Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 49

Am I awake? or have some dreams conspired To mock my sense with what I most desired?

View I that living face, see I those looks, Which with delight were wont t'amaze my brooks?

Do I behold that worth, that man divine, This age's glory, by these banks of mine?

Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain, My much beloved prince is come again; So unto them whose zenith is the pole, When six black months are past, the sun doth roll: So after tempest to sea-tossed wights Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering lights: So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods, And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods; The feather'd Sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky; Nile marvels, Seraph's priests, entranced, rave, And in Mydonian stone her shape engrave; In lasting cedars they do mark the time In which Apollo's bird came to their clime.

Let Mother Earth now deck'd with flowers be seen, And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green, Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower, Such as on India's sh.o.r.es they use to pour: Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born.

May never hours the web of day outweave, May never night rise from her sable cave.

Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare Your joys as ample as their causes are: For murmurs hoa.r.s.e sound like Arion's harp, Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp; And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair; Strow all your springs and grots with lilies fair: Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday; Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, Which see the rising or the setting sun, Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochil's snows: Stone-rolling Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day; Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crown'd, Strange Lomond for his floating isles renown'd: The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, Tweed which no more our kingdoms shall divide; Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names, To every one proclaim our joys and feasts, Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests: And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall, Bid them bid sea-G.o.ds keep this festival; This day shall by our currents be renown'd, Our hills about shall still this day resound; Nay, that our love more to this day appear, Let us with it henceforth begin our year.

To virgins, flowers; to sunburnt earth, the rain; To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn, Are not so pleasing as thy blest return.

That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight, (Day, no, but darkness and a dusky night,) Did fill our b.r.e.a.s.t.s with sighs, our eyes with tears, Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years, Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers, Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers, Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost, As if again she had her daughter lost: The muses left our groves, and for sweet songs Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs.

You know it, meads; your murmuring woods it know, Hill, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; And you it know, my streams, which from their een Oft on your gla.s.s received their pearly brine; O Naiads dear, (said they,) Napeas fair, O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair!

Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state, Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late.

As looks the heaven when never star appears, But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres, While t.i.ton's wife embosom'd by him lies, And world doth languish in a dreary guise: As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd, As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd, As portraits razed of colours used to be: So look'd these abject bounds deprived of thee.

While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams, They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams, Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar, Nor golden Gange that sees the sun new born, Nor Achelous with his flowery horn, Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall: For why? thy sight did serve to them for all.

No place there is so desert, so alone, Even from the frozen to the torrid zone, From flaming Hecla to great Quinsey's lake, Which thy abode could not most happy make; All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven To divers worlds in divers times were given, The starry senate pour'd at once on thee, That thou exemplar mightst to others be.

Thy life was kept till the Three Sisters spun Their threads of gold, and then it was begun.

With chequer'd clouds when skies do look most fair, And no disordered blasts disturb the air, When lilies do them deck in azure gowns; And new-born roses blush with golden crowns, To prove how calm we under thee should live, What halcyonian days thy reign should give, And to two flowery diadems thy right; The heavens thee made a partner of the light.

Scarce wast thou born when, join'd in friendly bands, Two mortal foes with other clasped hands; With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place; One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake, The other on thee not to turn her back; And that thou more her love's effects mightst feel, For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel.

When years thee vigour gave, oh, then, how clear Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear!

Amongst the woods to force the flying hart, To pierce the mountain wolf with feather'd dart; See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare, Outrun the wind-outrunning Doedale hare, To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain, And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, The press thee making place, and vulgar things, In Admiration's air, on Glory's wings; Oh, thou far from the common pitch didst rise, With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes: Thou soughtst to know this All's eternal source, Of ever-turning heaven the restless course, Their fixed lamps, their lights which wandering run, Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun; If Fate there be or no, if planets can By fierce aspects force the free will of man; The light aspiring fire, the liquid air, The flaming dragons, comets with red hair, Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow, Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, The roaring elements, with people dumb, The earth with what conceived is in her womb.

What on her moves were set unto thy sight, Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might.

But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, As to be read in man, and learn to reign: To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down.

When from those piercing cares which thrones invest, As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, To the Pierian groves thou didst retire: There garlanded with all Urania's flowers, In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the main, Or which did call Eurydice again, Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere Stars seem'd to shoot thy melody to hear.

