■ ■ 
 
New Publications by C. Sf H. Baldivyn, Newgate Street. [1 
 
 THE RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 Criticisms upon, Analyses of, and Extracts from curious, useful, and va- 
 luable Books in all Lunguages, which have been published from the 
 revival of Literature to the Commencement of the present Century. 
 
 The objects of this Work are, in the first place — 
 
 To supply an instructive and entertaining Miscellany, which shall 
 not, like the modern Reviews, be conversant about the literature of 
 the day ; but which will attempt to recall the attention of the Public 
 to the valuable productions of former times. 
 
 2. To revive the memory of undeservedly neglected Books; and, 
 by pointing out the merits of those which may be deemed worthy of re- 
 commendation, assist the reader in the formation of his Library. 
 
 3. By its numerous and carefully selected extracts, to furnish a 
 collection of specimens of the greater part of our English and other 
 authors, from the earliest times of modern literature. 
 
 4. To afford an abstract of those Works, which are too bulky or 
 too tedious for general perusal, and of which an analysis may oftentimes 
 be as useful, and more agreeable, than the originals ; and to extract 
 the only curious or valuable parts from Books otherwise worthless. 
 
 And lastly — 
 
 To open a publication for the reception of bibliographical notices 
 and communications, and of original letters of celebrated men and cu- 
 rious extracts from old MSS. 
 
 This Review will be continued Quarterly, each Number containing 
 about 200 pages of handsomely printed letter press, price 5s. 
 
 CONTENTS OF Nos. I. II. III. AND IV. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 Rymer on Tragedy. 
 
 PaulHentznersTravels in England. 
 
 Chambcrlay lie's Pharonnida. 
 
 Heinsii Poemata. 
 
 Hurdis's Poems. 
 
 Du Marsais on Prejudice. 
 
 Sir T. Browne on Urn Burial. 
 
 Cardan's Life, by himself. 
 
 Dryden's Dramatic Works. 
 
 Sir T. Browne's Letters, MS. 
 
 Cibber's Apology for his Life. 
 
 Ben Jonson's Works. 
 
 Tovey's Anglia Judaica, or early 
 
 History of the Jews in England. 
 Richard Crashaw's Poems. 
 Voyage of the Wandering Knight. 
 Chamberlayne's Love's Victory. 
 Barckley's Felicitie of Man. 
 Bergerac's Satyrical Characters. 
 Works on Mystical Devotion. 
 J. Dennis's Works, and Nature and 
 
 Effects of Modern Criticism. 
 Osorius de Gloria. 
 Mysteries, Mo ralities, and other early 
 
 Dramas. 
 Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia. 
 
 Warwick's Spare Minutes. 
 
 William Lilly's Life, by hm 
 
 The early English Drama. 
 
 Sir Thomas Overbury's Characters. 
 
 Glover's Athenaid. 
 
 Adventures of Lazarillo de Tormes. 
 
 William Browne's Pastorals, 
 
 Wallace's Prospects of Mankind, 
 Nature, and Providence ; and 
 on the Progress of Literature. 
 
 Montaigne's Essays. 
 
 Heath's Clarastella. 
 
 North's Life of Lord Keeper Guil- 
 ford. f 
 
 Butler's Genuine and Spurious Re- 
 mains. 
 
 Lingua, a Comedy. 
 
 Soame Jenyns's Disquisitions. 
 
 Sir William Davenant's Gondibert. 
 
 Informacyon for Pylgrymes. 
 
 Gesta Romanorum. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh's Remains. 
 
 Phineas Fletcher's Purple Island. 
 
 Travels of Sir Anthony Sherley, a 
 MS. 
 
 Sir Thomas Elyote's Image of Gou- 
 vernance. 
 
2] New Publications by C. 8f H. Baldwyn, Newgate Street. 
 
 Extracts from the Introduction to the Retrospective Review. 
 The design of this Review of past Literature had its origin in the de- 
 cisively modern direction of the reading of the present day — it is an attempt 
 to recal the public from an exclusive attention to new books, by making the 
 merits of old ones the subject of critical discussion. The interesting form 
 and manner of the present Reviews it is intended to preserve, though from 
 the nature of the work, and from our unfeigned horror of either political or 
 personal invective, we shall neither pamper the depraved appetites of listless 
 readers, by piquant abuse — nor amuse one part of the public, by holding up 
 another to scorn and mockery — at any rate, we shall not be driven to a re- 
 source of this description through a paucity of interesting matter which we 
 may legitimately present to our readers. While the present Reviews are 
 confined to the Books of the day, we have the liberty of ranging over the 
 whole extent of modern literature. 
 
 The literature of our own country, the most rich, varied, and compre- 
 hensive of any in the world, and replete with more interest to the English 
 reader than any other, will have peculiar claims on our attention — and to it 
 will the pages of the " Retrospective" be zealously devoted ; not however 
 to that portion of it whose sole recommendation is its antiquity, although we 
 shall avail ourselves of such bibliograplucal information as will in any manner 
 illustrate the history of art, or the grand, though slow and silent march 
 of mind. We shall not pay exclusive homage to the mighty in intellect — to 
 those of heavenly mould, who, like the giants of old, are the offspring of the 
 gods and the daughters of men — far from it — many others less imposing, 
 whether in philosophy, poetry, or general literature, from which any tiring 
 original in design, profound in thought, beautiful in imagination, or delicate 
 in expression, can be extracted, will be considered worthy of a place in this 
 work. There are few of the productions of the mind, as well as of nature, 
 which do not possess some useful or valuable properties — many ponderous 
 volumes, however tedious as a whole, frequently contain something useful or 
 beautiful, but the road to which is as arid and fatiguing as journeying through 
 the desert of Arabia, to the green spots and fresh waters with which it is 
 .sprinkled : to those green spots and fresh waters, we shall shorten the way. 
 In our neglected or forgotten poetry in particular, we are often surprised, in 
 the midst of dull passages or quaint conceits, with fine ideas, lofty flights of 
 imagination, or sparkling expressions, which are too good to be lost, and too 
 much encumbered with worthless matter to be sought for by general readers. 
 In other works, in which the good is so diffused amidst the bad as to render 
 
New Publications by C. fy H. Baldivyn, Newgate Street. [3 
 
 it difficult, if not impossible, to separate the different parts, we shall present 
 our readers with an analysis, which is often more agreeable, and as useful as 
 the originals. We shall also, by a careful selection of particular extracts, 
 not only endeavour to give an idea of the mode of thought and style of indivi- 
 dual authors, but to furnish a collection of specimens of the greatest part of 
 our writers, so as to exhibit a bird's-eye view of the rise and progress of our 
 literature. The utility of such a work to the student, in abridging his labour, 
 and thereby increasing his gratification, is obvious — whilst to him who only 
 reads for his own amusement, it will have the attraction of a various literary 
 miscellany, without exacting from him a too rigid attention ; and as it is our 
 design to mingle the useful with the agreeable in due proportions, it may not 
 be to him even without its value and instruction. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Our Review is not one, which can derive assistance, of the most trivial 
 kind, from any source, except the innate truth and beauty of literature. We 
 can take up none of the questions, which divide the country "billowed high 
 with human agitation ;" we have no politics, and are the very antipodes of 
 novelty. The subjects of our criticism are in their grave, alike deaf to the 
 voice of praise or censure ; and we are not ingenious enough, or it may be, 
 too honest, to put our contemporaries to the rack on the monuments of the 
 dead, We cannot supply the lounger with small talk at an easy rate, or cut 
 out a royal road to literature, for those who would be wise, deep, and learned, 
 at the expense of an hour's study divided with a due attention to breakfast. 
 They who read Reviews for a "precis" of the last new book, that they may 
 appear to have read it, withont having seen it, will skim over our " contents" 
 with sovereign disdain. We can tell them of none, save those whom they 
 might have known long since, and whom they will get no credit for knowing 
 now. 
 
 It is the desire of the Editors to resort to every source of information 
 open to them, and avail themselves of all the valuable assistance they can 
 procure, in order to render their Work as varied and interesting as possible ; 
 tfiey therefore beg to state to the literary portion of their countiymen, as 
 well as to the possessors and collectors of such books as come within their 
 plan, that all communications and contributions will be respectfully received 
 and attended to, — being addressed to the Publishers, C. & H. Baldwyn, 
 Newgate-street, and R. Triphook, Old Bond-street, London ; Goode, 
 Cambridge; Bell &Bradeute, and J. Robertson, Edinburgh; and 
 Graham & Son, Dublin. 
 
 , 
 
4] New Publications by C. 8f H. Baldwyn, Newgate Street. 
 
 Early in Januarys 
 
 THE TRAGEDIES OF ALFIERI, 
 
 Translated in Blank Verse by Charles Lloyd : 
 
 The second edition ; to which is added, Memoirs of the life and 
 writings of Alfieri, with his Portrait finely engraved by Cooper ; 
 4 vols. 12mo. 21s. 
 
 " Alfieri is the great name of this age." — Lord Byron. 
 
 " Such as these Dramas are, — holding so high a place in Italian Literature, 
 and in European reputation, — they well deserved to be translated; nor 
 would it have been easy to find a more competent Translator than the 
 Writer, who has with so much ability and acuteness characterized 
 them." Quarterly Review. 
 
 " In his own way, Alfieri, we think, is excellent. His fables are all ad- 
 mirably contrived, and completely developed : his dialogue is copious 
 and progressive : and his characters all deliver natural sentiments with 
 great beauty, and often with great force of expression." 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 ALFIERI. 
 
 With Portrait, 12mo. 5s. 6d. 
 
 Recently Published, 
 
 ISABEL; A TALE, 
 
 By Charles Lloyd, 2 vols. \2mo. 10s. 
 
 'It is evidently the work of a man of talents, full of enthusiasm, of strong 
 and uncontrouled powers, and is written from feeling and passion, 
 rather than from the cold and calculating dictates of authorship. It is, 
 therefore bold, and sometimes paradoxical, involving the best interests 
 of the human heart in the inexplicable mazes of metaphysical sentiment, 
 and exhibiting the martyrdom of overwrought virtue, dying the victim 
 of passion, but triumphant over frailty and death."— Monthly Review, 
 June 1820. 
 
DESULTORY THOUGHTS 
 
 IN 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 TITUS AND GISIPPUS, 
 
 WITH OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY CHARLES LLOYD, 
 
 Author of Nugce Canom, and Translator of Alfieri's Tragedies. 
 
 BRAMA ASSAI, POCO SPERA E NULLA CHIEDE. 
 
 Tasso. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 CHARLES AND HENRY BALDWYN, 
 
 Newgate Street. 
 
 1821. 
 

 O.TYV. 
 
 Maurice, Piinter, Fenchurch Street. 
 
DEDICATORY SONNET. 
 
 TO SOPHIA. 
 
 Let it be never said, that I can bring 
 
 A tuneful trophy, and disloyally 
 
 To any one present it but to thee 
 Who doth inspire me each time that I sing! 
 Thou art my muse ! Nay more, as with a wing 
 
 Near me thou hoverest of tranquility, 
 
 Making home, home ! All that works silently 
 In me of human comfort, so that spring 
 (If chance they spring) flowers round my humble path, 
 
 All from thee comes ! When thou wert far away, 
 The lays I breath'd all told of grief and scath ; 
 
 They were but shadows of a better day. — 
 Me thou refreshest as the earth spring-showers ; 
 Due is the wreath to Her who rais'd its flowers ! 
 
DEDICATORY LINES 
 
 TO THE 
 
 DESULTORY THOUGHTS IN LONDON." 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MRS. HARDING. 
 
 Written September, 1820. 
 
 1. 
 
 To whom, more suitably, can I present 
 
 Effusions, London, penn'd in thy deep haunt. 
 
 Than to a friend there, the sole friend fate lent, 
 Who caus'd that, homeless, home's peculiar want 
 I should not feel — not so — that it should daunt 
 
 With sense of loneliness my pining spirit, 
 
 That I no more should have the will to chaunt 
 
 My simple lays ? Yes, thou canst boast the merit, 
 
 Though reft of Joy, that life did still some Hope inherit. 
 
 2. 
 'Tis a refreshing thing on thee to think, 
 And such as thee, on life's unsolac'd road ; 
 
Dedicatory Lines. v 
 
 Who from no one, though failing, e'er dost shrink 
 When call'd upon that aught might be bestow'd. 
 Frank, gen'rous, with a heart where ever glow'd, 
 
 And still glows, sympathy's most cheering flame ; 
 From thee, on every side, there still hath flow'd 
 
 A tributary stream, whose selfless aim, 
 
 Though it disperse to all, no eulogy doth claim. 
 
 3. 
 
 Like to a river, which, thro' covert wild, 
 
 And shrubby underwood, its smooth lapse winds ; 
 
 Or through the wide champaine, blithe as a child, 
 So unpresumingly its passage finds, 
 That by the brighter green more various kinds, 
 
 And richer hue of flowerets here and there, 
 
 Where'er its course it takes, kiss'dby the winds, 
 
 We chiefly guess, munificently fair, 
 
 That where we look, to heaven its bosom it doth bare. 
 
 4. 
 
 Like to that river too (another cause 
 
 Of its meek imperceptibility) 
 That 'tis so clear, that to its wave it draws 
 
 A second portrait of whate'er we see ; 
 
 A second portraiture most easily 
 Confounded with th' original ! Thus thou 
 
 Bear'st on thy flexile countenance and free, 
 Whatever impress other's cares there plough, 
 And all their joys and griefs are pictur'd on thy brow. 
 
vi Dedicatory Lines. 
 
 'Tis their augmented happiness alone, 
 
 Except to the discerning eye of Heaven, 
 Which boars an evidence thou movest on ; 
 
 Without pretension so, with path so even, 
 
 To thee to be progressive, it is given ! 
 Thus, like the stream I mention'd, whose guess'd way, 
 
 The richer hues that round that way have thriven, 
 So clear and calm it is, alone betray ; 
 To all around thee, thou mute blessings dost convey. 
 
The following remarks had, on further considera- 
 tion, been suggested to the author, since the poem, (to 
 a passage of which it refers,) was printed ; the author 
 therefore had no other alternative, except to introduce 
 them here, or to omit them altogether. He is most 
 satisfied with the former decision. 
 
 Kensington, Dec. 10th, 1820. 
 
 " How can thy creatures be tormented so ? — 
 
 Say, is it not for sin ? That it is not — 
 
 Is it for sins that trees, grass, blossoms, rot V* 
 
 p. 50, stanza 137, book 1. 
 
 Though the author can himself see no fallacy in the 
 chain of argument by which the doctrine of necessity 
 is defended, yet as so many excellent persons are scan- 
 dalized at the consequences of that doctrine, and as the 
 author is disposed to think the argumentum ad absur- 
 dum, with which in some measure, as respects the phe- 
 nomena of conscience, this doctrine may be impugned, 
 is one of considerable weight ; he wishes that he had 
 not so expressed himself as he has done in the passage 
 alluded to. Besides, the author feels that he is wrong. 
 Remorse, as distinct from regret, is a passion inaliena- 
 ble from human nature ; and this passion tells us, by its 
 awful voice, that it is for sin that we are tormented ; and 
 though the reasoning of necessity may make us antici- 
 pate that we never should feel remorse, yet if we do feel 
 remorse, hypothesis there is contradicted by fact, and 
 the whole falls to the ground. 
 
The fact is, that when we try actions by an a priori 
 process, we are almost obliged to admit the doctrine of 
 necessity — when we try actions by a posteriori judg- 
 ments, we are obliged, practically at least, to admit the 
 doctrine of free-will. Should not this make us hesitate to 
 give judgment ? Is there not, in the two avenues which 
 lead to the consideration of human action, somewhat 
 between that of necessity and free-will, which like two 
 parallel lines can never unite ? There is a gordian knot 
 between the two questions. Let us not presumptuously 
 imagine that we can untie it. 
 
DESULTORY THOUGHTS 
 
 IN 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 FIRST BOOK. 
 
 " Heaven me such usage send, 
 Not to pick bad from bad ; but, by bad, mend. 
 
 Othello, Act 4, Scent 3. 
 " Si je veux peindre le printemps, il faut queje sois en hyver; si je 
 veux decrire un beau paysage, il faut queje sois dans les murs ; et j'ai dit, 
 cent fois, que, si jamais j'etois mis a la Bastille, j'y ferois le tableau de 
 la liberie." Les Confessions de Rousseau, tome premiere, p. 322. 
 
 Come raccende il gusto il mutare esca, 
 Cosi mi par, che la mia istoria, quanto 
 Or qua, or la piu variata sia, 
 Meno a chi l'udira nojosa fia. 
 
 Ariosto, Canto 13, Stanza 80. 
 
DESULTORY THOUGHTS 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 A walk in the Park, under the circumstance of a hoar 
 frost; and description of a couple whp are there. 
 
 1. 
 
 The night has frosty been ; say, shall I wander 
 Beneath yon trees, and — ere the sun has reach'd 
 
 The zenith, and that copper fog from under 
 
 Struggled successfully ; while their boughs arebleach'd 
 
 With hoar-frost; and, with what might seem the plunder 
 Of fairy scenes, fantastically enriched; — 
 
 The snow-white glory's crisp luxuriancy, 
 
 Fus'd into softness by the mist, espy ? 
 
4 Description of 
 
 2. 
 It is a dainty sight ! See how the trees, 
 
 With tinsel frost-work on each twig, impearl'd, 
 Enchantment's forms seem more like, mimickries 
 
 Of elfish ornament, than of this world ! 
 I know not where the fancy more can please 
 
 Herself, through necromantic day-dreams whirl'd, 
 Than in a woody scene, in mist half lost, 
 Array'd in all the brilliancy of frost. 
 
 3. 
 Oh, had we eyes to see, what spot is there 
 
 In all the world, in which we might not find 
 Something of lovely, and perhaps of rare, 
 
 T' amuse the various functions of the mind ? 
 With such profusion of the good, and fair, 
 
 We need not say " we've gone" (or, like moles, blind, 
 We well deserve consignment to a warren) 
 " From Dan to Beersheba, and found all barren." 
 
 4. 
 See, through yon avenue, that mourner stealing ! 
 
 To him in friendship's tenderest relation 
 Once did I stand : he's smitten past all healing ; 
 
 His wife, by him, without exaggeration, 
 Of woman-heartedness, and genuine feeling, 
 
 And generosity, — of any nation 
 With proofs most noble and affecting, vies : 
 At Portia's faith no more I feel surprise. 
 
the Park, #c. 
 
 They liv'd surrounded by a beauteous flock 
 Of children, in conversible retirement ; 
 
 A competence had they, and not to mock, 
 But say the truth, if ever the requirement 
 
 O'th' Seasons' Poet form'd a household stock, 
 Love, friendship, leisure's free arbitrement 
 
 Of occupation, — they to them seemd given- — 
 
 " Progressive virtue, and approving heaven." 
 
 But he was blasted by a fell disease : 
 
 Behold him : — he who was the life of all, 
 
 With whom, in intercourse of social ease, 
 (And many were there) 'twas his lot to fall, 
 
 Speechless is now ! bereft of power to please ! 
 To angels, and to men, a spectacle, 
 
 Of that, which he, who " rideth on the storm," 
 
 Without aid from externals, can perform. 
 
 7. 
 Behold how mute he creepeth on his way ! 
 
 On either side each listless arm is hung ! 
 As if he were to inward wounds a prey : 
 
 As if his nerveless joints on wires were strung ! 
 Hark ! nothing now seems he to have to say ! 
 
 Yet once persuasiveness dwelt on his tongue ; 
 And listening crowds, through labyrinths of sense, 
 Prais'd the address of his free eloquence ! 
 b2 
 
Description of 
 
 Oh God ! might such an one as I presume, 
 Thee, for a brother man, to supplicate ! 
 
 How to thy footstool weeping would I come, 
 And fervently entreat thee, to his state 
 
 Of fierce distress, and pangs, though cleaving, dumb, 
 A little help to bring ; to ascend, though late, 
 
 Thy mercy-seat, and to his cruel woe 
 
 Say, " thus far shalt thou, but no farther, go." 
 
 Oh, deign to contemplate the anxious look 
 Of fond inquiry to her suffering friend, 
 
 "Which, as it all her resolution shook 
 
 To see his pangs, towards him his spouse doth send. 
 
 Father ! if not for his, oh, in thy book 
 Of reprobation, for her sake, forefend 
 
 Longer his name a station to inherit ! 
 
 From that worst death, defend him, of the spirit ! 
 
 10. 
 I can remember, when, to have beheld 
 
 Such scene, it had been all delight, to him ; 
 I can remember when no beam could gild 
 
 The clouds of evening, which caus'd not to swim 
 His eyes with living moisture : like a child 
 
 Elastic would he bound, and lithe of limb, 
 While nature's glories in his soul were waking, 
 Mood self- sufficing, yet with them partaking. 
 
the Park, %c* 1 
 
 11. 
 
 Look at these palaces on every side, 
 
 That raise ambitiously their heads on high ; 
 
 How few are there of all the sons of pride, 
 Their inmates, that could feel a sympathy, 
 
 Or have the smallest consciousness, allied 
 With such accumulated misery? 
 
 Well ! Let them rest ! — Each on his bed of down ; 
 
 I fear far more their favour than their frown. 
 
 12. 
 Oh ! pair disconsolate ! Could I, methinks, 
 
 Beneath the face of Heaven thus canopied 
 With rolling mists, while through the air slow sinks 
 
 Upon the ear, sounds of the bustling tide 
 Of busy life ; could I, in hallow'd links, 
 
 While the earth gleams with hoar-frost far and wide, 
 Espouse your fates in deep participation ! 
 The scene would to the deed lend consecration ! 
 
 13. 
 I cannot quit you ! Yet my backward look 
 
 Tarries, with stealing glances, on your paces : 
 There is a Providence ! and, that his crook 
 
 And staff may yours be, when, in stony places, 
 'Tis yours to wander forth, and see no nook 
 
 Of shelter for your manifold disgraces : 
 This is my prayer for you, and 'tis my prayer 
 That I might soothe your sorrows while I share. 
 
8 Description of the Park, fyc, 
 
 14. 
 And for that woman ; may she to his path, 
 
 Oh, may she be a lamp, light to his feet ! 
 While she remains with him, still is thy wrath 
 
 On him not pour'd with violence complete : 
 It is a heavy toil, but heart she hath 
 
 That maketh light of woe, joying to meet 
 The storm, when she can turn it from her lord ; 
 In her, thus Virtue is its own reward ! 
 
 15. 
 Yes, rather had she in distress partake, 
 
 Than not contribute to another's good ; 
 Shame on that wretch could cause her heart to ache ! 
 
 'Tis like a refuge of beatitude 
 To those who in its secret springs can slake 
 
 Their thirst : oh ! that her spouse were thus endued ! 
 Still it he sees in all she does and says, 
 In all her motions, attitudes, and ways. 
 
 16. 
 The treasure that he hath he cannot know, 
 
 Till, it torn from him, he indeed were poor ; 
 Then, then, in very deed, his weight of woe 
 
 Would be too great for mortal to endure ! 
 Be her support, oh God ! Thee may she know, 
 
 In thy good time to cheer her ; him to cure : 
 Be her support, Thou Ruler of the skies ! 
 Cheer her devotion, and self-sacrifice ! 
 
Methodist ChapeL 9 
 
 17. 
 What sound is that which strikes upon my ear ? 
 
 Tis like the sacred anthem's choral peal ; 
 No minster or collegiate church is near : 
 
 It is the burst of evangelic zeal ! 
 Gladly I hail it every where ; — most, here. 
 
 Where foes upon man's circumspection steal 
 So manifold, with satisfaction, I 
 Catch tones e'en of mistaken piety, 
 
 18. 
 If towards its God sincere ! Oft have I thought 
 
 That, as few snares exist in rural life 
 To lure to unhallow'd pleasures, Conscience, (brought 
 
 Oft into perfect being by a strife 
 'Twixt duty and desire,) there is sought 
 
 In vain, as in those busier scenes, more rife 
 With manifold temptations. The rude swain 
 There sleeps, wakes, toils, eats, drinks, and sleeps again ; 
 
 19. 
 And this is his life's diary ; save when fair, 
 
 Or wake, or merry dance of May invite ; 
 And then the exercise in the clear air, 
 
 The purer objects both of sound and sight 
 Impressing him, than those which towns prepare, 
 
 Of lawless bliss, much weaken the delight : 
 While few alternatives, or none at all, 
 Betwixt the gin-shop and conventicle, 
 
10 Methodist Chapel 
 
 20. 
 Await the town-bred son of poverty. 
 
 To the best interests of man, as friend, 
 Therefore I hail e'en bigot piety ! — 
 
 Whatever leads the spirit to ascend, 
 Draws it from temporal instincts, to espy 
 
 Imaginative interests, which befriend 
 Alike the servant and the master, seem 
 But modes to me of virtue's golden gleam. 
 
 21. 
 Success attend you, and a quiet spirit, 
 
 Devoted pioneers, where'er ye be, 
 Who have not fear'd this world to disinherit 
 
 Of all seductions to the sympathy 
 Of unregenerate man : on human merit, 
 
 And its pretensions, so much we agree, 
 Agree to think, that, if we find true treasure, 
 " God worketh in us of his own good pleasure," 
 
 22. 
 
 That I would not disparage you with praise : — 
 You will have praise from a far better source : 
 
 Oh, could the best philosopher but raise 
 His soul for once above the low discourse 
 
 Of his own reason, with what just amaze 
 Might he discover, that, the noblest force 
 
 Of his own will could not conceive, much less 
 
 Act up to, lowest motives you profess. 
 
Miscellaneous. 1 1 
 
 23. 
 
 Fair queen of Arts, I hail thee. If not here, 
 Where are Art's triumphs to be best secur'd ? 
 
 Here are the models to their votaries dear ! 
 
 Here for those votaries are their tools procur'd ! 
 
 Imbued with taste here is an atmosphere ! 
 When many men — a consequence ensur'd — 
 
 To a common centre with one view converge : 
 
 And social, here, the tasteful feelings urge.- 
 
 24. 
 
 It must, methinks, much sharpen those of art, 
 
 To have the pleasures of society 
 Join'd with them. Industry has done her part ; 
 
 Facilities e'en to satiety 
 Forbid here all impediments to thwart 
 
 The votaries of Taste : so that " nimiety" 
 Of inward impulse, here none need require ; 
 For all is found taste's novice to inspire. 
 
 25. 
 To see how each part falls into a clan 
 
 Of man's race, is a curious spectacle ; 
 How little people thwart each other's plan ; 
 
 Though in one city's vast receptacle 
 They all are huddled ! Casts of Indostan, 
 
 It makes us think ye quite respectable ! 
 And quite does good to heart of metaphysician, 
 If heart he have, to see with what precision 
 
1 2 Miscellan eo us . 
 
 26. 
 Class'd as by necromantic agency, 
 
 Musician, painter, poet, and prose writer, 
 Their bristles raise in stout defiancy ! 
 
 And then, to make the comment seem the brighter, 
 Visit poor labour in his cage, and see 
 
 How small his knowledge of abodes politer ! 
 While with exactest dole of equal measure, 
 As little know of him the tribes of pleasure. 
 
 27. 
 But really it is curious to observe 
 
 How persons, tottering on the very brink 
 Each of his neighbour's track, yet never swerve 
 
 Upon that track, its joys and woes, to think : 
 Then are the rich so exquisite in nerve 
 
 'T would be impossible they should not shrink 
 From any gross commixture of the classes ! 
 hi *Hunt , s spite, instinct keeps mankind in masses. 
 
 28. 
 
 Instinct, like Falstaff's, when the prince was near ! 
 
 However there is in our habitude 
 Something like what in insects doth appear : 
 
 That though with self-same powers we be endued, 
 Generically speaking, yet 'tis clear 
 
 Each specimen has its own solitude 
 
 * Mr. Hunt, of radical memory. 
 
Miscellaneous. 13 
 
 Of incommunicable faculties ! 
 
 A holy solitude from thence doth rise ! 
 
 29. 
 Nor would Benevolence annihilate 
 
 Our natures ; only would enlarge our wishes ; 
 It would not arbitrarily dictate, 
 
 But each man leave t' enjoy his favourite dishes. 
 And much, I think, that it would stipulate 
 
 Each man should have of meat, game, fowl, and fish, his 
 Quantity ; and I would assert 'twere able 
 To sit, though Malthus left the crowded table. 
 
 30. 
 
 Some men think only of themselves, while some — 
 But 'tis for nothing but to analyze them — 
 
 Think most of others : those men with a plum 
 
 In coffer, and round paunch, whose treasure buys them , 
 
 Are, in my mind, more bearable, and come 
 With honester pretensions to despise them, 
 
 Than those who think of men like worried dog 
 
 To galvanize— or like exhausted frog. 
 
 31. 
 Some men think too much of themselves ; and some 
 
 Too much of other men, from the same cause, 
 Self-love ; while envious miseries consume 
 
 Their hearts, when others gain the least applause. 
 
14 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Some from imprudence, not benevolence, doom 
 
 Themselves to ruin. Thus fail general laws 
 To be of universal application. 
 E'en vice sometimes is self-annihilation ! 
 
 32. 
 Religion is the principle alone 
 
 Which can convert man's various appetences 
 Each to some good, peculiarly its own. 
 
 The thoughtless man under her influences 
 Becomes benevolent. He who was prone 
 
 To self- analysis, his own pretences — 
 He who to that of other men, of others, 
 The baffled intrigue, ere matur'd — discovers. 
 
 33. 
 How many are there whom we're forc'd to excite 
 
 To think more of themselves ! How many men 
 So wrapp'd up in self-satisfied delight, 
 
 That e'en imprudence were in them a gain ! 
 As opposite men's faults, so opposite 
 
 The treatment which from wisdom they obtain : 
 Here is Religion's triumph. Here we see 
 The immutable in mutability ! 
 
 34. 
 But ere I treat it, I should go to school 
 
 Dialect to learn fit for satiric theme : 
 I've not that spirit fine of ridicule, 
 
 Which sheds on all things, like a careless gleam 
 
A Portrait. 15 
 
 Of sun-shine, brilliancy beyond all rule 
 
 Of set prescription ; grace and life extreme. 
 Mine is a mind that might be analytic, 
 But it too literal is to be satyric. 
 
 35. 
 Irony delicate and exquisite, 
 
 Delicious raillery's provoking zest ; 
 Half-playful, and a half-malicious wit, 
 
 Which, at what stings us most, makes us smile best : — 
 A subtle, sly, insinuating hit, 
 
 Which, in great gravity and reverence drest, 
 With irresistibly demure abord, 
 To every adversary gives le tort : — 
 
 36. 
 These are not mine ! Let me no longer talk 
 
 About myself, but of my friends ; at least 
 Of one of them ; and this would be no baulk 
 
 To the reader, if he knew to what a feast 
 He is invited : for though you should walk 
 
 From Bow to Chelsea, nay from point most west 
 Of Cornwall's coast, to house of John o' Groat, 
 That you would find his match I still must doubt. 
 
 37. 
 He is a man whom many painful duties 
 
 In early life mark'd as the son of grief; 
 Yet did he never render a pursuit his 
 
 With any view of premature relief : 
 
16 The Consecration of 
 
 Or, with equivocal resource, pollute his 
 
 Most noble soul, by thought that could be thief 
 E'en of the tender bloom, that lay upon 
 Its lovely surface, like the ripe fruit's down. 
 
 38. 
 He walk'd along his path in steadiness, 
 
 In solitude, and in sublimity ; 
 None ever knew his desolate distress, 
 
 And none shall ever know it now from me. 
 But with a love, temper'd with awfulness, 
 
 Have I beheld the forc'd serenity, 
 That, like envelope fine, on it he laid : 
 Though 'twas transparent none dar'd pierce its shade. 
 
 39. 
 It was respected as the sacred veil 
 
 That erst conceal'd the Ark of Deity, 
 When He vouchsaf 'd with human-kind to dwell : 
 
 A holy presence, envied now by me, 
 And causing me, those, to whose lot it fell, 
 
 With God's regard thus signalized to be, 
 To envy too : for in our purer law 
 Truth is scarce definite enough for awe, 
 
 40. 
 For those who have not, by a mystic love, 
 
 A complete vict'ry o'er their senses won : 
 What would I not have given, did fate approve, 
 
 When great Jehovah to King David's son 
 
the Temple by Solomon. 17 
 
 Divulg'd his glory, to have gaz'd above, 
 
 As o'er th' adoring host his presence shone. 
 When " all the congregation stood of Israel," 
 And God descended with mankind to dwell. 
 
 41. 
 When e'en the very heavens bow'd down to earth, 
 
 And all the building with God's glory flooded; 
 Which pure perfumes, each of immortal birth, 
 
 And incense, from a thousand censers, clouded. 
 High anthems also of devoutest mirth 
 
 That pierc'd the vap'ry canopy, which shrouded 
 The place most holy, on its billows roll'd, 
 And e'en of more than mortal feelings told. 
 
 42. 
 Then was that memorable pray'r preferr'd : 
 
 Then was that catalogue of sins, sublime : 
 For, after each, was not this pleading heard, 
 
 If man have perpetrated any crime, 
 Or this or that, and he from guilt incurr'd 
 
 Be penitent, and here confess in time, 
 " Then, hear Thou from thy dwelling place, e'en Heav'n ! 
 And when thou hearest be the sin forgiv'n." 
 
 43. 
 Then stood the priest array'd in robe of white, 
 
 Then were the trumpets and the cymbals sounded, 
 Then all rich perfumes in an exquisite 
 
 Ocean of speechless fragrance were confounded, 
 c 2 
 
18 The Consecration of, fyc. 
 
 While all harmonious instruments delight ; 
 
 One hallelujah to the skies rebounded. 
 " The Glory of the Lord," from its abode 
 On high, came down, and " fill'd the house of God !" 
 
 44. 
 Ah, hapless, hapless people ! well might ye 
 
 By rivers of the mighty Babylon 
 Sit down and weep : and on each willow tree 
 
 Hang up your harps ! Well, well, might Zion's son 
 Exclaim with passionate tears, " oh, how can we 
 
 Sing in a strange land the Lord's song ?" well moan 
 " My right hand's cunning let it cease to be, 
 Ere I, oh Zion, cease to think of thee !" 
 
 45. 
 Ah, hapless people ! Even to recur 
 
 To trophies, so exclusively your own, 
 As once were yours, seems in my heart to stir 
 
 A sense, as if these glorious days had thrown 
 A shade on later times ! yet that " word sure 
 
 Of prophecy," which " in a dark place shone," 
 As all sufficing we cannot refuse ! 
 Graceless, in days of grace, were better Jews. 
 
 46. 
 Much from my theme and friend have I digress'd, 
 
 But poor as I am, poor in stuff for thought, 
 And poor in thought to make of it the best, 
 
 Blame me not, gentles, if I soon am caught 
 
The Portrait resumed. 19 
 
 By this or that, when as my themes suggest 
 
 Aught of collateral aid which may be wrought 
 Into its service. Blame me not, I say ; 
 The idly musing often miss their way. 
 
 47. 
 And now, my friend, I turn again to thee, 
 
 Thou pure receptacle of all that's good ! 
 Thou hast contriv'd an art, I own, by me, 
 
 As feasible, so little understood, 
 That, thou being unknown, with avowal free, 
 
 I should have said it ne'er could be pursu'd — 
 The child of impulse ever to appear, 
 And yet through duty's path strictly to steer. 
 
 48. 
 Nay, more — Thou hast contriv'd to be that child, 
 
 And not alone hast held, through duty's path, 
 In lofty unimpeachableness, and mild, 
 
 Thy way, but through strange suffering, and scath 
 Of worldly comfort, hast been unbeguil'd 
 
 Of life's first innocence ; God's blessing hath, — 
 Like " Shadrach, Meshek, and Abednego," — 
 Through fiery furnace made thee safely go. 
 
 49. 
 Thy God hath said to thee, " When* through the wave 
 Thou passest, servant, I with thee will be ! 
 
 * Isaiah chap. 43, verse 2. 
 
20 The Portrait resumed. 
 
 When through the floods, thou shalt their fury brave ; 
 
 When through the flames, their hurtful quality 
 They shall renounce, nor shall thy garments have 
 
 A smell of fire, recalling it to thee. 
 As thou hast done by me, by thee I'll do : — 
 I am, have been, and will to thee be true." 
 
 50. 
 
 Oh , thou art a mystery to me ! 
 
 Thou art so prudent, and so mad with wildness, 
 Thou art a source of everlasting glee ! 
 
 Yet desolation of the very childless 
 Has been thy lot ! Never in one like thee 
 
 Did I see worth majestic from its mildness ; 
 So far, in thee, from being an annoyance 
 E'en to the vicious, 'tis a source of joyance. 
 
 51. 
 
 Like a vast castle that has sieges seen, 
 Its outer walls shaken, and prostrate laid, 
 
 Thou seem'st to me ! Each outlet to the scene, 
 Where thy great wealth, like troops in ambuscade, 
 
 Was stor'd, has oft been ransack'd ; thou hast been 
 Of sympathy so frank, so overpaid 
 
 Their price to all ! Yet much as thou'st been shaken 
 
 Thou, like that castle's fortress, ne'er wert taken. 
 
The Portrait resumed, 21 
 
 52. 
 Most men from principle their virtues draw — 
 
 In thee would principle shew like a failing, 
 Thy heart sublime frames thy life's safest law ; 
 
 And 'twould condense the fresh dews thence exhaling 
 Their rich exuberance by rule to awe ; 
 
 Others deem self-denial most availing 
 To rule man's conduct : but so pure thy mind is, 
 Thou hid'st its talents lest their beams should blind us. 
 
 53. 
 No ! thou, in many ways, reversest all, 
 
 That may to men in general be imputed, 
 Better in thee the virtues natural, 
 
 Than those in other men by culture rooted. 
 Never thy lips, by word, or great or small, 
 
 That other men could injure, were polluted. 
 Thy censure, if in critic chair thou sit, 
 Falls but on those too great to shrink from wit. 
 
 54. 
 No ! Let a man, in body, or in mind, 
 
 In character, condition, or estate, 
 Be doom'd, in form, in talents, from mankind, 
 
 To bear disadvantageous estimate ; 
 By thee, to him, shall never be assign'd 
 
 A word his destiny to aggravate : 
 In thy praise, as of Heaven, it might be sounded, 
 None that in thee e'er trusted were confounded. 
 
