Poems on Various Subjects

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POEMS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS,

BY S. T. COLERIDGE,

LATE OF JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

Monody on the Death of Chatterton

ON THE

DEATH OF CHATTERTON.

WHEN faint and sad o'er Sorrow's desart wild Slow journeys onward poor Misfortune's child; When fades each lovely form by Fancy drest, And inly pines the self-consuming breast; No scourge of scorpions in thy right arm dread, No helmed terrors nodding o'er thy head,

Assume, O DEATH! the cherub wings of PEACE, And bid the heart-sick Wanderer's anguish cease!

Thee, Chatterton! yon unblest stones protect From Want, and the bleak Freezings of neglect! Escap'd the fore wounds of Affliction's rod Meek at the Throne of Mercy, and of God, Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptur'd hymn Amid the blaze of Seraphim!

Yet oft ('tis nature's bosom-startling call) I weep, that heaven-born Genius so should fall; And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl. Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view Thy corse of livid hue;

And now a flash of indignation high Darts thro' the tear, that glistens in mine eye!

Is this the land of song-ennobled line? Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain Pour'd forth his lofty strain? Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, Beneath chill Disappointment's shade, His weary limbs in lonely anguish lay'd And o'er her darling dead Pity hopeless hung her head, While "mid the pelting of that merciless storm," Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form!

Sublime of thought, and confident of fame, From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel came. Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along, He meditates the future song, How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacyan foes; And, as floating high in air Glitter the sunny visions fair, His eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows! Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, With generous joy he views th' ideal wealth; He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of praise He marks the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze; Or, where the sorrow-shrivell'd captive lay, Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray: And now, indignant, "grasps the patriot steel," And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel.

Clad in Nature's rich array, And bright in all her tender hues, Sweet tree of Hope! thou loveliest child of Spring! How fair didst thou disclose thine early bloom, Loading the west-winds with its soft perfume! And Fancy, elfin form of gorgeous wing, On every blossom hung her softering dews, That, changeful, wanton'd to the orient day! But soon upon thy poor unsheltered head Did Penury her sickly mildew shed: And soon the scathing Lightning bade thee stand In frowning horror o'er the blighted land!

Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace, And Joy's wild gleams, that lighten'd o'er thy face?

Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye! Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view, On thy cold forehead starts the anguish'd dew: And dreadful was that bosom-rending sigh!

Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour, When Care, of wither'd brow, Prepar'd the poison's death-cold power: Already to thy lips was rais'd the bowl, When near thee stood Affection meek (Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek) Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll On scenes that well might melt thy soul; Thy native cot she flash'd upon thy view, Thy native cot, where still, at close of day, Peace smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay;

Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear, And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear; See, see her breast's convulsive throe, Her silent agony of woe! Ah! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand!

And thou had'st dash'd it, at her soft command But that Despair and Indignation rose, And told again the story of thy woes; Told the keen insult of th' unfeeling heart; The dread dependence on the low-born mind; Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart, Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combin'd! Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain Roll the black tide of Death thro' every freezing vein!

Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, To Fancy's ear sweet is your murm'ring deep! For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave; Watching, with wistful eye, the sad'ning tints of eve. Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove, Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide Lone-glittering, thro' the high tree branching wide. And here, in Inspiration's eager hour, When most the big soul feels the madning pow'r, These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er, Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, With wild unequal steps he pass'd along Oft pouring on the winds a broken song: Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow Would pause abrupt—and gaze upon the waves below

Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate Who would have prais'd and lov'd thee, ere too late. Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues This chaplet cast I on thy unshap'd tomb; But dare no longer on the sad theme muse, Left kindred woes persuade a kindred doom: For oh! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing, Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring; And the stern Fate transpierc'd with viewless dart The last pale Hope, that shiver'd at my heart!

Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shall dwell On joys that were! No more endure to weigh The shame and anguish of the evil day, Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell Sublime of Hope I seek the cottag'd dell Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray;

And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay, The wizard passions weave an holy spell!

O, Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive! Sure thou would'st spread the canvas to the gale, And love, with us, the tinkling team to drive O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale; And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng, Hanging, enraptur'd, on thy stately song! And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy All deftly mask'd, as hoar Antiquity.

