The face of nature in a rich difguife, And brighten'd every object to my eyes: For ev'ry fhrub, and every blade of grafs, And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glafs, In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhew, While thro' the ice the crimfon berries glow. The thick-fprung reeds the wat'ry marthes yield Seem polifh'd lances in a hoftile field. The flag, in limpid currents, with furprife Sces crystal branches on his forehead rife. The 'preading cak, the beech, and tow'ring pine, Glaz'd over, in the frizing æther shine. The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun, That wave and glitter in the distant fun. When, if a fudden guft of wind arife, The brittle foreft into atoms flies:
The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends, And in a fpangled fhow'r the profpect ends; Or, if a fubern gale the region warm, And by degrees unbind the wint'ry charm, The travelier a miry country fees, And journeys fad beneath the dropping trees.
Like fome deluded pealant Merlin leads Thro' fragrant pow'rs, and thro' delicious meads; While here enchanted gardens to him rife, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, His wand'ring feet the magic paths purfue; And, while he thinks the fair illufion true, The tracklefs fcenes difperfe in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways, appear: A tedious road the weary wretch returns, And, as he goes, the tranfient vifion mourns..
§ 98. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILLE.
AH! what avails the lengthening mead, By Nature's kindest bounty spread Along the vale of flow'rs! Ah! what avails the darkening grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours! For me, alas! the god of day Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn spray, Nor night her comfort brings: I have no pleasure in the rofe; For me no vernal beauty blows, Nor Philomela fings.
See how the sturdy peasants ftride Adown yon hillock's verdant side, In cheerful ignorance blest ! Alike to them the rofe or thorn, Alike arifes every morn,
By gay Contentment dreft. Content, fair daughter of the fkies, Or gives fpontaneous, or denies,
Her choice divinely free: She vifits oft the hamlet cot, When Want and Sorrow are the lot Of Avarice and me.
But fee or is it Fancy's dream? Methought a bright celeftial gleam
Shot fudden thro' the groves;
Behold, behold, in loose array, Euphrofyne, more bright than day, More mild than Paphian doves! Welcome, oh welcome, Pleasure's queen! And fee, along the velvet green
With fcatter'd flow'rs they fill the air; The jocund train advance: The wood-nymph's dew-befpangled hair Plays in the fportive dance.
Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven, When to the feeling wretch is given A foul alive to joy!
Joys fly with every hour away, And leave th' unguarded heart a prey To cares that peace destroy.
And fee, with visionary hafte (Too foon the gay delufion paft) Reality remains!
Defpair has feiz'd my captive foul; And horror drives without controul,
And flackens ftill the reins.
What beauties, fay, ye nymphs, belong Ten thousand beauties round me throng; To the diffemper'd foul?
I fee the lawn of hideous dye; The towering elm nods mifery;
With groans the waters roll. Ye vivid tints of Perfia's looms, Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye were for mifery made.- 'Twas thus the Man of Sorrow spoke; His wayward ftep then penfive took Along th' unhallow'd' fhade.
