Chapter 2

Do I not tell thee surly Winter's flown, That the brook's verge is green;--and bid thee hear, In yon irriguous vale, the Blackbird clear, At measur'd intervals, with mellow tone, Choiring [1]the hours of prime? and call thine ear To the gay viol dinning in the dale, With tabor loud, and bag-pipe's rustic drone To merry Shearer's dance;--or jest retail From festal board, from choral roofs the song; And speak of Masque, or Pageant, to beguile The caustic memory of a cruel wrong?-- Thy lips acknowledge this a generous wile, And bid me still the effort kind prolong; But ah! they wear a cold and joyless smile.

1: “While Day arises, that sweet hour of prime.” MILTON'S PAR. LOST.

SONNET XXIV.

TRANSLATION.

Behold the Day an image of the Year! The Year an image of our life's short span! Morn, like the Spring, with growing light began, Spring, like our Youth, with joy, and beauty fair; Noon picturing Summer;--Summer's ardent sphere Manhood's gay portrait.--Eve, like Autumn, wan, Autumn resembling faded age in Man; Night, with its silence, and its darkness drear, Emblem of Winter's frore and gloomy reign, When torpid lie the vegetative Powers; Winter, so shrunk, so cold, reminds us plain Of the mute Grave, that o'er the dim Corse lours; There shall the Weary rest, nor ought remain To the pale Slumberer of Life's checker'd hours.

SONNET XXV.

[1]PETRARCH to VAUCLUSE.

Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain! Where morn, and eve, my soul's fair Idol stray'd, While all your winds, that murmur'd thro' the glade, Stole her sweet breath; yet, yet your paths retain Prints of her step, by fount, whose floods remain In depth unfathom'd; 'mid the rocks, that shade, With cavern'd arch, their sleep.--Ye streams, that play'd Around her limbs in Summer's ardent reign, The soft resplendence of those azure eyes Ting'd ye with living light.--The envied claim These blest distinctions give, my lyre, my sighs, My songs record; and, from their Poet's flame, Bid this wild Vale, its Rocks, and Streams arise, Associates still of their bright MISTRESS' fame.

1: This Sonnet is not a Translation or Paraphrase, but is written in the Character of Petrarch, and in imitation of his manner.

SONNET XXVI.

O partial MEMORY! Years, that fled too fast, From thee in more than pristine beauty rise, Forgotten all the transient tears and sighs Somewhat that dimm'd their brightness! Thou hast chas'd Each hovering mist from the soft Suns, that grac'd Our fresh, gay morn of Youth;--the Heart's high prize, Friendship,--and all that charm'd us in the eyes Of yet unutter'd Love.--So pleasures past, That in thy crystal prism thus glow sublime, Beam on the gloom'd and disappointed Mind When Youth and Health, in the chill'd grasp of Time, Shudder and fade;--and cypress buds we find Ordain'd Life's blighted roses to supply, While but _reflected_ shine the golden lights of Joy.

SONNET XXVII.

See wither'd WINTER, bending low his head; His ragged locks stiff with the hoary dew; His eyes, like frozen lakes, of livid hue; His train, a sable cloud, with murky red Streak'd.--Ah! behold his nitrous breathings shed Petrific death!--Lean, wailful Birds pursue, On as he sweeps o'er the dun lonely moor, Amid the battling blast of all the Winds, That, while their sleet the climbing Sailor blinds, Lash the white surges to the sounding shore. So com'st thou, WINTER, finally to doom The sinking year; and with thy ice-dropt sprays, Cypress and yew, engarland her pale tomb, Her vanish'd hopes, and aye-departed days.

SONNET XXVIII.

O, GENIUS! does thy Sun-resembling beam To the internal eyes of Man display In clearer prospect, the momentous way That leads to peace? Do they not rather seem Dazzled by lustres in continual stream, Till night they find in such _excessive_ day? Art thou not prone, with too intense a ray, To gild the hope improbable, the dream Of fancied good?--or bid the sigh upbraid Imaginary evils, and involve All real sorrow in a darker shade? To fond credulity, to rash resolve Dost thou not prompt, till reason's sacred aid And fair discretion in thy fires dissolve?

SONNET XXIX.

