o’er the Rill below;
In the small Course the limpid Waters run
And feed the Herbs that never feel the Sun.
485She loved the still broad Lake, that in the Night
Of the full Moon reflected glorious light;
And every brilliant Star appeared to glow
With softened Lustre in the Lake below. 370
Nor less she loved the deep and solemn Shade,
By Antient Oaks of mighty Stature made;
Yet in their Strength and Glory that had Cast
Their welcome Shade on Generations past,
And to the aged and to the Young shall prove
The Ease of Labour and the Walk of Love.
Such Scenes had Beauty; but, when none appeared
Some accidental Good the Place endeared.
There Love had led them in some chearful Day,
That past in Ease and blameless Mirth away; 380
When, as their Children gambol’d in their View,
Some happy Presage from their Sport they drew.
Still to these Scenes, by fond Remembrance led,
She turn’d, and there her softest Tears were shed.
There heavenly Hope her cheering Visit paid,
And there with Faith and fervent Zeal she prayed.
Thus, Summer past, Autumnal Scenes came on,
And Winter’s Frost; and so the Year was gone.
Then other Seasons came, and other Years
Brought the same Comforts, Tenderness and Tears. 390
Year after year thus stole in Quiet by,
Sure, but unmarked, as Cranes and Swallows fly;
And now was One that with its Record fled:
No News of Frederick; but the Wife was dead!
A Crimson flush then marked Matilda’s Cheek,
This spoke; this only she allowed to speak.
Within the neighbouring Town were some whose Cares
Were kindly given to their Friends’ Affairs;
“And why,” they said, “should Richard Vernon live
Without a Wife, when we have Girls to give?” 400
But Richard had it not in Mind to wed;
He had the daily Cares that served instead—
His land, his Books, and the Attention shown
To Children now become by Choice his own;
And, if he thought of Marriage, ’twas as one
Who dreams of something that cannot be done!
Speak of the Sex, he prais’d them o’er and o’er;
Speak of the Woman, and he said no more;
And Women therefore, on their Part, began
To speak less kindly of so cool a Man. 410
But, when his Sister sighed, or when she wore
A look of Suffering, he was cool no more.
Then would he say, “My Sister, you are ill,
And need th’ Assistance of a Man of Skill.
Your Walk fatigues you, and the Cool Sea Breeze,
To Health so grateful, but augments Disease.
Do look, Matilda, in your Mother’s face;
Is she not paler? ’Tis a serious Case.”—
All this was Kindness; but the time was near
486When Fear was just, when there was cause for Fear. 420
To her who panted, in her Breath opprest,
Food gave not Strength, Sleep brought uncertain Rest.
The troubled Children, as at Something strange,
Looked their distress and trembled at the Change.
Who goes in Search of Health may be supplied
In Every Way he travels with a Guide.
One of these Guides, long taught the way to please
And put a doubtful Traveller at his Ease,
Advised a Warmer Sun and clearer Sky: }
“It may be useful, and you can but try; 430}
Here you can scarsely live, and there you can but die.” }
This was not said, but something not so rude—
And this was meant, and this was understood.
Against Advice the placid Mother strove;
She fought with Learning, but complied with Love.
The Coast of France appear’d new Strength to give
And Hope, exulting, told that she would live.
“But she must move; must ever be employed;
See what is seen; enjoy what is enjoyed,
And through the Coast must at her Pleasure ride, 440
And never think!” for so advised the Guide.
“Now where, Matilda, shall we go to-day?”
So Richard said, as he was wont to say;
“Where bend our Steps?” He took his Glass in Hand:
“Here comes a Boat; suppose we see it land?”
They saw it land—“And, Boatmen, who are these?”—
“A Priest they say, and from beyond the Seas.
But he who leans upon the Friend beside
Is going fast; we judged he must have died—
Coming for Health; and, if he means to stay 450
Till it arrives, he’ll never go away.”
So spake the Seamen; when, approaching nigh,
Matilda stopt and, with an heavy sigh,
Dropt on the Shore. Her Brother, frightened, flew
To give her Aid—she breathed, and, “Is it true?”
She said; “I saw him—I my Frederick see;
Brother, forgive! he comes to die with me.
What Heaven decrees is done.”—And now began
The same strong feeling in the fainting Man.
What past so near him his Attention drew; 460
The Voice alarmed him, and the Wife he knew.
Here then they dwelt; the dying Man and Wife
Together past this Fragment of their Life.
Daily they bade to earthly things Adieu,
Their Moments numbered and the Number few.
The softened Brother let his Anger sleep,
With the fond Pair to sympathise and weep.
487Then Frederick told, how on that dreadful Night,
When urged by Conscience he resolved on Flight,
To lose all Comfort in this World and live 470
Without one Joy that Life or Love can give;
To meet no more the Forms he loved, no more
The playful Smiles of Fondness to explore;
But to bid all, and Hope with all, farewell—
What to such Evil can a Soul compell?
He told, how then he went from place to place
In fact a Beggar, more than Beggary base;
How, grieved at length and humbled in the Dust, }
He then began the Sacred Word to trust; }
To feel that God was Love, but yet with Love was just; 480}
A Saviour’s Sufferings to his Heart he laid,
And felt the Balm of Mercy as he prayed.
How then he dared his past offences view,
And the first dawn of Hope’s soft Comfort knew;
But never more must Home’s soft Comfort see,
But a lone Wanderer in the World must be.
Filled with such thoughts, he join’d a serious few }
Who showed the Way that he must then pursue, }
The Aid he was to yield, the Work he was to do. }
He told what Hovels then he sought, and where 490
He heard the Tale of Woe and taught the Prayer.
He sought the Mine, and in that World below
Had seen the Tears of strong Contrition flow;
Now near the Pole, and now beneath the Line,
To Suffering Man he bore the Word divine;
Where’er the Brethren bade him go he went—
So the first Years of Penitence were spent.
Dispute with them was none, was no delay;
To give Command was theirs, and his t’ obey.
What, if the Climate should your frame offend— 500
Can Health be wasted to a better end?
What, if Death meets you on a foreign Shore—
He met the Martyrs at the Work before;
And what is all we fear or all we feel }
But Proofs of Favour and Rewards of Zeal; }
Acceptance of your Love and Suffering is the seal. }
He spoke of Years that fled, while thus employed,
Of Dangers conquered and of Health destroyed;
“And then,” he said, “I felt my Heart incline
To its loved Scenes, to [feel] for thee and thine.” 510
Thus they communed, and holy thoughts and Prayers
Of Souls devoted to their God were theirs.
Yet would they sometimes Earthly Comfort seek,
And of Enjoyments, nay Amusements, speak.
The deep green Lane, the golden-sanded Lake
That would a thousand soft Emotions wake;
The bare old Oaks who with their dismal tone
488Seemed at the Music of the Grove to groan—
These and the Scenes of many a pleasant Thought
Were from that Distance to their fancy brought; 520
And they would smile at many an idle thing
Or chearful Fact that to the Mind would cling;
And the fond Pair, although oppress’d and pained,
Their mutual Fate with brightest Hope sustained.
Life ebbed apace; the Brother’s Hope and Fear
Led him to speak of—yet another Year;
And then of Season: “’tis the Chill of Spring,
But Summer’s Breath will balmy Influence bring.”
As Billows beat upon the peb’ly Shore,
Nor reach the Place which Others past before; 530
Yet in short Time the bolder Waves press on,
And the faint marks of humbler kind are gone;
Till at the highest Mark the Waves ascend
And there their Prowess and the Progress end—
So in departing Life our days appear:
One, fiercely threatening speaks, the Period near;
A fairer Kind succeed, so soft and mild
That Love is soothed and Hope again beguil’d;
Then comes the last—that must our Fate decide,
And there’s no Turning in this mortal Tide! 540
It’s come, is gone; nor is there much of strife—
Consenting nature yields the weary life.
Placed on his pillowed Chair Matilda by,
The Husband saw the dim and speechless Eye;
Felt the cold Hand, and said, “’Tis now a last;
This One dear Look and all will then be past;
She will precede me.”—Yet he wrongly guess’d:
Ev’n as he spake, he sank himself to rest.
She knew th’ Event, but knew not long; her sight,
Her Hearing fails; ’twas Dimness, and ’twas Night! 550
They sleep together, and our Record ends;
But first a Priest his Application lends.
Pains, Troubles, Sorrows, Life’s more grievous cares,
All from our ill, or for our Good arise;
For all correction thank the Hand that spares,
For all Affliction bless the Power that tries!
489
THE FUNERAL OF THE SQUIRE.
