The sage, the patriot, and the hero burn'd. Nor sunk his vigour, when a coward reign The warrior fetter'd, and at last resign'd, To glut the vengeance or a vanquish'd foe. Then, active still and unrestrain❜d, his mind Explored the vast extent of ages past, And with his prison-hours enrich'd the world; Yet found no times, in all the long research, So glorious or so base as those he proved, In which he conquer'd, and in which he bled. Nor can the Muse the gallant Sidney pass, The plume of war! with early laurels crown'd, The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay. A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land, Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul, Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. Bright, at his call, thy Age of Men effulged, Of Men on whom late time a kindling eye Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew The grave where Russel lies; whose temper'd blood With calmest cheerfulness for thee resign'd, Stain'd the sad annals of a giddy reign; Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk In loose inglorious luxury. With him His friend, the British Cassius*, fearless bled; Of high determin'd spirit, roughly brave, By ancient learning to the' enlighten'd love Of ancient freedom warm'd. Fair thy renown In awful sages and in noble bards;
Soon as the light of dawning Science spread Her orient ray, and waked the Muses' song: Thine is a Bacon; hapless in his choice, Unfit to stand the civil storm of state, And through the smooth barbarity of courts, With firm but pliant virtue, forward still To urge his course: him for the studious shade Kind Nature form'd, deep, comprehensive, clear,
Exact, and elegant: in one rich soul, Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd. The great deliverer he! who from the gloom Of cloister'd monks, and jargon-teaching schools, Led forth the true Philosophy, there long Held in the magic chain of words and forms, And definitions void: he led her forth, Daughter of Heaven! that slow ascending still, Investigating sure the chain of things,
With radiant finger points to heaven again. The generous Ashley* thine, the friend of man; Who scann'd his nature with a brother's eye, His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim, To touch the finer movements of the mind, And with the moral beauty charm the heart. Why need I name thy Boyle, whose pious search, Amid the dark recesses of his works,
The great Creator sought? And why thy Locke, Who made the whole internal world his own? Let Newton, pure intelligence, whom GoD To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame In all philosophy. For lofty sense, Creative fancy, and inspection keen Through the deep windings of the human heart, Is not wild Shakspeare thine and Nature's boast? Is not each great, each amiable Muse Of classic ages in thy Milton met? A genius universal as his theme; Astonishing as chaos, as the bloom Of blowing Eden fair, as heaven sublime! Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget, The gentle Spenser, Fancy's pleasing son; Who, like a copious river, pour'd his song O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground:
Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage, Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse, Weil moralized, shines through the gothic cloud Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown.
* Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury.
May my song soften, as thy daughters I, Britannia, bail! for beauty is their own, The feeling heart, simplicity of life,
And elegance, and taste: the faultless form, Shaped by the hand of harmony; the cheek, Where the live crimson, through the native white Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, And every nameless grace; the parted lip Like the red rosebud moist with morning dew Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet, Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown, The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast: The look resistless, piercing to the soul, And by the soul inform'd, when dress'd in love She sits high smiling in the conscious eye. Island of bliss! amid the subject seas, That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up, At once the wonder, terror, and delight Of distant nations; whose remotest shores Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm; Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave. O thou! by whose Almighty nod the scale Of empire rises, or alternate falls,
Send forth the saving Virtues round the land, In bright patrol: white Peace, and social Love; The tender-looking Charity, intent
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles; Undaunted Truth, and dignity of mind;
Courage composed and keen; sound Temperance, Healthful in heart and looks; clear Chastity,
With blushes reddening as she moves along, Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws; Rough Industry; Activity untired, With copious life inform'd, and all awake: While in the radiant front, superior shines That first paternal virtue, Public Zeal, Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey, And, ever musing on the commonweal, Still labours glorious with some great design. Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees,
Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train,
In all their pomp attend his setting throne. Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And now, As if his weary chariot sought the bowers Of Amphitrite and her tending nymphs, (So Grecian fable sung), he dips his orb; Now half-immersed; and now a golden curve Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. For ever running an enchanted round, Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void; As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, This moment hurrying wild the' impassion'd soul, The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank : A sight of horror to the cruel wretch, Who all day long in sordid pleasure roll'd, Himself a useless load, has squander'd vile, Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd A drooping family of modest worth.
But to the generous still-improving mind, That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy, Diffusing kind beneficence around,
Boastless as now descends the silent dew; To him the long review of order'd life
Is inward rapture, only to be felt.
Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds, All ether softening, sober evening takes
Her wonted station in the middle air;
A thousand shadows at her beck.
She sends on earth; then that of deeper dye Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still, In circle following circle, gathers round, To close the face of things. A fresher gale Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn; While the quail clamours for his running mate. Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, A whitening shower of vegetable down Amusive floats. The kind impartial care Of Nature nought disdains: thoughtful to feed
Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year, From field to field the feather'd seed she wings. His folded flock secure, the shepherd home Hies, merry-hearted; and by turns relieves The ruddy milkmaid of her brimming pail ; The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, Unknowing what the joy-mix'd anguish means, Sincerely loves, by that best language shown Of cordial glances and obliging deeds. Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height, And valley sunk, and unfrequented; where At fall of eve the fairy people throng, In various game, and revelry, to pass The summer night, as village stories tell. But far about they wander from the grave Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urged Against his own sad breast to lift the hand Of impious violence. The lonely tower Is also shunn'd; whose mournful chambers hold, So night-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, The glowworm lights his gem; and through the dark A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields The world to Night; not in her winter robe Of massy stygian woof, but loose array'd In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, Glanced from the' imperfect surfaces of things, Flings half an image on the straining eye; While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, And rocks, and mountain tops, that long retain'd The' ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven
Thence weary vision turns; where, leading soft The silent hours of love, with purest ray Sweet Venus shines; and from her genial rise, When daylight sickens till it springs afresh, Unrival'd reigns, the fairest lamp of Night. As thus the' effulgence tremulous I drink, With cherish'd gaze, the lambent lightnings shoot Across the sky, or horizontal dart
« 上一頁繼續 » |