^ ^-.><1^^ .^,r ^-^ \:^^m^,.c ,v d' %>^^^ ?'^^;;.^^%''^^^^^^^^^;;^^'^^^^^ ^V "^ ^^. . Ci .^ °- >^:^.>:---'',p**l;....<.:^x---...<*:^--> o. /o % A^ .^^^^A,'^' ^<^. A^ .^^^^a'^. "^^ A^ <^'^%#A ^ 'T- .V ^^0^ " \„.^^ '*' ^^-.^^^ .' \ \.^' ^^d< * [J< V\%-o. % ev. Samuel Seyer, the Kev. John Eden, Dr. Nott, Mr. Charles Joseph Harford, and other learned cotemporaries. It was in 1807 that I first became acquainted with him ; when he inquired of me the probable success of a series of essays he proposed to commence, similar to those in the " Spectator," " Tatler," &c. Mr. Eagles had previously been the chief contributor to a periodical of the same nature, published in " Felix Farley," called the " Crier," which had obtained much celebrity. I have in my possession, in his handwriting, tJie first number with which he intended to commence the new work, which was to be called the " Ghost," and which may perhaps some day make its appearance in your columns. But I find in my portfolio a REMINISCENCES. XXVll letter from an old contributor to " Felix Farley," which contains so just a character of the " Crier " and of Mr. Eagles's father, that I think neither his family nor your readers will be displeased with the following extract : — I recollect the infinite pleasure I formerly received from the perusal of a periodical paper, which appeared in the " Journal," under the title of the *' Crier." It first came out, I remember, in the year 1785, nearly about the same time that the ** Lounger" was publishing at Edinburgh, and it was, I believe, the first attempt ever made in a provincial town to support a periodical essay. The success it met with, if not equal to what might have been wished, was perhaps greater than could reasonably have been expected when we consider how few, amidst the daily concerns of commerce, can find time for the pursuits of literature, and that of those gifted persons, a very small number are in the habit of committing their thoughts to paper. There is often, too, in such men a natural diffidence — a certain shy reserve, which forbids them to display their attainments before the vulgar gaze of the crowd. The discontinuance of this essay, from whatever cause, took away one of the greatest attractions the "Journal " then possessed for me. I used on receiving it wet from the press to direct my first regards to the fourth page, and if the " Crier" did not meet my eye, I felt something of chagrin — something of the disappoint- ment we experience in not meeting a pleasant companion whom we expected. I happened to be absent from Bristol when the " Crier," after a lapse of nearly fifteen years, again made his appearance in public. Immediately on hearing of it, I had the "Journal" for- warded to me, and read its numbers with undiminished entertain- ment and delight. Its sudden termination in 1802 led me to fear that the ingenious pen of the writer had been stopped by the icy hand of death, and that the " Crier," like his predecessor, had quietly passed "To that bourne from which no traveller returns." Having preserved the papers, I now read them with a kind of melancholy pleasure. The " Crier," methinks, is no more, and these are his last remains. XXVm REMINISCENCES. Although the grave shuts out the voice of praise as well as the whisper of calumny, I cannot forbear re-calling to its readers, who have counted as many years as myself, the merits of this our native essayist. And the disinterestedness of the applause may make those to whom his fame must be dear, ready to excuse the feebleness of the pen by which it is conveyed. If the " Crier" makes no claim to rival the incomparable " Spectator," in its delicate satire and exquisite traits of humour; if his papers possess not the sententious morality or penetration into human nature, which distinguish the " Rambler;" they yet display in no common degree the features of an elegant mind, and the graces of a classical taste. In delicacy of sentiment I could point out many touches, not unworthy the pen of the accomplished author of "The Man of Feeling," and the language of the essays bears no doubt marks of the author's character ; it is, I think, the style of a well-bred gentleman, not over solicitous to gain the reputation of what is commonly called a fine writer, but clothing his thoughts in an easy and graceful garb, equally removed from the stiffness of pedantry, the slovenliness of indolence, or the foppery of affectation. If I do not deceive myself, the style is such, that while every person of taste must be sensible of its beauties, the imitation of them would be no easy attempt. I wish my insig- nificance did not prevent me from hinting to the friends of the author, that the generation which was once pleased by his exertions is now quickly passing away ; and that a new and more numerous race of readers might be afforded equal pleasure by the collection of the scattered essays into one volume. I can add that an attempt was made to pubiisli them, the profit if any to be given to the Infirmary, but from causes which I forget, it failed. In writing a reminiscence of Mr. Eagles's father, I cannot think that the foregoing extract can be deemed irrelevant. Mr. Eagles's classical attainments were of no ordinary character. With the G-reek authors he was most intimate, and they were the peculiar objects of his study. In proof, he left behind him numerous translations from the Greek of Athenseus. After his decease they were transmitted by his REMINISCENCES. XXIX son to the editor of " Blackwood's Magazine," and appeared in several of its earliest volumes. The classical scholar need not be told who Athenseus was, though the English reader may have had but little opportunity of knowing much about him. His " Deipnosophists," or " The Sophists discoursing at Table," or as others term it, " The Banquet of the Sophists," is the only one among his numerous works that remains. It contains a vast fund of amusement and infor- mation concerning the customs, the manners, and the sentiments of the Greeks, with a multitude of valuable facts and anecdotes illustrative of their literary and moral charac- ter; besides many elegant specimens of ancient poetry, and quotations from old Greek and Roman authors, whose writings have long been lost. The communications to " Blackwood " were accompanied with the following allusion to the translator, Mr. Eagles's father, with that peculiar diffidence and reluctance to appear to court public favor or applause, which was the characteristic feeling of his son's whole life. " It was," he says, ** the work of an elegant scholar and an amiable man, who, alas ! is no more. He occasionally entertained and instructed his countrymen, but never intruded his name on public notice, and it is from this consideration alone that it is withheld." I am not aware if the translation of so many of the fragments of Athenseus as were made by Mr. Eagles, have ever been published, desirable as it would be, with the learned and amusing notes that accompany them. It was soon after I was admitted to friendly intercourse to the elder Mr. Eagles, and had obtained his confidence, that I was favored with the perusal of a manuscript volume, he had transcribed, and no doubt had improved its language and structure, without altering its details. It took me four nights to read it to an assembled family party at a Christmas fireside ; the narration being the adventures of an English- man who had been left upon a desert island, the stirring XXX REMINISCENCES. incidents in whicli are little inferior to those in " Kobinson Crusoe," so mucli tlie delight of our younger days. I would have related the circumstances attending Mr. Eagles's possession of the volume by accidentally meeting with the author in the streets of Bristol, and his benevolent and con- tinued kindness to him to the day of his death, had I not been informed that the whole of the transactions were inserted in your newspaper the same month that they appeared in " Blackwood," with the title of " The Beggar's Legacy." The entire work was published in 1815 in four volumes, by the elder John Murray, and called "The Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a seaman." There are, how- ever, in the introductory remarks of my friend to the Beggar's Legacy, such strong marks of his genius and knowledge of the human mind and character, that I cannot help referring to them. In his delineation of Beggars and Beggary, there are some of the highest proofs of his versatile genius, his peculiar fantasies, the idiosyncracies of a mind poured forth in the most rapid profusion. They remind me most forcibly in their style of that of my school-fellow, Charles Lamb, in his Essays of " Elia." Mr. Eagles's prose did not partake so much of the phraseology of such elder writers as Sir Thomas Brown and Eobert Burton, the author of "Anatomy of Melancholy," as did Charles Lamb's. But there is a terseness, a sententiousness peculiar to both, particularly in the early pages of the Beggar's Legacy. There is also a vast union of originality of mind, with a delicacy of feeling and tenderness of heart, highly fasci- nating in both writers. Each sentence in my friend's intro- ductory remarks on the character of Beggars and Beggary, is a sketch from which Hogarth, Bird, and Wilkie might have found suggestions for their talents in painting. Kind reader, turn to the last March number of " Blackwood," and judge for thyself. The elder Mr. Eagles took great interest in the E/Owleian and Chattertonian controversy. He was cotemporary with REMINISCENCES. XXXI Catcott, E-udliall, Barrett, and others. I believe lie was a Chatter tonian. At least, I hope he was. The father and son were united in the strongest bonds of attachment, with minds equally refined, and with similar pursuits, they were mutually proud of each other. They possessed purity of mind, a love of the fine arts, great taste in the pursuit of them, and affections most sincere. "Arcades ambo Et cantare pares, et respondere parati." An Octogenarian. Worcester, Dec. 17th, 1855. Nee amara Catullo, Tempus amicitise fata dedere meae. — Ovid. " Farewell ! too little and too lately known, "Whom I had scarce begun to call mine own," But in whose heart, tun'd to the classic lyre, Dwelt the same glow of Promethean fire, Which mock'd like lightening from the starry clime, The sundering influence of space and time ! " Like will to like," to thee my spirit clung. While with thy lore mine ear enchanted rung, And on those lips, whence wit and wisdom fell, Tranc'd in mute admiration, yearn'd to dwell, — To thee, her chosen son, the Muse had given That boon indulged to few by favoring Heaven ; Inly to feel and own the common tie, Which knits pictorial art to poesy ; With equal power the twofold spell to wield, XXXll REMINISCENCES. To whicli both mind and heart submission yield. Through ear and eye alike the influence came ; The channel different, but th'effect the same. How did all Nature's glories, at command, Start into life beneath thy plastic hand ! How by thy pen's illusion taught to rise, Did beauty's form ideal charm our eyes ! What nervous chords thy magic skill awoke, Whose words depicted, and whose pencil spoke. Nor did mimetic art thy range confine ; The moral harmonies of life were thine. Virtue's proportion every duty kept, Nor of her rule fell short, nor over-stept ; Just to thyself, thy neighbour, and thy God, In the straight path of right thy footstep trod. O that when life's fallacious dream is o'er, And death transmit me to the changeless shore. With thee the blissful vision I may share, Of the " First good, first perfect, and first fair ;" With thee the fount of Art and Nature know, And hymn the Eternal Source whence truth and beauty flow! F. K. Bath, November 24th, 1855. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. The following Poems were interspersed in some Essays, written by the late He v. John Eagles, and published in "Blackwood^s Magazine ^^ during the years 1834-5-6. The Essays have since been printed in a collected state in one volume, with the title of "The Sketcheii". Many of these, with the poetry, were previously communicated to the Editor of this Garland for insertion in " Eelix Farley's Bristol Journal,^' of which he was the Proprietor. As the Garland is intended only for private distribution and not for sale, the Editor conceives he cannot be accused of an infringement of copyright by printing the poetry in The Sketcher in this form, as a tribute to the memory of a departed friend, and to prove that Mr. Eagles was as elegant a poet as he was a prose writer and a painter. In order clearly to understand these lyrical effusions a few preparatory remarks will precede them, contained in dialogues in The Sketcher between two imaginary 11. personages^ descriptive of their rambles, which took place among the romantic scenery of Lynmonth, in Devonshire, and the valleys and rocks at Clifton, near Bristol. The names of the two principal interlocutors are Sketcher and Pictor. The beauty of these Lyrics consists in their exuber- ance of fancy, their variety of versification, and in the developement of that vividness of imagination which characterised their Author, especially in his acquaintance with Fairy Mythology, its fabulous personages, their dwellings, and haunts " Under the cool spring, glassy and deep, Whose sandy cells the elves do keep ! With spells that none shall break, enwrap, So deep and so strong, That the spirit of song Shall not escape from the charmed ground." LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. I. stands foremost in the fifth Essay of The Sketcher, and is thus introduced in the dialogue : — " In a saloon magnificently illuminated, you would see, recum- bent on a rose-coloured couch, a beautiful lady, from whose sweet presence shall emanate all power of enchantment. You are irresistibly led to her — you kneel to her as she sleeps — and" — " Precisely," said Pictor, interrupting me, for the greater part of this vision was uttered before him—" precisely the sort of day- dream I have often held delightful communion with, in this very spot." Sketcher. Then you may be pretty certain that such is the character of the scene, and, if you paint it, you must make the spectator of your picture see it all, or put him in a capacity to dream it. Pictor. I fear, if I could convey the vision, my picture would be rejected by eyes that do not see more in such a scene as this than rocks and odious trees. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Sketcher. Try them, nevertheless ; if you fail in captivating many, you will some, and delight yourself in the work ; and 1 doubt if there be not more visions of poetry in the general mind than we give the world credit for ; the Poet's and the Painter's key only is wanting to open the secret and neglected chamber in which they lie. Pictor (drawing a sketch out of his portfolio). Here is an attempt at this scene. Sketcher. And what is this at the back — Poetry ? Pictor. I amuse myself sometimes more with rhyme than reason, and here is an instance. I have ever felt that these woods were the reign and kingdom of invisible fairy beings, and have so felt it when here, that the feeling has amounted to a poetical faith. I never show these productions ; there is a cold and sneering contempt at the expression of anything like romantic feeling, that makes me often shrink from the contact of common fellowship, and I fly for refuge, and for society too, into an ideal world. The imagination is often awakened by the very shocks it meets with ; the more it is rubbed, like Aladdin's lamp, the more potent is the spell, and it becomes truly a Genie that conducts me into the regions of Fairyland. Sketche)\ But to the Poetry ; — this is, I see, an incantation — to the invisible Lady. xVUow me to read — Fairy, where dost dwell ? In the cowslip cup, or the blue harebell ? I see no form, I hear no sound — Yet it seemeth as thou wert all around — Fairy, where dost dwell ? I see thee not, but where'er I turn. Mine eyes do gaze, and my ears do burn. Fairy, undo thy spell. I call thee out of the twisted reed With a wood- wild note — with speed, wath speed I I call thee from under the quivering leaf. That darts from the shade in green relief; 'Tis green above and green below — LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. The earth is bright with a sudden glow. Fairy, dost dwell Under the cool spring, glassy and deep, Whose sandy cells thy elves do keep ? Hast thou thy bed and thy shining throne, Over and under the pebble stone ? Art chasing the minnows round and round. That splash the pool with their silver bound ? Or, Faiiy, tell. Dost thou over the surface float. In the rose-leaf curl'd to a silken boat, That scarcely touches the water's brim. As the boughs do fan where it doth swim ? Fairy, where dost dwell ? Dost thou thy sylvan palace build. Teaching the tall trees from the rock Where to shoot and where to lock, And hang their leaves for the sun to gild — Letting the clear sky just peep through, To dot the golden roof with blue ; While thou tellest, with nods and becks. The elves that are thy architects. From the aspen, the beech, and the spicy fir, Around to fling Their scaffolding Of the glittering thread of the gossamer ? Or dost thou twine The sweet woodbine, And twist the shoot from the mossy bole Of the wild ash, round the narrow hole 4 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. That pierces an entrance dark and small Through the rocks to thy Fairy-hall, Where all is bright, With the glow-worm^s light. That hang like gems on thy crystal wall ? Fairy, where'er Thou lurkest — in water, leaf, or flower ; Or floatest away on the balmy air. Around m.y bower, guard it well With charm and with spell, And bid thy Elves environ it — For there my love and I do sit ; And fright with thy whip of adder's skin. All that dare to look therein. So will I touch the gentle string. The while my love shall softly sing To thee, to thee — And not an ear The music shall hear, Besides ourselves, the charmed three. And I know by a sign. That joy is thine. When thou hearest our dulcet melody ; For as I touch at the springing sound A brighter gleam is over the ground — And the leaves do tremble all around. Fairy, undo thy spell. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. t II. Sketcher. You have given such good reasons for the painter's double employment, that I shall venture to recommend it in " The Sketcher". Did your Fairy condescend to reply ? Pictor (facetiously). Why, as to whence the answer may come, I know not. Far be it from me to limit the power of the invisible agents of an invisible or visible world. — Being of spirit, they may insinuate themselves into our minds, and supply thoughts — for you know not whence they come. Here, however, is a reply (taking a paper from his portfolio) that you will detect at once to be a forgery, or, at least, deny inspiration, — the amusement of idle moments, as the busy world would call them, who, vexed with the necessity of the drudgery of their own indefatigable labours, will not allow any to be industrious but by their rule and measure. I come, I come. At thy gentle call ; But first I must seek our crystal hall — There to deposit the gems of dew, CulFd from the rose of pearliest hue -, To set in the crown of our Fairy King When we dance our moonlight ring. Approach, approach With my ancient coach. Carved from the acorn's yellow cup. With my team of ants to drag me up. To the fairy mound. Then, under the ground. We'll dip, and bid the glow-worms clear Shine before in the secret road LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Dug by Mole, our engineer, To our cavernous abode. Away, away, Run palfreys, run ; Our errand done, Ere thrice the owlet^s wing can flap. We'll be in the bower, And leaf and flower With spells, that none shall break, enwrap, So deep and so strong, That the spirit of song Shall not escape from the charmed ground ; But when all is still in the pale moonlight, Shall faintly, faintly, float around. And blend with the dreams of the silvery uight- Away, away. III. Pioior. Lower down, where you see that twisting tree shooting out from the rock, like a serpent disentangling himself from the earth, there is a strange scene unlike this or any other in these woods. You see from thence light through to the bottom of the dell ; there is more a character of motion, or readiness to start into it, when the spell shall be taken oif, that keeps all together as it is. That would be a scene for fairy revel or procession, and the twisted tree shooting across would seem the seat for spectators above the area for a dramatic scene. Sketcher, I know it well, and so it has often struck me. But this scene, it is the very reign of silence; our voices here would sound unhallowed, though they utterred hymns and anthems. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Picior. Just so. Yet that reminds me of Purcell's music, where Love awakens the frozen, slumbering genius of the mountain in his ice-bound cavern. Sketcher. That is poetry; and if you will not condemn the blunder, the music deepens the silence of the scene. Pictor. Because the description lies in the sound. Were you in such a scene, you would not require that mode of description ; you would be so satisfied by the actual silence of the scene, that the slightest sound would offend. Every sense would be dead but one. I have imagined a solitary sort of monumental and stony figure for this scene, and committed, perhaps, a greater blunder than you; for T have ventured to make Silence herself speak, and, worse still, Echo take the lead in conversations. But personifications allow of great liberties. I have the attempt with me, for it is of recent performance. ECHO, Sleepest thou, Sister Silence, here, In the dim haunt of the lonely deer, Like the moon in her sable cloud ? So calm thy look, so still thy breath. Like a Nun that sleepeth her sleep of death, Wrapt in her holy shroud. SILENCE. It is not death to breathe no word — Many the thoughts that are not heard. That deep in the bosom burn : There^s a spirit that lives in the balmy air, The desert cave, and the wild deer's lair. Under the shadowy fern. ECHO. Awake ! Awake ! I bid thee awake To the horn and hound. Through brier and brake LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. They dash through the quiet stream. Hark ! Over the vale they proudly sweep- Awake, awake from thy sombre sleep, And spell of enchanted dream. SILENCE. Away, away with the hound and horn — Away with the sports of the garish morn. But there is a voice I love. That is heard at eve in the low twilight. Or when the moon in the blue of night Rideth serene above. then bring hither some true love pair. To breathe their vows to the gentle air. Softly and sweet to hear. And, Echo, do thou prolong the sound, Till it melt on the ear it cannot wound. Of Silence, reposing near. ECHO. Sister, repose, and around thy bed Thy Echo a spell of awe shall spread, To banish the prying crowd ; A holier fear in my voice shall run, To guard where sleepeth my Sister Nun, VeiFd in her sable shroud. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. i) IV. Sketcher. Perhaps I have more cause to lament on that score than you. INow are we under the influence of the scene. The sky is darker; clouds are passing over our heads, and deepening the sombre tones, and the light is removed from the young and playful foliage that shone out, making all that was sober the more recede : now all is more blended under one tone. To avert this, draw upon your memory for its own cheerful and refreshing stores, or on your imagination for objects less real, to "sickly o'er with the pale cast of thought." Picior. I will draw on both ; (then searching his portfolio) — I always bring these old matters with me, as sketches made from nature, that I may again attach on the spot to their own locality. Here, then, is a description of our delight : sing it to what tune you please — Merry, merry we, at the greenwood tree ; For there is not a man of us all That harbours a thought, but what he ought. In a heart devoid of gall. Merry, merry we, at the greenwood tree, As ever was lark or thrush ; For we joke and we pun, and bask in the sun, All brethren of the brush. Merry, merry we, at the greenwood tree ; For we laugh, till each his head Throws back on the sheen of the costly green That Nature has widely spread. Merry, merry we, at the greenwood tree ; The scholar go thumb his books — 10 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. The miser his bags and his sordid rags — We to our green, green nooks. The king to his court, the soldier his fort — The farmer go handle his beeves ; But merry, merry we, at the greenwood tree, Under the twinkling leaves. V. <©beron's Itmg. Fancy might have attributed a power of incantation to the rhvmes ; for sunshine returned, and touched every leaf with brilliancy again, and lighted up the whole scene with cheerfulness. Instead of crossing the ridge into the next dell, we preferred entering it from above, and therefore re-ascended. We sat upon the green edge, looking into the depth below us. For a while Pictor seemed absorbed in his recollection of past scenes and days. This, said he, waving his hand to the small space around us, was many a time our refectory. On one occasion, our party being rather more numerous than usual, and having found some young culprits in the woods mischievously destroying, we took the whim of constituting one of the party master of the feast — king of the revels. We fixed upon our friend Rex. He was old enough to be sage, and sage enough to play the boy — of nice discriminating perception and sure taste. We regularly installed him ; and I was poet on the occasion, — for which he made me bis laureate. Here are the lines : they remind me of the man, as they do vividly of the scene — Oberon's king in his fairy ring — But who shall be King of our company ? Give him the staff that can wisely laugh Merrily, merrily, merrily. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 11 (All making oheisance.) Then fiat Lex, and vivat Rex — We bow to the sway of his royal hand ; By title inherent, Viceroy, Vicegerent, And Lord-lieatenant of Fairy Land. (Two last rej)eated.) And see his large brow un wrinkled now. And his eyes contract to their twinkling tone. As if Wisdom there was shutting out Care, And lighting the lamps of Mirth alone. And his mouth has a play, as if it should say — Thus, thus I decree our greenwood law ; Join all merry men of the rock and glen In the laugh till it shake your sides — ha! ha ! (Tioo last rej^cated.) Hark ! the roeks around re-echo the sound, And proclaim him King of our company ; And the trembling reed, and the veriest weed^ Shall rejoice beneath his sovereignty. Then fiat Lex, and vivat Rex — We bow to the sway of his royal hand ; By title inherent, Viceroy, Vicegerent, And Lord-lieutenant of Fairy Land. (Two last repeated.) 12 LYRICS FROM THE SKllTCHER. VI. -^Tfie ^toeet €5uttar. Sketcher. I know some beautiful grounds, where was a magnificent larch, now departed, to which Garrick, who was a frequent visitor, always used to take off his hat and call hei the Queen of the Woods. Now, what do you conceive to be the character of this scene ? Pictor. Shall I show it you in rhyme ? Here are some lines I once made near this spot ; read them. Sketcher reads — Touch not the sweet guitar, Lady, Under the greenwood tree ; Throw not the spell of thy voice, Lady, Over the wild and free ; For it telleth how love in a scene like this. Were all-sufficient for earthly bliss. See where the pale rose twines, Lady, Hear ye the wild-dove coo Above in the fragrant woods. Lady, That softest airs do woo ? All here is a charm to aid thy spell ; Lady, I fear to love too well. In chambers of silk and gold. Lady, Touch thou the sweet guitar, ^Mid crowds and sparkling lights. Lady, Thyself the brightest star. Amid things too costly and rare for me — there I can listen and still be free. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 13 VII. Pictor. This should be a scene for moonlight, when the waters are still, or give only a sound that is of the same character as, and more expressive than, stillness, an intermitting lazy sound, that leaves meditation free. •' Oh, had I a cave on some wild distant shore ! " The ■'* distant shore" of the poet conveys well the seclusion of this. Sketcher. This scene would well suit the tenderness of com- miseration, if under such a light that would soften all that is rugged in it. Pictor. Yes, by moonlight. Or, would it not do for those strange imaginary creatures, bodies and spirits, the Ariels, that " do bidding in the vasty deep," and drop intelligence in sea-shells from far-off lands in ocean's girth, to be gathered by the pure, the faithful, and the gifted ? Sketcher, What think you of this being the rave of Proteus, whose indefatigable care of his Phocse has something so strange in it, that, if the sea-god were not gifted with prophecy and power of metamorphosis, it would be but whimsical ; but being what he was, it is wild and poetical. Now evening is coming in, and you may expect his return ; but he will only just look round the corners of the rocks, for he is shy, and, seeing us, will be quickly off, and you will hear the plash of his herd into the sea again. Piclor. Where would you place a choir of mermaids more satisfactorily than on that smooth sand ? It is the mystery and wonder about all these imaginary beings that delight us. We may soon go into the common world, where there is no mystery, no wonder, but all is bare, and here we exercise a new faculty. It is in such places as this one really enjoys the sea, not in noted and frequented watering-places, where the hiding shells are poked out of their sandy beds by regiments of walking-sticks and parasols. This is a spot for dreamy moonlight. Such have I seen, and endeavoured to embody the dream it gave. Shall I forestall the night and repeat it here ? Sketcher. By all means, and I will half-close my eyes, that the verse may let in its own light, and I may see in your dream. Pictor. Moonlight J then let it be 14 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. MOONLIGHT. Take tlie boat to the yellow shore, When the slow-rising moon is seen To tinge with the hue of pearly green, The edge of the Purple Sea — And has sent her glistening scouts before, That ride on the wave, Or smoothly glide where the waters lave The sleep of the lonely sands. To summon abroad the elfin bands. To waken their airy minstrelsy — While inlet, and creek, and salt bay round, Answer soft to the searching sound. Sprites of the night, be free, be free ! Adore the Queen of the Purple Sea. Take the boat to the yellow shore, And where in the beams the rocks do glisten ; There hang the Lyre of mystic song ; And steal away to some shadowy nook, And listen, listen ; The sprites of the night Shall hover about in the silvery light. While their fingers shall play the chords among- Then far in the depths of the grey caves look. While the mermaids vueave their golden hair, And bend their heads to their wilder air ; LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 15 And as seaward their voices fall and swell, Old Triton shall hear their musie float, And deep, deep. From his ocean sleep, , Shall rouse him, and take his wreathed shell, And wind his hollow lengthened note, To bid his drowsy monsters shake, Their shaggy locks aside, and wake. And flounder in joyous jubilee. To welcome the Queen of the Purple Sea. Take the boat to the yellow shore; But when the cold pale star of morn, With curious eye abroad shall peep. And a gloomier spirit shall brood forlorn Over the dull and curling deep ; And the croaking cormorant's doleful cry Shall drown the voices that fainter grow, And the visions fly From the gazing eye, Till all are lost below, below. And o^er them the sullen waters flow ; The boat unmoor From the yellow shore ; But seek not the busy world again ; For a charm and a spell On thy soul doth dwell. And thou mayest not mix with mortal man ; 16 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. But quietly laid In leafy shade — Await till the sprites of the night be free To waft thee o'er To the yellow shore, To welcome the Queen of the Purple Sea. VIII. ^jbe painter's ©rabe. Sketcher. I now left my friend in the Churchyard, while I went to the Valley of Rocks Inn, to make inquiry of Mr. Litson, a very civil landlord, respecting letters, and to make some other arrangements for the comfort of our party below. On my return to the Churchyard, I found Pictor sitting opposite the grave, with pencil and paper. "What is your sketch?" said I. He rose to meet me, and put the paper into my hand. It contained the following lines: — Where shall the sunbeams play ? Where shall the moonbeams light ? For him who bade them stay, With hand of power and might — Upon the Painter's grave. AVhere the stormy pageants rise, The harmless lightnings fly ? Where the magician lies That fix'd them in the sky — Before the Painter's grave. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 17 Where shall the flowerets shed Sweet odours ? O^er his earth Who from their lowly bed Gave them immortal birth — Upon the Painter's grave. Where shall the aged rest, And own one friend he found, That thought grey hairs were best, And age like holy ground ? Upon the Painter's grave. Where shall the maiden meek, Whose beauty would not die, Go lean her pensive cheek. Or look with gentle eye ? Upon the Painter's grave. IX. S?ong. Sketcher. We were forming our plans for the morrow; and I was expatiating with much delight upon the beauty of the valleys we were to visit, when Pictor remarked, that there was something not quite pleasing, especially under the influence of this fading light and scene, in descriptions of sunny and green spots, endeared too by many recollections. " Were we," said he, ** far removed from them, we might think upon them as regions that the blessed orb of day might be still looking upon (for we are not over particular in measurement of degrees). To be out of instant reach may be enough for the imaginative; but now that they are so near us, and we know them to be under the deep veil of an almost awful solitude, 18 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. buried in nature's sleep so like death, the fancy passes instantly from the brightness to the darkness. The transition is sudden and painful. The more vivid the description or the recollection, the deeper the gloom in contrast. It is the sunniest, the brightest object, throws the darker shadow." There was a pause; to break which, the guitar was placed in Pictor's hands. He bent his head to the instrument a few seconds, as in deep thought j touched a few chords ; and feelingly, with subdued voice, sang the following SONG. 0, lay me not by the clear fountain's brink, Where sweet flowers intertwine and kiss, And the pure crystal drink — To dream of bliss. Lay me not under w^here the green trees grow. And the wild bees hum ever round. And waving branches throw Poetic sound. Lay me not where serenely breaks the sky, Through green and golden leaves above ; Soft shadows floating by. Where all breathes love. 0, lay me not where the sea's rippling wave Plays leisurely among bright shells, On yellow beach — in cave. Where Echo dwells. Trees fragrant, and soft sounds, and gentle airs, May charm to joy the vacant breast ; LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 19 Or sooth life's common cares To peaceful rest. To me they are like a forsaken feast. That still the bridal lustre bears — Where death the only guest The garland wears. ^fetor's Song. ** We must break this spell," said T. ** Pictor has been visiting the Painter's Grave, and ruminating ' sweet and bitter melancholy/ Let us return. We have yet one social pleasure that will dissipate all gloom; when the clear transparent pure white china cups shall throw up their perfumed incense to the ' Good Genius,' we shall be cheerful again." We rose, and moved homewards. As Pictor was desirous of seeing the effect of the low light over the scene from the little pier, we walked aside to the steps of the look-out house. Since we had left it, a great change had taken place. The high hill, on which Linton stands, had now lost the marks of all petty divisions, and appeared one wooded dark mass, yet varying in depth of shade and tone of colour, as it was nearer to, or receded from the eye. Above Linton was a bright star, shining, as Pictor remarked, upon the Painter's grave. The scene was extremely fascinating ; and whoever may be pleased by daylight with the lines of this view, let him be careful to visit it at such a light. It gave a perfect idea of secure rest — repose, upon the confines of the most dangerous element. Every house was a nest of security, and the blessed balm and influence of sleep might be within, and Heaven's ample protecting curtain over all. Pictor would have remained here hours, but it was time to retire, and we were soon in our simple rustic Gothic cottage room. All was now bright and cheerful within ; our tea refreshed us, and we yet passed an hour or two delightfully. To show the change in his feelings, Pictor offered us another song. He in his turn took the guitar. 20 lyrics from the sketcher. pictor's song. 0, who would sit in the moonhght pale, Mocked by the hooting owl ? 0, who would sit in the silent vale ? — There let the winds go howl. Our parlour floor, our parlour floor. Is better than mountain, moss, and moor. This lamp shall be our orb of night. And large our shadows fall On the flowery beds all green and bright. That paint our parlour wall ; And silken locks, and laughing eyes. Shine brighter than stars in bluest skies. 0, the nightingale's is but a silly choice. To trill to the evening star, A listener cold — and sweeter the voice That sings to the light guitar. For moonlight glades, and brawling brooks. We will have music and sunny looks. 0, we will the happy listeners be. When songs and tales begin ; And at our open casement, see ! How the rose it is peeping in. As it were a fairy, with half-clos'd eye, That on this our pleasanter world would spy, LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 21 O, wlio would exchange a home like this. Where sweet affection smiles, For the gardens, and banks, and "bowers of bliss," In beauty's thousand isles ? 0, that Kaisar or King the peace could find Within four bright walls and a cheerful mind ! XI. Sbong. Sketcher. I went in search of Pictor, and found him in that very scene he so much admired on our entering the valley, vpith his back against a large mossy stone, in whose shadow he was reposing. Though the very spot of his recent admiration, his bodily eyes at least were closed to its beauties; but it was evident, from the expression of his features, that his mind's eye had most pleasing visions. 1 stood some time before I would disturb him. I saw that if he had not been sketching he had been composing, for his pencil and paper were lying in the sunshine. As I approached, the movement I made among the stones attracted his attention ; and turning to me with a smile, he asked me if I and the fishes had settled the point, and what they thought of Greek; that he had departed to leave the communication free. '* You, at least," said I, " have had your dreams (pointing to his paper, which I found written throughout), and to avert all evil that may be in them, are following the practice of the ancients, by showing them to the sun. What does this illuminated MS. denote?" " 1 have been," said be, "endeavouring to impress this scene upon my mind by the aid of rhymes. Read them to me ; but recollect they are not Greek.'* Upon a bedded bank, With flowers between the grass ; And by a crystal stream. That shall smoothly pass, — There let me lie. 22 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Let the hanging boughs Wave above my head ; And let the flickering beams Through the leaves be shed- There let me lie. Let the happy bird There still happy be ; Golden beetles creep. And take no thought of me- There let me lie. Let the white-crown^ flower Shrink not to be seen ; Raised on a sceptrM stem, As it were the Queen — There let me lie. Strife there cannot be In a scene like this ; Where the leaf and flowers. And trees and water kiss- There let me lie. Life hath here repose In the green above; In the green below, All whose light is love !-- There let me lie. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 23 Troubles will not come, Sorrow passseth by, But Fancy looketh down With her cheerful eye — There let me lie. Who shall enter in ? But for whom ^tis meet — All with sweetest look. And with gentle feet, Whilst there I lie. XII. Towards the termination of the walk, for it is of sufficient length to deserve the name, is a small path that leads to a weir. It was amongst some trees here that we took our seats on mossy stones, and greatly did we enjoy the quiet beauty of the scene, and the gleams of sunshine continually stealing upon and retiring from the cool green of the intricate foliage and herbage around us. We had converse, and music both of the guitar and the voice ; and the subdued and constant accompaniment of the river added to the charm ; for it tended to make us and nature one party — and a happy party we were. What songs were sung, or what was said, I am not permitted to utter. But Pictor^s doings are within my privilege of speech ; and as he generally furnished us with an original song, not inappropriate to the scene, when the guitar was put into his hands, with great feeling he touched the strings, and after a short prelude thus sang : — Where flows the tranquil stream, So smoothly passing on. Like to a placid dream ? ^Tis to its Ocean gone. 24 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Whence flows it ? By soft bank. Where gentle maidens lie ; Their music it has drank. And rain from beauty^s eye. Augmented by sweet tears, Witness of tender looks, Full many a tale it hears. Told by in-running brooks. It bears them all away, Carelessly passing on — Looks, tears, sighs, music, — they Are to their Ocean gone ; Fair flowers that kiss the wave. Bright leaves by autumn shed. Float to their watery grave. To their eternal bed. Thus Life, a joyous dream. Thus Life, a tale of woe. Is but the passing stream That doth to Ocean go. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 25 XIII. Sketcher. Did you ever hear Eulenstein play his Jew's harps ? What a treat would it be to have him and them in this spot ! Pictor. Yes, I have heard him, and it is precisely what the imagination would conceive ta'ry music to be. It is delicate, you might say, to laintness, if it were not so minutely distinct in its slightest vibrations. You would, were you to hear it in this green and brown seclusion, dream you were invisibly conveyed to a fairy concert. We might shut our eyes, throw ourselves on the grass, be wrapt, and borne away to the fairyland of dreams; and as the music would float around us, and be in us, even in our very souls, awake to vivid visions. Strange — but I have been so thinking, and here is the Remonstrance to one of clay, that the Invisible Lady herself may sing to Eulenstein's harps. Mortal man, of flesh and blood. What wouldst thou with a Fairy-Love ? Where should we spread Our bridal bed ? Under the depths of the roaring flood, That fills thee with dread as it rolls above ! Canst thou tread on ocean cave ? Canst thou gaze on the emerald light. That plays round the wall Of the coral hall. Where studded with pearls the sea-flowers wave, Like moving stars in their azure height ? Is there charm that can set thee free. Till thou melt and mix in the sunbeams rare ? 26 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Canst thou float In our Nautilus boat, Over the green and glassy sea, To chase the Spirits of viewless air ? Thou wert born for leafy bower — We live in the spells wherewith ^tis fraught — In the secret sound, The gleam on the ground, Thou art substance — we are power — And what is thy love but a fleeting thought ? Thou art a thing of decay and death. With a form, but lent thee, awhile to wear ; The narrow room Will cover thy bloom — But we that breathe not mortal breath. Can take a thousand shapes more fair. Water we touch, and it does not wet. Fire we pierce, and it does not burn ; Nor earth can hold. Nor air enfold. For we chase the stars that are going to set, And girthing the world with the sun return. Thou creepest but in an earthly cell — We live in the clouds of the gorgeous east, That shoot and fly From the summoned sky, LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 27 To shape us a palace wherein to dwell, When we hold our Fairy-feast. Our banquet can eye of thine behold ? Thy lip can it taste our charmed cup ? The regions of light Are but shades of night To the blaze of our palace of living gold, That nought but our presence has lighted up. Mortal man, of flesh and blood. What would'st thou with a Fairy-Love ? Where should we spread Our bridal bed ? Under the depths of the roaring flood ! Or in realms thou canst not reach above ! XIV. How refreshing is the shade in the clay's beat, which here we only know in the golden gleams, that lighten up for beauty only ! This is perfect peace ; we become gentle in our freedom, and we would not check a beetle in its enjoyment, and are better for the belief that the poor reptiles are sensible of the same blessed security, and alive to the beauty of the repose. Nature gave them not eyes to see only the stems and grass blades, whereon they crawl — I will venture, in my poetical creed, to affirm that they are all thankful. There is more folly and more ingratitude to Heaven in a country full of houses, than under green boughs ; and so here will I sing you my experience — 28 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. There is folly in all the world. Or go we East or West, A folly that vexes the old, Aud keeps the young from rest. The miser has folly enough. For his soul is in sordid bags. And the spendthrift^ s folly, alas ! Brings him to sin and rags. There is folly in statements schemes, For, spite of their plotting and wit, There's a wiser hand above. That leads them with bridle and bit. There's folly in power and pride. That makes full many to fall ; There's a folly in maiden's love, But that is the sweetest of all. But of all the follies, the worst — For it stings with constant smart. The scorpion of the mind — Is that of a thankless heart. For the thankless heart is curs'd And with blessings encompassed grieves- For it cannot rejoice with the hand. That gives nor yet receives. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 29 To be thankful makes better the good ; And if Heaven should send us ill, There is kindness in Him that gives — So let us be thankful still. 0, let us be thankful in youth, And let us be thankful in age — Let us be thankful through life, For there^s pleasure in every stage. Youth has its own sweet joys, And he must be blind as a bat. Who cannot see Lovers sweet smile, And will not be thankful for that. There are friends the dearest to cheer. Ere half our sand is run — And affection makes wintry days As bright as the summer's sun. And when from the dearest on earth We part, let us hope 'tis given A boon to the thankful still. To meet them again in Heaven. 30 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. XV. O, ¥c arc JF^^oIs. While Pictor was singing the latter stanzas of his song, a poor playful squirrel shook the light boughs that bounded back from his spring. The sportive creature characterised the charmed security of the scene, as he gambolled and leaped so near our presence — then suddenly mounted upwards, through the golden leaves that glittered in relief of the blue sky, and was lost to our sight. Was the music his pleasure ? did instinct teach him to trust ? did he feel sure companionship, and invite us, as co-tenants of the greenwood, to take sweet pastime with him? " Blessed is the sanctity of the greenwood shade," said Pictor — " it protects all — and takes tyranny out of the heart of man, and puts in tenderness." 