Imitated from the Italian of P. Salandri.
THE more divinely beautiful thou art,
Lady! of Love's inconstancy beware;
Watch o'er thy charms, and with an angel's care
O guard thy maiden purity of heart:
At every whisper of temptation, start;
The lightest breathings of unhallow'd air
Love's tender, trembling lustre will impair,
Till all the light of innocence depart.
Fresh from the bosom of an Alpine hill,
When the coy fountain sparkles into day,
And sunbeams bathe and brighten in its rill,
If here a plant and there a flower, in play,
Bending to sip, the little channel fill,
It ebbs, and languishes, and dies away.
Imitated from the Italian of Petrarch.
LONELY and thoughtful o'er deserted plains,
I pass with melancholy steps and slow,
Mine eyes intent to shun, where'er I go,
The track of man:-from him to hide my pains,
No refuge save the wilderness remains :
The curious multitude would quickly know,
Amidst affected smiles, the cherish'd woe
That wrings my bosom, and consumes my veins.
O that the rocks and streams of solitude,
The vales and woods alone, my griefs might see!
But paths, however secret, wild and rude,
I find not from tormenting passion free;
Where'er I wander, still by Love pursued,
With Him I hold communion, He with Me.
ON THE SIEGE OF FAMAGUSTA, IN THE ISLAND OF CYPRUS, BY THE TURKS, IN 1571.
Imitated from the Italian of Benedetto dall' Uva.
THUS saith the Lord:-In whom shall Cyprus trust,
With all her crimes, her luxury, and pride?
In her voluptuous loves will she confide,
Her harlot-daughters, and her queen of lust?
My day is come when o'er her neck in dust
Vengeance and fury shall triumphant ride,
Death and captivity the spoil divide,
And Cyprus perish-I the Lord am just.
"Then he that bought, and he that sold in thee,
Thy princely merchants, shall their loss deplore,
Brothers in ruin as in fraud before;
And thou, who madest thy rampart of the sea,
Less by thy foes cast down than crush'd by Me!
Thou, Famagusta! fall, and rise no more.'
DEPARTED DAYS;
A RHAPSODY,
WRITTEN ON VISITING FULNECK, IN YORKSHIRE
WHERE THE AUTHOR WAS EDUCATED,
IN THE SPRING OF 1806.
DAYS of my childhood, hail!
Whose gentle spirits, wandering here,
Down in the visionary vale,
Before mine eyes appear,
Benignly pensive, beautifully pale;
O days for ever fled, for ever dear,
Days of my childhood, hail!
Joys of my early hours:
The swallows on the wing,
The bees among the flowers,
The butterflies of spring,
Light as their lovely moments flew,
Were not more gay, more innocent than you:
And fugitive as they,
Like butterflies in spring,
Like bees among the flowers,
Like swallows on the wing,
How swift, how soon ye passed away,
Joys of my early hours!
The loud Atlantic ocean,
On Scotland's rugged breast,
Rocks, with harmonious motion,
His weary waves to rest,
And gleaming round her emerald isles,
In all the pomp of sun-set smiles.
On that romantic shore
My parents hail'd their first-born boy:
A mother's pangs my mother bore,
My father felt a father's joy:
My father, mother, parents now no more!
Beneath the Lion-Star they sleep,
Beyond the western deep,
And when the sun's noon-glory crests the waves, He shines without a shadow on their graves.'
1 In the islands of Barbadoes and Tobago.
Sweet seas, and smiling shores!
When no tornado-demon roars,
Resembling that celestial clime
Where, with the spirits of the blest,
Beyond the hurricanes of Time,
From all their toils my parents rest:
There skies, eternally serene,
Diffuse ambrosial balm
Through sylvan isles for ever green,
O'er seas for ever calm;
While saints and angels, kindling in his rays,
On the full glory of the Godhead gaze,
And taste and prove, in that transporting sight,
Joy without sorrow, without darkness light.
Light without darkness, without sorrow joy,
On earth are all unknown to man ;
Here, while I roved, a heedless boy,
Here, while through paths of peace I ran,
My feet were vex'd with puny snares,
My bosom stung with insect-cares :
But ah! what light and little things
Are childhood's woes!-they break no rest;
Like dew-drops on the skylark's wings,
While slumbering in his grassy nest,
Gone in a moment, when he springs
To meet the morn with open breast,
As o'er the eastern hills her banners glow,
And veil'd in mist the valley sleeps below.
Like him, on these delightful plains,
I taught, with fearless voice,
The echoing woods to sound my strains,
The mountains to rejoice.
