Part 3

Lo, now! in vision rapt, I view The far-famed plains of Waterloo. As slowly, dimly dawns the morning-light, Around the battle-field I cast my sight; Thrill'd with delight severe, with awe opprest, My labouring heart throbs wildly in my breast. Hail fellow-countrymen! I trust in you, And in your great Commander too; Hail valiant Britons! hail brave Wellington! Full many a conquest have ye gain'd; O! may another, now, be soon obtain'd! But yonder see the great Napoleon! Secure of victory he proudly stands, Surrounded by his choicest veteran bands, Who welcome with loud shouts their long-loved Chief, From Elba's isle return'd, from exile brief; They idolize him as the warrior-God, And burn with zeal to obey his voice, his nod. The opponent armies on each other gaze, And look defiance though the view dismays.

Sudden the French artillery rends the skies; And the Britannic instantly replies; Hundreds of brazen throats shoot forth afar Their iron globes, those thunderbolts of war; Hundreds of soldiers fall upon the plain; Some shot, expire; more, wounded, writhe in pain. The cavalries to combat fiercely dash, And like two comets 'gainst each other clash; Horses and men roll mingled on the ground, Confusion, slaughter, horror all around. Regiments of infantry form quick the square, And the fierce-charging horsemen firmly dare; In vain to break them every means they try, The troops well-disciplined, the attempts defy. Long time in dread suspense the strife remains, While heaps of dead and wounded load the plains.

Angel of Britain! guard our Hero's life! On that, on that depends the upshot of the fight. How does Napoleon's soul indignant burn! Resolving, now, his last resource to try, And urge his desperate way to victory, He straight commands a vast, o'erpowering force Of infantry, artillery, and horse, The centre of his stubborn foe to turn. Ah! now tremendous grows the strife, On either side they war as Furies now; What deluges of blood! what waste of life! How will the mighty struggle finish?--how?-- Thank heaven! 'tis o'er,--the French, driven back, retire; Again I breathe--more freely I respire. Lo! Bulow with the Prussian force appears! The British Chief with joy his cannon hears, And, flush'd with confidence, exulting cries, We'll conquer yet; advance, my friends, advance! Shouting they spring upon their enemies; See, Wellington! the great Napoleon flies!-- Britannia, yet again, has triumph'd over France!

DESCRIPTION OF A CONFLAGRATION.

'Tis night:--the busy, ceaseless noise of day No more is heard; the now-deserted-streets Lie dark and silent;--London's weary swarms Rest in profound repose. Hark! a loud cry Frightens the silence;--'tis the cry of fire! I hear the dissonance of rattling wheels, The tread of hasty feet, the doleful sigh Of sympathy, and terror's thrilling shriek:-- O mercy heaven!--

Behold the fiery Pest! See, how the flames climb up the lofty walls, Involve their prey, and greedily devour: The crowd exert their efforts to controul The spreading bane; some labour to supply The numerous engines; others bear aloft The pliant tubes, guiding their watery store Amid the fiercer fire; on ladders some Ascending, scale the walls, and undeterr'd, Their dangerous office ply; some wildly haste To save their properties: 'tis bustle all, And noisy tumult. Doubtful for a time The strife remains; where'er the Burning winds His flamy spires, the well-directed streams, Incessant spouting, damp the sickening flames, Repelling their advance; but, oft repulsed, As oft they rally with recruited strength: Alternate in the mind rise hope and fear. Tumbles a roof with clattering noise, the sky Lightens, a burst of clamour!--all is hush'd In awful stillness, save that from beneath The ruins fall'n is heard a muttering sound, As if the Demon of the element In indignation menaced dire revenge. Ah! now, unchain'd by some mysterious Power, Some Fiend of air, in league with That of fire, The wind begins to howl; its breath awakes The sleepy flames;--loud and more loud it howls, And rushes on them with collected might; Before the driving spirit burst the flames In a redoubled tempest, and deride Opposing man. See! how they proudly toss Their many heads on high, and through the vault Of darkness fling a sad, malignant day: Look! with what fury, what resistless rage, From street to street the fiery Deluge pours His rapid billows, swallowing everything In horrible destruction; lowly roofs, And gorgeous mansions, lofty spires and domes Capacious, on whose fair, majestic tops, As on her throne exalted, Art assumed Her noblest honours, whose firm pillars braved Storms, and the still-corroding course of years; These, these with all their wealth, the various stores Of luxury and commerce, to the flames Abandon'd, sink an undefended prey, Swelling the general wreck; unheeded sink By their possessors, flying for their lives: Cries, groans, laments, on every side resound.

