Chapter 13

He left us;--we, the hour of parting come, To Prasidamus' hospitable home, Myself and Eucritus, together wend, With young Amynticus, our blooming friend: There, all delighted, through the summer day, On beds of rushes, pillowed deep, we lay; Around, the lentils, newly cut, were spread; Dark elms and poplars whispered o'er our head; A hallowed stream, to all the wood-nymphs dear, Fresh from the rocky cavern murmured near; Beneath the fruit-leaves' many-mantling shade, The grasshoppers a coil incessant made; From the wild thorny thickets, heard remote, The wood-lark trilled his far-resounding note; Loud sung the thrush, musician of the scene, And soft and sweet was heard the dove's sad note between; Then yellow bees, whose murmur soothed the ear, Went idly flitting round the fountain clear. Summer and Autumn seemed at once to meet, Filling with redolence the blest retreat, While the ripe pear came rolling to our feet.

FROM IDYL XXII.

When the famed Argo now secure had passed The crushing rocks,[93] and that terrific strait That guards the wintry Pontic, the tall ship Reached wild Bebrycia's shores; bearing like gods Her god-descended chiefs. They, from her sides, With scaling steps descend, and on the shore, Savage, and sad, and beat by ocean winds, Strewed their rough beds, and on the casual fire The vessels place. The brothers, by themselves, CASTOR and red-haired POLLUX, wander far Into the forest solitudes. A wood Immense and dark, shagging the mountain side, Before them rose; a cold and sparkling fount Welled with perpetual lapse, beneath its feet, Of purest water clear; scattering below, Streams as of silver and of crystal rose, Bright from the bottom: Pines, of stateliest height, Poplar, and plane, and cypress, branching wide, Were near, thick bordered by the scented flowers That lured the honeyed bee, when spring declines, Thick swarming o'er the meadows. There all day A huge man sat, of savage, wild aspect; His breast stood roundly forward, his broad back Seemed as of iron, such as might befit A vast Colossus sculptured. Full to view The muscles of his brawny shoulders stood, Like the round mountain-stones the torrent wave Has polished; from his neck and back hung down A lion's skin, held by its claws. Him first The red-haired youth addressed: Hail, stranger, hail, And say, what tribes unknown inhabit here! Take to the seas thy Hail: I ask it not, Who never saw before, or thee, or thine. Courage! thou seest not men that are unjust Or cruel. Courage shall I learn from thee! Thy heart is savage; thou art passion's slave. Such as I am thou seest; but land of thine I tread not. Come, these hospitable gifts Accept, and part in peace. No: not from thee. My gifts are yet in store. Say, may we drink Of this clear fount? Ask, when wan thirst has parched Thy lips. What present shall I give to thee? None. Stand before me as a man; lift high Thy brandished arms, and try, weak pugilist, Thy strength. But say, with whom shall I contend? Thou seest him here; nor in his art unskilled. Then what shall be the prize of him who wins? Or thou shalt be my slave, or I be thine. The crested birds so fight. Whether like birds Or lions, for no other prize fight we! He said: and sounded loud his hollow conch; The gaunt Bebrycian brethren, at the sound, With long lank hair, come flocking to the shade Of that vast plain. Then Castor hied, and called The hero chiefs from the Magnesian[94] ship.

[93] Rocks which were supposed to strike one against the other, and so crush the ship that attempted to pass between.

[94] So called, from the country where it was built.

SKETCHES IN THE EXHIBITION, 1805.

What various objects strike with various force, Achilles, Hebe, and Sir Watkin's horse! Here summer scenes, there Pentland's stormy ridge, Lords, ladies, Noah's ark, and Cranford bridge! Some that display the elegant design, The lucid colours, and the flowing line; Some that might make, alas! Walsh Porter[95] stare, And wonder how the devil they got there!

LADY M----VE.

How clear a strife of light and shade is spread! The face how touched with nature's loveliest red! The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek! The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek! M----ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face, But all is nature, dignity, and grace!

HON. MISS MERCER.--HOPNER.

