Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub

Say, when these long-unfolding scenes appear, The vale where musing Quiet treads,

Streams down thy hoary cheek the pity-darting

tear?

I. 2.

The flow'r-clad lawns, and bloomy meads,
Or streams where Zephyr loves to stray
Beneath the pale eve's twinkling ray;

Cast o'er yon trackless waste thy wand'ring eye: Or waving woods detain the sight

Yon hill, whose gold-illumin'd brow,
Just trembling thro' the bending sky,
O'erlooks the boundless wild below,
Once bore the branching wood
That o'er yon murmuring flood
Hung wildly waving to the rustling gale;
The naked heath with moss o'ergrown,
That hears the lone owl's nightly inoan,
Once bloom'd with summer's copious store,
Once rais'd the lawn-bespangled flow'r;
Or heard some lover's plaintive lay,
When, by pale Cynthia's silver ray,
All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale, [tale.
And taught the list ning moon the melancholy

I. 3.

Ye wilds where heaven-rapt Fancy roves!
Ye sky crown'd hills, and solemn groves!
Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells!
Ye caves where night-bred Silence dwells!
Ghosts that in yon lonely hall
Lightly glance along the wall;
Or beneath yon ivy'd tow'r,
At the silent midnight hour,
Stand array'd in spotless white,
And stain the dusky robe of Night;
Or with slow solemn pauses roam
O'er the long-sounding hollow dome!
Say, mid yon desert solitary round,

When darkness wraps the boundless spheres,
Does ne'er some dismal, dying sound
On Night's dull serious ear rebound;

[years?

That mourns the ceaseless lapse of life-consuming
II. 1.

O call th' inspiring glorious hour to view,
When Caledonia's martial train
From

yon steep rock's high-arching brow
Pour'd on the heart-struck flying Dane!
When War's blood-tinctur'd spear
Hung o'er the trembling rear ; [flight:
When light-heel'd Terror wing'd their headlong
You tow'rs then rung with wild alarms!
Yon desert gleam'd with shining arms!
While on the bleak hill's bright'ning spire
Bold Victory flam'd, with eyes of fire;
Her limbs celestial robes enfold,

Her wings were ting'd with spangling gold,
She spoke her words infus'd resistless might,
And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the
soul of fight.

II. 2.

When from the gloomy cave of night

Some cloud sweeps shadowy o'er the dusky skies, And wraps the flying scene, that fades, and swims, and dies.

II. 3.

Lo! rising from yon dreary tomb,
What spectres stalk across the gloom!
With haggard eyes, and visage pale,
And voice that moans with feeble wail!
O'er yon long resounding plain
Slowly moves the solemn train;
Wailing wild with shrieks of woe
O'er the bones that rest below!
While the dull night's startled ear
Shrinks aghast with thrilling fear!
Or stand with thin robes wasting soon,
And eyes that blast the sick'ning moon!
Yet these, ere Time had roll'd their years away,
Ere Death's fell arm had mark'd its aim,
Rul'd yon proud tow'rs with ample sway,
Beheld the trembling swains obey,

And wrought the glorious deed that swell'd the
trump of Fame.

III. 1.

But why o'er these indulge the bursting sigh?
Feels not each shrub the tempest's pow'r?
Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly?
Nor shakes the hill when thunders roar?
Lo! mould'ring, wild, unknown,
What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown,
What tumbling chaos marks the waste of Time!
I see Palmyra's temples fall;

[ocr errors]

Old Ruin shakes the hanging wall!
Yon waste where roaming lions howl,
Yon aisle where moans the grey-eyed owl,
Shows the Proud Persian's great abode *
Where sceptred once, an earthly god! [clime,
His pow'r-clad arm control'd each happier
Where sports the warbling Muse, and Fancy
soars sublime.

III. 2.
Hark! what dire sound rolls murm'ring on the
Ah! what soul-thirsting scene appears? [gale?
I see the column'd arches fail!
And structures hoar, the boast of years!
What mould'ring piles, decay'd,
Gleam through the moon-streak'd shade,
Where Rome's proud genius rear'd her awful
Sad monument! Ambition near
Rolls on the dust, and pours a tear;

-

But, ah! what hand the smiling prospect brings: Pale Honor drops the flutt'ring plume,

What voice recals th' expiring day?

See, darting swift on eagle-wings,
The glancing moment bursts away!
So from some mountain's head,

In mantling gold array'd,

While bright-eyed Fancy stands iu sweet surprise:

[ocr errors]

[brow!