Sudden a magazine of nitrous grain Bursts in a blazing column to the clouds; The dread explosion shakes the solid ground, And through the skies in lengthening thunder rolls: Driven by the furious overwhelming blast To distance round, the burning fragments fall On every side; see, see, yon ships catch fire, Their rigging's in a blaze; affrighted Thames Shrinks from the sight; his waters cast a gleam Portentous, dismal, like the light of hell.

Before the Conflagration numbers fly Frighted, in throngs precipitate, to seek A refuge in the distant fields secure, Which, cover'd thick with victims of distress, Present a wretched world. There Youth, surprised By hard experience, learns, alas! too soon The destiny of Man; and from those eyes Where expectation and unclouded joy Serenely shone, the streams of sorrow flow: There helpless Age, robb'd of the scanty means A life of labour earn'd, driven from his home To wander, destitute, the vale of years, Yields to despondence, tears his hoary locks, Falls on the ground, and eagerly implores Rest in the grave: there, gazing on the fires, The tender Mother stands,--her frenzied soul Glares from her look, her bosom heaves a groan, She hugs her crying infant to her heart, Despairing, lost: what countless forms of wo! Lethargic some, and mute; some, giving loose To their distracted feelings, rave aloud In all the clamorous vehemence of grief.

The din subsides;--a voice, distinctly heard, A frantic voice exclaims, my child! my child! My child is in the flames!--Oh! horrible!-- What succour? what resource? the roaring wind More fiercely blows, the Burning pours along, The skies are lighten'd, Uproar opens wide His thousand mouths, Danger and Ruin prowl At large with boundless license, all is doubt And consternation, one tempestuous sea Of wretchedness, one chaos of despair.

Seized with wild fear Imagination sees The elements broke loose, Time on the brink Of dread Eternity, with all the signs Of that tremendous period when the dead Shall rise to judgment--hush'd in solemn awe-- Listening the trump of doom.--

Thus raged the storm, Till the great God of heaven in mercy bade The wind be silent, bade the gathering clouds Pour down abundant rain; the raging Fires, In prompt obedience to the sovereign will Of their Creator, dwindled and expired.

TO SPRING.

Fairest and loveliest of the sun-born train That o'er the varying year alternate reign; Whose eye, soft-beaming with thy father's fire, Fond Nature woos with ever-fresh desire, Enchanting Spring! O let thy votary's lay Invite thy angel smile, thy genial sway!

Still do thy beauties, to my partial heart, Whene'er I gaze, superior joys impart: When winter's cloudy veil thou draw'st away } And, vested with the sun's mild, dewy ray, } First to the longing earth thy charms thou dost display; } Or when Aurora, to the lark's gay song, Full of thy spirit, lightly trips along; With joyful kisses greets the first-born flowers, And o'er them breathes thy warm, refreshing showers; Or when, on shadowy pillow in the west, Fann'd by thy gentlest Zephyrs into rest, Eve sweetly dozes, whilst, as in a dream, She sees the glimmerings of the solar beam O'er the dim landscape languishingly stray, On ocean's smiling face reflected play, Fade in the purple ether's darkening hues, And vernal peace and joy o'er earth diffuse.

More grateful strains, O Spring! thy favours claim, Shine on thy beauties, and endear thy name. While Winter's winds thy new-born charms deface, And the young Year starves in his cold embrace, The Hours, by stealth advancing, bear away, And on thy lap, with smiles of pleasure, lay The shivering Babe; new vigour there he gains, And spreads thy various treasures o'er the plains.

The joyous Naiades, from their icy bands Unfetter'd, dance and warble o'er the lands; The Dryads feel thy genial breath, and raise Their heads, new-crown'd with leaves, and whisper praise; The plumy warblers wake their amorous strains; The herds and flocks sport o'er the fresh, green plains; Fancy and Hope return the mind to bless, A paradise she sees and dreams of happiness.

