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Thy rights are empire : urge no meaner claim – Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat,
Or usual 'tendance ;-ask not, indiscreet,
Some snug recess impervious: shouldst thou try Try all that wit and art suggest to bend
The 'custom'd garden walks, thine eye shall rue Of thy imperial foe the stubborn knee;
The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs, Make treacherous man thy subject, not thy friend ; | Myrtle or rose, all crush'd beneath the weight Thou mayst command, but never canst be free of coarse check'd apron,-with impatient hand
Twitch'd off when showers impend : or crossing Awe the licentious, and restrain the rude ;
lines Soften the sullen, clear the cloudy brow:
Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet Be, more than princes' gifts, thy favours sued;
Flaps in thy face abrupt. Wo to the friend She hazards all, who will the least allow.
Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim But hope not, courted idol of mankind,
On such a day the hospitable rites ! On this proud eminence secure to stay ;
Looks blank at best, and stinted courtesy, Subduing and subdued, thou soon shalt find
Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes Thy coldness soften, and thy pride give way.
With dinner of roast chickens, savoury pie,
Or tart or pudding :--pudding he nor tart Then, then, abandon each ambitious thought, That day shall eat ; nor, though the husband try,
Conquest or rule thy heart shall feebly move, Mending what can't be helpd, to kindle mirth In Nature's school, by her soft maxims taught, From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow That separate rights are lost in mutual love. Clear up propitious :--the unlucky guest
In silence dines, and early slinks away.
I scarce knew why, look'd cross, and drove me
from them :
Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope
Usual indulgencies; jelly or creams,
Relic of costly suppers, and set by
For me their petted one; or butter'd toast, THE muses are turn'd gossips ; they have lost When butter was forbid ; or thrilling tale The buskind step, and clear high-sounding phrase, or ghost or witch, or murder-so I went Language of gods. Come then, domestic muse, And shelter'd me beside the parlour fire : In slipshod measure loosely pratiling on
There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms, Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream, Tended the little ones, and watch'd from harm, Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire
Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles By little whimpering boy, with rueful face; With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins Come, muse, and sing the dreaded washing-day. Drawn from her ravell'd stockings, might have Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend,
sour'd With bow'd soul, full well ye ken the day One less indulgent.Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on At intervals my mother's voice was heard, Too soon ;- for to that day nor peace belongs Urging despatch : briskly the work went on, Nor comfort ;-ere the first gray streak of dawn, All hands employ'd to wash, to rinse, to wring, The red-arm'd washers come and chase repose. To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait. Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth, Then would I sit me down, and ponder much E'er visited that day : the very cat,
Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth, bowl Visits the parlour,-an unwonted guest.
Of pipe amused we blew, and sent alost The silent breakfast-meal is soon despatch'd ;
The floating bubbles; little dreaming then C'ninterrupted, save by anxious looks
To see, Montgolfier, thy silken ball Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower.
Ride buoyant through the clouds—so near approach From that last evil, O preserve us, heavens!
The sports of children and the toils of men. For should the skies pour down, adieu to all
Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles, Remains of quiet: then expect to hear
And verse is one of them--this most of all.
TO MR. S. T. COLERIDGE.-1797. Saints have been calm while stretch'd upon the rack,
Midway the hill of science after steep And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals ; And rugged paths that tire the unpractised feet, But never yet did house wife notable
A grove extends in tangled mazes wrought, Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day.
And fill'd with strange enchantment:-dubious -But grant the welkin fair, require not thou
shapes Who call'st thyself perchance the master there, Flit through dim glades, and lure the eager foot
Ephesian Dian sees no more
Nor Capitolian Jove.
No more the victim bleeds ;
A purer rite succeeds.
And lifts his feeble hands,
Ah! still that altar stands.
Of youthful ardour to eternal chase.
ODE TO REMORSE.
DREAD offspring of the holy light within,
Offspring of Conscience and of Sin, Stern as thine awful sire, and fraught with wo, From bitter springs thy mother taught to flow,
Remorse! To man alone 'tis given
Of all on earth, or all in heaven,
And amaranthine flowers,
What time our hapless sire,
O'ercome by fond desire,
Then didst thou rear thy snaky crest,
And never, since that fatal hour,
Cross th' untrodden desert drove,
Domestic man had learnt to rove.
THE UNKNOWN GOD.
To learned Athens, led by fame,
With pity and surprise,
He rollid his awful eyes.
But one, a part, his notice caught,
Graved on the wounded stone ;
Perusing, “To the God unknown."
By gloomy shade or lonely flood
A father's curse, a brother's blood;
Till life was misery too great to bear, And torturing thought was lost in sullen, dumb
Age after age has roll'd away,
Sages and saints have risen;
And lightnings snatch'd from heaven.