Hail to the trees beneath whose shade,
Rapt into worlds unseen, I stray'd;
Hail to the stream that purl'd along
In hoarse accordance to my song;
My song, that pour'd uncensured lays,
Tuned to a dying Savior's praise,
In numbers simple, wild and sweet,
As were the flowers beneath my feet;-
Those flowers are dead,
Those numbers fled,
Yet o'er my secret thought,
From cold Oblivion's silent gloom,
Their music to mine ear is brought,
Like voices from the tomb.
As yet in this untainted breast
No baneful passion burn'd,
Ambition had not banish'd rest,
Nor Hope had earthward turn'd;
Proud Reason still in shadow lay,
And in my firmament alone,
Forerunner of the day,
The dazzling star of wonder shone,
By whose enchanting ray
Creation open'd on my earliest view,
And all was beautiful, for all was new.
Too soon my mind's awakening powers
Made the light slumbers flee,
Then vanish'd with the golden hours,
The morning dreams of Infancy;
Sweet were those slumbers, dear those dreams to me;
And yet to mournful Memory lingering here,
Sweet are those slumbers, and those dreams are dear;
For hither, from my native clime,
The hand that leads Orion forth,
And wheels Arcturus round the North,
Brought me, in Life's exulting prime :
-Blest be that hand!-Whether it shed
Mercies or judgments on my head,
Extend the sceptre or exalt the rod,-
Blest be that hand!-It is the hand of God.
Imitated from the Italian of Serafino Aquilano.
HOPE, unyielding to Despair,
Springs for ever fresh and fair;
Earth's serenest prospects fly,
Hope's enchantments never die.
At Fortune's frown, in evil hour,
Though honor, wealth, and friends depart,
She cannot drive, with all her power
This lonely solace from the heart:
And while this the soul sustains,
Fortune still unchanged remains ;
Wheresoe'er her wheel she guides,
Hope upon the circle rides.
The Syrens, deep in ocean's caves,
Sing while abroad the tempests roar,
Expecting soon the frantic waves
To ripple on a smiling shore:
In the whirlwind, o'er the spray,
They behold the halcyon play;
And through midnight clouds afar,
Hope lights up the morning star.
This pledge of bliss in future years
Makes smooth and easy every toil;
The swain, who sows the waste with tears,
In fancy reaps a teeming soil:
What though mildew blight his joy,
Frost or flood his crops destroy,
War compel his feet to roam,
Hope still carols Harvest-Home!
The monarch exiled from his realm,
The slave in fetters at the oar,
The seaman sinking by the helm,
The captive on his dungeon-floor;
All through peril, pain and death,
Fondly cling to parting breath;
Glory, freedom, power, are past,
But the dream of Hope will last.
Weary and faint, with sickness worn,
Blind, lame, and deaf, and bent with age,
By man the load of life is borne
To his last step of pilgrimage:
Though the branch no longer shoot,
Vigor lingers at the root,
And in Winter's dreariest day,
Hope foretells returning May.
When, wrung with guilt, the wretch would end
His gloomy days in sudden night,
Hope comes, an unexpected friend,
To win him back to hated light:
"Hold!" she cries; and from his hand
Plucks the suicidal brand;
"Now await a happier doom,
Hope will cheer thee to the tomb."
When virtue droops, as comforts fail,
And sore afflictions press the mind,
Sweet Hope prolongs her pleasing tale,
Till all the world again looks kind:
Round the good man's dying bed,
Where the wreck of Nature spread,
Hope would set his spirit free,
Crying-" Immortality!"
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
A MOTHER'S Love,-how sweet the name! What is a Mother's love?
-A noble, pure, and tender flame,
Enkindled from above,
To bless a heart of earthly mould;
The warmest love that can grow cold;
This is a Mother's Love.
To bring a helpless babe to light,
Then, while it lies forlorn,
To gaze upon that dearest sight,
And feel herself new-born,
In its existence lose her own,
And live and breathe in it alone;
This is a Mother's Love.
Its weakness in her arms to bear;
To cherish on her breast,
Feed it from Love's own fountain there,
And lull it there to rest;
Then while it slumbers watch its breath,
As if to guard from instant death;
This is a Mother's Love.
To mark its growth from day to day,
Its opening charms admire,
Catch from its eye the earliest ray
Of intellectual fire;
To smile and listen while it talks,
And lend a finger when it walks;
This is a Mother's Love.
And can a Mother's love grow cold?
Can she forget her boy?
His pleading innocence behold,
Nor weep for grief-for joy?
A Mother may forget her child,
While wolves devour it on the wild;
-Is this a Mother's Love?
Ten thousand voices answer "No!"
