THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POMPEII, 
 
 ^ JBilracttc IBacm^* 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ANNEXED, 
 
 POEMS ON THE NIOBE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF THESEUS; 
 
 (As approved by tlie " Cheltenham Literary and Philosophical Society.") 
 WITH OTHERS, NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 
 
 BY THE REV. S. MIDDLETON, B.D., 
 
 LATE RECTOR OF STKATTON, NORFOLK. 
 
 " All imaginable delights were here in constant rivalry." 
 
 Pliny on Campania. 
 " Divum inclementia Divum has evertet Opes." — Virgil. 
 
 SECOND Itl If* )"] EDITION. 
 
 CHELTENHAM: 
 PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM WIGHT, 
 
 AT HIS THEOLOGICAL LIBRARY: 
 
 SOLD IN LONDON, BY SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO.; 
 
 AND JAMES NISBET & CO. 
 
 MDCCC XXXVIII.
 
 MACINTOSH, PRINTER, 
 GREAT NEW STREET, LONDON,
 
 PR 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 TO THE REVEREND 
 
 PHILIP NICHOLAS SHUTTLEWORTH, D.D., 
 
 WARDEN OF NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD, 
 
 %c., ^C, %c. 
 
 My DEAR Sir, 
 In soliciting permission to dedicate this little Volume 
 to you, though duly sensible of the importance it 
 must acquire from a name so distinguished by 
 station and authorship, I am not less actuated by 
 sincere gratitude for the consideration and kind- 
 ness I have been honoured with at your hands, 
 and which has led me, while I looked up with 
 
 8G'?100
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 just admiration to the man of letters, to ciierisli a 
 Avarm affection for the gentleman, and, I would fain 
 add, the Friend. 
 
 These, Sir, I know are general sentiments re- 
 specting you, and feeling such, with a heartfelt 
 wish that every blessing, consistent with humanity, 
 may long attend you and yours, 
 
 I remain. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 Your obliged and very humble Servant, 
 
 STEPHEN MIDDLETON.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 In days when Poetry seems nearly excluded from 
 the library,* it requires perhaps no little courage 
 to launch even a small Volume on the literary 
 ocean. 
 
 The favourable reception with which the First 
 Edition was generally met, the almost if not 
 only objection to the former description of Pompeii 
 ("its brevity, or want of incident") the wish to 
 remedy that defect, and the many requests, of per- 
 haps partial friends, that it should be extended, 
 must form the Author's apologies for this Second 
 Edition. It is his desire, as it would be in what- 
 
 * The Author was lately informed by a respectable book- 
 seller that for many years he had never sold one copy of the 
 " British Poets," and scarcely a volume of them. 
 
 b
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 ever he writes, that its tendency may not be un- 
 becoming the Christian minister, and though he 
 lias now been induced to give some pages to, a 
 perhaps hackneyed subject, " Love," he yet trusts 
 that to some mistaken persons even this may be 
 morally beneficial, by showing its importance to 
 man's happiness, and more especially by pointing 
 out, what by many is too little considered, the 
 injinite difference between virtuous affection and 
 criminal passio7i, the former being probably next 
 to a well-grounded faith, the most sure path to 
 contentment on earth, while the latter conducts to 
 certain wretchedness in both worlds. The minor 
 Poems have been chiefly written at the request of, 
 or to accompany drawings by. Friends. 
 
 Cheltenham, 1st May, 1838.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Cities of Herculaneum, Staci^, and 
 Pompeii, were situated in that district of Italy, 
 named by the ancients " Campania," between the 
 mountains of Samnium and the Tyrehenean Sea — 
 this line of coast is known in our days as the " Bay 
 of Naples." At the bottom of this bay, about 
 thirteen miles south-east of Naples, and five from 
 Vesuvius, stood Pompeii — of its history very little 
 is known. Campania has ever been celebrated as 
 tempting, by its luxuriant riches, the invasion of 
 strangers ; and punishing the cupidity of its con- 
 querors, by enervating and subjecting them in turn. 
 Pompeii, being near the sea, united all the con- 
 veniences of a commercial toAvn, with the security 
 of a military station, and the romantic beauty of a 
 spot celebrated for its pre-eminent loveliness. Its 
 environs, even to the heights of Vesuvius, are said
 
 vm INTRODUCTION. , 
 
 to have been adorned with villas, and the whole 
 coast, as far as Naples, to have been covered with 
 gardens and villages. Multitudes of strangers, in 
 search of health and recreation, resorted to this 
 primeval " Cheltenham of the Sea" and added new 
 charms and animation to its delightful scenery. 
 
 These advantages were, however, dearly pur- 
 chased : an enemy, at that time unknown, was 
 silently working its destruction, and continues, from 
 age to age, to desolate the modern towns, which 
 stand on the buried cities of antiquity. Seneca 
 records an earthquake to have taken place on the 
 16th February, a.d. 63, by which a considerable 
 part of Pompeii was thrown down, and much 
 injury sustained by Herculaneum. Vestiges of 
 the injury done by this and subsequent shocks may 
 be still seen in the houses excavated at Pompeii, 
 where the mosaic floors are twisted and broken, and 
 show the repairs which have been attempted. 
 
 On the 23d August, a.d. 79, the great, and first 
 recorded volcanic paroxysm of Vesuvius took 
 place, w^hich overwhelmed, as in a moment, the
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 whole populous and delightful district ; and buried 
 in one vast and extensive grave, eveiything which 
 there conduced to delight and embellish life — all 
 that could charm the eye or astonish the imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 By an unusual good fortune, we are, even now, 
 in possession of a narrative, by an eye-witness, of 
 this dreadful catastrophe. It is contained in two 
 letters written by Pliny, the younger, to Tacitus, 
 relative to the death of his uncle, the elder Pliny, 
 who perished on the occasion " suffocated by gross 
 and noxious vapours." As these letters are gene- 
 rally known, I shall only trouble the reader with 
 some short extracts : — He describes a cloud to have 
 arisen from the neighbourhood of the mountain of 
 unusual size and shape ; its figure resembled " a 
 huge pine-tree shooting up to a prodigious height, 
 and extending itself at the top into numerous 
 branches;" it was at some times bright, and at 
 other times spotted, as more or less impregnated 
 with earth and hot cinders ; these cinders, which 
 grew thicker and hotter, soon began to fall, 
 together with pumice-stones and pieces of burning
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 rock. Soon after, the eruption from Vesuvius 
 flamed out in several places with great violence, 
 which rendered the darkness of the night more 
 visible and awful — notwithstanding the return of 
 day, a deeper darkness prevailed than in the most 
 obscure night. In Pliny's second letter he more 
 fully describes the tremendous awfulness of the 
 surrounding scenes — " the people, pressing on our 
 way, followed us out of the town in the utmost 
 consternation and terror — the chariots were so 
 agitated backwards and forwards that we could 
 not keep them steady, even with large stones, and 
 on level ground — the sea seemed to roll back on 
 itself, and to be driven from its shores by the 
 convulsive earth — the shore was much enlarged 
 and many sea animals were left upon it — on the 
 other side a black and dreadful cloud bursting with 
 an igneous serpentine vapour, darted long trains of 
 many-coloured fire, much larger than flashes of 
 lightning — it covered the whole ocean, and entirely 
 hid the island of Capreae and the promontory of 
 Misenum — the ashes now began to fall, — soon after- 
 wards I observed a thick smoke rolling after us like 
 a torrent — total darkness ensued. Nothing was to
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 be heard but the shrieks of women, the screams of 
 infants, and the cries of men ; some calling for 
 children, for parents, for husbands ; and only dis- 
 tinguishing each other by their voices — lamentations 
 and wishing to die, with invocations to the gods', 
 were heard on all sides, all imagining that the last 
 and eternal night of the world was come — every 
 thing was covered with ashes as a deep snow." 
 We find, from other records, that much matter 
 was deposited in a liquid state — that the impene- 
 trable darkness lasted three days — the ashes were 
 thrown up in such quantity and violence as to 
 have been carried even to the coasts of Africa, 
 Bysantium, &c. 
 
 Having endeavoured to embody in the Poem, 
 these, and other particulars such as are related 
 by Sir William Gell, Hill, Adams, Kennett, and 
 different historians, the author must still refer 
 his readers to well-known authorities, for such 
 information as does not fully appear in the notes 
 — such as the fables of Amphion and Orpheus — 
 the Marriage Procession, Feast and Customs — 
 Dress of the Bride — the Sacrificial Procession and 
 Rites — Street of Tombs — &c., &c., See.
 
 POMPEII, 
 
 Canto I. 
 
 Yes 1 all is still, save where the hollow ground 
 Yields a faint echo to the mattock's sound, 
 And where the workman, 'midst surrounding gloom, 
 Explores the relics of a City's tomb. 
 Spirit of olden Time, of days gone by. 
 Rise from these ashes on the Poet's eye ! 
 Haste at my call I and with thee bring along 
 Trutli to my voice, and music to my song; 
 From its deep shrine the latent scene renew, 
 Throw back the pall, and give the past to view. 
 
 B
 
 'I POMPEII. 
 
 () I for that voice, at whose inspiring tone ' 
 Majestic Thebes sprang from unquarried stone I 
 
 ! for that lyre, at whose enchanting strain 
 IIpU's grisly king relaxed his tyrant reign, 
 Confessed those sounds which mightiest gods 
 
 control, 
 And gave the bard the idol of his soul. "^ 
 Tlien would my muse in worthy strain recal 
 What desolation swept Pompeii's wall ; 
 And, spite of nature, would the story tell ^ 
 Whence her destruction came, and how her 
 
 thousands fell. 
 
 Fair was the morn, and cheerful was the day ; 
 Throng'd were her streets, and every heart was gay ; 
 Crowds, blithe in health, inhaled the vernal air. 
 And jocund laugh and revelry were there. 
 E'en now, in thought, from Juno's hallow'd fane, 
 
 1 see approach the mirth-attended train ! 
 Auspicious rites bespeak the smiles of heaven, * 
 On solemn vows of nuptial pledges given :
 
 POMPEII. O 
 
 The high-born maid, Campania's fairest boast, 
 Sought by each chief around the Tyrrhene coast, 
 BefOTe Heaven's awful queen has pledged her truth s 
 To the loved object of her early youth ; 
 Upon her steps the clustering thousands throng, 
 Welcome the scene, and swell the marriage song ! e 
 
 " Hail ! hail to the Chief whom the Fates have 
 befriended 
 With gifts all transcendent of fortune and love ; 
 Whose brow with the warrior's bright chaplet is 
 blended ; 
 Whose suit Heav'n's great Empress delights to 
 apprqve ! 
 
 " And hail to the Maiden whose beauty, demanding 
 The worship of men, may be ranked as divine ; 
 
 Whose virtues, the homage of mortals commanding. 
 With all the rich charms of her person combine ! 
 
 B 2
 
 4 POMPEII. 
 
 *' Long, long may the vows so propitiously otliered, 
 Unalloy'd by misfortune or falsehood remain ; 
 
 And may the aifection, now mutually proffered, 
 Shine brightly through life, free from cloud or 
 from stain I 
 
 " O grant, ye just Gods ! to their bridals benignant, 
 
 A race, like themselves, of the brave and the 
 
 fair; 
 
 And turn from their pathway, with prowess 
 
 indignant. 
 
 Each bane to their bliss, and the canker of care. 
 
 " Then, hail to the Chief whom the Fates have 
 befriended 
 With gifts all transcendent of fortune and love ; 
 Whose brow with the warrior's bright chaplet is 
 blended ; 
 Whose suit Ileav'n's great Empress delights to 
 approve."
 
 POMPEII. 5 
 
 Saw ye the Bride amidst that circling train, 
 Where warbling flutes breathe forth an amorous 
 
 'strain ; 
 Where virgin ranks, in all the proud array 
 Of dazzling beauty, press upon her way ? 
 Marked ye her step ? her more than mortal grace ? 
 Her eye of heaven ? her hope-illumin'd face ? — 
 Around her brow the blooming chaplet glowed, ^ 
 And down her graceful form the flammeum flowed, ** 
 The tunic's softest fold her limbs embraced, ^ 
 And the pure girdle clasped her slender waist ; 
 Gaze of admiring multitudes she moved, 
 Propp'd by the manly arm of him she loved ! 
 
 Alas, fair maid ! e'en like yon solar ray, 
 Thy brief, delusive transports fade away ; 
 Those spear-divided locks, those eyes of light, '" 
 Heaven's flattering smiles, and each propitious rite. 
 All, all are vain, themselves or thee to save 
 From the dark horrors of an instant grave ;
 
 b POMPEII. 
 
 Vov lo I with solemn pace, yon lurid cloud 
 O'er the blue heaven extends its leaden shroud ; 
 Pernicious gales sulphureous tempests bring, 
 And certain havoc rides upon their wing. 
 
 The bridal throng hath passed on homeward way. 
 And, as progressive hours lead on the day, 
 Increasing heat and darker shades arise, 
 'Till a dim curtain seems to veil the skies ; 
 Meanwhile, a thousand eyes explore the cause — 
 A violation of fair Nature's laws, 
 And shuddering breasts e'en now anticipate 
 Some dread convulsion of impending fate. 
 
