« السابقةمتابعة »
And all that time, I gaz'd away,
Those fiends upon a shaking fen
Fix'd me in dark tempestuous night;
There never trod the foot of men, At length a moment's sleep stole on,
There flock'd the fowl in wint’ry fight; Again came my commission'd foes;
There danc'd the moor's deceitful light, Again through sea and land we're gone,
Above the pool where sedges grow;
And when the morning sun shone bright, Above the dark broad sea we rose,
It shone upon a field of snow.
They hung me on a bough, so small,
The rook could build her nest no higher;
They fix'd me on the trembling ball, They plac'd me where those streamers play,
That crowns the steeple's quiv'ring spire; Those nimble beams of brilliant light;
They set me where the seas retire, It would the stoutest heart dismay,
But drown with their returning tide; To see, to feel, that dreadful sight:
And made me flee the mountain's fire,
When rolling from its burning side.
I've hung upon the ridgy steep
Of cliffs, and held the rambling brier;
I've plung'd below the billowy deep,
Where air was sent me to respire;
I've been where hungry wolves retire; Some hurried sleep was mine by day;
And (to complete my woes) I've ran
Where Bedlam's crazy crew conspire
Against the life of reasoning man.
I've furl'd in storms the flapping sail,
By hanging from the top-mast-head;
I've serv'd the vilest slaves in jail, Their watchmen stare, and stand aghast,
And pick'd the dunghill's spoil for bread; As on we hurry through the dark;
I've made the badger's hole my bed,
I've wander'd with a gipsy crew;
I've dreaded all the guilty dread,
And done what they would fear to do. The free wind blows-we've left the town A wide sepulchral ground I mark,
On sand where ebbs and flows the flood, And on a tombstone place me down.
Midway they plac'd and bade me die;
Propt on my staff, I stoutly stood What monuments of mighty dead!
When the swift waves came rolling by; What tombs of various kinds are found!
And high they rose, and still more high, And stones erect their shadows shed
Till my lips drank the bitter brine; On humble graves, with wickers bound;
I sobb'd convuls'd, then cast mine eye Some risen fresh, above the ground,
And saw the tide's re-flowing sign.
And then, my dreams were such as nought “Arise, ye dead, and come away!"
Could yield but my unhappy case;
I've been of thousand devils caught,
And thrust into that horrid place,
Where reign dismay, despair, disgrace; They come! the shrowded shadows all,
Furies with iron fangs were there, 'Tis more than mortal brain can bear;
To torture that accursed race, Rustling they rise, they sternly glare
Doom'd to dismay, disgrace, despair.
Harmless I was; yet hunted down
For treasons, to my soul unfit;
I've been pursu'd through many a town, Yes! I have felt all man can feel,
For crimes that petty knaves commit; Till he shall pay his nature's debt;
I've been adjudg'd t' have lost my wit, Ills that no hope has strength to heal,
Because I preach'd so loud and well, No mind the comfort to forget:
And thrown into the dungeon's pit, Whatever cares the heart can fret,
For trampling on the pit of hell. the
temper gall, Woe, want, dread, anguish, all beset
Such were the evils, man of sin,
That I was fated to sustain;
The spirits wear,
And add to all, without-within,
But old I wax and passing poor, A soul defil'd with every stain,
Stern, rugged men my conduct view,
They chide my wish, they bar my door,
Must you, my friends, no longer stay?
Thus quickly all my pleasures end! But pity will the vilest seek,
But I'll remember, when I pray, If punish'd guilt will not repine,
My kind physician and his friend; I heard a heavenly teacher speak,
And those sad hours, you deign to spend And felt the sun of mercy shine:
With me, I shall requite them all; I hail'd the light! the birth divine !
Sir Eustace for his friends shall send,
And thank their love at Greyling Hall.
poor Sir Eustace !-Yet his hope To wandering sheep, the strays of sin ;
Leads him to think of joys again; While some the wicket-gate pass by,
And when his earthly visions droop, And some will knock and enter in:
His views of heavenly kind remain:Full joyful 'tis a soul to win,
But whence that meek and humbled strain, For he that winneth souls is wise;
That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd; Now hark! the holy strains begin,
Would not so proud a soul disdain And thus the sainted preacher cries:
The madness of the poorest mind? “ Pilgrim, burthen’d with thy sin,
Physician. “ Come the way to Zion's gate, “ There, till mercy let thee in,
No! for the more he swell'd with pride, “ Knock and weep and watch and wait.
The more he felt misfortune's blow; “ Knock!-He knows the sinner's cry:
Disgrace and grief he could not hide, “ Weep!-He loves the mourner's tears:
And poverty had laid him low: “ Watch!—for saving grace is nigh:
Thus shame and sorrow working slow, “ Wait,-till heavenly light appears.
At length this humble spirit gave;
Madness on these began to grow, “ Hark! it is the bridegroom's voice;
And bound him to his fiends a slave. “ Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; “ Now within the gate rejoice,
Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain, “ Safe and seal'd and bought and blest !