22 A Female Portrait, as 
 
 55. 
 
 Now shall I not this living portrait wrong- 
 In it the features are not very common — 
 
 By mentioning to whom it doth belong ! 
 The writer trust ; its prototype is human ! 
 
 If thou that read'st it catch the likeness strong, 
 Respect the secret as thou art a true man. 
 
 He that has furnish'd matter for these lays, 
 
 Is singular in this — he spurns at praise. 
 
 56. 
 There is a being still attends my couch ; — 
 
 There is a being still, whose voice to hear 
 Is music to my soul ; whose hand to touch 
 
 Is life ; — to look upon her count'nance clear, 
 She still seems able to atone for much 
 
 Of spite, that destiny 'gainst me doth bear. 
 Name her I will not ! Were she always spar d 
 To me thus, I should not think woe so hard. 
 
 57. 
 I well remember her years five-and-twenty, 
 
 (Ah, now my muse is got into a gallop) 
 Longer perhaps ! But time sufficient, plenty 
 
 Of treasur'd offices of love to call up. 
 She was then, as I recollect, quite dainty, 
 
 And delicate, and seem'd a fair envelope 
 Of virgin sweetness, and angelic goodness ! 
 That fate should treat her with such reckless rudeness ! 
 
Companion to the former one. 23 
 
 58. 
 She scarcely seem'd to tread upon the ground, 
 
 But was like one of fair Diana's trajn, 
 While on her steed her sylphid form would bound, 
 
 Which felt the license of the loosen d rein ; 
 While o'er her brow, with fur or ermine crown'd, 
 
 Wav'd the triumphant plume, as proud t' obtain 
 A station so distinguish'd ; such her grace, 
 Well might you deem her Lady of the Chace ! 
 
 59. 
 But though in sense and graceful exercise, 
 
 In arts which give to wealth a magic power, 
 Though in accomplishments, and courtesies, 
 
 In dance in hall, and converse in the bow'r, 
 From many a one she bore away the prize ; 
 
 These were but buds of that " consummate flow'r" 
 Of excellence, whose root her bosom nourish'd ; 
 Charming each sense with fragrance where it flourish'd. 
 
 60. 
 Oh ! that the shocks of wintry gales assail'd it ! 
 
 Or from its honours one small leaf should rend ! 
 Its bloom, that smearing rains should e'er have pal'd it ! 
 Or blasts tow'rds earth its stately head should bend ! 
 I But, though it so have been, they ne'er avail'd yet 
 
 . With its more noble graces to contend : 
 I The more they wasted it to human eyes, 
 I The more its fragrance mounted to the skies. 
 
24 A Female Portrait, fyc. 
 
 61. 
 Oh, could the writer of these humble lays, 
 
 Renew the hours, best friend, he's had with thee ! 
 When through the glimmer of life's twilight haze — 
 
 (Like fairy forms when hoar-frost's witchery 
 The rose-like bloom of the sun's straggling rays 
 
 First catches) the fantastic imagery 
 Seem'd more inviting from its dubious curtain: — 
 (Youth trusts too much to shrink from the uncertain.) 
 
 62. 
 Could he renew those days ! Yet can he call 
 
 Charms from those days, so that his heart has leap'd ! 
 Charms, like those flowers, which, in a triumph, fall 
 
 From car of conqueror, so profusely heap'd, 
 That on all sides the ground is like a wall, 
 
 Whence, wreath'd in trellis, blooms profusely peep'd. 
 Their roses, though they long have seem'd to pale, 
 Commemorative fragrance still exhale. 
 
 63. 
 So do the thoughts, dear being ! lov'd the best 
 
 Of any being that I yet have known ! — 
 So do the thoughts, join'd with those hours so blest, 
 
 Which have been most peculiarly thine own ! 
 Yes ! of those hours though I am dispossess'd, 
 
 The streams nectarious which from them have flown, 
 Like incense which the shrine of Vesta shaded, 
 Immortal dwells, where it has once pervaded ! 
 
Stanzas addressed to # # # 25 
 
 64. 
 One near thee, London, dwells, to whom I fain 
 
 Tribute would pay, or ere this lay I close ; 
 Yet how can I — ungifted with a strain 
 
 Fit to arrest the ear of him who knows 
 To build such verse as Seraphim might deign 
 . To listen to, nor break the deep repose 
 Of those immortal ardours that inspire 
 Spirit of inextinguishable fire — 
 
 65. 
 How shall I fitly speak on such a theme ? 
 
 He is a treasure by the world neglected, 
 Because he hath not, with a prescience dim, 
 
 Like those whose every aim is self-reflected, 
 Pil'd up some fastuous trophy, that of him 
 
 Might tell, what mighty powers the age rejected, 
 But taught his lips the office of a pen-~ 
 By fools he's deem'd a being lost to men. 
 
 66. 
 I grant, by fools alone he is held so — 
 
 But then most plentiful this genus is ; 
 And not confin'd (as all good people know) 
 
 To exoteric illegitimacies. 
 Nay, capp'd and gown'd, oft, in life's raree-show, 
 
 With senatorial robe, and blazonries 
 Of maintenance and coronet adorn'd, 
 Tempted we've been its meanness to have scorn'd ! 
 
26 Stanzas addressed to * * * 
 
 67. 
 I honour him for that neglect for which, 
 
 From vulgar minds, he hath aspersion found, 
 Because that poor he hath become, though rich, 
 
 In casting nobly on ungrateful ground, 
 That whence more selfish souls had sought to pitch 
 
 A lasting tabernacle ; to confound 
 By its magnificence, all other men ; 
 While in its depths they lurk'd, as in a den. 
 
 68. 
 No ! with magnanimous self-sacrifice, 
 
 And lofty inadvertency of fame, 
 He felt there is a bliss in being wise, 
 
 Quite independent of the wise man's name. 
 Who now can say how many a soul may rise 
 
 To a nobility of moral aim 
 It ne'er had known, but for that spirit brave, 
 Which, being freely gifted, freely gave? 
 
 69. 
 Sometimes I think that I'm a blossom blighted ; 
 
 But this I ken, that should it not prove so, 
 If I am not inexorably spited 
 
 Of all, that dignifies mankind below ; 
 By him I speak of, I was so excited, 
 
 While reason's scale was poising to and fro, 
 " To the better cause f that him I have to bless 
 For that which it is comfort to possess. 
 
Stanzas addressed to * * * 27 
 
 70. 
 In sickness both of body and of mind, 
 
 Was he to me a friend in very deed ; 
 When first I met him, you might likeness find, 
 
 To that state from the which my heart he freed, 
 In fallow meadow, equally inclin'd, 
 
 To be possess'd with good or evil seed : 
 Much toil he lavish'd on uncultur'd ground ; 
 In that, if fruitless, must the fault be found. 
 
 71. 
 
 Why should we deem only that virtue lives 
 
 Which to itself a self-erected fane 
 Hath built ? Do we not know that Christ receives 
 
 The tribute of immortalizing strain, 
 From men, on whom, like dew on opening leaves, 
 
 Dropp'd the pure truths, they render'd back again. 
 The more we practise good unconsciously, 
 More certainly its record is on high. 
 
 72. 
 
 Weak is my strain, yet weak is not my thought, 
 When on that wealth I muse in lonely hour, 
 
 Which flow'd like stream 'neath grass, unseen, whence 
 caught 
 Its tints (yet none knew 'twas so) many a bower. 
 
 Which on no principle doth act, not taught 
 By absolute predominance of power, 
 
28 Stanzas addressed to * * * 
 
 But, bound, by destiny, to path sublime, 
 Mocks the cold confines of decaying time. 
 
 73. 
 
 As it uncalculating is in good, 
 
 Or is without an aim, commensurate 
 
 With human reckoning, notably endued 
 With vast facility to elevate, 
 
 So is the soul, in its deep solitude, 
 The holy organ prescient of Fate. 
 
 In human deeds the great we never boast 
 
 Till thought of actor in the act is lost. 
 
 74. 
 
 Weak were my muse to paint the various powers 
 Heaven hath so copiously bestow'd on thee ; 
 
 The wondrous erudition, fruit of hours 
 Of deep, though unrecorded, industry. 
 
 The metaphysic ken, that proudly towers ; 
 
 And though pitch'd high, with such keen subtlety 
 
 And glance discriminative, all things eyes — 
 
 'Tis not for me aptly to eulogize ! 
 
 75. 
 
 Less, should a hand which trembles as it creeps, 
 With touch all unprecise, o'er its light lyre, 
 
 Dare to commemorate one who deftly sweeps, 
 With emulative skill, and Milton's fire, 
 
Stanzas addressed to * * * 29 
 
 The awful harp of Zion ! His pulse sleeps 
 
 In dullest apathy, who could retire 
 From thy high theme, and, that thy lips have burn'd 
 With " live-coal from the altar," not have learn'd. 
 
 76. 
 Nor less art thou in bowers of gay romance 
 
 The gifted son of genius ! None the spell 
 Of chivalry can weave, nor sorcery's trance, 
 
 More with a power the human heart to quell. 
 The Graces mingle in eternal dance ; 
 
 And every vision from the holiest cell 
 Of high imagination, floats along, 
 And variegates, thy fascinating song. 
 
 77. 
 Deep beauty, e'en to awfulness, so rich, 
 
 Such plenitude of pomp around her beams, 
 Causes thy wondrous numbers to bewitch, 
 
 Like syrens chauntingby immortal streams. 
 Thy argument so nobly dost thou pitch, 
 
 Thou of worst passions turn'st the worst extremes 
 (As from deep shades the light intenselier burns) 
 Till e'en in them the mind a charm discerns. 
 
 78. 
 Say where has Mystery touch'd a potent shell, 
 Or Fear shriek'd audibly in 'wilder'd note, 
 
 d 2 
 
30 Stanzas addressed to * * * 
 
 Where Inspiration reconcil'd so well 
 
 To sense, a strain to prodigies devote, 
 Where wild tones thrill at once, and rich sounds swell; 
 
 As in that " Lay" where necromantic boat, 
 And its fantastic crew, alike recall 
 The wide sea's wildness, witness of them all ? 
 
 79. 
 Now, fare thee well ! My trembling voice scarce utters 
 
 Thoughts that thy image ever hover round : 
 When thee I fain would celebrate, it mutters 
 
 Something inadequate in sense ; in sound, 
 If audible, discordant ; my pulse nutters, 
 
 And meanings unexpressive, though profound, 
 Puzzle my sense, and vex my reeling will, 
 Of something quite surpassing my poor skill. 
 
 80. 
 Let a heart-withering breath insinuate not, 
 
 That this from my pen is a flattering strain, 
 More would it seem so, fell it to my lot, 
 
 (And far more pretext give my truth to arraign) 
 Thee, as though nothing I had since forgot, 
 
 To paint as once I knew thee, when the train 
 Of fairy pleasures to my path yet clung : 
 Thee, had I chaunted, as I found when young. 
 
 81. 
 No ! Those who most have seen me, since the hour 
 When thou and I, in former happier days, 
 
Stanzas addressed to * # * 31 
 
 Frank converse held, though many an adverse power 
 Have sought the memory of those times to raze, 
 
 Can vouch that more it stirs me (thus a tower, 
 Sole remnant of vast castle, still betrays 
 
 Haply its former splendour) to have prov'd 
 
 Thy love, than by fresh friends to have been lov'd. 
 
 82. 
 I have had comrades both for weal and woe; 
 
 I have had compeers both for good and ill ; 
 But thou 'rt the only one I e'er did know 
 
 Who sufferedst such a breeze life's sails to fill, 
 That all the scath I from the last did know, 
 
 Thou metamorphosedst, with wizard's skill, 
 Into a course more blithe, though not less sure : 
 And Wisdoms smile, in thee, had folly's lure. 
 
 83. 
 Can one for whom twice hath been strung thy harp, 
 
 To that be destin'd which is worse than death ; 
 That care with freezing touch his heart should warp, 
 
 'Till from his bosom breathe no vital breath ? — 
 Must he be fated to the envious, sharp, 
 
 And cutting blast, 'till, like the sterile heath, 
 From his uprooted, shrivell'd stem there shoot 
 Nor verdant leaf, nor fragrance, bloom, nor fruit ? 
 
 84. 
 I will not think it ! I will deem these lays 
 
 Augur some good ! E'en while from me they steal, 
 
32 Stanzas addressed to # * # 
 
 Of some compensatory bliss they raise 
 Inward assurance, since from them I feel 
 
 That still thy memory o'er my being sways 
 With deeper influence, and intenser zeal, 
 
 Than it were possible it could have been, 
 
 Jf I were now, as thee I ne'er had seen. 
 
 85. 
 
 Since then, though grafted from another stock, 
 Some fruit I bear ; — deep gratitude at least : — 
 
 May not I hope, like seed in cleft of rock, 
 
 (Though gorgeous blooms, like blossoms of the east, 
 
 From me may never spring) that, from the shock 
 Of intervening years, have not quite ceas'd 
 
 Some straggling buds, whence yet discerning eyes 
 
 In me thy fostering care may recognize. 
 
 Once more, or ere I quit th' inspiring theme, — 
 Utterance to give, to which I need not seek 
 
 The muse's aid ; nor any fervid dream, 
 Imagination, from thy sway bespeak ; 
 
 Rather, Affection, I but need the gleam 
 
 Stolen from thy moisten'd eye and glowing cheek ; — 
 
 Yes, once more must I tax, ere such theme end, 
 
 Th' indulgent suffrage of another friend. 
 
Stanzas addressed to * * 33 
 
 87, 
 * * , thy friend feels, ere he clasp the page 
 
 Destin'd his poor effusions to contain, 
 As if he robb'd his spirit's heritage 
 
 Of one, its chiefest boast, if he refrain 
 (While somewhat glows still of poetic rage) 
 
 From twining, in commemorative strain, 
 Thy name and his, together. He has lov'd 
 Himself, oft better, since by thee approv'd. 
 
 Tell him not, Worldlings ! Satirists, tell him not, 
 That flame of hallow' d friendship, and of love, 
 
 Disinterested, free from selfish spot, 
 
 Burns not in human bosoms ! to disprove 
 
 Your theme, by self-experience, 'tis his lot ! 
 In him its mean conclusions pity move ! 
 
 Though mark'd by much of sufF'ring, yet his road 
 
 Has led him still where smiles of friendship glow'd. 
 
 He sees, in thee, in these effeminate times, 
 Spirit of heroes and of Saints revived ; 
 
 In thee, a man whom love of truth sublimes ; 
 That self-renouncing energy, which liv'd 
 
 In Greece and Rome, ere they from vanquish'd climes 
 Had their enervating delights receiv'd. 
 
 Their poorest Freedman, if high-hearted, then, 
 
 Was consecrated by his countrymen. 
 
34 Stanzas addressed to # * 
 
 90. 
 Were he to speak of pure simplicity, 
 
 With that united which is most profound 
 In intellect, most subtle : — were he free 
 
 To say, that past is the last visible bound 
 Of the imaginative soul by thee ; 
 
 Were be in words thy faculty to expound, 
 To track deep thoughts through regions most obscure ; 
 This lay, at least in matter ', were not poor ! 
 
 91. 
 But such the reverence, friend belov'd, for thee 
 
 He feels : so deeply he reveres the shrine 
 In which, as in religious sanctuary, 
 
 Thou hidest attributes almost divine ; 
 That his tongue falters, and unwillingly 
 
 Traces his pen the encomiastic line, 
 Till somewhat, by the head unshar'd, upsprings 
 In his warm heart : — -then cheerily he sings. 
 
 92. 
 Oft when steals on the meditative hour, 
 
 And parlour twilight to repose invites ; 
 Oft when Imagination's stirring power 
 
 Keeps watch with hollow blasts of winter nights ; 
 Thy countenance bright upon his heart doth shower, 
 
 By Memory trac'd, the exquisite delights, 
 Which from thy smile, and from thy every tone, 
 And intercourse ennobling, he has known. 
 
Stanzas addressed to * * 35 
 
 93. 
 Nor can he not indulge in mentioning 
 
 Some high peculiar gifts bestow'd on thee ; 
 So rarely found united, that they bring 
 
 To common systems of Humanity 
 Full refutation : thou canst plume thy wing 
 
 To all the holiest heights of poesy ; 
 And more than any other art thou fraught 
 With accuracy of analytic thought ! 
 
 94. 
 
 It is a dainty banquet, known to few, 
 
 To thy mind's inner shrine to have access ; 
 
 While choicest stores of intellect endue 
 That Sanctuary, in marvellous excess. 
 
 There lambent glories, ever bright and new, 
 Those, privileged to be its inmates, bless ! 
 
 Such as by gods, in tributary rite, 
 
 Were hail'd from earth, e'en on their thrones of light ! — 
 
 95. 
 Yes, there Religion dwells ; there, moral worth ; 
 
 Diffusing round a holy atmosphere ; 
 Cause has that soul to triumph in its birth, 
 
 That once is doom'd to be admitted there ! 
 Mere human wisdom is a theme for mirth, 
 
 To those who intuitions can revere, 
 As in transfiguring trance they were espied, 
 That float round thee, by Heaven o'ercanopied ! 
 
36 The Influence of Imagination. 
 
 96. 
 But stop ! — 'tis vain ! — For none will comprehend 
 
 Though line on line dilate upon the theme : 
 He simply wishes to assure his friend, 
 
 How that his image, (like a morning beam, 
 Dear to the eye, especially if end 
 
 It bring to wicked and portentous dream) 
 In transient intercourse, and seldom given, 
 Is bless'd to him as visitant from Heaven. 
 
 97. 
 Farewell ! Forget him not ! He does not say 
 
 These lines applaud, except that thou canst deem, 
 (That which he certainly asseverate may) 
 
 Beneath them dwells — implicitest esteem. 
 Known, — or not known,— by men : — go on thy way ! 
 
 Of admiration th' universal theme, 
 Or by all men forgot — to him thou'rt one, 
 Favour'd thine inner mind to look upon ! 
 
 Much has that soul to bear which Heav'n has fram'd 
 Of such capricious, such fantastic stuff, 
 
 That all its joys and sorrows still are claim'd — 
 Its paths are pleasantness, its ways are rough — 
 
 From source imaginative. To be blam'd 
 'Tis not, if he be churlish, that, enough, 
 
 He hath not, of joys physical or sensual ; 
 
 With him, a cold east wind is most potential. 
 
The Influence of Imagination. 37 
 
 99. 
 He may be very rich, or very poor, — 
 
 Yet neither poverty nor wealth the cause be, 
 Or joy, to him, or misery, to procure. 
 
 No ! Consequence far more important draws he 
 From this ; that — clear'd each breath which might ob- 
 scure 
 
 Its surface — Fancy's glass might prove from flaws free . 
 And I uphold, to put this out of question, 
 Than a deep purse, more needs he good digestion. 
 
 100. 
 Yet neither good digestion, western breezes, 
 
 Nor whatsoever he his hand could lay on, 
 Though it may be what, in scholastic thesis, 
 
 Is call'd condition, or a sine qud non, 
 Of that which I am talking of; though Croesus 
 
 All his " appliances to boot" should rain on 
 Their fates ; (they're so fastidious that I hate 'em) 
 Give the romantic soul's desideratum. 
 
 101. 
 Some* as a medium (it was not John Buncle, 
 
 Though one, I should suppose, like him endued 
 With whim ; or prone to build, like Shandy's Uncle, 
 
 Fort, like as much to fort as fane of Druid,) 
 
 * See Hartley's hypothesis of vibrations ; and his suppositious ethe- 
 rial medium through which the impression is conveyed from objects to 
 his vibratory nerves. 
 
38 The Influence of Imagination. 
 
 Betwixt vibration and vibratiuncle, 
 
 Have dream'd, I know not of what subtle fluid, 
 Where th' nerves, who're very talkative, might pack all 
 Like ducks in ponds, and one to th' other cackle. 
 
 102. 
 Now I suppose that this fine fluid is 
 
 Or very apt to freeze, or (quite as bad) 
 To rarefy : and that the reason is 
 
 Why nervous people are so very sad. 
 People, I mean, who, for their bale or bliss, 
 
 Recourse to the nerves' state have always had. 
 For there are some deign not the nerves to notice — 
 Not felt, and not to be, the same I wot is. 
 
 103. 
 However, dropping theories dialectic, 
 
 Of which I never knew to talk with unction, 
 May I be heard in my lament pathetic, 
 
 How very seldom there is a conjunction 
 Between souls exquisitely sympathetic 
 
 (Souls towards whom matter should feel more com- 
 punction) 
 And objects that upon them act? How seldom 
 That moment felt which holds each wish in thraldom ? 
 
 104. 
 The immortal moment ! 'Tis to be immortal 
 
 To have no thought backwards or forwards bended ; 
 
The Influence of Imagination. 39 
 
 Thought, taste, imagination, every portal 
 
 Of all the senses, ear, eye, touch, suspended, 
 
 Which, as by harmony intense, exhort all 
 To bliss, that, if it can be comprehended, 
 
 Cannot be told ! To be all eye, all touch, 
 
 All ear, all — — yet not one of these too much ! 
 
 105. 
 There is a bliss the eye hath never seen ! 
 
 There is a bliss the ear hath never heard ! 
 Nor hath it ever comprehended been ! 
 
 And though on man's heart 'tis sometimes conferr'd, 
 Never except on one that has that keen 
 
 Capacity for joy, which is transferr'd 
 To him, who, — placing all his hopes in thee — - 
 Imagination, is thy votary ! 
 
 106. 
 No power of volition can work this ! 
 
 No power of volition can efface it ! 
 Where once thy seal, Imagination, is 
 
 Set on the soul, no labour can erase it. 
 'Tis like a sixth sense which gives emphasis 
 
 (Whate'er the cause may be to which we trace it) 
 To each impression ; — character confers : 
 And all life's objects are its caterers ! 
 
 107. 
 She can make clouds to seem the abode of spirits 
 And raise the wailing cry when winds pipe on ; 
 
40 The Influence of Imagination. 
 
 From her each impress physical inherits 
 
 Its soul, its life, its consecration. 
 What, of the grandest prospect, are the merits 
 
 On which the sun's great eye hath ever shone, 
 If its hues, sounds, and forms, be not inspected 
 Through thy transcendent medium reflected ? 
 
 108. 
 Yes ! Be my guardian still, and I will bear 
 
 All ills of body, and all ills of mind; 
 By thee to be deserted, I should fear 
 
 More than from light of day to be confin'd. 
 I would not have those, who did never wear 
 
 Thy livery, to thy service be inclin'd. 
 As, to their source, streams we cannot recall, 
 So thou, once felt, must still be all in all. 
 
 109. 
 E'en blindness, deafness, loss of ev'ry sense, — 
 
 How much more then loss of external things ? — 
 May well be borne beneath thy influence : 
 
 And when Religion bears thee on her wings, 
 And thou becom'st her handmaid, all defence 
 
 Against misfortune, whencesoe'er it springs, 
 We thenceforth may discard : all woes ideal : 
 He ivho loves God sees nought but transport real. 
 
 110. 
 Where have I wander'd, London, from thy haunts? 
 Yet still, at times, in this erratic strain 
 
The Influence of ln/aginatiou. 41 
 
 My heart has turn d to thee, and still it pants 
 
 To pay its debt of gratitude for pain, 
 By thee abated : nor let him who vaunts 
 
 Of joys imaginary, where the reign 
 Of nature's most complete, presume to swear 
 Imagination's joys are only there. 
 
 111. 
 Tis not the form that is th' essential thing, 
 
 It is the soul, the spirit, that is there ; 
 It is a mystery whence th' elastic spring 
 
 Of inspiration comes, but it is clear 
 That, where it is, mere trifles, — any thing, — 
 
 The passing bell, some scrannel notes we hear 
 From vagrant ballad-singer, may invoke 
 Thoughts that disclaim reality's dull yoke. 
 
 112. 
 Yes, I have caught from seeing — as I went 
 
 To childhood's bed — through ice-glaz'd lattice shine 
 The moon's cold gleam ; or when the day was spent, 
 
 From Christmas-carol, not, in notes like thine, 
 Oh, Mara, sung ; perhaps when the flame, sent 
 
 Towards mirror, shone in it, whence it would shine 
 Back bickering through the room ; — if at this hour 
 So apt to yield us to thy witching power ; — 
 
 113. 
 From distant fife, upon my ears, there fell 
 
 Some notes ;— from these— have caught, such impulses: 
 e2 
 
42 The Influence of Imagination. 
 
 The ice-glaz'd lattice so to me would tell 
 Of winter's pleasures ; of such jocos dulces 
 
 The carol speak to me ; — with such a spell, 
 At close of day, would Fancy still my pulses ; 
 
 In parlour twilight such sweet melancholy 
 
 Steal over me, so passionate, so holy, 
 
 114. 
 That there has seem'd from all these little sources, 
 
 Bliss to arise, which could not be exceeded ! 
 Thus, when the mind is rich in all its forces, 
 
 A flower, a scent, which, in some place, I'd heeded, 
 Still dear to me, — impell'd by these resources, 
 
 That feeling* strange has risen, as if indeed it 
 Were true that we elsewhere had had existence : — 
 And this of past identity were instance. 
 
 115. 
 I wist not whether those, who may, by chance, 
 
 Cast on these lines their eyes, have ever known it, 
 But 'tis a strange sensation— this swift glance 
 
 At past existence, which, as soon as shewn, it 
 
 * Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll 
 
 Which makes the present (while the fit doth last) 
 Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, 
 Mix'd with such feelings, as perplex the soul 
 Self-question'd in her sleep : and some have said 
 Wc liv'd, ere yet this mortal flesh we wore. 
 
 Coleridge's Sybilline Leaves, p. 258. 
 
Reflections on unfortunate Females. 43 
 
 Vanishes ; but the mind feels, while the trance 
 
 Doth last, (a sense of past life so doth own it) 
 As if the self-same forms it saw again, 
 Which, though it knew not where, it erst had seen. 
 
 116. 
 This chiefly happens when, or more or less, 
 
 Some curious coincidence occurs ; 
 Or when, the soul, a more than common stress, 
 
 To somewhat of fantastic feeling, stirs ; 
 It is in general when an airiness 
 
 Of thought, the fortune of the hour confers : 
 He that has felt it knows it ; and to such 
 As do not know it, each word is too much. 
 
 117. 
 I cannot you conduct, my partial friends, 
 
 To gaming-house, and every haunt in London, 
 But for an ignorance I'll not make amends 
 
 (By which most guides to places would be undone) 
 By random chattering, which oft attends 
 
 Persons whose words betray that thoughts they had 
 none. 
 I'll try nathless by th' analytical 
 T' atone for want of the synthetical. 
 
 118. 
 And first — I cannot let this theme pass by, 
 Without a notice of commiseration, 
 
44 Reflections on unfortunate Females. 
 
 On those poor outcasts of society, 
 Who seem the refuse of thick population. 
 
 Poor wretches ! many times, to pacify 
 The pain inflicted by your reprobation, 
 
 I have retired, to thoughts of Him, who taught, 
 
 " Where little's given, little shall be sought." 
 
 119. 
 You have no children to lisp your returning, 
 
 When at night, slowly, and with watching weary, 
 You lift the heavy latch : no hearth is burning, 
 
 Seen by whose light, a husband's smile may cheer ye ! 
 No meal domestic, which the gladden'd yearning 
 
 Of human souls for comfort, shall endear t'ye. 
 Yours is all penury, or ribald riot ; 
 The more your home, the less your heart is quiet. 
 
 120. 
 
 I cannot so profane a thinking nature, 
 
 As to suppose deliberate rejection 
 Of virtue's ways, forms the o'er-ruling feature 
 
 Of the pale tribes of forfeited protection. 
 I can't but think their destiny's the creature 
 
 Of fortuneless mischance, and that reflection, 
 Which teaches them that one false step was fate : 
 Thence efforts of repentance all too late. 
 
 121. 
 This is the reason why (from bad to worst, 
 From profligacy even to defiance, 
 
Reflections on unfortunate Females. 45 
 
 From too much sensibility, at first, 
 
 To passion's bliss, that, with the very science 
 
 Of blasphemous remorselessness, they're curs'd) 
 They seem in nought to place so much reliance, 
 
 As in, at last, a formal abjuration 
 
 Of that, to which they owe most fascination. 
 
 122. 
 Outcasts, most pitiable ! to say the best, 
 
 A few short hours of fierce intoxication ! 
 A few short hours of passion ! while caress'd, 
 
 Ye may be, by the sons of dissipation ; 
 And then a timeless death ! or else your breast, 
 
 By conflict torn, from sudden alternation 
 To want, from fulness ; to disease, from health ; 
 To nakedness, from grace ; — death comes by stealth ! 
 
 123. 
 Who then will come, and for your aching head 
 
 And shivering frame, the friendly pillow place ? 
 Who then will come and wipe the tears you shed, 
 
 While harrow'd memory former scenes may trace ? 
 Your early home, your innocence, — all fled : 
 
 Your parents' darling, once : by your disgrace 
 Brought, peradventure, — (now too late to save, 
 Though now first thought on) to a timeless grave. 
 
 124. 
 Who now shall whisper in your deafen'd ear, — 
 Deafen'd by long antipathy to truth, 
 
46 Reflections on unfortunate Females. 
 
 The comforts of religion ? Likelier, far, 
 Ye try to lethargize the unwelcome ruth, 
 
 That now, perforce, will madden you, by mere 
 Inebriating potions. Should they soothe, 
 
 For one short hour, or stupify, your madness, 
 
 Your glazed eyes glitter with a gloating gladness. 
 
 125. 
 Oh, wretches ! this is all that now remains ! 
 
 E'en to the last, to fever-burning lip, 
 Trembling, you raise the cup ! and, while it drains, 
 
 Draw in the liquid fire, with eager sip. 
 Penury, perhaps, not even this retains ! 
 
 What is left for you, but that (while the gripe 
 Of fell disease, and poverty, is yours) 
 Hell adds her pangs to all the earth endures. 
 
 126. 
 Draw we the curtain ! — oft I wonder much 
 
 That in this age, fruitful of reformation, 
 Those have not risen, whom the state did touch 
 
 Of these poor blighted blossoms of creation ; 
 There have not those been, who, to watch the couch 
 
 Of those, which, of superfluous population, 
 Abortions, we may term, devoted were ; 
 Their ministers of clothing, food, and prayer ! 
 
 127. 
 How could illustrious female better prove 
 The faithfulness of her devout pretences, - 
 
Reflections on unfortunate Females. 47 
 
 Than by performing such a task of love ? 
 
 Could not, of eyes late glazed, relaxing glances, 
 With tears suffused, as generous transport move, 
 
 As fetes, routs, masquerades, and midnight dances ? 
 Could not the grateful pressure (while the lamp 
 Of penury dimly burn'd) of fingers damp 
 
 128. 
 
 With sickness' chilling dews ; could not the lean, 
 
 Transparent hand, folded in gratitude, 
 Give to the heart a joy, which, from the scene 
 
 Of dissipation, would be vainly woo'd ? 
 Think what 'twould be, — oh ye, of feelings keen, 
 
 To one, each palliative solicitude, 
 Whose state required, — while all things round her 
 
 vex — 
 The countenance to receive of her own sex. 
 
 129. 
 
 We may give money ! we give little then ! 
 
 Give yourselves too, daughters of affluence ! 
 Give time ! give care ! keep not your smiles for men 
 
 Pursuing you with, or without, pretence ! 
 Ye would seem angels in sick Penury s den ! 
 
 That sweetest blossom, virgin innocence, 
 Most tender, sensitive, if near Her bed, 
 What clouds of hallow'd fragrance would'st thou shed. 
 
48 Reflections on unfortunate Females. 
 
 130. 
 Talk not to me, that you would thus pollute 
 
 The delicate sense of virtue ! Insult it is 
 To common sense, to suffer ye to imbrute, 
 
 With every fop, your just unfolding graces, 
 That chuses to address you ; and be mute, 
 
 While ye, where histrionic common-place is, 
 With blushes learn the art, while blush you can, 
 To hide unblushing cheeks behind your fan. 
 
 131. 
 No ! where I fain would you exhort to go, 
 
 Vice of all fascination is disarm'd : — 
 While in those scenes where you your mothers shew, 
 
 'Tis for a maid perdition to be charm'd. 
 I care not if her person — yes, or no, — 
 
 Be yet defiled. But not to be alarm'd 
 When the " Fop's Fortune," or " Confederacy," 
 Solicit you, seduced in heart's to be. 
 
 132. 
 These things I hold not, of the theatre, 
 
 Essential parts, but mere excrescencies ; 
 With pruning knife, as sharp as scimitar, 
 
 Iu. spite of paradoxical pretences, 
 Much do I wish that lopp'd away, they were : 
 
 Grant that, to our sex, they be not offences, 
 Benevolence, breeding, we should be so flush in, 
 As to resign whate'er sets one cheek blushing. 
 
Reflections on unfortunate Females. 49 
 
 133. 
 
 Come ! ere I part from you — of this creation, 
 The noblest object ! a pure minded woman ! 
 
 Let me, once more, — in the lorn situation 
 
 Of those, who still are, though unfriended, human, — 
 
 Entreat your interest ! by your mediation, 
 (Though at first scoffed at, like all things not common) 
 
 'Twixt them and this world ; Heaven and them betwixt ; 
 
 They would in reconciling peace be fiVd. 
 
 134. 
 
 Come, come, my muse, two hours have I sat, waiting, 
 Like conjuror, for wand to raise the devil : 
 
 But oh ! ere I can force myself to prating, 
 
 (As those, from pump, whose spring's beneath the level 
 
 Of this, our earth, whose water they'd be getting, 
 Must condescend to dally with the handle, — 
 
 Ere they obtain their wish, — for a long time) 
 
 So long I've stay'd for reason, rhythm, rhyme. 
 
 135. 
 But when Dejection's crass ingredients muddle, 
 
 And sometimes almost choak the springs of thought, 
 'Tis quite a chance, if from the slimy puddle, — 
 
 Although we surely know 'tis there, — that aught 
 Of bright (which will like eels or loaches huddle 
 
 In any muddy crevice) can be caught. 
 As lady's wishes, they're as hard to find, 
 And when they're found, as difficult to bind. 
 
50 On Election and Reprobation. 
 
 136. 
 
 And then another simile to use 
 
 Like fish, that is with difficulty caught, 
 
 Sometimes, the treasure we've so much abused, 
 
 That 'tis not (when the process is achieved) worth 
 aught. 
 
 Its lustre gone, mangled with many a bruise, 
 
 Such trash it seems ; that prize for which we sought, 
 
 We scarce can recognize, and wonder how, 
 
 Such an abuse of time we could allow. 
 
 137. 
 
 Pardon me, patrons, if I write at random ; — 
 
 I wish to put off — what I hope you'll ne'er know- 
 Thoughts, — if by any means I could command 'em, — 
 
 Which to the bottomless abyss should go. 
 Oh God ! — if in benevolence thou'st plann'd 'em — 
 
 How can thy creatures be tormented so ? 
 Say, is it not for sin ? That it is not ! 
 Is it for sins, that trees, grass, blossoms, rot ? 
 
 138. 
 
 No man can purchase by his stock of merit 
 
 To everlasting happiness a right ; 
 And, in my thoughts, no man deserves t' inherit 
 
 A banishment to everlasting night. 
 What is 't you say ? That God's & perfect spirit ? 
 
 Aught short of his perfection infinite 
 
On Election and Reprobation. 51 
 
 Is infinite delinquency ? Thence just 
 Punishment's infinite ? — And man is* dust ! 
 
 * It certainly only can be beings of the same nature that are amena- 
 ble to the same laws Till the Almighty form moral agents equal with 
 
 himself, it is absurd to say that he can expect from them the fruits of 
 an equality which does not exist. When we are told to be " perfect as 
 our Father in heaven is perfect," it must mean, as men, to desire to be as 
 perfect, as he is as a God : to have the perfection of a sincere-hearted 
 human will, not to be invested with the attributes of Deity. 
 
 " En general, les croyans font Dieu comme ils sont eux-memes ; les 
 bons le font bon, les mechants le font mechant ; les devots, haineux et 
 bilieux, ne voyent que l'enfer, parcequ'ils voudroient damner tout le 
 monde : les ames aimantes et douces n'y croyent guere ; et Fun des 
 etonnemens dont je ne reviens point, est de voir le bon Fenelon en par- 
 ler dans son Telemaque, comme s'il y croyoit tout de bon : mais j'es- 
 pere qu'il mentoit alors ; car enfin, quelques veridique qu'on soit, il faut 
 bien mentir quelque fois, quand on est eveque. Maman ne mentoit pas 
 avec moi ; et cette ame sans fiel, qui ne pouvoit imaginer un Dieu vindi- 
 catif, et toujours courouce, ne voyoit que clemence et misericorde, ou les 
 devots ne voient que justice et punition. Elle disoit souvent, qu'il iCy 
 auroit point de justice en Dieu d'etre juste envers nous, parceque, ne 
 nous ay ant pas donne ce qu'il faut pour Vetre, ce seroit redemander plus 
 qu'il n'a donne." 
 
 Les Confessions de J. J. Rousseau, tome 2nd, p. 106. 
 
 The reader, it is presumed, will pardon this quotation from the Con- 
 fessions of Rousseau, a work, though in many respects exceptionable and 
 immoral, in which, perhaps, are to be found more eloquent passages, more 
 depth of imaginative sentiment, more original thought, and more curious 
 developement, useful alike for the metaphysician and for the man, of the 
 human heart, than in any one extant in any language. 
 
 Perhaps, it may be said that God has promised " his holy spirit to 
 them that ask him," and, though we cannot be perfect of ourselves, 
 we may be so, by the intervention of such an aid. I wish to be consi- 
 dered, on this topic, as writing, rather as an inquirer than as one already 
 
52 On the Doctrine of 
 
 139. 
 We say, in speaking of eternal bliss, 
 
 Tis a free gift ; on no man's works dependent ; 
 And yet, on the other hand if that we miss, 
 
 We say eternal woe is sin s attendant. 
 Ye Theologians, tell me how is this ? 
 
 You grant a man may have woe without end on't, 
 And all be quite above-board as we say 
 For Vice ; — yet Virtue nothing challenge may ? 
 
