Still Isis, hallow'd stream! his name reveres,
And British Themis sheds her awful tears.
There, Wilkins, to the sons of Brahma known,
With great Vyasa's triumphs blends his own:
While the dark tales of elder ages lie
Unravell❜d to sage Wilford's classic eye.
Who can forget how Davis lov'd to trace,
By ancient sages led, th' etherial space,
What laurels wave round either Colebrooke's brow,
O'er Cleveland's tomb what sacred sorrows flow,
Or Scott's historic wreath, or Rennel's praise,
Or, studious Hamilton, thy modest bays,
Or Shore, to grace and govern empire born,
With laws to strengthen, or with arts adorn,
Friend to the Muse, and by the Muse belov❜d,
By Britain honour'd, and by Heaven approv'd?
Nor these alone: But, lo! as Wellesley leads,
Rise other names, and a new race succeeds.
Rous'd by his call, the youthful bands aspire
To Jones's learning or to Jones's fire;
In clust'ring ranks the meed of song they claim,
And toil and brighten up the steep of Fame.
Thou too, had Heaven but listen'd to our prayer,
Thou too, Mackenzie *, shouldst have brighten'd there.
Oh, hopes dissolv'd! oh, prospects all decay'd!
Oh, dawn of glory, opening but to fade!
Pleas'd we beheld thy early laurels bloom,
Nor knew they wove a trophy for thy tomb.
By Hoogley's banks, from kindred dust how far!
On thy cold stone looks down the Eastern star.
But still Affection views thy ashes near,
The mould is precious, and that stone is dear:
Her nightly thought surmounts the roaring wave,
And weeps and watches round thy distant grave.
Yet say, why on that dark eventful day,
That call'd thee from the shores of Thames away,
When friendship's warmth mid parting sorrows burn'd,
Hand press'd in hand, and tear for tear return'd,
Though Hope was there all credulous and young,
Why on thy brow a cheerless shadow hung?
E'en at that hour did dark forebodings shed
O'er shivering nature some unconscious dread?
And felt thy heart new wounds of sadness flow,
Prophetic sadness and a weight of woe?
How dark, though fleeting, are the days of man!
What countless sorrows crowd his narrow span!
* Lewis Mackenzie, Esq. of the Bengal civil establishment. He died at Calgutta, in 1800, just after he had been honoured with a medal for his proficiency in the College lately established there. He was the son of Mr. Mackenzie, the celebrated author of “The Man of Feeling.”
For what is life? A groan, a breath, a sigh,
A bitter tear, a drop of misery,
A lamp just dying in sepulchral gloom,
A voice of anguish from the lonely tomb.
Or wept or weeping all the change we know ;
'Tis all our mournful history below.
Pleasure is Grief but smiling to destroy,
And what is Sorrow but the ghost of Joy?
Oh, haste that hour, whose rustling wings shall play
To warn the shades of guilt and grief away!
Meantime, what dubious contest on those plains
With the faint dawn reluctant Night maintains!
Britain thy voice can bid the dawn ascend,
On thee alone the eyes of Asia bend.
High arbitress! to thee her hopes are given,
Sole pledge of bliss and delegate of Heaven;
In thy dread mantle all her fates repose,
Or bright with blessings, or o'ercast with woes;
And future ages shall thy mandate keep,
Smile at thy touch, or at thy bidding weep.
Oh! to thy godlike destiny arise!
Awake and meet the purpose of the skies!
Wide as thy sceptre waves let India learn
What virtues round the shrine of empire burn;
Some nobler flight let thy bold Genius tower,
Nor stoop to vulgar lures of fame or power;
Such power as gluts the tyrant's purple pride,
Such fame as reeks around the homicide.
With peaceful trophies deck thy throne, nor bare
Thy conquering sword, till Justice ask the war:
Justice alone can consecrate renown,
Her's are the brightest rays in Glory's crown;
All else nor eloquence nor song sublime
Can screen from curse, or sanctify from crime.
Let gentler hearts awake at thy behest,
And science soothe the Hindoo's mournful breast.
In vain has Nature shed her gifts around,
For
eye or ear, soft bloom or tuneful sound;
Fruits of all hues on every grove display'd,
And pour'd profuse the tamarind's gorgeous shade.
What joy to him can song or shade afford,
Outcast so abject, by himself abhorr'd?
While chain'd to dust, half struggling, half resign'd,
Sinks to her fate the heaven-descended Mind,
Disrob'd of all her lineaments sublime,
The daring hope, whose glance out-measur'd time,
Warm passions to the voice of Rapture strung,
And conscious thought that told her whence she sprung.
At Brahma's stern decree, as ages roll,
New shapes of clay await th' immortal soul;
Darkling condemn'd in forms obscene* to prowl,
And swell the midnight melancholy howl.
Be thine the task his drooping eye to cheer,
And elevate his hopes beyond this sphere,
To brighter heavens than proud Sumeeru + owns,
Though girt with Indra and his burning thrones.