 Alas ! what cause impels the wavy throng. 
 Glares in each eye, and drives the crowds along ? 
 What sudden horror, by each act confessed, 
 Nerves every arm, and maddens every breast ? 
 Darkness has spread around ! — an awful gloom, i' 
 Hopeless and deep, as of some boundless tomb,
 
 POMPEII. t 
 
 Seals up the anxious sight, and o'er the soul 
 Throws the strong fetters of its dire control ! 
 M^nwhile, the shrieks of frantic wives resound. 
 Whdse screaming infants echo back the sound, 
 While husbands, wildly rushing through the press, 
 Fold their loved offspring in a last caress. 
 Still, still yon mountain cloud ascends on high. 
 Spreads shade on shade, and drives along the sky ; 
 In form a giant pine, the deluge came, ^"^ 
 Its trunk all blackness, and each branch a flame ; 
 lis fires assuming, to the shrinking view. 
 Now the fierce glare, and now a dying hue ! 
 Dark, rapid, burning, in its torrent force, 
 Each moment shifting, onward still its course. 
 Fragments of heated stone it vomits round. 
 And floods of whelming ashes veil the ground ! 
 The falling masses burst the sacred fanes. 
 And o'er the scene wide desolation reigns ; 
 E'en the vast sea rolls back, while many a crash 
 From burning rocks its hissing waters splash.
 
 8 I'OMPEII. 
 
 Brief time the noise is hushed ! and, 'midst that 
 
 calm, 
 The listening ear drinks in a holy balm ! 
 — Yes ! 'tis the Christian's hymn ! which, floating 
 
 high, 1^ 
 Seems to suspend the vengeance of the sky ! 
 Led by the glare of fierce, volcanic light, 
 Tiiey meet 'midst horrors of unnatural night, 
 And seek, beneath yon arch, Jehovah's aid. 
 While Christian faith and hope their souls pervade ! 
 
 " Lo ! the Judge of all, descending, 
 Rescue to the faithful brings ; 
 Clouds and tempests, round attending, 
 Veil the splendour of his wings. 
 
 " Day of judgment I hour of doom, 
 Welcome, welcome, are ye come ! 
 Welcome, time of sainted rest, 
 Welcome to each Christian breast ! 
 
 .^..
 
 POMPEII. 
 
 " Rescue now from persecution, 
 Stripes, and flame, and reeking sword ! 
 'Welcome, day of retribution. 
 To the faithful of their Lord ! 
 
 " By the blood on Calvary shed, 
 Where tlry Son for sinners bled ; 
 By tlie shade of darkest gloom 
 Which enwrapp'd his rocky tomb ; 
 
 " By the power of His ascension, 
 When he burst the vanquished grave ; 
 Cheering proof of our redemption, 
 Earnest of His power to save ; 
 
 " By His gift, the Holy Ghost, 
 Given on day of Pentecost ; 
 By our faith, our earnest prayer, 
 Take us, Lord ! beneath thy care : 
 
 9
 
 10 POMPEII. 
 
 " Save us, in this hour of doom 1 
 
 Save us, for the hour is come ! 
 
 Save, O save us ! " * * 
 ****** 
 
 The hymn is lost ! amidst a din of sounds 
 
 Which Heaven's wide arch with reeling earth 
 
 confounds ; 
 A denser vapour from the mountain's side 
 Shoots through the air in suffocating tide. 
 And larger, mightier, darker, in its way, 
 Spreads ghastly night across the realms of day. 
 — Tinging the blackness with its frequent flame, 
 In fiei'cer blaze the vivid lightning came. 
 And seem'd in shifting hue, and varied dies. 
 With horrid splendour to illume the skies : 
 In brightest blue — anon, in snake-like green. 
 The restless flash in quivering change is seen ; 
 Now blood-red crimson in its ardent glow. 
 Now pale, now deadly pale, as driven snow. '*
 
 POMPEII. 
 
 11 
 
 Hark ! to that deep, that more than thunde'r's 
 sound — 
 Treflinbles the earth, and cleaves the solid ground ! '^ 
 Again, that fearful shock ! the massy wall 
 Reels from its lowest stone ; the temples fall ! 
 Yon mountain's giant crest has burst amain, 
 And spreads a molten torrent to the plain : 
 The sudden Phlegethon, Death seems to guide. 
 Lash its red wave, and on its surface ride; 
 Hurling its deluge down the steepy sides. 
 In one vast avalanche the lava glides ; 
 And, as from hell's dark jaws, the current strong 
 To the devoted city sweeps along ; 
 While fiery cataracts, and blacker smoke, 
 From the deep crater in confusion broke I 
 Beneath the earthquake's force, the tempest- 
 shower, 
 The bounding wave assumes a tenfold power, 
 Then leaves the uncouth monsters of the main 
 High on the shore, convulsed with torturing pain.
 
 12 roMfEii. 
 
 Prompted by God, the Red Sea thus, of yore, 
 Hurled Egypt's armies on its vengeful shore, 
 And strewed their stiff 'ning corses o'er the beach, 
 Beyond the precincts of its wonted reach. "• 
 O ! for the tempest breeze, the swelling sail, 
 To 'scape the horrors of this baneful gale ! 
 () ! for an eagle's rapid wing to fly 
 Beyond the confines of this fatal sky ! 
 But ah ! Hope's faintest beam of heavenly light 
 Is shrouded in Despair's impending night. 
 
 Meanwhile, the crowds again, in frantic wrath. 
 And desperate fury, urge their onward path ; 
 All social ties are lost — no further stay — . 
 Self, self alone, impels their headlong way ; 
 State, rank, or sex, no more their thoughts 
 
 engage. 
 The helpless infant, or decrepid age ; 
 Despairing, crushing, trampling, on they go, 
 Like billowy ocean, in its wildest flow ;
 
 POMl'F.II. 13 
 
 Forward they press, 'midst groans, and oaths, and 
 
 cries, 
 WhHe sudden shrieks or solemn prayers arise ; 
 No stop, no question, no recovering breath, 
 And he that falls, but sinks to instant death : 
 Ashes on ashes follow, shower on shower 
 Around their course new desolation pour ; 
 While earthquake, lightning, thunder, mingling 
 
 round, 
 Appal the soul, and 'midst the heavens resound ! 
 Wild, haggard, ghastly, whelmed in nerveless fear, 
 Vast rushing groups encountering groups appear ; 
 Showing in every face the lurid glare 
 Of ghost-like paleness, and of dumb despair. 
 
 Where shall they fly ? — in every tottering street 
 
 Ruin on ruin cuts off all retreat. 
 
 Where shall they fly ? — the loved, the sheltering 
 
 roof 
 Against this war of nature is no proof.
 
 14 POMPLII. 
 
 E'en the late sacred fanes but serve to show 
 Destruction round, by fire's unceasing glow; 
 No hope to cheer them, and no hand to guide : — 
 The very foot-path seems to creep and slide ! 
 If to the open land they urge their feet, 
 A wider danger seems their way to meet ; 
 Cinders and rock the unsheltered earth deform. 
 And dash around them in promiscuous storm I 
 Groaning and shifting in its war of waves, 
 The sea seems shrinking to its deepest caves. 
 And rushing devious from the earthquake's force, 
 Quits the rent shore, and hurries back its course. 
 Huddling together — stunned — of sense bereft, 
 Men glare around in vain, to right or left ; 
 Half-buried, quivering corpses round them lie; 
 And hopeless dread forbids the power to fly. 
 Borne on by howling winds, sharp dust descends. 
 From which no shelter a protection lends. 
 A griping sense of keen, convulsive pain 
 Tugs at each nerve, and throbs in every vein ;
 
 POMPEII. 15 
 
 Each moment breath and consciousness depart ; 
 And blood revulsive clogs the labouring heart I 
 Dank, steaming, poisonous vapours taint their 
 
 breath, 
 And all is racking doubt, dismay, and death. 
 Dread hour of doom I all nature seems at strife, 
 And heaven's whole powers at war with human life. 
 
 Another pause succeeds ! — the mighty hill. 
 Like a worn demon in his wrath, is still ; 
 E'en yet the rumbling ground, the groaning waves, 
 And hissing gases bursting from their caves, 
 Foretell new efforts in the womb of earth, 
 Darkly maturing for a speedy birth. 
 From the deep chasms thick baneful vapours 
 
 stream ; 
 And 'gainst the gloom tlie blazing vineyards gleam. 
 
 The thief, emerging by the flickering light, 
 Heaps up his desperate gains with strange delight ;
 
 IC POMPEII. 
 
 And, as he fondly views tin- dazzling store, 
 Casts round his fiendish eye, and hopes for more. 
 Accursed thirst of gold ! thy dire control 
 Absorbs each sacred [lurpose of the soul ; 
 Powerless seems death, thy craving to allay ; 
 And hell in vain stands yawning in thy way. 
 
 In the brief pause, behold, with trembling feet, 
 Yon mansion's lord runs wildly through the street : 
 His lifted hands the loved Penates bear, '^ 
 Once his fond boast — now deaf to every prayer ! 
 The hurried flight his following slaves attend. 
 And with the weight of choicest treasures bend : 
 But every hope is fled ! the throbbing breast 
 Clogs with the venom of the mortal pest ; 
 Swells the full pulse, the swimming eye-balls 
 
 roll, 
 Till fate, at length, relieves the struggling soul. '^ 
 Meanwhile, a tenfold steam ascends on high, 
 Compress'd, and rising swiftly to the sky,
 
 POMPEII. 17 
 
 Then, for bi'ief space, o'er heaven's vast concave 
 
 spread, 
 Falk, like a deluge, on the stricken head ; 
 On its deep stream, thick ashes hurled along, 
 Choke the dark vaults, and whirl the depths 
 
 among ! ^^ 
 
 If, haply, o'er this page should roam an eye 
 Which love confounds with sensuality — 
 For such there are, dead both to sense and 
 
 shame, 
 Lost to fair honour, and debased in fame, 
 Who prey on female hearts ; and dare express 
 A lawless scorn for social happiness- 
 Here let him close the book, nor impious read 
 Of scenes which make the virtuous bosom bleed ! 
 For him no heaven-taught bard attunes his lyre ; 
 He claims nor music's voice or poet's fire : 
 Much less Avould Love, robed in her holiest beam, 
 Pour on such ear depraved her sweetest Ihcmc 
 
 c
 
 18 POMPEII. 
 
 Ere now, the happy pair, whom morning's i-ay 
 Lit to high Juno's fane in rich array, 
 Had I'eached tlieir home, where songs and music 
 
 round, 
 Pealed a full welcome in commingling sound. 
 Far from the town the spacious mansion rose, 
 Where nature's choicest gifts the site enclose ; 
 Ev'n where yon hillock caught the southern 
 
 I'ay, 
 And sloped its bosom to the tranquil bay. 
 The portals blush with many a verdant wreath, 2° 
 And sweetest fragrance o'er their pathway breathe. 
 To Vesta sacred, with especial care, ^^ 
 Above the threshold they the virgin bear — 
 At once the enraptured bridegroom hastes to bring, 
 With throbbing breast, each votive oflFering : 
 First, at her feet, his mansion's keys are laid, 
 A willing tribute to the blushing maid ; 
 Next, limpid water from the bubbling springs, 
 And sacred fire the anxious lover brings,
 
 POMPEII. 19 
 
 Emblems of purity, of plighted vows, 
 
 Of blended souls, of all that heaven allows. 
 
 t 
 
 O woman ! when thy young untainted soul 
 Is true to nature and its wise control ; 
 When all is pure, and no false thoughts molest 
 Thy calm tranquillity, thy seraph rest ; 
 And when love's influence, mightiest of the mind, 
 That orient beam of bliss to human kind. 
 Sends its first throbbing through thy angel breast. 
 That trembling — doubting of its bliss — is blest. 
 And, as a magic, by thy beauty's glow, 
 Tinges with crimson flush thy form of snow ; 
 How soft, how dear, how sacred then the sigh, 
 How bright the spark, quick flashing in thine eye, 
 As, spite of worldly wealth or earthly power, 
 Thou giv'st the one adored thy heart a dower. 
 
 And such was Julia's love ! for, I might say, 
 She was that stranger in this earthly way, 
 
 c 2
 
 20 roMPEii. 
 
 In whom was blended, in one ray intense, 
 All that attracts and chains the purer sense ; 
 A dove-like innocence, a bland repose, 
 Bedecked her brow, and from her aspect rose, 
 And threw a sacred halo round her head. 
 Which fancy worshipped, as by beauty fed. 
 
 To grow of her enamoured soon inspired 
 All that a poet's fervent hopes desired ; 
 A charmed world seemed opened on the view, 
 And all that met the ear or sight was new : 
 Formed to direct and fascinate the will. 
 It seemed, at her command, that life stood still, 
 Relaxing all its movements, all its force, 
 Till that command again impelled their course ; 
 Then hope and warm ambition urged them on. 
 Aspiring to, and seeking her alone. 
 
 Her's was the form which by concentred charms, 
 The fabled Venus of all power disarms ;
 
 POMPEII. 21 
 
 The brow, the damask cheek, the braided hair, 
 
 The dimpled chin, the swan-like neck were there ! 
 
 Graceful each movement, each to nature true. 
 
 At every turn fresh admiration drew ; 
 
 And, ao the wave that cools, the sun that warms, 
 
 The dew that softens, tempest that alarms, 
 
 So, from her look, her smile, or seeming frown. 
 
 Young hope was brighten'd, or at once cast down. 
 
 He, too, the j^outh who to her heart aspired, 
 lu female judgment Avas no less admired ; 
 Brilliant, and redolent of youthful grace, 
 Distinct in stately form, in manly face. 
 Impelled by nobler thoughts, by higher views. 
 Than pleasure's or ambition's slave pursues. 
 Enlightening all, exalted or profound. 
 He threw the splendour of his nature round, 
 As from his lip the stream of science flowed, 
 Whate'er he touched with sudden radiance 
 glowed. 22
 
 22 POMPEII. 
 
 'Midst the corruptions of that early time, 
 'Midst the enticements of that sunny clime, 
 'Midst avarice, ambition, lawless sway. 
 His mind held on an uncorrupted way. 
 And soared, with steady track and eagle ken, 
 Beyond the common course and views of men. 
 
 For such to meet and love was nature's will — 
 Nay, more, 'twas Heaven's fixed purpose to fulfil. 
 
