And turning from the mournful contemplation,
To seek refreshment for my weary spirit,
Amidst that peopled continent, the abode
Of misery which reach'd beyond this world,
I lighted on a solitary glen
(A peaceful refuge in a land of discord)
Crown'd with steep rocks, whose hoary summits shone
Amid the blue unclouded element,
O'er the green woods, that, stretching down the hills,
Border'd the narrow champaign glade between,
Through which a clear and pebbly rill meander'd.
The song-birds caroll'd in the leafy shades,
Those of resplendent plumage flaunted round;
High o'er the cliffs the sea-fowl soar'd or perch'd;
The Pelican and Albatros were seen
In groups reposing on the northern ridge:
There was entire serenity above,
Beauty, tranquillity, delight below,
And every motion, sound, and sight were pleasing.
Rhinoceros nor wild bull pastured here;
Lion nor tiger here shed innocent blood;
The antelopes were grazing void of fear,
Their young in antic gambols ramping by;
While goats, from precipice to precipice
Clamber'd, or hung, or vaulted through the air,
As if a thought convey'd them to and fro.
Harmony reign'd, as once ere man's creation,
When brutes were yet earth's sole inhabitants.
There were no human tracks nor dwellings there,
For 't was a sanctuary from hurtful creatures,
And in the precincts of that happy dell
The absence of my species was a mercy:
Thence the declining sun withdrew his beams,
But left it lighted by a hundred peaks,
Glittering and golden, round the span of sky,
That seem'd the sapphire roof of one great temple,
Whose floor was emerald, and whose walls the hills;
Where those that worshipp'd God, might worship Him
In spirit and in truth, without distraction.
Man's absence pleased me; yet on man alone,
Man fallen, helpless, miserable man,
My thoughts, prayers, wishes, tears, and sorrows
turn'd,
Howe'er I strove to drive away remembrance:
Then I refrain'd no longer, but brake out,
-"Lord God, why hast Thou made all men in vain?"
THE Countenance of one advanced in years,
The shape of one created to command,
The step of one accustom'd to be seen,
And follow'd with the reverence of all eyes,
Yet conscious here of utter solitude,
Came on me like an apparition,-whence
I knew not-half-way down the vale already
Had he proceeded ere I caught his eye,
And in that mirror of intelligence,
By the sure divination of mine art,
Read the mute history of his former life,
And all the untold secrets of his bosom.
He was a chieftain of renown; from youth To green old age, the glory of his tribe,
The terror of their enemies; in war
An Alexander, and in peace an Alfred.
From morn till night he wont to wield the
With indefatigable arm, or watch
From eve till dawn in ambush for his quarry,
Human or brute; not less in chase than fight,
For strength, skill, prowess, enterprise unrivall'd.
Fearless he grappled with the fell hyena,
And held him strangling in the grasp of fate;
He seized the she-bear's whelps, and when the dam
With miserable cries and insane rage
Pursued to rescue them, would turn and strike
One blow, but one, to break her heart for ever:
From sling and bow, he sent upon death-errands
The stone or arrow through the trackless air,
To overtake the fleetest foot, or lay
The loftiest pinion fluttering in the dust.
On the rough waves he eagerly embark'd,
Assail'd the stranded whale among the breakers,
Dart after dart with such sure aim implanting
In the huge carcass of the helpless victim,
That soon in blood and foam the monster breathed
His last, and lay a hulk upon the reef;
Thence floated by the rising tide, and tow'd
By a whole navy of canoes ashore.
But 't was the hero's mind that made him great
His eye, his lip, his hand, were clothed with thunder
| Thrones, crowns, and sceptres give not more ascend-
Back'd with arm'd legions, fortified with towers,
| Than this imperial savage, all alone,
From Nature's pure beneficence derived.
Yet, when the heyday of hot youth was over,
His soul grew gentle as the halcyon breeze,
Sent from the evening-sea to bless the shore,
After the fervors of a tropic noon;
Nor less benign his influence than fresh showers
Upon the fainting wilderness, where bands
Of pilgrims, bound for Mecca, with their camels,
Lie down to die together in despair,
When the deceitful mirage, that appear'd
A pool of water trembling in the sun,
Hath vanish'd from the bloodshot eye of thirst.
Firm in defence as valiant in the battle,
Assailing none, but all assaults repelling
With such determined chastisement, that foes
No longer dared to forage on his borders,
War shrunk from his dominions; simple laws,
Yet wise and equitable, he ordained
To rule a willing and obedient people.
