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BEING THE
GENUINE COMPOSITIONS
OF
ELIZABETH BENTLEY,
OF NORWICH.
-- Electronic text encoded by
Leigh Rios
Copyright ©2007, University of California
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-- Managing Editor
Charlotte Payne
-- Founding Editor
Nancy Kushigian
-- by
This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis, Kohler I:93. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:93mf .
All poems, line groups, and lines are represented. All material originally typeset has been preserved with the exception of original prose line breaks and line-end hyphens (except in headings and title pages), running heads, signature markings, smallcaps, and decorative typographical elements. Page numbers and page breaks have been preserved. The long "s" is displayed as a standard "s". Pencilled annotations and other damage to the text have not been preserved.
June 22, 2007
Charlotte Payne
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THE numerous Subscribers to this little Volume will perhaps expect to find it introduced by some account of the writer whom their kindness has befriended. It is therefore thought adviseable to reprint from her former publication the simple narrative which she then addressed to a benevolent and lamented patron:
"REVEREND SIR—In compliance with your request, I write the few particulars of my life, which are as follow:—I was born at Norwich, in the parish of All Saints, in November, 1767, and was the only child of my parents. My father's name was Daniel Bentley, by trade a journeyman cordwainer, who, having received a good education himself, took upon him to teach me reading and spelling, but never gave me the least idea of grammar. Being naturally fond of reading, I used to employ my leisure hours with such
"This, Sir, is the short history of my life; from which you will be pleased to select such passages as you may judge proper for the information of the public."
"I remain, with gratitude and respect,July 23, 1790.
To this modest recital, little remains to be added, even after the lapse of thirty years. That little, however, is creditable to the subject of it. The profits of the publication alluded to (trifling indeed in amount, though derived from the contributions of almost two thousand subscribers) enabled her for many years, in conjunction with the income arising from a small school, to support the declining age of her mother. Since the death of that parent, her duties have been narrowed, but they have been faithfully performed. Her leisure hours have been naturally devoted her early and favourite pursuit. Her verses on contemporary subjects have frequently contributed to fill the columns of "the Norfolk Chronicle;" and she has in numerous instances performed the melancholy but grateful office of recording the virtues of her deceased friends. Yet, though public favour crowned her first attempts, the modesty of her disposition has never (till urged
Of the compositions now submitted to public indulgence, it may be expected that something should be here said, however briefly. The first, and the most important observation that can be made upon them, is, that they are, in the strict sense of the word, genuine. Though slight inaccuracies of expression have been occasionally, but sparingly, pointed out, not a phrase—not a word—has ever been proposed by way of substitute. The correction has always been left to the Author. In fact, so scrupulous has been the desire to present these Poems ungarbled and untouched, that fewer alterations have been necessary;—certainly fewer than have been suggested in the ordinary case of an author submitting his compositions to the judgment of a friend. Such as they are, they belong exclusively, the blame as well as the credit, to the person whose name is prefixed to them.
It cannot be necessary or proper to forestal the
There is one class of Poems, for the insertion of which an apology is due from the writer of this Preface. The Author herself, from a sense of their general inferiority in merit, intended to suppress nearly all the verses inscribed to the memory of private individuals; but this design was over-ruled by an opinion that to a numerous class of readers they could not be wholly unacceptable. The friends at least of the persons commemorated may be gratified; and even where no such personal feeling can be excited, a local
"After their death would wish no other Herald,
"No other speaker of their living actions,
"To keep their honour from corruption."
It would be ill executing the office which has devolved on the writer of this Preface, if he were to close it without attempting to express the grateful feelings of Elizabeth Bentley towards the friends who have promoted this little undertaking; the completion of which has been delayed by causes for which neither herself nor her Publishers could be responsible. To some
O THOU! who dwell'st in heav'n alone,
Whose beams surround th' Omniscient's throne,
'Tis by his just decrees denied,
That thou with mortals should'st reside,
On earth a constant guest;
Yet wilt thou ne'er thy transient visits pay?
Yes, oft thou dart'st thy cheering ray
To glad the guiltless breast:
Oft art thou found where meek Content abides,
And blooming Temp'rance o'er the feast presides.
When glowing Fancy's votaries view
The rising morn's expanding beams,
The leaves o'erspread with chrystal dew,
E'er yet the earliest sunshine gleams;
The feather'd choir on ev'ry spray,
Awake to hail th' approaching day;
Or when the mind in transport reads
Sweet Poesy's enchanting page,
Who fires the soul in every age,
With ardent love to Virtue's noblest deeds;
Or when her sister Music's lays
The heart to heav'nly raptures raise,
Above her mortal state;
Such wonders of whose ancient reign
Well might the sons of fiction feign,
Such magic tales relate.
Or when the pencil's pow'rs the thoughts employ,
With all the varied scenes of Art,
Whose imitative charms impart
A momentary joy.
Or when we seek the sylvan grove,
Where social Converse loves to rove,
Firm Friendship, with endearing mien,
And Wit, good humoured, bright and keen,
Guided by Truth and Sense sublime;
Where base Detraction ne'er intrudes,
Who with malignant pleasure broods
O'er every fancied crime.
But, most fair form, thy downy wings
Shall o'er the raptur'd soul expand,
When glowing with that fervent zeal
Which true Devotion bids her feel,
Responsive to th' Angelic band,
Her Maker's praise she sings.
Each wayward passion charm'd to rest,
E'en here of those delights possest
That crown thy native clime;
The joys that now in Virtue's bosom rise,
Shall reign mature beyond the skies,
Nor dread the hand of Time.
HAIL! lovely harbinger of day,
To welcome whose returning ray
All Nature quits repose:
How sweet thro' gilded clouds to trace
Thy beauteous joy-inspiring face,
Whose tints excel the rose.
Fled from thy presence, silent Night,
Beneath the moon-beam's softer light,
Bids distant regions rest;
Now faintly glimmering o'er the sky,
The stars retire from human eye,
Behind thy radiant vest.
A busy hum pervades the air,
Thro' peopled cities wakeful Care
Pursues his daily toil;
Now o'er the plain, yet moist with dew,
Rough Labour's sons their steps renew,
To till the grateful soil.
Thou friend of Fancy, guide to Wealth,
Parent of Piety and Health,
O! may we ne'er refuse
Thy opening beauties to survey,
Nor more, to senseless Sloth a prey,
Thy early moments lose.
That when the last dread Morn shall rise,
Shall bid that sleep forsake our eyes,
By Death's strong hand imposed,
We then may wake to joy and light,
Where by the lurid shades of night,
Our day shall ne'er be closed.
WHEN young Imagination fires the soul
With her ideal prospects of delight,
And soaring scorns grave Reason's sage controul,
Quick thou pursu'st and stop'st her rapid flight.
Yet will fond Hope, with self-deluding smiles,
The future scene in brightest tints pourtray;
The present anxious hour she still beguiles,
Again thy cloud o'ershades her flow'ry way.
Till taught by years mature Experience views
Thy harsh forbidden mien with steady eye;
No more the visionary joy pursues,
Nor dares on Fancy's flatt'ring dreams rely:
Yet Virtue's votaries shall thy pow'r elude,
And reach those realms where thou shalt ne'er obtrude.
O, MEMORY! thou, whose silent hand,
With magic influence can command
To life each vanish'd hour;
'Tis thine to bid deep Thought survey
The former years in due array,
And aid Reflection's pow'r.
When tranquil Solitude Surrounds,
And nought that solemn silence wounds,
Which prompts the pensive sigh,
Thou bold'st thy retrospective glass,
And bid'st our lost delights repass,
On musing Fancy's eye:
Whate'er of rapture charm'd the breast,
When virtuous Friendship's powers imprest
Those joys too swiftly fled;
Or when the mind with books retired,
By ardent Emulation fired,
Th' enchanting page has read.
What solid bliss thy step pursues,
Whene'er the mental sight reviews
The moments well employ'd;
In vain Distress her poniard wields,
Each blameless act a pleasure yields,
That ne'er can be destroy'd.
E'en griefs that torture whilst they last,
A pleasing form assume when past,
Thro' thy perspective shown;
How must the blest, with joys elate,
Review their transient earthly state,
Whose ills no more are known!
Remorse alone can give thy dart
Its keenest point to pierce the heart,
When her dark hand she rears;
'Tis then thou bid'st the bosom bleed,
When at thy call each guilty deed
In Terror's robe appears.
How must those minds be rack'd with woe,
Who feel thy sting their constant foe,
While endless ages roll!
Condemn'd to Heav'n's eternal ire,
The deathless worm, the quenchless fire,
That still corrodes the soul.
SWEET warbler! whose mellifluent strain
Thus nightly cheers the lonely plain,
Who tun'st thy voice when all are mute,
In that wild note what charms combine!
What strains of art can equal thine?
What pipe or soft enchanting lute?
Thou shun'st the glaring eye of day,
And lov'st to sound thy plaintive lay
Beneath the moon's less splendid beam;
Just emblem of the thoughtful mind,
Which seeks for pleasures more refin'd
Than those in busy Life's gay dream.
When Contemplation wondering strays,
Her thoughts enrapt in silent praise,
The Almighty thro' his works adore,
Hark! from thy tongue sweet music thrills,
Responsive echoing from the hills,
And gives delight unfelt before.
Deign near my humble cot to dwell,
Thy pensive tale melodious tell,
Oft hid beneath yon shady trees;
Nature's musician! let mine ear
At eve thy tuneful warblings hear,
Wafted on Spring's calm dewy breeze.
BY Summer's hand profusely drest,
Here Nature in her gayest vest,
Salutes th' attentive view;
What graces this bright spot adorn!
Here colours radiant as the morn,
There every milder hue.
Here glowing red, pale pink, pure white,
Ethereal blue and gold unite,
Illumed by solar rays;
Ten thousand shades of sprightly green
Conspire to deck the living scene,
Which every tinge displays.
New beauties rise yet unsurvey'd;
What various shapes, what tints display'd
O'er all the blooming train!
The leaf to what perfection brought,
Of finest silky texture wrought,
What slender stems sustain!
Each useful herb luxuriant grows,
Whilst verdant shrubs in shady rows
The warbling race invite,
Who grateful sound their melting lays,
By Nature taught their songs of praise
Inspiring gay delight.
How fresh from the reviving show'r,
Sweet odours from yon humid bow'r
Are borne on every breeze:
O Nature, still thy charms prevail,
When Art's exhausted efforts fail,
Thy simpler dress can please.
Thy kind associate Art may shine,
But when her touch would rival thine,
And paint each flow'r that blows,
Tho' she imparts the roseate bloom,
Thy hand alone the rich perfume,
The glowing life bestows.
But when the freezing blast annoys,
How soon his breath their charms destroys,
Stern messenger of fate!
Whoe'er thou art, O child of clay,
(The drooping flow'rets seem to say)
Here view thy transient state.
Here sage Reflection loves to raise
Her purest thoughts to sacred praise,
Beneath the fragrant shade;
Here, as she tastes the varied sweets,
With thee, O Wisdom, oft she meets,
Whose beauties ne'er shall fade.
With thee the pleasing path she treads,
On every plant a moral reads,
Imprest by hands divine;
With Adoration's fervent voice,
Ye race of man in him rejoice,
Whose gifts your cares beguile;
Who o'er the garden, grove, and mead,
The flow'r-embroider'd robe has spread,
Who bids glad Nature smile.
If He, to cheer life's gloomy way,
Doth radiant Beauty's heav'nly ray
On all his works bestow,
What brighter beams of glory still
Await those eyes that make his will
Their constant light below.
FEAR not, sweet Bird! thy flutt'ring cease,
Nor deem thy freedom fled:
Soon shalt thou feel thy glad release;
No evil need'st thou dread.
The hand that grasps thy downy plumes,
Its prize shall soon forego;
No heart thy life to thraldom dooms,
Nor triumphs in thy woe.
Go, guiltless captive, sport in air,
New plume thy ruffled wing;
To yonder waving spray repair,
Thy sprightly warblings sing.
In search of spotless pleasures rove,
Go seek thy anxious mate,
And mid thy brethren of the grove,
Th' eventful tale relate.
Go, say what fears thy breast alarm'd,
Lest Cruelty's fell knife,
Th' unfeeling hand of Sport had arm'd,
To end thy hapless life.
How sudden Anguish fix'd her wound;
How thy swoln bosom beat,
Lest some sad prison's wiry bound
Should all thy joys defeat.
Thy glad escape delighted tell,
And grant my only boon;
Oft near the cottage where I dwell
Thy grateful carols tune.
When chilly snow conceals the land,
And storms pervade the skies,
And surly Winter's icy hand
Th' accustom'd food denies,
With cautious, timid glance no more
Athwart the threshold steal,
But fearless pass the op'ning door,
And pick thy plenteous meal.
O come, and Nature's bounty share,
A free and welcome guest;
No ruthless grasp, nor tangling snare,
Shall e'er thy steps molest.
WHAT universal sadness glooms around!
Oh! is he gone whose worth the heart reveres!
That solemn bell's now doubly awful sound,
Alas! too soon confirms our anxious fears!
How sits pale Grief on each dejected brow!
What heartfelt anguish heaves in every breast!
Who can forbid the starting tear to flow?
Why should the plaints of sorrow be supprest?
That gentle mien no more shall glad our eyes,
Where beam'd benignant every Christian grace;
Too perfect here to dwell, aloft he flies:
How short, but ah! how pure his earthly race.
Celestial spirit! hast thou left thy clay?
Thy virtues to remembrance ever dear,
Now bid me breathe in elegiac lay,
The mournful tribute of a sigh sincere.
Son of the learned and justly celebrated Dr. Harington, of Bath; a Minor Canon of Norwich Cathedral, and one of the Ministers of St. Peter's Mancroft, in Norwich, where his character and talent as a preacher were held in high estimation. He died in 1791.
