Poetry Part 5

To view thee I no longer dare.--

I feel my throbbing heart respire.

Again my fancy with unquell'd desire, O Horror! courts thee, trembling owns thy power.

Come, let us now, at this congenial hour, While midnight tempests sweep With bellowing rage the ship-ingulfing deep, While thunders roar, and livid lightnings blaze, Let us on that dread, watery chaos gaze.

Or from the peopled vale, below, Uplooking, see, from lofty Alpine crown, The rolling ma.s.s of snow, Into a mountain grown, Rush overwhelming down.

Or let us, in Numidian desert drear, The roar of prowling beasts, and hiss of serpents hear; Or bask by blazing city; or explore, On Etna's brink, the sulphurous mouth of h.e.l.l, And hear the fiery flood tempestuous roar, And hear the d.a.m.n'd in hotter torments yell.

Or wilt thou, Horror! haunt the villain's breast, In dismal solitude, by thought opprest; Where guilty Conscience fetter'd lies, Turn'd all her shrinking lidless eyes Full to the blaze of truth's unclouded sun, And struggles, still in vain, her pangs, herself to shun?

Ah!--now more hideous grows thine air; With direr aspect ne'er dost thou appear, To fright weak Beings in this earthly sphere; Faint semblance of thy most tremendous mien, As, in Tartarean gulfs of endless night, By agonizing demons thou art seen: But oh! what living eye could bear that sight?

To look on it e'en Fancy does not dare.-- Oh! may I ne'er be doom'd to see thee, Horror! there!

ODE

TO HOPE.

Thou Cherub fair! in whose blue, sparkling eye New joys, antic.i.p.ated, ever play; Celestial Hope! with whose all-potent sway The moral elements of life comply; At thy melodious voice their jarrings cease, And settle into order, beauty, peace; How dear to memory that thrice-hallow'd hour Which gave Thee to the world, auspicious Power!

Sent by thy parent, Mercy, from the sky, Invested with her own all-cheering ray, To dissipate the thick, black cloud of fate Which long had shrouded this terrestrial state, What time fair Virtue, struggling with despair, Pour'd forth to pitying heaven her saddest soul in prayer: Then, then she saw the brightening gloom divide, And Thee, sweet Comforter! adown thy rainbow glide.

From the veil'd awful future, to her view Scenes of immortal bliss thou didst disclose; With faith's rapt eye she hail'd the vision true, Spurn'd the base earth, and smiled upon her woes.

Thou Sovereign of the human soul Whose influence rules without controul!

Unlike thy gloomy rival, Fear, Abhorr'd, usurping Demon! who constrains The shuddering spirit in his icy chains: O Hope! be thou for ever near; Keep the dread tyrant far away, And all my willing, grateful bosom sway.

Each coming hour, that smiles with promise sweet, In thy bright, spotless mirror let me greet, And fondly pa.s.sive to thy dictates, deem Those smiling hours all heavenly as they seem: Should changeful Fortune, hostile in her mood, With storms and thunder arm her meteor-car, And 'gainst me summon all her host to war, Rouse thou, kind Power! the champion Fort.i.tude, With his well-tempered shield To brave the threatening field.

Amid that scene of woes and mental strife Let thy sweet, distant whisper soothe my ear, Inviting Fancy far from mortal life, To wander, blest, her own-created sphere.

Do thou her glowing thought possess, And let her fairy pencil draw, Free, and unconscious of thy law, Fair images of Happiness; Of that celestial form which lives imprest Indelible, eternal, in thy breast.

E'en in the dead calm of the mind, When Fancy sleeps, thou yet be kind; O Hope! still let thy golden pinions play, The unbreathing void to cheer, and shed a glancing ray!

ODE

TO THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

This, this is inspiration's hour!

Poetic Genius, rushing on my soul, Rouses her every sense, her every power, And with a force too mighty to controul Inspires the warm, enthusiastic song: Now will I sing, O Wellington! of thee; To thee my plausive strains, of right, belong; For thee my lyre shall pour its choicest harmony.

Long have I fondly mused the theme sublime; And from my grateful heart of patriot flame In secret, offer'd incense to thy name; But dared not with unhallow'd rhyme Profane the British Hero's fame.

Thrice welcome this propitious time!

Now, joining with my Country's minstrel-band, Thy deeds, O Wellington! will I rehea.r.s.e In lofty never-dying verse, To which Britannia's self shall deign To lend a listening ear, While in thy military, swift career Triumphantly she leads thee by the hand, And proudly thrones thee high in glory's fane.

In yonder eastern climes afar What dawning light attracts the Muse's eye?-- She feels the influence of her ruling star, And with an eagle's gaze, an eagle's wings, As to Apollo's self, transported, springs-- 'Tis Wellington in Victory's brilliant car, Who his triumphal progress has begun; Around him honour's sun Shoots forth its orient ray: In wondering India's sky He rises like the G.o.d of day.

Greet him, O England! greet thy conquering Son!

O! could'st thou but foresee The events of dark futurity, How would'st thou, then, adore the name of Wellington!

Know!--he shall soon thy thunders wield In many a European field, Confound thy haughty foes with dread amaze, And fill the dazzled world with his meridian blaze.

To Europe's frighten'd eyes What scenes of horror rise!