Blood ceased to flow in sacrifice; no more
The parents' hands were raised against their children,
Children no longer slew their aged parents;
Man prey'd not on his fellow-man, within
The hallow'd circle of his patriarch-sway,
| That seem'd, amidst barbarian clans around,
A garden in a waste of brier and hemlock.
Ere life's meridian, thus that chief had reach'd
The utmost pinnacle of savage grandeur,
And stood the envy of ignoble eyes,
The awe of humbler mortals, the example
Of youth's sublime ambition; but to him,
It was not given to rest at any height;
The thoughts that travel to eternity
Already had begun their pilgrimage,
Which time, nor change, nor life, nor death, could stop.
All that he saw, heard, felt, or could conceive,
Open'd new scenes of mental enterprise,
Imposed new tasks for arduous contemplation.
On the steep eminence which he had scaled,
To rise or fall were sole alternatives;
He might not stand, and he disdain'd to fall;
Innate magnificence of mind upheld,
And buoyancy of genius bore him on.
Heaven, earth, and ocean, were to him familiar
In all their motions, aspects, changes; each
To him paid tribute of the knowledge, hid
From uninquiring ignorance; to him
Their gradual secrets, though with slow reserve,
Yet sure accumulation, all reveal'd.
Grows in the desert from some random seed,
Dropt by a wild bird. Grain by grain it rose,
And touch'd at length the surface; there expanding
Beneath the fostering influence of his eye,
Prolific seasons, light, and showers, and dew,
Aided by earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes
(All agents of the universal sun),
Conspired to form, advance, enrich, and break
The level reef, till hills and dales appear'd,
And the small isle became a continent,
Whose bounds his ancestors had never traced.
Thither in time, by means inscrutable,
Plants, animals, and man himself were brought;
And with the idolaters the gods they served.
These tales tradition told him; he believed,
Though all were fables, yet they shadow'd truth;
But whence they came, even more than what they That truth with heart, soul, mind, and strength he
Awaken'd wonder, and defied conjecture;
Blank wonder could not satisfy his soul,
And resolute conjecture would not yield,
Though foil'd a thousand times, in speculation
On themes that open'd immortality.
The gods whom his deluded countrymen
Acknowledged, were no gods to him; he scorn'd
The impotence of skill that carved such figures,
And pitied the fatuity of those,
Who saw not in the abortions of their hands
The abortions of their minds.-"T was the Creator
He sought through every volume open to him,
From the small leaf that holds an insect's web,
From which ere long a colony shall issue,
With wings and limbs as perfect as the eagle's,
To the stupendous ocean, that gives birth
And nourishment to everlasting millions
Of creatures, great and small, beyond the power
Of man to comprehend how they exist.
One thought amidst the multitude within him
Press'd with perpetual, with increasing weight,
And yet the elastic soul beneath its burthen
Wax'd strong and stronger, was enlarged, exalted,
With the necessity of bearing up
Against annihilation; for that seem'd
The only refuge were this hope foregone:
It was as though he wrestled with an angel,
And would not let him go without a blessing,
If not extort the secret of his name:
This was that thought, that hope;-dumb idols,
And the vain homage of their worshippers,
Were proofs to him, not less than sun and stars,
That there were beings mightier far than man,
Or man had never dream'd of aught above him:
"T was clear to him as was his own existence,
In which he felt the fact personified,
That man himself was for this world too mighty,
Possessing powers which could not ripen here,
But ask'd infinity to bring them forth,
And find employ for their unbounded scope.
Tradition told him, that, in ancient time,
Sky, sun, and sea, were all the universe;
The sun grew tired of gazing on the sea,
Day after day; then, with descending beams,
Day after day he pierced the dark abyss,
Till he had reach'd its diamantine floor;
Whence he drew up an island, as a tree
O't was a spectacle for angels, bound
On embassies of mercy to this earth,
To gaze on with compassion and delight,
-Yea, with desire that they might be his helpers-
To see a dark endungeon'd spirit roused,
And struggling into glorious liberty,
Though Satan's legions watch'd at every portal,
And held him by ten thousand manacles!
Such was the being whom I here descried,
And fix'd my earnest expectation on him;
For now or never might my hope be proved,
How near, by searching, man might find out God.
Thus, while he walk'd along that peaceful valley, Though rapt in meditation far above
The world which met his senses, but in vain
Would charm his spirit within its magic circle,
-Still with benign and meek simplicity
He hearken'd to the prattle of a babe,
Which he was leading by the hand; but scarce
Could he restrain its eagerness to break
Loose, and run wild with joy among the bushes.
It was his grandson, now the only stay
Of his bereaved affections; all his kin
Had fall'n before him, and his youngest daughter
Bequeathed this infant with her dying lips:
O take this child, my father! take this child.
