STOWE LIBRARY CASE . ^*A *>^r^> _> ^> - :jfc ~* : ^^i>^ ? ^3s^ < > 3> so* : POEMS, NOW FIRST COLLECTED. BY LORD LEIGH. LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. MUCCCXXXIX. LONDON : BHADBURy AND EVANS, PRIMERS 1 WHITSFRIARS. TO PHILIP NICHOLAS SHUTTLEWORTH, D.D. WARDEN OP NEW COLLEGE, &C. &C. MY DEAR SHUTTLEWORTH, I have ventured to dedicate to you the contents of this volume. I wish, indeed, they were more worthy of your regard ; but as you have, through the partiality of friendship perhaps, spoken of my trifles favourably, your kindness must be the excuse for my presumption in dedicating them to you. Some of them were written while I enjoyed the pleasure of your society in a tour through Italy many years since, but of which I still have a lively and grateful remembrance. Distinguished as a " Master in Israel," in an age fertile in writers on religious subjects, you have obtained for your works a permanent and deserved reputation. That you may live long to delight your friends with your conver- sation, to instruct and improve mankind by your writings, is the sincere wish of, my deai\Shuttleworth, Your truly obliged friend, LEIGH. 916916 PREFACE. MANY of the Poems here collected have already been published in a separate form. Some of them represent the impressions I received during youth, that season of enthusiasm when the most formless of our day-dreams are cherished with more devo- tion than we accord to the stubborn realities of life. These realities, however, will sooner or later assert their empire over us ; and accordingly I find, in looking at my verses with reference to the different periods at which they were written, that, from composing " Invitations to the moon-lit Banks of the Avon," and stanzas descriptive of the fairy-like festival of the " Queen of Golconda," I have gradually sobered down into an inditer of " Political Poems " and " Epistles to a Friend in Town." Of the former, I may be permitted to observe, that they contain an unreserved expres- b 2 viii PREFACE. sion of opinions which I have always entertained, and which I hope to carry unchanged to the grave. Surely every real friend to freedom must desire the perfect re-establishment of Poland as an independent kingdom, the renovation of Italy, and fervently hope for the abolition of slavery in America. It is on such themes as these (upon which, in England at least, there can be little or no difference of opinion) that I have composed political verses. Since the " Epistles" were written, many of the distinguished characters introduced into them have disappeared from the busy stage of life. We have lost Huskisson and Canning, and Scott, Byron, and Shelley, and Ricardo and Malthus: but other wise and lofty spirits have arisen, both in the political world, and in those of philosophy and imagination : Jam redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna, Jam nova progenies ccelo demittitur alto, May they prove worthy of their predecessors ! PREFACE. ix The literary ambition I entertain will be fully accomplished, if, in the " Nugae Canorae" I now offer to the world, a single passage shall be found to awaken an echo in the breast of some lover of poetry and of old romance, or suggest a thought capable of prompting the energy of any labourer in the cause of humanity and freedom. LONDON, JUNE 24TH, 1839. CONTENTS. SIX EPISTLES TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. PA OK FIRST EPISTLE 3 S:;>ND EPISTLE 12 THIRD EPISTLE 25 FOURTH EPISTLE 35 FIFTH EPISTLE 56 SIXTH EPISTLE C8 NOTES ON THE FIRST EPISTLE 81 NOTES ON THE SECOND EPISTLE 83 NOTES ON THE THIRD EPISTLE 87 NOTES ON THE FOURTH EPISTLE 90 NOTES ON THE FIFTH EPISTLE 96 NOTES ON THE SIXTH EPISTLE 99 Xll CONTENTS. POLITICAL POEMS. PAGE THE VIEW 109 NOTES ON "THE VIEW" ...,... 128 ENGLAND 131 NOTES ON " ENGLAND " 136 AMERICA 139 NOTES ON "AMERICA" ........ 151 THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE 153 NOTES TO "THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE" . . . . 160 POLAND 169 NOTES TO " POLAND" 179 POEMS, CHIEFLY DESCRIPTIVE. A SWISS SCENE 189 THE TRAVELLER 197 SALERNO 201 NOTES ON " SALERNO " '204 STANZAS ADDRESSED TO THE SEA 207 ADLESTROP HILL . . . 213 NOTES TO " ADLESTROP HILL " 220 WARWICKSHIRE 221 CONTENTS. Xill PACK NOTES TO " WARWICKSHIRE" 2*27 THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA*S FETE 233 NOTES ON THE " QUEEN OF GOLCONDA*S FETE " . . 240 BEAUTY'S CASTLE 243 ON UVEDALE PRICE'S " ESSAY ON THE PICTURESQUE" . 247 > TO UVKDALE PRICE'S "ESSAY ON TH II PICTU- RESQUE "... 1~>" ELEGIACAL POEMS. ODE ON THE LAMENTED DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES AND SAXE COBOURG . . 253 LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CANOVA . 257 ON NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 2fil ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND 265 POEMS, MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. RECOLLECTIONS AT 269 NOTE TO "RECOLLECTIONS AT " .... 272 A GOOD MAN'S FUTURE EXISTENCE 273 NOTES TO u A GOOD MAN'S FUTURE EXISTENCE " . . 276 xiv CONTENTS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PAGE INVITATION TO THE BANKS OF THE AVON . . . 279 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM AT CHAMOUNI 283 TO MY INFANT CHILD 284 TO THE MEMORY OF COLLINS 286 NOTHING 288 VERSES WRITTEN IN STONELEIGH PARK . . . 290 WRITTEN AT ROME 292 TO THE REV. W. W. ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF HIS DAUGHTER 293 DIVES LOQUITUR. IN IMITATION OF A GREAT POET . 294 WRITTEN ON SEEING THE BODIES OF TWO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, CAST AWAY NEAR MILFORD . . . .297 TRUE LOVE 298 EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES WRITTEN AT . . 299 PSEUDO-PATRIOTISM 301 TO BERNARD BARTON 302 WILLERSLEY 303 STEEPHILL 306 VITTORIA COLONNA 308 NOTES ON "VITTORIA COLONNA" 311 CONTENTS. xv PACK SONG 314 TO MY LITTLE GIRL 315 TO THE LADY 'M7 BELIEVE ME, SHE IS TRUE INDEED 318 ON HAWTHORNDEN 320 A MAY-MORNING 321 A PARK SCENE 323 NOTE TO "A PARK SCENE" 324 SPIRITS OF THE SUN 325 STANZAS ON THE TIMES 327 A CALM 329 TAGLIONI 331 A COMPARISON 332 TO A LARK 333 ON THE FALL OF THE LEAVES 334 THE WOOD NYMPH 336 THE CIGAR 337 WRITTEN ON A FINE MORNING 339 STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY 341 NOTE TO " STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY "... 344 THE SAURI 345 NOTES TO "THE SAURI" 349 xvi CONTENTS. PAGB TO THE REV. WILLIAM WAY, WITH A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS 353 NOTES ON THE LINES ADDRESSED " TO THE REV. WILLIAM WAY " . . . 356 POEMS WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH. ON LEAVING HARROW SCHOOL 361 TO MY SISTER, ON HER BIRTH-DAY 364 VERSES ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL FITZPATRICK . 366 THE DESERTED FRIEND 368 KEN1LWORTH CASTLE 371 THE WORLD AS IT IS 372 ROSAMOND, A FRAGMENT 375 BRUTUS 377 ON THE DEATH OF ROSA 378 VERSES ON THE COMMEMORATION OF THE SECOND CEN- TENARY OF SHAKSPEARE 380 A CHARACTER 383 THE ABSENT POET TO HIS MISTRESS 385 THE DEATH OF HOSSEIN 388 CONTENTS. xvii PAGE ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 390 AN EVENING IN CUBA 393 THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT 394 NOTE ON " THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT " . . . . 398 FREEDOM 399 THE STORM 400 THE SONG OF NOUZONIHAR . .401 SIX EPISTLES TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. It is in our power (Unless we fear that apes can tutor us) to Be masters of our manners. What need I Affect another's gait, or be fond of Another's way of speech, when by mine own I may be reasonably conceived ? * * * * * * Why am I bound By any generous bond to follow him [who] Follows his tailor, haply so long, until The follow'd make pursuit ? Or let me. know, "Why mine own barber is unbless'd (with him My poor chin too,) for it 's not scissor'd just To such a favourite's glass ? Shakspeare and Fletcher's Two Noble Kinsmen. FIRST EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. Non tibi parvum Ingenium, non incultum est, nee turpiter hirtum. Seu linguam causis acuis, seu civica jura Respondere paras, seu condis amabile carmen. HORAT. Lunge, lunge da noi manti pomposi, Marmorei alberghi, e ricche mense aurate ; Ma sian nostro desir poggi selvosi, Verdi erbe, limpid* acque, aure odorate. CHIABRKRA. How many years are gone since first we met In Town ! the day is well remembered yet ; Thou a Young Templar, panting for renown, Myself the veriest Idler on the Town. Yet some few moments thou from toil could' st spare, To toast in wine-cups that o'erflow'd the fair. Ah ! little deem'd I then that I should love Elsewhere than in the Poet's lays a grove. " The sober certainty of waking bliss" Is what I now enjoy, and truly this : Though vex'd with head- aches, yet when free from pain Give me a novel, and I laugh at rain. B 2 4 FIRST EPISTLE Who would with Richardson or Fielding part, That loves to trace the workings of the heart ? Few can excite the intellectual smile Like them, or dissipate November's bile. Books have their charms, society has more ; Life for the wise has numerous joys in store. The wise ne'er feel the languor of ennui, Nor care how Whig and Tory disagree : But every hour is well enjoy'd by those Who thus alternate labour and repose. Their farms, their gardens, ask a constant care : With them the Sabbath is a day of prayer. Then for amusement how they love t' explore The woods, or down the river ply the oar, When that the bright-hair'd sun, with mellow' d glow, Pours his full splendour on the fields below. What though the evening promises no play, Though " heavily in clouds rolls on the day," The laugh, the song, the sports that intervene, (Home-felt delights,) must quickly banish spleen. How blest are they whose days thus glide away ! Even in old age they scarcely feel decay ; Vigorous in mind, and cheerful to the last, With calm contentment they review the past. Are such men Idlers ? Idlers then are all ; The merits of the active are but small : TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. Yet they are useful too, and happier far Than those who through the day wage wordy war, Then dine, just reeking from the crowded court, On tough beefsteaks, cold soup, and tavern port. Can the poor head contain what it is now Expedient for a Gentleman to know ? Though through the circle of the arts we run, (Thanks to Reviews) we can remember none. The Lawyer throws aside his book, and burns To be a Davy and a Smith by turns ; His clients suffer, yet where'er he dines, Chemist, or Bard, the learned Proteus shines. Society improves ; the times require Some little knowledge in a country squire ; And book clubs, through the country widely spread, Show that at least our modern works are read. The most inveterate sportsman now may speak French and Italian, nay, can construe Greek. A fire-side voyager from shore to shore, He loves not in his easy chair to snore. All can talk politics, no matter how ; The witty and the dull, the high and low : But few (which is the test of taste) can quote Aptly a line, or tell an anecdote : Few can converse, with unaffected ease, Or like a Ward, or like a Canning please. O FIRST EPISTLE Our country neighbours something more can say Than " How d'ye do ?" and " 'Tis a lovely day ;' I've heard from them what in reputed wits Would be considered very pretty hits. A bel esprit in France and Britain 's known, But England calls the humorous man her own : O f Yet " masters of the joke," who have a name, Sometimes say things unworthy of their fame. No dun's loud voice, nor newsman's louder horn, Here scare you from your slumbers light at morn : No loungers here at one assail your door, To kill their time by wasting yours till four : To them 'tis all the same what themes engage Their minds, a death perchance, or equipage. 'Tis hard to say who greater ills endure, The listless rich, or the o'erlabouring poor. Indolence sits a night-mare on the breast ; And night or day her victims cannot rest. Since man was never born to live alone, How can he be that wretched thing a drone ! A country-life is tame ! Who says 'tis so ? The muck- worm cit, or butterfly-like beau ; Or some fair Exquisite whose mind is fraught With maxims by the Queen of Fashion taught ? " Would you be fashionable, you must weed Your company, my dear, you must indeed. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 7 Those who give balls ask first Exclusives ; then As you would choose your pinks select your men. Let not a swarm of country-folks appear To greet you with a cordial welcome, dear ; Such you must cut at once. It is not worth, Nor wit, nor talent, no nor even birth That gives the ton ; 'tis something you will find At Almack's 'tis it cannot be defined. Remember you % may always turn aside As if by accident, and not through pride, When those approach you whom you should not know, Or be short-sighted, or at least seem so. Let none but titled names your parties boast, They look divinely in the Morning Post. Though Dowagers may old and ugly be, They blaze in diamonds, are of high degree ; Though noble Dandies look like gay baboons, Their stars shine lustrous through our grand saloons : How sweet it is to listen to the prate Of some young lordling, pillar of the state ! Who, quite the fashion, to a favoured few Speaks, then be thankful if he talks to you." You laugh at this would-be satiric strain ? Well then, I'll read my Blackstone o'er again, And talk about a " fine," or a " release," And dare to be a Justice of the Peace ! Yet, my good friend, though nothing has a sale But a high novel, or a bravo's tale, O FIRST EPISTLE Or memoirs, written by some scribbling' thing, That bites a bard, as gnats a lion sting I've dared to write : no moralist will curse, Though few, perchance, will praise this sober verse. While well-fed Codrus dedicates his rhymes To his kind patron, shall we blame the times ? How generous that Maecenas is who gives His gold, and lauded in a preface lives ! Some with subscriptions love to make a show ; 'Tis right the world their charities should know ; Their spring of action's selfishness ; what then ? Their names, perchance, may influence other men. Better write songs, or simper at a ball, Than like a youthful Timon lose your all. Some care not how they trifle life away ; A hero wept if he but lost a day ! The ruin'd master of a vast estate Finds he had time for hazard when too late. What then is wealth, if boundless be our wants ? How few can well employ what fortune grants ! One buys a borough, and corrupts the poor ; Another opes to every knave his door. If there be virtues in this world, they thrive Far from those open halls where lordlings live. Enslaved to thousands, while he seems their god, The generous fool for self prepares the rod. All lash him why ? because he fondly deem'd That they, vain boasters ! were the men they seem'd. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. Cethegus shines alike with talents rare, Or in St. Giles's or in Grosven or- square : So versatile in all things, he must please Who thus to pleasure sacrifices ease. Lucullus to a boor, within the week, Sells gems and goblets of the true antique : Who then would be Lucullus, thus to lose All that a polish 'd taste had learn'd to choose ? Is Gracchus happy, as around him throng The rabble, who applaud him right or wrong ? No : when the conquest is so mean indeed, He feels no triumph where he must succeed. Great wits and statesmen grace Moreri's page ; Who else records these wonders of their age ! Since fame is so uncertain, shall we say That splendid follies live beyond their day ? Each has the lean Ideal in his mind Of pleasure ; that is coarse, this more refined : Talk not to me, says Florio, of delights The country has ; give me the view from White's. What is more lovely on a summer's day Than charms which beauteous women then display ? Dearer to him the sensual warm saloon At Covent Garden, than the full-orb'd moon. He, as he views the immortal lights on high, For Vauxhall's artificial splendours sigh. 10 FIRST EPISTLE So strange is taste, that some do not disdain To breathe the wholesome air of Maiden-lane, Where, by the smoking conclave, they are prized, And sometimes pass for characters disguised. At clubs and auctions Florio may contrive Through a wet day, by rising late, to live ; Give him at night his turtle and champagne, He might exist through the same day again. Life must indeed to such strange beings seem, Or a fool's Paradise, or drunkard's dream : But spirits o'er excited, soon will fail ; Then all is dull, unprofitable, stale ; Nor Tide's best fare, nor wines though very choice Nor social songs can make the heart rejoice. Poor Foppington ! but yesterday the pride Of ball-rooms, is by fashion thrown aside ; Another is adored, why, none can tell : Yet must another be forgot as well ! This is indeed the common lot of all Whom vain ambition prompts to rule the ball. Wharton, a great Corinthian in his day, (Pope paints his character) was somewhat gay, Loved to " see life," ambitious of a name : Compared with his, e'en Egaris sports are tame. What pity that such revellers should die, They are so useful to society. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 11 Most glorious is the spring-time of the year, How freshly green the woods, the vales appear ! " Flowers of all hue" the splendid meads adorn ; With blossoms white how fragrant is the thorn ! And Heaven gives glimpses of itself by land, By sea, fine fragments show the master-hand. When Nature 's clothed in such a varied dress, Shall man presume to scorn her loveliness Slight the rich banquet that she bids him taste, And fortune's gifts in chase of follies waste ? The circle of enjoyment comprehends Wife, children, books, a few warm-hearted friends: Man may with these contented be, and spurn Those nothings after which his neighbours yearn. SECOND EPISTLE TO A FKIEND IN TOWN. I account a person who has a moderate mind and fortune, and lives in the conversation of two or three agreeable friends, with little com- merce in the world besides; who is esteemed well enough by his few neighbours that know him, and is truly irreproachable by anybody ; and so, after a healthful quiet life, before the great inconveniences of old age, goes silently out of it ; this innocent deceiver of the world, as Horace calls him, this " vnuta persona," I take to have been more happy in his part, than the greatest actors that fill the stage with show and noise ; nay, even than Augustus himself, who asked, with his last breath, whether he had not played his farce very well. COWLKY. SHALL I, while serious duties must engage . My mind, write on in this most rhyming age ? Wilt thou, with clients crowding at thy door, Consent to be poetical, and poor ? Yet let me snatch, my friend, one hour away From fashion's vain impertinence to-day, From the dull forms of business, and its cares, That close around me like the fowler's snares Read but these plain lines from an honest pen, And I'll ne'er trifle with the Muse again. SECOND EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 13 Some men there are, thank Heaven, but very few, Who will condemn, whatever you say or do ; They, with ingenious malice, draw forth evil From sermons ! such are children of the devil ! One writes a song ; should it appear in print, The generous Bavius says, " There 's danger in 't." Another cheers an else heart-broken bard ; " Let the vain fool his parasite reward ! " Kind Zoilus exclaims. Who then escapes ? None, when foul Envy thus her comment shapes. Yet will my mind fly backwards to the time When great indeed my fault, I learn'd to rhyme : When every day gave birth to schemes, that soon Pass'd rapidly away, like dreams at noon ; To plans that might have suited fairy-land, But fleeting here as figures drawn in sand ! How often have we studied Gibbon's page ! How often glow'd with Burke ; prophetic sage ! Those intellectual giants, such in truth They were, with splendid periods charm'd our youth. Oft have we sought the theatre ; and felt That then embodied there, Rome's genius dwelt, When Kemble, like the god-like hero, shone Among inferior lights, a sun alone ! Adored by thousands, such his happy lot He was but yesterday ; and now forgot ! 14 SECOND EPISTLE Thus as old Time turns round his wheel, uprise, And fast descend, the mighty and the wise ; A few eulogiums in the journals tell How wise they were, how mighty, then farewell ! He whom variety delights, would find All that must please him in Statira's mind ! Where various qualities are sweetly blent, Candour with cunning, sense with sentiment. Look in her face, a devil lurketh there, That in her eye-glance seems to say " Beware !" How often have we prattled round her board, With would-be Authors and a gentle Lord 1 Great was her love of patronage and state ; We praised her talents, and her show of plate. But times are alter'd : in this world of woe Realities demand exertion now. We are not what we were ; that burning zeal For books and pleasures we no longer feel : Fancy has now withdrawn her high- wrought veil From our fond gaze, and sober thoughts prevail ; And what has pleased in boyhood now appears Vain, as comes on the noon-time of our years. All was romantic, if it be romance To float upon the changing stream of chance. Let Cocker's useful volume supersede The metaphysic tomes of Brown or Reid. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 15 But 'tis indeed a pain, (though Interest seems To bid me scorn unprofitable themes,) While the old bards adorn my shelves, to quit At once their world of poetry and wit ! Where the dense yellow fog o'erhangs the Thames, The sage, great Coke, thy close attention claims ; Yet wilt thou seize, at intervals of time, On Byron's Lara Cowper's Task sublime ! The mind is healthy that to works like these, Amid the toil of thought, can turn with ease. Content, thou hast eight hundred pounds a-year, Books, and, far better still, a conscience clear ; Thou dost not feel, what squires have felt, distress, When their rents fail, and mortgages oppress ! Debts, taxes, and annuities might make The proudest landlord for his acres quake ! Like Machiavel in politics, thou art A Tory, or a Radical at heart ! Rejoicing oft to see how Whigs are hit Now by John Bull's, and now by Cobbett's wit. Yet politics are but ephemeral things ; Kings, though the world *s progressive, will be kings : Statesmen are statesmen still the mob will roar, And be what Wilkes has been before ! 16 SECOND EPISTLE Say, dost thou seek the Caledonian squeeze, Where few can stand, and fewer sit with ease ; Where Irving' s glowing oratory shows The skeleton at least of Taylor's prose ! Or, blest with better taste, wilt thou not hear Andrews, as eloquent, and far more clear ? Then, at a brother lawyer's country-seat, In social converse find a sabbath treat ? As magic lanthorns throw along the wall Forms of gigantic shape, yet shadows all, In florid self-importance thus the vain Burst on our sight then shrink to nought again. Their well-known faces haunt me where I walk, And oh how wearisome their well-known talk ! Yet such are men ; though reason, 'tis confest, Illumes their minds with scattered rays at best : Such have immortal spirits, which must be Happy, or wretched, through eternity ! Go, triflers, tread Love's flowery path ; but know Ye burn with daemons, or with seraphs glow ! Oft have we laugh'd at (for in truth we 've seen The world) their civil smiles that nothing mean ; Their dolorous looks, whene'er they seem'd to grieve ; And can such poor dissemblers e'er deceive ? Give me the man who, if at times he err, At least shows something like a character, TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 17 Who can consult his heart as well as head ; Nor waits to ask if feeling be well bred ! Some have the wealth of Ind, are strange, are proud, And scorn to hold communion with the crowd : But fortune frowns ; the smiling auctioneer Bids gold and pearls barbaric disappear, Philips will sell their books, where underwrit Notes tersely pencill'd show sententious wit ; Philips will sell their gewgaws, that amaze Women and rustics with their gorgeous blaze ! But such superfluous vanities can ne'er Delight thy mind, be they or rich or rare. Soon, very soon, life's little day is past ; No works but those of charity, will last. Nor Byron's verse nor Beckford's pomp can save Vathek or Harold from their destined grave ! And what is wealth ? with equal hand 'tis given To bad, to good no proof of favouring Heaven ! And who is rich ? Emilius, whose good sense Protects him from the glare of vain expense ; Who buys not glittering toys when very dear, But treats his friends with hospitable cheer ; Who loves to breathe the incense of the morn As the sun's golden rays his hills adorn Deeming more beautiful the sky's young bloom, Than all the splendours of a drawing-room ; 18 SECOND EPISTLE And meditates, as warmly glows his blood, How best he might promote his country's good ! He can be happy though his neighbours thrive. Nor thinks himself the poorest man alive. But few are like Emilius, few can feel For aught, save their own sordid selves, a zeal. Trebatius like a man of honour deals ; He only keeps your purse, he never steals : His honour is so clear, you must not doubt it ; " He talks about it, Goddess, and about it." Wearied with mystery, and sick of prate, Yet unconvinced, you trust the man you hate. Simplicity is like a flowery wreath, Though beautiful, a serpent lurks beneath ! Good Simon Pure in look, in voice a child, "Will circumvent a Jew though very mild. Burke says ambition is too bold a vice For many ; true : not so with avarice : The meanest passion has the strongest hold On human hearts the cursed lust of gold ! You judge (if rightly read in Nature's book) Of beasts, by what in men deceives the look : The fox's craft, the slyness of a cat, Are outwardly express' d by this and that. Crispus with studied negligence will speak, Yet knows right well his neighbour's side that's weak : o O * TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 19 And while his words are out at random thrown, Notes yours upon his memory's tablet down. The most experienced oft will fail to trace The lines of cunning in his ruddy face : Yet, watch it narrowly, you see the smile Betrays what laughter may conceal his guile. Lives there the man who does not condescend To notice, if he be distress* d, a friend ? Such man within the Town perchance may dwell, (More fit to be a denizen of Hell,) But in the Country may not show his face ; Our lands are cursed not with so vile a race. Experience, sole correctress of the young Who to reeds shaken by the wind have clung False hopes, false friends, false pleasures 'tis by thee. Our souls are arm'd against duplicity ! Give him one year, the youth by passion fired ; May lose whatever his father has acquired ! Whatever he gain'd by forethought, or by toil, May in one night become the sharper's spoil. Why does Eugenio love to live by rule ? He aims to be the first in Jackson's school ; Yet like himself, perchance, Eugenio's sire Liked a beefsteak that just had seen the fire ! c2 20 SECOND EPISTLE Twas love of exercise 'tis love of fame Their ends were varied, but their means the same. Sick of amusements that come o'er and o'er, The chase, the dance, the drama, and the moor, Hilario quits fair England : restless still, He follows pleasure's shade, and ever will ; Till to some " high-viced" city drawing close, It leaves him idle, but without repose. Hilario stakes his goods, among the rest A ring it was a dying friend's bequest ! This dear memorial of a dying friend Adorns a strumpet's finger in the end. Lucilius courts the great ; he'd rather be Their slave, than live among his equals free : Yet will he notice these, whene'er they meet Elsewhere, than in a fashionable street. Yet some there are who scorn how very odd ! This lordling's humble servant's friendly nod. Vain, demi-deified by flattering self, Young Claudius cries "All women want my pelf!' Some, dazzled with exterior show, adore The golden calf, like wayward Jews of yore. Yet is the fool so fine he dares to scorn The highly-gifted, beautiful, high-born, TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 21 Till from his fancied eminence he's hurl'd By lawless love a by- word in the world ! Or to a wanton, or another's wife Wedded, for ever with his spouse at strife. Extreme in every thing, Petronius pants To be a chosen one, and humbly cants ! What, are humility and cant allied ? Humility is virtue, cant is pride ! The words of dying Addison, " Be good," Though easy, are by few well understood. Florus, whose wit may grace to-morrow's feast, Is low to-day ; the wind is in the east Or deems he that at thirty though he sing A jest, a jester's but a trifling thing ? The mind " that's sicklied o'er with the pale cast Of thought," intensely ponders o'er the past ! Each act, however fair in youth's gay prime, Changes its hues ; and darkens into crime : Each lighter jest, in strong remembrance set, Adds something to the stores of vain regret. E'en Atticus, whose mind is blest with taste, Lets, when alone, his talents run to waste. The standard of his taste is high indeed ; Few are the books he condescends to read : 22 SECOND EPISTLE He bears with Dryden's prose, or Campbell's verse, Such delicate feeling surely is a curse. What is thy boasted knowledge, man of thought ? What are thy fancy's meteor flashes ? nought, If but a passing cloud that glooms the sky Can stupify thy brain, or dull thine eye : Slave to the breeze, the sunshine, and the shower, Thou art in sooth a transitory flower ! There's Heaven in mere existence ; then again If clouds be lowering, fortune smiles in vain : The dull cold morn, which doubtful lights illume, Casts o'er the mind its harmonizing gloom. " Poor human Nature !" bending over Pope, His friend exclaim' d but where was St. John's hope ? He saw the poet ghastly, weak, and thin, But saw not the immortal soul within ! The soul, that like an eagle soars among The bright existences, those souls of song That, with intuitive glance, at once see through Worlds, which on earth they vainly strove to view. On the rough ocean of existence tost, Here contemplation is in action lost. Had we but time to speculate, how strange Would all appear within the mind's wide range ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 23 Ourselves, our nature, what th* Almighty power Wills us to be when past death's awful hour ! Our thoughts are vague when they attempt to pass Beyond the boundaries of is and icas. How very small must seem, whene'er we think, In being's endless chain this earthly link ! To-day, and yesterday these words imply Life has its constant labours 'till we die. Then may our souls, upspringing from the dust, Live with the spirits of the good and just ! Is there a spot of sunshine to be found In life's dark valley ? yes 'tis holy ground ! 