Each sacred duty anxious to fulfil,
Swift to obey whene'er Religion call'd,
Thy glowing words enforc'd th' Almighty's will,
And freed the wretched mind by guilt enthrall'd.
What pious zeal thy fervent bosom fired!
Reflection paints those hours—for ever gone,
When every heart thy eloquence admired,
Nor with less brilliant light thy actions shone.
With cold indiff'rence never did'st thou hear
Distress and friendless Poverty complain;
Whene'er their piercing accents met thine ear,
Thy feeling heart ne'er let them plead in vain.
Now art thou fled where Grief shall ne'er annoy;
A Saviour's hand thy bright reward bestows;
A never fading crown of sacred joy,
And Glory's deathless beams surround thy brows.
But oh! what poignant agony assails
Thy lovely widow'd consort's tender frame;
In keenest anguish she her loss bewails;
What tears of sympathy her sorrows claim!
What words, alas! can heal her grief-torn mind?
What thoughts can yield her tortur'd breast repose?
To Heav'n's all-wise all-gracious will resign'd,
Devotion's angel voice shall calm her woes.
Hope, led by Faith, shall point to distant years,
When thy exalted form her eye shall view,
Mid kindred spirits, far above the spheres,
And Friendship's joys eternally renew.
Here, while on earth she's destin'd yet to stay,
Those tender orphans doom'd her loss to share,
To guide their steps in Wisdom's sacred way,
Now doubly claim her fond maternal care.
May Heav'n's all-pow'rful hand protect their youth,
(In whom a friend each guiltless bosom finds)
May warm Benevolence and spotless Truth,
And all their father's virtues grace their minds.
Blest shade, farewell, the precepts thou hast taught
To ev'ry heart thy mem'ry must endear;
Thy fair example lives in every thought,
And distant ages shall thy name revere.
Great God! submiss before thy throne we bend,
And own th' unerring justness of thy will;
O! teach us thus our joyful course to end,
Thus while we live th' allotted part to fill!
FAR from the busy scenes of life,
Remote from clamourous haunts of strife,
What bliss salutes the mind!
To search the depths of ancient lore,
And Learning's mazy paths explore,
Where Knowledge dwells with Pleasure join'd.
Thro' Poesy's gay walks to rove,
To hear the natives of her grove
Their magic wild-notes sing;
She who conducts o'er fairy ground,
Where Fancy's flow'rets blooming round,
Present the charms of Spring:
To taste the joy those moments yield,
In which we range th' instructive field
Of Hist'ry's ample page;
Who bids Earth's various realms relate,
Their strange stupendous turns of fate,
To teach the rising age.
But when the musing soul surveys,
Those charms the Word of Truth displays,
'Tis transport pure, divine!
Bright Wisdom's voice each page contains,
While Poesy's sublimest strains
Breathe thro' the sacred line.
THOU, by whose gen'rous mien, whose open brow,
Thy unsubdued majestic heart we know;
Whose god-like port proclaims thy race divine,
Whose smiles in dome or cot true bliss can shed,
Where'er thy parents, born of Virtue's line,
Frugality and Toil, thy stops have led:
True Freedom shall with thee her dwelling find,
Who scorns the base subjection of the mind;
Not she, the fiend, of mad'ning discord bred,
Who falsely boasts to bear th' enrapt'ring name,
Who, nurst by Faction, rears her frantic head,
To dazzle mortals with her meteor flame.
How wretched he who bends a willing slave,
To all that can the heav'n-born soul deprave;
How happy who thy voice alone obeys,
Tho' humble his abode, tho' plain his meal,
Who heeds nor smile nor frown Caprice conveys,
Nor keen Reproach's pointed sting shall feel.
Ah! how unblest the wretch whose downcast eye,
Shall ne'er thy animating glance descry;
Whose fancy, lured by Hope's enticing strain,
Repose and Pleasure shuns, and tranquil Ease,
And strives to grasp thy airy form in vain,
That mocks his arm, and flits before the breeze.
More abject still his lot whom Vice detains
A voluntary captive in her chains;
Whose slothful mind can unresisting yield
To Wealth, to Luxury, or Passion's pow'r;
Who shuns thy path for Flatt'ry's painted field,
Whose joys precarious scarce survive an hour.
Thy nobler spirit to mankind impart,
Fix thy due empire o'er the glowing heart;
Let the warm wish to gain thy glorious prize,
Each gen'rous breast to honest toil excite;
Borne on thy tow'ring wing the thoughts shall rise,
To range th' unbounded realms of Wisdom's beamy light.
WHEN Spring luxuriant scatters new delights,
The mountain's verdant slope our steps invites,
To crown whose lofty brow o'er-bending trees
Wave their thick foliage in the tepid breeze.
Beneath their shade may Contemplation stray,
Th' extensive scene in all its charms survey;
In all the Maker's wisdom, pow'r confest!
Yon hawthorn rows in vernal beauty drest,
Yon meads, where many a simple wild-flow'r blows,
And ev'ry tint of Nature's pencil glows:
ETERNITY! how dread thy sound!
It strikes with sacred awe profound;
Can I thy theme pursue?
What thoughts sublime thy name conveys,
What prospects to the mind displays,
While Fancy paints the view.
Reason in vain thy bounds explores,
In vain Imagination soars
To thy meridian hour;
Millions of ages told in vain,
She's still but able to attain
The day-dawn of thy pow'r.
As well the mind may hope to count
Those drops of water's vast amount,
That Ocean's caverns swell;
Or name those single grains of sand,
That mark the bounds of sea and land,
As soon Earth's atoms tell.
Eternity! how firm thy sway!
The soul no sooner quits her clay,
Than, to thy regions flown,
Her doom's irrevocably fix'd,
And bliss or woe shall reign unmix'd,
Nor change shall e'er be known.
With thee compared a shadowy sleep,
Less than a drop amidst the deep,
Our longest earthly race;
Yet this short now's the time to gain
A meed of endless joy or pain,
Thro' thy uncounted space.
Then what presumptive madness his,
Who dares to tempt thy dread abyss,
To shun a transient woe!
False dictate of a coward mind,
Afraid to bear those ills assigned,
To try our worth below.
MEEK flow'ret! earliest child of Spring,
Her bloomy tribe thy hand shall lead;
Thou, first thy welcome boon to bring,
From Winter's bondage freed.
With new delight our raptur'd eyes
Thy modest beauties trace,
Earnest of thousand glowing dies,
That soon the mead shall grace.
Mild emblem of our infant years,
Low bends thy tender head;
Oft from thy cheek the dew-drop tear
On Nature's breast are shed.
In spotless purity bedight,
Alas! how short thy stay!
Soon brighter blossoms charm the sight,
And bloom their transient day.
Might infant innocence and truth
The flow'rs of life adorn!
But ah! the beauteous rose of youth
Oft bears the wounding thorn.
Yet tho' more vivid blossoms boast,
A form in brighter beauties drest,
Thy earlier charms still please us most,
Tho' clad in simple vest.
STERN Power! who long in distant lands,
Has thunder'd out thy dire commands;
And while no lenient thought thy rage restrain'd,
Hast urged thy mad destructive course,
By Fury drawn and rude resistless Force;
And arm'd with iron shield,
Too long hast joy'd thy thirsty sword to wield,
And hurl thy massy spear with blood distain'd:
And while her brazen trumpet Discord rear'd,
Whilst appall'd the nations heard,
Hast bid its jarring voice resound afar,
And vengeful bent on murderous deeds,
Hast lash'd thy fiery-breathing steeds,
And whirl'd thy dusky car:
Behind thee Dread and Horror swift advance,
And Death insatiate points his venom'd lance.
Where'er thy breath the air pollutes,
It blasts the verdure, flow'rs, and fruits
That deck'd a fertile land;
Thou bid'st pale Famine in thy train appear,
With meagre arm her leaden sceptre rear,
And dash the horn from Plenty's lib'ral hand.
Where'er thy thundering chariot wheels are roll'd,
On trembling pinions from thy presence fly,
Those natives of a purer sky,
Angelic Peace and Commerce rob'd in gold,
March, 1793.
HAIL, infant Year! my waking eye
With rapture meets thy dawn;
Hope, fairest offspring of the sky,
Illumes thy cloudless morn.
Vexation hence! and sullen cares,
Ye gloomy tribe adieu!
Hide ye behind the former years,
Nor dare molest the new.
Hope's magic song has oft deceiv'd,
And Time reveal'd the cheat,
Yet shall the Syren be believ'd,
Her promise yet be sweet.
Hence! leaden-handed Sloth, away,
My mind disowns thy pow'r;
Some active duty claims each day,
Some virtue asks each hour.
Folly avaunt! nor let my heart
Obey thy light controul;
But thou, celestial Wisdom dart
Thy radiance o'er my soul.
How many an eye that hail'd the sun,
When last the year he led,
Has, ere his annual course was run,
Been closed amid the dead.
Great Father! from whose throne above
Each perfect gift descends;
Oh! grant thy servant grace t' improve
The years thy mercy lends.
So when thy wisdom gives command,
That time to me shall cease,
May my rapt Soul her wings expand
In realms of endless peace.
IN Life's first dawn, ere Reason's ray
Rising sheds the promis'd day,
Gay Novelty officious flies,
With mantle dipt in heav'nly dies;
Trifles than morning clouds more light,
Deck'd by his hand allure the sight;
Each object by his touch some grace assumes,
In youthful beauty all creation blooms.
Infancy delights to stray
Where smiling meads their charms display,
To make each simple flow'r her own,
That liberal Nature's hand has sown;
The trembling harebell ting'd with blue,
The glossy kingcup's yellow hue,
Or snowy daisy tipt with red,
Springing spontaneous on their grassy bed;
The flaunting butterfly to chace.
Or Evening's flitting shadows trace;
Or seek the spot (yet never found)
Where the rainbow meets the ground.
Fond passions next the soul inspire,
She glows with Friendship's gen'rous fire;
Now on fairy land she treads,
And now th' etherial pinion spreads,
To soar from earth her pow'r she tries,
As Hope's ideal pleasures rise;
HOW happy in his reed-roof'd cot,
The rural peasant's humble lot,
Who with the soaring lark foregoes,
At early dawn his sweet repose:
Round his abode the cultur'd soil
Speaks his unremitted toil;
The spicy garden's varied blooms
Scent the breeze with rich perfumes;
The corn-field clad in waving gold,
The lowing kine, the bleating fold:
His hut two sister nymphs frequent,
Ruddy Health and meek Content,
Led by Industry their friend,
On Temp'rance steps these nymphs attend.
Thus unmolested glide his days,
His little wealth he pleas'd surveys;
Of Nature's simplest gifts possest,
Envy ne'er haunts his peaceful breast,
Not wishing Fortune's ampler stores,
With grateful heart he God adores.
The faithful partner of his cares,
At eve the frugal meal prepares;
His children's artless bosoms burn
To greet with smiles his wish'd return.
To tranquil rest he sinks serene,
Till morn renews the pleasing scene.
AH! what enchanting scenes the eye beholds,
When Spring her tender buds unfolds,
To meet the rising blush of morn,
And smiling green invests the thorn;
Nature her joy-inspiring aspect wears,
Beauty in magic robe appears;
Deck'd with each hue bright Fancy can create,
She sways the meads in purple state.
When Summer with refulgent fervour glows,
In blooming pride each vivid flow'ret blows,
To form the fragrant bow'r;
When evening twilight sheds a fainter gleam,
And quivering moon-beams gild the silent stream,
Still shall Creation's charms engage
The mind with Contemplation sage,
To pass the pensive hour.
When Plenty Autumn's step attends,
And bids her Nature's stores unfold,
The vine beneath the ripening cluster bends,
The trees their ruddy tints display,
The crimson'd fruit adorns each spray,
By early Spring foretold.
Nor deem the reign of Beauty o'er,
When Earth her snowy mantle wears;
Tho' painted blooms delight no more,
Nor aught of smiling green appears,
THOU silent monitor, whose powers
Can thus with truth display,
How swiftly glide the fleeting hours
That form Life's transient day.
Thy hand yet points the lapse of time,
Tho' undiscern'd its pace;
From morn when gain'd meridian's prime,
How short appears the space!
Thus unperceiv'd our moments steal,
And when Life's noon is o'er,
Taught by their loss their worth we feel,
Tho' lightly prized before.
So well may every child of clay
His hour of grace employ,
That Death may close our mortal day,
To bring a morn of joy.
HOW does the voice of woe, in accents wild,
To wound the list'ning ear sad sounds repeat!
Where Happiness of late serenely smiled,
Now pensive Sorrow seeks her mournful seat.
And does my honour'd Patron live no more?
Scarce can my heart the grief-fraught tale believe;
Too sure! the reign of dread suspense is o'er,
And flatt'ring Hope no longer dares deceive.
Th' etherial spirit, clogg'd with mortal clay,
No purer heights of virtue could attain;
Swift at th' Almighty's word she wing'd her way,
In native realms, to join th' angelic train.
He lives! he lives! above yon ambient sky!
His soul, but lent, a span, to dwell below,
A bright example beam'd on every eye,
Now call'd where Joy's exhaustless fountains flow.
Fain would my muse her last sad tribute pay,
But ah! what words, what language shall I find!
The silent tear alone can force its way,
Alone can speak the anguish of my mind.
Long shall this tear of gratitude be shed,
The sigh be heav'd to worth departed due;
While Virtue wails her fav'rite vot'ry fled,
While Mem'ry's eye his gen'rous deeds shall view.
Oh! to each honour'd mourner's grief-torn heart,
Now doom'd Affliction's poignant shaft to feel;
Could but my verse one soothing sound impart,
Till lenient Time the wounds of woe shall heal!
But, lo! Religion's voice divinely sweet,
Shall o'er the mind her balmy accents pour;
Him now you mourn (she cries) your soul shall meet,
Where Faith and Hope on angel pinions soar.
