Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 89

For whilst accomplished thou wert in my sight I nothing had to do, but look and write.

4 How sadly parted are those words; since I Must now be writing, but no more can look!

Yet in my heart thy precious memory, So deep is graved, that from this faithful book, Truly transcribed, thy character shall shine; Nor shall thy death devour what was divine.

5 Hear then, O all soft-hearted turtles, hear What you alone profoundly will resent: A bird of your pure feather 'tis whom here Her desolate mate remaineth to lament, Whilst she is flown to meet her dearer love, And sing among the winged choir above.

6 Twelve times the glorious sovereign of day Had made his progress, and in every inn Whose golden signs through all his radiant way So high are hung, as often lodged been, Since in the sacred knot this n.o.ble she Deigned to be tied to (then how happy) me.

7 Tied, tied we were so intimately, that We straight were sweetly lost in one another.

Thus when two notes in music's wedlock knit, They in one concord blended are together: For nothing now our life but music was; Her soul the treble made, and mine the base.

8 How at the needless question would she smile, When asked what she desired or counted fit?

Still bidding me examine mine own will, And read the surest answer ready writ.

So centred was her heart in mine, that she Would own no wish, if first not wished by me.

9 Delight was no such thing to her, if I Relished it not: the palate of her pleasure Carefully watched what mine could taste, and by That standard her content resolved to measure.

By this rare art of sweetness did she prove That though she joyed, yet all her joy was love.

10 So was her grief: for wronged herself she held If I were sad alone; her share, alas!

And more than so, in all my sorrows' field She duly reaped: and here alone she was Unjust to me. Ah! dear injustice, which Mak'st me complain that I was loved too much!

11 She ne'er took post to keep an equal pace Still with the newest modes, which swiftly run: She never was perplexed to hear her lace Accused for six months' old, when first put on: She laid no watchful leaguers, costly vain, Intelligence with fashions to maintain.

12 On a pin's point she ne'er held consultation, Nor at her gla.s.s's strict tribunal brought Each plait to scrupulous examination: Ashamed she was that t.i.tan's coach about Half heaven should sooner wheel, than she could pa.s.s Through all the petty stages of her dress.

13 No gadding itch e'er spurred her to delight In needless sallies; none but civil care Of friendly correspondence could invite Her out of doors; unless she 'pointed were By visitations from Heaven's hand, where she Might make her own in tender sympathy.

14 Abroad, she counted but her prison: home, Home was the region of her liberty.

Abroad diverson thronged, and left no room For zeal's set task, and virtue's business free: Home was her less enc.u.mbered scene, though there Angels and G.o.ds she knew spectators were.

15 This weaned her heart from things below, And kindled it with strong desire to gain Her hope's high aim. Life could no longer now Flatter her love, or make her prayers refrain From begging, yet with humble resignation, To be dismissed from her mortal station.

16 Oh, how she welcomed her courteous pain, And languished with most serene content!

No paroxysms could make her once complain, Nor suffered she her patience to be spent Before her life; contriving thus to yield To her disease, and yet not lose the field.

17 This trying furnace wasted day by day (What she herself had always counted dross) Her mortal mansion, which so ruined lay, That of the goodly fabric nothing was Remaining now, but skin and bone; refined Together were her body and her mind.

18 At length the fatal hour--sad hour to me!-- Released the longing soul: no ejulation Tolled her knell; no dying agony Frowned in her death; but in that lamb-like fashion In which she lived ('O righteous heaven!' said I, Who closed her dear eyes,) she had leave to die.

19 O ever-precious soul! yet shall that flight Of thine not s.n.a.t.c.h thee from thy wonted nest: Here shalt thou dwell, here shalt thou live in spite Of any death--here in this faithful breast.

Unworthy 'tis, I know, by being mine; Yet nothing less, since long it has been thine.

20 Accept thy dearer portraiture, which I Have on my other Psyche fixed here; Since her ideal beauties signify The truth of thine: as for her spots, they are Thy useful foil, and shall inservient be But to enhance and more ill.u.s.trate thee.

IMPERIAL ROME PERSONIFIED.

1 Thus came the monster to his dearest place On earth, a palace wondrous large and high, Which on seven mountains' heads enthroned was; Thus, by its sevenfold tumour, copying The number of the horns which crowned its king.

2 Of dead men's bones were all the exterior walls, Raised to a fair but formidable height; In answer to which strange materials, A graff of dreadful depth and breadth Upon the works, filled with a piteous flood Of innocently-pure and holy blood.

