« ПредишнаНапред »
Twas thine to animate her cloning eye;
from the sky. Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow
horn, lllithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. O'er I In m v downs she bends her busy course, And many a stream allures her to its source. 'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so fincly
wrought. Beyond the search of sense, the soar of
thought, Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; Its orb so full, its vision so confined! Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell? Who bids her soul with conscious triumph
swell? With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue Of varied scents, that charmed her as she
(lew? Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign Guards the least link of being's glorious chain.
Sweet Mkmohy, wafted by thy gentle gale. Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher
flowers. Ages and climes remote to Thee iinpnrt What charms in Genius, and refines in Art; Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science
dwell. The pensive portress of her holy cell; W hose constant vigils chase the chilling damp Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp. The friends of Reason, and the guides of
Youth, Whose language breathed the eloquence of
Truth; n hose life, beyond preceptive wisdom,
The great in conduct and the pure in thought;
These still exist, by Thee to Fame consigned,
Still speak and act, the models of mankind.
From Thee sweet Hope her airy colouring
draws; And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws. r rnm Thee that bosom-spring of rapture
flows. Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue, knows. When Joy's bright sun has shed his eveningray, And Hope's delusive meteors cense to piny; "hen clouds on clouds the smiling prospect
close, Still thro' the gloom thy star serenely glows: Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of
night With the mild magic of reflected light,
The beauteous maid, who bids the world
adieu, Oft of that world will snatch a fond review; Oft at the shrine neglect her bends, to trace Some social scene, some dear, familiar fare: And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper-bell Bursts thro' the cypress-walk, the conventcell, Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive, To love and joy still tremblingly alive; The \i hisper'd vow.the chaste raress prolong, Weave the light dance, and swell the choral
song; With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade, And, as it melts along the moonlight-glade, To each soft note return as soft a sigh, And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. Hut not till Time has calmed the ruffled
breast. Are these fond dreams of happiness eonfest. Not till the rushing winds forget to rave, Is heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave. From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening
sail. And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there; Mark the fixt gaze, the wild and frenzied
glare. The racks of thought and freezings of despair! But pause not then—beyond the western
wave. Go, view the captive bartered as a slave! Crush'd till his high, heroic spirit bleeds, And from his nerveless frame indignantly
recedes. Yet here, even here, with pleasures long
resigned, Lo! Mcmory bursts the twilight of the mind: Her dear delusions soothe his sinking soul, When the rude scourge assumes its base
control; And o'er Futurity's blank page diffuse The full reflection of her vivid hues. 'Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more, Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore; Beneath his plantain's ancient shade, renew The simple transports that with freedom flew; Catch the cool breeze that musky evening
blows, And quaff the palm's rich nectar as it glows; The oral tale of elder time rehearse, And chant the rude, traditionary verse; With those,the loved companions of bis v outh. When life was luxury, and friendship truth. Ah! why should Virtue fear the frowns
of Fnte 1 Hers what no wealth can buy, no power
create! A little world of clear and cloudless day, Nor wrecked by storms, nor mouldered by
decay; A Mm lil. with Memory's ceaseless sunshine
blest. The home of Happiness, an honest breast.
But most we mark the wonders of her reign, WhcnSlreji has locked the senses in her chain, W hen sober Judgment has liin throne resigned, She smiles away the chaos of the mind; And, as warm Fancy's bright Elysium glows. From Her each image springs, each colour
flows. She is the sacred guest! the immortal friend! Oft seen o'er sleeping Innocence to brad, In that dead hour of night to Silence given, Whispering seraphic visions of her heaven. When I In- blithe, son of Savoy, journeying
round With humble wares and pipe of merry
sound. From his green vale and sheltered cabin hies. And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies: Tho' far below the forked lightnings play, And at his feet the thunder dies away, Oft, in the saddle rudely rocked to sleep. While his mule browses on the dizzy steep, With Mbmoky's aid, he sits at home, and
sees His children sport beneath their native trees. And bends, to hear their cherub-voices call, O'er the loud fury of the torrent's fall. Hut can her smile with gloomy Madness
dwell? Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell? Each fiery flight on Frenzy's wing restrain. And mould the coinage of the fevered brain? Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam
supplies. There in the dust the wreck of Genius lies! He, whose arresting hand sublimely wrought Each bold conception in the sphere of thought; And round, in colours of the rainbow, threw Forms ever fair, creations ever new! But, as ho fondly snatched the wreath of
Fame, The spectre Poverty unnerved his frame. Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she
wore; And Hope's soft energies were felt no more. Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! From the rude wall what bright ideas start! Even now he claims the amaranthine wreath, With scenes that glow, with midges that
breathe! And whence these scenes, these images,
declare: Whence hut from Her who triumphs o'er , despair? Awake.arise! with grateful fervor fraught. Go, spring the mine of elevating thought. He.who.tnro' Nature's various walk.surveys The good and fair her faultless line portrays; Whose mind , profaned hy no unhallowed
guest, Culls from the crowd the purest and the best; May range, at will, bright Fancy's golden
clime. Or,musing,mount where Science sits sublime, Or wake the Spirit of departed Time. Who arts thus wisely, mark the moral Muse, A blooming Eden in his life reviews! So rich the culture, tho' so small the space, Its scanty limits he forgets to trace:
But the fond fool, when evening shades tbr
Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!