I left my Friend, and at the Closing day
Took to the Church-Yard walk my evening way.
’Twas there, invited by th’unusual Sound,
The Good old Sexton in the Church I found;
He from a Vault had thrown the Earth aside—
Proof that some Person of Respect had died;
And now was coming to that vaulted Home
To which—but not in Churches—we must come.
There the old Sexton, on the Heap he made,
Looked at his Work and leaned upon his Spade; 10
As if with some Complacency he dwelt
Upon his Task and its Importance felt.
“Stranger,” said Good-man Sexton—I was strange
To my old Neighbour—“here’s an awful change!”
This provoked Question; Question to such Man
Provoked Reply; and thus his Tale began.
“In yonder Place—for so our People call
That large new House; the other is the Hall;
’Tis the more Antient—yet, for many a Year,
The Squire and his Forefathers flourished here. 20
Long had the last with his good Lady kept
Their Wedding-vow, together walked and slept,
And were a loving, grave, Church-going Pair;
Howbeit, Heaven vouchsafed them not an Heir.
“But Oh! the sad Events of Mortal Life!
The Squire in ripe old age forgot his Wife;
Forgot the Sayings of the Law divine,
And took an Harlot for his Concubine.
From thence, O stranger! we may date his Fall;
In fact it was the Ruin of them all. 30
For my good Lady grieved to think how Sin
His Heart, by Prayer unguarded, entered in;
For, though the Squire observed the Sabbath Day,
It was forsooth to shew the Poor the Way.
’Twas not to have his Conscience clean and swept;
For, though he listened for a while, he slept.—
But, not to tarry in the tale I tell,
He sought not Grace to stand; and so he fell.
“Some two Years since, he walked his Fields to see; }
Saw them at Distance, and his Mind was free; 40}
Approaching near, a bounden slave was he. }
Like the rich Boaz, he his People saw
In his own Land, and where his Word was Law;
And he, poor Mortal, was rejoicing then
Among his laughing Maids and labouring Men.
“So the great King of Babylon was glad
In his proud Heart, and in a Moment mad.
“For there the Squire beheld a dangerous Face,
490Alluring, lovely, but with Lack of Grace,
And not of Craft; for then the Squire, betray’d 50
By lawless Love, his wild Behests obeyed.
The artful Damsel could her Way discern,
And had not much of this bad World to learn
Or its Deceits, but made her Will her Way; }
Could look as pure as on her Wedding-day }
The Maiden-Bride, and be in Heart as gay. }
“Then, as a simple Child, whene’er he spoke,
She laughed, delighted at his Honour’s Joke;
And thus the Frailty in his Heart began—
Frailty the same that bound the wisest man; 60
And far into that foul Reproach was gone,
Although our Squire was not a Solomon.
I knew the Damsel; she was not a Ruth,
And had been wild and wanton all her Youth.
She from her Bible no Instruction took,
But studied like a Dalilah to look;
Till Grace forsook her, left to the Controul
Of Evil Things that War against the Soul.—
“But I am wandering. When a Man is old,
His Words come slowly, for his Blood is cold; 70
And, the less time he has his Tale to tell,
The longer he on every part will dwell.
Alas! I’m like an old and crippled Steed,
Slow but not sure—yet now I will proceed.
“The tempted Man was Mad and deaf and blind,
And sold his Peace to make an Harlot kind.
He bought what he called Virtue at a Price
She dared not ask, and then he found it Vice.
Her purchased Smiles were as the changeful Ray
Of April Suns—a Glimmer, and away! 80
“He who loved Gold, and all that Gold could win,
Gave all a Costly Sacrifice to Sin;
Wife, Friends and his good Name were but as Dust
In his Mind’s Ballance, that was now unjust.
His Lady wept, but was no longer dear;
His Friends admonished, Friends he would not hear;
His Preacher threaten’d, he despised the Threat;
Told of his Sin, he grew more sinful yet.
Warnings were sent, at first the slight and slow,
Then more Awakening; and then came the Blow. 90
Fever and Pain confined him to his Bed,
And Hope smiled faintly; but she quickly fled.
Lost and bewildered, he repeats the Name
That none can hear without Disgust or Shame.
‘Bring her,’ he cried, ‘and place her on a Throne;
For she is worthy, and shall reign alone!’
Alas! his Queen was, like himself, attacked
By that same Fever and with Terror racked;
And now a Message to the Vicar sent,
[Told that] his dying Honour would repent. 100
“The Vicar came [at once, with] Christian speed;
491The Doctor bade him, if he dared, proceed;
For he was watching how his drugs would back
The struggling Nature in this strong Attack:
Such Thoughts at best would Nature’s force impair
And stop his Progress; ’twas not fighting fair.
‘If I succeed, there’s nothing more to do;
And, if I fail, you’ll have a Day or two;
When Hope is over, and a Man prepares
Body and Soul to settle his Affairs.’ 110
The Doctor fought, no doubt, with all his Might,
But Nature yielded in the Doctor’s Spite;
And the good Vicar had his leave to try
All he could offer; for the Man must die.
But there was no repose; the troubled Brain
Could little bear and nothing could retain.
“In the same Night his troubled Spirit past
That object of his Frailty breathed her last.
Her we have buried in an earlier Day,
And laid her where our parish poor we lay; 120
It took not long that Business to adjust—
When common Folk are carried Dust to Dust.
A few kind Neighbours, by the setting Sun,
Bear the light Burden when their Work is done,
And there’s an End.—But, when the Wealthy sleep,
We keep the Body long as we can keep,
And seek for help of those who will contrive
To make things seem as all were yet alive.
He lies in state, his Visits duly paid,
And is—or he appears to be—obeyed. 130
An intermediate State, when stopt the Breath,
We make a kind of Compromise with Death:
His is the Body, that he needs must have;
But all is Life on this side of the Grave—
As if alive, with Care we tend his Bed
And bear him off, as if he felt us tread.
With sad slow Pomp the Crowd behold him come }
And laid discreetly in his vaulted Home, }
O’er which, his Worth inscribed, shall rise the stately Tomb. }
Thus, when a Town has yielded, ’tis agreed— 140
So have I heard—some Favour shall succeed;
For, though the conquered Army must obey
The Conqueror’s Will and sadly walk away,
Yet ’tis allowed to valiant Men and stout
With War’s proud Honours to march proudly out.”
492
JOSEPH AND CHARLES.
To an old Friend with friendly Spirit came
A brave old Seaman, Fletcher was his Name;
Late from Madras, and eager to behold
The Place he knew, the Scenes he loved of old.
Two days had past, since he that friend had seen,
And heard and told of what had acted been,
Or what befallen, in that favourite Town
Which the sea washed, in fact had half-washed down.
When all pertaining to themselves had End,
The Captain spake of what concerned a Friend— 10
A wealthy Man, whom he had left behind,
And hoped again an healthy Man to find.
“Well, my dear Jonas, you have heard of all
That you or I concern of Ours can call;
Now for my Friend! ’Tis thirty years at least
Since he began adventuring in the East;
And, after labouring much with much Success,
He now is worth—but think a bit and guess!
He married early, but his Wife was weak;
And his Boys died before they learn’d to speak. 20
Still he went on, though free from all the Itch
Of living grandly or of dying rich.
Parting, he said—for our Concerns in Trade
Had us fast Friend of slight Acquaintance made—
‘Fletcher, there are, not distant from the Place
Which you will visit, Remnants of our Race.
I left an elder Brother, only one
Of all our Kin, and he an only Son.
Ben had small sense, but yet had, [as] they tell—
For I have made Enquiry—acted well; 30
Married a Dame with Money, and began,
As Burgess told, to be a noted Man.
But the Wife died, who was his Stay and Prop;
Then Fortune varied, and he made a stop.
She left one Boy—and never Boy betrayed
Less Wit than Ben; who married with his Maid,
A close young Shrew—yet, do her right, she kept
Together closely all that could be swept
From his half-wasted Substance. Children more
Than I can name she to the Blockhead bore, 40
To share his Pittance with the former Son;
And he survived not long, when this was done.
Years pass’d with them, I need not tell you how,
For they are gone and are forgotten now;
But [how] the Children, Men and Women, they,
Were placed, how fed, is more than I can say.
493Yet near the Place I may suppose they dwell,
And some the state in which they live may tell;
When your Report shall be to me a Guide
How I my little scraping may divide.’” 50
[CONTENTMENT.]
Not so our Manor[‘s] Lord; no part hath he
Within our Borough, therefore may be free;
In his own Mansion he resides, with all,
That Man requires attending on his Call.