'Tis where Religion sheds a sober beam, As fell on Gideon's fleece the blessed stream. " Bask in the sun of pleasure while you can : Life's summer soon is fled : then what is man ! " Unapt illusion ! as our years increase, The mind gains strength, the storms of passion cease ! The informing spirit then, that never dies, Gives promise of those godlike energies That it will exercise without decay, In other worlds, when this shall pass away. Let us then fondly hope that they, whose worth Rivall'd the virtues of the best on earth, 24 SECOND EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. They, in whose hearts angels rejoiced to find The fear of God, the love of all mankind, They whom we loved, for whom, alas ! we shed The fruitless tear, since they to us are dead, Will live for ever with us in the sight Of that immortal One who dwells in light, Throned inaccessible. We learn to brave, Arm'd with this hope, the terrors of the grave ! 25 THIRD EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. This is a beautiful life now ! Privacy The sweetness and the benefit of essence. I see there's no man but may make his paradise ; And it is nothing but his love and dotage Upon the world's foul joys that keeps him out on't. FLETCHER'S Nice Valour, Act v. Scene 2. THIS day, that shone most glorious from its birth, Is like a glimpse of Heaven as caught from earth. Here oft in silence have we loved to gaze On sylvan wonders, far above our praise. Our thoughts are fresh, as is the early dew In our life's morn ; oh ! were they always new, Earth would be Paradise ; but soon they lose Their freshness, and grow stale by frequent use. Those varied fancies, that when we are young Please us, remain through want of art unsung ; When art might teach us duly to express Their charms, alas ! we feel and know them less. 26 THIRD EPISTLE The noblest landscape that e'er bless'd the sight, Day after day beheld, scarce gives delight. That which we now mis-name a trifling toy, Once kindled in our hearts a flame of joy ! As the sky's brilliant hues at close of day Melt down into an undistinguished grey Thus the changed mind, its lively colours past Wears the dull livery of the world at last. E'en PAMPHILUS, in whose young bosom dwelt A love of all that's beautiful who felt That Nature, ever present where he roved, Clung closely to his heart, a Nymph beloved ! Now views, unheeding, emerald vales and floods, And in repose magnificent, the woods. Yet better this than an o'eracted zeal For rural beauties which you do not feel. URBANUS is in raptures when he sees, Since rudeness is a crime, his Patron's trees ; URBANUS deems not what he sees divine ; But 'tis polite to shout at times " How fine !" This feign'd enthusiast with his words may cheat The vain possessor of a country-seat ! But has URBANUS view'd the clouds that flush Around a summer's sky, the morning's blush ; And felt, when quite alone, the deep, deep sense Of beauty inexpress'd, not less intense TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 27 When all sensations of delight are thrown Into a heavenward gratitude alone ? Pleasures like this are passionless, and give A lesson to us for what ends we live : ,They show the soul's high origin, though worn By care, and oh ! predict that glorious morn, When life, and light, and love, the trinal beam, Shall flow upon the good in endless stream ! A lute, a gentle voice, or summer skies, All in their turn wake kindred sympathies ; Though few, like SYLVIUS, love to waste their hours Courting romantic thoughts in tangled bowers, 'Till loathing social duties, he misdeems Himself a spirit in a world of dreams. Yet will meek evening to the coldest heart A sober glow of happiness impart ; Sweet promise this of pleasures yet to come, Showing that earth is not our proper home. This nature teaches to that being call'd " Man of the world," or man by art enthrall'd, With the thin gloss of fashion smoothing o'er His real character, like thousands more ! So mild, his manners are to all the same ; Stranger or Friend alike attention claim. Now FLAVIUS lingers in the town alone ; The pride and pomp of which, alas, are gone ! 28 THIRD EPISTLE The mean young man will condescend to seek A rural Bashaw's seat ; but for a week : Th' indignant Landlord scorns, as well he might, The proffer'd honour, as he scorn' d the slight Which FLAVIUS show'd him when among the crowd Of worldlings walk'd the coxcomb poor and proud. All pride is littleness but very low The pride which unpaid tailors can bestow ! The bigot for his narrow creed may have Some reason, but a fool is fashion's slave ; "Who, for a name's equivocal renown, Would the best feelings of the heart disown. Let brother triflers damn him as half-bred, The charms of this much-boasted name are fled : A word from fashion's high-priest, sacred thing ! Will clip at once the young aspirant's wing. Unhappy youth ! whom fortune thus beguiles ! The lovely Peeress passes by, nor smiles. The title " Exquisite" acquired with pain, Like that of " Champion," is a doubtful gain. The youth whose heart, replete with kindness, loved The world, whose generous acts that world approved, When all was new, and fancy gave a gloss To life's realities that are but dross In manhood, should his sanguine hopes be crost, Is chill'd by apathy's unyielding frost ; Save when arise some sudden gusts of spleen, You scarce would guess that he had active been. TO A FRINED IN TOWN. 29 Dreary will be life's eve to SPORUS soon, The black cloud of contempt o'erhangs his noon. One moment's gaze on such a scene as this Is worth whole years of artificial bliss. When the sun gilds with his declining rays The castle famed in great ELIZA'S days, I love to linger near its ruin'd walls, Where ivy clusters, or luxuriant falls : Then in my mind are suddenly revived The days when SIDNEY, " flower of knighthood," lived. That stainless hero ! a propitious star In peace ; a splendid meteor in the war ! Th' unwearied light of valour on his crest Shone, while in royal halls he look'd the best. Such noble spirits to a higher sphere Belong, and, ere we know them, disappear ! Now the calm sunset gives a mellow grace To the vast pile ; what pleasure 'tis to trace The shadows of past greatness ! not a sound Is heard, while twilight gently steals around. Here time appears resistless ; but my soul Says that one Power can time itself control : The Power that hath reveal'd the promise sure, That now^ one boundless present, shall endure. But what are works upraised by human skill ? Mere toys, Pride's splendid playthings, if you will. 30 THIRD EPISTLE Nature, more prodigal, has always been Most lavish of her treasures where unseen. She, in vast solitudes delights to show That without man's vain aid her nurslings grow A giant brood ; for there mimosas rise, And the columnar cactus towers unto the skies ; There valleys look like worlds, o'er which the vast Forests their shades interminably cast ! Where all is great, shall not man's heart expand, Enlarging with the grandeur of the land ? There as the mind upsprings, from custom freed, It scorns the courtier's fashionable creed, Knowing itself how mean in Pride's abode, How comprehensive 'mong the works of God. The worst and best of passions there, the lust Of wealth, the love of glory, give disgust ; And thought illimitable there would fain The wisdom of earth's wisest sons disdain. EUMOLPUS child of Genius he was made To live " in the sun," and yet would seek the shade ! Thou dost remember well his fine dark eye, "Where shone enthroned the soul of Poesy ; His voice that silver-toned fit channel seem'd For flow of wit with which his fancy teem'd ; His eloquent discourse now light, now full Of thoughts profound and rare, but never dull. Spite of these brilliant qualities that warm The heart, and give to social life a charm, TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 31 This gifted being, to th' abodes of men Preferr'd the mountain's height, or lonely glen. But PSITTACUS, the bard, aspires to move Among the rich and great, to court their love. He labours every day to feel the effect Of writing well, and trembles at neglect. One might his highly polish'd wit compare To the snow-diamond, beautiful and rare : He knows indeed its worth ; for every word He asks the homage -of the social board ; And while his brilliants sparkle, Fame forbid Their light should be beneath a bushel hid. But though his Muse, in verse a very saint, The beauties of a rural life can paint, She ne'er with Nature's self communion held, But felt that Power her energies had quell'd ! How few, while with their fellow-men they mix, Write what they may, on Heaven their thoughts will fix ! Affections small but strong in union bind With many threads to earth the giant mind ; Then as man strays through Pleasure's flowery path, Bursts on his head the vial of God's wrath ! Yet praise is dear to all the world's, alas, (As wet and dry affect the weather-glass) Or given or withheld can raise or sink The spirits ; 'tis for that we act and think : 32 THIRD EPISTLE For that young DRUSUS, falling from his rank, Into a wandering, would-be Roscius sank ; For that PATRICIUS would, a fruitless toil, Enrich with German flowers his English soil ; E'en from his loved retreat the rural Bard Seeks in the world's approval his reward. Where's the Recluse, who, though it loudly strikes His ear, the grateful voice of fame dislikes ? Thus rise from ROUSSEAU'S genius, that illumes The shrine of Nature, vanity's rank fumes. The worshippers of glory, though sublime Their maxims, are but great in prose and rhyme. So weak is man, that when upraised at most, The mind a partial flight can only boast : Soon with a flagging wing 'twill stoop, and creep Along the ground Hear this, ye vain, and weep ! ANTIMACHUS (since such a name the muse Reluctant for the wayward youth must choose) Writes like an angel, but his actions stain The else unsullied offspring of his brain. He seems in contrarieties to take Delight, at once Philosopher and Rake. What Casuist dare affirm 'twixt good and bad That aught like compromise can e'er be had, Though many characters, so wills it strife, Preserve no keeping on the stage of life ? The sentimentalist to-day, will quaff Bumpers of wine to-morrow, jest and laugh. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 33 MORECRAFT, the usurer, will e'en unbend, And give a dinner to his pigeon'd Friend. Mind has its lights and shadows, that, to please, Into each other melt by slow degrees : But with alternate colours dark and bright, The glaring contrast shocks the moral sight. Strange inconsistencies will show that all The wisest feel the curse of Adam's fall. Good God ! MARCELLUS by the gay and grave Approved, became the vilest passion's slave. Pure were his thoughts in boyhood, modest sense Adorn'd a mind that hated all pretence. Poor fallen youth, how changed ! thou lately wast Thy country's pride ; but now the world's outcast. Oh may swift vengeance hurl its lightnings down On their base heads by whom this youth's o'erthrown ! Pass we this theme the subject will involve A knotty question which no Bard can solve : Why should this man, since Virtue " with his growth Grew," be at once the worthless thing we loathe ? " O Bad spirits ever vigilant will glide Into the heart's recess, and there abide ; Expelling the fair forms of Love and Truth, Though beautiful, but transient guests in sooth. ALCIPHRON opens Nature's Book, and reads That there's a God, as visible in weeds 34 THIRD EPISTLE. As worlds ; and yet the sceptic is perplex'd ; With " qualities," and "modes," and " substance" vex'd. Words, vague in meaning chill his holy zeal, And counteract what he must see and feel. Is he in danger ? then he will adore God, and forget the quibbling sophist's lore : Conscience will dissipate the mists that cloud Thoughts, very weak indeed, when very proud, Thus the presumptuous intellect of man Passes its bounds, but ends where it began. While Heaven pours forth varieties of light In beautiful profusion, what delight It is to view the woodlands, lawns between : Brief joy, perchance ! soon clouds may supervene, Deepening their shadows o'er the woods that now With an intensity of radiance glow. That joy is like a moment's sunshine, gone Ere you can feel it, we have often known : But Friendship is a plant that will outlast The gusts of care, or Sorrow's wintry blast. Then may'st thou see, my Friend, a good old age, Happy as DEMONAX, and quite as sage, And when her mild farewell to life is given, May Angel Faith direct thy soul to Heaven ! 35 FOURTH EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. May it please your Lordship to withdraw yourself Unto this neighbouring grove, there shall you hear How the sweet treble of the chirping birds, And the soft stirring of the moved leaves, Running delightful descant to the sound Of the base murmuring of the bubbling brook, Become a concert of good instruments : While twenty babbling echoes round about Out of the stony concave of their mouths Restore the vanish 'd music of each close, And till your ears full with redoubled pleasure. LINGUA. Old Play. THE golden morn of youth is gone, and man Reaches his noon of life without a plan : As snow falls softly on the mountain height, Time passes by : 'tis noon- day now 'tis night : Though whispers oft the still small voice within, To waste, or misapply thy time, is sin. Yet it is pleasant here to gaze away In sweet forgetfulness of cares the day, D 2 36 FOURTH EPISTLE The long long summer's day ; while flowers exhale Their fragrance borne along the western gale, That o'er our Avon's bosom gently breathes, Till in the sun her " crisped smiles" she wreathes ; Or glory in that sun, till thought elate Would o'er the horizon round its orb dilate ; Or trace resemblance to that monarch proud Of Alps, Mont Blanc, in some high -towering cloud ; Or wander lonely through the solemn grove With every feeling hush'd, save that of love, Love of a Being who is evermore All that a grateful spirit must adore ! As clouds along the stream in varied hues Their lovely shadows rapidly diffuse ; So o'er life's current changeful Fancy glides, In shapes swift-flitting o'er the restless tides. All the fine plans thy subtle mind hath spun Melt into air, like mists before the sun ; Yet why regret ? substantial systems wrought By heads of statesmen crumble into nought. The wings of time though oft-repeated shocks Beat down opinions strong as granite rocks ; Senates have sanction'd schemes they now deride ; Oh what a lesson this to human pride ! Bacon has said then take it in my rhyme The slaves of custom are the sport of time ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 37 How, as they strive to check his onward course, He whirls them round with a resistless force ! While knowledge, strong as is the ocean's tide, Scatters opposing errors far and wide ; Sweeping away the veil that time has thrown O'er old opinions all must soon disown. Though knowledge be progressive, mystery shrouds The glowing sons of fancy in her clouds, So brilliant, they divert aspiring youth From following sober lights hung out by truth. But ah ! from them involved within the mass, Too soon away the brilliant colours pass. Mystical poetry with wondrous art Entwines itself around the enthusiast's heart. Alastor gathers images remote From human use, as stimulants to thought : With projects wild his brain distemper'd teems, His world appears impalpable as dreams : Vague phantoms take the place of living forms, And torturing doubt a noble mind deforms. How can a soul which matter clogs discern Abstraction's shadowy tribe ? their nature learn ? Awhile they rush before our mental sight Enlarged, then far recede, and all is night ! We shape our projects from a chaos wild Of dreams that ought not to delude a child ; Then, as our air-built phantasies deceive Hopes that are nursed in spite of reason grieve. 38 FOURTH EPISTLE In one brief day, thoughts rapidly succeed Each other, varying as we act or read : As mutable as Claudia's love, that veers From heirs for wealth plebeian famed to peers ; Or those opinions that in proper season Conviction brings against our staggering reason ; Conviction, as self-interest rules the hour, Has opportunely a resistless power. What are the secret links uniting thought With thought ? Here metaphysics teach us nought ; The mind, but lately pleased with idle things, Is teeming now with vast imaginings ; (Not that of Quintus, which, except the news That clubs can give, no subject can amuse.) The voice, but lately bland, in fearful tone, Now bids the oppressor tremble on his throne ; And hearts indignant with responsive beat Throb, and impatient crowds their shouts repeat. Thus a great actor shows upon the stage Alternate fits of tenderness and rage ; Who a few minutes since among his guests Threw rapidly his laughter-moving jests. Imagination is to mortals given That they may sometimes catch a glimpse of heaven, But not to be an erring guide at strife With all the sober principles of life ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 39 To cheat us, as a Prospero with his wand Creates and then dissolves a fairy band. Yet what are all the pleasures as we pass Through life, that cheer our pilgrimage, alas ! Beauty attracts us with her smiles, and Love Is a most busy god, where idlers move, Thronging those gardens gay of which the flowers Transcend the choicest that adorn our bowers ; There glow in summer's lighter garb array'd The loveliest forms that ever nature made ; The roseate bloom of youth is on their cheeks : In their sweet looks mind eloquently speaks. (Yet taste laments that Tullia's shape is gone; Among her fair compeers she brightly shone.) Eyes that with tears were filled but yesternight For a lost Almack's,. sparkle with delight. Come, thou enchantress, Music, with thy strains Alternate wake delight, or calm our pains ! Thou canst attune the heart to every change Of feeling as thy fancy loves to range : Thou art, mysterious Harmony, by Heaven To man a solace for his sorrows given. The Hermit dreams of music in his cell, Of voices heard in Heaven the choral swell : The Pilgrim hears the vesper bell at close Of day, and nears the city of repose. 40 FOURTH EPISTLE Cheerful yet pensive ; while the minstrels come With merry sounds to cheer the Burgher's home. Now rouse the warrior's soul ; now in the lute With thy fine touch the lover's ear salute. A ballet at the Opera it seems Is what a poet fancies when he dreams : Oh what a world of poesy is there ! What delicate spirits people earth and air ! Angels of light, too fine for Man's embrace They are, if Angels, then a fallen race. What are these beings of ethereal mould By whom the " Muses' tales are truly told ? " Young Claudius knows, whose heart such beauty warms, That these all-glorious sprites have venal charms. But Freedom here can show a nobler prize Than loveliest nymph, if Claudius will be wise ; Fortune and birth, be he but blest with sense, Will give him more than labour' d eloquence ! What though deficient he in Grattan's fire, Canning's fine irony, Grey's noble ire, Let him but heed the People's genuine voice, Their boundless love will make his heart rejoice : Soon will he thank his God that gratitude Can warm a peasant's heart, however rude ! Smiles that light up fair woman's face impart Joy to the senses, sunshine to the heart : TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 41 While gay good humour laughs from Clara's eyes, Her brow is more serene than summer skies : A wit offends, soon anger in her frown, Like thunder sleeping in a cloud, is shown : Hapless the wight on whom it chance to burst ; What devil than a scold is more accurst ? Metella, Fashion's most prevailing star, Brilliant as Venus rising in her car ; Metella (scorn sits lovely on her lips) Frowns, can another's radiance her's eclipse ? A purse-proud rival, not in loveliness Dares to surpass her, but in wealth's excess. Shall then the Day-God's flower that flaunting shows Its yellow hue, raise envy in the rose ? Oh, no ! Metella's splendour far outshines Her rival's grandeur, were she queen of mines. Taste, birth's obedient fairy, waves her wand Through her saloon Gold cannot taste command. Turn we from scenes like these ; and long and loud The Preacher's voice is heard above the crowd, Denouncing all those vanities that late Gladden'd our spirits : these awhile we hate, Though Saints far more attractive to the eye Than Guide's fair Madonnas near us sigh. One act of real virtue bears the impress Of Deity upon it, nothing less, 42 FOURTH EPISTLE Outlasting all the glittering gauds that Pride Delights the fool with, aye, the wise beside. So says the Preacher : trembling, we believe His words, but still again ourselves deceive ; Still to the world return, with zest increased, Like parting coursers in the field released. Though timid Cocknies scorn (a nerveless race) That life of life, the madness of the chase, The draw, the find, the soul-exciting burst, The burning emulation to be first ; These are delights but sports must lose their zest, When days are blank, and spirits are deprest. Lucilius, burden' d with superfluous coin, Pants the kind sharers in his wealth to join, Where Crockford's palace glares upon his eyes, As a proud harlot sense of shame defies. How true the proverb, " Cobwebs that enfold The less, on greater reptiles loose their hold." Wondering that men can thus their money lose ; Sons of vertu, a better part you choose. Some book, it matters not in prose or rhyme, You buy, we'll call it " Pleasure's rare Passe-tyme ; ' TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 43 Or drag some dusty picture to the day, Cheap, if you have five hundred pounds to pay : The picture, you remove the sacred dust, Had better in its former station rust ; The book how vast your agony of grief More precious than the Sibyl's, wants a leaf ! Tullius, whose well-stored library's a hive Of sweets the varied flowers of genius give, Is but a drone : from book to book he flies, Tastes all, contributes nothing, useless dies. Where to support the poor, Bazaars are graced With high-born dames behind the counter placed, Fair Seraph ina studiously displays Her pretty wares for charity, or praise. Works finished by her lovely hands attract Attention here a novel, there a tract : These works her varied inclinations paint ; The Fair, as fashion wills, is blue, or saint ! This sickly feeling, that can never thrive, Unless by Pleasure's aid 'tis kept alive Call you this Charity that He approves Who knows the spring that every action moves ? This charity, that's borne, as Angels sing, To God's eternal mount, on Seraph's wing ? 44 FOURTH EPISTLE Though Nature in her noblest mood has made Sydney in camps, and Howard in the shade, (Moral phenomena ! more rare, I fear, Than an lago or Sir Giles are here) Benevolence, pure element of good, Is dash'd with grosser matter in our blood. Orfellus gives you feasts, to glut his pride ; You ask a loan of him, he turns aside. While Bavius prates of friendship in his verse, Yet from the dearest friend withholds his purse. The generous man he whom the world commends Fills high the sparkling wine-cup for his friends ; And yet this hospitable reveller lives For self for self alone his banquet gives. What though this Pharisee exalts his horn On high, and views a brother's woes with scorn ; When placed before the judgment seat of Heaven, The scorner may be lost, the scorn* d forgiven ! Fame cries that Appius, generous wight, but lives To bless his neighbour : all he has he gives. Though in subscriptions be his name enroll'd, His virtue glitters 'tis not sterling gold : No prayer of those he has relieved by stealth Consecrates alms that trumpet forth his wealth. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 45 Croesus for unimagined pleasure pants; His very pain is that he nothing wants : His life, a calm so sick'ning to the soul, "Were worse to many than the tempest's howl. Tis the pursuit that cheers us ; when attain'd, The object is as speedily disdain'd ; Of wealth unbounded, as in rank the first, Crcesus with fulness of enjoyment's curst. Crassus, rich child of dulness, lives among High orators and mighty sons of song : Admitted to the table of the Gods, he's hit, Like Yulcan, by their frequent shafts of wit. Strange are the qualities in Man commixt ! Firm in some things, in others how unfixt ! O ' Can that Valerius, whose high worth is seen ' O In public actions, be in private mean ? Or can Ambrosius point beyond the grave A Hell for sinners, and become a knave ? How the arch-tempter loves within his toils To catch reluctant dragons they are spoils. The same imaginary sorrows vex Unquiet spirits, the same cares perplex ; Go to the Court, what characters are there ! The same by Pope described, or La Bruyere. Eugenius daily with unwearied zeal Resumes his labours for the common weal ; 46 FOURTH EPISTLE Neglects his fine estate, with study pale Overworks his brains, and what does all avail ? The dullest idler may in public speak Better than he our Patriot's nerves are weak ! Ascanius, for his trade too honest, dives Into the depths of policy, and strives In Sabbathless pursuit of fame to be What never with his nature can agree. Too good, though train'd up in the statesman's school, To see through those whom selfish passions rule ; Too sensitive to bear against the blast Of faction till its rage be overpast. Each flying shade, each transient light will throw Young Flaccus into fits of joy or woe ; The breath of censure, frown of scorn, will shake His frame until his heart-strings almost break. If but a feather's weight oppress his nerves, The mind disjointed from its purpose swerves. Scarce on his self-raised eminence appear'd Publius ; the harass' d sons of freedom cheer'd. To him, as to the pillar'd fire that burn'd At night before the Israelites, they turn'd. Struggling 'gainst tyranny's recurring wave They heard his voice, all-powerful to save ; (A voice that fulmining o'er Europe shamed Power from attempting schemes that cunning framed,) TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 47 "With energy renew'd then upwards sprung, And firmly to their rock of safety clung. As falls the mighty column in its pride, Publius had reach'd Ambition's height, and died ! Perish* d a statesman as erect and great As from its watch-tower e'er o'erlook'd the state. Political Economy ! how few Through thy strange labyrinth can find a clue ! Soon as he enters it, the Tyro's lost, On every side by turns of " value" crost. Then let Ricardo, mighty guide, direct His steps ! let Malthus shout each different sect ! Dear is our country to us, dear our law, As perfect as a gem without a flaw : Were he alive the dicast-lashing bard, Whose wit is brilliant, though 'tis somewhat hard, Would Mitchell's great Apollo dart his gibe At virtuous England's fee -receiving tribe ? While Justice with her well-poised balance stands, The weights pass slowly through a thousand hands. Since some there are who, menaced with a jail, Invent, by conscience unappall'd, a tale ; Who join a company whose traffic lies In certain wares, that men call perjuries ; Who live begirt by knaves from day to day On alms supplied them by the law's delay. 48 FOURTH EPISTLE Invention comes, unfolding every hour Of steam the almost preternatural power. What cannot mind achieve whose magic skill Rules this reluctant element at will ? It may perchance still mightier powers create That now in depths of night its fiat wait. Improvement points to paths yet unexplored, Where realms of science richest spoils afford. Fame's temple with her thousand portals still Is placed on high ; but all ascend the hill. Ye few secure yon heights above to keep Your stations now is this a time to sleep ? The mild interpreter of Nature now Had been a Faustus centuries ago ; Nor God nor Daemon, scarcely prized no more, He adds his mite unto the common store, The gain of patient thought : meanwhile increase Through mutual intercourse the gifts of peace. Commerce, the nurse of Freedom, rears afar Her flag triumphant o'er wide-wasting war. Though Prejudice still struggles to maintain Her long ascendency, she strives in vain. The " Georgics of the mind," so widely spread Is knowledge, make the rudest hind well-bred ! Beggars in metaphor your alms entreat, And low-born knaves like Gentlemen can cheat ! TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 49 Milkmaids write flowing lines on purling rills, And Owen's happy children dance quadrilles. Some master minds there are, that still excel The rest, as Davy's vast discoveries tell ; Unrivaird in his art, with what success He bore the Torch through Chemistry's recess ! From age to age his deep research shall wake Some genius slumbering else on Lethe's lake, Whose talents in a moment may, by chance, For years the knowledge of his art advance. The sun of science in its noonday blaze Glorious would strike our Bacon with amaze, Were he again revisiting this earth, To view its progress, as he hail'd its birth ! But genius came all-perfect from above, As sprung Minerva from the head of Jove, Play'd in bold lightnings o'er the Theban's lyre, And shone round Homer's head a crown of fire : Fresh as their air, and brilliant as their sky, Flow'd on the deep stream of their Poesy. In lovely Greece, while yet the world was young, Pregnant with intellect such Poets sung ; In that fair clime, by subtle Taste refin'd Came forth the rich creations of the mind. 50 FOURTH EPISTLE Beauty and wit, bright idols of the crowd, Beneath a veil of allegory glow'd. Are not our Bards of olden times confest By all to be more potent than the rest ? Shakspeare, whate'er I may presume to call Thee, Moralist, Bard, Sage, or all in all ; May I approach thy intellectual throne, While now all spirits are to thee as known As once on earth mankind, and bow the knee, Thou Idol of an English heart, to thee. What but thy wondrous nature could display Such perfect samples of the grave and gay ? As Hamlet's melancholy mood we quit For Hal's light badinage and FalstafFs wit. Compared with thine, the noblest dramas, fraught With genius, are but rudiments of thought ; And images the bard profusely pours, As if he never could exhaust his stores, On every glowing verse, but give the change Of a few fancies circumscribed in range. Invention's unborn sons might yet produce Works, bending Nature's will to human use ; Another Watt may bless mankind ; but when Shall Shakspeare's inspiration live again ? Shakspeare, the glorious morning-star that cheer'd Our dawn of literature, has disappear'd ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 51 What light has since uprisen to adorn The noon, as that illumed the purple morn ? One like a meteor (Nations gazed, admired !) Rush'd on our sight, blazed momently, expired. Its radiance, flashing on our memory, warms Us still ; in dreams its noble aspect charm <. The rage for all that's marvellous and new Pervades the crowd, a love of truth but few : "With Shakspeare and the Northern Seer content, Why heed we what inferior minds invent ? Far as our language spreads, from clime to clime, Is Shakspeare's muse upborne on wings of time : Thousands unborn her glorious flight shall hail : For Nature will be felt when customs fail. Now Authors come at Fashion's call in haste To please with varied food the public taste : Well ! they are idols of the day, and have All that they want what's fame beyond the grave : An unsubstantial glare that flickers o'er Ambition's dangerous eminence, no more Let Milton wait posterity's award, Tis present gain that charms the modern bard. A bard triumphant, disregarding facts, Some known event from History's page extracts : E 2 52 FOURTH EPISTLE Drawn from a Poem that just praise hath won, The tale is through a lengthened novel spun ; Here fiction o'er a wider surface blends Itself with truth, and common sense offends. Are not the Novelists whose bright renown Blazed through all Italy now scarcely known ? Except Boccaccio ; (He who reads must smile At his fine wit, and love his perfect style;) And yet the gems that from invention's mine They drew, than ours more beautifully shine. A tale of real life by Fashion wove, Will have its day, and high and low approve. Another follows, incidents surprise, And scenes of woe with tears fill loveliest eyes. As a high-crested wave o'ertops the rest, Then foaming breaks on Ocean's heaving breast ; Thus towers awhile, his Brother-Bards among, Some mightier Poet, how sublime in song ! Till, on the wide expanse of ages cast, He's caught within oblivion's gulf at last ! Since thoughts successive in another sphere Excel those of our brightest moments here, Why should he seek distinction, which acquired, He may hereafter scorn, though now desired ! TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 53 Unless the master-spirits of this earth Then relatively greater shall shine forth. How oft in bygone days we loved to quote Each gentle verse that Pope to Harley wrote ; Or that sweet lay, in which while he adored " Mary in Heaven," poor Burns his soul outpour'd ; To snatch, can words the depth or breadth express Of Wordsworth 'raptured with their loveliness, The pearls of wisdom that, beneath a stream Of poetry, as pure as Derwent's, gleam. Oh these are Poets we may call divine ; Like Angels standing in the Sun, they shine ; Point out to us exultingly the way That leads to Truth's abode as bright as day ; Bestow a lovelier hue on every flower Year after year ; awaken thoughts that tower Above our sordid schemes on earth ; and blend Emotions here, with those which heavenward tend. May we, once having past death's confines, see In their own orbs the great, the good, the free : That " old man eloquent" whose mind was stored With ancient, modern lore, a boundless hoard, Whose genius e'en o'er common subjects threw Embroidery of language ever new ! Newton ! La Place ! what mind can comprehend The worlds through which all-seeing they ascend ! 54 FOURTH EPISTLE While to their gaze, as crystal mirrors clear, The wonders of the Universe appear. As knowledge burns within them, on their sight O O In full perspective burst the realms of light, One blaze, no momentary cloud obscures, Such as the eye of mind alone endures ! From strength to strength, unclogg'd by grosser sense, Progressive grows each fine intelligence : The shades of mystery vanishing, at last All harmonize the present future past ! Like interchange of sunbeams, thought with thought Has quick communion, wisdom comes unsought ; And mind with all the sciences instinct That rainbow-like are blended yet distinct, With mind converses ; Envy never throws One shadow there where Love's pure effluence flows. Oh what ineffable delight above To know, to feel, that all around is love ! Though broken be the lute, the magic skill Of the musician lives within him still. Shall not that efflux bright from Heaven, the Mind, Survive the ruins of its " corporal rind ?" Crown' d with transcendent splendours far and wide, Then range, and Time's decaying touch deride ? Drawing by turns into itself whatever It sees around that's wonderful or fair ? Collecting knowledge infinite each hour, As the Bee gathers sweets from every flower ? TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 55 Beings we partially imagine now, Gay creatures of our day-dreams, then will glow Star-like in lustre, beauteous as that morn, When above Eden's mount the Day-God rose new-born, Will pass in waves of light the mind before That then may dare their nature to explore, Whatever be its element ; or flame, Or finer essence that we cannot name. 56 FIFTH EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. PERFECTIBILITY. " The age of sophists, calculators, and economists has succeeded." BURKE. O'ER her vast verdant nest Composure broods ! There is a forest grandeur in the woods That lengthen through the valley, or on high Like emerald clouds against a silver sky, Towering into the air, luxuriant crown The hills, or graceful stretch the vales adown ; Foliage o'er foliage swelling, dark, and bright ; With shadows here imbrown'd, there bathed in light, Once more enshrouded in the woods that close My mansion round, once more I woo repose, Dream of rose-colour'd days that long have pass'd, And moralize o'er flowers too gay to last, Yet now produced again, this month to cheer : Youth's flower, when faded, ne'er shall reappear ! FIFTH EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 57 Exults the young enthusiast when he sees An emerald cloud of richly foliaged trees Deepening into the sunlight's golden glow ? Dearer to me the shades of evening now ! As we rove Avon's flowery banks along, We seem to hear the tricksy Ariel's song : Love-breathing imagery flows around (A poet's presence hallows it) this ground. Like a young beauty placed in grandeur's car, Smiles o'er yon purple cloud one lovely star : That Shakspeare's spirit liveth there we deem, So brightly imaged 'tis in yon mild stream. Now through the air, sweeter than Grisi's notes, At times imaginary music floats. There may be planets in which beings dwell, The least of whom even Newton might excel Intelligences wonderful ; yet far, As from the primal fount of light a star Twinkling in the immeasurable abyss, Their knowledge from the great Creator's is. Each in his orbit brightening, as he nears The rainbow -circled glory-throne, appears. How spirit join'd by love to spirit shines, As flame when touching flame its strength combines ; The essences of things before them brought Without continuous exercise of thought ! Slow is our progress to perfection here, Whate'er it may be in another sphere ; 58 FIFTH EPISTLE Narrow the path that leads to Truth's abode, In spite of Bentham's wrong-expelling code. While institutions thrive, and boys are made Philosophers by adventitious aid ; While e'en the difference 'twixt right and wrong Must now to calculation's art belong ; While barren axioms, with much parade, Are as increase of mental wealth display'd ; While dull materialists will not believe That there are modes our senses can't perceive, Rapid as thought and bodiless as light, As if what is, must present be to sight ; Some seers predict (their prescience not divine) That in this world far greater lights will shine ; (Then through the night of ages will the star Of Shakspeare seem a luminous point afar) That governments more perfect will be wrought By an improved machinery of thought ! Experience may foreshow the future through A glass indeed discoloured to our view : A clearer prescience of hereafter none Can have whose lives are measured by Time's zone. Who can foretell whate'er to-morrow's dawn May bring ? not sage in ermine or in lawn. Who, as they down through countless ages go, The sequences of any act foreknow ? TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 59 Thought-executing projects, that alone Once fastened on attention, now are gone Gone ! like an arrow through the pathless air, That closeth round and nought remaineth there ! Plan what you may, discover what you will Remain unchangeable old vices still The most depraved of this lust-dieted race In arts excel not Valmont or Lovelace : * Man is the same for ever, and to write Of present times trite themes is to indite. Power yet evades with Cunning for her guide Deep plans by Knowledge framed to curb her pride ; Awhile defeated, soon she reappears, When Superstition vile her flag uprears ; Then, (let the theorist of his race be proud,) As round her troop the pomp-adoring crowd, The despot slily. fastens on their necks His chain adieu to legislative checks ! Historians fancy that a king is born To trouble men, like great Astolfo's horn. Princes will have their toys : for diadems Some fight ; more harmless, others play with gems, Lengthen their palaces, pavilions build, And ceilings gay of grand saloons o'ergild. * The heroes of " Clarissa" and Les Liaisons Dangereuses." Par nobile fratrum ! 60 FIFTH EPISTLE The self-will'd autocrat essays to bind, Like fulminating Popes of old, the mind ; And Metternich, whose statecraft thrives so well, Reacts the worn-out part of Machiavell. Thus we improve ; mild emperors succeed The imperial h 1. Does not Poland bleed ? As in a fox-chase, in pursuit of fame The cry is " Forward ! forward !" still the same. The restless spirit that impels the squire To risk his neck, will set the world on fire, When it impels proud princes, who, to fill Their vacant hours up, hunt men and kill. For fame for fame unsated Genius thirsts And dies : thus mounts the bubble gay and bursts ! Thus Shelley blazed awhile thus Byron shone, And Burns sons of the morning : they are gone ! Since they have pass'd away from earth in prime Of manhood, surely in the abyme of time, Else had they perish'd not with thoughts full-blown, The seeds of mightier intellect are sown. Are there not master-minds that in the deep Abyss of time yet unawaken'd sleep ? Like birds of brighter plumage than have been Discovered yet, hereafter to be seen, Poets profuse of many coloured thought Shall from the morning's womb to life be brought *, ' The dew of thy birth is of the womb of the morning." TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 61 Gladden the favoured country where they shine, And pour fresh lustre even on truths divine ; And new discoveries by science made Shall to their songs bring illustration's aid. Visions of glory they may see, and glow With Milton's spirit more than Milton know ; While prophecies now unfulfilled, but then Complete, extend their intellectual ken. Vain hope ! still Shakspeare towers unmatched ; and where Is Fancy's child with Spenser to compare ? With what an affluence of beauty now The gay Elysiums in this island glow ! Nature hereafter never can improve On high-born maids who win all hearts to love. Who shall engirt by Venus' cestus be Brighter than those in royal halls we see ? Though garmented in light they are, the rays Of sparkling eyes outshine their diamonds' blaze ! Through Fancy's glass no poet can disclose A fairer flower than the patrician rose ; Perfect in shape, and beautiful in hue . Shall future suns a lovelier bring to view ? As Britomart * in magic mirror view'd % The semblance of her knight, and that pursued ; See Spenser's Faerie Queen, Book in. Canto ii. Stanzas 17, 18. 62 FIFTH EPISTLE Thus in the glass of Fancy man beholds Some object that to please him Passion moulds, Fame, fortune, honour, if of this possessed, Deeming himself to be as Croesus bless'd. When won, though beautiful as god of day, The golden idol has but feet of clay ! Many through gay saloons who laughing pass, If window' d were their bosoms as with glass, Would, as in Eblis' hall each glittering form, Disclose to view the ever-burning worm. Impostors flourish in this age of light : Not least of these the wizard Exquisite. His stars are diamond-studs, that glitter through The foldings of a waistcoat rich in hue As clouds at sunset on a summer's eve, Where gold and silver tissues interweave. His magic wand a cane of polish'd stem Of rarest wood, and rough with many a gem.* His book an album, golden-clasp' d and bound In velvet, wreath' d with flowers enamell'd round ; Within are words omnipotent to charm Unharden'd minds, and youthful spirits warm, On satin paper, beautifully writ : Above are emblems for such pages fit ! Some in tlft hot-bed of a magazine Would nurse their wit ; you see in every line * Clara micante auro flammasque imitata pyropo. Ovid. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 63 Their labour'd efforts to produce a store Of caustic sayings, none produced before. They latent virtues have, like gems that shone On Aaron's breastplate, or the sage's stone. Still, as the globe of knowledge we turn round, More desolate wastes than cultured spots are found, Though German mystics would reclaim in vain Some tracts from speculation's dark domain. Though Science superadds her annual tome To treasured lore, predicts she things to come ? Hereafter mightier spirits may displace Those in the world who fill no little space ; They may discover secret ties, that light And heat and electricity unite : Even gravitation, of material laws The rule, may sink into a wider cause. Our sons, the flights of science are so high, On hippogriffs throughout the air may fly ; And fictions by ambitious bards devised, In an inventive age be realised. Truth-loving men, o'ermastering selfish will, This world, a wider paradise, may fill ; And as they further wisdom's mine explore, Will learn to separate from dross the ore. Lovers of liberty, alas ! proclaim That man through life has but one selfish aim ; 64 FIFTH EPISTLE That every act, whatever be its fruit, In self-regarding interest takes root. A noble doctrine this our hopes to cheer ! Fine promise of the millennary year ! While all that grace and beautify our lives Must now be thrown aside as Reason thrives ; v And Poesy, divested of the warm Colours that Fancy gives, must lose her charm. The little tyrant of his neighbourhood Would be a patriot, since he hates the good Who prosper in their fortunes, and will bawl For equal laws, to be above them all : Such paltry tricks as factious jugglers long Have play'd, still unimproved, delude the throng. Those who expediency the rule of right Would make, at once extinguish Gospel-light, Dethrone the Conscience, and let idols base, Ambition, Avarice, usurp her place. Pigmies in virtue are the great on earth, When low the standard is of human worth. Is an Utopian commonweath the sole Object of thought- that only Reason's goal ? And has the world unknown no higher bliss Than that which sanguine minds predict in this ? Minds that are mechanised by logic learn To think by rule, but not for virtue yearn. Virtue a never-failing zeal requires To spread her influence such as love inspires. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 65 Has the philologist e'er sown the seed From which springs up to life a virtuous deed ? Has the self-pluming moralist o'erthrown Idolaters of sense, who faith disown ? But now devotion, fond enthusiasts say, Diffuses all around a brighter day. Seeming Religion walks not in this age With noiseless step ; like heralds on a stage Zealots blow loud the woe- trumpet, then urge Denunciations, rising surge o'er surge Against their weaker brethren ; through the town They have, but where's their charity, renown ? Such fire-enkindling spirits fright the mind, Destroy the reason, and the judgment blind. Not such is Keble, Rhedycina's tower Of strength, but humble as his much-loved flower ; * Whose " Christian year," too fine for spirits dull, A golden censer is, of odours full ; A heaven-accepted offering, that fumes With incense the life-giving word illumes. That Charity we seemingly adore Has now less influence than she had of yore. Who with a comprehensive love embrace Their flock not only, but the human race, * See his beautiful Stanzas to the Snowdrop in his " Tuesday in Easter- week." 66 FIFTH EPISTLE Like messengers from God, who speed their flight On embassies of good through worlds of light ? While militant against the church and state, Sects give mouth-honour to the sects they hate J Destroy that old alliance, and they burn (Meek men !) each other's doctrines to o'erturn; The less perceptible the shades may be Of difference, they the more will disagree I Where is that zeal for virtue that entire Circled the soul, an unconsuming fire ? That strength of purpose which, as Jesus still' d The raging sea, the calm of passions wilTd ? Though Science heavenward oft sublimely soars, And amid worlds discovered God adores, Yet her disciples, analysing laws Of matter, may forget the great First Cause ; Unless humility, a flower once prized, But in this wiser age a weed despised, Shall with its pride-subduing virtue quell Thoughts that are wont around vain hearts to swell. Who, like the poet-preacher, glows with love Inbreathed by the Great Spirit from above, Who once on sacred heads in tongues of flame Down from the triune Sun of Glory came, Illumining with inward light expressed Thus visibly the synod of the bless' d ? TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 67 Here pause : the sand runs down the hour-glass, Moments away irrevocably pass. A little line, 'twixt " shall be" and " has been," Scarce on the vast map of existence seen, Is life : a streak of light soon reinvolved In darkness an enigma never solved ! Another year is gone, and down the stream Of time my little bark is hurried, gleam Hope's ever-shifting lights afar. The past Is nought the prospect of the future vast And undefined. What do the wise foresee ? That all as if it ne'er had been shall be ! What may through intermediate ages rise We know not ; knowledge here no aid supplies. pride of human intellect, beyond His circle vain is the magician's wand ! This world, oft deem'd a paradise, at best Is but the world a hell to the oppress'd ! Darken the prospect of the future, man A care-worn brute is, tyrant-stricken, wan. Open the pages of the sacred book, The poor for bliss compensatory look : Whatever Dives in his full-blown pride May think of them, for them the Saviour died. p 2 68 SIXTH EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. WRITTEN FROM TOURS. * Ind& iter accelerat Turones festinus in urbem, Quam geminum nitida flumen circumfluit unda, Hinc Liger, inde Carus, medio sedet inter utrumque Clara situ, speciosa solo, jucunda fluentis, Fertilis arboribus, uberrima fruge, superba Cive, potens clero, populis numerosa, referta Divitiis, lucis et vitibus undique lucens." (Francfort, 1596; Phillippide de Guillaume le Breton.) AGAIN we caught a glimpse of Italy, And felt the influence of her purple sky ; And scripture- wonders that her Raphael pour'd On canvass, present miracles, adored ; His life, one scene of glory, quickly past ; Too prodigal of mighty works to last. In sacred temples of each lesser town, A wealth of art, elsewhere unknown, is shewn ; Devotion hallows there what genius paints, Legends, and gospel-truths, Madonnas, Saints. SIXTH EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 69 Albano, whose sweet thoughts a world embrace Of fiction, rising to a higher place, Pourtrays, as if illumin'd from above, The Incarnate Christ, a Boy-God breathing love ; Beams piety, subliming grace of youth, Beams the eye-speaking eloquence of truth ; How wonderful the art that thus has given Expression to the Majesty of Heaven : The blessed Mother with affection mild, Awe-mingled, gazes on her holy Child, Such bodied-forth perfections waken deep Feelings in man that are not dead, but sleep. Scenes to mankind of endless interest, In colours glorious as themselves exprest, All that on sacred ground has acted been, The chain uniting heaven to earth, are seen ; And fervency of faith a martyr shews, As if the painter felt that fervour, glows. Lavish of pictured poesy that warms The heart, what church boasts not her sculptured forms ? So true to nature, so divine they kneel, The living even from marble learn to feel. By master-spirits wrought, the sons of light Appear in bodily shapes to human sight : 70 SIXTH EPISTLE The Apocalypse reveal' d around us seems To realize that most sublime of dreams. The lovely land through which the Arno winds Its course, gave birth of old to mighty minds That are exprest in Titian's portraits, rife With intellect patrician, looking life : Complexion dark, fine eyes, and lips comprest, The thorough-bred Italian there attest. Force triumphs over mind, and Austrians dull With their vile presence men of talent full ! They cannot, Italy, obscure thy sky, Nor make thy mountains shapeless to the eye, Nor dim the lights that there at eve are glowing, As if her treasures heaven to earth were shewing ; Still in thy cities, poets say that there " Wit walks the streets and music's in the air ; " Though the usurping Austrian would imbrute Thy sons, the voice of genius is not mute ; And there are bards who through the long, long night Of slavery wait return of freedom's light. When will it reappear ? alas ! obscured Is native worth, or exiled, or immured : The tuneful brethren cherish hopes forlorn ; Their guerdon is the thick-lipp'd stranger's scorn : He, the Boeotian, with indifferent gaze Views their poetic shores and smiling bays ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 71 The beautiful, sublime such scenes as Claude And Rosa painted Byron loved to laud. Who now dares seize on Ariosto's wand, And conjure up with magic words a band Of fays, magicians, warriors into one Action without confusion mingling ? none. E'en in the theatres, to frighten down All mirth, with bayonet fixed and well drill'd frown, A grim automaton, on either side Of the parterre a soldier stands, like Pride ; Mementos sad of thraldom to alloy, Like death's-heads at Egyptian banquets, joy. Gorgeous as noonday sun, the ocean-queen, Fair Venice, shone ; we read what she has been ; We now behold her crownless, and despoil'd Of wealth ; rude masters have her beauty soil'd. Her green and yellow melancholy shews The effects of commerce gone ; a sad repose : In her unrivall'd palaces no more Glows pleasure by wealth pamper' d as of yore ; No suitors young and gay now serenade With Tasso's songs some rich and lovely maid. Palladio's glories have not perish'd yet, Nor wonder-works of Paul * or Tintoret : * Paul Veronese. 