The Pilgrim of Beauty; the Cottager's Sabbath; and other poems. Now first collected ... With twenty-three vignettes ... from designs by H. Warren

Front matter

POEMS THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY; THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH; AND ©rfm* 13ocms, note first collected. By SAMUEL MULLEN. ' ' I run not to contend with those before me, but follow to applaud them. COWLEY. WITH TWENTY-THREE VIGNETTES, ENGRAVED BY W. R. SMITH, FROM DESIGNS BY H. WARREN. LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 18G, STRAND. MDCCCXLV. LONDON : BftADIJURV AND EVAN'S, PRINTEUS. WHTTEFRIARs TO WILLIAM LEAF, ESQUIRE, AS A TRIFLING BUT SINCERE TOKEN OF GRATEFUL REGARD, Ctjis Volume IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBLIGED SERVANT, THE AUTHOR.

Preface

. The Writer of the fallowing pages is not an author by profession, nor has he the slightest hope of profit in their publication. His experience justifies an opposite inference, and he is not disposed to quarrel with the judgment of the public. With a natural tendency to the exercise of the imagination, his avocations, from a very early age, have been of a most engrossing character • and the indulgence of his fancy has been allowed piu-ely as a relaxation from labours that have never claimed so little as half of the twenty-four hours which compose the day. The weariness of bodily fatigue has been forgotten in the exercise of the mind, and the actual sorrows of life have been subdued by imaginary griefs. If perfection in the craft of authorship has not been attained, it is still a source of gratification that no duty of Use has been neglected in its pursuit.

A portion of the contents of this volume has already appeared. "The Pilgrim of Beauty" has been twice printed, but in a very imperfect state, and at not half

PREFACE.

. VIII its present length. "The Cottager's Sabbath" has been once printed ; and, some few necessary correc tions excepted, re-appears in its original form. Among the minor poems, some of the Songs have been set to music by my valued friend, John Thirlwall. The other pieces have not till now appeared in print : some of these are the productions of mere boyhood : others have arisen from casual moods, and, thrown off with little labour, are left unpolished as they came ■ and the rest have resulted from occurrences in a Use neither inactive nor unchequered. Such as they are, they now appear before the bar of the Public, whose fiat I shall abide without vanity and without impatience. If the ability exists to make them better, the time is wanting ; and while disposed to be grateful for honest censure, I am far too proud to solicit praise.

My hopes are not sanguine ; and, under any circumstances, the negative comfort of the old proverb will remain to me : — " Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for then he shall not be disappointed." London, November 28, 1841. CONTENTS. page: Dedication .......... v Preface ........... vii The Pilgrim of Beauty ...... 1 — 86 Songs and other Poems : — Jubilate 89 The New Creation 91 Ode to the Sun 104 The Inquiry 109 Flow on, thou shining River . . . . . .111 Spirit Divine ! Essential Good ! . . . . ..112 On the Blank Leaf of a Bible 114 Epitaph 115 on Four Children interred in One Grave . . 115 116 The Burial . . . 117 On the Death of Gideon Ousely 118 Scene in Wexford Churchyard . . . . . .119 The Sleeping Girl 120 To my First-born 122 Chaste as the Flower . . . . . . 123 To John Henry 124 Thy Home is in the Spirit-land . . . . . 125 b CONTENTS.

X PAGE Songs AND OTHER PoEMS : Lines written on the Sea-shore . . . • .127 Written amid the Ruins of Helmsley Castle . . 1 28 To an Unbeliever . . . . . ■ . . 1 30 On au eminent Lawyer Pleading . . . 131 The Last Bequest 131 The Maniac of Vinegar Hill 133 Farewell to the Five . . . . . . .136 To Mary- Anne 1 39 To Harriet 140 To Maria 141 To Elizabeth 144 To Sarah 146 Childhood 148 To A. M. H 149 A Portrait 150 Waterloo 151 The Fall of Babylon 154 Oh Woman, Woman, ever kind . . . . . . 161 The Evening Fire 1 62 Oh Lady, fear not to trust my Bark . . . 164 Mary, I think of Thee ! 165 The Old Owl 166 Isabel 167 Old Autumn 1 69 My Grandmother . . . . . . . .170 The Fading Flower 171 The Sunny Days of Childhood 172 The Grasshopper 173 Lady Jane . . . . . . . . .174 My Cottage Maid CONTENTS. XI PAOK Songs and other Poems : — The jolly Wind 176 The gallant Flag of England . . . ... 178 A Woful Ballad 180 I love Thee just the same . . . . . 181 My pretty Poll 182 The Housekeeper at Rufford Abbey . . . . . 183 My Father's Old Stick 184 The Cotter's Return 186 The Old Holly Tree 187 Lord Thomas's Wedding . . . . . 188 The Bogle 189 Give me a homely rural Cot . . . . 191 The Din of the Battle died faint on the Ear . . .192 How brilliantly those Eyes of Thine . . . ..195 Awake, awake, my sinless Child ! . . . . .196 Broken Heart-strings . . . . . . 197 The Hour of Love 198 The Light of Hope 199 The Lark that warbles in the Sky 200 How blest the Days 200 She sighed whene'er she heard Thy Name . . .201 The Rose that grew upon Thy Cheek 202 Her Heart is in the Minstrel's Grave .... 203 The Dying Minstrel 205 The Exile 206 The banished Knight returns again ..... 207 William Tell 2<>9 The Maid of Arno Vale 209 Delights of Double-bedding : —an Ode .... 210 The Pipe CONTENTS.