Alas vain Phantasies! the fleeting brood Of Woe self-solac'd in her dreamy mood! Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream, Where Susquehannah pours his untam'd stream;

And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide, Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee, Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy! And there, sooth'd sadly by the dirgeful wind, Muse on the sore ills I had left behind.

To the Rev. W. J. H.

TO THE

Rev. W. J. H.

WHILE TEACHING A YOUNG LADY SOME SONG-TUNES

ON HIS FLUTE.

I.

HUSH! ye clamorous Cares! be mute!

Again, dear Harmonist! again Thro' the hollow of thy flute Breathe that passion-warbled strain:

Till Memory each form shall bring The loveliest of her shadowy throng; And Hope, that soars on sky-lark wing, Carol wild her gladdest song!

II.

O skill'd with magic spell to roll

The thrilling tones, that concentrate the soul! Breathe thro' thy flute those tender notes again, While near thee sits the chaste-eyed Maiden mild; And bid her raise the Poet's kindred strain In soft impassion'd voice, correctly wild.

III.

In Freedom's undivided dell,

Where Toil and Health with mellow'd Love shall dwell,

Far from folly, far from men, In the rude romantic glen, Up the cliff, and thro' the glade, Wand'ring with the dear-lov'd maid, I shall listen to the lay, And ponder on thee far away! Still, as she bids those thrilling notes aspire ("Making my fond attuned heart her lyre") Thy honor'd form, my Friend! shall re-appear, And I will thank thee with a raptur'd tear.

Songs of the Pixies

SONGS

OF

THE PIXIES.

The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half way up a wood-cover'd hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old trees form its cieling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the Author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.

To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies, during the Summer months of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.

SONGS

OF

THE PIXIES.

I.

WHOM the untaught Shepherds call

Pixies in their madrigal, Fancy's children, here we dwell: Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Here the wren of softest note Builds it's nest and warbles well; Here the blackbird drains his throat: Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

II.

When fades the moon all shadowy-pale

And scuds the cloud before the gale, Ere Morn with living gems bedight Purples the East with streaky light, We sip the furze-flowr's fragrant dews Clad in robes of rainbow hues Richer, than the deepen'd bloom, That glows on Summer's lily-scented plume: Or, sport amid the rosy gleam Sooth'd by the distant-tinkling team,

While lusty Labor scouting sorrow Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow, Who jogs th' accustom'd road along, And paces cheery to her cheering song.

III.

But not our filmy pinion

We scorch amid the blaze of day, When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion Flashes the fervid ray. Aye from the sultry heat We to the cave retreat O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwin'd With wildest texture, blacken'd o'er with age: Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,

Beneath whose foliage pale Fann'd by the unfrequent gale We shield us from the Tyrants' mid-day rage.

IV.

Thither, while the murm'ring throng

Of wild-bees, hum their drowsy song, By Indolence and Fancy brought, A youthful Bard, "unknown to Fame," Wooes the Queen of solemn thought, And heaves the gentle mis'ry of a sigh Gazing with tearful eye, As round our sandy grot appear Many a rudely sculptur'd name To pensive Mem'ry dear! Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctur'd hue We glance before his view:

O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witch'ries shed, And twine our faery garlands round his head.

V.

When Evening's dusky car

Crown'd with her dewy star Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight; On leaves of aspen trees We tremble to the breeze Veil'd from the grosser ken of mortal sight. Or, haply, at the visionary hour, Along our wildly-bow'rd, sequestered walk, We listen to th' enamour'd rustic's talk; Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle nest; Or guide of soul-subduing power

Th' electric flash, that from the melting eye Darts the fond question and the soft reply.

VI.

Or thro' the mystic ringlets of the vale

We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank; Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale, Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport, Supine he slumbers on a violet bank; Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam, By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream;

Or where, his silver waters smooth'd to rest, The tall trees' shadow sleeps upon his breast.

VII.

Hence! thou lingerer, Light!

Eve saddens into Night. Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view The Sombre Hours, that round thee stand With down-cast eyes (a duteous band!) Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew. Sorc'ress of the ebon throne! Thy power the Pixies own, When round thy raven brow Heaven's lucent roses glow, And clouds, in watry colours drest, Float in light drapery o'er thy fable vest: What time the pale moon sheds a softer day Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam: For mid the quiv'ring light 'tis our's to play, Aye-dancing to the cadence of the stream.