Each Christian grace that did his life adorn,
Dejected speaks, while sorrowing o'er his bier,
"Ah! son of Piety from earth withdrawn,
"Long shall the feeling heart thy name revere!"
Supreme Creator! Heav'n's Almighty Lord!
Ne'er be thy sacred will by man withstood!
Say, shall weak mortals murmur at thy word,
That calls thy servants to their blest abode?
No! may our hearts by fair Example fired,
The same unspotted path on earth pursue;
With ardent steps, by heav'nly zeal inspired,
Attain th' eternal meed to Virtue due!
[Wm. Drake, jun. Esq. in 1781, married Rachael Elizabeth, one of the daughters of Jer. Ives, Esq. of the Town Close, Norwich; and died in 1795]
UNUSUALLY alert, young Spring
Is stretching wide her purple wing,
To renovate the Earth;
Already o'er our wint'ry Isle
She sheds her joy-diffusing smile,
And gives her flow'rets birth.
For see, instead of snowy vest,
In robes of green the meadows drest,
Invite the browsing steed;
Luxuriant crops of sweetest grass
Shall well repay the patient ass,
The sheep shall richly feed.
The days of gloom already fled,
E'en January's frosted head,
A verdant chaplet wears;
Chang'd for the ice-drops sparkling gem,
See, infant buds adorn the stem,
Th' expanding leaf appears.
Ah! Eurus, stay thy chilly breath,
Nor doom those tender germs to death,
Lest famish'd man should pine;
Let him not Summer's fruits deplore,
Nor wail for Autumn's blasted store,
But bless the hand divine.
WHERE'ER our pilgrim footsteps stray,
Affliction's poignant shafts are hurl'd,
But angel Hope still chears our way,
She whispers, "there's a future world."
When Death has aim'd some fatal stroke,
Or parting Friendship sighs—farewell!
When fond Affection's ties are broke,
The thoughts with tender sorrow dwell
On bliss far fled, till Faith's clear eye
Darts to that world beyond the sky.
When want or woe the breast assails,
Or keen unkindness wounds the soul,
When every earthly comfort fails,
Then as the magnet seeks the pole,
So points the soul to heav'nly joys,
Where want, nor woe, nor grief, nor pain,
Nor Time nor Death her bliss destroys,
But pure unfading transports reign;
In vain o'er earth for happiness we roam,
She rests alone in our eternal home.
O MUSIC! soul-enchanting nymph, advance,
Thro' magic maze to guide the measur'd dance,
Or aid the tremulous voice,
When fired with Nature's charms Creation's sons rejoice.
O! let thy own melodious lays,
That still revibrate on my raptur'd ear,
With notes majestic, soft, and clear,
Awake my lyre to sound thy praise.
Let Nature's offspring, gracefully array'd,
Without fantastic Folly's aid,
Simplicity, whose spotless hand
Leads true Sublimity of attic mien,
Firm, bold, expressive, ardent, yet serene;
And Poesy, thy sister ever dear,
(Ye twin descendants of the ethereal sphere,
With innate charms combin'd,
Ah! never, never be your notes disjoin'd!)
In solemn dignity beside thee stand;
Hark! as each artless finger strikes the strings,
Her sweetest strains responsive Echo sings.
When decent Mirth, by guilt unstain'd,
Th' unbending mind employs,
'Tis thine to heights sublime to waft her joys;
Nor be thy graver song disdain'd;
But when contending passions' lawless strife,
And all the deepfelt woes of life,
INFANT daughter of the Spring,
The first thy simple gifts to bring;
Thy modest flow'rs erect their heads,
Her form the pale-eyed primrose spreads;
The cowslip, ting'd with deeper hue,
Hangs impearl'd with nightly dew;
The daisy, half-immers'd in sleep,
Through opening lids begins to peep;
The violet yet with fadeless bloom,
Breathes o'er all her sweet perfume:
These and countless numbers more,
(As our eyes the meads explore)
In thy humble train appear,
That ne'er adorn'd the grand parterre.
In Winter's grasp no longer nipt,
The russet trees with green are tipt.
See, loosen'd from his icy chain,
The cherry foremost of the train,
Whose fleecy blossoms bursting o'er,
Promise a future crimson store,
Yet oft a frown o'ershades thy brow,
And chilling hail or nitrous snow,
Bids the tender buds retreat,
Sighing for Summer's genial heat.
Child of whim, thy tears are seen,
While smiles of sunshine dance between:
MAY, 1794.
WHAT angel forms, attired in robes of light,
Pour their effulgence on my raptur'd sight?
Th' ethereal VIRTUES! lo! the radiant band!
Appal'd, from Gallia's guilt-stain'd land,
Precipitate they fly,
To seek retreat beneath a purer sky:
Banish'd from that devoted shore,
By yon false phantom's ghastly stare,
Who dares the sacred name of Freedom claim;
Who with unmeaning, loud, tumultuous roar,
Bids mortals follow, dazzled by her glare;
They plunge at once in misery and shame.
ON Meditation's wings up-borne,
All meaner themes above,
The soul should hail this sacred morn,
With gratitude and love.
Thou busy phantom, worldly Care,
Avaunt with footstep rude,
Unhallow'd guest, the thoughts to share
Ah! why wilt thou intrude?
Be Pleasure's giddy tribe away,
Nor dissipate the mind,
Far nobler pleasures claim this day,
Of pure exalted kind.
This day the great Creator calls
His creatures to rejoice,
To bow within his sacred walls
With Adoration's voice:
The incense of the heart to raise,
For ev'ry blessing giv'n,
By mingling acts of prayer and praise,
Prepare the soul for heav'n.
WELCOME, rosy-tinted May,
Thy presence shall each cloud dispel;
Thy smiles the tedious hours repay,
Spent in Winter's dreary cell.
The village maids shall hail thy dawn,
With Nature's brightest garlands crown'd,
Tripping o'er the verdant lawn,
Dance with joy the mazy round.
The flow'rs with beauty clothe the fields,
From Winter's icy fetters free;
The hawthorn richest odours yields,
Whose blossoms take their name from thee.
The daisy peeps from lowly bed,
The yellow king-cups strew the mead,
The cattle quit the shelt'ring shed;
And in luxuriant pastures feed.
The eye surveys the blooming trees,
The promise of abundance giv'n;
A future crop in prospect sees,
And beams with gratitude to Heav'n.
Then welcome rosy-tinted May,
Thy presence shall each cloud dispel,
Thy smiles the tedious hours repay,
Spent in Winter's dreary cell.
SWEET spot! with magic scenery graced,
The abode of elegance and taste,
Where Nature's charms, improv'd by art,
Pour delight o'er every heart:
Here may rapt Poesy retire,
To fan the spark of heav'nly fire;
With one extatic glance behold
What legendary Bards have told,
Of beauteous scenes in Fairy land,
Rais'd by Fancy's potent wand;
Whate'er of Fiction's flowery tale,
Descriptive of the happy vale,
In no ideal visions rise,
The living landscape strikes her eyes.
Near Earsham-hall (Norfolk) the seat of the late JOSEPH WINDHAM, Esq.
In peace may Contemplation stray
Along the devious upland way,
Survey the lucid stream below,
Where reflected sun-beams glow;
Or onward dart her eager sight,
To taste the undisturb'd delight
The richly-tinted prospect yields,
Where meads, groves, gardens, woods, and fields,
Nature in graceful order blends,
Far as human ken extends;
While many a simple spire between,
Denotes a hamlet tho' unseen.
Charm'd with the ever-varying view,
The Muse attempts the tribute due
To Her who plann'd this loved retreat,
And calls her own the favourite seat;
Whose tasteful elegance of mind,
Within no selfish bounds confin'd;
Feels the pleasure she imparts,
The noblest pride of generous hearts.
YOUTHFUL Queen of sportive pleasures,
Wake thy lute to airy measures;
Tripping o'er the gayest green,
Deck'd with roses, thou art seen,
And every flow'r that fairest blows,
And peacock plumage shades thy brows.
Foe to Grief and gloomy Care,
With thy jocund train appear:
Let Friendship pour her beams benign,
Let playful Wit the chorus join;
But thy scenes of festive joy,
Let frantic Folly ne'er annoy,
Nor furious Strife thy bliss devour,
But sober Reason guard each hour.
Thou lov'st when Morn new beauty yields,
To frolic o'er the blooming fields,
Where many a flow'ret, tipt with dew,
Fresh unfolds its vivid hue;
Its charms the eastern sky displays,
While the bright sun's golden rays
Disperse each lightly-flitting cloud,
The lab'ring peasant carols loud,
And linnet, thrush, and blackbird sing,
Welcome to the smiling Spring.
When 'scaped from Winter's deadly hand,
Nature has burst his icy band,
YE sons of men! with reverence bow
Before th' Almighty's throne!
With adoration's hallow'd glow;
His ceaseless goodness own:
Obedient to his dread controul,
Famine, the fiend, with haggard eye,
Whose gorgon aspect petrifies the soul;
Who late with giant pace advancing nigh,
Threatening rear'd her meagre hand,
And frown'd terrific o'er our land,
Now dares no more the conflict wage;
But with unsated rage,
She to the desart takes her flight,
Or seeks the regions of eternal night:
While Heav'n-sent Plenty, with benignant smile,
Her brow triumphant crown'd with waving grain,
Returns to bless her favour'd isle,
Shaking her full horn o'er the plain;
Bids the rich crop o'erspread the cultured soil,
Whose bending ear demands the reaper's toil.
Industry, with cheerful song,
Laughing leads her rustic throng;
Their toil is o'er—their treasure safely stor'd,
Pleasure crowns the festive board;
Mirth invites, with aspect gay,
To welcome Plenty's golden sway;
[Sept. 1796.
AS Henry, with the maid he loved,
The garden's mazy circles moved,
With contemplative eye survey'd
The flow'rs in summer pride array'd;
Their numerous tribes in order ranged,
Their varied beauties interchanged,
HARK! where Joy's triumphant throng
Ardent pour the grateful song,
To Heav'n's Almighty Lord!
He view'd in scorn th' insulting host,
Who madly threaten'd o'er our coast
To wave th' ensanguin'd sword:
His voice in thunder shook the skies,
Bade Britain's guardian genius rise,
And guide her sons to fame;
Bade valour in their bosoms glow,
And Victory crown th' undaunted brow,
And give a deathless name.
Ye brave defenders of our Isle,
Britannia waits with grateful smile
Her conq'ring sons t' embrace;
Her annals shall record your deeds,
His fame who for his country bleeds
Th' historic page shall grace.
Ye, who your captive fate bemoan,
Who uttering many a heartfelt groan,
Salute a hostile shore,
Know our best triumph o'er our foes,
Is with kind hand to heal their woes,
Nor more your lot deplore.
Britannia, empress of the main,
Her pow'r shall undisturb'd maintain,
While beams the orb of day;
Her commerce o'er the globe extend,
Each distant clime its products send,
Each nation bless her sway.
COME Contemplation, in whose mien
Awful Wisdom sits serene,
Pleas'd shall the eye thy form survey;
No gaudy plumage decks thy brow,
Nor dazzling hues of varied glow,
Glare from thy vest of simple grey:
Yet hast thou beauties more refin'd,
To captivate the serious mind;
'Tis thine to bid rapt Fancy soar,
Where daring Thought ne'er urged her wing before.
Creative harmony thou lov'st to trace,
O'er fertile earth's extended space;
Yon star-illumin'd concave view,
(To keen Observance ever new)
Or the raging deep survey,
Where the vast whale pursues his prey.
Thou can'st in ev'ry scene some charm descry,
When Spring invites o'er daisy-speckled fields,
Or sun-burnt Summer seeks thy shades;
When Autumn's hand her treasure yields;
E'en when on pallid Winter's eye
Each glowing landscape fades,
Thou lov'st the still, sequester'd seat,
Musing Solitude's retreat,
Where silent Fancy oft shall stray,
To meditate th' entrancing lay,
JANUARY, 1800.
THUS spake the Almighty Lord enthroned in light,
To a pure Spirit of th' empyreal choir,
"Thou, 'midst my seraph host divinely bright,
"Go, and the fairest mortal form inspire.
"A few short years, in love to fall'n mankind,
"Go, thy celestial beams on earth display;
"Charm by example's force the human mind,
"Then re-ascending, rest in endless day."
Her task fulfill'd, lo! she exulting soars;
Ye mourners left behind, ah! cease to grieve:
Each cherub tongue this strain triumphant pours,
"Hail, thou beloved! thy heav'nly crown receive!"
Daughter of the late and sister of the present John Ives, Esq. of Norwich.
WHAT images arrest the mental view,
As lonely I the rural path pursue!
With sad regret fond Fancy hovers o'er
The shades of joys that must return no more;
When, by congenial sentiments endear'd,
Some friend in these delightful scenes has shared.
Tho' twenty suns have roll'd their annual round,
But yesterday the vision seems to bound;
In that short space what victims Death has claim'd!
How oft his hand, too sure, the shaft has aim'd,
And snatch'd a friend! Yet some remain behind,
To soothe with tender thoughts the pensive mind.
Those sainted spirits, once on earth so dear,
As Guardian Angels yet, perhaps, are near;
To them, perhaps, the pleasing task is giv'n,
With "still, small voice" to guide the soul to Heav'n;
Pursue, they seem to say, the path we trod,
Then share with us the presence of thy God;
We wait to bear thee hence, with us to sing
Eternal hallelujahs to our King.
HAIL! Melancholy! sable queen,
With aspect awfully serene;
Of silent Solitude the birth,
Foe to giddy senseless Mirth;
With raven plumes thy brows are crown'd,
And cypress foliage twining round.
