WRITTEN AT NETLEY ABBEY.
Why should I fear the spirits of the dead?
What if they wander at the hour of night,
Amid these sacred walls, with silent tread,
And dimly visible to mortal sight!
What if they ride upon the wandering gale,
And with low sighs alarm the listening ear;
Or swell a deep, a sadly-sounding wail,
Like solemn dirge of death! why should I fear?
No! seated on some fragment of rude stone,
While through the Ash-trees waving oíer my head
The wild winds pour their melancholy moan,
My soul, by fond imagination led,
Shall muse on days and years for ever flown,
And hold mysterious converse with the dead!
As oíer the gloomy heath the Pilgrim strays,
When nightís dark shadows thicken all around,
While nought he hears, save the low moaning sound
Of sweeping winds--at length, far distant rays
Of light from some low cottage bless his gaze;
With joy he then pursues his lonely way,
No longer to despair and grief a prey,
But cheering hope once more his bosom sways.
Thus have I wanderíd in Lifeís dreary scene,
Forlorn and hopeless--while Afflictionís blast
My sky with threatíning clouds has overcast;
But gentle Friendshipís hallowíd lamp serene,
With guiding ray has bid my fears depart,
And spread its soothing influence through my heart.
WRITTEN IN A RUINOUS ABBEY.
As ëmid these mouldering walls I pensive stray,
With moss and ivy rudely overgrown,
I love to watch the last pale glimpse of day,
And hear the rising winds of evening moan.
How loud the gust comes sweeping oíer the vale!
Now faintly murmurs midst those distant trees;
The owl begins her melancholy wail,
Filling with shrieks the pauses of the breeze.
Fancy, thy wildest dreams engage my mind
I gaze on forms which not to earth belong;
I see them riding on the passing wind,
And hear their sadly-sweet, expressive song.
Wrapíd in the dear thoí visionary sound,
In spells of rapture all my soul is bound!
TO DESPAIR.
Pale ruthless Demon! terrible Despair!
Whose step is horror, and whose voice is death!
Thou ridíst on blasts that rend the midnight air,
Mingling with wintry storms thy baleful breath.
Oft too thou sitíst upon a gloomy rock
That overhangs the wild and boistírous deep;
Where foaming waves the ship-wreckíd seaman mock,
And oíer his head with raging fury sweep.
There dost thou view him struggling with the wave,
And panting, try to gain the welcome shore;
But ah thou doomíst him to a briny graveñ
And soon he fainting sinks--to rise no more.
Unpitying Demon! sure thy powír accurst
Is of all human miseries the worst.
TO CONTENT.
O leave me not, Content! I cannot bear
The absence of thy sweet, thy heavenly smile;
ëTis that alone can gild the form of care,
Can smooth the ruggedness of wearying toil.
Ah! I have shuníd wild passionís stormy course,
Left her intoxicating cup of joy,
To drink from thy serene and hallowíd source
The sweets that know no mingled dark alloy.
Depart not then--but with those angel charms
That first endearíd thee to my youthful heart,
O Come, and hush these fluttering alarms,
And all thy peaceful purity impart.
Subdue each rising wish, each feeling rude,
And reign within my bosomís solitude.
TO EVENING.
Sweet Evening, hail! thy melancholy hour
Soothes all my soul to calmness and repose.
How soft thy gentle gale, that sighing blows
Upon the wild heathís solitary flowír,
Shaking with fluttering wing its dewy head!
With what mild splendor shines the pensive star
Whose silvery lustre decks thy shadowy car!
To me it tells of blissful moments fled--
And musing fancy backward takes her flight,
To gaze on images to fancy dear,
And bathe them with the sad regretful tear.
Yet, ëtis a sadness mingled with delight;
Just as a strain of music, mournful, low,
Melts the full heart with silent pleasing woe.
TO LOVE.
I know thy charms, sweet Love! enchanting boy,
On whose smooth cheek unfading roses glow:
Where softest smiles of innocence and joy
Tender yet gay, their dimpled graces show;--
Dark is the blue of thy bewitching eye,
Whose melting glances thrill the rapturíd sight:
And deep the magic of thy tuneful sigh;
While at thy voice, hope paints in colours bright
Her wild romantic scenes. O heavenly child,
I shun thee not--! love thy aspect mild:
Come then, and realize with touch divine
The airy forms which Fancyís call obey,
And I will bow before thy powírful sway,
And heap sweet offerings on thy holy shrine.