899. Monody to the Memory of a Young Lady.
YET do I live? Oh how shall I sustain
This vaft unutterable weight of woe? This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain, Or all the complicated ills below? She, in whofe life my hopes were treasur'd all, Is gone for ever fled
My dearest Emma's dead;
Thefe eyes, thefe tear-fwol'n eyes beheld her fall. Ah no-the lives on fome far happier shore, She lives-but (cruel thought!) the lives for me
I, who the tedious abfence of a day
Remov'd, would languifh for my charmer's Would chide the lingering moments for delay, And fondly blame the flow return of night; How, how fhall I endure
(O mifery paft a cure!) Hours, days, and years, fucceffively to roll, Nor ever more behold the comfort of my foul? Was the not all my fondeft wifh could frame? Did ever mind fo much of heaven partake? Did the not love me with the purest flame? And give up friends and fortune for my fake? Though mild as evening fkies, With downcaft, ftreaming eyes,
Stood the ftern frown of fupercilious brows, Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her
Come then, fome Mufe, the faddeft of the train (No more your bard fhall dwell on idle lays), Teach me each moving melancholy strain,
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' impaffion'd line; A flood of tears may gufh to my relief, [of grief. And from my fwelling heart discharge this load Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear
To wound my ears with the fad tales you tell; "How good she was, how gentle, and how fair!' In pity ceafc-alas! I know too well How in her fweet expreffive face
Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind, Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,
Of manners most engaging, moft refin'd. No pitcous object could the fee,
But her foft bofom fhar'd the woe, While fimiles of affability
Endear'd 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 boast how rare! The fecret in her faithful breaft repos'd She ne'er with lawlefs tongue difclos'd,
In fecret filence lodg'd inviolate there. Oh feeble words-unable to exprefs Her matchlefs virtues, or my own distress ! Relentless death! that, fteel'd to human woe,
With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man- 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, Opprefs'd with forrow, want, or dire disease,
And fupplicate thy aid, as I do now: In vain-perverfe, ftill on th' unweeting head 'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to fhed; Hope's infant bloffoms to destroy, 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 house-fupprefs my fighs, Refolv'd to dry my unavailing tears: But, ah! in vain-no change of time or The memory can efface [place Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air, Now loft; and nought remains but anguish and despair.
Where were the delegates of Heaven, oh where! Appointed Virtue's children fafe to keep?
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 fmile, My forrows to beguile,
When Torture's keenest rage fhe 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 refiklefs pow'r, My hand the prets'd, wet with her falling tears, And thus, in fault'ring accents, spoke her fears! "Ah, my lov'd lord, the tranfient fcene is o'er, "And we muft 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 car; "If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain, "Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune finil'd ❝ in vain;
"If it has been my fole endeavour ftill "To act in all obícquious to thy will; "To watch thy very fmiles, thy with to know, "Then only truly bleft when thou wert so; "If I have doated with that fond excefs, "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 see, "And hate it for the love thou bor'ft to me:
My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears; "But one word more-I cannot bear thy tears"Promife-and I will truft thy faithful vow
(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true) "That to fome diftant fpot thou wilt remove
This fatal pledge of haplefs Emma's love, "Where fafe thy blandithments it may partake, "And, oh! be tender for its mother's fake, "Wilt thou -
"I know thou wilt-fad filence fpeaks 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, Sustain the firmness of my foul no more, But fink beneath the weight: Juft Heaven! I cried, from Memory's earliest No comfort has thy wretched fuppliant known; Misfortune ftill, with unrelenting (way,
Has claim'd me for her own. But, oh! in pity to my grief, restore This only fource of blifs; I afk-I ask no more- Vain hope th' irrevocable doom is past, Ev'n now the looks-fhe fighs her last- Vainly I ftrive to ftay her flecting breath, [death. And, with rebellious heart, protest against her When the ftern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow! With impious with to tear her from the fkies, How curfe my fate in bitterness of woe!
But whither would this dreadful phrenzy lead? | Her lovely form purfues where'er I Fond man, forbear,
Thy fruitlefs forrow fpare,
Dare not to task what Heaven's high will decreed; 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
To fhew that all the flatt'ring schemes of joy, Which tow'ring Hope fo fendly builds in air, One fatal moment can destroy, 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 adminifter its wonted balm, And hush 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 bliss is past! My budding joys, juft promifing to blow,
All nipt and wither'd by one envious blaft! My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away, Move heavily along;
[fong? Where's now the fprightly jeft, the jocund Time creeps, unconfcious 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 repofe on a fad widow'd bed: Come, Theban drug, the wretch's only aid, To my torn heart its former peace reftore; 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 Einma's face Again with transport hear Her voice oft whifpering in my car; May fteal once more a balmy kifs, And tafte at least of vifionary blifs. But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light 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 ftray, Alas! what pleasures now can thefe convey?
And darkens all the fcene 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 reftore No herb, no plant, can med'cine my disease, And my fad fighs are borne on ev'ry paffing breeze.