He loves his Ease, but yet has ofttimes proved
That, Minds assenting, Bodies may be moved.
He loves his own good Lady, and her Word
Is Law to all—except her own good Lord.
He takes Life’s Comforts for a general Good,
But does not take her Cordials for his Food. 10
Nor thinks, because the Vine grew [juice] for Man,
That he may take what Quantity he can—
So that our worthy Squire is one who tries
To be as merry as becomes the Wise;
And, tho’ for Wisdom he was not renowned,
He answered Questions puzzling or profound.
He loved his Daughters, but did not believe
They were the fairest ever sprung from Eve.
TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF RUTLAND.
(Belvoir, August, 1784.)
From your own Belvoir, ‘mid your flow’ring Lymes
And loftier Oaks, accept these feeble rhymes—
Feeble, and far unlike this beauteous scene
Of Woods and Turrets grey and vallies green!—
To Rutland Health! Where’er his way he takes—
By Ireland’s frowning Hills or simple Lakes;
By Shannon’s spacious current, spreading wide
His aged Banks, or Allo’s tumbling Tide;
By Barrow’s Deeps, where Silver Salmon play;
494Or where stout Nore winds on his waters grey; 10
By sedgy Lee, and Bandon’s Woods among,
Or Spenser’s Mulla, where he wept and sung—
Health to the Muses’ Judge, the Muses’ friend,
The last and meanest of her vot’ries send.
Health to her Grace; both ours and Dublin’s pride—
Yet chiefly ours, nor we the boast divide!
Tho’ like the Sun she quits her favourite Line
And deigns awhile in colder climes to shine:
Let not the children of the pole aver
Theirs is that sun, nor Ireland boast of her! 20
Ye nymphs of Leicester, famed for Maidens fair!
When now your poets paint the fairest there,
No luckless Lucy yields the favourite theme,
But Rutland, bright as Liffey’s limpid stream—
Liffey, that rolls with prouder current on
And bear[s] our sighs, who mourn, now she is gone!—
Health to the future glories of that race,
In whom the likeness of the past we trace;
Who live to add new honours to their name,
Their Uncle’s blooming praise and their brave grandsire’s fame! 30
And that sweet pair, whose milder prowess lies
Not in their conquering arms, but in their eyes—
Health to that pair, these sister charms that show
To whom the world their varying beauties owe;
Varying but as the sun’s bright rays that shine
With separate hues, which in their source combine!—
So glow my wishes; and, my Lord, you know
They flow sincere, howe’er my numbers flow;
These are the tribute I can better pay,
Who have forgot to write, but not to pray.— 40
Think you, my Lord; your Belvoir heights infuse
Vigor, like old Parnassus, to the Muse?
Not so; Parnassus was a dismal scene,
And hunger made the wretched Tenants keen;
Still the same kinds of Inspiration last:
A London garret and a long day’s fast.—
I—and I thank your Grace—have ceased to strive
In niggard rhymes to keep us just alive,
And little can, if now it pleased the State
To tax your poets as they tax your plate. 50
Exempt from both, my useless life I’d close,
Use humbler ware, and correspond in prose.—
Yet, if it pleased your Grace, I’d now and then
Employ a grateful, but a lazy, pen,
To paint these laughing scenes that round me shine—
Scenes worthy thee, and then to call them thine;
495Nor vainly then the Village Squire should charm,
The buried Cottage [or] the busy Farm;
Nor then unpaid the blooming banks should die,
Nor Wood-shop’s little rill run vainly by.— 60
Then, Granby, humble village of the Vale
How should thy name inspire the glorious tale!
Like Beth’lem thou, the least of all thy race;
Yet the Redeemer chose that humble place
To give Him birth, and thou hast lent a name
To Him who pays thee with eternal fame.—
[Bottesford] should then the rising song bring on,
And the great dead, to their last Mansion gone;
Where, like the Hero’s and the Statesman’s Dust,
Crown’d with the fretted scroll, and sleeping bust, 70
And guiltless trappings, which poor wits deride
With little spite and moralising pride,
The grateful tribute[’s] paid the glorious dead—
The wise who governed and the brave who bled.
Long, long, ye sacred dead, in peace remain,
Ere yet your hallowed home resounds again,
With groans resound[s] and the loud sighs which tell,
Another Rutland bids the sun farewell;
Ere yet the mourning crowd’s slow steps attend
The friend to merit and the poor man’s friend, 80
Or read with weeping eyes the finished sum
Of all his days—blest days, and yet to come!
Belvoir should then the closing stanzas fill, }
This sacred dome that crowns the lordly Hill, }
Rever’d through rolling times and venerable still: }
She that looks down o’er the rich Vale and sees
Trees at her feet and hills adorned with Trees;
She that contains within her stately towers
The works of ages past and the delight of ours!—
Here might the poet chuse the noblest themes, 90
Indulge his vein and dream enchanting dreams;
Might trace the relics of the days of old,
When Kings’ [Impeachment] warned our Barons bold,
Whose arms the love of Sovereign Pride withstood,
And veiled the freedom of their sons with blood.
Here doubtless, long before the Romans came,
Dwelt Glorious Lords in now forgotten fame,
Who met the world’s proud victors on the shore,
And drove them back who drove the world before.
The Saxon then a [subject] race appear, 100
What time bold William reigned the Sovereign here.
Let Leland tell how their fair damsels stood,
Like beauty’s Goddess, as she left the wood;
496When one to wife an amorous Monarch chose;
For these are tales that suit with solemn prose.
The giddy Muses must forbear to touch
On themes, when poets always tell too much.
Too much has West—but let his beauties die,
For there are those who Time and Death defy;
Guido and rich Salvator’s offspring wild, 110
And meek Murillo, holy, modest, mild;
Rubens, whose matchless tints as sunbeams strike;
Claud[e]’s woodland glories and the strong Vandyke;
Painstaking Flemings here display their art
And charm the eye, although they miss the heart;
Numbers beside, the rich, the grave, the free—
Names known to glory but unknown to me:
These in their turns all tastes and Judgments please,
And Reynolds last, not least, nor less than these.
Pardon, my Lord, these idle fits of rhyme 120
That flow from too much ease and too much time!
You bade th’ inspiring Days of Gloom depart
And spoiled the poet when you eas’d his heart:
Take then such feeble thanks as he can pay, }
Who feels more grateful as his powers decay, }
And finds the will to sing, but cannot find the way! }
[THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.]
This is my Place of pilgrimage: a Vale
Where piety oft slumbers, while Desire,
Like one new waken’d, snatches up in haste,
With Grasp insane, Light Joys, fantastic Hopes,
Remnants of Motley Bliss, confus’dly join’d
To woes alternate, sure of something ill,
Where the Good lies beneath——
[SORROW.]
O Sacred Sorrow, by whom Souls are tried,
Sent not to punish Mortals, but to guide:
If Thou art mine (and who shall proudly dare
To tell his Maker, he has had his share?)—
Still let me feel for what thy pangs are sent,
And be my Guide, and not my punishment!
497
[A FRAGMENT.]
What, though the Horse I hired, the villain Hack,
Meek as I [am], would throw me on my Back;
Tho’ musing much—in slow and solemn pace,
The Urchin Crew would laugh me to my face!
I woo’d the Muses, meditating Song,
Some Sideway ditch would woo my feet, half Mud,
Half Ink, and plunge me in the sombre flood.
[POVERTY AND LOVE.]
These little Evils, and a thousand such, }
Which the proud poor will ever feel too much, }
Touch not the heart, or transient is the Touch. }
Fly Reason’s Voice; but, oh! the pain to prove
That dreadful Union, Poverty and Love;
To dream of mutual Joy and raise the Mind
To all things noble, generous and refin’d;
Above the low-born Cares of Life to dwell;
To be more blest than human tongue can tell;
With golden Hope, that soothes all Care the while, 10
And construes every Look and every Smile—
And all at once the golden Vision fled,
To find cold Truth and feel the want of Bread!
[THE CURATE’S PROGRESS.]
Near forty years with all my Care and Skill,
Dear Flock, I fed you, as I feed you still.
Tho’ mine at first was but the Curate’s fare—
Half full the Belly, and the Back half bare—
Yet, freed from College Rules and classic Song,
The light Heart laugh’d and the young hope rose strong,
And (wrapt in visions of preferment) found
No Grief in Want and from Contempt no wound.
