« 前へ次へ »
Close follow'd age, infirm old age,
The maidens that gather the fruits of the moor,' The winter of my year;
While weary and fainting they roam, When shall I fall before his rage,
Through the blue dazzling distance of noon-light To rise beyond the sphere?
The trees that remind them of home :
The children that range in the valley suspend
Their sports, and in ecstacy gaze,
When they see the broad moon from its summit asEnfranchised from the grave.
cend, Life lies in embryo,-never free
And their school-house and grove in a blaze. Till Nature yields her breath ;
O! sweet to my soul is that beautiful grove,
Awakening remembrance most dear;-
When lonely in anguish and exile I rove,
Wherever its glories appear,
It gladdens my spirit, it soothes from afar
With tranquil and tender delight,
Alone in the desert of night.
For ever and ever gone o'er; WHEN Evening closes Nature's eye,
Like the light of a smile, like the balm of a kiss, The Glow-worm lights her little spark,
They were,—but they will be no more. To captivate her favorite fly,
Yet wherefore of pleasures departed complain, And tempt the rover through the dark.
That leave such endearment behind ? Conducted by a sweeter star
Though the sun of their sweetness be sunk in the main, Than all that deck the fields above,
Their twilight still rests on the mind. He fondly hastens from afar,
Then peace to his ashes who planted these trees! To soothe her solitude with love.
Supreme o'er the landscape they rise,
With simple and lovely magnificence please
All bosoms, and ravish all eyes;
Nor marble, nor brass, could emblazon his fame The transient torch of Hymen cheers
Like his own sylvan trophies, that wave
In graceful memorial, and whisper his name,
And scatter their leaves on his grave.
Ah! thus, when I sleep in the desolate tomb,
May the laurels I planted endure,
On the mountain of high immortality bloom,
'Midst lightning and tempest secure!
Then ages unborn shall their verdure admire,
And nations sit under their shade,
Aloft in their branches display'd. A conspicuous plantation, encompassing a school-house and play-ground, on a bleak eminenco, at Barlow, in Derbyshire; Hence, dream of vain-glory the light drop of dew on the one hand facing the high moors, on the other, over
That glows in the violet's eye, looking a richly-cultivated, well-wooded, and mountainous country, near the seat of a gentleman where the writer has In the splendor of morn, to a fugitive view, spent many happy bours.
May rival a star of the sky.
But the violet is pluck'd, and the dew-drop is flown, Now peace to his ashes who planted yon trees The star unextinguish'd shall shine: That welcome my wandering eye!
Then mine be the laurels of virtue alone,
And resemble a grove in the sky;
Tell me, thou dust beneath my feet, Like the lock on the forehead of Time.
Thou dust that once hadst breath! A land-mark they rise to the stranger forlorn,
Tell me how many mortals meet All night on the wild heath delay'd,
In this small hill of death? Tis rapture to spy the young beauties of morn
The mole that scoops with curious toil Unveiling behind their dark shade :
Her subterranean bed, The homeward-bound husbandman joys to behold,
Thinks not she plows a human soil,
And mines among the dead.
1 Bilberries, cluster-berries, and crane-berries.
Among the undistinguish'd hosts
My wondering eyes explore Awful, sublime, terrific ghosts,
Heroes and kings of yore: Tyrants, the comets of their kind,
Whose withering influence ran Through all the promise of the mind,
And smote and mildew'd man Sages, the Pleiades of earth,
Whose genial aspects smiled, And flowers and fruitage sprang to birth
O'er all the human wild.
Was he, whose fatal skill
And taught the art to kill.
Of fondly-worshipp'd fame; He built the Pyramids, but left
No stone to tell his name.
But, Ob! where'er she turns the ground,
My kindred earth I see ;
Lived, breathed, and felt, like me.
Enjoy'd the cheerful light, Bore the brief burthen of a day,
And went to rest at night. Far in the regions of the morn
The rising sun surveys Palmyra's palaces forlorn
Empurpled with his rays. The spirits of the desert dwell
Where eastern grandeur shone, And vultures scream, hyenas yell
Round Beauty's mouldering throne.
Sees, from the broken wall,
Ere the loose fragment fall.
To watch the sport of Fate,
And bows them with his weight.
Stupendous wrecks! appear To me less mournfully sublime
Than the poor Mole-hill here. Through all this hillock's crumbling mould
Once the warm life-blood ran; -Here thine original behold,
And here thy ruins, Man!
Ten thousand pulses beat :
How many mortals meet?
