Skip to main content

Full text of "The poetical works of S.T. Coleridge [microform] : including the dramas of Wallenstein, Remorse, and Zapola"

See other formats 


Google 



This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http: //books .google .com/I 



-J 






U::L 



Presented to 
The New York Public Library 

IN MEMORY OF 

FRANCIS MINOT WELD 

. 1875 - 1949 . 




THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

S. T. COLERIDGE. 

VOL. I. 



POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

S. T. COLERIDGE, 

InCLDDIHO THE PRIUAB Or 

WALLENSTEIN, REMORSE, AND ZAPOLYA. 
rS THREE VOLUMES. 




VOL. I. 
/ 

^^ LONDON: 

WILLIAM PICKERING. 
HDCCCXZVUl. 

M,5 



riBLie LIBRARY 

537690B 

X^ZCll, I.ll\'JX AND 
TlLUa^ i'OVNDATIOMB 

B 1950 L 



iwUVUu.PrtBttrf 
JokMOB^ Coot. 



CONTENTS. 

VOLUME I. 



Gteneriere •••••• 9 

Monody on the Death of Chatterton 19 

Time, real and imaginary 11 

Songs of the Pixies 19 

The RaTen 95 

Absence, a Farewell Ode S8 

Lines on an Autumnal ETening 30 

The Rose •, 35 

The Kiss 37 

ToaTonng Ass 39 

Domestic Peace ....41 

The Sigh 49 

Epitaph on an In&nt ••• 43 

Lines written at the King's Arms, Ross • . • 44 

Lines to a beautiful Spring in a '^IHllage 46 

On a Friend who died of a Frenxy Fever indneed by 

calumnious reports 48 

To a Toung Lady with a Poem on the French Revolution 51 

iSonnet I. My Heart has thanked thee Bowles 54 

IL Aslatellayfai Slumber's Shadowy Vale.... 55 



VI CONTENTS. 

Pafe 

Sonnet III. Though roused by that dark Vizir Riot rude 56 
— — — — - IV When British Freedom from an happier 

Land 57 

V. It was some Spirit, Sheridan ! 58 

VI. O what a loud and fearful Shriek 59 

VII. As when far off 60 

VIII. Thou gentle look 61 

IX. Pale Roamer through the Night 1 62 

X. Sweet Mercy! 63 

XI. Thou Bleedest my Poor Heart .* 64 

XII. To the Author of the Robbers 65 

Lines, composed while climbing Brockley Coomb 66 

Lines in the Manner of Spenser 67 

Imitated from Ossian 70 

The Complaint of Ninathoma 72 

Imitated from the Welsh 73 

To an In&nt 74 

Lines in Answer to a Letter from Bristol 76 

To a Friend in Answer to a melancholy Letter 82 

Religious Muangs 84 

The Destiny of Nations, a Vision 104 

Sibylline Lbaves. 

Ode to the Departing Year 131 

France, an Ode 139 

Tears in Solitude 144 

Fire, Famine and Slaughter 155 

LoTe 161 

Lewti, or the Circassian Love Chaunt 167 

The Picture, or the Lover's Resolution 171 

The Night Scene, a Dramatic Fragment 179 

To an Unfortunate Woman 184 



CONTEHTS. VU 



To an Unfiirtimate Woman at the Theatre 186 

Unei oompoaed m a Concert Room 188 

The Keepsake 191 

To a Lady, with Falconer's Shipwreck 194 

To a Toung Lady on her recovery from a Ferer .... 196 

Something Childish, but very Natural 198 

Home-sick : written in Germany 200 

Answer to a Child's Question 202 

The Visionary Hope 203 

The Happy Husband 205 

Recollections of Love 207 

On revisiting the Sea-shore 209 

Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni 213 

Lines written.in an Album at Elbingerode in the Harts 

Forest 218 

On observing a Blossom on the First of February 221 

The Eolian Harp 223 

Recollections on having left a place of Retirement .... 227 

To the Rev. George Coleridge 231 

Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath 235 

A Tombless Epiti^>h 237 

This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison 239 

To a Friend, who had declared his intention of writing 

no more Poetry 244 

To a Gentleman, composed on the night after his reci- 
tation ofa Poem on the growth of an individual mind 247 

Frost at Midnight 261 

The Three Graves 267 

Defection, an Ode 289 

Ode to Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire 296 



Viii ■ CONTENTS. 

Pace 

Ode to Tranquillity 300 

To a Toung Friend, oa his proposing to domesticate 

with the Author 302 

Lines to W. L. Esq* while he sang a song to Purcell's 

Music '. 306 

Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune 307 

Sonnet To the Rirer Otter 309 

Composed on a journey homeward after hear- 
ing of the hirth ofa Son 310 

To a Friend 311 

The Virgin's Cradle Hymn 312 

Epitaph on an Infknt 313 

Melancholy, a Fragment 314 

Ten's Birth Place 315 

A Christmas Carol 317 

Human Life 320 

The Vision of the Gods ; . . . 322 

Elegy, imitated from Akendde ^324 

Kubla Khan 329 

Apologetic Pre&ce to Fire, Famine and Slaughter .... 387 



COKTBVTS. IX 



VOLUME II. 



fit. 

The Akcibiit Marimer. Part I 3 

Partll 8 

Pirtlll 12 

Part IV 17 

PartV 21 

Part VI 27 

Part VII 33 

Cbribtabbl. PartI 43 

Conclusion to Part I 56 

Partll 59 

Condiuion to Part II 73 

Prose in Rbtme ; or Epigrams, Moralities, &c. 

Duty surviving Self Love 77 

Song 78 

Phantom or Fact f a Dialogue in Verse 79 

Work without Hope 81 

Youth and Age 82 

A Day Dream 84 

To a Lady, ofifended by a sportive observation 86 

Reason for Love's Blindness 86 

Lines suggested by the Last Word's of Berengarius . . 87 

The Devil's Thoughts 89 

The Alienated Mistress 93 



X CONTENTS. 

Constancy to an Ideal Object 94 

The Suicide's Argument 96 

The Blossoming of the Solitary Date Tree 97 

Sonnet. Fancy in Nubibus 120 

The Two Founts 103 

The Wanderings of Cain 109 

Remorse, a Tragedy 118 

Appendix 132 

Zapolta, a Christmas Tale 237 

Part I. The Prelude, entitled " The Usurper's For- 
tune" 237 

Part II. The Sequel, entitled " The Usurper's Fate" 274 



VOLUME III. 



The Piccolomimi, or The First Part of Wallenstein 1 
The Death of Wallenstein 429 



PREFACE.* 



Compositions resembling those of the present 
vohime are not unfrequently condemned for their 
qoemlous E^tism. But Egotism is to be condemned 
then only when it offends against Time and Place, 
as in an History or an Epic Poem. To censure it in 
a Monody or Sonnet is almost as absurd as to dislike 
a circle for being round. Why then write Sonnets 
or Monodies ? Because they give me pleasure when 
perhaps nothing else could. After the more violent 
emotions of Sorrow, the mind demands amusement, 
and can find it in employment alone ; but full of its 
late sufferings, it can endure no employment not in 
some measure connected with them. Forcibly to 
turn away our attention to general subjects is a 
painful and most often an unavailing effort. 

« To the First and Second Editions. 

VOL. I. B 



2 PREFACE. 

" But O ! how gratefol to a wounded heart 
The tale of Misery to impart — 
From others* eyes bid artless sorrows flow. 
And raise esteem upon the base of Woe !" 

Shaw. 

The communicatiyeness of our Nature leads us to 
describe our own sorrows ; in the endeavour to de- 
scribe them, intellectual activity is exerted ; and from 
intellectual activity there results a pleasure, which is 
gradually associated, and mingles as a corrective, 
with the painful subject of the description. ** True !" 
(it may be answered) *' but how are the Public 
interested in your Sorrows or your Description V We 
are for ever attributing personal Unities to imaginary 
Aggregates. What is the Public, but a term for a 
numlj^r of scattered individuals ? Of whom as many 
will be interested in these sorrows, as have expe- 
rieoced the same or similar. 



" Holy be the lay 
Which mourning soothes the mourner on his way. 



If I could judge of others by myself, I should not 
hesitate to affirm, that the most interesting passages 
are those in which the Author developes his own 



PREFACE. o 

feelings ? The sweet voice of Cona* never sounds 
80 sweetly, as when it speaks of itself; and I should 
almost suspect that man of an unkindly heart, who 
cookl read the opening of the third book of the 
Paradise Lost without peculiar emotion. By a Law 
of our* Nature, he, who labomB under a strong feel- 
ing, is impelled to seek for sympathy; but a Poet's 
feelings .are all strong. Quicquid amet valde amat. 
Abenside therefore speaks vnth philosophical accu- 
racy when he classes Love and Poetry, as producing 
the same effects : 



tt 



Lore and the wish of Poets when their tongue 

Would teach to others* hosoms, what so charms 

Their own." 

Pliasurzs or Imagination. 



There is one species of Egotism which is truly 
dii^sting ; not that which leads us to communicate 
our feelings to others, but that which would reduce 
the feelings of others to an identity with our own. 
The Atheist, who exclaims, *^ pshaw V* when he 
glances his eye on the praises of Deity, is an Ego- 
tist : an old man, when he speaks contemptuously of 

^Ossian. 



PREFACE. 



Love-verses, is an Egotist : and the sleek Favorites 
of Fortune are Egotists, when they condemn all 
" melancholy, discontented" verses. Surely, it would 
be candid not merely to ask whether the poem pleases 
ourselves, but to consider whether or no there may 
not be others, to whom it is well calculated to give 
an innocent pleasure. 

I shall only add, that each of my readers will, I 
hope, remember, that these Poems on various sub- 
jects, which he reads at one time and under the 
influence of one set of feelings, were written at dif- 
ferent times and prompted by very different feelings ; 
and therefore that the supposed inferiority of one 
Poem to another may sometimes be owing to the 
temper of mind, in which he happens to peruse it. 



My poems have been rightly charged with a pro- 
fusion of double-epithets, and a general turgidness. 
I have pruned the double-epithets with no sparing 
hand ; and used my best efforts to tame the swell and. 
glitter both of thought and diction. This latter fault 
however had insinuated itself into my Religious 



PREFACE* 



Musings with such intricacy of nnion, that sometimes 
I have omitted to disentangle the weed from the fear 
of snapping the flower, A third and heavier accusa- 
tion has been brought against me, that of obscurity ; 
hat not, I think, with equal justice. An Author is 
obscure, when his conceptions are dim and imperfect; 
and his language incorrect, or unappropriate, or in* 
vdved. A poem that abounds in allusions, Uke the Bard 
^ of Grray, or one that impersonates high and abstract 
; troths, like Collins's Ode on the poetical character, 
claims not to be popular— but should be acquitted 
of obscurity. The deficiency is in the Reader* But 
this is a charge which every poet, whose imagination 
is warm and rapid, must expect from his contempo- 
raries. Milton did not escape it ; and it was adduced 
with virulence against Gray and Collins. We now 
hear no more of it : not that their poems are better 
understood at present, than they were at theu: first 
publication; but their fame is estabUshed; acd a 
critic would accuse himself of frigidity or inattention^ 
who should profess not to understand them. But a 
living writer is yet sub judice ; and if we cannot fol- 
low his conceptions or enter into his feelings, it is 
more consoling to our pride to consider him as lost 



botetth, than u loanng aborfc n. If any man e: 
pect from my poema the wine eatbeu of style whit 
I ia a drioking-tong, fm him I have a 
Intdltgibitta, non mtellectnm adfero. 
I expect neither profit or genertd fame by n 
writings ; and I conaider myself as having been amp 
lepoid without either. Poetry has been to me i 
own " exceeding great reward :" it has soothed d 
aflUctions; it has multiplied and refined myenjo 
ments ; it has endeared solitude ; and it has gtv< 
me the habit of wishing to discover the Good ai 
the Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



GENEVIEVE, 



Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve! 

In Beauty's light you glide along : 

Your eye is like the star of eve, 

And sweet your Voice, as Seraph's song. 

Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives 

This heart with passion soft to glow : 

Within your soul a Voice there lives ! 

It bids you hear the tale of Woe. 

When sinking low the Sufferer wan 

Beholds no hand outstretcht to save, 

Fair, as the bosom of the Swan 

That rises graceful o'er the wave, 

IVe seen your breast with pity heave. 

And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve ! 



10 JUV£NIL£ POEMS. 



SONNET. 



TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON. 



Mild Splendour of the various- vested Nigbt ! 
Mother of wildly-working visions ! hail ! 
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light 
Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil ; 
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud 
Behind the gathered blackness lost on high ; 
And when thou dartest ftom the wind-rent cloud 
Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened sky. 
Ah such is Hope ! as changeful and as fair ! 
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight ; 
Now hid behind the dragon-winged Despair : 
But soon emerging in her radiant might 
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care 
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight. 



JVVEKILE POEMB. 11 



TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY, 



AN ALLEGORY. 



On the wide level of a mountain's head, 
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place) 
Theiit pinions, ostrich-likev for sails outspread. 
Two lovely children run an endless race, 
A sister and a brother ! 
This far outstript the other ; 
Yet ever runs she with reverted face, 
And looks and listens for the boy behind : 
For he, alas ! is blind 1 
0*er rough and smooth with even step he passed, 
And knows not whether he be first or last. 



1^ JUVENII.E POEMS. 



MONODY ON THE DEATH OF 
CHATTERTON. 



When faint and sad o'er Sorrow's desert wild 
Slow journeys onward poor Misfortune's child ; 
When fades each lovely form by Fancy drest, 
And inly pines the self-consuming breast ; 
No scourge of scorpions in thy right arm dread , 
No helmed terrors nodding o'er thy head, 
Assume, O Death ! the cherub wings of Peace, 
And bid the heart-sick Wanderer's anguish cease ! 

Thee, Chattertow ! yon unblest stones protect 
From Want, and the bleak Freezings of neglect! 
Escaped the sore wounds of Affliction's rod. 
Meek at the Throne of Mercy, and of God, 
Perchance, thou raisest high the enraptured hymn 
Amid the blaze of Seraphim I 

Yet oft ('tis Nature's bosom-startling call) 

I weep, that heaven-bom Genius so should fall ; 



JUVENILE POEMS. 13 

« 

And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul 

Averted shudders at the poisoned bowl. 

Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view 

Thy corse of livid hue ; 
And now a flash of indignation high 
Darts through the tear that glistens in^mine eye! 

Is this the land of song-ennobled line ? 

Is this the land, where Genius ne*er in vain 

Poured forth his lofty strain ? 
Ah me ! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine. 
Beneath chill Disappointment's shade. 
His weary limbs in lonely anguish lay'd 

And o'er her darhng dead 

Pitt hopeless hung her head. 
While *' mid the peltmg of that merciless storm," 
Sunk to the cold earth Ot way's famished form ! 

Sublime of thought, and confident of fame. 
From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel* 
came, 
Light-hearted youth ! aye, as he hastes along. 
He meditates the future song, 

* Atoh, a river near Bristol ; tbe birth-place of Chattertoa. 



14 JUVENILE POEMS. 

How dauntless iBlla frayed the Dacyan foes ; 
Andy as floating high in air 
Glitter the sanny visions fair, 

His eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows ! 
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, 
With generous joy he views the ideal wealth ; 
He hears the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of praise ; 
He marks the shdtered orphan'sL tearful. gaae ; 
Or, where the sorrow-shrirelled captive lay. 
Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray : 
And now^ indignant, '* grasps the patriot steel," 
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression- feel. 

Clad in Nature's rich array. 

And bright in all her tender hues, / ' ^ 
Sweet tree of Hope ! thou loveliest child of Spring ! 
How fair didst thou disclose thine early Moom, 

Loading the west-winds with its soft perfume ! 
And Fancy, elfin form of gorgeous wing. 

On every blossom hung her fostering dews. 
That changeful, wantoned to the orient day ! 
But soon upon thy poor unsheltered head 
Did Penury her sickly mildew shed : 
And soon the scathing Lightning bade thee stand, 
In frowning horror o*er the blighted land I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 15 

Ah where are fled the charms of vernal Grace, 
And Jo/s wild gleams that lightened o'er thy face ? 
Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye I 
Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view, 
On thy cold forehead starts the anguished dew, 
And dreadful was that bosom-rending sigh !. 

Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour, 

Wh«n Care^ of withered brow, 
Prepared: the poison's death-cold power : 
Already to thy lips was raised the bowl. 
When near thee stood Affection meek 
(H^r bosom bare, and wildly, pale her>cheek) 
Thy suUen gaze she bade thee roll 
On scenes that well might melt thy soul ; 
Thy native cot she flashed upon thy view. 
Thy native cot, where still, at close of day, 
Peace smiling sate, and listened to thy lay ; 
Thy SisWs shrieks she bade thee hear. 
And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear ; 

See, see her breast's convulsive throe. 
Her silent agony. of woe ! 
Ah! dash the poisoned .chalice from thy hand! 

And thou had'st dashed it, at her soil command, 
But that Despair and Indignation rose, 



16 JUVENILE POEMS. 

And told again the story of thy woes ; 
Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart ; 
The dread dependence on the low-bom mind ; 
Told every pang, with which thy soul must smarts 
Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined ! 
Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain 
Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing vein! 

Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, 
To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep ! 
For here she loves the cypress wreath to wave ; 
Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve. 
Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove. 
In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove. 
Like star-beam on the slow sequestered tide 
Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide. 
And here, in Inspiration's eager hour. 
When most the big soul feels the maddening power, 
These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er. 
Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar. 
With wild unequal steps he passed along 
Oft pouring on the winds a broken song : 
Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow 
Would pause abrupt — and gaze upon the waves below. 




JUVENILE POEMS. 17 

Poor Chatterton ! he sorrows for thy fate 

Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late. 

Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues 

This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb ; 

But dare rq longer on the sad theme muse. 

Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom : 

For gh ! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing, 

Have blackened the fair promise of my spring ; 

And the stem Fate transpierced with viewless dart 

The last pale Hope that shivered at my heart I 

Hence, gloomy thoughts ! no more my soul shall dwell 

On joys that were ! No more endure to weigh 

The shame and anguish of the evil day, 

Wisely forgetful ! O'er the ocean swell 

SubUme of Hope I seek the cottaged dell 

Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray; 

And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay, 

The wizard passions weave an holy spell ! 

Chatterton ! that thou wert yet alive! 

Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the gale, 

And love, with us, the tinkling team to drive 

O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale ; 

And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng, 

Hanging, enraptured, on thy stately song I 

VOL. I. O 



18 JUVENILE POEMS. 

And greet with smiles the young^yed Poesy 
All deftly masked, as hoar Antiquity. 

Alas vain Phantasies I the fleeting brood 
Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood ! 
Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream, 
Where Susquehannah pours his untamed stream ; 
And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side 
Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide, 
Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee. 
Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy ! 
And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful wind. 
Muse on the sore ills I had left behind. 




JUVENILE POEMS. Id 



SONGS OF THE PIXIES. 



The Pixies, in the raperstidon of Devonshire, are a race of 
beings invisibly smaU, and harmless or friendly to man. At a 
small distance from a village in that county, half way np a wood- 
covered hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies* Parlour. The 
roots of old trees form its ceiling ; and on its sides are inna- 
merable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own 
cypher and those of his brothers, cat by the hand of their child- 
hood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. 

To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies» 
daring the Summer months of the year 1793 ; one of whom, of 
stature elegantly raaall, and of complexion colourless yet clear, 
was proclaimed the Fairy Queen : On which occasion the fol- 
lowing Irregular Ode was written. 



I. 

Whom the untaught Shepherds call 
Pixies in their madrigal^ 

Fancy's children, here we dwell : 
Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell, 



20 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Here the wren of softest note 
Builds its nest and warbles well ; 

Here the blackbird strains his throat : 
Welcogae, Ladies ! to our cell, 

n. 

When fades the moon all shadowy-pale 
And scuds the cloud before the gale^ 
Ere Mom with living gems bedight 
Purples the East with streaky light, 
We sip the furze-flower's frs^ant dews 
Clad in robes of rainbow hues 
Richer than the deepened bloom 
That glows on Summer's lily-scented plume ; 
Or sport amid the rosy gleam 
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team, 
While lusty Labour scouting sorrow 
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow, 
Who jogs the accustomed road along, 
And paces cheery to her cheering song. 

in. 

But not our filmy pinion 
We scorch amid the blaze of day. 
When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion 
Flashes the fervid ray. 



JUVENILE POEMS.. 21 

Aye from the sultry heat 

We to the cave retreat 
O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined 
With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age : 
Round them their mantle green the ivies bind, 

Beneath whose foliage pale 

Fanned by the unfrequent gale 
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid^day rage. 

IV. 

Thither, while the murmuring throng 
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song, 
By Indolence and Fancy brought, 
A youthful Bard, " unknown to Fame," 
Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, 
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh 

Gazing with tearful eye. 
As round our sandy grot appear 
Many a rudely sculptured name 

To pensive Memory dear ! 

Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue 

We glance before his view : 
O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed, 
And twine our faery garlands round his head. 



22 JUTEM1J.IL FO&MS. 

V. 

When ETETnre's dukj car 

Ciawned with her dewy star 
Steals o'er the &ding sky in shadowy flight ; 

On leaTes of aspen trees 

We tremble to the breeze 
Vdled from the grosser ken of mortal s^t. 

Or, haply, at the visionary hour, 
Akng om* wildly-bowered, sequestered walk. 
We listen to the enamoured rustic's talk ; 
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, 
Where young-eyed Lo v es have buih their tmtle nest ; 

Or guide of soul-subduing power 
The electric flash, that from the mdting eye 
Darts the fond question and the soft reply. 

VI. 

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale 
We flash our faery feet in gamesome {nrank; 
Or, silent-sandal'd, pay oar defter court 
Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale, 
Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport, 
Supine he slumbers on a violet bank ; 
Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam. 
By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream ; 



i 



JUVENILE POEMS. 23 

Or where his wave with loud unquiet song 
Dashed o'er the rocky channel froth along ; 
Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest. 
The tall tree*^ shadow sleeps upon his breast. 

VII. 

Hence ! thou lingerer, Light ! 
Eve saddens into Night. 
Mother of wildly- working dreams ! we view 
The SOMBRE HOURS, that round thee stand 
With down-cast eyes (a duteous band !) 
Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew. 
Sorceress of the ebon throne ! 
Thy power the Pixies own, 
When round thy raven brow 
Heaven's lucent roses glow. 
And clouds, in watery colours drest, 
Float in light drapery o*er thy sable vest : 
What time the pale moon sheds a softer day 
Mellowing the woods beneath, its pensive beam : 
For mid the quivering light 'tis our's to play. 
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream. 

VIII. 

Welcome, Ladies ! to the cell 
Where the blameless Pixies dwell : 



24 JUVENILE POEMS. 

But thou sweet Nymph ! proclaimed our Faery Qiieei 
With what obeisance meet 
Thy presence shall we greet ? 
For lo ! attendant on thy steps are seen 
Graceful Ease in artless stole, 
And white-robed Purity of soul, 
With Honour's softer mein; 
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair. 
And meek eyed Pity eloquently fair. 

Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the viewj 
As snow-drop wet with dew. 

IX. 

Unboastful Maid ! though now the Lily pale 

Transparent grace thy beauties meek ; 
Yet ere again along the impurpling vale. 
The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grovCj 
Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws, 

We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek ; 
And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose 
Extract a Blush for Love ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 2.5 



THE RAVEN. 

A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCUOOL-BOT TO 
HIS LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 



Underneath a huge oak tree 

There was, of swine, a huge company, 

That grunted as they crunched the mast : 

For that was ripe, and fell full fast 

Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high : 

One acorn they left, and no more might you spy. 

Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly : 

He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy ! 

Blacker was he than blackest jet. 

Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. 

He picked up the acorn and buried it straight 

By the side of a river both deep and great. 

Where then did the Raven go ? 

He went high and low. 
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go. 



i 



26 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Many Autamns, many Springs 
Travelled be with wandering wings : 
Many Summers, many Winters — 
I can't tell half his adventures. 

At length he came back, and with him a She, 
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree. 
They built them a nest in the topmost bough, 
And young ones they had, and were happy enow. 
But soon came a woodman in leathern guise. 
His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. 
He*d an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke. 
But with many a hem ! and a sturdy stroke. 
At length he brought down the poor Raven's own oak. 
His young ones were killed; for they could not departs 
And their mother did die of a broken heart 

The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever ; 
And they floated it down on the course of the river. 
They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip. 
And with this tree and others they made a good ship. 
The ship, it was launched ; but in sight of the land 
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand. 
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast : 
The old Raven flew round and round, and cawed to the 
blast. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 27 

He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls^ 
See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls ! 

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet. 
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, 
And he thank'd him again and again for this treat : 

They had taken his all, and Revenge was sweet ! 



2)6 .irvis^ii^ pouu. 



A rAarwxLL od£ os QrimsG *ch<k*l foe 

J£i^r«> COLLEGE CJkJBBS.II>G£. 



Wbe&e gnoed with many a classic spoO 

Cjim roOshk re^eieiid stream along:, 

I haste to mge the iearped tod 

That stemhr chides mT lore-loni son?: 

Ah me ! too mmdfol of the daTs 

IDomed by Passios^s ocient rays. 

When Peace, and CheerfiihiesSy and Health 

Emiched me with the best of wealth. 

Ah lair Delights ! that o*er my soul 
On Memory's wiog, like shadows fly ! 
Ah Flowers ! which Joy from Eden stole 
While Innocence stood smilii^ by ! — 
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan: 
Those Hoars on rapid Pinions flown 
Shall yet return, by Absence crowned. 
And scatter livelier roses round. 




JUVENILE POEMS. 29 

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires 
On heedless eyes may pour the day : 
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, 
Endears her renovated ray. 
What though she leave the sky unblest 
To mourn awhile the murky vest? 
When she relumes her lovely Light, 
We BLESS the Wanderer of the Night. 



30 JUVENILE POEMS. 



LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING. 



THOU wild Fancy, check thy wing ! No more 
Those thin white flakes, those pui*ple clouds explore! 
Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight 
Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light ; 

Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, 
With western peasants hail the morning ray ! 
Ah! rather bid the p6rished pleasures move, 
A shadowy train, across the soul of Love ! 
O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling 
Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring, 
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower 
She leapt, awakened by the pattering shower. 
Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam. 
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's dream I 
With faery wand O bid the Maid arise. 
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes ; 
As erst when from the Muses' calm abode 

1 came, with Learning's meed not unbestowed : 



JUVENILE POEMS. 31 

When as she twined a lanrd round my biow. 
And met my kiss, and half returned my vow, 
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart, 
And every nerve confessed the electric dart. 

dear Deceit ! I see the Maiden rise, 

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue £yes! 
When first the laik high soaring swells his throat. 
Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note, 

1 trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn, 
I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn. 
When the bent flower beneath the night dew weeps 
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps. 

Amid the paly radiance soft and sad. 
She meets my lopely path in moon*beams clad. 
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove ; 
With her I list the warblings of the grove ; 
And seems in each low wind her voice to float 
Lone whispering Pity in each soothing note! 

Spi&iTS of Lovx ! ye heard her name I Obey 
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair. 
Whether on x:lustering pinions ye are there. 
Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle trees, 
Or with fond languishment around my fair 
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair; 



32 JUT£3riLK PO£VS. 

O beed the spdl, and hidiia wins your way. 
Like far-off mnsie, Toyaginz the bceeze ! 
Spirits I to joa the infiuit Maid was gpren 
Fonned by the wonderons Akhemy of Hearen ! 

No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know. 
No fJEiirer Maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow. 
A thousand Loves aroond her forehead fly ; 
A thousand Lores sit mdting in her eye ; 
Love lights her noile — in Joy's red nectar dips 
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips. 
She speaks ! and hark that passion warUed song-;— 
Still, Fancy ! sdU that voice, those notes prolong. 
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls. 
Shall wake the softened echoes of Heaven's Halls! 

O (have I sighed) were mine the wizard's rod. 
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God! 
A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem 
To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam:. 
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs 
My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows. 
When Twilight stole across the fading vale. 
To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale ; 
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest. 
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast [ 



JUVENILE POEMt. 33 

On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night, 
To 800th my Love with shadows of delight: — 
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies, 
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes ! 

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame 
Had basked beneath the Sun*s unclouded flame. 
Awakes amid the troubles of the air. 
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare — 
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, 
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep : — 
So tossed by storms along Life's wildering way, 
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day. 
When by my native brook I wont to rove 
While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love. 

: Dear native brck)k ! like Peace, so placidly 

: Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek ! 

' Dear native brook ! where first young Poesy 

! Stared wildly-es^er in her noontide dream, 

> Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek, 

; As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream ! 

f Dear native haunts ! where Virtue still is gay, 

,1 Where Friendship's fixed star sheds a mellowed ray, 

' Where Love a crown of thomless Roses wears, 

ir 

i; Where softened Sorrow smiles within her tears ; 

1 TOL. I. D 



I" 



ij 



34 jrTESILE FOKMS. 

And MiMomTy with a Vestai.*s chaite onploy, 
Uiiceaimg feeds the hnihfi flnae of joj! 
No more joar iky-laEks mriting from the sight 
Shan thiin the attuned heart-string with delight — 
No more shall deck your pensire Pleasures sweet 
With wieadis of sober hoe my evening seat. 
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene 
Of woody hill, dale, and sparlding brook between ! 
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song. 
That soars on Morning's wing yoor Tales among. 

Scenes of my Hope ! the aching eye ye leare 
Like yon bright hnes that paint the doods of eve ! 
Teaifbl and saddening with the saddoied blaze 
Mine eye the gleam porsoes with wistful gaze : 
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, 
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend. 



^ 



jnVBNILE POEMS. 35 



THE ROSE. 



AS late each flofwer that sweetest blows 
I plackedy the Garden's pride ! 
Withm the petals of a Rose 
A sleeping Love I spied. 

Around his brows a beamy wreath 
Of many a lucent hue ; 
All pmple glowed his cheek, beneath, 
Inebriate with dew. 

I softly seized the unguarded Power, 
Nor scared his balmy rest ; 
And placed him, caged within the flower. 
On Spotless Sara's breast. 

But when unweeting of the guile 
Awoke the prisoner sweet. 
He struggled to escape awhile 
And stamped his faery feet. 



JS JUT£9IL£ FOEMS. 

Ah! sooQ the aool-eiitraiicn^ si^t 
Subdued the impatieiit boy ! 
He gaied ! he thiiDed with deep ddight ! 
Then dsquped his wings for joy. 

<< And O r he cried ^"^ Of magic kind 
" What charms this Throne aidear ! 
** Some other Lotk kt Venus find — 
^ in fix ffqr empire here." 




JUVENILE POEMS. 37 



THE KISS. 



One kiss, dear Maid ! I said and sighed 

Your scorn the little boon denied. 

Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ? 

Can danger lurk within a kiss ? 

« 
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale, 

The Spirit of the Western Gale, 

At Morning's break, at Evening's close 

Inhales the sweetness of the Rose, 

And hovers o'er the uninjured Bloom 

Sighing back the soft perfume. 

Vigour to the Zephyr's wing 

Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling ; 

And He the glitter of the Dew 

Scatters on the Rose's hue. 

Bashful lo ! she bends her head, 

And darts a blush of deeper Red ! 

Too well those lovely lips disclose 
The Triumphs of the opening Rose ; 



38 JUVENILE POEMS. 

O fair ! O gracefiil ! bid them prove 

As passive to the breath of Love. 

In tender accents, faint and low, k 

Well-pleased I hear the whispered " No !" 

The whispered " No" — how little meant ! 

Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent ! 

For on those lovely lips the while 

Dawns the soft relentmg smile, 

And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy 

The gentle violence of Joy. 



JUVENILE POEMS» 39 



TO A YOUNG ASS. 

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT. 



Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race! 
I love the languid Patience of thy face : 
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread. 
And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head. 
But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismayed, 
That never thou dost sport along the glade ? 
And (most unlike the nature of things young) 
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung? 
Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate. 
Meek Child of Misery ! thy future fate ? — 
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches 
" Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes V* 
Or is thy sad heart thrilled with filial pain 
To see thy wretched Mother's shortened Chain? 
And truly, very piteous is her Lot- 
Chained to a Log within a narrow spot 
Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen. 
While sweet around her waves the tempting Green ! 



28 JUVENILE POEMS. 



ABSENCE. 

A FARF.WELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR 
JESUS COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE. 