Oh! thou, advance, with solemn pace,
But guide not here thy hideous race:
Trembling Terror, grisly Care,
Distracting Doubt and dire Despair,
Nor let Austerity be nigh,
Who darts displeasure from his eye
Where'er he sees Contentment dwell,
And loves the murky dismal cell
Thy hand let calm Composure lead,
Before thy path let Reason tread;
Thy steps let Wisdom close attend,
And deep Reflection, Wisdom's friend;
Staid Meditation with thee bring,
Religion's handmaid, she, whose wing
Ne'er rests on earth, whose piercing sight
Explores yon azure fields of light;
Where countless round each central sun,
Vast worlds their annual circles run,
Still soaring to th' Eternal Cause
Of changeless Nature's perfect laws;
AH! Summer, why so long delay'd
Thy wonted influence? Why afraid
Thy laughing face to shew?
Instead of full prolific beams,
Thy countenance but faintly gleams,
Thou veil'st thy ruddy brow.
Chill Eurus frights thee from the land,
And Winter, with usurping hand,
Thy sceptre sternly sways;
Unripen'd fruits thy absence mourn,
And sickening fields of green-ear'd corn,
Demand thy genial rays.
The swain expects of hay his store,
But lo! th' o'erwhelming torrents pour
From yonder low'ring skies.
What shall reward the toiling steed,
When, clad in snow, the ice-bound mead
The tender grass denies?
O! come, tho' late, to bless our Isle,
Diffuse thy renovating smile,
And turn our fears to joy.
Why should gaunt Famine rear her head?
Why o'er thy paths her poison spread,
And Autumn's hope destroy?
'Tis God who sends the fruitful crop,
Who bids his clouds in fatness drop,
And plenty crown the fields;
When rebel Man defies his laws,
His hand th' accustom'd gifts withdraws,
Nor Earth her produce yields.
Cease, then, frail mortal, cease t' enquire,
Why burns th' Almighty's vengeful ire—
Be silent, and adore!
Submiss, and humbled in the dust,
Confess the punishment is just,
And Mercy's grace implore.
1816.
WHEN Solitude's calm voice invites,
To taste her pure, unmix'd delights,
What can in charms the rural scene surpass?
While yet moist Morn's refreshing dews,
Their tepid influence o'er the earth diffuse,
The pearly drop still pendant on the grass;
How pleasing now th' embroider'd vale,
Where varied sweets each sense regale;
The slender, lengthen'd path to trace,
Whose sides impervious shades enclose,
Where every simple flow'ret finds a place,
Where all in genuine beauty blooms,
And hawthorn blossoms breathe their rich perfumes;
Gay Nature's garden these compose:
While here and there the opening thicket yields
A prospect of surrounding fields,
Where the meek lamb, with snowy fleece,
Crops the tender herb in peace.
Their native pow'rs to charm the ear
The tuneful birds employ,
By Spring awak'd to harmony and joy;
Still as the foot of passenger they hear,
They fearful flit from bush to bush;
Here the sweetly warbling thrush
Pours his often-varied note;
There, responsive to the lay,
With many a short essay,
The humble redbreast swells its little throat:
ON Albion's favour'd shores again
What shouts of conquest strike the ear!
Victorious on the watry plain,
Her warlike sons appear.
Let France, in atheist pride array'd,
The pow'rs of earth and heav'n defy;
Britain shall own th' Almighty's aid,
On Him for strength rely.
Rebellion's*
blinded sons no more
Shall bid their country's savage foe,
Assist them on their native shore
To pour the streams of woe,
No savage foe shall e'er intrude,
Whate'er their vain insulting boast;
A race of heroes, unsubdued,
Still guards Britannia's coast.
Alluding to the late Rebellion in Ireland.
While faithful History's glowing hand
Consigns her gallant chiefs to fame,
Conspicuous 'midst the glorious band
Shall shine her NELSON'S name.
And ye, whose husbands, parents, fell,
To save their country, laws, and King,
That country shall your griefs dispel,
Shall grateful off'rings bring.
By Victory led with laurel'd brow,
May Peace to bless our isle descend;
War's crimson torrents cease to flow,
His jarring empire end.
NOW thickening darkness spreads her solemn shade,
What awful sounds the startled ear invade,
Awake the hallow'd silence of the night,
And strike the timid breast with vain affright?
Hark! 'tis from far the whirlwind's bursting rage,
More loud the warring elements engage;
Doubling from every point the tempest roars,
Mingled with hail the watry torrent pours;
O SUMMER! hither bend thy cheerful way,
Our clime shall gladly hail thy sway;
O! come in all thy flowery pride,
With rural Pleasure dancing at thy side.
Thou as a cottage nymph art seen,
To range the meads with healthful mien;
In russet mantle light as air,
Loosely waves thy golden hair;
The plumy warblers chaunt thy praise,
From every shrub mellifluent lays
The list'ning ear entrance;
While hand in hand thy kindred months advance:
First June, with roseate chaplet crown'd,
She almost exiles from her train
Old Winter's consort, sable-hooded Night,
Who peeps behind, and shows but half her face,
Dazzled with Day's refulgent grace,
And flowing robe of pure transparent light:
July with razing scythe, who tends the plain,
And bids the with'ring grass perfume the air around:
Next August comes to close the band,
Ripe ears of golden grain adorn her hand,
Prophetic of autumnal stores;
Whilst each yellow waving field,
To Contemplation new delight shall yield,
Whose grateful eye their boundless wealth explores.
A TRUCE with life's tumultuous cares,
Fled from the world's entangling snares,
Let rural joys the mind unbend:
Where sportive Health delighted roves,
Mid the calm shades Contentment loves,
I seek my soul's congenial friend.
What verdure clothes the glowing plain!
(Verdure near cities sought in vain)
The hamlet's rustic scenes in view;
Here what exalted rapture warms
The heart alive to Nature's charms,
Mid landscapes tinged with every hue.
The corn-fields clad in trembling green,
The russet lands dispersed between,
Just recent from the plough-man's toil;
While half-conceal'd the streamlet glides,
'Neath matted reeds its current hides,
Enriching silently the grateful soil.
O'er the heath, with furze embrown'd,
The fleecy tribe lie scatter'd round,
While near the path a straggler feeds,
Whose shaggy coat but partly shorn,
As if by ruthless brambles torn,
Hangs like the beggar's tattered weeds.
The snowy geese with hissing cry,
Scared at the traveller rustling by,
Stretch their long necks and scream;
The whole flock join the grating song,
Flapping their wings they skim along,
To seek the neighb'ring stream.
When Evening breathes her tepid breeze,
Mid fragrant shrubs and towering trees,
How sweet to stray, by Friendship blest;
Far from the noisy haunts of strife,
Far from the stage of busy life,
No cares our purer joys molest.
Those moments not less pleasing glide,
When books a mental treat provide,
While the chill blast the rural walk denies;
When mind communicates with mind
The sweet exchange of thought refined,
Nor heeds the rattling rain nor angry skies.
Oft have we past the Sabbath's holy hour,
Where the neat church high rears her ancient tow'r,
Together oft the hallow'd pavement trod;
The cottagers abound in decent dress,
A simple fervor in their looks express,
While prayer and praise up-wing the soul to God.
Friendship, thou beam of heavenly fire,
O, still may'st thou my thoughts inspire,
Pour on my heart thy sacred ray!
Thou shalt survive the bounds of time,
Rais'd to thy own celestial clime,
For ever reign in uncreated day.
HOW fresh the gentle vernal breeze,
That softly moves the stately trees,
Time-hallowed elms, which clustering meet,
To form a canopy complete;
A path of mingling light and shade,
Beneath the waving branches made.
Here Friendship undisturb'd may range,
And soul-exalting thoughts exchange;
Here peaceful Solitude invites,
To aid young Fancy's heav'nly flights;
Here to indulge the sacred muse,
Or oft the improving page peruse,
On Meditation's pinion soar,
And brighter worlds unseen explore;
Or in the heart some deed to plan,
Fraught with benevolence to man.
Sure these are joys the blest must prove,
In regions of immortal love;
At least the contemplative mind,
While to its earthly shell confin'd,
Tho' taught Heav'n's glories to believe,
No purer transports can conceive.
HAIL! sable queen of soft repose,
Who bid'st the weary eyelids close,
To Sleep's profoundest sway resign'd;
Or, still more pleasing to the mind,
Creative Fancy takes her sportive round,
No more in Judgment's fetters bound,
Scorning the limits of the nether sphere,
She soars thro' Ether's wide-spread fields,
To scenes more bright than feign'd Elysium yields:
Pure realms of radiant glory, where
Spirits refin'd from grosser clay,
Exult in endless day.
On pinions swift as those of light,
Thence to earth she aims her flight;
Now on Ideal regions darts her eye,
Thousand forms quick gliding by,
All in motley shapes array'd,
Of mortals long in Death's oblivion laid.
Now to the globe's extremest verge,
Regardless of the billowy surge,
Unknown climes she brings to view,
Fraught with objects vast and new.
Now some magic spot she spies,
Where never-fading flow'rets rise;
Sees elfin fays in circles tripping,
Lightly o'er th' enchanted mead,
LO! what descending cherub, robed in light,
With dazzling beams o'erwhelms the sight?
Is it a Genius of th' etherial spheres?
Or Angel from before th' Almighty's face,
His errand fraught with blessings to our race?
Lo! yet more near the heav'nly guest appears:
Ah! no, 'tis Peace! hail beauteous queen!
Too long on earth a stranger hast thou been,
By crimes of mortals banish'd from below;
While clanging trumpets pierced the ear,
And War high-wav'd his sanguine spear,
And bade th' affrighted world his empire know.
With pitying eye the God of mercy view'd,
Where slaughter's sword in reeking gore imbrued,
Spread desolation o'er th' unpeopled land;
He will'd his creatures' punishment should cease,
And thus to thee, celestial Peace,
Proclaim'd his high command:
"No more let earth thy absence mourn,
"Go, heal the wounds by Discord torn,
"With gentler thoughts inspire the vengeful mind;
"Go, bid War's crimson streams forbear to flow,
"And round the hero's laurel'd brow
"Thy olive chaplet bind.
"Hark! 'tis thy sister Plenty's voice,
"Already bids the fields rejoice,
"Scattering with bounteous hand her golden store;
"Go, meet her on yon favour'd isle,
"From thence united beam the gladdening smile,
"And on mankind your genial blessings pour."
And see, they come: O welcome lovely pair!
Famine avaunt! and blank Despair
For ever veil'd in nightly shades remain;
While Plenty binds her yellow sheaves,
And wreaths of triumph Concord weaves,
And o'er the world resumes her lasting reign.
Too long the fiend destructive War,
Has whirl'd o'er earth his flaming car,
The trembling realms no more shall dread his ire;
The cannon shuts its death-denouncing throat,
While the harsh trumpet's brazen note,
In dulcet strains expire.
Now Peace explores the well-fought field,
Where bleeding Valour scorn'd to yield,
The clashing jar of arms resounds no more;
Changed by the magic of her word,
The useful plough-share rises from the sword,
And tills those plains it drench'd in blood before.
Too long pale Avarice, brooding o'er
His fast accumulating store,
Had seal'd his ear 'gainst Pity's gentle call;
Whate'er his greedy eye survey'd,
The vulture Rapine swift convey'd
Amid his gloomy walls.
At length for others' woe he feels,
Self-love no more his bosom steels,
Soften'd by Plenty's stream which largely flows;
By Heav'n's benignant sun-shine warm'd,
His heart no more of ice is form'd,
Diffusive gifts his liberal hand bestows.
To greet their much-loved native home,
See Albion's conquering sons in triumph come,
Who bade remotest climes her pow'r obey;
May inward factions ne'er her peace molest,
But loyalty pervade each honest breast,
And o'er our minds firm fix our Monarch's sway.
In vain Britannia's threatening foe
Sought o'er her Isle the vengeful shaft to throw,
Forbade by Heav'n's all-ruling King,
To whom the sounds of praise shall rise,
With grateful accents penetrate the skies,
While seraphs thence to earth shall future blessings bring.
[Dec. 1801.
NOVEMBER, 1800.
O! TRULY welcome to thy native land,
Thou first in glory mid her warlike band;
What shouts of triumph bade her shores resound,
When Victory's wreath thy valiant deeds had crown'd.
Our glowing hearts revere thy nobler mind,
Where beams each virtue of the brightest kind:
From pure Religion's source thy virtues flow,
Hence genuine Courage claims her dauntless brow;
The Christian hero's stedfast hopes repose
On Heav'n's firm rock—he fears no earthly foes.
Long blest with health, enjoy thy honours won!
While loyal Norfolk boasts her favourite son;
And O! may still th' Almighty's guardian care,
Preserve a life thy Country holds most dear.
May each brave warrior arm'd in Britain's cause,
Thus form his life by Wisdom's purest laws,
Thy great example ever in his view,
Then shall our land her impious foes subdue.
[The Illustrious Hero of the Nile landed at Great Yarmouth, in Norfolk, Nov. 6, 1800, after an absence of two years and seven months.]
LORD of the year! whose word commands
The seasons o'er what favour'd lands
To shed profuse their stores;
Or where to turn the earth to steel,
Till rebel man compell'd to feel,
Thy awful pow'r adores.
Intent he ploughs the stubborn soil,
Exerts his utmost skill and toil,
Resigns his hopes to earth;—
But here the powers of art must cease,
'Tis Thine to call with vast increase
The future crop to birth.
But if provok'd thine anger frown,
Sudden the wat'ry torrents drown
The once prolific plain;
Wan famine stalks with glare of death,
With tainting mildew in her breath,
She blasts the full-ear'd grain.
Thy suppliants to thy throne repair,
Wilt Thou, propitious to our pray'r,
In mercy give command?
Lo! Plenty shakes the o'er-flowing horn,
And bending fields of ripen'd corn
Demand the reaper's hand.
To Thee our hearts the hymn shall raise,
O may our deeds proclaim thy praise,
So mercy still shall smile;
Shall beam in renovating spring,
Shall bid new autumns harvest bring,
To bless our grateful isle.