Then shall he recognise the beams of day,
And fling at once the four-fold chain away;
Through every limb a sudden life shall start,
And sudden pulses spring around his heart;
Then all the deaden'd energies shall rise,
And vindicate their title to the skies.
Be these thy trophies, Queen of many Isles!
On these high Heaven shall shed indulgent smiles.
First by thy guardian voice to India led,
Shall Truth divine her tearless victories spread ;
Wide and more wide the heaven-born light shall stream,
New realms from thee shall catch the blissful theme,
Unwonted warmth the soften'd savage feel,
Strange chiefs admire, and turban'd warriors kneel,
The prostrate East submit her jewel'd pride,
And swarthy kings adore the Crucified.
Fam'd Ava's walls Messiah's name shall own,
Where haughty splendour guards the Birman throne.
Thy hills, Tibet, shall hear, and Ceylon's bowers,
And snow-white waves that circle Pekin's towers,
Where, sheath'd in sullen pomp, the Tartar lord
Forgetful slumbers o'er his idle sword:
O'er all the plains, where barbarous hordes afar
On panting steeds pursue the roving war,
Soft notes of joy th' eternal gloom shall cheer,
And smooth the terrors of the arctic year:
Till from the blazing line to polar snows,
Through varying realms, one tide of blessing flows.
Then shall thy breath, celestial Peace unbind
The frozen heart, and mingle mind with mind;
With sudden youth shall slumb'ring Science start,
And call to life each long-forgotten art,
Retrace her ancient paths, or new explore,
And breathe to wond'ring worlds her mystic lore.
* The Hindûs of the lowest class firmly believe themselves to be of the sa species as the jackals; and are taught, that through eternal transmigrations they shall never rise higher than those animals.
+ Sumeeru is the mountain on which Indra's heaven is placed.
In allusion to the four castes.
The White River,
Yes, it shall come! e'en now my eyes behold,
In distant view the wish'd-for age unfold.
Lo, o'er the shadowy days that roll between,
A wand'ring gleam foretells th' ascending scene!
Oh, doom'd victorious from thy wounds to rise,
Dejected India, lift thy downcast eyes,
And mark the hour, whose faithful steps for thee
Through Time's press'd ranks bring on the jubilee.
Roll back, ye crowded years, your thick array, Greet the glad hour, and give the triumph way. Hail First and Greatest, inexpressive name, Substantial Wisdom, God with God the same! Oh Light, which shades of fiercest glory veil, Oh human Essence, mix'd with Godhead, hail! Powers, Princedoms, Virtues, wait thy sovereign call, And but for Thee exists this breathing all. Then shake thy heavens, thou Mightiest, and descend, While Truth and Peace thy radiant march attend. With wearied hopes thy thousand empires groan, Our aching eyes demand thy promis'd throne. Oh cheer the realms from life and sunshine far! Oh plant in Eastern skies thy seven-fold star!
Then, while transported Asia kneels around,
With ancient arts, and long-lost glories crown'd,
Some happier Bard, on Ganges' margin laid,
Where playful bamboos weave their fretted shade,
Shall to the strings a loftier tone impart,
And pour in rapturous verse his flowing heart,
Stamp'd in immortal light on future days,
Through all the strain his country's joys shall blaze;
The Sanscreet song be warm'd with heavenly fires,
And themes divine awake from Indian lyres.
ODE ON THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.
By the Right Honourable the EARL OF CARYSFORT, &c. &c.
What triumphs in his ardent mind,
What glorious conquests are design'd!
Beneath h's prow the billows roar,
Which break upon th' Egyptian shore,
Where once the walls of fair Canopus rose,
And ancient Nile with amplest current flows.
Ye Julian laurels droop and fade!
Thou mighty Macedonian shade,
Hence from thine ancient realms retire!
The glories of thy name expire.
With what a shout old Memphis rings,
While treading on the necks of kings;
A new Sesostris moves to war,
And spreading his proud reign afar,
From high Ecbatana, or Susa's tow'rs,
Awes with loud threats Byzantium's trembling shores!
Arabia's yet unconquer'd land
Bows her strong neck to his command;
See Tigris too her tribute pour,
And vaunt th' Abassine lords no more.
Indus and Ganges, sacred streams!
That front the sun's ascending beams,
To th' Erythræan deep proclaim
His future conqu'ror's awful name.
Spread every sail," th' impetuous warrior cries, "And swiftly bear me to the glorious prize!"
When lo! the winds are lock'd in sleep,
And sudden darkness veils the deep;
Surpris'd the chief-but void of fear,
Beholds a giant form appear,
About whose cloud-encircled head
Impenetrable night is spread:
Dreadful above, below, around,
Is heard the rushing waters' sound,
While forth he hurls the mighty flood, whose roar
Makes deaf the nations on his echoing shore.
In thunder now the phantom speaks-
(All nature at the portent shakes)
Pursued by every peoples' curse,
"In evil hour, with fates averse,
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