The weary waste, that lengthened as he ran.
Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span!
Ah! who ran tell the triumphs of the
mind. By truth illumined, and by taste refined? When Age. has quenched the eye and closed
the ear, Still nerved for action in her native sphere. Oft will she rise—with searching glance
pursue Some long-loved image vanished from her
view; Dart thro' the deep recesses of the past. O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast; With giant grasp fling back the folds of night, And snatch the faithless fugitive to light. So thro' the grove the impatient mother
flies. Each sunlessglnde.each secret pathway tries; Till the thin leaves the truant boy disclose. Long on the wood-moss stretched in sweet
repose. Nor yet to pleasing objects are confined The silent feasts oT the reflecting mind. Danger and death a dread delight inspire; And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire. When,richly bronzed by many a snmmer-sun. He counts his scars, and tells what deeds
were done. Go, with old Thames, view Chelsca't
glorious pile; And ask the shatter'd hero, whence his sraile? Go,view the splendid domes of Greenwich.go. And own what raptures from reflection' flow. Hail,noblest structures imaged in the wave! A nation's grateful tribute to the hrave. Hail! blest retreats from war and shipwreck,
hail! That oft arrest the wondering stranger's sail. Long have ye heard the narratives of age. The battle's havoc, and the tempest's rage; Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray Gild the calm close of Valour's various day. Time's sombroiis tonches soon correct the
piece. Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease; A softer tone of light pervades the whole. And steals a pensive languor o'er the soul. Hast thou thro' Eden's wiW-wood-vales
pursued Each mountain-scene, majestically rude; To note the sweet simplicity of life. Far from the din of Folly's idle strife: Nor. there nwhile, with lifted eye. rrvercd That modest stone which pious Pembroke
reared; Which still records, beyond the pencil's
power, The silent sorrows of a parting-hour; Still to the musing pilgrim points the place. Her sainted spirit most delights to trace?
Thus with the manly glow of honest pride. O'er his dead son the gallant Orjioxd sighed. Tims, through the gloom of Shknstom:'*
fairy-grove, M tRu's urn still breathes the voice of love. As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower Awes us less deeply in its morning-hour. Than when the shades of Time serenely fall On every broken arch und ivied wall; The tender images we love to trace, Steal from each year a melancholy grace! And as the sparks of social love expand, As the heart opens in a foreign land, And with a brother's warmth, a brother's
smile, The stranger greets each native of his isle: So scenes of life, when present and confest, Stamp but their bolder features on the breast; Yet not an image, when remotely viewed, However trivial, and however rude, lint wills the heart, and wakes the social
sigh. With every claim of close affinity! But these pure joys the world can never
know; In gentler climes their silver currents flow. Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day. When the hushed grove has sungits parting
lay; When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car, Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star; Above, below, aerial murmurs swell. From hanging wood, brown heath, and
bushy dell! A thousand nameless rills, that sbun thclight, Stealing soft music on the car of night. So oft the finer movements of the soul, That shun the sphere of Pleasure's gay
control, In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise, And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies.
Once, and domestic annals tell the time, (Preserved inCumbria's rude.romantic clime) When Nature smiled, and o'er the landscape
threw Her richest fragrance and her brightest hue, A blithe and blooming Forester explored Those loftier scenes Salvator's soul adored; I'lic rocky pass half hling with shaggy wood, And the cleft oak flung boldly o'er the flood; Nor shunned the truck, unknown to human
tread, That downward to the night of caverns led Some ancient cataract's deserted bed.
High on exulting wing the heath cock rose. And blew his shrill blast o'er perennial snows; Kre the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar, •■•i/.rd on the tumbling tide of dread Lodoar; And through the rifted clifls, that scaled
she sky, I'crwent's clear mirror charmed his dazzled
eye. f.arh osier-isle, inverted on the wave, Thro' morn's gray mist its melting colours
gave; And, o er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling
grove Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove.