 And shall the heartless libertine despise. 
 Such dear, such holy sensibilities ? 
 He, rioting in vice and base desire. 
 Quenches the torch of nature's bliss in mire : 
 Cloyed by licentiousness, his youth's bright day, 
 Fritter'd in vile pursuits, is worn away ! 
 Vain fool ; while madly thou presum'st to claim, 
 In thy lascivious haunts, an odious fame. 
 The God of nature plants within thy heart 
 That well-earned curse, which ripens in its smart-
 
 POMPEII. 23 
 
 Countless desires — a restless fancy there, 
 Stain all thy movements and beget despair; 
 The glory of thy years debased and fled — 
 An early winter gathering on thy head ; 
 Some glow-worm beauty, with attractive power, 
 Dazzling thine eyes by lurements of the hour — 
 Thy heart exhausted in pursuit of bliss, 
 By shadows led — the substance sure to miss, 
 And all thy conscience, if yet such there be. 
 The sickly slave of low depravity ! 
 
 Witness, just God I when, to a father's knee, 
 I lift the prattling babe derived from Thee, 
 When from its pouting lips I tempt the kiss. 
 And my heart bounds with all a parent's 
 
 bliss, 
 1 feel a joy more sacred, pure, and free, 
 Than ages give to sensuality ; 
 I feel a brighter glow, a holier fire 
 Than vice can boast, or all its charms inspire.
 
 24 POMPEII. 
 
 Such was the passion, sacred and refined, 
 Which glowed in Caius' breast, in Julia's mind, 
 In early days the vivid spark was bred ; 
 Years fann'd the flame, and deep conviction 
 
 fed. 
 Virtue and honour, sanctity and truth. 
 The morning dawn of life-confiding youth ; 
 Invention, fancy, thought, experience, mind, 
 Swell'd as a river in its flow combined ; 
 Till in one sea, one harmony of soul. 
 No depth could fathom it, no bound control. 
 
 He was her sun, her principle of light — 
 She the young bud, expanding to his sight ; 
 And, if that all-sustaining light should fade. 
 The drooping sun-flower withered in the shade. 
 Refined by feelings from so pure a source, 
 Etherealized by beauty's magic force, 
 Caius could only breathe his Julia's name. 
 The something, sacred as his altar's flame —
 
 POMPEII. 25 
 
 Mistress at once and idol of his days, 
 
 He deemed no tongue but his should speak her 
 
 • praise ; 
 He only worthy to approach her throne, 
 He thought, he spoke, he felt her his alone ! 
 'Mid storms of life they each had learned to fly 
 For instant refuge in their sympathy ; 
 Heaven, they conceived, had on their union 
 
 smiled, 
 And confidence, from woe its sting beguiled. 
 
 Yes, 'tis before such love as this is formed, 
 
 By time cemented and by trial warmed, 
 
 We think the throbbing breast the flame hath 
 
 caught, 
 We deem the poet has the passion taught ; 
 But, as yon silvery stars dissolve away 
 Before the bursting dawn, the risen day, 
 Ev'n thus the poet's vision fades from sight 
 Before this glorious beam — this perfect light.
 
 26 POMPEII. 
 
 Did Julia sing ? O ! in each melting note, 
 Streams of sweet sound round Caius seemed to 
 
 float ; 
 Incense was wafted from the realms above, 
 And the charmed earth felt redolent of love ! 
 Did Julia smile ? O ! to that smile was given 
 All that he'd heard, or thought, or hoped of 
 
 heaven ; 
 Discord was hushed, and banished every care, 
 A present bliss, a deity was there I 
 
 In faith confiding, down life's distant sea 
 They spread their chart of future destiny, 
 While o'er their present hopes the future shone, 
 Ev'n as beyond the spring bright summer's sun. 
 O love 1 when in the young and virtuous breast 
 Thou build'st thy home, thou weav'st thy fairy 
 
 nest. 
 Gladness is on thy wings, and storms but tend 
 Thy brighter radiance with man's life to blend ;
 
 POMPEII. 27 
 
 But when the heart hath fallen from its trust, 
 Rent from its prop, and mingled with the dust, 
 Whirrd in the soiling path awhile it flies, 
 Then, crushed for ever, it for ever dies. 
 
 But haste we to our tale ! The noon speeds fast. 
 And thronging slaves prepare a quick repast ; 
 Couches, replete with classic form and grace, 
 Around the wide ccenaculum they place. 
 The silver canisters with bread are stored, 
 Hfoney, with fruits and cakes, bedeck the board, 
 Choice raisins here with laughing grapes combine 
 To mock the flashes of the ruby wine. 
 
 Rang'd in thick rows, or stretched on beds of 
 
 state, 
 Th' assembling guests the bridal feast await, 
 Some, girt with snow-white napkins, bathe their 
 
 hands 
 In sparkling water from the silvery stands ; *3
 
 28 POMPEII. 
 
 While some, with decent and attentive care, 
 For short ablutions to the bath repair. 
 Meanwhile, the graceful bridegroom bears along 
 A polished vase above the jocund throng. 
 Brimming with nuts, and crowding boys around ^* 
 Rush to the well-known games with ready bound. 
 " Witness, ye boys I " the smiling Caius said, 
 " My days of youthful pastime now are fled ; 
 " Far other cares, and hopes of other joy, 
 " The days of mai'riage and of men employ. 
 " Haste to the sport, exert your youthful powers 
 " To seize these symbols of my thoughtless 
 
 hours." 
 He said, and instant dashed upon the earth 
 The bounding nuts, provocatives of mirth ; 
 Quick o'er the floor the eager boys are spread, 
 Scrambling with outstretched arms or pommelled 
 
 head ; 
 Impatient violence knows no delay, 
 The fame is his who bears the most away.
 
 POMPEII. 29 
 
 Order at length restored, the flutes again 
 Send forth a quicker and more melting strain ; 
 While numerous voices, blending with their sound, 
 Echo the loud Thalasian hymns around. ^^ 
 
 Near to the bridal pair, on couch elate, 
 
 A sighing youth, the love-thrall'd Decius sate, 
 
 His eye still turned, and cheek with flushing 
 
 glow. 
 To blooming Marcia, in the circling row ; 
 And, as responsive to that restless eye, 
 His throbbing bosom heaved the frequent sigh. 
 Full often had the youth express'd his j^ain. 
 Proffered his troth, and sought the maid to gain ; 
 But ah ! the laughter-loving god denied. 
 And Marcia heard him with disdainful pride ; 
 Herself as yet too young, too wild for love. 
 As a cold friend the sighing boy would prove ; 
 But what is friendship to the tortured breast, 
 Where Cupid's shaft forbids the balm of rest ?
 
 30 FOMPEII. 
 
 'Tis as the feeble imi^otence of age 
 Against the lightning's flash, the tempest's rage — • 
 Him Caius marked, and, leaning o'er the throng, 
 Signed to th' enamoured Decius for a song ; 
 Nor could the blushing youth the song deny — 
 Such were the rites — or venture a reply. 
 At length a smile from Marcia nerved his breast, 
 And the weak strains his faltering tongue ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 " Forgive, forgive me, dearest maid,- 
 That e'er I dared thy heart to prove — 
 
 That e'er from friendship's path I strayed. 
 And sought the dangerous track of love! 
 
 " Forgive, forgive the burning ray 
 Which lately lit my venturous eye, 
 
 Which taught ray tongue such vows to pay. 
 Which woke my bosom's softest sigh.
 
 POMPEII, 31 
 
 " O ! 'twas a frenzy seized my frame, 
 From wild delirium sprung the thought ! 
 
 \ thousand charms inspired the flame, 
 A thousand hopes the passion caught ! 
 
 " Vain thoughts away ! of folly's breed ; 
 
 Your soft delusions now are o'er; 
 From all such dazzling lurements freed, 
 
 This heart shall own the snare no more. 
 
 *' Ah ! then forgive me, dearest maid, 
 That thus I dared thy heart to prove ; 
 
 That ere from friendship's path I strayed, 
 And madly tried the course of love !" 
 
 He ceased ! a sudden twilight veils the room ! 
 The goblet fails, the garlands cease to bloom ; 
 Lo where a giant spirit stirs abroad I 
 The wise grow idiots, and the brave are awed.
 
 32 POMPEII. 
 
 A rough, terrific, subterranean sound 
 
 Rolls with deep echo 'neath the heaving ground. 
 
 While to its thunder, in resistless course. 
 
 Whirls up the billowing earth with tempest force ; 
 
 Earthquake, wild earthquake, shakes the yielding 
 
 plain. 
 Before it nature shrinks, and art is vain ; 
 And, as th' uprising Titan from his sides ^6 
 Shakes off the mountains, and their weight 
 
 derides, 
 So moved the demon in infernal might, 
 Exciting agony and wild aiFright. 
 The distant yelling sea, the gloom of heaven, 
 Laden with sulphurous fate, by lightning riven. 
 Urge on the blasting death, and mix on high 
 With mortal shrieks, and gi'oans of agony ! 
 Veil, veil, my muse, the terrors of the hour ; 
 Description fails thee ; and poetic power. 
 Hide, in oblivion hide, nor vainly throw 
 Thy feeble wailings on this scene of woe !
 
 POMPEII. S3 
 
 'Bove all, e'en now, I hear the bridegroom's prayer. 
 Wrung from his soul in agonized despair, 
 /Vhen from his grasp, with deep convulsive breath, 
 Sank his young bride amidst that scene of death. 
 His eyes to heaven upturned, would fain demand 
 Some instant succour — some Almighty hand ; 
 Yet no rash claim excites that s\ippliant soul. 
 Where tyrant anguish holds a firm control : 
 'Tis the mute pleading of the tortured mind, 
 To deepest woe and agony consigned, 
 When nature stagnates in her every part. 
 And the red current palsies at the heart ! 
 — Is there yet hope ? — see, o'er her face he 
 
 bends, 
 Shields her fair form, and with his own defends. 
 Is there yet hope ? — alas, that bursting sigh. 
 That ghastly paleness, yields a dumb reply ! — 
 *' Spare, gracious Gods ! spare, this your gift ! " he 
 
 cries, 
 And with a look — one frenzied look, he dies.
 
 :34 POMPEII. 
 
 O, such is liumaii bliss I the meteor ray 
 Gilds the young orient of" man's fleeting day : 
 Awhile, the fairy phantom mocks his sight, 
 And spreads its hues of gay, prismatic light ; 
 But ah I full soon, that morning ray is past, 
 A fatal change descends upon the blast ; 
 And the vain lure which held our senses bound, ^^ 
 Dissolves to air, or spreads in vapour round. 
 
 Near his black corse, in one promiscuous 
 
 heap, 
 Friends, kindred, people, sink to endless sleep ; 
 Horror and dire dismay, with rapid pace — 
 Or death, more welcome, 'whelms the struggling 
 
 race. 
 
 As, in our northern clime, the fleecy snow 
 Shifts its thick current where the breezes blow, 
 The silvery flakes, as in some sportive play. 
 At first the impulse of the blasts obey ;
 
 POMPEII. 35 
 
 Deep and more deep, at length, the torrents lower, 
 And ether's self seems bending with the shower ; 
 'TiU, drift on drift, extending wide around, 
 One undistinguished ruin hides the ground ! 
 So, from yon fiery mountain rising high. 
 The lurid tempest, blackening all the sky, 
 Spreads a vast deluge o'er Campania's plain. 
 And her late splendid towns are sought in vain ! "^^ 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 D 2
 
 Hast thou e'er watched tlie marble brow. 
 By beauty circled even now, 
 Just when life's last and lingering ray 
 Resigned its seat to native clay ? 
 And hast thou seen the winding sheet 
 Wrap the pale corse from head to feet, 
 And didst thou shed the gushing tear 
 For the mute tenant of the bier ? 
 And sighing o'er each air-built plan, 
 Groan for the nothingness of man ? 
 
 Here, may'st thou find a deeper source 
 For sighs, and tears, and sorrow's course, 
 As, looking on Pompeii's plain. 
 Thy soul is tojiched with moral strain !
 
 38 POiMPEII. 
 
 A city here, in all her pride, 
 Drank the full flow of pleasure's tide ; 
 Its joyous thousands here were placed 
 'Midst scenes by nature's bounty graced ; 
 And, in a day, destruction's wave 
 Swept all beneath a common grave ; 
 A grave so vast, so wide, so deep, 
 Ages have wondered where they sleep ! 
 
 Well may'st thou weep, but oh, discern 
 The moral thou hast hence to learn. 
 And ere from off these plains you move, 
 Fix, fix thy every trust above.
 
 Canto II. 
 
 Changed be the strain ! — again, to mortal eyes, 
 
 Pompeii's walls from buried gloom arise, 
 
 Cleansed from their shroud : — on nature's shifting 
 
 stage, 
 Behold the remnants of the early age ! 
 E'en as some fabled tenant of the grave, 
 From secret confines of unhallowed cave, 
 With pausing step explores a once-loved scene, 
 And shews affrighted man where man has been ! 
 Thus, on yon beauteous coast, exposed to siglit, 
 Still as the tomb, and silent as the night, 
 Long, roofless streets to mournful view display 
 What once was lovely, animate, and gay ;
 
 40 
 
 rOMPElI. 
 
 Strew with sepulchral marks the fatal shore, 
 Where voice is heard, where man is seen, no more. 
 
 Mute chill of heart ! dii-e palsy of the soul, 
 That o'er my spirit throWs a dread control ! 
 Wjiich awes my mind as 'midst these scenes I 
 
 tread 
 These sad mementos of the buried dead, 
 Hence I speed ye hence, and give my thoughts then- 
 way, 
 My tongue its office, and my heart its play ! 
 