Where graced with many a classic spoil 

Cam rolls his reverend stream along, 

I haste to urge the learned toil 

That sternly chides my love-lorn song : 

Ah me I too mindful of the days 

Illumed by Passion's orient rays, 

When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health 

Enriched me with the best of wealth. 

Ah fair Delights ! that o'er my soul 
On Memory's wing, like shadows fly ! 
Ah Flowers ! which Joy from Eden stole 
While Innocence stood smiling by ! — 
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan: 
Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown 
Shall yet return, by Absence crowned, 
And scatter livelier roses round. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 41 



DOMESTIC PEACE. 



Tell me, on what holy ground 
May Domestic Peace be found? 
Halcyon Daughter of the skies. 
Far on fearful wings she flies, 
From the pomp of Sceptered State, 
From the Rebel's noisy hate. 
In a cottaged vale She dwells 
listening to the Sabbath bells ! 
Still around her steps are seen 
Spotless Honour's meeker mien, 
LoYE, the sire of pleasing fears, 
So&Row smiling through her tears. 
And conscious of the past employ 
Memory, bosom-spring of joy. 



42 JUVENILE POEMS. 



THE SIGH. 



When Youth his faery reign began 
Ere Sorrow had proclaimed me man ; 
While Peace the present hour beguiled, 
And all the lovely Prospect smiled ; 
Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee 
I heaved the painless Sioh for thee. 
And when, along the waves of woe. 
My harassed Heart was doomed to know 
The frantic Burst of Outrage keen. 
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen; 
Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea 
I heaved an anguished Sigh for thee I 
But soon Reflection's power imprest 
A stiller sadness on my breast ; 
And sickly Hope with waning eye 
Was well content to droop and die : 
I yielded to the stem decree, 
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee ! 
And though in distant climes to roam, 
A wanderer from my native home. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 43 



I hin would sooth the sense of Care 
And lull to sleep the Joys that were ! 
Thy Image may not banished be — 
Stilly Mart ! still I sigh for thee. 

June, 1794. 



EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. 



Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, 
' Death came with friendly care ; 
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed 
And bade it blossom there. 



44 JUVENILE rOEMS. 



LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S-ARMS, 

ROSS, 

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OP THE ** UAN OF ROSS." 



JliCHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards, 
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords, 
Here dwelt the Man of Ross ! O Traveller, hear ! 
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear. 
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, 
With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth ; 
He hears the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of praise, 
He marks the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze. 
Or where the soiTOw-shrivelled captive lay. 
Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray. 
Beneath thisroof if thy cheered moments pass, 
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass : 
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul. 
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl. 
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene 
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been ; 



I 



I 



JUVENILB POEMS. 45 

And if, thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught. 
Thou jouroeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought ; 
Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt, 
And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt 1 



46 JUV£N1L£ P0EM8. 



LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN 

A VILLAGE. 



Once more, sweet Stream ! with slow foot wander- 
ing near, 
I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. 
Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours 
With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers 
(Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) 
My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. 
For not through pathless grove with murmur rude 
Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph. Solitude ; 
Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, 
The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! 
Pride of the Vale ! thy useful streams supply 
The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. 
The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks 
With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, 
Released from school, their Uttle hearts at rest, 
Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. 
The rustic here at eve with pensive look 
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook, 



JUVENILE POEMS. 47 

Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread 
To list the much-loved maid's accustomed tread : 
She, vainly mindful of her dame's command, 
Loiters, the long-filled pitcher in her hand. 
Uoboastful Stream I thy fount with pebbled falls 
The faded form of past delight recalls. 
What time the morning sun of Hope arose. 
And all was joy ; save when another's woes 
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest. 
Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast. 
Life's current 6ien ran sparkling to the nooo, 
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon: 
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, 
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along I 



48 JUVENILE POEMS. 



LINES ON A FRIEND, 

WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY 
CALUMNIOUS REPORTS. 



Edmund! thy grave with aching eye I scan, 

And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast — Man ! 

'Tis tempest all or jgloom : in early youth 

If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth 

We force to start amid her feigned caress 

Vice, siren-hag ! in native ugliness ; 

A Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, 

And on we go in heaviness and fear ! 

But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower 

Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour. 

The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted grouni 

And mingled forms of Misery rise around : 

Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast, 

That courts the future woe to hide the past ; 

Remorse, the poisoned arrow in his side. 

And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied : 

Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain. 

Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 49 

Rest, injured 'shade! Shall Slander squatting near 

S{at her cold venom in a dead Man's ear? 

Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow 

In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe ; 

Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies, 

The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies. 

Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew, 

And in thy heart they withered ! Such chill dew 

Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed; 

And Vanity her filmy net- work spread. 

With eye that rolled around in asking gaze, 

And tongue that trafficked in the trade of praise. 

Thy foUies such! the hard world marked them well — 

Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? 

Rest, injured shade ! the poor man*s grateful prayer 

On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. 

As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, 

And sit me down upon its recent grass, 

With introverted eye I contemplate 

Similitude of soul, perhaps of — Fate ! 

To me hath Heaven with bounteous hard assigned 

Energic Reason and a shaping mind. 

The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part. 

And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. 

Sloth-jaundiced all! and from my gras{de88 hand . 

Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour glass sand. 

VOL. I. E 



50 JUVBKILE POEMS. 

I weep, yet stoop not ! the faint anguish flows, 
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze. 

Is this piled earth onr Being's passless mound? 
Tell me, cold grave I is Death with poppies crowned^ 
Tired Centinel! mid fitful starts I nod, 
And fain would sleep, though pillowed on a clod ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 51 



TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON 
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



Much on my early youth I love to dwell, 
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell, 
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale, 
I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale ! 
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing. 
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing. 
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam 
In broken radiance on the wavy stream, 
My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom 
Mourned with thebreese, O Lbe Boo 1 * o'er thy tomb. 
Where'er I wandered, Pitt still was near. 
Breathed from the heart and glistened in the tear : 



* Lbe Boo, the son of Abba Thvls, Prince of the Peiew 
Idands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of 
the small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard. See 
Keate's Accoont. 



52 JUVENILE POEMS. 

No knell that tolled, but filled my anxious eye, 
And suffering Nature wept that one should die ! * 

Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, 
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West : 
When slumbering Freedom roused by high Disdain 
With giant fury burst her triple chain ! 
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glowed ; 
Her Banners, like a midnight Meteor, flowed ; 
Amid the yeBing of the storm-rent skies 
She came, and scattered battles from her eyes ! 
Then Exultation wake4 the patriot fire 
And swept with wilder hand the Alcoean lyre : 
Red from the Tyrant's wound I shook the lance, 
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France ! 

Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low. 
And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow. 
With weaned thought once more I seek the shade, 
Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid. 
And O I if Eyes whose holy glances roll. 
Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul ; 
If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien 
Than the love-wildered Maniac's brain hath seen 

• Southey's Retrospect. 



JUVENILE POEMS. .53 

Shaping celestial forms in vacant air, 
If these demand the empassioned Poet's care — 
If Mirth, and softened Sense, and Wit refined, 
The blameless features of a lovely mind ; 
Then haply shall my trembling hand assign 
No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine. 
Nor, Sara ! thou these early flowers refuse- 
Ne'er lurked the snake beneath their simple hues ; 
No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings 
From Flattery's night-shade : as he feels he sings. 

September, 1792. 



54 JUVEVILE POEMS. 



SONNET I. 



Content, as random Fancies might inspire. 
If his weak harp at times or lonely lyre 
He struck with desultory hand, and drew 
Some softened tones to Nature not untrue. 

Bowles. 



My heart lias thanked thee, Bowles ! for those 

soft strains 
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring 
Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring ! 
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains 
Through Youths* gay prime and thornless paths I went : 
And when the mightier Throes of mind began, 
And drove me forth, a thought-bewildered man ! 
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent 
A mingled charm, such as the pang consigned 
To slumber, though the big tear it renewed ; 
Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood 
Over the wavy and tumultuous mind. 
As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep 
Moved on the darkness of the unformed deep. 



JUYJKNILS POEMS. 55 



SONNET II. 



As late I lay in 8luinber*8 shadowy vale, 

With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, 

I saw the sainted form of Frecdoic rise : 

She spake ! not sadder moans the avtomnal gale— 

'^ Great Son of Grenius f sweet to me thy name, 

'' Ere in an evil hour with altered Toice 

" Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice 

" Blasting with wizard spell my laurelled fame. 

" Yet never, Burke I thou drank'st Corruptioii's bowl \ 

" Thee sIxMrmy Pity and the cheridbed lure 

** Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul 

** Wildered with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure ! 

" That ernnr's mist had left thy purged eye : 

'^ So might I dasp thee with a Mother's joy I" 



56 



JUV£N1L£ POEMS. 



SONNET III. 



Though roused by that dark Vizir Riot rude 
Have driven our Priestly o'er the ocean swell; 
Though Superstition and her wolfish brood 
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell ; 
Calm in his halls of Brightness he shall dwell ! 
For lo ! Religion at his strong behest 
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, 
And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest, 
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy ; 
And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail 
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly ; 
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won 
Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil 
To smile with fondness on her gazing son ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 57 



SONNET IV. 



When British Freedom for an happier land 

Spread her broad wings, that fluttered with affiight, 

Erskine ! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight 

Sublime of hope ! For dreadless thou didst stand 

(Thy censer glowing with the hallowed flame) 

An hireless Priest before the insulted shrine. 

And at her altar pour the stream divine 

Of unmatched eloquence. Therefore thy name 

Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast 

With blessings heaven-ward breathed. And when 

the doom 
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb 
Thy light shall shine : as sunk beneath the West 
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze, 
Still bums wide Heaven with his distended blaze. 



58 JUV£M1LE POEMS. 



SONNET V. 



It was some Spirit, Sheridan ! that breathed 

O'er thy young miod such wildly various power ! 

My soul hath marked thee in her shaping hour. 

Thy temples with Hymmettian flow*rets wreathed : 

And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier 

Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's glade ; 

Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade 

That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear. 

Now patriot Rage and Indignation high 

Swell the full tones ! And now thine eye-beams daace 

Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint vevelry ! 

Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance 

The Apostate by the brainless rout adored. 

As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michad's sword. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 69 



SONNET VI. 



WHAT a knid and fearful shciek was there, 

As thongh a thousand soula oae death-graan peured ! 

Ah me ! they viewed beneath an hireling's swonl 

Fallen KoskiuskoI Through the burthened air 

(As pauses the tired Cossac's barbarous yell 

Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale 

Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell 

The dirge of murdered Hope ! while Freedom pale 

Bends in such anguish o'er h^ destined bier. 

As if from eldest time some Spirit meek 

Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear 

That ever on a Patriot's furrowed cheek 

Fit channel found ; and she had drained' the bowl 

In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul ! 



60 JUVENILE POEMS. 



SONNET VII. 



As when far off the warbled strains are heard 

That soar on Morning's wing the vales among, 

Within his cage the imprisoned matin bird 

Swells the full chorus with a generous song : 

He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, 

No Father s joy, no Lover's bliss he shares. 

Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight; 

His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares! 

Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice ' 

Life's better sun from that long wintry night. 

Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice 

And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might : 

For lo ! the morning struggles into day, 

And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 61 



SONNET VIII. 



Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile, 

Why hast thou left me ? Still in some fond dream 

Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile! 

As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam : 

What time, in sickly mood, at parting day 

I lay me down and think of happier years ; 

Of Joys, that glimmered in Hope's twilight ray. 

Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. 

pleasant days of Hope — for ever gone ! 

Could I recall you ! — But that thought is vain. 

Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone 

To lure the fleet-winged Travellers back again : 

Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam 

Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream. 



62 JUVENILE POEMS. 



SONNET IX. 



Pale Roamer through the Night ! thou poor Forlorn ! 
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess. 
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness 
Betrayed, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn! 
The world is pitiless : the Chaste one's pride 
Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress : 
Thy LoYCS and they, that envied thee, deride : 
And Vice alone will shelter Wretchedness I 

m 

O ! I am sad to think, that there should be 
Cold-bosomed Lewd ones, who endure to place 
Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery, 
And force from Famine the caress of Love; 
May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace. 
He, the great Comforter that rules above ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 63 



SONNET X. 



Sweet Mercy ! how my very heart has ble^ 
To see thee, poor Old Mak ! and thy gray hairs 
Hoar with the snowy blast : while no one cares 
To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. 
My Father ! throw away this tattered vest 
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment — use 
A young man's arms 1 I'll melt these frozen dews 
That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. 
My Saba too shall tend thee, like a Child : 
And thou shalt talk, in our fire side's recess, 
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness. 
He did not so, the Oalilaait mild. 
Who met the Lazars turned from rich man's doors. 
And called them Friends, and healed their noisome 
Sores 1 



64 JUVENILE POEMS. 



SONNET XI. 



Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress 
Reasoning I ponder with a scomM smile 
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while 
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness. 
Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland ? 
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, 
When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale 
Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand ? 
Faint was that Hope, and rayless ! — Yet 'twas fair 
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest > 
Thou should'st have loved it most^ when most opprest, 
And nursed it with an agony of Care, 
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir 
That wan and sickly droops upon her breast ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 65 



SONNET XII. 



TO THE AUTHOR OF THE " ROBBERH. 



Schiller ! that hour I would have wished to die, 
If through the shuddering midnight I had sent 
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent 
That fearful voice, a famished Father's cry — 
Lest in some after moment aught more mean 
Might stamp me mortal ! A triumphant shout 
Black Horror screamed, and all hergobliu rout 
Diminished shrunk from the more withering scene ! 
Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity! 
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood 
W^andering at eve with finely frenzied eye 
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood ! 
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood : 
rhen weep aloud in a wild ecstasy I 



VOL. I. 



66 JUYENILE POEMS. 



LINES 

COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT 
OF BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, 

MAY, 1795. 



With many a pause and oft reverted eye 

i climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near 

Warble in shade their wild-wood melody: 

Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear. 

Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock 

That on green plots o'er precipices browze : 

From the forced fissures of the naked rock 

The Yew tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs 

(Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white^ 

Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats, 

I rest : — and now have gained the topmost site. 

Ah ! what a luxury of landscape meets 

My gaze ! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me, 

Elm-shadowed Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea ! 

Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tei^r 

Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



67 



LINES 



IK THE MANNER 07 SPENSER. 



£ACB, that on a lilied bank dost love 
lest thine head beneath an Olive Tree, 
nMf that from the pinions of thy Dove 
quill withouten pain yplucked might be ! 
! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee, 
fain to her some soothing song would write, 
she resent my rude discourtesy, 
} vowed to meet her ere the morning light, 
broke my plighted word — ah! false and recreant 
wight! 



night as I my weary head did pillow 

I thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrossed, 

[ Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow, 

liough my breast entombed a pining ghost. 

)m some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boaHt, 



68 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Rejected Slumber ! hither wing thy way ; 
'' But leave me with the matin hour, at most ! 
As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray, 
My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey. 



it 



But Love, who heard the silence of my thought, 
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween : 
And whispered to himself, with malice fraught — 
'^ Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen 
** To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien!" 
He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed 
The morning shot. her dewy glances keen, 
When as I 'gan to lift my (hrowsy head — 
" Now, Bard! Til work thee woe !*' the laughing 
Elfin said. 

Sleep, softly-breathing God I his downy wing 
Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart ; 
When twanged an arrow from Love's mystic string 
With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart. 
Was there some Magic in the Elfin's dart ? 
Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance? 
For straight so fair a Form did upwards start 
(No fairer decked the Bowers of old Romance) 
That Sleep enamoured grew, nor moved from his 
sweet Trance I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



69 



My Sara came, with gentlest Look divine; 
Blight shone her Eye, yet tender was its beam : 
[ felt the pressure of her lip to mine ! 
Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme- 
Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem, 
He sprang from Heaven ! Such joys with Sleep did Inde, 
That I the living Image of my Dream 
Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd — 
"0! how shall I behdd my Love at even-tide!" 



|0 JUVENILE POEMS. 



IMITATED FROM OSSIAN. 



The stream with languid murmur creeps, 

In LuMiN's^oipery vale : 
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps 

Slow-waving to the gale. 

" Cease, restless gale ! it seems to say, 
" Nor wake me with thy sighing ! 

" The honours of my vernal day 
" On rapid wing are flying. 

" To morrow shall the Traveller come 
" Who late beheld me blooming : 

'* His searching eye shall vainly roam 
" The dreary vale of Lumin." 

With eager gaze and wetted cheek 

My wonted haunts along. 
Thus, faithful Maiden ! thou shalt seek 

The Youth of simplest song. 



JUYKNILK POEMS. 71 

But I along the breeze shall roll 

The voice of feeble power ; 
And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, 

In Slumber's nightly hour. 



''2 Jt:V£SlL£ FOEXS. 



THE COMPLAINT OF MNATHOMA, 



How long wiU ye round me be sweUing, 

O Te Uue-tumbliiicr waves of the Sea ? 
Not always in Caves was my dwellings 

Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. 
Throngfa the higfa-soonding halls of Cathloma 

In the steps of my Beauty I strayed ; 
The Warriois beheld Ninathoma, 

And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid ! 

A Ghost ! by my Cavern it darted ! 

In moon-beams the Spirit was drest— 
For lovely appear the departed 

When they visit the dreams of my Rest ! 
But disturbed by the Tempest's commotion 

Fleet the shadowy forms of Delight — 
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean ! 

To howl through my Cavern by Night. 




JUVENILE POEMS. 73 



IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. 



If, while my passion I impart, 
You deem my words untrue, 

O place your hand upon my heart — 
Feel how it throbs for you ! 

Ah no ! reject the thoughtless claim 

In pity to your Lover ! 
That thrilling touch would aid the flame, 

It wishes to discover. 



74 jrTE3riLE POKSS. 



TO AN INFANT. 



Ah cease thy Tears and Sobs, my litlk Life ! 
I did but snatch away the unclasped Knife : 
Some safer Toy will soon anest thine eye 
And to quick Langfater change this peerish cry ! 
Poor StmnUer on the rocky coast of Woe, 
Tutored bv Pain each source of Pain to know ! 
Alike the foodfbl froit and scorching fire 
Awake thy eager grasp and yonng desire : 
Ahke the Good, the 111 offend thy sight. 
And rouse the stormy Sense of shrill A£Rrigfat! 
Untaught, yet wise ! mid all thy brief alarms 
Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms. 
Nestling thy litde face in that fond breast 
Whose anxious Heavings lull thee to thy rest! 
Man's breathing Miniature ! thou mak'st me sigh- 
A Babe art thou — and such a Thing am I ! 
To anger rapid and as soon appeased. 
For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased, 



JUVJ^MILE POEMS. 75 

Break Friendship's Mirror with a tetchy blow. 

Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow ! 

O thou that rearest with celestial aim 

The future Seraph in my mortal frame, 

Thrice holy Faith ! whatever thorns I meet 

As on 1 totter with unpractised feet, 

Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, 

Meek Nurse of Souls through their' long Infancy ! 



76 JUVENILE POEMS. 



LINES 

WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGE- 
WATER, SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO 
A LETTER FROM BRISTOL. 



Good verse mott good, and bad verse then seems better 
Received from absent friend by way of Letter. 
For what so sweet can laboured lays impart 
As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart ? 

Anon. 



Nor traveb my meandering eye 
The starry wilderness on high ; 

Nor now with curious sight 
I mark the glow-worm, as I pass, 
Move with " green radiance" through the grass, 

An Emerald of Light. 



JUVENILE POIMS. 77 

ever present to my view ! 
My wafted spirit is with you. 

And soothes your boding fears : 

1 see you all oppressed with gloom 
Sit lonely in that cheerless room — 

Ah me! You are in tears! 

Beloved Woman ! did you fly 

Chilled Friendship's dark disliking eye, 

Or Mirth's untimely din ? 
With cruel weight these trifles press 
A temper sore with tenderness. 

When aches the Void within. 

But why with sable wand unblessed 
Should Fancy rouse within my breast 

Dim-visaged shapes of Dread ? 
Untenanting its beauteous clay 
My Sara's soul has winged its way, 

And hovers round my head ! 

1 felt it prompt the tender Dream, 
When slowly sunk the day's last gleam ; 
You roused each gentler sense 



78 JUVENILE POEMS. 

As sighing o'er the Blossom's Uoom 
Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume ' 
With viewless infltience.' 

And hark, my Lovel The sea-breeze moans 
Through yon reft house ! O'er rolling stones 

In bold ambitious sweep 
The onward-surging tides supply 
The silence of the cloudless sky 

With mimic thunders deep. 

Dark reddening from the channelled Isle* 
(Where stands one solitary pile 

Unslated by the blast) 
The Watchfire, like a sullen star 
Twinkles to many a dozing Tar 

Rude cradled on the mast. 

Even there — ^beneath that light-house tower- 
In the tumultuous evil hour 

Ere Peace with Sara came. 
Time was, I should have thought it sweet 
To count the echoings of my feet, 

And watch the storm-vexed flame. 

* The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel* 



JUVENILE POEMS. 79 

And there in black soulrjauiidiced' fit 
A sad gloom-pampered Mvn to sit, 

And listen to the ro»r : 
When mountain Surges bellowing deep 
With an uncouth monsteri leap 

Plunged foaming on the shore. 

Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark 
Some toiling tempest-shattered bark ; 

Her vain distress-guns hear; 
And when a second sheet of light 
Flashed o*er the blackness of the night — 

To see no Vessel there ! 

But Fancy now more gaily sings ; 
Or if awhile she droop her wings, 

As sky-larks 'mid the com, 
On summer fields she grounds her breast : 
The oblivious Poppy o'er her nest . 

Nods, till returning mom. 

mark those smiling tears, that swell 
The opened Rose ! From heaven they fell, 
And with the sun-beam blend. 



I 



80 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Blessed visitations from above, 
Such are the tender woes of Love 
Fostering the heart, they bend! 

When stormy Midnight howhng round 
Beats on our roof with clattering sound. 

To me your arms you'll stretch : 
Great God! you'll say — To us so kind, 

shelter from this loud bleak wind 
The houseless, friendless wretch ! 

The tears that tremble down your cheek , 
Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek 

In Pity's dew divine ; 
And from your heart the sighs tliat steal 
Shall make your rising bosom feel 

The answering sweU of mine! 

How oft, my Love ! with shapings sweet 

1 paint the moment, we shall meet ! 

With eager speed I dart — 
I seize you in the vacant air, 
And fancy, with a Husband's care 

I press you to my heart I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 8] 

*Ti8 said, on Summer's evening hour 
Flashes the golden-coloured flower 

A fair electric flame : 
And so shall flash my love-charged eye 
When all the heart's big ecstacy 

Shoots rapid through the frame ! 



VOL. I. 



82 JUVENILE POEMS. 



LINES 

TO A FRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY 

LETTER. 



Away, those cloudy looks, that labouring sigh, 
The peevish oflPspring of a sickly hour ! 
Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's power, 
When the blind Gamester throws a luckless die. 

Yon setting Sun flashes a mournful gleam 
Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train : 
To-morrow shall the many-coloured main 
In brightness roll beneath his orient beam ! 

Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of Time 
Flies o'er his mystic lyre : in shadowy dance 
The alternate groupes of Joy and Grief advance 
Responsive to his varying strains sublime ! 

Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate, 
The swain, who, lulled by Seine's mild murmurs, 1< 



JUVENILE POEMS. 

His weary oxen to their nightly shed, 
To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State. 

Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile 
Survey the sanguinary Despot's might, 
And haply hurl the Pageant from his height 
Unwept to wander in some savage isle. 

There shivering sad beneath the tempest's frown 
Round his tired limbs to wrap the purple vest; 
And mixed with nails and beads, an equal jest ! 
Barter for food, the jewels of his crown. 



83 



RELIGIOUS MUSINGS ; 

A DESULTORY POEM, 

WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1794. 



This is the time, when most divine to hear, 

The voice of Adoration rouses me, 

As with a Cherub's tnimp : and high upborne, 

Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to view 

The vision of the heavenly multitude. 

Who hymned the song of Peace o'er Bethlehem's 

fields ! 
Yet thou more bright than all the Angel blaze. 
That harbingered thy birth. Thou, Man of Woes ! 
Despised Galilaean I For the Great 
Invisible (by symbols only seen) 
With a peculiar and surpassing light 
Shines from the visage of the oppressed good Man, 
When heedless of himself the scourged Saint 
Mourns for the Oppressor. Fair the vernal Mead, 



I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 85 

Fair the high Grove, the Sea, the Sun, the Stars; 

True Impress each of their creating Sire ! 

Yet nor high Grove, nor many-coloured Mead, 

Nor the green Ocean ¥dth his thousand Isles, 

Nor the starred Azure, nor the sovran Sun, 

£*er with such majesty of portraiture 

Imaged the supreme beauty imcreate. 

As thou, meek Saviour ! at the fearful hour 

When thy insulted Anguish winged the prayer 

Harped by Archangels, when they sing of Mercy ! 

Which when the Almighty heard from forth his 

Throne, 
Diviner light filled Heaven with ecstacy ! 
Heaven's hymnings paused: and Hell her yawning 

mouth 
Closed a brief moment. 

Lovely was the Death 
Of Him whose Life was Love ! Holy with power 
He on the thought-benighted Sceptic beamed 
Manifest Godhead, melting into day 
What floating mists of dark Idolatry 
Broke and misshaped the Omnipresent Sire : 
And first by Fear uncharmed the droused Soul.* 

* To Noi)Toy itripuKeifft* ttf iroKKojw 

Blow tiiornrag Dam as. ds myst. £otpt. 



86 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Till of its nobler Nature it 'gan feel 

Dim recollections ; and thence soared to Hops, 

Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good 

The Eternal dooms for his immortal Sons. 

From Hope and and firmer Faith to perfect Lo^ 

Attracted and absorbed : and centered there 

Got> only to behold, and know, and feel, 

Till by exclusive Consciousness of God 

All self-annihilated it shall make 

God its Identity: God all in all I 

We and our Father one! 

And blessed are they, 
Who in this fleshly World, the elect of Heaven, 
Their strong eye darting through the deeds of Mei 
Adore with steadfast unpresuming gaze 
Him Nature's Essence, Mind, and Energy ! 
And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend 
Treading beneath their feet all visible things 
As steps, that upward to their Father's Throne 
Lead gradual— else nor glorified nor loved. 
They nor Contempt embosom nor Revenge: 
For THEY dare know of what may seem deform 
The Supreme Fair sole Operant: in whose sigh 
All things are pure, his strong controlling Love 
Alike from all educing perfect good. 



I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 8* 

Their's too celestial courage, ialy armed — 
Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse 
On their great Father, great beyond compare I 
And marching onwards view high o'er their heads 
His waving Banners of Omnipotence. 

Who the Creator Love, created might 

Dread not : within their tents no Terrors walk. 

For they are Holy Things before the Lord 

Aye unprofaned, though Earth should league with Hell ; 

God's Altar grasping with an eager hand 

Fear, the wild-visaged, pale, eye-starting wretch, 

Sure-refuged hears his hot pursuing fiends 

Yell at vain distance. Soon refreshed from Heaven 

He calms the throb and tempest of his heart. 

His countenance settles : a soft solemn bliss 

Swims in his eye — ^his swimming eye upraised : 

And Faith's whole armour glitters on his limbs ! 

And thus transfigured with a dreadless awe, 

A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds 

All things of terrible seeming : yea, unmoved 

Views e'en the immitigable ministers 

That shower ^own vengeance on these latter days. 

For kindling with intenser Deity 

From the celestial M e&ct-seat they come, 

And at the renovating Wells of Love 



88 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Have filled their Vials with salutary Wrath, 
To sickly Nature more medicinal 
That what soft balm the weeping good man pours 
Into the lone despoiled traveller's wounds ! 

Thus from the Elect, regenerate through faith, 

Pass the dark Passions and what thirsty Cares 

Drink up the spirit and the dim regards 

Self-centre, Lo they vanish ! or acquire 

New names, new features — by supernal grace 

Enrobed with Light, and naturalized in Heaven. 

As when a Shepherd on a vernal mom 

Through some thick fog creeps timorous with slow foot, 

Darkling he fixes on the immediate road 

His downward eye : all else of fairest kind 

Hid or deformed. But lo ! the bursting Sun I 

Touched by the enchantment of that sudden beam 

Straight the black vapour melteth, and in globes 

Of dewy glitter gems each plant and tree ; . 

On. every leaf, on every blade it hangs! 

Dance glad the new-bom interminghng rays. 

And wide around the landscape streams with glory ! 

There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, 
Omnific. His most holy name is Love. 



liutli nt' :-iil)liinmL: inij"tit ' \-.itli rhr which 
^Vho feeds and saturates his constant soul, 
He from his small particular orbit flies 
With blessed outstarting ! From Himself he flies, 
Stands in the Sun, and with no partial gaze 
Views all creation ; and he loves it all, 
And blesses it, and calls it very good ! 
This is indeed to dwell with the most High ! 
Cherubs and rapture-trembling Seraphim 
Can press no nearer to the Almighty's Throne. 
But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts 
Unfeeling of our universal Sire, 
And that in his vast family no Cain 
Injures uninjured (in her best-aimed blow 
Victorious MuRDiR a blind Suicide) 
Haply for this some younger Angel now 
Looks down on Human Nature : and, behold ! 
A sea of blood bestrewed with wrecks, where mad 
Embattling Inter ksts on each other rush 
With unhelmed Rage I 

'Tis the sublime of man. 
Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves 
Parts and proportions of one wonderous whole ! 
This fraternizes man, this constitutes 



i 



90 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Our charities and bearmgs. But 'tis God 
Diffused through all, that doth make all one whole; 
This the worst superstition, him except 
Aught to desire, Supreme Reality ! 
The plenitude and permanence of bliss ! 

Fiends of Superstition ! not that oft 

The ening Priest hath stained with Brother's blood 
Your grisly idols, not for this may Wrath 
Thunder against you from the Holy One ! 
But o'er some plain that steameth to the Sun, 
Peopled with Death ; or where more hideous Tradi 
Loud-laughing packs his bales of human anguish ; 

1 will raise up a mourning, O ye Fiends ! 

And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith, 

Hiding the present God ; whose presence lost. 

The moral world's cohesion, we become 

An Anarchy of Spirits ! Toy -bewitched, 

Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul. 

No common centre Man, no common sire 

Knoweth ! A sordid solitary thing. 

Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart 

Through courts and cities the smooth Savage roams 

Feelmg himself, his own low Self the whole ; 

When he by sacred sympathy might make 

The whole one self ! self, that no alien knows! 



JUVEVILE POEMS. 91 

SiLFy far diffiued as Fancy's wing can travel 1 
Self^ spreading still ! Oblivious of its own. 
Yet all of all possessing! This is Faith ! * 

This the Messiah's destined victory I 

But first offences needs must come! Even now* 
(Black Hell laughs horrible — to hear the scoff!) 
Thee to defend, meek Qalileean 1 Thee 
And thy mild laws of Love unutterable, 
Mistrust and Enmity have burst the bands 
Of social Peace ; and listening Treachery lurks 
With pious fraud to snare a brother's life ; 



* January SUt. 1794, in the debate on the Addrees to hia 
Hajeitj, on the speech firom the Throne, the Earl of Ooildfoid 
moved an Amendment to the following effect ; " That the 
Hooae hoped his Majesty would seize the earliest opportunity 
to conclude a peace with France Stc.** This motion was 
oppoeed by the Dnke of Portland, who, ** conndered the war 
to be merely grounded on one principle — the preservation of the 
Cbbistian Relioiom." May 30th, 1794, the Dake of Bed- 
ford moved a number of Resolutions, with a view to the 
EstabHahment of a Peace with France. He was opposed 
(among others) by Lord Abingdon in these remarkable worda : 
" The beat road to Peace, my Lords, is Wab ! and Wab 
carried on in the same manner in which we are taught to 
worship our Cbbator, namely, with all our souls, and with all 
oar minds, and with all our hearto, and with all our atrength. 



ft 



92 JUVENILE POEMS, 

And childless widows o*er the groaniug laud 
Wail numberless ; and orphans weep for bread ! 
Thee to defend, dear Saviour of Mankind I 
Thee, Lamb of God ! Thee, blameless Prince 

Peace ! 
From all sides rush the thirsty brood of War ? 
Austria, and that foul Woman of the North, 
The lustful Murderess of her wedded Lord ! 
And he, connatural Mind ! whom (in their songs 
So bards of elder time had haply feigned) 
Some Fury fondled in her hate to man. 
Bidding her serpent hair in mazy surge 
Lick his young face, and at his mouth inbreathe 
Horrible sympathy ! And leagued with these 
Each petty German princeling, nursed in gore ! 
Soul-hardened barterers of human blood ! 
Death's prime Slave-merchants ! Scorpion-whips ( 

Fate! 
Nor least in savagery of holy zeal, 
Apt for the yoke, the race degenerate, 
Whom Britain ei*st had blushed to call her sons ! 
Thee to defend the Moloch Priest prefers 
The prayer of hate, and bellows to the herd 
That Deity, accomplice Deity 
In the fierce jealousy of wakened wrath 



JUVENILE POEMS. 93 

Will go forth with our armies and our fleets 
To scatter the red ruin on their foes I 
blasphemy ! to mingle fiendish deeds 
With blessedness ! 

