Select Works of the British Poets, in a Chronological Series from Falconer to Sir Walter Scott with Biographical and Critical Notices

Ephesian Dian sees no more
Her workmen fuse the silver ore,

Nor Capitolian Jove.
E'en Salem's hallow'd courts have ceased
With solemn pomps her tribes to feast,

No more the victim bleeds ;
To censers fill’d with rare perfumes,
And vestments from Egyptian looms,

A purer rite succeeds.
Yét still, where'er presumptuous man
His Maker's essence strives to scan,

And lifts his feeble hands,
Though saint and sage their powers unite,
To fathom that abyss of light,

Ah! still that altar stands.

Of youthful ardour to eternal chase.
Dreams hang on every leaf; unearthly forms
Glide through the gloom ; and mystic visions swim
Before the cheated sense. Athwart the mists,
Far into vacant space, huge shadows stretch,
And seem realities; while things of life,
Obvious to sight and touch, all glowing round,
Fade to the hue of shadows.—Scruples here,
With filmy net, most like th' autumnal webs
Of floating gossamer, arrest the foot
Of generous enterprise ; and palsy hope
And fair ambition with the chilling touch
Of sickly hesitation and blank fear.
Nor seldom Indolence these lawns among
Fixes her turf-built seat; and wears the garb
Of deep philosophy, and museful sits,
In dreamy twilight of the vacant mind,
Soothed by the whispering shade ; for soothing soft
The shades ; and vistas lengthening into air,
With moonbeam rainbows tinted.—Here each mind
Of finer mould acute and delicate,
In its high progress to eternal truth
Rests for a space, in fairy bowers entranced ;
And loves the soften'd light and tender gloom;
And, pamper'd with most unsubstantial food,
Looks down indignant on the grosser world,
And matters cumbrous shaping. Youth beloved
Of Science of the Muse beloved, -not here,
Not in the maze of metaphysic lore,
Build thou thy place of resting ! lightly tread
The dangerous ground, on noble aims intent;
And be this Circe of the studious cell
Enjoy'd but still subservient. Active scenes
Shall soon with healthful spirit brace thy mind;
And fair exertion for bright fame sustain'd,
For friends, for country chase each spleen-fed fog
That blots the wide creation.-
Now Heaven conduct thee with a parent's love!

ODE TO REMORSE.

DREAD offspring of the holy light within,

Offspring of Conscience and of Sin, Stern as thine awful sire, and fraught with wo, From bitter springs thy mother taught to flow,

Remorse! To man alone 'tis given

Of all on earth, or all in heaven,
To wretched man thy bitter cup to drain,
Feel thy awakening stings, and taste thy whole-

some pain.
Midst Eden's blissful bowers,

And amaranthine flowers,
Thy birth portentous dimm’d the orient day,

What time our hapless sire,

O'ercome by fond desire,
The high command presumed to disobey;

Then didst thou rear thy snaky crest,
And raise thy scorpion lash to tear the guilty

breast :

And never, since that fatal hour,
May man, of woman born, espect t escape thy

power.
Thy goading stings the branded Cain

Cross th' untrodden desert drove,
Ere from his cradling home and native plain

Domestic man had learnt to rove.

THE UNKNOWN GOD.

To learned Athens, led by fame,
As once the man of Tarsus came,

With pity and surprise,
Midst idol altars as he stood,
O'er sculptured marble, brass, and wood,

He rollid his awful eyes.

But one, a part, his notice caught,
That seem'd with higher meaning fraught,

Graved on the wounded stone ;
Nor form nor name was there express'd ;
Deep reverence fill'd the musing breast,

Perusing, “To the God unknown."

By gloomy shade or lonely flood
Of vast primeval solitude,
Thy step his harried steps pursued,
Thy voice awoke his conscious fears,
For ever sounding in his ears

A father's curse, a brother's blood;

Till life was misery too great to bear, And torturing thought was lost in sullen, dumb

despair.

