Poems by Mr. Jerningham: [pt.2]

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

- [poem]

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- THE SHAKSPEARE GALLERY.

- THE FOLLOWING LINES Were written on the Occasion of the late Sir JOSHUA REY NOLDS' resigning the President's Chair at the Royal Aca demy.

- EPITAPHS.

- ON MISS JERNINGHAM. JANUARY 1773.

- ON JAMES ROBSON, WHO DIED IN THE TWENTIETH YEAR OF HIS AGE, BY A FALL FROM HIS HORSE.

- ON MISS HAMILTON.

- LINES ON THÉ OF SIR JOHN ELLIOT, M.D.

- THE FOLLOWING LINES, DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT OF TWO FRIENDS, Were written by the GENTLEMAN who erected the Monument, and were translated at his request.

- THE RISE AND FALL OF THE NORTHERN POETRY: A POEM, IN TWO PARTS.

- TO THE EARL of ORFORD.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- THE RISE AND FALL OF THE NORTHERN POETRY.

- PART I.

- PART THE SECOND.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- THE RISE AND FALL OF THE NORTHERN POETRY.

- PART II.

- ABELARD TO ELOISA: A POEM.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- ABELARD to ELOISA.

- THE AFRICAN BOY.

- ENTHUSIASM: A POEM, IN TWO PARTS.

- ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION.

- ENTHUSIASM.

- PART I.

- ENTHUSIASM. PART II.

- AN APOLOGUE.

- THE ROOKERY.

- TINTERN ABBEY

- TO THE BARON NOLCKEN, THE SWEDISH AMBASSADOR, ON HIS SUDDEN RECALL.

- [poem]

- TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY HERVEY.

- ARGARET OF ANJOU, AN HISTORICAL INTERLUDE.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- CHARACTERS.

- MARGARET OF ANJOU.

- TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE LADY JERNINGHAM. LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT COSSEY-HALL, NORFOLK, THE SEAT OF SIR WILLIAM JERNING HAM, AUGUST THE 4TH, 1786.

- [publishersadvertisement]

POEMS BY MR. JERNINGHAM. A NEW EDITION. IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. ROBSON, NEW BOND-STREET.

M. DCC. XCVI.

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

- THE SHAKESPEARE GALLERY Page 1

- ON THE RESIGNATION OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS Page 28

- EPITAPHS Page 31

- NORTHERN POETRY Page 37

- ABELARD TO ELOISA Page 71

- THE AFRICAN BOY Page 90

- ENTHUSIASM Page 95

- AN APOLOGUE Page 130

- THE ROOKERY 132

- TINTERN ABBEY Page 135

- TO BARON NOLCKEN Page 136

- TO THE LATE LADY HERVEY 137

- MARGARET OF ANJOU Page 139

- TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE LADY JERNINGHAM 157

SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, &c.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE following Poem does not pass any judgment upon the Pictures that are now exhibited in the Gallery; but attempts to point out new subjects for future Exhibitions: And, in the delineation of new subjects, attention is paid to the principle laid down by our late great Painter, (in his notes to the translation of Fresnoy by Mr. MASON) ‘That palpable situation is preferable to curious sentiment, as the Painter speaks to the eye.’

THE SHAKSPEARE GALLERY.

As mus'd the Prophet near mild CHEBAR's stream [*],

And pray'd his God to dart th' enlight'ning gleam,

Abrupt-descending from his airy height,

A form angelic rufh's upon his sight!

With smiling lip he cheer'd the hallow'd Sire,

And bad his soul to Heav'n's best gift aspire:

Then, with strong hand, he grasp'd his silver hair,

And swift convey'd him thro' the yielding air,

Along the unknown region of the sky,

The dread, mysterious, deep abyss on high.

There Inspiration her bright cloud withdrew,

And pour'd her visions on his daring view:

Then on his rapture-kindled eye arose

Those forms of splendor, those terrific shows,

With which be peopled his celestial dream,

And swell'd his proud magnificence of theme.

To ENGLAND's Leading Bard thus Genius came,

Envelop'd in a robe of holy flame,

And bore him, with a whirlwind's rapid force,

Beyond the solar road, and starry course;

From which far tow'ring and tremendous height

(While now he hovers with suspended flight)

The Poet view'd, as on a spacious plain,

Of human passions the long shadowy train:

'Twas then the favor'd Bard receiv'd the lore,

(Whose mystic veil was ne'er remov'd before)

That revelation to his instinct giv'n,

That ray from GOD, the energy of Heav'n.

To his illumin'd sight was then consign'd

The deep recesses of the Human Mind;

The ever-varying path of tortuous Art,

And the dark passage to the Tyrant's heart;

Th'umbrageous winding of the thorny road,

That leads to quick-ey'd Jealousy's abode;

The gath'ring storms that o'er Resentment roll;

The swelling waves that toss the fearsul soul;

The calm that breathes around the Infant's rest,

The rugged cavern of the Murd'rer's breast;

The dread materials by the Furies brought,

With which are forg'd Despair's tempestuous thought;

The shaft, that, mingling pleasure with the pain,

Bathes in the blood that warms the Lover's vein.

Oh Thou! th' IMPERIAL GENIUS of our land!

Take a fresh garland from thy country's hand;

Triumphs unknown she hastens to proclaim,

And stamp a new-born era on thy fame!

Too long, as with the iron power of Fate,

Hath Custom bolted the Historic Gate;

Enlighten'd BOYDELL bursts th' opposing bar,

On their rude hinge the pond'rous portals jar;

While the rapt Arts salute, with loud acclaim,

This rich accession to their rising name.

Genius of PAINTING! thy bright car ascend,

Bid glowing Energy thy steps attend,

Triumphant ride thro' the unrifled land,

And seize thy plunder with victorious hand.

Oft have we heard the pure of taste complain,

Of mawkish Portraiture's eternal reign;

Of exhibitions which the art disgrace,

And pall the eye with many a vacant face.

Let Miniature erect her fairy school,

And'mid her gewgaws unmolested rule;

Let her bright dome each pleas'd Narcissus seek,

To her let Beauty hold her summer cheek!

Let her delineate, on her iv'ry plane,

The nuptial simper of the happy swain!

From these we turn to scenes of higher aim,

Where Eagle-Genius soars to nobler game;

Where Fancy, Reason, Taste, in one conjoin'd,

Unfold the workings of th' impassion'd mind.

Now to the laurell'd, academic band.

To ev'ry Artist's emulative hand,

Munificence upholds her sacred prize,

And bids the daring reach it from the skies.

While Expectation lifts the thought on high,

Methinks I view, with a prophetic eye,

In solemn state ascend that splendid Dome,

Where the proud Arts shall find an equal home;

Where, at the opening of some glorious day,

The English mind its treasures shall display;

While they, whose taste is sway'd by Rigor's rule,

Shall mark the wonders of the Albion School.[*]

If time shou'd e'er obliterate the gold

Of SHAKSPEAR'S language, cast in Vigor's moul

Here shall, invested in their various guise,

The throng of his departed Forms arise!

The splendid forms his mind luxuriant drew,

The bold creations he held forth to view,

As from their grave shall burst the num'rous host,

And on these walls a new existence boast.

Here shall be seen, in all her charms array'd,

Th'impressive figure of VERONA'S Maid [*]:

Clos'd in the dreary vault where sleep the dead,

Wrapp'd in the night-dress of the fun'ral bed,

She breaks abruptly from her iron trance,

And sends around a terror-rolling glance:

A mournful, solitary lamp shall throw

A sickly glimm'ring o'er the house of woe,

And shall the wretched PARIS give to view,

Stretch'd on the ground, with mien of ghastly hue:

Then shall a deeper spectacle display,

And hang o'er ROMEO with reluctant ray,

Disclosing his wan lips, devoid of breath,

And faint-ros'd cheek, still beautiful in death:

Then shall the beam, with weaken'd effort, shed

A fading glory on the FRIAR'S head.

She too shall ornament the pictur'd scene,

The destin'd victim of ITALIAN spleen:[*]

See the base wretch perform his treach'rous part,

With all the subtlety of finish'd art!

Behold him bending o'er the sleeping Maid,

Her holy form to his research betray'd!

Eager some secret notice to retail,

With rav'nous aim he lifts the slender veil,

And leering marks, by Nature's hand imprest,

The mole cinque-spotted on her snowy breast;

Whose scatter'd drops to the rapt eye excel

The crimson spots within the cowslip's bell.

Here too, as patient as the meek-ey'd dove,

Shall stand the Maid who "never told her love [*]"

Who, to her coy and fearful bosom true,

(As th' unseen worm, that pales the blossom's hue)

Still let concealment on her beauty prey,

Like snow dissolving silently away.

Now, at the magic Painter's wild command,

Girt with the sea, ascends th' Enchanted Land!

There stands Simplicity's endearing Child [†]

That artless Maid! the flow'ret of the wild!

Beside the margin of the wave-vex'd shore,

While all around conflicting thunders roar,

With unbound tresses, flutt'ring to the wind,

Her eye expressive of her tortur'd mind,

She views the vessel, by the surges tost,

Now seen—now lost—now found—now once more lost:

Till, madly rushing on the pointed rock,

Its bosom riven with the forceful shock,

Beyond the stretch of naval art to save,

Down, down, it hurries to the watery grave!

Now PROSPERO comes, with magic arts endu'd,

His sable garb with hieroglyphics strew'd;

Long care, long study, solitude profound,

Has deepen'd on his brow reflection's wound;

His low-descending hair, o'erblanch'd with age,

Becomes the Sorc'rer, and adorns the Sage:

Ah! view him at that dread, momentous hour,

While he abjures his necromantic pow'r!

Within the ring of Incantation's ground,

Elves, Fairies, Spirits, Demons, flock around:

Beneath his foot behold the potent wand,

Doom'd ne'er again to grace his lifted hand!

Behold the volume, which (with myst'ry fraught)

Predestination's darkling edicts taught,

And breath'd its solemn whispers on the mind,

With dust o'erspread, and to neglect consign'd!

Yet then the distant scenery imparts

A dire remembrance of his former arts:

The bright sun fading in his full career,

The wild stars madly starting from their sphere,

The storm-encumber'd sky, the swelling main,

Th' uprooted cedars stretching o'er the plain,

The mountain loosen'd by convulsive throe,

With ruin rushing to the vale below,

And the pale wretch, reversing Nature's doom,

Abruptly rising from the risted tomb!

What glowing Artist with bold hand shall claim

To draw, Oh ARIEL! thy resplendent frame?

Thou tricksy Spirit with benignant smile,

Thou playful meteor of th' Enchanted Isle!

Not like a sea-nymph, rob'd in sickly green,

With dappled wings, as on the Stage thou'rt seen,

A gay transparency shalt thou appear,

Thy form celestial melting into air,

With foot light-touching some fantastic height,

Prompt to depart, and stretching to thy flight.

Yet, ere we sail from this Enchanted Isle,

Let other scenes our ling'ring steps beguile:

There stands ANTHONIO, the suggesting fiend,

And half reveals his purpose to his friend;

His bosom swells, his madd'ning eye-balls roll,

And shew the workings of his inmost soul.

All that his lawless, wild conceptions dare,

In various forms hang hov'ring in the air:

A sword fresh-tainted with ALONZO'S blood,

A sceptre swimming in a cimson flood,

A crown with dazzling ornaments o'erspread,

And lightly floating o'er SEBASTIAN'S head;

While, in the distance, rising o'er the bay,

Imperial Naples shall her tow'rs display.

Lo! now, advancing on the mimic scene,

Comes forth to view the fam'd Egyptian Queen [*];

While anxious doubts her Soldier's mind perplex,

Behold her rise instructive to her sex!

Ah, not superior! for the female heart

Endures with fortitude the suff'ring part.

Tow'ring beyond the flight of tim'rous love,

She bids her Warrior from her sight remove;

She points her finger to the martial plain,

Points to the active and the daring train:

The threat'ning axes which the Fasces bear;

The gorgeous streamers swelling to the air;

Of busy legions the thick murm'ring swarms;

The thronging shields, and high emblazon'd arms;

Th' encumbering elephant, the rapid steed,

And spoils of former conquest, Glory's meed;

Flush'd Conquest, riding in his trophied car,

And all the dread magnificence of war.

Now shall the fell, tremendous act be done:

The THANE [*] appears!—the warning clock strikes One!

His daring, wild imaginings create

(Such the hot chaos of his mental state)

The air-born dagger, and display to view

The point obscene, distain'd with crimson hue.

Still, as we gaze, shall new creations rise,

And varying sceneries prolong surprise:

Ere yet the sky-lark leaves his lowly bed,

Bright on the mist-encircled mountain's head,

See jocund Day on airy tiptoe stand,

And ope the gates of Heav'n with radiant hand!

Now, like two lions litter'd on one day [†]

Who range the dreary wilds, and share the prey,

I see, in dreadful harmony combin'd,

Th' illustrious Pair who dignify mankind!

The summer-cloud, that dimm'd their friendship's:

The passing summer-gale hath borne away;

Yet CASSIUS then upbraids th' unmanly grief,

That from the moral Porch claims no relief:

With low'ring aspect, but with tearless eyes,

The grief-torn, inly-bleeding friend replies:

"Ah! not in vain was I with Stoics bred,

"For yet art thou to learn, that PORTIA's dead."

The hair-dishevell'd Prophetess of Troy [*]

Shall next the Painter's hallow'd hand employ:

She with bold Divination's meteor-eye,

Pervades the awful secrets of the sky;

The woes of her lov'd country she foretels,

And on her brother's death prolixly dwells.

ANDROMACHE, impress'd with tender fears,

At the prophetic strain dissolves in tears;

While HECTOR's scorn-denouncing looks upbraid

The vapoury day-dreams of the wild'ring Maid:

While PRIAM, bending at the weight of age,

Rever'd, parental, patriarchal Sage!

