Imágenes de páginas

insinuated itself into my Religious Musings with such And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud intricacy of union, that sometimes I have omitted to dis- Behind the gathered blackness lost on high; en tangle the weed from the fear of snapping the flower. And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud A third and heavier accusation has been brought against Thy placid lightning o'er the awaken'd sky. me, that of obscurity; but not, I think, with equal jus- Ah such is lope! as changeful and as fair! tice. An Author is obscure, when bis conceptions are Now dimly peering on the wistful sight; dim and imperfect, and his language incorrect, or unap

Now hid behind the dragon-wing'd Despair : propriate, or involved. A poem that abounds in allu- But soon emerging in her radiant might, sions, like die Bard of Gray, or one that impersonates She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care high and abstract truths, like Collins's Ode on the pocti- Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight. cal character, claims not to be popular-but should be acquitted of obscurity. The deficiency is in the Reader. But this is a charge which every poet, whose imagina

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY. lion is warm and rapid, must expect from his contemporaries. Milton did not escape it; and it was adduced

AN ALI.EGORY. with virulence against Gray and Collins. We now hear

On the wide level of a mountain's head no more of it: not that their poems are better under

(I knew not where, but 't was some faery place) stood at present, than they were at their first publication;

Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread, but their fame is established ; and a critic would accuse

Two lovely children run an endless race, himself of frigidity or inattention, who should profess

A sister and a brother! not to understand them. But a living writer is yet sub

This far outstripe the other; judice; and if we cannot follow his conceptions or enter

Yet ever runs she with reverted face, into his feelings, it is more consoling to our pride to

And looks and listens for the boy behind: consider bim as lost beneath, than as soaring above us.

For he, alas! is blind! If any man expect from my pocms the same easiness of

O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd, siyle which he admires in a drinking-song, for him I have

And knows not whether he be first or last. not written. Intelligibilia, non intellectum adfero.

I expect neither profit or general fame by my writings; and I consider myself as having been amply repaid without cither. Poetry has been to me its own MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON.

exceeding great reward :» it has soothed my afflictions; O weat a wonder seems the fear of death, it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has endeared solitude: and it has given me the habit of wish- Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep,

Babes, Children, Youths and Men, ing to discover the Good and the Beautiful in all that

Nighit following night for threescore years and ten! meets and surrounds me.

But doubly strange, where life is but a breath
S. T. C.

To sigh and pant with, up Want's rugged steep.



Away, Grim Phantom! Scorpion King, away!
Reserve thy terrors and thy stings display
For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of state!
Lo! by the grave I stand of one, for whom
A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom
(That all bestowing, this withholding all)
Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome
Sound like a secking Mother's anxious call,
Return, poor Child! Home, weary Truant home!

Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
In beauty's ligit you glide along:


is like the star of eve,
And sweet your voice, as seraphi's song.
Yet not your heavenly beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a voice there lives!
It bido you hear the tale of woe.
When sinking low the sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretch'd to save,
Fair, as the bosom of the swan
That rises graceful o'er the wave,
I've seen your breast with pity heave,
And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!

Thee, Chatterton! these unblest stones protect
From want, and the bleek freezings of neglect.
'Too long before the vexing Storm-blast driven
Here hast thou found repose! beneath this sod!
Thou! O vain word! thou dwell'st not with the clod!
Amid the shining Host of the Forgiven
Thou at the throne of Mercy and thy God
The triumph of redeeming Love dost hymn
(Believe it, O my soul!) to harps of Seraphim.



Yet oft, perforce ('t is suffering Nature's call),
I weep, that heaven-born Genius so shall fall;
And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my

Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl.
Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view

Thy corse of livid hue ;
Now indignation checks the feeble sigh,
Or flashes through the lear that glistens in mine eye!

Mild Splendour of the various-vested Night!
Mother of wildly-working visions! hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
Thy weak cye glimmers through a fleecy veil;


Is this the land of song-ennobled line?
Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain

· Pour'd forth bis lofty strain ?
Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine,
Beneath chill Disappointment's shade
His weary limbs in lonely anguish laid.

And o'er her darling dead

Pity hopeless hung her head, While « mid the pelting of that merciless storm,. Sunk to the cold earth Oiway's famish'd form!

And thou hadst dash'd it, at her soft command,
But that Despair and Indignation rose,
And told again the story of thy woes;
Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart;
The dread dependence on the low-born mind;
Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart,
Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined !
Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain
Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing vein!

Sublime of thought, and confident of fame,
From vales where Avon winds, the Minstrel' came.

Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along,

He meditates the future song,
How dauntless Alla fray'd the Dacyan foe;

And while the numbers flowing strong

In eddies whirl, in surges throng,
Exulting in the spirits' genial throc
In tides of power bis life-blood seems to flow.

Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep,
To Fancy's car sweet is your murmuring deep!
For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave
Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve.
Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove,
In solemn thought the Minstrel wont lo rove,
Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide
Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide.
And here, in Inspiration's eager hour,
When most the big soul feels the mastering power,

These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er,

Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, With wild unequal steps he pass'd along, Oft pouring on the winds a broken song: Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow Would pause abrupt-and gaze upon the waves below.

And now lis cheeks with deeper ardors flame,
His eyes have glorious meanings, that declare
More than the light of outward day shines there,
A holier triumph and a sterner aim!
Wings grow within him; and he soars above
Or Bard's, or Minstrel's lay of war or love.
Friend to the friendless, to the Sufferer bealth,
He hears the widow's prayer, the good man's praise;
To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth,
And young and old shall now see happy days.
On many a waste he bids trim gardens rise,
Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner's eyes;
And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel,
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel.

Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate
Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late.
Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues
This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb;
But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom:
For oh! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing,
llave blacken'd the fair promise of my spring;
And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart
The last pale Hope that shiver'd at my heart!

Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child !
That didst so fair disclose thy early bloom,
Filling the wide air with a rich perfume!
For thee in vain all heavenly aspects smiled;
From the hard world brief respite could they win-
The frost nipp'd sharp without, the canker prey'd within!
Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace,
And Joy's wild gleams that lightened o'er thy face?
Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye!
Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view,
On thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew,
And oh! the anguish of that shuddering sigh!

Hence, gloomy thoughts ! no more my soul shall dwell
On joys that were! No more endure to weigh
The shame and anguish of the evil day,
Wiscly forgetful! O'er the ocean swell
Sublime of Hope I seek the cottaged dell,
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray;
And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay,
The wizard Passions weave a holy spell!

O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive!
Sure thou wouldst spread the canvas to the gale,
And love, with us the tinkling team to drive
O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale;
And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng,
Hanging, enraptured, on thy stately song!
And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy
All deftly mask'd, as hoar Antiquity.

Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,

When Care, of wither'd brow, Prepared the poison's death-cold power : Already to thy lips was raised the bowl,

When near thee stood Affection meek

(ller hosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek), Thy sullen gaze she bade tbce roll

On scenes that well might melt thy soul; Thy native cot she flash'd upon thy view, Thy native cot, where still, at close of day, Peace smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay; Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear, And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear;

See, see her breast's convulsive throe,

Her silent agony of woe!
Ah! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand!

i Avon, a river near Bristol ; the birth-place of Chatterton.

Alas vain Phantasies! the fleeting brood
Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood !
Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream,
Where Susqueliannah pours his untamed stream;
And on some bill, whose forest-frowning side
Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide,
Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee,
Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy!
And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful wind,
Muse on the sore ills I had left behind.


O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed, And cwine our faery garlands round his head.

aspen trees

The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of brings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that condiy, bulf way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old Ireos form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own cypber and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Outer.

To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies, during the Summer months of the year 1993; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Faery Queen. On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.

When Evening's dusky car,

Crownd with her dewy star,
Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight,

On leaves of

We tremble to the breeze,
Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.

Or, haply, at the visionary hour,
Along our wildly-bower'd sequester'd walk,
We listen to the enamour'd rustic's talk;
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,
Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle nest;

Or guide of soul-subduing power
The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.

I. Whom the untaught Shepherds call

Pixies in their madrigal, Fancy's children, here we dwell:

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell. Here the wren of softest note

Builds its nest and warbles well; Here the blackbird strains his throat;

Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell.

JI. When fades the moon all shadowy-pale And scuds the cloud before the gale, Ere Morn with living gems bedlight Purples the East withı streaky light, We sip the furze-llower's fragrant dews, Clad in robes of rainbow hues: Or sport amid the rosy gleam Soothed by the distant-tinkling team, While lusty Labour scouting sorrow Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow, Who jogs the accustomi'd road along, And paces cheery to her cheering song.

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
We flashı our facry feet in gamesome prank;
Or, silent-sandald, pay onr defter court
Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,
Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport,

Supine lie slumbers on a violet bank;
Then with quaint music hymn the parting glcam
By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream;
Or where his wave with loud unquiet song
Dash'd o'er the rocky channel froth along;
Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest,
The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.

But not our filmy pinion
We scorch amid the blaze of day,
When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion
Flashes the fervid ray.

Aye from the sultry heat

We to the cave retreat O'ercanopied by huye roots intertwined With wildest texture, blacken'd o'er with age: Round them their manile green the ivies bind,

Beneath whose foliage pale,

Fann'd by the unfrequent gale, We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.

Hence thou lingerer, Light!

Eve saddens into Night.
Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view

The sombre hours, that round thee stand

With down-cast eyes (a duteous band)! Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.

Sorceress of the ebon throne !
Thy power the Pixies own,
When round thy raven brow

Heaven's lucent roses glow,
And clouds in watery colours drest,
Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest:
What time the pale moon sheds a softer day,
Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam:
For 'mid the quivering light 't is ours to play,
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.