Then was he free:-So, forth he ran; “ Safe_from all the lures of vice,
To soothe or threat, alike were vain: Seal'd-by signs the chosen know,
He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan; “ Bought-by love, and life the price,
Year after year, the hurried man “ Blest—the mighty debt to owe.
Obey'd those fiends from place to place ;
Till his religious change began “ Holy Pilgrim! what for thee,
To form a frenzied child of grace. « In a world like this remain ? “ From thy guarded breast shall flee,
For, as the fury lost its strength, « Fear and shame and doubt and pain.
The mind repos'd; by slow degrees, “ Fear—the hope of Heaven shall fly, “ Shame—from glory's view retire,
Came lingering hope, and brought at length,
To the tormented spirit, ease: 66 Doubt-in certain rapture die, “ Pain-in endless bliss expire.”
This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize,
Felt or believ'd their power had end;But though my day of grace was come,
“ 'Tis faith,” he cried, “ my bosom frees, Yet still my days of grief I find;
“ And now my Saviour is my friend." The former clouds' collected gloom Still sadden the reflecting mind;
But ah! though time can yield relief, The soul, to evil things consign'd,
And soften woes it cannot cure; Will of their evil some retain;
Would we not suffer pain and grief, The man will seem to earth inclin'd,
To have our reason sound and sure? And will not look erect again.
Then let us keep our bosoms pure,
Our fancy's favourite flights suppress ;
Prepare the body to endure,
And bend the mind to meet distress ; The brave Sir Eustace is no more:
And then His guardian care implore,
Whom demons dread and men adore.
Renewing oft his poor attempts to beat
His tingling fingers into gathering heat.
He shall again be seen when evening comes,
And social parties crowd their favourite rooms: “ Describe the Borough"—though our idle tribe
Where, on the table pipes and papers lie, May love description, can we so describe,
The steaming bowl or foaming tankard by; That you shall fairly streets and buildings trace,
'Tis then, with all these comforts spread around, And all that gives distinction to a place ?
They hear the painful dredger's welcome sound; This cannot be; yet, mov’d by your request,
And few themselves the savoury boon deny,
The food that feeds, the living luxury.
Yon is our quay! those smaller hoys from town, Require the pencil; they defy the pen:
Its various wares, for country use, bring down; Could he, who sang so well the Grecian fleet,
Those laden waggons, in return, impart So well have sug of alley, lane, or street?
The country produce to the city mart; Can measur'd lines these various buildings show,
Hark! to the clamour in that miry road,
Bounded and narrow'd by yon vessels' load;
The lumbering wealth she empties round the place,
Package, and parcel, hogshead, chest, and case:
While the loud seaman and the angry hind,
Mingling in business, bellow to the wind.
Near these a crew amphibious, in the docks,
Rear, for the sea, those castles on the stocks: Where hang at open doors, the net and cork,
See! the long keel, which soon the waves must hide; While squalid sea-dames mend the meshy work;
See! the strong ribs which form the roomy side;
Bolts yielding slowly to the sturdiest stroke,
Bear the warm pungence of o'er-boiling tar.
Dabbling on shore half-naked sea boys crowd,
Swim round a ship, or swing upon the shroud;
Or in a boat purloin’d, with paddles play,
And grow familiar with the watery way:
they are, Where the reeds whisper when the zephyrs blow;
They know what British seamen do and dare; Where in the midst, upon her throne of green,
Proud of that fame, they raise and they enjoy be 唐 Sits the large lily as the water's queen;
The rustic wonder of the village-boy.
Before you bid these busy scenes adieu,
Behold the wealth that lies in public view,
Those far-extended heaps of coal and coke,
Where fresh-fill'd lime-kilns breathe their stilling
This shall pass off, and you behold, instead,
The night-fire gleaming on its chalky bed;
When from the light-house brighter beams will rise,
Thy walks are ever pleasant; every scene
Is rich in beauty, lively, or serene
Rich-is that varied view with woods around,
Seen from the seat, within the shrubb’ry bound; Urg'd on by pains, half grounded, half afloat;
Where shines the distant lake, and where appear While at her stern an angler takes his stand,
From ruins bolting, unmolested deer; And marks the fish he purposes to land,
Lively—the village-green, the inn, the place From that clear space, where, in the cheerful ray
Where the good widow schools her infant race; Of the warm sun, the scaly people play.
Shops, whence are heard the hammer and the saw, Far other craft our prouder river shows, [snows: And village pleasures unreproved by law. Hoys, pinks and sloops; brigs, brigantines and Then how serene! when in your favourite room, Nor angler we on our wide stream descry,
Gales from your jasmines soothe the evening gloom; But one poor dredger where his oysters lie: When from your upland paddock you look down, He, cold and wet, and driving with the tide, And just perceive the smoke which hides the town; Beats his weak arms against his tarry side,
When weary peasants at the close of day Then drains the remnant of diluted gin,
Walk to their cots, and part upon the way; To aid the warmth that lânguishes within;
When cattle slowly cross the shallow brook,
And shepherds pen their folds, and rest upon their An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps, crook.
