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But love him. He is one whom many wrongs
Have sicken'd of the world. There was a time
When he would weep to hear of wickedness,
And wonder at the tale; when for the opprest
He felt a brother's pity, to the oppressor
A good man's honest anger. His quick eye
Betray'd each rising feeling, every thought
Leapt to his tongue. When first among mankind
Ile iningled, by himself he judged of them,
And loved and trusted them, to Wisdom deaf,
And took them to his bosom. Falsehood met
Iler unsuspecting victim, fair of front,
And lovely as Apega's sculptured form,
Like that false image caught his warm embrace,
Aud gored his open breast. The reptile race
Citing round his bosom, and with viper folds
Encircling, stung the fool who foster'd them.
His mother was Sixsplicity, his sire
Box ovolence; in earlier days he bore
Ilis father's name; the world who injured him
Call him Misanthropy. I may not chuse
But love him. Household Goos! for we were nurst
In the same school.
PENATEs' some there are
Willo say, that not in the inmost heaven ye dwell,
Gazing with eye remote on all the ways
Of man, his GuARDIAN Gods; wiselier they deem
A dearer interest to the human race
Links you, yourselves the Spinurs of the Dead.
No mortal eye may pierce the invisible world,
No light of human reason penetrate
The depth where Truth lies hid. Yet to this faith
My heart with instant sympathy assents;
And I would judge all systems and all faiths
Ily that best touchstone, from whose test Deceit
Shrinks like the Arch-Fiend at Ithuriel's spear,
And Sophistry's gay glittering bubble bursts,
As at the spousals of the Nereid's son,
When that false Florimel, by her prototype
Display'd in rivalry, with all her charms
Nor can the lialls of Heaven
Give to the human soul such kindred joy,
As lovering o'er its earthly haunts it feels,
When with the breeze it wantons round the brow
Of one beloved on carth; or when at night
In dreams it comes, and brings with it the DAY's
And Joys that are no more. Or when, perchance
With power permitted to alleviate ill
And sit the sufferer for the coming woe,
Some strange presage the Spirit breathes, and fills
The breast with ominous fear, and disciplines
For sorrow, pours into the afflicted heart
• One of the ways and means of the tyrant Nabis. If one of his subjects refused to lend him money, he commanded him to cmbrace his Apes;a; the statue of a beautiful Woman so forinci as to clasp the victim to her breast, in which a pointed dagger was concealed. * Then did he set her by that snowy one, Like the true saint beside the image set, Of both their beauties to make paragone And trial whether should the honour get; Streightway so soone as both together met, The enchaunted damsell vanish'd into nought; Her snowy substance melted as with beat; Ne of that floodly hew remayned ought But the empty girdle which about her wast was wrought. Sresses.
The balm of resignation, and inspires
With heavenly hope. Even as a child delights
To visit day by day the favourite plant
|lis hand has sown, to mark its gradual growth,
And watch all-anxious for the promised slower;
Thus to the blessed spirit in innocence
And pure affections like a little child,
Sweet will it be to hover o'er the friends
Beloved; then sweetest, if, as Duty prompts,
With earthly care we in their breasts have sown
The seeds of fruth and Virtue, holy slowers,
Whose odour reaclictlı lieaven.
When my sick IIeart
(Sick with hope long delay'd, than which no care
Weighs on the spirit leavier.) from itself
Sceks the best comfort, often have I deem'd
That thou didst witness every inmost thought,
Sew ARD ! my dear, dead friend! For not in vain,
0 early summond on thy leavenly course!
Wastly brief sojourn here : me didst thou leave
With strengthend step to follow the right path.
Till we shall meet again. Meantime I soothe
The deep regret of nature, with belief,
O Edmund ! that thine eye's celestial ken
Pervades me now, marking with no mean joy
The movements of thc heart that loved thee well!
Such feelings Nature prompts, and hence your rites,
box. Estic Gons ! arose. When for his son
With ceaseless grief Syrophanes bewail'd,
Mourning his age left childless, and his wealth
Ileapt for an alien, he with obstinate eye
Still on the imaged marble of the dead
Dwelt, pampering sorrow. Thither from his wrath,
A safe asylum, fled the offending slave,
And garlanded the statue, and implored
His young lost lord to save : Remembrance then
Soften'd the father, and he loved to see
The votive wreath renew d, and the rich smoke
Curl from the costly censer slow and sweet.
