So spake the voice, and at its tender close
With psaltry's sound th' angelic band arose,
Then night retired, and chased by dawning day
The visionary bliss pass'd all away.
I mourn'd my banish'd sleep, with fond concern ;
Frequent to me may dreams like this return!
TO HIS TUTOR, THOS. YOUNG, CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT HAMBURGH.
Written in the Author's 18th year.
Hence my epistle-skim the deep-fly o'er
Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore!
Haste-lest a friend should grieve for thy delay-
And the gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way!
I will myself invoke the king, who binds,
In his Sicanian echoing vault, the winds,
With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng
Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along.
But rather to ensure thy happier haste,
Ascend Medea's chariot if thou may'st:
Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore
Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore.
The sands, that line the German coast, descried,
To opulent Humburga turn aside!
So called, if legendary fame be true,
From Hama whom a club-arm'd Cymbrian slew !
Their lives, deep-learn'd and primitively just,
A faithful steward of his Christian trust,
My friend, and favorite inmate of my heart,
That now is forced to want its better part!
What mountains now, and seas, alas! how wide!
From me this other, dearer self divide,
Dear, as the sage renown'd for moral truth
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth!
Dear, as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son,
His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine
In young Achilles' eyes as he in mine.
First led by him thro' sweet Aonian shade,
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'
And favor'd by the muse, whom I implored,
Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd
But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd
To Aries, has new tinged his fleece with gold,
And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay,
And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away,
Since last delighted on his looks I hung,
Or my ear drank the music of his tong e:
Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempests speed:
Aware thyself, that there is urgent need;
Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see
Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee.
Or turning, page by page, with studious look,
Some bulky father, or God's holy book.
Or minist❜ring (which is his weightiest care)
To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare,
Give him, whatever his employment be,
Such gratulation, as he claims, from me!
And, with a down-cast eye, and carriage meek,
Addressing him, forget not thus to speak :
"If compass'd round with arms thou canst attend
To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend,
Long due, and late, I left the English shore;
But make me welcome for that cause the more!
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer,
The slow epistle came, tho' late, sincere.
But wherefore this? why palliate I the deed,
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ?
Self-charged, and self-condemned, his proper part
He feels neglected, with an aching heart?
But thou forgive-delinquents, who confess,
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less;
From timid foes the lion turns away,
Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey;
Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare,
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer;
And Heav'n's dread thunderbolt arrested stands
By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands.
Long had he wish'd to write, but was withheld,
And, writes at last, by love alone compell'd;
For fame, too often true, when she alarms,
Reports thy neighbouring fields a scene of arms;
Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd,
And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared.
Enyo wastes thy country wide around,
And saturates with blood the tainted ground;
Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more,
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore;
The ever-verdant olive fades and dies
And Peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies, Flies from that earth which justice long had left And leaves the world of its last guard bereft.
Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown; Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand The aid denied thee in thy native land. Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore! Leav'st thou to foreign care the worthies, given By Providence, to guide thy steps to heav'n? His ministers, commission'd to proclaim Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name? Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, In Stygian night to lie for ever dead! So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd An exiled fugitive from shade to shade, When, flying Ahab, and his fury wife, In lone Arabian wilds, he shelter'd life; So, from Philippi, wander'd forth forlorn Cicilian Paul, with sounding scourges torn; And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more, The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore.
But thou take courage! strive against despair! Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care, Grim war indeed on ev'ry side appears, And thou art menaced by a thousand spears; Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend E'en the defenceless bosom of my friend. For thee the Ægis of thy God shall hide, Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. The same, who vanquish'd under Sion's tow'rs At silent midnight, all Assyria's pow'rs; The same, who overthrew in ages past, Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste! Their king he fill'd and them with fatal fears By mimic sound of clarions in their ears, Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar, Of clashing armour, and the din of war.
Thou, therefore (as the most afflicted may), Still hope, and triumph, o'er thy evil day! Look forth, expecting happier times to come And to enjoy, once more, thy native home!
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
Written in the Author's Twentieth year.
Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,
Bids Zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground;
Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,
And earth assumes her transient youth again.
Dream I, or also to the spring belong
Increase of genius, and new pow'rs of song?
Spring gives them, and, how strange so'er it seems,
Impels me now to some harmonious themes.
Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill
By day, by night, my raptured fancy fill;
My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within
A sacred sound, that prompts me to begin.
Lo! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends
The radiant laurel-wreath; Phoebus descends;
I mount, and, undepress'd by cumbrous clay,
Through cloudy regions win my easy way;
Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly:
The shrines all open to my dauntless eye.
My spirit searches all the realms of light,
And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight.
But this ecstatic trance-this glorious storm
Of inspiration-what will it perform?
Spring claims the verse, that with his influence glows,
And shall be paid with what himself bestows.
Thou, veil'd with op'ning foliage, lead'st the throng Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel! in song;
Let us, in concert, to the season sing,
Civic and sylvan heralds of the spring!
With notes triumphant spring's approach declare;
To spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear!
The Orient left, and Æthiopia's plains,
The Sun now northward turns his golden reins:
Night creeps not now; yet rules with gentle sway;
And drives her dusky horrors swift away;
Now less fatigued, on this æthereal plain
Boötes follows his celestial wain ;
And now the radiant sentinels above,
Less num'rous, watch around the courts of Jove,
For with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly,
And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky.
Now haply says some shepherd, while he views,
Recumbent on a rock, the redd'ning dews,
This night, this surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair,
Who stops his chariot by her am'rous care.
Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow,
Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow ;
Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear,
Blesses his aid, who shortens her career.
Come-Phoebus cries-Aurora come-too late
Thou ling’rest, slumb'ring, with thy wither'd mate!
Leave him, and to Hymettus' top repair!
Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there.
The goddess, with a blush, her love betrays,
But mounts, and driving rapidly, obeys.
Earth now desires thee, Phoebus! and t'engage
Thy warm embrace casts off the guise of
age;
Desires thee, and deserves; for who so sweet,
When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat?
Her breath imparts to ev'ry breeze that blows
Arabia's harvest, and the Paphian rose.
Her lofty front she diadems around
With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd;
His dewy locks, with various flow'rs new-blown,
She interweaves, various, and all her own,
For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired,
Tænarian Dis himself with love inspired.
Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse
Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues;
Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing,
And all her groves with warbled wishes ring,
Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires
The am'rous Earth t' engage thy warm desires.
But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim,
Divine Physician! to that glorious name.
If splendid recompense, if gifts can move
Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love),
She offers all the wealth her mountains hide,
And all that rests beneath the boundless tide.
How oft, when headlong from the heav'nly steep,
She sees thee playing in the western deep,
How oft she cries-"Ah Phoebus! why repair
Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there?
Can Thetis win thee? wherefore shouldst thou lave
A face so fair in her unpleasant wave?
Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose
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