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Now, while the demons of despair and death Ride on the blast, and urge the howling storm! Lo! by the lightning's momentary blaze, I see him rise the whitening waves above, No longer such as when in happier days He gave th' enchanted hours-to ine and love: 'Such as when daring the enchafed sea, · And courting dangerous toil, he often said, That every peril, one soft smile from me, 'One sigh of speechless tenderness, o'erpaid :
warring elements, more fiercely rave!
I the wide waves o'erwhelm the spot ac-
But dead, disfigur'd, while between the roar
Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear,
And seem to say- -Ah, wretch! delay no more,
But come, unhappy mourner-meet me here.
Yet, powerful fancy, bid the phantom stay,
Still let me hear him!-Tis already past;
Along the waves his shadow glides away,
I lose his voice amid the deafening blast.
Ah! wild illusion, born of frantic pain!
He hears not, comes not from his watery bed;
My tears, my anguish, my despair are vain,
Th' insatiate ocean gives not up its dead.
'Tis not his voice! Hark! the deep thunders
gave his son, remorseless, to the deep, fate. ile I, his living victim, curse my y lost love! no tomb is plac'd for thee, I may to strangers' eyes thy worth impart; u hast no grave but in the stormny sea, no memorial but this breaking heart. h to the world a widow'd wanderer ' driven,
Upheaves the ground; the rocky barriers fail; Approach, ye horrors that delight my soul, Despair, and Death, and Desolation, hail!' The ocean hears-th' embodied waters come, Rise o'er the land, and with resistless sweep Tear from its base the proud aggressor's tomb, And bear the injur'd to eternal sleep!
ere ruthless Avarice finds a quiet grave!" with clasp'd hands, wild looks, and streaming hair, [speech, e shrieks of horror broke her trembling etched maid, the victim of despair, y'd the threatening storm and desert beach. to the tomb where now the father slept se rugged nature bad her sorrows flow, ie she turn'd-and beat her breast and ing vengeance on the dust below. [wept, rising there above each humble heap, cypher'd stones his name and wealth relate,
ur to winds and waves th' unheeded tear; with rain effort to submit to heaven, fruitless call on him" who cannot "hear."
night I fondly clasp him once again,
ile o'er my head th' infuriate billows pour,
zet in death this agonizing pain,
i feel his father's cruelty no more!
t, raging waters! part, and shew beneath, our dread caves, his pale and mangled ‹ form;
To spring the partridge from the guileful for. From secret snares the struggling bird to free,
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam,
Let us, slow wandering where the current
Save sinking flies that float along the stream.
Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy sympathetic gifts impart;
Teach me in Friendship's griefs to bear a share,
And justly boast the generous feeling heart.
Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief,
With timely aid the widow's woe assuage,
To Misery's moving cries to yield relief,
And be the sure resource of drooping age.
So when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And sinking nature owns the dread decay,
Some soul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the close of life's exentful day,
§ 140. Extract from a Poem on his own approaching Death, by MICHAEL BRUCE. Now spring returns; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have
Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns,
And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Starting and shiv'ring in th' inconstant wind,
Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was,
Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclin'd,
And count the silent moments as they pass:
The winged moments, whose unstaying speed
No art can stop, or in their course arrest;
Whose flight shall shortly count me with the
And lay me down in peace with them that
Oft morning dreams presage approaching fate;
And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true:
Led by pale ghosts, I enter death's dark gate,
And bid the realms of light and life adieu !
I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe;
I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore,
The sluggish streams that slowly creep below,
Which mortals visit, and return no more.
Farewel, ye blooming fields! ye cheerful plains!
Enough for me the churchyard's lonely
Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
There let me wander at the close of eve,
When sleep sits dewy on the labourer's eyes, The world and all its busy follies leave, And talk with wisdom where my Daphnis
When o'er the hill is shed a paler day,
That gives to stillness, and to night, the groves.
Ah! let the gay, the roseate morning hail,
When, in the various blooms of light array'd,
She bids fresh beauty live along the vale,
And rapture tremble in the vocal shade:
Sweet is the lucid morning's op'ning flow's,
Her choral melodies benignly rise;
Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,
At which her blossoms close, her music de
For then mild nature, while she droops
Wakes the soft tear 'tis luxury to shed
§ 142. Sonnet to Expression. MISS WILLIAMS
EXPRESSION, child of soul! I love to trace Thy strong enchantments, when the poc
The painter's pencil, catch the vivid fire,
And beauty wakes for thee each touching gra
But from my frighted gaze thy form avert,
When horror chills thy tear, thy ardent sig
When phrensy rolls in thy impassion'd eve
Or guilt lives fearful at thy troubled heart;
The wasting groan, or view the pallid look
Nor ever let my shudd'ring fancy hear
His spirit, vainly to the Muses dear fr
Of him the Muses lov'd, when hope forsees
For charm'd with heavenly song, this blee
Mourns it could sharpen ill, and give despa
t most for this, pale orb! thy light is dear,
this, benignant orb! I hail thee most,
at while I pour the unavailing tear,
d mourn that hope to me, in youth is lost!
y light can visionary thoughts impart,
d lead the Muse to sooth a suff'ring heart.