 140. 
 Oh, be consistent ! If — that virtue can 
 
 Lay claim to a reward — ye will not grant, — 
 Do not on th' other hand assert that man 
 
 Can merit everlasting punishment ! — 
 There is no medium 'twixt the free-will plan, 
 
 That gives to man his own arbitrement, 
 And that of absolute fatality. — 
 Believe in merit : or in destiny J . 
 
 enlightened. I see no objection to the doctrine of eternal punishments, 
 if, by this, be meant, that, to all eternity, a vicious man may feel that he 
 has missed heights of happiness, to which he might have attained with 
 greater vigilance : so far tliis doctrine is in analogy with what we daily 
 see of the enduring effects, " to the third and fourth generation," of hu- 
 man indiscretions ; but I, certainly, am of opinion, that, by representing 
 religious tenets in a terrific light, as much, nay, more, harm may ensue 
 to the cause of religion, than from representing them under a more con- 
 ciliatory form : — amiable minds, at least, will, with more probability, be 
 induced to enlist under its banners, by the latter mode of conduct. 
 
Rewards and Punishments. 53 
 
 141. 
 Some, with inconsequence the most perverse, 
 
 Election take, yet spurn at reprobation : 
 As if to cease to bless, were not to curse. 
 
 Where there's omnipotence of domination. 
 The more you try your argument, the worse 
 
 You'll prove 't to be. There is no middle station ! 
 If you affirm grace irresistible, 
 You must deny all liberty of will, 
 
 142. 
 
 But you reply, grace irresistible 
 
 Our creed admits not. I am sorry for't. 
 
 Enough, or not enough, to bend the free-will 
 
 Grace must be. Not enough ? The dose falls short. 
 
 This is of cause the prime condition still 
 That it be operative. Yet divines exhort 
 
 Us to deem grace sole source of all salvation, 
 
 Yet if we're damned, blame but its application. 
 
 143. 
 
 Are we our own artificers ? Are we 
 To suffer endlessly because we're frail ? 
 
 But we've free-will ? No more than yonder* tree ! 
 Which thrives or shrivels as there's sun or hail ! 
 
 * Bishop Horsley, in his sermon on liberty and necessity, while he is 
 formally pleading for the former, turns out to be virtually pleading' for the 
 latter. His argument, like that of all libertarians, goes only to prove 
 that we can do what we will, not that we can will what we do. He di- 
 vides the causes that act upon material bodies, and intelligent agents, 
 
 f2 
 
54 On the Doctrine of 
 
 In one the operating cause we see : — 
 
 Those unseen which o'er th' other do prevail : 
 Thus from invisibility to fashion 
 A theory, we say man has volition. — 
 
 144. 
 Thus 'tis — when, in the nature of the subject 
 
 That tasks our thoughts, there's something enig- 
 matical, 
 Just in proportion as there is no object 
 
 For sense to work upon, a most pragmatical 
 Absurdity, inclines us to give verdict 
 
 In favour of hypothesis dogmatical. 
 Just in proportion as that facts are scanted, 
 Sophistry makes up what in proofs is wanted. 
 
 145. 
 If we are happy, or are wretched — so — 
 
 In this world, or in that which is to come ; 
 Our own volition caused it not — oh no ! 
 
 That better care had taken of our doom. 
 
 into efficient and final, but then he supposes that each of these are equally 
 governed by immutable laws, though in the latter case their agency, be- 
 cause of an invisible nature, is more nvysterious than in the former — 
 Why the phenomenon of conscience should coexist with necessity, the 
 greatest philosopher cannot explain ; but it must be received as a fact 
 connected with human nature : perhaps it might, even on the score of the 
 doctrine of necessity, be thus accounted for — that it gains new motives 
 to virtue, and diminishes those to vice, by the pleasure that in it is at- 
 tendant on the one, and the pain on the other. 
 
Rewards and Punishments, 55 
 
 It is, as God hath said, for weal or woe, 
 
 He's our sole cause, of gladness or of gloom. 
 As some trees bloom mature, and some are blighted ; 
 Thus, some men rise, and some by fate are spited. 
 
 146. 
 
 Oh, when will good religionists be consistent ? 
 
 They seem to like to heap upon poor mortals 
 Wrongs possible and impossible. This instant 
 
 They tell us that the Almighty guards the portals 
 That lead us to our goal. And yet do they want 
 
 To make us think (when thus the last resort falls, 
 Of human prescience, to elude our fate) 
 That God all good, and men all ill, create. 
 
 147. 
 
 What ? When we're good, tell us all things we owe 
 To God alone, and nothing to ourselves ; 
 
 And when we're bad, strive with like might to shew 
 That all the bad we might escape, like elves 
 
 With power fixed laws of nature to o'erthrow ? 
 'Tis most absurd ! Oh, take we from our shelves 
 
 All our learned volumes, which of 'em does say, 
 
 Night is day's absence ; yet night might be day. 
 
 148. 
 
 Thus, we are taught when we are good to ascribe 
 
 Our good to God ; and, when we're bad, to find it — 
 
56 On the Doctrine of Rewards, fyc. 
 
 Not in the absence of that whence imbibe 
 
 The rest their goodness, but in our purblind wit. 
 
 Poor mortals ! worse than ass, or any tribe 
 
 Of creatures, does, on us, our load assign'd sit! 
 
 When good, we're told we're weak, to make us humble ; 
 
 When bad, we're told we're strong, to make us tremble. 
 
 149. 
 No ! we are neither good nor bad in one sense ; 
 
 We call not the tree bad that bears no fruit ; 
 We do, or we do not, ere we are gone hence, 
 
 Fill up our parts : we're teachers or we're mute. 
 To say in other way — 'tis arrant nonsense — 
 
 Than we affirm it of the inferior brute, 
 That we're defaulterers, or benefactors ! — 
 Else why kill wolves and snakes as malefactors ? 
 
 150. 
 We immolate them 'cause they breed annoyance : — 
 
 So do ill men. Rest on that one condition, 
 The right that thinking creatures have to joyaunce, 
 
 And I'll not seek to weaken your position. 
 But you the argument cannot employ hence, 
 
 Except* Paul was a scurvy metaphysician. 
 
 * The author once, in the company of a very excellent religious man, 
 defended, as he here defends, the doctrine of necessity as applied to re- 
 ligion. His companion remarked that this surely was not the language 
 of scripture : the author reminded him of the simile used by Ezekiel and 
 
Practical use of the Doctrine of Free-will. 57 
 
 Tis thus, in all, our sires we go beyond, 
 
 They of dwarfs shapes, we of dwarfs minds, are fond. 
 
 151. 
 So far to t'other side I would concede, 
 
 That as in man, more than in herb, or brute, 
 High faculties are planted, we indeed, 
 
 When force of those high powers we would compute, 
 Are more than justified, — nay have a need, 
 
 When we would prompt each nobler attribute, 
 To speak in common language, as if we 
 Believ'd that man could shape his destiny. 
 
 152. 
 
 I would concede too, man's more various power, 
 More various predicates may well require ; 
 
 He is so organized, with such a dower 
 Of that which is so infinitely higher, 
 
 St. Paul, as exemplifying God's power over his creatures, of the potter 
 and his vessel ; and he said, does not St. Paul say that God makes 
 u vessels to honour and vessels to dishonour ?"— To "dishonour" I grant, 
 replied the author's friendly disputant, " but not to destruction.'''' Thus 
 will good men impose on themselves by words.— Reader, peruse the two 
 following verses from St. Paul. 
 
 " Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make 
 one vessel to honour, another unto dishonour ?" 
 
 " What, if God, willing to shew his wrath, and to make his power 
 known, endured with much long suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to 
 destruction''' ! ! ! 
 
58 Practical use of 
 
 That when we would, in meditative hour, 
 
 Speak of him fitly, they may well require, 
 His infinite relations, mode of phrase, 
 Though false, yet true, since such mode truth conveys. 
 
 153. 
 
 As in the science of astronomy, 
 
 We are constrain'd ideal lines to draw, 
 
 And, thus, from that, by aid of phantasy, 
 Which is not, learn, of that which is, the law ; 
 
 So towards the mind, which is essentially 
 Terra-incognita, if done with awe, 
 
 We rightly act, if we on truth would gaze, 
 
 Asking assistance of symbolic phrase. 
 
 154. 
 As in proportion, as we think we can 
 
 Controul ourselves, ourselves we shall controul, 
 'Tis wisely order'd that the free-will plan, 
 
 Should prompt our language when we deal the dole 
 Of praise or blame, (and free is every man 
 
 To do whate'er he wills with heart and soul), 
 Here, as elsewhere, it might be made most clear, 
 That that which is not true, should true appear. 
 
 155. 
 Practical truth, and truth in theory, 
 
 Though never clashing, oft do not accord ; 
 And ere I quit the theme, may I be free 
 
 Of this hypothesis, to say one word ? 
 
the Doctrine of Free-will. 59 
 
 In meditative mind they well may be 
 
 One and the same, but to the common herd, 
 By antiphilosophic phrase allur'd, 
 Are philosophic ends full oft secur'd. 
 
 156. 
 As it is useful for the sake of all, 
 
 That each the probable should overrate ; 
 As it is useful for the great and small, 
 
 That hope in each should end anticipate ; 
 And yet how few, to whose lot it doth fall, 
 
 To find his wish the measure of his fate ! 
 As various hues upon the vision play, 
 Cheering its sense, though all from one white ray. 
 
 157. 
 So, by illusive touch, do oft evolve 
 
 Appliances, illusive in themselves, 
 From man's rich heart, a triumph of resolve, 
 
 Like magic vision from the wand of elves, 
 Nobler than that, which, by him, who would solve 
 
 All things by science gain'd from dusty shelves, 
 Could e'er be e'en conceiv'd. He is truth's friend, 
 Though by illusion gain'd, who gains truth's end. 
 
 158. 
 We say the sun doth set, the stars do rise, 
 
 Yet 'tis the revolution of this earth 
 To such a language, offspring of the eyes, 
 
 More than of science, that hath given birth ; 
 
60 On the ivord Faith in Scripture, fyc. 
 
 As he that talks thus may be far more wise, 
 
 In that for which day's light is chiefly worth, 
 Than the philosopher, so in life's span 
 Oft the unlearn'd we find the wiser man. 
 
 159. 
 Tis tact for practical result, or this 
 
 Not found, which men or wise or fools can make ; 
 To say that an abstract hypothesis,— 
 
 This, of necessity, for instance, take, — 
 Can injure, strange infatuation is : — 
 
 Who but the speculative ever wake 
 Their thoughts to such deep theme ? and such as he, 
 With error's antidote, if so it be, 
 
 160. 
 Is well prepar'd ; from folly, half at least, 
 
 Is, and from misappliance enfranchis'd ; 
 Far less by misconception is encreas'd, 
 
 Than by misapplication unadvis'd, 
 Our mental maladies : oft in life's feast 
 
 From being misplac'd our blessings are mispriz'd. 
 The end of all is this — when they're abus'd 
 Few things are good ; few bad discreetly used. 
 
 161. 
 One word 'bout faith, or ere I change my theme : 
 
 The meaning of that word we quite abuse ; 
 Or so it seems at least, if with a beam 
 
 Impartial we the gospel's page peruse. 
 
On the word Faith, in Scripture. 61 
 
 *0f point dogmatical it does not seem 
 
 That any writer there the phrase doth use, 
 But of a trust in something good and great : 
 Of that presentiment which fixes fate. 
 
 162. 
 Read all the catalogue of instances 
 
 When Paul faith's triumph fain would certify ; 
 Each one of these relates to expectances 
 
 fBy which the soul itself doth glorify. 
 Faith's triumph dwelleth in inspiring glances 
 
 At something far above mortality ; 
 And its dominion may be broad and spacious, 
 Though spurned the creed ne'er writ by Athanasius. 
 
 163. 
 When Christ did say, " according to thy faith 
 
 So unto thee shall it be," was not this 
 The meaning that the phrase couched 'neath it hath ? 
 
 He did refer to that ennobling bliss 
 Which souls, that trust in goodness, on their path 
 
 Feel ever brooding. Their presentiment is 
 Measure of their salvation. Nought can be 
 Real to them, like immortality. 
 
 164. 
 In this sense 'tis our faith that us doth save ; 
 By its integrity shall we be measured ; 
 
 * See the letters of William Law, on this subject, and many other of 
 his works. 
 •J- By our own spirits, are we glorified.— Wordsworth. 
 
62 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And in proportion as from folly's grave 
 
 Hours it redeems, proportionably treasured, 
 
 Spoils for the future recompense will have ; 
 In this sense we may say Faith hath erazur'd 
 
 The law of works ; by its transforming might 
 
 Pledg'd our inheritance of endless light. 
 
 165. 
 He that would write on theme so peripatetic, 
 
 At least should have his legs to run a race on ; 
 But though I'm neither gouty nor rheumatic, 
 
 La Trappe's recluse would have had more to gaze on 
 Than I have *here. If I must be erratic, 
 
 On wings it must be, or like wife of Jason ;f 
 The first we know faithless are apt to be, 
 Witness th' adventure of th' Icarian sea. 
 
 166. 
 Had I the art ascrib'd by Gil Bias's author 
 
 To Diable Boiteux, in his merry story, 
 My legs might crippled be like those of Gloster, 
 
 And yet I'd sing like Improvisatore. 
 No Doctor Faustus should I need as master, 
 
 Ere I would mount the air in all my glory, 
 As keeps on May the sweep his " saturnalia," 
 And like him penetrate the " penetralia." 
 
 * This part of the poem was written when the author was confined to 
 his bed by indisposition. 
 •f Medea. 
 
Miscellaneous. 63 
 
 167. 
 Sometimes I think that misery the nurse is 
 
 Of many quaint and humourous risibilities ; 
 And when the mind to 'ts state the most averse is, 
 
 'Tis forc'd to practise impracticabilities. 
 It makes one pungent when suppress'd the curse is, 
 
 And gives a character to our futilities. 
 How oft for muse has serv'd a mood splenetic, 
 And given at least a style quite antithetic. 
 
 168. 
 
 Ye who of sorrow never knew the smart? 
 
 Little can ye the feeling comprehend, 
 Of him who has that deadness of the heart, 
 
 That even friendship ceases to befriend. 
 To soothe those sorrows, which have counterpart, 
 
 Those sorrows, which in turn each man attend, 
 Is like to vesting money, whence we may 
 Be paid with interest on some future day. 
 
 169. 
 But dumb those sorrows are which dry up all 
 
 The secret springs of life ; and make all toil — 
 Which from it some fecundity would call — 
 
 Useless— to cultivate the parch'd, chapp'd, soil. 
 All effort vain ! Yet it seems hard to fall 
 
 On those, who would into our wounds pour oil, 
 If we sit down in utter hopelessness ! 
 Dumb statues of a " Sabbathless" distress ! 
 
64 The Millenium, or 
 
 170. 
 Who, that had heard the voice of infancy ? 
 
 And seen life's fullness in its merry smile ? 
 Could think the happy being that we see 
 
 Had seeds maturing in him all the while 
 Of fellest passion ? Cureless agony ? 
 
 Moping despair ? Ambition ? Creeping guile 1 
 Could think that every drop those veins produce, 
 Were mingled more or less with poisonous juice ? 
 
 171. 
 
 When shall that morn arise when sorrow's plaint 
 No more shall fall upon the human ear ? 
 
 When shall the heart, with death in ev'ry pant, 
 Spring at a voice that banishes all fear? 
 
 When shall the shriek of pain, the tale of want, 
 
 The wrong'd man's groan ; the widow's, orphan's, tear ; 
 
 The sword, the cannon, and the flag unfurl'd, 
 
 Cease to proclaim this is a ruined world? 
 
 172. 
 Oh London! then— and not till then, the tribes 
 
 Of men, no more such vast receptacles 
 Shall need, as thou art ! Safety, that prescribes, 
 
 And Commerce, which, as her sure triumph, hails 
 Such mighty haunts, where human kind imbibes, 
 
 As from a common source, one hue, that dwells, 
 One dominating prejudice — on all : 
 No more shall eulogize a city-wall. 
 
Second Advent. 65 
 
 173. 
 
 Then, meek-ey'd Saviour ! shall thy triumphs bless ; 
 
 The hungry shall be fill'd, the thirsty quaff 
 Springs of ineffable immortality ! 
 
 Love, then, in full fruition, on the staff — 
 (On which it, weeping, lean'd, when contumely 
 
 Was its sole portion from this world's vain chaff,) 
 Love on that staff shall gaze still, and behold 
 A lambent sceptre of far-beaming gold ! 
 
 174. 
 Reign of the Eternal, come ! But how can I, 
 
 With my unhallow'd voice, thy glories speak ? 
 Few have more cause to wish thy victory ! 
 
 Cours'd by more scalding tears than mine, what 
 cheek ? 
 Thine Advent, few more cause to dread to see ! 
 
 To hide how many sins, in vain, I seek? 
 Come, Saviour, come ! to Thee the victory be ! 
 Shame and confusion of the face to me. 
 
 175. 
 My heart is dry ! if I, at all, can paint 
 
 The gladness of thy Advent, 'tis that, driven 
 By a sad contrast, though in accents faint 
 
 From inanition, words to me are given. 
 A soul forsaken, whom corruptions taint, 
 
 Who knows that Hell, cannot but talk of Heaven ! 
 To it but to imagine th' inward peace 
 That God may give, is his sole happiness. 
 
66 The Millenium, or 
 
 176. 
 Whate'er the theme with which my will I task. 
 
 My will, against my will, directs my pen, 
 If aught its aid, except religion, ask, 
 
 Thither, unconsciously, it turns again. 
 Or else beneath an ill-adapted mask, 
 
 And worn not gracefully, since worn with pain, 
 To be revenged, at wretched wit it aims, 
 Whose fraud, its incoherency proclaims. 
 
 177. 
 God of all mercy ! at this very hour, 
 
 This hour to me of permeating fear ; 
 When I feel crushed, and crumbling 'neath thy power 
 
 See ! — if my speechless throe thou canst not hear. 
 Is there a soul, whom sorrow doth devour, 
 
 As it does mine, beneath this starry sphere ? 
 God ! — Father ! — it is night, and silence all ! 
 None hear me ; and e'en thou but see'st me call. 
 
 178. 
 Yes, in these strains, I call to thee, oh God! 
 
 They're written in thy presence ! they're inscribed 
 With consciousness intense, as thy abode, 
 
 Though dimm'd with clouds and storms, their groans 
 imbib'd. 
 Oh ! shall it be — when — of thy lifted rod — 
 
 The time of exhibition circumscrib'd — 
 Oh, shall it be — that — I may in its place — 
 The gracious sceptre's exaltation trace ? 
 
Second Advent. 67 
 
 179. 
 
 Then with what rapture shall I contemplate 
 
 These lines which seem as written with my blood ! 
 
 Father ! oh hear me ! tho' the book of fate 
 Illegible be to me — nor understood ! 
 
 Oh still, in that, may there be set a date, 
 When I, of sorrow's worm no more the food, 
 
 Shall, as I now suppress it, my voice raise, 
 
 To thee, my God, in tones of grateful praise ! 
 
LONDON. 
 
 SECOND BOOK. 
 
 On the Connection between different degrees of Spirituali- 
 zation, in Religion, and a taste for the Arts in gene- 
 ral, and a material or metaphysical taste in Poetry. 
 
 Seemeth it not to you that speculate 
 On Man, that in degree as he has gaz'd 
 
 On a Religion Spiritual, elevate 
 
 Above the senses, — by abstraction rais'd,- 
 
 That e'en his tastes in arts participate 
 In this propensity, and that is prais'd 
 
 As lofty, to whose praises would demur 
 
 A more material philosopher ? 
 
70 On the Connection between different 
 
 2. 
 
 Witness the Ancients. Whence may we derive 
 That which most certainly in them is found, 
 
 A sense more exquisitely perceptive 
 
 Of beautiful in sight, or touch, or sound, 
 
 But from the fact that outward forms receive 
 An apotheosis from the scant bound 
 
 Of their religion, which the soul condenses 
 
 In outward forms, not lifts above the senses. 
 
 3. 
 Or shall we more gratuitously deem 
 
 That this, which we cannot, in fact, disprove, 
 Is but coincidence ? To us 'twould seem 
 
 Less easy this hypothesis to prove. 
 Trace all the links from first to last extreme, 
 
 In all societies where ardent love 
 Of Art has been, in coexistent stress 
 With a Religion abstract more or less. 
 
 Begin with times of Greece and Rome most f am d ; — 
 Can, of arts' triumph, instances more high, 
 
 Than these, without the Christian faith, be nam'd; 
 Go where Catholicism has well nigh 
 
 Succeeded, and irrefragably aim'd 
 To press their rites on Christianity ; 
 
 From these proceed to countries where the school 
 
 Of the reformers is the establish'd rule. 
 
Degrees of Spiritualization, fyc. 7 i 
 
 5. 
 From high Episcopacy yet steer on 
 
 To the more lively faith, more meagre rule, 
 Which has in Scotia's land the victory won : 
 
 From this proceed to the conventicle : 
 And last of all, when ye've the gauntlet run 
 
 Thro' all these tribes, with Quakerism dwell. 
 There as an instance, in supreme perfection, 
 Will ye behold the triumph of abstraction. 
 
 6. 
 Now have not all these classes we have nam'd, 
 
 Just incorporeal, as their faith has been, 
 Been stripp'd of art, which, when religion aim'd 
 
 To make some compromise with taste, we've seen 
 Incorporate with her rule, and with unblam'd 
 
 Zeal, in her service press'd ? this contravene, 
 Ye who can do it ! Has art ever kept 
 Her state, where faith of ornament was stripp'd ! 
 
 7. 
 Beauty, to the ancients, was a love, devotion : 
 
 Power was their symbol of sublimity ! 
 Attitude, Passion, Symmetry, and Motion, 
 
 With them were fix'd in forms of statuary ! 
 Methinks, as all minds are impell'd to a notion 
 
 Of power, o'er which man has no agency, 
 Thence to religion ; so, as this directs, 
 Man's character, in taste, it much affects ; 
 
72 On the Connection between different 
 
 Whether it turn to high abstractedness ; 
 
 Or whether, where'er there is beauty, grace, 
 Love, with accommodating cheerfulness, 
 
 To enshrine itself, as in a holy place. 
 I fear that some may think that, too much stress 
 
 We lay on this ; and say " the equal pace 
 The arts may keep with sensuous zeal, is hence, 
 That the same minds receive each influence." 
 
 9. 
 " That our religion is sublime or physical, 
 
 Imaginative, abstract, or indulgent, 
 From previous causes, which have nought at all 
 
 To do with love of art : and that the bent 
 Devotion takes, in such a line, will fall, 
 
 As from deficiency, or from extent 
 Of previous culture, squares best with our wit. 
 Religion makes not us, but we make it. 
 
 10. 
 I grant there's action and re-action. " And," 
 
 Continues my opponent, " that the arts, 
 More than on Christian, on the Heathen land 
 
 Flourish'd, is not because the law imparts 
 Of one, an influence to these arts bland ; 
 
 And t'other, with contumacy, still thwarts ; 
 But that it happen'd so ; perhaps, since civil 
 Their sun was, Rome, Greece, lov'd the beau ideal' 
 
Degrees of Spiritualization, fyc. 73 
 
 11. 
 
 u 'Tis more in climate, and cause physical, 
 Than their religion's opposite pretensions, 
 
 That th' ancients haye, in point of taste, (though tall 
 In other things we are) dwarfed our dimensions." 
 
 — Well ! it may be so ; oftentimes there's small 
 (Though it give birth to violent contentions) 
 
 Difference between causation and coincidence. 
 
 I'll not be stiff. This may, in proof, be instance. 
 
 12. 
 But, if it be coincidence, or cause, 
 
 The fact we must allow, that, in a region 
 Where faith towards abstract contemplation draws, 
 
 The arts are treated as, of devils, a legion. 
 Again, if ever faith the arts espouse, 
 
 As, by this means, the latter, with religion, 
 Share all the honours, then new motives press 
 On those whose fame's involv'd in art's success. 
 
 13. 
 'Tis difficult to reach the utmost length 
 
 Of exquisite refinement in the senses, 
 And to retain that venerable strength, 
 
 Which turns, to moral ends, their influences. 
 It must, I fear, be granted us, at length, 
 
 To Epicurus's indulgences 
 The arts owe more than to the stoic's sermons. 
 The arts ne'er kept the senses on short commons. 
 
74 On the Connection between different 
 
 14. 
 
 But since 'tis pleasanter to paint effects 
 Than flounder in the dark abyss of causes ; 
 
 And, since he who creates, than who dissects, 
 *Tis probable will challenge more applauses ; 
 
 Since 'tis more pleasant to be architects, 
 
 Than be employ 'd in pulling down old houses ; 
 
 And other whys and wherefores, the synthetic 
 
 I must prefer to the style analytic. 
 
 15. 
 Well, then, proceed we on our hobby horse, 
 
 And pick up facts as fast as we can find 'em ; 
 But when we're mounted, 'twould be worse than gorse 
 
 In king's highway, if systems round us twin'd 'em. 
 Proceed we then, for better and for worse, 
 
 Like men that look before, around, behind 'em ; 
 Not like astrologer, as if to move him 
 Things indispensably must be above him. 
 
 16. 
 'Tis pleasant, no doubt, many of my readers 
 
 Can tell, to loiter on a sunny day ; 
 When e'en the fly puts forth its little feelers, 
 
 So soft the air, so genial the sun's ray : 
 To catch the gales, Nature's benignant healers, 
 
 Bring their rich fragrance from the tedded hay, 
 Whose kisses, like a dear friend's welcome home, 
 Gladden, while telling of more joys to come. 
 
Degrees of Spiritualization, fyc. 75 
 
 17. 
 5 Tis sweet to linger near a little brook, 
 
 Which trips so murmuringly 'mid stones, grass, 
 flowers ; 
 Sweet to be stretch'd at length, with favourite book, 
 
 In Nature's own self-consecrated bowers. 
 'Tis sweet on eyes of a dear friend to look, 
 
 More, if that friend be female, and be ours. 
 Sweetest of sweets ! a summer day's bewildering 
 With our own offspring, while, like them, we're chil- 
 dren. 
 
 18. 
 But neither ramble on a sunny day, 
 
 Nor ling'ring near a little brook, more sweet; 
 Nor with a favourite author stretch'd, to lay 
 
 Ourselves at length ; nor dear friends' eyes to meet ; — 
 I scarce know what of woman's eyes to say ; — 
 
 Or when, with children, pleasure is complete!- 
 Those being excepted, no, not one of these 
 More sweet, than pouring out one's thoughts at ease. 
 
 19. 
 Proceed we once more to our theme neglected. — 
 
 Whence comes it, that the ancients, when they 'affect 
 Topics that with man's passions are connected, 
 
 Confine themselves to physical effect ? 
 By them, as by us, mind is not dissected ; 
 
 Speak they of love ? The passion they depict : 
 
76 On the Connection between different 
 
 Its macies, its pallor ; — but its throes ? 
 
 A picture's given ! The rest we must suppose, 
 
 20. 
 
 Thus, in the tragic scene, where fell remorse 
 Distracts the breast of Agamemnon's son ; 
 
 'Stead of describing it in all its force- 
 Like Shakspeare, when hell's mysteries, one by one, 
 
 Knell out the death of Duncan : from their source, 
 When his great powers develope thoughts that shun 
 
 A grasp less skilful, and when he reveals 
 
 Whate'er Guilt's agonizing victim feels ; 
 
 21. 
 
 Instead of these, in the more antique scene. 
 
 The stern-ey'd Furies rise, and circle round 
 Orestes' form : in that the felt is seen! 
 
 Little recourse is had to the profound, 
 Mysterious, and impalpable, I ween ! 
 
 In painter's art, there might as much be found 
 Of thought, as we find there : I grant, there much is 
 Oft, of true pathos, which profoundly touches. 
 
 22. 
 Now cannot we suppose, that something may 
 
 Of this so very marked discrepancy, 
 Ascribed be, to the very different way 
 
 In which religious things we 're apt to see? 
 Perhaps, that no sense more than this doth sway 
 
 The texture of the mind, we shall agree. 
 
Degrees of Spiritualization, fyc, 11 
 
 Let us decide the question as we will : — 
 It is a stubborn fact, that all our skill 
 
 23. 
 Cannot o'erturn ; by matter, they, the mind — 
 
 And by material forms, its various powers — 
 Illustrate. To the latter is assigned 
 
 Subserviency by them. The task is ours, 
 By intellectual processes refined 
 
 (As, in some climes, meaning's convey'd by flowers)* 
 All objects of creation to controul, 
 As vassals to phenomena of soul. 
 
 24. 
 
 It seems to me, so much Religion's power 
 
 Sways human souls, and so much is combin'd 
 With all their faculties, that, when we tower 
 
 Beneath its influence with thoughts heaven-enshrin'd, 
 'Tis likely that a taste will be our dower, 
 
 E'en in indifferent objects, more refin'd, 
 More lofty far, than what can those befal, 
 In whom it tends to objects physical. 
 
 25. 
 Besides, when we Religion thus divest 
 
 Of what is definite, those soaring wings 
 
 * See Lord Byron's poems ; in one of which, or in the notes to one 
 of which, as far as the author rememhers, he says, that flowers of dif- 
 ferent descriptions convey, from the lover to his mistress, different 
 meanings connected with the process of passion. 
 
 h2 
 
78 On the Connection between different 
 
 The mind was forc'd to use in her behest 
 To her will minister in other things : 
 
 'Tis thus, the eagle, which hath built her nest 
 Upon a cloud-capt rock, aspiring springs 
 
 Towards the source of light, e'en when with food 
 
 She goes to satisfy her callow brood. 
 
 26. 
 
 Surely no blending of material hues, 
 
 Though language its prodigious wealth should pour, 
 Nothing that skill most exquisite could chuse, 
 
 (Tho' were of form, tinct, sound, the copious store 
 Exhausted) could, from the Athenian muse, 
 
 Equal thy use of metaphysic lore, 
 Oh, bard of Avon ; in our heart sink deep 
 As his self-cursings who had " murder'd sleep !" 
 
 27. 
 
 We grant, that much is done when one choice word 
 Of psychologic meaning, aptly caught, 
 
 By subtle application, doth afford 
 
 A long excursion to conjectural thought. 
 
 Than lavishly the philologic hoard 
 
 (While expletive to expletive is brought.) 
 
 Unlock, 'tis better to be terse, sententious : 
 
 Better to be laconic, than licentious. 
 
Degrees of Spiritualization, fyc» 79 
 
 28. 
 By him,* whose idiosyncratic verve 
 
 Never will be, nor yet has rivalled been, 
 In course of Gallic literature, observe, 
 
 With what relentless, though impartial, spleen 
 Corneille is analyzed ! The finest nerve 
 
 (Howe'er by nice refinement made more keen) 
 One little saucy word shall not distress, 
 Marring its erudite voluptuousness. 
 
 29. 
 Like their religion is their art of writing ; 
 
 The one an exponent of priest's finesse ; 
 Of burnished phrase the other : both uniting 
 
 The beau-ideal of fastidiousness ! 
 Could all the brilliant nothings, so inviting, 
 
 But masquerade it in an English dress, 
 Which gave their " petits soupers" such a savour, 
 They'd make us sick, in spite of all their flavour. 
 30. 
 
 Of all the writers that I can recall, 
 
 Who were, in Rome, to poetry devoted, 
 
 As partial to the metaphysical, 
 
 Next to Lucretius, Ovid may be quoted. 
 
 An exquisite sense of beauty physical 
 Is his first attribute ; next may be noted 
 
 A wond'rous power to paint the human breast, 
 
 When by conflicting impulses impressed. 
 
 Voltaire. See his remarks on the plays of Corneille. 
 
80 On the Connection, fyc. 
 
 31. 
 As instances of this, Althsea take, 
 
 When, in the flames, the brand she would have flung, 
 On whose safe-guard her son's life was at stake ; 
 
 Take Byblis, Myrrha ! (both by passion wrung, 
 And loth, at the same instant, to forsake 
 
 The path of virtue) — when did human tongue, 
 Ever pour forth, in words of fiercer fire, 
 Pangs of remorse, and burnings of desire ? 
 
 32. 
 On th' other hand, in Virgil, it should seem, 
 
 An intuition forces us to think, — 
 Although his words flow like a stately stream, 
 
 And, 'neath its surface plunged, he never sink, 
 From its abyss to bring, for passion's dream, 
 
 Mysteries that in its hidden caves might shrink — 
 That 'tis a purpos'd abstinence : his draught, 
 Tho' not charg'd with it, wakes profoundest thought. 
 
 33. 
 His words so fitly placed ; his subtle art ; 
 
 Impress us as a face which is so fine, — 
 (Although it promises whate'er the heart 
 
 Conceives, in eloquence, and thought, divine) 
 That we from injuring its repose should start : 
 
 Its sublime silence leads us to decline 
 (It is so satisfying) further quest! 
 We fear a dream so heavenly to molest ! 
 
Folly of making Works of Imagination, fyc. 81 
 
 34. 
 I've heard it said by one, whose praise is fame. 
 
 That 'tis a higher triumph of the bard 
 To fix the soul by a well- woven frame 
 
 Of outward forms, than by indulged regard 
 Into the secret springs, and inward aim, 
 
 Of every character : by hues prepar'd, 
 Plac'd in nice shades, as thro' transparent medium. 
 To shew man's attributes, but not explain 'em. 
 
 35. 
 This, to do well, he would have said, requir'd 
 
 More skill than that of him who brings to light 
 The hidden mysteries of the mind : attired 
 
 They by the former are, and though t' excite 
 Less fit, have by their drapery acquir'd 
 
 A grace, for this compensatory quite. 
 Thus, well-bred gentleman a feast who gives, 
 Tells not each guest whence he his cheer receives. 
 
 36. 
 The guest must know the power of wealth is there, 
 
 By fruits from foreign climes, and by the train 
 Of viands exquisite as they are rare : 
 
 But as his business is to entertain, 
 And, as he thinks that object tarnished were 
 
 By an attempt its causes to explain ; 
 As much as one, less an adept, reveals — 
 The secret mechanism he conceals. 
 
82 Folly of making Works of Imagination 
 
 . 37. 
 I grant there's much in this. A poet once 
 
 Proved, by his characters' consistency, 
 That he in metaphysics was no dunce : 
 
 Now every character we hear, or see, 
 Or read of, in such haste is to announce 
 
 The hidden motives of its agency, 
 That, from anticipation, ere achieved, 
 The coup de theatre, with yawns received. 
 
 38. 
 Late novel writers of this fault partake.-— 
 
 Richardson, Fielding, Smollet, Le Sage, read, 
 Cervantes — and observe the path they take, 
 
 Would they engage our interest. 'Tis indeed 
 By accurate portrait they know how to make 
 
 Of their own species, whence from them proceed 
 (As face to face in mirror is resembling) 
 That which hath set the nerve of nature trembling. 
 
 39. 
 It is for this we love them ; and love too 
 
 Their fabled characters, as they were real J 
 It is for this, when we have travelled through 
 
 Their pages, that our own life more ideal 
 Seems than the one to which we've bade adieu : 
 
 Lastly, for this it is that we indeed feel 
 For them the interest which our friends might claim ! 
 E'en would they rival them, gain'd is their aim. 
 
Subservient to a speculative Theory. 83 
 
 40. 
 For this superiority have they 
 
 O'er real beings of a common nature, 
 That heart too much disposed to throw away 
 
 Its love, in them can never find a traitor. 
 There is, to most of us, a short-liv'd day 
 
 In which we friendship read in every feature. 
 That day soon fades ! Its night how dark it were, 
 Did not feign'd beings rescue us from care. 
 
 41. 
 With scant accommodations that await, 
 
 And with ill-grace received at every stage, 
 How long, how toilsome, and how desolate, 
 
 To us the melancholy pilgrimage, 
 From that bright bower where youth in rapture sate 
 
 Conning its visions, while the Archimage 
 Stern truth divulging, led us from its shade 
 To pathless wastes, which not a flower displayed. 
 
 42 
 
 Yet still we have this treasure, though we turn 
 Slightingly from it, 'till reflection's glance 
 
 Has taught us not at palliatives to spurn : 
 Ours are your pages, authors of romance ! 
 
 No more can we imagine to sojourn 
 
 With beings angelic ; but with you perchance 
 
 That we again may find which we thought fled ! 
 
 And live with you, though to the world we're dead. 
 
84 Folly of making Works of Imagi?iatio?i, §c. 
 
 43. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell what it is, drop by drop, 
 To feel the warm blood oozing from the heart ? 
 
 Now on this eminence, now that, to stop, 
 As lost in haze the outlines quite depart 
 
 Of native scenes, to bid adieu to hope ? 
 In early life from a high mount we start, 
 
 What, in a future vantage station, more 
 
 Can charm us, than its summit to restore ? 
 
 44. 
 
 From that most monstrous of all monstrous things, 
 A tale contrived to serve hypothesis, 
 
 Who ever felt the pleasure which that brings 
 Whose only archetype the natural is ? 
 
 While authors soar on surreptitious wings, 
 All facts must wait on theory ; and a Miss 
 
 Not love, till she has, to our time's perdition, 
 
 Proved if love govern, or obey, volition.* 
 
 45. 
 
 There cannot be a series of action, 
 
 In real life, that has not its own moral ; 
 
 * See Emma Courtenay, a novel, written to prove that love is at the 
 command of a moral agent, if his understanding can once be convinced of 
 the fitness of another, as the object of that passion. 
 
Solitude and Society. 85 
 
 Keep you to this, nor be your tale's construction 
 
 Mechanical as organ with a barrel : 
 Stuffed with good people, who to the least fraction, 
 
 Of newest systems wear the quaint apparel, 
 And through five volumes live on paradox ; 
 You snug meanwhile like charlatan with shew-box. 
 
 46. 
 
 'Tis you, not they, are speaking all the while. 
 
 They live by syllogism ; die by theory : 
 And only prove they- have, (after vast toil) 
 
 Infallibility, when they would weary. 
 Carry a system to 't, if you would spoil 
 
 A sketch of life, — for it will then miscarry. 
 'Tis as portentous as a doctor's sign is, 
 And quite as emblematic of a finis.* 
 
 47. 
 " Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat 
 
 To peep at such a world." So sung thy bard, 
 Religion ! But as f here, where can we meet 
 
 With such exemption from mankind's regard. 
 Here, he, indulgence to his wish, complete 
 
 May give, who social ties would fain discard. 
 