In pride and pity when the Farmer gave
A Sunday’s Dinner to the Vicar’s slave, 10
And more than hinted from my languid Looks,
I fed the Six remaining Days on Books:
Patient I [star’d], and saw thro’ rolling years
His tith’d Sheaf humble thro’ its golden Ears;
Saw the proud Man of Land his Joke resign,
And labour for a Laugh to flatter mine.
498
[THE TASK.]
(Jan. 20) [1813?]
The Task is dull; but I was taught
Myself, and ’tis a debt I owe
To those who [seek the] truths I sought,
The Knowledge I have gain’d to shew.
In many a dull and drowsy lad
I strove to wake the slumbering Soul,
And raise what faculties he had
By patient Care and mild Controul.
And, when there came a sprightly boy,
As ardent was the Task; for still 10
He relished not the grave Employ,
Nor to his duty bent his Will.
[CONSCIOUS GUILTINESS.]
(Jan. 23, 1813.)
The Good are happy—in the joyful hour
No inward fears the present peace o’erpower,
And in the Evil time the pleasant force
Of conscious Virtue checks it in its Course.
Men all Abandon’d, Desperation all,
Feel not their Guilt nor tremble at their fall;
Vice for herself has found the desperate Cure
And banished thoughts no bosom could endure.
But the most wretched of the Guilty train
Are they who Virtue love and prize in vain; 10
Griev’d by the Life they yet resolve to lead,
Bound by the Ill, yet panting to be freed—
To them the Ways of Sacred Truth are known,
Yet they proceed and suffer in their Own.
Onward they go, still sighing to retrieve
Their Steps, and longing for the Good they leave.
499
[BELIEF AND UNBELIEF.]
(March 7) [1813?]
“Dost thou believe,” the Saviour said;
The trembling parent look’d around;
A thousand Wonders he survey’d,
And Hope and kindling faith he found.
The Sick, the blind, the Deaf, and Lame,
All whole and sound and light became;
He knew such power could not deceive
And answer’d, joyful, “I believe.”
But, when he look’d his Heart within,
And saw the Darkness, felt the Shame, 10
The fear, the Dread, the Doubt, the Sin—
How cold and humble he became!
The former Joy was now suppress’d,
And grieving, guilty, and distress’d,
He added, in despairing Grief:
“Help thou, O Lord, mine Unbelief!”
VERSES WRITTEN FOR THE DUKE OF RUTLAND’S BIRTHDAY.
(January 4, 1814.)
When Poets kindle at some noble View,
The Muse is said t’ inspire the ardent Mind;
The Muse is feign’d, the Inspiration true;
Poets their Ardours in their Subjects find.
Yet he to whom the Noblest is assign’d
Must feel what much alarms him, yet delights:
His Views indeed are of a glorious Kind;
But there is danger in those lofty Flights,
And Hope and Fear at once each bold attempt excites.
Be honour freely paid, where justly due; 10
And where is Honour due if here denied?
What happy Place can yield a nobler View?
In what fair Seat can nobler Race abide,
And o’er what happier Act can Man preside?
Place! Persons! Action! All engage the Mind,
And all the Heart with glad Emotions fill;
Where shall I Language for my Subject find;
Where glowing Thoughts, apt Words and curious Skill?
Oh[, that] the humble Verse could match th’ inspiring Will!
500Great Lady! Fair as great, and good as fair, 20
Receive a People’s Praise, their Love, their Prayer;
Blest Parent to thy Granby, born to Shine
An Honour to thy Rutland’s House and thine!
Accept the Homage grateful Numbers pay,
Exulting all in this triumphant Day;
When all in one event rejoice,
And mine is as the public Voice—
An Echo to the general Joy
That thanks thee for the noble Boy!
All join in Wishes for the generous Race, 30
That through revolving Ages it may run—
Blest each lov’d Daughter with the Mother’s Grace
And with the Father’s Virtue every Son;
Whilst [you, the] happy Parents, look around,
With love rewarded and with Honour crown’d.
Who has not heard of [Howard’s] noble Blood:
Which, tho’ it cannot, as the Poet tells,
Ennoble Sots and Cowards, is a Flood
That Vice and Folly from the Soul repels;
And that which cannot the Disease endure 40
Is nobler still than if it wrought the Cure.
Howards were seen in Times of civil strife
In Honor’s Cause to hazard all and bleed;
May Peace in England spare thy Granby’s Life,
Since the same Cause would prompt the kindred Deed!
The Virtue still will in his Breast abide;
But Heaven forefend it be so harshly tried!
Great Prince, the Ruler of a People free,
While bound in Duty and in love to Thee;
Supreme in Britain’s happy Days; 50
Endued with Princely Grace and Power,
To win by Worth the Meed of Praise,
To share with Ease the festive Hour!
The Infant Granby thy Attention sees,
And smiles, the Tokens of his feeling shows,
As conscious of thy boundless Power to please,
And happy in the pleasing Debt he owes.
Soon shall his opening Mind for Knowledge seek,
When Time his Prince’s Favours shall reveal;
And, what the infant Tongue wants Power to speak, 60
The grateful Man will never cease to feel.
The Royal Brother too appears
And to the Scene new Pleasure gives,
Past in One Day, but in successive Years
To be recorded long as Memory lives.
Belvoir! This Day shall be thy Boast and Pride,
While o’er the Subject Vale thy lofty Towers preside!
501And thou, the Father of a Noble Race,
In whom we now thy Form and Features trace,
But in succeeding years whose Worth shall shine 70
A just and fair Epitome of thine:
Behold thy Granby! His a Name
Already in the Rolls of Fame,
Not Plac’d amid a dubious Class—
Names heard but for the fleeting Day,
Who then to dark Oblivion pass.
This will no Time nor Accident decay,
Nor Envy blot, nor Malice tear away.
Such are the Men to whom, when troubles rise,
A prudent People turn their anxious Eyes; 80
Who love their Prince, and whom their Princes love;
The Wise and Virtuous ever but approve—
They who are stedfast in their Country’s Cause,
The Sovereign’s Power respect, nor less the Guarding Laws.
Fresh as the Showers of Eden and as fair,
Thy lovely Daughters wake a Father’s Pride.
Great were such gifts; and, if thou wish’d an Heir,
It was with Hope that still on Heaven relied—
Thankful if blest, and patient if denied.
Vast the Reward; for thee thy Granby lives, 90
And noble Promise of the future gives;
Strength, Health and Beauty in his Form combine,
And all the Grace that grows with ripening years;
The best Affections in his features shine,
And all that love could ask for he appears.
Be this blest Day in future Years renown’d,
Mark’d as the chosen, the auspicious One;
In this thy Birth the fondest Wishes crown’d—
And thou wert hail’d with joy th’ expected Son;
Thou too wert Granby; but thy Fate 100
Soon gave thee Title to a greater Name.
Not so thy Granby—may his Change be late,
Differing in this, in all beside the same!
Let the same Honours on the Name attend;
As Life advances, may its Joys increase;
Upon its Progress may no cloud descend,
But, ris’n in glory, may it set in Peace;
And still another and another Race
Preserve the Honours of the Name and Place!
See a third Parent Granby at thy Side, 110}
Thy present Pleasure and thy future Pride, }
Thy never failing Friend, thine ever watchful Guide! }
The same her Title—Rutland’s Princely Name,
That Sons of Kings alone with Manners claim.
Smile, Granby, now; thus only can’st thou prove
For her unwearied care awakening Love!
But, when succeeding Years impart
502Strength to thy Form and Feeling to thy Heart,
Then shall her Value to the View arise,
That thou shalt dearly love and richly prize. 120
Nor shalt thou need a Verse to show
The Truths admiring Numbers know;
For, when the willing Muse is weak,
Then shall a thousand Voices speak.
Go, ask where Virtue, Beauty, Merit, dwell—
All that Mankind approve, applaud, revere—
And hear what Numbers shall delighted tell
Their Pride, Their Glory in a Name so dear!
Heir to thy noble House, this Day to thee
Shall be, while Memory lives, a joyful Date; 130
Thou wilt look backward on the time, and see
The First, the Greatest, in the Church and State.
All take an Interest in their Granby’s Fate:
What happy Infant in the World is found,
Whom so much Grace and Dignity surround?
What favour’d Being through his Life shall say:
“I had like Honours and as great a Day?”
Smile, Son of Rutland, in a Day of Bliss;
While Praise and grateful Thanks to Heaven arise,
And happy Nations for a Time like this 140
Make public Joy and private [sympathies].
As thou art nam’d, and each glad Voice repeats,
“Granby, the Heir of his Forefather’s Fame!”