WRITTEN ON RETURNING TO MY HOME.
With weeping tenderness once more I gaze
On these romantic scenes I love so well:
Where peace and pensive solitude still dwell,
As in my happy childhoodís smiling days;
When my unfolding mind did first behold
The charms of nature with a musing eye,
And caught sweet melancholyís magic sigh;
When through the woodís deep shadowy glen I strollíd,
With transport listening, as the carol clear
Of some sweet linnet hailíd the opening day,
Or hymníd to sleeping eve thí enchanting lay.
Ah! lovely scenes--I meet you with a tear--
For strange vicissitudes have crossíd my way,
Since last I saw the glitering sun-beam here!
TO THE CLOUDS.
O ye who ride upon the wandíring gale,
And silently, yet swiftly pass away--
I love to view you, when the glimmering ray
Of early morning tints your forms so pale,
Or when meek twilight gleams above the steep,
As in fantastic changeful shapes ye fly
Far in the west,--when smiles the summer sky,
Or when rough wintry winds with fury sweep
Along the hill your darkly-frowning forms,
All desolate and gloomy as my heart.
Ah! could I but from this sad earth depart
And wander careless as the roving storms
Amidst your shadowy scenes--borne by the wind,
Far I would fly, and leave my woes behind!
TO AUTUMN.
Mild pensive Autumn! how I love to stray
At thy sweet season through the woody vale;
And when the western orbís declining ray
Tinges thy varied foliage, hear the gale
Of evening sigh among the lofty trees,
And watch thy mists obscure the mountainís height;
While sportive swallows, tossing in the breeze,
Collect, preparing for their distant flight.
As, lovely Autumn! on thy charms I gaze,
Thy softeníd charms which I so dearly prize,
A thrilling tender melancholy sways
My rapturíd heart, and tears suffuse my eyes.
These feelings, which thy pensive hours employ,
Who would resign for all the world calls joy!
Repentance, bathe me in thy sea of tears!
Ah touch my heart with purifying sway;
And let these stains my darkeníd conscience bears,
By thy pale waters all be washíd away;
Yet how can these remove Guiltís gloomy die!
Oh how atone for oft repeated sin
Regardless of each warning from on high,
The call without--the monitor within!--
Redeeming mercy--here alone the thought
Can rest in hope;--yet come Repentance, come,
With all thy tender melting sorrows fraught,
And guide this wandíring heart. unto its home;
And while my own sad erring ways I grieve,
Ah may I others learn to pity and forgive.
TO A VIOLET.
Springís sweet attendant! modest simple flower,
Whose soft retiring charms the woods adorn,
How often have I wanderíd at that hour,
When first appear the rosy tints of morn,
To the wild brook--there, upon mossy ground,
Thy velvet form all beautiful to view;
To catch thy breath that steals delicious round,
And mark thy pensive smile throí tears of dew:
But then I sigh that other Viílets bloom
Unseen, in wilds where foot-step never trod,
Find unadmiríd, unnoticíd, there a tomb,
And mingle silent with the grassy sod;
Ah, so the scatteríd flowers of genius rise;
These bloom to charm--that, hide--neglected dies.
TO HAPPINESS.
O happiness! thou fair enchanting form,
That, robíd in brightness, swiftly stealíst along;
Oft mingling with the gay the glittering throng
Of blue-eyed laughing Hope--or glowing warm,
In fancyís rainbow colours sweetly drest,
Flittíst on light silken wings before my sight--
Ah! why so soon pursue thine airy flight!
Return--return--and bless this throbbing breast.
Alas! in vain I spread my eager arms:
In vain I court thy heavenly smile serene--
Thouírt but a wanderer through this changeful scene,
And fleeting are thy transitory charms.
Yes angel form! thy dwelling is not here;
Thou reignest in some loftier purer sphere!
TO MELANCHOLY.