And Conquest weeps o'er Caesar's tomb;
Slow Patience sits, with eye deprest,
And Courage beats his sobbing breast; [flow,
Ev'n War's red cheek the gushing streams o'er-
And Fancy's list'ning ear attends the plaint of
Woe,

[blocks in formation]

III. 3.

Lo, on yon pyramid sublime,
Whence lies Old Egypt's desert clime,
Bleak, naked, wild! where ruin low'rs,
'Mid fanes, and wrecks, and tumbling tow'rs,
On the steep height, waste and bare,
Stands the Pow'r with hoary hair!
O'er his scythe he bends; his hand
Slowly shakes the flowing sand,
While the hours, and airy ring
Lightly flit, with downy wing,
And sap the works of man; and shade
With silver locks his furrow'd head;
Thence rolls the mighty pow'r his broad survey,

And seals the nations' awful doom:
He sees proud grandeur's meteor ray;
He yields to joy the festive day;

Rapt Contemplation stalks along,
And hears the slow clock's pealing tongue;
Or, 'mid the dun discolor'd gloom,
Sits on the hero's peaceful tomb,
Throws life's gay glitt'ring robe aside,
And tramples on the neck of Pride.
Oft, shelter'd by the rambling sprays,
Lead o'er the forest's winding maze;
Where, thro' the mantling boughs, afar
Gliminers the silver-streaming star;
And, shower'd from ev'ry rustling blade,
The loose light floats along the shade:
So hov'ring o'er the human scene
Gay Pleasure sports with brow serene:
By Fancy beam'd, the glancing ray
Shoots, flutters, gleams, and fleets away:
Unsettled, dubious, restless, blind,
Floats all the busy bustling mind;

Then sweeps the length'ning shade, and marks While Mem'ry's unstain'd leaves retain them for the tomb.

$120. Ode to Evening. OGILVIE.
MEEK Pow'r, whose balmy-pinion'd gale
Steels o'er the flow'r-enamell'd dale!
Whose voice in gentle whispers near
Oft sighs to Quiet's list'ning ear;
As, on her downy couch, at rest,
By Thought's inspiring visions blest
She sits, with white-rob'd Silence nigh,
And musing heaves her serious eye,
To mark the slow sun's glimm'ring ray,
To catch the last pale gleam of day;
Or, sunk in sweet repose, unknown
Lies on the wild hill's van alone:
And sees thy gradual pencil flow
Along the heaven-illumin'd bow.

Come, Nymph demure, with mantle blue,
Thy traces bath'd in balmy dew,
With step smooth sliding o'er the green,
The graces breathing in thy mien;
And thy vesture's gather'd fold
Girt with a zone of circling gold;
And bring the harp, whose solemn string
Dies to the wild wind's murm'ring wing;
And the Nymph, whose eye serene
Marks the calm-breathing woodland scene:
Thought, mountain sage! who loves to climb,
And haunts the dark rock's summit dim;
Let Fancy, falcon-wing'd, be near:
And through the cloud-envelop'd sphere,
Where musing roams Retirement hoar,
Lull'd by the torrent's distant roar,
Oh bid with trembling light to glow
The raven-plume that crowns his brow.
Lo, where thy meek-ey'd train attend!
Queen of the solemn thought, descend!
Oh hide me in romantic bow'rs!
Or lead my step to ruin'd tow'rs!
Where gleaming through the chinky door
The pale ray gilds the moulder'd floor;
While beneath the hallow'd pile,
Deep in the desert shrieking aisle,

No trace from all th' ideal train.

But see, the landscape op'ning fair
Invites to breathe the purer air!
Oh when the cowslip-scented gale
Shakes the light dew-drop o'er the dale,
When on her amber-dropping bed
Loose Ease reclines her downy head;
How blest! by fairy-haunted stream
To melt in mild ecstatic dream!
Die to the pictur'd wish, or hear
(Breath'd soft on Fancy's trembling ear)
Such lays by angel-harps refin'd,
As half unchain'd the flutt'ring mind,
When on life's edge it eyes the shore,
And all its pinions stretch to soar.

Lo, where the sun's broad orb withdrawa
Skirts with pale gold the dusky lawn;
While, led by ev'ry gentler pow'r,
Steals the slow, solemn, musing hour.
Now from the green hill's purple brow
Let me mark the scene below;

Where, feebly glancing thro' the gloom,
Yon myrtle shades the silent tomb:
Not far, beneath the evening beam
The dark lake rolls his azure stream,
Whose breast the swan's white plumes divide,
Slow-sailing o'er the floating tide.
Groves, meads, and spires, and forests bare,
Shoot glimm'ring thro' the misty air;
Dim as the vision-pictur'd bow'r
That gilds the saint's expiring hour,
When, rapt to ecstasy, his eye
Looks through the blue ethereal sky:
All heaven unfolding to his sight!
Gay forms that swim in floods of light!
The sun-pav'd floor, the balmy clime,
The ruby-beaming dome sublime;
The tow'rs in glitt'ring pomp display'd -
The bright scene hovers o'er his bed:
He starts but from his eager gaze
Black clouds obscure the lessening rays;
On mem'ry still the scene is wrought,
And lives in Fancy's featur'd thought.
On the airy mount reclin'd
What wishes sooth the musing mind!