DEAR suffering Friend, what anguish rends thy heart!
Could Pity's voice but soothe thy pungent grief!
Pierced with Affliction's keenest-pointed dart,
What words can yield thy tortur'd soul relief?
Ah! vain are words the anguish'd heart to calm,
Tho' tenderest sympathy inspire the line;
In vaint
soft Pity pours her lenient balm,
When the fond Mother mourns a loss like thine.
Thy Son cut off from life when Reason's ray
Had just illumed fair Childhood's opening bloom;
When smiling Hope foretold a splendid day,
Alas! immerg'd in night he asks a tomb.
Yet, yet he lives! tho' veil'd from mortal sight,
By angels wafted to the realms of love;
His guiltless spirit clad with beams of light,
His cherub tongue thus greets thee from above:
"Dear Parent, cease for me that plaintive sigh!
" 'Twas heav'nly mercy call'd me from below,
"To be thy watchful guardian hovering nigh,
"To shield thy soul from many a secret woe.
"Snatch'd from the world ere yet my spotless breast
"The taint of vice or sinful passions know;
"Amid th' eternal seats of bliss and rest,
"My Saviours glories I with transport view.
"And when (a few short years of trial o'er)
"Thy spirit, freed from earth, shall wing her flight,
"The Child whose loss thy fruitless tears deplore,
"Restored shall ever bless thy raptured sight.
"Thy mind submiss let Resignation bend,
"(Hope bids the path of settled grief to shun)
"While from thy tongue these pious strains ascend—
'' Lord! not my will but thine alone be done!"
AS thou in Sion praise did'st hear,
O! God, in Britain now,
An altar to thy name we rear,
And pay the grateful vow.
In vain we seize the early hour,
To plough the unyielding soil,
Unless thou send'st the softening show'r,
In vain the sower's toil.
'Tis thou who bid'st the ripening grain
In full fraught ear ascend;
The glossy stems the load sustain,
And 'neath the sickle bend.
Famine, pale fiend, far hence shall fly,
The sons of Want no more
Shall view, with Sorrow's aching eye,
The barn's exhausted store.
An early harvest crowns our hopes,
Thy goodness gives command;
Plenty her horn diffusive opes,
And fills the reaper's hand.
O'er the brown stubble scatter'd thick,
We leave a liberal share;
This shall the humble gleaner pick,
Which amply pays her care.
Abundance clothes the smiling land,
Each heart with joy o'erflows;
O! may we ne'er forget thine hand,
Which ev'ry good bestows.
THO' yet the clouds portentous low'r,
The winds have hush'd their concert rude;
Well suits the calm, the silent show'r,
With Meditation's pensive mood.
Now Memory, with her magic spell,
Long buried joys revives to thought,
And loves with fond regret to dwell,
On woes that Time and Death have wrought:
To trace those hours, for ever fled,
When Friendship's voice, as angels kind,
Soft o'er the soul her influence shed,
To virtue soothed or fired the mind.
But Hope her fairy touch applies,
Darting with yet more powerful hand,
(While Fear with each grim fantom flies)
She breaks the wizard Memory's wand.
And see, thro' her perspective glass,
What visions charm th' enraptured sight,
What throngs of future pleasures pass,
In fancied radiance beaming bright.
These, these, she cries, are scenes to come.
If not on earth's unpleasing waste,
The soul in her celestial home,
These pure, unmingled joys shall taste.
Then come, bright Hope, tho' clouds may low'r,
Friend of the Muse, to thee 'tis giv'n,
To gild with smiles the present hour,
To paint the future with the hues of heav'n.
THE Mind, from Reason's earliest ray,
Till freed from her imprisoning clay,
Her every power employs,
The aerial form of Happiness to gain,
But all, alas! in vain,
Ever pursues, but ne'er enjoys.
For thou, O Happiness, Elysium's queen,
Distant, more distant, still art seen;
Thy airy throne some fairy bower,
Form'd of each beauteous glowing flower;
Whilst thou in this thy magic car,
On wings of sylphs art borne afar;
Thy votary says, when Time some point hast gain'd,
He brings a bliss yet unpossest,
(By bright Imagination drawn,
In colours radiant as the morn)
That favourite wish obtain'd,
I live with Happiness completely blest.
But ah! the long sought phantom near,
Its shadowy beauties disappear;
Thou, Happiness, hast changed thy loved retreat,
With some more distant object fixt thy seat,
That deck'd with each alluring smile,
In novel charms is seen,
Tho' Disappointment, born of Guile,
So often steps between;
HAPPY the mind with self-enjoyment blest,
Who makes the tranquil paths of life her choice;
Seeks gentle Peace, 'mid tumults ne'er possest,
And in Retirement hears her soothing voice.
Not in sequester'd cells or cloister'd gloom,
Whose haunts each social energy destroy,
And like the dark recesses of the tomb,
In void oblivion bury every joy:
But in the rustic mansion's simple seat,
Views Nature clad in artless robes of green;
From every cultured spot exhales a sweet,
And roves delighted o'er the sylvan scene.
The mossy lawn, with frolic lambs o'erspread,
The garden, where salubrious herb abound,
That, mix'd with flowers, their spicy odours shed,
The waving fields with embryo harvests crown'd.
The clustering grove, whose thickly-woven shade
Invites the parent bird to rear her young;
The kind protection gratefully repaid,
With melting notes from many a warbling tongue.
O'er musing Meditation's walks to stray,
What placid bliss th' enraptur'd spirit knows,
Creative Wisdom's products to survey,
Where rich variety new charms bestows.
Or oft th' instructive pleasing page explore,
Where just Description breathes in every line,
Where noblest sentiments sublimely soar,
And glowing Genius stamps the work divine.
Or lonely seek some pensive, still recess,
Or taste pure Friendship's soul-enchanting pow'r;
Thy shades, Retirement, equally can bless
The social or the solitary hour.
'Tis thine to fan Devotion's sacred fire,
To soaring Thought a stronger pinion lend,
To bid young Fancy seize the sphere-tuned lyre,
And notes of praise as incense sweet ascend.
Sure these are joys celestial spirits know,
In transient gleams to man thro' mercy giv'n,
To cheer the gloomy walks of life below,
And rouze the slothful mind to toil for heav'n.
AUGUST, 1803.
YE sons of British heroes,
Who've fought in Glory's field,
Shall ye to Gallic boasters
Your laurels ever yield?
With rage and envy frantic
Against our happy isle,
The spot on earth distinguish'd
By genuine Freedom's smile.
Fierce foes to every blessing
The British peasant shares,
They'd rob us of each treasure
That life to man endears.
Rouze, rouze your ancient courage,
Remember Blenheim's plain;
Let Agincourt and Cressy
Recount their Frenchmen slain.
Ye valiant men of Norfolk,
Whom Nelson's deeds inspire,
Remember his example,
And shew your patriot fire.
Is life more dear than freedom?
Say, will you bear the yoke,
Survive your Country's ruin,
And crouch beneath the stroke,
The slaves of Gallic tyrants?
What heart but answers—No!
Seize, seize your sword and firelock,
And rush to meet the foe.
With hearts and hands united,
Let's make a glorious stand,
To save our wives and children,
Our friends and native land.
For our dearest rights contending,
Just Heav'n our swords will guide;
Let Union be our motto,
And Loyalty our pride.
We'll save our Country's freedom,
Or in her cause we'll die;
Brave Britons, when united,
The world in arms defy.
AWAKE! ye sons of sloth and ease,
Can wild and senseless dreams yet please?
Ye oft bewail how short your race,
Yet idly waste its transient space;
Has then the living scene no charm
With nobler joys the breast to warm?
We, the heirs of health and toil,
Dwell in Nature's richest soil;
Profuse with flowers she strews our way,
We live the whole of Life's short day.
When the beams of early dawn,
Impearl with dew the blooming thorn,
The cock, who sounds his clarion high,
Bids our light-wing'd slumbers fly,
When the air is calm and still,
And smoothly glides the circling rill;
When the milk-maid, o'er the lawn,
Inhales the spicy breath of morn,
As blithe with health she trips along,
And sweetly sings her rustic song;
Or bending o'er the foamy pail,
Hears her lover's simple tale.
Loosed from the fold the lambkin plays,
While the sun's up-darting rays,
(As the misty vapour flees)
Tinge with gold the top-most trees.
FAR from contention, envy, strife,
Be mine the tranquil path of life,
To lift the cottage simple latch,
Where woodbines climb the lowly thatch;
Not dazzled by Ambition's blaze,
Nor whirl'd in Folly's endless maze;
To seek the haunts Religion loves,
Or sacred Wisdom's inmost groves,
There with a serious book or friend,
The leisure hours delightful spend;
There oft let Milton's holy page,
Or Young the pensive thoughts engage.
Yet not to genuine pleasure blind,
But now and then to chear the mind,
Beguile the tedious winter nights,
In following Shakspeare's daring flights;
Where, big with imitative rage,
The buskin'd hero treads the stage;
There snatch a ray of living fire,
The languid fancy to inspire.
Or rove in Spenser's fairy fields,
Where plumy crests and blazon'd shields
Are borne by many a dauntless knight,
With lady on her palfrey white.
Where virtuous love, or Friendship's flame,
Prompt to deeds of deathless name.
FEBRUARY, 1803.
ALAS! what mean those sudden plaints of woe,
That strike my startled ear with accents wild?
Relentless Death has aim'd th' unerring blow,
Where bright to view Life's flattering prospects smil'd.
Dear widow'd mourner, cease thy tender sighs,
For thy loved partner early call'd away,
Above the limits of yon concave skies,
His soul exults in everlasting day.
Long shall his worth to every friend be dear,
The pious son, the husband, father kind;
Benevolent in thought, in words sincere,
His were the virtues of an honest mind.
Tho' doom'd untimely to an orphan state,
Thy blooming babes shall be th' Almighty's care;
His guardian hand shall guide their future fate,
And save their opening minds from Folly's snare.
And ye, respected pair, in life's decline,
While o'er a Son's sad tomb your sorrow flows,
Accept this grateful, tributary line,
From one whose heart participates your woes.
My soul's dear friend! whose fond maternal breast
This keen, afflictive stroke must deeply feel;
Oh! could my Muse but charm thy griefs to rest,
Could Friendship's soothing balm thy anguish heal!
But lo! Religion comes, whose angel voice
Shall o'er thy mind sweet consolation pour;
She bids each mourner's heart with hope rejoice,
To meet in realms where death divides no more.
GREAT God! to whom the birds for food
Still raise the expecting eye;
Thou whom the raven's callow brood
Implore with ceaseless cry.
Father! whose providential care
No creature begs in vain,
To mark the Gleaners' humble prayer,
Thine ear shall not disdain.
When Spring her blooming empire yields,
When Summer's fruits are shed,
And bounteous Autumn o'er the fields
Her golden tinge has spread;
O! may the sun's prolific powers
Diffuse the ripening glow;
Nor torrents of unwelcome showers
The year's best hopes o'erthrow.
Fresh as the roseate beams of morn,
We children of the cot
Forsake our home at early dawn,
Nor deem severe our lot.
Cheerful across th' abundant soil,
We urge our daily task,
And as the reaper ends his toil,
Our scanty pittance ask.
The scatter'd ears to fill our hand,
We pick with patient care;
Ye sons of wealth, your hearts expand,
Nor grudge our slender share.
So may you in full barns rejoice,
To Heav'n glad Peans
raise,
Nor ask in vain the Gleaner's voice,
To swell your songs of praise.
NOVEMBER, 1803.
O POWER Supreme! whose awful word
Again commands th' avenging sword
O'er guilty man to glare;
Lord! while thy judgments yet impend,
Before thy throne we contrite bend,
And pour the suppliant pray'r.
Thy mercy's richest streams have flow'd,
(As erst on Israel's race bestow'd)
To bless thy chosen land;
And when abroad thy shafts were hurl'd,
And Discord shook the jarring world,
Oft sent by thy command;
The guardian angel of our coast,
Has victory o'er th' embattled host,
To Britain's arms decreed;
Safe in our home we heard from far,
The voice of thunder-speaking War,
That bade the nations bleed.
Now burns with rage th' insulting foe,
To crush at one o'erwhelming blow
Our life, our name in dust;
For while we stand, in vain he dreams,
To crown Ambition's boundless schemes,
For Britain dares be just.
His legions, nursed in scenes of blood,
Sweep, like the desolating flood,
Men, cities, realms, away;
Where'er his savage footsteps tread,
Death, horror, and heart-chilling dread,
Proclaim his impious sway.
Insatiate with unjust command,
He'd grasp the world with iron hand,
While trembling at his nod,
His slaves with abject flattery greet,
And basely crouching at his feet,
Adore him as their God.
Thus madly fierce, in giant pride,
Goliah once thy power defied,
And felt thy vengeful stroke;
A simple shepherd dealt the blow,
That laid the Atheist monster low,
Who dared thy wrath provoke.
Round Britain's shores a loyal band,
The bulwark of their parent land,
Her patriot sons arise;
Yet not alone on spear or sword,
But on thy mighty arm, O Lord,
Our hope, our trust relies.
'Tis thine, when clashing hosts engage,
To guide the battle's hottest rage,
And Conquest's palm bestow;
To bid our foes retire with shame,
While hymns of praise to thy dread name,
'Mid Victory's shouts shall flow.
HAIL! social bird, with ruddy breast,
Thus early thou forsak'st thy rest;
When first the morning twilight peeps,
Thy little eye no longer sleeps;
We hear thy oft repeated lay,
Which tidings brings of opening day,
And tho' the note is never long,
What sweetness revels in thy song!
When Evening's dusky mist prevails,
Thy artless music never fails;
Thy constant ditty still is sung,
When Winter chains each warbling tongue.