 Mysterious Babel of a bygone age, 
 Above whose circuit Chaos vents its rage ; 
 Within whose precincts once wei'e heard aloud 
 The busy murmurs of the reckless crowd, 
 Wlio in their separate intei-est poured along, 
 'Midst joy or woe, 'midst wretchedness or song ; 
 How sliall the bard th' appalling theme pursue, 
 Or range his varying notes to sing of you,
 
 POMPEII. 41 
 
 Unless some ray divine his soul inspire, 
 Beam on his mind, and animate his lyre ? 
 E'eh here, perhaps, beneath this roofless shed, 
 Crime stalked, or want once spread her scanty 
 
 bed ; 
 'Till the heart fainted 'neath its constant moan, 
 Or famine hushed at length the feeble groan. 
 
 Beneath yon pillar'd fabric, purpled wealth 
 Wasted in gross debauch the bloom of health ; 
 And jovial slaves, with mutely pilfering hand. 
 Mocked the vain lordling in usurped command. — 
 From forth that narrow window, which on high 
 Caught the first flashes of Campania's sky, 
 Perchance some student's flickering lamp hath shed 
 Its midnight ray around the aching head ; 
 Or sickening odours from unwholesome oil 
 Poisoned the health, and baulked the poet's toil. — 
 Such is the chequer'd lot of all below, 
 Tinged with the flitting hues of hope or woe ;
 
 42 POMPEII. 
 
 E'en as yon spangling gems which gild the night, 
 Absorbed are mingled in the morning's light ; 
 Or as the northern gleams, which flash and play, 
 Then wane and vanish at the opening day ; 
 Yes, such the fate of man through every age, — 
 Still thronging onward o'er life's shifting stage ; 
 Th' unsated gulf of ages swallows all, 
 And one vast night enwraps them in its pall. 
 
 Though centuries have urged their noiseless 
 course, 
 Whose silent tongues yet speak with moral force, 
 Fresh from the dust behold these walls arise. 
 And paintings blush e'en as by recent dyes ; 
 The rich mosaic floors few marks deface, 
 Order still reigns, with much of pristine grace ; 
 Unfinished buildings seem to wait the hour, 
 While his repast repairs the workman's power ; 
 Or from his noontide rest, at nature's need. 
 Returned, it seems these structures will proceed,
 
 POMPEII. 43 
 
 And uncapped columns rear their heads on 
 
 high, 
 To {ax the judgment or delight the eye. 
 See ! e'en the tools their hands so late forsook 
 Are lodged with careless haste in yonder nook ! 
 
 Beneath yon garden trees the tripod stands, 
 Claiming the sacrifice from looked-for hands ; 
 And graceful seats are ranged with artful care, 
 Where joyous guests inhaled the vernal air 
 With which, beneath Campania's sunny sky, 
 The rose or orange bathes the zephyr's sigh ; 
 Amid yon halls, responsive now no more, 
 The massy chest displays its treasured store, 
 And wealth, once sacred to religion's shrine, 
 Lies hoar with age, and sanctified by time ; 
 The strigils still the ready baths adorn, 
 And e'en the garments by frequenters worn ; — 
 The vivid paintings of yon gorgeous stage 
 Are perfect still, still triumph over age ;
 
 44 POMPEII. 
 
 Here riven theatres to view display 
 The varied scenes of dramas passed away, 
 Whence thronging crowds in deep suspense ad- 
 mired 
 Progressive feats by gods or heroes fired; 
 As the rapt poet poured the tale along 
 In ti'agic harmony or burst of song. — 
 The lamps suspended in yon spacious dome 
 Wait but the torch to light their master home, 
 And fragments spread on the tricliniums floor 
 Tell, as it were, the feast but lately o'^r. — 
 Lo ! 'midst the chamber's secrets we descry 
 Perfumes, and rouge, held dear to beauty's eye ; 
 Around are combs and graceful trinkets spread. 
 Which decked the person or attired the head, 
 And slender bones, which erst with vigour rife 
 Moved, 'midst these scenes, each luxury of 
 
 life- 
 Such are the objects which around us stand. 
 And claim attention at the poet's hand.
 
 POMPEII. 45 
 
 Ye once famed guardians of each hallowed 
 shrine, '^^ 
 Where cheated fancy held ye all divine ; 
 And thou, Pantheon, to whose crowded court, 
 Heaven, earth, and hell's assembled gods resort : 
 Say, could no hand your tottering temples save ? 
 Would none stand forth the sweeping storm to brave? 
 Must all your boasting deities retire 
 Before a tempest of your Vulcan's fire ? 
 — Vain trust of man ! your very altars fall ; 
 Your faithless power, attests each broken wall : 
 And while such scenes awake the Christian's sigh, 
 Grief for man's erring faith bedews his eye. 
 
 But rest we here ! and though the mists of age 
 Throw a dim shade on mythologic page ; 
 Though brief our progress, and obscured our way. 
 We draw some records to the light of day, 
 Of times, when Superstition's powerful aid 
 Gave a substantial form to fancy's shade ;
 
 46 POMPEII. 
 
 For when the lightning blazed, her arm was feared, 
 And when heaven's thunders roared, her voice was 
 
 heard : 
 She tanglit with awe the tyrant's breast to quake, 
 Pour the deep vow, and at her mandates shake : 
 Within her cell mysterious omens flamed, 
 And well-feigned oracles their fates proclaimed ; 
 To aid the fable, from his honeyed tongue 
 Th' enraptured poet poured the swell of song, 
 Pointed fair Virtue to the bless'd abodes. 
 And stamped on Vice the vengeance of the gods. 
 No revelation yet, with cloudless ray, 
 Had pierced the moral gloom which wrapp'd their 
 
 day; 
 No heavenly beam to their uncertain sight. 
 Brought "Life and immortalitj'^ to light;" ^'' 
 But all the mind, in midnight darkness lost. 
 Sport of each gale, by every tempest tost, 
 Flashed, meteor-like, across the gloomy void. 
 By passion prompted, or by lust destroyed.
 
 POMPEII. 47 
 
 E'en now, the hour of sacrifice begins, 
 The expiation for a people's sins : — 
 Mark 1 where the priest in deep ablution laves, 
 And bends his body 'neath the sparkling waves ; 
 Now binds his temples with the verdant bough, 
 And twines the sacred fillet round his brow. 
 Proceeding slowly to the fane divine. 
 He bears the simpulura with hallowed wine ; 
 While numerous youths, who to the rites belong, 
 With weighty patera, or baskets, throng. 
 In order next, musicians crowd the way. 
 And on soft pipes or harps slow dirges play ; 
 These, as the fasces arm their nervous hands. 
 The lictors follow, in compacted bands. — 
 Doomed by the mute conductor's arm to bleed, 
 With trappings bound, the victims next suc- 
 ceed; ^' 
 And bearing sacrificial cups along, 
 With arms and breasts unclothed, the Popae 
 throng. —
 
 48 POMPEII. 
 
 The death-struck beast now loads th' ensanguiueil 
 
 ground ; 
 And as a breathless silence reigns around, ^'^ 
 The " Flanien," with attentive eye, awaits 
 The opening entrails, and iiredicts the fates ; 
 Tells their propitious signs with cheerful voice, 
 And bids the circling multitude rejoice : 
 At which the feast proceeds, and the vast crowd 
 Laud their vain Gods, and hymn their praise aloud. 
 — Such was man's erring faith ! the strong control 
 Which held in bigot bond th' immortal soul : 
 A faith, where Gods of earth, and sea, and air, 
 Held separate province, and peculiar care ; — 
 Gods, famed far less for virtue than for lust, 
 Whose powers appal, whose flagrant deeds disgust ; 
 Yet such a dark mythology had made, 
 And such the untutored mind of man obeyed ; 
 While schemes, by priest-craft forged, in deepest 
 
 night, 
 Threw a delusive guile across the sight.
 
 POMPEII. 49 
 
 Proceed we now, and where th' admitted day, 
 Free from obstruction, pours a piercing ray, 
 Let us, with cautious step, explore the way. 
 — See where the jointed tesserge unite, 
 And at the mansion's entrance court the sight : 
 The hospitable " Salve ! " greets the eye, 
 And bids the stranger lay his caution by ; 
 Hails his approach with mute but cheering tone, 
 In all the sacred claims of " welcome " known. 
 Pass we the vestibule of ample size, ^^ 
 And the triclinium greets the anxious eyes : ^* 
 Here couches, richly decked, allured to rest. 
 Or the spread feast refreshed the willing guest ; 
 While deep recesses to the harp resound, ^s 
 And vaulted ceilings echoed back the sound ; 
 Proud feats of arms, and deeds of ancient 
 
 times. 
 Responded to the poet's honoured rhymes, 
 Whilst ever and anon the claims of love 
 Were known the heart to cheer, the soul to move ;
 
 50 POMPEII. 
 
 Till the wing'd spirit lost its sense of eartli, 
 And soared to lieaven, the fountain of its birth. 
 — Far diffei'ent then from our degenerate age, 
 The Bard was welcomed by the great and sage ; 
 The learned, the virtuous, pleaded then his cause. 
 And wondering nations hailed him with applause. 
 He wove the wreath to deck the hero's name; 
 He twined the monarch's brow with deathless 
 
 fame ; 
 Unsung by him.) the fight was scarcely won. 
 And the rich meed devolved from sire to son. 
 
 Dear to the throbbing heart, and sparkling eye, 
 Hail I sun-born maid, transporting Harmony I 
 Fixed to no realm, restricted to no clime ; 
 Kegent o'er every grade, in every time : 
 'Tis thine to waken, or to chase the tear ; 
 To melt the soul, the gloomy brow to cheer : 
 In every generous breast thy power is known. 
 In every feeling heart is built thy throne ;
 
 POMPEII. 51 
 
 Is there the wretch who spurns thy sacred sway ? 
 Bear, bear the ungracious monster far away : 
 Place him beyond man's reach I where tempests 
 
 blow 
 'Midst Polar horrors, and congenial snow ; 
 Nor let his presence blight the social scene. 
 Where human thought exists, where human foot is 
 
 seen ! 
 
 And Thou, sweet Author of the poet's lay, 
 Twin-born with harmony — of equal sway ! 
 Who, as soft music sounds her mystic shell, 
 Lov'st, near her side, in rapturous trance to dwell : 
 'Till, catching inspiration from the skies. 
 Thou bid'st the hymn in swelling peal arise. 
 While vivid " thoughts that breathe, and words that 
 
 burn," 
 Flash from the precincts of thy magic urn ! 
 If, when young Spring with frolic hand has thrown 
 The peeping snowdrop from her spangled zone ; 
 
 E 2
 
 t^.' 
 
 52 POMPEII. 
 
 When laughing Summer, in maturer bloom, 
 Hath decked the fields in prodigal perfume ; 
 When Autumn's richest fruits, of varied die, 
 Have charmed the taste, and pressed the goblet 
 
 high; 
 Or, when pale W^inter bids her realm disclose 
 Bleak, desolating frost, and 'whelming snows ; 
 If, 'midst the world's pernicious, flattering ways- 
 Where cursed allurement, all deceiving, strays ; 
 Where scarce a virtue meets the aching eye. 
 And scarce a friend restrains the bursting sigh ! 
 If I have turned from all — with spirit free, 
 And breathed my soul to solitude and thee ; 
 Still shall this heart confess the heavenly charm 
 Which taught my tongue to lisp, my breast to 
 
 warm ! 
 For O ! when recreant to thy call I prove. 
 Then, nor 'till then, this pulse shall cease to move ; 
 Then, nor 'till then, unconscious of thy fire. 
 Each hope shall fade, and all of life expire !
 
 POMPEII. 53 
 
 Nor such the only marks by which we trace 
 The arts and habits of the early race. 
 Wrung from the grasp of time ! Of olden days 
 Each varied relic its intent displays, 
 And to the anxious eye, though rudely planned, ^6 
 Bespeaks the purpose of the maker's hand. 
 The decorated rooms by emblems tell ^^ 
 Their clear intentions ; where the inmates dwell ; 
 Thus viands, or the cup for cheering wine, 
 Shew the triclinium, or the hall to dine ; 
 The books and writing implements proclaim 
 The student's sanctum, dear to lettered fame ; 
 The chamber still displays, by signs confessed, 
 The stove for genial warmth, the couch for rest ; 
 The toilet's secret mysteries declare 
 The once-loved boudoir of th' aspiring fair ; 
 For cunning early baffled nature's will. 
 Flushed the wan cheek, and taught the eye to kill ; 
 E'en then, alas ! as now, the skilful dame 
 Fanned in the unconscious breast a traitor flame ;
 
 54 POMPEII. 
 
 Took virtue's garb, or blooming youth'.s pretence, 
 To veil deformity, or want of sense ; 
 And, with hypocrisy, and blighting art, 
 Allured the stripling's peace, and stung his heart. 
 
 Now pass w^e hence, to where yon lengthened 
 
 street, ^* 
 Decked with fair tombs, delays the lingering 
 
 feet; 
 And stretching forwards, from the inquiring eye 
 Claims the warm tear, or tributary sigh ; 
 Here frantic breasts were beat, deep- woes were 
 
 shed, 
 And unavailing cries invoked the dead ; 
 Unguents and choicest wines were sprinkled round, ^9 
 To cool the remnants on the heated ground, 
 And the loved ashes, snatched with pious cares 
 From smouldering fire, and sanctified with tears, '*" 
 In sculptured ux'ns their separate niches kept, 
 And in the gloom of dark oblivion slept ;
 
 roMPEii. 55 
 
 While monumental pomp and polished art 
 Beguiled the anguish of the mourner's heart. 
 Ah, little thought those friends, whose fond regard 
 These urns and funeral monuments prepared, — 
 Ah, little dreamt they of that awful doom 
 Which made their city but one general tomb ; 
 As death, in blackest horrors, raging near, 
 Struck down his thousands with a flaming spear ! 
 How envied, then, the lot of those who passed. 
 And in the arms of parents breathed their last ; ^i 
 Whose funeral honours calmed their burst of woe, 
 Hushed the full breast, and checked their sorrow's 
 flow. 
 
