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 UNIVERSITY O 
 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 DESCENT OF LIBERTY,
 
 DESCENT OF LIBERTY, 
 
 A MASK; 
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 Aprite, O Muse, i chiusi fonti, aprite. 
 Cominci omai da questo d\ giocondo 
 Pill che niai bello a rinovarsi il mondo. 
 
 Celio Magno. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 PRINTED FOR GALE AND FENNER, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW : 
 I5y S. Hamilton, Weybridge, Surrey. 
 
 1816.
 
 5} VR 
 
 i 
 
 Q 
 
 I DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THOMAS BARNES, ESQ. 
 
 oo 
 
 CO 
 
 2 OF THE INNER TEMPLE. 
 
 CD My dear Barnes, 
 
 "^I DEDICATED the first poetical attempt of 
 my maturer years to a man of wit and 
 scholarship, who stood the next above me 
 at school : allow me to present the second 
 to another, who stood the next below. How 
 he was my superior in general know- 
 ledge, and the anticipation of a manly judg- 
 ment, I well remember; but I am not
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 going to deviate into the old language of 
 dedications: I merely allude to these cir- 
 cumstances as calculated to call up pleasant 
 recollections with a variety of readers, and 
 in grateful acknowledgment of a species of 
 friendship, which is of all others the most 
 agreeable. It is the oldest of all friendships ; 
 and yet has a charm, which prevents the 
 enjoy ers of it from ever seeming to grow 
 old with each other. 
 
 Pray forget, if you can, while you are 
 listening to a still more familiar and fire-side 
 voice, your other intimate friends, the great 
 poets; and believe me 
 
 Most sincerely your's, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Surrey Jail, 
 \OthJuhj, 1814,
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following piece was written, partly 
 to vary the hours of imprisonment and ill 
 health, partly to indulge the imagination of 
 the author during a season of public joy 
 when he could realize no sights for himself, 
 and chiefly to express the feelings of hope 
 and delight, with which every enthusiastic 
 lover of freedom must have witnessed the 
 downfall of the great Apostate from Liberty. 
 The romantic nature of the circumstances, 
 which led to and accompanied that striking 
 event, rendered a political allusion more
 
 VI PREFACE 
 
 than ordinarily susceptible of poetry; and 
 it was the production of some verses at the 
 moment, which unconsciously assuming 
 something of a dramatic air, suggested the 
 composition of a larger piece on the subject. 
 They are subjoined, on this account, at the 
 end of the succeeding article upon Masks. 
 
 The author was aware, at the same time, 
 that whatever might be the case at present, 
 allusions to public matters, of however ex- 
 traordinary a description, might soon become 
 an unpleasant tax on a number of readers, 
 who in proportion as they are fond of poetry 
 are averse from politics, or at least, when- 
 ever they come to the one, chuse to be ab- 
 stracted and wrapped up from the other. It 
 seems like bringing the bustle of the world 
 into their still walks and leafy retirements.
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 He has endeavoured therefore to render the 
 fancy and imagery so predominant, with 
 touches of the human aff'ections here and 
 there, that even those who might wish to 
 meet with no politics at all, may not be un- 
 willing to encounter him for the sake of his 
 poetry. In the whole of the more regular 
 part, for instance, the allusion renders the 
 subject little different from a mere tale of 
 enchantment ; the commencement of the 
 second scene, where the Shepherds describe 
 the mist that suddenly crossed them, may 
 be construed or not, as the reader pleases, 
 into an allusion to Napoleon's arts in blind- 
 ing his subjects ; and the family meeting in 
 the third scene, after the fairy preparations, 
 is entirely of a domestic nature. 
 
 In taking for the ground-work of liis pro-
 
 mil ' PREFACE. 
 
 duction an allusion to the overthrow of that 
 reckless chieftain, and introducing with 
 their laurels the presiding Spirits of the 
 kingdoms arrayed against him, the author 
 must be understood as not intending to con- 
 fer praise on any idle character that may 
 have been ludicrously flattered into the no- 
 tion of it's having played the part of a coun- 
 ter-genius. This were to reverse the fable 
 of the frog and the ox with tenfold carica- 
 ture, and to represent the sturdy animal as 
 absolutely falling down under a sense of the 
 reptile's superiority. Let such of Bona- 
 parte's enemies as had other qualities be- 
 sides force to bring against him, receive 
 their due reputation : it is the popular 
 Spirit, after all, that had the main hand in 
 the business ; and tliis is the spirit, of which 
 the national Genii, in the piece before us.
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 are chiefly the representatives ; but to talk, 
 as a straggling sycophant here and there 
 has done, of certain persons and their over- 
 throw of Napoleon, is to ascribe victory to 
 the trumpeter's tassels, or to find out a 
 predominant connexion between a fop*s 
 whisper in London and the sweeping of an 
 army of locusts into the Red Sea. When 
 Archimedes in his closet confounded the 
 Roman armaments, he was at other work 
 than drinking and lying in bed. It is with 
 great loatliing the author admits an allusion 
 to these matters into a place like the pre- 
 sent ; but he does it for the admonition 
 of those, wlio, forgetting that the very 
 feelings which lead him sincerely to admire 
 liberty, must preserve him from their own 
 slavish inconsistencies, might take occasion 
 from the tenour of the following piece to
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 represent his panegyric as embracing the 
 most unembraceable personages. 
 
 As to Napoleon himself, whether he is to 
 be considered as a compounder with the old 
 despotisms, or as a soldier sacrificing every 
 thing to a mischievous activity, or an emu- 
 lator of what are called the glories of Caesars, 
 and Alexanders, or a re-assertor of the pre- 
 dominance of intellect, with an unlucky for- 
 getfulness of principle, or lastly, as an out- 
 rageous species of philosopher, with a good 
 end really in view, but pursuing it by all 
 sorts of bad means, his actions are only 
 more or less to be abhorred by the free and 
 plain-dealing part of society ; for there are 
 very few persons, we believe, who think 
 that he was compelled to go on in his vio- 
 lence by a continual pressure of enemies
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 from without ; and at all events, he was not 
 compelled into the viler parts of his policy, 
 he was not compelled into the sup- 
 pression of all that was free and honest in 
 France, nor into the inconceivable mean- 
 ness of his first doings in Spain. As man 
 with man, he may have his excuses of habit, 
 and circumstance, and frailty of nature ; as 
 who has not ? Indeed, when we have spun 
 out our metaphysical threads, and find what 
 little strength our closest spun webs con- 
 tain for resting any conclusions as to merit 
 and demerit, who but becomes sensible of 
 the flimsiness of his final judgment, and is 
 willing to regard and be regarded by all his 
 fellow-creatures with eyes of charity and 
 humility ? But social necessity is apt to 
 reason to more purpose than speculation 
 upon matters of vice and virtue, or in other
 
 XU PREFACE. 
 
 words, of folly and wisdom, of pernicious- 
 ness and utility; and at best, we can re- 
 gard a man who is commonly called wicked 
 but as a noxious animal, who may be hunt- 
 ed down and destroyed, though merit and 
 demerit be altogether out of the question. 
 Those who look upon Bonaparte as a mere 
 soldier of genius, with such philosophy and 
 love of improvement, as original strength 
 of mind and the unbigoted nature of his 
 profession would leave him, appear to have 
 the truest idea of his character. If as he 
 went forward, he grew heated by his suc- 
 cessful violence into a notion that he was 
 playing the part of a kind of inferior Provi- 
 dence, his downfall lias only added another 
 warning name to the long list of Salmo- 
 neuses, who, without the vision and foresight 
 of Gods, have nnd^aken to dispense with
 
 PREFACE. XIU 
 
 the very first principles that regulate the 
 comforts of men. This is the truest com- 
 ment on the words of the Latin poet : 
 
 Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia : neque 
 Per nosti-um patimur scelus 
 
 Iracunda Jovein ponere fulmina. 
 
 Horace, 
 
 Or as the English poet has still finelier 
 turned it : 
 
 We reach at Jove's imperial crown. 
 And pall the unwilling thunder down, 
 
 Drydex. 
 
 Whether tlie Allied Monarclis will act 
 up to the promises wliich tliey hei.l out, 
 and upon tlie strength of whitli, as well as 
 of feelings more immediately national, Po-
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 pular Opinion enabled them to conquer, is 
 a speculation which the author wiUingly 
 confines to less fanciful publications. One 
 of them, at least, has given some personal 
 proofs of an exemption from the usual vices 
 of conquerors; and circumstances, both past 
 and present, render on all hands the invita- 
 tions to continue their good policy so nu- 
 merous, and the shame of contradicting it 
 so ready to start forward, that even weak- 
 nesses of a particular kind may come in aid 
 of their better spirit; and monarchs be 
 found to resemble ordinary men in other 
 respects, besides those to which their ene- 
 mies would confine them. At all events, 
 to say nothing of the successive punish- 
 ments inflicted on all parties who have of- 
 fended the common sense of mankind, it 
 appears certain that the age, however re-
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 trograde in some respects, has taken suf- 
 ficient steps in improvement to warrant 
 it's being met with congratulations. Expe- 
 rience, the progress of Education, the 
 extension of the general feeling respecting 
 the Slave Trade, the evident futility of 
 Superstition's endeavours to recover her- 
 self, the unquestionable addition of free- 
 dom obtained by the French, as far as they 
 have approximated to the political privileges 
 of this country, in short, tlie encreasing 
 strength of opinion, the universal advance of 
 people towards their governments, and the 
 better knowledge of each other which has 
 followed the shaking together of the whole 
 civilized community, and which must in- 
 evitably prevent the return of certain de- 
 lusions, even in countries like Spain, all 
 conspire to secure to the world that im-
 
 Xvi PREFACE. 
 
 provement in it's social atmosphere, which 
 has generally been preceded by storms and 
 convulsions. And as to the rest, if Poetry 
 is still inclined to colour a little overmuch, 
 and to sit smiling out upon forms and visions 
 of happiness which other eyes cannot dis- 
 cern, let us recollect that glorious defini- 
 tion of her office and privileges, which was 
 struck off under her own inspiration by a 
 writer, in whom knowledge appears to have 
 been almost intuitive : 
 
 " The use of this feigned history (Poetry) 
 hath been to give some shadow of satisfac- 
 tion to the mind of man, in those points, 
 wherein the nature of things doth deny it, 
 the world being, in proportion, inferior to 
 the soul ; by reason whereof there is agree- 
 able to the spirit of man, a more ample
 
 PREFACE. XVll 
 
 greatness, a more exact goodness, and a 
 more absolute variety, than can be found 
 in the nature of things. Therefore, be- 
 cause the acts or events of true history 
 liave not that magnitude which satisfieth 
 the mind of man, Poesy feigneth acts and 
 events greater and more heroical: because 
 true history propoundeth the successes and 
 issues of actions not so agreeable to the me- 
 rits of virtue and vice, therefore Poesy feigns 
 them more just in retribution, and more 
 according to revealed providence : because 
 true history representeth actions and events 
 more ordinary, and less interchanged, there- 
 fore Poesy endueth them with more rare- 
 ness, and more unexpected and alternative 
 variations; so as it appeareth, that Poesy 
 serveth and conferreth to magnanimity, 
 morality, and to delectation. And there-
 
 XVlll PREFACE. 
 
 fore it was ever thought to have some par- 
 ticipation of divineness, because it doth 
 raise and erect the mind by submitting the 
 shows of things to the desires of the mind, 
 whereas reason doth buckle and bow the 
 -mind unto the nature of things." 
 
 Bacon.
 
 SOME ACCOUNT 
 
 OPtlGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. 
 
 As the species of dramatic production called a Mask 
 has been unknown among us for a long time, the 
 reader may not be unwilling, before he enters upon the 
 following pages, to hear a few words respecting it. 
 Not that the author pretends to instnict every one on 
 the subject wlio may happen to take up his book ; but 
 it is possible for persons well acquainted in general 
 with our elder and nobler poetry to have missed this 
 particular branch of it, which, as it was chiefly used 
 for ornament on tenij)orary and private occasions, was 
 
 b2
 
 XX SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 at tlje same time of the most irregular turn and the 
 most carelessly cultivated. The Mask, with which 
 poetical readers are most familiar, Comus, has less 
 of the particular nature of the composition than any 
 other} and those, which have most of it, either form 
 parts of other dramas, as in the Tempest, and are too 
 short to fix a separate recollection, or happen to be so 
 poor in themselves, like those of Ben Jonson, as to be 
 occasionally omitted in the writer's works. 
 
 The Mask, with regard to it's origin, is dismissed 
 by Warton in his History of Poetry as " a branch of 
 the elder drama 3" and its nature is defined bv Dr. 
 Johnson to be " a dramatic performance written in a 
 tragic style without attention to rules or probability." 
 These accounts appear equally vague and incorrect. It 
 is more than doubtful whether the Mask had any con- 
 nexion with the drama in the first instance 3 and there 
 have been Masks in a comic as well as tragic style. 
 The definition would even include a number of tra- 
 gedies.
 
 ORIdlN AXD NATURE OF MASKS. XXI 
 
 On the Other hand, it is not easy to settle the dis- 
 tinct nature of a composition, the lawlessness of which 
 is confessed. Some Masks have been without superna- 
 tural agency, others without scenery, others without a 
 machinery of any kind ; but an intermixture of songs, 
 and especially some kind of pomp or pageant, seem to 
 have been features in all of them, in all, at least, 
 that pretend to a dramatic form ; for the title, in some 
 instances, iippears to have been warranted by the exhi- 
 bition, real or descriptive, of a piece of dumb show; 
 and this, together Avith the name itself and the men- 
 tion of the word pageant, may lead us to it's true 
 origin and definition, the former of which is otherwise 
 lost amidst a multitude of shows, mysteries, and musical 
 dramas. 
 
 The Mask then, as far as it's actors and in-door 
 character were coneenied, seems to liave grown more 
 imniedialely out of tlie entertainment called a Masque- 
 rade, and as far as it's gorgeousncss and machinery, 
 out of the Pageants or Public Shows with which it was 
 customary in the reign of the Tudors to welcome princes
 
 XXll SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 and other persons of distinction. From the latter it took 
 it's deities and allegorical persons, and from the former 
 it's representation by families, or by parties of the gentry 
 and nobility. 
 
 Both of these kinds of exhibition, with a remote re- 
 lationship perhaps to the Greek stage, and a nearer 
 one to the festive compositions of the Provengals, had 
 their birth in Italy, the soil in Mliich every species of 
 modern poetry' seems to have originally sprung up. The 
 first appearance of one of them, or perhaps combina- 
 tion of both, undoubtedly took place at Florence, in 
 the time of Lorenzo de' Medici, when a party of persons^ 
 during a season of public festivity, made their appear- 
 ance in the streets, riding along in procession, and 
 dressed up like reanimated dead bodies, who sung a 
 tremendous chorus, reminding the appalled spectators 
 of their mortality*. Spectacles of this nature were 
 clearly the origin of the Trionfl or Triumplis of the 
 
 * See the History of Lorenzo de' INIedici by I\Ir. Roscoc, to whom 
 the lovers of Italian literature are so much indebted.
 
 OBIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. XXJll 
 
 Italian poets j and under different aspects, and with 
 more or less assumption of a dramatic air, soon spread 
 all over Italy, now contracting themselves into domes- 
 tic and gorgeous congratulations at the nuptials of 
 great men, now splitting from a particular purpose 
 into the scattered and individual freaks of carnivals and 
 masquerades. 
 