72 SIXTH EPISTLE Art there displays what deeds hath Venice done, Triumphant o'er the world in arms alone, Opposing, as repels the surge a tower Of strength, the earth o'er-rushing papal power. How changed her state, she scarcely seems to live ; Who dares to hope she may again revive To wed the Adriatic with her gem, With strength her robe and wealth her diadem ? To none but gifted beings it belongs To sing of Italy the charms, the wrongs ! Where now I write, more fit for humble lays Are men and things, scarce worthy blame or praise. Tours is a pleasant city, though around We see not wooded mountains convent-crown'd ; Nor forest-circled lakes, nor temples graced With overhanging foliage where defaced ; The clear wide Loire flows through the fertile plain, Glittering with splendid chateaux of Touraine. There in the woods of untaxed nobles howl'd Wolves, in seigneurial protection bold ; They, trooping round the peasant's cottage, scared Mothers, no serf to check their inroads dared : For lordly vengeance the poor wretch pursued Who struck but one of the invasive brood. As if to mock of mighty man the pride, Woman, though satirists her power deride. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 73 In weakness strong a hero's heart subdues, And rules the wise while seeming to amuse. Love levels all, Charles idolized his belle ; Great Henry bent the knee to Gabrielle. The grave historian, (there's a charm in words,) Of royal courtezans the worth records. Fame chronicles the pure reward of love, The house of Agnes and her favoured grove. As if the favours of a king transmute Dross into gold, bad into good repute. Yet Agnes Sorel saved a falling throne, And France to hours of dalliance owes her Joan. * Heaven to confound the arrogant, and aid A falling kingdom, raised a servant maid ! That maid, (a wonder-worker, Faith, thou art ;) Revivified a fainting nation's heart. Whence but from heaven to her the prescience came Of foes then conquerors quailing at her name ? Shut in his cage of iron Commines pin'd (Man ever is in cruelty refin'd,) For eight long months, so will'd that despot-lord Whom his physician frightened with a word ! * " Pucelle d'Orl&ns." 74 SIXTH EPISTLE This king between his conscience and his deeds Madonna placed, and murdering, told his beads ! As pendant to this second Antonine, ^ Chenonc.eaux boasts the gentle Catherine ; > A most illustrious dame by right divine. J The bowers of Love among, by these untamed, Her nets for catching heretics she framed ; And when her wiles succeeded, greater gust The triumph gave her amid scenes of lust. Such crested serpents trail' d their poisonous slime Through Touraine's flowery meads in th' olden time ; Morals become, where skies are brightest, worse ; And tyranny's the loveliest country's curse. Too old for love, no more by conquest crown'd The great state-actor a dark bigot frown'd ; This Jove, whose godship for his pleasure deign* d To rob a servile people he enchain'd, Taxed conscience ; 'twas impolitic to drive Away the bees that filled for him their hive. Was it a crime that e'er could be forgiven To choose a way the king chose not to heaven ? French peasants, famed for loyalty, obey'd Their king, danced in their chains and taxes paid ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 75 The noble gaily lived, in battle brave, Tyrant o'er others, at Versailles a slave. Thus were the seeds of revolution sown, When vice, reign after reign, bediram'd the crown. Great Rabelais, whose mine of wit ne'er fails, Whose genius oft a mystic curtain veils, Of Chinon was ; at rubbish of the schools Laugh'd he, at lazy monks, and formal fools ; His satire, safe beneath a motley dress Of words, struck those he feared, not hated less. Who lived at Usse ? certes, gallant knights ; But here tradition gives uncertain lights. The lords of Saintre*, mighty in romance, Famous among the chivalry of France ; Burning for tournaments if there they dwelt, At times ennui the lively heroes felt. (Nobles in England, sober country, draw Their rank not from knight-errantry but law) But, no fictitious hero, great Vauban There made improvements on a soldier's plan : Generals, though eminent, have small applause For raising terraces, or framing laws. A monarch, sensual and religious, lived At Chambord ; there his monks and minions thrived. There Francis, squire of dames, display'd a show Of chivalry, inimitable now. 76 SIXTH EPISTLE What yet of Chambord rests, where Pleasure breath'd Sweet poison ? towers fantastically wreath'd, And walls so richly wrought, they seem to be The work of fairies for their revelry. Gone are the habitants, monks, minions, dames ; Read, if you please, in annals old, their names. As Talleyrand's terse wit his power secured, By craft, that revolution taught, matured, A tract, a song, while volumes useless are, Might save a nation millions or a war. Who made Belshazzar tremble at his feasts ? Who paled the cheeks of princes and of priests ? Who in the exercise of mind has shown A facile energy that's all his own ? Courier ; his frequent arrows, barb'd with wit, Feather' d with ridicule, the mighty hit. Would he had lived to win a brighter wreath Of Fame ; France justly may lament his death. Whatever he wrote, in earnestness or sport, Had nerv'd her language and improved her court. And Beranger how brilliant is his song, Even more than La Fontaine in humour strong Pearls of great price among his roses threw, Thoughts dear to freedom and to nature true. He for the popular taste in artless phrase Cloth' d his fine raillery ; France loves his lays ; TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 77 And labour great it cost him to attain That which is her delight, his easy vein. Well ! Gabrielles now are rare, and seigneurs bred Legitimately, female Carlists wed. In this, their " pays de Cocagne," they drink And eat their fill, do any thing but think. And what may thought accomplish ? can it show That men are happier here the more they know ? Louis de Bechameil, the best of mayors, Invented here the sauce his name that bears, Live then, as gentlemen of Tours, or flies That flash above the Loire their thousand dyes. Down the broad sunny stream light vessels sail, And lighter loungers crowd the Rue Royale^ While those, whose game at soldiers with dismay Europe beheld, at harmless billiards play. Priest-ridden they are not, with wines to cheer Their hearts, they do not Czar or devil fear. Sad Carlists some, yet hospitable bores, Who ope to whigs and heretics their doors. Woods and demesnes, more than the painted thing Called ceremony, please the nation's king. Royalty, since the civic crown she wore, Grows by compression mightier than before. And wiser Louis-Philippe is as great As the great Louis in his god-like state. 78 SIXTH EPISTLE While o'er his head the flag tri-coloured floats, The burgher laughs at draw-bridges and moats, And nothing fears, (her hold how Power relaxes,) Except the censor's ferula and taxes. Long since the battle storm its rage has spent : No movement now we trust there is content. Self-interest more enlightened, ('tis a change, This work of truth,) now takes a wider range. Bold Albion, chivalrous France, no more opposed Like eagles, or contentious lions roused, Strive nobly to excel in arts of peace Each other ; may such contests never cease. Warriors in courts their rival warriors greet, No more like adverse thunder-clouds to meet ; And fame, that hover'd o'er the victor's car, Proclaims her hero's milder virtues far. " Nothing but thunder" * pleased us once ; that past, Astraea may reign o'er the world at last. Yet will the Northern light with aspect red Its influence malign o'er Europe shed ; Poland is crush'd : for Italy what hope ? None from the crown' d at Milan, or the Pope ! ; Shakspeare. TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 79 Unless the moral power that in our day Mouth-honour'd is, may those who hate it sway ! Actions with theory but ill accord, When dazzles in Imperial hands the sword : And fetes Circaean, it must be confest, Will soon relax the virtues of the best. Thus rush into the lake the streamlets rude, By the circumfluous orb to be subdued. NOTES ON THE FIRST EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. P. 9, 1. 1. Cethegns shines alike with talents rare, Or in St. Giles's, or in Grosvenor-square. It is the boast of a very sporting character, that he is equally at home at the Beggar's Opera in St. Giles's, and at Carlton Palace. P. 10, 1. 1. So strange is taste, that some do not disdain To breathe the wholesome air of Maiden-lane. The celebrated Professor Person passed several " noctes Atticae " at the Cider-cellar in Maiden-lane, where, as Moore says of the famous Tom Crib, he shone the v prima fuit. Anna, viros, veneres, Patriam modulamine dixti : Te Patriae resonant, arma, viri, veneres." P. 223, 1. 8. Yet War ton offered up, as was most meet, Incense of praise to Dugdale in a sonnet sweet. SONNET WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF DUGDALE's " MONA3TICON." Deem not devoid of elegance the sage, By fancy's genuine feelings unbeguiled, Of painful pedantry the poring child, Who turns of these proud domes the historic page, Now sunk by time, and Henry's fiercer rage : Think'st thou the warbling Muses never smiled On his lone hours ? Ingenuous views engage His thoughts, on themes unclassic falsely styled Intent, while cloister'd Piety displays Her mouldering roll ; the piercing eye surveys New manners, and the pomp of early days, Whence culls the pensive bard his pictured stores. Nor rough nor barren are the winding ways Of hoar antiquity, but strown with flowers. 230 NOTES TO " WARWICKSHIRE." P. 224, 1. 7. Cloud-compelling Parr. Dr. Parr loved his pipe no man was more happy than he wa& with " His calumet of peace and cup of joy." I had the pleasure for many years of an intimate acquaintance with the late Dr. Parr, who was as distinguished for his benevolence and hospitality, as for his great talents and extraordinary erudition. What Lord Grey, in his fine classical language, said of Windhain, may be applied to Parr : " He was a man of a great, original, and com- manding genius, with a mind cultivated with the richest stores of intellectual wealth, and a fancy winged to the highest flights of a most captivating imagery." And here may be added, as applicable to Parr, the concluding part of Lord Grey's eulogium on the same dis- tinguished statesman. " He had indeed his faults ; but they served, like the skilful disposition of shade in works of art, to make the impression of his virtues more striking, and give additional grandeur to the great outline of his character." See " Life of Windham," pre- fixed to his Speeches, vol. i. page 160 ; and Hansard's Debates, June 6, 1810. Parr was no great admirer of modern poetry, but he always spoke with enthusiasm of Lord Byron's poetical genius, and when his name was mentioned often exclaimed, ' Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet, Ut magus, et mod6 me Thebis, mod6 ponit Athems." Dryden was a great favourite with Parr, who used to quote with delight the paraphrase of the 29th Ode of the third Book of Horace, so admirably executed by Dryden as, in the opinion of such a scholar as Parr, to be equal to the original. High praise indeed ! Dr. Parr's opinion of Warburton is well known : he particularly admired that celebrated writer's character of Bayle ; but thought that in delineating Bayle's, he drew the character of Bishop Warburton ! His favourites among our English divines were, Butler, Jeremy Taylor, and Paley. He rather underrated Horsley, who, he said, was indebted for the great theological erudition displayed in his controversy with Priestley, to Bishop Bull. NOTES TO " WARWICKSHIRE." 231 P. 224, 1.15. His feast* were sumptuous on his natal day. Dr. Parr never appeared to such advantage as when he was presiding, in all the pride of honest hospitality, at his own table in his parsonage- house at Hatton ; lie overflowed with kindness towards all around him. At that table have I met Magee, and Maltby, and Basil Mon- tagu, and several of the most distinguished wits and scholars of the present day. The most substantial fare was added to " The feast of reason and the flow of soul." Then our host " Vehemenset liquidus, puroque simillimus amni, Fundet opes, Latiuraque beabit divite lingua." Parr literally chuckled with delight, when one of the select, whom lie had never, to use his own phrase, " banished to Siberia," said " a good thing." He was was then the " apricus senex " of Persius, or the " Bon Vieillard " of B&ranger ; and when we consider the great events that have taken place in this country and elsewhere since his death, he might have exclaimed in the spirit of prophecy, like the Bon Vieillard, " La liberte va rajeunir le monde : Sur mon tombeau brilleront d'heureux jours." The character of Parr is finely drawn by Archdeacon Butler, in his funeral sermon on that great scholar and benevolent man. Dr. Butler did not " daub" the memory of his friend " with undiscerning praise;" but while he did ample justice to his numerous virtues and various attainments, hesitated not to point out his faults. / know by experience that Dr. Parr was a warm friend, a good neighbour, a most instructive and delightful companion : ' His saltern accumulem donis, et fungar inani Munere." NOTES TO " WARWICKSHIRE/* P. 225, 1. 3. Then went the grace-cup round, " When in the old man's hall, Old friends were gathered all, And thou with mirth didst light grave features up, On days of high festivity, And family solemnity, As each to each passed on the happy cup " ANSTER'S Translation of Faust, p. 49. THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE. Come forth, And taste the air of palaces ! BEN JONSON'S Alchemist. Come egli 6 pressa al luminoso tetto, Attonito riman di muraviplia ; Che tutto d'una gemma e il muro schietto Piu di carbonchio, lucida e virmiglia. ARIOSTO. I. THE Queen of fair Golconda is " at home ; " Her palace (its immensities must bar Description) is of gold ; the blazing dome, Of one entire ruby, from afar * Shines like the sun in his autumnal car Crowning a saffron mountain ; e'en the proud Zamorim's palace is as a twinkling star Compared with this. And now the tromp aloud Proclaims the guests are come to an admiring crowd. * Du calice d'icelles sortoit une escarboncle grosse comme un ceuf d'aus- truche, taill^e en forme heptagone (c'est nombre fort aime de nature) tant prodigieuse et admirable, que levants nos yeux pour la contempler peu s'en faillit que ne perdissions la vue. Car plus flamboyant n'est le feu du soleil, ne 1'esclair, que lors elle nous apparoissoit RABELAIS' Pant., lib. iv. c. 43. 234 THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA's FETE. The ceilings, crusted o'er with diamonds, blaze. A galaxy of stars, room after room ! The lights interminable all amaze ; But far more dazzling are the fair in bloom Of youth, whose eyes kind answering looks illume. Ah ! where the muse of greater bards must fail In painting female charms, shall mine presume To try her hand ? though smiles be stale, Yet she to Fancy's eye their beauties will unveil. As delicately shaped as the gazelle ; As beautiful as is the blush of morn ; As gay as Hebe, ere, alas ! she fell ; Fair as Dione in her car upborne By little Loves, while Tritons wind the horn ; Splendid as young Zenobia in their dress (Crowns bright as sunny beams their hair adorn) They were. This perfect festival to bless, Art, Beauty, Nature, Grace, combine their loveliness ! Oh Youth and Beauty ! Nature's choicest gems, All art's adornments ye for aye outshine : Far more attractive than the diadems That ever glitter'd on the brow divine THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA\S FETE. 235 Of the wise king, or, great Darius, thine ! Though time may dim your lustre, in my heart Your charms shall be enshrined, while life is mine. Yet sad experience will this truth impart To loveliest maid on earth, a fading thing thou art. The Prophet h -s not to his faithful given (So prodigal of what he could not give) Such bliss refined in his Arabian heaven, As that which they enjoy who here arrive. Vain bliss, indeed, that through a night may live ! Let but her joys be guiltless, Mirth again Will, when the season sweet returns, revive : Then let to-morrow bring or bliss or pain : All are united now by Pleasure's flowery chain ! Fair silver pillars grace the spacious halls : The pavement is mosaic ; precious stones Enrich with intermingling hues the walls ; And emerald vines o'ercanopy the thrones, Robed in all colours that the Pavone owns. And music, with its magic influence, makes The heart responsive to its tender tones : A master-spirit now the harp awakes, Till to its inmost core each hearer's bosom shakes ! 236 THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA's FETE. VII. And here and there from golden urns arise, Impregn'd with perfumes, purple clouds, that throw Like hues just caught from fair Ausonia's skies, Throughout the palace an Elysian glow, Odorous as roses when they newly blow. And couches, splendid as the gorgeous light Of the declining sun, or high or low, As suits capricious luxury, invite To sweet repose indeed each pleasure-laden wight. I pass the dance, the converse soft between, As fly the hours along with rapid pace. Lo ! in her chair of state Golconda's Queen Sits goddess-like ; majestic is her face, Yet mild, as well becomes her pride of place. Even Fatima in pomp of beauty ne'er Received fair Montague with such a grace As this all-beauteous queen withouten glare Of rank receives her guests how winning is her air ! Profusely gay, the exuberance of joy All feel all feel their spirits mounting high i One feast of happiness, that ne'er can cloy, Life seems to them, though death perchance be nigh. THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA's FETE. 237 Why should fair bosoms ever heave a sigh ? Life is with love so closely knit, what kills Love in young breasts may dim the brightest eye. Yet tears, that eloquently speak of ills, Are as medicinal balm when grief the heart o'erfills. In whirls fantastical the waters dance, Springing from fountains jasper-paved ; the noon Of night their sparkling freshness doth enhance. How glorious is the cupola ! a moon Of pearl shines mildly o'er the vast saloon. Fair queen of night, shall art then imitate Thy quiet majesty ? in sooth as soon Might the poor pageantries of regal state On earth, heaven's matchless splendours vainly emulate ! The banquet is prepared with sumptuous cost : Flagons of massive gold here flame around ; Amid the piles of wealth distinction 's lost ; And splendours without end the mind astound ! All that can feast the senses here abound ; Invention's highly-gifted sons unfold (So fine their art, the like was never found,) Peris most exquisitely wrought in gold, And other delicate sprites in Eastern fables told! 238 THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA's FETE. XII. As if " instinct with living spirits," sing Birds of a thousand colours ; and their hues, Brilliant as flowers that o'er the meads in spring Their gay variety of tints diffuse, Would e'en the painter's shrewdest ken confuse. And art, how wonderful ! has raised a tree To rival Nature (for such toys amuse Those who despise dear Nature's charms ;) and see As the boughs stir the birds all join in harmony. Wealth, inexhaustible as Danae's shower, That pen can scarcely blazon, thought conceive, Excels not in itself the meanest flower That Innocence within her hair might weave Wandering on Avon's banks, this lovely, eve ! Even Nature's humblest things can stir those deep Affections in us that will ne'er deceive. Cherish these deep-sown feelings, ye shall reap A harvest of delight, when Pride in dust shall sleep ! Not that I scorn this fete unparagon'd : 'Tis like a well-spring amid desert sands, Or a rich vale where Flora sits enthroned, Surrounded by bleak hills, and barren lands ! THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA*S FETE. 2>39 What cynic would destroy love's rosy bands ? The paths of life are thorny ; o'er our heads Those grim magicians, Cares, uplift their wands ! Why marvel, then, that Youth their influence dreads, And basks him in the rays the sun of beauty sheds ? April, 1824. NOTES ON THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE." P. 233, 1. 7. Zamorim's palace is as a twinkling star. See the seventh book of Camoens' Lusiad. P. 235, 1. 20. Robed in all colours that the Pavone owns. And wings it had with sondry colours dight, More sondry colours than the proud Pavone Bears in his boasted fan, or Iris bright ; When her discolour'd bow she bends through Heaven's height. SPENSER. P. 236, 1. 3. Like hues just caught from fair Ausonia's skies. Largior hie campos aether et lumine vestit Purpureo . VIRGIN. u The setting sun produced the richest variety of tints in the opposite sky; among them was a lovely violet glow, rarely, if ever seen, in England." DALLAWAY'S Constantinople. P. 236, 1. 15. Even Fatima in pomp of beauty. The following splendid description of the beauty and attractive man- ners of the " fair Fatima," is from Lady Mary Wortley Montague's Letters. NOTES ON "THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE." 241 " She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their fashion, putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness full of majesty, that no court- breeding could ever give. She ordered cushions to be given me, and took care to place me in the corner, which is the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck \uth admiration, that I could not for some time speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of features ! that charming result of the whole ! that exact proportion of body ! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art ! the unutterable enchantment of her smile ! But her eyes ! large and black, with all the soft languishment of the blue ! every turn of her face discovering some new grace. " After my first surprise was over, I endeavoured, by nicely examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any fruit of my search, but my being clearly convinced of the error of that vulgar notion, that a face exactly proportioned, and perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable ; nature having done for her, with more success, what Apelles is said to have essayed, by a collection of the most exact features to form a perfect face. Add to all this a behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such easy motions, with an air so majestic, yet free from stiffness or affectation, that I am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported upon the most polite throne of Europe, nobody would think her other than born and bred to be a queen, though educated in a country we call barbarous. To say all in a word, our most celebrated English beauties would vanish near her. u She w;:s dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered with silver, very well fitted to her shape, and showing to admiration the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers were pale pink, her waistcoat green and silver, her slippers white satin, finely embroidered : her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle set round with diamonds ; upon her head a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great length in various tresses, and on one side of her head some bodkins of jewels. I am afr;iid you will accuse me of ex- travagance in this description. I think I have read somewhere that women always speak in rapture when they speak of beauty, and I R 242 NOTES ON "THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE." cannot imagine why they should not be allowed to do so. I rather think it a virtue to he able to admire without any mixture of desire or envy. The gravest writers have spoken with great warmth of some celebrated pictures and statues : the workmanship of Heaven certainly excels all our weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim to our praise. For my part, I am not ashamed to own I took more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece of sculpture could have given me." P. 238, 1. 9. As the boughs stir the birds all join in harmony. " Among other spectacles of rare and stupendous luxury was a tree of gold and silver, spreading into eighteen large branches, on which, and on the lesser boughs, sat a variety of birds made of the same precious metals, as well as the leaves of the tree. While the machinery effected spontaneous motions, the several birds warbled their natural harmony." GIBBON'S Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. x. p. 38, 8vo. edit. BEAUTY'S CASTLE. O stupenda opra, O Dcdalo architetto ; Qual fabrica tra noi le rassimigli;i / ARIOSTO, canto 34, stunza o BY opal battlements engirt appear, In workmanship as chaste as in design, Of diamond framed and gold high gates that near The castle built by Taste for Beauty shine ; On earth inimitable, work-divine ; Rich with a thousand rooms, that multiplied By crystal mirrors, deepen like a mine Exhaustless and illumed, a circle wide : Pillars of emerald grace the hall in colunin'd pride. n. Here Beauty smiles ineffably enthroned ; Her smile diffusive is as solar light ; Her voice is musical as harp fine-toned, Conveying to the senses such delight As the world feels when sunrise chases night R 2 244 BEAUTY'S CASTLE. Away. Her robe is as the upper sky, If there one milky- way o'erpower the sight, Brilliant ; angelic shapes around her fly ; The loveliest maids with these fine spirits cannot vie ! Diversely splendid, as o'er foliage glow Autumnal colours, which the noonday sun Mellows with golden light or, as the bow Arching the heavens, where mingling into one Well-blended glory hues unnumbered run As various flowers adorning gardens gay, Where art completes what nature hath begun, They shine ; or as the intermingling play Of splendours flashing forth from gems Sultanas vain display ! Theirs is undying loveliness ; while years Flow on they are the same ; nor grief nor pain Stain or impair their charms ! They have no fears, No unavailing chase of pleasures vain ; No love that withering, seldom blooms again ! Such are the ministering sprites that wait On Beauty, fairer than the fairest train Of virgins that adorn a monarch's state ; Or fays that bright as stars inventive bards create. BEAUTY'S CASTLE. 245 Such seraphs are ; they may idealized Be, but no sculptors e'er their forms have wrought In marble ; no, nor painters highly prized Ever on canvas have their features caught, Though by such art the poesy of thought Is bodied forth ; no poet can reveal (His mind with treasured imagery fraught) Those superhuman beings that the zeal Of Fancy would disclose, but Nature will conceal. The glories of the fane well harmonize Simplicity and grandeur ; to and fro Like sunbeams, or quick glances of bright eyesj Rapid, ideal changes come and go, Of living pictures an unending show Here Fancy brightens with unwearied wing ; Tides of celestial music onward flow For ever ! voices sweeter than in spring Philomel's notes, in praise of Beauty ever sing ! ON UVEDALE PRICE'S ESSAY ON THE PICTURESQUE.' ' Uvedale Price's Essay on the Picturesque, the most finished composition in the English language." DR. PARR. A MASTER mind, that Taste and Genius grace, The fine designs of Nature's hand can trace ; Where they may differ, where again we see The beautiful and picturesque agree. How light, where stands a tree of beauty plays, The eye delighting through a thousand sprays : How Autumn to the landscape gives a glow Divine, that painters o'er their canvass throw ; Hence Titian's golden hue, and colouring warm, That has of Autumn all the mellow charm. How sudden bursts of sunshine in the spring O'er the green flourishing tree their lustre fling ; The delicate foliage of the leaf conceals In part the boughs beneath, in part reveals. 