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THOMAS CAMPBELL.

PLEASURES OF HOPE.

PART I.

At summer-eve, when Heaven's aerial bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hilU

below, Why to yon mountain turn* the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the

sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling

near ?— Tisdistance lends enchantment to the view. And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Thus, with delight we linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way; Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past hath

been; And every form, that Fancy can repair 1'rom dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye To pierce the shades of dim futurity? Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly

power. The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour? Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man— Her dim liori/.on bounded to a span; Or, if she hold an image to the view, 'Tis Nature pictured too severely true. With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heavenly

light, That pours remotest rapture on the sight: Thine is the charm of life's bewildered

way, That calls each slumbering passion into play. W akrd by thy touch, I see the sister hand, On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, And fly where'er thy mandate bids them

steer, To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.

Primeval Hope, the Aiinian Muses say, W'hen Man and Nature mourned their first

decay. When every form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below, W'hen Murder bared her arm, and rampant

War ^oked the red dragons of her iron car,

When Peace and Mercy, banished from the

plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven

again; All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, ButHitPB, the charmer, lingered still behind. Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels

prepare From Carmcl's heights to sweep the fields

of air, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world—a sacred gift to man. Auspicious Hops! in thy sweet garden

grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every

woe; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid

hour. The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summerbower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid-spirits

bring! What viewless forms th' Aeolian organ play, And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious

thought away! Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest

shore. Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields His bark careering o'er unfnthnmrd fields; Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, Where Andes, giant of the western star, With meteor-standard to the winds unfurled, Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half

the world! Now far he sweeps, where scarce a sum • iner smiles, On Behring's rorks.orGreenland's naked isles: Cold on his midnight-watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow: And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Onalaska's shore. Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm. Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! Rocks, waves, and winds, the shattered bark

delay; Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away But Hopk can licrc lier moonlight-vigils

keep, And sing to chnrin the spirit of the deep: Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive

soul. His native liilis that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage-home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and bronmwood-blossomed

vale, IJnsli on his thought; he sweeps before the

wind, Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave

behind; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flics.at last to Helen's long embrace; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking

tear. And clasps, with many a sigh, his children

dear! While, long neglected,but at length caressed. His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest. Points to the master's eyes (where'er they

roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome

home. Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest

hour, Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power; To thee the heart its trembling homage

yields, On stormy floods, and earnage-envercd fields, When front to front the bannered hosts

combine. Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful

line. When all is still on Death's devoted soil, The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil; As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high The dnuntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, And hears thy stormy music in the drum! And such thy strength-inspiring aid that

bore The hardy Byron to his native shore— In horrid climes, where (Mine's tempests

sweep Tumultuous murmurs o'er the tronbled deep, 'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest

shock, Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the

rock, To wake each joyless morn, and search again The famished haunts of solitary men; V» hose race, unyielding ns their native

storm. Know not a trace of Nature hut the form; Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued, Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar. The moon's pale planet, and the northern

star; Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before, Hya-nas in the wild, and mermaids on the

shore;

Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime,
He found n warmer world, a milder clime,
A home to rest, a shelter to defend,
Peace and nyose, a Briton and a friend!
Congenial Hope ! thy passion-kindling power,
How bright, how strong, in youth's un-
troubled hour!
On yon proud height, with Genius hand in

hand, I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand. "Go, child of Heaven! (thy winged words

proclaim) "lis thine to search the boundless fields of

fame! Lo! Newton, priest of nature, shines afar. Scans the wide world and numbers ev'ry star! Wilt thou, with him. mysterious rites apply. And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming

eye? Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art

profound, The speed of light, the circling march of

sound; With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery

wing. Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string. "The Swedish sage admires, in yonder

bowers, His winged insects, and his rosy flowers; Calls from their woodland-haunts the savage

train With sounding horn, and counts them on

the plain— So once, at Heaven's command, the wanderers

came To Eden's shade, and heard their various

name. "Far from the world, in yon sequestered

clime. Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime; Calm as the fields of Heaven, his sapient eye The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high, Admiring Plato, on his Rpotless page. Stamps the bright dictates of the Father

sage: Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man? "Turn, child of Heaven, thy rapture-light

cn'd eye To W isdom's walks, the sacred Nine are

nigh: Hark! from bright spires that gild the

Delphian height. From streams that wander in eternal light. Ranged on their hill, Harmnnia's daughters