 It is true, the fondness of the Inns of Court for this 
 species of performance may be referred to the old thea- 
 trical exhibitions iu monasteries and colleges ; but the 
 connexion witli masquerades in general seems easily 
 traceable. The masquerade, in this country, as a parti- 
 cular entertainment, was for a long time confined to the 
 houses of the great, and to the celebrations of births, 
 marriages, and the higher description of festive meet- 
 ings ; and as the Masquers, wlio somctinies went visit- 
 ing in a troop, would now and then come nj)on their hu^t 
 unawares, it may be conjectured, that, finding themselves 
 encouraged by success to give their compliments a more 
 prepared and poetical turn, they gradually assumed 
 characters iu honour of the day's celebration, and ac-
 
 XXIV SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 companied their appearance with songs and dialogue: 
 in a short time, the Pageants that were every day oc- 
 curring, and the very nature of the exhibition itself, 
 easily suggested the addition of allegory and personifi- 
 cation ; by further degrees, a scene and a stage arose ; 
 tlie composer and machinist were regularly employed : 
 and at length the Mask took it's place as a species of 
 fanciful drama, which the poet was to render as agree- 
 able and surprising as he could. 
 
 The Mask therefore, in it's proper character, and such 
 as it flourished in this country during the finest times 
 of our poetry, may be defined A mixed Drama, allow- 
 ing of natural incidents as of every thing else that is 
 dramatic, but more essentially given up to the fancy, 
 and abounding in machinery and personification, gene- 
 rally with a particular allusion. 
 
 To some critics, the license which such a species of 
 composition allows is intolerable. They see in it no- 
 thing but the violation of rules and probabilities ; and 
 turn aside from the most charming fancy, when it
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. XXV 
 
 comes to them in a dress which the French have not 
 authorized. Give others again the fancy, and in a piece 
 professedly supernatural they will be content to over- 
 look ndes and probabilities ; they go whithersoever the 
 poet leads them, provided he does it with grace as well 
 as imagination ; and when they find themselves among 
 summer clouds or enchanted gardens, do not quarrel 
 with him for being out of London or Paris. Un- 
 doubtedly, that work is the noblest, which can produce 
 the greatest quantity of fancies and probabilities at 
 once, or in other words, the greatest pleasure under 
 the greatest difficulty. A Mask, it is confessed, is not 
 a great drama, nor an c[)ic poem. But when the poet 
 chooses to take leave of the probable, it does not follow 
 that he must abandon the tasteful or even the natural, 
 whatever has been the assertion of those, whose taste, 
 if they could liavc found out the truth, was of as small a 
 range as tlicir imagination. Even the improbable has 
 it's rules, and does not mistake mere exaggeration for 
 greatness, the shocking for the terrific, or the puerile 
 for the tricksomc. In short, taste as well as fancy, 
 has a very extensive province, even of the most legiti-
 
 XXVi SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 mate kindj and the wildest imagination may he found 
 there, and is, so long as it carries with it two things 
 which may be called the poet's passports, and which 
 our critical friends on the other side of the water would 
 be in vain called upon to produce, primitive feelings, 
 and a natural language. Let the reader just look at a 
 passage, almost a random one, from the Tempest. It is 
 where Prospero tells Ariel to bring in some of the in- 
 ferior spirits for the Mask. 
 
 Jlriel. Presently ? 
 
 Prospero. Ay, ^with a twink. 
 
 Ariel. Before you can say Conic and Go, 
 And breathe twice, and cry So, so, 
 Each one tripping on his toe. 
 Will be here with mop and mowe. 
 Do you love me, Master ? No. 
 
 Prospero. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. 
 
 Here are freaks of the fancy ; l)nt do they hinder the 
 properest and most natural language, or even an ap- 
 peal to the affections ? The half arch, half patlietic line 
 in italics comes across our nature with a startling
 
 ORIGIN AND NATUKK OF MASKS XXVii 
 
 smiliiigness, and finds us at home when \vc most seem to 
 have gone out of ourselves. 
 
 It is observable, that in proportion as the critic 
 possesses something of poetry himself, or the poet rises 
 in the enthusiasm of his art, he gets above this kind 
 of prejudice. AA'hat are styled " fooleries" by Warbur- 
 ton are called " libend and elegant amusements" by 
 AV'arton ; and what were neglected by the wits of 
 C harles tlic Seconds day for French rhetoric, rhyming 
 tragedies, and the conceits of the corrupted Italian 
 school (for when writers talk of the conceits of the 
 Italians, tliey arc speaking of what the Italians them- 
 selves condemn), were praised and practised by the 
 men, wlio, by universal consent, are at the head of our 
 native poetry. 
 
 J lad <)\ir great poets indeed stopped short of actual 
 ])rattire in this instance, it would be clear from a va- 
 riety of passages in their works, what iiold these gor- 
 geous and fanciful exhibitions had taken on their 
 minds. Pageant and Mask are common terms in
 
 XXVIU SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Shakspeare and Spenser for something more than ordi- 
 narily striking in the way of vision ; they often furnish 
 them Avith resemblances and reflections ; and a great 
 deal of the main feature of the Faerie Queen has with 
 great probability been traced to the influence of these 
 congenial spectacles. Milton, it is true, who objected 
 to kings on earth and filled heaven with regalities, 
 who denied music to chapel-goers and allowed it to an- 
 gels, who Mould have had nothing brilliant in human 
 worship and sprinkled the pavement before the deity's 
 throne with roses and amaranths, has a passage in 
 which he speaks contemptuously of 
 
 Court-amours, 
 Mix'd dance, or wanton Mask, or midnight ball* ; 
 
 but it was after he had learnt to quarrel with the graces 
 of the world, as something which Providence had sent 
 us only to deny ourselves. He is speaking here, too, 
 of the entertainment in it's abuse rather than it's pro- 
 
 * Parad. Lost, Book r.
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. XXIX 
 
 per character. In his younger, happier, and it may be 
 added, not less poetical days, he counted 
 
 Masque and antique Pagcantn- 
 
 among the rational pleasures of cheerfulness, and gave 
 them perhaps the very highest as well as most lovely 
 character of abstract and essential poetry, by calling 
 them 
 
 Such siylits as youthful poets dream 
 On summer eves bv haunted stream*. 
 
 Ill short, Comtis had been the result of his early feel- 
 ings; and it was curious, tliat he uho inveighed against 
 Maslcs in his more advanced age, slioukl liave been fated 
 to leave to posterity the very piece by which this species 
 of composition is chiefly known. 
 
 ( Oiiiiis, however, tlioni^h an undoubted Mask in tome 
 
 L'Al
 
 XXX SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 respectSj as in it's magic, it's route of monsters, and 
 it's particular allusion to an event in the noble family 
 that performed it, is more allied, from it's regularity 
 of story and it's deficiency in scenic show, to the Favole 
 Boschereccie, or Sylvan Talcs of the Italian poets, 
 which had just then been imitated and surpassed by the 
 Faithful Shepherdess of Fletcher. A Mask may be pas- 
 toral or not as it pleases , but scenic show and personi- 
 fication are, upon the whole, it's distinguishing features 5 
 and Milton, with the Faithful Shepherdess on his table 
 (his evident prototype), was tempted to deviate more 
 and more from the title of his piece by the new charm 
 that had come upon him. 
 
 On the other hand, Spenser, who appcar:> at one 
 time to have written a set of Pageants, has introduced 
 into his great poem an allegorical procession into whicli 
 Upton conjectures them to have been Avorked up*, 
 and which the author has expressly called a "Maske," 
 
 * Sue a note ou the passage. Todd's Spenser, vol. 5. p. 106.- 
 1805.
 
 ORrGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. XXXI 
 
 tliougli it is in the other extreme of Comus, and has 
 nothing but show about it. It is in Book the third. 
 Canto the twelfth, where Britomart, in the strange 
 Castle, and in the silence and solitude of night, is awaked 
 by a " shrilling trumpet/' and after a storm of wind 
 and thunder, with the clapping of doors, sees the 
 ' Maske of Cupid " issue from the Enchanted Chamber, 
 and pace about her room, llie whole scene is in his 
 noblest style of painting ; but as it is only a mute 
 .sf)ectacle, and that too rather described than acted, it 
 does not include the dramatic character necessary to 
 complete the more general idea of the Mask. 
 
 The Mask which is introduced in the Tempest, and 
 whlili M'arburton had unluckily forgotten when he 
 thouglit to countenance iiis opinion of these " fool- 
 eries" l)y saying that Shakspeare had written none*, 
 is a much completer thing of it's kind. In addition to 
 supernatural agency, it has songs and a dialogue, and 
 is calle<l up by Prospero for the purjM>se of celebrating 
 
 * Note to Koinco and Juliet, act 1, scene i.
 
 X3K11 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 a particular events the betrothment of Ferdinand 
 and Miranda. It is not;, of course, as the mere con- 
 tingency of a play, to be compared with the work of 
 Milton, nor is it, though not without marks of a great 
 hand, so lively and interesting as Spenser's Pageant ; 
 but it comes much nearer than either to the genuine 
 Mask, and indeed only differs from it inasmuch as it 
 is rather an incident than a piece by itself, rather a 
 Mask in a drama; than a drama in the form of a Mask. 
 Of a similar kind, and not without touches of poetiy, 
 is the Mask in the Maid's Tragedy of Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, and the spirited little sketch of another, after 
 Spenser, in Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 
 
 The pieces written for more direct occasions, and 
 altogether presenting us with the complete and dis- 
 tinct cliaracter of this entertainment, may be divided 
 perhaps into two classes, those written to be seen 
 only, and those that had the ambition also to be read. 
 Of the former class (for it seems but fair to allow them 
 this privilege) are the Masks of Ben Jonson. It may 
 seem a hardy thing to assert, that Jonson was in one
 
 ORIGIN ANp NATURE OF MASKS. XXXUl 
 
 rtspect eminently qualified for this kind of production 
 by the luxuriance and volatility of his fancy; but the 
 ancients, instead of furnishing cordials to his actual 
 deficiency, will bo found perhaps, upon a due insight 
 into the more poetical part of him, to have been the 
 bane of his natural strength. A classical education 
 may have given him an accidental inclination towards 
 them, as it will do with most poets at first; but upon 
 comparison of his learning with his fancy, it seems 
 likely that nothing but a perversion of the love of 
 originality, and perhaps a consciousness that he could 
 never meet Shakspeare on equal terms in the walk of 
 humanity, determined him on being a local humorist 
 in the grave cloak of a scholar. What he wanted, be- 
 sides the generalising power, was sentiment. His 
 turn of mind, doubly distorted perhaps by the thwart- 
 ing of his genius, was so unfortunate on this score, 
 and upj)ears to have acquired such a general tendency 
 to contradiction, that he almost seems to be playing the 
 Hector with his own jK-rformancos, and to delight in 
 shaming the occasional elegance of his fancy by fol-
 
 XKXIV SOSfE ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 lowing it up with an additional coarseness and heyday 
 vtdgarity. Of the numerous Masks, which he wrote for 
 the court of James the First, those perhaps that con- 
 tain the most poetical passages are two with very at- 
 tractive titles, the Vision of Delight, and Pleasure 
 reconciled to Vertue ; but neither is free from this 
 sort of bitterness. That they are poor in other respects 
 is not to be wondered at. The author probably ^Tote 
 them with little good-will. Not only was the honour 
 of the inventions partaken by the celebrated Inigo 
 Jones, whom he has frequently endeavoured to gall in 
 his Epigrams, but the King, whose taste when he was 
 not hunting or disputing, ran upon finer)-, most likely 
 expressed a greater admiration of the machinist's 
 beauties than the poet's j and to sum up all, the task 
 was an official one. If this cannot excuse the coarse- 
 ness of the humour, or even the gross servility of the 
 adulation, it may reasonably apologize for the rest : 
 and something of the same kind may be observed for 
 the poverty of Masks in general. A passage in Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher will at once illustrate this ob-
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. XXXV 
 
 servation, and show the opinion which two real poets 
 who wrote Masks themselves, entertained of their gene- 
 ral awkwardness. 
 
 Lysijipus. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry; 
 What think'st thou of the Masque? Will it be well? 
 
 Strato. As well as Masque can be. 
 
 Li/si}i])us. As Masque can be ? 
 
 Strato, Yes. 
 They must commend their king, and speak in praise 
 Of the assembly, bless the bride and bridegroom 
 In person of some god. Tliey're tyed to rules 
 Of flattery. 
 
 Maid's Tragedt, ^ct 1. 5c. 1. 
 
 Taste and good temper, however, would make a con- 
 siderable difference in the merit even of flattery : and 
 it is to be recollected, after all, that the Mask was not 
 of necessity to be complimentary, though it was gene- 
 rally produced on complimentary occasions. Beau- 
 mont, in a piece called the Masque of the Inner 
 Temple and Gray's Inn, and written in honour of the 
 Elector Palantine's marriage with James's daughter, has 
 exhibited equal delicacy and invention. Carew, in the 
 
 c2
 
 XXXVl SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 succeeding reign, when the Prince^ Avhatever political 
 errors he had derived from a bad education, was a man 
 of taste and respectability, complimented the court in 
 a Mask, entitled Coelum Britannicum, which, contrary 
 to the usual corruptness of tlie author's taste, is in 
 some parts worthy the dignity of Milton himself ; and 
 among the variety of productions of this kind, which 
 the gentlemen of the law appear to have got up, as the 
 phrase is, for their own amusement, there is one, of a 
 general description, founded on the fable of Circe, and 
 written by William Browne, a student of the Temple 
 in the beginning of James's reign, which reminds us 
 of Milton, and has been supposed by some to have 
 been one of the various productions which furnished 
 hints for his Comus. Browne, though he was defi- 
 cient in that pervading taste, or selectness, which can 
 alone bring down a man to posterity, or at least enable 
 him to survive but with the curious, was a true poet, 
 with a luxuriant fancy and great powers of description, 
 and has undoubtedly been imitated by Milton in souic 
 instances.
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS, XXXVll 
 
 These three pieces, the Masque of the Inner Temple 
 and Gray's Inn by Beaumont, the Coelum Britannicum 
 of Carew, and the Inner Temple Mask or Circe of 
 Browne, arc of the more ambitious class, that aim to 
 be read; and may be pronounced, perhaps, upon the 
 whole, the best specimen sof the Mask, in it's stricter 
 sense, that are to be found. They are far below such a 
 work as Comus ; but considered as an inferior species 
 of composition, of no great extent, and, two of them, 
 with a courtly purpose, they possess no small portion 
 of poetry- ; and may be characterized, the first by fancy 
 and elegance, the second by a lofty strain of sentiment, 
 and the third by a certain full and reposing luxury. 
 
 To complete the sketch on the present subject, a 
 specimen may be quoted, from each of these pieces, of 
 the three principal features of the Mask, it's show, 
 it's personification, and it's songs. Beaumont has pre- 
 faced his with the following " Device or Argument, " 
 whicii contains an analysis of the entire performance, 
 and will exhibit at once the main fabric of a Mask :
 
 XXXVUl SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 " Jupiter and Juno, willing to do honour to the mar- 
 riage of the two famous rivers, Thamesis and Rhine" 
 (an allusion to the Princess Elizabeth and the Elector 
 Palatine), " employ their messengers severally. Mercury 
 and Iris, for that purpose. They meet and contend. 
 Then Mercury, for his part, brings forth an anti- 
 masque, all of spirits or divine natures, but yet not of 
 one kind or livery, because that had been so much 
 in use heretofore, but, as it were, in consort, like to 
 broken music j and preserving the propriety of the 
 devise, for that rivers in nature are maintained ei- 
 ther by springs from beneath or showers from above,' 
 he raiseth four of the Naiades out of the fountains, and 
 bringeth down five of the Hyades out of the clouds, to 
 dance. Hereupon, Iris scoffs at Mercurj-, for that he 
 had devised a dance but of one sex, which could have 
 no life 5 but Mercury, who was provided for that ex- 
 ception, and in token that the match should be blessed 
 both with love and riches, calleth forth out of the 
 groves four Cupids, and brings down from Jupiter's 
 altar four statues of gold and silver to dance with the
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. XXSIK 
 
 nymphs and stars, in which dance the Cupids being 
 blind, and the statues having half life put into them, 
 and retaining still some of their <dd nature, giveth fit oc- 
 casion to new and strange varieties both in the music 
 and paces. This was the first anti-masque. 
 