From Egypt soon the sorrow-socthing rites
Divulging spread; before your idol forms ”
By every hearth the blinded Pagan knelt,
Pouring his prayers to these, and offering there
Vain sacrifice or impious, and sometimes
With human blood your sanctuary defiled :
Till the first Brutus, tyrant-conquering chief,
Arose; he first the impious rites put down,
IIe sitiest, who for FREEdom lived and died,
The friend of humankind. Then did your feasts
Frequent recur and blameless; and when came
The solemn festival,” whose happiest rites
Emblem'd EQUALITY, the lioliest truth !
Crown'd with gay garlands were your statues seen,
To you the fragrant censer smoked, to you
The rich libation slow'd : vain sacrifice
For not the poppy wreath nor fruits nor wine
Ye ask, PENATEs nor the altar cleansed
! Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.-Proverbs.
Qua non fravior mortalibus addita cura. Srts ubi longa venit. Srarius. * It is not certainly known under what form the Penates were worshi, ped. Some assert, as wooden or brazen rods shaped like trumpets; others, that they were represented as young men. * The Saturnalia.
With many a mystic form; ye ask the heart
Made pure, and by domestic Peace and Love
Hallow'd to you.
Hearken your hymn of praise,
PEN Ates! to your shrines I come for rest,
There only to be found. Often at eve,
Amid my wanderings I have seen far off
The lonely light that spake of comfort there;
It told my heart of many a joy of home,
And my poor heart was sad. When I have gazed
From some high eminence on goodly vales
And cots and villages embower'd below,
The thought would rise that all to me was strange
Amid the scene so fair, nor one small spot
Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home.
There is a magic in that little word :
It is a mystic circle that surrounds
Comforts and virtues never known beyond
The hallowed limit. Often has my heart
Ached for that quiet haven —haven'd now,
I think of those in this world's wilderness
Who wander on and find no home of rest
Till to the grave they go! them Pover ty,
Hollow-eyed fiend, the child of Wealth and Powen,
Bad offspring of worse parents, aye afflicts,
Cankering with her soul mildews the chill'd heart;-
Them WANT with scorpion scourge drives to the den
Of Guilr;—them St.Aughren for the price of death
Throws to her raven brood. Oh, not on them,
God of EterNAL Justick! not on them
Let fall thy thunder!
Then only shall be Ilappiness on earth
When man shall feel your sacred power, and love
Your tranquil joys; then shall the city stand
A huge void sepulchre, and rising fair
Amid the ruins of the palace pile
The olive grow, there shall the Tree of Proce
Strike its roots deep and flourish. This the state
Shall bless the race redeem'd of Man, when WEAlth
And Powen and all their hideous progeny
Shall sink annihilate, and all mankind
Live in the equal brotherhood of love.
Heart-calming hope, and sure! for hitherward
Tend all the tumults of the troubled world,
Its woes, its wisdom, and its wickedness
Alike : so He hath will'd, whose will is just.
Meantime, all hoping and expecting all
In patient faith, to you, Domestic Gods!.
I come, studious of other lore than song,
Of my past years the solace and support:
Yet shall my Heart remember the past years
With honest pride, trusting that not in vain
Lives the pure song of Library and Truth.
MARGARET' my Cousin, nay, you must not smile;
I love the homely and familiar phrase:
And I will call thee Cousin Margaret,
IIowever quaint amid the measured line
The good old term appears. Oh! it looks ill
When delicate tongues disclaim old terms of kin,
Sir-ing and Madam-ing as civilly
As if the road between the heart and lips
Were such a weary and Laplandish way,
That the poor travellers came to the red gates
Half frozen. Trust me, Cousin Margaret,
For many a day my Memory hath play'd
The creditor with me on your account,
And made me shame to think that I should owe
So long the debt of kindness. But in truth,
Like Christian on his pilgrimage, I bear
So heavy a pack of business, that albeit
I toil on mainly, in our twelve hours' race
Time leaves me distanced. Lotli indeed were I
That for a moment you should lay to me
Unkind neglect; mine, Margaret, is a heart
That smokes not, yet methinks there should be some
Who know how warm it beats. I am not one
Who can play off my smiles and courtesies
To every Lady of her lap-dog tired
Who wants a play-thing; I am no sworn friend
Of half-an-hour, as apt to leave as love;
Mine are no mushroom feelings, which spring up
At once without a seed and take no root,
Wiseliest distrusted. In a narrow sphere,
The little circle of domestic life,
I would be known and loved : the world beyond
Is not for me. But, Margaret, sure I think
That you should know me well, for you and I
Grew up together, and when we look back
Upon old times, our recollections paint
The same familiar faces. Did I wield
The wand of Merlin's magic, I would make
Brave witchcraft. We would have a facry ship,
Aye, a new Ark, as in that other flood
Which cleansed the sons of Anak from the earth ;
The Sylphs should waft us to some goodly isle
Like that where whilom old Appollidon
Built up his blameless spell; and I would bid
The Sca-Nymphs pile around their coral bowers,
That we miglit staud upon the beach, and mark
The far-off breakers shower their silver spray,
And hear the eternal roar, whose pleasant sound
Told us that never mariner should reach
Our quiet coast. In such a blessed isle
We might renew the days of infancy,
And Life like a long childhood pass away,
Without one care. It may be, Margaret,
That I shall yet be gather'd to my friends;
For I am dot of those who live estranged
Of choice, till at the last they join their race
In the family-vault. If so, if I should lose,
Like my old friend the Pilgrim, this huge pack
So heavy on my shoulders, I and mine
Right pleasantly will end our pilgrimage.