Age after age has roll'd away,
Altars and thrones have felt decay,

Sages and saints have risen;
And, like a giant roused from sleep,
Man has explored the pathless deep,

And lightnings snatch'd from heaven.

The king who sat on Judah's throne,
By guilty love to murder wrought,

Was taught thy searching power to own, When, sent of Heaven, the seer his royal presence

sought. As, wrapt in artsul phrase, with sorrow feign'd,

He told of helpless, meek distress,

And wrongs that sought from power redress, The pity-moving tale his ear obtain’d,

And many a shrine in dust is laid, Where kneeling nations homage paid,

By rock, or fount, or grove;

And bade his better feelings wake :

Why does he lift the cruel scourge ?
Then, sudden as the trodden snake

The restless pilgrimage why urge?
On the scared traveller darts his fangs,

"Tis all to quell thy fiercer rage, The prophet's bold rebuke aroused thy keenest "Tis all to sooth thy deep despair, [bear. pangs.

He courts the body's pangs, for thine he cannot
And O that look, that soft upbraiding look! See o'er the bleeding corse of her he loved,
A thousand cutting, tender things it spoke,-

The jealous murderer bends unmoved,
The sword so lately drawn was not so keen,- Trembling with rage, his livid lips express
Which, as the injured Master turn'd him round, His frantic passion's wild and rash excess.
In the strange solemn scene,

O God, she's innocent!-transfixt he stands, And the shrill clarion gave th' appointed sound, Pierced through with shafts from thine avenging Pierced sudden through the reins,

hands ;
Awakening all thy pains,

Down his pale cheek no tear will flow,
And drew a silent shower of bitter tears

Nor can he shun, nor can he bear, his wo.
Down Peter's blushing cheek, late pale with cow-
ard fears.

'Twas phantoms summond by thy power

Round Richard's couch at midnight hour, Cruel Remorse! where Youth and Pleasure That scared the tyrant from unblest repose ; sport,

With frantic haste, “To horse! to horse!" he cries, And thoughtless Folly keeps her court,

While on his crowned brow cold sweat-drops rise,
Crouching midst rosy bowers thou lurk'st unseen;

And fancied spears his spear oppose ;
Slumbering the sestal hours away,

But not the swiftest steed can bear away
While Youth disports in that enchanting scene;

From thy firm grasp thine agonizing prey,
Till on some fated day

Thou wast the fiend, and thou alone,
Thou with a tiger-spring dost leap upon thy prey,

That stood'st by Beaufort's mitred head,
And tear his belpless breast, o'erwhelm’d, with With upright hair and visage ghastly pale:
wild dismay.

Thy terrors shook his dying bed,
Mark that poor wretch with clasped hands! Past crimes and blood his sinking heart assail,

Pale o'er his parent's grave he stands,- His hands are clasp'd, -hark to that hollow groan!
The grave by his ingratitude prepared ;

See how his glazed, dim eye-balls wildly roll, Ah then, where'er he rests his head,

'Tis not dissolving Nature's pains; that pang is of On roses pillow'd or the softest down,

the soul.
Though sestal wreaths his temples crown,

Where guilty souls are doom'd to dwell,
He well might envy Guatimozin's bed,

"Tis thou that makest their fiercest hell,
With burning coals and sulphur spread,

The vulture thou that on their liver feeds,
And with less agony his torturing hour have
shared.

As rise to view their past unhallow'd deeds;

With thee condemn'd to stay,

Till time has rollid away
For Thou art by to point the keen reproach;
Thou draw'st the curtains of his nightly couch,

Long eras of uncounted years,
Bring'st back the reverend face with tears

And every stain is wash'd in soft repentant tears. bedew'd,

Servant of God-but unbeloved-proceed,
That o'er his follies yearn'd;

For thou must live and ply thy scorpion scourge :
The warnings oft in vain renew'd,

Thy sharp upbraidings urge
The looks of anguish and of love,

Against th' unrighteous deed,
His stubborn breast that failed to move,

Till thine accursed mother shall expire,
When in the scorner's chair he sat, and wholesome And a new world spring forth from renovating fire
counsel spurn'd.