Light us the breeze that brushed the orient dew, From rock, to rock the lyoung Adventurer
flew; And day's last sunshine slept along the shore, When, lo! a path the smile of welcome wore. Imbowering shrubs with verdure veiled the
sky, And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye; Save when a bright and momentary gleam Glanced from the white foam of some sheltered stream.
O'er the still lake the bell of evening tolled, And on the moor the shepherd penned his fold; And on the green hill's side the meteor played; When, liark! a voice sung sweetly thro'
the shade. It ceas'd—yet still in Florio's fancy sung, Still on each note his captive spirit hung; Till o'er the mead a cool sequestered grot From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot. A crystal water crossed the pebbled floor, And on the front these simple lines it bore:
Hence away, nor dare intrude!
In this secret, shadowy cell
Musing Mkmory loves to dwell,
With her sister Solitude.
Fnr from the busy world she flies.
To taBte that peace the world denies.
Entranced she sits from youth to age,
Reviewing Life's eventful page;
And noting, ere they fade away,
The little lines of yesterday. Florio had gain'd a rude and rocky scut, When lo, the Genius of this still retreat! Fair was her form—but who can hope to trace The pensive softness of her angel-face? Can Virgil's verse, can Raphael's touch
impart Those finer features of the feeling heart. Those tenderer tints that slum the careless
eye, And in the world's contagious climate die?
She left the cave, nor marked the stranger there; Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air, Had breathed a soft enchantment o'er his soul; In every nerve he felt her blest control! What pure and whitc-wing'd agents of the
Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy, Inform congenial spirits when they meet? Sweet is their office, as their nature sweet t Florio,with fearful joy, pursued the maid. Till through a vista's moonlight-chequered
shade, Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed, (Their wars suspended and their councils
closed) An antique mansion burst in awful state, A rich A ine clustering round the Gothic gate. Nor paused he there. The master of the scene Saw his light step imprint the dewy green; And. slow -advancing, hailed him as his guest, Won by the honest warmth his looks expressed.
He wore the rustic manners of n Squire; Age bad not quenched one spark of manly fire; Rut piiint (ioiit hud hound him in herchnin, And his heart panted for the chase in vain. Yet here Heiuemhrance, sweetly-soothing
power! Winged with delight Confinement's lingering
hour. The fox's brush still emulous to wear, He scoured the county in his elbow-chair; And, with view-halloo, roused the dreaming
hound, That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music
round. Long by the paddock'shumhle pale cnnfin'd, His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind: And each, with glowing energy portrayed, The far-fam'd triumphs of the field displayed; Usurped the canvas of the crowded hnll. And chased a line of heroes from the wall. There slept the horn each jocund echo knew, And many a smile and many a story drew! High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung, And their fantastic branches wildly flung. How would he dwell on the vast antlers there! These dashed the wave, those fanned the
monntain-air. All,as they frowned, unwritten records bore Of gallant feats and festivals of yore.
But why the tale prolong V—His only child, His darling Julia on the stranger smiled. Her little arts a fretful sire to please, Her gentle gaiety, and native ease, Had won his soul: and rapturous Fancy shed Her golden lights and tints of rosy red; But, ah! few days had passed ere the bright
vision fled! When Evening tinged the lake's ethereal
blue, And her deep shades irregularly threw; Their shifting snil dropt gently from the cove, Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove; Whence erst the chanted hymn, the tapered
rite Amused the fisher's solitary night; And still the mitred window, richly wrenthed, A sacred calm thro' the brown folinge
breathed. The wild deer,starting thro' the silent glndc, With fearful gaze their various course
surveyed. High bung in air the hoary goat reclined, His strenming beard the sport of every wind; Anil.whilcthecoother jet-wing loved to lave, Rocked on the bosom of the sleepless wave; The eagle rushed fromSkiddaw's purple crest, A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest. And now the moon had dimmed, with dewy
my. The few, fine flushes of departing day; O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung, And her broad lights on every mountain flung; When, lo! n sudden blast the vessel blew. And to the surge consigned ils little crew. All, nil escaped—but ere the lover bore His faint and faded J Ilia to the shore,
Her sense had fled!—Exhausted by the storm, A fatal trance hung o'er her pallid form; Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired; 'Twos life's lost spark—it fluttered and ei
pired! The father strewed his white hairs in the
wind, Called on his child—nor lingered long behind: And Florio lived to see the willow wave. With many an evening-whisper, o'er their
grave. Ycs.flohio lived—and, still of each possess'd. The father cherished, and the maid caressed! For ever would the fond enthusiast rove. With Julia's spirit thro' the shadowy grove; Gaze with delight on every scene she planned, Kiss every flowret planted by her hand. Ah! still he traced her steps along the glade When hazy hues and glimmering lights
betrayed Half- viewless forms; still listened as the
breeze Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees; And at each pause her melting accents caught, In sweet delirium of romantic thought! Dear was the grot that shunned the blaze
of day; She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray. The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell. Murmured of Julia's virtues as it fell; And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone. I iiFi.imio's car breathed language not its own. Her charm around the enchantress Memory