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

If GENIUS has its danger, grief and pain, That Common-Sense escapes, yet who wou'd change The Powers, thro' Nature, and thro' Art that range, To keep the bounded, tho' more safe domain Of _moderate_ Intellect, where all we gain Is cold approvance? where the sweet, the strange, Soft, and sublime, in vivid interchange, Nor glad the spirit, nor enrich the brain. Destructive shall we deem yon noon-tide blaze If transiently the eye, o'er-power'd, resign Distinct perception?--Shall we rather praise The Moon's wan light?--with owlish choice incline That Common-Sense her lunar lamp shou'd raise Than that the _solar_ fires of GENIUS shine?

SONNET XXX.

That song again!--its sounds my bosom thrill, Breathe of past years, to all their joys allied; And, as the notes thro' my sooth'd spirits glide, Dear Recollection's choicest sweets distill, Soft as the Morn's calm dew on yonder hill, When slants the Sun upon its grassy side, Tinging the brooks that many a mead divide With lines of gilded light; and blue, and still, The distant lake stands gleaming in the vale. Sing, yet once more, that well-remember'd strain, Which oft made vocal every passing gale In days long fled, in Pleasure's golden reign, The youth of chang'd HONORA!--now it wears Her air--her smile--_spells_ of the vanish'd years!

SONNET XXXI.

TO THE DEPARTING SPIRIT OF AN ALIENATED FRIEND.

O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers Sink rapidly!--the long and dreary Night Brings scarce an hope that Morn's returning light Shall dawn for THEE!--In such terrific hours, When yearning Fondness eagerly devours Each moment of protracted life, his flight The Rashly-Chosen of thy heart has ta'en Where dances, songs, and theatres invite. EXPIRING SWEETNESS! with indignant pain I see him in the scenes where laughing glide Pleasure's light Forms;--see his eyes gaily glow, Regardless of thy life's fast ebbing tide; I hear him, who shou'd droop in silent woe, Declaim on Actors, and on Taste decide!

SONNET XXXII.

SUBJECT OF THE PRECEDING SONNET CONTINUED.

Behold him now his genuine colours wear, That specious False-One, by whose cruel wiles I lost thy amity; saw thy dear smiles Eclips'd; those smiles, that us'd my heart to cheer, Wak'd by thy grateful sense of many a year When rose thy youth, by Friendship's pleasing toils Cultur'd;--but DYING!--O! for ever fade The angry fires.--Each thought, that might upbraid Thy broken faith, which yet my soul deplores, Now as eternally is past and gone As are the interesting, the happy hours, Days, years, we shar'd together. They are flown! Yet long must I lament thy hapless doom, Thy lavish'd life and early-hasten'd tomb.

SONNET XXXIII.

Last night her Form the hours of slumber bless'd Whose eyes illumin'd all my youthful years.-- Spirit of dreams, at thy command appears Each airy Shape, that visiting our rest, Dismays, perplexes, or delights the breast. My pensive heart this kind indulgence cheers; Bliss, in no _waking_ moment now possess'd, Bliss, ask'd of thee with Memory's thrilling tears, Nightly I cry, how oft, alas! in vain, Give, by thy powers, that airy Shapes controul, HONORA to my visions!--ah! ordain Her beauteous lip may wear the smile that stole, In years long fled, the sting from every pain! Show her sweet face, ah show it to my soul!

_June 1780._

SONNET XXXIV.

When Death, or adverse Fortune's ruthless gale, Tears our best hopes away, the wounded Heart Exhausted, leans on all that can impart The charm of Sympathy; her mutual wail How soothing! never can her warm tears fail To balm our bleeding grief's severest smart; Nor wholly vain _feign'd_ Pity's solemn art, Tho' we should penetrate her sable veil. Concern, e'en known to be _assum'd_, our pains Respecting, kinder welcome far acquires Than cold Neglect, or Mirth that Grief profanes. Thus each faint Glow-worm of the Night conspires, Gleaming along the moss'd and darken'd lanes, To cheer the Gloom with her unreal fires.

_June 1780._

SONNET XXXV.

SPRING.

In April's gilded morn when south winds blow, And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown, Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown, The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe, _Then_, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show Their palely-yellowing flowers;--to the moist Sun Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown, Plighted to riper May;--and lavish flow The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air. O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling Avarice, and pride.--Thro' her now blooming sphere Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring To HIM, who gives frail Man's appointed time These cheering hours of promise, and of prime.

_April 29th, 1782._

SONNET XXXVI.

SUMMER.

Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains, Full looks the shining Day.--Our gardens wear The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year. With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes Rings the yet empty waggon.--See in air The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains, Gleam thro' their boughs.--Summer, thy bright career Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway; Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand Smooth,--vacant,--silent,--thro' th' exulting Land As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves; Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves.

_June 27th, 1782._

SONNET XXXVII.

AUTUMN.

Thro' changing Months a well-attemper'd Mind Welcomes their gentle or terrific pace.-- When o'er retreating Autumn's golden grace Tempestuous Winter spreads in every wind Naked asperity, our musings find Grandeur increasing, as the Glooms efface Variety and glow.--Each solemn trace Exalts the thoughts, from sensual joys refin'd. Then blended in our rapt ideas rise The vanish'd charms, that summer-suns reveal, With all of desolation, that now lies Dreary before us;--teach the Soul to feel Awe in the Present, pleasure in the Past, And to see vernal Morns in Hope's perspective cast.

_October 27th, 1782._

SONNET XXXVIII.

WINTER.

If he whose bosom with no transport swells In vernal airs and hours commits the crime Of sullenness to Nature, 'gainst the Time, And its great RULER, he alike rebels Who seriousness and pious dread repels, And aweless gazes on the faded Clime, Dim in the gloom, and pale in the hoar rime That o'er the bleak and dreary prospect steals.-- Spring claims our tender, grateful, gay delight; Winter our sympathy and sacred fear; And sure the Hearts that pay not Pity's rite O'er wide calamity; that careless hear Creation's wail, neglect, amid her blight, THE SOLEMN LESSON OF THE RUIN'D YEAR.

_December 1st, 1782._

SONNET XXXIX.

WINTER EVENING.

When mourn the dark Winds o'er the lonely plain, And from pale noon sinks, ere the fifth cold hour, The transient light, Imagination's power, With Knowledge, and with Science in her train, Not unpropitious Hyems' icy reign Perceives; since in the deep and silent lour High themes the rapt concent'ring Thoughts explore, Freed from external Pleasure's glittering chain. Then most the understanding's culture pays Luxuriant harvest, nor shall Folly bring Her aids obtrusive.--Then, with ardent gaze, The INGENIOUS to their rich resources spring, While sullen Winter's dull imprisoning days Hang on the vacant mind with _flagging_ wing.

_Dec. 7th, 1782._

SONNET XL.

DECEMBER MORNING[1].

I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light, Winter's pale dawn;--and as warm fires illume, And cheerful tapers shine around the room, Thro' misty windows bend my musing sight Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white, With shutters clos'd, peer faintly thro' the gloom, That slow recedes; while yon grey spires assume, Rising from their dark pile, an added height By indistinctness given.--Then to decree The grateful thoughts to GOD, ere they unfold To Friendship, or the Muse, or seek with glee Wisdom's rich page!--O, hours! more worth than gold, By whose blest use we lengthen Life, and free From drear decays of Age, outlive the Old!

_Dec. 19th, 1782._

1: This Sonnet was written in an Apartment of the West Front of the Bishop's Palace at Lichfield, inhabited by the Author from her thirteenth year. It looks upon the Cathedral-Area, a green Lawn encircled by Prebendal Houses, which are white from being rough-cast.

SONNET XLI.

INVITATION TO A FRIEND.

Since dark December shrouds the transient day, And stormy Winds are howling in their ire, Why com'st not THOU, who always can'st inspire The soul of cheerfulness, and best array A sullen hour in smiles?--O haste to pay The cordial visit sullen hours require!-- Around the circling walls a glowing fire Shines;--but it vainly shines in this delay To blend thy spirit's warm Promethean light. Come then, at Science', and at Friendship's call, Their vow'd Disciple;--come, for they invite! The social Powers without thee languish all. Come, that I may not hear the winds of Night, Nor count the heavy eave-drops as they fall.

_Dec. 21st, 1782._

SONNET XLII.

Lo! the YEAR's FINAL DAY!--Nature performs Its obsequies with darkness, wind, and rain; But Man is jocund.--Hark! th' exultant strain From towers and steeples drowns the wintry storms! No village spire but to the cots and farms, Right merrily, its scant and tuneless peal Rings round!--Ah! joy ungrateful!--mirth insane! Wherefore the senseless triumph, ye, who feel This annual portion of brief Life the while Depart for ever?--Brought it no dear hours Of health and night-rest?--none that saw the smile On lips belov'd?--O! with as gentle powers Will the next pass?--Ye pause!--yet careless hear Strike these last Clocks, that knell th' EXPIRING YEAR!