Half credits, half rejects, the tragic tale,

Till terrors o'er his fading hopes prevail.

Whence yonder radiant form, that charms the eye?

'Tis Expectation, riding through the sky!

A sword-like instrument she waves around,

Enwreath'd with coronets, with chaplets bound,

Prepar'd for HENRY and his faithful train,

Eager to urge the war o'er Gallia's plain.

Behold the Legate from the sacred Dome [*]

In the rich garb of sacerdotal Rome!—

CONSTANCE approaches! spurning at relief,

Attir'd in all the negligence of grief:

In her fierce grasp she shews her rooted hair,

Presenting well the image of Despair;

And seem to cry aloud, in accents wild,

"He talks to me, who never had a child!"

Mark where the blood-sed lamps, with crimson ray [*]

The ragged entrails of a cave display:

On a dread pile of human bones, her throne,

Sits, in rude pomp, th' emaciated Crone;

She lifts a pale and wither'd hand on high,

And on the Phantom rolls her savage eye,

Whose doubtful form confounds th' enquiring sight,

One part reveal'd, the other lost in night;

From this abhorr'd interpreter of fate,

The Hag demands the future storms of state,

When the Sixth HENRY, prince of dim renown,

Shall lose, what ill becomes him—England's crown.

Ye, who to martial fame your spirit yield,

Who pant to reap the honours of the field,

See the Third EDWARD, from the mountain's brow,

Survey, with madd'ning glance, the plain below:

He there beholds (by sacred Glory won)

In Danger's van his dear and godlike Son:

He views with wonder, and with mingled fear,

(His eye-lid glist'ning with Affection's tear)

With pride, applause, and with a Father's joy,

The first achievements of th' immortal Boy [*]!

Lo! the Eighth HENRY, from his doubts releas'd,

Devotes to infamy th' aspiring Priest [†]

The Monarch hails him as he passes by,

With ruin leaping from his threat'ning eye:

The Prelate, struck as by the blast of Death,

Looks the scath'd oak upon the naked heath.

The distant scene shall yield illumin'd night,

With one star falling from its airy height,

Thy emblem, WOLSEY!—thou wast England's star,

And thy rich lustre dazzled from afar;

Till thou (too daring) wast, by public hate,

Flung from the splendor of thy tow'ring state.

With fearful steps we now approach the bed

Where Scotland's King reclines his weary head:

Mark, mark the savage Thane's [*] more savage Wife,

Who brandishes aloft the thirsty knife!

One moment—and the victim is no more;

One moment—and he welters in his gore!

When sudden, thro' her soul's encircing night,

Flashes a glimm'ring of a moral light:

O'er the calm features of the sleeping Guest

She sees her Father's image full exprest [†]

'Tis Nature's miracle!—the Fiend relents,

Her alter'd mien a sickly smile presents;

Affection subjugates her lawless soul,

Her bosom heaves, and tears begin to roll.

Say, to whose proud ambition shall be giv'n

A pencil glowing with the tints of Heav'n,

With which the wild Enthusiast shall aspire

To body forth th' ecstatic Muse of Fire? [*]

At the gay opening of the splendid sky

The Seraph enters, with commanding eye,

Her radiant visitant Invention hails,

And all her waste magnificence reveals:

A diamond-rock sustains the gorgeous Queen,

That flings a brilliance o'er th' expansive scene;

The various Arts their sovereign Mistress own,

And bend with low obeisance at her throne:

See, to the Muse the Goddess holds a crown,

Bright on whose front is character'd "RENOWN!"

A subject now unfolds of meeker claim [*]

Yet seeks the heart with unresisted aim:

The faithful Servant on the scene appears,

Impress'd, but not o'ercharg'd with weight of years:

The glow of health still blushes on his cheek,

As on the winter-fruit the ruddy streak:

His tearful eyes his Master's wants behold,

And to those wants he yields the hoarded gold:

Methinks he says, "With this thy care assuage;

"For me. let Him be comfort to my age,

"Whose tender providence the Raven feeds,

"And to the Sparrow yields the daily seeds."

See where the chisel, with victorious strife,

Has urg'd the torpid matter into life!

Lo! the bold Roman to our view consign'd,

His air reflective of his haughty mind;

Spite of the foldings of a mean disguise,

His frame majestic strikes th' admiring eyes:

So the tall vessel, shatter'd by the storm,

Retains her native dignity of form:

Behold him, at the hour of conscious pride,

And prompting worth, to confidence allied,

What time he utters, with commanding air,

"My name breathes terror on a Volscian ear!"

This high, heroic task, by Genius plann'd,

Avows th' impression of a female hand [*]

Illustrious DAMER! tho' thy splendid name

Decks, like a star, the pinnacle of fame,

Yet only they who mark, with aspect near,

The humbler orb of thy domestic sphere,

Can tell (from all the rougher parts refin'd)

How Learning sits enamell'd on thy mind:

How still, thro' various life's eventful scene,

Thy friendship wears th' unfading robe of green!—

NOR shall each task unfold the solemn scene

Hung with the drap'ry of the Tragic Queen:

With airy step THALIA shall advance,

And dart around her grief-expelling glance,

Group the fantastic forms of Humour's court,

And bid the Pleasures o'er the landscape sport.

Where'er our Bard displays his magic pow'rs,

Where'er he treads, arise spontaneous flow'rs,

Which o'er the pallet brighter tints shall throw,

While the live pencil drinks a richer glow.

See where the Birds forsake the realms of air, [*]

And to yon melancholy spot repair;

Where press the bier those images of love,

The radiant Phenix and the faithful Dove:

Just o'er the summit of the funeral pyre,

Wak'd by the gale, ascends the sacred fire.

There Philomela swells her little throat,

To grace the requiem with her saddest note:

There too the pitying Red-breast shall be seen,

And in his bill a leaf of purest green:

The Swallow shall his circling sport forego,

And join this meek society of woe:

The joyous Sky-lark, by compassion won,

Shall check his wonted anthem to the sun,

And, swift-descending from his radiant height,

Devote his music to the hallow'd rite.

E'en birds s;hall here be seen of ampler form,

Who slowly sail, and dare the gath'ring storm:

The Vulture here shall come, at Sorrow's call,

And the dark Raven spread his hov'ring pall:

The Bird of JOVE shall from his heav'n descend,

And with this train his awful presence blend.

Ye who, with finer siner sympathies imprest,

Avow th' immaculate and feeling breast,

O white-stol'd Virgins! in long order move,

True to the ritual of the cypress grove;

And, while your souls with chaste affection burn,

With garlands deck the emblematic urn.

Ah! now the zeal that warms my throbbing heart

For all who honor the Poetic Art,

Ferments my bosom to this strong desire,

That He who led the Bard's theatric quire,

Whom England mourns—recording still his name,

Who grappled to his own his SHAKSPEARE'S fame,

That He, by Sculptor imag'd, here may stand,

In act to speak what his great Idol plann'd.

Thus have we travers'd the extensive plain,

Mark'd where the mine contains the swelling vein;

Mark'd where the chosen trees their branches shoot,

And pluck'd the leaves that veil the Golden Fruir! [*]!

Notes

*
EZEKIEL, Chap. 8th.
↵

*
Another gallery is to be erected, for the purpose of receiving the whole collection, when complete.
↵

*
JULIET.
↵

*
IMOGEN.
↵

*
VIOLA.
↵

†
MIRANDA.
↵

*
ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRA, Act ist, Scence 3d, at the end.
↵

*
MACBETH.
↵

†
JULIUS CAESAR, Act 4th, Scene 3d.
↵

*
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, Act, 5th, Scene 3d.
↵

*
KING JOHN, Act 3d, Sce: 4th.
↵

*
HENRY SIXTH, Part II. Act 1st, Scene 4th.
↵

*
HENRY FIFTH, Act 1st, Scene 2d.
↵

†
HENRY EIGHTH, Act 3d, Scene 2d.
↵

*
MACBETH.
↵

†
Act 2d, Scene 2d.—LADY MACBETH. "Had he not resembled my Father as he slept, I had don't."
↵

*

HENRY FIFTH, the Prologue.

O for a Muse of Fire, that would ascend

The brightest heaven of Invention!

↵

*
AS YOU LIKE IT, Act 2d, Scene 3d.
↵

*
See the Basso-Relievo by the Honourable ANN vDAMER.— CORIOLANUS, Act 4th, Scene 5th.
↵

*
See the Poems.—"The Passionate Pilgrim," at the end.
↵

*
The Reader will be pleased with knowing the opinion Mr. BURKE passed on this Poem when it first appeared. The imagery, in which our great Orator conveys his sentiment, forms a new and sublime allusion to SHAKSPEARE. In a letter, dated BEACONSYIELD, January 1791, he says— ‘I have not for a long time seen any thing so well finished. The Author has caught new fire by approaching in his perihelion so near to the sun of our poetical system.’
Note of the Editor.

↵

THE FOLLOWING LINES Were written on the Occasion of the late Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS' resigning the President's Chair at the Royal Academy.

Ye great dispensers of the magic strain,

Whose harmony delights almost to pain:

Ye rare PROMETHEI, to whose hand is giv'n

To snatch the flame that warms the breast of heav'n:

Ye too, ye Bards, illustrious heirs of fame,

Who from the sun your mental lineage claim:

Approach, and see a dear and kindred Art

Unhallow'd maxims to her sons impart;

See her (become wild Faction's ready tool)

Insult the Father of the modern school.

Yet he fist enter'd on the barren land,

And rais'd on high ARMIDA'S pow'rful wand:

From him the Academics boast a name,

He led the way, he smooth'd their path to fame:

From him th' instructive lore the pupils claim'd,

His doctrine nurtur'd, and his voice inflam'd!

Oh, and is all forgot?—The sons rebel,

And, REGAN-like, their hallow'd Sire expel.

Cou'd not his faculties, so meekly borne,

Arrest the hand that fix'd the rankling thorn?

Cou'd not the twilight of approaching age,

The silver hairs that crown th' indulgent Sage,

Domestic virtues, his time-honour'd name,

His radiant works that crowd the dome of fame,

Say, cou'd not these suppress th' opprobrious scene,

And charm to slumber academic spleen?

Mark, mark the period, when the Children stung

The Parent's feelings with their serpent tongue;

It was while dimness veil'd the pow'rs of fight,

[*] And ting'd all nature with the gloom of night!

(Not many days remov'd) the Master came

With wonted zeal to touch the swelling theme!

The pregnant canvas his creation caught,

And drank his rich exuberance of thought:

Deck'd with the beams of Inspiration's sky,

Glanc'd o'er the work his finely-frensy'd eye.

—Malignant Fate approach'd—the scenes decay,

To him the new creation fades away;

Thick night abruptly shades the mimic sky,

And clouds eternal quench the frensy'd eye!

Invention shudder'd—Taste stood weeping near—

From Fancy's eye-lid gush'd the glitt'ring tear—

Genius exclaim'd—"My matchless loss deplore,

"The hand of REYNOLDS falls to rise no more!"

Notes

*
The calamity here alluded to came suddenly upon Sir JOSHUA while he was painting.
↵

EPITAPHS.

ON MISS JERNINGHAM. JANUARY 1773.

AH, venerate this hallow'd ground,

And mark the infant-virtues round!

See Innocence, celestial fair,

With Childhood, Heav'n's peculiar care:

See Beauty opening into bloom,

Bending o'er this youthful tomb:

Behold Affection that endears,

And Wit beyond an infant's years,

And Constancy (mid mortal pain,

Still, still refusing to complain)

By Sorrow led, a choral band,

Fix'd on this sacred spot they stand!

And as they view this marble stone,

Their little Mistress they bemoan.

ON JAMES ROBSON, WHO DIED IN THE TWENTIETH YEAR OF HIS AGE, BY A FALL FROM HIS HORSE.

To mark the hapless Youth's disastrous doom,

The sorrow-wedded Father rears the tomb,

On which a Mother wishes to express

The mingled pride that swells with her distress:

For he was all Affection could desire,

All Duty ask'd, all Friendship could require:

Simplicity was his, with strength of mind,

With ev'ry milder influence combin'd;

While Virtue, ardent to complete the whole,

Diffus'd her magic colour o'er the soul!

ON MISS HAMILTON.

ENDOW'D with all that Fortune could bestow;

With brilliancy of wit, and beauty's glow,

FRANCISCA, rising to her fifteenth year,

Stood mid the virgin train without a peer:

Her conscious bosom throbb'd to virtue warm,

While diffidence still heighten'd ev'ry charm:

But Heav'n's decree forbad this Beauty's Queen

To act her part thro' beauty's short-liv'd scene:

A gradual illness on her figure prey'd,

And slowly, slowly sunk the fading Maid:

Torn from each wish to which her youth aspir'd,

Unfearing—uncomplaining—she expir'd:

Thus some faint lily to its mother-ground

In silence falls—while spring is blooming round.

LINES ON THÉ OF SIR JOHN ELLIOT, M.D.

THUS when the poison'd shafts of Death are sped,

The plant of Gilead bends her mournful head:

The holy balm that sooth'd another's pain

O'er her own wound distils its charm in vain.

THE FOLLOWING LINES, DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT OF TWO FRIENDS, Were written by the GENTLEMAN who erected the Monument, and were translated at his request.

CONCORDES animae, quondam dum vita manebat

Nunc quoque conjunctos terra sacrata regit.

THEY whom in life the bond of Friendship bound,

Here in dread union press the funeral ground.

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE NORTHERN POETRY: A POEM, IN TWO PARTS.

TO THE EARL of ORFORD.