Ye clasp your babes and kiss;
Your bosoms yearn, your eyes o'erflow;
Yet, ah! remember this;
The infant, rear'd alone for earth,
May live, may die,-to curse his birth;.
-Is this a Mother's Love?
A parent's heart may prove a snare;
The child she loves so well,
Her hand may lead, with gentlest care,
Down the smooth road to hell;
Nourish its frame,-destroy its mind: Thus do the blind mislead the blind, Even with a Mother's Love.
Blest infant! whom his mother taught
Early to seek the Lord,
And pour'd upon his dawning thought
The day-spring of the word;
This was the lesson to her son,
-Time is Eternity begun :
Behold that Mother's love.'
Blest Mother! who, in wisdom's path, By her own parent trod,
Thus taught her son to flee the wrath, And know the fear of God:
Ah! youth, like him enjoy your prime, Begin Eternity in time,
Taught by that Mother's Love.
That Mother's Love!-how sweet the name!
What was that Mother's Love?
-The noblest, purest, tenderest flame,
That kindles from above
Within a heart of earthly mould,
As much of heaven as heart can hold,
Nor through eternity grows cold:
This was that Mother's love.
THE TIME-PIECE. WHO is He, so swiftly flying, His career no eye can see? Who are They, so early dying, From their birth they cease to be? Time:-behold his pictured face! Moments-can you count their race?
Though, with aspect deep-dissembling,
Here he feigns unconscious sleep,
Round and round this circle trembling,
Day and night his symbols creep,
While unseen, through earth and sky,
His unwearying pinions ply.
Hark! what petty pulses, beating,
Spring new moments into light;
Every pulse, its stroke repeating,
Sends its moment back to night;
Yet not one of all the train
Comes uncall'd, or flits in vain.
In the highest realms of glory,
Spirits trace, before the throne,
On eternal scrolls, the story
Of each little moment flown;
Every deed, and word, and thought,
Through the whole creation wrought.
Were the volume of a minute
Thus to mortal sight unroll'd,
More of sin and sorrow in it,
More of man, might we behold,
Than on History's broadest page
In the relics of an age.
12 Tim c. i, v. 5, and c. iii, v. 14, 15.
Who could bear the revelation?
Who abide the sudden test?
-With instinctive consternation
Hands would cover every breast,
Loudest tongues at once be hush'd,
1 Pride in all its writhings crush'd.
Who, with leer malign exploring,
On his neighbor's shame durst look?
Would not each, intensely poring
On that record in the book,
Which his inmost soul reveal'd,
Wish its leaves for ever seal'd?
Seal'd they are for years, and ages,
Till, the earth's last circuit run,
Empire changed through all its stages,
Risen and set the latest sun,—
On the sea and on the land
Shall a midnight Angel stand:
Stand-and, while the abysses tremble,
Swear that Time shall be no more:
Quick and Dead shall then assemble,
Men and Demons range before
That tremendous judgment-seat,
Where both worlds at issue meet.
Time himself, with all his legions,
Days, Months, Years, since Nature's birth,
Shall revive, and from all regions,
Singling out the sons of earth,
With their glory or disgrace,
Charge their spenders face to face.
Every moment of my being
Then shall pass before mine eyes:
-God, all-searching! God, all-seeing!
Oh! appease them, ere they rise;
Warn'd I fly, I fly to Thee:
God be merciful to me!
TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. THOMAS SPENCER, OF LIVERPOOL, WHO WAS DROWNED, WHILE BATHING
IN THE TIDE, ON THE 5TH Of august, 1811, IN HIS 21ST YEAR.
Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters; and thy footsteps are not known.-Psalm lxxvii. 19.
I WILL not sing a mortal's praise;
To Thee I consecrate my lays,
To whom my powers belong! These gifts upon thine altar strown, O God! accept-accept thine own; My gifts are Thine,-be Thine alone The glory of my song.
In earth and ocean, sky and air,
All that is excellent and fair,
Seen, felt, or understood,
From one eternal cause descends,
To one eternal centre tends,
With God begins, continues, ends,
The source and stream of good.
I worship not the Sun at noon,
The wandering Stars, the changing Moon,
The Wind, the Flood, the Flame;
I will not bow the votive knee
To Wisdom, Virtue, Liberty;
"There is no God but God," for me,
Jehovah is his name.
Him through all nature I explore,
Him in his creatures I adore,
Around, beneath, above;
But clearest in the human mind,
His bright resemblance when I find,
Grandeur with purity combined,
I most admire and love.
Oh! there was One,-on earth awhile He dwelt-but transient as a smile That turns into a tear,
His beauteous image pass'd us by; He came, like lightning, from the sky, He seem'd as dazzling to the eye,
As prompt to disappear.