_Dec. 31st, 1782._

SONNET XLIII.

TO MAY, IN THE YEAR 1783.

My memory, long accustom'd to receive In deep-engraven lines, each varying trait Past Times and Seasons wore, can find no date Thro' many years, O! MAY, when thou hadst leave, As now, of the great SUN, serene to weave Thy fragrant chaplets; in poetic state To call the jocund Hours on thee to wait, Bringing each day, at morn, at noon, at eve, His mild illuminations.--Nymph, no more Is thine to mourn beneath the scanty shade Of half-blown foliage, shivering to deplore Thy garlands immature, thy rites unpaid; Meads dropt with [1]gold again to thee belong, Soft gales, luxuriant bowers, and wood-land song.

1: Kingcups.

SONNET XLIV.

Rapt CONTEMPLATION, bring thy waking dreams To this umbrageous vale at noon-tide hour, While full of _thee_ seems every bending flower, Whose petals tremble o'er the shadow'd streams! Give thou HONORA's image, when her beams, Youth, beauty, kindness, shone;--what time she wore That smile, of gentle, yet resistless power To sooth each painful Passion's wild extremes. Here shall no empty, vain Intruder chase, With idle converse, thy enchantment warm, That brings, in all its interest, all its grace, The dear, persuasive, visionary Form. Can real Life a rival blessing boast When thou canst thus restore HONORA early lost?

SONNET XLV.

[1]From Possibility's dim chaos sprung, High o'er its gloom the Aërostatic Power Arose!--Exulting Nations hail'd the hour, Magnific boast of Science!--Loud they sung Her victory o'er the element, that hung, Pressing to earth the Beings, who now soar Aerial heights;--but Wisdom bids explore This vaunted skill;--if, tides of air among, We know to _steer_ our bark.--Here Science finds Her buoyant hopes burst, like the bubble vain, Type of this art;--guilty, if still she blinds The sense of Fear; persists thy flame to fan, Sky-vaulting Pride, that to the aweless winds Throws, for an idle Show, the LIFE OF MAN!

1: This Sonnet was written when the Balloon enthusiasm was at its height.

SONNET XLVI.

Dark as the silent stream beneath the night, Thy funeral glides to Life's eternal home, Child of its narrow house!--how late the bloom, The facile smile, the soft eye's crystal light, Each grace of Youth's gay morn, that charms our sight, Play'd o'er that Form!--now sunk in Death's cold gloom, Insensate! ghastly!--for the yawning tomb, Alas! fit Inmate.--Thus we mourn the blight Of Virgin-Beauty, and endowments rare In their glad hours of promise.--O! when Age Drops, like the o'er-blown, faded rose, tho' dear Its long known worth, no stormy sorrows rage; But swell when we behold, unsoil'd by time, Youth's broken Lily perished in its prime.

SONNET XLVII.

ON MR. SARGENT's DRAMATIC POEM, THE MINE[1].

With lyre Orphean, see a Bard explore The central caverns of the mornless Night, Where never Muse perform'd harmonious rite Till now!--and lo! upon the sparry floor, Advance, to welcome him, each Sister Power, Petra, stern Queen, Fossilia, cold and bright, And call their Gnomes, to marshal in his sight The gelid incrust, and the veined ore, And flashing gem.--Then, while his songs pourtray The mystic virtues gold and gems acquire, With every charm that mineral scenes display, Th' imperial Sisters praise the daring Lyre, And grateful hail its new and powerful lay, That seats them high amid the Muses' Choir.

1: Petra, and Fossilia, are Personifications of the first and last division of the Fossil Kingdom. The Author of this beautiful Poem supposes the Gnomes to be Spirits of the Mine, performing the behests of Petra and Fossilia, as the Sylphs, Gnomes, Salamanders, &c. appear as Handmaids of the Nymph of Botany in that exquisite sport of Imagination, THE BOTANIC GARDEN.

SONNET XLVIII.

Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne, 'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers, Unfolds her leaves, her blossoms, and her flowers, Pouring their soft luxuriance on the morn. O! how unlike the wither'd, wan, forlorn, And limping Winter, that o'er russet moors, Grey ridgy fields, and ice-incrusted shores, Strays!--and commands his rising Winds to mourn. Protracted Life, thou art ordain'd to wear A _form_ like his; and, shou'd thy gifts be mine, I tremble lest a kindred influence drear Steal on my mind;--but pious Hope benign, The Soul's bright day-spring, shall avert the fear, And gild Existence in her dim decline.

SONNET XLIX.

ON THE USE OF NEW AND OLD WORDS IN POETRY.

While with false pride, and narrow jealousy, Numbers reject each new expression, won, Perchance, from language richer than our own, O! with glad welcome may the POET see Extension's golden vantage! the decree Each way exclusive, scorn, and re-enthrone The obsolete, if strength, or grace of tone Or imagery await it, with a free, And liberal daring!--For the Critic Train, Whose eyes severe our verbal stores review, Let the firm Bard require that they explain Their _cause_ of censure; then in balance true Weigh it; but smile at the objections vain Of sickly Spirits, hating _for they do_[1]!

1: The particle _for_ is used in the same sense with _because_, by Shakespear, and Beaumont and Fletcher.

“But she, and I, were Creatures innocent, Lov'd _for_ we _did_.” BEA. and FLE. TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

“----Nor must you think I will your serious and great business scant _For_ she is with me.” OTHELLO.

“They're jealous _for_ they're jealous.” OTHELLO.

SONNET L.

In every breast Affection fires, there dwells A secret consciousness to what degree They are themselves belov'd.--We hourly see Th' involuntary proof, that either quells, Or ought to quell false hopes,--or sets us free From pain'd distrust;--but, O, the misery! Weak Self-Delusion timidly repels The lights obtrusive--shrinks from all that tells Unwelcome truths, and vainly seeks repose For startled Fondness, in the opiate balm, Of kind profession, tho', perchance, it flows To hush Complaint--O! in Belief's clear calm, Or 'mid the lurid clouds of Doubt, we find LOVE rise the Sun, or Comet of the Mind.

SONNET LI.

TO SYLVIA ON HER APPROACHING NUPTIALS.

Hope comes to _Youth_, gliding thro' azure skies With amaranth crown:--her full robe, snowy white, Floats on the gale, and our exulting sight Marks it afar.--From _waning_ Life she flies, Wrapt in a mist, covering her starry eyes With her fair hand.--But now, in floods of light, She meets thee, SYLVIA, and with glances, bright As lucid streams, when Spring's clear mornings rise. From Hymen's kindling torch, a yellow ray The shining texture of her spotless vest Gilds;--and the Month that gives the early day The scent odōrous[1], and the carol blest, Pride of the rising Year, enamour'd MAY, Paints its redundant folds with florets gay.

1: _Odōrous._ Milton, in the Par. Lost, gives the lengthened and harmonious accent to that word, rather than the short, and _common_ one, ōdorous:

----“the bright consummate flower Spirit odōrous breathes.”

SONNET LII.

Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene, And wrapt the hush'd horizon.--All around, In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound, Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene Slumbers;--but creeps, with pale and starting mien, Benighted SUPERSTITION.--Fancy-found, The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green And festering, burst from his incumbent mound, Roams!--and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears A mutter'd groan!--sees the sunk eye, that glares As shoots the Meteor.--But no more forlorn He strays;--the Spectre sinks into his tomb! For _now_ the jocund Herald of the Morn Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1].

1: “It faded at the crowing of the cock.” HAMLET.

SONNET LIII.

WRITTEN IN THE SPRING 1785 ON THE DEATH OF THE POET LAUREAT.

The knell of WHITEHEAD tolls!--his cares are past, The hapless tribute of his purchas'd lays, His servile, his Egyptian tasks of praise!-- If not sublime his strains, Fame justly plac'd Their power above their work.--Now, with wide gaze Of much indignant wonder, she surveys To the life-labouring oar assiduous haste A glowing Bard, by every Muse embrac'd.-- O, WARTON! chosen Priest of Phœbus' choir! Shall thy rapt song be venal? hymn the THRONE, Whether its edicts just applause inspire, Or PATRIOT VIRTUE view them with a frown? What needs for _this_ the golden-stringed Lyre, The snowy Tunic, and the Sun-bright Zone[1]!

1: Ensigns of Apollo's Priesthood.

SONNET LIV.

A PERSIAN KING TO HIS SON.

FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION IN SIR WILLIAM JONES' ESSAY ON THE POETRY OF THE EASTERN NATIONS.