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 a poem: 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 1 1 ■ - <&i\0V £M 
 
 Pindar. Pyth. 2. 
 
 Hott&on : 
 PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON, 
 
 NO. 62, ST. PAUL'S church-yard; 
 AXD NO. 3, WATERLOO-PLACE, PALL-MALL. 
 
 1822. 
 
Printed by R. Gilbert, St. John's-Square, London. 
 
PART I. 
 
ANALYSIS OF THE FIRST PART. 
 
 The influence of Fancy upon our happiness — Her reveries and illu- 
 sions constitute the charm of early youth; during which, our 
 situation, deprived of these, would be intolerable — And though, 
 as experience forces reality upon us, her power to confer felicity 
 is greatly diminished, she is still mighty to console amid the 
 miseries of life — This is exemplified in the lighter evils of solitude 
 and unvarying labour ; and in the more serious calamities of dis- 
 appointment — exile — imprisonment — separation from those we 
 love through absence or death — madness. 
 
THE 
 
 PLEASURES OF FANCY, 
 
 PART I. 
 
 •**++f-+-*-+-r-***^+*-+ 
 
 Darkness descends, and cold the tempest, blows 
 
 O'er the lost hunter in Siberian snows ! 
 
 As the last ray the dim horizon stay'd, 
 
 Dies amid closing clouds, and all is shade ; 
 
 As pale, bewildered, and aghast, he stands, 5 
 
 Strains his wild eyes, and wrings his freezing hands ; 
 
 Thinks on his wife, his babes, for ever lost, 
 
 All — but a grave amid the fields of frost ; 
 
 How joys the wretch, as rash upon his sight 
 
 The fiery banners of the northern night! 10 
 
 Light o'er the frozen wild he bounds away, 
 
 And scarce perceives the absence of the day. 
 
 B 
 
 M 
 
2 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Thus o'er our joys when clouds of misery roll, 
 
 And shroud i« r.ight the sunshine of the soul, 
 
 Thus Fancy bids her glitt'ring visions glow, 15 
 
 To cheer the Pilgrim in a world of woe. 
 
 Neglected Power ! whence do thy handmaids shine 
 In circlet rich, while scarce a gem is thine ? 
 Why deathless praise may Hope and Mem'ry claim, 
 While not a lyre is taught thy mightier name I 20 
 
 These the mere outline of ideas give, 
 But Oh ! 'tis thine to bid that outline live ! 
 In shapeless shade the sister train must stand, 
 Till colour'd, group'd, taught action, by thy hand ; 
 Then in the mind distinct and fair they glow, 25 
 
 As the substantial forms from which they flow ; 
 Then in the mind those fairy scenes create, 
 Where mourners rest them from the storms of Fate ; 
 Scenes which afford the sick'ning soul relief, 
 When the world's joys are insults to her grief. 30 
 
 O hackney'd long in labour and in strife, 
 In all the cares, and all the woes of life, 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 3 
 
 Dost thou ne'er quit the present with a sigh 
 To muse a moment on the years gone by 1 
 I know thou dost : and as, to Fancy's eyes, 35 
 
 The faded colours of those years arise, 
 I know thou art as he who views the shore, 
 Which, toil-spent, drowning, he must reach no more. 
 And thou, e'en thou, to whom 'tis giv'n to know 
 The utmost fame or fortune can bestow,^ 40 
 
 In frequent, fervent, and unmingled joy, 
 Is not the man a beggar to the boy ? 
 Does not the happiest grandsire fondly raise 
 To youth an altar of incessant praise ; 
 And loathe the present as degenerate times, 45 
 
 Fertile alone of follies and of crimes ? 
 To independence, wisdom, without claim, 
 Calm'd passions, rest from toil, discretion, fame ; 
 Barr'd e'en from common freedom, why is this 
 Remember'd, hallow'd, as the age of bliss ? 50 
 
 From Fancy's magic spring the charms of youth, 
 And still 'tis Eden till she yields to Truth. 
 
 b2 
 
4 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Then Joy's gay fabrics, towering to the skies, 
 
 As dreams detected vanish from our eyes ; 
 
 Few too, and faint, the gracious forms appear, 55 
 
 Of Honour, Justice, Friendship, Love sincere ; 
 
 While in their stead arise, on every side, 
 
 Fraud, Treach'ry, Hatred, Selfishness, and Pride. 
 
 No more Content in ev'ry cottage reigns, 
 
 But Sorrow droops, Pain groans, and Want complains. 
 
 For Merit crown'd, lo ! Disappointment weeps ! 61 
 
 Where Candour smil'd, the serpent Envy creeps \ 
 
 As thus each day some dear illusion flies, 
 
 And forms we pity or detest arise ; 
 
 For sunny scenes, where ev'ry flow'r was found 65 
 
 Which ever blossom'd on enchanted ground, 
 
 As thus appears a bleak and cheerless waste, 
 
 Scarcely by aught but Grief and Trouble trac'd ; 
 
 Life's op'ning morn, as years on years pass by, 
 
 Is still remember'd with a tenderer sigh 70* 
 
 And aught then lov'd is welcome, as it wakes 
 
 Ideal forms that Rapture ne'er forsakes. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 5 
 
 The cuckow calling from his bow'r unseen, 
 
 The schoolboy's noisy gambol on the green, 
 
 The vagrant minstrel piping thro' the street, 75 
 
 The dancing dog, the monkey's varying feat, 
 
 The startling burst of Christmas carol shrill, 
 
 The aisle o'er-arch'd with hollies green and still, 
 
 All yet are dear, for all a moment raise 
 
 The friendly spirits of departed days ! 80 
 
 Faint music breathes, unwonted peace we find, 
 
 And pleasing shadows flit athwart the mind ! 
 
 But who can paint the feelings, if, at last, 
 
 A weary length of toil and trial past, 
 
 Again those paths our pilgrim feet explore, 85 
 
 Where the boy wander'd, till a boy no more? 
 
 Yet whence that gazing trance as they appear, 
 
 That holy calm, and that delicious tear? 
 
 Is it that there, beneath a stranger's pow'r, 
 
 O'eraw'd we sat, and toil'd from hour to hour ? 90 
 
 Or that so oft the schoolboy tyrant rose, 
 
 To mar our sports, or trouble our repose ? 
 
6 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Is it that there no kindred form was near 
 
 Oar wants to succour, our complaints to hear ? 
 
 Or that dependent, weak, obscure, we stray'd, 95 
 
 With the poor insect humming thro' the shade ? 
 
 No : 'tis because, at ev'ry turn, we meet 
 
 Th' aerial forms that render'd life so sweet. 
 
 What tho' no more they rush upon our sight, 
 
 Gay as the rainbow, laughing with delight ! 100 
 
 What tho' their friendship can no longer bind, 
 
 Or veil the ghastly shapes that scowl behind ! 
 
 What tho' their song, which bade our youth rejoice, 
 
 Is now the accent of a still small voice, 
 
 Which scarce can greet us from the echoing hill, 105 
 
 Sigh in the breeze, or murmur in the rill ! 
 
 Yet not the richest gift in Fortune's bow'r, 
 
 Nor aught on earth can yield so sweet an hour. 
 
 Each object thrills, each gale breathes peace around, 
 
 Each slight memorial stands on holy ground ; 110 
 
 And if rude Interest, or capricious Taste, 
 
 Aught in the scene hath alter'd or displac'd, 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 7 
 
 How do we mourn as sacrilege the deed, 
 And from the sight with pious haste recede ! 
 
 Ah ! soft Enchantress ! wherefore is thy reign 115 
 
 But the sure pledge of sorrow and of pain ? 
 Why gleam thy glitt'ring visions of delight 
 But to disclose the horrors of our night? 
 O that I still those visions could pursue, 
 Bright as when first they rush'd upon my view, 1*20 
 
 And led to wander in a world my own, 
 The wiles and miseries of mankind unknown. 
 True there are some, how falsely term'd the Wise ! 
 Who dare those glitt'ring visions to despise : 
 Yet what is all they boast, and all they know ? 125 
 
 The mournful trophies of triumphant Woe ! 
 Truth, too severe, bids Joy and Fancy cease, 
 And Wisdom watches on the grave of Peace. 
 No friend to man is she whose touch destroys 
 The painted frostwork of ideal joys. 130 
 
 Take, take your wisdom, but give me the years 
 Which many a holy whisper still endears; 
 
8 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 When ev'ry scene romantic dreams inspir'd, 
 To softness melted, or to glory fir'd ! 
 