If not, if I should never get beyond
This Vanity town, there is another world
Where friends will meet. And often, Margaret,
I gaze at night into the boundless sky,
And think that I shall there he born again,
The exalted native of some better star;
And, like the rude American, I hope
To find in Heaven the things I loved on earth.
A delicate pinch! oh how it tingles up
The titillated nose! and fills the eyes
And breast, till in one comfortal,le sneeze
The full collected pleasure bursts at last!
Most rare Columbus! thou shalt be for this
The only Christopher in my Kalendar.
Why but for thee the uses of the Nose
Were half unknown, and its capacity
Of joy. The summer tale that from the heath,
At midnoon glittering with the golden gorse,
Bears its balsamic odour, but provokes
Not satisfies the sense; and all the flowers,
That with their unsubstantial fragrance tempt
And disappoint, bloom for so short a space,
That half the year the Nostrils would keep Lent,
But that the kind Tobacconist admits
No winter in his work; when Nature sleeps
His whecls roll on, and still administer
A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell.
What is Peru and those Golcondan mines
To thee, Virginia? miserable realms,
They furnish gold for knaves and gems for fools;
But tiline are common comforts!—To omit
Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise,
Think what the general joy the snuff-box gives,
Europe, and far above Pizarro's name
Write Raleigh in thy records of renown
Ilim let the school-boy bless if he behold
His master's box produced, for when he sees
The thumb and singer of Authority
Stuft up the nostrils, when hat, head, and wit:
Shake all; wi:en on the waistcoat black the dust
Or drop falls brown; soon shall the brow severe
Relax; and from vituperative lips
Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise,
And jokes that must be laugh'd at shall procecil.
COOL REFLECTIONS DU in l No A Midsl: virie it wai. K.
O spare me—spare me, Phoebus! if indeed
Thou liast not let another Phaeton
Drive earthward thy fierce steeds and fiery car;
Mercy! I melt! I melt! No tree, no bush,
No shelter! not a breath of stirring air
East, West, or North, or South ' Dear God of day,
Put on thy nightcap! crop thy locks of light,
And be in the fashion turn thy back upon us,
And let thy beams flow upward! make it night
Instead of noon! one little miracle,
In pity, gentle Phoebus'
What a joy,
Oh what a joy, to be a seal and slounder
On an ice island! or to have a den
With the white bear, cavern'd in polar snow !
It were a comfort to shake hands with death,<-
He has a rare cold hand! to wrap one's self
In the gift-shirt Deianeira sent,
Dipt in the blood of Nessus, just to keep
The sun off, or toast cheese for Beelzebub,<-
That were a cool employment to this journey
Along a road whose white intensity
Would now make platina uncongealable
Were it midnight, I should walk
Self-lanthorn'd, saturate with sunbeams. Jove!
O gentle Jove! have mercy, and once more
Kick that obdurate Phoebus out of heaven'
Give Boreas the wind-cholic, till lie roar
For cardamum, and drink down peppermint,
Making what's left as precious as Tokay.
Send Mercury, to salivate the sky
Till it dissolve in rain. O gentle Jove!
Iłut some such little kindness to a wretch
Who feels his marrow spoiling his best coat, L
Who swells with caloric as if a Prester
Had leaven'd every limb with poison-yeast;—
Lend me thine eagle just to flap his wings,
And fan me, and I will build temples to thee,
And turn true Pagan.
Not a cloud nor brecze,_
O you most heathen Deities! if ever
My bones reach home (for, for the flesh upon them,
It hath resolved itself into a dew,)
I shall have learnt owl-wisdom.
Set me a Persian sun-idolater
Upon this turnpike road, and I'll convert him
With no inquisitorial argument
łut thy own fires. Now woe be to me wretch,
That I was in a heretic country born 1
Else might some mass for the poor souls that bleach,
And burn away the calx of their offences
In that great Purgatory crucible,
Help me. () Jupiter! my poor complexion'
I am made a copper-Indian of already;
And if no kindly cloud will parasol me,
My very cellular membrane will be changed,—
I shall be negrolied.