Lord of unsleeping Love,* 
From everlasting Thou ! We shall not die. 
These, even these, in mercy didst thou form, 
Teachers of Good through Evil, by brief wrong 
Making Truth lovely, and her future might 
Magnetic o*er the fixed untrembling heart. 

In the primeval age a dateless while 

The vacant Shepherd wandered with his flock 

Pitching his tent where'er the green grass waved. 

But soon Imagination conjured up 

^n host of new desires : with busy aim, 

Bach for himself. Earth's eager children toiled. 

So Property began, twy-streaming fount. 

Whence Vice and Virtue flow, honey and gall. 

Hence the soft couch, and many-coloured robe 



* Art thou not from everlasting. O Lord, mine Holy One ? 
We shall not die. O Lord, thou hast ordained them for Judg- 
ment, &c. Habakkuk. 



94 JUVENILE POEMS. 

The timbre], and arched dome and costly feast, 
With all the inventiye arts, that nursed the soul 
To forms of beauty, and by sensual wants 
Unsensualized the mind, which in the means 
Learnt to forget the grossness of the end. 
Best pleasured with its own activity. 
And hence Disease that withers manhood's arm, 
The da^ered Envy, spirit-quenching \yant, 
Warriors, and Lords, and Priests-— all the sore ills 
That vex and desolate our mortal Ufe. 
Wide-wasting ills I yet each the immediate source 
Of mightier good. Their keen necessities 
To ceaseless action goading human thought 
Have made Earth's reasoning animal her Lord; 
And the pale-featured Sage's trembUng hand 
Strong as an host of armed Deities, 
Such as the blind Ionian fabled erst. 

From Avarice thus, from Luxury and War 
Sprang heavenly Science; and from Science Freedo 
O'er wakened realms Philosophers and Bards 
Spread in concentric circles : they whose souls, 
Conscious of their high dignities from God, 
Brook not Wealth's rivalry ! and they who long 
Enamoured with the charms of order hate 



JUVENILE POEMS. 95 

The unseemly disproportion: and whoe'er 

Turn with mild sorrow from the victor^s car 

And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse 

On that blest triumph, when the patriot Sage 

Called the red lightnings from the o*er-rushing cloud 

And dashed the beauteous Terrors on the earth 

Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne'er 

Measured firm paces to the calming sound 

Of Spartan flute ! These on the fated day, 

When, stung to rage by Pity, eloquent men 

Have roused with pealing voice the unnumbered tribes 

That toil and groan and bleed, hungry and blind. 

These hushed awhile with patient eye serene 

Shall watch the mad careering of the storm ; 

Then o'er the wild and wavy chaos rush 

And tame the outrageous mass, with plastic might 

Moulding Confusion to such perfect forms, 

As erst were wont, bright visions of the day ! 

To float before them, when, the Summer noon. 

Beneath some arched romantic rock reclined 

They felt the sea breeze lift theii* youthful locks; 

Or in the month of blossoms, at mild eve, 

Wandering with desultory feet inhaled 

The wafted perfumes, and the flocks and woods 

And many-tinted streams and setting Sun 



96 JUVENILE POEMS. 

With all his gorgeous company of clouds 
Ecstatic gazed ! then homeward as they strayed 
Cast the sad eye to earth, and inly mused 
Why there was Misery in a world so fair. 
Ah far removed from all that glads the sense, 
From all that softens or ennobles Man, 
The wretched Many ! Bent beneath their loads 
They gape at pageant Power, nor recognize 
Their cots' transmuted plunder ! From the tree 
Of Knowledge, ere the vernal sap had risen 
Rudely disbranched ! Blessed Society ! 
Fitliest depictured by some sun-scorched waste, 
Where oft majestic through the tainted noon 
The Simoom sails, before whose purple pomp 
Who falls not prostrate dies ! And where, by night 
Fast by each precious fountain on green herbs 
The lion couches ; or hyeena dips 
Deep in the lucid stream his bloody jaws ; 
Or serpent plants his vast moon-glittering bulk, 
Caught in whose monstrous twine Behemoth* yelU 
His bones loud-crashing ! 



* Behemoth, in Hebrew, signifies wild beasts in genei 
Some believe it is the elephant, some the hippopotam* 
some affirm it is the wild bull. Poetically, it designi 
any large quadraped. 



JUVENILE POFMS. 97 

O ye numberless, 
Whom foul Oppression's ruffian gluttony 
Drives from life's plenteous feast ! O thou poor Wretch 
Who' nursed in darkness and made wild by ¥rant 
Roamest for prey, yea thy unnatural hand 
Dost lift to deeds of blood! O pale-eyed Form, 
The victim of seduction, doomed to know 
Polluted nights and days of blasphemy ; 
Who in loathed orgies with lewd wassailers 
Must gaily laugh, while thy remembered Home 
Gnaws like a viper at thy secret heart ! 
aged Womei^ ! ye who weekly catch 
The morsel tossed by law-forced Charity, 
And die so slowly, that none call it murder ! 
loathly Suppliants ! ye, that unreceived 
Totter heart-broken from the closing gates 
Of the full Lazar-house ; or, gazing, stand 
Sick with despair ! O ye to Glory's field 
Forced or ensnared, who, as ye gasp in death, 
Bleed with new wounds beneath the Vulture's beak ! 
thou poor Widow, who in dreams dost view 
Thy Husband's mangled corse, and from short doze 
Start'st with a shriek : or in thy half-thatched cot 
Waked by the wintry night-storm, wet and cold, 
Cow'rst o'er thy screaming baby ! Rest awhile. 
Children of Wretchedness ! More groans must rise, 

TOL. Z* H 



98 JUVENILE POEMS. 

More blood must stream, or ere your wrongs be full 
Yet is tbe day of Retribution nigh : 
The Lamb of God hath opened the fifth seal: 
And upward rush on swiftest wing of fire 
The innumerable multitude of Wrongs 
By man on man inflicted I Rest awhile. 
Children of Wretchedness! The hour is nigh ; 
And lo ! the Great, the Rich, the Mighty Men, 
The Kings and the Chief Captains of the World,, 
With all that fixed on high like stars of Heaven 
Shot baleful influence, shall be cast to earth. 
Vile and down-trodden, as the untimely fruit 
Shook from the fig-tree by a sudden stcmn. 
Even now the storm begins :* each gentle name, 
Faith and meek Piety, with fearful joy 
Tremble far-ofi"— for lo! the Giant Frenzt 
Uprooting emfMres with his whirlwind arm 
Mocketh high Heaven; burst hideous from the eel 
Where the old Hag, unconquerable, huge. 
Creation's eyeless drudge, black ruin, sits 
Nursing the impatient earthquake. 

O return! 
Pure Faith! meek Piety! The abhorred Form 
Whose scarlet robe was stifi" with earthly pomp, 
Who drank iniquity in cups of Gold, 

•Alluding to the French Revolution. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 99 

Whose names were many and all blasphemous, 

Hath met the horrible judgment! Whence that cry ? 

The mighty army of foul Spirits shrieked 

Disherited of earth ! For she hath fallen 

On whose black front was written Mystery ; 

She that reeled heavily, whose wine was blood ; 

She that worked whoredom with the Dcemon Power 

And from the dark embrace all evil things 

Brought forth and nurtured : mitred Athi!ism ; 

And patient Folly who on bended knee 

Gives back the steel that stabbed him; and pale 

Fear 
Hunted by ghastlier shapings than surround 
Moon-blasted Madness when he yells at midnight ! 
Return pure Faith ! return meek Piety ! 
The kingdoms of the world are your's : each heart 
Self-governed, the vast family of Love 
Raised from the common earth by common toil 
Enjoy the equal produce. Such delights 
As float to earth, permitted visitants ! 
When in some hour of solemn jubilee 
The massy gates of Paradise are thrown 
Wide open, and forth come in fragments wild 
Sweet echoes of unearthly melodies, 
And odours snatched from beds of Amaranth, 



537690 



B 



1 



100 JUVENILE POEMS« 

And they, that from the crystal river of life 
Spring up on freshened wing, ambrosial gales ! 
The favoured good man in his lonely walk 
Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks 
Strange bliss which he shall recognize in heaven. 
And such delights, such strange beatitude 
Seize on my young anticipating heart 
When that blest future rushes on my view! 
For in his own and in his Father's might 
The Saviour comes! While as the Thousakd 

Years 
Lead up their mystic dance, the Dbsert shouts ! 
Old Ocean claps his hands! The mighty Dead 
Rise to new Ufe, whoe'er from earliest time 
With conscious zeal had urged Love's wondrous plai 
Coadjutors of God. To M i lto n 's trump 
The high Groves of the renovated Earth 
Unbosom their glad echoes : inly hushed, 
Adoring Newton his serener eye 
Raises to heaven : and he of mortal kind 
Wisest^ he* first who marked the ideal tribes 
Up the fine fibres through the sentient brain. 
Lo! Priestley there, Patriot, and Saint, and Sag 
Him, full of years, from his loved native land 
Statesmen blood-stained and Priests idolatrous 

• David Hartley. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 101 

3y dark lies maddening the blind multitude 
)roye with vain hate. Calm, pitying he retired, 
bd mused expectant on the$e promised years. 

) Years! the blest preeminence of Saints! 

'^e sweep athwart my gaze, so heavenly-bnght, 

*be wings that veil the adoring Seraph's eyes, 

^hat time he bends before the Jasper Throne* 

Reflect no lovelier hues! yet ye depart, 

^d all beyond is darkness ! Heights most strange, 

Hience Fancy falls, fluttering her idle wing. 

or who of woman bom may paint the hour, 

Hien seized in his mid course, the Sun shall wane 

laking noon ghastly ! Who of woman bom 

fay image in the workings of his thought, 

low the black- visaged, red-eyed Fiend outstretched t 

eneath the unsteady feet of Nature groans, 

I feverish slumbers — destined then to wake, 

lien fiery whirlwinds thunder his dread name 

Qd Angels shout, Destruction ! How his arm 

* Rev. Cbap. !▼, ▼. 2, and 8. — And immediately I was in 
i Spirit : and behold, a Throne was set in Heaven, and one 
; on the Throne. And he that sat was to look upon like a jas- 
r and sardine stone, &c. 

t I'he final Destraction im|>ersonated. 



102 JUV£N1L^ POEMS. 

The last great Spirit lifting high in air 
Shall swear by Him, the ever-Uving One, 
Time is no more! 

Believe thou, O my soul, 
Life is a vision shadowy of Truth; 
And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave, 
Shapes of a dream ! The veiling clouds retire. 
And lo ! the Throne of the redeeming God 
Forth flashing unimaginable day 
Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest hell 

Contemplant Spirits \ ye that hover o*er 

With untired gaze the immeasurable fount 

Ebullient with creative Deity! 

And ye of plastic power, that interfused 

Roll through the grosser and material mass 

In organizing surge ! Holies of God I 

(And what if Monads of the infinite mind, 

I haply journeying my immortal course 

Shall sometime join your mystic choir ? Till then 

I discipline my young noviciate thought 

In ministeries of heart-stirring song. 

And aye on Meditation's heaven-ward wing 

Soaring aloft I breathe the empyreal air 



JUTSM1L£ POSMS. 



103 



OfLovEyOmnific, omnipresent Love, 

Whose day-spring rises glorious in my soul 

As the great Sun, when he his influence 

Sheds on the frost-bound waters — The glad stream 

Flows to the ray and warbles as it flows. 



104 JUVENILE POEMS. 



THE DESTINY OF NATIONS. 

A VISION. 



Auspicious Reverence ! Hush all meaner song, 
Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured 
To the Great Father, only Rightful King, 
Eternal Father! King Omnipotent! 
The Will, the Word, the Breath, — thb 
Living God. 

Such symphony requires best instrument. 
Seize, then, my soul ! from Freedom's trophied dome 
The Harp which hangeth high between the Shields 
Of Brutus and Leonidas ! With that 
Strong music, that soliciting spell, force back 
Earth*s free and stirring spirit that lies entranced. 

For what is Freedom, but the unfettered use 
Of all the powers which God for use had given? 
But chiefly this, him First, him Last to view 



JUVENILE POEMS. 105 

Phrough' meaner powers and secondary things 
Effulgent, as through clouds that veil his blaze. 
For all that meets the bodily sense I deem 
Symbolical, one mighty alphabet 
For infant minds ; and we in this low world 
Placed with our backs to bright Reality, 
That we may learn with young unwounded ken 
The substance from its shadow. Infinite Love 
Whose latence is the plenitude of All, 
Thou with retracted Beams, and Self-eclipse 
Veiling, revealest thine eternal Sun. 

But some there are who deem themselves most free 
When they within this gross and visible sphere 
Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent 
Proud in their meanness : and themselves they cheat 
With noisy emptiness of learned phrase. 
Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences. 
Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all 
Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves, 
Untenanting creation of its God. 

But properties are God : the naked mass 
(If mass there be, fantastic Guess or Ghost) 
Acts only by its inactivity. 
Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think 



106 JUVENILE POEMS. 

That as one body seems the aggregate 
Of Atoms numberless, each organized ; 
So by a strange and dim similitude 
Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds 
Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs 
With absolute ubiquity of thought 
(His one eternal self-affirming Act !) 
All his involved Monads, that yet seem 
With various province and apt agency 
Each to pursue its own self-centering end. 
Some nurse the infant diamond in the mine ; 
Some roll the genial juices through the oak ; 
Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air, 
And rushing on the storm with whirlwind speed, 
Yoke the red lightning to their volleying car. 
Thus these pursue their never-varying course. 
No eddy in their stream. Others, more wild. 
With complex interests weaving human fates. 
Duteous or proud, alike obedient all. 
Evolve the process of eternal good. 

And what if some rebellious, o*er dark realms 
Arrogate power ? yet these train up to Qod, 
And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day. 
Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom. 
As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head 



JUVENILE POEMS. 107 

The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun 
Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows. 
While yet the stem and solitary Night 
Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Mom 
With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam. 
Guiding his course or by Niemi lake 
Or Balda-Zhioky* or the mossy stone 
Of Solfar-kapper^t while the sno¥ry blast 
Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge. 
Making the poor babe at its mother's backt 

* BaUa Zhiok ; u «. mons altitadinif « the highest moantiin in 
Lapland. 

t Solfar Kapper; capidam Soifar, hie locus omnium, quotquot 
Tetenim Lapponum supersdtio sacrificiis religiosoque cuHui de- 
dicavit, celehratissimus erat, in parte sinus anstralis situs, semi- 
milUaxis spatio a man distans. Ipse locus, quern curiositatis 
gnUia aliquando me invisisse memini, duabus piealds lapidibus, 
sibi invicem oppoatis, quorum alter mnsco circumdatus erat, 
constabat. — LsBmus De LapponsAuc. 

t The Lapland women cany their infants at their back in a 
piece of excavated wood, which serres them for a cradle. Oppo- 
site to the infant's mouth there is a hole for it to breath 
thr(Migh.^Mirandum prorausestetYix credibile nisi cni vidiseei 
contigit. Lappones hyeme iter fadentes per rastos montes, 
perque horxida et invia tesqua, eo preaertim tempore quo omnia 
peipetnis niTibus oblecta sunt et nires mentis agitantur et in 
gyros aguntur, Tiam ad destinata loca absque errore iuTcnire 
posse, lactantem autem iafantem, si quern hi^>eat, ipsa mater in 
dorso bajulat, in excavato ligno (Gieed'k ipsi Tocant) quod pro 
cunis utuntur: in hoc inftms pannis et pellibus convolutus 
colligatus jacet.— LxEMius De LapponHna. 



lOB JUVENILE POEMS. 

Scream in its scanty cradle : he the while 

Wins gentle solace as with upward eye 

He marks the streamy banners of the North, 

Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join 

Who there in floating robes of rosy light 

Dance sportively. For Fancy is the Power 

That first unsensualizes the dark mind, 

Giving it new delights ; and bids it swell 

With wild activity ; and peopling air, 

By obscure fears of Beings invisible. 

Emancipates it from the grosser thrall 

Of the present impulse, teaching Self-controul, 

Till Superstition with unconscious hand 

Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain. 

Nor yet without permitted power impressed, 

I deem those legends terrible, with which 

The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng : 

Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moan 

O'er slaughtered infants, or that Giant Bird 

VuoKHO, of whose rushing wings the noise 

Is Tempest, when the unutterable* shape 

Speeds from the mother of Death, and utters once 

That shriek, which never Murderer heard, and lived. 

Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trance 

Pierces the untravelled realms of Ocean's bed 

* Jaibme Aibmo. 



JUV£NILE POEMS. 109 

(Where live the innocent as far from cares 
As from the storms and overwhelming waves 
Dark tumbling on the surface of the deep). 
Over the abysm, even to that uttermost cave 
By mis-shaped prodigies beleaguered, such 
As Earth ne'er bred, nor Air, nor the upper Sea. 

There dwells the Fury Form, whose unheard name 
With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breath. 
And lips half-opening with tlie dread of sound. 
Unsleeping Silence guards, worn out with fear 
Lest haply escaping on some treacherous blast 
The fateful word let slip the Elements 
And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her. 
Armed with Tomgarsuck's* power, the Spirit of Good, 
Forces to unchain the foodful progeny 
Of the Ocean stream. — Wild phantasies ! yet wise. 
On the victorious goodness of high God 

* They call the Good Spirit Torogarsuck. The other 
great but malignant spirit is a nameless Female : she dwells 
nnder the sea in a great house* where she can detain in cap- 
tivity all the animals of the ocean by her magic power. When 
a dearth befalls the Greenlanders, an Angekok or magician 
must undertake a journey thither. He passes through the king- 
dom of souls, over an horrible abyss into the Palace of this 
phantom, and by his enchantments causes the captive creatures 
to ascend directly to the surface of the ocean. 

See Cranis* Hist, of Greenland, vol. i. WS* 



110 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Teaching Reliance, and Medicinal Hope, 
Till from Bethabra northward, heavenly Truth 
With gradual steps winning her difficult way. 
Transfer their rude Faith perfected and pure. 

If there be Beings of higher class than Man, 
I deem no nobler province they possess^ 
Than by disposal of apt circumstance 
To rear up Kingdoms : and the deeds they prompt, 
Distinguishing from mortal agency, 
They chuse their human ministers from such states 
As still the Epic Song half fears to name, 
Repelled from all the Minstrelsies that strike 
The Palace-Roof and sooth the Monarch's pride. 

And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if words 
Witnessed by answering deeds may claim our Faith) 
Held commune with that warrior-maid of France 
Who scourged the Invader. From her infant days, 

With Wisdom, Mother of retired Thoughts, 
Her soul had dwelt ; and she was quick to mark 
The good and evil thing, in human lore 
Undisciplined. For lowly was her Birth, 
And Heaven had doomed her early years to Toil 
That pure from Tyranny's least deed, herself 
Unfeared by Fellow-natures, she might wait 



JUTKNILS POEMS. Ill 

On the poor Labouring man with kindly looks^ 
And minister refreshment to the tired 
Way-wanderer, when along the rough-hewn Bench 
The swehry roan had stretched him, and aloft 
Vacantly watched the rudely pictured board 
Which on the Mulberry-bough vrith welcome creak 
Swung to the pleasant breeze. Here, too, the Maid 
Learnt more than Schools could teach : Man*s shifting 

mind. 
His Vices and his Sorrows ! And full oft 
At Tales of cruel Wrong and strange Distress 
Had wept and shivered. To the tottering Eld 
Still as a Daughter would she run : she placed 
His cM Limbs at the sunny Door, and loved 
To hear him story, in his garrulous sort. 
Of his eventful years, all come and gone. 

So twenty seasons past. The Virgin's Form, 
Active and taU, nor Sloth nor Luxury 
Had shrunk or paled. Her front sublime and broad. 
Her flexile eye-brows wildly haired and low. 
And her full eye, now bright, now unillumed, 
Spake more than Woman's Thought; and all her face 
Was moulded to such Features as declared 
That Pity there had oft and strongly worked » 
And sometimes Indignation. Bold her mien, 



113 JUTESII^PJEMS. 



And like an hanshty Hnmres of die voodi 
She moved: Tet sure she v%s a eende mid ! 
And in eadi motion her most innocent loal 
Beamed fixth so fatkhdv. that vho av voidd a? 
Gnik was a diing imposafale in her! 
Nor idh- voold haxe said — iar she had lived 
In this bad WoriJ. as in a ptaoe of Toad» 
And tooched not tae poQizciGns of the Dead. 

Tvas the cold season vhen the Rnstic's ere 
Fiom the drear desolate whiteness of his fields 
Rolls fcH' rdief to watch the skier tints 
And doods slow-raiying their huge imagery; 
When now, as she was wont, the heakhfal Maid 
Had left her pallet ere one beam of day 
Slanted the fog-smoke. She went forth alone 
Urged by die indwelling angel-guide^ that oft, 
Widi dim inexplicable sympathies 
Disquieting the Heart, shapes ont Man*s coarse 
To the predoomed adventure. Now the ascent 
She climbs of that steep upland, on whose ti^ 
The Pilgrim -Man, who long since ere had watched 
The alien shine of unconceming Stars, 
Shouts to himself, there first the Abbey-lights 
Seen in Neufchatel's vale; now slopes adown 
The winding sheep-track valeward : when, behold 



JUVENILE POEMS. 113 

lo the first entrance of the level road 

An unattended Team ! The foremost horse 

Lay with stretched lunbs ; the others, yet alive 

But stiff and cold, stood motionless, their manes 

Hoar with the frozen night-dews. Dismally 

The dark-red dawn new glimmered ; but its gleams 

Disclosed no face of man. The maiden paused, 

Then hailed who might be near. No voice replied. 

From the thwart wain at length there reached her ear 

A sound so feeble that it almost seemed 

Distant : and feebly, with slow eflfort pushed, 

A miserable man crept forth: his limbs 

The silent frost had eat, scathing like fire. 

Faint on the shafts he rested. She, mean time. 

Saw crowded close beneath the coverture 

A mother and her children — lifeless all. 

Yet lovely ! not a lineament was marred — 

Death had put on so slumber-like a form ! 

It was a piteous sight ; and one, a babe. 

The crisp milk frozen on its innocent lips. 

Lay on the woman^s arm, its little hand 

Stretched on her bosom. 

Mutely questioning. 
The Maid gazed wildly at the living wretch. 
He, his head feebly turning, on the group 

VOL. I. Z 



114 JUTENILE poems; 

Looked with a vacant Btare, and hkeye spoke 

The drowsy calm that steals on worn-out «ng^b. 

She shuddered : but, each vainer pang subdued, 

Quick disentangling from the foremost horse 

The rustic bands, with difficulty and toil 

The stiffcramped team fcnrced homeward. There airived, 

Anxiously tends him she with healing herbs. 

And we^ps and {M^ys — ^but the numb power of DttA 

Spreads o^es his hmbs ; and ere the noon-tide hour, 

The hovering spirits of his Wife and Babes 

Hail him iimnortal ! Yet amid his pangs. 

With interruptions long from ghastly throes, 

His voice had faltered out this simple tale. 

The Village, where he dwelt an Husbandman, 
By sudden inroad had been seized and fired 
Late on the yester-evening. With his wife 
And little ones he hurried his escape. 
They saw the neighbouring Hamlets flame, they heari 
Uproar and shrieks I and terror-struck drove on 
Through unfrequented roads, a weary way I 
But saw nor house nor cottage. All bad quendied 
Their evening hearth-fire : for the alarm had spread. 
The air clipt keen, the night was fanged with frost, 
And they pcoviaionless ! The weeping wiie 
111 hushed her children's moans; and sU]ltheymoiu)fd, 



JUVENILE POEMS. 115 

rill Fright and Cold and Hunger drank their life. 
Fhey closed their eyes in sleep, nor kn^w 'twas Death, 
fie only, lashing his o*er~wearied team, 
Gained a sad respite, till beside the base 
)f the high hill his foremoftt horse dropped dead, 
rhen hopdess, strengthless, sick for lack Of food, 
le crept beneath the coverture, entranced, 
!*ill wakened by the maiden. — Such his tale. 

Ah ! suffering to the height of what was suffered, 
Itung with too keen a sympathy, the Maid 
(rooded with moving lips, mute, startful, dark ! 
Ind now her flushed tumultuous features shot 
inch strange vivacity, as fires the eye 
>f misery Faney-<Mrazed ! and now once more 
faked, and void, and filed, and all within 
he imquiet silence of confused thought 
ind shapeless feelings. For a mighty hand 
Vm strong upon her, till in the heat of soul 
'o the high hill-top tracing back her steps, 
Lside the beacon, up whose smouldered stones 
he tender ivy-trails crept thinly, there, 
Inconscions of Ibe driving element, 
'ea, swallowed up in the ominoos dream, she sate, 
ihastly as broad-eyed Slumber! a dim anguish 



116 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Breathed from her look 1 and still with pant and sob, 
Inly she toil'd to flee, and still subdued. 
Felt an inevitable Presence near. 

Thus as she toiled in troublous ecstasy. 
An hon'or of great darkness wrapt her round, 
And a voice uttered forth unearthly tones, 
Calming her soul, — " O Thou of the Most High 
'* Chosen, whom all the perfected in Heaven 
" Behold expectant 

[The following fragments were intended to fonn part of the 
Poem when finished.] 

*^ Maid beloved of Heaven I 
(To her the tutelary Power exclaimed) 
" Of Chaos the adventurous progeny 
<^ Thou seest ; foul missionaries of foul sire, 
" Fierce to regain the losses of that hour 
<< When LOVE rose glittering, and his gorgeous wings 
<< Over the abyss fluttered with such glad noise, 
<^ As what time after long and pestful calms, 
<< With slimy shapes and miscreated life 
'< Poisoning the vast Pacific, the frei»h breeze 
« Wakensthe merchant-sail uprising. Night 
<< An heavy unimaginable moan 



JUVEKILB POEMS. 117 

^* Sent forth, when she the Protoplast beheld 

'' Stand beauteous on Confusion's charmed wave. 

" Moaning she fled, and entered the Profound 

'' That leads with downward windings to the Cave 

" Of darkness palpable. Desert of Death 

^' Sunk deep beneath Gehenna's massy roots. 

" There many a dateless age the Beldame lurked 

" And trembled; till engendered by fierce Hate, 

'' Fierce Hate and gloomy Hope, a Dream arose,. 

" Shaped like a black cloud marked with streaks of fire • 

" It roused the Hell-Hag : she the dew-damp wiped 

" From off her brow, and through the uncouth maze 

" Retraced her steps; but ere she reached the mouth 

" Of that drear labyrinth, shuddering she paused, 

" Nor dared re-enter the diminished Gulph. 

** As through the dark vaults of some mouldered Tower 

" (Which, fearful to approach, the evening Hind 

" Circles at distance in his homeward way) 

" The winds breathe hollow, deemed the plaining 

groan 
" Of prisoned spirits ; with such fearful voice 

** Night murmured, and the sound through Chaos 
went. 

" Leaped at her call her hideous-fronted brood ! 

'' A dark behest they heard, and rushed on earth ; 



118 JUV£]iILS ?0£MS. 

" Sin(je that sad hour, in Camps and Courts adored; 
<* Rebels from God, and Monarcbs o'er Mankind f 



From his obscure haunt 
Shrieked Fear, of Cruelty the ghastly Dam, 
Feverish yet freejdng, eager-paced yet slow. 
As she that creeps from forth her swampy reeds. 
Ague, the biform Hag! when early Spring 
Beams on the marsh-bred vapours. 






Even so*' (the exulting Maiden said) 
The sainted Heralds of Good Tidings fell, 
^* And thus they witnessed God ! But now the clouds 
** Treading, and storms beneath their feet, they soar 
** Higher, and higher soar, and soaring sing 
^* Loud songs of Triumph ! O ye spirits of (jod, 
" Hover around my mortal agonies !" 
She spake, and instantly faint melody 
Melts on her ear, soothing and sad, and slow. 
Such measures, as at calmest midnight heard 
By aged Hermit in his holy dream, 
Foretell and solace death ; and now they cis^ 
Louder, as when with harp and mingled voice 
The white-robed* multitude of slaughtered saints 

* ReTel. ▼!. 9, 11. And when l^e had opened the fifth 
seal, 1 saw under the altar the souls of them that were slam 



JUf&JIILE P0XM8. 119 

At Heaven's wide-opeaed poitids gratuiant 
Receive some martyr'd Patriot. The hannony 
Entranced the Maid, till each suspended sense 
Brief slumber seized, and confused ecstasy. 

At length awakening slow, she gazed around : 
And through a Mist, the relict of that trance, 
StiH thinning as she gazed, an Isle appeared. 
Its high, o'er-hanging, white, broad-breasted cliffs. 
Glassed on the subject occga. A vast plain 
Stretched opposite, where ever and anon 
The Ploughnnan following sad his meagre team 
Turned up fresh sculls unstartled, and the bones 
Of fierce hate-breathing combatants, who there 
All mingled lay beneath the common earth, 
Death's gloomy reconcilement! 0*er the Fiekls 
Stept a fair form, repairing all she might. 
Her temples olive- wreathed ; and where she trod, 
Fresh flowerets rose, and many a foodful herb. 
But wan her cheek, her footst^ insecure. 
And anxious pleasure beamed in her fiunt eye, 

for the -word of God, and for the tesUmony wUch they hsld. 
And white robes were given unto every one of them, that they 
should rest yet for a little seasoa, until their fellow servants also 
and their brethren, that should he killed as they were, should 

so IQHHieu. 



120 JUVENILE POEMS* 

As she had newly left a couch of pain, 
Pale Convalescent ! (Yet some time to rule 
With power exclusive o'er the willing world. 
That blessed prophetic mandate then fulfilled 
Peace be on Earth !) An happy while, but brief, 
She seemed to wander with assiduous feet. 
And healed the recent harm of chill and blight, ' 
And nursed each plant that fair and virtuous grew. 

But soon a deep precursive sound moaned hollow ' 
Black rose the clouds^ and now, (as in a dream) 
Their reddening shapes, transformed to Warrior-* 

hosts. 
Coursed o'er the Sky, and battled in mid-air. 
Nor did not the large blood-drops fall from Heaven 
Portentous ! while aloft were seen to float. 
Like hideous features booming on the mist. 
Wan Stains of ominous Light ! Resigned, yet sad, 
The fair Form bowed her olive-crowned Brow, 
Then o'er the plain with oft reverted eye 
Fled till a Place of Tombs she reached, and there 
Within a ruined Sepulchre obscure 
Found Hiding-place. 

The delegated Maid 
Gazed through her tears, then in sad tones exclaimed 



JUVENILE POEMS. 121 

' Thou mild-eyed Form ! wherefore,. ah! wherefore 

fled? 
The Power of Justice like a name all Light, 
Shone from thy brow ; but all they, who unblamed 
Dwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happiness. 
Ah! why, uninjured and unprofited. 
Should multitudes against their brethren rush? 
Why sow they guilt, still reaping Misery ? 
Lenient of care, thy songs, O Peace I are sweet, 
As after showers the perfumed gale of eve, 
Tliat flings the cool drops on a feverous cheek : 
And gay thy grassy altar piled with fruits. 
But boasts the shrine of Daemon War one charm, 
Save that with many an oi^ie strange and foul. 
Dancing around with interwoven arms. 
The Maniac Suicide and Giant Murder 
Exult in their fierce union ! I am sad, 
And know not why the simple Peasants crowd 
' Beneath the Chieftains' standard!'* Thus the Maid. 