 Pause o'er this relic of time's early day ; 
 Suspend thy sighs and give thy fancy play ! 
 Perhaps this urn, this fragile urn, contains 
 Fame's holiest, or affection's loved remains ; 
 Some breast which warm with sternest valour 
 
 glowed, 
 Or Tully's tongue, whence patriot vengeance flowed;
 
 56 POMPEII. 
 
 The heart, perhaps, where honour's flame burnt 
 
 high, 
 Whose Roman virtue lit the flashing eye. — 
 O ! 'tis on earth a glorious sight to see 
 The brave soul battling with adversity, 
 And, through each obstacle and gathered ill, 
 Striving its god-like purpose to fulfil : 
 Though darkness veil, though soft allurement smile, 
 Though danger threaten, or though craft beguile ; 
 Though want, the deadliest of all human foes, 
 Chill the worn breast, and blast with all its woes ; 
 And wearing, drop by drop, the heart away. 
 The ties, aff'ections, hopes, of life's short day ; 
 Fretting tliat mind no mortal eye can see. 
 With deep corroding care and misery ! 
 W^hen, too, the pride of birth, the glow of mind. 
 By knowledge dignified, by grace refined. 
 All that ennobles nature, sense, or life. 
 Is galled or blighted in relentless strife ; 
 And nought, save virtue, now remains to bless 
 The struggling martyr in his wretchedness !
 
 POMPEII. 57 
 
 O ! it is glorious, 'mid such war, to see 
 
 The ways of God maintain their sanctity ; 
 
 O ! it is glorious, 'mid such scenes, to show 
 
 A mind erect and dauntless in its woe ; 
 
 Clothed in heaven's panoply serenely bright. 
 
 And rising brighter from such shades of night : 
 
 For such the world hath known — above their kind 
 
 By wisdom armed, and fortitude of mind, 
 
 Who, 'midst earth's storms and tempests held their 
 
 way, 
 Honour their guide, and tfuth their beacon ray. 
 Such one perhaps was here I though now unknown, 
 Pent and imprisoned in this circling stone ; 
 The hand may grasp what once enclosed a mind 
 No danger frighted, and no space confined. 
 
 Alas, for man I weak ripple of the tide. 
 Sport of ambition, luxury, or pride ! 
 Thou very feather on this tossing sea, 
 Urged on by passion or necessity ;
 
 58 POMPEII. 
 
 Ev'n though fair glory kindle in thy soul, 
 Light up thy powers, thy daring mind control, 
 And bid thee combat on this mortal sod, 
 For triumphs worthy of Olympia's god ; 
 Look on this scanty dust, and tell me where 
 Dwells earthly object worthy of thy care ? 
 Look on this dust — behold the end of fame. 
 The worth forgotten, and a blank the name. 
 
 Yon deep arcades, 'midst foul and noxious air, 
 The dungeon's gloomy vaultings still declare : 
 Mark we, e'en now, the stocks which culprits bound. 
 Where mouldering skeletons bestrew the ground : '*^ 
 A two- fold fate o'erwhelmed their latest breath. 
 Who, with th' accusers, found a general death. 
 What bard shall tell, what daring pen declare 
 The maddening pangs which once concentred there, 
 When the lone culprit, 'midst increasing pain. 
 Gnawed his shrunk flesh, and tugged his galling 
 chain ?
 
 POMPEII. 59 
 
 — Bi-reT time a treacherous hope's delusive ray 
 Lit with a flitting gleam his dungeon's way ; 
 He thought, deep fixed beneath the caverned ground, 
 Death to escape, a refuge to have found : 
 Vast piles of rock the prison walls compose, 
 And pillared arches in protection rose. 
 But soon the noisome stench, the blasting shower 
 Of scorching ashes spread their baneful power ; 
 The billowy earthquake shakes that hope away. 
 And fate condemns him as a certain prey. 
 TJien throbbed his brain with all a father's fire, 
 For absent babes, loved consort, aged sire ; 
 (Chained down to earth, and pillowed on a stone. 
 His doom from them far cast — to them unknown;) 
 Still round his heart they press with strongest ties. 
 And all the parent rushes to his eyes : 
 Ev'n then delirium mocks him in his need : 
 He seems, in fancy, from his bondage freed; 
 With them he climbs the mountain's crest on high, 
 Joy swells each pulse, his guide is liberty ;
 
 60 POMPEII. 
 
 He feels the zephyr bathe his cheerful brow, 
 
 Lifts high his head, and breathes to heaven his vow. 
 
 — Again the foul contagion hurls him thence, 
 
 The stifling torture palsies every sense, 
 
 And dashing out his life, his soul is free 
 
 At once from thought, from pain, from slavery. 
 
 Trace here the spacious courts, for justice famed ; 
 The tavern there its bacchanals maintained ; '*' 
 Near which the martial barracks had their place. 
 Where vile buffooneries still the walls disgrace ; 
 Time was, these courts with clang of armour rang. 
 And the loud plaudit followed him that sang ; 
 While gibes and sports, or music, whiled away 
 The tedious sameness of each passing day. 
 Such was their life ! and such, by heaven's high 
 
 will, 
 Was hushed to silence, and at once was still ; 
 For ah ! a desperate venture broke their rest, 
 A deadlier contest nerved the mailed breast :
 
 POMPEII. 61 
 
 To 'scape surrounding fate the soldier tries, 
 But tries in vain, it fronts him as he flies : 
 From the dense cloud pestiferous ashes shed 
 Unerring ruin on the warrior's head ; 
 In vain he climbs the fast increasing hill, 
 Hills rise above him, and impede him still ; 
 'Till, gasping, fainting, and devoid of strength, 
 He measures in the mass his giant length. 
 
 Amid yon vineyard's thickly spreading green, 
 Whose laughing clusters mock the pensive scene. 
 What time along its path the wanderer strays, 
 And with slow step the neighbouring vault surveys ; 
 He starts to find the human form impressed 
 Where yet disjointed bones embedded rest ; 
 And treasured objects, loved through life too well, ''^ 
 Still keep the place where first their owner fell. 
 
 As when an artist in the well-turned mould, 
 Pours fusive metal, or refulgent gold,
 
 62 POMPEII. 
 
 The die removed, a living likeness shines, 
 And future ages mark the perfect lines : — 
 Thus, midst yon lava-bed, we still descry, 
 In death-struck posture, where the mighty lie ; 
 The liquid coffin which around them pressed, 
 Retains the impress on its hardened breast. *^ 
 
 Yet still the laurel springs, the lily blooms, 
 And sportive zephyrs breathe with rich perfumes ; 
 Still Nature here her gayest mantle throws, ''^ 
 Begemmed with wild flowers, and the varied rose ; 
 From her cerulean sky, with liberal hajid, 
 She paints with thousand hues the treacherous land. 
 And seems, in wanton mockery, to shed 
 Her sweetest, richest fragrance, o'er the dead ! 
 The waves alone in murmuring notes complain, 
 And wail around the cities of the plain- 
 Oft-times, reposing where the mantling vine 
 Weaves its young tendrils with luxuriant twine.
 
 "^ POMFEII, 63 
 
 Whose shade, impervious to the solar ray, 
 Mocks the vain efforts of the garish day ; 
 The poet, stretched in inspiration's sheen, 
 Renews with life each long deserted scene, 
 Peoples the silent glade, and seems to hear 
 Strange sounds and voices pealing on his ear ; 
 Before yon gates the guardian sentries stand, 
 And sparkling javelins arm each nervous hand ; 
 The golden sunbeams dance along their crests, 
 And tinge the cuirass on their manly breasts. 
 Meanwhile dense crowds proceed the streets along. 
 And all is life and revelry and song ! 
 'Till, touched by truth and reason's sober ray, 
 The visions fade, the Phantoms melt away, 
 And flit, like shades of night, before the blaze of day. 
 
 Mementos of that period all sublime. 
 When its last hour proclaims the wreck of time; 
 When sun and stars in discord wild shall meet ; 
 The elements dissolve in fervent heat ; **'
 
 64 POMPEII. 
 
 Nature no more her finite laws obey, 
 And, like a scroll, the heavens shall pass away ; 
 Till, 'whelmed beneath one vast, exhaustless fire, 
 The wide extended universe expire. 
 
 God of all flesh I at whose resistless will, 
 Cities and states their destiny fulfil ; 
 Whilst, in this land, we laud Thy sacred name, 
 And deck thine altars with a Christian flame ; 
 A flame, more pure than heathen votaries knew, 
 The light of faith 1 well pleasing to thy view : 
 Grant this our prayer ! — when o'er the sea and land 
 Thy mighty angel lifts his fateful hand. 
 Swears, by the terrors of thine awful throne, 
 That time's full orbit shall no more be known ; -^^ 
 Cleansed in redeeming blood we meet thy sight, 
 View worlds on fire, secure beneath Thy might. 
 Then rise, beyond all change, to realms of peerless 
 light 1
 
 NIOBE. 
 
 SCULPTURE— ITS EFFECTS, &c., 
 
 (As recited before the Cheltenham Literary and Philosophical 
 Society.) 
 
 Discite Justitiam moniti et non temnere Di\os."— Virgil. 
 fia>. ou ^rivaioi es ddavaroiiri fiay(r,ra,i " — Homer.
 
 NIOBE. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Whoever enters into a consideration of Heathen Mythology 
 in connexion with the classical authors, and the general 
 literature of the times when it was most widely diffused and 
 '♦last implicitly obeyed, will find, amidst the many absurdities 
 which cause the philanthropist to shudder, and the Christian 
 to lament, many an instructive and moral lesson, which the 
 philosopher in our days, and the Christian to the end of time, 
 may learn with delight, and inculcate with benefit. 
 
 Ves, often does a celestial beam, transient as may be its 
 light, or evanescent as may be its flash, illuminate " that 
 darkness which might be felt," under wiiich an uninstructed 
 and beclouded world wandered on in search of the " summum 
 
 'onum," or the " to xaXoi " of their day. Nor ave we left 
 
 F 2
 
 68 NIOBE. 
 
 without spiritual admonition, and even a confirmation of 
 Revealed Religion, by these considerations ; for it will be 
 abundantly evident, though it pleased the Lord of all, before 
 the " day-spring from on high visited us," — before " life and 
 " immortality were brought to light by the Gospel," — that 
 " God suffered all nations to walk in their own ways," yet 
 that " He left not himself without witness ;" — but, though 
 " they had not the law, yet were tliey a law unto themselves." 
 — In other words, first and irresistible principles were so 
 deeply engrafted in the heart of man by nature, that it was 
 only by a direct violation of these mental restraints they 
 could reject the jjath of virtue, and follow that of disobedience 
 and vice. 
 
 Man, therefore, in his lowest and most debased condition, 
 showed the primeval law of God written in tlie heart (" that 
 " light which lighteth every man born into the world,") 
 " their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts, 
 '•■ the meanwhile, accusing, or else excusing one another." 
 — Rom. ii. 14. 
 
 The Mythology of the Heathen world aflbrds strong 
 evidence to the opinions I have thus advanced ; and in the
 
 NIOBE. 
 
 69 
 
 great works of art and science which are handed down to 
 us, and wliich continue to excite the just admiration of our 
 days as grand efforts of human genius — works which, though 
 b»ried, perhaps, for 2,000 years, are becoming more and 
 more the objects of intellectual pleasure — in these, I say, will 
 yet b« found, in a higher and nobler sense, lessons of 
 instruction to the moralist, and precepts worthy of deep 
 research, of profound study, and even of devout imitation, 
 to the sincere and inquiring Christian. 
 
 It is with sentiments like these, sentiments worthy of 
 our age and our faith, that I would wish to direct attention, 
 "^nd myself to contemplate those astonishing specimens of 
 human ingenuity, which delight the eye, and at the same 
 time are calculated to instruct the minds of admiring nations ; 
 and when, wonderstruck before the Belvidere Apollo, the 
 group of the Laocoon, or that of t!ie Niobe, I feel, as it 
 were, paralyzed at the effects of the sculptor's design, and 
 the execution of his chisel, I would desire to derive useful 
 and even religious instruction, from the maxims which 
 such efforts of genius are intended, and even capable of 
 affording. In the statue or "group of the Niobe," as will 
 abundantly appear from Mythological History, a great and
 
 70 NIOBE. 
 
 sublime precept is inculcated— a precept calculated to delight 
 and improve us all : it is " our duty to God and his service." 
 Whilst, then, this dumb and chiseled group stands before 
 us radiant in beauty, and almost breathing with life ; though 
 we partake, as it were, of the mother's horrors on beholding 
 lier princely and numerous offspring expiring, one by one, 
 under the shafts of the justly-offended deities, Apollo and 
 Diana (whose rites and worship she had impiously despised), 
 —yet let us, above all, imbibe the instruction which even 
 this cold marble was intended to afford, and duly reverence, 
 in holy fear, that glorious and Almighty Being whom, 
 under a purer dispensation and more exalted faith, we are, 
 on all sides, called upon to worship and adore.
 
 N I O B E. 
 
 Or 'ere that transcript of th' Eternal mind — 
 A published Gospel — beamed on weak mankind, 
 And, as a beacon of celestial day, 
 '•JLit the vain wanderer in his mazy way ; 
 A dark mythology e'en then began 
 To bind in laws the stubborn will of man ; 
 From hence — or good or ill, or right or wrong, 
 Or bred by fable, or extolled by song. 
 Ranged in due place, and to its sphere assigned, 
 Awed the wild passions or controlled the mind. 
 
 Thus, near yon lofty temple's columned side, 
 (Eternal caution to the child of pride,)
 
 72 NIOBE. 
 
 The marble statue, with uplifted hands, 
 Cold as its circling blast for ever stands. 
 