 * The author roust here mean a. finis not to the voluminoitsness, but to 
 the success, of the writers' efforts. 
 •f London. 
 
86 The blessedness of divine Communion. 
 
 Here one may find (lost in a multitude !) 
 That crowds create the deepest solitude ! 
 
 48. 
 Live in the country where you may, you will 
 
 (Indeed, you must, for life's accommodation) 
 One neighbour have : this one,— another still ; — 
 
 And thence a little world has its creation. 
 There where few things occur the void to fill ; — » 
 
 To satisfy man's eraving for sensation, 
 Your walks, your meals, visits, and visitors, 
 Each is the theme of pert inquisitors. 
 
 49. 
 Again, the individual temper much 
 
 A man's perception of retirement sways ; 
 No man can be in solitude, whose touch 
 
 With tremulous conformity obeys 
 (Like needle at the magnef s near approach) 
 
 The voice of censure, or the voice of praise. 
 Opinion, like a ghost, was never known 
 To let him, whom she haunted, feel alone. 
 
 50. 
 Witness Geneva's prodigy \f Though woods 
 
 Receiv'd him in their bosom ; and though skies 
 And mountains kiss'd each other ; though the floods 
 
 Emptied their cataracts of mighty size 
 
The blessedness of divine Communion. 87 
 
 Amid vast lakes' profoundest solitudes ; 
 
 To shroud him from imagined enemies ; 
 Still absent hostile forms around him glared; 
 Him, with her spells, still vanity ensnared. 
 
 51. 
 Some find a solitude where'er they fly ; 
 
 There are who could not find it if they would ; 
 Victims of grief, where's your society ? 
 
 And where, joy's votaries, your solitude? 
 Remorse ! Thou art alone, and thousands nigh ! 
 
 Virtue ! in converse high, 'mid desarts rude ! 
 The first may be 'mid millions, and alone ! 
 The last, in bless'd society, though one ! 
 
 52. 
 Think ye, that He*, who, on the mountain's height, 
 
 Spent all the night in commune with his God, 
 Was e'er alone? Or, was his darkness, night? 
 
 Can solitude and darkness make abode 
 With one, on whose heart, ever springing light, 
 
 Fresh dews from heaven are ceaselessly bestowed. 
 No ! To the good man, blessed in his thought, 
 And blessing, loneliness can ne'er be brought ! 
 
 53. 
 His prayers are blessedness ; his thoughts are praise; 
 His love is fellowship ! Performance high, 
 
 * And Jesus went up to a mountain to pray, and he continued all 
 night in prayer unto God. 
 
88 The blessedness of divine Communion. 
 
 Communion higher still, the themes that raise 
 
 His aspirations 'bove mortality. 
 The unseen powers that wait upon his ways, 
 
 " Millions of spiritual creatures" flitting by, 
 His eye almost beholds them ! From the air 
 Their song distils ! His God is every where ! 
 
 54. 
 This is the intercourse for which I pine ; 
 
 The Universal Eye of Heaven can see 
 With how much truth and force this wish is mine ! 
 
 Then, welcome, prisons! welcome, chains, to me ! 
 Then since I might the more my thoughts confine, 
 
 To thee, my God, the more should I be free ; 
 Since, although fettered, more were I endued 
 With that which is my soul's solicitude. — 
 
 55. 
 My God! Wouldst Thou, e'en from this bed of pain, 
 
 Mark this one wish, the only wish I have ; 
 All former sufferings to me were gain! — 
 
 I should have nothing left from thee to crave. 
 Me of all dispossess ! Of all the train 
 
 Of joys which are on this side of the grave ; 
 Of friends that once were mine, of Hope, Fame, Health, 
 Gav'st thou thyself, abundant were my wealth. 
 
 56. 
 The earth was once a mirror whence, reflected, 
 God's presence made each object to allure ; 
 
On the Inefficacy of all worldly Objects, fyc. 89 
 
 I revelled in the bliss, and ah ! neglected 
 The means such bliss in future to secure. 
 
 Oh, let my prayer be not at last rejected ; 
 I have lost all ! I am desolate and poor ! 
 
 So am I wean'd from life, I know not how 
 
 (E'en if I might) to ask its blessings now. 
 
 57. 
 But in this city's vast receptacle 
 
 How many are there who are vowed to thee ? 
 How many are there, when it lyeth still 
 
 At night, and when the curtained canopy 
 Its countless eyes,* its multitudinous will, 
 
 Shrouds from the stars, how many may there be 
 That hear thee, when the day hath ceased its noise, 
 To their souls whisper in the " still small voice V* 
 
 58. 
 Few, few, alas ! To beds of down they go — 
 
 From business, pleasure, or from idleness ; 
 And save the numerous progeny of woe, 
 
 Who, while, unrested, the hard earth they press, 
 Feel scalding tears from aching eye-balls flow ; 
 
 How few are there but sleep, nor rising, bless, 
 
 * The cast of thought in this stanza suggests the recollection of 
 Mr. Wordsworth's glorious sonnet, " composed upon Westminster 
 Bridge, (see his Miscellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 172) which the author 
 commends, to the perusal of his readers. 
 
 I 2 
 
90 On the Inefficacy of all worldly Objects, fyc. 
 
 Nor lying down, the bounteous hand that spread 
 Their draperied couch, and curtain'd close their head. 
 
 59. 
 Father ! And cannot I, in this resort, 
 
 One being find to sympathize with me ? 
 Here came I, hoping to derive support 
 
 From one of all the many forms there be 
 In this vast focus, towards which, as t' a court, 
 
 Converge all phantasms of variety ; 
 Here came I, hoping that (amidst them all) 
 One to my smart might be medicinal ! 
 
 60. 
 As, in romantic legends, orfeign'd tales, 
 
 Tis said that (by some potent wizard bound) 
 Th' adventurous knight whom Glamourie assails 
 
 Shackles defying human power surround : 
 So 'twill not be ! Not all man's power avails 
 
 (When from on high come fetters that confound) 
 Their knots to unloose : yet He each knot who wreathes, 
 Could burst them, as did " Sampson his green withes." 
 
 61. 
 That Power alone, who arm'd the shepherd's son* 
 'Gainst the proud boast of the Philistine band ; 
 
 David. 
 
0)1 the Possibility of divine Communion. 91 
 
 That power, who, to a sling and little stone, 
 And in an unknown stripling's untaught hand, 
 
 Gave potency — miraculously shewn — 
 
 Shield, sword, and spear, of giant to withstand : 
 
 He only can release th' imprison'd soul, 
 
 And billowy passions of the heart controul. 
 
 62. 
 • What aid can horses, or can chariots, bring ? 
 
 What aid can palaces, and sumptuous halls ? 
 What aid can theatres, whose ceilings ring 
 
 With shouts which shake its decorated walls ? 
 What aid can spires, and cupolas, whence fling 
 
 Roseate sun-beams, o'er crowded capitals, 
 At morn, or eve, their glittering golden light? 
 Or splendour's triumphs, dazzling to the sight? 
 
 63. 
 What aid can busy streets, or peopled marts, 
 
 Where, forest-like, the crowd of masts upsoars ; 
 In ports, where Commerce, with her thousand arts, 
 
 Collects the nations from a thousand shores ? 
 What aid, though population, from all parts 
 
 In one swift channel disembogue her stores, 
 Could these confer on him, on whom his God 
 Hath laid the chastisement of his fierce rod ? 
 
 64. 
 No ; in the pathless desart there's a voice, 
 A voice of gladness, to the soul heaven loves ; 
 
92 On the Possibility of divine Communion . 
 
 " Waste places of the wilderness" rejoice ; 
 
 And the way-faring man who through them roves : 
 The thickets — echoing only with the noise 
 
 Of hissing reptiles, where the thistle moves, 
 Or nettle, with the fierce sirocco — sing, 
 And their lone tenants, 'neath the Almighty's wing. 
 
 65. 
 *Place me in burning sands of Araby, 
 
 Where never zephyr fann'd the thirsty waste ; 
 Place me on ice-cliff, 'mid a frozen sea, 
 
 Where ne'er green herb the trackless snow-drifts 
 grac'd ; 
 Tho' atmosphere, with life at enmity, 
 
 Condens'd to heavy clouds, the scene defac'd ; 
 Confounding earth with heaven, the heaven with earth, 
 As Chaos reign'd ere Nature's rose to birth ; 
 
 66. 
 Pierc'd I the veil, my God ! 'twixt Thee and me ! 
 
 I should be well content, whate'er my lot ; 
 I should appropriate to my destiny, 
 
 That which — once gain'd — though other things were 
 not — 
 Would raise me 'bove life's mutability : 
 
 Reasoners, that argue of ye know not what, 
 
 * Vide Horatii Carminum, Lib. i. Ode 22. 
 
On the Possibility of divine Communion. 93 
 
 Do not, as mystical, my strain deride : 
 By facts' criterion be its doctrine tried. 
 
 67. 
 The blind as well might doubt of sense of sight ; 
 
 Peruse their lives, who thus have vow'd pursuit 
 Of heavenly communion : in despite 
 
 Of all your arguments, ye can't dispute 
 Their singleness of heart : except ye fight 
 
 'Gainst facts, ye, self-convicted, must be mute. 
 Will ye deny, that they've a secret found 
 To baffle fate, and heal each mortal wound ? 
 
 68. 
 Will ye deny, to them alone 'tis given, 
 
 Who its existence, as a faith, embrac'd ? 
 'Tis mainly requisite, to partake of heaven, 
 
 That the heart's treasures there should first be plac'd. 
 According to thy faith shall it be given 
 
 To thee, with spiritual glories, to be grac'd. 
 As well all facts whence man experience hath, 
 As doubt immunities bound up in faith. 
 
 69. 
 'Tis easy thing to say, that men are knaves ; 
 
 'Tis easy thing to say, that men are fools ; 
 Tis easy thing to say, an author raves ; 
 
 Easy, to him who always ridicules 
 The incomprehensible, to allege — and saves 
 
 Trouble of farther thought — that oft there rules 
 
94 Chi the Possibility of divine Communion* 
 
 Fanatic feeling in a mad-man's brain : 
 That half-pretence oft ekes out half-insane. 
 
 70. 
 We know all this ; but we know also well, 
 
 These men we speak of, tried by every test 
 Admissible, all other men excel 
 
 In virtue, and in happiness. Since bless'd 
 Are they, stern Fate, spite of thy direst spell ! 
 
 Infection, loathsome maladies, each pest 
 And plague, — for these have they, — should they assail, 
 A panacea which will never fail ! 
 
 71. 
 God is their rock, their fortress of defence, 
 
 In time of trouble, a defence most holy ; 
 For them the wrath of man is impotence ; 
 
 His pride, a bubble ; and his wisdom, folly. 
 That " peace" have they — unspeakable, intense, — 
 
 " Which passeth understanding !" Melancholy 
 Life's gauds to them : the unseen they explore : 
 Rooted in heaven, to live is — to adore ! 
 
 72. 
 Ye, that might cavil at these humble lays, 
 
 Peruse the page of child-like Fenelon ; 
 Hear what the rapt, transfigur'd Guyon says, 
 
 With ills of body such as few have known ; — 
 Tedious imprisonment ; in youthful days 
 
 To luxuries used, they all aside are thrown; 
 
On the Possibility of divine Communion. 95 
 
 To poverty devoted, she defies 
 Its sorest ills, blessing the sacrifice. 
 
 73. 
 Was e'er an instance known, that man could taste 
 
 True peace of mind, and spurn religion's laws ? 
 In other things were this alliance trac'd ; 
 
 Constant coincidence ; effect, and cause, 
 We scruple not to call them ; or, at least, 
 
 Condition indispensable, whence draws 
 The one, the other. This coincidence 
 But grant me here; — and grant the consequence, 
 
 74. 
 Facts, facts, are stubborn things ! We trust the sense 
 
 Of sight, because th' experience of each day- 
 Warrants our trust in it. Now, tell me whence 
 
 It is, no mortal yet could dare to say, 
 Man trusted in his God for his defence, 
 
 And was confounded? cover'd with dismay ? 
 Loses he friends ? Religion dries his tears ! 
 Loses he life ? Religion calms his fears ! 
 
 75. 
 Loses he health ? Religion balms his mind, 
 
 And pains of flesh seem ministers of grace, 
 And wait upon a rapture more refin'd, 
 
 Than e'en in lustiest health e'er found a place. 
 Loses he wealth? the pleasure it can find 
 
 He had before renounc'd ; thus can he trace 
 
96 Refutation of the 
 
 No difference, but that now the heart bestows 
 What through a hand less affluent scantier flows. 
 
 76. 
 He too as much enjoys the spectacle 
 
 Of good, when done by others as by him : 
 Loses he fame ? the honour he loves well 
 
 Is not of earth, but that which seraphim 
 Might prize ! Loses he liberty ? his cell, 
 
 And all its vaults, echo his rapturous hymn! 
 He feels as free as freest bird in air ! 
 His heaven-shrin'd spirit finds heaven every where ! 
 
 - 77. 
 'Tis not romance which we are uttering ! No ; 
 
 Thousands of volumes each word's truth attest! 
 Thousands of souls redeem'd from all below 
 
 Can bring a proof, that, e'en while earthly guest, 
 'Tis possible for man that peace to know, 
 
 Which maketh him impassive to the test 
 Of mortal sufferance ! Many and many a martyr 
 Has found this bound up in religion's charter. 
 
 78. 
 Pleasure, or philosophical or sensual, 
 
 Is not, ought not to be, man's primary rule ; 
 We often feel bound by a law potential 
 
 To do those things which e'en our reasons fool. 
 God, and he only, sees the consequential ; 
 
 The mind, well nurtur'd in religion's school 
 Feels that He only — to whom all's obedient — 
 Has right to guide itself by the expedient 
 
Doctrine of Expediency. 97 
 
 79. 
 Duty is man's first law, not satisfaction ! 
 
 That satisfaction comes from this perform'd, 
 We grant ! But should this be the prime attraction 
 
 That led us to performance, soon inform'd 
 By finding that we've miss'd the meed of action, 
 
 We shall confess our error. Oft we're warm'd, 
 By a strong spirit we cannot restrain, 
 To deeds, which make all calculation vain. 
 
 80. 
 Had Regulus reason'd, whether on the scale 
 
 Of use, in Rome, his faculties would most. 
 Or Carthage — patriotism's cause avail, 
 
 He never had resum'd his fatal post. 
 Brutus, Virginius, had they tried by tale 
 
 Their country's cause, had never been her boast. 
 Yet had it not these self-doom'd heroes seen, 
 Rome, " the eternal city/' ne'er had been ! 
 
 81. 
 
 Shall Christ submit upon the cross to bleed, 
 And man for all he does a reason ask ? 
 
 Have martyrs died, and confessors, indeed, 
 That he must seek a why for every task ? 
 
 If it be so, to prate we've little need 
 
 Of this enlighten d age ! Take off the mask ! 
 
 If it be so, and ye'll find, this our proud age, — 
 
 Its grand climacterick past, is in its dotage. 
 
98 On the Impulses cf Men. 
 
 82. 
 Thy name, Thermopylae, had ne r er been heard, 
 
 Were not the Greeks wiser than our wise men. 
 I grant, that heaven alone to man transferr'd, 
 
 When he would raise up states for history's pen, 
 This more than mortal instinct ! Yet absurd 
 
 It is (because, perhaps, our narrower ken 
 Their heights cannot descry ; yea, and a curse 
 'Twill bring) to make a theory of the worse. 
 
 83. 
 A theory for a declining race ! 
 
 *No, let us keep at least our lips from lies ; 
 If we have forfeited Truth's soaring grace, 
 
 Let us not falsify her prodigies. 
 We well may wear a blush upon our face, 
 
 From her past triumphs so t' apostatize 
 In deeds ; but let us not with this invent 
 An infidelity of argument. 
 
 84. 
 Go to Palmyra's ruins ; visit Greece, 
 
 Behold ! The wrecks of her magnificence 
 
 * Though the author here alludes to the doctrine of expediency, me- 
 thodized into a system by Paley ; yet he can never be insensible, how 
 much British Society is indebted to the author of the " Natural Theo- 
 logy-" 
 
On Mariner and Manners. 99 
 
 Seem left, in spite of man, thus to increase 
 
 The sting of satire on his impotence. 
 As to betray how soon man's glories cease ; 
 
 Tombs, time defying, of the most pretence 
 But only make us feel with more surprise, 
 How mean the things they would immortalize ! 
 
 85. 
 
 Man is a riddle ! Lofty in his feeling ! 
 
 But, like an idiot, driveling in what lends 
 Form to that feeling! Tho' fire from heaven he's 
 stealing, 
 
 'Tis on some child's play that that fire he spends — 
 Dice, women, any thing ! Thus, while he's reeling, 
 
 And thus in act the despicable blends 
 With the sublime in impulse, he employs 
 Powers, that might immortalize, on toys. 
 
 86. 
 
 Our station we perversely abdicate : 
 
 Self-disinherited, we tumble down, 
 Wilfully tumble, from our Godlike state : 
 
 Wilfully barter our immortal crown 
 For gawds and trifles : contradict what fate 
 
 Has legibly inscrib'd of high renown 
 On man's imperial destiny, and die 
 Suicides of our immortality. 
 
 LoCC. 
 
100 On Manner and Manners. 
 
 87. 
 Once more, oh, London, I thy worth proclaim, 
 
 As giving all facilities to those 
 Who, for their rational enjoyment, aim 
 
 T'ensure refin'd society's repose. 
 Graces and fascinations, without name, 
 
 So versatile their lustre, while it glows, 
 In " numbers without number" here resort ; 
 Invite attention, and acceptance court. 
 
 Here, loveliest of all lovely things, may we, 
 In most bewitching aspect, woman find, 
 
 With each perfection that kind destiny 
 
 Confers, when art and nature are combin'd I 
 
 Fashion, and sense, and sensibility, 
 
 Each grace of body, and each grace of mind, 
 
 While flatteries for each sense around her shine, 
 
 We see her plac'd as on a worthy shrine. 
 
 89. 
 Nature ! with homeliness do not confound her ! 
 
 Without a paradox, I would affirm 
 The daintiest daughter of patrician grandeur 
 
 Has more that well may lay claim to the term, 
 Than low-born maid, tho' town or country train'd her. 
 
 Flowers spring from Nature, so does woman's charm. 
 And 'tis an art to those in low degree 
 Unknown, in best sense natural to be. 
 
On Manner and Manners. 101 
 
 90. 
 
 'Tis not the things we do that vulgar are : 
 Who ever thought those high-born votaries 
 
 Of self-denial, who would oft repair 
 
 To prisons, hospitals, and monasteries, — 
 
 In climes where sways Rome's ritual, — vulgar were? 
 Go with them ! See, in lowest offices, 
 
 And most repulsive maladies, their toil ! 
 
 Not one of these their natural grace doth soil ! 
 
 9L 
 All that in any way we can connect 
 
 With thoughts of property must vulgar be ; 
 How difficult then is it, in effect, 
 
 From this alloy entirely to be free, 
 When every instant is the architect — 
 
 And all life's pressures urge necessity — 
 Contrivances prudential, of your sway ! 
 And guarded interest marks the happy day ! 
 
 92. 
 'Tis hence the poor are vulgar : now and then, 
 
 E'en among them, a soul is found above 
 The sway of his condition. There are men 
 
 Not by impressions ruled, who (made to move 
 In a particular orbit) o'er them reign. 
 
 These cause us (in what rank soe'er) to prove 
 For them a reverence. Menials there are, 
 Whom I had blush'd to see behind my chair. 
 k2 
 
102 On Marmer and Manners. 
 
 93. 
 There is a soul, which never can admit 
 
 (Whate'er the pressure of necessity) 
 A vulgar thought. But it were lack of wit, 
 
 In argument like this, since this may be, 
 Exceptions such as these as rules to admit. 
 
 Since then, most spirits have the faculty 
 To allow such influence, we're forced to prefer 
 That lot, whence such impressions fewest are. 
 
 94. 
 As Virtue sits with easiest grace on those 
 
 In whom 'tis deeply rooted, not on such 
 As wear her mask ; so Grace most truly glows 
 
 On them who never felt an adverse touch. 
 Thence, in any given hour, should we suppose 
 
 That he so trained (wish it, however much 
 He might) that vulgar he could never be, 
 Is less than he polite from mimickry. 
 
 95. 
 A word, a look, a gesture, may betray 
 
 A volume of disgusting consciousness ; 
 Tho', where that consciousness exists, we may 
 
 By extreme thought, and consummate address, 
 Prevent divulging it. But then the sway 
 
 Of circumspection will all ease repress. 
 Let the glass freely circulate ; 'tis rare 
 The secret's kept, in spite of all our care. 
 
On Manner and Manners. 103 
 
 96. 
 A laugh, tone of the voice, glance of the eye, 
 
 All may betray us : nothing ; — any thing ; — 
 An instant's lapse, or inadvertency : — 
 
 With these flaws, when we them together bring, 
 We cannot join those of timidity ; 
 
 From want of usage, or ill health, may spring 
 A bashful manner ; but no one, e'er grounded 
 In manners, this with vulgarness confounded. 
 
 97. 
 An aukward, is not thence a vulgar, gesture ; 
 
 A soul the most refined may feel mal-aise, 
 Tn mixed society : a man, whose posture 
 
 The most constrain'd is, still no smile may raise. 
 Let our guest have all that the thought doth foster — 
 
 Respectful feeling his demeanour sways, 
 That he by pledges of respect, insists on 
 Respect again, no one his claims will question. 
 
 98. 
 To him, not well versed in the scenes of life, 
 
 An exquisite perception of the graces 
 May often with performance be at strife ; 
 
 And, of good breeding, banish all the traces. 
 Yet e'en low souls, (for souls like these are rife 
 
 In highest scenes) with all their fade grimaces, 
 'Twixt one ill-bred, and one too timid — well 
 To acquit himself — the difference can tell. 
 
104 Moral and religious Application of the 
 
 99. 
 Failure in manners and in manner, are 
 
 Two different things : a man may not display- 
 When he presents himself — an easy air ; 
 
 Aukward in gesture be, and — what to say — 
 Know not ; and yet preserve, with nicest care, 
 
 The art of not offending. Where the sway 
 Of moral feeling is profoundly wrought, 
 Instinctively we catch another's thought. 
 
 100. 
 On the other hand, a man may be at ease, 
 
 And love, with brutal insolence, to wound, 
 With selfish vanity ; and, more than these, 
 
 E'en with politeness, will low pride confound. 
 We have seen those in all the mysteries 
 
 Of high-bred circles learnedly profound, 
 Yet by their egotism so inflam'd, 
 Manner but sharpened darts their manners aim'd. 
 
 101. 
 Manners and manner, be ye both combined, 
 
 Who'll not their suffrage give to your pretensions ; 
 Graces of body, graces of the mind, 
 
 When joined, increase their several dimensions. 
 'Tis to be glowing with a sense refined 
 
 That man has feelings language never mentions ; 
 Tis to have full command of all the charm, 
 By which man's eye, speech, attitude, can warm. 
 
Theory of Manner and Manners. 105 
 
 102. 
 Yet, as with innocence, to make it pure, 
 
 It should be wholly ignorant of ill; 
 So for man's manners perfectly t' allure, 
 
 Supreme of grace should be th' instinctive will. 
 That innocence no longer doth endure 
 
 Than while all avenues are shut, whence skill 
 Is learn'd, to judge between the wrong and right ; 
 So finished manners know no opposite. ^ 
 
 103. 
 We e'en would say a dame with fingers gloved 
 
 Will fidget them, like bird new caught in cage, 
 Had custom not, like second nature, proved 
 
 That 'twas her ordinary equipage. 
 We scarce know why, yet on those who have moved 
 
 In rank patrician, is that heritage 
 Of fascination, whose charm never failed, 
 Chiefly, if not exclusively, entailed. 
 
 104. 
 Talk not to us of honest open faces ; — 
 
 Talk not to us of manners frank and free ; 
 We like the smothered tones, the stately paces, 
 
 Of those whose voice is breathing melody. 
 Of those whose gait of business has no traces ; 
 
 There is a calm consummate mystery 
 In those, whate'er they do, who seem to say, 
 Manner, not motive, doth the action sway. 
 
106 Moral and Religious Application, fyc. 
 
 105. 
 Low tones we love them ! and slow steps we love ! 
 
 We love a manner prodigal of time ! 
 For affectation and pretension, prove 
 
 Only less hatred than for actual crime. 
 We love a stillness that (e'en though they move) 
 
 To fashion's daughters give, in act, to chime 
 With our most earnest breathings, and impart 
 Motion's sweet music to the melting heart. 
 
 106. 
 Yet deem not we would purchase one, the best, 
 
 Of all these graces, were a tittle lost 
 Of moral feeling ! No ! Though we've confessed 
 
 Their charm enthralls us, they can never boast 
 That charm except 'tis mainly manifest 
 
 They spring like gorgeous flowers in climates most 
 By nature blessed. Howe'er they ask much toil ; 
 To grace — they must be natural to — the soil. 
 
 107. 
 Heaven oft asks less of us than we suppose : 
 
 To weed out our bad tempers he requires ; 
 But some, not gifted mysteries to disclose, 
 
 Because a lot his breast with envy fires 
 Measures its snares by charms it may propose ; 
 
 Thus he imagines, if to man's desires 
 It be congenial, that it must be fatal 
 To those whose creed commands life's joys to hate 
 all. 
 
The Dwelling of Remorse, 107 
 
 108. 
 But, perhaps, those, on whom, with mind so froward, 
 
 They thus pass sentence, never having dwelt 
 In scenes more full of incidents untoward, 
 
 Self greeting from their fortunes never felt. 
 Leave them in quiet, then ! Nor, like a coward, 
 
 Smite Fortune's nurselings ! Rather let it melt 
 Thy heart, that such there be ! Though thou 'rt a slave, 
 He that from thee took, to thy brother gave ! 
 
 109. 
 'Tis vulgar, — 'tis ridiculous, — 'tis mean; — 
 
 Of inward toils to judge by what we see ; 
 There are who 're fenced by luxuries' daintiest skreen, 
 
 Whose hearts decay with daily agony. 
 Yet what is he, to whom it could have been 
 
 A palliative to know that such things be ? 
 Who triumphs in the thought — since he is curs'd — 
 That all mankind in misery is immers'd ? 
 
 110. 
 There is a cell, where no light e'er did spring; 
 
 There is a cave that no feet ever trod ; 
 The eagle hath not found it with his wing, 
 
 Nor his keen eye hath marked its dim abode. 
 Its labyrinthine windings never ring 
 
 E'en with the wolfs wild howl : nor on its sod 
 Does " the swart faery of the mine" e'er dance; 
 Or quivering moonlight fling a silvery glance. 
 
108 The Power of Religion, fyc. 
 
 111. 
 It is the dwelling-place of unrepeal'd 
 
 And unrepealable Remorse ! I would 
 Not dare to body forth its unreveal'd, 
 
 Peculiar horrors ! Nor to freeze the blood 
 By dismal catalogue (ntlier conceal'd) 
 
 Of shapes, and shrieks, and monsters, lapping blood 
 Of man, that there inhabit : nor prophane 
 Your ear with clank of its eternal chain. 
 
 112. 
 
 Here, Sisyphus doth ever roll his stone ; 
 
 Ixion, there lies stretched upon his wheel ; 
 Tantalus, earnestly doth gaze upon — 
 
 Stretching his hands that grasp at — waves that steal 
 Within his reach, apparent ; yet doth groan, 
 
 Still doomed an everlasting thirst to feel ! 
 There all the furies — all the harpies — dwell ! 
 All forms of Erebus ! All forms of hell ! 
 
 113. 
 Yet could Religion's light e'en on this fall ! 
 
 Through cranny deep, a cheering ray might bring 
 Some solace to the shapes (like shades, on wall, 
 
 By light's effect, from optic lens we fling) 
 That ever haunt it. Discords that appal, 
 
 Henceforward with more dulcet note might ring 
 Thro' the ill-mansion ; and by slow degrees 
 Her triumph shew e'en o'er such scenes as these. 
 
On the Tendency of the present Age, fyc. 109 
 
 114. 
 Yet on earth is there many a smaller den 
 
 Where woes inferior still unceasing urge 
 On different classes of devoted men 
 
 Their merciless inevitable scourge. 
 It has been glorious to the glowing ken 
 
 Of those, who, o'er woes that to earth converge, 
 Incessant mourn, to see in time's last date 
 So many rais'd these woes to mitigate. 
 
 115. 
 
 Have not a Hanway, Woolman, Howard, been ? 
 
 Clarkson, Bell, Lancaster, now are they not? 
 Have not the enslav'd and the imprison'd seen 
 
 Virtue repeal or mitigate her lot ? 
 They who, in gloomier thraldom, were, I ween, 
 
 Of pining ignorance, hark! how it shot 
 Through air — the voice — 'till each with gladness 
 
 started ! 
 " To every man be science' truths imparted." 
 
 116. 
 
 Thus many avenues have late been op'd, 
 
 Through which thy light, Benevolence, has cast 
 
 On man's calamity, where'er it mop'd, 
 
 Healing, not thought of in the ages past. 
 
 Beneficence 'till lately idly grop'd, 
 
 And, heedless of its tendency, still class'd 
 
110 On the Tendency of the present Age 
 
 The instinctive boon among man's deeds divine ; 
 Now care and thought with charity combine. 
 
 117. 
 
 Their character much would we deprecate, 
 "Who (clad in complete panoply of steel ; 
 
 And, from abetting schemes like these, elate) 
 Deem they're exempted from the toil to feel. 
 
 Co-operation, like to this, should wait — 
 One of its ministers — on general zeal 
 
 For general good : let it not interfere 
 
 With Charity's warm impulse, or her tear ! 
 
 118. 
 
 For these, the last, we have the highest claim ; 
 
 For He who pledg'd himself, that those who gave 
 " Cup of cold water in disciple's name," 
 
 Though late, a certain recompense should have. 
 We cannot say, that He will those proclaim, 
 
 (When his elect he summons from the grave) 
 As of peculiar worth, who hospitals 
 Have built, or founded schools, or college halls. 
 
 119. 
 
 When the rich spikenard on Christ's feet was pour'd 
 By zealous Mary, Judas, as he view'd 
 
 The deed reprovingly, urg'd, that a hoard, 
 Had it so barter'd been, had hence accru'd, 
 
to embody charitable Feelings. Ill 
 
 Which to the poor might well relief afford. 
 
 " No, rather," said He, " by the magnitude 
 Of this her offering, she the doctrine proves, 
 That to whom much forgiven is, much loves." 
 
 120. 
 This lesson read ; ye cavillers 'bout use — 
 
 And economical expediencies ; 
 It tells ye, that the affections do suffuse 
 
 All the sweet scent from whence our sacrifice 
 To God a goodly savour can produce. 
 
 Us, he requires not as auxiliaries, 
 The mighty God ! It is man's heart he asks, 
 A will intense soars 'bove all merit's tasks. 
 
 121. 
 Would not have argued, as Christ's followers did, 
 
 The good wise men of our more modern time ? 
 The offering of the Magdalene have chid ? 
 
 With decent descant on forsaken crime ? 
 After such comment, must we not concede 
 
 That it is not the deed the most sublime, — 
 And winning most from other men renown, — 
 But a devoted heart, — that gains the crown ? 
 
 122. 
 Here was full adoration ! In one sense 
 
 Here, e'en to waste, was prodigality ; 
 That indiscriminate munificence, 
 
 Which ventures all upon a single dye ! 
 
112 On the Tendency of the present Age 
 
 But here were contriteness, and zeal intense ; 
 
 Here was oblivion of expediency ! — 
 In one word — Here was all that Heaven requires ; 
 A soul absorb'd in self-renounc'd desires. 
 
 123. 
 Public munificence, no doubt, in most 
 
 Addicted to it, may but aspect be 
 Of that dispensing spirit, chiefest boast 
 
 Of liberal, open-handed charity. 
 It has (we blush to say, at human cost) 
 
 This merit, that it holds the master key, 
 When truth would heart of vanity unlock ; 
 Cleaving what else were adamantine rock. 
 
 124. 
 'Tis an invidious task, praise to bestow 
 
 At other men's expense : willingly then 
 Farther pursuit of this theme we forego. 
 
 The ink flows freelier from our humble pen 
 When we announce the contemplation, (so 
 
 Humiliating yet consoling) that good men 
 See good (since 'tis from Heaven's educing hand) 
 E'en when our frailties bend to his command, 
 
 125. 
 When means are all an humble soul can give ; 
 
 E'en though the smallest, good men their aid bless ; 
 When ends are to be gain'd, good men forgive, 
 
 E'en though man's frailties work God's righteousness. 
 
to embody charitable Feelings. 113 
 
 See they a tear — when tears are all we have — 
 
 As herald of our truth they it caress ! 
 See they great wealth the pious structure raise, 
 That God who worketh all in all, they praise I 
 
 126. 
 Tis as impossible for Him to be 
 
 Fastidious, his own defects who knows ; 
 As to examine with severity 
 
 Motives, where heart with real bounty glows. 
 There are souls, in the gift of Pharisee, 
 
 As in the widow's mite, whose deep repose 
 Is as much bound. For them a stream there gushes, 
 By none polluted, yet which all refreshes ! 
 
 127. 
 My muse would still her lofty theme resume, 
 
 And hail the genial dawning of that day, 
 When mercy penetrates the prison's gloom, 
 
 And e'en the captive feels hope's cheering ray. 
 Can all the triumphs or of Greece or Rome 
 
 Commemorate such wonders, or display 
 So much to cheer man's heart, as thou hast done,* 
 Whom Heaven has sealed as an elected one ? 
 
 * See " An Inquiry whether Crime and Misery are produced or pre- 
 vented by our present System of Prison Discipline." By Thomas Fowel 
 Buxton, Esq. 
 
 L2 
 
114 On the Reformation produced in 
 
 128. 
 A timid female, arm'd with gospel faith ; — 
 
 A timid female, arm'd with gospel love ; — 
 To haunts hath pierc'd, where, ne'er before the path 
 
 To virtue dedicate, led one to move ; 
 Not only hath confronted vice ; (worst scath 
 
 God lays on man) but those whom crimes remove 
 From human pity (healing Fate's last wound) 
 She to her heart with ties of love hath bound. 
 
 129. 
 Thy " praise is not of men ;" I know full well 
 
 That human lips' approval is to thee 
 (E'en though made potent by the daintiest spell 
 
 That art could cull from stores of flattery; 
 E'en though its tones like " blare" of trump should 
 swell) 
 
 But " sounding brass," and solemn mockery. 
 Yet as a soul is eas'd this boon to bear, 
 Accept : — the human soul is thy first care. 
 
 130. 
 Think what it must to those be, only wont 
 
 To hear the ribald song, or oath prophane ; 
 What it must be for those who — vice made gaunt 
 
 By misery, in aspect most obscene, — 
 Were used to see ; whom chilling scowls did daunt, 
 
 Or laughing madness with her clanking chain ; 
 To hear the truth persuasive made by thee ? 
 In thee religion's real charm to see ? 
 
Newgate, by Mrs. Fry. 115 
 
 131. 
 *The gospel promise is fulfill'd in thee, 
 
 The prisoner is set free ; he that is bound 
 Hath felt deliverance : for the unity 
 
 Of comprehensive love hath now been crown'd 
 By this last test of gospel verity. 
 
 For since from prison walls hath gone a sound 
 Through all the earth, that they who linger there 
 Are called in Christ, thy chains are snapp'd, Despair ! 
 
 132. 
 We know not better liberty than this, 
 
 E'en for the veriest freeman upon earth ; 
 Refuse not then the uplifted rod to kiss ; — 
 
 And if, from it, the blooms of faith bud forth, 
 The prisoner's manacle no longer is : 
 
 There are no barriers which this second birth 
 May not despise : they do but designate 
 Another way to an immortal state. 
 
 133. 
 And had not heaven's hand been in this, could one, 
 
 A gentle female, thus all prejudice ; — 
 All preconceptions ; — every hindrance thrown 
 
 To bar the way °, — each proud hypothesis ; — 
 
 * See St. Luke, fourth chapter, eighteenth verse ; and Isaiah, sixty- 
 first chapter, first verse. 
 
116 On the final Triumph of Religion. 
 
 And prouder sneers of those who've never known 
 The " might of weakness*" in a work like this : 
 The wisdom of gown'd delegates countervail ? 
 And plant a paradise within a jail? 
 
 134. 
 
 There is a might which the world little heeds, 
 
 The irresistible! armour of the weak, 
 Who only dare move onward as God leads ! 
 
 As God gives utterance only dare to speak ! 
 This faith the martyrs teach ; for this faith bleeds 
 
 The saint, who (caring not man's praise to seek) 
 Draws down (though none from whence it comes can 
 
 tell) 
 Blessing, like dew from heaven, where'er he fell. 
 
 135. 
 
 This faith a Fox proclaimed ; a Penn confirmed ; 
 
 A Barclay ! — For an universal truth 
 Why from a sect bring evidence ? It warmed 
 
 A Fenelon, a Guion, in their youth 
 All to renounce, that most man's heart hath charmed. 
 
 A Sales, a Kempis, a Molinos, soothe, 
 By the same faith, those who devoutly feel 
 How poor the efforts of unhallow'd zeal ! 
 
 * w The irresistible might of weakness."— -See Milton's Prose Woi 
 t Ibid. 
 
On the final Triumph of Religion. 117 
 
 136. 
 Religion is a quiet, inward thing ; 
 
 It is all hope, all happiness, all love ; 
 But oft it soars not here on seraph wing ; 
 
 And those especially whom zeal doth move, 
 For human vice and misery, ere it bring 
 
 A sure relief, through their means, oft must prove 
 The billowy waves to welter o'er their head : 
 Long trial, ere on others balm it shed. 
 
 137. 
 God be your guide, where'er ye go, where'er 
 
 Ye be, that seek for fall'n man to repeal — 
 The dread anathema of vice and care 
 
 Entail'd on him, — by your devoted zeal. 
 God be your guide ! That he, who breathes it, were 
 
 Worthy — the blessing of this wish — to feel ! 
 Oh ! in your mission could I with you share, 
 Blessed — though last in deed and name — I were ! 
 
 138. 
 God be your guide ! And may a time soon come 
 
 When not a vice but human interest hath ! 
 When not a woe, but hath a friend, its doom 
 
 To share in, and thus palliate its scath J 
 When not a misery, pang, or care, or gloom, 
 
 But some compensatory friend — whose path 
 Is less with these afflicted — may allure ; 
 Who heals himself — administering a cure ! 
 
