« PreviousContinue »
Yet void of hope or fear;
These tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak, When, lo! behold an airy throng,
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengtien'd years; With lightest steps, and jocund long,
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek Surpris’d my eye and ear.
Has been the channel to a food of tears. A form superior to the rest
Yon house, erected on the rising ground, His little voice to me address’d,
With tempting aspect drow me from my road; And gently thus began :
For Plenty there a residence has found, “ I've neard strange tnings from one of you, And Grandcur a magnificent abode. “ Pray tell me if you think 'tis true;
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor ! Explain it if
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their brcad, “ Such incense has perfum'd my throne ! A pamper'd menial drove me froin the door “ Suchi eloquence my heart has won !
To fuck a shelter in an huinvler shed. “ I think I guess the hand : 6 I know her wit and beauty too,
Oh take me to your hospitable dome!
Keen blows the wind, and picrcing is the cold ! “ But why the fends a pray’r fo new
Short is my pallage to the friendly tomb, “ I cannot underítand.
For I am poor, and miserably old. “ To lighi foinc flames, and some revive, Should I reveal the sources of my grief, " To keep some others juit alive,
If fort humanity c'er touch'd your breast, “ Full off I am implord;
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, “ But, with peculiar pow'r to please,
And tears of pity would not be repiers'd. “ To supplicate for nought but ease! “ 'Tis odd, upon my word!
Heaven sends inisfortune, ; why thould we rc
pine? 6 Tell her, with fruitless care I've fought; 'Tis Heaven las broug'it me to the state you sce; “ And tho' my realms, with wonders fraught, And your condition may be icon like mine, “ In rumedies abound,
The Child of Sorrow and of Milery. “ No grain of cold Indifference
A little farm was iny raternal lot, “ Was crer yct allied to senfe “ In all my fairy round.
Then like the dark I tprightly hail'd the morn;
But, ah! oppretiion forc'd me from my cot; “ The regions of the sky I'd tracc,
My cattle dicd, and blighted was my corn. “ I'd rantack every earthly place, Lach leaf, each herb, cach flow'r,
My daughter, once the comfort of my age, “ To mitigate the pangs of fear,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home, • Difpel the clouds of black detpair,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide itage, " Or lull the restless hour.
And doom'd in scanty poverty to rvam. “ I would be generous as I'm jut;
My tender wife, sweet foother of my care ! " But I obey, as others muli,
Struck with fud anguilh at the stern decree, 66 Those laws which fate has made.
Fell, iag'ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me. " Afy tiny kingdom how defend, “ And what might be the horrid end,
Pity the sorrows of a poor
[door, “ Should man my state invadu ?
Wiose trumbling limbs have borne him to your 6 'Twould put your mind into a rage,
W' hofc days are divindled to the shortett (pan;
Oh give relief, and fieaven will biets “ And such unequal war to wage
your " Suits not my regal duty! I dare not change a firit decree :
§ 81. Pollio. An Elegiac Ode ; written in the 6. She's duom'd to pleasc, nor can be frce ;
Wood near R--Lajtle, 1762. MickLE, “ Such is the lot of Beauty !" This faid, he darted o'er the plain,
Speo tunam certamque domum reporto, And after follow'd all his train ;
THE peaceful cvening breathes her balmy No glimple of him I find :
store, But sure I am, the little sprite
The playful fthool-boys wanton o'er the green: These words, before he took his flight,
Where iprcading poplars shade the cottage-door, Imprinted on my mind.
The villagers in rustic joy convene.
With folemn Meditation let ine stray § 80, Tbe Beggar's Petition. ANON.
This is the hour when to the wife and good PITY the forrons of a poor old man,
The hcavenly maid repays the toils of day.
Whispers the gently-waving bouglis among:
Haec Jovem fentire, Deoque cunctus,
How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad | O partner of my infant griefs and joys !
Big with thescenes now patt, my hcarto'crflows;
Oft with the rising fun, when life was new,
Oft by the moon have bruth'd the evening dtw, The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade ;
When all was fearlets innocence and glce. The bat, low-wheeling, skins the dulky The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines, ground.
Has eft been conscious of thcfe happy hours;. August and hoary, o'er the Noping dale,
But now the hill, the river cround with pines, The Gothic abbey rears its iculptur'd tow'rs ;
And fainted well have lost their cheering Dull through the roofs resounds thc whistling gale,
pow'rs; Dark folitude among the pillars low'rs. For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh
where, Where yon old trecs bend o'er a place of graves,
Where hast thou fled, and left me here behind? And folemn fhade a chapel's lad remains,
My tend'reft with, my heart to thực was barc; Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window
Oh now cut off cach paliage to my mind ! waves, And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains; How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void,
The trackless thorts that never were repass d !