The G.o.d with golden hair, the sister maids, Did leave their Helicon, and Tempe's shades, To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue, And in thy world-divided language sung.

Who of thine after age can count the deeds, With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads?

How, by example more than any law, This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; How, while the neighbour world, toss'd by the Fates, So many Phaetons had in their states, Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish'd thrones, Thou, as ensphered, kept'st temperate thy zones; In Afric sh.o.r.es the sands that ebb and flow, The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, He sure may count, with all the waves that meet To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet.

Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a king by birth, Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth.

Search this half sphere, and the Antarctic ground, Where is such wit and bounty to be found?

As into silent night, when near the Bear, The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, And strives to match her brother's golden light, The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire, Po burns no more with Phaetontal fire: Orion faints to see his arms grow black, And that his flaming sword he now doth lack: So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree, Lose all their l.u.s.tre parallel'd with thee; By just descent thou from more kings dost shine, Than many can name men in all their line: What most they toil to find, and finding hold, Thou scornest--orient gems, and flattering gold; Esteeming treasure surer in men's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Than when immured with marble, closed in chests; No stormy pa.s.sions do disturb thy mind, No mists of greatness ever could thee blind: Who yet hath been so meek? thou life didst give To them who did repine to see thee live; What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd?

Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd?

Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears, Some giant post their antique armour bears: Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, The wanton swain sits piping on a reed; And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn, The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn: Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye, The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks, Seas have no dangers save the wind and rocks: Thou art this isle's Palladium, neither can (Whiles thou dost live) it be o'erthrown by man.

Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes, Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air, Count how they make the Scythian them adore, The Gaditan and soldier of Aurore.

Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds, That charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds; Who have no law to their ambitious will, But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill!

Thou a true victor art, sent from above What others strain by force, to gain by love; World-wandering Fame this praise to thee imparts, To be the only monarch of all hearts.

They many fear who are of many fear'd, And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd; Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth down, No guard so sure as love unto a crown.

Eye of our western world, Mars-daunting king, With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring, Thy deeds not only claim these diadems, To which Thame, Liftey, Tay, subject their streams; But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due All that the planet of the year doth view; Sure if the world above did want a prince, The world above to it would take thee hence.

That Murder, Rapine, l.u.s.t, are fled to h.e.l.l, And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell; That honour more than riches men respect, That worthiness than gold doth more effect, That Piety unmasked shows her face, That Innocency keeps with Power her place, That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven, And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even, That the Saturnian world is come again, Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign.

That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase, And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Inc.u.mbers, cease; That men use strength not to shed others' blood, But use their strength now to do others good; That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath, That (save by Nature's hand) there is no death; That late grim foes like brothers other love, That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain, Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign.

That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise, That their wind-moving vanes do kiss the skies; That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away, That buried Arts now rouse them to the day, That Hyperion far beyond his bed Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread; That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom warms; That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain, Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign.

O Virtue's pattern, glory of our times, Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, Great king, but better far than thou art great, Whom state not honours, but who honours state, By wonder born, by wonder first install'd, By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd; Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms, Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings, A king of wonder, wonder unto kings.

If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen, Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been; If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give, Even Brutus joy would under thee to live, For thou thy people dost so dearly love, That they a father, more than prince, thee prove.

O days to be desired! Age happy thrice!

If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize; But we (half palsy-sick) think never right Of what we hold, till it be from our sight, Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath, When armed winters threaten us with death, In pallid sickness do esteem of health, And by sad poverty discern of wealth: I see an age when, after some few years, And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres, These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd, And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd.

The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines, Graven in Time's surly brows, in wrinkled lines, Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, Shall by this prince's name be pa.s.s'd as far As meteors are by the Idalian star.

If gray-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss-- And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is-- There is a land hence distant many miles, Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles, Which (homelings) from this little world we name, That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, Shall rear him statues all of purest gold, Such as men gave unto the G.o.ds of old, Name by him temples, palaces, and towns, With some great river, which their fields renowns: This is that king who should make right each wrong, Of whom the bards and mystic Sibyls sung, The man long promised, by whose glorious reign This isle should yet her ancient name regain, And more of fortunate deserve the style, Than those whose heavens with double summers smile.