 Thou, whose footsteps love to stray 135 
 
 By the grove or misty stream. 
 Ere the woodman's early lay 
 
 Wakes thee from thy holy dream : 
 
 Thou, whom noontide oft espies 
 
 Deep in trance extatic laid, 140 
 
 Where the lonely ring-dove sighs 
 
 From the screen wood's inmost shade ; 
 
 ©' 
 
 Thou, who still, at evening hours, 
 
 Sittest musing o'er the deep, 
 While his song the linnet pours 145 
 
 Sweetly down the yellow steep : 
 
 Come, as when thy visions wild 
 
 First my vacant hours beguii'd : 
 
 Give again the scenes to view, 
 
 Hallow'd long by Hope as true. 150 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 9 
 
 Now with bards of old I rove 
 Slowly thro' the laurel grove ; 
 Where, with music wild and sweety 
 Forms unseen our presence greet ! 
 
 Now I hear the shriek of woe I 155 
 
 Mark the beacon's fiery glow ! 
 And with Freedom's children go 
 To guard a nation's liberty ! 
 Deep amid yon hollow dell, 
 
 Heard ye not the battle yell ? 160 
 
 Twas the fierce and frantic knell 
 Of many a son of chivalry. 
 
 And tho' that dell is lonely now, 
 
 And waves again in silent shade, 
 Yet long shall Fame, with gen'rous glow, 165 
 
 Record the deeds she there survey'd. 
 And when of those to glory dear 
 
 The bard of other times shall tell, 
 I too, perhaps, shall claim a tear, 
 
 As one who fought for freedom well. 170 
 
10 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 But who the form that seems from far 
 To beckon me from scenes of war ? 
 'Tis she who taught my heart to know 
 
 What hearts alone can learn ; 
 What once shall visit most below, 175 
 
 But never shall return. 
 
 The tender thought, the tender sigh, 
 
 The silent tongue, the speaking eye, 
 
 The scene, in twilight's fav'ring shade, 
 
 Where Love his holy trust betray'd : 180 
 
 The scarlet blush, the trembling frame, 
 
 With which was heard the pray'r to bless ; 
 The wand'ring, downcast look of shame, 
 
 That spoke at length a timid Yes : 
 And then the warm, but pure embrace, 185 
 
 The throb of mutual bliss, 
 The almost painful ecstasy 
 
 Of Love's far dearest kiss : — 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 11 
 
 These, with the scenes that Fancy plann'd, 
 
 And fondly hop'd to find, 190 
 
 Like shades of long departed friends, 
 Arise before the mind. 
 
 They rise — but dim and distant now, 
 
 No more with golden tints they glow ! 
 
 Mournful they look, methinks, and strange, 195 
 
 Since I beheld them last ; 
 And I should weep, could tears exchange 
 
 The present for the past. 
 Yet blame I not the flattering Pow'r 
 
 That told the tale of youth : 200 
 
 Small was the crime that stole an hour 
 
 From sorrow and from truth. 
 And Oh ! did man at first descry 
 
 Life's melancholy gloom, 
 He sure would heave no second sigh, 205 
 
 His cradle were his tomb. 
 Hence Fancy's visionary rays 
 Gleam brightly on his earlier days ; 
 
12 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 And fewer, fainter, tho' they glow, 
 
 Shall cheer him in his latest woe. 210 
 
 Lend, lend thy vivid pencil, as we trace 
 Thy soothing influence o'er our wretched race. 
 
 Mark him, the village Pastor, once renown'd, 
 Where Cam or Isis pours o'er classic ground ; 
 But far from former honours now confin'd, 215 
 
 Where he shall never greet a kindred mind : 
 But simple hinds shall meet from day to day, 
 Or purse-proud rustics, ruder far than they. 
 Say, when his flock no longer claim his cares, 
 Their woes to solace, or to aid their pray'rs ; 220 
 
 When from the page, fatigu'd, he turns his eye, 
 Or views exhausted volumes with a sigh ; 
 When he hath sought amid his shrubs and flow'rs, 
 But fail'd to find one claim upon his hours ; 
 How shall the hermit mind that fiend elude 225 
 
 Whose listless touch would poison solitude ? 
 Yet lo ! he smiles ! for Fancy's pitying hand 
 Wakes the light footsteps of her elfin baud ! 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 13 
 
 Bright with a thousand tints the Sylphids rise, 
 
 His paths enliven, and beguile his sighs ; 230 
 
 Lead thro' each long past scene, with soft controul, 
 
 Proud to his heart, or soothing to his soul ; 
 
 Or bid bright visions flit before his view, 
 
 That never were, that never can be, true. 
 
 Mark too the man, who treads, from day to day, 235 
 The same dull round, and toils his life away. 
 Still to the glebe were every thought confin'd, 
 Painful alike to body and to mind, 
 Soon to disgust, fatigue, his soul must yield, 
 Where now he whistles, jocund, o'er the field. 240 
 
 Whose arts his hard, unvarying task beguile, 
 And gild the brows of Labour with a smile 1 
 Unthank'd, unheeded, Fancy still is nigh ! 
 Thro' her the hours, that else were ages fly ! 
 She, o'er his path, casts pictures from her veil, 245 
 
 And bids them vary with the varying gale ! — 
 Smile not, thou proud One ! simple tho' they be, 
 Know they are dear to him, as thine to thee. 
 
14 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 If visions loftier, or more refin'd, 
 
 Arise to thine, than to the rustic's mind, 250 
 
 Thine own enjoy, nor his too meanly prize, 
 
 As pleasing surely, and perhaps as wise. 
 
 Nor deem the friendly Pow'r shall strive in vain 
 To sooth the spirit in severer pain.^ 
 
 Chill'd by neglect, or frozen by despair, 255 
 
 When Hope forsakes us for some milder air ; 
 When sad Remembrance serves but to contrast 
 The mournful present with the happier past ; 
 The forms of woe she oft conceals awhile, 
 And Misery wonders at the mourner's smile. 260 
 
 Unhappy White ! when, even in their birth, 
 Misfortune blasted all thy hopes on earth ; 
 When those who should have cheer'd, obscur'd thy day, 
 And those who would have lov'd thee were away ; 
 Perplex'd, disgusted, harass'd without end, 265 
 
 By all forsaken, still thou hadst a friend : 
 A friend, who stole from Sorrow many an hour, 
 And scatter'd heartsease in her thorny bow'r. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 15 
 
 Me too that friend has sooth'd ; and, by her aid, 
 
 I oft have met thee in yon cloister'd shade, 270 
 
 Or by the river's brink, or plashy moor, 
 
 Unmark'd, alone ; for thou, alas ! wast poor : 
 
 Yet not alone, for Fancy still was near, 
 
 And many a sigh arrested, many a tear. 
 
 Now, now she wafts thee to the wide domain, 275 
 
 Where ancient Fiction holds her shadowy reign! 
 
 Here, at each step, new wonders, in amaze, 
 
 Thine eye with pity or delight surveys ! 
 
 Now to those classic scenes thy steps are brought, 
 
 Where sages reason'd, and where heroes fought ! 280 
 
 Tho' by the ruin'd fane, the roaring flood, 
 
 The silent fountain, or the waving wood, 
 
 The rank-grass whistles, and the tempest raves, 
 
 Around their nameless or forgotten graves ; 
 
 Where'er she roves, with visionary tread, 285 
 
 The spell of Fancy wakes them from the dead ! 
 
 Say, wilt thou wander, where, in bowery groves, 
 
 Serene and mild the Pagan martyr roves ; 
 
ltf THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 The ruins trace where ruin'd Marius stray 'd, 
 
 Or muse with Tully in his fav'rite shade ? 290 
 
 In wild Vaucluse, still shadows faintly sigh, 
 
 As strains unearthly float in sorrow by : 
 
 Still chant the forms of some who lov'd too well, 
 
 The midnight hymn in Heloisa's cell. 
 
 Or wilt thou mark, at eve, the visions wild, 295 
 
 Which haunt the grave of Fancy's fav'rite child ? 
 
 Here holy Henry finds repose from pain, 
 
 Where none, sincerely seeking, seek in vain : 
 
 There Richard rushes from his couch unblest, 
 
 And owns the terrors of a murderer's rest ! 300 
 
 Here, to the storms unpitying, frantic Lear 
 
 Yells the mad laugh that beggars Reason's tear : 
 
 There, darkly greeting o'er the web of death, 
 
 The hags of night weave murders for Macbeth ! 
 
 Lo ! at that name, the wizard scenes arise, 305 
 
 Where in the dust the shield of Ossian lies : 
 
 The lake's wide azure, and the murky wood, 
 
 The blasted oak flung rudely o'er the flood ; 
 
THE PLEASURES OP FANCY. 17 
 
 n riie runic monument, the mountain cave, 
 
 Where spirits shriek'd, and beckon'd to the grave ; 810 
 
 The glens that echo'd to the war-hound's yell, 
 
 And the grey stones that mark where heroes fell! 
 
