Poems by Robert Southey Part 4

For a MONUMENT at SILBURY-HILL.

This mound in some remote and dateless day Rear'd o'er a Chieftain of the Age [1] of Hills, May here detain thee Traveller! from thy road Not idly lingering. In his narrow house Some Warrior sleeps below: his gallant deeds Haply at many a solemn festival The Bard has harp'd, but perish'd is the song Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs The wind that pa.s.ses and is heard no more.

Go Traveller on thy way, and contemplate Glory's brief pageant, and remember then That one good deed was never wrought in vain.

[Footnote 1: The Northern Nations distinguished the two periods when the bodies of the dead were consumed by fire, and when they were buried beneath the tumuli so common in this country, by the Age of Fire and the Age of Hills.]

INSCRIPTION VI.

For a MONUMENT in the NEW FOREST.

This is the place where William's kingly power Did from their poor and peaceful homes expel, Unfriended, desolate, and shelterless, The habitants of all the fertile track Far as these wilds extend. He levell'd down Their little cottages, he bade their fields Lie barren, so that o'er the forest waste He might most royally pursue his sports!

If that thine heart be human, Pa.s.senger!

Sure it will swell within thee, and thy lips Will mutter curses on him. Think thou then What cities flame, what hosts unsepulchred Pollute the pa.s.sing wind, when raging Power Drives on his blood-hounds to the chase of Man; And as thy thoughts antic.i.p.ate that day When G.o.d shall judge aright, in charity Pray for the wicked rulers of mankind.

INSCRIPTION VII.

For a TABLET on the Banks of a Stream.

Stranger! awhile upon this mossy bank Recline thee. If the Sun rides high, the breeze, That loves to ripple o'er the rivulet, Will play around thy brow, and the cool sound Of running waters soothe thee. Mark how clear It sparkles o'er the shallows, and behold Where o'er its surface wheels with restless speed Yon glossy insect, on the sand below How the swift shadow flies. The stream is pure In solitude, and many a healthful herb Bends o'er its course and drinks the vital wave: But pa.s.sing on amid the haunts of man, It finds pollution there, and rolls from thence A tainted tide. Seek'st thou for HAPPINESS?

Go Stranger, sojourn in the woodland cot Of INNOCENCE, and thou shalt find her there.

INSCRIPTION VIII.

For the CENOTAPH at ERMENONVILLE.

STRANGER! the MAN OF NATURE lies not here: Enshrin'd far distant by his [1] rival's side His relics rest, there by the giddy throng With blind idolatry alike revered!

Wiselier directed have thy pilgrim feet Explor'd the scenes of Ermenonville. ROUSSEAU Loved these calm haunts of Solitude and Peace; Here he has heard the murmurs of the stream, And the soft rustling of the poplar grove, When o'er their bending boughs the pa.s.sing wind Swept a grey shade. Here if thy breast be full, If in thine eye the tear devout should gush, His SPIRIT shall behold thee, to thine home From hence returning, purified of heart.

[Footnote 1: Voltaire.]

Birth-Day Odes.

O my faithful Friend!

O early chosen, ever found the same, And trusted and beloved! once more the verse Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear, Attend indulgent.

AKENSIDE.

BIRTH-DAY ODE, 1793.

Small is the new-born plant scarce seen Amid the soft encircling green, Where yonder budding acorn rears, Just o'er the waving gra.s.s, its tender head: Slow pa.s.s along the train of years, And on the growing plant, their dews and showers they shed.

Anon it rears aloft its giant form, And spreads its broad-brown arms to meet the storm.

Beneath its boughs far shadowing o'er the plain, From summer suns, repair the grateful village train.

Nor BEDFORD will my friend survey The book of Nature with unheeding eye; For never beams the rising orb of day, For never dimly dies the refluent ray, But as the moralizer marks the sky, He broods with strange delight upon futurity.

And we must muse my friend! maturer years Arise, and other Hopes and other Fears, For we have past the pleasant plains of Youth.

Oh pleasant plains! that we might stray For ever o'er your faery ground-- For ever roam your vales around, Nor onward tempt the dangerous way-- For oh--what numerous foes a.s.sail The Traveller, from that chearful vale!

With toil and heaviness opprest Seek not the flowery bank for rest, Tho' there the bowering woodbine spread Its fragrant shelter o'er thy head, Tho' Zephyr there should linger long To hear the sky-lark's wildly-warbled song, There heedless Youth shalt thou awake The vengeance of the coiling snake!

Tho' fairly smiles the vernal mead To tempt thy pilgrim feet, proceed Hold on thy steady course aright, Else shalt thou wandering o'er the pathless plain, When damp and dark descends the night Shivering and shelterless, repent in vain.

And yet--tho' Dangers lurk on every side Receive not WORLDLY WISDOM for thy guide!

Beneath his care thou wilt not know The throb of unavailing woe, No tear shall tremble in thine eye Thy breast shall struggle with no sigh, He will security impart, But he will apathize thy heart!

Ah no!

Fly Fly that fatal foe, Virtue shall shrink from his torpedo grasp-- For not more fatal thro' the Wretches veins Benumb'd in Death's cold pains Creeps the chill poison of the deadly asp.

Serener joys my friend await Maturer manhood's steady state.

The wild brook bursting from its source Meanders on its early course, Delighting there with winding way Amid the vernal vale to stray, Emerging thence more widely spread It foams along its craggy bed, And shatter'd with the mighty shock Rushes from the giddy rock-- Hurl'd headlong o'er the dangerous steep On runs the current to the deep, And gathering waters as it goes Serene and calm the river flows, Diffuses plenty o'er the smiling coast, Rolls on its stately waves and is in ocean lost.

BIRTH-DAY ODE, 1796.

And wouldst thou seek the low abode Where PEACE delights to dwell?

Pause Traveller on thy way of life!

With many a snare and peril rife Is that long labyrinth of road: Dark is the vale of years before Pause Traveller on thy way!

Nor dare the dangerous path explore Till old EXPERIENCE comes to lend his leading ray.

Not he who comes with lanthorn light Shall guide thy groping pace aright With faltering feet and slow; No! let him rear the torch on high And every maze shall meet thine eye, And every snare and every foe; Then with steady step and strong, Traveller, shalt thou march along.

Tho' POWER invite thee to her hall, Regard not thou her tempting call Her splendors meteor glare; Tho' courteous Flattery there await And Wealth adorn the dome of State, There stalks the midnight spectre CARE; PEACE, Traveller! does not sojourn there.

If FAME allure thee, climb not thou To that steep mountain's craggy brow Where stands her stately pile; For far from thence does PEACE abide, And thou shall find FAME'S favouring smile Cold as the feeble Sun on Heclas snow-clad side,

And Traveller! as thou hopest to find That low and loved abode, Retire thee from the thronging road And shun the mob of human kind.

Ah I hear how old EXPERIENCE schools, "Fly fly the crowd of Knaves and Fools "And thou shalt fly from woe; "The one thy heedless heart will greet "With Judas smile, and thou wilt meet "In every Fool a Foe!"

So safely mayest thou pa.s.s from these, And reach secure the home of PEACE, And FRIENDSHIP find thee there.

No happier state can mortal know, No happier lot can Earth bestow If LOVE thy lot shall share.

Yet still CONTENT with him may dwell Whom HYMEN will not bless, And VIRTUE sojourn in the cell Of HERMIT HAPPINESS.