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand, We prune our hedges, prime our slender trees, Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand, And nothing looks untutor'd and at ease;
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow, On the wide heath, or in the flowery vale,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow.
Ships in the calm seem anchor'd-for they glida
Where all beside is pebbly length of shore,
Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down. Or yon broad board, which guards each tempting View now the winter-storm! above, one cloud, prize,
Black and unbroken all the skies o'ershroud; “Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies.”
Th' unwieldy porpus through the day before, There stands a cottage with an open door, Had rollid in view of boding men on shore; Its garden undefended blooms before:
And sometimes hid and sometimes show'd his form,
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm.
Upon the billows rising-all the deep
Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells,
But nearer land you may the billows trace,
Curl'd as they come, they strike with furious force,
last. Forms a gay pillow for the plover's breast.
Far off the petril in the troubled way
And sports at ease on the tempestuous main. Their tea-house walk, their tipling rendezvous ; High o'er the restless deep, above the reach There humble couples sit in corner-bowers, Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild ducks stretch; Or gaily ramble for th' allotted hours;
Far as the eye can glance on either side, Sailors and lasses from the town attend,
In a broad space and level line they glide; The servant-lover, the apprentice-friend;
All in their wedge-like figures from the north
, With all the idle social tribes who seek,
Day after day, flight after flight, go forth.
In shore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge,
And drop for prey within the sweeping surge;
Far back, then turn, and all their force apply,
While to the storm they give their weak comShades after shades upon the surface run;
plaining cry; Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene,
Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast, In limpid blue, and evanescent green;
And in the restless ocean dip for rest. And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie,
Darkness begins to reign; the louder wind List the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye.
Appals the weak and awes the firmer mind; Be it the summer-noon: a sandy space
But frights not him, whom evening and the spray The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
In part conceal-yon prowler on his way: Then just the hot and stony beach above,
Lo! he has something seen; he runs apace, Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
As if he fear'd companion in the chace; (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
He sees his prize, and now he turns again, And with the cooler in its fall contends)
Slowly and sorrowing-"Was your search in vain?” Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
Gruffy he answers, * 'Tis a sorry sight!
Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ,
His wife he cabin'd with him and his boy, In rious parties seamen hurry down;
And seem'd that life laborious to enjoy: Their wives pursue, and damsels urg'd by dread, To town came quiet Peter with his fish, Lest men so dear be into danger led;
And had of all a civil word and wish. Their head the gown has hooded, and their call
He left his trade upon the Sabbath-day, In this sad night is piercing like the squall;
And took young Peter in his hand to pray: They feel their kinds of power, and when they meet,
But soon the stubborn boy from care broke loose, Chide, fondle, weep, dare, threaten, or intreat.
At first refus'd, then added his abuse:
His father's love he scorn’d, his power defied,
But being drunk, wept sorely when he died. “Thou shalt not venture ;" and he answers No! Yes! then he wept, and to his mind there came "I will 20ť—still she cries, “ Thou shalt not go.”
Much of his conduct, and he felt the shame,
How he had oft the good old man revil'd,
" It is the Word of Life," the parent cried; On the wild waves, and all the danger shows;
- This is the life itself,' the boy replied; But shows them beaming in her shining vest,
And while old Peter in amazement stood,
Gave the hot spirit to his boiling blood :-
How he, with oath and furious speech, began
To prove his freedom and assert the man;
And when the parent check'd his impious rage,
How he had curs'd the tyranny of age,
Nay, once had dealt the sacrilegious blow
On his bare head, and laid his parent low;
The father groan'd" If thou art old," said he,
“ And hast a son-thou wilt remember me: Now parties form, and some their friends assist
Thy mother left me in a happy time, (crime." To waste the idle hours at sober whist;
Thou kill’dst not her–Heav'n spares the double
On an inn-settle, in his maudlin grief,
This he revolv'd, and drank for his relief.
Now liv'd the youth in freedom, but debarr'd
From constant pleasure, and he thought it hard;
Hard that he could not every wish obey,
But must awhile relinquish ale and play;
Hard! that he could not to his cards attend,
With greedy eye he look'd on all he saw,
He knew not justice, and he laugh'd at law;
On all he mark’d, he stretch'd his ready hand;
He fish'd by water and he filch'd by land:
Oft in the night has Peter dropp'd his oar,
Fled from his boat and sought for prey on shore;
Oft up the hedge-row glided on his back,
Bearing the orchard's produce in a sack,
Or farm-yard load, tugg'd fiercely from the stack;
And as these wrongs to greater numbers rose,
The more he look'd on all men as his foes.
He built a mud-wall'd hovel, where he kept
His various wealth, and there he oft times slept;
But no success could please his cruel soul,
He wish'd for one to trouble and controul;
He wanted some obedient boy to stand, But when a happier theme succeeds, and when
And bear the blow of his outrageous hand; Men are our subjects and the deeds of men ; And hop'd to find in some propitious hour Then may we find the Muse in happier style, A feeling creature subject to his power. And we may sometimes sigh and sometimes smile. Peter had heard there were in London then,