Run on, great prince, thy course in glory's way, The end the life, the evening crowns the day; Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above Those heights which made the world thee first to love; Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last, Let them exceed those of thy younger time, As far as autumn; doth the flowery prime.

Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye, That once each year surveys all earth and sky, Now glances on the slow and resty Bears, Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even In the figured circle of the heaven: Oh, long, long haunt these bounds which by thy sight Have now regain'd their former heat and light.

Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, Embroidering all the banks, here hills aspire To crown their heads with the ethereal fire, Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, Which never friends did slight, nor sword made thralls: Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays, Men here in health outlive old Nestor's days: Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains, Bound in our caves, with many metall'd chains, Bulls haunt our shade like Leda's lover white, Which yet might breed Pesiphae delight, Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport Endymion of old the moon did court, High-palmed harts amidst our forests run, And, not impaled, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun; The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds, And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds.

The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring, Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' girls, The Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls; The Tritons, herdsmen of the gla.s.sy field, Shall give thee what far-distant sh.o.r.es can yield, The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems, Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, Sabasan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes: And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown, Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, And yearly sing due paeans to thy praise.

Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine?

Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine?

Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store, Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more: Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, For swans, and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, Yet for the t.i.tle may be claim'd in thee, Nor she nor all the world can match with me.

Now when, by honour drawn, them shalt away To her, already jealous of thy stay, When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport, Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short, And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the north, Loathe not to think on thy much-loving Forth: Oh, love these bounds, where of thy royal stem More than an hundred wore a diadem.

So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn, So never time may see thy race outworn, So of thine own still mayst thou be desired, Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admired; So Memory thee praise, so precious hours May character thy name in starry flowers; So may thy high exploits at last make even, With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven.

SONNETS.

I.

I know that all beneath the moon decays, And what by mortals in this world is brought, In Time's great periods shall return to nought; That fairest states have fatal nights and days; I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, With toil of sp'rit, which are so dearly bought, As idle sounds, of few, or none, are sought, That there is nothing lighter than vain praise; I know frail beauty like the purple flower, To which one morn oft birth and death affords, That love a jarring is of minds' accords, Where sense and will enva.s.sal Reason's power; Know what I list, all this can not me move, But that, alas! I both must write and love.

II.

Ah me! and I am now the man whose muse In happier times was wont to laugh at love, And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse The n.o.ble gifts were given them from above.

What metamorphose strange is this I prove I Myself now scarce I find myself to be, And think no fable Circe's tyranny, And all the tales are told of changed Jove; Virtue hath taught with her philosophy My mind into a better course to move: Reason may chide her fill, and oft reprove Affection's power, but what is that to me?

Who ever think, and never think on ought But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought.

III.

How that vast heaven, ent.i.tled first, is roll'd, If any glancing towers beyond it be, And people living in eternity, Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: What motion have those fixed sparks of gold, The wandering carbuncles which shine from high, By sp'rits, or bodies crossways in the sky, If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen With borrow'd beams looks on this hanging round, What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters seen In air's large field of light, and seas profound, Did hold my wandering thoughts, when thy sweet eye Bade me leave all, and only think on thee.

IV.

If cross'd with all mishaps be my poor life, If one short day I never spent in mirth, If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth; If this vain world be but a mournful stage, Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars, If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age; If knowledge serves to hold our thoughts in wars, If Time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, And make what's long since past, like that's to be; If virtue only be an idle name, If being born I was but born to die; Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days?

The fairest rose in shortest time decays.

V.

Dear chorister, who from those shadows sends, Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light, Such sad, lamenting strains, that night attends, Become all ear; stars stay to hear thy plight, If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste delight, May thee importune who like case pretends, And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite.

Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky, Enamour'd, smiles on woods and flowery plains?

The bird, as if my questions did her move, With trembling wings sigh'd forth, 'I love, I love.'

VI.

Sweet soul, which, in the April of thy years, For to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd, Most blest abides above the sphere of spheres; If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound From looking to this globe that all upbears, If ruth and pity there above be found, Oh, deign to lend a look unto these tears, Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, My offerings take, let this for me suffice, My heart a living pyramid I raise: And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green, Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen.

SPIRITUAL POEMS.

I.