248 ON UVEDALE PRICE'S How undulate the boughs in wavy pride, As sweeps the light breeze o'er the river's tide : How distant openings through the glade invite Inquiry, source of ever new delight ; Leading the eye as in a wanton chase, Onwards, with happy art creating space : Itself the same, through combinations new ' O Changes from every spot beheld the view, Advances here a wood, and there recedes A stream, again, far glittering o'er the meads ! How stretch along the hills, around, above, Trees singly, or in groups, or lengthened grove. How fan-like branches of the cedar, spread Magnificently, feather overhead, In avenues, of which the pillar'd shade Attracts the devotee, or love-sick maid. How on its gorgeous canopy of leaves The widely-branching chestnut light receives. Now, Uvedale, pour thy storm of satire down On that great master of improvement, Brown. Who would variety's fair charms deny, And with eternal clumps fatigue the eye ? Thickets and glens and every natural grace To that magician's tasteless art give place. Romantic walks and coves, projections grand, Are swept away by his all-levelling hand. " ESSAY OX THE PICTURESQUE." 249 Oaks that around their arms majestic throw, If rooted in the soil proscribed, must go. Wild flowers, that o'er the river's margin stray In intertangling knots, are mown away ! The cheerful stream, that silently beneath O'erhanging boughs in many a mazy wreath Stole on, or babbling o'er the shallows ran Fretting the stones, is widen'd by a plan ; Shrubs are destroy'd, banks levell'd down in haste, A sheet of water glares, so wills it Taste. MALVERN, October 10. NOTES UVEDALE PRICE'S " ESSAY ON THE PICTURESQUE." P. 247, 1. 5. How light, where stands a tree of beauty plays. " Take a single tree only, and consider it in this point of view. It is composed of millions of boughs, sprays and leaves intermixed with and crossing each other in as many directions, while through the various openings the eye still discovers new and infinite combinations ; yet in this labyrinth of intricacy there is no unpleasant confusion : the general effect is as simple as the detail is complicate." UVEDALE PRICE on the Picturesque, vol. i. p. 262. P. 248, 1. 20. Now, Uvedale, pour thy storm of satire down. " It is to be regretted," says the amiable and highly gifted Sir Henry Stewart in his Planter's Guide (Note 13, page 411) "that Sir Uvedale Pi ice in his valuable Essays on the Picturesque (probably the most powerful example of controversial writing and acute criticism in the language) should have somewhat lessened their effect by personal sarcasm and the bitterness of controversy. As to Brown, he has not, according to the vulgar phrase, 4 left him the likeness of a dog;' and his conceit, his ignorance, his arrogance, his vanity, of all which Brown had his full share, are blazoned forth in the most glaring colours." ELEGIACAL POEMS. ODE ON THE LAMENTED DEATH OP THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES AND SAXE COBOURG. To, JAW KO.T' otitovs ftff farias fax." 1 ) Ta5' tori, Kal Ttavft inrep&aTwTepa T6 irav 8' a<>' 'EAAoSos alas avvopuivois p5io5 trpfv*t ^EKHYL. Anamcm. Now all was quiet and serene, Hope's morning star on earth was seen, Its light our bosoms cheer'd : Then, then, the hurricane arose, The dreadful tempest of our woes, And nought but gloom appear'd. The festal song is o'er The voice of mirth no more Is heard throughout the land : With quivering lips and pale, The young and old bewail The Almighty's dread command ! 254 ON THE DEATH OF Grim death ! oh what a blow thou gavest us here ! The thought is ev'n too bitter for a tear ; It spreads a gloom that never will depart, A settled thunder-cloud around the heart. And she is nothingness, who late With joy, and hope, and love elate, A fairy vision seem'd ! She realized those pleasures known To few, to none who wear a crown, Nor ev'n of sorrow dream'd. But who can paint that dreadful grief That asks not, wishes not relief ? The fierce, unutterable anguish, That shuddering pity must conceal : It gnaws within her widow'd consort's breast, (Ah ! happy once, with smiling pleasures blest !) And will not through exhaustion languish Oh ! who would this reveal ? Was it for this that Hymen join'd their hands, Amid a people's shouts, in rosy bands, That when with loyal hopes all hearts were gay His lovely bride should thus be torn away ? We hope J to hear the merry bells : Alas ! they're changed to funeral knells ; Heard ye the solemn sound ? Again it tolls the bell profound. THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. 255 Would it were fancy ! but she 's gone The truest, dearest, loveliest one , That e'er a nation's wishes bless'd That e'er a husband's love possessed ; Friend to the poor, the fatherless, Friend to all virtue in distress ! But wherefore grieve we so ? There 's selfishness in woe. Angels of love, with gratulations high, Welcome their sister-spirit to the sky : O ever-living bride ! all beauteous sprite ! With them thou dwell'st in everlasting light. Not hers the glare of royalty The pride, or pomp of place ; But mild, domestic charity, And every winning grace. Yet Death has dimm'd the lustre of her eyes ; In lifeless loveliness his victim lies ; Britannia, frantic, clasps her favourite's urn ; Wit, Virtue, Beauty, for their darling mourn. But through the royal house, No loud laments arise : Silence that loathes repose There stalks with tearful eyes. Ne'er may our querulous complaints intrude On the lone mourner's sacred solitude : 256 ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. The flower is broken from its stem, The ring has lost its only gem : Oh ! princely Claremont, wither'd be thy bowers ; Cold is the hand that cull'd thy fairest flowers : Like them, in bloom of youth she died ! Go, tell it to the house of pride Mock the self-loving fair Go, whisper in the ear of kings, (While Death aside the curtain flings, And shows his victim there, Cold, voiceless, joyless, motionless ) How vain is human happiness ! Away, away ! it is not meet To view her in her winding-sheet : o I see her on her sapphire throne, A circling halo is her crown, A halo of eternal light : How mild her features seem, and yet how heavenly brioht ! LINES THE MEMORY OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CANOVA. WHERE is he now ? an awful question ! where ? 'Mid spirits glorified in realms of light, Viewing angelic shapes more dazzling there Than those which gave him while on earth delight : Such as appear'd unto his mental sight, When he would dare create, what art alone Like his could realize, a goddess bright, A Hebe, or a Grace without her zone, Or all that poets dream of beauty's queen, in stone. ii. Whate'er of beautiful, high-minded Greece Imagined, from Canova's chisel sprung : And must that master-hand for ever cease To mould those forms so graceful and so young, In praise of which the mystic bards have sung ? 258 LINES ON CANOVA. Those forms, o'er which ideal loveliness Is, as it were, by touch ethereal flung ! That hand, which in cold marble could express All-perfect beauty, youth, eternal happiness ! in. His delicate Hebe almost seems to move : So light thy step, fair daughter of the skies ! Thou art the gentle power that waits on Jove : Thou art the flower of youth that never dies. Sure 'tis a spirit that delights our eyes ! But Psyche, a celestial lover's pride, With her sweet rival in proportion vies ; While beaming, like a twin- star at her side, Gupid, as finely wrought, clasps his life-giving bride. O ! 'tis a super-human skill that turns To being such creations of the brain As the fond worshipper of fancy burns To paint in glowing colours, but in vain. Look on these breathing marbles look again They are the visions of our youth brought forth, Though motionless, yet beautiful ! no stain Sullies their charms ; they are not of this earth, But pure as when the bards' conceptions gave them birth. LINES ON CANOVA. 259 v. How o'er the sculptor's manly features play'd The light of genius, as with modest zeal He spoke of those immortal works survey'd By him with raptures such as he must feel To whom Art loves her secrets to reveal ; The Phidian fragments ! beautiful sublime, Whence Art gives laws 'gainst which there's no appeal. Such were man's labours in the olden time, When freedom quicken' d thought, and a soul- wakening clime. Yet in Canova's mind were nursed those fine Imaginings, that, but by few possest, We call, adoring their results, divine, Since those who have them are indeed most blest Of mortal beings, far above the rest. The poetry of sculpture must be caught From heaven : it gives a feeling unexprest When bodied forth, to those by art untaught : Tis an ambrosial flame the very soul of thought. s 2 NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. ' Thy pomp is brought down "to" the grave, and the noise of thy viols : the worms are spread under thee, and the worms cover thee : How art thou cut down to the ground, which did weaken the nations ! " ISAIAH. HE whom plumed Victory placed upon her throne, The despot lord of Europe, he is gone ! Whose power, whene'er its death-flag was unfurl'd, Breathed out destruction o'er a trembling world : All irresistible, it seem'd to bind, As with a magic spell, the o'ermaster'd mind. Cradled amid the storms of war, the child Of anarchy fought well, and fortune smiled ; The consul would be emperor, enthroned He play'd the tyrant ; France obey'd, and groan'd. 262 ON NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. Ambitious self-destroyer ! grasping all, 'Till nations burst indignant from their thrall ; Till the insulted master of the North Awoke, and sent his hardy legions forth. The mighty warrior flies, his men are lost, Their strength avails not 'gainst a Scythian frost ! Baffled ambition scorns to feel : he eyed Their stiffening corpses with a sullen pride, Cursing his fallen star, that rose again Terrific to his foes, and not in vain ; Till England with her lion-banner's might Check'd the imperial eagle's second flight. What were his feelings when an exile, far From his once glorious theatre of war ? Fame, conquest, empire vanishing what left ? Life : but of all that gave him life bereft Unpitied, since he laughed at others' woe, And hated, as an unrelenting foe. With him were feasible, so vast his schemes, Such plans as please a madman in his dreams. As a high-crested dragon with his wings Beats foemen down, he smote the pride of kings. Self was his idol, self; 'twas nought to him If thousands fell, so he might please his whim. ON NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 263 Was he a spirit sent to scourge mankind For vice ? to dazzle them till they were blind ? As potent as the magic shield of old *, Withering the strength of all who dared behold. He hated converse : his overweening pride Taught him man's social pleasures to deride : Men were his instruments, and he could have Nothing in common with them but a grave. As wave succeeding wave breaks on the shore, Tyrants o'erleap their bounds and are no more. His course was rapid, he has pass'd away, In time's vast book a tale of yesterday ; And he who held the proudest kings in awe Of his imperious will, to them a law, Now lies alone in a far distant isle ! Well might philosophy at grandeur smile. The ill Napoleon did we all well know, Each day the good he might have done will show. Through him Italia might again have been Renown' d in arms as she of arts is queen ; Nor would the Austrian fox have dared by stealth To snatch, though now he rudely takes her wealth. * This wonderful shield belonged to Atlante, but afterwards was possessed by Ruggiero. See ARIOSTO, Canto 2. 264 ON NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. The cloud of selfishness will ne'er decrease That glooms the prospect of a lasting peace, 'Till Christian kings the Christian maxim heed : God never doom'd mankind to crouch and bleed. THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. But thou art fled Like some frail exhalation which the dawn Robes in its golden beams ; ah, thou hast fled, The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful ! The child of grace and beauty. SHELLEY. THY wooded hills, Firenze *, castle-crown'd, In beautiful luxuriance rise around : What sweetly-blended hues enchant the sight As the sun 'gins to soften down his light ! On houses, olives, vineyards, crags, he glows, All nature woos him as he smiles repose. The purple-coloured Apennines appear Like fairy-mountains painted in the air : While o'er the fertile vale, where Arno flows, The queen of beauty 's sacred myrtle grows. * Firenze, al cui splendore Ogni bella cittate aspira indarno, Inclita figlia d'Arno, Che al Padre cingi d'ogni onore il crine, &c. CHIABRERA. 266 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. O ! what is love by poets deified, Compared with friendship in all dangers tried ? Gonzalvo to his Lara could not be A firmer friend than Henry was to me. Could not this balmy clime restore his health, Where Nature boon has lavished all her wealth ? Alas ! Consumption gives a sickly hue To wood-crown'd hills, rich vales, and skies of deeepest blue. Busy Remembrance ! why call up in vain Those happy nights, that ne'er will come again, When in our mock-debates young Henry's mind Show'd a ripe judgment, and a taste refined ! FLORENCE, October 2, 1818. POEMS, MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. RECOLLECTIONS AT WRITTEN IN OCT. 1826. WILD flowers, that Fancy o'er our path has strown, So gay in youth, maturer years imbrown ; Nature's high instinct, like the vernal gales, In childhood freshening o'er the heart prevails ! Shadows of beauty then around us come Like trails of glory from the soul's first home, Embellishing existence they are gone, Gone like the light that yesterday hath shone. Yet forms that are most beautiful remain, They do not woo the poet's love in vain : While his fine genius gives to all he sees Their natural colours, they must ever please ! His thought-embodying mind can well express Sensations others do not feel the less. 270 RECOLLECTIONS AT With variegated hues adorn'd below A mellow autumn's sun the woodlands glow ; All is unbreathing silence, not a rush Is stirr'd ; and how intense the noon-day hush J Years have elapsed, but what are years, since they Whom I remember here, have past away ! Like to a sun-burst gathering clouds among, Probus shone forth above the worldly throng That walk in darkness, warming all who came Within his influence, yet unmark'd by fame. He drew towards God, with sweet attractive force, Those who deflected from the even course. Though mild to others, to himself severe, He ne'er relax' d, content that Heaven was near : Religion on his heart betimes engraved The maxim, cc Be thou watchful to be saved." His mind, within its tenement of dust, Rose unassailable by passion's gust : The pyramid, thus heavenward pointing stands Above the desert's ever-whirling sands. Habitual piety had given a tone Of feeling to him that seem'd his alone ; The calm intensity of which, unquell'd By tumults of the world, each act impell'd. RECOLLECTIONS AT . 271 He has received the meed of faith, and now The cross shines forth triumphant on his brow. He too, who while on earth could nothing find To satisfy the longings of his mind, So ill by grosser spirits understood, May realize his dream of perfect good. That dream a light prophetic, as he mused, Gradual his mind's horizon circumfused ; Promise through intervening mists of sense, Of knowledge infinite, of love intense : Love, as truth opes the everlasting doors Of heaven for the beloved of God, outpours Through depths of space, from suns-embracing zones, Harmonious joy in fragrance-breathing tones. The light-encircled spirits seem to move As visitants from heaven through yonder grove ; Though the world's follies be by them forgot, Yet they might wish to consecrate the spot With their occasional presence that on earth They loved, where ripen'd first for heaven their worth ; There, there to flourish in its proper soil, Not asking, to support it, further toil. Virtue is there identified with being, Splendours we vaguely guess at ever seeing ; 272 RECOLLECTIONS AT . Splendours ineffable, that Milton's pen Scarce shadowed out, above our mental ken. Now they commingle with that holy race Whom powers that emanate from God embrace ! Measureless knowledge man here vainly craves- Now circumscribes them, as the sea its waves : Not flashing forth and vanishing by turns, Devotion's steady flame above them burns ; The sun of happiness, that scarcely cheers Our progress here, how bright to them appears ! NOTE. P. 270, 1. 10. Within his influence, yet unmark'd by fame. Many a time God is present in the still voice and private retirement of a quiet religion, and the constant spiritualities of an ordinary life ; when the loud and impetuous winds, and the strong fires of more laborious and expensive actions, are profitable to others ; like a tree of balsam distilling precious liquors for others, not for its own use. JEREMY TAYLOR. A GOOD MAN'S FUTURE EXISTENCE. Nube non e ch' oscuri vostra luce, L' ore distinte a voi non fanno forza, Caso o necessity non vi conduce. MICHAEL ANGELO. Eternal life ! If all the winds of heaven might be concentrated to fill the trump that should proclaim it, the blast would be but too feeble for the theme ! If all the constellations of our firmament were grouped afresh to blazon those few letters on the vault of heaven, the matter would be more than worthy of the legend. SHEPPARD. As heavenly bodies through the ether move Silently, stormful regions far above, Thus above passions that around the throng Gather, the good man moves his course along. With such a facile energy he goes Onward, 'tis action, 'tis sublime repose. He to the stock of human happiness Brings every day accession, more or less. As Flora from her pictured urn in May Throws flowers Love scatters blessings in his way. When gone, remembrance of what he has been, Sweet as perfume from violet banks unseen, To those his present influence gladden'd, gives A fragrant joy his presence that survives. 274 A GOOD MAN'S FUTURE EXISTENCE. Fraught with a solar life, unworn by change Organic, (Mind must have a wider range) Through faith he brightens in a higher sphere, Serenely beautiful, as star-light here : An undecaying spirit, that adores The source eterne of all its virtues, powers ; Virtues, from sin's disturbing force secure ; Powers, more efficient, ever to endure ; Of strength possessive, ne'er to lose their hold On truths, no master-minds can here unfold; With thoughts as sunbeams penetrating, true As arrow from the bow of Tell that flew. No damps like those from earth arising tame There adoration's ever-living flame : No mists there intercept the light of grace Effluent from the Triune seen face to face : No cares that here thwart purposed good distract Affections pure, that ceaseless interact. Developed partially in grosser clay Emotions noble are call'd into play ; Even if expended, then renew'd as soon, Their influence powerful as sun at noon. Far higher in degree, the same in kind, As in the mortal, so in form refin'd Of the transfigurated being rise With him of life the social charities, A GOOD MAN'S FUTURE EXISTENCE. 275 That, as he wills, pour forth around their strength, Uncircumscribed in width, or depth, or length ; Equable, simultaneous, love-impell'd, By counteractive agencies unquell'd. The stream thus from obstructing weeds released Flows o'er its ample bed with force increased ; Thus swelling buds in spring-time somewhat harm'd By cold burst into leaves by summer warm'd. As fabled trees for ever blossoming, And rich with fruit of autumn pride and spring, There glow matured by light and heat the power And will to do, the fruitage and the flower. Of life the ascending vista on the soul Opens, as ages after ages roll Away, progressing still the glorious sprite, Into a far receding infinite ! A cloudless perspective ! with which the past Compared is nothingness, however vast ! The soul, on brightening pinions upward soaring, Eagle- wise, still the Sun of suns adoring ! Not solitary ! but, affections good Here, to enjoy in their most perfect mood ; Uninterrupted friendship, social bliss ! What can be greater happiness than this, To view in sweet communion with the loved On earth, Heaven's folded counsels there evolved ? T 2 NOTES TO 'A GOOD MAN'S FUTURE EXISTENCE." P. 273, 1. 1, 2. As heavenly bodies through the ether move Silently, stormful regions far above. (< " The propagation of sound, however, requires a much denser medium than light or heat ; its intensity diminishes as the rarity of the air increases, so that at a very small height ahove the surface of the earth the noise of the tempest ceases, and the thunder is heard no more in those boundless regions where the heavenly bodies accomplish their periods in eternal and sublime silence." SOMERVILLE'S Connection of the Physical Sciences, 2nd ed. p. 260. P. 275, 1. 9. As fabled trees for ever blossoming. See Ariosto's description of the Garden of Logistilla, Canto x. Stanzas 62, 63. Also, Spenser's description of the "Garden of Adonis," Book iii. Canto vi. Stanza 42. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. INVITATION TO THE BANKS OF THE AVON. THIS is the balmy breathing-time of spring, All Nature smiles, and Mirth is on the wing ; The sun is shining on this lovely scene, Gladdening with light the meadow's tender green, Studding the waters with its lustrous gems, More brilliant than ten thousand diadems. Beautiful Avon ! how can I pourtray Thy varied charms, where'er thou wind'st thy way ? Now through the sunny meads, now in the glade Thou sleep'st, beneath the wood's o'er-arching shade The " sedge-crown'd" Naiads, from their cool retreats, Welcome my loved one, with their gather'd sweets. We cull'd these flowers at break of day, Take, oh, take them, lady fair ; Fresh in the light of the morning ray, They glisten on thy nut-brown hair. Merrily, merrily in the trees, The birds are merrily singing 280 INVITATION TO THE While rose-buds are opening, And fruit-trees are blossoming. How clear how musical Is yonder water-fall ! Oh, God ! how glorious is the genial ray That issues from thy " Light of lights " to-day ! Now seek we, my love, yon green-flourishing wood, That lonor in theatric luxuriance has stood, O ' Where paths intersect its dank moss-cover'd steep, And above 's a turf gallery ample and deep. Their temples with ivy and oak-apples crown'd, See, the wood-nymphs advance, now they all dance around ; Their leafy adornments now rustle and play With their light limbs as briskly th'ey foot it away : Come beneath yon bowering tree We Ve prepared a couch for thee ; Such a couch was never seen Even by our chaste-eyed queen ; Dione never laid her head On such a spring -embellish'd bed, Nor Galatea's bosom heaved Beneath a beech more richly leaved. All the m any-colour' d bowers We have rifled of their flowers. Sweet to us are thy beauties rare, But sweeter the scent of vernal air : BANKS OF THE AVON. 281 Sweet is Cytherea's breath, But fresher far is Flora's wreath. Thy voice, like the harp of Arion, may please, But give us the murmuring hum of the bees. By Pan, thou art a sylvan fairy, As light, as elegant, as airy ; With thy tresses loosely flowing, And thy well-turned ankles showing. Now we place a leafy vest O'er thy " gently-budding" breast ; While virgins bring their coronets Of pearls, and blue-vein'd violets, Showering flowers as is most meet, Before thy neatly-sandall'd feet ; And fragrance-breathing zephyrs bless Thy cheeks with lasting loveliness. -Tis night ! And SHAKSPEARE, near this river, gazed upon The lovely moon, that now as softly smiles Upon the stream, as if Endymion Was bathing there ; Shakspeare, the kindest, best Of casuists, who knew humanity, Nor deem'd the gravest the elect of Heaven ! See, there 's " high-graced" Oberon, Prince of fairy land, A moving throne he sits upon, The sceptre 's in his hand. 282 INVITATION TO THE BANKS OF THE AVON. All-glorious his attire, With jewels powder'd o'er ; Each with his silver lyre, The minstrels go before : As dazzling in their cars, As numerous, as stars That in Cumana's clime Fall by thousands at a time ; With their winglets as profuse As the humming-bird's of hues ; The light-encircled queen Now trips along the green ; As beauteous as the rose, Which lilies white inclose. 283 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM AT CHAMOUNI. THOUGH I might visit scenes which show The littleness of pride ; Mountains whose heights, o'ertopped with snow, Man's venturous foot deride ; Though on the master- works of art Intensely I might gaze, Till words do but express in part The fulness of amaze ; Or as o'er ashes of the mighty dead, With mixed belief and doubtfulness, I tread, Still, England, still my mind will dwell On thee, and those I love as well ! 284 TO MY INFANT CHILD. SLEEP, my sweet child, within thy mother's arms, And Heaven protect thy future years from harms ! From throng of passions that assail the best : From friendship violated ; love unblest ; From fashion's honours purchased at the price Of health, vain honours, oft allied to vice. Sleep on, sweet Julia, at thy mother's breast ; Thy proper nurse is watching o'er thy rest : She gazes on thee with an anxious eye, And meditates thy future destiny. On earthly things have angels ever smiled ? On one the mother bending o'er her child. Rich is the flower's perfume, sweet girl, to thee ; Richer in fragrance shall the musk-rose be, When the young world may open to thy view, And nature's charms, too soon forgot, are new. TO MY INFANT CHILD. 285 Long be thy mother's fair attractions thine ; To talent, sense to beauty, virtue join ; To unaffected sprightliness add ease ; Coquettes may smile, but these will ever please. Great Spirit of the universe, protect This child, and may she ne'er thy works neglect ; But trace in lowliest weeds thy hand divine, As true, as in yon glorious orbs that shine. 286 THE MEMORY OF COLLINS. GREAT bard, to thee belong The spirits of the mystic song. Thou hast found, 'bove all thy race, Sweet Poesy's most hallow' d place : Where sunbright beings, veil'd from sight, To thee alone reveal their light. In fancy's cell, in midnight storm, Each passion has its proper form. Glaring amid the gloom of night, The foaming flood gave thee delight ; But ah ! the softness of thy lay Is mild as summer-close of day, When o'er Fidele's grassy tomb Thou scatterest flowers of earliest bloom. No self-complaint thy mind reveals, But solely for another feels : Though it has suffer d deep distress, How exquisite its tenderness ! TO THE MEMORY OF COLLINS. 287 Since pity, peace, and mercy, seem, In sooth, to be thy frequent theme ; And love, that royal shepherds know, In climes where brighter suns do glow. Bard of the East ! a poet sweet As thee we ne'er again may greet. Where does thy gentle sprite abide All-seeing fancy by its side ? Where sky-born forms are flitting near, To charm it through " the eternal year." 288 NOTHING. " Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's minds, vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as s one would, 'and the like, but it would leave the minds of a number of men, poor shrunken things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleas- ing to themselves ?" BACON. WHAT wild ambitious schemes The ripen' d man engage ? To love's delusive dreams Succeed the plans of age. The smiles of beauty lose Their sweet attractive power, And pleasure vainly woos The statesman to her bower. Youth, manhood, and old age, have each their vice, First lust, ambition next, then avarice. Some mount on high like rockets, That blaze, then die away ; And folly loves to mock its Votaries for a day. Or Juans, or Napoleons, 'tis the same The slaves of passion are the fools to fame. NOTHING. 