VIII.

Welcome, Ladies! to the cell,

Where the blameless Pixies dwell. But thou sweet Nymph! proclaim'd our Faery Queen, With what meet Thy presence shall we greet? For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen Graceful Ease in artless stole, And white-rob'd Purity of soul. With Honor's softer mein: Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair, And meek ey'd Pity eloquently fair, Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view, As snow-drop wet with dew.

IX.

Unboastful Maid! tho' now the Lily pale

Transparent grace thy beauties meek; Yet ere again along the impurpling vale, The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws, We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek; And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose Extract a Blush for Love!

Errata

Lines on the Man of Ross

LINES

WRITTEN

AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE

"MAN OF ROSS."

RICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards, Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords, Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Trav'ller, hear! Departed Merit claims a reverent tear. Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass:

To higher zest shall Mem'ry wake thy soul, And Virtue mingle in th' ennobled bowl. But if, like me, thro' life's distressful scene Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been; And if, thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Thou journeyest onward tempest-tost in thought; Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt, And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt!

Lines to a Beautiful Spring

LINES

TO A

BEAUTIFUL SPRING

IN A VILLAGE.

ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wand'ring near I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. Escap'd the flashing of the noontide hours With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn.

For not thro' pathless grove with murmur rude Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude: Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Releas'd from school, their little hearts at rest, Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.

The rustic here at eve with pensive look Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook, Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread To lift the much-lov'd maid's accustom'd tread: She, vainly mindful of her dame's command, Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.

Unboastful Stream! Thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning fun of Hope arose, And all was joy; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictur'd on thy breast. Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon Or silv'ry stole beneath the pensive Moon. Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along!

Epitaph on an Infant

EPITAPH

ON

AN INFANT.

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to Heaven convey'd And bade it blossom there.

Lines on a Friend

LINES

ON

A FRIEND

WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER

INDUCED BY

CALUMNIOUS REPORTS.

EDMUND! thy grave with aking eye I scan, And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast, Man! 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth

He force to start amid her feign'd caress Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness, A Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, And on he goes in heaviness and fear! But if his fond heart call to Pleasure's bower Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp th' inchanted ground And mingled forms of Mis'ry rise around: Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast, That courts the future woe to hide the past; Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side; And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied: Till Frenzy, fierce-ey'd child of moping pain, Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain.

Rest, injur'd shade! Shall Slander squatting near Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?

'Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe; Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies, The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies, Nurs'd in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew, And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed; And Vanity her filmy net-work spread, With eye that roll'd around in asking gaze, And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. Thy follies such! the hard world mark'd them well— Were they more wise, the Proud who never fell? Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man's prayer of praise On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall raise.

As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, And fit me down upon its' recent grass,

With introverted eye I contemplate Similitude of soul, perhaps of—Fate! To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd Energic Reason and a shaping mind, The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart— Sloth-jaundic'd all! and from my graspless hand Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour glass sand. I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows, A dreamy pang in Morning's fev'rish doze.

Is this pil'd Earth our Being's passless mound? Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd? Tir'd Centinel! mid fitful starts I nod, And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod!

To a Young Lady with a Poem

TO A

YOUNG LADY

WITH

A POEM

ON

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

MUCH on my early youth I love to dwell, Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell, Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale, I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale! Yet tho' the hours flew by on careless wing, Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing. Aye as the star of evening flung its beam In broken radiance on the wavy stream,

My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo! o'er thy tomb. Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near, Breath'd from the heart and glisten'd in the tear: No knell that toll'd, but fill'd my anxious eye, And suff'ring Nature wept that one should die!

Thus to sad sympathies I sooth'd my breast Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West: When slumb'ring Freedom rous'd by high Disdain With giant fury burst her triple chain! Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd; Her Banners, like a midnight Meteor, flow'd; Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes!

Then Exultation wak'd the patriot fire And swept with wilder hand th' Alcœan lyre: Red from the Tyrants' wound I shook the lance, And strode in joy the reeking plains of France!