When wintry tempests agitate the deep,
On some lone rock I love to sit recliníd;
And view the sea-birds on wild pinions sweep,
And hear the roaring of the stormy wind,
That, rushing throí the caves with hollow sound,
Seems like the voices of those viewless forms
Which hover wrappíd in gloomy mist around,
Directing in their course the rolling storms.
Then, Melancholy! thy sweet power I feel,
For there thine influence reigns oíer all the scene;
Then oíer my heart thy ìmystic transportsî steal,
And from each trifling thought my bosom wean.
My rapturíd spirit soars on wing sublime
Beyond the narrow bounds of space or time!
TO A VILLAGE IN SUFFOLK, THE RESIDENCE OF A FRIEND.
Blakenham! although thy bounded scenes
Among no forests wave, no lofty hills arise,
Whence far-stretchíd prospects meet the rapturíd eyes--
No winding sea-dasht shores to thee belong,
Skirted by wild and rocky solitudes,
ìSublimities that most delight the mindî
Yet Blakenham, thy still meads where rivílets wind,
Thy corn-fields waving ëneath the rustling breeze,
And thy secluded copses--they are dear
To me; and when I go far, far away,
Full oft amid thy scenes will memory stray.
Ah! virtue, taste, refinement pure are here;
And these, when viewíd by fond affectionís eye,
Give thee an interest--which shall never die!.
O take me from the hated haunts of man;
O hide me on some rock-encompassíd shore,
Where I may spend unseen lifeís little span,
And never hear of guilt and misery more
There a Recluse, within some lonely cave,
Iíll read, and watch, and meditate, and pray;
Iíll list the murmurs of the rolling wave,
And mark the rising and the setting ray;
No helpless animals for me shall bleed;
The hand of nature shall my wants supply--
Iíll view them as at liberty they feed,
And their delight shall be my luxury.
O how I long for solitude like this!
For natureís innocence, and natureís bliss.
RECANTATORY TO THE PRECEDING.
Ah no--enthusiasmís hour is fled;--
--Society,! though many a saddening ill
Abides within the circle of thy tread,
Yet fondly do I cling unto thee still.
How could I live estrangíd from all mankind:
How could I bear the desolate remove
From all the sweet communion of the mind--
The Sympathies of friendship, and of love!--
Rebellious Man in every changing scene
Must feel thí effect of his primeval crime;--
Ah! let him sometimes seek the shade serene,
And sooth his weary soul with thought sublime;--
But ëtis in social life that he must prove
Trials that fit him for the realms above.
Why do I muse on moments that are past
Like the fond visions of an airy dream,
With weeping tenderness, and thought oíercast
With shades of deep regret? Alas! they seem
The smiling scenes where sunbeams of delight
Unclouded love to linger; strewíd with flowers,
Whose perfumíd buds appear more softly bright,
Than rainbow glittering on summer showers.
Ah! does not memory like Hope deceive?
Like Hope resign her realms to Fancyís sway,
Who fondly loves a magic veil to weave
For every past as well as future day?
Ah, surely yes! for Sorrowís tearful showír
Falls on the beam that gilds our fairest hour.
WRITTEN NEAR THE SEA.
Now wild the blasts of Autumn sweep along
These rugged rocks, this solitary shore!
Mingled with Oceanís deep tempestuous roar,
And many a sea-birdís melancholy song.
But ah! more wild the tumult of my soul--
More turbulent the feelings tossing there;
For evíry hope is blasted by Despair,
And clouds of darkness oíer my prospects roll,
The winds that agitate the foaming deep
Ere long shall sink to quiet calm repose;
But still this aching heart will sigh its woes,
Still will these streaming eyes in anguish weep--
Till death shall bid the storms of passion cease,
And lay me in the silent home of peace.
WRITTEN IN ILL HEALTH AT THE CLOSE OF SPRING.
Where are the tearful smile of youthful Spring,
That nursíd the budding leaves and infant flowírs?
Ah! vanishíd--like those dear regretted hours
That fled away on Pleasureís fairy wing,
When hope light scatteríd oíer my glowing way
Her rose-buds of delight.--The cooling breeze,
The wily sportive warblers of the trees,
And garlands sweet that made the woods so gay,
All, all are gone.--Spring will return again,
But never more for me its charms shall bloom,
For me then slumbering in the dreary tomb
The birds will sing and flowírets blow in vain;
While gentle gales, the budding trees that wave,
Will breathe their lonely sighs across my grave.
