Cold even as hope within him! I the while
Pause me in sadness, though the sun-beams smile
Cheerily round me. Ah, that thus my lot
Might be with peace and solitude assigned,
Where I might, from some little quiet cot,
Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankind!
STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide
To some far-distant land adventurous bound,
The sailors' busy cries, from side to side,
Pealing among the echoing rocks resound;
A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band,
Joyful they enter on their ocean way,
With shouts exulting leave their native land,
And know no care beyond the present day.
But is there no poor mourner left behind,
Who sorrows for a child or husband there?
Who at the howling of the midnight wind
Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer?
So may her voice be heard, and heaven be kind—
Go gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair!
BEWARE a speedy friend, the Arabian said,
And wisely was it he advised distrust.
The flower that blossoms earliest fades the first.
Look at yon oak that lifts its stately head
And dallies with the autumnal storm, whose rage
Tempests the ocean waves; slowly it rose,
Slowly its strength increased, through many an age,
And timidly did its light leaves unclose,
As doubtful of the spring, their palest green.
They to the summer cautiously expand,
And by the warmer sun and season bland
Matured, their foliage in the grove is seen,
When the bare forest by the wintry blast
Is swept, still lingering on the boughs the last.
A WRINKLED crabbed man they picture thee,
Old winter, with a ragged beard as gray
As the long moss upon the apple tree;
Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way,
Blue lipt, an ice-drop at thy sharp blue nose,
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.
They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth,
Old winter! seated in thy great arm'd chair,
Watching the children at their Christmas mirth,
Or circled by them as their lips declare
Some merry jest or tale of murder dire,
Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night,
Pausing at times to move the languid fire,
Or taste the old October brown and bright.
O GOD! have mercy in this dreadful hour
On the poor mariner !-In comfort here,
Safe sheltered as I am, I almost fear
The blast that rages with resistless power.
What were it now to toss upon the waves,-
The maddened waves,-and know no succour near;
The howling of the storm alone to hear,
And the wild sea that to the tempest raves,
To gaze amid the horrors of the night,
And only see the billows' gleaming light;
And in the dread of death to think of her
Who as she listens sleepless to the gale,
Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale!
O God! have mercy on the mariner.
The three utilities of poetry-the praise of virtue and goodness, the memory of things remarkable, and to invigorate the affections.-Welsh Triad.
ART thou a patriot, traveller ? on this field
Did Falkland fall, the blameless and the brave,
Beneath a tyrant's banners: dost thou boast
Of loyal ardour? Hampden perished here,
The rebel Hampden, at whose glorious name
The heart of every honest Englishman
Beats high with conscious pride. Both uncorrupt,
Friends to their common country both, they fought,
They died in adverse armies. Traveller!
If with thy neighbour thou shouldst not accord,
In charity remember these good men,
And quell each angry and injurious thought.
FOR A CAVERN THAT OVERLOOKS THE RIVER AVON.
ENTER this cavern, stranger! the ascent
Is long and steep and toilsome; here awhile
Thou mayst repose thee from the noontide heat,
O'ercanopied by this arched rock that strikes
A grateful coolness: clasping its rough arms
Round the rude portal, the old ivy hangs
Its dark green branches down. No common spot
Receives thee, for the power who prompts the song
Loves this secluded haunt. The tide below
Scarce sends the sound of waters to thine ear;
And yon high-hanging forest to the wind
Varies its many hues. Gaze, stranger, here!
And let thy softened heart intensely feel
How good, how lovely, nature! When from hence
Departing to the city's crowded streets,
Thy sickening eye at every step revolts
From scenes of vice and wretchedness; reflect
That man creates the evil he endures.
FOR A TABLET AT SILBURY-HILL.
THIS mound in some remote and dateless day
Reared o'er a chieftain of the age of hills,
May here detain thee, traveller! from thy road
Not idly lingering. In his narrow house
Some warrior sleeps below; his gallant deeds
Haply at many a solemn festival
The bard has harped, but perished is the song
Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs
The wind that passes and is heard no more.
Go, traveller, and remember when the pomp
Of earthly glory fades, that one good deed
Unseen, unheard, unnoted by mankind,
Lives in the eternal register of heaven.
FOR A MONUMENT IN THE NEW FOREST.
THIS is the place where William's kingly power
Did from their poor and peaceful homes expel,
Unfriended, desolate, and shelterless,
The habitants of all the fertile tract
Far as these wilds extend. He levelled down
Their little cottages, he bade their fields
* The northern nations distinguished the two periods when the bodies of the dead were consumed by fire, and when they were buried beneath the tumuli so common in this country, by the age of fire and the age of hills.
Lie barren, so that o'er the forest waste
He might more royally pursue his sports!
If that thine heart be human, passenger!
Sure it will swell within thee, and thy lips
Will mutter curses on him. Think thou, then,
What cities flame, what hosts unsepulchred
Pollute the passing wind, when raging power
Drives on his blood-hounds to the chase of man;
And as thy thoughts anticipate that day
When God shall judge aright, in charity
Pray for the wicked rulers of mankind.
FOR THE BANKS OF THE HAMPSHIRE AVON,
A LITTLE While, O traveller! linger here,
And let thy leisure eye behold and feel
The beauties of the place; yon heathy hill
That rises sudden from the vale so green,
The vale far stretching as the view can reach
Under its long dark ridge, the river here
That, like a serpent, through the grassy mead
Winds on, now hidden, glittering now in light.
Nor fraught with merchant wealth, nor famed in song,
This river rolls; an unobtrusive tide,
Its gentle charms may soothe and satisfy
Thy feelings. Look! how bright its pebbled bed
Gleams through the ruffled current; and that bank
With flag-leaves bordered, as with two-edged swords!
See where the water wrinkles round the stem
Of yonder water lily, whose broad leaf
Lies on the wave,-and art thou not refresh'd
By the fresh odour of the running stream?
Soon, traveller! does the river reach the end
Of all its windings; from the near ascent
Thou wilt behold the ocean, where it pours
Its waters and is lost. Remember thou,
Traveller! that even so thy restless years
Flow to the ocean of eternity.
|