In ghastly horror lie th' Oppressors low, And my heart akes, tho' Mercy struck the blow. With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid. And ô! if Eyes, whose holy glances roll, The eloquent messengers of the pure soul; If smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien, Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen Shaping celestial forms in vacant air; If these demand th' empassion'd Poet's care— If Mirth, and soften'd Sense, and Wit refin'd, The blameless features of a lovely mind;

Then haply shall my trembling hand assign No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine. Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse2 Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues: No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings From Flatt'ry's night-shade: as he feels, he sings.

Absence, a farewell Ode

ABSENCE.

A FAREWELL ODE.

WHERE grac'd with many a classic spoil Cam rolls his reverend stream along, I haste to urge the learned toil That sternly chides my love-lorn song: Ah me! too mindful of the days Illum'd by Passion's orient rays, When Peace, and Chearfulness, and Health Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.

Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul On Mem'ry's wing, like shadows, fly!

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole While Innocence stood smiling by!— But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan. Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd, And scatter livelier roses round.

The Sun, who ne'er remits his fires On heedless eyes may pour the day: The Moon, that oft from Heav'n retires, Endears her renovated ray. What tho' she leave the sky unblest To mourn awhile in murky vest? When she resumes her lovely Light, We bless the Wanderer of the Night.

Effusion 1, to Bowles

Content, as random Fancies might inspire, If his weak harp at times or lonely lyre He struck with desultory hand, and drew Some soften'd tones to Nature not untrue.

Bowles.

EFFUSION I.

MY heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring! For hence not callous to the mourner's pains Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went: And when the darker day of life began, And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man! Their mild and manliest melancholy lent A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd To slumber, tho' the big tear it renew'd; Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep Mov'd on the darkness of the unform'd deep.

Effusion 2, to Burke

EFFUSION II.

AS late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale, With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise I saw the fainted form of Freedom rise: She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale. "Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name, Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame. Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! Thee stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure! That error's mist had left thy purged eye: So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy!"

Effusion 3, to Mercy

EFFUSION III.

NOT always should the tear's ambrosial dew Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek! Not always heaven-breath'd tones of suppliance meek Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view, Who with proud words of dear-lov'd Freedom came— More blasting, than the mildew from the South! And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth (Ah! foul apostate from his Father's fame!) Then fix'd her on the cross of deep distress, And at safe distance marks the thirsty lance Pierce her big side! But ô! if some strange trance The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister press, Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!

Effusion 4, to Priestley

EFFUSION IV.

JoanofArcSoutheyp139THO' rous'd by that dark Vizir riot rude Have driven our Priestly o'er the ocean swell; Tho' Superstition and her wolfish brood Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; Calm in his halls of Brightness he shall dwell! For lo! Religion at his strong behest Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy; And Justice wakes to bid th' Oppressor wail Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly; And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil To smile with fondness on her gazing son!

Effusion 5, to Erskine

EFFUSION V.

WHEN British Freedom for an happier land Spread her broad wings, that flutter'd with affright, Erskine! thy voice she heard, and paus'd her flight Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand (Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame) An hireless Priest before th' insulted shrine, And at her altar pourd'st the stream divine Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast With blessings heaven-ward breath'd. And when the doom Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb Thy light shall shine: as sunk beneath the West Tho' the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze, Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.

Effusion 6, to Sheridan

EFFUSION VI.

IT was some spirit, Sheridan! that breath'd O'er thy young mind such wildly-various power! My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, Thy temples with Hymettian flowrets wreath'd: And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier Sad music trembled thro' Vauclusa's glade; Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's list'ning ear. Now patriot Rage and Indignation high Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry! Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance Th' Apostate by the brainless rout ador'd, As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's sword.

Effusion 7, to Siddons

EFFUSION VII.

AS when a child on some long winter's night Affrighted clinging to its Grandam's knees With eager wond'ring and perturb'd delight Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees Mutter'd to wretch by necromantic spell; Or of those hags, who at the witching time Of murky midnight ride the air sublime, And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell; Cold Horror drinks it's blood! Anon the tear More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell Of pretty babes, that lov'd each other dear, Murder'd by cruel Uncle's mandate fell: Ev'n such the shiv'ring joys thy tones impart, Ev'n so thou, Siddons! meltest my sad heart!

C.L.

Effusion 8, to Kosciusco

EFFUSION VIII.