A brook a brook' Oh what a sweet cool sound ! 'T is very nectar! It runs like life through every strengthen d limb! Nymph of the stream, now take a trateful prayer. 1799.
THE PIG. A colloquial Po: M.
Jacob! I do not love to see thy nose
Turn'd up in scornful curve at youder Pit; :
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him,
were perfect in our kind!—And why despise
The sow-born grunter?—He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal. Now I pray you
Ilear the Pig's Counsel.
Is he obstimate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words,
By sophist sounds. A democratic beast,
He knows that his unmercisul drivers seek
Their profit, and not his. He hath not learnt
That Pigs were made for man—born to be brawu'd
And baconized; that he must please to tive
Just what his gracious masters please to take;
Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave
For self-defence, the general privilege;
Perhaps, hark Jacob! dost thou hear that horn?
Woe to the young posterity of pork!
Their enemy is at hand.
Again. Thou say'st
The Pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him!
Those eyes have taught the Lover flattery.
His face,—nay, Jacob, Jacob were it fair
To judge a Lady in her disliabille.”
Fancy it drest, and with saltpetre rouged.
Behold his tail, my friend, with curls like that
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse:
So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair
Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.
And what is beauty, but the aptitude
Of parts harmonious give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt sind that no imagined change
Cau beautify this beast. Place at his end
The starry glories of the Peacock's pride;
Cive him the Swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs
Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves
Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss,
When Ventis from the enamour'd sea arose;—
Jacob, thou caust but make a monster of him
All alteration man could illink would mar
The last charge,_he lives
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
With noble and right-reverend precedents,
And show by sanction of authority
That "t is a very honourable thing
To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest
On better ground the unanswerable defence:
The Pig is a philosopher, who knows
No prejudice. Dirt Jacob, what is dirt?
If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts
An o'ergorged Epicure to the last morsel
That stuffs him to the throat-gates is no more.
If matter be not, but as Sages say,
Spirit is all, and all things visible
Are one, the infinitely modified,
Think, Jacob, what that Pig is, and the mire
Wherein he stands knee-deep.
And there! that breeze Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile That speaks conviction. O'er yen blossom'd field Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.
RECOMMENDED to Tin E AD vocates Fon TIIE St. A V Etit.x toe.
RARE music! I would rather hear cat-courtship
Under my bed-room window in the night,
Than this scraped catgut's screak. Rare dancing too!
Alas, poor Bruin! How he foots the pole,
And waddles round it with unwieldy steps,
Swaying from side to side"—The dancing-master
II: th had as profitless a pupil in him
As when he would have tortured iny poor toes
To minuct grace, and made them move like clockwork
In musical obedience. Bruin Bruin!
Thou art but a clumsy biped"—and the mob
With noisy merriment mock his heavy pace,
And laugh to see him led by the nose!—themselves
Led by the nose, embruted, and in the eye
Of Reason from their Nature's purposes
As miserably perverted.
Now could I sonnetize thy piteous plight,
And prove how much my sympathetic heart
Even for the miseries of a beast can feel,
In fourteen lines of sensibility.
But we are told all things were made for man;
And I'll be sworn there 's not a fellow here
Who would not swear 't were hanging blasphemy
To doubt that truth. Therefore as thou wert born,
Bruin! for man, and man makes nothing of thee
In any other way.—most logically
It follows, that thou must be born to dance:
That that great snout of thine was form'd on purpose
To hold a ring; and that thy fat was given thee
Ouly to make pomatum !
Were heresy. And politicians say
(Wise men who in the scale of reason give
No foolish feelings weight), that thou art here
Far happier than thy brother bears who roam
O'er trackless snow for food; that being born
Inferior to thy leader, unto him
Rightly belongs dominion; that the compact
Was made between ye, when thy clumsy feet
First fell into the snare, and he gave up
ilis right to kill, conditioning thy life
Should thenceforth be his property;-besi.
'T is wholesome for thy morals to be brought
From savage climes into a civilized state,
Into the decencies of Christendom.—
Bear! Bear! it passes in the Parliament
For excellent logic this! what if we say
tlow barbarously man abuses power?
Talk of thy baiting, it will be replied,
Thy welfare is thy owner's interest,
issut were thou baited it would injure thee,
Therefore thou art not i lited. For seveu years
Ilear it, O Heaven, and give car, O Earth'
For seven long years this precious Syllogism
tlatlı basiled justice and humanity!
