Piled on the steep, her blazing faggots burn And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew prayer. HOPE! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time, 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. When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd, He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! Grasp The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage.there, Oh! righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave, Where barb'rous hordes on Scythian mountains roam, Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home; Oh! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased a while, And HOPE, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast; Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, Departed spirits of the mighty dead! 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! Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, And hate the light-because your deeds are dark; 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, Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, 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! Yes! there are hearts, Prophetic HOPE may trust, Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, And rival all but Shakspeare's name below! And say, supernal Powers! who deeply scan Yet, yet, degraded mon! th' expected day Eternal Nature' when thy giant hand Lo! once in triumph, on his boundless plain, The plunderer came!-alas! no glory smiles 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 harbour there A wish but death-a passion but despair? 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! But not to Lybia's barren climes alone, How long your tribes have trembled and obey'd! When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, And stretch'd her giant sceptre o'er the main, Taught her proud barks the winding way to shape, And braved the stormy spirit of the Cape; (12) Children of Brama! then was Mercy nigh To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye? Did Peace descend, to triumph and to save, When freeborn Britons cross'd the Indian wave? Ah, no!-to more than Rome's ambition true, The nurse of Freedom gave it not to you! She the bold route of Europe's guilt began, And, in the march of nations, led the van! Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, And plunder piled from kingdoms not their own, Degenerate trade! thy minions could despise The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries; Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming store, While famish'd nations died along the shore: (13) Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair; Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name, And barter, with their gold, eternal shame! But hark! as bow'd to earth the Bramin kneels, From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals; Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell, Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell, And solemn sounds that awe the list'ning mind, Roll on the azure paths of every wind. Foes of mankind! (her guardian spirits say,) Revolving ages bring the bitter day, When Heaven's unerring arm shall fall on you, And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew; Nine times have Brama 's wheels of lightning hurl'd His awful presence o'er the alarmed world; (14) Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, Convulsive trembled, as the Mighty came; Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vainBut Heaven shall burst her starry gates again! He comes! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high, Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm! Wide waves his flickering sword; his bright arms glow Like summer suns, and light the world below ! Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed, Are shook; and Nature rocks beneath his tread! « To pour redress on India's injured realm, The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm; To chase destruction from her plunder'd shore With arts and arms that triumph'd once before, The tenth Avatar comes! at Heaven's command Shall Seriswattee wave her hallow'd wand! And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime, (15) Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime!Come, Heavenly Powers! primeval peace restore! Love !-Mercy !-Wisdom !-rule for evermore! PART II. ANALYSIS. APOSTROPHE to the power of Love-its intimate connection with generous and social Sensibility-allusion to that beautiful passage in the beginning of the book of Genesis, which represents the happiness of Paradise itself incomplete, till love was superadded to its other blessings-the dreams of future felicity which a lively imagination is apt to cherish, when hope is animated by refined attachment-this disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that is pleasing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill of the great artist who personified perfect beauty, in the picture of Venus, by an assemblage of the most beautiful features he could find-a summer and winter evening described, as they may be supposed to arise in the mind of one who wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and retirement. Hope and Imagination inseparable agents-even in those contemplative moments when our imagination wanders beyond the boundaries of this world, our minds are not unattended with an impression that we shall some day have a wider and distinct prospect of the universe, instead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy. The last and most sublime influence of Hope is the concluding topic of the poem-the predominance of a belief in a future state over the terrors attendant on dissolution-the baneful influence of that sceptical philosophy which bars us from such comforts-allusion to the fate of a suicide-episode of Conrad and Ellenore -conclusion. IN joyous youth, what soul hath never known There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow! There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, In self-adoring pride securely mail'd:But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few! Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you ! For you no fancy consecrates the scene Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between ; T is yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet; No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet' Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed, The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy! And say, without our hopes, without our fears, Without the home that plighted love endears, Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh! what were man?-a world without a sun. Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower! In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, At starry midnight charm'd the silent air; In vain the wild-bird caroll'd on the steep, To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep; In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd; The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, And still the stranger wist not where to stray. The world was sad!-the garden was a wild! And man, the hermit, sigh'd—till woman smiled! True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring Delirious anguish on his fiery wing; Barr'd from delight by fate's untimely hand, By wealthless lot, or pitiless command; Or doom'd to gaze on beauties that adorn The smile of triumph or the frown of scorn; While Memory watches o'er the sad review, Of joys that faded like the morning dew; Peace may depart-and life and nature seem A barren patli, a wildness, and a dream! But can the noble mind for ever brood, Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrine, When first the Rhodian's mimic art array'd The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade, The happy master mingled on his piece Each look that charm'd him in the fair of Greece. To faultless Nature true, he stole a grace From every finer form and sweeter face; And as he sojourn'd on the Ægean isles, So thy fair hand, enamour'd Fancy! gleans The moon is up-the watch-tower dimly burnsAnd down the vale his sober step returns; But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey The still sweet fall of music far away; And oft he lingers from his home awhile To watch the dying notes!—and start, and smile! Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep How blest he names, in Love's familiar tone, Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, And light the wintry paradise of home; And let the half-uncurtain'd window hail Some way-worn man benighted in the vale! Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high, As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky, While fiery hosts in Heaven's wide circle play, And bathe in lurid light the milky-way, Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower, Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, Or they will learn how generous worth sublimes Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood; There shall he pause with horrent brow, to rate What millions died-that Cæsar might be great!(19) Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore;(20) Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast, The Swedish soldier sunk-and groan'd his last! File after file the stormy showers benumb, Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum! Horseman and horse confess'd the bitter pang, And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang! Yet, ere he sunk in Nature's last repose, Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze, The dying man to Sweden turn'd his eye, Thought of his home, and closed it with a sigh! Imperial Pride look'd sullen on his plight, And Charles beheld-nor shudder'd at the sight! Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, In those unmeasured worlds, she bids thee tell, Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar, Oh! vainly wise, the moral Muse hath sung That suasive HOPE hath but a Syren tongue! True; she may sport with life's untutor'd day, Nor heed the solace of its last decay, The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn, And part, like Ajut-never to return!(22) But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall assuage The grief and passions of our greener age, Though dull the close of life, and far away Each flower that hail'd the dawning of the day; Yet o'er her lovely hopes, that once were dear, The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe, With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill, And weep their falsehood, though she love them still! Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconciled, The king of Judah mourn'd his rebel child! Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy Smiled on his sire, and fill'd his heart with joy! My Absalom! the voice of Nature cried: Oh! that for thee thy father could have died! For bloody was the deed, and rashly done, That slew my Absalom!-my son!--my son! Unfading HOPE! when life's last embers burn, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour; Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! immortal Power! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal dayThen, then, the triumph and the trance begin, And all the phoenix spirit burns within! Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes! Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die! Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun! Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run, From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud! While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust: And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss! Daughter of Faith! awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb; |