0! when the glare of day is fled,
Lives there a man whose labouring breast And calm, beneath the evening star,
Is with some dark and guilty secret prest,

Reflection leans her pensive head,
Who hides within its inmost fold

And calls the passions to her solemn bar;
Strange crimes to mortal ear untold ?

Reviews the censure rash, the hasty word,
In vain to and Chartreuse he flies,

The purposed act too long deferr'd,
Midst savage rocks and cloisters dim and drear, Of time the wasted treasures lent,
And there to shun thee tries :

And fair occasions lost, and golden hours mispent:
In vain untold his crime to mortal ear,
Silence and whisper'd sounds but make thy voice When anxious Memory numbers o'er
more clear.

Each offer'd prize we failed to seize;

Or friends laid low, whom now no more
Lo, where the cowled monk with frantic rage Our fondest love can serve or please,
Lisis high the sounding scourge, his bleeding And thou, dread power! bring'st back, in terrors
shoulders smites !

drest,
Penance and fasts his anxious thoughts engage, Th' irrevocable past, to sting the careless breast;-
Weary his days and joyless are his nights,
His naked feet the flinty pavement tears,

O! in that hour be mine to know,
His knee at every shrine the marble wears ;-

While fast the silent sorrows flow,

ON THE

And wisdom cherishes the wholesome pain,

The portal opens—hark, a voice !
No heavier guilt, no deeper stain,

“Come forth, 0 king! O king, rejoice! Than tears of meek contrition may atone,

The bowl is fill'd, the feast is spread, Shed at the mercy-seat of Heaven's eternal throne. Come forth, 0 king !"— The king is dead.

The bowl, the feast, he tastes no more,
The feast of life for him is o'er.

Again the sounding portals shake,
And speaks again the voice that spake :

- The sun is high, the sun is warm, DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

Forth to the field the gallants swarm, Yes, Britain mourns, as with electric touch,

The foaming bit the courser champs,

His hoof the turf impatient stamps ;
For youth, for love, for happiness destroy'd,
Her universal population melts

Light on their steeds the hunters spring ;

The sun is high-Come forth, 0 king!"
In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved,
And rough, unpolish'd natures learn to feel

Along these melancholy walls

In vain the voice of pleasure calls :
For those they envied, levelld in the dust
By Fate's impartial stroke; and pulpits sound

The horse may neigh, and bay the hound,

He hears no more ; his sleep is sound.
With vanity and wo to earthly goods,

Retire ;-once more the portals close
And urge and dry the tear.---
-Yet one there is

Leave, leave him to his dread repose.
Who midst this general burst of grief remains
In strange tranquillity; whom not the stir
And long-drawn murmurs of the gathering crowd,
That by his very windows trail the pomp
Of hearse, and blazon'd arms, and long array

HYMNS.
Of sad funereal rites, nor the lond groans
And deep-felt anguish of a husband's heart,

HYMN I.
Can move to mingle with this flood one tear:

Jehovah reigns: let every nation hear, In careless apathy, perhaps in mirth,

And at his tootstool bow with holy fear; He wears the day. Yet is he near in blood,

Let heaven's high arches echo with his name, The very stem on which this blossom grew,

And the wide peopled earth his praise proclaim; And at his knees she fondled in the charm

Then send it down to hell's deep glooms resoundAnd grace spontaneous which alone belongs

ing,

[ing. To untanght infancy:-Yet, О forbear!

Through all her caves in dreadful murmurs soundNor deem hir hard of heart; for awful, struck By Ileaven's severest visitation, sad,

He rules with wide and absolute command Like a scathed oak amidst the forest trees,

O'er the broad ocean and the steadfast land: Lonely he stands ;-leaves bnd, and shoot, and fall, Jehovah reigns, unbounded, and alone, He holds no sympathy with living nature

And all creation hangs beneath his throne. Or time's incessant change. Then in this hour, He reigns alone ; let no inferior nature • While pensive thought is busy with the woes Usurp, or share the throne of the Creator.

And restless change of poor humanity, Think then, I think of him, and breathe one He saw the struggling beams of infant light prayer,

Shoot through the massy gloom of ancient night; From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear,

His spirit hush'd the elemental strife, For him who does not weep!

And brooded o'er the kindling seeds of life : Seasons and months began their long procession, And measured o'er the year in bright succession.

The joyful sun sprung up th' ethereal way, THE WAKE OF THE KING OF SPAIN.

Strong as a giant, as a bridegroom gay;
Array'd in robes of regal state,

And the pale moon diffused her shadowy light
But stiff and cold the monarch sate ;

Superior o'er the dusky brow of night;

Ten thousand glittering lamps the skies adorning,
In gorgeous vests, his chair beside,
Stood prince and peer, the nation's pride ;

Numerous as dew-drops from the womb of morning
And paladin and high-born dame

Earth’s blooming face with rising flowers he drest, Their place amid the circle claim:

And spread a verdant mantle o'er her breast; And wands of office lifted high,

Then from the hollow of his hand ne pours And arms and blazon'd heraldry,–

The circling water round her winding shores, All mute like marble statues stand,

The new-born world in their cool arms embracing,
Nor raise the eye, nor move the hand :

And with soft murmurs still her banks caressing.
No voice, no sound to stir the air,
The silence of the grave is there.

At length she rose complete in finisb’d pride,
All fair and spotless, like a virgin bride;

Fresh with untarnish'd lustre as she stood, * The kings of Spain for nine days after death are

Her Maker bless'd his work, and call'd it good; placed sitting in robes of state with their attendants around them, and solemnly summoned by the proper The morning stars with joyful acclamation officers to their meals and their amusements, as if living. Exulting sang, and hail'd the new creation.

Though the sickening flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall;

Yet this fair world, the creature of a day,
Though built by God's right hand, must pass

away ;
And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things,

The fate of empires, and the pride of kings :
Etemal night shall veil their proudest story,
And drop the curtain o'er all human glory.

The sun himself, with weary clouds opprest,
Shall in his silent, dark pavilion rest;
His golden urn shall broke and useless lie,

Amidst the common ruins of the sky;
The stars rush headlong in the wild commotion,
And bathe their glittering foreheads in the ocean

Should thine alter'd hand restrain
The early and the latter rain;
Blast each opening bud of joy,
And the rising year destroy :
Yet to thee my soul should raise
Grateful vows,

and solemn praise ;
And, when every blessing's flown,
Love thee-for thyself alone.

HYMN III.

But fixa, O God! for ever stands thy throne;
Jehovah reigns, a universe alone;
Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame,

Collected, or diffused, is still the same.
He dwells within his own unfathom'd essence,
And fills all space with his unbounded presence.

FOR EASTER SUNDAY.
AGAiN the Lord of life and light

Awahes the kindling ray ;
Unseals the eyelids of the morn,

And pours increasing day.

But O! our highest notes the theme de base,
And silence is our least injurious praise ;
Cease, cease your songs, the daring flight control,

Revere him in the stillness of the soul;
With silent duty meekly bend before him,
And deep within your inmost hearts adore him.

O what a night was that, which wrapt

The heathen world in gloom!
O what a sun which broke this day,

Triumphant from the tomb!

HYMN II.
PRAISE to God immortal praise,*
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous scource of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ ;

This day be grateful homage paid,

And loud hosannas sung ;
Let gladness dwell in every heart,

And praise on every tongue.
Ten thousand differing lips shall join

To hail this welcome morn,
Which scatters blessings from its wings,

To nations yet unborn.

Jesus the friend of human kind,

With strong compassion moved,
Descended like a pitying Goil,

To save the souls he loved.

For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use;
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain;
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse ;

The powers of darkness leagued in vain

To bind his soul in death ;
He shook their kingdom when he fell,

With his expiring breath.

HYMN VI.

PIOUS FRIENDSHIP How blest the sacred tie that binds In union sweet according minds! How swift the hcavenly course they run, Whose hearts, whose faith, whose hopes are one!

To each, the soul of each how dear,
What jealous love, what holy fear!
How doth the generous flame within
Refine from earth and cleanse from sin!

HYMN IV.
BEHOLD, where breathing love divine,

Our dying Master stands!
His weeping followers gathering round,

Receive his last commands.
From that mild teacher's parting lips

What tender accents fell!
The gentle precept which he gave,

Became its author well.
“ Blest is the man whose softening heart

Feels all another's pain ;
To whom the supplicating eye

Was never raised in vain.
Whose breast expands with generous warmth

A stranger's woes to feel;
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound

He wants the power to heal.
“ He spreads his kind supporting arms

To every child of grief;
His secret bounty largely flows,

And brings unask'd relief. "To gentle offices of love

His feet are never slow:
He views through merey's melting eye

A brother in a foe.
“ Peace from the bosom of his God,

My peace to him I give;
And when he kneels before the throne,

His trembling soul shall live.
“ To him protection shall be shown,

And mercy from above Descend on those who thus fulfil

The perfect law of love."

Their streaming tears together flow
For human guilt and mortal wo;
Their ardent prayers together rise,
Like mingling fames in sacrifice.
Together both they seek the place
Where God reveals his awful face;
How high, how strong, their raptures swell,
There's none but kindred souls can tell.

Nor shall the glowing flame expire When nature droops her sickening fire ; Then shall they meet in realms above, A heaven of joy-because of love.

HYMN VII. "Come unto me all that are weary and heavy laden, and

+ I will give you rest."
COME, said Jesus' sacred voice,
Come and make my paths your choice ;
I will guide you to your home;
Weary pilgrim, hither come!
Thou, who houseless, sole, forlorn,
Long hast borne the proud world's scorn,
Long hast roam'd the barren waste,-
Weary pilgrim, hither haste !
Ye, who toss'd on beds of pain,
Seek for ease. but seek in vain,
Ye whose swoll'n and sleepless eyes
Watch to see the morning rise ;
Ye, by fiercer anguish torn,
In remorse for guilt who mourn ;
Here repose your heavy care;
A wounded spirit who can bear!

HYMN V. AWAKE, my soul! lift up thine eyes, See where thy foes against thee rise, In long array, a numerous host; Awake, my soul! or thou art lost. Here giant Danger threatening stands, Mustering his pale terrific bands; There Pleasure's silken banners spread, And willing souls are captive led. See where rebellious passions rage, And fierce desires and lusts engage; The meanest foe of all the train Has thousands and ten thousands slain. Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground, Perils and snares beset thee round; Beware of all, guard every part, But most, the traitor in thy heart. “Come then, my soul, now learn to wield The weight of thine immortal shield ;” Put on the armour from above Of heavenly truth and heavenly love. The terror and the charm repel, And powers of earth, and powers of hell; The Man of Calvary triumph'd here; Why should his faithful followers fear?

Sinner, come! for here is found
Balm that flows for every wound:
Peace, that ever shall endure,
Rest eternal, sacred, sure.

HYMN VIII. "The world is not their friend, nor the world's law."

Lo where a crowd of pilgrims toil

Yon craggy steeps among !
Strange their attire, and strange their mien,

As wild they press along.
Their eyes with bitter streaming tears

Now bent towards the ground,
Now rapt, to heaven their looks they raise,

And bursts of song resound.

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Select Works of the British Poets, in a Chronological Series from Falconer ...