See, from the darkness of the infernal world, Where with the rebel demons he was hurl'd, See, Revolution rears his hydra-head!

Ill-fated Gallia is his destined prey.

Thither the Monster makes his furious way; And with a loud, ferocious yell, That strikes the earth with dread, And spreads delight through h.e.l.l, He summons all his hideous train, To strengthen and support his reign.

Broke are the bonds of social life, All kindred, all domestic ties; Mid scenes of anarchy and civil strife, Mid plots, cabals, and murderous rivalries, Eager for prey, with licence unconfined Range the fierce Pa.s.sions of the human mind, Ambition, Avarice, Anger, Vengeance, Hate: With frantic men rejoicing devils howl, And all h.e.l.l's ravenous blood-hounds barking prowl.

O could oblivion veil that direst page of fate!

The revolutionary storm subsides.-- Lo! now, proud Gallia's Genius towers on high; O'er half Europa he already strides, And glorying in his might threats earth and sky; The neighbouring nations, vanquish'd to his sway, Like abject slaves his tyrant power obey.

What conqueror leads the Gallic armies on?

Fortune's loved child, Ambition's darling son, 'Tis the French Emperor, great Napoleon: And subject to his high imperial will, His warlike marshals his commands fulfil.

What can resist their overwhelming force?

Has Liberty no succour? no resource?

She has! she has! O save her, Wellington!

Ere yet unhappy Spain be forced to yield, Fly with Britannic forces to the field, And pluck the n.o.blest palm thou yet hast won.

The memory of Talavera's day Still strikes our foes with wonder and dismay; There did the Briton soldier boldly claim The honour due to his ill.u.s.trious name.

On Torres-Vedras' height, Like Jove upon the Olympian steep, When he defied the Giant-race to fight, Thy station calmly didst thou keep, Despite the vengeful threats of boasting France.

How didst thou long to see her powers advance!

But no: the veteran Chief, Ma.s.sena, fled.

Swiftly thy ardent troops his flight pursue; His soldiers fall in crowds; Confusion, Fear, And Slaughter dog them in the rear; Famine and Desolation meet their van.

Spaniard with Portuguese in vengeance vies; New toils they still encounter, dangers new, Thus Fortune's Favourite, this unconquer'd man Accomplishes his haughty boast: Home he returns with less than half his host; His baggage, ordnance, thine, brave Wellington!

And all his wreaths in former warfare won.

So Albion, throned upon her rocky seat, Sees the proud-swelling billows idly beat; Resistance needs not their a.s.saults to foil; Shrinking into themselves, they straight recoil, Leaving foam, dirt, and sea-weed at her feet.

On Douro's banks Methinks I view the hostile, threatening ranks; The Lord of war to battle calls:-- Hark! through the affrighted sky Bursts the dread cannons' roar; While thousand slaughterous b.a.l.l.s In vollies whizzing fly.

See, see, the Gallic Captain falls!

His bold achievements now are o'er.

The Britons shout, and rush into the field; The French dishearten'd yield: What heaps of wounded, slain, O'er all the enc.u.mber'd plain!

They now resist no more.-- Hail Wellington!

The battle's won!

The voices of Renown the tidings spread: Exulting England echoes thy applause; Ambitious Gallia hears thy name with dread; While European Freedom lifts her head, And hails the great Defender of her cause.

Hero of England, with admiring eyes We trace in thee the n.o.ble qualities That const.i.tute the Chief complete: In others, oft, they singly shine; In thee they all united meet, And in one galaxy their rays combine.

Nature has given thee an intrepid heart, That ever glows with patriotic flame, And with the impa.s.sion'd love of martial fame.

And gifted, too, thou art With a strong, hardy frame, Patient of toils and hardships. In thy mind Deep judgment with sagacity we find; Coolness and firmness in rare union join'd.

In tactics versed, in all the rules of art, By long experience taught, thou play'st the Chieftain's part.

Lo, now! in vision rapt, I view The far-famed plains of Waterloo.

As slowly, dimly dawns the morning-light, Around the battle-field I cast my sight; Thrill'd with delight severe, with awe opprest, My labouring heart throbs wildly in my breast.

Hail fellow-countrymen! I trust in you, And in your great Commander too; Hail valiant Britons! hail brave Wellington!

Full many a conquest have ye gain'd; O! may another, now, be soon obtain'd!

But yonder see the great Napoleon!

Secure of victory he proudly stands, Surrounded by his choicest veteran bands, Who welcome with loud shouts their long-loved Chief, From Elba's isle return'd, from exile brief; They idolize him as the warrior-G.o.d, And burn with zeal to obey his voice, his nod.

The opponent armies on each other gaze, And look defiance though the view dismays.

Sudden the French artillery rends the skies; And the Britannic instantly replies; Hundreds of brazen throats shoot forth afar Their iron globes, those thunderbolts of war; Hundreds of soldiers fall upon the plain; Some shot, expire; more, wounded, writhe in pain.

The cavalries to combat fiercely dash, And like two comets 'gainst each other clash; Horses and men roll mingled on the ground, Confusion, slaughter, horror all around.

Regiments of infantry form quick the square, And the fierce-charging hors.e.m.e.n firmly dare; In vain to break them every means they try, The troops well-disciplined, the attempts defy.

Long time in dread suspense the strife remains, While heaps of dead and wounded load the plains.