289 " To-morrow and to-morrow" Have visionary joys ! Men never think that sorrow Can rob them of their toys ; Or death they heedless hear the passing bell ; Where be his fond conceits for whom it tolls a knell ? 290 VERSES WRITTEN IN STONELEIGH PARK. THE rudest trunk by Nature's hand that 's wrought May teach us more than ever sage has taught : Ye patriarchal oaks, that mock the span Of man's existence (miserable man!) Ye teach me this, that even in decay Ye thrive, when the proud mind is worn away. Ye richly-foliaged woods, that seem but one. Girding yon uplands with your emerald zone, Ye tell me there 's analogy between Youth's liveliness, and your most cheerful green. When the light plays upon your leaves, we glow With inward joy ourselves ; I feel it now. When sombre shades the brightest hues displace, Steals o'er our hearts their " melancholy grace," 'Tis the bard's golden chain that seems to bind Nature's best energies with those of mind ; VERSES WRITTEN AT STONELEIGH PARK. 291 For when creation's wonder-works we see, We feel within us the divinity ! Whence springs this holy feeling ? from delight In looking up to God through works so bright ! Here might Zeluco for a moment feel (But for a moment) a religious zeal. Thus Satan gazed on Paradise awhile, And half forgot his hate, revenge, and guile. 292 WRITTEN AT ROME. WE need not fear, in these enlighten'd times, Hildebrand's power, or Alexander's crimes : Or that fierce Pope,* unspiritual lord Of Roman faith, who grasp'd the temporal sword. But here is Superstition's last strong-hold : Still here, release from Purgatory 's sold ; And here the women, pious in their way, At noon read Casti,t though at eve they pray : How eloquent their looks ; beneath the lashes Of their dark eyes the soul of passion flashes ! Alternately they read their prayers, and paint ; Now woo a lover, now invoke a saint ! Such are the Portias, the Cornelias now, So well is heeded here the marriage vow. November, 1818. * Julius II. | CASTI, a profligate writer, author of certain " Novelle," as Forsyl says, " too excellently wicked." 293 TO THE REV. W. W. ON THE BIRTH-DAT OF HIS DAUGHTER. THIS is indeed to all a lovely morn : But chief to thee, for on this day was born Thy lovely daughter, lovelier with a mind O think I flatter not how pure, refined ! Pure as the dreams of holiest saints, and mild As the soft slumbers of an infant child. Yet 'tis possessed of wisdom, wit, and sense : Her eyes beam forth that mind's intelligence. Thy smiles paternal, faintly tell us now What genuine raptures in thy bosom glow. The fulness of delight is scarce exprest By words ; we only see that thou art blest. 294 DIVES LOQUITUR. IN IMITATION OF A GREAT POET " Ecce iterum Crispinus." I. HAD I the wit of Newstead's noble bard, I 'd sacrifice it all, again to be The child I was, when on that smooth green sward I drove my hoop along with mickle glee, Or climb' d, with eager haste, yon cherry-tree. Happy are they who need not e'er regret The long-past days of careless infancy ; Whom friends have ne'er betray'd, nor knaves beset, Who never have been caught in woman's subtle net. Of this enough, the storm has ceased to rage ; I live but how, it matters not, I live ! u All, all is vanity " thus spoke the sage : Yet there remains one pleasure 'tis to give. DIVES LOQUITUR. 295 With some, 'tis pouring water through a sieve, An endless folly, an excessive waste : To feed their drones, these lordlings rob the hive ; They waste their wealth on fools or dames unchaste ; On gems, or jewels rare these children "have a taste." DIVES had feasts at home, and many came To see the strange inventions of the night ; Minstrels were in his halls, resembling flame The colour of their garments was as bright ; Ladies were clad in silk, all lily white : While Burgundy, from golden goblets pour'd, Freshen'd the heart of man with new delight, And boon companions gather'd round his board, Pledging the frequent health of their all-liberal lord. IV. But what is DIVES now ? a misanthrope A snarling cynic, basking in the sun : Overcharged with lust, he gave his passion scope ; A self-tormentor, now his course is run, Mingling with fellow-men, yet loving none. Divine Charissa calls on him in vain " Though fools have robb'd thee, do not therefore shun The sad retreat of penury and pain ! " Sullen he stalks apart, and eyes her with disdain. 296 DIVES LOQUITUR. v. " What wert thou born for, denizen of earth ? To laugh and grieve as suits thy wayward will ? Scoffer ! the soul will have a second birth : Awake the song the sparkling goblet fill Drown, in thy wine, all thoughts of future ill. There is another world ! " " Then be it so Of this already have I had my fill ! " " This will not save thee this fantastic woe : Thou knowest not, wretched man, where thou art doom'd to go ! " 297 WRITTEN ON SEEING THE BODIES OF TWO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, CAST AWAY NEAR MILFORD. A DREARY waste of snows around O'er-spread the inhospitable ground ; The storm-blast scarce had ceased to roar, There lay two corpses on the shore. Thou, pamper'd lecher, come and see These shapes, so oft embraced by thee ! What does it shame thee ? look again These were once women, ay, and vain ; Rock-bruised and mangled now, they seem More horrid than a ghastly dream. Now kiss their livid lips, and bless Their fragrant stench, sweet rottenness. The gay gold rings bemock their fingers, Where not one trait of beauty lingers ; But, like the shrivell'd star-fish, lie Their hands in sand, all witheringly. We start to see this loathsome clay, Uncoffin'd, rotting fast away ; Yet, we can bear the noisome pest, Vice, gathering, blackening in the breast. 298 TRUE LOVE. Tis sweet on Truth's high vantage-ground to stand And gaze on men below, in mazes lost Of error ; sweet it is to break the wand Of juggling Comus, battling 'gainst a host Of frightful passions ; or when tempest-tost To reach, by unexpected chance, the port ; Sweet 'tis to have a Claude, though much it cost Sweet to the honest heart 's the rural sport ; Sweetest is woman's love when 'tis of good report. To share each other's joys, to live indeed In our own little world of happiness, With interchange of thought as time may need To brighten fancy ; make our troubles less ; To give and to return the kind caress ; To visit distant realms, not both unknown ; To be each other's helpmates in distress ; To laugh through mutual aid at fortune's frown ; Such were a bliss, indeed, which few can call their own. 299 EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES WRITTEN AT THE spoils of nations here collected seem To realize an Eastern poet's dream : Gold, gems, and ivory with rich inlay, Urns, vases, books, magnificently gay, Embroider' d couches, golden lamps, and all That pride would choose for beauty's festival. With intermingling hues fatigue the sight, And " dazzle with their luxury of light." * Nursed in the sunshine, orange-trees unfold Their leaves of emerald, and their fruit of gold ; * See Gray's Epistle to Bentley, in Mason's edition of his works. " As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze The meaner gems, that singly charm the sight, Together dart their intermingling rays And dazzle with a luxury of light ! " 300 EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES. Exotics fling their exquisite perfume From grand conservatories through the room Where sits the fair Sultana of the place, And to Zenobia's wealth adds Hebe's grace. The glorious day-god cheers (what could he less ?) AVith vivid rays this seat of loveliness. April 17, 1820. 301 PSEUDO-PATRIOTISM . How few there are who well deserve The Patriot's laurel-crown ; Who never from their duty swerve, Or lose their high renown ! A traitor's name doth stain the fame Of Wallenstein the brave ; The honours which he could not claim Adorn his rival's grave.* Rienzi, thou didst promise well, But hast betray'd thy trust ; Yes ! when the traitor-tribune fell His death was surely just. * The great Gustavus Adolphus. 302 TO BERNARD BARTON. UNLIKE indeed the meteor light That dazzles to betray, Thou art a star to bless our sight. And lead us on our way. Mild are the breathings of thy lyre, Thou gentle bard, yet strong Thy verse, whene'er thy " muse of fire" To heaven directs her song. Thou hast not drunk, as others have, From pleasure's poisoned chalice ; Nor dost thou, misanthropic, rave Against imagined malice. How stainless thy poetic wreath ! How beautiful its hue ! Unsullied by the world's gross breath, It looks for ever new. S03 WILLERSLEY. TREES (how majestical !) along the glade Give " boundless contiguity of shade ;" Sheltered beneath their umbrage, let me rove, In paths which sacred are to peace and love Where Rasselas might find content at last Where e'en his Happy Valley is surpast Where dimpling cheeks and laughing eyes express, If it be found on earth, true happiness. See, woods along the rocky steep Magnificently rise ; How graceful is the mountain's sweep ! How beautiful the skies ! E'en the projecting crags are dight In the rich hues of morning light ! While Willersley is Crom ford's boast,* Can Paradise be wholly lost ? Willersley is the seat of Richard Arkwright, Esq. It is situated on a beautiful eminence about a mile from Matlock, just above the romantic village of Cromford. 304 WILLERSLEY. The tangled shrubs creep o'er yon distant hills, Whose soil more rugged seems ; and there, 'Mid giant stones uncouth and bare, Leap out unnumber'd rills. Their course the lively waters take Through clefts, as lizards thrid the brake ; Or where dark precipices frown, Rush with collected fury down. How sparkling are the streams ! how bright The glorious falls where they unite ! Where trees, fantastically wove, Form a green canopy above ! And then the spray, that dews the bower Above, descends a cloud-like shower ; There's contrast too of light and shade, As sun-beams the recess invade. The wild fern well becomes its place ; The brushwood has luxuriant grace. Tradition says that yon bold rocks Were shiver'd by an earthquake's shocks ; For nature's mighty agents here Work out their wonders far and near. Spirits of air and water, ye Act with portentous energy, WILLER8LEY. 305 "Whether ye seek the cavern's gloom, Or roar within the mountain's womb ; And broken crags and hardened weeds Are proofs of your miraculous deeds ! 306 STEEPHILL. UNDAZZLED now by fashion's meteor-blaze, The quiet joys of life I'll learn to praise ; With Waller dwell 'mid myrtle shades, or find, With Wordsworth, mighty spirits in the wind. Oh ! 'tis a glorious privilege to be The child of nature, and her charms to see : Yon isle-engirting ocean, and the sky O'er the green waves a cloudless canopy : The stars by night, the fiery-wheeled throne By day, its after-splendours, when 'tis gone ; The jutting cliffs, the winding shores, the caves Hollow'd within the rocks by frequent waves, Yast in themselves, yet magnified by thought ; (Compared with which man's noblest works are nought ;) The rock-embosom'd underwood that creeps, Rich with autumnal colours, up the steeps. And many have been wanderers here, who now Live with their God ! from yonder mountain's brow They gazed upon the rising sun, that cheer'd Nature and them ; they now have disappear' d. STEEPHII/L. 307 But, near the fountain's self of heavenly light Gaze on more splendid scenes with more intense delight. There all those hopes they cherish'd while on earth Are realized, how pure man's second birth ! They, by the living waters evermore, Seeing and knowing all things, God adore. We tread the same dull round from year to year ; Though the scene shifts, the actors re-appear, Dull in each other's eyes, press on, and die, With " Vive la bagatelle I " the expiring cry. Here, shelter' d from life's troublous storms, we roam, And store up many an anecdote for home ; Here feel that, unembarrass'd by the crowd, We may, inglorious idlers, think aloud ! x 2 308 VITTORIA COLONNA. Questa e la gloriosa e gran Madonna, Che senza pari al mondo, & del suo sesso I/ honor sovran Vittoria Colonna ; Che '1 nome fuo sopra le stelle ha messo ; Vittoria che celeste 6 mortal donna Dubita il mondo di nomarla spesso ; Vittoria che piangendo il suo marito Non men ella di lui si mostra k dito. BERNARDINO MARTIRANO, DIVINE Colonna ! boast of Leo's days ! Rival of Petrarch in thy gentle lays ! Pride of a princely house, unmatched for fame ! Pescara's noble wife ! most glorious dame ! These were thy titles, fair Yittoria, thine A heart Devotion deem'd its purest shrine : Thou sang'st (instead of culling fancy's wreath) Thy husband's virtues, and thy Saviour's death. When fair Ausonia's sons were bathed in slaughter, And Christian blood o'erflow'd the land like water ; When poets, mindless of their glorious trust, Deck'd with gay flowers the hoary head of Lust, VITTORIA COLONNA. 309 Thy pious Muse look'd heaven- ward, or with zeal Urged warring states their mutual wounds to heal. Vittoria, like a heaven-descended spright, Wander'd on Arno's banks at hush of night With Him, the master-spirit of an age Fertile in great ones, Poet, Sculptor, Sage ! And pointing upwards to the deep blue sky, (How beautiful thy star-light, Italy !) " There is stability alone," she said ; " There, Buonarotti, when thy glories fade, When e'en thy works shall perish, thou shalt live ; The bent to genius let Religion give. What thy vast mind has imaged, that thy hand Has bodied forth in sculpture truly grand. " O wondrous Man ! adore th' eternal Source Of genius with thy soul's intensest force ! Should such a mind from its Creator turn, Devils might well rejoice, and angels mourn. Let truths tremendous on thy canvas dwell, Or joys celestial, or the woes of hell ; Thus may'st thou fortify the good, and make The wicked at thy painted terrors quake. Masterly done ! thy giant forms o'erawe The soul ! the Jewish Leader's look is law : Trembling I gazed upon that look ; I felt Such inward veneration that I knelt ; 310 VITTORIA COLONNA. The Persian feels such awe-commixt delight, When sunbursts 'mid the storms break out so bright. Many will strive to copy (vain their will !) This great exemplar of creative skill. God's mightiest prophet lives in marble ! View Thy work, grand Architect, and own it true." ROME, November, 1818. 311 NOTES ON "VITTORIA COLONNA." P. 308, 1. 1. Vittoria Colonna. Vittoria Colonna was tlie daughter of the celebrated commander Patrizio Colonna, grand constable of the kingdom of Naples, by Anna di Montefeltro, the daughter of Frederico, Duke of Urbino. She married Ferdinando d'Avalos, Marquis of Pescara, who died at Milan of his military fatigues, after a short but glorious life. " This fatal event/' (says the learned and elegant biographer of Leo the Tenth) " blighted all the hopes of his consort ; nor did her sorrow admit of any alleviation, except such as she found in celebrating the character and virtues of her husband, and recording their mutual affections in her tender and exquisite verse. She was a warm admirer of the great artist Michael Agnolo (Angelo,) who executed for her several excellent pieces of sculpture. She devoted her poetical talents chiefly to sacred subjects. Her exemplary conduct, and the uncommon merit of her writings, rendered her the general theme of applause among the most distinguished poets and learned men of the time, with many of whom she maintained a friendly epistolary correspondence. Michael Agnolo addressed to her several sonnets. Among the Italian writers who have revived in their works the style of Petrarca, Vittoria Colonna is entitled to the first rank ; and her sonnets, many of which are addressed to the shade of her departed husband, or relate to the state of her own mind, possess more vigour of thought, vivacity of colouring and natural pathos, than are generally to be found among the disciples of that school. Her verses in ottava rima excel the productions of any of her cotem- poraries, excepting those only of the inimitable Ariosto. In one of his 312 NOTES ON " VITTORIA COLONNA." poems Michael Agnolo laments the fluctuating state of his religious sentiments, and calls upon the March esana to direct him in his spiritual concerns." ROSCOE'S Life of Leo the Tenth, quarto edition, vol. iii. pp. 217-22. P. 308, 1. 13. Pride of a princely house, unmatched for fame. For the splendid origin, illustrious actions, &c. of the Colonna family, see Gibbon, vol. xii. p. 317, octavo edition. Marco Antonio Colonna commanded the Pope's galleys at the naval victory of Lepanto. " Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar." Childe Harold. Prospero Colonna was a very great general, (see Guicciardini 1st. lib. xiv.) Petrarca calls the Colonna, " the column on which Rome rests her hopes." P. 308, 1. 21. When poets y mindless of their glorious trust. " The Muses are seen in the company of Passion, and there is almost no affection so depraved and vile which is not soothed by some kind of learning ; and herein the indulgence and arrogance of wits doth ex- ceedingly derogate from the Majesty of the Muses ; that whereas they should be the leaders and ancient-bearers of life, they are become the footpages and buffoons to lust and vanity." BACON'S Advancement of Learning. Many of the Italian poets have sullied their genius by the licentious- ness of their writings ; among them was " II divino Pietro Aretino," who made a mockery of religion, by alternately composing the most pious and the most licentious works ; even the secretary of Leo the Tenth, the celebrated Bembo, is not exempt from the charge of writing obscene poems. " Quod poema merito vocare possis obsce- nissimam elegantiam, aut elegantissimam obscenitatem." See Bayle, art. Bembo, Aretino. " O gracious God ! how far have we Profaned thy heavenly gift of poesy ! Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debased to each obscene and impious use, Whose harmony was first ordain'd above For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love ! " DRYDBN. NOTES ON "VITTORIA COLONNA." 313 P. 309, 1. 19. Let truths tremendous on thy canvas dwell. The Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, in the Sistine Chapel of the Vatican at Rome, thus calls forth the admiration of a powerful but fastidious critic, Mr. Forsyth : " How congenial the powers of the poet and the painter ! Bold and precipitating, they dash on to the immediate object, in defiance of rules and ridicule." Of the great statue of Moses in the S. Pietro in Vincoli, he says, " Here sits the Moses of M. Angelo, frowning with the terrific eyebrows of Olympian Jove." 314 SONG. ' A breathless feeling, a suspense Of life, a quietude intense Prevail'd around me in this hour ; E'en Silence felt Love's mighty power." MS.* LIKE liquid gold glitter'd the waves of the ocean, The moon there reflected her light : All was silent and still : not a breeze was in motion ; So deeply serene was the night. O ! sacred to love was the thought-soothing hour That hush'd all reflection away All life's busy cares ! so diffusive the power Of love at the mild close of day ! What abandonment sweet did I feel as I roved Alone o'er the far- winding shore ! Then came o'er my mem'ry the scenes that I loved, Scenes, alas ! that I ne'er shall see more. O Nature ! thy calm gives a pleasure indeed To the heart that no words can express ; As sweet a delight as the lover's whose meed Is his bride's long-expected caress. 315 TO MY LITTLE GIRL. THY eager look, my dearest child ! Thy little arms extended Thine eye so vivid, yet so mild, Where life with love is blended That look, that smile, those eyes of blue, Thy thousand winning ways, Promise me pleasures pure and true, Should God prolong my days. But of the future none can speak ; That lies in depth of night ; And vain are all our hopes, and weak Our fore-schemes of delight. 316 TO MY LITTLE GIRL. And wilt thou, when upon the bed Of sickness I shall lie, Wilt thou support my aching head. And teach me how to die ? My first-born child ! my Julia dear ! Close to my heart I press thee ; May HE whom all must love and fear, May HE for ever bless thee ! 317 TO THE LADY THAT look again ! 'tis like the milder ray Of eve in climes far lovelier than our own, That wooes the lonely wanderer to stray Through scenes which ne'er night's deeper shades imbrown. So mild, all other thoughts are hush'd away, Save those that rise from rapture's gaze alone ; Thine is that quiet radiance, that beguiles All sense of pain, that dazzles not, but smiles. 318 BELIEVE ME, SHE IS TRUE INDEED. BELIEVE me, she is true indeed, Whatever you surmise ; Impartial be, and you may read Her faith in her bright eyes. Beaming with candour, every look Gives evidence of Love ; Oh do not then of Nature's book The language disapprove ! Her smiles most eloquently speak The self -approving glow Of conscience, roses on her cheek The health of virtue show. BELIEVE ME, SHE IS TRUE INDEED. 319 Hypocrisy could never give To woman such a grace As seems, a sign from Heaven, to live In her angelic face. Believe me she is true indeed. Whatever you surmise ; Impartial be, and you may read Her faith in her bright eyes. 320 ON HAWTHORNDEN. r WHO can describe thy charms, sweet Hawthornden, Fit residence of poetry and love ! What fair variety is here ! the glen. Rocks clothed with oak and beech that rise above The Esk's impetuous stream below, the ken Of thy romantic mansion, as we rove Thy winding walks among ! ah 5 where's the pen Of thine own bard, to paint wood, rock, and cove ? NOTE. Hawthornden, once the abode of the Poet Drummond, is placed on a high rock or precipice, overlooking the river Esk, that runs rapidly below : the rocky sides of the glen, as you approach this delightful retreat, are covered with oak and birch that spring up from every crevice. * There are several caves in the rocks, in one of which, it is said that the patriot Wallace was concealed for two days. * " How fresh an' fair o' varied hue, Ilk tufted haunt o' sweet Buccleugh ! What bliss ilk green retreat to hail, Where Melville Castle cheers the vale ; An' Mavishank sae rural gay, Looks honnie down the woodland brae ; But doubly fair ilk darling scene, That screens the bowers of Hawthorn-dean." GALI,. 321 A MAY-MORNING. Crocus and hyacinth with rich inlay Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stones Of costliest emblem. MILTON. LIKE a cloud all resplendent with green and with gold Is the wood, now the mists of the morn are uproll'd. The trees are now robed in their freshest attire, And the sunbeams illume them with quick -glancing fire : The leaflets expanding, now brighten all over, Like a young glowing maiden at sight of her lover. White blossoms, like diamonds, sparkle between Gay foliage, vivid with emerald-green ; And undergrown shrubs their light arms interlace, Trailing here, running there, with an intricate grace ; And insects, fine minions of spring, in the stream Of light floating through leafy trellises gleam. Here by-walks from paths more frequented diverge, Or, springing from glens, into vistas emerge. Here Poesy lives not in words, but in feeling, While the fragrance of plants o'er our senses is stealing ; 322 A MAY MORNING. And blue flowers laugh, like the beautiful eyes Of woman, 'mid others of infinite dyes That enrich, like mosaic's most gorgeous inlay, The turf, so profuse of their colours in May. Wild hyacinths, loveliest here of their class, With hues caught from heaven, spring up where we pass, More splendid, when flowering o'er bank and through glade, Than Solomon in all his glory array'd ! 323 A PARK SCENE. HERE trees most prodigal of shade With umbrage deep imbrown the glade ; Each venerable as the oak Whence oracles of old have spoke, Of years and leafy honours full, Romantic, grand, and beautiful ! Some grouped less closely on the hill Stretch out their giant arms at will Above, below, or crowd the dell, Or singly grace yon upland swell. In massive majesty sedate They stand, immovable as fate ; Some in decay how picturesque ! Others, like sylvan Pan, grotesque : Each fit to canopy a throne Of royal priest the druid's stone ; Each fit to be, so high they tower, An emblem of the Assyrian power *. * c Behold, the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon, with fair branches and with a shadowing shroud, and of a high stature, and his top was among the thick boughs." EZEKIEL, chap. xxxi. 3. Y 2 324 A PARK SCENE. And where breaks out the mellow mould In shapes fantastically bold, Entwisted in the bank above Vast trunks projecting form a cove O'er the calm river, that below Reflects each gently-pendent bough ; Though here and there, half grey, half green, Ledges of rock may intervene, While many a trailing plant upshoots From chasms underneath the roots. NOTE. P. 323, 1. 15, 16. Each Jit to canopy a throne Of royal priest the druid's stone. " The oak, the statue of the Celtic Jove, was here, as in all other countries, selected for a peculiar consecration ; and the Plain of Oaks, the tree of the field of adoration under which the Dalcassian chiefs were inaugurated, and the sacred Oak of Kildare, show how early and long this particular hranch of the primitive worship prevailed." MOORE'S History of Ireland, vol. i. p. 46. See also the account of the druidical stones and groves in HENRY'S History of England, vol. i. p. 176. 325 SPIRITS OF THE SUN. Such miracles and dazzling sights As genii of the sun behold At evening from their tents of gold Upon the horizon, where they play Till twilight comes and, ray by ray, The sunny mansions melt away. MOORE. As golden-wing' d intelligences play In festive circle round the god of day, They from his aspect draw a strength divine, And mirror'd in his eyes their splendours shine. With ever-crescent light they smile, how blest ! Their joy is by augmented light exprest ! They are more beautiful than loveliness Like theirs what imagery can express, Though it be Shelley s, radiant with the stores That Nature from her bursting horn outpours ? They are more beautiful than early glow Of spring, when Earth renews her youth, as now ! 326 SPIRITS OF THE SUN. Brighter than rose-hues of the morn, or red Pyrus, that garlands Beauty's flower-bed ! Through orbits of interminable light They look how piercing is their visual might ! Discerning germs, with which all worlds are rife, Ere they expanding blossom into life ! 327 STANZAS ON THE TIMES. Or love, the flower that closes up for fear, When rude and selfish spirits breathe too near. KEBLE. I. THE cares of life hang heavy on our hearts All that was born of spirit is extinct Within us ! Soon the world its lore imparts, With good, as far as sense unites it, link'd To minds with heaven -sown virtue once instinct. Each in his generation wise, pursues Gain, or a good as palpable, distinct. Few, like the maid beloved of Heaven, will choose The better part : what win they for the prize they lose ? A stream spontaneous flowing from the heart Of love divine, an ardent zeal for truth. Wanting no aid from oratory's art These these pervade not now, as once, our youth 328 STANZAS ON THE TIMES. All for effect now speak and write, in sooth. To idols of the theatre we bow : Even our compassion is but show of ruth ; We seem with an indignant zeal to glow In halls that ring with slavery's wrongs, but shun the house of woe. The meeting's frequent shout is as the clash Of cymbals, waking in vain man delight, Whose charity is but a transient flash Of feeling ; how unlike the purer light That lives self-fed within the heart, by night By day in shade or sunshine burning strong ! Effluence of seraph fair, Charissa hight Supreme the brightest sanctities among ! Can her fine spirit visit those who court the ignoble throng ? 