118 On the final Triumph of Religion. 
 
 139. 
 Then would the wintry wand of woe be broken ! 
 
 E'en Wretchedness would have her pleasant bowers. 
 Since she infallibly would have a token 
 
 Recognizable by fraternal powers ! 
 The language then of tears, e'en were it spoken, 
 
 Would steal from hearts (like, from earth, vernal 
 showers 
 Rich incense raise, while they are fertilizing) 
 To love responsive, blooms and sweets surprising. 
 
 140. 
 Thus in one family would man soon be ! 
 
 Need then no prate 'bout equal wealth or right; 
 Each then would equally perceive that he — 
 
 In charter from the source of all true light — 
 Had share : soon more the sacred ministry — 
 
 Than minister'd to be to — would excite. 
 Were equal rights with fellow beings won, 
 What were their price to heaven's adopted son ? 
 
 141. 
 Oh, did despair not weigh upon the breast, 
 
 With utterance ardent as a seraph's hymn, 
 I would put up a prayer, that thou would'st haste, — 
 
 Thou, high enthron'd above the cherubim, — 
 This glorious advent ! Oh ! could I but taste 
 
 Of that bless'd fount (to which, while such dreams 
 swim 
 Before us, we seem t' have made good our claim) 
 What grateful raptures would my heart inflame ! 
 
On the final Triumph of Religion. 119 
 
 142. 
 
 Some are there who not prize religion's treasure : 
 
 But of all miseries, 'tis a misery most 
 To be deplor'd, when all our sense of pleasure, 
 
 When that of which the world doth chiefly boast, 
 We deem as dross, and futile beyond measure, 
 
 Compar'd with her, yet to her hopes are lost ! 
 When that which (with imagination strong) 
 We prized 'bove utterance of human tongue, 
 
 143. 
 Eludes our search ! When we believe in it 
 
 Most reverentially; yet can't conceal 
 The greatest effort of our human wit 
 
 Religion's lowest truths cannot reveal. 
 Oh ! As the potter doth his vessel fit 
 
 To the evolutions of his shaping wheel, 
 Or breaks in pieces, that which doth conduce 
 (Till it once more be plastic) to no use ; 
 
 144 
 
 Do by me! — Do ! — Almighty Father ! Thou ! 
 
 I fear not! — hesitate not; — thus to throw 
 Myself before thee : asking not the how, — 
 
 The when, — the wherefore, — with my fate below ! 
 Only so far accept my infirm vow, 
 . As — that — into thy hands — to let me know — 
 Me, — Thou dost deign to take. Knowing but this, 
 Blindness my faith is, and my torments bliss! 
 
120 On the final Triumph of Religion. 
 
 145. 
 Yes, with the Seer of Patmos, could I hear 
 
 The voice that, to the thirsty, cries to " come," 
 And " freely drink" of Faith's immortal, clear, 
 
 And living, waters, human wants were dumb ! 
 'Fore the great " bridegroom" could I so appear, 
 
 And feel " the spirit" pointing to his home ; 
 Then voice there needed not — tongue — lip — nor pen- 
 To the soul's passive, though sublime, amen ! 
 
LONDON. 
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 Address to the Muse. 
 
 1. 
 
 Is the muse fled, or am I self-accused 
 
 From slighting her low-whisper'd revelations ? 
 
 For often are her fosterings abused 
 
 By absent hearts, and wandering inclinations. 
 
 Oft her long-suffering waits to have infused 
 Her potent influence o'er our meditations. 
 
 But our unfaithful minds, and deafen'd ears, 
 
 Scorn her, except in triumph she appears. 
 
 2. 
 We will not wait on her, but rather hope 
 
 That she with our caprices should comply ; 
 To all our alienations give a scope ; 
 
 And should consent, with deep humility, 
 
122 Address to the Muse. 
 
 That we should put her by, or take her up, 
 
 For every whim, and opportunity 
 Of time and place ; and thus, though she inspires, 
 Act as ourselves could regulate her fires. 
 
 3. 
 But she is coy to those, as well she may — 
 
 Who will not sometimes on her bidding wait : 
 And if we put her off from day to day, 
 
 We may at length so oft procrastinate, 
 That that which was at first but mere child's play, 
 
 Becomes the inexorable doom of fate. 
 So apt is man with a presumptuous aim 
 To be a self-conspirer 'gainst his fame. 
 
 4. 
 Oh ! if in after-life we could but gather 
 
 The very refuse of our youthful hours ! 
 Oft — than its dull realities — we'd rather 
 
 The very poorest of them should be ours ! 
 Thus 'tis save when our infancy's the father* 
 
 Of our experience, from youth's blissful bowers 
 
 ' So was it when my life began ; 
 So is it now I am a man ; 
 So be it when I do grow old, 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The child is father of the man ; 
 And I conld wish my days to be 
 Bound each to each by natural piety."— Wordsworth. 
 
Address to the Muse. 123 
 
 Of being's progress : — progress then, alone : 
 Else retrograde 'till all's oblivion ! 
 
 Tis nothing but our frailty makes us think 
 
 (An universal thought) that infancy 
 Of subsequent existence, shames each link. 
 
 What ! When unfolding our vast powers we see, 
 Why in life's combat from their trial shrink ? 
 
 It is that, ere they gain maturity, 
 We have anticipated, by the taste 
 Of good and evil, that which lays them waste. 
 
 Howe'er ye may receive it (whether fable, 
 Or literally true) 'tis still sublime, 
 
 The lesson couch'd (for wisdom profitable) 
 Beneath the history of man's earliest crime, 
 
 We know too much to make it equitable 
 To impute to weakness our neglected time. 
 
 We talk of ignorance when our faith is tried 
 
 We talk of knowledge to defend our pride ! 
 
 7. 
 
 Poison would I as soon administer, 
 As soil the bloom of any virgin heart, 
 
 That hath not (in relation whatsoe'er) 
 Yet of the fruit of knowledge had a part. 
 
124 The Philosophy of Penance. 
 
 Did Innocence yet on man her light confer, 
 
 Penance had never been a human art. 
 He in whose breast no appetence doth start e'er, 
 Though all possessing, holds from heaven his charter. 
 
 It is not heaven that aught prohibits us ; 
 
 The prohibition to ourselves we owe ; 
 Heaven of enjoyment ne'er is envious, 
 
 Its springs from thence immeasurably flow. 
 But human wisdom, vain, fallacious, 
 
 With gratitude content not, sought to know 
 The nature of its blessings ! These detected, 
 Faded like flowers by botanist dissected. 
 
 Thus self-denial only is inferred, 
 
 When through the fogs of foul concupiscence, j 
 We feel our hearts too consciously stirred 
 
 By any of the pleasances of sense. 
 As heaven comes chiefly where no wish averred 
 
 Ever propos'd it as a consequence, 
 So ne'er were sensuous pleasures fairly got, 
 'Till held unconsciously as though held not. 
 
 10. 
 
 Fruition then is bless'd ! And it is evil 
 
 To bring down those whom God hath rais'd on high, 
 
The Philosophy of Penance. 125 
 
 To pitiful and scrutinizing level ! 
 
 Rather should we in their immunity 
 Rejoice, nor imitate the sly arch Devil, 
 
 Who, as first fruits of his apostasy, 
 Those, for their blameless happiness, reviled, 
 Who had not its perennial springs defiled. 
 
 11. 
 'Till we can prove enjoyment is of sin, 
 
 We ne'er can prove, because a thing's enjoyed 
 That, if some cause exist not from within 
 
 Corrupting it, its charm should be destroyed. 
 We know where'er the race of man has been, 
 
 Penance has ever been by Saints employed. 
 But what proves this? Not that the thing is tainted, 
 But that th' applier is with vice acquainted ! 
 
 12. 
 
 We speak not here of that renunciation, 
 Which all are call'd to, of forbidden things, 
 
 But abstinence from lawful recreation 
 
 To which stern conscience many good men stings. 
 
 Could law be laid down here : th' interpretation 
 Private should be of scrupulous shudderings ; — 
 
 Inexorably barring compromise 
 
 With Vice, however specious her disguise. 
 
 13. 
 If for itself were self-renouncement good — 
 As Heaven is abetter place than earth, 
 
 m 2 
 
126 Retrospection. 
 
 We should replenish it with all the brood 
 Of penances to which Sin e'er gave birth. 
 
 No! we confess that general aptitude 
 
 In Man, to recognize this instinct's worth, 
 
 Much doth confirm 4:he doctrine of his fall ! 
 
 Th' intrinsic good of penance not at all ! — 
 
 14. 
 Thus, when man's heart perceives a prohibition 
 
 Growing between it and its wonted pleasure, 
 Let it not tax the pleasure with perdition, 
 
 But that false sense which would deprave its measure. 
 Pleasures so tasted that their full fruition 
 
 Never encroaches on our mental leisure, 
 But leaves free umpire our unbiass'd reason, 
 Ne'er can be construed into moral treason. 
 
 15. 
 Oh, were the eye of youth a moment ours ! 
 
 When every flower that gemm'd the various earth 
 Brought down from Heaven enjoyment's genial showers ! 
 
 And every bird, of everlasting mirth 
 Prophecied to us in romantic bowers! 
 
 Love was the garniture, whose blameless birth 
 Caus'd that each filmy web where dew-drops trembled, 
 The gossamery haunt of elves resembled ! 
 
 16. 
 We can remember earliest days of spring, 
 
 When violets blue and white, and primrose pale, 
 
Reminiscences of Youth. 127 
 
 Like callow nestlings 'neath their mother's wing, 
 
 Each peep'd from under the broad leaf's green veil. 
 
 When streams look'd blue ; and thin clouds clustering 
 O'er the wide empyrean did prevail, 
 
 Rising like incense from the breathing world, 
 
 Whose gracious aspect was with dew impearl'd. 
 
 17. 
 
 When a soft moisture, steaming every where, 
 
 To the earth's countenance mellower hues imparted; 
 
 When sylvan choristers self-pois'd in air, 
 
 Or perched on boughs, in shrilly quiverings darted 
 
 Their little raptures forth ; when the warm glare 
 (W T hile glancinglights backwards and forwards started, 
 
 As if with meteors silver-sheath'd 'twere flooded) 
 
 Sultry, and silent, on the hill's turf brooded. 
 
 18. 
 Oh, in these moments we such joy have felt, 
 
 As if the earth were nothing but a shrine ; 
 Where all, or awe inspir'd, or made one melt 
 
 Gratefully towards its architect divine ! 
 Father ! in future (as I once have dwelt 
 
 Within that very sanctuary of thine, 
 When shapes, and sounds, seem'd as but modes of 
 
 Thee !) 
 That with experience gain'd were heaven to me ! 
 
 19. 
 Oft in the fullness of the joy ye give, 
 
 Oh, days of youth ! in summer's noon-tide hours, 
 
128 Reminiscences of Youth. 
 
 Did I a depth of quietness receive 
 
 From insects' drowsy hum, that all my powers 
 Would baffle to pourtray ! Let them that live 
 
 In vacant solitude, speak from their bowers 
 What nameless pleasures letter'd ease may cheer, 
 Thee, Nature! bless'd to mark with eye and ear ! — 
 
 20. 
 Who can have watch'd the wild rose' blushing dye, 
 
 And seen what treasures its rich cups contain ; 
 Who, of soft shades the fine variety, 
 
 From white to deepest flush of vermeil stain ? 
 Who, when impearl'd with dew-drop's radiancy 
 
 Its petals breath'd perfume, while he did strain 
 His very being, lest the sense should fail 
 T imbibe each sweet its beauties did exhale ? 
 
 21. 
 Who amid lanes, on eve of summer days, 
 
 Which sheep brouze, could the thicket's wealth be- 
 hold? 
 The fragrant honey-suckle's bowery maze? 
 
 The furze bush, with its vegetable gold ? 
 In every satin sheath that helps to raise 
 
 The fox-glove's cone, the figures manifold 
 With such a dainty exquisiteness wrought ? — 
 Nor grant that thoughtful love they all have taught ? 
 
 22. 
 The daisy, cowslip, each have to them given — 
 The wood anemone, the strawberry wild, 
 
Description of a Scene, fyc. 129 
 
 Grass of Parnassus, meek as star of even ; — 
 Bright, as the brightening eye of smiling child, 
 
 And bathed in blue transparency of heaven, 
 Veronica; the primrose pale, and mild ; — 
 
 Of charms (of which to speak no tongue is able) 
 
 Intercommunion incommunicable ! 
 
 23. 
 I had a cottage in a Paradise ! 
 
 'Twere hard to enumerate the charms combin'd 
 Within the little space, greeting the eyes, 
 
 Its unpretending precincts that confin'd. 
 Onward, in front, a mountain stream did rise 
 
 Up, whose long course the fascinated mind 
 (So apt the scene to awaken wildest themes) 
 Might localize the most romantic dreams. 
 
 i 24. 
 When winter torrents, by the rain and snow, 
 
 Surlily dashing down the hills, were fed, 
 Its mighty mass of waters seem'd to flow 
 
 With deafening course precipitous : its bed 
 Rocky, such steep declivities did shew 
 
 That towards us with a rapid course it sped, 
 Broken by frequent falls ; thus did it roam 
 In whirlpools eddying, and convulsed with foam. 
 
 25. 
 Flank'd were its banks with perpendicular rocks, 
 Whose scars enormous, sometimes grey and bare, 
 
130 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 And sometimes clad with ash and gnarled oaks, 
 The birch, the hazel, pine, and holly, were. 
 
 Their tawny leaves, the sport of winter's shocks, 
 Oft o'er its channel circled in the air ; 
 
 While, on their tops, and mid-way up them, seen, 
 
 Lower'd cone-like firs and yews in gloomiest green. 
 
 26. 
 
 So many voices from this river came 
 
 In summer, winter, autumn, or the spring ; 
 
 So many sounds accordant to each frame 
 
 Of Nature's aspect, (whether the storm's wing 
 
 Brooded on it, or pantingly, and tame, 
 
 The low breeze crisp'd its waters) that, to sing 
 
 Half of their tones, impossible ! or tell 
 
 The listener's feelings from their viewless spell. 
 
 27. 
 
 When fires gleam'd bright, and when the curtain'd 
 room, 
 
 Well stock'd with books and music's implements, 
 When children's faces, dress'd in all the bloom 
 
 Of innocent enjoyments, deep content's 
 Deepest delight inspir'd ; when nature's gloom 
 
 To the domesticated heart presents 
 (By consummate tranquility possest) 
 Contrast, that might have stirr'd the dullest breast ; 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 131 
 
 28. 
 Yes, — in such hour as that — thy voice I've known. 
 
 Oh, hallow'd stream ! — fitly so nam'd — (since tones 
 Of deepest melancholy swell'd upon 
 
 The breeze that bore it) — fearful as the groans 
 Of fierce night spirits ! Yes, when tapers shone 
 
 Athwart the room (when, from their skiey thrones 
 Of ice-pil'd height abrupt, rush'd rudely forth, 
 Riding the blast, the tempests of the north ;) 
 
 29. 
 Thy voice Pve known to wake a dream of wonder ! 
 
 For though 'twas loud, and wild with turbulence, 
 And absolute as is the deep-voic'd thunder, 
 
 Such fine gradations mark'd its difference 
 Of audibility, one scarce could sunder 
 
 Its gradual swellings from the influence 
 Of harp iEolian, when, upon the breeze, 
 Floats in a stream its plaintive harmonies. 
 
 30. 
 
 One might have thought, that spirits of the air 
 
 Warbled amid it in an undersong ; 
 And oft one might have thought, that shrieks were there 
 
 Of spirits, driven for chastisement along 
 The invisible regions that above earth are. 
 
 All species seem'd of intonation (strong 
 To bind the soul, Imagination rouse,) 
 Conjur'd from preternatural prison-house. 
 
132 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 31. 
 But when the heavens are blue, and summer skies 
 
 Are pictur'd in thy wave's cerulean glances, 
 Then thy crisp stream its course so gaily plies, 
 
 Trips on so merrily in endless dances, 
 Such low sweet tone, fit for the time, does rise 
 
 From thy swift course, methinks, that it enhances 
 The hue of flowers which decorate thy banks, 
 While each one's freshness seems to pay thee thanks. 
 
 32. 
 Solemn the mountains that the horizon close, 
 
 From whose drear verge thou seem'st to issue forth, 
 Sorcery might fitly dwell, one could suppose, 
 
 (Or any wondrous spell of heaven or earth, 
 Which e'en to name man's utterance not knows,) 
 
 Amid the forms that mark thy place of birth. 
 Thither direct your eye, and you will find 
 All that excites the imaginative mind ! 
 
 33. 
 Return we now to that delicious place, 
 
 Where contravening banks impede thy course, 
 After that thou hast rush'd with rapid pace 
 
 O'er many a shelving rock, where thou by force 
 Art check'd, and, settling for a little space 
 
 Into a fairy lake, becom'st the source 
 Of other interest : here thy waves awhile 
 Linger, as charm'd, around a wood-crown'd isle. 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 133 
 
 34. 
 But see what bold majestic hill,* above 
 
 This little lake, swells into upper air ! 
 Its undulating top might fitly prove 
 
 A test of form most exquisitely fair. 
 A knot of dwellings,f like a nest of love, 
 
 Hangs o'er the stream, as placed by nature there. 
 Beneath this hill, on a rock's beetling brow, 
 It peeps, 'mid trees, upon the waves below. 
 
 35. 
 A wide-arch'd bridgej here spans the stream, at last 
 
 Tir'd of confinement round that houseless isle : 
 A barn hangs o'er it. Fern, and ivy cast 
 
 (Clinging in part to rock, part to the pile 
 Of buildings there) in nature's happiest taste 
 
 A blending, which the group doth reconcile. 
 Here, Nature ! one, with most devoted heart 
 To thee, might stretch his love to forms of art. 
 
 36. 
 How have my children dallied with that pool ! 
 
 There launch'd the little bark ; and there, in hours 
 Of ardent summer, sought their blood to cool, 
 
 Bathing beneath its rich and leafy bowers ! 
 How oft, in winter, there, when freed from school, 
 
 Borne on the winged skait, melted the hours 
 
 * Loughrigg. -f- Clappersgate. % Brathay Bridge. 
 
134 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 To moments, while its hollow rocks replied, 
 Echoing their jocund glee from side to side. 
 
 37. 
 
 How oft have I, with book, alone, or oft 
 While she, with whom society was bliss, 
 
 Would lean upon my arm ; or whispering soft 
 To childhood's cherub-challenge for a kiss ; 
 
 Watch'd th' elder train — from lawn somewhat aloft - 
 Bounded by every flower that beauteous is — 
 
 Exultingly, — while from the river's side 
 
 Headlong they plung'd, or clave its yielding tide ! 
 
 38. 
 
 Ah, days for ever gone ! Ye must no more 
 Return to me ! Yet will not I complain 
 
 So long as it is given me to restore, 
 In dreams poetic, your delights again ! 
 
 E'en now I see the child I lov'd of yore 
 
 Rush to some cherish'd flower, nor ask in vain, 
 
 With suppliant eye up-turn'd, where archly play'd 
 
 The coy, sly smile, — grasping the well-aim'd spade, 
 
 39. 
 
 Leave to transplant it to his own small plot ! 
 
 How oft has coat of mine sustain'd a rent, 
 From strong solicitation, that this spot, , 
 
 Of which this blossom was chief ornament 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 135 
 
 I would repair to ! The small hand see shot, 
 
 With forked fingers, 'thwart the stalk, whence bent 
 The drooping floweret, that it so might raise 
 Its modest charms, to challenge all my praise ! 
 
 40. 
 
 Ye are for ever gone, delightful days ! 
 
 I linger round you, like a ghost that pines 
 Of one, whom Fate did prematurely raze 
 
 From being's catalogue, and still so 'twines 
 All its attachment round some form whose ways 
 
 Are mortal still, that, where that dwells, inclines 
 The constant sever'd one to hover ever ! 
 Fade, of some joys, though frail, the memory never ! 
 
 41. 
 And ye are such to me, ye, that, from union 
 
 Of parent's heart with childhood, once were mine ; 
 There is a blessedness in that communion, 
 
 'Tis so profound, so calm, yet so divine, 
 Try it — 'tis perfect — by whate'er criterion : — 
 
 With manhood's deeper thoughts doth it combine 
 The reproduction of those days gone by, 
 When Heaven about our path and bed did lie. 
 
 42. 
 Yet, Heaven, I bend in utter passiveness 
 
 To each decree that seemeth best to Thee ; 
 I have no voice to ask for happiness 
 
 That's gone, to be restor'd once more to me ! 
 
136 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 Deal with me, Father, as thou wilt ! Possess 
 
 My heart with resignation ! Finally, 
 Let all things work to me for spiritual good ; 
 Bless thy ways to me, though not understood ; 
 
 43. 
 And I am satisfied ! My prayer is heard ! 
 
 Then, while I dwell unknowing and unknown, 
 In this vast city, 'mid a human herd 
 
 Who little reck of that whence many a groan, 
 And many a heaving sigh, my heart has stirr'd ; 
 
 So might I sometimes make past joy my own, 
 By thus commemorating what I keep 
 Lock'd from all eyes — bless'd were the tears I weep ! 
 
 44. 
 The flowers that deck'd that happy dwelling place, 
 
 To me seem'd as such amaranthine flowers, 
 As fitting are exclusively to grace 
 
 The haunt of lovers, or Elysian bowers. 
 On them, Love's purple light one well might trace, 
 
 And Fancy flush'd them with aerial powers, 
 And all their bloom and all their fragrance seem'd 
 As if from Paradise alone they teem'd ! 
 
 45. 
 The lavatera, paly pink and white ; 
 
 Sweet peas of either hue ; the mignionette ; 
 The queen of flowers in all its infinite 
 
 Shades of perfection, there together met. — 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 137 
 
 And thence the breeze drew a more exquisite 
 
 Fragrance, from tufts of musky violet. — 
 The modest snow-drop, and the crocus there, 
 Pledg'd future flowery honours of the year. 
 
 46. 
 Liburnams, with the lilac* thrice array'd, 
 
 There droop'd with tufts of vegetable gold ; 
 With these, Syringa form'd a screen, whose shade 
 
 Fenc'd all those flowers of whose charms we have 
 told. 
 Of branchy woof, with foliage interlaid, 
 
 The walls seem'd, of that cottage, which did hold 
 All my heart lov'd : on which the eye of day 
 Looking, knew there that all my treasure lay. 
 
 47. 
 
 Plants parasitical train' d there, aspired, 
 
 And found a fond protection ; there did spread 
 
 Virginia's creeper, gorgeously attired 
 
 In leaves now brown, now green, yellow and red. 
 
 For its profuse umbrageousness desired 
 
 The traveller's joy, like curtains round a bed, 
 
 Luxuriantly wanton, with rich dower, 
 
 Transform'd our cottage to a leafy bower. 
 
 * Alluding to the white blossoms, and those of a red and blue purple, 
 of the lilac. 
 
 n2 
 
138 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 48. 
 The Pyracanthus with its glossy green, 
 
 And scarlet berries ; and, as yet unsung, 
 The jasmine white and yellow, deck'd this scene ; 
 
 And o'er our little porch tenacious clung, 
 And round each window, (while beneath them seen 
 
 Moss roses peep'd, like birds, in nests, when young, 
 From beds of leaves,) with red and purple flower 
 From thread-like stem, the pensile virgin's bower. 
 
 49. 
 The scene in front of our sweet dwelling place 
 
 So far I've traced. — Another now remains — 
 Fraught with a different, tho' as bright a grace — ■ 
 
 T' excite from me commemorative strains. 
 As from the west this river ran its race, 
 
 And as it seemed with tributary pains 
 Purposely flowing to adorn our home — 
 Which, as with human eye, beheld it roam, 
 
 50. 
 For western was its front — so to the east 
 
 Backward, where stretch'd rich meads capaciously. 
 Broken by woody knolls, it seemed releas'd 
 
 From all that ruffled its tranquility. 
 Revert your gaze — the mountain waves compress'd, 
 
 And chaf 'd by rocks, which rolled tumultuously 
 In eddies and o'er stones, now softly creep 
 Through cultivated scenes, as charmed to sleep. 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 139 
 
 51. 
 
 The river now is seen, — and now is lost 
 Behind a tuft of trees: — and now again 
 
 Emerges. — Here, its banks, with shrubs emboss'd, 
 Shew like a garden, — there, thro' wide champain 
 
 The blue sky in its calm blue channel, gloss'd 
 With Summer's sheen, is render'd back again. 
 
 As its lapse silent, on its surface float 
 
 The freighted barge, or more trim pleasure boat. 
 
 52. 
 At last, as round a wood-crown'd promontory 
 
 It slowly creeps, hid from all vulgar eyes, 
 In silence and in solitude most hoary, 
 
 Where rocks abrupt and naked scars arise 
 From forth its waves, — surrounded with meet glory 
 
 For celebrating Nature's mysteries, — 
 In consecrated scenes for beauty prized — 
 Its marriage with the lake is solemnized. 
 
 53. 
 Beyond these spacious meads of which I spake, 
 
 On which its waves a new charm did confer, 
 A mountain graciously doth seem to take 
 
 A semblance, to the stream's new character, 
 Adapted : — at a distance boldly break 
 
 Its outlines to the eye ; like Lucifer 
 It seems to scale the heavens ; but stretching wide, 
 A barrier to the horizon, its bleak pride 
 
140 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 54. 
 
 Softens : and southward as it sweeps along, 
 Each summit, tho' aspiring, still aspires 
 
 Less than its brother, 'till at last among 
 
 Scenes of high culture, where the eye desires 
 
 In all a well-match'd softness, where the long, 
 Long lake dies into distance, and retires, 
 
 And mingles with the heavens, it yields its reign, 
 
 To the soft beauties of a smiling plain. — 
 
 55. 
 
 Southward it yields its reign. — Northward, there rise- 
 Screening the vale at once from each rude wind, 
 
 And satisfactory too as boundaries 
 To such a rich display as here you find 
 
 Of all in Nature that most tempts the eyes — 
 Mountains and rocks ; with trees of every kind, 
 
 The visiting of keener winds which brook, 
 
 Their base is varied, and each sheltered nook. 
 
 56. 
 Amid this vale, by its peculiar tree 
 
 Screen'd and half hid, full many a cot doth gleam- 
 Of snowy whiteness some ; while others, see! 
 
 Of the rough rock's grey hue ; at once, to them, 
 A parent and a shelter ! willingly 
 
 To the rude pile, with whose hard blocks did teem 
 Its fostering bosom, doth it shelter lend: — 
 — Thus Nature's sternest forms her sons befriend. 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 141 
 
 57. 
 See, at yon mountain's base, all interspers'd 
 
 With trees, where peeps a village-chapel tower ? 
 Thence was my young imagination nurs'd, 
 
 There hoped I in some future favour' d hour 
 Of life, that every pressure might be burst 
 
 Which cripples man of half his native power. 
 Yes, tho' that spot unseen, with dreams I panted, 
 Till it I saw, abiding-place they wanted. 
 
 58. 
 
 Dreams afterwards I dream'd, and this the place 
 To which their consummation evermore 
 
 I did refer. There is a mountain grace, 
 A grace peculiar, which I ne'er before, 
 
 Or since, beheld, in its romantic face : 
 In cove of mighty hills, amid the roar 
 
 Of unseen cataracts, whose voice you hear, 
 
 It stands ! — meet haunt for visionary fear ! — 
 
 59. 
 Can I forget, when, — after having through 
 
 The long day, for the first time, travelled 
 'Mid mountain scenes, — towards this spot I drew 
 
 At close of day, as eve on all things shed 
 A dubious curtain — while, as if with dew 
 
 Reeking, all vegetation glistened 
 From copious rains — since many pelting showers 
 Had marked the fortune of its varied hours ? — 
 
142 Description of a Scene near the 
 
 60. 
 Can I forget the ravishment I felt, 
 
 Winding my way amid the tangled trees, 
 When first thy own* peculiar torrent dealt 
 
 Out unexpectedly its melodies, — 
 While as the last ray from the west did melt — 
 
 To me ; untutor'd in the mysteries 
 Of nature — and as much in those ungifted 
 The spirit's mysteries, by Nature lifted ? 
 
 61. 
 No, never ! Ambleside, my youth's first home — 
 
 Home of my fancy ! Haven of my heart ! 
 Though o'er the world I be constraint to roam, 
 
 From thy dear image I shall never part ! 
 Thou hast been much to me ! with thee did come 
 
 My first domestic bliss ! Towards thee did start, 
 As to a goal, all my deep treasured schemes 
 Of fairy happiness — youth's morning gleams ! 
 
 62. 
 Still thou art much to me ! I need but say 
 
 One word, to prove how much ! Of heaven's best 
 gifts 
 The choicest — eight dear children saw the day 
 First in thy lovely precincts ! and still lifts 
 
 * Stock-gill Force. 
 
Lake of Winandermere. 143 
 
 Its head but one rude chain of hills, the ray 
 
 Of morn to meet betwixt thy site, and shifts 
 The scene to that lone spot, whose turf beneath 
 T did one darling to the earth bequeath. — 
 
 63. 
 
 Dear Innocent, thou sleepest there ! could sense 
 
 Be thine within thy narrow earthy bed, 
 Thou dost repose where spring flowers' redolence 
 
 Might on thy powers a balmy influence shed. 
 The mossy stone from storms thy sole defence ! 
 
 The thymy turf sole covering for thy head ! 
 Thou moulderest, and the wild flowers on thy tomb, 
 Which bloom so sweet, once equall'd not thy bloom. 
 
 64. 
 
 Yet, for thy sake, dear child ! is consecrate 
 
 The region to the which I did commit 
 Thy mortal relics ; and I hope that fate 
 
 Will give me yet one little hour, to sit 
 And muse upon thy bed ! Or soon, or late, 
 
 He who writes this must fill one like to it ! 
 Though innocent as thee he cannot die, 
 Yet to thy home may his freed spirit fly ! 
 
 65. 
 To Heaven, the Infant's home ! Of Innocence 
 The inalienable port, the certain haven ! 
 
144 Description of a Scene, fyc. 
 
 Souls cannot be disherited from thence, 
 'Till it from them have been asunder riven. 
 
 If of a Sinner 'tis the residence, — 
 
 Through mercy and free grace to man is given, — 
 
 And through the atoning blood of him who died, — 
 
 Even to knock, where gates for babes ope wide. 
 
 66. 
 There is a time when on all things* a glory 
 
 Lays a rich colouring tongue can never tell ; 
 When e'en with mountain from snow-tempest hoary, 
 
 By fusion fine, and by a passionate spell, 
 And interminglings as of fairy story, 
 
 Love can link forms in beauty which excel. 
 When gloom voluptuous seems, and there's an union 
 'Twixt all created things with strange communion. 
 
 67. 
 There is a powerful presence then of life ! 
 
 An impulse, which, though active, consecrates 
 Scenes where most hopeless blemishes are rife ! 
 
 We bid defiance then to mortal fates ! 
 With spots most negative we're not at strife, 
 
 There most man feels how much himself creates ! 
 While o'er the richest vision of the senses, 
 The same power sheds exalting influences ! 
 
 * See Mr. Wordsworth's marvellous and sublime ode, " On the in- 
 timations of Immortality," from recollections of " Early Childhood." 
 
The Influence of Imagination. 145 
 
 Oh ! when I've seen my little garden bloom ! 
 
 With snow-drop, crocus, purple, yellow, white, 
 Though snow-drifts menac'd all their charms t'entomb, 
 
 I've felt a permeating full delight !— 
 Those blossoms seem'd first heralds of the doom 
 
 Pronounc'd on winter ; and their exquisite, 
 Yet simple beauty, was to me a token, 
 That Nature's gladdening bond was yet unbroken. 
 
 69. 
 There is for him, to whom imagination 
 
 The faculty allows of doubling all 
 The joy we owe to what excites sensation, 
 
 Which never words could worthily extol ! 
 A hue, a scent, a secret combination 
 
 Of trifles, that more serious scenes recall, 
 Each, and all, have, for him, however light 
 Or trivial, the essential infinite ! — 
 
 70. 
 To him so gifted from rapidity 
 
 Of thought, and impulse still more rapid, rise 
 Such quick associating faculty, 
 
 Such aptitude whatever he espies 
 In wide-diverging series to apply ; 
 
 That oft, from what would seem non-entities 
 To other men, the potent spell he sways, 
 Into vast structures causes him to raise. — 
 
146 The Influence of Imagination . 
 
 71. 
 
 Where this rapidity the mind possesses, 
 
 And with it perceptivity intense 
 Of character, in common scenes, whose stress is 
 
 On other men devoid of influence, 
 There is no form however mean its dress is 
 
 Where subtle interest has no prevalence. 
 Bare walls such temperament would fertilize, 
 It feels most power, where fortune most denies. 
 
 72. 
 E'en bleakest scenes assume a character 
 
 Amid their unproductive desolation; 
 Such minds from them would potently infer, 
 
 By dim and delicate association, — 
 While others saw in them death's register, — 
 
 By apt and energetical creation, — 
 Creation, that converts the negative, 
 By breathing powers which to love, only live, 
 
 73. 
 A sway, though saddening, not to paralyze : — 
 
 Dark heaths 'twould people with appropriate forms, 
 And it would give intelligence to sighs 
 
 Of Nature, in her desolating storms. — 
 Exulting in its strength, 'twould recognize 
 
 It's power most chiefly, when alone it warms 
 Benumbing dreariness, and most with awe, 
 Acts on, though talks not of, love's genial law ! 
 
The Influence of Imagination. 147 
 
 74. 
 'Tis curious to observe how different men 
 
 Contemplate Nature's works with different feeling ; 
 One walks to botanize ; another's ken 
 
 Pierces the bowels of the earth, thence stealing 
 His mineralogic specimens ; again, 
 
 A third is ever frowardly repealing 
 Nature's untoward tricks, — in wonder rooted 
 Just as a scene is to his easel suited. — 
 
 75. 
 Give me the man who, for thy sake alone — 
 
 Not for his hortus siccus ; cabinet 
 Of fossil, spar, shell, coral, mineral, stone ; 
 
 Or for his pencil's sake, doth contemplate, 
 Thee, Nature ! Give the man who oft has known 
 
 Himself, when he saw thee, self to forget ; 
 And in a depth of ravishment transfused, 
 On thee, with silent meditation, mused ! 
 
 76. 
 And let this meditation heightened be, 
 
 Religion ! by thy flame, to adoration ! 
 And then for things of earth what careth he ? 
 
 For what distress hath he not consolation ? 
 He who in Solitude his God can see. 
 
 'Mid Nature's loftiest scenes, has found salvation 
 From all the petty miseries of life ; 
 A balm has gain'd for prejudice and strife. — 
 
148 Address to my Children. 
 
 77. 
 Oh, cultivate this sense, and 'twill be found 
 
 Exceeding great reward, and manifold, 
 To bring its votaries ! In the earth's vast round 
 
 No scene presents itself so poor and cold, 
 As not for him to be with blessings crown'd : 
 
 He has a curious eye, which can behold 
 Topic for admiration every where ! 
 A charm in scenes fit to inspire despair ! 
 
 78. 
 A tree, a cottage, or a child at play, 
 
 And where the earth is destitute, the sky, 
 Fantastic clouds, when on them the sun's ray 
 
 Confers e'en supernatural imagery ! 
 The speechless lustre of the new-born day ! 
 
 The solemn pageant when night broods on high ! 
 In these, and thousand more such forms as these, 
 His moisten'd eye his Maker's goodness sees ! 
 
 79. 
 Blessings be on my children ! We have long 
 
 Wander'd in sever'd paths of life apart ! 
 I rather think, this desultory song 
 
 Draws towards a close. I cannot please my heart 
 Better, than its last numbers to prolong, 
 
 By twining round them, with poetic art, 
 Your several recollections : — by divulging 
 Day-dreams in which 'bout you I'm oft indulging. 
 
A Parent's Address to his Children. 149 
 
 80. 
 May He who hears the ravens cry, and feeds 
 
 The stork and bittern in the wilderness, 
 May He your portion be ! May He who leads 
 
 Your sire in labyrinthine tracklessness, 
 At last unite us all ! And may the seeds 
 
 Sown early in your souls, from deepest stress 
 Of his affection, into blossoms shoot ; 
 And may he yet survive to see their fruit. 
 
 81. 
 
 The ways of Heaven are mystery : and oft 
 Through means, to us, unfathomably dark, 
 
 And likely least, in their eyes, who aloft 
 
 Ne'er turn them, to obtain the wish'd-for mark, 
 
 Us He conducts to it. At once, in soft 
 
 And smiling harbour, steals life's shatter'd bark ! 
 
 Heaven's bitterest visitings, in rugged ways, 
 
 Ending in bliss, oft claim our loudest praise. 
 
 82. 
 
 Some of you still, in that delightful land, 
 (Which in these lays has many a votive line 
 
 From me extorted) some still tarry ! Wand 
 Of fairy could not raise a more divine 
 
 Assemblage of all charms than there expand ! 
 May you from it, as from oracular shrine, 
 
 o2 
 
150 A Parent's Address to his Children. 
 
 A portion of the consecrated spirit, 
 
 So largely dealt to its own Bard,* inherit ! 
 
 83. 
 
 May you come forth from thence, each baser thing, 
 Each worldly maxim, every selfish aim, 
 
 Despising ! Be ye borne on Fancy's wing ! 
 And may Imagination's holiest flame, 
 
 Like magic vestment, round your spirits cling ! 
 Be like a wall of fire 'twixt you and shame ! 
 
 May Nature fix you to her love for ever ; 
 
 Nor change, your constant yearnings from her sever ! 
 
 84. 
 
 I well remember days I've spent with you 
 In that delicious place. See ye me not 
 
 When the pil'd mountain's height attracts your view ? 
 Recall ye ne'er how oft, upon that spot, 
 
 Hand grasp'd in hand, we've stray' d where violets 
 grew, 
 Or primrose pale ? How oft ye've forward shot 
 
 If seen fine tuft, like diamonds in a casket ? 
 
 How soon deposited within your basket ? 
 
 * William Wordsworth, Esq — To whose name, to add any tribute of 
 praise to his poetical character, were not only superfluous ; but the au- 
 thor feels that, as coming from himself, it were presumptuous. 
 