 " Then Iris, for her part, in scorn of this high-flying 
 devise, and in token that the match shall likewise be 
 blessed with the love of the common people, calls to 
 Flora her confederate (for that the months of flowers 
 are likewise the months of sweet showers and rain- 
 bows) to bring in a May-dance, or rural dance, con- 
 sisting likewise not of any suited persons, but of 
 a confusion or commixture of all such persons as are 
 natural and proper for country sports. This is the 
 second anti-masque. 
 
 " Then Mercury and Iris, after tliis vicing one upon 
 the other, seem to leave their contention 3 and Mer- 
 cury', by the consent of Iris, brings down the Olympian 
 knights, intimating, that Jupiter having, after a long
 
 xl SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 discontinuance, revived the Olympian games, and sum- 
 moned thereunto from all parts the liveliest and activest 
 persons that were ; had enjoined them, before they fell 
 to their games, to do honour to these nuptials. The 
 Olympian games portend to the match celebrity, victors-, 
 and felicity. 
 
 " The fabric was a mountain with two descents, 
 and served with two traverses. At the entrance of 
 the king the first traverse was dra^^n, which was a 
 pendant of a hill to the life with divers boscages and 
 grovets upon the steep or hanging grounds thereof ; 
 and at the foot of the hill, four delicate fountains run- 
 ning with water, and bordered with sedges and water- 
 flowers. 
 
 " Iris first appeared ; and presently after. Mercury, 
 striving to overtake her. Iris appareled in a robe of 
 discoloured taffeta, figured in variable colours like the 
 rainbow, a cloudy wreath on her head, and tresses. 
 Mercury in doublet and hose of white taffeta, a white
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE bF MASKS. xU' 
 
 hat, wings on his shoulders and feet, his caducous in his 
 hand, speaking to Iris as foUoweth : 
 
 Mercury. Stay, stay, 
 Stay, light-foot Iris, for thou strivest in vain ; 
 My wings are nimbler than thy feet. 
 
 Iris. Away, 
 
 Dissembling Mercury ! my messages 
 Ask honest haste, not like those wanton ones 
 Your thund'ring father sends. 
 
 Mvr. Stay, foolish maid ! 
 
 Or I will take my rise upon a hill, 
 When I perceive thee seated on a cloud 
 In all tiie painted glory that thou hast. 
 And never cease to clap my willing wings. 
 Till I catch iiold of thy discoloured bow. 
 And siiivcr it, beyond the angry pow'r 
 Of yoLiT curst mistress to make up again. 
 
 Iris. Hermes, forbear. Juno will cliide and strike. 
 Is great Juvo jealous that I am employed 
 On iur love-errands ? She did never yet 
 Clasp weak mortality in her wliite arais> 
 As he hath often done. 
 
 &c. &c."
 
 xUi SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 All this, it must be confessed, is sufficiently wild j 
 yet the author, we see, thinks of his proprieties in the 
 midst of it} and the critic, who is about to cry out 
 against the dancing statues, will probably check him- 
 self, on the sudden, by recollecting the walking images 
 and peripatetic footstools in Homer. In fact, it is of 
 these very images that the poet has made use. The 
 conclusion of the piece is very quiet and pleasing : 
 
 Peace and silence be the guide 
 To the man, and to the bride. 
 If there be a joy yet new 
 In marriage, let it fall on you. 
 &c. 
 
 In the Coelum Britannicura, which represents the 
 Pagan heaven as having resolved, out of pure emula- 
 tion of the British court, to lead a better life and rid 
 the constellations of their unworthy occupants, a variety 
 of allegorical persons come before Mercury and Momus 
 to show the extensiveness of their sovereignty and lay 
 claim to the vacant places. Among others. Poverty
 
 ORieiN AND NATURE OF IXASKS. 3dUi 
 
 said Pleasure appear, the former of whom is described 
 as " a woman of pale colour, large brims of a hat upon 
 her head, through which her hair started up like a 
 Fury ; her robe was of a dark colour full of patches j 
 about oue of her hands was tyed a chaine of iron, to 
 which was fastned a weighty stone, which she bore up 
 under her arm." Mercur)-, after hearing her pretensions, 
 which are of the Stoical cast, dismisses her with a& ih- 
 vective, which begins thus ; 
 
 Thou dost presume too much, poor needy wretcL, 
 To claim a station in the firmament. 
 Because thy humble cottage, or thy tub, 
 Nurses some lazy or pedantique virtue, 
 In the cheap sunsiiine, or by shady spriugs, 
 With roots and pot-herbs; where thy rigid hand, 
 Tearing those human passions from the raind. 
 Upon whose stock fair blooming virtues flourish, 
 Degradcth Nature and bcnunibeth sense, 
 And Gorgon-like, turns active men to stone. 
 
 The picture of Pleasure is that of " a young woman 
 with a smiling face, in a light lascivious habit, adorned
 
 Xliv SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 with silver and gold, her temples crowned with a gar- 
 land of roses, and over that a rainbow circling her 
 head down to her shoulders." Poverty's speech is fol- 
 lowed with a dance of Gypsies, Pleasure's with that of 
 the Five Senses : but Mercury dismisses her in like 
 manner, commencing, among other images of a less 
 original complexion, with some that are very lively and 
 forcible : 
 
 Bewitching Syren, gilded rottenness, 
 
 Thou hast with cunning artifice displayed 
 
 Th' enamel'd outside, and the honied verge 
 
 Of the fair cup, where deadly poison lurks ; 
 
 Within, a thousand sorrows dance the round : 
 
 And, like a shell, Pain circles thee witho\it ; 
 
 Grief is the shadow waiting on thy steps. 
 
 Which, as thy joyes 'gin tow'rds their West decline, 
 
 Doth to a gyant's spreading form extend 
 
 Thy dwarfish stature. 
 
 For the third, or lyTical part of the Mask, nothing 
 can equal in point of richness and harmonious variety 
 the songs in Comus, that, for instance, beginning
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. xlv . 
 
 Sabrina fair, 
 Listen where thou art sitting 
 
 Under tlie glassy, cool, translucent wave, 
 In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
 The loose train of thy amber- dropping hair: ... 
 
 the lyrics in the Faithful Shepherdess are also models 
 of this kind in point of grace and a light touching ; nor 
 could Ben Jonson have more completely proved his 
 fitness for writing Masks than by the single production 
 of that most accomplished invocation to Diana in Cyn- 
 thia's Revels ; 
 
 Queen and liuntress, chaste and fair, 
 
 Now tlie sun is laid to sleep, 
 Seated in thy silver chair, 
 
 State in wonted manner keep * ; &c. 
 
 lUit to conchule the spccinjcns from the more decided 
 Mask, the foiiowing passa;xe may be taken from the 
 Circe of Browne. Tlie Cli.irmo, tliongh falling off 
 towards the conclusion, has Ihhmi cpiotcd by Warton 
 
 Act 5. Sc. 6.
 
 xlTt SOME ACCOtTNT OF THE 
 
 in his History of Poetry* with a just feeling of ad- 
 miration. 
 
 The Songe of Nymphes in the Wood. 
 
 What sing the sweet birds in each grove ? 
 
 Nought but love. 
 What sound our echoes, day and night ? 
 
 All delighte. 
 What doth each wynd breathe us, that fleetes? 
 
 Endlesse sweetes. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Is there a place on earth this isle excels, 
 
 Or any nymphes more happy live than we, 
 
 When all our songes, our soundes, and breathinges be, 
 
 That here all love, delighte, and sweetnesse dwells? 
 
 Circe, 
 
 Yet holdes soft sleepe his course. Now, Ithacus, 
 Ajax would ofier hecatombes to us. 
 And Ilium's ravish'd wifes, and childlesse sires, 
 With incense dym the bright setherial fires, 
 
 * V'ol. 2. Sect, 16.
 
 ORIOIN AND NATURE OP MASKS. xlvU 
 
 To hre tbee bounde in cbaynes c^ sleepe as here ; 
 But that thou mayst behold, and knowe how deore 
 Thou art to Circe, with my magic deepe 
 And powerfull verses thus I banish sleepe. 
 
 The Charme. 
 
 Sonne of Erebus and Night ! 
 Hye away; and aime thy flighte. 
 Where consorte none other fowle, 
 Than the batte, and sullen owle; 
 Where upon the lymber grasse, 
 Poppy and mandragoras. 
 With like simples not a fewe. 
 Hang for ever droppes of dewe; 
 Where flowes Lethe, without coyle, 
 Softly like a streame of oyle. 
 Hye thee thither, gentle Sleepe, 
 With this Gieeke no longer keepe. 
 Thrice I charge thee by my wand, 
 Thrice with moly from my hand 
 Doe I touch Ulysses' eyes, 
 And with the jaspis. Then arise, 
 Sagcst Greeke !
 
 Xlviii SOUE ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 This is the hepta- syllabic measiire which Fletcher ren- 
 dered so attractive in his Faithful Shepherdess, and 
 which from it's adoption by succeeding writers, parti- 
 cularly Milton, has almost become appropriated to the 
 rhyming speeches of the Mask and Pastoral Drama, as 
 distinguished from their songs and dialogue. 
 
 With these \mters the Mask may be said to have 
 begun and ended j for though a few pieces are to be 
 found under the same title, or that of Operas, in the 
 works of Dryden and others, yet upon the whole, the 
 distinct species of drama, both in character and mode 
 of performance, had gone by: the witchery that had 
 consented to visit the dreams of an earlier and less 
 sophisticated age, had vanished. The Puritans, who 
 first put an end to them, and who, for the most part, 
 were as disagreeable a body of persons as Li'oerty could 
 have taken it into her head to make use of, quarrelled 
 with every thing they found established, liberal as well 
 as despotic ; and the golden age of English poetry, in 
 it's feeling as well as it's freaks, in it's sublimity and
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. xlix 
 
 love of nature as well as it's sports and extravagancies, 
 closed at the very moment when it might have given 
 additional lustre to the rise of freedom. 
 
 The harsh and disputatious period that succeeded, 
 and the stiU more unfeeling debauchery of the one after, 
 effectually prevented the re-appearance of genuine poetry. 
 The Muse, it is true, had not quite forsaken the land, 
 nor given it up to a hopelessness of better days. In the 
 person of Milton, she had retired into a sacred obscurity, 
 and built herself, as it were, an invisible bower, where 
 the ascension of her voice, and the mingling of her ma- 
 jestic organ, might be heard at intervals by a few fa- 
 voured ears; but the rest of the country was occupied 
 witli a very different succession of sounds ; and after 
 " a sullen interval of war," came in 
 
 The barbarous dissonance 
 Of Bacchus and his revellers. 
 
 In short, botli Puritan and Cavalier, thongh in dif- 
 ferent ways and for ditlcreiit objects, did their best to 
 
 d
 
 1 ' SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 substitute words for things, and art for nature ; and 
 hdnce arose in this country all which has been since un- 
 derstood as verse distinguished from poetry. 
 
 And here might be discerned the real poetical cor- 
 ruption, of which the critics afterwards complained, 
 and which they confounded with every species of exu- 
 berant fancy. Masks, which though of a lawiesa JLature 
 in their incidents referred their feelings and expressions 
 ,tD nature, were the exuberance of an age of real poets ; 
 it was conceits that first marked the reverse; and the 
 introduction of satire, of declamation, and of what has 
 hten called the reasoning spirit in poetrj-, has maintain- 
 ed the perversion more or less ever since, or at least till 
 'within a very late period. 
 
 But not to lose sight of the main subject. It is ob- 
 vious from what has been seen of the nature of Mask;*, 
 that they contained a good deal of real poetry, and might 
 have been very entertaining to those who nevertheless 
 knew how to set a proper value on the more regular 
 works of imagination. It is equally obvious, however.
 
 ORIGIN AKD NATURE OF UASKS. 11 
 
 at the same time, that from the nature of their object 
 in general, they ran a chance of not living beyond their 
 day, or at any rate of passing unnoticed by the great 
 mass of readers among the larger and more ambitious 
 works of their authors. This has accordingly been the 
 case. The only way to secure them a better fate, was to 
 contrive such additional touches of description and hu- 
 man nature, as should supply the loss of the particular 
 interest by what was universally and perpetually engag- 
 ing. W'q have seen what prevented the writers in most 
 instances from having sufficient zeal for the composi- 
 tion, and what approaches it made to the chance of 
 vitality in proportion as the object of the panegyric 
 was respectable, the subject capable of natural embel- 
 lishment, or the writer freed from the trammels of a 
 particular allusion. The want of choice and inclina- 
 tion however usually prevailed over the ambition of the 
 author, who was most likely employed in works of more 
 general interest ; and while we can trace the best pieces 
 of this description to the circumstances above-men- 
 tioned, as in the instances of Beaumont and Browne, 
 yet there is an air, it must be confessed, of constraint 
 
 d2
 
 lii SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 and imperfection in all 3 and we must still return to 
 
 Comus, which was evidently written chearfuUy and am- 
 
 ! bitiously, as the only, and at the same time the least 
 
 j specific production of the kind, that can truly be said to 
 
 ; have outlived it's occasion. 
 
 The piece now presented to the reader would endea- 
 vour to supply this deficiency in the actual character 
 of the Mask, by keeping the scenic and fanciful part of 
 it predominant, while it would still exhibit something 
 more of regularity and human interest, than is pos- 
 sessed by Masks in general. But enough of this is 
 suggested by the Preface. It may seem strange to 
 some readers, that a drama professedly full of machinery 
 should be written expressly for the closet, and not even 
 have made an attempt at being performed. In the first 
 instance, the author's intention was otherwise ; and an 
 eminent person, who relieves his attention to public 
 business by looking after the interests of a theatre^ 
 and to whom an application was made on the subject, 
 gave him reason to expect every politeness, had he 
 offered it to the stage. As he proceeded, however^ he
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. lui 
 
 found himself making so many demands upon the ma- 
 chinist, besides hazarding, perhaps, in one or two in- 
 stances, the disturbance of an unanimity which, above 
 all others, ought to have attended the representation of 
 such a piece, that he soon gave up the wish, and set 
 himself, with no diminution of self-indulgence, to make 
 a stage of his own in the reader's fancy. It is the 
 most suitable one, he is convinced, for the very dramas 
 which appear most to demand a machinist. When a 
 storm blows on the stage without disturbing the philo- 
 sophy of the trees, \vhen instead of boiling up a waste 
 of waters it sets in painful motion a dozen asthmatic 
 pieces of tin, when Ariel, instead of breaking out of 
 the atmosphere with ready eagerness at his master's 
 ear, comes walking in with his wand like a premature 
 common-councilman, in short, when the lightning 
 lingers, the rain leaves dry, the torrent has a hitch in 
 the gait, and one flat piece of carpeted board performs 
 the eternal part of lawn, meadow, and lea, of over- 
 grown wild and finished garden, who, tliat has any fancy 
 at all, does not feel that he can raise much better pic- 
 tures in his own mind than he finds in the theatre ?
 