The king who sat on Judah's throne,
Was taught thy searching power to own, When, sent of Heaven, the seer his royal presence
sought. As, wrapt in artsul phrase, with sorrow feign'd,
He told of helpless, meek distress,
And wrongs that sought from power redress, The pity-moving tale his ear obtain’d,
And many a shrine in dust is laid, Where kneeling nations homage paid,
By rock, or fount, or grove;
And bade his better feelings wake :
Why does he lift the cruel scourge? Then, sudden as the trodden snake
The restless pilgrimage why urge? On the scared traveller darts his fangs,
"Tis all to quell thy fiercer rage, The prophet's bold rebuke aroused thy keenest "Tis all to sooth thy deep despair, [bear. pangs.
He courts the body's pangs, for thine he cannot And O that look, that soft upbraiding look!
See o'er the bleeding corse of her he loved, A thousand cutting, tender things it spoke,– The jealous murderer bends unmoved, The sword so lately drawn was not so keen, Trembling with rage, his livid lips express Which, as the injured Master turn'd him round, His frantic passion's wild and rash excess. In the strange solemn scene,
O God, she's innocent !
-ransfixt he stands, And the shrill clarion gave th' appointed sound, Pierced through with shafts from thine avenging Pierced sudden through the reins,
hands; Awakening all thy pains,
Down his pale cheek no tear will flow, And drew a silent shower of bitter tears
Nor can he shun, nor can he bear, his wo. Down Peter's blushing cheek, late pale with coward fears.
'Twas phantoms summon'd by thy power
Round Richard's couch at midnight hour, Cruel Remorse! where Youth and Pleasure That scared the tyrant from unblest repose ; sport,
With frantic haste, “To horse! to horse!" he cries, And thoughtless Folly keeps her court,
While on his crowned brow cold sweat-drops rise, Crouching midst rosy bowers thou lurk'st unseen;
And fancied spears his spear oppose ; Slumbering the festal hours away,
But not the swifiest steed can bear away
From thy firm grasp thine agonizing prey,
Thou wast the fiend, and thou alone,
That stood'st by Beaufort's mitred head, And tear his belpless breast, o'erwhelm’d, with With upright hair and visage ghastly pale : wild dismay.
Thy terrors shook his dying bed, Mark that poor wretch with clasped hands! Past crimes and blood his sinking heart assail, Pale o'er his parent's grave he stands,
His hands are clasp'd,-hark to that hollow groan! The grave by his ingratitude prepared ;
See how his glazed, dim eye-balls wildly roll, Ah then, where'er he rests his head,
'Tis not dissolving Nature's pains; that pang is of On roses pillow'd or the softest down,
the soul. Though festal wreaths his temples crown, He well might envy Guatimozin's bed,
Where guilty souls are doom'd to dwell,
'Tis thou that makest their fiercest hell, With burning coals and sulphur spread,
The vulture thou that on their liver feeds, And with less agony his torturing hour have shared.
As rise to view their past unhallow'd deeds ;
With thee condemn'd to stay,
Till lime has roll'd away
Long eras of uncounted years,
And every stain is wash'd in soft repentant tears. bedew'd,
Servant of God--but unbeloved-proceed,
For thou must live and ply thy scorpion scourge : The warnings oft in vain renew'd,
Thy sharp upbraidings urge The looks of anguish and of love,
Against th' unrighteous deed, His stubborn breast that failed to move,
Till thine accursed mother shall expire, When in the scorner's chair he sat, and wholesome and a new world spring forth from renovating fire counsel spurn'd.
0! when the glare of day is fled, Lives there a man whose labouring breast
And calm, beneath the evening star, Is with some dark and guilty secret prest,
Reflection leans her pensive head, Who hides within its inmost fold
And calls the passions to her solemn bar; Strange erimes to mortal ear untold ?
Reviews the censure rash, the hasty word, In vain to sad Chartreuse he flies.
The purposed act too long deferr'd, Midst savage rocks and cloisters dim and drear, Of time the wasted treasures lent, And there to shun thee tries :
And fair occasions lost, and golden hours mispent: In vain untold his crime to mortal ear, Silence and whisper'd sounds but make thy voice When anxious Memory numbers o'er more clear.
Each offer'd prize we failed to seize ;
Or friends laid low, whom now no more Lo, where the cowled monk with frantic rage Our fondést love can serve or please, Lists high the sounding scourge, his bleeding And thou, dread power! bring'st back, in terrors shoulders smites !
drest, Penance and fasts his anxious thoughts engago, Th' irrevocable past, to sting the careless breast ;Weary his days and joyless are his nights, His naked feet the flinty pavement tears,
O! in that hour be mine to know, His knee at every shrine the marble wears ;
While fast the silent sorrows flow,
And wisdom cherishes the wholesome pain,
The portal opens-hark, a voice!
“Come forth, O king! O king, rejoice! Than tears of meek contrition may atone,
The bowl is fill'd, the feast is spread, Shed at the mercy-seat of Heaven's eternal throne. Come forth, O king!”—The king is dead.