Nar, gather not that Filbert, Nicholas,
There is a maggot there, -it is his house,_
Ilis castle.—oll commit not burglary
Strip him not naked.—t is his clothes, his shell,
Ilis bones, the case and armour of his life,
And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas !
It were an easy thing to crack that nut
Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth,
So casily inay all things be destroyd!
But t is not in the power of mortal man
To mend the fracture of a silbert shell.
There were two great men once amused themselves
Watching two maggots run their wriggling race,
And wagering on their speed; but Nick, to us
it were no sport to see the pamper'd worm
lioli out and then draw in his folds of fit,
Like to some Barber's leathern powder-bag
\' here with he featiners, frosts, or cauliflowers
Spruce Beau, or Lady fair, or Doctor grave.
Enough of dangers and of enemies
Hath Nature's wisdom for the worm ordain'd :
Increase not thou the number Hitn the Mouse
Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence
\lay from his native tenement eject;
Him may the Nut-hatch piercing with strong bill
Unwittingly destroy; or to his hoard
The Squirrel bear, at leisure to be crack'd.
Man also hath his dangers and his foes
As this poor Maggot hath; and when I muse
Upon the aches, anxieties, and fears,
The Maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks
It were a happy metamorphosis
To be enkernell'd thus: never to hear
Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots,
Kings, Jacobines, and Tax-commissioners;
To feel no motion but the wind that shook
The Filbert Tree, and rock'd us to our rest;
And in the middle of such exquisite food
To live luxurious! the perfection this
Of smugness! it were to unite at once
Hermit retirement, Aldermanic bliss,
And Stoic independence of mankind.
Woe, woe to England! woe and endless shame If this heroic land, False to lier feelings and unspotted fame, Hold out the olive to the yrant's hand! Woe to the world if Buonaparte's throue Be suffer'd still to stand For by what names shall Right and Wrong be known, What new and courtly phrases must we feign For Falsehood, Murder, and all monstrous crimes, If that perfidious Corsican maintain Still his detested reign, And France, who yearns even now to break her chain, Ileneath his iron rule be left to groan' No! by the innumerable dead, Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed, Death only can for his foul deeds atone: That peace which Death and judgment can bestow, That peace be Buonaparte's, that alone !
For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin, Or from the Leopard shall iter spots depart,
Than this man change his old flagitious heart. Have ye not seen him in the balance weigh'd, And there found wanting? On the stage of blood Foremost the resolute adventurer stood; And when by many a battle won, He placed upon his brow the crown, Curbing delirious France beneath his sway, Then, like Octavius in old time, Fair name might lie have handed down, Effacing many a stain of former crime. Fool! should he cast away that bright renown: Fool! the redemption proffer'd should he lose! When Ileaven such grace vouchsafed him that the way To Good and Evil lay Before him, which to clause.
Put Evil was his Good, For all too long in blood had he becn nurst, And ne'er was earth with fouler tyrant curst Bold man and bad, Remorseless, godless, full of fraud and lies, And black with murders and with perjuries, Ilimself in Ilell's whole panoply he clad; No law but his own headstrong will he knew, No counsellor but his own wicked hcart! From evil thus portentous strength he drew, And trampled under foot all human ties, All holy laws, all natural charities.
O Trance' beneatlı this fierce Barbarian's sway
Distraced thou art to all succeeding times!
Itapine and blood and sire have mark'd thy way,
All loathsome, all unutterable crimes!
A curse is on thee, France' from far and wide
It hath gone up to Heaven' All lands have cried
For vengeance upon thy detested head!
All nations curse thce, France for wheresoe'er
In peace or war thy banner latlı been spread,
All forms of human woe have follow'd there.
The Living and the Dead
Cry out alike against thee! They who bear
Crouching beneath its weight thine iron yoke,
Join in the bitterness of secret prayer
The voice of that innumerable throug,
Whose slaughter'd spirits day and night invoke
The everlasting Judge of right and wrong,
How long, O Lord! Holy and just, how long!
A merciless oppressor hast thou beca, Thyself remorselessly oppress'd meantime; Greedy of war, when all that thou couldst gain Was but to dye thy soul with deeper crime, And rivet faster round thyself the chain. O blind to honour, and to intercst blind, When thus in abject servitude resign'd To this barbarian upstart, thou couldst brave God's justice, and the heart of humankind' Madly thou thoughtest to enslave the world, Thyself the while a miserable slave! Behold the flag of vengeance is unfurl’d The dreadful armies of the North advance! While England, Portugal, and Spain combined, Give their triumphant banners to the wind, And stand victorious in the ficlos of France!
One man hath been for ten long wretched years The cause of all illis blood and all these tears!