[ocr errors]

How soft the velvet lap of Spring How sweet the Zephyr's violet wing! Goddess of the plaintive song, That leads the melting heart along! Oh bid the voice of genial pow'r Reach Contemplation's lonely bow'r; And call the sage with tranced sight To climb the mountain's steepy height; To wing the kindling wish, or spread O'er Thought's pale cheek enliv'ning red Come, hoary Pow'r, with serious eye, Whose thought explores yon distant sky; Now, when the busy world is still, Nor passion tempts the wav'ring will, When sweeter hopes each pow'r control, And quiet whispers to the soul, Now sweep from life, th' illusive train That dance in Folly's dizzy brain: Be Reason's simple draught portray'd, Where blends alternate light and shade ; Bid dimpled Mirth, with thought belied, Sport on the bubble's glitt'ring side; Bid Hope pursue the distant boon, And Phrensy watch the fading moon; Paint Superstition's starting eye, And Wit that leers with gesture sly; Let Censure whet her venom'd dart, And green-eyed Envy gnaw the heart; Let Pleasure lie on flow'rs reclin'd, While anguish aims her shaft behind. Hail, Sire sublime! whose hallow'd cave Howls to the hoarse deep's dashing wave; Thee Solitude to Phoebus bore, Far on the lone, deserted shore, Where Orellano's rushing tide Roars on the rock's projected side. Hence bursting o'er thy ripen'd mind, Beams all the father's thought refin'd; Hence oft, in silent vales unseen, Thy footsteps print the fairy green; Or thy soul melts to strains of woe, That from the willow's quiv'ring bough Sweet warbling breathe-the zephyrs round O'er Dee's smooth current waft the sound, When soft on bending osiers laid The broad sun trembling through the bed; All wild thy heav'n-rapt fancy strays, Led thro' the soul-dissolving maze; Till slumber downy-pinion'd, near Plants her strong fetlocks on thy ear; The soul unfetter'd bursts away, And basks enlarg'd in beamy day.

§ 121. Ode to Innocence. OGILVIE. TWAS when the slow-declining ray Had ting'd the cloud with evening gold; No warbler pour'd the melting lay, No sound disturb'd the sleeping fold: When by a murm'ring rill reclin'd, Sat, wrapt in thought, a wand'ring swain; Calm peace compos'd his musing mind; And thus he rais'd the flowing strain:

Hail, Innocence! celestial Maid! "What joys thy blushing charms reveal! "Sweet as the arbor's cooling shade, "And milder than the vernal gale. "On Thee attends a radiant choir, "Soft smiling Peace, and downy Rest; "With Love, that prompts the warbling lyre; "And Hope, that sooths the throbbing breast. "Oh sent from heaven to haunt the grove, "Where squinting Envy ne'er can come ! "Nor pines the cheek with luckless love, "Nor anguish chills the living bloom. "But spotless Beauty rob'd in white, "Sits on yon moss-grown hill reclin'd: "Serene as heaven's unsullied light, "And pure as Delia's gentle mind. "Grant, heavenly Pow'r! thy peaceful sway May still my ruder thoughts control; Thy hand to point my dubious way, Thy voice to sooth the melting soul.

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Far in the shady, sweet retreat,

"Let Thought beguile the ling'ring hour; "Let Quiet court the inossy seat, "And twining olives from the bow'r : "Let dove-eyed Peace her wreath bestow, "And oft sit list'ning in the dale, "While Night's sweet warbler from the bough "Tells to the grove her plaintive tale. "Soft, as in Delia's snowy breast, "Let each consenting passion move; "Let Angels watch its silent rest, "And all its blissful dreams be Love!"

[blocks in formation]

FAR from the savage bandit's fierce alarms,
Or distant din of horrid despot's arms,
Tho' Pennsylvania boasts her peaceful plain,
Yet there in blood her petty tyrants reign.

With waving pines tho' vocal woods be crown'd And stream-fed vales with livingwealthabound, To golden fields tho' ripening rays descend, With blushing fruit tho' loaded branches bend To thosewho ne'er must freedom's blessingstaste, 'Tis barren all, 'tis all a worthless waste.