TO A CONVOLVOLUS.
Did I not see thee ope thy lovely eye,
When Morning came with tresses bathíd in dew?
Were not thy artless charms displayíd to view
When shone the brilliant sun-beam from on high?
Now that dayís crimson splendours fading slow,
Yield to soft shadowy eye the silent sway,
Thou tremblest as the breezes oíer thee stray,
And foldíst thy leaves, and layíst thy bosom low.
Alas, poor flower, thy little life is oíer,
The yellow morning shall return again,
But all her chearing dews will fall in vain,
For thou must never wake to taste them more.
I grieve for thee, yet, wherefore should I grieve?
Manís but a morning flowír that like thee dies at eve.
WRITTEN ON AN EMINENCE OVER-HANGING THE SEA.
Ye rocks sublime, whose tops depending oíer
The restless main, form my rude lonely seat,
Where oft I listen to the solemn roar
Of foaming billows, breaking at my feet;
In your retreats can peace of mind be found,
Contented bliss, serenely sweet repose?
Ah, yes! the gales that whisper soft around,
Seem like meek Pityís voice to heal my woes.
Now, while I watch the waves as on they roll,
And mark their white heads at a distance rise,
Peace once again returns unto my soul,
And pale despair far from my bosom flies.
Sweet, soothing Nature! on thy friendly breast
Reposing, all my griefs are lullíd to rest.
Yon oak has bravíd full many a wintry storm,
And frowníd defiance to the changeful year.
The summer lightnings flashed in fury near,
The gales of Autumn howIíd around its form,
But steadfast, undismayíd, it scorníd their powír,
And now, see eveningís softest loveliest ray
Illumes its leaves, while zephyrs tired with play,
Sleep on the bosom of the silent hour.
Then, thoí the gusts of sad misfortune blow
Oíer this chillíd bosom, I will not despair;
Hope, gentle Hope, shall point to prospects fair,
Where flowírets bloom, and lingering sun beams glow;
Where, when Adversityís dark clouds are past,
The smile of peace shall sooth my soul at last.
WRITTEN ON LEAVING A BELOVED RESIDENCE.
Romantic shades, by nature wildly drest!
Scenes to my pensive bosom ever dear!
Where I have passíd full many a happy year,
In health, in peace, and calm contentment blest;--
For you have witnessíd lifeís sweet dawn arise,
You have beheld gay childhoodís smiling hours,
And first among your silent shadowy bowírs
I learníd retirementís tasteful joys to prize.
Dear hills! the sun will gild your turf--the air
Will catch your thymy perfume on its wing--
And sweet as ever still your birds will sing:
But not for me;--I go to cities--where,
With sickening eye false splendour I shall view,
And sigh in vain, sweet shades, for happiness--and you!
Contentment! ! I have left the lowly spot
Where Peace in still seclusion lovíd to dwell.
Within the shelter of thy simple cell,
There once was fixíd my humble happy lot;
Ah would that I had never known a change!
For ëmong reposing scenes that smilíd around,
Serenest bliss my quiet bosom found.--
ëTwas Hope who taught my wandíring feet to range
Cruel deluder! she in pilgrim vest
Came to our cot: and by her witching tale,
ìWhile dwelling there an unsuspected guest,î
Seducíd me from Contentmentís happy vale.
Ah! now, alone, amidst surrounding fears,
Iím left to disappointment and to tears!.
O that religion in that breast did dwell!--
See how he leans upon the vesselís side,
And gloomily surveys the surgy tide.
Could you the meaning of that aspect tell,
Could you behold the heart that bosom hides,
Its passions tossing like the billows wild,
Its wishes by no soothing hope beguilíd,
But which impatience ever restless guides;
Ah did each thought perplexíd--each prospect dark--
Each feeling of despair now meet your sight,
Youíd say that Man, ìpoor helpless driving bark!î
Needed a pilot to direct him right
On lifeís tumultuous waves--and waft him oíer
To some more shelteríd and more peaceful shore.