Imatges de pàgina
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Come ten, fome Mufe, the faddeft of the train
(No more your bard fhall dwell on idle lays),
Teach me cach moving melancholy ftra:n,

And oh difcard the pageantry of phrafe :
Ill fuit the flow rs of fpeech with woes like mine!
Thus, haply, as I paint

The fource of my complaint,

My foul may own th’impailion'd line;
A flood of tears may guth to my relief, [of grief.
And from my fwelling heart difcharge this load
Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear

To wound my ears with the fad tales you tell
"How good the was, how gentle, and how fair!'
In pity ccafe-alas! I know too well
How in her fweet expreflive face

Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,

Of manners moft engaging, moft refin'd.
No piteous object could she fee,

But her foft bofem fhar'd the woe,
While miles of affability

Endeard whatever boon fhe might bestow.
Whate'er th' emotions of her heart,

Still fhone confpicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,

Alike to feign or to difguife:

And, oh the boaft how rare!
The fecret in her faithful breaft repos'd
She ne'er with law lets tongue difclos'd,

In fecret filence lodg'd inviolate there.
Oh feeble words-unable to exprefs
Her matchlefs virtues, or my own diftrefs!
Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe,

With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man

Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
She had not died, nor had I liv'd to weep:
Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov'd,
To fee her force th' endearing file,
My forrows to beguile,

When Torture's keeneft rage the prov'd;
Sure they had warded that untimely dart,
Which broke her thread of life, and rent a huf-
band's heart.

How fhall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
When, feeling Death's refiftlefs pow'r,
My hand the preis'd, wet with her falling tears,
And thus, in fault ring accents, spoke her fears!
"Ah, my lov'd ford, the tranfient fcene is o'er,
"And we must part, alas! to meet no more!
"But, oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear,
"If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravish'd ear;
"If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
"Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune fimil'd
in vain;

"If it has been my fole endeavour still
"To act in all obfequious to thy will;
"To watch thy very fmiles, thy with to know,
"Then only truly bleft when thou wert fo;
"If I have deated with that fond excess,
"Nor love could add, nor Fortune make it lefs;
"If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind
"To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
"When time my once-lov'd mem'ry fhall efface,
"Some happier maid may take thy Emma's
"place,

"With envious eyes thy partial fondness fee,
"And hate it for the love thou bor'ft to me:
"My deareft Shaw, forgive a woman's fears;
"But one word more-I cannot bear thy tears-
Promife and I will truft thy faithful vow

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(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true) "That to fome diftant foot thou wilt remove

Why (cruel!) ftrike this deprecated blow, [kind,"
And leave fuch wretched multitudes behind?
Hark! groans come wing'd on every breeze!

The fons of grief prefer their ardent vow,
Oppress'd with forrow, want, or dire difcafe,

And fupplicate thy aid, as I do now:
In vain-perverfe, ftill on th' unweeting head
Tis thine thy vengeful darts to fled ;
Hope's infant bloffoms to deftroy,
And drench in tears the face of joy.
But oh, fell tyrant! yet expect the hour
When Virtue fhall renounce thy pow'r;
When thou no more shalt blot the face of day,
Nor mortals, tremble at thy rigid fway.
Alas the day!-where'er I turn my eyes,
Some fad memento of my lofs appears;
I fly the fatal houfe-fupprefs my fighs,
Refelv'd to dry my unavailing tears:
But, ah! in vain-no change of time or
The memory can efface
[place
Of all that fweetness, that enchanting air,
Now loft; and nought remains but anguifh and
defpair.

Where were the delegates of Heaven, oh where!
Appointed Virtue's children fale to keep ?

This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love,
"Where fafe thy blandithments it may partake,
"And, ch! be tender for its mother's fake.
"Wilt thou -

"I know thou wilt-fad filence speaks affent;
"And in that pleafing hope thy Emma dies
""content."