329 A CALM. HAST thou the high-spiced bowl of pleasure drained, And since thy spirits fail thee now, art pained ? Go and erect thy cottage near a cliff That overlooks the sea, there build thy skiff; And as the waves o'er waves precursive ride, Bold, as war-horses charging in their pride, Sail o'er their foaming crests, or ply the oar ; Regain thy health, " repent and sin no more. " Or on the downs, the life of life inhale, Where scents of wild thyme freshen through the gale ; Where the gay gorse a golden mass abounds, Glittering and sharp as wit that, handled, wounds. The expanse of plains, the boundlessness of seas, Heal with their charm sublime the mind's disease : Pure elements, and free, create a sense Of primitive joy that quells e'en grief intense, And to the heart restore, whate'er the loss By friction with the world, its vernal gloss. Who can the fathomless ocean view, and feel For petty interests of this world a zeal ? 330 A CALM. How beautiful the ocean's argentry, Reflecting the mild splendours of the sky ! Thus woman's eyes reflect her partner's joy : These sweet analogies our thoughts employ As the primeval works of Heaven we view, Each object touched with harmonising hue ! A calm has circumfused the silvery deep, Serene as beauty's smile or infant's sleep : The very rocks look gentleness ; the air Is hush'd, as charm'd by a young spirit's prayer ! All is a stirless solitude, and now Is Nature's aspect clear as Jesus' brow. Call it not solitude ! the Almighty Power Is as a visible presence in this hour. 331 TAGLIONI. How gracefully she now advances ! see That step so firm, so elegant, and free ! Now move with an inimitable ease Her lovely limbs no effort hers to please ! 'Tis the perfection of all art-conceal' d, The grace and energy of life reveal'd ; While sylph and sylphid, beauteous girl and boy, Hover around her, prodigal of joy. This union of repose and power combined Once co-existed in the Sculptor's mind, When at his call divinities awoke From marble, and to hearts, though silent, spoke. 332 A COMPARISON. A SUN impurpled glow Is on the waveless sea, And not a breeze doth blow, And not a sail I see. Like heaven's own pavement bright,* Is now the placid deep, On which the farewell light Of sunset loves to sleep. Thus beautiful in death Is youth's departing flush ; And lovely is the wreath Where latest roses blush. * Impurpled, like a sea of jasper shone. MILTON. 333 TO A LARK. THE hymeneal chant While youthful hearts do pant, Rising like incense rich around a bridegroom king, Its strains cannot compare With thine for notes so rare, That from thy joyous heart exultingly do spring. Thy music is thine own ; A soul-enchanting tone, By ecstacy inbreathed, when thou wast born, to be ' A soaring song of Love Embodied, that above Mocks our most vivid joys with its aerial glee. 334 ON THE FALL OF THE LEAVES. THEY lie commingling with the earth that late In rich luxuriance o'er the trees display'd Their leafy grandeur ; in another year Others will be as beautiful, and sear. My friends around me fall, by death's rude blast Blown rapidly away ; and some in prime Of verdant youth. And are they lost amid The common dust ? No. This most lovely eve, When not a gauze cloud through the atmosphere Melts gradually away, gives to my heart A consolation, a prophetic hope That they shall be again as flourishing As e'er on earth, in heaven, and happier far. The after-radiance of the blessed sun Wakes in my soul a melancholy joy : I hail the omen, sorrow for the loss Of dearest friends, but joy that they are blest. This " woody theatre,"* that circles now A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view." MILTON. ON THE FALL OF THE LEAVES. 335 My good old mansion, shall resound no more With my friend's social laugh, and cheerful horn. He's gone whose presence dissipated spleen And head-ache, and the " numerous ills that flesh Is heir to." While the night- dew damps my brow, I fancy that I see his presence near, Smiling with wonted cheerfulness on me : I know that manly form, but, Oh ! how pale Those cheeks, that once with health's rich colour glow'd ! Mild as the moon in the deep blue of heaven Looks gentleness above the quiet grove, He looks, dear . I'll remember thee And thy society, alas, how brief ! And hope for thy companionship again In worlds which here conjecture vainly strives To bring before the mind, but worlds of bliss. October, 1830. 336 THE WOOD NYMPH. SAW you the Wood-nymph pass this way, As light in her step as a spirit of air, With cheeks all glowing, and look so gay, While the breeze plays with her beautiful hair ? Nature alone can give the grace That tempers vivacity in her fair form ; Like Dian she moves, but her lovejy face With rose-hues Dione might envy is warm. She bounded along like the gentle fawn Through the glade, then rapidly glided away : Thus vanish the fairies at break of dawn, When their revels have ended beneath the moon's ray. 337 THE CIGAR. " EX FUMO DARE LUCEM." CIGAR, thou comfort of my life, With joy I taste thy fragrant leaf ; It soothes me when my heart 's at strife With the world's cares ; it gives relief When at an inn in lonely hour Blue devils rush before my sight ; Its sweet intoxicating power Turns devils into angels bright : The cold that chills my feeble frame, As damps arise, it soon dispels ; In thee composure, or what name Does better suit the feeling, dwells. A self-complacency that creeps O'er all the senses, thou alone Canst give ; till every passion sleeps, And thought assumes a milder tone. 338 THE CIGAR. At every whiff, a gentle heat Like that of Love within me glows : Through thee my friends are doubly sweet, I almost love my few of foes. If such thy virtues be, Cigar, "When other consolations fail, If thou canst drive from man afar Those sorrows that his heart assail ; If thou canst make the world appear As in the glass of Claude Lorraine Of loveliest hues why then, 'tis clear Thou better art than Wright's Champagne ! 339 WRITTEN ON A FINE MORNING. * The morn is up, by heavens ! a lovely morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing away the clouds." BYRON. ANOTHER morn will rise With splendour on its wings, But this for ever flies Away ! While beauty flings A thousand colours o'er The earth, they reappear : Yet thou wilt never more Our hearts exulting cheer. Sweet morn, on balmy gales Where dost thou speed thy flight ? To worlds where Love prevails And wantons with Delight ; z 2 340 WRITTEN ON A FINE MORNING. Where ever-blooming Youth, With Pleasure at his side, And Innocence and Truth In golden courts abide ? Then, gentle morn, awhile Thy odours let me breathe : Heaven seems above to smile, 'Tis Paradise beneath. Flowers freshly gemm'd with dew In tears entreat thy stay ; And birds of every hue Sing " Why so soon away ?" The massy woods, whose deep Green is illumed with gold, Would fain the colours keep Thy radiance doth unfold ; Thy rose-hues, lovely morn ! Yet linger on the lake ; Then why as soon as born Wilt thou the world forsake ? 341 STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY. " Earth has not any thing to show more fair ; Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty." WORDSWORTH. I. IT is the sabbath of the Lord, awake Ye who in darkness slumber ! 'tis a day Most beautiful ; as if for Christ's dear sake The sun pours forth a more resplendent ray, And Nature wears a robe most richly gay ; The hinds now from their daily labour rest, The cattle undisturbed keep holiday : All men, save Mammon's wretched slaves, are blest, And cheerful looks reveal their feelings unexprest. The woods are sleeping in the sunlight now ; Thus in the " light of lights" confiding love Reposes ; smooth as crystal is the brow Of the clear lake reflecting Heaven above. 342 STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY. Pure as the prayers that holiest saints approve, Stray children o'er the meads, collecting flowers, The best that may be into garlands wove, To crown each other's brows in greenwood bowers, Ere the church bells proclaim devotion's solemn hours. Fresh as on Hermon hill the morning dew, Acceptable as incense that arose From Aaron's altar, is the homage true Of hearts to God. Prayer can our numerous woes Remove, and soothe the bosom's fiercest throes ! Is there a place on earth that angels greet ? Where persecuted Truth may find repose ? It is where congregated neighbours meet To worship God with holy zeal and in communion sweet. And well the sunbright day doth harmonise With the pure gospel-light, that shines within God's blessed church most glorious are the skies ; Like souls that purified from mists of sin To glow with truth's diffusive rays begin. The sun to his meridian height ascends As heavenward Christians strive their way to win ; There shines the Triune Sun, there beauty blends Hues that are faintly seen on earth the Sabbath never ends. STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY. 343 V. All that night visions show to bards of heaven, All they imagine from the lovely things They see of things unseen, (to few are given Vain gift to man sublime imaginings,) Are but the colours bright that fancy flings O'er life : to beautify our days awhile She hovers near with many-coloured wings ; Hence, in the charms that win us without guile, When heightened by devotion's glow we see the seraph's smile. Yet these resemblances from earth are drawn ; And shall we beings sprung from dust compare With star-like sanctities, that ere the dawn Of light burst on the world with lustre rare Circled the glory-throne of the First Fair ? What are the songs of earth to heaven's rich tide Of melody, interminable there ? What are analogous to powers that glide Through glittering orbs succeeding orbs, in circuit wide ? The sun is sinking, the horizon round Deepens into a radiance more intense. Again the bells are heard, a cheerful sound, Gladdening the heart of youthful innocence. 344 STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY. What is this love of harmony, and whence ? Even in our childhood rapture-breathing strains Of music to sublime our souls commence ; Effluent from beautiful realms where concord reigns, They come to promise bliss that God for man ordains. Mysteriously with feelings deep accord The tones of music, be they gay or sad. When at the will of the creative Word Light was, the morning stars in concert glad Together sang, in luminous glory clad : All was harmonious through the universe, Till man ungrateful did what Heaven forbade. Then Discord rush'd upon this earth, the curse Of sin; and Passion came, of dissonant thoughts the nurse. September 23, 1832. NOTE. P. 344, 1. 1. What is this love of harmony, and whence ? ' While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things." WORDSWORTH. 345 THE SAURI. Multaque nunc etiam cxistunt animalla terris, Imbribus et calido solis concreta vapore. Quo minus est mirum, si turn sunt plura coorta, Et majora nova tcllure, atque a- there adulto. LUCRETIUS, lib. v. v. 795. ERE as it is the world its course begun, The earth o'erteem'd with children of the sun, Goliah lizards of a former age, When a hot temperature was all the rage ; What were the ladies of the temperate zone Then ? Warm as central fire now cold as stone ! And man, if man existed then I ween, Had all the fiery particles of Kean, Or Byron, when a boy, whose name would spread, Like Talbot's, among "clods" or cockneys, dread, But all is now comparatively cool ; Thank Heaven ! we have no Camelfords at school. Though heat-begotten monsters we encase In our museums, perish'd have the race. Whether they were herbivorous, or ate Dirt like an Otomac, I cannot state. 346 THE SAURI. They thirsted not like monsters since the flood Begot the taste is ancient too for blood ! Perchance, as "Waterton a crocodile Rode, they were ridden, though in length a mile ! Conjecture here geologists advance But sober truths loves somewhat to romance. The freeborn Sauri scorn' d a reigning lord, Half-monkey and half-tiger, beast-abhorr'd That rides, like tailors on their fluttering geese, A many-headed hydra not with ease. The steed will throw his rider if press' d sore, As Spenser's dragon threw the gorgeous w ; The Lithuanian fretting at the curb o Imperial may his master's seat disturb. Proud of their igneous origin the tribe Were self-important as a titled scribe ; Shallow as Trinculo deem'd Caliban, Whether through fens they paddled, crept or ran ; Singing in chorus marshy songs, devouring Fern salads, like our idlers bored and boring, They lived- chronologists may guess the time And then returned to what they came from slime. Ere Alorus they lived ; or, to go higher, Ere lived forefathers of a Cambrian 'squire. They may, sublimed into another sort Of beings, through ethereal space transport Themselves with a rapidity intense ; With tubes provided, every tube a sense. THE SAURI. 347 Such Davy saw, or dream'd he saw, at Rome. Philosophers have sober views at home ; At Rome sublimed their spirits DOW on fire Be-luned to Ariosto's flights aspire. Oh were these high-bred monsters now alive In those famed gardens, where on Sunday drive Ladies high-born as to a morning rout, To laugh at apes with tails, and apes without, Fashion might then revive Egyptian rites, And in these non-descripts discern " new lights ; " Though some plebeian peer, whose pedigree Would puzzle Heard, might not their merit see : Pendent from gorgeous ceilings to amaze The world, their forms in or-molu might blaze Through grand saloons, where taste capricious links, Alliance strange, a griffin with a sphinx ! While pretty women lisp, " You have not seen The plesiosauri ! Where could you have been?" Far more in fashion they than Namick Pasha A Brahmin comet or Lord Dudley's bashaw ; Or novel, of the season latest, best, Yet so severe, it ought to be supprest. Would they were now alive, consuming wheat, And kept by rich zoologists, to eat ! They, like Napoleon, prices might exalt, More than remission of the tax on malt ; And landowners would cease to grieve that they With crippled means increased rent-charges pay. 348 THE SAURI. Soon would they disappear on Erin's bogs, Cherish' d, as Isaac Walton cherish'd frogs, To be impaled by Orange seers, who hope To prove that monsters symbolise the Pope, Especially if their long tails emit A phosphorescent light like Irish wit ! 349 NOTES TO "THE SAURI." w Gigantic vegetables, more nearly allied to the palms of the equa- torial countries than to any other plants, can only be imagined to have lived in a very high temperature ; and the immense reptiles, the megalosauri, with paddles instead of legs, and clothed in mail, in size equal or even superior to the whale ; and the great amphibia plesiosauri, with bodies like turtles, but furnished with necks longer than their bodies, probably to enable them to feed on vegetables, growing in the shallows of the primitive ocean, seem to show a state in which low lands, or extensive shores rose above an immense calm sea, and when there were no great mountain chains to produce inequa- lities of temperature, tempests, or storms." DAVY'S Consolations in Travel, p. 145. See also the account of the gigantic Saurian tribe, in URE'S Geology, pp. 219. 226. " The crust of the globe was exceedingly slender, and the source of fire a small distance from the surface." DAVY, ut supra, p. 135. The tepid primeval ocean gave marvellous development to all its productions, from the polyparia and shell-fish to the megalosaurus and iguanodon, (Ure.) See also LYELL'S Geology, vol. i. passim. P. 345, 1. 8. Had all thefitry particles ofKean. t( A fiery soul, that working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'erinform'd the tenement of clay." DRYDEN. I saw Kean perform the character of Sir Giles Overreach, at War- wick, but a very short time before his death, with all his wonted ener- 350 NOTES TO " THE SAURI." gies ; though then " the flash and outbreak of his fiery mind" were " like the fitful light of a candle," to use his own expressions, "flickering in its socket." Well do I remember, in my youthful days, the first appearance of Kean in the character of Sir Giles Overreach, when " the loveliest oligarchs of the gynocracy" crowded to the orchestra to see him ; and the present of a piece of plate was voted to him by acclamation in the green-room. They were glorious days of histrionic and poetical excitement, when the prolific genius of Byron produced poem after poem to delight the world, and Kean shone in a succession of such characters as Sir Giles Overreach, King Richard the Third, Shylock, Othello, (who that has seen, can forget his Othello !) &c. &c. P. 345, 1. 9. Or Byron, when a boy, whose name would spread, Like Talbot's, among " clods" or cockneys, dread. See Shakspeare's First Part of Henry the Sixth, acts 1 and 2, where the cry of " Talbot 1" caused the flight of the French. The shout of " Here's Byron coming 1" had much the same effect on the ** clods:" a generic, and not very flattering term by which the young aristocracy at Harrow designated the lower orders there, with whom they had frequent rows, in which the noble poet shone pre-eminent. When a row commenced, as Lord Byron was lame, he could not get to the scene of action as soon as other boys ; but his fame went before him, and his nanae had almost as great effect as his personal prowess on the alarmed " clods.' ' The cockneys, too, had frequent engagements on a Sunday, (proh pudor !) with the Harrow boys, as they were often exposed to the insulting gibes of the young gentlemen. Some of these " cockneys" or " Sunday bucks," as they were generally called, often proved them- selves to be good men in the pugilistic contests. To the delicate appearance they sometimes united the science of u Dick Curtis,"^that "pet of the Fancy." Lord Byron was a good, but somewhat stormy actor, when at school, and loved to perform such parts as that of Osmond in the Castle Spectre. NOTES TO "THE SAURI." 351 P. 345, 1. 12. Thank Heaven ! we have no Camelfords at school. The late Lord Camelford was the terror of hackney coachmen and coffee-house loungers, being equally celebrated as a duellist and pugilist. P. 345, 1. 15. Whether they were herbivorous, or ate Dirt, like an Otomac, I cannot state. There is a singular account of the Otomacs in Humboldt's Narra- tive, vol. v. p. 639, (Helen Maria Williams'a translation :) " They reside in the mission of Uruana, and eat earth ; that is, they swallow every day during several months very considerable quantities to appease hunger, without injuring their health." P. 346, L 3. Perchance, as Watcrton a crocodile, dec. See WATER-TON'S Wanderings. P. 346, 1. 12. As Spenser's dragon threw the gorgeous w . See SPENSER'S Faery Queen, book i. canto viii. stanza 17. P. 346, 1. 19. Singing in chorus marshy songs. As harmonious as " The Frogs" of Aristophanes. P. 346, 1. 23, 24. Ere Alorus they lived or, to go higher, Ere lived forefathers of a Cambrian 'squire. We learn from the fragments of Berosus, Apollodorus, Abydenus, and Alexander Polyhistor, preserved by Eusebius and Georgius Syn- cellus, that the first king of Babylon was named Alorus ; that nine 352 NOTES TO " THE SAURI." kings succeeded him in a direct line, and that the last of these was named Xisuthrus, in whose time happened the great deluge. DRUM- MOND'S Origines, vol. i. p. 8. " Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi, sed omnes illacrymabiles TJrgentur, ignotique longa Nocte, carent quia vate sacro." HOHAT. lib. iv. ode ix. Mr. Cadwallader's family in Foote's. " Author" was older than the Creation. P. 346, 1. 2527. They may, sublimed into another sort Of beings, through ethereal space transport Themselves. " These beings who are before you, and who appear almost as imper- fect in their functions as the zoophytes of the Polar Sea, to which they are not unlike in their apparent organisation to your eyes, have a sphere of sensibility and intellectual enjoyment far superior to that of the inhabitants of your earth : each of these tubes, which appears like the trunk of an elephant, is an organ of peculiar motion and sensation." DAVY'S Consolations in Travel, pp. 47, 48. P. 347,1. 12. Would puzzle Heard. Sir Isaac Heard, late Garter King at Arms, a very pleasant old gentleman, who at the age of eighty could kiss his own toe, and used to perform several agile feats in his old age to please His late Majesty George the Fourth. 353 TO THE REV. WILLIAM WAY, WITH A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS. Present! tibi matures largimur honores. HORAT. GREAT wits in this our iron age may mourn That country gentlemen write not like Bourne : One gentle bard I know whose graphic pen Describes, as Poussin painted, god-like men. Maturing taste, that in thy early years Gave thee distinction 'mong thy bright compeers, (Thine is the wit of Atticus, the verse Horace might own, thine Martial's language terse,) At feasts Apician be thou host, or guest, Thy muse to wines Falernian adds a zest. Where flower-crown'd mirth is ; in her robe of hues Various plays Fancy sages to amuse. Thy genius loves before our minds to place " Ex re fabellas," with a classic grace ; 354 TO THE REV. WILLIAM WAY. As around Grecian vases figures clear Are grouped, the narratives distinct appear, Gell in thy muse had seen the maiden Greek, So beautiful her dress is, a I' antique. Fresh from the spring, and not through channels wrought By pedantry to rust its virtues brought, Flows of thy song the stream in rapid tide : Apollo favours thee at covert-side ; Though oft the cheering cry of u gone away " Mars the fine close of thy Alcaic lay. Attend thy muse the graces with their zone ; How chaste is of her poetry the tone. The graceful forms with which mythology Creative peopled air, and earth, and sky, All, in thy spirit-stirring odes survive, And seem, as bright existences, to live. Thessalian Tempe of thy mind the home Is, or the Via Sacra of old Rome. Diana buskin'd, Daphne through the glades Pursued, gods canopied by loftiest shades, Deities fabled in heroic song Charm thee, or Horace genial friends among ; "With these, the laughter-moving quick rebound Of wit, and music's care-dispelling sound. Things beautiful, familiar yet to sight, By thee are in Arcadian colours dight. By thy example taught we strive to hold. Snatch' d from time's stream descending, grains of gold. TO THE REV. WILLIAM WAY. 355 It is perchance a crime, since life is short, 'Mid vivid recollections to disport Of all that was in bygone ages fair, And dream of Greece while breathing British air. It is a greater sin for thee to waste Thought on our modern projects with thy taste. Then strike the Theban lyre with master-hand, And homage from our laurell'd youth command : Unite Greek metres to our native rhyme, Links of thought-picturing language, gay, sublime. The scholar and the gentleman combin'd. That test of excellence, in thee we find ; A love for harmony of numbers, pure Taste, nice discernment, and a judgment sure ; And a benevolence of heart that true Politeness is, which Chesterfield ne'er knew. Then lay aside thy criticism's spear, Its touch a worthier muse than mine may bear. Thee I propitiate, if thou canst, protect These leaves from blasts of scorn, blight of neglect. March 6, 1839. A A 2 356 NOTES ON LINES ADDRESSED TO THE KEY. WILLIAM WAY." P. 353, 1. 1. Great wits in this our iron age may mourn That country gentlemen write not like Bourne. The Reverend Sydney Smith, in his witty and clever pamphlet on the Ballot, makes the following comfortable remarks, which, no doubt, the " Gentlemen of England " will know how to appreciate. " I long for the quiet times of King Log, when all the English com- mon people are making calico, and all the English Gentlemen are making long and short verses, with no other interruption of their hap- piness than when false quantities are discovered in one or the other." Ballot, by the Rev. Sydney Smith, page 21. Vincent Bourne, the well-known admirable writer of Latin Poems, original and translations. The Poet Cowper had a very high opinion of his merits as a writer and as a man. His Thyrsis and Chloe (a trans- lation of the William and Margaret of Mallet) is an exquisitely finished production. P. 353, 1. 5. Maturing taste, that in thy early years Gave thee distinction 'mong thy bright compeers. Some of the most beautiful contributions to the " Musse Etonenses" are from the pen of Mr. Way. NOTES ON LINES "TO THE REV. W. WAY." 357 P. 354, 1. 3. Gell in thy muse had teen the maiden Greek, So beautiful her dress is, d I'antique. The late Sir William Gell, a most accomplished Hellenist. P. 354, 1. 15. All, in thy spirit-stirring odes survive, And seem, as bright existences, to live. Gratia te, Venerisque lepos, et mille colorum, Fonnarumque chorus sequitur, motusque decentes. GRAY, De Principiis Cogitandi. Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues unborrow'd of the sun. GRAY, Progress of Poetry. P. 355, 1. 7. Then strike the Theban lyre with master-hand, And homage from our laurell'd youth command. Fidibusque Latinis Thebanos aptare modos studet, auspice Musa ? HORAT. POEMS WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH. 361 ON LEAVING HARROW SCHOOL. O dulces comitum valete ccetus, Longe quos simul a domo profectos Diverse variae viae reportant. CATULLUS. As evening shades in summer calm the light, Thus thoughts of future temper wild delight. Through Hope's delusive glass bright scenes we view, By many fancied realised to few. All are pre-doom'd to taste the cup of woe, To war with griefs which here they never know. In youth's gay spring, the soul, devoid of care, Forebodes no cloud life seems in prospect fair ; Soon withers on the cheek the rose of health ; Soon is consumed anticipated wealth. When sickness wastes the frame, disgrace the heart, Untimely death alone can ease impart. How relative is happiness ! e'en now, When with unusual warmth my spirits glow, Some fondly dream o'er days of boyhood past, And fain would wish them, if renew'd, to last ; 362 ON LEAVING HARROW SCHOOL. Till memory wakes in age a transient joy, The world's worn pilgrim seems again a boy. Ye dear companions of my early years, Oh may these prove but visionary fears ! Yet should the world, with meretricious wiles, Contract the heart, deform fair Friendship's smiles Should lawless passions frighten Reason down, Then seat themselves alternate on her throne ; When each might lord it with unruly power, The petty tyrant of the passing hour Say, which were best, Orbilius * to obey, Or thus to wild affections fall a prey ! To cheer reflection, Science shines afar, Her will I follow as my polar star ! She will conduct me to the blest retreats Of classic taste the Muse's sacred seats. Still shall this hill, with Wisdom's nurslings blest, Wake many a fond remembrance in my breast. Here, oft, with unavailing zeal, I sought To body forth in verse the fleeting thought, That charm' d the fancy while it mock'd the mind, Then fled too volatile to be confined. Here throbb'd my anxious breast 'twixt hope and fear, As peal'd the warning bell upon my ear : * Orbilius is the name of the schoolmaster of Horace. Here poetic licence makes it synonymous with that of any schoolmaster. ON LEAVING HARROW SCHOOL. 363 Here, beckon' d on by Freedom's lawless smile, I wander'd forth to pass the well-known mile ; Some chiding " voice in every breeze" I heard ; Now onwards ran now trembling, scarcely stirr'd : Here Superstition raised no local dread, With careless step I roved among the dead ; Laugh'd at the quaint memorials of our doom That, carved on wood, adorn'd the rustic's tomb. Here have I tasted innocent delight ; No conscious guilt disturb'd my rest at night : May no sad contrast to these happy times Add weight to woe, or aggravate my crimes. Scenes of my youth, farewell ! nor thou refuse This tributary effort of my Muse ; Thou, whom no more 'tis flattery to commend, My guide excuse a fonder term my friend. Still prune with care the student's vagrant lays ; Sweeten the toil of early worth with praise ; Bid Genius kindle at a poet's name, And young Ambition emulate thy fame. 364 MY SISTER, ON HER BIRTH-D AY. But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd ; In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain. GOLDSMITH'S Deserted Village. How swiftly pass our early years away ! Youth seems the short-lived phantom of a day : * Childhood is gone, that fairy scene is o'er ; The sports of infancy now please no more ; On past delights remembrance loves to dwell, While sighs break forth to calm the bosom's swell. You smile, perchance, at such a mournful strain ; " Mine are the joys of life, why thus complain?" Though Fashion beckons from the splendid hall, Though Pleasure seems to triumph at the ball, * Festinat enim decurrere velox, Flosculus angustae miserseque brevissima vitae Portio : dum bibimus, dum serta, unguenta, puellas, Poscimus, obrepit non intellecta senectus. Juv., Sat. ix. TO MY SISTER. 