Poems by Robert Southey Part 3

I sorrow for the ills thy life has known As thro' the world's long pilgrimage, alone, Haunted by Poverty and woe-begone, Unloved, unfriended, thou didst journey on: Thy youth in ignorance and labour past, And thine old age all barrenness and blast!

Hard was thy Fate, which, while it doom'd to woe, Denied thee wisdom to support the blow; And robb'd of all its energy thy mind, Ere yet it cast thee on thy fellow-kind, Abject of thought, the victim of distress, To wander in the world's wide wilderness.

Poor Outcast sleep in peace! the wintry storm Blows bleak no more on thine unshelter'd form; Thy woes are past; thou restest in the tomb;-- I pause--and ponder on the days to come.

ODE

written on the first of January, 1794

Come melancholy Moralizer--come!

Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath; With me engarland now The SEPULCHRE OF TIME!

Come Moralizer to the funeral song!

I pour the dirge of the Departed Days, For well the funeral song Befits this solemn hour.

But hark! even now the merry bells ring round With clamorous joy to welcome in this day, This consecrated day, To Mirth and Indolence.

Mortal! whilst Fortune with benignant hand Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness, Whilst her unclouded sun Illumes thy summer day,

Canst thou rejoice--rejoice that Time flies fast?

That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun?

That swift the stream of Years Rolls to Eternity?

If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish, If Power be thine, remember what thou art-- Remember thou art Man, And Death thine heritage!

Hast thou known Love? does Beauty's better sun Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile, Her eye all eloquence, Her voice all harmony?

Oh state of happiness! hark how the gale Moans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove!

Winter is dark and cold-- Where now the charms of Spring?

Sayst thou that Fancy paints the future scene In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stol'd Maid With stern and frowning front Appals the shuddering soul?

And would'st thou bid me court her faery form When, as she sports her in some happier mood, Her many-colour'd robes Dance varying to the Sun?

Ah vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long road Leads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vext height, With anxious gaze survey The fruitful far-off vale.

Oh there are those who love the pensive song To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant!

There are who at this hour Will love to contemplate!

For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time, Rejoicing when the fading orb of day Is sunk again in night, That one day more is gone.

And he who bears Affliction's heavy load With patient piety, well pleas'd he knows The World a pilgrimage, The Grave the inn of rest.

Inscriptions

The three Utilitise of Poetry: the praise of Virtue and Goodness, the Memory of things remarkable, and to invigorate the affections.

Welsh Triad.

INSCRIPTION I.

For a TABLET at G.o.dSTOW NUNNERY.

Here Stranger rest thee! from the neighbouring towers Of Oxford, haply thou hast forced thy bark Up this strong stream, whose broken waters here Send pleasant murmurs to the listening sense: Rest thee beneath this hazel; its green boughs Afford a grateful shade, and to the eye Fair is its fruit: Stranger! the seemly fruit Is worthless, all[1] is hollowness within, For on the grave of ROSAMUND it grows!

Young lovely and beloved she fell seduced, And here retir'd to wear her wretched age In earnest prayer and bitter penitence, Despis'd and self-despising: think of her Young Man! and learn to reverence Womankind!

[Footnote 1: I have often seen this hazel: its nuts are apparently very fine, but always without a kernel.]

INSCRIPTION II.

For a COLUMN at NEWBURY.

Art thou a Patriot Traveller? on this field Did FALKLAND fall the blameless and the brave Beneath a Tyrant's banners: dost thou boast Of loyal ardor? HAMBDEN perish'd here, The rebel HAMBDEN, at whose glorious name The heart of every honest Englishman Beats high with conscious pride. Both uncorrupt, Friends to their common country both, they fought, They died in adverse armies. Traveller!

If with thy neighbour thou should'st not accord, In charity remember these good men, And quell each angry and injurious thought.

INSCRIPTION III.

For a CAVERN that overlooks the River AVON.

Enter this cavern Stranger! the ascent Is long and steep and toilsome; here awhile Thou mayest repose thee, from the noontide heat O'ercanopied by this arch'd rock that strikes A grateful coolness: clasping its rough arms Round the rude portal, the old ivy hangs Its dark green branches down, and the wild Bees, O'er its grey blossoms murmuring ceaseless, make Most pleasant melody. No common spot Receives thee, for the Power who prompts the song, Loves this secluded haunt. The tide below Scarce sends the sound of waters to thine ear; And this high-hanging forest to the wind Varies its many hues. Gaze Stranger here!

And let thy soften'd heart intensely feel How good, how lovely, Nature! When from hence Departing to the City's crouded streets, Thy sickening eye at every step revolts From scenes of vice and wretchedness; reflect That Man creates the evil he endures.

INSCRIPTION IV.

For the Apartment in CHEPSTOW-CASTLE where HENRY MARTEN the Regicide was imprisoned Thirty Years.

For thirty years secluded from mankind, Here Marten linger'd. Often have these walls Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread He paced around his prison: not to him Did Nature's fair varieties exist; He never saw the Sun's delightful beams, Save when thro' yon high bars it pour'd a sad And broken splendor. Dost thou ask his crime?

He had rebell'd against the King, and sat In judgment on him; for his ardent mind Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth, And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! But such As PLATO lov'd; such as with holy zeal Our MILTON worshipp'd. Blessed hopes! awhile From man withheld, even to the latter days, When CHRIST shall come and all things be fulfill'd.

INSCRIPTION V.