0, ye are fools that love to stand Above your fellow -men ; To scatter by the wave of hand, And kill by stroke of pen. The sunshine and the greenwood shade For Peace and Innocence were made. Ye are not happier than your slaves, And better may not be ; For ye contemn what virtue craves, Sweet love and sympathy. Better to rule one wayward mind. Than lord it over half mankind. By banks of river soft and clear, ^Mid greenwood boughs to lie — To hear sweet sounds with thankful ear, LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 31 And see with thankful eye — To feel my heart is linkM with all I see and hear — or great or small — 'Tis Nature's peace — proclaim^ around. In all her bounty given — • 'Tis writ in sunshine on the ground. And breathed in airs from Heaven; Before all power and high degree Is love beneath the greenwood tree. XVI. ^6c €5lce. *' I was very much tickled with the notion of their fine studies, and thought of the ' Lay of Aristotle/ " quoth Pictor, " and made a t^lee on the subject, which, if our party meet us with the guitar as they promised, I will make interest to have performed." There were three students sat on a hill Over the pleasant Lynn — Their books were closed^ yet they held them still, Each one beneath his chin. And they vowed no more o'er the leaves to pore, Or even to look therein. 32 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. All. Where shall we pass the rest of the day ? \st Stud. With ine_, with me, with me — And we will quaff, and we will laugh. The merry, merry hours av/ay. All. Where shall we pass the rest of the day ? 2d Stud. With me^ with me, with me — For the joyous boat it is afloat. And we will away to sea. All. Where shall we pass the rest of the day ? 3d Stud. With me, with me, with me — Our lines we^ll throw in the Lynn below, And busy, busy anglers be. Now there came and sat at each one^s side, Margery, Kate, and Joan, And they lookM, and lookM, and each one cried. With me, with me, with me — For why should we pass it all alone Under the greenwood tree ? All. Where shall we pass the rest of the day ? Each Stud.l ^.^^ ^^ ^.^^ ^^ ^.^j^ ^^^^^ to his lady, j And so it was sweet holiday Under the greenwood tree. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER, 33 XVII. We were on our return quickly joined by our party at the rock, and soon commenced our enjoyment of the rest of the day in music and social converse — for the latter, the spot being most favourable. The guitar vras, as usual, in frequent use, and Pictor sang his song of the Bower. 0, the spot were I met my own true-love Is the sweetest spot upon earth ; It is not where the wild herds rove, Nor the scene of idle mirth. 0, ^tis a shad}^, quiet spot, Where not a sound is heard, Save the silvery voice of the busy brook, And the song of the gentle bird. 0, sweet is the green, above and around, O, sweet is the leaf and flower ; But sweeter is she, that a spell has wound. To make it a fairy bower. The flaring sunbeams pierce it not. Yet it beams with verdant light. As if angel's feet had touched the spot, And had left it ever bright. 34 LYRICS PROM THE SKETCHER. XVIII. ^5e Hgre. " All around us," quoth Pictor, " is Poetry. Its very spirit pervades Nature and Art. — It lurks in this little instrunaent" (taking the guitar) "as in grove and cavern ; even this poor thing may speak oracularly — and deserves our praise." So here is my song to it : — '^ 'Mid flickering sun and shade, A lyre was idly laid, Where the air with the waters play'd, But not for their sake would the Spirit awake That therein his bed had made. Youth, in the morning ray, Glistening came that way. And gaily bade ' Good-day,' And staid not to fling across the string His fingers, but walked away. Pleasure, with careless eye. And with a jocund cry. Came tripping, and passed it by. But the Spirit w^as stirred nor by voice nor word. And the low wind did but sigh. Then came stately Pride Up with a lordly stride — Took the lyre, but lookM aside — Struck full and fast — and away he pass'd — And the spiritless discord died. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 35 Then mad Ambition came : All sounds, he said, are tame, But the ^streperous trump of Fame ; — And turnM from the string as a worthless thing, That might his honour shame. Now, in the quiet eve, Love came there to grieve. That Hope should e'er deceive : And the Spirit awoke at his gentle stroke, And cried — ' Believe, believe/ Then sweetest notes upflew. All things greener grew, As under heaven's own dew — And the waters along they flowed with song, And music around them threw. Stretched on holy ground, By loved sepulchral mound — Friendship heard the sound ; And rose in the light of the starry night, And a sweeter solace found. Love, from his grassy seat. Awed, uprose to greet. And checking his hand discreet. More softly play'd — and his lyre he laid, Down at her silvery feet. 36 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Since then the Spirit that slept Within^ hath wakeful kept ; Soothing the hearts that wept — For Friendship and Love^ like spirits abovCj Have hallowM the chords they swept/' XIX. ^6c Gooti mxti iSbil Spirits. Pictor had finished his study long before me, and had wandered on. When he returned, he found me fastening my portfoho. I was glad of this, that we might pursue our scrutiny of the river together. " I know not how it is," said he, " but this scene has not been sufficiently powerful, though it has employed my pen, to keep in bonds my fancy. Under the suggestions of our former conversation I have in'spirit traversed earth and air too. And here is the sketch." SPIRIT OF LOVE. Spirit of Evil, whence art thou ? SPIRIT OF EVIL. I come from the wretch with the burning brow And uplifted hand. — Oh, it pleaseth thee well, That I yield the truth to thy potent spell. SPIRIT OF LOVE. Spirit of Evil, thou crossest my way, As I bear the penitent's prayer to Heaven. SPIRIT OF EVIL. And why should the daring sinner pray ? — No ! blood for blood — shall it be forgiven ? LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 37 SPIRIT OF LOVE. Yes — blood for blood, and for human guilt — For sin has redeeming blood been spilt. SPIRIT OF EVIL. Then let me depart, and question me not. There yet are souls of too deep a blot — And they shall be mine ; with their living breath My bidding to do — and mine in death. SPIRIT OF LOVE. Spirit of Evil, I bid thee stay. SPIRIT OF EVIL. Thy spell is upon me, and I obey. — Speak, speak ! — but, oh ! let me shun thy look. SPIRIT OF LOVE. Read thou the names in this sacred book — The Book of Life — of the souls that thou Would^st have plunged in the lake ; where are they now ? SPIRIT OF EVIL. I cannot curse ; but, oh ! let me fly ! SPIRIT OF LOVE. Oh, now then I know thine agony ! Angels of Heaven rejoice when one 38 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Of millions is saved, by thee undone; But deeper anguish is thine to know, That one escape from thy grasp of woe — The curse upon all thy triumphs won — Read the names of the blessed, one by one. SPIRIT OF EVIL. Let me depart — away, away ! SPIRIT OF LOVE. Spirit of Evil, I bid thee stay ! Now, in the path of our blessed air, What breathest thou ? SPIRIT OF EVIL. Thy spell, thy spell Is on me — the flames of deep despair- Within, within I am burning hell. SPIRIT OF LOVE. Away, away, lest Angels of Love Weep even for thee. In thine agony. As they sing their hymns of bliss above. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 39 XX. Who is it says, " There is a luxury in tender tears. Beyond the notion of a vulgar mind 1" And woman's tears could well-nij^h make Spenser " all for pity die." Shall I tell you what they are ? Oh, what are woman's tears ! When they arise from fancied woe, The ocean's waves — that waste and wide, Bear worthless weed — in restless tide, They have their ebb and flow. Oh, what are woman's tears ! If from the fount of gentle love — The dewdrops of the blessed morn, Kiss'd by Heaven's breath as soon as born, As meet for realms above. Oh, what are won'.an's tears ! If pour'd in scorn and wounded pride — A torrent from a mountain source. That, pent a moment, rends its course And spreads a ruin wide. Oh, what are woman's tears ! If thankful joy the flood compels-™ , 40 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. They fall but like the gentle rain, That blesseth and is blessed again. And fills the sacred wells. Oh, what are woman^s tears ! The one soft tear in pity sped — Pearl beyond price, the crystal gem, That shines in Mercy^s diadem. And such as Angels shed. XXI. ^5e jFacrg 33ank. We passed scenes which I have before described, and often loitered to observe, if not new effects, yet such as struck us with a peculiar freshness of their beauty. There was one, from which I have made many a study, that instantly arrested the attention of us all — never, perhaps, was it seen under more magical light. It was close and narrow over the stream. From a rocky bank, more or less perceptible as the intermitting foliage allowed, arose trees, with dark but occasionally golden-edged boles, that mostly hung over the river. One ancient, ivy-bound, and of greater growth, lifted itself largely into the sky ; but below its height we saw the tops of other trees, that showed the ascent of the hill. Looking down the stream, we saw but a continuation of the character, that all might be in accordance, as if under the dominion of one power. The motion of the water gliding over its deep brown bed — its descents — the dark holes between the masses of rock, in which the twisted roots and parts were but half visible — the returning foam, individual and numberless, following in the eddy the larger collections — the umbrageous green — the tenderly pencilled leaves — all united to affect the imagination, to the creation and embodying of beings that might be — and to spread the fascination of invisible power, till there would be almost a persuasion that we had crept into the territory, where what met the eye w'as but the delusion covering other and stranger things. ** I once," said Pictor, " made a Sketch from Nature here, when I was gifted with new sight. Here it is in my portfolio. Let us see if it be true — if it be, let it have music. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 41 " The Faery Bank— the Faery Bank- Where myriads dance all the silvery night, And hold their revels at soft moonlight — Till all the sweet dews be drank : Oh, it lies in the midst of parting streams, That steal away 'mid embowering trees, Whose leaves all play untouch^ by the breeze. That flicker with sunless gleams. By day the fays hang there their beds. And, as they wake, from their bright eyes throw Looks that gild the water^s flow. That a sweeter music spreads. And at twilight, twilight you might see To the island bank the bubbles float On the dark brown stream ; 'tis a fairy boat. Each one with its company. The Queen is rowed in a lily^s leaf — The rowers are clad in silver sheen. With the rainbow^s faintest hues between, — Oh ! then let your stay be brief. The King, in the flower of faery bliss, Sleeps folded the while, till the slender stem Bends to the wave, that like a bright gem Rises his feet to kiss. 42 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. Oh, the Faery Bank, the Faery Isle, On these it glows with such rare light, That the envious stars all twinkle white, And it beams with a golden smile. Oh, hasten away, — oh, hasten away, For a thing of human woe and sin Ne'er may mix with their kith and kin. Pure as the morning ray." XXII. ^fie iWioonligftt Habitation. It was to be our last evening at Lynmouth ; we were reluctant, therefore, to leave scenery which we might not again see — at least the same happy party. It had become endeared to us for its own sake, and for each other's sakes. We lingered on our way; and it was sunset (and a glorions one) ere we reached our lodgings. We were not fatigued ; and, under the influence of a last evening, could not resist the temptation, after our tea, of enjoying the sea-shore in the cool quietude of night. We were soon by the water-side, under the cliffs that cast their obscure shadows into the silvery moonlight shed around us. It was a lovely night. How sweet an instrument is the guitar, and how sweet and yet powerful the voice poured to the silent atmosphere of night; as if moon, stars, and invisible spirits of the air, all hushed, were listening to the human minstrelsy. Many were our songs — mostly tender or melancholy ; some well known, and therefore not the less enjoyed. Our friend Pictor, who had now thrown off the modest diffidence which would at first have kept his compositions secret, readily took the instrument, and sang — The bird is in her nest. And the stars are in the sky. And the sleeping fields are blest By the moon's soft eye. Then come, my sweet Mary, with blessing tome. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 43 How tranquil all above, How tranquil is the earth, Like a child in Heaven's love Cradled sweetly from its birth. come, dearest Mary, with blessing to me. How stilly sounds the sea, Of toil and labours o^er. And the wave so mad and free Now calmly seeks the shore. come, my sweet Mary, with blessing to me. How soft the quiet light O^er the green of earth is spread. And the stream thereon runs bright, Like to a silver thread. come, dearest ^lary, with blessing lo me. There is no waking eye, There is no listening ear. All creatures sleeping lie. All is ours far and near. Then come, dearest Mary, with blessing to me. Oh, Mary, come with me, There are spells that far expand, 44 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. That we might wanderers be, In this our own sweet land. Then come into the silvery night with blessing to me. It became late; and, as we had to travel the next morning, we were obliged to return. The intimation of this necessity was followed by a silence that was only broken by the expression of our gratitude and regret. "Farewell, Lynmouth ! " The words are still a charm upon the memory ; and I will not break it " Farewell, Lynmouth." XXIII, Do parish registers present us with blank leaves for any month in the year ? Does not duty laugh and look cheerful, and courtship gentle, as well by the fireside as in the green field ? Every season has, somehow or other, a blessing bestowed upon it, and particularly for human happiness; for, to us, every day, week, month, year, and age offer unlimited scope for affection. And therefore, Florinda, I will give you a song to set to music, and your harmony will prove it true ; and if you set it before spring, and sing it all the summer, you shall not have the ant's reproach to the grasshopper if you *' dance in the winter." Oh^ what is the time of the merry round year That is fittest and sweetest for Love ? — Ere sucks the bee, ere buds the tree. And primroses by two and three Faintly shine in the path of the lonely deer, Like the few stars of twilight above : When the blackbird and thrush, at early dawn, Prelude from leafy spray, — Amid dewy scents and blandishments, LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 45 Like a choir attuning their instruments, Ere the curtain of nature aside be drawn For the concert the live-long day : In the green Spring-tide^ all tender and bright When the sun sheds a kindlier gleam O^er velvet bank^ that sweet flowers prank, — That have fresh dews and sunbeams drank — Softest and chaste, as enchanted light, In the visions of maiden^s dream : When the streamlet flows on in pleasantest tune. Sparkling bright, on the verge of shade, Where fragrant rose, and golden cups close The bower of bliss in deep repose, — ^Tis the pride of the year, it is June, it is June, With the riches of Love arrayM. When the ripe fruits of autumn are ready to fall. And, all dropping, invite us to taste ; And purple sky, where gold streaks lie, Proclaim the reign of winter nigh, 0, gather the sweet hoard of Love, ere all Be a wilderness wild and waste. 0, the shelter of Love is then pleasant and dear. When stern Winter rages above. Or green Spring-tide, or Summer^s pride, Or Autumn sere, when winds do chide, — Oh ! there is not a time of the merry round year That is not a season of Love. 46 LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. XXIV. m^ Mill. (Written, at Millslade, on Mr. Eagles's return from a tour to Aberystwith.) Sketcher. We saw some fine otter-hounds ; coarse, wiry, strong animals, that would bear as well as give a bite and a tug under or above water. Our friend* was eloquent upon the subject, and described many an otter-hunt, and made the description more interesting by his calculation of the mischief these amphibious creatures do. "A single otter," said he, will consume a ton of fish in a year;" and, while speaking, he referred to a paper in his fishing-book. We observed one side of it denoted rhyme. " Ah," said he, when questioned, " for nearly forty years have 1 had many a fishing day with old Will Hill of Millsiade, and, being at the lonely but comfortable little inn there the other day, my old haunt, I thought over the days past ; and I suppose a thankful heart, and no one to tell it out to, makes a happy man a rhymester, if not a happy rhymester, and so I made my trial. Here it is. I am as proud of dedicating my verse to poor old Will Hill, as Pindar his to Hiero. So here goes : — Old Will, with thee. In youth and glee, IVe spent some sunny hours ; But now, I fear. The winter drear Of age upon us lowers. Yet still a dish We catch of fish, As well as some that brag ; No more we ply The treacherous fly — The brandhng fills the bag. LYRICS FROM THE SKETCHER. 47 Here in this glen, Apart from men, We lift our grateful hearts ; And feel the joy, Without alloy, That Nature wild imparts. From Providence, Our confidence, This boon we anglers crave, That we anon May angle on Safe to a peaceful grave. * The Rev. John Frederick Doveton, who died lately at Karsfield, aged 82, in a ripe old age, happy in the love of a numerous family, and the affection of many friends. Mr. Eagles loved and honoured this amiable, good, and religious man ; and it pleased him to print this song. His daughter, Mrs. Graham Clarke, set it to music ; and from the beauty of the air, and associations of the words, it has become a favorite song. *^* The Editor thinks it right to state, that he received from Mr. Eagles during his correspondence vnth him eight at least, he thinks more, of the foregoing Lyrics, before he introduced them into the Sketcher. J. M. G. SONNETS The following Sonnets are selected from a variety published by Mr. Eagles in his lifetime in " Black- wood^s Magazine^^ ; from others remaining in manu- script, communicated to the Editor by his surviving friends ; and in his own possession. The Sonnet has been said by an eminent critic (James Montgomery) " to have been unworthily depreciated in England, because it has been imper- fectly exhibited by English writers, partly from the difficulty of furnishing relays of rhyme to meet at the appointed stations, and partly from the Pro- crustean model, or exact attention on which the perfection of the Sonnet depends.^^ It is true that the Italian Sonnets remarkably contrast with the English ; being distinguished even above other poetic compositions in that most delicate, voluble, and melodious tongue, by exquisite finish 50 SONNETS. in diction, clear development of the one fine thought, and the musical succession of cadences carried through to the last syllable of the fourteen lines. In one of these selected Sonnets Mr. Eagles, in his communication of it to the Editor, has made a remark to the above effect, and regrets that he had not composed it to his satisfaction. The Editor also remembers being present at a conversation between the late Dr. Nott and Sir Charles Elton upon the subject of the superiority of the Italian over the English Sonnet; and whoever has read the translations of Petrarch's Sonnets by Dr. Nott, must perceive how much they were admired by him. Almost to the close of the Doctor's life he was adding to, altering, and endeavouring to improve his translations ; specimens of which are interspersed in his own copy now in the possession of the Editor. The composition of a Sonnet has also, by some critics, been considered an insignificant specimen of poetry, in which the youthful aspirant should only indulge. Our early poets, and many modern ones, have thought otherwise, and did not deem it derogatory to express their thoughts and feelings in fourteen lines, the legitimate length of the Sonnet, SONNETS. 51 in which they could concentrate their imaginations upon a single subject, or delineate the character of an individual personage. Shakespere and Milton, Warton and Bowles, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and other distinguished poets, are examples. Among this galaxy of genius, the Sonnets of Mr. Eagles will not suffer by comparison. The earliest Sonnets which the Editor received from his friend were the following, accompanied with so pleasing an introduction, that he cannot refrain from inserting it. It is another instance of his love of Fairy-land. — Mr. Eagles for many years was in the habit of corresponding with the Editor under the name of Themaninthemoon, and generally addressed him as Domine Felix from his connexion with '' Felix Farley's Journal.'' A WREATH rOPt CHRISTMAS. -Flowers, whose buds with early care I watch'd, and to the cheerful Sun did rear. Dryden. My worthy and esteemed friend, Domine Felix, may I intreat you to make a sealed packet of your prognostications of evil, whicli I nevertheless firmly believe, as coming from your Oracular Umbrilicus Terrse, will be to the letter accomplished. May I entreat you, I repeat it, to make a sealed packet of the same, and throw it into the cave of Trophonius, that you may, with your wonted face of hilarity, enjoy the festivities of the season. And now having, to my fancy, seated you with a few choice spirits, not vulgar spirits in pots or pipkins, nor any liquefied spirits whatever, though spirits of as choice humour as ever came forth like Asmo- deus from the glass bottle, called good fellows. Having thus seated you, would I leave you to the full enjoyment, ad extremum, Felix ; nor do I think it necessary to lay an injunction on you to drink health and longevity to Themaninthemoon. For, I would direct my attention to my very numerous admirers and your fair readers, who are now most elegantly employed in decorating their albums with many a wreath, that shall make Old Winter smile, and melt his frozen mood to look at. I would not have you, therefore, sweet ladies, send to the common market for your posies, that is, cull them from every Annual, where they have indeed blown ia prodigal beauty, but have lost, in the estimation of the delicate, somewhat of their simple and native charms from their incessant obtrusion to the eye of every gazer. I have therefore, once more taken much delight, proud of the destination of my offering, to gather some of my choicest flowrets from my winter garden in the sequestered valley of Fairy-land, where Flora herself delights to walk, in neither sun-light nor moon-light, but an illumination more pure than that which is transmitted from the visible and prying Orb of Day through earthly vapours, — in a light soft to the eye yet searching to the sense. The garden, I know, is delightful, though, alas, I may not have the skill to have made a good choice. There, however, were they gathered ; and if they have lost any of their beauty in my keeping, transplant them amid your purer leaves, and they may revivify. But if they chance to please you, let me assure SONNETS. 