swell The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and

shell; Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs

flow. And Pythia's awful organ peals below. -'He lined of Heaven! tile smiling Muse shall

shed Her moonlight-halo on thy beauteous head; Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined, And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. I see thee roam her guardian power beneath, And talk with spirits on the midnight heath; Enquire of guilty wanderers whence they

cnine, And ask each blood-stained form his earthly

name; Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, And read the trembling world the tales of hell. "WhenVenus.throned in clouds of rosy hue, Flings from her golden urn the vesper-dew, And bids fond man her glimmering noon

employ, Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy; A milder mood the goddess shall recall, And soft as dew thy tones of music fall; While beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart— Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian

strain. And plead in beauty's ear, nor plead in vain. "Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem, And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream; To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile— lor beauty's tears are lovelier than her

smile;—

On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief.

And teach impassioned souls the joy of grief?

••Yes; to thy tongue shall seraph-words

be given,

And power on enrth to plead the cause of

Heaven; The proud, the cold untroubled heart of

stone. That never mused on sorrow but its own, I'nlocks a generous store at thy command. Like Horcb's rocks beneath the prophet's

hand. The living lumber of his kindred earth. Charmed into soul, receives a second birth; Feels thy dread power another heart afford. Whose passion-louch'd harmonious strings

accord True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan; And man, the brother, lives the friend of man. "Bright as the pillar rose at Heaven's command, When Israel marched along the desart land. Blazed through the night on lonely wilds

afar, And told the path—a never-setting star: So," heavenly Genius, in thy course divine, llni'K is thy star, her light is ever thine." Propitious Power! when rankling cares annoy The naered home of hymenean joy; When doomed to Poverty's sequestered dell. The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, I'npitied by the world, unknown to fame. Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts

the same— Oh there, prophetic Hope! thy smile bestow, And chase the pangs that worth should never know

There, as the parent deals his scanty store To friendless babes, and weeps to give no

more, Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter

age. What though for him no Ilybla-sweets distil, Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill; Tell, that when silent years have passed

away, That when his eye grows dim, his tresses

P?ray, These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build, And deck with fairer flowers his little Geld, And call from Heaven propitious dews to

breathe Arcadian beauty on the barren heath; Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile

endears The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, Health shall prolong to many a festive hour The social pleasures of his humble bower. Lo! at the couch where infant beauty

sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive

eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy— "Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy: No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine; No Bigh that rends thy father's heart and

mine; Bright as his manly sire the son shall be In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he! Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past— With many a smile my solitude repay, And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. And say, when summoned from the world

and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow-tree, Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone

appear. And soothe my parted spirit lingering near? Oh, wilt thou come, at evening-hour to shed The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed; With aching temples on thy hand reclined, Muse on the last farewell I leave behind, Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur

low. And think on all my love, and all my woe?"

So speaks affection, ere the infant eye Can look regard, or brighten in reply; But when the cherub-lip hath learnt to claim A mother's enr by that endearing name; Soon as the playful innocent can prove A tear of pity, or a smile of. \o\e, Or eons his murmuring task beneath her care. Or lisps with holy look his evening-prayer, Or gnzing, mutely pensive, sits to hear The mournful ballad warbled in his ear; How fondly looks admiring Hope the while, At every artless tear, and every smile! How glows the joy.ous parent to descry A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!

Where is the troubled heart, consigned to

■hare Tumultuous toils, or solitary care, Unklest by visionary thoughts that stray To count the joys of Fortune's better day! Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon-gloom, A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored, Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board; Warm from his heart the tears of rapture

flow, And virtue triumphs o'er remembered woe. Chide not his pence, proud Reason! nor

destroy The shadowy forms of uncreated joy, That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour Spontaneous slumber on his midnight-hour. Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the

gale That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail; She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore Watched the rude Btirge his shroudless corse

that bore, Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze, Clasped her cold hands, and fixed her maddening gaze: Poor widowed wretch! 'twas there she wept

in vain. Till memory fled her agonizing brain;— But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe, Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow; Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, And aimless Hope delights her darkest dream. Oft when yon moon has climbed the midnight-sky, And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, Filed on the steep, her blazing faggots burn To hail the bark that never can return; And still she waits, but scarce forbears to

weep That constant love can linger on the deep. And, mark the wreteh, whose wanderings

never knew The world's regard, that soothes, though

half untrue. Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, But found not pity when it erred no more. Von friendless man, at whose dejected eye 'I'll' unfeeling proud one looks—and passes by; Condemned on Penury's barren path to roam, Scorned by the world, nnd left without a

home— Even he, at evening, should he chance to

stray Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way, Where, round the cot's romantic glade, are

seen The blossomed bean-field, and the sloping

green, Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the

while— Oh! that forme some home like this would

smile, Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form Health in the breeze, and shelter in the

storm!

