Recollections of Windsor Prison Part 17

Adieu, thou seraph beauty; With blushing roses crown'd, Thy breath no more inspires me, Thy flowers no more surround,

No more, with thee conversing, I spend the joyous day, While hours of laughing pleasure, Unheeded dance away.

Thy fields, by spring enamell'd, These feet no more can tread, Nor in poetic rambles, To whisp'ring rills be led.

Long on the leafless willow, My tuneless harp has hung, The themes are all forgotten, On which its numbers rung.

Ye groves, with music sounding, Ye vales, in smiling bloom, Ye deep and waving forests, The seats of pleasing gloom;

Ye lov'd and honor'd circles, Where peace and friendship dwell-- To all these scenes of pleasure, How can I say--FAREWELL?

How can I, honour'd Mother, Whose mem'ry I adore, Endure the thought, so painful, Of seeing you no more?

You form'd my heart to virtue, My infant mind to truth, And led me, pure and blameless, Amid the snares of youth.

From you the dear idea Of G.o.d I first receiv'd, And charm'd by your example, I in his name believ'd.

To that adored Being You taught these lips to pray, And bless'd my painful childhood With views of heavenly day.

Yet O! farewell, dear mother!-- Be G.o.d Himself your Friend, Your Comforter in trouble, Your Saviour in the end!

Farewell, beloved brothers; My frailties O! forgive!

And while I breathe, repenting, May you respected live.

Endear'd, adored sisters-- But O! my heart, forbear!

How, from thy clasping fibres, Can I these idols tear!

We've lov'd and wept together, And till my latest breath, This heart shall bear their features, And cling to them in death!

Each fond a.s.sociation, How round my heart it plays!

And wakes the recollection Of dear departed days!

These fled--afflictions follow'd; They, too, will soon be o'er-- Soon we shall meet in heaven, To separate no more.

How oft have these dear kindreds Bedew'd my path with tears, And follow'd me, lamenting, Thro' many gloomy years.

But now they weep no longer-- The last sad tears they shed, Fell on that mournful evening When they p.r.o.nounced me DEAD!

They've buri'd me, tho' living, And worn their sable weeds, And down to blank oblivion My memory recedes!

_Dead!_--would to G.o.d I were so!

Why should I wish to live?

A wretched, joyless creature, And only spar'd to grieve!

The gloom of death surrounds me, And chills me to the soul; My tears by sorrow frozen, Have long refus'd to roll.

In vain the pleasing changes Of darkness and of day, Of bloom and desolation, Around my dungeon play.

There is no day in prison, But ever-during night; No pleasing moral verdure, But everlasting blight.

The sun of joy has sunken Behind affliction's cloud, And wrapp'd the earth and heavens Deep in an endless shroud.

Nine summers have roll'd o'er me, As many springs have smil'd, Nine autumns pour'd their treasure, Nine winters whistled wild,

Since on me clos'd and bolted Those ever-frowning gates, And all my views of freedom Have been thro' iron grates.

Yet here I breathe, unhappy, No hope of freedom see-- O! when, enchanting G.o.ddess, Shall I return to thee?

Thron'd on thy native mountain, Beneath the ample sky, Thou heedest not my anguish, Nor hear'st my frequent sigh.

Against embattled legions Thy panoply I bore, And from the brow of victors, The wreath of vict'ry tore.

But thou hast me deserted, And left to weep in vain, In this all-gloomy dungeon To clank my galling chain!

But cease my guilty murmurs, My punishment is right; I forc'd my way to ruin, Against the clearest light.

An angel, sent from heaven, Inform'd my op'ning mind, And to the side of virtue, My shooting thoughts inclin'd.

Religion--always lovely-- Appear'd more lovely still, While with its heavenly spirit, She strove my heart to fill.

Of vice the awful features Her faithful pencil drew, And from the horrid image My frighted eyes withdrew.

O! had I wisely cherish'd These seeds, so timely sown, The tears of vain repentance These eyes had never known.

In all the charms of virtue, Unfallen I had stood, By keen remorse unwither'd, Respected by the good.

O! false, alluring phantoms, Which led my feet astray, In paths to ruin leading, From wisdom's peaceful way.

Yet is maternal culture Most salutary still; The frost of vice may wither The germ it cannot kill.

The tide of sinful pleasure Its poisonous wave may roll, And long the blighting tempest May chill the youthful soul;

It cannot kill--no, _never_-- (Then, mothers, don't despair!) The seeds of moral virtue, So early planted there.

Some heaven-directed sun-beams Will shine around, and then, Warm'd by its genial influence, They'll vegetate again.

My subject, how it brightens!

Be fired, my soul, anew, In numbers sweet as heaven, The ope'ning theme pursue.

Farewell, my sinful murmurs.

Farewell, my sighs and tears; Farewell, thou night of horror, The morn of joy appears!

The beams of heavenly goodness, How bright they shine around, A sea of living pleasure, Where all my griefs are drown'd!

From this glad hour, for ever, Be grat.i.tude my song; My moments, fraught with transport, Shall joyful dance along.

The mercy of my Saviour, What angel tongue can tell, It blazes thro' creation, And cheers the night of h.e.l.l!