53 you, there is a great variety in the same spot, which, having a per- petual ticket of admission, I shall be most happy to gather at your commands, and for your service. Now, Domine Felix, once more, let me address you, and in plainer language, and little gallantry, introduce to your notice a few Sonnets, that a portion of your columns may have the honour of being transferred to the Albums of your fair readers. (Communicated in 1833.) I. There was a soft enchantment in her eye. That charmed all it met ; and round it wrought A sympathetic incense of pure thought, As in some fane of loveliest sanctity — Such was the look of Angel from the high Emblazoned Heaven new-lighted with glad feet. Blessing and blest, and bent on errand sweet ; Radiant with love, and beaming charity. Such was the light that shone o^er leaf and flower In sinless Eden, when that gentlest pair, (In their Creator's image planted there) Together walkM, or sat in sylvan bower ; Or in the moon^s mild lustre wond^-ing stood ; And their great Maker " saw that all was good/' II. 'S^fme auij <©Wibfon. Old Time sat in a glacier's frozen cave. Teaching his daughter, stern Oblivion, The World's large History, deeds by Heroes done, 54 SONNETS. The pride of Kings ; and much of him who gave Whole realms to furnish one vain Queen a robe. — " Give me such royal dower," Oblivion cried. — "I will," quoth Time, "speed with me o'er the globe." — They sped, and cities crumbled 'neath their stride, — The Pyramids alone stood firm, and staid Their menaces, — aghast stood Time awhile — Oblivion forward rushed, and taunting said, '^ Stand Monuments of me" — and toucVd each pile, Each scroll, each sculpturM character, and name. And wither^ up the records of their fame. III. '^f)z poet's mtixtss to ibt Statue of i^smen. Hymen, thou art depicted with a torch. Whose two-fold flames shoot upwards, and then turn Inwards, as they would each the other scorch, — Emblem of hearts that bicker as they burn — Thou'rt like some vengeful Angel with his rod Of fire, or with the flaming sword that drove Erom Eden love. — So Poets feignM the God Hermes, round whose caduceus spiteful strove Two serpents intertwinM, — their swoFn throats crammed With venom, ever at each other hiss — • With such dire wand the spirits of the damnM Did Hermes downward urge from scenes of bliss. — Hymen^ avert the omen of my verse. And change this state for better, not for worse ! SONNETS. 55 IV. Co Slinter. Winter, a surly fashion, thankless, rude, Misnomers thee a heartless niggard. Timers Stern Reckoner, chilFd with maxims harsh and crude ; To me, thou^'t ushered in with merry chimes — Thou lightest blazing hearths in antient Hall — And biddest guests, and wakest jocund laugh — Thou openest wide to the poor Prodigal Thy parent-arms, and kilFst the fatted calf — Thy keen breath kindly spares the aged thorn. — So some old healthy Shepherd on a rock, Calls with the blast of his unpolished horn. To better fare, and warmer fold, his flock : Thou blowest, like old Boatswain out at sea, Piping all hands to mirth and jollity. V. On a Bull spring. And is this Spring ! that frenzied Poets feign. And whimpering Lovers in their sickly rhyme (The privilege of Fools) — sweet Beauty^s reign ? Yea, rather seemeth it the grave of Time, Around whose rusty monument forlorn, Scant flowers and buds that mock earth^s penury Do bloom, like jewels set in hideous scorn On the scatird brow of bold Antiquity. 56 SONNETS. — So on the Drunkard's pale and debaucVd skin Blossoms the Original Sin, like the foul mark On Cain, the murderer. So on Beldame's chin Sprouts vegetation through the wrinkled bark ; And when th'old Hag affects to smile and sing, She only is more ghastly. — This is Spring. VI. gem ! more precious than the thrice-tried ore And jewels that the cavern' d treasures hold, (Eor what rare diamond ere did life enfold ?) Thee at her bridal hour the chaste Earth wore When iEther, her proud bridegroom, came, and o'er Heaven's archway spread his mantle,gemm'd with gold Of stars in all their glory manifold, — Yet deem'd Earth's bosom still adorned more. They call thee worm — thy love ungently name. Whilst thou, like Hero, lightest to thy nook Some bold Leander with thy constant flame. Whose Hellespont may be this running brook. let the wise man- worm his pride abjure. And his own love be half as bright and pure. VII. 'STje Concert. Last eve, a Concert gave me such high pleasure As I can ill express — not as you think In painted Hall — where painted warblers sink SONNETS. 57 In ecstasy of some long-dying measure. Whose silly words bequeath no sense to treasure ; But on a primrose bank, and on the brink Of a sweet streamlet, whence the pure leaves drink Their freshness, lying there in endless leisure. I felt the boughs overshadow me — and closed Mine eyes — and the quick Spirits that haunt the stream, Each with his lyre upon my lids reposed — Then floating gently broke into my dream — Whence in a bark, moored by a golden strand. We sailed right merrily to Fairy-laud. VIII. ®6£ m%t Infant-^cScol. Nature, best Schoolmistress, I love the book Thou spreadest in the fields, when children lie Round thee, beneath the blessing of the sky. Thou biddest some on thy bright pictures look — For some thou dost attune the play-mate brook ; For thy sole Ushers are the ear and eye. That give to growing hearts their due supply. And cull sweet tastes from every silvan nook. Dismiss thy Infant-school, good Mistress Starch ; Absolve nor child nor parent from the ties That bind with love and duty. Strut and march, And sing-song knowledge will not make them wise. Her scholars litttle know, but love and wonder more- Nature abhors thy mimic worthless store. 58 SONNETS. IX. I^armong. would'st thou give me Music, let it be Now low and soft, in undulating motion, Now swelling, now subsiding like the Ocean, And, like it, wild or gentle, ever free — But add no words — for simple melody Flows to my heart like an enchanted potion From Fairy hand — that would expel from me In potency of Love all earthly notion. language is not for Spirits of the Air, That sing as they awake. They hide themselves From speech and unclosed eyes — wouldst thou repair To their loved haunts — the woods — the rocky shelves — They to thy lute, beside the mountain stream. Will come to thee in Music and in Dream. X. jpatScr anlr ^on. check not, thoughtless Parent, Childhood's tear ; Let him pour out the sorrows of his breast. And know that thou, too, feelest them, and best. Too soon come iron days, and thoughts that sear Young Virtue such as his ; the Child revere — SONNETS. 59 That, while his limbs enlarge with man imprest, His little heart grow freely with the rest. Nor learn alone one coward lesson — Fear. Open thy heart to me, ingenuous boy ! And know by thine own tears what ^tis to weep. By thine own mirth how blessed to enjoy ; Truth part thy lips, nor niggard Caution keep. Open thy heart — no narrow door for Sin, But wide, "that all the Virtues may rush in.^' XI. Cfie 23rook— C6t ^Haters of (SQ^onsolation. Ah ! well do I remember thee, sweet Brook, How on thy margin once I did complain. When Grief was at my heart, and in my brain ; How thou didst pour thy song, that gently shook The curious boughs that into thee did look ; That sometimes Pity 'twas — sometimes ^twas Pain, And now 'twas changM to prattling sport again ; Now low, like evening hymn from Holy book. That Grief has left no trace — thy banks I tread — And hear those tones that rise through all thy way, Like Memory's Music from enchanted bed. So when some gusty Storm hath passed away. This little Flower uplifts its humbled head. In thankful wonder at thy water's play. 60 SONNETS. XII, I saw a Lover — on his upraised brow The Midnight Moon had in sweet token lighted. Then knew he that his absent Love, his phghted, Was present — in her thought and in her vow. Blest Creatures ! whom night-wandering Angels bow To bless, and leave the low sunk world benighted : Love knows no Time — for it is ever — Now ! Love knows no space — for hearts must live united ! Blest Creatures ye ! for Nature's self doth plot Your communing, and levels this terrene, And prostrates all it holds, as it were not ; And lifts her lamp up in the sky serene. That both might gaze upon one Heavenly spot. And Love alone might live and breathe between. XIII. Soft be thy step ! Night, the meek mother, lies In the deep bosom of the silent wood. Around her nestled all the featherM brood ; The sainted stars, that sentinel the skies, Take watchword from the River Mysteries SONNETS. 61 (Whose streamlets skirt this silvan neighbourhood, Tuning their music to their dreamiest mood), To shed their influence on her sleeping eyes. So some pale Abbess, in her shadowed cell — While all around her the pure sisters rest — Blends in her dreams the organ^s distant swell And bright-eyed Angels hovering o'er her breast. Here Heavenly Peace, and Peace on Earth combine — Night be thy pillow too, their guarded shrine. XIV. ]Infim't2 of an. Say what is Art ? Th' acquirement of a sense Discoverable, dormant, incomplete — Poetry, Painting, Music ; do they cheat The understanding with false ravishments Of things that are not ? No : when man invents He but discovers ; and, with favoured feet. Walks privilegM where Angels pass and meet — And bringeth back, as 'twere, the rudiments Of their high language, that in perfect state Of Being transformed celestial shall be ours ; With thorough knowledge to communicate. Though there were neither Eye nor Ear. Powers niimitable ! — 'tis but the outer hem Of God's great mantle our poor stars do gem. 62 SONNETS. XV. Cfie picture. A horrid wood of unknown trees, that throw An awful foliage, snakes about whose rind, FestoonM in hideous idleness did wind, And swing the black green masses to and fro ; A river — none knew whence or where — did flow Mysterious through ; clouds, swoin and lurid shinM, Above, like freighted ships, waiting a wind ; And moans were heard, like some half-utterM woe ; And shawdowy monsters glided by, whose yell Shook terribly th^ unfathomM wilderness, — Where ! The Great Maker, lies invisible And undiscoverM worlds doth yet impress On thought, Creation^s mirror, wherein do dwell His unattained wonders numberless. XVI. "^0 tfie QLii\}zn% of ^xistol Behold, how high, ye Citizens, I soar, When on my HippogrifF I girth the saddle !- From the pure air, to see you stir and paddle In that poor, dirty pool, doth vex me sore. Would that ! as Pegasus struck Hippocrene From the hard rock of Heliconian Hill Whence flowM poetic streams in many a rdl. SONNETS. 63 !_, too, could, lighting down on College Green Or Brandon, strike with Hippogriffian hoof Th^ unyielding earth, and ope the golden Fount Of Verse, whose taste would make your spirits mount Up to the stars that spangle Heaven^s high roof! — And it could sacred be from lock and chain. That all might freely drink what all could never drain. *^* This Sonnet is not written well, the lines should have the proper Sonnet spaces. — J.E. XVII. bonnet to ti)c i^an^ tfjat toofe jbisJ fliglJt f^on^ C^lifton aUbt tije CHi'ant'^ P?ole to Scig]^ 22Ilootig. I marked thee, fugitive, thy meteor flight Crossing the Line — thou^-t he that put a girth In forty minutes round about the Earth ; Thou'rt Peter Schlemil, that sinumbran wight. Shot down from Cynthia^s Orb, armM with a writ Of Habeas Corpus for Themaninthemoon, Constable, Bailiff, Catchpole, and Poltroon ; But he escaped thy clutch where he did sit And muse sublunar things in Giant^s Hole, And saw thee, like a spider, stretch thy line. Where thou did'st surely think to nab him thine In those sweet haunts, where thou didst deem he stole, Of " pleasant Leigh,^^ while Cynthia, far below. To catch him up, shot down her lunar bow. * Courtney. 64 SONNETS. XVIII. Jpaitfi anti Hobe. When Noah enterM in the blessed Ark, And with him, of all creatures two and two Twin Graces, Trust and Love their radiance threw Around that Home — a solitary mark Of Mercy, ^mid the Deluge deep and dark. Wrath Universal, that Creation slew Thus thro^ the stormy winds, the Lunar bark Shines peaceful, floating in her sea of blue. As He in God, so did in him confide Within that Safety- Ark each living thing — So the sweet Dove, sent forth, returned and tried Again, the Olive-branch of Peace to bring — Then sped away, trusting that Love would guide To her, her Mate with an unerring wing. XIX. HihtxtD. Angel Liberty ! where art thou fled ? Must Tyrant Multitude or Tyrant King Usurp thy Reign ; and oh ! the meaner thing, Base Faction, to the earth thy bounties tread. And to the Winds thy golden Harvests fling. SONNETS. 65 Must Man be Tyrant to himself — the head Contending with the heart — the heart to wring — And Passion ever sway in Virtue^s stead. Oh ! that I had the pinions of a Dove, With inspiration of thy holy breath Sweet Liberty, to reach that Rest — where Love FixM in thy perfect law, aye, governeth — For thou art not of Earth, but Heaven above — And here thy faithful Minister — is Death. XX. Within her mother's arms my infant lay. And death fast settling on her aspect mild. Like marble innocence. — The night was wild, And the winds shook the casement with affray, As they were Fiends, impatient for their prey. And quarrelFd for my poor departing child.— Again they shook — In death my infant smiFd, And the winds howl'd into the night away. I rose in madness, for the Fiends methought Had ta'en her — and I prayed — how vain my fears ; Some spirit whispered — ^' Sounds with terror fraught Are but delusions human fancy hears ; Heaven's love is in all sounds, nor is there aught But blessed Music to immortal ears.'' 66 SONNETS. XXI. Ol^onsolatfon. I was in Misery ; Reason to me came And talked most erudite, till my ears rang AVitli wisdom, tho^ not such as Siren sang ; For there were admonitions, and more blame. I was in misery still. In Friendship's name Then Sympathy, with comforts, to me sprang — Wept, pitied me — did the World's ills proclaim. As if the Catalogue would soothe one pang ! Away, away, I cried, another's woes Increase, not lessen mine. Then was I wild, And calFd on Death to strike ; but Hope arose. And stay'd his arm — then turn'd with aspect mild — " If not on Earth/' quoth she, " there is repose.'^ " There is in Heaven" — I cried, look'd up, and smiled. XXII. Beat J. Time was that Death and I were bitterest foes, And then I pictured him with noiseless feet. Threading the busy crowds from street to street. While his fell finger touch'd and thinn'd their rows. And still the waves of Life did round him close. And then the Tyrant left his w^onted beat. Stealing 'mong children at their play, unmeet For his strong grasp, and chill'd their vernal rose. SONNETS. 67 Bat now methinks a kinder form he takes — The good Physician bearing anodyne For aching hearts, and oft his glass he shakes To speed life's woes, that with the sands combine ; Now like a gentle friend, my pillow makes, And, with soft pressure, lays his hand in mine. XXIII. It was a Sunny Eve, and in a Bower There was a Bird put forth his carol sweet To the soft air ; and glistening leaves did meet And bend around him to the magic power. — And there were Two, that, hand in hand, that hour — That happy hour — passed by with lingering feet. And, loitering, lookM into that green retreat. Change ! why art thou True Love's only dower ? Dead is the Bird ; the leaves that interposed Their golden light lie o'er him — they too are dead ; And of The Two, the eyes of One are closed — And her dear feet, that did in sunshine tread, Upraised, and cold, and bare, in darkness lie. that the lonely Wanderer, too, could die ! 68 SONNETS. XXIV. O sacred dust of hoar Antiquitie, That takest of the day no hue, but keepest The grey of silence^ in the which thou sleepest ; Or in repose, hke sleep, the mystery Of Death^s no dying, watching Eternity ; Dim shades of years in aisles sepulchral heapest, And in lone nights in the Moon^s paleness steepest The love-writ records of Mortalitie. Likest to, if thou art not, that within Colourless, stainless, unsubstantial dust. Whose escaped spirits, who strove high grace to win. Come sainted ghosts to touch thy hallowM rust ; Whereas the reverent twilight creepeth in. On the memorials of the pure and just. (Written March 8, 1855.) XXV. The little bark, upon the waters lying ; The great Leviathans, that therein take Pastime, and trust it not ; the Birds, that make Their nests in cavernM cliffs and crags, outflying O'er the billowy surge, and wildly ci-ying ; The beasts, that with their roar the forests shake. And keep the fiends of night all broad awake The worn winds among lonely islands dying. SONNETS. 69 These are the Poet^s visions^ as he looks Forth from his curtainM casement^ when long nights Shut out the world, all save the moonlit brooks And valley twinkling with domestic lights. Then thanks he God, that here his lot is cast In the soft bosom of a world so vast. The two folloiviriff Sonnets toere translated from the Italian of Delia Casa hy Mr. Eagles, and sent to the Editor about 1827 :— XXVI. ^u£Sta Ftta iillortaU This mortal life, that in a little hour Of shadow passes by, hath left obscure. Till now, that better part of me, and pure Deep shrouded in the mists that round it lower. Now I behold, great God, in fruit and flower. In winter^s cold, and the rich garniture That summer yields, thy mercies ever sure. And manifold thy Measure, Grace, and Power. This the pure air, this the clear light of day. That to our eyes unfold this earth, the Ball Which from its dark abyss thou badst expand. All that Heav^i covers once in Chaos lay; — Thou didst divide the darkness with thy hand,- — Sun, Moon, and Stars shone forth, thy fingers made them all. 70 SONNETS. XXVII. ® Bote selba ombrosa* Dear shady wood, my solitary friend, To whom I have unbosomM many a thought Weary and sad, what change in thee is wrought ? Winter, with horrid grasp, as it would rend. Has shook thy verdant top, and frosts descend. And thy umbrageous antient locks have caught. As mine — and stead of vermeil flowrets, nought But snows along thy sunny glades extend. In this short darkling melancholy hour Wandering I muse, how Age's frosts begin My spirits to seize, and every limb enfold. Till all without is chill and all within ; But far more merciless my winters lower. Bringing me nights more long, more drear and cold. XXVIII. i^omfng. The little leaves, sparkling at dewy morn. Put forth from modest hedge-row into light, That, when the world is up, shrink back from sight To the green quiet of some humble thorn. Delight me more than fields of golden corn, And forests flusVd in evening's gorgeous might; So the pure eyes of Innocence, as bright. Beam on the world, they dare not to adorn. SONNETS. 71 And their celestial dawning none can tell, But th' incorrupt and early worshipper. They, to whom Nature shines not legible In simple things, who to their hearts transfer No virtue, — like th^ Egyptians, cannot spell What their Priest writ in sacred character. XXIX. ^ 13ag l^tmembmlr. Hence, Solitude ! I would with life invest, And make companion of a weed, a flower. To banish thee — late in thine inmost bower, A solemn wood, I laid me down to rest. Where, like a jewel on the brown Earth's breast, Or the mild star at Evening^ s silent hour, A primrose-tuft shone with a lustrous power. Amid the twilight of that gloom unblest. I had not converse held with thee, poor weed, Had Laura met me there — her gentle feet Charm wheresoever they move ; and in my creed Of Love, the loneliest spot wherein we meet Is Fairy-land — and I the Guardian Knight EndowM with purest thought, and joy, and dauntless might. 72 SONNETS. XXX. 23eautp. what is Beauty ? Poets say a flower — A Flower ! It fades e'en in the scented air It perfumes. — Beauty to the mind^s eye fair Blooms ever with its own immortal dower. Sweet Purity instinct with heavenly power : 'Twas thine, Alcestes, — pattern of virtue rare. And thine, chaste Lady, in the charmed chair ;* It awM the lion in sweet Una^s bower. beauty is not in the rosy cheek. Nor doth in dimple, nor strange lustre lie. But in the patient look, the firm, yet meek, (Charmed from the notice of all vulgar eye) It enters the souFs depth, and wins assent. Like a blest Angel on sure mission sent. * Vide "Comus." XXXI. Hife. Oh ! there are passages of life that lie, Each like a bright Oasis in the heart, The wilderness of years, — standing apart From noted action, daily History ; Unfelt, unseen, save by the inward eye. That with its sudden vision, makes to start Him whose they are, e'en in the very mart Of men, that wonder at his ecstacy. SONNETS. 73 We are of two-fold spirits, and the one Loves, like the under current of the sea Invisible, a diverse course to run ; The other, with necessity its plea. Commands us outwardly. ^Tis thus they give A World in which we walk, a World in which we live. (November, 1836.) XXXII. Come, living Thoughts, envelope me around With your voluminous Being — clear away (For ye are Spirits creative, and ye may) With your ethereal presence this dark ground Beneath, and my unburthenM feet surround With th^ unfelt pavement of your golden way, T^ ascend from out the darkness of Earth^s day. That to the mind^s large kingdom we may bound To reign, if " perfect will and knowledge be^^ To reign — and aught may reign but God above. Where life, in spiritual conception free, Sees all is Beauty — and feels all is Love. And ministering Thoughts ye come more bright Than wings of Angels glistening in their flight. (December, 1837.) 74 SONNETS. XXXIII. Hark ! how the feather d songster Chanticleer, As Rowley calls him, winds his bugle horn — And, at his cheerful bidding, disappear The shades of night, and the forth-stepping morn Lifts up her veil before her glistening face. To bless the wakened world with gladsome mirth. So I, when darkening gloom overspread the race Of care-worn things that creep on this dull earth, RaisM high my voice, and vanished are the clouds ^Twixt us and Cynthia^s shining orb of night, That shot new lustre on the groveling crowds. — As the night-wand'ring ship her pilot light Spreads to the floundering monsters round her lee. And sheds short radiance o^er the ghastly sea. (Autographed) Themaninthemoon. *^* There are numerous other Sonnets composed by Mr. Eagles, equal in every respect to the fore- going; the chief beauty of which consists in their construction upon the Miltonic model, in the piety of their sentiments, and the heaven-ward aspirations of their concluding lines. There are others upon political subjects, personal, and ironical ; but, as it is wished this " Garland of Roses " should flourish without a Thorn, they are purposely omitted. CARMINA LUSORIA The Miscellaneous Poems of Mr. Eagles are so many and various, that to make a selection from them suited to the compass of a Garland requires no slight discrimination. The Editor, therefore, is glad to avail himself of the judgment of some of Mr. Eagles^s relations and friends. In their possession are some of his sweetest poems on the affections, too precious and too closely entwined in their hearts to allow of their being made public. It is the same with others, in which his regard for his friends must be held equally private and sacred. Were it not so, these poems would disclose a mind and heart over- flowing with all the humanities which dignify our nature, and unite us in bonds of love and affection for each other. Mr. Eagles was possessed of such a true poetic genius, or, as it has been called, creative literature — " the record of the best and happiest 76 CARMINA LUSORIA. moments of the best and happiest minds ^^ — that^ whether it was love for the person, or the scenes of nature, animate or inanimate, whenever they took possession of his mind and memory, he poured forth his feelings with truth and sensibility io the most fascinating strains of poetic conception. It was with the same fertility of invention that he could change his subject from grave to the gay, from the political to the ironical. None but those who were intimately acquainted with his habits and thoughts can con- ceive how spontaneously, and with what rapidity, he would compose; so much so, that he seldom had to correct or review his first thoughts. CARMINA LUSORIA. (Written for the air of " Ah I ISIaiden, garden a ^peculiar measure.) Sweet grew the Rose, where waters flowing, Murmur in gentleness day by clay ; And branches round Bent to the sound. As if soft winds were blowing. 