To her the tutelary Spirit replied : 
' When Luxury and Lust's exhausted stores 
' No more can rouse the appetites of Kings ; 
' When the low flattery of their reptile Lords 
' Falls flat and heavy on the accustomed ear ; 
' When Igunuchs sing, and Fools buflbonery make, 



u 
it 



ii 



122 JUVKNILE PO£MS. 

" And Dancen writhe their harlot-limbs in vain ; 
'^ Then War and all its dread vicissitudes 

Pleasingly agitate their stagnant Hearts; 

Its hopes, its fears, its victcxies, its defeats^ 

Insipid Royalty's keen condiment ! 
'' Therefore, uninjured and unprofited, 
'' (Victims at once and Executioners) 

The congregated Husbandmen lay waste 

The Vineyard and the Harvest. As aloog 
'' The Bothnic coast, or southward of the Line, 
'^ Though hushed the Winds and cloudless the high 

Noon, 
" Yet if Leviathan, weary of ease, 
'* In sports unwieldy toss his I^and-bulk, 
^' Ocean behind him billows, and before 
'^ A storm of waves tnreaks foamy on the strand. 
" And hence, for times and seasons bloody and daHc, 
^' Short Peace shall skin the wounds of causdess 

War, 
'^ And War, his strained sinews knit anew, 
*' Stdl violate the unfinished works of Peace. 
** But yorider look ! for more demands thy view !" 
He said : and straightway from the opposite Isle 
A Vapour sailed, as when a cloud, exhaled 
From Egypt's fields that steam hot pestilence. 
Travels the sky for many a trackless league. 



I 



JVVKKILE POEMS. 123 

'TiU o'er some Death-doomed land, digtant in vain. 
It broods incumbent. Forthwith from the Plain, 
Facing the Isle, a brighter cloud arose. 
And steered its course which way the Vapour went 

The Maiden paused, musing what this might mean. 
But long time passed not, ere that brighter Cloud 
Returned more bright ; along the Plain it swept ; 
And soon from forth its bursting sides emerged 
A dazzling form, broad-bosomed, bold of eye. 
And wild her hair, save where with laurels bound. 
Not more majestic stood the healing God, 
When from his bow the arrow sped that slew 
Huge Python. Shriek'd Ambitiok's giant throng. 
And with them hissed the Locust-fiends that crawled 
And glittered in Corruption's slimy track. 
Great was their wrath, for short they knew their reign ; 
And such commotion made they, and uproar. 
As when the mad Tornado bellows through 
The guilty islands of the western main. 
What time departing from their native shores, 
Eboe, or * Koromantyn's plain of Palms, 

* The Slaves m the West-IndieB consider death as a pass- 
port to their native country. This sentiment is thus expressed 
in the introduction to a Greek Prize-Ode on the Slave-Trade, of 



124 JUVENILE POEMS. 

The infuriate spirits of the Murdered make 
Fierce merriment, and vengeance ask of Heaven. 

which the ideas are better than the language in which the; are 
conveyed. 

Q^xoTOu mKeiff Soatctrg^ irpoKtifrtop 
Ef yoof ffirn^tg VKO^evy$n Arf* 
Ou ^niff^rinj ycyuofv cxoipety/iots 

OvS' oXoAuy/utfy. 

AXXa xou xvxXotfft'^opotrvn-ota't 
HjeLVfietroiv x<tp^ ^Sipog fuv sffffi 
AXX* o/uvf EKmjBtpt<f awotxite 

Srvyyc Tugomt \ 

Aaantotg stu impvytaat oyifft 
A ! d'oXao'O'iov xaQoptvvTse o^fia 
AtOt^oirKayrotg uto iroffff* eatto't 

JlarpiB* It* ouoa. 

£»9a /iot» Kpaffou lS.pii>fiivii<riv 
Afi.<pt xriyyia'tv xtrpnttvv xtit* etKvwM, 
Ocff* UTO /Sporoif f Tadoy j8poTO<, rat 

Af»a XtyovTt. 

LITERAL TRANSLATION. 

Leaving the Gates of Darkness, O Death ! hasten thoa to 
a Race yoked with Misery ! Thou wilt not be received with 
lacerations of cheeks, nor with funereal ululation — ^but with 
circling dances and the joy of songs. Thou art terrible indeed, 
yet thou dwellest with Liberty, stem Genius ! Borne <m thy 
dark pinions over the swelling of Ocean, they return to their 
native country. There, by the side of Fountains beneath Ci- 
tron-groves, the lovers tell to iheir beloved what horrors, being 
Men, they had endured from Men. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 125 

Warmed with new influence, the unwholesome Plain 

Sent up its foulest fogs to meet the Mom : 

The Sun that rose on Freedom, rose in Blood f 



'' Maiden beloved, and Delegate of Heaven!" 
(To her the tutelaiy Spirit said) 
" Soon shall the Morning struggle into Day, 
** The stormy Morning into cloudless Noon. 
** Much hast thou seen, nor all canst understand — 
"But this be thy best Omen — Save thy Country! 
Thus saying, from the answering Maid he passed, 
And with him disappeared the Heavenly Vision. 



«( 



" Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven ! 
" All conscious Presence of the Universe ! 
" Nature's vast Ever-acting Energy ! 
« In Will, in Deed, Impulse of All to All ! 
" Whether thy Love with unrefracted Ray 
" Beam on the Prophet's purged eye, or if 
" Diseasing Realms the Enth usi ast, wild of Thoughts 
" Scatter new Frenzies on the infected Throng, 
" Thou Both mspiring and predooming Both, 
" Fit Instruments and best, of perfect End: 
" Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven !" 



126 JUVBNILE POEMS. 

And first a Landscape rose, 
More wild and waste and desolate than mdiere 
The white bear, drifting on a field of ice. 
Howls to her sundered cubs with piteous rage 
And savage agony. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES, 



'OEMS OCCASIONED BY POLITICAL EVENTS OR 
FEELINGS CONNECTED WITH THEM. 



When I have borne in memoxy wliat has tamed 
Great nations, how ennobling thoughts depart 
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
The student's bower for gold, some fears mmamed 
I had, my country ! Am I to be blamed 1 
But, when I think of Thee, and what Thou art. 
Verily, in the bottom of my heart. 
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 
But dearly must we prize thee ; we who find 
In thee a bulwark of the cause of men ; 
And I by my affection was beguiled. 
What wonder if a poet, now and then. 
Among the many movements of his mind. 
Felt for thee as a Lover or a Child. 

Wordsworth. 



ODE 



TO 



THE DEPARTING YEAR. 



Tit' «5 /*€ 8««»^f ip^Ofiarrthf w^Wff 
2t^#i, TOLpdff<run <ppoifA^Sf l<pn/Jote 
♦ ♦«*** 

'Ayow y* AXiiW/iflorTi* /»* lp«f. 

uiiscHYL. Agam* 1225- 



VOL. I. 



ARGUMENT. 

The Ode commences with an Address to the Divine Provi- 
dence, that regulates into one vast harmony all the events of 
time, however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. 
The second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private joys 
and sorrows, and devote them for a while to the cause of homan 
nature in general. The first Epode speaks of the Empress of 
Russia, who died of an apoplexy on the 17th. of November 
1796 ; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings 
combined against France. The first and second Antistiophe 
describe the Imi^e of the Pep^urting Year, Uc* as in a viiioD. 
the second Epode pr^hecies, in anguish of spirit, the downfall 
of this country* 



ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAR.' 



I. 



Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of Time I 
It is most hardy with an untrouhled ear 
Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear I 
Yet, mine eye fixed on Heaven's unchanging clime. 
Long had I listened, free from mortal fear, 
With inward slillness, and submitted mind ; 
When lo ! its folds far waving on the wind, 
I saw the train of the Departing Year ! 
Starting from my silent sadness 
Then with no unholy madness 
Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight, 
I raui^d the impetuous song, and solemnized his flight. 

• Thif Ode wat compoMd on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days 
of December 1796 ; and waa first published on the last day of 
that year. 



S 



132 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

II. 

Hither, from the recent Tomb, 
From the Prison's direr gloom. 
From Distemper's midnight anguish ; 
And thence, where Poverty doth waste and languish ; 
, Or where, his two bright torches blending, 
Love illumines Manhood's maze ; 
Or where o'er cradled infants bending 
Hope has fixed her wishful gaze. 
Hither, in perplexed dance, 
Ye Woes ! ye young-eyed Joys ! advance ! 
By Time's wild harp, and by the hand 
Whose indefatigable sweep 
Raises its fateful strings from sleep, 
I bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band! 
From every private bower. 

And each domestic hearth, 
Haste for one solemn hour ; 
And with a loud and yet a louder voice, 
O'er Nature struggling in' portentous birth. 

Weep and rejoice ! 
Still echoes the dread Name that o'er the earth 
Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell. 

And now advance in saintly Jubilee 
Justice and Truth ! They too have heard thy speOy 
They too obey thy name, Divinest Liberty ! 



SIBYLLINR LEAVES. 133 

III. 

marked Ambition in his war-array ! 

I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry — 
Ah ! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay? 
Groans not her chariot on its onward way ?'* 
Fly, mailed Monarch, fly ! 

.Stunned by Death*s twice mortal mace, 

No more on Murder's lurid face 
le insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye! 

Manes of the unnumbered slain ! 

Ye that gasped on Warsaw's plain ! 
Ye that erst at Ismail's tower, 
lien human ruin choked the streams. 
Fell in conquest's glutted hour, 
id women's shrieks and infants' screams ! 
Spirits of the uncoffined slain, 

Sudden blasts of triumph swelling. 
Oft, at night, in misty train, 

Rush around her narrow dwelling ! 
The exterminating flend is fled-— > 

(Foul her life, and dark her doom) 
Mighty armies of the dead 

Dance like death-fires round her tomb! 
Then with prophetic song relate. 
Each some tyrant-murderei^s fate ! 



134 SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 

IV. 

Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly shiore 
My soul beheld thy vision ! Where alone> 
Vmceless and stem, before the cloudy throne. 
Aye Memory sits : thy robe inscribed with gore> 
With many an unimaginable groan 

Thou storied'st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued, 
Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude. 
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with gloiied 
shone. 
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing. 
From the choired Gods advanciiig, 
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet, 
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat. 

V. 

Throughout the blissftil throng. 

Hushed were harp and song : 
Till wheeling round the throne the Lamp ads seven, 

(The mystic Words of Heaven) 

Permissive signal make : 
The fervent Spirit bowed, then spread his wkigs and 
spake ! 



it 



SIBTI.LIK£ LEAYSS. 135 

'^ Thou in stormy blackness throning 

** Love and uncreated Light, 
<' By the Earth^ff unsolaced groamttg, 
'< Seize thy tenidrs, Ann of might I 
'' By Peace, with proffered insuk scarfed, 
** Masked Rate and efivykig Seom ^ 
" By Yeats of Haroc yet anbem \ 
** And Rmiger's bosom to the Ipost-winds btred ! 
" But chief by Afric's wrongs, 
Stranger horrible, and foul ! 
By what deep guilt beloag^- 
« To the deaf Synod, ' faQ of giftb and Kttf I' 
'< By Wealth's insensate laugh ! by Tortui^a howl! 
'* At«ttger, rise ! 
'* For eret »haH the tiwDklesB Island scowl^ 
** Her qniter fuH, and wkk anbroken bout? 
Speak ! from thy sto#m-blaek Heaven O i^eak alcxttll 

*' And on the darkling foe 
" Open thine eye of fire firom some wnrtrtaii clood I 

<< O dart the ftaah I O me and deal the blow I 
*^ The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries I 
** Hark 1 how wide Natoie joins her groans below ! 
*' Rise, God of Nature I rise/' 



136 SIBTLLIKE LKAVES. 



VI. 



The voice had ceased, the Yision .fled ; 
Yet still I gasped and reeled with dread. 
And ever, when the dream of night 
Renews the phantom to my sight. 
Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs ; 

My ears throb hot; my eye-balls start; 
My brain with horrid tumult swims ; 

Wild is the tempest of my heart ; 
And my thick and struggling breath 
Imitates the toil of Death ! 
'No stranger agony confounds 

The Soldier on the war-field spread, 
Whep all foredone with toil and wounds, 

Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead t 
(The strife is o'er, the day-light fled. 

And the night-wind clamours hoarse ! 
: See! the starting wretch's head 

Lies pillowed on a brother's corse !) 

VII. 

Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile, 
O Albion ! O my mother Isle ! 
Thy vallies, fair as Eden's bowers. 
Glitter green with sunny showers ; 



SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 13T 

*rhy grassy uplands' gentle swells 

Echo to the bleat of flocks ; 
(Those glassy hills, those glittering dells 

Proudly ramparted with rocks) 
And Ocean mid his uproar wild 
Speaks safety to his islakd-child ! 

Hence for many a fearless age 

Has social Quiet loved thy shore ; 
Nor ever proud Invader's rage 
Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields with gore* 

vni. 

Abandoned of Heaven! mad Avarice thy guide. 
At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride- 
Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood , 
And joined the wild yelling of Famine and BloodI 
The nations curse thee ! They with eager wondering 

Shall hear Destruction, like a Vulture, scream ! 

Strange-eyed Destruction ! who with many a 
dream 
Of central fires through nether seas upthundering 

Soothes her fierce solitude ; yet as she lies 
By livid fount, or red volcanic stream. 

If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, 

O Albion ! thy predestined ruins rise. 



138 8IBTLL1NB i.BAy£S. 

The fiend-hag on her peiikwkt ccmch doth kap, 
Muttering distempered triumph in her charmed sleep. 

IX. 

Away, my soid, away ! 
In vain, in vain the Birds of warning sing — 
And hark ! I hear the famished brood of pi^y 
Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind ! 
Away, my soul, away ! 
I unpartaking of the evil thing. 
With daily prayer and daily toil 
Soliciting for food my scanty soil. 
Have wailed my cbuntry with a Ibud T^aaent 
Now I recentre my mnnortal mind 

In the deep sabbath of meek telf-^onMlt: 
Clesb&Sed from the vap6roud passic^itf tb^ bedim 
God's Image, niiUx of th6 Betaphiiii. 



SIBTLLrNE LEAVCe. 139 



FRANCE. 



AN ODE. 



I. 

Ye Clouds ! Chat far abore me float and pauie^ 

Whose pathless inarch no mortal may controul ! 

Ye Ocean- Waves ! thai, wheresoever ye folly 
Yield homage only to eternal laws ! 
Ye Woods I that fisten to th^ hight-birds* singmgy 

Midway the stnoodi and perihms slope recUned, 
Save when your own imperious branches i^ingikig 

Have made a solemn music of the wind I 
Wliere, like a man beloved of God» 
rhrough glooms, which never vrdbdmaii txod. 

How oft, pursuing fancies holy, 
My moonlight way o*er flowering weeds I wound, 

Inspired, beyond the guess of My. 
By each mde tdiape ilnd wil^ u^nqueririLble ioimd I 
O ye loud Waves ! and O ye Forests high ! 



140 SIBYLLINE LEAVKS. 

And O ye Clouds that far above me soared ! 
Thou rising Sun ! thou blue rejoicing Sky ! 
Yea, every thing that is and will be free ! 
Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be. 
With what deep worship I have still adored 
The spirit of divinest Liberty. 

II. 

When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared. 

And with that oath, which smote air, earth and sea, 

Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free. 
Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! 
With what a joy my lofty gratulation 

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band : 
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation^ 

Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand. 
The Monarchs marched in evil day. 
And Britain joined the dire array ; 

Though dear her shores and circling ocean, 
Though many friendships, many youthful loves 

Had swoln the patriot emotion 
And flung a magic light o*er all her hills. and groves; 
Yet, still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat 

To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance. 
And shame too long delayed and vain retreat L 



SIBTLLIKE LEAYESi 141 

3r ne'er, O Liberty ! with partial aim 
dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame; 
But blessed the peeans of delivered France, 
nd hung my head and wept at Britain's name. 

III. 

And what/' I said, *' though Blasphemy's loud 
scream 

" With that sweet music of deliverance strove I 

** Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove 
A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream ! 

*' Ye storms, that round the dawning east assem- 
bled, 
The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!" 

And when, to sooth my soul, that hoped and tremUed , 
he dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright; 

When France her front deep-scar'd and gory 

Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory; 
When, insupportably advancing. 

Her arm made mockery of the warrior's tramp; ^ 
While timid looks of fury glancing, 

Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp, 
Vrithed like a wounded dragon in his gore ; 

Then I reproached my fears that would not flee ; 
' And soon," I said, *' shall Wisdom teach her lore 
< In the low huts of them that toil and groan ! 



I4d SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

** And, conquoring by hfr happiness alone, 

<< Shall Fr^ce (compel, the nations to, be hee, 
Till Love and Joy look rounds and caUr the £arth 
their own." 

Forgive, me. Freedom! O forgive those dreams 1 
I hear thy voice, I hear thy knid lament, 
Prom' bleak Helvetians icy oavems sent-^ 

I- hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams I 
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perishedi 

And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows 
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished 

One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes ! 
To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt, 
Where Peace her jealous home had built ; 
A patriot-race to disinherit 

Of all that made their stonny wilds so desur ; 
And with inexpiable spirit 

To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer-* 

O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, 
And patriot only in pernicious toils ! 

Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind; 
' To mix with Kings in the low lust of .sway, 

Tell in the hunt, and share the murderous pey; 

To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils 
From freemen torn ; to tempt and to betray ^ 



^ 

*» 



SIBTLLIVS LEAVES, 143 

V. 

The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain^ 
Slaves by their own compulsion I In mad game 
They burst their manacles and wear the name 

Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain I 
O Liberty ! with. profitless endeavour 
Have I pursued thee^ many a weary hour ; 

But thou nor swell'st the victoi^s strain, nor ever 
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. 
Alike from all, howe*er they praise thee, 
(Not prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) 

Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, 
And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves. 
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, 
The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the 

waves ! 
And there I felt thee !--on that sea-cliflTs verge. 

Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze abi9¥e, 

Had made one murmur with the distant surge ! 

Yes, while* I stood and gazed, my temples bare. 

And shot my being through earth, sea and air. 

Possessing all things with intensest love, 

O Liberty ! my spirit felt thee there, 

Febiaaiy, 1797. 



144 SIBYLLINE LEAV£»; 



FEARS IN SOLITUDE. 

Written in April 1798, during the Alann of an InvaaioBw 



A OREEN and silent spot, amid the hills, 
A small and silent dell! 0*ei: stiller place 
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself. 
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope. 
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on, 
All golden with the never-bloomless furze, 
Which now blooms most profusely : but the dell. 
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate 
As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax. 
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve, 
The level Sunshine glimmers with green light. 
Oh ! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook ! 
Which all, methinks, would love ; but chiefly he, 
The humble man, who, in his youthful years. 
Knew just so much of folly, as had made 
His early manhood more securely wise ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 145 

lere be might lie on fern or withered heath, 
Vhile from the singing-lark (that sings unseen 
rhe minstrelsy that solitude loves best,) 
Vnd from the Sun, and ^m the breezy Air, 
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame ; 
Vnd he, with many feelings, many thoughts, 
Vlade up a meditative joy, and found 
ileligious meanings in the forms of nature I 
\nd so, his senses gradually wrapt 
[n a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds, 
A.nd dreaming hears thee still, O singing-lark, 
rhat singest like an angel in the clouds ! 

My God I it is a melancholy thing 
For such a man, who would full fain preserve 
His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel 
For all his human brethren — O my God! 
It weighs upon the heart, that he must think 
What uproar and what strife may now be stirring 
This way or that way o*er these silent hills — 
[nvasion, amd the thunder and the shout, 
And all the crash of onset; fear and rage. 
And undetermined conflict— even now, 
Even now, perchance, and in his native isle : 
Carnage and groans beneath this blessed Sun I 
*We have offended. Oh ! my countrymen I 

▼OL. I. L 



146 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

We have offended very grfeVoUsly, 

And been most tyrannous. From east to west 

A groan of accusation pierces Heaven I 

The wretched plead against us ; multitudes 

Countless and vehement, the Soiis of God, 

Our Brethren I Like a cloud that travels on, - 

Steamed up from Cairo's swamps of pestilence, 

Even so, my countrymen! have we gone forth 

And borne to distant tribes slavery and pangs, 

And, deadlier far, our vices, whose deep taint 

With slow perdition murders the whole man, 

His body and his soul I Meanwhile, at home. 

All individual dignity and power 

Engulfed in Coutts^ Committees, Institudons, 

Associations and Societies, 

A vain, speech-mouthing, speech-reporting (Gruild, 

One Benefi^-Ol^^ for mutual flattery, 

We have drcmk tip, d^ihure as at a grace. 

Pollutions from the ^t'^ititii^in^ bup of wieahh; 

Contemptuous Of all henotetbknile^' ' 

Yet bartering freedom isoid the pdor mail's^ life 

For gold, a3 at a maikei! : TIm sweet words ' 

Of Christian piDmise^ ^ords that even yet * * 

Might stem destraction, vrere they ^^ly preached, 

Are mutteired o'er by men, whose tones piOclaim 

How flat and wearisome they feel their trade : 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 147 

Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent 

To deem them falsehoods or to know theii truth. 

Oh ! blasphemous ! the book of life is made 

A superstitious instrument, on which 

We gabble o'er the oaths we mean to break ; 

For all must swear — all and in every place. 

College and wharf^ council and justice-court ; 

Ally all must swear, the briber and the bribed, 

Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest, 

The rich, the poor, the old man and the young ; 

All, all make up one scheme of perjury, 

That faith doth reel ; the very name of God 

Sounds like a juggler's charm ; and, bdd with joy, 

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, 

(Portentous sight !) the owlet, Atheism, 

Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon. 

Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close. 

And hooting at the glorious Sun in Heaven, 

Cries out, "Where is itr 

Thankless too for peace, 
(Peace long preserved by fleets and perilous seas) 
Secure from actual warfare, we have loved 
To swell the war-*whoop, passionate for war I 
Alas ! for ages ignorant of all 
Its ghasther workings, (famine or Uue plague, 



148 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Battle, or siege, or flight through wintry-snows,) 

We, this whole people, have been clamorous 

For war and bloodshed ; animating sports, 

The which we pay for as a thing to talk of. 

Spectators and not combatants ! No Guess 

Anticipative of a wrong unfelt, 

No speculation or contingency, 

However dim and vague, too vague and dim 

To yield a justifying cause ; and forth, 

(Stuffed out with big preamble, holy names, 

And adjurations of the God in Heaven,) 

We send our mandates for the certain death 

Of thousands and ten thousands ! Boys and girls^ 

And women, that would groan to see a child 

Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war. 

The best amusement for our momino:-meal ! 

The poor wretch, who has learnt his only prayers 

From curses, who knows scarcely words enough 

To ask a blessing from his Heavenly Father, 

Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute 

And technical in victories and deceit. 

And all otir dainty terms for fratricide; 

Terms which we trundle smoothly o*er our tongues 

Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to which 

We join no feeling and attach no form ! 

As if the soldier died without a wound ; 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 149 

\s if the fibres of this godlike frame 

^ere gored without a pang; as if the wretch, 

CVho fell in battle, doing bloody deeds, 

Passed off to Heaven, translated and not killed; — 

\s though he had no wife to pine for him, 

Vo God to judge him ! Therefore, evil days 

^re coming on us, O my countrymen I 

\nd what if all-avenging Providence, 

Strong and retributive, should make us know 

rhe meaning of our words, force us to feel 

Fhe desolation and the agony 

Of our fierce doings ! 

Spare us yet awhile. 
Father and God ! Oh ! spare us yet awhile ! 
Oh ! let not EngHsh women drag their flight 
Fainting beneath the burthen of their babes, 
Of the sweet infants, that but yesterday 
Laughed at the breast! Sons, brothers, husbands, all 
Who ever gazed with fondness on the forms 
Which grew up with you round the same tire-side, 
And all who ever heard the sabbath-bells 
Without the infidel's scorn, make yourselves pure 1 
Stand forth ! be men ! repel an impious foe. 
Impious and false, a light yet cruel race. 
Who laugh away all virtue, mingling mirth 



150 SIBYLLINE L£A.yES« 

With deeds of murder ; and still promising 
Freedom, themselves too sensual to be free, 
Poison life's amities, and cheat the heart 
Of faith and quiet hope, and all that soothes 
And all that lifts the spirit! Stand we forth; 
Render them back upon the insulted ocean. 
And let them toss as idly on its waves 
As the vile sea-weed, which some mountain-blast 
Swept from our shores ! And oh ! may we return 
Not with a drunken triumph, but with fear. 
Repenting of the wrongs with which we stung 
So fierce a foe to frenzy ! 

I have told, 
O Britons ! O my brethren ! I have told 
Most bitter truth, but without bitterness. 
Nor deem my zeal or factious or mis-timed ; 
For never can true courage dwell with them. 
Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look 
At their own vices- We have been too long 
Dupes of a deep delusion! Some, belike. 
Groaning with restless enmity, expect 
All change from change of constituted power ; 
As if a Government had been a robe, 
On which our vice and wretchedness were tagged 
Like fancy-points and fringes, with the robe 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 151 

Pulled off at pleasure. Fo)i41y these attach 

A radical causation to a few 

Poor drudges of chastising Pfpyidence, 

Who borrow all their hues and qualities 

From our own. folly and rank wickedness. 

Which gave them birth and nursed them. Others, 

meanwhile. 
Dote with a mad ic^c^atry ; and all 
Who will not fall before their images, 
And yield them worship, they are enemies 
Even of their country ! 

Such have I been deemed — 
But, O dear Britain ! O my Mother Isle ! 
Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy 
To me, a son, a brother, smd a friend, 
A husbandy and a father ! who revere 
All bonds of natural. love, and find them all 
Within the limits of thy rocky shores. 
native Britain ! O my Mother Isle! 
How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy 
To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills, 
Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas. 
Have drunk in all my intellectual life. 
All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts. 
All adoration of the God in Nature, 



125 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

All lovely and all honourable things, 
Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel 
The joy and greatness of its future being ? 
There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul 
Unborrowed from my country. O divine 
And beauteous island ! thou hast been my sole 
And most magnificent temple, in the which 
I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs, 
Loving the God that made me I 

May my fears, 
My filial fears, be vain ! and may the vaunts 
And menace of the vengeful enemy 
Pass like the gust, that roared and died away 
In the distant tree : which heard, and only heard 
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass. 
But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad 
The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze: 
The light has left the summit of the hill, 
Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful. 
Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell. 

Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot! 
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill, 
Homeward I wind my way ; and lo ! recalled 
From bodings that have well nigh wearied me, 
I find myself upon the brow, and pause 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 153 

1 And after lonely sojourning 

a quiet and surrounded nook, 

'st of prospect, here the shadowy Main, 

ted, there the mighty majesty 

huge amphitheatre of rich 

ly Fields, seems like society— 

Ing with the mind, and giving it 

r impulse and a dance of thought ! 

jr, beloved Stowey ! I behold 

rch-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms 

ig, which mark the mansion of my friend ; 

le behind them, hidden from my view, 

vn lowly cottage, where my babe 

babe*s mother dwell in peace ! With Ught 

3kened footsteps thitherward I tend, 

•ering thee, O green and silent dell ! 

:eful, that by nature's quietness 

tary musings, all my heart 

ed, and made worthy to indulge 

d the thoughts that yearn for human kind. 

Stowey, April 28th. 1798. 



FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER. 

A WAR ECLOGUE. 

WTTH AN APOLOGETIC FREPACE.* 



TJie Scene a desolated Tract in la Vendue. Fa mike 

is discovered ifffing on the ground; to her enter 

F(RE 4ind Slaughter. 



Famine. 
Sisters ! sisters! who sent you here? 

Slaughter (to Fire.) 
I will whisper it in her ear. 

Fire. 

No! no! no! 
Spirits hear what spirits tell : 
Twill. make an hoUday in- Hell. 

No ! no ! no ! 
Myself, I named him once below. 
And all the souls, that damned be, 
Leaped up at once in anarchy. 
Clapped their hands and danced for glee. 

* Printed at the end of thu Tolume. 



81ATLLINE L£AV£8. 155 

They no longer heeded me; 

But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters 

Unwillingly re-echo laughters I 

No! no! no! 
Spirits hear what spirits tell : 
'Twill make an holiday in Hell ! 

¥amine. 

Whisper it, sister ! so and so I 
In a dark hint, soft and slow. 

Slaughter. 
Letters four do form his name — 
And who sent you? 

Both. 
The same ! the same ! 

Slaughter. 

He came by stealth, and unlocked my den, 
And I have drank the blood since then 
Of thrice three hundred thousand men. 

Both. 
Who bade you do 't? 

Slaughter. 

The same ! the same ! 



156 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Letters four do form his name. 
He let me loose, and cried Halloo ! 
To him alone the praise is due. 

Famine. 
Thanks, sister, thanks ! the men have bled, 
Their wives and their children faint for bread. 
I stood in a swampy field of battle ; 
With bones and skulls I made a rattle, 
To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow 
And the homeless dog— but they would not go. 
So off I flew : for how could I bear 
To see them gorge their dainty fare ? 
I heard a groan and a peevish squall. 
And through the chink of a cottage-wall — 
Can you guess what I saw there ? 

Both. 
Whisper, it sister ! in our ear. 

Famine, 

A baby beat its dying mother : 

I had starved the one and was starving the other! 

Both. 
Who bade you do 't ? 

Famine. 

The same ! the same ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 157 

Letters four do form his name. 
He let me loose, and cried, Halloo ! 
To him alone the praise is due. 

Fire. 

Sisters ! I from Ireland came ! 

Hedge and corn-fields all on flame, 

I triumphed o*er the setting sun ! 

And all the while the work was done, 

On as I strode with my huge strides, 

I flung back my head and I held my sides, 

It was so rare a piece of fun 

To see the sweltered cattle run 

With uncouth gallop through the night. 

Scared by the red and noisy light ! 

By the light of his own blazing cot 

Was many a naked Rebel shot : 

The house-stream met the flame and hissed> 

While crash I fell in the roof, I wist. 

On some of those old bed-rid nurses, 

That deal in discontent and curses. 

Both. 
Who bade you do 't ? 

Fire. 
The same ! The same ! 



158 8IBTLLIVE LEAVES. 

Letters four do form his name. 
He let me loose, and cried Halloo! 
To him alone the praise is due. 

All. 

He let us loose, and cried Halloo! 
How shall we yield him honQur due? 

Famine. 

Wisdom comes with lack of food, 
m gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude, 
Till the cup of rage o'erbrim : 
They shall seize him and his brood — 

Slaughter. 
They shall tear him limb from limb ! 

Fire. 

thankless beldames and untrue! 
And is this all that you can do 
For him, who did so much for you ? 
Ninety months he, by my troth ! 
Hath richly catered for you both; 
And in an hour would you repay 

An eight years' work ? — Away 1 away! 

1 alone am faithful ! I 
CUng to him everlastingly. 

1796. 



II. LOVE> POEMS. 



QoBB haoailis tenero stylus olim effudit in svo. 

Perlegis hie lacrymas, et quod pbaretTatos acot^ 

llle pner puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnos. 

Omnia paolatim consumit longior stas, 

Viyendoque simul morimur, rapimurqae manendo. 

Ipse mihi coUatus enim non ille videbor : 

Frons alia est, moresque aUi, nova mentis imago, 

Voxque aliud sonat — 

Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes« 

Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tomultos 

Menshorret relegensque aiium putat ista locatom. 

Petrahch. 



LOVE. 



All thoughts, all passions, all delights. 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay, 
Beside the ruined tower. 

The Moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
My own dear Genevieve! 

TOL. I. ft 



162 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

She leant against the armed man. 
The statue of the armed knight; 
She stood and hstened to my lay, 
Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

I played a soft and doleful air, 
1 sang an old and moving story — 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
For well she knew, I could not chuse 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he wooed 
The Lady of the Land. 



8IBTLLINE LEAVES. 

I told her how he pined ; and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love, 
Interpreted my own. 

She Ustened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
And she forgave me, that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face ! 

But when I told the cruel scorn 
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den. 
And sometimes from the darksome shade. 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade. 

There came and looked him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright ; 
And that he knew it was a Fiend, 
This miserable Knight ! 



16f3 



164 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

And that unknowing what he did, 
He leaped amid a murderous band, 
And saved from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ! 

And how she wept, and clasped his knees; 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain. 

And that she nursed him in a cave; 
And how his madness went away, 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay. 

His dying words — but when I reached 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty. 
My faultering voice and pausing harp 
Disturbed her soul with pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 
The music, and the doleful tale, 
The rich and balmy eve ; 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 165 

And hopes, and fears that kmdle hope, 
An undistinguishable throng. 
And gentle wishes long subdued^ 
Subdued and cherished long ! 

She wept with pity and delight, 
She blushed with love, and virgin-shame ; 
And like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside. 
As conscious of my look she stepped — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
She fled to me and wept. 

She half enclosed me with her arms. 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
And bending back her head, looked up. 
And gazed upon my face. 

'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear, 
And partly 'twas a bashful art, 
That I might rather feel, than see. 
The swelling of her heart. 



166 SIBYLLINE LKAVKS. 



I calmed ber fean, and she was calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride. 
And so I won my Genevieye, 

My bright and beauteous Bride. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 167 



LEWTI, OR THE CIRCASSIAN 
LOVE-C HAUNT. 