 Ah, who shall tell how erst in life it moved, 
 The queen of thousands, and by all beloved ! 
 In honour high, of fairest form confessed. 
 And in her offspring, how supremely blessed ! 
 Too great — too happy — till her impious pride, 
 Latona's altars and her rites defied. 
 
 Lo I the twin Powers, fierce darting through the 
 air * 
 To Cadmus' tower, a quick revenge prepare. 
 Th' immortal bows in eager haste were strung. 
 And the full quivers from their shoulders swung. 
 Twangs the dread string I the fatal arrows fly, 
 And bear unerring vengeance down the sky. 
 Her reason tottering 'midst the ruthless storm, 
 The frantic parent views each dying form ; 
 Eyes, with bewildered look, the pallid clay. 
 And pants, at every wound, her soul away.
 
 "^ NIOBE. 73 
 
 But see ! the last of all her princely kind 
 Calls back once more to sense the tortured mind; 
 Strained to her breast in agonized despair, 
 She prays th' obdurate Gods but this to spare : 
 Vain -her late prayer — the deadly shaft has flown, 
 And her torn spirit drinks the infant's groan. 
 
 Alas ! nor music's voice, nor poet's lays. 
 Whose varied charm the heaven-taught soul obeys. 
 Can paint the deep emotions of the mind 
 '#'0 hope or fear, to pain or bliss consigned ; 
 Can speak the pang, the bursting sigh express, 
 Wrung from the heart of utter hopelessness ; 
 These matchless gifts to happier arts are known — 
 The hand of sculpture claims them for its own. 
 
 Immortal artist ! wonder-struck we stand, 
 And own at once the magic of thy hand : 
 Here pride expires ! here hope's last lingering sigh. 
 On treml)ling pinions flutters to the sky ;
 
 74 NIOBE. 
 
 Here fervent prayer and wildest grief unite, 
 'Till mute delirium ends th' unequal fight. 
 
 E'en now ! behold, her frenzied eye-balls roll ; 
 A horrid palsy drinks her inmost soul ; 
 The liquid marrow of each secret bone, 
 Cold petrefaction hardens into stone ; 
 Still o'er her form the marble paleness creeps. 
 For ever hardens, and for ever weeps !
 
 TEMPLE OF THESEUS. 
 
 ARCHITECTURE— ITS EFFECTS, 
 
 (As recited before tlie Cheltenham Literary and Pliilosophica.1 
 Society.) 
 
 Amor Patritt. 
 Dulce, et decorum est, pro patria mori.
 
 THESEUS. 
 
 ♦ INTRODUCTION. 
 
 If, on introducing to public notice my poem on "The 
 Niobe," I ventured to point out the moral instruction which 
 mythologically it aflbrds to the Christian's eye and to the 
 "Christian's heart, I can, with a like propriety, in the con- 
 templation of "The Temple of Theseus," direct attention to 
 a duty, though less dignified in precept, yet equally binding 
 on the minds of all, and equally inwoven by nature in the 
 feelings of the human breast. 
 
 It breathes much, if I might so express myself, of tlie 
 second table of those laws which the beneficent and almighty 
 Legislator of the universe engraved at Mount Sinai, as 
 guides, in an earthly sense, to the generations of erring 
 men.
 
 78 THESEUS. 
 
 The precept inculcated by " The Niobe " is " the love and 
 reverence of God ;" that stamped on the Temple of Theseus 
 leads to the love of our neighbour, or more particularly " the 
 love of our country." 
 
 We collect from history, that Theseus was King of Athens 
 about 1,240 years before the Christian era. The records of 
 that early period are so deeply enveloped in, and obscured 
 by, fable, tliat it is iinpossible now to collect in what 
 precise respects Theseus benefited his infant kingdom, but, 
 inasmuch as statues and a magnificent temple were erected 
 to his honour, where games and festivals were celebrated 
 with great solemnity in the days of Pausanius and Plutarch 
 (full 1,200 years after the death of Theseus), we may fairly 
 conclude that he was not only an undaunted and successful 
 warrior, but a wise and benevolent legislator. 
 
 Little can be ascertained from what are termed " the 
 actions of Theseus," as they remain to this day, displayed 
 on the friezes of that majestic building which has survived 
 the. shock of ages, and is still the most perfect ruin on the 
 plains of Athens ; nor can we be satisfied with any records 
 from history. Such of those actions as I have introduced 
 
 \
 
 THESEUS. 79 
 
 in my short poem, are noted by classical authors, and 
 described, as they now stand, by numerous historians of the 
 country. 
 
 We may conclude, then, that Theseus was the Alfred of 
 his daj4 -to the rising kingdom of Athens— that the temple 
 was erected to him as the generous benefactor in arts and 
 arm^ to a grateful people ; and, as I before observed, the 
 moral, or precept, to be drawn from the contemplation of 
 this vast and magnificent structure, is the " Amor Patr'uB," 
 or love of our country. 
 
 * It has been said, and I think unfoundedly, " that the love 
 of our country is not recommended by scriptural authority, 
 and that the passions it excites are at variance with 
 ChristiafT charity;" but, if we consider this as an engrafted 
 principle, common to every land and every breast : if we 
 consider, also, the dealings with, and regulations enforced 
 upon, the Jews under their Theocracy, or government by the 
 Almighty, we must, I think, conclude that regard was 
 especially had to the whole nation. The law of God was 
 expressly written for and binding on all ; punishment was 
 decreed to him who, by transgression, caused even a brother
 
 80 THESEUS. 
 
 to offend ; and rewards conferred on every one who benefited 
 the community. — Our Lord himself, who died for all, wept 
 over his earthly Jerusalem, and inculcated obedience and 
 discipline for the general good. 
 
 Intemperate zeal, or misguided views, may doubtless lead 
 to mischievous enormities ; but the same " love of our 
 country" is not less essential, but ever has been found 
 eminently conducive, to the happiness of individuals, and of 
 kingdoms. 
 
 I will not now stop to recount the particular instances 
 in which this passion has been most beneficially or pre- 
 eminently evinced ; nor need I point to the pass of Ther- 
 mopylae, or the plains of Marathon, though especially 
 connected with the subject of my poem, and where fable 
 assumes the spirit of Theseus to have been seen rushing 
 from the slumbers of the tomb, and aiming the weapons 
 of his country on the vast host of its invaders I This 
 however, is abundantly clear, that the ancient Greeks, 
 confederated under this great and glorious stimulus, though 
 possessing a territory not half so large as England, were 
 enabled not only to rout, disperse, and destroy, the most
 
 THESEUS. 81 i 
 
 numerous armies of its invaders, but to dispute for empire 1 
 with the most powerful monarchs of the world: and truly, 
 if " the pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by night," are i 
 evidences of Almighty guidance to his collective, but 
 wandering people — if the sun stood still, and the moon was 
 arrested- in her course, till their enemies were destroyed — 
 if man be called upon by nature, nay, by God himself, "to 
 profide for and protect those of his own household ;" surely 
 the cry of public danger, from the great family of the 
 State, should arm every hand in its defence, and, if necessary, 
 should exact even the devotion of life for the country to 
 which we are linked by every tie of honour, of interest, of 
 • nature, and religion. 
 
 Let it not be said, then, that the " Amor Patrice " is 
 either t useless, or an unchristian precept ; to this spirit, i 
 under Providence, in the recollection of many among us 
 even these kingdoms have been indebted, not only for all we 
 value as men and Christians, but, when all was threatened, 
 and all in danger, were we enabled, under God, and by a 
 display of millions of voluntary swords, to cherish the 
 sinking flame of liberty, which survived only in our much- 
 
 G
 
 82 THESEUS. 
 
 loved Britain, (the Thermopylae of the Universe,) and to send 
 it forth, when the deluge had passed away, through a wasted 
 but regenerating world.
 
 TEMPLE OF THESEUS. 
 
 " Vrsross of Glory I spare mj^ aching sight," '^ 
 Nor whelm ray senses in delirium's night I 
 — Alas I they're gone — the meteor-wonders fade. 
 And desolation sweeps along the shade. 
 
 Ye prostrate columns, and ye tottering shrines. 
 Where still a ray of heavenly splendour shines ; 
 Where the young wing of Genius learnt to fly, 
 And kindling valour raised to heaven his eye ; 
 Where Tyrants' fates, and Freedom's watch-wor4 
 
 hung 
 On the stern thunders of the Statesman's tongue ; 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THESEUS. 
 
 Where first the breathing canvass learnt to glow, 
 The jjipe to echo, and the song to flow ! 
 Ye mystic groves I whose sacred shades inspired 
 The mind of Plato, and his genius fired : * 
 Once, once again, your long-lost charm resume, 
 Inspire my lays, and all my soul illume. 
 
 As when, on Marathon's immortal plain, 
 (Ere the proud foe in sanguine heaps lay slain,) 
 Thy god-like spirit, clear to mortal sight, * 
 Aimed the dread weapons of thy country's might. 
 Even thus, O Theseus ! stamped by art divine, 
 (Worthy the honours of thy rock-built shrine,) 
 Graved on th' eternal stone, at once confessed, 
 Thy patriot actions fire the throbbing breast. 
 
 When the skilled workman, taught by art divine, 
 Bids from the lathe the polished ivory shine, '* 
 Forms and reforms it, both to size and place, 
 And charms the senses with a perfect grace ;
 
 -^ ' THESEUS. 85 
 
 Thus Paros' rifled quan'y here displays 
 Arts' thousand beauties in united blaze ; 
 The conscious sun, exulting to behold, * 
 \\'raps the rich fabric in a glow of gold. 
 
 See, with what skill the plinths and mouldings join ; 
 Mark the ranged capital's extended line ! 
 The Doric pillars heave their heads on high, 
 And lift tlie mighty structure to the sky ; 
 Enormous blocks in closest union run, *" 
 .Bind the vast pile, and knit the whole in one. 
 
 Now stretch the eye, and from the Metope's base 
 The Monarch's self and glorious actions trace ; 
 Here groans the monster Bull — the Crommian Sow, ^ 
 And Sciron tumbles from the rocky brow. 
 See there, th' inhuman Minotaur o'crthrown ; 
 And dying Centaurs seem to pant in stone. 
 (The obverse frieze in order spreads abroad ^ 
 The kindred labours of his guardian god ;)
 
 86 THESEUS. 
 
 Teeming with life the figures stand sublime, ^ 
 As patriot emblems to the end of time. 
 
 Thus, when some future, nobler bard shall claim 
 The poet's wreath, and sing his country's fame ; 
 While bright-eyed Science points to Albion's shore, 
 — Fair seat of liberal arts, of classic lore, — 
 A Marlb'rough's actions shall his strain prolong. 
 Or Europe's Wellington inspire his song I
 
 TABLET, 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF FOUR BROTHERS, (sONS OF 
 ' THE REV. JOHN VVEDDLE AND FRANCES MORGAN 
 PARSONS, OF GLLANCLEWEDOG, RADNORSHIRE) ; 
 WHO FELL IN THEIR COUNTRy's SERVICE. 
 
 Inscribed to Captain G. Parsons, High Sheriff of that county. 
 
 (Amor Patrite.) 
 
 When Alba's sons refused their realm to yield, 
 .And dared Rome's legions in the tented field, 
 In the 'mid space, of either band the boast, 
 Three Brothers issued from each well rang'd host ; 
 In Alb'a's cause, the Curiatii came, 
 For Rome th' Horatii claimed the meed of fame. 
 Exulting armies looked with anxious pi-ide, 
 Each prayed their gods to combat on their side. 
 
 Of Romans, two — of Albans, all were slain. 
 And five brave warriors stained the well-fought 
 plain.
 
 88 TABLET. 
 
 This sacred tablet decks with votive lays, 
 And gives to Albion's sons a higher praise : 
 From one fond sire four valiant offspring rose, 
 Hurling defiance at their country's foes ; 
 Each, in his turn, the rage of battle dared. 
 And each, in turn, the death of heroes shared. 
 May future warriors catch this hallowed fire, 
 And learn, like them, for Britain to expire ! 
 Renown like this transcends what bards have sung, 
 And with its glory checks the poet's tongue !
 
 PARENTAL EPITAPH. 
 
 Mark Church, Somersetshire. 
 
 Ah ! ,^hat avails, on brass or sculptured stone, 
 To speak of worth, or make man's merit known ? 
 An art like this some venal sci'ibe might claim, 
 And tack his tinsel round a worthless name. 
 By other theme a weeping son would prove 
 His filial reverence and perennial love ! 
 *^nA whilst such bard essays, with flattering pen, 
 To win a vain ap2olause from vainer men, 
 Be this my prayer ! — When thro' the vast profound 
 O'er waning time the last dread trump shall sound ; 
 May then those children who rejoiced to share 
 Your prayers, your precepts, and protecting care, — 
 May they with you in happiest union meet. 
 Renew a converse which on earth was sweet. 
 And, through a Saviour's great atonement, rise 
 In blissful kindred to unchanging skies.
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Cathedral, 1814. 
 
 TO MISS 
 
 Is there the breast which beauty ne'er hath 
 
 warmed — 
 Virtue hath awed, or sense resistless charmed ? 
 Hence let him fly ! nor impiously presume 
 Within the precincts of this sacred tomb ! 
 
 And O ! whilst bending with the weight of woe, 
 For thee our bosoms heave, our sorrows flow. 
 Hide in thy seraph wings that angel face, 
 (Now fresh illumined with immortal grace) ; 
 Chide not our tears which mourn th' afflicting rod ; 
 Forgive the wish that holds thee from thy God !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 Diversos diversa decent * • * 
 
 Lxta fere laetus cecini cano tristia tristis, 
 Conreniens opera tempus, utrumque suo est. — Ovid,
 
 ON DESPAIR. 
 