 Then to those ancient halls our feet are led, 
 
 Where, in rude pomp, the feast of shells they spread ; 
 
 While bann'd the watch-dog 1 , as he heard from far 315 
 
 The chiefs returning from the chase or war ; 
 
 And warn'd the maid, the beauty, from her bow'r, 
 
 To yield its sunshine to the genial hour ! 
 
 But silent now the mighty mansions lie, 
 
 In ruins buried from the pilgrim's eye : 320 
 
 Yet Fancy still, when midnight breezes rise, 
 
 And the red meteor shoots along the skies, 
 
 Views a blind warrior wand'ring in the gloom, 
 
 And hears a harp that murmurs of the tomb. 
 
 There still, 'tis said, the war- song's distant swell 325 
 
 Oft loud, and louder, pours along the dell ! 
 
 Heard then are hosts advancing in their might, 
 
 And all the fierce confusion of the fight. 
 
18 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Neighs in his pride the war-horse, twangs the bow, 
 
 The rattling car down dashes on the foe ; 330 
 
 Lance clangs with lance, with falchions falchions clash, 
 
 Groans the tough buckler, helm and hauberk crash. 
 
 Confus'd retreat, the chieftain's rallying cries, 
 
 The yell of vengeance as that chieftain dies, 
 
 The toil-spent courser gasping hard for breath, 335 
 
 The shout of triumph, shrieks and groans of death : 
 
 As these all wildly thunder in the gale, 
 
 The browsing folds close, startled, in the vale ; 
 
 The watch-dog barks, the herdsman in amaze 
 
 The mountain height, and every ridge surveys ; 340 
 
 Yet nought perceiving but the torrent's roar, 
 
 And wild-flowers waving lonely as before, 
 
 Swift to the hamlet flies he, panting, pale, 
 
 And spreads at once his terrors and his tale. 
 
 Poor boy ! in vain the visionary maid 345 
 
 For thee the wonders of her power display 'd ; 
 
 For who can health to souls diseased impart, 
 
 Or bind the fibres of a broken heart? 
 
THE PLEASURES OP FANCY. 19 
 
 Yet she, where all were faithless, still was true, 
 
 And gave the little joy thy bosom knew; 350 
 
 Nor e'en in death forsook thee : — o'er thy grave 
 
 She bids the violet droop, the willow wave, 
 
 And oft hath led, to weep and wander there, 
 
 The Good, the Great, the Tender, and the Fair. 
 
 Farewel ! when one like thee again appears, 355 
 
 More be his joys, and fewer be his tears: 
 
 Safe from the world I leave thee to repose, 
 
 And follow Fancy to far different woes. 
 
 Though in his absence Gallic beauty sighs, 
 And dims in tears the laughter of her eyes ; 360 
 
 His stay tho' melting melodies invite 
 And all the forms of elegant delight ; 
 Why strays yon English exile from the scene, 
 When evening blushes o'er the wave serene I 
 He strays to taste, with pensive steps and slow, 365 
 
 The last sad pleasure which his soul can know : 
 He strays to kneel, and bless upon the strand, 
 The sun descending on his native land 1 
 
 c2 
 
20 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Lo ! the rude cliff, which, moulded by the storms. 
 
 Assumes a thousand wild, fantastic forms ! 370 
 
 Here a torn rampart, there a rocky bow'r, 
 
 Here a wide arch, and there a ruin'd tow'r, 
 
 Round whose stream-eaten windows wild-flow'rs blow, 
 
 And wave their tendrils o'er the flood below. 
 
 There, where the twisted thorn a seat bestows, 375 
 
 The mourner sits, and thinks away his woes. 
 
 Thinks on his country, till, with Fancy's eyes, 
 
 He views once more her dear, tho' clouded skies ; 
 
 Her bustling cities, and her scatter'd fanes, 
 
 Her willowy streamlets, and her speckled plains : 380 
 
 Views too her sons, tho' virtuous, not severe ; 
 
 Tho' free, obedient; tho' reserv'd, sincere; 
 
 Lions in fight, yet e'en in fury mild, 
 
 Death to the sire, but mercy to the child. 
 
 How glows his eye ! a moment he is prest 385 
 
 With British fervour to a British breast ! 
 
 But ah ! 'tis o'er ! her sweets the floweret shrouds, 
 
 For scarce a blush is ling'ring in the clouds : 
 
"tHE PLEASURES OF FANCY. ?& 
 
 From the clos'd cup, a moment tried in vain, 
 
 The wild-bee homeward hums along the plain : 390 
 
 To the known cleft returning thro' the sky, 
 
 The sea-bird wakes her solitary cry : 
 
 Fancy hath heard appalPd ! the exile's soul 
 
 Must yield once more to Truth's severe controul ! 
 
 Go; with crowds mingle but to feel alone, 395 
 
 And startle ideot laughter with a groan. 
 
 And mark the Veteran, half a life confin'd 
 Where damps enfeeble, and where fetters bind ! 
 As thro' his dungeon sounds, " Be free, depart:" 
 How his eye glistens, how exults his heart ! 400 
 
 And yet he lingers ! — Ere for ever fade 
 Yon frowning portals, lost in distant shade, 
 He sighs and turns, he turns and sighs again, 
 And seems a moment to be freed in vain ! 
 Still, still he thinks upon the visions there, 405 
 
 Which charm'd his angry spirit from despair ; 
 And feels that no reality shall glow 
 Bright as the scenes that flaslid upon his woe. 
 
22 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 No, as thy wishes would, there Fancy drew, 
 
 And more than Hope dares dream portray'd as true ; 410 
 
 But one short week, perhaps, thy home shall show 
 
 Usurp'd by strangers, or in ruins low ; 
 
 Each object dear to thy remembrance changed, 
 
 Each friend of youth departed or estrang'd ; 
 
 Faithless thy wife, or number'd with the dead ; 415 
 
 Dispers'd thy children, and in want of bread ; 
 
 Or, harder yet, so lost to honour's ties, 
 
 That thou shalt envy every wretch that dies. 
 
 Yes, in one little week, as Truth appears, 
 
 And bathes each step in agonizing tears, 420 
 
 Oft, broken-hearted, mayst thou curse the day 
 
 Which greatly flatter'd, greatly to betray ; 
 
 Which chang'd unreal joy for real care, 
 
 Bondage and bliss for freedom and despair. 
 
 And ask yon Pilgrim, as he strays, unknown, 425 
 
 Thro' lands by ocean sever'd from his own, 
 Whence from afar the friendly forms that glide, 
 Watch by his bed, or wander by his side ? 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 23 
 
 Who, every hour, where'er his footsteps roam, 
 
 Brings him his wife, his children, and his home I 430 
 
 Far from the young, the beauteous, and the gay, 
 Ask yon pale Wanderer why he loves to stray, 
 And sit, for ever pensive, where the flood 
 Moans thro' the twilight of the lonely wood I 
 Oh ! he will tell thee, there, and only there, 435 
 
 The hopeless lover ceases to despair : 
 There pain forgets to throb, and grief to sigh, 
 While Fancy gives him what the Fates deny. 
 And tho' the screaming jay, the woodman's stroke, 
 Or pheasant rising from the tangled oak, 440 
 
 Oft wakes his soul to memory and pain, 
 Yet soon the mourner learns to dream again. 
 
 O Thou, for whom, while other wretches sleep, 
 I wake to pray, or wander forth to weep ; 
 For whom 'tis mine untimely care to know, 445 
 
 And waste the morning of my days in woe ; 
 Say, guiltless victim of a guilty vow, 
 What pitying region hides thy sorrows now ? 
 
24 THE PLEASURED OF FANCY. 
 
 Wander thy footsteps where the passing wave 
 Of Isis moans at Rosamonda's grave ? 450 
 
 From hawthorn bow'rs where Thames' calm waters glide ? . 
 Or Severn flashes with impetuous tide ? 
 Doth huge Plinlimmon, bursting on thy sight, 
 Charm grief a moment to severe delight i 
 Or Skiddaw steal thee from thyself awhile, 455 
 
 The lake's broad azure, and the emerald isle 2 
 Where'er thy pilgrimage, may God bestow 
 That peace on thee, which I can never know. 
 E'en now where scenes of savage grandeur rise, 
 And tears ecstatic tremble in thine eyes, 460 
 
 While those who hold thee by no common spell 
 Unheeding pass, or coldly cry, 'Tis well ! 
 Perhaps thy heart feels cheerless and alone, 
 And turns to one whose feelings are its own. 
 Entrane'd, e'en now, perhaps, in some lone cave, 465 
 Thine eye, unconscious, rests upon the wave, 
 While thou art wandering in thy native bow'rs, 
 To love still sacred, and far happier hours. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 2E> 
 
 Sure thus at least we yet may meet again, 
 
 Tho' wilds divide us, mountains, or the main : 470 
 
 Sure thus at least no harshness can deny 
 
 The sad enjoyment of a parting sigh. 
 