O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there, As tho' a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd! Ah me! they view'd beneath an hireling's sword Fall'n KOSKIUSKO! Thro' the burthen'd air (As pauses the tir'd Cossac's barb'rous yell Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell The dirge of murder'd Hope! while Freedom pale Bends in such anguish o'er her destin'd bier, As if from eldest time some Spirit meek Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear That ever furrow'd a sad Patriot's cheek; And she had drain'd the sorrows of the bowl Ev'n till she reel'd, intoxicate of soul!

Effusion 9, to Fayette

EFFUSION IX.

AS when far off the warbled strains are heard That soar on Morning's wing the vales among, Within his cage th' imprison'd matin bird Swells the full chorus with a generous song: He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares, Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight— His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares! Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice Life's better sun from that long wintry night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: For lo! the morning struggles into day, And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!

Effusion 10, to Earl Stanhope

EFFUSION X.

NOT, Stanhope! with the Patriot's doubtful name Imock thy worth—Friend of the Human Race! Since scorning Faction's low and partial aim Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace, Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain, Nobility: and aye unterrify'd Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the train That sit complotting with rebellious pride 'Gainst her, who from the Almighty's bosom leapt With whirlwind arm, fierce Minister of Love! Wherefore, ere Virtue o'er thy tomb hath wept, Angels shall lead thee to the Throne above: And thou from forth it's clouds shalt hear the voice, Champion of Freedom and her God! rejoice!

Effusion 11

EFFUSION XI.

WAS it some sweet device of faery land That mock'd my steps with many a lonely glade, And fancied wand'rings with a fair-hair'd maid? Have these things been? Or did the wizard wand Of Merlin wave, impregning vacant air, And kindle up the vision of a smile In those blue eyes, that seem'd to speak the while Such tender things, as might enforce Despair To drop the murth'ring knife, and let go by His fell resolve? Ah me! the lonely glade Still courts the footsteps of the fair-hair'd maid, Among whose locks the west-winds love to sigh: But I forlorn do wander, reckless where, And mid my wand'rings find no Anna there!

C. L.

Effusion 12

EFFUSION XII.

METHINKS, how dainty sweet it were, reclin'd Beneath the vast o'er shadowing branches high Of some old wood, in careless sort to lie, Nor of the busier scenes, we left behind, Aught envying! And, O Anna! mild-eyed maid! Beloved! I were well content to play With thy free tresses the long summer day Cheating the time beneath the green-wood shade. But ah! sweet scenes of fancied bliss, adieu! On rose-leaf beds amid your faery bowers I all too long have lost the dreamy hours! Beseems it now the sterner Muse to woo, If haply she her golden meed impart To realize the vision of the heart.

C. L.

Effusion 13, written at Midnight

EFFUSION XIII.

WRITTEN

AT MIDNIGHT,

BY THE

SEA - SIDE, AFTER A VOYAGE.

OH! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind That rushing on it's way with careless sweep Scatters the Ocean waves—and I could weep, Ev'n as a child! For now to my rapt mind On wings of winds comes wild-ey'd Phantasy, And her dread visions give a rude delight!

O winged Bark! how swift along the night Pass'd thy proud keel! Nor shall I let go by Lightly of that drear hour the memory, When wet and chilly on thy deck I stood Unbonnetted, and gaz'd upon the flood, And almost wish'd it were no crime to die! How Reason reel'd! What gloomy transports rose! Till the rude dashings rock'd them to repose.

C. L.

Effusion 14

EFFUSION XIV.

THOU gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile, Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile! As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam: What time, in sickly mood, at parting day I lay me down and think of happier years; Of Joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray, Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. O pleasant days of Hope—for ever gone! Could I recall you!—But that thought is vain. Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone To lure the fleet-wing'd Travellers back again: Yet fair, tho' faint, their images shall gleam Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.

Effusion 15

EFFUSION XV.

PALE Roamer thro' the Night! thou poor Forlorn! Remorse that man on his death-bed possess, Who in the credulous hour of tenderness Betrayed, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn! The world is pityless: the Chaste one's pride Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress: Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride: And Vice alone will shelter Wretchedness! O! I am sad to think, that there should be Cold-bosom'd Lewd ones, who endure to place Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery, And force from Famine the caress of Love! May He shed healing on thy fore disgrace, He, the great Comforter that rules above!