Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft,
High he rears his ruby creit.
There the thund'ring ftrokes begin,
There the prefs, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky fhore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thoufand banners round him burn:
Where he points his purple fpear,
Hafty, hafty Rout is there;
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to ftop, and fhame to fly.
There Confufion, Terror's child;
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild;
Agony, that pants for breath;
Despair, and Honourable Death.

882. Ode on the Inftallation of the Duke of

Grafton. Irregular. GRAY.

HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground) Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, "And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, "Mad Sedition's cry profane, "Servitude that hugs her chain, "Nor in thefe confecrated bow'rs "Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent - train in "Nor Eavy bafe, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Mufe's walk to ftain, "While bright-ey'd Science watches round: "Hence, away, 'tis holy ground !”

[flow'rs.

From yonder realms of empyrean day
Burts on my ear th'indignant lay:
There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to fhine

Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undifcover'd clime.
Rapt in celeftial tranfport they,
Yet hither oft a glance from high
They fend of tender fympathy

To blefs the place, where on their op'ning foul
Firft the genuine ardor ftole.

'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd fhell,
And, as the choral warblings round him twell,
Meek Newton's felf bends from his ftate fublime,
And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the
"Ye brown o'er-arching gro:es, [rhyme.
"That contemplation loves,
"Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
"Oft at the blufh of dawn
"I trod your level lawn,

« Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright
"In cloifters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,
"With Freedom by my fide, and foft-ey'd
"Melancholy."

But hark! the portals found, and pacing forth
With folemn fteps and flow,

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth,
And mitred Fathers in long order go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn,

And fad Chatillon, on her bridal mom

That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,
And Anjou's heroine, and the paler Rofe,
The rival of her crown and of her woes,
And either Henry there,

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord
That broke the bonds of Rome.
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human paffions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb)
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade thefe awful fanes and turrets rife,
To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come;
And thus they fpeak in foft accord

The liquid language of the skics:
"What is grandeur? what is pow'r?
"Heavier toil, fuperior pain.

"What the bright reward we gain?
"The grateful mem'ry of the Good.
"Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r,
"The bee's collected treafures fweet,
"Sweet mufic's melting fall, but sweeter yet
"The ftill finall voice of Gratitude."
Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud,
The venerable Marg❜ret fee!

"Welcome, my noble Son (fhe cries aloud)
"To this, thy kindred train, and me:
"Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace
"A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.
"Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging cye,
"The flow'r unheeded fhall defcry,
"And bid it round heav'n's altars fhed
"The fragrance of its blufhing head:
"Shall raife from earth the latent gem
"To glitter on the diadem.

"Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band
"Not obvious, not obftrufive, the
"No vulgar praife, no venal incenfe flings;
“Nor dares, with courtly tongue refin❜d,
"Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:
"She reveres herfelf and thee.

[ocr errors]

"With modeft pride to grace thy youthful brow
"The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, the
"And to thy juft, thy gentle hand [brings,
"Submits the fafces of her fway,
"While fpirits bleft above, and men below [lay.
Join with glad voice the loud fymphoniu
"Thro' the wild waves as they roar
"With watchful eye and dauntless mien
"Thy fteady courfe of honour keep,
"Nor fear the rocks, nor feek the fhore:
"The Star of Brunfvick fimiles ferene,
"And gilds the horrors of the deep."

§ 83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE,
OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary:
For once I'll try my wifh to gain,
Of Oberon the Fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton fprite,

That lurk 'ft in woods unfeen,
And oft by Cynthia's filver light
Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green;

If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,

As ancient ftories tell, And for th'Athenian maid who lov'd, Thou fought'ft a wond'rous fpell; Oh! deign once more t'exert thy pow'r; Haply fome herb or tree, Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r, Conceals a balm for me.

I afk no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to please;
Far from the heart thofe gifts remove
That fighs for peace and case :

Nor peace nor eafe the heart can know,
Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs the foul can wound,
'Tis pain in each degree:

'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;

Bevond is agony.