At midnight by the stream I roved, 
To forget the form I loved. 
Image of Lewti I from my mind 
Depart ; for Lewti is not kind. 

The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam 

And the shadow of a star 
Heaved upon Tamaha's stream; 

But the rock shone brighter far, 
The rock half sheltered from my view 
By pendent boughs of tressy yew — 
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair, 
Gleaming through her sable hair. 
Image of Lewti! from my mind 
Depart for Lewti is not kind. 



168 SIBYLLIJIE LEAVES. 

I saw a cloud of palest hue. 

Onward to the Moon it passed ; 
Still brighter and more bright it grew, 
With floating colours not a few, 

TiU it reached the Moon at last : 
Then the cloud was wholly bright, 
With a rich and amber Hght ! 
And so with many a hope I seek 

And with such joy I. find my Lewti ; 
And even so my pale wan cheek 

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! 
Nay, treacherous image ! leave my mind. 
If Lewti never will be kind. 

The Uttle cloud— it floats away, 

Away it goes ; away so soon ? 
Alas ! it has no power to stay: 
Its hues are dim, it hues are grey — 

Away it passes from the Moon ! 
How mournfully it seems to fly. 

Ever fading more and more, 
To joyless regions of the sky — 

And now 'tis whiter than before I 
As white as my poor cheek will be. 

When, Lewti I on my couch I he, 
A dying man for love of thee. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 169 

Nay, treacherous image ! leave my mind— 
And yet, thou did*$t not look unkind. 

I saw a vapour in the sky, 

Thin, and white, and very high; 
I ne*er beheld so thin a cloud : 

Perhaps the breezes that can fly 

Now below and now above, 
Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud 

Of Lady fair — that died for love. 
For maids, as well as youths, have {Serished 
From fruitless love too fondly cherished. 
Nay, treacherous image I leave my mind — 
For Lewti never ^ will be kind. 

Hush ! my heedless feet from under 

Slip the crumbling banks for ever : 
Like echoes to a distant thunder. 

They plunge into the gentle river. 
The river-swans have heard my tread. 
And startle from their reedy bed. 
O beauteous Birds ! methinks ye measure 

Your movements to some heavenly tune ! 
O beauteous Birds 1 'tis such a pleasure 

To see you move beneath the Moon, 



170 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

I would it were your true delight 
To sleep by day and wake all night. 

I know the place where Lewti Hes, 
When silent night has closed her eyes : 

It is a breezy jasmine-bower. 
The Nightingale sings o'er her head : 

Voice of the Night ! had I the power 
That leafy labyrinth to thread, 
And creep, like thee, with soundless tread, 
I then might view her bosom white 
Heaving lovely to my sight, 
As these two swans tbgether heave 
On the gently swelling wave. 

Oh ! that she saw me in a dream. 
And dreamt that I had died for care ! 

All pale and wasted I would seem. 
Yet fair withal, as spirits are ! 

rd die indeed, if I might see 

Her bosom heave, and heave for me ! 

Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind ! 

To-morrow Lewti may be kind. 

1795. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. I7l 



THE PICTURE, OR THE LOVER'S 
RESOLUTION. 



Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood 
I force my way ; now climb, and now descend 
O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot 
Crushing the purple whorts ; while oft unseen, 
Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, 
The scared snake rustles. Onward still I toil, 
I know not, ask not whither! A new joy, 
Lovely as light, sudden as summer-gust. 
And gladsome as the first-bom of the spring. 
Beckons me on, or follows from behind, 
Playmate, or guide ! The master-passion quelled, 
I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark 
The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender oak, 
Forth from this tangle wild of bush and brake 



172 S1BYLLIN£ LEAVES. 

Soar up, and form a melancholy vault 
High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea. 

Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse ; 

Here too the love-lorn Man who, sick in soul 

And of this busy human heart aweary, 

Worships the spirit of unconscious life 

In tree or wild-flower. — Gentle Lunatic ! 

If so he might not wholly cease to be, 

He would far rather not be that, he is ; 

But would be something, that he knows not of. 

In winds or waters, or among the rocks ! 

But hence, fond wretch ! breathe not contagion here ! 
No myrtle-walks are these : these are no groves 
Where Love dare loiter I If in sullen mood 
He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore 
His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn 
Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird 
£asily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs, 
Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades ! 
And you, ye Earth-winds! you that make at mom 
The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs ! 
You, O ye wingless Airs I that creep between 
The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze. 
Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon, 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 173 

The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed — 

Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless Damp, 

Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb. 

Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes ! 

With prickles sharper than his darts bemock 

His little Godship, making him perforce 

Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back. 

This is my hour of triumph ! I can now 
With my own fancies play the merry fool. 
And laugh away worse folly, being free. 
Here will I seat myself, beside this old. 
Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine 
Clothes as with net-work : here will I couch my limbs. 
Close by this river, in this silent shade, 
As safe and sacred from the step of man 
As an invisible world — unheard, unseen. 
And listening only to the pebbly brook 
That murmurs with a dead, yet bell-like sound 
Tinkling, or bees, that in the neighbouring trunk 
Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits me. 
Was never Love's accomplice, never raised 
The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow. 
And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek; 
Ne'er played the wanton — ^never half disclosed 
The maiden s snowy bosom, scattering thence 



174 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Eye-poisons for some love-distempered youth, 
Wlio ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove 
Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart 
Shall flow away like a dissolving thing. 

Sweet breeze I thou only, if I guess aright; 
Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast. 
That swells its little breast, so full of song, 
Singing above me, on the mountain-ash. 
And thou too, desert Stream ! no pool of thine, 
Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve. 
Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe. 
The face, the form divine, the downcast look 
Contemplative ! Behold ! her open palm 
Presses her cheek and brow I her elbow rests 
On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree, 
That leans towards its mirror ! Who, erewhile 
Who from her countenance turned, or looked by stealth, 
(For fear is true love's cruel nurse,) he now. 
With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye. 
Worships the watery idol, dreaming .hopes 
Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain. 
E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed, 
But not unheeded gazed : for see, ah ! see. 
The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks 
The heads of tall flowers that behind her grow. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 175 

Lychnis, and willow-herb^ and fox-gloYe bells : 
And suddenly, as one that toys with time, 
Scatters them on the pool ! Then all the charm 
Is broken — all that phantom- world so fair 
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, 
And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile. 
Poor youth, wha scarcely darest lift up thine eyes ! 
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon 
The visions will return ! And lo 1 he stays : 
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms 
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more 
The pool becomes a mirror; and behold 
Each wildflower on the msurge inverted there. 
And there the half-uprooted tree — but where, 
O where the virgin's snowy turm, that leaned 
On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone ! 
Homeward she steals through many a woodland maze 
Which he shall seek in vain. • Ill-fated youth ! 
Go, day by day, and waste? thy manly prime 
In mad Love-yeaming by the Vacant brook, 
Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou 
Behold'st her shadow stiH abiding there, 
The Naiad of the Mirror ! 

Not to thee, 
O wild and desert Stream \ belongs this tale : 



\ 



176 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Gloomy and dark art thou — the crowded firs 
Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed. 
Making thee doleful as a cayem-well: 
Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest 
On thy steep banks, no loves haist thou, wild stream 

This be my chosen haunt — emancipate 
From passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone, 
I rise and trace its devious course. O lead. 
Lead me to deeper shades and loneUer glooms. 
Lo ! stealing through the canopy of firs 
How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock, 
Isle of the river, whose disparted waves 
Dart off asunder with an angry sound. 
How soon to re-unite ! And see I they meet. 
Each in the other lost and found : and see 
Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun 
Throbbing within them. Heart at once and Eye ! 
With its soft neighbourhood of filmy clouds. 
The stains and shadings of forgotten tears, 
Dimness o'erswum with lustre ! Such the hour 
Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds ; 
And hai'k, the noise of a near waterfall ! 
I pass forth into light— I find myself 
Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful 
Of forest-trees, the Lady of the woods,) 



SI»YLLINE LEAVES. 177 

Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock 

That overbrows the cataract. How bursts 

The landscape on my sight ! Two crescent hills 

Fold in behind each other, and so make 

A circular rale, and land-locked, as might seem, 

With brook and bridge, and grey stone cottages. 

Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet, 

The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray, 

Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall. 

How solemnly the pendent ivy- mass 

Swings in its winnow ! All the air is calm. 

The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with light. 

Rises in columns: from this house alone, 

Close by the waterfall, the column slants. 

And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is this? 

That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke. 

And close beside its porch a sleeping child. 

His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog — 

One arm between its fore legs, and the hand 

Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers, 

Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths. 

A curious picture, with a master's haste 

Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin. 

Peeled from the birchen bark I Divinest maid ! 

Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries 

Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried 

VOL. I. N 



178 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

On the fine skin ! She has been newly here ; 

And lo ! yon patch of heath has been her couch — 

The pressure still remains ! O blessed couch ! 

For this mayst thou flower early, and the Sun, 

Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long 

Upon thy purple bells ! O Isabel ! 

Daughter of genius ! stateliest of our maids ! 

More beautiful than whom Alcoeus wooed 

The Lesbian woman of immortal song ! 

O child of genius ! stately, beautiful, 

And full of love to all, save only me. 

And not ungentle e'en to me ! My heart. 

Why beats it thus ? Through yonder coppice-wood 

Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway 

On to her father's house. She is alone! 

The night draws on — such ways are hard to hit — 

And fit it is I should restore this sketch, 

Dropt unawares no doubt. Why should I yearn 

To keep the relique ? 'twill but idly feed 

The passion that consumes me. Let me haste ! 

The picture in my hand which she has left; 

She cannot blame me that I followed her: 

And I may be her guide the. long wood through. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 179 



THE NIGHT-SCENE: 

A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 



SANDOVAL. 

r loved the daughter of Don Manrique ? 

Earl Henry. 

Loved? 

Sandoval. 
you not say you wooed her ? 

Earl Henrt. 

Once I loved 
whom I dared not woo! 

Sandoval. 

And wooedy perchance, 
whom you loved not 1 



180 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Earl Hekrt. 

Oh ! I were most base. 
Not loving Oropeza. True, I wooed her, 
Hopmg to heal a deeper wound ; but she 
Met my advances vdth impassioned pride, 
That kindled love with love. And when her sire, 
Who in his dream of hope already grasped 
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected 
My suit with insult, and in memory 
Of ancient feuds poured curses on my head. 
Her blessings overtook and baffled them ! 
But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance 
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. 

Sandoval. 

Anxiously, Henry ! reasoning anxiously. 
But Oropeza — 

Earl Hekrt. 

Blessings gather round her I 
Within this wood there winds a secret passage. 
Beneath the walls, which opens out at leng^ 
Into the gloomiest covert of the Garden — 
The night ere my departure to the army, 
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, 
And to that covert by a silent stream. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 181 

Which, with one star reflected near its marge, 

Was the sole object visible around me. 

No leaflet stirred ; the air was almost sultry ; 

So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us ! 

No leaflet stirred ; — yet pleasure hung upon 

The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. 

A little further on an arbour stood, 

Fragrant with flowering trees — I well remember 

What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness 

Their snow-white blossoms made — thither she led me, 

To that sweet bower ! Then Oropeza trembled — 

I heard her heart beat — if 'twere not my own. 

Sandoval. 
A rude and scaring note, my friend ! 

Earl Henry. 

Oh! no! 
1 have small memory of aught but pleasure. 
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams 
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love : 
So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature, 
Fleeing from Pain, sheltered herself in Joy. 
The stars above our heads were dim and steady. 
Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us : 
We were all life, each atom of our frames 



182 ilBYLLlNE L£AV£S. 

A living soul — I vowed to die for her : 

With the faint voice of one who, having spoken. 

Relapses into blessedness, I vowed it : 

That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard, 

A murmur breathed against a lady's ear. 

Oh ! there is joy above the name of pleasure, 

Deep self-possession, an intense repose. 

Sakdoval (with a sarcastic $miU.) 

No other than as eastern sages paint, 
The God, who floats upon a Lotos leaf. 
Dreams for a thousand ages ; then awaking. 
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, 
Relapses into bliss. 

Earl Henry. 

Ah ! was that bliss 
Feared as an alien, and too vast for man ? 
For suddenly, impatient of its silence, 
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my for^ead. 
I caught her arms ; the veins were sweUing oa then. 
Through the dark boweir she sent a hoUow voice, 
Oh ! what if all betray me ? what if thou 1 
I swore, and with an inward thought that <y>fmi^ 
The purpose and the substance of my being, 
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 183 

I would exchange my unblenched state with hers. — 
Friend ! by that winding passage, to that bower 
I now will go— all objects there will teach me 
Unwavering love, and singleness of heart. 
Go, Sandoval ! I am prepared to meet her — 
Say nothing of me — I myself will seek her — 
Nay, leave me, friend ! I cannot bear the torment 
And keen inquiry of that scanning eye. — 

[Earl Henry retires into the wood. 

Sandoval CaloneJ 

O Henry I always striv'st thou to be great 

By thine own act — yet art thou never great 

But by the inspiration of great passion. 

The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up 

And shape themselves : from Earth to Heaven they 

stand, 
As though they were the pillars of a temple> ' •' 
Built by Omnipotence in its own honour ! 
But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit 
Is fled : the mighty columns were but sand. 
And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins! 



184 SIBTLLISE LE^TIS. 



TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN, 

WHOM THE AUTHOB. HAD KVOWIT IX THE DATS 

or HER IS^^TOCESrCE. 



Mtrtle-leae that, ill besped, 
Pinest in the gladsome ray. 

Soiled beneath the common tread. 
Far from thy protecting spnj ! 

When the Partndge o*er the sheaf 
Whirred along the ydlow Tale, 

Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf! 
Love the dalliance of -the gale. 

Li^tly didst thou, foolish thing ! 

Heave and flutter to his sighs. 
While the flatterer, on his wing. 

Wooed and whispered thee to rise. 




SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 185 

Gaily from thy mother-stalk 

Wert thou danced and wafted high — 
Soon on this unsheltered walk 

Flung to fade, to rot and die. 



186 SIBTLLINL LEAVES. 



TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN 



AT THE THEATRE. 



Maiden, that with sullen brow 
Sittest behind those virgins gay, 

Like a scorched and mildewed bough, 
Leafless 'mid the blooms of May I 

Him who lured thee and forsook, 
Oft I watched with angry gaze. 

Fearful saw his pleading look. 
Anxious heard his fervid phrase. 

Soft the glances of the youth. 
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh ; 

But no sound like simple truth. 
But no true love in his eye. 



SIBYLLINE LXAYES. 187 

Loathing thy polluted lot, 

Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence ! 

Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, 
With a wiser innocence. 

Thou hast known deceit and folly, 

Thou hast felt that vice is woe : 
With a musing melancholy 

Inly armed, go. Maiden ! go. 

Mother sage of Self-dominion, 

Firm thy steps, O Melancholy! 
The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion 

Is the memory of past folly 

Mute the sky-lark and forlorn. 
While she moults the firstling plumes. 

That had skimmed the tender com, 
Or the bean -field's odorous Uooms. 

Soon with renovated wing 

Shall she dare a loftier flight. 
Upward to the day-star spring 

And embathe in heavenly light. 



188 SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 



LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM. 



Nor coldy nor stem, my soul ! yet I detest 
These scented Rooms, where, to a gaudy throng, 

Heaves the proud Harlot her distended breast, 
In intricacies of laborious song. 

These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign 
To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint; 

But when the long-breathed singer's uptrilled strain 
Bursts in a squall— they gape for wonderment. 

Hark ! the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate ! 
Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer 

My lady eyes some maid of humbler state 

While the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest, 
Pratdes accordant scandal in her ear. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 189 

O give me, from this heartless scene released, 
To hear our old musician, blind and grey, 

(Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kissed,) 
His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play. 

By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night, 
The while I dance amid the tedded hay 

With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light. 

Or lies the purple evening on the bay 
Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide 

Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees 
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied, 

On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, 
And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, 

Breathes in his (lute sad airs, so wild and slow. 
That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears. 

But O, dear Anne ! when midnight wind careers. 
And the gust pelting on the out-house shed 
Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow. 
To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe. 
Ballad of ship-vnrecked sailor floating dead. 

Whom his own true-love buried in the sands ! 
Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures 
Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures 



190 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

The Things of Nature utter ; birds or trees 
Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, 
Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves. 
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 191 



THE KEEP-SAKE. 



The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil, 
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field, 
Shew summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall 
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the g^st, 
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, 
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose 
(In vain the darling of successful love) 
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years, 
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone. 
NOr can I find, amid my lonely walk 
By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side, 
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, 
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not !* 

* One of the names and (meriting to be the only one) of the 
Myoutii Seorpioidet Pahiftrit, a flower from six to twelve inches 



i 



192 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline 
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk 
Has worked, (the flowers which most she knew I loved,) 
And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. 

In the cool morning twilight, early waked 
By her full bosom*s joyless restlessness, 
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, 
Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, 
Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, 
Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung. 
Making a quiet image of disquiet 
In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. 
There, in that bower where first she owned her love. 
And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy 
From ofi* her glowing cheek, she sate and stretched 
The silk upon the frame, and worked her name 
Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not— 
Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair ! 
That forced to wander till sweet spring return, 
I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, 



high, with blae blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the samt 
name over the whole Empire of Gennany (Virgismwi nickt) and 
we believe, in Denmark and Sweden. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 193 

[er voice, (that even in her mirthful mood 

[as made me wish to steal away and weep,) 

For yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss 

i^ith which she promised, that when spring returned, 

he would resign one half of that dear name, 

nd own thenceforth no other name but mine ! 



VOL. I. 



194 8IBYLLIVE LEAVES. 



% 



TO A LADY. 



WITH falconer's " SHIPWRECK. 



»> 



Ah ! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams. 
In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; 

Nor while half-Ustening, mid delicious dreams, 
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice ; 

Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood 

On clifiP, or cataract, in Alpine dell ; 
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed. 

Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell ; 

Our sea-bard sang this song I which still he sings, 
And sings for thee, sweet friend ! Hark, Pity, haricl 

Now mounts, now totters on the Tempest's wings, 
Now groans, and shivers, the replunging Bark ! 



SI^TLtilJfifE I/^AYES. 195 

" Cling to the shrouds !" In vain ! The breakers roar — 
Death shrieks ! With two alone of all his clan 

Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore. 
No classic roamer, but a ship-wrecked man! 

Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains, 
And Ut bis spirit to so bright a flame ? 

The elevating thought of suffered pains, 
Which gentle hearts shall moum ; but chief, the name 

Of Gratitude! Re^^mbraQC^9 of Friend, 
Or absent or no more I Shade3 of the Past, 

Which Love makes Substance ! Hence tp tbee I send, 
O dear as long as life and mePK>fy l^t ( 

I send with deep regard? of heart aod h^ead; 

Sweet maid, fgr friendship formed I thi? work to thee : 
And thou, the yrhile tboiji canst not choose but shed 

A tear for Fai^conjer^ wilt remember mi. 



196 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 

ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER, 



Why need I say, Louisa dear ! 
How glad I am to see you here, 

A lovely convalescent ; ^ 
Risen from the bed of pain, and fear, 

And feverish heat incessant. 

The sunny Showers, the dappled Sky, 
The little Birds that warble high, 

Their vernal loves commencing, 
Will better welcome you than I 

With their sweet influencing. 

Beheve me, while in bed you lay. 
Your danger taught us all to pray : 

You made us grow devouter ! 
Each eye looked up and seemed to say. 

How can we do without her? 



SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 197 

Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew, 
They have no need of such as you 

In the place where you were going : 
This World has angels all too few, 

And Heaven is overflowing ! 



198 SIBTLLIVI LRAVt%, 



SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY 

NATURAL. 

WRITTEN IN GERMANY. 



If I had but two little wings, 
And were a little feathery bird, 
To you Fd fly my dear ! 
But thoughts like these are idle things, 
And I stay here. 

But in my sleep to you I fly : 
I'm always with you in my sleep ! 
The world is all one's own. 
But then one wakes, and where am I ? 
All, all alone. 



8IBTLLIKB LlAYIS. 199 

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids : 

So I love to wake ere break of day : 

For though my sleep be gone, 

Yet, while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, 

And still dreams on. 



200 SIBXI'LIKE LEAVES- 



HOME-SICK. 



WRITTEN IN GERMANY. 



'Tis sweet to him, who all the week 

Through city-crowds must push his way, 

To stroll alone through fields and woods, 
And hallow thus the Sabbath-Day. 

And sweet it is, in summer bower, 

Sincere, affectionate and gay. 
One's own dear children feasting round. 

To celebrate one's marriage-day. 

But what is all, to his delight, 

Who having long been doomed to roam. 
Throws off the bundle from his back. 

Before the door of his own home? 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 201 

Home-sickness is a wasting pang; 

This feel I hourly more and more : 
There's Healing only in thy wings, 

Thou Breeze that playest on Albion's shore ! 



S02 SIBTLLIKB LtATKS. 



ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. 



Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove, 
The Linnet and Thrush say, ^^ I love and I love !" 
In the winter they're silent — the wind is so strong; 
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. 
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm 

weather. 
And singing, and loving — all come back together. 
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love. 
The green fields below him, the blue sky above. 
That he sings, and he sings ; and for ever sings he— 
" I love my Love, and my Love loves me !" 



SlBTLLIWt liEAVtS. 20d 



TttE VISIONARY tlOPE. 



1 1 1 »^^<A*« 



Sab lot) tb hav« no Hopi^ ! Thcmgliloidy kneeling^ 

He fain wouM fV^bue a pm^er within hi^ bfekst, 
WmilA fain 6htrtdl fof ftdme SWeet breath of tealihg, 
That his sick body might have ease and rest ; 
He strove in vain ! the dull sighs from his chest 
Against his will the stifling load revealing, 
Though Nature forced; though like some captive 

guest, 
Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast, 
An alien's restless mood but half concealing. 
The sternness on his gentle brow confessed 
Sickness within and miserable feeling : 
Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams, 
And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain, 
Each night was scattered by its own loud screams : 
Yet never could his heart command, though fain. 
One deep full wish to be no more in pain. 



204 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, 
Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, 
Though changed in natore, wander where he would— 
For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost ! 
For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, 
He wishes and can wish for this alone ! 
Pierced, as with light firom Heaven^ before its gleams 
(So the love-stricken visionary deems) 
Disease would vanish, like a summer shower. 
Whose dews fling sunshine finom the noon-tide bower ! 
Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give 
Such strength that he would bless his pains and live. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 205 



THE HAPPY HUSBAND. 

A FRAGMENT. 



Oft, oft methinks, the while with Thee 
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear 
And dedicated name, I hear 

A promise and a mystery, 

A pledge of more than passing life, 
Yea, in that very name of Wife ! 

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep ! 
A feeling that upbraids the heart 
With happiness beyond desert. 

That gladness half requests to weep ! 
Nor bless I not the keener sense 
And unalarming turbulence 

Of transient joys, that ask no sting 
From jealous fears, or coy denying ; 



But bom beneath Love's brooding wing, 
And into tenderness soon dying. 

Wheel out their giddy moment, then 
Resign the soul to love again. 

A more precipitated veiii 

Of notes, that eddy in the flow 

Of smoothest song, they come, they go, 

And leave their sweeter understrain 
Its own sweet self — a love of Thee 
That seems, yet cannot greater be ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 90/ 



RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVR 



"S'^^f'^^^^^^^ m I >i 



I. 

Low \varm this woodland wild Recess ! 

Love surely hath been breathing here. 

And this sweet bed of heath, my dear ! 
Iwells up, then sinks with faint caress, 

As if to have you yet more near, 

II. 

Hight springs have flown, since last I lay 
On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, 
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills 

^loat here and there, like things astray. 
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills. 

III. 

*^o voice as yet had made the air 
Be music with your name; yet why 
That asking look ? that yearning sigh ? 

rhat sense of promise every where ? 
Beloved ! flew your spirit by ? 



208 8IBYLLIME LEAVES. 

IV. 

As when a mother doth explore 

The rose-mark on her long lost child, 
I met, I loved you, maiden mild! 

As whom I long had loved before — 
So deeply, had I been beguiled. 

V. 

You stood before me like a thought, 
A dream remembered in a dream. 
But when those meek eyes first did seem 

To tell me. Love within you wrought — 
O Greta, dear domestic stream ! 

VI. 

Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep. 
Has not Love's whisper evermore. 
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar? 

Sole voice, when other voices sleep. 
Dear under-song in Clamor's hour. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 209 



ON RE-VISITING THE SEA-SHORE, 
AFTER LONG ABSENCE, 

UNDER STRONG MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION NOT 

TO BATHE. 



God be with thee, gladsome Ocean ! 

How gladly greet I thee once more ! 
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion, 

And men rejoicing on thy shore. 

Dissuading spake the mild Physician, 
" Those briny waves for thee are Death !" 

But my soul fulfilled her mission. 

And lo ! I breathe imtroubled breath ! 

Fashion's pining Sons and Daughters, 
That seek the crowd they seem to fly. 

Trembling they approach thy waters ; 
And what cares Nature, if they die ? 

TOL. I. p 



^10 8IBTLL1KE LEAVES. 

Me a thousand hopes and pleasures, 
A thousand recollections bland. 

Thoughts sublime, and stately measures. 
Revisit on thy echoing strand : 

Dreams, (the Soul herself forsaking,) 
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth ; 

Silent adorations, making 

A blessed shadow of this Earth ! 

O ye hopes, that stir within me, 

Health comes with you from above ! 

God is with me, God is in me! 
I cannot die, if Life be Love. 



Til. MEDITATIVE POEMS, 

IN BLANK VERSE. 



Yea, he deserres to find himself deceived. 
Who seeks a Heart in the unthinking Man. 
Like shadows on a stream, the fbnns of life 
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead : 
Nought sinks into the Bosom's silent depth. 
Qnick sensibility of Pain and Pleasure 
Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul 
Warmeth the inner frame. 

SCHXLLBB. 



HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE 
VALE OF CHAMOUNY. 



Besides the Kivers, Arre and Arreiion, which have their 
sources in the foot of Mount Blanc, five conspicuous torrents 
rush dowti its sides ; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, 
the Gentiana Major grows in immense numhers, with its 
" flowers of loveliest hlue." 



Hast thou a charm to stay the Morning-Star 
In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause 
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc! 
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awfid Form ! 
Risest from forth thy silent Sea of Pines, 
How silently ! Around thee and above 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, 
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it. 
As with a wedge ! But when I look again, 
It is thine own calm home, thy chrystal shrine, 



214 SSBYLLIXE LEAVES. 

Thy habitation from eternity ! 

dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee. 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 

Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody. 
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it. 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, 
Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret Joy: 
TiU the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused. 
Into the mighty Vision passing — there 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven ! 

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears. 
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my Heart, awake! 
Green Vales and icy Clifis, all join my Hymn. 

Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale! 
O stru^ling with the Darkness all the night. 
And visited all night by troops of stars. 
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : 
Companion of the Morning-Star at Dawn, 
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the Dawn 



SIBYLLINE LEAYES. <215 

Co-herald : wake, O wake, and utter praise ! 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth ? 
Who filled thy Countenance with rosy light? 
Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye Bve wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter death. 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged Rocks 
For ever shattered and the same for ever ? 
Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy. 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
And who commanded (and the silence came,) 
Here let the Billows stiffen, and have Rest ? 

Ye Ice-falls ! ye that from the Mountain's brow 
Adown enormous Ravines slope amain — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge I 
Motionless Torrents I silent Cataracts ! 
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven 
Beneath the keen full Moon ? Who bade the Sun 
Clothe you with Rainbbws? Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at yonr feet ? — 



316 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

God ! let the Torrents, like a Shout of Nations 
Answer ! and let the Ice-plains echo, God ! 
God ! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voicel 
Ye Pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! 
And they too have a voice, yon piles of Snow, 
And in their perilous faU shall thunder, God ! 

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal Frost! 
Ye wild goats sporting round the Eagle's nest! 
Ye Eagles, play-mates of the Mountain-Storm ! 
Ye Lightnings, the dread arrows of the Clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the element ! 
Utter forth God, and fill the Hills with Praise ! 

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing 
Peaks, 
Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, imheard. 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure Serene 
Into the depth of Clouds, that veil thy breast — 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain ! thou 
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy Base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears. 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud. 
To rise before me — Rise, O ever rise. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 217 

ie like a cloud of Incense, from the Earth I 
ou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, 
ou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, 
eat Hierarch ! tell thou the silent Sky, 
d tell the Stars, and tell yon rising Sun, 
rth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 



118 SlBYLLl'NE LEAVES. 



LINES 

WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN 

THE HARTZ FOREST. 



I STOOD on Brocken's* sovran height, and saw 
Woods crowding upon woods, hills, over hills, 
A surging scene, and only limited 
By the blue distance. Heavily my way 
Downward I dragged through fir groves evermore, 
Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms 
Speckled with sunshine ; and, but seldom heard. 
The sweet bird's song became an hollow sound ; 
And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly. 
Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct 
From many a note of many a waterfall. 
And the brook's chatter ; 'mid whose islet stones 
The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell 

* llie highest mountain in the Hartz, and indeed in North 
Germany. ^ 



SIBYLLINE LEAV£8. 119 

Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat 
Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on 
In low and languid mood:* for I had found 
That outward Forms, the loftiest,, still receive 
Their finer influence from the. Life within : 
Fair Cyphers of vague import, where the Eye 
Traces no spot, in which the Heart may read 
History or Prophecy of Friend, or Child, 
Or gentle Maid, our first and early love, 
Or Father, or the venerable name 
Of our adored Country ! O thou Queen, 
Thou delegated Deity of Earth, 
O dear, dear England ! how my longing eye 
Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds 
Thy sands and high white cliffs I 

My native Land! 
Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud, 
Yea, mine eye swam with tears : that all the view 
From sovran Brocken; woods and woody hills, 

* When I have gazed 

From some high eminence on goodly vales. 
And cots and villages emhowered below. 
The thoaght would rise that all to me was strange 
Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot 
Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home. 

South ey's Hymn to the Penateft. 



220 8IBTLLIVE LEAVES. 

Floated away, like a departing dream, 
Feeble and dim ! Stranger, these impulses 
Blame thou not lightly ; nor will I profane, 
With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, 
That man*s sublimer spirit, who can feel 
That God is ever3^here I the God who framed 
Mankind to be one mighty Family, 
Himself our Father, and the World our Home. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 221 



ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE 
FIRST OF FEBRUARY, 1796. 



Sweet Flower ! that peeping from thy russet stem 

Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort 

This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering 
Month 

Hath borrowed Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee 

With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower ! 

These are but flatteries of the faithless year. 
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave, 
E'en now the keen North-East is on its way. 
Flower that must perish ! shall I liken thee 
To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth 
Nipped by Consumption mid untimely charms ? 
Or to Bristowa's Bard,* the wondrous boy ! 
An Amaranth, which Earth scarce seemed to own. 
Blooming 'mid poverty's drear wintry waste. 
Till Disappointment came, and pelting wrong 

• Chatterton. 



<2«2^ SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Beat it to Earth ? or with indignant grief 
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope, 
Bright flower of Hope killed in the opening bud? 
Farewell, sweet blossom I better fate be thine 
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes 
Weaving in moral strains, IVe stolen one hour 
From anxious Self, Life's cruel Task-Master ! 
And the warm wooings of this sunny day 
Tremble along my frame and harmonize 
The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts 
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes 
Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. ^23 



THE EOLIAN HARP. 

COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE. 



My pensive Sara ! thy soft cheek reclined 

Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is 

To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown 

With white-flowered Jasmin, and the broad-leaved 

Myrtle, 
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love !) 
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light. 
Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve 
Serenely brilliant (such shoidd wisdom be) 
Shine opposite I How exquisite the scents 
Snatched from yon bean-field ! and the world so hushed ! 
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea 
Tells us of Silence. 



224 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

And that simplest Lute, 
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! 
How by the desultory breeze caressed, 
Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, 
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs 
Tempt to repeat the wrong ! And now, its strings 
Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes 
Over delicious surges sink and rise. 
Such a soft floating witchery of sound 
As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve 
Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land, 
Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers. 
Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, 
Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing ! 
O the one life within us and abroad. 
Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, 
A light in sound, a sound-like power in light 
Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where— 
Methinks, it should have been impossible 
Not to love all things in a world so filled ; 
Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air, 
Is Music slumbering on her instrument. 

And thus, my love ! as on the midway slope 
Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon. 
Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I behold 



^IBYLLIVE LEAVES. 2*25 

The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, 

And tranquil muse upon tranquillity ; 

Full many a thought uncalled and undetained. 