DEAR SIR,

I AM ambitious of inscribing this Poem to you, as a small return for the warm commendation you bestoed upon it, when the Poem was first published. This also gives me an opportunity, which I readily embrace, of paying a public testimony to the exalted regard with which I remain,

Your faithful humble servant, EDWARD JERNINGHAM.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE materials that form the First Part of the following Poem are taken from the Scandinavian poetics, The EDDA! In the remarks on the third fable of the Edda, are these words, ‘A powerful Being had with his breath animated the drops out of which the first giant was formed. This Being, whom the Edda affects not to name, was entirely distinct from Odin, who had his birth long after the formation of the giant Ymir.’—This first agent, or Genius, whom the Edda affects not to name, is supposed, in the following Poem, to create, from his own immediate power, the system of the Scaldic mythology. As it would have been impossible to introduce the whole system without running into a tedious enumeration, the principal features of it are only retained, sufficient (it is presumed) to give some idea of the character of the northern poetry. Among other omissions, the reader will find that no mention is made of Gimlé, the mansion of bliss, that was appropriated to the reception of the virtuous, nor of Nastrande, the abode of the impious; these places not being supposed to exist in their full extent till the general destruction of the world; whereas the hall of Odin, and the caves of Hela, were peculiarly the Elysium and the Tartarus of the Runic poetry: they are perpetually referred to in the ancient songs of the Scalds, and the wild system of these contrasted abodes seems well calculated to encourage that spirit of war and enterprize which runs through the whole Scandinavian minstrelsy.

Some expressions taken from the Edda may appear obscure without an explanation.—In the language of the Scalds, the world is stiled the great vessel that floats on the ages.—The rainbow, the bridge of the gods.—To drink the blood of friendship, alludes to a ceremony performed by two warriors when they enter into an alliance of friendship; they made incisions in their arms or breast, and tasting each other's blood, they mutually swore, that the death of the first of them who fell in battle should not pass unrevenged.

To celebrate the mass of weapons, was to fight against the Christians, whose religious sentiments the Scandavians held in contempt, as thinking them adverse to the spirit of war.

The Valkeries are a female troop, whom Odin sends to the field of battle upon invisible steeds; their function is to choose such as are destined to slaughter, and conduct their spirits to the Paradise of the Brave.

Fenris is a large wolf, who is to break his chains at the general conflagration, and to swallow the sun.

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE NORTHERN POETRY.

PART I.

WHEN urg'd by Destiny th' eventful year

Sail'd thro' the portal of the northern sphere,

Of SCANDINAVIA the rude Genius rose,

His breast deep-lab'ring with creation's throes:

Thrice o'er his head a pow'rful wand he whirl'd,

Then call'd to life a new Poetic world.

First thro' the yawning waves that roar'd around,

Uprising slow from out the gulph profound,

Amidst the fury of the beating storm

The giant YMIR heav'd his horrid form.

Now on the stormy cloud the rainbow glows,

Where gay Diversity her colouring throws.

Beyond the sun the Pow'r now cast his eyes,

And bade the splendid city ASGARD ise;

Obedient to the loud creative call

She rises, circled with a crystal wall,

Her sapphire mansions crown'd with opal tow'rs,

O'er which the Pow'r a flood of radiance show'rs.

Now a more daring task the Genius plann'd,

He seiz'd the rapid lightning in his hand,

And as around the broken rays he flung,

From the fall'n spires the gods of ASGARD sprung.

See the dread Ash exalt its lofty head,

And o'er a wide extent its umbrage shed:

There twelve of ASGARD's gods in close divan

Sit in strict judgment on the deeds of man:

Amidst the waving boughs enthron'd on high

An eagle sends around his watchful eye.

Three virgin forms, in snowy vests array'd,

Stand in the deep recesses of the shade,

The rich endowments of whose radiant mind

Are by the Pow'r to different acts consign'd.

He gives to thee, sage URDA, to restore

The splendid deeds of times that are no more,

And (faithful as the echo to the sound)

Repeat transactions that were once renown'd.

Clear to thy view, VERNANDI, are unfurl'd

The various scenes that fill the extensive world.

To thee, O SKULDA, the dread pow'r is giv'n,

To read the counsels in the breast of heav'n;

With daring forecast pierce th' abyss of time,

And (utt'ring first some strange mysterious rhyme)

Proclaim which babe, when rear'd to warlike form,

Shall o'er his country roll deftruction's storm;

And which, directed to a better fate,

Shall rise the pride and pillar of the state.

Next, at the awful Pow'r's commanding call,

Arose to view great ODIN'S festive hall!

Engrav'd with sun-beams on the crystal gate

Appear'd—

—Here they refude in splendid state,

Who, as they slept in death, reclin'd their head

On valour's bier, the battle's rugged bed,

Who to the bliss th' intrepid claim aspir'd,

Who welcom'd pain, and with a smile expir'd.

Now as the Genius waves his hallow'd hand

The Valkeries appear, a female band,

Prompt to the storm of lances to repair,

On viewless steeds to scour the fields of air,

Mark as they hover o'er the crowded plain

The chosen chiefs, the death-devoted train.

The Pow'r now form'd the coward's dwelling-place,

The seat of pain, and mansion of disgrace:

Deep under earth he fix'd the drear abode,

Thro' which the rueful stream of anguish flow'd;

Loud roar the surges thro' the gulph profound,

While cavern'd echoes murmur back the sound.

Close at the gate sat Death's terrific Maid,

Her meagre form in sable weeds array'd;

Awreath of living snakes entwine her head,

And thus with shrilling voice the spectre said:

'Haste to my caves, ye impotent of heart,

'Who meanly shrink from valour's daring part,

'Ye too, who ling'ring on with feeble breath,

'Crept thro' the languor of old age to death.'

See on the horrid battle's bleeding plain

The raven-brood rejoicing o'er the slain!

Yet then in vain they gorge the grateful food,

Death smites them at the dire repast of blood;

When lo! their pinions to the wond'ring view

Combining, into one vast texture grew;

The gory heads conjoin'd in one dread fold,

Around the frame a grisly margin roll'd:

Now self-upborne the sable banner flings

Bold to the wind its wide-expanding wings;

'Exalt', the Genius cries, 'thy plumes on high,

'Wave thy dark signal to the warrior's eye;

'Th'intrepid Youth beneath thy magic shade

'Thro' slaughter'd heaps to victory shall wade [*].'

Now from a rock on which the Genius stood,

He mark'd below a slowly-waving wood,

Then rais'd his awful voice—'Hail, hallow'd gloom,

'(Where Thought is rear'd, and Fancy decks her plume)

'Who hold'st within thy vast sequester'd bow'r

'A numerous train, that wait the rip'ning hour:

'Resign thy charge, yield to demanding time,

'The living fathers of the Runic rhyme.'

Swift at his word the ancient sire survey'd,

Tumultuous rushing from the solemn shade,

Arm'd with the pow'rful harp, an ardent throng,

The mighty founders of the northern song.

'Twas then the Pow'r resum'd—'Ye chosen band,

'At Nature's furnace take your faithful stand:

'There forge the verse amidst the fiercest glow,

'And thence the thunderbolts of Genius throw;

'Rouse, rouse the tyrant from his flatt'ring dream,

'Full at his vices wield the daring theme,

'Till o'er his cheek shall flash intruding shame,

'That blushing dawn of Virtue's rising flame.

'Now on the bosom of the list'ning Youth

'Impress, engrave the sacred form of Truth;

'Bid them, as varying life unfolds to view,

'Be still thro' all her scenes to honor true;

'True to the man on Friendship's list enroll'd,

'Th'entrusted secret of his sould untold.

'Woe to that Chief, and blasted be his fame,

'Whose mean soul chills Affection's holy flame;

'Forgetting that he once, with zeal impress'd,

'Drank the pure drops that flow'd from Friendship's breast.

'Now to the realm, ye hallow'd Bards, impart

'This truth, and touch with joy the human heart,

'In man's too transient perishable frame

'A glowing unabating fire proclaim,

'Which, as that frame lies mould'ring into clay,

'Shall thro' th' encircling ruin burst its way:

'Thus when a torrent of impetuous rain

'Drowns the low nest that trusted to the plain;

'High soars the bird beyond Destruction's flow,

'And owns no kindred with the wreck below.

'Then o'er some stately tomb's dim entrance bend,

'And from the daring harp unerring send

'(As from the sounding bow with vigour sped)

'The darts of harmony that wake the dead.

'—Be too of prophecy the dreadful lords,

'And strike the solemn, deep, mysterious chords;

'Skill'd to reveal futurity's dark laws,

'Inforce the song with many an awful pause.

'In sounds that terrify the soul disclose

'(Veil'd in the womb of time) destructive woes:

'Say whirlwinds shall provoke the roaring main;

'Say stars shall drop like glitt'ring gems of rain:

'Say Fenris, bursting from his time-worn chains,

'Shall bear wild horror thro' the Runic plains;

'Doom'd while the course of havoc he shall run,

'With jaws outstretch'd to rend the falling sun.

'Say the gigantic ship, the floating world,

'Shall, on the iron rock of ruin hurl'd,

'Sink—like a dream that, rushing from the mind,

'Leaves not a glimm'ring of its pomp behind

'Ye bold Enthusiasts, join the warlike train,

'When true to fame they seek the hostile plain;

'Bid the loud harp delight the valiant throng,

'And add the forceful eloquenc of song.

'Thinn'd of his numbers, mark the struggling Chief

'Encircled close, and sever'd from relief:

'Now strike the cheering harp—'tis heard no more,

'Lost in the conflict's wild encreasing roar.

'Yet strike again, yet strike the note profound,

'I to the Chief will waft th' inspiring sound;

'Till thro' the pressure of the battle's storm,

'He o'er the slain a rugged path shall form.

'Thus on the main when frozen fragments sail,

'And with huge mounds oppose the giant whale;

'The ocean's lord, enrag'd at the delay,

'Thro' stubborn crashing ice-rocks bursts his way.

'Now round some death-struck Chief in silence throng,

'While thus he breathes his own historic song:—

Tho' gash'd with wounds, unwounded is my fame,

In the war's field I chas'd the flying game;

Wrapt in the jealous veil of ling'ring night,

Did we not chide the time's reluctant flight?

Did not our voices hail the morning ray,

Shouting the matins of th' important day?

When foreign streamers glitter'd to our view,

How swift our weapons from the scabbards flew!

'Twas joy to see the riven helmets fly,

'Twas joy to swell confusion's thund'ring cry,

'Twas joy to see (extending all around)

The hostile banners spread the lowly ground;

Methought the Danish field, thus mantled o'er,

Heav'd conscious of the gorgeous robe it wore.

'Thus as the Chief shall mitigate his pain [*]

'With choral voice relieve the pausing strain:

'Now, now again your soothing tones suspend,

'And o'er the dying Chief attentive bend.

Rush'd we not forth, at valour's daring call,

To crush the forces of the Christian Gaul?

Rush'd we not forth in terrible attire,

To celebrate the mass of war a length'ning quire?

Our glitt'ring swords, impatient of the fight,

Were the dread relics that adorn'd the rite.

But agony returns—my fading breath

Denies expression to the song of death.

Farewell—ye battle-sisters hower nigh,

Receive your prize—and wast my soul on high!

'Now ere he sinks beneath the blow of fate,

'Reveal the honors of his future state;

'Where to his wond'ring vision shall expand,

'Adorn'd with heroes, a refulgent land.

'Ye glowing masters of the Scaldic song [*],

'Still other pow'rful gifts to you belong:

'The lofty pine that meets the mountain gale,

'Th' expanding oak that crowns the lowly vale,

'Shall as your fingers touch the furrow'd rind,

'Display the treasures of the musing mind:

'There by the voice of whisp'ring Nature call'd,

'In future times shall stand the youthsul SCALD,

'There shall he meditate the Runic store,

'There woo the science of the tuneful lore;

'There view the tree with speechless wonder fraught,

'Whose womb mysterious bears the Poet's thought;

'There (from the busy world's incessant din)

'Inhale thebreathings of the Pow'r within.

'Enough—the pow'r I now bestow enjoy,

'In Virtue's cause the forceful harp employ:

'Go forth, ye glorious conquerors of the mind,

'Atchieve the hallow'd task to you assign'd:

'Applaud the valiant, and the base controul,

'Disturb, exalt, enchant the human soul'

Thus to his Minstrels spoke the awful Pow'r—

The warm Enthusiasts own th' inspiring hour;

And now dividing into many a band,

Strew their wild poetry o'er all the land:

So while descending with resistless tide,

The snow-flood hurries down the mountain's side,

The sun, bright sailing 'midst his ardent beams,

Melts the rude havoc into various streams;

Which rushing thro' the naked vales below,

Rouse vegetation as they roughly flow;

Till a new scene o'erspreads the teeming earth,

And smiling Nature hails the summer's birth.

THE END OF THE FIRST PART.

Notes

*
Tho' the Raven-banner is not mentioned in the Edda, it is of great antiquity; it was supposed to be endued with some magical power, and to insure success.
↵

*
See the notes the Reverend Mr. JOHNSTONE has added to his translation of the Death-song of LODBROC.
↵

*
In the first rude ages rocks and trees supplied the materials for writing, and on them were inscribed the rudiments of that art: the trees thus marked were held in veneration, and were even believed to inclose some supernatural agent.
↵

PART THE SECOND.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The temple of UPSAL was destroyed by INGO, 1075—a Christian cathedral was erected on its ruins fourscore years after. At the introduction of Christianity, the interposition of angels and the appearance of ghosts grew familiar to the SCANDINAVIAN poetry, which was afterwards enriched by allegories, and by the accession of new images, which flowed to it through various channels, particularly from the East.—See RICHARDSON's Differtation.

When colleges were founded, and the general attention was directed to classical learning, the wild conceptions of the Scaldic minstrels gradually fell into disuse.—This short Analysis contains the subject of the following pages.