0, the sweet Rose, In blest repose. Tear, tear it not away. Fair blooms the maiden in her fragrant bower. Lovely her gentle thoughts beam in her eyes ; And lovers bow And breathe the vow. 0, she is the Rose, sweet flower — The World^s bright gem ; Touch not the stem Too roughly, or it dies. 78 CARMINA LUSORIA. Sweet Rose, thy leaves above the stream were glowing ; Smoothly it pass'd, and tho' its voice was sweet. The surface bright With charmed light, O'er dangers deep was flowing. Maiden, in thee The Rose T see, Thy reign as fair and fleet. II. Song. (Words loritten for Music.) O, we will to the woods again. And hear the sweet birds sing ; For the Blackbird heralds morn and eve— " Come forth, come forth, ^tis spring." Now every shrub puts on its best, For 'tis the month of May — Like to a smiling maid at early dawn That dons her best array. Now Trees put on their greenwood shade. That under we may lie ; And their roots stretch to the stream to catch Its music passing by. CARMINA LUSORIA. 79 Now flowers spring up on mossy banks. Now green is every nook ; Nor living things, nor aught therein, But bending roses look. Now waking things rise from the earth From their long winter bed, With jewelFd coats and golden wing. That sparkling radiance shed. Come Love, thine ear sweet sounds shall hear Thine eyes sweet sights shall see. And thou shall gaze on every thing But I, on only thee. III. Nor flower that's fairest. Nor music that's rarest. Nor soft breath of Spring that o'er sweetbriar blows ; Believe me, my dearest. Not all that thou hearest When Nightingales sing at the sweet evening's close, Can charm me to stay. Love, When thou art away, Love, For thou, my dear Mary, art sweeter than those. 80 CARMINA LUSORIA. Thee still would I follow Fleet, fleet as the swallow, That flies to her Summer o'er deep ocean's foam, O'er seas dark and dreary, With wing that is weary, Yet still the fond mate leads the way they should roam; Till come to their rest. Love, They make them one nest, Love, And the sunshine of Summer still blesses their Home. IV. Hobe. 0, what is Love ! what Love ! Not such as it doth seem To fever'd Passion's eye, A vision — faithless dream — Or childhood's painted bark On passing stream. Soon fades the bark away. And with the current flies ; — The unsubstantial dream Lives not in mid-day skies ; But Love, eternal Love, Nor fades, nor dies. Care may consume the heart With ever-eating rust ; Our forms — how strong, how fair. CARMINA LUSORIA. 81 How lovM — lie dust to dust ; But even tlience, shall Love Rise with new trust. Love, kindled in the soul. Grows with it here — above To rise with it all pure As wing of sainted dove, Eternal as the Heavens, Or ^tis not Love. V. Home ! thou art in every place, O'er all the boundless earth — The centre of eternal space. Wherever thou hast thy birth. They say ^' a thousand miles from Home,^' As from the dearest thing That links our souls, the more we roam, The more to it we cling. What though ten thousand miles we run, And add ten thousand more, There is a Home — ^tis like the sun That travels still before. 82 CARMINA LUSORIA. Though not for us — though all be strange ; Yet fondest hearts there be, In all the world^s unmeasured range. No home elsewhere can see. O^er peopled realms, or deserts vast, There still. One Voice is heard — ^Tis Home — Home there her lot hath cast Of man, of beast, or bird. Within the forest's deepest shade. Ten thousand depths around — Home for each living thing is made That creepeth on the ground ! Where life hath neither bed nor lair. In silence and in gloom, Home finds the lonely floweret there, The worm within the tomb. Home, Home — it is eternal love — His presence, and His praise — O'er all around, below, above. Creation's boundless ways — E'en in the poor, defiled heart, The present Home of Sin, God said. Let wickedness depart. And We will dwell therein. CARMINA LUSORIA. 83 Blest Spirit, thou that Home prepare, Do thou make clean, secure, Lest Love should seek his dwelling there, His Home, nor find it pure. Thou, when this Earthly Home shall fall. As built on erring sands — Me to that Heavenly Mansion call, Prepared, not made with hands. That Home of love, and joy, and peace, No sorrow in the breast — From troubling where the wicked cease. And where the weary rest. (1833.) VI. Hife. It seemeth but the other day — The other day that I was born — And childhood came — lifers ruddy morn Soon passM away. It seemeth but the other day. Came schoolboy cares, of verb and noun- And idle sport, stern master's frown — • They passM away. 84 CARMINA LUSORIA. It seemeth but a day, an hour, Since youth was mine, all fresh and young, With nerve, and heart, and forward tongue — Full pert the flower. It seemeth but a day, since I, Scarce tamed before, to beauty knelt, And sighM, and swore, and madly felt Lovers agony. It seemeth scarce a day, e'en now. With firmer step I walkM, the man, And proudly spoke ; and thought, and plan Shook from my brow. How like a thief of night, to-day Upon that yesterday stole in — On that again Lifers shades begin In twilight grey. To-morrow — is it in our grasp ? — This night may death shut up our age, And close our book of pilgrimage With iron clasp. Life is but the souFs infant state. Where ripens its eternal seed For bitter dole, or heavenly meed Regenerate. CARMINA LUSORIA. 85 Death— Death is conquered, and the grave The summoned dead to Life shall yield- When angels reap thy harvest field, Lord, who shall save ? Redeemer, thou ; Thine was the strife, The victory — with thy Grace renew The inner man — set in my view Eternal Life. That infant child, and youth, and man. Baptized, and cleansed from stain of Sin, By Faith in Thee, I come within Thy Mercy^s plan. VII. Can I forget, where every nook Recalls thy sweet, thy gentle look. Where e'en the music of the hrook Still bids me love thee dearer ? Where all I hear and all I see — The song of birds, the flower, the tree, Bear something to my heart of thee, And bring thy image nearer. 86 CARMINA LUSORIA. If, wandering on, the grove I reach, Thy name is carved on every beech ; Thy name oft uttered in my speech Betrays the unconscious lover. I try o^er maxims sage to pore, Yet turn the unheeded pages o'er, And oft in leaf of ancient lore Thy name alone discover. What, though I seek the joyous throng. Thoughts that to thee alone belong Are wakened up by chaunt, by song, I think of thee — thee only ! In scenes of mirth I dare not stay, I feel the more thou art away ; Fly from the vacant and the gay To silent shades and lonely. So stays awhile the stricken deer On sunny bank, by fountain clear. With watchful eye, and startled ear. Then bounds she knows not whither. ShunnM by the gayer herd, dismayM, She flies the bright, the sunny glade, And plungest into deepest shade. And bears her anguish with her. (Halherton, 1833.) CARMINA LUSORIA. 87 VIII. ^\}t ^rogrtss of Hobe. Oh ! what is the time of the merry year That we should begin to Love, my Dear, — In the early day, when scarce ^tis Spring, And there's not a leaf on the budding tree. And the earth is prank't but here and there. With flowerets by one, by two, by three, — Like the faint gems fairy-feet do leave. Or the stars that rarely come out at eve. When the blackbird and thrush at peep of dawn Prelude in notes so finely drawn. As leaders of the vocal choir. That awhile are attuning their instruments, E're Nature her Curtain draws aside From the scene her Bower of Bliss presents, E^^e in concert full from leaf and spray. The Choristers chaunt the live-long day. When the blossom of pink and white is seen To peep from its bed of tender green. And over the fresh and velvet bank The sun has shed a kindlier gleam, — Soft and chaste as enchanted light That paints the vision in maiden's dream ; Then Love (if gentle indeed thou art) Should break from the bud in thy gentle heart. 88 CARMINA LUSORIA. When the streamlet flies from the sunny glade, And sparkles awhile on the verge of shade ; Then quietly steals ^mid mossy cells, Where the glassy mirror within doth hold The dark repose of the secret bower, And the bright green leaves are as lucid gold ; — ^Tis June, ^tis June — the pride of the year, And "'tis time to be rich in Love, my Dear. When the roses of Summer shall fade, and yield To mellow fruits of tree and of field. That, rich and ripe as thy ruby lip, Ask and invite us to taste and kiss ; — ^Tis time, ^tis time for Lovers to reap ; For, Oh ! the ripe fruit of Love is Bliss. And the yellow ground, and the purple sky, Tell us that Winter approacheth nigh. And when Winter his frosts around shall fling, Oh ! Love it is then a precious thing, — For it lights up a Palace of rare delight ; It awakens a glow in the joyous breast. — The silken Couch, the Lyre, and Song — Whose Music shall make e^en bliss more blest ; And when the wild winds shall rave above, We're lockM in each others arms, my Love. CARMINA LUSORIA. 89 IX. All around was dark in mist, But a star shone bright In the lonely night, And the bosom of ocean kissM — A favourM spot, and the Zephyrs there Came to sport in the waters fair. CHORUS. Spirits, away — your wings renew With healing balm in the briny dew. The dolphins float around. And a circle track With uplifted back. Like the stones upon Druid ground. That lie upon Carnac's dreary plain, — So motionless they in the misty main. CHORUS. Spirits, away — your wings renew With healing balm from the briny dew. 1st Spirit. Sister spirit, where hast been ? 2nd Spirit. Over the sands Of burning lands. From gardens fresh and green ; To fan the feverM cheek to re»t Of a child on its fainting mother's breast. 90 CARMINA LUSORIA. CHORUS. Sister spirits, your wings renew With healing balm of the briny dew. 1st Spirit. And thou, say, sister, where ? 3rd Spirit. Where fountains play, With silvery spray. To the sun and the scented air ; And sweet birds sing, and leaf and flower Bend to the music in lady^s bower. CHORUS. Sister spirits, your wings renew With healing balm of the briny dew. 4th Spirit. And I where blood was spilt — And as I fannM The murderer's hand, It gave him a pang of guilt, For he saw his brother lie cold in death. And could not feel that reviving breath. CHORUS. Sister spirits, your wings renew With healing balm of the briny dew. 5th Spirit. And I my pastime took In wake of a ship That her bows did dip, And the salt spray from her shook. Merrily danced the ship along With flaunting colours, and seaman's song CARMINA LUSORIA. 91 CHORUS. Sister spirits, your wings renew With healing balm of the briny dew. 1st Spirit. Dolphins, away — be free, For I hear the swell Of the Sea-God^s shell, That calls up the sleeping sea. Alas ! the joy on that fated deck — Weeping, and wailing, and prayer-and wreck ! CHORUS. Sisters, away — the briny dew Nomore may with healing your wings renew. X. ^5e iHletrfat. O, ^tis a charmed spot of rest. Where unseen Spirits are. That enter in the troubled breast. And steal away its care. And bid the demons of the heart — The restless, anxious thoughts, depart. And see the river deep, and fast It seems to bear along ; Our evil passions to it cast. Still turbulent and strong ; And there, as in their prison set, Thev whirl, and foam, and toil, and fret. 92 CARMINA LUSORIA. While peaceful pleasure upward springs. As in a place secure — That gentlest Spirits fan with wings^ And keep it green and pure ; And where they come, and where retreat They leave the sunshine of their feet. 0, mine be the sequestered nook From the world^s troubles free ; Where is no brawling but the brook, No murmur but the sea ; Where so serenely bright the glow, That Angels e^en might come and go, (Ralberton, March, 1834.) XI. The moist, the genial springtime fills The swollen brooks, the gurgling rills ; Soft dews begem the earth's green cap. Through every fibre runs the sap. The tree puts forth the vigorous shoot. The pearl-dropt primrose decks its root. The moisten^ lids of opening flowers Look thankful up to skies of showers. Upon the mountain melts the snow That sparkles in the river's flow. CARMINA LUSORIA. 93 The little birds, from moistenM throats, Proclaim the spring in liquid notes. The stream of life all nature feels — Earth, air, the secret law reveals. Then, Julia, look not with surprise If tears do flow from lover's eyes. But since all things their like beget, If with these tears mine eyes be wet. Let thine the genial influence prove. And thus my tears beget thy love. XII. Sbong. (To the tune of— " I've kiss'd and I've prattled with fifty fair Maids , And chang'd them as oft, d'ye see." TRUE BLUE. There are fifty fine colours that flaunt and flare^ All pleasant and gay to see ; But of all the fine colours that dance in the air. True Blue's the colour for me. True Blue is the colour of good true Love, For it melts in woman's eye ; True Blue is the colour of Heaven above, For it beams in the azure sky. 94 CARMINA LUSORIA. True Blue is the vest that Nature, free. Has spread round the joyous earth. True Blue is the hue of the dancing sea. As it gave to Beauty birth. True Blue, it flows in the soft blue vein Of a bosom that's fair and true, — • As the violet, softenM by Heaven's own rain. Is tinged with the Heavenly hue. True Blue, it is seen in the distant vale. Where the fond hearts love to roam ; It curls in the smoke from the sheltered dale. As it guides the wanderer home. True Blue hangs glorious over the wave. From a thousand ships unfurled ; It covers the hearts of the British brave, As they bear it round the world. And when skies grow dark and the wild winds yell. If he sees but a streak of blue Above him, the Steersman knows AlPs Well, That his Guardian Ange?s true. Then, let all the fine colours go flaunt and flare. All pleasant and gay to see ; True Blue's the colour alone to wear. True Blue's the colour for me. CARMINA LUSORIA. 95 XIII. I do adore a lady fair ; To precious stones I her compare : Her breast is marble ; her bright eyes Throw round a light of sapphire dyes ; Her lips are rubies, red and bright ; Her hands are alabaster white ; Her heart a diamond is, throughout. All other light it putteth out ; Nor sighs, nor tears it doth admit. So nature loves to harden it ; While thus all precious stones I see. In all her form and mind agree ; She is so rich, and I so poor. In vain I look — in vain adore. XIV. prologue to Hz **Sbpoilt (Bf)i\n:' This Prologue and Epilogue were written by Mr. Eagles almost on an impromptu, when some of his little Grandchildren were going to act the *' Spoiled Child," and when another of his Grand- children was somewhat unwillingly pressed into the service by his cousins ; his Grandfather at once producing the Prologue and Epilogue. The allusion to St. Mary's, Winton, arose from the Boy who was to recite them having lately returned from Winchester, where he is still, a Commoner. Spoken by L. I. G. C. Ladies and Gentlemen, 'tis to assure you Of our main purpose, that I come before you ; 96 CARMINA LUSORIA. But stay — I have forgot to make my bow ; — ^Tis rather late — Please to accept it now. (Bows according to received TJieatrical propriety.) We purpose, then, to give you "immense^^ pleasure, Which by our best endeavours you will measure, Not by performance. We will do our best. And your good nature will supply the rest, And your applause will be our surest test. If, then, you see our arms thus saw the air. Or graceless drop — our legs not seem a pair. But take a hobbling or a shuffling gait. Or go eccentric when they should go straight. Observe it not ; a smile from each fair face Will turn our every awkwardness to grace. You look surprised — then I^m not understood ; I know my language is not very good. Of late my English hath aside been flung. And dry Greek roots have starved my mother tongue^ Though in our Grammar's frontispiece you see The Tree of Knowledge, like an apple tree. And two boys under it as big as me. Few climb, — and the rich upper boughs can grapple. As yet I have not touched a single apple, But such poor knowledge-fruit as may be found Nipt by a frost, and dropt upon the ground. But pray remember how the little fish CAKMINA LUSORIA. 97 Excused himself from furnishiug a disli — '* Let me escape, good Fisherman ; when bigger, Then catch me, — and I cut a better figure/^ So I, when once a Prefect of Sixth Form, Will prologues speak, shall take applause by storm : Meanwhile your gentle minds I would imprint on, Fm a small scholar at St. Mary^s, Winton, Aspiring to perfection in Philology ; At present pray accept this poor apology, And kindly to your critic sense annex it. No more — lest saying more should but perplex it; Again I make my bow — and so — my exit. lEpilope. Spoken by L. I. G. C. Ladies and Gentlemen, once mure I come^ (Applause and clapping of hands.) (Forbear applause, or you will strike me dumb,) To thank you for the grace your Voice affords To this our first appearance on these boards. By your encouragement to our good will, We hope improvement in Dramatic skill. And witnesses — no faces new — and proxies. But the same audience in these self-same boxes. And, though Spoilt Children we have been of right In this our Minor Theatre, to-night. We mean to show, when we shall be of age, 98 CARMINA LUSORIA. To act our parts upon the World's large stage, A little spoiling in our Childhood's day Does not unfit us for Life's serious Play. That, when on Duty's Boards we shall appear In Characters that suit each coming year, Your kind Indulgence has not spoilt us here. And that* — but I obey the Prompter's bell ; The Curtain drops, and so we bid — Farewell. * Here Bell to tingle. XV. " Love me, love my dog." Old Proverb. O^Sloe anb 9i3rus6. When Dian went hunting thro' dingles and dell. By rock and by rill and by river. The mountains around her re-echoed the yell Of the beasts that were slain by her quiver. Her dogs were all fierce, and their fangs were much stronger. And the tails that they carried behind. And the ears that they carried before, were much longer Than any of those of their kind. But you, my dear Chloe, steal quiet incog, And yet are as sure in the chace ; CARMINA LUSORIA. 99 Accompanied only by one little dog, * Assuming an innocent face. At your bidding he fetches, he runs, and he stops, And the shafts that you shoot are so gentle. That the prey at your feet quite contentedly drops, In the style of the true sentimental. Thus, at home or abroad, by yourself, and still more, By your deputy dog — (but, hark — hush ! There's prey for your bag, by that scratch at the door,) You are sure to come in for the Brush. {2Wi Bee, 1846.) * A very happy and characteristic description of one of Brush's peculiarities. My correspondent writes: — "These playful lines were sent to me after I had successfully forwarded a packet fastened round the dog's neck, from St. Vincent's Parade, where I was then staying, to King's Parade. He invariably followed me home, as if to take care of me. He then returned and scratched at his master's door, some one of whose family always quickly let him in, when it was very pretty to see his dance of pleasure. This faithful dog was given by Mr. Standert to Mr. Eagles, and on that account alone would have been highly valued ; but he was a dog of uncommon sense — large white terrier of an uncommon kind — and became his master's inseparable companion, watching and waiting on him by day ; in the evening resting at his feet or lying on his lap while reading, and he always looked more truly happy there than in any other position. He is strongly associated with the last ten years of Mr. Eagles's life. Brush is still living, so cherished by Mr. Eagles's Children and Grandchildren, that his life seems to be prolonged, though he has outlived the master, and home he so loved." 100 CARMINA LUSORIA. XVI. 'Twas not a bright and sunny day, Laura and I were walking — Or if there was a single ray, ^Twas only in our talking. We crossM the park, in mirthful mood, By mirth I mean not laughter. But gentle joy — we reacVd the door — PassM through — and slamm'd it after. A Squirrel, on the leafy ground Hard by, his nuts was munching — He thought a gun went off — a sound That spoils a Squirrel's luncheon. Down dropt his nuts — and off he set — • Across the road he ventured — There found a wall — but not the hole, Alas I where he had entered. Across the road again he flew. And ^mazM, like most encroachers — At seeing us, poor beast, in view — No doubt he thought us Poachers. Fm sure my face lookM very bland, And Laura's every feature Told, that a babe might understand. She could not hurt a crcat'^vp CARMINA LUSORIA. 101 But Squirrels trust not human looks, To me they^re paradoxes. Perhaps they've read in Fable books What things we do to Foxes. Th' affrighted thing an instant stood. And paus'd — then off he started. And straight before us in the road Precipitately darted. But, ah ! imprudent was the flight, Too late experience taught him — ■ For soon as we were out of sight, Two boys surprised, and caught him. We saw him in an apron tied — (If how we saw, you wonder. At least we saw his tail outside. That showM his head was under.) Poor beast, thou'rt caged — art prisoner now, Must quit thy former habits. Thy slack-rope feats from bough to bough, Th' applause of hares and rabbits. Thy wife must take another mate, Or linger broken-hearted ; For sure the " District Registrar '' Has booked thee down " Departed." 102 CARMINA LUSORIA. Dear Laura ! scrutinize my rhymes, For the poor brains that spin them, Mark things that pass a thousand times That bear a moral in them. The Squirrel, captived in his flight, This lesson seems to carry. That very often when we fly, ^Twere better far to tarry. It bids the timid maid look twice, When Lovers first approach her ; Nor trust first looks, that rarely show The true one from the Poacher ; And flying oft a gentle heart. Lest gentle arms should catch her, That ^^ farther on she may fare worse" And ruder hands may snatch her. The occurrence which gave rise to the above poem arose from a vpalk which a lady was taking with Mr. Eagles through the Park at Ash ton, near Bristol. There is a door at the end, near the inn, which shut with a bang. The poem may be truly con- sidered a " Sketch from Nature." The lady adds, she had often observed how extremely interested Mr. Eagles always was iu all living things down to " beetles." It may be added that almost any thing is capable of poetic treatment. An individual life — a phenomenon of nature — a humaa character — a mood of mind — a single passing thought or feeling, are all adequate subjects for the true poetical genius ; and noble poems have been, times beyond number, made out of each of these. What sort of a poem may be produced, will depend upon the CARMINA LUSORIA. 103 peculiar bias of the mind to this or that of the myriad aspects which every object presents — upon the language in which it is composed — upon the degree in which the poet is master of its powers, upon the general knowledge and refinement of the age, and the degree in which he partakes of them. How truly the following definition of poetry, by Coleridge, applies to Mr. Eagles's varied productions : — " Therefore I descend from the ideal into the real world, so far as to conjoin both; to give a sphere of active operations to the ideal, and to elevate and refine the real.'