O! FOR a kindling touch of that pure flame,
Which taught the offering of song to rise
From thy lone bower beneath the Italian skies,
Great Felicaia ! * With celestial aim
It rose-thy saintly rapture to proclaim,
Then, when the imperial city stood released
From bondage threaten'd by the embattled East,
And Christendom respired: from guilt and shame
Redeem'd-from miserable fear set free
By one day's feat-one mighty victory.
Chant the deliverer's praise in every tongue!
The cross shall spread, the crescent hath wax'd dim!
He conquering-as in earth and heaven was sung—
"He conquering through God, and God by him!"
WHILE not a leaf seems faded-while the fields,
With ripening harvests prodigally fair,
In brightest sunshine bask,-this nipping air
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields
Of bitter change-and bids the flowers beware;
And whispers to the silent birds, Prepare
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."
For me, who, under kindlier laws, belong
To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry,
Through the green leaves, and yon crystalline sky,
Announce a season potent to renew,
'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song--
And nobler cares than listless summer knew.
How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright
The effluence from yon mountain's distant head,
Which, strown with snow as smooth as heaven can shed,
Shines like another sun-on mortal sight
Uprisen, as if to check approaching night,
And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread,
If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head-
Terrestrial-but a surface, by the flight
Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing,
Unswept, unstain'd? Nor shall the aerial powers
Dissolve that beauty-destined to endure
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,
Through all vicissitudes-till genial spring
Have fill'd the laughing vales with welcome flowers.
See Felicaia's canzone, addressed to John Sobieski, King of Poland, upon his raising the siege of Vienna.
HIGH is our calling, friend! creative Art
(Whether the instrument of words she use,
Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues)
Demands the service of a mind and heart,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
Heroically fashion'd-to infuse
Faith in the whispers of the lonely muse,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert:
And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
And in the soul admit of no decay,-
Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness:
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
COMPOSED IN RECOLLECTION OF THE EXPEDITION OF THE FRENCH INTO
RUSSIA. FEBRUARY, 1816.
HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a shrunken, old,
And close-wrapt traveller, through the weary day
Propp'd on a staff, and limping o'er the plain,
As though his weakness were disturb'd by pain;
Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre in a wither'd bough,
Infirmly grasp'd within a palsied hand."
This emblem suits the helpless and forlorn;
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn;
For he it was,-dread Winter!-who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host,when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal,
That host,- -as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human pride!
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
He smote the blossoms of the warlike youth;
He call'd on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in manhood's firmest hold;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs ;
For why-unless for liberty enroll'd,
And sacred home-ah, why should hoary age be bold?
Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,
But fleeter far the pinions of the wind,
Which from Siberia's caves the monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
And bade the snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride,-
No pitying voice commands a halt,-
No courage can repel the dire assault,-
Distracted, spiritless, benumb'd, and blind,
Whole legions sink,-and, in an instant, find
Burial and death: look for them-and descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!
SONNET ON THE SAME OCCASION. FEBRUARY, 1816.
YE storms, resound the praises of your king!
And ye mild seasons-in a sunny clime,
Midway on some high hill, while Father Time
Looks on delighted-meet in festal ring,
And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
Sing ye, with blossoms crown'd, and fruits and flowers,
Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,
And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!
Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass,
With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain;
Whisper it to the billows of the main,
And to the aërial zephyrs as they pass,
That old decrepit Winter-he hath slain
That host which render'd all your beauties vain!
ON THE DISINTERMENT OF THE REMAINS OF THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN.
DEAR reliques! from a pit of vilest mould
Uprisen-to lodge among ancestral kings;
And to inflict shame's salutary stings
On the remorseless hearts of men grown old
In a blind worship-men perversely bold
Even to this hour; yet at this hour they quake;
And some their monstrous idol shall forsake.
If to the living truth was ever told
By aught surrender'd from the hollow grave:
O murder'd Prince! meek, loyal, pious, brave!
The power of retribution once was given;
But 'tis a rueful thought that willow bands
So often tie the thunder-wielding hands
Of Justice, sent to earth from higher heaven!