Take then this treach'rous fenfe of mine,
Which dooms me ftill to fmart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine;

To pains new pangs impart.
Oh! hafte to fhed the facred balm !
My fhatter'd nerves new ftring;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,
The nymph Indiff'rence bring.
At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly;
And Difappointment in the rear,

That blafts the promis'd joy.
The tear which pity taught to flow,
The eye shall then difown;

The heart that melts for others woe,
Shall then fearce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,

Each moment then thall close;

And tranquil days fhall ftill fucceed

To nights of calm repose.

O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;

And fo may never-fading blifs
Thy flow'ry paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead

To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread.

And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd

With heav'n's ambrofial dew;
From fweeteft, fretheft flow'rs diftill'd,
That fed fresh fo eets for you.
And what of life remains for me
I'll pafs in fober cafe ;

Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,

Content but half to please,

$84. The Fairy's Anfwer to Mrs. Greville's Praver for Indiference.

WI

By the Countess of C.

ITHOUT preamble to my friend, Thefe hatty lines I'm bid to fend,

Or give, if I am able :

I dare not hesitate to fay,
Tho' I have trembled all the day-
It looks fo like a fable.

Laft night's adventure is my theme;
And fhould it ftrike you as a dream,
Yet foon its high import
Muft make your own the matter fuch,
So delicate, it were too much

To be compos'd in fport.

The moon did fhine ferenely bright, And ev'ry ftar did deck the night,

While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
No more affail'd my mind's repose,
Save that yon ftream, which murm'ring flows,
Did echo to the breeze.

Enwrapt in folemn thoughts, I fate,
Revolving o'er the turns of fate,

Yet void of hope or fear;

When lo! behold an aëry throng,
With lighteft fteps, and jocund fong,
Surpriz'd my eye and ear.

A form, fuperior to the reft,
His little voice to me addreft,

And gently thus began:

"I've heard ftrange things from one of you; "Pray tell me if you think 'tis true;

[ocr errors]

Explain it if you can.

"Such incenfe has perfum'd my throne!
"Such eloquence my heart has won!
"I think I gucfs the hand :

"I know her wit and beauty too;
"But why the fends a pray'r fo new,

"I cannot understand.

"To light fome flames, and fome revive, "To keep fome others just alive,

"Full oft I am implor'd;

"But, with peculiar pow'r to please, "To fupplicate for nought but cafe

"Tis odd, upon my word!

“Tell her, with fruitless care I've sought, "And tho' my realms, with wonders fraught

"In remedies abound,

"No grain of cold Indifference "Was ever yet ally'd to fenfe

"In all my fairy round.

"The regions of the fky I'd trace, "I'd ranfack ev'ry earthly place,

"Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r, "To mitigate the pangs of fear, "Difpel the clouds of black defpair, "Or lull the rettlefs hour.

"I would be gen'rous as I'm juft, "Bat I obey, as others muft,

"Thofe laws which fate has made. "My tiny kingdom how defend, "And what might be the horrid end,

+

"Should man my fate invade ?

"Twould put your mind into a rage; "And fuch unequal war to wage

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak;
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn check
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.
Yon houfe, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting alpect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To feck a fhelter in an humbler shed.

Oh take me to your hofpitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breaft,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.

Heav'n fends misfortunes; why fhould we repine?

'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you fee; And your condition may be foon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Mifery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then, like the lark, I fprightly hail'd the morn;
But ah! oppreffion forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with tad anguifh at the itern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to defpair,

And left the world to wretchednefs and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man, [door.;
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the shorteft fpan.
Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will biefs your
flore.

[blocks in formation]

Amid the fecret windings of the wood,

With folemn Meditation let me ftray; This is the hour when to the wife and good The heav'nly maid repays the toils of day. The river murmurs, and the breathing gale Whispers the gently-waving boughs among : The ftar of ev'ning glimmers o'er the dale, And leads the filent hoft of Heav'n along. How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,

The filver emprefs of the night appears; Yon limpid pool reflects a ftream of light, And faintly in its breast the woodland bears; The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,

Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant glade; The bat, low-wheeling,skims the dusky ground. Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale

The Gothic abbey rears its fculptur'd tow'rs; Dull through the roofs refounds the whistling Dark folitude among the pillars lowrs. [gale; Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves, And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window

waves,

And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftains; There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind, Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his ftaff reclin'd,

Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray'r. High o'er the pines,that with their dark'ning fhade Its crumbling turrets: ftill its tow'ry head Surround yon craggy bank, the cattle rears

A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears. So, midst the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn vet'ran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends. Wild round the gates the dufky wall - flow'rs creep, [have led; Where oft the knights the beauteous dames Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap,

Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments spread. 'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight,

Great in their bloody arms, march'do'er the lea, Eving their refcu'd fields with proud delight! Now loft to them!-and ah! how chang'd

[blocks in formation]

When April's finiles the flow'ry lawn adorn,

And modeft cowflips deck the ftreamlet's fide; When fragrant orchards to the rofcat morn Unfold their bloom, in heav'n's own colours dy'd,

So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore ;

Thefe were the emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page difplay'd its lore;

To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him, with her pureft flames the Mufe endow'd, Flames never to th'illib'ral thought ally'd; The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms: he faw, he felt, and dy'd. Oh, partner of my infant griefs and joys!

Big with the fcenes now paft, my heart o'erBids each endearment, fair as once, to rife, [flows; And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new,

Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; Oft by the moon have bruth'd the ev'ning dew; When all was fearlefs innocence and glee. The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines, Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours; But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines, And fainted well, have loft their cheering powers;

For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh,
where,
[hind!
Where haft thou fled, and left me here be-
My tend'reft with, my heart to thee was bare,
Oh, now cut off each paffage to thy mind!
How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void,
The tracklefs fhores that never were repafs'd!
Dread feparation! on the depth untry'd,

Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghast!
Wide round the spacious heav'ns I caft my eyes:
And fhall thefe ftars glow with immortal fire!
Still fhine the lifelefs glories of the fkies!
And could thy bright thy living foul expire!
Far be the thought! The pleafures moft fublime,
The glow of friendship, and the virtuous tear,
The tow'ring with that fcorns the bounds of
time,

Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,

The languid ftranger feebly buds, and dies: Yet there's a clime where Virtue fhall expand With godlike ftrength beneath her native skies! The lonely fhepherd on the mountain's fide,

With patience waits the rofy op'ning day : The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide, With cheerful hope expects the morning ray: Thus I, on life's form-beaten ocean tofs'd,

In mental vifion view the happy fhore Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coast, Where Fate and Death divide the friends no more !

Oh, that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade, Who now, perhaps, frequents this folemn Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead, [grove, And from my eyes the mortal film remove!

Vain is the wifh-yet furely not in vain

Man's bofom glows with that celeftial fire Which fcorns earth's luxuries, which fimiles at pain,

And wings his fpirit with fublime defire! To fan this fpark of Heav'n, this ray divine, Still, O my foul! ftill be thy dear employ; Still thus to wander thro' the fhades be thine, And fwell thy breast with visionary joy! So to the dark-brow'd wood, or facred mount, In ancient days, the holy feers retir'd, And, led in vifion, drank at Siloe's fount, While rifing extafies their bofoms fir'd: Reftor'd creation bright before them rofe;

The burning defarts fmil'd as Eden's plains; One friendly fhade the wolf and lambkin chofe; The flow'ry mountain fung, Melliah reigns!' Tho' fainter raptures my cold breaft infpire, Yet let me oft frequent this folemn icene; Oft to the abbey's fhatter'd walls retire, [tween: What time the moonshine dimly gleams be There, where the crofs in hoary ruin nods, And weeping yews o'erfhade the letter'd ftones, While midnight filence wraps thefe drear abodes, And foothes me wand'ring o'er my kindred bones,

Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn When from the burfting graves the just shall All Nature fmiling, and by angels borne, [rife Mefliah's crofs far blazing o'er the fkies.