 Uv' 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 The author is far from intending to ridicule the stage, 
 the truest office of which (and a noble one it is) is the 
 representation of manners. The stage does a good deal, 
 and perhaps cannot afford to do more. He would 
 merely remind the reader of what must have struck 
 himself whenever he went to see a play like the Tem- 
 pest. When Masks were in fashion, the Machinist was 
 an important person, and used the utmost efforts of his 
 art ; but it was chiefly in still life and architectural de- 
 corations, and even for these no expense seems to have 
 been spared. The rest of the show, however novel and 
 rich, was of as easy a nature as it could be rendered, and 
 subservient rather to the parade of the actors than to 
 the fancy of the poet. 
 
 In a word, as the present piece was written partly to 
 indulge the imagination of one who could realize no 
 sights for himself, so it is more distinctly addressed to 
 such habitual readers of poetry, as can yield him a ready 
 mirror in the liveliness of their own apprehensions. 
 There is a good deal of prose intermixed, but the nature 
 of a Mask requires it ; and if the reader be of the descrip-
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF MASKS. 1t 
 
 tion just mentioned, and shall settle himself with his 
 l)ook in a comfortable arm-chair condition, in winter 
 ])erliaps, with the lights at his shoulder, and his feet on 
 a good fender, in summer, with a window open to a 
 smoothing air, and tlie consciousness of some green trees 
 al)out him, -and in both instances (if he can muster up 
 so much poetical accompaniment) with a lady beside 
 him, the author docs not despair of converting him 
 into a very sufficient and satisfied kind of theatre.
 
 ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814.* 
 
 The vision then is past. 
 That held the eyes of nations. 
 
 Swept in his own careering blast, 
 Tliat shook the earth's foundations! 
 
 No more throughout the air 
 
 Settles the burning glare. 
 That far and wide, metallic twilight, shone ; 
 
 No more the bolts, from south to north. 
 
 Leap in their fiery passion forth . 
 We look'd and saw the Wonder on his throne ; 
 We raised our eyes again, and lo, his place w as gone ! 
 
 Nor did the Shape give way 
 To mightier spirits like him, 
 
 * From the Examiner of April the 17th, 1814.
 
 ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814. Ivii 
 
 Nor did upon that final day 
 Elder Corruption strike him. 
 
 The long-taught world no more 
 
 Those idle charms explore. 
 Nor call on evil to restore from ill ; 
 
 But heav'n-ward things, that have their birth 
 
 And shed their early tears on earth. 
 Experience, Truth, and Conquest of the will. 
 These took the Troubler's place, and bade the Plague 
 be still. 
 
 Never did sweeter sound 
 From discord drop resolving. 
 
 Than struck the balanced world around 
 Once more set smooth revolving ; 
 
 And princely visions rare. 
 
 Went stepping through the air. 
 With frank eyes listening to the glassy spheres ; 
 
 The Eagles of the north were seen 
 
 Sailing the sunny doves between j 
 The Lily whitcn'd from its dust with tears j 
 And Hopes with lifted smiles, and holy-minded Fears.
 
 Iviii ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814, 
 
 And lo, how earth and sky. 
 As if the charm completing. 
 
 From winter's other tyranny 
 Revive and give us greeting. 
 
 There's not a joy of spring, 
 
 But's up upon the wing; 
 The leaves put out their hands into the ray; 
 
 The bee, that rings the basking hour. 
 
 Comes for his kiss from flow'r to flovv'r ; 
 Glad faces are abroad with crowding play. 
 And all creation keeps fuU-hcarted holiday. 
 
 The soldier sheathes his sword, 
 The statesman breathes from thinking. 
 
 The freeman feels his hope restored. 
 When most his heart was shrinking. 
 
 No more the widow bleeds 
 
 To see the babe that feeds 
 At her dear breast with sudden-stopping moan ; 
 
 But while his earnest task he plies. 
 
 Smiles in his grave uplifted eyes, 
 Gath'ring his little hand into her own. 
 And feels that in the world she shall not be alone.
 
 ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814. I)X 
 
 O Liberty ! O breath 
 Of all that's true existence ! 
 
 Thou at whose touch the soul, at death. 
 But leaps to joy and distance ; 
 
 Before thy present call. 
 
 The very captive's wall. 
 If wrongly round him, like a curtain flies; 
 
 The green and laughing world he sees, 
 
 \\'atcrs, and plains, and waving trees, 
 Tlie skiui of birds, and the bhie-doming skies. 
 And sits with smile at heart, and paticncc-lcvell'd eyes.
 
 DESCENT OF LIBERTY.
 
 PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 
 
 SPEAKERS. 
 
 EoKOMus an old Nobleman, reduced and living in solitude. 
 
 Philaret his son, supjjosed to be dead. 
 
 Myrtilla his daughter-in-law, Philaret's wife. 
 
 Three Shepherds reduced to that condition. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 Four Geku of the Kingdoms. 
 
 Phaniel and JMabiel attendant Spirits. 
 
 Spring, Peace, and Poetry Goddesses. 
 
 The Sable Gekius. 
 
 MUTES. 
 The Enchanter. 
 
 Painting, Music, and Dancing Goddesses. 
 Ceres. 
 Ambriel a Spirit. 
 
 Visions, and Pageants, ^c.
 
 THE 
 
 DESCENT OF LIBERTY. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Thk scene of the Prologue is nothing but clouds and sky, 
 the former lying in heaps of silvery snow for a ground, 
 and the latter, which is of a deep blue, presenting an 
 occasional planet in motion. A sudden light strikes over 
 the place, and Liberty, with a cheerful step, issues out 
 of it. She is in the bloom of youth, buskined up with an 
 active dress like Diana, her large and airy curls en- 
 wreathed with laurel, and a light stafl'with a cap on it 
 across her shouhler. As she advances slie makes a stop, 
 and casts her eyes downwards, as if looking into the 
 distance afar oft'. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 PROLOGUE TO 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 This is the point at which the rolling world 
 Opens upon me. There it is, broad gleaming ! 
 O what a sight of loveliness art thou. 
 Earth, my dear care ; and what would some of thosC;, 
 Who spoil thee, think if they could see thine orb 
 As I do now, smoothing along the air 
 With full-tum'd face divine, and all the while 
 Serv'd with the beauty of the silver moon ! 
 
 Now the wide waters heavingly come round. 
 Opaque and restless, with a lingering sweep j 
 Fair islands now, and there, my favourite soil. 
 Among them, upon which I first set foot 
 \Miene'er I visit earth ; and now at last. 
 The suflfering land, which I must free to day. 
 
 With what a clinging darkness is it cover 'd ! 
 The Enchanter, foil'd in his attempt to force 
 His art beyond it's limits, and to work 
 His fiery magic in the northern snows.
 
 TUB DBSCENT OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Where the rude people, having Nature's help, 
 Scatter'd his wilder'd slaves, and smote him back. 
 Feels that the secret weakness has escap'd him 
 Of art compared with nature, wrong with right} 
 And now, though resolute to dare all chances. 
 Sits wrapp'd in double gloom, listening at times. 
 With half a fear, to catch the expected sound 
 Of numbers coming in their fresh revenge 
 To dash him from his height. Tliis is the hour 
 I look'd for. Four of the most }xtcut spirits. 
 That rule the nations, have I just advised. 
 Each in a morning vision, to combine 
 Their clouds, and following up his wasted strength. 
 Burst with a fiiud thunderclap upon him. 
 At wliich tlie world shidl startle. Then will I 
 Descend in lustre through the freshen'd air. 
 Met hy the flowering Springs and giving each 
 The laurel he lias earn (I, Liberty's crown, 
 Summon the triumphs and the joys about me. 
 And lead a lovelier period for mankind. 
 
 Ye tricksome cherubs, ever at your play.
 
 6 PROLOGUE TO THE DESCENT OT LIBERTY, 
 
 With smile-expanded cheeks and hovering limbSj 
 Minions of air, born of it's basking leisure^ 
 Break off, my little spirits^ some of ye. 
 And with a silver cloud wait on me down. 
 
 A set of cherubs rise from the back-ground_, and Li- 
 berty seating herself on one of the clouds, they playfully 
 bear her up with it, the whole going off at the side-scene 
 with a descending motion.
 
 THE DESCENT OF LIBERTY. 
 
 SCENE THE FIRST. 
 
 A SECLUDED spot in a wood, with a cottage on one side, 
 and a little river running under the trees in the back- 
 ground, A kind of twilight is in the air. Enter three 
 Shepherds, looking cautiously about, and listening. 
 
 \.st Shep. It's wander'd somewhere else: every 
 thing's quiet. 
 
 2d Shep. Hush! Was not that it? 
 
 \ St Shep. No; there's not a breath: 
 
 I think it turn'd among the willows there. 
 
 3d Shep. Most likely : sound delights itself in water. 
 As 1 liave noticed often: let's pursue it. 
 
 \st Shep. No, better not; remember what a road 
 It led us ycstcr eve; 'twill play no more. 
 These spirits, 1)ad or good (by what I've heard 
 From my old grandaui, and have read in books). 
 Seem to delight in playing tricks with us.
 
 8 THE DESCENT 
 
 As if they made them merry with the awkwardness 
 
 And grave mistakes of our inferior nature. 
 
 Besides, the sti-eam, you know, runs through the 
 
 grounds 
 Of fine old Eunomus, who used to set 
 So rare a lesson to the former court. 
 But now shuts up his sorrows in this corner; 
 And 'twere amiss to startle his grey head 
 E'en with a footstep. 
 
 2d Shep, 'Twere so : yet mcthinks 
 
 He might be pleased to hear of this new sound. 
 The first, of any comfortable breath. 
 Our wood has heard for years. I know not why. 
 But there is such a sweetness in the touch 
 Of this mysterious pipe that's come among us. 
 Something so full of trilling gladsomeness. 
 As if the heart were at the lip that fiU'd it. 
 Or went a rippUng to the fingers' ends. 
 That it forebodes, to me, some blessed change. 
 There ! 
 
 All. There! {A ^ouriah of a small pipe heard.) 
 
 3d Shep. 'Tis overhead I heard it plainly.
 
 OF LIBERTY. V 
 
 1st Skep. It comes no more. 
 
 2d Shep. But it was louder theft 
 
 Than it has ever been ; 'twas curious too. 
 It should return just as I spoke of change. 
 
 Isi Shep. I think, with you, there must be something 
 in it. 
 Feel you no alteration ? 
 
 2d Shep. ^Vliat? In the atV? 
 
 'Tis lighter, fresher; I perceived it yesterday. 
 Oh, my dear friends, what if this gloomy weight. 
 That sick and dim, like a disease of nature. 
 Has visited so long our weary land. 
 Should at the last be going ? Nay, to speak it, 
 \Vliat if this cursed Enchanter 
 
 Zd Shep. Hush ! Be cautious ; 
 
 You know what ears he has in every corner. 
 
 2d Shep. I care not: who is there, among us, cares? 
 Has not he robb'd us all of something dear. 
 Some father, brother, son, to go and do 
 His dcvilisli work in countries of all climate. 
 In fainting heats, and powerless, cramping colds. 
 Wasting away in one, stilT'iiing in t'other
 
 10 THE DESCENT 
 
 With horrid sleep, besides a world of toils. 
 
 Of sore and starting bones, fevers, and frenzies. 
 
 Sharp swords from hands unlook'd for, all the while. 
 
 Glancing about their ears, and killing thousands ? 
 
 Look at old Eunomus from first to last 
 
 A lover of us all both high and low. 
 
 And one that would have all live well together. 
 
 The high in rank, the low in liberty. 
 
 Gracing each other like the trees in spring. 
 
 The tufted by the tall : how has he suffer'd? 
 
 Both his sons gone, the first one by his death 
 
 Breaking the mother's heart, the second now 
 
 Torn from his bride, and dead too as they say, 
 
 She only left him to perform all parts. 
 
 And keep back her own tears to save hinj his. 
 
 Let's tell him of this pipe j I do believe. 
 
 It brings us comfort. 
 
 1st Shep. Heaven send it may! 
 
 At all events, 'twere well perhaps to tell him ; 
 For now I recollect, I have heard often. 
 These hovering spirits may not keep their secret
 
 OF LIBERTY. 11 
 
 From unpolluted men; but when they're by. 
 And the occasion's good, will yield their voices 
 To the still air. I '11 knock directly, shall I } 
 All. Do, do. 
 
 {Goes to knock at the cottage door.) 
 
 Enter Euxomus with Myrtilla. 
 
 Eun. How now, my friends? I saw you stop 
 
 With hush'd and anxious gestures, and was coming 
 To learn your news. Heard ye this sound in the air 
 My daughter speaks of? for of late, my ear 
 Seems closing up to every sound but hor's. 
 
 2(1 Sliep. We came, Sir, to inform you of it. 
 Since from it's strange delightfulness, and something 
 Of a new freshness in the air about us. 
 We thought it boded good. 
 
 Mi/rt. The very things. 
 
 Dear father, that I told you. 
 
 f'^u)i. Is it then 
 
 So very sweet r for my Myrtilla here 
 Has a young fancy, and will convert the sound
 
 12 THE DESCENT 
 
 Of common breath to something exquisite. 
 If evening silence and the trees be round her, 
 
 1*^ Shep. Sir, when I heard it first, and that was 
 yesterday. 
 Standing and looking down the floating stream 
 With oft-returning lapse of distanced eyes, 
 I felt my cheek change colour, it awoke 
 So fairy-like at once ; and when it rose 
 A second time, which was near fall of night. 
 As I was lingering at my open door, 
 Fix'd as the calm, the tears came in my eyes 
 Starting for sweetness. 
 
 Zd Shep. We have heard. Sir, nothing 
 At all resembling it, since fair Myrtilla 
 Sang upon evenings to your 
 
 Myrt. {Interrupting him, and maJi'ing side gestures 
 of caution) Have you all 
 
 Perceived it then ? 
 
 \st Shep. All of us, some alone. 
 
 And some together. 
 
 2d Shep. But so close to us
 
 OF l^IBERTY. 19 
 
 Never till now; and so, we have remember'd 
 What in sage books is told of reverend men. 
 And of their power to hear celestial things. 
 And voices of the sky ; and now you 're here, 
 Pardon us. Sir, we think that if you spoke to it. 
 It might give utterance, and disclose it's purpose. 
 Eun. I fear, my friends, you think too potently 
 Of an old man, whose heart is yearning still. 
 Not for celestial, but for earthly voices : 
 But those are past, and in the hope some day 
 To hear them yet again with other cars, 
 I have not fallen into so much bitterness 
 With my humanity, or such resentment 
 At ill's apparent wonders, as to shut 
 My fancy up in a dull dovniward sleep. 
 And never think of fair invisible tilings 
 Or good intended towards us, good perhaps 
 Brought out and better'd from the taste of woe. 
 If spirit unearthly ever went beyond 
 It's dumi) communication with such thoughts. 
 Breaking air's vacancy with shape or sound. 
 Though wcj my friends, may nut l)c men to ask it.
 
 14 THE DESCENT 
 
 This is a time when wonders are abroad. 
 And such things might be. 
 
 (^A louder and longer Jlour'ish of sweet music than 
 before.) 
 3d Shep. 'Twas upon the trees there. 
 2d Shep. 'Tis, Sir, as we supposed, pray speak 
 
 to it 
 1*^ Shep. Hush! to the left. 
 
 {The music shifts to the left icith a different strain, 
 and then makes a sudden stop) 
 Eun. Myrtilla, my sweet child. 
 