 Fate with strong hand our destiny controls, 
 
 Yet not e'en Fate can separate our souls. 
 
 No : tho' strange woes, and wept by none before, 475 
 
 Should bid that heart too tender throb no more ; 
 
 Tho' dark Misfortune prove at last a friend, 
 
 And to its God thy wounded spirit send ; 
 
 There is a Power that e'en from death shall save, 
 
 And rend the marble curtains of the grave ! 480 
 
 Where meadow flowers our wonted pathway bound, 
 
 Or oaks and briars o'er-canopy the ground ; 
 
 Where, o'er the brooklet's rippling wave below, 
 
 The hawthorn flings her vegetable snow ; 
 
 Where, in our fav'rite grove, to ev'ning dim, 485 
 
 The wild-bird wakes his solitary hymn, 
 
 Or thro' the slumb'ring leaves the moonbeam glides, 
 
 To dip its lustre in the distant tides ; 
 
26 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Still the blue eye, so pensive, and so meek, 
 
 Still the soft freshness of the verinil cheek, 490 
 
 Still all thy harmony of form is nigh, 
 
 And bids a heavy heart forget to sigh ! 
 
 Yet the soft pressure of thine arm conveys 
 
 The dear sensations of our happiest days ; 
 
 Yet, yet those accents tremble in mine ear, 495 
 
 Attund to heav'nly themes, and heav'n to hear ! 
 
 When Duty calls to hush the poor man's cry, 
 
 And teach to live, to suffer, or to die, 
 
 Still at my side in wonted form I find 
 
 An Angel dealing mercy to mankind ! 500 
 
 When, in yon reverend pile's time-hallow'd shade, 
 
 My people's offerings and my own are paid, 
 
 Still, as I turn, the beauteous saint is near, 
 
 Who held with me the rustic sabbath dear; 
 
 Who lov'd Religion in her meek attire, 505 
 
 Her simple audience, and her infant quire ; 
 
 False feeling sought not from parade and art, 
 
 But bow'd the soul, and worshipp'd with the heart. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 27 
 
 When from a troublous world Devotion flies, 
 
 And spreads her hands in secret to the skies, 510 
 
 To teach a faith more stedfast thou art there, 
 
 An humbler accent, or a purer pray'r. 
 
 Thus thou art with me still, tho' far away, 
 
 Nor shalt forsake me, wander as I may. 
 
 E'en when my day of mourning sets in night, 515 
 
 Thy form, the last, shall vanish from my sight ; 
 
 Thine eye, the last, the tears I feel shall shed, 
 
 Thine arm, the last, support my dying head ; 
 
 And from its mansion as my spirit flies, 
 
 Thy pray'r, the last, shall cheer it thro' the skies. 520 
 
 Yet, Oh ! while thus, in scenes of painted air, 
 
 I lose myself, and wander from despair ; 
 
 While thus my heart with dreams of Fancy warms, 
 
 E'en then, perhaps, another in thy arms, 
 
 — But on that ghastly thought I may not dwell : 525 
 
 'Ere Reason lose her hold, farewel ! farewel ! 
 There is, scarce listen'd by the air, a sigh, 
 
 Beyond her wail who sees a husband die : 
 
28 THE PLEASURES OF FANCV. 
 
 He knows there is, who, 'mid one joyless view, 
 
 Nought to admire, to wish for, or pursue, 530 
 
 Toils on from youth to age, with listless tread, 
 
 Tho' present, absent; and tho' living, dead ! 
 
 There is a smile more bitter than the tear 
 
 Pour'd by the Orphan o'er a Parent's bier : 
 
 He knows there is, who feels that fate has shed 535 
 
 The very dregs of vengeance on his head ; 
 
 Who sees the life of life for ever o'er, 
 
 And smiles at Misery, for she can no more. — 
 
 But cease thy fond complaint, thy fruitless moan, 
 
 And in the woes of others lose thine own. 540 
 
 Thick o'er the path tho' yellow leaves are spread, 
 And every flower is shelter'd in its bed ; 
 While thro' yon elms the blast of Autumn sighs, 
 Hollow and cold, o'er nature as she dies, 
 At eve, in musing lost, who wanders there, 545 
 
 Nor heeds the storm that whistles in her hair I 
 Ah ! far away her warrior son lies slain, 
 Bleach'd by the winds, and beaten by the rain ; 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 2J) 
 
 And there she strays, for there unckeck'd may flow 
 
 The holy fountains of a Mother's woe. 550 
 
 Her heart would break, but Fancy oft, as now, 
 
 Dries that pale cheek, and smooths that troubled brow. 
 
 O speak not, stir not, lest a sound dismiss 
 
 The mourner's dream of visionary bliss. 
 
 Yet once again she fondly stoops to trace 555 
 
 A husband's features in his orphan's face ; 
 
 Or smiles, while, shouting, from her side he flies 
 
 As the first primrose meets his laughing eyes ; 
 
 Or climbs her knees to kiss away her care, 
 
 Con the light task, or lisp the simple pray'r. 560 
 
 Yet once again, supported by her boy, 
 
 She feels a mother's pride, a mother's joy! 
 
 She marks that manly form, that eagle eye, 
 
 That faithful breast which gave her sigh for sigh ; 
 
 And still those accents murmur in her ear, 5G5 
 
 For ever tender, and for ever dear. — 
 
 But ah ! 'tis o'er ! convuls'd with woe she stands, 
 
 Beats her sad breast, and wrings her aged hands ! 
 
30 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Reason awakes, and stabs in every pore : 
 
 — ** Such was thy son, but he is thine no more." 570 
 
 God help thee, thou art lonely : none remain 
 
 To share thy pleasure, or regard thy pain ! 
 
 Now thou must mark, alone, the spring-flow'r wave, 
 
 Alone, must wander to a husband's grave ; 
 
 Rent every tie that wakes a wish to be, 575 
 
 Thou to the world art nought, the world to thee. 
 
 E'en at that hour when man's frail fabric falls, 
 
 And God, who lent, the trembling breath recals, 
 
 No kindred form shall kneel beside thy bed, 
 
 Shall sooth thee dying, or deplore thee dead ! 580 
 
 Yet she, a friend where none are friends beside, 
 
 The truth shall soften tho' she cannot hide. 
 
 O'er that pale corse the wolf of midnight howls, 
 
 The lightning flashes, and the torrent rolls ; 
 
 Yet Fancy feigns that holy rites were paid, 585 
 
 And dirges chanted where thy son is laid ; 
 
 And oft hath led thee to his seeming tomb, 
 
 Where Honour weeps, and violets love to bloom. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. ol 
 
 E'en those who sleep beneath yon aged tree, 
 
 Tho' they are dead to all, still live to thee : 590 
 
 Oft, in each wonted scene, some form shall start 
 
 Of those still clinging" to thy widow'd heart, 
 
 And the dark thought shall many an hour efface, 
 
 That thou alone remainest of thy race ! 
 
 Aye, and not seldom shall thy spirit soar 595 
 
 Where, rob'd in light, they wonder and adore : 
 
 Drink at celestial Joy's eternal spring-, 
 
 Or to the harp in more than triumph sing. 
 
 Thus Fancy follows thro' this vale of tears, 
 In sorrow sooths us, in misfortune cheers : 600 
 
 And as, 'mid gath'ring storms, the heav'nly bow, 
 She still shines brightly in the darkest woe. 
 
 Lo ! yon fair Maid ! entranc'd in bliss she seems, 
 And holding converse with delightful dreams ; 
 Yet many a bitter blast, and pelting storm, 605 
 
 Have spent their fury on that fragile form ! 
 The sight of him, in ghastly garments drest, 
 The last of all her kindred, and the best; 
 
Q-2 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 The fall from wealth to little and to less, 
 
 The friend too tender to behold distress ; 610 
 
 The jealous taunt, the more unfeeling leer, 
 
 The pity still concluding' with a sneer ; 
 
 The boon scarce aught but vinegar and gall ; — 
 
 Such were her trials, and she felt them all. 
 
 Still there was one, now absent on the main, 615 
 
 Whose image oft would triumph o'er her pain ! 
 Her gen'rous lover, who, she knew right well, 
 
 Would love the more, the more her fortunes fell. 
 
 The storm arose; that lover found a grave ; 
 
 Some rock his pillow, and his shroud a wave ! 620 
 
 Then shriek'd her soul, to all but torture dead ; 
 
 Till woe, in heav'n's good time, with reason fled : 
 
 Fancy's fair dreams the mental void supplied, 
 
 And from that moment she has seldom sigh'd. 
 