And many idle flitting phantasies, 

Traverse. my indolent and passive brain. 

As wild and various as the random gales 

That swell and flutter on this subject lute ! 

And what if all of animated nature 
Be but organic harps diversely framed. 
That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps 
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, 
At once the Soul of each, and God of All ? 

But thy more serious eye a mild reproof 
Darts, O beloved woman ! nor such thoughts 
Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject, 
And biddest me walk humbly with my God. 
Meek daughter in the family of Christ ! 
Well hast thou said and holily dispraised 
These shapings of the unregenerate mind ; 
Bubbles that ghtter as they rise and break 
On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. 
For never guiltless may I speak of him. 
The Incomprehensible ! save when with awe 

TOL. X. Q 



^6 SIBTLLIITE LIATEB. 

I praise him^ and with Faith that inly feeis; 
Who with his saying mercies healed me, 
A sinful and most miserable Man, 
Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess 
Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honoured M^ 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 9^7 



LECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE 
OF RETIREMENT. 



Sermoni propriora. — Hon. 



was our pretty Cot : our tallest Rose 
led at the chamber-window. We could hear 
lent noon, and eve, and early mom, 
Sea's faint murmur. In the open air 
Myrtles blossomed ; and across the Porch 
k jasmins twined : the little landscape round 

green and woody^ and refreshed the eye. 
is a spot which you might aptly call 
Valley of Seclusion I Once I saw 
lowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) 
3althy son of commerce saunter by, 
'x>wa'8 citizen : methought^ it calmed 
thirst of idle gold, and made him muse 
1 wiser feelings : for he paused, and looked 



228 81BTLL1N£ LEAVES. 

With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around, 
Then eyed our Cottage, and gazed round again, 
And sighed, and said, it was a Blessed Place. 
And we were blessed. Oil with patient ear 
Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark*s note 
(Viewless, or haply for a moment seen 
Gleaming on sunny wings) in whispered tones 
Fve said to my beloved, " Such, sweet girl ! 
" The inobstrusive song of Happiness, 
" Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard 
** When the soul seeks to hear; when all is hushed, 
" And the Heart listens!" 

But the time, when first 
From that low Dell, steep up the stony Mount 
I cUmbed with perilous toil and reached the top. 
Oh ! what a goodly scene! Here the bleak Mount, 
The bare bleak Mountain speckled thin with sheep r 
Grey clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields; 
And River, now with bushy rocks o'erbrowed. 
Now winding bright and full, with naked banks ; 
And Seats, and Lawns, the Abbey, and the Wood, 
And Cots, and Hamlets, and faint City-spire : 
The Channel there, the Islands and white Sails, 
Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shorelesi 
Ocean — 



SIBTLLIKE LEAVES.. 229 

aed like Omnipresence I God, methought, 
luilt him there a Temple : the whole World 
d imaged in its vast circumference. 
ih profaned my overwhelmed Heart. 
lOur ! It was a Luxury,— to be I 

! quiet dell ! dear cot , and mount sublime I 
constrained to quit you. Was it right, 

my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled, 
'. should dream away the entrusted hours 
}e-leaf Beds, pampering the coward Heart 
feelings all too delicate for use ? 
is the tear that from some Howard's eye 

on the cheek of One he lifts from Earth : 
le that works me good with unmoved face, 
it but half : he chills me while he aids, 
enefactor, not my Brother Man I 
'en this, this cold Beneficence 
, praise it, O my Soul ! oft as thou scann'st 
luggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe ! 
»gh for Wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, 
ig in some delicious solitude 
slothful loves and dainty Sympathies! 
sfore go, and join head, heart, and hand, 



230 SIBTLLIM £ LEAVES. 

Active and firm, to fight the bloodies fi^t 
Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ 

Yet oft when after honourable toil 
Rests the tired mind, and waking loves to dream. 
My spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot ! 
Thy Jasmin and thy window-peeping Rose, 
And Myrtles fearless of the mild" sel3i<-air. 
And I shall sigh fond wishes — sweet Abode ! 
Ah !— had notie greater ! And that all had such ! 
It might be so — ^but the time is not yet. 
Speed it, O Father ! Let thy Kingdom come ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 231 



TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE OF 
OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON. 



WITH SOME POEMS. 



Notns in firatres animi pateni. 

HoR. Caim. lib. 1.3. 



A BLESSED lot hath he, who having passed 

His youth and early manhood in the stir 

And turmoil of the world, retreats at length, 

Vfiib, jeares that move, not agitate the Heart, 

To the same Dwelling where his Father dwelt ; 

And haply views his tottering little ones 

Embrace .those aged knees and climb that lap. 

On which first kneeling his own Infancy 

Lisped its brief prayer* Such» O my earliest Friend I 

Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy. 

At distance did. ye dimb Life's upland road, 



232 JSIBYLLINE L£AV£&. 

Yet cheered and cheering : now fraternal Love 
Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days 
Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live ! 

To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispensed 
A different fortune and more different mind— - 
Me from the spot where first I sprang to light 
Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fixed 
Its first domestic loves ; and hence through Life 
Chasing chance-started Friendships. A brief while 
Some have preserved me from Life's pelting ills ; 
But, like a Tree with leaves of feeble stem, 
If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze 
Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once 
Dropped the collected shower ; and some most false, 
False and fair foliaged as the Manchineel, 
Have tempted me to slumber in their shade 
E'en mid the storm ; then breathing subtlest damps. 
Mixed their own venom with the rain from Heaven, 
That I woke poisoned! But, all praise to Him 
Who gives us all things, more have yielded me 
Permanent shelter ; and beside one Friend, 
Beneath the impervious covert of one Oak, 
I've raised a lowly shed, and know the names 
Of Husband and of Father ; nor unhearing 
Of that divine and nightly-whispering Voice, 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 233 

Which from my childhood to maturer yeara 
Spake to me of predestinated wreaths. 
Bright with no fading colours ! 

Yet at times 
My soul is sad, that I have roamed through life 
Still most a Stranger, most with naked heart 
At mine own home and birth-place : chiefly then. 
When I remember thee, my earhest Friend ! 
Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and my youth ; 
Didst trace my wanderings with a Father's eye ; 
And boding evil yet still hoping good 
Rebuked each fault, and over all my woes 
Sorrowed in Silence ! He who coimts alone 
The beatings of the solitary heart. 
That Being knows, how I have loved thee ever, 
Loved as a brother, as a Son revered thee! 
Oh I 'tis to me an ever new delight^ 
To talk of thee and thine : or when the blast 
Of the shrill winter, rattling our rude sash. 
Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl ; 
Or when as now, on some delicious eve. 
We in our sweet sequestered Orchard-Plot 
Sit on the Tree crooked earth" ward ; whose old boughs. 
That hang above us in an arborous roof. 



234 SfBTLLIMB LBATE6. 

Stined by thie ftdiit gcJe of departing May, 
Send their loose blossoms slanting o'er our heads ! 

Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours. 
When with the joy of hope thou gavest thine ear 
To my wild firsthng-lays. Since then my song 
Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem 
Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind, 
Or such as, tnned to these tumultuous times. 
Cope with the tempest's swell ! 

These various strains, 
Which I have framed in many a vatidus mood. 
Accept, my'Brother 1 and (for some perchance 
Will strike discordant On thy milder mind) 
If aught of ErrOT or intem^rate Truth 
Should meet thine ear/ think thou that riper age 
Will calm it down, and let thy Love forgive it! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 235 



INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON 

A HEATH. 



This Sycamore, oft musical with Bees,-* 

Such Tents the Patriarchs loved ! O long unharmed 

May all its aged Boughs o'er-canopy 

The small round Basin, which this jutting stone 

Keeps pure from falling leaves I Long may the Spring, 

Quietly as a sleeping Infant's breath, 

Send up cold waters to the Traveller 

With soft and even Pulse ! Nor ever cease 

Yon tiny Cone of Sand its soundless Dance, 

Which at the Bottom, like a Fahys Page, 

As merry and no taller, dances still, 

Nor wrinkles the smooth Surface of the Fount. 

Here T¥dhght is and Coolness : here is Moss, 

A soft Seat, and a deep and ample Shade, 

Thou may'st toil far and find no second Tree. 



236 SIBTLLIVE LEAVES. 

Drink, Pilgrim^ here ! Here rest ! and if thy Heart 
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh 
Thy Spirit, listening to some gentle Sound, 
Or passing Gale or Hum of murmuring Bees ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 237 



A TOMBLESS EPITAPH. 



Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane ! 

(So call him, for so mingling Blame with Praise 

And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends. 

Masking his birth-name, wont to character 

His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal,) 

'Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths 

And honouring with religious love the Great 

Of elder times, he hated to excess. 

With an unquiet and intolerant scorn. 

The hollow puppets of an hollow Age, 

Ever idolatrous, and changing ever 

Its worthless Idols ! Learning, Power, and Time, 

(Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war 

Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 'tis true, 

AVhole years of weary days, besieged him close, 

Even to the gates and inlets of his life ! 

But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm. 



238 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

And with a natural gladness, lie maintained 
The Citadel unconquered, and in joy 
Was strong to follow the delightful Muse. 
For not a hidden Path, that to the Shades 
Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads. 
Lurked undiscovered by him ; not a rill 
There issues from the fount of Hippocrene, 
But he had traced it upward to its source, 
Through open glade, dark glen, and secret dell. 
Knew the gay wild flowers on its banks^ and culled 
Its med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone. 
Piercing the long-neglected holy cave, 
The haunt obscure of old Philosophy, 
He bade with lifted torch its starry walls 
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame 
Of odorous Lamps tended by Saint and Sage. 
O framed for calmer times and nobler hearts! 
O studious Poet, eloquent for truth I . 
Philosopher ! contemning wealth and death. 
Yet docile, childlike, full of Life and Love 1 
Here, rather than on monumental stone. 
This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes. 
Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 239 



THIS LIME-TREE BOWER MY PRISON. 



In the Jane of 1797, some long-expected Friendt paid a 
virit to the Author's Cottage ; and on the morning of their arri- 
Tal, he met with an accident, which disabled him from walking 
during the whole time of their stay. One Evening, when they 
had left him for a few hours, he composed the following lines In 
the Garden-Bower. 



Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, 
This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison ! I have lost 
Beauties and Feehngs, such as would have been 
Most sweet to my remembrance even when s^ 
Had dimmed mine eyes to blindness I They, meanwhile, 
Friends, whom I never more may meet again, 
On springy heath, along the hiU-top edge, 
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance. 
To that still roaring dell, of which I told ; 
The roaring d^, o'erwooded» narrow, deep. 
And only speckled by the mid«>day Sun ; 



240 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Where its slim trunk the Ash from rock to rock 
Flings arching like a bridge ; — that branchless Ash, 
Unsunned and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves 
Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still. 
Fanned by the water-fall I and there my friends 
Behold the dark gi-een file of long lank Weeds.* 
That all at once (a most fantastic sight !) • 
Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge 
Of the blue clay-stone. 

Now, my Friends emerge 
Beneath the wide wide Heaven — and view again 
The many-steepled track magnificent 
Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, 
With some fair bark, perhaps, whose Sails light up 
The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles 
Of purple shadow ! Yes ! they wander on 
In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, 
My gentle-hearted Charles ! for thou hast pined 
And hungered after Nature, many a year, 
In the great City pent, winning thy way 
With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain 

* Of long lank Weeds.] The Asplenium Scolopendrinn, 
called in some countries the Adder's Tongue, in othen -the 
Hart's Tongue : but Withering gives the Adder's Tongue as the 
trivial name of the Ophioglossum only. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 24 t 

And strange calamity ! Ah! slowly sink 
Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun ! 
Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb 
Ye purple heath-flowers ! richlier bum, ye clouds! 
Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves ! 
And kindle, thou blue Ocean ! So my Friend 
Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, 
Silent with swimming sense ; yea, gazing round 
On the wide Is^ndscape, gaze till all doth seem 
Less gross than bodily ; and of such hues 
As veil the Almighty Spirit, when he makes 
Spirits perceive his presence. 

A delight 
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad 
As I myself were there 1 Nor in this bower, 
This little lime-tree bower, have I not marked 
Much that has soothed me. Pale beneath the blaze 
Hung the transparent foliage ; and I watched 
Some broad and sunny leaf, and loved to see 
The shadow of the leaf and stem above 
Dappling its sunshine ! And that Walnut-tree 
Was richly tinged, and a deep radiance lay 
Full on the ancient Ivy, which usurps 
Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass 

VOL. X. R 



^42 ftlBTLLlNl LEAVES. 

Makes their dark branches gleam a ligkter hue 
Through the late twili^t : and though now liie Bat 
Wheels silent by, and not Ji Swallow twitters. 
Yet still the solitary humble Bee 
Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shmfl know 
That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure, 
No Plot so narrc^, be but Nature there, 
No waste so vacant, but may well empley 
Each faculty of sense, and keep the beait 
Awake to Love and Beauty ! rand sometimes 
Tis well to be bereft of promised good, 
That we may lift the Soul, and contemplate 
"With lively joy the joys we cannot share. 
My gentle-hearted Charles ! when the last Rook 
Beat its straight path along the dusky air 
Homewards, I blest it ! deeming, its black wing 
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) 
Had crossed the mighty Orb*s dilated glory. 
While thou stood'st gazing*; or when all was still, 

*Flew creeking o*er .thy head, and had a i^mnn 

» 

* Flew Crsikiko.] SooiBiDQnlhsiafter'llindwxtltas^fis 
line, it gave me pleasure to observe that Bartiam had t>bier«f^ 
the same drcomstaBce of the. Savanna Crane. *' When thaie 
Birds move their 'vdngs in flight, their strokes are slow, mode- 
rate and r^olar ; and even when at a^oDsiderabte distsneevr 



SlBYLhlKE LEAVES. 243 



■ ( I 



For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom 
No Sound is dissonant which tells of Life. 

high above ua, we plainly hear the quill-feathen ', their shafts 
and webs upon one another creek as the joints or working of a 
vessel in a tempestuous sea.** 



244 SIBYLLIN£ LEAVES. 



> 



TO A FRIEND 

YfHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING 

mo MORE POETRY. 



Dear Charles ! whilst yet thou wert a babe I ween 

That Genius plunged thee in that wizard fount 

Right Castalie ; and (sureties of thy faith) 

That Pity and Simphcity stood by, 

And promised for thee, that thou shouldst renounce 

The world's low cares and lying yanities. 

Steadfast and rooted in the heavenly Muse, 

And washed and sanctified to Poesy. 

Yes — thou wert plunged, but with forgetful hand 

Held, as by Thetis erst her warrior Son : 

And with those recreant unbaptized Heels 

Thou'rt flying from thy bounden Ministeries — 

So sore it seems and burthensome a task 

To weave unwithering flowers ! But take thou heed: 



.^IBTLLINE LEAVES. 245. 

For thou art vulnerable, wUd,-eyed. Boy, 

And I have arrows * mystically dipped, 

Such as may stop thy speed. Is thy Bums dead? 

And shall he die unwept, and sink to Earth 

" Without the meed of one melodious tear V* 

Thy Bums, and Nature's own beloved Bard, 

Who to the " Illustrious f of his native Land 

" So properly did look for Patronage." 

Ghost of Maecenas ! hide thy blushing face ! 

They snatched him from the Sickle and the Plough — 

To gauge Ale-Firkins. 

Oh ! for shame retum I 
On a bleak Rock, midway the Aonian mount, 
There stands a lone and melancholy tree, 
Whose aged branches to the midnight blast 
Make solemn music : pluck its darkest bough, 
Ere yet the unwholesome Night-dew be exhaled, 
And weeping wreath it round thy Poet's Tomb. 
Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow. 
Pick the rank henbane and the dusky flowers 

♦ Vide Find. Olym. iL 1. 156- 

t Verbatiin from Boms's dedication of his Poem to the No* 
bility and Gentry of the Caledonian Hunt. 



246 SIBTIAINE LEAVES. 

Of night-shade^ or its red and templmg (hut. 
These with stopped nostril and glove-gaafded hand 
Knit in nice intertextore, so to twitie 
The Illustrious Brow of Scotch NoMity. 

1796. 



\ 



SIBYLLINE LBAV£S. 247 



TO A GENTLEMAN. 

COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION 

or A POEM ON THE GROWTH OF AN 

INDIVIDUAL MIND. 



Friend of the Wise ! and Teacher of the Goodf 

Into my heart have I received that Lay 

More than historic, that prophetic Lay 

Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright) 

Of the foundations and the building up 

Of the Human Sphrit, thou hast dared to tell 

What may be told, to the understanding mind 

Revealable ; and what within the mind 

By vital JBreathings, like the secret soul 

Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the Heart 

Thoughts all too deep for words ! — 

Theme hard m high I 
Of smiles spontaneous, and mystoioiiB f eart 



248 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

(The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth) 

Of tides obedient to external force, 

And currents self-determined, as might seem, 

Or by some inner Power ; of moments awful, 

Now in thy inner life, and now abroad. 

When Power streamed from thee, and thy soul received 

The Hght reflected, as a light bestowed — 

Of Fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, 

Hyblean murmurs of Poetic Thought 

Industrious in its Joy, in Vales and Glens 

Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! 

Or on the lonely High-road, when the Stars 

Were rising ; or by secret Mountain-streams,. 

The Guides and the Companions of thy way! 

Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense 
Distending wide, and Man beloved as Man, 
Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating 
Even as a Bark becalmed beneath the Burst 
Of Heaven's immediate Thunder, when no cloud 
Is visible, or shadow on the Main. 
For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded,. 
Amid the tremor of a realm aglow. 
Amid a mighty nation jubilant. 
When from the general Heart of Human kind 
Hope sprang forth like a full-bpm Deity I 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES^ 249^ 

— — Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down. 

So summoned homeward^ thenceforth calm and sure 

From, the dread Watch-Tower of man's absolute Self, 

With light unwaning on her eyes, to look 

Far on —herself a glory to behold, 

The Angel of the vision ! Then (last strain) 

Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice^ 

Action and Joy! — An orphic song indeed, 

A song divine of high and passionate thoughts. 

To their own Music chaunted ! 

O great Bard ! 
Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air. 
With steadfast eye I viewed thee in the choir 
Of ever-enduring men. The truly Great 
Have all one age, and from one visible space. 
Shed influence ! They, both in power and act, 
Are permanent, and Time is not with them,, 
Save as it worketh /or them, they in it. 
Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old. 
And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame 
Among the Archives of M ankind,^ thy work 
Makes audible a linked lay of Truth, 
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay. 
Not learnt, but native, her own natural note& I 
Ah ! as I listened with a heart forlorn 



250 BfAYLLIrNZ LBAYAS. 

The jstdaestftmy Being beat anew' : 
AxA ertn as Lffe retixms' upon the I>rowiied> 
Life's joy rekim^g roused a throng of Pains-^ 
Keen Pangs of Love, awakening as ar babe 
Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart ; 
And Fears self^wSled, that shunned the eye of tkfti 
And Hope thett scarce would know itself from Fear; 
Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vaiof, 
And 'Genius given, and Knowledge won in Vain ; 
And all which I had cidled in Wood-waHra wild, 
And all which patient toil had reared, and all. 
Commune with thee had opened out — but Flowers 
Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my Bfer, 
In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave ! 

That way no more ! and ill beseems it tne. 
Who came a wefcomer in Herald's Guisey 
Singing of Glory, and Futurity, 
To wander back on such nnhealtbful road. 
Plucking the poisons of self-harm ! And ill 
Such intertwine beseems trhuDphal wreaths 
Strewed before <% advancing ! 

Nor do tfaou, 
Sage Bard I impaif Hie memory of tliat'hour 
Of thy communion wfthiny nobler mind 



By Pity or €hrief, already ft^^tootiDa^ ( 
Nor let my word^ httpoi^ifibre'blaiiKd dUtt^HWdH. 
The timndt rose aifd c^HBed: ftv Peace 19 iii^ 
Where wiisdota's voice has fotmd a Msteniif^ hteft. 
Amid the howl ef more than iiPihtry storms. 
The Hadoyoa hears th« voic6 of TienoaUHcwrs 
Already on th6 wing. 

Ere fbttowin^ eve, 
Dear traaqnii timiey.wheii thie si*«et)^^0f'H6ffie 
Is sweetest! moments fbrtheiy own sake haikd 
And more desired, more precious for thy song, 
In silence listening, like a devout child, 
My soul lay passive, by thy various strain 
Driven as in surges now beneath the stars, 
With momentary Stars of my own birth. 
Fair constellated Foam,* still darting off 
Into the darkness ; now a tranquil sea. 
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon. 

And when — O Friend ! my comforter and guide! 

* " A beautiful white cloud of Foam at momentaiy intervals 
coursed by the side of the Vessel with a Hoar, and little stars 
of flame danced and sparkled and went out in it : and every 
now and then light detachments of this white cloud-like foam 
darted off from the vessel's side, each with its own small con- 
stellation, over the Sea, and scoured out of sight like a Tartar 
Troop over a Wilderness." — The Frismd, p. 220. 



252; SI^BTLLINE LEAVES. 

Strong in thyself,, and powerful to give strength !- 
Thy long sustained Song finally closed. 
And thy deep voice had ceased — ^yet thou thyself 
Wert still before my eyes, and round us both 
That happy vision of beloved Faces- 
Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close 
I sate, my being blended in one thought 
(Thought was it ? or Aspiration ? or Resolve ?) 
Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound. — 
And when I rose, I found myself in prayer. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. -253 



THE NIGHTINGALE; 

A CONVERSATION POEM. 
WRITTEN IN APRIL 1798. 



No cloudy no relique of the sunken day 
Distinguishes the West^ no long thin slip 
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge I 
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
But hear no murmuring : it flows silently, 
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, 
A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim. 
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find 
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
And hark ! the Nightingale begins its song, 



1|$4 ftUSTLL^NE I^B^TES. 

" Most musical, most melancholy" Bird !* 

A melancholy Bird ? Oh I idle thought ! 

In nature there is nothing melancholy. 

But some night-wandering man, whose heart was 

pierced 
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, 
Or slow distemper, or i^glected lo?€, 
(And so poor Wretch I filled all things with himself 
And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
Of his own sorrow) he, and such as he, 
First named these notes a melancholy strain : 
And many a poet echoes .the conceit ; 
Poet who hath been building up the ihyme 
When he had better fai ha;i^ a^tretc^^e^ )ij^ %fl||^ 
Beside a bi:ook ip pios^y forest-4ell, 
By Sun or M^o^nhgl^t, to U^e iii^i;ixes . 
Of shapes and sotu^d^ and shifting ,€;lem^nt3 
Surrendering his whole spirit^ of bis, £|<mg 
And of his fp^me lorgjetfull .so hi^;f|^umje 

* " Most mvbica,j., most MELAifcuoLY.''] This pasngeia 
Milton possesses an excellence far superior to that of mine de- 
scription. It is spoken in the character of the melancholy man, 
and haa therefore ^.dTamatic propriety. The author mktti klis 
remark, to rescue hipoself frqm the charge of hayiiig Miifid 



with levity, to a line in Milton : a charge than whu;h 
could be more painful to him, except perhaps that of hatfiig 
ridiculed his Bible. 



SlBTXcLINK LEAVES. 255 

Should share in Nature's immortality, 
A venerable thing 1 and so his song 
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itsdf 
Be loved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
And youths and niftideBS most poetical, 
Who lose the .deepening twilights of the spring 
In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they. still 
Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs 
O'er Philomela's pty-pleading strsiips. 

My Friend, and thou, onir Sister ! me have ieamt 
A different lore : we may not thus prdfane 
Nature's sweet voicos, always full of iove 
And joyance I Tis the meipry Nightingale 
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 
With fast thick warble his deUcious notes, 
As he were fearful that an April night 
Would be too short for him to utter forth 
His love*chant, and disburthen his full soul 
Of all its music ! 

And I kncn^a grove 
Of lai^e e^ttt, hard by a casde favge, 
Which th^ :gre(it lord inhabits-not; ^aaid so 
This grov^ js iwild with tangUag^unfliianfood, 
And the trim w^lte idre br(doen iup,iand p^an, 



256 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths. 

But never elsewhere in one place I knew 

So many Nightingales ; and far and near, 

In wood and thicket, over the wide grove. 

They answer and provoke each other's song, 

With skirmish and capricious passagings. 

And murniurs musical and swift jug jug. 

And one low piping Sound more sweet than all — 

Stirring the air with such an harmony, 

That should you close your eyes, you might almost 

Forget it was not day ! On Moonlight bushes. 

Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed, 

You may perchance behold them on the twigs. 

Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and 

full. 
Glistening, while mlny a glow-worm in the shade 
Lights up her love-torch. 

A most gentle Maid, 
Who dwelleth in her hospitable home 
Hard by the castle, and at latest eve 
(Even like a Ladv vowed and dedicate 
To something more than Nature in the grove 
Glides through the pathways ; she knows all their notes, 
That gentle Maid ! and oft a moment's space, 
What time the Moon was lost behind a cloud. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 259 

Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the Moon 
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
With one sensation, and these wakeful Birds 
Have all burst forth in Choral minstrelsy, 
As if some sudden Gale had swept at once 
An hundred airy harps ! And she hath watched 
Many a Nightingale perched giddily 
On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze. 
And to that motion tune his wanton song 
Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head. 

Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve. 
And you, my friends ! farewell, a short farewell ! 
We have been loitering long and pleasantly. 
And now for our dear homes. — That strain again ? 
Full fain it would delay me ! My dear babe. 
Who, capable of no articulate sound. 
Mars all things with his imitative lisp. 
How he would place his hand beside his ear. 
His little hand, the small forefinger up, 
And bid us listen ! And I deem it wise 
To make him Nature's Play-mate. He knows well 
The evening-star ; and once, when he awoke 
In most distressful mood (some inward pain 
Had made up that strange thing,, an infant's dream) 
I hurried with him to our orchard-plot, 

VOL. I. s 



260 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

And he beheld the Moon, and, hushed at once, 
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, 
While his fair eyes, that swam with undropped tear^ 
Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam ! Weill— 
It is a father's tale : But if that Heaven 
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up 
Familiar with these songs, that with the night 
He may associate joy 1 Once more farewell, 
Sweet Nightingale! Once more my friends! farewell. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 261 



FROST AT MIDNIGHT. 



The Frost performs its secret ministry, 
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry 
Came loud — and hailc, again ! load as before. 
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, 
Have left me to that solitude^ which suits 
Abstruser musings : save that at my side 
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 
'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs 
And vexes meditation with its strange 
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, 
This populous village ! Sea, and hill, and wood. 
With all the numberless goings on of life. 
Inaudible as dreams ! the thin blue flame 
Lies on my low burnt fire, and quivers not ; 
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate. 
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. 



262 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature 
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, 
Making it a companionable form, 
To which the living spirit in our frame, 
That loves not to behold a lifeless thing, 
Transfuses its own pleasures, its own will. 

How oft, at school, with most believing mind, 
Presagefiil, have 1 gazed upon the bars. 
To watch that fluttering stranger \ and as oft 
With unclosed hds, already had I dreamt 
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower. 
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang 
From mom to evening, all the hot Fair-day, 
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me 
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear 
Most hke articulate sounds of things to come ! 
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, 
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams ! 
And so I brooded all the following mom. 
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye 
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book : 
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched 
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up. 
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, 



\ 



SIBYLLINB LEAVES. 263 

Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, 
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike ! 

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, 
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm 
Fill up the interspersed vacancies 
And momentary pauses of the thought ! 
My Babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart 
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee. 
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore 
And in far other scenes 1 For I was reared 
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim. 
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. 
But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze 
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags 
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds. 
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores 
And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear 
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible 
Of that eternal language, which thy God 
Utters, who from eternity doth teach 
Himself in all, and all things in himself. 
Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould 
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. 

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, 



264 8IBTLL1ME LtAYSS. 

Whether the summer clothe the general earth 
With gieenoessy or the redtxreast sit and sing 
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch 
Of mossy apple -tree, while the nigh thatch 
Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eve-drops 
Heard only in the trances of the blast. 
Or if the secret ministry of frost 
Shall hang them up in silent icicles. 
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon. 



THE THREE GRAVES. 



i. 



r: 



. r- 



:■ . 'I 






THE THREE GRAVES. 



A FRAGMENT OF A SEXTOn's TALE. 



[The Author has published the following humble fragment, en-* 
couraged by the decisive recommendation of more than one of our 
most celebrated living Poets. The language was intended to be 
dramatic ; that is suited to the narrator ; and the metre corres- 
ponds to the homeliness of the diction. It is therefore presented 
as the fragment, not of a Poem, but of a common Ballad-tale. 
Whether this is sufficient to justify the adoption of such a style, in 
any metrical composition not professedly ludicrous, the Author is 
himself in some doubt At all events, it is not presented as Poe- 
try, and it is in no way connected with the Author's judgment 
concerning Poetic diction. Its merits, if any, are exdudvely Psy- 
chol(^cal. The story which must be supposed to have been 
narrated in the first and second parts is as follows. 

Edwaxd, a young farmer, meets at the house <^ iBllen her 
bosom-friend Mary, and commences an acquaintance, which ends 
in a mutual attachment. With her consent, and by the advice 
of their common friend Ellen, he announces his hopes and in*> 
tendons to Mary's Mother, a widow-woman bordering on h^ 
fortieth year, and from constant health, the possesion of a com- 
petent property, and from having had no other children but Mary 
and another daughter (the Father died ill their infaney,) retaining. 



268 SIBTLLINB LEAYE8. 

for the greater part, her personal attractions and c omeWne w dt 
appearance ; hut a woman of low education and violent temiMr. 
The answer which she at once returned to Edward's ^pBcstkn 
was remarkable — " Well, Edward ! you are a handsome young 
feUow, and you shall have my Daughter." From this time sB 
theur wooing passed under the Bfothei's eye; and, in fine, the 
became herself enamoured of her future Son-in-law, and practiied 
every art, both of endearment and of caltnnny, to trsas&r Uf 
affbctions from her daughter to herseUl (The outlines of the 
Tale are positive Facts, and of no very distant date, dioug^ die 
author has purposely altered the names and the scene of action, as 
weU as invented the characters of the parties and the detail of die 
incidents.) Edward, however, though perplexed by |ittr stqogc 
detractioDS from her daughter's good qualities, yet in the innncfiKS 
9ilM own heart still mistaking her increasing fondness for ipnthfriy 
i^&ctions she at length, overcome by her miserable pasaon, aftpr 
PMiiQh abuse of Mary's temper and moral tend e ncies, ejrl^mfi 
wtth violfBot einotlon— O Edivardl indeed, indeed, she is not #t 
fyt yo«— sh^e has not a heart to love you as you deserve. It is I 
0iat love you ! Marry me, Edward ! and I will tlup very d»y 
sttde an my property on you. — The Lover's eyes were bow 
opened and thus taken by surprise, whether from the ^tBsct of dw 
honor which he felt, acting as it were hysterically on his neivpBs 
system, or that at the first moment hje lost the sense of goflt of the 
proposal in the feeling of its strangeness and absurdity, he flung 
h(9rfipomhfanandbur^intoafitoflatt|^ter. Irritated Jiy dns sl- 
looat to frensy, the FOooanlQeU on her knees, and in a load voice 
that approached to a scream, die prayed for a Curse both on hiD 
^nd on her own Child. Mary happened tp be in thie roivn di- 
leaetly above fhem, heard Edward's laugh and her Mother's b)aa^ 
plMQQOUi prayer, and fiunted away. He, heanng the fid), ran i^ 
stairs, and liaking her iii his arms, carried her off to Ellen's hone ; 
and after Mqoe ^dess attempts on her part towacd a re* 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 269 

conciliation with her Mother, she was married to him. — And here 
the third part of the Tale begins. 

I was not led to chase this stoiy firom any partiality to tra- 
gic, much less to monstrous events (though at the time that I 
composed the verses, somewhat more than twelve years ago, 
I was less averse to such subjects than at present), but firom 
finding in it a striking proof of the possible effect on the imagi- 
nation, firom an Idea violently and suddenly impressed on it. I 
had been reading Biyan Edwards's account of the effect of the 
Oby Witchraft on the Negroes in ^9 West-Indies, and Heame's 
deeply interesting Anecdotes of similar workings on the ims^- 
nation of the Copper Indians (those of my Readers who have 
it in their power will be well repaid for the trouble of referring 
to those works for the passages alluded to) and I conceived the 
design of shewing that instances of this kind are not peculiar to 
savage or barbarous tribes, and of illustrating the jaod^ in which 
the mind is affected in these cases, and the progress s^d symp- 
toms of the morbid acticm oa the fancy from die beginning. 