From ocean, earth, and sky,
of slumbering millions lie. What scene of terror and amaze
Breaks through the twilight gloom? What hand invisible displays
The secrets of the tomb?
Who is the chief, with visage dark
As tempests when they roar? -The first who push'd his daring bark
Beyond the timid shore. Through storms of death and seas of graves
He steer'd with stedfast eye; His path was on the desert waves,
His compass in the sky.
The youth who lifts his graceful hand,
Struck the unshapen block,
A Venus from the rock.
Behold the Grecian maid,
To trace a slumberer's shade
His image while he lay,
And breathed that soul through clay.
With countenance of fire,
And framed the Æolian lyre.
The Muse's eldest-born ;
The poet of the morn.
That echoed to his voice,
And earth and heaven rejoice. Though charm’d to meekness while he sung,
The wild beasts round him ran; This was the triumph of his tongue, It tamed the heart of man.
All ages and all nations rise,
And every grain of earth Beneath my feet, before mine eyes,
Is startled into birth.
Like gliding mists the shadowy forms
Through the deep valley spread, And like descending clouds in storms
Lower round the mountain's head. O'er the wide champaign while they pass,
Their footsteps yield no sound, Nor shake from the light trembling grass
A dew-drop to the ground.
The vision of the tomb is past ;
Beyond it who can tell In what mysterious region cast
Immortal spirits dwell ?
Dim through the mist of twilight times
The ghost of Cyrus walks ; Behind him, red with glorious crimes,
The son of Ammon stalks. Relentless Hannibal, in pride
Of sworn, fix'd hatred, lowers; Cæsar,-'t is Brutus at his side,
In peerless grandeur towers.
I know not, but I soon shall know,
When life's sore conflicts cease, When this desponding heart lies low,
And I shall rest in peace.
For see, on Death's bewildering wave,
The rainbow Hope arise,
That bends beyond the skies.
The pledge of bliss to Man; Time with Eternity combines,
And grasps them in a span.
With moonlight softness Helen's charms
Dissolve the spectred gloom,
Portending Ilion's doom.
And hark! he strikes the lyre ;
The Argive Chiefs respire, And while his music rolls along,
The towers of Troy sublime,
Mock the destroyer, Time.
The storms of battle rage ;
Bewept in every age.
THE CAST-AWAY SHIP.
The subjects of the two following poems were suggested by the
loss of the Blenheim, commanded by Sir Thomas Trowbridge, which was separated from the vessels under its convoy, during a storm in the Indian Ocean.-The Admiral's son afterwards made a voyage, without success, in search of his father.-Trowbridge was one of Nelson's captains at the Battle of the Nile, but his ship unfortunately ran aground as he was bearing down on the enemy.
Genius of Homer! were it mine
To track thy fiery car, And in thy sun-set course to shine
A radiant evening star,
What theme, what laurel might the Muse
Reclaim from ages fled ? What realm-restoring hero choose
To summon from the dead?
Yonder his shadow flits away :
-Thou shalt not thus depart; Stay, thou transcendent spirit, stay,
And tell me who thou art!
Tis Alfred - In the rolls of Fame,
And on a midnight page, Blazes his broad refulgent name,
The watch-light of his age.
A Danish winter, from the north,
Howl'd o'er the British wild, But Alfred, like the spring, brake forth,
And all the desert smiled.
A VESSEL sail'd from Albion's shore,
To utmost India bound,
With broad sea-laurels crown'd
When Gallia's host was drown'd,
With shouts that rend the air,
Their joyful brows prepare :
And many a father's prayer,
In breathing slumber lay,
As rose the kindling day:
In morning's rich array:
See the tall vessel sail,
A swan before the gale;
Back to the deep he roll'd the waves,
By mad invasion hurlid;
Defiance to the world.
And still that voice o'er land and sea
Shall Albion's foes appal ;
Hear it, and tremble, Gaul !
But lo! the phantoms fade in flight,
Like fears that cross the mind, Like meteors gleaming through the night,
Like thunders on the wind.
When, lessening through the flood of light, Their leader vanish'd from her sight.
Of had she hail'd its trophied prow,
Victorious from the war, And banner'd masts, that would not bow,
Though riven with many a scar; Oft had her oaks their tribute brought, To rib its flanks, with thunder fraught;
But late her evil star Had cursed it on its homeward way, _"The spoiler shall become the prey."
Like shooting stars, athwart the gloom
The merchant-sails were sped; Yet oft, before its midnight doom,
They mark'd the high mast-head of that devoted vessel, tost By winds and floods, now seen, now lost;
While every gun-fire spread
For love and kindred's sake;
Their inmost heart shall quake,
But never cease to ache;
Thus warn'd, Britannia's anxious heart
Throbb’d with prophetic woe, When she beheld that ship depart,
A fair ill-omen'd show! So views the mother, through her tears, The daughter of her hopes and fears,
When hectic beauties glow On the frail cheek, where sweetly bloom The roses of an early tomb.
No fears the brave adventurers knew,
Peril and death they spurn'd:
Jove's birds, that proudly burn'd,
And many a look they turn'd
THE SEQUEL He sought his sire from shore to share,
He sought him day by day;
Breasting the ocean-spray:
Unconscious where it lay, Deep, deep beneath the rolling main; -He sought his sire; he sought in vain.
But not to crush the vaunting foe,
In combat on the main,
In mortal triumph slain, Was their unutterable fate : -That story would the Muse relate,
The song might rise in vain; In ocean's deepest, darkest bed, The secret slumbers with the dead.
On India's long-expecting strand
Their sails were never furl'dNever on known or friendly land
By storms their keel was hurl'd; Their native soil no more they trod, They rest beneath no hallow'd sod;
Throughout the living world This sole memorial of their lot Remains,—they were, and they are not.
To the Memory of "A Female whom Sickness had reconciled
to the Notes of Sorrow," who corresponded with the Author under this signature, on the first publication of his poems, 1806, but died soon after; when her real name and merits were disclosed to him by one of her surviving friends.
My Song of Sorrow reach'd her ear; She raised her languid head to hear, And, smiling in the arms of Death, Consoled me with her latest breath.
The spirit of the Cape' pursued
Their long and toilsome way; At length, in ocean-solitude,
He sprang upon his prey : * Havoc !' the shipwreck-demon cried, Loosed all his tempests on the tide,
Gave all his lightnings play; The abyss recoil'd before the blast, Firm stood the seamen to the last.
What is the Poet's highest aim, His richest heritage of fame?
-To track the warrior's fiery road, With havoc, spoil, destruction strow'd, While nations bleed along the plains, Dragg'd at his chariot-wheels in chains ! - With fawning hand to woo the lyre, Profanely steal celestial fire, And bid an idol's altar blaze With incense of unhallow'd praise ?
1 The Cape of Good Hope, formerly called the Cape of Storms.-See Camoens' Lusiad, Book V.
-With syren strains, Circean art, To win the ear, beguile the heart, Wake the wild passions into rage, And please and prostitute the age ?
No to the generous Bard belong
-To hail Religion from above,
These are the Bard's sublimest views,
Adorn'd with meekest maiden grace,
Such was the picture fancy drew,
Yet shall the friends who loved her weep, Though shrined in peace the sufferer sleep, Though rapt to heaven the saint aspire, With seraph guards, on wings of fire; Yet shall they weep;—for oft and well Remembrance shall her story tell, Affection of her virtues speak, With beaming eye and burning cheek, Each action, word, and look recall, The last, the loveliest of all, When on the lap of death she lay, Serenely smiled her soul away, And left surviving Friendship's breast Warm with the sun-set of her rest.
My Song of Sorrow reach'd Her ear; She raised her languid head to hear, And, smiling in the arms of Death, She bless'd me with her latest breath.
A secret hand to me convey'd The thoughts of that inspiring Maid ; They came like voices on the wind, Heard in the stillness of the mind, When round the Poet's twilight walk Aërial beings seem to talk. Not the twin-stars of Leda shine With vernal influence more benign, Nor sweeter, in the sylvan vale, Sings the lone-warbling nightingale, Than through my shades her lustre broke, Than to my griefs her spirit spoke.
My fancy form'd her young and fair, Pure as her sister-lilies were,
O thou, who wert on earth unknown, Companion of my thought alone, Unchanged in heaven to me thou art, Still hold communion with my heart; Cheer thou my hopes, exalt my views, Be the good angel of my Muse; -And if to thine approving ear My plaintive numbers once were dear; If, falling round thy dying hours Like evening dews on closing flowers, They soothed thy pains, and through thy soul With melancholy sweetness stole, HEAR ME :-When slumber from mine eyes, That roll in irksome darkness, flies; When the lorn spectre of unrest At conscious midnight haunts my breast; When former joys and present woes, And future fears, are all my foes; Spirit of my departed friend, Calm through the troubled gloom descend,
1 Piu val d'ogni vittoria un bel soffrire.