Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

Seems half emerging from his olive bow'r
To gather round him all th' Athenian sons.
Of Wisdom.-Hither throng, ye studious youth;
Here thro' the mental eye enamour'd view
The charms of Moral Beauty, to the soul
More grateful, than when Titan's golden beam
First dawns upon the new-recover'd sight
Of one long fated to the dreary gloom

Of darkness. How, to undistemper'd thought,
Does Virtue in mild majesty appear
Delightful, when the sympathetic heart
Feels for another's woes! Was any scene
So beauteous, in the wide-extended pomp
And golden splendour of the Persian camp,
When all the riches of the east were spread
Beneath the tyrant's feet; did aught appear
So lovely and so great, as when the call
Of curs'd ambition ceas'd in Xerxes' breast,
And from the social eye Compassion pour'd
The tender flood of heart-ennobling tears?

Thus the chief scenes of Nature view'd apart, Which with a just similitude affect Th' attentive mind, now thro' the tuneful whole Let the swift wing of Fancy bear us on Beyond the ken of knowledge, where, unseen To us inhabitants of this small spot, -Ten thousand worlds in regions unconfin'd, Progressive and obedient to the source Of light eternal, gild the vast expanse: Or, should we stop th' aspiring flight to view, Led by the hand of Science and of Truth, Where in the midst the glorious Sun expands His flame, and with perennial beams supplies The distant planets as they roll around; What Harmony divine for ever reigns! How these in tuneful order a thro' the void Their diff'rent stations keep, their pow'rs distinct Observe, and in each other's friendly sphere Their kindest influence blend, till all unite To form the plan of the all-ruling Mind, And, thro' the whole, celestial bliss diffuse! Hence let the worse than atheist, the fond fool Who falsely dotes in superstition's gloom, And blindfold led by easy Faith, denies The guide of Reason, obstinately bent To seek the cause of universal good, And source of beauty in the demon's cave, And, shudd'ring, fancies he at distance hears The howls of ghosts, created to endure Eternal torments. Let this impious wretch Look round this fair creation, where, impell'd By that great Author, every atom tends To Universal Harmony; where Joy, As with a parent's fondness, to behold Her own soft image in her child impress'd, Smiles on the beauteous offspring, and illumes Responsive signs of pleasure; like the beams Of Titan sporting on the lucid waves Whence Venus rose of old: let him then say, If Nature meant this goodly frame to cheat Deluded mortals? Did an idiot's scheme

Upraise this wond'rous fabric? Say, was man
Forth from the dark abyss of Chaos call'd
In vain to breathe celestial air, in vain
To view the bloom of Beauty, not to feel
Th' effect divine soft thrilling thro' his soul,
And wak'ning ev'ry pow'r which sleeps within
To gaze amazement? Did the Lord of all
Attune our finer organs to the charms
Of things external, only to ensnare
This image of himself? To the tuneful breast
Of virtuous Wisdom, such discordant thoughts
Are far excluded; other themes employ
The studious sage's hours; his kindred soul
Triumphs on Contemplation's eagle wings
Thro' yon ethereal plains, where distant worlds
Roll thro' the vast abyss; there unconfin'd
Pursues the fiery tract where comets glow;
Or in the sable bosom of the night,
Sweeps headlong to o'ertake the rapid flight
Of exhalations, from ideal stars

10 The superiority of moral beauty to natural has been universally allowed by all authors both ancient and modern. And that sentence of Seneca's may be understood figuratively: Nullum ornamentum principis fastigio dignius pulchriusque est, quam illa corona ob cives servatos. Senec. de clem. lib. 1.

"Vide sir Isaac Newton, Book III. p. 345.