’Tis then the troubler of the World retreats
From his lost Kingdoms, fill’d with Rage and Shame;
Foil’d and disgrac’d, he to his People goes,
To veil his Loss and aggravate their Woes.
What Happy Language shall describe the Times,
When British Virtue bade the World be free,
Mark’d with a Tyrant’s Fall, his Flight, his Crimes, 150
And with our Hope, Heaven-favour’d Boy, in thee?
Thus all Things happy in the Date agree,
When Charms that grace the Land, and Powers that sway,
Give Triumph to the Deed and Pleasure to the Day.
MISS WALDRON’S BIRTHDAY.
(Dec. 18, 1815.)
How, my Marie, on this Day
Shall I my best good wishes pay?—
By asking of the Power above
All happiness for her I love.
The best of earthly Things would be
The Things that are denied to me:
503Established Health and Spirits pure,
That in each worldly Change endure;
The Competence that not on Friends,
But on a certainty, depends; 10
The Love for one in whom thy Choice
But ratifies the general Voice;
One who[se] Esteem will grow and last,
When passion’s warmer Day is past—
And you have past more years than he
Who prays for all this good to thee—
He who will then have ceas’d to share
The common Lot of Grief and Care;
Whose Love will then be such as thou
Wilt not refuse—nor need’st thou now; 20
Though not perhaps to that dear Mind
Alone devoted and confined;
For, while this fleshly veil endure,
The best are but the least impure.
Yet, tho’ not free from earthly Stain[s],
From Daily Jealousies and pains,
Still, before all itself approves,
Thy Happiness it seeks and loves.
It prays [for thee]: may every Day,
That takes some part of Life away, 30
To that immortal part supply
Some Virtue that will never die!
TO THE HON. MRS SPENCER.
(Written July 12, 1817, after a Visit to Petersham.)
That new-made Honour doth forget Men’s Names,
Engrossed and happy in itself—is true;
But still my Want of Memory Pardon claims;
For mine is Honour great as well as new—
Honour to know, and to be known by, you.
Wonder not, then, that I should cast away
The common Stores that in the Memory grew;
That, George appearing, I should Richard say
Or tell the Moon’s pale Light, “lo! thine the glorious Day!”
But her best Treasures Memory still retains; 10
The Power of Beauty I remember yet;
Thy Smile for ever in the Soul remains,
And, though the Sun upon that Joy hath set,
Remembrance lives—it is my Pride, we met.
Oh! could I give that Day its proper Fame,
Not distant Ages should those Hours forget,
When I thy Friend—allow the Word—became;
And Honours new or old shall not efface that Name.
504
AN INSCRIPTION AT GUY’S CLIFF.
(October 11, 1824.)
Ye who come with hallowed Feet
To this grave, Time-honoured Seat,
Sit [ye] down in Passion’s Rest:
’Tis Peace who bids You here be bless’d!
Here is Silence and a Grove
That the pensive pleasures love:
Here are Meads and limpid Springs,
Where sportive Fancy strays and sings.
In living Rock the mossy Cave,
Silver Avon’s sleeping Wave, 10
Solitude and Conscience clear,
And Quiet and the Muse, are here.
Then sit ye down, and know my Rest:
’Tis Peace who bids you here be bless’d!
(By——)
ADDITION TO THE FOREGOING VERSES.
Gentle Peace, Commands like thine
Every feeling Heart incline
To sit and to enjoy the Good
Of thy delicious Solitude;
Within thy favourite Scene to dwell
Thy Poet has described so well; 20
And feel how sweet it is to dream
By silver Avon’s sober Stream,
While yet with silent Pace it moves
And prompts the Flight that Fancy loves.
Here we survey each lovely Place;
The Rock, the Stream, the Mead admire;
Dwell on each unobtrusive Grace;
Then to the mossy Cave retire;
And sit us down at thy Request,
O gentle Power, and feel us blest. 30
But No! we own there is a Debt
We ought to pay and rest not yet;
Before thy Call can be obeyed,
That sacred Debt must first be paid;
For can we all these Blessings share
And not enquire—how came they there?
[Ere] Peace upon the Bosom steals,
It would express the Joy it feels;
Although the Eye delights to rove
In Scenes that all the Muses love. 40
Though much of Good these Views impart,
’Tis other Good that fills the Heart:
’Tis inbred Worth and feelings Kind, }
With Manners that bespeak the Mind }
Enriched, informed, replete, refined; }
505And Hospitality, that lives
Delighted with the Joy it gives;
And native Ease, and pure good Sense,
And unalloyed Benevolence.
To him, to her, who kindly press 50
Each Friend to share what they possess,
To them be all the Good each Heart
Desires so largely to impart;
And ever to their Hearts may flow
The Tide of Blessings they bestow!
With them may Peace, who loves to dwell
In mossy Cave and lonely Cell—
The Peace of Nature, she who loves
The quiet Streams and shady Groves—
May she within her Entrance find, 60
And there be lasting Peace of Mind!
[ON A VIEW OF] BARFORD.
(October 11, 1824.)
When we the pictured Forms survey
Of Moated Hall or Castle grey,
Where ruined Walls and Towers declare
What once their noble Masters were—
Barons and Earls who, far from Court,
Prepared to meet their Country’s Foes,
Her lawful Sovereigns to support,
And lawless Tyrants to oppose—
Or when, presented to the Eye,
The antient Abbey we discry, 10
Whose sacred walls with awe profound
Possessed th’ admiring people round:
There Fancy holy Men perceive[s],
Who slowly pace the Choir alone,
Or there the pensive Spirit leave,
To chaunt the Grace and dine at Noon.
So this fair Artist, who has plan’d
This lovely Place with skilful Hand,
Has given us, by this outward Shew,
The sterling Worth within to know, 20
Here Memory dwells with vast Delight
On many an hospitable Deed;
While grateful Minds with Joy recite
From whom the bounteous Acts proceed.
A View, with so much Skill designed,
Shall through the Eye inform the Mind:
That Barford is the happy Seat
To which the Virtues all retreat,
And there, to every Grace allied,
With Peace and Elegance abide. 30
506
BROMPTON PARK COTTAGE.
(1824.)
Fair Cottage—if indeed that Name
To so much Beauty may belong—
Would I could give thee lasting Fame
And pay thee with a grateful Song!
Here Health, the Grace of Life, abides;
In every Walk and View is found;
O’er every Tree and Shrub presides,
And Breathes her Animation round.
Languid I came, as One who feels
Oppressed by long and slow Disease, 10
Which neither Time nor Medicine heals,
When Hope and Fancy fail to please.
“When shall these clouded Spirits rise,
And all their Native Force impart?
When shall gay Objects greet the Eyes,
And a light Spirit fill the Heart?”
I said, and heard or seemed to hear
In gentle Sounds a soft Reply:
“To Brompton Park,” it said, “repair;
And We shall meet, for there am I. 20
“The Lord of that fair Scene for Thee
Shall with delight the Way prepare,
All at thy sole Command to be,
Till I be thy Attendant there.
“For all in that pure Air is mine.
Go then, and there my Blessing seek!
My Spirit in Thine Eye shall shine,
My Roses blossom on Thy Cheek.”
Thus Health on slumbering Fancy wrought;
Thus promised We should quickly meet; 30
I came, as She required, and sought
And found Her in Her Favourite Seat.
This Scene Sophia’s Pencil drew,
Not for its many Charms Alone;
But much She felt, and well She knew,
What good this favourite Spot had done.
507Say Ye, who see Her gently move,
Who know Her many Powers to please,
Who hear the general Voice approve:
What need of adding Arts like These? 40
Yet these She has, and adds to these
Much that can win the Heart and bind;
Much that has power t’ attract and please,
To charm the Sense and rule the Mind.
Graceful in all she does, as they
Who round the Queen of Beauty move;
And, cautious, those should keep away
Who know and fear the Power of Love;
Who cannot in that Form and Face,
Where all is graceful, all is fair, 50
The noble Stem of Granby trace,
And see the Worth of Manners there!
’Tis her fair hand these forms bestow,
These flowing Lines to Nature true;
But who in equal Verse can shew
The Wonders that her Eyes can do?
[MOMENTARY GRIEF.]
(Aldborough, 1825.)
Creator, Father, Lord, it is Thy Will,
It is Thy Act; and Thou canst do [no ill;]
The time may come when [things] that [grievous seem]
Will be the Trouble of a feverish Dream;
And that which now such Grief and Sorrow brings
Shall be the Solace of the Heart it wrings.
We our Impressions from the Moment take,
And know not why we grieve, till we Awake.
LA FEMME JALOUSE (TENIERS).