WHO rises on the banks of Seine,
And binds her temples with the civic wreath?
What joy to read the promise of her mien !
How sweet to rest her wide-spread wings beneath!
But they are ever playing,
And twinkling in the light,
And if a breeze be straying,
That breeze will she invite ;
And stands on tiptoe, conscious she is fair,
And calls a look of love into her face-
And spreads her arms-as if the genial air
Alone could satisfy her wide embrace.
-Melt, Principalities, before her, melt!
Her love ye hail'd-her wrath have felt.
But she through many a change of form hath gone,
And stands amidst ye now, an armèd creature,
Whose panoply is not a thing put on,
But the live scales of a portentous nature,
That, having wrought its way from birth to birth,
Stalks round-abhorr'd by Heaven, a terror to the earth.
I mark'd the breathings of her dragon crest;
My soul in many a midnight vision bow'd
Before the meanings which her spear express'd;
Whether the mighty beam, in scorn upheld,
Threaten'd her foes-or, pompously at rest,
Seem'd to bisect the orbit of her shield,
Like to a long blue bar of solid cloud
At evening stretch'd across the fiery west.
So did she daunt the earth, and God defy!
And wheresoe'er she spread her sovereignty,
Pollution tainted all that was most pure.
-Have we not known-and have we not to tell
That Justice seem'd to hear her final knell ?
Faith buried deeper in her own deep breast
Her stores-and sigh'd to find them insecure!
And hope was madden'd by the drops that fell
From shades-her chosen place of short-lived rest,
Which, when they first received her, she had bless'd :
Shame follow'd shame-and woe supplanted woe.
Is this the only change that Time can show?
How long shall vengeance sleep? Ye patient Heavens, how long? Infirm ejaculation from the tongue
Of nations wanting virtue to be strong
Up to the measure of recorded might,
And daring not to feel the majesty of right!
Weak spirits are there-who would ask,
Upon the pressure of a painful thing,
The lion's sinews or the eagle's wing;
Or let their wishes loose, in forest glade,
Among the lurking powers
Of herbs and lovely flowers,
That man may be accomplish'd for a task
Which his own nature hath enjoin'd-and why?
If when that interference hath relieved him,
He must sink down to languish
In worse than former helplessness, -and lie
Till the caves roar,-and imbecility,
Again engendering anguish,
The same weak wish returns-that had before deceived him.
But Thou, supreme Disposer! mightst not speed
The course of things, and change the creed
Which hath been held aloft before man's sight,
Since the first forming of societies!
Whether, as bards have told in ancient song,
Built up by soft seducing harmonies,—
Or press'd together by the appetite,
And by the power of wrong.
FEBRUARY, 1816.
REST, rest, perturbed Earth!
O rest, thou doleful mother of mankind !"
A spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind; "From regions where no evil thing has birth
I come-thy stains to wash away,
Thy cherish'd fetters to unbind,
To open thy sad eyes upon a milder day!
-The heavens are throng'd with martyrs that have risen
From out thy noisome prison;
The penal caverns groan
With tens of thousands rent from off the tree
Of hopeful life,-by battle's whirlwind blown
Into the deserts of Eternity.
Unpitied havoc-victims unlamented!
But not on high, where madness is resented,
And murder causes some sad tears to flow,
Though, from the widely-sweeping blow,
The choirs of angels spread triumphantly augmented.
"False parent of mankind!
Obdurate, proud, and blind,
I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews,
Thy lost maternal heart to reinfuse!
Scattering this far-fetch'd moisture from my wings,
Upon the act a blessing I implore,
Of which the rivers in their secret springs,
The rivers stain'd so oft with human gore,
Are conscious;-may the like return no more!
May Discord-for a seraph's care
Shall be attended with a bolder prayer-
May she, who once disturb'd the seats of bliss,
These mortal spheres above,
Be chain'd for ever to the black abyss!
And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and love,
And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"
The spirit ended his mysterious rite,
And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite.
|