Come, then, indulgent Ruler of the year, Sweet Spring! to grateful Nature ever dear! From the blest regions of Elysian day, Climes favour'd high with thy perennial sway, O deign to come! and let our raptured eyes View thee, as through a veil, in these obscurer skies.

Methinks, I see thee coming from afar, Thy beauty decks Apollo's mounting car; The tyrant of the north with dazzled sight Beholds, and, yielding, meditates his flight; His dread, petrific rod he long has broke, And freed glad Nature from his icy yoke; She lifts her head, and hails the approaching hour When she shall feel thy more propitious power.

O haste thy progress, and exert thy sway! In all thy charms, on some thrice-hallow'd day, When the soft-whispering air to Fancy's ears Wafts the celestial music of the spheres, While Pleasures, Loves, and Graces round thee fly, Glide on a sun-beam down the clear, blue sky; Crown'd with a myrtle-wreath, begin thy reign; Bid lingering Winter fly with all his train; Pour forth thy favours o'er this western isle, And let each grateful eye reflect thy smile.

TO WINTER.

No longer Beauty's many-colour'd robe Adorns the autumnal scene; no longer play The Zephyrs with her tresses; she has fled To happier regions, and has left the year Naked and void of charms; the leafless woods Tremble no more with rapture at the voice Of harmony: ah! how is Nature changed! Silent, and sad, she anxiously awaits Thy coming, mighty King! and, as the sun Less bright, less ardent, more and more declines Towards the horizon, with alarm she marks Thy shadow lengthening in the nightly shade And towering o'er her, prostrate as she lies, More threatening, more gigantic; till, at length, Boreas, thy harbinger, forth-rushing fierce, Tears from chill'd Autumn's head the withering Crown, And blustering loud in her affrighted ear, O Winter! tells thy terrible approach.

Behold! in awful majesty thou comest! On huge, black clouds, that through the encumber'd sky, Before the northern blast, sail slowly on, Thou ridest sublime; aloft in ether towers Thy giant form; thy formidable frown Blackens the night; thy threatening voice, sent forth Upon the impetuous winds, affrights the world. Yet dare I welcome thee, terrific Power! Dread Winter, hail! thy terrors fill my soul With a delightful awe; I love to trace Thy varying scenes, the wonders of thy reign. Thy Ministers await thy sovereign will, And, in the secret regions of the air, In cloudy magazines prepare thy stores Of snow, and rain, and hail. At thy command Frost, that invisible, mysterious Power, Breathes upon Nature, and thou see'st her soon An unresisting captive, bound in ice; Vainly she mourns, till, at thy bidding, Thaw With his damp, misty standard, from the south Comes creeping silently, and sets her free; She weeps for joy. Ah! now thou dost unchain The Demon of the tempest, to exert On tortured Nature thy tyrannic might; Fierce on the whirlwind's wing he rushes forth With dreadful bellowings, hurling all around Destructive deluges of rain, snow, hail, In wildest discord, and chaotic war Mingling earth, sea, and sky. All-potent Lord! Dread Winter! though Sublimity appears Thy chief attendant, and partakes thy throne; Yet Beauty often visits thee, and dares, In many a scene, with the more powerful charms Of her majestic sister to combine Her pleasing graces: I delight to view Thy snowy robe of purest, glowing white, The clear, blue skies, the cheerful evergreen Amid the wintry desert, from whose boughs The little redbreast chirps; the trees and herbs With snow and hoarfrost fringed, to fancy's eye Presenting pictured shapes, and, when the sun Sheds o'er them his effulgence, sparkling keen With million living particles of light.

But with far nobler transport I survey Thy nightly scene, O Winter! when by frost Refined and clear'd, the pure transpicuous air Through her thin, azure veil, to wondering man Displays the unclouded heavens, myriads of stars Shining in all their glory: at the view Rapt Contemplation, in her car of light, Expatiates in the interminable space, Ranging from world to world, from sun to sun, O'erwhelm'd with wonder and astonishment, And sacred awe, till lifting up her eyes, She sees Religion, from the opening gate Of heaven itself, on her seraphic wings Smiling descend; she feels her power divine, And raptured hymns the great Creator's praise.

THE DESPERATION AND MADNESS OF GUILT.

In depth of loneliest wood, amid the din Of midnight storm and thunder, spoke Despair, While Horror, shuddering, heard that voice alone. Oh! load of guilt! relentless misery! Still, ever still the same where'er I fly; No peace, no hope, not one poor moment's glimpse Through all the blackness of eternity! Monster of direst guilt! this mother's hand Murder'd my babe, my new-born innocent. I seek not mercy, no!--long sought in vain While conscience prey'd upon my secret heart, Wasting its life in agonizing groans, And floods of scalding tears,--but now no more; Those pangs are past, this heart is wither'd, dead! Changed all to crime, all rottenness and stench; 'Twould taint creation were it not confined. Parch'd are these eyes, their sorrows turn'd to ice, A mountain of impenetrable ice, In whose unfathom'd centre lies my soul, Imprison'd, numb'd, buried in conscious death. O could I cease to think! cease quite to be! O could I live in torments! writhe in hell! Raptures to this! Rouse, rouse to life, my soul, In madness of despair, O burst thy tomb; Call God and devils to behold thy guilt, And blast thee. (_It lightens._) See, what sudden blaze! they come! Welcome, O welcome! follow me, look there! There lies my murder'd babe:--now strike!--avenge! (_It thunders._) Overwhelming stroke! (_She falls upon the ground insensible:-- at length, coming to herself_)-- Ah! am I conscious still? Not blasted then?--does this one little spark Amidst a universe of solid gloom Still live? I'll try to quench it with my blood. Come, dagger, pierce, pierce deep; I feel thy point; My blood flows fast, it animates my heart. The gathering cloud of death grows thick and dark, It hangs oppressive on my swimming sight: See, see, the Spirit of my murder'd child Comes with a troop of demons to conduct My soul to hell;--they seize me for their prey, They drag me down: Oh! horror! horror! oh! (_She dies._)

ON HEARING THE NIGHTINGALE.

Thanks for thy song, sweet Bird! thanks for thy song! O! 'twas delightful; how have I been lost As in a blissful dream! how has my soul Been wafted in a sea of melody! Scarce yet am I awake, yet scarce myself: Still with the enchanting music's dying breath The air is kept in motion, and conveys Sweet whispers to the finely-listening ear; Or is it but an echo from the cell Of memory that deludes my doating sense? Ah! now 'tis gone; Silence resumes her sway, And o'er my hearing spreads her subtile web; But she resumes it, changed, methinks, in nature, More soft, more amiable, as if inform'd With the departed soul of harmony.

Thanks for thy song, sweet Bird! it well deserves All my heart's gratitude; for it has still'd Its anxious throbbings, and removed the load Of sadness that oppress'd the springs of life: More lightly now it beats, and welcomes back The glowing tide of health, and conscious feels The blessing of existence. It imparts To all my frame reanimating force; My nerves partake of its elastic spring; No longer falsely sentient, they receive The just impression from external things, Vibrate harmoniously to Nature's touch, And in her general concert bear a part.

Thanks, sweetest Bird! enchanting Nightingale! How by the magic influence of thy song, How am I changed from what, of late, I was! And every object, too, how seems it changed! This wood, when first I enter'd it, appear'd To Fancy's eye the haunt of Melancholy, Her dreariest haunt, where, in her saddest mood, The Goddess loved to dwell;--'twas lonesome gloom, And awful stillness all: I felt her power; The imaginative Spirit she o'erwhelm'd With a mysterious load of shapeless feeling: Her leaden hand oppress'd my labouring heart; Upon the ground I sank,--scarce sensible, And buried, as it were, in conscious death.