 Still crown'd with flow'rs, or holly green, she roves, 625 
 
 Her lover leading thro' the meads and groves ; 
 
 And as the passenger in pity sighs, 
 
 The melting accents of her song arise : 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY* 33 
 
 THE 
 
 MANIACS SONG 
 
 In yon grove our bow'r is green, 
 
 Where but gentle guests are found ; 630 
 
 Ring-doves haunt the quiet scene, 
 
 And the squirrel plays around : 
 Haste thee, stranger, come and see ; 
 Welcome to my love and me. 
 
 Thither fairy voices call 035 
 
 Ev'ry little bird that sings ; 
 There from fairy bosoms fall 
 
 All the flow'rs that Summer brings : 
 Haste thee, stranger, come and see ; 
 Welcome to my love and me. 640 
 
 n 
 
34 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY., 
 
 Fear not there the stormy blast, 
 
 Nor the breath of winter rude, 
 Nor the sense of sorrows past, 
 
 Nor e'en man's ingratitude : 
 Haste thee, stranger, come and see ; 645 
 
 Welcome to my love and me. 
 
 THE END OF THE FIRST PAUT. 
 
PART II. 
 
 d2 
 
ANALYSIS OF THE SECOND PART. 
 
 The influence of Fancy upon our character — Without her there 
 can be no high degree of virtue in the soul — The manner in which 
 she excites us to compassion even for our enemies; to benefi- 
 cence; to mercy; to virtuous resolution ; to patriotism ; and to 
 fortitude — But though she thus procures the highest pleasures of 
 which our nature is capable for those who use her gifts, her ven- 
 geance is terrible against those who abuse them — The Poem con- 
 cludes with a tale illustrative of this. 
 
THE 
 
 PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 +++++.*■*++•**■*•*■**+ 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Where yields the Sun to Frost's eternal reign, 
 But barren shrubs and mosses clothe the plain ; 
 While, where his smile benignant sways the year, 
 Flow'rs of all hues, and golden fruits appear : 
 Thus in those breasts alone which Fancy warms, 5 
 
 The Virtues flourish in their strength and charms. 
 A great one falls ! — While others, as they pass, 
 Gaze unconcern'd, or coldly cry, Alas ! 
 Why dost thou grieve so deeply and so long, 
 Tho' he hath scorn'd thee, or hath done thee wrong ? 10 
 'Tis that to thee, in melancholy show^ 
 Is pictur'd still that family of woe ! 
 
38 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 The mingled burst of anguish, pride, and shame ; 
 
 The heavy eye, pale cheek, and wasting frame ; 
 
 The bitter pang, that knows not to desist, 15 
 
 As wonted comforts day by day are miss'd ; 
 
 Low, tearful talk of splendour past away, 
 
 Prospects that chill, or friendships that decay ; 
 
 The mutual, vain attempt, for others' peace, 
 
 To bid each trace of pain and sorrow cease ; 20 
 
 The tender duty, that would fain beguile 
 
 A parent's grief, but weeps herself the while j 
 
 These haunt thee still, and wake thy pensive mind 
 
 To many a thought compassionate and kind. 
 
 As at their sports yon village children glow, 25 
 
 The female vagrant tells her tale of woe. 
 With what mute awe, what pitying looks they hear ! 
 How heaves the bosom, and how starts the tear ! 
 How bravely each despises Pleasure's call, 
 And to the mourner gives his little all ; 30 
 
 These Fancy shews. each subject of the tale : 
 The lonely cottage, tott'ring in the gale ; 
 
THE PLEASURES OP FANCY. 39 
 
 The naked hearth, the shatter'd walls and bare, 
 
 Concealing nought but anguish and despair ; 
 
 The door whence all but Want and Woe withdraw ; 35 
 
 Expos'd to ev'ry storm, the bed of straw, 
 
 Where naked infants wildly scream for bread, 
 
 And creep for warmth around their father dead ! 
 
 Yet one turns from her, reckless of her lot : — 
 
 He hears her mis'ries, but he sees them not. 40 
 
 From his dull soul the quick'ning Pow'r retires, 
 
 Nor ever thrills him with her sacred fires. 
 
 Deeply displeas'd, and justly, with the maid, 
 More of thy hatred than of death afraid, 
 Why dost thou yield so soon thy firm resolve, 45 
 
 And in thy bosom plans of peace revolve ? 
 Why by degrees do angry clouds depart, 
 And Love resume his empire in thy heart? 
 'Tis that each step is haunted by a form, 
 Lovely, but sad, and sinking in the storm ! 50 
 
 Gone are the dimples of that cheek so fair, 
 And dead the rose that lov'd to blossom there ! 
 
40 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Drown'd in a bitter flood of anguish lies 
 
 Each little love that sported in those eyes ! 
 
 Within that breast, of peace no more the cell, 55 
 
 But wasting sighs and bleeding sorrows dwell ! 
 
 Mark its wild throbbing, its convulsive start, 
 
 As Grief renews the canker in her heart. 
 
 Each painted dream of Love and Fancy fled, 
 
 The charms of Art, the bloom of Nature dead ; 00 
 
 Too weak, alas ! and tremulous to stand, 
 
 She still reclines her head upon her hand ; 
 
 Wishes each hour were in a moment past, 
 
 That thus the sooner she might hail the last ; 
 
 Watches with gloomy smile her form decay, 65 
 
 And darkly joys in weeping life away ! 
 
 Canst thou endure it? With the pow'r to save, 
 
 Canst thou behold her hast'ning to the grave I 
 
 To one who loves, adores thee, canst thou cry, 
 
 " Live but to suffer, and unpitied die?" 70 
 
 No ; with her tears thou soon shalt mingle thine, 
 
 And all thv soul to tenderness resign. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 41 
 
 Th' ingenuous youth to manhood verging fast, 
 His parents trust him to the world at last. 
 Scarce uncontroul'd, a moment can he stray, 75 
 
 Ere Vice and Ruin mark him as their prey ! 
 Round him the sirens of destruction stand, 
 And as, in gay disguise, they grasp his hand, 
 u At length, thrice happy man !" they warble still, 
 " Thou'rt free to sip at Joy's enchanted rill ! 80 
 
 " Mark from each little wave what raptures glance ! 
 " What countless pleasures on the margin dance ! 
 " Or gather flow'rs, in rainbow colours bright, 
 " And breathing round ineffable delight! 
 " Yet know, those flow'rs must fade ! that rill be dry ! 85 
 " Those forms depart ! — then seize them ere they fly. 
 " Be wise in time : Life scatters from his wing 
 " No second youth ; the year, no second spring." 
 He hears ; his bosom throbs ; his pulse beats high ; 
 And he has ris'n to follow them and die ! 90 
 
 What friend arrests him ? bids those blushes rise, 
 
 Those silver sorrows tremble in his eyes 
 
 ? 
 
■12 THE PLEASURES OP FANCY. 
 
 That friend is Fancy ! — By her art she shows 
 
 Those dear ones lately quitted in repose. 
 
 Alas ! how chang'd ! Their little joys are o'er : 95 
 
 The book, the ride, the garden, glad no more. 
 
 Where reign'd Content, Mirth laugh'd, and Pleasure play'd, 
 
 The voice of wailing issues from the shade. 
 
 Lo ! there that Father, still so good and kind, 
 
 With anguish wasted, and with weeping blind, 100 
 
 Spreads dust and ashes on his rev'rend head, 
 
 And envies them that slumber with the dead ! 
 
 Lo ! there that Mother, who, with tender fears, 
 
 Watch'd o'er the weakness of his infant years ; 
 
 Nurs'd him in pain, in all his sorrows wept, 105 
 
 Shar'd his delights, and bless'd him as he slept ! 
 
 Her bread still bitter, and her drink but tears, 
 
 No joy affects her, and no comfort cheers ; 
 
 And from that ashy cheek, that hollow eye, 
 
 She has not long to suffer and to sigh. 110 
 
 To the youth's heart what mingled passions rush, 
 
 And from his eyes bid bitter torrents gush ! 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 43 
 
 He cannot bear it:—" This my work accurst! 
 
 " No ; earth shall open and ingulph me first." 
 
 Mark him whom princes envy ! — He has won 115 
 
 The palm of Fashion, and is half undone. 
 To friendship, love, and reason, deaf so long, 
 Why on a sudden breaks he from the throng I 
 Whence does he prize his dear-bought fame no more, 
 And brave the scorn so terrible before ? 120 
 
 Wak'd by a common chance, know, Fancy's train 
 Found and disturb'd him in his gaudy reign ; 
 Nor could gay crowds, nor slumbers of the night, 
 The friendly phantoms banish from his sight. 
 Here stretch'd on straw, within a murky cell, 125 
 
 A child of mis'ry bids the world farewel. 
 Lo ! as delirious and convuls'd he lies, 
 None heed his suff'rings, none shall close his eyes ! 
 While parts the spirit with appalling groan, 
 Approach that livid visage — 'tis thine own ! 130 
 
 Raw from the scourge, in rags, with fetters bound, 
 There his heart's life raves bleeding on the ground ! 
 