The bowl, the feast, he tastes no more,
Again the sounding portals shake,
** The sun is high, the sun is warm, DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.
Forth to the field the gallants swarm, YES, Britain mourns, as with electric touch,
The foaming bit the courser champs,
His hoof the turi impatient stamps ; For youth, for love, for happiness destroy'd,
Light on their steeds the hunters spring; Her universal population melts
The sun is high-Come forth, O king!" In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved, And rough, unpolish'd natures learn to feel
Along these melancholy walls
In vain the voice of pleasure calls : For those they envied, levelld in the dust
The horse may neigh, and bay the hound, By Fate's impartial stroke; and pulpits sound With vanity and wo to earthly goods,
He hears no more ; his sleep is sound.
Retire ;-once more the portals close ;
Leave, leave him to his dread repose.
JEHOVAH reigns: let every nation hear,
And at his footstool bow with holy fear; He wears the day. Yet is he near in blood,
Let heaven's high arches echo with his name, The very stem on which this blossom grew,
And the wide peopled earth his praise proclain ; And at his knees she fondled in the charm
Then send it down to hell's deep glooms resoundAnd grace spontaneous which alone belongs
(ing. To untaught infancy :-Yet, О forbear!
Through all her caves in dreadful murmurs soundNor deem himn hard of heart; for awful, struck By Heaven's severest visitation, sad,
He rules with wide and absolute command Like a scathed oak amidst the forest trees,
O'er the broad ocean and the steadfast land: Lonely he stands ;-leaves bud, and shoot, and fall, Jehovah reigns, unbounded, and alone, He holds no sympathy with living nature
And all creation hangs beneath his throne. Or time's incessant change. Then in this hour,
He reigns alone ; let no inferior nature While pensive thought is busy with the woes Usurp, or share the throne of the Creator. And restless change of poor humanity, Think then, 0) think of him, and breathe one He saw the struggling beams of infant light prayer,
Shoot through the massy gloom of ancient night; From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear,
His spirit hush'd the elemental strife, For him who does not weep!
And brooded o'er the kindling seeds of life: Seasons and months began their long procession, And measured o'er the year in bright succession.
The joyful sun sprung up th' ethereal way, THE WAKE OF THE KING OF SPAIN.
Strong as a giant, as a bridegroom gay; ARRAY'D in robes of regal state,
And the pale moon diffused her shadowy light But stiff and cold the monarch sate ;
Superior o'er the dusky brow of night;
Ten thousand glittering lamps the skies adorning, In gorgeous vests, his chair beside, Stood prince and peer, the nation's pride ;
Numerous as dew-drops from the womb of morning And paladin and high-born dame
Earth's blooming face with rising flowers he drest, Their place amid the circle claim:
And spread a verdant mantle o'er her breast ; And wands of office lifted high,
Then from the hollow of his hand ne pours And arms and blazon'd heraldry,
The circling water round her winding shores, All mute like marble statues stand,
The new-born world in their cool arms embracing, Nor raise the eye, nor move the hand :
And with soft murmurs still her banks caressing.
At length she rose complete in finish'd pride,
Fresh with untarnish'd lustre as she stood, • The kings of Spain for nine days after death are
Her Maker bless'd his work, and call'd it good; placed sitting in robes of state with their attendants around them, and solemnly suinmoned by the proper The morning stars with joyful acclamation oficers to their meals and their amusements, as if living. Exulting sang, and hail'd the new creation.
Though the sickening flocks should fall, And the herds desert the stall;
Should thine alter'd hand restrain The early and the latter rain; Blast each opening bud of joy, And the rising year destroy:
Yet to thee my soul should raise Grateful vows, and solemn praise ; And, when every blessing's flown, Love thee-for thyself alone.
FOR EASTER SUNDAY. Again the Lord of life and light
Awahes the kindling ray ; Unseals the eyelids of the morn,
And pours increasing day.
O what a night was that, which wrapt
The heathen world in gloom ! O what a sun which broke this day,
Triumphant from the tomb!
This day be grateful homage paid,
And loud hosannas sung ; Let gladness dwell in every heart,
And praise on every tongue.
Ten thousand differing lips shall join
To hail this welcome morn, Which scatters blessings from its wings,
To nations yet unborn.
Jesus the friend of human kind,
With strong compassion moved, Descended like a pitying God,
To save the souls he loved.
The powers of darkness leagued in vain
To bind his soul in death ;
With his expiring breath.
Not long the toils of hell could keep
The hope of Judah's line ; Corruption never could take hold
On aught so much divine.
And now his conquering chariot wheels
Ascend the losty skies; While broke beneath his powerful cross,
Death's iron sceptre lies.
Exalted high at God's right hand,
The Lord of all below, Through him is pardoning love dispensed,
And boundless blessings flow.
Yet this fair world, the creature of a day, Though built by God's right hand, must pass
away ; And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things,
The fate of empires, and the pride of kings :
The sun himself, with weary clouds opprest,
Amidst the common ruins of the sky;
But fix'd, O God! for ever stands thy throne;
Collected, or diffused, is still the same.
But O! our highest notes the theme debase,
Revere him in the stillness of the soul;
For the blessings of the field,
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
Should the vine put forth no more,
Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall ait be in the vines, the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat, the flocks shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls : Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.-Hae. iii. 17, 18.
And still for erring, guilty man,
A brother's pity flows ;
With memory of our woes.
Glad homage let me give;