I, who with more than manly ftrength have bore
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
Suftain the firmnefs of my foul no more,
But fink beneath the weight:

[day

Juft Heaven! I cried, from Memory's earliest
No comfort has thy wretched fuppliant known;
Misfortune ftill, with unrelenting fway,

Has claim'd ine for her own.
But, oh in pity to my grief, restore
This only fource of blifs; I ask-I ask no more-
Vain hopc-th' irrevocable doom is past,
Ev'n now the looks-fhe fighs her laft-
Vainly I ftrive to stay her fleeting breath, [death.
And, with rebellious heart, proteft agaiaft her
When the ftern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,

How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wifh to tear her from the fkies,
How cure my fate in bitterness of wac!

But

But whither would this dreadful phrenzy lead?
Fond man, forbear,

Thy fruitless forrow spare,

Dare not to task what Heaven's high will decrced;
In humble rev'rence kifs th' afflictive rod,
And proftrate bow to an offended God.

Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some faving truth thy roving foul to teach;
To wean thy heart from grovelling views below,
And point out blifs beyond Misfortune's
reach:

To fhew that all the flatt'ring fchemes of joy,
Which tow'ring Hope fo fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can deftroy,

And plunge th' exulting maniac in defpair.
Then, oh! with pious fortitude sustain
Thy prefent lofs-haply thy future gain;
Nor let thy Emma die in vain :
Time fhall administer its wonted balm,
And huth this storm of grief to no unpleafing calm.
Thus the poor bird, by fome difaftrous fate

Caught and imprifon'd in a lonely cage,
Torn from its native fields, and dearer inate,
Flutters awhile, and fpends its little rage:
But finding all its efforts weak and vain,

No more it pants and rages for the plain; Moping awhile, in fullen mood

Droops the fweet mourner-but ere long Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food, And meditates the fong:

Serenely forrowing, breathes its piteous cafe,
And with its plaintive warblings faddens all
the place.

Forgive me, Heaven!--yet, yet the tears will flow,
To think how foon my fcene of blifs is past!
My budding joys, juft, promising to blow,

All nipt and wither'd by one envious blast!
My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along;
[long?
Where's now the fprightly jeft, the jocund
Time creeps, unconscious of delight :
How fhall I cheat the tedious day;

And oh the joyless night!
Where fhall I reft my weary head?

How fhall I find repose on a fad widow'd bed?
Come, Theban drug, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart its former peace restore;
Thy votary, wrapp'd in thy Lethean fhade,
Awhile fhall ceafe his forrows to deplore:
Haply, when lock'd in fleep's embrace,
Again I fhall behold my Emma's face

Again with transport hear

Her lovely form purfues where'er I go,

And darkens all the scene with woe. By Nature's lavish bounties cheer'd no more, Sorrowing I rove

Through valley, grot, and grove; Nought can their beauties or my lofs restore; No herb, no plant, can med'cine my disease, And my fad fighs are borne on ev'ry paffing breeze.

Sickness and forrow hov'ring round my bed,

Who now with anxious hafte shall bring relief,
With lenient hand fupport my drooping head,
Affuage my pains, and mitigate my grief?
Should worldly bufinefs call away,

Who now fhall in my abfence fondly mourn,
Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my bofom difcompofe,
Who now, with fweet complacent air,
Shall smooth the rugged brow of Care,
And foften all my woes?

Too faithful Memory-cease, oh cease-
How fhall I e'er regain my peace?
(Oh, to forget her!)—but how vain each art,
Whilft ev'ry virtue lives imprinted on my
heart!
And thou, my little cherub, left behind

To hear a father's plaints, to fhare his woes, When Reason's dawn informs thy infant mind,

And thy fweet lifping tongue fhall ask the cause,
How oft with forrow fhall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace

Thy mother's fimile upon thy face!
How oft to my full heart fhalt thou restore
Sad mem'ry of my joys-ah, now no more!
By bleffings once enjoy'd now more distress'd,
More beggar by the riches once poisest,
My little darling! dearer to me grown [hear!
By all the tears thou'ft caus'd-oh strange to
Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier:
Who now shall sfeek with fond delight
Thy infant fteps to guide aright?
She, who with doating eyes would gaze
On all thy little artless ways,

And clafp thee oft with transport to her breaft,
By all thy foft endearments bleft,
Alas! is gone-
-yet fhalt thou prove

A father's deareft, tendereft love;
And, O fweet fenfelefs fmiler (envied state!)
As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate,

When years thy judgment fhall mature,
And Reafon fhews thofe ills it cannot cure,
Wilt thou, a father's grief t' affuage,
For virtue prove the Phoenix of the carth
(Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth),
And be the comfort of my age?
lightWhen fick and languishing I lie,
Wilt thou my Emma's wonted care supply ?