A Parent's Address to his Children. 151 
 
 85. 
 I feel a yearning towards you, not to be, 
 
 By aught, save breathings of the soul, imparted. 
 God bless you in Himself ! And bless He me 
 
 In you ! And may our hearts be never parted ! 
 Then though, in course of things, we may not see 
 
 Each one the other, we can ne'er be thwarted 
 Of that communion dear, and interchange 
 Of spirits, which nor time nor place estrange ! 
 
 Oh, Children ! when ye gaze upon those mountains, 
 Think there your father's spirit still might dwell ! 
 
 Recall, when looking on its sky-born fountains, 
 The impassion'd and unutterable spell 
 
 That bound him to them, as Jove, with his frown, chains 
 Prometheus to the rock : He lov'd them well, 
 
 The forms which ye now see, and from them drew 
 
 Full many a dream of preternatural hue. 
 
 87. 
 Is it that there's a misery entail'd 
 
 On all impassion'd creatures ? They may be 
 Compared to lyre iEolian, which — when fail'd 
 
 The breeze to woo it so invitingly — 
 Wax'd dumb and voiceless. Yes, those beings hail'd 
 
 Perpetual influences of harmony, 
 Keeping themselves in languid passiveness, 
 And thinking gales would evermore caress. 
 
152 On the Pleasures and Sufferings of those 
 
 They, like the flower dependent on the breeze, 
 Dependent on the sun, and culture's aid, 
 
 Shrink in their sensitiveness when all these — 
 To them appliances so needful— fade. 
 
 They have no self-pois'd power, when ministries 
 Of Love are gone, to make them not afraid. 
 
 They are as insects, basking in the sun ; 
 
 Unpitied, soon their earthly course is run ! 
 
 89. 
 The bower of pleasure is composed of bloom, 
 
 Shrinking from sun-beams fierce, and pattering rains, 
 Like to a fair maid, who though, to the tomb, 
 
 Her hard fate destine her, nathless retains 
 Her living beauty ; soon with cheerless gloom 
 
 Must it be shrouded, while no trace remains 
 Of its once-glorious aspect. Death, grim chief, 
 Lowers o'er its tempest toss'd, sere, lonely leaf! 
 
 90. 
 And yet 'twas once engarlanded with flowers ; — 
 
 And all that precious is in earth or heaven, 
 Seem'd there to fall in renovating showers, 
 
 As if the very elements had striven, 
 And all the essences of fragrant powers, 
 
 That in immortal bloom it should have thriven. 
 The rose blush'd there, the violet in its prime, 
 And amaranthine plants of Heaven's own clime. 
 
possessed of the Imaginative Temperament. 153 
 
 90. 
 Rich was the dew that on its blossoms glisten' d ! 
 
 Its exquisite perfumes seemed to draw thence 
 A more voluptuous softness ; and who listen'd 
 
 Might think the very leaves had eloquence. 
 Such fairy music when the breezes kiss'd, and 
 
 Played with their tendrils, drew existence thence. 
 Armida or Alcina ne'er possessed, 
 For love's delight, more necromantic nest. 
 
 91. 
 
 There was a rill there, whose transparency 
 
 And gurgling freshness, well might make one dream 
 
 It was immortal. Gods might wish to hie, 
 
 And goddesses, from heaven, in its pure stream 
 
 To bathe ! And Gods and Goddesses were nigh, 
 Indeed ! For, to its inmates, life did seem, 
 
 And all its forms, a shadowing forth of those 
 
 Transcendant pageantries, which bards disclose. 
 
 92. 
 The Sylvans haunted, and benignant Pan, 
 
 Diana and her Nymphs, its precincts wild ; 
 There, with her doves, Venus did often plan 
 
 Her snares, and held frank dalliance with her child. 
 E'en Jove might wish once more to be a swan, 
 
 And Leda once more to be unbeguil'd, 
 That he might float upon a little lake, 
 To which its stream a mirthful course did take. 
 
154 On the Pleasures and Sufferings, fyc. 
 
 93. 
 Who has not felt in youth, that youthful hopes 
 
 Can realize all that the Bards e'er sung? 
 And here their dreams all liv'd in airy groupes, 
 
 For ever joyful and for ever young, 
 (Or so they seem'd :) the real needs not tropes, 
 
 Nor are there tropes for him, whose full heart, stung 
 With sense of being e'en to perfect bliss, 
 Feels that to be, includes all happiness ! — 
 
 94. 
 Surely, the poets of the elder times — 
 
 (I talk not now — my theme permits it not — 
 How much they lost of rapture that sublimes, 
 
 Through heavenly influence, man's terrestrial lot ;) 
 Surely, these poets — to whom Gods sometimes, 
 
 And Goddesses, across their vision shot 
 Like to familiar forms — must in earth see, 
 To us, an unconceiv'd festivity. — 
 
 : 95. 
 
 To them each fountain, and to them each grove, 
 The weltering waters, and the mountains steep, 
 
 Teem'd with forms dire or bland, which sure must 
 prove 
 Of power t'impart a consecration deep 
 
 T earth's haunts so tenanted ! What dreams of love 
 Must have invited Cyprian maids to sleep 
 
 Beneath their azure skies, whose glittering sheen 
 
 Was but an effluence of their mystic queen ? — 
 
Parallel between the Imagery of Heathenism. 1 55 
 
 96. 
 But earth is tenanted as heretofore, 
 
 While the young blood runs mantling through the 
 veins, 
 Howe'er austere the hereditary lore, 
 
 Thy fire, Imagination, that restrains. 
 Yet, in that bower of pleasure as of yore, 
 
 And yet to him expell'd not its domains, 
 Lives the same spirit that, in times of old, 
 Peopled the earth with beings manifold. — 
 
 97. 
 But, at the same time, howe'er much I prize, 
 
 And much I prize it, classical tradition, 
 I still must feel what difference there lies 
 
 'Twixt it, and gospel truth's sublimer mission. 
 From one for fancy many charms may rise ; 
 
 To the sense grateful is its exhibition ! 
 This its sole boast ! how can the heart, most fond 
 To muse on it, find excellence beyond. — 
 
 98. 
 But, in the gospel page, Imagination, 
 
 Herself eclips'd e'en in her highest blaze, 
 May find ! while there dejected Tribulation, 
 
 On solaces, for every woe, may gaze 
 Herself, to heights sublime, calm Meditation 
 
 Thence, from theme inexhaustible, may raise ! 
 Intelligence may there have perfect scope, 
 Nurtur'd by Faith, by Charity, and Hope ! 
 
156 Parallel between the Imagery of Heathenism. 
 
 99. 
 I envy more the most unletter'd hind 
 
 Who, from the gospel's page, can see reflected 
 Truths, that in him responsive feelings find, 
 
 Than e'en the man on earth the most respected, 
 If only from wealth, rank, and sense combin'd 
 
 Rise that respect ! Sooner had I selected 
 One contrite feeling as my dearest treasure, 
 Than all earth gives, though given in triple measure !- 
 
 100. 
 Wealth's but a corpse lying in state, if prized 
 
 Save from benevolent wish to spend its store 
 For other's good ! Pride, a disease, disguised 
 
 In borrow'd trappings ; rotten at the core ! 
 And Intellect, by Truth not exercised, 
 
 Arms in a madman's hand t' increase the more 
 His power of evil ! Save Faith, all produce 
 Good, only correspondent to their use ! 
 
 101, 
 And be this Faith your dower, my children ! may, 
 
 " The day spring from on High" on you descend ! 
 Oh, may your hearts such feelings ever sway, 
 
 That you may have your Maker for your friend ! 
 Then, whether I can help you on your way 
 
 Or not, its goal a blessing will attend ! 
 Go on your road, and prosper then! Engage 
 The God of Jacob for your heritage ! 
 
®itu$ ana ^t0(j>pu0* 
 
 Magnanima menzogna ! or quando e il vero, 
 Si bello, che si possa a te preporre ? — 
 
 Tasso. Canto 2 ; stanza 22. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 A hint for the following tale was borrowed from a 
 story in the fourth volume, page 152, in the duodecimo 
 edition of the Decamerone of Boccacio : but the au- 
 thor can scarcely allow that he is farther indebted to 
 that celebrated store-house of matter for tales, novels, 
 and plays, than for the trite incident of 'one friend 
 surrendering his mistress to another. The character 
 of Lesbia is not only wholly of the author's moulding, 
 but also of his entire invention ; and all that there is 
 of character in the heroine of the piece is superin- 
 duced on the story in the original, as are the few in- 
 cidents which he has chosen to introduce. The author 
 has adhered to the names allotted by Boccacio to the 
 three principal characters ; and when he has coupled 
 this confession with that already made, as respects 
 the incident of the surrender of a mistress from one 
 
160 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 friend to another, he believes, that he has stated the 
 only points of resemblance between this little effort 
 in verse, and the narrative of the celebrated Italian 
 writer; to the perusal of which, however, as it cer- 
 tainly led him to try how far the vehicle of rhyme 
 might be made subservient to the treatment of such 
 a subject, he thinks it most natural to advert in this 
 its little explanatory exposition. The author may 
 add, that, in, the manner of opening the narration, 
 conducting the march of it, and in its denouement, 
 he has wholly departed from the original. 
 
TITUS AND GISIPPUS. 
 
 1. 
 
 " Go to Sophronia," Gisippus cried, 
 
 " And tell her what I've said." To Titus so, — 
 
 A youthful Roman, who profoundly sigh'd 
 
 From his inmost heart, and press'd with heaviest woe, 
 
 The former spake. Sophronia was his bride ! — 
 To-morrow was their nuptial feast. But, lo ! — 
 
 As chance would have it, claims of urgent need 
 
 From Athens drew him with reluctant speed. 
 
 2. 
 From Athens he must go this very eve, 
 
 And not before to-morrow's dawn return, 
 No time had he to ask his fair one's leave, 
 
 No time to say, farewell ! A long sojourn 
 In the same dwelling, so did interweave 
 
 The hearts of these two youths, that each did yearn 
 With more than a friend's love towards the other ; 
 Each seem'd to each far dearer than a brother. 
 p2 
 
162 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 3. 
 A faint response did Titus make : his friend, 
 
 To this, in thought much troubled, no heed paid. 
 Gisippus, who his swift car did ascend, 
 
 Beyond the city walls was soon convey'd. 
 Titus, when he was out of sight, did bend 
 
 His slow and tottering step — like one dismay 'd - 
 Towards his chamber : there, upon his bed, 
 He threw his form, and passionately said, — 
 
 4. 
 " Gisippus, what hast thou on me impos'd ? 
 
 'Twere death ! 'twere madness ! worse, — it were a 
 crime ! 
 To follow thy injunctions ! Thus disclos'd 
 
 Would be that love which I, so long a time, 
 Have smother'd in my breast. Thou hast repos'd 
 
 For months in fullest confidence. — Sublime 
 In thy own passion for the passive maid, 
 Thou, by thy perfect trust, art self-betray'd. 
 
 " Hadst thou not been by thy own love possess'd, 
 Did not each feeling towards Sophronia tend, 
 
 Ere now the dreadful secret of my breast 
 Had made thee see a traitor in thy friend. — 
 
 Oh, Heaven, what agony hath been the guest 
 Of this distracted heart ! Remorse can rend, 
 
 No more than it rends me, those whom the gods 
 
 To torment doom in nethermost abodes. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 163 
 
 6. 
 " What crime is there that I have not conceiv'd ? 
 
 Seduction ! Murder ! Breach of every vow ! 
 Are all familiar inmates ! Not achiev'd, 
 
 Because not dared ; not since I disallow 
 Their black suggestions : or, because ^ereav'd, 
 
 Have, in past moments, been the when and how ! 
 I am a torment to myself! nay, more, 
 My heart is canker'd to the very core ! 
 
 " If I am in her presence, certain 'tis 
 
 That my pent passion will be thus betray'd ; 
 
 My trembling knees, my faultering voice, will this 
 Clearly make manifest ; and by the shade 
 
 Of pale despondency alone, I wis, 
 
 Will all my inward conflicts be display'd. 
 
 Lovers are lynx-eyed : by too many a token, 
 
 Although unutter'd, will my love be spoken ! 
 
 " Yet something must be done ! Sophronia waits ; — » 
 This evening waits Gisippus' dear approach ; 
 
 To-morrow ; — and th' inexorable Fates 
 
 Cannot reclaim her from his nuptial couch ! — 
 
 I burn ! — I rave ! — To-morrow's sun rebates 
 All farther expectation ! Then I touch 
 
 My sorrow's crisis ! If that morrow's sun 
 
 See her his bride, my thread of life is spun ! 
 
] 64 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 9 
 " Could I another send ? This must not be ! 
 
 Secret his going is ; — nor must be told 
 To mortal ear ! Nor, though unknown the plea 
 
 For mystery, right, by any means, I hold 
 To break the covenant of secrecy.- — 
 
 The task is left to me, to see the cold, 
 Questionless, faint, and unexpressive lip, — 
 Whose honey he this night was doom'd to sip,— 
 
 10. 
 " Wax pale, relax, and quiver, while I say, 
 
 My truant comrade disappoints thy hope. 
 Can I bear this ? Cari I see her the prey 
 
 Of sorrow for another ? See her mope : 
 Now come, now go, restless, and in dismay ? — 
 
 And must I be the chosen one to cope 
 With baffled wishes, from her breast remove 
 Doubt, and drink poison from that nest of love ? 
 
 11. 
 
 " Have I not, with unheard-of fortitude, 
 
 From her dear dwelling check'd my eager feet ? 
 
 How oft have I seem'd like a thing endued 
 With two-fold* faculties ; when in the street 
 
 1 " But Myrrha, sleepless with the unconquer'd tire, 
 Broods o'er the furies of her wild desire. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 165 
 
 Which thither led, whenever I pursued 
 
 That path, I seemed to stop ; and when retreat 
 From thence I made, I seem'd to go : and so, 
 My life was worn in endless to and fro. — 
 
 12. 
 
 " Have I not oft Gisippus' questions braved? 
 
 Hath he not oft upbraided me with wrong, 
 And slight done to his passion, if I craved 
 
 Excuse, when he, with importuning tongue, 
 Urged me to visit her ? Oft have I waived 
 
 Such assignation, when so fierce and strong 
 Impulse did goad me to behold his bride, 
 That it perplex'd me much my p'angs to hide ! 
 
 . Now she despair'd ; to try she now decreed ; 
 And shame forbade, and passion urg'd, the deed : 
 While incompatible temptations rend, 
 She feels the conflict, but foresees no end : 
 The racking whirl makes all her soul its prey ; 
 She stay'd, and wish'd to go : she went, and wish'd to stay." 
 The passage thus rendered is from a free translation of Ovid's 
 Metamorphoses , by the Author. 
 
 " At virgo Cinyrei'a pervigil igni 
 Carpitur indomito : furiosaque vota retractat. 
 Et modd desperat, modo vult tentare ; pudetque, 
 Et cupit ; et, quod agat, non invenit." 
 
 Ovidii Metamorpkoseon^ lib. 10, v. 369. 
 
166 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 13. 
 " And shall I now, e'en when I thought almost 
 
 The conflict conquer'd, when I thought to-morrow 
 Would free me from so perilous a post, 
 
 Plunge with deliberate rashness in such sorrow ? 
 Before, — as now, thou hast done, to my cost, — 
 
 Thou ne'er from any exigence didst borrow 
 A purpose so impatient of delay ; 
 Didst so imperiously thy will betray." 
 
 14. 
 
 " What had ere now chanc'd I can scarcely tell. 
 Had not that sickness laid me on my bed, 
 
 From whence it seems as if by miracle, — 
 And as by fever, by my passion fed, 
 
 Giving false strength, — that I am so far well 
 As to be rais'd ! Ah, let it not be said 
 
 'Till love, unhappy love, have been endured, 
 
 That any soul to suffering is inured." 
 
 15. 
 
 " Then of that old man think ! Of Chroemes think ! 
 
 Gisippus' father, lately dead ! Of him, 
 Oh think ! Doth not thy graceless bosom shrink, 
 
 Oh Titus, would'st thou not that limb by limb 
 Thou wert torn piecemeal, rather than so sink 
 
 In abjectness, that, when e'en to the brim 
 His son sees joy's cup full, thy hands distraught 
 Shall dash it from him, ere he quaff the draught? 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 167 
 
 16. 
 u Dost thou not owe to him far more than life ? 
 
 Or far, far more than that which life sustains? 
 To whom dost thou owe that thy mind is rife, 
 
 Or was, with glorious thoughts, and loftiest strains 
 Of lofty Bards ? How often when the strife 
 
 Of a long sickness, fraught with dreariest pains, 
 Which brought him to his grave, press'd on him hard, 
 Would he his own pangs not seem to regard, 
 
 17. 
 
 " While with one feeble hand my hand he press'd ; 
 
 And with the other that of his sole child, 
 His son ? And was it not his last behest, 
 
 Spoken with tearful cheeks and accents mild, 
 That in Gisippus' and in Titus' breast 
 
 A lasting love should burn ? And then he smil'd ; — 
 Yes, the old dying Chraemes smil'd, when we 
 Bow'd to his meek request assentingly!" 
 
 18. 
 " Who bore with all the turbulence of my youth? 
 
 And all my wayward moods and fro ward ways? 
 Who was it praised me, ere he could in truth 
 
 Praise me, that I one day might merit praise ? 
 Who was it put off, my fierce heart to soothe, 
 
 The old man's character in life's last days ; 
 Smother'd his sufferings, that he so might be 
 Companion to my immaturity V' 
 
168 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 19- 
 " And shall this be my recompense, for such 
 
 Immensity of obligation ? This ? — 
 That I shall, when his only son doth touch 
 
 Upon the very brink of earthly bliss, 
 Plant thorns and daggers in the nuptial couch ? — 
 
 Tear her from him, from whose electric kiss 
 He drinks in rapture ? Oh, forbid it, ye 
 Powers, that preside o'er faith and amity !" 
 
 20. 
 " Affection, Reverence, Gratitude, and Love, 
 
 Friendship, and Truth, ah, whither are ye fled ? 
 Passion, Desire, are all I now can prove ; 
 
 And if by Virtue I am sometimes led, 
 'Tis but inform! Because I can't remove 
 
 At once, the trammels round me she hath spread. 
 Sophronia ! See Sophronia? I'm undone ! — 
 Like life's worst plague her presence should I shun ! — 
 
 21. 
 " But I have pledg'd myself to go : — and go 
 I must ! —But will, alas ! my tottering feet 
 To her threshold bear me ? and if 'twere e'en so, 
 
 Will my parch'd quivering lips his words repeat ? — 
 Will not these throbbing nerves, these veins, whose flow 
 • Of madden'd blood makes audibly to beat 
 My bursting heart, — which seems as if 'twere wrung 
 With life's last conflict, — paralyze my tongue?" 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 169 
 
 22. 
 "But go I must ! The motives, on the which 
 
 Gisippus tore himself from hence, require 
 The strictest secrecy : if known, a breach, 
 
 As he himself confess'd, they might inspire 
 Betwixt his bride and him. He could not reach 
 
 Then the high summit of his heart's desire? — 
 Let me not think on that ! My brain turns round ! — 
 In that one thought all good resolve is drown'd f 
 
 23. 
 That he might not have time to think how great 
 
 His danger was, that danger he defied ! 
 His course he bent towards Sophronia's gate. — 
 
 Or ere he saw Gisippus' destin'd bride, 
 Ye gentles listen to me, while I state 
 
 Who the maid was whom him it terrified 
 So much to meet : while I to you display 
 The source of his love for Sophronia. — 
 
 24. 
 Sophronia was a maid of gentle birth, 
 
 *But little known, less seen, and never prais'd ; 
 f Within the precincts of her lonely hearth 
 
 On her Gisippus only fondly gaz'd, 
 
 * Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede. 
 
 Tasso, Can. 2do. Stan. 16. 
 -J- E' il suo pregio maggior, die tra le mura 
 D'angusta casa asconda i suoi gran pregi. 
 
 Tasso, Can. 2do. Stan, 14. 
 Q 
 
170 Titus and Gisippus, 
 
 Beyond that limit none ! By lofty worth, 
 
 And regal sentiments, this maid was rais'd 
 To pitch of noblest feeling. In her cell, 
 Save an aged mother, none with her did dwell. — 
 
 25. 
 
 Besides that she was sprung from noble line, — 
 By chances, though fall'n hence, not here to be 
 
 Recounted, — none could rightfully confine 
 Gisippus' choice, since, of both parents, he 
 
 Was now bereft. This maid did he incline 
 
 To make his wife, and when betroth'd was she, 
 
 He, from the loom t' exempt her, whence she gain'd 
 
 A pittance small, her mother which sustain'd, 
 
 26. 
 With generous interference, ere he was 
 
 Their frequent inmate, had conjur'd the dame 
 Once, in Sophronia's absence, from his mass 
 
 Of wealth ancestral, stipend small to claim. — 
 'Twas told Sophronia, that this sum did pass 
 
 Into their hands, by death of one, by name 
 Known only to her, a far kinsman, who 
 Had left her this sum with preamble due. — 
 
 27. 
 
 One day to Titus he divulg'd his choice, 
 
 And ask'd his friend, (as one their hearts were, so 
 
 One was their dwelling,) kindly to rejoice, 
 
 Since in his path Fortune had chanc'd to throw 
 
Titus and Gisippus . 171 
 
 A maid, whose gentle mien, and soothing voice, 
 
 Had caus'd his heart so fervently to glow, 
 That, finding he could not her charms withstand, 
 At last he'd challeng'd her t* accept his hand. — 
 
 28. 
 " Now all," exclaimed Gisippus, " that I want 
 
 Is your approval. Come with me, and see 
 This modest paragon." Titus did grant 
 
 His prayer at once, and cried, " most willingly !" 
 Ah, from that hour, poor youth, thy life was scant 
 
 Of hope and joy : all pleasure fled from thee !*— 
 In one rash look thou gav'st thyself away ; 
 And shadow of thyself wert from that day ! — 
 
 29. 
 Titus, of noble parents, noble son ; — 
 
 From Rome was sent to Chraames by his sire, 
 Who this youth, and Gisippus, plac'd with one 
 
 Who, in their bosoms, did the love inspire 
 Of virtuous lore, who both of them had won 
 
 To all which worthily good men admire. 
 The man who thus had nurtur'd these for fame, 
 Was Aristippus ! — A distinguish' d name !— 
 
 30. 
 In Titus, now, is all his labour lost. 
 
 From that day forth he pines, and pines. At last, 
 Once near Piraeus while he was engross'd, 
 
 Watching the ocean-billows as they pass'd, 
 
172 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 He saw Sophronia in a small boat toss'd, 
 
 A bow-shot from the shore. She seem'd aghast. 
 The place was rocky, and the swelling wave, 
 Threaten'd her momently a watery grave. — 
 
 31. 
 From Salamis she came, where she had been 
 
 To see some kinsman of her buried sire ; 
 The urgent peril, in which she was seen, 
 
 From Titus instant succour did require. 
 O'er the boat's side he saw her white arm lean • 
 
 Wave after wave, now higher, and now higher,. 
 Broke o'er it, as the small skiff 'twould immerge ? 
 And, worse than this, rocks lurk'd beneath the surge. 
 
 32. 
 His robe he flung on earth, and in the sea, 
 
 Thoughtless of danger, plung'd without delay; 
 Scarce had two waves roll'd o'er him, scarce was he 
 
 Beheld a second time to brave the spray 
 And surging swell, which threaten'd yawningly 
 
 His strenuous toil to terminate for aye, 
 When, just as she the name of Titus shriek'd, 
 Sophronia's boat against a rock was wreck'd. — 
 
 33. 
 He plung'd amain! She sank ; and, as it seem'd, 
 
 Never to rise ! The parting ocean clos'd 
 Over her gulphing form, you would have deem'd 
 
 That strength of ten men then did interpose 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 173 
 
 All knit in Titus, so to have redeem'd 
 
 Her on whom secretly his heart repos'd. 
 One moment was her gleamy robe beheld ; 
 The next 'twas lost! Her doom a faint groan fcnell'd ! 
 
 34. 
 Madden'd by agony, by transport strung, 
 
 With panting toss the boisterous sea he clave, 
 And as his strenuous arms he backward flung, 
 
 His black locks floated on the foamy wave. — 
 Now must the deed be done ! E'en now among 
 
 Those rocks must he now snatch her from the grave, 
 Or all is lost for ever, he too lost! 
 For ne'er had he surviv'd whom he lov'd most ! — 
 
 35. 
 Prone 'mid the rocks he dives ! He's gone for aye ! — 
 
 Thus would have cried who saw him disappear : 
 But, as it chanc'd, upon that stormy day 
 
 Not one was gazing from Piraeus' pier.— 
 Two mariners who brought Sophronia 
 
 From Salamis, so much were, by their fear 
 And present danger, overcome, that they, 
 Their own escape, for nothing would delay. — 
 
 36. 
 Prone 'mid the rocks he dives ! Long time had he 
 
 Been now invisible ! At last he rose, 
 Bearing in his right arm triumphantly 
 The dearest burthen it did e'er enclose. 
 Q2 
 
174 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 Just then the ocean-swell propitiously 
 
 Drove landward, so that ere again he throws 
 His other arm to dash away the billow, 
 He gain'd a footing on the ebbing shallow. — 
 
 37. 
 He is on land ; on safe land is he come : 
 
 Sophronia's head he pillows on a stone : 
 A death-like paleness hath usurp'd her bloom ; 
 
 Her head falls lapsing on his shoulder. None 
 Were there to give him aid ! He fears her doom 
 
 Is seal'd for evermore ! At last a groan 
 Burst from her livid lips, and then the word 
 " Titus" he heard, or fancied that he heard ! — 
 
 38. 
 Where was he then ? From death to life restor'd ! — 
 
 From hell to heaven ! To rapture from despair ! 
 His hand he now lays on that breast ador'd ; 
 
 And now her pulse he feels ; and now — (beware, 
 Beware, rash youth !) his lips draw in a hoard 
 
 Of perfume from her lips, which though they were 
 Still clos'd, yet oft the inarticulate sigh, 
 Issuing from thence, he drank with ecstasy. 
 
 39. 
 Still were they cold ; her hands were also cold ; 
 
 Those hands he chaf'd, and perhaps to restore 
 To her chill paly lips their warmth, so bold 
 
 He grew, he kiss'd those pale lips o'er and o'er. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 175 
 
 Nay, to revive in their most perfect mould 
 
 Their wonted rubeous hue, he dared do more ;-^~ 
 He glued his mouth to them, and breath'd his breath 
 To die with her, or rescue her from death. — 
 
 40. 
 Thou art undone, mad youth ! The fire of love 
 
 Burn'd so intensely in his throbbing veins, 
 That, had she been a statue, he might prove 
 
 A new Pygmalion, and the icy chains 
 Of death defy. Well then might he remove 
 
 The torpor which her o'erwrought frame sustains. — 
 If sweet, revival from such menac'd death; 
 More sweet, revival by a lover's breath ! 
 
 41. 
 She feels the delicate influence through her thrill, 
 
 And with seal'd eye lay in a giddy trance, 
 Scarce dare she open them, when had her will 
 
 On this been bent, she felt the power to glance 
 Their lights on him. No, with a lingering skill — 
 
 Oh, blame her not ! — she did awhile enhance 
 The bliss of that revival, by a feign'd 
 Or half-feign'd shew of conflict still sustain'd. 
 
 42. 
 At last, she look'd ! — They look'd ! — Eye met with eye! 
 
 The whole was told ! The lover, and the lov'd, 
 The ador'd, and the adorer, ecstasy 
 
 Never 'till then experienc'd — swiftly prov'd ! — 
 
176 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 Thanks for his aid were a mean courtesy ! 
 
 They were forgotten ! Transport unreprov'd, 
 This was his guerdon ; this his rich reward ! 
 An hour's oblivion with Sophronia shar'd ! 
 
 43, 
 Then all the world was lost to them, in one 
 
 Fulness of unimaginable bliss ! — 
 Infinity was with them ! and the zone 
 
 Unbound whence Venus sheds upon a kiss 
 Nectareous essences, and raptures known 
 
 Ne'er save to moments unprepard as this ! 
 And in that earnest impulse did they find 
 Peace and intensity, alike combin'd ! 
 
 44. 
 To frame such joy, these things are requisite ; 
 
 A lofty nature ; the exalting stress 
 Of stimulating trials ; which requite, 
 
 And antecedent sorrows, doubly bless. 
 Consummate sympathies, which souls unite ; 
 
 And a conjuncture, whence no longer press 
 Impulses — long as these delights we prove — 
 From one thing foreign to the world of love. 
 
 45. 
 This could not last ! Not merely would a word ; — 
 
 A gesture would, a look, dissolve the charm ! — 
 Could home be mention'd, nor the thought restor'd, 
 
 To her remembrance, of Gisippus' warm 
 
Titus and Gisippus. Ill 
 
 And manly love ? Bless'd be ye with your hoard 
 
 Of transient bliss, and be ye safe from harm, 
 Ye fond, fond pair! But think not joys so high 
 Can be inwoven with reality ! 
 
 46. 
 At last a swift revulsion through her frame 
 
 And o'er her countenance stole : a sudden pause ! 
 Her eyes, which had imbib'd a piercing flame, 
 
 Fell at once rayless ; and her bosom draws 
 One in-pent sigh ; one look imploring came 
 
 O'er her fine face ! Titus knew well the cause 
 Of this so sudden change : he dar'd not speak ; 
 He dar'd not move ; dar'd not its reason seek ! 
 
 47. 
 Some minutes they were silent. Night advanc'd ; 
 
 Titus, towards himself, Sophronia press'd, 
 But dumb he stood ; upward she faintly glanc'd 
 
 A look upbraiding, and upon his breast — 
 Gently reclining — lay like one entranc'd ! 
 
 No longer now was happiness her guest. 
 She starts ! She cries " Gisippus !" — All is told ! — 
 Cold fell the word, on bosoms still more cold ! 
 
 48. 
 They rose, and crept along in silentness. — 
 
 Sophronia reach' d her home, but nothing said, 
 E'en to her mother, of her past distress. 
 
 Her threshold past not Titus. — Thence he fled, 
 
178 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 Soon as in safety he the maid did guess, 
 
 Like to a madman madden'd more with dread ! 
 Nor ever of this night, or of its spell 
 Of mighty love, did he breathe syllable ! 
 
 49. 
 Not that between Sophronia and the youth 
 
 Agreement had been made to hide the thing ; 
 But, such a consciousness of the whole truth 
 
 Each felt, and such remorse did either wring, 
 That nothing, from each passion-sealed mouth, 
 
 Of what had chanc'd could e'en a whisper wring. 
 From that time they ne'er met, from that time ne'er 
 Did Titus see Sophronia any where. 
 
 50. 
 The youth* himself divulg'd, in that strong fit 
 
 Of anguish which his spirit did sustain, 
 When to his care Gisippus did commit 
 
 The trust, by which he doom'd him to explain 
 His absence to Sophronia, — that love lit 
 
 Such malady in every fev'rous vein 
 That life with death long struggled. Twas e'en so !- 
 E'en now his health was but an empty shew. 
 
 51. 
 Yet love a hectic o'er his cheek did spread ; 
 Love lent a liquid lustre to his eyes, 
 
 * See stanza fourteenth. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 179 
 
 And since none saw the worm that inly fed 
 
 Upon his vitals, none did recognize 
 That, from a gnawing restlessness — a dread 
 
 Of stillness, and of solitude, — did rise 
 All that fictitious strength, which they believ'd, 
 From convalescence sprung, and health retriev'd ! 
 
 52. 
 Such Titus was. Such had his intercourse 
 
 Been with Sophronia ! I will not detain 
 My patient hearers with a long discourse 
 
 Touching the cause Gisippus did sustain 
 From his troth'd bride that night such strange divorce : 
 
 If ye consent to listen to my strain, 
 That will, like many other things, in time, 
 Be in the record of this simple rhyme. 
 
 53. 
 But to return to Titus. On he went, 
 
 Or rather totter'd, 'till he touch' d the latch 
 Of poor Sophronia's dwelling. Well nigh spent 
 
 With agitation, he essay'd to catch, 
 Or ere he lifted it, some argument 
 
 Of hopeful augury ; and he did watch, 
 Dumb and immoveable, that dreary night, 
 To hear her dreaded voice, or footstep light. 
 
 54. 
 And if a glimpse of light chequer' d the ground, 
 Fall'n from her window, how his pulses throbb'd ! 
 
180 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 In tip-toe expectation, and profound, 
 
 He heard each far-off busy noise which robb'd 
 
 The dark night of its silence ! Not a sound 
 
 At last was heard, save when the pine-tree sobb'd 
 
 To the cold wintry wind. The city hum, 
 
 Heard for a time, portentously was dumb ! 
 
 55. 
 " I must !" at length he cried ; and 'twas despair 
 
 That help'd him to confront despair at last : 
 " I must !" he cried, and when he least could bear 
 
 The thing he did, he smote the door in haste. 
 The latch was stirr'd, the door's hinge did he hear 
 
 Creaking, as if the hand, which held it fast, 
 Open'd it apprehensively. The well- 
 Known form he saw ; and on the earth he fell. 
 
 56. 
 
 How long that trance remain'd he might not know ; 
 
 Who can Sophronia's troubled state pourtray, 
 When on the threshold, — spectacle of woe, — 
 
 Helpless, — her unacknowledg'd lover lay 
 Stiff as in death ! She knew not if to go ; — 
 
 And to behold him perish could she stay ? 
 Her mother, as it chanc'd, from ailment slight, 
 Had to her couch repair'd at fall of night. 
 
 57 
 What could she do ? She drew his form supine, 
 Panting for breath, and faint, along the floor ; . 
 
Titus and G isippus. 181 
 
 She kiss'd his cheek, and made his head recline 
 Upon her lap, when she had clos'd the door. 
 
 With sedulous care, she brought some spicy wine, 
 Which, she had heard, was potent to restore 
 
 Life's lapsed functions, and bedew'd with this 
 
 His livid lips, which often she did kiss. — 
 
 58. 
 Oft to his nostrils, did her hand apply 
 
 Some subtle essences ; his temples chill, 
 Chafing them with her soft hand inwardly, 
 
 She bath'd with juice which potent herbs distil. 
 " Titus, my Titus !" often would she cry : — 
 
 An&tax'd her memory for it's little skill 
 In arts medicinal. But his strong trance 
 Baffled awhile her earnest vigilance. 
 
 59. 
 It was a piteous sight to see the maid, 
 
 Sustaining that fine form exanimate ; — 
 Adown her cheek the big drops slowly stray'd, 
 
 Then on her lover fell. A precious freight ! — 
 Could not these balmy tear-drops then pervade 
 
 The seat of sense, and rouse him from that state 
 Of death-like inanition ! If they fail'd, 
 Could any mortal succour have avail'd ? — 
 
 60. 
 His bosom heaves, a struggling sigh escapes! 
 His fix'd, glaz'd eyes their vacant orbs unseal ; 
 
182 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 But yet he only sees chaotic shapes ; 
 
 Chaotic visions o'er his spirit steal ! 
 He fancies that beneath him grimly gapes 
 
 A trackless gulph ; with fear he seems to reel. — 
 Upright he sat. My Titus ! murmur'd she : — 
 And he laugh'd loudly with a fearful glee ! 
 
 61. 
 Down, down, upon her bended knees she slid, 
 
 And threw her arms around his neck, and press'd 
 His faint brows to her cheek, and then she hid 
 
 His clammy face in her enamour'd breast. — 
 Meanwhile, her tears, — as if they had been bid 
 
 To be the almoners of her behest, 
 As fraught with eloquence, — did trickle down 
 His cheek, and neck, and forehead, one by one. — 
 
 62. 
 He felt the piteous drops, and rais'd his eye ; 
 
 " Sophronia," breath'd he faintly : then oppressed, 
 Sank down again, as if resolv'd to die, 
 
 And thus* " take up his everlasting rest." 
 Murmur to murmur, now, and sigh to sigh, 
 
 Scarce audibly responded, and the breast 
 Both of the maiden, and the lover, heav'd 
 Groans, which seem'd as of life they them bereav'd.- 
 
 * Here 
 Will I take up my everlasting rest, 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 From this world-wearied flesh. Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 ) 
 | 
 
 ( 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 183 
 
 63. 
 First spake Sophronia. " Was this wisely done ?" 
 
 u Not wisely, nor yet wilfully," replied 
 The wretched youth : " no, I am sent upon 
 
 Another's errand. He, of whom the bride 
 Thou art, from Athens is this evening gone ; 
 
 On errand which he would to none confide; 
 Not e'en to me ! Whom he to thee has sent, 
 To advertise thee of this strange event: — 
 
 64. 
 " For strange it well may seem that one should go 
 
 From thy dear presence, when to-morrow morn 
 Will bring so measureless an overflow 
 
 Of the best joys which can on earth be born. 
 'Tis well the cause for this I do not know, 
 
 For this parch'd tongue, and this sunk heart forlorn 
 Scarcely the power of utterance to me spare ; 
 Grief such as mine cannot long parley bear." 
 
 65. 
 This said, he paus'd. " Gisippus gone from hence !" — 
 
 Exclaim'd Sophronia, " nor I know the cause ; 
 That noble bosom never knew pretence ; 
 
 Nor e'er evaded honour's sacred laws !" 
 " No, never, never !" Titus cried, " and thence 
 
 I am entrusted" — " Whence this sudden pause?" 
 Sophronia cried, " It is too hard a task !" 
 Titus rejoin'd, " Why did my friend this ask V* 
 
184 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 66. 
 
 " But I am sure he honours me too much, 
 
 Me on unworthy errand to commend ; 
 Though he told not his journey's cause, I vouch 
 
 It had a good one, or his dearest friend 
 He ne'er had its contaminating touch 
 
 Suffer'd t' approach. Gisippus to defend 
 Thus, is my duty. I almost forget 
 That he's my rival when the mighty debt 
 
 67. 
 
 " Of Love I owe him rushes on my heart !" — 
 
 *Oh, the nobility of men of old ! 
 Rivals they were ; one did the other thwart ; 
 
 Gisippus, Titus' dearest aims controul'd ; 
 From him did he uncourteously depart ; 
 
 Him had he bade a message to unfold 
 "Which clave his heart in twain ; yet, with prompt 
 
 phrase, 
 That Rival, to his mistress, doth he praise! 
 