365 Think not that real happiness is there, Nor trust, my Mary, wealth's imposing glare. Of all the motley crew who crowd the town, How few there are who can exist alone ! Some fly to gaieties to banish grief: Can flippant nonsense give the heart relief? Some to conceal their narrow range of thought ; These look intelligence, yet talk of nought : No airy visions o'er their fancy sweep, Their souls are chain'd in one perpetual sleep. Such fools are solemn mountebanks at best, Outcasts of Nature, though by Fortune blest, Compared with him whose bosom Genius fires, Whom Science brightens, or the Muse inspires ! Youth's freshening aspect, Beauty's faultless form, Shrink from the searching blast of Sorrow's storm ; But Intellect, that deity within, Will soften grief; nay more, may conquer sin. It gathers strength through each successive year, More amiable in age its charms appear ; While Pleasure's surfeit palls upon the heart, And Fashion's fair illusions soon depart. 366 VERSES ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL FITZPATRICK. BLEST as thou wert, Fitzpatrick, with a mind By eloquence sublimed, by wit refined, With all the gifts that science could impart, With all the social virtues of the heart ; Colloquial elegance to charm the fair The table's boast, though Sheridan was there ; Well might we mourn for ever, ever gone Such splendid qualities combined in one ! Yet, hating all the foppery of praise, Thy Muse retiring shunn'd the public gaze : The multitude's applauses are but low, Compared with those the admiring few bestow. If Fox,* companion of an honoured few, Souls of a higher class, to friendship true, * Q,uin ubi se a vulgo et seen a in secreta remorant Virtus Scipiadse et niitis sapientia Laeli. HOR. Sat. ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL FITZPATRICK. 367 Smiled on thy efforts, in those glorious nights When Fancy soar'd above her usual flights ; Or when Philosophy display'd her charms, To lure the patriot from her sister's arms, His kind approval was thy best reward ; It warm'd the man, inspirited the bard. S68 THE DESERTED FRIEND. And friendship, which a faint affection breeds, Without regard of good, dies like ill-grounded seeds. SPENSER'S Fairy Queen, lit matrona meretrici dispar erit, atque Discolor, infido scurrae distabit amicus. HOBAT. Epist. MILD was the air, serene the night, 7 O 7 The moon beam'd forth her tranquil light, No stormy daemon roused the blast, As o'er the hills in haste I past, To chill my frame or cramp my speed But oh ! my heart was cold indeed. The look of scorn, the shameless stare, Had curdled e'en the life-blood there, For friends had strangely gazed on me : I marr'd, perchance, the social glee. Yet once they bade my spirits glow My crime was then the same as now. Too quickly summer's beauty dies ! The moral 's plain " In time be wise." THE DESERTED FRIEND. 369 The winter's rage prepared to brave, No shock we feel, though tempests rave ; But friendship I too fondly thought Would last for ever, if unbought, Life's constant sunshine ; to the breast An Eden, nay, a heaven of rest, Where, when the world's vexations tire, It might, to soothe its pangs, retire. I was deceived : the bitter truth Proves confidence is nought in youth. Such change, alas ! was not foreseen, Yet oft before such change has been. How the bright arch that spans the sky In childhood caught my eager eye : The beauteous curve appeared to stand Substantial on yon rising land. How rich its hues ! each hue alone Betray' d a link of precious stone. The glorious prize within my view One luckless day I must pursue; From hill to hill it quickly fled, Through bush and brake my steps it led ; Then, as it mock'd my further stay, It fainter gleam* d it died away. Home I return'd, ashamed, yet smiled, In seeming scorn, on chase so wild. 370 THE DESERTED FRIEND. Thus 'tis with friendship ; many claim A portion of her hallow' d flame, Yet friendship scarce exists on earth, Few seek, still fewer find, her worth. The maid unseen, we love to chase Some airy vision in her place. But soon we mourn the shadow lost, Youth will despair when hopes are crost ; Then bitterly we rue the time When confidence appear' d no crime. "Will Wisdom soothe us ? 'tis too late, Love was abused then welcome Hate. 371 KENILWORTH CASTLE. Majestic, though in ruins. MILTON. MOULDERING away in desolated pride, Thy glory past, thy majesty remains ; Though time has torn thy pillar'd porches wide, Where Echo sleeps, and horrid Silence reigns. Thus onwards all things to destruction glide, Whatever pageantries this world contains Decaying, not o'erthrown ! thou still art seen A monumental wreck of what thou erst hast been ! Still let me contemplate thy wasting walls, Thy topless columns whence the owlet screams : Those grass- worn mounds were once baronial halls, Whose pristine worth surpasseth Fancy's dreams ; There Chivalry presided o'er the balls, The sun of beauty there shed forth its beams : Now all is loneliness ! Reflection, say, How long the works of man outlive man's little day ! B B 2 372 THE WORLD AS IT IS. Such as are ambitious are incited by the greatness of their power to attempt great matters ; and the most sottish or lazy may discharge themselves of cares, and hope that others will be more easily hired to take the burden of business upon them while they lie at ease. SIDNEY on Government, p. 165. I. THAT master- vice, Ambition, has its course ; It wakens Hope, it promises success : Can Wisdom, Reason, Justice break the force Of those bold passions that overlook distress ? Not Fear itself their vigour can repress. Hence Pride attempts what Fancy had designed, Betraying often its own littleness ; Fortune unbalances the strongest mind, And vanities beset the mightiest of mankind. These truths experience, history ever taught, And many a moral tale in childhood loved ; But men by splendid wickedness are caught, They laud those acts which erst they disapproved ; THE WORLD AS IT IS. 373 Their spleen by buried crime alone is moved. Great villains thrive we deem them great indeed. How brave their spirits, wheresoe'er they roved To desolate the world, while millions bleed, Officious fools for aye the cause of bravoes plead. HI. While Aves vehement confuse their brains, Kings would be demigods, and courtiers kneel. Audacious mockery ! the Muse refrains From courting those who ne'er for others feel. Alas ! she cannot scorn the vain appeal Of steel-clad heroes to her lofty lay ; For them she weaves the laurel- wreath with zeal : As hirelings stalk along in proud array, Where blazing lights shed forth an artificial day. IV. And Genius thus is self-betray'd to please A heartless tyrant in his pride of power. The love of flattery is a sore disease ; It spreads from chieftains' hall to ladies' bower ; The worm that gnaws the oak destroys the flower. Shall sacred poesy, that heavenward springs, Her flights, to creep before a mortal, lower ? She scorns the song which venal minstrel sings, Nor to delight the proud her own proud offering brings. 374 THE WORLD AS IT IS. v. The worshippers of images offend Against Omnipotence ; nor they alone ? Those too, who, mindless of their nature bend Before a fool or tyrant on a throne ! Such men to scorn their God are ever prone : Their idols soon are swept "away from earth, In folly riotous, with pride upblown. What then avail their victories or mirth, The splendour of their deeds, the lustre of their birth ? 375 ROSAMOND, A FRAGMENT*. " Talche si pote dire Alboino vinse 1' Italia, et una Femina vinse Alboino." Del Regno d l Italia Epitome. " HE would despise me as a thing that bears Insult with patience, or dissolves in tears : A better lesson to his sex I '11 teach ; The cruel madman is within my reach. Revenge is mine ; that passion ill supprest Rages with quicken'd fury in my breast ! Were there no mountebanks to furnish sport For all the savages who crowd his court, But / must be selected to delight Their vaunting spirits forced to such a sight ? Yet it unnerves me not ; my father's will Is done, and hatred stifles sense of ill. This pleasant triumph too may sadly end ; Trust not, fool-hardy prince, the seeming friend ! Thy wife is but thy slave, untrue to thee, Her person is encaged, her heart is free ; * For the story to which this fragment relates, see Gibbon's " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." Quarto edit. vol. iv. page 430. 376 ROSAMOND. Or if not free, another doth possess That, which thee, parricide, can never bless. Not always he who braves in various shapes Death undisguised his secret snare escapes. Thy Lombard chiefs shall not protect thee now, A woman's weak revenge will give the blow. Thus self-absolved from crime, let others prate, I '11 urge my gentle paramour to hate That royal monster whose untender zeal Has forced my soul this agony to feel." Thus spoke the lofty dame, while passions strove Within for mastery hate, vengeance, love. Hate of her cruel lord, revenge on him Who tore her very heart to please his whim. Another passion rose, as bad indeed, Yet such as cheer'd her at her utmost need. The slayer of her kindred forced to wed, Dragg'd like a victim to the nuptial bed, Marriage to her no morning-star appeared : Its imaged brightness once her hopes had cheer'd : Why marvel that her feelings went astray, When thus was undermined their only stay ? 377 BRUTUS. " When the uncomipted part of the senate had, by the death of Caesar, made one great effort to restore their former state and liberty, the success did not answer their hopes; but that whole assembly was so sunk in its authority, that those patriots were forced to fly and give way to the madness of the people, who, by their own disposition, stirred up with the harangues of their orators, were now wholly bent upon single and despotic slavery." SWIFT. WHEN Liberty, triumphing over her foes, Re-breath'd, though affrighted at Italy's woes, The sword of her Brutus was redden'd in vain : He broke, yet the Romans refasten'd, the chain. For tyranny's woe-trumpet, near and afar, Bade the legions of servitude rush to the war. He, the last of the Romans, by Fortune disown'd, (That goddess the brows of an Antony crown'd) Saw Freedom dishonoured by those whom she loved, Saw the charms of mock -glory by thousands approved. All proud of a master, none conscious of shame ; Religion unheeded, and virtue a name.* The genius of Rome had aroused him too late Overborne by the torrent, he yielded to fate. * See an admirable defence of the exclamation of Brutus in his dying moments, in the Dictionnaire de Bayle, article " Brutus," tomei. page 677. 378 ON THE DEATH OF ROSA. . as soon as I am dead, Come all and watch one night about my hearse ; Bring each a mournful story and a tear, To offer at it when I go to earth." The Maid's Tragedy, by BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. A HEART full of feeling, poor Rosa, was thine, Thy virtues deceived thee indeed ; But beauty and tenderness frequently shine In the victims predestined to bleed. Some pitiless hypocrite tainted thy youth, Thus the morn of thy life was o'er cast ; He spoke but of happiness cruel untruth ! At that moment for ever 'twas past. Thy spirit, that sported in yesterday's light, Now sadden'd and droop'd in the shade ; Like the Garland of Chloe * that withered at night, Thy innocence blossom' d to fade. * See Prior's Garland. ON THE DEATH OF ROSA. 379 Rejected of man, the poor sufferer sought That mercy denied her on earth, From Him, in whose eyes our best virtues are nought, If haughtiness pampers their worth. She loved was betray* d is misfortune a crime ? Ah no ! that I ne'er can believe ; The seducer may thrive in his guilt for a time, There is ONE whom he cannot deceive. Fair mourner ! thy agony soon will be o'er, Since Mercy is hovering nigh ; That pang 'tis the price of forgiveness no more, Thou art welcomed by angels on high. 38U VERSES ON THE COMMEMORATION OF THE SECOND CENTENARY OF SHAKSPEARE. WHAT beings, Ariel-like, appear To flit along the sky ? Tis come, 'tis come the joyous year, In gladsomeness they cry. Their eyes with brighter radiance shine. Lighter their wings, and oh ! how fine ! Merrily, merrily, from the air To Fancy's pictured hall repair. There fairy-land in landscape glows ; There Oberon shall crown the brows Of him to whom 'tis meet to pay Our homage on this holy-day. There shines not the sun ; but a new light from heaven, Many-colour'd as Iris, to Genius is given ; "Who waves it, and waving it, fitfully plays O'er our Shakspeare's fine eyes that reflect back its rays. THE SECOND CENTENARY OF SHAKSPEARE. 381 Lo ! seated on her opal throne In robes, eye-spotted, Fancy smiles ; Well might she smile, her fruitful zone With varied pleasures life beguiles. Before her bright eyes, as if in a glass, Fresh scenes in succession continually pass. Unshrouding now her awful form ; (Around her how the passions storm !) Though " ever young yet full of eld," * Great Nature comes, as music swell'd Through Fancy's hall, a mingled strain, Since pleasure, sorrow, all the train Of subject feelings on her wait, Her darling's fame to consecrate. Quickly through the golden gate Glide the fairies, to relate All their pranks of yesternight ; With their coronals of flowers, Gathered after April showers, 'Tis indeed a lovely sight. " Hail ! mortal, hail, near Avon's stream, As o'er thy slumbers Nature smiled, We stole upon thee in a dream, To fill thy soul with fancies wild. * Spenser. 382 THE SECOND CENTENARY OF SHAKSPEARE. The moonlight slept upon the bank, To charm thy guardian from our prank ; But still her sweet influence watch'd o'er thy head, To temper the thoughts which our cunning had bred. Then Nature and Fancy their labours combined To store with their wonderful treasures thy mind ; Now place we on thy head a crown, Fit for thy brows, and thine alone/' The poet bows, his looks express An intellectual consciousness ; His features are so heavenly fair, The mind, the eternal mind beams there. 383 A CHARACTER. ALONZO was no common man, for few Like him, the art of pleasing others knew. Nature on him had kindly lavish' d all Those gifts that please alike in bower or hall ! His soul was bounteous, in his eyes shone forth A spirit that express'd his inward worth : His honour as the sun itself was bright, Though transient mists might intercept its light : Ambition (his a virtue) often turn'd His mind to deeds for which his spirit burn'd : Then would he knit on vacancy his brow, Till e'en with thought exprest it seem'd to glow : Then dreams of greatness rnsh'd upon his brain In better times, those dreams had not been vain ! Long had Hispania been misruled by those Who glut their little minds with others* woes ; Their sole delight to trample on their kind, As serpents taint the fairest things they find ; Danger had scowl' d on all who dared to break The bonds of silence for the people's sake. 384 A CHARACTER. To speak of freedom 'twas indeed to brave The prison's durance, to forestal the grave ! Alonzo knew it ; oft he wish'd to try The chance of war to conquer or to die. The cause was hopeless, and to bleed alone Had more of rashness than of virtue shown, Since Chivalry, the nation's queen of yore, Roused in her sons life's energies no more : But thus compell'd to bear within his soul Feelings that often strove to break control To stifle in his breast the will to dare Nay, more, to find his talents buried there, By public virtue ne'er call'd forth to shine Of honest counsels an exhaustless mine ! Oh, that were misery ! Besides, to wait In seeming lowliness on slaves of state ; Or else, the game of spies, to fret away, In restless fear, day lingering after day ; These evils all so smote upon his heart, He could not bear them ; no, he must depart ; Quit in disguise his land, his native Spain, To seek some foster-country o'er the main ! 385 ABSENT POET TO HIS MISTRESS. Stay ! my charmer, can you leave me ? Cruel, cruel to deceive me ; Well you know how much you grieve me. Cruel charmer, can you go ? Cruel charmer, can you go ? BUR.VS. DOOM'D thus to worship thee in vain, I useless mourn my rigid lot ; Yet happier in this secret pain Than if thy beauty was forgot. The sigh to memory gives a force, That brings before me all thy charms ; Of grief and joy alike the source, Of rapture, or of fond alarms. The smile, for often will the smile Chase the sad shades of thought away, That darken o'er the brows awhile, As clouds o'er-cast an April day 386 THE ABSENT POET TO HIS MISTRESS. The smile re-animates my heart ; Remembrance gives its welcome aid : Then mine, and mine alone, thou art; But soon the phantom-pleasures fade ! The smile is fled the sudden beam That o'er the past so brightly shone, Now fades away ; the fainter gleam Of promised happiness is gone. Oh ! would Futurity unveil What must be, to my mental eye ; My spirit then might cease to quail, When hopes and fears for ever die. Again to meet thee ; then to love With all the zest surprise can bring ; Again to find my absent dove, Again to hear my syren sing This will I hope ; yet, self-deceiving, Like younglings laughing o'er the bowl, That pleasure is their friend believing Thus hope intoxicates the soul. Still is thy dear resemblance mine : How mild, how eloquent that look ! Those eyes like twin-stars seem to shine : I yet possess thee though forsook ; THE ABSENT POET TO HIS MISTRESS. 387 Forsook by her who loved me more, As once I thought than words can tell ; In Spenser's verse we learn'd love's lore, And thou wert then my Florimel. This cheat of fancy long beguiled Our winter nights, our summer days ; And Spenser's gentle spirit smiled To hear two lovers hymn his praise. And then Cleopolis on earth Inimitable, oft we sought ; And oft applauded valour's worth, As knights with savage giants fought : Enough of this ; my care-worn mind Less happy thoughts must now engage ! Mine own dear love I cannot find ; Can. fabled loves my grief assuage ? c c 2 388 THE DEATH OF HOSSEIN. The affecting narration of the death of Hossein, the grandson of Mahomet, may be read (it is, indeed, a pleasure to read it,) in Gibbon's " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," vol. v. page 268, quarto edition. THE Fatimites wearied, yet fearless oppose, Though thinn'd in their numbers, their multiplied foes ; With despair in their looks, how they rage o'er the field I Though broken, their triumph is never to yield ! Their sabres well-flesh'd, still gleam in the air, They fight like the lion aroused from his lair ; Each stroke is a death-blow, in vain, for beneath The pressure of myriads their last gasp they breathe. But one yet remains. On, boasters ! and slay The noblest of victims that 's stricken to-day ! 'Tis Hossein the valiant unarmed, yet unmoved, Though his heart inly bleeds for the brave ones he loved. THE DEATH OF HOSSEIN. 389 Near his tent he awaits the sad signal, and see His boys in the spring-time of age on his knee ! He weeps, but the tear for their sorrow is shed, Now, now, to their hearts swift the death-shaft is sped ! OJ spare him ye murderers, childless, alone He bends o'er the lifeless, their death-knell his groan ; He cries to his God in his agony now, The damp sweat commingling with blood on his brow ! Still merciless ! on, ye brave monsters ! imbrue Your hands in his blood, who is praying for you. Bereft of its ivy, the desolate wall Invites the destroyer to hasten its fall : The warrior is dying ! what spirit appears To rush from his tent ? 'tis his sister in tears ! " Yet save him my brother look, look how he bleeds ! " Oh, Shamar ! " in vain the fair suppliant pleads ! He is slain! but the Moslems yet cherish his fame, And dear to the hearts of the young is his name : And the aged revere it ; the freeman and slave Still mourn for the death of the gentle and brave. 390 THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. WELL might the comic Muse, with drooping head, Heave the deep sigh her Sheridan is dead : The sisters mourn for him, whose master-mind Each separate talent in itself combined, Wit, eloquence, and poetry ; the fame Of either had immortalised his name. O, could the Muse's skill but match her zeal, Then might the mournful lay, like his, appeal To British hearts ; like his, when Garrick died ; How glow'd the verse to sympathy allied ! Each word with plaintive sweetness charm'd the ear, As flowers exhale a fragrance o'er the bier. Where is the mourner now, w T hose bosom bled For kindred genius gone ? he too is dead ! Turn to the scenes of mimic life, there view The characters our young Menander drew : ON THE DEATH OF R. B. SHERIDAN. 391 Caprice in all her wayward fits display'*}, Folly in all her nicer shades portray'd ; The testiness of age the soldier's sense The maiden's sweet discourse Love's eloquence ; The lively wife, not quite by fashion spoil'd ; The smooth artificer of mischief foil'd ; The generous rake, for, lingering near his heart, His better genius would not yet depart ; These, true to nature, still adorn our stage, Or, in his calm retreat, amuse the sage ; These, like the gems of rarer worth are prized, When those of transient value are despised. In senates (there his talents shone confest), As wit delighted, passion storm'd the breast. The mind, with taste, sense, judgment, feeling fraught, Seem'd to be blest by more than human thought ! Hence burning words, for freedom gave the choice, The lightning of his eye, the magic of his voice ! "When social mirth beam'd forth in every eye, His was the lively jest, the keen reply, The " flow of soul," Wit season'd high the song, While playful Fancy drove old Time along. Ye noble few, whose memories ponder o'er His cheerful smile, his wit's unfailing store 392 ON THE DEATH OF R. B. SHERIDAN. Bright to the last, how graceful are your tears ! They tell of what he was in happier years. The friend, whose genius shed its vivid ray Far from your hearts to drive life's cares away The gay companion, sharers in whose mirth You had forgot that sorrow dwelt on earth. Ye fair, who knew his elegance of mind, His soul, still breathing in the verse refin'd ; His purity of heart for her he loved, (Her fondness by the bitterest trial proved) While in your hearts the soft affections live, His faults, whatever they were, you must forgive. And you, you all, whom many a sprightly scene Waking applause, shall teach what he has been ; Who still revere the patriot, love the bard, From Envy's blight his sacred memory guard ! While Glory, circling round his cold, pale urn, By Fancy watch'd, shall undefiled burn. 393 AN EVENING IN CUBA. " The clearness and brilliancy of the heavens, the serenity of the air, and the soft tranquillity in which Nature reposes, contri- bute to harmonise the mind, and to produce calm and delightful sensations." EDWARDS'S West Indies, vol. i. page 10. How lovely was that eve, the moon shone clear, Not e'en a vapoury cloud was sailing near ! The fire-flies swarm'd around with fitful glare, Like magic gems they sparkled through the air Now glow'd the stars, in such a bright array, They seem'd to lighten forth a milder day : There might the exulting soul aspire to be Mingled with light through all eternity ! 394 THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. WRITTEN AFTER SEEING " TIMON OF ATHENS" AT DRURY LANE THEATRE. I. GENIUS of fallen Babylon behold In London, mart of opulence and vice, Thy scenes of former luxury unroll' d ! Here everything, e'en woman, has its price : Here Mammon plies his subtle trade with dice : Bevies of dainty damsels here abound, With Levi's tribe the unwary to entice, Till fortune, mind, and body be unsound : Corruption's fatal gulfs here menace all around ! Much is allow'd to youth, to feelings strong, To Pleasure's tempting look, companions gay ; He who would scorn the soul-awakening song, Whose heart is shut 'gainst beauty's genial ray, THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. 395 He would despise the loveliness of May ; Not outward, no, nor inward sunshine warms His soul, himself a moving mass of clay. The goodliest prospect has for him no charms ; He never, never felt the lover's sweet alarms. in. Awake to life ! no more of harlot's smiles Dream, nor the noisy merriment of knaves! How many losels perish by the wiles Of sweet Aspasias, Timon's grateful slaves ! Lo ! the trim yacht rides buoyant o'er the waves, Fairer in show, more fragile than the rest Of meaner barks : the sudden tempest raves Amidst the ignoble craft she rolls distrest, It nought avails her now to be so gaily drest. IV. "Tis vain to mourn yet oft remorse will tear The breast, from which all virtues are not wrung By Wantonness, false witch ! whose aspect fair Blinds doating eld, and fascinates the young, Till by her arts their sinews are unstrung, Their strength exhausted ; wasted in their prime, They mar those hopes to which their parents clung ; Fame, fortune, genius sacrificed to crime And all these lessons learn' d in boyhood's happier time ! 396 THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. v. Life is a blank to those whom Fancy blest E'en in their infancy ; for why ? they scorn, When Pleasure, warmly sought, has lost her zest, Those social duties for which man is born : A long, long night succeeds their lovely morn ! Where shall the luckless child of Nature turn, Baffled by hope, by fiercer passions torn ? He dares the wisdom of the world to spurn. Yet by the world misled, for ever doom'd to mourn ! Be then utility alone the aim Of all thy actions ; ere it be too late The doubtful meed of poesy disclaim ; Let nobler hopes thy glowing soul elate, With honest zeal uphold the sinking state : Be this the penance for thy follies past. Far better than in maudlin verse to prate Of what in days of revelry thou wast : Shall self-recorded vice its acted time outlast ? VII. Invention too must cease to yield delight ; For pleasure has its limits : then refrain Awhile from courting Fancy's aid poor wight ! Thoughts too intense will prey upon thy brain : THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. 397 Since e'en an o'er-fraught memory brings pain. Nature's unbounded realms would'st thou explore ? She views thy puny efforts with disdain: The learned are but idlers on her shore; So deem'd that wondrous man best skill'd in Nature's lore. VIII. Thy brethren in distress demand thy care, Whose only bed is now the cold damp earth ; Go these relieve ; far sweeter is the prayer For thee, for thine, that gratitude pours forth, Than heartless praises, which the sons of mirth, Madd'ning with lust and wine, on thee bestow. Shall they to-morrow still proclaim thy worth, "Who with o'erflowing zeal to-night do glow ? Fond liberal fool ! I fear 'twill not indeed be so ? IX. O Howard, Reynolds ! names to man more dear Than those of heroes who have fought and died ! You follow'd well our Saviour's footsteps here, "While dove-eyed Charity celestial guide Scatter'd unnumber'd blessings by your side ! To save the soul oppress'd by guilt, to give To virtuous industry an honest pride ; This your ambition may it ever live Fresh with the dews of heaven its boundless laurels thrive. 398 NOTE 'THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT." P. 397, 1. 5. So deem'd that wondrous man, fyc. " It is related of Sir Isaac Newton, that, in speaking on some occasion of his discoveries, he compared himself to a boy collect- ing pebbles NS, PRINTERS TO THE QUEEN. HITKFRIARS. FOURTEEN DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. V>^J> >3> 3 ^;>> > i> >> >