And bring it up for me; so may it live
To be the latest blessing of thy life."
He took the child; he brought it up for her;
It was the latest blessing of his life;
And while his soul explored immensity,
In search of something undefinedly great,
This infant was the link which bound that soul
To this poor world, where he had not a wish
Or hope, beyond the moment, for himself.
The little one was dancing at his side,
And dragging him with petty violence
Hither and thither from the onward path,
To find a bird's nest or to hunt a fly;
His feign'd resistance and unfeign'd reluctance
But made the boy more resolute to rule
The grandsire with his fond caprice. The sage,
Though dallying with the minion's wayward will,
His own premeditated course pursued,
And while, in tones of sportive tenderness,
He answer'd all its questions, and ask'd others
As simple as its own, yet wisely framed
To wake and prove an infant's faculties;
As though its mind were some sweet instrument,
And he, with breath and touch, were finding out
What stops or keys would yield the richest music;
-All this was by-play to the scene within
The busy theatre of his own breast.
Keen and absorbing thoughts were working there,
And his heart travail'd with unutter'd pangs;
Sigh after sigh, escaping to his lips,
Was check'd, or turn'd into some lively word,
To hide the bitter conflict from his child.
At length they struck into the woods, and thence
Climb'd the grey rocks aloof. There from his crag,
At their abrupt approach, the startled eagle
Took wing above their heads; the boy, alarm'd,
-Nor less delighted when no peril came,—
Follow'd its flight with eyes and hands upraised,
And bounding forward on the verdant slope,
Watch'd it diminish, till a gnat, that cross'd
His sight, eclipsed it: when he look'd again
T was gone, and for an instant he felt sad,
Till some new object won his gay attention.
His grandshire stepp'd to take the eagle's stand,
And gaze at freedom on the boundless prospect,
But started back, and held his breath with awe,
So suddenly, so gloriously, it broke
All in a moment on his knees he fell;
And with imploring arms, outstretch'd to heaven,
And eyes no longer wet with hopeless tears,
But beaming forth sublime intelligence;
In words through which his heart's pulsation throbb'd,
And made mine tremble to their accents,-pray'd:
-"Oh! if there be a Power above all power,
A Light above all light, a Name above
All other names, in heaven and earth; that Power,
That Light, that Name, I call upon."-He paused,
Bow'd his hoar head with reverence, closed his eyes,
And with clasp'd hands upon his breast, began
In under-tones, that rose in fervency,
Like incense kindled on a holy altar,
Till his whole soul became one tongue of fire,
Of which these words were faint and poor expressions:
-"Oh! if Thou art, Thou know'st that I am :
Behold me, hear me, pity me, despise not
The prayer, which—if Thou art-Thou hast inspired,
Or wherefore seek I now a God unknown?
And feel for Thee, if haply I may find
In whom I live and move and have my being?
Reveal thyself to me; reveal thy power,
Thy light, thy name,-that I may fear, adore,
Obey,-and, oh! that I might love Thee too!
For, if Thou art-it must be-Thou art good;
And I would be the creature of thy goodness;
Oh! hear and answer;-let me know Thou hearest!
him.-Know that as surely as thou art, so surely
My prayer and supplication are accepted."
From heaven, earth, sea, and air, at once upon
The tranquil ocean roll'd beneath his feet;
The shores on each hand lessen'd from the view;
The landscape glow'd with tropical luxuriance;
The sky was fleck'd with gold and crimson clouds,
That seem'd to emanate from nothing there,
Born in the blue and infinite expanse,
Where just before the eye might seek in vain
An evening shadow as a daylight star.
There stood the patriarch, amidst a scene
Of splendor and beatitude; himself
A diadem of glory o'er the whole,
For none but he could comprehend the beauty,
The bliss diffused throughout the universe;
Yet holier beauty, higher bliss he sought,
Of which that universe was but the veil,
Wrought with inexplicable hieroglyphics.
Here then he stood, alone but not forsaken
Of Him, without whose leave a sparrow falls not.
Wide open lay the Book of Deity,
The page was Providence: but none, alas!
Had taught him letters; when he look'd, he wept
To feel himself forbidden to peruse it.
-"O for a messenger of mercy now,
Like Philip when he join'd the Eunuch's chariot!
O for the privilege to burst upon him,
And show the blind, the dead, the light of life!"
I hush'd the exclamation, for he seem'd
To hear it; turn'd his head, and look'd all round,
As if an eye invisible beheld him,
A voice had spoken out of solitude:
-Yea, such an eye beheld him, such a voice
Had spoken; but they were not mine; his life
He would have yielded on the spot, to see
That eye; to hear that voice, and understand it:
It was the eye of God, the voice of Nature.