threw, A charm that soothes the mind and sweetens
ton! But is Her magic only felt below? Say, thro' what brighter realms she bids
it flow; To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere. She yields delight but faintly imaged here: All that till now their rapt researches knew, Not called in slow succession to review; But, as a landscape meets the eye of day. At once presented to their glad survey! Each scene of bliss revealed, Bince chaos
fled, And dawning light its dazzling glories spread; Each chain of wonders that sublimely glowed, Since first Creation's choral anthem flowed; Each ready flight, at Mercy's smile divine. To distant worlds that undiscovered shine; Full on her tablet flings its living rays. And all.combined, with blest effulgence blaze. There thy bright train, immortal Friendship, soar; No more to part, to mingle tears no more! And, as the softening hand of time endears The joys and sorrows of our infant years. So there the soul,released from human strife. Smiles nt the little cares and ills of life; Its lights and shades, its sunshine and its
showers; Asnt adrcam that charmed her vacant hours! Oft may the spirits of the dead descend. To watch the silent slumbers of a friend;
To hover round his evening-walk unseen,
dwell, And hless the scene they loved in life so well! Oh thou! with whom my heart was wont
to share, From Reason's dawn, each pleasure and each
care; With whom, alas! I fondly hoped to know The liimilili' walks of happiness below; If thy blest nature now unites above An angel's pity with a brother's love, Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control, Correct my views, and elevate my soul; Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, Devout yet cheerful, active yet resigned; Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no
disguise, Whose hlnmeless wishes never aimed to rise, To meet the changes Time and Chance present With modest dignity and calm content. When thy lastbreath,ere Nature sunk to rest, Thy meek submission to thy God expressed; W hen thy last look, ere thought and feeling
fled, A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, Its hope in death, its triumph over the grave? The sweet remembrance of unblemished
youth, The inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth! Hail, Memory.hail! in thy exhaustions mine From nge to age unnnmher'd treasures shine! Thought and hcrshadnwy brood thy call obey, And Place and Time arc subject to thy sway! Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone; The only pleasures we can call our own. Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; If but a beam of sober Reason play, Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! Rot can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour'( These, when the trembling spirit wings her
flight, Pour round her path a stream of living light; And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, Where Virtue triumphs and her sons are blest.
The following stanzas are gain* to have been written on ■ blank leaf of this Poem. They present an affecting reverse of the picture.
Pleasures of Memory!—oh supremely blest,
Memory makes her influence known By sighs, and tears, and grief alone: I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song.
She tells of time mispent, of comfort lost,
Of fair occasions gone for ever by; Of hopes too fondly nursed,too rudely crossed, Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die; For what, except th' instinctive fear Lest she survive, detains me here, When all the life of life is fled?— What, but the deep inherent dread. Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign, And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign?
Awake but one, and h, what myriads rite.' [p.391. When a traveller, who was surveying the rnins of Koine, expressed a desire to possess some relic of its ancient grandeur, I'oussin, who attended him, stooped down, and, gathering up a handful of earth shining with small grains of porphyry, "Take this home," said he, "for your cabinet; and say boldly, Questa e Roma Antica."
Sweet bird! thy truth thalt II Aklkm's wall*
attest [p. 392.
During the siege of Harlem, when that city was reduced to the last extremity, and on the point of opening its gates to a base and barbarous enemy, a design was formed to relieve it; and the intelligence was conveyed to the citizens hy a letter which was tied under the wing of a pigeon. The same messenger was employed at the siege of Molina, as we are informed by the elder Pliny.
77ic.se still exist, 8ie. [p. 393.
There is a future Existence even in this world, an Existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after us. It is in reserve for every man, however obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent, must be equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place, but such as know, and are known by us? These are within the sphere of our influence, and among these and their descendants we may live evermore.
Hast thou thro' Eden's wild-wood-rales ptlrsued
On the road-side between Penrith and Appleby there stands a small pillar with this inscription: "This pillarwas erected in the year 1656, by Ann Countess Dowager of Pembroke, for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with her good and pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on thu 2d of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of 4/. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2d day of April for ever, upon the stonetable placed hard by. Laus Deo!"
The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland.
O'er his dead son the gallant Osmond sighed.
[p. 395. Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity: though he ever retained a pleasing, however melancholy, sense of the signal merit of Ossory. I would not exchange my dead son, said he, for any living son in Christendom. Hi'mk, VI. 340.