Whilehoarse the cataract murmur'd on the gale
And chilling dews swept thro' the murky dale;
Along the hills the dismal tempest howl'd,
And lightnings flash'd, and deep the thunder
roll'd;

Beneath a leafless tree, ere morn arose,
The slave Adala thus laments his woes.
Ye grisly spectres, gather round my seat,
From caves unblest that wretch's groans re-
peat!

Terrific forms, from misty lakes arise!
And bloody meteors threaten thro' the skies!
Oh curs'd destroyers of our hapless race,
Of human kind the terror and disgrace!

Lo!

[blocks in formation]

sleep;

Now, while the bitter blasts surround my head,
To times long past my restless soul is led,
Far, far beyond the azure hills, to groves
Of ruddy fruit, where beauty fearless roves —
O blissful seats! O self-approving joys!
Nature's plain dictates! ignorance of vice!
O guiltless hours! Our cares and wants were few,
No arts of luxury or deceit we knew.
Our labor, sport-to tend our cottage care,
Or from the palm the luscious juice prepare ;
To sit indulging love's delusive dream,
And snare the silver tenants of the stream;
Or (nobler toil) to aim the deadly blow
With dextrous art against the spotted foe;
O days with youthful daring mark'd! 'twas then
I dragg'd the shaggy monster from his den,
And boldly down the rocky mountain's side
Hurl'd the grim panther in the foaming tide.
Our healthful sports a daily feast afford,
And ev'n still found us at the social board.

Can I forget, ah me! the fatal day,
When half the vale of peace was swept away!
Ti affrighted maids in vain the gods implore,
And weeping view from far the happy shore;
The frantic dames impatient ruffians seise,
And infants shriek, and clasp their mothers knees;
With galling fetters soon their limbs are bound,
Andgroansthroughoutthe noisome bark resound.
Why was I bound! why did not Whydah see
Adala gain or death or victory!

No storms arise, no waves revengeful roar,
To dash the monsters on our injur'd shore.
Long o'er the foaming deep to worlds unknown,
By envious winds the bulky vessels blown,
While by disease and chains the weak expire,
Or parch'd endure the slow consuming fire.
Who'd in this land of many sorrows live,
Where death's the only comfort tyrants give?
Tyrants unblest! Each proud of strict command,
Nor age nor sickness holds the iron hand;
Whose hearts, in adamant involv'd, despise
The drooping female's tears, the infant's cries,

The Quakers in America have set free all their

From whose stern brows no grateful look e'er beams, [shames. Whose blushless front nor rape nor murder

Nor all I blame; for Nastal, friend to peace, Thro' his wide pastures bids oppression cease*; No drivers goad, no galling fetters bind, No stern compulsion damps th' exalted mind. There strong Arcona's fated to enjoy Domestic sweets, and rear his progeny ; To till his glebe employs Arcona's care, To Nastal's God he nightly makes his pray'r; His mind at ease, of Christian truths he 'll boast He has no wife, no lovely offspring lost. Gay his savannah blooms, while mine appears Scorch'd up with heat, or moist with blood and

tears.

Cheerful his hearth in chilling winter burns, While to the storm the sad Adala inourtis.

Lift high the scourge, my soul the rack disdains;
I pant for freedom and my native plains!
Shall I his holy Prophet's aid implore,
And wait for justice on another shore?
Or, rushing down yon mountain's craggy steep,
End all my sorrows in the sullen deep?
The dashing wave beneath roars harsh and load-
A cliff there hangs in yon grey morning cloud,

But doubts and fears involve my anxious mind,
The gulphof deathonce pass'd, what shore wefind:
Dubious, if sent beyond th' expanded main,
This soul shall seek its native realms again :
Or if in gloomy mists condemn'd to lie,
Beyond the limits of yon arching sky.
And in my dreams the vale of peace appears,
A better prospect oft my spirit cheers,
And flecting visions of my former life:
My hoary sire I clasp, my long-lost wife,
And oft kiss my gentle babes in sleep, [weep.
Till, with the sounding whip, I'm wak'd io
Lift high the scourge, my soul the rack disdains;
I pant for free lom and my native plains!

Chiefs of the earth, and monarchs of the sea, Who vaunt your hardy ancestors were free ; Whose teachers plead th' oppress'd and injur'd's

cause,

And prove the wisdom of your Prophet's laws;
To force and fraud if justice must give place,
You're dragg'd to slavery by some rougher race.
Some rougher race your flocks shall force away,
Like Afric's sons your children must obey;
The very Gods that view their constant toil,
Shall see your offspring till a ruder soil,
The pain of thirst and pinching hunger know,
And all the torments that from bondage flow,
When far remov'dfrom Christian worlds weprove
The sweets of peace, the lasting joys of love.

