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Thy rights are empire: urge no meaner claim,- | Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat,
Like sacred mysteries, which withheld from fame,
Try all that wit and art suggest to bend
Awe the licentious, and restrain the rude;
Soften the sullen, clear the cloudy brow:
But hope not, courted idol of mankind,
On this proud eminence secure to stay; Subduing and subdued, thou soon shalt find Thy coldness soften, and thy pride give way. Then, then, abandon each ambitious thought, Conquest or rule thy heart shall feebly move, In Nature's school, by her soft maxims taught, That separate rights are lost in mutual love.
...And their voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
THE muses are turn'd gossips; they have lost
Or usual 'tendance ;-ask not, indiscreet,
Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet
I well remember, when a child, the awe
This day struck into me; for then the maids,
I scarce knew why, look'd cross, and drove me
Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope
Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles
Drawn from her ravell'd stockings, might have
One less indulgent.
Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on At intervals my mother's voice was heard,
Too soon ;-for to that day nor peace belongs
From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth,
And all the petty miseries of life.
Saints have been calm while stretch'd upon the
And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals;
Urging despatch: briskly the work went on,
Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft
Ride buoyant through the clouds—so near approach
TO MR. S. T. COLERIDGE.-1797.
Flit through dim glades, and lure the eager
Of youthful ardour to eternal chase.
Dreams hang on every leaf; unearthly forms
Nor seldom Indolence these lawns among
In dreamy twilight of the vacant mind,
Soothed by the whispering shade; for soothing soft
In its high progress to eternal truth
Rests for a space, in fairy bowers entranced;
Enjoy'd but still subservient. Active scenes
For friends, for country chase each spleen-fed fog That blots the wide creation.
Now Heaven conduct thee with a parent's love!
THE UNKNOWN GOD.
To learned Athens, led by fame,
With pity and surprise,
Midst idol altars as he stood,
O'er sculptured marble, brass, and wood, He roll'd his awful eyes.
But one, apart, his notice caught,
That seem'd with higher meaning fraught, Graved on the wounded stone;
Nor form nor name was there express'd; Deep reverence fill'd the musing breast, Perusing, "To the God unknown."
Age after age has roll'd away,
And many a shrine in dust is laid,
Ephesian Dian sees no more
E'en Salem's hallow'd courts have ceased
Yet still, where'er presumptuous man
ODE TO REMORSE.
DREAD offspring of the holy light within,
Of all on earth, or all in heaven,
Midst Eden's blissful bowers,
And amaranthine flowers,
Thy birth portentous dimm'd the orient day,
The high command presumed to disobey;
And never, since that fatal hour, May man, of woman born, expect t' escape thy
Thy goading stings the branded Cain
Ere from his cradling home and native plain
By gloomy shade or lonely flood
A father's curse, a brother's blood;
The king who sat on Judah's throne,
By guilty love to murder wrought, Was taught thy searching power to own, When, sent of Heaven, the seer his royal presence
As, wrapt in artful phrase, with sorrow feign'd,
And bade his better feelings wake:
Then, sudden as the trodden snake On the scared traveller darts his fangs, The prophet's bold rebuke aroused thy keenest pangs.
Why does he lift the cruel scourge ? The restless pilgrimage why urge?
"Tis all to quell thy fiercer rage,
"Tis all to sooth thy deep despair, He courts the body's pangs, for thine he cannot
And O that look, that soft upbraiding look!
And the shrill clarion gave th' appointed sound,
And drew a silent shower of bitter tears Down Peter's blushing cheek, late pale with coward fears.
Cruel Remorse! where Youth and Pleasure sport,
And thoughtless Folly keeps her court,Crouching midst rosy bowers thou lurk'st unseen; Slumbering the festal hours away, While Youth disports in that enchanting scene; Till on some fated day
Thou with a tiger-spring dost leap upon thy prey, And tear his helpless breast, o'erwhelm'd, with wild dismay.
Mark that poor wretch with clasped hands! Pale o'er his parent's grave he stands,The grave by his ingratitude prepared; Ah then, where'er he rests his head, On roses pillow'd or the softest down,
Though festal wreaths his temples crown, He well might envy Guatimozin's bed,
With burning coals and sulphur spread, And with less agony his torturing hour have shared.
For Thou art by to point the keen reproach; Thou draw'st the curtains of his nightly couch, Bring'st back the reverend face with tears bedew'd,
That o'er his follies yearn'd;
His stubborn breast that failed to move, When in the scorner's chair he sat, and wholesome counsel spurn'd.
Lives there a man whose labouring breast
Midst savage rocks and cloisters dim and drear,
In vain untold his crime to mortal ear, Silence and whisper'd sounds but make thy voice more clear.
Lo. where the cowled monk with frantic rage Lifts high the sounding scourge, his bleeding shoulders smites!