Dread feparation ! on the depth untried,
Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghaft!
And thall these itars glow with immortal tire?
And could thy bright, thy living soul expire ?
The glow of friendihip, and the virtuous tear,
The tow'ring with that fcorns the bounds of Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends ;
Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here. ,
Yet there's a clime where Virtue Mall expand
Great in their b!cody arms, march so'er the lva, With patience waits the rofy opening day;
Thus I, on life's storm-beaten occa: tofs'd,
Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coast,
And incdest cowslips deck the streamlet's fide; Whonow perhaps frequents this folcmn grove, When fragrant orchards to the roscate morn Would tell the awful fccrets of the dead, Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours
And from my eyes the mortal film remove ! dyed :
Vain is the with—yet surely not in vain
Man's botom glows with that celestial fire
pain, To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; And winys his spirit with sublime defire ! Him with her purest flames the Mufe endow'd, To fan this spark of heaven, this ray divinc,
Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied : Still, O my soul ! itill be thy dear employ ; The sacred Hitters led where Virtuc glow'd Still thus to wander thro' the Thades be thine, In all her charms; he faw, he felt, and died. And fivell thy breast with visionary joy !
So to the da:k-brow'd wood, or sacred mount, The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath;
The bleak wind whiftles round her head, While rising ecítafies their boions frd.
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of thelter, food, and friend, Restor'd creation bright before them rose,
She views the thades of night descend; The burning defarts smil'd as Eden's plains :
And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies, One friendly thade the wolf and lamikin chole;
Wecps o'er her tender babes, and dies. The flow'ry mountain sung, ' Metliah reigras!'
Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins, Tho' fainter raptures my cold breast inspire,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns; Yet let me oft frequcut this folemn scene;
Retentinent of my country's fate Of: to the abbey's Thatter'd walls retire,
filial breast thall beat; What time the moonshine dimlygicams between.
And, spite of her intulting foe, There, where the cross in hcary ruin nods,
My sympathizing verse snail fow: And weeping yeivs o’ersade the letter'd lones; “ Mcuin, hap!eis Caledonia, mourn While midnight tilence wraps thefe drear abodes; - Thy banith'd peace, thy laurels torn !" And soothes me wandering o'er my kindred bones;
§ 83. Ode to Miřib. SMOLLET. Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn, When from the bursting graves the just thall risc PARENT of joy! heart-easing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born! All Nature finiling; and, by angels borne,
Yet Goddess fure of heavenly birth, Mefliah's cross far blazing o'cr the skies !
Visit benign a ton of Grief forlorn : $ 62. The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET.
Thy glitt'ring colours gay
Around him, Mirth, display ;
And o'er his raptur'd seule
Diffuse thy living influence : Lie ilaughter'd on their native ground;
So thail each hill, in purer green array'd, Thy hospitable roofs no more
And Hower-adorn din new-born beauty glow; Invite the stranger to the dcor;
The grove shall Imooth the horrors of the In sinuky ruins funk they lie,
Thade, The monuments of cruelty.
And fireams in murmurs shall forget to flow. The wretched owner fees, afar,
Shinc, Goddess, finc with unremitted ray, [day. His all become the priy
And giid (a second sun) with brighter beam our of war: Bethinks him of his babes and wife ;
Labour with thee forgets his pain, Then smites his brcast, and curcs life.
And aged Poverty can funile with thee; Thy wains are familh'd on the rocks,
If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, Where once they fed their wanton tlocks :
And weak th' uplifted arm of tyranny.
The morning opes on high
And on the world doth pour
His glories in a goldun show'r. Thy martial glory, crown'd with praile,
Lo! Darkneis trembling 'fore the hostileray, Suill shone with undiminish'd blaze?
Shrinks to the cavern dep and wood forlorn: Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke,
The brood obscene, that own her gloony Thy neck is bended to the yoke :
sway, What foreign arms could never quell,
Troop in her rcar, and fly th’approach of morn. Ey civil rage and rancuur fell.
Pale lhiv'ring ghosts, that dread th' all-cheering
Tiglit, The rural pipe, and inerry lay,
(night. No moc thall cheer the hap y day:
Quick as the lightning's Haih glide to sepulchral No social scenes of gay delight
But whence the gladd’ning beam Bcguile the dreary winter night:
his purpic streain No itrains but those of forrow How,
O'er the long prospect wide ? And nought be heard but founds of woe ;
'Tis Mirth. I see her lit While the pale phantoms of the flain
In maicity of light, Glide nightly o'er the filent plain.
With Laughter at her side. Oh banerul cause, oh fatal morn,
Bright-eved Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air, Accursid to agrs vet born!