But,hark! the whip's harsh echo thro' the trees!
On every trembling limb fresh horrors seise—
Alas! 'tis morn, and here I sit alone →
Be strong, my soul, and part without a groan!
Ruffians proceed! Adala ne'er shall swerve,
Prepare the rack, and strain each aching nervel
Negroes, and allow them wages as other servants.

O:

Lift high the scourge, my soul the rack disdains; | How would ye bear in real pain to lie,
I pant for freedom and my native plains.
ThouGod, whogild'stwithlighttheir rising day?
Who life dispensest by the genial ray!
Will thy slow vengeance never, never fall,
But undistinguish'd favor shine ou all?
L O hear a suppliant wretch's last, sad pray'r!
Dart fiercest rage! infect the ambient air!
This pallid race, whose hearts are bound in steel,
By dint of suffering teach them how to feel.

Despis'd, neglected, left alone to die?
How would ye bear to draw your latest breath,
Whereall that's wretched paves the way for deathr

Or to some despot's lawless will betray'd
Give them to know what wretches they have

made!

Beneath the lash let them resign their breath,
Or court, in chains, the clay-cold hand of death,
Or, worst of ills! within each callous breast
Cherish uncurb'd the dark internal pest;
Bid av'rice swell with undiminish'd rage,
While no new worlds th' accursed thirst assuage;
Then bid the monsters on each other turn,
The fury passions in disorder burn;

Bid Discord flourish, civil crimes increasè,
Nor one fond wish arise that pleads for peace-
Till, with their crimes in wild confusion hurl'd,
They wake t'eternal anguish in a future world*.
§ 123. A Description of a Parish Poor House.

CRABBE.

[blocks in formation]

there :

Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed,
Forsaken wiyes, and mothers never wed;
Dejected widows, with unheeded tears, [fears!
And crippled age, with more than childhood
The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they!
The moping idiot, and the madman gay.

Here too the sick their final doom receive,
Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve:
Where the loud groans from some sad chainber
flow,

Mix'd with the clamors of the crowd below:
Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan,
And the cold charities of man to man:
Whose laws indeed for rnin'd age provide,
And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from
pride;

But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh,
And pride embitters what it can't deny.

Say ye, oppress'd by some fantastic woes,
Some farring nerve that baffles your repose;
Who pressthe downy couch, while slaves advance
With timid eye, to read the distant glance;
Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease
To name the nameless ever-new disease;
Whowith mock-patience direcomplaints endure,
Which real pain, and that alone, can secure;

Such is that room which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters form the sloping sides;
Where the vile bands that bindthe thatch areseen,
And lath and mud are all that lie between ;
Save one dullpane, that,coarsely patch'd,givesway
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day:
Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;
For him no hand the cordial cup applies,
Nor wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes;
No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile,
Nor promise hope till sickness wears a smile.
$124. Description of a Country Apothecary.
CRABBE.
BUT soon a loud and hasty summons calls,
Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the
Auon a figure enters, quaintly neat, [walls:
All pride and bus'ness, bustle and conceit;
With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go;
With looks unalter'd by these scenes of woe,
He bids the gazing throng around him fly,
And carries fate and physic in his eye;
A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills,
Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy bench protect,
Who first insults the victim whom he kills;
And whose most tender mercy, is neglect.

Paid by the parish for attendance here,
In haste he seeks the bed where misery lies,
He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer;
Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes;
And, some habitual queries hurried o'er,
Without reply, he rushes on the door;
His drooping patient, long inur'd to pain,
He ceases now the feeble help to crave
And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain;

Of

man, and inutely hastens to the grave.
§ 125. Description of a Country Clergyman
visiting the Sick. CRABBE.
BUT, ere his death, some pious doubts arise,
Some simple fears which "bold bad" men
despise ;

Fain would he ask the parish priest to prove
His title certain to the joys above;
For this he sends the murmuring nurse, who calls
The holy stranger to these dismal walls :
And doth not he, the pious man, appear,
He, "passing rich with forty pounds a-year?"
Ah no! a shepherd of a different stock,
And far unlike him, feeds this little flock;
A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task
As much as God or man can fairly ask;
The rest he gives to loves, and labors light,
To fields the morning, and to feasts the night;
None better skill'd the noisy pack to guide,
To urge their chace, to cheer them, or to chide;
Sure in his shot, his game he seldom miss'd,
And seldonifail'd to win his game at whist;

This Eclogue was written during the American war.

Then

[ocr errors]
« НазадПродовжити »