Her voice oft whispering in my ear;
May fteal once more a balmy kifs,
And tafte at leaft of vifionary blifs.
But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding
Will all my fhadowy fchemes of blifs depofe,
Will tear the dear illufion from my fight,
And wake me to the fenfe of all my woes:
If to the verdant fields I stray,
Alas! what pleafures now can these convey?

And, oft as to thy liftening car,
Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,

Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear,
Whilft on the mournful theme I dwell?
* Laudanuma

Then,

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How oft, when fondling in my arms,
Gazing enraptur'd on its angel-face,"

My foul the maze of Fate would vainly trace,
And burn with all a father's fond alarms!
And oh what flatt'ring fcenes had fancy feign'd
How did I rave of bleffings yet in ftore!
Till ev'ry aching fenfe was fweetly pain'd,

And my full heart could bear, nor tongue
could utter more.

"Juft Heaven!" I cried, with recent hopes elate, "Yet will I live-will live, tho Emma's dead; "So long bow'd down beneath the ftorms of fate,

"Yet will I raise my woe-dejected head! "My little Emma, now my all,

"Will want a father's care;

"Her looks, her wants, my rafh refolves recal, "And for her fake the ills of life I'll bear:

That oft enamour'd on thy ftrains has hung?"
Or has the cruel hand of Fate

Bereft thee of thy darling young?
Alas! for both I

weep:

In all the pride of youthful charms,

And oft together we'll complain,

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Complaint the only blifs my foul can know. From me my child fhall learn the mournful ❝ftrain,

"And prattle tales of woe.

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And, oh! in that aufpicious hour, "When Fate refigns her perfecuting pow'r, "With duteous zeal her hand fhall clofe,

A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms!
A lovely babe that fhould have liv'd to blefs,
And fill my doating eyes with frequent"
tears,

At once the fource of rapture and diftrefs,
The flattering prop of my declining years!
In vain from death to refcue I effay'd,

By ev'ry art that fcience could devife;
Alas! it languish'd for a mother's aid,
And wing'd its flight to feck her in the skies.
Then, oh! our comforts be the fame,
At evening's peaceful hour,

To thun the noify paths of wealth and fame,
And breathe our forrows in this lonely
bow'r.

But why, alas! to thee complain,
To thee-unconfcious of my pain?
Soon fhalt thou ceafe to mourn thy lot fevere,
And hail the dawning of a happier year:

The genial warmth of joy-renewing spring-
Again fhall plume thy thatter'd wing;
Again thy little heart fhall transport prove,
Again fhall flow thy notes refponfive to thy
But, oh! for me in vain may feafons roll, [love.
Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears:
Deploring ftill the comfort of my foul,

I count my forrows by increafing years.
Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, fay,
Where is the promis'd period of my woes ?
Full three long, lingering years have roll'd away,
And yet I weep, a ftranger to repose :

O what delufion did thy tonguc employ !
That Emma's fatal pledge of love,

"Her laft bequeft, with all a mother's care, "The bitterness of forrow fhould remove, "Soften the horrors of defpair,

"And sheer a heart long lost to joy!”

"No more to weep, my forrow-ftreaming eyes,
When death gives mifery repofe,

"And opes a glorious paffage to the skies."
Vain thought it must not be-she too is dead;
The flatt'ring fcene is o'er;
My hopes for ever, ever fled;

And vengeance can no more.
Crush'd by misfortune, blafted by difeafe,

And none-none left to bear a friendly part!
To meditate my welfare, health, or ease,

Or footh the anguifh of an aching heart!
Now all one gloomy feene, till welcome death,
With lenient hand (oh fafely deem'd fevere),
Shall kindly ftop my grief-exhausted breath,
And dry up ev'ry tear.