And The fons against their fithers food ;
young Wir fing, his pointed dart, The parent thed his children's blood.
That guillefs ftrikes the willing heart. Yet, when the rage of battle ccas'il,
Fcar not now Affiction's pow'r, The vicior's foul was not a pe2sI:
Fear not now wild Pallion's rage; The naked and forlorn nuit feel
Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour, Devouring flames, and murd'rin fiecl !
Save the tardy hand of Age.
His univerial eye;
Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant Poct's pray's: Orr feest the hatchedd stede, No cloud that rides the blaft ihall vex the troubled Y praunceynge o'er the mede, air
And neigh to be amenged the poynetcdd fpceres;
Orr yune blacke armoure fiavike arounde
Embatreld Brystowe, once thie grounde, § 84. Ode to Leven Water. SMOLLET.
And glowe ardurous on the Castle steercs; Leven's banks, while free to rove,
Or ficrye round the mynferr glare ; And tune the rural pipe to love,
Let Brystowe stylle be made thie care ; I envied not the happiest fivain
Guarde yit fromme foemerne & confumynge fyre; That ever trod th' Arcadian plain.
Lyche Avones strt me ensyrke ytte rounde, Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave Ne lette a fame enharine the grounde, My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
Tylle ynne one flame all the whole worlde expyre. No torrents stain thy limpid fource, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That fiveetly warbles o'er its bed,
§ 86. Brifloue Tragedic; or, The Dethe of Syr With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
Charles Bawdin. While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
CHATTERTON, under the name of ROWLEY, In myriads cleave thy crystal Hood: The springing trout, in speckled pride;
THE featherd fongster chaunticleer
Had wounde hys bugle horne, The salmon, monarch of the tide;
And told the carlie villager
The commynge of the inorne;
Kynge Edwarde fawe the rudic streakes
Of lyghte eclypfe the greie; By bow'rs of birch, and groves of pine,
And herde the raven's ciokynge throte. And hedges, Aoiver'd with eglantine.
Proclayme the fated daie. Suill on thy banks, to gaily green,
“ Thou’rt ryght,' quod hce, “ for, by the Godde May num'rous herds and focks be seen;
“ That lyttes enthrond o: hyghe, And lailes, chanting o'cr the pail;
“ Charles Baudin, and his fellowes twaine, And thepherds piping in the dale ;
“ To-daie ihall surelie dic.” And ancient faith, that knows no guilc;
Then wythe a jugge of nappy ale
His Knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite;
“ Goe tell the traytour thatt to-daie The blcilings they enjoy to guard.
“ Hec leaves thys mortall state.”
Syr Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe, 85. Songe to Alla, Lorde of the Cafiel of Bry
Wythe hart brymm-fulle of woe ; Nowe ynne daies of yore. From CHATTER- Hee journey'd to the castle-gate, TON, under the name of Rowley.
And to Syr Charles dydd goe. OH thou, orr what remaynes of thee, But whennc hee came, his children twainc, lla, the darlynge of futurity,
And cke hys lovynge wyfe,
For goode Syr Charleses lyfe.
“O goode Syr Charles !” fayd Cartcrlone, redde hue
w Badde tydyngs I doe brynge.” Lyche kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the morn
Spekc boldlie, manne,” sayd brave Syr Charles, Arraung'd ynne dreare arraie,
“Whatte fays thie traytor kynge?" Urporne the lerhale daie, Spredde farre and wydc onne Watchets fore;
“ I grecve to telle, before yonne sonne Than dyddit thou furiouse stande,
“ Does fromme the welkinne flye, And bit thie valyante hande
“ Hee hath uponne hys honour sworne Beefprengedd all the mees wythe gore.
" Thatt thou shalt turelie die.” Drawne bie thyne anlace felle,
“ Wee all must die," quod brave Syr Charles; Downe to the depthe of helle
“Of thatte I'm not affearde : Thousandes of Dacyanns went;
“ What bootes to lyve a little space ? Brystowannes, menne of myghte,
“ Thanke Jesu, I'm prepar'd. Y dar'd the bloudie fyghte,
« Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee 's not, And actedd deeds full quent.
“ l’de sooner die to-daie Oh thou, whereer (thie bones att refte)
“ Thanne lyve hys llave, as manie are, Thye Spryte to haunte dulyghteth beste,
“ Tho' I thould lyve for aie.” Whetherrupponne the bloude-embrewedd pleyne, Thenne Canterlone hee dydd goe out, Or whare iliou kennit from farre
To telle the maior ftraile The dyimali
To gett all thyng-s ynne reddyness Ori seest somme moi ntayoc madc of corscoffeyne; For goodu Syr Charleses fate.