 * O gran bonta de' Cavalieri antiqui !— 
 
 Eran rivali, eran di Fe diversi, 
 
 E si sentian degli aspri colpi iniqui 
 
 Per tutta la persona anco dolersi ; 
 E pur per selve oscure, e calli iniqui 
 Insieme van, senza sospetto aversi. 
 
 Ariostoy Canto primo, stanza 22. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 185 
 
 68. 
 " Be strong, be strong V exclaim'd Sophronia — 
 
 " Moment of weakness has been ours, alas ! 
 But thou hast made me think whom we betray ; 
 
 Hast made me blush at the surrender base" — 
 " Stop !" Titus cries, " never shall such a day 
 
 As this, upon the earth's astonish' d face 
 Behold me more ! My life — for this alone 
 Can do it fitly — shall for this atone." 
 
 69 
 
 Who has e'er seen the weeping statue stand 
 Of childless Niobe, may perhaps guess 
 
 The pale despondency, which, as with band 
 Of desolation, did all hope suppress, 
 
 So that not one word could her tongue command ! 
 How could she other than with tenderness 
 
 Upbraid her lover for such dire resolve ? — 
 
 Yet one kind word her virtue would dissolve ! — 
 
 70. 
 
 It is a hard lot when we are so chain'd 
 
 By duty, and such fiery influence 
 Of passion o'er the madden'd breast hath reign'd, 
 
 That we — lest by a conflict too intense 
 We should be self-betray' d — become constraint 
 
 To wear the armour of indifference : 
 Which, the more feign'd, more needful the loath'dtask 
 With it's mail'd adamant the whole man to mask ! 
 r2 
 
1 86 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 71. 
 
 At such a time, a gesture, look, or tear. 
 
 Will mar the stoutest resolution ; 
 That stern arbitrement which months did rear. 
 
 A fond " farewel," a mandate to be gone, 
 A dumb look, cause at once to disappear ; 
 
 Two parting lovers make for ever one ! — 
 So felt Sophronia. One that so well lov'd, 
 Could she then banish ? Could she see unmov'd ? 
 
 72. 
 She knew not where to look, nor what to say ; — 
 
 She felt the claim of him who was not there ; 
 She knew he lov'd her, and that as the day, 
 
 Honest his words, honesthis feelings, were. 
 And though 'twas strange Titus might not convey 
 
 Whatcaus'd his absence, 'twas a deed so rare, 
 A deed so much with all his deeds at strife, 
 Exception seem'd it to his rule of life. — 
 
 73, 
 'Twere hard to suffer, of a life unblam'd, 
 
 One deed to soil the uniformity ; 
 And she who was for honour justly fam'd 
 
 Was little prone t' equivocating plea. — 
 E'en had he wrong'd her, she had never claim'd — 
 
 E'en in most absolute emergency — 
 Right to recriminate. Though she might faulter, 
 She knew an upright conscience ne'er could palter. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 187 
 
 74. 
 What shall she do ! What not do ? — Titus stood 
 
 Before her the dumb statue of despair ; 
 His voiceless look more eloquently sued 
 
 Than most persuasive words : he did not dare, 
 Except at intervals, e'en to intrude 
 
 A stolen glance. The big drops here and there 
 On his brow trembled. From his labouring heart 
 Quick spasmy pulses o'er his face did dart. — 
 
 75. 
 Big was the hour with fate ! For utterance, far, 
 
 Far, too forlorn were they ! Yet could they fly ? — 
 To all beneath day's universal star 
 
 That each ador'd, " farewel, for ever !" cry ? — 
 For ever, in one moment, being bar 
 
 Of every hope? For ever from the eye 
 Of each, the other banish ; and exclude 
 That, without which, earth were a solitude ? — 
 
 76. 
 To tell the pang the virtuous bosom knows 
 
 When ruthless passion hath usurp'd its seat, 
 Would ask for words of fire ! Can tongue disclose 
 
 The agony when bursting bosoms meet, 
 And yet strict rectitude doth interpose 
 
 Between their wish, and that fruition sweet 
 Of hearts entwin'd, when love — delirious elf ! 
 Makes each in each obtain a second self? — : 
 
188 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 77. 
 Only minds noble thus can nobly love ; — 
 
 And noble minds are to themselves a law ; — 
 None ever such an ecstasy could prove 
 
 Who knew not virtue's consecrating awe. — 
 He that could easily restraints remove, 
 
 Soon from his being will those powers withdraw ;— 
 The powers of passion, as of rectitude : — 
 And be exempted from such conflict rude. — 
 
 78. 
 At last, with reckless agony o'ercome, 
 
 Titus his arms around Sophronia threw, 
 His very soul seem'd as 'twould leave its home, 
 
 And with his breath rush forth, as he did glue 
 His lips on hers, " Now let what will come, come !" 
 
 He cried. — " Existence ne'er till now, I knew ! — 
 " The present, — future, — I alike defy ! — 
 I feel victorious e'en o'er destiny !" 
 
 79. 
 " Thou shalt not leave me ! Thou shalt never leave !- 
 
 Nor ever, ever, from my arms be torn ! — 
 He that, of thy charms, could himself bereave 
 
 One moment, — though all nature him did warn 
 To such surrender, — I can ne'er forgive ! — 
 
 Object is he of everlasting scorn ! 
 I now retract all that erewhile I spoke ; 
 And from this moment throw off friendship's yoke." 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 189 
 
 80. 
 
 " Titus!" Sophronia plaintively exclaim'd, 
 Yet half rebukingly. She could no more ! — 
 
 Though piteous tenderness her face inflam'd, 
 The impress of displeasure still it bore. — 
 
 As he beheld her, while he fain had fram'd 
 
 Excuse for that which — e'en to his heart's core — 
 
 He felt repentant to have said, the rush 
 
 Of contrite tears o'er all his face did gush — 
 
 81. 
 
 He that erewhile had like a statue stood, 
 
 Smote with dumb anguish, reckless with despair ; 
 
 He whose glaz'd eyes, as they her form pursu'd, 
 Till now emitted an unnatural glare, 
 
 From him, that instant, burst a copious flood 
 Of tears : her ready tears the signal share. — 
 
 Fly, — fly, — rash youth ! Oh fly ! For thou art lost, 
 
 By thee, the threshold not this instant cross'd — 
 
 -82. 
 
 Their souls did melt in mutual sympathy ; 
 
 In the delirious luxury of woe! 
 Oh, say that love can guerdon worthily, 
 
 If e'en unhappy Love such bliss can know.- — 
 Yes, there is more of real ecstasy 
 
 In every trickling tear that then did flow, 
 Mingling in one sweet stream,' than ever yet 
 The world gave, when it paid its mightiest debt. 
 
190 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 83. 
 *Whisper'd expressions, inarticulate words, 
 
 Sobs interrupted, mix'd with weeping sighs, 
 These were the dainty almoners of hoards 
 
 Of secret consolation love applies. 
 Who can plead poverty, though fate affords, 
 
 But once, such solace to life's destinies? 
 The soul that once has lov'd, from thence enjoys 
 A charter, beggaring all earthly toys ! — 
 
 84. 
 It gains an insight in the human heart, 
 
 xlnd all its earthly mysteries thence can know ; — 
 A Rubicon has past, which has the art 
 
 A new baptismal essence to bestow ! 
 It wears a precious gem, whose rays can dart 
 
 Into all labyrinths of human woe, 
 And thence extracts, as if by chemic care, 
 Sweetness from torment, transport from despair. — 
 
 85. 
 In brief, new sense it gains ! Nobility 
 
 Of imprescriptible and holy birth ! — 
 Higher than that which waits on ancestry ; 
 
 And still more high than that whose puny worth 
 
 * Sommessi accenti, e tacite parole, 
 Rotti singulti, e flebili sospiri. 
 
 Tasso, libi 3. stan. t>; 
 
 ;., 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 191 
 
 Hangs on some parchment's charter'd blazonry : — 
 
 Finally, of all feelings of this earth 
 Next to religion, it may well take place ; 
 With such high gifts man's spirit doth it grace. — 
 
 Such was their love, a love in aim as pure 
 And lofty, as in passion 'twas intense ; 
 
 A love, which, being felt, must aye endure, 
 Long as the soul in flesh has residence. 
 
 A love which all can sacrifice : — though poor, 
 Which deems itself most wealthy, while the sense 
 
 Of honour lasts ; this is the perilous test 
 
 Which lost, 'tis curs'd, though with fruition bless'd. 
 
 87. ' 
 And, though in all oppos'd, yet this retain'd, 
 
 With which 'tis rich e'en in the midst of woe j 
 I challenge any one t' have ascertain'd 
 
 That ever true love did a comfort know, 
 Where lawless bliss by lawless means was gain'd : — 
 
 Esteem may well be felt without love's glow, 
 But frail as tender bloom of fruit matur'd, 
 Love never forfeited esteem endured. — 
 
 But to return. For I have long digress'd 
 From the two lovers, then in perilous plight ; 
 
 When each the other had awhile caress'd ; 
 And when love's paroxysm at such height 
 
192 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 Was, that with it some feelings did molest 
 
 Of threaten'd danger, — yes, when e'en most bright 
 Love's lamp did burn, — that honourable pair 
 Stood, once more sever'd from each other, there. 
 
 89. 
 " Farewel" — cried Titus, mournfully. " Farewel," 
 
 Exclaim'd Sophronia — they felt all had been 
 That now could be ! they dar'd not longer dwell 
 
 In persevering in the past-gone scene. 
 At first 'twas impulse. Now 'twere to rebel 
 
 Against awaken'd honour, when the skreen 
 By conscience was remov'd, which did preclude 
 Thought of the issue of such passionate mood. 
 
 90. 
 " Farewel — farewel." And now a silent grasp 
 
 Of her cold hand, and one despairing look, — 
 Or ere the night-air caught his shuddering gasp, 
 
 Was all the further leave of her he took. 
 How he that night the portal did unclasp 
 
 Of his love's dwelling, how his heart could brook 
 The last farewel, — soon as the door did close, 
 Were thoughts that, in his breast, self-question'd, rose. 
 
 91. 
 Again he rush'd toward the door — 'twas fast ! 
 
 In at the window peep'd — 'twas darkness all ! 
 How long that spasm of the heart did last, 
 
 Which held him, like a statue, in mute thrall, 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 193 
 
 I cannot tell ; but ere it from him pass'd, 
 What a keen agony from him did call 
 Each leaf that fell, the slightest breeze that stirr'd ; 
 The slightest glimpse, or glimmer that appear'd ! 
 
 92. 
 He dar'd not cry " Sophronia !" far too much 
 
 He wish'd to see her, far too much he held 
 Her name in passionate reverence, to avouch — 
 
 E'en though by keenest agony compell'd — 
 Such wish e'en to the ear of night ; to touch 
 
 Once more e'en but her garment's hem, had thrill'd 
 His heart with ecstasy ; and how he could 
 Have left her, he a whit not understood. 
 
 93. 
 " A little moment since the power was mine, 
 
 To see, or not to see thee !" thus he cried ; 
 " And now how agonizingly I pine 
 
 Soe'er, thy further presence is denied. 
 What nameless gulph is that, which can't combine 
 
 The present with the past ! not Hell doth hide 
 A drearier curse, than that curse which doth dwell 
 In that one little word — impossible ! 
 
 94. 
 " What would I now give to be where I was ! 
 
 I seem to have fall'n from Heaven to the shade 
 Of death ! swift thought can in a moment pass 
 
 Over that gulph, which I can never tread. 
 
194 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 I have play'd a losing game with Time ! alas, 
 That bliss which Fate upon my being shed, 
 Would I regain, it now must effort be ! 
 No ! ne'er returns a once spurn' d destiny ! 
 
 95. 
 And well he knew, that, could he now retrieve 
 
 Inform, what he had lost, he never could 
 Recover it in spirit ! We deceive 
 
 Ourselves egregiously, when understood 
 *The same thing twice to be the same ! Bereave 
 
 Pleasure of charms, with which it is endued, 
 By inexpectancy, and though the same 
 In all besides, 'tis pleasure but in name ! 
 
 96. 
 How could he feel, if he an effort made 
 
 Once more to see Sophronia, that he was 
 O'ercome by impulse ? ere aware, betray'd 
 
 Into the depths of passion? No, what has 
 
 * The author, perhaps, here may be pardoned in making an observa- 
 tion, which at first sight may appear more trifling than it really will be 
 found to be on further reflection, since it is capable of such ample appli- 
 cation, though the instance in which he exemplifies it may lay him open 
 to animadversion. Let any one recollect when a particular party or 
 excursion have been more than usually gratifying, and in consequence 
 he has endeavoured a second time to promote such a party or excursion — 
 though in externals every thing was the same the second time as the 
 first— did he ever find the second answer ? 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 195 
 
 Been, ne'er can be again ! the retrograde 
 
 Which would the maze of ecstasy repass, 
 Beholds, with blazing sword, a spectre glare 
 Across its path, and cry " beware — beware I" 
 
 97. 
 Like to a shadow, which behind us lies, 
 
 Not seen, 'till we our onward path retrace, 
 This ghost is only met by those rash eyes 
 
 Which would look on the unveil'd elfish face 
 Of painted passion ; 'tis but her disguise 
 
 That charms us. Seek we once more to embrace 
 Her with premeditation, we shall find 
 That she seem'd only fair, since we were blind. 
 
 98. 
 *Thus when Rogero first Alcina lov'd, 
 
 She seem'd endow'd with superhuman charms, 
 And preternatural ecstasies he prov'd, 
 
 All centred in her fascinating arms ; 
 But when brief interval had him remov'd 
 
 From her enticements, and when reason arms 
 His new-brac'd soul, and he on her did gaze 
 A second time, a foul witch he surveys. 
 
 99. 
 It is th* involuntary, which doth give 
 
 All charm, to all that charms in passion's trance ; 
 
 * See Ariosto, canto 7? stanza 73. 
 
196 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 It is a downward path ! and we may strive, 
 As well, to make it the same thing t'advance 
 
 Up a steep hill, or down that hill to drive 
 In prone career, as to desire — with glance 
 
 Of retrospect, tr find identity 
 
 In objects we prospectively did see ! 
 
 100. 
 The wretch feels, who upon the very brink 
 
 Doth stand of possibility of bliss, 
 And yet that bliss is lost, as those who sink, 
 
 Unfathomably gulph'd in some abyss : 
 When the strain'd eye with agony doth shrink 
 
 From needful succour, that so near them is, 
 It seems as if, in mockery, sent by Fate, 
 The moment's agony to aggravate. 
 
 101. 
 
 Breathless he lay, her lattice frame beneath ; 
 
 Breathless he watch'd a light move to and fro ; 
 The thin partition seem'd his frame to writhe, 
 
 Which he between her and himself did know : 
 And once, when he believ'd he heard her breathe 
 
 Faintly his name, an interval his woe 
 Was all forgotten ; through his night-chill'd frame, 
 There swiftly rush'd a warm suffusing flame. 
 
 102. 
 But this could not long last. Upon his soul 
 Then fell the icy fingers of despair. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 197 
 
 Foam'd his parch'd mouth ; and on the ground did roll 
 His form convuls'd : the bitter biting air 
 
 He heeded not ; nor, though that night the growl 
 Of thunder, and the lightning's lurid glare 
 
 Career'd above, and fell on him thick rains, 
 
 Was he aware that he their shock sustains. 
 
 103. 
 Shaken by recent malady was he ; 
 
 His seeming strength from weakness but arose : 
 To cope with such a strong hostility 
 
 Of adverse passions, and endure its throes, 
 So ill accords with such infirmity, 
 
 That his wild brain, impatient of such woes, 
 Became delirious, and fantastic forms 
 Danc'd o'er his vision in terrific swarms. 
 
 104. 
 Through Athens' streets now wildly did he fly, 
 
 Clenching his hands, and tearing his black hair ; 
 And oft from time to time he rais'd a cry — 
 
 " Sophronia ! my Sophronia ! where, oh where 
 Hast thou conceal'd thyself? yon lofty sky, 
 
 Or the profoundest deep, or earth, or air, 
 Or night, or day, or the remotest clime, 
 Or strength of men or gods, or length of time, 
 
 105. 
 " Shall not secure thee from my potent grasp! 
 Thou shalt be mine ! — I swear thou shalt be mine ! 
 
 s2 
 
198 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 E'en though I tear thee from th' almighty clasp 
 Of Jove himself! — though Neptune's watery brine 
 
 Have merg'd thee thousand fathoms deep !"— with 
 gasp 
 Of sudden death, then seem'd he to resign 
 
 His o'erwrought powers : headlong, he fell beside 
 
 A crystal well, which near a path did glide. 
 
 106. 
 
 That path contiguous to a road did lie, 
 
 Which from Piraeus' Port towards Athens led ; 
 
 As it did chance Gisippus came thereby, 
 Having his unimparted errand sped. 
 
 Scarce had the morning dawn'd ; the troubled sky, 
 'Mid billowy clouds, was streak'd with lurid red ; 
 
 And earth; and heaven; the trees which, ere that 
 night, 
 
 Thick foliag'd stood, all spake the past storm's might. 
 
 107. 
 
 Towards winter autumn then was verging : — then, 
 For the first season, with unmuffled face, 
 
 Had winter dar'd to stalk thro' ev'ry scene, 
 And rob the pale earth of that lingering grace 
 
 Of tints, of flowers, of leaves, which seem'd to lean, 
 With a meek trust, in the prolong'd embrace 
 
 Of nature : for the first time, then arose 
 
 The distant mountains clad with morning snows. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 199 
 
 Upon the half-stripp'd branches, which did bend 
 To the wild blast, here droop'd a yellow leaf, 
 
 And there a brown one. With day's light did blend 
 A sombre shade which spoke of nature's grief. — 
 
 To the eager air the season seem'd to lend 
 A piercing shrewdness ; and if still a sheaf 
 
 Broke the long furrows' level, soddening rains 
 
 Had smear'd its golden hue with dingy stains. 
 
 109. 
 The leaves whirl'd eddying towards the plashy ground; 
 
 Their lustre gone, the shrivell'd flow'rets droop'd ; 
 And, from afar, on every side around, 
 
 Were heard deep bodings, as if tempests, coop'd 
 In viewless caves, thence issued with profound 
 
 And gusty menaces : the night-wolf whoop'd 
 A dismal requiem to the waning year : — 
 All sights look'd sorrow, and all sounds breath'd fear. 
 
 110. 
 Th' autumnal moon with pale and watery face 
 
 Westward was verging, and her shadowy rim 
 Thin, floating, mist-like clouds, seem'd to embrace ; 
 
 Hovering about her, as if they would dim 
 Her silver light ; so shorn her golden grace, 
 
 So like a spectre did her glances swim 
 On that cold morning's brow, that she might well 
 The demon seem that wove its blighting spell. 
 
200 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 111. 
 Gisippus, as I said, prone in his car, 
 
 With brandish'd whip along that road did steer ; 
 On whose near pathway, he, while yet afar, 
 
 Thought that a human body did appear. 
 His chariot wheels now doubly rapid are ; 
 
 Soon he approaches ; and, with what severe 
 And stupid horror, — I need not declare — 
 He saw his dearest Titus lying there ! 
 
 112. 
 Titus his head did raise ; his eyes did glare ; 
 
 And, with unnatural laugh, he cried " avaunt !" 
 " Who art thou, who presumptuously would'st dare 
 
 To speak to me ? Wherefore dost thou thus haunt 
 My privacy ? Whoe'er thou art, beware ! — 
 
 I well know how t' avenge the cruel taunt 
 Of heartless foes ! Friends I have none ! Not one ! 
 No 1 With Sophronia every friend is gone !" 
 
 113. 
 
 <( I am Gisippus. Dost thou not recall 
 
 My mien, my voice ?" his weeping friend replied :— 
 *' Gisippus ? Art thou he ? That criminal 
 
 That could forsake so an expecting bride ? — 
 Thy voice is death to me ! Would I for all 
 
 The earth contains, have any want supplied 
 By thee ? I know thee not ! There is betwixt 
 Thee, and myself, a bottomless gulph fix'd." — 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 201 
 
 114. 
 " Thou art ill I" Gisippus said, " and can I quit 
 
 Thee, to the bitter biting of this blast ? — 
 No, take my arm, and deign with me to sit 
 
 In yonder chariot. It will soon be past, 
 This dreadful agony ! It is most fit 
 
 That a friend's ear should hear what thus hath cast 
 This frenzy on thee : that a dear friend's care 
 Should soothe thy sorrows, and those sorrows share." 
 
 115. 
 " Leave me ! Oh leave me ! I am not thy friend ! 
 
 Nor art thou mine !" with terrible voice exclaim'd 
 Titus : " and e'en one hour to condescend 
 
 To sit beside thee, I should be asham'd. 
 No, speedily from this place thy course bend ! — 
 
 Visit thy" — here a deep-drawn groan proclaim'd 
 The speaker's inward anguish, and a pulse 
 Of agony his countenance did convulse. — 
 
 116. 
 " What is it ails thee ?" cried Gisippus. " Nought," — 
 
 Titus replied, and on his feet he rose, 
 And swifter than the glance of swiftest thought, 
 
 A bow-shot distant from his friend he goes. — 
 He could no more. With fantasy distraught, 
 
 And faultering knees, again on earth he throws 
 His labouring form, and utter'd a deep cry, 
 Like to one pierc'd with speechless agony. — 
 
202 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 117. 
 Gisippus follow'd him, and bade a slave, 
 
 Who held his foaming coursers, thitherward 
 With him to go : and he of one did crave 
 
 Assistance, who along that path-way far'd. 
 " Stranger, a little help I fain would haVe 
 
 To lift a friend, who long with me has shar'd 
 All life's enjoyments, and who, as you see, 
 Is stretch'd on earth by strange infirmity. " 
 
 118. 
 
 Quickly these three repair'd where he did lie 
 
 Weltering in blood ; for such his pangs had been, 
 
 That, by them sore convuls'd, an artery 
 Had burst internally, from whose unseen 
 
 And dangerous cicatrice, most copiously 
 
 The blood gush'd forth. By this had Titus been, 
 
 Ere now, so weaken'd, that 'twas all in vain 
 
 For him, Gisippus' efforts to restrain. 
 
 119. 
 Into the chariot was he lifted ; next 
 
 Gisippus also mounted, and with scourge, 
 The mettled steeds, like one with care perplex'd, 
 
 Swiftly along the smooth road did he urge. — 
 His soul with inward wretchedness was vex'd, 
 
 And though in care for Titus he did merge 
 Other solicitudes, still o'er him came 
 Strange feelings from Sophronia's quoted name. — 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 203 
 
 120. 
 His dwelling now they reach'd, and on his bed 
 
 Was Titus laid ; a servant was despatch'd 
 A skilful leech to find. Gisippus laid 
 
 His hand on Titus' hand, and fondly watch'd 
 His infirm friend, of every breath afraid 
 
 That for a little moment could have catch'd 
 His rous'd attention, and forgetting quite 
 Sophronia, and each matrimonial rite. 
 
 121. 
 Sophronia meantime tardily obey'd 
 
 The mom's returning call. Upon her bed 
 That night her dizzy head she had not laid : 
 
 Her thoughts not once that sad night had been led 
 To dream of her near nuptials. O'er the maid 
 
 A passion infinite had likewise shed 
 Thoughts of infinity : she was entranced ; 
 Reality before her faintly glanc'd.— 
 
 122. 
 The past, the future, both to her were lost ; 
 
 Or, if not lost, the real did but seem 
 An obscure terror, now and then which cross'd 
 
 Her soul, like lightning's instantaneous gleam. 
 She was with passion utterly engross'd : — 
 
 Those who have been so, know that its strong dream 
 Defies external things, their pressure spurns, 
 As th' alchymist to gold each metal turns. 
 
204 Titus and Gisippus, 
 
 123. 
 So doth the rapt soul modify the dull 
 
 And obligatory concerns of life, 
 Through mediation of one powerful, 
 
 Imperative impression, that the strife 
 From duty and desire sprung, which oft pull 
 
 Contrarious ways, and this strange world, — so rife 
 With disappointment, — are compell'd to teem 
 With tributary rills, for one deep stream. 
 
 124. 
 Thus far'd it with Sophronia. She had felt 
 
 That preternatural passion which doth change 
 All things into itself ; and love had dealt 
 
 Its treasures out with such profusion strange, 
 That fear nor froze her heart, nor hope did melt : 
 
 No, through infinity her thoughts did range. 
 Yes, love is infinite. Sophronia prov'd, 
 Love from idolatry not far remov'd. 
 
 125. 
 Return we now to Titus. In his trance, 
 
 Gisippus, whence his troubled heart was torn, 
 Had gather'd. With an anxious countenance, 
 
 Symptoms he watch'd of convalescence born. — 
 He had a tale to tell too, whence that glance 
 
 Of fiery frenzy, from that eye forlorn 
 Might be dispell'd ; and hope, his faded bloom, 
 And death-like features, once more re-illume. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 205 
 
 126. 
 The son of iEsculapius much did urge 
 
 Quiet, and little converse, to the weak 
 And outworn patient. Though upon the verge 
 
 Of death he seem'd, still oft, with many a shriek, 
 His sleep was broken ; th' unrelenting scourge 
 
 Of passion on his shaken frame did wreak 
 Its cruel torment. Yet while thus he seem'd 
 To death doom'd, of Sophronia' s form he dream'd. 
 
 127. 
 " Sophronia ;" still " Sophronia," from his lips 
 
 In smother'd accents now, and now in loud 
 And frantic exclamation, utter'd, keeps 
 
 His friend beside him haunted with a crowd 
 Of sad forebodings. Now his forehead drips 
 
 With the big sweat drops which profusely flow'd 
 From his sunk temples, and his hands, when press'd, 
 His fever's burning virulence attest. — 
 
 128. 
 Then to himself Gisippus said, " No more 
 
 Will I delay, but to Sophronia go, 
 And, in her ear, the story will I pour 
 
 Of this mysterious spectacle of woe." 
 Her presence deem'd he likeliest to restore 
 
 (From words that Titus, now in accents low, 
 And now, with loud shrieks, utter'd) his lost sense : 
 Such was his trust in love's mute eloquence. 
 
206 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 129. 
 With this resolve Sophronia's door he gain'd : 
 
 He told his heavy tale, and begg'd the maid — 
 If any pity in her bosom reign'd, 
 
 Although his bride she were, — that by her aid 
 Titus' disease might somewhat be restrain'd : 
 
 He told her how he found him, and he said, 
 " On thee he ever calls; thy name repeats ; 
 And oft thy presence earnestly entreats. — 
 
 130. 
 " Whate'er of this the cause is, it may be, 
 
 Since thus thy image hath his soul impress'd, 
 That thou may'st rouse him from his agony :— 
 
 Something, I doubt not, rankles in his breast, 
 Which, more or less, hath reference to thee. 
 
 Thou knowest, rather than be dispossest 
 Of his dear friendship and society, 
 In the most cruel torments would I die." 
 
 131. 
 
 Sophronia, guessing well the cause of all 
 Gisippus told her ; hating to deceive ; 
 
 And careless then of what might her befall, 
 So much the agonies of yester eve 
 
 Had wrought upon her, and so much the thrall 
 Of love was she ; did, in few words, unweave 
 
 The mystery to Gisippus, and made clear 
 
 That which so marvellous did erst appear. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 207 
 
 132. 
 " I blame you both," Gisippus cried, " was e'er 
 
 Any thing mine, in such a sense, till now 
 That Titus equally had not a share 
 
 In it ? Although thou hast to me the vow 
 Sworn of fidelity, yet could the care 
 
 Of my own selfish happiness allow 
 Me to despise another's claim, e'en though 
 That other had been my most mortal foe V 
 
 133. 
 " But when I find that those I love the most 
 
 Are bound in ties reciprocally fond, 
 And that each might not, at my private cost, 
 
 Build their own happiness, — that each has plann'd, 
 With love magnanimous towards me engrossed, 
 
 To sacrifice their all ; far, far beyond 
 All power of speech, I feel, at the same time, 
 Self-shame, and reverence for their love sublime ! 
 
 134. 
 " Oh, that I were omnipotent ! yet still 
 
 I will do all that in my power doth lie ! 
 Haste with me ; try if thou, by thy fond skill, 
 
 By thy sweet tones of voice, and by that eye, — 
 (Whose dewy glance, since it hath power to kill, — 
 
 For surely Titus will, not succour'd, die, — 
 Must have the power life's functions to restore :) 
 Can' st make him what he was in days of yore !" 
 
208 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 135. 
 Sophronia listen'd with a yielding heart ; 
 
 She thought she ne'er so well Gisippus lov'd ; 
 Nor had he ever to her, that the art 
 
 Of eloquence was his, so plainly prov'd. 
 In spite of every effort tears did start : 
 
 She could not answer him : but as she mov'd 
 Towards the door, made manifest, by signs, 
 That she to do his will not disinclines. 
 
 136. 
 She threw a veil over her virgin face ; 
 
 Her arm involuntarily became 
 Plac'd within his ; and with a pensive grace, 
 
 Betwixt alacrity and maiden shame, 
 As sister with a brother, did she pace 
 
 Tottering towards th' abode from whence he came- 
 But when he paus'd before that house which held 
 All she lov'd best, what fears her bosom thrill'd ! 
 
 137. 
 And as she cross'd the vestibule, and clomb 
 
 Stair after stair, how beat her fluttering breast ! 
 A deadly paleness had usurp'd her bloom ; 
 
 And scarce her faultering knees the power possess'd 
 To bear her weight. How awful was the gloom, 
 
 And how unutterably the silence press'd 
 Of the sick dwelling on her sinking heart ! 
 How does her very foot-fall make her start ! 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 209 
 
 138. 
 Ah yes, how powerful must those feelings be, 
 
 Which that same gloom and silence did excite, 
 Since they are by a lover's malady 
 
 Produc'd, and her upon whose heart they smite 
 Is object of his fond idolatry. 
 
 Moments in life there are which do unite 
 Feeling which incommunicable is, 
 And to Sophronia such a moment this! — 
 
 139. 
 Tis but this instant that she knows him hers : 
 
 And the next instant she may find him dead, 
 Or in extremity which but defers 
 
 Death, and to unimaginable dread 
 Changes despair. Her thoughts are harbingers 
 
 Of joy, of grief, of hope, of fear ! Thus led 
 Rather than going, trembling more and more, 
 Herself she now finds at his chamber door. — 
 
 140. 
 Can she proceed ? A little moment she 
 
 Pauses, and leans upon Gisippus' breast ; 
 Her agonizing heart beats audibly ; 
 
 She pants for breath, and pale as one the guest 
 Of his last narrow house, such ecstasy 
 
 Of hope and fear her spirit now possess'd, 
 That e'en her very hope appears to wear 
 The mien of fear ; and palsies like despair. — 
 t 2 
 
210 Titus and Gislppus. 
 
 141. 
 Sophronia now in Titus' presence stands, ■ 
 
 O'er his pale form with pious care she bends ; 
 His brow she presses with her ivory hands ; 
 
 And to his stricken soul her soft voice sends 
 Music, which, by degrees, dissolves the bands 
 
 Of frenzy : towards her face his look ascends ; 
 He feels her tears drop on his burning cheek ; 
 He sees her countenance, and hears her speak. — 
 
 142. 
 How fondly does she gaze upon his form ! 
 
 Her heart so full of hope is, since she knows 
 He now is hers, so sanguine, and so warm 
 
 Her feelings thence resulting, that they close — 
 So potent is their visionary charm — 
 
 Each avenue to thought which can suppose 
 It even possible that he may die : — 
 Love seems to promise immortality ! — 
 
 143. 
 " She's thine !" exclaim'd Gisippus. — " Both of you 
 
 Have, by the gods, unjustly dealt with me !" 
 " No," said Sophronia, " 'twas because we knew 
 
 The measure of your soul's nobility, 
 That we resolv'd ne'er should to us accrue 
 
 Joy, with your joy in contrariety. 
 'Twas reverence for your worth more than the troth 
 Plighted to you, which eterniz'd my oath." 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 211 
 
 144. 
 " Nor ever, ever, had that oath been broken, 
 
 Although in keeping it my heart had burst ! 
 Had I lov'd Titus, had I not sure token 
 
 Of lofty sentiment in him seen first ? 
 Had he to me deliberately spoken 
 
 A word which had thy claim in me aspers'd, 
 That lofty feeling he had then disclaim'd ; 
 And him had I abjur'd, of him asham'd." 
 
 145. 
 " Soft : soft," cried Titus in a faultering tone, 
 
 " This is too much for feeble breast to bear ; 
 The stress of gratitude which weighs me down — 
 
 Contrast 'twixt present joy and past despair, 
 These are enough t' oppress a spirit grown 
 
 Feeble, and sensitive from recent care ! 
 Spare me, oh spare ! Not let joys too intense 
 O'erwhelm my spirit with their influence." 
 
 146. 
 " Sit thou, Sophronia, here ; and sit thou there, 
 
 Gisippus !" Titus cried, while with a hand 
 Feeble, to both he beckon'd to repair 
 
 To each side of his couch. Thus in the band 
 Of cordial love these three united were. — 
 
 Not long did Titus' malady withstand, 
 Of these two friends, the fond solicitude. — 
 As love had shorn, so love his strength renew'd. 
 
212 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 147. 
 It was a pleasant sight to see this maid 
 
 And noble youth, each with the other vie, 
 Who most could furnish necessary aid 
 
 To mitigate their patient's malady. — 
 Nor was there any that his pillow laid, — 
 
 No other that his medicines did supply, — 
 No one his slight meals serv'd at fitting time, — 
 Save this fond maiden, and that youth sublime. — 
 
 148. 
 Gisippus never, by a jealous look, 
 
 When perseveringly Sophronia serv'd 
 His friend, betray'd that he not well could brook 
 
 For Titus that her love should be reserv'd. 
 Although their friend's infirmity forsook 
 
 Him daily more and more , yet never swerv'd 
 This faithful pair from their fond offices, 
 'Till quite were fled all symptoms of disease. — 
 
 149. 
 Sometimes Gisippus hinted, that, when strong 
 
 Titus should once more be, he would unfold 
 A tale, which would prove that to him no wrong 
 
 This pair did, by their love so uncontroul'd. — 
 'Twas hard on this theme to unchain his tongue. — 
 
 A fear lest they at greater price should hold, 
 Than it deserv'd, his self-surrender'd love; — 
 This, to reveal this mystery, him did move : 
 
Titus andGisippus. 213 
 
 150. 
 On th' other hand, he had a tale to tell 
 
 Of a suppress'd and smother'd passion : how 
 Could he so manage this, how fully dwell 
 
 On all its incidents, and on the brow 
 Of the innocent Sophronia, not compel 
 
 A self-humiliating flush to glow ? — 
 He spake of this, but so mysteriously, 
 That his defects the bard must need supply. — 
 
 151. 
 Thus somewhat still is left for me to say ; 
 
 But what I have to say will still augment 
 The miracle — not one of every day — 
 
 Of glorious feeling, which the glad event 
 Of this my little story will display. — 
 
 Into that mass of generous intent 
 Gisippus had contributed, though none 
 Of this had once conceiv'd suspicion. — 
 
 152. 
 As I have said, Gisippus much was press'd 
 
 By his father's friends, and his own friends, to wed ; 
 Long time, in vain, they often had address'd 
 
 To him this suit ; at last, by fortune led, 
 He with Sophronia met; and, though his breast 
 
 By impulses of passion was not fed, 
 Yet such approvance mild he entertain'd 
 For her, as soon his resolution chain'd. — 
 
214 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 153. 
 It chanc'd some months after he had decreed 
 
 T espouse Sophronia, that a voyage he made 
 To Salamis ! Ah, little did he heed 
 
 His own betrayal, 'till he was betray'd ! 
 Love, passionate, fervent love, he there indeed 
 
 First felt, then meeting with an orphan maid, 
 Whose wondrous charms, black eyes, and bosom fair, 
 Made him her victim 'ere he was aware. — 
 
 154. 
 This love he saw too was reciprocal ! 
 
 What could he do ? he had not power to say 
 That he had pledg'd himself beyond recall ! — 
 
 Nor had he power to tear himself away ! — 
 Dallying 'twixt duty and desire ; the thrall 
 
 Of passion's potency, day after day, 
 The hour he fix'd to go: — the hour past by; 
 Till he lost will, as well as power, to fly ! — 
 
 155. 
 So long did this continue, that, at last, 
 
 He felt that he had, with himself, the maid 
 Too much ensnar'd : long as his time was pass'd 
 
 In her society, might be delay'd 
 All explanation : but he saw so fast 
 
 Her love was rivetted, that, unbetray'd 
 In honour, from her side he could not steal, 
 Nor his ties with another not reveal. 
 
Titus andG isippus . 215 
 
 156. 
 This very thraldom finish'd his undoing. 
 
 His earlier love untold, how could he fly ? 
 How could he thus her path with thorns be strewing ? 
 
 Evading thus, hejix'd his destiny ! — 
 When their near separation he was ruing, 
 
 He saw a tear gather in Lesbia's eye. 
 At last, perplex'd, or what to do, or what 
 To leave undone, he hurried from the spot. 
 
 157. 
 All his frank utterance now from him was fled ; 
 
 The ghost of what he was did he return ; 
 And though he was by honour so much led 
 
 As at each treach'rous subterfuge to spurn, 
 Still now those marriage ties he view'd with dread, 
 
 For which, or ere this voyage, he did yearn ; 
 Sleepless his nights, tedious his days, were now, 
 Yet not one jot does he retract his vow. 
 
 158. 
 Gisippus, ere from Athens he did roam, 
 
 Having betroth'd Sophronia, but unknown 
 To her, had means devis'd to make her home 
 
 More fraught with comfort by a well-tim'd boon. 
 In generous souls, nothing doth more illume 
 
 The light of love, than kindness it hath shewn. 
 If to the debtor this the donor bind, 
 Still more doth giving fix the noble mind. 
 
216 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 159. 
 Love knows not obligation ! It is more, 
 
 Far, far more, than repaid by power to bless ! 
 Knows not humiliation !* Croesus' store 
 
 Could not augment that love, or make it less ! 
 True love so many times doth o'er and o'er 
 
 Give to reciprocation mightier stress 
 Than to the accidents of property ; 
 That never they commensurate can be ! 
 