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE NORTHERN POETRY.

PART II.

THE gaudy dome to Pagan worship known,

By INGO's zealous hand at length o'erthrown;

O'er the long-reaching ruins still rever'd,

The Gothic pile its form majestic rear'd.

The fretted columns of ambitious height,

And bulk enormous, fix th' astonish'd sight;

And as they boldly rise on either hand,

Like kindred giants in dread phalanx stand:

While thro' the isles that stretch a length'ning way,

The umber'd windows shed terrific day.

Amidst the wonders of the new abode,

The bursting organ seem'd itself a god!

Diffusing its magnificence of sound,

And sending to the soul its note profound.

Th' admiring numbers next the altar view'd,

Crown'd with the image of the holy Rood,

Displaying the sublime awards of Heav'n,

A bleeding Deity—a world forgiv'n.—

The awe-struck Bards stood bound as with a spell,

While from their grasp the chill'd harp lifeless fell:

The lowly valley, and the hill sublime,

Echoed no more the battle-breathing rhyme.

Thus an eclipse by terror's hand imbrown'd,

Wrapt in concealment the poetic ground;

But time at length the hov'ring veil withdrew,

When all the gorgeous scenery burst to view.

The Genius joy'd to see his ancient store

Enrich'd with many a form unknown before.

The clouds recede, while op'ning skies display

Th' angelic hierarchy in proud array:

Rank rising above rank in order due,

The splendid consistory meets his view.

Now spirits of another form appear,

And from the yawning gravestheir shadows rear!

Here glides a ghastly shade, intent to shed

A scene of terror round the murd'rer's bed:

There, 'midst the solemn silence of the night,

Beneath the half-veil'd moon's reluctant light,

The shade of buried DENMARK stalks along,

Fraught with his woes, indignant of his wrong.

See, from yon infant's tomb, ascend to sight

A little form attir'd in purest white:

She meets the mother bending o'er the tomb,

And wailing her lov'd girl's untimely doom.

'Hail to thy grief!' the gentle vision cries,

'Hail to those tears that trickle from thine eyes:

'Too feeling parent, mitigate thy pain,

'Nor waste thy life beneath this gloomy fane:

'Ah know, thy child with angels soars on high,

'In the bright mansions of the upper sky,

'And deck'd with wings that glitter to the ray,

'Plays on the sun-beams of eternal day:

'Pass a few years, to Heav'n's dread will resign'd,

'And thou shalt leave all sorrow far behind;

'The bliss I now enjoy thou shalt obtain,

'And e'en MARIA shall be thine again.'

At length, o'erspreading the poetic land,

Advanc'd the various allegoric band:

First on a flow'r-clad hill sublimely high,

Whose brow aspiring rush'd into the sky,

Hope with a cheering aspect took her stand,

A radiant pencil glitt'ring in her hand,

With this she colours the dark clouds that low'r,

And threaten man with rude misfortune's show'r.

Then Celibacy came, in cloisters bred,

A sluggish, shard-born form, with dust o'erspread:

Dead to the bliss that social life bestows,

Dead to the bliss that from affection flows,

Dead to the blandishments of female pow'r,

He schools the priesthood in his iron bow'r.

Then Grace—the HEBE of the Christian sky,

With smiling lip and comfort▪beaming eye!

Th' angelic numbers from their thrones above

Stoop'd to behold this object of their love:

Thus the full host of stars in cloudless night

Gaze on the earth from their ethereal height.

His meagre form now Disappointment rears,

His cheek deep-channel'd with incessant tears,

Trailing, as still he treads the thorny plain,

Of blasted hopes the long immeasurable chain.

Now Conscience enter'd on the trembling scene,

And to the bad disclos'd her with'ring mien:

But chiefly when the death-watch strikes the ear,

This dread recorder of the past draws near:

Ere sick'ning GERTRUDE fell to death a prey [*],

(Tradition still repeats the moral lay)

To goad the bosom of that impious dame,

To the pale suff'rer's couch prompt Conscience came,

Like a dire necromancer skill'd to raise

Th' accusing ghosts of her departed days!

Her lab'ring heart sent forth distraction's sigh,

As on the Priest she cast th' imploring eye:

Then to the Cross (while tears her bosom lave)

The kiss of terror, not of love, she gave:

Now, yielding to th' access of wild despair,

She shrieks, and rends with savage grasp her hair:

Now to reflection's gentler pow'r consign'd,

Long plaintive tones denote her troubled mind:

At length, sad spectacle of wrath divine!

The high-born wretch expires without a sign [*].

On the dire battle's late-ensanguin'd plain,

Morality stood musing o'er the slain!

Yet then the mourner rais'd her drooping head,

And thus with sacred energy she said:

'Here—where the fatal scenes of slaughter end,

'Where hostile nations in dread union blend,

'Where sleep the great, the daring, and the proud,

'Amidst this silent solitary crowd,

'Bid the young monarch quench ambition's flame,

'And 'gainst his passions daring war proclaim.'

Thus came th' instructive allegoric train,

To swell the triumph of the Scaldic reign:

The Genius now beheld a ghastly crowd,

Borne thro' the mid air on the evening cloud:

The sable pageantry (when near) display'd

Th' unhallow'd form of many a horrid shade.

Envelop'd in a robe of darkest hue,

The half-existing phantom burst to view;

From out the robe a death's-head seem'd to rise,

Thro' which tremendous glar'd two fulgent eyes.

[*] He too of dreadful fame, th' alarming spright,

The unnam'd lonely wand'rer of the night,

Whose shriek, profaning the repose around,

Foreboded death to him who heard the sound.

With wings outstretch'd the Gryphon next was seen,

Half-eagle, lion-half, a form obscene:

To these th' innumerable host adjoin'd

Of shapes uncouth, the tyrants of the mind,

Matchless in force, and splenetic of mood,

The family of death, and terror's brood.

The moon now launching on th' expanse of night,

Exulting sail'd amidst a flood of light;

Along whose beams (diminutive of size)

A ship aerial glided thro' the skies:

Which as it rode resplendent from afar,

Assum'd th' appearance of a shooting star!

The playful Gossimer supplied the sail,

Swell'd by the pressure of the panting gale:

The deck was peopled by a sprightly band,

The little progeny from fairy land!

The scene now chang'd—the mountain heav'd a groan,

The bending forest breath'd a sullen moan:

When lo three Lapland hags, self-pois'd on high,

Of hideous aspect, struck the wond'ring eye!

Their implements of art aloft they bear,

And (like the low'ring cloud that loads the air)

They spread the texture of the fatal loom,

While grim night blackens to a deeper gloom.

These forms were welcom'd, as they pass'd along,

By savage howlings of the wolf-dog throng.

Disastrous ravens to this groupe repair,

And bats, the fiends that haunt the darken'd air;

And owls the groupe pursue with heavy flight,

Prophets of woe, and harpies of the night;

And they who 'midst the storm exulting soar,

And they whose talons reek with infants' gore.

See from their height the haggard shapes descend,

And to the ocean's shore their footsteps bend;

Where cavern'd deep in conclave dim they dwell,

There utter the dread curse, there breathe the spell!

Hostile to man, their machinations frame,

And act the unhallow'd deed without a name.

Thus have we sketch'd, with faint imperfect hand,

The forms that peopled the poetic land,

Aerial forms (by glowing fiction dress'd)

Who rais'd to joy, or aw'd the human breast.

At length, these visions fading on the sight,

[*] A new creation rose at once to light;

As from a gulph the new creation sprung,

On which the classic beams their splendor flung;

While on the land which late we wander'd o'er,

Where wild invention watch'd her growing store,

Where (thro' rich vales) with swelling surges bold,

The flood of poetry resistless roll'd!

O'er which the glist'ning rays of fancy play'd,

And near whose banks the human passions stray'd,

On this rude scene of wonder and delight,

In evil moment rush'd eternal night.

Notes

*
Queen of DENMARK, and mother to HAMLET.
↵

*
See HENRY the VIth. the death of CARDINAL BEAUFORD.
↵

*
The whiftler shrill, that whoso hears doth dy.

SPENSER, Canto 12. B. 2d.

The time has been my senses would have cool'd to hear a night-sbriek.

MACBETH, Act v. Scene 5.

↵

*
The university of Copenhagen was founded by CHRISTIEN, who died 1481.—MALLET's History of Denmark, vol. vi. p. 443.
↵

ABELARD TO ELOISA: A POEM.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE Monastery of CLUNI, from whence ABELARD is supposed to write the following Epistle, was founded in the year 611, near the village of Mascon, on the river Graone. The Head of this convent (in the time of ABELARD) was distinguished for his learning and humanity. History elevates him above the vulgar herd of monks, by the appellation of the Venerable PETER! He extended his generous protection to the unfortunate ABELARD, when he was under the censure of the court of Rome.

SAINT BERNARD also is connected with the story of Paraclete. This great man stands eminently forward in the picture of the twelfth century: Born with a mind too restless and enterprising to be confined within the circle of monastic occupations, he rushed into the tumult of active life, and took the lead in some of the most important transactions of that period. With an undisciplined ardour peculiar to his character, he precipitated his country into that ruinous measure, the second crusade. Behold him at another time hastening to the contest that held all EUROPE in suspence, which exhibited two contending candidates for the popedom. The authority and vehemence of BERNARD overpowered the pretensions of ANACLETUS, and INNOCENT was seated on the papal throne. The enemies of this celebrated Abbot never impeached his moral character; but it must be allowal that in his zeal against the innovation of new opinions, he has sometimes left unregarded the superior duty of charity. A letter of his to the Cardinal GUIDO, the pope's legate in France, contains the most intolerant and sanguinary counsel.

ABELARD in the following Epistle lays a considerable stress upon his sentence of excommunication: In the dark ages, that spiritual humiliation was felt as the greatest calamity; the relation, the parent, the lover, the friend, suspended their endearing offices, and withdrew from the degraded offender.

THE following Poem has been distinguished by a beautiful sonnet, inserted in a volume of Poems that does honour to modera poetry, by Mr. Taylor, a gentleman whose commendation is a passport to Fame, except where it is directed (as in the present intlance) by the amiable bias of friendship.

ABELARD to ELOISA.

YON midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!

Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:

Now in long order flows the sable throng,

Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:

Why joins not ABELARD the sainted train?

Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?

These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest

That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:

This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam

Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:

While the dread secret from my soul I tear,

And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.

Ah me! the passionthat my soul misled

Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:

Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,

It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,

And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd

It riots on the undiminish'd feast.

Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain

In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?

That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)

I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?

Methought the course of three long years' retreat

Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:

Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,

Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:

Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,

The youth of Macedon in silence bled,

Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand

Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand. [*].

But now thy flow inauguration's o'er,

And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,

Now that stern habit throws without controul

Her chain of adamant around thy soul,

May not th' unhappy ABELARD disclose

(To her who pities most) his train of woes?

Ye sullen gates, within whose bound confin'd,

The wretch who enters fiings his joys behind!

Emerging from the dome, ye crowding spires,

Which sun-robed glitter like ascending fires!

That funeral spot with many a cypress spread,

Where shriek the spirits of the guilty dead!

Yon moping forest, whose extensive sway

Admits no lucid interval of day,

No cheering vista with a trail of light

Flies thro' the heavy gloom of lasting night!

Ye hermitages, deep immers'd in wood,

Wash'd by the passing tributary flood,

Whose easy waves, soft-murm'ring as they roll,

Lull the strong goadings of the feeling soul!

Ye tow'ring rocks, to wonder's eye address'd,

Mishapen piles by Terror's hand impress'd!—

Ah, not these scenes magnificently rude

To Virtue's lore have ABELARD subdued.

When late my steps drew near the peopled choir,

What erring wishes did my heart inspire?

To the deep mysteries as I advanced,

Still in thy presence was my soul entranced:

While, bending to the earth, the choral throng

Pause, ere they usher the emphatic song;

While kneeling seraphs, trembling as they glow,

Veil with their radiant wings their bashful brow;

While the deep organ (as by fear controul'd)

Its solemn sound like distant thunder roll'd;

While thick'ning odours dimm'd the dread abode,

And th'altar shudder'd at th' approaching God!—

'Midst these august, terrific rites unmov'd,

My guilty thoughts to other altars rov'd:

In Love enchas'd, a dearer image blest

Where burns a hungry and insatiate flame

To that soft deity I blush to name.

Those hours to recollection spring renew'd,

When Passion urg'd us, and when Pleasure woo'd;

When, captur'd by Desire's voluptuous hold,

Involv'd—combin'd—embodied—and insoul'd—

Forbear....Let dim Oblivion cast behind,

Words that would soil thy purity of mind:

Recal, recal that interesting hour,

When in the flush of Youth, and Beauty's flow'r,

(Ah! doom'd, severely doom'd, to meet no more)

When from each dearer self our forms we tore,

How, to Affection's finer touch consign'd

My face upon thy summer cheek inclin'd

Felt as it dropt thy tear's celestial dew,

While sighs, not words, breath'd forth our last adieu.

Intruding Fancy rais'd the veil between,

And shew'd Futurity's unwelcome scene,

Nights of long absence that expect no dawn,

Divorcing gulphs that must for ever yawn.

In thy pure soul a purer self I trac'd,

Our glowing minds with energy embrac'd,

Whence th' intellectual progeny arose

Which kindred fears and kindred hopes compose,

Endearments tending to one mutual aim,

The same our sorrow, and our joy the same.

Now that thy spirit is divinely wrought,

To nobler objects flies thy soaring thought;

For free and unrestrain'd of human ties,

Thy soul uncaptiv'd springs into the skies!