(Nov. 1826.)
Who shall describe what Pains they share,
Whom Doubts and jealous Terrors prove;
Who in their every Look declare
How much they feel, how much they love!
508Thy Pencil here, fair Artist, shews
One Form the Tyrant-Passion wears;
But sure thy happier Bosom knows
No jealous Pangs, no trying Fears!
But, [though] thy Work demands our Praise,
Yet why thine own the Subject make? 10
Thou may’st indeed the Spirit raise,
But not thyself th’ Infection take.
Those Looks so pure, so bright, so clear,
Those ruby Lips and Eyes of Light,
Will many an anxious Hope and Fear
And many a jealous Pang excite.
Those Pangs which none can long conceal,
Disguise in Smiles or rule by Laws—
Some cause Them, but They cannot feel; 20
Some feel Them, but they cannot cause.
Thou from such cruel Pains art free,
By which the Heart of Man is tried;
For that which may be won by thee
[With] thee will, while it beats, abide.
[THE FLOWERS OF THE SPRING.]
The Crocus, new expanded, mourns
Her Fate, and many a tear is shed;
Lest, when Maria home returns,
Her transient Sweets should all be [sped].
The Vi’let yet remains unclos’d,
Nor gives her fragrance to the Gale;
But soon, to every Eye expos’d,
She must her balmy breath exhale.
Then come, ere yet the wandering Bee,
Has all her hoarded wealth possess’d; 10
While yet she holds her Sweets for thee
Enfolded in her Azure Vest!
For, tho’ we cannot yet describe
The Bloom that warmer Scenes unfold,
We now can boast a lovely Tribe
That bare their bosoms to the Cold.
These Children of the early Year
Must soon their rip’ning Charm[s] disclose;
Then, while they live, do thou appear;
In mercy, wait not for the rose! 20
509
[LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.]
And prophecied of years to come,
Whence hapless youth would date their Doom:
Is this her praise, is this her Due,
“Whom all admire, esteem, approve?
And, if you say the Charge is true,
“Is it her Crime, if Men will love?
If they will gaze where Bullets fly,
No wonder they are struck and die.”
Not so the Muse the Murd’ress reads;
Alas! she glories in her Deeds. 10
Observe her Looks, remark her Air:
Lo! all is wicked Triumph there.
Could I but think, on this same day,
She would with some Contrition pray,
That never she again would take
A Captive Heart or Conquest make;
But would with penitential Sighs
Veil that fair face, hide those bright Eyes;
Command that Wit, and try her best
To let poor gazing Mortals rest— 20
Then would I all these Charges blot,
And all the past should be forgot!
Alas! I see no Signs of Grace:
Still there is Triumph in her face;
And on this very Day we find
The same her Form, the same her Mind!
Then, since the Fair affects her Reign,
’Tis bootless that her Slaves complain.
At once, then, let them own her power,
And hail the Day and bless the Hour, 30
That to the World a Sovereign gave,
Who, though she will mankind enslave,
Yet rules she with so sweet a Sway,
’Tis Pride, ’tis pleasure to obey!—
510
[HOPELESS LOVE.]
Why wilt thou thus our Hopes defeat,
My too impatient, pleading heart?
Why shew in us such Joy to meet,
Yet fear in her ’tis Joy to part?
For what has our Impatience gain’d,
But more to fear the fate to come;
While, half-respected, half-disdain’d,
We trembling wait the dreaded Doom?
Can’st thou support that grievous State
That Hearts like thee too often prove, 10
The darkest, the severest Fate—
An endless, joyless, hopeless Love?—
She may indeed with pitying Smile
The pain she causes kindly meet;
May sweetly soothe our Woes awhile,
And hold us fast in Bondage sweet.
May yield the Hand, may drop the Tear,
And with Reproof Compassion blend—
Then, with harsh Looks and Words severe,
May drop into the distant Friend. 20
For then some happier Man may wake
The slumbering Wish, the new Desire;
When she the offer’d Hand may take
And give the Heart his prayers require.
And then what Pangs wilt thou endure,
When all the Friendship she can spare
Will grieve the Wound it cannot cure,
And mock the Love it will not share;
While his triumphant Looks convey
The proud Delight that fills his breast, 30
And those dear Eyes themselves betray
The Thoughts not yet by Words confest.
O Jealousy, severest Ill
That suffering Man is doom’d to know,
That so the Root of Joy can kill
The fruit again can never Grow!
Yet still there is a Way to heal
[All that] I suffer, dread, deplore;
Since, what is worse than Death to feel,
In Death will soon be felt no more. 40
511
[UNION.]
Say, when I leave thee, Love, wilt thou
Some moments to my Love allow,
And his in this fond Absence be
Who lives and who would die for thee?
And, when thy Friends adjure thee, “Come,
And leave thy pensive thoughts at home”—
Wilt thou reply, in that sweet tone:
“The Man who loves me thinks alone,
And thinks of me with many a sigh;
In all his Visions there am I; 10
For me one constant wish he forms,
To shield me from Life’s Cares and Storms;
Still Watchful at my Side to stand
And still present the guarding Hand.
For I can feel no Grief nor Care
But he would heal or he would share;
And never Joy could touch an Heart
That he would not to mine impart.
Then say, tho’ I confess not Love,
If this should not my Bosom move? 20
Shall I not his one Instant be,
Who lives and who would die for me?”
[REVIVAL.]
(Sept. 29–30.)
Say, can there be a second Spring
Thus fair and frail, so gay and brief;
Will Time the autumnal Blossom bring
To glow beside the withering Leaf?
No, no! the Voice of Nature cries:
“The Flower that’s dead for ever dies.”
Say, can a second Youth be felt
Again its freshness to impart;
To bid Life’s freezing Current melt;
To thrill with Joy the languid Heart? 10
No, no! Youth’s Warmth and rosy Hue
Shall Time no more in Life renew.
Yet Love shall have another Spring
And, more than Nature’s, fair and gay;
A second Hope of Blessing bring
That seemed with Youth to fly away:
It is the Mind that makes the Truth,
And feels again the Spring of Youth!
512Love can awaken all the Fires
That dormant in the Bosom lie; 20
Love every sleeping Sense inspires
To feel new Charms when Nature’s die;
He all around his Magic throws
And all that he [can give] bestows.
[METAMORPHOSIS.]
When Damon woo’d the growing Charms
Of lovely Celi[a] to his Arms,
He lived in Dread the While;
He trembled at a Rival’s Name
And felt Distress, if any came
To catch a transient Smile.
The gentle Maid at Length complied;
And “why is Damon hurt?” she cry’d,
“That I his Rivals see?”
“Because I dread,” [said he, “my Dear,] 10
[Thy Person] should to them appear
“As it appears to me.”—
They married, and their Love decay’d;
For then the Slattern Wife repaid
The Husband’s Scorn and Slight;
While he to other Scenes retir’d,
And kept her whom he once admir’d
From every Stranger’s Sight.
But “why,” the Wife indignant cry’d,
“Am I insulted and denied 20
Our Friends or Foes to see?”—
“Because I feel a prudent fear
[Thy] Person should to all appear
As it appears to me.”
JANE ADAIR.
Wert thou, my Love, some Vagrant Maid
Who beg’d from Door to Door,
And wert thou then of Vice afraid,
And good as well as poor:
I still would true and faithful prove
And Fortune’s Wrongs repair;
I’d lead thee to the Altar, Love,
And wed with Jane Adair.
513Wert thou a Lady of the Land,
Thy Charm should be my theme; 10
Still would I ask that lovely Hand,
Still woo thy fond Esteem;
Thro’ Rivals I would win my Way
To one so good and fair;
And do the Deeds I dare not say,
To wed with Jane Adair.
The Treasures that in Mountains hide
Adventurous Men explore;
Or deep in cavern’d Mines abide,
And dig the glittering ore; 20
And shall the Wretch who toils for gain
More persevering be
Than I, who labour to obtain
Love, Happiness, and thee?
[HORATIO.]
Might I from all Mankind select
The Friend, I would Horatio take.
What gentler Mind could I expect?
What nobler Conquest could I make?
Was he not One who, suffering all
Yet kept his rising Anger down;
Nor felt his Spirits rise or fall,
As Fortune pleas’d to smile or frown?
He was no Pipe on which she play’d,
As her capricious Hand inclin’d; 10
But that sweet Music that he made
Rose from his own harmonious Mind.
Aspiring, yet he never gave
Himself to watch a Patron’s Will;
Tender, but yet no Beauty’s Slave,
Nor Victim to coquettish Skill.