My Muse to grief resigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers
O Memory! thou soul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our passions o'er again!
Why dost thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous smart to ev'ry blow?
Few are my joys; alas! how soon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad'st me not:
While sharp and numberless my sorrows fall;
thou repeat'st and multipliest them all!
Is chance a guilt? that my disastrous heart,
For mischief never meant, must ever smart?
Can self-defence be sin?-Ah, plead no more!
What tho' no purpos'd malice stain'd thee o'er,
Had Heaven befriended thy unhappy side,
Thou hadst not been provok'd-or thou hadst
$145. The Bastard. SAVAGE.
gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,
The Muse, exulting, thus her lay began:
Blest be the Bastard's birth! through won-Yet
shines eccentric like a comet's blaze!
lives to build, not boast, a generous race:
tenth transmitter of a foolish face.
daring hope no sire's example bounds;
first-born lights no prejudice confounds.
kindling from within, requires no flame;
glories in a Bastard's glowing tame.
orn to himself, by no possession led,
reedom foster'd, and by fortune fed;
guides, nor rules, his sovereign choice
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all
On whom, unsought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale dead revives, and lives to ine,
To me, through Pity's eye condemn'd to see!
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his
body independent as his soul; [aim, s'd to the world's wide range-enjoin'd no scrib'd no duty, and assign'd no name : ure's unbounded son, he stands alone, heart unbiass'd, and his mind his own. Mother, yet no Mother! 'tis to you thanks for such distinguish'd claims are due. , unenslav'd to Nature's narrow laws, mchampioness for Freedom's sacred cause, n all the dry devoirs of blood and line, n ties material, moral, and divine, [shore, harg'd my grasping soul; push'd me from launch'd me into life without an oar. That had I lost, if, conjugally kind, ature hating, yet by vows confin'd, aught the matrimonial bounds to slight, colaly conscious of a husband's right, had faint drawn ine with a form alone, wful lump of life, by force your own! 1, while your back ward will retrench'd deunconcurring spirits lent no fire, [sire, I been born your dull, domestic heir, I of your life, and motive of your care; aps been poorly rich, and meanly great, slave of pomp, a cypher in the state; lly neglectful of a worth unknown, slumbering in a seat by chance my own. ir nobler blessings wait the Bastard's lot; ceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot! ng as necessity, he starts away, abs against wrongs, and brightens into day. hus unprophetic, lately misinspir'd, g: gay futt'ring hope my fancy fir'd; secure, through conscious scorn of ill, taught by wisdom how to balance will, Ely deceiv'd, 1 saw no pits to shun, thought to purpose and to act were one; dless what pointed cares pervert his way, om caution arms not, and whom woes tray;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young and unthoughtful then, who knows,
What ripening virtues might have made their
He might have liv'd till folly died in shame,
Till kindling wisdom felt a thirst for fame.
He might perhaps his country's friend have
Both happy, generous, candid, and belov'd;
He might have sav'd some worth now doom'd
And I perchance, in him, have murder'd all.
O fate of late repentance, always vain!
Thy remedies but lull undying pain. [care
Where shall my hope find rest?-No mother's
Shielded my infant innocence with prayer:
No father's guardian hand my youth main
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain'd,
Is it not thine to snatch some pow'rful arm,
First to advance, then screen from future
Am I return'd from death, to live in pain?
Or would Imperial Pity save in vain?
Distrust it not-what blame can mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind?
Mother miscall'd, farewel!-of soul severe,
This sad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by, to you I ow'd;
Alone from strangers every comfort How'd!
Lost to the life you gave, your son no more,
And now adopted, who was doom'd before,
New-born, Tay a nobler Mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name;
Supremely lovely, and serenely great!
Majestic Mother of a kneeling State!
QUEEN of a people's heart who ne'er before
be-Agreed-yet now with one consentadore!
One contest yet remains in this desire,
Who most shall give applause, where all ad-
now expos'd, and shrinking from distress, to shelter, while the tempests press;
Receive my humble rite:
Long, Pity, let the nations view
Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
And eyes of dewy light!
But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Ilissus' distant side,
Deserted stream, and mute?
Wild Arun too has heard thy strains,
And Echo, 'midst my native plains,
Been sooth'd by Pity's lute.
There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentlest Otway's infant head;
To him thy cell was shewn:
And while he sung the female heart,
With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art,
Forth rushes beauty's fear'd and fervent foe.