The Tale is supposed to k» nairaUd by an old Sezttm, in a 
country church-yard, to a Travejler whose curiosity had been 
awakened by the appearance of three graves, close by each 
other, to two only of which there were grave-stones. On the 
first of these was the mane, and dat^, as usj^al : on Iheisecond, 
no name, but only a date, and the words. The Mercy of God 
is infinite.] 



THE THREE GRAVES. 



The Grapes upon the Vicar's wall 

Were ripe as ripe could be ; 
And yellow leaves in Sun and Wind 

Were falling from the Tree. 

On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane 
Still swung the spikes of com : 

Dear Lord I it seems but yesterday — 
Young Edward's marriage-mom. 

Up through that wood behind the church. 
There leads from Edward's door 

A mossy track, all over houghed. 
For half a mile or more. - 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 271 

And from their house-door by that track 
The Bride and Bridegroom went; 

Sweet Mary,' though she was not gay, 
Seemed cheerful and content. 



But when they to the church-yard came, 

Fve heard poor Mary say. 
As soon as she stepped into the Sun, 

Her heart it died away. 

And when the Vicar joined their hands. 
Her limbs did creep and freeze ; 

But when they prayed, she thought she saw 
Her mother on her knees. 

And o'er the church-path they returned — 

I saw poor Mary's back, 
Just as she stepped beneath the boughs 

Into the mossy track 

Her feet upon the mossy track 

The married maiden set: 
That moment — I have heard her say — 

She wished she could forget. 



273 SIBYLLINE LEATKS. 

The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat- 
Then came a chill like death : 

And when the merry bells rang out, 
They seemed to stop her breath. 

Beneath the foulest Mother's curse 

No child could ever thrive : 
A Mother is a Mother still. 

The holiest thing alive. 

So five months passed : the Mother still 

Would never heal the strife ; 
But Edward was a loving man 

And Mary a fond wife. 

" My sister may not visit us, 
My mother says her nay : 

Edward ! you are all to me, 

1 wish for your sake I could be 

More lifesome and more gay. 

I'm dull and sad 1 indeed, indeed 

I know I have no reason ! 
Perhaps I am not well in health. 

And 'tis a gloomy season." 



SIBYLLIKE LEAVES. 273 

'Twas a drizzly time-^no ice, no snow! 

And on the few fine days 
She stirred not out, lest she might meet 

Her Mother in the trays. 

But Ellen, spite of miry ways 

And weather dark and dreary, 
Trudged every day to Edward's house, 

And made them all more cheery. 

Oh ! Ellen was a faithful Friend, 

More dear than any Sister ! 
As cheerful too as singing lark ; 
And she ne'er left them till ^twas dark, 

And then they always missed her. 

And now Ash- Wednesday came — that day 

But few to Church repair: 
For on that day you know we read 

The Comminatioli prayer. 

Our late old Vicar, a kind man. 

Once, Sir, he said to ine^ 
He wished that service was clean out 

Of our good Liturgy. 



*274 KIBTLLINE LEAVES. 

The Mother walked into the church — 

To Ellen's seat she went : 
Though Ellen always kept her church 

All church-days during Lent. 

And gentle Ellen welcomed her 
With courteous looks and mild : 

Thought she " what if her heart should melt 
And all be reconciled !" 

The day was scarcely like a day— 
The clouds were black outright : 

And many a night, with half a Moon^ 
Fve seen the church more light. 

The wind was wild ; against the glass 

The rain did beat and bicker ; 
The church-tower swinging over head. 

You scarce could hear the Vicar ! 

And then and there the Mother knelt^ 

And audibly she cried — 
'' Oh ! may a clinging curse consume 

" This woman by my side ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 275 

O hear me, hear me. Lord in Heaven, 
Although you take my life — 

curse this woman, at whose house 
Young Edward woe'd his wife. 

By night and day, in bed and bower, 

O let her cursed be 1 1 !" 
So having prayed, steady and slow, 

She rose up from her knee ! 
And left the church, nor e'er again 

The church-door entered she. 

1 saw poor Ellen kneeling still. 

So pale ! I guessed not why : 
When she stood up, there plainly was 
A trouble in her eye. 

And when the prayers were done, we all 

Came round and asked her why : 
Giddy she seemed, and, sure, there was 

A trouble in her eye. 

But ere she from the church-door stepped 

She smiled and told us why : 
" It was a wicked woman's curse," 

Quoth she, " and what care I ?" 



yoL. I* 



276 SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 

She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off 
Ere from the door she stept — 

But all agree it would have been 
Much better had she wept. 

And if her heart was not at ease, 
This was her constant cry — 

" It was a wicked woman's curse — 
God's good, and what care I V* 

There was a hurry in her looks, 
Her struggles she redouUed : 

'' It was a wicked woman's curse. 
And why should I be troubled ?" 

These tears will come— I dandled her 
When 'twas the merest fairy — 

Good creature I and she hid it all : 
She told it not to Mary. 

But Mary heard the tale : h^ arms 
Round Ellen's neck she threw ; 

« O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me, 
And now she hath cursed you !'' 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 277 

I saw young Edward by himself 

Stalk fast adown the lee, 
He snatched a stick from every fence, 

A twig from every tree. 

He snapped them still with hand or knee, 

And then away they flew ! 
As if with his uneasy limbs 

He knew not what to do I 

You see, good sir ! that single hill ? 

His farm lies underneath : 
He heard it there, he heard it all. 

And only gnashed his teeth. 

Now Ellen was a darluig love 

In all his joys and cares : 
And Ellen's name and Mary's name 
Fast-linked they both together came, 

Whene'er he said his prayers. 

And in the moment of his prayers 

He loved them both alike : 
Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy 

Upon his heart did strike I 



278 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

He reach*d his home, and by his looks 

They saw his inward strife : 
And they clung round him with their arms, 

Both Ellen and his wife. 

And Mary could not check her tears. 

So on his breast she bowed; 
Then Frenzy melted into Grief, 

And Edward wept aloud. 

Dear Ellen did not weep at all, 

But closeher did she cling. 
And turned her face and looked as if 

She saw some frightfid thing. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 279 



THE THREE GRAVES. 

PART IV. 



To see a man tread over Ghraves 

I hold it no good mark ; 
Tis wicked in the Sun and Moon» 

And bad luck in the dark ! 

You see that Grave ? The Lord he gives. 

The Lord, he takes away : 
O Sir I the child of my old age 

Lies there as cold as clay. 

Except that grave, you scarce see one 

That was not dug by me 
I'd rather dance upon 'em all 

Than tread upon these three I 



280 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

*^ Aye, Sexton I 'tis a touching tale.*' 

You, Sir ! are but a lad ; 
This month I'm in my seventieth year. 

And still it makes me sad. 

And Mary's sister told it me, 
For three good hours and more; 

Though I had heard it, in the main. 
From Edward's self, before. 

Well! it passed off! the gentle Ellen 

Did well nigh dote on Mary ; 
And she went oftener than before. 
And Mary loved her more and more : 
She managed all the dairy. 

To market she on market-days, 
To church on Sundays came ; 

All seemed the same : all seemed so. Sir! 
But all was not the same ! 

Had Ellen lost her mirth ? Oh ! no ! 

But she was seldom cheerful ; 
And Edward looked as if he thought 

That Ellen's mirth was fearful. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 281 

When by herself, she to herself 

Must sing some merry rhyme ; 
She could not now be glad for hours, 

Yet silent all the time. 

And when she soothed her friend, through all 

Her soothing words 'twas plain 
She had a sore grief of her own, 

A haunting in her brain. 

And oft she said, I'm not grown thin ! 

And then her wrist she spanned : 
And once when Mary was down-cast, 

She took her by the hand, 
And gazed upon her, and at first 

She gently pressed her hahd ; 

Then harder, till her grasp at length 

Did gripe like a convulsion ! 
Alas I said she, we ne'er can be 

Made happy by compulsion ! 

And once her both arms suddenly 

Round Mary's neck she flung. 
And her heart panted, and she felt 

The words upon her tongue. 



282 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

She felt them coming, but no power 
Had she the words to smother ; 

And with a kind of shriek she cried , 
" Oh Christ! you're like your Mother!" 

So gentle Ellen now no more 

Could make this sad house cheery; 

And Mary's melancholy ways 
Drove Edward wild and weary. 



Lingering he raised his latch at eve. 
Though tired in heart and limb : 

He loved no other place, and yet 
Home was no home to him. 

One evening he took up a book. 

And nothing in it read ; 
Then flung it down, and groaning cried, 

" Oh ! Heaven ! that I were dead." 

Mary looked up into his face, 

And nothing to him said ; 
She tried to smile, and on his arm 

Moumfnlly leaned her head. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 283 

And he burst into tears, and fell 

Upon his knees in prayer : 
" Her heart is broke ! O God ! my grief, 

It is too great to bear !" 

'Twas such a foggy time as makes 

Old Sextons, Sir I like me, 
Rest on their spades to cough ; the spring 

Was late uncommonly. 

And then the hot days, all at once. 

They came, we knew not how : 
You looked about for shade, when scarce 

A leaf was on a bough. 

It happened then ('twas in the bower 

A furlong up the wood : 
Perhaps you know the place, and yet 

I scarce know how you should) 



No path leads thither, 'tis not nigh 

To any pasture-plot ; 
But clustered near the chattering brook, 

Lone hollies marked the spot. 



284 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Those hollies of themselves a shape 

As of an arbour took, 
A close, round arbour; and it stands 

Not three strides from a brook. 

Within this arbour, which was still 

With scarlet berries hung, 
Were these three friends, one Sunday mom, 

Just as the first bell rung. 

Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet 

To hear the Sabbath-bell, 
Tis sweet to hear them both at once, 

Deep in a woody dell. 

His limbs along the moss, his head 

Upon a mossy heap. 
With shut-up senses, Edward lay : 
That brook e'en on a working day 

Might chatter one to sleep. 

And he had passed a restless night, ' 

And was not well in health ; 
The women sat down by his side. 

And talked as 'twere by stealth. 



SIBTLLIKE LBAYES. 285 

'' The Sun peeps through the close thick leaves, 

" See, dearest Ellen ! see I 
** 'Tis in the leaves, a little Sun, 

" No bigger than your ee ; 



« 



A tiny Sun, and it has got 
A perfect glory too : 
** Ten thousand threads and hairs of light, 
" Make up a glory, gay and bright, 

" Round that small orb, so blue." 

And then they argued of those rays. 

What colour they might be : 
Says this, " they're mostly green ;" says that, 

" They're amber-like to me," 

So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts. 

Were troubling Edward's rest ; 
But soon they heard his hard quick pants, 

And the thumping in his breast. 

** A Mother, too !" these self-same words 

Did Edward mutter plain ; 
His face was drawn back on itself. 

With horror and huge pain. 



286 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Both groaned at once, for both knew well 
What thoughts were in his mind ; 

When he waked up, and stared like one 
That hath been just struck blind. 

He sat upright ; and ere the dream 

Had had time to depart, 
" O God, forgive me ! (he exclaimed) 

" I have torn out her heart." 

Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst 

Into ungentle laughter; 
And Mary shivered, where she sat 

And never she smiled after. 

Carmen reliquum in fatnram tempos relegatnm. 
morrow! and To-morrow ! and To-morrow ! 



ODES 



AND 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



- 

1 



v '• 



DEJECTION 



AN ODE. 



Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, 
With the old Moon in her arms ; 
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear ! 
We shall have a deadly storm. 

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence. 



I. 
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made 
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, 
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence 
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade 
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, 
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes 
Upon the strings of this .£olian lute. 
Which better far were mute. 
For lo ! the New-moon winter-bright ! 
And overspread with phantom light. 



290 SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 

(With swimming phantom light o'erspread 

But rimmed and circled by a silver thread) 
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling 

The coming on of rain and squally blast. 
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, 

And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! 
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they 
awed, 
And sent my soul abroad. 
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, 
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and lire ! 

II. 

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, 
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief. 
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief. 
In word, or sigh, or tear — 

O Lady ! in this wan and heartless mood, 

To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd. 
All this long eve, so balmy and serene, 

Have I been gazing on the western sky. 
And its pecuhar tint of yellow green : 

And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye ! 

And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars. 

That give away their motion to the stars ; 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 291 

Those stars, that glide behind them or between, 

Now sparkling, now bcdimmed, but always seen : 

Yon crescent Moon as fixed as if it grew 

In its own cloudless^ starless lake of blue ; 

I see them all so excellently fair, 

I see, not feel how beautiful they are ! 

III. 

My genial spirits fail, 

And what can these avail 
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? 

It were a vain endeavour. 

Though I should gaze for ever 
On that green light that lingers in the west : 
I may not hope from outward forms to win 
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within. 

IV. 

O Lady ! we receive but what we give. 

And in our life alone does nature live : 

Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud ! 

And would we aught behold, of higher worth. 
Than that inanimate cold world allowed 
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, 

Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth, 
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 
Enveloping the Earth — 

TOL. I. U 



292 SIEYLLINE LEAVES. 

And from the soul itself must there be sent 

A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth. 
Of all sweet sounds the life and element! 

V. 

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me 
What this strong music in the soul may be ! 
What, and wherein it doth exist, 
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist. 
This beautiful and beauty-making power. 

Joy, virtuous Lady ! Joy that ne'er was given. 
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour. 
Life, and Life's Effluence, Cloud at once and Shower, 
Joy, Lady ! is the spirit and the power. 
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower 

A new Earth and new Heaven, 
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud — 
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud — 

We in om^selves rejoice ! 
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, 

All melodies the echoes of that voice. 
All colours a suffusion from that light. 

VI. 

There was a time when, though my path was rough, 
This joy within me dallied with distress. 

And all misfortunes were but as the stuff 
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness : 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 293 

For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, 
And fruits, and fob'age, not my own, seemed mine. 
But now afflictions bow me down to earth : 
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth, 

But oh ! each visitation 
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 

My shaping spirit of Imagination. 
For not to think of what I needs must feel, 

But to be still and patient, all I can ; 
And haply by abstruse research to steal 

From my own nature all the natural Man — 

This was my sole resource, my only plan : 
Till that which suits a part infects the whole, 
And now is almost grown the habit of my Soul, 

VII. 

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind. 

Reality's dark dieam ! 
I turn from you, and listen to the wind, 

Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream 
Of agony by torture lengthened out 
That lute sent forth ! Thou Wind, that ravest without, 

Bare crag, or mountain-taim,* or blasted tree, 

* Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the 
lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in 
the Tallies. This address to the Storm-wind will not appear ex- 



294 . 8IBTLL1NE LEAVES. 

Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb. 
Or lonely house, long held the witches* home, 

Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, 
Mad Lutanist ! who in this month of showers. 
Of dark brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, 
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song, 
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among. 

Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds ! 
Thou mighty Poet, e'en to Frenzy bold ! 
What tell'st thou, now about? 
Tis of the Rushing of an Host in rout. 
With groans of trampled men, with smarting 
wounds — 
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the 

cold ! 
But hush ! there is a pause of deepest silence ! 

And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd. 
With groans, and tremulous shudderings — all is over- 
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud ! 
A tale of less a£Bright, 
And tempered with delight. 
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay — 
'Tis of a little child 
Upon a lonesome wild. 
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way : 

travagant to those who have heard it at night, and in a mountain- 
ous country. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 295 

And DOW moans low in bitter grief and fear. 
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother 
hear. 

VIII. 

Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: 
Full seldom may my^ friend such vigils keep ! 
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, 

And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, 
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, 

Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth ! 
With light heart may she rise, 
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, 

Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice : 
To her may all things live, from Pole to Pole, 
Their life the eddying of her living soul ! 

O simple spirit, guided from above. 
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice, 
Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. 



^96 SIBYLLINE LBAYES. 



ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF 

DEVONSHIRE, 

ON THE TWENTY-FOURTH STANZA IN HBR 
** PASSAGE OVER MOUNT GOTHARD." 



" And hail the Chapel ! hail the Platform wild! 

Where Tell directed the avenging Dart, 
With well strung arm, that first preserved his Child, 

Then aimed the arrow at the Tyrant's heart." 



Splendour's fondly fdsteml child ! 
And did you hail the Platform wOd, 

Where once the Austrian fell 

Beneath the shaft of Tell ? 
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure ! 
Whence learnt you that heroic measure ? 

Light as a dream your days their circlets ran, 
From all that teaches Brotherhood to Man 



SISYLLINE LEAVES. 297 

Far, far removed ! from want, from hope, from fear ! 
Enchanting music lulled your infant ear, 
Obeisance, praises soothed your infant heart : 

Emblazonments and old ancestral orests, 
With many a bright obtrusive form of art, 

Detained your eye from nature : stately vests, 
That veiling strove to deck your charms divine, 
Rich viands, and the pleasurable wine. 
Were your's unearned by toil ; nor couki you see 
The unenjoying toiler's misery. 
And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child. 
You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild. 
Where once the Austrian fell 
Beneath the shaft of Tell ! 

O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure ! 

Whence learnt you that heroic measure ? 

There crowd your finely-fibred frame, 

All living faculties of bliss ; 
And Genius to your cradle came, 
His forehead wreathed with lambent flame. 

And bending low, with godlike kiss 

Breath'd in a more celestial life ; 
But boasts not many a fair compeer. 

A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? 
And some, perchance, might wage an equal strife, 



298 blBYLLlKE LEAVE4. 

Some few, to nobler being wrought, 
Co-rivals in the nobler gift of thought. 
Yet these delight to celebrate 
Laurelled War and plumy State ; 
Or in verse and music dress 
Tales of rustic happiness — 
Pernicious Tales ! insidious Strains ! 
That steel the rich man's breast. 
And mock the lot unblest. 
The sordid vices and the abject pains, 
Which evermore must be 
The doom of Ignorance and Penury ! 
But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child, 
You hailed the chapel and the Platform wild. 
Where once the Austrian fell 
Beneath the shaft of Tell ! 

Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure ! 
Where learnt you that heroic measure ? 

You were a Mother ! That most holy name. 
Which Heaven and Nature bless, 

1 may not vilely prostitute to those 

Whose Infants owe them less 
Than the poor Caterpillar owes 
Its gaudy Parent Fly. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 299 

You were a Mother I at your bosom fed 

The Babes that loved you. You, with laughing eyei 
Each twilight-thought, each nascent feeling read, 
Which you yourself created. Oh ! dehght ! 
A second time to be a Mother, 

Without the Mother's bitter groans : 
Another thought, and yet another. 
By touch, or taste, by looks or tones 
O'er the growing Sense to roll. 
The Mother of your infant's Soul ! 
The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides 

His chariot-planet round the goal of day. 
All trembling gazes on the Eye of God, 

A moment turned his awful face away ; 
And as he viewed you, from his aspect sweet 

New influences in your being rose. 
Blest Intuitions and Communions fleet 
With living Nature, in her joys and woes ! 
Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see 
The shrine of social Liberty ! 
O beautiful ! O Nature's child ! 
'Twas thence you hailed the Platform wild. 
Where once the Austrian fell 
Beneath the shaft of Tell ! 
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure ! 
Thence learnt you that heroic measure. 



300 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



ODE TO TRANQUILLITY. 



. Tranquillity I thou better name 

Than all the family of Fame I 

Thou ne*er wilt leave my riper age 

To low intrigue, or factious rage : 

For oh I dear chikl of thoughtful Truth, 

To thee I gave my early youth, 
And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, 
Ere yet the Tempest rose and scared me with its roar. 

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine, 
On him but seldom, power divine^ 
Thy spirit rests I Satiety 
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee. 
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope 
And dire Remembrance interlope. 
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind : 
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVBS. 301 

But me thy gentle hand will lead 
At morning through the accustomed mead ; 
And in the sultry summer's heat 
Will build me up a mossy seat 
And when the gust of Autumn crowds 
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds. 
Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, 
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding Mo6n. 

The feeling heart, the searching soul, 

To thee I dedicate the whole ! 

And while within myself I trace 

The greatness of some future race. 

Aloof with hermit-eye I scan 

The present wcurks of present man — 
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile. 
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile ! 



V 



I 



302 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 

ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE 

AUTHOR. 

COMPOSED IN 1796. 



A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep, 

fiut a green mountain variously up-piled, 
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, 
Or coloured lichens with slow oosing weep; 

Where cypress and the darker yew start wild ; 
And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash 
Dance brightened the red clusters of the ash; 

Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds 
beguiled, 
Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep ; 

Till haply startled by some fleecy dam. 
That rustling on the bushy clift above. 
With melancholy bleat of anxious love. 

Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb : 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 303 

Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb, 
£*en while the bosom ached with loneliness — 
How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless 

The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime 
Now lead, now follow : the glad landscape round. 
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound ! 

O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark 
The berries of the half-uprooted ash 
Dripping and bright ; and list the torrent's dash, — 

Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark, 
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock ; 
In social silence now, and now to unlock 
The treasured heart; arm linked in friendly arm, 
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm 
Muttering brow-bent, at unwatched distance lag ; 

Till high o'er head his beckoning friend appears. 
And from the forehead of the topmost crag 

Shouts eagerly : for haply there uprears 
That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs, 

Which latest shall detain the enamoured sight 
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims. 

Tinged yellow with the rich departing light ; 

And haply, basoned in some unsunned cleft. 



304 SIBYLLINR LEAVES. 

A beauteous spring, the rock*a oollected tears. 
Sleeps sheltered there, scarce wrinkled by the gale ! 

Together thus, the world*s vain turmoil left, 
Stretched on the crag, and shadowed by the pii^, 

And bending o*er the clear delicious fount. 
Ah ! deai'est youth I it were a lot divine 
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, 
While west' winds fanned our temples toil-bedewed : 

Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount) 
To some lone mansion, in some woody dale. 
Where smiling with blue eye, domestic bliss 
Gives this the Husband's, that that the Brother's kiss ! 

Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore, 
The Hill of Knowledge I essayed to trace ; 
That verdurous hill with many a resting-place, 
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour 

To glad, and fertilize the subject plains ; 
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod, 
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod 

Where Inspiratiok, his diviner strains 
Low murmuring, lay ; and starting from the rocks 
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks 
Want's barrel soil, and the bleak frosts of age. 
And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage ! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 305 

O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, 
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime ; 

And from the stirring world up-lifted high, 
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind, 
To quiet musings shall attune the mind, 

And oft the melancholy theme supply) 

There, while the prospect through the gazing eye 

Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, 
We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame. 
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, 

As neighbouring fountains image, each the whole : 
Then when the mind hath drank its fill of truth. 

We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, 
Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame. 
They whom I love shall love thee. Honoured youth ! 

Now may Heaven realize this vision bright ! 



306 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



LINES TO W. L. E&Q. 

WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL's MUSIC. 



While my young cheek retains its healthful hues, 

And I have many friends who hold me dear ; 

L ! methinks, I would not often hear 

Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose 
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress. 

For which my miserable brethren weep I 

But should uncomforted misfortunes steep 
My daily bread in tears and bitterness ; 
And if at death*s dread moment I should lie 

With no beloved face at my bed-side. 
To fix the last glance of my closing eye, 

Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-guide, 
Would make me pass the cup of ang^sh by. 

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died I 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 307 



ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF 

FORTUNE 

WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND 
CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY. 



Hence that fantastic wantonness of woe, 

O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear ! 
To plundered Want's half-sheltered hovel go, 

Go, and some hunger-bitten Infant hear 

Moan haply in a dying Mother's ear : 
Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood 
O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm-leaves 

strewed. 
Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part 

Was slaughtered, where o'er his uncoffined limbs 
The flocking flesh-birds screamed ! Then, while thy 
heart 

TOL. Z. Z 



308 SIBYLLIKE LEAVES. 

Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims, 
Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind) 
What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal I 

O abject ! if, to sickly dreams resigned. 
All effortless thou leave hfe's common-weal 

A prey to Tyrants, Munlerets of Mankind. 



^ 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 309 



SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER. 



Dear native Brook ! wild Streamlet of the West ! 

How many various-fated years have past, 

What happy, and what mournful hours, since last 
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast, 
Numbering its light leaps ! yet so deep imprest 
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes 
. I nevet shut amid the sunny ray, 
But straight witii all their tints thy waters rise. 

Thy crossing plank, thy mai^ with willowy grey, 
And bedded sand that veined with various dies 
Gleamed through thy bright transparence ! On my way. 

Visions of childhood ! oft haveye beguiled 
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs : 

Ah ! that once more I were a careless child ! 



310 SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 



SONNET. 

COMPOSED ON A JOURKET HOMEWARD; THE 
AUTHOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE 
OF THE BIRTH OF A SON, SEPTEMBER 20, 1796. 



Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll 
Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) 
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, 
Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul 
Self-questioned in her sleep : and some have said* 
We lived, ere yet this robe of Flesh we wore. 
O my sweet baby ! when I reach my door. 
If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead, 
(As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear) 
I think that I should struggle to beUeve 

Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere 
Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve ; 
Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick 
reprieve. 
While we wept idly o'er thy Kttle bier! 

* H» WW Hfjm9 fi 4^11 xpt9 f > Twit Tw oyd^eviriMtf uhi yntAv* 

Plat, in Phjedoh. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 311 



SONNET. 

TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE 
NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MT INFANT TO MS. 



Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first 
I scanned that face of feeble infancy : 

For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst 
All I had been, and all my child might be I 

But when I saw it on its Mother's arm, 
And hanging at her bosom (she the while 
Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile) 

Then I was thrilled and melted, and most warm 

Impressed a Father's kiss : and all beguiled 
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear„ 
I seemed to see an angel-form appear— 

Twas even thine, beloved woman mild I 

So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear, 

And dearer was the Mother for the Child. 



319 SIBYLLIKE LEAVES. 



THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN. 

COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN, IN A 
CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY. 



DoRMiyJesu! Mater ridet, 
Quee tarn dulcem somnnm videt, 

Dormiy Jesu ! blandule ! 
Si non dormis, Mater plorat. 
Inter fila cantans orat 

Blande, veni, sbmnule. 

ENGLISH. 

Sleep, sweet bal)e I itty cares beguiling 
Mother sits beside thee smiling : 

Sleep, my daiUng, tenderly ! 
If thou Aeephdtf mctther motiXtiefth, 
"Sin^ng as her ^heel ^e ttitneth : 

Cotne, soft slumber, biedmily I 



SIBTLLIKS LEAVES. 313 



EPITAPH, ON AN INFANT. 



Its balmiy lips the Infant blest 
Relaxing from its Mother's breast. 
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh 
Of innocent Satiety ! 

And such my Infant's latest sigh! 
O tell, rude stone ! the passer by, 
That here the pretty babe doth lie. 
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby, 



314 SIBTLLINl LEAV18. 



MELANCHOLY. 

A FRAGMENT. 



Stretch'd on a mouldered Abbey's broadest wall, 

Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep — 
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall, 
Had MELANCHOLY mus'd herself to sleep. 
The fern was pressed beneath her hair, 
The daik green Adder's Tongue* was there ; 
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak. 
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek. 

That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look 
Beamed eloquent in slumber I Inly wrought, 

Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook. 
And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought 

Strange was the dream- 



* A botanical nuBtake. The plant which the poet here de- 
scribes is called the Hart's Tongue. 



JSIBYLLINE LEAVES. 315 



TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE. 

IMITATED FROM STOLBBRG. 



I. 

Mark this holy chapel well! 
The Birth-place, this, of William Tell. 
Here, where stands God's altar dread, 
Stood his parents' marriage-bed. 

II. 

Here first, an infant to her breast, 
Him his loving mother prest ; 
And kissed the babe, and blessed the day, 
And prayed as mothers use to pray. 

III. 

" Vouchsafe him health, O God I and give 
The Child thy servant still to live I" 
But God had destined to do more 
Through him, than through an armed power. 



316 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



IV. 



God gave him reverence of laws. 

Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause — 

A spirit to his rocks akin. 

The eye of Ihe Hawk, and the fire therein ! 

v. 

To Nature and to Holy writ 
Alone did God the boy commit : 
Where flashed and roared the torrent, oft 
His soul found wings, and soared aloft ! 

VI. 

The straining oar and chamois chase 
Had formed his limbs to strength and grace 
On wave and wind the boy would toss, 
Was great, nor knew iiow great he was ! 

VII. 

He knew notthat his chosen hand, 
Made strong by God, his native land 
Would rescue from the shameful yoke 
Of Slavery t he which he broke ! 



SIBYLLIKE LEAVBS. 317 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



The Shepheixls went their hasty way, 

And found the lowly stable-shed 
Where the Virgin-Mother lay : 

And now they checked their eager tread, 
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, 
A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung. 

II. 

They told her how a glorious light, 

Streaming from a heavealy throng, 
Around them shone, suspending night I 
While sweeter than a MotherVs song, 
Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth, 
Glory to God on high ! and Peace on Earth. 



318 SIBTLLIKK LKAVES. 

III. 

She listened to the tale divine, 

And closer still the Babe she pressed ; 
And while she cried, the Babe is mine I 
The milk rushed faster to her breast : 
Joy rose within her, like a summer's mom; 
Peace, Peace on Earth ! the Prince of Peace is bom. 



IV. 

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, 
Poor, simple, and of low estate ! 

That Strife should vanish. Battle cease, 
O why should this thy soul elate ? 
Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's stCHy,- 



Did'st thou ne'er love to hear of Fame and Glory ? 



V. 



And is not War a youthful King, 

A stately Hero clad in Mail ? 
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring ; 
Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail 
Their Friend, their Playmate ! and his bold bright eye 
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 319 

VI. 

** Tell this in some more courtly scene, 
To maids and youths in robes of state I 
I am a woman poor and mean, 
'' And therefore is my Soul elate. 
<< War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, 
'' That from the aged Father tears his Child ! 






VII. 



A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, 
" He kills the Sire and starves the Son ; 
<< The Husband kills, and from her board 
" Steals all his Widow's toil had won ; 
" Plunders God's world of beauty ; rends away 
«' All safety from the Night, all comfort from the Day. 



VIII. 



" Then wisely is my soul elate, 

<< That Strife should vanish. Battle cease: 
" I'm poor and of a low estate, 

" The Mother of the Prince of Peace. 
" Joy rises in me, like a summer's mora: 
"Peace, Peace on Earth, the Prince of Peace is bom." 



320 SIBYLLINE LBAYBS. 



HUMAN LIFE, 

ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY. 



If dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom 

Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare 
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom, 

Whose sound and motion not alone declare, 
But are their whole of being I If the Breath 

Be Life itself, and not its Task and Tent, 
If even a soul like Milton's can know death ; 

O Man ! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant, 
Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes ! 

Surplus of nature's dread activity. 
Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finished vase, 
Retreating slow, with meditative pause, 

She formed with restless hands unconsciously ! 
Blank accident I nothing's anomaly t 

If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state. 
Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy Hopes, thy Fears, 
The counter- weights ! — Thy Laughter and thy Tears 

Mean but themselves, each fittest to create. 



SIBTLLIKE LEAVES. 321 

And to repay the other I Why rejoices 

Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good ? 

Why cowl thy face beneath the Mourner's hood, 
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices, 

Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, 
That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold ? 
Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold 

These costless shadows of thy shadowy self? 
Be sad ! be glad ! be neither ! seek, or shun ! 
Thou hast no reason why ! Thou can'st have none 
Thy being's being is contradiction. 



322 .SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



THE VISIT OF THE GODS. 

IMITATED FROM SCHILLER. 



Never, believe me, 
Appear the Immortals, 
Never alone : 
Scarce bad I welcomed the Sorrow-beguiler, 
lacchus I but in came Boy Cupid the Smiler ; 
Lo ! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his Throne! 
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all ! 
With Divinities fills my 
Terrestrial Hall ! 

How shall I yield you 
Due entertainment 
Celestial Quire? 
Me rather, bright guests ! with your wings of upbuoy- 

ance 
Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance. 
That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre ! 
Hah ! we mount ! on their pinions they waft up my 
Soul! 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 323 

O give me the Nectar! 
O fill me the Bowl ! 
Give him the Nectar ! 
Pour out for the Poet ! 
Hebe! pour free? 
Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, 
That Styx the detested no more he may view, 
And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be ! 
Thanks, Hebe ! I quaff it ! lo Psean, I cry ! 
The Wine of the Immortals 
Forbids me to die ! 



VOL. I. 



324 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 



ELEGY, 



.», 



IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE 8 BLANK 
VERSE INSCRIPTIONS. 



Near the lone pile with ivy overspread, 

Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound, 

Where " sleeps the moonlight" on yon verdant bed — 
O humbly press that consecrated ground ! 