44 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Here ends his son, with curses on his name, 
 
 A life of rapine by a death of shame ! 
 
 While, honour blasted, peace and virtue dead, 135 
 
 There roam his daughters thro' the streets for bread ! 
 
 Then lo ! a sylvan scene ! a river flows 
 
 'Mid waving trees, and bow'rs of green repose! 
 
 Gay laugh the flow'rs, the feather'd warbler sings, 
 
 Sips the pure stream, or laves his painted wings ! 140 
 
 There he appears, secure from care and noise, 
 
 Thecircle tracing of do mestic joys. 
 
 Health, peace restor'd, with renovated charms, 
 
 The dear one smiles, and strains him in her arms ; 
 
 Points to their offspring, shouting, wild with bliss : — 145 
 
 " When did the world afford an hour like this V 
 
 Now 'mid their children's children they are found, 
 
 Their latter days with peace and honour crown'd ! 
 
 Their laurel'd son, their happy daughters vie, 
 
 That nought may bid them wish in vain, or sigh ; 150 
 
 Their ev'ry step respect and love attend, 
 
 While Faith and Hope beam brightly on their end. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 45 
 
 Then speaks in awful accent one unseen, 
 u Lo ! wretch, what shall be, and what might have been !" 
 " What might have been !" he firmly cries at length, 155 
 " It shall be yet, so heav'n deny not strength." 
 
 Shelt'ring on Sempach's height their scanty band, 
 In deep dismay Helvetia's children stand ! 
 Why should their pointed column still essay 
 To pierce and scatter Austria's deep array '( 160 
 
 Oft, and again, the fierce assault renew'd 
 With their best blood the champaign has imbrued ; 
 While, his front bristled with gigantic spears, 
 The foe their battle-axe nor feels nor fears. 
 Mute and amaz'd they stand ! in gathering clouds 165 
 His form the spirit of the mountain shrouds ! 
 While Freedom smites her bosom in despair, 
 Half sinks to earth, and breathes a troubled pray'r ! 
 But lo ! while others droop in speechless woe, 
 Winckelried's eyes with martial fury glow ! 170 
 
 Him Fancy fires ! His native land she shows 
 Mourning in chains, and ruin'd by her foes : 
 
40 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY* 
 
 Her laws subverted, and her glory tied, 
 
 Her falchion broken, and her spirit dead ! 
 
 Lo! shadow'd forth, rich harvests trampled down, 175 
 
 The burning hamlet, and the pillag'd town; 
 
 The peasant slaughter'd in his fields ; the wife, 
 
 The virgin, reft of chastity, of life ; 
 
 The child abandon'd, to the wolf a prey, 
 
 The corse left festering in the public way ! 180 
 
 " This must 1 see? Forbid it, heav'n !" he cries : 
 
 " First tears of blood shall trickle from these eyes." 
 
 Then shifts the scene ! — •' Why mourn yon warlike band ? 
 
 " Whom call they Father of his native land ? 
 
 " Whose the blest tomb, where women, children, all, 185 
 
 " In grateful sorrow, yet in triumph fall? 
 
 " Where Honour weeps, yet proudly cries, Well done ! 
 
 f And Fame weaves glory for a fav'rite son? 
 " Grav'd on the stone, what envied name appears ? 
 " I cannot read it for a nation's tears. 190 
 
 " Ha ! Heav'ns, Winckelried ! — Comrades, follow me; 
 
 " To the foe's bosom 1 your passage free." 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 47 
 
 Once more the warrior's patriot ardour warms ! 
 
 He flies ! they follow !— with extended arms, 
 
 He binds of hostile spears a sheaf of death, 195 
 
 And firmly grasps it to his latest breath ; 
 
 While thro' the breach the Switzers pour along-, 
 
 And fiercely wrest the battle from the strong ! 
 
 Ages long past, with murder red, recal, 
 And mark the noble host of martyrs fall. 200 
 
 Here on hot bars the tender virgin lies ! 
 There on the cross her aged parent dies ! 
 Here some drink molten metals, and expire! 
 There others perish by the rack or fire ! 
 Yet where the trembling frame, the madd'ning brain, 205 
 The shriek of terror, and the groan of pain ? 
 An awful calm pervades the horrid scene, 
 And each is firm, collected, arid serene ! 
 Nay, as tho' death were gain, and anguish joy, 
 They hail, they bless, the tortures that destroy ! 210 
 
 Sure they are more than human, nor can feel 
 The flame, the sword, the pincers, and the wheel ! 
 
48 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 Not so : they feel their sufferings, but they see 
 
 What more than calms them, tho' conceal'd from thee ! 
 
 Here cars of fire and fiery coursers stand, 215 
 
 Which soon shall bear them to a better land ; 
 
 Where, far from care and pain, from death and woe, 
 
 Rivers of bliss thro' fields of glory flow. 
 
 There angel forms prepare, with harpings high, 
 
 To greet their souls, and guide them thro' the sky ; 220 
 
 While op'ning clouds a moment to their sight 
 
 Disclose heav'n's own, intolerable light ! 
 
 There reigns the Lamb, whose painful path they trod, 
 
 And voices issue from the throne of God : 
 
 M Well done, ye faithful servants ! now ascend, 225 
 
 " And date your life's beginning from its end." 
 
 Hope they ? Believe they? No : they hear! they see ! 
 
 And, till their souls unheeded tortures free, 
 
 Still with triumphant smile, " Where, where, " they cry, 
 
 " O Death, thy sting? O Grave, thy victory?" 230 
 
 But are there none who Fancy's boon abuse, 
 For ever gazing on unhallow'd views. 
 
THE PLEASURES OP FANCY. 49 
 
 Till, fir'd, at length, and spurning at controul, 
 
 The passions fetter and pollute the soul I 
 
 Yes ; but beware ! the injur'd Pow'r, ere long, 235 
 
 With dreadful vengeance shall requite the wrong : 
 
 Soon from their bosoms shall she banish peace, 
 
 And bid their guilty joys in horror cease. 
 
 Lo ! where the victims of her anger stand, 
 
 Pale and dismay'd at her avenging band ! 240 
 
 Here Justice meets them with appalling frown ! 
 
 There the wan ghosts of Virtue, Bliss, Renown ! 
 
 Here Hatred haunts them with malicious scowl ! 
 
 There, in vile garments, Want and Mis'ry howl ! 
 
 The scourge of Infamy, the grin of Scorn, 245 
 
 The loathsome shapes to pain of riot born, 
 
 A death of horror, an untimely tomb 
 
 Alarm them now, array'd in ghastly gloom ! 
 
 By Terror goaded, how they start aghast 
 
 At moving shadows, or the moaning blast ! 250 
 
 But, Oh ! what agonies convulse their soul, 
 
 How their frame trembles, how their eyeballs roll, 
 
 E 
 
50 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 When, in the hour of sickness, or of night, 
 
 The world unknown half opens to their sight! 
 
 Marking the yawning caverns of despair, 255 
 
 The demon's triumph, and the sulphur's glare ; 
 
 The worm that never dies, the burning wave 
 
 That laves the guilty — shall for ever lave ; 
 
 The curse, the groan, the agonizing yell, — 
 
 They feel its torments ere they sink to hell. 260 
 
 A virtuous pair I knew, whose only child, 
 From early youth, was wayward still and wild ; 
 They were, alas ! too mild to be severe, 
 Nor could reprove but by a sigh or tear ; 
 Else had correction's harsh but wholesome sway 265 
 
 Inclin'd her, haply, to the better way. 
 At length she left them :— an unhallow'd flame 
 Consum'd at once her virtue and her fame. 
 But soon, by conscience wak'd, the shadowy pow'r 
 Found and alarm'd her in her happiest hour ! 270 
 
 Oft was she startled by a still, small voice, 
 u Canst thou, O wanton ! darest thou rejoice, 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 51 
 
 <% When, thro' thy guilt, those hearts so good and kind, 
 
 " From day to day, but heavier mis'ry find?" 
 
 Now as appear'd the cot, the flow'ry glade, 275 
 
 The meads and woodlands where her childhood stray'd, 
 
 Still mournful voices seem'd to murmur near, 
 
 *' There thou wast spotless, and what art thou here?" 
 
 Those too she views, who hop'd their latter day, 
 
 Cheer'd by her love, would gently glide away. 280 
 
 Now on the earth in deep despair they lie ; 
 
 Or for their wand'rer raise their hands on high ; 
 
 Or on each other gaze, till bitter woe 
 
 Bids the soul groan, and tears in torrents flow ! 
 