Mild, in his undissembling mien,
Were genius, candor, meekness seen;
The lips, that loved the truth;
The single eye, whose glance sublime
Look'd to eternity through time;
The soul, whose hopes were wont to climb
Above the joys of youth.
Of Old, before the lamp grew dark,
Reposing near the curtain'd ark,
The child of Hannah's prayer
Heard, through the temple's silent round,
A living voice, nor knew the sound
That thrice alarm'd him, ere he found
The Lord, who chose him there.'
Thus early call'd, and strongly moved,
A prophet from a child, approved,
SPENCER his course began;
From strength to strength, from grace to grace, Swiftest and foremost in the race,
He carried victory in his face;
He triumph'd as he ran.
How short his day!-the glorious prize, To our slow hearts and failing eyes,
Appear'd too quickly won: -The warrior rush'd into the field With arm invincible to wield The Spirit's sword, the Spirit's shield, When, lo! the fight was done.
The loveliest star of evening's train
Sets early in the western main,
And leaves the world in night;
The brightest star of morning's host,
Scarce risen, in brighter beams is lost;
Thus sunk his form on ocean's coast,
Thus sprang his soul to light.
Who shall forbid the eye to weep,
That saw him, from the ravening deep,
Pluck'd like the lion's prey?
For ever bow'd his honor'd head,
The spirit in a moment fled,
The heart of friendship cold and dead,
The limbs a wreath of clay!
Revolving his mysterious lot,
I mourn him, but I praise him not;
Glory to God be given,
Who sent him, like the radiant bow,
His covenant of peace to show,
Athwart the breaking storm to glow
Then vanish into heaven.
O Church! to whom that youth is dear, The Angel of thy mercies here,
Behold the path he trod,
"A milky way" through midnight skies! -Behold the grave in which he lies, Even from this dust thy prophet cries, "Prepare to meet thy GOD."
How few and evil are thy days,
Man, of a woman born!
Trouble and peril haunt thy ways:
-Forth like a flower at morn,
The tender infant springs to light,
Youth blossoms with the breeze,
Age, withering age, is cropt ere night;
-Man like a shadow flees.
And dost Thou look on such a one?
Will God to judgment call
A worm, for what a worm hath done
Against the Lord of all?
As fail the waters from the deep,
As summer brooks run dry,
Man lieth down in dreamless sleep;
-Our life is vanity.
Man lieth down, no more to wake,
Till yonder arching sphere
Shall with a roll of thunder break,
And nature disappear.
-Oh! hide me, till thy wrath be past,
Thou, who canst kill or save;
Hide me, where hope may anchor fast
In my Redeemer's grave.
Lift to the firmament your eye; Thither his path pursue;
His glory, boundless as the sky, O'erwhelms the wondering view.
He bows the heavens-the mountains stand
A high-way for their God;
He walks amidst the desert-land,
-'Tis Eden where He trod.
The forests in his strength rejoice;
Hark! on the evening breeze,
As once of old, the Lord God's voice
Is heard among the trees.
Here on the hills He feeds his herds,
His flocks on yonder plains;
His praise is warbled by the birds;
-O could we catch their strains!
Mount with the lark, and bear our song
Up to the gates of light,
Or with the nightingale prolong
Our numbers through the night!
In every stream his bounty flows
Diffusing joy and wealth;
In every breeze his spirit blows
-The breath of life and health
His blessings fall in plenteous showers
Upon the lap of earth,
That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers,
And rings with infant mirth.
If God hath made this world so fair,
Where sin and death abound;
How beautiful beyond compare
Will Paradise be found!
Imitated from the Italian of Gaetana Passerini.
IF in the field I meet a smiling flower,
Methinks it whispers, "God created me,
And I to Him devote my little hour,
In lonely sweetness and humility."
If, where the forest's darkest shadows lower,
A serpent quick and venomous I see,
It seems to say,-"I, too, extol the power
Of Him, who caused me, at his will, to be."
The fountain purling, and the river strong,
The rocks, the trees, the mountains, raise one song;
"Glory to God!" re-echoes in mine ear:-
Faithless were I, in wilful error blind,
Did I not Him in all his creatures find,
His voice through heaven, and earth, and ocean hear
THE God of Nature and of Grace
In all his works appears;
His goodness through the earth we trace, His grandeur in the spheres.
Behold this fair and fertile globe, By Him in wisdom plann'd;
"Twas He, who girded like a robe, The ocean round the land.
Imitated from the Italian of Giambattista Cotta.
I SAW the eternal God, in robes of light, Rise from his throne,-to judgment forth He came, His presence pass'd before me, like the flame That fires the forest in the depth of night,
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