Humble, and with high Talents born;
Prepar’d alternate Fates to try;
A Roman holding Death in Scorn;
A Chieftain learning how to die. 20
“Something too much of this!” Yet, then
How shall I thoughts like mine explain?
How inexpert a Maiden’s pen,
Since more than this I write in vain!
514“But can the Friend of Denmark’s Prince
Such fond and strange Emotions give;
Whose Death or happen’d Ages since,
Or who was never known to live?”
Yes, Souls alike in Times appear
Far distant, minds of mould divine: 30
The Friend whom Hamlet priz’d so dear,
[Horatio—is a friend of mine.]
[JACOB AND RACHEL.]
When Jacob with his Rachel fed
The flock from year to year,
To him how sweet the Seasons fled;
And so it seem’d to her.
But wretched was the Shepherd’s fate,
And sorely was he tried,
When he beheld, in sober state,
That Leah was his Bride.
But Leah, who to Jacob seem’d
A Wife he could not prize, 10
Had yet the Virtues that redeem’d
The weakness of her Eyes.
But Jacob’s love, and Laban’s flock,
And Labours for their Sake,
Took all the Terror from the Shock
That Care and Time could take.
It was poor Rachel’s harder part
Her Love, her Lord to [lose],
And in an Instant rob her Heart
Of Life’s delicious Views. 20
She ofttimes up the mountain went,
With bitter thoughts opprest,
And weeping saw the Shepherd’s Tent
Her Sister now possess’d.
Leah, she knew, would faithful prove,
And Jacob would give Truth applause;
And, when he once had vow’d to love,
He for his vow would find a Cause.—
Thou too art wed to Duty stern,
And to thy Vow wilt prove sincere; 30
And I, like Rachel, doom’d to [yearn],
Victim to Virtues I revere.
But she had Hope the Time would come,
And Jacob would for her be free;
Mine is an ever-during Doom,
And not a Hope remains for me.
515
[DAVID AND SAUL.]
When David fled from Saul oppress’d,
Who should have held the Shepherd dear,
He carried Patience in his breast,
And Conscience light, a heavenly Guest;
He fear’d not, nor had Cause of fear.
But, when he fled the holy Place
In horror from his rebel Son,
He carried Terror and Disgrace;
Nor could a gleam of Comfort trace
In all the battles he had won. 10
But, as upon his Throne he shook,
With present Love and Glory crown’d,
The one stern word the Prophet spoke
At once into his Bosom broke
To fright, alarm him, and confound.
Thus injur’d, I my Peace retain
And feel from Guilt and Terror free;
But, should I injure Man again,
I should in fear and Dread remain,
Tho’ cheer’d with wealth and blest by thee. 20
ENIGMA.
(Sovereign.)
I was known in old Time; and yet, strange to [relate],
’Tis a very few years from my very first [state].
When I travel—’tis seldom—my Way you may trace;
Yet I’m constantly secretly changing my Place;
I’m weak, and I’m wise; I have Praise and have Blame;
Yet at all times my Value and Worth is the same.
I Nobles create; and yet any of these
May consume and abuse me as much as they please.
Though I Millions command, yet the Poorest may gain
And possess me awhile, though they seldom retain. 10
Tho’ I’ve Equals ten thousand, all over the Land,
Yet One Crown I possess and have four at Command.
One part of my Character All Men may read, }
And that only from such Contradictions is freed: }
Who counterfeits me, stakes his Life on the Deed. }
516
CHARADE.
(Modesty.)
My first, a fashion; next, a place
That fashion never came to grace;
But few who dwell in Houses fair
Thrive like the well-fed Beings there.
My whole, a Virtue and a Grace
Adorns the Mind, [adorns] the face.
[MATILDA.]
I tell you chearful Tales, with all my Heart—
Tales meet for Feasts, with idle Mirth and Glee;
But Woes come in, and they will claim a part—
A woeful part—with my sad muse and me.
Matilda was sitting at Brandon-Hall,
And gazed on a River that rolled in its pride,
Like an Arm of the Sea—if aloud you would call,
You could not be heard to the farthermost side.
She there saw the Ships in their Majesty glide,
And Boats born along by the Sail and the Oar; 10
And her Colin was there, and the boy she denied;
But he said, “Let him come—on my Life, I restore.
“Do give me the Boy, and no longer reprove;
And, if I return him not safe to your Arms,
The Blame shall be mine; and the penalty, love,
For giving that Bosom such painful Alarms,
Shall be to be banished and torn from your Charms;
Nor think of [the] Danger, or aught that affright;
But, assured that my Love shall protect him from Harms,
Give place for the Day—we’ll be happy at Night.” 20
She again took her Glass; and the Boat she could trace,
For the Gunwale was painted in white and in blue;
She distinguished the pair whom she longed to embrace,
And the Features of Colin were full in her View.
Then awhile from the Pleasure she sadly withdrew,
And forc’d her Attention on trifles that past;
“Oh, harder it blows!” she exclaim’d—it was true,
And Clouds roll’d on Clouds by the Strength of the Blast.
517She gazes intensely; “[’Tis] danger,” she cried;
And a Youth who had been a whole Summer at sea 30
Repeats the word “Danger!” in wonderful Pride,
And asks her what manner of “Danger” could be.
She knew not, but doubted; the Shore on the Lea
Was lost in her troubles—she wished them on shore:
There in Cold they would rest, but in safety would be,
And the Tide would her Treasures in safety restore.
I dwell on the Confines of Anguish, but still
Must plunge in the Midst; for the wife has again
The Tube in her Hand! ’Tis her Dread, but her Will,
To fix on the Object that gives her such pain. 40
She finds to relinquish the Sight is in vain,
And this moment she gazes; but, what to behold,
It pierces her Soul, it unsettles her Brain—
The Boat is o’erset!—and her Story is told.
She saw both the Husband and Child in the boat;
She saw the effect of the Blast as it blew;
And she sees in her Sorrow their Bodies [afloat],
And she draws in her Madness the Boat and its Crew.
’Tis a Grief to behold her so calmly pursue
Her Tale that she tells, and is eager to tell; 50
And she says, when she tells it—“Indeed, it is true—
And I wonder I bear it so calmly and well!”
THE PRODIGAL GOING.
What! live for ever buried thus,
Thus all the Hope of Youth destroy—
Here the poor Business to discuss
Of a poor Farm! a Slave’s Employ!
For ever to be held a Boy
And leave to live of Man implore—
No! let me Life’s delights enjoy,
And be a Man, or be no more
A Wretch to wail in Woe!
My Spirit prompts, my Heart desires, 10
My Will consents, my Youth requires
And I will go—
Will go where happy beings dwell,
Unchain’d, unawed, and uncontrolled;
Where no harsh, rigid Minds repell,
With Tempers stern and Bosoms cold,
The Light, the Gay, the Warm, the Bold,
But Love meets Love, Desire Success;
Where none are frigid Maxims told;
518Th’ aspiring Spirit to depress 20
By Prudence, Pleasure’s Foe;
And Mary too, capricious Maid,
With Smiles alone invites my stay;
But Timid, cautious, cold, afraid,
For more than Smiles I vainly pray.
Fond, Teizing, trilling Love, away!
No longer will I sigh and whine;
No longer doat from day to day;
Henceforth the genuine Love be mine,
That spurns and dreads Delay! 30
’Tis Nature’s strong, prevailing Call
That pleads within, that pleads with all,
That I obey!
So thought the Youth who from his home retired, }
Because it gave not all his Soul required; }
For strong his Passions were, and quickly were they fired. }
Affection reasoned; but the Youth replied
To reasoning Love, “I will not be denied!”
ON A DRAWING OF CADLANDS.
Oft as the Eye on this fair View
Shall gaze, on every part intent,
Shall Memory, to Affection true,
Her Object to the Mind present.
These Lights and Shades, with Skill combin’d,
Aid us to see the real Place;
And, pleased with her Employ, the Mind
That Scene of Joy delights to trace.
Daughter of Rutland, ’twas thy Hand
Gave us this lovely Place to see; 10
But who shall Grace and Skill command
To give as just a View of thee?
To paint thee fair is not enough,
With every pleasing Grace endued;
But he must give of Genius proof,
And shew thee gracious, kind and good.
I saw thee in thy Infant Days,
When every Charm a promise made,
That thou wouldst merit lasting Praise—
And lo! the Promise more than paid. 20
519I saw thee in thy youthful Bloom
With much delight, but no Surprise;
It was another Rutland come
To cheer our hearts and charm our Eyes.