 Frame you a prayer out of your innocent thoughts. 
 And speak for all, something of heav'n is near us. 
 
 {He takes off his cap, the rest doing it after him.) 
 
 Myrtilla sings. 
 Gentle and unknown delight. 
 
 Hovering with thy music near us. 
 If that our request be right. 
 
 Lean thee tow'rd the earth, and hear us ; 
 And if we may yet rejoice. 
 Touch the silence \\itli a voice.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 15 
 
 By the lingering day forlorn. 
 
 And the dread of the drear morrow, 
 By the infant yet unborn. 
 
 Waiting for it's world of sorrow. 
 By youth, forgetful to rejoice. 
 And middle age's failing voice j 
 
 By the griefs of many lands. 
 
 And hearts that waste in secret places. 
 By the lift of trembling hands. 
 
 And the tears on furrow'd faces. 
 Say, shall anguish yet rejoice ? 
 Spirit dear, [)ut forth a voice. 
 
 Spirit sings. 
 To the griefs of many lands. 
 
 To hearts that waste in secret places. 
 To the lift of trembling hands. 
 
 And tlu: tears on furrowed faces. 
 To licauty's and to Virtue's voice, 
 1 am come to bid rejoice. 
 
 Ttco Echoes, Rejoice ! Rejoice !
 
 1$ THE DESCENT 
 
 RECITATIVE. 
 
 'Tis my brethren of the sky. 
 
 Couriers we of Liberty, 
 
 Coming hither, one by one. 
 
 Like the streaks before the sun. 
 
 She herself is now not far. 
 
 But has pass'd the morning-star, 
 
 And if ye would wish to see 
 
 What shall help to set ye free, 
 
 Vom the greenwood start ye forth. 
 
 And turn your eyes from south to north. 
 
 (^ sympkany of pipes mingles in ; and the 
 Spirit sings again.) 
 Elsewhere now I take my voice j 
 
 Locks of grey ! 
 
 And lips of May ! 
 And shepherds all, rejoice, rejoice ! 
 
 Echoes dying off. Rejoice ! Rejoice ! 
 
 Myrt. This is deliciousness ! Our friends will go. 
 And bring us word, dear father, of this sight : 
 You must in-doors, and rest your spirit awhile. 
 
 {^Exeunt severally^
 
 OP LIBERTY. 17 
 
 SCENE THE SECOND. 
 
 The confines of a wood with a large plain stretching up 
 the country' in the back-ground, and shewing a city i ^ 
 the distance. Over the city hangs a dark cloud. En- 
 ter the Shepherds meeting on either side. 
 
 3d Shep. Did you remark the strange and sudden mist 
 That parted us ? 
 
 \st Shep. A\, and was lost in wonder. 
 
 3(/ Shep. How it came rolling tow'rds us through the 
 trees. 
 And wrapp'd us from each other ! 
 
 1*^ Shep. ' Twas like night 
 
 Visibly passing. All my faculties 
 Secm'd stuflf'd and blinded till it had gone by. 
 Yet here we are all met. 
 
 2d Shep. Some trick no doubt 
 
 Of this tyrannic juggler to delude us : 
 It's failure looks well-ouica'd. What do you sec?
 
 IQ THE DESCENT 
 
 SdShep. Nothing as yet in the north. 
 
 1st Shep. But tow'rds the south 
 
 There is a streak of light in the dark sky ; 
 And the Enchanter in his city seems 
 At troubled work. 
 
 2d Shep. ITiat's plain. Heav'n alter him ! 
 
 What choice has his been of these dark vexations. 
 These sullen heights, this flound'ring in Heav'n's worst. 
 This poor and purblind acting of the god. 
 When by the same good gift of understanding 
 Thus devilishly abused, and by applying 
 To books of clearer wisdom, he had been 
 Blessing and blest, and help'd to keep our land 
 la still and shiny peace, it's vital air 
 Pure and at liberty, and it's happy families 
 As numerous, and as smiling, and as rich 
 With joy at heart, as the small orbs that throng 
 Their laughing cheeks together on our vines. 
 What flash was that ? Was it not lightning ? 
 
 1st and 3d S/iep. Look, 
 
 Now the light's coming. 
 
 2d Shep. Something flashes thick 
 
 As from a forge, and spits against the dark :
 
 OF LIBBRTy. 19 
 
 The wind tooy how it musters on the sudden ! 
 NoWj now! 
 
 Another cloud, similar to that over the city, emerges 
 from the north after the light, and begins to come slowly 
 onward, the latter meantime shifting it's place a little 
 towards it, and leaving the spires of the city whitening 
 up into the air. 
 
 1*^ Shep. The Enchanter, wrapp'd within his cloud. 
 Seems to await it. Heaven send us good ! 
 For after all, my friends, what if this voice 
 Wo heard dehidc us, and this other cloud 
 Contain but other evUs like himself. 
 Come to dispute with him the power to vex us ? 
 
 2rf Shep. That thought has cross'dme alsoj but 1 feel 
 It cannot he ; the voice had something in it 
 So frank and kind, 1 feel assured 'twas true. 
 Besides, those counter-ills have fail'd already : 
 He is so fixed and potent in his art. 
 They have but furnish'd him with proud occasion 
 To piny the master, and bring under him. 
 One after one, tlic trusters in his trade.
 
 20 THE DESCENT 
 
 No, no J the world is wiser, and has found. 
 Be sure, some nobler art that shall perplex him. 
 The better spirit within us all is roused. 
 The spirit that reddens at an insolent eye. 
 That leaps 'twixt wrong and suffering, that throws up 
 A smile to heav'n ere it's impatience executes. 
 That says to all men; ' This is right, this wrong. 
 This just and unjust, bearable and unbearable,' 
 This spirit is roused ; and it shall read to his 
 A lesson of such new and finishing thunder. 
 As shall, at once, shake him from out his hold. 
 And purge the air from after pestilence. 
 
 A fierce gust of wind : the two clouds wheel nearly 
 together, and hover a little, darting out fires. By this 
 time, a multitude of Shepherds have joined the others, 
 and are gazing with anxiety at the sight. 
 
 CHORUS OF PART OF THE SHEPHERDS. 
 
 Moment of all anxious wonder ! 
 Hour, about to strike in thunder ! 
 Lo, we feel to that dread sound 
 Heaven's own finger travelling round!
 
 OF LIBERTY. 21 
 
 CHORUS OF OTHER PART OF THE SHEPHERDS. 
 
 Go not back, thou sacred hand, 
 Hope of every listening land ! 
 Strike, strike, and set the nations free. 
 And ring the knell, from clime to clime, of tyranny, 
 of tyranny ! 
 
 The attacking cloud throws out brighter and thicker 
 flames than the other : the latter begins to heave, and 
 give way. 
 
 GRAND CHORUS. 
 
 See ! see ! he totters in his cloudy walls ! 
 See! see! 
 Sec ! see ! 
 He totters, totters, in his cloudy walls ! 
 
 (A vivid Jlash of lightning) 
 He falls ! 
 
 A tremendous clap of thunder, the clouds coming in 
 contact ; one bursts, and the Enchanter falls headlong, 
 the twilight over the country vanishing. Then to the
 
 22 THE DESCENT 
 
 sound of distfuit and grand music, the other cloud, 
 turning to a silvery hue, moves into the former's place 
 over the city, and separates into four bright globes, on 
 each of which sits a Genius, with one hand holding a 
 thunderbolt carelessly on the thigh, and in the other 
 lifting an olive-branch. They descend gradually into the 
 city, amidst the far-ofl" sound of bells and artillery. 
 
 2d Shep. More wonders yet : we three will first re- 
 turn 
 To the anxious hearts that wait us in the wood. 
 Then join you in the city. Away, away! 
 
 {Exeunt severally.)
 
 OF LIBSRTY. 2S 
 
 SCENE THE THIRD. 
 
 A PLEASURE-GROUND in the suburbs of a great city laid 
 out in a natural style with wood and turf, the spires and 
 domes appearing over the trees toward the side, and the 
 view opening to the western horizon in front. 
 
 ydce of a Spirit in the air. 
 Mabiel ! 
 l^flice of another Spirit out of the trees. 
 
 Who calls? 
 Phaniel. 'Tis I, 
 
 Here two lark-ascensions high. 
 Watching tow'rds the sunny sea 
 To tell the approach of Liberty. 
 Have you done what she desired ? 
 
 Mabk-l. Every thing. All spots admired 
 Have I plied my wings about 
 To find the best and greenest out.
 
 24 THE DESCENT 
 
 And on this have fix'd at last^ 
 Where the meddling eastern blast 
 Through the myrtle and the bay 
 Shall not force his knify way 
 To nip the sides and shrug the shoulders 
 Of our Lady's fair beholders. 
 Over all the beds and bowers 
 Have I broke my softest showers ; 
 And the nearer breath of Spring 
 Is all that's wanting now to bring 
 Courage to their blossoming. 
 Look behind ; for by the humming 
 Of the bccsj I think she's coming. 
 
 Phan. YeSj and is at hand already. 
 Scarcely can I keep me steady 
 For her wanton fays and elves. 
 Who 'd have me dancing like themselves. 
 Wags, be ofifj for though I'm free 
 As suits a sprite of Liberty, 
 You nor all your Lady's beauty 
 Must beguile me from my duty.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 2^ 
 
 Mabiel, she 's passing now. 
 Goddess of the sparkling brow. 
 Rosy lip, and springing bosom. 
 Please thee with all whitest blossom. 
 Warmest bud and coolest green. 
 To enrich this destined scene, 
 Wliere to-day our Lady great. 
 Liberty's to hold her state. 
 
 (^ ishort Jlourish of fiutes :the voice of 
 Spring is heard.) 
 
 Spring. Spirit, I have heard it all, 
 And shall add my service small 
 To content thy queen victorious. 
 Though herself is all that's glorious. 
 But I play not the bestowerj 
 'Tis a gladsome task I owe her ; 
 For without her what were I ? 
 She it is that makes my sky 
 Happy to the eye that sweeps it. 
 And my bow'r to him that keeps it. 
 And my air to him that takes it. 
 And my verse to him that make* it.
 
 26 THE DESCENT 
 
 Doubly therefore, as I go. 
 Breathe I on the buds below 
 Warmth to set the prisoners free. 
 Peeping red from flow'r and tree j 
 And I shall have parted hence 
 Scarce a moment, ere thy sense 
 FiU with odours, rich and soft. 
 Which their young lips vent aloft. 
 Thank me not ; I must be going. 
 Now, my Joys, your music blowing. 
 Set the breeze, that wafts me, flowing. 
 
 Soft pipes going off to the gentle bowing of the trees, 
 whose blossoms in the mean whUe spread forth. Spring 
 and her train are seen to float over at a little distance. 
 
 Mal^. Ha ! you have petition'd well, 
 Frank and fine-voiced Phaniel ! 
 AU around me start, and spread, 
 Bowering blossoms, white and red. 
 Some in frills and curious frets. 
 And some in cups and coronets^
 
 OF LIBERTY. 27 
 
 While the bees, about their treasure. 
 Hum and pitch with tipsy pleasure. 
 And the coying butterflies, 
 Drest in all their summer dyes. 
 Flutter up from every part. 
 Tickled, as it were, at heart. 
 
 Never shot so bright a blush ! 
 Then the panting leaves are flush 
 With the freshest rainy green, 
 And an amber light between; 
 And the turf lies thick and glowing, 
 Just as from a gentle mowing. 
 Asking a fair foot to press 
 On it's springy mossiness. 
 Never look'd the bay so fit 
 To surmount two eyes of wit. 
 Nor the myrtle to be seen 
 Two whitc-kcrchief'd breasts between, 
 Nor the oak to crown a sword 
 For a nation's rights restored.
 
 28 THE DE8CKNT 
 
 Then the flowers on all their beds* 
 How the sparklers glance their heads ! 
 Daisies with their pinky lashes. 
 And the marigold's broad flashes. 
 Hyacinth with sapphire bell 
 Curling backward, and the swell 
 Of the rose, fuU-lipp'd and warm. 
 Round about whose riper form 
 Her slender virgin-train are seen 
 In their close-fit caps of green : 
 Lilacs then, and daffodillies ; 
 And the nice-leaved lesser lilies. 
 Shading, like detected light. 
 Their little green-tipt lamps of white ; 
 Blissful poppy, odorous pea. 
 With it's wings up lightsomely; 
 Balsam with his shaft of amber. 
 Mignonette for lady's chamber. 
 And genteel geranium, 
 With a leaf for all that come 3 
 And the tulip, trick' d out finest. 
 And the pink, of smeU divinest ;
 
 OF LIBERTY. 29 
 
 And as proud as all of them 
 Bound in one, the garden's gem. 
 Heartsease, like a gallant bold. 
 In his cloth of purple and gold. 
 But why stay I chattering here 
 To a more instructed ear ? 
 Feet approach, my task is done, 
 I must glance me through the sun. 
 Phaniel, if your cloud holds two, 
 I '11 come up, and sit with you ! 
 
 Phan. Come along, and share my view. 
 
 Mabiel flies up across the scene, whisking his coloured 
 wings in the sunshine.
 
 30 THE DESCENT 
 
 The same scene. Enter the Three Shepherds with 
 EuNOMUS and Myrtilla. 
 
 1*^ Shep. Now, Sir, rest here, upon this sliady 
 bank. 
 
 Eun. I will : this heavenly season, and the sight 
 Of my Myrtilla's face against the sun 
 Touch'd with a morning eagerness, inspired me 
 Beyond my strength. {Sits down) I should apologize 
 Once more for thus 
 
 2d Shep. Pray, Sir, think m ell of us , 
 
 We '11 take the balmy welcome of the spot. 
 
 1*^ Shep. 'Tis one not to be hurried from. 
 
 Eun. Well, well. 
 
 My manly friends, I know wliat you think requisite 
 To your true pleasures, and shall not dispute. 
 'Tis a sweet spot. 
 
 2d Shep. And with a lady in it 
 
 Wants no perfection. We have come, 1 think. 
 Through nothing but swccl. ^pots from first to last.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 31 
 
 What think you. Madam ? Those are not sad tears 
 That flash above your smiling. 
 
 Myrt. Tears of joy, Sifj 
 
 To see the world with such a happy look. 
 May you be liappy all. 
 
 2d Shep. {Aside to the others.) She thinks a moment 
 Of her lost kindred, but in what a spirit ! 
 
 1*^ Shep. O yes, her heart is full, but love for all 
 Swims at the top, and helps to shake these tears 
 Over the brim. 
 
 Myrt. {To Eunomus.) Now you will smile at me, 
 And so would our friends too, but that they're younger 
 And cannot yet afford to look such truths 
 At a fair lady, but you've heard nie. Sir, 
 In my young fancy picture out a \\orId, 
 Such as our present-timed, unhnal eyes. 
 Knowing but what they see, and not even that, 
 Might gather from the best of Avhat's before them. 
 Leaving out evil as a vexing thorn. 
 Whose use they know not ; 
 
 2d Shep. Such a u orld, you say, 
 
 Tliis ciiaiigc ;i[i[)C'ars !
 
 32 TBE DX8CENT 
 
 Myrt. I do J it seems to me, 
 
 lu it's fresh whisper, and delighted eye. 
 And all this burst of out-o'-door enjoyment. 
 Just like a new creation, Spring and Summer 
 Married, and Winter dead to be no more. 
 Was ever so much horror, at the best, 
 Follow'd by such a time, change, ^vondereus cliangc 
 In what has busied all your talk by the way. 
 And with it aU this luxury, flowers, blossoms. 
 And heaps of leafiness on every side 
 About and overhead, with beams between. 
 And quick -voiced birds that steep the trees in music. 
 Green fields, and crystal waters, and blue skies. 
 With here and there a little harmless cloud 
 That oidy wants a visible cherub on it 
 To ride its silver 3 happy human beings 
 O'ertaking us meantime at everj^ step 
 With smile that cannot help itself, and turning. 
 As they pass quick, with greeting of the day. 
 Exchanging blessedness : Oh Sir, Oh father. 
 There 's such a look of promise all about us, 
 A smile so bidding, something that almost
 
 OF LIBERTY. 33 
 
 Seems to say yes to what the tip-toe heart. 
 Hanging on Nature's neck, would ask of her. 
 Even to tlie raising of a buried joy. 
 That I could fancy but forgive me, pray. 
 For talking of those things. 
 
 Eun. Talk on, my child. 
 
 And let the young hope, that is natural 
 Both to thy age and sweetness, come about thee. 
 
 Me too the season moves What said you. Sir? 
 
 {Catching hold of a Shepherd's arm.) 
 My senses quicken at the name you spoke. 
 Or else I'm losing them. 
 
 3f/ Shep. I saw a figure. 
 
 Leaping the stile just now 'twixt yonder trees. 
 Whom, if I make not miserable error. 
 Was your son Philaret 
 
 \.st Shrp. This lady's husband, 
 
 I saw him too there! darting through the limes. 
 
 2d Shcp. And there! he knows us, and makes joy- 
 ful sign 
 With a wild arm ; nay. Sir, you need not rise, 
 Do not , dear lady too
 
 34 THE DESCENT 
 
 Myrt. Tis he ! 'Tis he ! 
 
 Risen out of buried thousands to come back to us ! 
 
 Enter Pailaret rushing towards his father, and 
 kneeling under his embrace, his arm at the same time 
 clasping his wife. 
 
 Eun. My boy! What then escaped! alive once 
 
 more ! 
 Come to lay smooth my old locks, ere I die ! 
 
 3d Shep. {Aside) Mark how his hand quivers and 
 slips about 
 To grasp his son all close to him, 
 
 2d Shep. Hush, hush 5 
 
 It is a sight to make our joy complete. 
 
 Phil. (Still kneeling-.) Let me see both your faces 
 both at once J 
 Oh, I see how it was, you thought me dead. 
 And so ! 
 
 Mi/rt. But now ! Oh now ! 
 
 Eun. Ay, this quits all; 
 
 Yes, all 3 I have not, cannot cease to think
 
 OF LIBERTY. 35 
 
 Of others^ but I 'm grateful, and a joy 
 
 Despair'd of comes to us like Heaven's own message 
 
 To bid us l)e content. And yet I've wanted not 
 
 An angel with me: ay, my boy, do thank herj 
 
 She need not turn from you, as she was wont 
 
 'J'o do from me sometimes, her watery cheeky 
 
 Or manage, with a lovely, pale pretence 
 
 Of unconcern, to draw from out your sight 
 
 Hie ring that slips upon her wasted finger. 
 
 Phil. Did she do so ? Did you do thus, my best 
 And tendcrest heart, my wife ? May Heaven for this, 
 If only this, bring out that cheek again 
 Into it's dimpled outline, Heaven for this 
 Cool the dear hand I grasp with health and peace, 
 lilcss thee in body and mind, in home and husband, 
 And wiien old age, reverencing thy looks 
 In all it can, comes with his gentle withering, 
 Some thin and ruddy streaks still lingering on thee, 
 May it, unto tlic last, keep tliec thy children, 
 Full-nund)cr"d roimd al)out thee, to supply 
 With eyes, feel, voice, and arms, and happy shoulders 
 
 u -1
 
 36 THE DESCENT 
 
 Thy thoughts, and wishes, books, and leaning-stocks> 
 And make the very yielding of thy frame 
 Delightful for their propping it. Come, come. 
 We will have no more tears. My old companions. 
 Generous, I see, as ever, pray forgive me; 
 I had not overlook'd you, but for these; 
 And now for these, as well as for old times. 
 My hand must grapple with you. Ah, Damaetas, 
 You've not forgotten your old shake, I find, 
 The cordial crush that used to lay one's hand up. 
 
 3d Shep. Pray take it. Sir, for all the shakes 'I owe you. 
 
 2d Shep. And now we'll leave. Sir, to your better 
 keeping 
 Our happy friends: we had not staid thus long. 
 But that we fear'd you might have thought us careless, 
 
 Phil. Nay, if you go, you '11 only come again 3 
 For as I heard, the pomps were just prepared 
 To leave the city, and strike hereabouts. 
 
 Flourish of a pipe in the air; the voice of Phaniel is 
 heard.
 
 OF LIBERTY, 37 
 
 Ambriel, Ambriel, brother scout. 
 
 O'er the city looking out, 
 
 I discern above the sea 
 
 Light, that dawns for yftu and me> 
 
 Of our mistress Liberty. 
 
 Shoot your slender voice below. 
 
 And let the pomps and triumphs know. 
 
 Flourish of a distant pipe ; and after a little pause, 
 grand music approaching from the city. Enter the fore- 
 most part of the crowd of spectators on each side of the 
 scene, congratulations passing between them ; when sud- 
 denly, in the midst of the coming music, and to the at- 
 traction of all eyes, a purple light rises in the west, with 
 winged cherubs touching away the little coloured clouds 
 on either side ; and the figure of Liberty is seen ad- 
 vancing on her cloud of silver. The acclamations of the 
 crowd suddenly burst into a 
 
 CnoRus. 
 'Tis she ! 'Tis she ! 
 'Tis Liberty, 

 
 38 THE DESCENT 
 
 Come to crown our wonders j 
 
 To follow our night 
 
 With a perfect lights 
 And with airy health our thunders ! 
 
 O Goddess dear, our hearts leap up before thee. 
 And on our feet like men, we best adore thee ! 
 
 By this time the cloud has descended to the back of 
 the front scene, the cherubs seating themselves play- 
 fully about it, with Phaniel and Mabiel. The music, 
 which seemed about to enter,^ suddenly ceases, and Li- 
 berty speaks : 
 
 Well met, my friends ! After long centuries 
 The unprison'd airs here freshen once again. 
 And feel as they were fit for hearts and eyes 
 To breathe and sparkle in. You thank me nobly. 
 Now let the doers of my glorious work. 
 Those Spirits of the Nations, whom I taught 
 The way to conquer for themselves and you.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 39 
 
 Come in their pride before me, and receive 
 The crowning thanks I owe them. 
 
 A blast of trumpets. The music strikes up Into a 
 Prussian march, and one of the four Genii, or Spirits of 
 the Nations, who overthrew the Enchanter, enters in a 
 low chariot sculptured with instruments of war, and 
 formed after the fashion of those in Homer, that is to 
 say, a mere shell for a standing-place, open at the back, 
 and drawn by a couple of white palfreys. He is habited 
 in a short girdled vest, leaving his arms, knees, and 
 throat naked, with a head of manly curls, a star gleam- 
 ing on his forehead, and two large and dark wings at his 
 shoulders, altogether presenting the appearance of an 
 aiigel in the bloom of manhood, immortal spirits not 
 being outwardly touched, like men, by the cares of their 
 respective employments. On the front edge of his car 
 is an eagle carved in ebony. Liberty, as he stops in 
 passing, presents him with a crown of laurel, which he 
 holds in his hands while she addresses him :
 
 40 THE DESCENT 
 
 Genius of a sufferii^ land. 
 Whom the curst Enchanter's hand 
 Vex'd with bonds and worse disdain, 
 . Well have you dash'd oflFyour^ chain, 
 Well have you repaid him now. 
 And must wear a laurell'd brow 
 Of a grace and of a hue. 
 Such as Conquest's merer crew 
 Never could have won for you. 
 Only when you take to wing. 
 And return to governing. 
 Recollect for those you rule, 
 WTiat you learnt in Sorrow's school. 
 And acquaint their homes with me. 
 Triumph-teaching Liberty. 
 Seat you now in well-earnd state. 
 While the pomps we celebrate. 
 
 The Genius here gracefully making an obeisance 
 moves on towards tlie side-scene, and then, quitting his 
 chariot, which is borne away, turns round and ascepds
 
 OF LIBERTY. 41 
 
 for his throne a portion of the cloud, which the cherubs 
 roll off for that purpose. When he is seated, he puts on 
 his crown, and Mabiel proclaims, 
 
 So our Gotldess, wise and free. 
 Wills that every crown should be : 
 This is the true sovereignty. 
 
 Trumpets as before : an Austrian march ;^-entcr a 
 similar Genius in a car sculptured with instruments of 
 war and music, a silver eagle standing on the front 
 edge. Liberty in the same manner presents him with a 
 crown, and addresses him : 
 
 Genius of a suffering land. 
 Whom the curst Enchanter's hand 
 Pluck'd from your old towering height, 
 Well have you return'd to light ! 
 Well have you repaid liim now. 
 And must wear a laurell'd brow 
 Of a grace and of a hue, 
 Such as Conquest's merer crew 
 Never could have won for you.
 
 42 THE DKSCKNT 
 
 Only this remember well 
 
 For your surest counter-spell, 
 
 'Tis not age and height alone 
 
 Can secure the staidest throne 
 
 From the reach of Change or Deaths 
 
 But an eye to all beneath. 
 
 And an air kept pure for me 
 
 Life-supplying Liberty. 
 
 Seat you now in well-earn'd state. 
 
 While the pomps we celebrate. 
 
 The Genius takes his seat by the side of the preced- 
 ing one, and puts on his laurel, upon which Phaniel 
 
 proclaims, 
 
 So our Goddess, wise and free, 
 ^^'ills that every crown should be : 
 This is the true sovereignty. 
 
 Trumpets as before: a Russian inarch 3 enter a 
 similar Genius in a car of crystal ice sculptured with 
 instruments of war and with scaffolded cities, a golden
 
 OF LIBERTY. 43 
 
 cagic standing on tlie front edge. Liberty presents him 
 with the crown, and addresses him : 
 
 Genius of a rising land. 
 
 Whom the foil'd Enchanter's hand 
 
 Reach'd but to recoil with pain. 
 
 Well have you repulsed his chain ! 
 
 Well have you repaid him now. 
 
 And must wear a laurell'd brow 
 
 Of a grace and of a hue. 
 
 Such as Conquest's merer crew 
 
 Never could have won for you. 
 
 Would you make it nobler still? 
 
 There's a land was heap'd with ill 
 
 By sinning pow'rs that ruled before you. 
 
 Whose re{)cntaiit pains implore you, 
 
 loining with this free-voiced season. 
 
 And your own asserted reason, 
 
 To restore it. Do, and blest 
 
 For this good deed and all the rest, 
 
 lie estccm'd ; and may the ray 
 
 A\'liich yon liavc hel]>'d to clear away,
 
 44 THE DESCENT 
 
 Stretch into your distant sphere, 
 '\'\'^ithout the storms that brouglit it here. 
 Seat you now in well-earn 'd state. 
 While the pomps we celebrate. 
 
 The Genius here moves round the scene, so as to re- 
 turn to the side at which he entered, and seats himself 
 opposite to the preceding one ; then putting on his laurel, 
 Mabiel proclaims : 
 
 So our Goddess, wise and free, 
 ^V'ills that everj- crown should be :. 
 This is the true sovereignty. 
 
 Trumpets as before : 'Britons, strike home 3' enter a 
 similar Genius, but with a laurel already on his head, 
 and a halo of light also about it. He is in a car sculp- 
 tured with emblems of all the arts, a golden lion stand- 
 ing on the front edge. Liberty smilingly spreads forth 
 her hand at his approach, and addresses him :
 
 OF LIBERTY. 45 
 
 Genius of a glorious land. 
 Whom the vex'd Enchanter's hand 
 Never yet could venture near, 
 Spell-bound with a marble fear, 
 (For he felt a strange impression 
 From your eyes' free self-possession. 
 And the ring of watery light 
 Rippling round your forehead white, j 
 Long have you my laurels worn 3 
 And though some under leaves be torn 
 Here and there, yet what remains 
 Still it's pointed green retains. 
 And still an easy shade supplies 
 To your calm-kept, watchful eyes. 
 Only would you keep it bright'ning, 
 And it's power to sliake the llglit'ning 
 Harmless down it's glossy ears. 
 Suffer not so many years 
 To try what they can bend and spoil, 
 But oftener in it's native soil 
 Let the returning slip rene\v 
 It's upward sap and equal hue;
 
 46 THE DESCENT 
 
 And wear it then, with glory shaded. 
 Till the spent earth itself be faded. 
 Seat you now in your old state, 
 W'Tiile the pomps we celebrate. 
 
 Tlie Genius here rides round the scene like the for- 
 mer one, and then takes his seat opposite to the one 
 that entered first, so as to be the nearest on the right 
 hand of Liberty j upon \^hich Phaniel proclaims, 
 
 So our Goddess, wise and free. 
 Wills that every crown should be: 
 This is the true sovereignty. 
 
 A flourish of concluding music from the Genii. Li- 
 l)erty speaks : 
 
 Phaniel and Mabiel, sparkling servants mine. 
 You know what blessing we must first invoke 
 From the clear sky. These noble Spirits Iiere 
 Will join to charm her down. She is all heart, 
 Affectionate and quick, and only waits 
 A tender word to slip from heav'n with smiles.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 47 
 
 Duet. Phaniel and Mabiel sing. 
 
 O wrapping looks and balmy tongue. 
 Sweet as summer air through tree, 
 Remember'd when this age was young. 
 
 Like sights beheld in infancy, 
 O Peace, whose very name's a pleasure. 
 Re-appear 
 To bless us here. 
 And light with silken foot upon our leisure ! 
 
 First Genius speaks. 
 
 By the last tear that hangs to day. 
 For thy kiss to cli[) away ; 
 
 Second Genius, 
 
 IJy the toil of struggling hearts. 
 That rest them from their final parts ; 
 
 Third (ienius. 
 By hopes, that wait in rising lands 
 A blessing from thy gentle hands ;
 
 48 the descent 
 
 Fourth Genius. 
 By hoine-delights, and spirits free. 
 And one full sigh of earth and sea. 
 And victorious Liberty j 
 
 The two Spirits taking up the song again. 
 Re-appear ! Re-appear ! 
 
 Chorus of Spectators. 
 
 Earth is worthy to regain thee. 
 
 And hopes it may not always pain thee. 
 
 A pause of listening silence, and then an exquisite 
 voice in the air: 
 
 Greatest Goddess of our sphere. 
 Elves, and human beings dear, 
 I am here ! I am here ! 
 
 A descent of turtle doves, who sweep gently off in 
 pairs on either side, and a couple of snowy feet are
 
 OF LIBERTY. 49- 
 
 discerned treading the air, as it were, softly downwards. 
 The whole figure soon appears, and a strain of flutes 
 welcomes the arrival of Peace. She is habited in white 
 like an angel, with dove-coloured wings, on which she 
 comes hovering down, a sheep-bell hanging on one of 
 the fingers of her right hand, and a wreath of olive 
 and myrtle on her head. As she descends, she spreads 
 her hands hither and thither with gestures of bene- 
 diction, and alighting at the foot of Liberty, embraces 
 her with upward-looking affection and reverence, tak- 
 ing her scat there in conclusion. The spectators stretch 
 out their hands in an attitude of eager and mute 
 worship. 
 
 Liberty. I must thank thee, sweet, I fear j 
 For among the voices here 
 Gushes of sweet tears have broken ; 
 But how indeed could they have spoken, 
 \\\\o beheld at once in thee 
 Worlds of home felicity, 
 Hopes come back, that all seem'd gone, 
 Bosoms, which their griefs lay on ? 
 
 K
 
 50 THP DESCENT 
 
 Charm'd they are at ears and eyes, 
 
 And as with new faculties 
 
 Seem tp look abroad and hear 
 
 Basking silence wrap the sphere. 
 
 While the clouds hush oflF in racks. 
 
 And in long-left golden tracks 
 
 Ships to ships on the still sea 
 
 Glance with broad sail courteously; 
 
 And on land, for countless miles. 
 
 Passion rests and Nature smiles. 
 
 And not a harsher sound is heard 
 
 Than of nest-resuming bird. 
 
 With flocks, and streams, and village calls. 
 
 And bells, that winds fling out o'er walls 
 
 From joyous towns at intervals. 
 
 Come; 'tis our's, assembled here^ 
 To flush the triumph. Goddess dear. 
 If the tenderness within 
 Has left thy voice, begin, begin^ 
 And summon from their waiting climes 
 The pleasures that perfect victorious tinier.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 51 
 
 Peace. I obey; and thus commence 
 With one shall freshen unexerted sense. 
 
 She sings. 
 
 Holder of the smiles of heaven. 
 Listening eye and forehead even. 
 Who from out the thrill'd air broke. 
 When Love first saw the light and spoke, 
 
 O Music, mildest. 
 
 Warmest, wildest. 
 Wind thee down from sphere to sphere. 
 And meet us here ! 
 
 Chorus of Cherubs. 
 
 Earth is worthy now of thee. 
 And only waits thy harmony. 
 
 A sweet sound in the air, gradually descending, and 
 growing louder, the winds themselves making a har- 
 mony as they swell among the trees. A cloud tlicn 
 appears from the top of the scene, and bursting open 
 with a fullness of fine sounds. Music issues forth in a 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE DESCENT 
 
 floating drapery of blue, and playing on a golden lyre, 
 the cloud in the mean time closing under her, and fur- 
 nishing her with a throne. Ceasing to play, she be- 
 gins to descend very slowly towards the left hand of 
 Liberty, and again passing her hand across the strings 
 with a hasty prelude, and then waving it commandingly 
 in the air, a concert seems to pour in from all quarters, 
 till it swells into a complete pomp of harmony, the whole 
 closing as the cloud finally mingles with that of Liberty, 
 and Music has taken her seat. 
 
 Lib. Circler of the ear with bliss. 
 Sweetest Goddess, thanks for this ! 
 Now for the eye's rich artifice. 
 
 The second Song q/" Peace, 
 Oh many-blushing beauty, born 
 Of Iris and the Prince of Morn, 
 
 Painting, Vision's choice completeness. 
 With sweepy shape, and summer lips. 
 And hand, that into roses dips 
 It's careless-playing finger tips. 
 
 Contrasting sweetness;
 
 OF LIBERTY. 53 
 
 O wheresoe'er thou look'st from air. 
 Shaping the clouds that purple there, 
 
 Or shedding landscapes in the foujatains. 
 Or showing sights of tow'r and tree 
 In fairy mirror o'er the sea 
 Of wonder-eyed Parthenope, 
 
 And her red mountains ; 
 
 O sparkler of the sapphire sphere. 
 Visit us here ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Earth is worthy now of thee. 
 And only waits thy brilliancy. 
 
 The cloud, on which the celestial visitors are sitting, 
 is suddenly tinged about with the prismatic colours, 
 and a rainbow half appearing towards the side, and 
 pitching it's tip on the right of Liberty, Painting is 
 seen in a mixed habit of purple and yellow, gliding 
 down over it on another cloud. She makes an obeisance 
 to Liberty, and keeps in motion a hand-mirror, which
 
 54 THE DESCENT 
 
 at first only throws out a vanishing light on the objects 
 below, like a jack-o'-lantern, but upon being raised a 
 little higher and held steadily opposite to the horizon 
 in the back-ground, suddenly reflects upon that quar- 
 ter a clear and exact representation of the whole scene, 
 only rendered more beautiful and gorgeous. Then turn- 
 ing her glass again, the picture vanishes, and liaving by 
 this time descended, slic takes her seat on the right of 
 Liberty, the rainbow relapsing into air. 
 
 lAh. Filler of the eye with bliss. 
 Brightest Goddess, thanks for this ! 
 Now for the thought's free artifice. 
 
 The third Song o/" Peace. 
 
 O best Enchantress, unconfined. 
 Full of all the Mighty Mind, 
 Lustrous forehead laurel-leaved. 
 Whom Psyche of her love conceived 
 In the voiceful, golden house. 
 When first he came mysterious.
 
 OF LIBERTY, 6fl 
 
 O spare us from addressing thee. 
 All accomplished Poetry, 
 And turning quick eye, deep and clear. 
 Glance thee down here ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 Earth is worthy now of thee. 
 And only waits thy witchery. 
 
 A sudden flash of radiance with sweet sounds and 
 })erfuineSj and to the transport of the beholders, who 
 all start forward except Liberty, Poetry breaks at once 
 from out the air, lying as it were upon her wings, and 
 looking with bright-eyed earnestness upon the scene, 
 Slie is in a robe of carnation or flesh-colour, scarfed 
 with green, her wings like the bird of Paradise, 
 hor head crowned witli laurel and surmounted by a 
 hunbent fire, and a magic wand in her hand. After 
 a moment s pause, during which those who had risen 
 reseat themselves, she takes off her crown with an 
 obeisance to Liberty, and then replacing it, and calling 
 up, with a motion of her wand, a portion of tlie cloud
 
 56 THE DESCENT 
 
 underneath her, reclines in a noble attitude, and recites to 
 an accompaniment of unseen harps the following verses : 
 
 From isles that streak the mellowing w est. 
 
 And enclosing bowers of rest. 
 
 By whose doors pellucid streams 
 
 Break on pebbled pearl in beams. 
 
 Hither with a thought am I 
 
 At call of Peace and Liberty. 
 
 There I left on rosy beds 
 
 The poets with their laurell'd heads. 
 
 Who when on earth gave happy voice 
 
 To Truth and Right, and now rejoice 
 
 Each with her he loved the best. 
 
 Pleasure-eyed, in perfect rest. 
 
 Till by length of lovely deeds. 
 
 Such as mortal guess exceeds. 
 
 Both earn them wings, and hand in hand 
 
 Start for still diviner land. 
 
 There too on appointed days. 
 Their opening ears discern the praise.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 57 
 
 And their far-off eyes the worth. 
 Of those whom they delight on earth, 
 Which all the while, by charm serene. 
 Is amply yet minutely seen 
 Iii.the blue depths rolling green. 
 
 Then before me they appear. 
 Each with his divinest dear, 
 And in friendly zeal contend, 
 Which of all, to some great end 
 Of good and just, can raise to sight 
 Happiest visions of delight. 
 By themselves perhaps to be 
 After made reality. 
 
 But I may not fetch ye those. 
 Come then, old poetic shows. 
 Shadows of abstracted things. 
 That with your different colourings 
 Have in different ages been 
 The pomp and service of your Queen ;
 
 S,8 TUE DESCENT 
 
 And with ye come, to close your trains, 
 Tliose who rilled your several reigns. 
 And best disposed ye, or indued. 
 To charm the thought-struck multitude. 
 
 Here Poetry waves her wand, and several stately 
 and gorgeous visions pass through the air, the actual 
 back -ground of the scene changing with them. For 
 the first, the back -ground changes into groves, temples, 
 and mountains, such as those of Delphos and Parnas- 
 sus 3 and a music striking up, consisting of pipes, 
 l)Tes, and timbrels, with a smell of incense accom- 
 panying, there passes through the air a line of ancient 
 deities, Jupiter, the Muses, Venus, Apollo, Mercurj-, 
 Cupid and Psyche, &c. who, vanishing all at once, are 
 succeeded by the forms of Homer, Pindar, Theocritus, 
 and the Greek tragedians, all crowTied with laurel, and 
 seated on a cloud in chairs of marble. 
 
 These vanish in the same manner; the back-ground 
 shifts into a delicious Scene of gardens and palaces, 
 with castles at intervals and spots of wildncss ; and the
 
 OF LIBERTY. 9 
 
 music, after a short and rustic amatory strain on the 
 harp, changes into an ardent flourish of trumpets, when 
 a vision, in two groups, of horse and horsemen appears, 
 part riding with dignity, others with a lightsome ease, 
 others with a forward or rearing eagerness. The horses 
 are variously trapped, but the horsemen aU mantled 
 with red cloaks over their suits of armour ; and by their 
 banners are recognized, in the first group. King Ar- 
 thur and his Knights of the Round Table, Launcelot, 
 Tristan, &c. and in the second, Charlemagne and his 
 Peers, Roland, Rinaldo, and others. They are followed 
 by bearded enchanters attired in long cloaks, and riding 
 on griffins and other animals, with wands and books 
 in their hands ; when the whole suddenly vanishing 
 are succeeded by the forms of Pulci, Afiosto, Tasso, 
 and Spenser, crowned with laurel and seated on thrones 
 of tapestry. 
 
 Tiie back-ground then changes, for the third time, 
 to an ftliereal scene, in which hangs the Earth like a 
 planet v\ ith the Moon moving round it ; and to the 
 sound of vr.rious and delightful music, a troop of
 
 60- THE DESCENT 
 
 fairies first cross the air with gestures of quaint pretension 
 and tricksome loveliness, then a company of ordinary 
 human beings from the king to the peasant, and then 
 again, creatures of the fancy, Ariel, Caliban, Comus,&c. 
 ending with the majestic but melancholy form of Satan, 
 sailing along in a swarthy mist. These vanishing 
 in their turn, are replaced by three Gothic scats, in 
 which are enthroned the shapes of Chaucer, Shaks- 
 peare, and Milton, crowned with laurel, and holding 
 globes in their hands, the first a terrestrial, the third 
 a celestial, and the second a double one of both. The 
 whole tlien disappears j a tremulous and small music 
 is heard as in conclusion : and while the original scene 
 is returning in the back-ground. Poetry descends on 
 the wing, and seats herself in a reclining posture, on 
 an upper part of the cloud, a little behind the head of 
 Liberty. 
 
 Lib. Filler of deep thoughts with bliss. 
 Supplying what on earth we miss, 
 Finish'd Goddess, thanks for this !
 
 OF LIBERTY. $1 
 
 She continues. 
 And now the two great blessings of the time. 
 Whom all may know, the only true amenders. 
 The builders of glad homes, let them appear. 
 And strike into our smiles security ; 
 ExpEKiENCE old the one, scar-cheek'd and sage. 
 Whose touch is thought j the other a fresh knight. 
 Long tranced in Gothic sepulchre, now freed 
 And turn'd to youth again, whom this my champion. 
 The Genius with his ready-laureU'd hair. 
 Brought back to light victoriously, tlirough crowds 
 Of grinning lumps and chattering enmities. 
 Who guaw'd themselves for spite to view the arm 
 Should drive their ancient darkness, Education. 
 
 Enter Expkrience crossing the stage, a troop of 
 sorrowful spirits sailing before him, and another of 
 joyful ones skimming after, the music shifting from 
 grave to gay accordingly. He is a venerable figure, 
 with a white uncovered head, a touchstone in one hand, 
 a pilgrim's staff in the other, and wearing a grey robe 
 over a suit of battered armour. A.'s lie goes by, he
 
 62 
 
 THE DESCENT 
 
 salutes Liberty with a gesture of benediction, tlie God- 
 dess crossing her arms in return, and bending lier 
 pleased head in acknowledgment. 
 
 Education follows from the same side and in the 
 same path ; and is a smiling, manly youth, in a suc- 
 cinct habit, with a sheathed sword hanging behind him, 
 and holding up in display a golden book, from which 
 a light strikes on the faces of a troop of boys who pre- 
 cede him in babits of different colours, and who look 
 back upon it as they go lightly along, holding each 
 other's hands at arm's length. Two guardian angels 
 follow on the wing, the one crowned with roses, the 
 other bearing a light yoke on her neck, and resting her 
 arm on her companion's shoulder, who turns affection- 
 ately to look at her. These are Pleasure and Duty. 
 As the youth passes, he bows his head reverently, and 
 takes his benediction from Liberty, as she received hers 
 from his fore-runner. 
 
 Lib. These for the mind. Now for the body's bles- 
 sings,
 
 OF LIBERTY. (|3 
 
 Without whose help the over-conscious mind, 
 Prison'd from power of change, inhabits it 
 Like a sad spirit pent in his own wand, 
 The thinj; which he shoukl lightly bear about 
 For his free purposes. Summon them in. 
 Sweet Peace, and smoothe us with another song, 
 Then for my wisest contrast, and so finish. 
 
 The fourth Song of Peace. 
 
 O Thou tliat art our Queen again. 
 And may in the sun be seen again. 
 
 Come, Ceres, come. 
 
 For the war's gone home. 
 And the fields are quiet and green again. 
 
 The air, dear Goddess, sighs for thee. 
 The light-heart brooks arise for thee. 
 
 And the poppies red 
 
 On their wistful bed 
 Turn lip their dark bine eyes for thcc.
 
 64 THE DESCENT 
 
 Laugh out in the loose green jerkin 
 That's fit for a goddess to work in. 
 
 With shoulders brown. 
 
 And the wheaten crown 
 About thy temples perking. 
 
 And with thee come Stout Heart in. 
 And Toil, that sleeps his cart in. 
 
 And Exercise, 
 
 The ruddy and wise. 
 His bathed forelocks parting. 
 
 And Dancing too, that's litlier 
 Than willow or birch, dro]) hither. 
 
 To thread the place 
 
 With a finishing grace. 
 And carry our smooth eyes with her. 
 
 Enter three rustic figures of Stout Heart, Toil, ami 
 Exercise, with a band of Reapers and Vlnc-gathcrers,
 
 or UBSRTY. ^ 
 
 male and female^ the first a manly swtua in corderoy 
 with an oaken cudgel, the second in white with a fork 
 over hie shoulder, the third in green with a vaalting- 
 staif, and buskined. The rest of the men have sickles 
 and pruning-hooks at their side, handled like swords 
 and hanging from sword-belts ; the women are in 
 short white gowns with rose-coloured boddices^ and 
 straw hats with ribands. To them, overhead, enter 
 Ceres, reclining on a horn of plenty, and gliding slowly 
 along on a summer cloud. She is a plump and laugh- 
 ing figure, dressed in a loose green boddice, with bare 
 shoulders, large auburn curls, and a crown of wheat. As 
 she goes along, she makes joyful salutes to Peace and 
 Liberty, and the back-ground breaks into golden fields 
 of corn that wave in the sunshine, while vines run over 
 a hill in the distance, and the trees in front are hung 
 with them like garlands from bough to bough. 
 
 Trio and Chorus. 
 
 All joy to the giver of wine and of corn. 
 With her elbow at ease on her well-fill'd horn ;
 
 66 THE DESCENT 
 
 To the sunny cheek brown, 
 And the shady wheat crown. 
 And the ripe golden locks that come smelling of morn. 
 Stout Heart. 'Tis she in our veins that puts daily de- 
 
 lighti 
 Toil. 'Tis she in our beds puts us kindly at night ; 
 Exercise. And taps at our doors in the morning bright. 
 Chorus. Then joy to the giver, &c, 
 
 tVe '11 sling on our flaskets, and forth with the sun. 
 With our trim-ancled yoke-fellows, ever)- one ; 
 We'U gather and reap 
 With our arm at a sweep. 
 And oh ! for the dancing when all is done ; 
 Exercise. Yes, yes, we '11 be up when the singing-bird 
 
 starts 5 
 Toil. We '11 level her harvests, and fill up her carts ; 
 Stout Heart. And shake oflf fatigue with our bounding 
 hearts : 
 
 Chorus, Then hey for the flaskets, &c. 
 
 Bv this time Ceres has crossed the scene; and a
 
 OP LIBEHTY. 67 
 
 sunbeam suddenly striking down to the middle of it 
 in front of Liberty, a lightsome figure with wings at 
 her feet and shoulders comes rapidly tripping down it, 
 and, taking a spring before she reaches the bottom, 
 leaps into a graceful attitude of preparation. 
 
 Chorus of a few voices male and female. 
 
 And see, to set us moving, here is Dancing here. 
 With the breezes at her ancles, and her winsome cheer. 
 With her in-and-out deliciousness, and bending ear ; 
 
 Nay, trip it first awhile 
 
 To thine own sweet smile. 
 And we'll follow, follow, follow to thee. Dancing dear. 
 
 Here Dancing twirls round and makes an obeisance 
 to Liberty, and then taking up the measure of the 
 Chorus, which is that of a dance by a single person, 
 performs a movement of that description, at the con- 
 clusion of which, the sunbeam suddenly striking down 
 again, she spreads her wings, and glancingly returns 
 up it, ' The Reapers and Vine-gatherers then join in 
 
 r'2
 
 WB Tfr BfKSFCBXT 
 
 ft general dance, which is all at once interrupted by a 
 loud noise, accompanied with groans and clashing of 
 chains : they separate in disorder. 
 
 Lib. What's this that mars the time's new loveliness 
 With such return of horror ? 
 
 Enter hastily a Sable Genius, with fetter-rings at his 
 wrists, a few of the links not broken off j and prostrates 
 himself in front of Libert)-. 
 
 WTiat again 
 The Southern Genius troubled ! What has caused 
 This evil fear in thee, unhappy spirit ? 
 Thy hands, though some remains of outrage gall them, 
 Tug not as heretofore, one with the other. 
 In linked anguish : thou hast freer looks. 
 Spite of this posture, and a firmer presence, 
 I thought the noble heart here on the right, 
 The ready-laurell'd, had smoothed all for thee. 
 And left thee to new hopes and safer slumbers
 
 OP LIBERTY. 69 
 
 Sable Gen. {Rmng.) He had, great Misti'esfi, and I 
 bl^ss him for it. 
 But last night, burthen'd I could scarce tell how 
 With drooping recollections and heap'd thoughts, 
 I slept for sorrow ; and the searching toil 
 Not having left, as it should seem, my mind 
 Even in that refreshment, I had dreams j 
 And dreams, thou knowest, though they play confused 
 About the grosser faculties of man 
 Like liints of other spheres, are to a spirit 
 Clear and true mirrors of impending fate. 
 Like wells, in which the looker-down perceives 
 What's passing o'er his head, or coming cloud. 
 MethoHght that on the breathing shore I sat 
 Of the wide sea, looking upon it now 
 ^V'itll inward-smiling eye, and fresh-blown cheek. 
 And now reverting to the chanipajn green 
 On H liicli the untaught race, whose guard I am. 
 Danced at clear evening to their humming music 
 Midst their low cabins and tall-shafted trees. 
 On both I look'd ; and these my brethren great 
 Bless' d in my heart, to think that they had made
 
 7Q THE DESCENT 
 
 The watery neighbourhood so sweet and safe. 
 
 When lo ! while heart, and ear, and all was quiet. 
 
 Just in the pause of the resounding dance, 
 
 A horrid peal of laughter o'er the wave 
 
 Came clattering^ and from out the liny distance 
 
 Some of those old and coast-descending monsters. 
 
 Whom we had all thought quell'd, rose to the light. 
 
 Swelling their ship's pale wings, and plunging fierce 
 
 It's hastening breast towards us; aU, at once. 
 
 Saw them and knew, and struck through knees and 
 
 heart 
 With fear as with a trembling arrow, stood 
 Lost; even I, though an immortal spirit 
 With storms familiar, who can catch the lightning. 
 And let the lion's voice lull me to sleep. 
 Felt the old spell upon me, and at thought 
 Of what my sons might suffer once again. 
 Of wives and children from each other torn 
 To glut th' accursed in their distant haunts. 
 Of stripes and sorrows, bitter-turning bloods, 
 Impatiencies, moist-covering agonies, 
 Or if by death escaping, suffocations
 
 or LIBERTY. 71 
 
 With struggling cheek under the hot pent boards. 
 
 Or home- sick hearts that break in the mid sea. 
 
 Was agitated so, and flt the suddenness 
 
 Athwart my nature with so keen an edge. 
 
 That I too rose bewildered, and stood staring 
 
 Till the foul vision to the shore came nigh ; 
 
 With human voice it came, and cried aloud, 
 
 ' Twice are ye sold, ye wretches, twice are sold 
 
 To me and mine : fresh compact has been made. 
 
 Now that your fellow-creatures have grown happier. 
 
 Shaking all off in their own loose from care. 
 
 And I am here again : bring out your wives. 
 
 Bring out your wives, ye husbands, youths, your 
 
 loves. 
 Mothers, your children, that I may select 
 My victims, and with their united agonies 
 O'er the far sea return, leaving your eyes 
 And liearts to burst on the impossible shore!' 
 So saying, the Execrable, coming on. 
 Lifted, as lie was wont, the mocking flag 
 That gave pretended colour to his crimes, 
 Tfic
 
 72 THE DESCENT 
 
 Lib. Whose device wa^ on that impions remnant ? 
 What daring laad's } 
 
 Sable Gen. The land I tread on now : 
 
 i^A pause ^ Liberty looks about her with sur- 
 prise attd anger, and the spectators turn down 
 their- eyes.) 
 
 The sight of which, hearing what I had heard. 
 Of joy and freedom to this very land 
 Restored, such active rage flnsh'd into mej 
 That, turning to the rock by which I sat, 
 I grappled with a crag, thinking to whelm 
 Th' approaching horror in the wave before me. 
 When with the struggle suddenly I woke 
 Clasping my leaping temples, and sprang hither 
 Through the clear wind to come and call upon thee. 
 On thee, O Liberty, and thy great heart. 
 
 Lib. Thy call shall not be useless. To be sure. 
 Ye are strange creatures, mortals, most of ye, 
 And worth the laughter of immortal spirits.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 73 
 
 Were fond self-love our sovereign principle. 
 As it seems yours: but this remembrance checks 
 Both laughter and poor anger, and prevents 
 A wretched wish, to which this fearful dream 
 Had nigh degraded me, a wish, almost. 
 That I had left th' oppressor to his work. 
 But it must not be so ; all human good 
 Mounts by degrees, and those but slippeiT ones 
 Apt t slide back again, nor must I visit 
 Upon the thoughtless many the vile few. 
 
 Eun. Blessings attend thee ! 
 
 Lib. (iood old man, and thee, 
 
 And thine, and maycst thou see deserving joy 
 Complete this land's security, and lead 
 It's proper dance on every lightsome green, 
 Thyself and such as X\\m\ sitting cool-hair'd. 
 In golden shade of arm-o'cr-reaching boughs. 
 And, to this good end, hear me, Eunomnsj 
 What masters ye m.ay choose for your new lords. 
 New or restoreil, is left, as best befits 
 The gifts of Liberty, to your free selves : 
 But should this plague, as from the spirit's dreanx
 
 74 THE DESCENT 
 
 I fear, again be loosed upon the south, 
 
 ^Vhether from want of thought, or barbarous habits 
 
 Left by long war, or fear, self-realized. 
 
 That yields to evil from despair of good. 
 
 Or bitterer conclusion still, brought on 
 
 By diseased sorrow, arguing with itself. 
 
 Whose argument is it's disease's proof, 
 
 ^^'^anting the cure of action, whether this. 
 
 Or worse than all, whether from rank indifference. 
 
 Which neither joy nor sorrow, rain nor shine. 
 
 Can touch with kindliness for other's good. 
 
 Content to heave it's own gross uselessness 
 
 Out in the sun, and spoil the soil it swells on, 
 
 Whether from this or that, from part or all, , 
 
 It must and shall not he; from this time forth 
 
 The few must know their service to the many : 
 
 Knowledge and I have given the world a voice 
 
 Fit for it's frame, nor at this special moment. 
 
 When one huge wrong, contemptuous of mankind. 
 
 Has been o'erthrown, shall they endure to see 
 
 Part of it's veriest slaves conspire another. 
 
 Be it thy task then, wise old man, and all
 
 OF LIBERTV. 75 
 
 Who would scape blushing for their native land, 
 'IV) spread this warning voice 3 and should at last 
 The dream come true, I will myself inspire 
 Those noblest of their race, who walk in lustre 
 Beneath the star of this my genius here. 
 To rise once more in their brave scorn, and mnl 
 One last, preventing, and perfecting triumph. 
 
 Sable Gen. And shall it then indeed be so ? 
 Whither shall I turn to go? 
 WTiither turn, or how depart, 
 Scatter'd with delight of heart ? 
 But I lose my recollection. 
 Goddess of all sound perfection. 
 Since thy sons will not forsake me, 
 Back again I now betake me 
 In a light and lifting breeze 
 O'er the lands that bask at ease 
 And the cool up-striking seas. 
 To revive with far-eyed coming 
 Dinning strings and tabors drumming. 
 And to set the fresh-limb'd pleasure 
 Up in many a desperate measure.
 
 76 THE DESCENT 
 
 Till a thousaad homely joys 
 Break abroad with giddy noise ^ 
 And the lover decks his maid 
 In the tall tree's lump of shade , 
 And the babe at the proud breast, 
 Open-lipp'd, goes safe to rest ; 
 And all my lightsome race of jet 
 Shall rise in worth and knowledge yet 
 
 Here making a farewell and grateful obeisance, tl>e 
 Sable Genius springs backward from the earth, and then 
 turning in the air, goes off at the side-scene. 
 
 Lib. This thoughtful interruption, though it break 
 Our joy's completeness, gives a double finish 
 To what concludes. Come forth, contrasting siiows. 
 And with your moral this time's story close. 
 
 Enter a Vision of False Glory. 
 The back-ground changes into a city rich with 
 palaces and triumphal arches, a smoky atraospliere 
 rolling from behind it over a plain covered with burn- 
 ing cottages ; and to the sound of trumpets and other
 
 OF LIBERTY. 77 
 
 warlike music, the front of the scene is crossed by a 
 long train of laurelled soldiers, horse and foot. As 
 they move onward, the word Slave is seen worked oa 
 their backs. To these succeeds a quantity of treasure 
 in waggons, consisting of money, pictures, statues, &c 
 and then follows a number of painters, poetS, and mu- 
 sicians, with the emblems of their respective arts, an4 
 attired in gorgeous robes j but the same word is dis- 
 covered on them; and as they pass, the three God- 
 desses, who preside over them, turn down their eyes' 
 in disquiet. Lastly, comes a triumphal chariot, drawtt 
 by crowned monrachs, and containing the Conqneror 
 dressed in purple, in a haughty attitude, with a crown 
 of laurel on his head, and holding in his hand a globe' 
 with a figure of Victory, As he proceeds, a slender 
 gilt chain is discerned reaching from the back of hi 
 neck into a dark cloud that follows, behind which are 
 several turbulent, weeping, and indignant shai)es, re- 
 presenting the Passions, Misery, Widowhood, &c. the 
 first having hold of the chain, and the figure of Pity 
 closing the whole.
 
 2B' THE DBaCENT 
 
 Enter a Vision of Real Glory. 
 - The back-ground keeps the pajaces and triumpha] 
 arches, but changes farther back into fields of rural 
 beauty; and the front scene is crossed in like manner 
 by a train of yeomanry or armed peasants crowned with 
 laurel, each bearing a sheathed sword in one hand and 
 a bunch of wheat in the other. These are followed by 
 poets, painters, and musicians, carrying the emblems 
 of their respective arts, but wearing an air of frank- 
 ness, and treading with a firm step. To these succeed 
 a number of venerable old men, and then a train of 
 marriageable young men and women, two by two, the 
 former crowned with olive and the latter with roses; 
 and after all, in a chariot drawn by white horses, and 
 in a succinct habit of the same colour, appears the 
 Conqueror, crowned with laurel and oak, and holding 
 in his hand upon a globe a figure of Liberty. A snowy 
 cloud follows, behind which are radiant angelic figures. 
 Serenity, Happiness, &c. the whole concluding with 
 the figure of Homage, bearing aloft a heart in his 
 two hands, to which he looks upward with veneration.
 
 OF LIBERTY. 79 
 
 A snatch of fine music -.Liberty speaks : 
 All is finish'd. Now I rise 
 Back to my wide-breathing skies. 
 Where there is no hindering 
 To the heart or to the wing ; 
 But the planets, round and free. 
 Lapse about eternally. 
 And the space through which they bum 
 Feels a thrill at my return. 
 And the never-tiring Joy, 
 Rosy and heart-dancing boy. 
 On continual errand runs 
 In and out a thousand suns. 
 
 There sometimes, when I have ended 
 VVliat my daily task intended, 
 I sit looking, with still eyes. 
 At the many-starred skies. 
 Or go pace the central sun 
 With his gardens, every one, 
 Where the golden light is kept. 
 And the winds are music swept ;
 
 ^ THE DESCKNT 
 
 Or in graver mood take wing 
 Beyond the bounds of every thing. 
 And look in, with half-check'd sight. 
 On the unform'd infinite. 
 Where with his eternal ear 
 Time is listening. Mortals dear, 
 Think on all I've done and said. 
 And keep my blessings on your head. 
 
 Here the great cloud, on which Liberty is seated^ 
 begins to disengage itself from the others, Peace and 
 the rest of the Goddesses joining in a 
 
 Chorus. 
 Call up then in gathering measure 
 All the sounds of lofty pleasure. 
 Pipes of deep continuous blow. 
 Fuming ventage, stately bow. 
 Ivory dint of dancing fingers. 
 Touch that leaves, and voice that lingers. 
 Hands that plunge in panting wires, 
 Till our own ful} voice aspires
 
 OF LIBERTY. 81 
 
 To attend our sovereign Queen, 
 With vows and lifted looks between. 
 Up into the blue serene. 
 
 The cloud begins to rise with Liberty and her atten- 
 dant spirits, and all the spectators burst into the 
 
 Final Chorus. 
 O dear Goddess, wherever we are. 
 
 We'll never forget thee, we'll never forget thee; 
 Spots may come over our mortal star. 
 
 But a light must remain upon all who have met thee. 
 Rise, rise, 
 To thine airy skies. 
 With the bliss of good deeds in thy bosom and eyes, 
 lliou hast taught us a lesson our children shall learn. 
 And made the homes happy to which we return. 
 
 \_Eu'cuni Omnes.
 
 82 THE DESCENX OF LIBEKTY. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 POETA LOQUITUR. 
 
 'Tis done. The vision from my fancy's eye 
 Fades, gleam by gleam, into the closing sky j 
 And the far sounds, touching from sphere to sphere 
 With upward lessening, baffle the fix'd ear. 
 But not directly does the earthly chain. 
 That holds me here, come closing round again ^ 
 Not instantly the darkening wall comes nigh ; 
 The brighten'd spot yet breathes of Liberty ; 
 The fine and holler circle charms me still. 
 Drawn by the quickness of the Muse's quill j 
 And Silence, listening as at dead of night. 
 Sits with her finger up, hushing Delight, 
 
 TIIK END. 
 
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