The Poetical Works of Beattie, Blair, and Falconer Part 3

26

"And be it so. Let those deplore their doom, Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn: But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.

Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return?

Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed?

Soon shall the orient with new l.u.s.tre burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.

27

"Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive?

Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust, Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live?

Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive With disappointment, penury, and pain?

No! Heaven's immortal springs shall yet arrive, And man's majestic beauty bloom again, Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign."

28

This truth sublime his simple sire had taught: In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew.

No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought, Nor ever wish'd his Edwin to pursue.

"Let man's own sphere," said he, "confine his view; Be man's peculiar work his sole delight."

And much, and oft, he warn'd him to eschew Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right, By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might.

29

"And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe, O never, never turn away thine ear!

Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below, Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear!

To others do (the law is not severe) What to thyself thou wishest to be done.

Forgive thy foes; and love thy parents dear, And friends, and native land; nor those alone: All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own."

30

See, in the rear of the warm sunny shower The visionary boy from shelter fly; For now the storm of summer rain is o'er, And cool, and fresh, and fragrant is the sky.

And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high, The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun!

Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh, How vain the chase thine ardour has begun!

'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purposed race be run.

31

Yet couldst thou learn that thus it fares with age, When pleasure, wealth, or power the bosom warm; This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage, And disappointment of her sting disarm.

But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm?

Perish the lore that deadens young desire!

Pursue, poor imp, the imaginary charm, Indulge gay hope, and fancy's pleasing fire: Fancy and hope too soon shall of themselves expire.

32

When the long-sounding curfew from afar Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale, Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star, Lingering and listening, wander'd down the vale.

There would he dream of graves, and corses pale, And ghosts that to the charnel-dungeon throng, And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail, Till silenced by the owl's terrific song, Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering aisles along.

33

Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dyed, Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied, Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep; And there let Fancy rove at large, till sleep A vision brought to his entranced sight.

And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright, With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of night.

34

Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch Arose; the trumpet bids the valves unfold; And forth a host of little warriors march, Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold.

Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold, And green their helms, and green their silk attire; And here and there, right venerably old, The long-robed minstrels wake the warbling wire, And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire.

35

With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance; The little warriors doff the targe and spear, And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance.

They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance; To right, to left, they thread the flying maze; Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance Rapid along: with many-colour'd rays Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze.

36

The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day, Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion shrill, Fell chanticleer; who oft hath reft away My fancied good, and brought substantial ill!

Oh, to thy cursed scream, discordant still, Let harmony aye shut her gentle ear: Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill, Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear, And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear!

37

Forbear, my Muse. Let Love attune thy line.

Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so.

For how should he at wicked chance repine, Who feels from every change amus.e.m.e.nt flow?

Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow, As on he wanders through the scenes of morn, Where the fresh flowers in living l.u.s.tre blow, Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.

38

But who the melodies of morn can tell?

The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

39

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!

Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour.