(As pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell

Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale .
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell

SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled The dirge of murder'd Hope! while Freedom pale To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy gray hairs Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares As if from eldest time some Spirit meek

To clothe thy shrivellid limbs and palsied head. Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear

My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek

That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
Fit channel found; and she had drain'd the bowl A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul ! That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.

My Sara 1oo shall tend thee, like a Child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess,
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness.

He did not so, the Galilæan mild,

Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors,

And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisome As when far off the warbled strains are heard

That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage the imprison'd matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,

No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight;

Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares :

Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile, Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with startling voice And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Life's better sun from that long wintry night,

Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.

Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland?
Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice,
And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale

Or, listening, why forget the bealing tale,
For lo! the morning struggles into day,
And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the Jarrd thy fine libres with a maniac's hand?

Faint was that Ilope, and rayless !-Yet 't was fair
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:
Thou shouldst have loved it most, when most opprest,

And nursed it with an agony of Care,

Even as a Moiher her sweet infant heir

That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Sull in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!

As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam :
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day

I lay me down and think of happier years ; Sculler! that hour I would have wished to die,
Of joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray, If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.

From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!

That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's cryCould I recall you !—But that thought is vain. Lest in some after moment aught more mean Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone

Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout
To lure the fleet-wing'd travellers back again: Black Horror scream’d, and all her goblin rout
Yet fair, though saint, their images shall gleam Diminish'd shrunk from the more withering scene!
Like the bright rainbow on a willowy stream. Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering al eve with finely frenzied eye
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!

Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:

Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
Pale Roamer through the Night; thou poor Forlorn!
Rernorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

Betray'd, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!
The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride,

COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress:

BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795. Thy loves and they, that envied thee, deride : With many a pause and oft-reverted eye And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!

I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near 0! I am sad to think, that there should be

Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Cold-bosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery,

Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock
And force from Famine the caress of Love; That on green plots o'er precipices browse :
May He shed healing on the sore disgrace,

From the forced fissures of the naked rock He, the great Comforter that rules above! The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark-green boughs

('Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)
Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest and now have gain'd the topmost site.
Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
My gaze! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me,
Elm-shadow'd Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea!
Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear :
Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here!


The stream with languid murmur creeps,

In Lumin's flowery vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps,

Slow-waving to the gale.
“ Cease, restless gale!" it seems to say,

« Nor wake me with thy sighing ! The honors of my vernal day

On rapid wing are flying.
“ Tomorrow shall the Traveller come

Who late beheld me blooming :
His searching eye shall vainly roam

The dreary vale of Lumin."
With eager gaze and wetted cheek

My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek

The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll

The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul,

In Slumber's nightly hour.


O PEACE! that on a lilied bank dost love
To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree,
I would, that from the pinions of thy Dove
One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be !
For 0! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,
Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light,
But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant

Last night as I my weary head did pillow
With thoughts of my dissever'd Fair engrossid,
Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow,
As though my breast entómb'd a pining ghost.
** From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal

Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;
But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray,
My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."
But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught-
- Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen :
Tomorrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!"
He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
The morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head-
" Now, Bard ! I'll work thee woe!” the laughing

Elfin said.

THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA. How long will ye round me be swelling,

Oye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea ? Not always in Caves was my dwelling,

Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma

In the steps of my beauty I stray'd ; The Warriors beheld Ninathoma,

And they blessed the white-bosom'd Maid ! A Ghost! by my cavem it darted !

In moon-beams the Spirit was drestFor lovely appear the departed

When they visit the dreams of my rest! But, disturb'd by the Tempest's commotion,

· Fleet the shadowy forms of DelightAh cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!

To howl through my Cavern by Night.

Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing
Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart;
When twang'd an arrow from Love's mystic string,

With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart. IF, while my passion I impart,
Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart?

You deem my words untrue, Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ?

O place your hand upon my heart For straight so fair a Form did upwards start

Feel how it throbs for you! (No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor moved from his Aḥ no! reject the thoughtless claim, sweet trance:

In pity to your lover!

That thrilling touch would aid the flamo My Sara came, with gentlest look divine ;

It wishes to discover.
Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam :
I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!
Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme-
Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,

He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did

An cease thy tears and Sobs, my little Life! That I the living Image of my Dream

I did but snatch away the unclasp'd Knife : Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd- Some safer Toy will soon arrest thine eye, "O! how shall I behold my Love at eventide!” And to quick Laughter change this peevish cry!

You roused each gentler sense As, sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom, Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume

With viewless influence.

Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe,
Tutor'd by Pain each source of Pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire ;
Alike the Good, the Il offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise! ’mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing Miniature! thou makest me sigh-
A Babe art thou—and such a thing am I!
To anger rapid and as soon appeased,
For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased,
Break Friendship’s Mirror with a techy blow,
Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar


And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans
Through yon reft house ! O'er rolling stones

In bold ambitious sweep,
The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky

With mimic thunders deep.

Dark reddening from the channellid Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile

Unslated by the blast)
The Watch-fire, like a sullen star
Twinkles to many a dozing Tar

Rude cradled on the mast.

O thou that rearest with celestial aim
The future Seraph in my mortal frame,
Thrice-holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet
As on I totter with unpractised feet,
Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee,
Meek Nurse of Souls through their long Infancy!

Even there-beneath that light-house tower-
In the tumultuous evil hour

Ere Peace with Sara came,
Time was, I should have thought it sweet
To count the echoings of my feet,

And watch the storm-ver'd flame.




And there in black soul-jaundiced fit
A sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit,

And listen to the roar :
When Mountain Surges bellowing deep
With an uncouth morister leap

Plunged foaming on the shore.

Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better
Received from absent friend by way of Letter.
For what so sweet can labor'd lays impart
As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?


Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark Some toiling tempest-shatter'd bark;

Her vain distréss-guns hear; And when a second sheet of light Flash'd o'er the blackness of the night

To see no Vessel there!

But Fancy now more gaily sings :
Or if awhile she droop her wings,

As sky-larks 'mid' the corn,
On summer fields she grounds her breast :
The oblivious Poppy o'er her nest

Nods, till returning morn.

Nor travels my meandering eye
The starry wilderness on high ;

Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,
Move with “green radiance" through the grass,

An emerald of light.
O ever present to my view!
My wafted spirit is with you,

And soothes your boding fears :
I see you all oppress’d with gloom
Sit lonely in that cheerless room-

Ah me! You are in tears !
Beloved Woman ! did you fly
Chill’d Friendship’s dark disliking eye,

Or Mirth's untimely din?
With cruel weight these trifles press
A temper sore with tenderness,

When aches the void within.

O mark those smiling tears, that swell
The open'd Rose! From heaven they fell,

And with the sun-beam blend.
Bless'd visitations from above,
Such are the tender woes of Love

Fostering the heart, they bend !

When stormy Midnight howling round Beats on our roof with clattering sound,

To me your arms you 'll stretch : Great God! you 'll say—To us so kind, O shelter from this loud bleak wind

The houseless, friendless wretch!

But why with sable wand unbless'd
Should Fancy rouse within my breast

Dim-visaged shapes of Dread?
Untenanting its beauteous clay
My Sara's soul has wing'd its way,

And hovers round my head !
I felt it prompt the tender Dream,
When slowly sunk the day's last gleam;

The tears that tremble down your cheek, Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek

* The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel

In Pity's dew divine ;

Despised Galilæan! For the Great
And from your heart the sighs that steal Invisible (by symbols only seen)
Shall make your rising bosom feel

With a peculiar and surpassing light
The answering swell of mine !

Shines from the visage of the oppress'd good Man,

When heedless of himself the scourged Saint How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet

Mourns for the Oppressor. Fair the vernal Mead, I paint the moment we shall meet!

Fair the high Grove, the Sea, the Sun, the Stars ; With eager speed I dart

True impress each of their creating Sire! I seize you in the vacant air,

Yet nor high Grove, nor many-color'd Mead,
And fancy, with a Husband's care

Nor the green Ocean with his thousand Isles,
I press you to my heart !

Nor the starr'd Azure, nor the sovran Sun,
T is said, on Summer's evening hour E’er with such majesty of portraiture
Flashes the golden-color'd flower

Imaged the supreme beauty uncreate,
A fair electric flame :

As thou, meek Savior! at the fearful hour
And so shall flash my love-charged eye

When thy insulted Anguish wing’d the prayer When all the heart's big ecstasy

Harp'd by Archangels, when they sing of Mercy! Shoots rapid through the frame!

Which when the Almighty heard from forth his

Diviner light fillid Heaven with ecstasy!
Heaven's hymnings paused : and Hell her yawning


Closed brief moment.

Lovely was the death AWAY, those cloudy looks, that laboring sigh,

Of Him whose life was love! Holy with power The peevish offspring of a sickly hour !

He on the thought-benighted sceptie beam'd Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's power,

Manifest Godhead, melting into day When the blind Gamester throws a luckless die. What floating mists of dark Idolatry

Broke and misshaped the Omnipresent Sire : Yon setting Sun flashes a mournful gleam And first by Fear unoharm'd the drowsed Soul.* Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train :

Till of its nobler nature it 'gan feel To-morrow shall the many-color'd main

Dim recollections : and thence soar'd to Hope, In brightness roll beneath his orient beam! Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good

The Eternal dooms for his immortal Sons.
Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of Time From Hope and firmer Faith to perfect Love
Flies o'er his mystic lyre: in shadowy dance Attracted and absorb'd: and centred there
The alternate groups of Joy and Grief advance, God only to behold, and know, and feel,
Responsive to his varying strains sublime ! Till by exclusive Consciousness of God

All self-annihilated it shall make
Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate; God its Identity: God all in all!
The swain, who, lulld by Seine's mild murmurs, led We and our Father one !
His weary oxen to their nightly shed,
Today may rule a tempest-troubled State.

And bless'd are they,

Who in this fleshly World, the elect of Heaven, Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile

Their strong eye darting through the deeds of Men, Survey the sanguinary Despot's might,

Adore with sted fast unpresuming gaze And haply hurl the Pageant from his height,

Him Nature's Essence, Mind, and Energy! Crwept to wander in some savage isle.

And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend There, shiv'ring sad beneath the tempest's frown,

Treading beneath their feet all visible things Round his uir'd limbs to wrap the purple vest;

As steps, that upward to their Father's Throne And mix'd with nails and beads, an equal jest!

Lead gradual-else nor glorified nor loved. Barier, for food, the jewels of his crown.

They nor Contempt embosom nor Revenge:

For they dare know of what may seem deform The Supreme Fair sole Operant: in whose sight

All things are pure, his strong controlling Love RELIGIOUS MUSINGS;

Alike from all educing perfect good.

Theirs too celestial courage, inly arm’d-

Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse

On their great Father, great beyond compare! WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1794.

And marching onwards view high o'er their heads This is the time, when most divine to hear,

His waving Banners of Omnipotence.
The voice of Adoration rouses me,
As with a Cherub's trump: and high upborne,

Who the Creator love, created might
Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to view

Dread not: within their tents no terrors walk. The vision of the heavenly multitude, Who hymnnd the song of Peace o'er Bethlehem's fields !

* Το Νοητον διηρηκασιν εις πολλων

θεων ιδιοτητας. . Yet thou more bright than all the Angel blaze,

Damas. de Myst. Ægypt. That harbinger'd thy birth, Thou, Man of Woes!

For they are holy things before the Lord, Parts and proportions of one wondrous whole!
Aye unprofaned, though Earth should league with This fraternizes Man, this constitutes

Our charities and bearings. But 't is God
God's Altar grasping with an eager hand,

Diffused through all, that doth make all one whole; Fear, the wild-visaged, pale, eye-starting wretch, This the worst superstition, him except Sure-refuged hears his hot pursuing fiends

Aught to desire, Supreme Reality! Yell at vain distance. Soon refresh'd from Heaven, The plenitude and perinanence of bliss ! He calms the throb and tempest of his heart.. O Fiends of Superstition ! not that oft His countenance settles ; a sosit solemn bliss The erring Priest hath stain'd with brother's blood Swims in his eye-his swimming eye upraised : Your grisly idols, not for this may wrath And Faith's whole armor glitters on his limbs ! Thunder against you from the Holy One! And thus transfigured with a dreadless awe, But o'er some plain that steameth to the sun, A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds

Peopled with Death; or where more hideous Trade All things of terrible seeming: yea, unmoved Loud-laughing packs his bales of human anguish : Views e'en the immitigable ministers

I will raise up a mourning, O ye Fiends! That shower dówn vengeance on these latter days. And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith, For kindling with intenser Deity

Hiding the present God; whose presence lost, From the celestial Mercy-seat they come,

The moral world's cohesion, we become And at the renovating Wells of Love

An anarchy of Spirits ! Toy-bewitch'd,
Have fill'd their Vials with salutary Wrath, Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul,
To sickly Nature more medicinal

No common centre Man, no common sire
Than what soft balm the weeping good man pours Knoweth ! A sordid solitary thing,
Into the lone despoiled traveller's wounds! 'Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart

Through courts and cities the smooth Savage roams, Thus from the Elect, regenerate through faith,

Feeling himself, his own low Self the whole ; Pass the dark Passions and what thirsty Cares

When he by sacred sympathy might make

The whole one Self! Self that no alien knows! Drink up the spirit and the dim regards Self-centre. Lo they vanish! or acquire

Self, far diffused as Fancy's wing can travel! New names, new features by supernal grace

Self, spreading still! Oblivious of its own,

Yet all of all. possessing! This is Faith!
Enrobed with light, and naturalized in Heaven.

This the Messiah's destin'd victory!
As when a shepherd on a vernal morn
Through some thick fog creeps timorous with slow

But first offences needs must come! Even now* Darkling he fixes on the immediate road

(Black Hell laughs horrible to hear the scoff!) His downward eye: all else of fairest kind Thee to defend, meek Galilæan! Thee Hid or deform’d. But lo! the bursting Sun! And thy mild laws of love unutterable, Touch'd by the enchantment of that sudden beam, Mistrust and Enmity have burst the bands Straight the black vapor melteth, and in globes Of social Peace ; and listening Treachery lurks Of dewy glitter gems each plant and tree; With pious Fraud to snare a brother's life; On every leaf, on every blade it hangs!

And childless widows o'er the groaning land Dance glad the new-born intermingling rays,

Wail numberless; and orphans weep for bread; And wide around the landscape streams with glory! Thee to defend, dear Savior of Mankind !

Thee, Lamb of God! Thee, blameless Prince of

Peace! There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind,

From all sides rush the thirsty brood of War! Omnific. His most holy naine is Love.

Austria, and that foul Woman of the North, Truth of subliming impori! with the which

The lustful Murderess of her wedded Lord ! Who feeds and saturates his constant soul,

And he, connatural Mind! whom (in their songs He from his small particular orbit flies

So bards of elder time had haply feign'd)
With bless'd outstarting! From Himself he flies,
Stands in the Sun, and with no partial gaze

Some Fury fondled in her hate to man,

Bidding her serpent hair in mazy surge
Views all creation; and he loves it all,
And blesses it, and calls it very good!

Lick his young face, and at his mouth inbreathe This is indeed to dwell with the Most High!

Horrible sympathy! And leagued with these

Each petty German princeling, nursed in gore! Cherubs and rapture-trembling Seraphim

Soul-harden'd barterers of human blood !
Can press no nearer to the Almighty's Throne.
But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts
Unfeeling of our universal Sire,

January 21st, 1794, in the debate on the Address to his And that in his vast family no Cain

Majesty, on the speech from the Throne, the Earl of Guild

ford moved an Amendment to the following effect :-"That Injures uninjured (in her best-aim'd blow

the House hoped his Majesty would seize the earliest opporVictorious Murder a blind Suicide),

tunity to conclude a peace with France," etc. This motion Haply for this some younger Angel now

was opposed by the Duke of Portland, who " considered the Looks down on Human Nature: and, behold! war to be merely grounded on one principle-the preservation A sea of blood bestrew'd with wrecks, where mad

of tho Christian Religion." May 30th, 1794, the Duke of

Bedford moved a number of Resolutions, with a view to the Embattling Interests on each other rush

Establishment of a Peace with France. He was opposed With unhelm'd rage !

(among others) by Lord Abingdon in these remarkable words: The best road to Peace, my Lords, is War! and War car

ried on in the same manner in which we are taught to worship *T is the sublime of man, our Creator, namely, with all our souls, and with all our Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves

minds, and with all our bearts, and with all oar strength."

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