With what soft influence, what resistless power, Did thy mellifluous strain, kind Philomel! Insinuate itself into my ear, Melting its dull unwillingness to listen, And opening soon a passage to my heart! But thou beginn'st again, be hush'd my soul! O wondrous power of heavenly harmony! See, Philomel! the Goddess of the night, Charm'd with thy strains her cloudy veil withdraws, And pays thee with a smile of gratitude; A smile that to her beauty adds new charms, Enchanting heaven and earth, while Melancholy, Sighing away her sadness, lifts her head, And, gazing on her tutelary Power With eyes reflecting soft her dewy light, Feels her divinest inspiration steal Into her melting soul, absorb'd in heaven. My sympathizing heart with bliss o'erflows. Thanks sweetest Nightingale! thanks for thy song! Long on this night shall grateful memory doat; And oft to this loved wood will I return.

TO PAGANINI.

Long to the world have all the mouths of Fame, O Paganini! thunder'd forth thy name; Nations have vied their plausive voice to raise, And swell the general chorus of thy praise. Though not so loud, more dear the applause to thee Of all the favour'd sons of harmony, Who, with one full consent, admiring own } Thee as their master--monarch--thee alone; } And humbly bow before thee on thy throne. }

O'er all musicians thou stand'st far apart; Thou hast created for thyself an art. As, in the natural world, around the sun The planets their career of brightness run, Each moving in an orbit of its own, And all obeying laws to science known. Musicians thus, each blest with his degree Of talent by the God of harmony, Shine forth distinguish'd in their several ways, While every one the rules of art obeys. We calculate the merits of their name, And pay them their proportion'd share of fame. Not thus in Honour's region thou career'st; Thou comet-like to fancy's ken appear'st, Like comet, blazing in its bold career, That leaves behind the planetary sphere, And rushes towards the centre of the sun Till with Apollo's self it seems but one.

A Genius, an Original, art thou, Such as the astounded world ne'er heard till now. When thou dost take thy magic bow in hand What mortal ear the enchantment can withstand? Transported, we admire thy peerless skill; Thou movest our feelings, passions, at thy will; With fear we tremble, we with anger glow, Soft from our eyes the tears of pity flow; Or when thou play'st a gay, fantastic strain, From mirth and laughter who can then refrain? Such is thy music's power to rule the heart, Thou may'st be call'd the Shakspeare of thine art.

TO FANCY.

O! what a nameless feeling of delight Stole o'er my wondering spirit, like a gleam From opening heaven!--dost thou, then, Fancy, deign Once more to visit me? thou dost! thou dost! That breath of extacy, that heavenly light, Flow'd from the wafture of thy angel wings, And from thy smiling eyes: divinest Power! Welcome, thrice welcome! O vouchsafe to make My breast thy temple, and my heart thy shrine! Still will I worship thee, and thou shalt keep, In peace, thy new abode, nor fear the approach Of aught profane or hostile, to disturb Thy holy mysteries; for I will chase Far from the hallow'd precincts where thou dwell'st Each worldly passion, every grovelling thought, And all the train of Vice; striving to make The shrine well-worthy its celestial guest. Still will I worship thee, and oft invoke Thine inspirations, and with transport yield To thy sweet, magic influence all my soul: The slightest breath of thine inspiring voice Shall wake my nerves, most feelingly alive, And bid them tremble with poetic bliss.

The frown of Reason thou no more shalt fear; Did I say Reason's frown?--no!--'twas the frown Of false Philosophy, her foolish pride. Reason and Thou are sisters, born to rule Unitedly, in happiest harmony, The mind of man; and in the heaven-sent hour Of inspiration, from the self-same source Ye pour the stream of mingled light and flame That animates, illumes, and warms the soul. How could I e'er desert thee, loveliest Nymph! To court thy rival, false Philosophy? How could I quit thy verdant, flowery walks, To tread with painful toil the briary maze Of metaphysic lore? Indulgent Power! The offence forgive. Lured by the specious name, Philosophy, and by her meteor rays Misled, with fond presumptuousness I strove To penetrate the dark, unfathom'd depth Where Truth in awful mystery resides. Not deigning in thy mirror to behold Her image, though in loveliest beauty clad, With lawless curiosity I sought To view the Goddess in her naked form. But heaven to man, nor angel gives to scan Truth's very self; she lives for ever hid, Shrined in the bosom of Divinity. Long wandering mid the chaos, I at length Approach'd the border of the cold, dark waste, The bottomless abyss, the dreadful void Of scepticism; affrighted, back I shrunk.