§ 87. The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET. MOURN, hapless Caledonia, mourn

Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn t Thy fons, for valour long renown'd, Lie flaughter'd on their native ground; Invite the ftranger to the door; Thy hofpitable roofs no more In fimoky ruins funk they lie, The monuments of cruelty. The wretched owner fees, afar, His all become the prey of war; Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Then finites his breaft, and curfes life. Thy fwains are famifh'd on the rocks, Where once they fed their wanton flocks: Thy ravifh'd virgins fhriek in vain; Thy infants peril on the plain. What boots it then, in ev'ry clime, Thro' the wide-ipreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praife, Still fhone with undiminish'd blaze? Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke: What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage and rancour fell. The rural pipe and merry lay No more fhall cheer the happy day: No focial fcenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: Ec

No

No ftrains, but thofe of forrow, flow;
And nought be heard but founds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the flain
Glide nightly o'er the filent plain.
Oh baneful caufe, oh, fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The fons against their fathers ftood;
The parent fhed his childrens blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's foul was not appeas'd;
The naked and forlorn muft feel
Devouring flames and murd'ring fteel!
The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Forfaken, wanders o'er the heath;
The bleak wind whiftles round her head;
Her helpless orphans cry for bread!
Bereft of fhelter, food, and friend,
She views the fhades of night defcend,
And, ftretch'd beneath th'incleinent fkies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies!
Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns,
Refentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breaft fhall beat;
And, fpite of her infulting foe,
My fympathizing verfe thall flow,
"Mourn, haplefs Caledonia, mourn
"Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!"

$88. Ode to Mirth. SMOLLET. PARENT of joy! heart-eafing Mirth!

Whether of Venus or Aurora born!
Yet Goddefs fure of heav'nly birth,
Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn:
Thy glitt'ring colours gay
Around him, Mith, duplay;
And o'er his raptur'd fenfe
Diffufe thy living influence:

So fhall each hill, in purer green array'd, And flow'r adorn'd in new-born beauty glow: The grove fhall fimooth the horrors of the fhade,

And ftreams in murmurs fhall forget to flow. Shine, Goddefs, fhine with unremitted ray, [day. And gild (a fecond fun) with brighter beam our

Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged Poverty can imile with thee;
If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
And weak th'uplifted arm of Tyranny.
The morning opes on high
His univerfal eye;

[ray,

And on the world doth pour His glories in a golden ihow'r. Lo! Darkness, tranbling 'fore the hoftile Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn: The brood obfcene, that own her gloony fway,

Troop in her rear, and fly th'approach of morn.

[blocks in formation]

Quick as the lightnings flash, glide to fepulchral But whence the gladd'ning beam

That pours his purple ftream

O'er the long profpect wide?
'Tis Mirth. I fee her fit
In majefty of light,

With Laughter at her fide.
Bright-ey'd Fancy hov'ring near,
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And young Wit flings his pointed Jart,
That guiltlefs ftrikes the willing heart.
Fear not now Affliction's pow'r,
Fear not now wild Patlion's rage,

Nor fear ye aught in evil hour,
Save the tardy hand of Age.

Now Mirth hath heard the fuppliant Poet's pray't, No cloud that rides the blaft fhall vex the troubled air.

§ 89. Ode to Leven Water. SMOLLET. ON Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love, I envy'd not the happieft fwain That ever trod th'Arcadian plain.

Pure ftream! in whofe tranfparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents ftain thy limpid fource,
No rocks impede thy dimpling courfe,
That fweetly warbles o'er its bed,

With white, round, polifh'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the fcaly brood
In myriads cleave thy cryftal food.
The fp.inging trout, in fpeckl'd pride;.
The falmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthlefs pike, intent on war;
The filver cel and mottled par,
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
And hedges, flow'r'd with eglantine.
By bow'rs of birch, and groves of pine,

Still on thy banks, fo gaily green,
And laffes, chanting o'er the pail;
May num'rous herds and flocks be feen;
And thepherds, piping in the dale;
And ancient faith, that knows no guile,
And industry, imbrown'd with roil;
And hearts refolv'd, and hands prepar'd,
The blellings they enjoy to guard!

[blocks in formation]

Benjamin Stillingfleet was the only fon of Edward Stillingflect, a clergyman in the county of Norfolk,

and grandson to Dr. Stillingtieet, Bihop of Worcester.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »