Science, audacious in emprise, hath wrought, Meet not the eye, but well may fill the mind. Not from the bowels of the land alone, From lake and stream hath their diluvial wreck Been scoop'd to form this navigable way; Huge rivers were controll'd, or from their course Shoulder'd aside; and at the eastern mouth, Where the salt ooze denied a resting-place, There were the deep foundations laid, by weight On weight immersed, and pile on pile down-driven, Till steadfast as the everlasting rocks
The massive outwork stands. Contemplate now What days and nights of thought, what years of toil, What inexhaustive springs of public wealth The vast design required; the immediate good, The future benefit progressive still;
And thou wilt pay thy tribute of due praise To those whose counsels, whose decrees, whose
For after ages formed the generous work.
WHERE these capacious basins, by the laws Of the subjacent element receive The ship, descending or upraised, eight times, From stage to stage with unfelt agency Translated; fitliest may the marble here Record the Architect's immortal name. Telford it was, by whose presiding mind
The whole great work was plann'd and perfected; Telford, who o'er the vale of Cambrian Dee, Aloft in air, at giddy height upborne, Carried his navigable road, and hung High o'er Menat's straits the bending bridge; Structures of more ambitious enterprise Than minstrels in the age of old romance To their own Merlin's magic lore ascribed. Nor hath he for his native land perform'd Less in this proud design; and where his piers Around her coast from many a fisher's creek Unshelter'd else, and many an ample port, Repel the assailing storm; and where his roads In beautiful and sinuous line far seen, Wind with the vale, and win the long ascent, Now o'er the deep morass sustain'd, and now Across ravine, or glen, or estuary, Opening a passage through the wilds subdued.
They chose their way of fortune; to that course By Hood and Bridport's bright example drawn, Their kinsmen, children of this place, and sons Of one, who in his faithful ministry Inculcated within these hallowed walls The truths in mercy to mankind reveal'd. Worthy were these three brethren each to add New honors to the already honor'd name; But Arthur, in the morning of his day, Perish'd amid the Caribbean sea, When the Pomona, by a hurricane Whirl'd, riven and overwhelmed, with all her crew Into the deep went down. A longer date To Alexander was assign'd, for hope, For fair ambition, and for fond regret, Alas, how short! for duty, for desert, Sufficing; and, while Time preserves the roll Of Britain's naval feats, for good report. A boy, with Cook he rounded the great globe; A youth, in many a celebrated fight With Rodney had his part; and having reach'd Life's middle stage, engaging ship to ship, When the French Hercules, a gallant foe, Struck to the British Mars his three-striped flag, He fell, in the moment of his victory. Here his remains in sure and certain hope Are laid, until the hour when Earth and Sea Shall render up their dead. One brother yet Survived, with Keppel and with Rodney train'd In battles, with the Lord of Nile approved, Ere in command he worthily upheld Old England's high prerogative. In the east, The west, the Baltic and the Midland seas,
Yea, wheresoever hostile fleets have plough'd The ensanguined deep, his thunders have been heard,
His flag in brave defiance hath been seen; And bravest enemies at Sir Samuel's name Felt fatal presage, in their inmost heart, Of unavertible defeat foredoom'd. Thus in the path of glory he rode on, Victorious alway, adding praise to praise ; Till full of honors, not of years, beneath The venom of the infected clime he sunk, On Coromandel's coast, completing there His service, only when his life was spent.
To the three brethren, Alexander's son, (Sole scion he in whom their line survived,) With English feeling, and the deeper sense Of filial duty, consecrates this tomb.
His mortal relics were conveyed to rest. Born in dissent, and in the school of schism Bred, he withstood the withering influence Of that unwholesome nurture. To the Church, In strength of mind mature and judgment clear, A convert, in sincerity of heart
Seeking the truth, deliberately convinced, And finding there the truth he sought, he came. In honor must his high desert be held While there is any virtue, any praise; For he it was whose gifted intellect First apprehended, and developed first The analogy connate, which in its course And constitution Nature manifests
To the Creator's word and will divine; And in the depth of that great argument Laying his firm foundation, built thereon Proofs never to be shaken of the truths Reveal'd from Heaven in mercy to mankind; Allying thus Philosophy with Faith,
And finding in things seen and known the type And evidence of those within the veil.
Such was he ere heart-hardening bigotry Obscured his spirit, made him with himself Discordant, and contracting then his brow, With sour defeature marr'd his countenance. What he was, in his best and happiest time, Even such wert thou, dear Uncle! such thy look Benign and thoughtful; such thy placid mien; Thine eye serene, significant, and strong, Bright in its quietness, yet brightening oft With quick emotion of benevolence, Or flash of active fancy, and that mirth Which aye with sober wisdom well accords. Nor ever did true Nature, with more nice Exactitude, fit to the inner man
The fleshly mould, than when she stamp'd on thine Her best credentials, and bestow'd on thee An aspect, to whose sure benignity Beasts with instinctive confidence could trust, Which at a glance obtain'd respect from men, And won at once good will from all the good.
Such as in semblance, such in word and deed Lisbon beheld him, when for many a year The even tenor of his spotless life
Adorn'd the English Church,- her minister, In that stronghold of Rome's Idolatry,
To God and man approved. What Englishman,
DEDICATION OF THE AUTHOR'S COLLOQUIES Who in those peaceful days of Portugal
ON THE PROGRESS AND PROSPECTS
Resorted thither, curious to observe
Her cities, and the works and ways of men, But sought him, and from his abundant stores Of knowledge profited? What stricken one, Sent thither to protract a living death, Forlorn perhaps, and friendless else, but found A friend in him? What mourners, - who had seen
MEMORY OF THE REV. HERBERT HILL, The object of their agonizing hopes
Formerly Student of Christ Church, Oxford; successively Chaplain to the British Factories at Porto and at Lisbon; and late Rector of Streatham; who was released from this life, Sept. 19, 1823, in the 80th year of his age.
Nor upon marble or sepulchral brass Have I the record of thy worth inscribed, Dear Uncle! nor from Chantrey's chisel ask'd A monumental statue, which might wear Through many an age thy venerable form. Such tribute, were I rich in this world's wealth, Should rightfully be rendered, in discharge Of grateful duty, to the world evinced When testifying so by outward sign Its deep and inmost sense. But what I can Is rendered piously, prefixing here Thy perfect lineaments, two centuries Before thy birth by Holbein's happy hand Prefigured thus. It is the portraiture Of More, the mild, the learned, and the good; Traced in that better stage of human life, When vain imaginations, troublous thoughts, And hopes and fears have had their course, and left The intellect composed, the heart at rest, Nor yet decay hath touch'd our mortal frame. Such was the man whom Henry, of desert Appreciant alway, chose for highest trust; Whom England in that eminence approved; Whom Europe honored, and Erasmus loved.
In that sad cypress ground deposited, Wherein so many a flower of British growth, Untimely faded and cut down, is laid, In foreign earth compress'd, but bore away A life-long sense of his compassionate care, His Christian goodness? Faithful shepherd he, And vigilant against the wolves, who, there, If entrance might be won, would straight beset The dying stranger, and with merciless zeal Bay the death-bed. In every family Throughout his fold was he the welcome guest, Alike to every generation dear,
The children's favorite, and the grandsire's friend; Tried, trusted and beloved. So liberal, too, In secret alms, even to his utmost means, That they who served him, and who saw in part The channels where his constant bounty ran, Maugre their own uncharitable faith, Believed him, for his works, secure of Heaven. It would have been a grief for me to think The features, which so perfectly express'd That excellent mind, should irretrievably From earth have past away, existing now Only in some few faithful memories Insoul'd, and not by any limner's skill To be imbodied thence. A blessing then On him, in whose prophetic counterfeit Preserved, the children now, who were the crown Of his old age, may see their father's face,
Here to the very life portray'd, as when Spain's mountain passes, and her ilex woods, And fragant wildernesses, side by side, With him I traversed, in my morn of youth, And gather'd knowledge from his full discourse. Often, in former years, I pointed out, Well-pleased, the casual portrait, which so well Assorted in all points; and haply since, While lingering o'er this meditative work, Sometimes that likeness, not unconsciously, Hath tinged the strain; and therefore, for the sake Of this resemblance, are these volumes now Thus to his memory properly inscribed.
O friend! O more than father! whom I found Forbearing alway, alway kind; to whom No gratitude can speak the debt I owe; Far on their earthly pilgrimage advanced
Are they who knew thee when we drew the breath Of that delicious clime! The most are gone; And whoso yet survive of those who then Were in their summer season, on the tree Of life hang here and there like wintry leaves, Which the first breeze will from the bough bring down.
I, too, am in the sear, the yellow leaf. And yet (no wish is nearer to my heart) One arduous labor more, as unto thee In duty bound, full fain would I complete, (So Heaven permit,) recording faithfully The heroic rise, the glories, the decline, Of that fallen country, dear to us, wherein The better portion of thy days was past; And where, in fruitful intercourse with thee, My intellectual life received betimes The bias it hath kept. Poor Portugal, In us thou harboredst no ungrateful guests! We loved thee well; Mother magnanimous Of mighty intellects and faithful hearts, - For such in other times thou wert, nor yet To be despair'd of, for not yet, methinks, Degenerate wholly, - yes, we loved thee well! And in thy moving story, (so but life Be given me to mature the gathered store Of thirty years,) poet and politic, And Christian sage, (only philosopher Who from the Well of living water drinks Never to thirst again,) shall find, I ween, For fancy, and for profitable thought, Abundant food.
Alas! should this be given, Such consummation of my work will now Be but a mournful close, the one being gone, Whom to have satisfied was still to me A pure reward, outweighing far all breath Of public praise. O friend revered, O guide And fellow-laborer in this ample field, How large a portion of myself hath past
Full piously deserved, was faithfully In thee fulfill'd, and in the land thy days Were long. I would not, as I saw thee last, For a king's ransom, have detain'd thee here,- Bent, like the antique sculptor's limbless trunk, By chronic pain, yet with thine eye unquench'd, The ear undimm'd, the mind retentive still, The heart unchanged, the intellectual lamp Burning in its corporeal sepulchre.
No; not if human wishes had had power To have suspended Nature's constant work, Would they who loved thee have detain'd thee thus, Waiting for death.
That trance is over. Thou Art enter'd on thy heavenly heritage; And I, whose dial of mortality
Points to the eleventh hour, shall follow soon. Meantime, with dutiful and patient hope, I labor that our names conjoin'd may long Survive, in honor one day to be held Where old Lisboa from her hills o'erlooks Expanded Tagus, with its populous shores And pine woods, to Palmella's crested height: Nor there alone; but in those rising realms Where now the offsets of the Lusian tree Push forth their vigorous shoots,—from central plains,
Whence rivers flow divergent, to the gulf Southward, where wild Parana disembogues A sea-like stream; and northward, in a world Of forests, where huge Orellana clips His thousand islands with his thousand arms.
With thee, from earth to heaven! - Thus they Joy for all Nations, joy! But most for thee,
Gray hairs die piecemeal. But in good old age Thou hast departed; not to be bewail'd, Oh no! The promise on the Mount vouchsafed, Nor abrogate by any later law
Reveal'd to man, that promise, as by thee
Who hast so nobly fill'd thy part assign'd, O England! O my glorious native land! For thou in evil days didst stand Against leagued Europe all in arms array'd, Single and undismay'd,
Thy hope in Heaven and in thine own right hand.
Now are thy virtuous efforts overpaid; Thy generous counsels now their guerdon find; Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
Dread was the strife; for mighty was the foe Who sought with his whole strength thy overthrow. The Nations bow'd before him; some in war Subdued, some yielding to superior art; Submiss, they follow'd his victorious car. Their Kings, like Satraps, waited round his throne, For Britain's ruin and their own,
By force or fraud in monstrous league combined. Alone, in that disastrous hour, Britain stood firm, and braved his power; Alone she fought the battles of mankind.
O virtue which, above all former fame, Exalts her venerable name!
O joy of joys for every British breast! That with that mighty peril full in view, The Queen of Ocean to herself was true! That no weak heart, no abject mind possess'd Her counsels, to abase her lofty crest, (Then had she sunk in everlasting shame,) But ready still to succor the oppress'd, Her Red Cross floated on the waves unfurl'd, Offering Redemption to the groaning world.
First from his trance the heroic Spaniard woke ; His chains he broke,
And casting off his neck the treacherous yoke, He call'd on England, on his generous foe : For well he knew that wheresoe'er Wise policy prevail'd, or brave despair, Thither would Britain's liberal succors flow, Her arm be present there.
Then, too, regenerate Portugal display'd Her ancient virtue, dormant all-too-long. Rising against intolerable wrong, On England, on her old ally, for aid The faithful nation call'd in her distress: And well that old ally the call obey'd, Well was that faithful friendship then repaid.
Say, from thy trophied field, how well, Vimeiro! Rocky Douro, tell! And thou, Busaco, on whose sacred height The astonished Carmelite,
While those unwonted thunders shook his cell, Join'd with his prayers the fervor of the fight. Bear witness those Old Towers, where many a day
Waiting with foresight calm the fitting hour, The Wellesley, gathering strength in wise delay,
Defied the Tyrant's undivided power. Swore not the boastful Frenchman, in his might, Into the sea to drive his Island foe? Tagus and Zezere, in secret night, Ye saw that host of ruffians take their flight! And in the Sun's broad light Onoro's Springs beheld their overthrow.
Patient of loss, profuse of life, Meantime had Spain endured the strife; And though she saw her cities yield, Her armies scatter'd in the field, Her strongest bulwarks fall; The danger undismay'd she view'd, Knowing that nought could e'er appal The Spaniard's fortitude. What though the Tyrant, drunk with power, Might vaunt himself, in impious hour, Lord and Disposer of this earthly ball? Her cause is just, and Heaven is over all.
Therefore no thought of fear debased Her judgment, nor her acts disgraced. To every ill, but not to shame resign'd, All sufferings, all calamities she bore. She bade the people call to mind Their heroes of the days of yore, Pelayo and the Campeador, With all who, once in battle strong, Lived still in story and in song. Against the Moor, age after age, Their stubborn warfare did they wage;
Age after age, from sire to son, The hallowed sword was handed down; Nor did they from that warfare cease, And sheathe that hallowed sword in peace, Until the work was done.
Strains such as these from Spain's three seas, And from the farthest Pyrenees, Rung through the region. Vengeance was the word;
One impulse to all hearts at once was given; From every voice the sacred cry was heard, And borne abroad by all the winds of Heaven. Heaven, too, to whom the Spaniards look'd for aid, A spirit equal to the hour bestow'd; And gloriously the debt they paid, Which to their valiant ancestors they owed; And gloriously against the power of France Maintain'd their children's proud inheritance. Their steady purpose no defeat could move, No horrors could abate their constant mind; Hope had its source and resting-place above,
And they, to loss of all on earth resign'd, Suffer'd, to save their country and mankind. What strain heroic might suffice to tell How Zaragoza stood, and how she fell? Ne'er since yon sun began his daily round, Was higher virtue, holier valor, found, Than on that consecrated ground.
Alone the noble Nation stood, When from Coruña, in the main, The star of England set in blood. Erelong on Talavera's plain, That star resplendent rose again; And though that day was doom'd to be A day of frustrate victory, Not vainly bled the brave; For French and Spaniard there might see That England's arm was strong to save; Fair promise there the Wellesley gave, And well in sight of Earth and Heaven,
Did he redeem the pledge which there was given.
Lord of Conquest, heir of Fame, From rescued Portugal he came. Rodrigo's walls in vain oppose; In vain thy bulwarks, Badajoz; And Salamanca's heights proclaim The Conqueror's praise, the Wellesley's name. Oh, had the sun stood still that hour, When Marmont and his broken power Fled from their field of shame!
Spain felt through all her realms the electric blow; Cadiz in peace expands her gates again; And Betis, who, to bondage long resign'd, Flow'd mournfully along the silent plain, Into her joyful bosom unconfined, Receives once more the treasures of the main.
What now shall check the Wellesley, when at length
Onward he goes, rejoicing in his strength? From Douro, from Castile's extended plain, The foe, a numerous band,
Retire; amid the heights which overhang Dark Ebro's bed, they think to make their stand. He reads their purpose, and prevents their speed; And still, as they recede, Impetuously he presses on their way; Till by Vittoria's walls they stood at bay, And drew their battle up in fair array.
Vain their array, their valor vain: There did the practised Frenchman find A master arm, a master mind! Behold his veteran army driven Like dust before the breath of Heaven, Like leaves before the autumnal wind! Now, Britain, now thy brow with laurels blind; Raise now the song of joy for rescued Spain! And, Europe, take thou up the awakening strainGlory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
From Spain the living spark went forth: The flame hath caught, the flame is spread! It warms, it fires the farthest North. Behold! the awaken'd Moscovite Meets the Tyrant in his might; The Brandenburg, at Freedom's call, Rises more glorious from his fall; And Frederic, best and greatest of the name, Treads in the path of duty and of fame. See Austria from her painful trance awake! The breath of God goes forth,-the dry bones shake! Up, Germany! with all thy nations, rise! Land of the virtuous and the wise,
No longer let that free, that mighty mind Endure its shame! She rose as from the dead, She broke her chains upon the oppressor's headGlory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
Open thy gates, O Hanover! display Thy loyal banners to the day; Receive thy old illustrious line once more! Beneath an Upstart's yoke oppress'd, Long hath it been thy fortune to deplore That line, whose fostering and paternal sway So many an age thy grateful children blest. The yoke is broken now: - A mightier hand Hath dash'd in pieces dash'd- the iron rod. To meet her Princes, the deliver'd land Pours her rejoicing multitudes abroad; The happy bells, from every town and tower, Roll their glad peals upon the joyful wind; And from all hearts and tongues, with one consent, The high thanksgiving strain to Heaven is sent, – Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
Egmont and Horn, heard ye that holy cry, Martyrs of Freedom, from your seats in Heaven? And William the Deliverer, doth thine eye Regard from yon empyreal realm the land For which thy blood was given ? What ills hath that poor Country suffer'd long! Deceived, despised, and plunder'd, and oppress'd, Mockery and insult aggravating wrong! Severely she her errors hath atoned, And long in anguish groan'd, Wearing the patient semblance of despair, While fervent curses rose with every prayer; In mercy Heaven at length its ear inclined; The avenging armies of the North draw nigh; Joy for the injured Hollander!- the cry Of Orange rends the sky! All hearts are now in one good cause combined, Once more that flag triumphant floats on high,Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
When shall the Dove go forth? Oh, when Shall Peace return among the Sons of Men? Hasten, benignant Heaven, the blessed day! Justice must go before,
And Retribution must make plain the way;
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