 160. 
 Gisippus lov'd Sophronia with a love 
 
 More holy, and more lofty, since he knew 
 That portion of the comfort she did prove 
 
 As a creation from his bounty grew. 
 And so, for this, he honour'd her above 
 
 Those, o'er whose fate no influence could ensue 
 From his decision, that the thought, with scorn 
 He entertain'd, of leaving her forlorn. 
 
 161. 
 Could he now leave her ? He, to her, who did 
 Not only all her little stores impart. 
 
 * I love too well, 
 I've lov'd too long, and too much for himself 
 I love liim, in my breast to harbour pride. 
 True love ne'er fears, since it can never feel, 
 Humiliation. 
 
 From an unpublished Tragedy. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 217 
 
 But who, as he believ'd, in his breast hid 
 The secret treasures of her virgin heart ? 
 
 " Honour, such ignominious thought forbid ! — 
 No, let me henceforth try with ev'ry art, 
 
 In blessing her, though I be leagu'd with sorrow, 
 
 Some comfort from another's joy to borrow." 
 
 162. 
 Such had his resolution been, in such 
 
 Had he persisted, though his anxious friends 
 Saw that somewhat internally did touch 
 
 His wonted cheer : still ne'er Gisippus lends 
 An ear to their inquiries ; but, as much 
 
 As in him lies, to other topic bends 
 Officious scrutinies about his fate : 
 Diverting them from his own inward state. 
 
 163. 
 Thus had he now persisted many weeks : — 
 
 The espousals with Sophronia were decreed, — 
 The day was fix'd, and though in him all speaks 
 
 Of inward conflict, still he seem'd indeed 
 So bent to baffle fortune's future freaks, — 
 
 In nuptial pomp to Hymen's fane to lead 
 The meek Sophronia, that not one surmises 
 From alienated love, that conflict rises. 
 
 164. 
 Not long had he to Athens been return'd, 
 
 When tidings by a letter he receiv'd, 
 
218 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 That Lesbia his departure so had mourn'd, — 
 Her, so his seeming perfidy had griev'd, — 
 
 That she had sicken'd ; and the fire that burn'd 
 Within her, so entirely had bereav'd 
 
 Her both of health and hope, that not a friend 
 
 Who knew, but deera'd her life was near its end. 
 
 165. 
 Farther he learn'd, that, for the needful aid 
 
 Of skill'd physicians, with which Athens teems, 
 Lesbia's associates did at length persuade 
 
 Her to leave Salamis : that love-lorn themes 
 Too potent o'er her infirm state forbade 
 
 Her to proceed to Athens, where she deems 
 She oft may see Gisippus, who still sways 
 Her bleeding heart, though life for such love pays. 
 
 166. 
 This Lesbia had not to himself divulg'd, 
 
 But one to whom she had confess'd the truth, 
 A faithful friend, who long had been indulg'd 
 
 With all the secret feelings of her youth, 
 Without her privity, had this promulg'd ; 
 
 Lesbia had charg'd this female friend, in sooth, 
 The message which succeeded this to send : 
 Thus her commission she did but extend. 
 
 167. 
 
 Lastly he reads, that, ere her form be laid 
 Low in the tomb, that, he would once bestow 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 219 
 
 A parting visit, earnestly she pray'd : 
 
 Not to recriminate for a broken vow; 
 Not with a secret purpose to persuade 
 
 Him to engarland her dejected brow 
 With Hymen's wreath, but rather to receive 
 Her last farewel, and, forgiv'n, to forgive. 
 
 168. 
 'Twas for this cause Gisippus did arrange 
 
 His flight from Athens. He had not betray'd 
 The cause to Titus, for a deed so strange. 
 
 Nor, had he known it, had he of it made 
 Advantage, 'till how fortunate such change 
 
 Of love, he to his friend had first display'd. 
 E'en force of love could not seduce his mind 
 To tell a secret to his care consign'd. 
 
 169. 
 Gisippus only said that he must wend 
 
 On business of such import, that he fear'd 
 E'en to say he must go, save to a friend 
 
 By whom with large allowance would be heard 
 Of honourable surmise, whate'er did tend 
 
 To cast suspicion on him. " Youth rever'd !" 
 He farther cried, " Thou to my bride repair, 
 And tidings of my going to her bear. 
 
 170. 
 " I will not tell thee wherefore I go hence ; — 
 But thou may' st well think cause of import high 
 
220 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 Me to so strange a step doth influence. 
 
 Say to Sophronia, that this mystery 
 I will unfold to her, but that mere pretence y 
 
 She may not deem it, I on thee rely 
 To be my messenger of this same theme : — 
 Thou knowestwell, so highly I esteem 
 
 171. 
 " Thy noble qualities, I would not use 
 
 E'en thy assistance, though thou art my friend, 
 And dearest friend, in cause which would abuse 
 
 Thy high integrity ; or condescend — 
 E'en though no other being I could chuse — 
 
 To make thee serve an ignominious end. 
 From what in past times thou hast known of me 
 Trust, that I'm thus reserv'd reluctantly." 
 
 172 v 
 
 Two causes to this mystery did urge 
 Gisippus. Needlessly he did not chuse 
 
 The secret of poor Lesbia to emerge 
 
 From its concealment ; and as much he rues, 
 
 With something that might slight be deem'd, to scourge 
 The innocent Sophronia. Thus he views — 
 
 Though 'tis abhorring from his manly will — 
 
 Keeping to secresy the lesser ill. 
 
 173. 
 He to Pireeus went ; by any means, 
 To see if he perchance could reconcile 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 221 
 
 Lesbia to his espousals. She refrains 
 From all complaint ; a faint and patient smile 
 
 Stole o'er her countenance, when first he gains 
 To her access. He could not without guile 
 
 Longer delay to tell her of his fate : 
 
 To feign her love unknown were now too late. 
 
 174. 
 
 Not that, ere this, he had assum'd pretence 
 
 Of ignorance for any purpose base : 
 But he fear'd, since her love was so intense, 
 
 That e'en frank converse would that love increase. 
 E'en though he had but tried his eloquence 
 
 To cause that passion in her heart to cease, 
 He knew that, in such case, while we dissuade, 
 A soft dissuasion lends persuasion aid. 
 
 175. 
 This, more than aught else, him did reconcile 
 
 To quit her so abruptly, when he fled 
 From Salamis. He knew she must revile 
 
 The deed, but he had rather she were led 
 To hate him, if, by hatred, she meanwhile 
 
 Could gain some respite from her love, now fed 
 By passionate thoughts. Could she regain peace lost 
 His fame would he forego, whate'er the cost. 
 
 176. 
 Thus, as in all things he had ever done, 
 A gen'rous nature did he manifest : 
 
 u2 
 
222 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 Had he in aught self-accusation won, 
 
 'Twas that, from want of strength, he had repress'd 
 Earlier departure. E'en as light o'th' sun 
 
 He Lesbia lov'd ; and this love he prov'd best 
 By yielding that he held more dear — to her — 
 Than love itself! — his spotless character! — 
 
 177. 
 Not one remonstrance, or complaining word, 
 
 She spake. Gisippus now was sorely press'd. — 
 To her he own'd, that, so might be restor'd 
 
 Her self-respect, that also, in his breast, 
 Like passion glow'd ; and farther he implor'd 
 
 Her to believe, that honour — which suppress'd 
 All declaration of his love ; — and love — 
 Which from the ador'd object could not move ; — 
 
 178. 
 And fear — that, if he left her, unexplain'd 
 
 The cause of his deportment, she might think 
 That he the cruel scheme had entertain'd 
 
 To gain her heart, and then retreating shrink 
 From manly overtures; — these motives reign'd, — 
 
 And none but these ; — when on distraction's brink 
 So many days he linger'd, broken hearted ; 
 So often taken leave, yet ne'er departed ! — 
 
 179. 
 She spake not; — nor complained; — nor answer'd him,— 
 But a soft hectic stole across her cheek ; 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 223 
 
 And in her eye a dewy light did swim, 
 
 And with a smile her lips made answer meek. 
 
 Gisippus, when he saw each well-form'd limb 
 So shrunk and feeble ; when he saw her weak 
 
 And trembling hand stretch'd forth in fond reserve, 
 
 From duty's stern behest did almost swerve. — 
 
 180. 
 But though she thus was wan, she was too proud 
 
 To let him his exculpatory plea 
 Conclude ; and oft upon his hand she bow'd, 
 
 And told him, " foolish 'twas for her to be 
 So thoughtful ;" then, (as if with shame allow'd,) 
 
 She somewhat hinted at a malady, 
 Which with her family descent was blended : — 
 *A generous falsehood truth could not have mended. 
 
 181. 
 Gisippus left her, promising to come 
 
 And see her oft ; and, as he did return, 
 He was devising how he might presume 
 
 To make Sophronia this misfortune learn. — 
 Not only his high heart could not find room 
 
 T' admit the thought, but at it did he spurn, 
 Of hiding from Sophronia what he knew; 
 E'en though from her reproof on him it drew. 
 
 * Magnanima menzogna ! or quando e il vera 
 
 Si bello, che si possa a te preporre ? 
 
 Tasso, canto 2d. stanza 22d. 
 
224 Titus and Gisippus. 
 
 182. 
 And he exclaim' d oft, " Had she said one word; 
 
 One angry accent had poor Lesbia spoken ; 
 How had she then reliev'd me ! But 'twas hard, 
 
 'Twas very hard, to see that heart half broken, — 
 Sustain'd with such an exquisite regard 
 
 To self-complacency in me ! The yoke, then, 
 That now I bear, had been half lessen'd ; — nay, — 
 Had seem'd as nothing, — had she seem'd the prey 
 
 183. 
 Of petulant feelings ! But to see her, so — 
 
 So very meek ! To see her head reclin'd 
 Upon her bosom with such patient woe ; 
 
 To see a smile perpetually design'd 
 Feign'd satisfaction o'er her face to throw ; — 
 
 To see her thus resolv'd the blame to find 
 In herself wholly ; — this unmans me quite ! — 
 And makes my agony most exquisite !" — 
 
 184. 
 
 Such thought was he revolving when he found 
 Titus upon the causeway. His joy guess, 
 
 Ye who can do it, when he saw unbound — 
 With happy prospect Lesbia to possess — 
 
 His extricated honour : also crown'd 
 
 Sophronia with full peace and happiness ; — 
 
 And all this springing from th' unravelment 
 
 Of that strange clue which Titus did torment. 
 
Titus and Gisippus. 225 
 
 185. 
 Joy, it is said, suits not the poet's theme 
 
 So well as grief; or here I might have scope 
 T embody many a fantastic dream 
 
 Of present happiness, and future hope ! — 
 The arch-physician, Love, so well did seem 
 
 With Lesbia's, Titus' maladies to cope, 
 That, ere a month, caressing and caress'd, 
 Gisippus, she ; and him, Sophronia bless'd ! 
 
STANZAS, 
 
 Written \Oth, llth, and 12th November, 1819. 
 
 " In truth, the prison, unto which we doom 
 Ourselves, no prison is — — 
 
 Wordsworth, duodecimo edit. vol. 3, p. 129. 
 
 1. 
 
 My God ! I once was young", and once was blest 
 
 With all the hopes that soaring youth attend : 
 I had romantic visions which possess'd 
 
 My spirit, and to all I seem'd a friend ; 
 
 And in all did a friend expect ; now send, 
 Thou roamer, through the earth thy looks forlorn, 
 
 Say, from what quarter dost thou apprehend 
 Thou could'st claim hopes, such as in life's blest morn, 
 If offer' d to thy choice, thou wouldst reject with scorn. 
 
 2. 
 No ! like a spirit with the universe 
 At war, a jarring spirit I appear: 
 Of man rejected ; — and of God — still worse — 
 
Stanzas. 227 
 
 Doom'd to perpetual sway of tyrant fear. 
 
 I ask but for a little refuge, where 
 I on the present, future, and the past, 
 
 May ruminate. With many a wistful tear 
 I ask a place, where my poor heart, at last, 
 As miser o'er his hoard, my sum of woes may cast ! — 
 
 Children I've had, and I have known the gush 
 
 Of love, allotted to the parent's tie ; 
 Oft on my cheek I've felt affection's flush, 
 
 And revell'd o'er my stores of sympathy. 
 
 As I have watch'd the sports of infancy, 
 The name of children seem'd to me a spell 
 
 To conjure up whate'er of ecstasy 
 In an imagin'd paradise could dwell. — 
 A childless sire now seems to me a sire in hell, 
 
 4. 
 Oh God ! Thou must be merciful and kind ! 
 
 Thou the Artificer of such rare bliss, 
 As waits on him whom human ties do bind ! 
 
 Oh ! to my sense, there is in childhood's kiss, 
 
 And in its trust that, in a world like this, 
 Each that surrounds it is its genuine friend ! 
 
 Their little pranks, that which with emphasis 
 Speaks of the heavens ! 'Tis to condescend, 
 From converse with a child, with aught on earth to 
 blend. 
 
228 Stanzas. 
 
 In a child's voice — is there not melody ? 
 
 In a child's eye — is there not rapture seen ? 
 And rapture not of passion's revelry ? 
 
 Calm, though impassion'd ! durable, though keen! 
 
 It is all fresh like the young Spring's first green ! 
 Children seem spirits from above descended, 
 
 To whom still cleaves Heaven's atmosphere serene ; 
 Their very wildnesses with truth are blended : 
 Fresh from their skiey mould, they cannot be amended! 
 
 6. 
 
 Warm, and uncalculating, they're more wise — 
 More sense that ecstasy of theirs denotes — 
 
 More of the stuff have they of Paradise — 
 And more the music of the warbling throats 
 Of choirs, whose anthem round th' Eternal floats — 
 
 Than all that bards e'er feign'd ; or tuneful skill 
 Has e'er struck forth from artificial notes : — 
 
 Theirs is that language , ignorant of ill, 
 
 Born from a perfect harmony of power and will. 
 
 Some, some, have painted all the joys that wait 
 On beings intelligential, from a source 
 
 Within, prolific to originate 
 
 Imaginatively, the mighty course 
 
 Of passion : whence its energy and force 
 
Stanzas. 229 
 
 Our complex being draws. Rare spirits have writ : 
 
 The bard of Avon such ! We must divorce 
 Our very nature from intrinsic wit, 
 If dubious in his scenes truth's impress to admit. 
 
 But what have I done that I'm thus forsaken ? 
 
 Whom have I injur'd that I'm thus neglected ? 
 Oh ! would I not, the pulse of love to waken 
 
 E'en in a being by the world rejected, 
 
 Stoop to compliances the least connected 
 With aught could flatter self? Ah, was not this, 
 
 What of himself, when he himself depicted, 
 Frankly confess'd the paradox-loving Swiss, 
 " To* meet a second self is the sublime of bliss V 
 
 9. 
 Ah ! was not this my wish ? My hope supreme. 
 
 Cannot a being, or in earth, or heaven, 
 Be met with — from the stigma of a dream — 
 
 To rescue him who has with much toil striven 
 
 For such communion? Like a spirit driven 
 From comprehension by connatural things, 
 
 I, from the extremest ardour, ever given 
 To man, for human sympathy, my wings 
 Now flag, and glad would be to drink lethsean springs. 
 
 * See Rousseau's Confessions, in which this sentiment is fully dilated 
 
230 Stanzas. 
 
 10. 
 Yes ! I'm a mystery to myself; — to all ; — 
 
 Save to my God : thence is it that I feel 
 Such a propensity on heaven to call : 
 
 Since he who comprehends alone can heal. 
 
 Oh, Saviour of the world ! Do not thou steel 
 Thyself against my pleading ; call to mind 
 
 When e'en thy will with agony did reel : — 
 And though by hope supported, and resign'd 
 From thought that on thyself the destinies of mankind 
 
 11. 
 Hung ; — Thou cried'st, — " Father, let it pass away, 
 
 This cup from me !" — Yet on thy bidding waited 
 Legions of angels : — and eternal sway, 
 
 And endless triumphs, and delights unsated, 
 
 Claim'd thy acceptance when the pang abated. 
 Oh, think on me ! I am friendless ! I am poor ! 
 
 I with importunate distress am mated ! 
 Nor have I hope, however I endure, 
 That any chance awaits my agonies to cure. 
 
 12. 
 Oh being most compassionate ! for such, 
 
 Crush me to atoms, I will think thou art ! 
 Do not, I pray thee, let it seem too much 
 
 To mitigate the anguish of my heart. 
 
 Life is of comfort such a copious mart ; 
 So many sources there exist for man 
 
Stanzas. 231 
 
 Of satisfaction : — he who takes a part 
 In the world's coil contentment find still can. 
 Tis no mean post to watch so marvellous a plan ! 
 
 13. 
 This feel I with conviction so intense, 
 
 That e'en the very meanest flower that blows 
 Might to the mind, to meditate propense, 
 
 Afford a scope to thoughts of deep repose. 
 
 So much am I convinc'd that poorest shews 
 Above, beneath, around us, all involve 
 
 (To him, to trace their character, who knows) 
 Infinity, that e'en forms which dissolve 
 In nothingness, administer to high resolve. 
 
 14. 
 
 Yes, there's a mystery in the very air ; 
 
 " Tongues in the trees, books in the running brooks," 
 " Sermons in stones," and blessings every where ! 
 
 So much am I convinc'd, that poorest nooks 
 
 Have loop-holes, whence the gifted spirit looks, 
 To an illimitable universe ; 
 
 That, could I once dislodge the crabbed hooks 
 Entangling me in matter's primal curse, 
 No lot would me appal for better and for worse. 
 
 15. 
 Freedom, thou best of benefits, in what 
 Dost thou essentially consist ? In this 
 That sickness palsies, bars confine thee not ? 
 
232 Stanzas. 
 
 As air art uncontroul'd, and nought dost miss 
 
 Of that which constitutes ideal bliss I 
 No ! Freedom this is not. 'Tis to be free, 
 
 To have thy will in consentaneousness 
 With the Almighty will : to seem, and be, 
 That which, for bliss or bale, that will doth thee decree. 
 
 16. 
 
 'Tis not the bird, who, in the narrowest cage 
 
 Is prison'd, that is most in bondage there ; 
 But 'tis that bird who feels the most blind rage 
 
 Against the bars his freedom that impair. 
 
 Man never calls it thraldom, since the air 
 He cannot cleave with wings. Thus could a bird 
 
 Once be so happy in his wiry snare ; 
 That still no feeling of restraint occurr'd, 
 To call that bondage were to mis-apply the word. 
 
 17. 
 
 Just as that very commoner of the sky 
 
 That winged creature is at liberty ; 
 Thus if by truth's criterion we try 
 
 What constitutes man's worst captivity, 
 
 It is to have more passions than can be 
 Indulg'd consistent with the good of all ; — 
 
 I say not, to be chain' d is to be free : 
 But though we be releas'd from bodily thrall, 
 The thraldom of the mind far deadlier I call. 
 
Stanzas. 233 
 
 18 
 It is not Freedom to be what thou wiliest, 
 
 But 'tis to will that which thou ought'sttobe, 
 And that man, whose volition is the stillest, 
 
 That man whose will moves in accordancy 
 
 With His who " dwelleth in eternity," 
 He is the Freeman!* And well calFd the bard 
 
 All " Slaves" but those who bend to this decree ; 
 And with devoutly-passionate regard 
 Witness this truth sublime to be its own reward. 
 
 19. 
 Therefore, no puling sentimentalist 
 
 Am I : and when I mourn my agonies, 
 'Tis not for this or that cause, I'm distress'd. 
 
 In my creed there is to the man that's wise 
 
 But one legitimate source of smiles and sighs : 
 And that's involv'd in question, on his path 
 
 Whether, " the Son of Righteousness arise 
 With healing on his wings ;" or whether scath 
 He feel, or think he feel, of the Everlasting's wrath. 
 
 20. 
 I have no sickly feeling of the heart ; 
 
 No mawkish love-tale, vast wrongs to declare ; 
 No pangs arthritic, spasm, or cancerous smart, 
 
 * He is the Freeman whom the truth makes free, 
 
 And all are slaves besides." Cowper's Task. 
 
 x2 
 
234 Stanzas. 
 
 My bodily functions one by one impair. 
 
 These — 'tis my trust — I could with patience bear : 
 No loss of wealth ; no friend's departed face ; 
 
 No tricks of fortune, whose romantic air 
 Might give my well-wov'n tale bewitching grace : — 
 My ills have nought to do with person, time, or place ! 
 
 21. 
 
 " Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
 
 In the void waste as in the city full, 
 And joy is where He vitally hath dwelt ;" 
 
 So when he ceases to be merciful, 
 
 And takes away his presence, then we pull, 
 And tug in vain against our destiny. 
 
 Life is a waste where we no more can cull 
 A single flower of happiness, when He, 
 The very soul of bliss, to us has ceas'd to be. 
 
 22. 
 
 Oh God ! So deeply the conviction's wrought 
 
 In me, that thou to man art all in all ; 
 And that the forms most exquisitely fraught 
 
 With means of joy — e'en the gay festival; 
 
 The choral song ; the trophy-blazon'd hall ; 
 The dance ; the appurtenants of courtesy ; 
 
 Without the attraction of thy blessing, pall ; 
 That the mind's state seems every thing to me ! 
 Without a thankful heart, vain were all social glee ! 
 
Stanzas. 235 
 
 23. 
 If this be held as truth, with those yclept 
 
 Joys artificial; how much more do those 
 Call'd natural, ask a spirit that has kept 
 
 The pow'rs that God has giv'n him, in repose, 
 
 All unassailable by passion's throes ? 
 Say, can the green fields, can the azure sky, 
 
 The waving forest, or the day's dim close, 
 When to the night-dew each bud shuts its eye, 
 Please him that not partakes his God's serenity ? 
 
 24. 
 " There is a pleasure in the pathless woods," — 
 
 But 'tis to him whose moral path is clear : 
 " There is a rapture in the roaring floods," — 
 
 But 'tis to him who plays with forms of fear. 
 
 " There is society where no one's near," 
 But 'tis to him whose dreams ebullient rise : 
 
 " There is a transport in the falling tear," — 
 But 'tis to him whose ever lifted eyes 
 Shed sparkling drops which tell their source is of the 
 skies ! 
 
 25. 
 I cannot ever, ever feel again, 
 
 That which, oh Nature ! I have felt for thee, 
 'Twas in God's presence ever to remain 
 
 The marvels of thy boundless reign to see. 
 
 No pressures then of cold propriety, 
 
236 Stanzas. 
 
 Scarce even animal appetites were mine ; 
 
 Into the breeze transfus'd, I seem'd to flee 
 Upon its wings, and all my being resign 
 To influence of eye, ear, touch, and thought divine ! 
 
 26. 
 Thy mountains ! — They to me were types of pow'r, 
 
 Of glory, vastness, and magnificence ! — 
 Thy clouds ! — As on the " wings of winds" did lour 
 
 Obscure imaginations, yet intense, 
 
 On them ; and shapings of creative sense 
 Rode as in triumph ! Thy far-gleaming lakes ! 
 
 Their shores of faery masque the residence ! 
 Thy breezes, murmuring through thy sedgy brakes ; 
 It seem'd bless'd spirits might quit Heav'n's harmony 
 for their sakes ! 
 
 27. 
 Oh, could the dreams that nature gives but last, 
 
 This being they would seem to immortalize : 
 Think what it is to live in ages past ? 
 
 And have all characters before you rise, 
 
 All manners, and impressive ceremonies ; 
 To see all pageants that have long gone by, 
 
 In lone bower hear the captive lady's sighs, 
 The long procession once more to espy, 
 And, flouted by the winds, rich banners wave on high ? 
 
 28. 
 To hear the winding horn among the fells, 
 To see the quarry thrid the forest's maze, 
 
Stanzas. 237 
 
 To track the falcon-chace by tinkling bells, 
 Bring back all revelries of parted days ? 
 Oh, Nature ! this is but thy faintest praise ; 
 
 In hallow'd haunts so much can'st thou procure ! 
 To those, who, in traditionary lays 
 
 Well vers'd, and learn'd in chronicles obscure, 
 
 Thy lore, to midnight lamp, oh chivalry, could allure ! 
 
 29. 
 Thanks ! and much gratitude to him we owe, 
 
 The Bard* of Yarrow ! From his living song 
 How do our pulses beat, our bosoms glow, 
 
 Forming acquaintance with the dazzling throng 
 
 Of warriors, dames, and elves, that dance along, 
 As in a gay procession, subtly wrought, 
 
 The web of his romantic tales, among ; 
 The sense aches with o'er-stimulated thought, 
 As through its gorgeous crowd of images 'tis brought. 
 
 30. 
 So, perhaps more appropriately to thee, 
 
 Thouf Bard of rocky Morven, to thy heath, 
 Thy mists, thy mountain-torrents, much are we 
 Indebted ; to thy thistles, with the breath 
 Of night-winds, waving ; to thy spirits of death, 
 Gibbering snow-white, 'mid " mists and moonlight 
 drear !" 
 Oh, 'tis a blest time when we hold beneath 
 
 * Sir Walter Scott, Bart. -f- Ossian. 
 
238 Stanzas. 
 
 The heart such lavish hoards of joy sincere, 
 
 They e'en with sweetness pall, 'till pungent made by fear ! 
 
 31. 
 
 Yes, I remember, when the dreariest waste ; 
 
 The heathery moorland with its mossy stones ; 
 Where, here and there, with gelid dew o'ercast, 
 The hart's-tongue, or the flagging grass, atones 
 For the wide barrenness : where plaintive moans 
 Of chilling breeze perpetually are heard : 
 
 Yes, I remember well, (e'en though with groans 
 Of wailing sprite that chilling breeze had stirr'd) 
 When I to brightest scenes, such prospect hadpreferr'd! 
 
 32. 
 I had a store of joy within me then; — 
 An inexhaustible and salient spring ; 
 And e'en whate'er I felt of bodily pain, 
 
 Or of that deeper which the heart doth wring, 
 Seem'd, in profound subserviency, to bring 
 New zest to pleasure ; pampering its caprice : 
 
 'Twas like a man wilfully shuddering ; 
 Giving, by warlock tales, to wassail bliss 
 And Christmas blithe fire-side, a spect'ral emphasis ! 
 
 33. 
 As in that divine, philosophic lore, 
 
 Suggesting that all objects of each sense 
 Are, on the human mind, — and nothing more, — 
 Modifications of God's influence : 
 So, in the boiling of the turbulence, 
 
Stanzas. 239 
 
 I felt, when all submitted to thy sway, 
 
 Sound, hue, and form, at once, with such intense, 
 And such capricious, shifting, seem'd to play : 
 My soul was like a harp responsive to their sway. 
 
 34. 
 Immortal were my thoughts ! For where no fear 
 
 Exists, there's virtual immortality : — 
 Since, were the " be-all, end-all'' this state here, 
 
 Yet, if no thought arose that so 't might be ; 
 
 To man, thus not so being painfully, 
 In any reference 'twould not be so 
 
 That he might wish it otherwise : to me 
 Thus so predominating was the glow, 
 Oh Nature, caught from thee, methought 'twould never 
 go. 
 
 35. 
 Yet, is it not, oh God, in part to hold 
 
 With Thee, communion thus thy works to feel ? 
 And can those souls be of an earthly mould 
 
 Thus, rapt above mortality, that steal, 
 
 When Thou thy natural wonders dost reveal ? 
 Is it not, in novitiate of learning 
 
 To gain a 'vantage post in Fortune's wheel ? 
 Is not there promise in this nature yearning, 
 Which always doth imply from art a scornful turn- 
 ing ? 
 
240 Stanzas. 
 
 36. 
 Then why should I be to all pleasure dead 
 
 To such an inexpressible degree ? 
 I ? Though I grant, as wiser men have said, 
 
 That 'tis a world in ruin which we see. — 
 
 Why should I, that have felt such ecstasy, 
 Be sunken now so low ? Is it t' enforce 
 
 The doctrine that each project which can be 
 Content with aught save wisdom's primal source, 
 Is like a pile on sand, which storms will soon disperse ? 
 
 37. 
 
 So seems it ! What with all my dreams am I ? 
 
 It was on real objects that I gaz'd ; 
 Yet have, they ended more in vanity, 
 
 Than the most doting visions of the craz'd ; 
 
 Or all the structures by fanatics rais'd ; 
 Now had I rather mope where Penury 
 
 In rags, filth, smoke, and sickness, is emblaz'd ; 
 Screams in the ballad's rude discordancy, 
 The howl of curs, coarse oaths, and the scold's ribaldry, 
 
 38. 
 So that new feelings might at least be mine ! 
 
 Than live in some contemplative recess, 
 Where mountains, forests, rocks, lakes, streams, com- 
 bine, 
 With human beings, deeply to impress. 
 
Stanzas. 
 
 241 
 
 Is this, oh God, to shew the nothingness 
 Of fairest hopes of man ? How soon the stream 
 
 (Most copious and most promising to bless) 
 Exhausted, if from earth alone it teem? 
 Thus, when I thought to drink, I drank but in a dream ! 
 
THE SPELL UNRAVELLED. 
 
 Written the 6th May, 1820. 
 
 " By each one 
 Of the dear dreams through which I have travell'd, 
 The cup of my enjoyment from none 
 Can I take, 'till the spells, one by one, 
 Which have wither 'd ye all, be unravell'd. 
 
 JVugce Canone, p. 12t>. 
 
 1. 
 
 My God, with what words can I dare, 
 Without a presumptuous seeming, 
 
 To say that, from Thee, who hear'st prayer, 
 Life's prospects with blessings are teeming ? 
 
 2. 
 I talk'd of a " spell" that had bound 
 
 Each sense, and benumb'd every feeling ; 
 Though my joys in their forms might be found, 
 
 That had all their fine essence been stealing. 
 
The Spell unravelled, 243 
 
 I was widow' d of love, — tho' possessing 
 One whom my sad heart fondly sigh'd, 
 
 With the tenderest, dearest caressing, 
 To own as its mistress and bride : — 
 
 4. 
 I was childless, — yet children were given, 
 
 Whose innocent charms might inspire 
 All that ever reminded of heaven 
 
 The heart of a fortunate sire : — 
 
 5. 
 
 And I said, of the manifold "spells" 
 
 Which withheld from my senses the taste, 
 
 Of the exquisite transport which dwells 
 With gifts which my lot in life grac'd ; — 
 
 The demoniac " spells," " one by one," 
 That lay on the path which I travell'd, 
 
 " The cup of enjoyment from none 
 
 Would I take, 'till they all were unravell'd.' 
 
 7. 
 And surely I may, without fear, 
 
 Call my Maker to witness my truth, 
 That for many a tedious year 
 
 While receded the visions of youth, 
 
244 The Spell unravelled. 
 
 Never, never, from hue, shape, or sound, 
 From word never, smile, or caress, 
 
 This bosom, an instant, e'er found 
 A respite from cleaving distress, 
 
 9. 
 Till the " spell" which lay o'er my dear ones,- 
 
 By a mighty, invisible hand, — 
 Till the heart's pangs, the only severe ones, 
 
 Were snapp'd as a sorcerer's wand, 
 
 10. 
 I, now, in a smile that has greeted 
 
 My eyes both in sorrow and glee, — 
 In a smile that has never retreated, 
 
 Though it met with no welcome from me ; 
 
 11. 
 Can experience the thrilling delight 
 
 Which it gave me in days that are gone ! 
 Though 'twas ever the same to my sight, 
 
 Yet it fell on a bosom of stone ! 
 
 12. 
 My children, — they now can impart 
 
 Not only the claims which, from duty, 
 They well may enforce on my heart ; 
 
 But in all its most exquisite beauty, 
 
The Spell unravelled. 245 
 
 13. 
 Like soft music, the fond gush is given 
 
 To my soul, from the rapturous tie 
 Reproducing those bless'd days when heaven 
 
 'Bout our bed, path, and table, doth lie ! 
 
 14. 
 My wife ! — and my children ! — dear names, 
 
 Which awaken my heart's deepest love, 
 An earnest such treasure proclaims 
 
 Of " the day-spring" which comes from above ! 
 
 15. 
 When the throbs that await on the pleasures 
 
 Which owe to yourselves their creation, 
 Are highten'xd by spiritual treasures, 
 
 They receive then their last consecration ! 
 
 16. 
 And I feel it, that these, the sure pledges 
 
 Of heaven's love are thus heighten'd and blest ; 
 And whatever the sceptic alleges 
 
 A pure joy, a pure source must attest ! 
 
 17. 
 
 As well might one doubt the report 
 
 Of the senses of sight, touch, and taste ; 
 y2 
 
246 The Spell unravelled. 
 
 As believe not the joys that resort 
 
 To the soul where God's* " secret" is plac'd, 
 
 18. 
 No ! a seal there is set to that feeling 
 
 Which can be decypher'd by none, 
 Till a new sense, with mystic revealing, 
 
 Informs us that seal is our own. 
 
 * Psalm 25, verse 14. 
 
 " The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him : and he will shew 
 them his covenant." 
 
LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 
 
 Written August, 1820. 
 
 And shall such worth as thine from hence depart, 
 
 Nor thy friend shed one tributary tear ? 
 When first th* intelligence smote on my heart, 
 
 That thou wert gone, how many a parted year 
 
 Of early life, before me did appear 
 In long array, in whose events, kind friend, 
 
 As they conduc'd my heart to grieve or cheer, 
 Thou still didst sympathize ; most prompt to blend 
 Interest with aught that did my weal or woe portend. 
 
 Thine was a heart of genuine sterling worth ;,- 
 Few have supported through life's varied scene 
 
 A soul, in which aught of terrestrial birth 
 Less dimm'd the light, aspiring, yet serene, 
 
248 Lines on the 
 
 Which, with pervading influence, o'er thy mien 
 Shed an attractive brightness ! Tho' from blame 
 
 Of all pollution, thou wert ever clean 
 In a voluptuous age, in thee the flame 
 Of charity still glow'd for faults known but in name. 
 
 3. 
 
 I well remember, when, in ardent youth, 
 
 I strove for that, for which 'tis only given, 
 'Stead of possessing, to obtain, in truth, 
 
 Experience, that 'tis vain for it to have striven, 
 
 Anticipation on this earth of heaven! 
 Except, indeed, that, so far, men may say 
 
 A noble trust ne'er to despair was driven, 
 As since when souls hopes of perfection sway. 
 Though they be baffled all, those hopes themselves 
 repay ! 
 
 4. 
 
 I well remember, how, with mind less prone 
 To visionary thought, with smile benign, 
 
 When, with sincerity, thou could'st not own 
 
 My warm heart's speech conviction wrought on thine, 
 To hear me thou didst patiently incline: — 
 
 Howe'er fallacious, if a lofty feeling, 
 
 Tho' gendering weakest argument, did shrine 
 
 Itself in my frank utterance, how, stealing 
 
 From thee, I caught a smile, encouragement revealing ! 
 
Death of a Friend. 249 
 
 Many the hours that I have pass'd with thee 
 
 In pleasant converse, when, in youth's warm prime, 
 My soul, in ardent immaturity, 
 
 On the experience of a riper time 
 
 Too much presum'd : and when to the sublime 
 Of human feeling public measures tended ; 
 
 When a * new sera on this world of crime 
 Seem'd to be dawning, my crude thoughts how mended, 
 Issued from thy calm lips with deeper reason blended. 
 
 But though in goodness thou excelledst most, 
 And in thy sphere wert parallel'd by few 
 
 In intellect, thy path of life was cross'd 
 By untoward accidents of many a hue, 
 Many of these such as could ne'er accrue 
 
 To vulgar souls ! Tho' both from natural gifts, 
 
 And acquir'd knowledge, thou might'st hope to view 
 
 Others to thee subordinate, yet shifts 
 
 Fortune from thy career, and those beneath thee lifts. 
 
 Oft wert thou visited with pale disease, 
 Nor didst thou totally escape th' assault 
 
 Of mental agony ! The pleasant breeze, 
 That, without leisure, or desire, to halt 
 
 * Alluding to the earlier stages of the Revolution in France. 
 
250 Lines on the 
 
 Bears some along, as though they clave the vault 
 Of th' empyrean, rather than on earth 
 
 Did urge a cumbrous load, not for thy fault, 
 But for thy sorrow, friend ! ne'er call'd to birth, 
 From thy still wrestling heart, pseans of thankful mirth. 
 
 Harder to bear than pomp of tragic wrong, 
 
 And all the woes whence the romantic page 
 Is swell'd with incident whence interests strong 
 
 The sympathies of other men engage 
 
 In our calamities, is it to wage 
 A never-ceasing, tho' a petty war, 
 
 With spirit-fretting troubles ! Heritage 
 Of greater potency, all hope to bar, 
 And withering more the soul, since more its powers 
 they mar, 
 
 Than the sublime of evil ! conjuring oft 
 
 Antagonist sublimity of soul ; 
 As I had rather, from some rock aloft, 
 
 Look down where ocean's waves tumultuous roll, 
 
 Than in some squalid haunt feel the controul 
 Of jarring sounds, and sights undignified, 
 
 So had I rather feel, that with my whole 
 And entire being, I were justified 
 In warring with my lot, than pine o'er its dimm'd pride ! 
 
Death of a Friend, 251 
 
 10. 
 Farewel ! In strictest truth I may assert 
 
 Thy loss has left a chasm within my heart ! 
 And when, in future, memory may revert 
 
 To those familiar scenes which did impart 
 
 Life's dearest impulses, since those of art 
 The most devoid, thou still shalt be my guest, 
 
 A spectral image, shrin'd in holiest part 
 Of my imagination, and my breast, 
 Heaving with sighs, shall oft thine unseen sway attest. 
 
A 
 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Written at Ryde, 24th August, 1820. 
 TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 Oh Ocean ! could I, as I have seen thee, 
 
 See thee once more ! Thy billows never roll'd 
 More freely, nor the winds more uncontroul'd, 
 
 Pass'd o'er thy surface, than did the wild glee 
 
 With which I hail'd thy lonely majesty, 
 Rise into shapings energetic, bold, 
 To the sublime of thought, and manifold 
 
 In rich imaginative imagery ! 
 
 Thou art the same that ever thou hast been ! 
 
 But oh my soul has lost the salient power, 
 Whence, with a light ineffably serene, 
 Which eye ungifted never saw, I ween, 
 
 It thee apparell'd ! Oh, but for one hour 
 That thou, as with youth's passion, could'st be seen ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Maurice, Printer, Fenchurcb Street. 
 
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