 (Written by request.) 
 
 J^AY, nay, my friend, tis never true 
 Thy spotless breast can feel despair I 
 
 The demon Fiend shall fly from you, 
 With his black train of gloom and care. 
 
 Perhaps, indeed, some dream of youth 
 Has shadowed forth a fairy scene. 
 
 And coloured with the hue of truth 
 Some meteor ray in fancy's sheen. 
 
 The fair delusion on thy way, 
 
 In tempting form with syren smile, 
 
 Hath lured thy feeling heart astray. 
 And fed thy guileless hopes awhile.
 
 94 ON DESPAIR. 
 
 But ah ! a thousand hopes and fears 
 
 Must thus through life thy thoughts mislead, 
 
 And waken oft the flow of tears, 
 And often cause thy heart to bleed. 
 
 These all are common to our lot — 
 The fate of man who lives in woe ; 
 
 The best have felt them ! who has not ? 
 The brightest eyes have learnt to flow. 
 
 But O ! Despair is not for thee, 
 He rules alone the guilty breast ; 
 
 His wing of night afar shall flee, 
 Nor dare thy seraph soul molest. 
 
 Nay I e'en the dazzling hues of love. 
 
 Which now, perchance, in sweetest guise, 
 
 Thy warm affections ofttimes move. 
 And look so tempting in thine eyes —
 
 — ! O^ DESPAIR. 95 
 
 These hopes or fears shall bring thee peace, 
 When sage experience rules thy day, 
 
 And as maturer years increase, 
 Shall scatter sunshine on thy way. 
 
 For know ! the man of wisest mind, 
 Who woman scans with special care, 
 
 And who amid her ranks shall find, 
 The painted charm, the cover 'd snare, 
 
 ■•Shall turn him from each vain deceit, 
 Sick of the lure which meets his sight ; 
 Thy worth with grateful heart shall greet. 
 And in that sterling worth delight. 
 
 Then, dearest friend, 'tis never true. 
 Thy spotless breast should feel despair ; 
 
 The dreaded Fiend shall fly from you. 
 With all his train of gloom and care.
 
 THE REVIVAL OF HOPE. I 
 
 (For the same.) 
 
 O ! SAID I, that Hope from this breast had departed, , 
 That its beacon was lost in Despair's gloomy \ 
 night ; 
 That Bliss had far fled, and henceforth broken- 
 hearted. 
 These eyes ne'er should glisten with tears of 
 delight ? I 
 
 Yes ! such was my dread, as I hung on the willow, 
 
 This harp which but moan'd over joys that had < 
 
 flown ; 
 
 And such Avas the pang, as I moisten'd my pillow, \ 
 
 And dwelt on my hope's blighted scenes with a I 
 
 groan. i
 
 THE REVIVAL OF HOPE. 97 
 
 Thrice bless'd be the morn, then, which dawns on 
 such slumbers, 
 ^For sweet are the visions it brings on its wing, 
 This harp is new strung, and inspired by its 
 numbers, 
 '^y voice gladly echoes the pulse of its string. 
 
 Thus when the storm soars through wide aether's 
 dominion, 
 
 And round, in dread tumult, the deep thunders 
 "• sound, 
 All nature is shadow'd beneath its black pinion. 
 
 And weeps at the ruin which rages around ; 
 
 "When, lo ! from the East, a bright ray is seen 
 glancing, — 
 The widely-spread gloom is dissolv'd at the siglit, 
 As when over chaos was first seen advancing 
 
 That morn, which responded to " Let there be 
 light." 
 
 H
 
 98 THE REVIVAL OF HOPE. 
 
 Such, sucli is the dawn, which, all sorrow dispelling, 
 Spreads round at the smile of the youth whom I 
 love ; 
 
 And such is the joy, which illumines my dwelling — 
 A joy equalled only by seraphs above.
 
 J 
 
 ON A FAN 
 
 RETURNED TO A LADY. 
 
 Welcome, soft airs, which cahii my brows, 
 And round my burning temples play. 
 
 As zephyi's breathe their early vows, 
 To wake the mellow blooms of May. 
 
 O could ye thus, with quick control, 
 
 ^^llay the fevers of the heart. 
 Or hush to peace the tortured soul. 
 
 When pain inflicts its venomed dart : 
 
 Then would I joyful bless the hand. 
 Which wove thy light fantastic shape, 
 
 And favour'd by thee, at command, 
 My friend, my comforter would make, 
 ii 2
 
 100 ON A FAN. 
 
 But ah ! vain fan, such envied powers. 
 To mortal texture ne'er were given ; 
 
 The Virtues whisper these are ours, 
 
 And such, the soothing calms of Heaven.
 
 ON A FADED FLOWER, 
 
 WHICH HAD BEEN PREVIOUSLY GIVEN BY A LADY. 
 Inscribed to Miss A. M. Burroughes. 
 
 If Es I thou art gone ; affection's hand 
 Could not prolong thy transient bloom ; 
 
 Nor could the skill at man's command, 
 Shield thy frail beauty from its doom. 
 
 
 Yet, to my mind, in freshest youth, 
 Thy form shall oft its tints renew. 
 
 Which dress'd in more than native truth, 
 Shall rise to my delighted view. 
 
 For thou wert once an emblem fair, 
 Of one whose mind is free from guile ; 
 
 Thou wert an object of her care, 
 
 And caught'st a radiance from her smile.
 
 102 ON A FADED FLOWER, 
 
 Hadst thou been carried to her lip, 
 
 Tliy tints had learnt once more to glow ; 
 
 Blushing her dewy breath to sip. 
 
 And cherished at her breast of snow. 
 
 But such thy lot was, ah ! denied, 
 
 Tliose hues are lost, thy fragrance flown ; 
 
 Yet fancy still shall be the guide. 
 
 To paint the gift, tliis breast hath known. 
 
 For Friendship oft-times will embalm, 
 
 The boon which Friendship's hand hath given; 
 
 As oft the soul in peaceful calm, 
 
 Will hallow all that springs from Heaven.
 
 TRIBUTE TO AFFECTION. 
 
 ' .Tnmiary \sl, 1837. 
 
 ! IS there in this world a Friend, 
 
 By Providence, in mercy, given, 
 With whom 'tis bliss my lot to blend, 
 
 Who joins to make that lot a heaven ? 
 
 And is there not a chord in life, 
 
 Which in a faithful league can bind 
 
 Our all of hope, of fear, or strife, 
 Which cheers, or tempts, or tries the mind? 
 
 Yes, dearest, in thine eyes I read 
 An answer to these questions true ; 
 
 And still this trusting heart shall plead, 
 That Friend, that chord, is found in you.
 
 104 TRIBUTE TO AFFECTION. 
 
 For in my soul there's not a woe, 
 
 Which gives not to thy breast a care ; 
 
 Nor can thy mind a pleasure know, 
 
 Thou would'st not call my heart to share. 
 
 Thus, thus, then through this world of ill, 
 Blended in spirit, hand in hand. 
 
 Let us our destiny fulfil, 
 
 And cheerful wait our God's command. 
 
 Softening each other's woes and cares, 
 While mutual faith each day employs ; 
 
 In blended voice shall rise our prayers, 
 Exulting in our common joys.
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 January \sl, 1838. 
 
 As the gay morning of each day 
 
 Quickly dissolves in shades of night ; 
 Or as the seasons I'oU away, 
 
 In summer or in winter's flight : 
 tt 
 So life progresses to its goal, 
 
 And all our griefs and joys but tend 
 To point a precept to the soul : 
 
 'Tis this — To meet prepared its end. 
 
 But sooth to say, the more our bliss, 
 The swifter hastes our hours away, 
 
 And, with increase of woes, we miss 
 The tedious moments of the day.
 
 106 TO THE SAME. 
 
 So, dearest, if my years fly fast. 
 May I not lay the blame on thee ? 
 
 Though strange I for thee I'd bid them last, 
 Nor half so fleet in progress be. 
 
 If then these hairs be quickly snow, 
 I'll surely say, the fault is thine ; 
 
 For, in plain truth, I'd have thee know, 
 Tliou do'st beguile me of my time.
 
 THE EDDYSTONE LIGHT. 
 
 How dear to the view, when the tempest is beating, 
 And direst dismay rides aloft on the storm ; 
 
 When worn with his toil, and past hope of retreating, 
 The sailor sees death in its most dreaded form. 
 
 H»»w sweet to behold, over mountains of ocean, 
 The Eddystone beam rising clear 'midst the night. 
 
 Whence through the waves' tumult and wildest 
 commotion, 
 Its beacon of hope throws a ray on the sight. 
 
 The seaman, forgetting past danger and sorrow, 
 Flies, instant in thought, from the jaws of his fate. 
 
 And springs thro' the dawn of a blissful to-morrow. 
 To the hearth of his cot, and the arms of his mate.
 
 108 THE EDDYSTONE LIGHT. 
 
 O ! thus, 'tis in life, when its sorrows most darken, 
 Those sorrows which pass mortal man's weak 
 control ; 
 When to Friendship's vain counsel, she ceases to 
 hearken, 
 And tempests of sin fall amain on the soul. 
 
 The Saviour holds forth a bright beam of protection. 
 The Christian to cheer in his struggles below ; 
 
 And points in his Gospel, a certain direction. 
 From dangers of Time, and Eternity's woe. 
 
 Tho' tumult and terror, with billows infernal. 
 
 Rise high on the soul ; He commands them to 
 cease : 
 And the Spirit of Love, fraught with blessings 
 internal — 
 Like the Dove to its Ark, brings the message of 
 peace.
 
 HYMN, 
 
 WRITTEN FOR A CLERGYMAN AGED EIGHTY-SIX. 
 " At evening time it shall be light." — Zech. xiv. 7. 
 
 Chill was the gloom and deep the shade, 
 The storm thick gathering from on high, 
 
 Had thrown across the moorland glade. 
 And in its pall enwrap'd the sky. 
 
 Nought but the tempest raging wide 
 Broke the dread silence of the night; 
 
 And spreading still on every side, 
 Shook e'en the firmest with affright. 
 
 The traveller on the unshelter'd plain, 
 In vain the doubtful pathway tries ; 
 
 His head is cower'd by pelting rain, 
 And thickest darkness veils his eyes.
 
 110 HYMN. 
 
 But, see, at length the storm is o'er — 
 The lightened clouds roll fast away ; 
 
 The moon, with all her silvery store, 
 Illume the heavens with mimic day. 
 
 To his loved hearth, with eager haste, 
 The wanderer plies his wearied feet, 
 
 And having 'scaped the cheerless waste, 
 He smiles, past dangers to repeat. 
 
 E'en thus, methinks, a dubious way. 
 The Christian in life's path must meet ; 
 
 The sun, the storm, the night, or day, 
 Now animate or check his feet. 
 
 Still onward lies the course of life. 
 And still new joys or dangers rise. 
 
 Discord or peace, or calm or strife. 
 Serene, or now tempestuous skies
 
 ^^ HYMN. Ill 
 
 But as his final hour draws near, 
 
 A holy cahn pervades the soul : 
 A![ike distrust or gloomy fear, 
 
 Cease to exert their dread control. 
 
 Faith's cheei-ing beam, athwai't the gloom, 
 Reveals the mansion of the bless'd ; 
 
 Hope, rising from the Saviour's tomb, 
 Points where the weary are at rest. 
 
 '"feed by the Spirit of his Lord, 
 
 E'en death's dark valley grows more bright ; 
 And trusting to His promised Word, 
 Behold, " At evetmiff time 'tis light."
 
 HYMN FOR THE CONVERSION OF 
 THE JEWS. 
 
 " Have mercy on all Jews, Turks, Infidels, &ic."—Co7nmon Prayer. 
 
 Hear, gracious God, our earnest prayer, 
 For Abraham's bruised and abject seed ; 
 
 Justly they claim our warmest care — 
 Adopted favourites in their stead. 
 
 Shall they, for ever, scattered wide, 
 Through every nation under heaven ; 
 
 Rejecting Him they crucified, 
 Wander unpitied, unforgiven ? 
 
 No ! for thy Sovereign word is past — 
 " Mine own I will not cast away." 
 
 E'en Israel shall be saved at last ; 
 
 Shall turn to Christ, and suppliant pray.
 
 "^ HYMN. 113 
 
 As Moses, by his God's command, 
 
 Lifted the brazen Type on high, 
 A refuge to the suffering band, 
 
 And the diseased forbore to die ; 
 
 So shall a Saviour's refuge spread 
 
 Wide o'er the realms of death and sin ; 
 
 Till Jew and Gentile bow the head, 
 Till every tongue confess to Him. 
 
 •i^rom the wide earth's remotest bound, 
 The universal song shall rise ; 
 Through utmost space the Hymn shall sound, 
 And waft its echo 'midst the skies.
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 Tell me why, O tell me why, 
 Swell these tear-drops on mine eye, 
 While my heart, from sorrow free, 
 Beats with joyous extacy ? 
 
 Tell me why, O tell me why. 
 Heaves my breast the unchecked sigh, 
 While within, no earthly care. 
 Much less pain is rankling there ? 
 
 Listen ! and I'll tell thee why 
 Flow these tears, and whence that sigh ; 
 Though my heart, from sorrow free, 
 Feels sublime felicity.
 
 GRATITUDE. 115 
 
 Gratitude bedims these eyes, 
 Gratitude impels these sighs, 
 Gratitude for blessings given, 
 Gratitude for hopes in heaven. 
 
 Unrequited, undeserved, 
 'Bove the race of man preferr'd, 
 'Bove surrounding thousands bless'd, 
 Gratitude excites my breast. 
 
 Gracious God, may' tears ai*ise, 
 Gracious God, accept my sighs, 
 Grateful tears for mercy's store, 
 Sighs that I deserve no more. 
 