There should my hand no stinted boon assign To wretched hearts with sorrow such as

mine!— That generous wish can soothe unpitied care, And Hope half mingles with the poor man's

prayer. Hope! when I mourn,-with sympathizing

mind, The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind. Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see The boundless fields of rapture yet to be; I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan, And learn the future by the past of man. Come, bright Improvement! on the car

of Time, And .rule the spacious world from clime to

clime; Thy handmaid-arts shall every wild explore. Trace every wave, and culture every shore. On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along. And the dread Indian cbaunts a dismal song. Where human fiends on midnight-errands

walk. And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk; There shall theflocks on thynty pasture stray. And shepherds dance at Summer's opening

day; Each wandering Genius of the lonely glen Shall start to view the glittering haunts of

men, And Silence watch, on woodland-heights

around, The village-curfew as it tolls profound. In Lybian groves, where damned rites are

done, That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the

sun, Truth shall arrest the murderous arraprofane. Wild Obi flies—the veil is rent in twain. Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains roam, Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall Cod a

home; Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines, From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines. Truth shall pervade lh' unfatbomed darkness

there, And light the dreadful features of despair.— Hark ! the stern captive spurns his heavy load. And asks the image back that Heaven

bestowed! Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns. And, as the slave departs, the man returns. Oh! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased a

while, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to

smile; When leagued Oppression poured to northern

wars Her whiskered pandoors and herfirrcehiissars. Waved her dread standard to the breeze of

morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged ber trumpet-horn; Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van. Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man!

Warsaw's last champion from her height

surveyed, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,— Oh! Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country

save!— Ii there no hand on high to shield the brave? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely

plains, Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains! By that dread name, we wave the sword on

high! And swear for her to live!—with her to die! He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they

form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; Low murmuring sounds along their banners

fly

Revenge, or death,—the watch-word and reply;

Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,

And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!—

In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!

From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew:—

Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,

Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;

Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe.

Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear,

Cloied her bright eye, and curbed her high career;—

Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,

And Freedom shriek'd—as Koecn Sko fell! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there.

Tumultuous murder shook the midnightair—

On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,

His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below;

The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way,

Bursts the wide cry of horror and dismay!

Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,

A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!

Earth shook—red meteors flashed along the sky.

Ana conscious Nature shuddered at the cry! Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,

«hy slept the sword, omnipotent to save?

Where was thine arm, oh Vengeance! where thy rod,

That smote the foes of Zion and of God;

That crushed proud Amnion, when his iron car

Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar?

Where was the storm that slumbered till the host

Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling const;

Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, And heaved an ocean on their march below?

Departed spirits of the mighty dead! Ye that at Marat lion and Leuctrn bled! Friends of the world! restore your swords

to man, Fight in his sacred cause and lead the van! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant ns your own! Oh! once again to freedom's cause return The patriot Tell—the Brvce Of Bannock

I: i it "■! Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall

sec That man hath yet a soul—and dare be free! A little while, along thy saddening plains, The starless night of desolation reigns; Truth shall restore the light by Nature given. And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of

Heaven! Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, Her name, her nature, withered from the

world! Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, And hate the light—because your deeds are

dark; Y'e that expanding truth invidious view, And think, or wish, the song of Hope untrue; Perhaps your little hands presume to span The march of Genius, and the powers of man; Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd

shrine. Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine:—■ "Here shall thy triumph. Genius, cease, and

here Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short

career." Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard-ring; In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring: What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep? No:—the wild wave contemns your sceptred

hand :— It rolled not back when Canute gave

command!

Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow?

Still must thou live n blot on Nature's brow?

Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furled?

Shall crimes and tyrants cease hut with the

world? What! are thy triumphs, sac nil Truth,

belied? Why then hath Plato lived—or Sidney died?—

Y'e fond adorers of departed fame, Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's

name! Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire The sword of Brutus, and thcTheban lyre! Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore Each classic haunt, and well-remembered

shore, Where Valour tuned.amid her chosen throng. The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song; Or, wandering thence, behold the later

charms Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms!

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