Shot wildly down; nor 'sdains he to behold
In Nature's humbler walks the sweet recess,
Where Beauty on the splendid rose exults
As conscious of her form, or mildly veils
Her maiden blushes in the chaster pink,
Or on the margin of the crystal brook
In soft Narcissus blows. For him the choir
Of feather'd songsters breathe their vernal airs;
For him the stillness of th' autumnal grove
In pleasing sadness reigns; for him the sheaf
Of Ceres spreads its yellow pride; the horn
Of ripe Pomona pours its off'rings forth;
Winter presents his free domestic bowl
Of social joy; and Spring's Elysian bloom,
Whilst Flora wantons in her Zephyr's arms,
Invites the Graces forth to join the Hours
In festive dance. His tasteful mind enjoys
Alike the complicated charms, which glow
Thro' the wide landscape, where enamell'd meads,
Unfruitful rocks,brown woods,and glitt'ring streams,
The daisy-laughing lawns, the verdant plains,
And hanging mountains, strike at once the sight
With varied pleasure; as th' abstracted ray,
Which soft effuses from Eudocia's eye
The opening dawn of love. He looks thro' all
The plan of Nature with congenial love,
Where the great social link of mutual aid
Through ev'ry being twines; where all conspire
To form one system of eternal good,
Of harmony and bliss, in forms distinct,
Of natures various, as th' effulgent Sun,
Which pours abroad the mighty flood of day,
To the pale glow-worm in the midnight shade.

[ocr errors]

From these sweet meditations on the charms Of things external; on the genuine forms Which blossom in creation; on the scene Where mimic Art with emulative hue Usurps the throne of Nature unreprov'd; Or the just concord of mellifluent sounds; The soul, and all the intellectual train Of fond desires, gay hopes, or threat'ning fears, Through this habitual intercourse of sense Is harmoniz'd within, till all is fair And perfect; till each moral pow'r perceives Its own resemblance, with fraternal joy, In ev'ry form complete, and smiling feels Beauty and Good the same1. Thus the first man

12 See Plato's Dialogues, Xenophon's Memora bilia, &c. whom the ingenious author of the Traité

[blocks in formation]

aspice vultus

Ecce meos: utinamque oculos in pectore posses
Inserere, et patrias intus dependere curas.
Ovid Metam.

DEEP in a grove by cypress shaded,
Where mid-day sun had seldom shone,
Or noise the solemn scene invaded,

Save some afflicted Muse's moan,

A swain t'wards full-ag'd manhood wending
Sat sorrowing at the close of day,
At whose fond side a boy attending
Lisp'd half his father's cares away.

The father's eyes no object wrested,
But on the smiling prattler hung,
Till, what his throbbing heart suggested,
These accents trembled from his tongue.

"My youth's first hope, my manhood's treasure, My prattling innocent attend,

Nor fear rebuke or sour displeasure,

A father's loveliest name is, friend.
"Some truths, from long experience flowing,
Worth more than royal grants receive,
For truths are wealth of Heav'n's bestowing,
Which kings have seldom power to give.

"Since from an ancient race descended
You boast an unattainted blood,
By yours be their fair fame attended,
And claim by birth-right to be good.

"In love for ev'ry fellow creature
Superior rise above the crowd,
What most ennobles human nature

Was ne'er the portion of the proud.

"Be thine the gen'rous heart that borrows
From others' joys a friendly glow,
And for each hapless neighbour's sorrows
Throbs with a sympathetic woe.

"This is the temper most endearing;

Tho' wide proud pomp her banners spreads, A heav'nlier pow'r good-nature bearing

Each heart in willing thraldom leads.

du Beau follows. Si la felicité des hommes est necessairement liée avec la pratique de la vertu, il faut reconnoitre que la vertue est essentiellement belle, puis que le beau consiste dans le raport des choses avec nôtre destination.

"Taste not from fame's uncertain fountain

The peace-destroying streams that flow,
Nor from ambition's dang'rous mountain
Look down upon the world below.

The princely pine on hills exalted,
Whose lofty branches cleave the sky,
By winds, long brav'd, at last assaulted,
Is headlong whirl'd in dust to lie;
"Whilst the mild rose more safely growing
Low in its unaspiring vale,
Amidst retirement's shelter blowing
Exchanges sweets with ev'ry gale.

Wish not for beauty's darling features
Moulded by nature's fondling pow'r,
For fairest forms 'mong human creatures
Shine but the pageants of an hour.

"I saw, the pride of all the meadow,
At noon, a gay narcissus blow
Upon a river's bank, whose shadow
Bloom'd in the silver waves below;
"By noon-tide's heat its youth was wasted,
The waters, as they pass'd, complain'd,
At eve its glories all were blasted,

And not one former tint remain❜də
"Nor let vain wit's deceitful glory
Lead you from wisdom's path astray;
What genius lives renown'd in story
To happiness who found the way?

"In youder mead behold that vapour
Whose vivid beams illusive play,
Far off it seems a friendly taper

To guide the traveller on his way;

"But should some hapless wretch pursuing Tread where the treach'rous meteors glow, He'd find, too late his rashness rueing,

That fatal quicksands lurk below.

"In life such bubbles nought admiring
Gilt with false light and fill'd with air,
Do you, from pageant crowds retiring,
To peace in virtue's cot repair;

"There seek the never-wasted treasure,
Which mutual love and friendship give,
Domestic comfort, spotless pleasure,

And bless'd and blessing you will live.

"If Heav'n with children crowns your dwelling, As mine its bounty does with you,

In fondness fatherly excelling

Th' example you have felt pursue."

He paus'd-for tenderly caressing
The darling of his wounded heart,
Looks had means only of expressing

Thoughts language never could impart.
Now night her mournful mantle spreading
Had rob'd with black th' horizon round,
And dank dews from her tresses shedding
With genial moisture bath'd the ground;
When back to city follies flying

'Midst custom's slaves he liv'd resign'd, His face, array'd in smiles, denying The true complexion of his mind;

[blocks in formation]

WHAT time the jocund rosy-bosom'd Hours
Led forth the train of Phoebus and the Spring,
And Zephyr mild profusely scatter'd flowers

On Earth's green mantle from his musky wing, The Morn unbarr'd th' ambrosial gates of light, Westward the raven pinion'd Darkness flew, The landscape smil'd in vernal beauty bright, And to their graves the sullen ghosts withdrew. The nightingale no longer swell'd her throat

With love-lorn plainings tremulous and slow, And on the wings of Silence ceas'd to float The gurgling notes of her melodious woe:

The god of sleep mysterious visions led

In gay procession 'fore the mental eye,
And my free'd soul awhile her mansion fled,
To try her plumes for immortality.

Thro' fields of air, methought I took my flight,
Thro' ev'ry clime o'er ev'ry region pass'd;
No paradise or ruin 'scap'd my sight,

Hesperian garden, or Cimmerian waste.

On Avon's banks I lit, whose streams appear
To wind with eddies fond round Shakespear's tomb,
The year's first feath'ry songsters warble near,
And vi'lets breathe, and earliest roses bloom.

Here Fancy sat, (her dewy fingers cold

Decking with flow'rets fresh th' unsullied sod,) And bath'd with tears the sad sepulchral mould, Her fav'rite offspring's long and last abode. "Ah! what avails," she cry'd, " a poet's name? Ah! what avails th' immortalizing breath To snatch from dumb oblivion others' fame? My darling child here lies a prey to death!

"Let gentle Otway, white-rob'd Pity's priest,

From grief domestic teach the tears to flow, Or Southern captivate th' impassion'd breast With heart-felt sighs and sympathy of woe. "For not to these his genius was confin'd, Nature and I each tuneful pow'r had given, Poetic transports of the madding mind,

And the wing'd words that waft the soul to Heaven.

"The fiery glance of th' intellectual eye, Piercing all objects of creation's store, Which on this world's extended surface lie; And plastic thought that still created more."