Fairest among the Fair was she;
And ardent is my Hope that thou
In thy maternal years [may’st] be
What she, her Sex’s Pride, is now.
[ON] A DRAWING, BY THE HON. MRS SMITH (ELIZA FORRESTER).
When we behold a Landscape well designed,
Our praise at once we on the Work bestow;
We see the image of so just a Mind,
And ’tis the Merit, not the Man, we know.
But when we learn from where our Pleasure springs,
And whose the Skill that here the Proof has placed:
This to our Mind a double Pleasure brings,
For ’tis Affection looks as well as Taste.
They who have Wealth may hire an Artist’s Hand.
And may the Gallery and the Hall supply; 10
But Love alone can Views like this command:
Affection gives what Wealth can never buy.
Pictures and Prints the Wealthy may obtain
And, as their Pleasure dictates, may remove;
But these fair Views for ever shall remain,
The rich Memorials of Taste and Love.
These flowing lines confess Eliza’s Hand;
She formed the Wood, the Water, and the Sky;
For she can all the pleasing arts command
That soothe the Fancy and that charm the Eye. 20
All the fair Arts that give a Grace to Life
Are hers: she sings, she speaks, she moves with Grace;
Nor charms she less, the Mother and the Wife,
And still maintains the Virtues of her Race.
Happy the fair Possessor of that Skill—
When Life’s Endowment, but not Life’s Employ;
When used for Pleasure and resigned at Will,
The aid of Home-felt and domestic Joy!
520
FOR THE DRAWING OF THE LADY IN THE GREEN MANTLE.
(See Sir Walter Scott’s Redgauntlet.)
A lady who concealed her Name,
Nor let her Face be fully seen,
To her admiring [Counsel] came,
Veil’d in an Hood and Mantle green.
All that he saw, the Youth approved;
But much there was he could not trace:
He wished the Envious Veil removed
That hid the Beauties of that Face.
All that Sir Walter’s page has told—
The Air, the lovely Form—are here;
But still we covet to behold
Those Features that do not appear.
To that fair form belongs a face,
Could we behold it, just as fair;
But how shall we those Features trace,
Conceal’d from View with so much Care?
How shall we match that Air and Grace,
And just the lovely features find:
That all shall say, that beauteous Face
To just that Form should be assigned?
Yes! I can certain Means devise,
To make the face and form agree;
A Mirror place before thine Eyes,
And draw the face that looks on thee.
Be there those Locks of waving Gold;
Be there those Eyes so clear and bright;
That Smile which all with joy behold,
Those Cheerful Looks that all delight—
Then, though the Form and Air were such
As would our highest Praise exceed,
We should admire the Face as much,
[And] say how well the whole agreed.
521
JOSEPH’S DREAM.
When Joseph, by his Brethren sold,
Was with his Masters on their Way,
Prest by sad thoughts and dreading to behold
The rising Light of each succeeding Day:
A Night there came when, burdened with his Woes,
His Fears and Wrongs, he felt inclined to rest;
When Sleeping Visions on his Fancy rose,
And Wonders on his troubled Spirit prest.
At first his Thoughts were all confused:
A fair young Slave was in his dream, 10
Who like himself did seem,
But whom he saw, now trusted, then accused—
One often tried and ever faithful found;
But still in Prison bound.
Anon, a City to his View arose;
Then a fair Dame, and then a Clank of Chains;
Alternate Smiles and Frowns of Friends and Foes;
Temptations, Trials, Favours, Perils, Pains;
But in each shifting Scene
Was he, that self-same Youth, still virtuous, still serene. 20
All else past off like Summer Clouds;
And that fair Youth, a Slave no more,
Was now attended by applauding Crowds,
And Robes of royal State he wore;
And ever, as this Youth the Dreamer viewed,
He seemed his very Self to [see];
Save that this other Self was new indued
With Power that his must never be;
For how could one be great, who felt he was not free!
He saw that other self beside a Throne, 30
Ennobled and admired of noble Men;
He saw him too, retired, alone,
Virtuous, and still more happy, then.
He seemed as fitted for his State,
And not by Love of Greatness led;
But as a Man advanced by Fate
To be a mighty People’s Head;
For, though so high, so near a Throne,
He served his God aright and worshipped Him alone.
Then he again beheld that Youth 40
With Wonder and increased delight!
For the young Dreamer saw the inward Truth,
And saw that all he did was just and right,
Acting as ever in his Mother’s sight;
And much he loved, but knew not why,
As Hearts are drawn by secret Chain;
When soon he heard a Voice that said, “Draw nigh,
And see what Truth and Piety obtain!”
522While yet the Voice was heard, behold, there came
A Princess fair, or one in princely Guise; 50
The sleeping Shepherd feels a sudden flame,
And in his Slumber sighs.
Yet, when he saw that noble Youth address
The royal Maiden in a lover’s Style,
He felt no jealous Pangs his Heart oppress,
But joyful saw the soft, assenting Smile.
Scenes change.—The Pair are wedded and are blest;
He ruled the Land, but sterile was the Earth—
Dry as the parchèd Rock, yet not distress’d—
An unseen Plenty came upon the Dearth, 60
Like a full Stream; and lo! as Merchants came
A mingled race, to buy their Households food,
All praise his foresight; all revere his Name—
The Great, the Wise, the Bountiful and Good!
Then by that noble Youth, behold, there stood—
Strange Fate!—his Brothers, trembling at their Lot.
The Lordly Man them question’d; they replied:
“Our Father lives; One Brother, and beside
That one”—they looked abashed—“one more, my Lord, is not.”
He then beheld his Father and his Race, 70
Who found Protection from that bounteous hand.
Jacob had Honour, and his Brethren Grace,
And Joseph saw them in that Presence stand.
Strange joy he felt; for in his Dream
He as that princely Youth did seem;
And felt that Glory new of all the Scene.
But, as the Tidings of that Glory rose,
The gorgeous Scene appeared about to close;
For all the People shout, and all the Host
Of Egypt join’d, along the Red-Sea Coast, 80
In one loud peal of Praise; and was it joy?
Oh, no! it was the call his Masters gave,
That from his Vision drew the Hebrew Boy
To know himself a Slave!
While on his Ear that Shout of Triumph broke,
Joseph unwilling to the Call awoke;
He saw far off the Egyptian Turrets gleam,
And wept his cruel Fate, and longed again to dream.
523
[REST IN THE LORD!]
Ye blessed of your gracious Lord,
Felt you not, in that glorious Day,
By Force of that all-powerful Word
Your Nature’s Evil die away?
Ye must your Saviour’s Mercy feel,
Who came the World’s Disease to heal.
Felt ye not, at the powerful word,
The Innocence of Man restored;
Was it not to your Souls revealed,
The fountain of your Sin was healed? 10
Did ye not feel the Saviour’s Love,
With such peculiar Favour graced;
Lifted the World of Sin above;
In Mercy’s Ark securely placed;
From all that vexes, wounds and harms,
Protected in your Saviour’s Arms?
Felt you, as Life advanced, the Sin
That to our better Nature cleaves;
Or was there not the Guard within,
His Strength who in his Lord believes; 20
Did not that healing Touch controul
The Evil that assaults the Soul?
Knew ye not, as your Race ye ran,
And felt the Passions’ strong alarms,
That He who came and died for Man
Had blest and held you in His Arms?
Ye were a favour’d few; but all
By Frailty griev’d, by Sin opprest,
Who hear and who obey the Call—
“Come unto me”—shall find their Rest. 30
But Sinners who that Mercy seek
As little Children must appear;
Their Misery must their Wishes speak—
Repentant, humble, meek, sincere.
Let such appear with faithful Hearts
And feel the Hope that Faith imparts,
And they shall find that holy Rest
In their Redeemer’s mercy blest.
524
AND HE SAID UNTO HER “THY SINS ARE FORGIVEN.”
St Luke, vii. [48.]
Man may the Body’s Pains remove;
May soothe the Mind’s inferior Pain;
May the sad Spirit’s sighs reprove,
And bid the wretched smile again:
But, who the Soul of Sin would free,
Must be commissioned, Lord, from Thee!
Kings of the Earth have touched the Frame
Of Men diseased, and they have thought
By calling on Thy gracious Name
That they the Body’s Cure have wrought: 10
But ’tis Thy Word alone that brings
Health to the Soul, O King of Kings!
“Let there be Light!” th’ Almighty said,
And o’er the World came flashing Light.
“Let there be Light!” the Saviour [said],
And straight the Blind received his Sight.
At Jesus’ Word the Darkness fled
525