Thou, feathery friend, while all the rest,
From building near mankind their nest,
By persecution are repell'd,
Because thy brood is sacred held,
The rustic cottages among,
Choosest a dwelling for thy young,
Where printing oft the dusty ground,
Thy slender feet alertly bound;
Or thy little bill, perhaps,
Against the window gently taps;
Or bolder wilt thou pass the door,
And peck thy pittance from the floor?
HOW vain, O Balaam! is thy prayer,
How fruitless thy desires!
The good man's peace in death to share,
The good man's life requires.
As vain their wish who through their days,
A wicked course have run,
Yet dare their hopes to Heav'n to raise,
Just when that course is done.
Too blindly vent'rous, they prepare
No other shield 'gainst death,
But idly trust to Balaam's pray'r,
Pronounced with parting breath.
Instead of God's pure word in view,
To guide their steps aright,
An ignis fatuus they pursue,
That shines with treach'rous light.
Oh! fatal error! found too late,
In realms of endless pain;
For ever lost that blissful state,
They thought a wish could gain.
MAY, 1803.
ARE these sad tidings true? ah! is she dead?
Must I the inmate of my soul deplore?
Are Hope's delusive dreams for ever fled?
Must Friendship's sacred joys return no more?
While Memory holds her empire o'er my breast,
Tho' snatch'd by death the friend shall be rever'd,
In whose affections I so late was blest,
Whom every virtue to my mind endear'd.
Her's was the pious Christian's fervent zeal,
By Affectation's glaring tints unstain'd;
For others' woe her bosom knew to feel,
While dove-like Meekness o'er her temper reign'd.
Her's was that mild benignity of mien
Which speaks a heart where innate goodness glows;
The calm and gentle brow, the smile serene,
Which conscious rectitude alone bestows.
Ye friends who knew her worth, oh! speak your grief,
With me in notes of tenderest sorrow join;
If sympathy in woe can yield relief,
Oh! mix your heartfelt sighs, your tears with mine!
Ye friends who knew her worth, with me rejoice!
Her spirit pure from mortal suffering freed,
Hath heard that sentence from a Saviour's voice,
"Come thou, blest soul, receive thy virtues' meed!
Yet, in lone moments, still shall Fancy's eye,
Her image to my pensive mind recall;
Remembrance yet shall prompt the heart-heav'd sigh,
Shall bid Affection's tear in silence fall.
But Hope descends, bright messenger of peace,
With purest accents of seraphic love;
"Ah! cease," she cries, "thy fruitless sorrow cease,
"And raise thy thoughts from earth to realms above.
"While Heav'n permits thy moments here to last,
"Pursue that path thy Friend has trod before;
"Then shall th' Eternal, when Life's scenes are past,
"Unite your kindred minds to part no more."
Shall the dark vale that lies between controul
The powers of Friendship, offspring of the skies?
No! Friendship lives, immortal as the soul,
Shall mock Death's grasp, and still triumphant rise.
MILD Evening shades abroad invite,
The sun pours soft his rays;
On every side th' enraptur'd sight
A gladdening scene surveys.
Lo! Plenty's horn profusely drops
Abundance o'er the field;
Beneath the sickle, bending crops
Their golden honours yield.
With nervous arm the reaper swain
Here binds his full-fraught sheaves;
There, nimbly on the creaking wain,
The welcome burthen heaves.
The master hails, with shouts of joy,
His grain in safety stor'd;
No farther cares his mind annoy,
He seeks the festive board.
For soon the fast declining sun
Will shed his farewell ray,
And blinking twilight, dusk and dun,
Usurp the place of day.
But see, with ample orb, the moon
Now beams serene and clear,
Diffusive of a milder noon,
The rustics' toils to cheer.
Hark! how the merry gleaners sing,
Quick pacing on the road,
As to the cottage home they bring
Their daily well-earn'd load.
'Tis thou, great Author of all good,
Whose pow'r these gifts imparts;
Thy bounteous hand supplies our food,
With gladness fills our hearts.
And shall our souls forget to bow
To thee with fervent praise;
Before thy throne perform the vow,
And grateful anthems raise?
OCTOBER, 1804.
THE bell has paused! to my reluctant ear
This mournful truth its awful accents tell;
Yon solemn train in silent sorrow bear
A youthful victim to the tomb's dark cell.
In vain the dawn of early genius rose,
In vain the nobler virtues of the heart
Began their opening beauties to disclose,
Death aim'd a slow, but ah! too sure a dart.
Those flattering presages of future worth,
Which graced his mind ere youth attain'd its prize,
So Heav'n decreed, but blossom'd here on earth,
To meet perfection in a purer clime.
Ye parents, who with sighs his fate deplore,
To you the Muse a tender tribute sends;
For you the tear shall pitying Friendship pour,
While 'neath the stroke meek Resignation bends.
Hope whispers to the soul, your Son yet lives,
Her soothing sounds shall bid your sorrows cease;
While heav'n-taught Faith the firm assurance gives,
To meet in realms of endless joy and peace.
RELIGION! fairest child of Heav'n,
Why art thou drawn with brow austere?
Sweet cherub guide to mortals giv'n,
Why clad in frowns severe?
Thy native mien serenely bright,
True bliss, e'en while on earth we live,
(Thou genuine source of pure delight)
'Tis thine alone to give.
Would man but choose thee for his friend,
Fierce passions' jarring strife should cease,
For all thy paths in pleasures end,
Thy way's eternal peace.
Not the pale Monk, who requiems chants,
Responsive to the midnight ball,
Nor Hermit in his sylvan haunts,
And solitary cell:
But he whose active virtues flow,
Diffusing blessings o'er mankind,
Shall thy sublimest influence know,
Thy heav'nly transports find.
Thine is the generous heart that feels
The sympathies of joy or grief;
And thine the tear that silent steals,
For woe which mocks relief.
The mind with social passions warm,
'Tis thine to soften and refine;
Each life-endearing sacred charm
Of virtuous Friendship's thine.
When Heav'n demands our transient breath,
When every earthly joy shall cease,
Thou shalt disarm the conqu'rer Death,
And wing the soul to peace.
TOO long the kingdoms of the world,
Have own'd a Tyrant's beck;
Altars and Thrones in ruin hurl'd,
Have shared one common wreck.
BRITANNIA firm alone disdain'd
T' obey his impious nod;
Her Faith, her Loyalty maintain'd,
True to her King and God.
Nations whom her example fires,
Now spurn the galling yoke;
The Tyrant's dazzling glare expires,
His magic spell is broke.
Lo! where the proud Usurper's host,
Our bands allied subdue;
And on his own affrighted coast,
With Conquest's shouts pursue.
Great God! we own the battle thine,
From Thee our Vict'ries flow;
Teach us to see thine arm divine,
Directing every blow.
Whilst o'er the foe our hearts rejoice,
And lasting trophies raise,
To Thee we lift the grateful voice,
In hymns of ardent praise.
[Nov. 1813.
NOVEMBER, 1804.
Let Fame her trophies to Ambition raise,
Of monumental and historic praise;
Truth shall forbid the memory of the just,
To sink unnotic'd in the silent dust,
Whose spirit summon'd by th' Almighty Lord,
Now meets the faithful servant's bright reward.
His life was as his Christian doctrine pure,
Alike in virtue as in days mature;
His deeds that spoke benevolence of mind,
Unceasing flow'd to benefit mankind:
These to each heart his name shall still endear,
And long survive the sad funereal tear.
The Rev. John Peele was thirty-eight years Minister of St. Peter's Mancroft, Norwich. He died Oct. 26, 1804, in the 84th year of his age.
AUTUMN with solemn step draws near,
Sober evening of the year;
When the trees are half embrown'd,
And falling leaves bestrew the ground.
What pleasure now to range the grove,
Or seated in the twined alcove,
(Whose roof perennial branches form,
That fearless brave the wintry storm)
The garden's flowery tribes to view,
That soon must lose each beauteous hue;
To hear the Redbreast warbling near,
Latest songster of the year;
To let the sportive fancy stray
O'er scenes as fairy visions gay;
Or give the silent, serious hour,
To Meditation's graver pow'r;
Or rich poetic page peruse,
Where thoughts congenial prompt the muse,
Till Night's chill breezes bid retire,
To seek th' inviting social fire,
Where Friendship bright, with Virtue's smiles,
In converse sweet the lengthen'd hour beguiles.
JANUARY 18, 1816.
BEFORE thine Altar, God of Peace,
Thy grateful people bend:
Thou bid'st again fell carnage cease,
And War's dread empire end.
The Tyrant, whom no leagues could hold,
Whose aim was boundless sway,
By too much lenity made bold,
Burst from his Isle away.
Rush'd like a storm on Gallia's land,
Rebellion's standard bore,
And from her lawful Sov'reign's hand,
The sceptre madly tore.
Britannia's hero—Prussia's son,
Came, saw, and fought the foe;
Supported by thy pow'r, they won
The field of WATERLOO.
Once more the false Usurper flies,
His projects lost in air,
His vaunted boast of courage dies,
He yields in base despair.
Ambition, which no limits bore,
Helena's rocks enclose;
Chain'd on her insulated shore,
While Europe feels repose.
Crowns on their rightful Monarchs' brow,
Thine arm has fix'd again;
Nations their lawful rulers know,
And bless their patriot reign.
Guided by Thee, while Britain boasts
To her the change they owe,
Before thine Altar, God of Hosts,
Thy grateful people bow.
And O! may no domestic strife
E'er stain our country's fame;
But let our lips, our heart, our life,
Our joy sincere proclaim.
THE sun ascends a cloudless sky,
The moistening dews before him fly;
How sweet to pace the fields at dawn,
This mild, serene, salubrious morn,
Where fluttering oft his russet wings,
Untutor'd notes the Redbreast sings;
Or walking on the rising ground,
To scan the wide-spread landscape round,
Where at one sweeping glance we see,
(Interspers'd with many a tree)
Houses, bridges, hedges, hills,
Castles, turrets, spires, and mills,
Which indistinctly meet the view,
Veil'd in a mist of palest blue.
The reaper with his ruddy train,
Bending o'er the rich-ear'd grain,
With busy hand the sickle plies,
The yellow sheaves around him rise,
While far behind, with slower pace,
His track the patient gleaners trace;
The youths and maids assisting come,
Eager to bring their harvest home.
A scene like this must soothe the mind,
With feelings of the happiest kind;
JANUARY, 1805.
SCARCE the sad tomb on one loved child had closed,
Nor had the parents' bosoms ceas'd to bleed;
A soften'd calmness had their griefs composed,
Submiss to what th' all-gracious God decreed:
When lo! again the messenger of death,
From Heav'n's high throne with woe-fraught mission flies;
Another blooming victim yields her breath,
Another angel's wafted to the skies.
Oh! she was beauteous as the blush of morn,
Was all parental fondness could desire;
Each grace that can the female mind adorn,
Beam'd in her looks, and bade all hearts admire.
Eldest daughter of the late Rev. John Walker, of Norwich.
The modest sweetness of her native mien,
Bespoke a soul of pure seraphic birth;
The host that minister to man unseen,
Recall'd their sister spirit from the earth.
Could Pity's sighs but soothe parental grief!
But what, alas! can sighs or tears avail?
To give the mind thus deeply pierced relief,
E'en Friendship's tenderest sympathies must fail.
'Tis Heav'n alone such anguish can assuage,
Alone the balm of consolation pour;
He but demands your children off life's stage,
Their forms in angel brightness to restore.
O'ER the vast deep, what storms arise,
And mighty billows bound,
In seeming contest with the skies,
Destruction dealing round!
Yet mightier He who rules the storm,
The Lord enthron'd on high;
The winds his wise decrees perform,
He gives the word—they fly.
The waves attend his sacred will,
They feel his sov'reign sway;
He speaks the mandate, "Peace, be still,"
The raging seas obey.
And when protracted thunders crash,
With awe astounds the ear,
His hand conducts the vivid flash,
To punish or to spare.
When clanging spears in myriads gleam,
And hosts with hosts engage,
With sov'reign voice the Lord Supreme
O'errules the battle's rage.
His will directs in fiercest fight,
The sword on whom to fall;
On whose devoted head to light,
He guides the glowing ball.
When round thee thousands strew'd the field,
'Twas his all-potent arm,
Which proved, O WELLINGTON! thy shield,
And saved thy life from harm.
A tyrant dared our bands defy,
In vaunted numbers strong;
The God of Armies bade him fly,
And wide dispers'd his throng.
It is the Lord supreme in might,
Who routs our foes with shame,
With conquest crowns us in the fight;
Give glory to his name.
FEB. 1805.
SLOW to the silent mansions of the dead,
Yon train in sad funereal pomp draws near;
That solemn knell proclaims a spirit fled,
Whose honour'd memory asks the grateful tear.
How shall my Muse the arduous task pursue,
His life of active usefulness display?
The tribute to his public virtues due,
The voice of public fame shall justly pay.
Benevolence and candour mark'd his mind,
First to support each philanthropic plan;
For him the city weeps, in whom were join'd
The upright Magistrate, the friend of man.
Their patron dead the poor shall wail with grief,
Whose lengthen'd years were lent mankind to bless;
Who ne'er to Want's sad cry refused relief,
Still prompt to soothe each species of distress.
Ye mourners, let your sorrows cease to flow,
Eternal Truth th' assuring word has giv'n,
Those who delight in Mercy's deeds below,
Blest with its brightest beams shall shine in heav'n.
HOW soon the verdant months are past!
The branches bend with snow,
And keenly beats the chilling blast
On bleak November's brow.
Thus fleeting are our youthful hours,
Those years how swift they fly,
When Hope and Fancy strew with flow'rs
The roughest paths we try.
Big rolls the cloud, the sun's faint rays
With sidelong glance appear,
Thick mists descend, the shorten'd days
A gloomy aspect wear.
The storm with double fury falls
On penury and woe,
Where scatter'd thatch and clayey walls
But ill resists the foe.
The worn-out garb, the half-spent fire,
The children's asking eyes,
Who their full meal of bread require,
Which, ah! stern Want denies.
Fear not, ye offspring of distress,
Tho' plenteous harvest fails,
Soft Charity shall bring redress
Where Poverty assails.
Taught by the Gospel's sacred lore,
With sympathetic heart,
The affluent shall your huts explore,
And timely aid impart.
Now thick descend the broad white flakes,
The drifted mountains rise;
Woe to the wanderer night o'ertakes,
He struggling sinks and dies.
The north wind whirls with hollow sound,
The stars keen lustre shed;
Ice locks the stream, the sparkling ground
Crackles beneath the tread.
The mind with grateful feelings warm,
Which social bliss conveys,
Can e'en in Winter find a charm,
Nor want a theme to praise.
Spring shall revive each lost delight,
Again the new-born year,
Shall burst with beauty on the sight,
And fruits and flow'rets bear.
The Spring of life returns no more,
But if to Virtue giv'n,
Tho' earth's best joys, alas! are o'er,
Our age foretastes of Heav'n.
By Death set free, the soul shall rise,
Upborne on Seraph's wing,
To genial realms beyond the skies,
Where blooms eternal Spring.
'TIS done! the Despot's reign is o'er,
The kingdoms freed, shall groan no more
Beneath his impious sway;
Who, rais'd by the Almighty's hand,
Has chasten'd many a guilty land,
Till Heav'n's appointed day.
With giant arm his chains were hurl'd,
And forced the subjugated world
To tremble at his name;
One nation only braved his might,
Britannia's sons, renown'd in fight,
His glory changed to shame.
So erst the proud Assyrian King,
Once thought beneath his yoke to bring
Judea's hallow'd soil;
When lo! a voice on high proclaims,
"Here cease thy mad ambitious aims,
"Nor dare my land despoil."
The meek-eyed angel Peace descends,
To this low world her course she bends,
Child of celestial love!
With Plenty, of co-equal birth,
In mercy to the sons of earth,
Commission'd from above.
Welcome, ye Sisters, to our isle!
O Peace! diffuse afar thy smile,
Beyond th' Atlantic main;
America shall hail thy voice,
And join'd with Europe's realms rejoice,
Beneath thy halcyon reign.
1805.
FATE'S messenger the cup of joy o'erwhelms,
Where beam'd benevolence and social love;
Recalls a native of superior realms,
Lent as a short-lived blessing from above.
Ye friends in sorrow o'er her bier reclin'd,
Ye orphans, who in pensive sighs deplore,
She, whose example form'd the filial mind
To purest virtue, lives on earth no more.
To brighter scenes ye mourners turn your eyes,
Let Angel Hope suppress Affliction's tear;
Her sainted spirit, lo! from yonder skies,
Still beams with smiles on all her soul held dear.
While here your steps her sacred path pursue,
And bow'd to heav'n's high will your hearts adore,
Think on the hour when bursting on the view,
Her form shall bless your sight to fade no more.
Daughter of the late John Ives, Esq. of Norwich, and elder sister of the Lady whose death is noticed in page 60.
HARK! the glad horn's sonorous strain,
Responsive to the shouting swain,
Proclaims the harvest o'er;
The master of the field stands by,
And views with pleasure in his eye,
His safe conducted store.
The gleaner with her children round,
From scatter'd spikes has clear'd the ground;
Beneath the moon's broad ray
She home conveys the little hoard,
That shall supply her humble board,
In Winter's scanty day.
The God of goodness prompt to bless
His suppliant's labours with success,
Vouchsafed his powerful aid;
The peasant plough'd in hope the soil,
The plougher's and the sower's toil
Abundance has o'erpaid.
No torrents of untimely rain
Have drench'd the yet unripen'd grain,
To mock the reaper's care;
But sun-beams which prolific glow'd,
Their warmest influence have bestow'd,
Accordant to our prayer:
Nor Mildew, with her tainting breath,
Has doom'd the embryo sheaves to death,
By genial rays matur'd;
But Plenty, with propitious smile,
Has shed her treasures o'er our Isle,
In garners now secur'd.
But where are they who reap'd with joy?
Do hymns of praise their tongues employ?
Alas! far different sounds;
The jest profane, th' indecent song,
Pour'd from a wild, intemp'rate throng,
The ear abhorrent wounds.
Is this in Britain's Christian land,
T' acknowledge Heav'n's all-bounteous hand?
This to revere his laws?
O Man! be grateful to thy God,
Lest he in wrath sends forth a rod,
And Plenty's gifts withdraws.
1806.
FROM all the ties of fond endearment torn,
In vain earth's bands th' immortal mind would hold;
Tho' flattering hope in youth's refulgent morn,
In smiles delusive cloudless days foretold.
High in superior circles born to shine,
Where every grace its influence might display,
As a bright star her virtues beam'd benign,
And charm'd to goodness by example's ray.
From fading dreams of fancied bliss below,
(Oh! may the thought affliction's sighs restrain)
She's early summon'd e'er she saw life's woe,
To where true joys thro' endless ages reign.
The Lady of the Hon. Captain F. P. Irby, of Boyland-hall, in Norfolk, and daughter of the late Wm. Drake, jun. Esq. M. P. of Agmondesham, Buckinghamshire.
WELCOME thy dawn, protracted day,
With pleasures in thy train;
Whilst thou and twilight share the sway,
Night trembles for her reign.
Rouzed from repose, the sons of toil
Shall early seek the field,
To cultivate the grateful soil,
Which golden crops shall yield.
Their tasks they shall with hope begin,
And chearfully prolong,
Ere Night her ebon face slips in,
To check the busy throng.
Amusement shall their labours crown,
With inoffensive joy;
Nor Evening, with untimely frown,
Their simple sports destroy.
But dusky days, decreased in length,
Too swiftly shall advance,
And sun-beams with remitted strength,
Shall faintly gleam askance.
Yet there's a day 'neath purer skies,
Upon a happier shore,
Awaits the Blest, their sun shall rise,
Whose beams shall set no more.
Rays from th' eternal source of light,
No cloud shall e'er invade;
A morning which the veil of night
Shall never, never shade.
1807.
AND hath thy soul forsook her suffering clay?
Doth the chill tomb enwrap thy grief-worn frame?
Closed are those eyes which beam'd with Friendship's ray!
And cold that breast where glow'd Affection's flame!
Fond memory bids thy virtues still be dear,
As when my heart first felt their sacred power;
And still those scenes recalls, with many a tear,
When mutual kindness sooth'd the pensive hour.
When Friendship strove thy tortur'd mind to calm,
Thy thoughts on nobler prospects to engage;
Sought o'er thy wounds to pour Religion's balm,
Which mortal misery can alone assuage.
Too keen thy sensibility of pain,
Life's sharpest ills thy breast was doom'd to feel;
And Friendship's softest sympathies were vain,
The poignant anguish of thy soul to heal.
Repeated woes on woes o'erwhelm'd thy heart,
That heart too tender to repel the storm;
Death mark'd thee for his own, he aim'd a dart,
When lingering sickness seized thy withering form.
Thy shatter'd bark from Life's rough sea retired,
Hath found that port where pleasure never ends;
Those realms to which thy hopes had long aspired,
To meet thy husband, parent, child, and friends.
THOU, Winter, with protracted sway,
Dost still thy lingering flight delay,
Still 'neath thy veil of snow,
The charms of Nature lie conceal'd,
To solid adamant congeal'd,
The streams forget to flow.
The flow'rets shrink within their beds,
Nor venture forth their tender heads,
For genial Spring they sigh;
Or if, expectant of her birth,
They dare to peep above the earth,
Beneath thy frown they die.
Ah! soon withdraw with gradual hand,
Thy fleecy mantle from the land,
To Spring resign the sway;
She'll call with renovating breath,
The vegetable world from death,
Who gladly shall obey.
Go, flee to Zembla's frost-bound clime,
Where seated on thy throne sublime,
No rival shares thy reign;
Where never verdure clothes the field,
Go, there thy icy sceptre wield,
And quit our happier plain.
The sons of want have felt thy hand,
But lo! a philanthropic band,
Diffuse their beams benign;
Till Spring shall free our frozen soil,
Bid industry resume her toil,
Nor more in languor pine.
NOVEMBER, 1817.
WHAT means, alas! that sudden burst of tears?
Oh Death! no common victim dost thou crave;
No vulgar spirit mounts th' ethereal spheres,
Veil'd is a star of Genius in the grave.
The Rev. John Walker, A. B. formerly of Magdalen-college, Oxford, Gospeller of the Cathedral Church, and Minister of St. Peter's per Mountergate, and St. John's Timberhill, Norwich; Vicar of Stoke Holy Cross, Norfolk, and Bawsey, in Suffolk. The literary abilities of this gentleman were of a very superior kind. His manners were elegant and unassuming. The volume of his Poems, published after his death, will establish the truth of the former assertion, and all who had the happiness of being intimate with him, it is not doubted, will confirm the latter. As an orator he had few equals; the soundness of his doctrine, his emphatic delivery and melodious voice, captivated the attention whilst they convinced the understanding of his audience. Such a tribute of respect is particularly due from the Authoress, who was permitted to lay before this excellent man the sheets of her former publication as they passed through the press.
And art thou gone, my Muse's fost'ring friend!
Oh! could I catch thy own poetic flame!
Might one inspiring ray on me descend!
Then would I pay due tribute to thy fame:
But in thy works thy soaring fame shall live,
Learning and Taste their vot'ry long shall mourn;
The sons of Science shall their praises give,
And wreaths unfading grace thy sacred urn.
Ye mourners who in deep, domestic grief,
A Husband's and a Father's loss deplore,
Oh! might the sigh of Friendship yield relief,
Till soothing time shall tranquil thoughts restore.
Think on the virtues that adorn'd his mind!
What themes of rapture now that mind employ!
By earthly vehicle no more confin'd,
For temp'ral suff'ring gains eternal joy.
All gracious GOD! before thy throne we bend,
Our will to thine we bow with hearts submiss;
At thy command resign each mortal friend,
In hope to join them in immortal bliss.
THE sun in mists his glory shrouds,
The fields delight no more;
November's brow is dark with clouds,
The year's gay youth is o'er.
Lost is the verdure of the meads,
No tuneful warblings flow;
A long and dreary night succeeds
To noon's pale, transient glow.
Yet why lament the gloomy day,
Or Nature's long repose?
Again shall Spring's awakening ray
More beauteous tints disclose.
The vernal morn again shall gleam,
The drooping world to cheer;
The sun, with vivifying beam,
Renew th' empurpled year.
But if revolving Spring no more
Should bless our mortal eyes,
The soul that fears her God shall soar
Where suns more glorious rise.
Where night no more the veil of death
O'er day's bright scenes shall fling,
Nor Winter's rude, unwelcome breath,
E'er blast the charms of Spring.
DECEMBER hail! a vest of snow
Enwraps thy shadowy form,
With aspect pale and footstep slow,
Thy harbinger—a storm.
The sun now darts oblique his ray,
Scarce at meridian clear,
And mists o'erhang the shorten'd day,
Dim twilight of the year.
To skim the stream to stone congeal'd,
Advent'rous youths resort,
But many a danger lurks conceal'd,
Beneath th' alluring sport.
The hearth invites where Friendship's pow'rs
Th' expanding soul improve;
While social eve's protracted hours
With flight unheeded move.
And lo! the day which bids the mind
Exult with hallow'd mirth,
When angel-minstrels taught mankind
To hail a Saviour's birth.
While Plenty's urn with gifts o'erflows,
The festive board to spread,
The heart with food and gladness glows,
Nor wintry storms shall dread.
The breast with noblest feelings fired,
Th' unshelter'd hut explores,
Where pallid Poverty retired,
Her plaints in secret pours.
Then come, tho' Boreal blasts alarm,
And snows obscure thy day,
December, still thou hast a charm,
And still I hail thy sway.
BENEATH a father's roof two brethren dwelt,
And each domestic comfort truly felt;
What farther pleasure could their souls require?
The happy sons of an indulgent sire:
In them were centred all his joys and fears,
The hope and stay of his declining years.
But ah! what human bliss e'er stood secure?
Not long does home-felt happiness endure;
The younger heir, a slave in folly's chains,
His mild, paternal government disdains;
Impatient that an eye should o'er him roll,
Whose awful glance his vices might controul,
Ere yet his father's death a title gives,
He asks his patrimony whilst he lives;
This hard request the parent's breast must wound,
But from his fondness no denial found.
The strong-impassion'd youth, with heart elate,
Receives his portion of his Sire's estate;
In search of lawless pleasures bent to roam,
He quickly bade adieu to friends and home;
With wild excess he on a foreign shore,
In days and nights of riot wastes his store;
He squander'd all, profuse, with lavish hand,
When Famine's meagre form appall'd the land:
By every gay associate soon forgot,
What else but want and misery were his lot?
AND does yon dome its lord revered deplore?
The friend, the patron of th' industrious poor;
Whose bounty in no narrow sphere confin'd,
Diffusive spoke the man of lib'ral mind;
Of loyal heart, still true to Britain's cause,
Firm for his King, his country's sacred laws:
His gen'rous acts, while they proclaim his praise,
The best memorial to his name shall raise.
[Sept. 1812.
THE storms seem fled, the Sun's warm beam
Darts chearful o'er the sparkling stream,
And melts in tears the gelid snow,
Stern Winter smooths his furrow'd brow;
The insects, floating 'neath the ray,
In mazy rounds their gambols play;
The flow'rs uprear the tender head,
No more the biting blast they dread
The fluttering birds, on busy wing,
Their untried notes essay to sing;
Nature seems once more alive,
Her torpid charms again revive.
Yet, ah! ye insect tribe, beware!