Fierce to the fair the missile mischief flies,
The sanguine streams in raging ferments rise!
It drives, ignipotent through every vein,
Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain!
Now a chill damp the charmer's lustre dims!
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor swims!
Her eyes, that with a glance could joy inspire,
Like setting stars, scarce shoot a glimmering fire.Its
Here stands her consort, sore with anguish
Thy turtles mix'd their own.
Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid,
Ev'n now my thoughts, relenting maid,
Thy temple's pride design:
southern site, its truth complete
Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat,
In all who view the shrine.
There Picture's toil shall well relate
How chance or hard involving fate,
O'er inortal bliss prevail :
Grief in his eye, and terror in his breast.
The Paphian Graces, smit with anxious care,
In silent sorrow weep the waning fair.
Eight suns, successive, roll their fire away, The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand,
And eight slow nights see their deep shades And sighing prompt her tender hand,
[pears, With each disastrous tale.
While these revolve, tho' mute each Muse ap-There let me oft, retir'd by day,
Each speaking eye drops éloquence in tears. In dreams of passion melt away,
On the ninth noon great Phoebus listening Allow'd with thee to dwell:
There waste the mournful lamp of night,
On the ninth noon each voice in prayer as-Till, Virgin, thou again delight
Great God of light, of song, and physic's art,
Restore the languid fair, new soul impart!
Her beauty, wit, and virtue claim thy care,
And thine own bounty's almost rivall'd there.
Each paus'd; the god assents. Would death
§ 148. Ode to Fear. THOU, to whom the world unknown With all its shadowy shapes is shown, Phoebus unséen arrests that threatening lance! Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene, Down from his orb a vivid influence streams,While Fancy lifts the veil between : And quickening earth imbibes salubrious
Each balmy plant increase of virtue knows,
And art inspir'd with all her patron glows.
The charmer's opening eye kind hope reveals,
Kind hope her consort's breast enlivening feels;
Each grace revives, each Muse resumes the lyre,
Each beauty brightens with relumin'd fire:
As Health's auspicious pow'rs gay life display,
Death, sullen at the sight, stalks slow away.
Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!
I see, I see thee near.
know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly;
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear
Danger, whose limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who stalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm,
Or throws him on the rigid steep
Of some loose hanging rock to sleep;
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurst the mind:
And those, the fiends, who neat allied,
O'er nature's wounds and wrecks preside;
While Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare:
On whom that ravening brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait;
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee?
But who is he, whom later garlands grace,
Who left awhile o'er Hybla's dews to rove,
With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,
Where thousand furies shar'd the baleful
Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous Queen
Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard,
When once alone it broke the silent scene,
And he the wretch of Thebes no more ap-
O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart,
Thy withering pow'r inspir'd each mournful
Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part,
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine.
Thou, who such weary length hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad nymph, at last?
Sy, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell?
Or in some hollow'd seat,
Gainst which the big waves beat,
Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempests
Dark pow'r, with shuddering meek submitted
Be mine, to read the visions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told.
And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'eraw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad;
When ghosts, as cottage maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!
O thou, whose spirit most possess'd
The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast!
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke!
Hither again thy fury deal,
Teach me but once like him to feel;
His cypress wreath my meed decree;
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!
$149. Ode to Simplicity. COLLINS.
THOU, by Nature taught,
To breathe her genuine thought, In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong: Who first on mountains wild, [song In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe and Pleasure's nurs'd the pow'rs o • Eschylus. † Jocasta.
Who spread his wavy sweep
warbled wand'rings round thy green retreat,
On whose enamell'd side,
No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet.
When holy Freedom died,
O sister meek of Truth,
To my admiring youth
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse!
The flow'rs that sweetest breathe,
Though beauty cull'd the wreath,
Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues.
While Rome could none esteem,
You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band ;
But virtue's patriot theme,
But staid to sing alone
To one distinguish'd throne,
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.
No more, in hall or bow'r,
The passions own thy pow'r.
Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean;
For thou hast left her shrine,
Nor olive more, nor vine,
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.
Though taste, though genius bless
To some divine excess,
Faint's the cold work till thou inspire the whole;
What each, what all supply,
May court, may charm our eye,
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul!
Of these let others ask,
To aid some mighty task,
I only seek to find thy temperate vale;
Where oft my reed might sound
To maids and shepherds round,
And all thy sons, O'Nature, learn my tale.
$150. Ode on the Poetical Character.
As one, if, not with light regard,
I read aright that
(Him whose school above the rest
His loveliest Elfin queen has bless'd),
One, only one unrivall'd fair
May hope the magic girdle wear,
At solemn tournay hung on high,
The wish of each love-darting eye:
Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,
As if, in air unseen, some hovering hand,
Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin fame,
Florimel. See Spenser. Leg. 4.