* The above remarks are peculiarly applicable to several of the preceding poems. XVII, Felix, there are who say they cannot see The light that shines upon those lunar pages, Which should transmit, I fondly hoped, both me And all Bristolians down to future ages. Is it my fault, if Dull will miss the scope And meaning, when I aim at style Horatian ? People may look through HerscheFs telescope That never make a lunar observation. I have seen many staring at the Moon, That did not know her from a silver spoon. Sometimes our wits, eyes, ears, or noses fail, As you will learn much better from a tale. 104 CARMINA LUSORIA. A Drunkard, staggering home one ^loon-lit night, Chane'd, for a bed, into a ditch to light ; And there he lay extended on his back, A heavy lump, and lifeless as a sack. The ground was dry on which his carcase slippM, While in the standing pool his legs were dipp'd. And the full Moon, that shone on his disgrace, StarM, like his wife's broad visage, in his face. It chancM a stranger, passing by that way. Perceived the drunken lubbard as he lay ; And woke him with no very friendly shake ; But still his senses were but half awake. — He fancied he was sleeping at an Inn, And thought it was the Chambermaid steppM in To call him ; and had just the wits to say — " I shan't get up so soon, why 'tis'nt day. You jade — this pillow is as hard as lead, And you forgot last night to warm my bed : Tuck me round closer to keep in the heat. And put another blanket on my feet.'' Then, staring at the Moon, more peevish cries, — " Take that confounded Rushlight from my eyes.'' MORAL. Many there are this tale severely handles. Who take the lights of Heaven for farthing candles. CARMINA LUSORIA. 105 XVIII. ^i)e iTOonopoltst. A good for nothing miserly Curmudgeon, Whose little soul would strive to skin a flint, And dine whole days upon a single gudgeon, Dream'd of a scarcity, and took the hint ; Believing, as he counted o'er his pelf. That Heaven would be as niggard as himself. He bought up quickly all the grain to hoard. And far'd himself upon the hopes of gain j And, with his magazines immensely stor'd Stinted his belly to a single grain : Meanwhile, to mar his schemes, the markets drop, And plentifully Nature yields her crop. What will not avarice, that monstrous sin, do ; He went and hangM himself upon a rafter, And his wife saw him do it from the window. And scarcely could contain her joy from laughter. But fortune rather seem'd inclined to frown. And sent a neighbour in to cut him down. The wretch soon came to life again, because He had not put his foot in Charon's boat ; And instantly he fix'd his griping claws. 106 CARMINA LUSORIA. In gratitude upon Lis neighbour''s throat. '^ 1^11 not be heve/' said he, " the loser, but ril make you pay me for the rope youVe cut." MORAL. Ye paltry niggards who thus fortunes carve. Why don't you teach us, like yourselves, to starve. XIX. ^l^t parent 0ak. The Oak of Old England for ages had stood The Parent and Pride of the far-spreading wood ; And it wavM in its glory o'er corn-field and glade. And our forefathers, happy, sat under the shade. 0, the old Parent Oak was a Monarch to see ; The hand of good Alfred, it planted the tree ; And the best and the bravest — the warrior and sage, Were the Priests of its glory in youth and in age. And once, when the storm of wild anarchy spread, And the blood of a King and the loyal was shed. In its sheltering branches a Monarch it bore. And our forefathers they hallow'd and lov'd it the more. 0, the old Parent Oak, from its branches it flung The acorns around, whence a progeny sprung. That took root in the soil, Heaven bless'd with its dew, And Forests of Freedom in vigour upgrew. CARMINA LUSORIA. 107 And they bore on the Ocean full bravely their might, And their stout hearts of oak brav'd the storm and the fight ; And the Halls of Old England^s dominion uprearM, "Where Liberty spoke, and where Law was revered. In arches of triumph the branches were spread, Where Religion might hallow the living and dead ; And the blessing-taught people long cherishM with awe The structures of Peace, and of Learning and Law. 0, the old Parent Oak, as the Forests up-grew. Was fresh in its age, and rejoiced in the view ; And lifted its head in its power and its pride. And shook the wild storms from its branches aside. 0, who would have thought that a change would come o^er The heart of a people, to reverence no more The Oak of Old England, to deem themselves wise, When all that their fathers most lov'd they despise. Once more the mad tempest of Anarchy pourM Its wrath o^er the Earth, as in thunders it roarM ; And the Demons of Hell were let loose in the storm. And howPd out their watchword of mischief, "Reform.^' 108 CARMINA LUSORIA. The hurricane bellowed, the lightnings sliot round. And far forests blaz'd or lay low on the ground ; And the storm-demons yell'd in their fury, and passed. And the Oak of Old England stood firm in the blast. Then Rebels and Regicides stood round the tree, And its proud top unseated they rejoiced not to see ; And they niggardly envied the cost and the care To preserve it uninjured, and hoped it was bare. And they swore, tho' the red lightning^s bolt spared to kill The old noble limbs that were flourishing still — That the Tree of Old England no longer should shoot. And cried in their madness — " The axe to the root.'"* '' The axe to the root^^ in their fury they cried, And who should have guarded the precincts replied, " The axe to the root,^^ and obeyM the command. And struck the first blow with his parricide hand. 0, wide was the wound, for Ingratitude's stroke AimM deep to the heart, at the true heart of Oak ; And the trunk and the branches shrunk back with a moan, — And the Monarch of England then shook on his throne. Then the Rebels their voices threw up to the sky ; And the Grey-beard x\rch Traitor his cordage threw high, CARMINA LUSORIA. 109 And the limbs of the Tree that were proudest fast bound, And caird on the Unions to pull to the ground ; And tho' round them the stout chords were craftily flung, And the traitors pulPd hard, still the limbs closer clung, To the old Parent Trunk still they clung with their might, Tho^ bruisM by the force, and stript bare to the sight. Then loud was the blasphemy, insult, and mirth — " Cut it down to the ground, for it cumbers the earth ; Cut it down, tho^ all England should shake with the shock, And the blood of a King shall soon water its block /^ Has the fury of demons "the people ^^ possest; Are there none may the hands of the traitors arrest ? Yes, stout hearts and brave shall still stand round the tree. To the Baal of France, that have bow^d not the knee. Tho"* the axe has cut deep, accurs^l treachery aimM, And the trunk of the Monarch of Forests be maimM, Its proud branches injur'd, and yet doomed to fade. Let us trust that the hand of the spoiler is staid. 110 CARMINA LUSORIA. That the old Oak of England is still sound at heart, That its honours, now fading, shall never depart ; It may tempests defy, in new vigour arise, And burst in its glory once more to the skies. That the eye that o'erruleth the thunders may shed The sunshine of Peace on its still verdant head ; — And if victims must fall — that the Traitor lie low, 'Neath the trunk of the tree where he struck the first blow. Mr. Eagles wrote many Patriotic Ballads and Songs similar to the foregoing during the period of the Reform Mania. No one ever stood firmer or more consistently to Conservative Principles, which he always boldly and openly professed. XX. ^eplg to an Habitation to forite a ^ocm. Dear Chloe, when you bid me write. You really ought to think, It isn^t every horse you lead To water, that will drink ; Not even draughts on Helicon, However sweet they flow — Nor are they now-a-days like drafts On Messrs. Miles and Co. CARMINA LUSORIA. Ill What;, write a Song ! mere Rhymes on Love, Alas ! my sleep is calm — No dreams of love — and my poor pen But scrawls into a Psalm. Each Muse I askM in terms most sweet, (They love my pride to stab,) They answered me with a sour look — They were engaged with Crabb. Again I askM in Florio's name. As being loth to jog On vulgar John, they pertly said. They were engaged with Hogg. One day I thought they smiFd, and ask^d But for a Song; — ^just then They were engaged in Hymns for Hig- -ginbottom of Bungay's pen. The truth I plainly now perceive — The task you me affix. The Muses never will allow To one going forty-six. My love is 3 per Cent. Reduced, My passion, Orthodox, My love Fve all transferrM, and put My Cupid in the stocks. 113 CARMINA LUSORIA. No longer now to Delia's eye Or locks, I rhymes indite ; I swore they were angelic once, But now I think — not quite. But could you give me back eighteen, When youth inspired my quill — When e'en a little finger's tip Made me all over thrill — No more averse a verse to write, I would not yield to Bard, If thou, fair Chloe wert imj Muse, My Theme, and my Reward. CARMINA LUSORIA, TRANSLATED BY MR. EAGLES, FROM VINCENT BOURNE'S POEM ATI A. THE TITLE of " Carmina Lusoria" or " Scraps of Rhyme" which Mr. Eagles gave to the following translations from the Poematia of Vincent Bourne, was so appropriate to these selections made from Mr. Eagles's Miscellaneous Poems, that there was no hesitation in adopting it. Vincent Bourne's Latin Poems have always been admired for their playfulness and humour. No one was more delighted with them, and loved their author better, than the Poet Cowper. — " I love the memory of Vinny Bourne," he says in one of his letters to Hayley — " I think him a better Latin Poet than Tibullus, Propertius, Ausonius, or any of the writers in his way, except Ovid, and not at all inferior to him. His humour is entirely original. With all his drollery, there is a mixture of natural and even religious reflection at times, and always an air of pleasantry, good nature, and humanity, that makes him, in my mind, one of the most amiable writers in the world." Cowper translated twenty-two of his Latin Poems ; Mr. Eagles has translated twelve. Both entered into their spirit and facetiousness; which excelled the other let the public determine. Amongst the following, selected Jrom Mr. Eagles's translations, there is one which each translated. They are here printed, with the Latin original, that a comparison may be formed between them. The edition from which Mr. Eagles made his translations, before he transmitted them to " Blackwood's Magazine," is now in the hands of his friend. They are written in a small neat hand round the margin of the pages J and is another instance of Mr. Eagles's facility and correctness in composition, the alteration even of a word occurring in few of them. Mr. Eagles thus pleasantly introduces his translations :— ** Winter is over. March, that came in like a lion, has been led out like a lamb, tamed by Lady-Day. Even the east wind is away, • with sighing sent.' Youtli begins to be its own spring ; and age 114 CARMINA LUSORIA. to * babble of green fields.' All we want is to shun retrospect, and be happy. For looking backward, says Lord Kaimes, is like walking backward ; it is not the way man should go. The path is growing green that leads to pleasant woods. Let us fancy the little stream a Lethe, lie down by it, look into it, just to see how ugly we are with all the past year's troubles on our faces; and, ' so to interpose a little ease' — one dip, — and look again, how much better do we appear. "We are prepared for a month's cheerfulness, and accept amusement. ' I nunc et versus tecum meditare.' And why not ? Happy is the versifier. Great is the man whose whole want is centred in a rhyme — and to whom, when found, it is more precious than the philosopher's stone. He who finds a rhyme finds a treasure, and is contented with it : he is not like him who, finding a purse of money, was so vexed at not having found it before he had lost so many years' interest, that he went and hanged himself. Versifier is happy that he had not found it before, for the search for it has led him through the sweetest mazes in the garden of poetry. Whatever the world may think of him, he now thinks well of himself. ' Evp-nxa ' is not only on his lips, but in his heart. He is the master of joy, and overmasters grief. He couples it to verse, and makes it go his own pace. He rhymes over the very grave, and thinks he has invented such a sauce as one might eat one's grandmother withal ! It is only the versifier by instinct, by natural temperament — spontaneous, unpaid, unhired — of whom this, how- ever, can be said. "The amiable Cowper thought his playful pieces sinful; and too lightly viewed the playfulness of the * Usher's genius, which certainly coloured his own. Had Vincent Bourne lived to read the scholar's ' John Gilpin,' he would have put it into exquisite Latin, and have overcome a difficulty which several modern Latinists have attempted not very successfully. " It was in the busy idleness of a mere rhymer that T took up Vincent Bourne, and lighted mostly on those pieces which were shortest, and therefere best suited to the humour of the hour. I thank Cowper for the portrait, and cheat myself into the fancy that I have spent some pleasantly idle hours with the usher, for which I beg forgiveness of those matter-of-fact philosophers who look upon versifiers as belonging to the unproductive classes — as the drones who ought to be extinguished by brimstone. Here is a * Concetto,' a somewhat extravagant compliment. * I love Vinuy Bourne' — as * Vincent Bourne was Usher at Westminster when Cowper was a Pupil. CARMINA LUSORIA. 115 Cowper said, so I say — the more for his not infrequent praise of art, He loved Pictures. He had before written on the portrait — ' In Effigiem Dominse Catharinee Hyde.' " After these episodical remarks, a few of Mr. Eagles's translations must be acceptable to his relations and friends, for whose gratifica- tion the publication of this " Garland" is principally intended. To each of these translations Mr. Eagles has prefixed some of those lively remarks which accompanied many of his poems. We will commence with the " Reconciliation"; and as Vincent Bourne's " Carmina" are generally short, and Mr. Eagles has in some instances happily lengthened his translations, a better judgment can be formed of the truthful spirit with which he entered into their meaning. XXI. Bcconciliatrix. Crescentes laudes Natura inviderat Arti ; Et sibi rivalem nescia ferre parem ; Divinam effinxit Nympham, et formam addidit ori, Cui Cyprise posset cedere forma dese. Hanc videt Ars, vincique dolet, doctosque resumens Knelleri calamos, semula tentat opus : Depingit suavesque genas, mollesque capillos, Et coUa intacta candidiora nive. Virginei rubor idem, eademque est gratia vultus; Et similis roseo spirat in ore decor. Hinc nee certamen vult ilia iterare vel ilia : Contenta et felix utraque laude sua. Gloria Naturae atque Artis, componere tantas Quae potuit lites unica, mira fuit. '2r{)e ^Reconciling 33eauti). Nature with envy heard the praise of Art, Nor knew to make a rival counterpart. At length a maid she brought of form and face 116 CARMINA LUSORIA. So perfect, Venus had not half her grace. Then Art was grieved, and Kneller^s pencil took. And copied every feature, every look : Her snowy bosom, dimpled cheek, and fair, And glossed with all her skill the silken hair; In purest virgin hues her pencil dips. And a like beauty breathes from roseate lips. Their works complete, each with her own was pleased, Nor would renew the contest, and it ceased. Oh ! who could reconcile this rival pride Of Art and Nature — but the lovely Hyde ? XXII. " If inexorable rhyme, or the untranslatableness of original substantives, adjectives, or lines, has tempted me to deviate a hair's- breadth from the square and rule of translationship, I trust the muses of the particular locality of the following piece will excuse a liberty of speech in which themselves indulge; and, indeed, here I would deprecate the wrath of the gentle reader on this score throughout these attempts, which would never have been made at all under the compulsion of using * Mercator's Scale,' and under foot or inch rule." Scf)oIa URi^etoriccs. Londini ad pontem, Billingi nomine, porta est, Unde ferunt virides ostrea Nereides. Hie sibi perpetuam legit facundia sedem. Nee modus hie verbis, neve figura deest. Sermonem densis oratrix floribus ornat, Et fundit varies, ingeminatque, tropos. Et nervi, et veneres, et vis, et copia fandi. Insunt ; et justum singula pondus habent. CARMINA LUSORIA. 117 O sedes totidem multum celebrata per annos ! Omne tibi rostrum cedit, et omne forum. Utraque, quos malit, titulos academia jactet. At tibi linguarum Janua nomen erit ! ' Here I am off to an ad libitum movement." '^Ijc S?c!jool of aHfietonc. By London Bridge stands Billings-gate, Where nymphs, by men called oyster-wenches, Bring fish to sell, and hold debate. Here eloquence sits throned on benches, And arguments so-fisticate Adroitly clenches. Professors of the softer sex Pour out vocabulary vigour, In speech that Priscian would perplex, Unfettered by grammatic rigour, Defying all the law directs Of mood and figure. Yield either Senate — Pulpit — Bar — Your pleading, preaching, and debating. Apologetic ifs, and war Of words — mistaking and misstating — Compared to theirs not very far Removed from prating. 118 CARMINA LUSORIA. Ye Oxford Tutors, Cambridge Dons, Who empty heads are ever fiUing With parallellipipidons. And classic stuff, not worth a shiUing, Driving o^er the Asinorum Pons, By cramming, urging dolts unwilling : To Mother Wit go take your sons, And pass them through the Gate of Billing. XXIII. " The following is of far other character ; it took the usher in one of his gentlest moods. Be sure, he loved children ; their innocence was both after and in his own heart." En Statuam Sepulc^ralem lEnfantfs Bflrmtcntis. Infans venuste, qui sacros dulces agens In hoc sopores marmore, Placidissima quiete compostus jaces, Et inscius culpse et metus, Somno fruaris, docta quam dedit manus Sculptoris ; et somno simul, Quern nescit artifex vel ars effingere, Fruaris innocentise. On tj^e ^cpiilcj^ral Statue of a .Sleeping dHjilD. Beautiful child ! whose marble effigy Layeth so silently its placid head Upon this sainted bed, With so calm front, and blameless excellence. CARMINA LUSORIA. 119 Enjoy the sleep the hand of sculptor gave ; And that, too, which no art Of sculptor can impart. The sweet sleep of thy grave — Thy sleep of innocence. XXIV. ** The following seems to have received a hint from the ' French economists,' who, as is known, maintained that foreign commerce is exchange, but adds not to the stock of a nation's wealth" : — ©ceanus ^rsctiator ct IRestitutor. Abluit Oceanus terras hinc inde jacentes j Excavat et ripas, subtus edendo, salum. At neque contrahitur tellus subducta rapinis; At neque fit furtis auctior unda suis. Nam parte ex alia desertam extendit arenam "Littus, et e mediis insula crescit aquis. Nil prodest lucrum, cui damna sequalia; fines Oceanus mutat, sed superare nequit." i^cean, tje PunUerer anlr if)z 3Ktstorcr. The ocean eats into the shore, Yet never gains one fathom more. But, giving up whatever it takes. Enlarges coasts, and islands makes. It plunders, yet it nought retains — Earth has no loss, and sea no gains. So ^tis with wealth, if men would set 130 CARMINA LUSORIA. Against it all their toil and fret. How what is won to-day, to-morrow Pays back — and with its interest sorrow. Ocean and wealth both shift their grounds, But cannot pass th' appointed bounds. XXV. ** It is a pretty tale, that told by Strada, of the rivalry between the Shepherd and the Nightingale. This is Vincent Bourne's version" : — Stratjae ^l)llom£la. Pastorem audivit calamis Philomela canentem, Et voluit tenues ipsa referre modos ; Ipsa retentavit numeros, didicitique retentans Argutum fida reddere voce melos. Pastor inassuetus rivalem ferre, missellam Grandius ad carmen provocal, urget avem. Tuque etiam in modulos surgis, Philomela; sed impar ViribuSj heu impar, exanimisque cadis. Durum certamen ! tristis victoria ! cantum Maluerit pastor non superasse tuum. Strata's Kigfttmgale. (Coiopers translation.) The shepherd touched his reed ; sweet Philomel Essayed, and oft essayM to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell. The numbers, echoed note for note again. CARMINA LUSORIA. 121 The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before A rival of his skill, indignant heard, And soon (for various was his tuneful store) In loftier tones defied the simple bird. She dared the task, and rising, as he rose, With all the force, that passion gives, inspired. Returned the sounds awhile, but in the close. Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired. Thus strength, not skill, prevaiFd. fatal strife, By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun ! And sad victory, which cost thy life, And he may wish that he had never won ! fMr. Eagles's translation.) A shepherd, piping on his reeds, was heard By that melodious bird. The Nightingale — but poets have preferrM Sweet Philomel. And very hard she tried, with learning long, And all her little might of song, To imitate the notes, or low or strong, Cadence and swell. That shepherd, proud of skill, did little look For such a rival — nor did brook The small compeer, and thenceforth boldly took A higher strain. 122 CARMINA LUSORIA. And thus did he provoke her — she^ poor thing, Her utmost voice did fling, And in a fatal strife essayed to sing, Alas ! in vain. Poor bird ! why didst thou with that shepherd vie, Aiming at strains too high, Giving thy life, (for thou didst fall and die,) To shepherd's art ? Oh, victory hardly won ! Oh, cruel meed, Won by so sad a deed ! Rather that shepherd he had broke his reed. Than thou thy heart. XXVI. ** Now, I must confess, I am but a loose translator of the next. Owl gravity one has a spite against ; for I am quite certain it will look condemnation upon anything so light as these rhymes. The parrot that could not speak was said by the owner to think the more, and the cunning rogue sold him for a higher price. ** Many are the human owls one meets with, whose opinions lie in perpetual frowns, who, if they would but speak them out, would only expose their nonsense." ^lus scire oportet, quam loqni. Quae gravitas oculis ! et quae Constantia fronti ! Sobrius ut toto pectore Bubo sapit ! Ales Pythagora dignus, dignusque Minerva ! Sermonis parens, consillique tenax Oh habitet tecum, Bubo, et sit pectore in isto, Quiquid habes : quoties effluet, omen erit. CARMINA LUSORIA. 123 Xt 10 bfgt to fenofe muf^ antJ gp^afe little. How gravely stares the sober Owl^ How like a judge — he well might pass For wisdom^s transmigrated fowl, Once Pallas or Pythagoras. The latter sage was he, mayhap. As for deep-thinking once he had Entered the order of La Trappe, He is so silent and so sad. So sparing of his speech, he looks Just come from out the cave Trophonian — As one had connM the SybiPs books. And knew the numbers Babylonian. Keep to thyself whatever thou knowest. Feather^ solemnity; for so men Are caught with that grave face thou showest — Thine every utterance is an omen. XXVII. " Here we have puss in a corner." l^Ton eg quoti simulas. Ante focum nutatque et lumina claudet herilem Et stupida, et vultu seria, Felis anuF. Nil ea lascivi saltus meminisse videtur ; Lusus si spectes, nil juvenilis habet, Sed grave sed prudens quamvis, castumque tuetur, Caudam, cum tempus fert, agitare potest. 