Oh! hide those tempting eyes, that faultless form, Those looks with feeling and with nature warm; The neck, the softly-swelling bosom hide, Nor, wanton gales, blow the light vest aside; For who, when beauties more than life excite Silent applause, can gaze without delight! But innocence, enchanting maid, is thine; Thine eyes in liquid light unconscious shine; And may thy breast no other feelings prove, Than those of sympathy and mutual love!

[95] A gentleman well known for his taste and fine collection.

EXHIBITION, 1807.

BLIND FIDDLER.--WILKIE.

With mirth unfeigned the cottage chimney rings, Though only vocal with four fiddle-strings: And see, the poor blind fiddler draws his bow, And lifts intent his time-denoting toe; While yonder maid, as blythe as birds in June, You almost hear her whistle to the tune! Hard by, a lad, in imitative guise, Fixed, fiddle-like, the broken bellows plies; Before the hearth, with looks of honest joy, The father chirrups to the chattering boy, And snaps his lifted thumbs with mimic glee, To the glad urchin on his mother's knee!

MORNING.--TURNER.

Up! for the morning shines with welcome ray, And to the sunny seabeach let us stray. What orient hues proclaim the master's hand! How light the wave upon the half-wet sand! How beautiful the sun, as still we gaze, Streams all diffusive through the opening haze! Artist--when to the thunder's pealing sound, Fire mixed with hailstones ran upon the ground, When partial darkness the dread prospect hid, And sole aspired the aged pyramid-- Sublimity thy genius seemed to guide O'er Egypt's champaign, desolate and wide; But here delightful beauty reigns alone, And decks the morning scene with graces all her own.

KESWICK.--SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.

How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will; Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray, Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display; The lake where sober evening seems to sleep, Hills far retiring into umbrage deep; Blend all with classic, pure, poetic taste, And strike the more with forms and colours chaste!

MARKET-DAY.--CALCOT.

Through the wood's maze our eyes delighted stray, To mark the rustics on the market-day. Beneath the branches winds the long white road; Here peeps the rustic cottager's abode; There in the morning sun, the children play, Or the crone creeps along the dusty way.

SCENE IN FRANCE.--LOUTHERBOURG.

Artist, I own thy genius; but the touch May be too restless, and the glare too much: And sure none ever saw a landscape shine, Basking in beams of such a sun as thine, But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz, And panting cried, O Lord, how hot it is!

DEATH OF NELSON.--WEST.

Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main: See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain, Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war, And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar! Here cease the strain; but while thy hulls shall ride, Britain, dark shadowing the tumultuous tide, May other Nelsons, on the sanguine main, Guide, like a god, the battle's hurricane; And when the funeral's transient pomp is past, High hung the banner, hushed the battle's blast, May the brave character to ages shine, And Genius consecrate the immortal shrine!

SOUTHAMPTON CASTLE.[96]

INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE.

The moonlight is without; and I could lose An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here, As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign! Regardless of the lights that blaze within, I look upon the wide and silent sea, That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps: How still, Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies; Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam, The eve of pleasant yesterdays! 10 The clouds Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars Seem in their watches set, as gazing on; While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful, Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks, Of gazing worlds! How different is the scene That lies beneath this arched window's height! The town, that murmured through the busy day, 20 Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above, The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls, And masts that throng around the southern pier, Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote, O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane. Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine How more attractive! but few years have passed, Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness, All circling round an aged sire,[97] whose hairs 30 Are now in peace gone down; he was to me A friend, and almost with a father's smile Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice Of fellowship, the song of harmony, And mirth, and wit,[98] were there. That scene is passed: Cold death and separation have dissolved The evening circle of once-happy friends! So has it ever fared, and so must fare, With all! I see the moonlight watery tract 40 That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades: What seems it, but the mirror of that tide, Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world, Holds its inevitable course, the tide Of years departing; to the distant eye Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows, The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam To-day, to-morrow other passing sails Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn. 50 Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light On the pale ripple, passing as it shines! But shall the pensive bard for this lament, Who knows how transitory are all worlds Before His eye who made them! Cease the strain; And welcome still the social intercourse That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour When, universal darkness wrapping all This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream 60 Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard: Here only pure and lasting bliss is found!

[96] Southampton Castle is a magnificent pile, erected by the Marquis of Lansdowne, commanding the most striking views of the river, the Isle of Wight, the New Forest, _et cet._

[97] Late Dean of Winchester, Dr Newton Ogle.