XII PAGE Songs and other Poems : — The Meeting 214 Connaught 214 The Singers of Street Chapel 216 The Sailor's Bride 217 An Acrostic ......... 218 Weep, while I sing! ........ 219 January . . . . . . . . 220 February 221 March 223 April 224 May 225 June 227 July 229 August 231 September 233 October 234 November ......... 235 December 237 Christmas 238 The Cottager's Sabbath ...... 241 — 335 Notes ........... THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY

Canto I

i. A gentle Pilgrim, in a lonely dell, Where Druid oaks were mossed with hoary age, Was bowed in prayer, and as he bowed there fell A pleasant sunbeam on his features sage, Which Ut them like a missal's golden page. Deep lines experience on his brow had traced, And sober thought had cooled wild passion's rage ; Long flowing locks his ample shoulders graced ; His garb was humble grey ; a staff his hand embraced. ii. His noble brow was bare, and smooth, and high ; His face was pale, its colour bright and clear ; His lofty form rose graceful to the eye ; His soft voice fell like music on the ear, And cast a spell on all who chanced to hear ; His mouth was small, lips delicate and thin • His eyes were blue, yet calm and free from fear A curling beard descended from his chin • And his elastic step was buoyant from within. is "Where art thou, Spirit?" he cried- "I've sought thee And called aloud on every beauteous thing, [far, To Earth, to Ocean, Sun, and Moon, and Star, To all that move beneath thy fostering wing, The weary Pilgrim to thy feet to bring : For years on years I 've sought thee far and near, Thro' Winter's gloom • amid the flowers of Spring • In life's dark-flowing streams of hope and fear- If sparkling in the smile, or glistening in the tear.

IV. " Of thee in quest, my anxious soul hath sought Thro' all the bounds where life or light might be • Where Sense fell feebly down, and mightier Thought Swept boldly on, to grasp Infinity ! To worlds ideal I have followed thee, And tracked thy shadow through unbounded space, If haply there mine eye might chance to see Some form benign, some minister of grace, Whose mystic lore coidd lift the vefl that hides thy face. v. " Where dost thou dwell, fair Essence uncreate ! Primeval Beauty, uncorrupt and pure ! Where hold thy court of everlasting state, Enthroned in light that makes thee more obscure, And clouded by the splendours which allure ? Alas, alas ! I cry to thee in vain ; My earnest pilgrimage must yet endure, Till, nature purged from every darkening stain, My spirit may perchance the blissful vision gain !

" h VI. He ceased to speak, but on his face remained The strong expression of each anxious thought ■ For life had now its lasting colour gained, And every feeling of his heart was brought To bear the stamp one burning passion wrought ; Awake, asleep, in motion, or at rest, 'Twas still the same : one only good he sought ; And all his years were crowded and compressed In passionate pursuit of this absorbing quest. VII. Full many a year his sandalled feet had paced From clime to clime, amid life's shifting scenes ; With careful thought each motley group had traced Where virtue's mask the face of knavery screens, Or wisdom sleeps while folly intervenes. In each, in all his anxious mind pursued That fixed design to which his heart still leans 'Mid courts or camps, in polished life or rude, Through cities vast and old, or this wild solitude. vni.

This one deep passion thro' his soul prevailed, And tinged his life with its peculiar hue, Toned all his thoughts, and on his heart entailed The burning wish this phantom to pursue In all which fancy traced or met his view. If on some peerless flower his eye did rest, "Twas not to note the form in which it grew, But in its folds a bring soul compressed, The spirit of the flower, might smile upon its breast. Thro' all his dreams the wish was still the same, Their forms still varying, but alike their end, Till sleep itself a different mean became To reach that point where mingling visions blend Their haloes rich, by waking eyes unkenned. Thus day and night more visionary grown, Life's devious lines in one direction tend, Till fancy, feeling, sense, and thought are thrown With concentrated force on this desire alone. x. Not in one night, like Jonah's faithless gourd, Had this strong passion grown to this great height ; But years on years the fibrous roots still bored The deeper down, and spreading left and right, Grew on till it absorbed his nature quite.

Ere yet his powers expanded in the sun, Before his infant eyes had seen the light, The one great impulse in his soul begun, Aud he had learned to love long ere he learned to run. XI. And while a chdd, in sunny fields he lay And gazed delighted on the soft blue sky, Where larks pursued their bright, melodious way, Until he wished for wings, that he might fly To lands unknown, or worlds dim-seen on high ; For there he thought the beautiful, the bright Would stand unveiled before his raptured eye • And haply one fair spirit, robed in light, His playmate might become, and guide him in his flight In those sweet hours, fair chfldhood's early prime, The young heart beating free and warm within, Ere life was shaded by a single crime, Unborn the wish forbidden fruit to win, And all unknown the very name of sin, How oft he yearned some mystic sprite to find, With whom life's earliest journeyings might begin Thro' those bright climes, creations of the mind, Where glorious shapes were seen, but dim and undefined !

XIII. The fount of life ! a flowery, bubbling spring, Fresh, pure, and cool, its waters undefiled, Whose wimpling waves a low-voiced music fling, Like songs of Eden while its garden smiled, And man had all the feelings of a clrild, Those pure emotions which at once impart Their own bright sunshine to each floweret wild, And throw far greater raptures o'er the heart Than after years can buy in Pleasure's crowded mart. xiv. In after years the memories of that time, The time of chddhood, played about his mind Like fragrant breezes from a spicy clime O'er some lone bark, so tossed by adverse wind, That scarce a hope survives the shore to find. Full oft the Pilgrim would those hours recall Which he had spent among his playmates kind, When all his wealth was simply hoop or ball, Yet happier he with them than kings with crown and all " Why should not man," he asked, " be like a child In feelings pure, and full of trust and love ?

Why wake the Passions, active, fierce, and wild, To drive him on thro' lawless paths to rove, Where guilt and pain still wait on each remove ? Alas for him ! how dearly doth he buy The fatal treasures which his manhood prove ! No more, no more, with clear, undazzled eye Can he look up and say ' My home is in the sky ! ' " XVI. In dreamy moods the Pilgrim's hours rolled on, And his young spirit took a loftier tone • The common world, with all its scenes, was gone, But he had formed a brighter, all his own, Where lived the Pure, the Beautiful alone. Mere earthly eyes ne'er saw such forms as played In graceful movements thro' that clime unknown, And led him on, a dreamer, in the shade, To wander all alone thro' field or woodland glade. XVII. He loved to haunt the solitary stream Which wound its quiet way thro' wood and dell On thyme-sweet banks for hours to he and dream; While here or there a straggling sunbeam fell, Which he would watch creep slow o'er mossy swell.

The birds grew tame, the fishes of the brook The Pilgrim's gentle nature knew so well, That they from him ne'er feared the treacherous hook, But round his hand would play, and in his facewould look. i XVIII. Amid these scenes of sylvan solitude The first fair vision of existence rose : It might be wild and dreamy as his mood, Yet pure and free from stain as Alpine snows, And, though it stirred, broke not Iris deep repose ; For round his path a Spirit walked unseen, Whose smile he felt coidd endless bliss disclose. Oh how he thrilled to meet that eye serene, Or catch some whispered tone, behind the leafy screen XIX. But life rolled on as life will ever roll, A headlong river, rushing towards the deep, Bearing away, beyond weak man's control, Each wish, each hope, in its resistless sweep, To that dread bourne where all earth's chddren sleep Long ere the PUgrim knew life's rapid waste, His first bright dream expiring made him weep • For he was placed where now, with fearful haste, The inexperienced rush sin's dreadful sweets to taste. xx.

LTp sprung the passions, while his youthful blood Ran warm and swift along each throbbing vein, Careering wildly 'round where Reason stood, And cried aloud to warn, and cried in vain, Of unseen danger or unending pain ! The wild young steed snuffs up the vernal air, And plunges headlong o'er the flowery plain, Tossing on high his mane of flowing hah-, And, snorting loud with joy, thinks not of future care. The glowing season of impassioned youth Brought forth at once life's choicest fruits and flowers For then the mind dreamed not of that dark truth, How grey-beard Time man's fleeting life devours, With all the joys bespread o'er youthful hours. Thus, while he revelled in that fairy clime, Or hoped for bhss in youth's enchanting bowers, His Use had glided past its hour of prime, Unheard the noiseless wings of unregarded Time.

XXII. Yet thro' that season of impetuous joy His heart still sighed to find that bhss unknown : From all the burning raptures which employ Youth's fervid hours he turned, to sigh alone, Nor sighed for them, but Thou wert not his own ! How oft his fancy traced thy awful form, When some new glory o'er his vision shone ! But while Iris heart with trembhng joy grew warm, The brightness died away, a rainbow in the storm. XXIII. Still evermore to seek Thee did he vow, Nor rest his foot till he had found thy shrine, In valley sweet, or mountain's cloudy brow ; Or in the deep and dark untrodden mine, Where purest gems with useless lustre shine ; Thro' ocean's caves, or thro' the desert drear • Or far beyond that dim ideal fine Which belts the world in circles here or there, Shifts as we shift, and still surrounds us everywhere.

First, thro' the schools — where mind rough-shaped its In devious lines abstruse, yet glorious still ; [course Thro' darkness working with gigantic force, To climb the future's steep-ascending hill, Where Truth at last the thirsty sold should fill, He wandered on and on, with eager pace, Lured by the hope that learning might distil Some precious drops, the gathering gloom to chace, And thro' the might of mind disclose that fairest face. XXV. He read old lore, where deep-involved there lay Stupendous thoughts unpolished from the mine, The first huge fragments man had torn away From Truth's hard quarry, and o'er which the line Was yet unstretched to give them shapes divine ; Though rough, uneven, dark, and quaintly thrown In strange confusion, or more strange design, Yet still containing, like great Nature's own, Those elemental truths which later times have known.

XXVI. He watched the mind with native strength endued, Burst one by one the fetters which controlled Its growing power to grasp infinitude, And walk abroad the universe, more bold With each succeeding and still firmer hold It took of things yet tangible and sound, Until at last with fearless wing it rolled On thro' the vast, the trackless, the profound, And measured in its flight infinity's dark round. c With reverend steps he paced the solemn grove Sacred, divine Philosophy ! to thee : Heard from thy lips how he should Wisdom love, And trace thy footsteps in simplicity, If all those hidden treasures he would see. But flitting shadows led his feet astray, And hollow words of janghng mockery; Each new pretender found some newer way ; And all before were wrong — in him true wisdom lay. XXVIII.

Yet here and there some scattered lights arose, Dispersing darkness in their little sphere : A Socrates or Plato might disclose Some half-born truth -with hesitating fear, Which gleamed awhile, and then would disappear. On Ethnic error monkish fable grew, Which darkened all Philosophy made clear, And left the mind its progress to pursue With cabalistic forms, and lines occult its clue. XXIX Till on the ground where Science took her stand, And spoke of facts and principles of things, Her ride and compass ever in her hand, (For still to demonstration Science clings, And clips Imagination's wandering wings,) He paused awhile to listen to her speech, And catch the flashing radiance which she flings, Until he found even her unfit to teach His labouring mind to gain the height he hoped to reach Emerging slowly from the fettered schools With thee, great prober of eternal truth, Immortal Bacon, whose few simple rules Were better far than all those forms uncouth Which schoolmen used to curb the mind of youth, With thee he learned all curious facts to scan, Just as they rose in unadorned sooth : Then side by side to place them as they ran, And thus discern at last the mystery of Man.

XXXI. Yet whrie his heart exulted to behold That giant hand each antique fetter break, The big tears bursting thro' their sluices rolled In plenteous streams adown his youthful cheek, To see that mind so mighty, yet so weak ! Blush, Nature, blush ! — thy paragon is nought ! What humbling tales these Titan ruins speak ! The man who grasped the universe of thought, Like men of feeble minds by paltry bribes was bought ! XXXII. Beside great Newton, who with patient thought Gazed on the stars and plummed the untrodden sky, The Prigrim watched, while he sublimely wrought That wondrous scale of mighty orbs on high, Where mapped and dotted down the planets he : Each wandering star, its wanderings all designed, However rarely seen by human eye ; Even those strange fires, eccentric as the mind, The comets yet to come, had all their paths defined.

And what a book was spread before his eye ! Thrice-glorious volume ! lettered all with light ; Where every fine that ran along the sky Was teeming o'er with glory, full and bright ! The sun by day, the moon and stars by night, Sublimely eloquent of skill divine ; Still holding forth, like missals, to the sight The wondrous God, by whom they learned to shine Prophetic of all joy — his ultimate design ! XXXIV. Yet though the book lay open to his view, And bring voices sang amid the spheres, His earth-bound soul no inspiration drew; But sounds confused came tinghng in his ears Of prostrate hopes and overwhelming fears : He felt how vast the universe must be Where this dim world but like a speck appears ; And sighed to think how little he could see Of that sublime expanse o'erarched with mystery.

XXXV. Then where the mind a mazy labyrinth lay In soundless depths, or strange mysterious ties, With virtuous Locke he strove to find his way By Reason's torch and Truth's analogies. But most of all the Pilgrim learned to prize The stainless glory of that lofty mind, Whose bright example shewed him how to rise To intellectual beauty most refined, With moral excellence and piety combined. For he had heard of some whose genius shed The richest rays of elevating right, But in whose hearts the darker passions bred The baleful power to desolate and blight Each rising joy, each flower, however bright ; And thus the gold to worthless dross was turned, The stately temple faded from his sight : For Truth is pure, and soon the Pilgrim learned That on her sacred shrine pure incense only burned. xxxvn.

These pale faint emblems of that perfect grace, Which filled his soul with passionate desire, Made small amends for lack of that loved face Whose viewless glory kept his heart on fire, And made each joy, howe'er exalted, tire. Wherefore he turned his weary steps aside, To view those scenes his fellow-men admire, Which though not all unstained with shades of pride, Belong to Beauty still, save when to vice allied. xxxvm. In those proud halls where eloquence unfolds The soul-felt music of her magic strain, Charms the rapt sense, the captive spirit moulds, Or wakes each passion in its turn to reign — Now raised to madness with ideal pain, Or soothed to pitying tears by pictured woe — With anxious ear he listened, to obtain Some clue to guide, some hand the way to show; But evermore in vain : the path they did not know.

Colossal piles, where Architecture reared Huge emanations of gigantic thought, In whose elaborate workmanship appeared Exceeding glory to the skill which wrought Such wondrous piles, by more than Nature taught ; There, underneath the fretted dome, he trod, To find the object he so long had sought, But trod in vain ! Though they were built for God, 'Twas pride — mere human pride — first raised them from the sod. XL. Immortal Genius o'er the canvas shed A living radiance of his own, bright-hued; Waked up a glory which all time o'erspread, And forms long dead with lasting rife imbued. Amid those groups the Prigrim's eye pursued The search protracted, happy yet to find Some undiscovered glory, dark, subdued, The proud creation of a master-mind, In which that face unseen might dimly rise defined.

XLI. On Titian's forms, with matchless grace endued, Or Raffaelle's angels, floating in mid air ; On dark Salvator and his outlaws rude, Or Claude Lorraine amid his landscapes fair ; On gems by names unknown, as rich as rare, — He pored intent, if haply he might trace Some shadowy clue, by which he might repair, With reverend steps, but with redoubled pace, To that unknown abode — to Beauty's dwelling-place. Where Sculpture raised her forms of marble life His eye reposed with exquisite delight : They stood so calm and still, so free from strife, In their cold robes of pure, delicious white, As if they joined the sense of touch to sight : All round about them such deep silence dwelt, That babbling language seemed extinguished quite ; Yet in their looks great thoughts were inly spelt, And fixed with rigid force, that passion could not melt.

XLIII. A holy child was kneeling, bowed in prayer, His fair young face turned upward to the sky : Such soul-felt confidence was pictured there, Such touching eloquence was in the eye, That, though the Pilgrim smiled, he turned to sigh : He smried to see that child so near to heaven, So full of God, so fit for bliss on high ; He sighed to think that bark might yet be driven Among those dangerous rocks where many a bark was riven. XLIV. A httle babe was sleeping as he lay Beside his mother, who was sleeping too ; His pouting rips appeared just turned away From that fair fount whence rife flowed warm and new; And still he smiled as if the precious dew Yet shed its balmy sweetness on his tongue ; The mother to her breast the child still drew, As if even sleep did but her love prolong, That passion of her soul — that flame than death more strong.

Lhopes XLV. One marble form the Pilgrim's heart did chid : 'Twas a young girl that seemed about to die ; She looked as though her pulse was nearly still The film of death just creeping o'er her eye, Which still turned up devoutly to the sky. The resignation in her features traced Rebuked the Pilgrim's weak, repining cry : If she thus calm an early death embraced, Why should his heart still bleed for his young defaced ?

Canto II

i. Deep in the soul of all created things The latent seeds of harmony abound : From one great source the sum of Nature springs : Hence woods and wilds and desert rocks are found With mystic language filled and subtle sound. Not false the fable which made trees rejoice, But full of truth and wisdom most profound : 'Twas Nature answering to her Maker's voice, Responsive to his call, and glorying in his choice. n. In trees and stones, in rocks and caves and dells, In streams and seas, in fields and flowery meads, A secret life, a mystic spirit dwells : But who the language of their being reads, Or spells the tones their varying nature needs, Who but the Poet ? He, and he alone, Gives voice and words to woods and worthless weeds ; And thus interprets every secret tone WhichNature would discourse, to makeher feelings known.

Thus judged the Pilgrim of immortal song, Where periods smooth with answering cadence twine, Like confluent streams, harmonious, clear, and strong, And fancy, feeling, truth, and nature join To swell with sense the strong, full-flowing line. When loftiest flights with lowliest truths agree, And passions pure with rapturous warmth combine ; When Nature speaks in language bold and free, And sense and sound are one — this, this is Poetry ! IV. Thus to his eye the ancient poets rose, Majestic men, high priests of Nature, all ; Who first stood forth her secrets to disclose, And wake the soul to sweet Apollo's call. There Homer, Sappho, Virgil — names which fall Like music, full of power to charm the ear, And still hold fast the willing world in thrall, — A world not won at first by sword and spear, But by the power of Song — a triumph far more dear i v. Nor unobserved the rights of that dark age When o'er the world a triple mantle lay, And man displayed the worm's aurelian stage, Ere yet the cumbrous crust is flung away, Which gives the new-winged creature to the day.

He wept with Petrarch o'er fair Laura's tomb ; With Tasso's knights he joined in war's array; He saw Boccaccio's magic gardens bloom ; And dived with Dante down thro' hell's eternal gloom. VI. But dearer far he loved the lays which filled Each shady valley in Iris native clime : His heart beat high as o'er the page he thrilled Of those stern songsters of the olden time, Who first biult up the frame of English rhyme. With Gower and Chaucer he sojourned awhile, Not unforgetful of his quest sublime ; O'er Skelton's humour he would faintly smile, Or list to Lydgate's tale, his journey to beguile. VII. On Ida's hill the Muses long had pined, Since Greece had lost her altitude of soul, And lost her freedom when her slavish mind Had made her fit for tyranny's control. In vain the Muses winged from pole to pole, To gain some spot where Freedom might be found : Back to their sdent groves abashed they stole, For in their search o'er earth's extensive round Dark ignorance prevaded, and slaves crawled o'er the ground.

VIII. Untd at length Britannia woke to life, And reared her head majestic o'er the waves, Proclaimed against all tyrants lasting strife, And promised freedom to their trembling slaves. Then thrilled the Muses in their distant caves, And one and all came thronging to the land Where men were Men, preferring glorious graves To rife, if shorn of liberty to stand Secure in equal rights, where laws alone command. O'er every plain the gladsome Muses strayed, By each clear streamlet, through each bosky dell ; Now in some ancient wood or sdent glade They clapped their hands and danced, their joy to tell, And cried aloud, " Here will we ever dwell ! " They stretched away by dales and flowery hills, And vales o'er which huge mountain-shadows fell, Whose teeming breasts sent forth the leaping rills Which fall in sylvan glens, and brawl thro' lonely mills. x Then Britain's isle grew full of gentle sounds ; Harmonious voices thro' the air did sail ; The fairies nightly danced their mystic rounds, And shepherds piped in every leafy dale, Arcadia not more fair, nor Tempe's vale : Pierian springs gushed forth, and, babbling on Thro' daisied meads, made music to the gale, Which fell intranced, in whispering echoes gone, And England's spacious isle was one wide Helicon.