He waited silently; there came no answer :
The roaring of the tide beneath, the gale
Rustling the forest-leaves, the notes of birds,
And hum of insects,-these were all the sounds,
That met familiarly around his ear.
He look'd abroad; there shone no light from heaven
But that of sun-set; and no shapes appear'd
But glistering clouds, which melted through the sky
As imperceptibly as they had come;
While all terrestrial objects seem'd the same
As he had ever known them;-still he look'd
And listen'd, till a cold sick feeling sunk
Into his heart, and blighted every hope.
Anon faint accents, from the sloping lawn
Beneath the crag where he was kneeling, rose,
Like supernatural echoes of his prayer:
-"A name above all names,-I call upon.-
Thou art-Thou knowest that I am:-Reveal
Thyself to me;-but, oh! that I may love Thee!
For if Thou art, Thou must be good:-Oh! hear,
And let me know thou hearest!"-Memory fail'd
The child; for 't was his grandchild, though he knew
not,
-In the deep transport of his mind, he knew not
That voice, to him the sweetest of ten thousand,
And known the best, because the best beloved.
Again it cried:—“ Thou art-Thou must be good
Oh! hear,
And let me know Thou hearest."-Memory fail'd
The child, but feeling fail'd not; tears of light
Slid down his cheek; he too was on his knees,
Clasping his little hands upon his heart,
Unconscious why, yet doing what he saw
His grandsire do, and saying what he said.
For while he gather'd buds and flowers, to twine
A garland for the old grey hairs, whose locks
Were lovelier in his sight than all the blooms
On which the bees and butterflies were feasting,
The Patriarch's agony of spirit caught
His eye, his ear, his heart; he dropt the flowers,
And kneeling down among them, wept and pray'd
Like him, with whom he felt such strange emotions
As rapt his infant-soul to heavenly heights;
Though whence they sprang, and what they meant,
he knew not:
But they were good, and that was all to him,
Who wonder'd why it was so sweet to weep;
Nor would he quit his humble attitude,
Nor cease repeating fragments of that lesson,
Thus learnt spontaneously from lips whose words
Were almost dearer to him than their kisses,
When on his lap the old man dandled him,
And told him simple stories of his mother.
Recovering thought, the venerable sire
Beheld, and recognized his darling boy,
Thus beautiful and innocent, engaged
In the same worship with himself. His heart
Leap'd at the sight; he flung away despondence,
While joy unspeakable and full of glory
Broke through the pagan darkness of his soul.
He ran and snatch'd the infant in his arms,
Embraced him passionately, wept aloud,
And, oh! my last, last prayer,-to him reveal
The utterable secret of thy name!"
He paused; then with the transport of a seer
Went on: "That Name may all my nation know:
And all that hear it worship at the sound,
When thou shalt with a voice from heaven proclaim it.
And so it surely shall be."
And if Thou art, Thou must be good!" exclaim'd
The child, yet panting with the breath of prayer.
They ceased; then went rejoicing down the moun
tains,
Through the cool glen where not a sound was heard,
Amidst the dark solemnity of eve,
But the loud purling of the little brook,
And the low murmur of the distant ocean.
Thence to their home beyond the hills in peace
They walk'd; and when they reach'd their humble
threshold,
The glittering firmament was full of stars.
-He died that night: his grandchild lived to see
The Patriarch's prayer and prophecy fulfill'd.
Here end my song; here ended not the vision:
I heard seven thunders uttering their voices,
And wrote what they did utter; but 't is seal'd
Within the volume of my heart, where thoughts,
Unbodied yet in vocal words, await
And cried, scarce knowing what he said," My Son! The quickening warmth of poesy, to bring
My Son! there is a God! there is a God!"
And, oh! that I may love Thee too!" rejoin'd
The child, whose tongue could find no other words
Than prayer; for if Thou art, Thou must be good."
-"He is! He is! and we will love Him too!
Yea, and be like Him,-good, for He is good!"
Replied the ancient father in amazement.
Then wept they o'er each other, till the child
Exceeded, and the old man's heart reproved him
For lack of reverence in the excess of joy:
The ground itself seem'd holy! heaven and earth
Full of the presence, felt, not seen, of Him,
The Power above all power, the Light above
All light, the Name above all other names;
Whom he had call'd upon, whom he had found,
Yet worshipp'd only as "the Unknown God,"-
That nearest step which uninstructed man
Can take, from Nature up to Deity,
To Him again, standing erect, he pray'd,
And while he pray'd, high in his arms he held
That dearest treasure of his heart, the child
Of his last dying daughter,-now the sole
Hope of his life, and orphan of his house.
He held him as an offering up to heaven,
A living sacrifice unto the God
Their form to light,-like secret characters,
Invisible till open'd to the fire;
Or like the potter's paintings, colorless
Till they have pass'd to glory through the flames.
Changes more wonderful than those gone by,
More beautiful, transporting, and sublime,
To all the frail affections of our nature,
To all the immortal faculties of man;
Such changes did I witness; not alone
In one poor Pelican Island, nor on one
Barbarian continent, where man himself
Could scarcely soar above the Pelican:
-The world as it hath been in ages past,
The world as now it is, the world to come,
Far as the eye of prophecy can pierce;
These I beheld, and still in memory's rolls
They have their pages and their pictures; these.
Another day, a nobler song may show.
Vain boast! another day may not be given;
This song may be my last; for I have reach'd
That slippery descent, whence man looks back
With melancholy joy on all he cherish'd;
Around, with love unfeign'd, on all he's losing;
Forward, with hope that trembles while it turns
To the dim point where all our knowledge ends.
Whom he invoked:-"Oh! Thou who art!" he I am but one among the living; one
"And hast reveal'd that mystery to me,
Hid from all generations of my fathers,
Or, if once known, forgotten and perverted;
I may not live to learn Thee better here;
But, oh! let this my son, mine only son,
Whom thus I dedicate to Thee;-let him,
Let him be taught thy will, and choose
Obedience to it-may he fear thy power,
Walk in thy light, now dawning out of darkness;
Among the dead I soon shall be; and one
Among unnumber'd millions yet unborn;
The sum of Adam's mortal progeny,
From Nature's birth-day to her dissolution:
-Lost in infinitude, my atom-life
Seems but a sparkle of the smallest star
Amidst the scintillations of ten thousand
Twinkling incessantly; no ray returning
To shine a second moment, where it shone
Once, and no more for ever so I pass.
Must think for ever; that which feels must feel:
-I am, and I can never cease to be.
O thou that readest! take this parable
Home to thy bosom; think as I have thought,
And feel as I have felt, through all the changes,
Which Time, Life, Death, the world's great actors,
wrought,
While centuries swept like morning dreams before me.
And thou shalt find this moral to my song:
-Thou art, and thou canst never cease to be:
What then are time, life, death, the world, to thee?
I may not answer: ask Eternity.
Prison Amusements;
WRITTEN DURING NINE MONTHS OF CONFINEMENT IN THE CASTLE OF YORK,
IN THE YEARS 1795 AND 1796.
THESE pieces were composed in bitter moments, amid the horrors of a gaol, under the pressure of sickness. They were the transcripts of melancholy feelings, the warm effusions of a bleeding heart. The writer amused his imagination with attiring his sorrows in verse, that, under the romantic appearance of fiction, he might sometimes forget that his misfortunes were real.
The reader may be curious to be informed of the circumstances to which these trifles owe their existence. Suffice it to say, the writer is very young, and has been very unfortunate. Twice, in the course of twelve months, he was sentenced to the penalties of fine and imprisonment for imputed offences: In January, 1795, and again in January, 1796; the first time -a fine of twenty pounds, and three months' confinement: the second-six months' confinement, and a fine of thirty pounds.
In behalf of these the forbearance of criticism may be solicited, without degradation to the Author.
VERSES TO A ROBIN RED-BREAST,
WHO VISITS THE WINDOW OF MY PRISON EVERY DAY.
WELCOME, pretty little stranger! Welcome to my lone retreat!
Here, secure from every danger, Hop about, and chirp, and eat. Robin! how I envy thee, Happy child of Liberty.
Now, though tyrant Winter, howling,
Shakes the world with tempests round, Heaven above with vapors scowling, Frost imprisons all the ground;— Robin! what are these to thee? Thou art blest with liberty.
Though yon fair majestic river'
Mourns in solid icy chains;
Though yon flocks and cattle shiver
On the desolated plains ;-
Robin! thou art gay and free,
Happy in thy liberty.
Hunger never shall distress thee,
While my cates one crumb afford;
Colds nor cramps shall e'er oppress thee;
Come and share my humble board.
Robin! come and live with me,
Live-yet still at liberty.
Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes,
Steal upon the blooming year;
Then, amid the enamour'd bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear;
Then shall I too, join'd with thee,
Swell the Hymn of Liberty.
Should some rough unfeeling Dobbin,
In this iron-hearted age,
Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin!
And confine thee in a cage,
Then, poor pris'ner! think of me,
Think-and sigh for Liberty.
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