3 Those awful birds, whose joy is ravenous war, Strong-taloned eagles, perched upon the head Of every turret, took their prospect far And wide about the world; and questioned Each wind that travelled by, to know if they Could tell them news of any b.l.o.o.d.y prey.

4 The inner bulwarks, raised of shining bra.s.s, With firmitude and pride were b.u.t.tressed.

The gate of polished steel wide opened was To entertain those throngs, who offered Their slavish necks to take the yoke, and which That city's tyrant did the world bewitch.

5 For she had wisely ordered it to be Gilded with Liberty's enchanting name; Whence cheated nations, who before were free, Into her flattering chains for freedom came.

Thus her strange conquests overtook the sun Who rose and set in her dominion.

6 But thick within the line erected were Innumerable prisons, plated round With ma.s.sy iron and with jealous fear: And in those forts of barbarism, profound And miry dungeons, where contagious stink, Cold, anguish, horror, had their dismal sink.

7 In these, pressed down with chains of fretting bra.s.s, Ten thousand innocent lambs did bleating lie; Whose groans, reported by the hollow place, Summoned compa.s.sion from the pa.s.sers by; Whom they, alas! no less relentless found, Than was the bra.s.s which them to sorrow bound.

8 For they designed for the shambles were To feast the tyrant's greedy cruelty, Who could be gratified with no fare But such delight of savage luxury.

END.

1 Sweet End, thou sea of satisfaction, which The weary streams unto thy bosom tak'st; The springs unto the spring thou first doth reach, And, by thine inexhausted kindness, mak'st Them fall so deep in love with thee, that through All rocks and mountains to thy arms they flow.

2 Thou art the centre, in whose close embrace, From all the wild circ.u.mference, each line Directly runs to find its resting-place: Upon their swiftest wings, to perch on thine Enn.o.bling breast, which is their only b.u.t.t, The arrows of all high desires are shot.

3 All labours pant and languish after thee, Stretching their longest arms to catch their bliss; Which in the way, how sweet soe'er it be, They never find; and therefore on they press Further and further, till desired thou, Their only crown, meet'st their ambition's brow.

4 With smiles the ploughman to the smiling spring Returns not answer, but is jealous till His patient hopes thy happy season bring Unto their ripeness with his corn, and fill His barns with plenteous sheaves, with joy his heart; For thou, and none but thou, his harvest art.

5 The no less sweating and industrious lover Lays not his panting heart to rest upon Kind looks and gracious promises, which hover On love's outside, and may as soon be gone As easily they came; but strives to see His hopes and nuptials ratified by thee.

6 The traveller suspecteth every way, Though they thick traced and fairly beaten be; Nor is secure but that his leader may Step into some mistake as well as he; Or that his strength may fail him; till he win Possession of thee, his wished inn.

7 n.o.bly besmeared with Olympic dust, The hardy runner prosecutes his race With obstinate celerity, in trust That thou wilt wipe and glorify his face: His prize's soul art thou, whose precious sake Makes him those mighty pains with pleasure take.

8 The mariner will trust no winds, although Upon his sails they blow fair flattery; No tides which, with all fawning smoothness, flow Can charm his fears into security; He credits none but thee, who art his bay, To which, through calms and storms, he hunts his way.

9 And so have I, cheered up with hopes at last To double thee, endured a tedious sea; Through public foaming tempests have I pa.s.sed; Through flattering calms of private suavity; Through interrupting company's thick press; And through the lake of mine own laziness:

10 Through many sirens' charms, which me invited To dance to ease's tunes, the tunes in fashion; Through many cross, misgiving thoughts, which frighted My jealous pen; and through the conjuration Of ignorant and envious censures, which Implacably against all poems itch:

11 But chiefly those which venture in a way That yet no Muse's feet have chose to trace; Which trust that Psyche and her Jesus may Adorn a verse with as becoming grace As Venus and her son; that truth may be A n.o.bler theme than lies and vanity.

12 Which broach no Aganippe's streams, but those Where virgin souls without a blush may bathe; Which dare the boisterous mult.i.tude oppose With gentle numbers; which despise the wrath Of galled sin; which think not fit to trace Or Greek or Roman song with slavish pace.

13 And seeing now I am in ken of thee, The harbour which inflamed my desire, And with this steady patience ballas'd[1] me In my uneven road; I am on fire, Till into thy embrace myself I throw, And on the sh.o.r.e hang up my finished vow.

[1] 'Ballas'd:' ballasted.