[98] I speak this of Mr Sheridan, who was often of the party.

THE WINDS.

When dark November bade the leaves adieu, And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds, Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew, With garments streaming light, amid the clouds; From adverse regions of the sky, In dim succession, they went by. The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed, Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast. Upon a beaked promontory high, With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe, 10 Marked ye the father of the frowning year![99] Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempestuous sky, When creeping WINTER from his cave came forth; Stern courier of the storm, he cried, what from the north?

NORTH WIND.

From the vast and desert deeps, Where the lonely Kraken sleeps, Where fixed the icy mountains high Glimmer to the twilight sky; Where, six lingering months to last, 20 The night has closed, the day is past, Father, lo, I come, I come: I have heard the wizard's drum, And the withered Lapland hag, Seal, with muttered spell, her bag: O'er mountains white, and forests sere, I flew, and with a wink am here.

WINTER.

Spirit of unwearied wing, From the Baltic's frozen main, From the Russ's bleak domain, 30 Say, what tidings dost thou bring! Shouts, and the noise of battle! and again The winged wind blew loud a deadly blast; Shouts, and the noise of battle! the long main Seemed with hoarse voice to answer as he passed. The moody South went by, and silence kept; The cloudy rack oft hid his mournful mien, And frequent fell the showers, as if he wept The eternal havoc of this mortal scene. He had heard the yell, and cry, 40 And howling dance of Anarchy, Where the Rhone, with rushing flood, Murmured to the main, through blood:-- He seemed to wish he could for ever throw His misty mantle o'er a world of woe. But rousing him from his desponding trance, Cold Eurus blew his sharp and shrilling horn; In his right hand he bore an icy lance, That far off glittered in the frost of morn; The old man knew the clarion from afar, 50 What from the East? he cried.

EAST WIND.

Shouts, and the noise of war! Far o'er the land hath been my flight, O'er many a forest dark as night, O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds, O'er Wolga's wild and giant reeds, O'er the Carpathian summits hoar, Beneath whose snows and shadows frore, Poland's level length unfolds Her trackless woods and wildering wolds, 60 Like a spirit, seeking rest, I have passed from east to west, While sounds of discord and lament Rose from the earth where'er I went. I care not; hurrying, as in scorn, I shook my lance, and blew my horn; The day shows clear; and merrily Along the Atlantic now I fly. Who comes in soft and spicy vest, From the mild regions of the West? 70 An azure veil bends waving o'er his head, And showers of violets from his hands are shed. 'Tis Zephyr, with a look as young and fair As when his lucid wings conveyed That beautiful and gentle maid Psyche, transported through the air, The blissful couch of Love's own god to share. Winter, avaunt! thy haggard eye Will scare him, as he wanders by, Him and the timid butterfly. 80 He brings again the morn of May; The lark, amid the clear blue sky, Carols, but is not seen so high, And all the winter's winds fly far away! I cried: O Father of the world, whose might The storm, the darkness, and the winds obey, Oh, when will thus the long tempestuous night Of warfare and of woe be rolled away! Oh, when will cease the uproar and the din, And Peace breathe soft, Summer is coming in! 90

[99] "Then comes the father of the tempest forth."--_Thomson._

ON WILLIAM SOMMERS OF BREMHILL.

When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs, O aged man! Thy sand is almost run, And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun, Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares Have been thy visitants from morn to morn. While trembling on existence thou dost live, Accept what human charity can give; But standing thus, time-palsied, and forlorn, Like a scathed oak, of all its boughs bereft, God and the grave are thy best refuge left. When the bells rung, and summer's smiling ray Welcomed again the merry Whitsuntide, And all my humble villagers were gay; I saw thee sitting on the highway side, To feel once more the warm sun's blessed beam: Didst thou then think upon thy own gay prime, On such a holiday, and the glad time When thou wert young and happy, like a dream Now perished! No; the murmured prayer alone Rose from the trembling lips towards the Throne Of Mercy; that ere spring returned again, And the long winter blew its dreary blast, To sweep the verdure from the fading plain, Thy burden would be dropped, thy sorrows past! O blind and aged man, bowed down with cares, When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs!

THE VISIONARY BOY.