Perhaps, obfequicus to my will,

But, ah! from my affections far remov'd !
The laft fad office ftrangers may fulfil,
As if I ne'er had been belov'd;

As if, unconfcious of poetic fire,

I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre; As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief, Nor my heart melted at another's grief. Yet, while this weary life fhall laft,

While yet my tongue can form th' impaffion' ftrain,

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In piteous accents fhall the mufe complain,
And dwell with fond delay on bleffings past :

For oh how grateful to a wounded heart,
The tale of mifery to impart!

From others eyes bid antlefs forrows flow,
And raise esteem upon the bafe of woe!
Even He, the nobleft of the tuneful throng
Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear,
Shall catch the foft contagion of my fong,
And pay my penfive Mufe the tribute of a tear.

• Lord Lyttleton,

§ 101.

§ 101. An Ode to Narciffa. SMOLLET. THY fatal fhafts unerring move;

I bow before thine altar, Love!

I feel thy foft, refiftlefs flame

Glide fwift through all my vital frame !
For while I gaze my bofom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll,

And floods of transport whelm my foul!
My fault'ring tongue attempts in vain
In foothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue fome fecret magic ties,
My murmurs fink in broken fighs!
Condemn'd to nurfe eternal care,
And ever drop the filent tear;
Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die!

$ 102. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. SMOLLET. WHERE now are all my flattering dreams of joy? Monimia, give my foul her wonted reft: Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast! Let happy lovers fly where pleatures call, With feftive fongs beguile the flecting hour, Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball, Or prefs her wanton in love's rofcate bow'r. For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead, Where thepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant fhade, To hear the mufic of the grove refound. I'll feek fome lonely church, or dreary hall, Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue, Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall, And sheeted ghofts drink up the midnight dew: There, leagued with hopeless anguifh and defpair, Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine: Then, with a long farewel to love and care, To kindred duit my weary limbs configu. Wilt thou, Monimia, fhed a gracious tear On the cold grave where all my forrows reft; Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love fincere, And bid the turf lie cafy on my breaft?

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No groves have ye; no cheerful found of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of thofe that walk at ev'ning where ye dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits abfolute on his unfhaken throne;

Piles up his ftores amidst the frozen wafte,
And bids the mountains he has built ftand faft;
Beckons the legions of his forms away
From happier icenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the foil a conqueft he has won,
And fcorns to fhare it with the distant fun.

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ifle;
And peace, the genuine offspring of her fimile:
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks with all the fplendour of the true
A falfe religion-is unknown to you.
Nature indeed vouchfafes for our delight
The fweet viciffitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That fhoot into your darkest caves the day
From which our nicer optics turn away.
$104.On Slavery, and the Slave Trade.CowPER.
BUT, ah! what wish can profper, or what
pray'r,

For merchants rich in cargoes of defpair,
Who drive a loathfome traffic, gage and fpan,
And buy the muscles and the bones of man?
The tender ties of father, husband, friend,
All bonds of nature, in that moment end;
And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
A ftroke as fatal as the fcythe of death.
The fable warrior, frantic with regret
of her he loves, and never can forget,
Lofes in tears the far-receding shore,
Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow,
But not the thought that they must meet no more;
What has he left that he can yet forego?
Yes, to deep fadnefs fullenly refign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen'rous nature; and, to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
Oh moft degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate!
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find fubmiffion more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd
T' improve the fortitude that bears a load;
To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase,
The path of wifdom, all whofe paths are peace.
But flav'ry!-virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meannefs in a flave:
Or if the will and fovereignty of God
Bid fuffer it awhile, and kifs the rod;
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And fnap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we fee,
That has a heart and life in it, Be free!

* The Moravian miffionaries in Greenland.

Vide Krantz.

The

The beafts are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse :
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack,
And, confcious of an unencumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein,
Loofe fly his forelock and his ample mane;
Refponfive to the diftant neigh he neighs,
Nor ftops till, overleaping all delays,

He finds the pafture where his fellows graze.