Sicknefs and forrow hov'ring round my bed, Who now with anxious hafte shall bring relief, With lenient hand support my drooping head, Affuage my pains, and mitigate my grief? Should worldly bufinefs call away,
Who now shall in my abfence fondly mourn, Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day, Impatient for my quick return? Should aught my bofom difcompose,
Who now, with fweet complacent air; Shall fmooth 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 Reafon's dawn informs thy infant mind,
And thy fweet lifping tongue shall 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 diftrefs'd, More beggar by the riches once poifeft, My little darling!-dearer to me grown
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 fhall feck with fond delight Thy infant fteps to guide aright? She, who with doating eyes would gaze On all thy little artlefs ways,
And clafp thee oft with tranfport to her breast, By all thy foft endearments bleft, Alas! is gone-yet fhalt thou prove A father's dearest, tenderest love; And, O fweet fenfelefs fimiler (envied state!) As yet unconscious of thy hapiefs 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 earth (Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth), And be the comfort of my age? When fick and languishing I lic, Wilt thou my Emina's wonted care fupply a
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? * Laudanum,
"And prattle tales of woe.
"And, oh! in that aufpicious hour,
"When Fate refigns her perfecuting pow'r, "With duteous zeal her hand fhall close, "No more to weep, my forrow-ftreaming eyes, When death gives mifery repofe,
In all the pride of youthful charms, A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms! A lovely babe that should have liv'd to blefs, And fill my doating eyes with frequent"
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 languifh'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 fhun the noify paths of wealth and fame, And breathe our forrows in this lonely bow'r.
But why, alas! to thee complain, To thec-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 fpring Again fhall plume thy fhatter'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 repofe :
O what delufion did thy tongue employ ! "That Emma's fatal pledge of love,
"Her laft bequcft, with all a mother's care, "The bitterness of forrow thould remove,
Soften the horrors of defpair,
"And opes a glorious paffage to the skies." Vain thought! it must not be-fhe too is dead; The flatt'ring fcene is o'er; My hopes for ever, ever fled;
And vengeance can no more. Crufh'd by misfortune, blafted by difenfe,
And none--none left to bear a friendly part! To meditate my welfare, health, or cafe,
Or footh the anguifh of an aching heart! Now all one gloomy fcene, till welcome death, With lenient hand (oh falfely deem'd fevere), Shall kindly ftop my grief-exhaufted breath, And dry up ev'ry tear.
Perhaps, obfequious 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, unconscious 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,
In piteous accents fhall the mufe complain, And dwell with fond delay on bleflings paft: For oh how grateful to a wounded heart, The tale of mifery to impart !
From others eyes bid artlefs forrows flow, And raife efteem 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,
“And cheer a heart long loft to joy !"
§ 101. An Ode to Narciffa. SMOLLET. THY fatal fhafts unerring move;
I bow before thine altar, Love!
I feel thy foft, refiftless 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! Condeinn'd to nurfe eternal care, And ever drop the filent tear; Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh, Unfriended live, unpitied die!
Monimia, give my foul her wonted reft: Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, Heart-gnawing cares corrode my penfive breaft! Let happy lovers fly where pleafures call, With feftive fongs beguile the fleeting 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'ting on the ivy'd wall, And sheeted ghofts drink up the raidnight 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 duft my weary limbs confign. 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 breast?
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 ftorms away From happier fcenes, to make your land a prey; Proclaims the foil a conqueft he has won, And fcorns to fhare it with the diftant fun.
Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ifle; And peace, the genuine offspring of her fmile: The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds In chains of error our accomplish'd minds; That decks with all the splendour 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 with can profper, or what
For merchants rich in cargoes of defpair, Who drive a loathfome traffic, gage and fpan, And buy the mufcles and the bones of man? The tender ties of father, husband, friend, All bonds of nature, in that moment end; And each endurcs, 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 fhore, But not the thought that they must meet no more; Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, 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 iils 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.
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