"O grant," with eager rapture I reply'd, "Grant me, great goddess of the changeful eye, To view each being in poetic pride,

To whom thy son gave immortality.”

Sweet Fancy smil'd, and wav'd her mystic rod, When straight these visions felt her pow'rful arm, And one by one succeeded at her nod,

As vassal sprites obey the wizard's charm.

First a celestial form (of azure hue

Whose mantle, bound with brede etherial, flow'd To each soft breeze its balmy breath that drew) Swift down the sun-beams of the noon-tide rode. Obedient to the necromantic sway

Of an old sage to solitude resign'd, With fenny vapours he obscur'd the day,

Lanch'd the long lightning, and let loose the wind

He whirl'd the tempest thro' the howling air,
Rattled the dreadful thunderclap on high,
And rais'd a roaring elemental war

Betwixt the sea-green waves and azure sky.
Then like Heav'n's mild embassador of love

To man repentant, bade the tumult cease, Smooth'd the blue bosom of the realms above, And hush'd the rebel elements to peace.

Unlike to this in spirit or in mien

Another form succeeded to my view; A two-legg'd brute which Nature made in spleen, Or from the loathing womb unfinish'd drew. Scarce cou'd he syllable the curse he thought, Prone were his eyes to earth, his mind to evil, A carnal fiend to imperfection wrought,

The mongrel offspring of a witch and devil.
Next bloom'd, upon an ancient forest's bound,
The flow'ry margin of a silent stream,
O'er-arch'd by oaks with ivy mantled round,
And gilt by silver Cynthia's maiden beam.
On the green carpet of th' unbended grass,
A dapper train of female fairies play'd,
And ey'd their gambols in the watry glass,
That smoothly stole along the shad’wy glade.
Thro' these the queen Titania pass'd ador'd,
Mounted aloft in her imperial car,
Journeying to see great Oberon her lord
Wage the mock battles of a sportive war.
Arm'd cap-a-pee forth march'd the fairy king,
A stouter warrior never took the field,
His threat'ning lance a hornet's horrid sting,
The sharded beetle's scale his sable shield.

Around their chief the elfin host appear'd,
Each little helmet sparkling like a star,

And their sharp spears a pierceless phalanx rear'd,
A grove of thistles, glittering in the air.

Ariel in the Tempest.

2 Caliban in the Tempest.

3 Fairy-land from the Midsummer-night's Dream.

The scene then chang'd, from this romantic land, To a bleak waste by bound'ry unconfio'd, Where three swart sisters of the weird band Were mutt'ring curses to the troublous wind. Pale Want had wither'd every furrow'd face, Bow'd was each carcase with the weight of years, And each sunk eye-ball from its hollow case

Distill'd cold rheum's involuntary tears. Hors'd on three staves they posted to the bourn Of a drear island, where the pendent brow Of a rough rock, shagg'd horribly with thorn, Frown'd on the boist'rous waves which rag'd below. Deep in a gloomy grot remote from day,

Where smiling Comfort never show'd her face, Where light ne'er enter'd, save one rueful ray Discov'ring all the terrours of the place. They held damn'd myst'ries with infernal state, Whilst ghastly goblins glided slowly by, The screech-owl scream'd the dying call of fate, And ravens croak'd their horrid augury. No human footstep cheer'd the dread abode, Nor sign of living creature could be seen, Save where the reptile snake, or sullen toad, The murky floor had soil'd with venom green. Sudden I heard the whirlwind's hollow sound, Each weird sister vanish'd into smoke. Now a dire yell of spirits 5 underground Thro' troubled earth's wide yawning surface broke;

When lo! each injur'd apparition rose;

Aghast the murd❜rer started from his bed; Guilt's trembling breath his heart's red current froze, And horrour's dew-drops bath'd his frantic head.

More had I seen-but now the god of day

O'er Earth's broad breast his flood of light had
spread,

When Morpheus call'd his fickle train away,
And on their wings each bright illusion fled.

Yet still the dear enchantress of the brain

My wakeful eyes with wishful wand'rings sought, Whose magic will controls th' ideal train,

The ever-restless progeny of Thought. "Sweet pow'r," said I, "for others gild the ray Of wealth, or honour's folly-feather'd crown, Or lead the madding multitude astray

To grasp at air-blown bubbles of renown. "Me (humbler lot!) let blameless bliss engage, Free from the noble mob's ambitious strife, Free from the muck-worm miser's lucrous rage, In calm Contentment's cottag'd vale of life. "If frailties there (for who from them is free?) Thro' errour's maze my devious footsteps lead, Let them be frailties of humanity,

And my heart plead the pardon of my head.

"Let not my reason impiously require

What Heav'n has plac'd beyond its narrow span, But teach me to subdue each fierce desire, Which wars within this little empire, man.

4 The witches in Macbeth.

5 Ghosts in Macbeth, Richard III. &c.

"Teach me, what all believe, but few possess, That life's best science is ourselves to know, The first of human blessings is to bless,

And happiest he who feels another's woe. "Thus cheaply wise, and innocently great, While Time's smooth sand shall regularly pass, Each destin'd atom's quiet course I'll wait,

Nor rashly shake, nor wish to stop the glass. "And when in death my peaceful ashes lie,

If e'er some tongue congenial speaks my name, Friendship shall never blush to breathe a sigh, And great ones envy such an honest fame,"

VER-VERT; OR, THE NUNNERY PARROT.

A HEROIC POEM IN FOUR CANTOS.

INSCRIBED TO THE ABBESS OF D*****. Translated from the French of Monsieur Gresset, First printed in 1759.

CANTO I.

O YOU, round whom, at Virtue's shrine,
The solitary Graces shine,
With native charms all hearts engage,
And reign without religious rage;
You, whose congenial soul by Heaven
A pleasing guide to Truth was given,
Uniting, with the family

Of rigid duties, harmless Mirth,
Daughter of social Liberty,
Twin-born with Humour at a birth,
And every other power to please,
Taste, Fancy, Elegance, and Ease;
O! since you bid your bard relate
A noble bird's disastrous fate
In notes of sympathetic woe,
Be you my Muse, my soul inspire,
And teach my numbers how to flow
Like those which trembled from your lyre
In soft and sorrow-soothing sound,
Whilst listening Cupids wept around,
When dear Sultana's spirit fled,
In youthful vigour's vernal bloom,
To the dark mansions of the dead:
Then for my hero's hapless doom
Such tears might once again be shed.

One might, upon his virtues cross'd
By adverse Fortune's envious rage,
And wanderings over many a coast,
Swell out the soporific page,
And other Odysseys compose
To lull the reader to repose:
One might the gods and devils raise
Of superannuated lies,

Spin out the deeds of forty days
To volumes of dull histories,
And with a pompous tediousness
Sublimely heavy moralize
Upon a bird, in epic dress,
Who as Eneas' self was great,

! A lap-dog.

As famous too for godliness,
And each way more unfortunate;
But folios are, in verse, excess,
Which the sweet Muses most abhor,
For they are sportive bees of spring,
Who dwell not long on any bower,
But, lightly wandering on the wing,
Collect the bloom from flower to flower,
And, when one fragrant blossom's dry,
To other sweets unrifled fly.
This truth my observation drew
From faultless Nature and from you;
And may these lines, I copy, prove
I'm govern'd by the laws I love!
Should I, too faithfully pourtraying
Some cloyster'd characters, reveal
The convent arts themselves, arraying
In pomp, with hieroglyphic skill,
Each weighty business of the great,
Each serious nothing's mystic face,
Each trifle swell'd with holy state;
Your native humour, whilst I trace
The comic semblance, will forbear
To blame the strokes you cannot fear;
You may despise, from folly free,
What dulness is oblig'd to wear,
The formal mask of gravity.
Illusion's meteors never shine
To lead astray such souls as thine.
All holy arts Heaven values less
Than amiable cheerfulness.
Should Virtue her own image show
To ravish'd mortals here below,
With features fierce she'd not appear
Nor Superstition's holy leer,
But, like the Graces, or like you,
She'd come to claim her altar's due. -
In many an author of renown
I've read this curious observation,
That, by much wandering up and down,
Men catch the faults of every nation,
And lose the virtues of their own.
'Tis better, e'en where scanty fare is,

Our homely hearths and honours watching,
Under protection of our Lares,
A calm domestic life to wed,
Than run about infection catching
Wherever chance and errour tread:
The youth too soon who goes abroad
Will half a foreigner become,

And bring his wondering friends a load
Of strange exotic vices home.

This truth the hero of my tale
Exemplifies in tarnish'd glory;
Should sceptic wits the truth assail,
I call for witness to my story
Each cloister'd echo now that dwells
In Nevers' consecrated cells.

At Nevers, but few years ago,
Among the nuns o' th' Visitation,
There dwelt a parrot, though a beau,
For sense of wondrous reputation;
Whose virtues, and genteel address,
Whose figure, and whose noble soul,
Would have secur'd him from distress
Could wit and beauty fate control.
Ver-Vert (for so the nuns agreed
To call this noble personage)
The hopes of an illustrious breed,
VOL. XV.

To India ow'd his parentage;
By an old missionary sent
To this said convent for his good,
He yet was young and innocent,
And nothing worldly understood.
Beauteous he was, and debonnair,
Light, spruce, inconstant, gay, and free,
And unreserv'd, as youngsters are,
Ere age brings on hypocrisy.

In short, a bird, from prattling merit,
Worthy a convent to inherit.

The tender cares I need not tell
Of all the sisterhood devout,
Nothing, 'tis said, each lov'd so well,
Leave but her ghostly father out,
Nay in some hearts, not void of grace,
One plain historian makes no doubt
The parrot of the priest took place.
He shar'd in this serene abode
Whate'er was lov'd by the profession;
On him such dainties were bestow'd
As nuns prepare against confession,
And for the sacred entrails hoard
Of holy fathers in the Lord.
Sole licens'd male to be belov'd,
Ver-Vert was bless'd without control,
Caressing and caress'd he rov'd
Of all the monastery the soul,
Except some antiquated dames,
Whose hearts to pleasure callous grown,
Remark'd with jealous eyes the flames
Of bosoms younger than their own.
At years of reason not arriv'd
A life of privilege he liv'd,
He said and did whate'er he wou'd,
And what he said or did was good.
He'd peck the nuns in wanton play
To wile their plain-work hours away;
No party ever was approv'd

Without his favourite company;
In him they found what females lov'd,
That life of bliss variety:

He'd strut a beau in sportive rings
Uttering pert sentences by rote,
Mimic the butterfly's light wings
Or nightingale's complaining note;

He'd laugh, sing, whistle, joke, and leer,
And frolic, but discreetly so,
With a prudential cautious fear,
As nuns probationary do.

Question'd at once by many a tongue
Incessantly inquisitive,

He could discordant sounds among,
To each a proper answer give;
This power from Cæsar's nothing varies,
Who did at once great plans conceive
And dictate to four secretaries.

If chronicles may be believ'd,
So lov'd the pampart gallant liv'd,
That with the nuns he always din'd
On rarities of every kind;
Then hoards, occasionally varied,
Of biscuits, sweet-meats, nuts, and fruit,
Each sister in her pocket carried,,
Subordinately to recruit,

At leisure times, when not at table,
His stomach indefatigable.

The little Cares, with tender faces,
And fond Attentions, as they say,

M M

« ForrigeFortsett »