To Contemplation's height sublime you sail,

While wings seraphic aid the hallow'd gale;

From man to GOD! Perfection's dazzling source,

Unwearied you pursue your bright'ning course,

And as thro' station'd angels you advance,

Send on the throne of Heav'n a daring glance.

For me, unequal to this dizzy height,

Undisciplin'd, unwing'd for mystic flight,

To speed the ling'ring step of cloyster hours,

To science I confign'd my mental pow'rs:

Fame met me in her path, and round my brow

Engarlanded the flow'rs of brightest glow.

Then swell'd, disturb'd with Envy's with'ring pow'r,

The serpent BERNARD hiss'd within my bow'r,

Pour'd the black venom with insidious aim,

Chill'd my soul's health, and dimm'd my radiant name:

Still, still inventing some malignant plan;

Impetuous, turbulent, vindictive man!

Behind the simple, meek, monastic vest,

Ambition blazes in his troubled breast.

Averse amid the pensive shades to dwell,

He shuns the stillness of the lonely cell,

Embroils the contests that involve thegreat,

Deepens the storm that darkens o'er the state,

And like the bird of Jove, by vengeance driv'n,

Bears in his grasp th' artillery of Heav'n!

See ANACLE'TUS, trembling at his frown,

To INNOCENT resign the doubtful crown:

Mark, at the impulse of his bold command,

The throng that hastens to the palmy land:

See to his gaudy levee crouds resort;

See the gay tinsel'd foplings of the court:

There too the hoary sages of the law,

And military chiefs approach with awe;

There abbots, princes, cardinals, advance,

And all the splendor, all the pride of France.

As not unworthy of his sainted rage,

Now meaner objects tread his busy stage;

He bids thy ABELARD ascend the scene,

And pours the torrent of his holy spleen:

Then Persecution, with resistless sway,

Thro' her long-sounding flood-gates burst away;

Her armory the Vatican display'd,

In all its proud magnificence array'd;

From whence abrupt th' avenging Pontiff sprung,

And at my peace the bolt of terror flung:

While o'er her victim (to dishonour led)

Her cloud of iron extirpation spread.

Now the pale outcast both of Heav'n and earth,

I curs'd the day that glimmer'd on my birth:

Degraded—shunn'd—to infamy allied,

Amidst the ruins of my soul I cried,

No more my image to her thought adjoin'd

Shall share the heav'n of ELOISA'S mind:

No more (I cried) my reprobated name

Shall from her lips its daily honour claim,

No longer to the throne of GOD repair,

Borne on the wings of her triumphant pray'r.

Now frenzy urg'd my wild'ring steps to rove

Beneath te night of yon extensive grove:

Now urg'd along the mountain's top to range

(Despair still haunting me thro' ev'ry change)

To tread th' advent'rous path that winds the brow

Which scowls tremendous o'er the vale below:

Then to the summit of yon rock I toil'd,

That shoots its crags fantastically wild!

There rush'd upon my view the hallow'd cross,

Cloath'd in the garb of venerable moss!

This wonted pledge of mercy and delight

Struck on my fading hope a dark'ning blight;

No more the saving all-atoning rood

The grisly symbol of revengeit stood!

Loft in the extacy of strong despair,

With madd'ning hand I tore my rooted hair.—

'Twas then the seer of warm compassion came

To lull my tortures and dispel my shame:

"Desist," the Priest of Charity began,

"And own once more the dignity of man!

"No longer Rome and ABELARD are foes,

"The thunders of the Vatican repose;

"The holy church, by my remonstrance won,

"Grasps to her bosom her still darling son."

Hail to the tidings of that cheering voice

That bids the humbled ABELARD rejoice!

That bids his image, to her thought rejoin'd,

Still share the heav'n of ELOISA'S mind.

No more thy person (that attractive sight)

Diffusing round ineffable delight,

Nor thy discourse, illum'd with Wisdom's ray,

Which with soft rapine steals the soul away:

That eye, where meek Dominion holds her throne;

That voice, where Music smooths her softest tone;

By liberal Nature prodigally giv'n,

(What words can't paint) that smile of opening Heav'n:

These various charms, that pass all human praise,

These charms that once adorn'd my happier days,

No more shall I behold—'tis folly to complain,

Those days of splendor ne'er must rise again.

Adieu, thou mistress of enchanting pow'r!

Thou blissful vision of a transient hour!

For such appears (to Fancy still how dear!)

The sloping race of Rapture's swift career,

When Heav'n enforcing its benign decree,

With lavish bounty gave thy form to me.

Hope now is dead, and Pleasure's knell is rung;

With sable thoughts my dreary mind is hung.

'Twas at the hour when from the sorrowing view

The glowing God of day his beams withdrew,

When Vesper all her pageantry display'd,

Fretting the sky with many an awful shade:

Here trees appear'd that struggled with the storm,

There a wan cloud assum'd a spectre's form:

A solitary hand here grasp'd a spear,

There angry meteors combated in air:

Now riding on the wind with threat'ning mien,

The dark, terrific phantom Death was seen:

From a thick vapour's dread unfolding womb

Now bodied forth the likeness of a tomb:

Thy form, Oh ELOISE! I clearly traced,

Thine airy arms the sepulchre embraced:

That mimic tomb my early fate foreshews,

While my soul labours with prophetic throes:

Now closes fast my short disastrous day,

To life's dark boundary I haste away.

The virtuous CLUNI still relieves my pains,

To thee will he convey my cold remains:

This kind assurance mitigates my doom,

Thou'lt stand the guardian angel at my tomb:

Clos'd be this form in ELOISA's fane,

She'll sigh my requiem with a Lover's strain:

Oft to my grave with sorrowful delight

Will she repair, as glooms the thick'ning night:

Burst from thy cloud, Oh Cynthia! burst away,

The holy shado of her frame display!

Let the soft texture of her length'ning shade

Repose along the spot where mine is laid!

Were thus her presence to my wishes giv'n,

Death would rejoice, my grave would then be Heav'n!

Forgive this last effusion of a heart

Which Love and Nature form'd, unstain'd by Art;

Which midst the fears that wait on Death's decree,

With all its wonted ardor darts to thee.

Prepare, prepare for that relentless day

When the dark hearse this form shall bear away!

When, to the fane of Paraclete convey'd,

My humble bier shall at thy feet be lald:

Prepare, prepare—throw back the vestal gate,

Receive the victim of untimely fate:

Receive the man misfortune held to view,

Still mid his woes invariably true:

The warm enthusiast (now from passion free)

Whose life was one continued hymn to thee.

Prepare, prepare—yet check the bursting moan,

Thou to compassion exquisitely prone!

Lest glowing sympathy, with Death at strife,

Should kindle my cold ashes into life,

And my rous'd voice, invading Nature's laws,

Breathe in loud accents terrible applause.

Notes

*
Alluding to the boy at Athens, who, while he was affisting at a religious ceremony, endured a burning coal that fell on his hand, rather than disturb the facrifice.
↵

THE AFRICAN BOY.

AH, tell me, little mournful MOOR,

Why still you linger on the shore?

Haste to your play-mates, haste away,

Nor loiter here with fond delay:

When Morn unveil'd her radiant eye,

You hail'd me as I wander'd by;

Returning at th'approach of Eve,

Your meek salute I still receive.

"Benign Enquirer, thou shalt know

Why here my lonesome moments flow:

'Tis said thy Countrymen (no more

Like rav'ning sharks that haunt the shore)

Return to bless, to raise, to cheer,

And pay Compassion's long arrear.

"Tis said the num'rous Captive Train,

Late bound by the degrading Chain,

Triumphant come, with swelling sails,

'Mid smiling skies, and western gales;

They come with festive heart and glee,

Their hands unshackled—minds as free;

They come, at Mercy's great command,

To re-possess their native land.

"The gales that o'er the Ocean stray,

And chase the waves in gentle play,

Methinks they whisper as they fly,

JUELLEN soon will meet thine eye!

'Tis this that sooths her little Son,

Blends all his wishes into one:

Ah! were I clasp'd in her embrace,

I wou'd forgive her past disgrace:

Forgive the memorable hour

She fell a prey to tyrant pow'r;

Forgive her lost, distracted air,

Her sorrowing voice, her kneeling pray'r;

The suppliant tears that gall'd her cheek,

And last, her agonizing shriek.

Lock'd in her hair, a ruthless hand

Trail'd her along the flinty strand;

A ruffian train, with clamours rude,

The impious spectacle pursu'd:

Still as she mov'd, in accents wild,

She cried aloud, My child! my child!

The lofty bark she now ascends;

With screams of woe, the air she rends:

The vessel less'ning from the shore,

Her piteous wails I heard no more;

Now as I stretch'd my last survey,

Her distant form dissolv'd away.

"That day is past: I cease to mourn—

Succeeding joy shall have its turn;

Beside the hoarse-resounding deep

A pleasing anxious watch I keep:

For when the morning clouds shall break,

And darts of day the darkness streak,

Perchance along the glitt'ring main,

(Oh, may this hope not throb in vain!)

To meet these long desiring eyes,

JUELLEN and the Sun may rise."

ENTHUSIASM: A POEM, IN TWO PARTS.

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION.

In endeavouring to display the good and bad effects occasioned by Enthusiasm, I might have drawn many signal instances from that inexhaustible mine, the Greek and Roman story; but it appeared to me more eligible to work upon materials hewn from the modern quarry only: the subject, thus treated, I conceived would come more home to the feelings of the reader. With regard to the execution, that rests entirely on the judgment of the Public, into whose presence I now enter, impressed with a mingled sensation of hope and apprehension.

ENTHUSIASM.

PART I.

BEYOND th' exalted sun's meridian site,

Beyond the glimm'ring stars ethereal height,

A brighter realm immortal spring displays,

Mid the soft breathing of unclouded days:

Where sacred minds to virtue high allied,

Aerial beings, orient forms abide,

Seraphic people! ministers of grace,

Prompt to defend and cheer the human race:

The mighty mother Earth, who bears mankind,

Is to their care and guardian pow'r consign'd.

When clashing waves swell high, and angry Fate

Tosses the lab'ring vessel of the state,

The chosen Angel of th' appointed realm

Hastes from his throne, and grasps the trembling helm:

To some the honor'd privilege is giv'n

To wast the clay-divested soul to heav'n,

Weed from the feeling heart the rising sigh,

And sweep with viewless hand the clouded eye:

Each in his turn descending from above,

Performs the generous ministry of love.

Behold, superior to the sun-rob'd quire,

A female Form to regal pow'r aspire!

High on a throne, in brighter beams array'd,

Reigns in full pomp th' Enthusiastic Maid!

Daughter of Energy, who boldly leads

The hallow'd few to great and splendid deeds:

Who urges man the steep ascent to climb,

And lifts the soul to virtue's height sublime.

Thus when of late to fam'd Iberia's coast [*]

Sail'd o'er the wond'ring main th' unnumber'd host,

Swift from her seat th' impatient Goddess sprung,

An o'er the spot with anxious bosom hung,

Till shedding on her sons, to fame consign'd,

Some emanation of her dauntless mind,

She saw the valiant long-enduring band

(Whose fall confederated nations plann'd)

Atchieve that deed which time shall still revere,

That British miracle to glory dear!

Long had th' Enthusiast held her rank supreme,

Belov'd, ador'd, of every voice the theme;

At length the blast of satire dimm'd the rays,

Whose soft effulgence play'd around her praise:

The throne encircling frequent murmurs flew,

And busy charges trimm'd in motley hue:

Yet then, confiding in her god-like plan,

Which warms, invigorates, and hallows man,

She dares her foes, she dares the hostile train

To shake the pillars of her stedfast reign:

Urg'd by her innate energy to meet

The gath'ring war, she quits her lofty seat,

At Reason's bar presents her holy form,

Provokes the thund'rers, and de Lands the storm.

A living crescent the bright pow'rs display,

Rank above rank in terrible array:

While trembling silence breathes upon the train,

And expectation throbs in ev'ry vein;

Amid this scene th'accusing Angel rose,

On his stern brow bold indignation glows;

Some troubling vision, with disaster fraught,

Employs, detains, alarms his wond'ring thought:

—"What rising structure rushes on my sight,

Of bulk enormous, of aspiring height?[*]

Th' Enthusiast, hast'ning thro' the regal porch,

Waves in the eye of day a raging torch:

See (impious spectacle!) she fires the pile,

And hails the sparkles with a greedy smile:

Wide and more wide th' imparted flame extends,

And now in dreadful victory ascends.

Not sumptuous palaces, not awful fanes,

Nor of old time the proud, august remains,

Not airy villas, nor majestic tow'rs,

High massive bulwarks, nor gay pleasure's bow'rs,

But to th' unhallow'd blaze I see consign'd

The splendid temple of the Poet's mind.

Ah! lov'd TYRTAEUS [*], tow'ring son of fame,

Thy pages shrivel at th' insatiate flame:

The glorious workings of thy pregnant heart,

The sallies from the inmost breast that start,

Eloquent threats that lawless pow'r controul,

Thy bursts of rage, and vehemence of soul.

Unrivall'd leader of th' ecstatic train,

Farewell (for ever lost) thy forceful strain;

Farewell (for ever lost) the Spartan song,

Which rouz'd to conquest the dejected throng:

Did not despondence, like a gath'ring show'r,

Hang o'er thy countrymen in evil hour?

Say, did she not her fenny pinions spread,

And on each bosom chilling fear-drops shed?

Thou like the sun a cheerful radiance threw,

And from the soil the noxious vapour drew,

Till the fall'n soul, uprising from her death,

Inhales once more th' invigorating breath.

Thy voice—'Tis Honor's call on Virtue's train:

Thy voice—Yes, Sparta hears th' inspiring strain;

To that vindictive with bold step she speeds,

And reaps the harvest of immortal deeds!

