The Poetical Works of Rogers, Campbell, J. Montombery, Lamb, and Kirke White ...

THE

POETICAL WORKS

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

The Pleasures of hope.

PART I.

ANALYSIS.

IN TWO PARTS.

Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. THE Poem opens with a comparison between the Thus, with delight we linger to survey beauty of remote objects in a landscape, and those The promised joys of life's unmeasured way, ideal scenes of felicity which the imagination de- Thus, from afar, each dim-discover'd scene lights to contemplate-the influence of anticipation More pleasing seems than all the past hath been; upon the other passions is next delineated-an allu- And every form, that Fancy can repair sion is made to the well-known fiction in Pagan tra- From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

dition, that, when all the guardian deities of man

kind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left be- What potent spirit guides the raptured eye hind-the consolations of this passion in situations To pierce the shades of dim futurity?

of danger and distress-the seaman on his watch-Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power, the soldier marching into battle-allusion to the The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour? interesting adventures of Byron. Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man

The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of Her dim horizon bounded to a span; genius, whether in the department of science, or of Or, if she hold an image to the view, taste-domestic felicity, how intimately connected "T is Nature pictured too severely true. with views of future happiness-picture of a mother With thee, sweet HOPE! resides the heavenly light, watching her infant when asleep-pictures of the That pours remotest rapture on the sight: prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderer. Thine is the charm of Life's bewilder'd way, From the consolations of individual misery, a That calls each slumbering passion into play. transition is made to prospects of political improve-Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, ment in the future state of society-the wide field On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, that is yet open for the progress of humanizing arts And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, among uncivilized nations-from these views of To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. amelioration of society, and the extension of liberty

and truth over despotic and barbarous countries, by

Primeval HOPE, the Aönian Muses say,

a melancholy contrast of ideas, we are led to reflect When Man and Nature mourn'd their first decay; upon the hard fate of a brave people recently con- When every form of death, and every woe, spicuous in their struggles for independence-descrip- Shot from malignant stars to earth below; tion of the capture of Warsaw, of the last contest When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War of the oppressors and the oppressed, and the mas-Yoked the red dragons of her iron car; sacre of the Polish patriots at the bridge of Prague-When Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain, apostrophe to the self-interested enemies of human Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again; improvement-the wrongs of Africa-the barbarous All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, policy of Europeans in India-prophecy in the Hin-But HOPE, the charmer, linger'd still behind. doo mythology of the expected descent of the Deity to redress the miseries of their race, and to take vengeance on the violators of justice and mercy.

AT summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky?

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare
From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air,
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world-a sacred gift to man.

Auspicious HOPE! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe;

Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour,
The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower;
There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing,
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring!
What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play,
And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought
away!

Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore. Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields His bark, careering o'er unfathom'd fields; Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, Where Andes, giant of the western star, With meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd, Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world!

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles : Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow; And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delay; Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.

But HOPE can here her moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep: Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul; His native hills that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, Treads the loved shore he sigh'd to leave behind; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flies at last to Helen's long embrace; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.

Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour, Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power; To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, On stormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields, When front to front the banner'd hosts combine, Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line. When all is still on Death's devoted soil, The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil; As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, And hears thy stormy music in the drum!

And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore The hardy Byron to his native shore (1) In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, "T was his to mourn Misfortune's rudest shock, Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock,

To wake each joyless morn, and search again
The famish'd haunts of solitary men;
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,
Know not a trace of Nature but the form;
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued,
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued,
Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar
The moon's pale planet and the northern star ;
Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before,
Hyenas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore;
Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime,
He found a warmer world, a milder clime,
A home to rest, a shelter to defend,
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend! (2)

Congenial HOPE! thy passion-kindling power,
How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour!
On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand,
I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand.

"Go, child of Heav'n! (thy winged words proclaim "T is thine to search the boundless fields of fame! Lo! Newton, priest of nature, shines afar, Scans the wide world, and numbers every star! Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye! Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound, The speed of light, the circling march of sound; With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery wing, Or yield the lyre of Heav'n another string. (3)

"The Swedish sage (4) admires in yonder bowers, His winged insects, and his rosy flowers; Calls from their woodland haunts the savage trainWith sounding horn, and counts them on the plain— So once, at Heaven's command, the wand'rers came To Eden's shade, and heard their various name.

"Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime, Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime; Calm as the fields of Heav'n his sapient eye The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high, Admiring Plato, on his spotless page, Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage: Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?'

"Turn. child of Heav'n, thy rapture-lighten'd eye To Wisdom's walks,-the sacred Nine are nigh: Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height,

From streams that wander in eternal light,
Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell
The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell;
Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow, (5)
And Pythia's awful organ peals below.