Thenne Maisterr Canynge faughte the kynge, “ We all must die,” quod brave Syr Charles;
“ Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne?
" Of all wec mortall menne. Thennc quod the kynge, “ Your tale speke out, “ Save why, my friend, thie honcft soul “ You have been much oure friende;
« Runns ore T att thync cye; “ Whatever youre request may bee,
“ Is ytte for my most welcome doome “ We wylle to ytte attende."
Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye?" “ My nobile liege ! all my request
Quod godlie Canynge, “ I doe weepe, • Ys for a nobile knyghte,
to Thatt thou soe Toone must dye. “ Who, tho' may hap he has donne wronge, “ And leave thv fonnes and helpless wyfe; “ He thoghte ytte ftylle was ryghte:
“ 'Tys thys thatt wettes mync eye. “ Hee has a spouse and children twaine,
« Thenne drie the teares thatt out thyne cye “ Alle rewyn'd are for aie;
“ From godlie fou:staines sprynge; “ Yf thatt you are rcfolu'd to lert
“ Derhe I delpile, and alle the pow'r “ Charles Bawdin dic to daie."
“ Of Edwarde, traytor kynge. “ Speke nort of such a traytour vile,
“ Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means " Thc kynge ynne fury fayde;
“ I shall religne my lyfe, “ Before the ev'ning starre doth sheene,
“ The Godde i ferre wylic foon provyde “ Bawdin Thall loose hys hedde:
“ For bothe mye sonnes and wyfe. ' Justice does loudlie for hym calle,
“ Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, “ And hce shall have hys meede :
Thys was appointed ince;
“ Shall mortal manne repyne or grudge “ Speke, Maister Canynge! whatte thynge else “ Att present doc you neede!”
“ Whatt Godde ordey nes to bec? My nobile liege!" goode Canynge fayde,
“ Howe oft ynnc battaile have I stoode, “ Leave justice to our Godde,
“ Whan thousands dy'd aroundc; “ And laye thc yronne rule afyde;
“ Whan 1mokynge streems of criiton bloode “ Be thyne the olyve rodde.
“ Imbrew'd the fattcn'd grounde! " Was Godde to serche our hertes and reincs,
“ How dydd I knowe that ev'ry darte, “ The bett were synners grete;
" That cutte the airie waie, «« Christ's vycarr only knowes ne fynne, “ Myghte nott finde paflöge toc my harte, “ Ynne alle thys mortall ftatc.
“ And close myne eyes for aie ? · Lett mcrcie rule thync infante reigne,
“ And Thall I now, for fuere of dethc, “ 'Twylle faste thyc crowne fulle lure;
“ Looke wanne and bce dysmayde? “ From racc to race thy familie
“ Ne! fromm my herte fiie childy the feerea
“ Be alle the manne display'd. “ Alle sov'rcigns Thall endure: “ But yff wythe bloode ann laughter thou
“ Ah, goddelyke Henrie! Godde forcfonde, Beginne thy infante reigne,
“ And guarde thee and thye sonne,
“ Yfitis hys wylle; but yff’tis nott, “ Thy crowne uponne thy childrenncs brows Wylle never lonng remaync."
Why thenne hys wylic be donne.
" My honeste friende, my faulte has beeno “ Canynge, awaiu ! thys traitour vile
• To serve Godde and mye prynce; • Hias Tcorn'd iny power and inte;
" And thatt I no tyme-forver am, « Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne “ Intrcate my clemencyes"
My dethe wylle toone convence. My nobile liege! the truly brave
" Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, Wylle val'rous actions prize,
* Of parents of grete note; • Respect a brave and nobile mynde,
“ My fadre dydd a nobile arms “ Altho' ynne enemies."
“ Emblazon onne hys cote: “ Canynge, awaic! By Godde ynne Heav'n
“ I nake ne doubte butt bee ys gone " That dydd mee beinge gyve,
" Where toone I hope to goe; “ I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade
“ Where wee for ever shall bee blest, Whilft thys Syr Charles dorne lyve.
" From outc the reech of woe : “ By Marie, and all Scinétes
Heav'n, “ Hoe taught mee justice and the laws Thys sunne shall be hys lafte."
“ Wyth pitie to unite; Thenne Canynge dropt a brinic teare,
“ And eke hee taughtc mec howe to knowo And from the presence paste.
“ The wronge cauie fromm thc ryghte: With herte bryinm-fulle of gnawynge grief, “ Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande Hee to Syr Charles dydd goe,
" To feede the hungric poore, And fatt hymm downe uponne a stoole, " Ne lette mye fervants drive awaic And tcares boganne to flowe.
“ The hungrie fromme my doorc: