Remains of ... C. W. With a brief memoir of his life, by ... J. A. Russell, etc

Front matter

REMAINS OF THE LATE REV. CHARLES WOLFE, A. B. LONDON : PRINTED BY S. AND 11. BENTLEY, Doiset Street, Fleet Street. 'MET? Q__IAU81LE§ WOLFE.M-A. f /(,/ la rrr/ /,/ 'I . //. y, i //,■///,/ _/ ,,IU I /iy fy. __ PuilisAtddy Ba,ndli,a..4danis & C° Z32S. REMAINS OF THE LATE REV. CHARLES WOLFE, A. B. CURATE OF DONOUGHMORE, DIOCESS OF ARMAGH. / j» WITH A BRIEF MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE. BY THE REV. JOHN A. RUSSELL, M.A. ARCHDEACON OF CLOGHER. FOURTH EDITION. LONDON: PRINTED FOR HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO., 33, PATERNOSTER ROM'. M.DCCC.XXIX.

Preface

. It was long a matter of painful doubt to the Editor whether he should be justi fiable in committing to the press the collection of Remains contained in this volume : convinced as he was that none of them were ever designed for that purpose by the Author himself, who, indeed, would have shrunk from the idea of publication. How ever, his hesitation has been overborne by the strong" hope that they may prove gene rally instructive as well as interesting, and afford a peculiar gratification to a wide circle of friends. b PEE FACE. VI It was at first intended to publish the Sermons only ; but, on a more mature con sideration, it seemed advisable to give a short account of the Author, interspersed with his poems and other remains, particularly as many of them have been for a con siderable time in private circulation amongst a few acquaintances, and would, most pro bably, have found their way to the press in some other shape.

In fact, their pub lication appeared inevitable ; and it there fore seemed better that they should go forth to the public through the hands of a friend, who was in possession of all the original manuscripts, and who had also the happiness of an uninterrupted intimacy and communication with the Author, from the time he entered college until his lamented death. The state in which the papers were committed to him rendered it a task of greater labour to select, arrange, and tran-

PREFACE.

. VII scribe them for the press, than can easily be imagined. This circumstance, and the late arrival of some promised communica tions, caused a greater delay in the publication than the writer could have antici pated. The miscellaneous nature of the work may possibly render it more generally use ful than one exclusively upon religious sub jects. Many, who admire the raptures of the poet, may be induced to regard with re verence the instructions of the divine : they may feel a peculiar desire to mark what thoughts a heart, animated by the Muse, can bring forth when hallowed by a loftier and purer inspiration. The Editor is painfully conscious how imperfect is the sketch which he has here given of the Author's life and character ; and must throw himself upon the indulgence of the friends who are most deeply inter ested in the work, with an humble hope

PREFACE.

. that they will make candid allowance for any error of judgment, or defect in exe cution, which they may observe in the per formance of the pleasing but anxious task he has had to fulfil. CONTENTS. PAGE Memoir ...... 1 '' Jugurtha incarceratus, vitam ingemit relictam" 8 Battle of Busaco ; Deliverance of Portugal . . 19 Burial of Sir John Moore ... 29 Spanish Song ..... 37 The Grave of Dermid .... 38 Song ...... 42 Song ...... 44 The Frailty of Beauty . . . .45 The College Course .... 49 Patriotism ...... 64 Fragments of a Speech delivered in the Chair, in the Historical Society .... 70 Farewell to Lough Bray . . . .97 Song ...... 99 The Dargle . . . . .101 Birth-day Poem ..... 108 Song . . . . . .111 To a Friend . . . . .113 Speech before a Meeting of the Irish Tract Society, Edinburgh, May 1821 . . .172 CONTENTS.

X PAGE 223 240 257 275 288 306 SERMONS. SERMON I. ECCLESIASTES, XH. 1. Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth SERMON II. Hebrews, xi. 1. Faith is the substance of things hoped for ; the evidence of things not seen .... SERMON III. Genesis, i. 26. And God said, let us make man in our image, after our likeness ..... SERMON IV. Matthew, xiii. 44. The kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth, and selleth all that he hath, and bityeth that field SERMON V. Matthew, xi. 28. Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavi/ laden, and I will give you rest SERMON VI. Matthew, ix. 12- They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick . . . . CONTENTS. XI 1 PAGE 232 339 350 364 378 395 SERMON VII. 1 Corinthians, vi. 20.

Ye are bought with a. price SERMON VIII. Colossians, iii. 2. Set your a/sections on things above, not on things on the earth SERMON IX. Luke, ix. 23. And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow me . SERMON X. Matthew, xi. 30. My yoke is easy, and my burden is light SERMON XI. Romans, v. 12. By one man sin entered into the world SERMON XII. 1 Corinthians, xiii. 12, 13. Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face ; now I know in part ; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity .... CONTENTS. page 409 425 437 449 453 454 461 462 462 463 SERMON XIII. Ecclesiastes, viii. 11. Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily ; therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil SERMON XIV. 1 John, iv. 10.

Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins ..... SERMON XV. 1 Corinthians, x. 13. There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able ; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it ...

Appendix

. Observations on Religious Poetry Jesus raising Lazarus On the Death of Abel (prize poem) Græcia capta serum Victorem cepit Principiis Obsta Ira furor brevis est Miscellaneous Thoughts REMAINS i IK THE REV. CHARLES WOLFE. In attempting to sketch even a brief Memoir of a friend, whose existence had been for many years blended with our own, there are difficulties which may be more easily conceived than described. It is hard to restrain the pen from the ex pression of feelings which to others would be tedious and uninteresting. It is hard also to speak fully and freely of the immediate subject of the narrative, without an apparent self-obtrusion. This, however, shall be care fully avoided in the present little work ; the object of which is simply, to collect the Remains, and record a few particulars of the life and character of one, little known to the I! world; but who, throughout the circle in which he moved, excited an interest which cannot easily be forgotten, and diffused blessings with which his name and his memory will long be held in grateful association.

Amidst the pensive recollections awakened by an attempt to record the life of a departed friend, there may be much to afford comfort and instruction to one's self, which it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to convey to an uninterested reader. It can easily be con ceived in general, Avith what a tender and prevailing influence the instructions received at former periods of life come home to the heart, when they are associated with the recollection of the amiable qualities, the exalted principles, and the early death of a cherished friend, from whom they have been imbibed. " Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance " (says an eloquent writer),* it will be a con " solation that they are not entirely lost to us. " Wise monitions, when they return on us " with this melancholy charm, have more pa " thetic cogency than when they were first ut " tered by the voice of a living friend."

" It * Foster's Essays, p. 16. " will be an interesting occupation to recount " the advantages which we have received from " beings who have left the world, and to rein " force our virtues from the dust of those who " first taught them." Such have been the feelings of the writer, and such will probably be the feelings of other friends upon the recollections which this little memoir may awaken. But upon these sentiments it is unnecessary, as it would perhaps be obtrusive, to dilate. I shall therefore pass on to the immediate subject of the memoir. To those who have personally known him whose Remains are presented in this volume to the public, it may be satisfactory to learn some particulars of his life. Charles Wolfe was the youngest son of Theobald Wolfe, Esq. of Blackhall, county Kildare.

His mother was the daughter of the Rev. Peter Lombard. He was born in Dublin, 14th December, in the year 1791- The family from which he was descended has not been un distinguished. Through the military achieve ments of the illustrious hero of Quebec, the name stands conspicuous upon the records of British renown. It has also been signalised a at the Irish bar, especially in the person of the much-lamented Lord Kilwarden, one of the same family, who was elevated to the dignity of the judicial bench. At an early age the subject of this memoir lost his father ; not long after whose death the family removed to England, where they resided for some years. Charles was sent to a school in Bath in the year 1801 ; from which, in a few months, he was obliged to return home in consequence of the delicacy of his health, which interrupted his education for twelve months.

Upon his recovery, he was placed under the tuition of Dr. Evans, in Salisbury, from which he was removed in the year 1805 ; and soon after was sent as a boarder to Winchester school, of which Mr. Richards sen. was then the able master. There he soon distinguished himself by his great proficiency in classical knowledge, and by his early powers in Latin and Greek versification, and displayed the dawnings of a genius which promised to set him amidst that bright constellation of British poets which adorns the literature of the present age. The many high testimonies to his amiable disposition and superior talents, which are supplied by the affectionate letters of his school masters, shew that he was not overvalued by his own family, with every member of which he seems to have been the special favourite.

I can not better describe the manner in which his cha racter as a boy was appreciated at school and at home, and how deservedly it was so prized, than in the following simple language of a very near relative, to whom I am indebted for some of the particulars of his life already mentioned. " The letters I enclose you bear testimony to " the amiable character of my dear, dear '■ Charles, such as I ever remember it. Those " from Mr. Richards I can better estimate than " any one else, from knowing that he was not " easily pleased in a pupil, or apt to flatter. " He was greatly attracted by superior talents ; " but you will see that he speaks of qualities " of more value. He never received even a " slight punishment or reprimand at any school " to which he ever went ; and in nearly twelve " years that he was under my mother's care, I " cannot recollect that he ever acted contrary " to her wishes, or caused her a moment's " pain, except parting with her when he went " to school.

I do not know whether he ever " told you that he had, when a boy, a wish to " enter the army, which was acquired by being " in the way of military scenes ; but, when he " found it would give his mother pain, he to " tally gave up the idea, which I am sure, all his " life, he thanked God that he had done. In " 1808 he left Winchester (where he had been " three years), owing to our coming to Ireland, " as my mother could not think of leaving him " behind. His company was her first earthly " comfort, and she could not relinquish it ; " indeed, we used to count the hours when the " time drew near that he was expected. We " were often told that we should spoil him, but " you know whether it was so. When we arrived " in Ireland, it was intended that he should go " to some other school ; but he did not go to " any, nor had he any one to read Avith him, so " that he entered college with much less pre " vious instruction than most others.

I believe " you knew him soon after; and I need not tell " you of him since, or what he has been, even if " I could. I have never heard of a schoolfellow " or a college acquaintance who did not respect " or love him ; but I will not say more to you." The pleasing testimony to his character and abilities contained in this extract is indeed fully borne out by the accounts which some of his schoolfellows have given of him to the writer. They spoke of him with the strongest affection, and represented him as the pride of Winchester school. Some of the poems and Latin verses by which he distinguished him self there, shall appear at the close of this volume. In the year 1809, he entered the University of Dublin, under the tuition of the late Rev. Dr. Davenport, who immediately conceived the highest interest for him, and continued to shew it by special proofs of his favour.

In a few months after his entrance, the writer had the happiness of becoming acquainted with him. This casual acquaintance soon became a cordial intimacy, which quickly ripened into a friendship that continued not only uninterrupted, but was cemented more and more by constant in tercourse, and by community of pursuits : it was, above all, improved and sweetened by an unreserved interchange of thoughts on those subjects which affect our eternal interests, and open to us the prospects of friendships which death can only suspend, but not destroy. Our author immediately distinguished him self by his high classical attainments, for which he was early rewarded by many academical honours. The first English poem which at tracted general notice was written very early in his college course, upon a subject proposed by the heads of the university.

It evinces a boldness of thought, a vigour of expression, and somewhat of a dramatic spirit, which seems to entitle it to a place in this little collection ; and it shall therefore be presented first in order to the reader. The prison-scene of Jugurtha (which is the subject of the poem) gave the author full scope for a masterly exhibition of the darkest and deadliest passions of human nature in fierce conflict. Disappointed ambition, revenge, despair, remorse, were to be re presented as raging by turns in the captive's mind, or dashing, as it were, against each other, and struggling for utterance. The sub ject was proposed in the following form — " JUGURTHA INCARCERATUS, VITAM INGEMIT RELICTAM." Well — is the rack prepared — the pincers heated ? Where is the scourge ? How ! — not employ 'd in Rome ?

We have them in Numidia. Not in Rome ? I'm sorry for it ; I could enjoy it now ; I might have felt them yesterday ; hut now , — Now I have seen my funeral procession : The chariot-wheels of Marius have roll'd o'er me : His horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph, — I have attain'd that terrible consummation My soul could stand aloof, and from on high Look down upon the ruins of my body, Smiling in apathy : I feel no longer ; I challenge Rome to give another pang. — Gods ! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause Before his car, and scowl upon the mob ; The curse of Rome was burning on my lips, And I had gnaw'd my chain, and hurl'd it at them But that I knew he would have smiled again. — A king ! and led before the gaudy Marius, Before those shouting masters of the world, As if I had been conquer'd ; while each street, Each peopled wall, and each insulting window, Peal'd forth their brawling triumphs o'er my head.

Oh ! for a lion from thy woods, Numidia ! — Or had I, in that moment of disgrace, Enjoy'd the freedom but of yonder slave, I would have made my monument in Rome. Yet am I not that fool, that Roman fool, To think disgrace entombs the hero's soul, — For ever damps his fires, and dims his glories ; That no bright laurel can adorn the brow That once has bow'd ; no victory's trumpet-sound Can drown in joy the rattling of his chains : No ; — could one glimpse of victory and vengeance Dart preciously across me, I could kiss Thy footstep's dust again ; then all in flame, With Massinissa's energies unquench'd, Start from beneath thy chariot-wheels, and grasp The gory laurel reeking in my view, And force a passage through disgrace to glory — Victory ! Vengeance ! Glory ! — Oh these chains ! My soul 's in fetters, too ; for, from this moment, Through all eternity I see but — death ; To me there 's nothing future now, but death : Then come and let me gloom upon the past. — So then — Numidia 's lost ; those daring projects — (Projects that ne'er were breathed to mortal man, That would have startled Marius on his car), O'erthrown, defeated !

What avails it now, That my proud views despised the narrow limits, Which minds that span and measure out ambition Had fix'd to mine ; and, while I seem'd intent On savage subjects and Numidian forests, My soul had pass'd the bounds of Africa ! — Defeated, overthrown ! yet to the last Ambition taught me hope, and still my mind, Through danger, flight, and carnage, grasp'd dominion And had not Bocchus — curses, curses on him ! — What Rome has done, she did it for ambition ; What Rome has done, I might — I would have done ; What thou hast done, thou wretch ! — Oh had she proved Nobly deceitful ; had she seized the traitor, And join'd him with the fate of the betray'd, I had forgiven her all ; for he had been The consolation of my prison hours ; I could forget my woes in stinging him ; And if, before this day, his little soul Had not in bondage wept itself away, Rome and Jugurtha should have triumph'd o'er him.

Look here, thou caitiff, if thou canst, and see The fragments of Jugurtha ; view him wrapt In the last shred he borrow'd from Numidia ; 'Tis cover'd with the dust of Rome ; behold His rooted gaze upon the chains he wears, And on the channels they have wrought upon him ; Then look around upon his dungeon walls, And view yon scanty mat, on which his frame He flings, and rushes from his thoughts to sleep. Sleep ! I '11 sleep no more, until I sleep for ever : When I slept last, I heard Adherbal scream. I '11 sleep no more ! I '11 think until I die : My eyes shall pore upon my miseries, Until my miseries shall be no more. — Yet wherefore did he scream ? Why, I have heard His living scream, — it was not half so frightful. Whence comes the difference ? When the man was living, Why, I did gaze upon his couch of torments With placid vengeance, and each anguish'd cry Gave me stern satisfaction ; now he 's dead, And his lips move not ; yet his voice's image Flash'd such a dreadful darkness o'er my soul, I would not mount Numidia's throne again, Did every night bring such a scream as that.

Oh yes, 'twas I that caused that living one, And therefore did its echo seem so frightful : — If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee ; Wilt thou not be contented ; — But thou say'st, " My father was to thee a father also ; " He watch'd thy infant years, he gave thee all " That youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came " Than came a kingdom also; yet didst thou" Oh I am faint ! — they have not brought me food — How did I not perceive it until now ? Hold, — my Numidian cruise is still about me — No drop within — Oh faithful friend ! companion Of many a weary march and thirsty day, 'Tis the first time that thou hast fail'd my lips. — Gods ! I 'm in tears ! — I did not think of weeping. Oh, Marius, wilt thou ever feel like this ? — Ha ! — I behold the ruins of a city ; And on a craggy fragment sits a form That seems in ruins also : how unmoved, How stern he looks !

Amazement ! it is Marius ! Ha ! Marius, think'st thou now upon Jugurtha ? He turns ! he 's caught my eye ! I see no more ! THE KEAr. C. WOLFE. 13 The above poem Avas Avritten in the first year of his college course, at which early period he had gained the highest distinction amongst his contemporaries for his classical attainments. Towards the close of the same year, he had to sustain a severe domestic affliction, in the death of his mother, — an event Avhich wrought upon his affectionate heart an impression of the deepest regret. As soon as he was enabled to resume his studies, he entered upon them with diligence. He did not, at first, apply with much inter est or assiduity to the course of science pre scribed in our uniA'ersity ; and it appears that the circumstance which first led him to be stoAV upon it the attention proportioned to its importance, Avas a desire to assist some less gifted acquaintance in that branch of his academic pursuits.

This was indeed truly charac teristic of his natural disposition, which ever led him to apply himself Avith greater zeal in promoting the adArantage or interest of others than his own. It had, howeA'er, a faAourable effect upon his own studies, as it drew out his talents for scientific acquirements, and gaA*e such an impulse to his progress that he soon after won the prize from the most distinguished competitors, at an examination in which the severer sciences formed the leading subjects. When his circumstances, some time afterwards, rendered it expedient for him to undertake the duties of a college tutor, he dis charged the task with such singular devoted ness and disinterested anxiety, as materially to entrench upon his own particular studies. He was indeed so prodigal of his labour and of his time to each pupil, that he reserved little leisure for his own pursuits or relaxations.

At the usual period he obtained a scholar ship, with the highest honour, upon which he immediately became a resident in college. A new theatre of literary honour was opened to him at the commencement of the same year, where his genius for composition in prose and verse, and his natural powers of oratorical ex cellence, had more ample sphere for exercise and cultivation. In the Historical Society, of which he was now admitted a member, they were encouraged and expanded by the stimulus of generous competition, and by constant men tal collision with the most accomplished and enlightened of his fellow-students. He soon obtained medals for oratory, and for compositions in prose and verse ; and was early ap pointed to the honourable office of opening the sessions, after the summer recess, by a speech from the chair.

This was the grand post of distinction to which the most successful speak ers in the society continually aspired. The main object of the address was to unfold the advantages resulting from the Institution, and to expatiate at large upon its three leading departments, — History, Poetry, and Oratory. Our author, though he had not fully completed his speech, was received with the highest ap plause, and the gold medal was adjudged to him by unanimous acclamation. This speech seems never to have been written out fairly ; but some fragments of it have been preserAred, which, with a few other of his early produc tions, shall be presented to the reader in the course of this volume. Most of his poems were written within a very short period, during his abode in college ; but the order in which they were composed cannot be exactly ascertained.

It is not the editor's object to enter into any minute critique upon the seAreral fugitive little pieces which are here collected together. They shall be accompanied principally Avith such brief notices as may appear necessary to throw light upon the occasions which gave rise to them, and the circumstances under which they were written. The next specimen of his poetical talents, which it may not be uninteresting to insert here, seems to have been but little Aralued by himself, as he never took the trouble of tran scribing more than a few lines from the first rude sketch. His native modesty, and the fas tidious judgment which he exercised over all his own compositions, led him often to under value what even his most judicious friends approved and admired. The subject of the present poem is one of great historical interest.

It chiefly refers to the battle of Busaco, which first inspired the allied armies with mutual confidence, and led the way to those successful struggles which terminated in the complete deliverance of Por tugal from the usurpation and tyranny of France. A brief account of this engagement, extracted from the Edinburgh Annual Register (vol. iii. p. 462), may form an appropriate introduction to the poem. " Busaco, which was now to become fa " mous in British history, had long been a " venerable name in Portugal. It is the only " place in that kingdom where the barefooted " Carmelites possessed what, in their language, " is called a desert, an establishment where " those brethren Avhose devotion flies to the " highest pitch, may at once enjoy the ad " vantage of the eremite, with the security of " the cenobite life ; one of those places Avhere " man has comerted an earthly paradise into " a purgatory for himself, but where super " stition almost seems sanctified by eA*ery " thing around it.

The solitude and silence " of Busaco Avere noAV to be broken by evrents, " in which its hermits, dead as they Avere to " the world, might be permitted to feel all the " agitation of Avorldly hope and fear. The " British and Portuguese army was posted " along the ridge, extending nearly eight " miles, and forming the segment of a circle. " whose extreme points embraced every part " of the enemy's position, and from Avhence " every movement of the enemy beloAv could " be immediately observed. On the 26th " Sept. 1810, the light troops on both sides V " were engaged throughout the line ; at six " on the following morning, the French made " two desperate attacks upon Lord Welling- " ton's position ; one on the right, the other " on the left of the highest point of the sierra : " this spot is remarkable, as commanding one " of the most extensive views in Portugal ; " and on the very summit stands a cross, " planted upon a basis of masonry of such " magnitude, that it is said three thousand " carts of stone were used in the work.

One " division of French infantry gained the top " of the ridge, and was driven back with the " bayonet ; another division, farther on the " right, was repulsed before it could reach the " top. On the left they made their attack " with three divisions, only one of which " made any progress towards the summit, and " this was charged with the bayonet, and " driven down with immense loss. Some of " the Portuguese charging a superior force, "■ got so' wedged in among them, that they " had not room to use their bayonets ; they " turned up the but-ends of their muskets, " and plied them with such vigour, as com " pletely to clear the way." BATTLE OF BUSACO; DELIVERANCE OF PORTUGAL. The breeze sigh'd sadly o'er the midnight flood ; On Lisbon's towers Don Henry's spirit stood : He wore not helm, he wore not casque ; his hair Stream'd like a funeral banner in the air : In mournful attitude, with aspect drear, He held reversed his country's guardian spear ; Dark was his eye. and gloomy was his brow, He gazed with sternness on the wave below ; Then thrice aloft the deathful spear he shook, While sorrow's torrent from his bosom broke : — Fiends ! may the angel of destruction shed This blood-red cup of horrors on your head !