 Now broken-hearted, helpless, and alone, 285 
 
 Chill'd by the touch of Death they faintly moan ! 
 
 Now for that home by careless hands are drest, 
 
 Where guilt afflicts not, and the weary rest ! 
 
 As months roll on, and pleasure palls, repose, 
 
 Nor day nor night, her tortur'd bosom knows :| 290 
 
 At ev'ry step some ghastly shape she sees, 
 
 Or hollow voices menace in the breeze J 
 
 e2 
 
52 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY* 
 
 At length, when Nature could no more sustain, 
 And Reason threaten'd to desert her brain, 
 
 If heav'n till now," she cried, " have spar'd them, fly, 
 " Fly, and once more behold them ere they die." 296 
 She rose : she came. — 'Twas Summer eve, when now, 
 Woe- worn and weary, from the green-hill's brow, 
 Her native village at her feet she sees, 
 The purple sunbeam slumb'ring on its trees ! 300 
 
 Sweet is the hawthorn hedge that skirts the way; 
 Blithe the Swain's whistle, and the Throstle's lay. 
 The sheep-bell tinkles ; children on the green 
 Shout, wrestle, race, while age enjoys the scene. 
 Beyond, serene and clear, the river flows, 305 
 
 And each reflected object looks repose. 
 The mourner pauses — heaves a heavy sigh — 
 " All then is happy and at peace, while I — " 
 She can no more ; her soul in secret bleeds ; 
 And to her home, half fainting, she proceeds. 310 
 
 Alas ! the hedge unprun'd, the shatter'd pane, 
 The ruin'd garden, speak thy journey vain ! 
 
THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 53 
 
 " Tis well!" — She press'd her hand upon her heart, 
 
 As though to shield it from a mortal dart ; 
 
 And to the scene, with falt'ring footsteps, fled, 315 
 
 Where rise the still memorials of the dead. 
 
 There soon, too soon, she finds, with panting breast, 
 
 The grassy hillock where her parents rest. 
 
 Half hid by rampant weeds the stone appears, 
 
 Which bears, grav'd rudely with their name and years, 320 
 
 €t The gentle pair that sleep beneath 
 
 " Demand no pitying tear: 
 " First ceas'd a child's unrev'rend hand 
 
 " To wound their bosoms here." 
 
 She reads : — without a breeze the yew tree waves, 325 
 
 And deeper shades invest the place of graves ; 
 
 While feeble moans arise from ev'ry tomb, 
 
 And shrouded spectres glide athwart the gloom ! 
 
 And hark ! groan'd slowly thro' the heaving ground, 
 
 As from the lungs of Death, a hollow sound ! 330 
 
54 THE PLEASURES OF FANCY. 
 
 " Thy parents murder'd, hast thou, wretch ! no fear 
 " To wake their ashes I Wherefore art thou here V y 
 She hears — she sinks — with one convulsive groan, 
 The spirit passes to the world unknown. 
 Judge not : — perhaps such moment equall'd years 335 
 Of that repentance, which finds ease in tears. 
 
 THE END OF THE SECOND PART. 
 
NOTES. 
 

 NOTES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 FIRST PART, 
 
 Note I. Ver. i). 
 
 How joys the wretch, as rash upon his sight 
 The fiery banners of the northern night ! 
 
 Describing the " Northern Lights" in Siberia, Gmelin says, 
 " they begin with single bright pillars, rising in the north, and 
 almost at the same time in the north-east, which, gradually 
 increasing, comprehend a large space of the heavens, rush 
 about from place to place with incredible velocity, and finally 
 almost cover the whole sky up to the zenith, and produce an 
 appearance as if a vast tent were expanded in the heavens, 
 glittering with gold, rubies, and sapphires. A more beautiful 
 spectacle cannot be painted," 
 
58 NOTES ON PART I. 
 
 Note II. Ver. 15. 
 
 Thus Fancy bids her gliWring visions glow, 
 To cheer the pilgrim in a world of woe. 
 
 Fancy is not to be confounded with Imagination. As Pro- 
 fessor Stewart remarks, the latter implies the former, but the 
 former does not imply the latter. By Fancy I would under- 
 stand that faculty by which the mind is enabled to picture to 
 itself any absent objects of sense whatever, and to combine them 
 as it pleases ; by which, in early youth, we cause an unknown 
 world to correspond with our desires ; by which, abstracting 
 ourselves from all around us, we can, in an instant, visit, or 
 engage in any scenes which we chuse to recollect, to antici- 
 pate, or to create; by which, in fine, are produced those 
 (pavrxa-icn, those visions, " per quas," as Quinctilian says, 
 •* imagines rerum absentium ita representantur animo, ut eas 
 cernere oculis ac praesentes habere videamur." That the 
 pleasures arising from this faculty are very great will not be 
 denied. Dr. Johnson solemnly warns us, that unless we are 
 careful, " the luxury of Fancy" will leave us, in the end, no 
 relish for any thing else, and detach us altogether from the 
 business of life. Dugald Stewart cautions us in a similar 
 manner. Sterne felicitates mankind upon the facility with 
 which the mind turns from mournful realities to the fairy land 
 of Fancy ; and declares, that without such a resource, his days 
 had long before been shortened. Rousseau even affirms, " I 
 receive more delight from my chimeras than 1 should experience 
 were they realized." 
 
NOTES ON PART I. 5J> 
 
 Note III. Ver. 19. 
 
 Why deathless praise may hope and meiriry claim. 
 While not a lyre is taught thy mightier name ? 
 
 Warton's f Ode to Fancy" is aa illustrious offering to her, 
 and it is almost the only such offering. 
 
 Note IV. Ver. 34. 
 
 Dost thou ne'er quit the present with a sigh, 
 To muse a moment on the years gone by ? 
 
 " Our youth," says Ossian, " is like the dream of the hunter 
 on the hill of heath. He sleeps in the mild beams of the sun ; 
 he awakes amidst a storm. The red lightning flies around I 
 Trees shake their heads to the wind ! He looks back with joy 
 on the day of the sun, and the pleasant dreams of his rest." 
 
 Note V. Ver. 71. 
 
 And aught then lov'd is welcome, as it wakes 
 Ideal forms that rapture ne'er forsakes. 
 
 " When the aged behold youth and beauty," says Adam 
 Smith, " they forget for a time their infirmities, and abandon 
 themselves to those agreeable ideas and emotions to which 
 
60 NOTES ON PART I. 
 
 they have long been strangers, but which, when the presence 
 of so much happiness recals them to their breast, take their 
 place there like old acquaintance, from whom they are sorry to 
 have ever been parted, and whom they embrace more heartily 
 upon account of this long separation/' 
 
 Note VI. Ver. 100. 
 
 Each object thrills, each gale breathes peace around, 
 Each slight memorial stands on holy ground. 
 
 It appears to me, that the attachment which we experience 
 for any scene, or object, to which we have been long accus- 
 tomed, proceeds principally from our having associated it with 
 our waking dreams. In many instances this is, indeed, the 
 only reason which can be assigned for it. 
 
 Note VII. Ver. 131. 
 
 Take, take your wisdom. 
 
 It is of this false wisdom that Solomon speaks, where he 
 remarks, M In much wisdom is much grief." 
 
 Note VIII. Ver. 203. 
 
 And oh! did man at first descry 
 
 Life's melancholy gloom, 
 He sure would heave no second sigh ; 
 His cradle were his tomb. 
 For regarding this present world a» a fl valley oi* weeping/' 
 we have the highest possible authority. 
 
NOTES ON PART I. 01 
 
 Note IX. Ver. 275. 
 
 Now, now she wafts thee to the wide domain. 
 Where ancient Fiction holds her shadowy reign. 
 
 " What a fund of amusement through life is prepared for 
 one who reads in his childhood the fables of ancient Greece ! 
 They dwell habitually on the memory, and are ready, at all 
 times, to fill up the intervals of business, or of serious reflec- 
 tion ; and in his hours of rural retirement and leisure, they 
 warm his mind with the fire of ancient genius, and animate 
 every scene he enters with the offspring of classical fancy." — 
 Stewart's Philosophy of the Human Mind. 
 
 Note X. Ver. 415. 
 
 And more than hope dares dream pourtrayd as true. 
 
 " When we are removed to a distance from society and the 
 pursuits of life, at length the most extravagant dreams of ima- 
 gination acquire as powerful an influence in exciting all the 
 passions of the mind as if they were realities." Ibid. 
 
 Note XI. Ver. 234. 
 
 Who ev'ry hour, where'er his footsteps roam, 
 Brings him his wife, his children, and his home. 
 