124 CARMINA LUSORIA. Not, not pou seem. Before your fire, too dull to purr, Sits madam puss — her eyes she closes, And tucks her paws beneath her fur, And indolently stupid dozes. Who would believe she e'er could frolic ? To see her look so grave, and smitten With that indifference melancholic. Or think she ever was a kitten 7 Demurest cats, grave, old, and grey. Know they have tails, tho' loth to whisk 'em ; You to amuse with wonton way. Choose their own time and place to frisk 'em. *♦ I do not pretend to offer these translations as evidence of the genius of Vincent Bourne, but they served to show the sort of things he loved to clothe in verse. However poor my work, there has been amusement, and chiefly in this, that it has given me a perception of the charm of that neatness, in which Cowper thought the usher not excelled by Ovid. " I come to an end — may I hope before the reader has put down the pages and cried ' Ohe, jam satis ! ' I offer but a motley assemblage — but in this world of much serious foolery, and foolish seriousness, motley is no bad mind's wear : put it on, not outwardly, but inwardly. It will keep out some care, or cover it. The field of literature has its light as well as its heavy artillery, its sharp- shooters and skirmishers ; and even in the most orderly practice of its evolutions, the fugleman is set foremost, and gives the best direction to others' movements, when, to those who understand not his attitudes, he only seems to be playing the fool or the buffoon." J. E. PARLEIANA HORATIANA, H RACE IN BRISTOL PREFACE BY MR. EAGLES. "The Works of Horace have always been numbered amongst the most valuable remains of antiquity. If we may rely upon the judgment of his commentators, he has united in his Lyric Poetry the enthusiasm of Pindar, the majesty of Alcseus, the tenderness of Sappho, and the charming levities of Anacreon. Yet he has beauties of his own genius, his own manner, that form his peculiar character. Many of his odes are varied with irony and satire; with delicacy and humour; with ease and pleasantry. Some of them were written in the first heat of imagination, when circumstances of time, places, persons, were strong upon him. In others, he rises in full poetic dignity; sublime in sentiment, bold allusions, and profuse of figures ; frugal of words, curious in his choice, and happily venturous in his use of them ; pure in his diction, animated in his expression, and harmonious in his numbers; aitful in the plan of his poems, regular in their conduct, and happy in their execution. " Francis, upon the whole, has been his best translator ; but as Horace drew not his maxims or his characters from particular persons, but from human nature itself, which is the same in all ages and countries, so will there always be room and materials for new translations. A few are now about to be submitted to the Bristol Public. " It was the remark of a great man, that he who hated vice hated mankind ; but certainly he does not love them as he ought, who indulges his natural sagacity in a discernment of their faults, and feels an ill-natured pleasure in exposing them to public view. " Horace was of another spirit : and if the present translator is true to his original, the odes we are about to insert can give reason- able offence to no one. Horace, says one of his Biographers, was 126 FARLEIANA HORATIANA. of a natural cheerfulness of temper; an easiness of manners, fashioned by the politeness of courts ; a good understanding, improved by conversing with mankind; a quick discernment of their frailties, but in general, so happy an art of correcting them, that he reproves vfithout offending, and instructs without an affectation of superiority. He has this advantage over the rigid satirist, that we receive him into our bosoms, while he reasons with good humour, and corrects in the language of friendship." In addition to the above introduction to these translations from Horace, it is necessary to the proper understanding of several, that the then Editor of "Felix Farley's Journal" should add a few words: — He had, previously to their appearance, written a series of letters therein, with the signature of Cosmo, exposing the exactions and abuses which had for years existed in several pubMc bodies in Bristol, especially in the Corporation, the Governing Body of the city, under the names of Town and Mayor's dues, which had seriously injured the commerce and trade of the port. Several members of the Corporation had contrived to exempt themselves from their payment, particularly those upon sugar. The town dues upon the exportation of woollen goods from the neighbouring town of Stroud and other places were so high, that it was cheaper to the manufacturer to send them by land carriage to Liverpool than to export them direct from Bristol. The Corporation had also become a close body, elected by favoritism at private meetings of the leading members, who frequently consisted of individuals incompetent to tlie discharge of magisterial and other duties. Many were purse- proud, ignorant, and vindictive; the laughing-stock of their fellow- citizens. Sucli characters have always been considered in a free country legitimate objects for satire and ridicule. It may be supposed that the exposure of these men, and the abuses which they perpetuated, created no small sensation in the city. The public attention being thus drawn to them, legal proceedings took place ; and, lastly, Parliamentary interference brought about the abolition of the most oppressive of the dues. It is to these subjects and persons that some of these Horatian Odes allude. Mr. Eagles also addressed to the Editor some Latin Macaronic Rhymes, full of wit and humour, which kept up the public attention and did good service to the cause. These he afterwards freely translated and enlarged, with the Title of Felix Farley Rhymes. There are one or two of the translations which refer to political characters of the day. The remainder of the translations are, many of them, addressed to Mr. Eagles's particular friends, and shew the sweetness of his disposition and the warmth of his attachment, varied as they are, HORACE IN BRISTOL. 127 with delicacy of feeling, ease and pleasantry, with a full appreciation of the various beauties of the Roman Poet, and his ability to translate and adapt them to modern characters and manners. In elucidation of the characters of the Bristol Officials, the following quotation from Felix Farley Rhymes are too appro- priate to be omitted : — } *' First, Felix, let your graphic pen Describe the May'r and Aldermen ; Your May'r is like an almanack, The new one makes the old snail pack, Without his house upon his back. Still to their villas do they ride Waiting for none, like time and tide. Each day, and leave too clear the coast, For thieves, when Justice quits her post. Day closes, and the rows commence. And the street's vulgar insolence — Catcall and groans — your pocket's pick'd— You're hustled, p'rhaps knock'd down and kick'd. You call " the watch, the watch'* — he snores — Or else is gone ! — and so is your's !— A robber's ta'en, the city round You search — no Justice to be found — Your City-conservators, trustees. Are at their villas. — There Sir Justice, Good easy man, in 's easy chair, A sitting magistrate — but where ? Dreams of his credit and his cash, And of to-morrow's calipash; While scar'd and unprotected peace Flies from a negligent police ; Nor gates nor bars exclude, as said By Dryden's muse, the busy trade. Thieves break into your house at night- Dare you dispute their ruffian right — 128 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, The lead, that's stolen from your roof, Tries, if your head be bullet-proof. — Such was the city anno They say, not now, and Heaven be thank'd. One question I would ask with fear ; Do now-a-days, when every ear Is like the ear of rhetorician, The Council break the head of Priscian ? Chuse ye still masons, tanners, skinners To flourish at your public dinners ? Sheriffs, who 'fore the Judges stammer. In breach of common sense and grammar; Who having learnt one golden rule, A-t some poor elemental school Just big enough to whip a cat in. Have thought it *' quantum suff." of Latin : •' * To hold an office, and take tees, Eat, use, have dignity and ease, Exchange, communicate, supersede." Words worthy of the civic creed. Friend Felix, in their teeth I cast The adage, " Cobbler mind your last;" In pity, Felix, chuse henceforth By wit, as well as what they're worth." " *Tis whisper'd round that ev'ry column Of Felix Farley makes them solemn, And some the Faculty presage. If t lasts, will go off in a rage."t * Fungor, fruor, utor, &c. Latin Grammar. f " In allusion to the endeavours making by the Editor of " Felix Farley's Journal " to reduce the local taxation of the Port ; the rates or duties levied in which have been highly oppressive, and diverted from the purposes for which they were originally granted." HORACE IN BRISTOL. ODE XXIX.— LIB. 3. ^tr jl^eeccnatem. TO FELIX FARLEY. — AN INVITATION. Thou worthy Scion of that stock Farleian, wont to reign supreme O'er realms of News as over ream — Here bowery rose and holyhock Shoot high, and twine to shut us in, And there's untouched an antient bin To cheer the heart and smooth the skin. Haste then, and quit the gloomy flood. That creeps by Avon's slimy banks ; Where Goram play'd his giant pranks. And plung'd St. Vincent's head in mud. Hall, feast, and bustling traffic quit. Leave the fastidious smoky cit, His pride, and Common-Council wit. Poor as I am, yet country fare May often shame the richer store. If joy stands smiling at the door To smooth the wrinkled brow of care ; And welcomes, not to civic state. Where pamper'd liveried porters wait. And scarcely ope th' unwilling gate. 129 130 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Senex* but ill conceals his rage ; The TowN-CLERKf raves in frothy ire, The Lion'sJ eye-balls sparkling fire, And lashing tail his wrath presage. Th^ intolerable heat and drought, The stinking float, and fuss about That nuisance, ought to drive you out. The Ettrick Shepherd tends his sheep ; Maga sends forth her languid crew To Windsor's forest shades, or Kew ; The CoLERiDGEs their vallies keep : And good Sylvanus Urban now PerchM on some hillocks greensward brow, Sketches his antient church, while thou With guardian eye and watchful care Walkest through market, lane and street ; And searchest out, when Chambers meet, The secret plan or legal snare ; Or dost within thy office set Those types, that make Old Senex sweat. And millest Mills§ and his Gazette. * Alderman Noble, who remonstrated with Felix Farley, under the fictitious name of Senex, in haughty and petulant terms on his daring attacks, as he was pleased to call them, on the members of the Corporation. t Sergeant Ludlow, the paid Agent of the Corporation, other- wise a liberal man. X The White Lion a celebrated Inn. § The Proprietor of an Ultra- Liberal Newspaper. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 131 Ah ! spare thyself, Heaven wisely hides In deepest shade the coming year ; And when poor mortals idly fear, Their vain solicitude derides. Thine is the present; all beside Flows on in time's continuous tide. That oft perchance may smoothly glide ; Or o'er the rocky flood-gates dash, Man and his lordly cities sweep Into the desolate gulf and deep, With one loud universal crash. His is possession, who can say At each day's end, I've liv'd to-day ; So let to-morrow hap what may : The past is out of Fortune's power, Tis snatch'd from Chance, what once has been ; Enjoyment puts a bar between The present and the coming hour ; Fortune, whose sport is but to rack And torture mortals, turns not back, But flies straight forward to attack. From you to me her worthless things With envious busy fingers shifts. If she remain, I prize her gifts. But scorn them when she shakes her wings ; Wrapt in myself her power defy. Then with my open arms I fly To dowerless honest Poverty. 132 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, I will not basely court the Quean With tears and sighs, e^er she abscond, For Chili shares, or India bond, To dub me Bishop or a Dean ; For Lottery^s twenty thousand prize. To cheat the Customs or Excise, And spare my costly merchandise. The frightenM sailors clear the deck, And stormy seas grow rich ; while oft There's a sweet cherub sits aloft, To guard the humbler skiff from wreck. My stores aboard, Fll do my best, Secure, if conscience calm my breast, — The Norwich Union does the rest. ODE I.— LIB. 1. ^U i^KCcnatm. O Mr. May'r th' epitome And quintessence of Forty-three,* RolFd sausage-wise in one ; There are, who love to drive a town- built curricle on Durdham Down ; Or for the plate to run. Some fancy to be four times May'r, And shine in Magisterial glare ; While some erect their shop * The number of the Town Council. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 133 O^er Hotwell-springs, monopolise, And retail at their own Excise, Heaven's bounty — drop by drop. Who tills his own paternal grounds, No bribe would tempt of scores of pounds To quit his clods of earth ; And sailor climb the giddy mast, Tho^ seas were calm, nor skies overcast, Nor take the Middy's berth. The Merchant, lying snug in bed At country villa hears overhead The storm that wrecks his ship. Resolves no more to tempt the main — But, conquered by his love of gain. He tries another trip. One flies to war, a butchering trade, To India and Burmese stockade, — What^s glory done for him ? That, unlike son of sober cits. He frights his mother into fits. With loss of life or limb. The squire delights in stall and stud, To scamper over field and flood, Nor fears the morning fogs ; Leaves wife at home to groan and grunt. While he is for the Berkeley Hunt, — And so goes to the dogs. 134 FARLETANA HORATIANA, You take your pleasure Mr. May^- In learnM research with Mr. Seyer ;* Perchance you gild his pen ; Or issue magisterial nod, As if you were a demi-god, Amongst us little men. Me rock and bower, and chequerM shade Of pleasant Leigh seclude from trade, Ship^s traffic, mobs and swine ; Satyrs and nymphs in dreams to cite. Not Satires, those I never write. As no concern of mine. And, Mr. May^r, if due regard For verse should dub me City Bard, Supremely pensionM, soon With head sublime Vd touch the sky. And lift my lanthorn up on high. The very Man'themoon. (Jul^/ I, 1826.) * The Rev. Samuel Seyer was the Master of a Classical School, in Bristol, at which many of the Corporation and their sons were educated, but its members never had the gratitude to present him to one of their livings. HORA.CE IN BRISTOL. 135 ODE VI.— LIB. 1. ^SJ ^grippam. Sir Richard*, let the Mercury tell Your bravery, when your coustable Routed the dancing crew; Or how you grew supremely big, And gave a plumper to a Whig, And turn'd your back on Blue. My muse no serious theme admits, Not e'en the bloodless fight of cits, Of HiLLHOusE and of FRipp.f — How one was of a mighty mould, And scornM to yield, how one could hold In either course his ship. — Nor how the house of Protheroe Caught fire, blazed fierce, and then like tow As suddenly went out. — Things all as much above my pen As Daniel m the Lion's den ; Who dares the praise to spout Of Bright, not quite so bright, who must Be soiPd with laying down some dust ? Or DavisJ like a king * Sir Richard Vaughan, Knight and Alderman, t Both Aldermen ; one a ship builder, and the other in the soap and tallow trade. They were near coming to a duel. X The popular Tory for the City for many years. 136 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Under his canopy of blue, Wisdom and Virtue's Stedfast hue. Not I, I can but sing Of maiden romps whose nails are cut, And balls where no grim bailiff's strut As sportive as I may ; — Or burn my fingers, if I list. Neither at shorts or vulgar whist, But where the Muses play. ODE L— LIB. 3. (^^i ^tofanum Fulgus. TO GEORGE CUMBERLAND, ESQ.* Away ye vulgar, small and great, Whether in rags or silk and ermine. Priest of the sacred Muse, I hate The sordid minds that designate But larger vermin. The Palace of the Forty rings With shout, and summons magisterial : There Ludlow midst these petty Kings His supercilious mandate flings With air imperial. * An intimate friend of Mr. Eagles. OR, HORACE IN BRISTOL. 137 Some sport in wider fields of Law, Attend the Courts, and study Cases, And he on Bridgnorth"^ lays his paw. While three more Cities struck with awe Offer him places. Though thousand Clients more repair With liberal fees to Smith and Bumpas, There is another Court elsewhere, Where Death will make all right and square By rule and compass. With a mandamus o'er his head, Tho' civic tables groan with turtle. The May'r can scarcely eat for dread, Nor smile at festive board or bed 'Mid song and myrtle. Sleep that shuns Mansion, Hall and Park, Alderman, Sheriflf, and Churchwarden, Will not disdain the Parish Clerk That tills to song of modest lark. His rood of garden. The man who thinks enough a feast. Like Cumberland content possessing. Dines joyous tho' the wind be East, Not thankless if sometimes a Priest Bestow the blessing. * In allusion to Sergeant Ludlow's unsuccessful attempt to get into Parliament. 138 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Little cares he for fall of Stocks, Reduc'd Consols, or trade and traffic, 'Mid Leigh's deep shades, by sheltering rocks. He converse holds with stones and stocks In language graphic. What more can wealth ! perhaps contest Both land and sea, and build to vary Life's tiresome scene, still Care a guest Goes to the new-built box at West- -on Super Mare. Fear climbs the painted wherry's sides And scarcely wets the cautious paddle ; Should the proud owner fear the tides. And mount his steed. Care with him rides On the same saddle. If, then, the man that's sick at heart. Wealth cannot tempt to artless frolic ; Nor costly wines from foreign mart Can cure one single twinge or smart Of gout or cholic ; Why should I change my haunts of Leigh, For civic halls and gowns and maces, Pleas'd with my crust and liberty, And Cumberland, and two or three Like pleasant faces ? (July 29, 1826.) HORACE IN BRISTOL. 139 ODE XVI.—LIB. 2. m 6frospf)um. ©tfum Mbos rogat m patenti. SAPPHICS, ADDRESSED TO FELIX FARLEY. Ease asks the Sailor in the wide Atlantic, Whilst o'er his head the storm is raving frantic. Hiding the moon and skies from the romantic Star gazing lover. Ease asks the Ranter in religious panic ; Ease asks the Miser tho' in fur Aldermanic ; Not to be bought with gold or puritanic Prate and grimaces. Gew-gaws nor sword can take away the twinges From the Mayor's mind, nor can he catch with springes Cares that like Imps are sporting round the fringes Of his fine chariot. Cumberland tells you little is enough for Him, that can dine on a chop and garden stuff, or Sleeps without care ; nor does he care a puff for Sordid ambition. Short is the life at best we are careering — Why to the east and west should we be steering ? Can our Friend Eden tho' a gondoliering Fly from the Vicar. 140 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Care scales the ship, gets pack'd in his portmauteau, Though like Don Juan, in Byron's wicked canto, At haste he ride from Calais to Otranto, Or by Veturino. Light be your heart, and smile if aught amiss is. Leaving to-morrow to its own caprices. Midst ills serene ; for such a life as this is Sure to be chequerM. Age and disease have made an end of Bengo,* Alderman Senex is going where ail men go, I may live to wear, tho' you may long ere then go. Laurel and pension. You live at Redland ; you may take your round, Sir, Ambling on your Cob about your velvet ground. Sir; Youat a moment may command a Hundred Pounds, Sir, Me, Felix Farley. Small tho' my rents, the Muse not unbenignant Blesses with Rhyme, and with a soul indignant Far above the proud, to lash the base malignant Arrogant vulgar. * Alderman Bengough. — He was a lawyer, and by his legal advice ruled the Members of the Corporation. He was also a very eccentric character. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 141 ODE XIII.— LIB. 3. an jpontcm 23lantiusium. Fount of St. Peter^s Pump,* more clear Than Phoeuix glass or Chequer^s beer, Bright sparkling in the cup ; To-morrow at thy sacred well ni sacrifice the constable, That comes to lock thee up. Tho' like a goat he run full butt His horns at every scolding slut, And threaten chain and lock. And raise his new acquired stafi". And curse and swear, insult and laugh ; His blood shall stain thy cock. To thee in dog days cool, his crutch The beggar drops, and wonders much Heaven's bounteous, Man unkind ; St. Peter's vagrants bring to thee Their kettles for consoling tea. The maimM, the halt, the blind. Indeed thou art a noble spring. And shalt be so whilst I can sing,— Thou all the poor possess — Yes — I will praise thy brazen spout, That lets the gushing water out Impatient, but to bless. * One of several public pumps in Bristol for the supply of water; this is situated opposite to the Workhouse of the City, called Saint Peter's Hospital. 142 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, ODE I.— LIB. 7. ^^ Mnmtmm pancum, (JTonsularcm. AN IMITATION. Some praise Mytilme, Thebes, Delphos, Mycene, Ephesus, two posted Corinth and Rhodes, Temple of Ephesus, nevertheless a lie. Lifting them up in magnificent odes. Some prate about Athens, then restless away thence. Like Byron, to show us his praise is in joke ; What he dares declare to, his shadow* will swear to. That the olive is better than Englishman's oak. And great Lady Morgan despising Kilcorgan, FHes off from the bogs, as the rival to Carrf ; But to me Lacedemon, with all that they dream on. Is stuff, and no Temple is like Temple Bar. If Argos for horses is famM, Charing Cross is ; I delight in the sweet flowing Thames and its pride ; That house which vain Hobhouse would fain make a mob-house, The fall at the Bridge, and the noise of Cheapside. Now the bright eye of morning is giving us warning, He will not for ever hide under a hood ; Nor has Bobadil Wilson, for ever his stilts on; Clear your tragedy face then friend Pl A NKAS or Wood. * Hobhouse. t Vide " My Pocket-book." HORACE IN BRISTOL. 143 No longer look doleful, as if with thy soul full, Shine brighter, lest fools make of Wisdom a mock; Whether now thou'rt at Como, consoling the Homo, Or at home with your spouse, and the chijjs of the block. Let your glass then be ample, and take an example, King George, when departing from Ireland and Pat, Took a glass of the native, of grief an abative. And is said to have taken new courage with that. As he stood by the Liffy, and viewing his skiff, he Thus cried, " Sons of Erin, away from you iiing All sorrow — for Hanover is but a span over. And wherever I am, Fm your friend and your King. And the glass Fve been drinking, persuades me while thinking. There's a port in all storms both for you and for me^ Then off with your whiskey, and look with a brisk eye, To-day Fm for joy, and to-morrow for sea."' ODE IX.— LIB. 4. m HoUium. :Nf£ foue crctras mtcritura. TO RICHARD, HART DAVIS, ESQ.* Think not these Rhymes of mine will die. That with new enterprize and art, I weave on antient Poesy ; * Mr. Davis sat for three Sessions in Parliament as the Tory Member for tlie City. ') 144 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, I, born in Avon^s noisy mart, Unlike that Avon^s gentle stream, Where Shakespeare dreamt his wildest dream. Tho' SouTHEY take the epic chair, And proudly wear his laurel crown, ImpassionM Byron can we spare, Or rend from Scott his own renown ? Shall Wordsworth from his lake and fell Unheeded sound his graver shell. Simple in virtue^s strength and terse, Shall nervous Gifford e^er in vain Pour his indignant flood of verse, FlusVd with a bold yet just disdain ? Will Scotia's Shepherd Bard unknown Pipe wildly to his mountains lone ? While Pity yet one chord can strike. That thrills in gentle souls and brave, Elton, thy verse shall move alike The old, the young, the gay, the grave. In MiLMAN, from their sainted shroud. Shall blood of Martyrs cry aloud ! Time cannot touch Anacreon Moore, E'en the light trifles of thy lyre, And less than Angels shall adore. That burn with an unholy fire ; — Thy very fame shall live, and Brown And Little stab thy fair renown. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 145 Pare thoughts that chastest vh'tues breath, And trust to Heman's feehng page. Shall live in many a beauteous wreath, Meet garlands for a purer age ; To softest, kindest, bosoms dear, GracM with her Ivy* never sere. Full many a Helen's Love has blazM The ruin of an unknown Troy ; And many a brighter Helen raised The Claymore for her faithful Roy : Was Lady Heron first to fling Her charms around a Scottish King ? The heroes of the Trojan tale — Were they the first that javelins cast ? Roderick to wear the Spanish Mail, Or say was Marmion's death the last ; How many fond brave Hectors fall ! Or say, is Homer's Hector all ? How many brave have liv'd and died Long before Agamemnon, who The countless dead have sanctified From Siege of Troy to Waterloo ? The bulk are but a nameless throng, Reft of the sacred meed of song. One endless night oppresses all. Save whom the living Voice of Bard Shall to their thrones of glory call — * Vide Her address to the Ivy. 146 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, The virtue that we disregard Has but the recompense of sloth. One long oblivion buries both. Thee then, the people^s choice, array'd In conscious worth, poetic lay, Davis, shall lift above the shade And silence of our little day ; Come weal or woe, firm, staunch, and true, Thou wilt the perfect path pursue. Thou dost despise the fraud, the pride. That does the sordid man advance ; Canst smile at wealth's presumptuous stride. And all its vulgar arrogance ; Not once alone the people's choice. But oft, as with an honest voice. They scorned the bribe, and greatly proud, Despising meaner interests flew. To raise above th' opposing crowd. Their trophies of triumphant blue. — Bless'd is the man, when Heav'n's profuse. That wisely knows the gifts to use ; The scorns of poverty can bear Erect, and patiently sublime Can even death or torture dare. Dare all, but shudders at a crime. That man, at friend's or country's call Will live, or like a hero fall. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 147 ODE VIII.— LIB 4. ^t» €. i^artium OTensormum. TO JOHN KING, ESQ.* Fd give my friends fine cups of gold, Or vases Herculaneum ware, That might perchance Falernian hold, Dear King, had I such things to spare, Nor should'st thou have the smaller share. Had I the works of Rippingille, Could buy them, borrow, beg, or thieve, Or Bayly^s, who with Sculptor skill. Can cut an Alderman or Eve, — Not so as thou would^st cut believe; Fd freely give them all, but not One costly thing have I to send ; Nor can I buy, who scarce have got Three farthings more than what I spend, Nor boast one single patron, friend. Besides, thy house is full and rich With gems, sketch, painting, drawing, print. And thine own works ; there^s one too which I covet, for ^tis worth a mint. And there^s macaw, no neutral tint. * Mr. King was an eminent surgeon, practising at Clifton, and one of the most intimate friends of Mr. Eagles. His love of art led him much to cultivate the friendship of artists. His literary attainments were also very extensive. He loved trath, honest truth, in all its integrity — thought it, spoke it, practised it. 148 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, What ! have I nothing then to give ? Yes, Verse ! and thou wilt prize the gift_, And I be proud, for that may live When we are gone, thj^ name to lift Above the names of sordid thrift. And what can mortals raise like verse ! — Is^t half thy due, if it should please Whom thou hast savM from pall and hearse. To give thee nothing but thy fees ? Small recompense for boons like these. The ready hand and heart, the eye Of pity, genius strong, yet fine — Verse will not suffer these to die ! And King it shall not sufibr thine. While the poor bless, and Verse is mine. Verse, like the starry gem that set In Heaven's broad forehead blazing bright, Beams of that rest where souls are met. When sinks the wreck to endless night, Can spread abroad a guardian light. 'Tis like the faith that fears not death, 'Tis like the wing of gentle dove, it is like the Heavenly breath. That welcomes sainted souls above To feasts of everlasting love. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 149 ODE XXIX.— LIB. 1. ^tr Sccium. TO FRANK GOLD, ESQ., ON HIS GOING TO INDIA. Friend Gold, I dreamM not thou would' st flee To pluck the cursM Pagoda Tree, And fill thy pockets with rupee Full many a lack ; — That thou would' st twist the iron noose For Burmese and the poor Hindoos — What Prince hast thou to black thy shoes, From Bhurtpoor's sack ? Hast thou thy slave great Ava's Queen, To make thy bed or bear thy screen, Or Donjun Saul thy Palanquin ? If such things are, We might expect St. Vincent's rocks To tumble down and fill our docks. Or Cits transfer their wealth in stocks To me or Seyer. If thou could' st quit thy friends, thy books, And what thy genius lov'd, those nooks Where nature thee with sweetest looks Full oft did hold;— 150 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Haunts where we sketchM our fragrant springs. Our winter evening^s chat at King^s, thou didst promise better things — Alas ! friend Gold. ODE 20. — LIB. 1. glU i^eeanatem. TO llEV. JOHN EDEN, WITH INVITATION VILE POTABIS. In Curate's house you must not think, Or Chateau Margeaux Wines to drink. Or bright Champagne, or white or pink, And play the Vicar. The orchards round the Vicarage Supply our homely beverage Yet wholesome — and, let's see — its age— We cask'd the liquor. When you in Park Street read aloud, Your Tour* to an applauding crowd. And echo grew jocosely proud And took the story. Up to the Moon, whose man you praise, lUumin'd with his lanthorn's rays — The drink is pure, in village phrase The Parson's glory. * Mr. Eden had recently returned from a tour in Italy. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 151 ODE XXL— LIB. 3. (^ nata mtcum (ZTonsulc Jttanlio. TO MY CASK OF CYDER. When Neighbour Manley was Churchwarden, Cask, thou wer^t fil^d from choicest fruit Of one small orchard and a garden. That always stood in good repute. Thou must a good occasion suit ; To keep within thee strife and bruit. For such as thou art oft encloses A genius of ungentle sap. That deals in cuffs and bloody noses. And broken pates from oaken rap — And female noise and tumbled cap ; When uncooth hands the liquor tap. I'd have thee like the antient Massic, Generous, that Horace priz'd so much ; And let thy wit and taste be classic — He'll not despise thee, honest Gutch, If thou dost boast thy flavour such ; Tho' with Socratic gripe he clutch 152 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Our charters, like old Cato Major : Nor does grave Dr. Good-enough, When tiresome grows old Tully's page, or His boys are dull, or Greek is tough. Refuse his glass of prime old stuff. Always remembering " quantum suff/' genius of the generous liquor ! Keep down the bad within the dregs ; — Thou mak'st our wit to sparkle quicker, Thou lowerest gravity some pegs. And if of thee a draught he begs, Thou sett'st the poor man on his legs ; Holding him out his cornu-copia, And mapp''st him out a large estate In thy dominions of Utopia. — Thou mak^st the Curate scorn the prate Of coarse Lord King, and all his hate ; More fit for ale-house than debate. Thee three administering Graces Shall usher sparkling to our sight ; With aprons clean and shining faces ; And if 'tis far advanced in night, Maninthemoon shall hold the light. And trim his lanthorn clear and bright. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 153 ODE XXVIII.— LIB. 1. ^c maris et terree. COURTNEY LOQUITUR. Poor Courtney !* Measurer of both skies and land ! Alas ! what boots it thou hast sped From the tall cliff down to the river's bed, With geometrical precision ; If now thou lackest aid of friendly hand, Thy broken wings to bind, And help thee once again to raise the wind : If thy ambition Must stoop to fate that comes to cut thy thread ; — Alas ! alas ! thy rope is slack. And thou art laid upon thy back ; Like Captain Parry thou hast had thy fall Too near the Pole ; And dashM thy ribs in at the very goal ; And now art laid up in this Hospital. All thy vast hopes Must now decline. Thou wer't too much on thy high ropes. Building thy house and castles in the air, * " On Monday, Courtney, the flying man, made another exhibi- tion of flying across the river; he descended from Leigh Wood to an anchor sunk in the stream ; but, owing to some mismanage- ment, he struck his head violently as he came down, and he was conveyed to the Infirmary in a state of insensibility. He is expected to recover." — Felix Farley's Journal, Avg. bfh, 1826. 154 Since thou hadst none elsewhere. Alas ! thou never more wilt cross the line, The wise, the vigorous — All that like me have trod unearthly ways, Have had untimely end. As Ovid says, One Icarus Was first in a balloon to fly Up, till it crossM bright Phoebus in the sky, Who with a sunbeam struck it, Upset, and made poor Icarus kick the bucket. — What viewless space does Peter SchlemiPs* ghost Inhabit, who in dismal dole, " Wafted a sigh from Indus to the Pole^^ ? He, shadowless, where shadows rule the roast. Went with precipitous haste, a Great Unknown, TossM like a shuttlecock from Earth to Styx And back again ; the shades disdained to mix With one who brought them nought but skin and bone : Wherefore they sent him back again, anon The living skeleton. Where now is Jones ?t Where is Tom Paine, that took a flight '* Far into chaos and black night '', iVnd finds no rest for his old lying bones, That Cobbett stole, and, like a beast. Stews for blaspheming mobs a horrid feast. — * Vide that interesting publicatian. f Vide also Peter Schlemil. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 155 Some fall on land, and some at sea are lost, Thus every way we^re crossM. Sky-sweeping Pilot Graham, thee I pray Pity thy brother Aeronaut Thus miserably caught — And if too late to save — Kindly, at least, my funeral charge defray ; Attend with weeping eyes. And kindly throw some dust upon my grave ; " So shalt thou be translated to the skies/^ So when aloft thou sail. Nor gas, nor gentle breezes fail To bear thee safe from ill, From the wide sea, or shock ^Gainst gnarled oak or jutting rock ; And gaping multitudes thy pockets fill : If thou neglect me, by the Fates, Such an untoward fall thyself awaits. But if thou view^st the act a debt Due to a brother, not as yet Am I in state for credit or long trust : And if thy speed Be urgent, e're thy chair Thou mountest, now commence the friendly deed — Down with thy dust, Then cut thy cords hght-wafted in the air. (October 21, 1826.) 156 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, EPODON IL— LIB 5. 33eatus ilU, qui procul ncgotit's. Happy the man that's free from care, And ploughs his own paternal acres ; Strong as our old forefathers were, Nor meets the job-enquiring stare Of dismal city undertakers. Little dreads he the week's Gazette, He hears unmov'd the tempest rattle ; No policies his dreams beset. Nor call of lancers makes him sweat, Or at the festive ball or battle. He seeks no routs, where city Dames Play matrimonial speculation, Content with vegetable flames He weds his cucumbers in frames. Watching their harmless propagation. He loves to see his ewes and rams Feed in his sloping verdant valley. Not such as villain painter shams A gilded daub, nor Hke the lambs That frisk and play in street and alley. When Autumn fruits begin to drop He courts no ghosts, like foolish Durban,* * Vide his account of Lawford-gate Ghosts, and those interesting creatures Molly and Dobby. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 157 Content his trees to graft and lop, And leaves the " Times " to Dr. Slop ; A fig for old Sylvanus Urban. Sometimes he sleeps on grassy bed Under the oak, by murmuring river, To song of bird with bosom red. Without a kerchief round his head ; Or flannel to protect his liver. On winter morns, e're crow of cock, He boldly rides ten miles to cover ; Or takes the field with double Nock, Or Manton^s new percussion lock — Oh ! life to cure a whimpering lover ! And if his house and board to bless, A sweet good wife, best gift of Heaven, Welcome him home, w^hose prattlers press About his knees (such wives I guess Are in the sunny vales of Devon). If such, as I have known, prepare The blazing hearth, and barn door pullet. And gooseberry wine, by housewife care Like nectar, faith, he well may spare The costly turtle, char, and mullet ; And oyster feasts of Bears* that laugh O'er rich liqueurs from Ind to Holder, * A Club of the Literati of Bristol. 158 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, That do not please one's palate half So much as home-made wines we quaff From berry of delicious elder. For that gives birth to social glee, And is an excellent stomachic ; And balm and sage make wholesome tea, As good as Souchong or Bohea, To charm the aged or rheumatic. And sometimes he too has his feast, A s should he find a fox and bag it, And find a fine fat goose ; at least When Christmas has from toil releasM His hinds about the ashen faggot. All this was said by Mercer stiff — He takes his farm upon the Channel — — But finding Squiralty An If, He quits his villa in a miff, And buys fresh stock of tapes and flannel. ODE III.— LIB 4. ^uem tu, i^£lj)omene, semel. Muse, He, on whom thy gentle eye Has beamM a blessing at his birth. Will not a Pugilist defy. Nor fell his brother man to earth ; Nor win the SwelFs uncivil crown By knocking tuneful Watchmen down. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 159 The Fancy, that is all his joy Will never break another's nob ; The Muse's own white-headed boy Will never be white-headed Bob. Nor when he writes an Ode to Spring j Is it the Champion of the Ring. He will not make with bnlly Hunt Triumphant entry, lie, defame, And while the Members bear the brunt The far too patient County shame. That see him scorn, abuse, and threat The humbled Kings of Somerset. Him, deep embowering woods of Leigh In sweet sequestered fairy nook. Will nurse in dreams of poesy. And Avon or some silvery brook Shall various flow of Verse inspire. That changes like ^Eolian Lyre. And, this great City, proud and vast. Has placed me on the Poet's list. And dropped the stone she would have cast. And Envy's turned my Eulogist. 0, Muse, that from thy golden shell, Cans't make the Music fall and swell ; 160 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, 0, thou could^st make the mute mute fishj Their swan-like minstrelsy to fling As they expire around the dish^ And lobsters as they boil to sing ; And rhyming Nymphs upon the Back* — To welcome in each fishing smack. 0, Muse, 'tis all thy gracious boon. If fingers point at me sometimes. As they should say, "Maninthemoon, The Author of our Latin Rhymes." 0, if one single line can please, 'Tis thine, and thou inspirest these. ODE XXVI.— LIB 1. ^^ ^tlium Hamiam. Lov'd by the Muse, what care have I, Let sorrow on her wing of raven. To solitary Lundy fly. Or float away on wave of Avon. Tho' LuDLOW^, like an autocrat. Threaten the knout — care I for that ? Tho' Bright's electioneering billf Should make him fear too forward tongue, * A Bristol Street, t Written soon after a Bristol Election. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 161 Why let the gall'd jade wince, for still Thank Heaven, our withers are unwrung. ! thou, sweet Muse, that with thy trump, Hast deignM to praise St. Peter^s Pump ! Would^st free St. Vincent^s prisoned spring, That should a bounteous course pursue ; Muse, all thy choicest flowrets bring To weave a garland for True Blue ; And let each Sister Muse unite Heav^n^s tints to make that garland bright. ODE XX.— LIB. 2. I shall not rise on feeble wing, I soar, my spirits upward spring — The liquid air, the liquid air ! I feel the summons to the Moon To quit this envious City soon, Its spite, its turmoil, cark and care. I am not sprung from vulgar birth — And were it so, my Farley's friend Should not be cloggM with sordid earth. Nor have a common nameless end. 162 FARLETANA HORATIANA, The feathers round my shoulders spread- They fan, they flap above my head ; A bird, a bird, with plumage white — Another Icarus I fly Beyond the reach of mortal eye. Of HerscheFs telescopic sight. Yet ere I rest on Cynthia^s orb, ril take my pastime in my way ; Southward will solar heat absorb, Then cool in Baffin's frozen bay. ni flutter over Timbuctoo And course the envious Niger through, I'll drop a feather at the Pole, Which Parry shall be sent to get, A gem for England's Cabinet, Then, singing, reach my Lunar Goal. And spare ye Cits the dubious tear, — Some vain regrets my flight shall save;- You need not raise a costly bier. Nor spend a farthing on my grave. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 163 ODE XXII. — LIB. 1. Integer bitae, scekrisque purus. The man whose heart is sound at core, Whose honest to the very marrow, Needs not the wit of Tommy Moore, Nor perter Jeffery^s poisonM arrow. Whether he tread the uncouth strand In Nootka Sound, or wild Killarney Receive him in that fabulous land, Where wilder Irish get their blarney. For musing late in greenwood shade Of Leigh, on fairy haunt and revel, I met a Warrener, with spade And pick, who fled as from the devil. Poacher, he cried, but dar'd not stand, But hurried to his sylvan hovel — UnarmM, Fd but some Rhymes in hand. And what were they against a shovel. The brute was six feet three at least, No bum intent his horrid thrift on Was ever seen so great a beast. Not e^en the constable of Clifton. 164 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, Put me to dwell where trees are black In Marsh-street, by the noisome river, On torrid St. Augustine^s Back, Where stench and heat consume the liver. In Jail, in Newgate, far from chimes Of bells, shut out from friendly parley, Vd bribe the Jailor with my Rhymes, And send by post to Felix Farley. ODE XI. --LIB. 2. air (^. l^irpmum. ^ui'ti 23elItcosus ©antaticr ct Scptfics, What tho' thy son, that wild Cantab, With disobedience systematic, Should drive his tandem or his cab, Or coast the distant Adriatic, Vex not thy heart with constant care. And toil to get, yet hate to spare. We all forget we once were boys ; The frosty foot of age will creep. Whiten our heads and steal our joys ; Then farewell Love, and easy sleep. That er^st uncourted seaFd our eyes, But to new worlds of extacies. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 165 Flowers fade before us like a dream ; The Moon has but a waning light ; And He the Man therein supreme Not always shows his lanthorn bright, Changing his glass for duller horn — Come then, heart-eating sorrow scorn. While yet we may, here let us sit Under this plane-tree and the rose ; This glass will charm and cheer our wit. And this will bid our cares repose ; Boy, bring a bumper of Champaigne, ^Twill bring us back ten years again. And joyous Julia, chaste eighteen, With parted lips and braided hair, And laughing eye, shall be the Queen Of this our bower, and touch an air Of chivalrous charm and gladsome mirth, To lift us 'bove the sordid earth. ODE III.— LIB. 1. air :^al)um qua bejebatur FfrgiKus. TO THE SHIP THAT CONVEYED MY FRIEND BODENHAM. The Emerald Isle, the Emerald Isle !* May beauty walk thy deck and smile Like Venus rising from the sea ; * Steam packet. 166 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, May brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, Take fancies to aquatic jaunts, And trust their precious souls to thee. May every blast be liushM more rough Than Felix Farley^s friendly puff To help thee gently on thy way, So thou waft BoDENHAM o^er the brine. His better half, and both halves mine. From Cork or Dublin's beauteous bay. That man was not devoid of brass. That had the impudence to pass The Channel first in slender smacks, Bold as an Aberdeen M.D. That fearless takes a death degree. That game certificate of Quacks. Who saw the Holmes both steep and flat, And cared no more than for a sprat. For monstrous porpoises and sharks, And heart of oak in soul and plank, Dash'd by, nor fearM misfortune's prank. The horrid Bishop and his Clerks.* . In vain Heaven's hand omnipotent Hath land from land asunder rent, * Rocks in the Channel. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 167 And stretcVd dissociable seas ; If impious packets voyage there, What will not man audacious dare ! Since taught forbidden fruit to seize. Since Franklin first brought down red hot Th^ electric fire on rods, and Watt Bade steam come hissing into birth ; Our brains are wilder'd, gas and steam, Fever and frenzy, maniac scheme. All brood like nightmares on the earth. Upon forbidden wings we rise. Cherubs self-made afiect the skies; Grace and necessity impel. And S. S. Huntingdonians map Out Heaven amongst themselves, and snap Their fingers at the name of Hell — Nought is too hard, we scale Heaven's height In folly, and thence hurl m spite Dire vengeance down on all beside — Our crimes forbid tV uplifted hand Of wrath above our guilty land To turn the thunder bolt aside. 168 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, ODE XXXI.— LIB. I. What does the Poetaster ask of his Apollo Down the sanctum of his throat when he pours his liquor, Not a thousand measures more of wheat than he can swallow, Nor the tythes of Halberton owing to the Vicar ; Nor neighbour Webber^s good fat beeves far and wide lowing, Nor from his well-stowM granary more than will just suffice of it ; Nor asks he of the River Exe through rich pastures flowing, From this or t'other fine estate to cut him off a slice of it. Blest be he for whom with wealth freighted every wind is. Whom fortune favours with her gifts, not to his prayers obdurate; Let the Merchant quaiF in wine from either Indies, I can quaff my good home-brewM altho' Fm but the Curate. Let him toil and let him care, cross the wide Atlantic, All for what ! in civic feasts to gormandize on turtle ! ! ! HORACE IN BRISTOL. 169 Me far other things delight — green retreat romantic, For ruby rich and emerald green, the fragrant rose and myrtle. Apollo grant me but content and I am well rewarded ; Health to escape " d d Doctor's fees" or broken bones or bruises ; And since old age will come apace let not my mind grow sordid, And grant to cheer my soul, or one or t'other of the Muses. ODE XXXVIII. — LIB. 1. au iWtnfstrum. ^ersicus otii, puer, apparatus. Go, boy, and buy a penny roll ; I would'nt give a straw for turtle. Or painted Hall with arms and scroll. And plate emboss'd ; an earthen bowl Will serve me in my bower of myrtle. The lilac for our canopy (No fretted flowery dome engraven) Will not disgrace, boy, you nor me, Whilst there we sit and quaff our tea. In bower beneath the Rocks of Avon. 170 FARLEIANA HORATIANA, ODE XXX.— LIB. 3. ISxegi monuuuntum eere pereunius. Fve built a monument of brass High as the lofty Pyramid, These Odes, that shall survive amid The wreck of time, when ages pass, And graves shall hide their countless mass. I shall be read from civic chair. While oyster wenches hold their clack. And constables shall keep them back ; Lest they disturb the spouting Mayor, At his proud Mansion in the Square. Tasso was sung by Gondolier ; So sailors on the busy float Shall sing my rhymes from boat to boat, And Peter's Poor and Pump shall hear That Ode, that made the waters clear. Me Parish Liberty and Ward Shall prize above their Book of Horn ; And call me, for I there was born, A second Avon's only Bard — Rise Muse and claim thy due reward. HORACE IN BRISTOL. 171 Assert thine own prerogative, In civic honor bind my brow With the Bristohan Laurel now. And let the May'r whilst yet I live His blessing and a pension give. HOMER'S HYMNS For the reasons given in the Introduction, the Editor has printed the two following translations by Mr. Eagles of Homer's Hymns. He regrets they are so few ; but the insertion of more would have extended the Garland far beyond the limits usually assigned to such a publication. Every classical />^, scholar cannot fail to appreciate their beauty and their adherence to the spirit of the originals. *' .^^\ « X ° . A S^ ^^. '. ?p^^^ ^. o 4^%, ^ , X -^ A ^ ' , .. -^ A ^ ^ . . ^ A ^. .^^^^.^ #^'\,. =. "- \ / ^ J ^° V* -i^^it ^OV^^ .'i5^»° ^OS?!* Tat ^* #'%.„ %^