For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain ! 

And there his spirit most delights to rove : 
Young Edmund ! famed for each harmonious strain, 

And the sore wounds of ill-requited love. 

Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide , 
And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume, 

His manhood blossomed; till the faithless pride 
Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 325 

But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue ! 

Where'er with wildered step she wandered pale, 
Still Edmund's image rose to blast her view, 

Still £dmund*s voice accused her in each gale. 

With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms. 
Amid the pomp of affluence she pined ; 

Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund's arms 
Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind. 

Go, Traveller ! tell the tale with son-ow fraught : 
Some tearful maid perchance, or blooming youth. 

May hold it in remembrance ; and be taught 
That Riches cannot pay for Love or Truth. 



KUBLA KHAN: 

OR, 

A VISION IN A DREAM. 



a" 



i^; 



OFTHS 



FRAGMENT OF KUBLA KHAN. 



The following fragment is here published at the request of a 
poet of great and deserved celebrity, and as far as the Author's 
own opinions are concerned, rather as a psychological cariosity, 
than on the ground of any supposed poetic merits. 

In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill 
health, had retired to a lonely farm house between Porlock and 
Linton, on the Ezmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. 
In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been 
prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his chair 
at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or 
words of the same substance, in " Purchases Pilgrimage :" 
** Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and 
a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground 
were inclosed with a wall." The author continued for about 
three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, 
daring which time he has the most vivid confidence, that he 
could not have composed less than from two to three hundred 
lines ; if that indeed can be called composition in which all the 
images rose up before him as thingSf with a parallel prodaction 



330 SIfiYLLlN£ LEAVES. 

of the correspoDdent ezpresaoDt, without anj seDsatioa ot 
cooidoafneM of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to 
have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen 
ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines thit 
are here presenred. At this moment he was nnfortonateiy 
called out by a person on hnsiness from Parlock, and detained 
by Lim above an hoar, and on his return to his room, found to 
his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still re- 
tained some Tague and dim recollection of the general purport 
of the Tision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten 
scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like 
the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone had 
been cast, but, alas ! without the after restoration of the latter : 

Then all the charm 
Is broken — all that phantom- world so fair 
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread. 
And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile. 
Poor youth ! who scarcely darest lift up thine eyes — 
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon 
The Tisions will return ! And lo, he stays. 
And soon the fragments dim of lorely forms 
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more 
The pool becomes a mirror. 

Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the 
Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had 
been originally, as it were, given to him. lafitpov eAtot ant : bat 
the to-morrow is yet to come. 

As a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a fragment of a 
very different character, describing with equal fideli^ the dream 
of pain and disease. Note to the first Edition, 1816. 



KUBLA KHAN. 



In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure -dome decree : 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 

Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round : 
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills. 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedam cover ! 
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted . 
As e*er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By woman wailing for her demon-iover I 



332 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
As if this earth in fast think pants were breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced : 
Amid whose swift half-intermitted Burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail. 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : 
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran. 
Then reached the x;avems measureless to man, 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 

Floated midway on the waves ; 

Where was heard the mingled measure 

From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 

A damsel with a dulcimer 

In a vision once I saw : 

It was an Abyssiman maid 

And on her dulcimer she played. 

Singing of Mount Abora. 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 333 

Could I revive within me 

Her symphony and song, 

To such a deep delight 'twould win me, 
That with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air. 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
And all who heard should see them there. 
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a circle round him thrice, 
And close your eyes with holy dread 
For he on honey-dew hath fed 
And drank the milk of Paradise. 



THE PAINS OF SLEEP. 



"% 



Ere on my bed my limbs I lay. 

It hath not been my use to pray 

With moving lips or bended knees ; 

But silently, by slow degrees, 

My spirit I to Love compose, 

In humble Trust mine eye- lids close, 

With reverential resignation, 

No wish conceived, no thought exprebsed I 

Only a sense of supplication, 

A sense o*er all my soul imprest 

That I am weak, yet not unblest, 

Since in me, round me, every where I 

Eternal Strength and Wisdom are. J 

But yester-night I prayed aloud 

In anguish and in agony. 

Up-starting from the fiendish crowd 

Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me : 



SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 335 

A lurid light, a trampling throng. 
Sense of intolerable wrong, 
And whom I scorned, those only strong ! 
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will 
Still baffled, and yet burning still ! 
Desire with loathing strangely mixed 
On wild or hateful objects fixed. 
Fantastic passions ! maddening brawl ! 
And shame and terror over all ! 
Deeds to be hid which were not hid. 
Which all confused I could not know. 
Whether I suffered, or I did : 
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe. 
My own or others still the same 
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame 

So two nights passed : the night's dismay 
Saddened and stunned the coming day. 
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me 
Distemper's worst calamity. 
The third night, when my own loud scream 
Had waked me from the fiendish dream, 
Overcome with sufferings strange and wild. 
I wept as I had been a child ; 
And having thus by tears subdued 
My anguish to a milder mood, 



336 SIBYLLINE LEAVES. 

Such punishments, I said, were due 
To natures deepliest stained with sin : 
For aye entempesting anew 
The unfathomable hell within 
The horror of their deeds to view. 
To know and loathe, yet wish and do! 
Such griefs with such men well agree. 
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me ? 
To be beloved is all I need. 
And whom I love, I love indeed. 




APOLOGETIC PREFACE 

TO 

" FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER." 

(See page 154.) 



At the house of a gentleman, who hy the principlea and cor- 
responding virtnes of a sincere Christian consecrates a colti- 
vated genius and the favourable accidents of birth, opulence, 
and splendid connexions, it was my good fortune to meet, in a 
dinner-party, with more men of celebrity in science or polite 
literature, than are commonly found collected round the same 
table. In the course of conversation, one of the party reminded 
an illustrious Poet, then present, of some verses which he had 
recited that morning, and which had appeared in a newspaper 
under the name of a War-Eclogue, in which Fire, Famine, and 
Slaughter, were introduced as the speakers. The gentleman so 
addressed replied, that he was rather surprised that none of us 
should have noticed or heard of the poem, as it had been, at the 
time, a good deal talked of in Scotland. It may be easily 
supposed, that my feelings were at this moment not of the most 
comfortable kind. Of all present, one only knew, or suspected 
me to be the author ; a man who would have established him- 
self in the first rank of England's living Poets, if the Genius 
of our country had not decreed that he should rather be the 
first in the first rank of its Philosophers and scientific Bene- 
factors. It appeared the general wish to hear the lines. As 
my friend chose to remain silent, I chose to follow his example. 



338 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 



Mr. •••^ redted the Poem. Hub At could do widi tk 
gnce, bciBf known to have eter been not oalj nizm nd 
Anti- Jacobin and Anti-Gnllican. but lifcewiae a aealosi 
of llr. FStt, both as a good aan and a great Scate—m. 
As n Poet eidnsvelj, be had been anuised with the Edogiw; 
Ma Ptet, be lecited it; andin a spint, which made it etident, 
^Mit be woold have rand and lepeated it with the same jdeasore, 
bad bis own name been attached to the imaginaiy object or 



After the lecitafion. oar amiabte host observed, diat in his 
llr. —— bad orer-iated the merits of the poetry ; 
bat had they been tenfold greater, diey coold not have com- 
pensated for that malignity of heart, which coold alone bare 
prompted sentiments so atrocioos. I p e rce i T e d that my iDns- 
trioos fnend became graatly distressed on my accoant; bat 
feitnnately I was aUe to preserre fortitude and presence of 
mind enoogb to take up the sabject withoat exciting even a 
SBspicioo, how nearly and painfully it interested me. 

What follows, is substantially the same as I then replied, 
bat dilated and in language lees coUoqoiaL It was not my 
intention, I said, to justify the publication, wbaiener its anthoc's 
feelings might have been at the time of composing xL That 
they are calculated to call forth so severe a reprobatian ham, 
a good man, is not the worst feature of soch poems. Ibeir 
iMral deformity is aggravated in proportion to the pkiBiiif 
^diich they are actable of affording to vindictive, turbokat, and 
unpiincq>led readers. Could it be supposed, thoaf^ lor a 
moment, that the author seriously wished nHiat he had tbos 
wildly imagined, even the attempt to palliate an inhomanily m 
monstrous would be an insok to the hearen. But it s ee m ed to 
me worthy of oonsideratian, wbetimr the mood of mind, and the 



APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 339 

^enerat state of sensations, in which a Poet produces such vivid 
and fantastic images, is likely to co-exist, or is even compatible 
with, that gloomy and deliberate ferocity which a serious wish 
to realize them would pre-suppose. It had been often observed, 
and all my experience tended to confirm the observation, that 
prospects of pain and evil to others, and in general, all deep 
feelings of revenge, are commonly expressed in a few words, 
ironically tame, and mild. The mind under so direful and 
fiend-like an influence seema to take a morbid pleasure in con- 
trasting the intensity of its wishes and feelings, with the slight- 
ness or levity of the expressions by which they are hinted ; and 
indeed feelings so intense and solitary, if they were not pre-r 
eluded (as in almost all cases they would be) by a constitutional 
activity of fancy and association, and by the specific joyousness 
combined with it, would assuredly themselves preclude 9uch 
activity. Passion, in its own quality, is the antagonist of action ; 
though in an ordinary and natural degree the former alternates 
with the latter, and thereby revive^ and strengthens it« But 
the more intense and insane the passion is, the fewer and the 
more fixed are the correspondent forms and notions. A rooted 
hatred, an inveterate thirst of revenge, is a sort of madness, and 
49till eddies round its favourite object, and exercises as it were 
a perpetual tautology of mind in thoughts and words, which 
admit of no adequate substitutes. Like a fish in a globe of glass^ 
it moves restlessly round and round the scanty circumference, 
which it cannot leave without losing its vital element. 

There is a second character of such imaginary represen- 
tations as spring from a real and earnest desire of evil to 
another, which we often see in real life, and might even antir 
cipate from the nature of the mind. The images, I mean, that 
a vindictive man places before his imagination, will most often 

TOL. I. z 



340 APOI.OOETIC P&EFACE. 

be UkaA firom the realitiet of life : they will be imagef of pam 
and ■nffBiing which he haf himielf feen inflicted on other nn, 
and which he can fancy himself ai inflicting on the object of 
hia hatred. I will tuppose that we had heard at difler- 
ent timet two common sailors, each speaking of some one 
who had wroDged or offended him ; that the first with apparent 
violeace had devoted every part of his adversary's bodj and 
soRil to all the horrid phantoms and fantastic places that ever 
Qoevedo dreamt of, and this in a rapid flow of those ontrd and 
wildly combined eiLecrations, which too often with our lower 
classes serve for ucape^wdvet to carry off the excess ol th«ir 
passions, as so much superfluous. steam that would endanger 
the vessel if it were retained. The other on the contrary, witb 
that sort of calmness of tone which is to th0 ear what the pale- 
ness of anger is to the eye, shall simi^y say,. ** Jil chanceto 
bemade boatswain, as I hope I soon shall* and cm but once 
get that fellow under my hand (and I shall be upon the watdi 
for him,) Til tickle his pretty skin! I Wiont hurt him I o)i 
no ! ru only cut the to the Ikfo-r I dave ap- 
peal to all present, whidi of the two they would regard as 
tiie least deceptive symptom of deliberate malignity T nay, 
whether it would surprise diem to iwe the first follow, an hour or 
two afterward, cordially shaking hands with the Tery man, the 
fractional parts of whose body and soul he had been so chaif- 
tably disposing of ; or even perhaps risking his life for him. 
What language Shakespear cnsidered characteristic of mafif- 
naat disposition, we see in the speech of Ae good-oatued 
Gratiano, who spoke " an infinite deal of noQmig move than 
any man in all Venice ;** 



u 



Too wild, too rude and bold of yoice !** 



APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 341 

the skipping spirit, whose thoughts and words reciprocally ran 
aw^y with eiu:h other -, 

" O be thou damn'd, inexorable dog ! 



And for thy life let justice be accused !" 

and the wild fancies that follow, contrasted with Shylock's tran- 
quil ** Istandktnfor Law." 

Or, to take a case more analogous to the present subject, 
should we hold it either fair or charitable to beiieTe it to have 
haea Dante's serious wish, that all the persons mentioned by 
)um, (many recently departed, and some even alive at the time,) 
should actually sufier the fantastic and horrible punishments, 
to which he has sentenced them in his HtU and Furgatoryf Or 
what shall we say of the passages in which Bishop Jeremy 
Taylor anticipates the state of those who, vicious themselves, 
have been the cause of vice and misery to their 'fellow-creatures. 
jCould we endure for a moment to think that a spirit, like 
Bishop Taylor's, burning with Christian love ; that a man con- 
Mitotionally overflowing with pleasurable kindliness; who 
scarcely even in a casual illustration introduces the image of 
woman, child, or bird, but he embalms ^e thought with so rich 
a tenderness, as makes the very words seem beauties and frag- 
ments of poetry from an Euripides or Simonides ; — can we 
endure to tliink, that a man to natured and so disciplined, did at 
the time of composing this horrible picture, attach a sober feel- 
ing of reality to the phrases ? or that he would have described 
in the same tone of justification, in the same luxuriant flow of 
phrases, the tortures about to be inflicted on a living individual 
by a verdict of the Star-Chamber? or the still more atrocious ' 
sentences executed on the Scotch anti-prelatists and schismatics, 
at -the command, and in some instances under the very eye of 
the Duke of I<auderdale, and of that wretched bigot who after- 



342 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 

wirdt dishonored and forfeited the dirone of Gzwit Biittial 
Or do we not rather feel and understand, that these tiolat 
words were mere babbles, flashes and electrical appai^tiaofl, 
from the magic cauldron of a fervid and ebollient fuicy, con- 
stantly fuelled by an unexampled opulence of language ? 

Were I now to have read by myself for the first time the 
Poem in question, my conclusion, I fiilly belieTe, would be, tiiat 
the writer must have been some man of warm feelings and 
active €uicy ; that he had painted to himself the drcumstanoes 
that accompany war in so many vivid and yet ftmtastic fonni, 
as proved that neither the images nor the feelings were the 
result of observation, or in any way deriTed from realities. I 
should judge, that they were the product of his own seething 
imagination, and therefore impregnated with that pleasurable 
exultation which is experienced in all energetic exertion 4)f 
intellectual power ; that in the same mood he had generalissd 
the causes of the war, and then personified the abstract and 
christened it by the name which he had been accustomed to 
hear most often associated with its management and measures* 
I should guess that the minister was in the author's mind at the 
moment of composition, as completely ora^f, hmifthaciqMf, as 
Anacreon's grasshopper, and that he had as little notion of a 
xeal person of flesh and blood, 

** Distingaishable in member, joint, or limb,*' 

as Milton had in the grim and terrible phantoms (half person, 
half allegory) which he has placed at the gates of Hell. I con- 
cluded by observing, that the Poem was not calculated to excite 
pattion in any mind, or to make any impression except on pcttk 
readers -, and that from the culpable levity, betrayed at the close 
of the Eclogue by the grotesque union of epigranunatic wit with 



APOLOGETIC PREFACE, 343 

allegoric personification, in the allusion tq the most fearful of 
thoughts, I should conjecture that the " rantin* Bardie," in8tea4 
of really believing, much less wishing, the fate spoken of in the 
last line, in application to any human individual, would shrink 
from passing the verdict even on the Devil himself, and exclaim 
with poor Bums, 

But fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 

Oh ! wad ye tak a thought au' men ! 

Ye aiblina might— I dinna ken- 
Still hae a stake — 

I'm wae to think upon yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 

I need not say that these thoughts, which are here dilated, 
were in such a company only rapidly suggested. Our kind host 
smiled, and with a courteous compliment observed, that the 
defence was too good for the cause. My voice faulte^ed a little, 
for I was somewhat agitated ; though not so much on my own 
account as for the uneasiness that so kind and friendly a man 
would feel from the thought that he had been the occasion of 
distressing me. At length I brought out these words : ** I must 
now confess, Sir ! that I am author of that Poem. It was 
written some years ago. I do not attempt to justify my past 
self, young as I then was ; but as little as I would now write a 
similar poem, so far was I even then from imagining, that the 
lines would be taken as more or less than a sport of fancy. At 
all events, if I know my own heart, there was never a moment 
in my existence in which I should have been more ready, had 
Mr. Pitt's person been in hazard, to interpose my own body, 
and defend his life at the risk of my own." 

1 have prefaced the Poem with this anecdote, because to 
have printed it without any remark might well have been undef- 



344 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 

■tood as implymg an uncondidonal appfobatJon on mj patt, 
and dus after many yeara connderation. But if it be adnd 
why I re-pnbHahed it at a]!? I answer, tbat the Poem lad 
been attributed at different times to different other perMu; 
and what I had dared beget. I thought it neither manly not 
honourable not to dare father. From the same motives I sbonld 
have published perfect copies of two Poems, the one entitled 
The Didti Thoughts, and the other The Two Rauwl Spaces on tht 
Tombstone, but that the three first stanzas of the former, which 
were worth all the rest of the poem, and the best stanza of the 
remainder, were written by a friend of deserred celdnrity ; and 
because there are passages in both, which might have given 
offence to the religions feelings of certain readers. I mysdf 
indeed see no reason why vulgar superstitions, and absurd con- 
ceptions that deform the pure faith of a Christian, should possess 
a greater immunity from ridicule than stories of witches, or the 
fables of Greece and Rome. But there are those who deem it 
profaneness and irreverence to call an ape an ape, if it but wear 
a monk's cowl on its head ; and I would rather reason widi this 
weakness than offend it. 

The passage from Jeremy Taylor to which I referred, b found 
in his second Sermon on Christ's Advent to Judgment ; which 
is likewise the second in his year's course of sermons. Among 
many remarkable passages of the same character in those dis- 
courses, 1 have selected this as the most so. " But when this 
" Lion of the tribe of Judah shall appear, then Justice diall 
" strike and Mercy shall not hold her hands ; she shall strike 
*' sore strokes, and Pity shall not break tbe blow. As there tie 
treasures of good things, so hath God a treasure of wrath and 
fury, and scourges and scorjiibns ; ahd then shall be pro- 
" duced the shame of Lust and the malice of Envy, and the 






APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 345 

*' groans of the opprossed and the penecntionB of the samtB* 
" and the cares of CoTetousness and the troubles of Ambition, 
" and the iruoknees of traUurs and the violenees (f rtbsU, and 
" the rage of anger and the uneasiness of impatience, and 
'* the restlessness of unlawful desires ; and by this time the 
** monsters and diseases will be numerous and intolerable, when 
'* God*s heavy hand shall press the sanies and the intolerable- 
" ness, the obliquity and the unreasonableness, the amase- 
" ment and the disorder, the smart and the sorrow, the guilt 
'* and the punishment, out from all our sins, and pour them into 
" one chalice, and mingle them with an infinite wrath, and 
" make the wicked drink off all the vengeance, and force iC 
" down their unwilling throats with the violence of devils and 
" accursed spirits.'' 

That this Tartarean drench displays the imagination rather 
than the discretion of the compounder ; that, in short, this 
passage and others of the same kind are in a bad taste, few will 
deny at the present day. It would doubtless have more be- 
hoved the good bishop not to be wise beyond what is written, 
on a subject in which Eternity is opposed to Time, and a death 
threatened, not the negative, but the positive Oppositive of Life ; 
a subject, therefore, which must of necessity be indescribable 
to the human understanding in our present state. But I can 
neither find nor believe, that it ever occurred to any reader to 
ground on such passages a charge against Bishop Taylor's 
humanity, or goodness of heart I was not a little surprised 
therefore to find, in the Pursuits of Literature and other works, 
so horrible a sentence passed on Milton's moral character, for 
a passage in his prose-writings, as nearly parallel to this of 
Taylor's as two passages can well be conceived to be. All his 
merits, as a poet, forsooth — all the glory of having written the 



346 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 

Fabadus Lost, are light in the flcale, nay, kick the beuTr 
compued with the atrodooB malignity of heart expieaeediB th* 
offianfiTe paragraph* 1 remembered, in general, that MiHoa hid 
condaded one of hia works on Reformation, written in (ba 
ferroor of hia youthful imagination, in a high poetic strain, that 
wanted metre only to become a lyrical poem. 1 remraibered 
that in the former part he had formed to himaelf a perfect 
ideal of homan virtue, a character of heroic, disinterested seal 
and devotion for Truth, Religion, and public Liberty, in Act 
and in Suffering, in the day of Triumph and in the hoot U 
Martyrdom. Such spirits, as more excellent than others, he 
describes as having a more excellent reward, and as distin^ 
guished by a transcendent glory: and this reward and this 
glory he displays and particularizes with an energy and bril- 
liance that announced the Paradise Lost as plainly, as ever the 
bright purple clouds in the east announced the coming of the 
Sun. Milton then passes to the gloomy contrast, to such men 
as from motives of selfish ambition and the lost of personal 
aggrandizement should, against their own light, persecute truth 
and the true religion, and wilfully abuse the powers and giftM 
entrusted to them, to bring vice, blindness, misery and slavery, 
on their native country, on the very country that had trusted, 
enriched and honored them. Such beings, after that speedy 
and appropriate removal from their sphere of mischief which all 
good and humane men must of course desire, will, he takes for 
granted by parity of reason, meet with a punishment, an igno- 
miny, and a retaliation, as much severer than other wicked men, 
as their guilt and its consequences were more enormous. His 
description of this imaginary punishment presents more distinct 
pictures to the fancy than the extract from Jeremy Taylor ; but 
the thoughts in the latter are incomparably more exaggerated 



APOXiOGETIC PEEFACE* 347 

aild horrific* All ihui I knew ; but I neithex remembered, nor 
by Deference and careful re-pemsal could discoveri any other 
meaning, either in Milton or Taylor, but that good men will b^ 
rewarded, and the impenitent wicked pnniehed, in proportion 
to their dispositions and intentional act9 in this life -, and tha( 
if the punishment of the least wicked be fearful beyond con- 
ception, all words and descriptions must be so far true, that they 
mnst fall short of the punishment that awaits the transcendent]^ 
wicked. Had Milton stated either his ideal of Tirtne, or of 
depravity, as an individual or individuals actually existing 1 
Certainly not ! Is this representation worded historically, Of 
only hypothetically 1 Assuredly the latter ! Does he express i( 
as his own wish, tliat after death they shmild suffer tiiese tortures ? 
or as a general consequence, deduced from reason and revelation, 
that such will be their fate 1 Again, the latter only ! Hia wisfi 
is expressly confined to a speedy stop being put by Providence 
to their power of inflicting misery on others 1 But did he name 
or refer to any persons, living or dead 1 No I But the calum- 
niators of Milton daresay (for what will calumny not dare say ?) 
that he had Laud and Stapford in his mind, while writing of 
remorseless persecution, and the enslavement of a free country, 
from motives of selfish ambition. Now, what if a stem anti- 
prelatist should daresay, that in speaking of the insolencies 
of traitors and the violences of rebels, Bishop Taylor must have iur 
dividualised in his mind, Hamden, Hollis, Ptm, Fairfax^ 
Ibeton, and Milton 1 And what if he should take the liber^ 
of concluding, that, in the after desciiption, the Bishop 
was feeding and feasting his party-hatred, and with those indi- 
viduals before the eyes of his imagination enjoying, trait hy 

trait, horror after horror, the picture of their intolerable agonies ? 

Yet this Bigot would have an equal ri^ht thus to criminate the 



348 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 

one good and great man, as tBeae men hare to criniiiiate the 
otlier. Ifilton has laid, and I doubt not bot that TvfiorfnA 
equal troth coald hare s&id it, " that in his whole life he never 
fpake against a man eren that his skin shoold be gnuEed.** Ha 
aiaerted this when one of his opponents (either Bishop Hall or 
his nephew) had called upon the women and children in dio 
streets to take up stones and stone him (Milton). It iB 
known that Milton repeatedly used his interest to protect di« 
royalists ; bat eren at a time when all lies would hate been 
meritorious against him, no charge was made, no story pie- 
tended, that he had ever directly or indirectly engaged 
or assisted in their persecution. Oh ! methinks there are 
other and far better feelings, which should be acquired by 
the perusal of oar great elder writers. When I have before m6 
on the same table, the works of Hammond and Baxter ; when 
I reflect with what joy and deamess their blessed spirits aro 
now loTiog each other : it seems a moornful tiling that their 
names should be perverted to an occasion of bitterness among 
ta, who are enjoying that happy mean which the human too- 
much on both sides was perhaps necessary to produce. " The 
tangle of delusions which stifled and distorted the growbkg tree 
of our well-being has been torn away ; the parasite-weeds 
that fed on its ^ery roots have been plucked up with a salutaiy 
violence. To us there remain only qoiet duties, the constant 
care, the gradual improvement, the cautious unhazardous la- 
bours of the industrious though contented gardener — ^to prane> 
to strengthen, to engraft, and one by one to remove from iti 
leaves and fresh shoots the slug and the caterpillar. But ftr 
be it from us to andervalue with light and senseless detraction 
the conscientious hardihood of our predecessors, or even to caur 
demn in them that vehemence, to which the blosaings it won ftr 



APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 349 

08 leare us now neither temptation nor pretext. We ante-date 
f^efkelingi, in order to criminate the authors, of otir present li- 
berty, Liglit and Toleration." (The Friend, p. 54.) 

If ever two great ttien migbt s^em, daring their whole lives, 
to have moved in direct opposition, though neither of them has 
at any time introdaced the name of the other, Miltob and 
Jeremy Taylor were they. The former commenced his ttat^ti 
by attacking the Church-Liturgy and all set forms 6f prayer* 
The latter, but far more successfully, by defending bdthk MiU 
ton's neit work was then against the Prelacy and the then 
existing Church- Government — Taylor's, in vindication and su|y^ 
)3ort of them. ]\^lton became more and more a stem republican. 
Or rather an advocate for that religious and moral aristocracy 
which, in his day, was called republicanism, and which, eVen 
more than royalism itself, is the direct antipode of modeiffl 
jacobinism. Taylor, as more and more sceptical concerning the 
fitness of men in general for power, became mote and inore 
attached to the prerogatives of monarchy. From Calvinism, 
with a still decreasing respect for Fathers, Councils, and for 
Chutch- Antiquity in general, Milton seems to have ended in an 
ihdifference, if not a dislike, to all forms of ecclesiastic govern- 
ment, and to have retreated wholly into the inward and spiri- 
tual church-communion of his own spirit with the Light, that 
lighteth every man that cometh into the world. Taylor, with A 
growing reverence for authority, an increasing sense bf the fia- 
sa£Sciency of the Scriptures without the aids of tradidon and 
the consent of authorized interpreters, advanced as fair in Ids 
approaches (not indeed to Popery, but) to Catholicism, as a 
conscientious minister of the English Church could well ven- 
ture. Milton would be, and would utter the same, to allj on all 
oiccasions : he would tell the truth, the whde truth, and nio- 



i 



350 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 

Unng bat the trath, Taylor would become all things to all 
men, if by any means he might benefit any ; hence be availed 
himself, in his papular writings, of opinionB and representatioDfr 
which stand often in striking contrast with the doobts and con- 
Hctions expressed in his more philosophical works. He appean, 
indeed, not too woertly to have blamed that numagemenit of truth 
(itipm faUitaUm dispemativam) authorized and exemplified by 
almost all the fiithers : Integrum omnino DocUmbus et coetos 
Christjumi Antistiiibns esse, at doles versent, fiUsa Teiis inter- 
misceant et imprimis religionis hostes fallant, dommodo vezitalda 
commodis et atilitati inserriant. 

The same antithesis might be carried on with the elements 
of their several intellectual powers. AGlton, austere, condensed, 
imaginative, supporting his truth by direct enunciation of lofty 
moral sentiment and by distinct visual representations, and in 
the same spirit overwhelming what he deemed falsehood by 
moral denunciation and a succession of pictures appalling ox 
repulsive. In his prose, so many metaphors, so many allegorical 
miniatures. Taylor, eminently discoxsive, accumulatiTe, and 
(to use one of his own words) ogglomer at iM ; still more rich in 
images than Milton himself, but images of Fancy, and presented 
to the common and passive eye, rather than to the eye of the 
imagination. Whether supporting or assailing, he makes his 
way either by argument or by appeals to the affections, unsur- 
passed eren by the Schoolmen in subtlety, agili^ and logic wit, 
and unrivalled by the most rhetorical of the fiithers in the 
copiousness and vividness of his expressions and illustratioas. 
|Iere words that convey feelings, and words that flash images, 
and words of abstract notion, flow together, and at once whirl 
and rush onward like a stream, at once nq^ and full of eddies ; 
and yet still interfused here and there, we see a tongue or isis 



APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 351 

t)f smooth water, with some picture in it of earth or sky, land- 
scape or liying group of quiet beauty. 

Differing, then, so widely, and almost contrariantly, wherein 
did these great men agree 1 wherein did they resemble each 
other? In Genius, in Learning, in unfeigned Piety, in blameless 
Purity of life, and in benevolent aspirations and purposes for 
the moral and temporal improvement of their fellow-creatures ! 
Both of them wrote a Latin Accidence, to render education more 
easy and less painful to children ; both of them composed 
hymns and psalms proportioned to the capacity of conmiQii 
congregations ; both, nearly at the same time, set the glorious 
example of publicly recommending and supporting general 
Toleration, and the Liberty both of the Pulpit and the Press ! 
In the writings of neither shall we find a single sentence, like 
those meik deliverances to Go<fs mercy , with which Laud accom- 
panied his votes for the mutilations and loathsome dungeoning 
of Leighton and others ! — no where such a pious prayer as ire 
find in Bishop Hall's memoranda of his own life, concerning 
the subtle and witty Atheist that so grievously perplexed and 
gravelled him at Sir Robert Drury's till he prayed to the Lord to 
remove him, and behold ! his prayers were heard ; for shortly 
afterward this philistine-combatant went to London, and there 
perished of the plague in great misery ! In short, no where flhaU 
we find the least approach, in the lives and writings of John 
Milton or Jeremy Taylor, to that guarded gentleness, to that 
sighing reluctance, with which the holy Brethren of the Inqui- 
sition deliver over a condemned heretic to the civil magistrate, 
recommending him to mercy, and hoping that the magistrate will 
treat the erring brother with all possible mildness ! — ^the magis- 
trate, who too well knows what would be hb own late, if he 
dared offend them by acting on their recommendation. 



362 APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 

The ojfj^aftnmtj of diverting the reader &om inyidf to 
characters more worthy of his attestion, h^s led me fiur beyond 
my first intention ; but it is not unimportant to ei^ose the fidie 
aeal which has occasioned these attacks on our elder patrioli. 
It has been too much the &shion, fixst to personify the Chuidi 
of En^and, and then to speak of different individiials, who in 
different ages have been rulers in that church, as if in some 
strange way thty constituted its personal identity. Why should 
a deigyman of the present day feel interested in die defence of 
Laud or Sheldon ? Surely it is sufficient fer the warmest partisan 
oi our estabUiriunent, that he can assert witli truth, — ^when our 
Church persecuted, it was on mistaken principles held in common 
by all Christendom ; and at all events, fiur less culpable was this 
ifttolerance in the Bishops, who were maintaining the existing 
laws, than the persecuting spirit afterwards shewn by their 
snccessfiil oj^nents, who had no such excuse, and who should 
have been taught mercy by their own sufferings, and wisdom by 
the utter fiulure of the experiment in their own case. We can 
say, tliat our Church, ^ostolical in its faith, primitive in its 
ceremonies, unequalled in its liturgical forms ; that our Church, 
which has kindled and displayed more bright and bundng tights 
of Qenius and Learning, than all other protestant churdies rinoe 
the reformation, was (with the single exception of the times of 
Laud and Sheldon) least intolerant, when all Christians unhappily 
deemed a species of intolerance their religious duty ; that 
Bishops of our church were among the first that contended 
against this error ; and finally, that since the reformation, when 
tolerance became a fiishion, the Church of England, in a tderating 
age, has diewn herself eminently tolerant, and fiu- more so, both 
in Spirit and in Fact, than many of her most bitter opponents, 



i 



APOLOGETIC PREFACE. 353 

who profess to deem toleration itself an insult on the rights of 
mankind! As to myself who not only know the Church-Establish- 
ment to be tolerant, but who see in it the greatest, if not the sole 
safe btUioark of Toleration, I feel no necessity of defending or 
palliating oppressions under the two Charleses, in order to exclaim 
with a full and fervent heart, esto perpetua ! 



END OF VOL. I. 




c c 



{ 



■*'■ 
• !■- 



.»■ 



• •■ 



I-'- 



1 



■1; 



t 

» 






I