"Beloved of Heav'n! the smiling Muse shall shed Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined, And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. I see thee roam her guardian pow'r beneath, And talk with spirits on the midnight heath; Inquire of guilty wand'rers whence they came, And ask each blood-stain'd form his earthly name; Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, And read the trembling world the tales of hell.

"When Venus, throned in clouds of rosy hue, Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew, And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ, Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy; A miider mood the goddess shall recall, And soft as dew thy tones of music fall; While Beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart A pang more dear than pleasure to the heartWarm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain, And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain.

"Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem, And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream? To pensive drops the radiant eye beguileFor Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile;On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief? And teach impassion'd souls the joy of grief?

"Yes; to thy tongue shall seraph words be given, And power on earth to plead the cause of Heaven; The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, That never mused on sorrow but its own, Unlocks a generous store at thy command, Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. (6) The living lumber of his kindred earth, Charm'd into soul, receives a second birth, Feels thy dread power another heart afford, Whose passion-touch'd harmonious strings accord True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan; And man, the brother, lives the friend of man. "Bright as the pillar rose at Heaven's command, When Israel march'd along the desert land, Blazed through the night on lonely wilds afar, And told the path,-a never-setting star: So, heavenly Genius, in thy course divine, HOPE is thy star, her light is ever thine."

Propitious Power! when rankling cares annoy The sacred home of Hymenean joy; When doom'd to Poverty's sequester'd dell, The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame, Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same Oh, there, prophetic HOPE! thy smile bestow, And chase the pangs that worth should never knowThere, as the parent deals his scanty store To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter age. What though for him no Hybla sweets distil, Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill; Tell, that when silent years have pass'd away, That when his eye grows dim, his tresses grey, These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build, And deck with fairer flowers his little field, And call from Heaven propitious dews to breathe Arcadian beauty on the barren heath; Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, Health shall prolong to many a festive hour The social pleasures of his humble bower.

Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes,

I lay my head beneath the willow-tree,
Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear
And soothe my parted spirit lingering near?
Oh, wilt thou come, at evening hour to shed
The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclined,
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,
And think on all my love, and all my woe?"

So speaks Affection, ere the infant eye
Can look regard, or brighten in reply;
But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim
A mother's ear by that endearing name;
Soon as the playful innocent can prove
A tear of pity, or a smile of love,
Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care,
Or lisps with holy look his evening prayer,
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear;
How fondly looks admiring HOPE the while
At every artless tear, and every smile!
How glows the joyous parent to descry
A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!

Where is the troubled heart, consign'd to share
Tumultuous toils, or solitary care,
Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray
To count the joys of Fortune's better day!
Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume

A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored,
The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom,
Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow,
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board;
And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe.

Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor destroy
The shadowy forms of uncreated joy,
That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour
Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour.
Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale
That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail :
She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore
Watch'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore,
Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze,
Clasp'd her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze:
Poor widow'd wretch! 't was there she wept in vain,
Till Memory fled her agonizing brain;-
But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe,
Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow;
Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam,
And aimless HOPE delights her darkest dream.

Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry,

Piled on the steep, her blazing fagots burn
To hail the bark that never can return;
And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep
That constant love can linger on the deep.

And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings never
knew

The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue,
Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore,
But found not pity when it err'd no more.
Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye
Th' unfeeling proud one looks-and passes by,
Condemn'd on Penury's barren path to roam,
Scorn'd by the world, and left without a home-
Even he, at evening, should he chance to stray
Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way,
Where, round the cot's romantic glade, are seen
The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green,
Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while
Oh! that for me some home like this would smile,
Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form
Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm!
There should my hand no stinted boon assign
To wretched hearts with sorrow such as mine!-
That generous wish can soothe unpitied care,
And HOPE half mingles with the poor man's prayer.

HOPE! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind,
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind,
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be;
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan,
And learn the future by the past of man.

When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars
Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars,
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn;
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man! (9)

Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,-
Oh! Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!—
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high!
And swear for her to live!with her to die!

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death, the watch-word and reply;
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm!-

From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew :--
In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!
Dropp'd from her nerveless the shatter'd spear,
grasp
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career;—
Time,HOPE, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shriek'd-as Kosciusko fell!

Come, bright Improvement! on the car of
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime;
Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore,
Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song,
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk,
And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk;
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray,
And shepherds dance at Summer's opening day;
Each wandering genius of the lonely glen
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men,
And silence watch, on woodland heights around,
The village curfew as it tolls profound.

In Lybian groves, where damned rites are done,
That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun,
Truth shall arrest the murd'rous arm profane:
Wild Obi flies (7)-the veil is rent in twain.
Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains

roam,

Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home;
Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines,
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, (8)
Truth shall pervade the unfathom'd darkness there,
And light the dreadful features of despair.-
Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load,
And asks the image back that Ileaven bestow'd!
Fierce in his eye the fire of valor burns,
And, as the slave departs, the man returns.

Oh! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile,
And HOPE, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air-
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below;
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook-red meteors flash'd along the sky,
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry!

Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save?
Where was thine arm, O vengeance! where thy rod
That smote the foes of Zion and of God;
That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yoked in wrath, and thunder'd from afar?
Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast;
Then bade the deep and wild commotion flow,
And heaved an ocean on their march below?

Departed spirits of the mighty dead!

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn!

Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see
That man hath yet a soul-and dare be free!
A little while, along thy saddening plains,
The starless night of Desolation reigns;
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven!
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd,
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!

Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow,
And rival all but Shakspeare's name below!

And say, supernal Powers! who deeply scan
Heaven's dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man,
When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame,
That embryo spirit, yet without a name,——
That friend of Nature, whose avenging hands
Shall burst the Lybian's adamantine bands?
Who, sternly marking on his native soil

Ye that the rising morn invidious mark,
And hate the light-because your deeds are dark; The blood, the tears, the anguish and the toil,

Ye that expanding truth invidious view,
And think, or wish, the song of HOPE untrue;
Perhaps your little hands presume to span
The march of Genius, and the powers of man;
Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd shrine,
Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine:-
"Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease; and here
Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career."

Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard ring;
In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring:
What can ye lull the winged winds asleep,
Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep?
No!-the wild wave contemns your sceptred hand:
It roll'd not back when Canute gave command!

Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow?
Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow?
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd?
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world?
What are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied?
Why then hath Plato lived-or Sidney died?

Ye fond adorers of departed fame,
Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name!
Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire
The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre!
Wrapt in historic ardor, who adore
Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore,
Where Valor tuned, amid her chosen throng,
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song :
Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms
Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms!
See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell,
And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell!
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore,
Hath Valor left the world-to live no more?
No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die,
And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye?
Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls,
Encounter Fate, and triumph as he falls;
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm,
The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm?

Yes! in that generous cause, for ever strong,
The patriot's virtue and the poet's song,
Still, as the tide of ages rolls away,
Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay!

Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see
Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free!

Yet, yet, degraded men! th' expected day
That breaks your bitter cup, is far away;
Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed,
And holy men give Scripture for the deed;
Scourged, and debased, no Briton stoops to save
A wretch, a coward; yes, because a slave!

Eternal Nature! when thy giant hand
Had heaved the floods, and fix'd the trembling land,
When life sprung starting at thy plastic call,
Endless her forms, and man the lord of all!
Say, was that lordly form inspired by thee,
To wear eternal chains and bow the knee?
Was man ordain'd the slave of man to toil,
Yoked with the brutes, and fetter'd to the soil;
Weigh'd in a tyrant's balance with his gold?
No!-Nature stamp'd us in a heavenly mould!
She bade no wretch his thankless labor urge,
Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge!
No homeless Lybian, on the stormy deep,
To call upon his country's name, and weep!

Lo! once in triumph, on his boundless plain,
The quiver'd chief of Congo loved to reign;
With fires proportion'd to his native sky,
Strength in his arm, and lightning in his eye;
Scour'd with wild feet his sun-illumined zone,
The spear, the lion, and the woods, his own!
Or led the combat, bold without a plan,
An artless savage, but a fearless man!

The plunderer came!-alas! no glory smiles
For Congo's chief on yonder Indian isles;
For ever fall'n! no son of nature now,
With freedom charter'd on his manly brow!
Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away,
And when the sea-wind wafts the dewless day,
Starts, with a bursting heart, for ever more
To curse the sun that lights their guilty shore!

The shrill horn blew; (10) at that alarum knell
His guardian angel took a last farewell!
That funeral dirge to darkness hath resign'd
The fiery grandeur of a generous mind!
Poor fetter'd man! I hear thee whispering low
Unhallow'd vows to Guilt, the child of Woe!
Friendless thy heart; and canst thou harbor there

Yes! there are hearts, prophetic HOPE may trust, A wish but death-a passion but despair?
That slumber yet in uncreated dust,
Ordain'd to fire th' adoring sons of earth
With every charm of wisdom and of worth;
Ordain'd to light, with intellectual day,
The mazy wheels of Nature as they play

The widow'd Indian, when her lord expires,
Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral fires!
So falls the heart at Thraldom's bitter sigh!
So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty!

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