Unrivall'd leader of th' ecstatic quire,

Peace to the manes of thy martial lyre,

If peace can be while with licentious pow'r

The hungry fires thy last remains devour:

Methinks thy lucid, unsubstantial frame

Now hovers o'er the wide destructive flame;

I see thee toss thine airy arms on high,

I hear at times thy shrill, despairing cry:

So the fond mother-bird, alarm'd, distrest,

Indignant flutters round her peopled nest,

While (piteous sight!) a ruthless hand invades,

And bears away the music of the shades.

See to the dome (thro' many an age rever'd)

Which for her sons the hand of Science rear'd,

The fiery deluge rolls with threat'niug roar,

And sweeps away the long-collected store:

Alluring apologues address'd to youth,

Pure maxims moulded in the breast of truth,

Warm from the holy lips of sages breath'd,

Rich moral legacies toman bequeath'd!

Celestial thoughts, which (like the fav'ring gales

Whose gentle pressure swells the gladsome sails)

Waft the dejected mind, with toil o'erspent,

To the gay-winding harbor of content.

Now History with a heart-felt sigh surveys

Her themes, her annals, midst the sounding blaze:

Fame smiles no more, but with an alter'd mien

Stands trembling at destruction's growing scence:

At length, descending like a low-hung cloud.

Oblivion o'er the waste expands her shroud,

Beneath whose dark'ning canopy is cast

The fond remembrance of transactions past;

Of youthful warriors, who, by glory led,

Bold in the clam'rous van of danger bled,

Who, midst the storms of state and home-born wars,

Glem'd thro' the thick'ning shade like morning stars,

Till flung untimely from their radiant height,

Down, down they hurried to eternal night:

Of patriots, who, to honor close allied,

In times disastrous stood their country's pride!

How these sublime state-columns, tempest-proof,

Upheld, midst bursting clouds, the sacred roof,

Firm to their cause, and obstinately great,

No voice of mortal ever shall relate:

Nor shall the voice of mortal e'er display,

Or annals usher to the eye of day,

The various orders of the female train

Diffus'd like flow'rets o'er the smiling plain,

Who, like those flow'rets in their beauty's glow,

Were swept untimely by the scythe of woe.

Here then, to keen reflection's crowded eye,

As in a deep sepulchral mansion lie,

In iron slumber wrapt, and dread repose,

A train of human virtues, human woes:

This moral loss the world must now sustain,

Swells o'er the boundary of domestic pain,

Calls down the gushes of the bleeding mind,

And claims th' expansive sorrow of mankind."

He ceas'd.—A Seraph, to his cause allied,

And firm to bartle on th' accusing side,

Resum'd the theme! his arm exalted high,

A wild fire flashing from his pregnant eye—

"What numerous fugitives arrest my view [*]

Their cheek discolour'd with dejection's hue?

What ruthless pow'r the wanton act decreed?

What led the monarch to this desp'rate deed?

Behold—th' Enthusiast at the regal chair

Breathes her inflaming whispers on his ear:

Now, now she urges his reluctant hand

To ratify the terrible command:

O hapless, lost, exterminated race,

What can atone this unprovok'd disgrace?

Ye venerable men with silver hair,

Gall'd by the heavy yoke of thoruful care,

With dauntless soul, enshrin'd in feeble forms,

Ye meet the thunders of the rushing storms,

Prompt a bold war for virtue's sake to wage

Against the comforts of reposing age:

Friends, honors, kindred, country ye disclaim,

The smiles of patronage, the wreaths of fame,

Firm to endure the persecuting rod,

And in th' abyss of grief to seek your God.

Ye too, ye Fair, on virtue's list enroll'd,

Whom Nature fashion'd in her softer mould,

In pale adversity's rude science vers'd,

Your feeling soul with sorrow's dart transpierc'd,

I see you slowly move, a length'ning train,

Far from the bounds of your domestic plain:

Imagination renovates the hour

Ye fell the victims of relentless pow'r,

How still ye linger'd on your native strand,

Enclos'd by Friendship's small but ardent band;

How as ye wept, caressing and caress'd,

Your babes were ravish'd from your throbbing breast.

But now, intruding on my wond'ring sight,

My strong abhorrence other scenes excite.

Beneath the roof, where Death's chill banners spread,

An agonizing Fair reclines her head:

Around the mournful couch of languor stand

(In hallow'd vestment) a monastic band!

Yet not to act affection's sacred part,

With lenient hand to draw the rankling dart,

Thro' hope's gay perspective command to rise

A soothing prospect of the opening skies;

Ah! not for heav'nly charity's best end

The gloomy fathers o'er the suff'rer bend,

But from th' alarm'd reluctant mind to wrest

The coy assentment to the hateful Test [*]

At this the mourner lifts her drooping head—

'While here I languish on affliction's bed,

Say, is it thus ye minister relief,

And whisper comfort to the soul of grief?

When harass'd nature, with herself at strife,

The last gleam fading on the lamp of life,

When to the storm succeeds the welcome calm,

When angel hands reach out the victor's palm,

Must I that bliss, that heav'nly prize forego,

And whelm my spirit in immortal woe?

Yet then my infants, by pale Famine led,

Must ask from Pity's hand the scanty bread;

Methinks I see them now expos'd to scorn,

Their little bosoms pierc'd with sorrow's thorn:

Oh, what an image to a mother's sight!

The view transports me into madd'ning fright;

I yield, I yield, unfold the fatal creed,

And Mercy from his thought efface the deed!'

At these dread words, that clos'd th' eventful scene,

Religion blush'd, and veil'd her awful mien:

Yet on the crime, from tyrant edicts born,

By nature from the dying mother torn,

Wrung from the bosom, by distraction riv'n,

Forgiveness dropt the holy tear of Heav'n.

Now to my view, by terrors undismay'd,

The glory of the priesthood stands display'd!

The virtuous Pastor [*] of the suff'ring race,

Proud of his wrongs, and patient of disgrace:

Him the unhappy fugitives enclose,

While thus he speaks—'Ye partners of my woes,

Oh strenuous found in persecution's day,

Ye faithful, dear companions of my way,

I now behold you as the snow-wing'd dove,

Expell'd the ancient mansions of her love,

Whose plumes, while clouds o'ercanopy her flight,

Assume the splendor of a purer white.

Does not dim obloquy attaint our birth?

Are not our temples levell'd with the earth?

Are not our kindred, friends, in fetters bound,

Plung'd in the terrors of the cavern'd ground?

And we, meek victims, as we pass'd along,

Endur'd we not the loud upbraiding throng,

While the loose soldiery added to these woes

With jeering insults and degrading blows?

It seem'd as nature mark'd us for disgrace,

The outcast offals of the human race.

Oh thou [*], by all these horrors unappal'd,

Whom with delight I Royal Master call'd,

Thou, to remembrance now no longer dear,

Whom as the scourge of Heav'n I still revere,

Farewell!—Thou too, by partial Fortune blest,

All Nature's off'rings breathing at thy breast,

Thrice happy FRANCE, farewell!—these eyes no more

Shall view thy charms, that spread from shore to shore:

Thy harvests waving with a stately pride,

Thy vintage blushing on the mountain's side;

Original and self-exuberant foil,

Refusing nothing to the hand of toil;

And where the Arts, a bright harmonious band,

Refine, exalt, and decorate the land;

Where Mirth, the native of thy social bow'rs,

Sheds on each lip his fascinating pow'rs;

With thee may bliss still undiminish'd dwell,

Hail, Oh my country, and a last farewell!'

The Pastor ceas'd.—The sorrow burst its bound,

With fervent lips some kiss'd their parent-ground;

Some, with the same tormenting thought imprest,

Tore the wild grass and flow'rets from her breast,

To bear a relic of their natal plain

To scenes unknown, and realms beyond the main.

So firm, so pow'rful on the heart of man

(Above inconstancy's relenting plan)

Is fix'd, enthron'd by Nature's hallow'd hand,

The glowing passion of his native land.

These are the evils (woe succeeding woe)

Which from th' Enthusiast in long order flow:

Yet not for these does terror daunt her soul,

Mark that proud eye impatient of controul,

See riding on that brow imperial will,

And Tyranny, the minister of ill.

Let then resentment fierce, terrific, loud,

Burst like the thunder from the rifted cloud:

The course of her devasting steps I've run;

My journey's o'er, the mournful tale is done."

END OF THE FIRST PART.

ENTHUSIASM.
PART II.

Now rose a Seraph, by affection led,

A wreathing glory hovers o'er his head,

His flowing accents spotless candour own'd,

And on his brow sat Energy enthron'd:

He speaks—"The vulture hast'ning to his prey,

With sounding pinions wins his distant way,

Regardless of the charms that Nature's hand

In gay profusion scatters o'er the land,

And, summon'd by the pestilential gale,

Speeds to the carcase fest'ring in the vale:

So these accusers in their rav'ning mood

Appear to emulate the gory brood,

Unmindful of the virtues that surround

The spot on which their censures most abound.

Now deeds long past like exhalations roll,

Now nearer move, now open on the soul:

I see the pale-ey'd citizens convene,

In Hist'ry's drama, high-recorded scene [*]!

The dread resolve from EDWARD'S bosom sprung,

Wild consternation o'er their counsels flung:

With chilling, blood-recoiling thoughts imprest,

Entrancing terror deadens ev'ry breast.

At length from out the silent depth emerg'd

An ardent Chief, by glory's impulse urg'd:

Th' Enthusiast wraps him in her wak'ning fires,

And thus he utters what her soul inspires:

'Ye firm associates in the highest cause,

On whom posterity will show'r applause,

Who, while calamity severely reign'd,

Well the long labours of the siege sustain'd!

Deign to accept what my affections give,

And bid your kindred, friends, and children live:

This, this will cheer me in the trying hour,

When I shall bend at the stern tyrant's pow'r,

And the doom'd victim (as his rage decreed)

On the pure altar of my country bleed:

Ah! should my strong forebodings tell me true,

Pass one swift moment, these glad eyes shall view

The destin'd number of the victims rise,

To swell the rites of patriot sacrifice!'—

These words prophetic were not ardor's rant,

Five kindred bosoms warm for glory pant,

These youths th' Enthusiast, sev'ring from the rest,

Informs, and breathes herself into their breast;

And now, envelop'd in her active flame,

The daring chiefs the pond'rous honor claim.

See, thro' th' applauses of the grateful throng,

The self-devoted heroes move along:

To EUSTACE now advanc'd a beauteous Maid,

In the rude garb of negligence array'd,

Her auburn tresses ruffling to the wind,

Her eye expressive of her tortur'd mind:

Say, desp'rate Youth,' the wild'ring Fair exclaim'd,

'What dire conception has thy bosom fram'd!

Oh, death-importing scenery! sight abhorr'd!

Whence this attire, this ignominious cord?

Impell'd by frenzy, whither dost thou tend?

Relent, relent, thine impious steps suspend'—

With a calm fortitude the Chieftain said,

'The path that climbs to honor's height I tread:

These joyful loud acclaims that rend the air

Wouldst thou convert to howlings of despair?

Ev'n love commands—with eager step I go,

To shield CLOTILDA from impending woe.'

'What peace,' she answers, 'can I thence derive?

The lover murder'd, say can joy survive?

While famine, sickness, terrors I endur'd,

Was this the future bliss that hope assur'd?

To length'ning care, to sorrow still allied,

Behold CLOTILDA stands Misfortune's bride!

Had Mercy, heav'n-descending Mercy, stole

Her gentle radiance o'er the conqu'ror's soul,

This day, escap'd from wide affliction's wreck,

This day might I, reclining on thy neck,

Have utter'd EDWARD's praise—that thought is flown,

And each fond project of my heart o'crthrown.

When from thy wound I drew the British dart,

And with these lips embalm'd th'envenom'd part,

Would that the poison like a subtile flame

Had scorch'd my entrails, and dissolv'd my frame!'

She ceas'd—her eye emits a weaker glance,

While her dim reason fades into a trance:

The Youth, as if indignant of delay,

Drops her pale hand, and turns abrupt away:

Then to the partners of his fate he cried,

'Ye willing victims, to my soul allied,

Forgive, if passion's all-subduing pow'r

Dare to profane this high important hour;

Now, free of weakness, clear of love's controul,

I lead the way that runs to virtue's goal.'

Arriv'd at EDWARD's tent, the dauntless Youth

Resum'd—'Invested in this garb uncouth,

If, at thy bidding, thus we meet thine eye,

For grace (the coward's hope) we heave no sigh;

Since acts of slaughter are thy soul's best food,

Oh, gorge thy rav'ning appetite of blood!'—

Now ith the glowing Youths, of equal mind,

In one resolve, one hope, one peril join'd,

He stands, unaw'd by death, sublimely great,

True to his cause, rejoicing in his fate.

But other scenes of high illustrious fame

Burst on my soul, impatient of their claim:

Behold! th' Enthusiast, freedom to regain,

Leads her stern Barons o'er the sacred Plain;

To the proud Monarch they exclaim—'Thy hand

Has touch'd the hallow'd ark that wisdom plan'd;

The bending seer, with sorrow's weight opprest,

Who beats in his despair his wither'd breast,

Shall sooner from his tortur'd mind efface

The wretch who plung'd his daughter in disgrace,

Who in his sight compell'd her to his arms,

And rudely ravish'd her untasted charms,

Than we forgive thy violating pow'r,

That wrested Freedom from her native bow'r.'

They spoke—each battle-axe, now rear'd on high,

(Catching the splendor of th' unclouded sky)

Cast on th' illumin'd field a sudden light,

Whose rapid flash o'erpower'd the monarch's sight:

Upbraiding thoughts his wav'ring mind assail'd,

And fear, the tyrant's curse, his aspect pal'd:

At length he seals, with mean, reluctant soul,

(To BRITAIN ever dear) th' immortal Roll.