Penance and fasts his anxious thoughts engage,
See o'er the bleeding corse of her he loved,
Down his pale cheek no tear will flow,
"Twas phantoms summon'd by thy power Round Richard's couch at midnight hour, That scared the tyrant from unblest repose; With frantic haste, "To horse! to horse!" he cries, While on his crowned brow cold sweat-drops rise, And fancied spears his spear oppose ; But not the swiftest steed can bear away From thy firm grasp thine agonizing prey,
Thou wast the fiend, and thou alone, That stood'st by Beaufort's mitred head, With upright hair and visage ghastly pale: Thy terrors shook his dying bed,
Past crimes and blood his sinking heart assail, His hands are clasp'd,-hark to that hollow groan! See how his glazed, dim eye-balls wildly roll, 'Tis not dissolving Nature's pains; that pang is of the soul.
Where guilty souls are doom'd to dwell,
Long eras of uncounted years,
And every stain is wash'd in soft repentant tears.
Servant of God-but unbeloved-proceed,
Against th' unrighteous deed,
And a new world spring forth from renovating fire Till thine accursed mother shall expire,
O! when the glare of day is fled,
And calm, beneath the evening star, Reflection leans her pensive head, And calls the passions to her solemn bar; Reviews the censure rash, the hasty word, The purposed act too long deferr'd, Of time the wasted treasures lent, And fair occasions lost, and golden hours mispent:
When anxious Memory numbers o'er Each offer'd prize we failed to seize; Or friends laid low, whom now no more Our fondest love can serve or please, And thou, dread power! bring'st back, in terrors drest,
Th' irrevocable past, to sting the careless breast;
O! in that hour be mine to know, While fast the silent sorrows flow,
And wisdom cherishes the wholesome pain, No heavier guilt, no deeper stain, Than tears of meek contrition may atone, Shed at the mercy-seat of Heaven's eternal throne.
DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.
YES, Britain mourns, as with electric touch,
In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved,
And urge and dry the tear.-Yet one there is
He wears the day. Yet is he near in blood,
Nor deem him hard of heart; for awful, struck
From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear,
THE WAKE OF THE KING OF SPAIN.
ARRAY'D in robes of regal state,
The kings of Spain for nine days after death are placed sitting in robes of state with their attendants around them, and solemnly summoned by the proper officers to their meals and their amusements, as if living.
The portal opens-hark, a voice!
Again the sounding portals shake,
In vain the voice of pleasure calls:
HYMNS. HYMN I.
JEHOVAH reigns: let every nation hear,
He rules with wide and absolute command
He saw the struggling beams of infant light Shoot through the massy gloom of ancient night; His spirit hush'd the elemental strife,
And brooded o'er the kindling seeds of life: Seasons and months began their long procession, And measured o'er the year in bright succession.
The joyful sun sprung up th' ethereal way, Strong as a giant, as a bridegroom gay; And the pale moon diffused her shadowy light Superior o'er the dusky brow of night; Ten thousand glittering lamps the skies adorning, Numerous as dew-drops from the womb of morning
Earth's blooming face with rising flowers he drest, And spread a verdant mantle o'er her breast; Then from the hollow of his hand he pours The circling water round her winding shores, The new-born world in their cool arms embracing, And with soft murmurs still her banks caressing.
At length she rose complete in finish'd pride, All fair and spotless, like a virgin bride; Fresh with untarnish'd lustre as she stood, Her Maker bless'd his work, and call'd it good; The morning stars with joyful acclamation Exulting sang, and hail'd the new creation.
Yet this fair world, the creature of a day, Though built by God's right hand, must pass
And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things, The fate of empires, and the pride of kings: Eternal night shall veil their proudest story, And drop the curtain o'er all human glory.
The sun himself, with weary clouds opprest,
But fix'd, O God! for ever stands thy throne;
Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame,
He dwells within his own unfathom'd essence,
But O! our highest notes the theme debase, And silence is our least injurious praise ; Cease, cease your songs, the daring flight control, Revere him in the stillness of the soul; With silent duty meekly bend before him, And deep within your inmost hearts adore him.
PRAISE to God immortal praise,*
For the blessings of the field,
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
All that Spring with bounteous hand
These to thee, my God, we owe;
Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
Should the vine put forth no more, Nor the olive yield her store;
Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines, the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat, the flocks shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.-HAB. iii. 17, 18.
Though the sickening flocks should fall, And the herds desert the stall;
Should thine alter'd hand restrain The early and the latter rain; Blast each opening bud of joy, And the rising year destroy:
Yet to thee my soul should raise Grateful vows, and solemn praise; And, when every blessing's flown, Love thee-for thyself alone.
FOR EASTER SUNDAY.
AGAIN the Lord of life and light
O what a night was that, which wrapt
This day be grateful homage paid,
Ten thousand differing lips shall join
Jesus the friend of human kind,
With strong compassion moved, Descended like a pitying God, To save the souls he loved.
The powers of darkness leagued in vain
He shook their kingdom when he fell,
Not long the toils of hell could keep
And now his conquering chariot wheels Ascend the lofty skies;
While broke beneath his powerful cross, Death's iron sceptre lies.
Exalted high at God's right hand,
The Lord of all below,
Through him is pardoning love dispensed,
And boundless blessings flow.
And still for erring, guilty man,
A brother's pity flows;
To thee, my Saviour and my King,