§ 105. On Liberty, and in Praise of Mr. Howard. COWPER.

OH could I worship aught beneath the skies,

That earth hath feen or fancy could devife, Thine altar, facred Liberty, should stand, Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair As ever drefs'd a bank, or fcented fummer air. Duly as ever on the mountain's height The peep of morning fhed a dawning light; Again, when evening in her fober veft Drew the grey curtain of the fading Weft; My foul fhould yield thee willing thanks and praife

For the chief bleffings of my faireft days:
But that were facrilege-praife is not thine,
But his who gave thee, and preferves thee mine:
Elfe I would fay, and as I fpake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundless fky,
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;
We feel thy force ftill active, at this hour
Enjoy iminunity from prieftly pow'r;
While confcience, happier than in ancient years,
Owns no fuperior but the God fhe fears.
Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rites have fuffer'd, and our land, too long;
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that fhare
The fears and hopes of a commercial care:
Prifons expect the wicked, and were built
To bind the lawlefs, and to punish guilt;
But fhipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood,
Are mighty mischiefs not to be withstood;
And honeft merit ftands on flipp'ry ground,
Where covert guile and artifice abound:
Let juft restraint, for public peace defign'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;
The foc of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let infolvent innocence go free.

Patron of elfe the moft defpis'd of men,
Accept the tribute of a ftranger's pen;
Verfe, like the laurel its immortal meed,
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed :
I

may alarm thee, but I fear the fhame
(Charity chofen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Bleft with all wealth can give thee-to refign
Joys doubly fweet to feelings quick as thine;
To quit the blifs thy rural fcenes bestow,
To feek a nobler amidft fcenes of woe;
To traverfe feas, range kingdoms, and bring home,
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge fuch as only dungeons teach,
And only fympathy like thine could reach ;

cage

That grief, fequefter'd from the public ftage,
Might imooth her feathers, and enjoy her
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldeft patriot might be proud to feel.
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Were hush'd in favour of thy gen'rous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's fmile thy fee!

$106. On Domeftic Happiness, as the Friend of
Virtue, and of the falfe Good-nature of the
Cow PER.
OMESTIC happiness, thou only bliss

Age.

DON

Of Paradife that has furviv'd the fall!
Tho' few now tafte thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or tafting, long enjoy thee; too infirm
Or too incautious to preferve thy fweets
Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy cryftal cup.
Thou art the nurfe of virtue. In thine arms
She fmiles, appearing, as in truth fhe is,
Heaven-born, and deftin'd to the skies again.
Thou art not known where pleasure is ador'd,
That recling goddefs with the zoneless waist
And wand'ring eyes, ftill leaning on the arm
Of novelty, her fickle frail fupport;
For thou art meek and conftant, hating change,
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love
Joys that her ftormy raptures never yield.
Forfaking thee, what fhipwreck have we made
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,
Till proftitution elbows us afide

In all our crowded streets, and fenates feem
Conven'd for purposes of empire less
Than to release th'adultrefs from her bond!
Th' adultrefs! what a theme for angry verse,
What provocation to th' indignant heart
That feels for injur'd love! But I disdain
The naufeous task to paint her as the is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her fhame.
No. Let her pafs; and, charioted along,
In guilty fplendour fhake the public ways;
The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white.
And verfe of mine fhall never brand the wretch
Whom matrons now of character unfmirch'd,
And chafte themselves, are not afham'd to own.
Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time
Not to be pafs'd: and fhe that had renounc'd
Her fex's honour, was renounc'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fake,
But Dignity's, refentful of the wrong.
'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif
Defirous to return, and not receiv'd;
But was an wholefome rigour in the main,
And taught th' unblemish'd to preferve with care
That purity, whose loss was loss of all.
Men too were nice in honour in those days,
And judg'd offenders well: and he that sharp'd,
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,
Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that fold
His country, or was flack when the requir'd
His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,
Paid with the blood that he had bafely spar'd
The price of his default. But now-yes, now,
Gg

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