 Ever in our circle here, 
 May warm Gratitude appear, 
 'Till our tongues, in realms above, 
 Hymn in loudest strains thy love. 
 
 I 2
 
 HYMN FOR SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 Holy and just, Almighty Lord, 
 
 To Thee our loudest hymn we raise ; 
 
 Encouraged by Thy sacred Word, 
 To offer up our infant praise. 
 
 To thee we owe our every good, 
 Each cheering bliss of life and light, 
 
 Clothing and comforts, health and food, 
 Our peace by day, our rest at night. 
 
 We thank Thee for the gift supreme. 
 That we were born in Christian land ; 
 
 Where saving grace may be our theme, 
 And we are taught our Lord's command.
 
 " HYMN. 117 
 
 / 
 
 And O ! we grateful bow to Thee, 
 
 For all our guardians here below ; 
 
 For Thou with holy charity 
 
 Dost bid the generous bosom glow. 
 . <- 
 
 Grant that the seeds of heavenly truth, 
 
 Implanted in our early day. 
 May deck with bloom our opening youth ; 
 
 In age, the richest fruits display.
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " As many as touched Him were made whole."— Mark vi. 56. 
 
 See ! toward the Saviour pressing, 
 
 Many a child of pain and woe, 
 Loudly craving for His blessing, 
 
 To a gracious Lord they go. 
 
 Or in town, or village walking, 
 
 Quickly in his path they bring, 
 Deaf or lepers, blind or halting, 
 
 Suppliant to Creation's King. 
 
 Hark I His sacred Word dispenses 
 
 Healing to the eager throng ; 
 Devils fly the maniacs' senses — 
 
 Hymns attest the loosened tongue.
 
 ■^ HYiMN. 119 
 
 Th' unstopp'd ear, delighted, hearkens 
 
 To those shouts of joyous sound ; 
 And the scale, like night which darkens, 
 
 Quits the eye bright beaming round. 
 
 Still the crowds, each other crushing, 
 
 Like a wide extended shoal, 
 In impatient ardour rushing, 
 
 Seek the touch that makes them v)hole. 
 
 Gracious Lord ! we too would press Thee, 
 
 For thy favours from above ; 
 Give us, give us, tongues to bless Thee, 
 
 Give us hearts to own thy love. 
 
 Give us spirits to adore Thee, 
 
 In devout and holy frame ; 
 May our praises rise before Thee — 
 
 Incense worthy of Thy name.
 
 1 "20 HYMN. 
 
 Near the Cross, whence once Thou sheddest 
 
 Blocjd, all-powerful, to atone ; 
 Trusting, where for man Thou bleddest, 
 
 See ns from Thy mercy throne. 
 
 Earnest at that throne approach Thee, 
 
 Pains of body, sins of soul ; 
 Lord, in holy faith we touch Thee, 
 
 Pardon, cleanse us, make us whole.
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 f, Vide Luke vii. 11. 
 
 TO JOHN ALLEN, ESQ., BY WHOM THE SUBJECT 
 WAS GIVEN, AND AT WHOSE REQUEST IT WAS 
 WRITTEN, THIS POEM IS RESPECTFULLY IN- 
 
 *i^ SCRIBED. 
 
 What means yon crowd, whose slow and solemn 
 state 
 Impedes the issues at the city's gate ? 
 
 Hush ! heard'st thou not those plaints of wail and 
 woe, 
 And see'st thou not those streams which rapid 
 
 How ?
 
 122 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 And mark'st thou not that slowly moving bier, 
 Round which those groans ascend, and falls the 
 
 tear ? 
 Yes ! 'tis the Widow's son, her only pride, 
 For whom those plaints ascend, and flows that 
 
 tide ; 
 And see ! the mother's self, upheld by friends, 
 Feeble, absorbed in woe, the bier attends. 
 
 Approach, approach, observe that bloated eye, 
 How dim its orb, how bent on vacancy. 
 Yet sense is left, for now on Heaven 'tis fixed ; 
 Now shows despair, with hopeless torture mixed ; 
 Now on the bier its anxious beam is glanced ; 
 Now closed its lid, with agony entranced. 
 
 Weep, weep, thou widowed one — thy cup of life 
 With bitterness is drugged, with woe is rife. 
 Well mayest thou weep, all earthly hope is fled, 
 Thine only solace, in that child is dead ;
 
 ■^ THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 123 
 
 Nor does the pang assail thy breast alone, 
 A wailing kindred answer groan for groan. 
 
 But who is He, that with uplifted hand, 
 Stand^^m the act of dignified command; 
 (Upon whose glorious brow sits love, combined 
 With soft compassion for all human kind.) 
 What voice is that which checks the mourning 
 
 throng, 
 In strains more grateful than a seraph's song ; 
 ^4^hose fiat that, at whose resistless will. 
 Each sigh is hushed, the solemn train is still ? 
 What words are those which light the mourner's 
 
 eyes — 
 " Young man, to thee I speak, I say. Arise ! " 
 What power is that which animates yon clay. 
 Lifts the cold hand, gives strength, and leads the way, 
 Strips off the grave-clothes, and each cumbering vest, 
 And gives the loved one to a Parent's breast ? 
 Say, is not this the Christ so long foretold, 
 By Prophet Bards, and Patriarchs of old ;
 
 124 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 Prompt to redeem, and mental bliss impart ; 
 To heal the wounded, bind the broken heart ? 
 
 Hark ! the full hymn of praise in quick reply, 
 Tunes every tongue, and brightens every eye. 
 
 Lord of Life, our spirits bless Thee ; 
 
 Lord of Power, accept our praise ; 
 Lo ! the very graves confess Thee, 
 
 Mighty from their jaws to raise. 
 
 Long-expected, long-desired, 
 
 Long-foretold by Bards inspired ; 
 
 Thee we joyful hail at length, 
 Trav'ling in Messiah's strength. 
 
 Thou the gloom of mind canst lighten, 
 Earth and Hell Thy word obey ; 
 
 Thou the vale of death canst brighten, 
 Thou to Heaven canst guide our way.
 
 -i THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 125 
 
 Lord of Life, our spirits bless Thee ; 
 
 Lord of Power, accept our praise ; 
 Lo ! the yawning graves confess Thee, 
 
 Mighty from their jaws to raise.
 
 NOTES ON POMPEII. 
 
 1. Amphion. 
 
 2. Orpheus. 
 
 3. " Quanquam animus meminisse horret, luctuque refuget, 
 
 Incipiam ! " — VirgiL 
 
 •|»4. " Nubit genero socrus nullis auspicibus — 
 
 Nullis auctoribus, funestis omnibus omnium." — 
 
 Tidhj, Orat. 
 
 5. Thi» was the most solemn tie of contract. — Kennett. 
 
 6. The song called " The Thalasius,"— " Nulla te hodie 
 pulchrior, he"— Horace. 
 
 7. " Cinge tempora floribus suaveolentis amarici." — 
 
 Catullus, Lib. 6. 
 
 8. Flamraeum Cape. " Dudum sedet ilia parato, Flam- 
 meolo."— Jmv. Sat. 10. 
 
 9. " Tunica Recta."— PKny, Lib. 8, Cap. 48. 
 
 10. " Comat Virginias hasta recurva comas."— 
 
 Ovidi fasti, Kennett, SfC. 
 " Hasta Ccelibaris"— " Dea Quirilis."
 
 128 NOTES ON POMPEII. 
 
 11. Impenetrable darkness was occasioned by the cloud of 
 ashes, &c., &c. 
 
 12. " The irruption had an awful columnal appearance, 
 branching at the top like a huge pine-tree."— PZwj^. 
 
 13. The Christians were at this period increasing, and under 
 great persecution A.D. 79. 
 
 1 1. " The fire shifted, and wavered in its hues every 
 moment." 
 
 15. " During the irruption the earth continued to shake." — 
 Pliny. 
 
 16. "And Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the sea-shore." 
 —Exodus xiv. 30. 
 
 17. " Cape sacra laami"— ^Virgil. 
 
 18. " Multitudes were suffocated by the ashes, of which the 
 discharge was so great as to occasion impenetrable darkness 
 for three days."— Firfe History. 
 
 19. " On whose deep stream, &c." — Vast volumes of steam 
 went up from the mountain, which descended in torrents of 
 rain, and washed the ashes into places where they could not 
 have penetrated in a dry state." — Pliny. 
 
 20. " Vestibulum ut moUi Velatum fronde Vireret." — Cat. 
 Lib. 62. 293. 
 
 " Velleribus nivesi et festa fronde revinctuoi." Virgil, 
 
 21. Plutarch, Rom. Qucest. 
 
 22. " Nihil quod tetigit non ornawh."— Johnson. 
 
 23. " Dant famuli manibus lymphas Cereremque canistris, 
 Expediunt, tonsisque ferunt mantelia villis." — Virgil.
 
 '^ NOTES ON POMPEII. 129 
 
 24. " Tibi ducitur uxor, 
 
 Sparge marite nuces, &c." — Virgil, Buc. 8. 
 " Da nuces pueris 
 
 Satis diu, 
 
 Lusisti nucibus." — Catullus, Lib. 131. 
 
 25. Pijitarch in Romul. et Ronu Qucest. 31. 
 
 26. " Enceladi, 
 
 Fessum quoties mutat latus." — Virg.,^n. iii. line 578. 
 
 27. " Thus the bright arch, which bounds the earth and skies, 
 
 Allures from far, and as we follow, flies." — Pope. 
 
 28. " Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Stabiae, chief of the Cam- 
 panian cities — overwhelmed 23d August, A.D. 79." 
 
 29. Apostrophe to the Temples— still prominent among the 
 "ji^ins. 
 
 30. " Life and immortality are brought to light by the Gospel." 
 —2 Tim. i. 10. 
 
 31. Vittse. 
 
 32. " Favete Linguis." — Horace. 
 
 " Nee responsa potest consultus redere vates."— Virgil. 
 
 33. " Vestibulum ante ipsum primoque in limine." — Ibid. 
 
 34. The Triclinium was frequently of a semi-circular form. 
 
 " Sterni Triclinia in foro jubebat." — Cicero. 
 
 35. " Cithara crinitus lopas 
 
 Personat aurata." — Virgil. 
 
 " Vocemquc per ampla volutant 
 
 Atria."— /6«U 
 
 K
 
 130 
 
 NOTES ON POMPEII. 
 
 36, Kitchen, and other utensils, quite perfect. 
 
 37, " The rooms are painted with devices emblematical of 
 their respective uses. Fish, fowl, and wine-cups, shew the 
 Triclinium ; books and writing implements, the study ; stoves 
 and couches, the chamber ; glasses, combs, and pots of rouge, 
 the toilet." — Fide History. 
 
 38, An allusion to the street oi tova\is.~-Vide History. 
 
 39, " Postquam collapsi cineres, et flamma quievit 
 
 Relliquias vino et bibulam lavere favillam." 
 
 Virgil, jEn. vi. 
 
 40, " And the loved ashes," &c, — 
 
 " with wine 
 
 They quenched the pile, throughout, leaving no part 
 
 Unvisited, on which the fire had seized. 
 
 His brothers, next, collected, and his friends 
 
 His white bones mourning, and with tears profuse 
 
 Watering their cheeks ; then in a golden urn 
 
 They placed them," — Cowper^s Homer. 
 
 41, " O terque quaterque beati, quels ante era patrum." 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 42, Vide History. 
 
 43, Bachannalia, or drunken feasts of Bacchus. 
 
 44, " Many skeletons were found with treasure or valuables 
 near them. Seven were discovered ; the first carrying a lamp, 
 the rest had each something valuable betvyeen the bones of the 
 fingers," — Vide History.
 
 NOTE ON NIOBE. 131 
 
 45. " Retains the impress," &c. — The impression of the 
 human form in the lava is, in some instances, remarkably 
 perfect. 
 
 46. " Still nature," &c. — Under a pure unclouded sky, 
 nature has here lavished every luxury. 
 
 47. " The elements dissolve," &c. — " The day of the Lord 
 will come ; in the which the heavens shall pass away with 
 a ;{reat noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat : 
 the earth also, and the works which are therein, shall be burnt 
 up."— 2 Peter iii. 10. 
 
 48. " And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and 
 upon the earth lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by 
 Him who liveth for ever and ever, that there should be time 
 no longer." — Rev. x. 5. 
 
 NOTE ON NIOBE. 
 
 1. " Lo! the twin powers." — Apollo and Diana, twin offspring 
 of Latona, whose rites Niobe had arrogantly despised, and who 
 are said to have slain her children with their arrows from the 
 tower of Cadmus.
 
 132 
 
 NOTES ON THESEUS. 
 
 1. " Visions of glory." — Gratj. Reflection on the glories of 
 Athens — this Temple the most perfect ruin. 
 
 2. " Ye mystic groves."— The groves of Academus, fre- 
 quented by Plato. 
 
 3. " As when on Marathon's," &c. — Recorded of Theseus, 
 and believed by the Greeks. — Plutarch. 
 
 4. " As the skilled workman." — A comparison made by 
 Chandler and others, on the exceeding acuteness of the edges, 
 and the efiects of the whole temple. 
 
 r5. " Wraps the rich fabric," &c. — The recorded effects of 
 the Grecian sun, compared to a vesture of goXdi,— -Chandler, &c. 
 
 6. " Enormous blocks," &c. — The blocks of marble are of a 
 size the most astonishing, and their union almost undistin- 
 guishable. 
 
 7. " Here groans the monster bull," &c.— Patriotic actions 
 recorded of Theseus — passim. 
 
 8. " The obverse frieze." — The labours of Hercules on the 
 other two sides or friezes. 
 
 9. " Teeming with life." — The figures are said to swell out 
 from the building in an almost miraculous manner. 
 
 Macintosh, Printer, Great New Stieet, London.
 
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