 " Oh !" says Zimmerman, " if the friends of my youth in 
 Switzerland knew how frequently I pass with them those hours 
 which are allotted to sleep ; if they were apprized that neither 
 
ii'l NOTES ON PART I. 
 
 time nor absence can efface the remembrance of their former 
 kindness from my mind ; and, that this pleasing recollection 
 tends to cast the veil of oblivion over my woes ; they would 
 rejoice to find, that I still live amongst them in imagination, 
 though I may be dead to them in reality." Petrarch informs 
 us, that, as he wandered amid the shades of Vaucluse, he 
 beheld his Laura, " at all times, in all places, and under a 
 thousand different forms." 
 
 Note XII. Ver. 603. 
 
 ho / yon fair maid ! entranced in bliss she seems, 
 And holding converse with delightful dreams. 
 
 It may be remarked, that all maniacs are not apparently 
 happy. The cause appears to be, that, in some instances, 
 reason fails partially. Wherever she surrenders the mind 
 altogether to Fancy, the effect, I believe, will be as represented 
 above. 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON TITK 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 Note I. Ver. 5. 
 
 Thus in those breasts alone which Fancy warms, 
 The virtues flourish in their strength and charms. 
 
 Should any reader be startled at this doctrine, I must refer 
 him to that portion of Stewart's Elements in which he treats of 
 " the influence of Imagination on human character and hap- 
 piness," 
 
 Note II. Ver. 157. 
 
 Shelt'ring on Sempach's height their scanty band, 
 In deep dismay Helvetia's children stand. 
 
 At the battle of Sempach (fought July 8, 1386,) the Aus- 
 trians exceeded the Swiss nearly in the proportion of four to 
 one. " Les deux armees s'avancerent, Celle des Autrichiens 
 etoit composee de l'elite de la noblesse, et des chevaliers les 
 
64 NOTES ON PART It. 
 
 plus valeureux d'Allemagne : leurs cuirasses etoient a l'epreuve, 
 et leurs longues lances tenoient l'ennemi eloigne. Formant un 
 long bataillon quarre, ils s'avancoient lentement, bien serres, 
 ainsi qu'une citadelle de fer mouvante. Les Suisses Etoient 
 mal armes, sans cuirasses, n'ayant qu'une courte hallebarde et 
 une epee, avec une espece de petite fascine au bras pour parer 
 les premiers coups. Ils se formerent, suivant leur contume, en 
 bataillon triangulaire et pointu ; c'est dans cet ordre que les 
 Suisses rirent leur attaque. Mais tous leurs efforts pour pene- 
 trer dans le bataillon ennemi sont inutiles ; des lances de sept 
 a huit pieds les enferrent, leurs courtes hallebardes ne peuvent 
 arriver jusqu'aux Autrichiens : deja ils out livre plusieurs 
 assauts malheureux a cette masse inebranlable j deja l'avoyer 
 de Lucerne, et soixante chefs de file ont mordu la poussiere, 
 sans qu'il ait peri un seul Autrichien : C'en etoit fait peut-etre 
 de la Liberty Helvetique. Arnold de Winckelried, du canton 
 d'Undervald, se tourne vers ses comj)atriotes : Je veux mourir 
 pour vous, et pour la Patrie ; ai/ez soin de mafemme et de mes 
 enfans ; ne moublicz pas, et suivez moi. A ces mots il se met 
 a la pointe du triangle, marche ainsi a la tete des Confederes, 
 jette ses amies, embrasse et serre autant de lances qu'il en peut 
 empoigner, et se laisse clouer a la place ou il tombe, pour 
 ouvrir a ses Compatriotes le sentier de la victoire. Leopold 
 (Archiduc d'Autriche) perit, et GIG gentilshommes resterent 
 autour de lui, otendus sur le champ de bataille : 350 de ces 
 seigneurs portoient des casques couronnes ; honneur qui n'etoit 
 permis alors qu'a ceux des premieres maisons de TEmpire. 
 Aussi cette defaite affoiblit-elle pour toujours cette Noblesse, 
 ennemie naturelle des Suisses." Melanges llelvetiques. 
 
MOTES ON PART 11, 65 
 
 Note III. Ver. 213. 
 
 They feel their sufferings, but they see 
 
 What more than calms them, tho 1 conceal' d from thee. 
 
 '* We find," says Addison, in his Evidences of the Christian 
 Religion, " we find the Church of Smyrna, in that admirable 
 Letter which gives an account of the death of Polycarp, their 
 beloved Bishop, mentioning the cruel torments of other early 
 martyrs for Christianity, are of opinion, that our Saviour stood 
 by them in a vision, and personally conversed with them, to 
 give them strength and comfort during the bitterness of their 
 long continued agonies ; and we have the story of a young man, 
 who, having suffered many tortures, escaped with life, and told 
 his fellow-Christians, that the pain of them had been rendered 
 tolerable by an angel that stood by him, and wiped off the tears 
 and sweat which ran down his face whilst he lay under his suf- 
 ferings." 
 
THE 
 
 f 
 
 GRAVE OF *******##+. 
 
 O THOU, by whom my **^**** : * : * was i a id 
 In hallow'd earth, indulge my sad desire : 
 
 The village church where yonder yew trees shade, 
 Point out his narrow mansion, and retire. 
 
 And is this all allow' d thee ? Could thy race, 
 Thy learning, genius, fame, and prospects high, 
 
 Gain thee but this poor, unmark'd resting place? 
 But Hate oft gives, intending to deny. 
 
 The flatt'ring epitaphs of those that die, 
 
 We read but with suspicion or disgust : 
 The tombs that raise their marble heads on high, 
 
 But wake reflections on the pride of dust. 
 
 f The gentleman alluded to in this Elegy died of contrition for 
 having engaged in a licentious amour. 
 
 F2 
 
GO THE GRAVE OF *********. 
 
 'Tis where the hamlet's simple children lie, 
 Each in his grassy grave with osiers bound, 
 
 'Tis there that Feeling heaves her softest sigh, 
 And the heart whispers, This is holy ground. 
 
 'Tis there the vanities that life beguile, 
 Our idle fancies, worldly wishes cease ; 
 
 'TLs thence the soul from earth retires awhile, 
 And finds an earnest of eternal peace. 
 
 And oh ! how vain the sculptor's art had been, 
 Those forms unseen a moment to arrest, 
 
 Whose holy footsteps mark the hillock green, 
 Where thou and all thy sorrows are at rest. 
 
 At rest — the world may now thy guilt enflame, 
 For in thine eye no longer lives a tear : 
 
 Thy shame the world may now with joy proclaim. 
 For not an insult can disturb thee here. 
 
>1» iJs \b vl/ *X^ \U \ L> ^* ^X* 
 
 THE GRAVE OF *********, 
 
 How deep thy slumber ! though storms roar around, 
 And bid the death-worm in thy bosom quake ; 
 
 Tho' fires volcanic, bursting thro' the ground, 
 
 Rend rocks and mountains, thou shalt not awake! 
 
 Would that thou couldst a moment ! — if aright 
 I scann'd the gentler feelings of thy breast, 
 
 Thou, not unconscious of serene delight, 
 
 Wouldst view the scene of thine eternal rest. 
 
 Veiling Corruption's work, no gorgeous pile 
 
 Arises near to mock thy lowly grave ; 
 The moon looks on it with her tenderest smile, 
 
 And pansies faintly whisper as they wave. 
 
 Green is the sod around, and ev'ry blade 
 Gemm'd with a little tear, as weeping thee : 
 
 And thither one with lonely steps hath stray'd, 
 
 Whose friendship triumphs e'en o'er Death's decree. 
 
70 THE GRAVE OF *********. 
 
 For thee his garments are not madly torn, 
 
 For thee he wears no sable garb of woe ; 
 Yet is there One in secret sees him mourn, 
 
 And in his bosom bear what passeth show. 
 
 Great was thy guilt ! yet did the world but know 
 What deep repentance follow' d hard upon, 
 
 It sure no more would smile that thou art low, 
 Nor speak so hardly of thee, now thou'rt gone. 
 
 The wasted form, sunk cheek, funereal gloom, 
 The heavy sigh, deep groan, and frenzy'd start, 
 
 The bed of sickness, and untimely tomb, 
 Are these the tokens of a harden'd heart ? 
 
 Great was thy guilt ! yet did the world but know 
 
 What strong and strange temptations wrought thy fall, 
 
 I, not alone, might Pity's meed bestow : 
 The grief of one, perhaps, were that of all. 
 
THE GRAVE OF * * * * * * * * *. 71 
 
 But man no more shall judge thee ! thou'rt with One, 
 To whom each secret of the heart is known ; 
 
 Who loves to raise Contrition's trembling son, 
 And marks the broken-hearted as his own. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by R, Gilbert, St, John's Square, London, 
 


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