Now thro' disclosing skies th' angelic train

Pour on th' enraptur'd ear the choral strain:

'Be cheerful praise, be salutations paid,

And hymns symphonious, to the godlike Maid,

Whose energy resists the tyrant's plan:

Joy be to Saints, and liberty to Man!'—

From Time's dark gulph, revolving back to light,

What new-born image rushes on my sight?

The bold COLUMBUS dedicates his sail

To the wild breathing of a stranger gale:

Th' Enthusiast bids his dauntless soul explore

Realms unreveal'd, and seas unplough'd before:

The hour now ripening in the womb of time,

Th' inspir'd adventurer reach'd the point sublime,

The long-obscuring veil for him was furl'd,

And on his vision burst another world!

Ecstatic Wonder heard the proud event,

And o'er the ocean the glad tidings sent:

Then Industry, as by electric stroke,

From her enduring sleep instinctive broke:

With brightest omens of her future reign,

This better VENUS rising from the main,

Saw from all harbours, rushing with the tide,

Unnumber'd vessels at her beck'ning glide:

Did it not seem as if the sever'd earth,

Like two fair sisters parted from their birth,

Acknowledging at length their kindred race,

Felt the warm transport of a first embrace,?

Now the same age a different scene presents,

And the bold vision labours with events:

Methinks I see, extending wide around,

A tow'ring wood with crowding leaves imbrown'd;

Beneath whose vast display of deadly shade

Her listless length lethargic EUROPE laid:

There Superstition her deep plan design'd

Against the awful sanctuary of the mind:

There the wan sorceress, haggard fiend of hell,

Midst her dim orgies mutter'd the dread spell.

The sun abhors to pour his radiant flood

O'er the dumb horror of the slumb'ring wood;

Yet thro' the gloom of sacerdotal night

One peerless star reveals a cheerful light:

Ah! why in mystic strains eclipse his name?

Demand, Oh! LUTHER, thine unbounded fame:

Advance, advance, thou elder son of Truth,

Sublime, all-daring, restless, ardent youth!

I now behold th' enthusiastic Maid

Rushing impetuous to her fav'rite's aid:

She reaches to his lips a cup of fire,

Whose living drops the leaping pulse inspire.

Revealing now his mission from the skies,

He utters to the torpid world—'Arise!'

The sullen forest, wrapt in tenfold night,

Swift thro' a thousand vistas drinks the light:

Th' imprison'd tenants burst the mental tomb,

While from their eyes recedes the massive gloom:

The flaky clouds admit an orient ray,

And laughing Morn unclocks the gates of day.

Prompt Apprehension sends her view around,

While her bold thoughts o'erleap their former bound,

And Joy proclaims throughout th' applauding earth

The hallow'd festival of Reason's birth.

Now the couch'd mind reveals its spotless eye,

Weak to sustain the splendor of the sky,

Till strength'ning at th' irradiating gleam,

It meets unblenching Truth's refulgent beam:

So when the keenly-glitt'ring darts of light

Pierce the loose film that dims the eaglet's fight,

First with an ignorant and coy survey

The dazzled bird admires the stranger day,

Then glancing on the sun with tow'ring gaze,

Kindles his vision at the noon-tide blaze.

Meek Toleration, heav'n-descending Maid,

A vernal rainbow glitt'ring o'er her head,

Smooths the rough path destructive feet have trac'd,

Adorns and peoples Persecution's waste:

She, like the FLORA of the Pagan reign,

Sprinkles with roses the enamell'd plain,

Bids ev'ry flow'r of ev'ry clime arise,

And freely breathe its incense to the skies.

See Superstition, madd'ning at th' alarm,

Extend, in thunder cloath'd, her threat'ning arm,

But with'ring at the heart she rues the hour,

That harshly severs her diminish'd pow'r:

Thus as the serpent, sleeping on the plain,

Feels the rude pressure of the loaded wain,

With apt revenge, and indignation stung,

She rears her crest, and darts her fiery tongue;

But impotent of rage, her trailing wound

She languishingly sweeps along the ground."

Here clos'd the Seraph his illustrious theme,

Which on his audience flash'd conviction's beam.

—And now th' Enthusiast, with her hand high-rear'd,

Express'd a look demanding to be heard:

The circling Hierarchy, with one acclaim,

Urge her to vindicate her injur'd fame:

She, to their judgment fearlessly consign'd,

Thus pour'd th' effusion of her glowing mind:—

"Bold on a tow'ring rock, with soul elate,

I saw BRITANNIA sit in regal state,

Around the globe she threw her vast survey,

And mark'd the realms devoted to her sway:

Her Western clime, her Oriental reign,

Her glory's theatre th' unbounded main:

I thus address'd her—'Hail, immortal Dame,

Who, high-exalted, crowd'st the seat of fame,

Suspend the thoughts of thine imperial state,

And listen to th' event that heaves with fate—

A prosp'rous mother (so did Heav'n ordain)

Bless'd and ennobled by a numerous train,

Beheld (a stranger to affection's tie)

Her youngest born with a disclaiming eye,

And, breaking loose from ev'ry moral band,

Stretch'd o'er th' innocuous babe an iron hand,

And, hard'ning in her wrath, the helpless child

Was from her presence and her thought exil'd:

This little outcast lately I survey'd,

As mid the flow'rets of te wild he play'd,

Artless and gay, himself the wilder flow'r,

Bare to the with'ring heat and quenching show'r.'

BRITANNIA quick return'd, with loud acclaim,

'Oh piteous infant! Oh inhuman Dame!

Where, where does she abide, that I may dart

The shaft of death into her wolfish heart?'

'Twas then I added, with indignant air,

'Dismiss thy threats, thy warm resentment spare,

Or droop thyself beneath a flood of shame,

Thine, thine the child, and thou th' inhuman Dame.'

I said—and throwing back my flowing vest,

Disclos'd the infant clinging at my breast:

'Behold,' I cried, 'this flow'ret of the wild,

This orphan nursling, this rejected child,

Mark how around his brow of virtue's mold

The signs of greatness dare ev'n now unfold;

How on the vigorous eye the morning ray

Preludes the splendor of meridian day:

Oh! doom'd to act what Heaven's dread thought devis'd,

Thou at the font of Energy baptiz'd,

Marvellous infant! doom'd to act my plan,

AMERICANUS, hasten into man!"—"

'Enough', th' abruptly-rising Quire exclaim,

'Aspire, Enthusiast, to thy wonted fame;

Thy virtues, claims, and eminence we own,

Resume thy dignities, ascend thy throne:

Still to frail man thy daring strength impart,

Still flame th' incentive Seraph of his heart;

And when the scenes of earth shall fade away,

And man shall need no more thy active ray,

Then, sacred object of our praiseful theme,

Bright emanation of th' eternal beam,

Thou shalt regain thy native, dread abode,

And glow for ever in the breast of GOD!'

Notes

*
GIERALTAR.
↵

*
The ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY, consisting of four hundred thousand manuscripts, was burnt in the sixth century, by the order of OMAR; whose enthusiastic zeal for his religion forced from him this memorable saying: ‘If the books contain only what is in the CORAN they are useless, and dangerous if they contain any thing else.’
↵

*
TYRTAEUS reanimated the dejected minds of the SPARTANS with the irresistible power of his poetry, accompanied by the harp.
↵

*
Alluding to the revocation of the Edict of NANTES, in consequence of which the HUGONOTS quitted the kingdom.
↵

*
This relates to a penal law which confiscated the estates of those who did not, at their deaths, renounce the reformed religion.—See SAURIN'S SERMONS, vol. i. page 152.
↵

*
JAMES SAURIN, the celebrated preacher at the HAGUE, where he resided several years, and was at once the edification and comfort of his exiled brethren.
↵

*
LEWIS XIV.
↵

*
EDWARD III. was so exasperated at the long and gallant resistance he met with from the citizens of CALAIS, that he threatened to put all the inhabitants to the sword: he desisted from this atrocious design, on the condition that six persons should be sent to him for the purpose of immediate execution. He required that they should approach his presence bare-footed, cloathed in mourning, with ropes round their necks.
↵

AN APOLOGUE.

WOO'D by the summer gale, an Olive stood

Beside the margin of the silver flood,

Beneath its playful gently-way'ring shade

A Syrian Rose her Eastern bloom display'd!

The flow'r complain'd, that stretching o'er her head

The dark'ning Olive a broad umbrage spread,

Or if admitted to a partial view,

Her blushing leaves imbib'd a yellow hue.

Not unattentive to the mournful strain,

The Master heard his Syrian Rose complain:

The ready axe soon urg'd the fatal wound,

And bow'd the stately Olive to the ground!

The Rose exulting now with full display

Gave all her beauty to the garish day;

But soon her triumph ceas'd—the mid-day beam

Pour'd on her tender frame a scorching stream:

The Rose now sick'ning, drooping, languid, pale,

Call'd the soft show'r, and call'd the cooling gale;

Nor soft'ning show'r, nor gale with cooling breath,

Approach'd, to save her from untimely death.

The humbled Olive saw the Rose distress'd,

And thus with dying voice the flow'r address'd:

Ah! were it not that low-born envy stole

With all its rancour on thy yielding soul,

I might, attir'd in youth's unfading green,

Have still embellish'd the surrounding scene;

And thou, detaining still th' admiring eye,

Have breath'd thy little incense to the sky!

THE ROOKERY.

OH thou who dwell'st upon the bough,

Whose tree now waves its verdant brow,

And bending shades the murm'ring brook,

List to my woes, dear sister Rook!

And when thou'st heard my mournful lay

Extend thy wing, and haste away;

Lest pinion-maim'd by fiery shot,

Thou shou'dst like me bewail hy lot;

Lest in thy Rookery be renew'd

The tragic scene which here I view'd.

The day declin'd, the evening breeze

Gently rock'd the silent trees,

While spreading o'er my peopled nest

I hush'd my callow young to rest;

When suddenly an hostile sound,

Explosion dire! was heard around;

And, level'd by the hand of fate,

The flying deaths transfix'd my mate;

I saw him fall from spray to spray,

Till on the distant ground he lay,

With tortur'd wing he beat the plain,

And never call'd to me again.

Many a neighbour, many a friend,

Deform'd with wounds, invok'd their end;

Loud uttering omen'd sounds of woe

'Gainst man, our unrelenting foe.

These eyes beheld my little brood

Fluttering in their guiltless blood,

While trembling on the shatter'd tree

At length the gun invaded me;

But wayward fate, severely kind,

Refus'd the death I wish'd to find,

Oh! farewell pleasure, peace farewell!

And with the gory Raven dwell.

Was it for this I shunn'd retreat,

And fix'd near man my social seat?

For this destroy'd the insect train,

That eat unseen the infant grain?

For this I cheer'd (with many a note

Resounding from my artless throat)

Yon dowager of reverend mien?

Who dignifies the rural scene!

TINTERN ABBEY [*]

MARK this lone seat, by Contemplation plann'd,

This awful relick of monastic day:

Beneath the touch of Time's reluctant hand

Slow mould'ring in the silence of decay.

Nature her shelt'ring moss around has thrown,

As if in pity of the fading pile,

And ev'n to cheer what sorrow calls her own

On ruin's brow has bid her flow'rets smile.

The rifted arch from all connection starts,

The prostrate pillars stretch along the vale,

Yet mid the wreck of corresponding parts,

'One column stands to tell the mournful tale.'

Notes

*
See the account of Tintern Abbey by the Rev. Mr. Gilpin, in his Observations upon the River Wye.
↵

TO THE BARON NOLCKEN, THE SWEDISH AMBASSADOR, ON HIS SUDDEN RECALL.

THINE the applause which (to long merit due)

Those judges pay who are to honor true:

Still, as before, thou art to all endear'd,

Depos'd, yet courted, and tho' fall'n rever'd.

The following Lines were addressed to the late Lady HERVEY, mother of the Earl of BRISTOL, a lady distinguished for her erudition and refined taste. Her house was the receptacle of elegance and celebrity, and was a kind of passport to fame. Our Author was fortunate in an early introduction to a Lady, on whose list of acquaintance were found the names of LYTTLETON, CHESTERFIELD, MELCOMBE, MARCHMONT, MANSFIELD, BOLINGBROKE, HUME, GARRICK, &c. And he has mentioned to us, with a recollective complacency, his having basked (to use his own expression) in the sun-set of those eminent personages.—Note of the Editor.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY HERVEY.

LATE in the Graces' annals have I read

The myrtle wreath adorn'd your youthful head;

That you unrival'd trod th' Idalian green,

And that the Loves elected you their Queen:

Of jealous time despise the trivial harm,

Still by your wit you conquer, reign, and charm;

The learn'd throughout the realm your genius own

And HERVEY only has exchang'd her throne!

ARGARET OF ANJOU, AN HISTORICAL INTERLUDE.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THIS Historical Interlude is formed upon the plan that ROUSSEAU composed his PYGMALION, which is a new species of Dramatic Entertainment, consisting chiefly of a monologue, that is often suspended by the interposition of music.

The following little Drama was written for (that ornament of the Stage) Mrs. POPE, who performed it on the night of her benefit. This Interlude has also been performed at BRANDENBURGH House: the part of MARGARET received from the theatrical abilities of her Serene Highness the Margravine the richest colouring and the most impressive truth of expression.

The subject is taken from a remarkable incident in the life of MARGARET.—That unfortunate Queen, flying with her Son into a forest after the battle of HEXHAM, saw a Robber approach with his naked sword; and finding that she had no means of escaping, she suddenly embraced the resolution of trusting entirely for protection to his generosity. The man, whose humanity and generous spirit had been obscured, not entirely lost, by his vicious course of life, was struck with the singularity of the event, and charmed with the confidence reposed in him; and he vowed not only to a•stain from all injury against the Queen,
but to devote himself entirely to her safety and protection.
HUME.