Nor trust your filmy wings in air;
Nor you, ye flow'rs, emboss'd with gold,
Too far your silken buds unfold,
For Winter smiles but to betray;
It is not Summer's genial ray.
Ye chirping birds to covert fly,
For see, the pattering hail is nigh;
The velvet nest forbear to form,
For Winter's smile portends a storm.
Thus we, in life, too soon believe
False Flattery's charms, which oft deceive:
Youth, unsuspicious, dreads no guile,
But trusts too far the treach'rous smile;
O THOU, whose calm responsive note,
On ambient air is heard to float,
And melt in soft decay;
Soon as to greet the orient sun,
Shrill warbling has the lark begun,
Thy voice returns the lay,
Daughter of Sound, who lov'st to dwell
Remote from mortals, in the dell,
Or on the billow-beaten shore;
Or 'mid the hollow rocky caves,
Whose sides some rapid fountain laves,
To catch the torrent's roar.
When silent Midnight's solemn shade,
Shall Nature's brightest charms invade,
When the lorn Nightingale her sorrows chaunts,
Thy mimic accents, faint tho' clear,
Pour ecstacy on Meditation's ear,
Seeking her lonely haunts.
Thy voice in murmurs hoarse resounds,
When thunder's sudden burst astounds,
Thro' the rent air with repercussion strong;
Thou from the cliff with peal for peal,
Bid'st trembling guilt new horrors feel,
And aw'st th' affrighted throng.
But when the vaulted dome rebounds,
With Harmony's enchanting sounds,
Which Heav'n's immortal praise inspires,
Thy airy shell the song repeats,
Thy tones the mind with rapture meets,
And feels seraphic fires.
O! friend of Solitude, appear,
O! nymph to Contemplation dear,
Who oft invokes thy aid;
Amid the busy cares of day,
No moment owns thy peaceful sway,
O soothing, pensive maid.
Thou in some deep untrodden dell,
Or in th' impervious rock-built cell,
Hast fix'd thy noon-tide seat:
Or with slow footsteps shall we tread
The mansions of the mould'ring dead,
To find thy dear retreat?
When twilight evening spreads her veil,
Oft mid our path thy form we hail,
As o'er wide fields we rove;
E'en there some distant mingling noise,
Some buzzing tale thy charm destroys,
Which Echo tells the grove.
When Midnight mounts her ebon throne,
Sage Contemplation joys to own
Thy unmolested sway;
Rapt Fancy paints some lonely scene,
Where Luna, silver-beaming queen,
Sheds round a shadowy day.
No more the evening warblers pour,
Their pensive strains from yonder bow'r,
Yet now to mem'ry dear;
E'en the hoarse night-bird's grating throat,
No longer darts her jarring note,
Discordant thro' the ear.
All sunk in temporary death,
By magic Sleep's despotic breath,
This hour to thee resign;
Now on the mountain's verge to stand,
The prospect round sublimely grand,
Impels to thoughts divine.
Let Folly's train thy charms despise,
Wisdom shall still those moments prize,
To thee, O Silence, giv'n;
With thee she owns her chosen friend,
The peaceful hour shall gladly spend,
And wing the mind to heav'n.
NOW earth's beauteous scenes o'ershading,
Twilight her grey mantle flings;
Now the realms of day invading,
Darkness spreads his ebon wings.
From the distant town returning,
Hasty trips the village maid;
In her hand, obscurely burning,
A taper lends its feeble aid.
Now the church-yard path she enters,
But fain would shun the dreary way;
Dreading, trembling, on she ventures,
Lamenting oft the absent day.
Unperceiv'd a humid vapour,
Exhaling from the fatten'd ground,
Quenches quick her friendly taper,
And pours a tenfold horror round.
Now strange tales of old romances
Swiftly dart across her mind;
On every grave a ghost she fancies,
Hears a groan in every wind.
Now she stops, she starts, she listens,
A look behind she dares not cast;
At her feet the glow-worm glistens,
Round her roars the hollow blast.
Thro' the trees the moon-beams viewing,
That rising shed a dubious light;
On tip-toe now her steps renewing,
Chased by Fear, a paly sprite.
The glimmering lamp at distance spying,
Where her rustic parents dwell;
Now the well-known door descrying,
Scarce alive her fate to tell.
She the dreary scene describing,
Her infant sisters round her gaze;
With eager hearts the tale imbibing,
Till rapt, till lost in wild amaze.
With age their groundless fears increasing,
Dread of darkness fills the breast;
Solitude tho' once most pleasing,
Is now in deadly terrors drest.
Ah! they alone possess a treasure,
Who their Maker's favour prize;
Only dreading his displeasure,
Their souls all other fears despise.
WHEN Heav'n the soul requires, not florid youth,
Nor Nature's gilts, by Art improv'd, can save;
Yon awful knell proclaims the solemn truth,
A son of Genius asks an early grave.
In vain each flatt'ring hope of future fame!
Sent by th' unerring voice whom all obey,
In scarlet-spotted vest pale Sickness came,
And beckon'd Death to seize his ready prey.
Thou, tender partner of his joys and cares,
Soft Pity feels thy sighs of poignant woe;
Thy gentle mind no more Life's pleasures shares,
Grief's pointed dart has been thy bosom's foe.
Yet, ah! attend Religion's soothing sound,
Let her thy heart with pleasing hopes impress,
With him to meet where sacred joys abound,
For whom thy soul now sinks in deep distress.
Mr. Bassett was an Engraver at Norwich, whose talents gave promise of future eminence.
To Death's chill blast his rising honours yield,
Decreed in prime of life to meet his doom;
Youth, merit, shining genius, could not shield,
Nor claim exemption from th' insatiate tomb.
Ah! how precarious, Man, thy mortal state!
How vain thy brightest hopes of bliss below!
Then, O! secure thy life's eternal date,
Amid those joys that ne'er shall cease to flow.
[Aug. 1, 1791.
HIGH on a rock, whose craggy brow
O'erlooks the subject main below,
Her throne Britannia rears;
And lo! from yonder favouring skies,
Her guardian Genius as he flies,
For her the wreath prepares:
But while his hand the laurel twines,
A sprig of mournful yew combines,
Yet moist with generous tears.
Eager she darts her piercing glance,
Where high in air yon pendants dance,
Her cannons' thunders roar;
She sees contending navies clash,
While rival fires' incessant flash
Appals the trembling shore;
She views the flood a crimson'd tide,
Till shouts of victory echoing wide,
Proclaim the conflict o'er.
But where (her anxious looks enquire)
Oh! where's the Chief, whose soul of fire
Th' immortal palm has won?
And while her hymns of praise ascend,
Her arms with glowing joy extend,
To clasp her conquering son;
Alas! a mournful voice returns,
No more his patriot bosom burns,
His race of glory's run!
To him (thro' Heav'n) his country owes,
Salvation from her vaunting foes,
They meet a briny grave;
'Tis Nelson, whose exalted mind,
With virtue's purest flame refin'd,
Still foremost of the brave,
Who in her cause so oft has bled,
His last, his vital drop has shed,
That country still to save.
This was his latest, noblest deed,
But what reward, what deathless meed
Shall grateful Albion pay?
He saw Iberia, Gallia bow,
No brighter crown could grace his brow,
Beneath empyreal day;
Yet every trophy fame can give,
Shall bid the Hero's honours live
Thro' time's remotest sway.
My gallant band! Britannia cries,
While high your ardent hopes arise,
Your dear-lov'd Isle to view,
When wreath'd with glory you return,
Oh! hang your laurels o'er his urn,
Embalm'd with pity's dew.
And when to future heirs you tell
'Mid victory's shouts your Leader fell,
Your manly griefs renew!
Nor, Gallia dream thy myriad host
Shall e'er pollute my sacred coast,
Tho' e'en a NELSON falls;
See, countless youth, their country's pride,
Who've fought, who've conquer'd by his side,
Still crowd my oak-built walls;
These shall resistless weapons wield,
Shall bid the fierce Usurper yield,
Whose rod thy land enthrals.
And ye, my sons, when battle's rage,
And swords with hostile swords engage,
And deal the death-fraught aim,
In thought behold your Nelson's shade,
Still hov'ring o'er your cause to aid,
And guide your arm to fame;
And while like him prepared to bleed,
Let each humane, each virtuous deed,
Like his adorn your name.
So shall the Pow'r enthron'd on high,
Viewing our land with mercy's eye,
A tyrant's hate restrain;
And while our sails each port shall press,
And teach remotest climes to bless
Our Monarch's mild domain;
Bid War's remorseless fury cease,
And Commerce, Arts, and lasting Peace,
O'er earth united reign.
AND is that beauteous Star eclips'd in night,
Which late in Brunswick's constellation shone?
Whose rays with mild effulgence beam'd so bright,
And shed their lustre near Britannia's throne.
Those domes to mutual happiness so dear,
To sounds of mirth whose roofs responsive rung,
Alas! have witness'd grief's impassion'd tear,
And woe's wild accents quivering on each tongue.
Could royalty avail, could nuptial truth
Claim an exemption from the common doom,
Then had not innocence and blooming youth
Thus sought the dark recesses of the tomb.
Courteous and kind to those of humblest birth,
Diffusing blessings round where'er she came,
Her soul was dignified by native worth,
A nation's voice with love pronounc'd her name.
Thus Hope with flatt'ring tints the picture drew.
Those virtues that now grace the private scene,
Call'd to a throne, shall burst on public view,
Britannia saw, and hail'd her future queen.
But vain, alas! are all terrestrial joys,
Tho' fair the prospect to the expecting eye;
Death's icy touch our fancied bliss destroys,
Dissolv'd in air the allusive visions fly.
Lo! Heav'n, all merciful as wise, prepares
A brighter crown her temples to adorn;
A diadem unclogg'd with mortal cares,
For ah! what earthly crown but bears a thorn?
What now remains, but with affection's tear,
To pay the last sad rites to merit due?
The speaking marble to her mem'ry rear,
And deck her urn with moisten'd wreaths of yew.
O! teach us, Lord, while thus our hopes are crush'd,
And we with bleeding hearts our loss deplore,
By resignation ev'ry murmur hush'd,
Thy awful ways in silence to adore.
[Nov. 16, 1817.
O'ER Royal Charlotte's sacred bier
Let Britain pour the grateful tear;
Ah! why should be represt
Such tears as pious children pay,
When parent spirits wing their way,
In sweet memorial blest?
'Twas not the pride of princely birth,
It was her soul's intrinsic worth,
That dignified the throne;
With this compared the purest gem
That form'd her regal diadem,
With meaner lustre shone.
Destin'd our Monarch's state to share,
The tender soother of his care,
In drear affliction's night;
A pattern to each high-born dame,
Who owns a wife's, a mother's name,
Of virtue's genuine light.
To every loyal bosom dear,
While meek in her exalted sphere,
With humble mind she mov'd;
Replete with ev'ry Christian grace,
May future Queens her footsteps trace,
Like her revered, beloved.
[Nov. 1818.
O COME, welcome visitor, clothe by degrees
Our fields in their annual vest;
Hang thy fleeces unsoil'd on our bushes and trees,
Tho' a late—an acceptable guest.
Thy stay was protracted where Winter reigns keen,
In the northermost parts of the globe;
And Christmas has past in a mantle of green,
Instead of a spotless white robe.
O come, and thy feathery spangles disclose—
Bright flakes by the whizzing winds tost;
'Neath thy bosom in safety the corn shall repose,
Secure from the sharp biting frost.
But how soon art thou vanish'd! the Sun's potent ray,
Renewing its strength with the year,
Ere the drop is to chrystal condensed on the spray,
Dissolves every gem to a tear.
In the bleak months of Winter the verdure of Spring
To the cattle affords a repast;
The warblers already their roundelays sing,
Nor shrink from the perishing blast.
Yet unconscious they gather the bounty assign'd,
Nor feel from what source it descends;
They perceive not, nor know that beneficent mind,
Whose care o'er creation extends.
But man, for whose use and enjoyment they live,
Taught by reason, shall lend them a voice;
His heart shall to Heav'n its best sacrifice give,
And with grateful emotions rejoice.
Jan. 21st, 1819.
THE voice of public sorrow bursting forth,
Mixt with the widow's sighs, the orphans' tears,
Speaks the departure of a man of worth,
In realms of bliss to live immortal years.
Ah! were there aught in med'cine's balmy pow'r,
To mortals could prolong their fleeting breath,
When Heav'n decrees th' irrevocable hour,
Or from its aim repel the shaft of death:
Then had not he in practice skill'd to save,
From joys domestic immaturely torn,
Thus droop'd, a lingering victim, to the grave,
Nor left mankind a public loss to mourn.
Lord! how inscrutable thy ways to man!
Shall vain presumption thy decrees explore?
'Tis thine in mercy each event to plan,
Ours to submit in silence and adore!
Richard Lubbock, M. D. an eminent physician, of Norwich. He died Sept. 2, 1808, in the 49th year of his age.
HAIL! silent hour of peace serene,
No busy din disturbs the scene;
The sons of toil their labours close,
And taste the sweets of sound repose;
Pent within their safe retreat,
The slumb'ring sheep no longer bleat,
While round the field, with half-shut eye,
Cumbent the drowsy cattle lie:
The buzzing bee has sought her home,
Fraught with sweets to store the comb.
There's not a breeze to curl the rill,
And e'en the aspen leaf is still;
The sun himself seems sunk to rest,
His last faint gleam has streak'd the west;
The birds have sung their farewell lay,
Pour'd sweet to his departing ray;
And last of all the merry train,
The redbreast too has ceas'd his strain.
Hail! hour of Peace! the happy time,
To meditate on themes sublime;
In union with the tranquil scene,
The mind is sooth'd to thoughts serene;
The soul now feels her heav'nly birth,
Disdains the trivial joys on earth,
And pants to gain her promised rest,
'Mid the pure spirits of the blest.
[June, 1820.