Thither, while the murmuring throng
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,
By Indolence and Fancy brought,
A youthful Bard, • unknown to Fame,»

Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh,

Gazing with tearful eye,
As round our sandy grot appear
Many a rudely sculptured name

To pensive Memory dear!
Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured huc

We glance before his view:

Welcome, Ladies! 10 the cell

Where the blameless Pixies dwell:
But thou, sweet Nymph! proclaim'd our Faery Queen,

With what obeisance meet

Thy presence shall we greet?
For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen

Graceful Ease in artless stole,
And white-robed Purity of soul,

With Honour's softer mien;
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek-eyed Pity eloquently fair,
Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,

As snow-drop wet with dew.


Unboastful Maid ! though now the Lily pale

Transparent grace thy beauties meek;
Yet ere again along the empurpling vale,
The purpling vale and elfin-haunted

grove, Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,

We 'll tinge with livelier bues thy cheek; And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose

Extract a Blush for Love!


WHERE graced with many a classic spoil
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learnad toil
That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days
Illumed hy Passion's orient rays,
When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.



Ah fair delights! that o'er



On Memory's wing, like shadows fly! UNDERNEATH a huge oak tree

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole There was, of swine, a huge company,

While Innocence stood smiling by!That grunted as they crunchi'd the mast:

But cease, fond beart! this bootless moan : For that was ripe, and fell full fast.

Those hours on rapid pinions flown Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high:

Shall yet return, hy Absence crown'd,
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.

And scatter livelier roses round.
Next came a raven, that liked not such folly:
He belong'd, they did say, to the witch Melancholy!

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
Blacker was he than blackest jet,

On heedless eyes may pour the day: Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.

The Moon, that oft from heaven retires, He pick'd up the acorn and buried it straight

Endears her renovated ray.
By the side of a river both deep and great.

What though she leaves the sky unblest
Where then did the Raven go?

To mourn awhile in murky vest?
He went high and low,

When she relumes lier lovely light,
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.

We bless the wanderer of the night.
Many Autumns, many Springs
Travell'd he with wandering wings :
Many Summers, many Winters-

I can't tell half his adventures.

O trou, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At length he came back, and with him a Slie,

Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore! And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.

Nor there with happy spirits speed thy Night They built them a nest in the topmost bough,

Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light; And young ones they had, and were happy enow.

Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, But soon came a woodman in leathern guise,

With western peasants hail the morning ray! His brow, like a pent-house, hung over bis eyes. Ah! rather bid the perishi'd pleasures move, He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,

A shadowy train, across the soul of Love! But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,

O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling At length he brought down the poor Raven's own oak. Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring, His young ones were kill'd; for they could not depart, When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower And their mother did die of a broken heart.

She leapt, awaken'd by the pattering shower.

Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam, The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever; Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy poet's dream! And they tloated it down on the course of the river. With faery wand O bid the Maid arise, They saw'd it in planks, and its bark they did strip, Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes; And with this tree and others they made a good ship. As erst when from the Muses' calm abode The ship it was launchi'd; but in sight of the land 1 came, with Learning's meed not unbestow'd; Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand. When as she twined a laurel round my brow, It bulged on a rock, and the waves ruslid in fast : And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow, The old Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart, blast.

And every nerve confess'd th' electric dart.


He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls
See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls!

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thank'd him again and again for this treat:

They liad taken his all, and Revenge was sweet!

O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes !
When first the lark, high soaring, swells his throat,
Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the wild note,
I trace her footsteps on the accustom'lawn,
I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,

Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent Name of joy!
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the alluned heart-string with delight-
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, bill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wing your vales among.

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
The powerful spell, and to my baunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!

Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave,
Like yon brighit hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd blaze
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze,
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.


Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given,
Form'd by the wonderous alchemy of heaven!
No fairer maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in hier eye;
Love lights her smile-in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Sull, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's halls !

As late each flower that sweetest blows
I pluck'd, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.

Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glow'd his cheek, beneath,
Inebriate with dew.

I softly scized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest;
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spoiless Sara's breast.

0 (have I sigh’d) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god!
A flower-entangled arbour I would seem
To shield my Love from noontide's suliry beam:
Or bloom a Myrile, from whose odorous boughs
My love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast!
On Seraph wing I'd tioat a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight:-
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes!

But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamp'd his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-cntrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrilld with deep delight!
Then clapp'd lis wings for joy.

And 0!, he cried - Of magic kind What charm this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus findI'll fix my empire liere.»

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare-
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :-
So tossed by storms along Life's wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.

THE KISS. One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd Your scorn the little boon denied. Ah wly refuse the blameless bliss ? Can danger lurk within a kiss ?

Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meck!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's chcek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd

ray, Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears, Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears;

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