N.B.—The asterisks mark the pauses that admit the music.

CHARACTERS.

- OFFICER.

- PEASANT.

- EDWY, the Robber.

- EDWARD, the Prince of WALLS.

- MARGARET.

MARGARET OF ANJOU.

SCENE, A FOREST.

Enter OFFICER wounded, and a PEASANT.

OFFICER.

THE battle's lost, the rebel arms prevail!

Confusion and precipitating rout

Urge our distracted troops.—The King is slain.

Impell'd by fear, the Queen flew to this forest,

In order to conceal her little child.

PEASANT.

Shall I not lead you to my humble cottage,

There on a peaceful couch to bathe your wound?

OFFICER.

Ah! rather lead me to the deep recess

Of this broad forest; haply I may find

My royal Mistress. Better I endure

The pang that gushes from this gaping wound,

Than my mind's torture for the hapless Queen.

[Exeunt.

Enter MARGARET and her SON.

The fierce pursuers will not here perchance

Discover us: the thick-inwoven umbrage

Of these gigantic trees will spread concealment:

Yet as their solemn branches wave, strange fear

Possesses me; yet all is still as night.

The shouts of rebel victory are lost

And fade away, ere they can pierce these shades.

Ah! what a victory! He whose meek sway

Solicited his people's grateful love,

My HENRY! England's monarch, is no more!

While I, a wretched outcast of the throne,

Rove desolate amid these savage walks,

Of ev'ry comfort, ev'ry hope bereft:

(To her Child.)

But thou, my EDWARD, still art mine! Ah lay

Thy weary limbs on yonder bank, and I

Will watch beside thee.

(Leads him to a Bank.)

He sleeps unconscious of the dire distress

That hovers o'er his head. Kind Ignorance!

That drops her veil before his infant eyes:

Yet ashe blossoms into youth, the hand

Of Time, with-drawing back the veil, shall offer

To his distracted view a throne o'erturn'd

And floating in the blood of all his friends

Ah what a sight! it urges me to madness.

Yet all that courage cou'd effect was done:

When wild Dissension her torn banners rear'd,

Which insolently wav'd o'er HENRY's head,

While he beneath their shade a captive stood,

I, feeble agent! hurried to the field,

And at that moment losing all the fears

That haunt the female breast, I call'd to Loyalty

To snatch my HENRY from Rebellion's arm:

The valiant troops who then encircled me

On WAKEFIELD's day perform'd their duty well,

And on St. ALBAN's memorable plain

I saw defeated WARWICK wing his flight,

And rescued HENRY hasten to these arms.

Yet what avail these momentary triumphs!

Ev'n while I speak my faithful HENRY lies

Extended on the plain, deform'd with wounds,

While o'er his sacred corse the hostile band

Irreverently pass, and with vile taunts

Upbraid his overthrow: nor was I present

To solace his last moments, catch the accents

Of his departing voice, and close his fading eyes.

Th' illustrious youth on whose bright armour gleam'd

The morning sun! of all that valiant train

Not one remains to guard yon helpless innocent.

—Darkness spreads: cold descending night-air chills

My bosom, while a murm'ring noise, that tells

The coming storm, sounds thro' the conscious branches

Of this wood. Ah where shall I betake me?

(Walking in a distracted manner.))

If at some hamlet-door I knock, these robes

Will sure betray me! and the sum that's set

Upon that Infant's head, ah! will it not

Invite the simple cottager to treachery?

Yet here to brave the stern inclement sky,

With all the horrors of descending night,

My trembling heart refuses.—I will lead

Him hence. Vain thought! Ah! to what stranger heart

Dare I conside my Son? Shou'd he be torn

From these weak arms, yes, well, too well I know,

This anxious heart wou'd at that moment burst.

The Pow'r above, who sees into the depth

Of my great sorrow, knows that not to pride,

That not to Exaltation's gaudy honors

I e'er entrusted my felicity.

Amid the rude misfortunes that encircled me

The pulse of pleasure throbb'd within my breast

When I embrac'd my Son: of him bereft,

Calamity's sharp fangs will tear my heart-strings.

I feel, I feel her now, fell tygress, at

My bosom, gorging on my mangled peace!

Ye cruel ruffians, give me back my Son.

Ah me! wild fear foreruns my loss, and joins

The future moment to the present time.

(Kneeling.)

Oh thou, all-seeing Providence, if e'er

The scenes on earth attract thy sacred notice!

Then, let thy knowing, clear-discerning eye,

Whence radiant Pity beams, o'er my misfortune

Pause—And, thus humbly as I bend resign'd,

Let, let my falling ruinous state o'erwhelm

The Mother, but not crush the Child.

(Rising.)

The night encreases, I must wake my Son:

(Hanging fondly over him.)

How sleep posiesses him I Perhaps this slumber

Is doom'd his last—perhaps—what do I see?

Stretch'd on a bier, methinks I see him gash'd

With daggers!—Ah! 'twas fancy bodied forth

This cruel image: still my EDWARD breathes,

And these fond arms embrace my living Child!

PRINCE.

Oh Mother, lead me hence——

MARGARET.

Say, whither shall

I lead my EDWARD?

PRINCE.

Lead me to my Father!

Why do you weep? Ah, wherefore not reply?

Say, is my Father slain?

MARGARET.

I know not that.

PRINCE.

Whence was that noise?

MARGARET.

It was the chiding gale:

Ah no, it is the sound of hostile steps.

Enter ROBBER.

ROBBER.

Whoe'er thou art, I see thou'rt in distress;

I too am well acquainted with misfortune,

And greater still than thine; for at my door

Pale Famine sits, while starving children send

A mournful peal: if aught thou hast conceal'd

Within this wood, give me the hoarded treasure.

MARGARET.

Ah, here is all my treasure!

(Pointing to her Child.)

ROBBER.

Cease to trifle—

Give me thy treasure, or I'll slay thy Child.

MARGARET.

Arrest that impious arm! He is thy Prince!

Talk not of want, of Misery's scourging hand

Complain no more; in me, in me behold

Distressful MARG'RET, ENGLAND'S vanquish'd Queen!

And all the treasure left her from the field,

The cruel havock of this morning's fight,

Is center'd in this Child.

ROBBER.

Thanks to my GOD,

I'm not so lost in vice, so deep-ingulph'd

In woe, but that my Sovereign's distress

Obliterates my own.

MARGARET.

Is't possible?

ROBBER.

Ah! cease to wonder at the words I speak.

Of affluent parents born, my youth was rear'd

To virtue, letters, and to social manners:

The sacred ray that once illum'd my breast

Is shaded, not extinguish'd; and buried,

But not dead—I feel it now re-kindling

The warm functions of my soul, while loyalty

Renovates my love of virtue.

MARGARET.

Frankness

Like this solicits my belief.

ROBBER.

Forbear

To linger here, where dangers lurk around:

I'll lead thee thro' some dark and winding path-way

Of this wild forest, to a neighbouring river,

Where rides a bark, whose canvas courts the gales

That fly to other realms.

MARGARET.

Ah! must I then

Forsake this country? Is there no safety

But in exile?

ROBBER.

None! Behold how anarchy

With giant steps stalks o'er the trembling land!

At her approach the sumptuous palace falls;

The Norman castle stretches its long ruin

Down the mountain's side.—With louder vehemence

The civil deluge rolls, and rushes thro'

The portals of the sanctuary: The temples

Are profan'd, the hallowed walls dismantled,

The choirs deform'd, the altars overthrown!

The ministers amidst their awful duties

Massacred, their snowy vestments drench'd in blood!—

Away, away, and shun these scenes of horror.

MARGARET.

Dethron'd, oppress'd, forsaken of all hope,

Can I, weak object! instigate teir malice?

PRINCE.

Say, say, will not the ruffians spare my Mother?

ROBBER.

Endearing Youth! Ah, trust not to their mercy:

The hungry wolf wou'd sooner spare the lamb;

Their thoughts are lawlesss, daring, wild, and savage.

They'll tear that infant from thy clinging arms,

And banish him for ever from thy sight;

While thou, deserted by thy powerless friends,

Shalt wander forth, a trembling fugitive,

The pointed mockery of a lawless rabble!

MARGARET.

Oh, what a scene you picture to my view!

ROBBER.

Haste, then, my royal Mistress, haste away!

The bark I lately mentioned is peopled,

Tho' by a small, a brave, intrepid band,

Devoted to my service! Their sympathies

Will catch th' expanding flame that fires my soul;

That moves and urges me, in scorn of danger,

Even at the daring hazard of my life,

To save, protect, distressful Royalty!

MARGARET.

Generous Stranger! lead me to your vessel:

Advance—direct the way.—I dare confide

Myself and my lov'd Child to your protection!

Reft of a crown, a husband, ev'ry friend,

Amid this mighty ruin EDWARD lives,

And wretched MARGARET still shall be a Mother!

[Exeunt.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE LADY JERNINGHAM.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT COSSEY-HALL, NORFOLK, THE SEAT OF SIR WILLIAM JERNINGHAM, AUGUST THE 4TH, 1786.

I.

THOU, to whose sacred page the parting guest

Confides the workings of his grateful breast,

With awful pleasure o'er thy form I bend,

My gift to bring—as brother, guest, and friend.

Farewell, ye shades! (ah! not to fame unknown)

Where Elegance has rear'd her attic throne:

Whose beauties, to the pure of taste address'd,

In Nature's charms munificently dress'd;

Whose soft amenity, with grace combin'd,

Display the emblem of the master's mind:

Farewell!—Say, shall I not regret the bow'r

Where social intercourse endear'd the hour;

Where she, whose footsteps bless this sylvan seat,

The pride and mistress of this calm retreat,

Her soul illum'd with Wisdom's piercing beam,

Sheds round her circle the enlight'ning gleam!

II.

Ye scenes o'er which I cast a ling'ring view,

O'er which affection breathes a warm adieu,

That hour I now recal with pleasing pain,

Which gave your beauties to my wish again:

Yet then, as I approach'd your smiling shore,

Prompt expectation gladly flew before:

Wing'd with gay hope, as nearer still I drew,

Hills, plains, and woods assum'd a brighter hue:

Soft-wreath'd in lilac vestment, laughing May

With hailing aspect met me on the way;

The various vale with eager steps I press'd,

Praise on my tongue, and transport in my breast:

O'er each lov'd spot I sent a fond survey,

Where in the morn of life I wont to stray;

The winding walks by memory endear'd,

Where with the growing plants my youth was rear'd,

Embow'ring shades, in whose deep gloom immers'd,

Reflection fed me, and the Muses nurs'd,

And, screening from my view ambition's sky,

Pour'd other visions on my raptur'd eye.

III.

Yet, Album, ere the willing task I leave,

Warm rom the heart these closing lines receive,

'Twas at the hour to contemplation due,

When evening meekly from the world withdrew,

Beneath an aged oak, in pensive mood,

I Sorrow's solitary captive stood:

When, from the rifted trunk's obscure recess,

A voice breath'd forth, in accents of distress;

"Where! where is she! of mild and rev'rend mien,

"Once the lov'd mistress of this sylvan scene?"—

"Fall'n—fall'n—fall'n—fall'n!"—a distant voice replied:

The branches shook, as if to sense allied:

Wild Terror flung his strong enchantment round,

And evening hurried into night profound!

Now fond remembrance turns a willing sight,

To dwell on gayer scenes of past delight,

Pleas'd to behold her, midst the polish'd train,

With grace, with dignity, her part sustain.

To mild festivity by nature prone,

With inbred wit peculiarly her own,

Prompt ev'ry sportive incident to seize,

Diffusing pleasure with a careless case;

Of pow'r to charm invincibly possess'd,

Unfelt she glided into every breast.

There are, who, fram'd with an enlighten'd taste,

High on the critic form by judgment plac'd,

Who (marking well her sense with strength combin'd,

The scintillations of her playful mind,

An aptitude that never lost its aim)

With brilliant SEVIGNE' inwreathe her name.

To discontent, the vice of age, unknown,

Her chearfulness maintain'd its envied throne:

The gay, the old, the learned, and the young,

And they whose heart pure elegance had strung,

By the soft pow'r of her enchantment won,

Would oft the glare of throng'd assemblies shun,

To court her ready wit's enliv'ning beam,

And bask beneath its undulating gleam.

Yet oft from these unnotic'd would she steal,

To soothe the bed-rid stretch'd on Torture's wheel,

To smoothe the furrow on Misfortune's brown,

To warm the timid, and exalt the low;

With lenient hand administer relief,

And close the bleeding artery of grief.

Ah, ever dear! ah, venerable Shade!

Indulge this honor by Affection paid.

Enthron'd in bliss, ah! yet forbear to shun

This holy tribute from a zealous Son.

'Twas mine, attendant on thy evening ray,

To watch the sun-set of thy blameless day;

To see thee, weary of th'unequal strife,

Shed the faint glimm'rings of exhausted life;

And (heavenly Moralist, sublimely great!)

At the dread opening of thy future state,

Teach by example, to thy latest breath,

Meekness in pain, and fortitude in death!

Just Published, THE THIRD EDITION OF THE WELSH HEIRESS.

Information about this book

Title statement

Poems by Mr. Jerningham: [pt.2]

Jerningham, Mr. (Edward), 1737?-1812.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5204

ID [isbn10]

1106022033

ID [isbn13]

9781106022035

ID [TCP]

K107811.002

ID [BIBNO]

CW3300109376

ID [ECHG]

0087601102

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Poems by Mr. Jerningham, Jerningham, Mr. (Edward), 1737?-1812.. A new edition. In two volumes. ... 2v. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for J. Robson,. 1796.. [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT136411.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.